plananafish
Something Pretty
rpdr sideblog – sporadic creative – 18+
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Jane being a toe sucker was not on my bingo card for 2024 😭😭😭
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♡ "wait...is this a date?" plane @ nymphia plspls
i wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be an @ or if it was intended to be an ‘&’, but i am very intrigued by the concept of nervous jane needing to know whether this is a date, so here’s this <3
“Was it too much?”
Jane was asking questions, but she wasn’t exactly listening for answers. She seemed to be supplementing those all on her own. It would be annoying, except the conclusions she was drawing were so incorrect that it was almost endearing somehow. Her eyes were elsewhere when she scurried back to the table, anywhere but on Nymphia.
“Jane.”
“I know you said you didn’t want to do nice dinners after we went to Pearla the other night. At least not yet. Or ever. Um,” Jane continued, clearing plates, her brow tightly knotted. “But it really wasn’t that expensive, you know. And even if it wasn’t a date, it was just nice. For me. To get out. Um. With you, of course.”
“Jane.”
“Besides.” Jane carried a stack of serving plates and bowls and miscellaneous silverware past Nymphia. “I really like to cook, believe it or not, so this really wasn’t a big deal, I promise. I probably would’ve done it anyway.” She dropped the dishes in the sink, and started to backpedal. “Not that I would do this if you weren’t here. I mean, I would’ve eaten. But, like, I wouldn’t have done this exactly, because, y’know. That’s a lot of effort. But not too much efffort.”
Nymphia huffed from her chair, staring at the ceiling and waiting for Jane to work through her spiral.
“Or was it not enough?” Jane auto-piloted back to the table, reaching for the wine glasses. Her voice was sort of desperate, sort of defeated, and Nymphia knew she’d inadvertently made Jane much more nervous than she’d anticipated. She felt a little bad, actually, because Jane wasn’t really breathing between sentences. “I just- I know you said you wanted to take things slow and I know you didn’t want to go on dates. Um. Officially. So I just thought it might be nice to stay in and-”
“Jane.”
“No, I’m sorry. It was stupid,” Jane interrupted, a little too embarrassed to let Nymphia get a word in. She went to clear Nymphia’s plate. “We could catch a movie or something if you want to go out, or I could just drive you-“
Nymphia’s hand stopped Jane’s wrist mid-reach. “Jane.”
Jane blinked and paused and finally looked to Nymphia, looking more unsure than Nymphia had ever seen her. All she’d wanted was to scope Jane out, take her time to make sure she was every bit as good and sweet and serious about her as Nymphia had been hoping she was. She didn’t think she would end up completely dismantling her. It was sort of ridiculous how increasingly, obviously frazzled she’d gotten the longer Nymphia had drawn this out. It was also completely, stupidly charming. Most people didn’t care enough to get nervous around Nymphia. Most people wouldn’t invite her over for a home cooked meal after taking her on half a dozen outings she hadn’t let them call ‘dates’. Most people weren’t Jane.
“It wasn’t stupid,” Nymphia took Jane’s hand gently between hers, her fingertips gliding softly over Jane’s knuckles. “It was really nice.”
“Oh!” Jane inhaled sharply. Definitely not relaxed, but breathing. It was an improvement. “Good. I’m glad. Um.” She blinked, processing. “Really?”
Nymphia smiled, her laugh a short puff of air from her nose. Jane’s eyes softened, a look of relief washing over her.
“Really,” Nymphia let her gaze fall upon Jane’s hand, held between her own. “It was the best date I’ve ever been on.”
She glanced up through her lashes. Jane looked a bit awe-struck, a bit in disbelief.
“Wait. So.” Jane blinked, a little hesitant to look Nymphia in the eyes, then did it anyways. “Was- Is this a date?”
Nymphia’s lips twisted to one side, a little pucker of a smile. She nodded slowly, a warmth to her chest as she watched the light flood Jane’s eyes. “Yeah. It is.”
Jane couldn’t hide the megawatt smile that spread across her face as she ducked her chin down, her laugh a nervous flutter of air.
“I didn’t mean to torture you,” Nymphia teased, tilting her head to follow Jane’s eyes. To make sure she hadn’t completely broken her.
“No, it was my pleasure,” Jane said breathily, already a little excited, a glimmer in her eye when she looked over and said, “I’d do it all again.”
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Jane licking off the ice cream that dripped down Nymphia's fingers, all the way down to the root. You agree.
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I can’t stop thinking about all this 🍌 content of her flirting with the Las Vegas dancers and grinding on them and being held up - it’s almost like she’s trying to instigate something? Make someone jealous? Maybe it’s just me 🫢
SCREAMM. omg.
i was literally just thinking how fucking GOOD she’s been looking on this lil tour (but let’s be real - when is she not looking good) & how playful she’s been…… is it safe here can i speak
do you think jane slides up on her stories. ‘having fun aren’t you?’ and ‘showoff’. do u think she calls her a slut. and many other deliciously degrading things after that. and do u think maybe it’s exactly what nymphia wanted.
#the last part under the cut is something im gonna think about now#i dont think you're sorry#1000 mental damage to my self control
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honestly very seated for when you publish no mercy, i alr know it's gonna be good food
Ty Nonnie 💛 It's all hands on deck to bring out Assassin Jane and her inability to resist cute girls (well, one cute yellow girl)
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Jane using the word like every 5 seconds is something that would be atrocious to read or write, but it'd be lore accurate.
Give It To Me Straight Jane you're so famous to me. Big hips and all.
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In my half asleep state I dreamt of girlfriends who share Planymphia, but the reason why Jane wants to share is that her other friends are bickering about who gets to pursue Mirage, and Jane wants to prove something.
Nymphia, meanwhile, is blissfully unaware of the whole thing, as she's too busy hanging out with none other than Mirage herself.
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6ss (No Mercy For The Bad If They Want It – Planymphia)
Damn. She was cute. A thought Jane rarely had about other people, much less one she'd have on a target. This was not good, not good at all. All of her meticulous planning right out the window, and for what? An objectively attractive woman sitting by her lonesome, whose face reminded Jane of a bunnyrabbit, petite and innocent with a penchant for running away to dare the wolves to chase after her.
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"just let me take care of you" for ✈️🍌, pleeaaaseeee!!!
Jane is curled up on one end of the couch with a book in her hands. She’s read the same paragraph four or five times now, and would really like to move on to the next one, except she can’t, because-
UUGgghh!
“Oh my god,” Jane’s head hits the arm of the couch when she throws it back in frustration. “What?”
From the other end of the sofa, beyond where their legs are intertwined, Nymphia groans at her laptop screen. She’s uncharacteristically disheveled: her long hair is pulled into a messy, bumpy ponytail, and she’s wearing her glasses, which almost never happens. Not nearly enough for Jane’s liking, anyway. The black frames are thick and rounded and perched perfectly on her button nose, and if she wasn’t being so annoying right now then Jane would find her absolutely, irresistibly delicious.
“It’s all wrong,” Nymphia whines, pushing her stupid, sexy glasses up to nest in her hair while she rubs her eyes with her palms. The laptop, the source of her misery for the last two and a half weeks, rocks in her lap.
“It’s not,” Jane rolls her eyes and rehashes this conversation for what must be the eighty-seventh time. “It’s fine. It’s great, even! It’s probably the best fucking artist statement anyone’s ever read in the entirety of their miserable lives. They should be so lucky!”
Nymphia whines and stretches, a sliver of skin peeking out at the edge of her t shirt when she lifts her arms over her head. Jane momentarily forgets whatever it is she’s supposed to be annoyed about.
“Can you proof it for me?” Nymphia says when she’s tugging her shirt back into place and reaching for her laptop. Jane groans at the request, and definitely not at the lack of exposed skin.
“Ugh, Nymph,” Jane pleads. “Again?”
It’s only days before Nymphia’s final assignment is due - a full collection of garments complete with a written artist’s statement. It’s all they’ve talked about for what feels like weeks on end. Jane hasn’t been nearly as annoyed as she says she is. In Jane’s eyes Nymphia is something like a magician, turning whatever she touches into something miraculous and profound. It’s the reason why she’s let their living room become a war zone, littered with bolts of fabric and stray ribbon and a pincushion that somehow seems to be underfoot no matter how far she hurls the thing. She doesn’t mind that much, not really. It’s only until the end of the semester. Besides, Jane loves having Nymphia around. She’d much rather have her working at home, where she can make sure she eats and sleeps and remembers to wash her face before bed. It’s better than having her cooped up in a studio across town all night, working too hard to remember to take care of herself. Plus, Jane loves to watch Nymphia work - when she loses herself in a sketch or in the draping of fabric and her hair starts to slip from her ponytail, and her glasses are sliding down her nose, and her tongue rests at the corner of her mouth-
“You’re so much better with writing than I am!” Nymphia wails. Her voice is whiny and desperate and Jane’s head is in the fucking gutter.
While Nymphia could produce an entire wardrobe in a matter of days, brilliantly tailored and united under some pristine vision that Jane can’t fathom how her girlfriend ever came up with, the artist statement has thoroughly stumped her. It’s a meager assignment, 500 words maximum describing the inspiration for the collection, and has been the bane of Nymphia’s existence for the past four days. Naturally, it’s become the bane of Jane’s existence too.
“Baby,” Jane begs. She’s enjoyed all this time at home with Nymphia, and she’s proud of her, truly, but she would really like her cheery, horny, reliably unfocused girlfriend back.
Nymphia’s bottom lip curls outwards and her eyes flutter. “Please?”
Jane blinks. Nymphia is a little too good at getting exactly what she wants out of her. The worst part is that she knows it.
“Fine,” Jane concedes through gritted teeth, tossing her book to the floor and sitting forward. Nymphia cheers and claps and leans close to grab Jane’s face, almost succeeding until-
“On one condition,” Jane holds her hand up before Nymphia’s lips can find her cheek.
“Anything,” Nymphia coos, like she expects Jane to go easy on her.
“This is the last of the work you do tonight,” Jane says firmly, watching Nymphia’s mouth twist with anxiety. “I mean it. I can’t fucking hear you whine anymore.”
Nymphia’s anxiety is all too quickly replaced with a devious smile, a practiced sort of coercion, “I thought you loved to hear me wh-“
“That’s beside the point,” Jane doesn’t budge. Nymphia is a tease, a very tempting tease, but a tease nonetheless. Jane knows this well enough, she’s fallen victim to her traps more times than she cares to admit. “Do we have a deal?”
Nymphia falls back to the other end of the couch with a defeated hrmph. “Deal” she pouts.
With that, Jane snatches the laptop. She reads Nymphia’s essay intently, because she really does care, making minor grammatical tweaks here and there. The piece is well written, even without the bit of fluffing Jane’s done over the past few days. Nymphia is absolutely selling herself short. It may not be her preferred medium, but her unique vision shines through her words just the same as it does with her clothing.
“What?” Nymphia asks when a small, proud smile tugs at Jane’s lips. “What is it?”
Jane beams, her eyes lingering on the last few sentences. “It’s perfect.”
Nymphia lights up, “You really think so?”
Mhm, Jane hums, looking over to Nymphia where she’s curled into the corner of the couch, grinning. “I’m proud of you, babe.”
“Okay, because I was thinking I could-“ Nymphia starts to ramble, but Jane has already hit ‘save’ and is slamming the laptop shut. Nymphia’s eyes widen.
“We had a deal, didn’t we?” Jane places the laptop on the floor.
“Yes, but-“
“Uh-uh,” Jane shakes her head, leaning forward. “I think you’re done for the night.”
Nymphia could try to make an escape, but it would be pointless. They both know it. “I am?”
“Yeah, you are.” Jane grabs at Nymphia’s ankles, dragging her closer until she’s lying flat on her back. Her glasses slide down her nose.
Nymphia is still muttering something about picking the right font when Jane silences her with a gentle palm over her mouth.
“You’ve done more than enough,” Jane tells her. “Just let me take care of you. Can you do that?”
Nymphia nods, wide-eyed and suddenly breathless. Jane pulls her hand away from Nymphia’s mouth. “Good girl.”
Her other hand is already sliding beneath Nymphia’s t-shirt, grazing her bare skin. She goes to pull it over her head, and Nymphia reaches for her glasses.
“No,” Jane catches her hand, kissing her knuckles before pinning her wrist above her head. “Those stay on.”
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420 for planymphia 😙
420. Vape, joints, or edibles? (or abstaining)
Plane is like “no i’m a christian woman i dont do that” and then gets obliterated off the penjamin. Nymphia is a joint girlie and Plane has a bedazzled vape
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Not gossip girl au with lesbian planymphia?!! Girl i'm seated 🪑
it's taken me forever to get a little vibe going so pls take this little section as an apology gift <3
“You text,” Morphine points out. “You can’t hate each other if you text.”
“We’ve never hated each other,” Nymphia insists, feeling her stomach twist at the mere thought of it. “We’re just… better separate.”
Plane would’ve hated Manchester. She didn’t leave New York longer than a few weeks, for one. England was too wet, too grimy, and those god-awful accents… It’s why Nymphia picked it, because she knew it was a city she’d never be followed to.
Morphine blinks at her. She doesn’t even have to voice the disapproval for Nymphia to feel it, as if carried by the sillage of Hypnotic Poison emanating out of her pores.
“I’ll behave when I see her, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nymphia tries, but Morphine shakes her head.
“She’s sad,” Morphine says. The bluntness of it makes Nymphia’s breath still in her throat for a second. “Been sad for four years, Nymphia.”
Nymphia eyes the beige countertop and the white walls of the kitchen, feels her lips quirk grimly. “Has she tried yellow?”
The inside joke flies over Morphine's head, and Nymphia feels the air sour for just a moment before she just sighs, over the bullshit once again.
"Work your shit out, this time."
Or stay away, is the implied ending. It's not a threat so much as advice, but Nymphia still doesn't want to hear it. Nobody gets it like they do. Gets them like they do.
Nymphia tongues her teeth, looks around once more. Here, she thinks to herself, in New York, in Jane's domain, there's no safety at all.
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Work got in the way, so if I don't manage to finish editing No Mercy, would you guys be interested in a 6 sentence snippet from it?
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Tongues out for girlfriends who share 👅
@mappingthesky here's the clip for perpetuity.
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Sapphira "I'm an intense lover" Cristal, the mother that you are
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I got distracted by thinking of Nymphia feeling Jane up and I lost where I was 😮💨
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