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tunastime · 7 months ago

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hiccuping tears into the shoulder + ranchers by chance?

hiccuping tears into their shoulder (1087 words) (x)

For the first time in a good, long portion of his life, Tango despises how silent the night gets. It's not without its natural noise—the balmy, sticky humidity and breeze in the grass, or the crickets, the cicadas quieting down, the sounds of animals rearranging themselves to a comfier sleeping arrangement. He should be doing the same, but he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his spine a rigid line. He can feel the blood in his body, he can feel the spaces where his muscles connect to each other, with every breath he can feel his lungs separate out the oxygen. It's at the very least startling, and at the very most, he feels like he might dissolve on the spot if touched.

Tango knows how death feels—painless respawn and a few seasons of a life game behind him, but to feel someone else die, too. The echo of death alongside your own. He didn't like that! Not good at all. All his blood and heartbeat-y things are rushing around in his ears. He doesn't even hear Jimmy the first time he speaks up from the other side of the bed, with how his voice scrapes out.

"I didn't know they were aiming for us," Jimmy says.

"Of course not," Tango says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know you didn't."

He's still looking at his hands, running his thumb over the lines in his palm and pushing into the tiny bones and muscle there. Jimmy flexes his hands like he can feel the pressure and bones moving around. He watches him fold his hand tight around each other and slump, pulling his shoulders to his chest. His breath squeezes in his chest as Jimmy deflates tiredly.

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I'm not gonna think this is your fault, alright?" Tango says, frowning at him. "Why would I?"

Jimmy sighs. His jaw works.

"Cause it usually is," he grits. Tango scrunches his nose on instinct, recoiling out of habit before he manages:

"That's not fair, man."

"This whole game isn't far!" Jimmy huffs, waving a hand about.

"Sure but—"

"But nothing, Tango. I just—I can't lose and drag you with me. That's more than not fair."

"I don't care."

"I care."

Before Tango can argue, though, he tastes the faintest hints of anger and frustration at the back of his mouth fade. He watches Jimmy's face contort as he tries to come up with a better sentence, something he probably thinks Tango deserves. Maybe an apology.

Tango just looks at him. He kind of feels bad, that little bit of gut wrenching cold that trickles in, but mostly he's just confused. Jimmy's words bat around in his brain like dust particles. Dust bunnies. He definitely assumed they were done with this. That maybe Jimmy made peace like he did—though really he hadn't had that much time to make peace, if he's being honest. He's still bitter. He's sure a lot of people are still bitter. But in terms of Jimmy's whole situation? It's not like it could be helped. They just had to be careful. So Tango was being careful, and Jimmy was taking what Tango thought was a calculated risk, so he was mad, sure, but he couldn't really stay mad for a long time. So he takes a long breath and sighs it out his nose. It still tastes surprisingly reminiscent of smoke.

"So what are we going to do?" he asks softly. Jimmy inhales.

"I don't know," he says. "Go to bed? Wake up and start planning?"

Tango hums plainly. He likes that idea. The small spool of feeling in his chest that must belong to Jimmy gives a little tug, like it wanted to take him down with it.

"Yeah," Tango says, voice coming hoarse. "Yeah, I think so."

For a moment, Tango runs his tongue over his teeth, runs his thumbs over the seams of his knees. He sighs, and then he leans into Jimmy's shoulder with a definitive huff. He's tired. From the ache in his bones, to the breathlessness of dying, to just taking in Jimmy's stress. Man. He's exhausted. Jimmy snorts quietly. He feels him press his cheek against Tango's head. The hand Jimmy had been fiddling with in his lap ends up at the base of his spine, splayed over the fabric. Tango squeezes his eyes shut.

"Thanks Tango," Jimmy says shakily. He sounds like he's on the knife's edge of crying, so Tango fumbles out a hand and lands it solidly on his knee. It's not a terribly comfortable thing to stretch one of his achy shoulders or biceps that far but he does anyway, and Jimmy huffs out a damp laugh. "Guess I'm just... pissed off."

Tango snorts.

"If you think you're pissed, just wait until they rile me up," he says into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy laughs. Tango tries to hold in a grin that he also smothers into his shoulder, but fails. Jimmy's hand skips over his knuckles and squeezes the hand on his knee.

"Sure thing, Rancher," he teases. Tango makes a half-suppressed noise of indignation, squeaking as he bolts upright. He nearly knocks into Jimmy's jaw as he untangles himself with all the grace of a cat trying to weasel out of someone's arms.

"I'm just sayin'," he grumbles, crinkling his nose. "You seem like you're in a better mood though."

Jimmy sighs, rounding out his shoulders.

"Think so," he says, working his cheek between his teeth. Tango feels the sensation of prodding in his mouth. Bleh. "Think so."

"Probably a good idea to make good on that sleeping... thing,” he says, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. He barely stifles a yawn as Jimmy stretches, twisting his tall body around in a way that feels surprisingly pleasant to Tango’s stiff muscles. He can’t imagine, especially with the way Jimmy holds all his emotions in his shoulders, that his upper back is doing him any favors. Jimmy makes a little noise in confirmation as Tango turns, attempting to make ample space for him in the small bed. He knows they’ll end up back to back at some point, but as he lies down, shoulder to shoulder, an easy comfort rolls over him. Sure there’s all the red blood rushing around in his ears, and sure he feels it right up on his skin like a bad rash, but for now, next to Jimmy, he shuts his eyes.

They’ll make this time count for something, at least.

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javierduffy · 5 months ago

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I have been having... a very bad day. Any spare fluffy headcanons for the boys? (and maybe some nsfw ones if you're up to it-)

ohh no my dear helena !!! its unfortunate that you’re having a rough day today :( remember that everything is temporary and that this day, like every other hard day before (and all following after), will pass in its own time.

i can absolutely spare some fluff ! that’s all i’ve got !

• javier goes to bed at about the same time that kieran is waking up every morning, right before dawn, and it’s a common occurrence that he will forget to untie his hair before laying down for bed, especially after a long night of guard duty. kieran will notice every time, and knows himself how easily long hair can get matted, so he will beckon javier over so that he can untie his bow. usually, he’ll also take the time to run his fingers through javier’s hair to detangle it as well, so that he’s even less likely to wake up to knots. javier adores it, teetering with the weight of his head and leaning hard into kieran’s legs on each side of his shoulders- sometimes kieran will even indulge himself in giving javier a head massage. javier never sleeps better, and coincidentally, he began forgetting to take his hair down a lot more after moving out to clemen’s point ….

• javier snuck kieran his first bowl of pearson’s stew after ‘making a social call’. john kicked kieran off his horse at the entrance of camp and javier watched as the latter dredged himself through the brush to what would become his usual resting place behind the rock by the horses. he looked miserable, dead on his feet, and javier knew by then he’d been weeks without a meal. he was a dirty, disloyal, unholy traitor of an o’driscoll, but something about his sunken eyes, the shake in his hand as he lit his first cigarette as a free man again- likely to quell off the hunger- it urged javier to act in a way that he’d never felt before. javier could kill a man in cold blood easier than he could stand to watch fear starve a man even after his hands are free to reach for the bowl. the study for learned helplessness in psychology will come years later, but javier understands himself now through watching kieran’s instinctual desire to survive be beat out of him by the gang javier dedicates his life to. with a healthy amount of spite to himself, he scoops a heaping amount of fresh stew into the cleanest bowl he can find, and sets out to add a fresh layer of flesh to kieran’s prominent bones.

• following this, cooking for kieran is one of javier’s favourite things to do when they get together. javier will cook for him traditional mexican dishes from home (as best he can. both with his limited skills and also with his limited accessibility to the proper ingredients. (probably for the best that he can’t get authentic chili peppers from home and has to use a less spicy chili native to this northern climate. kieran does okay with spice but it isn’t in his genetics to truly have a high tolerance.)) and not only will it be an unknown love language from javier, to feed kieran and make sure he is full, but it will also be a love language from kieran, to let javi share a piece of home with him.

• ^ also applies to modern au javieran ! javier loves cooking, and especially for kieran. they would cook together, but kieran struggles to cook with other people in the room, and javier gets so absorbed in it that he’d likely be running into kieran or otherwise being unhelpful in aiding in making sure the dish is being cooked correctly because he’s too Locked In to guide kieran LOL but they’re more happy to simply keep each other company, anyway. kieran on the counter/table/floor, watching javier sing and dance to the music he’s blasting from their speaker. cue dancing in the kitchen when the love songs come on (here’s a good one (rip javier escuella you would have loved dannylux)). the parallel play and quality time with these two is off the charts

• come mid/late clemens point, the way javieran make most of their money for the camp is by going on days-long fishing dates, laughing and laying close to one another in the grass under a tree on the riverbank in the shroud of darkness. they come back to camp flushed as all get out but with stacks of cash in their hands wadded up so thick no one dares to ask where it came from. kieran will get excited at even the smallest of fish, perking up and sharing/asking javier for tidbits on the species. they never miss a bite, either. one time one of the bells on their bobber rods rang once and they both broke out of a very hot and heavy make-out sesh so fast that javier tripped on kieran and nearly broke both of their wrists. they laughed so hard about it, javier was certain that by the time he arrived to his rod, the fish had already successfully ripped the bait off of his hook. he reeled in a boot, at the end of it all. he never lives it down.

• kieran is ambidextrous, and javier is fascinated by it. javier stumbled upon kieran writing on one rare occasion, and noticed immediately that he was writing with his left. “left handed, huh ?” kieran cocks his head at him in thought. javier wonders why on earth he would have to stop and think about a question like that. “uhh, not really ?” well, now javier is simply confused. “right, then ? is something wrong with your dominant hand ?” “um … no, that’s not it either …” and at this point, javier is demanding kieran explain what the hell he’s talking about, and why he’s pulling a prank on him. cue kieran explaining and javier making him do all kinds of silly “tests” like writing, shooting, playing guitar (as if kieran is going to any better with either when neither of them can do it right to begin with) because he finds it so cool.

• modern au kieran gets overstimulated incredibly easily, so he’s got a pair of noise canceling over-ear headphones that he often wears to dampen sensory input and ground himself when there’s a lot going on. when it’s cleaning day, generally no matter what he’s doing, he HAS to wear his headphones. javier is left to dodge him the same way he has to dodge the cats when they’re weaving in and out of between his feet. it also leaves him to dance to his own tunes when kieran suddenly swoops or sways or dips him to the music only he can hear- though just as often, javier will catch kieran dancing by himself and he will simply be unable not to join him, even though he can’t hear what it is he’s dancing to. as overwhelming as they can be, cleaning days for javieran somehow always end up feeling more like a date than anything.

• on a similar note, kieran also wears his headphones to bed, and listens to asmr/white noise to sleep. the pressure helps him feel safe, and the silence of a room makes him anxious. he also has a terrible bedhead and rbf in the morning. both of these things javier finds incredibly charming, and if he ever does wake up when/before kieran does (incredibly rare), this is his pov (right before he tries to kiss kieran’s face off and gets shoved away with a sleepy giggle that only bolsters his aggression);

nsfw under the cut !

and how could i resist a chance to finally talk about this ;3€ ?? i’ll try to keep them fluffy !

(context, i hc both of them as tguys usually (though im content with writing javier as amab too), with both of them being absolute, unabashed switches. they have little preferences anywhere in terms of bottoming/topping, though kieran has a preference for subbing, and javier has no qualms with domming more frequently.)

• as much raunchy, animalistic sex that javieran have, they have double as much slow, loving, tender sex. and most times between, they’re having raunchy, loving, animalistic sex.

• javi loves to turn kieran’s brain off, he loves more than anything to make kieran feel so overwhelmingly pleasured that he forgets everything that ever has, ever could, or ever will happen to him. nothing gets javier off quite like seeing the face of bliss kieran makes when all he can think about is javier’s mouth/hands/cock working overtime just to make him feel good.

• both of them i think are quite vocal when they’re able to be, and kieran tends to be vocal whether he’s supposed to be or not. both of them often dissolve into whimpers and “i love you”s and praise like “you feel/sound/taste so good” by the end. their love for each other has a carnal grasp on every aspect of their sex lives as well <3 so they’re always speaking so sweetly to each other, even if the way they growl it seems violent

• javier LOVES love bites. he loves to mark kieran up and he especially loves to bite and lick and suck on his neck, not only because of the primal aspect of his jugular being so close (as well as the warmth of his pulse thrumming against his mouth), but also because it arouses kieran to the point of making him shiver nearly every time. javier has permission to bite him hard, but it’s pretty rare that he ever does, and it’s only late into their relationship does javier feel like it will be more pleasure for him than it would just be pain. sometimes he can’t help it though, he’ll get so worked up that he just latches on and the way that kieran tightens around him is mind-numbing.

• unironically i think kieran is a GREAT soft dom, and that is something that javier generally had never experienced prior to getting with kieran. javi thinks it’s hot to be man-handled and roughed up, and kieran can do his very best (despite the constant guilt and fear) if javier is really feeling it, but where he really excels is soft domming. once the nerves melt off, he’s so gentle with javier that it makes the latter’s skin hot all over. constantly praising him, cooing at him, asking him nicely, rewarding him for good behavior, all the while touching him oh-so-gently, it all makes javier feel so awkward but so, so good. kieran makes him feel so loved and worshipped that the world in which he has anything to question simply just fades away, and all he has to think about is doing what meager tasks kieran asks of him.

• they find so much peace in each other’s bodies. in every rib and wrinkle and sunspot, these two will spend hours simply exploring and enjoying the body of the other in whatever the closest form of “privacy” they can manage to acquire. turns out, kieran has sunspots all over him. turns out, javier has a keloid scar on the back of his bicep. turns out, kieran has a mole on his scalp right where his part is (this is canon btw i saw it once when i was studying him in photo mode like a specimen in a petri dish), and javier has back dimples, and kieran’s ribs stutter and dance beautifully when he laughs, and the flex of javier’s thighs warps his skin like a marble statue. javier escuella and kieran duffy love like artists, and they spend hours just learning and looking and studying each other, like a painter with his muse, like a writer with his words, like the last things they want to see while they’re dying are all the hours they spent learning the beauty of the other.

i could honestly come up with more but it would never leave my drafts, so i hope u like these that i came up with as quick as i could :’) ! i hope you’re feeling better and have gotten some good rest !! thank you for the ask !!!!!

#thank you for always coming to chat with me :’) especially on a hard day. i hope you know you are appreciated no matter how you feel and #that you do good things for people’s lives every day. even if you don’t know it or notice or if they don’t tell you. your existence inherent #ly makes the world a better place #and i can say that with confidence because you do it for me every time you come to say hello or share my love for javieran :’) i do hope #you’re feeling much better today ! i apologize for this post taking so long. i struggle a lot with coming up with things without prompt and #i also had a friend over so it took me a little while to come up with anything i thought was worth reading about !#i love them :’) thank you for giving me the chance to talk about them a bit ! i need to actually write them soon …….. they are so special to #me waugh #i usually have lots to say in the tags but i truly used the entirety of my last braincell for this so that’s all i’ve got for now </3 #i love you ! be well ! make sure you’re eating and drinking lots of water !!!#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #kieran duffy #javier escuella #javieran #text #art #kinda i guess #hero draws sometimes #hero more like shakespeare #hero’s javier #hero’s kieran #hero’s javieran #ask #hero's yelling at folks again #galacta-phantasma #i think that’s it. lord. now i’m going to run on the treadmill for 10 hours ! bye !

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moonlightsprompts · 2 years ago

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# 67 Dc x Dp

Danny had been cursed when traveling the infinite realms he was exploring a world where the year was 1528, he had been exploring when a person uses magic to try to bind Danny to himself instead he bonded Danny to the land killing the magic user in the process. Danny became stuck in this new dimension unable to leave, he had no one to look and find him. Over the years many have tried to bond Danny to themselves but ended with their death, and Danny with more chains and being cursed

In the year 1695 people started to settle down in the land that Danny was bound to. Over the years the place became known as Gotham Danny protect everyone he could but he has grown weak because of the chains that hold him down. When Batman appeared and started helping protect Danny's people Danny decided to bless him with protection and each Robin Batman had would be protected

In 2260 another magic user appeared and tried to take control of Danny this time they were able to take control of him, but Danny made sure that the magic user and he could not leave Gotham. Batman had to let The Justices League into his city with a couple of the Justice League Dark. John was the one to tell the bats that the magic user had been able to enslave the Gotham spirit.

#My post #dc x dp au #dp x dc writing prompt #Dpxdc #This could be #Spirit Halloween ship #Bruce x danny #The timeline is this #Danny found and entered a dimension that was in the year 1528 he gets stuck there #He spends 167 years alone #In 1695 people started to settle in the land where Danny was bond too #Danny spends 547 years taking care of and protecting the people that had made the land there home #The year 2242 is when he got his first knightHe would blessed each knight he got for the next 17 years #The year 2260 is when that bats meet Danny the spirit of Gotham #I hope my math was correct #the bats found out that there was an original protector of the city #Danny was upset when Nightwing moved and started protecting the sister city so for a couple of years every time Nightwing returned #Danny made sure at least one bird pooped on him doing his visit #Danny cannot protect any of his knights when they leave Gotham which is why Jason diesHe was able to revive Jason when he was #buried in his soil he tried to lead him back to the manor but Jason was taken before he made it

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n7punk · 5 months ago

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i feel like i used up all my creative ideas on my novel and now when i open a word doc my brain just goes blank

#i am working on femslash february but i have written. 2 fics. and i wanna have one for every even day #(i wanted to do all prompt and the bingo card is 16 for each side but some of the prompts are just. not happening and my brain is mush)#PLUS i was hoping to finish a little early and post some in january??#instead idk if i'll be done in time lmao i have a new commitment starting in a week too....#i WANT to write the words just. dont happen #mylife

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mappingthesky · 1 year ago

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not a prompt necessarily but I’m always down for planymphia angst 🙏🙏🙏

in response to multiple asks i’ve received for planymphia angst… here is this <3

i know baby, no attachment

None of this had been in the plan.

It was the first thing they’d talked about that first night in Jane’s apartment; Neither of them were looking for anything serious. They were both unavailable, incapable of making any promises. Not now. Not yet. It would be clean, simple, no strings attached. Just two people using each other. Innocently, admittedly using each other, but using each other nonetheless.

They’d been on the couch in Jane’s dimly lit apartment. Jane was an obvious sort of gorgeous. It was the first thing Nymphia had noticed about her, what drew her in on that first night they’d met: she’d been wearing something meant to lure you in, hypnotized by the clinging of her clothes to her body, the wave of her hair, her eyes tightlined and sharpened like knives. Jane was almost lethal to look at, all done up and primed to kill; the most magnetic friend-of-a-friend Nymphia had ever been introduced to. She was somehow even more gorgeous now, sitting on the couch in her casual clothes, her face aglow in the light of the television, her auburn hair pulled up into a messy top knot. She was painfully, effortlessly attractive, and, much to Nymphia’s surprise, only so much of a smooth talker. She came off suave at first, all punchlines and quick remarks, but after a while Nymphia could start to see her thinking. Jane would be in the middle of a sentence, flying through it, hurtling towards some revelation, and then she’d catch herself. She’d pause, freeze on a word and scoff at it, like she was considering whether whatever she was about to say would be worth the sentiment. And then she’d go a bit shy, averting her eyes and playing with the pilling on the upholstery, giving away just how carefully considered she was. And just when Nymphia was starting to think that Jane was completely nervous to her core, that Nymphia might actually have the upper hand in this situation, Jane would bring it back. She’d pick her head up and let the words go, say something so stunningly direct and devastating. It left Nymphia a little breathless, a little too endeared, a little too eager to kiss her.

They could have guessed at the chemistry, but it didn’t come close to the real thing.

What happened when Jane’s skin hit Nymphia was the sort of collision that produced suns and planets and supernovas, flinging particles off into space with enough pressure to form entire worlds. Nymphia could practically see the stars behind her eyes, fluttering shut when Jane was hovering above her, hand between her legs, finding some undiscovered place that Nymphia didn’t know had been there all along, waiting to be found. Jane turned Nymphia’s body into something more than it was before, transforming her irrevocably. Jane was a comet crashing through her atmosphere, and Nymphia was awe-struck, staring at the sky and watching the sparks shower. You can’t be prepared for such life-altering things, it's what makes them so devastating.

What neither of them could have predicted was the ease of what came after - the lying in bed, talking about it. The debrief. Nymphia was a bit too happily fucked, and unwilling to share the extent of her satisfaction. She was worried she would come off easy, inexperienced somehow. Jane, however, was endlessly attentive. She wanted Nymphia’s experience of the encounter, all the details - what she liked, what satisfied her the most, what she wanted more of. Her sheer desire to please was enough to pull the details out of Nymphia. She was rewarded when Jane allowed her to relive it, this time through Jane’s eyes. Jane’s gaze was far off with remembering, a smile playing at her lips as she recounted her experience of Nymphia in such erotic detail, every telling arch and shudder, and the whole thing was so overwhelmingly flattering that it sort of made Nymphia want to do it all over again.

Nymphia had known better than to pack an overnight bag. She thought she had, anyway.

Her eyes were closed and she was nearly asleep when she’d mumbled, ‘I should be going soon.”

Jane just chuckled. “You’re half asleep already.” Her fingers trailed up the curve of Nymphia’s thigh. “Just spend the night. If you want to.”

Nymphia's eyes were suddenly open, “Yeah?” Jane traced stars onto her hip.

“Mhm,” Jane hummed, eyes flickering up, then back to the curve of Nymphia’s waist.

Nymphia closed her eyes, savored in the feeling of Jane on her skin. A long moment passed.

“D’you cuddle? Or is that against the rules.”

Jane’s hum was an amused look at you asking so soon. She was already pulling Nymphia to her chest.

That first night turned into a three-day sleepover, because of course it did. Nymphia and Jane stretched themselves over the long arc of the weekend, sharing the sort of welcome, unexpected ease that you can’t put down, the kind that you’ll happily destroy your routine over and resign yourself to picking up the pieces after the fact. One weekend became another, and then occasional nights at Nymphia’s apartment with the door shut and her duvet crumpled at the end of the bed. And then they added the weekday rendezvous: Nymphia meeting Jane at her place after work on Thursday evenings, promising not to keep her up late and failing miserably, leaning her head on Jane’s shoulder in the morning as she locked the door on her way out. And then Nymphia was bleeding into Jane’s week, her Tuesdays and Wednesdays, her breakfasts and dinners, her late-night ice cream cravings and subsequent walks to 7-11. And then it was all too regular: Nymphia and Jane, Jane and Nymphia.

It's been a few months now, and there are so many things Nymphia loves about Jane.

She loves how Jane drives with one hand on her thigh, or with her fingers in her mouth. How she looks over to the passenger seat with that special look that's reserved just for Nymphia, and makes her feel like the only person she's ever wanted. She loves how she listens to her music loud, sings along when she’s drunk and tossing her hair, or when it's Sunday morning and she’s at the stove and there’s a record spinning in the living room. Nymphia loves how unabashed Jane is, how bold. How she never hesitates when it comes to the people in her life, how to be loved by Jane is to be fiercely defended by her. Nymphia loves how Jane kisses her in the middle of her sentences, especially when she's talking too much. She loves that Jane is so rough. How she can fuck her like she hates her. She loves how Jane can be so tender. How she can fuck her soft and slow, as reverent as religion. How Jane can make a mess of her, then put her back together again.

There are so many things Nymphia hates.

She hates that Jane is so impulsive, how she strikes so thoughtlessly, how she has to return to the wounds later to draw the venom out of them. How Jane is so stubborn, so set in her ways, so inflexible. How there’s two Janes - the one she’s with now, the one she is around her friends. The one who doesn’t kiss her, hardly touches her aside from a possessive arm around her shoulder or a tap on her knee. How the real Jane, Nymphia’s Jane, emerges as soon as they’re alone together, the one who will see her downturned gaze on the way home and coo what can I do, princess? Hmm? What can I do to see that pretty smile? Nymphia hates that she forgives Jane so easily, that she crumbles every time, that she loves Jane completely and entirely and beyond any measure of hurt that she could unknowingly inflict upon her.

She hates that she’s still sitting at this party, long after Jane promised they’d leave. She hates that Jane’s friends clearly like her; they laugh at Nymphia’s jokes, compliment her shoes, send knowing glances and winks across the room every time Jane so much as mentions her name. She hates how, when they ask what they are, Jane is all too quick to brush them off.

It's obvious that Nymphia’s upset by the way she pounds up the stairs, by the way she wordlessly digs through her purse for her keys, by the way the anger and the hurt and the disappointment emanate from her like poison.

“I just can’t believe they asked that,” Jane scoffs. Nymphia says nothing, gritting her teeth as she turns the key in the lock.

It should be obvious, but Jane is a bit too self-absorbed to notice.

“Like, we don’t even know what we are,” Jane says, and Nymphia feels sick, because she thought she did. “Why would she put me on the spot like that? In front of everyone?”

Nymphia pushes into the apartment, beelining for the kitchen.

“I mean, it was weird, right?” Jane continues, relentless. “Why do they need to know so bad?”

“Yeah,” Nymphia’s voice is hard, laced with venom. She chucks her keys onto the counter with a little too much force. “Why would they?”

“Right,” Jane doesn’t notice. “It would be nice if they could just let us-“

“I don’t know why they could possibly be so confused.” Nymphia interrupts, working off her thigh-highs.

Jane misses a beat. “Wait. Are you-“

“I can’t fucking imagine why they’d think that we’re together.” Nymphia lets her boots drop to the floor, one gut-wrenching smack after the other.

Jane blinks, brows knit together. Nymphia straightens up, fumbles with things on the counter that don’t need to be fumbled with. “Are you upset about this?”

“Why would I be upset?” Nymphia picks up a stray mug, sets it down again. “You just told all of your friends that we’re nothing serious. Why would I ever be upset about that, Jane?”

“I didn’t say that, Nymph,” Jane starts, already on the defense. “I said that we’re something.”

“Oh, right. My bad.” Nymphia scoffs. “We’re something. Let me know when you’re ready to illuminate me on whatever the fuck that means, Jane.”

Jane recoils at Nymphia’s profanity, unfamiliar with her frustration. She’s never seen her like this- so hurt, so ready to retaliate.

It's not funny. Jane shouldn’t laugh. She really shouldn’t, but she’s viscerally uncomfortable and horrifically unprepared for this situation, so she does anyways. “Are you really angry about this?”

The whole thing is white hot and embarrassing, and Nymphia has tears in her eyes when she turns and whips her purse to the floor.

Jane jumps. “What the fuck?” She’s wide-eyed, both hands held up in shock. “Nymphia. Are you serious right now?”

“I don’t know Jane,” Nymphia bites. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“I kinda thought you might be,” Nymphia steps over her bag. “Y’know, because you cut me a key to your fucking apartment. I thought maybe that constituted we were more than,” she curls her fingers in the air, “something”.

Jane shakes her head, jaw tight and temple pulsing. When she speaks, it's in a lower voice, almost ashamed. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You never want to talk about it!” Nymphia’s voice cracks, a desperate wail. Jane’s mouth opens, already halfway towards defending herself until she looks at Nymphia and sees her bottom lip quivering, the spilling over of her tears. Jane looked back with a concerned, almost panicked expression, lips frozen and slightly parted.

“Do you love me, Jane? Do you even fucking like me?”

Nymphia surprises herself with the question. She’s so amped up, so high on adrenaline that she lets it all out- the culmination of weeks of words she’d bitten back, suddenly pouring forth from where they’d been collecting in a lump in her throat.

“No, seriously, do you? Because I can’t fucking tell. I think you do, because- because you say all these beautiful things, and you spend so much time with me, and you take such good fucking care of me. So you must fucking love me, right? But when your friends ask, I have to sit there and listen to you tell them that we’re something. Like it’s so fucking confusing to you. Like it's a goddamn secret. Do you know what that feels like?”

Nymphia is fully pacing now, walking the length of the kitchen over and over again. Jane follows her with wincing, pained eyes.

What Nymphia hates, more than anything, is that she doesn’t hate Jane at all. Not for any of it.

“I’m fucking in love with you, Jane, alright?” Nymphia whines, hands whipping through the air with frustration. “I’m so in love with you, and everybody fucking knows it. Your friends, my friends, my mom, everyone! But no one seems to have any goddamn clue if you love me too. And you know what? I’m not sure if I do, either.”

When she finally expels the last of the words from the hole in her heart, Nymphia looks up through her tears. She can barely stomach the sight of Jane, lips parted and wordless, unsure of what to do with the outpouring of Nymphia’s heart. She stares at her, eyes twisted in pain, then looks to the ground, like Nymphia’s words have slid off her and collected in a puddle at her feet. Nymphia just cries, a pained and exhausted whimper on her lips as she pushes past Jane and into the living room. She collapses on one end of the couch, pulling her knees to her chest and hiding her face behind one hand, hot tears sliding down her cheeks and into her mouth.

Jane stands in the center of the room with her back turned, still facing the phantom of Nymphia’s words that may very well haunt her kitchen forever. Her head is spinning, because how the fuck did this happen. Nymphia is openly sobbing behind her, and the sound is so gut-wrenching that Jane is nauseated.

Nymphia makes a horrible, shuddering gasp for air and Jane finally breaks, crossing the room and dropping to her knees on the floor where Nymphia sits. She doesn’t even look at her, just sobs, and Jane can physically feel her heart fucking breaking.

“Nymphia,” she says, placing her palm on Nymphia’s knee. “Nymph. Hey.”

Nymphia shakes her head, face contorted with tears. She flinches at Jane’s hand like it fucking hurts, and Jane winces as the guilt slices through her. She exhales a sharp puff of defeat and drops her head in hurt.

Nymphia just cries and cries, and the reality of the situation sinks in Jane’s stomach with every sob. She’s sick to her stomach with concern, worried that Nymphia might actually fucking hyperventilate, and then she’s gently begging the girl to breathe. She goes to reach for Nymphia again and pauses, scared to reach out, scared to hurt Nymphia, scared that she’ll recoil from her again. It’s then that Jane knows, for the first time in all of her life, what she wants. She knows, right as it threatens to slip out of her hands.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Jane hears her own voice. Her words hang in the air for a moment, floating like smoke between Nymphia’s shaky, shattered breaths. Jane looks up.

“This,” she says, a tentative hand on Nymphia’s knee. “What you and I have. I’ve never-”

The words are hard for Jane to stomach. They don’t pour out like Nymphia’s do. They catch in her throat, feel wrong in her mouth. She’s not sure they’ll be enough.

“I’ve never had this with anyone,” she says. “I’ve never wanted to. Not until now.”

Nymphia wipes at her eyes, shudders a bit as her breathing quiets.

“I, um,” Jane glances down, scared to look. “I don’t know how.”

Nymphia finally looks at Jane, so small and nervous and crumbling at her feet. She wants to take her hand, to show her, to be endlessly patient even if it kills her. The desire is so enormous, even now. She almost hates herself for it.

“I know I’m fucking it up,” Jane says to the floor, her voice tiny and wavering. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

“I just need to know,” Nymphia whispers.

Nymphia swallows hard, and then Jane looks up and its so fucking harrowing, so moving, because Nymphia can see the guilt in her eyes, the desire, the glimmer of words she can’t figure out how to say. She watches as she considers, catches herself, lets it go.

“I do.” Jane says. Nymphia’s heart plummets, because she knows what she means.

“I don’t want to say it now,” Jane says. “I don’t want it to be an apology. I want you to know I mean it. Is that okay?”

Nymphia nods and Jane mutters over and over I do, I do, you know I do.

It's beautiful and tragic and overwhelming, and Nymphia wants to crash into Jane, to merge together and surpass the need for words entirely. It's too soon to know yet if it's for better or for worse, only that she does it - that she reaches out and takes Jane’s hand.

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, a bit of Jane laughing at herself. “But I want to try.”

Nymphia just nods and feels more tears streaming down her cheeks, and Jane’s crying too, and then they’re crashing into each other. Nymphia is leaning down and throwing her arms around Jane, who is sitting forward and clinging to her like she’s scared to let her go. Like she caught a shooting star in her bare fucking hands.

It's a whisper against her hair, but Nymphia hears it. “Can I try again?”

Nymphia could hate herself for it for all of forever. She’s prepared to. Jane doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she doesn't either. Nymphia nods anyway.

It's a new world, one of their own making. It's unexplored, uncharted, and they’re venturing into it together, hand in shaking hand. It's dangerous. She’s doing it anyway. She might hate herself for it. It might be the bravest thing she’s ever done.

#take a shot every time jane says something 3 times in a row in one of my fics #also. too many commas. AND WHAT ABOUT IT #i just want you to know i’ve had this one in mind for literal weeks #and i had it in my drafts on AO3 AND I FUCKING LET IT EXPIRE #AND THE WAY I HAD TO WRITE THIS FROM MEMORY…#i love u guys. u better be grateful <3 #WOOOO ANGSTY #with a hopeful ending #because i am sooooo nice ::)#prompt #she writes #planymphia #chappell roan inspired OFC #shoutout 2 my muse also. u inspire me #but not with angst. just with ur brilliance #OK BYE

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hehkshew · 6 months ago

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The Touch of Death (H/azbin H/otel) A/ngel D/ust x A/lastor [1600 Words]

[This one was a lovely prompt sent to me by @itsallsternutation ! This was so much fun to write and I hope you enjoy it!] A/ngel unfortunately ends up getting sick and A/lastor is not the greatest at dealing with situations like this. He still tries his best, even if it's not that great.

When Alastor usually awoke in the mornings, he was immediately filled with motivation, to be in the mood for constant Chaos in Charlie's silly little Hotel. Messing around with stupid antics and mind games enough to drive anyone in Hell mad.

He had his routines, to wake up earlier than everyone else. Be able to spend some time unbothered by the resting world and get ready.

And he was always the first one awake.

Except now this time, he wasn’t.

How he was able to tell that? He’d gotten prepared as he felt he should, still in his sleepwear but presentable enough on the odd chance he did encounter another sinner.

The second he stepped out from his bedroom out towards the hallway, he felt the difference in the air immediately. As if the entire energy of the Hotel had suddenly changed.

But there was a difference in the air, blinking as he was greeted by the unmistakable scent of freshly made coffee. Mixed in with a strong menthol smell, almost overpowering. Narrowing his eyes as he tightened his dressing gown belt up tighter, moving himself to go investigate.

As he stepped down the far too many stairs, he felt a twinge of relief at the emptiness, he certainly couldn’t see anyone here. He still kept guarded regardless, just as a precaution.

He’d moved to the living room, seemingly the source of the smell by judging how strong it was. Almost letting out a gasp at the scene displayed in front of him.

The living room was demolished.

Figuratively of course, but the room looked a wreck.

Strewn across the velvety couches were dozens of crumpled tissues, half-harradly thrown across as if whoever had used them had no energy to make any effort at aiming towards a bin.

The table littered with various bottles and cups. Alastor hesitating as he picked it up, holding it at a distance but close enough to be able to read the letters. A brown bottle of cold-medicine. Half empty as if it had been shotgunned like a drink. Guanty bold letters displayed on the front, ‘INSTANT RELIEF!’

“What in Hell’s name…?” Alastor muttered, taking a cautious step back, pausing immediately as he felt something wet soak against his exposed heel from his slippers. A grimace, “Ugh-” as he stepped back from the offending object, trying ever so hard to forget what that wetness might be from.

Alastor wasn’t a germaphobe.

Not by a long shot, he wasn’t afraid of something as simple as germs!

Yet did he wince every time someone started to sniffle a little too close to him? Leaving the room the moment someone had even the slightest of mentions of feeling nauseous? Washing his hands every time he touched anything in the Hotel after finding out one of the members were sick?

…That was perfectly reasonable!

Regardless, he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh as the implications began to become far more clear. “Wonderful… Tissues… And cold medicine…”

His voice trailing off as his ear started to flicker, hearing the sound of the door creaking. Turning to it as his eyes focused on the bathroom door. He glanced back at the mess around him with half a mind to burn down the whole room when he heard it. A harsh wet sound echoing loudly from the room.

‘...Hh’ihh.. Hh- hHHihH’KSHHH!’

The noise was unmistakably identifiable, and so was the voice.

“Oh no…” Alastor muttered to himself, realisation slamming into him at full force, already gathering the implications of someone being unwell. But his partner?

This was worse than he thought.

He now had to face two equally horrifying fates.

Either abandoning his delicately crafted morning plans to retreat away from this whole forming mess, or face the infectious chaos that would await him if he stayed here any longer.

Surely Angel would be fine, he didn’t need Alastor! He was tough enough to handle himself.

Alastor could just vanish and everything would be okay, he just needed to-

‘Hih’KSHHhh!!’

Another harsh sneezed followed by a muffled groan, sounding fully pitiful. He faltered, feeling stirring with something… Unexpected for the situation.

Annoyance warred with concern, and what was worse? Concern was winning.

He sighed, already regretting the decision he knew he’d already made.

As he tentatively creeped closer to the bathroom door, he kept his footsteps light, as if it would keep everything else quiet. “Darling?” He called softly, tone dampered with caution, “What on earth is going on in there?”

The door creaked open just enough for Alastor to take in the pitiful sight. Angel Dust, wrapped in one of Alastor’s oversized red robes, one he’d have to burn later. Sat on the floor, knees to his chest as he sniffled, a box of tissues sitting besides him. Almost fully empty as a few were littered around the tiles.

His fur ruffled and matted, a slight dampness to it of sweat. Alastor not needing to be an idiot to miss how clear it was Angel had a fever. Yet his cheeks were flushed, from whether sickness or embarrassment, Alastor couldn’t immediately tell.

“Oh, hey Babe.” Angel croaked, his voice barely recognizable beneath the layers of congestion dampering it, he sniffled loudly as he wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, “Don’t mind me, just dyin’ a little. No biggie”

Alastor recoiling instinctively, holding onto the doorframe so he wouldn’t force himself to leave. Messing with the lapel of his gown as if the fabric would shield him from the miasma of illness lingering. “I take it you’re unwell?” He asked, though the answer was glaringly obvious.

Angel snorted, though his breath hitched as he ducked his head down to sneeze again, “Mm, what tipped ya off? Me sneezin’ louder than a gunshot or the fact I’m lookin’ like something you’d drag in after a hunt?”

Alastor wrinkled his nose, not pleased with the confirmation he’d asked for. “Bless you…” A part of his mind screaming at him to retreat. But as he looked closer at Angel, slumped and curled up looking utterly miserable on the bathroom floor, he felt a twinge of regret.

He’d never really seen Angel like this, and it was a little frightening.

He wanted to leave but he didn’t want to leave Angel.

He needed to take responsibility.

“Well,” Alastor began, carefully picking how he chose his words, “I can’t say that I’m exactly thrilled about this turn of events. But…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a huff, “If you’re going to wallow in illness, could you perhaps do so without leaving your… Remains all over my furniture?”

Angel’s lips twitched into a weak smirk, “Aw, c’mon, you ain’t mad, are ya? Can’t help that I’m all snotty and dying.”

Alastor opened his mouth to retort how Angel was very much still alive, but faltered as Angel let out a weak cough. It sounded sickening, not in a way that revolted him, though it did have a good effect at doing that. But it sounded in a way that made him feel far more sympathetic.

He closed his mouth as he knelt down carefully, almost hesitant as if he were approach something rabid. Deciding to just go for it as he placed a firm hand on Angel’s shoulder, squeezing it as he rubbed at it slightly.

“I’m not mad at you for being unwell.” Alastor said at last, softened. “But, I am concerned. You do honestly look absolutely dreadful.”

“Gee, thanks.” Angel muttered sarcastically, tone lacking his usual bite.

Alastor’s mind raced, on one hand now that they’d had this little talk, he wanted to now leave and put as much space between them as possible until this little illness went away. But on the other hand, he would be a rather shitty partner if he were to just leave Angel like this. Not when he was clearly suffering.

“Stay right here,” Alastor instructed, rising to his feet. “I’m… going to handle this.”

Angel blinked up at him with a sniffled, squinting his exhausted eyes skeptically, “Handle what? You ain’t planning to lock me in a room to quarantine me, are ya?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Alastor snapped, a little called out that Angel had so quickly guessed the thoughts in his mind. “I’m going to fetch you some proper supplies. Because clearly you seem incapable of taking care of yourself in this state.”

Before Angel could respond, Alastor disappeared into the kitchen. Leaving him alone. A few minutes of silence before his favourite Deer had returned to the bathroom, a tray precariously balanced in his hands. “Since you seem keen on making this the room you’ll infect, I’ve brought remedies.”

Angel stared at the tray with a sniffle, expression unreadable. “So, what’s all this?”

The tray being meticulously balanced with an array of items. A steaming mug of tea, a small dish of honey, and what only looked to be more medication and a scarf.

“Provisions,” Alastor grinning, matter-of-factly, setting the tray down on the bathroom counter as he grabbed the scarf, wrapping it around Angel's neck despite the two being indoors.

He adjusted, grabbing the cup of tea as he carefully helped it into Angels shaking hands. “And some tea may help your throat, it wouldn’t be nice of you to die on me, Darling.” He hummed.

“Of course.” Angel hummed, grinning exhaustedly. “You’re such a weirdo, y’know that?”

“Thank you,” Alastor replied with a small smile, another firm hand on Angel’s shoulder as distant reassurance. “Now,” He stood. “Drink up, and for Lucifer’s sake, stop leaving tissues everywhere. You’ll attract pests.” Leaving Angel with his supplies.

Angel chuckled, his laugh turning into a cough as he smiled warmly beneath the scarf wrapped around him. Because despite Alastor's distance? He knew he cared.

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blizzardfluffykpop · 7 months ago

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Christmassy [12 days of Winter Year #8]

(Tagged as: Wintertime 3)

The group you can request for is THE BOYZ (requests closed for: Sangyeon, Younghoon, Hyunjae, Changmin, Sunwoo, and Eric)

To request; pick a prompt and a member of TBZ, and the specific reader you want it for (if not specified, I’ll make it gender neutral). And if the genre is not specified, it will be fluff.

Completed stories will be posted every odd numbered day of December!

Prompts that are strikethrough have been requested.

Please request!!!

[Requests are closed as of 12/6 - thank you all for helping me close it this early!! 🥺💖🥰]

------

A festive storyteller

“You’re just what I always wanted, a Christmas delight.”

Making snowmen and failing miserably.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look beautiful underneath Christmas lights?”

Christmas On and On! (Choose a member’s proposal from the Christmassy mv & send it in~)

“What do you say to matching pajamas, watching Christmas movies, and hot cocoa?”

First snowfall on the *car* track

“I wish you could come home for Christmas.” “Open your door.”

A Creepmas [supernatural and/or horror themed] party

“Let’s make Christmas cookies together.”

“I don’t want to get ice cream, it's freezing out! We’re going to get frostbite!” “I think it’d be fun.” “Yes, I agree, let’s do it.” (Loosely based off of the Monster House line “...I don’t wanna go inside a monster and I don’t wanna die.” “I say it’s worth a shot.” “Yes, I agree, let’s do it.”).

Make your own prompt!

#12 days of christmas #12 days of winter #kpop #kpop requests #winter prompts #christmas prompts #winter/christmas prompts #wintertime 3 #12 days of winter year 8 #the boyz #tbz #request #please request #kpop fanfic requests #kpop christmas #prompts #winter christmas #fluff #requests?#requests open #writing requests #writing prompts #prompt list #i usually have four groups you can request for (at least)- but i am vv drained rn- and only have energy to write for tbz-#but regardless- i hope you guys have as much reading these fics as much as i will be having writing these!#as a preemptive measure: thank you so much for your request!!!#it's wild that it's been 8 yrs since i started doing these- but this is the first time i've done it for only one group- it's also been that #long since i've posted my first fic here- and idk i comment about this almost every year now- but it's wild to me-#once a member has two (or by accidentally 4- cause i did not arrive to my ask box fast enough) requests he gets closed~#and also my favorite prompt got requested 2/3ish times but!! I will be making one for each bc i wanted to write about christmassy proposals

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tallmadgeandtea · 3 months ago

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TURN OC WEEK:

Inner Demons/Greatest Fear

Elizabeth’s greatest obstacle is definitely her anxiety, and that self doubt that comes with it. Because she had little support from her family after her mother’s death, she has a lot of insecurities about the way she conducts herself— the way she speaks, what she says, and how other people see her. And since she’s used to handling it all herself, it’s hard to accept help from others, even if she desperately wants to learn so she can be independent and confident— at least… a little.

Here is a scene from Chapter 8 of SS&SP where Liz finally lets down some walls:

“I don’t know how to live the way you want me to. The way I need to.”

And it was too late to change.

It had to be-

“It’s alright.” Benjamin said.

“What?”

He stepped forward, throwing himself in front of Hamilton, Tilghman, and the Marquis. “It’s alright, Miss Walker. We- we can work with this. We can figure it out.” He nodded, muttered something to himself, “Yes, we can.”

“Major-”

“We will help you, like we said we would. Don’t you remember?”

“I- I-” she couldn’t even think.

“I have the code book,” Benjamin explained, “I give you the names of the targets, an alias for yourself. Hamilton helps with the finances, the cash. Tilghman is your escort, your guide. And the Marquis can be your-” his words halted, “what’s the word?”

Lafayette leaned forward, “A governess, Tallmadge.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t know where to look, who to speak to, what to say, “But, Major-”

The men were already nodding, already agreeing.

“And, believe or not, Miss Walker,” Hamilton remarked, “you and I have had very similar upbringings. I was the chief clerk for a merchant when I was fourteen. I can help-”

Help.

That was what upset her, set off another bomb-

“Miss Walker, why are you-”

“Because I shouldn’t have had to even ask for your help, gentlemen!” she cried. “I shouldn't even need it! God,” she scoffed, wiped away a tear with the handkerchief, “you don’t need me, gentlemen. You can just send me home. You can go back to your raids. You can find someone else to get you supplies.”

“I’m afraid we will not find anyone else who will say ‘yes,’ Miss Walker.” Benjamin said.

He was looking at her the same way he had in the tavern, when they were alone, and she said yes.

When decided she was going to change her life.

He took two more steps forward, and then he was in front of her.

He was in front of her.

She pulled herself up and stood.

“We will help you, Miss Walker. I will help you.” He stared into her eyes with so much sincerity, shining through the same passion, the same fire as that snowy night.

She still couldn’t believe it, “You shouldn’t have to, Major. You trusted me, and I lied.”

“And I still do. You trusted me enough to admit you needed help, didn’t you? And I will give that help, Miss Walker. I will give you whatever you need. I will keep my promise to you, just as you have with me.”

She sighed. “I do not deserve such patience and kindness from you, Major.”

“No, you’re right.” The fire slowly left, his eyes softened, “You deserve more patience and kindness than the world has ever given you.”

Oh, it was hard.

It was hard to think she did.

“But I shall try to make up for it,” Benjamin said. “I help you, just as you have helped us.” He tilted his head to the side, and smiled, “Alright?”

Elizabeth was going to stay.

Elizabeth was going to change her life.

“Alright.”

Benjamin’s smile grew- just slightly, just enough for her to see it.

“Good. Let’s get to work.”

#MY FAMILY #does this fit the prompt? I hope so #if I posted every moment where she was anxious well… just post the whole fic I’d fear #but anyways. MY FAMILY.#Elizabeth Walker #SS&SP #Amanda writes (kind of)#turn OC week #turn OC week 2025

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