#i love them both severely tho

[redwayfarers]

'ajde bar noćas budi mi drug

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Hilda Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Hilda Ware Rating: Gen Words: 1457 Spoilers: minor spoilers for MCH level 70 questline Title taken from Skačem, skači which has been on Nika's playlist before any other song. Slavic mutuals, this one's for you <3 read on ao3 dividers by @saradika

There’s something about Hilda. Nika’s known it for a while now - he likes so few people, and she’s never given him cause to ditch their budding friendship; besides, she makes a wonderful drinking buddy. And a mean card player. He knows this from observation. He doesn’t dare sit before her, cards in hand, and have to give up what little dignity he has. That was for Limsa, and for a simpler time. Instead, he prefers to just sit at the same table, watch the game and shout a hearty, “Better luck next time!” to the loser.

When she gives him a dirty look, however, he stops. This whole concept of.. Caring about others’ opinions feels oddly familiar and oddly new at the same time. He doesn’t play cards against her because he doesn’t want people laughing at him, fair enough. He can admit, albeit wordlessly, that she’s better than him. But the way the disapproval in her eyes cuts him is new. This isn’t a reputation thing - he wants Hilda’s opinion of him to be good, what a weird fucking thing to want, so he stops doing the shit she finds offensive. 

Yeah, that shit’s weird. Luckily for him, though, life takes him away from the Brume often so he doesn’t have to question it. What little he is there, overseeing the Hounds’ machinist training when Rostnsthal goes to take a breather, he feels much better. They’re on his ground, his playing field. It’s his approval that matters. 

Hilda’s good, though. The Hounds need some refinement, but Hilda - Hilda’s good. Hilda has no need for his opinion. Instead, he can say, “Do it like she does.” And not only is her aim really fucking good, she’s also beautiful. And he wants to be in her good graces. 

As Ishgardians say, Fury take her. 

And so it happens that Rostnsthal is away, Nika’s overseeing the training for the week, and Hilda’s the one currently taking the aim. She’s tied her hair back in a messy bun, she’s dressed in another black jacket which contrasts sharply with the paleness of her skin, and her grip on the gun is stable, solid, and unshaking. She tilts her head slightly as she adjusts, giving Nika a nice view of her neck. 

The sound of a shot going off brings him back to reality. 

“How was that, Mr. Sharpshooter?” Hilda laughs. “You were paying such attention.” 

“Do you want me to open a dictionary and find synonyms for 'good’?” Nika shakes his head. “I don’t think you really need my opinion.” 

“I do. You’re the big, bad Warrior of Light, and me, I’m a mongrel from the Brume. If ya put in a good word for me with your blue-blooded friends, I’d be the next Archbishop.” 

“You’re grossly overestimating my influence. Or maybe my liking of them.” Nika makes a face. “I wanna shoot half of them in the face. Member of the Heavensward, off you go. Annoying asshole, off you go. That’s a solid chunk of Ishgard’s nobility.”

Not Artoirel, though. Emmanellain, too. Stephanivien, as well. Aymeric. The thought of putting a gun to Artoirel’s head makes him sick. He knows he’ll take it bravely, but he also knows Stephanivien and Aymeric would hunt him down for it. 

It’s not only Hilda’s good opinion that he cares about, after all. 

Nika kicks the snow under his feet. 

“I agree,” Hilda says. “But it doesn’t change the fact you were staring at me.” 

“Fine– I think you’re not only good at aiming, but also good-looking. Is it a crime in the Brume to be attracted to people?” Nika taps a nail against the trigger of his firearm. 

“Not at all.” Hilda smiles. She walks over, the end of her weapon clinks against the metal of her tall boots, and she looks up at him. Her lips are full and red from the cold and her eyes shine in amusement and pleasure. “Join me for mulled wine later? Maybe a card game, if your pride lets you?”

Nika huffs. “It’s not about pride, woman– but yes. I will join you for mulled wine. It’s stupidly cold in Ishgard.”  

Hilda places a hand on his forearm. “I’ll make sure it’s all warm for you, Nika.” 

Well, it looks like Nika’s in for a good night. It’s not Artoirel - it will never be Minfilia - but it’s as good as he’s going to get. He likes mulled wine, anyway. 

*** 

The bed is warm, soft and lived in. Well, fucked in. Nika doesn’t have the habit of sleeping in other people’s beds unless he stays the night with them, which doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s a harmless action - extending your stay in someone’s life for a fraction of a moment, just to fall down the long mountain of oblivion. Normally, it would make his chest ache. When it comes to sex, however, that’s the price he’s willing to pay for some extra skin-to-skin contact. 

Hilda’s sitting on the edge of the bed, as naked as he is. He’s watching the muscles of her back move as she re-ties her hair. The room is simple, gray, a room of an ouvrière, much like the apartment he grew up in. Later came the paintings and the vases and the flower pots; he recalls how happy it made his mother when Lucretia showed up on their door with a huge bouquet of flowers in her hands, with how much care she’d put them in a vase, how sweetly she’d kiss her and whisper a word of gratitude. Nika thought it was all weird at the time. He was just a kid. An asshole kid, sure, one who frowned deeply at the soft kisses, but a kid nonetheless. 

Unfortunately, asshole kids grow up into asshole adults. But sometimes, it’d be nice if– Nika’s not a flowers type of person, but surely, it’d be nice if someone gave him a big, feathered hat? Surely, it’d be nice if anyone ever liked him back enough to do that for him? 

Not Hilda, though. He isn’t expecting her to. They were both looking for a momentary distraction and fun, and that’s what they got. Orgasms are a neat little thing too. Nika likes them, and so does Hilda. 

Yet, when she buries her fingers in his hair and massages his scalp, all thoughts somehow scatter. Nika slithers over to be closer, and Hilda just continues to softly thug on the strands. He gives a little sigh of contentment. Then, out of fucking nowhere, her hand disappears. 

“Why’d you stop?” he asks, before he’s fully aware of what he’s saying. And how he’s saying it. He sounds so stupidly needy, like a spoiled little fuckwit, and he buries his fingers in the pillow out of embarrassment. 

“I’m coming back,” she says. “I was just thirsty. Why’d you get so worked up about it?” 

Nika purses his lips. “None of your business.” 

“I promise you, I didn’t just invite you here to have my fun and kick you out–” 

“That would’ve been more merciful,” Nika replies. His chest feels tight, his body too big and uncomfortable. Yet his skin tingles sorrowfully. 

“What? You want to be simply used and kicked out like some annoying asshole’s servant? Am I reading ya correctly, Nika?” Hilda’s now staring at him in confusion, and he curls even more on the bed. “In what world is that merciful?” 

Nika doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what to say. He was never this desperate before. It feels like a curse, and it makes him want to crawl out of his skin. And he would’ve been fine if he just didn’t say it like that, like he’s so deprived he’s about to beg for–

“Hilda,” he says, trying to rein in the storm in his throat. “Don’t ask me that question. Now if you’d be so kind as to kick me out, butt ass naked–” 

She pushes him so that he’s sprawled on the bed, and lays down on him without a word. The room’s warm, her skin’s warm, but he doesn’t mind it. He really doesn’t. It even feels good - his hands wrap around her and it feels offensively nice. It fights against the urge to walk away and wins, even. 

“I thought you were thirsty?” Nika croaks, and falls further into a pool of shame. 

“I can wait for a few more minutes. ‘Sides, who said I’m done with you?” 

Nika blinks. “If you want me to do something–” 

“Just lay there, be a personal heater and look pretty. Right now, that’s all I ask of ya.” 

Nika sighs. “If you say so,” he murmurs. 

It looks like he’s in for a long, and much to his own chagrin, good night. 

[starculler]

strap in for this week's fic flavor: the failsafe episode of season one of the young justice cartoon except the simulation just won't. fuckin. end.

(fics that inspired this at the end)

If I ever did sit down to make my own fic, I'd split it in 3 parts:

The Simulation: bits and pieces of the 40 years Dick lives after most everyone he knows has died

The Return: the immediate aftermath and healing from the trauma of having not-quite-actually lived a whole life only to wake up and find out it was all fake. nothing traumatizing about that whatsoever.

The Unintended Consequence: aka the twist I'd love to add and would hint to in the second part - finding out the simulation, through martian mind fuckery, pulled from the real world (and in many cases, from real minds). Dick meets a bunch of people he didn't think were real outside the confines of his simulated life. A bunch of rowdy, heroism-inclined teens across the years get to meet the sibling/friend/mentor figure they all dreamed up one night.

(actual idea snippets under the cut)

.

Dick Grayson is 14 and most of the world's heroes have died. He planned a suicide mission that left him the sole survivor of a doomed team he helped found. The invasion may have been stopped, but is this really the price he wanted to pay?

The first face he sees in the infirmary is Roy's, and he has to close his eyes and just breathe for a few minutes because for one painful moment he'd thought it was Wally. But this isn't the world where his best friend miraculously survived alongside him. This is the one where he got his best friend killed and didn't even give him the courtesy of following behind him. Behind them.

.

Dick Grayson is 27 and has lived longer without Bruce than with him. The invasion's anniversary is always a tough day for him, but that morning seems especially harrowing. He'll get shit for it later, but can't resist stepping out onto the balcony of the manor's master bedroom (Bruce's old bedroom) for a smoke -- his first since he'd promised to quit if Jason, just 15 then, did too.

"Bad habits tend to pile up," he'd said, a rueful quirk to his tired grin. He'd tapped the cigarette twice on the railing and added, lower, "and this one's especially nasty, huh."

He inhales, watches the sun creep across the horizon, and lets acrid smoke burn through his lungs for a long moment before blowing it out in a small cloud. His eyes water, but he doesn't cough. It tastes just as bad as it did the first time he smoked one, not even a year after the invasion and treading water as Robin proved insufficient.

There hadn't been enough heroes to go around then, and Dick had been trained by one of the best. It hadn't been fair, but it had been his plan that had ultimately stopped the invasion. His shoulders everyone's expectations fell on.

He takes another drag, then smudges the lit end against the rail he's leaned on when he hears a boot scuff purposefully against the roofing above him.

"Todd and Pennyworth will be upset with you."

He doesn't turn around. Damian doesn't jump down to join him.

.

Dick Grayson is 54 and wakes up in a room full of ghosts. He hears his long-dead father-figure tell his long-dead team about a simulation they weren't meant to win. A training exercise gone wrong and only half a day spent under their mentors' careful, if slightly panicked, supervision.

He looks at his hands, watching the way his gloves crease when he flexes them in and out of tight fists. He looks at his team, their eyes a little haunted but shoulders slumped with relief even as they grumble. Batman's heavy, gloved hand settles on his shoulder and the weight of it is a nauseating mix of foreign-familiar.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Tears prick his eyes behind his domino mask, and he tells himself the suffocating, acidic void building in his chest is just some leftover side effect of the ordeal and not the grief-guilt of outliving yet another family (no matter that they hadn't been real in the end).

.

Dick Grayson is 16-going-on-56 and well used to the coincidences piling up between his simulated life and the real thing. Some of it -- missions and villains he remembers cropping up -- he's marked for Bruce to review and sort as he pleases. Some -- security for the cave, team building anecdotes, and training regimens -- he's shared with the team. And some he keeps only for himself.

Tim is one of those. He knows it's not fair to the kid (so much smaller now than he ever was when Dick lived his simulated life), but he can't help being selfish just for this. Tim is the one kid he's sure he didn't make up, and if Dick's taken to babysitting the kid just to be near at least one member of the family he built for himself in the wake of the worst days of his life .... Well, anyone who says shit about it can happily stand in line to have their teeth kicked in.

Despite this, it still catches him off-guard when he sees a familiar face pop up in one of Bruce's reports.

Jason Todd, caught boosting tires off the batmobile, is nearly the same age now as he was when Dick met him. He stares at the words, but none of them really sink in beyond the kid's name and address. He's moving before he's even made the decision.

He's used to the world kicking him when he's down - lived it for 40 frustrating years. But he has Bruce again. And things with Tim have been so good. And he's always been selfish when it comes to family. If he could just see Jason. If he could just meet him. If he could talk to him.

If if if if if--

.

Inspirations:

Circles in Shattered Mirrors by InfinityIllusion

Fine (But Not Okay) by CharlotteDaBookworm

Verisimilitude by mutemelody

[oh-meow-swirls]

was looking through old posts and i'm surprised to see that i seemingly didn't have any commentary on anything in 3 in chapter 7, 8 or 9, the posts related to 3's story go from "my first reaction when i saw yopple-bot was 'i love you. but also you are definitely the boss for this chapter-'" to "i have been in hell all day. hell being bada-bing tower." funny to me cuz those chapters are like, the best ones sdfkljsdfjfsdkjlfsdjkl-

[anotherpapercut]

CORRECT THANK YOU FOR SHARING

[c10v3r]

why r they like everything to me . whayt

[opens-up-4-nobody]

God. One of my little sisters is such a bitch. She's done me some genuine damage in exacerbating my already social bad anxiety. But when I have dreams where she's been hurt or killed, it's so horrible bc she's still my lil sister :-(

[pumaskulls]

having the everything happen to you at once is not fun, can confirm

[ukusreticence]

destined for isolation - side a

[yeonban]

Staring at my roster and it's so interesting how they ALL fall into one faction or the other. Either they love someone so much they're willing to die kill and do most else under the sun for their person based solely on their feelings for them (ex. Toma, Soma etc), or they consciously make the choice to care for their person even though they don't exactly feel the emotion of love in the way society would expect them to (ex. Tobias, Lewin etc). NO ONE is in-between or part of a secret third choice. It's one of these two or nothing

[clambuoyance]

I’d say Kon is 50% jay and 50% Kai

[cyancherub]

Hello! Hope you’re having a wonderful week 😊

Can I ask, what are some of your favorite books??

What inspired you and continues to inspire your writing?

HELLO ! ! ! ! !i am having a great week!! ;--; i hope you are as well!!

THANK U FOR ASKING!!! my favorite book is despair by nabokov. in terms of style he's my favorite prose writer.. love him to death i think his writing is just beautiful. he can also be hilarious (albeit tongue-in-cheek). i've read almost all his books/short stories, and his memoir.

fav poets are baudelaire, rimbaud, ts eliot. baudelaire is my fav writer of all time - his themes resonate with me most.

love shirley jackson as well for spooky stuff; i think she's great at finding horror in the mundane. love anything and everything gothic. love poe of course. lovecraftian themes (rly wish he werent such a bastard) and landscapes: the outlandish, strange, and unknown. all things otherworldly and fantastical in a dark way. love also epics/mythos regardless of origin. folklore, fairy tales, etc (the darker the origin the better, and when it comes to unsanitized versions of fairytales it's usually dark). greek mythology, panthea across cultures. dante's divine comedy comes to mind too.

i am MOST inspired by the themes of the Decadents (namely,, beauty, indulgence, materialism, luxury) PARTICULARLY!!! where these themes intersect with horror - finding beauty in the evil, disgusting, and grotesque (esp as captured by baudelaire. the sensual dealing of the shocking and repulsive). find me where horror and erotica meet and blur together. (to me there's no real delineation between the two. this extends to art as a visual medium also. one of my fav artists is takato yamamoto, eroguro extraordinaire.) anyway what i mean to say is: IF IT ROMANTICIZES THE MACABRE THEN I AM THERE. !!!!!

[mejomonster]

Every time I go on a dating app I feel hopeless -.-

[hickoryhorneddevils]

think i kind of hate m/cr now actually.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

one in a million when i watch smthing in the horror genre and don't end up disappointed to/and/or pissed off about it so like "also yeah i liked it. ooo" is like relative to that an off the charts rave review of media of the millennium. also i did think about mh a lot along the way so would recommend its affect/effect if you like mh's horror too

[purplehoodie09]

Okay this is crazy, but

I actually drew things

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Tagged by @rusalkascave

List your top 10 comfort movies

Spirited away

Nausicaa and the valley of the wind

Ponyo

Howls moving castle

My neighbor Totoro

Kikis delivery service

Castle in the sky

Princess mononoke

Practical magic

The princess diaries

Tagging @smute @mmolia @nextdoor-andromeda @starlightomatic @starfish-enterprise @an-autistic-with-personhood @revanchistsuperstar and anyone else who wants to do it