#niknik

[mukoda]

three awesome well adjusted individuals

[darjeelinh]

tell me this is not what happened

[the-lonewriter]

Soldiers did not cry. Princes did not weep. Nikolai knew this. But the tears fell anyway. “Dominik the brave. Hold on a little longer.” Dominik squeezed his hand.

“This country gets you in the end, brother. Don’t forget it.”

[itsnotunfinisheditsmystyle]

My heart can beat once again

(the brainrot is real, me lads)

If you look at the last 3 times I drew Nikolai he doesn't have the same goddamn haircut in any of them, that's because I'm trying to find something that makes me happy between the curls I decided he had in the books, the curls Paddy has, and the straightened hairdo they gave him in the show like the bunch of criminals they are. In this one I went for straightened... It's not bad actually, very princely...

[avanturis]

Dominik always carries this small picture of Nikolai in one of his pockets

[sunstitched]

what if i swallowed a grenade? what then?

[zemenipearls]

Where Demons Roam [link]

Despite swearing never again to visit the ancient mountains in Virginia, Zoya finds herself accompanying her girlfriend Alina and their friends to Appalachia, where Dominik is doing research for his dissertation. David has left a pregnant Genya back home, but can't pass on the opportunity for his own studies. The friends must reckon with their own trauma and past as an ancient demon in the woods awakens, with a thirst for blood. They must fight against themselves and the monster itself if they want to escape.

TW: Troubled Teen Industry, Opioid Epidemic, General Horror Tropes, Implied Past Sexual Assault

Thank you to my incredible @grishaversebigbang gang, go check out their works!

beta: @darklesmychuckles and @ahodgepodgeofthings

art: @trassellynn [x]

art: @lizzybizzyart [x]

art: @gigi-drxws [x]

art: @jjelliacee [x]

art: @kavinskysdick [x]

art: @alittleartistic [x]

[revasserium]

Nikolai and 34?

send me a number and a character, and i’ll write you a drabble

34. insomnia: the owner’s instructionsnikolai 

sleeplessness is not, technically, the state of being awake – rather, it’s simply the state of not being asleep. and it cannot, in all correctness, be constituted as wakefulness, because there’s a place caught in the in-between, a purgatory of consciousness, the limbo where minds go to forget, or remember, or both. 

the first time you find him with his head between his knees, he tells you that the world is full of strangers, places and names and faces of people he swears he once knew, and perhaps he did know them, at some point in time. but they’re nothing more than shadows now, and as grown-up and well put together as he thinks he is, you think that perhaps, he never learned not to be afraid of the dark. 

handle with care – fragile cargo inside, extremely prone to breakage. sometimes he thinks it’d be easier if people came with shipping labels too, if they came with care instructions, because he’s sure his would say something along the lines of – run. 

but you don’t. 

no matter how hard he’d tried to make you realize that he is less human than ghost, a collection of old stories piled into a body that he’d tried to change the name of, but shadows are nothing if not persistent creatures. you see, they tend to like following around the light. and they are really very good at lurking. 

“come back to bed.” 

“i can’t.” 

“okay, then let’s stay here.” 

you card your fingers through his hair, press your lips to his forehead, and he thinks, vaguely, that perhaps you could kiss away all his shadows. 

“tell me a story.” 

he peers up at you, his eyes bloodshot. 

“what kind of story?” 

“any kind.” 

he pauses for a moment, letting the gentle tug of your fingers lull his eyes back closed. he relaxes, his head pillowed on your lap, your heartbeat close enough to hear. he thinks that like this, he might be able to relearn the meaning of breathing. 

“when i was little, i was terrible at fencing.” 

“i find that very hard to believe.” 

he allows himself a soft smile. you trace the lines of his face with the tip of your finger. he feels you trail along his cheeks to his nose, down to his lips, where he lets out a soft sigh. 

“yes, well. believe it or not, everyone is terrible when they start to learn something.” 

“but you’re not everyone.” 

your voice is like a light in the darkness, and he wonders if this is why people are so dead set on believing in a religion. because like this, he can see why everyone wants to go towards the light. he understands the pull of the warmth, the brightness, the promise of protection. 

“no, i’m not, but once upon a time, i was.” 

“how scandalous.” 

“hm.” 

“and then what happened?” 

a pause; a breath. 

“i grew up.” 

“debatable.” 

he flutters open eye to peer up at you, a satisfied little grin on your lips. 

“i suppose.” 

he’s too tired to debate with you, but then again, in this in-between of day and darkness, this purgatory of time, he doesn’t think you’re wrong. he thinks you might have him all figured out, and the thought makes him wonder about all the secrets he’s ever tried to keep from the world. 

“tell me another story.” 

you fingers run across his lips. 

he takes a breath. 

“i think i’m in love with you.” 

you smile; you lean down; you kiss him. 

and, he lets you. 

“come back to bed.” 

he nods, letting you tug him up, letting you lead him into the darkened bedroom, where elizabeth is curled up on the large sofa, her tail flickering as she watches the pair of you through seaglass eyes. she lets out a loud pur as nikolai allows himself to be tugged down onto the mattress and tucked into the blankets. 

he curls himself around you, and you settle in his arms. 

he watches you though half-lidded eyes, the exhaustion pulling at the last cohesive strands of his thoughts. 

“tell me a story,” he says. 

you smile, you lean up, you kiss him. 

“i know i’m in love with you.” 

you kiss him again, and again, and again. 

instructions: 

handle with care. fragile. extremely prone to breakage. is scared of shadows, but will never admit it to anyone, not even to himself. will need to be coaxed into and out of things. takes too many unnecessary risks to remind himself what it feels like to be alive. 

no red wine is to be had within a 10-foot radius. do not approach if allergic to cats or overinflated egos. 

run. or, don’t. 

an addendum to his previous instructions – must be kissed to fall asleep.