i keep leaving myself behind. in the flowers, in the rain, in
the empty apartment, i leave myself with coffee split across my
hands & over the table & dripping into the rug. & this other me,
this not-me will sit with his hands still stained & wait until it is
time for him to sleep. ... somewhere in a place with many flowers, not-me holds out his
right hand & someone takes it, & kisses his palm, & tells him he
will be safe for a very long time, maybe even forever, & he
turns his face upwards,
to the light.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Mary Oliver, from New and Selected Poems; “Wild Geese”
(via brckkers)
That would be Alexi? He dreamed of a better life, of a normal life, for most of his life since his father died. I mean his dreams weren’t all that outlandish, it was basically just living independently and maybe even legally, which is also one of the sadder things I’ve figured out about Alexi.
🏠 which muse is a happy homebody
Sherman! Have you even seen this boy? He would much rather sit at home in a nice sweater and read than go out for a night. Unless of course it was an evening of dance practice.
🔪 which muse would you most likely be enemies with
Blair? I know he’s slowly working towards being a better person but his background of being rich would just rub me the wrong way regardless. I don’t know, knowing he never really wanted for anything material wise... It makes me lowkey hate him sometimes.
🍕 which muse is a terrible cook
Alexi. I mean, he wouldn’t burn stuff constantly but he wouldn’t know much about cooking. He’s eaten food cooked by his mother, prisons and other people until the outbreak so he knows a little bit but not much.
💘 which muse have you written the longest
That would be Alexi! His first incarnation, I started writing on him on December 3, 2015 so it’s nearly been a year and a half of Alexi being in existance!
Definitely not Nate, he’s been drilled on military time, he would rather step on nails than be late. Alexi probably is fairly punctual because he had a similar structure above him in the Bratva. So it would be either Sherman or Blair and my bet would be on Blair. Sherman would have used timetables to help with his schedules but Blair was a rich guy, so he could have done whatever he wanted.
🍒 which muse is the most innocent
I’m not going to even go through the reasons on this one, Sherman is the clear winner. He was protected through most of his life by his family and while he certainly has had some life experiences on his trip down and back from Mexico he still is by far the most innocent of my boys.
👍 which muse would you most likely get along with
To be honest? Sherman. I would think Alexi is too scary, Blair would be a complete asshole towards me, and Nate reminds me a lot of my father so I don’t think I would get along with him well.
⚔ which muse is the most likely to go to jail/prison
☠ which muse is The Worst™
👅 which muse is the kinkiest
💑 who would make the best couple of two of your muses together
💔 who would be the worst couple of two of your muses together
👑 which muse is most likely to take over the world
👎 which muse secretly (or not so secretly) loves terrible movies
😍 which muse is the biggest heart breaker
🌱 which muse is the most gullible
💎 which muse is the biggest drama queen
🍒 which muse is the most innocent
🎭 which muse is the easiest to write
🌛 which muse is the biggest dreamer
🐢 which muse always runs late
🌉 which muse is most consumed by wanderlust
🏠 which muse is a happy homebody
👛 which muse is the most frugal
👠 which muse loves shopping sprees
🎉 which muse loves planning parties
💕 which muse falls in love too easily
👍 which muse would you most likely get along with
🔪 which muse would you most likely be enemies with
🍕 which muse is a terrible cook
😔 which muse is the biggest spoilsport
💘 which muse have you written the longest
🎶 what song makes you think of (specify muse)
💪 which muse is a health nut
🐷 which muse is most likely to win a pie eating contest
🎨 which muse is the most artistic
🍁 what inspired you to write/create (specify muse)
Known Aliases: Aleksey Burkov, Aloysha, Loysha, A, Ace.
Date of Birth: April 10th, 1977.
Current Location: Cheyenne, Wyoming. ( V.A. Hospital. )
Previous Locations: Syuzma, Russia. Moscow, Russia. New York City, New York. ( Major locations that he has resided, pre-outbreak. ) Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Cleveland, Ohio. Columbus, Ohio. Indianapolis, Indiana. Chicago, Illinois. Des Moines, Iowa. Omaha, Nebraska. ( Locations visited as a raider, post-outbreak. )
Arrival Date to Cheyenne: November 17, 2015.
Duration of Stay in Cheyenne: 1 year, 6 months, 6 days. ( As of May 23, 2017. )
Kill Count — Human: 58. ( 36 commanded to carry out as a Bratva member, 22 not ordered, two of which the victims were related by blood. )
Kill Count — Infected: 4,865. ( Estimated at a five a day kill count with 973 days passed since the outbreak. 2,695 estimated since arrival in Cheyenne under same parameters. )
Current Inventory: Kershaw CQC-8K knife, Glock 19 Gen. 4 with a customized mother of pearl inlay on the grip holding four bullets, Shun Kanso Paring knife, Old Hickory Slicing knife, Gerber Gator Sawback machete, backpack, water bottle, bag of rabbit jerky, one pack of Marlboro Reds, Phillips flathead screwdriver, trade paperback copy of ‘Cat’s Cradle’ by Kurt Vonnegut, lockpicking kit, lighter, chalk, pencil, notebook, rags made from an old t-shirt, a couple of paperclips, hand crank flashlight, 33 knot prayer bracelet worn on left wrist.
Open to Trading: As part of a camp, he relies on their Traders to do most of the bargaining although he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.
The man let out a howling laugh ( more for dramatics rather than any amusement he actually felt ), shaking his head at the other whose aim was quite ridiculous. How they had survived this far was beyond him. “Is that it?” Landon asked, tone honeyed and biting all at the same time. He gave a condescending pat to the other’s shoulder; intending to rile them up. Doing so would be a sure-fire distraction from his messy head, and that was always his ultimate goal.
“It has been while since throwing knives like these.” Alexi bit his lip, holding back the huff of frustration that threatened to escape his throat at the other man’s laugh. “My set burned in Atlas fire.” He didn’t want to show the affect of his erroneous throw had on him but the taller man’s hand patting his shoulder made him tense. “Once more.” He let out his breath, along with all the other shit in his head, and his aim was true. The blade sliced deeply into the tree he missed previously. “Where did you find these?”
A CIGARETTE DANGLES BETWEEN TWITCHING FINGERS as worn out black timberlands come to a slow on a bright, familiar intersection. the cigarette brushes against a pair of chapped lips before nazlie leans against a streetlight, smoking to curb the dull pangs of hunger and ( GUILT. ) the spare hand hooks into the pocket of dirty jeans; with a slow exhale of smoke, there is enough room in a tired & empty chest for warm memories. in the corner, nuba stands tall with its noise as vibrant as ever—louder, somehow. a small CHOKE; home is closer than ever… one, two, three, four, five steps away. home is close, yet it feels so f a r to nazlie.
a slow inhale of smoke into the lungs, a heart dropping into an unsettled stomach. all nazlie can do is stare longingly at nuba—at HOME—with regret. maybe, it isn’t time to come home yet.
Alexi was a ghost haunting a graveyard. Bodies laid piled on the sidewalks, slumped against wall corners, spilling boneless out of cars. The stink and gore was something you got use to, like the sweat and dirt and dried blood that made your skin itch, but today was especially rotten. The sun had come out a few days ago, one of the first warm days of the year, so the bloated and decayed bodies stunk. Alexi grimaced behind the scarf tied around his mouth and nose as his boots stuck to the concrete from the ice. Of course, it was sunny about a week ago, and now it was shaping up to be an icestorm. He was passing by Nuba, he could visit Nadja and get warm for a few minutes, yet he had a job to do today.
Gwen wanted him to find some fabric for bandages. She had provided him with a sample of what she wanted, the small squares were stuck inside his outer layer’s pocket. He knew where he was looking, there had been a fabric store down the street from the Atlas, and it was most likely to not have been all that heavily looted. The Atlas... His mind was so caught up in the memories of that place, another ghost wasn’t out of place. It took him a moment to recognize her, because he thought her dead for so long. He slid his scarf down, disbelief coloring his features. “Nahs? You have come back...”
okay.... my supernatural verse i wrote? if not, sky's still blue!
∘⡊☤ MEMES // GIVE ME AN AU AND I WILL WRITE 5 IDEAS/HEADCANONS FOR OUR MUSES IN THAT AU ( NO LONGER ACCEPTING ! )
( @nodustollcns you’re in here too ! )
callum came to the ER one night as a trauma. it appeared as if he’d been attacked by an animal. gwen was the trauma nurse that evening and coordinated the mass blood transfusions. when she went to check back on him after giving report and saw that he had ripped out his chest tubes and somehow left, on foot, the room he’d been brought unconscious to by medic–gwen threw on her jacket, stopped by her car to grab the tool knife and mag light she kept in there for emergencies and followed the small traces of blood she found to the nearby park.
upon finding callum, the man yelled at her to leave. he told her to keep running until sunrise and gwen was so perplexed by the reaction and overcome with trying to come up with the most therapeutic response, that she didn’t hear the wolf’s rapid approach. the last thing she remembered before waking up in the hospital is the wolf’s throat around her neck. she was given time off following her discharge. the scars hurt, but they healed so easily, so rapidly. gwen waited anxiously for winter when turtlenecks wouldn’t be so uncomfortable. callum found her sometime before the full moon and helped her through the transition that he’d only been through the once himself. he explained that he’d been attacked by a wild, horrible wolf that night ( the same one who attacked her ) and the injuries had broken the spell of the moon for him that night.
the two fall in love and become their own pack. gwen still works at the ER, wearing a black underarmor baselayer beneath her scrubs that zips up the neck to hide the scars. they’re the only ones she has or will ever have again. she switches her shifts to variable so that she can have every full moon and the days on either side of it off.
she meets alexi in the waiting room one night, looking lost and haunted. it’s two days until the full moon and she wonders if his eyes, opposing the lunar cycle ( dark and new ), are fighting an impending transformation. she texts callum with a description and asks him to follow the man home. maybe he’s the wolf who hurt them; maybe he’s in need of something good. either way, they need to know.
alexi turns out not to be the one they sought after, but callum and gwen bond to him easily. he’s a good man with a heart of broken teeth and blood on his hands. there’s a way that wolves see souls and though alexi is sharp and hard in the eyes, neither of them are frightened by him. he moves into the loft in the top of their craftsman house and they start taking trips to eastern oregon at the full moon–running through dunes and sleeping in the seasonal heat or snow during the day. soon they are a small family; soon they three are less haunted.
i feel like a subway station and what i mean is, i am something liminal. what i mean is, everyone is always leaving. it is always getting dark and everything is always too loud. there is ruin where ruin shouldn’t live. there is the stench of bad decisions in the dirt. what i mean is, i am always halfway to a beautiful place. i have only seen heaven from the postcards.
Who in Alexi's life has had a hand in turning him from who he used to be to who he is now?
So this is sort of in three parts: Inna and Ivanko, the raiders/Proctor, and his current friends.So Inna and Ivanko were technically his second cousin but because they were 16 and 17, he called them his niece and nephew. Their father was his father's cousin. But Ivanko might have died on the first day, when he got to Ivanko's school he was gone. Inna died about a week into the apocalypse by walking into the street among a bunch of the dead. Their deaths transformed him into someone who was even more devoted to his ideals and personal code.While Alexi would prefer to not talk about his time as a raider, it definitely shaped him into what he is now. Seeing brutality constantly being used as a tool made him in turn more willing to kill or severely punish those who broke his personal code. Roy Proctor, a character Lovecraft created, was the most important of the raiders Alexi encountered. He was uncaring and actually enjoyed putting people through pain, and he turned this desire to hurt onto Alexi. Proctor reminded him a lot of Viktor and Vladimir, so he 'killed' Proctor by cutting his throat. It was finally what made him realize he was not as much as a monster as he believed himself to be and could no longer lead a raider's lifestyle.And last but not least, his current friends. They're who reminded him he's still human and worthy of being cared for. Cassidy, Gwen, Callum, everyone else he feels an ounce of loyalty towards. They give him purpose and make him feel connected to the world now.
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