wandering feet and artistic eyes

militza vodianova zayka seventeen, photographer, insomaniac

[sirkos-blog1]

ᵈᵘᶳᵗ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᶤᶰᵈ || Prince + Zayka

[militzavodianova]

sirkos:

His gaze followed hers to his hands, but he managed not to let his cheeks flush, although that was doubtlessly helped by the dirt on his cheeks. “A long way to where?” he questioned, not unkindly, but he wanted to know where she was going, just to make sure she’d be fine. If she wasn’t back in the morning, he could go after her.

“From tonight, no; from all day. I work down in the mines, and this happens sometimes.” He wasn’t completely covered like this every night, but it did happen from time to time. “I think I need a shower, no? Something to get this mess off of me.”

His question had become hers; in a matter of seconds, her mind was also wondering where the hell she was going, where the hell she was headed towards and why she was so sure it’d be a long way. Every step she took was tiring so that could be the reason why everything felt so heavy for so long. “Somewhere. Probably some old building’s roof...” she mused, almost to herself. Just lying atop of a tall (ish) building seemed like a piece of heave in her life turned hell. 

Alexei worked at the mines --- she knew that, right? “Right.” Could she really blame her bad memory on her insomnia or was she just that bad of a person that she could barely remember things that were the easiest to memorize? “A shower would probably be a good idea. A warm one, too. Unless you like cold water, then you can venture into the lake.” She joked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

[sirkos-blog1]

ᵈᵘᶳᵗ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᶤᶰᵈ || Prince + Zayka

[militzavodianova]

sirkos:

The camera was enough to give him a clue as to who it was - Militza Vodianova, with her constant photography. That’s how it was, was it not? He didn’t see her often, but when he did catch sight of her, she never lacked her camera. Some might call it coincidence, but he called it a pattern. Everything in Zanuda fell into pattern, days and nights all the same week after week.

“I may be, but I’m headed home, and you don’t look ready to do so anytime soon,” he teased, wiping a layer of grime from his palms off on his jeans. That wouldn’t make his hands much cleaner, but at least he could pretend it did.

“Do you plan to stay out all night, Vodianova?”

He was right -- she wasn’t heading home any time soon, not while the moon still hung high in the sky, the only light she felt like seeing up above her head (the other light would be the one that shone from the screen of her camera -- to Militza, there was something both terrifying and calming about being in the dark). “I still have a long way to go, Sirko.” She simply told him, answering his question and not meaning to sound vague. Not even she knew how long she’d be out there, roaming the cold streets -- her insomnia would be to blame. 

Her eyes studied the dirt in his hands, tilting her head in curiosity before she looked him in the eye again. “Is that just from tonight?” she asked, motioning towards the grime on his hands and on his expression. The dirt, the roughness of it -- it would make an amazing picture and her mind couldn’t stop thinking of it. “Where did you go?”

[sirkos-blog1]

ᵈᵘᶳᵗ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᶤᶰᵈ || Prince +

[militzavodianova]

Each night began the same. The walk back from the mines was a tiring one, despite the fact that he often managed to get a ride for at least part of the way. Soot marred his features. No longer was he Alexei; he was only another miner. He was without identity, until he managed to rid himself of the grime– but he would never manage to get it off of himself. His body was forever stained by the filth that the coal dust left on him, and no matter how many showers he took, it would remain in his lungs.

Those thoughts weighed heavily on his mind, body, and soul as he entered Zanuda, blackened fingers rising to brush a few stray locks out of his eyes. When had that happened? Time passed so quickly here. A face came into view in his peripherals, familiar in nature, though he could not tell if they were friend or foe. Choosing to believe the former, he cast them half a wave, his next words nothing but amiable, what with the joking tone he took.

“Isn’t it a bit late for you to be out? The rest of Zanuda is sound asleep, you know.”

Being alone was something she didn’t have anything against; she actually liked it but, unlike some souls that prefer the alone time all day and every day, Militza actually didn’t mind the company of others as long as they didn’t mind her company and how little she says and does. Camera in her hand, the shutter had just made a slight sound and a moment had been kept in a picture forever. 

Clicking a button, she saw the preview of the photo and let her mind get lost in all the little things she had caught as she took a photo of a random person with an interesting asymmetry in their features.  Her observant eyes got a break, however, when she heard a rather familiar figure across the street, giving her a small wave. A smile was thrown at him, nodding to let him know that she had seen it. 

Militza tilted her head. “I do. You’re out here too, though, aren’t you?” she asked, keeping her tone light and playful.

[militzavodianova]

danielavolkov:

There was no point, but what was the point in many things people did. “Hm.” A brief answer, more of a noise that sounded like she was pondering over what she said. She hadn’t paused to mull it over though. “Bugs are small things, there are so many.” She settled on, it was the same case with humans, she had once dreamed that a giant stepped on her, and she was a tiny flame, snuffed out by a force greater than herself. She had even wondered if she had dreamed of God, telling her through a vision how frail all life was. “Is that fun for you? Do you wander until you find the right thing?”

“Yeah.” Militza simply said, not knowing what else she was supposed to answer with to such an obvious observation. Bugs were small compared to them just like they were small compared to the rest of the universe; it was all a matter of perception. Perception was both good and bad; it could create conflict but it could broaden whatever one could know by knowing how different others see the same exact thing. It was also something she took into account when taking a picture. It was safe to say perception was all around Militza. “I just take pictures whenever it feels right. I don’t wait. Everyone does enough waiting for me.” She simply said, meaning that there are a lot of people out there that waited too long and she knew life didn’t wait up.

[militzavodianova]

verakomchova:

“I think Kotik would have a field day if you got with a priest,” Vera grinned, beginning a walk away from the scene of the fight and indicating Militza follow her. “He could be the flower girl at your wedding. Make him wear pink. You know what? I’m never getting married. Marriage bleeds you dry and turns you into a monster. That’s not something you want,” she mused, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke in the girl’s direction. “You just need a little on the side. A little bit of Monica in my life… that deal. Hey, let me hook you up. Or you could just fuck me. Either or, really.”

Militza couldn’t help but both chuckle and furrow her eyebrows at Vera’s words. “What does he have to do with anything?” she asked, genuinely curious as to why the girl brought up someone whose company Militza could count on if there was some havoc to spread around Zanuda. “You go from one topic to the other real fast.” She commented, looking at Vera and pressing her lips together, never really replying to any of her words or questions. Militza didn’t even react when she felt the smoke on her face, used to it (though not the smell) from her own. “You want to hook me up?”

[militzavodianova]

nastyazoloto:

Nastya smiled at her, a sharp cruel twist not unlike a knife in the gut. It wasn’t a smirk, because it was genuine. Nastya was having fun. She loved this. It was her favourite thing to watch people recoil. Even if they weren’t scared of her seeing them cringe gave Nastya a kind of thrill that she loved. She loved playing with people, watching their feelings dance across their faces and knowing that she put them there, she did that. 

“You don’t even know what it is yet.” She said, her tone forceful. People always said no at first. They always cringed and ran away, wanted nothing to do with her. That was a fact of her life. People left. She was alone. Which is fine, but she’d much rather she had a little something to play with before they all left.

The girl was right; Militza didn’t know what the girl was offering but, after that little introduction, she would rather not have anything the other girl had to offer. The whole encounter had began rubbing her the wrong way the moment she felt the other’s fingers on her hair. It was creepy, it was stranger and Militza had enough of those inside her head. 

“What is it, then?” she asked just for the sake of it; maybe if she indulged the other girl, she would be left alone with her own buttons and the familiar click of her camera -- just that and her, silence and music to her ears all in the same.

[militzavodianova]

katiarudenko:

Katia wished she could say yes. Humans were flawed, they were born flawed and they died flawed - prone to sin and evil. But pursuit of that was something that could never be encouraged. So no, perhaps it was not. Shrugging, there was no simple answer that Katia could offer up to Militza, she was not all knowing, she did not hold the key. “I don’t know.”

“Sounds like a handful.” She simply commented, regarding the fact that it ought to be tiring to always have that doubt in one’s mind; do they believe, do they not? Is it enough or are they supposed to do more, to be more? Though those were questions not only the faithful asked themselves, to Militiza, religion only amplified those doubts.

[holly-shit-dear]

[militzavodianova]

katiarudenko:

Biting down on her lip, Katia’s teeth chiseled away at the remaining skin, quickly licking up and swallowing the blood that surged up through the torn remains of skin. An answer didn’t come quickly to her mind, desperately wanting to say yes, to confirm her devoutness and prove once and for all she was who she claimed to be - no theatrics. But that would have been a lie. She was a traitor, a sinner, a perversion of the rightful order. She deserved all her pain and suffering. “I try my best.”

Katia’s answered were never definite; they were passive, uncertain -- just like she seemed to be about every word she said to Militza. It made the girl wonder what was going on inside the other’s mind, a place she couldn’t take a photo of and take her time analyzing. People’s mind were out of reach, even for something as honest as a picture. “That’s enough, though, right?” It wasn’t a question, it was as if, unknowingly, Militza was trying to reassure someone that didn’t seem as sure as she wished. 

[militzavodianova]

nastyazoloto:

Nastya was hunting. It was the only word for how she stalked the streets late at night. She was a creature of the night, she fit into the darkness like a glove. The harsh glare of the street lights did the sharp angles of her face justice, she glowered like a burning ember, hot to the touch. She powered through Zanuda in suit pants and a leather jacket, smoking concoctions she mixed herself. Sometimes her prowl was lonely, the cold air bit into her flesh but she liked it. The isolation, the mystery of the night. People were not who they were in the day when the sun set, they metamorphosed into something more than small town youths. They were more intriguing. More worth her time, and better prey. After all, however much she was enjoying herself, it was still a hunt. 

She spotted a possibility, a night creature. She approached from behind, down wind, silently. She approached cloak and dagger. Only once she was close enough to kill did she let them know she was there by twisting a piece of their hair with her finger.

“I’ve something for you, pet.”

Darkness didn’t make her uneasy or scared, afraid of what could be lurking in the shadows that surrounded her. To others, the amber lights were probably the only circle of light they felt good at, like any arms that might be formed in the shadows could not get them there. It was a certain feeling that Militza never felt. She loved the night, she loved the silence and the fact that she could be so alone and feel so good at the same time. Mili needed it, she preferred it; she could do whatever she wanted to without feeling like she’d have to hold back because of someone else. Though there were a couple that wouldn’t make her feel tethered to certain things she ought to do when in company of others, table for one was her first choice at life’s restaurant. 

Militza cringed a bit when she felt someone playing with her hair and immediately turned around and stepped back, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyebrows furrowed, looking at the person before her. “I’m good.”

[militzavodianova]

katiarudenko:

Furrowing an eyebrow at the question Militza posed, she could only scrunch her face in reply. Of course it was worth it - to know that there was a higher power above you? It was a relief. Of course, it was also the greatest burden she had ever carried and the fear of disappointment compelled her to the most drastic of measures. But it was all for him. He knew that - and perhaps she might even be rewarded for it. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Katia posed, shooting back with a question to avoid answering it. She wouldn’t lie, not again.

Militza didn’t have anything against religion; she couldn’t say she knew there was a God above them but she didn’t have anything to totally disprove it either. She preferred not knowing and not believing for she knew her faith would waver so many times if she was a devout. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” The girl shrugged and then crossed her arms, after tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Are you always as faithful as you seem to be?”

[militzavodianova]

danielavolkov:

“You’re the one who made a big deal out of it.” Eyeing the bug, she noted how she made the choice to let it live. “So you care about ever life? No matter how small or big.” Daniela commented, nodding to where she threw it. “Do you also think that if you step on a spider it will reign the next day.” Her tone came out mocking, like the action was childish and misguided, her lips twisted into a sardonic grin. “Anyway, what were you taking photos of?” She asked, using the bit of information she had on the girl. In all honesty she detested the camera, it was less of a welcoming thing, she avoided being on the opposite side of the lens.

Militza rolled her eyes slightly, yet again, at the girl’s words, choosing not to reply; though, her sight was set on her black boots rather than on the girl in front of her. Then, she looked at her surroundings before tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her right ear, finally letting her eyes meet Daniela’s. “What was the point in killing the bug?” she simply replied to the girl’s questions, her mocking tone not fazing Militza in the slightest; she was used to it -- as she grew up, after her parents died, she was used to people mocking her about how quiet she had became, a loner they had labelled her. “Nothing in particular. I just look for something while looking through the lens.”

[lonerunner72-deactivated2019010]

[stefniescott-blog]

[mikitapetrenko-deactivated20211]

night terrors // mikita x militza

[militzavodianova]

mikitapetrenko:

Mikita smiled to himself, glad that, after all, his plan worked out and he didn’t have to curse himself for wasting time like a stupid tool. He felt the overwhelming thrum of anticipation under his skin again and had to take a few seconds to stash at least some of it away. Compartmentalization was key in such moments; when segregated, his emotions were a bit easier to handle. To some he could come back later, others he hid so far into himself that they wouldn’t re-emerge for days. Now, though, the point was not to appear too eager. Girls could show their enthusiasm all they wanted, but boys? Boys should be logical, reasonable, cold. They should let the girls do the feeling. Or whatever. The lesson was shitty just like every other life lesson given by his father, but Mikita couldn’t root it out after all these years. He just wished it’d be easier to keep his calm when faced with the possibility of destruction.

His eyes followed the movement of Militza’s hand holding a familiar paper. That, Mikita decided, might be the only draw of hanging out with the girl. He hated the smell weed; it evoked the unpleasant memories of the times he’d tried to smoke and ended up going out of his mind with paranoia. He frowned slightly, but when he stepped out into the light, his expression was blank again, only the unhealthy glint in his eyes revealed his excitement. “There is an old shed a few blocks away from here and it spoils the landscape. I think we should burn it down,” he said casually. Beating around the bush was never his style.

Hanging out with Mikita was like Militza was hanging out by herself; it was effortless and she liked watching him wrecking havoc and taking pictures of it, saving them as souvenirs. However, these souvenirs, she’d keep to herself just like the pictures she has from the night Anya died; locked away in both her mind and in a box no one but herself knows about. Its existence is unknown and Militza would like to keep it that way. Why? She wasn’t exactly scared people would find the pictures, it wasn’t the first thing to came to mind, but she didn’t know why she wanted to keep them a secret either. Did she feel guilty about hiding them but not for taking them? Did she want to keep it a secret so she had something to look at when coming home and knowing that no one else would have the same images in their mind? The human mind was confusing and, though she adored observing people, she didn’t try to understand something that was impossible to decipher. 

She put the paper away; Militza only liked smoking when she was alone. With most people, it was because they would talk and ruin the high -- although she knew Mikita wouldn’t do that, she knew he had other plans than to sit next to her until she finished smoking something that only made her feel good. It was a selfish act, if people thought about it, but the girl didn’t care. A small smile, a devious one at that, appeared on her features; it wasn’t often that that happened, not with others. With Mikita it was carefree. If someone heard him, they would think they were both crazy people in the making (was it that far from the truth?) and probably call the cops. “I got my camera fully charged so what are we waiting for?” she told him, though it there was nothing surprising about her words. “Which way?” she said, already taking her camera out -- the best part of an adventure was the journey; she wanted to take pictures of both the way and the adventure in itself. “Have you been here long? Nothing better to do?” she half-joked. 

[militzavodianova]

katiarudenko:

Anya was not a person who could be conceptualized into one sentence, she exceeded expectations and broke all boundaries set in place by anyone. Often Katia had found her gaze drifting to her, partly curious and partly afraid. No reason to be scared now - she was gone, to heaven above or hell below. Katia might profess that Anya had gained her halo and wings, but somehow she doubted that it had transcended into reality. Anya was just as likely to sprout a pair of horns. “You pray for people when they die. You pray for them to be received into heaven, for mercy and forgiveness. I pray for everyone.”

If Anya was a photo, she’d be a mixture of moments -- cut and thrown together into an abstract picture that no one but her could really see the meaning of. It would be pleasing to look it if you were unaware of its true meaning but once uncovered, it would be mean, a jigsaw and hurtful -- just like Anya was. “You sure do a lot pf praying.” And for a second, Militza wondered if it was worth it; all the time wasted praying or it was just thrown to sky with no one there to answer. “Is it worth it?” She had to ask.

[mikitapetrenko-deactivated20211]

night terrors // mikita x militza

[militzavodianova]

mikitapetrenko:

Mikita was waiting. These days it seemed he was always waiting for something to happen, for this town to wake up, for Anya to come back so she could die again and again. The night air was sharp in his lungs as he stood just outside of the halo cast by a nearby street lamp. Nights like these he hated this sleepy town, hated being stuck here with no way out. Nights like these his desire to destroy burned more intensely, making every breath a labour. Usually, a quick visit to a bar was enough to take away some of the itch, but tonight Mikita wanted, no, needed lasting results. Blood could be cleaned off, a burning house soon turned to ashes, smashed windows were just glittering dust you forgot in the morning. Mikita wanted evidence that he was here, that this undoing belonged to him. And there was only one person in this god-forsaken town that could give him that.

He’d picked this crossroads at random and now he questioned his choice. It was Militza’s neighbourhood and it was early enough that she might not have wandered into some other part of Zanuda. But then, it was always hard to guess what exactly she was up to. The ghost girl, he liked to call her, though only in his mind. He watched her as much as she watched the world around her, constantly looking for her soft places, a spot so weak that hitting it would send her right on the floor. Not that he planned on hurting her anytime soon, he just wanted to know.

Mikita played with the idea of hunting her down if she wouldn’t appear on her own, when he heard footsteps. “Here she is,” he called into the dark, “the stalker to my homewrecker.” Even if it wasn’t her, the comment should lead to an argument. Not a bad way to start an evening, either way.

The night was endless to Militza when she did it right. There was a sense of wander that surrounded the sleepy roads around her. There was a different vibe that surrounded her the moment she stepped out of her grandparents’ home, closing the door behind her and looking at the deserted place before her eyes. Everyone that had decided to go for a night out was already at the bar they agreed to meet at, rarely did she meet someone on the streets just wandering around like she did, as lost as she seemed to be and as free as she felt inside, even if her thoughts caged her in a place she didn’t want to be at. Camera inside her bag and the sound of the constant opening and closing of her lighter echoed through the streets. Her steps, though silent, weren’t as silent as the nothingness surrounding her. As she walked down her street, the same way she always did, she saw a few people outside the bars, taking a puff of their cigarettes between words. 

Hands buried inside her jacket’s pocked, she walked and looked down at her feet some times and others, she looked up to the sky and at the old buildings around her. People were interesting to photograph but the never stopping aging of the streets she walked by every day was a prettier photo opportunity to her -- people, to her, had to have a certain vibe to them to make her inspired to photograph them. Some had that and others didn’t; object, old buildings and the sky always had her attention, however. 

Completely convinced that she was on her own, she rummaged her bag; it was a mess inside that old, brown leather bag that belonged to her grandfather way back when. It was old, it smelled like it looked and that was something Militza really enjoyed. The small things. Taking out her rolling paper, she held it between her lips and was looking for her grinder when she heard a voice and looked up, her eyes slightly widening. Only after a second did she recognize the voice directed at her; immediately, she took the rolling paper from her dry lips but not in a rushing manner. “Here I am.” She said, slightly surprised at his appearance. “What’s up?” She could guess.