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The same body language that warm men used to convey disgust, and a wish to leave was the same, when displayed, that drew Dieter further closer. An expression otherwise was merely that to him. A glimpse was more considerable. Hidden where now moved from clothing kept their marvel from normal vision. Voronov’s collar was an Illumination. Foggy beneath the layers in rotten reds mingling to bruise-y purples and intertwining of blues in the vampire’s eyes. Magnificently braided throughout fascia, viscera, from tissue to tissue. He grew lovely veins to say the least of it. The analytical motion of eyes broken by Voronov’s huff.

The Swede’s eyebrow lifting ever so slightly at his confidence laden in the scoff before he spoke. Either Dieter himself was melting the façade or coming on so strongly had done it for him. Either way it was an interesting a development as he could’ve hoped for. And in his blind expedition to get such.

Perhaps Dieter had been too rash, making him awfully unwelcoming. But in the wake of the reaction he didn’t care. It had scraped on his sensibilities. The retort was thrown so strongly, eclipsing how the man had tentatively joined him just moments before. “Those are your words.” Tilting his head, pushing his chin downwards to exasperate the looming position he held so tightly. Closer to the skin, the pulse that pushed it up with metronome timing.

Pushing its way to him, asking for help, as this is the closest it can get on its own. Eyes first, briefly transfixed to the silent pleading. Up the lines they cut through and past the jawline, cheek, and finally landing on glacial grey eyes. Distraction nullified once reaching that destination. Though his teeth hadn’t forgot, interspersed between words sharp shapes. “I asked what makes you, not what is wrong.” A sternness taking the sentence.

It seemingly restored an amicable flavor to his voice. The distance sweetening his tone. Hands were placed behind himself. Removing their surprises from further intervention, at least for the time being. “Perhaps I did forget myself momentarily. Excitement that’s all.” Though Dieter’s face stayed softly neutral. “But you’re a living marvel. If what I think is happening, is so.”

Dieter got the feeling he was being shielded against. That the man was trying to hold himself as far as possible. His callous smile, no revelation at all. Yet it was something to notice. No notice to the bird that joined overhead initially. A flick of eyes to see it once it was heard, then back.

His chill reached him alright. Easily working its way into Dieter’s skin. Worming in through his pores, letting his bones feel what it would be like to be put on ice at market. They seemed to radiate it themselves if he didn’t know better. It invigorated him, though only briefly. A shock of energy, as those who’d just come out from a sauna would rush into the cold beyond its doors and plunge into a winterized lake. Only for a moment. Just a second. The name Voronov would carry that shrill feeling.

“With introductions out of the way…Voronov.” Dieter simply couldn’t help himself, smugly lifting his chin a tad more. His grip constricted firmly, unyielding to pull away attempts. With the same arm he smoothly yanked, elbow riding straight back behind himself. A dancer like move, force hidden behind grace. Positioning Alexander near abreast. He lowered his head ever so to let his mouth hover by Voronov’s ear. Not without taking a quick glance at pale skin. Skin that held beneath it, on any other human something to be lapped up from teeth and vein alike. The back of his throat closing in on itself, as if in heavy weeping. How a dog must feel when they whine. Instinct he fought, full well knowing the blood within there wasn’t to his benefit to drink. A yearning in regret. A reminder. His eyes flicked back beyond Voronov’s shoulder, to check those he could bite that they hadn’t turned their eyes on them again.

Then to what he intended. Eyes staying forward initially, they’d find their way back to the skin once more. That whine, a want. At this point it was almost self torture. Everything smelled correct. As to the iron levels, oxygen saturation. Pulse sending it through with laborious effort. Still he put himself in a cage of his own making and whined to himself through thought. The danger ever present, having to remind himself. Over and over. The bird above another reminder in itself. An uninvited party of eye if he were to sin against himself now. Alexander was more than the cold.

Speaking low, as if it were a secret. As if those who had all but completely evacuated their immediate area could still hear. “I have a feeling we both know neither of us are as we seem to them. Would you be so kind as to tell me—what makes you?”

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nailsbymaylene on ig

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does your muse lean more toward “forgive and forget” or “resent and remember?”

Resent for sure. Even little things though in those cases it’s more fleeting. Giving a malicious side eye after being insulted, etc etc. Dieter wouldn’t sit and brood on it though but he does think there’s a certain level of respect he should be paid and when it’s not given he gets testy. Most times if he’s given a more interesting engagement to worry about Dieter will forget those.

More egregious transgressions will be remembered. Maybe fondly in some aspects. But he’ll want whoever it was to feel what he felt. In whatever way he feels fit for the next meeting. It’s usually like that. (Not that he doesn’t expect something done back to him. He knows with everything’s he’s done it’s bound to come back. Just a matter of when.)

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what would your muse consider their worst failing?

That he doesn’t value himself. Mainly stemming from his past and how he’s gone about things since then. But he doesn’t see himself worthy of nicer things in life, certainly not of being treated well.

His original inception being only a weapon for the war effort. It brought him reverence, he was feared for who he was and what he could do and who he flew with. Once the war was over he couldn’t quite break that mentality, though his fighting days were done. And let’s be honest, you don’t attract people by only interacting with them to get their blood.

His one purpose being long gone, and now he’s at a loss for it. The one way he knew that’d reassure him he’s wanted, needed, had a place at the table, gone. He can change and deeply I think he wants to. He’s just seen little reason to do so. He’s not been shown he’s worthy of being valued. Even in small aspects. So why would he believe such?

(He’s kinda stuck in that cycle of I cannot break old habits, I hate that I can’t, and spitefully I will double down to be a self fulfilling prophecy.)

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does your muse recognize their faults, or do they have trouble with self-reflection?

He can recognize faults, he’s very self aware. But also very mentally ill, and often just ends up watching himself do things. Dieter can see where things need to change but doing so is much much harder than expected. Not to say he hasn’t made changes during his long life span.

But often when change is implemented, he cannot stick to it for one reason or another. Most often just getting too bogged down in his thoughts and resolving for previous habits that have already engrained themselves. The easy options. They’re open, he’s capable and ready. He’s not sure if new approaches will work, he can’t take the failure of it doesn’t, that old chestnut.

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Aaron Taylor Johnson as Alexei Vronsky in Anna Karenina 1/?

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Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Count Vronsky

ANNA KARENINA (2012) dir. Joe Wright

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nothinggg better than torturing an emotionally repressed character until every single trauma they've ever refused to process starts spilling uncontrollably out of the cracks. like a matryoshka doll situation of repressed trauma and baby you better believe i'm going in there with a hammer

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Freiburg, Germany 1903

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Armored breastplate crafted by Filippo Negroli (fl.1532-51), made of metal. Currently part of the collection at the Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, Italy.

The breastplate hails from a period when armor was evolving not just as a tool of war but as a symbol of prestige and personal expression. During the Renaissance, Italian armorers like Filippo Negroli brought new artistic vision into the field. This period saw the development of highly decorative armor intended for parades, tournaments, and ceremonial purposes rather than the battlefield. Armor became a status symbol, worn by the elite and often featuring mythological or naturalistic designs.

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sad headcanon q’s… 

1. who does your muse hate?

2. how does your muse handle grief?

3. what is your muse’s biggest regret? 

4. how many scars does your muse have?

5. how long can your muse hold a grudge?

6. how does your muse handle loneliness? 

7. what is one of your muse’s greatest fears?

8. what does your muse fear losing the most?

9. does your muse think violence is ever warranted?

10. what is the worst illness your muse has ever had?

11. what would your muse consider their worst failing?

12. does your muse tend to push themselves too hard?

13. how does your muse outwardly express their anger? 

14. what is the worst injury your muse has ever received? 

15. what might others consider your muse’s worst failing to be?

16. does your muse have a short fuse when it comes to temper?

17. who does your muse wish they had said goodbye to, but didn’t?

18. does your muse suffer from nightmares? how often? what about?

19. out of everything your muse has lost/given up, which hurt the most?

20. what is something your muse wants to tell others, but is too afraid to? 

21. how hard is it for your muse to open up to others? what holds them back?

22. looking back, what is one thing your muse wishes they had done differently? 

23. does your muse tend to be hard on themselves when they do something wrong?

24. does your muse lean more toward “forgive and forget” or “resent and remember?”

25. does your muse recognize their faults, or do they have trouble with self-reflection?