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We looked inside some of the posts by blixtrandetorst and here's what we found interesting.
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This man is so and wtf? I'm actually inlove and obsessed.
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what's your role in the tragic play?
misunderstood villain
prepare for an onslaught of both the most dehumanizing and hateful takes, and flood of thirst comments. you are chronically misunderstood. whether or not you're actually evil is debatable. you may be acting out for revenge, to defend someone you love, or even just to protect yourself. you're a pretty jaded person. you don't trust or even really like most people. maybe you did at one point. but that part of you is gone, and you don't go a single day without grieving it. you think a lot about what your life could have been. you're stuck in the past. you're angry and maybe you don't even want to be, but this is the only way you can see to survive. you're open, but less in a trusting way and more like a wound. you don't like to let people see you, but the hurt spills out of you before you can stop it. you're impulsive, even as you try hard to plan and prepare. maybe someday your side of the story will finally be heard. until then, you can convince yourself that being hated is safer anyway
tagged by: @malefikant
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Frederic Remington (American, 1861-1909) - The "Hold-Up"
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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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