SALAZAR ARIAS DEL CASTILLO

O r i g i n a l - C h a r a c t e r ( based on an original work) HISTORY BASED VAMPIRE OC "How come nobody told me an ARIA, a piece of STAINED GLASS, a PAINTING, a SUNSET can be god too? " PRIVATE & SELECTIVE Written by Mar / 25+ / GMT -7

[deoscuridad]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐣𝐚𝐡𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 . . .

SALAZAR ARIAS DEL CASTILLO  .         this   is   an   independent ,  private ,  low to medium activity    ORIGINAL CHARACTER ,   heavily influenced by history -- specifically the " AGE OF DISCOVERY " and a working personal work.       revamped.   Sept   2024 .        i’m   mar   ( she/her ,  25+)     

Born in 1492, Salazar's life is steeped in the history of Spain’s conquest and change. He moved to the Americas in the mid-1530s but remains nostalgic for a distant past. His faith, though tested, grounds him. Now a professor and botanical illustrator, he seeks solace in nature, haunted by the world he left behind.

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ON HIATUS​​

[dekutree]

*dad voice* absolutely not

[deoscuridad]

Give me your academic muses, give me your sad people u.u

[deoscuridad]

- Let us whisper now, together you and I…tell me about your home… - My house is in the hills–a very simple place. earth colored stones that warm in the sun. A kitchen garden that smells of herbs in the day and jasmine in the evening. Through the gate is a giant poplar, figs, apples, pears, the soil…that sun…bright like my wife’s hair. - When was the last time you were home? - 490 years 264 days and this day.

[persephonememes]

* (  WUTHERING HEIGHTS /  SENTENCE PROMPTS.

These may have been edited for clarity or length or to better apply for roleplaying.

❛ He’s more myself than I am. ❜

❛ Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. ❜

❛ If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be. ❜

❛ Be with me always. ❜

❛ I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free. ❜

❛ He couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a day. ❜

❛ May you not rest as long as I am living. ❜

❛ You said I killed you - haunt me then. ❜

❛ I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. ❜

❛ Terror made me cruel. ❜

❛ I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. ❜

❛ She burned too bright for this world. ❜

❛ And this is one: I’m going to tell it - but take care not to smile at any part of it. ❜

❛ I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death. ❜

❛ People feel with their hearts, and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him. ❜

❛ You teach me now how cruel you’ve been - cruel and false. ❜

❛ Why did you despise me? ❜

❛ Why did you betray your own heart? ❜

❛ I have to remind myself to breathe – almost to remind my heart to beat! ❜

❛ It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. ❜

❛ It is hard to forgive. ❜

❛ May she wake in torment! ❜

❛ She’s a liar to the end! ❜

❛ Honest people don’t hide their deeds. ❜

❛ Heaven did not seem to be my home. ❜

❛ A person who has not done one half his day’s work by ten o'clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half undone. ❜

❛ Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies. ❜

❛ You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence! ❜

❛ I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. ❜

❛ A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself. ❜

❛ Why am I so changed? ❜

❛ Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy. ❜

❛ I’ll be as dirty as I please, and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty! ❜

❛ I hate him for himself, but despise him for the memories he revives. ❜

❛ I’m tired, tired of being enclosed here. ❜

❛ How cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling. ❜

❛ Existence, after losing her, would be hell ❜

❛ I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing. ❜

❛ By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness. ❜

❛ She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. ❜

❛ She burned too brightly for this world. ❜

❛ You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you. ❜

Keep reading

[antoniosbanderas]

Pain and Glory (2019), dir. Pedro Almodóvar

[deoscuridad]

Salazar lingered in the shadows of the old theater, the all too familiar scent of damp wood and dust filling the air. He had not set foot in a place like this in years, and now, as he watched Boris move across the stage, he felt the same unease he had always known in his presence. Boris was a towering figure, even now--centuries seemed to have added to his presence, making him larger than life, more vivid in the fabric of the world. In contrast, Salazar had spent so long hiding, vanishing into forests and his personal gardens, but Boris...Boris was always there, standing where everyone could see him.

"Boris," Salazar said softly, stepping out of the shadows at the edge, his voice a whisper that somehow echoed in the vast emptiness of the theater. "You still play at eternity, I see." How many years had it been since they had last seen each other?

@ourcharade // Boris

[deoscuridad]

STARTER CALL || cause I'd like to get things done with Sal xoxo

[h-arleen]

#me whenever somebody asks me to hang out with them

[threeamserif]

"The gardener hears and listens to the booms of thunder from the approaching storm. The way the world speaks to us. [...]

Speak softly to the world she says to him."

-- Island Stories, from night exposures (2018), Gerry Loose (pub. Vagabond Voices)

[hellboundheart]

god can you come pick me up i’m scared

[timotaychalamet]

Wild Strawberries (1957) dir. Ingmar Bergman

[tierras]

... i wait and ache. I think I have been healing.

[beguines]

Kate Cayley, from "Lent"

[floralls]

Monet’s house&garden, Giverny, France by  Rick Ligthelm

[luthienne]

Adonis, from “Desire Moving Through Maps of Matter” (tr. Khaled Mattawa) / Valarie Kaur, See No Stranger: A Memoir and Manifesto of Revolutionary Love / Kahlil Gibran, from “On Joy and Sorrow” / Adonis, from “Desire Moving Through Maps of Matter” (tr. Khaled Mattawa) / Naomi Shihab Nye, from “Kindness”

[olemisekunst]

The Secret Garden (1993)