#thelostboylonelyworld

[thelostboylonelyworld]

The come back of shared happiness tastes sweeter|| O Retorno da felicidade compartilhada é mais doce 🥳🍫

PT-BR right below English/ PT-BR logo abaixo do Inglês

Hey! I am back and slowly answering the threads of everyone! I didn’t forget any of you @surrenderedsoul-blog; @psycofreakx; @leroilestat ; @emeraldgreeneyedmonster ; @apprentice-albinus . The replies are on their way. :3) Also wanted to share some really exciting news (at least to me). I received a tumblr notification informing I received 100 likes! So I wanted to share and celebrate with all of you for all the patience, love, and humanity. Happiness is sweeter when shared! It may seem small, but isn’t it the small joys that makes life worth of living?

Oie! Estou de volta e respondendo aos Threads de todo mundo aos poucos! Também queria compartilhar uma notícia muito empolgante (pelo menos para mim). Recebi uma notificação do Tumblr informando que cheguei a 100 curtidas! Então, eu quis compartilhar e comemorar com todos vocês por toda a paciência, carinho e humanidade. Pode parecer pouco, mas não são as pequenas felicidades que fazem a vida valer a pena ser vivida?"

Thank you for each one of you: @aeternalis-aelia ; @psycofreakx ; @house-of-tales ; @asmaticbomb ; @cicero-the-assassin ; @surrenderedsoul-blog ; @leroilestat ; @emeraldgreeneyedmonster ; @apprentice-albinus and each and everyone that follows my blog publicly or in silence!✨🥳🎊

Agradeço a cada um de vocês: @aeternalis-aelia ; @psycofreakx ; @house-of-tales ; @asmaticbomb ; @cicero-the-assassin ; @surrenderedsoul-blog ; @leroilestat ; @emeraldgreeneyedmonster ; @apprentice-albinus e a cada um que segue meu blog publicamente ou em silêncio!✨🥳🎊

With love,

The Thespian

[cicero-the-assassin]

@thelostboylonelyworld

Continued from here.

No smile was ever kind to him. Not because of the intent of the one giving it, but because all Caim ever saw in the row of raw starkly white was the baring of teeth of a snarling beast ready to pounce and as soon as the man showed those pointy knives it sliced his spine in two with its ice cold twine. Was an acute, thick narrow streak, like a fillet of blood running down a white wall, slitting him from head to toe, concomitantly slow and too swift, that jump started his heart as adrenaline kicked in, hand in hand with the old familiar foe, that twisting thing called fear. And while those electric wide oceans barely blinked he thought: What exactly the Hell you think you are doing?

But he knew, didn’t he? He was exhausted of stagnation. Exhausted of observing life through the windows of the library. He new time passed for people’s clothes changed, his own too, for Grumpy old Jenny took care of that with no chance of any protest or inquiry from his part. He had started to mark the days on calendars, but he always slept with the last day of the month marked in ink and raised the next day to a brand new spotless calendar of the same month on the wall. He swallowed bitterly. No questions asked, he tried to mark it through the publication dates of the books he read, but as soon his eyes were averted they were all gone. He started to memorize the rise and fall of the big fire ball in the sky and its silver knifed companion by heart, but as soon blue gems opened to the light on the next day the number had erased itself of his mind and with no way to note he could only contemplate, meekly humbly the joys and the woes of life pass by. He didn’t dare to ask Jenny, she would disregard it completely, call his doubts foolery and his fears wise, for no one should stir the pot nor question what was in the witch’s cauldron that everyone called Santa Carla. Time passed but his wish to live didn’t. The desire was so great it reached a point where not even fear of Death was capable of choking the craving of knowing if the touch of another skin held any similar trait to the warmth of the Sun, nor erase away the hint of a smile when very rarely the youth of technology addicts came to search for some book. The sudden impetuosity that risked to overtake any caution when passing a book to a customer’s hand after checkout . The gnawing caprice of touching one’s hand, mid transaction and whisper: stay. The yearning already had devoured him whole when he risked, against all Jenny’s rules and precautions, doing hitman moonlights after library’s shifts to the rival gangs of Santa Carla. He got extra cash, and if the light of a new found the underdog of the night tied upside down, blood drained out of a knife cut in their throat, no one cared, really. With savage vampires all around, mafia problems where the least of population’s worries, and therefore such department grew and spread healthy and prosperous like a festering. It didn’t matter really Caim felt paralyzed of terror with the simple prospect of being caught by vampires, humans or any other creature ill-intended that bumped the night. It didn’t matter he had disjointed, fragmentary, abstract night terrors after each night of hunt. It didn’t matter how sparse the gaps were between each other. In a place like Santa Carla where were more people undead than alive, often the weakest of the kind became prey. And Caim wasn’t only weak, he was defective, in every fucking way. He observed as he always did, he watched that new face, night after night, inside the sacred prison of the library. Time passed, people were born, people died, but they never lost fascination in Caim’s eyes. “ The eyes of child wonderment” once he heard Jenny comment when she thought he wasn’t listening, but her words were laced in melancholy. “The eyes of child wonderment “, like Santa Claus! If he actually existed. But he wasn’t Santa, and he wouldn’t ever be able to be, for Santa made children happy, and he wouldn’t be able to make any child happy, for he never was one. Exhaustion, exhaustion is what led him to put his foot outside with a book under his arm to gift a newcomer he had been spying for quite some time and that obviously could kill him. The predator showed his teeth but instead of the common fear, laced with the adrenaline and terror, a peculiar ticklish sensation made of the hollowness of his chest, home. The wide expressive jewels he had for eyes flickered with the new feeling, dared to blink once, before his lips curled up, almost without him willing the motion, into a dazzling brain melting smile. The first one he had ever remembered giving.

~~~

The fear hits him in the face- like glassy shards of ice stinging his face. A splash of icy cold water that sobered Lucio up almost instantly.

Widened blue eyes, filled with terror, are met by Lucio's dark crimson ones. Tranquil and calm, seemingly observing the other with intrigue. This was no spike of intimidation, this was something primal. A deep fear within his soul. Something that felt like clawing at bones. And yet, still he does not recognize this other man. It couldn't be him specifically that brought this feeling to the surface. Perhaps someone who looks like him? Or with a similar affliction. The world was full of terrors, wasn't it? Well hidden as they typically were within the openness of modern society.

Santa Carla. He'd heard of this place, the unofficially named 'Murder Capital of the World'. The nickname earned from the heavy amounts of gang activity and disappearances. Of course, Lucio himself had an inkling as to what was going on around here. And decided to travel to make the discovery himself.

So far, it had seemed the locals didn't think anything of his presence. That is- until this boy in the library. A survivor of an attack maybe? So many thoughts run through his head in that small moment between them.

Though, quite quickly, the ice melts away into something more pleasant as he is offered a silent smile. Shy, mayhaps?

He sort of gestures with the book to casually bring attention to it. Though he'd felt eyes on him before, he hadn't exactly expected a gift.

"Is this... some sort of program the library does for Christmas or something?" He asks curiously.

[drcasimir]

(From @thelostboylonelyworld - Caim)

A quiet, hollow rustling echoed through the empty space right outside Dr. Casimir’s office door. Caim was kneeling on the hard floor, completely indifferent to anyone who might pass by. His broad shoulders were hunched over as he carefully tilted the heavy outdoor trash can toward his chest, his large sapphire eyes fixed downward as his long, fine fingers meticulously sifted through the discarded papers inside.

“And just what do you think you are doing?” Casimir asked. He was standing in his open doorway, arms crossed and his brow raised. “Why are you going through my trash?”

[trxstesse]

Caim’s eyes narrowed, hardening into two solid spheres of bright blue. “Survive only with your fangs?! That sounds excruciating. I completely understand why you prefer to end the training so quickly. How does Killer even manage to handle that kind of pain?”

"It can be, but when your hands are a bit preoccupied in holding someone in place, you make do. Sometimes its a better way to injure." Antoine smiles at the shocked man, "We don't actually bite each other in those trainings. Mostly wrestling and tossing each other around. How does Killer manage? I think he tunes it out. When he gets going, he's like a different person. He's never complained of pains from anything but self-inflicted stomach bugs. I'm sure I can ask him for you."

@thelostboylonelyworld

[tragictwinflames]

Closed RP with @thelostboylonelyworld

“If I am killed for simply living, may death be kinder than man” - A quote Alura never knew would end up resonating with her so deeply.

Who knew people could be so cruel? Alura wasn’t surprised by their actions but more so how they could live their lives normally after. Rumors of the cult growing in size, kidnapping the gifted and magical had reached her ears earlier this month. No one knew why they were seeking them out but every one could assume it wasn’t good.

Just half a year ago it was common to see witches at inns using their powers to cook and clean the dishes, now, no one laughed as much; life seemed so dull and all the sights of magic in the world was beginning to fade. What once was a life that felt safe to be yourself and grow your gifts to their maximum potential.. was now worthy of being crucified.

Alura didn’t have the brightest past, she had the scar to prove it (a scar in the middle of her back and one in the middle of her chest from being stabbed all the way through). As she sat at the bar in the inn she couldn’t help but think about how she got it, wondering if she had something indirectly to do with cult kidnappings.

Normally, she wouldn’t worry but given her abilities and her past, it wasn’t far fetched. She had the elemental power of light- similar to a witch using fire, water, etc.. Except, this “light” that she wielded was a part of her being. It could heal as much as it could destroy. Losing control of it once in the past, causing catastrophic damage left an impact on the people in the area. If rumors of that event, or even similar ones reached the right ears, she could see how it’d cause a man hunt for gifted people.

Alura let out a sigh as she brushed the thought away, she didn’t want to think about something so depressing. Held her drink and swirled it around as she looked at it, feeling a buzz from the alcohol in it. Her long wavy auburn hair framing her face and her golden green eyes seeming a bit dazed as her mind wondered. Her body tensed as the door to inn opened, her eyes snapping over to see who it was. She was always on edge, not knowing if one of the cultists was on her trail.

[house-of-tales]

@thelostboylonelyworld

Não é sempre que Armand vai para uma livraria, mas até mesmo ele tem seus momentos. Não é como se não gostasse de ler, na verdade apreciava uma boa leitura, mas era bem seletivo com o que lia ou não. No momento estava interessado na ala dos clássicos, mas nunca havia pisado naquela livraria, então não fazia ideia de onde procurar.

Claro que ele também não perderia a chance de interagir, ainda mais vendo que um dos moços que trabalhava ali era muito atraente. Não custa nada, né? Não era como se esperasse algo daquilo, só não recusava uma oportunidade de ser sociável. Ainda que algo, talvez apenas coisa da sua mente, lhe deixasse curioso a respeito daquele rapaz. Talvez devesse se preocupar com tal curiosidade, geralmente era um sinal de que tinha algo ali...mas por enquanto, iria ignorar seus instintos. Era só pedir uma informação.

"Com licença..." com um sorriso recheado de charme, até porque mesmo sem fazer esforço, não tinha como realmente desativar sua própria natureza. De qualquer forma isso não o preocupava. Sua prioridade ali era encontrar livros, não seduzir pessoas.

"Sabe me dizer onde encontro literatura clássica por aqui? Nunca vim aqui antes, estou bem perdido."

[psycofreakx]

@thelostboylonelyworld

A noite estava bela, as nuvens cobrindo parcialmente a linda lua que tentava brilhar sozinha naquela imensidão. Nenhuma estrela era visível, apenas o completo breu. Marshall havia acordado e levando de seu caixão mais tarde nesse dia, aproximadamente umas vinte horas. Uma vez que era completamente vulnerável a luz do sol, só levantava quando esse já se pôs no horizonte. Já estava alimentado, ou pelo menos sem fome no momento. As presas de ouro reluzindo, ainda que ansiasse um pouco do líquido escarlate. 

Estava bem vestido, a roupa completamente de couro, incluindo a bota que chegava próximo de seus joelhos e com várias fivelas enormes. A jaqueta não só o ajudava com o frio, como tinha seu estilo. Montado em sua moto, corria acelerado pelas estradas vazias até um estabelecimento que até então não tinha conhecimento: uma livraria um tanto quanto distante. O vampiro tinha certa fissura por librarias e bibliotecas, dado que procurava registros antigos sobre a origem da magia de ouro, a procura de entender melhor suas habilidades e os caminhos a percorrer. 

Pelo horário, o lugar já estava fechado, entretanto não estava com um humor para ser educado. Nunca estava. Quebrou o trinco com um único movimento forte para baixo, usando apenas a palma da mão. Não estava se importante se alguém escutaria ou viesse reclamar, não tinha a pretensão de demorar por ali. Abriu a porta e adentrou sem nenhuma preocupação, seus olhos enxergando completamente com a ausência de iluminação. 

Olhava pelos livros, lendo os títulos e jogando no chão os que não interessavam, pouco se importando com a bagunça que estava fazendo. - “Que merda! Não encontro nada nessa porra.” - gritou. Estava tão frustrado que mal notou ou se importou com a presença que surgiu logo após.  

[justjudan247]

The west coast. There was something about the laid back attitude of most of the population here that always seemed to soothe Judan's nerves, at least for a little while. After a few weeks, it began to grate on him. The cities became a bit too laid back for his taste. The people in them seemed more apathetic than chill, up for a good time but not at the expensive of putting too much effort into it.

For that reason, he made his home on the east coast. In his city, people made a show of partying. They wanted people to see it, wanted people to want to join them in it. There were enough tourists flooding in to keep things flavorful for him, literally, with most being dumb college students making decisions they'd regret for the rest of their lives. If Judan left them with a "rest of their life" to continue having once he met them. It wasn't a City That Never Slept, but that was fine with him. People got crabby that way, and that made him crabby. After awhile though, as much as he loved his home, even he needed a vacation. So here he was.

He had rolled into town the night prior and was still getting his bearings. Why Santa Clara? Why not? It was as good a place as any to visit for awhile, and he found a great deal on a flight. The idiots who thought all vampires over a certain age owned private jets and spent every ounce of their time globe trotting had clearly never given much thought to how much money it all wasted, or how difficult it was to liquidate funds once it was time to move on. The IRS was no joke.

Stepping directly out of his hotel and onto the beach, he shifted his surfboard in his grip. A new purchase, yeah. He could spend money when something was actually worth having.

At this time of night, the beach was relatively empty. Not a real surprise. It was almost last call at the tiki bar nearby and everyone wanted to get a few last Rum Runners in. No shame. Still, he was glad to have the sand almost all to himself. He would definitely have the waves to himself anyway. Humans never dared surfing at this time of night. Something about sharks and poor night vision. 'Losers,' he smirked to himself.

@thelostboylonelyworld