poems for the signs
you are not too much. you are brilliant. remarkable you fill up rooms with love. you are joy. you are sunlight. you put more stars in the sky. your laugh makes the earth a better place. every day the world tells you to hide. but you say no. your soul was put there to take up as much space as possible. and there is room for you to be even more.
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🩰🎀💗🌷🎀🍰
"On your knees"
"Good girl"
"Look at me"
"Use your words"
"Say it louder"
"Don't make me ask again"
"Beg for it"
"Say please"
"That's my good girl"
"Just like that"
"Come here"
"You're mine"
"Show me your tongue"
"Don't move"
"I'm proud of you"
🩰🎀💗🌷🎀🍰
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I'll walk forever with stories inside me that the people I love the most can never hear.
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On the note of Alucard's return
Yes, it is true. Fans of the games and the Series' alike can rejoice. Our beloved Half-Blood Prince has returned to the world.
But, I just wanted to point something out that is pretty obvious, so I expect others to have pointed it out already.
Alucard is tired. And he feels empty.
To quote Sypha from Castlevania Season 2, "It's like he's a cold spot in the room. An icy well that's bottomless and swallows up your voice or anything you try to drop into it."
Which is to be expected. One can only imagine how empty Alucard feels watching Trevor, Sypha, and all of their descendants before Richter, pass away while he lives on.
And more to it, he's definitely exhausted cutting down the resurgence of evil vampire covens decade after decade, but it's a heavy task that Alucard knows he still has to do. To help where no one else will.
I could just feel it when I saw him, saw it in his eyes, and heard it in his voice. There's nothing left of the man he once was, and almost nothing inside Alucard at all. There is still a small amount of "something" there, but whatever Alucard is running on, it is running out quickly.
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hot girl summer but its me taking care of my emotional health, spending time under the sun, reading more, finding new things that make me happy, doing things that bring out good versions of myself
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His tongue, her curves; a beautiful poem.
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