I been trying to figure out a way to write these words for like the past 5 years now. I think it’s because that’s when I turned 21, when things were fun for my peers but I was consciously dreaming on how to spend my life with you explicitly. I’ve been extremely patient while battling temptation from a world that tells me “fuck a wife” and “it’s cool to have a grip of girls” — yet I’ve still been roaming the ocean just to prove why waiting for you was worth my world. I can’t tell you how many nights I stayed up visualizing a life, one where I’d never leave your side. Can you imagine how many pieces of paper I balled up out of frustration because I thought I met you in someone else only to give my all, then end up back by myself.
See when you finally look into my eyes, I want you to know that I was the walking definition of persistence. No matter how many times I was told “just fuck these hoes” I resisted. Because I couldn’t imaging myself trading in a night for what’s missing. When you look at me I want you to see the queen within yourself that reflects from my pupils but penetrate your soul. A sight that magnifies your queendom, so if your love were particles and I was blind I could still see them.
You have no idea how many times in my mind you said, “I do” without me even meeting you.
This is beyond fate or a first date. My soul is so entangled in your spirit that even from heaven I can feel it. I need you to know that the last love I believed to be you stabbed me so intensely that life wasn’t worth living. However, your hand touched my faced and it was in that feeling that I found hope. The journey for you became my solace to exist, my reason to persist, my will to resist, my heart to risk.
Never forget I risked it all for you before you knew I risked it.
So no matter where you are in the universe, I’ll find you. No matter how long it takes, I’ll search for you. The reason why is because I can feel you too. You’re searching for me and you’re dealing with heartbreak, fake love, regrets, and setbacks. Once I find you, I’ll set back your setbacks. I’ll make you fall in love so deeply you’ll forget those regrets. Any fake love you’ve experienced will become realer than any HD romantic film you’ve experienced.
On that day you take my hand in marriage I’ll smile and say, “We’re married.” I’ll remind you that your love was always mine to carry. That the men you’ve experienced in your past was exactly what the universe needed you to experience to be the women you are now. I’ll kiss your forehead a million times, to make a million rhymes; you’ll lay next to me and I’ll write you a million lines on this same sheet of paper.
The love I give you as your Prince Charming will become realer than your reality. You’ll never need love as a supplement. Your smile will shine the darkest of days. Your aura will shine the darkest of ways. The love we create when we have children will validate every word I say. I’ll love you like the seeds you grow for 9 months, as if it were a 100 years and we were old and gray. I still hold your hand each and every day.
I don’t know when I’ll find you but I know when I do every single minute will be worth the lifetime you deserved to have me there while I desperately searched this desert.
Believe me when I say on that day we’ll be in love forever…
okay but can we all talk about how amazing hoshino is at conveying emotion through expressions? my heart felt like it was ripping in half at some of the expressions shown in the latest chapter, she shows strong emotion so well. and god some of the panels in this were absolutely breathtaking too, the detail was astounding.
honest to god, that was worth a year of waiting. the care and love that went into this, all the detail, the emotion carried across; it was so worth it.
okay so since the carmilla fandom is basically dead / going into hibernation until the movie i figured i’d make a fic rec post just for fun (and then go drown myself in riverdale), going from my favourites to decent ones:
Setting that intimate night in Karachi aside, and leaving
any sentiment unaddressed, Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler (as they were
formerly known) began their collaboration during The Fall.
Their encounter with the first strand of Moriarty’s network,
however, did not go quite as smoothly as planned. Shortly after they arrived in
Montenegro as Mr and Mrs Wolfe, a gunfire-loaded incident had them both
It also cost the late consulting detective his memory – he
awoke in confusion, without the faintest knowledge of who he was.
Fortunately for him, his location was incredibly easy to
deduce, as was his relationship with the only other occupant of the house.
No need to inform her of the slightly inconvenient detail
just yet. He was confident everything could continue on as usual, without his
wife suspecting a thing about his (hopefully temporary) condition. It was their
honeymoon after all.
One of the first things he learnt about himself was that he
hated being bored, hated being immobilised in bed by a leg wound.
He almost wished it was more of a challenge, who this woman
was to him. But no, it was so painfully obvious even without their shiny
wedding rings (only 3-4 weeks old, he estimated) immediately giving everything
away, further corroborated by the state of this place (clearly not in their
home country; they moved into the house a mere couple of weeks ago and were not
planning to stay for much longer) indicating that they were on a holiday trip
He could’ve arrived at the same conclusion with
significantly less information. From how she’d looked at him the moment he
opened his eyes, for example. (It was as if he were the first rays of sunshine, heralding
arrival of the precious British summer, after 11 long months of grey skies
and rain.) She had since withdrawn any initial concern from her expression,
maintaining a cool and collected demeanour instead. A smirk or witty remark
here and there, not a single word of caring, though what was unspoken in the
way she tended to his wounds was more unequivocal than any words would’ve had power to convey.
It was just as well that they weren’t a very outwardly
affectionate couple. Eased his reacclimatisation to the relationship. He didn’t
particularly feel an affinity for the saccharine, and if he was honest, he was
even rather surprised that they were apparently the marrying type.
Whomever it was that he used to be, however, he did approve
of this man’s choice of spouse. He..liked
her, from what little he observed about her since he’d regained awareness of
his surroundings (approx. an hour ago). The nature of their relationship might have been the
simplest of deductions, but the woman herself was most decidedly not. She was highly complex and incredibly fascinating. Intelligent,
competent, self-assured, gorgeous.. (Wait, where did that last one come from?
That wasn’t a deduction! Beauty was just a social construct.) Although he was certain that the intense (and very distracting)
attraction he was experiencing had a more profound basis.
He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was about her that
conferred this singular sense of connection, familiarity layered with mystery.
Merely that it was there as a result of something, something he frustratingly had
no tangible recollection of – his current data was far from sufficient in
providing him with any glimpse into their history.
She was standing to leave his bedside, and he instinctively reached
out and caught her wrist. To gesture to her that she, too, needed to rest – it was
likely already late in the evening when he awoke. He had to have been unconscious
for days, judging from her lack of sleep (obvious, despite her efforts to
conceal her mental and physical exhaustion).
Her reaction was one he hadn’t expected. Her eyes widened,
and her breath hitched, as he was pulling her onto the bed. Shocked? But they
were husband and wife, presumably sharing the same bed, it was only logical
Oh. Oh. It hadn’t occurred
to him that the specific physical contact he initiated could be interpreted as
prelude to intimacy and..intercourse. A sudden adrenaline spike sent his own
heart pounding frantically as he felt the mattress dip beside him when she did
begin to lie down, her proximity increasingly alarming, and he turned on his
side to face away from her, to escape her deep blue gaze (it wasn’t to hide his
blush, and it wasn’t panic, he shouldn’t panic, that would be absurd).
“Sherlock, what–” And he stumbled over his interrupting
response, “Not that. Not today. I don’t think I’m feeling up to it.”
The silence that stretched between them, taut as a violin
string, told him that she was studying his demeanour, undoubtedly finding it
unusual (right, so sex wasn’t something he’d normally deny her of; still, he
was in recovery from what must’ve been a traumatic event, a reasonable excuse).
Whatever comment she was most likely biting back (he couldn’t risk turning
around to confirm this hypothesis), she didn’t say it.
Instead, he sensed her movement as she finally reached for the
light switch after a long moment, and within an instant darkness was upon them.
For which he was extremely thankful, because he then felt soft lips pressed to his cheek, immediately
causing it to heat up.
“Good night, Mr Holmes.” Her warm body was inches
away, her breathing a pleasant sound in the quiet of the night.
He tried to ignore the involuntary neuronal activity
protesting for a change of mind regarding his earlier decision, his statement
to her that he wasn’t keen to perform
(you liarrrr), and forced his thoughts to focus on the newly acquired
knowledge of his full name.
Sherlock Holmes awoke in the late-morning light, with an
arm comfortably wrapped around his wife. Time to piece together the remainder
of this puzzle that was his life. He hoped it wasn’t a dull one.