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sytoran · 8 months ago

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home is where the heart is ★ n.r

— 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ;; 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐘𝐒 & 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

in which your married life with natasha romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. with your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (and ultimately, very horny.)

pairing ★ sub!wife!natasha x beefy!butch!reader

chapter summary ★ natasha wakes you up with a pleasant surprise, your gremlin kids are the life and death of you, tony stark is annoying, marital sexting is pretty tough, and you're homesick for your wife's pussy.

warnings ★ (MINORS DNI) - explicit content, some pretty heavy kinks: blowjobs, marital sexting, breeding kink, daddy kink, probably more.

word count ★ 3.1k (feeding yall)

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

You slept like the dead.

Or at least you did, on most mornings, oblivious to the waking world in your sweet slumber.

Today was different, though. There was a distinct feeling of pleasantness swimming in your subconscious, one you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It urged you awake, a certain type of wet heat that insistently tugged and pulled.

It wasn’t until a jolt of arousal shot through you like a nine-millimetre shotgun that you jerked awake with a start.

“Shit!” you gasped, yanking off the blanket from your lower half, to reveal your ethereal wife perpetrating what could only be described as a wet dream.

Natasha’s head was obediently lowered in the midst of sucking your erect shaft, her viridescent gaze trained unto you with a twinkle of mischief. Wandering hands were sheathed under the front of your sweatshirt, painted nails mapping out the expanse of your tensed abdomen.

“Way to wake me up, baby,” you say breathlessly, a hand flying to the back of Natasha’s head in hopes of speeding up your ever-approaching high. You buck your hips once, effectively propelling your hips further forward, guiding your shaft into your wife’s mouth.

Natasha hums mindlessly, palming at your torso like it was second nature. Her mouth moves languidly, relaxed and slow, tongue trailing over the hefty length of your cock in a teasing manner.

Like the devil incarnate, Natasha’s hand glides a broad stroke from your abs to the base of your cock, and starts working her hand in firm strokes. “Fuck,” you groan, a hand twisting into soft locks of your wife’s hair.

The joint stimulation on the head and base of your cock have you barrelling towards a preordained high at a frighteningly fast pace, and the absolutely criminal way Natasha’s head bobs up and down is no help at all.

“Fuck, baby, m’so close,” you gasp, throwing your head back and letting your eyes slide shut. Your big hand guides Natasha’s head with a certain type of tacit power, unwritten but distinct. Natasha feels herself get wet, and in turn eagerly plunges her mouth down with a renewed vigour.

When Natasha lets out a filthy moan from the back of her throat, stifled by the sheer size of your cock in her mouth, pleasure overwhelms your every sense.

You groan, hips snapping up for the entirety of your cock to be buried in Natasha’s warm and velvet throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Mama! Mommy!”

The undeniable sound of little feet scampering across the wooden floorboard and down the stairs, unceremoniously hauls you out of your heaven-like ascension.

Natasha pulls her lips off your cock with a satisfying ‘pop’ sound. “Time to get up, honey,” she says with the arch of her eyebrow, smoothly turning over in practised motion and leaving you hung and sprung.

“Baby,” you whine, pitifully throwing your head back. Your words fall on deaf ears and you grumble and pull up your sweatpants, just in time for the door to swing open and release the incoming wave of chaos.

“MAMA!!” Emilia shrieks, leaping onto the bed with fearsome aggression, her younger twin brother in tow.

Your five-year olds didn’t let you catch any breaks, Emilio roaring into your ear while dragging his toy pterodactyl across your face. “Rawr! Rawr! Wake up, ma!”

You leap up in a haze of bedsheets and screaming kids, all your previous indiscretions quickly faded at the sight of your bundles of joy.

Emilia squeals as you easily hoist her up with one arm, the little girl getting thrown into the air. Emilio receives much of the same treatment, getting dangled in the air by one leg.

“Mommy! Save us!” The boy cries out with a delighted grin and a hearty attempt at hitting your side. You swing them around with fake growls that incite laughter and squeals, steering clear of any sharp corners or wayward objects.

Natasha is more preoccupied with hugging your sleepy ten-year old, and cooing softly into her ear.

Marina is the oldest of your three, quiet and reserved, with brilliance sparkling behind her soft eyes. “Hi, mama,” she greets you with a small smile, and your heart melts a little.

“Hi, darling angel,” you reply with a big grin of your own. “Where’s my morning kiss?”

At the prospect of the feared morning kiss, Emilio yells and wreaks absolute havoc, the toy truck forgotten in favour of escaping your clutches.

“No mama! No kiss!” Emilia protests, the Russian determination behind her set eyes a splitting image of her mother’s. Emilio is long gone, visibly hidden under your bedside table.

You hoist Marina up onto your hip, smiling at the sweet kiss she pecks on your cheek. “It’s mommy’s turn now,” you say easily, sliding up to Natasha with a mischievous grin.

“Ew!” Your little girl giggles, hiding behind her hands as you share a chaste kiss with your wife, one that is far too short for your liking. Either way, the morning kiss routine was a success.

The attention in the crowded room is drawn by a simple clap of Natasha’s hands. She stands arms akimbo, rocking her bed hair, sleep still half-written in her eyes — but the whole look is so endearing that you can’t help but fall in love all over again.

“Okay, kids. Time to get ready for school! Who wants breakfast?”

The cheer that arises from your children is nothing short of pure jubilation. Emilio starts a chant of ‘Frosted Flakes! Frosted Flakes!’ that has them marching in line out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.

Natasha laughs, following their trail, but you drag her back expectantly.

With one arm hanging off the top of the doorframe and the other wrapped around her waist, you pull Natasha into that long sought-after kiss.

“Mhm,” you hum contentedly, inhaling her sweet scent. “I love you.”

Natasha slowly slides her hands up your arms, savouring the kiss. She presses her palms to your cheeks, adoration dancing in her eyes.

“I love you too.”

*****

The Frosted Flakes do not end up on the breakfast table, after all, because Natasha reasons that the kids had eaten it for three breakfasts in a row and their teeth would rot and fall off.

Toast and scrambled eggs, courtesy of your little handiwork in the kitchen, is the eventual outcome. Food is food to a bunch of hungry gremlins, either way, and the breakfast gets scarfed down in no time at all.

“You’re gonna go soon?” Natasha asks you in the kitchen, giggling at your teddy-bear patterned apron. You make a non-committal hum against your wife’s chest, wanting to stay in her arms for an eternity.

“Mama, we have to go to school,” Marina calls from the front porch, the door clicking open. “I need help with my shoe!” Emilio cries out, hopping into the kitchen with a singular shoe. “I got my shoes done on my own!” Emilia chimes in proudly, tugging on her backpack straps.

Natasha laughs, stroking your hair affectionately. “No rest for the wicked,” she says. “Be a responsible parent and send Marina to school, then go to work. The twins’ school bus will be here anytime.”

You exhale with a smile, pulling your wife in for a kiss that is a tad too long. Tugging off the pink apron, you’re glad you already changed into your work attire — a collared white shirt rolled up to your elbows, a grey-patterned tie, and matching slacks.

Natasha looks you up and down approvingly, then her eyes glimmer with an incited flame as she straightens your tie. You definitely don’t miss the way her hands glide smoothly across your chest to straighten out the wrinkles, and you resist the fluttering sensation that blooms under her touch.

“What a handsome young woman,” Natasha comments, tip-toeing to peck your cheek. You smile widely, preening under your wife’s attention. “Only for you,” you reply happily. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Mama, let’s go,” Marina probes, head poking into the kitchen. Her eyes soften at the sight of Natasha, proceeding to wave cutely. “Bye, mommy.”

Like little ducks, your three children follow you out of the house, with their miniature backpacks and shoes. Natasha watches adoringly from the porch, blowing kisses to Emilia when she yells one last “Bye, mommy!”.

Your Audi SQ7 peels out the driveway, engine revving. Marina is looking out the window, humming ‘American Pie’ with a little smile. As your home fades away in the rearview mirror, you think that this life was all you’d ever need.

***

“Fury, tell Tony that not sponsoring the coffee machines in my building is frankly, quite rude behaviour,” you comment, sitting next to the aloof man who’s snacking on a packet of dried fruit. Steve steals bits of the snack when Tony’s not looking, much to Fury’s chagrin.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Tony replies hotly, snatching back the piece of fruit in Steve’s hand. “You literally leaked the photo of me in a maid outfit, for the whole world to see. You know how many sleazy men have slid into my DMs since then? Pepper hasn’t let that go!”

“What, are you mad that the public now knows that Pepper’s the one that does the dicking down?” you retort. “And Steve was one of those ‘sleazy men’!”

The accused blonde looks away quickly, suddenly very preoccupied with the tiling of the floor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve mumbles.

“That’s enough,” Fury admonishes with an unamused look. “The three of you need to get your shit together. Regardless of whether or not Stark is a bottom, I can’t have the CEOs of my powerhouse companies making a bad name. You know how that reflects on me? Stark Industries, SHIELD, L/N-Corp Worldwide Media: The Desolate Downfall of Nick Fury.”

“Is this because I modelled for the gay sex toy shop company? Because that’s just homophobic,” Steve reasons, folding his arms. “And Bucky liked the advert a lot!”

Tony scoffs, making paper aeroplanes with the papers on Fury’s desk. “We literally bring in millions upon millions for you each year. I’m sure that forgives the one time I was high during Y/N’s media conference. The Minister didn’t even notice! He’s like 82, anyways. Close to your age, Fury.”

“And I’m not sorry for calling the Netflix director a bitch on live TV,” you add in. “They’ve got no reason for cancelling all the sapphic shows left and right! My wife and I were invested in Gentleman Jack, okay?”

Fury sighs, the scene before him a spectacle he was no stranger to by now.

You, Tony and Steve were the face of the up-and-coming generation of brilliant minds and creative thinking. He supposed your overwhelming success and proved greatness softened the blow of your discrepancies in maintaining an unblemished professional image.

“Moving on,” Fury continues. “I want to talk about Project Eagle. As you should know from last year’s report……”

Just then, your phone vibrates in your pocket, with a notification from Natasha’s contact.

You, indeed, were hard.

Upon reading Natasha’s last message, you shut your phone off so quickly that Steve turns and raises an eyebrow at you. You clear your throat and shift in your seat, evidently affected.

The heat that surges through your body pays no help in your focus on Fury’s briefing. You can feel the flush creeping on from the back of your neck, spreading down your body and rushing towards the area between your legs.

Natasha, why have you forsaken me? You think helplessly, the noises in the office fading to a low buzz. When your phone vibrates again, your finger clicks on the message before your brain can catch up to you.

The image that Natasha sends you has you choking on absolutely nothing, coughing up air like a woman possessed.

Lacy red lingerie displaying thick thighs and a soft tummy should not be this breathtaking, but Natasha pulls it off anyway.

Filthy images flit into your mind uncontrollably, searing images like a broken record player. Your dick has a mind of its own, pressing hot and tight against the seam of your pants.

“L/N,” Fury announces, voice booming and hauling you out of your trance. “What seems to be the issue?”

In the background, Steve and Tony giggle like schoolgirls, knowing all too well what had occurred. You clear your throat again, shoving your phone into your pocket, hopelessly trying to erase the blessed image of your wife from your memory, just for a moment longer.

“No issues here,” you say with a forced smile, fighting demons with your rock-hard erection you’re desperately trying to cover with a report file. “I’m all dandy, sir.”

“Right,” Fury says disbelievingly, his good eye flickering downwards for a fraction of a second. Embarrassment eats you up whole.

“Let’s hope your attention span is just as ‘dandy’.”

***

“Natty,” you pant, with your wife pinned under you, hot and tight inside of her.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you grunt, punctuating each word with a firm thrust of your hips. “Made me so fucking hard at work.”

Following your incident in Fury’s office, you had exhausted every fibre of your willpower not to lock yourself in a bathroom stall and jerk off like a nymphomaniac.

After a gruelling day of work and coming back to a house of sleeping children, you had wasted no time in claiming your stake.

“I’ve been blue balled for twelve hours,” you groan into Natasha’s neck, mouthing at the flushed skin with fervour. “Spare me some sympathy, darling.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” your wife teases, tracing a feather-light hand over your tensed back muscles and clutching at the back of your neck. “You’re so eager, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” you growl, scraping your sharp teeth over her collarbone, leaving violet imprints at a respectable-enough level. You roll your hips into Natasha’s, drawing relentless waves of pleasure and a rocking motion that has her throwing her head back.

Natasha’s erratic breathing and badly-disguised moans are music to your ears, a sweet symphony you’d been missing all day. You groan as her velvet walls clench tight around you, hot and wet and all-encompassing.

“You feel amazing,” you pant, the clefted tip of your shaft bumping against her cervix with how deep you nest inside of her.

A high-pitched whine sounds from the back of Natasha’s throat, as her legs spasm in the air. “Wanna fuck you senseless, please,” you groan.

“Do it,” she challenges breathily. You lean forward, manhandling her deliciously thick thighs, pressing your wife’s knees to her head.

The arousal that builds in your lower stomach is pure white heat, fueled by the breathless cries of your wife under you.

“Fuck,” you cry out, reaching new spots you haven’t before. You surge forth, an unstoppable train, drilling your shaft into Natasha’s dripping cunt like it was your only reason for living. Because maybe it was, as you transcend earthly boundaries with her, only her.

Subconsciously, your hands fly to Natasha’s hefty tits, grabbing the shaking mounds. “Y’so pretty, babygirl,” you say, half-drunkenly, high of the white-hot pleasure that Natasha draws out of you.

She’s untouchable heaven, silky moans and raspy cries, a soft tummy with rolls that you greedily grasp in your hands.

“Daddy,” Natasha cries, crescent nails scratching down your arms, her suspended legs shaking in the air. The airy lilt of your title makes you leak. “Ugh, fuck,” you grunt, pounding her into the bedframe, sweaty and slick.

“Let me come inside, please?” you practically beg, wide eyes transfixed at the area your shaft meets her cunt. Natasha whines breathlessly, a hand moving to clasp at the sheets. “Yeah, I-I’m on the pill.”

That’s all the confirmation you need before pinning Natasha down with spread hands. You shift on the bed as you mount her, skin-to-skin with your shaft fully-lodged inside of your wife.

Natasha gives you this dizzy look, glazed-over eyes portraying complete submission.

Then you start moving again, and the world explodes in your hands.

“Oh, fuckkk,” you groan, shoving your fingers into Natasha’s mouth to stop her pleasured screams from waking up the whole house.

The speed at which you drive your hips into Natasha’s is downright sinful, smearing slick all over her rounded ass, dripping onto the bed.

You’re transfixed, as your wife’s big mounds bounce in time with your thrusts, making you drool with want. An animalistic growl leaves your throat as you push yourself in, even deeper than before, making Natasha arch above the bed with a muffled cry.

Just like that, with you buried inside Natasha, do you fall apart by the seams, an unwinding intricate tarp.

Your load gets buried deep inside Natasha’s womb, and you continue with shallow thrusts. “Mhmn,” Natasha moans, following soon after, spurts of slick coating your cock in waves of overarching pleasure.

“Babydoll,” you groan mindlessly, palming at her sides. You come so heavily that it flows out of Natasha, a dribble of thick white fluid, and your wife fingers it back in so desperately that you could get hard all over again.

You collapse unceremoniously onto the bed next to Natasha. “I want more kids,” you state. You grope your wife’s tummy like it would conjure new life, an expectant look on your face.

“Three is enough,” Natasha says breathlessly, skin shining with a sheen of fresh sweat. She locks eyes with you, hair tousled and lips curled into an adoring smile.

“Okay, fine,” you mutter your acquiescence, both of you knowing that statement wouldn’t hold up for long. “...Give me a minute, then I’ll clean up. You need some water, baby?”

Natasha lets out a pleased hum, snuggling into your chest.

She kisses your left boob affectionately, as you groan with sensitivity, playfully swatting at her arm. “No need. Just want you.”

“You have me,” you respond softly, running a hand through the brown locks of your wife’s hair, flattening it out with gentle strokes. “You always will.”

so that's chapter one of 'home is where the heart is!' i personally choose to believe pepper straps tony down every night. what are your thought on the kids?? mommy!nat?? butch!reader?? the incorporation of the texts?? there's so much feedback i require tbh

reblog or no more milf!nat

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

#⋆⭒˚｡★ home is where the heart is #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader smut #wlw smut #gxg smut #marvel smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x reader #natasha x reader smut #sub natasha romanoff #bottom natasha romanoff #top reader #dom reader #butch4femme #butch reader #femme4butch

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.1k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, violence, swords & firearms, abductions, hurt/comfort, torture references, nakedness, needles, gore, etc.

A/N: Alright, and that's a wrap on this mini-series. Biker/mechanic!Ghost is next on the list.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You hit the water and immediately push back to the surface, ignoring the burning of your open wounds.

“John!” Your high and panicked call can’t be heard above the yells to arms and the distressed wails. “What are you doing?!” Bodies get chucked from the side of the ship and all you can do is watch as they meet the water around you—skin cut open and eyes dead.

While the sea was numbing your pains, your heart was hurting enough for all of them; hands flailing to try and help keep you above the waves. But everything was so dark, only the light far above giving you a sliver of perception.

“John!” You scream again, eyes snapping back and forth along the ship. Your arms burned with heat.

“Go!” The words ring out and make you cringe, graveled and ragged—an order. But how could you? Vile grunts and skin meeting skin sound out, no more shirking blade edges or the boom of pistols. Fists meeting ribs, bared teeth.

“The Mermaid was wearing tags! He’s part of the King’s forces!” The leader. “If we can’t have the beast, we’ll have the coin from a turncoat!”

“Deserter!”

“Traitor!”

“Tie him to the post!”

Your ears twitch and pull at the horrible words, lungs near hyperventilating and black waves going red. If you weren’t able to ingest water, the way your head was slowly sinking would have left you sputtering and choking.

What will they do to him? Why can’t I help? It was the only part in your life where you regret having a tail, because now you can’t save John in the same way he saved you. Your eyes lock helplessly to the upper deck, far, far above. You can’t drag yourself up or even find the energy to stay above water.

Your strength was waning quickly—you needed to be tended to; healed. But it felt worse than a betrayal to see not even a glimpse of John’s brown hair or his large arms. To not feel the hold he kept on you. You wanted his lips and his flesh to be pressed into you, to venerate your image as he always did.

A Hierei that worships at the shrine that is you.

“Curse you,” you say aloud to the men above. The ones that tie your raging love to a post; you hear his low growls and biting expletives like blades in their own fashioned way, the sea garbling your words. “Curse your greed and your violence!”

But no one listens, and with a heavy and weighed heart, you have to let your dead muscles rest as they give out completely against your will. Sunking under the battling waves, you feel like dead weight; no different than the various bodies around you that John had dispatched.

You felt useless.

Above you was John, being tied up and taken—taken to a King that wants your species dead. You don’t want to leave, but the current is snatching you away like seaweed, limp and broken. Whatever John had done to your wounds, the fabric of his shirt was holding fast to your shredded flesh, but it didn’t stop the agony or the inner conflict.

He was right above you…why aren’t you strong enough to help?

Your eyes flutter, hair and arms floating.

Everything grows dark, but John never once leaves your mind. Perhaps the Fisherman was worshiping you, but you did the same unto him.

The eyepatched leader’s words loop in your brain, paired with storm-blue eyes. Gentle praises.

“...I think he loves the beast!”

Your body sinks with the rest.

—

The sand under you is coarse and dry as your eyes barely open, chest rising and falling but shakily, stuttering in its course. Small noises groan in the back of your throat, fingers like stones beside your face.

Everything hurts, but something has woken you up. Noises. Muttered speaking.

“Now why would she have these?” There was a moment of clinking metal and a low huff.

You groan louder and curl into yourself more, only to stop when the tears in your flesh pull. Your lungs inhale sharply.

“Oh, Christ,” the accented voice is smooth as it gets closer. “Easy, then, Ma’am. Shite, I was hoping you’d stay under a bit longer, I’m not bloody done yet.”

Forcing your eyes open, you hiss at the burn of morning light, laying on your stomach with…your brows tighten…were you wearing a tunic? A hand meets the back of your shoulder and you cry out, jerking.

“Woah!” More force is applied to keep you down but it only makes you struggle more. “Please, I’m trying to stop the bleeding!”

You stall at this revelation like a bird, panting. Muscles tight, you cautiously look over your shoulder to weakly stare at whoever this man was.

Brown eyes meet your own, and a dark-skinned complexion over an oval face. They blink at you with concern and hesitation, sparing only a nervous smirk and a chuckle. You stare widely, saying nothing.

“I…I’m just trying to stop the bleeding. Whoever got you,” this man trails off, glancing down at your tail. “Well, they did some proper damage.”

“Who are you?” Your voice is damaged from all the screaming you’d done, cracking and frail. You stifle a cough and survey the land with frantic snaps of your orbs. This wasn’t your cove.

Where were you? What had happened to the ship? To John? Your hand travels to your neck but lands on nothing. It’s like the world stops turning.

The necklace.

“My name’s Kyle, Miss, but I’m just as well off being called Gaz—” Your hand snaps to his shoulder, wrenching him down in a violent slam to the sand; with a shove of your ailing body, you cross an arm over his chest to pin him.

Brown eyes widen, and one hand easily raises in a placating manner. You don’t bother to look at the other, your head broken into bits of instances and images of horror.

“Where is it?” Your lips hiss out. You didn’t know you could make a sound like that.

Kyle, dressed in a fine outfit of a Bookkeeper, furrowed his brows at you. He didn’t look off-put by your brashness, or by the fact that you were of the Merfolk.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am…I’m not following. Where’s what, exactly?” There was a glinting at his throat, and you snatched at it with a glare and snarl of ‘thief’ on your tongue.

A blade presses into your side and you freeze. Kyle stares up at you with a frown on his face, body tight. “I think you should let that go, Miss, yeah?”

The metal discs are the same as John's, but they hold a different name entirely.

“Kyle Garrick, Sergeant, 141st company under the King.”

“One Hundred and Forty-First?” You whisper in a hushed voice and the blade loosens from you. Mouth opening and closing, you forget for a moment what Kyle is. Your eyes go glossy with hope. “You know John?”

Eyelids blink at you in astonishment and all at once the knife is sheathed at his hip once more. Gaz gapes, his slight stubble shifting on his face as he talks slowly.

“Yes, I do…how do you know the Captain? No offense, but I didn’t peg him for the type to run off with…well…” he trails, chuckling. “Not run exactly, then, is it?”

You glower and push back, flinching at your aches but waste no time in speaking frantically to the man as your tail flaps. If he was on the same ship as John was, they certainly knew each other well; Kyle had to assist you.

“Please, you need to help me,” The man’s face goes serious and he pushes himself up, “—there’s been a terrible event. John has been taken, don’t you understand?” Your hands grasp at his collar, forgetting to ask about the missing necklace in your mounting hysteria. “They took him. They’re bringing him back to the King and it’s all my fault!”

You don’t know if it’s the pain or the fatigue, but your emotions spill from you in droves, silver tears falling like drips from a blacksmith's smelter to the beach of this foreign place. Your body feels unable to hold itself up—so much blood lost.

Gaz gains a sheen of panic at your state, gripping your shoulders lightly above the given tunic.

“Now, now, Ma’am, steady. You’ve lost a lot of blood, eh? We need to get you sorted.” But internally your words disturbed him. John had been taken? His Captain? And he had known a mermaid?

“I don’t need to be sorted,” you mock, shaking him, “I need my John back! And you’re going to help me.”

Kyle gazes around awkwardly, clearing his throat and trying to comfort you as his upper half gets forced back and forth.

“First,” he stops you with a firm squeeze on your shoulders, “we’re getting you stitched and wrapped, Ma’am. If what you’re telling me is real,” Gaz pauses, glancing at the sea lapping at your tail, “then I need to get in contact with the others.”

Your body slightly sags, panting and shaking. While you should have asked who the others were, your adrenaline was too great to allow you to think above the fact that Kyle was going to help you. He had known John—that was enough for you to know he was a good person.

“Easy,” the man mutters, face pulled in concern. There’s a moment of tense silence before Gaz shifts a hand to the pocket inside of his tweed frock coat, slipping to the side of his green notch vest. He blinks his brown eyes at you before he lightly takes John’s necklace from the depths of his clothes. Kyle presents them as your shoulders loosen with a small sliver of comfort. “I believe you were looking for this, yeah?”

He spares a friendly, boyish, smile.

Your fingers brush his as you delicately take the metal up, fingertips weeping with torn flesh. Staring at them, you bring the item to your lips and kiss it gently after a moment of agony, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, “you fool, what have you done?”

“I’ll be needing to move you, Ma’am,” Gaz clears his throat and looks back to the grass-coated road. The beach where you had washed up was near the bottom of a slight hill, and along with sand, there were a lot of pebbles. The wind was chilled. “I was just finishing up with a temporary binding when you woke. We can speak more when I get the larger wounds stitched.”

You see his gaze fall down you once more.

“I’d think there’s a lot to catch up on.” Shuffling John’s necklace over your head, you allow Kyle to take bandages from his Gladstone bag which he had brought down from the road with him. He says he found you on the beach unconscious not five minutes before you woke back up as he takes out John’s tunic strips before packing the wounds with fresh material.

“You stopped?” You ask quietly, body shaking. “Why?”

“Well, I left the same time that the Captain did,” he explains, looping fabric around your tail as you shudder and clench your teeth at the long cuts over your scales. Kyle spares you a glance before continuing. “Same reason too. The minute innocent beings were being hunted, everyone in the One Hundred and Forty-First deserted. They weren’t too happy with us, I’d imagine. I do what I can to help anyone, regardless of species.”

Gaz pulls back and finishes up, brushing his hands on his folded legs and sighing.

“We all separated and led our lives the best we could—got jobs, hid ourselves, the like.” While the story was fascinating, as John was rare to talk about the King or his service beyond a clenched jaw, you truly were suffering from blood loss.

Every moment it became harder to keep your upper-half vertical and your eyes open. Gaz’s words slurred in your eardrums as the sand under your hands got pushed back by pressure like a rock being dragged. Your head must have swayed, because the next moment you’re being lifted with a grunt and a steadying of feet.

“Can’t say I’ve ever carried a mermaid,” Kyle grumbles to himself, blinking down at your form as our head rests limply on his chest. “Certainly not one that knows Price of all people.”

You focus on your breathing as he ascends the hill, going slowly and holding your form tight so as not to drop you. While not John’s size by any means, the man was still strong in a more lean and lithe way where your Fisherman’s was upfront and bare with it.

You’re carried down the trodden path to a lone house on the upper hill above the water, small and quaint, it’s only a single square room.

Truly this event speaks to your luck—how on earth had you found perhaps one of the only men on the planet that knew John and sympathized with magical creatures?

Kyle sets you back on his bed softly, pillows pressed into indents of your head and cheek.

“Alright then,” he sighs, “let's get this figured out, yeah?”

You’re offered food and water, but all you care about is sleep. Your tail hangs off the end of the bed and your fins ache with torn skin. Without even looking at your scales, you know they’re damaged immensely. Most will be left with great scars.

Merfolk could be called vain in their lifetime, and the sentiment wasn’t entirely untrue. You were beings of elegance and beauty—ethereal lustfulness hardwired into your DNA. Image was important to you, and this loss was great.

But the loss of John hurt more than any torture someone could inflict on you; any wounds. You needed him back.

As Gaz prompted you to tell your story, which you did with failing consciousness, your hand traveled to your necklace to grasp it tightly. Lips quivering. When the first push of the man’s needle entered your hard flesh, you never even felt it.

—

You awoke for the second time, once more, to the sound of speaking.

“Well, he’s sure gotten up to it while we’ve been away! Fuckin’ bastard.” This accent didn’t belong to Gaz, and thus your eyelids pushed back with slight unease. Had John’s Sergeant sold you out? With a struggle, you blink back to reality only to find a pair of bright blue eyes stuck on you.

For a moment you startle, those shades so similar to John’s that for a moment you had forgotten what had transpired. Then the pain in your tail strikes up and you balk back sharply.

“Soap!” Gaz hisses, grabbing the large and built man away from the bed. “Get the hell away from her, would you? Christ, she’s been through enough without having to look at that face when she wakes up, Mate.”

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap, as he’d been introduced, was the epitome of a blacksmith—ash still on his square jaw and his large black apron tied at a stiff waist. His arms were as bulky as your head and while he was shorter than Gaz he made up for it in sheer muscle.

Blue eyes darken with annoyance before they swivel back to you, but they lighten just the same when they spot your fear-spiked expression.

“Sorry about that, Little Lady. Just curious, is all.” You swallow the saliva in your throat and turn to look at Gaz in question. “Not every day somethin’ like this happens.”

“Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish,” the man offers, rubbing at his neck apologetically. “Served with John and I. You can trust him.”

You blink and turn back to Johnny, and, sure enough, around his neck were the common silver discs that Gaz and John wore over the tunic and apron.

“A…” You try to remember what your Fisherman had told you about human customs. With a frown, you carefully extend a hand and hold it aloft while your tail rests and your other limb keeps you up. “A pleasure, Johnny.”

A wide grin meets your eyes and a hand is clapped into your own; shaking it firmly as yours remains limp.

“Ah, please, the pleasure’s all mine.” When his grip leaves you look down at the various stitches and thick wrappings around your body before thinning your lips and gazing back at Gaz. He stares and tilts his head when you lock eyes with him.

“Thank you, Garrick. I…I owe you a large debt.” He’s already shaking his chin at you.

“Negative, Ma’am,” Kyle denies. “The only thing we need to be focusing on is getting the Captain back. Simon should be along by the evening.”

“Sure the man’ll show?” Johnny raises a brow and stands to his full height, going over to the small table in the middle of the room and sitting down with a huff. He picks up a flagon and takes a sip of ale. “He’s far off cuttin’ stone.”

“I sent a rider out and said it was urgent. He should be getting it about now, yeah?”

“Well, hell, I’d sure hope so else we’re out of our favorite Ghost. Can’t have that.” You watch and stare at the ease these two converse with the other, years seem to bleed from their mouths like waves in water. They had it all figured out, and noticeably, they weren’t at all panicked.

“How are the both of you so calm?” You can’t help but ask. Brown and blue turn to furrow their brows at you.

“They took the bloody Captain. Only person worse than that to steal away would be Simon.” A chuckle. “I’m more worried about the bastards themselves than him.” And it was left at that.

At times throughout the day, Gaz would bring you bread to nibble on to help settle your stomach, water, and ale whenever you needed it. When the dryness of the air and the fireplace got too warm for you, Johnny would be the one to carry you down the hill to the water where you’d soak your wounds in the surf. In those moments you could finally take in the pure silence under the waves and let your anguish take hold.

But you always had to break the surface at some point, shimmy into the dry tunic that Soap offers with respectfully averted eyes, and let him carry you back with his bulky arms.

As it always did, the water let your wounds heal far faster than a man’s, though the aches were still intense.

John’s eyes would not leave you. His crown of stars or the lantern light on his face—the way he whisked you away from danger and put himself dead center into it. Keeping you to his large chest as he held aloft a sword in your honor.

“...I think he loves the beast!”

Oh, and you loved right back and you hadn’t told him.

It’s hours upon hours later when the door is shoved open as you sit up in the bed; tail limp and dim on the floor below. You look up in shock at the man whose frame nearly takes up the entire doorway, shoulders wide and thighs vast under work pants and a large tunic, cowl over his head and clasped with a brooch at his left pec. Under shined a deep brown gaze and pale brows, but his entire lower face was covered by cloth.

Intimidating, his visible expression was entirely blank. You wondered if perhaps a vampire had walked into this place without proper entry, but then you remembered the man Johnny and Gaz mentioned.

Simon. Ghost.

Well, he certainly fits the part, stone dust on his clothes and large boots stacked with scrapes. A Stonemason.

“There’s the man!” Johnny exclaims, raising his hand which has another cup of ale in it as he’d downed the other some time ago.

“Where’s Price?” Deep was Simon’s voice, and he spares you a glance but nothing more. Gaze falling down your tail with hidden flickers of intrigue and wafting back up to stop at John’s necklace. His brows pull in as he turns.

“Gone—taken to the King,” Gaz explains from where he leans against the fireplace, face serious.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunts, walking in and closing the door behind him. “Where was he last?” It’s mildly amusing to you that he doesn’t seem bothered or even surprised by a mermaid in Gaz’s home.

“Just off Harpies Nest,” Johnny pipes in, itching at shaved sides of his scalp. “Where the old beasts used to fly from.”

“I’m guessing she’s the reason for that, then?” Everyone was anxious to act, even you. These men were close, and while circumstance had forced them away from one another the loyalties still lay.

“Affirmative. Price’s been in good company, seems.” A stale glare is sent his way and he chuckles and puts up his hands.

“Is there anything we can do?” You ask, looking at each in turn. Seeming to still hold that ingrained ranking that all men in the service do, Johnny and Gaz look to Simon. Brown eyes blink slowly, turning to look at you in a narrowed thought.

After a while, he speaks in a monotone.

“They’ll be bringing ‘em to the castle to stand trial. We’ve already lost a day’s time and there’ll be no ship that can sail as fast as we need it to.”

“By land?” Gaz wonders. Johnny’s shaking his head.

“How do you expect we get the Lady through that?” Eyes turn to your lack of legs. Body stiff, you huff and grit your teeth. If they thought you weren’t going along, that was foolish of them.

“I can swim to the docks,” you pause, “but you’ll have to tell me the way, for I do not know it.”

John had talked about docks—places ships went to rest. You’re sure you can make it, even like this. You had to.

Johnny stares before he chuckles twice, sharing a glance with the others and motioning to you. “I like ‘er.”

Gaz and Simon look at one another with a side-eye, before Kyle sighs and shakes his head. Simon hooks his thumbs into his pants and huffs out, “Sure you’re up for that?”

“I’m helping John.” Pushing, you meet those brown eyes head-on and steel yourself. “I need him back.”

There’s no further fight, and Ghost takes everything you say at face value. “Fine.”

And that was that.

��

The plan was so stupid you wondered if these men had gone brain-dead, but inside the castle dungeons, John had no way of knowing that.

He frowned deeply as his pounding skull tipped back to connect with the cobblestone wall, blood dried over the right side of his face. A growl on his lips as the chains keep his hands high above him and hanging as his backside stays seated on the floor. His limbs had long since gone numb, circulation cut out in an uncomfortable state of numbness.

But inside of him, there was a sense of accomplishment despite everything. He’d gotten you away from dirty hands—away from hooks. Away from danger.

John could die happy with that.

On the ship, before he’d been brought to the castle, the crew had tied him to the mainsail mast with a ragged rope that had skinned his flesh in just minutes of the rocking waves. They’d taken his vessel as well, and all of his belongings were confiscated in the docks. From there it had been amused jabs at his stomach with fists and knife-throwing practice.

John had cuts along the sides of his arms and the meat of his thighs—clothes shredded and torn from blades. His forehead had a long gash from the scalp to the temple, dried now but pulling with red aggression.

The fisherman hums under his breath and thinks only of you.

It was a fact that you had brought music into his life; a melody of waves and scales that could not be denied. Songs that sounded like sea-foam and a lapping of a tail across the water. When he’d seen you that day from behind the black rocks, John had lost a piece of himself to your wide eyes and tilted head. That spark of connection.

He had never been so thankful for choosing a new place to cast his nets, because he’d unwittingly caught the greatest creature he ever could have—one people have been running after for years.

You.

John’s lips pull in a tiny smile, eyes going soft. Above him his chains rattle and his arms flinch, wounds burning, but for the life of him, he can’t stop smiling. Wherever you were, he hoped you were safe and that he gave you the best chance of survival. He hoped you could forgive him.

Footsteps echo off the ground, and John looks over to the iron bars of his cell stiffly, mask re-falling to his stern face like a curtain. Two guards in armor clink down the hallway, expressions hidden by hoods and cloth. One produces a rusted key from his belt and slips it into the door, the metal rattling as it gets forced back and forth until the telltale click signifies the opening of the lock.

“Finally letting me out, then?” John speaks dryly, voice holding a rasp.

No one answers, and soon John’s chains are dropped and his arms seized. Yanked up, the fisherman grunts in pain as his legs drag behind him across the cobble—being taken somewhere. Probably, if John had to guess, the noose.

Desertion isn’t something you can get out of shy of a life sentence; to hell or to a cell was entirely up to the King. And the King wasn’t entirely fond of John and his One Hundred and Forty-First.

John was forced out into the open courtyard, a dichotomy of brightly flowering bushes and expensive finery to the platform placed in the very middle. The brunette's lips thinned at the sight of the large and imposing body made of wood and rope belonging to the gallows, a grim reaper of earthly material. There would be no great fight from him, no roar of a death rattle, just a kicking of his feet and tight wheezes, but no more.

He knows his final thoughts will be of you—what you’re doing right now, how you’ll live the rest of your life. John hopes you don’t cry for him.

The two guards shove him forward, and already a crowd has formed below the viewing platform for the monarch himself, who sits in all of his finery. Wyvern leather for his gloves, unicorn horn for a scepter, and…John’s eyes go tight, scales that make up a crown of opal and gold. Vibrant scales.

Unmistakingly Merfolk, anyone who’s met one of the species would know it. It has the same shine as the one John holds in the pouch on his belt; the fisherman clings to the fact that, against all of it, you were still with him in even a small sense. You’d be with him.

So John grits his teeth and glares up to the dias defiantly as the guards hold him under the noose, shoving his head to the side to grab the rope. He feels no fear.

“Fuckin’ watch it, Muppet,” the fisherman hisses, snapping his head to the side to stare into the glinting brown eyes from under the hood. He pauses, brows furrowing. “What…?”

As his hands are forced behind him, they’re not tied as the excited murmuring from the crowd begins, the King’s forward-leaning attention.

They’re given a knife.

John hides his surprise and looks over to the other guard as he fits the noose over his neck. Amused blue, and around his neck the glint of silver discs.

“Oh, bloody hell, you’re takin’ the piss,” the former Captain growls lowly. He knows those damned eyes, just as he knows his former Lieutenant’s.

MacTavish and Simon.

“Chin up, Captain,” Johnny jokes under his breath hidden by cloth. “Show’s about to start. Let’s give ‘em a proper scare, yeah.”

Blue eye glare, but they lack the venom. A barred-teeth smile grows. How had this happened? Johnny steps back and goes to his side, the wood under their feet creaking. The crowd falls silent, looking to the King for the verdict.

The King’s fingers raise and John memorizes his face in that instant…because it’s only then that he sees Gaz.

Gaz, who was on the upper terrace of the courtyard’s walls, holding a musket with the stock trained to his cheek; body still and ready—tutored to a perfectly motionless trance. There aren’t any guards to be seen near him. It’s a moment of pure silence, a ruling energy. The crowd is waiting for the King to verbalize an answer that he’s never able to give.

As the monarch’s lips open there is an eardrum-bursting boom that shatters the call for John’s doom and instead spells his own in his very castle from one of his former men. A poetic ending, John would say, but he’s unable to verbalize it as he’s suddenly falling through the gallows hatch as Simon reems on the handle.

“Knife!” It’s all the Ghost yells in warning.

With a rush of air, there’s a split second to cut the rope before it breaks his neck, and with a snapping motion, John perfects it in an instant—instinct as sharp as any blade that could be put into his hand. He hits the ground with a loud grunt of pain and struggles to sit up until Johnny and Simon jerk at him from where they’d jumped down as well. Not a second too soon, as lead balls from rival guns were already hitting the gallows.

Not all the guards were dead, then, and apparently, the three had known that would be a possibility.

John would have to scold them later.

“What in the hell is going on?!” The fisherman barks, but he’s being dragged before he shoves their hands off of him and follows to where they beeline into the fleeing crowd.

“What?” Johnny belts out laughter. “No ‘thank you?’ We just saved your neck!”

“Left!” Simon shouts, and although John’s body can’t take much more, they all dart into the cover of the castle walkways. “Make for the docks—the Sergeant’s meeting us there.”

“Bloody fucking Christ!” John growls but quickly goes onto the most important topic. “She’s behind this, isn’t she?” Johnny’s smirk only confirms it.

“Proper girl you’ve got there, Gaz found her on the shore. Else we’d never have heard about it all before you were dead and gone.” John blinks at him. “Getting reckless without us, now?”

The former Captain ignores the remark. “Where is she?”

“Oi!” Ghost hisses, looking over his shoulder as the three hurry on as shouting rings from behind them. “Get your head in the game. Focus on not getting shot, yeah?”

Brown meets blue.

“You’ll see ‘er soon.” Simon ends, dead eyes shifting to a form that rampages through the hallway behind them. “Behind!” He calls loudly, and John ducks just as a knife is thrown with pinpoint accuracy. A sound of a body hitting the floor echoes over the distant screaming and calls of alarm.

The King is dead.

All of the men reach their destination by sheer luck and the knowledge of how to use a blade, cobblestone leading to open streets and back alleys. Finally, the wide stretch of sea was visible, and a shadow slinked out of a corner quickly.

“Hell,” Gaz blinks at them, “do you think I’ll ever be let back into the castle?”

Johnny pants a laugh. “You’ll be lucky to get into the province, ya sneaky Bastard. Fine fuckin’ shot.”

Simon looks at them. “Gaz, Johnny, get to it.”

They’re by the open water of the dock, long wooden walkways stretching out with ships shifting in the waves. John wonders if his boat is here in the back of his mind, but his eyes are already combing the waves greedily in search of you.

Were you here? Oh, he hoped you weren’t. You’d be placing yourself in the middle of a very real and present danger.

“Get to what?” John questions, looking at each man in turn. “What ‘ave you planned, eh? Seems I’ve missed the meeting where we decide to assassinate the bloody monarch in broad daylight.”

Gaz places a hand on his shoulder as he shimmies past. “Best to leave the heavy lifting to the ones who can stand fully, Captain.”

“Aye,” Johnny confirms. “You’ll want to be here more than anywhere, bet ya.”

Simon shares a look with the blacksmith and grabs John by one shoulder, leading him to the water as Johnny takes the other. The brunette blinks quickly in confusion and grunts an expletive.

“Get your hands off of me you pair of—!”

“Have fun!” Johnny and Simon both shove him into the water with a final push and dart off like wisps.

Water rushes into his ears, covering his head and soaking his clothes before it drags him under. John’s arms flailed to propel him back to the surface. A jolt later, his head is breaching the water with a venomous glare and a barked order on his lips to a vacant audience. The boys had already sprinted off to who knows where.

“Son of a…” John trials, weak legs kicking to keep him afloat. Something brushes his thigh as water drips from his nose, cleaning away the blood with a reddish tint to the liquid.

The fisherman startles, head snapping down just as your hands grasp at his abdomen, sliding up as you press your lips deeply into his in one swift motion. He gasps, grip instinctually moving to hold onto the small of your back.

You press into him tightly, pushing every emotion into the locking of your mouths with desperation and longing. Sighing deeply into the kiss, John melts into you as your tail brushes his legs, torn fins visible and shimmering stitches pulling at flesh. Scales glint somewhat brighter under the waves, water dripping along your shoulders and wetting your hair.

John brings you closer when he realizes it’s your form around him, eyes fluttering closed and fingers weaving behind the base of your skull. It’s as if the world stills for that quick and reverent second as if everything is right. The both of you break the kiss with soft eyes, and after a moment of staring your chest releases a chuckle; hands coming up to capture your fisherman’s cheeks, weaving through those beard hairs once more.

The brunette stares at you and lays his forehead into yours, not knowing what to say. A smile plays on his lips.

“...It seems my fisherman had more of a reckless side than I anticipated,” you speak for him, whispering into the air. Your eyes flicker over the cuts and bruises visible on his pale flesh and a flash of fear alights in your expression. “Oh, John…What have they done to you?”

“Just scratches,” the man reassures delicately. “It’s alright, Love. I’ll live.”

But you both know this conversation can’t happen here. With a few more pecks of kisses to his lips, you ask in an ethereal voice, “Do you trust me?”

Your hand is locked to his wrist, pulling him along the waters as your head tilts at him and tail sliding along his flesh.

John wastes no time. “Of course.”

Lips flicker to a small, loving, grin and then you drag him under the water.

—

“Do they hurt?” He asks you carefully, running a calloused hand along the tears in your fins you know will never heal fully. You sit on the rocks below Gaz’s home, the water still dripping off of both of your bodies.

Out farther in the water the three other men are sailing back in John’s fishing boat, a few minutes out. You blink down at him and move a hand to shift his jaw upward to you, humming.

“Not when you touch them like that,” confessing, you keep close to him, held tightly under the crook of his arm and breathing in that scent of rope and wood oil. You practically vibrate with comfort, all of your worries able to be put aside at last.

John looks down at you and chuckles, putting a deep kiss on your scalp and taking a deep inhale.

“Cheeky,” he teases. You smile.

“And yours?” Your voice speaks out in question as the water brushes your tail.

The man peels back to look down at you slowly. “Already better…I owe you, Sweetheart.”

Huffing, you shake your head, “You owe me nothing. The only reason you were there was because of me.”

John’s brows furrow, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your head back to him. He stares into your eyes for a long while until your face starts to heat with emotion, blinking up at him innocently. His blues dart over the healing cuts and marks with hidden emotion.

“I’d do it again,” John whispers. “A million times over, you hear? I’d be a bloody fool not to.”

He kisses you as you both wait in the setting twilight for the others, bloody and beaten—more scar tissue than anything else—but still your John.

“Thank you,” he mutters into your lips, and then again when he nips at your flesh. The man plays with his necklace at your collarbone as he traces patterns in your scales and smirks when you shiver.

He wonders how he got so lucky when the others anchor the boat near the shore, hopping off and wading the rest of the way to the beach. John kisses your forehead and says he’d be right back.

You watch him with glinting eyes as he walks over to his men, taking each in a heartfelt handshake and conversing honestly. Your eyes blink at the care they display for one another and raise a hand when they peel off, back up to Gaz’s home to rest.

They reciprocate and disappear atop the hill.

What’s he doing? You ask as you watch John climb aboard his vessel and rummage around his fishing barrels, opening some and tossing the tops to the deck. Hands shifting along the rocks, you can’t hide the amusement or affection in your eyes at the sight of his ramping annoyance. What was he looking for?

Your fingers go up to play with his necklace and watch.

You can’t say you feel much heartache at the loss of your cove—even with the king dead, you were still hunted for your scales—though you had grown to see it in a new light. The place was only a home when John was there, and you knew wherever you went as long as he was there it would be alright.

The both of you wouldn’t let anything happen to one another.

John comes back carrying something tucked in cloth, a small parcel held in one hand and longer than it is wide. Your interest is immediately piqued, curiosity straining your eyes.

He holds it out to you with a mischievous glint and a smirk.

“Go on,” John motions. Blinking at him, your brows furrow as you carefully take the item from his hands, settling it in your lap before you shift the cloth away.

Your fingers go to cover your mouth, small gasp entering the air.

It was a golden box, engraved with movements that resemble lace and waves—shimmering in the low light.

“John,” you stutter, “what is…?”’

“Open it,” the man insists, kneeling down in front of you as if his muscles didn’t ache. “It’s the reason I was late that day.” John grunts, rubbing at the bottom of his beard and watching intently; crinkles beside his eyes.

You stare for a moment with burning tear ducts before you grasp ahold of the lid and open it after running a digit over the make.

Inside sits blue velvet and, strangely, your own scales, but atop that…the blinding gold of a pair of twin cuff bracelets—stones the same shade as your tail. It was perhaps the most elegant piece of jewelry you had ever seen.

For a solid minute you’re rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing as your tail hangs limp in the low tide. Chucking, John takes the pieces out and your ears twitch to the sound of your scales clacking together like glass.

“Why would you…” You can’t make sense of it.

John slips them over your wrists and you gape in wonder. They fit just perfectly.

You look up into your Fisherman’s face and feel tears drip down your chin. A hard hand comes to wipe them away as you laugh through a sniffle.

“Do you like them, then, Love?” He asks lowly, beard pulled back in a smile.

“Yes,” you say immediately, giggling. “How could I not? John, they’re lovely. Far too beautiful for me.”

The former Captain grunts and his brows pull in, frowning. “Now why would you say that?” He brings your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Can’t make me change my mind on that, eh?”

Your eyes bore into him, lips parted. After a moment your face feels like it’s on fire and you cover your cheeks.

John laughs loudly, grabbing your arms and lightly squeezing the flesh before taking your grip back down to your lap. You smile so widely you’re afraid your face might crack open.

“No need to hide,” he hums. “Let me see that face.”

“You’re good to me, John.” His face softens, wrinkles fall away, and his chest swells with pride. You kiss his lips and whisper, “I bare my soul to you.”

It wasn’t an ‘I love you’ but something far more precious.

The man’s face deepens with devotion, gruff figure more than easily leaning over yours as you’re carefully laid back to the tiny pebbles behind you—a hand behind your head and at the swell of what would be a hip.

In the darkening night, the sun shines its dying light across the waves just like the extending fingers of John’s firm grip; dragging you into him as sea-currents would. Wrapping you both in kelp and a salty grave. His voice is the grating of sand, the slide of a rope across a wooden deck.

“Then I’ll take care of it for as long as I live.”

Your fisherman damns you to a crypt of land and air, and you couldn’t worship it more. To live and to die beside him is to have existed just as you should have.

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hindulivesmatter · 10 months ago

Text

Why Gandhi is a piece of shit and you should hate him.

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi has been established in our history as a "Mahatma" which means "great soul"

This man is anything but that.

He is EVERYWHERE. He's on our currency, he's revered as a hero who saved India, and we have a mandatory holiday on October 2nd in honor of him.

If you didn't know, now you're going to get to know why he was a horrible human being. Let's begin.

This man managed to fool people Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela (among many others) into thinking he was a good person.

Here is some of the shit he's done:

In 1903, when Gandhi was in South Africa, he wrote that white people there should be "the predominating race." He also said black people "are troublesome, very dirty, and live like animals."

Refused to have sex with his wife for the last 38 years of their marriage. He felt that in order to test his commitment to celibacy, he would have beautiful young women (including his own great niece) lie next to him naked through the night. His wife, whom he described as looking like a "meek cow" was no longer desirable enough to be a solid test.

Believed that Indian women who were raped lost their value as a human.

During Gandhi's time as a dissident in South Africa, he discovered a male youth had been harassing two of his female followers. Gandhi responded by personally cutting the girls' hair off, to ensure the "sinner's eye" was "sterilised". Gandhi boasted of the incident in his writings, pushing the message to all Indians that women should carry responsibility for sexual attacks upon them.

He argued that fathers could be justified in killing daughters who had been sexually assaulted for the sake of family and community honour.

Gandhi also waged a war against contraceptives, labelling Indian women who used them as whores.

He believed menstruation was a "manifestation of the distortion of a woman's soul by her sexuality".

On 6th April 1947, he gave a speech where he said, “ If the Muslims are out there slicing through Hindu masses to wipe out the Hindu race, the Hindus should say nothing and peacefully accept death”.

He hated the great Hindu rulers, especially Shivaji Maharaj. To please the Muslims, he banned the book named ShivBhaavani which correctly depicted Islam’s intolerance and fierce fundamentalism spread by it.

Refused his wife life-saving medication (for religious reasons), but those religious reasons all of a sudden no longer applied to him when he was in a similar position.

Started a fast unto death when Ambedkar asked for separate electorates for Dalits.

Gandhi left his ailing father on his deathbed, to sleep with his wife. The child born out of this copulation died in infancy. According to Gandhi, the death of this infant was the result of this evil karma.

Gandhi, even when he claimed to be the angel of non-violence, made no efforts to prevent the British from deploying Indian troops at various locations during World War II.

Kashmir was invaded by Pakistan in 1947, the brutal Pakistani army committed heinous crimes against Kashmiri Pandits including mass rape and mass killings consequently many Pandits were forced to flee to Delhi and other places. In one incident Pandits took refuge in an abandoned mosque in Delhi. Infuriated, Gandhi threatened to fast to death if the Pandits didn't leave. The Pandits were slaughtered in a communal riot as soon as they abandoned the mosques.

Criticized the Jews for defending themselves against the Holocaust because he insisted that they should have committed public mass suicide in order to "shame" the Germans instead of fighting back. His exact words were, "But the Jews should have offered themselves to the butcher's knife. They should have thrown themselves into the sea from the cliffs. As it is, they succumbed anyway in their millions."

And this is all from a simple Internet search compiled here. I wonder what else is hiding if I do a deep dive.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#hinduphobia #hindublr #desiblr #antisemitism #history #india #gandhi #can you guys tell i hate him #indian history #british empire #tw rape #tw assault

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fariest · 8 months ago

Text

till forever falls apart 𑁍ࠬܓ jake sim

pairing: widower!jake x fem!reader

genre: LOTS of angst like a lot, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort/no comfort, some fluff here and there, coming of age, bittersweet ending.

word count: 8k words (or more..)

synopsis: jake came unto your life when you needed it the most. you didn’t expect it but he did and it all did happen on that one specific bench behind the beach you both grew up on, that one summer night. jake just had no idea you would slip through his fingers the way you did. and not that fast either.

warnings: character death, grief & loss, jake is a widower and has a daughter, unknown illness, mature language & cursing, low self worth, depression, mental break downs, fighting, marriage, mentions of seizures, hospitality, medication, just a lot of sad shit i’m so sorry in advanced.

a/n: here it is. mind you i wrote this with a heavy heart and a lot of thoughts in mind ( ; ω ; ) but either way i hope you all like this as much as i liked writing it. this is not proofread by the way, i apologize.

Jake’s feet were practically dragging. Everyone would probably have noticed that but in that moment, his biggest wish would probably be to erase everyone’s existence. He’s been living in his own shadow for felt like years. The only one he’s been vividly making eye contact with was his daughter and the florist he’s been going to for the past few months. Yet it felt for much longer. After all he was counting the days. With a heavy heart that was once filled to the brim with happiness and all the things he’s ever wanted.

The florist, a lady in her late fifties, always welcomed Jake with open arms and it was gestures like that, that made him feel smaller than ever. He wanted to return it, he really did but all he could do, was request the bouquet of flower he was in search for, with an even heavier heart. And if the words weren’t enough, he would point to that one specific section where they were kept. It usually didn’t take long since he memorized it.

Your favorite ones.

Peonies.

His mom called him before he left to buy those flowers. He was surprised with how different she sounded compared to him, or maybe it was because he was starting to forget how everyone sounded, especially those the closest to him. After all he was completely wrapped up in his own arms that felt far too empty and cold to the touch that he couldn’t help but let it happen. With his phone pressed to his ear, he let his mom do the talking while he was busy staring at nothing. More like the place where you used to sleep beside him and him basking in the comfort of your soft snores. You felt so close, so warm. You provided the warm that was missing and now he had to bask unto nothing but coldness. A lit up candle couldn’t even mend the wounds together. He had no idea how long he stayed on the phone with his mom for but at some point he could hear her sniffle and being in the state he was, he couldn’t ask her what was wrong. He was barely doing better himself.

And the call ended with him saying nothing and her saying it wasn’t his fault. The exact same thing she said the last time he saw her those many months ago.

He was debating whether to go check in on his daughter, knowing she would question the state he was. It wad the witty and her ability to be attentive and Jake knew she got that from you. He saw you right through her.

These were one of the days where he was far too deep unto the dark corners of his mindset where he didn’t bother with himself and how hard he was on himself. Jake almost breathed a sigh in relief when he saw his daughter still passed out in her bed, white sheets pulled up to her chin and tightly wrapped around her, the cloud lamp that you gifted to her on her fourth birthday, perfectly dimmed and casting a mellow glow over the roundness of her cheeks. Down on the floor, was Layla sleeping, with her resting on her front paws. The dog he got when he was ten, the one you raised with him.

This was one of the moments where Jake allowed himself to smile, a small smile without feeling bad for doing so.

Jake shook his head when he heard a voice briefly pull him out of his thoughts. His visions cleared and he saw the florist give him a sympathetic smile, probably sensing something, the grey hair framing her face in a way that matched her soft yet gentle features.

“Are you okay, young man?”

Jake was a bit taken aback but settled for a nod before eyeing the bouquet that the lady has managed to wrap up with obvious care.

It was like she saw right through him.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone.” She sadly smiled.

“These flowers,” She gestured to the Peonies, “They are for someone.. someone special, aren’t they?”

Gulping, Jake averted his eyes but still nodded.

“She was my everything,” He slowly forced out and he saw the lady perk up, “My childhood sweetheart, my best friend, my wife. And the mother to our daughter.”

“She was also basically everything I wasn’t yet she still made sure to remind me that she would love me no matter what. Her grip on my hand was tight until it wasn’t but even so, I knew she wouldn’t let go no matter what,” Jake swallowed back his urge to cry, but talking about her tugged at the strings holding him together. And he felt like the lady sensed that before she settled a old wrinkly hand on his shoulder.

The tears were already rolling down by then. Tears he’s been holding in all those months ever since.

“She sounded lovely,” Patting his shoulder, she continued, “I know she would’ve been proud of you especially for still being here, somewhere on the ground where she can look at you from afar,”

“I miss her, ma’am.” Looking up with bloodshot eyes, the lady offered another sympathetic smile, before handling him a tissue.

“I know, child.” She nodded, “I’m not saying you will overcome this grief soon or frankly ever. But you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. When you think about her, please do not always think about the negatives that comes along with it, think about the fact that out of everyone, you were the one she chose. Think about how she chose to love you even with all your flaws and how none of those things would ever change the way she saw you.”

Jake remembered the day. Clear and bright under the moonlight. He was eleven, fairly tall for his height with black strands that always fell over his eyes with how the wind always loved to mess with it. Everyone said that he had that soft look yet gentle demeanor look from his mom, he’s heard it so much to the point where he started believing them. After all his mom was a phenomenal woman.

Ever since dad walked out on both of them, mom has tried her hardest to raise him by herself despite her being young still. She was still in her youth and it was a sad sight to not see her do all the things people her age did. Travel the world, figure out themselves and planning their future without anyone standing in their way of doing so. Jake’s biggest fear was being in her way specifically, being a burden but the warmth from her embrace managed to tell him everything he needed to know. And so he tried his best to help her despite not knowing half of the things he did but he didn’t want his mom to cry anymore. He didn’t want her to downgrade herself and blame herself for things that were out of her control. He wanted her to go to bed with a gentle mindset and now all of the things that used to eat her up.

His mom went to sleep early that night and Jake promised himself that he would prep himself his own dinner and cut up some fruit for his mom since he knew she loved those, and then take out the trash.

Opening the gates, he dragged the plastic bag behind him before dumping it in the big green trash container. The summer nights were getting warmer and times like this reminded Jake off how much he loved it. Giving a toothy grin, he whipped his two hands on the front of his shorts before turning back to head inside, but not before casting a look over his shoulder.

There he saw someone. A few feet away from him.

At first, Jake had no idea what they were doing before walking closer. They were just. Sitting on the bench, in front of the beach. How odd.

“If you’re gonna stare, can you at least be less.. obvious with it?” The person asked, almost nonchalantly.

It was a girl.

Jake didn’t respond, fear of embarrassing himself further so he settled for walking closer to her before taking a seat beside her. So this was what she was doing, just looking at the waves. This late at night?

The young boy scratched behind his head with a small chuckle, “Sorry.. I didn’t think you would notice me,”

She casted him a side eye look before rolling her eyes.

“You’re not exactly quiet.”

And then she turned to stare back at the beach’s many waves. The stars glimmering in reflection with the water. It was beautiful, he couldn’t deny that.

He never bothered looking at where she was looking. But instead he decided to take her in. She was dressed in a white nightgown with a scruff at the end and at the ends of the sleeves, her hair wasn’t tied up or anything but fell behind her shoulders due to the wind, pointy nose, eyelashes casting a dim shadow on her the top of her cheeks which were a bit flushed due to the not too chilly breeze.

Jake might’ve been young but he wasn’t young enough to not know was beauty was when he saw it. And this might have been the prettiest girl he’s ever laid his eyes on. She might’ve been as beautiful as his mom.

“You really have a staring problem,” She told him, amusement evident in her voice.

“What!” Jake shook his head before scooting away from her, “What is that even supposed to mean!”

“Hmmm…” The still unknown girl tapped her chin lightly.

“It means you stare too much. My mom says that stuff will have you go blind.”

So this was how she wanted to play.

“Well, she’s wrong!”

He knew he hit a sensitive spot when the girl before him gaped lightly at what he said before huffing. He felt the panic dwell in and he was about to apologize before he heard her burst unto a fit of laughter.

“You should have seen the look on your face!”

Jake knew that day, that her laughter, that sound was his favorite melody of all time.

⋆

If anyone asked what you thought of Jake, the first thing that immediately came to your mind was — an oddball.

It didn’t add more to it when you both lived in the same neighborhood. Only two houses away from each other. To add more to it, your mom and his mom knew each other since they used to go to the same highschool together. They both suffered from the loss of their husbands, with yours dying before you were even born, which meant you had no idea who he was. So you lived off your mom’s words about him, the picture frames around the house and the photobooks your mom kept in a small box in the basement.

It was like your moms’ relationship drew you closer to Jake and now that you took a closer look at him, he wasn’t so bad and he wasn’t as irritating as the other boys in your class. The ones who said girls had cooties and girl disease. In fact, you took a hold of how Jake wanted or more so, looked forward to spending time with you any chance he got. He also came by a lot especially after school asking for you. You were pretty sure your mom held some kind of favoritism towards him because she never wasted a breath when it came to the boy with the brightest eyes you’ve ever seen. And before you knew it, you warmed up to him. It didn’t take long but it wasn’t fast either. You were a girl with a lot of things on your mind and frankly, you were just perfectly fine in your own world and peace. But Jake managed to add something to that. You had no idea what or how, but he did.

“Y/N look!”

You looked up from how absentmindedly you were coloring in a butterfly, when you saw Jake running towards you..

With a dog? On a leash?

You sat up with a slight gasp at the sight out of the creature and before you knew it, the dog hopped on you leaving gentle but happy licks all over your face.

“Layla, no!” Jake yelled sternly.

Holding up your arms, you tried blocking them away with a loud laugh before you settled for petting her. Not before pushing her away tho.

“Oh my,” The boy before you sighed in distress, a hand coming up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I’m so sorry about that Y/N. She’s still a puppy, so she’s full of energy,”

“Don’t apologize,” You shake your head before allowing Layla to take up the space on your lap for some more scritches.

“But I’m kinda mad, why didn’t you tell me you had a dog!”

“Umm…” Jake giggled sheepishly, “I actually just got her a few days ago. I was gonna tell you eventually..”

You gasped in mock offense before picking up a coloring pencil to throw at him.

“Hey!”

“You could’ve still have told me!”

“I was going to!”

Your bickering stopped by Layla jumping off your lap and running around the both of you in circles, indicating she wanted to play and have some energy spent. As if she hasn’t done that already.

“We we’re actually planning on going to the beach,”

Jake saw the way your eyes lit up and he couldn’t help the quick stutter his heart did. What was this feeling?

“Really? Can I join?”

“That was the plan, silly,”

Dusting off your lap from Layla’s jump earlier, you were about to stand up before two hands grabbed yours. Gently, they pulled you up to your feet and then gently let go. Almost as if knowing what was going on, Layla looked back and forth between the two young humans in front of her, before she barked to gather their attention.

“Oh! Uh, she’s getting impatient, we should go,” Jake quickly mumbled out before picking up his dog’s leash off the where he dropped it in the grass.

“Wait!” You looked back at your house before looking back at your friend.

And by then, Jake already knew what was stirring up your hesitation. He smiled at you reassuringly.

“I already told your mom. She said dinner will be done by the time you’re home.”

You could finally let out the breath you’ve been holding.

“Plus your mom loves me,” Jake quipped teasingly.

The young boy laughed at your eye roll and before you both knew it, you were both running, along with Layla down to the beach, with the dog before the both of you barking profusely with a hint of excitement. The whole afternoon was just you and Jake by each other’s side, with his dog running back and forth in the water. She even shook all of her water from her fur at both of you at some point to the point where you both were on the sand rolling around, both of your laughters mixing together that mingled in the sky above off you. It added more to the memories and you both knew you would be thinking about that day till the day you both grew old and wrinkly.

You knew that day, that you wouldn’t wanna spend days like these with anybody but with Jake.

⋆

Years went by, things blossomed and so did your bond with Jake.

It went from meeting him to that one random night on the beach, to you finding out you lived just barely away from each other, to you starting classes together properly after your mom’s job paid her enough for that to happened. You remember the sheer happiness when she told you that and how much that meant to younger you. You weren’t isolated by any means, in fact, your mom encouraged you to check the world for yourself. But you would rather have things done at your pace, so that’s what you did. Luckily she understood and you were beyond thankful.

You also noticed changes about Jake. At some point you and him were the same height, but ever since highschool hit, he’s grown like a head, almost two heads taller than you. He’s grown his fringes out, even at some point dyed it through the school years to the point where you had no idea how many times he did it. You remember one time dyeing it for him tho and that shit was a complete disaster and you wouldn’t have blamed him if he wanted to bald that way. You were still attached to the hip pretty much.

But something that has been coming back to biting you, was that you had no idea where you and Jake’s relationship were interlinked at. You were both seniors in highschool now and things were rocky. God forbid your younger self thought that growing older would result in you being able to talk about your feelings and emotions better, but no. You realized that wasn’t the case. There was definitely something holding you back. You just didn’t wanna come to terms with what it was. Running a hand through your head, you plopped down your bed, arms and legs spread out.

“Y/N?” You suddenly heard someone knock on your door before a head peeked in.

“Did you remember to take your medication?” She asked before stepping foot unto your room.

“Mom.. we already talked about this,”

“You can’t just keep pushing me away,” She insisted

You huffed before sitting, “Can’t we talk about this later please? I have to study for an upcoming exam. I promise I’ll take them later,”

“Y/N—“

“—Mom please..” You looked away from her, voice wavering, “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

You heard her sigh, before footsteps and the sound of your door being closed.

Reaching out for your phone on your bedside, your first instinct was to text Jake. But you knew the sound of his voice was exactly what you needed right now. More than anything. Hovering your thumb over his Caller ID, you slowly started debating if this really was a good idea. Now that you think about it, you and Jake haven’t really talked much due to busy schedules, and you’ve also noticed him confiding comfort in a group of friends you’ve never talked to before, while you had a group of friends of your own.

You missed him. And it was eating you up from the inside.

“Fuck it,” You whispered before dialing his number.

The ringing was not a fit match for how quick your heart was beating, it was practically beating out of your chest and you didn’t like it. Not one bit. But you couldn’t deny in how much need you were of his voice. It was almost embarrassing.

He still had no idea.

“Y/N?”

You smiled. After all this time, his voice was still your favorite tune.

“Hi Jake..”

“Y/N? Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Why do you always assume that something’s wrong?” You giggled and even tho you couldn’t see his face, you knew his face was definitely scrunched up in his one infamous frowns.

“Well, I’m sorry for caring I guess,”

“No you’re not,”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

The same old Jake.

“I miss you, y’know?” He finally spoke up, “I feel like I barely see you anymore.”

“I’m still here, Jake. Life has just.. been busy you know—“

“—Y/N, no,”

You heard some shuffling on the other side of the line, before a dejected sigh.

“It’s because I barely see you anymore. Even your friends are worried about you. You’re still at school, I know you are because I know you wouldn’t miss any of your classes no matter how busy or tired you are but you always disappear so quickly after..”

“Like is there something you aren’t telling me?”

You wanted to tell him.

You wanted to tell him so badly but you couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the look on his face when you did. He would be crushed and you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself for that.

“Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Y/N—“

“No y’know what? I actually called you because I needed you and now you throw this on me—You and my mom are exactly the same. You both say the same shit and it’s pissing me off,” Not wasting a second thought, you hung up before throwing your phone on your bed, silent tears rolling down your face.

You went to sit on the bench by the beach the same day, after you heard your mom went to bed. Pulling up your knees closer to yourself, you were silently beating yourself up for not wearing something warmer. Though, you were eyeing your jacket, more or so Jake’s jacket that was hanging around your chair but decided not to take it at last minute.

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you took a look up at the night sky. The moon was seeking it’s place behind some dark clouds, the stars were doing their own things, the wind was getting colder. It was as if everything was going by slower? Or faster? You were not sure anymore but you knew it’s been an push and pull trick ever since that day.

Would it be too early to give up now?

“I knew I would find you here.”

“You can’t keep running away from us, from me, Y/N. I won’t let that happen,”

You turned your head, tears slowly starting to brim your eyes again. You didn’t want him to see you this way. Then there is a sudden pressure on your shoulders and by now you knew Jake has wrapped your upper body up in his jacket, with him now in his white sweatshirt and black plaid pajamas pants. He wasn’t expecting any response from you, in fact, he was just happy to be in your presence and not you running away nor pushing him away.

“I won’t force you to say anything,” He slowly sits down, the space beside you always available for him. There hasn’t been a day where it hasn’t been.

“But.. I hope you know you can talk—“

“I don’t have a lot of time, Jake,”

The first pen drop.

When you didn’t receive any response, you turned your head and hoped for the worst. Jake was still staring forward, towards the waves and how more far away they suddenly sounded.

“I only have two years left.”

That made him turn his head to look at you. The look in his eyes made your heart drop. In all these many years you’ve known Jake, you have never seen him look like this, so empty, so hollow of thoughts, so broken and if you weren’t such a mess yourself, you would have tried to pick up pieces back together. But what was it worth if you couldn’t even pick up your own? Staying alive at this point felt like a chore, a walk even down to the beach sometimes took all the air out of your lungs if you didn’t take your medications.

You managed to catch the tear you saw roll down his cheek with the soft pad of your thump. He gripped your wrist in his hand when he felt it about to retreat and held it up to his cheek, fearing you would disappear faster if he didn’t. Your warmth was all he needed now. Jake hated asking for too much but he wanted to be selfish for once, right now.

“I’m sorry,” You shook your head, feeling the tears roll again, “I should’ve told you. But this was what I was fearing for. Seeing your reaction, seeing the look on your face especially after—“

Feeling a warm gentle hand cupping your cheek, you felt your words get caught in your throat when you took in the way he looked at you now. There was still sadness lingering but you really couldn’t put a finger on what the rest was. But that didn’t really occur your mind. You just needed him to say something.

“Jake, please say something..” You begged, voice cracking, “Yell at me, scream at me, anything!”

You failed to see the way he moved closer.

“Especially for the way I’ve been treating you. That’s the least I deserve,” Pushing at his chest, you couldn’t help but let more tears roll, the place on your lap a sea of your own sorrows by that point

“Why are you looking at me like that, Jake please—“

Your hands faltered their pushing on his chest when you felt something soft yet wet on your lips. Closing your eyes which were still filled with tears, you pushed yourself closer and basked in the gentle kiss that belonged to him.

It was always him.

You knew it by now, you knew it ever since your first encounter on that one night at the beach, at the exact same place where you were at now.

⋆

A lot has changed, with how low your energy has gotten, you couldn’t bring yourself to attend to classes psychically anymore. And by what your personal doctor has said, any stress can trigger the most especially in the state you’re in right now and nobody, especially your mother wouldn’t ever wanna take that risk. So you settled for going to school but at home instead, in the walls of your room. Your routine has gotten progressively more straightforward than what it usually was. You were drained and the eye bags under your would tell anyone a story that you, yourself wouldn’t be able to, lips chapped and peeling. You could barely recognize the sight of yourself anymore.

Jake was walking around with a heavy heart. You were finally his but at what cost? These past weeks has just been him lingering by your side more and more each day to the point he might practically live at your place now. Frankly, he wasn’t doing better himself. He was beating himself up for making everything seem like your fault when nothing was ever your fault to begin it. The world was just too cruel to make space for someone as precious and as delicate as you, the world never deserved you. Jake can’t count the amount of times he’s managed to utter those words to you, while trailing his browns over your features, with your hands interlocked under the sea of stars and crescent moon. And he memorized your reaction to his words each time. You were really the most endearing piece of art to him.

He knew you were trying. You even told him you were so he wouldn’t worry too much, you would fe your ribs construct whenever you saw the way he was trying so hard to keep himself from breaking down when he felt the warmth from your hands, from your body slowly leave your body day by then. All that warmth that you usually provided, was all gone. All the warmth he would confide in whether it was after a stressful day after of classes, work or the insignificant days where he got unto an argument with his mother. He was seeking for your warmth everywhere he went.

Yet Jake held unto the last amount of warmth you had left. That was all he could do.

“Jake,” He heard his mother’s voice speak up before he felt her shake his shoulders, obviously trying to wake him from his afternoon nap.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Groaning he sat up and was met with his mom’s frantic pacing.

He gave her a confused look.

“Mom—?”

“It’s Y/N,” She breathed out, “Her mom just called from the at the hospital..”

“Apparently she had a seizure,”

That was then Jake felt his whole world collapse.

This couldn’t be..

“B-But how.. I.. She was okay when I saw her last day..” He felt his breath getting stuck along with his world. This couldn’t be. His mom didn’t say anything but instead pulled him unto his arms and that was where Jake allowed himself to break down fully. Without any care in the world. You were getting further and further away each day and he had no idea how to cope with it. He was angry, frustrated, why was he letting this happen? Why couldn’t he have done more? For you?

You deserved everything, but this.

⋆

“I will miss seeing the stars,”

Even with a light hoarse lilt to your voice, it still sounded soft and gentle in Jake’s ears. Like it always has. You were wearing a soft smile when looking at the stars from the hospital window, that never seemed to falter when you turned to look at him.

“I know you will, my love.”

Your smile faltered when you noticed that he was in deep in thoughts. He always we’re but this time it wasn’t out of sheer sadness and distress but more like.. he was bashful?

“Is something bothering you, my Jake?”

He didn’t respond but from the corner of your eyes, you saw him pull out a small black velvet box. You gasped.

“I know we’re still young and all but..” He says carefully, “But you’re probably the only person I’ve ever felt this sure with. This secure with and I honestly couldn’t have asked for someone better,”

Slowly opening the box, there was it. A ring. A silver ring littered with small diamonds on the sides, with the biggest one being shaped in a crystallized star. You looked up and you realized Jake hasn’t looked away from you once, trying his best to read your reaction and body language, making sure he hasn’t been overstepping anything.

“I know you hate asking for much, just like I do but..”

“Jake I..” You shake your head, eyes wide, “It’s beautiful..”

Taking out the ring from the box, he gently took your hand before slipping the ring on before bringing it up to seal it with a kiss to your knuckles.

“You don’t have to say anything.. I know that—“

“My Jake, of course I wanna marry you..”

⋆

Jake woke up startled to the someone knocking on his front door. Automatically he reached beside him but was met with nothing but the cold sheets.

Heaving another deep sigh from his chest, he slipped on slippers before walking downstairs, careful not to wake up his daughter. He was met with Layla who was pressing her snout against the door, curious herself, tail slightly wagging before letting out a small bark at the sight of her owner

“Hey girl,” He cooed with a scratch to the canine’s head, “Be quiet now, wouldn’t wanna wake anyone up would we?”

Honestly, Jake had no idea what he was expecting when opening the door but..

“Mrs. Y/N?”

“Hi son..” She muttered, “I hope you’re doing okay. Look, I-I don’t have much time but this morning I came across this while cleaning up in Y/N’s room and found this,”

The woman gave a careful smile and that was then he noticed a small envelope in her hand.

“I was about to open it but I think it was meant for you,”

Carefully taking the letter, he examined it before turning it around where he noticed something written in messy yet distinguished writing.

‘For him <3’

⋆

‘Dear you,

I don’t know what this letter will be when you receive it but I hope it lands safely in your hands.

Life hasn’t been easy and to be honest, I never expected it to be. You and I both know that. But what I do know is that you’ve made my life easier. I don’t know if that has do with the solace from your words or the stars from your eyes. But in me somewhere, I knew you changed my life for the better. I can’t think of a person who’s made me laugh and smile as much as you have, I think that itself alone is impossible if you ask me.

I hope you aren’t too hard on yourself. And if you are, a reminder that I never wanted you to be and neither does your mother and our daughter. I may not be here when you read this so please think about them when life gets hard and when you can feel yourself shift the blame on yourself for all the things that was never your fault to begin with. I didn’t ask for how my life turned out, neither did you. None of us did. Life just has some dwelling sometimes and at some point, they like to take it out on one of us.

It’s not fair. I know.

But I hope you can look up at the stars and see me.

I will always be here with you.

Your, Y/N L/N.’

taglist: @karinasbaby @nishions @hittoki @superbbananananana @mimizen127 @jjunie-0 @ghostiiess

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bliss-is-in-blood · 9 months ago

Text

I keep thinking about a "let's fake Will death to launch Hannibal on the Great Red Dragon" scenario gone wrong.

The idea is launched and they make a whole plan to sell it to Hannibal.

Hannibal doesn't buy it and ask to see where Will has been killed. Thankfully Will had been considerate enough to demand they use his own blood, thinking Hannibal might just not buy it.

So they bring Hannibal out all tied up in his standing trolley right to the scene they created just to see Hannibal sniffle around like a damn dog and looking around, then for him to tell them he doesn't believe it and would like to see the body.

They try to dissuade him, tell him he's already buried (wrong move Hannibal knows law enough to know if Will was truly dead from the Dragon hands they would keep his body for investigation for longer than a week or two) Hannibal just tell them to unbury Will if that's what it takes.

So NOW they have to craft the most perfect pastiche of death with Will so they can convince Hannibal, sure they start to think it's pointless but they have one go at that plan so why not go all in. It's a tedious process and a bit tedious for Will because he HAS to smell like a corpse to the point Hannibal can't discern he's alive, and it's without talking about makeup and how they are gonna make him breath so imperceptibly that Hannibal doesn't notice.

In the end, despite all their effort, Hannibal refuse the "deal".

The crew are flabbergasted I'm telling you.

Only for Hannibal to escape two days later in a bloodbath of his own making to the point Alana and Chilton wonder if their security was on point or if Hannibal stayed in his cell just because he still wanted Will to know where he was when he could have escaped at anytime.

Where is Hannibal ? who knows ?

They do find Dolarhyde a few days later, it's a carnage, a slaughter beyond anything they've ever seen. Shapeless and rageful and franckly they take time to understand it's the Red Dragon by how fucking messy the scene is.

Corpse have been droping dead here and there too, there's no design, it's "killing because you're in the way" type of kill.

Then Hannibal start to goes after people that knew Will and made him upset one way or another.

Now they understand how deep in the shit they are. Hannibal is loose on a carnage, vengeful run against all of them and everybody going against his way. He's fast, efficient, they don't know where he is. All they know is that Hannibal lost his mind and he will slaughter whatever, whoever he put his hands unto.

They guess their fake death scenario worked, maybe a bit too well. They try to advertise that Will is actually alive, it doesn't work. They try to corner Hannibal it doesn't work.

And Will in the background, not worried at all because he's basically the only person in the world that would be safe around Hannibal right now, thinking he ordered his mutt (hellhound really) to attack but never thought about how he would call him back to his feet.

#HANNIBAL #NBC HANNIBAL #HANNIGRAM #MURDER HUSBANDS #WILL GRAHAM

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catamaurrr-star · 6 months ago

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okay guys hear me out. so the yanqing boss doesnt have physical weakness. but all the other human character bosses do. except cocolia but we all know what happened to hher anyway. but the non human character bosses DONT have physical weakness, such as the ebon deer svarog something unto death etc. this implies that yanqing is Not Human. play a shocked gasp sound effect now.

so now were wondering. what species IS yanqing then? well i have 2 theories so far. 1: vidyadhara. theres an npc on the xianzhou called qingzu that says yanqing is a vidyadhara, but a rat nibbled the pointy ends of his ears off. but i dont really think thats true at all considering she also said that jing yuan used to be a crosstalk comedian. but on the other hand have you ever seen a physical vidyadhara character before. didnt think so /joking and not serious

theory 2: he's got the same thing march has going on with the six-phased ice. this is already a pretty popular theory cause yanqings ice is pink sometimes and he also has a mysterious backstory. this would imply march is also not human which doesnt sound that far of a stretch

and now im going to just lie and make up a crack theory with no basis on it whatsoever. yanqing was a masked fool that accidentally got hit by a stellaron disaster and it changed his biological data (like the way silver wolf does it but by a stellaron) so much that he glitched out into a weird vidyadhara demon angel prince with none of the pointy ears or horns or anything and it threw him across the cosmos so fast, briefly hitting some six phased ice and absorbing it into him, that he hit akivili and killed them and then landed on the xianzhou as a little baby in the middle of the remains of a battle

#maurposting #honkai mumb rail #honkai star rail #yanqing hsr #hsr yanqing #yanqing #hsr

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year ago

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Any weird Soul Society specific superstions for care and maintenance of one's Zanpaktou?

There's a joke rumor that goes around Shinigami Academy that if you've tried everything else and your zanpaktou STILL isn't talking to you, you can always try getting into mortal danger so it has to come out and save your ass to save your own. The faculty loudly maintains that is false and even considering it is a great way to fuck up your spiritual connection with it. The problem is that unfortunately, the rumor is true- even the most stubborn zanpaktou tend to have at least one survival instinct and will force their wielders to fight their way out of a life-or-death situation. But the teachers are right that it WILL permanently fuck up your relationship with a sword if you intentionally harm yourself for it's attention, and it's important to note that just because your zanpaktou manifested, that doesn't mean either of you are strong or skilled enough to get out of your dipshit situation you caused.

A more commonly advised bonding practice is to practice putting trust in your sword and learning about its preferences by picking one day a month where it's in charge and you do everything it says. EVERYTHING. If your sword tells you to walk off a cliff, start walking - the key here is to teach the sword spirit that not only do you trust it, it's also responsible for you and can't go around giving you bad advice for shits and giggles. Most sword spirits never ask their wielders to do something dangerous, but they do ask to go see a weird movie or for their person to eat an unusual food so they can taste it by proxy, and thus the wielder gets used to trusting them and thinking of the spirit as a person unto themselves.

Doing proper maintenance on your weapon is an important bonding activity and the first time a zanpaktou has to be taken to a smithy to be properly re-sharpened is often a nerve-wracking experience for both sword and shinigami, a bit like a child's first doctor's appointment.

A practice that is not *recommended* but most people do anyway and that works is sharing gossip. Sword spirits can see each other when they choose to manifest, and have friendships and rivalries and THAT BITCH FROM THAUMATURGY CLASS YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE - and likewise, since sword spirits spend so much time resting they want to hear all the updates on the wielder's friends and family and rivals and OH MY GOD YOU NEED TO HEAR WHAT THAT MORON WHO TEACHES O-CHEM DID NOW-

Sometimes, a sword will bond with someone very deeply, very fast. There's a superstition that shinigami who bond with and master their zanpaktou quickly are either destined for greatness or to burn out and drop out of the court guard just as fast. Neither is true, actually. They're not prone to grand destiny or burnout any more than people who take a normal or long time to bond with their zanpaktou. They are more likely to get thrown out of the guard for really weird crimes though.

On the other end of the spectrum, if it takes a long time to bond with your zanpaktou, there might be something wrong with you. The rumor isn't *totally* unfounded- the main thing that keeps people from bonding with others is, you know, unresolved emotional issues, the same thing that prevents less stabby relationships. But it's just as likely that it's the sword is the one that's snake fuckingly crazy.

#aeiwam #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach #bleach fanfiction #zanpaktou

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staarlight-snow · 1 year ago

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Murky Waters (part 2) - Island of the Slaughtered

TW: Gorey descriptions, Strong/Foul language

[Inspired by "last thoughts" by muridaecorps]

My take/interpretation of Noah's death

Part 1

"You know what? Fuck you." Noah blurted out. He gripped unto his book – quickly turning around. Storming off, heading towards the forest. "Noah! You can't just leave it's not safe!" Someone called out. "Tsk.. Let him be." Duncan crossed his arms, "He'll come running back in seconds." After all what kind of idiot would actually run off just like that.

Stupid island, stupid Duncan, stupid fucking Chris. He hated being stuck in a small island with a killer on a loose, who wouldn't? But he hated putting his safety in the hands of a jerky deliquent who does nothing but boss everyone around. Who does Duncan even think he is? Just because he's been in juvenile detention and he's punk doesn't mean he's right for a leadership role.

He continued to angrily make his way deeper into the forest. Stopping at his tracks. Fuck. He was lost. Shit. He was far away from the others. He quickly turned around, retracing his steps.

Noah you fucking idiot, he cursed himself. He quickened his pace, realizing the situation he was at. The sun was setting, the forest was getting darker and all the trees started to look the same.

Then there it was. His body froze up. Shit. He swear his heart dropped right down to his stomach. His breathing became frantic and his mind became hazy. The bushes started to rustle as the figure got closer. So he ran.

He ran, fast. He ran, for his life. No, no, no, no. It can't end like this. He promised Cody they'd get out of there. Not like this please. He still had plans for his future, aspirations and dreams. Of course! Everyone did.

He felt a stream of tears roll down his cheeks as he ran faster. He hated this so much. He hated himself for not participating in any kinds of sports. He ran as quick as he could.

He stopped by a tree to catch his breath. Bad idea right? He just needed a breather, even for a few seconds. His nails dug deep into the novel in his hands. His heart beated faster than he could possibly have ever felt. He looked behind him. Nothing.

He tried to steady his breathing. Just for a second. He started to regret everything, signing that stupid contract, arguing with Duncan, storming off. He regret it all. He closed his eyes. He just wants to go home. He just to leave. He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to get back to camp. He wanted to see Cody again, he seemed to forget every little thing he hated about Cody – cause right now, all he wanted was his friend.

He opened his eyes to a burning feeling around his neck. His eyes widened. Fuck. He dropped the book and desperately tried to get the rope off him. He caught a glimpse of the sickened man behind him, he grinned at the poor teen.

"P-please..." He choked out, "I.. I don't wanna die-" He cried. There was no point. Did he really think a cold-hearted murderer would spare his life?

The rope stung against his neck and it hurt more from the scratches he made attempting to get rid of it. He mind felt hazy and he was light-headed. He fell over, too weak to move from where he was. Fuck.

He was still breathing. Barely. But it gave him a slight taste of hope. He was in terrible shape but maybe he could survive this. If he pretended to be dead and out cold maybe the murderer would leave him there. Or so he thought.

He cried out, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder. His vision was blurry but he saw it. The knife, deep into him. No. He felt light, he was being carried. Next thing he knew everything was cold, dark and wet. Fuck.

His blood pooled around the pond. He wanted to get out, swim. He knew he could swim but his body was too weak. Slowly, he gave up and succumbed to his death.

It's unfair.

Sequel ish

#total drama #td noah #tdi #total drama island #island of the slaughtered #total drama au #noco #td duncan #tw horror #tw death

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somuchbetterthanthat · 23 days ago

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Don't ask me what this is, I needed Jon and Elias at the end of the world

Here and there Jon’s eyes twitched as if he wished they would close; a faint, last echo of blasphemy that Jonah soothed easily with a gentle stroke of his hair. Neither of them talked much anymore — to each other, at least. There was plenty to say and to record, endless horrors to witness and exchange from one mouth to another, but that hardly left time for basic conversation.

Not that they needed it. They were beyond such simplistic notions. They were Gods.

Or, well. Jon was. Jonah was quite content to be the shepherd that had guided him there. After all, who was more powerful? The man who held the whole world in his pupil, or his creator? The monstrous divinity, or the king who’d trapped it in the gaze of his beloved and kept it well-fed and well-loved at his feet?

Jon’s chant against his thigh was melodic, decadent and terrifying; Jonah was not getting tired of it — he knew he would never get tired ever again, for all of eternity. Let everyone else outside weep with fear. Jonah and Jon’s tears were made of ecstasy.

Soon it would be his turn again to carry the voice of the Watcher. Just for a little while — a gift, for offering Jon and the rest of the world to it. A small respite for his archivist, as well; a quiet lull to think, to itch ever closer to Jonah, grasping at him with the hunger of a starving man, cursing him and begging him all at once. Wishing for death. Wishing for more. Remembering that outside, somewhere, there was still a pocket of darkness that escaped their Eyes and not knowing anymore whether this was a threat or merely hope.

Under his fingers Jon shuddered, speaking faster. Jonah licked his lips, curled his hand around the smooth leather of Jon’s collar, and pulled it with no real strength. This, too, had become unnecessary. The smallest gesture built a whole picture that both of them knew and understood in a single heartbeat.

Jon raised his head to meet his gaze; immediately Jonah felt breathless, falling into the beautiful endless dark of Jon’s pupils. He acted fast, bending over his seat to swallow the words right out of Jon’s lips, and they both gasped as more knowledge poured in their heads. Oh, Jonah thought, how hungry he still was, and how powerful they both were, like this, right now, in this perfect equilibrium. Jon whimpered, rising from the ground to get closer. Jonah helped him up, well practised now in manhandling him until Jon was sitting on his lap, his two burning palms pressing over Jonah’s cheeks.

The heavy chains locked over their wrists were long enough for Jonah to wrap his arms around Jon’s waist, nails grazing over the length of his naked back. Jon rocked against him — out of instinct, with no real desire for completion as the God he’d become craved that sort of pleasure even less than his old human self had, and Jonah kept still, too busy devouring all he could from the never ending feast that lived unto Jon’s tongue.

The pain of being granted a small part of the divine was worth it, of course. Eventually Jonah let his head fall back, his throat taken over, his eyes filled to the brim with the beautiful nightmare that their world had been twisted into, and it was only distantly he heard Jon take a sharp breath, forehead falling into the crook of his neck.

“Jonah,” he whispered hoarsely against his skin. “Jonah, they are coming again.”

Let them come, Jonah thought.

“They think — fire. Fire. They made sure we couldn’t run.”

“Would you run?” Jonah’s mouth asked. “Would you preserve this, what we have become, if you could?”

“I— Yes,” Jon breathed. It sounded wretched and guilty and absolutely certain, the horrid truth ripped from him like everything else. “Yes.”

Let them come, Jonah repeated. If we burn, they will burn with us. And if we don’t — all the more to gorge ourselves with, my love.

#the magnus archives #jonelias #they share a domain. they should make out in it #also did i NEED to have Jon half naked with a collar but the both of them are chained together to their seat of power? no.#but does that visual sends me into a frenzy? yes.#Someone writes Jon and Jonah as old terrible Gods of dark Knowledge and secrets trapped together in an eternal embrace #please #tma stories

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feroshgirlsims · 6 days ago

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Chapter 6 - Prologue for a New After-Life

Excerpt from "The After-life for Gods and Monsters," location of book unknown.

[flashback]

It should be said that the space between universes was not a bar. You couldn't just stumble in whenever you wanted and pour yourself a drink.

Even if you were the most silver-tongued of creatures.

Even if you were fast as the fae.

"Akira Kibo, the after-life is not a free-for-all," Substance huffs, folding her arms.

"Yeah, and if you ain't want visitors, you shoulda been faster closing the door."

It was a technicality. But then again, technicalities were the lifeblood of the fae.

Substance rolls her eyes, “Your father was like you. Fast enough to slip in here and take something that was ours. I hear the birds are still eating his liver."

"Sounds about right,” Akira smirks, “He was kind of an asshole.”

And there, the creature standing before the Divine Creators demonstrated that he knew the foundational rule of the universe:

Fuck around and find out.

“Akira Kibo, last one left,” Time observes in her honeyed voice. "Ancient upon ancient. Cursed with the speed that made you at once a harbinger and a relic. You must be lonely."

“I don’t gotta be,” Akira replies. “The Reaper's scythe is not a requirement for a new life.”

It was a law so arcane that the Divine Creators almost forgot they made it.

"You’ve done your reading," Substance allows, "And what would you offer in exchange for this new life? Would you get back what your father stole?”

"In exchange, I will make sure that what my father took ends up where it belongs."

As far as deals went, it left a lot to be desired. The fae can't lie, which wasn't the same as saying they don't lie, so that single statement presented loopholes upon loopholes.

But it was as close to satisfaction as the Creators were going to get.

"It's tricky, starting a new life without death," Time purses her lips. "All this experience will be muscle memory, a life you feel but can't remember. You and your sister will be in between."

Akira shrugs. "We got over losing godhood. Pretty fuckin' sure we'll survive this."

"So confident!" Time quirks a brow, "Alright. Have your new life, Akira. But first, a question. Who would you be in a whole new world? What would you do with a new set of circumstances?"

"I wouldn't be the last."

“I would keep them safe.”

It should be said that the Divine Creators were not usually chatty. Usually, they did not tell you shit. But sometimes, when you made a thing, you had a soft spot, and so, just before Akira reaches the doors, Time calls out:

“They will be unruly, Akira. And loathe to listen. They will make you break your rules and forget your vows. They will test your boundaries and leave you wanting. Death will come for you. And woe be unto the creatures standing in the way of the Hunt for your heart.”

With those parting words, the Creators watch as Akira walks out the doors and falls into his next life.

"The screaming is always so loud. We should change things up," Time muses. "What about a nice bayou instead of a warehouse? We could drown everyone in a lake instead of dropping them onto concrete."

“It won’t work,” Substance grumbles.

“Of course it will. I already have the perfect piece of property picked out.”

"Not your swamp. This plan. I don't like it."

Time is unphased. She sinks to her knees behind her wife, placing a steadying hand on her hip. "You worry too much."

“And you don't worry enough,” Substance tilts her head back. She bites down on a moan, fighting against the distraction. “You promised me an eternity of torment, and now we’ll have to free him because if the son exists, so too must the father.”

“You are too tense,” Time plants the softest kiss at the base of her wife's spine, “Remember when we killed all the gods and replaced them? This is like that. It's a good plan."

"But my birds are—"

Another kiss. "The birds won’t go hungry for too long. Akira will remember his task.”

“The living don’t remember shit.” Substance snaps, but her voice is breathless. "And anyway, he's too fast. Cursed with it."

“Then Death, my love, will just have to catch him.”

PREV | NEXT

(I was going to have them pour each other wine, but then this pose by @fallstaticexit came for my throat, and it is PERFECTION)

#ts4 #simblr #The Save File Chronicles #Season 1 #sims 4 story #Akira literally broke into the afterlife #The Divine Creators are not roommates #Just so we are clear what kind of universe I believe in

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khabronmebikaner · 2 years ago

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ECB Case: आमरण अनशन के दो और अनशनकारियों को हॉस्पिटल में एडमिट कराया गया

अनशन स्थल : बीते दिन की तस्वीर ईसीबी प्रकरण : आमरण अनशन के दो और अनशनकारियों को हॉस्पिटल में एडमिट कराया गयाECB Case: Two more fast-unto-death protesters were admitted to the hospitalबीकानेर । यहां जिला कलक्ट्रेट के समक्ष किए जा रहे आमरण अनशन के दो और अनशनकारियों का स्वास्थ्य बिगड़ने पर उन्हें आज मेडिकल रिपोर्ट के आधार पर हॉस्पिटल में भर्ती करवाया गया है। इनमें अखिल भारतीय वैश्य महासम्मेलन के…

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#admitted #ECBCase #fast-unto-death protesters #hospital

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astral-mariner · 7 months ago

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An illustration for my Saiyans under Freeza story, Homeworld Lost. (Read here. Please heed content warnings.)

This scene as narrated by Raditz:

Another chirp from the scouter. Nappa had arrived at last, and his pod crashed into the earth not too far off. I didn’t want to leave Vegeta by himself, so I sank to the ground and waited, hugging my knees to my chest. Weary, slow steps from the other side of the fire. Heavy boots. Nappa found the prince curled in on himself, fast asleep. He crouched down, hesitating before he brushed Vegeta’s cheek with his knuckle. When the prince didn’t stir, he fit his large hands under him and lifted him in his arms. I thought to go to both of them, but as Nappa stood still and merely held the prince, cradling him with his head bowed, I knew I should stay where I was. “I swore to your mother…” he muttered. I wouldn’t have heard unless I were listening. I’d only seen the queen twice: that day in the royal city, and the day of the tournament. She died not long afterwards, and not in battle. There were rumors of illness or poison, but I didn’t care to listen to them at the time. Freeza took Vegeta to his planet just after I’d met him. He, Freeza, had been there at the tournament, watching. I didn’t know when the prince would come back and our partnership would actually begin. But when he returned a few seasons later, his mother was dead, and her battle partner, Nappa, had sworn to serve her son unto death. So here he was with us now. Apart from this, I knew very little of him. “The gods…” he trailed off. He clutched the prince to his chest. “The gods made you strong for a reason. They had to…”

#vegeta #nappa #dbz #dragon ball #dragon ball z #astral art #astral writing

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hail-brod · 11 months ago

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Nothing Matters

Masterlist

Loki x FReader

A/N: Guess who just watched 'Everything Everywhere All At Once'...

Warning/s: ANGST ALERT, short human lifespan, friends to ???, mentions of death.

WC: 2.4k

In Loki's eyes, mortality was a pitying thing to have. A big weakness of the human kind. Which also eventually became his.

Would it have mattered?

Would it have mattered if he said he loved you? If you knew that he cared for you in a way that no one could've ever possibly expected? If he said that he wanted to stand with you, sit with you, walk with you, smile with you, live with you? Maybe even cry and be hopeless with you?

Could he have lived a vastly different life if he had told you that you mattered to him?

That you weren't just some mortal that he could look down on. That you weren't a vain on his side, and an annoying prattling simpleton. Because you we're far more than that. Far beyond everything he had always called you or told you. All those prickly things he uttered eventually became a lie to his own heart.

He could've spoken those few words and made you look at him for the rest of his life.

For the rest of your life.

But now he's here, so far away from you.

Why didn't he say it? Why didn't he do it?

Was it because he was afraid?

Of what exactly?

He had always such a way with words, and yet the only time he felt like he should've said something to give him a reason to stay, was the time when all doubt came and ate his words.

Regret was there. And from time to time, it always comes back.

Going down to Midgard has always been eventful for both him and Thor. No matter what they say about their fragility and short lives, they still had their interesting ways to live. Some majority of their bets would happen there, sometimes they would just go down to escape duties from the palace. Sometimes, just for a change of scenery.

At some point, he came down there to sulk. Got into trouble for violating some Midgardian law, which in fact, wasn't his fault—and apparently, you witnessed his accidental innocence.

When he met you, he barely batted an eye. He didn't cared for anything at that moment. He saw everyone at that realm merely as desperate ants, constantly running everywhere, everyday, chasing away whatever they set their mind unto.

Desperate to do something.

He can't blame them, their time runs so little. You we're no different.

And yet, he knew that he owed you for 'excusing' him from those law keepers. And he didn't want to owe someone—especially, a mortal one at that.

But you insisted that there was no need to, and of course he didn't back down. Just like anyone else, you we're intimidated into accepting his offer of...anything, something. What could possibly a human can ask from him that he won't be able to do? He's a literal god.

You looked too basic and unexceptional. A very big contrast compared to the mortals he had met in the past.

And you definitely didn't look like you write exceptionally great historical plays nor could you invent the deadliest bomb ever made.

And maybe, that's one of the reasons why you weren't that interesting. Because you said you didn't really know what to ask from him. Although, you eventually decided with—

"Well...can you be my friend then?"

He only scoffed. But you didn't look offended.

He wanted to turn that down, but how would that look? After he just insisted that he didn't want to owe anyone? To him, it was laughable and meaningless. To be friends with a mortal is just like the wind. It breezes by so fast with nothing left but the forgotten feeling of its visit on your skin.

Perhaps, there's nothing wrong with that. He can do away with it until you die, and at his favor, would last for about a few decades? Less than a century?

Not so bad. Not so long.

He could just blink and the deal is done. One snap and he would have already forgotten about you.

And he can't really always go down to Midgard just to mingle with you. He has better things to do than satisfy the need of a dull creature. A visit once a year would suffice. Maybe after every five years or so? That would certainly favor his time well.

Just a small price to pay for a smaller cause.

But no, he still visited Midgard from time to time.

He would blend himself somewhere near you and just wait for you to notice him. Or surprise you with a few sudden chastising words for whatever you're doing. Sometimes, trying to gaslight you into breaking the deal off, but it always somehow fails. He didn't know if it was maybe because of you or him. But then, he himself doesn't want to admit that Asgard was also not as interesting as he's always convinced himself of.

Not as kind...nor welcoming.

You we're always so patient with him. And he didn't understood why.

He didn't understood why, but he still came back. Time and time again, and again.

He read books with you. You recommended books to him. He told you tales of nonsensical things that you probably didn't believe was actually real. You told him you wanted a rat when you we're a kid. He thought you how to do an ancient hand whistle, and for some reason you really insisted to learn it after he showed you how. And at some point, he'd spend days staying on Midgard and experience some other things that you have been telling him to try.

He thought it was outrageous to have taken you up for your word but alas, by that time, he knew he didn't want to stay back in Asgard just to wallow underneath his brother's greatness.

But it also brought him to a great sense of denial.

How could he have ever decided to suddenly prefer a lowly world to a higher one? To seek your company rather than his tricked victims at home?

To hear more of your pathetic problems until you self-deprecate yourself into laughter? And then for himself to speak up from experience, almost as if he wanted to tell you that he understands. That he knows how it is.

That he's there to be your friend.

He didn't want to accept that he's slowly seeing your worth. That you we're becoming important to him.

But at the end, he had nothing else but your honest company. Your welcoming arms and genuine words. You we're far from the doubtful and hesitant gazes he was always been accustomed to from his people. You we're sweet when you wanted to, and to him so? He still couldn't believe anyone would be, other than his mother.

You have always been vulnerable, humans are. But as the years go by, he was too.

He knew that your deal with him was an offered friendship, and it still stands. You met matches of your own and you'd tell tales of how it went and who it is courting you. He would raise a brow at that. But it was nothing more to him. It was your life and you we're progressing it in your own mortal ways.

He would tell himself that.

And yet, as he grew to seek your company more, the more he find himself wanting something different. Something he tried to ignore.

It came a time when your significant other had proposed to you. And that didn't sit quite well with him. He knew it was wrong, so he pushed it away.

You we're friends.

There's nothing more there.

But then, your engagement had broken off just after a few months, because it apparently didn't work out well.

It had stung his heart to see you devastated and yet you try to hide it from him. When he came to see how you we're doing, you had worn the saddest eyes you could ever wear. But you still welcomed him with the warmest smile you could ever give to him.

Sometimes, he wondered if he could always be by your side.

If you could always be by his side.

He had almost forgotten what you we're. He's heart began to crack at that. Day by day, it kept dawning at him. Just like the wind, he remembered his own thoughts.

He should've felt relief or gladness. Like he said, it was a favor to have your mortality play on your little deal. Just decades gone by in a blink of an eye from a god like him and he would no longer put up with you. But it had bothered him so much more than before. So much more than it should. And it had proven to be difficult in his part to shake it off. To accept it.

But it was agonizing.

He didn't know what was agonizing, but the only thing he knew was that, he didn't want you gone.

Years kept running and consuming your lifespan, you had your happy days and lonely days. But by that time, it slowly came to him. One day, he noticed something about your eyes, as if he just fell into them. Then some other day, he noted something about your smile, so contagious he had to cover his own. And then suddenly, he just kept avoiding your gaze, as if one look from you could melt his composure away.

It definitely dawned on him.

You became someone to him. Maybe you have always been, ever since he kept seeking you out.

He had never told you his true nature. You never knew he was immortal.

And it's probably for the best.

You look content. You have a fine job, a few friends, a supportive family and you're growing wiser and wiser.

Did you still wanted him by your side?

Sooner or later, you would find someone again to give your heart to. And it isn't going to be him.

It shouldn't be him.

It can't be him.

You deserve to grow old with someone that wasn't from his sickened deal that rooted from the expectation of your impending death. And he knows that if you perished so quickly by his side, he doesn't know how he'll be able to take it.

When your 41st birthday came, he finally decided.

But that night, you never looked so exceptional in his eyes. So beguiling. As you smiled at him, for him, it's like you never really aged. Even as much as you would complain how you're four decades old and having wrinkles appearing at your sides; you still looked the same to him. The same woman he came to love.

Maybe he was refusing to see it. Maybe he was just avoiding the fact that the fear of losing you is gradually looming closer.

But it didn't change the fact that, you held his heart.

Unfortunately, he had to let go.

"Where are you going?" you asked him. "Don't you want to stay longer?"

For some reason, there's that pleading look in your eyes that he had never seen before. He saw your hands hesitantly reach out for him, but you drew it back at your sides.

You looked like you wanted to tell him something.

No.

You can't.

"I'm...I'll be..." he struggled to say. "I have somewhere to go." he breathed out your name. "I'm afraid you- you won't be seeing me...tomorrow."

You lightly laugh. "Oh, okay. No you tomorrow, got it." you nodded cheekily. "But you should know that granny Ethel is asking for you again this Saturday. You will come, right?"

He couldn't look at you. "...Right." he lied.

But when he finally decided to bask in your eyes one last time, he almost said it.

Almost.

Involuntarily, he grabbed your shoulders as he leaned closer. The emotions flashed in your eyes contorts into confusion but you still settled your pretty little eyes on him that he nearly breaks.

Maybe he did break.

And maybe that's why he hugged you. So long, it felt like eons as he memorized every passing moment he ever had with you.

I love you.

He never got to say it, and left you wondering why he didn't come back, as he only let the decades fly by.

And every passing second, he was counting the days of your years. Wondering if you we're still there on your little apartment, maybe by then you had a house, and a husband. Perhaps, children as well.

Wondering if you had forgotten about him, for your sake, and his.

And as the years kept stretching, with his mind having to bear his duties as prince, he had received a sudden news—from Heimdall himself.

"She is gone." he uttered as he looked into the vast stars of the galaxy.

He snapped his eyes to him. "What?"

"I know about your mortal friend, Loki." he replied. "And I don't believe you had ever forgotten about her. But I think you should know..."

"Stop."

His world stopped.

It happened. Just like he always thought. Just like how it will always be. The fate he had always known would come.

He wanted to go back, but it felt like the ground was sinking him in. He tried to breath calmly, but his eyes betrayed him. His palm was suddenly clutching his trousers tightly, while his heart was splitting apart. He stayed quite.

Your we're 68 years old by then. He knew. He had always been counting.

He thought he had let go of you, but he still kept seeking for the days he'll come back down to Midgard again.

For you.

It has always been you.

And now he's here, somewhere—nowhere.

Sitting on his throne as he watched the timeline, just after he left you. What would've happened. Who you would've met. How you fell in love again. And how you waited for him to appear again.

But one thing caught his eye, was when he hugged you.

He was supposed to part away and leave, never to be seen again. But in that timeline...

"Loki, wait." you called. You looked nervous and hesitant. Your eyes lingered on him with a look of longing. "I, uh- Can I ask you out on a date?"

His body froze.

But then, you let out a self-deprecating laugh. "I know, it's so out of nowhere...But I- I don't mean to this push this through—especially when this could ruin our friendship. I thought that maybe- maybe I should tell you how this has been...bugging me for awhile now and..."

Maybe it was that one last push from you that could have been different.

Maybe if he wasn't just so scared of the days that would come after you're gone, he could've had the courage to convey his love for you.

He could've told you-

"I love you."

I love you.

He could've-

He should've. It would have-

It would have mattered.

He would have really loved to just grow old with you.

Ko-fi?

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