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English
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2018-12-09
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Immortal love

Summary:

"Can you write a little drabble about an ancient god without a body who host hops to follow the girl he's in love with, who is mortal?"

Notes:

I will admit I almost cried a little when writing this and I am so sorry but I started shifting a bit by the middle of the story so feel free to send another prompt if this one isn´t to your liking. Why do I always end up writing sad stuff when trying for cute?

Work Text:

He was not a stalker. He wasn´t, honest! Oh, who was he kidding?! If he had been any normal human the police would have had him behind bars faster than a lightning strike.

There he was, an ancient being revered as a god by many civilizations in innumerable dimensions and yet having fallen prey to one of the few things older than him: infatuation (love some might have called it). The bigger they are the harder they fall and, although he did not possess a vessel to host his presence, he felt like he´d fallen through all the dimensional layers and all the sensations were directly felt in his nonexistent heart.

Sometimes he´d be the bird chirping on her windowsill when she woke up in the mornings, other times he was one of the neighborhood cats that she petted before leaving the house. On one instance he´d even taken over the body of a man who´d accidentally knocked her over just to feel her hand in his and that smile, oh that warm and happy smile when she thanked him (or rather his host), had filled him with more joy than any offering at his altar.

He´d never gotten in the way of her happiness with people she met, people she got to love over the time he spent watching over her. Despite all the affection he held for her he knew her mortality was just as part of her as those kind eyes, so he decided to love her the best he could from afar.

Whenever she was sad he took ever a bird and sang the songs she liked best until her awe at that little bird singing her favorite tunes drowned out her worries.

Whenever he saw someone getting ready to hurt her he took them away, preferably to a place far from sight where they´d meet a ritual death to further fuel his power to continue his self-imposed task of watching over his beloved.

…When she got married he borrowed the priest´s body and delivered the entire ceremony, wishing her the best and a life full of the love she deserved. It had not been easy for him to watch her gazing at her partner with such love but that look had never been meant for him. How could someone let go of someone when they´d never had them to begin with?

He watched her life go on to a new house, from a job to the other, always nearby, just in case he justified to himself. He saw that house become a home over time, the couple so happy in their love and doing their best to show it. There had been bad times too, he saw them argue, point fingers and sleep in separate rooms but those moments never lasted long and it made him happy to know she´d gotten someone who could show her the love he never could through thick and thin.

He saw both cry when a light was snuffed out of their lives a few months after it lit hope in their hearts. Her husband hugged her close and as much as he wanted to do the same it felt wrong to take over the man and actually do it, he did not want to intrude on such a personal moment and on a rare time he left them alone to grieve.

When the little one came he wept in the nurse´s body as he handed over the baby to her mother and even more when the blanked was moved aside just enough to see a birthmark on the infant´s shoulder. His mark. He, who could not have influenced the creation of a life now had a mortal who displayed his mark upon birth. If there was a higher power that day he cried to them with thanks for a small part of him to exist on the mortal plane.

He saw her husband kiss her passionately when presented with their child and selfishly wished to have been the one to win her heart and together with her create a new being for them to love but still remained content on once again giving her happiness.

The years kept going by but he never stopped being the bird on the windowsill, the reassuring presence when she was alone, that random person that always wished her a good day every day. He saw her keep growing as a woman and never did his love falter for a moment. To him she was just as perfect as the day his love bloomed.

Now sometimes he took over the body of the nearest passerby and helped her cross the street, the feeling of taking her arm on his never diminishing despite her clear changes. Once vibrant hair was now grey, that dimpled smile people gushed for having gained wrinkles, but those eyes still held the same warmth when she thanked him. He watched her part every time with a sense of loss, wishing the immortality he once boasted about would have left him for a human body of his own back when he first saw her.

When her hour came close he stood beside her, invisible hand in hers, nonexistent eyes crying for more time to spend with her, unheard cries for death to leave her be because she still had so much to live for. None of his pleas were answered.

When she passed, surrounded by the ones shed given her love to over her lifetime something strange happened. Her eyes suddenly opened before closing for eternity and for the first time that smile was directed at HIM along with her words.

“Thank you.”

Once again he wept.