#but the core of Thenamesh is devotion

[softquietsteadylove]

“Today, every day, and on Valentine's Day, I will visit my wife of 56 years. We are separated by her dementia. I will tell her what's been going on outside, as I spoon-feed her in her care-home hospital bed. She says, "Thank you," when I tell her I love her. We both know she would say more, if only she could. We have had a great life together, ever since the second grade. She is slowly leaving, I know that. But we're a pair until then.” I saw this quote on NYT’s post about small acts of love, and I immediately thought of Thenamesh which made me think of you. I know this might be a sensitive topic so feel free to skip this as a prompt if you’re not comfortable, but I do think you could write something not only respectful but absolutely beautiful about this vein of love for our favorite pair. It reminds me of the Notebook too, if that’s at all inspiring! As always, love everything you give us <3

Far out in the Australian desert, there is a house.

It sits completely apart from everything around it. The land is tended to and the house is inhabited despite the arid nothing surrounding it. There is a water pump and an oven, a garden and space to keep goods.

Everyday, a man leaves the house. He leaves with a basket in hand, and he walks under the unforgiving sun. The trip is made in silence, walking for hours. He says nothing, stops for nothing. His journey takes him even further into the desert, further away from everyone and everything.

He walks until he sees a figure on a hill. The figure is all white from a distance, standing out against the sizzling red sands. It remains completely still. Most would even assume it doesn't breathe.

The man sets down the basket first, lowering himself next to the figure. Her hair picks up in the breeze, but he keeps it away from her face. Her eyes are as white as the dress on her back. When the weather turns bad he comes and stands over her, wraps a blanket around her shoulders.

He would fight off the lightning and thunder if he needed to.

He touches his hand to her cheek, to make sure she has warmth in her skin. He checks her eyes, which have not been green in years now. He checks to make sure she's still breathing, that time has stopped for her in a way that leaves her comfortable. He checks that she is still the Warrior Eternal, Thena, his wife.

The Strongest Eternal settles for the time being. He comes and sits with her everyday. Some days it's hours, some days it's only one. He has their home to attend to. He comes and tells her he misses her, what is happening back on their little patch of land. Tells her of the lizards she loved so much running through his garden.

The man pulls over the basket, pulling out some of the mead he has perfected over the years. There's no harm in letting her taste it, now. He pours it into a delicate sipping vessel and brings it to her lips. It is not as if she can expire of natural causes, out here. He can't either.

But he likes to come and share things with her. He's even started taking up her old practice of drawing, although he is certain she would tell him if they were as terrible as he thinks they are. Still, he brings them and shows them to her, one by one. Many are of her.

He eats something for himself, whatever he has made and brought with him. He still cooks because he enjoys it, even if there is no gentle humming at the table or smiles bathed in kitchen window sunlight. She always told him that her favourite part about his cooking was how happy it made him. She wouldn't want him to stop.

He points out clouds to her, asking what she thinks they look like. She would always just say weapons in the past, so now he makes up things like bunnies and monsters and even their family members, in a way. He asks her how they are sometimes, certain that she must be with them. Because he hopes that whatever happens within those completely white shrouds in her eyes, that she is happy, and safe.

He packs up the basket again, preparing to walk home. He tilts her chin towards him. Sometimes he can imagine her lips lifting ever so faintly. He can imagine the smile his wife always had for him. "Hey."

She does not reply.

"I'm heading home," he whispers sweetly to her, promising the next time he will feel most alive instead of the hours in between. "I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart."

Her head tilts, leaning into his touch just a little more.

He smiles. Because sometimes she's in there--his Thena. He can see glimpses of her in times like these, when she leans into his touch, when her fingers twitch to hold onto him as much as she is able. There are traces of her still there, in the time he feels most alive.

He has no illusions, nor regrets. An Eternal has only the merciless and indefinite future to look forward to. He said they would take that chance, and they did, for almost a thousand years.

He's happy for these moments, and he can live with the hours in between. He leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead. She stopped blinking long ago but he swears he can see her eyes moving when he does this. "See you soon, Thena."

His hand slips from hers, and he sees that little twitch that makes him smile again. The first time he'd seen it, he had stayed for hours and hours afterwards. Now he knows he will see it again.

He walks back down the hill, looking back at her a few times just because he feels like it. She does not move. He knows she will be there tomorrow, and the next day. And if the earth shatters in half the day after then he will come and get her, and he will carry her to a place that is whole. He will carry her to the ends of the earth and sit with her when that end comes.

He would have nowhere else to be.

The man walks back, hours and hours again. The sun shifts in the sky and he makes it back before nightfall. With the dusk oncoming, he can see the light he always leaves on at the house. He follows the same path he walks everyday. He sets the basket down and walks out to check on the garden and the lizards. He makes sure his apron is hung up and his dishes are clean.

He goes to their room, lies down in their bed, and he thinks about his wife. He falls asleep with his hand on her pillow, thinking of her hair trailing onto his shoulder, of her soft breathing and her laughter. And tomorrow, he will go and see her again.

Far out in the Australian desert, there is a home.

It is the home of two Eternals, a husband and wife. They travelled the world together, even saved it, in a way. It was always known that she would leave before him, and they took that chance. They built an entire life out in the arid desert, out surrounded by the sand, surrounded by the sea.

Their home is built at the ends of the earth, and the wife resides further into the nothingness still. And her husband walks to see her, every single day.

[softquietsteadylove]

I love the way you can describe Thenamesh. How you find the right word to describe anything. It’s very poetic. Maybe you can use your talent and write something beautiful?

How Thena sees Gil? What she thinks when she is looking into his eyes, sees his smile? How he is tall and has these muscles but is very very gentle with anything fragile. How he is utterly gentle and soft with her?

Just her perspective of him. Something beautiful, soft and sweet.

Im looking forward for more story’s of you ❤️

Warmth

There are a few things that can come to mind when looking at the Strongest Eternal, but the first and foremost should be warmth. He radiates it, embodies it, effuses it. And it spreads to those around him, encouraging them to bask in such qualities as his warmth and his humour and his utter kindness.

When she looks at him, something stirs within her mind. it's hard to explain, and the Warrior Eternal is not exactly one confounded by her own thoughts often. But looking at him pulls something from deep within her. It lies dormant, under her unconscious thought when she doesn't need it. But how she loves that indescribable feeling.

From the moment their eyes met in deep space, to when her hand slipped into his when they first touched down on the planet, something about him makes her feel at ease.

The nerves in her body calm, the thoughts in her head quiet. He stills her like a ripple stills the water in its wake. She gives him her hand and his warmth washes over her. It loosens her, softens her jagged edges. She tucks her elbow in, bringing herself closer to him by her own volition. Because the choice to be closer to him is an easy one.

She watches him across from her, through the flames of revelry. Deviants have been slain and celebration is in order. She is not one for it, but he is. And if he is there, then she will not be far. Not unless it's to protect that smile of his--the warmth he carries preciously without even realising it.

"Come and have a drink with me."

Cold and hard, just like her. "No."

Not all of them are. Sersi is soft and warm, Makkari is bright and warm. Kingo is a little too bright, if anything. But none of them are warm like he is.

He turns and looks at her, bathed in Babylonian sun. His hair moves in the wind, soft and almost fluffy on the top of his head. It catches the light and holds it with its dark colour. His skin glows from the work he's doing. He waves.

His eyes are warm, and so gentle. Their colour is brown, but Thena will never have the words to describe how they are so much more than that. They are warm soup he makes for her when it's raining, or tea he brews when she can't sleep. They are the last embers of a fire she keeps stoked so he won't be cold after dozing off in the middle of watch duty. They are the first hints of sunlight she glimpses on his skin before going back to sleep, content with just the sight of him.

"Hey," he greets her plainly and simply. The one word has so, so many others behind it--so much that exists between them.

"Hey," she smiles back at him, content as his smile pulls up to one side while he tries to guess her thoughts. She lets him, because she gets to look at him for longer.

His eyes flutter as she reaches up to brush away a bead or two of sweat. He has black eyelashes, which make her envious because they get to touch his cheeks whenever they please.

"What have you been up to?" he asks lightly, his hand hovering closer, lingering in a way that would get anyone else killed.

She allows it, because it's easier than giving in and leaning all the way into it. "Watch."

He nods, content with her one word, because he knows she has chosen it just for him.

"You?" she asks, and this too is more than anyone else would get.

"Helping patch up the hole," he points to the last point of impact from a previous fight. It was a good fight. "Just finished."

"Hm," she purrs, eyes travelling over him. She follows every move of his shoulders, every breath that expands his chest under his armour, ever twitch in his arms after a hard day's work.

Those arms can rip a Deviant's head clean off. They are also made to fit around her in embraces that can only be described as painfully gentle.

"Hungry?" he asks, because he's always so concerned with feeding her.

She lets his hand come to the small of her back, his palm spreading against it. She knows every bend of muscle, every edge of bone, every ridge in the tips of his fingers. "What are you making?"

His smile puts the sun to shame. "Anything you want."

She lets out a fraction of a laugh, but he brightens as if she has promised him riches beyond compare. He always presents himself as living to hear even the smallest laugh from her. That is how she feels about his smile.

"Honey buns?" he suggests, and is rewarded with a full, bright smile, her lips pulling back from her teeth.

His eyes trail over them. Just like she knows every muscle on his body, he knows every bend and line in her lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

She keeps her eyes on him as they walk. She has no choice; he's too beautiful to look away. His hand moves and soon his arm is looped around her, as easily and lazily as he might lean against something.

She leans against him--leans into it.

How she loves him.