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crackinglamb · 3 years

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You Have Chosen Nydha To Be Your Companion!

Hopping off @little-lightning-lavellan's idea to take a DA:I OC and turn them into a companion, may I present Banal'ras Nydha (from Hope Is a Fragile Thing) and her wiki page.

General

Banal'ras Nydha looks human, although there is something that doesn't seem quite right about her. She has dark hair and skin and startlingly green eyes, and speaks with a low, raspy voice. It is often difficult to find her in a room. Nydha first appears, and is available to recruit, in the Temple of Sacred Ashes before attempting to close the Breach. She offers knowledge and combat tactics against demons. If dismissed, or never spoken to, she will then be spotted in Haven behind Solas's cabin. She will not be available to recruit at that time, although once the Inquisition is relocated to Skyhold, she will make an offer to travel with the Inquisitor. If dismissed again, she will become a non-interactive NPC in the Rotunda, usually found near the mural or atop the scaffolding. If she is never recruited, she will disappear from Skyhold after the final battle with Corypheus.

Nydha is not romanceable by any Inquisitor, but can engage in a relationship with Solas if a female Dalish Inquisitor has not done so. She is friendly and bonds well with most of the other party members, especially Cole, Dorian and, of course, Solas. She prefers diplomacy and tends towards mediation rather than confrontation. If a Dalish Inquisitor has romanced Solas, and has high approval, Nydha will offer comfort and sympathy upon termination of the relationship. If low approval, Nydha has nothing to say.

She has strong opinions on the plight of elves, slaves and mages. She is supportive of any measures that would improve the lives of them. Her early banter with Dorian revolves around debating Tevinter's practices and trying to get him to see a better way. She will also speak with Iron Bull about the shortcomings of the Qun, although never with the same level of disdain as Solas. While she never openly mocks the Chantry or Andrastianism, she isn't a strong supporter or believer and has no opinion on who becomes Divine.

Location

In Haven, Nydha can be found behind Solas's cabin, usually in the darkest corner. Once the Inquisition relocates to Skyhold, she can be found in either the Arcane Library or the Rotunda.

Approval

Nydha's approval level is based upon empathy. An Inquisitor who is helpful, respectful and curious will gain approval. Nydha has no opinion on quests such as Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts or the outcome of Here Lies the Abyss, but approves diplomatic resolutions to judgments. She will greatly approve allying with the Free Mages, and only slightly approve conscripting the Templars. Conscription of the Free Mages or allying with the Templars will result in full disapproval. She will greatly approve Iron Bull becoming Tal-Vashoth and keeping Cole as a spirit. Actions that are ruthless or cruel will lose approval.

A high approval Inquisitor will learn that Nydha was born in another world and 'crossed over' through the Veil when the Breach opened. She will tell the Inquisitor that her name was given to her as a gift from someone she met in the Fade. She does not, however, say that it is Solas (see below for unique Trespasser dialogue). She will say that her name means 'Shadow of Night', according to her translation. A Dalish Inquisitor can have special dialogue to recognize the name as being Elvish and can question how a human came to have it. Nydha will answer that it is because the native language of the Fade is Elvish, a remnant from when elves held all of Thedas before human arrival.

A low approval Inquisitor will not learn this part of her history and she will remain an enigma. If approval falls to zero, she will refuse to speak to the Inquisitor, although she does not leave and is still available as a companion.

Quests

Survivor In the Shadows – the quest for meeting Nydha initially at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It begins upon speaking with her, and ends with either recruitment or dismissal.

From the Ashes – only available after either In Hushed Whispers or Champions of the Just, but before completion of In Your Heart Shall Burn, Nydha will ask the Herald to accompany her back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to search for her few belongings. The Herald will find a journal, a bundle of unusual clothes and a single unmarked vial. Nydha will approve completing this quest.

A Better Form – Nydha will ask for help in stabilizing her corporeal body if Dagna is brought into the Inquisition. Resolution of this quest will involve having Dagna create a unique amulet that will act as a permanent grounding source, rather like a lightning rod. Components for this amulet are: 1 blank rune stone, 1 wisp essence, and either 5 dawnstone or 5 volcanic aurum (both imbue constitution bonuses). It will act as an Amulet of Power, granting Nydha an extra skill point. This is the only time such an ability will be available to her. This will also allow her to wear other amulets throughout the remainder of the game. She, and Solas, will greatly approve completing this quest.

Twice-Born – available during the Jaws of Hakkon DLC. Nydha, if in the party, will ask to speak with the Augur of Stone-Bear Hold once relations with the hold have been established. If she is not among the Inquisitor's party, she will be found in the main scout camp near Professor Kenric. What the two speak about will be unknown, but at the end of the quest, Nydha will inform the Inquisitor that she has been given the legend-mark Twice-Born from the hold's 'gods'. Cole will greatly approve completing this quest, regardless of whether or not he is in the party.

Note: This quest is not dependent upon approval, but is the only time she will speak with a zeroed out Inquisitor, should that level of low approval be reached.

Ability Tree/Specialization

Nydha is technically a rogue, and can utilize either a bow or double daggers. She has an autolevel preference for the Subterfuge tree, and has an additional, unique starting skill in Fade Cloak. This does not require further leveling to be active. It is the only skill that cannot be deactivated from her skillset.

She can specialize in either Tempest or Rift Mage, due to her nature as a being from the Fade. She is not otherwise a mage. Her decision on specialization can be influenced, as she will ask the Inquisitor's opinion. If no opinion is given, she will default to taking Tempest.

Combat comments

“Come get some!”

“Catch me if you can!”

(If specialized in Tempest) “Burn, baby, burn.”

(If specialized in Rift Mage) “Ooh, the stuff of nightmares.”

Kills an enemy

“Another one bites the dust.”

“Cool story, bro.”

“Then perish.”

Low Health

“This was not on my agenda today.”

“A little help?”

Low Health (Companions)

For all general companions: “I have your back.”

If in a romance with Solas: “Take a breather, fenorain.”

Fallen Companions

For all general companions: “I'll make them pay!”

If in a romance with Solas: “NO!”

Location Comments

Ferelden:

Hinterlands: “Why is it so big? Why is everything so big?”

Fallow Mire: “I have mud in unmentionable places. Can we go now?”

Storm Coast: “I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and sky.”

If companions question her: “It's just from a poem I once read.”

Orlais:

Exalted Plains: “So much death. Can't you feel it?”

Emerald Graves: “This forest is old. Very old.” [laughs] “I always wanted to say that in proper context.”

Emprise du Lion: “Stay away from the bloody lyrium. And wear a hat.”

At Suledin Keep after Imshael, if Solas is in the party: “Ir abelas, lethallin.” (If romanced) Ir abelas, fenorain.”

Solas's reply (only translated if the Inquisitor is Dalish): “Ma serannas. Ea lam'an.” (It is in the past)

At the Pools of the Sun, regarding the trio of dragons: “Can't we just leave them alone? They really won't hurt anyone if we keep our distance.”

Hissing Waste: “You know, if you ignore the endless vista of sand, it's really quite beautiful. In a bleak kind of way.”

Western Approach: “Hot. Hot and blighted. I need a drink.”

Forbidden Oasis, upon reaching the second camp: “That's it, I'm never leaving.”

Arbor Wilds: “Mind your footing. This place is full of secrets.”

In Val Royeaux: “Pretty place.”

Frostback Basin: “I could stay here forever. Even with the varmints.”

The Descent: “Nice and dark, just the way I like it.”

At the Wellspring: “Wow...that's amazing.”

Trespasser: “Now it all ends, my friend.”

If the Inquisitor questions the statement: “You'll see soon enough.”

Companion/Advisor comments

Varric – Gotta watch out for Spooky, there's something about her I can't put my finger on.

Cassandra – She is an able fighter, but I would not trust her out of my sight, which is far too often.

Solas – She is secretive by nature, but I would assure you that she means no harm.

Iron Bull – She's a tricky one. Good fighter, lotta secrets. Good at keeping them too. I don't think I've cracked a single one that she didn't tell me herself.

Dorian – She's fascinating. I am not at liberty to say why, of course, if you don't already know.

Cole – Bright as the sun and scattered as the stars. She wants to help, just like I do.

Vivienne – She seems capable enough, my dear. But I would not dare to trust her. She is an accomplished player of the Game, for all her smiles and good cheer.

Sera – She's as bad as Creepy, although she's better at jokes. She's better at hiding than I am!

Blackwall – She knows something. She knows too many somethings.

Josephine – She keeps to herself and has caused no diplomatic incidents. I wish I could say the same for some of the others gathered here.

Leliana – I find it curious that I cannot find any solid evidence of her existence before the Conclave, but that does not automatically mark her a spy. However, her nature makes me no more inclined to trust her. I would be wary of her.

Cullen – Who? Oh, the...shadowy...person. I hear she can handle herself. I can't say I've spoken with her, so I don't have an opinion.

Trespasser

There is a unique dialogue tree available to the Inquisitor while speaking with Solas if Nydha was recruited as a companion.

“Did you know about Nydha?”

“Yes, I am the one who gave her her name. I found her while I yet slept, and she became corporeal after the Breach.”

(First branch) “Is she one of your agents?”

“No. She has only ever been my friend.”

(Special, if not romanced) “Your friend? It seemed to be more than that.”

“In another world, perhaps.”

(Second branch) “Is she joining you?”

“No, I would not wish her on this path.”

(Third branch) “She knew this whole time. Why didn't she tell me?”

“She had her reasons for not telling you. (If high approval) I hope you will not hold them against her.”

Regardless of approval, Nydha disappears after the Exalted Council. She settles in the Frostback Basin among the Avvar. A high approval Inquisitor will receive correspondence from her from time to time, but she will refuse to come back to the 'civilized' nations of Thedas, preferring privacy and isolation.

Trivia

If in the party during Here Lies the Abyss, the Nightmare demon will speak to her in Elvish. Her reply is a scoff and nothing else.

Nydha can be a third option at the Vir'Abelasan if she is in the party. If she is chosen to drink from the Well, Abelas does not object, although he will still point out that she will be bound as they are. If Nydha drinks, she will summon Flemeth and work with the Inquisitor to tame the dragon for the final confrontation with Corypheus. If she is in the party during Trespasser, she will be able to provide the password to the spirit guards, preventing a fight.

If Morrigan is allowed to attack Abelas, she will attempt to defend him and will argue that the witch is not worthy of the knowledge she seeks if brutality is her only way to get it. If there is a peaceful alliance with the Sentinels and Morrigan is chosen to drink, Nydha will slightly disapprove but hold her tongue on the matter.

If the Inquisitor drank from the Well, and succeeds in finding enough clues to determine that Solas is Fen'Harel, Nydha will appear saddened when the Inquisitor rebuts to the Viddasala that they already know. She will state that this was what she'd been waiting for. The Inquisitor will have the option to accuse her of knowing the whole time. She will answer yes, but she won't explain.

If Nydha is never recruited, and remains an NPC in the Rotunda, one will hear her occasionally speak with Solas. These conversations range in topic from books they are reading to the mural. Never about Inquisition business. There is a slight chance to hear them speaking in Elvish, and their words are not translated, regardless of Inquisitor's race. Solas's replies appear to be noncommittal.

Nydha will remark upon the Inquisitor's romantic choices, usually with something supportive and a hope that they are happy together. She will also comment something generally pleasant about each companion if asked. The exception to this is if Iron Bull remains Ben-Hassrath. Nydha will caution the Inquisitor to be careful of telling him too much since his loyalty is now unknown.

It can be implied from various interactions and from high approval conversation that Nydha was in fact aware of everything that would happen during the course of the game. She never gives a reason for keeping her silence on matters pertaining to what foreknowledge she had, although any input given during the game events is sound and often given in such a way so as not to risk suspicion.

It can also be implied that regardless of what Solas says during Trespasser, Nydha has actually left the Inquisition to join his ranks, or at least does not stand opposed to him. This is not confirmed, however, and according to her epilogue card, she is enjoying a quiet life in the Frostback Basin with no intention of ever interfering with Thedosian politics or events again.

#dragon age inquisition #oc as a companion wiki #original female character #banal'ras nydha #hope is a fragile thing #this is super long #I might have gotten carried away

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ombreecha · 5 years

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The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Chapter 21 The Empire

One foot in front of the other. One at a time. Weak. Strained.

There's no regret. No desire to redo. To re-take her husband—that's all she wants.

Even as the earth shakes beneath her, and the overturned earth throws dust in the air she won't stop. Fingers pull upon the bark shaky as she makes her way through. There's no time for rest. She can't give herself even a moment.

Each second counts. This was a slaughter, and a battle no less. Her husband had come and gone from these fields. He had survived and he had gone back. In two years she had watched and waited for him to stumble through the door of their home. Tired, and worn. Battered and bruised. Lesser wounds to those of greater proportion. Her husband lived in this terror. He walked from lands stained with his loved ones, and returned to walk among them once again without those very same people.

She would as well. This time with him in tow. They have much to discuss, and much to understand.

Taking him back. That's all she understands.

That's why her feet keep moving within exhaustion. That's why even as she's drained and depleted she keeps moving forward. No hesitation. No moment to take a breath. The longer she takes the further he'll get.

Kisetsuma had sought to keep her husband from her. She would forcefully take him back—somehow and someway.

Kakashi had promised they would do what they could. They'd take back the beast that shakes the world, and in her place force the Uchiha leader to surrender. Optimistic and hopeful—she's all these things and that's why she continues to move forward.

If her husband loses Madara— If he loses but one more—what's to become of him after?

The swallow within her throat burns and the sensation lingers within her eyes. She should be going in the opposite direction, but she can't. Her priority is Sasuke, and that's why she's moving faster than she should. That's why the panic keeps her moving. Adrenaline in every action. Fear boardering itself upon every thought.

If she has to pick between the two she'll pick her husband every time. She doesn't know what she'll be able to do when she gets to him. She doesn't have much left to give. Naruto had taken it all. He had needed so much.

There's no regret. No regret in any of it.

That doesn't lessen the way her heart flutters up within her throat, and the way her stomach drops. What if Sasuke was in a state she couldn't fix? What if she was unable to defend her husband?

What if? . . .

What if she did regret helping Naruto? What if she did desire to redo?

She can't. She won't—but.

What if?

The back and forth of her head comes sending her senses soaring. It makes the world feel like it's turning, and the dizziness spread. It won't stop her from moving forward no less. Quicker and quicker her legs feel like they're taking her. She can't tell the difference with the world shaking so much, and the way her emotions seem to escalate every time that beast seems to thrash about.

Even as she pushes herself and makes herself continue that roar is loud in her ears. Danger is all around her. People are dying. The leader of this family she's obtained had brought forth a slaughter, and brought her husband under fire. He had caused so much and yet she's still hopeful and still praying he'll walk away from this. Praying that her husband won't have to endure another loss.

Praying that she'll make her way to him. That burn in her lungs isn't so terrible. It's a reminder she still can do something. That tightness in her calf muscles is but one more reminder that even in this state she can run.

She can run as fast as she can. She can make her way to him. Weak. Strained.

Even she can continue as long as she keeps feeling and keeps going forward—because he's at the end of the path and at the end of this bloodshed.

Terror. Fright. Panic. Dread. They're all just another word for something so basic.

They are fear.

The motivator, and the unwelcomed.

Do you know what the most basic human emotion is?

"It's fear." she mouths without a sound.

She responds because that is what she had been taught. That is what her best friend had taught her. That is what that woman of gorgeous blonde hair, and pale blue eyes had made sure to tell her so long ago. Long before this massacre of ideology engulfed them. Before this marriage she runs forward too. Later and back to a time when they saw each other far more than they do now.

How many people had she interrogated in the name of war to learn such a thing? How often has she sent herself deep inside their heads to understand and find the answers she sought? When had she realized that fear was what motivated and drove people?

That lesson had seemed so trivial—so out of place—and yet now it makes perfect sense. It makes sense because that's what's driving her. The unknown and the unsurity of it all. That is what is motivating her further. That's what pushes her body to continue doing what it shouldn't. That is what makes her legs press harder against the ground, and helps her body slide between the trees.

She wanted to grasp upon optimism. She wanted to hold the hand of faith. She dared to wish for hope. All of it is driven by fear. All of what she thinks is powered by such a basic emotion that's been decorated and escalated to greater heights.

Healing people. Fear had powered it.

Marrying an Uchiha. Fear had guided her through it.

Running to her husband's side. Fear had granted her the adrenaline to push herself beyond it.

For better or for worst fear had been upon every decision she had ever made—and that's okay.

She accepts her fear because that is what has given her the power to do what she's done till now. That is what had trained her and cultivated what she is known for. That is what had lead her to this moment where she's made a difference.

And she will continue to make a difference.

That's why when she's pushed through the trees and she's gripped painfully by her crown she lets out a cry. That's why as her arms are pulled behind her and she's forced upon her knees she bares her teeth. That's why as she's forced to look into the eyes of a Senju she doesn't back down.

Her husband needs her. Her clan needs her. He needs to be reminded he's done enough—that she'll be standing with them all to welcome him home after this is over.

Twisting her arm starts her attempts to release herself. The muscles in her arm tighten and the force at which they hold her sends tremors throughout her. The yank of her hair has her squinting and then the air lock within her throat. Knuckles against her nose, and then another thrust of her head back as blood comes within her mouth at the contact.

Fear. Fear is literally upon everything.

They'll kill her.

The blood drips from her mouth, and all at once she feels so weak once more. All that adrenaline—where had it gone? Would she find it upon the ground that is soiled even further with the addition of her blood? Her vision is blurred and her head is pounding. That grip upon her hair is so unsettling and yet her body feels so heavy. She feels so weighed down. So unable to move. Is this all she is capable of? What she not able to do more?

Was this divine punishment?

There's humor in this man before her. It's upon his tone, and it's shared by those assisting them in this dirty business. These were people she had once held similar mindsets with. Did ideology truly turn them all twisted?

No. This isn't divine punishment.

There are no gods willing to look upon such unsightly behavior. Such unsightly constructs brought forth by mortal minds.

Her bottom lip trembles. There's tears brimming awaiting to fall down below. The flutter of lashes allows them to go down and soak into the earth. There's pain in such a habitual and necessary movement.

"Ah, isn't—Kisetsuma-sama—eyes—?"

Forcibly once again she's forced to look into this mans eyes against her will. She cannot even make out what their saying. She can't hear them properly. Just a single noise within her ear. It's long and fuzzy. Constant and unchanging in tone. Just a word here, and a word there. Kisetsuma's name is all she can truly focus on.

All those myths. All those legends. They had spoken of her husband cruelly before her marriage.

Trained her to believe he was a cruel man. Trained her to believe he was born without a heart.

No—she had allowed herself to believe them back then.

She would not allow herself to believe in such a thing when that belief had turned these men cruel.

Twisted them into beings without empathy, or desire for peace. They're thriving on giving her pain—on playing with her—as if she, too, had no heart.

Ideology was cruel.

Strength was something she was known for. Stubborn is what she has been called. She would not allow herself to be weak before these men—before their ideology.

She would rise before it. Yet, she's scared—

The shift of her mouth and then the roughness of her throat sore and worn. Her blood would no longer soil the worn and tired earth. Her blood flies out hitting him within his face and his reaction is only a moment—a millisecond—later. She's not going to sit here regardless of how heavy she feels. Thrusting violently and thrashing without remorse. She doesn't have much left but that's not going to stop her.

She can't sit here any longer. Desperation—just another word to decorate the fear.

They'll definitely kill her.

Summoning forth her strength is taxing especially as this man shakes her head by her roots. She's crying out not just from pain but from the exertion. It's all to fast and just as she thinks she's going to be able to free her wrist there's blinding pain and the widening of her viridian.

Bone has punctured her skin and they've left her to writhe upon the ground. That pounding is no longer exclusive to her head as it rushes in waves from her arm. Her cry is that of a wail. It's loud and it's driven and dipped in fear as she tries to alleviate the pain.

She can't. She doesn't have it in her.

She'll die. She won't make it home.

She won't be there to welcome him home. Yet, she had said she would.

Thinking is gone. Pondering within the exhaustion is no longer a possibility—perhaps that's why she's on top of one of these men with her fist inside his head.

This is fear.

That grip upon her shoulder is barely even felt. Everything feels so fuzzy in her world in this moment. All of this is so numbing down to her core. She had sought to provide what others could not in a world filled with loss—filled with fear. She had desired to heal while so many of them had taken loved ones. That will to provide relief is what she had lived by.

She had wanted that. She had wanted that so much.

Yet, she cannot even hear them cry out.

All she can hear is her own breathing. All she can feel is the way her heart beats against her chest. That fist against her face isn't even considered. It's nothing by now. It's the smallest of things in this moment compared to what she's doing.

She's taken them from loved ones. It was wrong, but she'll do anything to stay alive.

To go home. To welcome him home.

It's not the tailed beast making the world shake before them. It's not their leader destroying the earth in which they walk. It's her. All of this is her. All of this fear has finally found it's way back. Adrenaline has grasped her hand and sent her mind reeling—in realizing she'll die if she doesn't do something.

So as she stumbles to her feet coated in their blood it takes her brain a moment to realize what she's done. Is this how those children felt their first time on the battlefield? Her stomach turns. She's seen far worse. There had been so many within her care who had looked so much worse, and yet because it's done by her it has vomit rising within her throat—maybe it's the shock, or the pain.

Maybe this is what it meant to fight for your clan. To fight for your loved ones.

Her skin feels cold. There's a shiver down her spin as she tries to ease herself back into place. She has to calm down. She has to find her center once again. That spinning in her vision isn't helping. There's a far greater weight upon her shoulders so much different than when they had been toying with her.

They weren't toying. They had been torturing her for amusement.

The press of her fingers against her heart makes it clear just how much her heart rate continues to hold it's hard and fast rhythm.

Kakashi. You hold the courage to know what not to fear when so many do not.

Naruto. This is war. Don't forget we don't do this because we want to.

Sasuke. What is the excuse that you cling to then wife?

They've all had this moment. They've all lived in this world far longer then her—she had made so many judgments. Held her head high as if she had a place to speak. She had pretended as if she had known it all—she had known nothing.

She didn't hold the courage. She had forgotten truly why they did this. She had made so many excuses for the way she had thought. She had been wrong. They had known these truths far longer than she could have ever imagined. They had stood where she stands now, and now she has stood where they've been.

That roar. It's loud but lower than before. It has her head turning harsh and fast taking what little balance she had maintained from her and blanking her mind in an instant. Adrenaline was kind. It keeps her from feeling her arm broken and protruding from skin. All she knows is to run forward—

She has to get to her husband and she has to bring them home no matter what.

There will be time to think back and come to terms with this. Here, and now is not an option. This isn't the time. This isn't the place. This isn't the occasion.

If they can live with their sins. If they can live with what they've been pushed to do. Then she can too.

__________________________________________

A start. A rise. A fall. No system eternal.

This is just a part of the unknown. Blood, sweat, and tears unshed as they go at one another. No strength to truly continue forward, but legs digging deep. Just hopes and dreams keeping them moving. They'll both fall if this continues any longer. Belief is what presses upon their backs cruelly knowing the human body cannot sustain such force. They're lost in this fight of thoughts and ideals—this is why Sasuke Uchiha is still standing.

None not even he can escape this paradigm. This is the end of an empire.

All of this is just constructs of mortal minds. Yet, they had built it up with the title of power.

This is what he had feared, and yet he's rushing down this road. The futures there and he seeks to obtain it. Those unknowns are vast. That submerge within self doubt hasn't cleared, but its fog has lessened. It has surfaced closer than it had been in a long time.

His eventual death is just a test of time—he'll challenge it regardless. He can't stop the fate of civilization, but he can push forward trying.

The Uchiha bloodline. The name and all of it's honor. It will die along with him if he doesn't push through. They're all waiting, and they're all praying. They're all holding out for his return home.

Slaughtering them and holding no patience for prisoners had been equally as wrong. The Senju would never forgive such an act. They were prolonging the war. Not ending it. They had challenged the Senju belief and now that belief would crush them as they dirtied their own.

They had followed blindly like sheep naive and too deep within faith. This is what their ideals had caused them. This is what they had brought upon themselves. He had come when called. He was no more than a dog. He had been lead by a leash, and he had followed devotedly. The blood within him was from the mainline, and yet he had been no more than the rest of them.

If he wants to save them all he will have to do the unthinkable. He will have to be even crueler. He will have to make the myth a reality.

He will have to kill his leader and seize control—because that is what his people deserve. Because that is what she's shown him.

Creation begins with the destruction. He had been a shameless God of War—up until now.

He needs to purify their ideals. Their coming of age came with a ball of fire—and just the same he would burn the current ideology down with with it.

Flesh bruised. Limbs that shake. One swift hit upon his enemy's jaw, and the speed has his body crying out from the overwhelming exertion. One leg thrown, and it's caught. A back hand tossed, and another one deflected just the same. Heavy breathing and grunts of pain is what stands between them. Twisting and turning—exhaustion present upon every movement.

His death wouldn't come from this man even if he can barely make out his face. That swell of his eye is making him move slower. His death would come from her—he's so sure of this, but today is not the day. There is too much left undone and too much left to do. He has so much more he has to do before he joins his mother, and stands beside his father. Today would not be his downfall.

Regret would not be what he holds upon his shoulders. No—definitely not today. The only thing falling today is that of an empire.

This is where his lifespan sits. He is but a mortal—decorated and rumored to be so much more.

He would prove the rumors to be more than true.

Dreams. Death.

One dream will rein supreme and one will die soaked within blood. Two men so vastly different and so similar. They seek the same thing. They seek victory, and they seek his wife. They seek the other gone from the Earth, and they seek their clan's future. The seek, and they seek. They won't stop until it's done and it's decided whose dream is meant to be a reality.

There's no do overs. There's no going back. It's here and now. Divine blessings will hold no power here. It's all will, and all selfishness.

She could leave him for what he's done today, and he'll fight that. He won't punish her for casting him aside after he's turned his blade to her, and after he had shown her such a side. To look at her with such eyes that sent Senju running, and terror boiling to the forefront—he had swore he wouldn't look at her with them, and he had. He had done exactly that.

Yes, he will fight.

She had known the stories that weaved around his name before their marriage and now she had seen it first hand. She had started in his home with that decorating his name. It won't stop him. She is his wife, and he is her husband.

He'll rise before her—he's selfish at his core. He'll show her a God of War can do better.

Time. Love.

Time decided all things. He'd put in the time going forward. He'd take the days, months, and years. He'll repair the damage he's done. He's not bowing down once again. Never again. He's done too much of that.

Sasuke Uchiha will not let this marriage die—instead another ending will begin.

Skidding within the dust and stone upturned. Blood upon his mouth, and burning from out his nose. That battle cry is from deep within his being and it pours out as his fingers twist within fists with his head flipped back.

They're at the edge of the hellfire, and headed for the end of an empire. In the midst of a battle and that vibration numb beneath the soles of his feet—this is where it finally comes and where it will go.

This is a start, and end. A rise and a fall because no system is truly eternal. No man not even himself is immortal. They can't escape the paradigm.

He has nothing left just electricity upon his tips. It's a shadow of it's former self. Footsteps pounding down adding to the drums of war over their hearts and minds. They're both conscious of the death that waits beside father time. Equally they're both just as stubborn to see how long they can go before it breaks through the crust and drags them down below.

This time make sure they're all dead. —before you leave.

"I love her."

Warm and wet—all of this is warm and wet.

This feeling is so undeniably similar, and yet it's entirely different. It does not carry carnal pleasures, and heightened breaths. It carries a copper scent, and barely audible attempts. It's heavy, and leaves him breathless for all the wrong reasons.

"I love her. Why did you take her from me?" the voice is shallow and barely there.

Numb. Sasuke Uchiha feels unbelievably numb. There's no sensation at first just prickles upon his skin as if he's laid upon his arm too long within the night. The twitch of his fingers comes and yet all he knows is that the tips are slick with the way they slide against each other. Every part of him carries a weakness. Waves are pouring from him, and yet all he can think is that it must be pain beneath the numb.

This man is asking him why. He's asking why he has taken the spring nymph from him. He has no desire to answer a dying man. He is not here to provide him comfort.

"Why?" this man's voice is so vulnerable in his moment of death—it's broken and it holds so many unseen tears, "What have I ever done to you?"

The more he flexes the more he tries to take everything in. His mind is in a fog, and his vision is obscured. That swelling has upon his eye has only increased making it all the more difficult. The drag of his eye is slow—lazy. The twitch of his fingers make his mind buzz with dull interest as they follow down his bicep and up his forearm. It's swallowed by a layer of crumbling armor, and even more layers of flesh hidden beneath. All he can discern in this moment is that this Senju is wasting his last breath.

Wasting it upon his broken and never to be obtained dreams.

Kiestuma Senju. This man had not build up walls around his heart. He hadn't slaved away on the stones meant to keep him safe from his enemies. This was a man who did not truly know the concept of loss. What could this man have possibly understood about loss? He clearly hadn't lost enough—if he had his selfishness would have been of equal intent.

This man did not need his wife—no, Keistuma did not need his wife to the same level, no even more so the same degree, that he did. Sasuke Uchiha needed her far more than that man could begin to understand.

Muscles tighten as he tries to summon forth whatever strength remains. All he desires right this moment is to push this man off. This Senju had thought himself worthy of the ethereal woman that was his wife. He was far below her—he would have never been good enough for her with such a lack of conviction fueling him.

Knees slam against the ground unable to keep himself up after having used up all that he can summon forth. The numbness has worn off and in its wake is the hope for oxygen and those waves of pain sharp and coursing through every nerve.

The weight of his head is too much to bare in these moments. He's looking down and feeling so profound.

He had felt safe within the walls he had spent years fortifying. He had built them within his arrogance amplified, and self-importance justified. That sky has opened wide no longer night, and the ground erupts from right behind.

Supremacy lies in wait to be overthrown—she had come and his walls had been taken down. Had she heard what that Senju had dared confess?

He had been so oblivious to his own frailty. Those vines over hers had grown up his wall and around his towers. She won't be stopped and she won't be kept at bay. She's the spring come to vanquish the winter—and she's here to stay.

She is delicacy and she is power. He had thought he was the God of War—no, she was the truest god of war with that spring she descends upon the earth. She had promised to shoot the nine suns from the sky. She had promised to drink the immortal elixir from those who would dare attempt to steal it with their greed. She had sought forth the challenge and she would not bow down as easily as he.

This is the meaning of union. She is marriage. He's glorified her at every turn since that day she was brought within their home creating a myth too good to be true. Painting her as ethereal, and decorating her as otherworldly. She was all that came with love and compassion.

She is the life, and the love of his people. That's why he decorates her even still. No—she certainly couldn't be stopped.

He had sought to keep her from his walls and she had brought them down like Jericho. The seeds she had planted had dug their roots deep, and held tight through every storm that showered upon them. There's no denying how they blossom around the layering of stone on stone that sought to keep him from this feeling so deep. She had overthrown such things and she must know she had conquered.

Yes, she's conquered him.

Body broken, and heart still lingering in limbo of what is to become over their marriage there's no hesitation in baring the pain that comes with gazing upon her. There is nothing modest in the way he views this woman standing so strong. Lost within himself and all the thoughts that come with her he questions why she stands with her back turned.

"If you intend to bring harm to my husband you will have to get through me first, Naruto."

He had claimed her as his own in this battle. She had claimed him before them all upon this battle field.

Sakura Uchiha is claiming him once again. The earth trembles at her declaration.

It's taking everything in him to focus now that she's made it clear they are not alone. The blonde dares to shift a foot at her threat—his foot takes its place back to where it had come. He's backing down and there's a flicker of something Sasuke cannot place within his eyes.

"I don't want to fight you, Sakura-chan." the blonde almost appears hurt that she would challenge him.

He's raising his arms as if to demonstrate this is his truest intent. The skid of his shoes comes as he takes another step back.

"I will not let you take him from me."

Sasuke cannot stop his fingers from curling within the dirt as she continues to bestow that self-importance upon his shoulders. He's looking down and then he's scaling this wife once more. He had meant to protect her and he had failed her. He had drawn his blade to her, and sought to end her. Sought to end their travels as husband and wife.

All of these things should make her leave him, and yet she isn't. She's standing as if an unmovable force.

The only thing he has done is end that Senju who had dared to try and rip her from him—his blood splatters the very earth they walk. He hadn't done even that for her—he had done it for himself.

Fingers wrap upon the blonde's shoulder as Kakashi's voice brings him back to the stand off at hand, "Sakura there's been enough blood taken for one day. We are only here to tell you we are retreating."

The adoration soaked within his words can be felt by all within the air and that's what has her tense shoulders wash away. He cannot see her face but he can picture those lips curving within their grace within his mind. He knows this must be her expression as her fingers once out stretched within a fist with intent to harm has come to hang beside her.

Footsteps make themselves known and then they're gone. It's the breeze that floats past them within the sun that rests its rays upon the earth. She's turning and she's coming for him. She's bruised and broken—she's still here before him though. Fingers dirty and bloody come within his strands caked of their own sweat, blood, and dirt. The pull upon his head to rest within her lap is all it takes to make his arm give out and in its exhaustion seek to wrap around her. He's pressing his head within her. The supremacy she commands within the walls she's created holds a comfort and a warmth so willing to devour him. There's not enough strength within each digit to bury themselves deeper within her clothes.

If only he could move the other hand.

"You've done enough. You've done more than enough."

It'll be okay—it'll all be okay.

His walls may have fallen but she's rebuilding. She's wrapping those stones within her greenery and layering them back up one by one. How long has he sat upon this lonely throne? How could he have missed such frailty in his walls? Had it always been so obvious?

He's not alone—she's right here running her fingers over his ear.

She also isn't using one of her hands—that smell is thick in that moment of realization. . . .No.

She's hurt—his wife is hurt.

There's a sickness upon him all in that moment and as he sucks in a breath much too harsh he's sent over the edge in pain and choking upon what little air he could obtain to start. He feels ill. That copper scent is thick and it's surrounding him and sending nausea throughout his stomach.

"Easy, Sasuke-kun." she's whispering as those long strands untamed and filthy slide against his cheek.

There's a height to her voice, and that does little to settle him. He wants to check over her. He wants to make sure she's not in danger. He wants, and he wants—he wants so much to know that she's not going to disappear.

"I can't heal you—I can't do what I need to do. I'm sorry." it's the barest of whispers that breaks and it sends his worn heart thundering within his ears.

She's apologizing like she has so many times before. It's such an unnecessary apology. What he's put her through, and what she's been through was all thanks to him. He has failed her as a husband, and yet she sits here heartbroken over his own state.

One drop, and then two.

He feels her tears hit his cheek, "I was so scared—and now when I've found you I can do nothing."

He needs to ease her. He needs to say something and yet he can't find the air to even begin to produce words to settle his wife. Everything is so tight in this moment as he feels his eyes sting. Comforting her is all he wants to do in this moment.

You've done enough. You've done more than enough.

The shift of her body comes and he feels the way they sway as she pulls upon him. There's a shake to her body and unending ache through his body at each and every movement she makes. It's all too much and his vision is failing him lost in blurred colors and forcefully closed lids.

"I'll get you help. I'll get you fixed—please just hold on, Sasuke-kun." her voice chokes as if it's taking everything in her not to lose herself.

A groan escapes his lips at the first step, and his lip trembles beneath his teeth. He doesn't want her to realize how much moving him is hurting him. He doesn't want her to cry anymore than she has. He doesn't want to cause anymore pain—he's caused enough for a lifetime.

The faintest of noises hits his ears—the words can't reach him with how overwhelmed he is by his wounds. Desperation is the only thing bringing vision back within his eye. The blur is harsh and lessens as he forces himself to try and focus on the multiple bodies before them.

No matter the cost he has to protect her.

#sasusaku #ombree:theuchihaswife #ombree:sasusaku

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huadie · 4 years

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anchor liveblog post.

the curse of prophecy: all of my high tier kins channel tmg.

" somebody’s gonna get hurt / i hope it’s not me / but i suspect it’s going to have to be.

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episodes 1-3: the general doesn't deserve the sympathy he gets. i'm not excusing a woman who killed happy girls on their wedding days, but i do think he owed her that closure. sending his son just pits the burden onto someone who wasn't involved. he should look his failures and mistakes in the eyes. if you can't count on a god to do that, who can you expect it of? it's disgusting. / i feel so tired and sorry for the girl who died saving a man who hated her and hurt her friend. i don't think kind people should be on the hook for ignorance and spite so willingly. her life for his was an unfair trade. / He's Cute. and wildly unexpectedly gentle considering the whole "demon" thing. / b tells me i'll have kin ptsd about the face disorder, but right now it's just heartbreaking. nobody deserves to live with that kind of fear. nobody deserves to live with that kind of pain. / b also implies someone in heaven is doing it to them for fun and i just want to say right now that i'm going to pull his dick off thru his mouth. that's a tier of evil that should have your blood start boiling inside you in an attempt to disinfect it. that was a child. that was just a scared little boy. not a prop or a toy or a plot device. a child. / i like the baby generals. they are so nineteen but it's nice to see it. i know anime leans on comedy skits a lot, but they can carry it off. they're charming. / heaven looks a bit shit. all of that meditation and betterment and it just makes you a spineless politician with the power to airbend? christ on a bike.

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episode 4-5: initial reactions. watching him swing between fuck-me eyes and genuine emotional distress at no signal i can see is a lot. he's a good painter. i think i get the gist of where he's coming from but it feels insane to me. the twitch duels were cute. he clearly cares a lot more than he enjoys devilry so it's insane to me that he's that strong. general jr destroys me. imagine being so pompous and negligent you'd give your child your name. has he ever been allowed to be his own person? meow meow etc. the face disease is horrific. he was just a kid. he was so scared and in pain. i like the temple. i like that it's raggedy and messy. maybe it should be over-repaired, so people in need can take from it? it's definitely not very reverant, but. gods should serve their people. quotes all of small gods here etc. they should want to serve their people. they should be happy to see their temples valued below human life. it would be nice to live in a ghibli film forever, and read books and cook warm food and paint.

episodes ???. thoughts said out loud. gods own their people. thousands, one, here and now you are alive. gods are owned by their people. it's a cage. it's the most beautiful cage possible. to feed starving people from your hands. the bread and the fishes cut out of you. to give and give and give, to be asked for things you have never had and give them next. each prayer should strip you to the bone. can you imagine? to be so trusted, so cared for, so beloved, so followed, to have so much given to you freely and happily. a live lived to save others is the only beautiful thing. the only beautiful thing! a god should be owned by each of their believers individually. selfishly and shallowly and demandingly. like a child needs you. the power to put a fish back in the water is a blessing so heavy thinking about being created for it should make you wail. to be - for people, for the birds and the trees and the fish too, but for the people. it should break your heart. you should never let it become monotone. sunlight into wine.

on love: i trust b. i trust b. to love him here like this and love him in this skin and then find him again in a book and on a screen and fall in love with him there too, to watch myself fall in love with him too. nobody has ever earned what he freely gives. i want to give it back. oxygen to dioxide, i want to find all the places he stands and pour it back into him. i want to show him how beautiful he is. to love someone like that is a miracle and i want to pull it apart. i want to make him familiar with me and bored of me, i want him to wake up each morning taking me for granted, i want him to be so safe and secure in his place in my heart that it stops being a gift. that it wears down and falls apart. the velveteen rabbit. i want to hold him in my hands like a bubble that hasn't popped and i want to use him like the doorway to a world where even if i had to hurt and be hurt and fall and learn to grow, i can come home at the end of it. my growth can mean something, my stronger back can bear more weight, my lessons can be shared. i want it to mean something. i want to have faith in myself again. in the resurrected kingdom of his arms i can find it - build it. i can come home. it can have turned to gold while i did not see it. it can have worth, i can have worth, i can bend and not break. i can have a claim on things without losing them, without it cursing them. just him. i'm not greedy, i'm not selfish, so please - just him.

episode 6: there's something that hurts about letting other people see what you'll tolerate. what you'll do. the places in your life where you have pathetic history and where you are attempting to be someone who only existed today grinding against one another. i know he knows. i know it isn't a stolen moment, a chance to decide how i exist to someone before they decide it for me. i sleep beneath that painting and whenever i wake up in the night i feel him pretend that he is asleep. i know. i know. but it could have - it could have been. it could have been a lie that i got to play with. a tiny self indulgence. aren't you tired of stars? aren't you tired of being the tree that cannot bend in a storm? of holding yourself down? everyone else does it so easily. everyone else lets go. everyone else knows how. if i can't learn then i want to pretend. i want to be unwanted, and - and meet people. by chance, just chance, and like them and have them like me. no promises i made before i learned i couldn't keep them. just... something smaller. i talked about multiverse theory. how it isn't in the coin flip, but the atoms of the coin. how in one dot you can know everything. every grain of sand in a desert. i cannot survive existing with people thinking of me. not well and not poorly. i want to disappear into it. maybe nobody else is obligated to finish the work. maybe their contributions are a blessing. but i can't... learn how to let it go. it's all i have left in me that i recognize, somedays, as it gathers dust and makes me sick to breathe around. what am i if i am not that? i want to know. i'm scared to know. i will never be allowed to find out.

on being loved: god. it is too much. i don't hate it. it doesn't disgust me. but i feel like a plate being washed in every inch of the sea before i am allowed to see dry land again. i feel like i won't survive it if i look at it because it is a mosque decorated in mirrors, because it is mathematically perfect, because it holds the tiny miracles of angles and existence and light on par with the miracles of human heart and existence, because to make at all is to change the world for the first time, because i do not want to see what it reflects. i do not want to see it. i would be better if it lied to itself, if it was delusional and selfish and obsessed with smoke tricks. if it saw silk and paint and stopped looking. i don't want to know what i look like with my hair down, with my face clean, with my feet dirty, with my hands raw - i don't want to see what it sees to know that it loves there too. i don't want to follow it. i don't know how to make it stop. how could i - how could anyone be held accountable for this? to this? to prayers and plans and a kindness that changes the world in every grain of sand it has and again the next second, how could anything be worth this? and if it could - it couldn't be me. not a collection of stupid wishes and failures and betrayals-by-failure. not me with my hair down. silk could be worth this.

on being loved now that it isn't the middle of the night, and my body isn't betraying us both, and i can remember that there are an infinite number of steps between 0 and 1: but really, it's just ink. just paper. if it's - if he. if it's everything. if it's everything. then it can be one thing. it can be this thing. it can be the blindness. it can be me with my own hands over my own eyes like a shutterbox pretending i don't know how to see myself and admit that the pea beneath my mattress only hurts me - that it's small, to him, that it isn't sharp, that it's a phantom limb i can't stop being tormented by and only ever that. can that be enough to start? can i let it? it's atoms again. grains of sand. if he can love this, he can love everything. if i can see this, the rest falls away. there are more universes where we are kissing than every atom from the start to the end of time. that's how it works. i'm going in circles. you don't mind, do you? i'm writing this for you. you're the only person reading this. i don't know why i'm being impersonal about you when i'm being possessive about me. it won't protect me. it won't make it less terrifying to think of, and it won't make it less painful for you to read. i know you're already mad at yourself for being too much. for making me think that it's too much. you're kind to me like that, even when things are my fault. but if we can sit here together, and i can know that you know i can't imagine being loved, and that that - that moment, that dot, me unable to count to the place where numbers end - is something you love too. if i can just see this one moment, and not doubt it or question it or be afraid of it. it can be enough. because you know how hard i'm working to get to even this first step. you know how hard i'm working. you know how scared i am. you know it isn't you. you'll wait for me, with me, and you won't hate me for it. you promised.

on being forgiven: i don't know how to do it for myself. i don't know how to blame people for what they do to me unless it's the most extreme circumstance. i forgive too much that shouldn't be and hold ignorance and spite against others long past when it's fair. i handwave any scar someone gave me while they were suffering and never let go of what they do to others. i don't know what makes it different when it's me. i guess i know how to forgive myself for being scared and lost and for making bad decisions under the influence of... whatever... but not lazy cruelty. not letting something bad happen because i felt like it. all i do now is watch. all i do is let things slide past me again and again and again and do nothing to help and it can't matter that my heart breaks about it when theirs don't if none of us get up, and i remind myself that small steps do more than a single leap that uses me up but it's so hard to believe that here and now in the world where i could die if i tried again and harder still to comprehend in a world where 800 years of lives were made and suffered through and lost and i did nothing that matters to help. maybe all of the horrible backstory parts you're so scared of me seeing will be ones where i could do something, where i could climb up and let everyone take a raw bite out of me and go without starving for just one day, and then this won't cut me up inside like i swallowed a hedgehog. some days i am the hedgehog. trapped inside me, unable to stop being something that cuts to have there, unable to get away. i don't know how you can forgive me. i don't even know if you know what i need forgiving for. if i apologize for saving your life - for coming back to you again and again and again and being so selfish and. i don't know. for being me, while you try to love me, instead of being the person i can't forgive myself for not being, who deserves to be loved by you like this. but you'll forgive me. how do you do it? how do you stand it? i'm jealous of you. of how easy your heart warms up. of how kind you are.

kosmi 1-6 rewatch: i dislike pei su less now that i can see him as a person with a horrific job and less as a vehicle for the lies i know pei ming told about every woman he ever used and threw away. "i burned the scroll and won the war on my own" yeah right. gotta get that out first before i start collecting my thoughts. um.

one: the ascention, the earthquakes, (all that fuss for a scrap god. you told me the order it went in, when i asked, and i still think it's funny in a way that validates what i've been saying for something only the most in-need ask for help with to rattle the bells from warlord's palaces. they aren't ignorable. more than - more than anything else, anything before, i can be proud of this. i can be proud of myself for this.) i hate the way people look at you like you're infected with something because they can't play pretend that their inaction isn't malice any more. the bets and jokes and sneers. what have you done, lately? what help have you given? what good are you? and then there's me: starting as ever in unfixable debt, anchoring desperately to simple kindnesses, too tired to do more than smile. it's not worth it. it's never worth it. (being loved and losing it is worse than never knowing. being able to love yourself and losing it is worse than that.) the way that heaven sits unfixable and unchanging and incompetent. i'm proud of them for making something of their futures. i am. i don't begrudge them anything. i trust their character and i trust them to try to do the right thing for the people. i'm glad they didn't fight hua cheng. the kids are sweet. they're little carbon copies of their generals. it's sweet. it's kind. i like how... okay, they're mean and short tempered and fight like cats in a bag, but it's just the way you are at that age. it's not personal. it's easier to stand. i know there's gender coding tm in the novel, but i hate man-in-a-dress gags that point out that the man looks bad in a dress. i thought it was fine.

one point five: ok. i'll talk about it. the butterflies on the dress, the gentle music, the way our colours matched, the way your hand felt in mine. the sound of rain. i didn't know people could be so gentle. i didn't know they knew how. i think it was better for my health, before, when i assumed the best i ever saw was the best people were capable of. worse for me, though, to believe that. i'd forgotten what it was like to see myself in someone else's eyes as welcome.

zero point five: flashback sequence goes here. of course i remember what it was like to be loved, and work towards a clear goal that helped people. of course i remember what it was like to have a home that loved me back. he looked so scared as he fell. he looked terrified. i don't... i'm not good. at hating people. when i know everyone is driven to where they arrive in some degree or other. but that - whatever the reason they think they had, it isn't enough. it couldn't ever be enough. i hate seeing the human face disease. i hate how scared they are. how obviously in pain they are. i know they can't have survived. but i wish they could. i would give anything if they could. i would give anything up for it. have i talked about responsibility enough that this isn't a surprise yet? nobody should be that scared. nobody should suffer who hasn't chosen it to protect others. nobody should have to choose it, either, but if heaven has already failed you -

two: i hate that bald man. i hate watching that poor freckled girl throw herself on him again and again to save him just because he's human, while he takes every turn to re-learn hate and jealousy and hurt others. when he talks to his friends he almost humanizes himself, and i hope the time he spends as a crab fixes the rest. i truly do. but god i hate to see it. i hate being unable to do anything, because she chose it, because she knows him more than me, because her heart is kind enough to reach out to him even as it betrays and abandons the people in-need who can only go to her for help. you have to triage need. a life lived with the intent to harm others cannot come before a life lived with the intent to help, or to simply survive. anyway. the concern i get shown whenever i talk about the butterfly ghost is so charming.

three: i hate pei ming. his story is shallow and self-praising, his jilted lover competent and proud before he cured her of that with a kiss. i don't believe she broke her legs. i don't believe he passed over the chance to shortcut his way into glory. am i supposed to believe women just act like that? they just break their own knees for attention? she destroyed herself for him and he can't even pretend to care. not even at the end. not even to lie, and let her move on. so, what? thirteen girls die terrified and alone on the happiest day of their lives (- and we know it was happy for them, we know they went smiling up the path, we know they were excited) because he didn't have the stamnia to apologise to one person he hurt? i hate him. i hate his name, i hate his family, i hate his legacy of butchers, i hate his cowardice in sending pei su to grind out his cover story and then hide his mistakes where he doesn't have to look. i hate him. / i feel. so bad for that boy. he was so scared. do you know how scared you have to be to take scissors to yourself? i do. i have, literally, in the last year, actually. and that was... one cut. to avoid the risk of infection. sleeping on a wound that screams at you? he was a child. he was just a child. i let him down. there's no excuse. he needed reassurance. he needed protecting. i let him down.

four: i like that shrine. i like making it, owning it, doing something meaningful. i think a shrine for scrap should be made of more materials than it needs. i think it should be a place to sleep, always, and a place to eat, and you should be able to strip the roof if you need to. i don't care about what is proper, or respectful. respect the god of scavenger birds by surviving at any cost. by using what is useful. by taking what is free. i can build it again. if i know - if i can believe one good thing about myself, it's that i can build it again. as many times as it takes. i won't wear out. i won't give up. i can build it again. and how lucky, this time, to have help. there are so many things i can't do, even now. i need to learn. i never even thought about it until i saw that door. too long alone in my own head. too many years spent without it feeling worth the effort when a band-aid would hold.

four point five: again, ok, fine. i'll talk about it. you're beautiful. your eyes are like starlight, your smile is the warmest thing i've ever seen, your hands should be buried in an instrument, your painting is beautiful, your laugh is endearing - what do you want from me, here? of course i was looking. it's different to look now with your hand in mine than it was, then, to look just to look. to count threads just to count. to run my fingers through your hair and across your palm just to touch something. of course i knew. who wouldn't know you? who couldn't tell? but then, what was i going to do? know it? say it? ask things? better to be stupid, and naive, and find out what knife is waiting for me when it happens. i'm tired of speeding through the sweet moments to get to the next blade. i'm tired of being pushed from place to place. i'm tired of being alone. wasn't it fun? didn't we have fun? didn't you like talking together and cooking together and waking up in the morning in an empty shrine with the promise of another day to fill it? do i have to scream and shout and be suspicious and accuse you of - what! of holding my hand? of helping me? of being the exact same as everyone in heaven still deigning to look at me and thinking of me only as a tool to an end in a plan that will hurt people who did nothing wrong but pray? what can the harvest hope for if not the care of the reaper man? if it's - it always hurts. it always hurts. if it's going to hurt. why shouldn't it be kind first? why shouldn't i play stupid and keep you close and be usable without a heart left in me to break? why shouldn't i enjoy it for what it is, if it's all a lie? better me than someone who would be hurt by it. you're smart, and easy to talk to, and you're helping. you can't unbuild that door. unsweep the entryway. you can't undo the physical evidence of when you were kind. that's enough. that's all i can ever ask of people.

four point now: yes i know you wouldn't, now, i know you now, i don't need to gamble. i know you'd build a thousand doors. i know there's no trick. i know that it's safe. i know that i could have accused you and screamed and bit you and nothing would have made a difference and you still would have been kind. i know. i promise i know. i just... have to say where it was before. i have to tell you how important that kindness was, and how much i was willing to be kind to my own self to keep it near me. you understand what i mean, right? the tiny unforgivable act of making a mistake that could only hurt me? i know, i know. cocky to assume it would just be me hurt. but - if i was right to hope for nothing, i would make sure of that. i would make sure of it. i would do what i needed to to make sure only i was hurt for my selfishness.

five: i hate that we built a shrine and the next day something like that waltzed in. now we have to clean again. (i said in the stream, how funny it was to run that only survivor scam, how quickly it falls apart if you've ever seen real suffering, if you know what a survival rate is.) the rest i don't remember. i like working as a team. i like how much the kids hate you. they can tell too. i don't know what they see. but they worry about me. why do they worry so much? do their generals have something invested in me? are they just trying to do what they can now, and my caring for them isn't a one-way road? do you look that sketchy?

six: talking about the plot? in a sandstorm? no. you should keep my hat on. you look so sweet and cute and shy in it. i love the way you crumple when you aren't at the wheel, when an interaction happens without your instigation. maybe i'm not the only one bad at taking kindness. maybe i should offer it to you more often. you smell nice. like hot clay and silk. it's subtle. is that a ghost king thing, or is it just you? i like it. i can't imagine what i smell like. i hope... lillies and cotton. something soft. i'll ask you one day. i'm not surprised you were the most solid thing in a storm. i won't be surprised if you keep being that. i should have let you catch me. i should have dragged you with me. are you immune to it? could you stop it? would you pretend to be as useless and helpless as i am? i want to keep putting you in situations in disguise just to see what you do. it's fun! it probably shouldn't be, and i'm sure i'm setting myself up for a public shriving the more it becomes obvious who you are and how much i depend on you, but. i don't care. if i suffer for it, so what? what difference will that make? what could one more condemnation possibly do?

six point five: i like seeing sqx. i still read that as squeeks. i like seeing squeeks. i like sharing this with teddy. i like knowing that the way we are together can translate to here. i like how kind he is to me, and how funny, and sweet. i want to see him be happy. i want to see him be happy even though i know enough to infer it won't last. i know you love me with the power of a thousand angry wasp queens but it's nice to just sit next to him and joke with him and pretend for a little bit that i got to do this all the time. that i spent all my years drinking honey and rosewater and laughing with him, that things were as kind and easy as they're allowed to be. it's cute when i say he has a moral code and he gets offended. it's cute when i say he's a bitch and he gets offended. i like the way it makes all three of us laugh. i like seeing a place in my heaven where you could be. i don't want you to give up what you built. you built it because you had to. but when i'm sitting with my head on his shoulder, it's a window to that place where heaven exists to help people, where none of us ever had to learn what misery really was.

what power obliges from you: action. movement, always. there is no down time, no sleep, no rest, no running. if you seek people out to rule them - and that is what ascention is, seeking to rule, to tie your survival to your treatment of them - then you cannot do it with force and with ignorance and with the desire to coast. like. i'm not stupid. i know men do. for centuries and centuries with no repercussions, until the king on the rope for his people is as far related to the man who razed their lands as i am, (but inheriting evil is a choice too). i know how easy it is to punish and hurt and demand. how easy it is to hold people for ransom. but that isn't... that isn't power. that isn't kinghood or godhood or divine right. it's worthless. it's the other end of a sword. it kills you both to use. there's no light left in the world, no wonder, no chance to be saved by others so long as you are the thing that keeps you both drowning. you should wake up in the middle of the night for them without being asked. you should bleed for them without being asked. you should be ready to die for them without them ever knowing. even at their worst. at their most entitled, afraid, undignified, ignorant - if they are those things, the blame falls on you. if you are voted in democratically or born to the monarchy and not hanged in the streets it is the same either way: the people have chosen, they are asking you for something, and if you live in their gold and silk and sing their songs instead of smashing your own head in with a rock then you have agreed to the terms. why would anyone be unwilling to do that? afraid to do that? if you can do even a little bit more than someone else they are owed half of the excess. you cannot live in the world alone. you must not live in the world alone. ask the people above you to bleed for you and the people below you for nothing. there is no hierarchy beyond "i can help you" and "please help me" and there is no meaning beyond it either. every day it is hard to remember this but you have to, both parts, without losing either. why wouldn't anyone want this? what else is there to strive for but to better help others, to be someone with an abundance to share, to be used like that for the survival of everyone. isn't that happiness? to be as connected to everyone around you as a river is? to give water and fruit and blessings and promises and safety and shelter? you can seek power without understanding that it is only deeper service, but you will never do anything worthwhile with it. the gold will rot with your corpse. we find immortality in one another, and the celebration of giving more.

???: i saw a video of someone opening their back gate onto a meadow of the same single flower. it was beautiful. that's what it feels like when i catch you looking at me. we could grow flowers, couldn't we? we could plan a garden? i don't want to see myself fall and fail twice at least, or fight a war, without something kind at the end. i want you to tell me there's a way to still be like this - repairing doors, eating small meals, sleeping in warm air - after all of that is done. i want to build something selfish and self-sufficient together. i know we already are. in the things we talk about the jokes we make at my own expense whenever further plot implies at me. and in how excited i was to find out that the word for butterfly was this one. but i want to make things with our hands again.

episode 7: well. i'm glad it was me.

episode 7 (a day later): i'm still glad it was me. i'm proud of the kids for how brave they are, proud of that general for saving lives every time - and god, it was so funny sitting there in a circle of contempt for him, touching a gravestone people had hand cut and hauled up the mountain and carefully ingraved with their thanks, thinking about how loved and how much gratitude he must have died surrounded by. thank you for making them treat it with respect. thank you. he did his best. i'm almost jealous of it. imagine how nice it would be to help people, and have them see that you helped them, and be happy about it, and think kindly of you. i'm glad that you understood how important his actions were. i feel less alone when you're beside me on matters like that. anyway - i'm glad it was me. you're so bad at letting people care for you. i can tell you've been alone with only yourself to depend on for a long time. but your heart is so soft, you know? you don't even know it. you deserve to be protected. to be with people who want to protect you. it doesn't matter if you could have caught it in time, or survived a bite if you didn't - you should be able to think of yourself as precious to others. to me. i don't want to see you hurt. i don't ever want to take your hard-won strengths for granted. on the last day of earth, i want to move between you and danger as quickly and without apology as i did then. you're so easy to care for. do you know? and i'll be okay. i know you blame yourself for it because you said, because you're never gentle with yourself the way you are with me. but if you hadn't been there, i'm sure i would have stepped between someone else and that bite. i'm sure i would have forgotten again to grab the stinger i was just warning everyone about. you know what would change? if you hadn't been there, if you'd been a bit faster with your own defense, "if" "if" "if" - ? i wouldn't know there was a cure. i wouldn't know where to look for it, or be able to depend on someone helping me find it. that's the difference you made by being there. that's the only influence you had on me that day. you keep giving me the chance to survive my own mistakes. thank you. i can't promise we won't end up here again. i can't promise i won't keep trying to protect you. all i can do is hope that you know i don't mean it as a slight on your capabilities (it isn't! i just care about you. even the strongest man alive should be loved by people who want to shield him from danger) and that you don't get tired of me being so reckless.

#anchor.

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