#i will be shaking him like a ragdoll in my mind palace

[harryspet]

dimensions | peter parker

[Warnings] peter parker x reader, dark peter x reader, historical au, royal au, prince Peter, mentions of noncon sex, physical abuse, spanking, alternate dimensions, fluff, hella angst, alternate peter is basically ramsay bolton

A/N: This is an angsty idea from an anon “Angst thought: Peter's got a girlfriend he super likes but she gets switched with an alternate dimension's version of her who alternate him was the worst to (like one of your dark Peter fics bad) and she's terrified of Peter now”. I decided to make this like a historical au but it can basically take place at anytime in history.

THIS CONTAINS TRIGGERING MATERIAL AND ADULT CONTENT

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word count: 2.7k

Wine dripped from his lips as Peter stared at you like a hungry wolf. What a beautiful prey you were. He was so lucky that he had decided not to kill you like the rest of your family. 

The kingdom you came from was made of sunlight. Sun dripped from the sun and kissed the skin of your people. You were a peaceful people. You had never seen war until you came to know Lord Parker. 

In Lord Parker’s part of the world, there was no sun at all. His fortress sat on a hill between a dark forest and a storm-ridden sea. His followers were loyal but this was because the family ruled with fear. They conquered and pillaged for power and your kingdom was just another line on his roster. 

You were nothing to him. Nothing except a toy. 

You scrambled backward, your back hitting the headboard of the bed you shared with him. Peter’s eyes trailed over the bare skin of your legs and up to the white nightgown you wore. He loved you in white, the contrast to your skin, and the innocence it represented. 

No matter how he tried to beat it out of you, that innocence was still there. 

Peter pulled the sheets all the way back and your body began to tremble, “My sweeting,” His words were kind but his intentions were anything but. He had his claws around your heart and you felt any wrong move would lead to him ripping it from your chest, “I recall informing you that you should refrain from speaking to my servants.”

Nothing. There were no words on your lips. 

Had Peter already diminished your fire? He thought he had mastered the art of pushing you all the way to the edge but not allowing you to fall over. 

The room was filled with grays and black, the only light in the room came from a few candles in the corner. You could hear the waves beating against the cliffs from outside the window. You let the cold hit your skin, allowing you to feel something other than sadness. 

Peter’s hands touched the mattress as his body leaned in closer, “You want to run from me, do you not?” You were frozen now. He cocked his head to the side, an evil grin decorating his handsome face, “That is why you asked your guard to help you escape. You thought he might take pity on you? Do you think the honey between your legs is that sweet? That any man would risk their lives just to taste it?”

Breathe, you had to remind yourself. Why had you done that? You should’ve known not to trust anyone. Anyone including those with sweet, forgiving eyes. 

Peter sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the large mattress. You recalled the memories of the last few nights. On your wedding night, he had forced himself inside of you with a force you couldn’t bear. You still ached between your legs. 

“I do try to be good to you. I try to be a good husband but … it seems the Gods have cursed me with anger …and your behavior lights that flame inside of me. Is it so much to ask that you be honest with me? To tell me what I hear is not true?”

Nothing. Again, no words escaped your trembling lip. Peter was starting to grow annoyed. He liked it better when you were screaming. 

“Answer me!” He screamed, causing you to hit your head against the wood as you flinched back, “You dare run behind my back!” Peter pounced, unable to resist the sweet touch of your trembling flesh. You resisted, but that only made the member in his trousers grow even more excited. 

Peter dragged you by the curls in your hair, forcing you to scramble forward until you were positioned across his lap. 

“My lord, please! Please, don’t!”

Peter smiled wide as he held you down, his elbow pressing into your back. “There she is! I knew my sweet princess was a fighter,” He pulled up the skirt of your dress, revealing your bare bottom. He could still see the evidence he left behind hours ago dripping down your thighs, “Continue to scream for me, my sweeting. I do enjoy your voice.”

You cried out, trying to wiggle from his grasp, as he landed several hard spanks to your bottom. You could feel it turning colors beneath his touch, the burning pain flowed through your body, “Please, please, I won’t do it again!” You begged, “I’ll be good!”

He didn’t stop until your bottom was raw and his own hand was bleeding. Tears streamed down your tired face, a complete look of defeat crossed your features, and ultimately satisfied Peter. 

“What is your name?”

You didn’t even remember anymore, “Nothing. N-No one. I am nothing but yours, My Lord.”

He dragged you from the bed though every step you took was like feeling fire against your skin. 

“No ones coming to save you!” Peter shouted as he dragged you out of the room, past your guards, and to the outside balcony that overlooked the entire fortress. Everyone was used to causing the scene with his cruelty so no one even batted an eyelash as you were pulled around like a ragdoll. 

He pressed you against the wooden railing, making you look out into the snow-covered court. The snow that was now soaked in blood. He was in pieces but you recognized him. It was the young guard you had talked to you. Stupidly, you asked him when the guards normally changed shifts in the compound. 

His legs were separated as well as each of his arms and then …. his head. His eyes were still open. “We cut off the head last,” As you closed your eyes, he pulled at your hair tightly, “He learned what happens when you try to steal my treasure. Treasure I bravely sought and retrieved on my own.”

It was all your fault. 

He was gone before Peter even stepped into that room. 

Your body was only protecting itself by shutting down and causing you to faint. Peter caught you as you fell into his arms.  

+

You awoke on a soft cloud. Everything smelt of sweet vanilla, even your hair. You touched your hair and found it longer and much softer than usual. Your eyes could barely adjust to the blinding light in the room. When were thing’s ever this bright on Lord Parker’s land?

Had he finally set the place ablaze with you trapped inside? The thought of it was delightful. You even considered closing your eyes again but, the room you were in, gave off an entirely different feeling than the fortress. 

You sat up in the bed and your mouth gaped as you took a look around. You stumbled as you stood up on the bed. The room was ginormous, even bigger than the over-sized bed. It reminded you of the great hall in the manor you grew up in … except it was a bedroom made of gold. 

You looked down at your body. This was not the white gown you were last wearing. There were no stains of blood or tears down the chest. There was also no burning on your skin, on your bottom or around your neck. 

You paused as the tall gold doors opened to the room. You stared as he entered, clad in a royal suit of blue, and wearing a smile. A smile? You had never seen him with a real smile, “Did you use to jump on the bed when you were younger?” He asked a tone you weren’t quite used to. It sounded pleasant, like there was happiness on his lips, “That was my favorite too.”

Had he slipped hallucinogens into your drink? Or was this just a nightmare of your own creation?

As he moved closer to the bed, you panicked, moving down to your knees, “M-My Lord,” You addressed him, your head tilted down. 

Peter paused, taking in your appearance, and his smile turned to concern, “Your Lord?” Peter asked softly, moving towards you. He reached for your hand and, although you didn’t pull away, he felt you shaking, “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You lifted your head, facing the demon, “W-Who is Y/N?” Peter searched your face for some symbol of amusement. He thought you might be pulling a prank on him but it was now clear that something was very wrong, “Where did you take me?”

Peter pulled away his hand, realizing he was only causing more unease, “I didn’t take you anywhere. This is my home. Our home. Should I call in the physician ...”

“We don’t live here …” You looked around the large room again.

“Y/N, do you promise me that this is not some sort of game?”

You shook your head quickly, “No games, My Lord.”

“My name is Peter. I am not your Lord …” Peter’s voice trailed off, his mind racing with concerned thoughts and confusion. Peter beckoned you with his hand, “Why don’t you come with me, Y/N? We will have a talk with May.”

A trick. This had to be some elaborate trick then. 

“I only talk to you, My Lord,” You assured him, “I won’t speak to anyone else, I promise.”

His eyes seemed to sadden. Sad? You’d only seen anger from him before, “Y/N, you can talk to other people. I am your husband but I do not control you. You have friends. You have a family.”

A sick joke then. You stared at him dumbfounded, before shaking your head, “You killed them. They were not worthy. You spared me despite my unworthiness.”

“I-I never-” Peter stopped himself, realizing that it was becoming useless to argue at the moment. You seemed to flinch at the slightest raise in his voice, “Walk with me, please?”

You were hesitant but you crawled from the bed, your bare feet touching the cool, marble floor. The fortress was grays and black. The fortress was soot and wood. This was a palace and the man before you were dressed like a prince. 

Peter noticed the distance you kept from it. Yesterday, you were madly in love with him. You held each other through every royal meeting and you spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms. He remembered how nervous he was when Tony announced the plans for his marriage but, the moment he saw you, he realized his luck. He was even luckier that you felt the same. 

You glanced around the long hallways with tall white walls and ginormous windows that gave a view of the sun over a calm sea. 

“What city is this?”

As the name of the city left his lips, your heart stopped. It was the same city you were kidnapped and taken to but you saw no sign of the darkness that you remembered. Had the darkness all been a bad dream?

+

The woman named May attempted to explain everything to you. She noticed your uneasiness around Peter and kindly asked to have a moment alone with you. You were frightened to speak out of turn, for fear of Peter punishing you, but the woman encouraged you to talk to her. 

She knew all about the kingdom you hailed from, about your family and your peaceful people. They were all alive, Peter’s forces never led an attack against them. In fact, your father and King Tony arranged the marriage between you two. Peter was a Prince. The prince of a kingdom that did not wage war against innocents.

She checked your vitals, not noticing anything that was physically wrong with you. You didn’t even have the scars anymore.

Despite all of this, the thing that made everything sink in was seeing your family. Both your mother and older brother had not returned back to your kingdom, and you were able to embrace them after believing you had lost them forever. 

+

Peter wasn’t sure what to think of everything. So much had changed that he wasn’t sure if he was looking at the same girl anymore. He didn’t want to be a villain to his own wife. He regretted that the bond that they now shared was indestructible. To divorce was a sin and they’d both be shamed by their countries. 

“I can find somewhere else to sleep tonight …” You looked up to Peter, seeing how he was trying to hide his sadness. Your chambermaids had prepared you for bed, bathed you, and put you into fresh nightclothes made of the softest silks. 

“It is your room,” You told him quickly, “I should not deprive you of the comfort … the comfort of sleeping next to your own wife.”

“I can tell you do not want me to, my love,” His words made your heart pang. Love. Did Peter love you? At least, did he love the old you? “I will allow you to have all the time that you need. I do not wish to be the source of your nightmares.”

Peter had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to change that fear she felt. 

“Please stay,” You told him as he made a move to leave, “I do not want to be alone.”

You had spent the entire day with your family, and now you just didn’t want to fall asleep in the silence. 

Peter thought for a moment, deciding his plan of action. You couldn’t help that your breath caught in your throat as he approached where you laid on the bed. He didn’t reach to touch you, only to grab a pillow. 

He laid it on the ground beside the massive bed and proceeded to make himself comfortable on the hard floor. You rolled over in the bed, looking over the edge at him, “The floor is no place for a prince, your grace.”

Peter instantly shook his head, “I do not know what you mean, my love. It feels great down here,” You could tell her was lying and a small grin pulled at your lips. He was willing to sleep on the floor just so you could be comfortable?

“Peter?”

Peter couldn’t help how his heart fluttered when you simply called him by his first name. He liked knowing before that you liked him as a person, not as an authority figure. 

“Yes, Y/N?”

“What kind of things did I use to like?”

Peter didn’t expect the question, but as the memories rushed, he couldn’t help but smile, “You loved your family. You always talked about them, about your people. You wanted everyone to know that you were a princess of two, great kingdoms, not just my own. You made sure they were never forgotten.”

You continued to listen as you pictured it. You hadn’t realized they were memories of your own. 

“You liked to garden. It reminds you of your time with your grandmother. You love the life you can create, the beauty you can make.”

A tear slipped down your face as you remembered the older woman. 

“You liked it when we went out on the boat and rode in the bay. You liked the sound of the ocean and the sun on the skin. You hated that we kept the fish we caught. You hated how they had to die and you insisted that we give them to beggars on the street.”

You realized that this wasn’t some past you that Peter was talking about. The girl he was talking about was still you. She just had a better chance at life. 

“You loved looking at the stars. You smiled for days when I showed you the telescope my father purchased from that French merchant, I swear it.”

“Peter, I-I am sorry,” Peter noticed you were crying and shot up from his spot, reaching to hold your hand, “You are nothing like him. You are nothing like him.”

“Do not cry, please,” Peter begged, rubbing soothing circles on your skin, “There is nothing to apologize for. Whatever this is, we will get through it.”

As his thumb brushed the tear from your cheek, you saw him clearly. You could look into those brown eyes and know he’d never hurt you. 

+

Hope you enjoyed! (Also sorry, please don’t ask for a second part)

[spockandawe]

I’m so unbelievably weak against characters who make terrible choices because they’re hurting and upset. I love the subtler resentful decisions that quietly build up ill will, and I love the big dramatic choices that end with everyone going down in flames. But more than anything, I love love love hurting myself with the emotional flavor of a character struggling with the tension of simultaneously realizing that people hate/mistrust them (or how much people hate/mistrust them, or which people hate/mistrust them), while also realizing that those people just have... no idea where they’re coming from.

I was thinking about this first because of Mu Qing, who is honestly a very low-key version of this scenario (and it’s also quieter since he’s not a lead character and rarely takes the spotlight himself). But the first big tgcf flashback honestly made my heart ache, seeing him trying to walk a line between maintaining his own independence/pride and not belonging to someone he wants to be peers with, but when he tries to be tactful, people decide he’s being shady.  He was picking cherries, to bring a treat to his poor mother (and the poor children around his home), but then got accused of stealing, and then didn’t want to say that it was because his only remaining parent was living in poverty. And it continues through the present day! He knocks out Feng Xin so he can save him from a burning city, because Feng Xin refuses to leave, and people are like ‘>:OOO MU QING ATTACKED FENG XIN??’ In some ways, this character hurts me more than the others, because he rarely does anything wrong, he has a bad attitude, but his most significant “missteps” tend to be like ‘you could have been a little more kind, tbh.’

But also too, I’ve been working my way through the svsss extras again, and... Shen Jiu. God, Shen Jiu. This character is agonizing, and I love him so much. He makes terrible choices! He does terrible things! He tries to set up an actual literal child to die horribly, because he resents that this child had a parent who loved him, and that he found his way to Cang Qiong young enough to reach his full potential! It’s absolutely unforgivable! But nobody except Yue Qingyuan has any clue how much Shen Jiu has been through and how to possibly help him grow or heal or how to support him into better decision making. And Shen Jiu is so hurt by the way Yue Qingyuan left him that he refuses to let Yue Qingyuan help him now. Like! This child was a slave, begging for food on the streets, then was sold to a rich boy who abused him in sexually-flavored ways and planned to marry him to his sister so he could keep him forever, and then his “rescuer” was a scumbag adult who taught him to steal and murder. 

And while Shen Jiu was suffering, he thinks Yue Qingyuan, who came from the same beginning and who promised to come back for him, was living in careless pampered luxury in a prestigious cultivation sect. Shen Jiu’s own self-evaluations are incredibly harsh, from the moment he’s reunited with Yue Qingyuan. He calls himself terrible, he calls himself a thing, and once it’s clear that he’s going to pay the price for his bad decisions, he tries hard to shove away the one person who cares about him and find some way to protect him. Yue Qingyuan never stopped loving him and defending him, but literally nobody else in the world has any sympathy for him whatsoever. How am I not supposed to be heartbroken? Shang Qinghua sighs over how his readers used to hate on Shen Qingqiu for having no motivations, which, sure, that’s understandable from what’s on the “Proud Immortal Demon Way” pages, but seeing the trauma driving his choices in svsss and seeing his own self-awareness and self-loathing and knowing that one (1) person in-universe has any inkling of his internal world (and that person died trying to help him), I’m! In pain!!!

Plus, in svsss proper, I saw a post in passing once that was something like... ‘readers are hard on luo binghe, because he’s the only mxtx protagonist where we see the worst decisions of his life and aren’t in his head to understand why he’s making those decisions.’ Which I still find fascinating, and think about often. It makes sense to me. And as far as my terrible-decision-making children go, he’s very interesting to me because he doesn’t really deal with the widespread distaste/mistrust that mu qing and shen jiu experience, it’s very much targeted on one person. I live for the parts of svsss where all Luo Binghe has to do is breathe, and Shen Qingqiu flinches and bolts. And Luo Binghe is not acting in kind or well-considered ways, a lot of the time! But he was seventeen, and his beloved teacher had told him that ‘humans can be good or evil, demons can be good or evil,’ but the moment Luo Binghe turned out to be half demon, even though he’d just been fighting desperately trying to protect Shen Qingqiu, that teacher he trusted more than anything immediately turned on him, stabbed him in the chest, and threw him into hell.

That’s agonizing!!!! Even without the aftermath, that’s agonizing to read! And when Luo Binghe comes back, years later, he’s upset, he’s hurt, he’s lonely, he’s still stinging from that betrayal, of course he’s not making good decisions. I follow good blogs, because I haven’t seen any terrible Luo Binghe takes on my dash, but I’m kind of :c that these takes apparently exist. Again, it’s not that I think he makes good decisions, but I can see why he makes bad decisions, and I can see other characters missing that context, and I am rolling in terrible, glorious pain. Luo Binghe shows up secretly in Huan Hua Palace and starts taking it over and generally acts shady as heck? Well, Shizun wouldn’t let him beg for forgiveness when he was a disciple, and he’s afraid to face Shen Qingqiu until he can meet him on a semi-equal footing. Luo Binghe gets angry and spiteful when Shen Qingqiu asks if he’s responsible for the sowers? Yes he does! He’d always, always tried to do right by Shen Qingqiu, and trusted Shen Qingqiu when he said demons could be decent people, but the moment he turned out to be half-demon, Shen Qingqiu immediately started expecting the worst from him at every turn. It hurts! I don’t blame him for acting on that hurt! And I am so endlessly compelled by the way that Shen Qingqiu completely fails to recognize the context for where Binghe is coming from.

And like... I cannot leave out Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao. Xue Yang is fascinating in his own way, because the steps are... a lot more explicit and clear-cut than some of these other characters. Shen Jiu’s downward spiral is very internal and he curls up tight to hide his weak spots even with the person who values him most in the whole world, but Xue Yang very plainly tries to lay out his reasoning for his most important person. His whole world is crumbling by the time things reach that point, and it was probably beyond salvaging, but god! He tries so hard to explain the position the world placed him in, from childhood onward, helpless and vulnerable, and that nobody was going to defend him except himself. 

But when Xiao Xingchen doesn’t understand what he’s trying to communicate, when he realizes that the person he values most isn’t willing to hear what he’s trying to say, he starts lashing out again and trying to hurt. It’s the same lesson he learned when he was young, in some ways. ‘If I’m stupid enough to trust you, you’re going to use that to hurt me.’ And then the logical next step, ‘If you’re going to hurt me, all I can do is try to hurt you worse.’ You can see the trauma playing out right there on the page, and it’s agonizing. I can understand some people not enjoying reading things that make them hurt that way, but I have trouble Getting it when people don’t at least find that kind of dynamic compelling as hell. I’ll sometimes avoid media that I know is going to make me sad, but if I’m in the mood to Experience Sadness, I know a dynamic like this is going to grab me by the heart and shake me like a ragdoll.

And... Jin Guangyao. He was on my mind too, partly because I’ve seen a few takes on his motivations lately that honestly kind of baffle me? Like, to each their own, especially since mdzs never takes us inside his head. But I see posts that like... he was bullying Nie Mingjue, or what if Lan Xichen could Tell he was never genuine and mistrusted him on some level, and how to put this. It’s not that I agree with the choices he made, though I really don’t want to play fandom purity police in any way, shape, or form (murder is good, actually), but I understand the choices he made enough that those sort of interpretations that skew towards the cruelty-for-the-sake-of-cruelty territory honestly kind of upset me.

There’s some interesting comparisons to be made with Mu Qing, in some ways. They both grew up poor, without a father, in “shameful” single-parent situations (a sex worker mother vs. a father being executed for being a criminal). They were poor boys with ambition, but no matter how they tried to carry themselves with dignity, those poor beginnings were rubbed in their faces, years after the fact. I think it does make a real difference that Mu Qing’s shame is mostly based in his own history (sweeping floors) while Jin Guangyao’s is more external (son of a whore), and that Jin Guangyao’s also insulted a parent who he loved dearly, and that Mu Qing was seeking the respect outside of famiial structures while Jin Guangyao was desperate to be accepted by his father.

There’s so much of Jin Guangyao’s early life that’s like ‘I’m Just Trying To Live My Life, My Dude,’ and it hurts me to watch. He really didn’t have goals that were all that excessive! If his goals were excessive in some way, it’s only by virtue of how highly ranked his father was, which isn’t his fault. His goal: ‘I want my father to accept me into the family.’ What the world saw: “oh my god, this son of a whore SERIOUSLY wants to be brought into this noble family, lmaooooo.’ There are characters who are more compassionate than that, and a lot of that reaction is down to the nature of the setting, but LORD, man! It’s honestly a pretty restrained goal for a kid to have! Especially when his father totally promised to come back for him someday, and he waited patiently for years before setting out on his own.

And even once he gets kicked down the steps of Koi Tower and dials back his ambitions, he gets so little space to breathe. He’s learning cultivation late, he takes a position as a nobody in a different cultivation sect, he’s just trying to live. But no matter how he rolls with the punches, no matter how he smiles and bears it, he’s being constantly, constantly prodded in that old, painful bruise. I’ve been finally working my way through The Untamed, and it was painful to watch, in Gusu, when he’s trying to present the Nie Sect’s gift to Lan QIren, and people just start focking gossiping about him, right there, perfectly audibly. And when we see him back in Qinghe, he’s perfectly polite and deferential, and that one disciple is still like ‘fuck you, ur mom was a whore.’

He makes bad decisions, but even when he makes good decisions, he can’t win. I don’t get anything from him at all that suggests he had Hugely Lofty Ambitions from a young age, he just wanted some kind of decent life, but almost nobody would cut him a break. Nie Mingjue did cut him a break, and Lan Xichen was gentle and kind to him, and that made such an impact on him. But I also think it made it that much worse, when he made later questionable decisions, and Nie Mingjue refused to let him explain himself. Nie Mingjue’s rigidity breaks my heart in lots of ways, but especially when it comes to Jin Guangyao. I don’t want to make this all about personal attachment, but it’s kind of inescapable in this situation. Nie Mingjue sends him a loud, violent message that if he’s not perfectly morally upright, he’s Done. But by now, Jin Guangyao has years of history of people being cruel to him based on a history he never was able to control. Nie Mingjue protected him, but hes made it clear that protection was... conditional. There could be arguments about how conditional, and what the non-murdery limits would have been, but the murder has been done, and it was already clear that Nie Mingjue never had the power to protect him from everything.

I can’t read Jin Guangyao’s later actions without also reading that fear and insecurity into his decisions. He even tries to say it outright, that he’s afraid of everyone and everything, and Nie Mingjue misses the point. Jin Guangyao hurts me a lottle, because he suffers both in terms of the general public’s judgment of him, but also in the judgment of someone he cared deeply about. I can see the reasoning and trauma, but so many other people in the story can’t. Jin Guangyao gets pushed to the edge by how his father holds him at arm’s length from the family, the atrocities he tells Jin Guangyao to commit on his behalf (and then maybe I’ll treat you like my actual son, maybe), but when he tries to express that, Nie Mingjue is like ‘can’t you just endure more, though??’ He builds a temple with a statue with the face of his dead beloved mother, and the public is like ‘omg, he made that statue with his OWN FACE, can you believe it??’

In some ways, the way Lan Xichen determinedly loves and trusts him makes it all hurt even worse. I absolutely believe Jin Guangyao when he says that he never once wanted to act against Lan Xichen. So many of the terrible decisions Jin Guangyao makes tie so directly to him seeking either safety or security. But he works hard in social gatherings to keep the peace and people think he’s two-faced. He endures years of mistreatment before hitting back and people judge him for hitting back at all and say that well, what else could we have respected from someone with that background. Nie Mingjue threatens to kill him multiple times, and he was a very straightforward, honest man, of course Jin Guangyao was frightened of him and decided it was safer to see him dead. I live for the pain of seeing a character I love make decisions I strongly disagree with, understanding why they’re making those decisions, and seeing other characters not understand, and simply hate them for the decisions.

This isn’t exactly new, this is why I’ll never be able to shake my love for Starscream, even if his quality of motivation... varies by continuity. And Pharma and Prowl are two of my favorite characters in all of idw1 for exactly this reason. I’ve got  at least three fics brushing up against Pharma’s resentment over ‘yes, i got ordered to run a hospital on a garbage planet I was sharing the most violent, sadistic decepticons in existence, I SURE WONDER WHY I WAS DRIVEN TO THIS DESPERATE POINT, BUT THE LOVE OF MY LIFE THINKS I’M JUST A TERRIBLE PERSON, SO I GUESS THAT’S THAT.’ 

And in the murderbot books, I genuinely get reduced to tears when murderbot has to deal with people compassionately interpreting its behavior instead of giving it no credit, the way its used to. I find the raksura books intensely, intensely satisfying in how Moon struggles to fit into a highly social, close-knit society after growing up so traumatized and alone, and how his colony gradually adapts to him and gets used to his quirks, instead of driving him out, the way he’s experienced so many times. No real conclusion here, I was just spacing out during a work training call, and got overtaken by how much I love characters who experience this particular flavor of emotional isolation.

[skywardboundzelda]

Ineffable, Chapter Three

Hosted on Archive of Our Own by divinince.

Three times when Link couldn’t speak and the one time he did.

Chapter Three

Despite being the Hero That Time Forgot, Link hates fighting. He hates war, hates the cold of the battlefield and the nostalgia for home, hates the moon that beats down on the Desert Colossus as he seeks asylum for the night.

He’s sixteen years old and already trusted to perform solo excursions. Of course he is, because, given his history, he is clearly gifted in every facet of physical prowess, but that doesn’t mean Link’s stomach doesn’t turn whenever the old general tells him that he trains like he wants to be the Hero of Legend.

The Goddess of the Sand towers over her desert, offering strength and love to the Gerudo women. Her loving hands, once extended to all who possessed the courage to survive her trials, are crumbled at the entrance, blown off by Hyrulean cannons. Still the Gerudo worship in the depths of her temple, coming and going despite the bombs that resound in the distance. Their Goddess, though disrespected by outsiders, reigns tall and supreme.

Such disrespect causes Link’s vision to go red. How would the Hyrulean soldiers feel if the Gerudo dared deface the image of Hylia? If Link was a religious man, he knows that he would be seething, but the generals? They don’t care. They want their paycheck; they want to please the king and queen.

(The generals use Link’s femininity to their advantage and have some of their wives make him up to be a lovely young woman. The ladies comment on the scars that line his bare back and midriff but also say that his wife -- he doesn’t know how old they think he is -- must be a lucky woman. He makes a note to tell Malon as soon as he returns home.)

Link’s excursion consists entirely of watching the Goddess of the Sand and her temple, for the military has supposedly caught wind that they’re using the temple to plot an ambush. Though Link believes such a thought is horse manure, he says nothing. He never says anything.

He gives the Gerudo chieftess a note forged by his superiors; he is a young Castle Town woman wishing to research Gerudo customs for a university class. The chieftess seems a bit suspicious, but tells Link that it’s not his fault. Rather, she doesn’t know who to trust anymore.

“You, of course, seem to be a perfectly honest young woman,” she explains. “Will you need assistance traversing the desert?”

And of course Link says no, because he never has and never will. The chieftess calls him a good girl, a strong girl, the beginnings of what she would call the ideal Gerudo warrior.

Once out of her sight, Link vomits up his morning meal, sickened by his true intentions, by his betrayal of the woman’s trust.

After a day of touring the temple and asking the other visitors completely unassuming questions, he sets up camp beside the desert oasis and downs two canteens of water. He’s nauseous with guilt as he considers the mission: he hasn’t necessarily failed it, because he hasn’t heard any incriminating information, but he could be doing better. Looking harder.

But he can’t and he knows that. He wants the war to be over soon, just as many of the Gerudo in the temple said they did, and he can’t imagine betraying an entire race due to the wrongdoings of one evil man. He has been doing that, though, for nearly a year, and all the water he swallowed so quickly threatens to make its reappearance.

Link lulls himself to sleep against the pangs of guilt in his chest and wakes under a starless blanket, the sound of slow footsteps crunching the desert sand.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and sits up. The figure is no Gerudo, for they are dressed too conservatively and don’t appear to present in a feminine manner, and he reaches for the dagger tucked away in his satchel.

Before Link can even get close enough to swing at the figure, they turn around and stare at Link with a single wide eye before retreating. Link recognizes the form of the runner almost immediately and his heart jumps; he chases after the person with one word yearning to roll from his tongue.

Sheik.

Sheik may be fast, but, unlike seven years ago, is clearly out of practice. Link catches up to him rather quickly and tackles him to the ground, eliciting a scream from the young man. Link hurries to quiet him, the still night of the desert anything but trustworthy.

“What are you doing here, Link?” he hisses, shoving Link off of his form and rising from the sand. Link wants to ask the same question and then some: how did you get here, why are you doing this, and is this allowed?

Dusting the sand from his clothing, Sheik glares at Link and motions to his haphazardly-build campsite.

“What do they have you doing?” he asks in voice too kind to be accompanying such a glare. Link stands to full height, shifts uncomfortably as sand falls into his clothing, and remains silent. He and Sheik both know what he’s doing.

But neither of them can bring themselves to say the words, and instead, Sheik sighs, staring off towards the colossal Goddess of the Sand. Link thinks she’s beautiful, powerful, and wishes that the Hyruleans didn’t want to destroy her.

Sheik steals the thoughts from Link’s mind. “She really is beautiful. Strong, too. My nursemaid had me learning about Gerudo culture until…” Until the pair foiled Ganondorf’s plans, until the war started, until Impa was fired. “But Father said no more, so there was no more.”

“It’s a shame that my men have done this to her,” Sheik laments, crack in his voice. Link can only nod in agreement. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I wish I could’ve ended it all.”

Silence fills the air. Link shifts his weight from his left foot to his right and switches the hand that holds his dagger.

“I could have. Instead -- Hylia, curse me -- I started it all.”

Before Link can extend a comforting hand, Sheik stares up at the moon. He appears more mature now than he did in the previous timeline, more hardened by the weight of the monarchy than Link’s fate.

Guilt has a tendency to age people, and Link knows that. He has seen it in himself.

(He still cannot force himself to stare up at the moon, even after all these years.)

“Link,” Sheik states, forcing Link away from his thoughts, “do you remember the song I taught you here? I believe it was the Requiem of--”

“Halt, voe!”

There is no time to process the chieftess’ booming voice before Link turns around and sees the woman approaching Sheik with a raised sword. Link does the only thing he knows how to do, the only thing he’s good for, the thing he spent seven years sleeping for.

He jumps in front of Sheik and screams as the silver blade slices through his right eye. He sees red once again, both literally and figuratively, and tightly fists his dagger before reaching up and plunging it into the chieftess’ throat. She shrieks, too, the sound agonizing and horrific and wretched, before blood begins to flow from her mouth.

She loses consciousness and falls to her knees, and the fight is over before it has even started.

“Link!” Sheik forgets his distant and mature demeanor as Link covers his eye -- or, rather, where his eye once was. He wants to remain strong, pretend as though nothing is the matter, but he’s crying, crying much harder than he has in many years, and the world around him is blurring. His eye hurts something awful, and the metallic smell and taste of his blood floods his senses. He grabs onto Sheik with both hands as shock overwhelms him, and the man’s sleeve is covered in blood.

Link has been injured before, and he knows this. He wants to say that he has sustained much worse, that he will survive this like every other wound.

But it isn’t the wound that bothers him. It’s the twitching body of the Gerudo chieftess that he and Sheik are leaving behind, gurgling as blood fills her throat, gasping for air that will never fill her lungs.

He has faced a million villains in his lifetime, but never one so sentient, never as kind, respectful, or welcoming as her. All these years, he’s never killed someone so human.

Link breaks free of Sheik’s grasp and collapses over the chieftess’ corpse, attempting to shake her back to life. He screams at her yells for her to awaken, apologizing a thousand times over.

She remains limp, a ragdoll in his arms. Sheik forces Link away from her body as his vision blackens.

He wakes back at the palace, Malon by his side. He promptly retches when he sees her, her red hair reminiscent of the locks of the Gerudo chieftess, and doesn’t close his eye again for two nights.

When he finally manages to fall asleep, head in Malon’s lap as she sings familiar lullabies, he dreams of a fallen member of the Royal Guard slumped against the walls of a Castle Town building as Ganondorf’s clutches take the last of his life. The guard was innocent, the guard was young, with a whole life ahead of him, and in an instant, Ganondorf had taken it all away.

He awakes as a scream passes through his throat, haunted by the realization that he and Ganondorf are one and the same.

[shimmershae]

Counting Stars, Chapter 2 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl + Sophia, more).

The real story starts with a little girl lost in the woods.

 Or, Daryl tells his daughter the story of how he met her mother. 

                                                           Counting Stars

xx2xx

  “If it ain’t Sleepin’ Beauty.” 

 “Stop.” 

 “Stop what?” 

 “Teasin’.” 

 “That what I’m doin’?”

 “Uh huh.” 

 “Ain’t teasin’ if it’s the truth.”

 “…”  

 “Got you there, didn’t I?” 

 “What you doin’?”

 “Nothin’.” 

 “Don’t look like nothin’.” 

 “What’s it look like?” 

 “Dunno.” 

 “Well.  Ain’t doin’ nothin’ rightnow.  How ‘bout you?  Wanna do nothin’ with me?” 

  “Uh huh.” 

 “Pretty out here. See them birds? They been building a nest.  Been at it all mornin’.” 

 “Really?” 

 “Really.” 

 “Never did finish our story.” 

 “That’s ‘cause somebody fell asleep ‘fore we ever left the park last night.” 

 “Baseball’s borin’.” 

 “’Bout hide-n-seek?” 

 “S’alright.” 

 “Must not have been too alright.  Judith said you passed out silly.” 

 “Did not.” 

 “Did too.  Tyreese toted you off that playground like you was a ragdoll.  Judith, too.” 

 “I like Mr. ‘Reese.” 

 “He’s good people.” 

 “What about George?  He good people, too?” 

 “Ain’t gonna let that go, are you?” 

 “Nope.”

 “Didn’t figure you would.  Alright.  Can’t be at it long, though.” 

 “Aww.” 

 “Don’t aww me.  Already behind on your chores.” 

 “But I’m little.” 

 “So?  Don’t matter none.” 

 “But you said…”

 “Naw.  Can’t have it both ways.” 

   “Alright.” 

“What’s that?” 

 “Yes, Sir.” 

 “Better.  Ready to hear a little more of the story now?” 

 “Uh huh.” 

 “Where were we, Baby Girl?”

 “George just met Princess Sophia and her two aunts.”

 <3<3<3

   He doesn’t see the little girl again for a while after that, just glimpses here and there as he passes by his window in the afternoons. 

  <3<3<3

  “Why not?” 

 “Was gettin’ there.  Somebody didn’t give me ‘nough time.” 

 “M’sorry.” 

 “Reckon I’ll let it go this time.” 

 <3<3<3

  He takes another job, one closer to home this time.

 Woodbury’s just one town over and quaint, like something ripped out of school history books, its people nice if a little sheltered from real world problems, and it’s no wonder, judging by the way the big wig of the place lives.  The Blake house is impressive, sprawling.  It’s a veritable palace in the middle of small-town Georgia. 

 He almost turns around that first morning and takes Tsu home, but T intervenes and changes his mind.  As luck would have it, the decision turns out to be a good one.  Their small crew is about two hours into making T’s blueprints a reality, the sun creeping higher and higher into the clear blue sky, when Mr. Blake himself makes an unplanned appearance.  Tsu leaves the shade of a nearby tree and hovers protectively close. 

  <3<3<3

 “What happened?  Was Mr. Blake a bad man?  Did Sue have to bite him?” 

 “Tsu.” 

 “S’what I said.” 

 “No, you didn’t.  There’s that look again.”

  “But I said…” 

 “T. S. U.” 

 “Huh?” 

 “Just close that pretty mouth of yours and keep listenin’.” 

   <3<3<3

  “These are not the plans I had Milton fax to your office, Mr. Douglas.  These are…I don’t even know what these are.”

 They've gone over this several times now, and throughout the whole tiresome mini-tirade, T remains silent and deferential.    

 That’s more than Tsu can say because the dog whines and pushes her nose against his palm, pressing further into his side as Mr. Blake shakes the sheath of papers in his fist.  She shifts on her feet when a few loose sheets flutter to the grass below, frets until he snags his fingers in her collar and gives it a tiny pull.

 “Tsu,” he admonishes, and clearly that’s the wrong move.  Instantly, he finds all of Blake’s attention focused on him and his anxious canine companion and he vaguely hears T telling Oscar and Morales to take ten.    

 “What is that animal doing here, Mr. Douglas?  This is not bring your pet to work day.”    

 He steps in before T can answer.  “S’my fault.  I can load her up.  Take her back home.  Be back here in less than an hour.” 

 “Better yet,” Blake sneers, “you can all pack up your tools and make the trip home together.” 

 <3<3<3

  “This part is boring.” 

 “More borin’ than baseball?” 

 “One million jillion times more.” 

 “Don’t you wanna know if Tsu bit Mr. Blake?” 

 “She didn’t.” 

 “So sure ‘bout that?” 

 “Yeah.  She listens.” 

 “She does.”

 “Can’t we just skip to the Princess Sophia parts?” 

 “We could.” 

 “Good.” 

 “But I won’t.” 

 “Ugh.” 

 “Ugh.” 

 “Stop.” 

 “Stop.” 

 “You’re mean.  Mr. Blake’s mean.  I don’t like this part of the story.” 

 “Yeah?” 

 “Yeah.” 

 “Lied before.” 

 “Lyin’s bad.” 

 “Know.” 

  “More than two princesses in this story.” 

 “There are?” 

 “Knew that’d get your attention.” 

 “You’re still mean.”

 “M’terrible.” 

 “You are.” 

 “You say so, Baby Girl.” 

  <3<3<3

  Cooler heads eventually prevail and they settle their differences.  The crew stays put and gets back to work while Mr. Blake watches Tsu with eagle eyes.

 All that said, it’s easy work, simple in the scheme of things, and he’s able to tune the rest of the world out for a bit.  He lets his mind wander, and that’s mostly a good thing—until it’s not.  Suddenly, there’s a little girl screaming and Tsu tears from his side. 

 The dog’s already in the pool and paddling furiously toward the deep end before the rest of them arrive on the scene. 

  <3<3<3

  “What happened?” 

 “Thought you said…” 

 “Didn’t mean it.” 

 “Did.” 

 “Not no more.  Please tell me.” 

 “Thinkin’ it’s time for you to catch up on them chores.” 

 “No.  Pretty please?” 

 “Alright.  Just pullin’ your leg, Baby Girl.” 

  <3<3<3

  He jumps in after them, doesn’t even hesitate.  Blake’s there to take his daughter from his arms soon as he reaches the pool’s edge and Tsu is panting in his ear, her nails scrabbling for purchase before Oscar grabs her by the collar and first hauls her clear of the water, then him.  Someone throws a towel across his shoulders, he’s not sure who, and he holds it loosely with numb fingers, the adrenaline rush of it all quickly wearing off. 

 “Good job, Tsunami.  You too, Man.” 

 He snorts and meets Blake’s eyes across the way, nods when he mouths his thanks.  “Ain’t nothin’.” 

 “It’s somethin’ alright.” 

  <3<3<3

  “George saved that little girl?” 

 “Naw.  Tsu did.” 

 “I think they both did.” 

 “Sounds ‘bout right.” 

 “This part’s not boring.” 

 “S’not?” 

 “No.  What’s her name?” 

 “Who?” 

 “The new princess?” 

 “Penny.  Her name was Penny.” 

 “Was?” 

 “Meant is.” 

 “I like Tsu’s real name.” 

 “Yeah?” 

 “Uh huh.” 

 “Me, too.” 

 “Just a little more of the story?  Please?  I miss Princess Sophia.” 

 “Just a little bit.  Then you really do have to catch up…” 

 “Know.” 

 “Just a little bit.” 

  <3<3<3

   When he gets home that night, there’s a piece of yellow construction paper peeking out from underneath his door and he looks around, both directions, before he bends to retrieve it.  It’s a birthday invitation, written in a child’s painstaking scrawl, and he smirks and shakes his head because there’s no way this one can be written off as a mistake.  Carl Grimes knows exactly who lives here, and even if he didn’t, his mama and daddy can certainly claim no such ignorance.  He glances over his shoulder to find the Peletier house dark, nothing but the solar lights and the stars lighting the place, and he carefully folds the paper in his hand with a sigh.  Tsu noses his free hand and he reaches down to scratch absently between her ears.  “Looks like we’re taking a trip to Miss Sophia’s house.” 

 The dog’s tail thumps tiredly against the porch and she whines. 

 “Yeah.  Glad somebody’s excited.  C’mon.  It’s been a long one, and I don’t know ‘bout you.  But that couch is callin’ my name.”

 Tsu hesitates and looks longingly across the way. 

 He groans and wags a scolding finger at his four-legged friend.  “You don’t even know ‘er.  Don’t give me that pitiful look.  Tomorrow.  Not a moment sooner, hear me?  Now git.  Git inside ‘fore I change my mind ‘bout that nice hero’s dinner you deserve and feed you last night’s leftovers instead.” 

 This time, Tsu does exactly as she’s told, scurrying through the door before it’s all the way opened and taking her customary position on the couch. 

 “Spoilt is what you are.  Spoilt rotten.” 

  <3<3<3

  “I love Tsu.” 

 “You would’ve.” 

 “Huh?” 

 “Said sure you would.” 

 “I wanna hear about their visit to Princess Sophia’s house.” 

 “Know you do, but that’s a story for another time.” 

 “Tonight?” 

 “Maybe.  Know we got plans.” 

 “I don’t want you to go.  I want you to stay.” 

  “Don’t always get what you want, Baby Girl.” 

 “But…” 

 “Now quit your poutin’ and get to work.  If y’all are good for Tara, we’ll see.”

 “What if I fall asleep?” 

 “Then you fall asleep.” 

 “No fair.” 

 “S’always tomorrow.  Now git along with you before I change my mind and don’t you be callin’ me no names. S’not the polite thing to do.” 

   “I’m bein’ good and I’m stayin’ up all night.” 

 “We’ll see ‘bout that.” 

 “Real story still ain’t started.” 

 “Patience, Baby Girl.  Been told it’s a virtue or somethin’ like that.” 

 ��Don’t even know what a verjew is.” 

[skywardboundzelda]

Ineffable, Chapter Three

Hosted on Archive of Our Own by divinince.

Three times when Link couldn’t speak and the one time he did.

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Author’s Note: This chapter contains graphic depictions of physical violence. If you do not feel comfortable proceeding but wish to know what happens this chapter, feel free to shoot me a message here. Feel free to redirect any other questions there as well.

Chapter Three

Despite being the Hero That Time Forgot, Link hates fighting. He hates war, hates the cold of the battlefield and the nostalgia for home, hates the moon that beats down on the Desert Colossus as he seeks asylum for the night.

He’s sixteen years old and already trusted to perform solo excursions. Of course he is, because, given his history, he is clearly gifted in every facet of physical prowess, but that doesn’t mean Link’s stomach doesn’t turn whenever the old general tells him that he trains like he wants to be the Hero of Legend.

The Goddess of the Sand towers over her desert, offering strength and love to the Gerudo women. Her loving hands, once extended to all who possessed the courage to survive her trials, are crumbled at the entrance, blown off by Hyrulean cannons. Still the Gerudo worship in the depths of her temple, coming and going despite the bombs that resound in the distance. Their Goddess, though disrespected by outsiders, reigns tall and supreme.

Such disrespect causes Link’s vision to go red. How would the Hyrulean soldiers feel if the Gerudo dared deface the image of Hylia? If Link was a religious man, he knows that he would be seething, but the generals? They don’t care. They want their paycheck; they want to please the king and queen.

(The generals use Link’s femininity to their advantage and have some of their wives make him up to be a lovely young woman. The ladies comment on the scars that line his bare back and midriff but also say that his wife -- he doesn’t know how old they think he is -- must be a lucky woman. He makes a note to tell Malon as soon as he returns home.)

Link’s excursion consists entirely of watching the Goddess of the Sand and her temple, for the military has supposedly caught wind that they’re using the temple to plot an ambush. Though Link believes such a thought is horse manure, he says nothing. He never says anything.

He gives the Gerudo chieftess a note forged by his superiors; he is a young Castle Town woman wishing to research Gerudo customs for a university class. The chieftess seems a bit suspicious, but tells Link that it’s not his fault. Rather, she doesn’t know who to trust anymore.

“You, of course, seem to be a perfectly honest young woman,” she explains. “Will you need assistance traversing the desert?”

And of course Link says no, because he never has and never will. The chieftess calls him a good girl, a strong girl, the beginnings of what she would call the ideal Gerudo warrior.

Once out of her sight, Link vomits up his morning meal, sickened by his true intentions, by his betrayal of the woman’s trust.

After a day of touring the temple and asking the other visitors completely unassuming questions, he sets up camp beside the desert oasis and downs two canteens of water. He’s nauseous with guilt as he considers the mission: he hasn’t necessarily failed it, because he hasn’t heard any incriminating information, but he could be doing better. Looking harder.

But he can’t and he knows that. He wants the war to be over soon, just as many of the Gerudo in the temple said they did, and he can’t imagine betraying an entire race due to the wrongdoings of one evil man. He has been doing that, though, for nearly a year, and all the water he swallowed so quickly threatens to make its reappearance.

Link lulls himself to sleep against the pangs of guilt in his chest and wakes under a starless blanket, the sound of slow footsteps crunching the desert sand.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and sits up. The figure is no Gerudo, for they are dressed too conservatively and don’t appear to present in a feminine manner, and he reaches for the dagger tucked away in his satchel.

Before Link can even get close enough to swing at the figure, they turn around and stare at Link with a single wide eye before retreating. Link recognizes the form of the runner almost immediately and his heart jumps; he chases after the person with one word yearning to roll from his tongue.

Sheik.

Sheik may be fast, but, unlike seven years ago, is clearly out of practice. Link catches up to him rather quickly and tackles him to the ground, eliciting a scream from the young man. Link hurries to quiet him, the still night of the desert anything but trustworthy.

“What are you doing here, Link?” he hisses, shoving Link off of his form and rising from the sand. Link wants to ask the same question and then some: how did you get here, why are you doing this, and is this allowed?

Dusting the sand from his clothing, Sheik glares at Link and motions to his haphazardly-build campsite.

“What do they have you doing?” he asks in voice too kind to be accompanying such a glare. Link stands to full height, shifts uncomfortably as sand falls into his clothing, and remains silent. He and Sheik both know what he’s doing.

But neither of them can bring themselves to say the words, and instead, Sheik sighs, staring off towards the colossal Goddess of the Sand. Link thinks she’s beautiful, powerful, and wishes that the Hyruleans didn’t want to destroy her.

Sheik steals the thoughts from Link’s mind. “She really is beautiful. Strong, too. My nursemaid had me learning about Gerudo culture until…” Until the pair foiled Ganondorf’s plans, until the war started, until Impa was fired. “But Father said no more, so there was no more.”

“It’s a shame that my men have done this to her,” Sheik laments, crack in his voice. Link can only nod in agreement. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I wish I could’ve ended it all.”

Silence fills the air. Link shifts his weight from his left foot to his right and switches the hand that holds his dagger.

“I could have. Instead -- Hylia, curse me -- I started it all.”

Before Link can extend a comforting hand, Sheik stares up at the moon. He appears more mature now than he did in the previous timeline, more hardened by the weight of the monarchy than Link’s fate.

Guilt has a tendency to age people, and Link knows that. He has seen it in himself.

(He still cannot force himself to stare up at the moon, even after all these years.)

“Link,” Sheik states, forcing Link away from his thoughts, “do you remember the song I taught you here? I believe it was the Requiem of--”

“Halt, voe !”

There is no time to process the chieftess’ booming voice before Link turns around and sees the woman approaching Sheik with a raised sword. Link does the only thing he knows how to do, the only thing he’s good for, the thing he spent seven years sleeping for.

He jumps in front of Sheik and screams as the silver blade slices through his right eye. He sees red once again, both literally and figuratively, and tightly fists his dagger before reaching up and plunging it into the chieftess’ throat. She shrieks, too, the sound agonizing and horrific and wretched, before blood begins to flow from her mouth.

She loses consciousness and falls to her knees, and the fight is over before it has even started.

“Link!” Sheik forgets his distant and mature demeanor as Link covers his eye -- or, rather, where his eye once was. He wants to remain strong, pretend as though nothing is the matter, but he’s crying, crying much harder than he has in many years, and the world around him is blurring. His eye hurts something awful, and the metallic smell and taste of his blood floods his senses. He grabs onto Sheik with both hands as shock overwhelms him, and the man’s sleeve is covered in blood.

Link has been injured before, and he knows this. He wants to say that he has sustained much worse, that he will survive this like every other wound.

But it isn’t the wound that bothers him. It’s the twitching body of the Gerudo chieftess that he and Sheik are leaving behind, gurgling as blood fills her throat, gasping for air that will never fill her lungs.

He has faced a million villains in his lifetime, but never one so sentient, never as kind, respectful, or welcoming as her. All these years, he’s never killed someone so human.

Link breaks free of Sheik’s grasp and collapses over the chieftess’ corpse, attempting to shake her back to life. He screams at her yells for her to awaken, apologizing a thousand times over.

She remains limp, a ragdoll in his arms. Sheik forces Link away from her body as his vision blackens.

He wakes back at the palace, Malon by his side. He promptly retches when he sees her, her red hair reminiscent of the locks of the Gerudo chieftess, and doesn’t close his eye again for two nights.

When he finally manages to fall asleep, head in Malon’s lap as she sings familiar lullabies, he dreams of a fallen member of the Royal Guard slumped against the walls of a Castle Town building as Ganondorf’s clutches take the last of his life. The guard was innocent, the guard was young, with a whole life ahead of him, and in an instant, Ganondorf had taken it all away.

He awakes as a scream passes through his throat, haunted by the realization that he and Ganondorf are one and the same.