been thinking about the adult timeline, oot zelda went from being this pampered 9- or 10-year-old crown princess with servants and maids and a full royal guard and a giant house and so much food and clothing and safety and anything she could ever want, and suddenly this whole-ass child wakes up one night from a prophetic dream, her father doesn't listen, and suddenly she goes from having everything to nothing, her father's probably dead, the castle is no longer home, her one hope disappears, she and her one bodyguard hide away with the threat of being discovered around every corner, and everything has turned into her worst nightmare overnight.
And now she has to scrounge and steal and barter for food instead of having it handed to her, she has to dress herself with whatever they have on hand instead of having a maid do it, she has to sleep on rocks and in grass with nothing but her bodyguard's arms around her in some semblance of safety. She looks at everyone else doing the same and knows that it's her fault. She looks at impa trying to keep her safe, suddenly forcing her into Sheikah training for days on end and making her work herself to the bone for the first time since she was born, and she complains because she's a royal kid, but she knows that impa's training is going to keep her alive in this new hell she's created for herself.
She becomes Sheik, becomes him wholly and completely because he is quick and silent and smarter than she could ever be, and he won't make stupid mistakes and get his subjects killed because of it, and he is tough and unimportant and dedicated and, incredibly, more comfortable than Zelda ever had been. Sheik can stay alive and fight from the shadows and train for hours on end without dropping from exhaustion. He can survive and fix childish mistakes and help his subjects, though they will never know it's him. and then impa has to leave him for one of her many, many reconnaissance trips, but for once, neither of them are scared to leave the other because he won't get himself killed at the first sign of trouble. And she doesn't come back, but he doesn't fret, because she can take care of herself and he can trust her.
And he still worries, just a little bit.
And then he's seventeen, and it's been so long, but he scouts out castletown one more time, hiding from all of Ganon's eyes like second nature, when a flash of light catches his eye from the Temple of Time. So he sneaks over to the stained-glass window that looked down upon the Master Sword. But the Master Sword isn't in its pedestal: it's being held by a gangly teenager with a green tunic, a fairy, and a blue ocarina at his belt.
And maybe Sheik realizes he finally has a real chance to fix his mistake.
ANYway I'm just saying that child timeline Sheik probably had an easier learning curve for his ninja-assassin training
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i think above all else, i tie my aro identity to my autism. like sometimes i wonder if i’m aro just bc i’m autistic, and ykw that’s totally fine for me lol
and while we’re at it, that might be the case for my gender too. being non-binary is quite literally rejecting the binary, and being aro basically subscribes you to relationship anarchy, which also inherently rejects societal norms
that’s so peculiar to me now looking back on myself as a child. i knew romance and gender weren’t fake, but they definitely didn’t feel real lol. i wonder if other queer ppl felt this early on too, and if being neurodivergent makes a difference
i remember being incredibly frustrated every time gender was brought up with validity. “boys and girls” was like saying “cats and dogs.” it’s a phrase to communicate an idea, but we all know they’re not the only ones. romance didn’t rly frustrate me so much as it felt like participating in a game. it was fun choosing ppl to have a crush on, until i was on the receiving end. like, we’re still playing, right?
ppl always say autism means you don’t get social cues, but i don’t think i was misunderstanding anything. i think i was just questioning their value
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Dream is seven when he first runs into Wilbur. A nine year old who has far too much leg in proportion to his body, who doesn't talk all too much either. It confuses him greatly because it is not the silence that portrays a certain shyness or anxiousness, but runs deeper. A silence that has Dream feeling uncomfortable like the older was sucking out the joy in the air just from simply existing. They only bump into each other now and then. Only twice throughout the years do they really interact with each other when they live in the same town and even that’s not much of anything.
The first was when they headed to the water well to fill their bucket to water their crops their family holds in their small backyards. Dream attempts to make idle conversation to pass the time. So, logically, the first thing he asks the older kid is how he’s doing as a formality. And then following, asks about how his brother is faring.
Dream has heard the news from his mother that Wilbur's sibling has fallen terribly ill. She saw it with her own two eyes too, tending to the young chap herself– the only lady in town who had any knowledge in medicine. She had said that his skin was awfully pale, nearly corpse-like even with the insane fever that ran through his body. And of course at a mere seven years old, Dream had no other reaction to give other than basic sympathy. As much as a seven year old could at that age anyways.
Wilbur, in response, snaps back like an angry turtle. He gives him a sharp, "It is none of your business." His words are sharper than the blade Dream sliced himself with just about a year ago. It was when he attempted to peel an apple in one long strip like his father had. Dream is taken aback by the sudden outburst but before he can bite back, Wilbur has turned on his heel and stalked off with his head held up high.
Absolute bastard, Dream thinks. He scowls to himself (though to Wilbur too even if he’s not here anymore). As he takes his bucket off the hook, the water sloshes and some spills onto his tunic. The fabric clings to his skin but the deeper scowl on his face is caused by the slight annoyance. It will dry before sundown, so Dream has no complaints.
Really, even if it is a possibility he may get a scolding for returning late, Dream takes that chance and loiters around the well for longer than necessary. The purpose being to avoid the chance of running into Wilbur on the journey back. His seven year old mind concludes that the other kid, though as pretty as he may be, holds nothing but cruelty and meanness in whatever heart he has. May he even have any heart. Probably not.
The second time Dream bumps into him is when he is thirteen and Wilbur is fourteen, not yet fifteen. Not until a month later at least. This time it is during his father’s funeral, late in the evening. The setting sun still bares down warmly on his neck as the crowd walks to the open field.
The only reason why Wilbur is even here is because the entire town is. Dream would just prefer it if it was just his mother and cat burying his father really. Though his mother said that the rest of the town folk just wanted to pay their respect for the man– a well known and well liked shopkeeper and innkeeper. Dream thinks that is stupid and that this occasion should be kept private. This was a funeral, place of mourning and remembrance (or at least that's what his mother told him when he attended his first funeral a few years back.) It is not just some…thing to gawk at.
Honestly it is not much of an interaction. At most they stand next to each other when the casket is lowered into the ground, Wilbur inclines his head towards Dream as if to say sorry, to give his sympathy. Dream pointedly looks away at his shoes. They are buffed and clean to appear presentable and a week prior they would’ve been scuffed and dirtied with mud and sand. He doesn’t like how they look, feeling the corners of his lips tug down further.
That is that. No more, no less.
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