Zelink Week Day 2: Old Wounds | 2.3K words | TP Zelink | Rated G | Read on AO3 | @zelinkcommunity
A/N: This was vaguely inspired by balo's badass art of puppet zelda from a couple weeks ago!
Always, Zelda found herself sending him away.
Hyrule offered no shortage of threats. Monsters for every season, lawless men preying on the weak, floods and landslides and blighted crops. Even after two years of restoring the ranks, she didn’t trust her guard the way she trusted the Resistance. The way she trusted Link.
Always, he voiced no complaint, eyes soft and intent as he listened to her requests—not orders, never orders, for as long as Zelda was queen, Link would answer to no one but himself. And always, he leaned in to kiss her goodbye, even if the room was full of ministers or nobles or scribes.
“Take care of yourself,” she said every time, touching the scar along his cheekbone.
“I’ll see you later,” he promised in return.
Whispers trailed in his wake. Not because he was the hero; he’d never claimed that title. Hyrule still attributed his deeds to some shadowy figure crafted from rumors, and Link preferred it that way, because there was still shame in his past. But never in the way he kissed her.
And that gave the court plenty to gossip about. A young man of exceptional skill, a key member of the Resistance, who had risen from nowhere to a place at the queen’s side—already, people speculated that Link was the hero. What would happen when the picture grew clearer, the secret undeniable? When he could no longer walk down the street without being recognized and reminded of what fate had demanded from him?
Zelda was so afraid to ask. To hurt him more than he’d already been hurt. To admit that loving him meant entangling him in the web of scrutiny no monarch could escape.
More and more, she dreamed of the day she’d given Link that scar. The sickening jolt of her puppeted legs, yanking her step by step toward his open throat. The blood dripping from his jaw and her blade. The resignation hardening his eyes into bright, flinty spots of stillness in his pale face.
Upon waking, Zelda remembered that her consciousness had spent the whole ordeal intertwined with Midna’s. Ganondorf had never breached her mind. The dreams were merely dreams; she had no way of knowing how the battle had unfolded.
But her body remembered it in the fractal paths of lightning that scarred her limbs. Link remembered it too.
And she hadn’t stopped hurting him.
It seldom showed. He returned from every mission successful, and from most of them smiling. The world carved out little pockets of time for them to walk the castle grounds, to share a meal, to work together in her office, Link scribbling reports for the Resistance while Zelda slogged through mountains of paperwork. In those quiet moments, it was easy to believe that she was as good for him as he was for her.
But sometimes, Link returned exhausted. Muted. Withdrawn. Shadows bruising his eyes, blood crusting his clothes—not his, though she sometimes wondered if he would prefer it to be. A tender heart still beat beneath those layers of chainmail and steadfast dedication. A heart that would have been content to feed his goats, deliver their kids, and guard them from predators for all his life, had fate not turned him on a different path.
Worst of all was the night when a wolf slipped silently through the window Zelda always left unlocked. Fur bristling, paws trailing mud or worse, he curled into a tight ball by the hearth. She pulled his head into her lap and stroked between his ears until the trembling stopped, until he was ready for her to ease the shadow crystal from his skull.
Link was the predator now. And he was still protecting his herd—but it had grown as large as a kingdom.
.
.
.
Laughter boomed through her dreams that night, filling every inch of the old throne room. Corruption crawled over her skin. Blood splashed up her skirt. Link kept throwing desperate glances toward the barrier that caged him here, but Midna was a crumpled shape on the wrong side of it. She couldn’t save either of them.
And still, he didn’t fight back. Even when Zelda’s blade sliced his cheek. Even when her lightning crackled through his veins. He only fell to his knees and stared up the length of her blade without lifting his own.
She flinched awake to the sound of his steady breathing on the other side of the bed. Thick shadows blanketed the room. If only Midna still inhabited them. What Zelda wouldn’t give for a glimpse of her grin, a whisper of her voice.
When Link stirred, slurring out a sleepy question, she told him to go back to sleep.
Envelopes piled the breakfast table the next morning: a dozen for her, and one for him. Link’s letter came from all four of the children in Ordon, and though their overlapping scribbles were barely legible, it brought back his smile. The first one Zelda opened was a request from King Ralis for support with a monster problem in Zora’s Domain. She lowered it slowly, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup while Link looked up from his eggs and reached for the parchment.
After a moment, he rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to leave so soon.”
“Then don’t,” Zelda blurted out. “I can deploy the guard.”
Link chuckled. “Can you imagine them getting up the waterfall?”
“What about the Resistance, then? Ashei knows the area well.”
“It’s Ralis. I’m happy to help. I just meant…we’ve barely seen each other lately.”
“Link.” She scoured his face for that harrowed look she’d seen in the wolf’s eyes last night. She didn’t find it, but a simple night of sleep couldn’t wash such things away. “You don’t have to pretend that nothing happened yesterday. And you certainly don’t have to gallop off into more danger.”
He ducked his head, scarfing down the rest of his breakfast before he admitted, “It was a bad fight. But it’s over.”
Zelda knew his tells—the tightening of his mouth, the curling of his fingers—and saw none of them now. There was no reason to keep him here, except for the dreadful pounding of her pulse.
Link peered at her with those crisp, calm eyes that had always pierced her with such frightening clarity. “What’s wrong?”
She stared into her coffee. “I’m not certain I know myself.”
“That’s okay.” His rough fingers brushed the inside of her wrist. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
Within the hour, he was gone again. Zelda threw herself into her work, overseeing meetings with a curtness that seemed to terrify everyone, and searched herself for the explanation she owed Link.
His absences didn’t bother her. Solitude came with many blessings, and countless people helped her run this scarred, stubborn kingdom, some of whom Zelda was lucky enough to consider friends. Nor did she fear he would die or disappear out there. Link was mortal and fallible, of course, but he wouldn’t let some brigand or monster be the end of him. Not after everything else.
What burrowed under her skin was the prospect of him suffering out of some misplaced sense of obligation. Suffering as a result of her title, her duties, her connection to him.
Link loved her; she no longer questioned that. But love hadn’t stopped her family from falling apart. It hadn’t stopped Midna from breaking the Mirror. And she wasn’t sure it would stop her presence in his life from growing heavier than he could bear.
Because in her dreams, Link never rose from his knees. He tipped his head back, allowed his weary eyes to fall shut, and bared his throat to her blade.
.
.
.
Zelda woke three nights later to the dip of the mattress. Link’s familiar outline filled her vision: broad shoulders, windswept hair, sword leaving his back as he leaned it carefully against the nightstand. There was something stiff in his movements. Especially as he pulled the chainmail off, releasing a faint hiss through gritted teeth.
“Link?” She sat up abruptly. “Are you injured?”
He sighed into the darkness. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That hardly matters.” Light spilled from the Triforce on the back of Zelda’s hand, falling upon his worn, apologetic face. “Let me see.”
Link struggled one-handed with his undershirt until she shifted closer, working it over his head to reveal the bruises already spreading across his swollen right shoulder.
“Why did you make the journey back?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you stay in Zora’s Domain and rest?”
He tried to shrug, then winced. “I missed you.”
A scream burned its way up Zelda’s gullet. Swallowing it down, she lifted her glowing hand. “May I?”
Link nodded, shifting closer so she could touch the inflamed area and pour cool magic into his skin. He sighed in blissful relief, dropping his forehead to rest on her shoulder. Zelda’s free hand came up to thread through his hair and brush the back of his neck, hot from the exertion of travel, or from carrying pain. That thought made her eyes squeeze shut.
“You’re not going anywhere until this heals,” she whispered. “I’ll raise the drawbridge if I have to.”
He chuckled into her nightgown. “I believe you.”
“Link? I’m ready now. Are you too tired?”
“No. Tell me.”
Zelda concentrated on his shoulder for a moment; the rest might be hopeless, but at least she could ease this one hurt. Then she said quietly, “I’ve been dreaming of the throne room.”
Link lifted his head abruptly, his hand flying to the scar on his cheek.
“And I’ve been…worrying, I suppose. About you.”
“You never have to do that,” he protested.
“I do,” Zelda insisted. “Because you won’t worry about yourself. Because you’ve given so much already.”
“We’ve been through this. It wasn’t my choice then. It is now.”
“But you never say no, Link. To anything.”
“Neither do you.”
She let her hands fall to her lap, studying him in the dim light of her magic. His fierce will had been the first thing Zelda admired about him, about the wolf with blazing eyes and a chained paw who seemed undaunted by the story of their kingdom’s plight. But that was before he’d chipped away at the ice around her heart. Before the slightest hint of his pain became a blade against her own skin.
“I am the one putting you in danger,” she said faintly. “In every sense of the word. Not just the fighting, but my court, the way they speak of you—you know what will happen, don’t you? Your anonymity won’t last. And you deserve to keep it. You deserve so much more.”
“Zelda—”
“I dream that I kill you,” she whispered. “I dream that you let me.”
“Zelda.” He always said her name so clearly, so firmly, when most never used anything but her title. “I didn’t let you. I couldn’t let you.”
She held still as he took her wrist, staring down at the branching marks where he’d turned back the magic and let it splinter through her skin—the only way to keep himself alive, to cut her free from the enemy they’d been born to vanquish.
“It was awful.” His voice was so much gentler than she wanted it to be. “And it was necessary. Just like everything you do. Isn’t that who we are? People with…with strength for anything?”
“I can’t stand it, Link. I can’t stand the burden I place on you.”
“Please. I’d be getting myself into trouble with or without you.” A grin tugged up the corner of his mouth. “It’s not a burden. Just a puzzle I’m pretty sure we can solve. People probably would’ve sniffed me out either way. I mean, most of the Resistance knows.”
Zelda thought of him at seventeen, disgusted by the word hero, disgusted by the assertion that he deserved to be called such. Her voice was small with disbelief. “And you’re all right with that?”
His smile faltered. His voice didn’t. “I’ll find a way to be.”
“Would you tell me if you weren’t? If it grew to be too much?”
“I would. We don’t lie to each other, remember?”
She remembered all of it. The shattered silence Midna had left behind, the terrible truths she and Link had learned together, the sweetness they’d found on the other side. Trust had carried them this far.
“It’s worth it.” His eyes were soft as starlight. “It’s always been worth it.”
Zelda covered his hand with her own, hardly trusting her own voice, but letting it waver out anyway. “I agree. But I won’t let you carry more than your fair share any longer. Promise me you’ll be careful with yourself.”
Link made a face. “Okay. But I’m not the only one who works too much. Do you really have to stay up past midnight drafting bills?”
“An argument for a different night.”
He laughed his quiet, boyish laugh that warmed her tired heart every time she heard it. Then he reached for her wrist, pressing his thumb gently to her pulse. “You don’t know what it means. That you try to protect me. That you always have, even when—even when—”
The words tangled in his throat. She leaned forward to cup his jaw and catch his gaze before it fell. “You’ve done the same for me.”
It was why they’d survived this long. It was why these dreams amounted to nothing. Zelda didn’t remember the choking coil of puppet strings or the agony of lightning. But she remembered Midna burning the corruption away. She remembered returning to herself, finding the wolf’s eyes staring out of a boy’s bloody face, and knowing that he’d fought for her. That she would never stop fighting for him.
Link lifted her wrist to kiss the marks that traced her veins—a small price to pay for freedom. For moments like these, with his scarred cheek cradled in her hand, his breath on her skin, and the certainty that they would survive another night.
Feathers glided high up on the air currents threading their way across the sky, the world below a giant palette of every shade of orange and yellow and red imaginable, blue occasionally winding its way through it all. He never got tired of looking over Hyrule like this, especially now, at the height of autumn, riotous color bursting across the land.
If there was one thing he loved about being given a second chance, it was that he’d been granted wings.
The younger Link was a mere dot below, a tiny flicker of gold traveling towards the river, and Feathers turned his head away from him, giving his wings a flap. He could see the kid fine from up here, and Feathers... needed a break from him.
He sighed. That kid drove him crazy sometimes. One moment he’d live up to the Triforce piece he held and dive headfirst into danger to help save someone from certain destruction, and the next he’d have his head pressed to his knees, panicking because he couldn’t handle something as simple as “walk into town past the garrison of soldiers and buy supplies”.
You have to stop treating him like he’s you, a chiding voice that sounded annoyingly like Zelda rang in his head. He’s frightened.
“So was I,” Feathers argued back, tilting a wing to swoop past a cloud. “And yet I managed.”
It was different for you. You knew your grandparents were safe when you did this, and you had Zelda, and Aaron. Whereas the one person in the world Link knows cares for him was ripped away and is currently imprisoned. And half the kingdom is out to get him. You're all he has right now. Be gentle.
“I’m doing my best,” Feathers grumbled, well aware that having a discussion with a voice in his head probably wasn’t very healthy. “He’s too— he’s just too sensitive. Inherited too many musician genes.”
You’re just upset he has to do this, and it’s out of your hands.
Feathers didn’t deign that thought with a reply for several long minutes.
“It’s my fault he’s in this mess.”
You did your best.
“It’s my fault countless people are dead, that my country is unrecognizable, and that a power-hungry beast is on the throne,” Feathers snapped, flapping towards a tree that towered over the ones below it. “The entire world is worse off because I couldn’t win.”
You did what you could.
“Yeah well, look at where it got us,” Feathers muttered as he landed on a branch. “And now the fate of the world rests in the hands of a fourteen year-old who's afraid of the dark. If I hadn’t... if I’d just...”
He shook his head.
If I hadn’t messed up, he wouldn’t have to do any of this.
And Zelda would be safe.
“Hey, you’re on my branch!”
The annoyed squawk made Feathers turn his head, and he saw a bird slightly smaller than himself land on a branch nearby. It was some sort of hawk like himself, but colored brown and red.
“Did you hear me? You’re on my branch!” the bird repeated, and Feathers looked down.
“Am I? I didn’t see your name on it,” he replied casually, and the bird puffed up its feathers in insult. It looked on the younger end, probably newly on its own, and Feathers held back an amused chuckle.
“But I always sit here! It’s my perching spot! It’s where I look for food in the field and preen myself!” the bird exclaimed, looking extremely offended. “Move!”
“All right, all right, keep your tail feathers on. I was just resting a minute,” Feathers soothed, and stretched his wings. “I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” the bird huffed, and Feathers barely managed not to laugh.
“Of course. I’ll just be going now— oh, just one thing, you know of any Hylian nests nearby?” Feathers asked, remembering why he’d been flying around in the first place, and the young hawk tilted its head.
“Yeah... if you follow the river upstream there’s some. I don’t know why you’d want to go there, though,” the bird said, and Feathers shrugged and took off.
“I have my reasons. Have a good hunt,” Feathers called as he flew away, and the hawk settled down on the stolen branch, looking relieved.
Feathers finally let himself laugh as he flew back above where Link was walking, though his amusement at the interaction faded as he remembered his previous thoughts. A small updraft kept him aloft, and he glided quietly as he thought about it all.
He would rather do this himself. He had experience, plenty of it, and Link... didn’t know much aside from how to shoot a bow.
But experience was nothing if he couldn't use it. Hyrule needed somebody with hands and feet, not wings and feathers.
And Link... he could learn. He already had.
“I’m here to support,” Feathers murmured to himself, and felt a little more at peace as he swooped down towards Link. “To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
And he'd do everything in his power to ensure that.
The sound of the phone rang out over the splash of the water spraying from the shower head, Warriors pausing where he’d been about to start washing his hair. The ring soon cut off though, which meant Artemis had picked it up. She didn’t immediately call his name either, which meant the call must have been for her, so Warriors went back to what he was doing, giving his hair the extra scrub it typically needed at this point in the week.
It shone as he dried off afterwards, and Warriors gave it a quick comb, then pulled on some comfortable clothes, letting the tension from the day drain from his shoulders. Any work was finished, chores caught up with, their son was asleep for the night... Warriors was looking forward to just relaxing with Artemis for a while.
He walked out of the bathroom with a puff of steam, and headed into the living room, expecting Artemis to be there after her own shower. Oddly enough he didn’t find her sitting there, and he gave a quick look around their apartment. He finally found her sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at the hung-up phone while she repeatedly twirled and untwirled a piece of her hair. It was a nervous tic Warriors was familiar with, and as Artemis continued to stare at the phone, he saw she looked... disturbed.
“Hey. Who was it?” he greeted as he walked forward, and Artemis hesitated. “...Arty? What’s wrong?”
Her fingers tightened around her hair. “It was my mother,” she muttered, hunching over a bit more. “I... hung up on her.”
Warriors blinked in surprise, and slowly sat down beside her, giving her a worried look. Artemis almost never spoke of her parents. In fact, Warriors hadn’t even known her mother was even living. She certainly hadn’t been at their wedding.
“What did she want?” Warriors asked.
“She wanted to see me again. I guess she changed her mind when she told me to get out of her life and never show my face to her again,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Probably because I’ve made a life for myself, and she wants in on it.”
“Artemis, I didn’t know your mother was alive,” Warriors said as he sat beside her, and Artemis grimaced.
“She is. Alive and kicking.”
“That’s a bad thing, huh?”
Artemis looked like she wrestled with herself a moment. “...It makes my life more difficult.”
“In what way?” Warriors asked, and Artemis rubbed her forehead.
“That’s... going to take some explaining.”
She stood and they moved into the living room, Artemis sitting heavily on the couch. She seemed uncomfortable in a way that was unusual for her, and as Warriors sat beside her, she set her head on his shoulder, her expression rather difficult to read.
Warriors put his arm around her, and Artemis let out a long sigh.
“My parents... didn’t love each other,” she said with some difficulty. “You know my father was a businessman, a rather successful one. He wanted a family to carry it on, and found my mother, who pretty much just married him because he was rich. They had me, but father wanted a boy, and despite how they tried, they never had any more children. Father got over it, but my mother never let me forget.”
“Was it bad?” Warriors asked as he set his hand over hers, and she nodded.
“I can’t remember a day they didn’t argue. I’m certain my mother only stayed with him as long as she did for the money— she divorced him when I was seven. They shared custody a while, but when I was eleven, my mother said she wanted nothing to do with me and quite literally threw me out of her house. And my father... he tried his best to care for me after that, but he was too busy to give me the attention I needed. He found Impa, and she became my caretaker. She’s more my mother than my real mother ever was.”
Artemis exhaled, and tiredly rubbed her eyes before she continued.
“I think I’ve told you before that my father passed away the same year we started dating. He had his protégé he left the company to, but I inherited a lot of his money. I either gave it away or dropped it into savings though— I suppose I was afraid if people knew then I’d end up like my poor father," she admitted softly. "Anyway, I would guess my mother’s been trying to track me down ever since he passed to try and get a piece of it.”
She closed her eyes, and Warriors gently rubbed her arm.
“I’m sorry, Zelda. That’s a lot,” Warriors said softly. “And I thought my family was complicated.”
Artemis gave him a smile, but she didn’t laugh, still looking unsettled.
Warriors lightly kissed her hair. “Hey. Don’t worry. We can handle one greedy woman with an agenda. If you don’t want her near us, just say the word, and I’ll make it so you don’t even have to see her face if she shows up. And I’ll get Sky and everyone in on it too. We’ll keep her away if we need to.”
“I know. I just worry about what she might try,” Artemis murmured. “She’s a horrible woman, Link. I assumed she’d never want anything more to do with me, but... somehow she got our number, she might know where we live. I didn’t tell her she has a grandson, but what if she finds out?”
Warriors tightened his arm around her. “We won’t let her do anything, Arty. It’ll be all right.”
Artemis sighed heavily, and her breath brushed Warriors’ damp hair. “I know. It just makes me angry, I thought she was done making my life miserable. It took everything I had not to give her a piece of my mind over the phone.”
“Well if she calls again, I’ll gladly tell her a thing or two,” Warriors said cheerfully, and his tone of voice pulled a small laugh out of Artemis.
“I think I’d like to see that. Goodness, she’d hate you if you met.”
“From what you’ve said about her, I think the feeling would be mutual,” Warriors said, and squeezed her hand. “I vote we pull out that extra cake in the fridge.”
“Weren’t we saving that for tomorrow?” Artemis asked as she nestled up against him, and Warriors shrugged.
“It’ll taste just as good today, if not better. Upsetting phone calls call for extra dessert. Malon says that’s the rule, and who am I to argue with her?” he said with a wise nod, and Artemis smiled as she gave him a kiss.
“All right. Malon wisdom is inarguable,” she said as they finished the kiss, and both stood to go get the cake.
She kept her hand in his though, and Warriors didn't let go, silently reassuring her that whatever happened, he'd be at her side through it.
Twilight blinked the sting out of his eyes as he looked up at the sky, a pale grey that was an unnatural color. The same smoke causing the color made the treetops disappear from sight, and he exhaled as he looked ahead of him where the other Links walked.
Their best guess was that there was a fire somewhere in the woods they’d been spat into. It must have been fairly far away since nothing was visible and the temperature wasn’t very warm, but the smoke was thick, and made hiking through the woods vastly more difficult than it normally was.
Legend suddenly leaned against a tree nearby, looking off, and Twilight walked up to him when he leaned his head against the tree, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“You all right?” Twilight asked, voice muffled somewhat from the cloth over his mouth.
“Mm. It’s this smoke,” Legend said in a rough voice. He coughed then raised his head, eyes pink, expression weary. “It’s giving me a headache. And I’m not the only—”
He was cut off by a loud cough, followed by several more, and Twilight turned to see Sky bent over, coughing thickly into his arm. His coughing quickly turned to wheezing, Sky soon gasping for breath in between, and Warriors quickly went to his side, helping support him when he nearly fell over.
Twilight hurried over, but finally Sky managed to stop, his breath still loudly wheezing in his chest.
“I’m all... all ri...” Sky croaked, then began to cough again, Warriors quickly loosening the cloth over his mouth, and propping him up.
Twilight knelt down and handed him some water, and once Sky could manage to breathe again, he took it, wheezing a thank you before slipping it slowly. Twilight glanced at everyone while he drank, taking in the weary expressions as they watched, hearing thick breathing and heavy coughs from all of them.
“We need to get out of here,” Wild murmured, blinking tears born of smoke from his eyes, and Twilight looked up at the sky again, still pale, unnatural grey.
“We will,” he said firmly, slowly breathing in a dry breath. “We will. It’ll ease up soon.”
The closer to the modern era you get the more fascinating "lost at sea" becomes as a backstory element. Being lost at sea in 1612 is a downright normal kind of lost to be. Being lost at sea in 2012 is like, okay, back up – I need to hear this one.
a very special episode of Zelda Reacts to celebrate the Ocarina of Time remake!! I hope I did this outfit justice, I'm a pretty new Zelda fan and I've never played this game (but I have read the manga and loved it!!)
Here me out: hummingbird rito. They would probably be smaller than Link. They'd be super fast in flight but really fragile. They could make for really good delivery rito if they wanted to be!
They'd be full of energy and hyper ALL the time, bouncing around if they're on foot. Like, "Hey hey hey whatcha doin'?!" and if Revali was around he'd be SO annoyed with them.
SkSw Link: ("What a terrifying power...he really does take after Wild...!")
the Knight Construct's sync strikes in hw:aoi are all so destructive (especially with Mineru), i thought it was funny. To me SkSw Link acts like Knight's proud and overly affectionate grandfather/uncle/mentor(??), and prefers more precise style of combat. So Knight's preference for a more chaotic style like Wild is...worrying surprising for him.
Hi! Here for prompts! How about pencil/pen for hdw?
"All right hero, put down your pencil," Volga said as Link grabbed another report to start working on. "I can see your hand cramping from here, it's time for a break."
"I need to finish this tonight," Link huffed, and Volga plucked the pen out of his hand. Then snapped it in half. "Hey!"
"A true warrior must fuel himself for the fights ahead, and I can hear your stomach rumbling," Volga said, and Link almost thought he saw him smile. "...And if you don't come eat, I'll go fetch your two young cohorts and tell them you've been neglecting yourself."
Link groaned, and reluctantly dragged himself to his feet. He didn't want to deal with Mask and Tune bugging him. "Fine. I'll go eat. But then I'm getting back to these," he said with a flat look, and Volga shrugged.
"So long as you eat, I have no problem with that."
My resolution last year was to do one thing before bed that would make my morning feel easier, and that’s become a daily habit that I’m carrying into this new year.
Some nights even filling up the kettle and setting an empty mug out for my morning tea felt hard. But I was always thankful for it in the morning.
Other nights, one thing would lead to another, and I’d wake up in a clean house with everything ready to go.
And, on a rare few nights, the one thing that I could do to make my morning easier was going straight to bed and allowing myself to rest.
What stayed the same each day is that I would take a moment to think of what I could do for my future self and do it, even after a hard day. And I would wake up knowing that I had done my best and any effort—no matter how small—was a kindness to myself.
pixelskylines
izzy806
baratheonpilled
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