MUSE / Hero Of The Wild - Tumblr Posts

( BOTW ) ━ Link has many subtle quirks born from coping mechanisms, traumas and mental illness, as is unavoidable from being thrown into such a high stress situation with nothing to fall back on, with no memory but a larger-than-life goal set upon him, but one of the most noticeable and violent of them is the fact Link is half-convinced of his own corruption.

Throughout Breath of the Wild, the theme of disease, corruption and dark magic is an overarching one. Malice is a plague upon the land, each Blood Moon revives the undead through sheer will of distaste and discontent, Ganondorfs loathing manifested into what is ━ in essence ━ a magical blight formed exclusively through the warping of dark magic, being imbued with a poisonous amount of that hatred, the will to force itself into this form, and to attach itself to anything it can. a hatred so thick it congeals, and corrodes. The undead that the Blood Moon calls upon are full of rotten blood and malice, alive but reduced to the barest thoughts and actions, more nerves firing off instinct than what they were in life. Link, in many ways, is considered at best the healer of the blight and at worst the slayer of the already damned. He's the hero, the one whom Hylia entrusted to the blade that burns away the dark, he is something of the light, however blinding and stark and harsh that is.

... But Link has seen what happens to creatures when they are corrupted, he has seen how easy it is for it is him to cut it back, burn it down. Link has seen and Link knows, but Link isn't stupid ━━━ he was in a chamber for a hundred years, was he not? protected but so, so idle. Anyone else would die, he's learned, in that time. Any Hylian, anyway. What of him, then? He is alive, isn't he? Magic is mysterious, the Goddesses are vague and he is special but he is alive.

... Isn't he?

This is where the fear of corruption comes in, that could be called a delusion in terms of actual disorders but what Link only knows as something he doesn't want to look at but the knowledge still burns in him. He's half convinced himself that he is corrupted, he just doesn't know it yet. He thinks a lot about how Hino turns wild when the Blood Moon rises, and how that wildness is hatred in him, Ganondorf breaking desperately through chains to kill him, to despise him, and how Hino never acknowledges it after, like he doesn't know, just mindful enough to speak and growl before it's over. Do they know when their blood has gone bad and angry? Can they tell? Could he?

He doesn't know, but he is quietly petrified in the way Link does not let his fear breathe into recognition, that one day the Master Sword will burn his hands when he tries to take the handle, grip it tight & true as he was told to do, and there will be nothing for him but a simple knowledge that he is not ━ and perhaps he never was.

@askganondorftobadragmire - [ x ]

It was like he was hoping for a different answer.

The wind whistled in the trees. The crickets sang a chorus, deep in the long grass, as they anticipated the afternoon's death into evening into night, the sun slow in its settling like an anxiety in the fields. Rustling of grass, of clothes, of skin. The campfire creaking as something on the stand bubbles and froths ━ the air thick with it; it and cut grass, and fresh pollen, and crisp air.

Passing through like ghosts, unheard and unnoticed, like he was hoping for a different answer.

The knight's claymore, leaned against the log they sat on, might've been the answer to that; shining in the dancing light, somehow worse than if it wasn't there ━ better danger than an anxiety, better bare-handed than asking questions. ━ but it was there, of course, and the sound of Link wringing his hands seemed to point it out like the blade reflected the sound too, in the way he wasn't wringing them at all; just bending the fingers, pushing and prodding at calloused palms like they were foreign to him, like they were the most interesting thing in the room.

they might've been, since they were one of the only things he wasn't scared of, right now ━━━ but scared wasn't the right word, he wasn't scared of Toba, but he thinks, maybe, in the way he's not recognizing it at all, that he's scared of the answer he'll get. Not like he doesn't believe Toba, not like this isn't a good thing, but...

that last word could trail forever, and might. the uncertainty in it answer in of itself, even if the reason never saw light. fading fast, in the wind, and the crickets, and the fire that kept it alive.

".. That makes sense-" Link says after longer than is considered polite, says it like he started the words and it went faster than he meant it to, not knowing the way they were going to come, what he was going to say to begin with. "I mean, I'm glad! I'm glad you trust me to ━" the words lodge, and he won't say it. He doesn't know why. He doesn't in the way he does, but it still doesn't make him talk.

he decides, thoughtlessly, to keep his hands busy. They occupy themselves with stirring the pot, glancing through ingredients, adding more of something or other, stirring again. ".. I guess I don't really get it," he admits, eyes fixed on the pot like he doesn't realize he's talking in the first place. "Why you would. It makes sense but I.. Do you..." and reality catches back up "I mean- I... Sorry, forget I said that"

unsettling was never the right word to him. ━ unsettling implies something shifted, something afraid, something external made internal and how that scares you, absorbed like dust in water, water in wood, wood in fire ; but what he's unsettled by is something already in him. something that keeps getting taken out.

Scared of himself. Scared of something else. Scared of something he can't name, but knows isn't Toba. The castle looms like a threat of something that does not exist. The castle looms and it exists anyway. He has to go, eventually. The knight's sword like a reminder on his knee.

you can see his hands twitch in their faltering when the offer is laid flat, a consequence of asking, he knows. It's not as if he didn't expect a response ━ it would've been worse without one ━ but he still finds himself taken aback, the words he has never enough to articulate something the way other people can, the way he's not the same as other people at all.

the fogging heat of the simmering broth laying into his bare hand is a comfort, here, as the other hand holds the spoon ━ a tentative thing around the smooth wood.

like ghosts, like something else between his fingers.

"I..." the quiet bubbling, creaking, crackle of the pot fills the quiet "I don't know." ━━━ statement too hollow to be taken as answer, he knows, so he keeps going. ( what is there to be unsure about? )

"It's just... I'm not..." Link struggles to find the words, the confliction of which to use abundant on the tense edges of his face. "I'm good with a sword, sure, but I don't get why you'd trust me with it. I don't know if I could... Do something like that...? I have, but with you it's almost like its... different. ━ not in a bad way! just..."

"... I don't know. I'm not used to this. ( um... ) the... saving people thing. the ones who aren't strangers."

he doesn't know Toba, and yet, and yet, he still more resembles a friend than a blank face to him.

( ... quiet enough to almost be missed, like an insult hidden with no insult at all; "I... I guess it's kind of... inherent, since I was the one asking, and all... that you'd say..." )

"I- uh..." he remembers the curiosity of the start of this at all like a snap of a trap on his leg ━ metaphorical, but still jarring. ".. I was just curious, you know? At night there's a lot of dangerous things out, so my mind kind of... wandered?"

Despite the hero fidgeting and taking quite a bit to respond, the Gerudo says nothing. Toba may not have been in this variation of the world for long, but it's plain to see he somewhat unsettles the other. He must have never met any Ganondorf, seeing his kind disposition (and the hesitancy).

He shifts a little on the log as Link continues. They're glad he's able to trust them? It's a sweet thought, but he focuses on how the hero can't finish his sentence. There's more to it than simple trust, but trust him with what exactly? Again, Toba notes how he's trying to divert his attention, watching as they stir and add ingredients. It's almost enough for the Gerudo not to hear him speak, yet he can't help but glance at Link now. He can only imagine how the thoughts must be racing in his head; time seems to catch up to him as he apologizes. It's a heartwarming sentiment, but Toba's curiosity demands an explanation. (That, and he knows it's better to explain oneself than let it fester.)

Now he turns his head to face the hero, a faint smile on his lips. "Please, do not hesitate to speak your mind to me. I take no offense. In truth, I am curious as to why you asked me that question, but if you truly cannot say, that is alright as well."

❁ ( towards any of your zelda muses − hylia and the three godesses, mainly, but also botw & totk link / zelda / ganondorf if you feel compelled...!! )

Send me a ❁ for the type of flower my muse would give to yours // Accepting!

Hylia's answer comes, sharp and slow like a blade pulled uncutting against thought, a cool not-metal against the inner heat of mind. ━ the same as sky, not in the way of wind but in the way of open space, of nothing at all, of atmosphere pressing in from out against your throat. Almost frozen, almost frigid, but without the effort in coldness, in willful ignoring, of brushing one off : cold as in cold is the absence of heat. No, Iroha receives an answer. Stale pollen and bright, blinding knowledge. ━━━ she was not made to create the way the Goddesses were, and yet, the flowers bloom at their feet regardless : perhaps they should consider themselves special.

━ bachelor button, hydrangea, bittersweet, lavender heather, white poppy, blue violet, mixed yellow & red zinnia, white hyacinth, rose leaf, & buried beneath the rest; spider flower. ( 'You are not of my domain, I am indifferent to you. However, I respect your devotion. I sympathize, perhaps, with your situation. One day, perhaps, there will something other for you. One day, perhaps, you will make one.' )

the Goddesses' response is a ancient one. months hung above the stratosphere, dangling, dangling, waiting to be lowered. Months upon months upon months, the flower of the seasons dripping into the horizon in a haze of days and nights and days again: They were intricate, and slow, and often unknowable at all. how patient, you are, for Them. How kind, to wait, for Them. They reward Iroha with answer in time, in the humid shivering haze of early morning, a wave of such love of all Iroha does, of the endless sorrow They beheld upon their duty, arriving like quartz lining their throat ━ blooms growing from 'pon their fingertips, 'cross their knuckles. a gift, a gift, how merry to be known & seen, how terrifying by They to listen & answer in turn ━ how horrible, horrible to think you had been forgotten...

━ bachelor button, maidenhair fern, red carnation, dead leaf, purple hyacinth, dark crimson rose, pine, acorn, fern, fir, white heather, iris, lily of the valley, tea rose, palm leaf. ( 'We love you, We are sorry, your faith is not unseen by Us, for This to be your undertaking, borne as chains & key. Such is Our terrible, terrible doing. Such is Our apology. We hope, perhaps, one day the selves can exist without the other or in one without smothering, smothering light. We hope, perhaps, one day you are allowed to live; a role unshackled, unlocking Thy own binds. Chains & key. Chains & key. Freedom unmade for you, and yet, still hoping to grasp it.' )

Link & Zelda come as though offering memorial, bundles of blooms and sprigs tucked in their arms as they hurry past stream and grove ( "watch your feet, 'stream made the ground soft" "ah, thank you, I believe I'll be alright-!" ) to find the place where the Blupees haunched on hind legs and watched them with startling, ruby eyes. The one Link had gone before, a familiar forest in the heavy overhang of branches & leaves. a bowl is filled with fruit steadily throughout the day beneath a great cherry tree, pink petals like silk beneath the sun. a final act of care comes as sunset threatens to burn the sky alive when, on a brief journey back to a stable for a briefer meal, they're caught in a fleeting conversation of flora & the hearts beneath their stalks ( "Oh, you're going all the way up to Satori mountain? Hey, if you're going through all the effort, I've heard people bring flowers up there sometimes, you know, offerings and the like. Some people bring flowers, symbolizing what the 'Lord of the Mountain' protector means to them. Maybe it'd be worth your time?" ) ( "That sound's like a nice idea, I think!" "I think so, yes, but what would I even bring...?" ) ━━━ they in bundles, at last, arrive. Hurried up, past the stream, to find the tree again. Zelda hesitates, an offering of silent princess clasped between delicate fingers ━ "Would it be considered disrespectful to place it at the dish...? Maybe I shouldn't..." ━ before Link, calloused hands delicate, maneuver their hands to set it down along the rest, petals bright; bright in the clear sky.

━ bittersweet, bluebell, pink camellia, iris, cattleya orchid, magnolia, evening primrose, flax, rose leaf, forsythia, fern, lavender rose, bells of ireland, azalea, sweet pea, mixed zinnea. ( 'I think you're kind, and charming, and though I rarely see you, I hope you are well. I hope to change that fleetingness, if you'll let me? I think you might like Zelda, you might have more in common than you think.' / 'I've heard of you, but never seen you, all good things. I hope one day to meet, you seem good. Perhaps lonely. I might like you, if you gave me the chance, but I'd understand if you don't like me. I hope your future is a kind one, whatever kind of future it is. I don't know you well enough, even in stories, to tell.' )

Somewhere, there is a valley tucked neatly behind the ridges of hills, in the lowered groove 'twixt them where the land sinks ginger under the long grass and the wild flower of the knolls; as though gently swept down, as though the soft lowering of a stomach, ribs high against the soft tension of smooth skin in earth, as though the rounded edges of hands where the knuckles stood war-like as the gentle palm sinks; ball of the hand softer than the upper of the palm, the upper of the palm softer than the fingers, the fingers softer than the nails, the nails softer than the bones inside them all.

Somewhere, there is a valley of tender, shivering silver. plush moss lining the ground like bolster turned cloudy like rain, muted but beautiful in variation, white paint blending with greys in the fiber that wasn't fiber, the tissue that was. A place no one knew. a place one did. flowers split, forbearing as though shifting only between the folds, and reeds rose in the bed. A place that never died, flowers like chanting; the same message, 'hundred times over, 'thousand more. ━ Somewhere, you know this place. Somewhere, no one else knows at all. Somewhere, it tells you something. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere...

━ lotus, cherry blossom, chrysanthemum. ( 'how much would it take to stop grieving yourself, and choose to live? how long?' )

pee pee poo poo

( why're you makin those sounds with your mouth )

❰❰ ALMOST ❱❱ to link !

❰❰ ALMOST ❱❱ our muses almost kiss but don’t or are interrupted before they do

Something in him cannot think, cannot stop thinking, cannot stop at all, and he thinks ━ he's convinced it's going to kill him.

Or maybe she is. Or maybe this is just what it's like, you know, to love something ━ someone, and to be able to get so close, and the world doesn't end when you do. Maybe its association, living for months in the wake of each-other, ripples on ponds that don't move and never stay still, living in the same space; in the wake of disaster, a hundred years back, a hundred years catching up to them.

Maybe it's because she didn't have to learn it like they did, how he didn't have to learn it like they did, either. One day they woke him up so he could be the apocalypse stopping the apocalypse, calamity on calamity where blood under enough pressure becomes black, black under enough pressure becomes light, light under enough pressure becomes something bigger than it could ever hope to contain, the way the cosmic dark is larger than anything, the way what's being asked of him is too. Like its a foreign concept to be given something, given something and told━ no, asked to take it, asked if he wants it, given and given graciously and given because she wants to be here, given companionship in the wake of movement; endless movement, given voice to thoughts he didn't have the language for; couldn't have the language for, and now, given touch, hand to arm to hands that don't know what to do ━ he's deerlike, funny how doe scares buck, and he can't breathe.

Please, something in him begs in the only voice he can muster, watching her. Please, a language unto itself hoping it can be understood by the negative space left in it's wake, in the way he's not thinking ━ not begging at all, but if he could, he would be. if he could, he'd move to meet her. if he could, he'd meet hers first.

Something in him cannot think, cannot stop thinking, cannot stop at all, and he's convinced it's going to kill him. Because she loves him, he's pretty sure she loves him, and he loves her, and he's pretty sure he does, and love has never been something that comes without the blood, without the black, without the light━━

And the light returns in the form of a Goddess, and the light returns in the form of a princess, and the light returns in the form of a statue. He is too acquainted with tombs, Link decides all at once like something in his chest becoming a golden bird and flying off, like a silver wire breaking and animation returns to the living stillness, he is too acquainted with tombs.

But this doesn't stop Zelda from coming, a network of parchments in her callousing hands that are learning how to work the way she's wanted to but never could before, and they almost don't catch what they've interrupted at all until they notice how close the two are together, and you can see the realization on their blue-grey eyes, in the brightened tip of their sharp ears. Link imagines with a humor he can't help that he must look the same, all tense muscle in anticipation, all soft features wide but unable to articulate that he wants her to kiss him, needs her to kiss him. He figures Zelda's expression is a little different, but close enough to draw comparisons to.

" Oh-! I'm━ " a still hazed mind gets confused on why she's introducing herself again as Zelda struggles for the words, mind too fast for her, a funny contrast to Link, who finds himself too blind in surprise for the mind to move at all ( almost gawking ) " I'm so sorry, I-I'm interrupting something, here- I'll bring these━ I-I'll go- "

Link says something reassuring he forgets the moment it's out of his mouth, beckoning them back but he's smiling and it's honest, as he shifts his hand from its aimless hovering to rest on Gaia's arm, cradling the elbow. She staggers as though struck, poise awkward as she holds the scrolls ━ construction plans, he's sure, that's what most of them have been lately ━ and glances between Link and Gaia like a mouse caught in a trap, almost asking permission to flee, but mostly just the attitude of you're serious? you're seriously asking me to stay-???

After a moment she relents, and step carefully forwards as though navigating a cave which may or may not but probably has traps in it, before gaping like a fish looking for words, and eventually settling on; " … I hope I don't make a habit out of this… " ( They most certainly will, much to their chagrin )

tell link i said gaia says hi

Tell her he said hi, too.