ROLEPLAY / Hero Of The Wild - Tumblr Posts

@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."

❰❰ 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 )