Link ("yeet it or eat it") (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skyglider) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamcrystals2024-04-05 02:34 pm
skyglider) wrote in dreamcrystals2024-04-05 02:34 pm
Entry tags:
004 ⚘ dream recording
Sender: Link
To: everyone
Subject: passive dream recording
Warnings: TOTK spoilers
Home.
This is the place where your mind goes, inevitably, as you think of that one word, so small—four letters—and yet so encompassing. It nestles warmly in your chest like a hearty broth, and you think—yes, you could make a life like this. Here, with your arms solidly around her, your face buried in the golden curls of her hair, in the house—the home—you have both made, fortified by the losses you have overcome together.
You listen to her breath, slow and even, clearly sleeping soundly in your arms, and it's dizzying, the way you feel about it. About her. About all of this. There is another word for it, too, something warm and comfortable and terrifying all at once. That small, four-letter word that means you're forever bound, dedicated, that the mark she has left on you is one of permanence.
You have said the word before, but not like this, whispered into her shoulder like a prayer.
"Forever" is the part that sticks with you, in the thin moonlight filtering through the window. It means forever. Somehow that thought is calming, as you close your eyes.
—when you open them again, the word forever feels like a death sentence. It is the blade on the guillotine shining in the morning light. It is the last word uttered before the world dies. It is a weight heavy on your heart, and you think, if you could just protect her from this, if only you could hold her like this through the end of the world—
Your eyes adjust. Something has changed; the light of morning is too bright, the wind on your face is too strong—
Wind.
It's as if your heart tumbles out of your chest and shatters on the ground below, miles and miles below, and all at once, you realize where you are. The house in Hateno is little more than an inkblot on a page, so far down from where you sit.
The enormous dragon upon whose back you sit doesn't seem to care that you're there—or perhaps she doesn't notice. You are so small. The feeling that wells within you, on the other hand, is so big, so entirely all-encompassing, that there are no words or thoughts that could possibly contain it all. This hollow feeling within you, this devastating use of the word forever, it rocks you to your very core, and maybe if you weren't so wrung-out and reeling from the shock of it, you would have a tear left to shed. A shred of misery to spare for this moment.
You have none left. They've all been spent.
That same four-letter feeling twists in your chest, even now, and you wonder if it will hurt forever, if the word love will forever be synonymous with the heartache of loss. Because you still do, of course—you love her like this even as you mourn the loss of her, the version of her that still knew you and, you like to think, loved you too.
Cursing the star-crossed inevitability of fate, you bury your face in her hair once more, as she snakes mercilessly across the sky.
[fanart inspo for this post]
---
[action] for those who will
[Link has been asleep for one full month, and the first thing he feels when he finally wakes is the sting of unshed tears.
He knows before he fully wakes that his private thoughts and late-night misery have been broadcast. Something about the vividness of the dream, about the hollow feeling left in his chest when it's finished… It's hard to say, but he feels, bitterly, the stinging shame of exposure—not just for himself, but for Zelda, as well.
It's still dark; on shaky legs, he slips out of the treehouse and onto the roof, using the glider to take him as far from home as it can in one go. He finds himself at the plaza, sitting at the edge of the fountain, idly dropping rocks into its still surface and watching the ripples pulse outward from the point of impact.]
To: everyone
Subject: passive dream recording
Warnings: TOTK spoilers
Home.
This is the place where your mind goes, inevitably, as you think of that one word, so small—four letters—and yet so encompassing. It nestles warmly in your chest like a hearty broth, and you think—yes, you could make a life like this. Here, with your arms solidly around her, your face buried in the golden curls of her hair, in the house—the home—you have both made, fortified by the losses you have overcome together.
You listen to her breath, slow and even, clearly sleeping soundly in your arms, and it's dizzying, the way you feel about it. About her. About all of this. There is another word for it, too, something warm and comfortable and terrifying all at once. That small, four-letter word that means you're forever bound, dedicated, that the mark she has left on you is one of permanence.
You have said the word before, but not like this, whispered into her shoulder like a prayer.
"Forever" is the part that sticks with you, in the thin moonlight filtering through the window. It means forever. Somehow that thought is calming, as you close your eyes.
—when you open them again, the word forever feels like a death sentence. It is the blade on the guillotine shining in the morning light. It is the last word uttered before the world dies. It is a weight heavy on your heart, and you think, if you could just protect her from this, if only you could hold her like this through the end of the world—
Your eyes adjust. Something has changed; the light of morning is too bright, the wind on your face is too strong—
Wind.
It's as if your heart tumbles out of your chest and shatters on the ground below, miles and miles below, and all at once, you realize where you are. The house in Hateno is little more than an inkblot on a page, so far down from where you sit.
The enormous dragon upon whose back you sit doesn't seem to care that you're there—or perhaps she doesn't notice. You are so small. The feeling that wells within you, on the other hand, is so big, so entirely all-encompassing, that there are no words or thoughts that could possibly contain it all. This hollow feeling within you, this devastating use of the word forever, it rocks you to your very core, and maybe if you weren't so wrung-out and reeling from the shock of it, you would have a tear left to shed. A shred of misery to spare for this moment.
You have none left. They've all been spent.
That same four-letter feeling twists in your chest, even now, and you wonder if it will hurt forever, if the word love will forever be synonymous with the heartache of loss. Because you still do, of course—you love her like this even as you mourn the loss of her, the version of her that still knew you and, you like to think, loved you too.
Cursing the star-crossed inevitability of fate, you bury your face in her hair once more, as she snakes mercilessly across the sky.
[fanart inspo for this post]
---
[action] for those who will
[Link has been asleep for one full month, and the first thing he feels when he finally wakes is the sting of unshed tears.
He knows before he fully wakes that his private thoughts and late-night misery have been broadcast. Something about the vividness of the dream, about the hollow feeling left in his chest when it's finished… It's hard to say, but he feels, bitterly, the stinging shame of exposure—not just for himself, but for Zelda, as well.
It's still dark; on shaky legs, he slips out of the treehouse and onto the roof, using the glider to take him as far from home as it can in one go. He finds himself at the plaza, sitting at the edge of the fountain, idly dropping rocks into its still surface and watching the ripples pulse outward from the point of impact.]
no subject
Four years ago.
One hundred years ago.
In this one way, Sheik's words are misguided: that long century ago, at the rise of the Calamity, Link believed loss to be impossible. He believed there was no way, no chance, that they could fail, because they must not fail.
In his hubris, he believed he could not fall.
Now-- fall, he must. Indeed, in some sense he must embrace it. This is something different altogether, and the Sheikah is correct in thinking that the bonds he's forged will carry him through. He feels them, the Sages, his dearest friends; their power, their dedication, their love. So, too, does he feel the strength of Zelda's will, her belief that he will succeed no matter what. He feels the strength of her resolve. I will know you, she had said, and he-- he believes it.
With all his heart and against all odds, he believes it.
So when that measured moment is over, he moves forward, clasps the Sheikah's shoulder with a gentle hand. It's uncharacteristic, but he realizes, to some extent, that he's never going to have another chance. That he may never unravel the warrior's secrets, and under the weight of the revelation that Revali has disappeared...
No more. He takes no more chances -- takes nothing for granted.]
Sheik... [He searches for eye contact, his expression set in its habitual severity, even and dedicated. He doesn't have to say take care of her or look after her. He knows the Sheikah will do so anyway, and beyond that, Zelda is strong and smart and capable. He saves his words for things that may not be as easy to discern:] I'm glad to have known you.
[Glad, and grateful -- for everything.]