#could have also worked for a totk zelink playlist!

[batgirlsay]

Working on an upcoming Obiyuki playlist and noticed this parallel!

[ladyhoneydee]

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 18

I hadn't thought I'd get this one done, but here's today's Song(fic) Challenge entry! The prompt was "A song you like from an artist who is no longer living", and after multiple hours of going through playlists and discographies, I eventually ended up on "Grapefruit Juicy Fruit" by Jimmy Buffet. Yes, I am just as shocked as you are that this is my second Jimmy Buffet song of the month.

Compared to my other works this month, this fic is primarily based more on vibes/tone of the song and only a few lyrics, as opposed to fitting the majority of the lyrics, which I found surprisingly freeing! Additionally, this fic is brought to you by the fact that I just completed the Lurelin pirate quest in TotK today, and it just felt right to stick Link in the part of the game I myself ended at.

on a beach somewhere (listless and lovelorn)

Game: Tears of the Kingdom

Pairing: Zelink

Word Count: 856

Keywords: melancholy, lonely, introspective

Of course, he couldn’t leave Lurelin, even when the job of pirate-slaying was done. Not when there was a promise of healing the scarred village, of rebuilding the charming huts he’d visited so often with Zelda. Of helping the Lurelin diaspora return to their homes.  Everyone deserved to be able to go home.

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

Ocean water, still warm from the sun beating on Lurelin’s shallow bay all day, rushed up and over Link’s ankles before draining back in a motion that felt like it was pulling him ever so slowly further into the surf. He could feel it leaving debris clinging to his feet and legs—sand, mostly, but also small, dark particles he knew to be pulverized chunks of charcoal from Lurelin’s burnt buildings. They scraped, ever so slightly.

If Zelda were here, she might have commented on how they acted as an exfoliator, how charcoal was actually beneficial for the skin and even teeth.

Link raised his fermented palm fruit cider to his mouth, and took a long, deep swallow.

It was his third day in Lurelin, his fourth night. He’d arrived as the village fell into darkness, and eliminated one lone monster after the other when possible; whole camps at once when it wasn’t. He snacked on the roasted fish he stole from their fires. He napped between kills to keep his strength up. Even when the sun rose, he doggedly continued around the crescent moon of the village, finishing with the pirate ship in the bay. He’d been worried about the silver boss bokoblin, but between the two muddlebuds he’d fired onto the deck and the six shots from his savage lynel bow as he launched himself from the upper deck, it had gone down easier than his tropical beverage currently was.

Of course, he couldn’t leave Lurelin, even when the job of pirate-slaying was done. Not when there was a promise of healing the scarred village, of rebuilding the charming huts he’d visited so often with Zelda. Of helping the Lurelin diaspora return to their homes. 

Everyone deserved to be able to go home.

Link looked up into the heavens despite himself, at the galaxies reflecting on the sea that stretched out before him. Somewhere, on the other side of it, there was land, and people he’d never met and probably never would. He wondered if they’d ever heard tell of Hyrule’s Light Dragon in the last ten thousand years. Surely her story would have made it somewhere besides his own ears in all those lifetimes.

His gaze fell back to the surf, and he took another long draught of palm fruit cider.

He and Bolson had spent the last two days rebuilding. Link had harvested logs from the evermeans along Atun Valley, loath as ever to cut down normal trees that wouldn’t just return from the blood moon’s gloom each month, but would have to slowly grow back themselves. Rather than utilize Rauru’s arm the entire time—he tried not to use it if he didn’t have to, it just didn’t…feel right—he pushed the fifteen logs one by one down the slopes towards the village. Luckily, he hadn’t needed to leave and return for the sheafs of rice Bolson requested; the lynel fight he’d struggled through in the rice field on the Kamah Plateau had been good for something, after all.

Tomorrow, Bolson was meant to finish up the foundations for the headsman’s home and Armes’ home. They’d decided to prioritize those buildings first, for the sake of the displaced and shelterless people already in the village; they’d move on to the inn next, for more housing while the news spread and Lurelines began to return in greater numbers. Bolson had mentioned something about central pillars as a next step as Link handed him a nail, but Link hadn’t been able to hear anything in detail over the pounding of his hammer. 

That was okay. Link wasn’t in a rush. The wind had rather ceased filling his sails after he’d collected Zelda’s final Tear. Thank Hylia he’d already helped with the crises around Hyrule before that, or its people might still be languishing in their disasters.

His palm fruit husk ran dry. He tossed it lightly in his hand, appreciating its heft, and then let it drop to the sand beneath him.

Maybe he’d fall asleep on the beach tonight. The crashing of waves as the tide rolled in could drown out his thoughts as he tried to fall asleep; the eastern sun over the bay could awaken him bright and early for a long day of hard work. If he got washed out to sea, well, maybe that wouldn’t be too much of a problem either. Hylia would never free him from his labors, after all. He’d probably just wake up out on Eventide, or maybe some other island with some other problems he’d need to solve. 

Somewhere out in the water ahead of him, a waterbird swooped down to spear a fish with its sharp beak. He couldn’t see it in the darkness, but recognized the whistling thrum of wingbeats, and the slightest dying splash of the porgy. The circle of life went on, even when something so horrible had happened to their habitat.

Link supposed he would have to go on, too. To finish his task here, and then take his rightful place in the cycle of violence, of blood moon and bloodshed, until he could finally rest.

Even if he rested alone.