Here’s a timelapse video for this drawing of TotK Ganondorf ~
I used only two pens for this, both brush-tip ones. It’s “fun” to set challenges for myself like that (by “fun” I mean I like it, but why do I do this to myself?)
2.5 hours of inking compressed 20x.
Music: “Feel Good” by Ty Segall and Denee Segall, and “Devil’s Nine Questions” by Mishra and Deepa Nair Rasiya.
This, uh, was supposed to be a warm-up sketch. What happened next was entirely predictable.
5.5 x 8.5. Black brush pen.
[IMG: A pen and ink drawing of Ganondorf from Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom. He is sitting with his right knee up, the other bent underneath him. He is facing left and leaning back on his left hand. His right arm is resting on his right knee, and he is displaying his black fingernails and metal jewelry. He is wearing soft pants with metal cuffs, foot wraps, and no shirt. His long hair is pulled back in an elaborate ponytail. He is smirking at the viewer. The paper is slightly speckled. You can see the spine and the red cover of the book on the scan.]
I took video! Timelapse here.
[[MORE]]I did not set out to draw Ganondorf. I set out to test a blank book that my Sibling made as an experiment, which has weird linen-finish pages. I wasn’t sure how the paper would accept any media, so I picked a random pose and started sketching.
[IMG: The pose sketch with no features.]
Got to this point and said “hey chat, who should I pose like this?” And, well…
[IMG: The detailed sketch of Ganondorf, moments before inking.]
I had to bulk out the original sketch and I still didn’t push his physique far enough, but I was running out of space on the page.
Results: the paper took the ink marvelously! Still a little nervous to do fine line work or very “wet” inking due to the paper texture, but that’s an experiment for another day. Also the paper surface is so hard that erasing was super clean. You can’t see any pencil residue at this point. And I like the aspect ratio of the pages for some reason.
Hey guess what! I’m participating in Fandom Trumps Hate this year! I’ve never done this before, but I’ve donated to other charity auctions in the past, so I’m really pumped to be part of this one.
What is FTH? Fandom Trumps Hate is an online auction of fanworks that generates donations to progressive nonprofits that are working to protect marginalized people.
What are you offering, Stars? I have TWO contributions this year!
Not the kind of thing you’re looking for? Browse around the other amazing creatives and their listings! There’s surely something there you’ll like. And remember, all donations go to good causes!
Browsing is open from now until the auctions open. Auctions are open from March 3, 8am EST to March 7, 8pm EST.
Read the fic on AO3 here. FIC WARNINGS BELOW THE CUT!
So this was all @somer-writes ’ fault. All of it.
Somer, you see, posted the reference image (see below) and said, I quote, “Do this to Rulie.” And I took that and ran with it.
I got halfway through the drawing when @hotcheetohatredwastaken asked, “Whose hands are those?” And I said, “Hold on, I have an idea. Give me a month to write a fic for it.”
Dear readers, it took me the better part of a year to finish the fic.
Okay so maybe it was mostly my fault.
Things I regret: doing this drawing on cheap printer paper instead of tracing my sketch onto nicer paper. Things I don’t regret: everything else.
8.5 x 11. Alcohol markers, colored pencils, micron pens, gel pens, and a liiittle bit of digital for the background & glow effect.
Reference image by McMike @slumberlands . See the original drawing here:
https://slumberlands.tumblr.com/post/780017168336207872/taxidermy
[IMG: A drawing of Hyrule from Linked Universe in fairy form, in the middle of being pinned to a box like an entomological specimen. He is being pinned in a small, flat wooden box with a dark blue mat. Two hands, gloved in dark blue, hover over him holding pins. Four more pins hold down his wings. Hyrule is wearing layered brown and green tunics and brown pants, leather bracers, and boots. His wings are translucent and shaped a little like dragonfly wings; they have white veins that stand out. Hyrule has brown hair, pale skin, and green eyes. He has a horrified, frozen expression, his eyes are empty, and there are tear tracks on his cheeks. He is giving off a pink glow, which is reflected on the gloved hands, the pinheads, and his own wings. The background is black.]
[[MORE]]FIC WARNINGS: vivisection, drugging/anaesthesia, paralysis, pins/needles, medical procedures, gore.
And because I love them, here are some process images!
[IMG: The same drawing, but without the digital elements. This is how the drawing looks in person! The background is white, and Hyrule’s glow is less vivid.]
[IMG: The lineart for the drawing. Heavy contour lines give implications of weight and distance.]
Oh god. I was tagged by @ziskeyt and people do tend to like it when I do this so I guess I’ll do a top twenty or something out of my files (excl. a fic for an ongoing exchange.)
Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.
People can send an ask with the title(s) that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
Tag as many people as you have WIPs.
Tagging @not-freyja, @zarvasace, @sister-dear, @irenkaferalkitty and @toyouhellohowareyou plus whoever else wants to make up the last 15 I’m not coming up with names for.
lol only three for me
1. Four and After (9, interlude, final, epilogue all have documents)
2. Completionist
3. Hyrule at the End of the World
Okay you bastards, you asked for it
(And so did @lele5429 and @not-freyja )
Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.
People can send an ask with the title(s) that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
Tag as many people as you have WIPs.
Special rules: I’m listing all the stories in my WIP folder, because some of them live in the same document, or are spread across multiple documents. Don’t worry about it.
There! All of these have some words on the page, but how many words (and the quality of the words) varies widely. Sometimes it’s just notes.
…That’s 38 stories. I don’t think I know 38 people who haven’t been tagged yet.
Open tags it is!
Fic ABCs
Rules: How many letters of the alphabet have you used for a fic title? One fic per line, ‘A’ and 'The’ do not count for 'a’ and ’t’. Post your score out of 26 at the end, along with your total fic count.
( @believingispowerfulmagic had open tags and this looked fun!)
I went with the oldest fic by latest update. The emojis at the end are kinda iykyk.
A- Always Remember (the burning embers) 🏴☠️❤️🦢
B- Blanket Fort Fluff 🏴☠️❤️🦢
C- Critical Fail! 🦢🩷📜
D- Dreams of Adventure ☀️💜🪮
E- Emma’s First Perfect Christmas 🏴☠️❤️🦢
F- Five Life-Changing Words 🏚️🩵💰
G- Golden Girl Volume I: The Trust Issues 🦢🩷📜
H- How The Vicar Says “I Told You So” 🏚️🩵💰
I- It Now Belongs To You 🏴☠️❤️🦢
J- Just The Way We Roll* 🏴☠️❤️🦢
K- Kingdom Trap** 🦢🩷📜
L- A Little Bit Brighter ☀️🥽
M- The Monsters 🥽🧡🐺
N- Need a Player 2? 🧡😻💜
O- Operation Lunchbreak 🏴☠️📕
P- Poor Little Orphan Eugene Fitzherbert 🪮
Q-
R- Road Less Traveled 📖💛🖋️
S- Seventy: Audacity Under Opposition 👮♀️🤍👨✈️
T- This is (kinda) The Way 🧡😻💜
U- Um, Actually… 🦢🩷📜
V-
W- When Duty Calls 🗡️❤️🏰
X-
Y-
Z-
*fic posted under the title “That’s Just The Way We Roll,” but appears on cover art and doc with the first word omitted **unposted but still a fic title
Final count: 21/26! I have a total of 66 fics on my ao3 account, so that’s kind of a slay ngl.
tagging: @kanerallels @jessicas-pi @kmomof4 @jeru-skyrider @starryrants @ana-cantskywalker and anyone else who wants to join in!
Fic ABCs
Rules: How many letters of the alphabet have you used for a fic title? One fic per line, 'A’ and 'The’ do not count for 'a’ and ’t’. Post your score out of 26 at the end, along with your total fic count.
I put the first fic I came to alphabetically, first of the posted ones and then of the unposted if I still had letters available. The posted ones are linked to, if they sound interesting to you.
A) Accidental Hero
B) Bloodlust
C) Cake Fight
D) Dark Beginnings
E) Elemental
F) Feathered Friend
G) Game Over
H) Hylian, Fairy, Monster, Hero
I) Interlude
J) Just Friends?
K) Kurt (temp title)
L) Light After Shadows
M) Minori
N) Nameless
O) ?
P) Party For Five
Q) Queen’s Guidance
R) Relaxation at Its Finest
S) Secrets of the Library
T) Through a Brother’s Eyes
U) ?
V) Vio’s Legacy
W) Writer’s Sight
X) ?
Y) ?
Z) ?
I will warn that I locked my fics so only Ao3 members can read them, after a few too many issues with folk who aren’t on the site. If you can’t read them, that’s probably why.
Got 21/26, and with 53 fics posted I call that a good score. I think I can come up with more for the last five letters later. O U X Y Z, should be fun figuring out titles with those letters, it’s a challenge now. :)
tags… well. I have trouble thinking of who all I follow on a good day. will tag who I can think of and if you think it sounds fun have at it.
@ssschrodingers-cat @ahrva @trinbluephoenix @vixiyne @katwriteszeldathings @queensilver @quasar-crew @silvermistanimelover @the-scoreboard
Whelp. This is gonna be fun. XD I don’t see any rules about posted fics only, soooo…..
Fic ABCs
Rules: How many letters of the alphabet have you used for a fic title? One fic per line, 'A’ and 'The’ do not count for 'a’ and ’t’. Post your score out of 26 at the end, along with your total fic count.
A—Answering Breeze (Atla)
B—By the Light of the Lantern [Zelda, Unposted]
C—Can You Really Call it Kidnapping When they’re Skeletons? (Undertale)
D—The Dreams We Die For (Bnha)
E—Eyes of the Forest (HP/LotR)
F—A Flickering Light (Zelda)
G—Gem of the Desert (Zelda)
H—A Hero’s Spirit (Zelda fic)
I—Instinct (Bnha)
J—A Journey’s End (Zelda)
K—The Kid with the Notebook [Bnha, Unposted]
L—Lifeline (Bnha)
M—Monochrome Rain (Bnha)
N—Not A Damsel (Zelda)
O—One More Light [Bnha, Unposted]
P—Pasts and Secrets (Hetalia)
Q—Quondam Indemnity [UTMV Unposted]
R—Reminiscence of a Shattered Future (Undertale)
S—Soul of Steel (Zelda)
T—Tapestry of Traditions (Zelda)
U—Until We Meet Again (Zelda)
V—Viridian (Bnha)
W—Where Home Is (Bnha)
X—
Y—You’d Best Start Running [Undertale/HP, Unposted]
Z—
Final score: 24/26 Of which, 19 are posted
Unfortunately, I had no fics that began with X or Z. I will aim to fix that at some point in the future.
I currently have 79 fics posted on Ao3.
I have a total of 263 fics total (just counted them) including posted and unposted works across all fandoms (Zelda alone has over 120 fics, jeez)
Tags… mmmm… uh…. I’m not overly active on social media, so uh… @bokettochild @quasar-crew and whoever sees this and wants to take it as a challenge. XD
Oh dear me, well, here it goes! (and since Silver declared that WIPS count….)
Fic ABCs
A - Anklebiter
B - Bare Basics
C - Chronic
D - Deity, Fairy, Prince
E - Even Hylia’s Chosen Need A Little Love
F - For Whom The Bell Tolls
G - Ghost Of A Rose
H - Hiding From Her Gaze
I - I Am My Master’s Sword
J - Just Keep Swimming
K - Knight’s Wings
L - Lay Your Armor Down (Bare Your Heart)
M - Memorial
N - Notes
O - Of Minish and Men
P - Pup Of My Pup
Q - N/A
R - Rock Soup
S - Shimmering Scales
T - Through A Wolf’s Eyes
U - Unknown Face
V - Violet
W - Warm, Safe, Known
X - N/A
Y - You’re Not Alone
Z - Zvezda
All of these are LOZ/LU fics, so I’m NOT tagging them idividually, because mama is a one-trick-pony, cepische? (LOL)
All around, that’s 24/26, not bad!
This is me drawing from 220 published Fics on Ao3 and who knows how many additional ones from Tumblr and my own personal files :)
Tagging @silvercaptain24 @anadorablekiwi @telemna-hyelle @mermain123 @winedimples (only if you want!)
And anyone else who wants! I forget the names of all my writer friends, so just consider yourself tagged if this looks fun!
Fic ABC’s
this will be fun seeing as I don’t yet have 26 fics up on A03 XD (going to use wips for sure to see how many I can get hehe) early guess is i’ll have around 10
A- Ambassador Twilight
E-
F- Fangs for the memories (even if they weren’t so good)
G-
H- A hero hiding in Wolf’s clothes
I-
J-
K-
N-
O-
P-
Q-
R-
S- Scales Wings, and Split dungeons
U-
V-
W- Who built this weird dungeon?
oooh I got 11! WHY DO ALL MY FIC TITLES START WITH B, M, or W??? wild that that’s the biggest issue here
anyway I want to see what some very cool writers like @somer-writes @aeghina @skyloftian-nutcase @toyouhellohowareyou get
Thanks for the tag!
Also tagged by @winedimples but Nan got in first so I’m reblogging this version. ❤️❤️
I need more fics, but not a bad effort.
A - An Incident
B - Blupee
C -Constellate
D
E
F - Fortuity
G
H - Hero of Hyrule
I
J
K
L
M - Mandatory Puppy Pile
N
O - Ocarina, Oracle
P - Post Mortem
Q
R - Reasonable Assumptions
S - Snippets & Shorts - LoZ/LU
T - Two Moon Pearls and the Master Sword
U
V
W
X
Y
Z
Score = 11
Total fics = 13 (F and R have two each)
Who’s not tagged yet that has a few fics, how about: @not-freyja @zarvasace @tashacee @batrogers
Oh, this is actually an interesting question. I am, for the purpose of this game, not going to count unposted WIPs, even if they have a locked in title. I started with my most recent works, and worked backwards, so any repeating letters will default to the most recent fic. Okay, let’s see:
A - Abandon
B - Behold
C - Cacophony
D - Dupe
E - Efficiency
F - Fairytale
G - Gale
H - Haunt
I - In Media Res
J - Just a Little Explosion
K - The Kids Are (Not) Alright
L - Land
M - A Moment Alone
N
O - On Talons
P - Pitchpole
Q
R - Resonance
S - Shadowed
T - To Thunderous Applause
U - An Unremitting Ululation
V
W - We Need To Talk About David
X
Y - You’ve Got Mail (From Your Brother’s Brother)
Z
21/26 Which is pretty good! The temptation to cheat by using the second word in titles to get at pesky letters like Q and N was high, but I resisted. I have a total of 74 works on the archive, so that means that every letter averages out to having three titles starting with it. Fun!
Fandoms presented up there are LOZ (BOTW, ALTTP. SkSw, LA, FS, EOW, and LU), Star Trek AOS, The Walking Dead, and The Boondock Saints.
I get around.
Tag game be upon: @hotcheetohatredwastaken @gia-d @weavingstarlight and @needfantasticstories
Fic ABCs
Rules: How many letters of the alphabet have you used for a fic title? One fic per line, 'A’ and 'The’ do not count for 'a’ and ’t’. Post your score out of 26 at the end, along with your total fic count.
Well, sure, I’ve only got 14 fics posted and none of my WIPs get their official titles until they’re complete, so this is going to be a poor showing. But I’ve got a few! I went from “oldest updated” on Ao3.
A - Almost Lost You (Found You Again)
B -
C - Countershock
D - Deluge (Can’t Hear My Heart Beat Over All This Rain)
E -
F - Falling Fast, Fading (I should get extra points for alliteration)
G - Green
H -
I -
J -
K -
L -
M - Myriad
N -
O - Offer Him Your Children
P -
Q - Quarrel
R -
S - Sprite (Home is what we’ve left behind)
T -
U -
V -
W - With Everything You Have
X -
Y -
Z -
Only 10/26 but with only 14 fics posted I don’t feel too bad! And I got Q which, if we’re going by Scrabble scoring, is 10 whole points.
@cloudyskies48 @undertheopensky @mrsmusica get got
I’m down so horrendously bad. I’m even more obsessed with this character than I was before drawing his design. (Art is by me, design is by the author).
For those that love a good Zelink FD fanfic, it’s “End of Time” by Makuro767.
i am,,, withering away but ITS DONE ITS DONE IM FREE FROM THE CURSE (<<< still haunted by wips) clocking in at 32+ hours, this sucker has been getting pushed around for 10 months-
while theres some things i would have done differently if i could redo this from scratch, i still had a BLAST cramming in as much detail as i could tolerate >:) some highlights / cut ideas / ramblings are below the cut, but please zoom for details! (if tumblr doesnt shred it to bits)
Hehe thank you so much!! Time is definetly the only one that’s actually having any degree of a good time LOL.
There’s actually a lot more symbolism to the back cover than it may seem >:) Please allow me this opportunity to yap about it below~ (spoilers for the Willow Bark and Chamomile fic!)
As he picked his way down the slope in the fading light of sunset, Warriors tried to sort out his thoughts. He knew the others needed him to be on top of his game right now; he couldn’t afford to be distracted, couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him. Or at least, he couldn’t let his emotions affect how he handled the others — they were already dealing with enough, all of them were. He needed to stay calm and collected.
But by the Goddesses, he wished he had time to crawl into a hole and cry.
~~~~~
In this chapter, we get a new POV character! Didn’t expect that, didja? Yeah, me neither, honestly.
I wrote this fic because I wanted to join in the trend/enrichment activity of shooting Warriors with arrows. XD
I believe the originator of this was @mirensiart ’s post here! I debated briefly between drawing something or writing something for this little game, but once I started writing it took me only three days to draft and edit the whole fic.
I’m also very, very pleased with the title. I got lucky with the English language, there.
Prompt (Febuwhump 12): Used As Practice
A non-canonical part of the War Games AU.
Tags: War Games AU, Graphic Violence, Blood and Injury, War, Hurt No Comfort
War Games is a collaborative AU created by Team Tactics, based on the premise “What if Spirit was in the War of Ages… and what if that wasn’t a good thing?” It is a branching-timeline story that is currently being written into a longfic and multiple side stories. The main themes are the meaning of the “greater good,” the worth of pyrrhic victories, love as both a destructive and regenerative force, grief and recovery, and the ways people react to pressure. Remember: war does not forge good people.
[[MORE]]quarrel (n):
1. a square-headed bolt or arrow
2. a usually verbal conflict between antagonists; altercation
Spirit stared down at the battlefield from the keep’s walls. The breeze up here was heady, scented as it was with bomb-fire and dirt, and it made him feel weirdly floaty as it ruffled his hair and tugged at his cap.
Below him, the Hyrulean troops boiled across the terrain like blue marbles scattered from a jar. His eyes tracked back and forth across the field, trying with all their might to keep everything in his awareness at the same time. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked up to the relay tower, watched its flashing lights for a moment, then returned to the field.
Anxiety clawed at the pit of his stomach, but he held his post, even when monster roars and bomb-flower fireworks climbed through the air directly below him.
Mabine, his aide, nudged him with her elbow, and he quickly looked where she pointed.
The relay flashed again, red this time. The operator had changed the light lens to the emergency color. Spirit’s scattered attention snapped to it, and he watched the message come in seemingly at a crawl—far, far too slowly for his pounding heart.
Before the message was half-sent, he felt a chill wash over him. Bombchu. A mobile, mouse-shaped explosive machine with enough power to knock down fortress walls. Aimed of course at their operational base here, in the south corner of the field, and they were barely holding this area in the first place—
His eyes wandered back over the field, wondering Quick, quick, how should I deal with this? How can I keep this location from falling completely?
How do I prevent disaster?
Beside him, Mabine held up her signal lantern, ready to send. “Orders, sir?” she said nervously.
Don’t call me ‘sir,’ he wanted to remind her, but right now he didn’t have time. He looked at the pieces he had on the board, and made his decision.
“Send Captain Link,” he said firmly. “Tell him: Bombchu, East Field Keep, destroy it immediately.”
“Which route, sir?” Mabine asked, starting to flash her lantern. “There’s two.”
“The east bridge.”
The aide hesitated, halfway through her missive. “That’s right into the sight of the enemy keep. Their archers will turn him into a porcupine.”
“I have faith in the Hero,” Spirit said past the dryness in his mouth. “Don’t you?”
Her face twisted, nose wrinkling. “Support?”
“He doesn’t need it.”
“Are you sure—”
“Stop wasting time and relay the order!”
She sent the signals. Spirit’s fingers gripped the stone battlements so tightly his hands cramped. The pain was welcome.
“Done,” Mabine said finally.
With an effort, Spirit straightened. “Okay, next…”
In the midst of carnage, Captain Link’s battle focus was suddenly interrupted by Proxi’s bell-like chimes.
“New orders, Link!” she alerted him. “Top priority!”
Link destroyed another aeralfos while Proxi parsed the lantern message for him. “There’s a bombchu at the East Field Keep,” she said hurriedly while he caught his breath. “Let’s go deal with it!”
“On it,” Link promised. He flicked his scarf back over his shoulder, since it had been coming loose. Then he lit off across the battlefield, Proxi zipping along near his shoulder.
Link charged forward without pausing, knowing that bombchus had short fuses. Knowing that they had thick armor. Knowing that a single one could take down a keep’s walls and leave the floodgates open for monsters. They had to be taken down swiftly, and preferably—due to their explosive tendencies—far away from one’s own troops.
The grass under his feet was already trampled into mud. The low walls of the destroyed village served, now, only as cover for Hyrulean troops. The air was thick with the iron tang of blood and the sharp scent of lightning magic.
It seemed strange to think of something like a building as sneaking up on him, but the rounded stone walls of the East Field Keep sprang out of the chaos suddenly and unexpectedly, appearing over the heads of bulblins and darknuts like a thundercloud forming on the horizon. The short bridge that led to the gates rolled out before Link like a royal carpet, and he turned his steps to it.
Proxi’s warning chime made Link skid to a halt, and it was only through that grace that he dodged the arrows that thunked into the ground in front of him.
“What the hell?” Link said, staring up at the walls lined with archers. “Did command really send me into this mess?”
Proxi zipped back and forth uncertainly, peering ahead at the open keep gates. “There’s definitely a bombchu in there,” she said unhappily. “Oh! Oh no, it’s starting to move!”
Link adjusted his shield on his arm and backed up, hoping he was out of immediate range. “Can I wait for it to come to me? Will I have enough time to destroy it?”
Proxi hesitated, and that was all the answer Link needed. He had to move forward. I have to trust that Spirit has a plan.
He dove forward, shield raised to protect his head and shoulders. Arrows smacked against the wood, feeling like pellets from a child’s slingshot as they tapped out a rhythm that would be deadly if Link wasn’t completely focused on defense. Every few strikes a bolt would lodge in the wood, forcing him to adjust his grip or angle to account for the change in weight.
Link growled in frustration. “I’m being used as target practice here!” he snapped. “Proxi, go ask Spirit what the hell he’s doing!”
“I can’t, Link, you need me here!” the fairy protested.
He cursed, but she was right. Without fairy magic, he doubted he would survive the next five minutes, let alone the day.
Then an arrow pierced his ankle, catching behind the greaves of his left boot. Pain bloomed in his leg, darting up to his hip quick as lightning. Blood welled immediately in his boot and dripped unpleasant warmth into his sock. In his shock and surprise, Link lowered his shield for half a second—
Half a second was too long. Another arrow slammed into his right shoulder, below the joint, in the meaty part of his upper arm. He felt it scrape against bone on its way in.
He hissed through his teeth, and his brain stalled when the second burst of pain made his vision go red. Instinct and training took over and certainly saved his life in that moment and he lashed out blindly, executing a weak but passable spin attack. He heard monsters shriek as they disintegrated under the Master Sword’s glow.
That arrow was in his shield arm, damnit. He had to raise the arm again, despite the way the arrow scratched inside him, the way the muscles tore around the sharp arrowhead. He had to keep moving and get to the bombchu.
Proxi chimed again, bringing his attention back to the present—and oh, good, the bombchu was coming to him. It had exited the keep now, trundling along on its little wheels, squeaking and squawking as it went.
He felt both relief and dread as the armored tank made its appearance. He was glad he didn’t have to chase the thing down. On the other hand, his time to destroy the machine before it caused irrevocable harm was dwindling. It was surrounded by an entourage of monsters who were guarding it. And it was still very much an explosive.
He took a step forward on his wounded ankle, but the arrows were still coming down. He lifted his shield to block more and they hammered him, they shattered and clipped against his shield. His shield became heavier and heavier as arrows stuck in its surface. His arm burned and screamed trying to hold it up.
Until—CRACK—a lucky shot, or simply one too many, and his shield broke in twain.
“Link!” shrieked Proxi, but there was nothing either of them could do. The little blue fairy darted over to huddle in his scarf, suddenly much more exposed than she had been a second ago.
Link cursed under his breath. Well, nothing for it but to try to get rid of the bombchu as fast as possible. He descended on his target with as much speed as he could muster—which wasn’t a great deal, due to his ankle, but he tried.
The next arrow to find its mark landed in his thigh muscle, making him stumble. He lunged on his good leg and got himself close enough to fall against the bombchu, his hands striking its metal surface, feeling all the rivets and rough edges, and scraping his fingertips bloody on the burrs in the metal. From this close, leaning against it, he felt the subtle whirr and click of mechanisms inside, and the heat radiating from it like a camp stove—mild now, but he knew that heat could become a terrible explosion.
Another arrow thudded into his hip on the opposite side. The new burst of pain was almost muted, swallowed up as it was by the flood of other pains and the adrenaline coursing through him.
Now that he had stopped moving, he was a much better target for the archers.
He had better start stabbing.
Normally, Link would take bombchus apart by simply hammering them until their welded carapaces broke. He didn’t think he could get away with that this time. Arrows pinged against the metal hull itself, sending splinters into the air, and he ducked down to keep the bombchu between himself and the archers.
Using the bombchu as cover worked for a moment to keep the arrows off him, but he couldn’t keep his head down low enough and still attack it, and he found himself scuttling around behind the thing like a crab. He would have laughed, if his heart hadn’t been hammering in his throat.
Another arrow hit him, this time in his side, between his lower ribs. And Link knew he was out of time.
He slid down against the bombchu’s side to sit on the ground, feeling his scarf and tunic catch on the rough metal. Sweat was beading on his forehead and under his collar, he was panting, and his heart was surging in his chest. But he steeled himself, Proxi’s warm glow beside his cheek lending him strength.
He gripped the arrow in his side and ripped it out harshly, trying to suppress a scream in the face of the zinging pain of the arrowhead tearing through him. With bloody hands, he did the same to the arrow in his hip, then the one in his thigh. Darkness climbed in from the corners of his vision, nausea swelled, his head pounded, but he held his grip on awareness with grim determination. The heat of the bombchu against his back kept him oh-so-aware of what was at stake if he passed out now.
His fumbling hands blindly sought his blue potion, and he downed it, more guided by muscle memory than conscious will. The darkness and pain receded. He felt the hole in his lung heal and he knew he wouldn’t bleed out.
Link stumbled up again, circling the bombchu, looking for openings.
He found a chink in the bombchu’s armor, a tiny seam that he could wedge his sword into and start prying. Yes, this would work much better than exposing himself to more bolts.
He used the Master Sword as a common prybar, and although he was sorry to treat her that way, it had to be done.
It was the work of a minute, at most, for him to split the bombchu’s carapace, like cracking a walnut open. He peeled the sheet metal off the top of the machine and exposed its inner workings, all gears and belts and gunpowder.
As soon as the insides were exposed to the air, the device began sparking, and Link lunged away. Agony erupted in his hip and leg as he tried to escape the inevitable explosion.
He didn’t get far at all before more arrows thudded into his back.
He didn’t even know how many hit him—it felt a little like someone had thrown a thick pillow at him, and a little like getting hit with a bucket of ice water, and a little bit like his lungs stopped working. He suddenly felt heavy, the way his shield had felt heavy before, and he could tell he was falling but he couldn’t see the ground—his eyes had gone blurry like he was underwater.
Link hit the ground and what little breath was left in him escaped him in a sigh. He tried to inhale but it felt like there were iron bands around his lungs, holding him immobilized, keeping him from drawing in any air. His ribs grew tighter and tighter and his back muscles started to wail at him, agony flickering through his chest. He felt like there were embers in his lungs.
He heard Proxi’s shrieking chimes like they were echoing inside a giant bell. The warmth of her magic dusted over him in a familiar fizzing heat, and he knew that it was only a temporary measure, but at least he had a few more minutes of life in him before the enemy reached him.
Behind him, the explosion he had been waiting for went off. A warm rush of wind ruffled his hair and the fletching on the arrows embedded in him, making them shift slightly and dig in. He was peppered with ashes and dirt as the world spun and faded to black.
I did it…
Spirit had better have a plan…
Link was not surprised when he woke, groggy and aching, in a medical tent, but he wasn’t happy about it.
In fact, before he even came fully conscious, a simmering anger made itself known, smoldering in his heart and burning away the fog of pain. He pushed his way past the haze of pain-dulling medicines and the disorientation of magical healing to take stock of his body, and from there, his surroundings.
He was lying on his belly on a metal cot, and that already was odd enough to make his breath hitch in his dry throat. His torso, back, and shoulders were wrapped in thick bandages, stiff and tight, and he could tell his back was padded with extra material.
I must have bled a lot, then.
His face was smushed into a thin pillow, and as he stirred, and the pain reared its head fully—a beast ready to bite—he thought longingly of returning to that dark abyss of unconsciousness.
But he had probably slept long enough already, and he had duties to perform. So Link prised his eyes open and let his gaze roam around the dimly-lit tent until his vision cleared.
Wind was sitting vigil by his bedside, but it was an inattentive vigil; he didn’t even notice Link stirring, lost in his own thoughts. The teen looked… haunted.
Link wished he could do something for his little brother. Wind had been saying less and watching more as the war dragged on, and Link was worried about him.
“Hey,” Link croaked in greeting. He tasted blood in his mouth. He’d have to wash that out soon.
“Oh,” Wind replied, coming back to the present, “you’re awake.” He arranged his face into a look of relief, and Link frowned.
“That sucked.”
A spark of humor ignited in Wind’s eyes—quickly doused, but Link would take it as a victory. The teen moved from his stool to sit on the edge of the folding cot, brushing his hands against the bandages on Link’s torso.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. “I can fetch Lana…”
Link sighed, his face still smushed against the pillow. “Yes, it hurts, but it’s okay. How did the battle go?”
Wind was silent for a long moment, and Link’s heart sank into his stomach. Nightmare scenarios flashed in his mind, imagination illuminating every possible horror—
“…We lost.”
Link felt like he had been plunged into Lake Hylia. “What?” he breathed.
He had been counting on his sacrifice, on the destruction of the enemy weapon, to be enough to turn the tide. He had been counting on his allies to be able to handle the rest of the battle without him. He had been counting on Spirit to have a plan.
Wind continued, oblivious to the way Link’s thoughts were spinning. “Impa and I got you out, but we had to retreat soon after. We’re about four miles south of the battlefield.”
Link tried to kick his sluggish brain into gear and process this. The pain of his wounds flared and ebbed in waves, making it difficult to think, speak, breathe—
“I need to talk to the Tactician,” he said through gritted teeth.
Wind bit his lip. “Sorry, you can’t,” he told the Captain. “Zelda said he’s not allowed in the medical tents right now.”
“Why not?”
“Um… well he did give the orders…” Wind looked like he had a great many thoughts on the subject and was locking them all behind his teeth. “She’s not happy with you being injured… or with the retreat…”
Link groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He wanted to go back to sleep. He was in pain, he could barely move, and he was going to have to go back to it all soon. And he didn’t even know why.
Did Spirit make a mistake? Or did I fail?
Finally Link gave in. “Send for Lana,” he said. I’ll pull Hero rank just this once. “I’ll ask for her healing. I need to see Spirit.”
Spirit was holed up in the study in the village mayor’s house, which had been commandeered for the army’s use. When Link found him, he was curled up in an armchair by the window. Papers covered the coffee table in front of him, a book of diagrams lay open on his lap, but he was staring out the window instead of looking at any of it. He was chewing idly on the red handkerchief around his neck—a habit Link had noticed he engaged in when he needed comfort.
Link was still moving stiffly, so he wasn’t exactly quiet when he entered the bookshelf-lined room. And yet, Spirit didn’t seem to notice him.
Link knocked on the wood paneling to get the teen’s attention.
Spirit’s expression lifted slightly when he saw who it was. “You’re up sooner than I expected,” he said, and those words immediately put Link on edge.
Does he not realize how that sounds?
“You… expected?” Link pushed the door closed with a foot. “Just how much did you expect?”
Spirit bit his lip and looked away. He stayed silent. Link squashed the urge to go over and shake the teenager.
He walked a little closer, limping slightly on his still-healing leg. “Spirit, why did you send me in there?”
Spirit had the grace to look back, and seemed to see Link for the first time that day. His face went even paler, and he jumped out of the chair. “Sit, sit,” he urged. “You shouldn’t be standing…”
Link wanted to protest, but his injuries were aching, and the phantom pains that accompanied too-fast magical healing were sparkling along his nerves in a distracting way. So he took the offered chair, and if he let out a small, pained whine as he lowered himself down, Spirit was kind enough not to draw attention to it.
But Link wasn’t going to let the Tactician off the hook. “Surely there was another way.”
Spirit bit his lip again, and he looked so similar to Wind that Link almost barked a laugh. There would have been no humor in it, though.
“If I sent troops in,” Spirit said slowly, “they would be slaughtered, and might not even be able to take out the bombchu in time. But a Hero could make it through. A Hero could survive.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“But you did.” Spirit turned away, hiding his expression by pretending to examine the curtains. “I knew you would. But I’m sorry if you were scared.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Link replied softly. Even though I was.
Spirit didn’t seem ready to look at him. Link wished he would, if only so the anger and hurt that was building in his heart would have somewhere to go.
He needed to know if Spirit regretted it. He needed to know if Spirit was sorry.
“Why didn’t you send Wind or Mask?” he demanded instead. It came out more harshly than he intended.
“Do you wish I had?” Spirit responded immediately, as though he had expected the question. As though he had been waiting for it.
“Of course not.”
Spirit nodded, hesitated. Still hadn’t looked away from the window. “I needed them to pull you out of there.” He lowered his head, eyes far away. “Wind, Mask, Impa—they would risk everything to keep you safe. They do it every day. I couldn’t guarantee they would do the same for anyone else.”
Link tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. He tried to envision the scene—the Hero, downed and dying, fallen well within an enemy-controlled area, and far from aid. Anyone who had gone on that rescue mission would have faced the same arrow storm that he had.
He made a note to give Wind a big hug when he saw him again.
When he had his voice under control again, he said, “I heard we lost.”
“Yes.”
The anger flared, finding tinder. Link grit his teeth. “Then it was all pointless. You sent me into a hail of arrows, and for what?”
Spirit finally turned halfway to face him. He looked… scared, eyes wide and face pale. “Is that what you think? Is that what they’re saying?”
Link stared back. Gears churned in his head until they clicked. “We were already losing, weren’t we?”
Spirit turned his back fully to the window and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He put his head in his hands. At that moment, he looked very tired, very small, and very young.
“We couldn’t lose the South Field base, we needed to maintain our retreat path. I needed that bombchu gone. We would have lost so many troops if that keep had fallen early.”
It should have made Link feel better, hearing that. Knowing that he had been chosen as a sacrifice for the benefit of many. After all, he was a Hero, and that was the role of a Hero. He should be used to it. He should be proud.
But instead the hurt in his chest flowered into its true form—betrayal. He felt betrayed.
He breathed in slowly, wincing a little as his ribs twinged. Another reminder of what Spirit had put him through.
Spirit looked so pathetic right now, sitting on the floor with his fingers twisted in his shaggy hair, and for some reason that made Link even angrier.
I’m not in the right state of mind to be having this conversation right now, he decided. With an effort, he pushed himself up out of the chair and started to make his slow way towards the door.
“I should go back to camp,” he said as he weaved his way around the coffee table. “Do you want to come with me?”
Spirit hummed noncommittally. “I’m not supposed to leave this house,” he said. “Impa is… worried. A lot of people are unhappy with me right now.”
Link paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Bad enough that you’re in protective confinement?” he asked in disbelief.
“It’s just a precaution,” Spirit said. “It would probably be fine.”
The tone of his voice indicated that it would not be fine.
“Because we lost one battle?” Link pressed.
“I gave the orders that nearly killed the Hero. That was a bad mistake on my part. I nearly destroyed the hope of Hyrule.” Spirit said it like he was reciting a letter.
Link felt the hurt stirring in his chest again, and before he could stop himself, he asked the question that was burning on his tongue.
“Do you regret it? Are you sorry?”
It looked like it took a great effort for Spirit to face him. The teen stood slowly, and seemed to be gathering his words. Link waited impatiently.
“I am sorry that you got hurt,” Spirit said when he was upright. He spoke clearly and precisely, each word carefully measured. “I’m sorry that you’re in pain. But I don’t regret it. I made the right call.”
And hearing that—all Link’s hurt blazed up into flames, a pyre for his sympathy.
“You used me like a tool,” he said tightly. “And you don’t even have the courage to apologize properly. No wonder Impa wants you to stay hidden. There are people out there who have lost friends, comrades, even family… and you wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye and offer honest condolences.”
“You don’t care about our pain,” he continued, yanking the door open without looking. He needed to get out of here. “You don’t care about the hurt that we suffer from your little games. Because that’s what we are to you, aren’t we? Game pieces, pawns on your playing board. I wonder if you ever had the guts to face the reality.”
Before Spirit could respond, Link stormed out. He shut the door gently—no point in making a scene, and he knew how rumors could fly—and he leaned against it, taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart.
I should go back to the medical tents for more painkillers, he thought dully. Everything ached, and he knew it was affecting his temper. But he was also too tired and sad to care.
There was a shuffling sound from the room he had left behind, as though Spirit had sat down on the ground again. And then…
Crying.
Link felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn’t meant to…
But the hurt in his chest curled with the smallest amount of satisfaction. And he found he couldn’t regret what he had said.
Link was ashamed. He couldn’t face Spirit again right now. So he quietly pushed away from the door and walked away, his ankle throbbing with every limping step, and left Spirit to his guilt.
I wanted to do something nice for @cloudyskies48 for Yule/Solstice/winter-celebration-of-your-choice, and what does that mean for me? A painting of course! Because I cannot be normal about friendship ever.
Cloudy, you’ve become such a dear friend to me in a short period of time. Thank you for everything you do and how much grace you’ve given me since I awkwardly stumbled into your life. I’m looking forward to many adventures with you!
[[MORE]]This painting is based on this photo from Cloudy’s Legend cosplay photoshoot:
I originally wanted to render it in soft watercolors, but I fell prey to the siren song of highly-saturated colors yet again! It was also my first time painting on a 300gsm paper and I love it. I will have to do more of that.
4 x 6. Watercolor paint, micron pen, white ink.
[IMG: A watercolor painting of Cloudy cosplaying as Legend from Linked Universe, standing in an apple orchard. They stand on the right side of the frame, visible from the lower half of their face to their knees. They are holding a sheathed sword whose brown scabbard is decorated with gold. They wear a red tunic over a pleated dark green tunic, a belt with gold decorations, several gold rings, and have blonde hair and light skin. The background is a brightly-lit green and yellow field with white flowers. Their face is mostly hidden behind an apple tree branch in bloom with white flowers.]
Here’s a timelapse video for this drawing ! I once again attempted to take things casually and keep things simple, loose inking and flat colors with no shading. So inking and coloring only took about 1.5 hours! This was supposed to be just a fun side drawing, after all. So uh, enjoy watching me attempt to freehand a Zhuang brocade pattern without a sketch layer. That’s “keeping it simple,” right?
(See if you can spot the secret kitty cameo in the footage)
The video is sped up approximately 10x, I fussed with the timing a tad to get it to fit the music better. Speaking of which:
Music: “Miracle” and “Earthly Stars” by Twelve Girls Band. Twelve Girls Band uses traditional Chinese instruments to play modern compositions.
Gown modeled after this video:
https://www.tumblr.com/mismagireve/802389560336236544
@lele5429 and @axonthegoat showed me this video and said “Ravio would wear this” and they’re RIGHT
So I drew the bunny boy in modern fashion styled with Zhuang ethnic brocade designed by Ayoung Design.
I CURSE MY SCANNER THOUGH, I cannot get the purples to come through warm enough. The purple in the pants is actually more of an iris color in real life, not blue, and I cannot adjust the colors properly because the reds just don’t exist in the digital data. # traditional artist problems.
Zhuang brocade is a silk-cotton brocade from China. It is considered one of the four treasured types of brocade in China and is recognized as a part of that nation’s Intangible Cultural Heritage.
4 x 7. Alcohol markers, fineliner pens, black and white gel pens.
[IMG: A drawing of Ravio (Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds, somewhat based on his Linked Universe design) wearing a gown of Chinese design. He is standing in a “power stance” with his hands folded over his middle. The gown has a fitted bodice and high collar, with a hi-lo long train that drapes on the ground. The bodice is paneled with flower-patterned brocade in lavender, dark blue, and magenta. He is wearing dark purple flared pants with floral designs on the sides. Wrapped around his entire body is a sheer scarf in dark blue, with brocade trim in diamond patterns. Ravio has fluffy dark brown hair, mid-light-tone skin, green eyes, and a gap between his teeth. The drawing is brightly colored (but not as bright as in real life, ugh) and the background is white.]
Edit: I’ve added a timelapse video for this drawing here !
Cw: animal death
I didn’t really do Inktober this year, but I used some of the prompts. This is Day 5, “deer.”
The Hero of Hyrule is to me akin to a wild hart: mysticized, sought after, and hunted in his era, blood more treasured than jewels. He himself has a wiliness and fleetness that have kept him alive, as long as he keeps running. But eventually the hunters will catch up.
4 x 7. Black pen.
[IMG: A black-and-white drawing of a fallow deer stag. The deer is hanging by a rope by one of its rear legs, a bit like the classic Hanged Man tarot card drawing. A second rope is wrapped around its antlers, pulling its head up and back to expose its throat. Its throat is slit and dark blood drips from the wound. The deer’s fur is highly textured and shaded with crosshatching. The background is black.]
I didn’t really do Linktober this year, but I used some of the prompts. This is Day 3, “flames.”
This drawing ended up mostly being about playing around with lighting and hatching. I used a very small pen…
2 x 3.5. Black pen.
[IMG: A black-and-white drawing of Hyrule from Linked Universe. He is standing facing the viewer and holding his sword angled across his body. The sword is wreathed in fire. The light from the fire is the only illumination on Hyrule and reflects in his eyes. The drawing is shaded with fine crosshatching, and the background is black.]
Official Report of the Battle of Faron Village
Submitted to General Impa
Compiled by Concertmaster Uzo
~~~
Chapter 6: Match Summary 1
Arrows rained down like dive-bombing crows.
~~~
Chapter 5: Opening Innovation
Spirit’s first step onto the shaped wood of the staircase felt similar to mounting the steps of a moving train. The wood under his feet quaked with the rumble of a hundred pairs of feet, and what he had been able to vaguely sense through the ground before, he now felt a dozen times more strongly through the rickety construction of planks and nails.
~~~
Chapter 4: Bishop’s Pawn Opening
The second Spirit stumbled out of the tent, chaos engulfed him like a warm wind.
~~~
Chapter 3: First-Move Advantage
I didn’t really do Linktober this year, but I used some of the prompts. This is Day 2, “magic/sorcery.”
Wizzrobes are nasty buggers and I love-hate their Breath of the Wild designs. Look at their horrible teeth! Look at their silly hats and shoulder pads! Look at how they destroy lives and dance gleefully in the ashes!
2 x 3.5. Black pen, alcohol markers.
[IMG: A black-gray-and-white drawing of a Thunder Wizzrobe from Breath of the Wild. It is posed like a King of Hearts playing card, with its Thunder Rod crossing behind its head like a sword.]
I didn’t really do Inktober this year, but I used some of the prompts. This is Day 2, “weave.”
The string game depicted is not a finished figure but is the opening to several possible shapes.
2 x 3.5. Black pen, white ink.
[IMG: A black-and-white drawing of a pair of hands on a starry background. The hands are playing a string game, where a loop of string weaves in and out between the fingers, similar to a cat’s cradle game.]
Resonance - Chapter 1 - notfreyja - The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms [Archive of Our Own]
As they say, better late than never. [head in hands] The first chapter to my second entry of the @linkshipping-big-bang is finally up, with the rest coming soon!
If you haven’t already seen the breathtaking artwork that @weavingstarlight made to go with this story, please go take a look. (While the fic is rated E, the art is not, if you’re worried about that.)
Late as I might be, I am nothing but glad to have worked on this, and to be paired with such a phenomenal artist. I was a bit shocked that it wanted my story out of all of the amazing ideas pitched for the event, and have been nothing but delighted with the care and attention to the underlying themes that it had for the whole project.
I hope that you guys like my uh… unconventional take on the “Linkshipping” assignment, and I will have the next chapter up soon!
First chapter of the matching fic for this art has been posted! I’m so enthused for this story, and so glad that I got to draw for it. Please go check it out. (Read the tags and remember that the fic is rated E!)
I had to make my own meme for this one because I couldn’t find one with enough crabs in it.
Pictured: Christmas Island red crabs, which migrate in swarms during October/November.
Might just make this a Christmas tradition, idk. Anyway, Merry Crabs Mass from the Christmas Island red crabs and me!
I will reblog this annually until it stops being funny to me. Merry Crabs Mass, everyone!
Written for the @word-scramble-challenge 2025. The prompt was “NUMBERS”. A non-canonical part of the War Games AU.
Tags: War Games AU, Character Study
War Games is a collaborative AU created by Team Tactics, based on the premise “What if Spirit was in the War of Ages… and what if that wasn’t a good thing?” It is a branching-timeline story that is currently being written into a longfic and multiple side stories. The main themes are the meaning of the “greater good,” the worth of pyrrhic victories, love as both a destructive and regenerative force, grief and recovery, and the ways people react to pressure. Remember: war does not forge good people.
[[MORE]]It always was a numbers game.
One.
One hero, alone against the darkness.
One, two.
The two of them, Zelda and Link, working together to bring back the light.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
Ten strangers who became brothers, whose shared soul shone all the brighter during the all-too-brief time when they were together.
Two, four, eight, sixteen.
Spirit used a drafting compass to mark out distance on the map, each step precisely measured.
It was too far. The relief units would never be able to reach the northern pass through Eldin before the enemy overran it.
He measured again, this time taking the eastern route. Still too far.
The river, then.
They lost horses to the fording, and half their food supplies. A forced march on the other side, and morale was dangerously low. But they made it.
A thousand soldiers saved, by the cost of three hundred.
One hundred, two hundred, three hundred…
At the base of Eldin Mountain, Spirit and Impa stared up at the ragged slopes. Orange stone had been blackened by goron bomb powder, charred by spell lightning, and stained red with both hylian and monster blood. But the mountain stood as tall as ever, unmoved. Uncaring.
Impa spoke first. “A thousand lives saved,” she said, almost in awe.
“Three hundred lost,” Spirit replied.
The General shook her head. “We paid a price, Tactician. But don’t let that undermine what we accomplished here. Those thousand were meant to be dead, and they knew it. No blame would have been levied on you — on any of us — if they had met their fate today.”
Spirit shrugged, unable to speak. The dead were loud today. They pressed in around him, whispering and shouting and begging him to change what had happened.
He was too distracted to notice when Impa walked away.
One hundred, five hundred, one thousand.
Impa strode into the strategy tent, clearly barely restraining herself from an undignified dash. “We’ve struck a bargain,” she declared. “Thirty fairies will join us in exchange for the gifts we offer their Great Fairy.”
Spirit stood from his seat by the table, hardly able to believe his ears. Before he could speak, the junior strategist by his side piped up. “Thirty fairies? This will make a huge difference! It will save so many lives!”
Impa couldn’t contain her grin any longer. “This is a momentous day for us,” she agreed. “We’ll have to plan carefully where to deploy them, though. We’re spread too far for the fairies to be flying between different units in an emergency.”
The six strategists present all saluted their General. It would fall to them, then, to advise on where to send the fairies to save the most lives.
Spirit gnawed on his lip, considering travel distances and magical expenditures while Impa gave her orders.
“Now, go to the healers. I want reports on which units are coming back with the worst wounded. I believe that’s where we’ll want to concentrate our resources.”
Spirit frowned slightly as the runner took off towards the healers’ tents, notebook in hands. Something was tickling his thoughts, soft as eiderdown.
He let the other strategists take over the map in front of him while he sat back and thought. If his gut was telling him something was wrong, he ought to listen to it.
One thousand. Two thousand. Three thousand.
The single lantern on the table illuminated only a small area of the General’s tent and the two figures seated across it. Impa read the strategy team’s formal proposal with a bit more tension leaving her shoulders with every word she read.
“Right,” she said finally. “We’ll send one fairy out with each of the front line sword units. They’re the ones limping back from every battle, requiring the most aid and resources from the healers. It makes sense, they take the brunt of our forward assaults. We’ll send half to the eastern front and half to the western…”
Spirit listened with half an ear as she spoke. Something was wrong. A note played out of tune with the rest. He could just barely hear it, in the corner of his mind…
Spirit looked at the numbers again. They added up correctly. So why did he feel like there was something missing?
He thought about his train. He thought about long hours spent doing repairs and patch-ups after harsh battles and harried escapes. He thought about the times when he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to coax his poor, injured engine far enough to reach the next station.
He thought about reinforcing with wood and steel.
“Wait,” he interrupted quietly. Impa immediately stopped talking, though her glare was fierce.
He turned to a page at the back of the stack. Not from the healers’ reports, but from the medical units nonetheless. The roster of the dead.
Spirit felt like the truth was spiraling out of the page in front of him in golden fractals. But how could he explain it?
“Send fairies with the mage units. That will save the most lives.”
Impa frowned and flipped through her report again. “Mages hardly ever appear in the healers’ lists,” she pointed out. “They don’t need the support.”
“That’s wrong.” Spirit was sure, now, that he understood. He needed to make the General understand, too. He leaned forward earnestly, his fingers tracing lines he only saw in his mind’s eye. “The mages are the ones who, when monsters catch them, have no defenses and get slaughtered. They don’t make it to the healers’ tents. But fairies can save someone at the edge of death. They could be the difference between those mages being dead and them making it off the battlefield wounded.”
Impa set the papers down and tapped the tabletop with a finger. In the darkness, her shadowed expression looked especially grim.
“Your advice is counter to the rest of the strategists,” she reminded him. “If I do as you say, there will be consequences, whether you are right or wrong.”
Spirit nodded. “I accept that,” he assured her. “This is the best move. I’m sure of it. This will save the most lives.”
“It will be hard to prove that,” Impa pointed out. “It’s difficult to enumerate a lack of casualties.”
Spirit raised a single eyebrow. After a moment, Impa puffed out a breath of amusement. “Point taken,” she admitted, shuffling the reports back into a neat stack. “I’ll give the orders. I hope you know what you’re doing, Tactician.”
Spirit bowed his head respectfully and took his leave. Stepping out of the warm tent into the chilly, clear autumn night, Spirit took a moment to gather himself. His breath puffed as he stared up at the stars, sprinkled like jewels on a dark velvet cloth.
There would be costs.
He would be punished for defying the other strategists, regardless of the outcome of this choice. Socially, if in no other ways. And if he was wrong…
No, I’m right. I definitely am.
But even then, there would be a cost to their resources. More wounded meant more pressure on their already-strained healing capacity.
But fewer deaths.
“A soldier can live without a limb…” Spirit quoted. But they cannot survive without a head.
His heart hurt.
One thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand…
Spirit pushed himself up and started the chilly walk back to his own tent, his mind whirling with numbers.
Overhead, the stars wheeled in their slow dance, uncountable and invaluable.
Notes:
Survivorship bias is a type of logical error that results from only looking at data from points that have already passed some selection criteria — overlooking those that have “failed” to meet those criteria. It is a form of sampling bias that can lead to incorrect conclusions due to incomplete data being considered.
A famous example of survivorship bias is demonstrated with the following image of a WWII fighter plane. The red dots represent places where planes returning to base had suffered damage. Without accounting for sampling bias, the obvious conclusion would be that planes should be armored in those areas where they get hit the most. But when survivorship bias is accounted for, the conclusion reached is that the planes should be reinforced in those areas that suffered the least damage — because the planes that were hit in those areas weren’t able to make it safely back to base.
There are many other examples of survivorship bias in the world, and I recommend reading about them! It is easy to fall into this kind of logical fallacy, but the more aware we are of the gaps in our own knowledge, the better we are able to make informed and responsible choices.
Part 2/2 of my fic based on this comic by @kikker-oma ! If you didn’t read part one, go do that first!
Thank you so much for everyone’s wonderful reception to this fic. :sob: I wrote the whole thing in under 36 hours, which is lightning speed for me. I just felt so inspired that the muse seized me. This is the power of art!
Again, if you enjoy this story, please go support Kikker-Oma with a like or a reblog. Let’s keep showing our love for artists, writers, and creatives of all kinds!
*
Summary: Twilight knows what the Captain thinks of him. Doesn’t he?
Tags (UPDATED): Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Twilight Needs a Hug, Warriors Needs a Hug, they both get one but Warriors kind of gets two, Crushing, not like a crush, like think of Attack on Titan
[[MORE]]***
Twilight froze, his whole body rigid in a way that contrasted horribly with Warriors’ lax form. For the space of two breaths, he felt like he was locked in his own head, unable to move or act or think past the whirl of unidentifiable emotions swirling in his chest.
Then he was free of the spell, and he reached out a hand to pat the Captain’s face. He needed him to wake up, he needed him to drink a potion—
Warriors’ skin was cold. Twilight’s racing heartbeat stuttered, and he quickly moved his fingers to press into the skin under Warriors’ jaw.
A slow pulse beat softly against his hand. Warriors wasn’t dead, but—
Shock.
Twilight tried to remember what the others had said about treating shock—what Warriors had said about treating it—but most of what came to mind was how dangerous it was. How internal bleeding could cause more sinister damage than blood loss. How little time a healer had to act.
He laid Warriors back down on the ground with far more care than he had previously shown. Something about Warriors’ unnaturally white skin, starkly stained with red, made him feel an urge to handle the man delicately. He clumsily tugged the fur pelt from his shoulders and draped it across Warriors’ chest. Maybe it would help warm his cooling blood until help arrived.
Speaking of—
“Help!” Twilight called. His voice sounded rough to his own ears. “Somebody help! We need a fairy!”
Only silence met him.
The woods were empty. He knew that—between their battle and him shouting, any animals would have long since fled, and any monsters or people would have been drawn to the commotion. Even if he transformed into his wolf shape, he could not run fast enough to find help and make it back.
Help would have to come to them, and soon, if Warriors had any chance at all.
Twilight pawed through his pouch looking for anything that could aid him, but all he found was Epona’s horse call. Desperate, he blew into it, the piercing whistle warbling through the valley like a mournful bird.
There was no response.
He curled tightly over his knees, resting his aching head on them. His heart hurt. Too many thoughts, too many feelings were filling him, and he was starting to feel like he simply didn’t have space to fit them all inside himself.
Anger was at the forefront of his emotions. What an idiot the Captain was, to throw himself at that hinox as though it didn’t matter if he got hurt. As though his life had no value.
How dare he?
That thought shot through Twilight like lightning, enervating his limbs. How dare Warriors stand between Twilight and the danger? As though Twilight were a villager that needed saving, and not a Hero himself.
And how dare Warriors let himself be hurt like that?
Guilt chased after the anger shortly after. Its chilling touch washed across his skin, cooling his temper and making him shiver without his pelt. How could Twilight be mad at Warriors, when the Captain did it to get him the shot? To ensure they brought the hinox down?
He supposed, as much as he hated it, Warriors had done it to protect him. But why would he go to such lengths?
What did Warriors mean when he called Twilight “brother”?
Following on the heels of his guilt and confusion, fear started to rear its head. Like a patient hunter, it stalked him, gnawing at his doubts.
What if help didn’t come?
What if Warriors died here?
What would he tell Time?
He felt like the fear was choking him, bringing darkness to the corners of his eyes, and he realized that he was holding his breath. He forced himself to inhale deeply through his nose, and he blew the horse call again, listening hard.
Nothing. Just echoes.
His eyes dropped to the still body beside him. Was it his imagination, or was Warriors’ skin turning gray? Or was that merely the light shifting as the minutes crawled by?
“What did you mean?” Twilight whispered. Of course, there was no response.
What if he never found out the answer?
What if he had been wrong, all along, about himself and Warriors? What if the Captain died here and was never able to tell him?
Twilight found himself resting his hand lightly on Warriors’ chest, feeling for his heartbeat, for the slight rise and fall of his thin breaths. Twilight’s fingers dug into the soft fur of the wolf pelt like he needed something to hold onto.
He could tell how Warriors’ ribs felt squishy under his hand, and he hated the sensation. His mind shied away from it. But he couldn’t bear to take his hand away.
His other hand toyed with the horse whistle, turning it over and over on its chain. Every so often—it felt like forever, but it was probably every minute or so—he sent out a whistle.
Praying for someone to hear him. Praying for someone to come.
He had already wasted too much time. If he had transformed immediately—if he had gone searching in the long grass for fairies—
He whistled again. His heart was breaking.
His ears twitched. Was that shouting he heard?
He blew the whistle harder, longer. Definitely shouting, out in the woods somewhere!
“Here!” he cried. “We’re here!” The shouting became more focused, but now Twilight could barely hear it over the blood that was rushing in his ears.
Warriors was running out of time!
Movement between the trees, and before Twilight could think he recognized Legend’s blues and reds approaching at an impossible speed. The teen was clutching something in his hand that glowed.
Still barely within sight, Legend did something with the object—a fairy bottle, thank the Spirits, a fairy!—he released the fairy and she streaked towards Wars, Legend following at a desperate pace, shouting “Go go go!” at her as he ran.
The little sprite arrowed straight to the Captain and immediately began showering him with as much magic as she could call upon—more than Twilight had ever seen a fairy sprinkle on a single person. The light pouring off of her made his sensitive eyes burn and he had to squint to keep them open.
Legend came screeching out of the woods a second behind her, breathing hard and wide-eyed. His Pegasus Boots were practically smoking, giving off the sharp scent of a magic item pushed to its limits.
The fairy dropped onto her knees on Warriors’ chest, exhausted, panting, and spent.
Warriors didn’t wake up.
His skin was still pale, the blood on his face no longer bright red but dark and dull. It had dried to a tacky texture, crackling in the cool air like flaking paint.
But Twilight reached out and grabbed the Captain’s limp wrist, and there was a pulse there, stronger than before. He touched Warriors’ face and tilted it gently, and the bruising had faded, the broken nose had been fixed. He seemed to be breathing more easily. His ribs were no longer collapsed.
Twilight bowed over Warriors’ chest with a sob he didn’t expect to release.
Legend was hovering behind him, asking increasingly anxious questions, but Twilight couldn’t bear to speak. The relief in his chest was filling him up, and the confusion and guilt and fear were all tangling together and spilling out. He couldn’t stop the tears from overflowing and streaming down his cheeks.
Brother… Brother…
*
Wars woke up with the apple-cinnamon taste of one of Wild’s elixirs on his tongue.
He was slow to rouse, and frankly, he was a little surprised to wake up at all. The last thing he remembered was the sound of his own bones breaking, blood vessels popping in his ears, and pain.
He shivered a little and tried to put it from his mind.
He knew he’d been injured, and injured badly. His aching head—aching everything—told him so. So he didn’t mind giving his body a minute to adjust to just being alive, slowly coming to wakefulness and taking stock of everything.
He was warm, and that was nice. He wasn’t lying on the ground, but on a bedroll. Possibly several, based on how soft it felt under him. His body was heavily weighed down by blankets, and something was tickling his nose.
There was the quiet sound of voices nearby. People. That was good, for some reason. He couldn’t remember why.
He blinked his eyes open, and his vision swam—oranges and blacks were all he could see at first. Mostly black. As he blinked more, the black became a night sky, dark velvety blue sprinkled with stars like salt scattered across it. The orange seemed to come from his right. Flickering firelight. He turned his face towards it.
The thing tickling his nose tickled him more. Fur? he thought in confusion. Ah, Twilight’s pelt.
Why was he under Twilight’s pelt?
“Wars?” came a low voice, one that filled his heart to hear. The other voices hushed suddenly. Time, sitting by the low campfire, shuffled closer to him, his face shadowed with the light behind him.
“Sprite,” Wars croaked, his voice no more than a whisper.
“Thank the Three,” Time said, his own voice thick with emotion. He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch Wars, but was afraid to, as though worried one or the other of them might shatter. “We weren’t sure…”
Wars looked beyond Time, still feeling like his thoughts were scattered.
The rest of the Chain were gathered on the other side of the fire, barely visible through the rising heat. Legend was twisting his blue cap in his hands like he was wringing water out of it. Wind was huddled under a blanket, clutching his knees, and Wild was sitting next to him with an arm tight around his shoulders. Four was nominally on watch—Wars could see him leaning against a tree just within the ring of light—but he was clearly paying more attention to what was going on inside the circle than outside it. Wars couldn’t see the rest, only shadowy shapes beyond the glare of the flames.
Wars groaned softly and buried his nose in Twilight’s pelt. “Did I scare the kids?” he murmured.
“You scared all of us,” Time admonished. But he reached out and set a hand on Wars’ shoulder, a tiny squeeze telling Wars that he’d already been—mostly—forgiven.
Time leaned in a little. “There’s someone who wants to talk to you,” he said in a voice too low to carry to the others. Wars stiffened slightly, a frown forming between his eyebrows.
“Who?” he asked, confused.
Time turned and beckoned to someone at the back of the gathered Heroes, who stood up and picked his way over nervously.
Twilight looked much smaller than usual like this, with no pelt on his shoulders, wearing only his sleep clothes, and moving like a child afraid of a reed switch. He approached carefully, not looking at Wars’ face at all, and Wars felt his confusion mounting.
What on earth could make Twilight behave this way?
Time stood up with a small groan. Wars could swear he heard the man’s knees pop as he straightened. Time placed a soothing hand on Twilight’s shoulder as he passed by, murmuring something that Wars didn’t catch. Then he went to shoo the others to bed.
Twilight stood awkwardly near Wars for a moment while the others shuffled around and pretended they weren’t staring. The rancher was looking anywhere but directly at Wars.
“I c'n go,” Twilight offered finally. “’S stupid, we don’ have to talk now.”
Whatever it was, it was clearly bothering the man. Wars made a sound of protest when his voice refused to work properly, and he started coughing, the hot taste of the elixir still burning his throat.
Twilight looked panicked for a second, but then he got ahold of himself and snatched up a waterskin from beside Wars’ bedroll. He carefully helped Wars sit up, and when Wars tried to hold the waterskin with hands that shook, Twilight helped support the skin so that he could drink.
Wars took a few careful sips, wary of choking and what that would do to his bruised ribs. He leaned back against Twilight’s broad chest and felt secure, knowing that the rancher wouldn’t let him fall.
They sat in silence for a minute, Wars drifting and dazed, Twilight lost in thought.
“Tha’ was a stupid plan,” Twilight said at last.
“Not my best work,” Wars admitted with a wry quirk of his lips. He was afraid that even a chuckle would hurt.
“No, I mean tha’ was a stupid plan,” Twilight insisted. “You coulda—Coulda—” Twilight couldn’t seem to find the words.
Wars tried to peer up at Twilight’s face, but the angle was bad. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Twilight sat very, very still. Wars was reminded of a hunting dog who’d found its quarry and was quivering in anticipation, holding itself back from flushing the game.
Whatever was on his mind, he’d been mulling on it for a while.
“Why did you call me ‘brother’?”
Of all the questions Wars had imagined coming from Twilight, this had not been one of them. He was even more confused than before. “When did I…?” He trailed off. That wasn’t important. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Twilight, if possible, stiffened further.
Had Wars misunderstood their relationship? Did brotherhood mean something different in Twilight’s time? Had Wars accidentally insulted him?
“I though'…” Twilight cleared his throat. “I though’ you looked down on me. Though’ you though’ you were better 'n me.”
“Twilight…” Wars’ frown deepened. “Why would you—” He had to break off to cough again, but this fit was shorter. The water was helping his abused throat.
He could still taste all the blood he had choked on. He was not going to tell the others this.
“Why?” he asked again when he had breath.
“'Cause I’m not sophisticated like you,” Twilight answered. There was frustration in his voice, but it didn’t sound like it was aimed at Wars. More like it was aimed at himself. “I know I don’ know things that you know, an’ I don’ have manners, an'—an'—”
Wars felt slightly helpless. He could barely speak, barely move—he was in bad shape to be comforting anyone right now. He bumped his head against Twilight’s shoulder to get the rancher’s attention. “Still my brother,” he said firmly, “and you know more than you think you do.”
He struggled to find the right words to repair a hurt he hadn’t even known existed until a moment ago. “I don’t know what I did to make you think I don’t like you,” Wars said slowly, carefully. “Or that I don’t respect you. I respect you… a lot. So let's… talk about it. Not now. But soon. Let's… do better. Okay?”
It was like whatever force had been holding Twilight together was crumbling before his eyes. Wars watched the man’s head bow like grief was a physical weight around his brow, a crown of sorrow heavier than iron or lead.
Hesitantly, Twilight lifted his arms. He gave Wars plenty of time to see his movement and read his intentions. Plenty of time to say no if he so chose. Wars was grateful for that.
Twilight placed his arms around Wars in what was surely the most timid hug the Captain had ever received. But with how fragile Wars was feeling physically, he was glad of that, too. He couldn’t exactly return the hug from his position in front of Twilight, so he settled for leaning more heavily against the other man, and resting his own hands on Twilight’s forearms to hold them in place.
It took very little time for Twilight to break down. Wars could feel him shaking, could hear him sniffling right next to Wars’ ear, and Wars’ shoulder quickly grew damp from tears. But Twilight was clearly trying to hold himself together as best he could, keeping his sobs quiet to avoid drawing attention to himself, and Warriors’ heart broke to hear it.
He didn’t think Twilight would appreciate anyone making a fuss right now, though, so Wars simply held tighter to Twilight’s arms around him, letting the other man cry himself out.
By the time the tears stopped, the fire had died down to embers, and the blue night overhead was shining the color of dark sapphires. A chill was creeping into the breeze, giving Wars goosebumps where he wasn’t pressed up against Twilight’s warmth.
Twilight seemed to finally come out of his fugue state, blinking and disoriented. He licked dry lips and Wars offered him the waterskin from his lap.
“…Thanks,” Twilight said faintly, taking a sip.
They both knew he wasn’t just grateful for the water.
Wars shifted, and realized once again how much everything hurt. “Help me lie down?” he asked.
Wordlessly, Twilight adjusted his position and lowered Wars gently onto the bedroll pile. When he saw Wars shiver, Twilight tucked the blankets more firmly around his shoulders, then repositioned the pelt as reverentially as an altar cloth.
He handled Wars as though he were as fragile as glass, and honestly Wars couldn’t blame him for that, either. He felt like glass, brittle and tenuous and already filled with cracks. But he knew he would heal from this. It would just take a little more time.
“Tomorrow,” Wars promised. “Or the next day. We’ll talk. We’ll make this right.”
A ghost of a smile swam across Twilight’s tear-stained face, barely visible in the gloom. “Yeah. Okay.”
Wars expected Twilight to get up and go find his own bedroll—assuming Wars wasn’t currently lying on it—but instead the rancher arranged himself cross-legged beside Wars, to all appearances settling in to a shift on watch. But Wars could see, on the opposite side of camp, Sky’s sailcloth as a dim white blob, so why was Twilight staying awake too?
Twilight was fidgeting with his hands, twisting them around each other like he couldn’t keep them still. And he kept glancing at Wars.
Wars remembered doing that himself, during the war. Sitting vigil beside Mask’s cot after a battle, making sure his little Sprite kept breathing all night, afraid that if he looked away the kid would disappear.
With an internal sigh, Wars snaked a hand out from under the blankets and offered it to Twilight. It would be chilly, but it would be worth it.
Twilight awkwardly took the proffered hand, scooting a little closer to Wars’ side. He twined their fingers together, his thumb resting lightly over the pulse point in Wars’ wrist. His shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension and his silhouette slumped. Some of the grief left him then.
Wars was already half-asleep. Twilight started humming an eerie song that reminded him of wolves howling for their kin, and it lulled Wars the rest of the way to slumber. He felt safe, knowing that his brother was watching over him.
You can’t fix all the hurt in one conversation. But you can make a start.
For the record, a lot of the “judgment” Twilight felt coming from Wars was simply his own anxieties. Making him feel like people were paying closer attention to his mistakes than they actually were, or judging him more harshly for them. But it will take time for Twilight to learn that not every fist is raised against him.
Thank you for reading!
Based on this amazing short comic by @kikker-oma ! I have wanted to make fics based on their wonderful pieces of art before, but this one grabbed me by the THROAT and I wrote this in one day.
Please go support the artist with a like or a reblog!
(And I’m going to try to post Part 2 tomorrow, it’s almost done!)
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Summary: Twilight knows what the Captain thinks of him. Doesn’t he?
Tags: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Whump, Angst, Crushing, not like a crush, like think of Attack on Titan
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Twilight knew that Warriors looked down on him. It made sense, in truth, and Twilight could hardly blame the man for it.
Based on his accent and mannerisms, it was clear that the Captain hailed from the nobility, or at least the big city. Twilight could see the judgement in Warriors’ eyes whenever Twilight spoke, his country drawl apparent no matter how he tried to minimize it.
He could see how Warriors shifted and looked away from him in embarrassment when they had to meet with—or, Spirits forbid, eat with—royalty, which happened more often than Twilight could really stand on this journey.
He could see scorn in the way Warriors and Shade—Time—kept their heads together late at night, talking quietly, close in a way that Twilight knew that he could never be to either of them. He kept to himself, spending more time with the younger Heroes, and tried to ignore the loneliness and jealousy that stuck in his craw like rancid meat. Jealousy, after all, was unbecoming of a Hero.
And beyond that, Warriors was knighted and ranked in his own era, while Twilight had no formal training beyond what Shade had given him. And he could hardly even admit to that, in present company.
So Twilight accepted the sidelong glances and the feeling that his every small mistake was being judged.
It rankled, but he accepted it. He didn’t need approval from some pushed-up, puffed-up army boy to know his own worth.
Of all the people Twilight wanted to get stuck with after a bad portal, though, Warriors was at the very bottom of the list.
Especially when he had no idea where the rest of the Chain ended up.
And especially when they got dropped practically on a hinox’s lap.
*
“—! —Rancher!”
Twilight’s head was ringing, the blue sky above spinning slowly overhead. He was on the ground, he could tell that by the cool dirt that pressed against his whole back and side. He had fallen twisted, he supposed.
It took a few slow blinks for him to remember exactly what was happening, but even the rush of adrenaline he felt wasn’t enough to totally clear his head.
Blood caked the left side of his face, gluing his eye shut and getting in his mouth, the coppery taste of it making his insides squirm. Or maybe that was nausea from the way his vision was tilting.
What he had thought was the thumping of his heart was actually the ground shaking with heavy footfalls. And they were getting closer.
His sword. He needed his sword.
He looked around slowly, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his neck at every tiny motion. A huge, dark blur filled his doubled vision and he knew that wasn’t good but he couldn’t do anything about it without his sword and maybe standing up would be good, too—
“RANCHER!”
There was roar that made Twilight’s head hurt, a flash of blue and green and silver, and then another roar that sounded more surprised and pained than angry. Twilight got one groping hand underneath his shoulder and started to push himself up, still only half-aware but with the feeling that he needed to move or things would get worse quickly.
With a few more rapid blinks, his vision went from blurry to only slightly out of focus, and he got up as far as his elbows before he had to stop for some deep breaths.
“Come on then! Eye on me, pretty lady, keep your gorgeous yellow eye on me!”
…What?
The hinox was looming over Twilight, massive feet far too close to his prone form for comfort, and every step it took made Twilight tense with fear. He wanted to get up or roll away or something but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself when he was in such a vulnerable position. The fact that the hinox hadn’t crushed him into jelly yet—
“That’s it, my darling, watch me! Don’t look away!”
Warriors was shouting at the monster, spouting utter nonsense, and threatening it with his sword. It was like he was trying to coax the hinox away from Twilight, keeping its attention like he was goading an angry bear. Except the hinox was more dangerous than any bear, and two or three times as large as one, and Warriors seemed like he was trying to get hit!
Gotta get up. Gotta help!
Twilight pushed himself up on trembling knees, and the hinox immediately turned on him, its lumbering bulk swaying with the inertia of its turn. It raised its club to smash him and there was no way he could get out of the way like this—The club swung—
A wordless shout, and the Captain was interceding, catching the club that was as tall as himself against his steel shield. The metal shook as it absorbed the force of the blow, buckling—and Warriors, too, buckled, his arm collapsing under the strike. He grunted but kept his feet, forcing the hinox to pull back for another blow.
Twilight was sure that arm was broken, or the shoulder joint torn. No man could withstand a strike like that without repercussions.
Sure enough, Warriors lowered the shield and shook his arm out of the straps, dropping the bent metal to the ground beside Twilight. He took a two-handed grip on his sword, still standing between Twilight and the hinox.
Staggering a little, Twilight made it to his feet. “I’m up,” he growled at Warriors’ back. “Move aside, I’ll finish this.”
Warriors didn’t even look back at him. Didn’t act like he had heard at all. Was that how little the Captain thought of him?
Well, whatever.
Twilight pulled his crossbow out of its case and set a bolt with shaking hands. He would have preferred to use his regular bow—loading bolts was slow and risky—but he was afraid that with the amount of pain his neck was in, he wouldn’t be able to draw to full strength.
And he needed power right now.
The bolt clicked into place and Twilight stepped out from behind the Captain, sighting carefully, aware that his vision couldn’t fully be trusted. But as soon as he raised his crossbow, the damned hinox lifted a hand to cover its vulnerable eye!
Twilight cursed, trying to find an opening. “I need a clear shot,” he muttered to himself.
Now Warriors heard him. The Captain glanced between the crossbow in Twilight’s hands and the hinox, then back again.
“…It only has two hands,” the man said thoughtfully.
What the hell does he—
Twilight didn’t have time to ask, because Warriors suddenly ran straight towards the hinox, and if he didn’t look like a bear-baiter before he certainly did now!
“Hey!” the Captain was yelling again. “Down here! Yes, right here!”
The hinox growled, trying to swipe at Warriors with its club, but the Captain was so fast he got right up close to the hinox’s feet, where it couldn’t reach with its club. The hinox jigged around him, trying to back up and keep its hand over its eye, but Warriors kept pressing close, like they were partners in some bizarre court dance.
Then Warriors stopped, waving his hands over his head.
And the hinox snatched him up in one giant hand. Warriors cried out, not with surprise, but with pain.
Twilight swung his crossbow into position, praying he wouldn’t hit Warriors, and fired. It took mere seconds.
Seconds were too long.
Between one breath and the next, the hinox flexed its hand. Warriors gasped and went limp in its grasp. And the bolt struck home.
The hinox staggered backward, howling in pain. It dropped both its club and its victim to the ground to clutch at its eye with both hands, but it was already fading away, turning to ash with a smell like a dead swamp.
The smoke hadn’t even cleared as Twilight staggered to the crumpled body on the ground.
Twilight skidded on his knees to land beside Warriors, his heart beating fast fit to crack his own ribs.
He got an arm behind the Captain’s shoulders and roughly lifted him, barely restraining himself from grabbing the front of the idiot’s shirt and shaking him.
Warriors’ pale face was liberally spattered with blood, and a harsh red bruise was forming on one cheek. His nose was bleeding freely and looked broken, in Twilight’s unfortunately expert opinion.
As Warriors was lifted, he let out a weak cough, one which crackled in his throat like paper being crumpled, and fresh, hot blood poured down his chin. The man winced in pain, and a thin moan slipped from between his lips. His eyes remained shut.
“Hey. Hey!” Twilight snapped, his temper fraying for reasons he couldn’t name. He rummaged one-handed in his pouch for a potion, his gaze pulled briefly away from Warriors’ pained face. “Stay awake, peacock. You gotta drink some'in.”
“C'n…” Warriors groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. A quick glance at his glazed look and dilated pupils was sufficient for Twilight to identify a head wound — a bad one.
For some reason it made him even angrier.
“That was a downrigh’ foolish move, Capt'n!” Twilight scolded. His hand closed over the cool glass of a potion bottle and he yanked it free.
He startled when a shaking hand appeared in his vision, reaching for his face. Before he could shy away, Warriors’ bloodied hand was on his cheek, the Captain’s thumb swiping gently under his eye, catching on the sticky blood there and smearing it.
“Shh…” Warriors murmured, his voice crackling again. His dazed eyes seemed to jitter, unable to focus on Twilight’s face, and Twilight wondered how much he could actually see.
“Don’t cry,” Warriors breathed. That tender touch on Twilight’s cheek didn’t falter as Warriors continued to wipe away imagined tears. His voice grew fainter as he said, “’S okay… brother…”
Twilight’s heart dropped like a stone.
What is he… What does he…
A moment later, Warriors’ hand fell limply onto Twilight’s shoulder, and the Captain went still.
This artwork was made for the @linkshipping-big-bang based on the fic by @not-freyja (link coming soon) (Edit: AO3 link here)!
8 × 10. Alcohol markers, watercolor markers, colored pencils, black ink, white gel pen, digital effects.
[IMG: A traditional mixed media drawing/painting of Rift (Link from Echoes of Wisdom) and his Echo locked in battle. Echo is lunging forward and has clamped its right hand over Rift’s mouth, silencing him. Streaming from every part of it, clinging to it, and growing from it, is a viscous shiny purple gooey substance, which trails behind it as it moves and binds it to the background and border. Rift is on his knees, bowed back under Echo’s assault, eyes blown wide and hands grasping at the air. His clothing is torn to shreds and he is bleeding from wounds on his arms and legs. The top and left borders of the image are decorated with gold “window panes” and the top left corner has the Triforce of Courage and the green symbol of the goddess Farore, surrounded by a ring of little Tri spirits. The purple slime reaches tendrils into the window panes and ring of Tris. The background is blue-green and the corners are darkly shadowed. There are three bushes in the bottom left corner, one of which is also infected by the purple stuff. The whole drawing is covered with a (digital) murky purple haze, except for the golden border and the windows, which show cleanly through the haze layer.]
Sappy words, artistic musings, and detail images under the cut.
[[MORE]]I was so excited when I got my pairing for this event. I almost didn’t even put this fic on my wishlist because I assumed there would be too much competition for it, and then I got matched anyway! I was blown away by my good fortune.
Working with not-freyja was, as expected, a delight. We both approached the project with a combination of Serious Professionalism and We Are Going To Have So Much Fun attitude. Going back and forth with them about, not just artistic choices, but the emotions and themes we wanted to convey, was such a joy. I loved being their partner for this event.
Speaking of the event. I’m so glad I got to participate! I have a lot of thoughts about the value of these kinds of events in fandom and also it was just a lot of fun. But this is not the place for additional essays, so remind me later if you want to hear me blab.
The art. I wanted to emphasize the theme of “control” in this painting—both Rift’s control/lack of control AND Echo’s. In this moment, Rift has lost complete control of the situation. At the same time, Echo is literally being pulled apart, breaking free of his environment (which is also himself) while simultaneously being dragged back. He moves in two directions at once, which Rift can only be still.
I also wanted a little bit of surreal geometry in this image. I looked at many examples of Art Nouveau, especially of course Alphonse Mucha’s advertisements, and tried to bring some of that styling into the border. It was my first time trying that style so next time I think I’ll try to push those ideas farther.
Layering: most of the flat colors are done with alcohol markers—the goop is watercolor marker because I get tighter edges. Shading is done with colored pencils, again except for the goop and the gold, which are watercolor markers. I used a touch of digital manipulation at the end to create the purple cast to the lighting, masking off the border to make the windows shine through.
[IMG: The same traditional drawing as above, but without the digital elements. The drawing is brighter without the purple haze, and colors are sharper.]
[IMG: A cropped section of the drawing (without the digital haze layer) zoomed in on the ring of Tris and the Triforce. Each Tri is in its own golden ring. The Tris look like little balls or blobs with two little triangle feet and a triangle crest on top of their heads. They each have a mouth and two eyes, but the mouths and eyes are all in different shapes, sizes, and orientations on their faces. They are bright yellow and glow slightly. Tendrils of purple goop twine and drip around the edges of the gold rings.]
[IMG: A cropped section of the drawing (without the digital haze layer) zoomed in on Rift. Details you can see at this scale include: There are shadows under his eyes and his expression is horrified. His brown shirt has been ripped or slashed open in the front and is stretched taut across his shoulders. His green tunic has been torn so thoroughly that it’s around his waist, held on only by his belt. He is missing one boot. His wounds are streaming blood and staining his clothes with his motion. Echo’s hand fits across the whole of his lower face.]
[IMG: A cropped section of the drawing (without the digital haze layer) zoomed in on the mess of purple gooey stuff being peeled out of Echo. The stuff drips like slime but also sticks like spiderwebs, making loops and strings that drape across the scene. The color is somewhere between a bright magenta and a dark violet, depending on where the light is shining. It is very shiny.]
[IMG: The lineart of the drawing done in black pen. Thicker and thinner lines give the impression of areas of light and shadow. There is a slight glitch in the top left corner of the scan that makes the lines wobble.]
Read Off-Season by @hylianworrier here!
This artwork was made for the @linkshipping-big-bang based on the fic linked above. I did not make either the art or the fic!
During this event, I proxied for my IRL friend Polaire. I am now posting the artwork on their behalf. Here is the message Polaire wanted me to share regarding their process:
[[MORE]]One of the first things I noticed reading Off-Season was a contrast between large, intimidatingly open spaces, and interpersonal intimacy. So I wanted to have something for the big open sky and the isolating, empty airport, vs. things cropped tightly for that warm, physical closeness. There’s also a lot of descriptions with specific frames for observation, like Wild’s camera, but also windows, the car mirror or a phone, so I liked the idea of showing their closeness at the end with the closest crop on just their hands, making contact through this aperture.
For visual inspo I started with Kazu Saito’s paintings, which have exactly what I wanted to achieve in the vast sky.
https://kazusaito.store/products/天翔ける-a-shooting-star-through-the-sky
They also do something really cool with having a human presence in all these pinpricks of light, but also being sort of cold and at rest.
https://kazusaito.store/products/浄瑠璃寺-jewel-glass-temple
Messing around with that got me to the limited palette and the slight noise texture that I ended up layering on top! There’s a couple gradients for the skyline and the steam and such but fundamentally all the colors involved are achieved by varying opacities of the same 4 colors, a yellow, soft magenta, teal, and purple-gray. Tried a bunch of new things to get here which was super fun! @hylianworrier thank you for letting me play with your lovely work about finding your way out of isolation! And also for being patient when I turned it into a bit of a sprint for the due date 😆
[IMG 1: A digital drawing of Wild standing in an airport waiting area next to a huge window, through which can be seen the night sky. The background is white. Wild is dressed in gray and is carrying a backpack and luggage. The night sky is richly colored with purple and black, and city lights and stars dot the mountainous landscape. The sky feels lonely.]
[IMG 2: A digital drawing of Wild and Light sitting in a Japanese-style wooden hot tub together, kissing passionately. Wild is straddling Light and has his arms around the back of his neck. Both their faces are hidden by the angle.]
[IMG 3: A digital drawing of a hand holding a smartphone. The phone is in selfie mode and on the screen is a blurry image of Wild wearing glasses and making a “peace” gesture.]
[IMG 4: A digital drawing of a pair of hands holding a smartphone. The same selfie is on the screen. The hands are gently touching the photo.]
