#botw whump

[ordon-shield]

Febuwhump Day 10 (Difficulty Breathing): Seeing Through Malice

ao3 link here (2nd in a series)

(content warning for: implied torture, mild body horror)

Link woke up slowly, in bits and starts, his body aching and his eyes bleary. His awareness of the world around him came back just as slowly. He was lying down on something made of coarse cloth that grated painfully across his skin, with hard stone underneath. Everything hurt, his skin, his chest, his throat, and his head. He also felt a dull aching pain in his right eye, but compared to everything else, that was minor.

Finally managing to get up, even as his limbs protested against it, trying to figure out his surroundings. He was in a small stone room, with no visible exit outside of a small hole up in the ceiling that the sun was shining through, projecting a small square of light onto the stone wall behind him. He was missing his clothes and gear, including the Slate, replaced instead with bandages wrapped tightly around much of his body. He could also tell that a salve of some sort had been used on them, so whoever had brought him there didn’t want him dead at the very least. In the centre of the room, he spotted a bowl of cold rice and a mug of water alongside a couple of bananas, still attached by their stems. He chuckled to himself, suddenly realising where he was, before doubling over in a coughing fit.

He tried to breath through the coughs, short gasps as the pain grew in his chest and phlegm found its way up his throat. Rolling over onto his back, he managed to stop, taking deep and slow breaths as his heart races. Carefully trying to sit up again, he felt phlegm gather in his throat, before another fit of coughing engulfed him, sending it out of his mouth and drooping down his face. Wiping it off with his hand, he realised something odd. The substance sticking to his fingers was darker than it had any right to be, a familiar black stained through with that shimmering familiar pink shine. His chest tightened as he realised he’d just coughed up malice.

Link remembered now, what had happened at the ruins, how he’d been trapped in the pool of malice, being eaten away at by it until he’d managed to pull himself free. Bile rose in his throat and somewhere in his mind he wondered if that would be stained by the physical manifestation of hatred as well. He wondered though, why the Yiga who’d held him down, condemning him to a torturous death, had brought him here. He was a prisoner, but a prisoner with treated wounds and meals, which confused him. In his experience, the Yiga tended to attack first, ask questions never, ruthlessly trying to kill him every time they met. This last time had been no different until he’d rolled out of the malice and been met with a blade to the throat, but nothing else.

He managed to eat the food at least, swallowing it down despite the bile that struggled to rise through his throat. He lay down after, watching from where he’d woken up as the light projected onto the wall slowly moved until the sun began to set, sending golden sunbeams into the stone room.

It was then that the blademaster arrived, appearing into the cell with the sound of displaced air and ominous silence. Link had heard of the Yiga blademasters before, rumours floating around the stables and villages, but he’d only fought the one who came for Dorian and the Sheikah heirloom in Kakariko. He glared up at the taller man, knowing that even if he couldn’t fight in his current state, he could still refuse to answer any questions asked of him, no matter what they might do to him. The blademaster simply picked up the remains of his meal.

“Why—,” he was cut off by a cough, “— why am I here?”

“I asked that question myself,” the blademaster responded, “but the scout who brought you in brought up a good argument… after all, Lord Ganon himself has marked you.”

Link flinched back, but the blademaster just chuckled at the fear on his face, unsheathing his blade and tilting it into the light just so, so that Link could see the reflection of his own face staring back at him, his right eye unrecognisable. While his left was the familiar blue he’d known all his life, all of it that he could remember at least, the right burned with hatred like a flame, the darkened sclera surrounding the familiar slit of an eye of malice, like he’d seen all across Hyrule.

@febuwhump

[grooviestsadpapaya]

Revalink sketch YIPPEE 🦅🦅🦅🦅

[amariaarts]

for linktober day 14: fairy

he'll be fine :)

[syosunny]

Very rough sketches for a tloz Au, Link gets killed by Ganon in Gerudo ( in a pretty violent way)but is resurrected by hylia herself, and it's very painful. Then he gets a moral burnout and after trying to unalive himself a few times, he reaches Gerudo highlands. And finds a town there. After saving the town, one of the villagers gifts him a mare. He then gears up and leaves the town to fullfil his duty to save Hyrule. Or maybe not.

The comic focuses on Link's psyche and his journey through -mostly Gerudo- Hyrule. With an emphasis on culture and worldbuilding (And horses)

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Greetings, Villainous Kitty

I've come with an absurd writing request.

How about a hero (who used to be very idealistic) who violently murders the people who supposedly killed their lover, the villain (you said you didn't get enough characters going feral and murdering ppl n stuff so here we are)

Except the catch is, the hero discovers the villain is alive. You choose how they react.

No pressure at all and definitely no rush. I hope this wasn't too unoriginal, and it's completely fine if you don't want to write it. . .

Also you're very very talented and your writing slayssss 💙💙

In all honesty, the hero didn’t know they were this good with swords.

Usually, they didn’t use equipment for close combat and especially not those which were made to cut and tear. Protection was supposed to be their top priority. A commandment they obeyed like none other. After all, training had designed them this way: to protect.

“If you do this,” the superhero said, “you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Their heavy breathing broke their voice in many places. As well as the blood in their throat and the pain brewing in their shattered leg. But the hero had little sympathy, had little compassion to spare. Within hours, their entire world had been destroyed. Now they knew that they could destroy entire worlds within merely seconds.

“That’s what you want? Play god? Kill whatever you want?” The hero hadn’t realised, had never really recognised it but tears were running down their face, together with all their emotions.

“Jealous?” the hero asked. They weren’t ashamed of the tears, weren’t ashamed of the suffering and the sins they were committing. They had nothing to lose and they only killed those who deserved it. They felt like this was the first time in years in which they brought justice to the city.

“I remember when you were a child,” the superhero said. They smiled softly as they held a nasty wound on their side. “So scared but so bright. You always asked if you could give the rest of your food to the guard dogs.”

Yes, they supposed that had happened.

“I never had a kid. To have you was enough.” Ashamed, the hero realised that they’d let their guard down. So, they pressed their blade into one of the superhero’s wounds and watched as their superior twisted in pain, screaming when the hero turned the sword a bit.

“And look at us now,” the hero said. “Look at what you did.”

And the superhero did. They looked at the building the hero had wrecked, the wires hanging from the ceiling and the destroyed furniture. At the dead guards and the glass. A calamity.

“You killed them. You killed the villain,” the hero said as they pulled the sword out of the superhero’s body. “You slaughtered them like an animal.”

“It had to be done—” the superhero wheezed in response. They took in greedy gasps of air but it wasn’t enough. Blood was in their lungs and they would die soon.

“I loved them.”

“And I loved you. I loved you like my own child.” The superhero stretched out their arm, probably so they could touch them. But the hero just looked at them, two lines of tears drawing into the dirt on their cheeks. “I couldn’t let them destroy you.”

For a long time, the hero watched them. How they fought for air and how they tried so desperately to survive their injury. But then, they made up their mind.

“Forgive me, then,” the hero said.

“I always will,” echoed the answer and that was all the hero needed. With a horrible crunch were they able to put the blade through their mentor’s chest as tears dropped down onto their hands. There were little noises of protest but soon enough, they died when the blood came.

They sat there for minutes, watching the lifeless body of the superhero being completely motionless, unresponsive. And the hero cried, couldn’t do anything but cry into their own hands.

They were a failure. Doomed to shatter. They couldn’t believe how many people they had killed and how many of those were close to them. What had they become? What was wrong with them?

After half an hour, they could barely move. Their whole body was shaking and they were too tired to use their muscles. They just sat there, watching the cold body.

But, then.

“My love.” The hero turned around, thinking this was a cruel trick. “Do you want me to take you home?”

They weren’t quite sure if the hand on their shoulder was real. They didn’t know if they only imagined their lover.

[rensawakening]

Guess I should pin one of these. Most of my content is either horny or violent.

Fandoms:

Ren’s Awakening (my comic)

Samurai Jack

The Amazing Digital Circus

Gravity Falls

Adventure Time

The Legend of Zelda

Whump

Neon Genesis Evangelion

The Beatles

Let me know if you want a shitty sketch of something.

[mjrino]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Link/Revali (Legend of Zelda), Link & Revali (Legend of Zelda) Characters: Link (Legend of Zelda), Revali (Legend of Zelda) Additional Tags: AILESS WHUMPTOBER 2024, Unfortunate Fall, Whump, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, no mcd explicitly but revali /has/ died. he is dead, falling, Realization, Character Study, Ambiguous Relationships, not explicitly revalink, but written with it in mind Series: Part 2 of MJ's ai-less whumptober 2024 Summary:

"The first thing Link did, when he'd found all that clothing that could make him soar through the skies, was dye it blue."

Link has a nasty fall. While the ground is fast approaching, he contemplates Revali.

[fioreofthemarch]

Vicious Sickles

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Relationship: Link & Original Yiga Clan characters Words: 2596 | AO3 link [cw blood and combat violence]

Chest heaving, hands shaking, vision fading. This was meant to be practice.

Link steadies himself on the marshy sand beneath his feet, and winces from the pain. Every muscle cries out, every breath is ragged. A solitary thought keeps him standing: this would be a lousy place to die.

He blinks slowly as he focuses on the problem ahead; a trio of screeching lizalfos, hip-hopping from foot to foot, lizal-blades in hand, their beady eyes rolling. One of the rascals wields a Royal Broadsword that Link went to great lengths to salvage from Hyrule Castle, having used its disgusting tongue to snatch it from his hand.

His only weapon left is the Sheikah Slate. He holds it weakly in his left hand while his right hand is clasped tightly around his shoulder, covering a smiling red gash. It drips blood down to the shallow waters that lap his feet. Some green-eared traveller in Hateno told him that the lizalfos in Faron are sluggish in comparison to their river land brethren and would make for good fighting practice. He’ll kill whoever that was, if he survives.

He’s almost out of grit, so his next action is swift: he thrusts the Sheikah Slate forward and the Royal Broadsword freezes, held in place by a rune of bright yellow radiance. The lizalfos that stole it whips about in confusion, talon clasping the air where the weapon once was. It’s cheating, Link knows, but honest fighters never did live long.

Stumbling forward, Link grabs hold of the Royal Broadsword and wrenches it free. In a single movement he skewers one of the lizalfos through the chest and withdraws his blade to decapitate a second. The third, seeing this sudden flash of violence, turns to flee.

Spent, but alive, Link falls to his knees on the sand. He’ll take a cheap victory over a gruesome death any day. But he can’t stay here. His consciousness is going out from him like the tide. He selects Kakariko Village on the Sheikah Slate map and lets the tendrils of blue and silver energy carry him to safety.

—

Hyah, hyuck, phwor! Dorian of Kakariko Village steps through a well-practised routine of shadow swings, wielding a slender, bone-straight blade.

In a light rain that falls as little more than a mist, Link watches Dorian dance, as he sits on the steps of Impa’s house. Cado has joined him, and they pass a bowl of pickled swift carrots back and forth. Cado occasionally pipes up with criticism of Dorian’s form or posture, but Link says that he admires his discipline.

“I was Yiga!” cries Dorian mid-swing, “Hyurk! Discipline was survival!”

Link wants to apologise, feeling bad for bringing up Dorian’s past, even unintentionally. But when he casts a sideways glance to Cado, he sees the other Sheikah rolling his eyes. Here we go again, Cado mouths, and Link can’t help chuckle.

“Laugh all you want!” Dorian says, never pausing his routine. “There is no humour when you are fighting to the death.”

“Is that what we’re watching now?” Cado teases, and gets no answer.

Link hugs his knees to his chest, embarrassed at what he is about to admit. “I… I was nearly killed by some lizalfos, the other day.”

“Cheeky bastards,” Cado says, clicking his tongue. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Yes, Link, any fight you walk away from is a good one,” Dorian adds.

“I teleported away, actually.”

Cado laughs, carrot nearly spilling from his mouth. “You fled? Is this really our Princess’ own appointed Knight speaking?”

“What happened to not beating himself up?” Dorian cuts in. Offended, Cado takes the bowl of carrots and marches up the stairs to Impa’s house, giving Link a short, parting nod.

“I need to be quicker,” Link continues. “I need better weapons.”

With a sigh, Dorian brings his blade in front of his face, pausing there for a moment, and ends his routine. He sheathes the sword, and then sits down beside Link on the stairs. The rain falls heavier now, so they shift higher up to be sheltered by the pagoda roof. Dorian’s hair and beard are wet from the rain, which to Link makes him seem older, his dark eyes dropping and weary.

“A blade cannot change its wielder,” Dorian says. “You fought bravely, do not doubt that.”

Link feels little comfort in the words, not when his body still aches. He changes the subject, nodding to the blade on Dorian’s back: “Where did you get that one?”

Dorian draws the blade again, laying it across his lap. “Our eightfold blades were originally created by the Sheikah and Yiga’s shared ancestors and were passed down by both tribes. Few remain.”

“Did this one… belong to the Yiga?”

“No. Impa gave it to me as her way of welcoming me to this tribe.”

For a moment Link thinks of asking if he can borrow it - a blade like that would solve a lot of his problems. But he senses Dorian’s connection to it - he could no more ask to borrow the man’s arm, and he knows he has a sword of his own waiting for him in the Korok Forest. If only I was stronger…

Then the Sheikah guard is sheathing the sword again and standing to leave. Before he departs however, he turns back to Link a final time: “You will find the blade of your soul Link, I am sure of it.”

Suddenly anxious, to get moving or to prove some unspoken promise to himself, Link resolves to leave Kakariko as soon as the weather clears. Then, as if the Goddess herself is listening to his thoughts, the rain begins to ease.

—

Link is barely out of Necluda when the first opportunity to test his strength arises. On the riverine path between the Duelling Peaks, a cowering Hylian seems to materialise out of thin air, their hunched stature in stark contrast to the bold and brash travellers he has met on the road.

“I’ll never make it home now!” the traveller whimpers as he approaches.

“Are you alright?” Link asks. “D’you need any help?”

The traveller whips their head around, their whole body shaking. “Help me!?” they shriek, and then suddenly – they arc upwards, standing to attention. “You can help me by dying!”

There is a puff of red smoke, and the traveller is gone. In their place is nothing but the sound of laughter and–

Hyuk! A Yiga bursts into being above Link, a shining blade in hand. Link jerks away just in time and sees that the Yiga wields a strange, curved weapon that Link has never seen before — it’s like a scythe, but smaller and angrier – and quick! The Yiga dashes forward in a slipstream; steel rings as Link barely draws his own blade in time, a run-of-the-mill soldier's broadsword. But the scythe-weapon seems to hook around the hilt of his sword, tearing it from his grip. Link roars as his broadsword is flung across the river and out of sight.

The Yiga flips and spins to face him. They bring their scythe to bear — a deadly challenge. Link has nothing to counter with; no weapons in storage and barely more than a dagger on his belt. He raises his fists.

Across the shore they trade swipes and blows, shuffling one step, two, pebbles crunching underfoot. They are two vipers: red and blue, striking with deadly precision. Although only one of them actually has a weapon.

The Yiga’s curved blade has barely any reach and looks too unbalanced to provide good defence. As the dance continues, Link wonders if he can use this to his advantage. He begins to withdraw, one inch at a time, stepping away from the Yiga with each dodge until they are thrusting wildly forward to keep their blade in range.

This is the moment that he strikes. The Yiga lurches too far forward and skids uncomfortably across the stones. Thwack! Link brings a balled fist across the Yiga’s side, and feels the crack of a rib, and then he strikes their wrist, catching the blade that they drop before it hits the ground. Plan complete, Link juts away, out of the Yiga’s reach, the scythe held close and ready. But the Yiga does not advance; they spring backwards, flipping and hopping as though they don’t have two, maybe three broken bones, and then in a final puff of smoke they are gone.

So ends the dance, and Link revels in the rush it has brought him. He survived. No, he triumphed! Blade or no blade, he can still fight.

Later, he photographs the curved blade with the Sheikah Slate to find out what it truly is: a Yiga Vicious Sickle. The half-moon shape of the blade allows for the rapid delivery of fatal wounds and serves as a symbol of their terror.

In the sickle, Link catches his reflection – an open eye and a determined brow. He takes it in hand, testing it. It’s light, lighter than any blade he’s held. And it feels… powerful. Like an extension of his arm; a single, grasping claw. His soul feels stronger just holding it. Yes – this is a good blade, a true blade, just the one he had sought. He straps the Vicious Sickle to his back and continues on the road.

—

To the monsters of Hyrule, a reign of terror is unfolding.

There is a Hylian, a smaller one of their kind, draped in blue and white cloth, and wielding a weapon that none can defeat. Most of the humans wield simple, blunt blades. Most are weak, whimpering things. This Hylian wields a blade that slices even the toughest of scales and thickest of skin, and he fights with an endless rage and vigour. Once he closes in, there is no chance of survival.

The rampage begins in Necluda, where the waters flow to the Lake Hylia. Chu-chus, bokoblins, even moblins and a handful of Guardians fall to this terrible, curved blade. Eventually, it makes its way down to Faron, a trail of blood and guts in its wake, until it arrives on Aris Beach, on a marshy shore, where the sea dwelling lizalfos make their hovels and nests.

—

Link is sitting on the sand, feasting on whatever fish the lizalfos that lived here had been roasting, when the girl with the Windcleaver arrives. He does not hear her, and so does not turn, but she recognises him regardless.

“Are you Link?” She asks. Link drops his fish, and leaps to his feet with the Vicious Sickle already drawn. He has, by now, a keen ear for the untrustworthy.

The girl has black hair, worn loose, and wears red and black travelling clothes. On her back is a long, thin blade in a burlap sheath.

“I know what you are,” Link says.

“I do not deny it. I am Yiga. But that is not why I am here.”

The girl reaches over her shoulder for the hilt of her blade. Link could strike at her now, end this before it begins, but a curiosity holds him in place. The girl smiles at him, and the expression puts Link strangely off-balance – there is no fear in her eyes, only hunger.

“I know what you want to ask,” she says. “You hurt my friend. You took his blade, which you now clumsily wave in my direction.”

“Your friend attacked me.”

“That makes no difference where I am from. Anyway, outsiders cannot be permitted to wield our sickles.”

The girl draws her blade - a longsword that Link recognises as a bigger sibling to the eightfold blade Dorian wields, and he can’t help but shiver. It has thrice the reach of his sickle and looks just as deadly.

“But I’m not here on official business,” the Yiga girl says as they begin to circle on the sand, weighing each other up. “Our Master would not permit me to kill you just for stealing a sickle. But then my Johta decided to exile himself, for the humiliation of returning to us unarmed. So, I am bound to no one but my own vengeance, Hero. And I will die if it means killing you.”

With that she strikes, heaving the longsword forward, but Link dodges left. He spins, blade raised, leaving a cut on her shoulder. The girl smiles. First blood.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Link says.

The girl is unphased. “Yes, you do.”

Then she raises her fist and plants it firmly on the sand. A stream of air and dirt erupts in front of her, one that homes in on Link and chases him backwards along the shore, until it explodes in a huge pillar of rock. Link cries out as he is thrown to the ground, a blinding pain tearing through his shin. Second blood.

“C’mon then, Hero. You can do better than that!” the Yiga girl laughs.

She is on the offence now; she swings at Link’s head, his ankles, his side, each one barely dodged. One swing catches the curve of his sickle, and the superior weight of the longsword wrenches it from his grip. No time — Link has only one advantage; he grabs the Sheikah Slate and spins around, thrusting his hand forward. A purple beam of light arcs upwards and catches the wayward sickle mid-air. Link pulls the Slate to his chest, and the sickle shoots backwards towards him. He catches it cleanly with his free, left hand, and brings it to bear, ready to continue.

“That’s cheating,” the girl says.

“I know.”

The next time he swipes with the sickle, he catches the longsword across the hilt and with his free hand punches the girl across the face. She reels, dazed, and tries to strike again but Link is quicker; the sickle is quicker. Her blow never lands. All that there is between them is a soft squelch, and a gasp. The Yiga girl drops her longsword. Her hands go to her stomach. They turn red, just like the sand at her feet.

She staggers backwards and, in that moment, Link finally looks down at his sickle. It is slicked with shining red liquid from hilt to tip.

“Well fought, Hero of Hyrule,” the girl murmurs. With muted shock Link realises she is smiling. Then her face drops, pale and bloodless, and she collapses onto the sand.

Link is frozen in place for what feels like hours, faintly aware of a dripping sound until he notices with an anguished cry that it is the blood dripping from his sickle onto his boot. He drops the blade like its hilt is made from hot coals.

Then he finds himself shaking the Yiga girl, whose lips are now white. Get up! You’re bleeding, idiot, get up! But she never stirs. It isn’t until the tide starts coming in and the carrion birds arrive that Link understands fully what he has done. The girl is dead. He all but cut her in two.

And then, his attention turns to the Vicious Sickle, which is still skewered in the sand.

In that moment, he remembers Dorian’s advice, and knows it is wrong. A blade can change its wielder. For the better, or for much, much worse.

Link takes the sickle by its red, wrapped hilt, disgusted by how light it feels. It’s nothing more than a vessel, and held within it is his recklessness and the mark this will forever make on his soul. In the blade’s reflection he catches his eye, round and dark.

Link raises the sickle over his shoulder, and throws it into the sea.

[jinxedruby]

Febuwhump Day Twenty-Six: "Help them"

Featuring Sky and Wind.

Heads up for some violence in this one.

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

-------------------------------

“Someone, help, please!”

Sky’s spine jerked straight at the call as he spun around toward the voice. A woman stumbled through the cliffs, hair whipping about her head as she looked around, eyes wide. She clutched her arm, blood staining her sleeve. Sky exchanged a glance with Wind, who he’d been scouting with, before they ran over to meet the woman.

“Ma’am!” Sky called as they approached.

The woman’s head snapped to them and her eyes somehow grew even wider. She staggered toward them, tripping over loose rocks on the way but managing to catch herself. She ran headlong into Sky, gripping his arm with her free hand and staring up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, you have to help!”

Sky took a step back to better his balance, lifting his hands to her arms to support her. “Okay, just take a deep breath, tell us what happened.”

The woman nodded jerkily, drawing in a shaky breath as Wind dug around in his pouch for a bandage. “I-I was traveling with my- my friends, and- and we were attacked by monsters!” She swallowed hard, took another breath. “N-none of us are very good fighters. I man-managed to get away, but they’re still back there!”

“We can help,” Wind said, pulling out a bandage. “But we should take care of your arm fir-“

“There’s no time!” the woman cried, pushing away from Sky and starting back the way she came. “I-I’ve only been gone a few minutes but my friends could be…”

Wind nodded and tucked the bandages back into his pouch as he and Sky hurried to follow the woman. She wove through the natural paths between the rock formations, occasionally glancing back to make sure Sky and Wind were still behind her. After she did it a few times, Sky noticed she was only looking at him. He frowned on the sailor’s behalf, assuming she thought he wouldn’t be as much help due to being younger. They turned another corner, the rocks rising higher around them, the passage they went through narrowing. The woman slowed to a stop.

“Do you remember where your friends are, ma’am?” Sky asked a bit breathlessly, glancing around. Dragging in air had grown a tad more difficult after the run, but he’d certainly handled worse. The cliffs rose high on either side of them, eroded bits of rock piling at the base and scattering across the path.

“Oh, they’re around,” the woman said. She didn’t sound out of breath at all.

“Sky,” Wind hissed.

Sky glanced at him to see the sailor facing behind them, a hand on his sword, expression shifting into a scowl. Sky turned to see two men behind them, in similar traveling clothes to the woman. He narrowed his eyes, lifting his hand toward the Master Sword.

“That’s a fancy sword you got there.”

He spun back around at the woman’s calm and smooth voice, a stark contrast to all her stuttering earlier. She leaned her weight onto one leg, hand propped on her hip as she watched him with her head cocked. She wasn’t holding her injured arm anymore. A grin crawled onto her features. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if we take a look at it?”

Sky’s hand closed around the hilt. “I do mind, actually.”

The woman’s grin widened. “Shame.”

A puff of red smoke enveloped the woman followed by a flurry of paper slips. She darted through the smoke with a laugh, suddenly dressed in a skin-tight red and black uniform, a white mask with a painted red eye covering her face. Sky pulled out his shield just in time to block her attack, a sickle clanging against the metal. He heard two twin puffs from behind him. Wind swiftly stepped back-to-back with him, pulling out his sword and shield. The woman jumped backwards, crouching low and twirling the sickle in her hand. Sky unsheathed his sword and she darted toward him again, sunlight gleaming off her weapon. He raised his shield to block. She vanished in a plume of white smoke just before making contact. His eyes darted around, straining his ears to listen for her to reappear. A huff of air signaled her reappearance and he spun to his right, blocking the blow aimed for his neck and returning the strike with a slash. She darted out of the way. He thrust the sword toward her and she skipped backwards. Then she crouched low, weapon tensed at her side, and sprinted toward him. His eyes widened, the familiarity of the move startling him out of his wits for a moment. He recovered just as she reached him, snapping his shield out in the same moment she attacked. She yelped and staggered back as the parry knocked her off balance. He struck, cutting a gash across her upper leg. She hissed and vanished again.

Sky took a breath, threw a glance over his shoulder to check on Wind. The sailor fended off the two men, both of them wearing the same outfit and mask as the woman. One held a sickle, the other held a striped bow curved in a unique shape. He couldn’t look for long, the woman reappearing and dashing at him once again. She slashed and he parried, scoring another cut across her middle. She stumbled back, free hand pressed to the wound. She hovered just out of reach of his blade, strafing back and forth. He carefully followed her movements, hand secure around the hilt of the Master Sword.

“Shit!”

Wind’s shout occurred a single moment before two arrows slammed into the back of Sky’s leg, just above his knee. He cried out as his leg buckled beneath him, leaving him struggling to stay standing. In the distraction, the woman darted in and slashed. He tried to lift his shield but she attacked before he could, the point of her sickle ripping through the crook of his right arm. He gritted his teeth and swung his sword. The pain slowed him enough for her to easily dodge out of harm’s way. He wanted to look back and check if Wind was okay, but the woman was already running at him again. Her sickle slammed against his shield and she teleported to his right. He spun and blocked her, pain burning through the arrow wounds. She teleported again immediately, forcing him to whirl around a third time. Then she did it again, and again, not giving him a chance to get an attack in. He let out a slow breath as he blocked yet another blow, narrowing his focus to her movements, trying to find a pattern. She always chose to attack from whatever side he was facing farthest from, making him expend as much energy as possible when turning to defend. When she appeared on his right, he deliberately overextended, turning too far to block. As expected, the hiss of air came from far to his left. He tensed his shield arm and whipped around without looking first. His shield bashed against her weapon with a sharp CLANG. She shouted as the force of the parry ripped the sickle from her hands, sending it clattering against the cliff wall. With a grunt, he lunged forward and swung his sword toward her side. She put her hands together and teleported away just as the blade began digging into her skin. She didn’t reappear.

Sky turned to check on Wind, air dragging through his throat, stinging in his lungs. Two arrows pinged off of Wind’s shield before the sailor twisted to attack the man approaching him from the side. Sky could feel blood soaking into his pants, pain blooming from the two arrows still embedded in his flesh, but the adrenaline did a good job keeping the pain from being crippling. He moved forward to help with the remaining enemies. Red slips of paper fluttered over Wind’s head. Sky dove before he could consciously process what was happening, instinctively recognizing the attack. He shoved Wind out of the way just as the woman appeared above them, plummeting with her sickle pointed down. The curve bit into the flesh between his neck and left shoulder, where his chainmail didn’t cover. Pain seared through the wound as the blade dug in deep, the woman’s feet landing on his back and shoving him to the ground.

His chin knocked painfully against the dirt but he hardly felt it in comparison to the sickle ripping out of his shoulder. He heard himself and Wind shout, his vision whiting for a moment as blood poured from the wound, soaking through his sailcloth, dripping onto the ground. Then the weight on his back shifted and the woman hooked the sickle under his chin, pressing it against his throat.

“Sky!” Wind yelled, moving toward him.

“Stay where you are!” the woman roared, pulling up on the sickle and letting the blade cut into the skin of Sky’s neck. Wind froze, wide eyes darting between Sky and the woman. The woman’s breath came in sharp gasps, the sickle trembling slightly against Sky’s throat. “We just want this one’s sword. Then you boys can be on your way.”

Sky tightened his grip on the Master Sword subconsciously, scowling. One of the men moved around Sky, heading for the sword. Sky jerked it closer to his body as the man reached for it. The woman tugged the sickle tighter around his throat, leaning down to speak in his ear.

“Let it go or you will die,” she hissed. Sky’s scowl deepened.

“Sky,” Wind said, making Sky look up toward him. The sailor’s eyes remained wide, staring at the sky knight. “Sky, do what she says.”

Sky gaped at Wind for a moment. The corner of Wind’s mouth twitched. His gaze darted up before coming back to Sky. Sky blinked. He had no idea what Wind was trying to communicate, but it was clearly something. Did that mean Wind had some sort of plan? Sky glanced at the Master Sword clutched in his hand. He bit his lip. Then, with monumental effort, he uncurled his fingers from around it.

“Good choice,” the woman said and Sky had to stuff down the urge to snatch up the sword again. “How did you manage to steal it, anyway?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Sky hissed, glaring up toward the woman. He couldn’t quite look at her with how she crouched on his back, but he figured it was close enough. The woman snorted at his response, nodding toward the man. He bent down to pick up the Master Sword. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, purple flames erupted from it. He yelped, yanking his hand back. Sky smirked as the man rubbed his hand, looking down at the blade in what was most likely a glare.

“The hell was that?” the man growled, glancing up at the woman.

“It’s not yours to wield!” Wind snapped. He remained on the balls of his feet, phantom sword clutched in hand, looking ready to pounce and tackle the woman off of Sky if it weren’t for the sickle biting against the chosen hero’s throat.

“It didn’t burn him, though!” the man retorted.

“That’s because it’s mine,” Sky said. Tiny black specks had taken up residence in the edges of his vision, the wound in his shoulder filling with needles. He ignored both.

The woman drew her face closer to Sky’s, the unblinking gaze of the mask boring into him. “No, it’s not,” she eventually said. “Your hair’s too dark. And you’re too tall.”

Before Sky could figure out what that meant, the man yelped again. He reeled back from the sword, a cloth clutched in hand.

“Yeah. Hold it with something. That’ll work,” Wind said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe you should try something thicker. Put on another pair of gloves.”

“Shut up, brat!” the man snarled, shaking out his burned hand. He gestured toward Sky. “Why don’t we make the k-“

His words cut off as three arrows buried themselves in his back. The woman cursed as the man crumpled, tensing the sickle around Sky’s throat. Panic spiked in his gut. Then an arrow stabbed through her forearm, forcing her to release her grip on the sickle with a yell. The moment she dropped it, Wind darted forward in a blur of blue, slamming into her and tackling her to the ground. Sky jumped up the moment she was gone. At least, he tried to. Lightheadedness filled him and gravity tipped, sending him to his hands and knees. He blinked as the black specks turned to splotches, encroaching on the center of his vision. Blearily, he looked toward his shoulder as fire filled the wound. His sailcloth had turned a deep red, saturated with blood to the point of dripping. A small puddle of his blood sat on the ground where he’d been lying. He blinked again, brow furrowing.

“Link!” one of the men roared, drawing Sky’s attention away from his wound. He looked up through blurry vision to see a blob of blue and blond at the top of one of the cliffs. He squinted, focusing enough to recognize Wild kneeling with his bow drawn, firing down at the enemies. At the edge of his vision, he spotted the Master Sword. He made his way toward it, trying and failing to stand and settling for crawling the short distance. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and drew the weapon toward his chest, falling back into a seated position and apologizing to Fi under his breath for letting her go. Boots scuffled before him and he looked up to see Wind battling against the man that had tried picking up the Master Sword. The sailor ducked under a swing and lunged forward, whipping his sword around and plunging it into the man’s thigh. The man gave a strangled shout then brought his hands together, vanishing in a puff of red smoke. Wind whirled around, breathing hard, eyes darting around the cliffs. Wild jumped down, landing beside him. He said something that didn’t quite make it to Sky’s ears then suddenly they both crouched in front of him, grabbing at his good shoulder, holding him up. He hadn’t even realized he’d begun tipping over.

“Hold on, Sky, I’ve got an elixir,” Wild said, setting his bow down and digging around in his pouch. His voice sounded muffled and far away. Sky bobbed his head in response, but the time between seconds stretched and he probably nodded longer than he needed to. The rest of his body felt cold in comparison to the burning. Something tapped incessantly against his knee until he looked up into Wind’s worried face. He said something that sounded like ‘arrows’, pointing to Sky’s leg. Sky nodded again, not quite understanding. Then twin bursts of pain tore through his leg as Wind ripped the arrows out and awareness slammed back into him. He yelped through gritted teeth as Wild pried one of his hands away from the Master Sword and pressed cool glass into his palm. The awareness began to fade just as quickly as it came but it lasted long enough for him to clumsily drink the potion, drops spilling from the corners of his mouth. He sighed after finishing it, the pain seeping out of his wounds as they closed. A hand squeezed his uninjured shoulder and he lifted his gaze to see Wild watching him with a worried expression.

“Alright, Sky?” he asked.

Sky nodded slowly, lifting a hand to his head at the dizziness the motion caused. “Yeah, just… just dizzy,” he mumbled.

Wild pursed his lips. “That Yiga did a number on you, huh?”

“Yiga?” Sky thought that sounded familiar but the blood loss made it difficult to put together a coherent train of thought.

“Oh, those are the guys that are after you?” Wind asked Wild. Ah. That’s why it sounded familiar.

Wild nodded. “Yeah. They must’ve seen the Master Sword, and…” He shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “Anyway, I’m glad I made it here in time.”

“Me too.” Wind stood up as well then they each took one of Sky’s arms and helped him up. He staggered as a wave of dizziness crashed over him but they were able to keep him on his feet. He distantly realized he held the Master Sword in the hand Wind had grabbed and tugged his arm from the sailor to put it away. Once he did, they began walking. It took a bit for them to adjust to the slightly awkward hold since Sky was taller than both of them. Eventually, they figured out a decent strategy, walking out of the narrow passage and back the way they came.

“We’ll meet up with the others so you can rest,” Wild said while Wind nodded. Sky hummed in response, the world still spinning slightly around him. Rest sounded good.

[artemistorm]

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year @6leafclover! I’m your HF Secret Santa! Here is a (sadly incomplete) multichapter Breath of the Wild fic for you! (Psst @hotcheetohatredwastaken here’s the fic I was talking about.)

Summary:

Teba sat in the archery range brooding over Vah Medoh when a random Hylian kid drops out of the sky and bafflingly offers his help in taming the beast to which Teba reluctantly agrees. _ Little did Teba know that this unexpected wanderer was going to become not only a part of his life, but part of his family.

Or

BotW Link gets adopted by Teba and his family.

[ordon-shield]

Febuwhump Day 22 (Can’t Scream): Trial of the Blade

ao3 link here

Link was ready to pull the Master Sword. He’d made his way across Hyrule, freed the Divine Beasts, and even recovered some of his lost memories. He’d been getting impatient, wanting to go fight Ganon directly, but he knew the Master Sword would only help. He’d known where it was for some time, so now all he needed was to face the trial the blade offered.

Stepping up to the plinth it had been placed in, he took a single deep breath before wrapping his hand around the hilt.

Pain. All he felt was pain, burning through his hand and up his arm, like he’d just gripped the edge of a fully-powered flameblade, or dipped his hand into the lava of Death Mountain. Pushing through the pain, he began to lift the sword, trying to ignore the burning in his palm.

With each inch of the blade pulled free, the pain increased, and he found himself holding back from screaming in pain, only gritting his teeth with it instead. He refused to cry out in pain. He didn’t know why the Master Sword refused to accept him when he’d wielded it before, but he would wield it again, even if he had to try again and again to draw it once more.

The pain was near-unbearable now, and he could feel his strength sap, his limbs becoming weak. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer, knew that even a moment more could spell his end. He kept pulling anyway, and with a final pull, he drew the sword, raising it high above his head as the pain suddenly stopped.

Slumping to the ground, exhausted from the trial, he let the sword slip from his fingers, their joints barely cooperating after how tight his grip had become. Squinting at his hand, he saw the mark left there by the sword, bright red and painful. He felt a small poke at his back and turned around to see a Korok holding up a fairy tonic it must have found in his pack. Thanking it for its help, he swallow half the small bottle in one gulp, the sweet sugary flavour on his tongue helping him focus. He carefully poured the other half over the wound on his palm, careful to not miss any part, leaving it for a minute before washing the sticky remainders off his hand.

The wound had mostly been healed by the tonic, but he was still left with a thick and rough scar across his palm, and a few marks on his fingers. Flexing his hand, he checked for any damage to movement, but found none. He glared down at the sword. It was lucky there wasn’t. Lifting up the sword once more, he realised that when he held it in his hand, the hilt matched up perfectly with the scar along his palm, like a perfect fit.

[tears-of-the-wild]

Whumpy Link Things (The Legend Of Zelda)

Content: Rescue, failed escape attempt, dehumanisation, missing and presumed dead, wounds/injuries, PTSD/trauma, blood.

Making him lick their shoes clean.

Smearing his own blood across his face.

Grabbing him by his hair and forcing him to make eye contact.

When he reaches a point where he has no fight left in him anymore. He's practically a ragdoll, with so little strength to stop anyone from doing what they like with him.

^^ following this, him becoming loyal to Ganon because he's got no other choice. They've practically beaten any form of defiance out of him and he's lost any hope of being rescued.

Tattooing their name on his body. Any time he writhes in an attempt to get away, it just makes the process last longer.

Him letting out a small, defeated sob upon feeling a hand grasp his leg during one of his many escape attempts. He's so desperate to escape, and yet someone manages to catch him every time. He's not sure he can manage another attempt, though he tries over and over again despite it.

Reminding him that even if he did escape, he's proven he's not strong enough to keep everyone safe. To keep Zelda safe. No one will be able to look at him the same, so why go back?

Either Zelda or Sidon finally finding him after months of nearly being presumed dead. Maybe he's hallucinated this exact scenario before and doesn't believe it's real until he feels them pulling his rigid body close.

Maybe they found him lost somewhere, no clothes or water or anything to keep him alive. He's so limp that they can't tell if he's alive or not.

Setting up a campfire and wrapping him in as many blankets as they can, trying to make sure he's warm. Shielding his face from the chill of the wind, reassuring him that he's safe when he wakes up thinking he's inevitably been caught again.

Link going from being so comfortable in his body to hiding it at any chance he gets. Wearing outfits that have long sleeves to hide his scars, refusing to take them off unless he's absolutely sure no one else is around. Not even Zelda knows the extent of his injuries.

[corbytheking]

I have a minecraft world. I am working on the first town. But I want this to be a thing where people can go off and make their own entire towns/villages or help with current ones. Like how Hyrule is. Large open beautiful land but in the far distance is another town with a new look and culture.

I can't get anyone else. If anyone wants to join this world, I can make a discord for us, and pretty much anyone can be on at any time since I'm always free tbh. We can create world, new cultures, religions, roles, etc. For the world.

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 16: Came back wrong

CW: Memory problems

(Loosely) continues Day 13

AO3

---

She'd known it would happen, or at least that it was a serious risk, but it was still different to see the reality and to know that her hopes had once again been dashed. This one had never had much chance, but it still hurt.

She'd known it when he first began to recover shreds of consciousness and the shrine had opened around him. She'd called his name, but when he finally opened his eyes there had been no indication that he recognised her voice. She'd directed him to the Sheikah Slate, he'd stumbled outside in the clothes that Impa and Robbie must have left for him - a century old now, ragged and moth-eaten - and had stood staring uncomprehendingly out at Hyrule spread out before him.

His memory was gone. Completely wiped clean.

In the sunlight, she could see that that wasn't all. The hideous burns that had been seared across his body when he collapsed in her arms on Blatchery Plain had turned into scar tissue. Better than the alternative, but still shocking to see. The wiry muscles of his arms and legs had atrophied to nothing; it was no wonder that there was a tremble in his skinny limbs as he looked around, expression blank and confused. She could see how weak he still was.

What had she done?

She knew the easy answers to that: she'd saved his life. She'd preserved hope for the kingdom and herself.

She'd sentenced her dearest and most loyal friend to be dragged back from death stripped of his memories. Of his home. His family. Everything he had ever known.

His gaze caught on something and she looked with him. An old man stood on the path leading up towards the shrine, a hood drawn down over his face so that only his white beard was visible. As she and Link watched, he turned and walked back to his campfire under an overhang a little way further down.

Link hesitated, then turned and ran in the other direction, stumbling, panting for breath. Zelda wept inside as she watched her brave champion flee the sight of another person. Of course he did. He had no memory of other hylians. Did he even still remember how to speak and understand when he was spoken to?

She'd known that something like this might happen, but somehow she'd not believed that the loss would be this complete.

Link paused in his flight as his eye was caught by something. He snatched up a mushroom from the ground and ate it raw in a couple of bites.

On top of everything else, he was starving.

Zelda tried not to sink into guilt and despair as he found and ate an apple, huddled in a sunny corner in the rocks. This was cruel. He'd come back all wrong. But this was the situation they were facing.

"Link," she called and he looked up, his mouth full of apple. "Link, go to the point marked on your Sheikah Slate."

Maybe she could guide him. Maybe enough of his memory would return in time. She could only hope.

---

(Loosely) continued on day 24

[larkle00]

out of all the champions mipha's death hits me the hardest. so when it came to this prompt i think the choice was obvious.

@febuwhump

[darling-writings]

Thin ice shattered beneath Link’s back as he crashed into the frozen lake, thrown by an unexpected blow from a well-camouflaged lizalfos. Frigid water closed over his head, shocking his system, forcing him to gasp. Piercing cold flooded his lungs.

Written for @augusnippets days 9 and 11. Prompts: Hypothermia and Safe And Sound.