#warriors era one

[hay-bails]

“are your art fight refs updated yet—“ NO!!!! WARRIOR CATS ATTACK!!!!!!

[linkeduniverse]

Dawn pt. 4

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[plushipaws]

We wanted to try drawing in some old web ms paint warrior cat style, so we drew Sturgeon from @whatlurksbean 's webcomic, What Lurks Beneath

[starlight-eclipsed]

The room is empty. The bed untouched. The window, tauntingly, is wide open.

Art for chapter 21 of A Dark Among the Lights by LuckyLectio on AO3! You all know the drill--go check it out if you haven't already ^-^

[heroesspirit]

Fairies as little creatures my beloved

[exocynraku]

1991-2000, equivalent to pinestars choice/goosefeathers curse

(everything subject to potential change in the future)

[kheprriverse]

Y’all thinking about an older Ares has RUINED me

[lu-polls]

[Poll suggested by: Anonymous]

[huh-1260]

Gremlin Sky's favorite napping spot on Wars that isn't his head.

[myreia]

— iv. broken | trust

Trust. It isn’t easily given, nor is it easily accepted. He was the first person she trusted in Eorzea. She doesn’t know how or why, but she did. She took that risk. In the years that followed, there was a time when their friendship had disintegrated to such a degree that it was a stab to the gut, and all they knew was how to twist the knife deeper. Even then—even through that—she trusted him. Trusted him when they were both broken and stupid and fuelled by spite and hate and grief. The faith she has in him is a different kind now. Stronger, implicit, as natural as drawing breath. When they are in the thick of it, he is her guardian and she his shield. She trusts him. Even when he is being impetuous and stubborn and a fool. Even when he has no regard for his own well-being. When sacrifice is a word that comes terrifyingly easily to his mind.   She knows he will do the right thing. And she will be there, to pick him up when he is broken, just as he has done for her. Come what may, she will be there.

[deeoxcide]

writers write more moony and padfootness pls challenge, like i love reading abt moony and pads playing and my warrior cat spintrest self wants to see them play and go on adventures and cause mischief like it’s TOO CUTE

ALSO IF U KNOW ANY FICS LIKE THIS PLS SEND <3

[stellaclaw]

crowfeather defenders are truly some of the most irritating people ive ever seen. oh noooooo he saw a girl he knew for like 2 months got fridged for his man pain oh noooo clearly this means hes entitled to treat literally everybody around him like shit forever and if you criticize him them um actually a girl he liked died???? and also his son was a jerk so maybe he deserved to be hit and demeaned have you ever considered that??? :/

[skitskatdacat63]

This is a special genre of f1 picture(to ME.)

[lucydoodlessometimes]

Sailor Ascendant Warrior pt 2! These are all transformation sequence moments, because I can't be left to my own devices and expected NOT to go there

[bokettochild]

For the febuwhump prompts, how about Mask and Captain Link with either hostage situation or "you weren't supposed to be there"?

Since the whole "hostage situation" got requested by someone else as well, I ended up going for the other option!

And hey, we're a month late, but I'm working two jobs so I think it should be fine LOL

Anyways, here, have some Captain Link freaking out about Mask's safety!

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1,610 (Mask cuts my word counts in half LOL)

Summary: Caught in a battle with the tides against them, Captain Link elects to use some slightly less than honorable methods to down their monster enemies. Mask isn't told about the plan though, but maybe he should have been...

-

  War isn’t pretty.  Sacrifices are something that often must be made, most commonly in the forms of life, of soldiers, but sometimes at a cost to the land, to cities, to integrity and honor. Winning isn’t easy, and it’s rare an enemy will play by the rules, so there’s rarely any point in doing so yourself either. That doesn’t make Link feel any better about his decision, but it’s the truth. He can’t play fair against demons if he wants to win. 

  “The bombs are placed sir.” A soldier announces, throwing a quick salute, one that he nods to acknowledge. 

  Behind him, the battle still rages, but Impa had demanded he fall back long enough to at least have his own wounds bound before charging back into the fray. In that time, he’s laid some quick plans, and while the idea of causing the very ground to collapse beneath the feet of the enemy camp isn’t something he’s proud of, he has high expectations that it will turn the tides in their favor. 

  That’s what matters, in the long run. Stopping the enemy, no matter how, and getting his own people out of here alive. Even so, he doesn’t like it. He’d hate to have such a tactic used on his people, and he knows the hylian army would call it dirty and lowdown of the enemy to do the same. Still, the odds are far from in their favor, and he’s got to level the playing field somehow. Leveling the actual field of battle by collapsing the ground beneath their camp, behind their defenses, is the best chance he’s got.��

  “Set to blast?” 

  “Five minutes, sir.” 

  He wishes he had a clock on him, or some sort of watch or other time keeping device, but he doesn’t, and he can’t. He’s got enough gear to mind, and the ever-present tick of a clock would only serve to drive him mad in the long run. 

  He waves off the thought and turns his attention back to the battle, although one part of his mind stays focused on the field medic binding his wounds. Potions are running low, and until they can stop long enough to acquire ore from Ravio, they need to save what they have for the more serious injuries, or those near death. Using a potion on himself when he’s only been stabbed a couple times is pointless. Still, he doesn’t trust medics as a rule, so letting them work without waiting for the inevitable “mistake” won’t stand. 

  He only breathes freely when the medic leaves, and he’s free to reach for the Master Sword again and return to battle. Even then though, his breathing isn’t as steady as he’s like, what with the bruised ribs and all. 

  “Countdown?” He asks his lieutenant. 

  “Two minutes.” 

  They have only a little longer to wait until the ground collapses, and his own people are too far ack to be affected, still tackling the front lines of the enemy, not the archers and far larger beasts that throw heavy clods of earth and explosives down amid them. 

  Two minutes. Then the assault will stop, and his people can sweep in and finish this mission. Two minutes and the monsters they’re fighting won’t have backup or cover fire to aid them, and the hylian forces can overtake at long last.  

  He scans the field briefly. He’s not heading back in, not yet. The men don’t know the cliffs will be going down, and they’ll need direction when they do. They’ll need instruction, and he’ll be the one to provide it when that happens, coming back down amid them to offer guidance and direction. First though, he needs to ensure that all goes as intended, and be prepared on the chance that it doesn’t for one reason or another. 

  “One minute sir.” His lieutenant pants. They’re both tired, they've been fighting for hours without rest and all of them are flagging.  

  “Hold in there, lieutenant,” he tries to assure. “We’ll have them.” A charming smile, one Impa had made sure was trained into him, weas ready to unleash, was something to settle and strengthen and give hope, a confident look and glitter of the eyes, seems to settle the man at his side. 

  “Aye, captain.” A weak attempt at a smile answers his own bright one. “We- sir!” Dark eyes widen in horror as they fix behind him on the enemy, and Link turns through force of habit to catch sight of the foe, the change of the tides, the danger that no doubt lies behind him. “Mask!” 

  It takes a second, but then he sees it. A little flicker of yellow against the sea of silver and red. A little kitsune mask bobbing at the hip of a child who’s charging, alone, blade charged with magic and felling monsters with ease born of experience, uphill. Uphill into the blast zone. Uphill towards the camp and leading some of their soldiers, although the men are harder pressed to follow his lead in slipping through the enemy lines, no matter how hard they try. Uphill into where only seconds remain before bombs take out the land and level the camp, leaving nothing but rubble behind. 

  His feet are moving before his mind has time to catch up to him, a shout on his lips and panic making his heart race. 

  “Sir!” His lieutenant’s voice raises, but the rest in lost in the sounds of a blast that has a rumble filling the air around them, screams of the enemy rising beside the sounds of tumbling earth, crumbling and cracking rock, and flames that last only as long as the explosion before being smothered with the falling rubble. 

  A gust of smoke and cloud of dirt arises, blowing back against them, blinding all, even the enemy, temporarily and giving his men time to strike out blindly at where their foes last were even while the beasts startle and pause with sight lost. “Press forwards! Hold the line!” He manages to shout, gathering his own wits enough to supply commands to his men, commands that echo back as officers repeat the orders to their men, a chorus that echos even as he moves with them. 

  There’s no trace of yellow up ahead, not in the rubble of what’s left, but he moves along anyways. He strikes the fallen foes that still sow signs of life, be it in flailing limbs or shrieking from piglike snouts. Blood paints the path he takes, but his gaze searches for bright and sunny yellow, something innocent and warm against the battlefield around them.  

  Cries, shouts, screams and the clashing of blades fills his ears, drowns out any shout he calls out into the rubble, but the tide of the battle is changing he can hear his men’s voices rising, hear the hope as they push their way past, felling their foe now that bombs and arrows don’t rain down from overhead upon them to make them fall back again and again. His mind isn’t on their victory though. There's a part of him, a part that knows he must remain focused, set, poised, ready, aware; something that tracks where they stand and how they fare, but another part searches. 

  The monsters fall in waves. The beasts within the rubble give their final cries as his blade ends their miserable lives. His men begin to shout their victory as the sounds of blades clashing dims, fades entirely, but their captain does not celebrate beside them. 

  He is searching. With the enemy felled he can drop his sword, drop to his knees to push aside rubble, dirt, stone, anything that’s left of the tumbled apart camp. 

  Proxi whizzes about; searching, calling. His voice rises beside hers. “Mask! Kid, come on!” 

  There’s no returning call. 

 “Please!” 

  Behind him, there’s murmuring. Shouts fade, feet fall. There’s a rush of booted steps and then hands are helping to lift away the rubble. Voices of every sort rise to call out, their cries all the same. “Mask! Where are you, kid?” Searching for a flicker of yellow, a head of yellow hair or a familiar smiling mask. Searching for a smirking face, a little troublemaker. 

  The fairies dart, the men sift, the cries of all sound over the field in the absence of a monster’s squeals. The joy of victory fades as they look for a single soul caught in the winning blow. Caught where he was never meant to be, at the worst of times for him to have slipped loose from amidst them. 

  It feels like forever, the moving of ruble, the sifting, the calling. Each second is torture, heart pounding fit to burst in his throat as he tears through the remains of the enemy camp. Not here, not there. Not amid the monsters but not far away. He’s frantic, pushing aside burdens that, in his right mind, he’d ever dare attempt to move alone. The singing of pain through his frame, through every muscle and bone, is ignored as he tears through, searching, searching, searching- 

  “Captain Link!” 

  Yellow, paint chipped and steaked with dirt and blood. Yellow matted and filthy strands, the face beneath just as stained. He doesn’t care though. He’s gathering up the tiny form in his arms and holding, clinging, fingers searching for a pulse even as his own reaches speeds he didn’t know possible. 

  The faint little beat beneath his fingertips is enough to have a sob escaping past the heart in his throat. 

  His kid is alive. He’s alive, he’s going to be okay. Link clings tightly, holding the boy close. He’s alive. Thank Hylia, he’s alive. 

[piratekane]

If you’re still doing those prompt fills for Avatrice with the numbers I’d like to request one. I’ve read and adored literally every one. Can I say dealers choice? I have to assume there is one you’ve been hoping someone would pick but hasn’t. Thanks for the beautiful works!!

four: i'll stay right here, okay?

Ava sinks back into the grass, pieces of hair slipping off her forehead to rest around her ears. She breathes in deeply and exhales, the sound shattering the silence between them.

Beatrice hides a smile, tucks it away under the shadow of her arm, and stretches her legs out for a moment, feeling a satisfactory stretch of muscle, before she says, "Yes?"

Ava breathes in again, then exhales nosily and childlike. Beatrice doesn't fight her smile this time. Ava lifts her head, grinning widely, with one eye open as she squints against the sun. When she sees Beatrice looking, she falls back against the soft earth.

"I used to dream of going somewhere like this." She holds an arm out, fingers curled in a complicated pattern that form shadows over her face. "Of, like, a blanket of blue sky. That stretches as far as I can look in either direction." She sits up, resting on her elbows now. "You're just a bonus, of course."

Beatrice feels her cheeks flush and sends up a prayer that the sun hides most of it from Ava's eyes. "Yes," she says carefully. "It is a magnificent sight. I've never seen anything like it before."

She's staring directly at Ava when she says it.

Ava doesn't know that. Ava is staring at the thin, bright white clouds above them as they drift slowly across the sky. "For a long time, after the accident, I was convinced the sky had just... fallen down. I could barely see it out the window in my room. Diego talked about it, sometimes, but I just couldn't imagine... this."

Beatrice tips her face up to the sun. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see it before now." Her hand dig into the grass she's sitting on, tight and curled fists as she stops herself from reaching over and brushing away the wrinkle of thought between Ava's eyes. "But you do now."

"But I do now," Ava agrees. She turns her head and meets Beatrice's eyes. "It was worth it. The wait. This... this is how you should experience this. In a quiet place with your favorite person in the world."

Beatrice hears a thin whistle as she inhales sharply. Ava, so casual with her words, stares back at her. Beatrice wets her lip. "Lilith will be disappointed to hear that."

Ava's face breaks into a smile. "We could take a picture for her. A selfie! Yeah, come on." She starts to wiggle through the grass, smile growing by the inch. "You love selfies. We can practice your peace signs."

Beatrice's stomach tightens. "No. No, I'm quite alright."

Ava's laugh seems to echo off the mountain peaks around them, bright and clean and sparkling in the air. "Camila will be so disappointed to hear it. She's very invested in your selfie game."

"Yes, well." Beatrice clears her throat. "The two of you could stand to send less of those to each other. I don't see the need to take pictures of each meal. Certainly not with your own face in the frame."

"Oh, Beatrice," Ava sings. It's a discussion they have once a day, usually when Beatrice is trying to do something productive like make their grocery list or bundle them out the door for their shift or turn off the light so they can rest before the sun comes back up in the sky. Ava is determined to make her understand the appeal of taking selfies, despite her disdain for them.

"Ava," she says, voice flat. "You have your things. I have mine."

Ava pouts. "You are my thing, though. And selfies. So why can't I combine my things into one really good thing? Hmm? Isn't that logical? Don't you like logic?"

"I... Do not like that logic."

"So you're picking and choosing the logic?" Ava shakes a finger at her. "Not very... genial?"

"Friendly or cheerful."

Ava thinks about it for a moment. "Nah, not the word I'm looking for. But it doesn't matter. The point is that you don't get to pick and choose the logic. I just think if you take more pictures, I have more options for my phone background. The one of you looking completely terrified of holding Lorin's baby is starting to not be as funny. I need new material, Bea. We need to make that happen."

"Ava," she sighs. It does nothing to deter Ava's smile. Beatrice shakes her head. "There are more important things than... taking pictures of me."

She curses herself for a moment. Sometimes she's like a rain cloud on Ava's sunny day. But it doesn't seem to bother Ava. Her smile only widens, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes," she agrees. "Like getting some fondue now that you've kicked my ass up one side of the mountain and down the other. So." She sits up and claps her hands together. "What do you say?"

She smiles like Beatrice can say no. Like Beatrice can say no to her. And she knows that, uses that particular talent when she wants to stay out a few minutes later than usual; when she wants pancakes from the bakery instead of the box in their cabinet; when she doesn't want to put her towel back on the hook and leaves it on the floor; when she begs Beatrice to bring her a pair of socks because she can't get out of bed with cold feet.

And Beatrice gives, topples like a card tower on a breeze-less day. Ava is grinning before Beatrice even says yes, already knowing what the answer is.

She sighs, for effect. Just to make herself feel like she gave this a fighting chance.

"Fine. But we're not going overboard this time. You had a stomachache for a day after the last time." She stands, stretches her arms above her head and listens to the satisfying crack of her shoulder. "I'll just-" She frowns. "My water bottle."

Ava, starting to stand, winces. "I think I left it." She pushes her bottom lip out in a pout. "I can go get it for you."

Beatrice is already shaking her head. "I don't want to spend all day searching for you because you can't be bothered to remember your north from your south." She takes the sting out of the words with a slight smile. "But I'll be right back."

Ava smiles, tilting her head a little bit. "I'll stay right here, okay?"

There's a weight in the moment that Beatrice won't feel until later, until her hands are empty and her heart feels poured out and there are no tears left to cry.

But she doesn't feel it now, not when Ava is smiling with the power of a hundred suns and the wind is tangling the ends of her hair and the sky is blue. No, she only feels peace right now.

"Okay." She takes a step back, grass tickling her ankles. "You promise."

Ava's smile blooms. "I swear it, Bea. I won't go anywhere without you." She holds out her pinky. "Want to pinky promise on it?"

Beatrice lingers for a moment, poised to turn and jog back down the path to where her water bottle is waiting in the dappled sunshine. For a moment, Ava is haloed in golden light, one hand outstretched. Beatrice has always hoped that one day she would witness the divine - she didn't know it would be now, with her knees caked in dirt and sweat soaking the collar of her shirt. She didn't know it would be now, with the smell of almond blooms in the air and the mountains casting shadows around them.

She suddenly doesn't think that she would be able to witness anything this divine anywhere else.

"No," she says softly after a moment. "No, I know you mean it."

Ava makes a clumsy attempt at a cross, grinning. "Cross my heart." She drops back down into the lush grass, legs folded underneath her and leans back on her hands, face tipped up towards the sun as she closes her eyes. Beatrice watches her for a moment, feeling like she's intruding on a private moment.

She quickly turns and darts back down the path towards the heart of the forest where she's sure her water bottle is. Maybe she'll let Ava take one picture, if she's allowed to give artistic direction on it and she deletes all of the 'outtakes' Ava is so fond of using as reactions to Camila's texts.

She hurries. She doesn't want to leave Ava waiting; doesn't want to be apart from her for too long. But she knows that Ava will wait for her. She promised. And Ava doesn't break promises to her.