#hurt lu wild

[karoviesart]

I couldn’t stop seeing Wild in the Aether art I did, so I edited my own art into Wild. And with a Bunny leggy? I wonder what the situation is here. Wild having a bad reaction to his wounds. I wonder if Leggy knows?

[mischefous]

Could you possibly do Legend and Warriors, whump? I love making those two suffer for some reason. (Your art is amazing, and I love it!)

awwweee!! Thank you @insane-twilight-fan and Anon for these requests💙💙 I friggen loooove this duo, especially if it's Legend getting whumped >:3

CW! Blood/coughing up blood

[ghoulysaphomet]

Math

[kikker-oma]

Warning - Blood, Temporary Character Death

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[mythsee]

I feel like Four would go : I only have known the colors (the 3 little shrimp that bite ppl) for a day and a half but if anything happen to them I'll kill everyone in this room and then myself.

Four would get attached cuz he’s found someone who splits like him but would also feel like an older brother/dad to them because they’re causing all sorts of trouble and he’s the one getting them out of it

[breannasfluff]

Forgotten Hero

When Wild wakes, it’s to a sword at his throat.

“Get up. Slowly.” Twilight’s face is stern as he glares.

Wild blinks at him, then closes his eyes. Weird dream. The sword prods his throat a little harder, threatening to prick. He opens his eyes. Twilight still glares.

“Twi?”

“How do you know my name?”

“How–” Wild starts to sit up, only to stop as cold metal presses harder.

“Time,” the rancher calls. “Get over here.”

Time joins Twilight, face set in stone. There’s no hint of recognition. “Who are you? How did you sneak into our camp?”

Wild shakes his head, thoroughly at a loss. He swallows and eases back from the sword an inch. “I…I don’t know what you mean? What’s going on?”

“That’s what we are asking you.”

Twilight pulls back enough that Wild sits up, glancing around the camp in confusion. The other heroes are waking up, but there’s not a familiar look on any of their faces. 

“Sky?” He turns to the Chosen Hero, but he’s still being shaken awake by Legend. “Hyrule?” The traveler edges behind Warriors. “Guys?” His voice cracks and he coughs, trying to clear it. “This isn’t funny.”

Time is imposing, even without his full armor on. “I would say it’s not. Now, answer our questions. Who are you? Why are you here?”

He shakes his head, at a loss. “I’m–you know me. It’s me, Wild. Is, is there a spell or something disguising me?” He glances down, but familiar scarred skin is all he sees. 

“Woah, who’s the new guy?” Wind pushes past Warrior’s grab for him. “Where’d you come from?”

“Wind–”

Twilight steps between them. “Don’t talk to him, stranger.”

Wild is left opening and closing his mouth, glancing around in confusion. “I…I don’t understand.” 

The captain joins Twilight and TIme and the three form a solid wall between him and the rest of the group. Sky’s groans are quickly shushed and then he joins as well. “What’s going on?”

The rancher rolls his eyes. “Look, we’ve asked that multiple times and no one seems to know. This kid was here when I woke up. No idea how he got here or where he came from.”

“I’m traveling with you!” Wild is a little shrill as confusion slowly turns into fear. “We–we’re on a mission from the Goddess together. I’m a hero, just like you!

“Where’s your triforce?”

The champion stares at his friend, his heart sinking. “I don’t…have one. You knew that.”

His answer is a derisive snort. “Likely story. I don’t know what you want or what trick you’re trying to play, but we don’t have time.”

Read the rest here!

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Covering BOTW!Link in kisses pretty please (> <)

Yeah, I can do that!

I made this surprisingly angsty (though if you’re not new around here that may be less shocking) so be warned.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

For someone with such an utterly distinct lack of memory, Wild often found himself drowning within them. Fleeting snippets of vision or audio cut in and out, warped and distorted beyond anything he can truly grasp at. One second he’d be laughing alongside his brothers, but when his eyes blinked he’d be a century in the last. Oftentimes after the phantom arms of his previous life embraced him, he felt less than who he was before. his smiles dulled and heart weighed down. As if knowing more about who he was then made him less of who he was now. As if the two sentiences couldn’t coexist.

It was a quiet night, humid with the onset of summer. The fireflies —lightning bugs as Twilight called them— dancing lofty paths amidst the air. Sat side by side, the champion absorbed the fable. At first it seemed rather childish, the idea of two wolves within oneself fighting to make the forefront. But the longer he went on the more it resonated. The mental image as one sneers and snaps, barring its ugly teeth in unwavering violent truth. All while the other dodges and uses the violent’s strength against itself, all while denying its own violent nature.

Allegorically it was good versus bad, overindulgence against suppression. The idea that to overindulge, to snap, to be reckless would lead to being taken advantage of. Wild knew why Twilight thought the story relevant to him. He knew that whenever he’d turn his back on his enemies to support that it wasn’t viewed as loyalty. He knew that there was lots to lose, and they couldn’t afford another injury. He knew Twi didn’t want to see him fall into a similar circumstance. But he knew he couldn’t afford to fail again. He couldn’t fall short. He can’t lose someone close again.

Where externally he was viewed as the former, he internally found himself in the latter of cases. He fought the battle between the whispers of the others in contrast to his own thoughts of himself. Left with the residual pressure to be nothing short of perfect, to be The Hero of Time, to be worthy of the title and the land and the fate and the soul. The yearning to simply live and be without the burden of his own guilt, to be Link, to be your lover and accept the love without feeling indebted.

He didn’t realise Twilight had left.

His head swims and he feels clammy as he curls up, deciding aimlessly that it’s time to sleep. His feet lead him inside his house and he can hardly even stumble up the loft. Someone else can sort dinner.

Any sense of sensibility is muddled and mixed. Time does not matter, nor the relevancy if his mind.

He stares back at the shards of his past life, his chipped reflection in each mirror, and can’t help but wonder who he’d be if he were just Link.

Or would he be even anything at all if not a hero?

What was it that he truly was?

Mipha had written that he was a rather rowdy child, eager to take on the world with nothing more than a stick in hand. Then, he held no care for being proper. Wide grin and leaves in his hair, he was happy. Perhaps that was the most of himself he could ever be. Perhaps that was the reason he finds himself wandering aimlessly now. Perhaps that is his nature.

The records of many soldiers he fought alongside depicted him as the prime standard of the military. Those days were cold, and he just remembered how much he hurt. The ache of every muscle and bruise, every drill, every spar, every battle, every day spent alive that was spent suffering. His ability to cut down any monster or man with any weapon. His instinct and ability to hurt was primed until he now questions if that little boy who splashed around in rivers and threw handfuls of mud had retreated into the cold hands of death. The soldiers’ mirage of him is idyllic, but holds distressingly true to his own memory.

Perhaps that is why his mind is clear and quiet with weapon in hand and a body beneath his feet.

He dreams of musty stables and bare campgrounds, both places the since passed versions of himself would’ve spent a night at. The smell of dirt and dust is accompanied by the crackle of a fire as drunken men sing out of tune.

The littlest curled up as his teeth chattered, the chipped tooth whistling as he exhaled. A warm hand settles on his shoulders as his father drapes another thin blanket over him. He does not yet know this means his father will go without warmth.

The soldier tossing and turning, unable to relax even long enough to sleep. He too his tormented by the potential of falling. He does not yet know what’s to come. He does not yet know there’s nothing to be done.

The scene shifts and he is at the castle. It’s his first time and his eyes shine as he follows his father closely, following hot on his feet with a giddy grin.

It is his home. His work. His life. He follows the princess closely, just far enough to not make himself overbearing. He does not smile. He does not frown. He does not fail.

The colours fade and mix and blur, the dreamscape shifting oncemore. It’s raining. It pitters across his shoulders as he kicks up the puddles, scaring the stray cuccos from the stable not too far away. His father fusses over the sword he’d found, and he can hardly muster the strength to swing it against the base of the apple tree. He results in climbing up the twisted limbs, collecting extra ripe apples to ease his father’s worries. The wet bark gives no grip to his feet and he falls to the ground, winded next to the funny blue sword. It glints and chirps and when he catches his breath he laughs back.

It’s storming. The grass smells wet and irony. The bloody mud cakes his boots as his foot falls brace against the ground. His arms lock as he flings his shield to the side, the guardian falling to disrepair. His shield lay broken. He can see his strained face in the dirty reflection. He doesn’t like the man staring back. The rain pelts across his back and the lightning shakes the ground. His muffled ears pick up Zelda’s distress as another guardian climbs up the mound of soul. He draws his sword. He didn’t even know if it were possible to deflect a guardian laser with a blade. But he can’t fail now. Not after everything. A flash of blue light overtakes his vision as his limbs slacken.

He shoots awake with a familiar tightness in his chest, his scars itching and burning. He writhes beneath his own skin as he kicks the covers off, the cold air seizing him. His lungs struggle to draw breath as he wheezes. His vision tunnels and it feels as if he’s dying again.

Why can’t it just be over.

When will he finally be enough— if not for the sake of the world then to at least save himself?

Or maybe he doesn’t deserve to be saved. He couldn’t save all those innocent people. Castle town, Deya, Lon Lon? Who was he to demand he was worth saving?

He hacks and coughs before even trying to look at his surroundings. Through the mixed screaming within his mind he gathers a few realisations. He’s alive. He’s home. You’re curled up beside him, reaching for his warmth. His hands tremble as they reach towards his uneven hairline, grabbing a fistful and tugging. The pain stings, he feels more than awake as his heart races.

“Mm- Link?” You mumbled against his side, awoken by the cold lack of covers. Guilt fills his throat again until he can’t breathe. He’s supposed to help you, to love you, to be of use. Not be such a burden. But here he is again, making it about him. Making your life worse and demanding comfort like a child.

“Heyheyhey- It’s ok, you’re safe” Your voice was as soft and gentle as your touch as you cradled his cheek. He didn’t even realise he was crying. Why was he crying? Who’d want a hero who cries like a coward in the face of a danger that isn’t even real? You collect his hands together, loosening his grip from his hair and running your thumbs across his knuckles. His head stirs as you speak, and he can’t make out anything of what you are saying. His ears ring, more than usual, drowning out any sound.

“Breathe with me, ok?” He nods weakly after you repeat yourself for the third or fourth time. He tries his best, his ribs shuddering before he could fully breathe in, but no longer deprived of oxygen, his head stops swimming as much.

It’s a while of sitting there, hands in your lap as you calm him down in whatever way he quietly requests. It’s so odd. Being raised to serve and to give and being taught through experience that your worth lies in your deeds… to suddenly being the one catered to. It still feels as if asking to be loved is forbidden. That his purpose comes before all requirement and survival. Somedays it still feels like death would come before he would be comfortable. But it took many long nights and longer days spent having uncomfortable conversations before he realised he still had a chance, only if he chose to make one for himself.

At some point he lets himself settle. He sinks into the now cool mattress as you stare into his eyes. He feels a flicker of shame before your hands are back on his jaw and you're pressing light kisses to his skin. Both temples, forehead, each freckle on the apple of his cheeks, crooked nose, the tip of his burn scar, the cut in his chin. You pull back for a moment to admire what you’ve made of him through the years. He smiles, lopsided and as giddy as he was in childhood. You press an eager kiss to his lips, giggling throughout.

He may be lost within the maze of his own mind, a man held hostage to himself, but despite being a failure by his own previous standards, it doesn’t matter so long as he’s enough for you.

[unexpectedstormy]

Get rekt idiots

[archerlullaby]

There aren’t enough TOTK comes back to the Chain fics out there so I figured I would write one. Hurt/Comfort, some angst, and some self-worth doubts. TOTK Link needs a hug tbh. Also, This is a Zelda slander fic, though I don’t directly hate her she kinda gets on my nerves in totk. MY BOI IS JUST SO TIRED LET HIM SLEEP PLZ.

Weariness and Worth

He was just so damn tired. He tried to be patient. He tried to put on the “Hero Façade”. But his resolve had begun to splinter with each passing moment alongside the princess.

He dragged his feet to the nearest cooking pot as Zelda strode purposefully up the Lookout Landing staircase. As soon as she got her wits about her after falling from the sky, she vehemently insisted that Purah is the first one she needed to see. It had only been a few hours since he had dragged her out of that lake, his body aching from his fight against the literal incarnate of evil, and the first thing she focused on was how she was home. How she needed to talk to Purah. How she needed a change of clothes. How she, who was a dragon for 10,000 years thank you very much, would like a good, hearty, home cooked meal, so Link, could you whip something up while I talk to Purah, please and thank you? He sighed, and all but collapsed at the edge of the fire, eyes starting to close of their own accord. The others in Lookout Landing all but ignored him, the Princess taking up all the attention while she smiled and waved as the individuals around her practically worshiped the ground she walked on.

“You look pretty worn out there son,” the elderly stablemaster chuckled, startling Link out of his stupor. This old man was the only one not rushing to greet the princess, and is instead settled a couple yards away from the cooking pot, his gnarled walking stick leaning against the inside of his knee. Link did his best to give him a smile, but only came up with a strangled-looking grimace. In the very least, he was grateful somebody at least acknowledged him. The stablemaster sighed.

“If only I was younger, maybe I’d have a chance with the young lady. I used to be something of a hero myself back in the day. Now all I got are my horses and these old bones!” He laughed, rapping a knuckle against his knee. “You are one lucky young man!”

Link’s grimace turned into a scowl. Yet again was he fooled into thinking someone cared about him. How naive of him. He stood and turned away from the old man, taking the Purah Pad from his hip. After stoking the fire, he decided on meat and rice balls. However while flicking absentmindedly through the Purah Pad for ingredients, he felt a very deep, sharp ache slam into his ribs. The pain gnawed at him like a wild beast, quickly buckling his knees and knocking the wind out of his lungs as his butt hit the ground. He gingerly felt around his chest, and came to the conclusion that becoming a dragon’s chew toy probably wasn’t the healthiest thing for ribs. He chuckled darkly. At least his shining sense of humor survived. The amusement was short lived, however, and tears pricked the corner of his eyes when he realized he used all his healing potions during the fight against Ganondorf, and that nobody, not even the stablemaster a stride away, cared enough to come to his aid. Everyone was so enthralled with that Princess. He fought the urge to bury his face in his arms and cry because he’s the Hero, the Chosen One, the Sworn Protecter of the Crown. Instead, he gathered himself quietly, stood, clipped the Purah Pad back to his hip, and hobbled out the southern gate without barely a glance towards the gathered crowd.

It had been an hour when he finally stopped walking, or rather, when his legs gave out and he flopped to the grass. The sun was just touching the western edge of the world, dew and darkness creeping into Hyrule Field as crickets began to sing. He knew he should go somewhere safer, somewhere where the wolves and the monsters wouldn’t catch his scent, but he could hardly keep his eyes open, and the smell of the earth and grass was so encompassing that he couldn’t bring himself to care about the danger. So instead, he closed his eyes and peacefully listened to the sounds of the coming night. That is, until his thoughts caught up to him. Coward, they called him. Abandoning duty for some pitiful, self-absorbed notion that he should be recognized, awarded, for accomplishing that for which he was destined to accomplish. These thoughts swirled through his head and screamed in his ears until he thought he would be deafened by the voices themselves.

That is, until the familiar and oh-so-welcome sound of time and space being torn open met his ears. Link blearily stumbled to his feet, and was met with the sight of a portal suspended in air just to his right. It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. He’s Link, he doesn’t get this type of fortune in his life. He felt like he could cry as he tripped over his feet and fell just a step away from the entrance, the burn in his side stealing away his breath. He only paused for a moment as he considered what this meant. He would disappear again, the people of Hyrule clueless as to where he went. Zelda clueless as to where he went. He bit back a bitter smile. She’ll just have to find him this time. Perhaps it was cruel, but he found that he couldn’t bring himself to care. So, on his hands and knees he dragged himself to the very edge and lurched through the swirling colors.

It was so warm, so gentle, so peaceful to just lie floating in the darkness. This didn’t feel like the icy cold waters of the shrine of resurrection, nor was it similar to the dark and damp cave he woke up in on the sky islands. No, this felt like a warm, thick wool blanket wrapped itself around his body, a soft embrace. Perhaps it was the downy feathers of the soft bed in Rito Village. Or maybe, Link mused, this was the water bed at the Seabed Inn in the Zora Domain. Sidon had spoke about a warming technology for the beds Kayden was trying to develop. Whatever it was, Link wanted to stay in it forever. Unfortunately, this peace was cut short.

“Cub? Wild, please look at me.” A familiar voice cut through the fog as he started to come around. His body changed from warmth to and almost refreshingly cool, as if aloe had been spread over a burn. A gentle magic encompassed him, one that was similar to Mipha’s, though less like a bubbling stream and more like that of the sun in the deep woods. He sighed, and snuggled further into the comfort that called to him. “Cub. CUB. Link!” Something tickled his nose, and it quickly pulled him away from soft darkness and into an irritating light. He blinked his eyes open all the way and was met with the welcome sight of a face donning a single black mark upon his forehead.

“Twi?” He muttered, voice raspy from lack of use.

“Oh, Wild, what happened to you?” Twilight asked, voice thick with emotion. Wild opened his mouth to reply before Twilight shook his head. “It doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that you’re okay.”

“Damn right. You fell through that portal and straight into Time’s lap. You’re lucky he wasn’t wearing his armor. You would’ve ended up with a concussion to add to your broken ribs!” Several chuckles came from the group, and a hearty laugh rang from Warriors. Hyrule, with his hands alighted on Wild’s side, looked pleased with his joke. Twilight merely shook his head and brushed his hand through Wild’s bangs. Wild had a thought to bat the hand away, but the worrying felt so good, so needed, that he found himself leaning into the touch, and, as Twilight continued his ministrations, Wild couldn’t help the tears that began to leak from the corner of his eyes for a second time that day. He brushed them away quickly and palmed his eyes.

“Sorry. M’fine,” he said gruffly, “Help me get up please.”

Twilight opened his mouth to protest, but Wild was already trying to shuffle himself out of Time’s lap when large hands, one on his forehead and the other on his shoulder, gently pushed him back down.

“Rest, Wild. You have no need to push yourself now. Your family is here to care for you,” Time’s voice rumbled from his chest, soft but demanding.

“But—”

“No arguing.”

Wild relented, and settled back into Time’s embrace, eyes feeling heavier than he would like to admit. Though despite the welcoming tendrils of sleep that curled around his consciousness, he couldn’t find it within himself to give in, not yet.

“What’s the matter, Cub?” Twilight still knelt next to him and Time while the others had begun to set out their bedrolls. Wild merely shook his head.

“It’s just-” he swallowed, “I’m afraid if I fall asleep, everyone will be gone when I wake up,” he whispered, embarrassment turning his head and closing his eyes so the others couldn’t see his face. “That always happens to me.”

He shouldn’t be saying this. He’s the Hero. The Savior of Hyrule. He doesn’t get to show weakness. Wild doesn’t want to open his eyes and see what surely must be disappointment on Time’s face, or disgust in Twilight’s eyes. Only a gentle warmth along his side breaks him from his thoughts. He looks down hesitantly and is met with the wide eyes of Wind, who has taken residence tucked along Wild’s hip, an arm thrown across his chest. The youngest gave him the biggest smile he could muster.

“It’s okay to be scared. I promise I’ll stay right here until you wake up in the morning. Even if you snore,” Wind said, and snuggled closer into his side. Time shifted, lying down close as Twilight tucks his pelt under Wild’s head.

“We all will,” the eldest reassured. It was only then Wild allowed himself a small smile. The doubts still ate at him, but they were lessening in their ferocity. The tiredness he felt before settled deep in his bones, an exhaustion so deep it slowed his breathing and finally closed his eyes, and finally, finally, he could sleep.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 2: Delirium

Read it on Ao3

- Time, Twilight, & Wild

- Summary: Time comes down with an illness and takes a turn for the worse

CW for delirium, illness and fever, mentions of holding a character down (no one actually gets held down), and a character getting punched

—————————-

Twilight sighs as he tugs the blanket a little higher over Time’s shoulder. The older hero shudders, teeth clacking together so hard it’s audible. When the rancher presses a hand to his head, it’s dangerously warm. He pulls away, lips set in a grim line.

“How’s he doing?” Comes Wild’s hushed voice from where he sits by the fire.

Twilight shakes his head. “No better. I think he’s getting worse.”

He sighs again, pressing his fingertips to his temples.

“There’s no need to fuss over me,” Time had assured the two of them only that morning. “I’m alright. It’s likely a cold, nothing more.”

And though his voice had sounded a bit hoarse and he was a little paler than usual, besides that he had seemed like his normal self. So, Twilight had taken him at his word.

…and had had to watch as his condition steadily declined throughout the day. He had tried to make more rest stops and urged the old man to drink during every one. Wild had even offered him a potion, though he had refused it. But their efforts hadn’t been enough. By the time they had found a good stopping place for the night, Time’s gaze had been bleary and unfocused, skin clammy and pale, steps stumbling and heavy.

When Twilight had pulled out his bed mat and ordered him to lie down before he could collapse, his attempts at arguing had fallen pathetically flat. And it hadn’t taken much convincing to get him to let the rancher guide him over to his bed mat. After that, he had swallowed the potion Wild had given him without much complaint.

Since then, he has been sleeping, though restlessly. And with each passing hour, Twilight’s worry has only grown.

Time shifts now, mumbling something about protecting cows and fighting off aliens. Another series of shivers run through him.

Twilight gnaws his lip for a moment, then looks over his shoulder at Wild.

“Hey, do we have any spare rags? I need something cool to put on his head.”

“Yeah, hold on.”

Wild searches in his pouch for a moment, then with a triumphant sound produces a small, worn cloth. Rising, he walks to the nearby stream. When he returns, the cloth is sopping wet with chilled water.

“Thanks,” Twilight says, taking it from him. Gently brushing Time’s hair back, he lays it over his forehead.

The hero shudders at the cool touch and his eye flutters open.

“What…” His gaze flits about the clearing, taking in everything but seeing nothing. “Is-is it time?”

Twilight exchanges an uneasy glance with Wild. Time for what, he isn’t certain. But he shakes his head anyway.

“No, not yet, old man. Go back to sleep.”

Time looks at him, his expression almost pleading. “Why…it-it’s so cold.”

He brings up a hand to pull weakly at the cloth. Twilight grasps his wrist before he can manage to fling it off. Carefully, he guides his hand back down to his side.

“You’ve got a fever. That’s gonna help us break it. So, just leave it there, alright?”

“No, I don’t want to,” Time slurs, stubbornly reaching for it again. “I’s too cold. And it’s wet.”

With an effort, Twilight suppresses a sigh. Little had he thought that caring for his mentor would ever be like caring for the village children.

“Here!” Wild shows up by his side with a bowl of stew in hand. Twilight hadn’t even realized that he had left. “I made dinner. This’ll warm you up!”

With a look of gratitude, Twilight takes the bowl from him. “Yeah, how about you have something to eat? It’ll help you get your strength back too.”

Though Time still looks less than pleased with the whole situation, the promise of warmth seems enough to convince him. He allows them to sit him up and spoon the food into his mouth, swallowing each bite dutifully. But even after he has eaten, he seems little improved. Shivers still rip through his body, his skin is hot to the touch, and he hardly seems aware of what is happening around him.

There is nothing more they can do, however, so Twilight helps him lie back down. Within moments, his eye slides shut and he is asleep once more.

-----------

Twilight volunteers to take the first watch. Wild needs his rest after the difficult day they have endured. Besides, he wants to keep a close eye on his mentor. So, he settles down beneath the shade of a tree a short distance away. And he waits for morning.

The moon is still high in the sky when he hears it. Someone is moving about behind him. The telltale clank of armor plates reaches his ears and he whips around, sword in hand. But there is no monster there. The sight that greets him, however, doesn’t calm him one bit.

Time is sitting upright on a nearby log, trembling fingers working to pull on his gauntlets. His abandoned bed mat lies not far away, masked by a heap of tangled blankets.

Twilight sheaths his sword with a sigh. He had worried something like this might happen. The old man’s fever is dangerously high, after all. But he had dared hope it would break before the inevitable occurred.

“Hey, old man,” he says, gently, and Time’s head jerks upward.

Even in the dim light of the dying fire, his cheeks look flushed, his face pallid. His gaze is as glossy as ever, yet when it meets Twilight’s the intensity of it is almost enough to make him pause.

“He’s coming,” he croaks, in a voice so hoarse Twilight cringes. His throat must be on fire right now.

He takes another step toward him, careful to keep his movements slow.

“Who’s coming?”

Time’s expression hardens further. A shiver tears through him with such intensity that his gauntlet slips from his fingertips and hits the ground. He retrieves it with a growl of frustration.

“Have to prepare…”

“For what?”

“Not what–who.”

Twilight swallows. “Okay, then, who?”

A short way away Wild stirs. With a groan he sits up, rubbing at his bleary eyes.

“What’s goin’ on Twi?”

At the sound of his voice, Time leaps to his feet, looking wildly about the clearing. Twilight rushes forward to catch him before he topples. The older hero tries to shove him off, but he holds on.

“Whoa, take it easy,” he says, patting his arm. “That’s just Wild.”

Time drags in a breath that rattles in his lungs. He looks down at Twilight, an almost crazed look in his eye.

“You must run – both of you. He-he’s coming! I’ll only be able to ho-hold him off for s-so long and…”

He trails off as his words dissolve in a hacking cough.

Wild is on his feet now, fear in his eyes.

“Potion,” Twilight mouths and he nods. Immediately, he ducks down and begins rifling through his pouch.

Twilight turns back to Time, who is still wavering in his grasp. “Whoever it is, we’ll get him, okay? Now, how about you just sit down? You can’t defeat him if you’re flat on your face.”

As gently as possible he pushes Time back onto the log, even as the older hero tries to wrench himself out of his grip. Twilight can feel the panic building steadily within him like water boiling in a kettle. If he can just get him to settle down before it grows out of control…

“You can’t–” The old man gasps, breathless and trembling. “Twi..Twilight…I have to…No!” 

Abruptly, he reels back. Before Twilight can react, a fist collides with his face. The rancher stumbles. His grasp slips. With surprising speed, Time lunges for his sword.

“Ganondorf is coming!”

The fear is blatantly visible on his face now, terror audible in his voice. Twilight freezes, hand stopping halfway through its journey to touch his newly bruised cheek.

He’s not the only one with the arm strength of a moblin, apparently.

“Sweet Ordona…”

Time whirls and the rancher is forced to leap out of the way of his sword’s reach.

“Have to get the sages, have to save Zelda…” He takes a stumbling step forward. A particularly violent shudder races through him and the weapon slips from his grip to land with a dull thump on the earthen ground. “Get to the castle….can’t lose this time–all going to die…what a terrible fate…”

Twilight ducks down and snatches Time’s claymore before he can reach for it again. At that moment, Wild scrambles up to his side.

“Here!” He grabs the sword and presses a potion into Twilight’s hands instead. “Lemme get this out of reach and I’ll come help you hold him down.”

Twilight nods. He clenches his hand around the bottle, forcing an inhale through his nose. Time’s words have cut him straight to the core and left him winded and shaky. Never before has he seen the old man this vulnerable, this scared. It just isn’t right, to see his mentor gaze at him like a child seeking refuge from the monsters that stalk the night.

…a child with the world on his small shoulders.

“Time.” His voice trembles the slightest bit and he clears his throat. “I need you to trust me.”

Time freezes before him, teeth chattering, breath coming on haggard half-gasps. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“N-no.” He shakes his head. “Only have three days. The clock resets — e-everything’s over. Have to sta…start again and I can’t…please don’t make me.”

He’s speaking pure nonsense now — at least Twilight desperately hopes that’s what this is — but it’s enough to shatter his heart. What nightmares has the hero endured to inspire a plea like this? What secrets haunt him?

…what regrets? 

“Twi,” Wild says from beside him and Twilight forces himself to inhale the breath he had been holding.

“We won’t make you start again,” he says, quietly. “I promise.” Carefully, he holds out the bottle. “But we need you to drink this. It…it will give you strength for the battle.”

The lie tastes ashen in his mouth. He has no other choice though. It’s either this or pin the old man to the ground and by Hylia, he doesn’t want it to come to that.

Time’s eye flits between the proffered bottle and the two heroes in front of him. He shudders again, stumbling a bit.

Twilight dares to take a slow step forward. “Trust us.”

“We only want to help,” Wild chimes in, though his voice is unusually quiet. “You don’t have to fight anyone alone.”

For a long moment, Time merely gazes at them, resigned exhaustion and terror warring across his face. Twilight holds his breath.

And then, slowly, he reaches out. Grasping the bottle, he tips it back. No sooner has he downed the crimson liquid than the tension bleeds from his shoulders. The bottle slips from his hand at the same time that he slumps bonelessly forward.

Twilight is just in time to catch him.

[arecaceae175]

Delirium

Summary: Sky’s whittling slowed, hands lowering into his lap. His gaze was locked on Wild, as it had been for most of the afternoon. Wild wouldn’t stop twitching. Sky couldn’t figure out why.

Warnings: blood, injury, delirium, holding someone down, a Link briefly attacking another Link, panic, memory issues

Story version of this incredible art by @kikker-oma!! <3<3<3

2505 words, hurt/comfort and whump.

Excerpt:

Sky’s whittling slowed, hands lowering into his lap. His gaze was locked on Wild, as it had been for most of the afternoon. 

Wild wouldn’t stop twitching. 

Sky couldn’t figure out why. The movements weren’t huge, just small muscle spasms and strange, little twists of his head. Wild was sitting near the cooking pot and had supplies out for a nice dinner. There was a knife in his hand but he hadn’t cut anything in nearly ten minutes. He was sitting, and twitching, and staring at nothing. 

It wasn’t a memory, Sky didn’t think. Wild was always unnaturally still during those. His gaze was moving so often, each time locking onto another thing Sky couldn’t see. 

Sky glanced around the camp. No one else seemed to notice; they were all absorbed by their own activities. 

Wild suddenly flinched violently, and his eyes darted from side to side. 

That’s it, Sky decided. He wasn’t going to just sit here while something was clearly wrong. He glanced down to put his woodcarving knife into its case, then pushed himself to his feet. 

“Wild?” Wind asked. 

Sky’s head shot up, and so did Wild’s. Wind was standing next to Wild, one hand outstretched towards him slightly. Wild stared at Wind, silent and unmoving. Sky couldn’t see his face, but whatever it was made Wind back up a step with wide eyes. 

“Wind,” Sky hissed. Wind’s eyes moved to meet Sky’s. His eyebrows were scrunched and his mouth was squiggled in a frown. 

“Give him some space,” Sky said softly. “Something’s not right.”

Wind’s face shifted from confused to concerned, then his eyes hardened in determination.

“Wind!” Sky whispered. 

“Wild, what’s wrong?” Wind asked. He took a step closer.

Faster than anyone could react, Wild’s hand whipped out. Wind yelped and threw himself to the side. Wild sliced the knife across Wind’s eyebrow, leaving a long, open gash. Wind cried out as he hit the ground and rolled to the side. 

[cutthroatcarnival]

A Cinnamon Mask

Warnings: A panic attack happens, and a character being poisoned in the past is strongly alluded to.

1/3 fics!

The fire in the hearth crackled, filling the comfortable silence. The Chain had stopped their current trek through the snowy land of Hebra to rest, and Wild had guided them to the Hebra Trailhead Lodge, which was luckily devoid of its common patrons, allowing all nine of them and their various gear to fit inside the small cabin.

Wind had commandeered the bed, wrapped in various extra blankets with the remnants of a spicy elixir in the bottle he held. Being from a tropical climate and constantly under the sun, the pirate was not acclimated to cold weather. Next to him was Sky, the knight happy to be resting under a roof, even if the cold had little to no effect on him. A perk of growing up and living on an island in the sky.

One. Two.

The others were faring better than the sailor, even Legend, with his lack of pants. He claimed to be used to weather extremes, and refused to elaborate further. Sat on either side of him were Hyrule and Four, the two seemingly content to help him repair rips in their clothes.

Three. Four. Five.

On top of the barrels next to the hearth was a pile of Time’s armor, the man in question slipping on the warm doublet Wild had offered over his own tunic- the cold metal of his armor would do no good to keep Time warm. A quiet conversation with Warriors and Twilight was held as Wild piped in from where he was making something in the pot.

Six. Seven. Eight. Counting himself, 9.

Time adjusted the warm doublet, it surprisingly fit, with no tightness around his shoulders, a common issue for him. He kneeled down to reach his pack, digging around to find the thick blanket that had been packed (but knowing Malon, she probably put an extra one or two in).

A sharp whistle broke through the quiet atmosphere, demanding attention to the hearth, where Wild stood with six steaming mugs and Twilight behind him with three.

“I made us some hot chocolate, it’s a recipe I learned from Uma in Hateno,” appreciative murmurs rose, “And don’t worry, Twilight didn’t do any of the making.” That drew a few laughs from the heroes as the two proceeded to pass out the drinks.

Nodding his thanks, Time wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling both the warmth and the craftsmanship of it. Must be one of the mugs Sky carved, judging by the intricate patterns and steady lines.

“It smells good,” Wind took a sip, “and it tastes good too! I don’t think I’ve ever had this before!” The sailor’s hands were wrapped tightly around the mug, likely attempting to leech the heat out.

“It’d be a mite strange if you’d’ve had this before, being from a warm climate and such.” Twilight was nursing his own mug, as he sat down next to Sky.

The conversation flowed easily as Wild’s hot cocoa loosened the grip of any remaining cold, at some point turning onto the topic of stories from their adventures.

“There’s no way! That’s impossible!” Four shouted, face painted in complete disbelief.

“It’s not impossible, I’ve done it! When we next get to my Hyrule, I’ll ask Gor Coron and see if he would be up for another round.”

“You’re telling me you sumo wrestled a Goron? The people that are partially made of rock? Those guys?” Legend seemed skeptical, his left eyebrow lifted up.

Twilight struggled to defend himself as the younger heroes ganged up on him, poking and prodding for answers, or in Legend’s case, trying to get him to “tell the truth”.

A choked whine snapped Time’s attention away from the conversation, his ears flicking as he turned to face the direction of the noise.

He was met with a wide-eyed Warriors, staring down at the mug that rested in his tight yet trembling grip. In one motion, his grip loosened and the mug clattered to the floor, spraying the (now cold) hot cocoa across the floor.

Another choked off whine, and Time slowly advanced towards the captain, keeping his hands in view, as if he were approaching an easily-spooked horse. One foot stepped on a creaky floorboard and Warriors’ head whipped up, still wide-eyed, but Time could better see his expression.

Pure and utter panic.

Watching him carefully, the elder hero noticed that the younger had positioned himself into a position where he could both attack and defend, likely done subconsciously. Time raised both his hands up, showing he was unarmed.

“Captain… what happened?” In a flash of blue Time was knocked to the ground, and Warriors had effectively cornered himself, the panic in his eyes brighter. The war hero trembled as he brandished his sword.

A pair of calloused hands helped Time back upright, “Why did he attack you?” The rancher mumbled, gaze locked onto the captain.

“He’s panicking, that’s what. Something set him off.”

A few heads swiveled to the veteran, who only shrugged and gave a non-committal noise.

Warriors was muttering something, and Time strained his ears to try and catch what he was saying.

“Poison… trust… cinnamon…”

The rest was too mumbled to understand. It seemed his descendant had also heard what Warriors had been muttering, as he tilted his head in confusion.

“Poison? Cinnamon? What is he-“

“Fuck.”

All 7 heads snapped to the veteran, whose ears were pinned against his head, a look of recognition in his eyes. He growled.

“He thinks his drink was poisoned.”

“What?” Wild stared at Legend, a quizzical, yet worried, expression adorning his face.

“Cinnamon. It’s used to mask the taste and smell of poisons.” Legend explained.

“How do-“

“Not the time, Rulie.”

Time wracked his brain for something, for anything, when he landed on a moment a few weeks back, when he and the captain were up for watch.

Shit.

“I know what happened,” several heads turned to look at him, “he thinks we tried to poison him.” He turned his eye back to Warriors, the panic still evident in his gaze.

Again, he shuffled forward, palms held upward in a placating gesture. Warriors pressed himself further into the corner, his breathing picking up and hitching on every other breath.

“Link.”

The utterance of his actual name snapped Warriors partially back into reality, gaze now finally realizing Time.

“There you are. Link, listen, we aren’t trying to hurt you.”

Time advanced forward again, now within reaching distance of Warriors, and he slowly descended onto his knees, the joints creaking in protest.

“Can I touch you?” He waited until Warriors processed the question.

A nod.

Settling his hands on the captain’s knees, he started tapping an easy rhythm.

“Steady yourself. In for 4… hold for 7… out for 4…” Warriors copied his directions, breath hitching a few times, but steadily evening out.

“There we go. You’re okay. What are 5 things you can see?”

“You, the bed, the others, Sky’s shield, mugs.”

His rhythm continued.

“Good, now, 4 things you can touch?”

“The floor, my sword, my scarf, the wall.”

The breaths evened out more.

“3 things you can hear?”

“The fire, the wind, and creaking wood.”

Warriors’ eyes lost their panicked sheen.

“Almost there. 2 things you can smell?”

“Fire, and- and cinnamon.”

Time kept up his tapping.

“1 thing you can taste?”

“Nothing. I think I burnt my tongue.”

A quiet sigh of relief flooded through the group, who chuckled at Warriors’ comment. Time breathed deeply out his nose, stopping his rhythm and instead gripping at the captain’s knees. A scarred hand rested over his and squeezed.

“Better now, Captain?”

Another squeeze.

“Thanks to you, old man.” He chuckled and stood up, joints clicking as he went, offering Warriors a hand and pulling the hero up.

“So-“

“Shut up. Don’t apologize, damn it.”

“Legend…”

“No, Wars. You had a completely valid reaction to something. Don’t go fucking apologizing for it.” The vet snapped, crossing his arms tightly. Warriors crossed the room and set a hand on the pink hair.

“…Nice to know you care, pricker bush.” His hand was a blur as he messed up the vet’s hair, who squeaked and batted at his arm.

Time watched as they laughed at the two’s antics, a small grin on his face.

Warriors wasn’t fully okay, his hands still held a slight tremble and his eyes still a tad too wide. But Time knew that with time (ha), and his brothers, that the captain would be as right as rain sooner than later.

[mischefous]

Saw you wanted whump-y LU requests, and I wanted to suggest maybe a piece of either Wild or Twilight being sick, and hallucinating that the other isn’t there, when they actually are? Or something along those lines?

Hope you have a wonderful day!

I really enjoyed drawing the expressions on this one! poor Wild is super sick and delirious to the point where he is hallucinating that everyone is gone 😭

Thank you for your lovely request @four-eyed-nerd! I hope you have a wonderful day too💙

HSAJFJSHKW- LOVE IT WHEN I DRAW HANDS AND THEY LOOK LIKE PROPER HANDS

[minty-mumbles]

Gingerbread

Summary: The chain has found themselves at Lon Lon Ranch in the middle of the Yule season. Sky finds Wild alone in the kitchen late one evening, and offers both company and help with the baking the champion is doing.

A/N: Secret Santa gift for @themackenziemachine

(Read on AO3 Here)

~~~

A thick layer of snow covered Lon Lon Ranch, blanketing the world in silence the way only a fresh snowfall could. Thick snowflakes still fell from the sky, quickly filling in the tracks left behind by a pair of people trudging out to the barn and then back to the house. 

Inside, things were just as quiet. Two pairs of snowy boots were left piled by the front door, quickly forming a puddle from the snow melting off them. Their owners were nowhere to be seen, already retreating up to the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. A fire burned lowly in the hearth, nothing but embers remaining after burning for hours. The evergreen boughs and springs of holly that were placed on the mantle for decoration filled the house with their scent, filling it with holiday cheer.

The only sounds in the house came from the kitchen, where a scarred boy stood alone, working at the kitchen counter. A disk of brown dough sat before him. Repetitively and methodically, he worked with his hands and a rolling pin until it turned into a thin, flat sheet of dough. 

When he was finished with that, he picked up a sharp knife but was interrupted by the sounds of someone coming down the stairs.

 It was Sky. He was lacking his outer tunic, his hair was mussed and he had clearly just come from bed. Wild turned back to what he was doing, cutting shapes into the sheet of dough.

“Wild?” Sky asked, voice soft with sleep.

Wild didn’t respond, not that Sky needed him to in order to identify the hunched-over form in the kitchen. He already knew it was the champion. He walked a bit closer, brow furrowed as he took in Wild’s appearance. “Twilight and Time just came back from making sure the animals were all taken care of. Twilight said you were still up. He was worried.”

Wild barely glanced at Sky but dismissively murmured, “I couldn't sleep.” 

Sky approached, looking at the messy counter, covered in flour and small scraps of dough. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Baking the gingerbread. I was gonna do it tomorrow but it’s chilled long enough.” Sky smiled at that. Baking had always been one of his favorite Yule traditions. “Gingerbread” wasn’t something he was familiar with from Skyloft, but enough of the other heroes had been delighted when Wild said he would make them that Sky was looking forward to trying them all the same.

“Do you want some company?”

Wild sighed, glancing at Sky again. His eyes lingered for a second, taking in Sky’s disheveled appearance. “I’m okay, really. I didn’t have a nightmare or anything. I just couldn’t sleep. You can go back to bed. There’s no need to check on me.”

Sky smiled. “I know. I was already getting up to get a glass of water. I just don’t want you to be lonely. I like banking anyway. I usually do some with Sun every Yule, so I’m not totally incompetent.” 

Wild didn’t seem to believe that Sky truly wanted to keep him company, but didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, motioning him to wash off his hands before he touched the food. 

Many hands made light work. In no time at all, the rest of the dough had been rolled out and cut into shape, and laid out carefully on several sheet pans.

“Not bad,” Sky commented, appraising the cookies. They were all cut into the traditional gingerbread man shape. A few of them were lopsided, but they were all recognizable.

“Oh,” Wild said. “I should’ve let you cut them out. You’re the artist between the two of us, with your woodcutting.”

“You did a fine job,“ Sky assured him. ”Woodcutting doesn’t translate over into cookie cutting that well, anyway. What’s next?”

“Baking them,” Wild said absently, already opening the oven. A wave of heat blasted out, making Sky shiver. He hadn’t realized how chilly it had gotten in the house with the fire burning so low. Wild picked up one of the trays and turned to slide them into the oven. 

“How long do they have to bake?” Sky asked, looking at the rest of the trays left on the counter. He hoped they wouldn’t take not long. He was getting a bit tired, but he had promised Wild some company, so he would stay awake. It was clear the champion needed it. 

“Ten minutes,” Wild said shortly. He closed the oven door, but made no more movements, just staring straight ahead, as if lost in thought. When he didn’t move, Sky put a hand on his shoulder. Wild jumped a bit at the touch, but soon relaxed into his hand.

“Come on, let's go sit by the fire. It’s a bit chilly.” 

That stirred Wild into action, and the two of them quietly shuffled over the area in front of the fireplace. Sky added a few logs to the fireplace, sending sparks to flare up, carried on the updraft up the chimney. Wild, seemingly remembering what Sky had come downstairs for in the first place, set some milk over the fire to warm. When it was steaming, he carefully poured two cups, and grated some nutmeg on top of both of them.

Sky smiled at the sight of the expensive spice. On Skyloft, nutmeg was a luxury, only used on special occasions. From what he had gathered, it was the same in most of the other hero’s eras, but he wasn't surprised that Wild had some stored away in his slate. If there was one thing the champion didn’t hesitate to spend money on, it was good food.

“Felt like splurging a bit?” Sky asked, but all he got back was a nonchalant hum. Wild was clearly not in the mood for chatting. Nonetheless, he gratefully accepted the cup of milk. 

Sky sipped at the drink slowly, savoring the taste of the expensive spice, but he still finished his cup before Wild could. The champions seemed enthralled with the fire, gaze unwaveringly fixed on the tongues of flame that licked at the blackened logs. He was so still that more than once Sky feared he’d fallen into a memory. 

Every so often Wild would blink, gaze flicking away from the fire and over to Sky, as if to make sure he was still there. Occasionally, he seemed to remember that he was holding a drink and took a sip, but then went right back to staring at the flames. 

After several minutes of companionable silence, Sky stood. His movement drew Wild’s attention, but Sky motioned for him to stay where he was. “I’ll be right back,” he assured. 

He made his way into the kitchen, and took the first tray of cookies out of the oven, set them aside to cool, and replaced them with another tray. Then he climbed the stairs to the second floor- carefully making sure to step over the third step from the top which always creaked loudly when it was stepped on. 

Entering the guest room where He’d been sleeping not even half an hour ago, Sky carefully picked his way around the sleeping bodies, feeling for his pack in the dark. He retrieved what he came for and left as quickly as he came, this time while cradling his harp close to his chest. Hopefully, he hadn’t disturbed the sleep of any of his brothers.

Wild was exactly where Sky had left him, and had gone back to staring at the fire. He didn’t look up as Sky returned, and didn’t seem to register the fact that Sky had brought his harp down with him.

 It was obvious by now that something was wrong with the champion, despite his claims. Maybe he truly hadn’t had a nightmare, and he really couldn’t sleep, but there was something else going on too.

Sky thought about prying. He thought about setting aside his harp and asking Wild what was wrong. But he wouldn’t imagine that would go well. Wild had already indicated he didn’t feel up to talking, even about mundane things. Sky doubted Wild would want to delve into his darker thoughts.

So instead of asking, Sky readied his harp, and began to play.

Wild jerked, not expecting the sudden music. He turned to look at Sky. He stared for long enough that Sky thought he was going to say something, but instead he turned back to watch the light dance in the hearth.

Sky plucked at the strings gently, starting up a soothing melody. He kept it as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb any of the sleeping heroes or Malon upstairs.

His playing didn’t seem to make Wild any happier or offer him a distraction from his thoughts, but it also didn’t seem to be making him upset. As Wild didn’t ask Sky to stop, the chosen hero continued his quiet playing.

In a break between songs, as Sky was plucking idly on the strings and thinking about which song to play next, Wild spoke up. His voice was so quiet, Sky nearly missed it, but he put aside his harp to listen better. 

“Yule feels so familiar. It’s so-” Wild cut himself off with a wavering sigh. Sky blinked at him in confusion before realizing Wild was probably telling him what had been on his mind the whole evening. 

“I can’t remember celebrating the holidays with my family. But the snow, and the smell of pine and nutmeg, and the warmth from the fire…” Wild trailed off, reaching out a hand out towards the flames as if feeling their warmth. Sky wondered if he even realized he was doing it. 

Wild slowly brought the hand back to his chest, clutching the front of his tunic loosely. “It all feels so familiar. It makes me happy, because I know I must have been happy before.” 

Sky didn’t ask what Wild meant by ‘before.’ He already knew.

“But it hurts so much, because I am never going to know exactly what I lost. No one can tell me about my family, and I’m probably never going to remember. I don’t even know them, but I still miss them so badly.” Wild seemed to lose steam the longer he spoke, his words trailing off into a miserable whisper until they were barely audible.

Sky’s first reaction was to try and reassure Wild that, of course, he would remember eventually. He bit his tongue, pushing down the urge. Wild didn’t seem to be expecting an immediate answer to what he’d said, so Sky took his time formulating his response. This wasn’t the time to be rushing into things and sticking his foot in it. 

It was a nice thought that eventually Wild would remember everything about his previous life, but not a very realistic one. And honestly, if Wild said he thought he wasn’t going to remember something, Sky was inclined to believe him. Wild knew more about his amnesia than Sky ever would. 

The boy had lost his family, in possibly the most permanent sense. He didn’t have any memories to look back on as he grieved. From what Sky knew, the boy didn’t even know who he was mourning. A mother and father, brothers or sisters, perhaps? Sky didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure Wild did either. How could Wild know when he couldn’t remember?

Telling Wild that the emotions he was feeling were wrong wasn't going to help anyone. 

The teen had been through a lot, and Sky knew from personal experiences that having your emotions dismissed felt horrible. Every reassurance that everything would be okay eventually felt like a personal insult when it seemed like nothing would ever be alright ever again. If you felt bad in the moment, being told you would feel better in the future wasn't helpful.

He wouldn't do that to Wild. Sky had been able to drag himself out of that horribly dark mindset after his own quest, but it had taken a long time, and support from his friends and family. 

He could be that support for Wild, as long as he needed it.

He set his harp to the side, scooting closer to Wild and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Wild followed his tugging and leaned against Sky’s shoulder with no resistance. 

Sky did his best to offer comforting words. “You may not ever be able to remember your family, but you don’t need to remember what they were like to know you loved them. You don’t need to know their faces to mourn them. Not having many memories of your loved ones didn’t mean your love for them was diminished at all.”

Wild didn’t respond, but Sky hesitated to push him anymore. Wild was already being vulnerable tonight, Sky didn’t want to pressure him. 

At least Wild seemed in a slightly better mood as he contemplated Sky’s words. He didn’t return to his previous stupor, remaining alert instead of zoning out and staring at the fire. Sky hoped Wild would think about what Sky said. At the very least, he hoped that Wild wouldn’t hesitate to come to Sky again if he needed to talk. 

The silence continued, but it was more comfortable than before. Sky no longer felt the need to fill the quiet with music, content to simply sit next to Wild. That was, until an unpleasant scent reached Sky’s nose. He sniffed, frowning. It smelled like something was burning, and it wasn’t the pleasant scent of the pine wood in the fireplace.

“Wild, do you-” his words were cut off before he could even finish his question by Wild shooting up from where he’d been leaning into Sky’s side. 

“Oh gods, the cookies!”

There was a mad scramble to the kitchen, and Sky hovered anxiously while Wild grabbed the oven mitts and brought the second tray out of the oven. There was a moment of silence as the two of them observed the tray of cookies.

“Well,” Sky started, trying to be positive. “Some of them can be salvaged.”

Wild only sighed, putting the tray to the side, and turning to slide the next one into the oven. Sky watched in concern when Wild’s shoulder started to shake. Was he crying? When Wild turned around, though, Sky could see he was restraining himself from bursting into laughter. 

“Here I was throwing a pity party for myself, and letting the cookies burn,” Wild said, barely able to get his words out without wheezing. 

“What- it’s not your fault-” Sky spluttered, not sure how to respond to that, but Wild waved him off. The misfortune with the cookies seemed to have cheered him up even more, so Sky let it go, even though he didn't approve of Wild calling the evening a “pity party.”

The rest of the time waiting for the final three batches of cookies was spent sitting next to each other on the couch, this time with a much lighter atmosphere than before. Sky started playing again, and now Wild was actually paying attention. He seemed to appreciate Sky’s playing, and occasionally, he even piped up to say he recognized the song Sky was playing from his own era. (It always amazed Sky to hear that some parts of Skyloft’s culture, such as certain songs, survived through the many years that separated them.)

Sky could accept that although Wild wasn’t better- it would take a long time for Wild to truly make peace with his lost memories and his family’s death- he wasn’t feeling the crushing weight of that grief anymore tonight. 

By the time the last tray of cookies came out of the oven, Wild had decided that the first tray was cool enough to be iced. He was quick to whip up some simple icing. Powdered sugar with milk added a bit at a time until it reached the right consistency to pipe onto the cookies. Neither of them knew where Malon kept a piping bag in her kitchen or if she even had one at all, but thankfully, Wild had some stashed in his slate. 

Sky wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Wild had such a specific tool in his slate. He wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out Wild had an entire kitchen stuffed into his slate. He said as much, but Wild didn’t laugh at his joke. Sky decided it was best not to ask.

The icing started out simple and random, adding the impression of hair and clothes, all in white. It didn’t take long before Wild was making some of the cookies into people he knew. There was one of Flora, some that were meant to represent the new champions from Wild’s stories- Riju, Teba, Yunobo, and Sidon. Sky squinted, but he honestly couldn’t see how the one meant to represent Sidon looked like him at all. At least from what he remembered from the picture Wild had shown the group of heroes before. He cut Wild some slack though, since he only had white icing to work with, and was trying to squeeze a non-hylian onto a hylian-shaped cookie.

Sky liked the idea of decorating some of the cookies to resemble people he knew. He set about making one to represent Sun. He was so focused on his decoration that he didn’t notice what Wild was doing in the meantime until he was finished with his Sun cookie. When he looked up again, he was surprised to see Wild had- somehow- managed to make a whole rainbow of colors, already placed into piping bags.

“What?” He gasped. “How?”

Wild grinned sheepishly. “There’s a dye shop in Hateno, my hometown. They mostly make dye for clothing, but they also sell food-safe dye. It’s pretty expensive but I figured it might be useful to have some at some point so I bought some in every color. This is a good enough time as any to start using it. We won’t be as limited by the colors anymore.”

Sky felt a grin overtaking his features. He knew exactly who he wanted to make into a cookie next. Grabbing the red icing and a new cookie, and started constructing a familiar, ridiculous hairstyle. His only regret when he got done with the Groose coolie was that the man wouldn’t be able to see Sky’s masterpiece before it was devoured. It actually looked a decent amount like the man.

Leaning back, Sky popped his back, a bit stiff from having been sitting at the counter for so long. Looking over at Wild, he saw that the champion ws also finishing up his current cookie. When Wild held it up to show Sky, he could see it was colored to look exactly like Twilight. 

“That looks really good!” Sky said, leaning over to look closer. It really did look like a mini version of the rancher. Wild had even used a toothpick to carefully draw in the lines of Twilight’s facial tattoos. 

They worked quickly, occasionally exchanging snickers at the cute cookie versions of the other heroes. They even did one for Sky, with a mini sailcloth and all. All the cookies were messy. Some of the icing was smeared, but they remained recognizable as their fellow heroes. 

Occasionally, they had to stop for Wild to mix new colors to match the colors of the other heroes. Pink for Legend’s hair, purple for part of Four's tunic, a lighter blue for Wild and Wind’s tunics, and gray for Time’s armor. 

By the time they’d finished icing most of the cookies, the kitchen was covered in smears of colorful icing. Sky winced. He hoped the color wouldn't stain the counters. He doubted Time or Malon would appreciate waking up to find their kitchen more colorful than they’d left it the night before.

He and Wild leaned back, observing their work so far. Neither of them were painters and it was obvious, but none of the cookies looked half bad. Sky personally thought they looked great, but Wild seemed to disagree. Sky watched curiously as Wild leaned over, picked up the black icing, and added two tiny black lines over Legend’s eyes. 

“There, that’s much better. It looks way more like him,” he said, struggling to hold back a laugh at the angry expression on the cookie’s face. Sky had to hold back a snort too. He could already imagine the reaction Legend would have the next day when he noticed how his expression differed from the rest. Sky anticipated plenty of shouting and angry expressions from the veteran, not that it would help the vet prove that he ‘didn’t look like that.’ 

Now there was only one hero left to ice, and only one cookie left to be iced. “You’re the last one to ice,” Sky said, reaching for the last cookie before catching sight of it. When he did, he froze.

The only cookie left on the tray was from the batch they’d burnt early in the night. They’d needed to throw half of that batch in the trash, but had agreed some of the cookies were salvageable. This had been one of them. Unfortunately, the cookie was badly burnt all along one side. 

“Oh,” Sky nearly choked, casting a worried glance at Wild. He felt deeply conflicted about whether he should laugh at this or not. It was a little bit funny that the only cookie left for Wild was the one that was burnt, and the champion had never shown himself to be sensitive about his scars before. But Sky didn’t want Wild to think he was laughing at him. Especially after how emotional the night had already been. 

Thankfully, Wild answered that dilemma for him, breaking out into a strangled chuckle. Wild slapped a hand over his mouth, looking surprised at the laugh that had slipped out of him, and his startled expression was enough to set Sky off. Sky laughing seemed to make Wild break too, and soon both of them were bent over the counter, wheezing as quietly as they could.

Eventually, they managed to reign themselves in, and Wild picked up the blue icing, starting with the outline of his tunic. Sky remained content to watch him, occasionally handing him different colors when requested. Slowly, Sky let his mind wander. 

It had been an eventful night. Some part of him was still worried about Wild, but another part of him knew that the champion was strong enough to pull through his inner turmoil. 

The house still smelled like pine and holly, but now the sweet scent of the gingerbread also filled the house. The kitchen was pleasantly warm from the roaring fire and recently used an oven. Sky couldn’t help but find himself dozing off with his head propped up on his hand. 

It was late after all, well past the time they should have gone to sleep. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to doze a bit while Wild finished the last cookie.

Bonus: The Cookies :)

[chimisart]

Yeah so WILD IS A TEACHER NOW. I mean not wild wild but like hero of the wild DOES THAT EVEN MAKE SENSE. The creator of lu said they dont even know if they will add totk events into canon lu wild or not so guess we dont know. BUT IM BEGGING PLEASEEEEEEE WILD IS A TEACHER IM E DE AD

I’m adding this to the lil wild headcanons even tho does it even count as headcanon if its litr real. I wonder if totk universe has shitty pay for teachers too.

[skyward-floored]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54088594

Summary:

“W— Wild?” Warriors croaked after a minute, suddenly remembering a hand in his as the cave had collapsed around them. “Wild, h-hey are you... here?”

No response.

———

I put the fic based off those three sentence prompts up on ao3 👍 I also edited it to fit the three sentence fics themselves into the story, so now it’s all one fic, much easier to read :)