cocoon

This is the bridge comic I've wanted to draw forever between the Hyrule Historia manga (that introduced Hylia and First Link) and the start of Skyward Sword. My hands finally caught up to my brain.

some precious moments I had to redraw… lov em

Found you

The Winter Festival - A post!TotK Zelink story

After the events of Tears of the Kingdom, a coronation, and a marriage, Queen Zelda and King Link hold a winter festival.

On the day of the festival, Zelda carries a secret, and Link is very touchy. By the end of the afternoon, Zelda comes to a realization.

This is a fluffy piece with a sprinkle of angst. A Slice of Life post-upheaval.

This is dedicated to the wonderful @linksthoughtbrambles as part of Hetsu's Gift Exchange '23.

Prompt: Endings are also beginnings

A massive, massive thank you to my wonderful phenomenal beta @shameless-fujoshi.

Thank you so very very much for this sweet, warm, and loving story!!!! I enjoyed it so much, I had a smile on my face the whole time while I was reading it 🥰.

Hey everyone - here's why you should read "The Winter Festival"!!! (While trying to avoid spoilers 😂):

Thank you again for writing this for me!!!!!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

A pre-calamity story. that's it that simple. sorry for the language mistake in advance!

That super long post!

Thanks for reading!

I like Link’s new weird dog

Because they deserve a little secret wedding up in the sky, as a treat

(For the Elope prompt of Zelink Wedding Week!)

Not shown: a little band of Koroks off to the side playing this:

Link and Zelda 

scratch

Is it kosher to post old-ass vintage art from 10 years ago? Oh well, my blog my art my rules

(It's so old that it has history now. Maybe I'll write up a director's commentary later)

So I was just browsing AO3 one day and completely randomly found that somebody wrote a fluffy lil fic based on this picture. Please go give them some love on my behalf 😄

(For more Skyward Sword art, try this one from 2021 rather than 2011)

Aw @embyrinitalics you are too sweet 😊 This gets long, bear with me.

Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (Studio Ghibli, 1987)

some hypothetical movie posters

instagram / twitter / patreon

Silence. 13

Table of Contents….Chapter 1

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They invented a game, where they would take turns listing numbers in a sequence.  Link would start with something like 2.  Then Zelda, who decided that the sequence was to square the number and add one, would say 5.  And then Link would say 14, and she would have to figure out what rule he was using and say 41.  

Link’s rules were always simpler than Zelda’s,  Sometimes she could really throw him off, and he would sit back on his heels while they weeded in the garden and scrunch up his face at her in exasperation while she pretended not to gloat.  Gloating was not charitable. (Neither was making very difficult sequences, but she could justify that to herself.)

Keep reading

Silence. 12

Table of Contents….Chapter 1

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Zelda had always assumed that her nightmares of the approaching Calamity were created from pieces of her fears and imagination.  She was terrified that the Calamity would come and she would fail and the country would fall, and so she dreamed of that happening.  She assumed her subconscious had made the great beast look like a boar because of the rather creepy tapestry in the Sheikah’s meeting room.

But if Link was seeing the same thing in his dreams, then it was not a construction.  It was a vision.

Keep reading

Silence. 3

Table of Contents….Chapter 1…Chapter 2

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The next morning, she rose with the bells before sunrise, groggy from her late night.  The idea was that they would be mid-prayer when the sun rose to crash in bursts of brilliant color through all the stained glass.  Sometimes, when she was very tired, this would happen, and she would think to herself, “I’m doing it!  I’m doing it!”

But she wasn’t.  It was just the sun.  Rising.  Like it did every day.

Keep reading

warm

post-botw; 700 words

—————

It’s their first night together after a century separation; Link isn’t entirely certain what he should do. It’s…suffocating, in a way, to be so close to this girl he remembers but doesn’t know. The aching cavern of emptiness and grief tells him that she always has and always will mean plenty to him—but sharing a bed? He’s not entirely certain how or why they ended up like this, what made them choose to share such a close space when there’s both everything and nothing familiar about it.

For the most part, the air is quiet. Silver slivers of moonlight slip through the window, but little more light is offered than that. He can feel the way the bed dips under her weight just behind him; can feel the warmth of her just a few inches from his back. He’s exhausted, every bone and joint in his body crying out for rest and restoration, but his brain can’t shut down. He’s too aware of the former princess—his former princess. Something about that hurts.

His eyes, fixated in one place for so long, only move from the wall when he hears something so soft that he’s not sure he’s heard it at all. That little sniffle makes him frown. He’s never known anyone to sniffle in their sleep. She must be as restless as him.

He turns over slowly, using as little motion as he can. She’s still facing opposite of him. Her golden hair spilling out over the pillow makes it harder for him to move any closer, though he doesn’t know if she would appreciate that anyway.

“Zelda?” he whispers, and it’s only after he’s said it that he realizes he’s dropped her title entirely. Is it disrespectful? There hasn’t been a monarchy in years; still, it’s proper though, isn’t it?

Her name feels more familiar than the word princess.

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. It’s almost enough to convince him that she’s asleep—but she moves. She curls up tighter into herself, like she’s trying to hide, and he isn’t sure if she’s shaking because she’s cold, or if she’s crying. His heart wrenches for her; he’s known too well what it’s like to cry himself to sleep under the weight of trauma.

She’s cried in front of him before; of the few memories he has, that’s always been one of them. His body remembers too, knows the sounds of her sorrow, because he knows it, too—because his hands move before he can think better of it.

He rests one, gentle and slow, on her arm. There’s a sharp inhale, but she doesn’t speak. A beat passes where Link is afraid he’s overstepped. He doesn’t know her like he should, and she knows that. He knows that she knows because he’s seen it in her eyes every time she’s looked at him since her freedom. But her hand, a little smaller than his but trembling just the same, settles atop his.

Her fingertips are cold as ice.

It’s all the encouragement he needs. She’s cold, and he’ll be damned if she spends her first night in a hundred years anything but comfortable. He moves in, his arms folding around her in a warm embrace, and she melts against him with a sob that rips his heart in two. He doesn’t speak; he only holds her as she cries, and he brushes his lips over her clothed shoulder. Comfort if she needed, simple enough to consider a mistake if she didn’t.

A century’s worth of grief flows through them both. The difference lied in the fact that Link had to relearn his; Zelda’s despair had never left her.

He doesn’t know when, but he guesses the moon is a little higher in the sky by the time she quiets. She turns, away from that window and into his chest, and he knows it’s her muscle memory at work when her hands creep under his shirt and press flat against the skin of his back.

“You’re warm,” she says, quiet and muffled, hoarse from crying.

“Your fingers are freezing,” he tells her while his own glide up and down her back, searching endlessly for a resting place.

“Sorry,” she says, but she doesn’t lift her hands and he can hear the smile on her lips, no matter how small and broken it probably was.

It’s okay. It’s okay because he’ll fix it. He’ll make her smile full; until the sun can shine again, Link will lend her every bit of warmth she could ever need.