Ugh I can’t stand how chiefs fans are making fun of jamarr and calling him a diva (among other names) when Travis literally screamed in his coach’s face during the Super Bowl and has been ejected from a game before for disrespecting the ref.
tbh i don't mind chiefs fans shit talking ja'marr, they have every reason to hate him. he's embarrassed their team plenty and has done more than his share of shit talking. let them have their fun (although i agree it's def hypocritical after that travis moment that i guess no one ever wants to talk about!)
what upsets me SO much though is seeing our own fans turn on him. calling him selfish for the hold-in, blaming him for the contract debacle, saying he's overrated, saying we should trade him and keep tee (when they were all saying the exact opposite when tee requested a trade TWICE a few months ago 🙄). and i do understand that ja'marr was in the wrong for this penalty, but getting ridiculous penalties against the chiefs is kind of just what he does! like it cannot be emphasized enough how much that man hates the chiefs lmao.
ja'marr has been STRUGGLING these past few months and it's obvious how much of a toll this has taken on him. i'm not at all surprised things boiled over to a tipping point when he thought he was tackled in a particularly dangerous way (whether he was right or wrong, he DID believe it). right now he's taking a huge risk being out on the field at all without any real guarantees for the future. that shit is scary, it's scary betting on yourself even when you do believe in yourself 100%. people play better when they feel secure, when they feel valued, and the front office did everything they could this offseason to make him feel the opposite.
i'm really hoping he can have a big game this monday. supposedly the commanders defense is Not Good, so that should help us! (i just hope it isn't a trap game for us. but the fact that we're 0-2 i think will make the guys take it seriously.) winning helps cure all ails for competitors like ja'marr, and i believe we've got a lot of that ahead of us!
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Linktober (Shadow) 2023
Spirit
Welp turns out my exam season throughly steam rolled through my general Linktober plans, so you get this VERY late thing for now folks who find this, at least until I decide whether to continue this until I finish it even though it's no longer Linktober or if I'll make whatever other stories come later their own thing after exam season is over (mostly because the original for this one is my preferred draft, and that I feel the one for the Link/Dark Link prompt would be kind of wasted if it just sat there collecting dust cause I worked hard on the tension and horror there lord darn it, along with a few others mainly involving Fae Hyrule, Twilight, Time, First, among other Links like Legend, Sky, Warriors, just all of the boys, I wanted to give them all proper spotlight and still want to do that in any way I can). Welp. *Downs coffee like a shot* Also really need to find out how to make a Masterlist on mobile, figure out how AO3 works and answer asks.
Anyway, not really any warnings this time besides Reader Not Being Okay (par the course really) and angst.
As always can be read as either romantic or platonic, Reader is gender neutral on purpose, technically is meant to be read as either Hero's Shade Time x Reader or First x Reader mainly, but you can interpret it as any Link really lol
Good reading!
This corner of Faron Woods was quiet this time of year.
The woods were solemn in this Hyrule, the sliver of moonlight barely enough of a guide through the mist, it was silent but for the soft padding of animals through the underbrush and the howl of a wolf in the distance (not Wolfie's, not musical enough). The stars were your only company as you were separated from the group, the air was cold agaisnt your skin as you attempted to find your way.
Being alone in the forests of Hyrule never spelled anything good for anyone, but as you felt the brush of a hand tenderly twined in yours, the ghost of leather and the faint clinking of steel, and a faint glow of pale gold and ivory cutting through the veil of the night, mindful of roots you may trip onto and never flickering too far out of sight you couldn't feel safer, even if instead something like melancholy threatened to lock your throat with the chains of silence, you felt as warm as the soft twilight glow and as frigid as ice, frostburned with the bitter cold of your own warring emotions.
You can't help but chuckle a bit whille holding a old scabbard close to your heart, it's a wry sound, "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
There is no answer, of course there isn't, but you don't mind, you know he'll listen, thorns wrap around your heart and crawl up your throat, the smell of lilies and steel coats and sticks in your throat like honey, or maybe blood, "... I didn't think you'd show up, you know? I always considered the possibility but..." You trail off, you feel something brush your side, you can only see him in the corner of your eyes or with a passing glance, there but not, existing but gone, so you keep your eyes on the road and in the flicker of light, so you carefully don't look to your side, you don't think you could contain the shaking in your heart otherwise, to stare at inevitability and prophecy, "... I know, I know you're fine. At least for now, I apologize for all the trouble I gave you."
'It's alright. It could never be a hardship aiding you.', the voice echoes in your ears, and you swallow thickly, breath hitching, the warmth of the sun in the fields of Hyrule, the wind caressing your hair, the song of the animals in Faron Woods, someone holding you carefully, fondly. The warmth of your hand in his. Not really here, but not gone either, more feeling than true echo.
You chuckle, and try to pretend it's not a bit breathless, something like a wounded keen, "... You're too kind. Too, too kind, thank you."
Spirits in Hyrule never spell anything good, in this wild land of light and shadow in a gestalt of divinity. There are some exceptions though, even if it hurts to witness then. So you follow him through the dark, certain that as you've guided his way once, he'll lead you now to where you need to go.
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... The clearing he leads you to is open, but by no means truly quiet among the trees, there is no peace to be found for the armored skeleton here. You choke on sorrow, on unfinished business, on the cruelty of being brought to ruin and being denied peace, and you stumble towards the familiar figure, almost in a trance as your vision blurs, roots and thorny vines wrap over rusted armor and a thorn cape, the skeleton's void sockets piercing through your soul, illuminated by the solemn gaze of the wretched moon and it's uncaring maids of honor in the stars.
You fall to your knees near the decaying skeleton, biting back against the wounded sound that attempts to leave your throat with enough strenght to bleed, you lay the scabbard by his side with a bouquet of lilies and shiver at the gentle, phantom touch, so soft, so loving it almost leads you to ruin all over again.
'... It's foolish to grieve for someone who isn't gone yet.' the thought comes to you, yet you can't help it. You still hurt for him, you still hold onto the fury at the heavens themselves for denying them quietus. For denying them rest over and over and over again. To watch this cycle and be helpless to stop it all due to the will of uncaring gods.
Alive. Dead. Alive. Dead. Denied full rest over and over again, to watch the chance at rest to the kindest of souls found in this world you found yourself in.
You barely register the touch to your cheek, ephemeral as it is, as you can't help but shed tears, can't help but grieve. Because if you don't, who will?
You know by now that some wounds can never heal, some rifts can never be mended. Even with the guarantee of cyclic, eternal rebirth, some things never return to how they were. And reminding yourself of this inevitability to them will never not hurt, even if you know it's futile to blame anyone but the one god who started this, and maybe the goddess who stood complacent to it. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that it'll one day come to this, that the frost of death and the sharpness of pain will leave a mark the sands of time can't scar over.
You reach a trembling hand towards the one in your cheek, try to find catharsis in the remains of decayed, dead yet ever eternal, ever growing love. And you breathe.
'We'll meet again. So do not mourn for me, please.'
You don't think you could deny him if you tried. Not when you know he's trying to soothe you, to thaw your sorrow. To allow your heart's healing to fallow.
"We will, I know. I'm sorry for making you worry." You chuckle, leaning into the cold, trying to brand the memory of the shadowed, but not gone love given to you so you can return it in kind. Just until you meet again, just until you can give all you can to his not yet decomposing self, grasping onto what remains of him, "I love you."
'I love you too. Until we meet again.'
The cold is gone, the echo of love leaves. And you breathe, and pretend you don't feel empty.
(When you see Link again, reuniting with the Chain on the next day's twilight. You hug him as tight as you can, and hope you he doesn't notice the tears in your eyes. And that you don't feel the lingering traces of a frigid embrace.
When no one is looking, you wave goodbye to the shade. And pray he dreams of warmer days until he finds quietus.)
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Just a little snippet of a WIP
(because I desperately wanted to get this out before tomorrow but as I have actual obligations that I can no longer hold off on, I'm not sure that will happen. So have a snippet instead! Warning: contains season 3 spoilers)
“Can you draw it?”
Wille looks up at Simon with puppy dog eyes, a black marker in his hand.
“Please?”
Simon eyes the millions of hearts Wille has already drawn on the paper for practice.
“You know the artist needs to have it on transferable paper right? Like, you don’t need to have the drawing on your skin beforehand. Actually, having sharpie on your hand right before going in isn’t going to be good for the tattoo.”
“I just want to know what it looks like, you know… to make sure it’s in the right place.”
The sound of Wille’s foot tapping against the floor fills the room, and Simon smoothens his hand over Wille’s leg to still it.
“And you think drawing it on with permanent marker an hour before you get the tattoo is going to help decide that?”
Wille laughs softly when he realizes the flaw in his plan. “Okay, maybe not.”
Simon skoots his chair closer to Wille’s, the legs scraping over the floor. He gently squeezes Wille’s thigh. Wille places his own hand over Simon’s, interlocking their fingers.
“Do you want me to explain the process to you again?” Simon knows Wille’s nervous, and he gets it. This is Wille’s first tattoo. Not only that, this is the first time he’s ever changing anything permanent about his body without the court having a say in it. To Simon, this is just another tattoo. For Wille, it’s another step in breaking free.
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