#but then again as a contrarian i would do something like that

[sakuratruther]

i don’t know how to explain but when people argue against x, y and z and bring up boruto receipts i don’t know how to react because in all honesty boruto doesn’t exist for me. i’m someone who cares a lot about canon but i can’t bring myself to care about that manga they managed to hit every “don’t do” thing in the list. not a fan

[seeingivy]

bad blood

actor!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my dream girl fic

songs mentioned: bad blood by taylor swift and obsessed by olivia rodrigo

--

--

“are you of the opinion that all PR is good PR?” 

sukuna can tell that it’s not the time for jokes. that much is obvious to him from the exasperated looks on everyone’s faces at his ill-timed comment – at nanami pinching the bridge of nose, yuuji shooting him an irritated look (with a whisper of a smile on his face), and his manager shoyo’s eyes pinched shut in frustration. 

“i would be inclined to think that, but sukuna is over party trending for the past three hours is giving me a run for my money here.” shoyo responds. 

sukuna diverts his eyes back to the television, shoyo’s computer projecting the trending hashtag onto the screen, and his fingers darting to refresh every few seconds with another set of irritating tweet about him. sukuna’s gotten the hint from the first three, but he has a sneaking inkling that shoyo’s doing this part just to rub it in his face – that it’s his way of saying i told you so without explicitly doing so. 

shoyo was interesting in that way. managers were interesting in that way. 

sukuna wondered to himself how many other careers had these types of dynamics, with “mentors” who served as stand-in parents. telling someone what to do, what not to do – in attempts to guide them from right or wrong – that almost never worked in his case. 

his gut instinct tells him that almost every single profession does. but it also tells him that the other managers can’t be half as annoying as the special spot that entertainment managers take up. 

at the very least, he can appreciate the take that shoyo has on his position. like a firm, strict father figure. he spares no warmth for him – just the way sukuna likes it. 

“so what are we going to do? can we just ignore it?” sukuna asks. 

it’s a loaded question. 

what can you do when you might have possibly tanked every attempt at an entertainment career before it even starts? 

sukuna’s first manager, starla, taught him three simple facts about the entertainment industry. among other things.

in particular, that the warmth was something that sukuna needed to run far, far away from. 

first – attention is hard to attain. anyone can audition to act in a show, but only one person gets picked. you can be the best in the game but it doesn’t matter unless someone looks at you. 

second – once you have it, attention is hard to maintain. if someone takes the time to watch, who’s to say that they’re ever going to watch you again? anyone can be a one hit wonder, but it takes greater skill to stay relevant, to keep people interested in what you’re putting out. 

and third. reputation is everything. it’s best practice to avoid becoming a contrarian. it’s social suicide to your career. 

it seems that sukuna might have nipped the first two in the bud, by accidentally becoming a contrarian. again. after so narrowly missing it the first time. 

that’s the thing that’s the most frustrating in his opinion. that sukuna did almost nothing out of the sorts, that he had followed every single prim and proper rule he could have after his first few tumbles – and that this time, he very simply became a contrarian for dumping the wrong girl at the wrong time. 

sukuna had made his own additions to the facts as time went on. especially after he was dropped by his old manager, promptly when he turned twenty-three. 

lessons that he learned on his own. this situation alone added three to his list. 

first – do not date the daughter of an industry titan. who has a loving fanbase that will attack you if the two of you break up. 

second – do not crack jokes about good and bad PR when you’ve inadvertently created a mess for almost everyone around you. 

and third – tread lightly the week before the biggest break of your career. things move so fast that they’re in absolute shambles before you know it. 

“there’s nothing you can do besides follow the script that the PR team gave you. keep questions about aimee to a minimum at the event tonight. deflect to the show and only the show.” 

sukuna gives shoyo a mock salute. he still doesn’t find it funny. 

in fact, sukuna can tell that he’s had exactly enough for this meeting, marked by the almost immediate exodus he makes from the room, with nanami following in tow. nanami shoots him an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he exits and it’s one that sukuna can appreciate. 

“you know, i really do question your taste in women.” yuuji states. 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“you question everyone’s taste in women.” sukuna deadpans. 

yuuji gives him a laugh – the one that he had been holding in from earlier – and smacks him hard against the shoulder. sukuna can feel the pressure that he was trying to ignore compounding in his head, as he sinks down into the couch. 

“i’m being serious though. i just don’t understand what you see in these girls. none of these relationships really have a fighting chance, which at this point, you almost have to be doing on purpose. i know you’re not that dumb.” 

sukuna shrugs. he can tell that he’s being baited into having a conversation, a conversation that he doesn’t want to have, and makes a mental note to yuuji later that he shouldn’t lay it on so thick. 

“your point is?” sukuna mutters. 

“i’m not trying to make a point. i’m trying to understand why you’re so…so keen on pursing things you know won’t work out. it’s almost like you don’t want it to work out for you.” 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about. you sound like an idiot.” 

yuuji shakes his head, almost like he’s giving him a sentencing. trying to tell him, making it a point that he’s been caught red handed, that he has to give into the conversation.

“don’t tell me you’re really not trying in earnest because of what happened?” 

sukuna can feel his frustration coming to a head, right in the center of his forehead. it always felt like feelings were concentrated there, right in that sensitive part of his head that made him rush to anger. 

“it’s not about that.” 

yuuji takes the hint. he jumps over the line as often as he can, but won’t push any farther. 

“i just think that you should give things a real, earnest try. i know that none of us can really understand what happened, but…but that doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen every time. you…you shouldn’t be happy that you’re not trying to find love for real.” 

sukuna clicks his tongue in his cheek. 

“and who said i was doing that?” 

yuuji sighs. 

“you’re always the same you know. you never try for real because you’re scared you’re going to strike out. you….you still…you’re still afraid to pursue someone you actually like because you think…” 

yuuji doesn’t finish the sentence. but sukuna knows the answer, because he’s said it before. 

you’re afraid to pursue someone you actually like because you think they’ll realize there’s nothing to like about you. 

--

--

“do you ever think about pushing yourself creatively?” 

you wonder how many times someone can ask the same question, worded differently. 

in mimi’s case, you’ve reached a whopping count of six. categorically organized – three times while you were out doing your morning coffee, twice over dinner, and today marked a new first,  while writing music at the piano. 

each question exactly the same, every response exactly the same. 

“no. i want to stay exactly the same for the rest of my life.” you deadpan. 

your dry humor earns you a laugh from mimi. in all fairness, it almost always does, because it’s very easy to make her laugh. because she’s a person who is easily pleased, very outgoing, who very simply put, enjoys most things. 

“i wouldn’t even be shocked if you said that to me. your google calendar is my very worst nightmare, you know that?” 

“my google calendar is perfectly organized. just as it should be.” 

“i mean. very organized. i am very appreciative that you’re on time to all of our meetings, which is very rare with your generation.” 

“you’re in the same generation as us. you’re not even that much older than me.” you deadpan. 

“okay, but being a mother has aged me like ten years. all of my friends do pilates in their free time, make brunch plans for fun.” 

“i’m your friend. i don’t do pilates in my free time. and i eat at five in the morning on the dot everyday.” 

“yeah. you’ve just take up different odd hobbies, but it’s basically the same thing.” 

you scoff, as you flip the page on the stand of the piano. 

you wonder how often mimi thinks about that type of thing. the life that she used to live. the fact that you could be doing all the things that she couldn’t necessarily do anymore. it makes you wonder if that’s why she’s so adamant. 

“i could be doing drugs you know.” 

“you should be doing drugs!” 

well, that answers your question. 

“i can’t wait to see what your child does in the future. you’ve set such high expectations!” 

mimi rolls her eyes. she’s very easily pleased, very outgoing, and filled with an overwhelming well of patience to counteract your stubbornness. 

it’s granted that she almost never wins, that your firmness in your decision always stands at the end of the day, but it doesn’t mitigate her efforts to try. you’re betting that she’s going to give her very stubborn daughter a run for her money in a few years when she’s older. 

“i don’t mean that you should actually do drugs. or maybe i do. some of my other writers love to drink or smoke weed to get through writer’s block. it just a little shift to push you to some new limits.” 

“perfect. i’ll just try to do some ketamine before my next song so that it sounds better.” 

mimi sighs. 

“i’m not telling you to go do horse tranquilizers. i’m stating a very simple fact, that you tend to gravitate towards what is comfortable for you. in your personal life, in your friends, in your songwriting. you’ve found a sound that you work great with, themes that resonate with people. but you’ve been stuck there, right where you know people want you. it wouldn’t hurt to try pushing the limits here and there.” 

you scoff. 

“you sound like a shitty inspirational quote.” 

mimi shakes her head. 

“i often find that stubbornness to approach new things at the end of the day creates a sort of resentment towards anything that stimulates new growth. and keeps you stuck exactly where you are currently. stagnant.” 

you don’t like the evaluation. the sentencing that she’s given you, that she’s been giving you for the past few months. 

that you aren’t going anywhere. 

you not liking it doesn’t make it any less true. but her saying it over and over again doesn’t propel you into doing anything about it either. 

“and what if i fail to do this whole moving thing you’re talking about?” you jest. 

mimi pinches her lips in a line. 

“then it proves to me that you’re just approaching this entire thing wrong. you’re not winning an award, you’re writing a song. it’s not an examination that you’re completing, it’s just something you’re trying to say.” 

you give her a dry smile. 

“and what if no one wants to hear what i have to say?” 

“that’s where you and i will disagree. i fear people are on the edge of their seats waiting for it.” 

you snort. 

“are you not a fan of me sticking it to idiots like jake nicholson and aimee lynch?” 

mimi gives you a smug grin. 

“a huge fan. but i can tell that you’ve got something else under the surface that’s dying to be let out.” 

“i suppose that’ll just have to wait for today.” you respond. 

mimi shrugs. 

“i’ll try again tomorrow.” she affirms. 

you’re not sure why she tries. you’re still going to say no. 

--

sukuna’s manager’s strategy was very simple. all he had to do was save face for a week – a week until the show came out. tell people to watch the premiere on the red carpet, throw in an anecdote about filming here and there, and that was that. 

granted, his job wasn’t exactly hard. the ensemble cast did most of the work, satoru’s loud voice combined with how energetic yuuji is, allowed him to slip through the cracks and make it inside the venue without any unsavory questions about aimee. 

sukuna looks across the room to where the two of them are standing near the bar, glasses of ice in their hand, satoru no doubt flicking his charm and stupid pickup lines at everyone. he understood the strategy – that sukuna having the opportunity to talk created a greater risk for him to say something he shouldn’t – but it just made the event boring for him. 

sukuna hated being on the sidelines. 

quite literally the sidelines, because the table he was currently occupying was pushed against the wall. he would retreat back to the main table in the center when the two of them returned, but judging by how loud they were laughing, it didn’t seem like it was going to be any time soon. 

“excuse me.” 

sukuna’s thrown out of his train of thought by the voice, only to find he’s accompanied by two girls at his side. sukuna inches his glass of soda closer to him, noting the sparky stars gleaming on their eyelids, accompanied with layers of beaded bracelets on their wrists. 

fans. sukuna’s found his in. 

“can i help you?” sukuna asks. 

the two girls look at each other, a nervous laugh escaping their lips, as they squeeze their intertwined hands together. he prays to god they’re not here for aimee. 

“are you ryomen sukuna?” 

sukuna smiles, looping his elbow across the back of the chair, and smiling. there’s no distaste in their voice – so they most likely aren’t. he’s won. 

“sure am. who might you be?” sukuna asks. 

“we’re addison and abigail.” they respond. 

sukuna uses his free hand, gesturing for them to take the free chairs across from him. he watches as they both widen their eyes, stumbling knees hitting the bottom of the table as he readjusts and leans back. 

interviews and networking he wasn’t allowed to do. that much was clear. but talking to fans caused no trouble, and it wasn’t explicitly off limits.

it gave him time to do what he did best. charm people. 

“addison and abigail. to what do i owe the pleasure?” sukuna asks. 

“we don’t want to take up any of your time.” abigail starts. 

“really, we’re sure you’re quite busy. this is a big event and all and you probably have to do interviews and all that.” addison adds. 

sukuna grins. 

“i’ll always make time for you.” 

he watches as their eyes widen, abigail’s lips pinched shut together by the bluntness in his statement, as he lifts his glass and presses it to his lips. 

“i have a question.” sukuna states.

“anything!” addison replies. 

her response is too fast. so fast that sukuna can almost clock that she’s realized that it’s too fast – that she’s embarrassed at how eager she was to respond. he shoots her a kind smile in response, before leaning forward and bracing his forearms against the table. 

“how did the two of you sneak in here? secret boyfriend let you in?” sukuna asks. 

the two of them offer him an awkward laugh, slightly releasing their shoulders, as they lift their hands and very adamantly gesture the opposite. 

“not at all. we got selected to attend the event through the fan program.” abigail responds. 

sukuna smirks. 

“here for me?” sukuna asks. 

the two of them widen their eyes, almost like they’ve been caught in an awkward situation. because they’re very obviously not here for him. 

the fan invites were given for the singers and affiliated studios. and he’d be caught dead before singing live in front of an audience. 

“i’m so sorry. i don’t mean to…” 

sukuna immediately retreats. 

“you do realize that i’m not a singer, right?” sukuna asks. 

“what?” abigail asks. 

“i don’t sing. there’s no way that you could be here for me.” sukuna clarifies. 

the two of them breathe a sigh of relief, abigail giving him a jokingly irritated glare as he shoots the two of them a smile. 

“relax. i’m just pulling your leg. it’s all in good fun. we can take a picture and everything, whatever you want.” sukuna responds. 

the two of them breathe a sigh of relief. 

“really?” she asks. 

sukuna nods. 

“that’s so sweet, thank you so much. we have a friend who’s a really big fan, so we were trying to get her a signed shirt.” 

“a signed shirt it is.” sukuna responds, noting that they reach into their bag with the shirt and marker prepared. 

“oh my god. i thought you were….you were going to be a diva or something.” abigail responds. 

“me? a diva?” sukuna jokes. 

“you wouldn’t believe it. god, some people can be so rude. one time, aimee lynch got us…” 

addison’s quick to respond, shoving her elbow into her side to gesture for her to be quiet. sukuna narrow their eyes at the two of them, before rolling her eyes. 

sukuna, in the split second, debates if he should respond. if it would go against the deal he made – to be quiet, to not cause any noise – because they could go running and post about it on twitter.

he decides against his better judgment, only because it’s potently clear they’ve been terrorized by aimee before. 

“got you kicked out of an event?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah…” addison mumbles. 

“she does that often. it’s a whole load of shit. i’m glad you’re here.” sukuna responds. 

“yeah. we were just really upset because we were actually supposed to meet y/n that day. we had tweeted to her that we got kicked out before we made it to the meet and greet and her team organized a whole like facetime call and sent us merch, but it was super annoying.” abigail responds. 

sukuna nods, only because he knows all too well, that it’s exactly in her character to kick fans out of events. their “desperation” always got on her nerves. 

“well, i hope you get to meet her tonight. she is here, right?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah. she invited us personally since we missed out last time.”

sukuna smiles. 

“that’s sweet. i hope you get to meet her later.” sukuna responds. 

--

--

there’s a patterned knock on the door of your dressing room. two fast, two slow, two fast. it’s accompanied by the door swinging open and the reflection of megumi standing in the mirror with a cup of iced coffee in his hand. 

you shoot him an excited smile, apologetically shooing away your hair and makeup team from the chair, to get up and greet him. 

“coffee? for moi?” you ask, exaggerating every syllable. 

megumi rolls his eyes, placing the cold cup into the palm of your hand, as you shoot him a smile.

megumi hates when you exaggerate the syllables – which is precisely the reason that you do it. you have an inkling that he secretly loves it, because he’s a secret fan of your antics. 

“figured you needed it. you look like a hag.” megumi responses. 

you snort down a laugh, as you take a sip from the overly sweet coffee. 

“hag is a new one. you’ve always had such a way with words, my love.” you joke. 

you return back to your chair, gesturing for him to take the free one at your side, as you reach for your phone and read through the last texts you got from mimi. all confirmations – that your guitar and band have arrived, that you’re all good to go at the end of the hour. 

“is romeo here?” you ask. 

you can see megumi’s irritated expression out of the corner of your eye, accompanied with a pink flush that creeps up his neck. 

“what’s his name again? yuki?” you joke. 

“yuuji.” megumi corrects, his voice almost stern. 

“okay, relax. pipe it down three notches, juliet.” 

megumi lifts his hand, awkwardly rubbing it against the back of his neck, as you drop your phone in your lap and narrow your eyes at him. 

“what did he do today?”

“you don’t care.” megumi mumbles. 

“and that hasn’t stopped you from telling me in the past.” 

everyday, for the past eight months, you received a barrage of texts from megumi. ranging across every emotion in the human bandwidth, but always about the same thing. 

his new co-star. how great his hair look, what text he sent him that morning, how his skin looked perfect in the light. you would nip that type of dialogue from anyone else in the bud. but megumi wasn’t anyone else. 

“but you’re asking. which means you can’t complain, because you basically warranted it out of me.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“yeah, yeah.” 

“he got us matching pins for press this week. they’re like little cartoon versions of us. but he also got one for our other co-star nobara, so it doesn’t really count.” 

you shrug. 

“but he still got you one. so it does count. that’s cute.” you respond.

“but she has one too.” 

“but did he give it to you as a group or individually?” you ask. 

“individually.” megumi responds. 

you smile. 

“exactly. it means something different when it’s individually.” you respond. 

“you’re delusional.” megumi responds. 

you roll your eyes. 

“you could benefit from being a little delusional, drama queen.”  

“and then when we were coming here, i was telling him that you were going to be here and he got super excited. he remembered that i always used to get you coffee before your first show so he actually stopped our car and made sure that i was able to get some from you since you’re performing tonight.” 

you grin. 

“not technically my first show, but i appreciate the effort. I love him already. especially if he’s so passionate about my caffeine addiction.” 

“it’s from his coffee shop that he works at with his brother. they used to work there together when they were younger and like…he was telling me all about it. how the two of them used to work there after school and that the owners were like their second parents. they almost went down under a few years ago but they both had enough acting money so they invested. he was even introducing me to them and shit. like fully introducing me to people he views as family.” 

you nod. 

“wow, juliet. when’s the wedding?” you ask. 

“shut up.” megumi responds. 

“but really, that’s actually very sweet. he seems like a great guy.” 

“he is a great guy. he wants to meet you too, you know?” megumi responds. 

“that would be against your better judgment. i’m going to tell him all about your little crush. and propose marriage on your behalf like you’re my property in the 18th century or something.” you respond. 

“your jokes never get funnier.” megumi deadpans. 

“and yet you’re still here.” 

“his brother is here too. the one who used to date aimee.” 

you widen your eyes. 

“poor guy. it’s probably a blood bath out there for him.” 

“he made it through press unscathed, but they’re telling him to keep a low profile. but yuuji’s all worried because he tends to get erratic and take things into his own hands sometimes.” 

“what are they saying again?” you ask. 

“fans are mad because the report that went out said sukuna dumped her or something.” 

you snort. 

“is that even bad when she was like basically cheating on him the whole time?” you ask. 

“don’t think he knows that.” 

you shake your head. 

“really?” 

megumi shrugs. 

“i get the impression he didn’t care about the relationship too much.” 

you nod. 

“well, then my song won’t hurt his feelings too bad when he finds out they used to date.” 

you push up out of the chair, gesturing to your outfit as megumi gives you an approving nod. you link your arms together, pushing out of the door onto the floor of the venue, and continue your conversation in lowered voices. 

“do you want me to punch jake?” megumi asks.

“and ruin your pretty little baby hands? i would never.” 

megumi rolls his eyes, as the lights dim, and the two of you direct your eyes to the stage. it’s a long introduction, all of the producers and affiliates taking the time to thank everyone for attending. you’re performing at the end of the hour, which gives you enough time to zone this out and focus on the song. 

“our very first performance is from one of our affiliates at dancing lady studios – aimee lynch with guest star jake nicholson.” 

you and megumi widen your eyes as you turn to look at each other, as you all but crush megumi’s arm in your grasp. the two of them walk out onto the stage – and you note that her sparkly silver is almost identical to the outfit you had been wearing on tour for the past few months.

and that jake’s using the guitar that you gifted him on his birthday. 

you know she’s doing it on purpose. that she knows that about you – that you’ll connect dots and draw conclusions – to exactly what she’s trying to do. 

piss you off. 

Did you think we'd be fine? Still got scars on my back from your knife So don't think it's in the past These kind of wounds they last and they last Now did you think it all through? All these things will catch up to you And time can heal, but this won't So if you come in my way, just don't

Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times You and I

megumi leans down, voice quiet as he whispers in your ear. 

“this is going to do rounds on kids bop.” 

you snort. 

“they would be so lucky.” you respond back. 

'Cause baby, now we got bad blood You know it used to be mad love So take a look what you've done 'Cause baby, now we got bad blood (hey!) Now we got problems And I don't think we can solve 'em You made a really deep cut And baby, now we got bad blood (hey!)

“did you know they were going to do this?” megumi asks. 

you shake your head. 

“there’s no need to worry. i’m always prepared.” 

--

“unless i’m not mistaken, you didn’t catch any strays tonight. how can one be so lucky?” shoko jokes. 

“we can’t all be the chosen ones.” sukuna responds back. 

“the night is still young. a girl can only dream.” shoko responds. 

sukuna rolls his eyes before smiling at her and trying to shake shoko’s grasp off of him, as he turns his attention back to the stage. with the event in full swing, he was allowed to return to the central table, only because the group of them around him to keep track of him. 

shoyo’s doing, he was sure. 

but he’s sure that shoyo was somewhere fast asleep in his bed right now, having the most restful nap he’s taken in months. sukuna’s inclined that he’ll feel the same way tonight when he goes to bed, with the promise of no scolding from his team since he did, in fact, not catch aimee’s wrath tonight. 

it was attributed to someone else tonight. he’s not exactly sure who, but at this point, all he can do is be thankful that it wasn't him. 

“who were you talking to earlier?” shoko asks. 

“fans who got invited to the event.” sukuna responds. 

“poor girls. they got assaulted by the smell of your cologne and had to lose brain cells by talking to you?” shoko jokes. 

sukuna scoffs. 

“that already happened when you walked into the room. don’t kid yourself, ieiri.” 

“you should learn some manners. is that any way to talk to a woman?” shoko asks. 

“can you guys shut the fuck up?” 

shoko and sukuna turn their heads to the left to find satoru standing there, eyes razor focused and glued to the stage. 

“what stick is up your ass?” shoko asks. 

“it’s y/n’s turn to perform.” satoru seethes. 

shoko snorts. 

“don’t tell me that your dream girl is in attendance? how are you even standing straight right now?” shoko asks. 

“pure adrenaline, bitch.” satoru responds. 

sukuna and shoko widen their eyes as they share a look – a quiet communication that satoru’s being more erratic than normal and to leave him be – as they turn their attention back to the stage. 

the bright lights shine red on the stage as the visuals go up, a twisting and turning illusion against the back screen. there’s a rising platform in the center and all he gets a glimpse of are sparkly star tights. 

La-da-da-da, da-da-da, la-da-da-da-da La-da-da-da, da-da-da

If I told you how much I think about her You'd think I was in love And if you knew how much I looked at her pictures You would think we're best friends

'Cause I know her star sign, I know her blood type I've seen every movie she's been in and, oh god, she's beautiful And I know you loved her, and I know I'm butthurt But I can't help it, no, I can't help it

I'm so obsessed with your ex (uh-huh) I know she's been asleep on my side of your bed And I can feel it I'm starin' at her like I wanna get hurt And I remember every detail you have ever told me So be careful, baby

I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) Yeah, I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) La-da-da-da, da-da-da

sukuna can feel his heart pounding in his throat. he grabs yuuji by the shoulder, yanking him close from the fabric of his shirt, and whispers. 

“who is that?” 

“were you born under a rock? that’s y/n.” 

sukuna watches as you skip around the stage, bathed in the dark red lights surrounding the stage and the visuals with you in the background. 

maybe sukuna was born under a rock. he was one thousand percent sure that he would remember something like this. 

“the guy that was up with aimee earlier. she’s jake’s ex-girlfriend. they were singing about her.” yuuji whispers. 

“is she singing about aimee?” sukuna asks. 

yuuji nods. 

“they have some weird twisted history. especially with jake, i think. him and aimee have had eyes for each other since like…forever.” 

he watches as you walk over to the left side of the stage, crouching down into the view of the camera and right across from where jake and aimee are sitting, irritated looks painted on their faces. 

sukuna notes that you're looking right at them. full blown, direct eye contact.

Is she friends with your friends? Does she give great head?  Do you think about her? No, I'm fine, it doesn't matter, tell me Is she easy-going? Never controlling? Well-traveled? Well-read? Oh god, she makes me so upset

I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) She's been asleep on my side in your bed (ah, whoa) I'm so obsessed with your ex (god, she makes me so upset, ah) I'm so obsessed with your, with your ex

sukuna’s frustration compounds again. 

because he can’t simply understand how he’s the one getting publicly punished, when aimee’s been in love with some other guy the entire time. and that knowing her, she most definitely leaked the news about how she was blindsided on purpose, just to ruin his career. 

“if i was y/n, i’d just punch them both in the face. then start dating one of her boyfriends or something.” shoko states.

the idea comes to sukuna almost instantly. and he makes a mental note to apologize to shoyo later.  

--

when you get off the stage and retreat back to your table near the wall, you quickly scan through your texts from mimi. 

[mimi]: Three versions slated for release. Could potentially block you getting the #1 spot. 

[mimi]: Fingers crossed, but things are faring over well. People love the song.  

[mimi]: Obviously. 

you set the phone face down at the table and sink down into your chair. you don’t even get a second to think because before you know it, someone’s slid into the chair right across from you, hunched forward into your space over the small chair. 

pink hair, arms littered with tattoos. there was something oddly familiar about him. 

“you’re just the girl i wanted to see.” he states. 

you narrow your eyes at him. you’re unsure which one he is. producers trying to poach for their studio, people looking to network, or the perverts that somehow get let into events like this. 

“is that right?” you ask, tone dry. 

the guy offers you an over-eager nod, accompanied with a glimmering smirk. 

he’s attractive and you can tell from the look on his face that he knows it. for some reason, you’re almost positive that he makes sure of it. toned muscles, hair so perfect that it has to be styled. to the point where it feels calculated.

you lean forward, placing your cheek in the palm of your hand as you smile right back at him. he leans forward almost immediately. it was almost too easy. 

“i don’t think we’ve ever met before. i’d think i’d remember that.” you respond. 

“only in my dreams.” 

you fight the urge to scoff. you’re sure that one worked out well for him in the past. It's the only reason someone would say something so corny and mean it.

you hold your hand out to him, noting that he extends the handshake for far too long. 

“y/n.”

“ryomen sukuna.” 

that’s where you knew him from. this was megumi’s co-star. romeo’s brother. 

“from jujutsu kaisen, right?” you ask. 

sukuna gives you a glimmering grin. you note that he has a dimple on the left side. 

“know everything about me, don’t you?” 

you snort. 

“sure do. you’ve got me all figured out, sweetheart.” you deadpan. 

sukuna leans back, narrowing his eyes at the comment. you can tell that he’s rethinking what to say next. 

“i know about the show because of megumi.” you clarify. 

“we go way back.” sukuna responds. 

you lean back against the chair and cross your arms over your chest. you've got him right where you want him.

“really?” you ask. 

sukuna nods. 

“when did you meet him?” 

“elementary school. he was always the quiet type.” 

sukuna pauses. 

“speaking of types, what’s yours?” 

you fight the urge to laugh. there was no way he could truly be this forward. but then again, you figure his deep urge to get back at aimee right now was probably inhibiting his good judgement at the current moment. 

“why do you ask?” 

“you’re a smart girl. i know you can figure it out.” 

you take the bait. 

“i’ll give it a shot.” you respond. 

“that’s my girl.” 

you smile before leaning forward to make sure that he hears you properly. 

“your name is ryomen sukuna. indie actor for the most part, but you recently got signed on as part of the lead ensemble for mappa’s new show, jujutsu kaisen. you’ve gotten pretty far considering all things, which i’m sure comes as a byproduct of the whole charm bit that you do and from what i’ve heard, some pretty decent acting. and while you’ve done mostly well, you made the brutal mistake of becoming a social pariah by dancing with the tabloid devil, aimee lynch. you’ve ended up on their bad side and now, in some weird type of way – i’ll admit, i’m not exactly sure how – are trying to elicit my help to get you back in people’s good graces. by lying, of course.” 

you watch as sukuna’s eyes widen, before he leans back, his cheeks the slightest shade of pink as he swallows hard. and you give him your sincerest smile before pulling out your phone and digging for the photo in your favorites. 

of you and megumi in grade school, standing hand in hand. 

“i think i’d remember if the human version of pinkie pie from my little pony was running around my elementary school, sukuna.” you state. 

and shockingly enough, he only gives you a smile in response – like he’s almost delighted by the fact that what you've just read caught him in a lie– as he sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek and makes a clicking sound. 

“got me all figured out, don’t you dollface?” 

“you’re painfully obvious, like most men. i’ll see you around, sukuna.” you respond, as you turn on your heel to walk away. 

but he’s almost too fast with it, slithering his hand down from your elbow to your wrist, pulling slightly to beckon you to turn back. and he gives you an…a more earnest smile this time as he raises your knuckles to his lips, and leaves a kiss in between the pointer in the middle. 

“that’s a promise, sweetheart.” 

--

--

next part linked here

an: hi!!!! welcome back to the dream girl universe - I thank you for your patience <3 i'll be using the old dream girl taglist, but let me know if you would like to be taken off!!!

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[jeonscatalyst]

https://www.tumblr.com/jeonscatalyst/760242773222883328/this-all-of-this-and-every-single-bit-of-this?source=share

I do agree with this person's analysis of Jimin and Jungkook personalities, and I also agree that to some extent Jungkook's affection being rarer than Jimin's does make it more special to some fans, but where I disagree is that I don't think that's the main reason why fans seem to put more weight in what Jungkook does than what Jimin does.

Because while some fans will put this much thought on the differences in jikook's personalities, I don't think it's the majority that does. It's kinda of a problem we have actually. If people realised that Jimin and Jungkook are two different people with different ways of showing affection, then we wouldn't have to keep seeing the same stupid takes on their relationship over and over again. It's people expecting jikook to always do to the other the exact same thing the other did to them that causes so much annoying discourse.

But you know what a lot of shipper do love doing? Competing with one another. Competition is one of the main things in every k-pop fandom and sub-fandom, shippers are no exception. And when it comes to jikookers we all know the competition is with taekookers. We're always at each other's throats, let's be honest. And some spend just as much time taking about the rival ship as they do talking about their own ship.

Which leads me to what I believe is the real main reason why both sides (not just jikookers) view Jungkook's actions as more important. It's because he's the in-common person to both ships. He's like the main character in a love triangle. He's the one that ultimately decides who gets together in the end, not the two love interests, so their actions don't matter as much.

The point of contention with shippers has never really been whether or not Jimin or Taehyung like Jungkook, that's already assumed to be the case. With solos it's definitely an argument, but jikookers and taekookers focus more on each other than in solos. No, the real question has always been who does Jungkook like more: Jimin or Taehyung?

If Jimin declares his love for Jungkook jikookers will of course love that, but if Jungkook is the one who does it it'll matter more because it can be used against taekookers. Taekookers don't care if Jimin loves Jungkook or not, what he feels doesn't matter to them. Nothing Jimin says can prove anything to them. The confirmation has to come from Jungkook, that's the only way they'll care about it. And jikookers do care about one-upping taekookers. If we didn't we wouldn't spend so much time trying to prove to them that we're right.

There's been plenty of times when I've seen something that used to not matter suddenly become important the moment people realize it could be used in the shipping competition. It's a sort of 'I didn't care that much about that thing I have until I realized it could make the other side jealous'. Or 'I didn't want that thing until the other side got it and now I want it too'.

Things naturally hold more importance to people when those things have not only their own inherent value but also when they have the added bonus of pissing off someone you don't like. Jimin's love for Jungkook is important by itself but Jungkook's love for Jimin is seen as more important because it will also piss off taekookers.

I'm pretty sure that if the two biggest ships were jikook and vmin instead, then the most important thing suddenly would be Jimin's affection, regardless of how affectionate he is with everyone.

Again, I do agree some fans do consider jikook's differences and that that does influence how they value their actions, it's just that I think there's a bigger reason here.

I hope this didn't come across as me being a contrarian for the sake of it, I just wanted to add a separate perspective on the subject because I've had this opinion for a while and it seemed relevant to the topic. I also hope I was not to harsh on my opinions of other jikookers, but no fandom is without it's flaws and I think it's important to acknowledge them.

Anon, I owe you a cold beer right now because it seems like you read my mind.

This is exactly what I think too. It’s just mostly about the competition, the shipwars, the fights and the need to “win”. That’s really why people think Jungkook’s actions hold more meaning that Vmins. It’s like Jungkook is the prize that Vmin are desperately trying to win and every action or word of his is used as an affirmation or debunking. “Jungkook did this with Tae but didn’t do that with Jimin so Tae is his boyfriend”….just an endless cycle of bullshit.

Anyone who is mature and experienced enough understands that Jimin and Jungkook don’t have to express themselves exactly the same for things to be mutual. Jimin could say “I love you” to Jungkook and Jungkook wouldn’t say it back but would prefer to make a video of Jimin. So many people would say Jungkook didn’t reciprocate just because he didn’t do things exactly the way Jimin did when the truth is that he did, just in his own way.

When I see people coming up with useless takes or comparisons about their bond it pisses me off to no end because it’s the little things that Jungkook does. People would get pissed at Jungkook and say that he doesn’t show love to Jimin as much as Jimin does just because Jimin would constantly touch him, ask him to eat alot and is very vocal about his affection but Jungkook remembering that Jimin likes his food spicy and trying to make it just how Jimin likes it apparently means nothing because Jungkook wasn’t shouting on a roof top or Jungkook thinking of what to cook in Jeju and knowing that Jimin would love it doesn’t matter because he didn’t stand on a podium and announce it or Jungkook quietly getting water for Jimin and giving him to drink without him asking doesn’t mean a thing because he didn’t carry Jimin on his head. Sometimes I don’t even have the energy to argue because if only people understood Jungkook they would know that Jungkook doesn’t treat anyone the same way he does Jimin.

I personally can see how someone might naturally value Jungkook’s actions more because Jimin is a natural caring, nurturing and loving person to everyone so sometimes it is hard to tell if his actions mean more or it is just him being himself but with Jungkook, he tries as much as possible to be impartial but he just cannot help it when it comes to Jimin. He is pretty kind and caring towards everyone he loves too but not the same way Jimin does it plus Jungkook tends to go big when he expresses his affection for Jimin. So with Jimin we get little bits of love and affection more frequently than we get from Jungkook but once we get one from Jungkook, it is usually news worthy and kinda exclusive to Jimin so it hits harder.

I dunno. I might have gone off topic but like I said, I 100% agree with you.

[batsplat]

agassi/sampras please tell us more! the only thing I know about that rivalry is that sampras was very boring and they they disliked each other. but the way you talk about it sure makes it sound fascinating!

in a nutshell, the appeal is this

"pete. as always, pete"

imagine your whole career ends up being defined by one guy who you consider the "quintessential opposite" to you, who feels incomprehensible to you, who comes seemingly out of nowhere to beat you again and again and again and again. who is everything you could never force yourself to be. who seems entirely comfortable in a life that torments you. he denies you in what should have been your crowning moment. and then he ends his career by denying you again. inescapable and inevitable

agassi hated tennis with a passion. he hated tennis throughout his career - the sport he was never given a choice but to play, the sport he was forced to excel at. it's not an uncommon story in many respects, an ambitious father who sought greater things for his son... a cocktail of lofty expectations and the pressure applied to achieve them... the predetermined path in life agassi had been moulded to follow. and all of this forms the foundation for his fraught relationship with the sport (x)

as a seven year old, he already dreamt of quitting the sport, of just walking away and playing with his siblings, sitting with his mum - anything but tennis. except even then, it wasn't that simple. as much as he wanted to flee the sport, something about it also forced him to keep coming back for more. as he details in his autobiography:

Doesn't that sound nice? Wouldn't that feel like heaven, Andre? To just quit? To never play tennis again? But I can't. Not only would my father chase me around the house with my racket, but something in my gut, some deep unseen muscle, won't let me. I hate tennis, hate it with all my heart, and still I keep playing, keep hitting all morning, and all afternoon, because I have no choice. No matter how much I want to stop, I don't. I keep begging myself to stop, and I keep playing, and this gap, this contradiction between what I want to do and what I actually do, feels like the core of my life.

his father's favourite training method was to use a ball machine that andre nicknamed 'the dragon' - quite deliberately designed to look frightening, making andre flinch every time it shot balls at him. it spat out balls in unpredictable ways, all to make it impossible to hit it the same every time and forcing agassi to adjust anew for each ball. he was constantly instructed by his father - an iranian erstwhile boxer - to take the ball earlier and earlier, training his reflexes and adaptability through sheer brute force of repetition. what was being forged in the process was a game that was built to react to what the guy on the other side of the net was doing. in tennis, you can win both by attacking and by defending, by acting and reacting. agassi was moulded to do the latter

My father says that when he boxed, he always wanted to take a guy's best punch. He tells me one day on the tennis court: When you know that you just took the other guy's best punch, and you're still standing, and the other guy knows it, you will rip the heart right out of him. In tennis, he says, same rule. Attack the other man's strength. If the man is a server, take away the serve. If he's a power player, overpower him. If he has a big forehand, takes pride in his forehand, go after his forehand until he hates his forehand. My father has a special name for this contrarian strategy. He calls it putting a blister on the other guy's brain. With this strategy, this brutal philosophy, he stamps me for life. He turns me into a boxer with a tennis racket. More, since most tennis players pride themselves on their serve, my father turns me into a counterpuncher - a returner.

the biggest and most important weapon in tennis is the serve, and sampras had one of the best serves this sport has ever seen. like agassi a child of immigrants, his personal history is largely free of the angst of agassi's tale - though it should hardly be surprising that he had a strict father of his own to push him along his path. the type who was perfectly willing to make his disappointment felt whenever pete didn't live up to his exacting standards, even if pete was generally a pretty obedient kid, attentive of what his father demanded of him. take this anecdote about young pete speaking to a reporter after a big win at juniors level (from sampras' autobiography):

The next day, on the very same court, I lost something like 6-1, 6-0 to Mal Washington. I mean, he really schooled me. So after that match, the same reporter went over to Mal and got an interview from him. My dad pulled me aside and said, "You see that guy who talked to you yesterday? Now he's talking to Mal, because it's all about how good you are every day, not one day."

tennis parents. gotta love them

anyhow, sampras says he learned his lesson - and he also learnt to live by his father's straight-talking, honest ways. blunt and to the point. sampras was generally a considerably more straightforward character than agassi, "boring" as some might put it. he didn't hate the sport - he was good at it and he wanted to be better, always working tirelessly towards that goal like the perfect professional he was. to that end, he had to make some major adjustments to his game as a teenager, making the radical switch from a two handed to a one handed backhand and uprooting his whole style of play to make him the ultimate attacking player

But there were uphills and downhills, and my toughest challenge was changing my mindset from grinder to attacker. I had to learn to start thinking differently, and more. A grinder can lay back, waiting for a mistake, or tempt you to end points too quickly. An attacker has to think a little more: Flat serve or kicker? Charge the net, or set up a groundstroke winner? Is my opponent reading my serving pattern or shot selection? As a serve-and-volleyer, you attack; as a grinder you counterattack. The basic difference between attacking and defending is that the former requires a plan of attack and the latter calls for reaction and good defence. In both cases, execution is paramount.

'serve and volleying' as a playstyle has basically died out in the modern game (it still exists as an occasional tactic), but back then it was extremely common. the principle is straightforward enough: you hit a big serve and then you follow the ball, so that when your opponent returns it, you can hit the next ball out of the air (the volley). it's the purest attacking playstyle imaginable. it simplifies every service point, focuses everything in on the execution of just a few strokes. ideally, most rallies won't last longer than three shots - serve, return, first volley, rinse and repeat. short, fast, and sweet. when it is executed well, it is as lethal as it is efficient

agassi and sampras were part of a high profile quartet of american players to turn pro in the late eighties. the first of these to win a slam was sampras' childhood archrival michael chang, still the youngest man ever to win a slam at only seventeen years of age. the fourth member of this quartet was jim courier - who had trained in the same academy as agassi as a teenager and had generally felt neglected when compared to the star pupil. young agassi was a prodigious talent with unique style and flamboyance that served to grab the public's attention; he was the one who hogged the most headlines and carried the loftiest expectations on his shoulders, anointed the new flag=bearer of american tennis... and he was soon coming under increased pressure to finally crack on and win one of these slams. an immensely promising junior, the next big thing in american tennis, the guy who was supposed to rewrite the history books... by 1990, at just twenty years of age, the public was already threatening to lose patience with him

I go to the 1989 French Open and in the third round I face Courier, my schoolmate from the Bollettieri Academy. I'm the chalk, the heavy favorite, but Courier scores the upset, then rubs my nose in it. He pumps his fist, glares at me and Nick. Moreover, in the locker room, he makes sure everyone sees him facing up his running shoes and going for a jog. Message: Beating Andre just didn't provide enough cardio. Later, when Chang wins the tournament, and thanks Jesus Christ for making the ball go over the net, I feel sickened. How could Chang, of all people, have won a slam before me? Again, I skip Wimbledon. I hear another chorus of jeers from the media. Agassi doesn't win the slams he enters, and then he skips the slams that matter most. But it feels like a drop in the ocean. I'm becoming desensitized.

in 1990, agassi competed in two slam finals. the first was on the clay of roland garros, the fetching pink of his kit (see below) drawing plenty of headlines as he (very satisfyingly) beat both courier and chang on the way to the championship match. then, in the final, he lost in straight sets - in large part because he was terrified his precious hairpiece was going to fall off. which is definitely a story that deserves more space than it is being provided here... look, go read his autobiography, it's worth it

the next slam final was on home soil, conducted in the frenetic cauldron of the arthur ashe stadium. this was agassi's coming of age tournament at the slam he most wanted to win. he had scorned wimbledon, dismissive of the stuffy atmosphere and the grass courts and the strict dress code. he simply could not be bothered to travel to australia in order to compete at the australian open. roland garros was perfectly fine - but really, it was the us open in all its boisterous exuberance he wanted to conquer more than anything. and the us open crowd was ready to watch their new great hope win. agassi beat boris becker in four to advance to the final, eagerly awaiting his opponent - either the decorated john mcenroe, or a nineteen year old kid who had previously never gotten past the fourth round of a slam. sampras and agassi had already played when they were kids, with agassi in his autobiography remembering a match back when sampras was nine years old and agassi was ten. they had faced each other for the first time as professionals in 1989 on the italian clay... agassi had previously dismissed sampras while watching him practise, critical with his team of sampras' ruined backhand in particular. in rome, agassi beat sampras easily despite the improvements sampras had made

I beat him, 6-2, 6-1, and as I walk off the court I think to myself that he's got a long and painful slog ahead. I feel bad for the guy. He seems like a good soul. But I don't expect to see him again on the tour, ever.

the following year, in 1990, they play again and sampras wins in three - fittingly on the way to his maiden title. later that season, they meet for the first time in a slam final. now, look, the problem with narrating this rivalry is that the perfect narration already exists. it is agassi's autobiography 'open' and is available at all good bookstores etc etc. here is the most relevant excerpt:

It doesn’t seem possible, but the kid I thought I’d never see again has reconstituted his game. And he’s giving McEnroe the fight of his life. Then I realize he’s not giving McEnroe a fight—McEnroe is giving him a fight, and losing. My opponent tomorrow, incredibly, will be Pete. The camera moves close on Pete’s face, and I see that he has nothing left. Also, the commentators say his heavily taped feet are covered with blisters. Gil makes me drink Gil Water until I’m ready to throw up, and then I go to bed with a smile, thinking about all the fun I’m going to have, running Pete’s ass off. I’ll have him sprinting from side to side, left to right, from San Francisco to Bradenton, until those blisters bleed. I think of my father’s old maxim: Put a blister on his brain. Calm, fit, cocksure, I sleep like a pile of Gil’s dumbbells. In the morning I feel ready to play a ten-setter. I have no hairpiece issues—because I’m not wearing my hairpiece. I’m using a new, low-maintenance camouflaging system that involves a thicker headband and brightly colored highlights. There’s simply no way I can lose to Pete, that hapless kid I watched with sympathy last year, that poor klutz who couldn’t keep the ball in the court. Then a different Pete shows up. A Pete who doesn’t ever miss. We’re playing long points, demanding points, and he’s flawless. He’s reaching everything, hitting everything, bounding back and forth like a gazelle. He’s serving bombs, flying to the net, bringing his game right to me. He’s laying wood to my serve. I’m helpless. I’m angry. I’m telling myself: This is not happening. Yes, this is happening. No, this cannot be happening. Then, instead of thinking how I can win, I begin to think of how I can avoid losing. It’s the same mistake I made against Gómez, with the same result. When it’s all over I tell reporters that Pete gave me a good old-fashioned New York street mugging. An imperfect metaphor. Yes, I was robbed. Yes, something that belonged to me was taken away. But I can’t fill out a police report, and there is no hope of justice, and everyone will blame the victim.

what I can contribute are some high quality screenshots of agassi's mid-match beleaguered frustration at perfect pete who was currently in the process of mugging him

and here's agassi pulling sampras in at the net after losing in straight sets, 4-6 3-6 2-6

Hours later my eyes fly open. I'm in bed at the hotel. It was all a dream. For a splendid half second I believe I must have fallen asleep on that breezy hill where Philly and Nick were laughing about Pete's ruined dream. I dreamed that Pete, of all people, was beating me in the final of a slam. But no. It's real. It happened. I watch the room slowly grow lighter, and my mind and spirit grow palpably darker.

it is a brutal loss for agassi. not only has he once again been denied a slam - but it's happened at the hands of a direct peer, a compatriot, a nineteen year old american who has flown relatively under the radar until now but has snatched away from agassi the title that he felt should have rightfully been his. agassi had already become a frequent target for media storms, most memorably with the infamous 'image is everything' canon marketing campaign that had been widely used to mock him - but now, here was the proof anyone needed that this overhyped, cocky showman wasn't anywhere near as good as he'd been cracked up to be. it didn't help that sampras provided such an obvious contrast to agassi... quiet, more reserved, outwardly humble, less showy and less prone to drama and with a far more clean cut image... really had way more of a sweater boy aesthetic going for him y'know

tennis is a fundamentally conservative sport that is ill at ease with its own conservatism. the soul of the tennis fan secretly longs for a little glamour, a little excitement, something with a little more flair and thrill than the purist should strictly allow. when confronted with excessive emotion, when exposed to the true messiness of competitive fervour, the response of the fan is conflicted. on the one hand, the spectacle is exhilarating, to be celebrated, stimulating in the controversy it causes. but on the other, transgression is something to be repudiated and to be punished. the tennis fan averts their eyes but cannot look away, eager to capture every detail of how the gentleman's sport is being defiled by the newest freak show. the tennis fan begs for players to feel every emotion deeply - then jeers at them for losing their heads. the tennis fan hates sampras for being dull and lacklustre, for winning points as quickly as he can and refusing to provide much in the way of a show. the tennis fan hates agassi for being a loose cannon, for feeling so much and never quite living up to his potential as a result, for being so loud and vocal and obvious in his imperfections. sampras is a robot. agassi is a clown. sampras lacks personality. agassi lacks conviction. it is distasteful how hard agassi finds the life of a tennis player, but sampras finds it far too easy entirely. the fan loves to hate agassi, but sometimes they forget to think about sampras at all

the rivalry and their two respective careers develop from there. agassi has to go through a third slam final defeat, a horrendously painful five set affair against his old enemy jim courier at roland garros that leaves many doubting he will ever get over the line. but at last he secures his first major in 1992 at wimbledon of all places - the slam he had once upon a time had so little respect for he did not even bother to attend. sampras in all his precocity struggled for a while to adjust to a slam champion's life and took until 1993 to add to his own collection... beating agassi once again on the way to snatching agassi's wimbledon crown off him. there's a lot of stuff in those few years I'm going to skim over for the sake of brevity... like the final the two of them played where sampras was really ill right before the start and agassi agreed to a delay, only to be beaten by a revitalised sampras... that 1993 wimbledon match and sampras' nasty habit of catching agassi by surprise... or all their davis cup exploits (the main nation-based event in men's tennis, basically think like the world cup) where they both faltered and won as a team

let's pick up the narrative again in 1995. agassi had won his second slam at the back end of 1994, finally taking the us open title he so craved. and so, at the start of 1995, he made the enlightened choice of going - hey, you know how there's four slams on the tennis calendar? how about showing up to all four of them! yeah, not kidding, 1995 was the very first time agassi made the trip down to australia for the first slam of the year. which is a teensy bit unfortunate, because it turned out he was actually brilliant at that tournament. in 1995, he was the second seed at the tournament (sampras, of course, being the first) and scythed his way through the draw, making the final without dropping a set. sampras, by contrast, was progressing nowhere near as smoothly. his long time coach, tim gullikson, had been suffering from seizures for a few months and was flown home for tests after going through another seizure while practising with sampras. in his next match, sampras faced courier, fighting back from two sets to love down to level the match. then, in the fifth set, he broke down in tears during the changeover and struggled to contain his sobs while playing the next few games. courier asked whether sampras wanted to come back to finish the match the next day... something sampras interpreted as a sarcastic comment, which pissed him off enough to get him to regroup and focus once again. he went on to win the match. this is another part of the story that will not get the attention it deserves in this post, and there's a lot more to be said about how sampras describes the incident in his autobiography - his frustration with the narrative that he had finally shown how he was 'human' after all. it is this incident that is still what the tournament is perhaps remembered the most for. gullikson passed away the following year

and so sampras faced agassi in their second meeting in a slam final, fourth meeting in slams overall. agassi had gone through a major style rebrand since the last time they'd played, at last forgoing the hair he was so closely associated with (aka ditching the finicky hairpiece that had been distracting him in slam finals) and embracing the bald pirate aesthetic

perhaps a little more importantly, agassi won the match in four sets, claiming his first australian open title at the very first time of asking. I was going to check if I had any particularly insightful notes about the match - but mostly it's stuff like pointing out that the first set ends on an agassi double fault and the second one opens on a sampras double fault (#mygoats), plus enlightened commentary like this

we'll leave the sophisticated match analysis for another day

and here they are in their respective autobiographies about the conclusion of that tournament

"a tournament that I seemed destined to win" // "tennis has nothing to do with destiny"

and from there, it was game on. 1995 was basically the year of their rivalry. after the australian open final, they immediately faced off in both indian wells and miami. as sampras describes it, the increased exposure meant the general sports fans had more and more opinions about the pair of them and their rivalry: "we presented enough of a contrast to make people feel passionate about why they preferred one of us to the other". that season also featured an increased marketing push from nike to make this rivalry A Thing while the pair of them spent the year hashing out the number one ranking. we're talking joint marketing campaigns, interviews, all that shebang... once again, I won't be able to do this time period justice here - but at least in passing you do have to mention nike's famous "guerrilla tennis" ad campaign (see here), where they would play on makeshift courts set up in city streets. as sampras put it:

The campaign was brilliant, and it was an enormous success. And it worked because, instead of "Pete or Andre?" or "Pete vs. Andre" driving Nike's promotions, it became Pete and Andre. There was a welcome, counterintuitive feel-good message conveyed in them. The commercials helped further interest in the game and our rivalry. It also caught the true nature of our relationship. We had plenty of differences, but we were friends.

an important thing to remember, right - sampras was generally keen for the agassi rivalry to flourish because it helped him too. it helped combat the perception that he was boring, that he had a dull game too reliant on his serve (especially on the speedy grass of wimbledon, where he increasingly excelled at), that he had too little of a personality to capture the imagination of the masses. it also helped his relationship with nike, who he often didn't see eye-to-eye with - the agassi rivalry brought those guys on side because of how marketable they were as a unit. in his autobiography, sampras points out that players are only ever seen as good as the quality of their opposition, and agassi always had the potential to be sampras' ideal career rivalry. agassi becoming a more consistent, prominent rival was good news for the both of them... but, well, often it was sampras who got the most out of the whole thing

given we're in 1995, at this point I do need to throw in a top three anecdote from agassi's autobiography that just like... nails who both of them are As Guys and what the dynamic between them looked like

if my archrival said in his autobiography that I sounded more robotic than his parrot, I would do something that would get me on national news (more on that later)

so then... it looks like they'll meet in another slam final that year, at wimbledon. as agassi so nicely puts it,

In the semis I face Becker. I've beaten him the last eight times we've played. Pete has already moved on to the final and he's awaiting the winner of Agassi-Becker, which is to say he's awaiting me, because every slam final is beginning to feel like a standing date between me and Pete.

cute

of course agassi goes on to lose that match, after which becker makes some disparaging comments about agassi - prompting some fun drama that does also deserve more space than it will be provided here. the long and the short of it is that agassi vows vengeance and sets of on his "summer of revenge", going on a massive tear on the american hard courts. he defeats sampras in the final of canada, is unbeaten all summer going into the us open... at the us open, his hot streak continues - and he gets the great satisfaction of beating becker in the semis. revenge completed. 26 wins in a row

but of course, there's one more match to go. and it's the one that matters most of them all. it's also the one that agassi loses. "no matter how much you win, if you're not the last one to win, you're a loser. and in the end I always lose, because there is always pete. as always, pete." it's the brutality of tennis, the relentless inescapable cycle that so tormented agassi... there's always another tournament immediately on the horizon - and most weeks, defeat is waiting for you at the end of it. a lot of weeks, it was sampras who was waiting for agassi. after the glorious high of that entire summer, agassi had been brought back down to earth. he would struggle for years to recover

I've always had trouble shaking off hard losses, but this loss to Pete is different. This is the ultimate loss, the ueber-loss, the alpha-omega loss that eclipses all others. Previous losses to Pete, the loss to Courier, the loss to Gómez - they were flesh wounds compared to this, which feels like a spear through the heart. Every day this loss feels new. Every day I tell myself to stop thinking about it, and every day I can't. The only respite is fantasizing about retirement.

this began agassi's unravelling, the downward spiral that would consume the next two years of his life. eventually, he dropped out of the top hundred entirely. it was in 1997 that he infamously failed a drug test and managed to escape punishment plus cover the whole thing up (he had indeed taken crystal meth). he barely played tennis at all during that year. it would take him until 1998 to regroup and recommit to tennis, to decide that he wanted this enough to fight for it anew

in the mean time, let's bring in two encounters between sampras and agassi in fittingly liminal locations - one in a plane and the other in an airport. these brief moments of letting their guards down - of talking to each other as people - that are described in their respective autobiographies... both reckoning with the vast differences between the pair of them. first, there's late 1995, where agassi was already evidently struggling with the mental impact of the us open loss - as well as with the injuries that ruled him out of playing the davis cup. in a gesture sampras appreciated, agassi turned up anyway to support his team. here is sampras's account of a flight on agassi's private jet to los angeles:

I sensed on that flight that Andre was struggling. He quizzed me very closely on how I lived my life, and seemed dumbfounded to learn that I had moved to Tampa solely for my tennis game. I told him that I missed my family, and Southern California, but considered it a necessary trade-off. He admitted that he wouldn’t give up living in Vegas, or his lifestyle, in order to be the best player in the world. The contrast was clear and striking, although Andre made that point at a time when he was feeling a little disillusioned by the game. Through all of that, though, I always believed something that others, particularly people who didn’t know Andre very well, doubted. I always thought that Andre was a sincere guy. When we spent time together out of the limelight, he was always honest and frank—and I respected him for that. Davis Cup was always a good time when Andre was around. He was, at times, downright exuberant. He frequently let his guard down in Cup practices, screaming and yelling about any little thing, just for the fun of it. He seemed to get a kick out of stirring things up, creating drama, taking little things and making a big deal out of them. He was emotional, and he liked to whip up others’ emotions. At other times, we sat around in the locker room and talked about this or that, mostly about sports, and it was very comfortable. Andre was inquisitive. He liked to compare notes on players and he was eager to see how others perceived the same things he was thinking about. Andre had a great grasp of strategy; it was a great asset, given the type of game he played.

and then, two whole years later in 1997 - here's agassi about a meeting they had in the airport:

Walking up to the gate, who should I see but Pete. As always, Pete. He looks as if he's done nothing for the last month but practise, and when he wasn't practising, he was lying on a cot in a bare cell, thinking about beating me. He's rested, focused, wholly undistracted. I've always thought the differences between Pete and me were overblown by sportswriters. It seemed too convenient, too important for fans, and Nike, and the game, that Pete and I be polar opposites, the Yankees and Red Sox of tennis. The game's best server versus its best returner. The diffident Californian versus the brash Las Vegan. It all seemed like horseshit. Or, to use Pete's favorite word, nonsense. But at this moment, making small talk at the gate, the gap between us appears genuinely, frighteningly wide, like the gap between good and bad. I've often told Brad that tennis plays too big a part in Pete's life, and not a big enough part in mine, but Pete seems to have the proportions about right. Tennis is his job, and he does it with brio and dedication, while all my talk of maintaining a life outside tennis seems like just that - talk. Just a pretty way of rationalizing all my distractions. For the first time since I've known him - including the times he's beaten my brains out - I envy Pete's dullness. I wish I could emulate his spectacular lack of inspiration, and his peculiar lack of need for inspiration.

even these short excerpts should hopefully give you a sense of how differently they approached the process of writing their autobiographies, as always in itself very revealing. agassi is honest to a fault, forthcoming in his confessions even when he's not necessarily doing himself any favours - unsurprisingly, the crystal meth story caused quite a stir at a time, given he had successfully evaded a ban and had managed to cover the whole thing up. he does not spare sampras in his account, willing to compare him to a parrot or marvel at his lack of need for inspiration. it is a sincerity that does not necessarily feel malicious, but certainly is brutal. agassi's narrative is harsh, self-effacing, darkly comedic - he stresses how he really didn't take sampras seriously until sampras was beating his ass, talks up how sampras' commitment to tennis was clearly the far better approach than his own... and yet there is inevitably something pretty insulting in how baffled agassi is by sampras' simplicity, by the pure, unencumbered drive and discipline that made sampras such an excellent competitor. by how boring sampras could be

by contrast, sampras was far more reserved in his autobiography, providing a straightforward account of his career that really did mostly just focus on the tennis of it all - hardly a bad book, but one that lacks agassi's flair and skill for narrativisation. there is a rebellion of sorts in sampras' restraint... he's painfully aware of how he was perceived, rankles at it repeatedly in his autobiography, and you hardly need to read between the lines too much to get a sense of how much it really bothered him... but if there's one thing to understand about the guy, it's sampras' incredible stubbornness. if the people wanted a show, he was even less likely to provide him one. if they wanted drama and gossip from his autobiography, he would provide them with no such thing. and it's fair to say that sampras did not exactly appreciate agassi's approach

we'll circle back to sampras' reaction to the autobiography in a minute, but I wanted to bring in these quotes now... because sampras does capture something quite key to their rivalry in a way that is a touch more honest than he was willing to be in his autobiography. agassi hated tennis and always wavered in his commitment towards it, trying to fill his life with all sorts of other pleasures, travelling around with his entourage to make the tour life somehow bearable to him. it never came easily to him - and at several junctures, most notably after his long slide down the rankings set off by the 1995 us open sampras loss existential crisis, he had to make the conscious decision to try and give his all to the sport. sampras was always willing to make those sacrifices, whenever they were demanded of him. he was willing to move wherever he needed to, willing to eat and breathe and sleep tennis if that is what he needed to do to win. professional sports doesn't always reward the biggest personalities - in fact, as said sports become ever more demanding and the level rises further and further, if anything athletes cannot afford much of a life outside of their chosen domain. no time to grow up properly, to experience much of what the world has to offer, to figure out who they are outside of the sport... hey, no time even to start up too much drama where it isn't necessary - because are there many things more inefficient than media shit storms? in some ways, sampras represented the future of the sport. agassi, in all his impetuous talent, could in a sense be considered a relic of the past

that is not to say, of course, that agassi was not massively successful in his own right. and somehow he did what felt ever so implausible - he successfully completed his comeback, making it all the way back to the top of the sport when he had been so summarily written off. in 1998, he made an unprecedented jump from 110 to 6 in the rankings - and in 1999, he came from two sets to love down to win the roland garros title, completing his career slam by winning all four majors. this is one achievement that sampras could not match, having never progressed past the semifinals of the slow clay of roland garros that has tripped up many an american. (oddly enough, that's actually the slam all three of sampras' american peers had won, but courier was a natural surface specialist and chang was a grinder so it just kinda happened that way.) agassi reached the wimbledon final only to lose to sampras once again, then won the us open. and eventually he managed to snap sampras' record streak of six consecutive year end number ones (a rare record that has actually remained intact), capping off his most successful season to date

let's skip ahead once again, and talk a little more about what was possibly the most revered match the pair of them ever played. once again, it was the us open to host their showdown,taking place in the quarterfinals at what was now very much in the twilight stages of their careers. this time let's get some of sampras' thinking about that particular match and how it fit within the narrative of their rivalry:

It was fitting that Andre was the last man standing when it came to my rivalries. Andre was toughest during that great summer of 1995, and then again near the very end of our careers, culminating with the night-session quarterfinal at the 2001 Open—a match that was the crowning moment of our rivalry and, to me, our toughest and greatest battle. Volumes have been written about my rivalry with Andre, and from every perspective. In my heart of hearts, I know he was the guy who brought out the best in me. He had ups and downs, which accounts for why we didn’t have more confrontations, especially in big finals. But Andre was still the gold standard among my rivals. Nobody else popped up as frequently, over as long a period of time, to test and push me to the max. For most of our careers, we really couldn’t have been more different—in personality, game, even the clothing we wore. Our lifestyles were radically different. Andre always seemed bent on asserting his individuality and independence, while I tried to submerge my individuality and accepted the loss of some personal freedoms. Andre was Joe Frazier to my Muhammad Ali, although the personalities were kind of flipped around because Andre was the showman and I was the craftsman. Wherever you lived, we were your neighbors: I was the nice, quiet kid next door on one side, and Andre was the rebellious teenager on the other. Yet as Jekyll and Hyde as we were, and as much as people liked to emphasize the very real differences between us, there were powerful, deep similarities between us, too. The Gift we both had shaped our actions and lives, posing challenges as well as offering opportunities. First-generation Americans (Andre’s father, Mike, was from Iran), we were both champions but outsiders who crashed a sport dominated for most of its history by white Anglo-Saxon Protestants. That never bothered me, because the American Dream fulfilled its promise to my family, a few times over. Because we had both been prodigies, we grew up in the public eye, under scrutiny. It was easy to stereotype us—Andre was the brash, flamboyant showman, I was the reticent, old-school, boring guy. Who was hurt more by the stereotyping? Who knows? What I am sure about, though, is that we were tough, albeit in different ways and with different goals. When we reached the top, we cast frequent, nervous glances across the divide between us. Andre and I always made it our business as individuals to know what the other guy was doing.

as I am aware this post is already far too long, I won't dissect this passage too much. in any case, sampras addresses the sense of absence caused by agassi's inconsistencies elsewhere in his autobiography too... agassi made sampras better, always, agassi pushed sampras to new heights, agassi provided sampras with a legitimacy and also excitement the public would not have otherwise afforded him. but agassi wasn't always there. and the rivalry was ultimately far less kind to him

"in my heart of hearts, I know he was the guy who brought out the best in me" // "he says I bring out the best in him, but I think he's brought out the worst in me"

that entire section is one of the stronger parts of sampras' autobiography, which I'm also resisting the temptation to include in full. I will, however, include just a little more of how sampras describes how the pair of them match up:

Andre had to think a little more about the nuances of the game than I did. Against top guys, he needed to set things up for himself in order to play his most effective game. At his best, Andre was the consummate puppet master, jerking his opponents all over the court. Thankfully for me, he was also a little bit at the mercy of what his opponents could do. My game, by contrast, was much more about what I was going to do, and whether or not the other guy could stop it. The big question for me on every surface but clay was, Okay, what do I do to break the guy? That was because I always felt confident that I could hold my serve. Andre didn’t have that luxury—at least not to the same extent that I did. [...] The overarching theme, in my eyes, was that if I could make it a test of athleticism and movement, things would break my way. I had the fast-twitch-muscle advantage. By contrast, Andre had amazing eye-hand coordination; he was unrivaled as a ball striker. The idea was always the same: avoid becoming the puppet on the end of Andre’s string. Avoid getting into those rallies in which I found myself trying to get the ball to Andre’s backhand, while he’s cracking forehands and jerking me around the court.

sampras does go into more detail about how the actual tactics between them played out, but in a brave act of restraint I shall not discuss any of that. it does, however, tap into one of the central tensions of tennis - namely the curse of the counterpuncher. sampras acted, agassi reacted. in a way, it always felt like the match was on sampras' racquet, win or lose. sampras had the weapons. agassi had the wits. sampras could blast his way past agassi, if he could just summon up all his discipline to execute to perfection. agassi had to try to cling onto his nerves while going all he could to trip sampras up. the curse of the counterpuncher - the helplessness of being beholden to another player's whims... especially brutal when facing someone with sampras' painfully excellent weapons. and sampras had one more great weapon at his disposal: his mentality, that unflappable presence that graced him one of the most ridiculously good tiebreak records you'll ever find. from the moment sampras snatched that us open title away from him way back in 1990, agassi was always going to have to look over his shoulder, eternally wary of the threat posed by sampras. because perfect pete at his very best might have just been a little too much for andre the prodigy to handle

the 2001 us open quarterfinal has gone down as one of the very finest matches in that tournament's history. agassi had come into the tournament the number two seed - sampras, suffering from a slump in form, had been seeded only tenth. it played out over four sets, all of them tiebreaks, with not a single break of serve. the home crowd was riveted for the entire contest and enthusiastically celebrating both of their heroes for the spectacle they provided. you already know who won

so then, both of them slowly but surely reaching the end of their careers, their slam counts tailing off as injuries and frailty scupper them... sampras' decline was earlier and sharper, finding himself struggling after securing his fourth consecutive wimbledon title in 2000. agassi was generally ranked higher during that time and had won the australian open title in both 2000 and 2001. after wimbledon, sampras went for two full years without winning a slam, and retirement looked increasingly imminent. but in the end, they managed to put on one last show - and where else but in the same place where they had contested their first slam final in 1990.

At 4 P.M. on a calm and bright Sunday afternoon in early September, I looked across the net and saw the same person who had been there twelve years earlier, almost to the day, when I played my first Grand Slam final: Andre Agassi. The Andre I saw in 2002 was someone very different from the kid I had seen in 1990, and it went well beyond the fact that the multicolored mullet had become a shiny bald head, and that lime green costume was now a fairly plain, conservative shorts-and-shirt tennis kit. I saw a seasoned, confident, multiple Grand Slam champion who was in full command of his game—a game that could hurt me. This was no stranger. This was my career rival. This was the yin to my yang. Over time and through rivalry, though, our identities blurred a little and parts of our personalities had jumped from one to the other, like sparks sometimes do across two wires. We had a lot of shared history now. The sharp edges had been worn down and the contrasts muted. We were elder statesmen, celebrated champions, co-guests of honor at the Big Moment one more time. In many ways we were just a couple of nearly worn-out tennis players looking for one last shot at glory.

as always, pete

agassi was the favourite in that match. but that's the funny thing about tennis - all this stuff in between, all these matches, talk of form and confidence and all of it, you'll find it has a nasty tendency to not matter at all. because you already know how this story goes. tennis, in particular on the men's side, writes its narratives in advance and then begs us to act surprised when everything unfolds as expected. every once in a blue moon, you will have something different - an australian open 1995, where everything had been disturbed just enough to throw up a different outcome. but otherwise, there is no amount of form or confidence in the world that can change the inevitable. it doesn't matter that agassi was supposed to be the prodigy who would claim his glorious first slam in 1990. it doesn't matter that agassi had been on a 26 match winning streak in 1995 and had bested sampras just a few weeks before. it doesn't matter that agassi was facing a washed up version of sampras in 2002 who had lost touch with his 'gift' and had been staring down the barrel of retirement for the better part of two years. when they faced each other on that stage, at the most important tournament of them all to agassi, they both reverted to type. agassi got a slow start, felt the match slip away from him, as sampras blasted through him - and only two sets in managed to mount any sort of resistance. of course, it was not enough

it turned out to be sampras' last professional match. he announced his retirement a year later. the last time sampras ever played, and it was denying agassi on one final occasion

one more thing before I wrap up this post - a coda of sorts, because the story just wouldn't be complete without it. because there's one more rather infamous story from agassi's autobiography. here's agassi talking about the lead up to that us open 2002 final, lying in bed the night before that match and remembering a moment from a few years prior:

Sipping Gil’s magic water before bed, I tell myself that this time will be different. Pete hasn’t won a slam in more than two years. He’s nearing the end. I’m just starting over. I climb under the covers and remember a time in Palm Springs, several years ago. Brad and I were eating at an Italian restaurant, Mama Gina’s, and we saw Pete eating with friends on the other side of the dining room. He stopped by and said hello on his way out. Good luck tomorrow. You too. Then we watched him through the restaurant window, waiting for his car. We said nothing, each of us thinking of the difference he’d made in our lives. As Pete drove away I asked Brad how much he thought Pete tipped the valet. Brad hooted. Five bucks, tops. No way, I said. The guy’s got millions. He’s earned forty mil in prize money alone. He’s got to be good for at least a ten spot. Bet? Bet. We ate fast and rushed outside. Listen, I told the valet, give us the absolute truth: How much did Mr. Sampras tip you? The kid looked at his feet. He didn’t want to tell. He was weighing, wondering if he was on a hidden-camera show. We told the kid we had a bet riding on this, so we absolutely were insisting he tell us. Finally he whispered: You really want to know? Shoot. He gave me a dollar. Brad put a hand on his heart. But that’s not all, the kid said. He gave me a dollar—and he told me to be sure to give it to whichever kid actually brought his car around. We could not be more different, Pete and I, and as I fall asleep the night before perhaps our final final, I vow that the world will see our differences tomorrow.

and just to quickly add this, about the end of that final:

Now he's serving for the match, and when Pete serves for a match, he's a coldblooded killer. Everything happens very fast. Ace. Blur. Backhand volley, no way to reach it. Applause. Handshake at the net. Pete gives me a friendly smile, a pat on the back, but the expression on his face is unmistakable. I've seen it before. Here's a buck, kid. Bring my car around.

this is probably the most infamous part of the autobiography, excluding anything related to crystal meth. I buried the lede somewhat when I was talking about sampras' reaction to the autobiography - more than comparing him to a parrot or calling him uninspired, this was the bit that really got traction. it's just such a brutal story in an understated way... this is the kind of impression that sticks with you, the slander that stands the test of time. perfect pete the multi millionaire is a bad tipper

which brings us at last to indian wells 2010. an exhibition event the pair of them participated in at one of the most prestigious tournaments in the united states (second only to the us open), done for a good cause to raise money for charity. it was a doubles match they participated in, both partnering up with top players who were reasonably prominent at the time - all in order to put on a show for the crowd. for a good cause. over seven years after the conclusion of their rivalry, more than enough time for any old wounds to heal. what followed is quite possibly the only worthwhile moment indian wells has ever provided us... I hereby present to you a clip of two guys who are definitely over it, engaging in some entirely friendly banter, for a good cause, as a playful continuation of their respectful rivalry, which is fine because they're over it, so it's all fine and it's for a good cause. here you go:

now, honestly I would just recommend you watch this four minute video, because I think it's quite tricky to quite get across in words how the vibes gradually get more rancid. it's the little details that often get left out when this historic event is recounted that really make it - agassi's "you always have to go get serious, huh pete" is a personal favourite of mine. but to give a summary of the main points... sampras imitates agassi's famous pigeon-toed walk (the result of being born with spondylolisthesis, a back condition where one of your vertebra slips forward). then, agassi mockingly and repeatedly alludes to sampras being a poor tipper. which sampras follows up by straight up attempting to murder agassi

well, not quite, but he does use that lovely powerful serve of his to hit right at agassi - rather than diagonally across the court, where your service really should be going. also the serve is supposed to go like, into the box that's just on the other side of the net. whereas sampras' serve was travelling at a trajectory that took it oddly close to agassi's head

what's delightful to me about this clip is how they're both trying to play it off as a joke, even though you can tell that they're both visibly losing their tempers. look at the faces of two men just having a laff

shout out to the commentator for saying the rivalry between the retired players seemed to be stronger than the one between the current players. which - well, yes, that is true! this is what a proper rivalry looks like

they both got plenty of criticism for this episode - and agassi ended up both publicly saying he'd been out of line and messaged sampras to ask if he could apologise in person. and they did move on from the controversy, playing another exhibition the following year with no incident. here's what agassi said then:

isn't this great. isn't every word of this just great. like man he just gets it. isn't this great

still, beyond just being a fun bit of drama, it is a revealing moment between the pair of them. sampras is right that they both usually tried to avoid too much controversy, inclined to keep things civil and resist too much mudslinging in the press. sampras, after all, just wasn't really the type - and agassi had other things to worry about, never in a real position of strength in that rivalry. and yet, sometimes the mask slips just a little. the two of them often didn't understand each other, didn't really know each other at all, but they managed to get under each other's skin nevertheless. sampras was everything agassi couldn't be - and the reverse was true too. agassi couldn't find it in himself to copy sampras' pure dedication towards the sport, whereas sampras could never match agassi's flair and charisma. at times, there's a whiff of contempt in how they judge each other, cataloguing the other's shortcomings and incapable of imagining what it must be like to walk in the other's shoes. agassi could not dedicate himself completely towards tennis. sampras was uninspired. agassi was flighty. sampras was simple. a touch of envy, a little more contempt, and a whole lot of bafflement

for all that he won eight grand slams, in many ways agassi's story is one of failure. this is how much of his autobiography is framed - around hating tennis, around needing to be brilliant at it, over having to cope with loss after loss after loss. so much of tennis is about trying to find ways to process failure. it's all about failing... in matches, where even the winning player typically wins a little more than 50% of all points played and generally will lose quite a few games in the process. in tournaments, where all but one player will emerge from each event the loser. and even if that one has been won, the next tournament and potential loss is generally right around the corner. agassi hated that life, and yet he still took a couple years longer than sampras to walk away from it. and for agassi, the inevitability of that ultimate, final, inevitable loss was tied ever so closely to the existence of pete sampras. once more with feeling: "no matter how much you win, if you're not the last one to win, you're a loser. and in the end I always lose, because there is always pete. as always, pete." it's a bittersweet narrative - for all of agassi's success, for all that everything did turn out well for him in the end... it's always there, inescapably so, that lingering sense of inevitability. that helplessness. maybe the hand of destiny, after all. agassi was never able to overturn that narrative, no triumphant changing of the script or final triumph or any of it... and that'll hurt, and it'll always be a little bit sad. but he learned to live with it - and eventually found his own happy ending. there's something to that, isn't there?

[lking-creation-hub]

So I'm replaying Slay the Princess now that the Pristine Cut is out, starting with a quick run of the game mostly to get the Stranger's ending in the heart of the Princess. Somehow that was the first Ending I found in my first playthrough of the original game, and I wanted to recreate it in this new 'universe' and keep a save file with her there right next to the original save file, before I go back and comb through for new content, so I was playing through a first run pretty quickly (and still somehow got to the new Damsel content, those who have seen it will know).

I'll admit I cried a lot of times in my first playthough, and I know I would probably cry again in this one. Maybe not at the same places, but probably the new content.

But even in my first playthrough, when I cried, I kept going. But just now I've come up on one line that made me have to fully stop for a few minutes (which is what I'm doing now, processing by posting this). I don't know if this line was in the original version, I think I would have remembered it, but...

(Spoilers below)

In response to the Princess saying 'It took courage for you to make your way down here, away from the paths others would have had you walk. We find that courage beautiful,' The Contrarian says this:

And something about that line damn near broke me just now. I could (and maybe will) go on a huge ramble about how heartbreaking it is for the seemingly-confident and seemingly-lighthearted Contrarian to so casually describe himself as 'the worst part of us', as if that's a fact. I'm genuinely sobbing at that thought, partly because I do relate to it. He has such a factual tone when he describes himself as just completely bad, the 'worst part of us' in his entirety, and god I know how much it hurts to think of yourself like that, to believe that every part of yourself is awful and makes things worse. This was the last character I'd expect to relate on that, but it adds so much depth to him.

And past that, the complete compassion in the Princess calling that part of them beautiful. The idea that these things we look at in ourselves and hate can be held with such compassion by someone else. I just can't describe how light and kind of overwhelmed it feels. Like I'm still typing mostly because I don't think I'm ready to go back into the game and see the next line. The game is still sitting on the screen I have screenshot above, because this scene is just so overwhelmingly beautiful to me that I actually need a break to process it (in the MOST complimentary way, of course).

@blacktabbygames You nailed it the first time around and from what little I've played of the Pristine Cut you've somehow improved on what I had previously considered a perfect game. I can't wait to explore all of the rest of it (and probably pick up Scarlet Hollow after I've fully explored Slay the Princess).

[moonshynecybin]

would you mind sharing your marc marquez likes you power ranking?

im still working it out in my minddddd… so. with the caveat that i am just saying words recreationally:

alex

HUGE gap

aleix has known him FOREVER. theyre complex but im throwin him here bc there arent many men on the grid marc would let ass-lift him to the moon

im gonna say. fabio. traded helmets. always friendly. also fabio LOVES HIM and marc will usually match someone's energy…. have they hung out much this year? no. but we always have TOMORROW

enea��� maybe… he’s ALSO known him about ten years by now and enea is like. the contrarian of the italians. friendly little guys having gay brunch together as ive discussed… again marc WILL meet your energy and i think enea is just kind of a dreamy lil sweetie sometimes and he can leave stuff on track pretty well. marc appreciates that i would wager…

about on par with enea if MAYBE slightly under him depending on who we’re talking about are the rest of the spanish/catalan riders... he helmet traded with jorge martin last year, he was teammates with joan... i think mileage varies depending on how long hes known em but we can go ahead and group them under distantly friendly but bonded by place of origin. pedro not really a marc fan but also a child so he maybe drops a few places but not too far.

luca. true neutral. would be friendlier but the vale of it all prevents them from wearing joint turtlenecks to some event in like. cunty solidarity

diggia? needs further investigation

pecco. do i think hes UNfriendly no. do i think they could easily GET unfriendly absolutely. they dont super jive to each other's jokes, pecco was mean to alex like three weeks ago, they genuinely would rather crash than let the other pass, and there's the specter of vale's little legacy coloring every interaction. that being said i think they are both VERY invested in not having the media recognize it as an actual personal rivalry and could play a game of cards in an airport waiting lounge if pressed. pecco i think in particular has this gentlemen's duel perspective, but marc simply doesnt want to get asked about it every weekend until he dies... pecco ALSO likes to get a lil bitchy in presscons and i think marc doesnt like that lol. have some couth. anybody remember BYE BYE HONDA ? not endearing

franky. marc and alex have had an INSANE relationship this year with franky including like. rushing to his aid in a medical emergency and numerous racing incidents where franky was low key being a maniac with BOTH of them. lots of that. franky had been around the longest of the academy kids so he has enough context to keep his cards relatively close to his chest but i get the sense hes a little WISER than some of these other punks so hes kind of an x-factor. ranking him below pecco purely bc i dont think marc in particular takes kindly to alex slander lol sorry 2 my frankyalex queens you are correct but MARC. is stupid thx

jack miller. called marc a whiny princess or something about his arm surgery that marc ranks among the most traumatic events of his life. im guessing marc did not enjoy that.

bez. no quarter for this clown.

[littlemissmiller]

Bad Press (part 1)

Pairing: dark!toxic!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, slight sejanus x fem!reader

Summary: (au) after avoiding getting caught cheating in the games, a hopeful presidential candidate snow is fed up with your slanderous reporting, so he decides put you in your place

Warning: 21+ (drinking), eventually smut, blackmail, threats, dom!snow, sub!reader, slight jealousy, slight misogyny, obsession, power imbalance, porn with a plot

Word count: 2k

A/N: hi :) this is my very first public fanfic soooo please cut me some slack if it sucks, but if it doesn’t i have many many more in the vault so I appreciate the constructive feedback. this first part is just spicy build up which i could have posted as all one story, but it makes more sense to split it up (plus i love a good cliffhanger) anyways enjoy! part 2 is coming soon here

Coriolanus is unsatisfied as he turns today’s papers. Today’s headline are insulting.

Presidential candidate’s poll numbers fall like Snow.

He reads the byline and is not surprised. You always write these nasty articles about him. You seem to be no fan of his, article after article all he reads is about how poor his politics are or criticizing his work. In the summer times, when the Hunger Games roll around, you always have something to write about. How boring they are or how as gamemaker, lacks the proper skills to keep the games entertaining. None of which was true, but that’s not what bothers Coriolanus. What bothers him is when people truly think they know more than they do. When they think they are smarter than they are. It’s pathetic and that’s what truly, truly bothers him. The arrogance. He flips the page and clicks his tongue, as he reads the next headline,

Plinth Presidential Potential?

He checks the byline, it’s you, your article. Again. Is this a game to you? A funny joke to be such a fantastic moron as to write such defamation? Once he was president, press would not be so careless in their writing. He sips his tea squinting at the article and the black and white photo of his longtime classmate and friend, Sejanus Plinth. He didn’t even want to run for president, he didn’t care for the privileges of his life. He would much rather be back in the reaping bowl if he could have his way. Nothing more than a little district brat according to Coriolanus. He folds the paper up, rises from his seat, and tucks the paper under his arm. As he leaves the dining room, he tosses the paper into the fireplace, not bothering to watch as the ink melts and the print is reduced to ashes. He storms to his bedroom to finish getting ready before another day at the lab with Dr. Gaul working on new mutants for next years games.

Coriolanus stands in front of his mirror, slicking back his hair, he tries not to let the headlines bother him. He couldn’t let you keep getting away with this slanderous behavior. Then it dawns on him. He knows exactly how to keep you in line. Later that week was The Candidate Gala which, despite the latest publication, Coriolanus would attend with pride and have his poll numbers even higher than they already are. He would…charm you. That’s a nice way to think of it. He would make sure to get you nice and wrapped around his finger then you’d behave. He realizes he’ll to need get leverage with you, use his connections to Dr. Gaul as a scare tactic perhaps? He thinks of what to do as he leaves his penthouse for the lab.

The Gala comes around quickly and Coriolanus was more than ready to attend. On the drive there, he thought about you. He knew you’d be there of course. The Candidate Gala always had invited reporters and he knew you, given your contrarian reporting recently, you would be an attending guest. The car pulls up and Coriolanus exits. He walks into the venue and immediately heads turn. He fakes a few smiles and waves to some familiar faces, but as he stalks the crowd, his eyes only search for your face. He looks around and then, there you are. Your long, silky, black hair as straight as an arrow as it grazes just above the small of your back. And your red dress, which hugs you just right, is hard not to notice as you stand there looking coy and annoyingly sweet. You casually hold a flute of champagne in your hand, it dangles from your fingertips as if it is about to slip out. You’re immersed in conversation with, who Coriolanus recognizes as another journalist. You flip your hair past your shoulder and laugh. You don’t seem to notice him as he stalks towards you. You don’t notice him at all and as he announces himself to you, you flinch slightly.

“Mr. Snow. It’s good to finally make your acquaintance.” You shake his hand

“That’s funny you say that given you seem to have me figured out don’t you?” Coriolanus sneers

At that comment, your friend steps away, excusing herself by acting like she sees someone she knows. You give her a knowing look, then turn your attention back to the handsome young blonde, who you allegedly despise.

“Look Snow, it’s nothing personal, I write fair.” You give him an innocent look, touching your hand delicately to your chest, causing his eyes to glance at the valley of your breasts. He flashes his eyes back at you, rolling them and huffing out a sigh of disgust.

“And your readers really believe Sejanus Plinth wants to announce his run for presidency? This late in the game?”

You shrug your shoulders knowingly.

“Well you never know. I felt that piece wasn’t too unrealistic. I laid out a pretty good case for a President Plinth.” She smirks putting extra emphasis on her P’s as she speaks.

Snow smirks back at you as you bite down on your red stained lip.

“You think you’re such a clever girl don’t you. What’s your game darling?”

“No game.” You shake your head, batting your eyes.

Snow’s eyes dart across the room, making eye contact with the same lost, lonely little boy who you have deemed as the next candidate for president. Sejanus notices and smiles at him, but Snow quickly turns his attention back to you. He leans in close, towering over you.

“You know the press wasn’t always so careless with their stories.” He starts, taking a glass of posca from a waiter as they pass by.

“There was a time where truth and facts held importance. Before the war, then journalists started speaking out of term. Writing lies, slander against their great Capitol.” He nods. You raise an eyebrow at him, beginning to wonder what is point is.

“A lot of scholars would agree that the immense amount of freedom of press is what led to the Rebellion. All the rumors floating around. No one knew what was true, what was merely a tall tale created by some journalist who just wanted to stir things up. You don’t want journalism to divest into some sorta fraud again right? That would be a real shame.” Snow recounts, emphasizing the few last words.

You realize how close he’s standing to you and take a small step back, your eyes never leaving his. You temper your breath, hoping he can’t hear your heartbeat as it races in your chest. His pretty, blue eyes pierce your own, poking at you to respond to him. He gives you a look as if he has just asked you if you like his suit or think the color looks nice on him. You feel caught off guard and slightly threatened. You sip your champagne and gather a newfound confidence.

“Be that as it may, I’m sure that people have learned their lesson. Besides, Capitol news doesn’t even make it to the districts anymore so if anything happens, and you don’t become president…” you pause, pouting at him slightly.

“…well, no one would know you there. Private Snow instead of President Snow would be the greater shame. Don’t you think?” You smirk, touching his shoulder briefly. You bid him a sarcastic farewell and go off to find your friend.

Coriolanus is left alone, his cheeks red hot and his breathing becomes laborious. He’s fuming and will not be made a fool of so easily. He hasn’t felt this small and out of place in a long time. Just then, Sejanus walks towards him with a goofy, unknowing smile.

“Chatting it up?” He asks nervously

“Not really…” Coriolanus huffs

“Oh well that’s a relief.” Sejanus smiles letting out a breathy chuckle.

“Why?” Coriolanus inquires

“Well..” Sejanus leans in “I’ve kinda been seeing her…I thought I should tell you” he whispers

“Oh? Is that why you’re Panem’s next president according to her.” Coriolanus scoffs, hoping to sound sarcastic

Sejanus blushes slightly and rolls his eyes.

“I know. I had no idea until this week, but finding out was..ha..k-kinda a funny story actually...” he starts to stutter.

“I met her at one of my Dad’s business partner’s dinners. I hit it off with her, took her home. S-she had uh spent the night with me and was teasing me the all night, and well I thought it was teasing, anyways she was saying that I would make a good president and then I told her I wouldn’t want to take my chances away from you. Then the next morning she calls me…” Sejanus continues to recall, a goofy boyish smile spreading across his face.

“And I thought that, I mean I thought she was just being sweet you know, after staying over. Well she called me to tell me to look at the papers and yeah…”

Coriolanus soaks the new revelation in, inhaling deeply, trying to remain calm at his friend who had just confessed to him that he’s sleeping with the same journalist that writes absolutely lies and malarkey about him.

“Did you know it was her?”

“You know I didn’t pay attention to the news that much. I didn’t even realize she was the same journalist you complain about until that next morning.”

Coriolanus thought for a moment. Senjanus wouldn’t lie about that. After all he really doesn’t pay any attention to the news and politics which could only mean one thing.

“She’s trying to get to me..” Coriolanus declares. “She knew we were friends and is trying to pit us against each other? Why?” he whispers

“Damn. I need to drop her for sure now. That sucks because she was…I mean…” Sejanus sighs, a slight lustful longing in his eyes

The gears turn in Coriolanus head. Yes! This is the exact leverage he needs with you. And he knows exactly how to charm you now.

“Don’t worry about it” Coriolanus smiles deceitfully patting Sejanus on the shoulder.

As the evening goes on, Coriolanus chats up a few old classmates and a few Senators. All the while, he kept his eye on you, waiting for the perfect moment to give you the attention you apparently seek. Then, he catches you departing. You make your away alone out of the venue and Coriolanus pushes through the crowd to get to you. Once he catches up to you, he slides his fingers around your wrist and tugs. He calls you by your last name, slightly out of breath.

“What do you want Snow?” You scoff, trying to tug your hand away, but he pulls you closer. His breath fans your face and you turn away. “Let go…” you grumble. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue.

“And let you go write another one of your little stories. I don’t think so princess.”

“Are you threatening a member of the press?”

“No. I want to set the record straight though. Why don’t you interview me?” He smirks

“What? Interview you?”

“Yes, don’t act like you don’t want an interview from me. After all, you seem to be a big fan of mine no? Always writing about me aren’t you? Why don’t you get it straight from the source this time?”

“Well…” you start “it would boost the paper’s rating so…fine. Call our secretary and set up a time with me later this-“ you rush then unexpectedly, he pulls against his chest, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Come home with me” he whispers, grazing his forefinger and thumb across your chin. Your heart flutters slightly. You’re beginning to be charmed by him, you want to resist, but deep down this is what you have been after. His attention. You pout your lips and squint at him.

“What is your game Snow?”

“No game.” He smirks

“Well I’m done drinking for the night so…” you breathe

“I have tea” Coriolanus cuts in and before you know it you’re walking up the steps to the building of his lavish penthouse.

꧁❧��☙꧂

Part 2

[yourlokalescholar]

If the roles were reversed, and The Shifting Mound slew The Long Quiet, what do you think the world would look like?

I’ve seen some debate over what The Long Quiet represents exactly, and it is up for debate of course, but my interpretation is that he’s Stagnation. The Shifting Mound is birth, death and rebirth, and TLQ is what comes in between. Therefore when TLQ kills TSM, the world is frozen and nothing can die or be born or change in any way.

So what about when TLQ dies, and birth and death and rebirth is all that’s left?

Okay, weird analogy, but did you ever do dynamic equilibrium in chemistry? Basically, a reversible reaction is a reaction whose products can react with each other to reform the reactants. Dynamic equilibrium happens when they’re locked in a small space together: both reactions occur constantly and simultaneously, so from the outside it just looks like nothing is happening (there’s more to it obviously but that’s the relevant bit). That’s kind of what I imagine The Shifting Mound’s world would look like, if that makes sense?

Everything dies as soon as it is born, everything decays as it grows and everyone is constantly learning but never given the time to understand their thoughts before they change their mind again. Everything is happening all at once, but it’s no different to if nothing happened at all.

Remember The Stranger? Once you’ve gotten to that chapter, there’s no other path for you. Interacting with The Princess in that chapter doesn’t change anything, because to do so you need to make every possible decision at once, so it’s impossible to pursue any one path. I think Voice Of The Contrarian literally says something along the lines of “if we’re doing everything, that’s the same as doing nothing”! It’s kind of the polar opposite of the “good ending”, a world of happy boredom in which nothing happens. A world of confusing boredom in which everything happens!

It’s interesting how, as much as they’re complete opposites of each other, The Shifting Mound and The Long Quiet aren’t all that different

[adore-laur]

GOLD RUSH: PART ONE

— harry is your ex-husband and the father of your child, and the both of you are just trying to make it work 💛 (loosely inspired by taylor swift’s “gold rush”)

——

For you, Nashville used to be a place where family and love resided. When Harry realized he found fulfillment in writing songs there, he suggested buying a house in the eastern part of the city, where the historical streets and electric nightlife lent him endless inspiration.

That was during the honeymoon phase, when you two were bound by a thread of intense desire. Shortly after, the newlywed phase came with spontaneous decisions you couldn't help but ride along with. Even the marriage itself was on a whim. Harry bent down on one knee after only one year of long-distance dating, never sounding more confident than when he asked you to be eternally his. Again, you agreed. But why? 

Let's just say he has a contrarian way of thinking paired with strong persuasion skills. 

Two months after getting married, you fell pregnant and welcomed a baby before the first wedding anniversary could even pass. To put it truthfully, it was unexpected. There was no plan to become parents so soon, especially since Harry was at the height of his career. Nonetheless, both of you adapted to his busy lifestyle for the family's sake. Everything was arranged around his schedule, yet you never thought twice about it. 

There's no doubt that Harry is a wanted man. Everyone needs something from him, whether an interview across the country or a tour on another continent. He accepted the business calls and flights with no hesitation, and you couldn't necessarily blame him since it's all he's known for over a decade. However, after a while, it reached a point where you weren't seeing him in person for several weeks at a time. 

When you were his girlfriend, it was tolerable. As a mother, it was unbearably desolate. 

He's a yes-man who shies under authoritative rule, and it affected every crevice of your private life with him. All you needed was for him to be present. That's not to say he was disconnected or couldn't bond with his baby during the instances he was around; it was quite the opposite. You had never seen him so enamored with another human before. Unfortunately, the limited time he was home without obligations tying him down was too much for you. 

Those exhausting nights spent alone trying to calm a crying baby, wads of dwindling cash being slapped in the babysitter's hand, keeping up with time zones just to call your husband for a short and meager conversation about nothing—it was miserable upon reflection. 

Harry had attempted to convince you to join him on tour with the baby, but you could clearly see in his eyes that he was hesitant. All the traveling, sleepless nights, and potential invasion of privacy would have been too risky for such a delicate part of your lives. 

Eventually, the bomb dropped. You had a nagging thought in your brain that wondered why Harry couldn't just trim the length of his tour so he could stay with you more often. Or at least try to visit every once in a while on his days off. It shouldn't be considered selfish to ask for such things, right? 

Well, you were terribly mistaken. Those dreaded questions you asked him over a late-night phone call turned into a screaming match. Words like weapons were thrown around—ones you still regret today. Harry had cowered while putting his guard up, claiming it was his job and that he couldn't always be home. Something along the hurtful lines of "I can't do two things at once" sealed the deal. 

So, while sobbing on your bedroom floor as your baby cried in the other room, you suggested a divorce. It was later finalized with paperwork signed by both parties. One signature took substantially longer to get, but dwelling on that fact eats you alive. 

A lot has changed in the year since you've separated from Harry. You don't hate him anymore, for one. You never expected to fall out of love with him since his presence is too comfy and his efforts to mend things are too admirable. Vulnerable conversations with him elicited a mutual agreement that you shouldn't shut each other out, especially with a child involved. 

Now, you successfully co-parent with him during the periods he's not touring. The child custody lawyer recommended the 3-4-4-3 schedule: Harry gets your daughter for the first three days of the week, while you get her for the last four. The fourth day is swapped every other week to maintain an equal parental balance.

You would say it's going well so far. It's a little trickier now, considering this is the first time he's been on tour since the divorce, so the scheduling is constantly being rearranged. You've discussed the possibility of flying out to a few shows every month and then Harry flying out to Nashville on his days off. 

It's Friday, your day with your daughter, and Harry just so happens to be playing a second sold-out show in Nashville tonight. You couldn't attend the first one because of work, but you're here now, standing in front of his dressing room at the Bridgestone Arena. As you wait for him to finish getting ready, your daughter rambles about what she wants Harry to wear tonight. Wishes for princess dresses and tiaras are sprinkled throughout her incoherent toddler speech.

"Is that who I think it is?" Outside the closed door, Harry's deep voice makes your face heat, as you anticipate it to do whenever he's around. 

Your daughter's head snaps toward the sound of her father, her expression immediately lighting up. "Me!" she shouts excitedly, trying to wiggle her way out of your arms. 

"Uh-oh. Sounds like trouble over there," he says teasingly.

She giggles and reaches over to try and turn the doorknob, but Harry beats her to it. The door swings open, revealing your ex-husband in a tight-fitting silk vest with matching trousers the color of ivory. He looks like an actual angel sent down from heaven. You sometimes wonder what it must be like to be as beautiful as him.

Harry gasps dramatically when he sees who you're holding and scoops her into his tattooed arms, kissing her cheek repeatedly. "I haven't seen you in forever," he murmurs against her head. "I missed you so, so much." 

It's been almost two weeks since he flew out to visit when he had a few days free from performing. Rehearsals and meetings have been bogging up his time, so you know it's been killing him to go so long without seeing her. 

You silently admire their indescribable bond through a lens of what could have been. Your mind occasionally creates scenarios about him that you'd like to be true. In moments of weakness, you pretend there's still a wedding ring on your finger, and you even shamefully put it on sometimes. You pretend Harry is sleeping next to you at night by laying a pillow on the other side of the bed and letting your body naturally drift over to hold it. You pretend the songs he wrote about you aren't about the heartbreak and loneliness you caused, instead choosing to believe they're about someone else. 

"Picture," says your daughter, lightly hitting the phone in your hand and pulling you from your wandering thoughts. 

"Do you want to take a picture of him?" you ask her, placing the phone in her grasp.

She nods and fidgets with the side buttons. You take her from Harry's arms and help her hold the phone, telling her where to click while Harry sets down his mic pack and readjusts his outfit. 

"Ready? Tell Dad to pose." 

Harry puts one hand on his hip and sticks his leg out, his back's reflection visible in the mirror behind him. He tries to keep a neutral expression, but a smile grows as the camera flash goes off. 

This somehow feels… normal. 

You set her down so she can dawdle around the dressing room, then place your phone in your pocket. "Where is everyone?" you ask, accepting Harry's hug. 

He inhales deeply and tightens his arms around your shoulders. "I told them I wanted some alone time with you guys." 

When you swallow, it feels like there are thorns lining your throat. "That's sweet. I can imagine it gets pretty chaotic back here." 

"Mm-hmm," he hums, beginning to sway you side to side. "I'm happy you came." 

"So am I," you say, painfully aware of his warm skin against yours. "Sorry we couldn't visit sooner. Work has been really busy." 

Harry leaves a kiss so faint on your head that you almost don't register it. "Hey, don't apologize. You work hard enough. It means the world that you both came to watch me tonight." 

"Of course. You have no idea how proud I am of you." 

He still doesn't let you go, his big, comforting hands splaying across the expanse of your back. "The feeling is mutual," he replies, his gentle voice seeping into your senses. "Proud doesn't even come close to what I feel about you. You know that, right?" 

You can't help but brush the dust off his statement and dig for a deeper possible meaning. You still have love for him; you know that for sure, but is it too far-fetched to think he still has some for you? You already know the answer if the songs he wrote are any indication. 

In another life, you see yourself happily married and raising a child with him in the comfort of your home in Nashville. Waking up next to him every morning and padding across the wooden floor to the kitchen, where you'd make tea and breakfast together. Finding a steady rhythm in terms of balancing work schedules and parenthood and eventually falling into a perfect domestic routine.

Yet deep down, you know it could never be. Harry's lifestyle wasn't made to clash with yours as much as you might have believed it all those years ago. The highs couldn't outweigh the lows. His life moved too fast, while yours ran out of stamina trying to keep up. You carelessly jumped into his inviting waters too soon and didn't think of the devastating fate that would come crashing down on you. 

You would still die for his love, just like everyone else, but you suppose it will fade over time. 

——

[slay-the-heroine]

The Narrator:

The door to the basement creaks open once again. You get a full view of the short hallway, and you see the lighter end of it. You walk towards it.

The Narrator:

As you approach, you see... Stairs.

Voice of the Contrarian:

Oh, no. Hell no...

The Narrator:

About a dozen of them. All slightly different, all seeming to lead to different, dark paths.

The Narrator:

The air is stale and unmoving. If you focus, you can catch a hint of a familiar scent from somewhere you can't discern. It feels like a lie.

The Narrator:

It is an overly complicated mess. If the Heroine really lives in this maze of a cabin, slaying her would probably be doing her a favor.

The Narrator:

Her voice, echoing from every stairwell, harsh and strained, is a scrutinizing accusation.

"What is it?"

Voice of the Prince:

And there is no direction on where to go.

Voice of the Contrarian:

What the hell are we getting into? We don't have any kind of m-map? Why are there so many??? Nobody needs this many rooms, let alone this many sets of stairs!! It's r-ridiculous!!!

Voice of the Prince:

Gather yourself, please. They're just stairs. It's still kind of dark but, now we have options. We're not in danger.

Voice of the Contrarian:

It's just so much...! How are we meant to make any kind of decision, it just feels like everything always leads to more questions!!!

Voice of the Prince:

We're stuck, it seems. But we have many ways to go forward. We'll find answers somehow.

The Narrator:

Things will make more sense once you get the job done.

Voice of the Contrarian:

Oh, don't think I've fallen far enough to start listening to you. Eugh... Just... Pick something that you're really sure in... God, I am so glad I don't have to decide these things...

>>>

[kimpossibly]

THE CHAIN -> e. roundtree PART THREE: the six

PAIRING: eddie roundtree x fem!reader WARNINGS: swearing, drinking, drugs, minor injuries, blood, very suggestive content, implied sex (NOTE: some warnings for this story include MAJOR spoilers for this series down the line, so I'll put those beneath the cut. If you don't want to get the story spoiled, then just ignore it ― but I did want to provide the chance for you to get an idea of how the story will go later down the line if you have any sensitive topics you'd like to avoid. please prioritize your mental wellbeing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I fear I may have screwed up the timeline, but oh well! Hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS (SPOILERS INCLUDED): reader has a life threatening illness. Discussions about death and loss, depictions of grief, hospitals

SEVENEIGHTNINE (1975-1976)

The recording of their first album tested The Six's strength ― not only as a band, but as friends. And Y/n, who had never really been a part of the band during its songwriting process, was quick to realize that there was friction between the same band members again and again. Most notably, Billy and Eddie.

KAREN: Eddie wanted more freedom with what he was playing, Billy thought that since he was the frontman that his word was law...it's the same old story you've heard before. They were in a constant dick measuring contest and neither one of them wanted to admit defeat.

WARREN: Billy was my friend. Eddie was my friend. But when you put them in a room together and told them to make a song, they were the most annoying motherfuckers you'd ever met.

One day after a particularly harrowing songwriting session, the band found themselves back at the house in Laurel Canyon. The place that was usually filled with talk and music was silent, the telltale sign that they had brought work home with them. but what else were they supposed to do? They worked together, they lived together. The lines between work and home were becoming dangerously thin.

Y/n couldn't stand the silence. At her house, there had always been something going on ― her mom would be talking on the phone, someone would come in injured and she'd fix them up. At the very least, she'd keep the television on so she could get a good nights' sleep. But that night it was dead silent. Sickeningly so.

So Y/n got out of bed and wandered into Eddie's room. She didn't acknowledge his presence as she walked in, stopped in place suddenly, and collapsed onto the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

Eddie watched the whole thing from his bed, his guitar in his hands. He expected that maybe she'd say something, start a conversation and whatnot, but she didn't. She just went on, staring at the ceiling as though she had all the time in the world and a perfect reason to be there on the floor.

So he spoke first. "Hi."

"Why can't you just get over things?"

EDDIE: Out of the blue, no hesitation. "Why can't you just get over things?" I knew what she was talking about. Me and Billy had been at each others' throats for weeks, ever since we started writing the damn album. She wanted to know why I couldn't just pack it all in and take the hits as they came.

"Um―"

"Because here's the thing: you guys both have so much pride. Soooooo much. So much it makes me want to slap you guys across the face and remind you that you're human, not gods. And, look, I get it. He walks all over you sometimes and that's not cool. But sometimes it feels like you're pushing back just to be contrarian. Like you don't really disagree with what he's saying, you just disagree with the fact that he's the one saying it. You get my drift?"

EDDIE: Like I said, she doesn't sugarcoat things. She'll tell you what you are and if you don't like it? Tough.

Eddie paused, leaning back. She was right; he knew that much. And maybe he did argue with things just to argue, but so what? They weren't The Dunne Brothers anymore, they were The Six. Implied equal partnership. And still...

"He's thinks it's his band, Y/n."

"Then talk to him about it."

"I can't."

"Why not?" Y/n sat up, a crease formed between her brows.

He wasn't quite expecting that question. But, after a bit of stumbling, he came to what he thought was a reasonable answer: "Because he doesn't listen."

Y/n just looked at him like that was the dumbest thing he had ever said. "Well then make him listen."

"Yeah, alright. and how the hell am I supposed to do that?"

She didn't answer immediately, thinking. Eddie thought for a moment that he might have won.

EDDIE: There wasn't really a way to win an argument with her. Not really.

After a moment she turned to him. "A war isn't just two guys screaming at each other, Ed. They need soldiers, armies. Let me be your army."

"Why?"

"Because I don't like watching you get pushed around. It's kind of...sad."

"Thanks."

"You asked."

They lapsed into silence again. Y/n laid back down on the floor, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. When she spoke again, it was so quiet, Eddie wasn't sure at first if she was talking to him or to herself. "I just...I'm on your side, okay? So don't make it any harder to be."

EDDIE: I never quite got that, you know? "I'm on your side." I had no idea why she'd be on my side. Billy was the frontman, Billy was the guy you looked up to. And there she was, trying to help me out without me even asking. I guess I thought, am I really that pathetic? [Laughs] I probably don't want to know the answer to that. I don't know why she was on my side, I really don't. But it was good to know. Made me feel like, aside from all the melodrama that came with rock n' roll, I had something to hold on to.

By the time SevenEightNine was done, the CEO of Runner Records, Rich Palentino, was not impressed. In fact, in his opinion, the entire collection of songs they had collectively poured their hearts and souls into, did not have a number one single among it. Teddy Price decided to take things into his own hands, and that's when Daisy Jones got involved.

The plan was to take 'Honeycomb' ― a song Billy had written about the life he had promised Camila ― and add a female vocal onto it, a sort of call and response duet.

Needless to say, Billy was not happy about the arrangement.

GRAHAM: He had just gotten back from rehab and was finally making things right with his wife and his daughter, and they wanted to bring a new chick in to "fix" his song. I can see why he was upset. I just think that he could've handled it better.

EDDIE: He threw a fit. So, naturally, everybody tried to do things to appease him. Graham had the idea that Karen could sing the female part.

KAREN: Like I said, I can back up a chorus, but I can't hold my own.

EDDIE: Y/n was thrown into the mix.

KAREN: Eddie put "Y/n" and "solo" in the same sentence and she looked like she was going to vomit. We moved on.

GRAHAM: Eventually Billy got the gist that Daisy was what we needed. At least, Teddy thought so. And Billy would take Teddy's word over his own any day of the week.

BILLY: I thought, "Fine. If this Daisy girl wants to try it, we'll let her try it."

Daisy was brought into the studio within the next couple of days, marking the first time she ever officially worked with The Six. She was generally well received by all its members (except maybe Billy) and found a fast friend in Y/n.

Firstly, they were the closest in age, and, when you're thrown into a new environment surrounded by strangers, that tends to be what you gravitate towards. That, and Y/n had the special ability of getting the boys to shut up long enough to let her do her thing. That was especially important.

DAISY: The first time I got into that studio to record, the rest of the band crowded at the window, staring at me like I was an elephant in a zoo. It was unsettling. I was probably on the verge of yelling to them to give me some room to breathe when I saw Y/n and Karen dragging them out by their collars, kicking them out of the room until they were the only ones left. That meant a lot.

Despite Billy's every attempt to complain, Honeycomb was released featuring Daisy Jones. Billy was stubbornly pessimistic about the whole thing, of course. And by the time the recording and mixing of 'Honeycomb' was done, it was completely different from the song Billy had first pitched. He felt that his vision had been trod upon in a most disrespectful manner, so much so that, when it was first played, start to finish, for the entire band, the walked out the second the record stopped.

They all watched him go with confusion ― the song was good. It was great, even, but Billy hated it so much that he couldn't even stand to be in the same room as it. And this was before Camila started coming to recording sessions, so no one really wanted to follow him out. Especially not Eddie.

So after the door slammed, they all spent a tense few seconds looking around, sharing confused and annoyed looks over Billy's outburst, and when it became clear that no one was going to do a damn thing about it, Y/n sighed and got up. "Looks like I have to do everything around here, huh?"

She found Billy outside, leaning on the hood of his car, staring at the slowly heating pavement in the California sun. He had his hands crossed over his chest, not unlike a kid who had just gotten his toy taken from him. He didn't look up when Y/n stepped outside, but he spoke the moment she was within earshot: "We're not releasing it."

The reply that came back was a sharp, loud laugh from Y/n. "Fuck you, we're not releasing it. It's a good song. Probably the best one we've ever made."

"You don't get it," Billy shook his head, "that's my song that she's singing. Mine. The one that I wrote about my wife."

"It's not about your wife, Billy," Y/n said. "It's an apology to your wife. You asked us all to make it and we said yes, so don't go acting like you're the goddamn puppet master pulling all the strings. You asked us to make the song, and we said yes. And it's our band. Your song, our band. Sometimes we have to make decisions that don't please your every fucking whim because it's our band and we want to take it as far as we can. And this song, Billy? This is how we do that."

He said nothing, continuing to stare at the ground.

"We're releasing it as soon as we can, and the world is gonna lose its fucking mind. At least you can go home and tell your wife that everyone loves her song."

Billy looked up then, some of his scowl melted away. Y/n grabbed him by the wrist, uncrossing his arms and pulling him back towards the studio. "Now the least you can do is go be civil to your bandmates and to the girl who just made us a number one single."

Eventually she succeeded in dragging him back into the recording booth, to the surprise of everyone already there.

"He threw a fit; I told him to shut up and get over himself. So, when can we release it?" Y/n asked, looking to Teddy.

BILLY: Just like that, she told me to get my act together and got me back in that studio. It was a little harsher than it had to be, but it worked. She had perfected the art of making someone realize how much of an asshole they were being at that point. I think she used it most on me. Occasionally Warren. If it weren't for her, I don't know if I would've gotten back in that studio. Because I don't know if anyone else would've walked out to get me.

Just as Y/n had predicted, 'Honeycomb' quickly sailed to the top of the charts. It generated national attention, with the whole world seeming to suddenly ask the question, Who the hell is The Six?

Daisy Jones had singlehandedly brought them to the top, and it pissed Billy Dunne off to no end.

The rest of the band, however, was enjoying their newfound celebrity. Their album, SevenEightNine, came out soon after, putting them on the road for their first tour ever. Daisy was set to be their opening act ― which, again, did not exactly please Billy. But she was a magnet. Where Daisy went, people seemed to follow.

As the days counted down before they left, they did what they knew best: partying. Y/n, in particular, found herself spending increasingly more and more time with Daisy.

DAISY: Not everyone was on board with me having a hand in the band's success, I knew that. But I had a place at the Marmont that had a pool. And back then, that was all it took to be okay in Y/n's book.

―

[The following is a transcription from an interview with Rolling Stone. On June 2, 1975, Jonah Berg sat down with Y/n L/n to discuss the band's recent success and life on the road.]

JONAH: Where do you think you'd be right now? If you weren't in a band, I mean?

Y/N: [Pauses. Smiles] Somewhere in the ocean.

JONAH: No thoughts as to a career?

Y/N: You didn't ask about a career. You asked what I'd be doing right now. And that's it ― I'd be in the ocean. And I'd be in whatever career got me there.

[This marks the end of the transcript.]

―

WARREN: The girl is a fucking fish.

DAISY: She'd go under for as long as she could, come up for a single breath, and go back under again. Over and over and over. You can't get a single word in that girl's ears when she's in the water.

KAREN: Y/n had a habit of getting...obsessed. With people, with music, whatever it was that caught her interest and held it. And Daisy...[pauses] Daisy did that.

EDDIE: I'm not so sure it was a great thing that Daisy and Y/n became friends when they did.

In Laurel Canyon, Y/n was often the first to come home. In fact, whenever another band member stumbled in, they could most likely count on the fact that if they shouted, "Y/n, I'm home!" they'd hear her yell "Good. Go to sleep!" in response. But that night, it was not the case.

After all the band members had returned for the night, Y/n was still at the Marmont with Daisy. Her hair and clothes were still drying from when she had jumped in the pool an hour previous ― well, she either jumped or she was pushed. She couldn't quite remember now.

Dozens of people had crowded around the pool, drinking and doing whatever drugs came their way. More than once, Daisy and Y/n would stop their stroll to knock back some pills passed their way or do a line off a pool table. Y/n started to wonder what time she had to get home when she noticed Oh, the sun is coming up. Has the sun always been that purple?

"Daisy, what time is it?" she asked, looking to her left. But Daisy had disappeared. There was a splash, and suddenly Daisy was floating in the pool with her nicest Caftan dress billowing around her. She looked like some kind of mystical sea nymph, or so Y/n thought.

"DJ!" Y/n yelled at her, catching her attention. "I need to go home."

Daisy, of course, wouldn't hear of it. Parties didn't end until she thought they were over. "No, no come on! Just stay a little longer!"

"I can't, I...we have rehearsal in the morning."

Daisy sighed, splashing somewhat disappointedly. "Mkay. Fine," she sighed, swimming over to the edge, "can you at least help me out?"

She held a hand out, which Y/n took. Stupid decision, of course. Daisy just pulled her into the pool, causing an eruption of cheers around them.

As she hit the water, Y/n briefly thought that she had some reason to be upset with Daisy, but she couldn't quite remember why. Within a moment, all discomfort had disappeared, completely forgotten, and she was perfectly ready to stay as long as Daisy wanted.

That was, until she came up for air and saw Billy standing there at the edge of the pool.

For a moment, Y/n just stared up at him blankly. Then, she splashed water on him. He looked at her in confusion and she explained, "I had to make sure you were really there and I wasn't just making you up."

"Y/n, it's time to go." he said.

"Oooookay," she said slowly. "I'll get a taxi in a little bit."

"No, this isn't some kind of courtesy call. It's time to go now."

Y/n huffed in response, swimming over to the side. She was too tired (or doped up) to argue. Really, Billy's presence reminded her that she had a house with her own bed. And she realized right then how much she really, really wanted to be in bed.

"Who told you I was here?" she said as she attempted to hoist herself out of the pool.

"Eddie did," Billy replied, helping her out. "Something about you not knocking."

"That son of a bitch," she muttered. "Where is he?"

"Back at the house. Asleep."

"I want Eddie. Get him here."

"You'll see him in the morning."

Y/n, not satisfied with that answer, pushed Billy away, anger curling her hands into fists. "I don't need you to tell me what to do, Billy. I'm a fucking adult. I know when I've reach my limits."

Billy looked at her. Mascara and eyeliner had traced gray lines down her face. Her hair and clothes were soaking wet, clinging to her, dripping onto the pavement. For a second, the hardened look on her face reminded Billy of the day she wandered into their garage and stole the drum sticks straight from Chuck's hands. She didn't look much older now than she did then.

"Just get in the goddamn car."

"No."

"Get in the car."

"No!"

"Y/n, you're bleeding."

She looked down suddenly and noticed a deep cut on her right hand. She frowned at it, but didn't seem that surprised at its existence. "That was there when I got here."

Billy more or less forced her into the passenger seat of the car, where she hung her hand out of the window, letting the blood drip onto the pavement rather than onto the seats.

In the less than ten minute drive home, Y/n talked until she was laughing hysterically at her own jokes, stuck her head out the window and howled at the moon, and finally sat in silence long enough that she started to cry.

Eddie woke up that night to a book hitting him in the face. He jolted awake, looking around wildly. And then, in the dead silence of his room, Y/n's voice came from the doorway. "Snitch."

She shut the door after that, and he heard her stumbling footfalls down the hallway.

And while that should've been the last time Y/n partied with Daisy, it wasn't. She went the next night, and the night after that. The knocks on Eddie's wall became less and less frequent until they stopped all together.

Daisy became her favorite pastime.

"You're in love with Eddie, right?" Daisy asked. They were both lying on the ground outside at the Marmont, letting their heads hang over the pool so that only their hair soaked in the water.

At her question, Y/n shot up, her wet hair drenching her back with cold water instantly. "What?"

"Oh, sorry," Daisy said, still hanging there. "I just thought...you know..."

Y/n did not, in fact, know. She turned to Daisy, a crease formed between her brows. "Why would you think that?"

Daisy sat up then, her impossibly long hair acting like a weight that she had to struggle against to sit up. "You're always lookin' at him when you're rehearsing. At a certain point it was like...I could count on the fact that when I walked into the studio, you'd be right next to him."

As Daisy spoke, Y/n felt herself frowning deeper and deeper. Eddie...Eddie was her best friend. That was for sure. He was the one she went to when she wanted to talk to someone.

Three thoughts emerged as Daisy talked.

One: I am not in love with Eddie Roundtree.

Two: I'm in love with Eddie Roundtee.

Three: It's so obvious it's sad.

Daisy kept talking, oblivious to her sudden revelation. "I get it, you know? If you really like him, you should just go for it. He's a nice guy, and he looks at you as much as you look at him."

Y/n excused herself then, claiming she felt sick. Well, that was mostly true ― she did feel sick. But not the type of sick that drinking generally made her. The kind of sick that came from thinking too hard, too quickly.

But instead of coming back, she left the Marmont, walking home with bare feet. She was still dripping with pool water, freezing her ass off the whole way home, but she was too deep in her own head to really realize it.

She made it back just as the sun was starting to come up, falling asleep on the couch rather than in her room. She slept fitfully, waking up every half hour or so thinking she had said something in her sleep that she couldn't take back.

The next night, she didn't go back to Daisy's. In fact, when Eddie heard Y/n's bedroom door shut before midnight, he frowned, wondering momentarily if she had just imagined it. Then, to test the theory, he knocked. It was the tune to the newest song by the Kinks. He didn't think too long about the song, really, he just wanted a response.

For a moment, none came. He waited patiently, silently, for any response. There was none.

Sighing, he settled back down on his bed, deciding that that was the last time he'd knock. There was no point in knocking to no response.

But a few moments later, the response came ― this time at his bedroom door.

He paused, sitting up, part of him wondering if he'd completely imagined it. Either way, he had to check. He got up, leaving his bass on the bed, heading to the door. He opened it and Y/n stood in the doorway, hair still wet from a shower.

"Hi," she said quietly.

"Hi."

And then, before he had the chance to say anything else, she stood on her toes and kissed him. He was so taken by surprise that he practically froze as he kissed her back, only to be unfrozen by her pushing him further into the room and kicking the door shut behind them.

EDDIE:  [Pauses. Takes a deep breath] Oh, wow. Um. Yeah, sure. Yes. I did…I did love Camila. But, everyone loved Camila, you know? Maybe it was…at one point I thought maybe…[pauses] it’s not important. The love I had for Camila…it was painful. It was so much stuff that had nowhere to go, so it just sat. Weighed me down. And Y/n was the first person who, I don’t know, made it lighter.

The next morning when Y/n woke up, she was clearheaded for what felt like the first time in years. The sunlight didn't make her head pound, she didn't feel nauseated, and she didn't have to check herself to see if she'd acquired any news injuries from the night before.

When she rolled over, Eddie was there, still asleep. Her lips parted slightly at the sudden reminder that the previous night hadn't been a dream. And the reminder of Eddie's presence next to her reminded her that there were, in fact, several other people in the house.

She sat up and saw Eddie's shirt at the edge of the bed. She reached for it, leaning over and tapping Eddie on the shoulder. "Hey," she said. He stirred a bit. She held up the shirt. "Can I borrow this?"

"'Course." he responded sleepily. "You leaving?"

"Oh, don't worry. I won't be far. Just down the hall" she said with a smile. He laughed slightly at that, and she gave him a quick kiss on the side of his lips. She tried to get up then, but Eddie caught her wrist, pulling her back down to him. He wrapped an arm around her, pressing his lips to hers. She found herself smiling as he kissed her, a chill running down her spine.

Eventually he let her go and she slipped his shirt over her head. She went for the door, pausing before opening it. "We're going to talk about this later, by the way."

Eddie frowned. "What's there to talk about?"

She paused, thinking. "Maybe talk is the wrong word for it."

She gave him a sly smile, causing him to roll his eyes and bury his head in his pillow. She laughed quietly, opening the door as quietly as she could and shutting it behind her. And as she went to walk into the hallways, she saw Warren standing there, a beer can in one hand.

WARREN: She looked at me with this doe in headlights look, and I just knew she was going to ask, so I told her before she had the chance.

"We have thin walls."

WARREN: Man, the look on her face right then. [Laughs] Priceless. I was so drunk the night before, I didn’t hear shit, but one look at her—the messy hair, the smudged makeup—you just knew. I was happy for ‘em. For once it felt like I wasn’t waiting for the shoe to drop, you know? It just…dropped. I was happy for them.

Y/n said nothing to him, simply turning and walking away, causing Warren to chuckle to himself.

Billy and Camila moved out of the house in Laurel Canyon soon thereafter, wanting to have a home to call their own. That left the more, well, irresponsible band members to themselves.

One day, Warren returned to the house to find Graham, Karen, Eddie, and Y/n on the back porch, slumped in chairs, staring at the air in front of them like they were waiting for something.

"What are you guys on and can I have some?"

WARREN: It was mescaline, because of course it was.

"How long does it take to kick in?" Warren asked.

Karen shrugged. "Depends on the person."

A few seconds later, Warren suddenly stood up, stumbling slightly. "Whoa..."

Y/n giggled, then frowned. She moved her head back and forth, side to side, like she was weighing it. "Guys, my head is getting really heavy. Too heavy. How much should my brain weigh? Can brains gain weight? Do I have an overweight brain and I didn't notice it until now?"

"If you had an overweight brain, you wouldn't have failed math." Warren said. "Now, I-I feel on a molecular level, you know, like me and the canyon, we are..." he trailed off, then clapped, "Ha! No, we're the same, man."

Karen laughed. "Warren and Y/n are feeling it, clearly."

Graham laughed, and then suddenly he went slack, eyes wide. "Oh shit..." he put his hand over his stomach, "I can't feel my heart."

As Karen went to make sure his heart was actually beating (which, of course, it was ― he was just looking in the wrong place for it), Y/n turned her attention to Eddie. He was staring at his hands like it was the first time he was seeing them. She looked at her own, waving them in the air like she was trying not to hurt the air.

Y/n and Eddie had kept their, well, for lack of a better word, tryst, from the rest of the band members. Except, of course, Warren who had found out completely by mistake. As Y/n inspected her hands, she let one fall to the side, landing on Eddie's thigh.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised. She bit her lip to hide a smile.

"No, Graham, it's there."

"Karen, I can't feel my heart. It's gone, man."

Y/n slid her hand further up his thigh, trying her best not to giggle at the way he tried to keep his cool under her touch.

"Can-Can we call a doctor or something?"

"Graham. Move your hand up."

Graham frowned, looking down. Then moved his hands to the correct place and, upon feeling his heart beating steadily underneath his palms, sighed in relief. "Oh. Thanks."

Eddie suddenly stood up, startling all of them. Without a word, he took Y/n by the hand, pulling her back inside. Y/n giggled then, already going to unbutton her shirt.

Karen and Graham watched them go in confusion. "What the hell is up with them?" Graham asked as the door shut behind them.

Warren just raised his half empty beer can in their direction. "L'Chaim," the declared, then drank it all in one sip.

Thanks to Honeycomb, The Six had been put on the map. They were touring for their first album with Daisy Jones as their opening act. It was on that tour that they all got their first taste of real fame of screaming crowds and fanatic fans.

Towards the end of the tour, the decision was made that Daisy would join the band, and they would soon become known as Daisy Jones & The Six. After the tour, they were on their way to creating their first album with Daisy on the team.

EDDIE: Things were perfect. Well, I didn’t think they were perfect at the time. I still wasn’t getting along with Billy, I didn’t feel like I had any creative control, I basically felt like a second-class citizen even though I had been there from the beginning. But I had Y/n, and the band was successful. If I had been able to put down my pride and look at my life from a couple steps back, I probably would have thought, damn…this ain’t bad.           I never really guessed how bad things would go downhill after that.

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[wysteriaisapenguin]

Slay the Princess - Atonement AU

Sorry if I don’t have any visuals to go with this, but hopefully the more I expand on this AU I’ll draw something for it

TLDR: An “Everyone Hates You” ending but only half of the voices are present and the other half are awakened after LQ is left exiled. Now LQ must find a way to redeem Themself while the voices fight amongst each other.

(Content warning for gore mention and depressive thoughts. Will also include STP spoilers. Read at your own risk!)

Summary: After the Long Quiet, a loathsome bastard who liked causing chaos, slayed the Princess once and for all, They create a new world free from death and suffering. But what They didn’t anticipate was the wrath of Their voices, who were angry at LQ for treating them so horribly and mocking them for their deaths whenever They approached the mirror. They mercilessly attack LQ, stripping Them away from Their godhood by separating themselves from Their body. While LQ was exiled in disgrace and left to face the consequences of Their actions, the voices decided to take it upon themselves to rule the new world. This included Hero, Cold, Cheated, Stubborn, Paranoid, Opportunist, and Contrarian. Because of their hatred towards LQ, their pain and anger manifested as they slowly became worse versions of themselves.

While Contrarian tried to maintain his sanity and did his best to lighten things up by being his usual funny self, it wasn’t enough. Tensions were always high and everyone was “too serious” to pay attention to him. It had even got to the point where Hero, who now called himself “Savior”, wouldn’t even smile around him anymore. Contrarian couldn’t stand seeing his close friend, who was once a steadfast and compassionate hero, turn into a cold and tired shell of himself. He was so uncomfortable with the gloomy atmosphere that he decided to run away. There was no point for him to be around his fellow voices.

Eventually Contrarian was found by LQ and four “new” voices, who woke up sometime after LQ was exiled. This includes Broken, Hunted, Skeptic, and Smitten. The four of them have been helping LQ survive while hiding from the warped voices. Contrarian is glad to see LQ again and understands Their regret of making things worse for everyone just for the fun of it. (After all, he was guilty of doing the same thing…) But now that he knew that LQ wants to redeem Themself for the terrible things They’ve done, he is determined to help Them do so. Teaming up with the four other voices, Contrarian and his new allies plan to rise up against Savior’s rule and give LQ another chance to save the world.

The Warped Voices - Team Hero

Hero -> Savior: As the leader of the warped voices, he takes it upon himself to carry everyone’s burdens, whether they ask for his help or not. As a result, he is always tired and stressed out. He has complicated feelings towards LQ; he is disappointed in Them but doesn’t outright hate Them. He figures that if LQ won’t make the new world a better place, he’ll have to do just that himself. Thorny branches begin to grow on his body and the more his mental state wavers, the more branches grow on him.

Cold -> Ruthless: Continues to play his role as the “ideal version” of LQ despite becoming a separate entity from Them and achieving what the Narrator had always wanted. He is partnered with Cheated to find LQ and slay Them once and for all. He now wear a veil that hides his face. If one were to remove it, they would see a horrifyingly mutilated face devoid of emotion. Anything he touches become just as frigid and numb as him.

Cheated -> Vindictive: After being screwed over one too many times, he is delighted to finally have the power to control the new world to his liking. He still sees life as a game but plans to keep on winning and let the losers suffer the same pain that he had felt. Anyone who stands a chance against him will be shouted at with his spiteful words. With Cold’s help, he has also learned how to become a skilled fighter and thinks killing LQ would be the ultimate victory.

Stubborn -> Bloodthirsty: Has become restless and furious now that he has no reason to fight in the new world. So he gives himself a purpose by fueling all his hatred forwards LQ and decides that he won’t rest until he is able to kill Them with his own hands. As a result, he becomes just as bloodthirsty, grotesque, and powerful as the Fury. He is considered one of the deadliest fighters of the warped voices, though he prefers to fight alone.

Paranoid -> Hysterical: Is more of a nervous wreck than ever. She always keeps a close eye on the other voices, especially Opportunist, in case they do anything rash and dangerous. Constantly in a state of panic, she can’t afford to trust anyone anymore, not even her fellow voices. The only one she trusts is Hero because he understands her paranoia more than anyone and is always there for her. Because of this, the two have become closer than ever.

Opportunist -> Cutthroat: Believes that staying on the side of the warped voices makes him feel more powerful and likable. And even so, he wants more. Instead of fighting like the other voices, he assigns himself as Hero’s assistant by appealing to him and always agreeing with his decisions. When he overhears that a new group of voices have appeared, he believes he has what it takes to convince them to join the “winning side”.

The ‘New’ Voices - Team LQ

Broken: The first of the ‘new voices’ to be awakened by LQ after They were exiled. Hopeless, small, and fragile, they believe that they are beyond saving and deserve every horrible thing that is being put upon them for committing a sin so great. Despite being unable to do anything, they are always seen with LQ, serving as some sort of comfort for Them. They understand LQ’s misery and wallows with Them, crying about how pathetic they both are.

Hunted: A voice awakened from LQ’s desire to hide and survive from the wrath of the warped voices. Out of the new voices, it is the only one capable of fighting against the warped voices and relies on its pure instinct, heightened senses, and swiftness. Despite this, it is still no match for Stubborn, Cold, and Cheated. It is very protective of its allies and swears to keep them safe at all costs.

Skeptic: A voice awakened by LQ’s self doubt and questions if They can change and make amends. He works alongside Hunted to find the best strategies to help LQ, as well as the other voices, survive and keep Them safe. Despite this, he is somewhat insecure about being unable to fight for himself, since he had been severely beaten up by Stubborn several times. Although he is intelligent and observant, he wishes he could be more useful in dire situations.

Smitten: The last voice awakened by LQ’s reminiscence of the Princess. While the other new voices have no memory of the Princess, Smitten is the only one who remembers her. Wistful but hopeful, He firmly believes that LQ has to keep on living and never lose hope so that They can make things right again, especially for her sake. Though this mindset starts to waver as he learns about the truth behind LQ’s past actions…

Contrarian: One of LQ’s original voices, but after feeling left out by them, he runs away and joins LQ. He still likes to make jokes every now and then, but it only helps in cheering LQ up. Part of him wonders if everything would be so much better without him…while he gets along well with the new voices, he misses Hero and wonders if his close friend is doing well without him. He has no hard feelings towards LQ and feels relieved that they share something in common.

[autisticandroids]

Seeing as you provide every interesting in depth spn analysis I'm probably coming to the wrong person for something so possibly surface level but I'm rewatching spn and would really love something to keep notes on, so is there any interesting phenomena in there you think would be worth keeping an eye on?

i received this, like, a month ago 🥴 sorry. anyway.

so, first of all. i'm flattered but i have also always been a little uncomfortable with the superlatives people attach to my name. the reason people think of me as some kind of spn scholar is a result of four factors, give or take: first, i make a lot of posts. in the year after november fifth i made something like five thousand posts. i know because i tag all my spn posts spn. and a lot of those posts were half a sentence! or an ask i answered with emojis! but it's still a lot of posts. the second reason is that i'm kind of a last man standing. a lot of the big name post-nov fifth destiel fandom crowd has kind of evaporated in search of newer, shinier things; my fascination was more enduring, so i still get the credit. the third reason has to do with like... i have slightly different tastes than the average spn fandom person and so the things i pay attention to are different and so my takes are unique. there were a lot of blogs that were bigger than me that people don't remember as much because their takes were more in line with conventional fanon (and therefore more similar to other people's and less memorable), whereas mine, because i have specific interests and am an incurable contrarian, were more unique and therefore people remembered who i was. fourth, and here we are down to the meat of the issue, i speak very authoritatively and use a lot of big words when i'm excited about something so people think i'm right.

i guess what i'm saying is don't take me so seriously.

now that my narcissism is out of the way, let's talk about themes in supernatural.

first of all, the thing about supernatural is that it has three hundred and twenty seven episodes organized into fifteen seasons, written by fifty three different writers supervised by four different showrunners and that's just the writing! that doesn't even mention directing, or acting, or producing... personally i like to say that i can feel when the story editor changes! so there really is... almost nothing you can get out of the whole show as a text that isn't incredibly broad and/or vague and/or boring. "they say family a lot" yeah they sure do. "it's a reactionary macho fantasy" like every other show from 2005. "they kill all the women" mmmmhm. like, basically every consistent element of spn as a story is a result of either classic genre cliches from the scifi or procedural or teenie bopper genres, very basic conclusions from the premise, or just the material nature of the behind the scenes of supernatural. they're going on a case instead of working on the main apocalypse of the season because this is a monster of the week show. cas has gone away again because they don't want to pay misha collins. quiet emotional scenes get dropped from the script because they don't serve the plot. and while there's some interesting things you can get out of these elements - one piece of analysis i've been thinking about a lot lately is this video about the mcu that argues that the classic serialized storytelling logic of constant escalation leads inherently to a fascist politics, and i think this point applies very well to supernatural - it only goes so far. it's interesting if you want to look at how the show exists in the wider politics of the real world. it's not that interesting if you want to sit with the show supernatural in its particular uniqueness.

so basically my recommendation, first of all, is to divide the show up into chunks. there are some obvious chunks - by season, by showrunner. most people do these. i would also recommend other methods, for example tying together some adjacent seasons. for example, even though season eleven is technically carver era and season twelve is technically dabb era, i would argue that seasons eleven and twelve have more in common in terms of tone and style than eleven has with 8/9/10 or twelve has with 13/14/15. seasons four, five, and six have a lot in common in terms of tone and themes that they don't share with seven or the first three. i would also recommend paying attention to the individual writers; their bodies of work will usually have more in common with themselves than with the episodes around them in terms of character, tone, and theme. for example, in season six, ben edlund creates a whole other arc about the angel civil war that he wants the season to have that exists only in his episodes, and none of the other writers really pick up what he's putting down so he's kind of left hanging. you can see all sorts of patterns like this if you sit down and look, and i would recommend doing that. maybe you can be the first guy to memorize all the directors and have Thoughts.

and then the next thing i would say is just... pick some themes you want to iterate on. so for example: one of my favorite themes to contemplate is a theme that season six almost has - dean believing that it is his job to protect ben and lisa, which justifies anything he might want to do to them, or anyone else.

----

man everything above that line is an ask i half answered then forgot about in july of 2023. i NEED to check my drafts more often

[mktrashheap]

Hi, well I was wondering if you could do a headcanon of what it would be like to propose to a male reader, the Lin Kuei trio and maybe Shang Tsung...?

A/n: I'm still alive, but is life busy lmao miss y'all hope I got Shang Tsung right

Bi-Han:

I'll be a contrarian here and say: this man would have no problem proposing.

If you guys got serious enough that marrying is on the table, he'll be very straightforward with it.

He is a man that know what he wants and puts effort into it. When he comes to the conclusion he wants to marry you, he'll waste no time.

He is, however, quite blunt. To put it mildly.

His proposal is the least romantic of the bunch. It's not that he doesn't care, it's just how he is.

When you say yes (bc why tf would you not???) he's the happiest you've seen.

He has a rare smile and a much kinder expression. He is truly happy.

And cocky. A lot.

Bi-Han is an arrogant man. An arrogant man who is going to marry the man he has chosen and has chosen him back. He's insufferable.

Already has a future planned for the two of you.

Kuai Liang:

My man literally jumped into marriage in lighting speed tf lol

But honestly, like his older brother, Kuai Liang won't take too long to figure out if that's what he wants.

Maybe he jumped into the relationship already knowing? Who knows...

I'll be a contrarian again and say that his proposal looks a lot like Bi-Han's.

Kuai Liang isn't as blunt as Bi-Han is, but he isn't stereotypically romantic either.

It's an intimate moment for him. Just him and the man he loves.

When you say yes (he's a keeper) it's like he lights up like a Christmas tree.

He is happy, his cute face looks better with a smile than the usual frown.

Quite possibly, you won't get him off of you for the next few hours.

He isn't as boastful as his brother, but he's feeling himself just as much. He's marrying a worthy man and he wants to make sure everyone knows it.

Tomáš:

Between the three, he's the one that took the longest to propose.

It's not for a lack of love, by the gods no. But he is someone that is way to used to losing people he loves. His life is unstable and unpredictable, there's a part of him that keeps saying he'll lose the man he loves as well. Why wouldn't he? He can never keep things.

He gets in on his head for quite a while before proposing. His thoughts go everywhere.

But he will come to terms with it and take the chance.

When he does, his proposal is heartfelt. He puts everything he feels about you in the best way he can and what he may lack in romance, he makes up in depth.

It's a vulnerable moment for him. He's putting everything on the table for you to chose and he's scared. Scared to be turned down and scared something will take you from him as well.

When you say yes (he deserves all the love) it's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He loves you and you love him as well, he wants to live this.

He's a proud individual. He has come a long way and is daring. That to say everyone will know about it. He won't shut up about you. He likes to talk and he's beyond happy.

He's never going to share private subjects, but he sees no point in hiding the marriage. He knows he has many enemies and is very aware they may want to get between the two of you, but he leaves extremely clear he will have none of it.

Shang Tsung:

Where do I begin? Whatever the hell you did to have that man wanting to marry deserves an award.

He has been going for a long time fooling and backstabbing people, he may have thought about doing the same to you many times over, but whatever reason, he never did.

He isn't a stranger to temporary alliances, it's what he has been doing his whole life. But he found himself wanting to keep you.

What a curse. His very heart playing a trick on him.

He takes long before proposing. It takes him long to figure out what he feels is love and not just lust or convenience, not that those two aren't good as well.

When he does know what it is, he takes just as long to calculate the outcomes of it.

How would that impact his plans? How is he going about it? Who should know, if anyone? Do you love him? Truly?

He gets distant from you because he needs the time to think things through.

As for the proposal. I think that would be a quiet thing.

He does make it feel unique, he simply is fancy like that, but it's quiet and close, just the two of you. It's simple, but carefully thought out.

He's been lying for so long for so many people, it's difficult to be any different, but he tries.

He hates how it makes him feel vulnerable, like he was helpless once again.

Surely he could concoct some magic to guarantee your acceptance and he might if you decline him, but he decided to take the risk first.

When you say yes (oh boy, you better) you'll see a beautiful, honest smile on Shang Tsung's face, probably the first one after years.

He can't help his smile, he doesn't want to. He's in loved and he's been accepted by the man he loves. He feels on top of the world.

The rest of the day or night is solely for the two of you. You accepted to tie yourself to the snake, good luck taking him off of you.

He feels like an idiot. He could have saved himself so much anxiety and time if he came around it sooner, but at the same time, he wants to enjoy the moment.

He'll keep the marriage a secret for the time. He isn't ashamed, but he doesn't want anyone to know about it before he's in a position of power. Not even his allies will know before the time he decides to let them know.

Man, you're going to live like a god if he has his way. Shang Tsung has big plans for the both of you.

[cuckaracha]

Ohhh please give Ace opinions. I love seeing people yap about Ace

With pleasure ^_^!

V spoilers talk! V

Most of my opinions were revealed to be sort of true on the last episode so it wouldn't surprise me if this is one-to-one what everyone believes now: Ace to me seems like an extremely love starved person, like, its so painfully obvious that he's faced some sort of neglect in his life. So much so to the point that he keeps himself guarded all the time to avoid falling for the trap of liking someone and then they immediately turn on him. Hence what he said to Levi during the trial. Ace is feels too much. He's well aware of his surroundings and how shitty he acts, but if he doesn't feel anger or fear, the loneliness kicks in. It's a toxic cycle of self-hatred, low self-esteem and cynicism. Though I do believe that it's mostly the situation making his bad habits shine more brightly, because during the prologue/chapter1, Ace is kind of just a bratty jock. He cracks jokes, he hangs out with everyone and he seems to not be plagued as much by his fear unless you breach the topic.

Hence why I personally think that there's no other person like Levi to be used as foil for him. Regardless of how you think on their relationship, be it romantic or platonic or whatever, it's nothing new that their attitudes clash so much, it comes back around to them covering each other's weakness very well. A little guy that feels to much and is scared of giving out of fear of being hurt, and a big guy that feels too little that gives to others out of necessity. So when taken to their natural extreme, they would very obviously have problems, specially under the circumstances that they're both in. Ace, tragically believing the one thing he knew he shouldn't have, and Levi hopelessly attempting to fix what he inadvertently broke. It's peak toxic yaoi imo.

(which also, at least in my opinion, makes Levi the one true Ace lover. None of the other boys have as much of their nuance intrinsically mangle with Ace's as him. But again, that's just me. Ship this little freak with however boy you want. Fuck it. Make him a slut even.)

The other thing that has popped in my mind a lot is his family situation. I know with my take of his family, he's like a middle child or whatever, but that was just me wanting to be contrarian to the obvious, more solid interpretation of Ace being the eldest of the 9 brothers. Because when you think about, him being forced into jockeying by his family to maintain them economically makes sense. He hates it, but if he doesn't do it, he'll be the loser everyone knows him to be. He'd be disposed of by his family, believing that they only care about him for his talent and the money that comes from it. And if he doesn't do it, the job might fall to one of his younger siblings. Something he can't morally do. Because as much of a stupid little shithead as he is, he's not an idiot. Ace knows what's right and what's wrong. He understands the cruelty of the world to an extent. And as such. He's forced into being the breadmaker for his big ass family until the day he either retires or dies.

All this to say. I love Ace Markey. He's such a silly little goofball full of depression and anxiety that is one fart away from going insane. Like I haven't even touched on my thoughts on Taylor (which I also got right on my earlier theory) and how that affects the Ace economy. I relate so much to this guy it's fucking unreal. I don't think I've ever hyperfixated on a character this much. Like. So much so that I even got a fucking custom plushie made out of him and am constantly drawing him.

Anyways thanks for listening to my old man ramble, have an Ace my friend Fennex made.

[cruyuu]

Somehow I don't think sukuna is dead, yeah I may be coping, but is yuji story going to end with no sukuna? It started with THEM. Also no, call me contrarian but I don't want Yuji reduced to discount Naruto trio memes (I liked Yuji and choso more or Todo) without knowing his origins, but this chapter teased at ANOTHER flashback with Gojo (sigh) explaining Yuji's origins (but with gojo on screen who cares about soul uncle or mom bonding with yuji)

I also believe so, anon, hence why I am hoping harder than ever (even if it seems bleak) and want to believe that Sukuna will come back precisely because Yuuji (the one who was supposed to hate him and yet doesn't) wants him to. There's also the fact that they're supposed to be different than everyone else (hence why they were put as the center of the story) and why they deserve better and also deserve to give proper closure to all those themes and tie up the story properly.

Out of all relationships in this goddamn manga, the only one which doesn't change (even if it should, even if the plot is about them) is theirs. Therefore it'll be fitting for the story to focus on them more so than give jjk a typical shonen ending where he gets to be happy about rescuing his friends and in turn make that talk of roles and him still loving and asking for Sukuna back despite everything a straight up lie. It feels like the start of the manga again, except Yuuji never swallowed that finger and I don't want that really, not when Yuuji chose to bring Sukuna back despite Megumi's warnings.

I don't want Yuuji's wishes (or for that matter, who he is as a character) to go unheard or for him to get character assassinated in favor of a happy ending so the casual shonen consumers could be happy, especially not when it's the first time he had done something which was so unlike what the fandom thinks of him and that is wanting his enemy to survive. While everyone was saying that Yuuji despises Sukuna, in the end, that was a lie. The truth was a total opposite. Yuuji couldn't connect with anyone as well as he had connected with him. Why do you think he goes to cradle Sukuna and still insist on his answer instead of going after Fushiguro to see if he was alright? That tells you everything you need to know about who he is.

And that's why I believe Sukuna should come back. Proper closure would be them living despite the odds, them overcoming destiny (that they're forced to kill each other) and that Kenjaku's words are, again, just lies (just like how he really wanted the Merger yet in the end found more happiness in fighting Takaba and dying).