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

[minetteskvareninova]

I am not on Bluesky and you cannot make me join, but if there was anything that could make me do it, it would be seeing this contrarian bullshit while procrastinating from studying on my Early Modern History exams. Because someone needs to give these historically illiterate morons a reality check.

Listen. I don't *like* Middle Ages. I don't vibe with their art, philosophy, politics, anything. But they existed. They brought something of value to the world. Over the course of the Middle Ages, Europe experienced important societal developments. Without these developments, renaissance literally wouldn't happen. Renaissance was in many ways (art, philosophy, science) a continuation of the Middle Ages, in that there really isn't hard cut between Late Medieval period and the renaissance. In other ways, it was exactly like the Middle Ages AND WORSE. The panic over witchcraft reached its zenith in the 16th and the first half of the 17th century. Lots of unscientific bullshit about medicine, alchemy etc. was still going strong well into the 17th century. In fact, 17th century really was the worst, I'd just despise it with all my heart if it wasn't for a few bright spots like baroque architecture, beginnings of the scientific revolution and the like. And are you seriously calling out medieval Europeans for their silly religious beliefs and tendency for violence when renaissance was THE era of bullshit religious conflicts?! Like, my man! Thirty Years wasn't a medieval thing! Even the thing about "going to war with your cousin" - THAT'S LITERALLY WAR OF SPANISH SUCCESSION WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT

I am not even going to talk about the 16th and 17th century on other continents, because in the Americas it was the era of LITERAL APOCALYPSE. Like how can you talk about any progress when that part of the world saw a brutality that would make the crusaders blush.

It sucks that Early Modern Era still effectively doesn't exist in the popular imagination. Its best parts are subsumed into "renaissance" and "enlightenment". Its worst parts are grouped in with the Middle Ages - not the least because they didn't actually improve that much, and in fact got worse a lot of the time. But you cannot celebrate the art of Da Vinci and just ignore the atmosphere of constant warfare between petty duchies it was born in. That's not how historical eras work. In fact, historical eras aren't really discreet categories with a clear cutoff point, but more like approximate divisions of a continuum. There is very little that separates the art of 1599 from 1600, but by 1650, you do kinda start seeing the difference.

Also! I know I keep repeating this, but Middle Ages didn't suck equally throughout their entirety. "Dark Ages" were the Early Medieval Era, which itself was a several centuries long period by most estimates. High Middle Ages were mostly as good as the Middle Ages got, you get gothic architecture, invention of universities, scholastic philosophy, the works. 14th century is when the things really start to suck again, Black Plague comes, you get wars and peasant rebellions, yada yada. But you also get the earliest "renaissance" art, so if you like that style, you can't disavow the Middle Ages entirely. And the 15th century is also mostly bad, except that one is when the renaissance and humanism period begins in earnest, so.

[fyrefrostanimus]

Things Contrarian has been banned from in the AU

I really need a new name for this AU, my original name for it was "After The End" which for some reason doesn't sit right with me

Flock Piles. Connie can't initiate a flock pile since he always chose to start jumping others at the most inconvenient times. The last straw was giving Paranoid a panic attack by flock piling him with zero warning.

"The Death Spiral" Indoors. Connie asks Stubborn to grab him by the wrists and spin him around, then throw him as fast as possible. Which is pretty damn fast with Connie being small and light, Stubborn being much bigger than him (and almost everyone else), and of course stronger by far. So he hits the wall really hard and sometimes smashes through a window. The property damage made everyone else force them to take it outside.

Tampering with Cheated's cards. Opportunist has been caught cheating enough times already, but there's been a good amount of times where he has nearly gotten a legit win. One incident that almost got him banned from playing card games was something he didn't even actually do: Connie thought it would be funny to sneak a couple cards taped to the inside of Oppy's sleeve, and Cheated noticed the missing cards. The two pieces of evidence that pointed to Oppy not having put them there was that they were taped there (would make an audible sound when removed and therefore bad for cheating), and that they were on the wrong fucking arm (Idk I just feel like Contrarian is the only left-handed guy).

"The Death Spiral" Outdoors. No longer bound by walls, Connie now wants to be thrown as far as physically possible. And, again, that is FAR. This was alright with everyone since he always managed to return but it was eventually found that he had no memory of actually getting home. Meaning someone was actively bringing him back each time and he was NOT getting home on his own.

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION: BODY HAIR, BHAALIST DU DROW, BLOOD INQUIRIES, THE MAN'S DICK AND HOBBIES.

Answering more asks! As always, I want to apologize for not being able to get to everyone - literally nobody has ever complained about it, but I still feel bad 😅I appreciate everyone's questions and sweet messages all the same, and even if your ask isn't here I hope you can be entertained by the other replies!

Anon I feel terrible about having to say this because I can tell you were hoping for a specific answer here, plus doing your very best to sell your pitch to me -

But DU drow hates body hair.

I'm not making this up in the spot just to be a contrarian, this is one of various unimportant character details that have come up already at some point or another, for whatever reason. It is no coincidence that many of the characters he finds unattractive do have visible body hair, like Gale and Halsin whose hairy toes he dreads the sight of.

I refuse to believe that elves are truly dolphin-smooth as that would be an absolute biological nightmare, so both him and Astarion have a normal amount of peach-fuzz all over. Otherwise, DU drow finds the sight of anything longer/coarser than that unseemly, and the feeling unpleasant; it is simply what he grew up with and hence what he's used to. In this respect, he wants people who take after his own image.

As with most things, he could forgive it if he were in love with someone - assuming you don't mind the occasional joke about it. And unfortunately I think something as significant as Halsin's case would be too off-putting for him to ever give them a chance. A Shadowheart situation, on the other hand, he could grow to like.

I believe there's some sources that imply bhaal-corrupted(?) blood should taste a particular way, leaning towards the unpleasant. People can make up whatever headcanons they want with that information, BUT since I spent over half of this game supplying the guy with the stuff and he seemed all too pleased about it, I choose to assume it's not that bad.

I think there would be something... Lively about it? Fairly normal taste but it leaves a tingle on his tongue, like it squirms on its way out and dies in his mouth moments before it can hit the throat. Very salty, but it could just be his skin.

[FAR, FAR MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Bhaalist DU drow likes both cats and dogs just fine (again, he considers the animal kingdom to be it's own thing and hence removed from his fate to butcher humanity) and you wouldn't be wrong to assume he has a thing for dogs in that AU because of their unconditionally loving and loyal nature, however Bhaalist DU drow is still very much a cat person. He likes their independence, their little attitudes, their self-sufficiency, plus the fact that they keep the rat population in check inside the temple. He finds those qualities admirable, respectable, perhaps he would even find them desirable in a partner if, unlike he cats, he wasn't so opposed to them roaming free.

In-game DU drow succeeded the check required to spot Astarion before he could jump him - so yes, just not the version where they end up rolling awkward around the sand for 2 minutes, LOL.

He's semi aware of it, or at least he becomes aware whenever Astarion's mask slips. When Astarion is putting on a good performance, DU drow wholeheartedly believes it. Also, It's worth noting that Astarion does manage to have fun occasionally, and have periods of... Superficial happiness? They just so happen to be unfulfilling, and don't make up for all the other pitfalls of his situation when they inevitably come crashing back. He's also great at tricking himself into thinking this is a good time.

Bhaalist DU drow makes vague attempts at "making things better" whenever he catches him in a mood, usually through physical affection or lavish gifts. That works well enough the first year I think, before everything kind of loses its luster. After that, DU drow just gets it into his head that Astarion "doesn't understand what he must do to succeed and keep him safe".

This is a VERY interesting observation and... Maybe? Especially early in the relationship, DU drow finds Astarion's quasi-predatorial behavior very attractive, but only AFTER he notices his vampirism. I think this outlook of the character contextualizes Astarion's condition in a way that he can immediately understand and simpathize with, even if DU drow doesn't know much about vampires themselves. Of course, this is specific to Astarion - he does not extend this grace to the rest of his kind.

I'll be thinking about this one!

I don't know the video in question but from your description I think they would both be VERY confused, LOL.

HMM, I think that might actually depend on a lot of things! Assuming the woman (or just the other partner) in the relationship isn't a drow, and exactly what KIND of devotion we're talking about (is the drow pro-active? Protective? Does he put his neck on the line for this relationship with pride? Does he seem strong and capable and like he doesn't rely on his partner?) he might see enough of himself in him that they could actually get along. This is similar to how DU drow immediately took a liking to Aylin even though she's this moon-goddess child and a supposed beacon of justice.

The quickest way to get on DU drow's good side is to be the idealized version of what he believes himself to be. Oh, and not get in his way.

If they're both drow it's kind of hopeless though, yeah LOL.

Planning on it!!

DU drow never slept with Haarlep! He only took his clothes off and then attacked him full in the nude.

...I'm not sure how to justify that in the lore, but it's exactly what I did and it's too funny to take it back, LOL

I think Astarion was just kind of baffled by what transpired until DU drow turned to while hopping around pulling his pants back on and asked if he enjoyed the show, then he remembered he just loves finding any excuse to take his clothes off.

That's a lovely compliment, I definitely go for a very "organic" look so I genuinely appreciate it. Thank you!

Thank you!!! A lot has actually been said about Gortash in my #enver gortash tag, if you'd like to get all the gritty details. Suffice to say that they had a very odd but significant friendship.

DU drow is the kind of person who shoots awake as soon as the sun starts gracing the sky, but he tends to do whatever he has to do and then go back to bed right after, and stay there at least a bit past noon. He did this both in his bhaalist days and in Astarion's company, though the amount of time he spends asleep during the day definitely increases because of the vamp, especially over time!

So, the urethra in a penis is located pretty much on the underside of the shaft, so the wound actually does not reach it! As far as functions go - peeing and ejaculating - it comes out of the tip's opening as normal. When he first caused the wound it probably did puncture the urethra, but that would have closed up over time. What you see is the injury many years after the fact, after all.

So the implications are pretty minor. Aesthetically, his foreskin hangs a bit weirdly when he's soft (like a tiny little penis curtain) and has more give than usual. Functionally, he has spots within the scarred up injury that are either numb or overly sensitive. Also, you can kind of see the dickhead notch through his underwear which is fun.

Otherwise, that is pretty much it! No worries about the nature of the question I've gotten worse, LOL. Thank you for your kind words as well!

I think he used to write in his bhaalist days - very, very occasionally mind you - like if you scoured the temple you would find a dozen or so ripped up pieces of paper with little short poems on them, written in a very sharp and carefree hand. Anywhere from 3 to 10 lines per-poem, usually less than more. The sentences are descriptive of actions, never feelings or thoughts, but they don't ever seem literal.

Back in those days, he also went to the theater every other year.

Post-tadpole, he ends up dabbling in carpentry, leather-work, and enjoys listening for musical numbers taking place in taverns and inns to go to and watch. He eventually starts pulling Astarion into little slow dances when that happens. I think he might end up writing again someday, but not for many, many years.

[writingdevil]

Clinging to the Nest (STP) (PT.1)

(I'd like to dedicate this fic to @flowersandmiel and this post for nudging me to make this little Oppy hurt comfort piece. It's people like you that keep me insane about that little rat and make me love him even more. So I hope you all enjoy!)

(Warning-Injuries (broken bones), violence)

(Part One of Two)

Opportunist loved to be busy, to be working hard at something that would make the flock happy. There were a lot of things Opportunist could do- he could help Smitten gather ingredients for dinner, he could help spot Stubborn while he was working out, and he's even offered to join Hunted while he was doing his patrols around the house.

It made Opportunist feel good to do these things for the others, to give them his service whenever they struggled, so that they could all work in harmony, because they were all valued for their skills and considered useful. Especially Opportunist.

It's definitely not because Opportunist worries about his place in the flock. What would Opportunist have to fear, when there was clearly no need for someone who's skills specialised in backstabbing and lying? He could still be useful!

Like today-Opportunist was being extremely helpful to the flock.

They had decided that they needed more space, because their current garden for farming was becoming too small, so they needed to build a bigger one.

They didn't want to build the garden too far away, but with the woods surrounding almost every corner of their home and their current garden taking up the one patch of empty land , there weren't many options.

So they decided to make room.

There was a cluster of boulders next to their house, and Stubborn had the bright idea to simply just move the boulders aside- by throwing them.

One group, consisting of Hero, Skeptic, Cold and Stubborn, were in charge of the boulders and making sure that Stubborn didn't hurt himself in the throwing process. Well, Hero and Skeptic were in charge of that. Cold just wanted to see what happened.

Unfortunately, Opportunist knew that he would be of no use to that group, but he could do other chores around the house now that others were more preoccupied.

He and a few others decided to get everything ready for when the new patch of land was ready to be used for gardening-particularly Smitten.

"Oh, I cannot wait!" Smitten exclaimed happily, gazing ahead at how Stubborn picked up a boulder with a grunt, and then tossed it far into the distance.

"What do you think we should plant when the garden is ready?" Smitten asked them, but before someone could even open their mouths, he was already off babbling again.

"Should we make a pumpkin patch?" Smitten asked excitedly, giving Cheated an intense look while holding a bag of seeds to his chest.

Cheated just smiled nervously at Smitten's expression and nodded without saying a word, and that was enough for Smitten, who started to pace around outside their house, going on and on about the new garden.

"I've always wanted to try and grow watermelons, and now we'll finally have the space!"

Contrarian, who had been resting on the grass, chuckled at Smitten's enthusiasm. "You're really that excited about mud and leaves?"

Smitten gasped dramatically as he spun around to face Contrarian. "Of course I am! Now we can grow and nurture even more beautiful creations! Does the thought of bringing something to life with your bare hands not spur you with love and excitement?"

Contrarian shrugged, and Opportunist winced at how Smitten deflated at that response.

Contrarian then shot to his feet, stretching his arms out with a loud and satisfied whine. His eyes were immediately drawn to the bag in Smitten's hands, and he asked, "What ones are in there?"

"These?" Smitten said, looking down at the bag, and then handing it to Contrarian which Opportunist knew was a terrible idea.

"These are just carrot seeds, my dear," Smitten answered as Contrarian took the bag.

But the second Contrarian heard that, he made a loud gagging sound, sticking his tongue out and all. "Ugh! I hate carrots!"

"Are you a fledgling?" Cheated snapped at him with a scowl. "Are you that childish that you won't even eat vegetables?"

Contrarian started to toss the bag between his hands, and Opportunist saw the way Smitten looked at it in worry.

"Not all vegetables. I like tomatoes-they're good for throwing."

"Tomatoes are actually fruit, you know" Smitten piped up, but deflated once he realised that neither one of them were listening to him.

"About that- stop throwing shit at people! You'll hurt someone!" Cheated snapped, and Contrarian rolled his eyes, his tossing getting longer in length.

"It's not like I'm throwing rocks at anyone," Contrarian argued, "and besides, it's funny to see people's reactions- like this!"

Then Contrarian grinned cheekily as he pulled his arm back, and then threw the bag of carrots straight up into the air, coincidentally lining up exactly for when Stubborn grunted as he threw another boulder.

Contrarian giggled, until he realised that the bag was actually going way farther than he thought, and then his laughter died completely.

Cheated immediately launched into a rage, lashing at Contrarian and defending Smitten at the same time, but neither moved to actually retrieve the bag.

Opportunist, on the other hand, took one look at Smitten's downcast eyes, and sighed.

"Don't worry! I'll get the bag back," Opportunist reassured them all with a confident grin, spreading his wings wide and hitting Cheated in the face.

Smitten's face perked up instantly as Opportunist's feet began to leave the ground. "You would do that for me, friend?"

"Of course," Opportunist said, shooting Smitten his most caring smile that he could muster. "Don't you worry a pretty little feather on your pretty little head. I'll get your precious seeds back in no time."

With that, Opportunist swiftly launched himself into the air.

Opportunist took a moment to just enjoy the feeling of the wind against his feathers, before he quickly got to work, flying in the direction that Contrarian threw the bag.

It was relatively easy to find the bag-it being a spot of dark brown amongst all the rich green. He swooped low, snatching the bag up and then gliding back up and around to the others.

He held the bag up victoriously, soaking in the cheers that Smitten let out for him. He took a moment to just stay like that, letting the feeling of pride and warmth flow through him.

Opportunist was needed here, which meant that he was wanted here.

He decided to show off, doing a few impressive spins in the air which both Smitten and Contrarian cheered at- and that Cheated was rolling his eyes at, most likely.

Opportunist chuckled to himself, thinking of what other flying tricks he knew- when Smitten's cheers suddenly turned into terrified screaming, waving at him in a panic, and even Cheated and Contrarian started to yell for him.

Opportunist wasn't sure what was going on, but he wasn't left in confusion for long, as he turned around just in time when he heard something approach him.

He twisted around, and was immediately met with a boulder slamming into him, pain exploding all over his body as he rapidly approached the ground.

The last thing Opportunist heard was a blood-curdling, "OPPY!" before everything soon went dark.

-

Opportunist groaned, waking up to aching pain and a spinning head. He was laying on something soft, but it was hard to feel comfortable with how stiff his body felt, like his limbs had been tangled into an uncomfortable knot and they hadn't moved in hours.

It took a few minutes- or it felt like a few minutes- but Opportunist eventually managed to open his heavy eyelids, blinking furiously as the room blurred around him, and all he could make out was a dark figure in the room with him.

He groaned again, letting his head fall back into something soft- pillows, he assumed. He then felt a hand grip his, and Opportunist was filled with relief at the fact that he wasn't alone right now, that someone was here by his side.

Slowly but surely, Opportunist came back to reality, taking deep, steady breaths in, squeezing the hand to ground himself to this moment.

Finally, Opportunist felt awake enough to attempt opening his eyes again, and when he lifted his head, the room didn't immediately spin wildly for him.

He was in his bedroom, but it looked like a tornado had gone through it, drawers flung open and blankets either half hanging out or scattered at the bottom of his bed.

Opportunist would normally be horrified at the fact that someone had gone through his room, if it weren't for Hero sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him.

As soon as their eyes met, Hero released a shaky breath of relief, giving him such a soft look that Opportunist wasn't used to.

He gripped Opportunist's hand tight, as if he'd disappear if he let go, and even put his other hand on top for good measure.

"Thank goodness you're awake, Oppy," Hero said, small remnants of fear in his voice. He scooted closer to Opportunist, smiling down at him in a way that made Opportunist's chest feel warm. "I was so afraid we'd lost you. You've been out for days."

"Days?" Opportunist whispered, voice hoarse and leaving his throat with a sting. Hero saw this, and had a glass of water in front of him in the blink of an eye.

Opportunist tried to lift his right arm to accept the glass- but he couldn't.

Opportunist made a noise of confusion, trying to sit up and move his body, but that was when his body reminded him of the pain he was in, and he tried his best not to let the pain show on his face, but he obviously wasn't in the best shape right now to achieve that.

Hero quickly set the glass down, cooing at him softly as he helped Opportunist sit up. "Hey, hey, take it easy, mate. You're okay, you're gonna be okay."

Opportunist shouldn't have relaxed at those words. He should've tried to show Hero that he was completely fine and not freaking out, but his brain was still too muddled to do anything but let Hero sit him up on his bed.

His body ached with the movement, but he tried to keep in any noises of discomfort from Hero, but he was probably failing in that regard, judging by the way Hero whispered reassurances to him and handled him so delicately.

Once he was sitting him up properly, Opportunist sighed, already feeling exhausted just from that, and he finally took that moment to look down at himself.

He blinked, but the wrappings around his left foot didn't go away.

It was at that moment that Opportunist realised that he couldn't really feel much from his left foot, other than a faint ache and a tingling sensation. He tried wiggling his toes, but the wrappings were so tight that it didn't leave much room for movement.

He then looked down at himself, noticing some bandages wrapped around his sides, but the main thing that Opportunist was concerned about was the handmade sling around his right arm, and that same soreness as in his foot.

He felt his breathing begin to pick up, but before he could spiral and panic, Hero leaned forward and rubbed his back, and Opportunist hated how much that worked.

"I know it looks bad, but you're gonna be just fine. I promise you."

"What happened?" Opportunist whispered, not able to take his eyes off his broken body.

Hero sighed in irritation, but his hold on Opportunist remained soft and firm. "You got hit with one of the boulders."

"What?" Opportunist blurted out, his body trying to lean forward in shock, but Hero's hands kept him in place.

Hero shook his head in annoyance as he said, "It was this dumb bet that Stubborn made with Cold. Cold wanted to see how far Stubborn could throw the boulders, but when that wasn't entertaining him anymore, Stubborn thought it meant Cold wasn't impressed with his strength or something. So he decided to do a little trick for us. He bet that he could throw one of the boulders straight over our house."

Hero sighed. "He didn't even notice you were in the air when he threw it."

Opportunist got hit with a boulder? Well, it definitely felt like it, but still- it was hard to process.

He tried to smile, to let Hero know that everything was okay and that he was absolutely not freaking out- but then he felt a small sting on his cheek, and Hero gave him a small smile, cupping said cheek with his hand, making Opportunist freeze.

He didn't know why he froze. It was just Hero being concerned for him. Hero was like that with everybody, it shouldn't have made Opportunist crave his warmth and touch, especially when he hasn't done anything to deserve it right now.

"Both your arm and foot are broken, and you've got a few cuts here and there as well, but Paranoid and Hunted say that you'll be better in a few weeks, maybe a month or two."

"A month or two?" Opportunist blurted out in shock, and Hero winced in sympathy and nodded.

Okay-okay-this was fine. This was completely manageable. Opportunist's gone through worse. He can handle some broken bones- that won't stop Opportunist from doing his part and proving his worth to to the flock. If anything, living with these injuries will make him seem even more useful to the others.

He chuckled, if only to get rid of the nerves in his chest, and he tried to distract himself by reaching for the glass of water, but his body immediately screamed in protest at the tiny movement.

Hero was instantly up and moving as Opportunist accidentally let a whimper out, reaching over to grab the glass himself, but instead of just handing it to Opportunist, Hero lifted the glass up to his lips with a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, Oppy- we'll take care of you. You won't have to do anything while you're recovering, so just relax, yeah?"

Hero was smiling as he helped him take a drink of water-but the only thing that Opportunist was feeling in that moment was horror.

Opportunist couldn't do anything for himself now. He couldn't work or help out or do anything to show that he was useful to the flock now.

If Opportunist couldn't prove that he was worth keeping, then what was the point of him being here?

-

An hour or two later, Opportunist was greeted with Paranoid and Hunted coming into his room, worry evident in both of their eyes.

He tried to flash them a confident smile, ignoring how that only made the cut on his cheek hurt more. "Hello, gentlemen!" he greeted cheerfully, but they both clearly had a mission on their minds, giving Opportunist nothing more than a nod and a mumble of a hello in return.

Opportunist had a fairly good idea of what they were here to do. He knew it would be better to just play along.

"How has your day been?" he asked them, watching as Hunted lingered near the end of the bed, while Paranoid walked up to him.

He met Paranoid's gaze, who just gave him the most scathing look he's ever seen. His eyes scanned up and down Opportunist's body with a clinical edge, and Opportunist fought the urge to squirm on the spot.

Paranoid then sat near him on the bed, his attention on the various cuts around his body. "My day," Paranoid slowly said, an underlying tone of anxious frustration to be heard, "started with watching one of my flockmates almost get crushed by a rock."

Paranoid shot him a glare, before taking out a roll of bandages, and Opportunist struggled to keep the smile on his face.

"I need to change the bandages for your cuts," Paranoid explained, and Opportunist just gave him a nod as if he had any say in the matter.

He distracted himself by looking over at Hunted, who's attention was on Opportunist's foot, while holding a pillow to his chest.

Opportunist quickly connected the dots and flashed Hunted a smile that he hoped reassured the other, trying to lift his injured foot up. "Let me help you there-"

But he suddenly hissed in pain as his foot throbbed in protest, and Paranoid sat up with a scowl, putting his hands firmly on his shoulders to stop him from moving too much.

"Stop moving, you idiot!" Paranoid hissed at him, and he felt a gentle hand around his ankle, softly rubbing it up and down, and Opportunist hated that it worked.

While Opportunist waited for the pain to die down, Hunted was quick to carefully rest his foot on the pillow, while Paranoid kept one hand on his shoulder and the other to start unwrapping the bandages.

He felt Hunted's alert eyes on him, and he tried to laugh all of their worries off, trying to ignore any lingering pain.

"I'll be fine, you guys! You don't have to worry so much." He felt Paranoid's hand squeeze his shoulder in annoyance at his wording, but he just continued, "You saw what happened. I got hit by a boulder and I'm still basically in one piece, only some minor injuries to be had. If you ask me, I'd say that just means I'm that sturdy. I could probably endure anything that the flock faces-"

"You were lucky."

Opportunist froze, eyes staring at Hunted in confusion. "W-What?"

"You were lucky, not sturdy," Hunted corrected, keeping a protective hand atop his foot. "If you hadn't turned around when you did, you might not be here right now. Your spine would have snapped in half most likely-not to mention that it would've destroyed your wings beyond repair."

Opportunist suddenly looked down at his wings, trying and failing to imagine a world where he didn't have his wings to flaunt, or to make him look good in front of others. Could that have actually happened to him?

He felt a reassuring pat on his foot, and when he looked up again, Hunted gave him another pat with a nod. "But don't worry," he said. "We won't take that luck for granted."

Paranoid spoke up then, almost finished changing his wrappings, "We're gonna make sure that you heal all in one piece," he promised, and Opportunist believed that that was the nicest thing Paranoid has ever said to him.

But then he continued with, "For once, you don't have to do anything to get us to help you. You just get to sit back and let us do all the work."

That- didn't sit right with Opportunist. The longer he did nothing, the sooner everyone would realise that they didn't need him at all.

Surely they'd understand that, in time? Opportunist couldn't afford to let himself relax, not when his position in the flock was on the line. What if the others started thinking that Opportunist isn't actually that important, or that they don't want a repeat of this incident, or that Opportunist was weak for letting this happen to him?

So many possibilities for how this could go, and Opportunist couldn't even attempt to play the game in his favour. He had to just let his worries fester in his head while Hunted and Paranoid tended to him like a helpless fledgling.

-

One of the things that Opportunist hadn't been prepared for while being bedridden, was how incredibly bored he would be.

Over the past few days, Opportunist has done nothing but sit and stare at the door, waiting for someone to walk in and talk to.

Hero checked in on him every morning, but Opportunist tried to keep their chats short because Hero kept giving him soft and sympathetic looks, offering to help him into more comfortable positions with a gentle touch that made Opportunist tense up.

He didn't like how nice Hero was being, especially when all Opportunist was doing was taking up Hero's day.

Hunted and Paranoid saw him everyday as well, and Opportunist always tried to convince them that his pain wasn't that bad today and he can walk around, or that his healing was going great and that he'd probably be recovered by the end of the week.

They never bought it.

Opportunist couldn't exactly hide a broken bone, and every time that his pain got bad enough that he needed to call for Hunted to bring him a salve, he felt it was just another betrayal of his body.

He hasn't seen Stubborn yet.

Right now, he was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to come up with excuses to leave his bedroom. It wasn't going well.

"You've certainly looked better."

Opportunist lifted his head, seeing Cold and Contrarian standing at the foot of his bed, both giving him a curious look.

This was officially his lowest point.

"How's it going there, patient?" Contrarian cheerfully asked, strolling up to him and giving his bandaged foot a interested glance.

"I never thought I'd see the day that you had even a feather out of place," Cold commented, trailing a finger from Opportunist's foot all the way up to his knee. "You've always liked to keep a perfect appearance."

Opportunist shivered at the touch, hoping it didn't show.

"Is there anything I can help you boys with?" Opportunist asked, hearing the sleepiness in his voice, but praying the other two didn't.

Contrarian shook his head, deflating any hope that Opportunist had left. "Nah, we just wanted to see how you were holding up."

"I'm fine," he lied, switching his attention from Contrarian to Cold, who was just staring at his injuries in intrigue.

Opportunist tried to lift his head up enough and put on a steady enough smile as he asked, "Are you here to thank me?"

Cold stopped, blinked, and then looked up at him.

Opportunist smiled wider. "I was told you wanted Stubborn to entertain you. Surely this was the most amusing outcome for you." Maybe if Opportunist just made himself favourable, or at the very least, amusing to these two, then maybe they'll help him get out of the room.

Was it obvious that Opportunist was running out of options?

Cold held his stare for a few seconds, before Contrarian broke the tension by bursting out laughing.

"Oppy!" Contrarian exclaimed in joyous shock. "I didn't know you made jokes like that!"

"I'm a bird of many talents," Opportunist replied, and Contrarian snorted with a shake of his head.

His attention was brought back to Cold when he hummed in thought, and Opportunist watched as Cold studied him, getting closer and closer to his side.

Cold walked until his shadow was practically covering Opportunist completely, and then all he said was, "I would hate to be stuck in this stuffy room all day."

That- sounded like Cold was sympathising with Opportunist. But why? Why weren't they laughing at his pathetic state? Why weren't they giving him something that he could use?

"Yeah," Contrarian agreed with a grimace, glancing around the room. "I can hardly stay still for even two minutes. I dunno how you can deal with this, Oppy."

Quickly, Opportunist shook off the confusion and frustration, giving Contrarian a wink and saying, "Well, you know me- I have impeccable patience, and I have a million ideas for the flock in my head. I'm constantly thinking about how to improve our lives."

Yeah, sure, he was laying it on thick, but how else was he going to convince them that he was trying to be useful even in this state?

Contrarian shrugged as a response, and Cold just stared at him, so maybe his efforts were wasted on these two.

Cold looked him up and down, gaze lingering on the many cuts on his body, making Opportunist squirm and want to just turn invisible at this moment, and said, "The last thing I would be thinking about in your state, would be other people's lives."

Opportunist gulped, trying not to let his nerves and fear show in that moment, at the fact that not only did Cold and Contrarian not care about his problem, but that they were also seeing through his words.

Maybe Opportunist was too emotionally and physically tired to notice how bad his persuasion had gotten, but it was clear that these two would be of no use to him.

He waited for them to grow bored and leave, but instead, Contrarian smiled down at him and said, "Well, it's your lucky day, dear patient, because we've decided to keep you company!"

"What?" Opportunist blurted out, unable to hide his surprise. Cold and Contrarian wanted to hang out with him?

"Yeah," Contrarian said with a grin, and then casually sat on Opportunist's left, making himself comfortable as he leaned back against the bedrest. While Opportunist was struggling to sit up properly, Cold silently came up to sit on his right, effectively trapping him between them, with no way to sit up and face them normally. Great.

Contrarian continued, "We figured that you'd be going crazy in here all on your own-"

"I am perfectly fine-"

"-and we decided to hang out here with you."

Opportunist waved his good hand in the air. "Oh, you boys really don't have to do that. I'm managing quite well on my-ow!"

Opportunist glared up at Cold, who had started to poke at his broken arm, and he attempted to lean his body away from Cold's curious fingers, but then that only pushed him further into Contrarian's side, and that instantly had him flushing in mortification.

"Could you please stop doing that?" Opportunist asked sternly, and Cold obliged, but his finger still hovered in the air menacingly.

Opportunist sighed deeply. "Look, I appreciate the concern, boys, but-"

"What was it like when your bones snapped in half?" Cold suddenly asked, and Opportunist was left dumbfounded for a second, before he collected his thoughts and shrugged. "I don't remember much of the moment. It was like I blinked and then there was darkness."

Cold slumped back against the bed. "That's disappointing."

"Yeah," Contrarian agreed, folding his arms behind his head. "I bet it was like, the second you touched the rock, because Hero said birds have hollow bones, so it must've been easy to break."

"Do you think you would've lost consciousness?" Cold asked, and Opportunist just stared at the ceiling, wishing he could contribute something meaningful to the conversation, but coming up with nothing.

"I don't think I would've," Contrarian replied, "I would've wanted to see all the action, from start to finish!" Then Contrarian lightly nudged Opportunist as he added, "I would bet an arm and a leg on it!"

Then Opportunist laughed.

No, what's worse-he snorted.

He froze as soon as the sound left his mouth, and then there was silence in the room, and Opportunist could feel their shocked eyes on him.

He blamed his boredom. He blamed the exhaustion and pain his body was in. He blamed anything and everything because how could he have slipped up like that?

Opportunist waited for the moment that they started to mock him-but to his surprise, Contrarian just chuckled, ruffled the top of his head, and kept talking.

Opportunist didn't trust himself to speak from that moment on, so he just kept quiet, letting Cold and Contrarian talk amongst themselves, appalled at himself for doing something so stupid and unheard of from him?

But as the minutes passed, Opportunist's mind was struggling to continue berating him, as he was slowly being lulled to sleep, the warmth of the other two pressed against him, and the gentle sound of their voices, all helped to make Opportunist fall asleep.

He knew it was dangerous to fall asleep so vulnerable around others, but the other two just made everything feel so light and carefree, and Opportunist's mind was starting to feel calm for once.

He fell asleep between Cold and Contrarian, and it was a much more peaceful sleep than he's had in a long time.

(To be continued)

[stoned-frog]

If the voices from stp were in my head, I think my mind would consist of Paranoid, Broken, Contrarian and (very contradicting but fitting) Opportunist

+ some voice that screams at me "KYS" every time something goes wrong

With probably Paranoid or Broken at the front like Hero normally is

✨️New personality type dropped✨️- what voices would you have/listen to the most from Slay The Princess?

Edit (because I don't wanna do another reblog): yall have a lot of Paranoids and Colds..... are you alright??????

Edit 2: added more to my own psychoanalysis

I originally wasn't even supposed to post this and didn't expect more than like 2 comments so WOW but I've been thinking about this and want to expand on what I said

So- Paranoid is my driver seat. I'm often driven by fear and overthink a lot of things, run away from shit you get the gist. I am very sceptical but I question things in more of a Paranoid way than Skeptic way

Countless times while playing stp when Paranoid suggested something (usually the more cautious scared suggestions) I was like "wait shit he's right" and then after doing something else on another run it turned out I was literally just paranoid and avoiding anything "risky" because Para was just plain wrong

Right beside I got Broken, I relate to him and his opinion of himself VERY much, the low self esteem, submission, clinging to people who hurt him, he reminds me so much of younger me that I hate.

And Contrarian, avoiding shit thinking there won't be consequences, always has to be extra and yea the self hatred.. again. And making jokes out of serious stuff, the overall silly demeanour until real shit goes down and it all crumbles to the fucking ground, smiling until the breaking point

Oppy. Oh Oppy. The self sabotaging people pleaser. Not really taking a side or changing sides mid argument. The liar who never lets others see him as inferior. Always performing, masking, looking for tricks in simple affection and favours. Yea, I feel him.

And I think I would add Cheated as the "anger button" when I'm mad I act like Cheated SO MUCH

Smitten' there but he's restrained, I'm not letting him loose. Never again. (The most likely to lock him up would be Oppy) Hero's also locked up somewhere, if he tried to keep me sane he did a shit job bet he gave up on me already. Oppy and Contra combine for a role Cold would have, suppressing emotions, masking, coping with shit humor.

[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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[deconstructthesoup]

How my five favorite Slay The Princess ships would dance together (I think):

Witch and Damsel: A gorgeous Regency-style dance with lots of twirls and curtsies. Witch probably has more trouble with it, but it still comes out very pretty, very romantic, and very much like a fairy tale.

Adversary and Razor: Whatever you can call “head-banging, air-guitar-playing, scream-singing along to Joan Jett.” They’re having fun.

Contrarian and Hero: They try to do a simple waltz or something similar, but Contrarian keeps doing different steps, Hero keeps getting nervous and stepping on his feet, and it’s just adorable awkwardness. Trying their best, so it’s still cute.

Skeptic and Prisoner: Lindy Hop. Only swing dances for my favorite noir detective couple. I also think that Prisoner really loves dancing, since it’s both really freeing and a way for her to regain some control.

Smitten and Cold: An incredible tango full of tension, the passion of both rivalry and attraction, the burning feeling of wanting to stab this person in the heart and kiss them all at once… that ends with both of them sprawled across the floor as Cold decides to spontaneously dip Smitten, miscalculates in his swing, basically drops them, and is promptly yanked down as Smitten grabbed him by the shirt to steady themselves and fell prey to gravity. Smitten swears they’re never dancing with Cold again, but both of them know that’s a lie.

[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).

[hello-universe-lovers]

"Then...we throw it out the window!!"

Posting this separately so I can rant about design under the cut

I have colored a few Voices (Opportunist and Smitten) but Contrarian is my first proper ref sheet. She (yes she is a girl) was a lil hard to think of a design for. Her whole point is to be a contrast to most, if not all, of the things happening around LQ in the construct. I personally interpret her as LQ's desire to break free of the restrictions placed on him by the Narrator and, to a lesser extent, the Princess. Hence why she is such a pop of color. I based the look more on idol and cute girly clothes than straight jester/clown aesthetics (not that there's anything wrong with that).

I tried to make it as bright but not too bright as I do not like over saturation as well as over complicating a design since i wanna be able to draw her again later. This is where the masks come into play. I got inspired by theatre masks and came up with the idea of her changing her mask to fit the mood/atmosphere of the route. It gives her something to subtly express her mood without breaking away from her routine. Plus it's fun to come up with what her mask would look like in routes.

And also, this design is specifically for an AU that I still need to draw, hence why she has humanoid features but is still very much bird like. I tried to strike a balance but..eh, it still works. Like how she turned out and I hope you do too.

[screamlet]

🌟 Can I please get some commentary on break up/break down? I absolutely adore the whole series. If you’re so inclined, I’d love to hear about why you decided to turn it from the tumblr series to a full fic. Thank you! 🌟

YES!!! thank you for asking!!! god i'm so sorry this might be really long because i have too many thoughts on how breakup/breakdown (the infidelity fic) evolved and ended. christ. this was a beast (neutral).

later: in retrospect, writing about "keeping things short" over here is.... hilarious. whatever, no shame (a little shame). about 800 words below:

so, i felt super enabled with every buck/omc drabble, lol. people's reblogs with "oh god this is terrible how could buck and tommy cheat on that nice boy i'm so sad" were fuel to the fire. and this was one of those stories where i really let outside opinions get in my head. infidelity is one of those things people have REALLY strong opinions about and i couldn't quiet those thoughts while writing. i'm sure on the ending now but it took a LOT of emotional work to get there. (and thank you for talking it through with me @rcmclachlan and @geddyqueer ❤️)

but i decided to spin it off into its own longer story because there was more i wanted to explore and i didn't want the whole 118 daily drabble series to be just this arc.

AND!!!!!!!!! i can't do wip's, so i already felt like it had dragged on too long. the biggest reason it spun off was because i couldn't cover everything in the daily drabble structure and i wanted it done sooner rather than like 70 days later.

AND THEN IT WOULDN'T END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i got in my own head about the ending. i wanted it to be bucktommy endgame from the beginning because i genuinely couldn't see danny taking buck back after everything he did: not just the actual physical act of cheating with tommy, but emotionally departing their relationship the moment tommy showed up again. make no mistake, buck was gone. and i couldn't imagine buck not at least trying to get tommy back if he had the chance, which he did when danny broke up with him.

originally i was trying to think, well how could i make this a miserable ending because Infidelity is Bad and Shouldn't They Be Punished and This is a Dark Premise How Could It Have a Happy Ending and It Should Hurt More, They Did a Bad Thing. then i realized that was some real cultural religious guilt nonsense and i stopped!!!!!!!!!!!!!! unfortunately my default mode isn't "contrarian edgelord"; i just want to write stuff that scratches the itch in my brain, and 95% of the time that itch is like "please just let them be happy."

what i eventually wanted from the ending was a buck and tommy who had found their way back to each other in an ironically honest way. yes, buck lied and cheated on his partner, but that got both of them to confront the fact that:

they weren't done with each other;

they had grown in their relationships with other people and they needed those other people in order to grow; and

they wanted each other enough to really fuck around with how they perceived themselves.

i don't think this tommy would have ever cheated, or thought of himself as a cheater. but for buck? alright, he's a cheater. and buck has cheated in canon, but in private he probably gave himself the excuse: "i was drunk and trapping taylor in a relationship was way worse than making out with lucy." but this time? yeah!! he cheated on his devoted, committed boyfriend and regretted hurting him, but he would have regretted not going back to tommy even more.

and ONE MORE THING!!!!!!!! cheating on danny wrecked buck's shit and the stable little life everyone in his life approved of. it forced buck to articulate things about himself and his relationship to his family that he didn't have to before with danny. danny was a really good, lovable guy, their relationship was what everyone wanted for buck, and that kind of outside approval was something he was so desperate for after things imploded with tommy. was tommy really so bad for him that they didn't want buck to call him???? and then danny was there, they loved danny, danny was loyal and loved him, fantastic. but tommy coming back made buck realize that danny was wonderful for the buck everyone wanted him to be, but not enough for himself. danny wasn't what buck really wanted, even if it would lose him the respect of his family. so he'd rather lose that, even if temporarily, to gain back this person who completes him.

"I need this one thing from you... this one thing. I need you to support me, especially in this thing with Tommy. Even if we change our minds and stay friends instead. Even if we're only back together five weeks or months, or if we get married and die holding hands fifty years from now."

now that 8b has started, this is a conversation canon buck has to have, too: where he has to articulate what he wants for his own life. he has to stop taking everyone else's advice and decide what he wants for himself and say it with words coming from his mouth. here, the thing that pushed him off the cliff was cheating on his boyfriend; in canon, it'll be something more appropriate for abc primetime. chopper crash or outbreak monkey, i guess we'll find out soon!

[writingdevil]

May I ask for some contrahero, mayhaps?

(Yes you may! I'm actually surprised that this is the first contrahero request, I thought there'd be more. Either way, I love them, and how cute and silly they are, so enjoy!)

Hero and Contrarian have a little game that they like to play, called the 'I love you' game.

It was quite simple. They would each take turns saying I love you, but they would have to add something to the end of it.

Such as-'I love you so much that I want to vomit.'

'Well, I love you so much that I feel like I can jump and touch the sun.'

The point of the game was to keep adding more and more ridiculous things after the 'I love you' until one of them couldn't think of anything to top that.

Hero never won.

Contrarian was just too creative for his own good. He would come up with lines that would have Hero simultaneously burst out laughing and his face heating up in embarrassment.

It wasn't as if it was a bad thing. There wasn't even technically a proper winner to the game, or even a prize to win, if you excluded the amount of kisses they traded after the game.

It's just that sometimes, Hero would like to win, just once. Just to prove that his love for Contrarian was as passionate and as colourful as Contrarian's was for him.

Like he said, it wasn't a bad thing to lose-but Hero would sure like to see what Contrarian looked like when he lost for once.

-

They were cuddling on the couch one time, Contrarian laying flat on his back while Hero snuggled into his chest, and Contrarian was peppering kisses to the top of his head, when he mumbled into his feathers, "I love you."

Hero smiled playfully, hearing the beginnings of their game again. "I love you more," Hero muttered, before lifting his head to meet Contrarian's playful eyes.

Contrarian giggled, and then said, "I love you so much that I could swallow a whole watermelon."

Hero burst out laughing at how ridiculous they were already starting, but he quickly responded with, "I love you so much that I could walk through fire without getting hurt."

Hero felt Contrarian squeeze him tighter, a competitive spark in his eyes. He stared at Hero for a few seconds, narrowing his eyes in thought, and then he smiled cheekily and said, "Well, I love you so much that I could turn into a shadow, so that I could follow you around and prank people."

Hero opened his mouth to reply, but the image of Contrarian bouncing around as a dark shadow and messing around, and then slinking back to the darkness to escape blame was really funny to him-and he burst out laughing.

He shoved his face into Contrarian's chest, who cheered and exclaimed, "I'll take that as a win!"

"It's just-" Hero tried to say, "-just the image of you as a shadow, doing like, cartwheels or something is so silly to me."

"I'm nothing if not silly in everything I do-that's one thing you can count on me for."

"Yeah, I see that." Hero relaxed back against Contrarian's body, his ear right over Contrarian's heartbeat with a sigh. "Fine. You win-again."

Contrarian waved an arm in the air gleefully and said, "Another victory for me."

They quickly fell back into their relaxed cuddling, but Hero couldn't stop thinking about how he had lost the game-again.

He wanted to beat Contrarian. It was dumb, but Hero wanted to prove that he loved Contrarian enough to win at this little game.

He knew they weren't going to break up over this, but Hero still felt like it was important to be able to convey his love properly. Or maybe he's just been hanging out with Smitten too much.

Still, Hero started to think of how he could beat Contrarian, if only to see his partner's reaction at Hero usurping him.

How did Contrarian always win? Well, he always made Hero laugh until he surrendered, so maybe Hero could try that? But then again, Hero's not particularly funny.

What kind of reactions were Hero able to get out of Contrarian? He thought about it for a few minutes, and his brain merely reminded him of all the times that Contrarian complimented him, calling him too sweet and kind for his own good, and that his teeth would fall out at the sweetness.

Wait- maybe Hero could use that.

Hero smiled, cuddling into Contrarian's chest, knowing exactly how he was going to win the game this time.

-

That night, as they were settling down for bed, Hero dragged Contrarian as close as he could, pressing a kiss to his forehead, making Contrarian giggle.

He felt Contrarian relax and melt into Hero's arms and mumbled, "Night, love you."

Hero smirked, and muttered back, "Love you more."

Everything was silent for a few seconds, before Contrarian snorted, and lifted his head to peer up at Hero in giddy surprise. "Really? You wanna do this again?" Hero just grinned down at him. Contrarian sighed and said, "Okay, but it's your funeral."

Contrarian scooted up to be at eye level with Hero, and Hero could see the determination in the other's eyes, even in the dark, as Contrarian began, "I love you so much that I feel like I could juggle five whole cabins at once."

Hero tightened his grip on Contrarian, smiling at him warmly as he whispered, "I love you so much that even the flowers would be able to feel our love."

Contrarian's face flashed with surprise, before he quickly recovered, but Hero could still see a hint of Contrarian being taken aback by his words.

Contrarian shot him a confident look and said, "I love you so much that I feel like I could ride a mountain like a horse."

Hero smiled sweetly at him, leaning down closer to Contrarian's face as he said, "I love you so much, that I would make the sun shine on all the amazing living things on this land, for a chance for us to build a home there."

This time, Contrarian chuckled nervously, staring at Hero in uncertainty, and Hero could feel the way Contrarian was studying his face and trying to understand him.

Hero thought that this would be the moment that Contrarian admitted defeat, but then he felt Contrarian tighten his grip around his neck and quietly said, as if unsure and even afraid of what was about about happen, "W-Well I love you so much that I feel like I could bounce on a cloud."

Hero could tell that Contrarian wasn't focusing as well as he usually was for this game, and he decided to go in for the kill.

He cupped Contrarian's cheek with one hand, leaning down to press a soft kiss against his lips, and when they parted only a few seconds later, he whispered to Contrarian, "I love you so much, that my devotion to you would carry on even if we were nothing more but feathers in the wind."

Contrarian froze, staring up at Hero with wide eyes, and Hero felt the way he shivered in his hold and his feathers stood on end. Contrarian didn't have a response for the next few seconds, and Hero smiled knowingly, and they both knew in that moment that he had won.

Contrarian chuckled nervously, glancing around the bedroom as he went, "Wow-didn't expect you to-um-go that route."

Hero giggled, rubbing a hand up and down Contrarian's back. "Does that mean I won?"

"Yeah," Contrarian said, still sounding as if he hadn't moved on from what just happened, "you've won, because what was-" he cut himself off with a shake of his head, and Hero struggled not to laugh louder and accidentally wake someone up- he's just never seen Contrarian this caught off guard before.

Contrarian blew out a breath. "You are brutal, you know that?" Hero smiled and pressed another kiss to his lovely partner who he had finally beaten at the 'I love you' game.

"Well," Hero said, feeling Contrarian settle back down within his arms. "I was just trying a different approach, the honest strategy."

Contrarian shoved his face into Hero's chest, and Hero could tell that he was flustering the other a lot with this teasing, and he decided that he was going to do whatever it takes to win from now on if it got this reaction out of Contrarian.

"Shut up and take your victory," Contrarian mumbled. "Just know that I'm coming back with a vengeance."

Hero kissed the top of his head and closed his eyes. "I'll be ready for you."

[willsolacefanatic]

This is a gift to @curemooooonlighto! As part of a mini-series of giving my many Mutuals thank you gifts! Here's my analysis on Voice of The Cold.

Something interesting to me about Cold is his contradictions to himself. There's one line that comes to mind from Burned Grey-

"So long as we don't do the same thing again. That would be boring." And then, in another dialogue option: "Besides, if he kills us again, he kills us again. It doesn't matter."

He is a walking oxymoron, except not in the way that Contrarian is. Contrarian contradicts everyone around him, but Cold contradicts himself. Personally, I'm zooming in on the last word of the first quote as an explanation. Cold is bored!

Spoilers for Cold and The Fury in The Pristine Cut, but there are heavy implications that Cold can remember aspects like The Mirror, basically- whenever Hero is absent, Cold remembers. I'll list certain quotes from this run to show:

"You are nothing but a witness" -> Directed to The Narrator, eerily similar to when Tower notices Him. "Then we're done here. It's over. On to the next thing" -> As you leave The Fury in the basement, seems to reference the next Princess route. "Whatever we are, we're here forever" -> As you leave The Fury in the basement, symbolises how The Long Quiet cannot be killed. "So that's a wrap. I didn't think we'd ever get here. There's only one thing left to do" -> As you arrive to The Mirror, both Stubborn and Hero are gone, leaving only Cold to direct you to The Mirror.

If you look at what I mentioned earlier, Cold's boredom, everything seems to make more sense if you go with the idea that he remembers. Hell, his entire character makes far more sense if you play with the idea that he remembers things. He does not remember everything, was not at The End of Everything, but Cold is the most intertwined with the Vessels. His apathy is born from boredom. His apathy, is born from our true Godhood.

Voice of The Cold is, as I see him, The Brain. Just as Smitten is our Heart, he is the one thing that is never killed. When we go for the Princess to fight her, we always aim for her heart, and she aims for ours most of the time. Never has the brain been targeted. This is why Cold never dies, this is why he remembers. The Vessels are extensions of The Voices, in some shape or form. They are intertwined, since The Echo spun one God into two, they are never far from eachother. So if the Brain of the Vessel never dies, the Brain of the Voice never dies.

Cold is one of my favourite voices, if you couldn't tell! Tysm Moon [Moonlight? Light? Cure? WHAT DO I CALL YOU MY GOOD FRIEND?!] for giving me the chance to ramble about him!

[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

[nordicfiord]

It was getting cold and late.

“Why are we here again?” Cold didn’t seem bothered, though. They didn’t even have luggage - just their thoughts and tickets.

“Just because.” Contrarian shrugged, listening to the sounds of incoming local train. “Do we even need a reason? It’s not like you have ever ridden an electric train before.”

“True.” It was Cold’s turn to shrug. He breathed, looking at the steam with an almost amused look. And then he looked at Contrarian.

His friend was unusually quiet, patiently waiting for the train. Not that this bothered Cold… but anything unusual was a thing of interest. So he stared.

Contrarian smiled, noticing this look. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why the stare then?”

“Do I even need a reason?”

“True.” Contrarian chuckled when Cold threw his words back at him. He sighed then, looking… tired. “Ah, it’s here. Wanna sit in the last car?”

“Sure.” Cold tilted his head, somewhat amused. But the train just got to the station, so they got up on it.

A couple of minutes later they were sitting at the half-empty last car, and the train went on its way again. Contrarian sat by the window and idly watched the landscape, almost invisible in the lighted cabin of the train. Cold sat down in the next chair, not even attempting to look in black nothingness of the windows.

“We should’ve rode sooner. Then it would actually be possible to see from them”, Contrarian sighed, relaxing a bit. “Well, this is something new, and new is pretty much always good.”

“Agreed. Though I can’t really understand, what are we supposed to do here?” Cold looked around at people, sleeping in different positions. “They sure seem like they are having fun.”

“Well, you can do that too, you know!” Contrarian laughed, but he clearly wasn’t having fun.

Cold didn’t quite understand his fascination with taking a ride or two a month on trains, that’s why he tagged along. But now, seeing how he was struggling to keep his emotions in check… Well, that might’ve been the reason.

Boring.

“Doesn’t seem like something else will happen here, so you will be my pillow.” Cold said nonchalantly, as if there were nothing to discuss on the matter. Contrarian laughed at that, and in the laugh there was… a relief.

“Well, make yourself comfortable!” Contrarian smiled and spread his wing, inviting Cold. And Cold wasn’t going to delay. He got on both free chairs and leaned on Contrarian with his back. Little bells on Contrarian’s feathers and clothing jingled softly, as Cold made himself comfortable.”

“Soft. Good pillow.” he murmured, feeling sleepy already. His pillow jingled a bit more, as Contrarian softly laughed.

“I’m glad you like it. Have a good rest!” “I will.” Cold promised, closing his eyes and slowing his breaths.

The train continued to go to its destination, Cold continued to be half-asleep, and Contrarian…

He was feeling shitty that day, and was planning to ride his mind away alone. But Cold was here too now. Grounding him. Not giving bad thoughts any chance.

“Thank you for being here.” Contrarian whispered, hoping Cold is sleeping.

Cold could barely hold back a smile.