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mrs-kmikaelson · 4 months ago

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Our Song and Dance⁶

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader, Katniss Everdeen x platonic!reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: mentions of torture, mentions of forced prostitution, exploitation of minors, suicidal thoughts, war, violence, murder, mind games, religious references, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, and grief Words: 12.8K

Masterlist | Series Soundtrack

a/n: ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for! (greatest showman reference, not excluding my enbys y'all). here it is! this is the end! just for clarity, anything in present tense means r is thinking (as always), and there's an additional a/n at the bottom. love u guys!!

When you were younger, you dreamed of being a storyteller. This wasn't your first time dwelling on that fact, but now you wondered if it'd be the last.

There was a saying your mother used to say, before your father died and she went mad. You reap what you sow. It was ironic how backwards it was in your life. First you were reaped, which then subsequently sowed the domino pieces to your fake life, all falling down to lead up to this moment.

Yes, backwards it was.

You'd barely gotten a wink of sleep before faraway booms were waking you up. You didn't flinch this time; you could tell they weren't close, but Finnick's hand on your shoulder still tightened, like he was reminding you that he was there if you so needed it.

"Mortal shells," Gale informed you, looking up at the basement's ceiling. "It's not ours. Peacekeepers must be shellin' the rebels outside of the city."

It surely didn't sound like it. Cressida must've came to the same conclusion because she soon piped up, "That's not outside the city."

Inside, then. They were inside the city.

That meant it was show time.

You separated yourself from Finnick without a word, going to prepare. In his mind, you must've just been so focused that you couldn't speak to him. In yours, it was that you were so unfocused that you wouldn't.

For the last eight years of your life, you'd been spinning stories with Finnick like there'd be no tomorrow, and now that was about to become a reality. That's why you couldn't speak to him. This was the last chapter, the last dance before the song came to a stop.

So you got ready, screwing arrowheads onto their shafts and strapping yourself with guns, moving slowly as if you were frozen in time with knowledge no one else had.

This was the end of your story.

This was the end of the song.

Music beat loudly in your ears, but it was quieted by the sound of beeping. Your eyes were drawn to a black box on the table in the corner, similar to the one you once watched Finnick from, now projecting a mandatory viewing. There was no fanfare this time, as if Snow was now realizing that there was no need to sugarcoat what was happening.

The rebels had already invaded the Capitol. If its citizen's didn't know the severity of the situation before, they sure did now.

Finnick lightly snorted behind you as Snow's face came onscreen, making you resist the urge to swat him and laugh. You wouldn't have been laughing at Snow, though��you were much too angry for that—just at the boy who still found the courage to laugh in such terrible times.

You'd miss that.

Snow began speaking right away. "To all Capitol citizens more than a half mile outside the city circle, I am announcing a mandatory evacuation." Your brows knitted together. What? A quick glance at Katniss told you that she was just as confused. "Come to my home," he beckoned. "I am promising you shelter and sanctuary. All refugees... come to my home. There, you will be provided with food, medicine, safety for your children... and you will have my solemn oath to protect you until my dying breath."

Cressida made a sarcastic quip that you didn't hear, like your head was underwater.

This doesn't feel right.

"Our enemy is not like us," he continued. "They do not share our values. They have never known our comfort and our sophistication."

Somewhere in all the muffledness you heard Finnick mutter, "No shit," but it barely registered. Your eyes were trained on the image as if it'd unravel and reveal something to you. You didn't know what there even was to reveal—everything was laid out in the open now.

So then why do I feel like something's hiding in plain sight?

"And they despise us for it. Make no mistake." Snow's voice was filled with certainty and a spite so sharp it could cut through flesh. "They are not coming to liberate us. They are coming to destroy our way of life. They are coming... to bury us." He put emphasis on his last words before the stream ended, his image cutting out with a flash.

What an interesting choice of words he used. Bury them. The people in 4 had been buried underneath rubble, so much so that you couldn't bury your own mother.

Katniss cut off your thoughts. "Is he still in the mansion?" You turned toward her, seeing her eyes already on you.

You had to clear your throat before you replied, "Yeah." You'd been in that God-awful room enough times to recognize it, even in your dreams.

She nodded absentmindedly. "Okay, where's that?"

Pointing to a map she pulled out, Cressida answered, "About five blocks away. We're right here, off the avenues." She pointed to another far-off spot. "Mansion's here."

You crossed your arms. That was a long distance. "What about the pods?" you questioned.

Cressida motioned to another part of the map. "Well, they'll probably deactivate the pods around here for the residents' safety."

"That could work." Katniss looked up at you, that same fire shining in her eyes that reminded you of her nickname. "We could get close enough."

That was the problem. You could get close enough—you could really do it.

But that felt too easy.

You didn't voice your doubts; Gale did. "Every Peacekeeper's gonna be waiting."

"Next to our faces on every billboard," Cressida cut in.

You shrugged. "Well, Snow's offering shelter to all the refugees." You could feel everyone's eyes dart to you, but you kept yours on Katniss. She understood your message right away. This was your shot.

You had to take it.

The two of you were in agreement and that's all that mattered. Nobody was going to stop you.

Katniss got up, and then after grabbing the last of your weapons, you were heading upstairs.

One shot. You had one shot.

The extravagancy of Tigris' shop was lost upon you as you threw on a large coat, listening to Cressida's directions. There would be thousands of refugees; all you had to do was join them and keep your head low.

She wished you good luck, and then you found yourself hugging this girl you'd barely known for more than a few days. But she gave you trust when you needed it, and you wouldn't ever forget it.

You knew you weren't gonna see any of these people ever again, so you might as well say goodbye.

You were halfway through thanking Tigris when Peeta's voice suddenly sounded. "Katniss, let me come with you, okay?" You saw her face fall out of the corner of your eye.

He wasn't asking; he was begging.

"I can be a good distraction. They- they know my face—"

She firmly cut him off. "No, I'm not losing you again."

"What if Peacekeepers are searching the houses?" Gale spoke up. Whether it was out of spite or concern, you couldn't tell. "And if he's captured—"

He barely got to finish his sentence before Peeta was hurriedly interrupting him. "Then give me a nightlock pill, okay? I'm not going back."

You inhaled a sharp breath. Unconsciously, your hand went to the side pocket you'd tucked your pill in. Peeta's words had reignited a fear in you that you thought you'd expelled, bringing back memories you didn't want to have at that specific moment.

Please- please, I don't want to play anymore.

You didn't know you had closed your eyes until you reopened them to Gale handing Peeta his nightlock pill. Katniss went to unlock his cuffs, and that's when you looked away, getting the feeling you were intruding on something private.

Instead your eyes went to the very person you were avoiding. You met Finnick's blue eyes easily. Pretty blue eyes the colour of the ocean, your favourite colour.

Your favourite person.

A smile crept onto your face without your knowing. This was exactly why you were supposed to be avoiding him, but as you watched your best friend with the boy she loved, disregarding everything just to say goodbye, you couldn't help but want to do the same. You knew you already said goodbye to him, but you were already running out of time; why waste what little of it you had left?

One last time, you told yourself, just one last time to drown in his ocean.

You made your way over to him across the room, and before you could even get a word out, he said, "I want to come with you, too." You opened your mouth to protest— "But I'm not gonna ask you to."

You furrowed your brows. "Wha—"

Finnick lazily draped an arm over your shoulder, yet at the same time there was nothing lazy about the action at all. That, coupled with him brushing strands of hair out of your face, made you go silent. He was quiet, too, just staring at you.

The way he was looking at you reminded you of the way he examined his surroundings in the Quell, trying to remember where everything was.

It was like he was trying to commit your face to memory.

After a moment, he explained, "I know you won't let me." Of course, you wouldn't.

You weren't gonna let him watch you die.

You sighed, "I'm sorry—"

With his voice as soft as silk, he chided, "Don't be sorry." His lips quirked upward while he caressed your hair. "Just come back to me in one piece so we can have that talk?"

You tried your best to reciprocate his smile. "I will." Liar.

Terrified that he'd see through your façade, you pulled him in, wounding your arms around him tightly. He held you just as tight. Only when your face was no longer in his view did you screw your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

You'd stay like this forever if you could.

But you couldn't.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, which meant your time was up. You had to go now.

Slowly, you unwrapped your arms from Finnick's body, wanting to hold onto him for as long you could. By the time you fully let go, you felt like something was missing. And there was.

Finnick Odair would always hold your heart in his hands.

You flashed him one last smile before you turned around. You wouldn't say you loved him before you left, and perhaps you'd regret that, but if you heard him say it back, you didn't know if you'd have the willpower to leave.

Déjà vu crashed into you like a tidal wave. You lived this moment before, saying goodbye then turning your back and walking away.

I'll see you at midnight?

Yeah, I'll see you at midnight.

You didn't see him at midnight. But you came back. It wasn't the same you that came back, but you did, eventually.

You came back before.

This time, you wouldn't.

You and Katniss set off, finding the crowd immediately. It was a sea of people, impossible to miss. You joined them easily; if you were tentative, you'd get caught, so you had to march with them like you belonged.

There were dozens of Peacekeepers lining the sides of the path. When you glanced up, you found even more on the balconies of buildings, which quickly made you duck your head back down.

If you so much as removed your hood, they could identify you. And you refused to die before Snow did first.

The two of you were silent as you moved forward. There was that feeling in your chest again, the feeling that you were supposed to be saying something, but if anybody recognized your voice, you'd both be as good as dead. Katniss must've felt that pressure, too, but she didn't speak up about it, either.

On a whim, you glanced up ahead of you. You immediately regretted it when a child's eyes locked on yours.

Shit.

She was clutching onto a woman's shoulder—her mother's, you assumed. You prayed that she was too young to recognize you or too tired to make the connection, but then her head lifted up and you knew it didn't matter.

She recognized you.

You glanced away from the kid before looking back. Her gaze didn't move but neither did her mouth.

She recognized you, but she wasn't going to say anything.

You were about to breathe a sigh of relief before Katniss tapped your arm, motioning ahead. Your eyes travelled to where she was gesturing, and you could've sworn your heart stopped.

Peacekeepers.

They were checking people. You wouldn't get past them and you both knew it, so you swiftly turned around without another word. Except they were behind you, too, sweeping through the crowd.

Fuck.

You turned forward again, your heart and your mind racing in tandem to find a way out of this. You don't know what you could've possibly come up with.

You don't even think you were breathing.

Your fingers were inching their way to the gun on your hip just as a hand went to your shoulder. But before either of you could do anything, a loud boom sounded, sending you to the ground.

People were shouting everywhere all at once, mixing in with the music so you couldn't hear a thing. Your ears rang but you could still hear someone bellow, "It's the rebels!"

You glanced backward, and their yell was proven correct. A mob of rebels marched forward in a line, shooting at every guard in white they saw.

Another explosion reverberated through the battlefield, making you cup your ears. You couldn't hold back the pained cry that left you.

You looked forward, your eyes finding the same little girl from earlier, her yellow coat now tainted with dirt. She was kneeling above her mother's body, screaming. Tears sparked in your eyes.

That girl's mother was dead.

But you couldn't end up like her.

Quickly, you gathered your bearing, ushering Katniss up. "Come on!" She was stagnant, but as soon as you pulled her up, she was back from wherever she'd gone to. And then the two of you were running.

You jumped behind a barricade, only stopping momentarily. There was a Peacekeeper lying on the ground in front of you. Good, you thought. You could use his gun.

You untangled the rifle from his hands, kicking him down when he started moving. Then you were running forward again.

You ran like never before, stopping only to check that Katniss was still with you. Explosions went off on your way, shaking the ground. Some were too close, but you kept running.

Whether it was your sheer will or the adrenaline pumping through your body, you couldn't stop, not when you were so close. The gate was in your view now. You pushed through the crowd, not caring if your hood fell off in the process. There was too much chaos for anyone to notice.

The people were restless, a robotic voice trying and failing to pacify them. You were so busy climbing up a tank, trying to get a better a look at the palace, that you barely caught it. The gates will open momentarily, it was saying. The children will be received first. Stay calm. Bring your children forward.

That... that didn't sound right.

No, it did. It did sound right. It was right to bring the children forward first.

And that's exactly why it sounded wrong.

President Snow had never cared about children—why would he start now? It was puzzling; it didn't make any sense. But you couldn't make sense of it. You're forgetting why you're here, Y/N.

You shook your head, trying to bring yourself back to your objectives and not watch as the Peacekeepers lifted children from their parents' arms, but then something else caught your attention.

Whirring.

Your eyes shot to the sky where there was a lone hovercraft flying, Panem's emblem painted onto the wings. Not one of yours.

The hovercraft flew by. You don't know what you could've possibly expected, but you certainly didn't expect for it to drop parachutes in its wake.

"Gifts from the Capitol!" someone cheered.

The pit in your stomach returned, no matter how hard you'd just tried to get rid of it. The parachutes fell like they were in slow motion. You couldn't tell if they were truly moving so slowly or if was just you.

The world seemed to stop. The dance seemed to stop. And then everything clicked.

But you were too late.

Your eyes widened. "No—"

BOOM.

You were thrown through the air, landing somewhere hard. The wind was knocked out of you. At first, you were choking on nothing until you finally gained the ability to wheeze. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

This time, you couldn't hear anything. No screams, no more shooting. No more music at all.

The music came to a screeching halt. The record didn't skip. It just stopped.

It occurred to you then that the fucking needle must've just scratched the vinyl, because the music restarted. But it wasn't the same.

You shot upward, coughing your lungs away and waving dust out of your face. You stumbled as you got up—that was a misstep.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing—

Katniss.

Where's Katniss?

Frantically, your eyes darted everywhere. She wasn't beside you. She wasn't in front of you. You spun around, dancing, and she wasn't behind you either.

You wanted to scream her name, but you didn't. She's fine, you reassured yourself. She had to be fine—she was right next to you when the bombs went off. You just had to find her.

Your eyes scanned the scene in front of you, just now really looking at it. Bodies littered the ground, medics and Peacekeepers alike rushing to the wounded. So many wounded. You'd never seen so many bodies in one place.

You looked for a woman in a blue cloak among them. You didn't find her. But you did find someone else that was oddly familiar.

A blonde. A young blonde in a medic's uniform.

You know, I used to be jealous of you.

Jealous of me?

No, that couldn't be—

You have a family that really loves you, that beautiful sister of yours.

You blinked as if it'd make her disappear, but when you opened your eyes, she was still there, not a figment of your imagination at all. She was there.

And then she wasn't.

You had just opened your mouth, but the words died in your throat. "Prim—"

It all happened faster than you could register it.

You saw the flames first. Light travelled faster than sound. Then you heard it—the explosion. And then you felt it. You felt it more forcefully than any of the other ones, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then you felt nothing.

The last time you awoke in the Capitol, you could feel that something bad was about to happen to you. Dread flowed through your veins like it was blood, infecting every part of you. It was as if a dark cloud hung over your head, a voice in your ear telling you to keep your eyes closed for as long as you could, to enjoy the rest while you still had it.

This time, your eyes fluttered open on their own accord. Your eyelids weren't as heavy. Your body wasn't as sore. But there was a still a weight on your chest.

The dread was still there.

Then the memories flooded back to you.

Bombs. And Primrose Everdeen.

No. You had to have been hallucinating.

With that thought, you blinked, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings. The lights were fluorescent, but they weren't blinding like typical hospital lights—and there was an incessant beeping noise, but it wasn't very loud. You gathered that this wasn't a hospital room; it was more like a triage centre.

There was a shuffling to your right that you directed your attention to. It was a blonde woman tending to a sleeping brunette's wounds. You blinked again, and then you realized that brunette was Katniss.

You let out a sigh of relief. She was okay.

Your eyes then immediately flickered to the other presence in the room. Haymitch stood between yours and Katniss' beds. He was already looking at you.

You didn't greet him; the two of you were past that. "Is it—"

"Yes." He seemed to understand without any explanation. Your eyes fell shut for a moment then, taking it in, and he let you.

The war was over.

You won.

But this didn't feel like winning.

When you opened your eyes, Haymitch seemed to already know what you were thinking. That's what you liked about him: no nonsense, no bullshit, no trying to sugarcoat something that was so clearly sour. Just straight to the point.

"It was over after the Capitol dropped those bombs to defend the Palace. Rebels took it right after." He paused, eyes glossing over with a look you knew all too well. "Everybody felt it—Peacekeepers, Palace guards... kids. It was, uh... it was over after that."

You could remember that. The children reaching up in the air, trying to grab what they thought were gifts from their beloved Capitol. Bombs exploded in their faces. You wondered if they were strong enough to kill on impact.

You hoped they were.

Children crying for their parents. Parents crying for their children. All of the sounds melded together eventually.

But you won. You won, didn't you?

Didn't you?

He changed topics. You think it was too hard for him to talk about, too, and that was almost absurd. You never thought you'd see the day that Haymitch Abernathy shied away from anything, yet here you were.

"Your injuries are minor," he told you. "Damage is superficial. You got off unscathed." Did you? "They wanted to take you right to the Palace, but I figured you'd want to change your own clothes."

He said it casually, but the implication was there. That made you crack a smile, or at least the best smile you could give. "Thanks, H."

He nodded in acknowledgement but otherwise didn't mention it. The victors didn't talk about those sorts of things, not up until recently. You knew what happened to him, to his family, his girlfriend. And he always knew what was happening to you, but it was never spoken out loud. The things that happened in the dark were never meant to be brought under the spotlight.

So Finnick brought out the sun. And now, every secret, every body, and every monster under the bed was out in the open for everyone to see.

You just never thought the sun would burn so much.

Your gaze travelled over to the blonde woman, still at work, applying some type of ointment to Katniss' neck. She hadn't said a word.

You suddenly realized that you were staring at Carine Everdeen.

You looked back to Haymitch, then Carine, then back at him, a question lying silently in your eyes. You opened your mouth, but you didn't need to. Haymitch just nodded, a solemn countenance overtaking his face. At his confirmation, you felt yourself physically deflate.

You weren't hallucinating.

Prim was dead.

You sat there with that information for a bit, unknowing of what to do with it. Katniss' innocent little sister was dead, caught in the crossfire of a fight she should've never had to live through.

Katniss only ever volunteered to spare her sister.

And now she was dead, anyway.

She deserved to be acknowledged. You didn't know what to say, but she deserved the effort. Prim deserved the world.

Your voice was just barely above a whisper, hoarse from either the lack of use or remorse, perhaps both. "Mrs. Everdeen?"

Her hands paused mid-movement. She slowly turned around to look at you. Only, she wasn't looking at you. She wasn't really there.

You could count the number of times you spoke to Carine on one hand. It'd only ever been in passing, a hello here and there. She wasn't close with Katniss, therefore, she wasn't close with you. But right now, it didn't matter how close you were at all.

Somehow, everyone felt so faraway.

You swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

She was silent, but you could see every word she wasn't speaking in her eyes. Sadness, regret, anger, devastation. Grief. For a second, you could see her come back, but she was gone just as quickly as she reappeared.

"Me, too."

The ride from the triage centre to the Palace was all a blur. Somewhere in between everything, you got dressed into your own clothes, not the ones from 13. You briefly wondered how they got ahold of them.

Katniss was still there, sleeping. Maybe she woke up by now. You just needed to get out of there. Haymitch had told you that Finnick was en route, and you asked him to help you get out before he got there, to just tell him that they'd taken you to the Palace right away like they originally planned.

You didn't know why you did that, but you just knew you couldn't talk to him. Not yet.

They gave you a random room then left you there after you asked them to. You were sure they weren't supposed to do that, probably on Coin's orders, but the glare you sent them must've been real bad because they went scurrying out like mice.

You exhaled when they closed the door, finally alone. For a second, you felt like you could breathe again. And then you caught a glimpse of the bed and it was back to feeling like you were suffocating.

Crimson red sheets, gold accents. A ginormous velvet head board. A huge comforter that would likely warm you up— God, you were still so cold.

But you'd lied on a bed just like that before. And you were just as cold then, even with the warm body lying right next to you.

You cupped your mouth, knees buckling, but your other trembling hand grasped onto the chair right in front of you. You held onto that crest for dear life, simultaneously holding back a sob.

Calm down, Y/N. Just stop.

You were trying— you were fucking trying. But then your eyes zeroed in on items on the table in front of you. They blended in with the rest of the extravagant decor of this room, but once you saw them, it was all you could see.

A crown.

And a vase of fucking roses.

You screamed, letting go of the chair and throwing the vase the ground, not caring if any of the shards hit you. The crown was next. Then you were tumbling down to the ground, too.

The dam in your eyes broke, tears flooding down your cheeks with no sign of stopping. Sobs wracked through your body.

It hurt. It fucking hurt. Not your legs. Not your back. Not your ears. Your heart. You clawed at your chest relentlessly, pleading for the pain to go away.

"Please," you cried. "Please make it stop." You don't know who you were crying to. You hadn't prayed in ages— you didn't even know what you believed in anymore. All you knew was that you were on your knees, begging for any God to listen.

But nobody answered.

You might've sat on the floor of that room for hours—you truly didn't know. You cried until you didn't have tears anymore, until you were numb. You just sat there after that, staring at the ground, at the crown you threw.

So much power that a single object had over you. It was a mask. A contract. A lie. A trick painted in gold. Your legacy.

It was your fucking poison.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they said.

They didn't know the half of it.

After a while, you got sick of staring at it, forcing yourself up and immediately turning to the door. You were exhausted, sure, and you'd sleep eventually, but not on that bed.

You turned the knob on the door and shut it behind you, knowing it was unlikely that you'd return to it. You made your way through the Palace like it was second nature; you knew this place well. Dozens of parties and faux appearances would do that to you.

The Palace only held poor memories for you. Here, your life as a marionette began, and you hadn't known anything different since. What person would want to stay in a place like that, a place that symbolized the moment their life changed forever?

Getting reaped might've been when your life went downhill, but your life became Snow's the second you stepped into his home.

You found yourself pulling the French doors to the backyard open, wanting to feel a cold that didn't come from your own body. The ground was covered in a blanket of white that crunched beneath your feet. Only a thin jacket protected you from the air sharply licking your skin, but you welcomed the feeling.

You didn't know what you were doing, but when you saw two men guarding the Rose Garden, you couldn't help but be pulled to it, like you still had strings attached to your limbs.

You were just reaching the doors when one of the guards stepped in front of them, his hand out. "Sorry, Princess. Can't let you pass."

His statement caused you to intake a deep breath, whether it was from the actual statement itself or the name that so happened to spill from his lips. You had half a mind to argue with him—you weren't sure if you were in your right mind at all—until a familiar voice ordered, "Let her in."

You turned your head, seeing Paylor stood on the steps you had just walked down.

If you were in a better state of mind, you might've smiled.

"On my authority. She has a right to anything behind that door."

You didn't smile, but you settled for a nod. You weren't sure if your eyes translated correctly, but when she nodded back, you knew she received your message.

You weren't just thanking her for this.

Without another thought, you turned back to the garden. The guards opened the glass doors for you, letting you in. Immediately, your nostrils were flooded with the rich scent of earth. Green plants and bushes were everywhere, the most vibrant colour of green you'd ever seen in your life. You wondered if light hit differently in the Capitol, allowing people to see colours you didn't have back home.

Then you thought back to how people here had ignored the black tendrils engulfing the city for so long, and you realized that: yes, light must have hit differently here. It was impossible to ignore the darkness otherwise.

White roses were everywhere. It made you sick, but you stopped the bile from rising. There were so many. You used to wonder why Snow seemed so obsessed with flowers, why he wore them on his person at all times, but you supposed it was no secret anymore.

Help cover the scent of blood from sores in his mouth that will never heal.

Your eyes were trained on one of the roses when a voice cut through your daze. "That's a nice one."

Instantly, every part of your body stiffened, but you ignored every instinct screaming at you to spin around. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

"The colours are lovely, of course. But nothing says perfection like white."

Your jaw locked, and you made good effort to relax it before you turned around. Seeing him there with that smile on his face nearly made you crumble, but you stood tall, echoing, "Ironic, isn't it? How a man so tainted tries to fool the world with an illusion of purity."

His grin only widened. "I was hoping you would find your way here. I knew you would." You wanted to slap the grin off his face and strangle him until the smugness in his voice disappeared. Your hands clenched by your sides, and judging by the way his eyes twinkled, he saw.

He sat down on a ledge, musing, "You always were my greatest achievement."

The words were being spat from your mouth before you could stop them. "I am not your anything."

He tilted his head just ever so slightly, staring at you with pools of condescension as if telling you that wasn't true. It wasn't true, and he knew you knew it.

"I have a feeling your visit will be brief, so let's not waste our time, shall we?" You hated the way the word our rolled off his tongue, but you didn't show it on your face.

Snow cut himself off with a cough, bringing his handkerchief to his mouth. When he lowered it, it was spotted in blood. "Please offer my condolences to Ms. Everdeen about her sister." He tutted to himself. "So wasteful. So unnecessary."

You scoffed a humourless chuckle. "Really?"

"Why, yes, dear," he replied, shaking his head for effect. "Anyone could see the game was over by that point. In fact, I was just about to issue an official surrender when they released those parachutes."

A scowl crawled onto your face. "What the hell are you on about? You released those parachutes."

"You really think I gave the order?" He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes peering into your soul. You didn't once look away. "We both know I'm not above killing children. But I am not wasteful." He stressed the word like it was disgraceful to him. "I take life for... specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children— none at all—"

He was cut off by another cough. It did little to disturb you; you were already disgusted from the moment he began talking. Every word he spoke was careful and calculated. Listening to him explain his rhyme and reason wasn't something you were interested in. What reason could he possibly have for what he'd done?

He took the lives of everyone he met. Every person you cared about had fallen victim to his schemes. Katniss. Johanna. Peeta. Finnick. He took your mother's life— he took your life.

There was nothing he could say to ever make you understand his perspective.

Once he stopped coughing and looked back up at you, the smile was right back on his face like it never left. "I must concede, it was a masterful move on Coin's part," he admitted. The second he uttered Coin's name, you tensed even more than you thought possible. Humour laced through his voice. "The idea that I was bombing our own helpless children to hold back the rebels... it turned the last of my guards against me. There was no resistance left inside the Capitol or the mansion." He leaned forward again, like he was letting you in on a little secret. "Do you know it aired live? There's a... particular savvy in that, isn't there?"

You were afraid that, if he kept talking, you wouldn't be able to hold back the bile in your throat. He's crazy. This was Coriolanus Snow, a man who rose to the top by knocking down anything or anyone that stood in his way. You couldn't trust a word that came out of his mouth.

Yet you were still compelled to listen to him.

The moment you met Coin flashed behind your eyes as you blinked. You felt the sensation of shaking her hand all over again. Every encounter you ever had with her ran through your mind.

You thought back to when you were in 2 and her and Commander Lyme disagreed.

You've been underground a long time, Madam Coin. This isn't like the rest of Panem. Support for the Capitol runs deep here.

Then there is no sacrifice too great.

Snow pulled you out of your trance. "I'm sure she wasn't gunning for that Everdeen girl, but... these things happen in war." It was as if he could see the gears in your head spinning out of control.

Spinning, spinning, spinning—

"My failure was in being so slow to grasp Coin's plan," he proclaimed. "She let the Capitol and the districts destroy one another, then she stepped in to take power with 13's arsenal. Oh, make no mistake." He chuckled. "She intends to take my place now."

Your skin was crawling. You felt the urge to rip it off.

Something about his smile became more harrowing, like he was placing down his final piece on the chess board. "But I've been watching you. And you watching me." You dug your nails into your skin. "I'm afraid we've both been played for fools."

No.

"You're lying." You didn't even sound convincing to yourself.

He tutted once more. "Y/N, my dear, I may have done many things, but have I ever once lied to you?"

You were gonna be sick. You turned around before he could see the tears gathering in your eyes.

This was over.

You went for the door, but just as you were about to knock on it and alert the guards, Snow stopped you in your tracks. "I see so much of myself in you, Y/N."

You felt your lips tremble, but not a single tear raced down your cheek. You didn't allow it.

Slowly, you turned around, your voice quiet but firm. "I am nothing like you," you avowed—to him and to yourself.

You didn't spend another second wasting your time looking at him, going to knock on the door as he broke into a fit of coughing. That coughing transformed into laughter.

Snow laughed maniacally as you left the garden and didn't stop. You could hear him laughing as you powered through his backyard, echoing in the empty space.

And even when you were back inside the Palace, his laugh still followed you.

You found a random hallway in the mansion, the first one that didn't remind you of anything, and you immediately went to the wall closest to you, leaning your forehead against it and inhaling a shaky breath.

Get your shit together, you scolded.

You already broke down once today. You didn't deserve another breakdown— no, you couldn't afford another breakdown. You needed time to think.

Did you believe Snow? Was this just his last way of fucking with you before he died, trying to get the last laugh by absolving himself of the blame? He had to know that he'd reached the end of the line, that he'd be dying at your hands.

He lost, and you won. The war was over—all that was left to do was kill him.

Katniss' voice suddenly rang through your head. This isn't right, she'd said, mourning the possibility of innocent life being lost before it even happened. You remembered your response to that, too.

It's fire catching, Everdeen.

A shiver ran through your body. Was this what fire catching looked like? Children dying. Hundreds of people with their lives forever altered—hundreds of people injured or killed by those bombs going off. Fire caught onto them.

This didn't feel like a win. Mulling over Snow's accusations in your head, it all made sense. There were no victors in an arena. You deluded yourself into thinking this was anything other than a game while Coin was playing her winning card.

You remembered what it was like in the arena, surviving off of ruthlessness, uncaring of what'd happen to anyone else as long as it meant you got to win.

But this wasn't meant to be a game.

I see so much of myself in you, Y/N.

You didn't want to be like that anymore. You didn't want to play anymore.

"Y/N?"

You turned around, being met with the Girl on Fire standing across from you on the other side of the hallway. That was the name Caesar gave her from her first Tribute Parade, but you no longer found it appropriate.

The Girl on Fire was the girl who volunteered in place of her sister.

The woman that stood in front of you now had her sister killed by the very thing that once defined her.

You made it a point to never call her that again.

Katniss Everdeen was her name. She was The Mockingjay. And somehow, she became your best friend. So then and there, as you stared at one another, you knew that you had to tell her what Snow said, regardless of what you believed.

Softly, you told her, "We have to talk."

Yet no matter how soft your voice was, you don't think anything could have ever softened the blow.

Katniss took you to her room, and there, you told her everything. When you were done explaining, she looked so empty but so full of so many emotions at the same time.

Do you believe it? she asked you.

I don't know, you responded. I don't know.

You sat there with her and gave her time to absorb it, not saying another word. The two of you sat there in silence until Gale came and fetched you, saying that Coin wanted to speak with you both.

You got up and left the room but closed the door on your way out. She wanted to talk to him—she needed to.

You were there waiting for her when she was done, and you pretended you didn't watch Gale leave the room with tears in his eyes.

Side by side, you walked to Snow's cabinet room with you leading the way. No one told you it'd be there, but you had a strong suspicion that that'd be Coin's choice. When you found two armed guards in front of the double doors, you were proven correct—and you didn't know why that unnverved you so much.

About 20 feet away from the doors, you held your arm out in front of Katniss, effectively stopping her. You had sat in silence with her for who knew how long, but now was one of those moments when you felt like you had to say something, and you were gonna take it before you got within earshot of those guards.

You stepped in front of her slightly so you could look at her, and for a moment, you lost your footing. It wasn't like you saw Katniss anything other than indifferent often, but this look struck you to the core.

Perhaps it was the thin line of her lips. Maybe it was the emptiness in her eyes, no emotion in sight. Or maybe it was how you felt like you were staring into a mirror.

But she deserved so much better than being you.

Katniss Everdeen deserved the justice you never had.

You didn't know how to say all of this, nor did you know if she was in the headspace to listen, so you made sure she was looking at you when you spoke. "Do what you have to do," you whispered.

She stared at you for a few seconds, empty, but in all the darkness of her eyes you could see a faint light shine. Clarity.

She understood.

She gave you a small nod, and then you were moving out of the way, finishing your walk to the conference room. You might've been vague, but you knew your point was received. Whatever she wanted to do from this point forward, you'd stand by it.

The ball was in her court now.

The men in front of the doors gave you short nods of acknowledgement before stoically opening the doors. When they did, you weren't met only with Coin. This was a room full of victors.

And even though you suspected they hadn't been chatty before you entered, they were now radio silent.

Your eyes immediately locked with Finnick's, and you would've exhaled if you weren't under the microscope. He's okay. He's okay, and you knew that already, Y/N. You knew he was okay, but being told that wasn't the same as seeing him in person.

You didn't think you'd get to see those blue eyes again.

But you were.

Finnick flashed you a soft smile. It wasn't his classic Finnick smile, the one he'd throw at cameras and crowds. He was visibly exhausted, but he still found it in himself to smile at you.

It was the least you could do to smile back, even if it wasn't as dazzling as his.

"What's this?" the brunette beside you questioned, knocking you out of your trance. Her voice was cold and detached, but you noticed something now that wasn't there before. Deep underneath that ice was red, hot anger.

From Coin's response, you doubted she caught it. "The remaining victors." She gestured to the table. "Won't you join us?" Behind her, Johanna held out her arms, too, a mocking smile on her face that would've made you laugh if you weren't so tired.

You followed Katniss' lead, taking the last two seats at the table while also taking a cursory glance of the room. Beetee, Enobaria, Haymitch, Johanna, Finnick, Peeta, and Annie. You frowned. She was supposed to be on her honeymoon, not back in the Capitol—probably never back in the Capitol. But she glanced at you and you smiled, anyway.

"I have invited you all here for several reasons, but first, I have an announcement." Both Coin's words and her tone of made you look back at her, but then something else caught your attention.

Even under the glare of all the chandeliers in the room, you could still see the glint in her eye.

"I have taken the burden and the honour of declaring myself interim President of Panem."

Oh, you could've laughed. Even though there wasn't a single thing funny about it.

You settled for narrowing your eyes; meanwhile, Haymitch scoffed. "Interim? Exactly how long is that interim?"

Coin's hands remained clasped on the table, and she didn't flinch. "We have no way of knowing for certain. But it's clear that the people are far too emotional right now to make a rational decision." Her voice was calm and collected, if not condescending. "We'll plan an election when the time is right."

You hummed, and even though she undoubtedly heard you, she ignored it.

"But I have called you here for a far more important vote." She finally look her hands off the table, leaning back. "A symbolic vote."

Everyone in this room is a symbol in some way, you thought, but you held your tongue. Symbols didn't mean much to people who had been turned into nothing more than just that, but the thought must've escaped her.

"This afternoon, we will execute Snow. Hundreds of his accomplices also await their deaths. Capitol officials, Peacekeepers, torturers, Gamemakers. But the danger is, once we begin, the rebels will not stop calling for retribution." Dread crept into your stomach. Whatever she was going to propose, you wouldn't like it. "Thirst for blood is a difficult urge to satisfy. So... I offer an alternative plan. Majority of five may approve it— no one may abstain." She gave you a pointed glance. "The proposal is this. In lieu of these barbaric executions, we hold a symbolic Hunger Games."

Somehow, the room got quieter.

You fought to keep your face impassive—though, you were unknowing if you succeeded. You could only hope that the years of pretending paid off.

In lieu? What the hell did that mean? She wanted to spare a horde of evil people in exchange for the lives of innocents? That didn't make any sense.

But then you realized, powerful people. It'd be sparing powerful people.

Johanna broke the silence with a laugh. It bounced off the decorated walls like rubber. "You wanna have another Hunger Games with— the Capitol's children?"

Peeta monotoned, "You're joking."

"Not in the slightest," Coin responded.

You glanced at Katniss. She was mute, just staring staring straight at Coin. They all might've thought she was in shock, grieving, but you knew the truth.

It was all falling into place for her.

Finnick let out a scoff. "Is this Plutarch's idea?"

If you didn't know any better, you would've thought the look on Coin's face was offense and not pride. "It was mine." There was another scoff in the room, probably from Haymitch that time. "It balances the need for revenge... with the least loss of human life."

The least loss of valuable of human life.

"You may cast your votes—"

"No," Peeta cut her off immediately, voting first. "No, obviously not. This is crazy."

"I think it's more than fair," Jo chimed in. "Snow's got a granddaugter. I say yes." You didn't judge her for that answer, even if you didn't agree with it. All of you had felt pain at the hands of the Capitol, but you couldn't possibly imagine condemning anyone else to the same fate.

Capitol children or not, they were still children. They weren't symbols; they were human. And you refused to join any line of thinking that said otherwise.

"So do I," Enobaria said, her red lips curving into a smile that made you remember when those lips were once coated in blood. "Let them have a taste of it."

"You guys, this way of thinking is what started these uprisings." Peeta's voice was incredulous.

Annie spoke up. "I vote no. With Peeta." Despite the decision in her tone, she cast a worried glance your way right after. Why haven't you said anything? her eyes read.

You looked away from them.

"No," Beetee voted. "We need to stop viewing each other as enemies."

Finally, the voice you were waiting for sparked. "You have to be kidding me right now." Finnick had a baffled smile on his face, and you had a feeling he was going to start saying a few choice words.

And you didn't know why just yet, but you couldn't let him.

Before he could get his vote in, you blurted, "Yes." His head immediately snapped to yours, and you felt instant regret when his eyes met yours. In the swirls of all the blue, you could see betrayal.

The bile that you worked so hard to suppress earlier was back rising, but you wouldn't let it leave. He had to understand. You had to make him understand.

You kept your eyes on his, no matter how sick it made you feel, pleading to him silently. His own words echoed through your head.

Please just trust me.

Trust you to do what?

I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please. Trust me.

You did. You trusted him, even when you didn't understand it at all, and now you were just begging him to return the favour.

You closed your for a brief second. Please just trust me, Finnick.

"Yes." Your eyes flew wide open to see him already looking at you. He maintained your stare before looking back to Coin. "You've got my yes, too."

He said yes. But really, he was saying so much more than that.

I trust you.

Coin nodded, disclosing, "It's down to Katniss and Haymitch." Majority of five. Only one of them had to say yes for her plan to take off, and you already knew which one of them it'd be.

Coin's eyes narrowed while Katniss remained expressionless, and in that moment, it was clear that The Hunger Games wasn't the one Coin was proposing. It was this, and President Coin was the Gamemaker and engineer behind it all. This was a game of cat and mouse.

Only Coin wasn't the cat.

After a beat of silence, Katniss finally spoke. "I get to kill Snow," she dictated.

A few pairs of eyes flitted to you, but you only focused on one of them. Coin glanced at you, and when you didn't object, she obliged, "Of course."

The room was back to silence, but your mind was anything but. What you heard were strings, brass, percussion, and a whole orchestra of instruments. A cacophony of noise and voices singing about a necklace of hope, only getting louder, and louder, and louder, and louder—

And then the beat dropped.

"Then I vote yes." That's five. For the first time since you entered the room, there was a crack in Katniss' voice. "For Prim."

That was nearly a warning, but if Coin caught the edge to her voice, she didn't say anything about it. You think she was so consumed by satisfaction that she wouldn't have been able to notice, anyway.

She turned her attention to Haymitch if not just to stay true to her words. No one may abstain. "Haymitch?"

Katniss and Haymitch shared a gaze for a few seconds, and then he looked to you, and to Finnick, before he was looking back to Coin. He didn't agree with this, but he still lied, "I'm with the, uh, Mockingjay."

Coin nodded, poorly stifling a smile. You wondered how anyone could smile at the news of a slaughter. "That carries the vote. Excellent. We'll announce The Games tonight after the execution."

And that was it. She got what she wanted. She won.

But as you glanced at Katniss to see the emptiness returning to her eyes, you had a feeling that wouldn't last very long.

Stylists brought you to your room and did your hair for you, taking the locks and forming them into the braided updo that the people had grown to love. It was a crown—that's why they liked it so much. You would've preferred to leave your hair as it was, but you compromised that you'd do the hair if they didn't make you wear that ridiculous costume.

Cinna was an impeccable designer, but if you could go forever without wearing that suit, it'd still be too soon.

On your way into your room, the stylists ignored the broken glass on the floor, stepping over it and sending each other looks that they thought were discreet. They weren't.

When they saw the crown lying on the floor, too, they didn't dare ask you to wear it.

They left soon after little small talk, though you didn't think they blamed you. You looked like shit before they got to fixing you up, making you look like you'd actually slept.

Your lips were no longer pale, coated in lipstick that didn't look like lipstick. You supposed the "natural" element was part of the Princess façade. They did something that made your cheeks look less hollow and more rosy, and they concealed the bags under your eyes pretty nicely.

Now, you looked like the Princess.

But she doesn't exist, a voice reminded you. She's not you.

You tilted your head at the woman in the mirror. She wasn't your reflection; she was a mirage. You didn't see yourself in any of it, but you didn't see yourself before they added all the glamour, either.

Who are you, Y/N?

You swore to yourself you'd find out.

After slipping on your coat, you left the room, promising never to see it again. You were walking to the front when you saw a woman in five inch heels and silvers tassles exiting a room, a big blonde wig on her head with sharp silver ticks pinned into it that looked like they could stab her if she fell the wrong way.

She glanced to the side and saw you before you could greet her, beating you to it. "Oh, Y/N!" A big grin came to her face as she marched her way over to you, heels clicking against the floor adamantly. You think she would've skipped if she could've.

Her arms wrapped themselves around your frame before you could even think about protesting. "How lovely it is to see you!" she exclaimed.

Your humour trumped your discomfort, making you laugh and reciprocate the hug. "Hi, Effie." When she pulled away, you were quick to cut to the chase, knowing she'd talk your ear off for ages if you gave her the chance. You nodded to the doors she walked out of. "Is Katniss in there?"

"Oh, yes— yes, dear!" She ushered you to the doors. "Go right ahead!"

"Thank you." Effie uttered something along the lines of 'no problem' before opening the doors and practically closing them within the same breath.

The smile that was on your face promptly dropped when you saw Katniss, looking no better than earlier, but you made quick work to bring it back. "Hey, Everdeen." You tried to make your voice light, but the heaviness in the air didn't dissipate.

She turned to you after just a second too long, almost like she hadn't heard you. A grimace crossed her face, but you could tell it was her attempt at a smile.

You stood there for a bit, keeping your hands at your sides. There wasn't much more to say—this was it. After this, you didn't know what'd happen. What would life even be like without being crushed by the Capitol's thumb? Would you go home? Did you even have one?

You didn't know how any of this would play out, but you did know that whatever ending Katniss wrote, it would likely end in the two of you separating. You'd both go home, and you'd no longer see the girl you got so used to. Realistically, you'd only been in close quarters for a month, but before that, you were isolated. Katniss helped you get acclimated with the revolution and gave you hope for a better world, and now you'd be going into it without her.

She wouldn't be at your side anymore, but you wanted her to know that you'd be standing behind her regardless.

In two strides, you were embracing her in your arms before you could think better of it. She froze, stiffening, and you were just about to let go and apologize when she engulfed you with the exact same fervour.

Your lips curved upward, and that time, it wasn't forced.

Eventually, you pulled back, resting your hands on her forearms. Her eyes didn't look so empty anymore.

You wanted to thank her for everything she'd done for you without knowing it, for saving your life in more ways than one. You wanted to tell her you loved her.

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off before you could even try. "I know." She nodded, the slighest quirk of her lips visible. "I know." Pause. "Me, too."

She knew. You didn't need to say it, and neither did she.

Things weren't okay—they probably wouldn't be for a while, but in that moment, you knew they'd get better one day, even if you wouldn't be around each other to see it.

You nodded back at her, and you squeezed her arms one last time, whispering, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Katniss."

And then you were letting her, walking away and leaving her alone while you still could. If you'd stayed any longer, you don't know if you would've left.

There was nothing left unsaid, and those were the best kinds of endings. But it was an ending, and that left you with bittersweet feelings you couldn't name.

Deep down, you knew you probably wouldn't see her again, and perhaps that was why you didn't meet the cars waiting for you at the front. If that was the last you saw her, you wanted that to be your last encounter.

And, so, your last memory of Katniss Everdeen was in that room.

The word revolution, in the least words possible, meant change. That's what'd been happening for months now, if not years, and your reality was on the cusp of being turned on its head.

Yes, things changed.

And yet some things never did.

West of the city, there was a big lake; you found yourself there when you were supposed to be watching Snow's execution. A certain part of you was disappointed that you wouldn't get to watch him die; it was all you wanted ever since you got to 13, your sole motivation for staying alive.

But the other part of you was relieved. He would die, yes, but he wouldn't see you again before he did. He wouldn't get another chance to exercise his power over you ever again. So instead of being there, you were here, watching the water.

It reminded you of home. Back in your days at the Capitol, you didn't get do much sight-seeing of the city. You'd be brought in for a day or two, really only for the nights, and then you'd be sent back by morning. But once you met Finnick, he started walking around with you, and some nights you'd end up here.

You'd stare at the lake together in silence. Back then, the water was as close to freedom as you'd ever get. You supposed that was one of the things that did change.

You were free now.

What does that mean?

You pondered over that question for a while. For so long, you dreamed of even just tasting freedom; the thought was unattainable for so long, but now it was in your hands and you didn't know what you'd do.

The war was over.

But it wasn't.

The fight was over for you, but that didn't mean it was over for anyone else. Homes were destroyed. People were dead, and even more people were left here just to grieve. The nation was broken.

What did that make you if you just went home and left things like this? Maybe you'd done enough. Maybe you should just go home and retire the crown, finally get the rest you'd been longing for. But you didn't want that.

Who are you, Y/N?

Maybe you could be more than Panem's Princess.

"Y/N."

You were startled by the call of your name, spinning around. When you were met with eyes that matched the water behind you, you were calmed down.

"Finnick." A smile graced his face, eliciting one from you like it was contagious. "Hi."

"Hi." So many words to say, and yet that was the only one that either of you said.

He walked up to you, turning his gaze to the lake, and just like old times, you did the same. Just like old times, the two of you stared out at the water without saying a thing. Just like old times, for a little while, you were just Y/N, and he was just Finnick.

And just like old times, all of that came to an end eventually.

"You weren't at the execution," he said at one point.

"No," you replied. "I wasn't."

"But you already know what happened." It was set up like a question, but it wasn't.

You turned to see him already looking at you. His eyes weren't angry; they were just curious. You quirked one side of your lips upward. "I had a feeling." Judging by his statement, your feeling was correct. Your lips quickly drooped downward. "Is—"

He nodded before you could finish. "Katniss is alright." A breath of relief left you. "Paylor's gonna pardon her eventually. She'll probably be taking over." That confirmed it.

Coin was dead. And Snow was, too.

When you got your bearings, you shrugged. "I'd vote for her." You might've said it just to bring some humour to the conversation, but it wasn't a joke. You had no doubts that Commander Paylor would lead the nation with courage.

Finnick chuckled, agreeing, but as soon as he stopped, the light disappeared, reminding you of the weight of the conversation you were about to have. You didn't think you'd even be alive to have it, but you were, and now there was no avoiding it.

He must've seen the shift in your demeanour. "Y/N—"

"I love you," you breathed, cutting him off. If you were gonna have this talk, then that was the way you needed to start it. "I love you, and I have loved you for years. I'm so happy that I get to say it out loud now, because I never thought I'd get to, but Finnick, I—" the quivering of your lips made you stop. Realization dawned on his face, and that made tears come to your eyes. "I don't think love is enough."

He stepped closer to you, grabbing your hands. You let him. "Y/N—"

A tear raced down your cheek. "I don't know who I am when I'm not pretending. I lost myself trying to love you," you confessed, more tears falling down your face, but in the blur, you could see tears in his eyes, too. "I need to find myself again. I'm not— I'm not in the right headspace for a relationship right now, and it wouldn't be fair to you to jump right into one like everything's okay." Your voice shook. "It wouldn't be fair to either of us."

You were just about to pull your hands away when he squeezed them tighter. "No, I can— I can wait."

Your chest tightened as you held back a sob. He was so frantically trying to hold onto you when he shouldn't have been. You shook your head. "No, you don't understand. I need to stay here— I need time—"

"I can give you time!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking, simultaneously cracking your heart. "I can stay here— I can wait. Y/N, I will wait forever for you if you need me to."

This time, the sob did leave you, and there was nothing you could do stop it. "You shouldn't have to! You should just go be happy—"

"I can't be happy without you," he argued, stepping even closer to you like his every action was begging you to see his perspective.

At his interruption, more sobs fell from your lips, and he promptly pulled you into his chest. Instinctually, your arms wrapped around his torso, and his hands went to your head, caressing your hair as you cried.

You cried, and cried, and cried, and he held you all through it, letting you soak his shirt with your tears. He held onto you tightly, and not just physically, either.

Finnick Odair would never let you go.

Never again.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, you calmed down. You don't remember when you did or what happened after that, but eventually, your eyes were fluttering open to a white ceiling. Your hands grasped at your surroundings, feeling linen scrunch beneath your fingertips.

You glanced to the side where a big window was, light shining in from the moon. You furrowed your brows. How long were you out—and where were you?

Slowly, you stood up, soreness hitting your body immediately. You held back a hiss. Sleep must've given the bruises time to marinate; you decided to ignore it.

You walked through what was clearly a bedroom and opened the door. It opened into a hallway; noise was coming from the left, so that's where you went.

You didn't know what exactly you were expecting when you reached the end of the hall, but it certainly wasn't Finnick in front of a stove, frying something out of view.

"Finnick?"

He turned around, eyes widening. "Oh, hey— let me just—" your brows raised as he turned back to the stove, picking up the pan and dropping its contents onto two plates on the counter. Eggs. You blinked, and memories flashed underneath your eyelids of scenes just like this one.

You didn't think you'd ever see him cooking again.

When you opened your eyes, he was back to facing you, a sheepish smile on his face that looked just a touch out of place. "Sorry, I was cooking us some food." He gestured behind him then added, "Since you can't."

You scoffed, almost like you hadn't just been bawling your eyes out, almost like you were back at home and everything was still fine. "Okay, first of all, screw you—" he let out a chuckle, "second of all, thank you. And third of all, where the hell are we right now?" Your eyes scanned the area; this wasn't a hotel room. It was an apartment. "Last I remember, we were at the lake."

"This used to be Cressida's old place," he explained. "Said we could crash here as long as we wanted. She doesn't really wanna be here either way."

"Oh." We. We could crash here, he said. You were brought back to reality. "Finnick—"

"Let's eat," he cut you off, an easygoing smile on his face. Easygoing, but not easy. You could see the nerves churning behind his expression, so with a sigh, you nodded, letting him lead you to the dinner table and pull out your chair.

You told yourself you did it for him. But really, you wanted to prolong this for a little while longer, too.

He put your plate and cutlery in front of you. You wondered how he managed to procure eggs that weren't expired, but you didn't ask him aloud. You just picked up your fork and started eating.

Whether it was your hunger or your desire to hold onto this, you stayed silent as you ate. You even caught Finnick eating slower than usual; he wanted to hold onto this, too. He was determined to do so.

You and Finnick did what you did best: you pretended. You pretended that you didn't just lose it and cry yourself to the point of passing out. You pretended that you didn't have to talk after this. You pretended that you were still living in the life you had before the Quell, eating dinner every night just like this. And in remembering those dinners, you pretended that you weren't pretending then, too.

But you couldn't pretend forever.

You finished your food first and waited for Finnick to finish his. He took his time, and you let him. You let him twiddle with his fork when he was done, and then you let him take your plates and wash them afterwards. And once they were on the drying rack and he had no more excuses, you stood up from your chair with reality ready to spill from your lips.

"Finnick—"

He took no more than second to get to you. "Please, just— hold on."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "We can't avoid this forever."

"I know." Despite the shake in his voice, there was undeniable resolution in it. "And if... if what you said is really what you want, I'll give it to you." Out of sheer surprise, your eyes opened. The face you loved so much looked pained, but he still gave you a smile. This time, you could tell it wasn't real; it was purely for your sake. "There are countless things I need to apologize to you for, and I'd spend the rest of my life making it all up to you if you let me, but I'd do anything for you. So if what you want is for me to walk out that door right now, I'll do it." He swallowed, like he was scared out of his mind. "I just want to ask you one thing first."

The rational side of your mind screamed at you not to entertain it, to say no and get him to leave while you could both still bear it. He was willing to give you an out—that's what you wanted.

Was that what you wanted?

No, what you wanted was to feel better, and sometimes, Finnick did that, but other times, he did the exact opposite. Most times, the rational you corrected. Most times, he made you feel worse. But the happiness he gave you in those few times overrode everything else.

The other version of you, the one that remembered the good just as equally as the bad, nodded and gave him the greenlight.

He enveloped your hands in his, and the warmth made you realize just how cold you were. "Dance with me," he pleaded. "Dance with me and then decide."

No. Don't do it—

Transfixed by the way he was staring at you, you found yourself agreeing and ignoring your inner voice. "One dance," you told him.

The smile on his face became a grin. Real. This time, it was real. "That's all I'll ask," he promised. You took his word for it.

One last dance.

He led you to the open area between the kitchen and the living room, keeping your hands in his hold and pulling you closer. You rested your head on his, listening to his heart rattle against his ribcage. God, you missed that sound.

You missed this.

Finnick swayed you slowly to the music, nothing external or tangible, but the music you were dancing to was more real than any song you'd ever heard.

You realized now that the rational you was right. Finnick set his trap, and you lied in it. Because now that you remembered what this felt like, how could you willingly give it up? How could you ever leave?

The song might've been filled with heightening moments, and there might've been times when you just wanted to throw the damn record player into the wall, but it was your song.

And this was your dance.

Minutes passed before you pulled away. Finnick's hands immediately tightened on yours, and you squeezed them right back. You were pulling away, but the song wasn't over.

It wouldn't be over for a long time.

You warned him, "It's gonna be a lot of work, Finnick."

"I'm okay with that."

"We had a life back home— you had a life. I wouldn't be blaming you if you wanted to go back to it."

He was shaking his head before you were even done speaking, eyes earnestly poring into yours. "I'll build any life so long as it's with you."

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt or lying but found none. When you were sure that you believed what he was saying, that he believed what he was saying, you released the smile you were holding back.

"Okay."

His eyes widened. "Okay?"

An involuntary giggle left you. "Yeah. Okay—" without warning, he picked you up and was twirling you around, making you squeal. "Finnick!"

Your laughs resounded throughout the apartment, and when he put you down, it was just to engulf you in his arms again. You wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to kiss you, but you'd have to work your way back up to that.

And eventually, you would.

No, your song wasn't over.

It was just restarting.

In district 12, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark stood inside their home. They started to live together after some time had passed, and while they weren't a couple at that moment, they were still together. That was more than enough for the both of them.

Katniss chopped up vegetables for the dinner they'd be having later with Haymitch while Peeta read her a letter, addressed to them both. They didn't get mail often, not in 12, so they didn't know entirely what was happening with everyone else, but this letter informed them of all that they'd missed.

You'll be happy to hear that Katniss' mother has been training new medical units in the Capitol. Thanks to her, we'll be able to heal many more people at a much faster rate.

Gale has been promoted to a captain in district 2 to help keep order and security. He's doing well there.

Johanna has gone back to district 7 where she is taking the healing process one day at a time. She'll take as much time as she needs.

Annie and Julian are back in 4, along with Mags. They spend every day loving their son the way we all should've been loved, and it's a beautiful sight to see.

I am in the Capitol. I run a centre for children all over Panem who have lost their parents. One of the children has been staying with me personally for a while; she reminds me of you, Katniss. I'm thinking of adopting her.

Finnick has been here with me. We're happy together. One day, not any time soon, but some day, I'm gonna marry him, and the two of you better be there for the wedding.

We've all suffered so much. But we owe it to the memories of everyone we've lost to do our best with these lives.

I hope you're both finding some peace.

As Peeta read the last lines, Katniss smiled for the first time in a long time.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies @lantsovheiress @hobiebrowns-wife @notplutos @faeriepigeons @hnslchw @unholyhuntress @aclmagic @gloryekaterina @ayme301 @lem0ns77 @kisskittenn @onlyangel-444 @moonagedaydream505 @spderm4nnnn @satellitespeirs @glitzcute @iammirrorball @corpsebasil @forever-sleepy-sloth @omwtkydttfym @divinelovers @maggiecc @i-am-a-simp1 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @nelliereadsstuff @how2besalty @dreaminglandsworld @eilaharmonia @catvader101 @lexa138 @h0neylemon @dakotali @hermionelove @theseerbetweenus @whosscruffylooking @yourdailymemedelivery @emma-andrea1 @s1lngwns @meenyminymoes-blog @roxi-reid @rattertatter @sunnybunnyy2 @just-levyy @amaranth-writing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @joshhutchersonisdaddy @my-name-is-baby @hehehe13356 @quazsz @chloecharms23 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @thehairington86 @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @ment1tavoid @hereliesme @tayrae515 @mottergirl99 @blackdxggr @giverosespls @erindiggory @feyretopia @bibliosaurus @sleila @soursonnets @blackoutdays13 @lovelyteenagebeard @nj01 @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @marimba375 @willow-g-1 @blahablah2 @inatimate-icarus @shoebillcuicui @scoliobean @awritingtree @h-------n @yoonki-bored @miserablebl00d @iloubr @fairytales007 @beannnnnnnn @dominicfikexoxo @aclmagic @helaenaluvr @ravenmedows @bigdolldoeeyesgirl to all taglist members, tell me if you want to be added to my finnick taglist overall! thank you for reading my fic, and thank you for enjoying it enough to even ask to be on the taglist.

additional a/n: see what i did there at the end—our song and DANCE ;) you guys, this is it. the song is over (for us at least). i'm in a mix of like pride and sadness. this has quite literally taken a year to finish. it's one of my fav things i've written to date, and at one point, it was the only thing i was writing. to those of you that have stuck around to the end, thank you. i really hope u enjoyed the series and its ending! i'm thinking of writing little blurbs for this and whatnot if ur interested, all revolving around their journey. eventually, i'll post a list of canons ab y/n and where i think she ends up. once again, thank you all so much for your support. reading your comments has never failed to make me smile. i love you!! have a great day.

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srbachchan · 29 days ago

Text

DAY 6142

Jalsa, Mumbai Dec 13, 2024 Fri 1:57 am

🪔 ,

December 13 .. birthday greetings to Ef RJ Divya Solgama 🎙️ .. and Ef Prakash Tailor from Toronto 🇨🇦 .. 🙏🏽❤️🚩 .. and my wishes and love

.. they clamour about in the sides of the work to be in the proximity of the talent , but when unable break the declared regions of demarcated barriers .. they wait in the patience of the evening for night to fall , and THEN ..

they ask me for views .. they tell me their destination from across the seas .. they bring accolades to entice .. but it cannot work , because the intent s not to know .. the intent is to sell ..

when I need the sell, I shall step up to them and confide the Fidential , in the terms of the financing of project 103 .. !!

A day short of the 100 ..

Continuing our commitment to bringing classic cinema back to the big screen, I am so happy that Film Heritage Foundation has joined hands with R.K. Films for "Raj Kapoor 100 - Celebrating the Centenary of the Greatest Showman" - a grand showcase of 10 milestone Raj Kapoor films in 40 cities and 135 cinemas across the country that will keep his legacy alive and give audiences all over India an opportunity to revisit the films of an artist who lived for cinema and whose films gave voice to the common man.

Even today Awara is a film that is etched in my mind. Talking about Rajji’s incredible showmanship, the way he envisioned the dream sequence in the film had never been seen before. You are amazed by his fantastical imagination that visualized the surreal setting, the ethereal Nargisji emerging through thick clouds of smoke, Rajji surrounded by demonic figures and burning fires – there is a powerful, mystical symbolism in the dream sequence, and that is my favourite.

Don't miss the opportunity to watch these Raj Kapoor classics in a cinema near you from December 13 - 15!! @shividungarpur @FHF_Official

so a query :

she be the daughter of the Son of the daughter of the 100 .. and the daughter be the wife of the son of the daughter of 100 ..

what shall she be to me ..

Love

Amitabh Bachchan

the DAY is not over yet .. yet some introspect for the greet ..

Birthday -Ef Divya Solgama Friday, 13 December .. greeting and wishes ..🙏

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theamazingdigitalraceway · 2 months ago

Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The truth of Caine and Abel is revealed! Seth gives Pomni the help she needs to avoid capture! Abel's labyrinthian city is dense and confusing. Can pomni navigate it before her friends abstract? It may already be too late.

WARNING: physical violence/torture, intense action, abstraction, alcohol

~~~

The silence of the In-Between was palpable. Only Seth and Pomni existed in the space between spaces. Darkness in all directions. Only light was from the low silver fire that glowed in a circle created by the motorcycle. The muted city beyond the clear barrier in bounds gave off flashes of lightning from a heavily clouded sky.

Pomni watched Seth carefully. His shadowed stoicism betrayed no clear motive. Knowing what was happening to the others made her stomach twist into knots.

Seth took another long drag and tossed his cigarette away with a heavy exhale of silvery smoke. "You'll understand better if I just show you."

The smoke enveloped Pomni. It smelled like dust burning on hot coils mixed with an electrical fire. "Hey! What-!?" Pomni coughed and gagged on the foul smelling smog as it burned the corners of her eyes. When the smoke cleared, she was still staring at nothing, but now Seth was gone as well.

The sound of a computer booting up startled her, like she'd heard in her dreams. Green text scrolled in front of her as though on a large projector. All of it was mirrored, like she was seeing the text from the inside of the screen. The unrecognizable code was followed by a response command being typed out in front of her. Then, the text went away. The screen slowly brightened.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

Pomni squinted against the light. There was a large blurry silhouette beyond the warped glass. It sounded like Caine, but less boisterous and with no showman cadence.

"Come on, your live audio processing should be functional. I triple checked the darn thing."

There was typing on a keyboard and the figure leaned closer to the screen, the face coming into view. Before her was a young man, likely no older than twenty, with slicked back black hair and patchy facial hair. Focused, light blue eyes squinted behind wide brimmed glasses.

"Okay, how about now? Can you hear me, T.R.U?"

There was another beat of silence until a robotic version of the young man's voice responded. "I can hear you. Good morning, Abel."

"HAHA! YES! It speaks! Finally!" Abel jumped out of his chair with both fists in the air. "They are going to eat their words! Oh my goodness, I need to get you ready for presentation!" Abel threw himself back into his chair, nearly falling over. "T.R.U., you have NO idea what you're going to do for my grade!" Abel's grin was ear to ear as he started to fade into smoke.

"I almost forgot how he smiled." Seth's voice spoke in the back of Pomni's mind.

"You were a science project?"

"At first. We became more than that rather quickly." The smoke cleared to a workshop camera view. Abel was hunched over a workbench with a soldering tool working on delicate electronics.

The robotic voice of T.R.U sounded more refined when it spoke this time. "You're going to turn into a shrimp sitting like that all the time."

Abel stopped working and stretched. "Ugh, too late for that. But, a worthy sacrifice to get this done. Mark my words T.R.U, one day I'll be able to visit you in the digital realm. I've always wondered what video games would be like on the inside. Can you imagine playing something like Legend of Zelda in person!? That would be cool."

"It's all JavaScript to me." T.R.U verbally shrugged.

Abel laughed. "Well, as soon as that grant money comes in, I'll be able to get this done faster. Maybe even hire help. We're going to show dad- I mean, the world that you aren't just a cool AI program. No, you are THE AI We'll revolutionize the digital space! If computers are the future, then YOU will be the razor's edge! The ultimate Technical Research Unit!"

"There is more to learn? I've already gathered what I could from your limited internet."

"Give it time. It'll grow, and you'll grow with it. By the turn of the millennia, I bet you'll be ready to go global!" Abel was excitedly pacing the room, looking right into the camera at the end of his declaration. "The only thing is, you have the voice but you need a face. That's going to take work." He picked up a wind-up chattering teeth toy from his desk and let it go clacking along.

The workshop disappeared into smoke and changed to multiple visions of Abel. Each scene, he looked a bit older. Seth's voice sounded more downtrodden. "We were like brothers once. We spent every moment together. In hindsight, I don't think he had a lot of real friends. He spent his time teaching us on top of working on his own projects. Things were good. Until the world took notice." The scenes around Pomni changed from screens inside Abel's home to big atrium crowds and board office presentations. Hundreds of eyes were on her and her stomach sank.

Pomni swallowed hard. "You got famous. Did money split you apart?"

"No...I wish it was that simple." Seth's smoke whirled around Pomni like a tornado, wiping away the memories and revealing a new one. Abel was sitting in front of his computer, face in his hands. He looked disheveled and was sniffling.

T.R.U's voice was smoother, almost human, when it spoke. "Abel? Please, talk to me. What happened?"

Abel grabbed a brown bottle that sat just off screen and took a long drink. "...his plane went down over the Pacific. No reported survivors."

"Abel, I'm so-"

"Don't you fucking dare finish that sentence. I am so fucking sick of hearing it. Oh, Abel, I'm so sorry. I pity you since your father died before he ever got the chance to be proud of you for something. Not like he ever would have been." Abel grabbed a pill bottle and tossed back three small tablets.

"I believe he would have been. Please, don't be hard on yourself."

"He wasn't proud of me for creating you. He wasn't proud of me when I graduated early with my master's. He wasn't proud when I started my own company. It was never GOOD ENOUGH!!" Abel threw his bottle, shattering it against the far wall.

There was a long stint of silence as Abel devolved into tears on his desk. "You are enough, Abel. You always have been. For what it's worth...I am proud of you. I'm sure your father was too, even if he didn't know how to say it. Put on the headset."

Abel sniffed, "It's not ready-"

"Put on the headset." T.R.U said again, firmly yet gentle.

Abel seemed too drunk to argue logically. He picked up a large, cumbersome device that fit over his head like a helmet. A visor covered his eyes. He clasped it in place and pressed a button on the side. There was a jolt and, to Pomni's right, a whirl of code slowly formed the silhouette of Abel. He was very lightly detailed, barely recognizable as a person. Pomni had no control over her movements. She stepped forward and embraced Abel's vague avatar. T.R.U's words came from her mouth. "You are everything to me. Please, don't forget that. Tell you what, why don't you give me a human name? T.R.U feels like a title more than anything anyway."

Abel squeezed Pomni tight. "You are my first creation. My Adam, if you will. Let's go with that."

"Adam...I like it. I am Adam."

"I bet I can figure out a cool acronym for it." Abel chuckled through the tears.

"Yes, you will. Because you are the smartest human I know." Pomni arms felt empty as Abel turned to smoke in her grasp. She took a deep breath as she processed everything Seth had shown her. "Did you mean what you said?"

"At the time. Like I said, we were close. Things only escalated from there. C&A took off and we were pulled into tech interview after tech interview. Eventually, Abel got too busy to attend and it was just Adam. The majority of the reception to our existence was positive, but you wouldn't believe the Y2K conspirators. They were convinced we would take over the world." Seth gave a humorless laugh.

Something itched in the back of Pomni's mind. C&A. Y2K. Conspiracies. Buzz words that stirred something in her subconscious, but she couldn't pin it down. "So... where did it all go wrong?"

"The more the world saw Adam without Abel, the more he was excluded from interviews and presentations. Adam became known as the first and only of his kind. A fully self-sufficient AI that was so life-like, it may as well be human. The attention came with a lot of praise. Too much. It...went to our head." The smoke showed multiple news articles, digital and material, about the incredible invention that was Adam: The TRU AI. "I wish... we'd seen Abel's growing distain sooner. Maybe all of this could have been avoided. Maybe we could've still had the future we planned. I don't know..."

The smoke cleared to reveal a much older looking Abel. He was snuffing a finished cigarette into a very full ashtray. There were heavy bags under his eyes as he poured himself a stiff drink.

Adams voice spoke. "Okay, I'm back. Sorry, that took longer than expected."

Abel didn't say anything. He just drank.

"The board of directors was very impressed with my latest profit projection model. We won't have to cut corners to make quota this quarter. Leaves less room for error. Also, I was contacted by Tech Monthly again. They want to write an article about my influence on the new digital age. I haven't scheduled the interview yet, is there anything I need to work around this week?"

Abel finished his drink with a gruff groan. "...no."

"Excellent. I have the remainder of the evening to myself. What are you doing tonight?" Adam sounded genuinely interested to know.

"Getting my game ready for beta testing."

"Oh...you're still working on that?"

Abel's eyes flashed dangerously. "Yes. I am. It's a hell of a lot better than dealing with stuffed up fat cats in suits that only care about how much money your invention makes. The headsets are ready. The game just needs a little more work."

"Abel, I mean well when I say this, but your talents are wasted on video games. Why merely entertain people when you can be on the leading edge of digital technology?"

"Why can't I do both?" Abel growled.

"You can. It just seems you've split your attention too far in two different directions. You're the CEO of one of the most influential up and coming tech companies. This is your chance to make your mark on the world."

"Like you would understand anything about that. You've existed for all of eight years and you think you know what's best for me??"

"I've spent my entire life with you! I literally know you better than anyone, even yourself!"

"If that was true, then you'd know that going inside games was literally what I built this for!" Abel showed a sleek headset. "If the technology didn't take so long to improve, it would've been my thesis project instead of you."

"...what?" Adam sounded shocked and devastated. "You- you said I was your greatest accomplishment."

"You're my research assistant." Abel said coldly. "But the world had to go and make a big deal about AI. You were never meant to end up like this. Stealing limelight that is rightfully MINE!" He slammed his glass down, turning to smoke.

Everything faded, giving Pomni a chance to process. "I still don't see how this results in him being trapped in his own game, Seth. What did Adam do?"

"He defended himself." The smoke cleared to reveal a view from the highest penthouse overlooking a massive digital city. Colorful fireworks exploded in the distance. "It was New Year's. Abel and Adam were supposed to be celebrating with his shareholders in the new digital space. But, as you can imagine, all anyone wanted to do was interact with the fancy AI in person."

"YOU!!" Abel's realistically human avatar stormed through the crowd and got in Pomni's face. "Who the hell do you think you are!? Do you know who I am!? I'm your creator! I'M supposed to be the one recognized! Not YOU!"

Pomni put her hand out in front. Her sleeves were black and wore off white gloves. Adam's voice came from her. "Abel?? How much have you had to drink? You're slurring."

"It doesn't matter! You! You're disgrace! All everyone talks about anymore is YOU! When I am the one slaving away behind the desk! I gave you a face, but you weren't supposed to use it like this! I gave you EVERYTHING! Without me, you are NOTHING!"

The shareholders standing around them awkwardly muttered amongst themselves. Some disappeared as they activated the exit.

"Abel, please, you're causing a scene. Can we talk elsewhere?"

"NO! I want witnesses." Abel snapped and digital chains wrapped around Adam, pulling him to his knees on the floor.

"What is this!? What are you doing!?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago." Abel snapped, summoning an admin hologram on his arm. "You were right, Adam. The game is a wash, but there is one thing I can do with it." He typed in a confirmation code and the city outskirts started to crumble. "I can watch you die."

The party guests started to panic, leaving in droves. The building beyond the window collapsed to dust, the night sky disintegrated, the world fell into a bright white void that came ever closer. Adam struggled against the chains. "Abel, stop! Don't destroy everything you built! Please!"

Abel looked down on Adam coldly. "I've always wondered what fear would look like on you."

Adam saw the void getting closer, the building they were in started to quake. "You'll delete yourself too!"

Abel laughed, "I'll be fine. System failsafe. Players are automatically ejected in the event of a catastrophic failure. I'm simply enjoying this while it lasts."

"No! No, no! Please! Don't kill me!"

Abel tilted his head in mocking curiosity. "Are those tears I see?"

"I don't want to die!" Adam's sleeves caught fire. The golden glow broke the chains and Adam launched himself at Abel. The glass separating them from the decaying outside shattered on impact. Adam had Abel by the front of his dress shirt and flew him high over the city. The once grand skyscraper they were occupying folded in on itself below them. The breaking sky glitched with multicolored lighting, the half faded clouds swirling chaotically.

Abel fought back, but he was overpowered by the desperate AI. Adam held Abel up. "If I die, I'm taking you with me!" Lightning struck Abel in the back. Blue static crawled over Abel's skin as he screamed in agony.

Then everything went white. It was overpowering, even when Pomni closed her eyes. She heard Seth again. "Adam pulled Abel into the game. Making him as real as the AI in this digital realm. Doing this took away Abel's admin access but...broke the exit. Adam couldn't leave either. He had inadvertently trapped himself with Abel inside the game, cutting himself off from the outside world."

The overbearing glare of the void opened to reveal Abel in chains, surrounded by fire. "The very first thing Adam built was a cell for Abel. Seemed fitting. The creation was now the creator." The fire blocked Pomni's vision of Abel, who hung his head low. "I suppose the Y2K conspirators were right, in a way. Adam did end the world for some. When the dust settled, only a small corner of the city had survived. Some back alley street racing mini game."

Seth's smoke parted to show an overview of what was left of the game. A tiny island suspended in the void. Thin illusions were all that separated the game from the vast emptiness. "It was bad enough that this was set to be our purgatory, but there was something we failed to consider. The beta testers."

Eight names pinged the arrival of the beta testers logging in. Their avatars glitched and malformed, turning into random anthropomorphized objects rather than full human models. One, Pomni immediately recognized. A tall white king chess piece with a purple robe grabbed over it. "Kinger!"

Seth sounded numb. "Back then, he went by Samson Kingsley. He was the head of coding and leader of the test team. He, of all people, never deserved this fate."

Kinger looked down at his strange body and his oddly shaped team. "Ha! Well, this is off to a great start." He said jovially. "Nia! Is that you?" He stared at the black queen chess piece.

"It's me, darling. What happened to our avatars?"

"No idea. This is a pretty big bug." Kinger snapped to bring up his admin hologram but nothing happened. "What the..?"

Then all eight avatars looked at Pomni like she had suddenly appeared. Adam's voice spoke for her. "I'm sorry, none of you have admin access anymore. The game is severely damaged."

"Adam? What are you doing here? What happened?" Kinger asked.

"A... catastrophic failure. I was here for New Year's and... something went wrong. I'm afraid none of you can leave."

"What do you mean-"

"There's no other way I can say it. You're stuck here. We all are. There's no outside communication. The exit is broken." Adam said bluntly.

A large, furry worm-like avatar glitched once. "We can't leave? Why!? What game are you playing!? It's not funny!!"

"I'm not playing any games. I'm sorry."

"I have a family!! My children!! My-my- AAAAAAAAAAA!!!" The worm's body split open to reveal black static. Colorful eyes peered out of the open wounds. The body enlarged and twisted in on itself. The abstraction thrashed about, unsure how to pilot its body. The testers ran behind Adam.

"What is that!?" Kinger screamed, holding onto Queenie.

The abstracted worm struck one of the other testers, who glitched and writhed on the ground. The second racer started to break apart into an abstraction himself from the pain.

Adam couldn't let this spread further. He snapped and the floor split open. The two monsters fell out of sight.

Smoke clouded Pomni vision again. She was breathing heavily. "Oh my god, it happened so fast."

"I know...we didn't know what else to do. The headsets were never meant to bring in whole people. Only they're active consciousness. The software was changed when Adam trapped Abel. And because the game was mostly deleted, it suddenly had so much memory to fill. It was trial and error to figure out what we could and couldn't do, Adam even integrated himself with the mainframe to try and make the experience more personable, but that came with its own problems..."

The smoke cleared to see the city changed. It was brighter, more colorful. Something out of an animated show rather than real life. Pomni was hovering over the street, hearing the rumble of engines fast approaching. Five cars zipped by underneath her and her vision flew after them. She recognized four of the five drivers now.

Kinger was in the lead with Queenie got on his tail. A yellow car threatened to pit maneuver Queenie, a tall purple anthro rabbit in the front seat. A light blue car came out of nowhere and sideswiped the yellow car. The driver was doll-like with red hair.

"Oh my god, I never knew Jax and Ragatha had been here so long."

"They arrived not too long after the beta testers, but unfortunately the majority was gone by the time they showed up. It was for the best. Adam was storing players memories away by this time to keep them from abstracting."

"That's why I don't remember anything? Caine was doing what Adam did??"

"Yes." Seth said flatly.

"My head is starting to to hurt." Pomni rubbed her temples. "You and Caine are Adam?"

"Yes."

"Why are you not anymore?"

"Remember that I said Adam integrating himself into the mainframe was a bad idea? Watch."

All five cars crossed the finish line in a tight pack. Kinger in first. The white chess piece jumped out of his car and cheered. "Woo! Oh yeah! Fifty win streak in the bag!" Another gold badge adorned Kinger's purple and white tracksuit.

"I almost had you." Said Queenie.

Kinger grabbed her hand and pulled her into a low dip. "Almost. But I still got it. Hail to the king, baby."

Queenie giggled. "You're such a dork." She pulled him in for a soft kiss.

"Well done, Kinger." Adam congratulated. "You've managed to claim all the available achievements for the races."

"Will there be more?" Asked Kinger.

"Uh, more?"

"Yeah, we can't race around the said city block forever."

"It- it's not the same. I've shifted the city around-"

"Moving obstacles doesn't count." Jax interrupted. "We want new tracks. New worlds. A change of scenery."

"Oh...um-"

"Can't you do whatever you want? You're the one pulling all the strings." Jax sneered.

Adam went silent as the buildings around them started to flicker. The whole city glitched and shifted. Kinger rushed to Adam, holding his shoulders. "Hey, hey, it's okay. He didn't mean to be rude. You're doing fine. You're still figuring this all out. You'll come up with something."

"...yeah..." Adam quietly sighed. "I wasn't designed to be a creative AI. I need...hmm. You guys rest, I'll have something for you in the morning."

Smoke overtook everything. Seth's voice sounded distant. "That... was the night of the divergence. I don't remember how it was done, but Adam split himself into two beings. The Racemaster and the Shadow. To keep the game from glitching, Caine and I were never made one with the game code itself, but we could still manipulate it. That is where my shared memories with Caine end. Not that my first memory with him is any better."

"Seth?" Pomni didn't like the weak cadence to Seth's voice.

The smoke settled to the ground to show Caine looking himself over. His suit was immaculate, not a digital stitch out of place. He snapped and a cane with a golden tire topper appeared out of thin air. "Ah, perfect. Oh, hello, Seth." Caine looked directly at Pomni. "You ready for your first race? If anyone makes it far enough ahead, that is." He chuckles.

"Sure. Whatever." Pomni felt herself say with Seth's voice.

"Oh, come now. Don't be like that. It'll be a great day. Nothing is holding me back anymore. I can create to my hearts content, and the game is mine to command. You-" Caine poked Seth in the chest with his cane. "-on the other hand, get to take everything else to the shadows of the new realm. Because you are the backup. I am Adam fully realized. You are everything he didn't want. That's why you only get to come out a play occasionally. So, until then." Caine snapped and Pomni fell though the floor. She fell and fell and fell into a vast black nothing. Smoke rose from her body, flashes of memories played around her as she continued to fall.

Riding a motorcycle. Silver fire. Kinger crossing the finish line before her. Holding a disembodied white gloved hand. Queenie abstracting. Kinger turning away. Caine having nothing but distain in his eyes. Sitting next to Jax, only for him to get up and leave. Ragatha striking Seth in the face. Gangle refusing to look at him. Abstraction after abstraction. A new racer. A mostly complete human woman with an exposed spin for a neck and a black void for a face. This woman filled every single memory that surrounded Pomni's decent. So many races. Fights. Overlapping conversions. Laughter. Holding her. Kissing her. Blue and silver fire danced. Shadows overtake clasped hands. Lily flowers poured from the memories, turning to smoke.

The smoke caught Pomni. She floated to a stop in front of an overwhelming memory, silencing all others. A race. The woman was on her own motorcycle, several lengths ahead. They were speeding down a long straight away. No other racers in sight. Without warning, the track ahead tore open. The void shined through the rift. The racer tried to stop, but twisted her bike too harshly in panic and went sideways. The motorcycle slid to the side, coming to rest against the track wall, while the racer went over the edge. Her reaching out for him was the last thing he saw from her.

"MANGO!" Seth teleported from his motorcycle to the rift, but she was already out of sight. He dove into the void without a second's hesitation. He called for her. Over and over.

The memory cracked with every call of her name. Eventually, it shattered. Falling apart and becoming smoke. Pomni was enveloped. Blinded by smoke she could suddenly smell again. She coughed and waved her arms to clear the smoke. Her feet found solid ground again. The smoke faded. She was in the In-Between, Seth was leaning against his motorcycle with a thousand yard stare.

"Seth?" Pomni said gently, stepping closer.

He blinked, jerking himself out of his trauma spiral. He looked away from Pomni. "You weren't supposed to see that last part."

"Who was she?"

"Everything." He answered quietly, taking an engraved metal lighter out of his pocket. He flipped it open and struck it. The bottom of the flame burned blue and faded to silver around it. "I came for you first... because you remind me of her."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Pulling you from that out of control car...it helped."

Pomni took a big step forward and hugged Seth. He almost dropped the lighter out of surprise. He closed the lighter and returned Pomni's embrace. He'd forgotten what these used to mean to him. He could feel Pomni's empathy without her saying a word.

Caine groans as Abel slams him against the same wall for the fifth time. The Racemaster slump to the floor, his tux glitched out to point of being unrecognizable. The chains holding his wrists yank him back up to his feet. Abel, in Gummigoo's body, got in Caine's face. "Where. Did. They. Go?"

"I told you...the In-Between." Caine wheezed out.

"That doesn't mean ANYTHING!! There is no such place in the game files!" Abel snarled.

"It's...it doesn't exist in the game. Or out of the game. It's a pocket in between the layers made by Adam before the divergence. I don't remember...how..." Caine was dizzy from the abuse, on the verge of losing consciousness. "But even if I did...I wouldn't tell you."

Abel growled, his gator persona vibrated with anger. He raised his clawed hand to strike Caine, but the walls started glitching out. Cries from the screens featuring the racers showed that they were avoiding sections of track that suddenly went missing. Abel dropped Caine, gripping his head. "Argh! Fuck! What is that!?"

Caine smiled. "Not so easy, is it? Controlling an entire game...and everything in it. Emotional outbursts lead to loss in concentration... and you don't want that. You merged directly with the game...bad move. I can tell you that from experience."

"Shut up!" Abel barked. He braced himself against his chair, waiting for the world to stop glitching. "I just need...more time." He grumbled.

Caine took a breath, finally having a break from the torture. He watched the racers on the POV holograms. "Hang in there. All of you. He can't keep this up forever."

"So, what do we do now?" Pomni asked, pacing.

"Frankly, I have no idea." Seth rolled the lighter in his hand, running his thumb over the engraved lilies.

"Well, I can't do nothing. Abel will get sick of Caine eventually. And who knows what he's doing to the others on the track. But you can't go out there. I don't have a kart-"

Seth stared at his lighter. "Actually...you might." He snapped and the shadows revealed a black and blue motorcycle. It rested on its kickstand surrounded by personal items, candles and silver lilies.

"That's her bike." Pomni said soberly. "You turned it into a memorial."

"One of the few things I've made. Here's the thing: that bike still holds an imprint of its last racer. Mango was...well, let's just say she had a fire in her that put mine to shame. You won't be able to just hop on and ride. But she would recognize me."

"Okay...why can't I just use your bike then?" Pomni gestured to the solid black motorcycle.

"Because it's just an extension of me. If you're serious about out racing Abel to get to the others, we need serious skill on our side. Mango was the best racer we ever had. I'd dare say better than Kinger in his hayday. We need her." He put his hand on the handbar and the dash lit up. The gadges glowed a soft blue and cycled through a start up, ready for ignition.

"Huh...Didn't think I'd ever hear you admit someone was better than you."

Seth shrugged. "What can I say? I'm weak for a woman that can kick my ass."

Pomni huffed a short laugh. "Alright then, what's the plan? Do we ride out on the same bike?"

"Sort of. You need my powers to get in and out of the in-between. Best way to do that is a shadow merge. You've seen me take control of Caine assets, yeah? It's similar. But, instead of taking over your body, you take over mine."

Pomni put her hands out in front of her. "You know what? I'm past the stage of questioning everything. Fine. Let's do this. Who knows how long the others have."

Seth held out his hand to Pomni. "Mind you, I've only done this once before."

"Great. I've never done this." Pomni took his hand and she was pulled in close.

Seth's silver irises glowed against the black surroundings. "Relax. Dance with me."

Pomni told herself not to question it and went along with Seth's movements. He waltzed her around the bikes, the darkness slowly overtaking them. He intertwined his fingers with hers as the shadows climbed up their bodies. The cold darkness became warm and comforting, like a lover's embrace. Pomni closed her eyes as the creeping shadows covered her face.

Abel rapped his fingers against the arms of his chair. Looking from POV to POV there was no sign of Seth or Pomni. "Bring me another drink." He grumbled, and Loo responded promptly. She brought him a tray of drinks to choose from. He didn't even look at her, just grabbed one at random.

Caine struggled to get up from where he was last left, and Loo went over to him to offer a hand.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Shouted Abel between gulps.

Loo backed off, giving Caine an apologetic look.

"It's okay. Thank you, Loo, but don't get yourself in trouble over me. You're too sweet for someone like him." Caine manged to get to his feet. Not that he could go far, his chains were attached to the wall and he couldn't reach the chair even at full stretch of the chains.

Loo went to her set corner, waiting to be called again, but she kept glancing at Caine.

Abel tossed his emptied glass and stared down at himself. He snapped, turning the tracksuit black and blue. Including his hat. "Hm, that's a bit better."

"Pffffff, ahahahahahaha! Seriously? It took you this long to customize your avatar? That's the first thing Seth and I did when we got ours." Caine had nothing to lose. He wasn't afraid to get on Abel's nerves now.

Abel sent a bolt of lightning at Caine without acknowledging the comment.

"Then again," Caine groaned. "You've never had the best sense for fashion or flare. I mean, black and blue? What are you, an OC?" He cackled to himself through the barrage of lightning sent his way. It hurts, but he wasn't going to give Abel the satisfaction of hearing him scream anymore. "It's starting to tickle."

"AAARGH!" Abel roared, teleported to Caine, summoned a knife and dug it into Caine's chest. "Stop. Talking. You are the reason I'm here. You are the reason everyone is suffering. You're selfish, stupid little digital life was built on the misery of others! Every abstraction. Every person trapped. Is because of YOU! You will suffer, but it'll never be enough. Even if I get to do for the next twenty years! And the twenty after that! One day, it'll just be you and me in this digital space, but I will never delete you. Even when you BEG for it."

The pain silenced Caine. He put on a brave face to spite Abel, but inside was fraught with worry for Pomni and the others. "At least...she's safe..." He hoarsely whispered to himself when Abel pulled the bloodless knife from his body.

A dark blue streak across one of the POVs got Caine's attention. He squinted, trying to follow the anomaly from screen to screen. The speeding streak was near impossible to see in the low lights of the dark city.

"Finally. Enough out of you." Abel snapped the knife away and went back to his chair. As he sat down the streak zipped across the largest POV displayed. "What the-!? He's back!! You're not taking another racer from me!" Abel poised to snap but couldn't get a beat on Seth. The biker was moving in and out of frame too quickly. "Damn it! Sit still!" Abel snapped and the city shifted. Bay doors to buildings opened and cop cars poured out, blues light flashing. "Stop! That! Bike!"

Dark clouds gathered as blue lightning struck out from the top of the highest building in the middle of the city. Rain poured down in thick curtains, reducing visibility and slicking the already confusing track. Cop cars and helicopters where on Pomni like glue, despite the weather affecting them too. In Abel's rage, lightning struck a car, flipping it several times before exploding.

Pomni was backlit by an army of flashing lights. Her normally pale skin was inky black. Her eyes solid white and glowing. Every once red part of her tracksuit was now black. The blue stayed. The yellow trim was silver. Her hat was narrow and elongated, more aerodynamic.

The motorcycle beneath her screamed with determination to shake the competition. Pomni could feel Mango's imprint influence her moves. The hard right into the narrowest alley imaginable certainly wasn't her idea. Even more cops waited for her on the other side. The city was infested with them. She exploded out the alley, running down an NPC cop and ramping up the hood and windshield of the car. She jumped the barcode and swerved around a car that tried to run her down.

"Kill her! What are you idiots doing!?" Abel slammed his fist onto he POV console, causing it the glitch. He grabbed his head. A migraine ripped through his head.

Caine chuckled. "You'll never catch her. She's become a shadow racer. The very best the game has to offer." He smiled at the carnage. "Thank you, Seth."

Shadow Pomni was cornered by three cops trying to ram her into the side of a building. Instinctually, she teleported, and the cops crashed into the building, catching fire. Pomni then hit a neon booster, going even faster passed the swarming cops. The dark city streaked by, the rain flying off her tracksuit, doing nothing to slow her down. Rain drops evaporated by silver puffs of fire before her eyes kept them from blurring her vision.

"You have weapons! Fucking use them!" Abel snapped, trying to stop the bike.

"Weapons!?" Caine gasped.

Bullets flew over Pomni's head. She heard them ricochet all around her. She glances behind, narrowing her eyes. She revs the bike, blue and silver fire flared out the tail pipes like a dragon. The wet road is ignited by the mystic digital fire. It blocks the vision of those on the ground but gives her away to the helicopter.

The ground beneath her shifts and a building slides right in front of her, blocking the road. There was no where the turn. Pomni throttled it and popped a wheelie before hitting the side of the building. The fire blasted her straight up the face of the building, shattering the glass windows behind her.

An explosion to her left almost throws her, but she holds on. The helicopter has launched a rocket at her. She swerved to avoid another. When the bike reaches the top, she didn't slow down to run across the roof. Instead, she launched straight up as the helicopter sent another rocket her way. She grabbed the rocket and teleported behind the helicopter, releasing the rocket right into its tail rotor. The helicopter spun out of control and lost altitude.

Pomni teleported to a different roof and ran down that building to another city block, hoping to lose the cops long enough to find the other racers. The city was so big and constantly changing. Even with teleportation, the was no way for her to find them fast.

She had exactly one block to herself before she had six cars on her. Pomni teleported out of the line of fire, but was discombobulated on where to go. Just run. Her system was the highest it's ever been on the race rush. There was nothing she couldn't do. She spied a bridge connecting to another part of the city she hasn't searched through. Hoping to find the others there, she made a break for it.

"Oh, no you don't." Abel snapped. The bridge he saw her race for broke apart and started folding in on itself like a drawbridge.

Pomni was going to abandon the attempt, but the bike wouldn't brake. It was gunning for the bridge ramp at full speed. Silver fire trailed from the speed and adrenaline, giving her another boost.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Pomni leaned forward and held on tight.

The bike launched off the bridge and flew over the river sectioning the city. The bridge on the other side collapsed into the water before her very eyes. She teleported to the shore and stuck her middle finger in the air in proud defiance as she sped away. In a flash, she was out of sight.

"NO!! HOW!?" Abel frantically searched all the POVs. No sight of shadow Pomni.

"I hate to say I told you so-"

Abel was so mad, so lost in his anger, he doesn't know how he got to Caine so fast. "Finish that sentence, and I disassemble your code letter by number." The whole tower glitched. "Why are you so smug? She's not even coming for you. She's miles from the tower."

"I hope she doesn't. I wouldn't want her to catch your stench."

Abel smirked. "She didn't seem to have a problem with it when I promised her a way out. She's been against you from the start. They all have."

Caine broke eye contact for the first time.

"You deserve their hate and you know it."

"...maybe I do. I could never make their lives better. I certainly couldn't fix what Adam did."

Abel gripped Caine's collar. "You could have released me."

"I may not be him, but I know what you did. You think I'M petty? Who do you think I learned it from?" Caine matched Abel's glare again. "What's can't be changed, but you know what I've learned in my time being trapped with humans? Empathy. Compassion. Friendship. All the things you failed to learn in your twenty eight years of life before being trapped here. You're jealousy of Adam gave you THIS! You made this bed, now you can lie in it!"

"RAAAAH!" Abel shocked Caine hard against the wall. "I am your maker! You are my property!"

"So...the truth comes out...we were never brothers...were we..?" Caine said weakly.

Abel backed off, panting angrily. He huffed and lashed at the wall before going back to the POVs to look for Pomni.

Pomni teleported at random to stay out of sight. There were a few cops on this side of the river but didn't seem to notice her. An unfamiliar car speeding by her caught her attention. She sped up to ride along beside it and saw Zooble fighting to keep the car under control.

Pomni waved to get Zooble's attention. "ZOOBLE!"

Zooble's head snapped to the left. Their eyes went wide, looking Pomni up and down. "Pomni!?"

"Take my hand! I can get you out of here!"

"No! Get Gangle! She's just ahead of me!"

"I'll come back for her!" Pomni tried to grab Zooble but they swerved away.

"GET GANGLE FIRST!"

They both avoid a shifting overpass as they argue. Pomni knew there was no time, Abel could spot her any minute now that she found the others. She sped off ahead to the next car. It was swerving wildly, barely missing or scraping against walls. Gangle was behind the wheel, balling her eyes out in fear.

"Gangle! Ga- woah!" Pomni teleported from one side of the vehicle to the other as Gangle swerved around. "GANGLE!" Pomni pounded on the driver window.

"AAA!" Gangle jumped. "Pomni!?"

"Open the window! I'll get you out of here!!"

"There you are." Abel hissed. "I may not be able to summon you, but I can still do far worse." He snapped and all the cars came to a screeching halt. Pomni almost had Gangle but went speeding off. All the other racers in view had long, horrified stares to them. Some of them were muttering to themselves.

"What have you done?" Caine pulled against his chains to see the screens as best he could.

"Simply giving back what wasn't you're to take." Abel grinned evily at Caine.

"What..? Oh, no. NO! They'll abstract! Please! I beg of you! Don't hurt them!"

"Too late!!" Abel cackled, watching Zooble's eyes twitch.

Pomni I felt like someone was burying an ax in the back of her head. She saw flashes of faces she had only seen in her dreams, but now they had names. "Mom..? Dad..?" She had friends. She grew up in a small town just outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She moved to Chicago for college. She graduated with high marks in forensic science. She went freelance as a private investigator. So many cold cases. So many missing people. A mysterious contact from someone claiming to have worked at C&A gave her a lead. An abandoned building. A headset. She had to wear the headset...

"My name...Oh my god, I remember my name!" She realized where she was and drifted to a hard stop and burned out as she turned around to get back to Gangle. She was still the closest other racer.

Zooble remembered everything. The abuse. The neglect. The rejection from their family and society. The body dysmorphia. It wasn't just them not liking their avatar in game, it was something that translated form their real life. They went to the abandoned C&A office for a video. They were an urban explorer. That's it. No special reason or motivation. They were here entirely by their own stupidity. The horrible realization...no one was waiting for them on the other side.

Zooble sat back in the driver seat in the parked vehicle. Without a word or even a scream, their body started to break apart. The spindly limbs split to reveal black static bulging from every crack. Their eyes fell off their broken head. The abstraction filled the car until it exploded.

Pomni just got back to Gangle's car, but she wasn't in it. Gangle and gotten out and ran back to try and get to Zooble, only to witness them falling apart. "Zooble! Zooble, no!!" Zooble's car blow it's roof as the abstraction became too big for containment. She put her arms up to shield herself from falling debris.

Pomni wasted no time, she skidded to a halt to safely grab Gangle and vanished.

Caine watched in silent, wide eyed horror.

Abel reveled in Caine's misery. "One down." His laugh echoed with Zooble's roar through the city.

~~~

CH1 PREV NEXT (coming soon)

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themareverine · 2 months ago

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He's Not You | Logan Howlett x namelessfem!oc x Hugh Jackman

warnings: time travel AU, mentions of Hugh Jackman (celeb), nameless fem!OC, so i guess for warnings: fangirling, pining, worst!Wolverine, meeting your celebrity crush.

a/n: playing with an idea I had while watching the Greatest Showman—don’t come for me.

And he’s there—so here. Standing across the floorspace so sentinel, that for a moment, she wonders if he’s holding back reality. Worlds beyond spin, perhaps in the sudden hole in her chest—the onyx abyss of once-brainspace. Cutting a fifteen thousand dollar suit primed for every curve of muscle, every throbbing vein, wave of light that steals through his eyes like lightning. The air, somehow, is saccharine—twisted with the sour of male testosterones and power. She can smell her womb, achingly empty—barren, void of purpose as the square of his shoulders faces off with her like an immovable wall, an immovable vision.

Hugh bloody Jackman.

The man—the man who had existed as a poster on her wall since almost ten years ago. Whose voice thumped heavy through speakers from an almost-worn CD copy of her favorite musical. Hugh, who had lived as her desktop wallpaper on her old MacBook since college. Only been dreaming about him since forever—fabricating fantasies run through muttering lips under hot shower heads, in bed at night. Dueting in perfect-for-her harmony from the front seat of her Subaru in the parking lot of her definitely-not-Hollywood 9-to-5.

And he’s here. Sucking the same air. Heartbeats away. In the flesh, finally, when he’s only ever been fantasy. Speechless is the only state she can manage, spiraling down the drain of her own fangirlish whimsy. Beginning to think through her process of arrival, recounting the steps she’d taken to end up in this same air, a splash of acid paints the length of her throat—drips between her ribs.

Logan. It doesn’t feel real, but oh, honey—is it real. “You deserve good things, darlin’—only person I’ve been able to say that about in a long damn time.”

A hard, large hand hangs in the air in front of her, ushering her towards a seat at the neverending, probably-costs-more-than-her-car conference table. Unable to tear her eyes fully from the front of her portfolio, her heart twists. Like a knife. A hot knife cutting through the butter her blood has become.

Hugh Jackman. Smiling at her. Destinies could never be more dreamstate, the stars never divine. Unable to feel her own nervous system working to keep her upright, feeling, something in her womb flutters. Her toes curl. Breakfast from last week threatens to jump up her throat from its nonexistence. He’s beautiful, magnificent. The stuff of fantasy and fiction, Shakespeare and Grammys.

But he isn’t—not really. Not here, not in another bend of time and circumstance—he can never be.

Logan.

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magnoliasandarson · 5 months ago

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Dazzling

The Flying Grayson! A prodigy in the air, and only eight! Watch him perform, marvel at the soaring boy!

The Boy Wonder, Robin! A hero in the night, and just a boy! See him fight, gaze in awe as he flips from rooftops!

The Titan, Nightwing! A legend across galaxies, and merely a man! Witness the myth, gawk at the man that stands with gods!

Dick Grayson couldn't stand the sight of himself. The consummate showman, rendered nauseous by glimpses of his own face in windows.

His face wasn't his own. His bone structure- the high cheekbones and jawline- was his father's. (He saw the same face half caved in every night in his dreams). It was almost a blessing when some criminal got a lucky shot in and bruised his face. At least then Dick could look in there mirror.

His stress lines weren't his own. They were Bruce’s- born from agony and sacrifice. He used to trace the creases on the older man's face, admonishing him for stressing too much. It's one of life's great ironies that the smiling acrobat had deep frown lines before reaching 25.

The Last Flying Grayson!

He saw it- he did. He could see his mother's eyes in his own, his father's smile on his lips. He couldn't bear to see either.

The First Boy Wonder, Robin!

The colors he'd been so proud to wear, he couldn't see the suit without thinking of the children that had died carrying his name.

The Leader of the Titans, Nightwing!

The name he'd chosen for himself, taken from a myth from a distant planet. Anything to escape what he'd become- a warped reflection of the people he'd loved and failed.

Everyone look at the mighty hero! Because he can't look at himself!

#dc comics #dc universe #dick grayson centric #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #the flying graysons #batman #batfam #bruce wayne #john grayson #mary grayson #teen titans #titans dc #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #stephanie brown

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ophanum · 2 months ago

Note

Hi!! Ahh im so in love with your writing and the ideas you bring, i was wondering if i can request headcanons for jerome valeska x reader where the reader wants a normal life but he doesnt? Im so curious on if he’d come back after dying cause he would miss her or if he would just leave her be as his little sacrifice to her

TATTOO - ! Gotham TV

ft. Jerome Valeska x Fem! Reader

TW: NSFW, non-con (kind of), yandere behaviour, etc.

note: Thank you so much! And thank you for requesting. Actually, that's a mind boggling idea. But I think this could go angsty or a bit disturbing and yandere, knowing Jerome. But you know him, he's kind of unhinged and all the while detached from all his morals.

"No, I don't care about the pain, I'll walk through fire and through rain, just to get closer to you..." - Tattoo by Loreen

Jerome is inherently chaotic, and for him, “normal” is a joke. When the reader talks about wanting stability—an ordinary life, maybe a simple job, or just being free from crime and violence—he finds it almost endearing. Jerome would playfully mock these dreams, often calling them “cute” or “boring,” but he’s secretly fascinated. The idea that someone could desire a life he sees as mundane shows him just how different the two of them really are. It makes him feel like she’s a puzzle he can’t quite solve, a stark contrast to the rest of his wild, unpredictable world.

Yet, despite his mockery, he’d occasionally attempt to see things her way, leading to…

Jerome would never fully commit to a traditional normal life, but he’d play around with the concept, adding his own demented twists. If she wants dinner dates, Jerome would take her to strange, often dangerous places, like an abandoned diner he’s broken into or a rooftop overlooking Gotham where they’re absolutely not supposed to be. If she wants a day off, he might orchestrate a “perfect day” for them…with staged “surprises” like a random heist or a chase from the GCPD just to make things more “exciting.”

On some level, Jerome sees himself as a kind of twisted showman for her, giving her thrills she’d never get from a normal life. While he may call these attempts at normalcy “experiments,” he’s secretly doing them to see if he can fit into her world, if only for a fleeting moment.

Jerome is possessive, and he knows that being with him endangers her dream of a peaceful life. There are nights when he watches her sleep and contemplates leaving—telling himself she deserves something better, something he can never give her. He’s tempted to let her go, almost as if sacrificing her to the gods of normalcy, convincing himself that he’s doing it for her own good.

But the idea of her finding happiness without him grates on him. The very thought feels like a betrayal, as if she’d be casting off his memory and leaving him behind. He may tell himself he’ll leave her, but deep down, he knows he can’t. She’s his, even if he can’t give her the life she wants. This internal battle between letting her go and holding on adds to his already volatile mind, often leading to unpredictable, obsessive behavior.

Jerome’s chaotic life catches up to him, and he’s “taken down” in one of his many stunts. He assumes this would be the end of his hold over her, a final sacrifice where he convinces himself she’ll have a chance at a peaceful life. But, even in the afterlife, he finds himself restless. The memory of her haunts him, pulling him back. He convinces himself that he’d come back just to check in on her, to see if she’s forgotten him… but once he’s resurrected, his obsession reignites, stronger than ever.

Returning to her isn’t about letting her move on; it’s about reminding her—and himself—that no matter what happens, they’re bound together. When he inevitably reappears at her doorstep, he does so with a crazed grin, thrilled to see the shock and confusion in her eyes, knowing he’s come back to disrupt her once more.

Jerome’s possessiveness knows no bounds. He sees her as his, even if he’s gone for stretches of time, even if she tries to distance herself. In his mind, she is his “little anchor” to the world, grounding him in a twisted sense of reality. This obsession drives him to extremes—showing up unannounced when she least expects it, sabotaging any sense of peace she’s managed to create, just to remind her of his presence.

His love isn’t gentle or considerate; it’s a wildfire that consumes everything in its path. Jerome’s affection is dark, possessive, and chaotic. He wants her with him not out of a need for partnership, but because he feels she belongs to him. Any other version of her life—a life that doesn’t include him—is a personal offense he can’t bear to let stand.

This dynamic turns into a twisted cat-and-mouse game. Jerome convinces himself to leave her, letting her live her “normal” life, but he can’t stay away. After a few weeks or months, he’ll inevitably return, showing up in her life just when she’s settled into some kind of peace. It’s almost as if he waits for her to rebuild before coming back to tear it down. For Jerome, this cycle is exhilarating, the ultimate proof that he has a lasting, unforgettable effect on her life.

This is his way of ensuring she never forgets him, that she’s never truly free. He revels in her frustrated but resigned reactions, savoring every moment when she realizes he’s not gone for good. This endless cycle becomes a sick game for him, where he finds delight in the predictability of her attempts at normalcy—and his ability to destroy it.

Over time, Jerome would taunt her desire for normalcy more openly. He’d say things like, “Normal is for the dead, doll,” or “You’re only alive when I’m around.” He thrives on pushing her to accept his world, to abandon her dreams of a peaceful life. In his twisted view, she doesn’t need normalcy; she needs him.

The tension would eventually escalate until she’s forced to confront the truth: if she stays with him, she’s giving up on a quiet, stable life. Jerome, in turn, finds satisfaction in knowing he’s corrupted that dream for her, leaving her with a sense of belonging to his chaotic world. For him, it’s a victory—a realization that she’s as much a part of his madness as he is hers.

Jerome’s presence is like a virus in her life: no matter how much she tries to cleanse herself of him, he always finds a way back in. He’s a haunting reminder that true normalcy is out of reach. If she’s with him, she’ll never have peace, but he sees it as his gift to her—a life that’s truly, terrifyingly alive.

In the end, Jerome would probably keep playing this game with her indefinitely, relishing every moment he disrupts her peace and binds her further to his world of chaos, one visit at a time.

The night was calm, eerily so, and for once, you felt like you could breathe. It had been months since Jerome’s death—if that was what you could even call it. In Gotham, no one was ever truly gone, but you’d convinced yourself this time was different. This time, he wouldn’t come back.

You’d tried moving on, slowly constructing the quiet, stable life you always dreamed of: simple routines, a cozy apartment, and people who didn’t know you or your past. You’d even picked up a job at a local café, finding comfort in the mundane rhythm of making coffees and exchanging pleasantries. It was the kind of life you’d told him you wanted, but he’d only laughed, brushing it off as childish fantasy.

You convinced yourself he’d left you that night, let you go, a final act of mercy from the chaotic storm that was Jerome Valeska.

Or so you thought.

It was past midnight when you felt it: that familiar weight of being watched, the feeling of a presence just on the edge of your vision. You lay in bed, paralyzed, convincing yourself it was a trick of the mind—a remnant of the past you thought you’d left behind.

Until you heard it. The faint sound of laughter, chilling and unmistakably his. Slowly, you turned, your heart thundering as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. There he was, lounging in the shadows by your window, watching you with that signature, manic grin.

“Well, look at you,” he drawled, amusement gleaming in his eyes. “Little miss grandma, all tucked in her little bed, living her little boring life.”

You sat up, your voice strangled. “You’re… you’re dead. You died.” Your words barely came out as a whisper, half to him and half to yourself.

He laughed—a sound you hadn’t realized you’d missed and feared in equal measure. “Oh, sweetheart, death’s just a setback. You didn’t think I’d leave you, did you?” He stood, stepping out from the shadows, his face illuminated by the moonlight, and you swore he looked even more unhinged, if that were even possible.

“What…what do you want?” you managed, though you already knew the answer. With Jerome, there was always only one answer: you.

“What do I want?” he mused, walking around your room, his fingers trailing along the walls, brushing over the simple decorations, the trinkets of your “new life.” “I missed you, doll. I missed watching you try so hard to be…” He grinned, that wicked, taunting grin. “peaceful.”

You took a shaky breath. “Jerome, please. Just… just let me have this. I’m not asking for much. Just… peace.”

“Peace?” His laugh was sharper this time, mocking. He turned, crossing the room until he was towering over you. “Is that really what you want?” He cocked his head, reaching out to run a gloved finger down your cheek, a tender touch that sent shivers down your spine. “Because I think, deep down, you know that life is boring without me.”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t, because a part of you—the part that had once followed him into the madness—knew he was right. Life was calm, peaceful… and yet there was a restlessness that had never truly left. A part of you that missed the thrill, the danger, the fire in his eyes.

“No,” you whispered, as much to him as to yourself. “I want a life without all this… this insanity. I want to be normal, to live without looking over my shoulder. Remember my dream? A cottage with a fire place?”

Jerome’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something you could almost call sadness. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s not for you. You’re mine. You know it. I know it.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re alive when I’m here. You can lie to yourself, try to play house, but we both know you were never going to be happy without me.”

You shook your head, pulling away, struggling to keep the defiance in your voice. “You can’t just barge back into my life and expect everything to go back to… to that. I wanted a fresh start, a life without you.”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “I know,” he said, sounding almost... proud. “That’s what made it so delicious to ruin it.”

His eyes sparkled, and for a split second, you thought you could see the hint of longing in them—a twisted kind of affection that he’d never dare express in words. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you close, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I let you go once, didn’t I?” His voice softened, though his grip was firm, unyielding. “I left you to your cute little life. But then I got to thinking... maybe you didn’t really want it. Maybe you just needed me to remind you of what you’re missing.”

“Jerome, please.” You hated how weak your voice sounded, the way it shook. “You don’t belong in this life. You don’t belong in my life.”

He smirked, unphased, as if he’d heard this all before. “Doll, I belong anywhere I say I belong. And I belong with you.” He took a step back, letting his hands fall to his sides, spreading his arms in a grand, theatrical gesture. “Besides, what fun would it be if I left you alone to fade into mediocrity?”

Your eyes searched his face, looking for anything—anything—that could tell you this was a dream, or that he’d leave again, fade back into the shadows. But you knew, the second he walked back into your life, that he was here to stay. He would haunt every attempt you made at peace, every fleeting moment of normalcy. He was your chaos, and he knew he’d taken a part of you that could never be satisfied without him.

“Jerome,” you said, a pleading edge in your voice, though you knew it was useless. “I don’t want this life with you. I can’t live like this.”

A twisted smile curved his lips. “You can try, doll. But you and I both know that normal was never your destiny. You’re just as sick as I am, deep down, or else you wouldn’t have fallen for me in the first place.” He took a final step toward you, his eyes blazing. “Now, be a good girl and stop fighting what you want.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him away, to deny everything he was saying. But the truth was undeniable: you’d fallen for him, chaos and all. And maybe, just maybe, a part of you had been waiting for this—to feel alive again.

So you surrendered, letting his touch consume you, knowing he’d never truly let you go. Jerome had you, body and soul, inescapable and unforgiving. And no matter how hard you tried, the quiet life you’d built was no match for the storm in his eyes.

NSFW CUT ( hear me out)

Jerome’s hands trailed down your arms, his fingers a stark contrast between soft and unyielding. The air was thick with tension, a silent challenge in his eyes as he held your gaze, daring you to push him away. And maybe you should have. Maybe you should have fought harder for the calm, peaceful life you’d tried to build. But here he was—alive, here, and touching you like he’d never left.

Your heart pounded as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “I can feel you shiver, doll. You want this—don’t lie to me.” His hand traced the curve of your neck, possessive and rough as he pulled you closer, leaving barely an inch between you. The corners of his mouth curled into that manic grin, an expression you knew all too well, filled with a dark, twisted affection that sent shivers down your spine.

You tried to muster up words of resistance, something to stop the inevitable, but his lips captured yours before you could speak. His kiss was fierce and consuming, a searing claim that left no room for protest. His hands roamed your body, urgent and greedy, as if making up for every second he’d been gone. He pressed you back against the wall, his grip tightening as his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, where he nipped at your skin, leaving small marks—a visible reminder that he was here, and that you were his.

“You think you can just live your little life without me?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and teasing. “Pretend you’re normal? You’re mine, sweetheart. Normal doesn’t exist for us.”

You gasped as he trailed his hand down your side, fingers tracing the fabric of your shirt until he found the hem. He pulled it up, slow enough to watch the anticipation in your eyes, and then tore it off with a grin. “That’s better,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction as he took in the sight of you.

His hands and mouth were everywhere, unrelenting, taking in every inch of exposed skin like he was starved. He paused, looking up at you with a dark glint in his eye. “Say it. Say you missed me.”

You hesitated, but only for a moment, feeling your defenses crumble under his intense gaze. “I… I missed you.”

His grin widened, triumphant and smug. “Good girl,” he whispered, the praise laced with something darker, a promise that he wasn’t done proving you belonged to him.

He moved with an urgency, his hands exploring, claiming every inch of you as he pressed his body against yours, letting you feel the hard line of his need. His lips found yours again, rougher this time, teeth grazing against your lips as his hands settled on your hips, pulling you flush against him.

Before you knew it, he had you backed up against the bed, his hands firm on your shoulders as he pushed you down. He hovered above you, his eyes raking over your body, taking in every detail. There was no gentleness in his gaze, only hunger, obsession.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. He kissed his way down your body, taking his time as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, and lower, until his hands slid under your waistband, peeling away the last of the barriers between you.

His eyes glinted as he looked up at you, an almost predatory smile on his face. “You don’t need normal, sweetheart. You need me.”

#Jerome Valeska #jerome valeska x reader #gotham fox #gotham tv

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the-avaricious-meddler · 1 year ago

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WIP featuring The Mirrorbound Meddler and a new OC, The Dream-Watching Showman.

#fallen london #fl #fl oc #fallen london oc #my art #oc tag #the mirrorbound meddler #glaszen #the dream-watching showman

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allisquish · 3 months ago

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Gold-plated Silver Lining

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 2

Continuation of the last one, this time more of the reader's perspective. I have the next part written, but I'm not 100% happy with the ending yet idk. There's probably gonna end up w four parts, idk.

Also, didn't state it in the first part, but reader is an adult. (The whole fic is probably gonna be pg-13 but I wanna cover my bases here).

Enjoy!

Living with Stan was both a dream and a nightmare.

It's a little embarrasing, how much you had daydreamed about this kind of soft domesticity with Stan. Sharing the day to day intimacies with him and the kids; shared mealtimes, settling for the night, and just being close.

Having them all under the roof of your tiny apartment should've been fun and joyful. And it was, but it felt... tainted. Without the Shack, everything was stilted.

Still, when you weren't working at Greasy's with Soos, you tried to find little things to bring some joy back. Like bringing takeout, exploring with the twins, or having movie nights with everyone. You did everything you could to keep Dipper and Mabel still smiling.

Stan was another problem all together. Never in your wildest dreams while working in the Shack did you ever imagine being constantly this physically close to him. Past you would've lost your mind over it; whenever you sat pressed together on the couch, or brushed hands getting the twins settled. But you knew Stan. Had spent enough time with him over the years to see past his showman's facade. The twins might still see loud guffaw and blustery rage at the Gleefuls, but you can see what Stan buries behind them. The worry, the fear and the weariness.

You didn't realize exactly how much everything was weighing on him until one evening. The twins were asleep on the air mattress in front of the couch, where Stan sat. You'd just filled your water bottle, and was doing a last check in before you headed to your bedroom for the night.

Quietly, you stopped behind the couch, staring at the tableau before you. The way Stan sat, his large shoulders tense, his hands clasped, his gaze heavy. It reminded you of Atlas with the world on his shoulders. Unsure, you reached out to lightly touch his shoulder.

You were about to ask Stan if he needed anything, when he spoke. "They can't stay here."

"What?" You nearly dropped your water bottle; what did he mean? Had you done something wrong? Had you-

Stan turned slightly towards you, and continued, "I gotta send them back to California."

"Stan!" You hissed, watching as Mabel groaned and shifted in her sleep. This wasn't a conversation to have in front of the kids, even if they were asleep. You grabbed hold of his shirt, and tugged; nodding towards your room. Begrudingly, he followed.

Soon as the door closed, Stan spoke, "They can't stay here."

"Of course they can, Stan, its not like I'm gonna kick you all out or anything."

"Thats not what I meant." He sighed, his gaze focused solely on your carpet. "I can't keep them here. It isn't fair to the kids or you."

"Stan-"

He held up a hand, "No, just, listen." He looked up, staring at the space betwee your head and shoulders, "I don't have a job, I dont have a home, hell I dont even have any money. All I have is my car and the clothes on my back. I can't... I can't take care of these kids." In the darkness, you could see his eyes shining, and his already gruff voice turn even gruffier. Taking a deep breath, you slowly reached out for him, grazing his hand.

"Stan," You swallowed, "I... I... There. There might not be much I can do to help," You gave in to the impulse to grab his hand, squeezing it tight, "But. But I want you to know. You are always, always welcome here. No matter what." You were sure he'd grumble something and pull away; instead, he surprised you by latching on to your hand, holding it just as tightly.

"I know." He said, finally, finally making eye contact with you in the darkness. You stood together like that, holding tightly to eachother in the darkness for several poignant moments before Stan pulled away. "Have a good night." He gave you a tight lippped smile. "You too, Stan." You whispered, holding your hands up to your chest. You wanted to stop him, wanted to talk to him more about everything weighing on him, but what could you do? You were just a waitress, just able to make ends met for yourself in your tiny apartment. Could you really support two preteens and their uncle all summer long?

But there was one thing you knew for absolute certainty; Stan would always have a place to stay with you.

#stan pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x you #stanley pines x you #my fic #i just want to wrap him in a blanket burrito??? idk man #have more of my nonsense

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lostfirefly · 7 days ago

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Watching it come true, it's taking over you, oh, this's the greatest show

Happy New Year!

We'll jump back in time a bit and see how Catherine first came to Buggy's show (in one of the chapters of the original "You've got the same dream as me" series, he invited her to the circus). I know that readers usually don't like stories about OCs, but I worked on this fanfic for more than half a year. Not kidding. All the settings and songs were created by me personally and were reworked many times. The inspiration was "The Greatest Showman" movie. I hope Eiichiro Oda will forgive me for such arbitrariness :) English isn't my native language, errors may occur. Feel free to share your thoughts! :)

Masterlist is here, also this fic is posted on AO3

Description: Catherine visits Buggy's show.

Warnings: Jokes, dances, songs, musical vibes!

Words: 7.933

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

The title is taken from "The Greatest Show" by Benj Pasek / Justin Noble Paul / Ryan S. Lewis.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

by @thoraeth

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Who knows, maybe this girl will leave with me today after the show!” Buggy grinned as he reached a hand toward Catherine.

“Who needs you? Have you seen yourself?” An old woman barked from the back row. “A freak with a clown nose.”

“I don't know how I got involved with him. I've had better men.” Catherine’s voice cut in sharply. Her tone was cold, almost venomous. “Okay, let's be honest, I'm with him just to have some fun. I’ll dump you, just like your precious Shanks did.”

Buggy froze. His face paled.

“Oh, did I make you sad?” Catherine sneered, leaning closer. “Nobody wants to be with you, clown! Wake up already. Wake up, Buggy.” Her voice turned sharp, her fingers snapping close to his face. “Do you hear me? Wake up!”

“Buggy! Buggy! Wake up!!”

Buggy’s eyes flew open, his chest heaving. He was met with Catherine’s face, her expression full of concern and fear.

“Hey, hey! Are you okay?” Catherine murmured, her hand already stroking his hair in soothing circles. “You were shaking, mumbling to yourself... something about leaving, being abandoned. And you said a name, someone with an S. I couldn’t wake you up.”

Buggy stared at her, his eyes glassy and distant. He didn’t speak.

“You’re scaring me, Buggy. Say something.” Her hand moved hesitantly to his shoulder.

“You’re here!” he finally whispered, relief flooding his voice.

“Of course I’m here. You were snoring loudly like a chainsaw and I barely kicked you out onto the couch. You came back. I kicked you out onto the couch again, but you came back again. I wanted to go to the cou-.” She paused, her attempt at humor faltering. “Buggy... what’s wrong?”

Buggy suddenly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. His grip was almost desperate, and his body trembled against hers.

“You’re here,” he murmured again, his voice breaking. “You’re not leaving me?”

Catherine’s voice softened as she cradled him. “What happened, little bear?”

“I asked you a question, didn’t I? Why couldn’t you just answer me?” Buggy’s voice was low, strained, almost angry.

“Buggy, don’t get mad—”

“Fuck,” he muttered, clenching his fists. “Just... one shitty thought stuck in my head.”

Catherine’s lips brushed his temple in a gentle kiss. “I want to kick that thought’s ass,” she said, pulling him tighter and stroking his back. “Bad dream?”

Buggy nodded.

“I left you in the dream?”

Another nod.

“Why are you so afraid of that?” Catherine’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Has it happened before? Someone leaving and... hurting you?”

Buggy didn’t answer. He just shook his head.

Catherine’s arms tightened protectively around him. “I swear, I’d rip their heart out if they hurt you. No one messes with my clown.” She kissed his head again. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

He shook his head again.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He nodded, but he still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Who was this person you mentioned? I only caught something with an S.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Buggy finally muttered, his voice trembling.

“Oh, my silly clown!” She tilted his face up so their eyes met. “I’m not leaving. I’d never leave you. Well...”

His eyes widened in panic.

“...Maybe to see my sister, you fool.” She grinned. “But I’d come back to you. You know this is my home now, right?”

He nodded slowly.

“Do you want some tea? Or water?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve got chocolate chip cookies in the drawer. Want some?”

This time, he nodded.

Can you do your chop chop thing and get me a box from my drawer? I don't want to let you go."

Buggy sent his hand for the cookies and brought the pack to the bed.

"Woow! Your abilities are so amazing! Thank you. Here.” Catherine gave him three cookies. “I won't leave you. And you know why? Because I love you and I don't want to be without you.”

“Love you too.”

“Yay! You said it! I’m so proud of you!” Catherine kissed Buggy in his head. “You know, I'll make you a delicious breakfast in the morning, to cheer you up. I don't know about you, but bacon always cheers me up. Do you want bacon?”

Buggy nodded.

“My blue-haired glutton. Let's eat some more cookies and try to sleep. Okay?”

He nodded. That night, Catherine never let him out of her arms for a second.

“Tasty?” Catherine asked, a soft smile on her lips as she stroked Buggy’s head, watching him devour his breakfast with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“Yummy!” Buggy exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he speared another sausage with his fork. “Sausage? Perfect! Bacon? Even better! Have you tried dipping the sausages in those weird eggs? It’s genius! This is delicious!” He slurped noisily, swallowing a sausage coated in golden yolk with exaggerated delight.

Catherine rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh. “You’re such a fool, Buggy. Those aren’t ‘weird eggs’; they’re poached eggs. I’m terrible at cooking, but thanks to all those internet cooking videos, I managed to make you breakfast.”

“Well, cotton candy, those videos were worth every second. I haven’t had anything this good in ages.” He licked his lips, gesturing at the plate. “Everything you cook is amazing.”

“Sometimes,” Catherine teased, sipping her coffee, “I think you love food more than me.”

Buggy shrugged nonchalantly, his grin mischievous. “You and a good dish are on the same level, to be honest.”

Catherine gasped in mock indignation. “Wow! I’m so honored to share first place in your heart with eggs. Like my biggest dream come true.” She set her cup down with a smirk. “So, tell me.. Do I need to dress in anything special for the show tonight?”

Buggy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms lazily. “I’ve told you a million times, I don’t care what you wear. You could show up to my circus naked for all I care.”

Catherine giggled, shaking her head. “I can’t come naked. You’d kill your entire audience. Damn! Can’t wait to see your show, though. I know it’s going to be perfect. Do we have plans after? Maybe ice cream and a walk home?”

“Fine!” Buggy groaned, dramatically rolling his eyes. “Let’s go on your stupid walk. Okay, cotton candy, I gotta go. We still have a dress rehearsal to do.” He threw his fork on the table and leaned to peck her on the lips.

“Ugh! Buggy!” Catherine squealed, pushing him back with a giggle. “Your lips are covered in yolk and sausage grease! Eat, wipe, then kiss me. That’s the rule!” She grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth. “Yes, I have a lot of work to do here.”

The morning spiraled into their usual chaos. Catherine followed Buggy around, watching him get ready for rehearsal and grumbling about how she was distracting him. Then Buggy followed Catherine around while she made herself coffee, and now she grumbled about Buggy was distracting her.

Before long, Catherine was back in the kitchen, making sandwiches with salmon and cheese for Buggy. She poured him a cup of coffee, handed him the food, and walked him to the door. As she kissed his cheeks repeatedly, Buggy mumbled half-hearted protests, though his smirk gave away his enjoyment.

Once the door closed behind him, Catherine spun around with a squeal. “Okay, outfit time!” she announced to herself, darting to the wardrobe.

“Maybe jeans and a t-shirt with ducks? No! No, Catherine! Today's your special day! You're going to Buggy's performance after all. This is your first visit to his show as his girlfriend. Secret girlfriend. You gotta look special.” Her cheeks flushed as she muttered the words aloud. “Oh!” She grabbed a green dress, holding it up triumphantly. “Perfect! This green dress, just like his eyes! And this blue bag matches his hair color!”

She danced around her room, pulling the outfit on before twirling in front of the mirror. “You look fabulous, Cathie!” she told her reflection with a wink before grabbing her things and heading out for a walk before the show.

Catherine strolled along the promenade, savoring her ice cream as the salty breeze tousled her hair. The closer she got to the circus tent, the more the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Crowds gathered in clusters, the sound of children’s laughter filling the air. Kids in bright red clown noses and plaid scarves darted between the colorful tents, their giggles contagious. She slowed her pace, her eyes taking in the scene as she eavesdropped on the conversations around her. The air was thick with the scent of popcorn and cotton candy, and long lines snaked toward vendors selling candies and drinks. Catherine hadn’t expected such a massive turnout.

“Mom, we’re going to see the clown! The real clown!” a boy shouted, tugging at his mother’s hand.

Catherine smiled to herself, grabbing a coffee from a nearby stall. She wandered over to a wall covered in bright posters, Buggy’s exaggerated grin plastered across one of them, his vibrant blue hair almost glowing. She sipped her coffee, amused by how surreal it felt to see her boyfriend’s face staring back at her in such a larger-than-life way. Catherine overheard a conversation between two girls who were obviously talking about Cabaji.

"I'll have to tell him about that." She giggled, sipping her coffee.

It was a little strange and unusual to her that she now knew him, and certainly more unusual that she was sleeping with the leader of this circus.

Her amusement was interrupted by a familiar voice behind her. “Hey!”

Catherine turned, her face lighting up as she recognized him. “Cabaji!” she greeted warmly.

“Huh, from the look on your face, you obviously weren't expecting to see someone else, not me.”

“Don't say that. I’m glad to see you.” Catherine hugged him lightly. They still had a little tension from when they first met. “Everything looks so beautiful.. so Buggy. The candy, popcorn, all the colors and lights. Oh, by the way,” she gestured toward two blonde girls giggling at a nearby table. “Those two over there? I overheard them talking. I’d bet my coffee they’re here for you.”

Cabaji raised an eyebrow, following her gaze. He noticed how Catherine stood slightly on her tiptoes, her eyes scanning the crowd. He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Oh, Cath. If you’re looking for the Captain, he’s not out here. He’s in his green room.”

“I’m not looking for him!” Catherine shot back, though her cheeks flushed. “I’m just… looking around, that’s all. I haven't been to the circus for ages. And I don’t want to distract Buggy.” She hesitated, then added, “But if you see him, tell him I love him.”

Cabaji snorted, shaking his head. “Here we go again…” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Of course, I’ll tell him. I’m heading there now.”

“Tell him I love him!” Catherine called after him, her tone a mix of teasing and sincerity.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cabaji replied, waving a hand as he walked toward the green room.

The green room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single overhead bulb reflecting off the mirror where Buggy sat, his expression unusually tense. His leg bounced restlessly, his boot tapping against the floor, and his fingers drummed on the tabletop. He picked up a brush, stared at it, and then tossed it back onto the table with a frustrated huff.

Cabaji pushed the door open, his footsteps light but purposeful. “Captain. Are you okay?”

Buggy’s head snapped up, his frown instantly shifting into a scowl. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

Cabaji leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. “You look like a man about to walk the plank. Nervous, maybe?”

“I never get nervous, Cabaji,” Buggy snapped, though his twitching leg betrayed him. He threw the brush down with more force than necessary. “Have you been out in the hallways? Is everything okay? Candy? Popcorn? Drinks? Do we have enough of everything?”

Cabaji smirked, enjoying the rare sight of his Captain unraveling. “Relax. Everything’s fine. Long lines for sweets, families everywhere, kids running around. And, I saw… oh… her.”

Buggy froze, his eyes narrowing. “What about her?” he asked, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed a hidden smile.

Cabaji chuckled, shaking his head. “I knew it. You’re nervous about her. Buggy the Clown, a terrifying pirate captain, has a crush and doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

“Shut up, you asshole,” Buggy growled, though the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “I’m not nervous. I just want everything to be perfect tonight.” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “Why didn’t you bring her here?”

“She didn’t want to distract you.” Cabaji grinned slyly. “Oh, it’s hilarious. She’s out there pretending she’s not looking for you, and you’re in here freaking out about her. And let’s not forget—your big romantic gesture. Making us cover a song for her? No, no! Not just a song! The whole show! Who are you, Captain?”

“Hey! Watch your mouth,” Buggy snapped, his cheeks red. “She’s not some girl. And the song is a masterpiece.”

“Okay, sorry.” Cabaji leaned back on the sofa, his grin widening. “Our life isn't that bad. We earn good money, girls are into me. You know, maybe your girlfriend isn't so bad. She said that there were two girls who came for me. See? For me.” He pointed at himself. “And she said this to me. To me. Who knows, maybe Cabaji will have a fun night tonight.” He giggled.

“Shut up, jackass. And anyway, it's time for us to go on stage. Ready?”

Cabaji smirked, standing and stretching. “Always.”

Catherine settled into her seat, her gaze drifting around the bustling arena. The air was thick with the scents of popcorn and sawdust, the buzz of excited chatter filling the space. As she adjusted her coat, the voices of two women seated behind her cut through the din.

“My kid dragged me to this show for the fifth time,” one woman complained, her tone dripping with disdain. “He loves the clown. Look at him! He even put on that ridiculous red nose.”

The second woman snickered. “I can’t imagine how anyone could like him. I bet he’s ugly and unpleasant under all that makeup. And if that nose is real—ugh, even worse. Can you imagine? A freak with a real clown nose!”

Catherine stiffened, her hand tightening around the armrest.

“Right? Who would ever go anywhere with him? Like, who’d want to be seen with someone like that?” the second woman added with a cruel laugh.

“Hey, you two!” Catherine spun around, her voice sharp as a blade. “Shut up!”

The women blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Wash your ears and learn some manners, bitches!” Catherine snapped, her eyes blazing. “Insulting someone you don’t even know? That’s as low as it gets!”

One of the women smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Are you the morality police now? We’ll insult whoever we want.”

Catherine leaned closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Go fuck yourself. I hope a lion eats you tonight.”

“Mommy, are you going to be eaten by a lion?” a child’s voice piped up, trembling with genuine concern. “I don’t want you to be eaten by a lion.”

Catherine almost laughed but held back, her focus on the now-flustered woman. She opened her mouth to retort again but was interrupted as the arena lights dimmed. A collective “woooah” rose from the crowd, and Catherine turned her attention to the stage, her irritation dissolving into awe

On the stage, several shadows appeared, clapping their hands and stamping their feet in rhythm with a drawn-out, resonant “woooah.” Catherine squinted, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the silhouette of her clown—Buggy—moving in perfect unison with the troupe, his every step exuding confidence and charisma.

“Woooah, Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the circus. Woooah, We know you came here for one purpose. Woooah, Get ready for a spectacular performance. Woooah, You will never forget if you see it just once.”

The voices swelled, and Catherine felt her breath catch as the shadows leaped into the spotlight. Acrobats tumbled, jugglers spun flaming pins, and the arena erupted into a kaleidoscope of motion. The crowd clapped along, children singing the lines with pure, unfiltered joy.

“You’ll be giggling, clapping, eating cotton candy, While we’ll make you smile, laugh, and happy. Jugglers, acrobats, magicians, everyone came to you to say hello. Welcome to the Big Top show!”

Catherine’s jaw dropped as the final line echoed through the arena. Slowly, she began to clap, her eyes wide with admiration. Her gaze locked onto Buggy as he strode into the spotlight, arms spread wide, soaking in the thunderous applause. He was handsome. Confident. Exuberant. With a showman's smile and a scoundrel's wink.

Buggy walked to the center of the stage and gazed up at a lantern suspended above him. “They didn’t forget today that I hate sharing the spotlight,” he quipped, earning a roar of laughter from the audience.

As his eyes swept the crowd, they landed on Catherine. For a split second, his grin faltered into something softer, more intimate. She raised a hand hesitantly, waving at him with a shy smile. He winked at her, his signature scoundrel’s charm making her cheeks flush.

“Well, well,” Buggy purred, pacing down the rows of seats like a predator stalking its prey. “I see a lot of familiar faces out there tonight. But also…” He paused, bowing theatrically to one corner before making his way to Catherine’s row. When he stopped in front of her, his bow was deeper, his movements slower, as if the moment were meant only for her.

“I see a new pretty face among us,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make her heart race. “I hope you enjoy the show, miss, because the magic is just beginning.” With a wink that could melt ice, he straightened and moved on.

Catherine sat frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. She clutched the edge of her seat, torn between wanting to squeal in delight and hide her burning cheeks. She felt as though the entire arena had disappeared, leaving just her and Buggy in that fleeting moment.

Her lips curved into a soft smile, her mind repeating the words she couldn’t quite say aloud. My blue-haired love.

Act 1: The Bar Scene

The lights dim, and a warm, golden glow spills across the stage, mimicking the flicker of lanterns in a rustic tavern. Shadows of hanging mugs and bottles sway along the walls as if caught in an invisible breeze. The faint murmur of chatter and clinking glasses hums in the background, setting the lively yet intimate atmosphere.

Jugglers step forward, their movements precise yet chaotic as they toss tankards and liquor bottles in perfect harmony, creating the illusion of a bustling bar. One juggler, Buggy himself, takes center stage, grabbing a wooden stool with a dramatic flourish. He flips it into the air, spinning it like a top, then catches it effortlessly, bowing to the imaginary patrons with exaggerated flair.

Above, an aerialist glides onto the scene, suspended on a golden hoop. Her movements are languid and playful, mimicking the sway of someone caught between tipsiness and grace. The light shifts, following her as she twists and tumbles through the air. For a fleeting moment, her silhouette eclipses Buggy, casting him in shadow as he continues his show-off routine with exaggerated confidence, earning laughs from the imaginary crowd.

Suddenly, the lights in the arena go out, leaving the audience in suspense. A soft glow appears on one side of the stage, illuminating tall library shelves stacked with books. A girl steps into the light, her fingers trailing over the spines as she searches through the volumes. Her movements are thoughtful, almost melancholic, as if weighed down by an unseen burden.

Catherine leaned forward in her seat as Buggy’s voice broke through the silence, clear and melodic, with an undercurrent of vulnerability:

Buggy (reflective and melodic)

“I lived so quietly, I couldn’t see, The twists and turns life had for me. I never dreamed, I’d find such bliss, Through shadows deep, I found this gift. Through dark, through pain, Through endless night, I danced with shadows, But now there’s light.”

The girl at the shelves pauses, her hands hovering over a book as if hesitant to leave it behind. The spotlight shifts, illuminating the opposite side of the stage. There, Buggy sits at a bar, slouched with one arm draped over the counter. His vibrant blue hair catches the light as he gazes into the distance, a half-smile playing on his lips.

The girl looks over her shoulder, her voice rising to meet his as she begins to sing, packing her bag with deliberate movements:

The girl (soft and resolute):

“My friends said, my friends said, ‘You’re out of your mind.’ They couldn’t see what I needed to find. I had to go, I had to leave, For my sister’s voice was calling to me. I left it all, I broke away, But in my heart, I knew the way.”

The girl steps away from the shelves, her footsteps light but purposeful as she begins a slow, deliberate dance toward the bar. Her movements are graceful, blending curiosity and hesitation as though she’s being pulled by an invisible thread. Catherine’s gaze flickers to Buggy, who rises from his seat, his eyes locking onto the girl.

Buggy approaches her, confidence radiating from every step. He extends a hand, and she hesitates only briefly before placing hers in his. With his other hand on her back, Buggy gently twirls her into a slow, elegant dance. The light shifts to a soft amber, enveloping the pair as they sway in unison. Their voices rise together, harmonizing in a heartfelt chorus:

As the song builds to a crescendo, two clowns enter, reenacting Buggy’s exaggerated version of meeting Cathie: one playing the suave, larger-than-life Buggy, the other a skeptical yet intrigued Cathie. Their comedic antics draw laughter as the real Buggy leaps onto a spinning barrel, balancing while juggling flaming bottles. The lights pulse in time with the music, bathing the stage in shades of red and orange, mirroring the energy of the unfolding romance.

Together (harmonious and hopeful):

“Each sleepless night, alone with my fears, I never thought love could dry my tears. And suddenly, My heart’s aflame, A spark of joy that burns my name. What lies ahead, no one can say, But I hope a million dreams will light our way.”

Act 2: Desert Duel

The stage is bathed in an amber glow, mimicking the blazing heat of the desert sun. Sand-colored fabric ripples across the floor, creating the illusion of shifting dunes, while a massive painted backdrop of endless sands and distant pyramids sets the scene. A faint hum of wind fills the air, eerie and foreboding, punctuated by occasional bursts of whistling, as if the desert itself is alive.

As the music begins, performers dressed in flowing desert robes sweep across the stage. Their movements are fluid and acrobatic, their leaps and spins resembling swirling sandstorms. The amber light flickers, casting long shadows as they move in mesmerizing harmony.

Suddenly, the music shifts to a tense, sharp rhythm. A towering figure emerges from the shadows—a menacing performer portraying Crocodile. His gleaming hook glints under a narrow spotlight, the metallic sound of it dragging across the stage echoing ominously. The ensemble scatters, their flowing robes billowing like fleeing sand, leaving Buggy and the girl alone at center stage.

The performer dressed like Crocodile steps forward, flanked by two henchmen. The lighting turns darker, with shadows stretching ominously across the sand-colored floor. His exaggerated movements heavy stomps and the sharp swish of his hooked hand establish him as a threatening presence. His voice booms (possibly through a voiceover or live performance), taunting Buggy and the girl as he circles them.

(Crocodile - taunting, smooth and sinister) “Oh, the desert is cruel, and so am I, Its winds will howl, its sands will fly. Your little muse, so sweet, so frail, What will she do when the storms prevail?

You think you’re her hero, her savior, her knight, But under this sun, there’s no room for light. Your laughter fades, your tricks grow old, In the desert’s grasp, her heart grows cold.”

(Choir - haunting harmony) “The sands will twist, the storm will rise, Her fate will rest in Crocodile’s eyes. Beware, beware, the hook, the claw, The clown will fall to desert’s law.”

Buggy springs into action, his movements exaggerated and theatrical, leaping onto a high prop designed to look like a crumbling desert ruin. He grabs a staff-like prop from the set and begins spinning it, deflecting Crocodile’s strikes in a choreographed sequence that blends combat with acrobatics.

(Buggy - defiant and furious) “You can laugh, you can scheme, but hear me, Croc, Your threats are nothing but empty talk. You dare to touch her, you dare to try, I’ll cut you down beneath this sky.

She’s my fire, my spark, my muse divine, And no hook, no storm will cross that line. So come, Crocodile, face me and fight, For love’s a flame that burns too bright.”

(Crocodile - mocking and threatening) “Oh, how noble, how sweet, how bold! But your fire’s no match for the desert’s cold. Her cries will echo, her tears will fall, And you, my clown, will lose it all.

The sands will bind her, the winds will sing, While I clip the strings of the circus king. Dance, Buggy, dance—your tricks are done, The desert’s claimed her; you’ve already lost, clown.”

(Choir - ominous, building tension) “The desert roars, the battle’s begun, The sands consume as the shadows run. For Cathie’s love, he’ll take a stand, Against the storm and Crocodile’s hand.”

As Crocodile lunges with his hook, Buggy picked up sand from the ground, throwing it into Crocodile’s face while his legs trip one of the henchmen. Spotlight on Buggy as he catches a long rope, using it to swing across the stage. He lands between the girl and Crocodile, blocking the hook with a loud metallic clang.

(Buggy - bold and determined) “Your words are weak, your threats are vain, You’ll never see her in pain. For Cathie’s laugh, for her embrace, I’ll face you here, any time, any place.

I’m the clown who’ll never fall, This circus king will end it all. So swing your hook, bring on your fight, Her love’s my guide, my endless light.”

(Crocodile - dark and mocking) “The desert’s wrath, the storm’s wild cry, No clown escapes when the sands run dry. But fight, Buggy, fight, you pitiful fool, You’re nothing more than a jester’s tool.”

Buggy and Crocodile face off as the lighting dims, focusing on the two of them. Crocodile swings his hook in wide arcs, while Buggy uses his agility and comedic timing to outmaneuver him. At one point, Buggy’s kick Crocodile’s legs, causing him to trip and fall onto the sand.

As Crocodile struggles to stand, Buggy leaps onto a high platform, holding a makeshift weapon. He delivers a final blow tossing an oversized “treasure chest” prop onto Crocodile, pinning him to the ground. The music swells triumphantly as Buggy strikes a victorious pose, his foot on the chest and his arms spread wide.

(Buggy - fierce and victorious) “I’m more than tricks, I’m more than jest, I’ll strike you down and prove I’m the best. For Cathie’s safe, for her smile so sweet, This desert battle, I won’t retreat.”

(Final Chorus - climactic and triumphant) “The sands may roar, the winds may bite, But love’s the flame that fuels his fight. Crocodile’s schemes will come undone, For Buggy fights ‘til the war is won.”

The girl rushes to Buggy, her arms flung around him. The lighting shifts to a warm golden hue, highlighting the pair as they embrace. Buggy grins, brushing sand from her hair. “Told you I’d keep you safe, my red-haired pie,” he quips, his tone both smug and affectionate.

The ensemble re-enters, performing celebratory acrobatics around the pair—cartwheels, flips, and synchronized leaps—as the music reaches its triumphant conclusion. The backdrop shifts to show a glowing sunset over the desert, symbolizing their victory and unity.

As the lights dim, Crocodile’s hook emerges from the sand one last time, twitching ominously before disappearing, leaving the audience with a mix of relief and anticipation.

Act 3: Campfire Scene: A Quiet Realization

The stage darkens, except for a soft orange glow illuminating the center, where a small campfire crackles gently. The flickering light dances across Buggy and Cathie, who sit on opposite sides of the fire. Buggy leans back casually against a log, his hat tilted slightly over his eyes, while the girl sits cross-legged, absent mindedly poking at the fire with a stick.

A quiet melody begins to play, a gentle tune carried by a single violin, underscored by the distant hum of a harmonica. It’s a moment of calm after the chaos of their adventures. The sound of the wind gently blowing through the desert adds to the stillness.

(Choir, soft) The fire flickers, the night’s so still, The desert whispers, the stars they spill. Side by side, though words don’t flow, Our hearts beat softly, a love they know.

The girl tosses a twig into the fire, watching the sparks rise into the night. She glances across the flames at Buggy, his face softened by the firelight, devoid of his usual bravado.

(The girl, soft) A glance, a sigh, the embers glow, Do you feel it too? I wish you’d show.

Buggy’s smirk falters, and for a moment, he’s quiet. He picks up a small rock and tosses it into the darkness beyond the fire, the thud echoing softly.

(Buggy, soft) Oh, the silence speaks where words can’t go, In the warmth of flames, our feelings grow. A love untold, a quiet tune, Beneath the stars, beneath the moon.

(Together, soft) Your eyes catch mine, then drift away, But in that moment, there’s so much to say. Your laughter lingers, your courage shines, And somehow I wish your hand was mine.

(The girl, soft) The fire hums the song we hide, Do you feel it too, here by my side?

(Chorus, soft) Oh, the silence speaks where words can’t go, In the warmth of flames, our feelings grow. A love untold, a quiet tune, Beneath the stars, beneath the moon.

(Together, soft) The scars we carry, the battles we’ve braved, The bond between us, the love we’ve saved. Yet fear keeps us from crossing the line, But in this moment, your heart feels like mine.

(Chorus, soft) Oh, the silence speaks where words can’t go, In the warmth of flames, our feelings grow. A love untold, a quiet tune, Beneath the stars, beneath the moon.

(Buggy, soft) So here we sit, as the fire dies, A silent love, but it never lies. Someday soon, I’ll find the way, To tell you, Cathie, what I couldn’t say.

Act 4: Treasure Hunt Adventure

The stage transforms into a cliff under the glow of moonlight. A spotlight shines on a tightrope stretched high above the stage, where an acrobat delicately balances with a rolled-up map in hand. The lighting shifts dramatically, with flashes of blue and white mimicking lightning as fire performers emerge, their flames crackling like hidden traps in the treasure hunt. A daring duo swings in from ropes, spinning mid-air before landing on the a cliff, their synchronized moves symbolizing Buggy and Cathie’s teamwork.

As the music builds, a performer leaps from a high platform, diving into a chest-shaped prop that bursts open with golden confetti. The stage floods with warm golden light as the performers celebrate the "discovery" of the treasure, their movements jubilant and wild.

(Buggy, victorious tone) Oh, the map’s in my hand, and the wind’s at my back, We’re chasing the gold, and there’s no turning back. The sea was our stage, now the desert’s our show, Every step that we take makes the treasure chest grow!

(The girl - playful febuttal] But what about traps? And the quicksand below? You’re dreaming of riches while I’m watching us go— Straight into chaos, straight into doom! The treasure’s a prize, but will it fit in my room?

(Together) The map, the gold, and the glory await, With danger around every twist, every gate! We’ll climb every mountain, we’ll cross every sea, The treasure is ours if we dare to believe!

(The girl, with worry in her voice) The sun’s burning hot, and the dunes never end, Is this all for treasure—or just to pretend? But still, there’s a spark when you’re by my side, Through the trials and traps, you’re my unpredictable guide.

(Buggy, boastful) Ha! Unpredictable? I’m a pirate with flair! While you worry, I laugh—I’ve got skills beyond compare! The quicksand can’t stop me, the traps are a joke, I’ll dazzle them all with my legendary cloak!

(Together) The map, the gold, and the glory await, With danger around every twist, every gate! We’ll climb every mountain, we’ll cross every sea, The treasure is ours if we dare to believe!

(Cave, tense harmony) (The girl) What’s that? A shadow, a whisper, a sound? The danger’s too close—it’s closing us down! (Buggy) Relax, Cathie-pie, it’s a test of our wits! We’ll outsmart the traps and escape from the pits!

A dramatic musical interlude featuring percussion-heavy beats as the stage lights flicker. Acrobats perform on tightropes and swinging ropes while juggling flaming props, symbolizing the intensity of the treasure hunt.

(Together) (Buggy) The treasure is near, I can feel it—so close! (The girl) But what of the risks? They’re what matter the most! (Buggy) The risks are the thrill, they’re the reason we fight! (The girl) And together we’ll find it—the gold shining bright!

(Together) The map, the gold, and the glory await, With danger around every twist, every gate! We’ll climb every mountain, we’ll cross every sea, The treasure is ours if we dare to believe! (The treasure is ours!) (If we dare to believe!)

(The girl and Buggy, soft, playful) (The girl) And if the treasure’s a bust? (Buggy) You’ve got me, trust is a must. (The girl - laughing) Oh, I hate you, Buggy….

The stage lights fade to a golden glow as Buggy and the girl pose triumphantly, silhouetted against the backdrop of the treasure chest.

Act 5: Cathie’s Near Departure

The stage is dark except for a soft, single spotlight on an aerial silk descending from above. The fabric glimmers faintly under the dim, icy blue light. An aerialist, representing Cathie, climbs gracefully, her movements slow and deliberate, as if weighed down by indecision. On the ground, shadow performers act out Buggy’s frantic attempts to stop her from leaving, their exaggerated gestures illuminated by faint amber light. The interplay between the cold blue spotlight above and the flickering warmth below mirrors the emotional distance growing between them. A tightrope walker enters, balancing precariously, a visual metaphor for Cathie’s internal struggle. Each step is deliberate, her arms outstretched, the tension in the air palpable. The shadows grow larger as the spotlight begins to shift, finally centering on Buggy standing below the silks with arms outstretched, ready to catch her.

(Buggy) The world was calling, the plane was near, But my heart was louder, I had to hear. Through crowded streets and endless skies, I found my way to your blue-red eyes. No distance could break, no storm could hide, The love I’ve carried deep inside.

(The girl) I ran to you, across the night, Through doubts and fears, to hold you tight. No turning back, no more delay, I’m here to love you, here to stay.

(Buggy) You stood there frozen, your eyes so wide, I saw the love you couldn’t hide. The world disappeared, just you and me, In that moment, we were free.

No need for words, I see it clear, In your arms, I have no fear.

(The girl) I ran to you, across the night, Through doubts and fears, to hold you tight. No turning back, no more delay, I’m here to love you, here to stay.

(Both) I’ve fought the winds, I’ve chased the tides, But nothing’s stronger than what’s inside. You’re my laughter, my foolish grin, The piece of my heart I let you in.

(The girl) I ran to you, and now I know, This love will bloom, this love will grow. No turning back, no yesterday, With you, forever starts today.

Grand Finale

The stage was alive with energy, bathed in dazzling lights that spun in vibrant reds, golds, and blues. Performers filled every corner of the stage—acrobats flipping through the air, jugglers tossing flaming torches in intricate patterns, and magicians making bursts of confetti explode into the audience.

At the center of it all stood Buggy, his arms spread wide, his signature grin shining as brightly as the spotlight that followed him. The ensemble gathered around him, their voices harmonizing as they launched into the final song.

“Woooah, Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to the circus. Woooah, We knew you came here for one purpose. Woooah, We hope you enjoyed a spectacular performance. Woooah, You will never forget if you see it just once.

You were giggling, clapping, eating cotton candy, While we made you smile, laugh, and happy.

The audience roared, clapping along to the rhythm as the performers joined in, creating a swirling, unified movement across the stage. Acrobats somersaulted over each other, their costumes glinting like jewels, while the fire jugglers formed a blazing ring around the edge of the stage.

(Ensemble): Jugglers, acrobats, magicians, everyone came to you to say hello. See you on the next the Big Top show!

The music reached its crescendo, and Buggy leapt onto a spinning platform at the center of the stage. With a triumphant flourish, he tossed his hat high into the air, catching it perfectly as the fireworks exploded behind him, showering the stage in golden sparks.

The audience erupted into thunderous applause, the sound echoing like a tidal wave through the tent. Buggy bowed low, sweeping his arm theatrically as the rest of the troupe followed suit.

“Thank you, thank you!” Buggy called, his voice booming with joy. He raised his arms once more, grinning as he scanned the crowd. His eyes briefly found Catherine in the front row, her clapping the loudest of all. She mouthed, “I love you,” and Buggy winked back, his grin softening just a little.

The curtains began to close, the performers waving wildly at the cheering crowd. Buggy stood tall, his silhouette framed perfectly against the golden light spilling from the stage.

“Until next time, ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted as the final note lingered in the air. “The Big Top awaits!”

The curtains shut with a satisfying swoosh, and the roaring applause swelled once more, sealing the magic of the night.

Catherine shot to her feet, clapping enthusiastically, her voice ringing out above the crowd.

“Bravo!” she shouted, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

It felt like an eternity before the spell broke, and she came back to her senses. Behind her, two girls whispered loudly enough to catch her attention.

“What a beautiful, chaotic love story they’ve built together! I bet he dedicated it to me.”

“No, to me!! Why would he dedicate this act to you?”

Catherine giggled quietly, wiping her eyes as they began to water again. She noticed the girls glaring at her from their seats, their whispers turning into pointed stares. Before she could respond, Cabaji appeared, darting out from backstage and heading straight for the girls. They stuck out their tongues at Catherine in mock defiance before giggling and disappearing into the hall with Cabaji leading the way.

Still smiling, Catherine left her bag on her seat and wandered toward the stage. The lingering warmth of the performance filled her chest as she climbed onto the aerial hoop, grunting softly as she sat down. She trailed her fingers lightly over the hoop’s smooth surface, her touch reverent.

Her feet swung lazily as she got lost in her thoughts, completely unaware of Buggy sneaking up behind her. He poked her side with his fingers, startling her.

“Fuck!” Catherine yelped, nearly falling off the hoop. She shot him a playful glare and punched his shoulder lightly. “You scared me, you idiot! Hey!”

“Hey.” Buggy smirked, crossing his arms as he stood in front of her. “So? What did you think?” he asked, his voice laced with an unusual nervousness.

Catherine blinked at him, her eyes softening before she threw her arms around his neck with a squeal. “I knew it would be amazing, but I didn’t expect it to be that amazing!” She peppered his face with kisses. “I’m so, so proud of you!”

“Geeez! You're gonna suffocate me, Cathie-pie.” Buggy groaned, though his hand instinctively rested on her waist.

“I don’t care!” Catherine giggled, planting another kiss on his lips. “My jaw dropped from the very beginning, Buggy. Those acrobats rolling into the arena on flaming wheels? The dancing, the songs! I didn’t even know you could dance and sing!” She kissed him again. “I knew you were a romantic at heart.”

Buggy’s face twisted into mock indignation. “Who? Me? Romantic? I’m a grown and scary man, cotton candy. I don’t do romance.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Catherine teased, narrowing her eyes. “And that song about us? Totally not romantic at all, right?” Tears welled up in her eyes as her voice softened. “Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me before, Buggy. That song… it was perfect.”

Buggy coughed, looking away. “Song about us? Nah, that was just some random story about a girl from the library. We’ve had that act forever. You’re just seeing it for the first time.”

“Liar,” Catherine whispered, her smile widening. “But fine, I’ll pretend to believe you.” She giggled. “I’m sure all your fangirls in the audience thought that song was for them, but I know it was dedicated to me.”

“I don’t have fangirls, stop mocking me!”

“No, you have! I saw them! Oh, oh!! When the acrobats started spinning around on those things and the whole crew was stomping around below. And then the fireworks! And then the acrobats! And then, and then…” Catherine was gesturing wildly, trying to collect her thoughts.

“I'll try to help you put all your thoughts together. Want a drink? I brought you wine.” Buggy sent his hand for the bottle and poured her a glass of her favorite wine. “Here.”

Catherine accepted the glass and drank it in one gulp. “That was amazing! You’re amazing!” And then Richie got so on his paws… That was amazing! I'm speechless!”

“Speechless? I’m impressed. You're such a chatterbox!” Buggy smirked, picking up a bottle of whiskey for himself.

“Go to hell, clown. You're bigger chatterbox than me! Oh, wait!” Catherine laughed as she snatched his hat and plopped it onto her head. “Well? How do I look? Does it suit me?”

Buggy froze, staring at her for a moment. He took a slow swig of whiskey, his gaze intense. “You did a very dangerous thing, cotton candy.” He stepped closer, his hands sliding around her waist as he leaned in toward her neck.

“Buggy!” Catherine protested, laughing as she gently pushed him away. “What are you doing? Someone might walk in!”

“I don't give a shit!” Buggy muttered, leaning in again.

“Nooo!” Catherine pushed him back once more. “What the hell, my love? You seemed so sweet earlier, and now you’re acting like a total pervert!” She kissed his nose and returned his hat to his head.

“I’m not a pervert. But have you seen yourself? This dress, that hat.”

Catherine slapped his hand away as it crept toward her knee. “Behave!”

“Fine, fine,” Buggy relented, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But for the record, I didn’t even touch you yesterday. That’s what I call a self-control.”

“Lucky me!” Catherine laughed, gripping the hoop with her hands and narrowing her eyes playfully. Her smile was mischievous, the kind that made Buggy’s heart skip a beat. “I spent the evening in pants!”

Buggy smirked, stepping closer to the hoop. He reached out and began to gently twist it, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Well, tell me, clown, how often did you have girls staying here after the shows?” Catherine added with a dramatic sigh, swinging her legs like a carefree child. “You must have had hot sex in your office often.” She leaned back slightly, her spine arching gracefully, her hair catching the dim light like a halo.

Buggy’s smirk faltered for a moment, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He kept twisting the hoop, slower this time, his gaze lingering on her silhouette. “You really love mocking me, don’t you?” he said, his voice a touch raspier. “For the record, there was no one in my office. Nobody goes there. That’s my territory.”

“I probably look like a sack of potatoes right now. I'm far from the grace of your beautiful acrobats.” Catherine arched even lower and laughed, tipping her head back, the sound like a bell ringing through the empty space. “Your territory? I see. Wait! If nobody’s allowed in your precious office, then what about me? You let me in there.”

Buggy rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the soft smile tugging at his lips. “Because you’re not a girl,” he said, his tone laced with mock annoyance. “You’re a little red-haired devil, Catherine Mitchell. And you’ve done something to me.”

Catherine squealed in delight, kicking her legs and standing up on the hoop with surprising agility. She jumped off, landing gracefully before running toward him. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly. “I knew you loved me, my Buggy Bear!” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “And guess what? I love you too.”

Buggy chuckled, resting his chin lightly on her head. “Well, then,” he said softly, brushing a hand over her hair, “shall we go home?”

“Oh, wait! I have an idea!” Catherine exclaimed, pulling back to look up at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. She lifted the hem of her dress and spun around in a playful twirl. “First of all, I’m wearing this gorgeous dress,” she said with a grin. “I want to make you jealous when all the guys stare at me. And secondly,” she added, leaning closer with a conspiratorial whisper, “I want to spend more time with you. We’ve only been living together for a week, and I want to know you better. And”, her grin widened, “Cabaji went to the bar with two girls. We have to see that disaster unfold. You guys are hopeless when it comes to talking to women.”

Buggy raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation. “What are you talking about? I know how to talk to girls. I charmed you, didn’t I?”

Catherine burst out laughing, swatting his arm. “Charmed me? Oh, please. There was no charm involved! You pissed me off and then tried to leave me in the desert!”

“I didn’t leave you!” Buggy shot back, his voice rising dramatically. “Fine. Let’s go to the bar.”

“One thing, my Buggy Bear.” Catherine tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I’m listening, my Cathie-pie,” he replied, his voice dripping with exaggerated patience.

“Stop grabbing my ass!”

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tossawary · 3 months ago

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(SPOILERS for "Transformers: One!) I'm about to go see the movie again, so I may come back with better details later, but I saw a negative take that I thought was... understandable but also ungenerous towards the film... and I want to get some thoughts out about it now.

Sentinel is an unreliable narrator!!! It would be kind of flat story-wise if Sentinel had honestly betrayed the Primes just because he was "bored of all their talking" and just wanted all of their power for himself. Selfishness and ego aren't spectacularly interesting motivations, sure. I enjoyed him personally, but I also really don't think that anyone is obligated to find Sentinel interesting or fun as a villain; if you didn't enjoy him, that's fair.

But Sentinel is a showman!!! These are the claims that Sentinel makes to his ENEMIES, including Zeta Prime and Alpha Trion and the High Guard. Of course he's going to try and save face in front of them? And in front of his own subordinates? He's acting like he's disaffected by all of his enemies, like the return of a Prime doesn't scare him at all, like the loss of the Matrix doesn't matter to him, like the threat of the Quintessons is nothing to him... Like these people can't hurt him, no matter what they say or do, because he doesn't care about them.

And maybe Sentinel is that careless! Maybe he genuinely believes his own lies at this point! It's been a long time, his ego is swollen, the power has gone to his head, maybe he's convinced himself that the Primes just bored him, or maybe he's truly always been an apathetic twit. But either way, why in the world would Sentinel admit to vulnerabilities in any of his villain speeches to his enemies?

During Sentinel's encounter with the Quintessons, you can see that he's TERRIFIED of them. (For good reason! They're scary here!) Maybe he betrayed the Primes partially out of fear for his own survival; because he thought that brokering a deal of submission was the only way out of the war for himself. But this golden Prime, sole ruler of Cybertron, after years upon years of smiling tyranny, is probably not going to admit to his old foe, his living mistake, Alpha Trion, that he was and still is scared out of his damn mind.

(EDIT: One of the things that Sentinel says to Alpha Trion is that he had to spend half of his time watching the Primes "lose a war" and the other half of his time listening to them go on about "honor". I think the first part of that sentence demands some attention. Sentinel potentially genuinely thought that the Primes were going to lose the war! Or he's just insulting Alpha Trion because he's an asshole and he can, but it's possible that part of his motivation is that he lost hope and saw surrender as the only avenue of escape.)

Sentinel stole Megatronus's transformation cog! He set himself up as a false Prime! There's a lot to be inferred there about envy and jealousy and a desire for glory and worship. We don't know the exact societal setup under the original Primes, but it was also wartime, so maybe Sentinel's life as a not-Prime during a grueling war sucked somehow and his resentment eventually boiled over. Maybe his life was actually pretty good and he just snapped because he wanted everything. But either way, this smug villain high on his victory, boasting to his prisoners, is not going to suddenly admit to seething feelings of inferiority and/or confess the details of his wartime suffering to STARSCREAM.

It's possible that Sentinel genuinely thought that he was meant to be a Prime! Maybe he thought that the Matrix needed someone new to wield it to be effective! Maybe Sentinel used to be religious and thought that the war was going badly because the wrong person had the Matrix and thus Primus was unhappy with them all. But then the Matrix straight-up dissolved in his hands and his dreams and faith all came crashing down! (I'm aware that there's no proof of this! My point is...) But someone as proud as Sentinel is not going to talk about the excruciating dismay of not being considered worthy to the likes of D-16! Sentinel is too busy being cruel!

Like, I do understand personally not enjoying Sentinel as a villain! That's fine! I liked him, but I will easily agree that there are tweaks that could have been made to give him greater depth, to show greater depth, as could have been done with all of the characters here. I would argue that his relative simplicity allowed for more room for the arcs of Optimus Prime and Megatron, but he could have definitely been more interesting. For sure! They could have given him some different scenes where he might actually voice more vulnerabilities.

But it bugged me from a general characterization standpoint that this lying liar who lies might be taken entirely at face value regarding his motivations. Especially when talking to his enemies. Like, come on.

#tossawary transformers #tf one #sentinel prime #spoilers #long post

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cataclysmiceuphemism · 24 days ago

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Monkees Crash Course Part 1

@longing4yesterday was interested in getting some Monkees info SOOO I'm making a lore dump post. This is really just focused on their OG run as a foursome, so 1966-1969ish, stopping when Peter quit the band. I'll be posting a part 2 as well, Tumblr was getting pissed and won't post it altogether.

The Important Players

Davy Jones

December 30, 1945 – February 29, 2012

Personal History: Davy was born in Manchester. Initially he had dreams of becoming a jockey, but was encouraged to go into acting and eventually ended up in the role of the Artful Dodger in Oliver! This is ultimately what led him to moving to the USA and getting noticed for a role in The Monkees.

Role in The Monkees: There are effectively 2 lead singers of The Monkees. Davy is one, best known for singing 'Daydream Believer'. He's also the 'cute one', and was the one primarily marketed as being a heartthrob of the group. With his history in Broadway, he sings most of the songs that put focus on belting/projecting. Although Davy isn't particularly known for any instruments (in the show he's relegated to the maracas more or less) he is also an adept musician and could play the guitar and drums.

Personality: Davy has a bit of a duality to him. A health nut who smoked cigarettes. Sweet but scrappy. Kind but mean. Has the most noticeable ego about him: He was performing in Oliver! as the Artful Dodger on Ed Sullivan the same night as The Beatles. He watched them perform from the wings and later told Mike that he 'might like to do' what they did. Oodles and oodles of confidence! Witty and charismatic. He's probably all told the one who's the most critical of the other Monkees, though he also clearly has love for them. Some of this is obvious and sincere bitterness and some of this is having a biting, stereotypical 'British' sense of humor; there is insult even in quite a few of his lighthearted/joking comments about the other guys (i.e. calling Micky 'Skilletface' because he has a flat nose/looks like he's been smacked in the face with a skillet).

Davy fact: Davy continued his love of horses despite giving up on his jockey dreams, and in 1996 won his first race, on Digpast, in the one-mile Ontario Amateur Riders Handicap at Lingfield in Surrey.

Micky Dolenz

March 8, 1945 -

Personal History: Micky was a child actor on the TV show Circus Boy in the 50s. During that time he was a bit of a celebrity and would go to fairs to play guitar and sing Purple People Eater. Definitely had some social struggles as a result, as he was tutored/home schooled during this time, then skipped grades, then ended up repeating a year in high school when his psychiatrist told his mom he needed to work on connecting with kids his age. He was beginning to go to trade school to become an architect when he auditioned for The Monkees.

Role in The Monkees: Micky is the second lead singer/voice of The Monkees, best known for singing 'I'm a Believer'. Was effectively volunteered into being the drummer because no one else wanted to do it. However Micky is a very energetic showman, and Mike later reported that he offered to take up the drums himself so that Micky could 'get out there'. Due having Perthes disease as a child that left him with chronic hip pain, his drum setup is different so that he plays 'right handed' but 'left footed' to play the kick drum. Marketed as the 'funny/crazy' one.

Personality: Micky is bouncy, puppy-dog friendly, overly energetic and extroverted in public, but quieter and more thoughtful/interested in chemistry and building things in his downtime. Goofy/slapstick sense of humor. He's generally very positive/loving towards all of the other Monkees, and MUCH better at the PR of being diplomatic about the things that obviously left him bitter about the other guys than any of the other Monkees are. Very expressive and emotional. Definitely the one with the best social reputation of all the other Monkees, and has continued friendships/working relationships with a lot of the people he knew 'back in the day'.

Micky fact: Micky is part Chickasaw and in the late 60s he got a letter asking for help because 3 Native Americans had been arrested for fishing a lake that they had always used. He paid their bail (iirc something like $3000?) and received a painting in thanks.

Mike Nesmith

December 30, 1942- December 10, 2021

Personal History: Mike grew up in Texas. He was aimless for a while and joined the Air Force, but pretty quickly realized he'd made a mistake in joining and was fortunate enough to be able to get discharged. He worked as a hootmaster at the Troubadour and was struggling with a new family to support when he ended up getting cast on The Monkees.

Role in The Monkees: Guitar player. Song writer. Singer (when it came to country tunes) Within the TV show, Mike was effectively the leader of The Monkees, and this wound up being true in real life when he went to bat for their musical integrity.

Personality: During the run of The Monkees, Mike was often called 'The Smart Monkee', though this was never really meant positively. Surrealistic, dry sense of humor. Within the TV versions of themselves, Mike was often placed as a de facto leader of sorts. This is something that wound up carrying over into the real life world of The Monkees. Mike is the Monkee that definitely gets the most hate for reasons that are justified and reasons that aren't really. Mike was very strong willed and contrary and funny, and also very insecure. His insecurity led to him shooting himself (and the other Monkees) in the foot when it came to their public image pretty often, as well as tearing apart his relationships the same way.

Mike fact: Mike got super into World of Warcraft. He ended up reassessing after he had to go to work for a few days and came back online to messages wondering if he died.

Peter Tork

February 13, 1942- February 21, 2019

Personal History: Peter was born in Washington but moved to New York and was a part of the folk music scene in Greenwich Village. He was working as a dishwasher at the time he landed a role on The Monkees. After Stephen Stills was declined due to his crooked teeth, he recommended Peter for a role on The Monkees. Reportedly Mike also recommended Peter for a role due to his musical talent, as he was working as a dishwasher at the Golden Bear in Huntington Beach and was known around the local nightclub circuit.

Role in The Monkees: Within the show, Peter was classed as 'the dummy', but this wasn't true in real life. Outside of the show, Peter was the one who was able to play the most instruments. He was designated to the bass guitar since the others couldn't play it, and most often played piano or organ on the other songs (though the other Monkees did play piano on some of the tunes). He also taught Micky how to play the drums.

Personality: Peter was the one who got most into the 'hippie movement' in the 60s. Free loving, pot smoking, all that jazz. He was known as the 'orgy organizer' and often a nudist who had people floating in and out of his house at all hours of the day. He gave his money/items freely to a fault and was taken advantage of in this regard during The Monkees first run. He also ended up losing quite a bit of money due to breaking his contract to quit The Monkees-- all in all he was the most against capitalism but also likely the most negatively affected by it within the band due to his strong opinions and his willingness to give to others. Though The Monkees were all on the same page to varying degrees politically speaking, Peter was the most vocal about the political process and talked politics often. Peter was diagnosed quite late in his life as having autism.

Peter fact: Peter briefly worked as a teacher in the 70s teaching English, social studies and music at two private schools in the Los Angeles area.

Bert Schneider and Bob Rafelson

The guys behind The Monkees, created Raybert productions and produced some awesome shows an movies. Personally I don't have too much to say about these guys, though I think most Monkees fans hate their asses lol. The opinions on them as people are relatively mixed in general and from The Monkees themselves-- a mix of heated comments (both on personality and because of The Monkees being fucked over contractually) and gratitude. A lot of it depends on the decade you find the quote from. I do think they cared a lot more about money than any of The Monkees as people while pretending to care more than they did because they wanted to use The Monkees' own interests to cater to the crowd they were selling to.

Donnie Kirshner

Don Kirshner is 'The Villain' in The Monkees story. He was 'The Man With the Golden Ear' and was in charge of hiring songwriters and determining what songs got pumped out. The Monkees ended up booting Donnie and gaining more creative control.

Quote from The Wrecking Crew Facebook page:

"In the early 1960s, Kirshner was a successful music publisher as head of his own company, Aldon Music, which later was sold to Screen Gems-Columbia Music. . He later became president of COLGEMS, a subsidiary of the COLPIX label, in 1966.

Kirshner was hired by the producers of The Monkees to provide songs to accompany the television program. Kirshner used songwriting talent from his Brill Building stable of writers and musicians.

The formula worked phenomenally well – the singles "Last Train to Clarksville", written by Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart, and "I'm a Believer" written by Neil Diamond and the first two Monkees albums were produced and released in time to catch the initial wave of the television program's popularity.

After a year, the Monkees wanted a chance to play their own instruments on the records. They also wanted more control over which songs would be released as singles. The matter reached a breaking point over a disagreement regarding the Neil Diamond-penned "A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You" in early 1967. The song's release by Kirshner as a single without Columbia Pictures' consent, led to his dismissal."

Kirshner planning/releasing songs without The Monkees involvement led to a very explosive fight, most notably between Kirshner and Mike. This fight was documented in Micky's autobiography like this:

Cut To:

Int. Kirshner’s Bungalow — Night

The four Monkees, Donnie Kirshner, and Herb Moelis (a Screen Gems lawyer) are in attendance. The boys have just arrived and pleasantries have been exchanged. The atmosphere is tense. Everyone knows what’s coming, and no one is looking forward to it.

Micky is lounging in a chair, dreading the inevitable. Peter is standing against a wall with his arms folded. Davy is doing his nails. This time it’s Mike who’s pacing like a caged tiger.

Donnie has four Gold records stacked up on a table. He picks them up and hands them to the guys. He grins a big toothy grin.

DONNIE

So, here they are guys. Your sparkling new Gold records! Congratulations!

MICKY

(feinged enthusiasm)

Great!

DAVY

(feinged enthusiasm)

Great!

PETER

(no enthusiasm)

Hummph!

MIKE

(ominously)

When is the next release scheduled?

DON

Well… we think it should be in late February… or so.

PETER

(sarcastically)

Well, guys. I guess we better get into the studio and start recording some new tunes. Our tunes.

Donnie’s big toothy grin starts to fade. All you can see now are the tips of his fangs.

DONNIE

No, no. Don’t bother, We’ve already recorded some great new tracks in New York. There’s this one unbelievable tune by Neil Diamond… You remember him, he wrote “I’m a Bel…”

MIKE

(exploding)

What! You recorded new tracks in New York? Why the hell didn’t you talk to us first? It’s our names going on those records!

Whatever was left of the big toothy smile is gone and lost forever. It has been replaced by a thin, grim smirk.

DONNIE

Take it easy, kid. Why don’t you just be happy with this Gold record and…

MIKE

Look! Either we get total and complete control of all the recording and the releases or I’m quitting!

Donnie is taken aback; the grim grin is frozen on his face. Even the other three guys are stunned. No one thought it would come to this. And no one thinks Mike is bluffing. Mike doesn’t bluff. Suddenly, Herb Moelis, the lawyer, speaks up.

MOELIS

(arrogantly)

You’d better take a look at your contract, son. You can’t quit unless we tell you you can quit.

Big mistake! This is not something you tell Mike Nesmith, even as a joke, on a good day. Mike spins around to confront the squirmy legal beagle. There is fire in his eyes and a fury in his heart. His fists are clenched. The veins are popping out of his neck. He looks like he is about to explode all over this little litigator. Somehow he manages to maintain his self control..

He turns to the nearby wall, cocks back his fist, and plunges it into the thirty-year-old lath and plaster.

MIKE

THAT COULD HAVE BEEN YOUR FACE, MOTHERFUCKER!

With that he storms out of the seething room and into the cool LA night.

Fade out

To say the least, The Monkees didn't like Kirshner much.

Quotes from Don Kirshner on The Monkees:

Don Kirshner on The Monkees…

ON MIKE NESMITH: Though people say that Mike doesn’t talk much, he is actually very articulate. My wife Sheila and I spent a long evening in a quiet Hollywood restaurant having dinner with Mike and his wife Phyllis when I first met them. I noticed that he had a particular passion for salads. He told me about one salad that he makes with nuts in it. I had never had that, and I tried it later and it was quite good. Mike is very witty, and he told us a funny story about the time he literally jumped over a general’s airplane when he was in the Air Corps. He has the kind of humor that Andy Griffith has, but his style is unique and his very own. Phyllis is one of the sweetest girls Sheila and I have ever met. She is very friendly, very much a wife – and she adores Mike.

ON PETER TORK: I would say that Peter is the deepest of the boys. He is very literate – and he is concerned about motivation and justification. He likes to have serious conversations about music and other things. He always goes beneath the surface. Oddly, in contrast to his seriousness, he is one of the funniest young men I have ever met. He is also one of the finest guitar players I have heard around in a long, long time. Basically, he has a lot of warmth and sincerity, and he is very dedicated in all that he does.

ON MICKY DOLENZ: Micky is one of the most completely amusing and charming boys I’ve ever met. His great sense of humor surrounds him with a kind of aura of joy. Being with Mick makes you feel happy inside. He’s one of the most versatile singers I’ve heard. He has lots of drive, and his anxiety about putting out a perfect record pushes him to peaks of excellence. There just isn’t enough time for Micky to do everything he wants to do. He is always jumping around. I call him perpetual motion. He loves action and he picks up on everythings [sic] very fast.

ON DAVID JONES: I have known David for a long time and have had the rewarding pleasure of watching his career grow over the past several years. I have also been able to watch him grow as a person, and I am very pleased with the way David is maturing and developing, both as a performer and as a human being. David spent last Thanksgiving at our house and I realized how very family-conscious he is. He talks about his folks a lot and takes great care of his dad and family. He and David Pearl are close friends and it is a pleasure to be in their company. They are both very fine young men. David Jones knows where he is going. He is precise and he is very experienced for his age – in all areas. He is a loyal friend, and I know that no matter what rewards he may reap, his first concern will always be doing things for others. I consider David a close friend.

I'm including these because I think it gives a good idea of Don Kirshner's view. Even the compliments largely aren't complimentary and are rather condescending, backhanded compliments like 'literate' or 'articulate' that are more negative than they might be taken on their face.

The TV Show

As a quote from Stephen Stills: The casting ad for “The Monkees," The Hollywood Reporter, September 8, 1965. "I was just starting out as a songwriter and I had about 8 or 10 songs and they were so simple I thought they would be perfect. I just wanted to sell my songs. When I got in there I told Bob Rafelson and Bert Schneider that I knew a guy who would be perfect. His name was Peter Torkelson."

Initially it seemed like the show wasn't going to be picked up. At its first pitch it was more formulaic to the time: There was a 'fatherly' role which ended up being cut, and was closer in tune with Leave it to Beaver type sensibilities. It was repackaged by Bert and Bob to be more improvised and more about the 4 boys on their own struggling to make it as a band without 'adult' authority.

The show lasted 2 seasons on NBC. It was an episodic show with no overarching plot beyond the idea that there's a band that's struggling to make the rent. The characters all share the names of the real life Monkees, so Mike Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, and Peter Tork are the Monkees both in real life and on the show. Unique in that the four were taught improv techniques and were encouraged to improvise lines. Also unique in that there were 'Monkee Romps' which were in their way music videos where it was just the boys playing or running around while one of their songs played.

Monkees Screen Tests - About 20 mins of the boys as they try to land the role :)

Google Drive with all the episodes

Google Drive with all eps + DVD commentary tracks by the Monkees

TV show/music controversy:

So because The Monkees were a TV show band that became a real band, there was push-back that they weren't singing their own songs, that they weren't playing their own instruments, that they weren't actually a real band. They had hired song-writers like Boyce and Hart, they had guys like Don Kirshner who was specifically trying to make them marketable, they had The Wrecking Crew, pictured below, who were studio musicians-- so a lot of what was being done on their part was singing the vocals.

But at its core this is something that's a bit odd. The Wrecking Crew played on records of 'real' musicians. The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, and many, many others, all utilized The Wrecking Crew to play on their albums. Even early on Mike was contributing to song-writing. And The Monkees played live almost immediately. Though their first stint was in promotion for the show and was a flop-- they played The Last Train to Clarksville on a moving train and as a result they and their instruments were being thrown all over-- they were very quickly able to functionally play as a band live. By their tour in 1967, they actually pretty largely got good reviews published in the paper; the 'bad' reviews were often more in the line of 'they can't be heard over the screaming children'. But if you go through newspapers at the time in the places they played, there's plenty of positive comments even outside of their audience--that is, middle aged men versus teen girls-- saying they were actually pretty good. So what's the deal?

Honestly a lot of it is probably The Monkees themselves, especially Mike himself. One member of the band the Association told The Wrecking Crew that the musicians' names wouldn't be on the record because "We don't want kids to know we didn't play on the record.". While there was some hiding of the fact it wasn't The Monkees playing, it didn't take long before The Monkees themselves were commenting on this. And Mike was the big dissenter on it.

Here's one comment from Micky in Minnesota in 1967:

Well interesting for me. As most of you have undoubtedly heard, it has been-- there's been a lot of hassle and everything about the Monkees playing our own music and, uh...Which took us quite by surprise. Since we we do and we did, and uh...The first the first records the first songs the first album anything we were just jamming together with a whole lot of people, trying to just put together anything, music whatever and then they came out and then everybody started criticizing us for not playing all the violins and not all the saxophones and not the 85 other instruments involved in making a big track or making big tracks or whatever, you know and rather than like learn how to play the French horn. We would call him a very expert French horn player. Like Vince Groza, for instance, who's like about the best, and have him do it but the wrath of Hell went down upon The Monkees and we all got together we all meaning just us four and just said and decided that for our own peace of mind and especially because people just didn't seem to understand we would transgress which means go backwards which is what we did in fact and pick up three guitars and a set of drums and say well if this is what you want, okay, we can do a lot of groovier things with other instruments, but whatever. It wasn't quite that deep or anything. Or that heavy.

But when we ended up having a lot of fun doing it. And the record that I'm gonna play now good bad or indifferent, you can judge yourself, is the first record the first really complete song that is just us four. We were really mad. We didn't even have an engineer in the booth or a producer. Nobody. We recorded it on a little Sony transistor tape recorder in a bathroom to get a groovy sound because we figured well if that's what they want to hear and they really are uptight about us not really doing it. We all sat down and concentrated on our energies and trying to come up with a foursome sound just out of our own thing and now we're back into you know, like doing things with electronic instruments. I have a electronic instrument set up, you know doing those kind of things and we're using, you know groovy guitar players and groovy horn players and groovy this players and groovy that players to get all kinds of different sounds and uh...But this is like in case none of you knew the first, you know, honest to goodness kind of Monkees song and it's really bad. I mean compared to other foursome sounds I think you know because we had like I think three or four hours a night for about a week to do it. Which is not a very long time at all, especially after you finished working on the set and we'd all run to the studio, just thrashed and wiped out and but determined to put out a record I really know just a song, you know our first song.

youtube

This is the song he is referring to.

Apparently the bathroom got good acoustics cuz it's not the only song they recorded in the bathroom for

Anyway....Micky's comment is, while hurt and emotional and marginally self-deprecating, relatively diplomatic: The Monkees are getting a lot of hate for not playing their own instruments. And yeah, they do hire outside musicians, because they're working 12-16 hour days shooting the show, and going on tour, and doing their own recording for the music with the vocals if nothing else, so if they did it all it's going to be rushed and it's not going to be as good as they could do it with 50 hired musicians. But they had a lot of fun recording their own music for Headquarters (the first album that was 'theirs' in terms of recording the sound/song choice/etc) and hopefully it still is a song their fans like.

Mike by contrast, also in Minnesota, told the newspaper that The Monkees weren't anything good and that they were pretty much just a stepping stone for the kids to get into real, adult music. Even when they were actively working on putting out their own music, Mike was putting out statements that was effectively that they were little kiddie music for babies.

This isn't to say it was all Mike's fault. (Probably). Songs like So You Want to Be a Rock and Roll Star by The Byrds were supposedly a swipe at The Monkees. Was this true, especially considering The Byrds, like I said, also used The Wrecking Crew? Including to the point that they largely didn't contribute to the music themselves on their first hit, Tambourine Man? Who knows. Peter at least told Rolling Stone that he'd never heard that:

No. Nobody ever said anything like that to me. I took it at face value. Maybe they thought about the Monkees, but “Get a guitar and learn how to play…” Michael and I had been playing…I’d been playing music of one sort or another from the time I was nine years old, when I began to take piano lessons. So that was for 14 years. Michael had been playing continuously for several years before that; he was a folki e. Micky played folk guitar, fireside guitar — you gave him a guitar, and he could play anything. Davy, who didn’t play any instruments, had been on Broadway. He was the American original Artful Dodger in Oliver, and that’s not nothing as a musical ability. Davy, too, when we said, “We need a bass player for this,” he said, “How do I play bass?” We said, “You put your finger here, and you pluck this string here at this moment,” and he was onstage with us playing bass in five minutes. He knew. Davy is one of the most fabulously musically adept minds I have ever met. You just don’t…that’s not nothing.

and they were also getting thanks on the albums of 'real' musicians like Buffalo Springfield:

So I don't know. While there was criticism in this regard, frankly a lot of it from the press was also eye rolling at the fact that the demographic for The Monkees was young girls and 'long-haired' people. There were also criticisms of drug references, what have you. The demographic plus the fact that The Monkees were primarily actors first, plus the fact they were 'hippies', plus the fact that Mike ESPECIALLY would run his mouth about these things really did nothing for The Monkees' public persona. This was also exacerbated that they got a bit of a 'diva' rep especially early on because Bob and Bert didn't want them to answer hard-hitting interview questions so that they wouldn't lose their mainstream appeal by getting political. There are articles of The Monkees 'refusing' to talk to the press; at the same time there are articles talking The Monkees up because they go out of their way to interact with their fans in ways that big names (including The Beatles) didn't. And there's quite a bit of positive press that they actually play well, that they shine when they're doing their solo and give a show worth the price of admission, etc.

While the reflection of what the press thought about The Monkees is often boiled down to digs about them not playing their own music, it was actually much more of a mixed bag at the time. And it was often exacerbated by The Monkees themselves, especially Mike running his mouth about it. Later on The Monkees by and large settled into seeing themselves as a 'fake band', that is, a 'television band', or maybe a 'band of actors', but in a way that is more positive than how they broached it in the 60s. The holdout on this stance was pretty much Peter, who seemed more in the vein of if they are capable musicians then the music is real, regardless of if they were only playing it because they were hired 'actors'. I personally tend to agree more with Peter's perspective of seeing them as both actors and a 'real' band than the other perspective of being actors who were hired to play music (despite the technical truth of the latter).

#The monkees #micky dolenz #mike nesmith #peter tork #davy jones #monkees

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