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is-there-an-echo-in-here · 1 year

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I Would Give You the Sky

Inspired by this post by @legobenkenobi

Read below or read on Ao3

Part 2 now available!

. . .

His Name (Part 1/3)

Commander Cody was a man of discipline and diligence and Obi-Wan had yet to see him relax his militant persona.

Obi-Wan kept thinking he would loosen up, still maintaining a spark of hope in his heart that Cody would go even a single step further than that easy smile, that he would laugh at his trooper’s antics or at Obi-Wan’s dry quips. That gentle curve of his closed lips was as far as he ever got. He rarely joined his men for drinks after their missions; he sequestered himself in the bunks or the offices, buried in plans and tactics that he had looked over a dozen times before. One life lost was a failure in Cody’s eyes.

He understood the likelihood of losing his men, the need for sacrifice. It didn’t change his desire for perfection. Cody was thorough and, as dearly as Obi-Wan appreciated him and his efficiency, he couldn’t help but consider his commander may benefit from some leisure.

The perfect opportunity came after a mission with no mortal casualties, one that Obi-Wan assumed Cody would not dwell on for too long, and their ship was scheduled to fly through a shower of crystallised meteors. A nearby carbon star was going into supernova and flinging its debris through space; they would bounce harmlessly off the shields of the ship. It was a spectacle Obi-Wan had seen once before, but before the war. His men had never laid eyes on such a sight, and the ship was abuzz with excitement. The men were finding spots to watch, abandoning their posts inside in favour of finding a window from which they could view this natural wonder.

Obi-Wan said nothing as he walked past them, smiling softly when they went quiet at his approach, hearing them whispering and giggling like children when he passed without a word. They deserved some time away from those responsibilities. There was someone Obi-Wan did not see among them, as he had suspected, and he approached the door of the commander’s office, rapping his knuckles to the metal before tapping the panel to slid the door open.

“Cody?” he asked, entering to see his commander at the desk, examining the battle over a series of holographic screens. “Commander, if I may make a suggestion?”

Cody hummed, looked to him. “Of course, sir.”

“Relax?”

It earned an amused huff from his commander. “I’m fine, sir.”

Obi-Wan shifted his jaw, coming to lean a hand against the desk, pushing the holograms down. “Are you aware of what’s happening in fifteen minutes?”

“The supernova?”

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan, tilting his head. “You don’t want to see it?”

“I’m not scheduled for a break, sir.”

A soft hum pressed Obi-Wan’s lips. “And what if I asked that you take a break?”

Cody lifted his head to meet his gaze, unfaltering. He had never been subdued around Obi-Wan; other men had avoided his gaze before, timid in the presence of a Jedi. Cody was not such a man. It was an aspect of his character that heavily contributed to his rank.

“Is that an order, sir?”

“A request.”

Cody leaned back in his chair, tilted his head. There was that look in his eyes again, that measuring stare he got when he was trying to ascertain someone’s meaning, trying to find some hidden message beneath. Obi-Wan held his gaze, hoping his sincerity came through in his eyes. His commander was an intelligent man. He might be the most intelligent man Obi-Wan knew.

“This is important to you, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan considered him a moment. “It’s important to me that you don’t miss out on experiences because you’re too buried in work. The battle went well, commander. You don’t have to review it in such depth.”

“It’s important to me to get the most out of every mission.”

“I know that,” Obi-Wan assured, “and I am grateful for that, truly, but it doesn’t mean you can’t take twenty minutes to come and see a sight that you may never get the chance to witness again. There’s not a man on this ship who is missing this.”

Cody frowned. “There are men stationed in the interior—”

“And they rightly abandoned their posts,” said Obi-Wan. “I didn’t say a word, and you won’t either.”

A twitch touched his commander’s lips, the beginnings of a smile. “Very well.”

He rose from his chair, swiping the holograms away, and standing there, expectantly. Obi-Wan blinked a moment in surprise. It was not often that Cody so easily gave into his attempts to drag him away from battle analysis, and this was no emergency situation. Cody did not deem leisure an important part of life, so Obi-Wan remained curious—as he led the way out of the office and down the hallways—as to his commander’s motives.

It would be a simple thing to look into his mind, but Obi-Wan considered it a violation. If Cody wished to tell him something, the man would say it himself. Anything further was not Obi-Wan’s right to know.

The men stiffened when they saw the pair, fell into utter silence, but Obi-Wan led Cody past and—as ordered—Cody gave no comment on the men’s position. A wave of relief appeared to sigh from them when their actions were not challenged. Obi-Wan cast a knowing look to his commander, gratitude and perhaps a whisper of teasing too. He knew how the man valued procedure. A response came in a soft smile; that quiet smile that left so much to be desired, but that Obi-Wan deeply cherished all the same.

There was a place above the bridge where Obi-Wan liked to meditate. It was where he took them now.

The great darkness of space stretched out through the transparent dome above them as the pair climbed up into the room. Obi-Wan closed the hatch behind them. He did not wish to be disturbed by young troopers searching for their own place to witness the shower; he locked it for good measure. There was a quietness here unlike anywhere else on the cruiser and he wished to maintain that.

“An interesting choice of viewing area, sir,” said Cody, tilted his head when Obi-Wan frowned at him. “Your meditation space felt sacred until now.”

Obi-Wan hummed, approached the edge of the domed space to stare out at the pulsing star, on the edge of annihilation. “What drains it of its purity now? You’ve been here before.”

“Not like this.”

Cody didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to. In his time entering this room before, he came only to rouse Obi-Wan from his meditative state. He did not linger.

“I happen to enjoy your company,” said Obi-Wan, keeping his voice down for the sake of preserving the quiet.

A beat of silence met his words. Footsteps broke it, soft but certain, and Cody came to his side without a word, looking out at that star. He was a comforting presence, a strong, constant presence, and Obi-Wan had come to depend greatly on his intelligence and his courage through every battle, every mission of this difficult war. However dark the circumstances, Cody was a glint of light in the force that never dimmed.

There was a thoughtfulness to him now, a distractedness that Obi-Wan could sense without trying, and he looked to his commander, seeking out some indication of emotion on that familiar face.

“Are you still thinking about the battle?”

Cody drew himself up taller, exhaled, as if Obi-Wan’s voice had brought him from some deep thought. “No,” he said, an honest answer, his gaze never once leaving that star. “I just look at that and wonder about myself, about my men. The supernova, it has to happen, destruction is the way of things. Everything ends… I just wonder how it will end for us.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, unsure whether to be amused or concerned. “You see death there?”

“I see death most places, sir.”

The Jedi considered that a moment, considered this man and his talent for overthinking, his wonderful, terrible mind, and found himself ever drawn to such a presence. “I am sorry you feel that way,” he said, thinking on his next words with great care. “There are constants in life. Death is one of them. You understand this as well as any Jedi and I am sorry that you do. It is a difficult truth to accept for many. Those of us who know it… we didn’t learn it easily.”

Cody looked to him then. “I’m sorry,” he said, and had this way of speaking with such earnest, a way that Obi-Wan was coming to find a great comfort in.

Obi-Wan met his gaze, overcome with a sudden desperation to know him. “Are you afraid? Of the end?”

“Not my own,” said Cody. “Just my men… I fear the aftermath of war more than war itself. I fear what will be done with us when the republic has no further use for soldiers.”

It was a sharp blow to Obi-Wan’s chest to hear such a thing from his commander, as if the words had physically struck him. “Cody…”

The man’s expression changed at that, a realisation entering his eyes, a darkness almost. “I’ve said too much, sir.”

“No,” said Obi-Wan with a shake of his head, moving to intercept his commander when Cody turned for the exit.

His hand clutched Cody’s arm to force him back.

“Stop, please.”

They stood for a moment in silence, neither knowing what to say. There was a restlessness to his commander that Obi-Wan had not sensed before, an uncertainty in his aura that was simply wrong. A man so sure of his abilities should not feel so out of sorts. Obi-Wan held his arm, struggling to make sense of his commander’s sudden change, just needing him to stay, refusing to let him find validation in this need to isolate himself and his truth.

“You are allowed to be afraid,” said Obi-Wan finally. “Only a fool fears nothing at all… All the same, I would like to assure you that, when this war is over, I will ensure you and your brothers are taken care of.”

“You shouldn’t say that, sir.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Why?”

“You can’t control everything.” Cody shifted his jaw, seeming hesitant almost to continue. “We… We aren’t yours to care for, sir. We’re Kaminoan property. They will decide what happens to us in the end.”

It was practically a reflex action that brought Obi-Wan’s other hand up, holding Cody by both arms now, needing to be certain he could get his point across. “Cody,” he said, very clear, “I will not let anything happen to you. Your men will be safe, and I can assure you of that. I will fight for you if I have to.”

Cody stared at him and, for perhaps the first time since they had met, he appeared stunned. Wide eyes searched Obi-Wan’s face, absent lips parting, faltering, the words unplanned.

A flare of light to the side drew their attention, and Cody straightened up in shock. Obi-Wan let him go. His fingers trailed against his commander’s armour, watching Cody approach the window as the debris of the exploded star rained down over the cruiser. Shards of diamond hit the shields, shattering on impact. The fire of the supernova refracted through larger chunks, sending scattered beams of light sweeping over the ship.

A soft sound left his commander, a gasp of sorts, unlike anything Obi-Wan had ever heard from him. Cody had gasped before, but only ever in pain, some physical agony or deep grief tearing his breath from him in a terrible display of anguish. This was so different.

When Obi-Wan came up beside him, he watched the reflection of the phenomenon in Cody’s wide eyes, saw light dance across his irises, and his own breath caught in a moment of weakness.

Cody spared him a glance, doubling back when Obi-Wan failed to tear his gaze away. “General?”

The address brought a lump to Obi-Wan’s throat, and he swallowed it back. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he admitted, finally admitted. “There’s no need… in situations such as this.”

Cody blinked, brow pinching. “What situations, sir?”

“’Sir’ is just as bad,” said Obi-Wan, though he shook his head, forced himself to pull back his vulnerability, build his walls up again, turning to watch the crystalised debris of the planet rain down. “It’s nothing. Just… you needn’t be so formal when we are alone.”

Silence fell across them. Obi-Wan was aware, in his peripheral, that Cody was no longer watching the supernova. Guilt gnawed at his gut that his commander should miss such a thing on his account.

“Alright,” Cody murmured unexpectedly, and Obi-Wan blinked hard, looking to him just as he turned back to stare into space, “Obi-Wan.”

It warmed his heart more than the Jedi would ever admit to another soul. To hear Cody’s voice—not the voice of Jango Fett or the voice of a clone, but Cody’s—speaking his name without hesitation or uncertainty, it felt like his heart was going into supernova.

As he stood beside his commander, both watching the beautiful, terrible event unfold before them, Obi-Wan felt something shift, felt a weight lifted from his heart to be in the presence of this man who had called him by his name.

#part one of the codywan gets progressively closer series #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #codywan #fanfiction #the clone wars #tcw #part one #I would give you the sky #don't expect regular updates I don't know what I'm doing #ao3 #kit writes #loosely inspired ik

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hit-song-showdown · 1 year

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Year-End Poll #44: 1993

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: Whitney Houston, Tag Team, UB40, Janet Jackson, Silk, SWV, Shai, Mariah Carey, Wreckx-n-Effect, Snow. End description]

More information about this blog here

Another big year for R&B, especially R&B with a new jack swing influence. Whitney Houston's cover of I Will Always Love You for The Bodyguard soundtrack is not the first example of a soundtrack ballad reaching these polls, but it's certainly one of the biggest. The song beat all of Whitney Houston's previously-held longevity records and as of this writing it's still number 60 on Billboard's All-Time Top 100 chart.

Barely missing the eligibility for this poll is the solo debut album of Dr. Dre. The Chronic was released in 1992, helping to cement the sound of west coast rap, specifically G-funk. As the name would suggest, G-funk is largely influenced by funk music (with several tracks off The Chronic sampling Parliament-Funkadelic and George Clinton). West Coast rap also had a larger influence from car culture than the East Coast. Not just in subject matter, but in how the production would sound coming out of a car speaker. Reality rap (or gangster rap, as it would later be more widely called) was already controversial in the 1980's, especially the tracks criticizing the militant police presence in Los Angeles. This controversy would only grow in the early 90's, but so too would the mainstream popularity of the sound. With the East Coast and the West Coast having their own distinct styles and champions under their belts (especially after the formation of Bad Boy Records and Death Row Records), the rivalry between the two scenes was starting to get intense. How much of this rivalry could be boiled down to kayfabe differed depending on who you asked at the time. There is a lot that has been said about this era from a vast number of different standpoints. And as we move through the years, we'll see even more distinct scenes and styles start to enter the conversation.

#billboard poll #billboard music #tumblr poll #1990s #90s music #1993 #whitney houston #tag team #ub40 #janet jackson #silk #swv #shai #mariah carey #wreckx-n-effect #snow

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clatoera · 9 months

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Always Remember We're Burned for Better Chapter 19: Always Remember We're Burned for Better

Here we are. The TITULAR chapter. Only two more chapters follow this, one being the epilogue. We are at the end of the war. We have made it. We are just about at the end of this fic. It is absolutely wild we have made it this far together. I finally picked a title for the sequel, so thats cool. This is the longest chapter by far. It is the most important. They have been burned, and now it is time to find that it is for the better.

I have a LOT of emotions in writing this. I never imagined how it would feel to nearly finish the biggest fic i've ever done. And I'm feeling a LOT. Idk. I'm kind of sad about it?

title from The Great War. Also the titular chapter of the fic. Wild.

AO3

Masterpost.

As always, thank you to my friends. For your endless support and listening to me ramble. I literally cannot thank @ohhowwehavefallen enough. @kentwells who has essentially helped me restructure some things in the sequel already that i'm honestly weirdly excited for. @mollywog who was my first ever commenter who continues to read a story about a ship that she isn't even a stan for. @crookedlyniceperson my dear meme maker. @clarascrabarmy my nightshift angel who talked me off a ledge last week. And so so so many more. I am just.. yeah. Feeling a lot about this fic. It's been a crazy crazy ride.

And as we approach the end I just need to say thank you all.

Note: I do not own any of the Mockingjay content in italics, that all belongs to Suzanne Collins.

I'm like. On the verge of tears as I post this.

The banging at the door is incessant and alarming, more frantic than was usual in such a militant district. Compared to the festivities of the night before, with the wedding of Finnick and Annie, such a frantic rapping at the door pulls them from their comfortable position in each other's arms.

Cato doesn’t really move, shifting his face to bury it in Clove’s neck, pulling her body flush against his even more so than it already was. “Mmm, think they’ll go away if we ignore it?” He murmurs, voice muffled in the mess of hair between his lips and her skin. “Think we’re in trouble for missing breakfast?”

“Seems a bit more urgent than missed scrambled eggs.” Clove mumbles in response, pulling the thin cotton sheet higher up over their shoulders, no intention to greet the stale morning air beyond the warmth of their minimally comfortable bed. The two twin beds pushed together was a FAR cry from the comfort of their home, but they both knew they likely would not be returning to such luxuries for quite some time. She’s about to continue ignoring the banging, content to rest in his arms until something of worth drags them out, when the knocking both deepens in intensity and increases in speed. “For fucks sake,”

The banging does not relent, and Clove is reluctant unbury her face and push herself out from under the weight of Cato’s arm, which falls on the bed behind her hips with a dramatic thump. Her feet hit the floor as she rocks to a sitting position, and the cool underground air prickles the hair of her skin. She ignores the dull ache the cold introduces to her skeleton, the way her shoulders throb just deep to the planes of her skin. For a moment, she thinks about how this is going to feel in the winter in the mountains of District Two, before she remembers she will likely never step foot back in her District.

The violent outbreak in District Two eventually did turn towards the side of the rebellion, but not before sides were further divided, largely because of Cato and Clove themselves. Many of the loyalists did hear them, saw them for the children who were born, raised, and sacrificed to the games in their childhood, and took their pleas of reality. There was still a small camp, though, who dove further into their cause, citing Cato and Clove both as traitors to not only their home but their country. While it had ultimately turned out against the Capitol, the beliefs would remain. IF there was a District Two to return to, would they even be welcome?

The banging continues to hasten, and Clove actually sighs out loud as she searches for something, namely, Cato’s shirt, from the floor before slipping it over her head and shuffling closer to the door.

The exact second that she turns the door handle, the heavy metal door comes flying open as if it were made of cardboard and not steel, and Clove is pushed back into the room by the flurry of blonde that comes rushing in.

“They’re gone. Everyone is gone. Katniss, and Finnick, and their whole film crew and everyone is gone and It’s just us and Annie and Johanna and–” comes so fast that the words are nearly imperceivable by their intended audience.

“Good Morning to you, too, Glimmer.” Cato rolls to his back, now understanding that no, he would not be going back to sleep anytime soon. “Can you breathe between your words so we can understand what you’re saying?”

“You’re pleasant in the morning,” Another unexpected voice follows, as Marvel follows in the room behind Glimmer, rubbing his eyes as his socks shuffle along the cement flooring of the rooms. “I don’t remember you being all grumpy in the games.”

“You look ridiculous.” Cato snaps, before stretching his arms above his head, holding his head in his hands as they rest on the pillow behind him. As result the sheets slip lower, leaving practically his whole torso bared to the room. “Shirtless isn’t for everyone.”

“I was asleep!” He defends mildly, before stifling another yawn. “It’s like..five in the morning, give me a break.”

“Why are you waking us all up at five a.m. Glimmer?” Clove redirects, practically grabbing Glimmer by the shoulders, stabilizing the blubbering, pacing girl. She looks frantic, nearly mad even. “Glimmer! Words!”

“Everyone is gone.” Glimmer grabs Clove’s arms, digging her nails in with a panic. “They’re gone, went to the Capitol gone.”

Clove’s face must fall first, as the realization hits her far faster than it does the men. Her fingers tighten on Glimmer’s arms ,and she shakes her just a little. “This is…it? This is the end and they just…left us? They didn’t even want us to help–”

“Sure did!” Yet another voice enters the room, this time the snarky tone of Johanna sliding into the room behind the other four. “Thanks for waking the whole district Blondie- oh GOOD Morning.” She laughs the second she sees Cato in his sheet on the bed, clapping her hands together once. “We’re the leftovers, but damn, I’ll take it. Speaking of leftovers, Clove if you get sick of-”

“Johanna i’ll still fucking kill you.” Clove warns, a sharp edge in her voice that relays that no, she is not in fact even slightly joking.

“Okay hold on, why would they leave without us, we’re useful.” Marvel argues, crossing his arms across his chest, before he sits himself on the foot edge of the bed, far from Cato on the other side.

“How useful are you, really, Marvel?” Johanna taunts, before shutting the heavy metal door behind her, protecting the secrecy of their conversation. “I’m sure they gave Katniss a bow and Finnick a fucking trident, nothing like sending people into an active warzone with symbolic weapons. Did you all fail your readiness tests? I almost made it then they flooded the fucking streets… tried to send me back to the hospital and everything?”

“You can swim, what's that matter?” Cato pulls himself to a sitting position to join the rest of the group more properly. “You’d never have survived the quell otherwise.”

Johanna bristles but goes quiet, suddenly shifting her focus towards a rather interesting spot in the floor, when Marvel speaks for her.

“Back in the Capitol they uh..” He waves his hand around, gesturing something Cato nor Glimmer quite grasp. “With the water and the electricity, they shocked her.”

“Electrocuted.” She corrects, before raising her head to look around the room again. “Not that it matters now. I didn’t pass and clearly neither did any of you–”

“What test do you mean?” Clove cranes her head to look at Johanna, but does not move her hands from where she holds Glimmer’s arms down, noticing the way her wrists twitch to reach for the skin of her own arms. “They didn’t tell us about some test,”

“A field readiness test. To see if you were capable of handling whatever the Capitol threw out?” Johanna now sits on the makeshift king bed, a few feet away from Marvel but no closer to Cato to prevent the risk of Clove taking it as a move on him. “They must have considered all of you too big of a liability to even think about sending you out there.”

“Do they think we’re just..team Snow? After all they’ve done to us, after all we’ve said?” Glimmer shakes her head, disbelief at the lack of trust this cause has for them, after the repeated displays of loyalty they have all given time and time again. “They just think we’re not worth including?”

“I, for one, am fine with not dying in this war. We made it this far, besides, they would have sent us out there like idiots trying to fight a war with swords and knives. A suicide mission, really, if you think about it.” Cato announces, but the disdain on his face reveals to Clove that he’s a little bitter about missing his final chance at violence and bloodshed in the Capitol streets.

“We’re all dead anyway if Snow wins.” Johanna reminds them all, leaning back in Clove’s bed, stretching her arms out around her. “May as well watch the end of the world from a bunker. Aren’t you all tired of being used as little show ponies by both sides?”

“She fucking hates us, I can’t believe she didn’t want to exterminate us. She looks at us like we’re rats plaguing her district.” Clove says, but the way her eyes flit around the room shows she’s hesitant to even elaborate.

“Who? Katniss?” Glimmer cocks her head, narrowing her eyes like she wants to defend the symbolic girl herself.

“No..Coin.” Clove whispers, looking between them all as if she cannot believe they do not immediately agree. “She looks at Katniss like it, too. She doesn’t like us. Any of us.”

“Maybe it looks better for us not to even be there, then to turn for the Capitol and die for them.” Cato suggests, leaning back to prop his head up in his hand while his elbow rests on the pillow once again.

“She hates us. We might be dead no matter who wins.” Clove warns, and immediately, turns to face the rest of them. “We should get Annie, too. It’s not fair to leave her, especially if Finnick’s already gone.”

“I’ll go grab her.” Johanna volunteers, pushing herself back to stand. “What a wedding night, wonder how that feels to have your brand new husband choose war over you.”

“He might not have had a choice.” Glimmer suggests, knowing all too well how it felt to be a symbol of something against your will.

Johanna heads towards the door, pausing to look Clove over, pausing to bring attention to her bare thighs and legs that peek out from under Cato’s shirt. “You know, you have nice legs under all that crazy, Clove.”

“Go get Annie, Jo.” Marvel sighs, once again stifling an exhausted yawn “If we’re going to wait out a war in here, can you two at least put clothes on.”

“Awwww…don’t be jealous you aren’t getting any Marvel.” Cato taunts just as a pillow smacks him in the face.

——

They are kept in the dark on the status of the battle of the Capitol.

Perhaps the whole district, the whole world is, but it feels like the six of them are particularly cut off from the reality of the outside world.

The day itself is very…odd. No other term to describe it than weird, really. There are no overhead announcements of the change of a shift, nor announcement of mealtimes beginning. Maybe they are happening and the group of them are simply unaware, but after hours of, well, nothingness…Cato makes the call that he’s starving and he will be finding something to eat.

He's on his way back from the kitchen, leftover cake from Peeta’s creation the night before in his hands to serve as their snack, lunch, AND dinner, when he physically collides with Haymitch in the hallway.

The older victor tries to nod and go on his way, but Cato grabs him by the shoulder to stop him from running.

“Why didn’t they tell us?”

“She didn’t tell me, either, sunshine. Katniss isn’t one to give other people a heads up.”

“That's not what I mean and you know it, Haymitch. After all we did for them, they don’t even want us there when it ends?”

Haymitch gives a hesitant glance around, all too aware that the walls listened for even the lightest whimpers. “Plutarch wanted as many victors there as possible. Coin didn’t want anyone who could be seen as a Capitol loyalist-“

“We’re loyalists? Me and Clove, who literally have no home anymore as a result of this war? Glimmer, who risked it all to expose what they did to her? Marvel? Who doesn't even know what to believe? We’re loyal to Snow?” The thought is unbelievable to Cato, who has lost his home, his family, and everything but Clove to this war. Have they not given enough to show that they are anything but a threat to this new world.

“It isn’t me saying it, kid.” He gives another hesitant glance around. “Remember what I'm telling you right now, okay? About how she sees you all.”

—-

The four of them sit on the still unmade bed, the screen in the room turned on in case of any sudden update that has still yet to come. Johanna had ushered Annie out of the room not terribly long before, after the lack of update had sent her spiraling to something akin to a panic attack. Johanna insisted she just needed to be alone, and that she’d bring her back once she was more stable.

Clove’s head is on Cato’s thigh as he feeds her bites of the cake, her feet up against Glimmer’s legs where she is curled up under the blankets, head resting on Clove’s pillow. Marvel sits at the foot of the bed, distracted from all but the turquoise buttercream on the cake before him.

“Shame he’s from twelve, he could’ve made a killing in a bakery in One.” Marvel comments, swiping the left over icing off the plate with his finger, before shoving it in his mouth. “That kid can bake.”

“I’m not sure there's really going to be district divisions left after all this. You can go get some loverboy cupcakes anytime you want.” Clove teases, before accepting another fork full of cake. “If there's even a Peeta left after today.”

“Why would they send him? Isn’t he literally programmed to kill Katniss? Isn't that a liability?” Marvel questions, before full on just digging directly into the entire tier of cake Cato had brought back with him.

Something clicks for Cato, the words of Haymitch Abernathy combined with months of watching and absorbing the way things go down here. Everything is always intentional. “Maybe that's the point.”

“You think the point is to kill Katniss?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, but props herself up on her elbows to get a better look at them. “Isn’t her whole point like…to represent the cause?”

“..but maybe she’s more symbolic dead?” Glimmer suggests, following along with what Cato is implying, tucking her blanket over her shoulders before snuggling deeper into the blanket. “...do you think we’re all more symbolic dead?”

“Honestly, I don’t know-” Cato is cut off when the TV actually flashes on for the first time all day, proudly displaying the Capitol seal before one Caesar Flickerman appears in a news anchor-esk desk.

“For fucks sake, how is Caesar still alive?” Clove groans, but pushes herself to sit beside Cato as the tv calls their attention.

“He’s the capitol’s favorite cockroach.” Marvel jokes, before he too turns around at the foot of the bed to watch whatever news Caesar brings.

“They’re alive.” Is the first thing Glimmer whispers, tuned out to the snide remarks on alliances and loyalty from Cesar, as she tunes in directly to seeing FInnick, Katniss, and even Peeta alive.

As Peeta grabs Katniss to throw her down, and some unidentified member of the squad pulls him off, a silence falls across them all. An uncomfortable silence, one that settles in the air and makes any word feel simply futile.

“Do you remember the night before the quell?” Marvel finally says, clearing his throat as he does so. There's something in his voice, something between realization and fear, and Glimmer is the first to recognize it.

“On the rooftop, yeah, why?” She follows up, and nearly reaches forward to grab his shoulder but stops herself, still, even in this end of the world moment, afraid of what he would think.

“Doesn’t this feel a lot like it?”

—

Two entire days pass without another update. Two turns to Three. Three turns to Four into Five.

It is five days later when they get their next news on the active battle in the Capitol. Ironically, they are in exactly the same space. Clove leaning with her legs and feet in Cato’s lap, who is sitting up against the wall that serves as the head board on their bed. Her head is across the bed, in Glimmer’s hands where the girl threads intricate braids through the length of her hair giving her something productive to do with her hands. The biggest change is that she now also leans on Marvel, who once again sits cross legged at the foot of the bed.

“What do you think will happen next?” Glimmer brings up, raking her fingers through the soft waves at the end of Clove’s ever growing hair. “Like..what's next for us?”

“I think the answer is supposed to be live happily ever after, if you ask Annie.” Clove snorts, but stretches her legs against Cato’s torso to get him to pick up her feet. “I honestly haven’t thought about it.”

“You haven’t thought about what happens after this ends?” Marvel questions, leaning back against the metal bar of the bottom of the bed.

“Why should I? Who knows what's left out there for us? District Two is literally ashes. I’m an actual orphan now, Cato’s probably also a war orphan. We literally probably don’t even have a home left for us.” Clove looks over at Cato, who is just nodding his head in disagreement. “Are we going to have to be drifters?”

“You could always just come stay with us for a while, if we even have standing homes. Otherwise we can all go hide in the mountains of District Two, living out of tents… it’ll be like we’re in the Hunger Games forever.” Marvel suggests, but his face twists up as soon as the words are out. “Scratch that. Not like the Hunger Games. I don’t want to think about those..honestly? Ever again. But seriously. We may all be living out of tents so–”

“I am not living out of a tent.” Glimmer scoffs, eyes rolling to the back of her head. “After all this, I deserve at least running water. And a maid. And a chef.”

“You don’t need a chef, Clove’s right there and homeless.” Marvel teases, but the concept does bring another pending issue to the front of his mind. “....do you think we’re going to have to get like…jobs?”

“Oh absolutely fucking not.” Cato chimes in, taking Clove’s foot into his hand and digging his thumb into the center of arch of her left foot and for a moment they are seventeen on the train to her games for the first time again. “We won the Hunger Games. Monthly stipends for the rest of our lives, remember? Have we not done enough?”

“They may not care about all that, if there's no games, does it even matter if we won them?” Clove questions, before she tugs her foot back out of his hand as he pressed his finger in, nearly kicking him in the process. “You asshole.”

“I am not getting a job. When I was little my mom used to say I could either marry a victor or be one. And I am one. Working retail in One was just never even on the table for me!” Glimmer sounds nearly scandalized at the suggestion, sitting a little straighter and leaning against her once-boyfriend. “Katniss should add that to her list of concessions. We keep our income.”

“It’s not like there’s going to even be that many victors left.” Cato points out, smirking as he goes for Clove’s other foot, holding her ankle firmly in his hand so she cannot pull away this time. “It’s the least they could do for us.”

They had destroyed their homes. Stripped them of their livelihood as victors. Slaughtered their families and their friends. A monthly stipend was the literal least that the new government could do.

It’s not like any of them really had employable skills, anyway.

The television crackles on against any of their will, and the Capitol insignia once again covers the entirety of the room in a bright, blinding light. The familiar anthem of the Capitol plays, and Clove is the first to scoff.

“I wish Katniss didn’t have dibs, I’d love to get my hands on Snow for this-” Clove starts, but her blood runs cold as soon as she sees what is being displayed behind him.

It is an image they are all too familiar with. As the anthem plays the holographic pictures of fallen tributes scroll on the screen. This time, though, the tributes are people they know all too well.

Finnick Odair. Katniss Everdeen. Peeta Mellark.

“No..no. no. no.” Glimmer shakes her head, disbelief quickly turning to agony as her own breathing speeds up and she falls quickly over the edge of her own emotional distress.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, is as chilling as the screams of Annie Cresta-Odair that echo through the depths of District Thirteen.

“They can’t be dead, there's no way they’re all just..gone.” Clove tries, but the evidence is in front of her. Of course there is a way. They are in an active battle ground with literal bows and knives and tridents. They were never intended to come out as victors.

Glimmer is beside herself, resolved to hyperventilating, body shaking sobs as the broadcast transitions to Snow.

“We should go to Annie..” Marvel suggests, but as Glimmer physically collapses against him he can’t find it in him to do anything but bring a hand up to her shoulders, as he had done all those years ago during Clove’s games. Johanna is probably with her, if the footsteps running through the hall and the two rapid door slams indicate.

Snow appears on their screen, and gives some speech about Katniss being a misguided girl.

“...I think we need to have another conversation.” Cato warns, leaning forward to grab Clove and pull her into his lap. “What do we do if Snow wins this?”

“I’m not living in a world with him in control, I can’t I can’t I can’t.” Glimmer cries, further digging herself into her ex-boyfriend's shirt, letting (or rather pleading) him wrap a single arm around her to give her any semblance of comfort. “I can’t go through it again.”

“I’m in no fucking hurry to get back in his hands, I won’t. He took everything from me. He stole who I am. I’m not living in his world.” Clove agreed, noticing the way she herself was also breathing rather heavy as a result of the news. Not to say she was panicking but..she also wasn’t far off. Her heart pounded, raced really, in her chest. After everything..she couldn’t survive in a world with Snow.

The screen is disrupted when Coin takes over, and gives an empassioned speech about Katniss as well. Her false emotion is obvious to them, who are all too accustomed to her fake niceties.

“She caused this! She’s the one who sent her in there with Peeta and Finnick and it’s her fault.” Glimmer blames, an arm at her waist the only thing that keeps her from lunging at the television in her rage. Coin is justly the target of her ire, as the loss of Finnick is like feeling the loss of a limb. They were the ones who went through it all together, and she is likely the one of the only ones who remain who have experienced the sexual abuse at the hands of elite capitolites.

“Lesser of two evils, Glimmer, lesser of two evils.” Marvel tries, but it is no use as Glimmer loses it yet again.

“Cato’s right.” Clove says, leaning back in his arms. “We need a plan if Snow wins, we can’t get back in their control.”

“What do you suggest, Clove? We hold a Hunger Games down here of the surviving victors? Just take each other out?” Marvel questions, not even slightly considering it. It’s preposterous to him, that they’d just be able to annihilate each other as if they had not gone through an entire war together now.

“I don’t know if we could do it.” Cato admits, shaking his head just a little as he pulls Clove properly onto his lap. “After all this..yeah we can take ourselves out but could we really kill Annie? Or even you , Glimmer, I'm not sure I'd be able to.”

“I couldn’t kill you.” Clove fully admits, tucking her head against Cato’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist for him by grasping his hands. “I spent my whole life trained to kill you.. And I couldn’t do it. Not now. I couldn’t kill you, Marvel, even though you irritated the hell out of me when I met you. We survived the fucking capitol together. Glimmer… you are the closest thing to a friend I have ever had. I guess that makes you my best friend, doesn’t it? You have taken care of me for months down here. I can’t kill you. And God, Cato, you’re the love of my life. After all this shit, there's no chance in the world I’d be able to kill you so easily anymore. I don’t know what comes next if Snow wins…but come on. We can’t throw it all in so easily. We’re probably the only Career Victors left. We can’t give it up so easily.”

—

The war ends three days later. Formally, at least.

The television refuses to shut off, with mandatory viewing of evacuations and all cameras focused on the president's mansion an endless background noise.

Clove is laying on top of Cato, face tucked into his neck as he runs his hands over the small of her back absently. There has been a tension in the air ever since the conversation of the end of the world under Snow, and they had spent the majority of what could be their last days on earth alone with each other.

Go out with a bang, right?

Go out with a bang, quite literally, when the mandatory viewing of evacuations turns into a mass civilian bombing by the Capitol. Or more specifically a mass bombing of the capitol children.

“It’s like their own Hunger Games. Just..mass murder of kids.” Clove remarks from her place on his chest, tucking her chin against his sternum so she can look up at him. “Feels funny to see the games that way.”

A second bomb wipes out the camera footage as the bomb wipes out thousands more.

Neither think much of it. They had been broadcasting the mass deaths of peacekeepers and rebels alike for days. What is one more bombing, what are thousands more added to the death count.

It is not until an hour or so later, long after the broadcast has cut out, that a banging resumes on their door as it had days prior.

This person, though, does not wait for the door to be opened, and instead keys in a code from the outside that flings it open.

On the other side of the door is Haymitch Abernathy, a beanie on his head and a smile on his face for the first time maybe ever.

“It’s over!” He announced from the door frame, hand still grasping the handle. “It’s over.”

Clove raises her head first, and Cato’s face whips around to face the door. It is Cato’s turn to break into the ghost of a smile as he waits to confirm what Haymitch is saying. There’s no way the man had broken in that enthused if Snow had won, right.

“We won?” Cato calls out, grasping Clove’s hip under the blanket so intensely that it was sure to leave bruises behind.

“We won.” Haymitch narrows his eyes at the two of them, gesturing to the sheets that covered them. “If you two will disconnect from one another and get dressed, they’re going to fly us all out for the big execution of Snow.”

“...we’re invited?” Clove snarks, raising a dark eyebrow, but unable to stop the smile that is threatening to creep across her face. “What’s the occasion?”

“The war is over, kid. Everyone’s going.” Haymitch winks at them, and for the first time maybe ever, Clove recognizes him as another victor like herself. And maybe, just maybe, he sees them for that too.

The door shuts on them both as Haymitch hits Glimmer’s room next, as evidenced by the shriek they can hear through the wall at the announcement.

The reaction of Glimmer, or Marvel, or Annie, Or Johanna doesn't matter, not right now.

Not when Cato grabs Clove’s face in his hands, and pulls her up so that they are only inches apart, his thumbs brushing across the freckles that dance over her cheeks like constellations.

It is better than winning any fight, better than the night before any Hunger Games.

“It’s over.” Clove whispers, her own hands coming up to rest along his jaw, her thumb stroking over his cheek. “We won.”

“It’s over.” Cato agrees, the smile fully breaking out on his face now. They won. And if they have nothing else in the world..they have each other.

He pulls her face down to crash their lips together, and if he can taste the saltiness of tears he is kind enough not to mention it.

Seconds, Minutes, who knows how long passes before Clove forces herself to pull back just a little, just enough to catch her breath. Their noses still brush, foreheads still together, when she finally, finally lets out a sigh.

“We survived a war, Cato.”

“We always survive, babe. We always do.”

—

The flight to the Capitol is unlike any train ride or victory tour ever felt. It’s a moment of victory all its own, yes.

And yet, there is the feeling of unfinished business in the air. A war that is over but not quite.

It is also the longest a journey to the Capitol has ever taken, a far cry from the quick train rides from Two.

“Everything is going to change.” Clove warns Cato, sitting in their own little corner of the hovercraft.

“Maybe it’s for the better.” Cato suggests, lacing his fingers with hers as he crosses his ankles out in front of him. It was strangely reminiscent, sitting side by side like this, of being kids on their lunch break at training. Their entire lives have centered around anchoring the other, really. He nods in the direction diagonal from them, where caddy-cornered to them sit Marvel and Glimmer, in a position not at all unlike their own. They watch as Glimmer rests her head on Marvel’s shoulder and how he smiles down at her like she’s the source of all the light in the room. “Maybe it’s for the better.”

—

The first person they see upon landing is Effie Trinket who is back in her head to toe over the top regalia. Well. Some things change and some things do not.

“Welcome, Welcome!” She greets, a megawatt smile plastered across her pale painted skin. Even in her Captiol attire she is still not quite as outlandish as she had once been. There is a wig and heavy makeup, yes, but it is not at the level that an escort would have once been.

She had likely been brought out earlier, with Coin and Plutarch and other military stars. Still. It was nice to see a familiar face, with all the loss they were about to face.

“If you will all follow me, we have thrown together a little prep team of sorts! To get you all presentable for the execution. It’s a big day!” Effie leads them into the president's mansion, and Clove straightens as she is reminded of all the torment she faced in these very rooms. Cato notices– of course he does, they are truly two halves of the same soul– and instinctively wraps his hands around her just a little tighter.

“The other surviving victors are slowly coming in, there's not many left but!” Effie starts and it is the immediate scream of Annie Cresta that draws all their attention.

“Finnick!”

“Annie!”

Clove and Cato turn around just in time to see the two of them collide, when Annie wraps all her limbs around his shoulders and hips, as he holds her as if she weighs nothing.

“I thought he was dead.” Clove whispers, disbelief and even joy laced in her tone as she addresses the district twelve escort. “And Katniss and Peeta–”

“That's what they had us all thinking! But no! Katniss and Peeta, they’re alive as well. Katniss’s poor little sister, though, it’s truly tragic.” Effie puts a hand over her heart to show sympathy, but continues to lead them down the hall where various groups are being reunited.

“Prim is dead?” Cato pauses, and quite literally stops walking in his tracks. “How was she even involved in the war to begin, she's a kid–”

“The bombing. At the end. She was there as a medic.” Effie explains, though the tone in her voice indicates that something is, once again, being left unsaid. Something didn’t fit.

Cato and Clove share a look, one that speaks their agreement, that something is off and they need to discuss what exactly it is.

They pass yet another door and a flurry of blonde and sparkle catches Clove off guard. Her eyes go wide, and she nearly says her name, before a manicured finger comes to shush her.

“It’s a surprise.” Mouths Cashmere, where she stands side by side with her brother Gloss just beyond the door. Glimmer had clearly not seen them yet, but the shining smiles on their twin faces revealed to Clove they were all too excited to be reunited with their baby sister.

Clove felt the sinking feeling in her stomach, at the realization that there is no one waiting to be reunited with her.

Cato must feel it too, as he realizes that he likely lost his sister just like Katniss. He did not have a little sister any more to excitedly await the reunion of.

“Perfect! The District Two Room!” Effie announces, and leaves them at the door. “You two will be prepped soon. Enjoy the meantime!”

Effie cracks the door for them, and gives them each a knowing smile before she heads off in the general direction of what they can only assume is District Twelve preparations for Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch.

Cato takes the lead on pushing the door open with his fingers, and god is he glad he did when he feels Clove practically sink like jello in his arms beside him. He feels her before he hears her little gasp, and Cato is looking at her, missing exactly what stands beyond the door frame that is bringing his girl down. Clove, though, couldn't miss it if she tried.

“Well you two have looked better.” The cocky voice comes from just beyond the door frame, and Cato feels Clove’s hand slip from his just as he finally looks up to see who waits for them.

Brutus and Enobaria.

Their lifelong mentors.

“Enobaria.” Clove whispers, before she is moving as fast as her legs can carry her to cross the couple of steps between them. Immediately, she throws her arms around the woman’s shoulders, clinging to her as she did seventeen years ago when she was the only person in the world to find her worth comforting. And like she had seventeen years prior, Enobaria pulls her close, her hair finding the back of her head as it had so so many times in her childhood.

She is not just her mentor, no. This is the woman who raised her. This is who made her into a victor. It only took a war to see that.

“You’re alive.” Clove cries against her, as she buries her face against her shoulder. “You weren’t in Two, I thought you were dead.”

“Oh, we were there.” Enobaria promises, pulling Clove’s head back so that she can wipe at the tears under her eyes.

“You should have seen her, the day that interview with Peeta aired. I heard you in the background, and in no more than thirty seconds she was in my living room demanding we get involved.” Brutus admits, holding out his arms and scooping up the tiny girl, for the first time in her entire life showing Clove any semblance of appreciation and affection. “You had half a district coming together in your defense, kid. All led by Enobaria.”

He sets her back down, and no sooner do her feet hit the ground before Enobaria is back to hugging her.

“I am so so so proud of you. Both of you.” Enobaria promises, running her hand over the crown of Clove’s hair, pushing all the curled fly aways back from her eyes.

“I hate to say it and pad your already unmanageable ego, Cato, but I am too.” Brutus admits, running a hand over Cato’s head to ruffle his hair playfully. “I can’t believe you two joined a fucking war against the capitol.”

“We can’t either.” Cato admitted, brushing his fingers through his hair to settle the now fluffed blonde atop his head. “We didn’t really have a choice.”

“It was for the best, though.” Clove points out, practically hanging her arms around Enobaria’s shoulders as if she were still the little girl all those years ago. She can see the way Cato’s jaw is tightened, the way he is holding back a comment or remark of some sort.

“Do you know anything about Cato’s family?” Clove asks for him, eyes flitting between Brutus and Enobaria for any trace of an answer. “His sister..”

“We don’t.” Brutus admits with a disgraced shake of his head. “We were so deep on the other side of the district.. We don’t know much about anyone. But we do know that we’ve never heard them in the counts of the dead.”

Cato just gives a single nod of his head, looking to the ground so as to not show disappointment. This was something. They had someone left alive.

Clove lets go of Enobaria, immediately going to lace her hand with Cato’s, wrapping her other arm around his back before resting against him. It was always a comfort to him, just to touch her.

“I’m sorry, Cato.” Enobaria frowns, reaching out to gently touch his upper arm in comfort. “Victor’s Village is still standing. That's about it. But it's still there, and I think it’ll be livable within a few months. At least I hope. I’m going to One until it’s finished.” She gestures to Brutus with a nod of her head. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll go wherever I can get a Clove Kentwell breakfast. You know. The pancakes. With the chocolate chips.”

They unpack the rest of the realities of District Two while the prep team comes and dresses Cato and Clove.

Clove and Enobaria are dressed nearly identical, all black trench coats and slicked back hair. The difference relies in the bubbles down the length of Clove’s ever growing dark hair, versus the sleek straightened length of Enobaria’s.

Cato leaves Clove’s side only for the sake of being whisked off to get dressed himself, and by God Clove just about undoes all the hard work of the stylists the minute she sees him in that all black ensemble. The black button down is unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“You know, for all I hate this whole capitol thing, they always did make you look good.” Clove grins, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his hips.

“I did not miss seeing this.” Enobaria mumbles, tossing Cato’s black wool coat on top of Clove despite the appalled yelps from the stylists over Clove’s hair. “Can’t you two save this for literally any other time.”

Cato smirks, wrapping his arms around Clove’s hips before turning her in his arms so they both faced their mentors. “Oh you are going to fucking hate the bitch in charge of this new country, Baria.”

—

Cato is not wrong.

While they are all led into a conference style room, the looks of thinly veiled disdain are not hidden on Coin’s face.

She has since cut her hair, but that is about the only new thing about a leader in what was once Snow’s conference space. Different sides of the same coin, and all that.

This is all that remains of a pool of what was fifty nine victors prior to the quell. Fourteen of them.

Glimmer waves at them excitedly from where she is nestled between her siblings, and Finnick shoots them a million dollar smile from where he holds Annie’s hand atop the table.

Katniss looks cold behind her eyes, but nobody can say they are surprised. Katniss Everdeen went to the games and led a war for the safety of her baby sister, just to come out on the other side without her. Primrose Everdeen would never see the safety of the new world her sister had created just for her.

“We’re sorry for your loss, Katniss.” Annie offers in a soft voice, rubbing her hand atop Finnick’s hand. “Both of them.”

“Thank you.” Katniss said politely, but her gaze is trained on Alma Coin.

“Both of them..?” Cato whispers to Finnick, who sits at his right.

“Prim and Gale. He got dragged off right before the second bomb. He was shot right before it ended.”

Cato nor Clove offer condolences for that loss.

“I have invited you all here for several reasons…but first i’d like to announce myself as the interim president of panem.” Coin starts, calling the meeting to a start without bothering to announce she is doing so.

Cato is the first to shoot her a look of disbelief, followed by Clove and Haymitch.

“How long exactly is that?” Haymitch questions, echoing the confusion of every victor in the room.

“The people will vote when the time is right. I’ve called you here for a much more important vote.”

President Coin goes on about the execution of Snow to occur that afternoon, followed by an explanation of the trial of every peacekeeper, official, and capitol elite who was responsible for the war atrocities they had all faced. She targets Glimmer and Finnick with reminders of the abuse of the victors, and directs commentary on loss of life to Katniss.

“An alternative plan. A majority for can approve it. Noone may abstain. In lieu of these barbaric executions we hold a symbolic Hunger Games”

“You want to hold a Hunger Games, with the Capitol Children?” Johanna Mason clarifies, a deranged giggle escaping her.

“You’re Joking.” comes Peeta.

“Was this…Plurarch’s Idea?” Haymitch clarifies.

“It was mine.”

The admission is enough for it all to fall into place for the surviving careers. This is what Haymitch had meant, when he has warned him to remember how she views them. Every capitol atrocity..how easily that could be assigned to them.

“You may cast your vote.”

Peeta votes no, first. Citing the kind of mindset that started these uprisings as his reason.

Johanna is next, and with a laugh she votes yes, claiming she wants to see Snow’s granddaughter in the arena.

“Let them have a taste of it” is how Enobaria casts her yes. “After what they did to our people..Let me in the gamemakers room.”

“I agree. It’ll be the fastest game we ever have. These kids won’t be able to hold a sword.” Brutus gives as his yes.

“No. I vote no.” Annie dissents.

“Me too. Absolutely not. These kids are not responsible for the crimes of their parents. We have had enough bloodshed. I’ve been hurt as much as the next person by the Capitol. But we cannot keep punishing kids for the crimes of their ancestors. That's how we got to this point in the first place.” Finnick agrees with his wife, a firm and vocal no. “We need to end this. That's why we just had a war.”

“No. We need to stop seeing each other as enemies.” Beetee adds.

“We never got our chance to mentor.” Cato announces, wrapping an arm over Clove’s shoulders. “The things they did to Clove..If I could put their kids in the arena directly, I would. I’m not mentoring those ones though. I don’t want to see them win. Besides… I think we need one last game. Fuck yes.”

“What Cato said. I had my life ruined by Snow. They stole my identity. Fuck them.” Clove agrees, giving a firm nod of her head. “And what Enobaria said. Let them have a taste of how it feels to lose everything to the games. I don’t even want one of them to win. Absolutely Yes.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you all. Did we learn nothing? Did we stand up in those last games, did we fight this war for nothing?” Glimmer’s disbelief seeps into her voice as she looks frantically between her fellow victors, and hurt fills her eyes as she makes eye contact with her so-called friends. “What happened to no more children being sacrificed? I have been hurt as much as anyone by the Capitol..but I don’t want to kill their kids. How are we any different than snow if we condone and support the murder of children. That's what they are..that's what WE were! We were all kids when we won the games. We were children.. And shouldn’t we, as the adults who have survived it..want better for these kids. Shouldn’t we want better to protect our children? No. Absolutely not. I can’t believe you would support this.”

“I disagree.” Marvel admits, trying not to flinch when Glimmer recoils away from him in downright horror and disgust. “I have seen the things they did to you. They did them to me, too. I remember how hurt you have been. I remember what it’s like to be tortured in a basement, and I remember how it feels to hope you can hear your friend–” He looks to Clove, “Whimpering across the cinder block wall you share to have proof she is alive. Johanna is afraid of water. Clove lost her ability to defend herself. Annie lost her mind, and Peeta lost himself. And Glimmer, I lost you, because of what they have done to us. So you know what? Yeah. Fuck them. I say yes.”

She is glad to be sitting between her siblings, who each take one of her hands in their own.

“Noone else has the right to use our trauma and our abuse to justify further violence. I vote no.” Cashmere announces, making a point to shoot absolute daggers in the general direction of Marvel and the other careers.

“You don’t get to weaponize our experiences. Only we can do that. And I stand with my sisters. I vote no.” Gloss agrees.

“It’s down to Katniss and Haymitch.” Coin announces, shifting her eyes between the two remaining revolutionaries.

“I get to kill snow.” Katniss all but demands, and in that moment they know exactly which way her vote is going to go, and her yes will completely tip the scale in their favor. When Katniss votes “Yes. For Prim. “ it brings the vote to a solid 7 to 6.

There is a wordless exchange between Katniss and Haymitch, and there is murder in her eyes. Whatever is said is well understood by both players.

Haymitch holds the power to play peacekeeper or tip the scales and he does what he knows best.

Haymitch sides with Katniss. Notably, he does not vote yes, more so that he is with the Mockingjay in whatever she brings to the table.

“That Carries the vote. Excellent. We’ll announce the games tonight after the execution.”

—

“What the fuck is wrong with you.” Glimmer grabs Clove by the shoulder as she passes her room, pulling her out of the hallway and into the privacy of a guest bedroom. “Was all of this for nothing, Clove?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you? You were raped and beaten and horrifically abused by the capitol and you don’t want a little bit of revenge?” Clove snarls, ripping her arm out of Glimmer’s grasp. “You want to lay down and be remembered for what they did to you, or do you want to be remembered for getting back at them? Think like a career, Glimmer.”

“You don’t get it, do you?! She isn’t going to stop with the Capitol kids! What happens when it’s not enough for her for it to be the kids of Capitol Elites. What about when it’s kids of ex loyalists in the districts? When It’s the kids of careers? Or even just the children of victors, Clove? What happens then?” Glimmer peaks into the hallway, to be especially sure they are alone. “Clove. You and I both know that neither of us are going to have kids. We know that. We are never having children. But you know who’s at risk under this whole plan? Cato’s little sister. Any kids of Annie and Finnick.”

“Glimmer, it’s just one last game–”

“That's what they always say, Clove. But it won’t. It won’t. And then it’ll be us again. She hates us. You said it yourself. She hates us and we are no safer under this plan than we were with Snow.”

How can Clove refute that when she knows, deep down, that it is alarmingly and painfully true.

–

The knock on the door startles Katniss, who is catching the reflection of her Mockingjay costume for the last time.

Clove doesn’t wait for permission to enter, and slips in through the unlocked door. She waits along the wall, hands tucked behind her back. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Yeah, well, this is the least we can do for her, right?” Katniss slings her bow over her shoulder, before she turns to Clove. “This isn’t about Prim, is it?”

“We aren’t safe under her are we?” Clove whispers, fully aware that her words are probably treason and a one way ticket to her own execution. “This isn’t going to stop with one game.”

“No.” Katniss agrees, but does not vocalize which part. However, the look steely look when she locks eyes with Clove tells the other woman all she needs to know. “...do you still carry knives with you?”

“Of course I do, who do you think I am?” Clove rolls her eyes, but stops another snarky remark from coming when she realizes there must be a reason for Katniss to ask such a thing. “..why?”

“I’d just say to have them ready. You know. In case I miss.” Katniss suggests before straightening her Mockingjay pin for the last time.

“You don’t miss, Katniss.” Clove nearly laughs at the absurdity of it all. Katniss would never have made it this far if she were anything less than flawless with a bow.

That being said, Clove would never have made it this far if she weren’t born to throw a knife.

“Neither do you.”

—

Katniss leads the march out to the execution, followed by a line of Victors who have been wronged in some way or the other by the Capitol. Clove is on the Far right, Cato immediately to her left with their hands interlocked.

It is symbolic, as this whole thing is, that the remaining victors lead the march down the boulevard of the tributes, revolutionaries filling the stands on either side of their flanks.

“Bet you never thought we’d be doing this again.” Cato teases, giving her hand a light squeeze. When he turns to look at her face, hoping for any glimpse of a laugh, he catches the glint of something shining in her palm.

No.. there's no way it’s that.

“Bet you never thought we’d have survived a war before we turned twenty one.” Clove teases in response, rubbing her thumb over the back of his fingers. She is at the far end, and she cannot even see Glimmer, Marvel, Finnick, or Annie on the other side. Enobaria and Brutus walk in line with the two of them, and for the briefest moment, it reminds Clove of the end of a Victory Tour, when the victor is led to the President by her mentors and her team. Is this really all that different from that moment, anyway?

It is somehow both the longest and shortest walk of Clove’s life, seeing as every other time she had been on this particular stretch had involved a horse and chariot ride.

The end approaches as soon as it starts. Clove feels a tightening in her chest that stretches all the way across her back. It isn’t quite panic, and it isn’t fear. It is the kind of heart racing she felt in the beginning of every day of training, how she felt when the podiums rose in the hunger games.

It’s adrenaline.

Katniss is at the front of their pack, yes, but from where she stands on the far right end she has a clear shot at the president tied to a wooden pole. It’s less than 20 feet, there's no possible way Katniss would just..miss?

Coin is beginning her ramble about a shot to end all wars, about the end of tyranny, but Clove is focused on Katniss.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Cato whispers, noting the way she does not even look up to the president as she speaks, nudging her with his shoulder.

She does not budge.

“Mockingjay. May your aim be as true as your heart is pure.”

Clove sees the decision the minute Katniss makes it, and suddenly she gets what she meant by miss.

This was her gift to Clove.

Katniss’s chin and shoulders tilt up at the same moment the handle of the knife slips from around Clove’s forearm and into her palm.

In the same moment that Katniss releases the arrow, there is a gasp of shock when it is not an arrow that pierces Snow’s heart but a knife that lodges itself right between his eyes.

Coin falls to the ground with an arrow to her heart as Snow’s skull splits in two.

He had taken this very thing from her, he had taken her aim and her strength, he had taken what made Clove Clove.

Two leaders were dead, the fate of Panem now resting in the unknown hands of democracy for the first time ever.

Peeta slaps something out of Katniss' hands, just as she is pulled away by guards. Clove lets out a laugh, throwing her head back as Cato is the one to grab her and pulls her to the side.

This is what all those countless hours of training with Cato had been for. To get Clove back.

And that's the thing about Clove Kentwell.

She never misses.

—

Clove does not face the same consequences as Katniss in the aftermath. He was scheduled to die– as far as it is seen Clove simply carried out a mission Katniss abandoned.

It is the victors who write a litany of letters in immediate support of Katniss Everdeen’s release. They write of tyranny and the horrors the country would have faced under Alma Coin, terrors that are not at all unlike the dictatorship they just escaped.

All together, there are letters from Cato, Clove, Marvel, Glimmer, Johanna, Finnick, Annie, and Beetee that are brought together in their undying, complete, and total support for Katniss Everdeen and her decisions that day. Victors will always support their fellow Victors.

“We’ll see you soon, in One?” Marvel checks the morning after the executions, leaning on the doorframe of the guest room Cato and Clove are currently packing their minimal belongings to leave. “Glimmer..hopefully she’ll move past all her issues with us all soon. You can stay with me.”

They do agree to go to One, first. The train doesn’t even stop in Two, all things considered, and from the discussions with Enobaria it would be futile to even stop. Their home was in shambles. They need time to heal before addressing the crumbled castles of their childhood.

“Come on, we get our own train car!” Enobaria reminds them as they stand on that train platform, Her own minimal luggage in her hands. “We won’t have to listen to Cash and Gloss lecture us until we arrive in the district, isn’t that a real treat.”

Clove cannot seem to will herself to take the steps forward towards the doors of the train. The last time they had taken them had been to this very spot, where neither of them had intended to come back. Even though they are not going home– and likely will not for many months– it was just the right side of unbelievable.

“It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?” Clove looks to Cato, holding her hand out for him to take. “For the first time in our lives.. We can do anything. We can have anything. We can go anywhere in the world we want. Just..not home.”

“We’ll go home, one day.” He promises, before he bypasses her hand and instead wraps his arms around her shoulders. Cato rests his chin atop her head before kissing the crown of her hair. “We survived three Hunger Games between us. A little bit of post-war reconstruction has to be nothing, right?”

Clove snorts, leaning back in his arms as they take in the remnants of the Capitol together. “Yeah, but post war reconstruction involves us living with Glimmer and Marvel. We’ll be finding Glitter in our hair for the rest of our lives.”

“If the rest of our lives are a hundred years, I will be happy to smell like glitter and roses for all of them.” Cato promises, leaning down further to kiss her on the cheek more properly. “What do you think we do now?”

“....we live our lives?” Clove offers with the tiniest shrug, before she turns in his arms. “I love you. I don’t say it enough. But I love you, Cato. More than anything else in the world.”

“I know.” He promises his girl, leaning down so that their foreheads touched despite the massive height difference. “And I love you, too. But you already knew that.”

“You forgot something. You said we survived three Hunger Games, and reconstruction. But we survived an entire war, Cato. We survived the greatest war in Panem history.” Clove points out, before she laces her arms around his neck and rests them there.

“Will you two get on the train?” Brutus grumbles as he walks past, shaking his head in fake disdain. “You two never change, do you?”

“You may be adults who survived torture and a war, but I’ll still beat your ass if you have sex on this train.” Enobaria threatens from the doorway, waving her hand towards her. “Seriously, come on, I’m already tired of babysitting you two again.”

Clove laughs. Genuinely laughs as she leans back in his arms, taking a step back and nodding towards the train.

They pause in the doorway, giving one last look over the Capitol as they remember it. They’d be back, probably, but never quite like this. Never in the shadows of war. Not as the remnants of the teen tributes they still feel like they are.

“You know, how you said everything is going to change for the better?” Clove asks her husband, sliding her arm through his, resting her hand on the crook of his elbow as she rests her head on his shoulder. She lets out a content sigh, and smiles against his arm.

“Yeah?” Cato cranes his head down to look at Clove, at the girl who has quite literally been at his side for the last fifteen years of his life. And now, she’d be there for the next fifteen. The next fifty, if they were lucky. It’s about time that the odds were in their favor.

“I think you were right.”

#arwbfb tag #the hunger games #clato #cato and clove #clato fanfic #clove #clove kentwell #the hunger games fanfiction #cato and clove fanfic #glimmer and marvel #always remember we're burned for better tag

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houseofpurplestars · 2 months

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Join Eyewitness Palestine on Wednesday, March 27th at 12PM ET for our Live from Lyd webinar, featuring a special virtual delegation led by Tamer Nafar (see interview below with EP staff member Moureen), who will take us around Lyd on a custom tour of the city. Lyd, like many Palestinian cities, is an ancient city that's been home to multiple civilizations over its 5,000-year history. It was the site of one of the most grueling massacres of the Nakba and remains haunted by the injustices brought on to it. Today, the community of Lyd--one of the few cities with an integrated Palestinian and zionist population--is marred by addiction and gun violence. We'll hear from Lyd residents about the resilience and struggles they face in the community.

By Moureen Kaki

Tamer Nafar wears many creative hats—he’s a hip-hop artist, a screenwriter, and actor. Nafar is probably most well known as a member and founder of the first and still-leading Palestinian rap band, DAM. Readers should know that the Son of Palestinian Hip-Hop doesn't give very many interviews. He says what he needs to say through his arts: "I chose hip-hop because it gives me a verse of 64 lines," he says. Nafar and the band have released well over 100 songs through single-releases and three albums. They primarily rap in Arabic but will often integrate English and Hebrew. They’re not just known for their music, though, but the resistance-nature of their work. DAM’s music is riddled with themes of Palestinian identity, resistance, and culture. According to Nafar, the band’s founder, the music itself is less a form of resistance and more “resistance-adjacent.”

"Well, nowadays when you have more than 30,000 people killed and art is not stopping it, I'd say that art's role is documenting. I don't think it rescues lives, but I think it's documenting--it's the soundtrack of a revolution. I try to document my life and the lives of Palestinians like me. When you say 'Palestine,' people think of Gaza or the West Bank, but not a lot of people understand what life is like for Palestinians who have an Israeli ID, so I took the initiative to document us. Art is a medicine, but like Advil. It's a certain kind of medicine. It can help but it cannot cure. But to create real change is an economic thing, a power thing, it's a militant thing and lobbying this. This is where change happens. If revolution were a movie, I think art would be mentioned in the credits, not as the main force of change."

If Nafar is right and the arts are indeed more of a method of documentation than resistance, then it might be fair to call Nafar a sort-of experiential historian, too. Beyond the work of DAM, his solo work and film experience tell the many stories of Palestinians in Lyd and beyond. Nafar stars in Junction 48, for which he also did the screenwriting. Junction 48 tells the story of Palestinian rapper from Lyd who’s trying to “make it” in the industry, crossed with the unique struggle of being treated like an outsider in your own homeland, as all Palestinians are treated in Lyd by the Israeli majority. It incorporates challenges that are unique to Lyd: identity crisis and confusion, gun violence, and drug trade and addiction. Those familiar with Nafar personally would be forgiven for thinking the story was loosely based on his own life as a Lyd-based Palestinian rapper. But the film captures a narrative much bigger than any one person. It tells Lyd's unique story of the generational consequences of Zionism in Palestine.

In a different world, one in which Palestine was never colonized, Nafar would have likely never been a Lyd resident. His father's family fled there in 1948 when they were exiled from Yaffa by Zionist militias. They were supposed to leave for Jordan but found what they thought would be temporary refuge in Lyd. The family stayed and eventually, Nafar was born into the Lyd scene. Nafar succinctly and concisely defined Lyd and its possibilities: "[Lyd] would have been the best, most beautiful salad in the world if the chef weren't racist." The effects of that kind of systemic racism are apparent in Lyd's massive drug market and related gun violence. Its history and socio-economic problems often compared with the systemic destruction of Black American communities throughout the United States. Nafar, like many others, has lost community members, including his cousin, to gun violence.

On top of the gang-related violence in Lyd, Palestinians are doubly threatened by armed settlers and the state. Because of the ongoing genocide in Gaza, tensions are particularly high in the mixed Palestinian-Jewish city. Nafar says that the current situation reminds him of 2021, when Occupation Forces attacked Gaza during the Great Return March. But coupled with the increased rise of the extreme Israeli right-wing and power of settlers this time, he says, feels slightly different, "you feel it with the silence. Something that is not tangible. We're not used to the silence." While the situation remains grim, Nafar says that there's only one way for him to find solace.

"With what is happening now in Gaza and the way they managed to silence the Palestinians in Israel, and with the rise of the extreme [Israeli] right-wing, and me losing my cousin, I'm too emotional right now to give you a thoughtful message for good or bad. I know that people want a happy, optimistic view, but our comfort now is just acknowledging the darkness. All of our comfort now is just finding people to sit with us in the darkness. This is my aim now, just finding people in the darkness to share that moment with. I personally don't want to feel good. My people are dying. Why the f**k should I feel good?"

Nafar's blunt honesty goes further. When asked about the future of Lyd his response is succinct: "khara," the Arabic word for sh*t. Sure, it might be pessimistic, but to Nafar's point, many Palestinians, the rapper included, are exhausted by a life dictated by Zionism. It feels unreasonable to expect a rosy, hopeful outlook on the future when so much of Palestinian life is rife with injustice. Nafar lost his cousin to gun violence in Lyd. His family lost his ancestral home. Even the landscape of his life is riddled with these reminders. When shooting a music video for his song, the Son of Lyd, Israeli police stopped him and the video crew six different times while they were trying to record all because they were using a Palestinian flag as a video prop. Nafar explained that he had to go out of his way to cut scenes in the video to ensure that the police did not make too much of the final cut because he wants viewers to know that there is more to Lyd than the drug market and violence.

"There were two videos released [for the Son of Lyd song]. In the 'Making of the Son of Lyd' video, what we did is we attached a Palestinian flag to a motorcycle and I got stopped six times by the cops. You can see it. It's all documented. And the funniest part is that while the cops were busy pulling me over, there were drug deals happening around us and they didn't give a f**k. They were so obsessed with the flag. The second time we were stopped and [the police were] issuing me a ticket and had the police car with the lights flashing. So, I used the moment to record for the video and that ended up being the main part of the video--the part with me rapping to the police car with lights in the background and we set a release date and I loved that video. But I had that weird feeling that I wasn't happy about it and I didn't know why. A day or two before the release, I canceled the release. I realized that the police took over my video and that's what bothered me. So now in Lyd, the city I wanted to show--my city that I wanted to represent, it's all about police and crime and this is not what I wanted. Yes, the police are part of my city, but there's a huge identity that I wanted to show that was missing, so I reduced the police presence in the video and replaced it with a way to show my love for the city. I don't want to romanticize my city, and say there's a 'beautiful struggle' here, but it is a unique place with a unique struggle."

#tamer nafar #DAM #palestinian music #palestinian art #lyd #free palestine #free gaza #gaza #palestine #i stand with palestine

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hyperannotation · 1 year

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SCANNER SPATTER by David John Roden

aer0oil de-couple/ I

n/sertion

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airwasp shimmer-dents bury bark canilubed through undergrowth [guessing her aim from phase shifts/n parietal lobe] pigface has human chassis crusted w/gristle gats dildo plug/n musclethigh breasts contused w/greasy gatlings caged fli-dent munitions on collagen [empty after the precipitate assault] SCAN fear-spiked amygdala sequalae 0

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each cavernator venting black Posit Priests castrate under the lidless gristle-whipped Flagellants

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https://twitter.com/turingcop

#David John Roden

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 8 months

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The Proud Boys’ presence at the festival is the latest example of the far-right street-fighting gang’s willingness to forge alliances with fringe groups.

By Tess Owen

October 10, 2023, 7:04pm

In what can only be described as a meeting of minds, the Proud Boys appear to have aligned themselves with an ultra-fringe religious sect in Pennsylvania that worships with AR-15s.

The Sanctuary Church, also known as Rod of Iron Ministries, is run by Pastor Hyung-Jin “Sean” Moon. Moon’s late father founded the international “Unification Church,” an alleged cult whose adoring followers were known as “Moonies.”

The younger Moon, with the help of his brother Justin Moon (owner of a gun company, Kahr Arms) founded his own church in 2017, putting a militant, AR-15 centric spin on his father’s teachings.

This weekend, the church hosted its fourth annual “Rod of Iron Freedom Festival” at the Kahr Arms warehouse in Greeley, Pennsylvania, about 45 miles from Scranton. The event included a performance by Pastor Moon, aka “King Bullethead,” who rapped about putting pedophiles in “the wood chipper.” It also featured a ceremonial burning of a pansexual Pride flag, speeches by failed local political candidates, as well as hard-right pundit and former Trump official Seb Gorka — and, of course, the Proud Boys. Some members of the church had traveled from as far as Korea and Japan to attend.

... the church has also cultivated local political influence that has helped draw the likes of the Proud Boys and “parents’ rights” groups Moms for Liberty into their orbit.

... the younger Moon has sought to embed his church not only in right-wing politics but in MAGA culture. Moon and other church officials were tear-gassed outside the Capitol on Jan 6, and Moon’s sermons can be labeled, broadly, as Christian Nationalist.

...

#moonies #Sean Moon #ultra-fringe religious sect #Rod of Iron #hyung jin moon #Proud Boys #January 6 #far-right groups

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cyarsk52-20 · 1 year

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Willie Nelson, Missy Elliott, George Michael, and More: Here Are the 2023 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Inductees The outlaw legend, the rap queen, and few of this year’s inductees will perform at the ceremony, which takes place on November 3 at Brooklyn’s Barclays Center.

Read in Apple Music: https://apple.news/AB90kvpQXSA2fEnSoLwl1hg

Shared from Apple News

2023 ROCK & ROLL HALL OF FAME

Willie Nelson, Missy Elliott, George Michael, and More: Here Are the 2023 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Inductees

The outlaw legend, the rap queen, and few of this year’s inductees will perform at the ceremony, which takes place on November 3 at Brooklyn’s Barclays Center.

The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame has announced its 2023 inductees, which include a classic Motown act, a reclusive post-punk goddess, a militant agitprop alt-rock band, and, finally, a 90-year-old country and pop-culture titan. Willie Nelson, George Michael, Missy Elliott, Sheryl Crow, Rage Against the Machine, The Spinners, and Kate Bush will all officially join the institution and receive their well-deserved honors as part of the induction ceremony at Brooklyn’s Barclays Center on November 3.

In addition to these incredible talents, the Hall of Fame will also highlight several musicians and industry champions with additional accolades. The recipients of this year’s Musical Excellence Awards—for artists, musicians, songwriters, and producers whose originality and influence have had a dramatic impact on music—are the reigning Queen of Funk, Chaka Khan; prolific songwriter and longtime Elton John musical partner Bernie Taupin; and Al Kooper, the renowned multi-instrumentalist, producer, Bob Dylan collaborator, and Lynyrd Skynyrd discoverer. Hip-hop pioneer DJ Kool Herc and influential guitarist Link Wray will each receive the Musical Influence Award, designated for artists whose style has directly influenced, inspired, and evolved rock ’n’ roll and music impacting youth culture. The Ahmet Ertegun Award, a distinction for non-performing industry professionals, will posthumously honor Soul Traincreator and TV host and producer Don Cornelius, who passed away in 2012.

Explore essential tracks from some of the 2023 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductees below, and tune in to our live broadcast on Apple Music 1, where Apple Music radio hosts Ebro Darden, Rebecca Judd, Matt Wilkinson, Brooke Reese, and Kelleigh Bannen will be joined by Crow and Taupin to discuss their achievements and this year’s celebration.

Willie Nelson

THE BRAIDS, THE smile, the trusty guitar named Trigger, the impassioned activism, the unabashed passion for all things cannabis (and his song about it, “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die”)—there’s a lot to love about Willie Nelson, and fans all over the world can give you several reasons why they’re still showing up to see him sing well into his 90th year. He may have gotten his start singing country western tunes in the ’50s and ’60s, but Nelson hit his stride in the ’70s when he bucked the conventions of Nashville’s Music Row to make the stripped-down country music hewanted to make, the sort that sounded much more at home in a crowded honky-tonk than the Grand Ole Opry. Then, he found kindred spirits in Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and other artists who became the founding fathers of outlaw country, and now he’s mentored and played with younger generations of musicians who keep the outlaw spirit alive in their own way, like Margo Price, Jason Isbell, and Sturgill Simpson. At 90, Nelson’s voice may be a bit more gravelly than it was in his Red Headed Stranger days, but he’s still strumming Trigger with abandon any chance he gets.

George Michael

GEORGE MICHAEL ROSE to fame in the ’80s as one half of the feather-haired duo Wham!, who churned out some of the catchiest radio hits of the decade—namely the jubilant “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” the bittersweet modern holiday ballad “Last Christmas,” and “Careless Whisper,” the sultry single possessing one of the most memorable sax solos of all time. His velvety tenor, boyish charm, and melodic instincts as a songwriter secured his pop star status in Wham!’s heyday, but Michael’s star went supernova with 1987’s Faith, his debut solo album. The title track is one of his eight singles to hit No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart; the other seven include his duet with Aretha Franklin, “I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me),” and a version of Elton John’s “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” that features both Michael and the Rocket Man himself. In 1998, Michael came out as a gay man, and he was a vocal advocate for the LGBTQ+ community and HIV/AIDS prevention efforts throughout his career. Fans were stunned when Michael passed away unexpectedly in 2016 at the age of 53, but his songs—and his legacy—endure.

Missy Elliott

THERE HAS NOT been a woman rapper in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame—until now. “Get Ur Freak On,” “Pass That Dutch,” “Lose Control,” “Work It”—there was a stretch in the early 2000s when Missy Elliott’s beats and bars were inescapable. Her music videos—especially the clip for 1997’s breakthrough single “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly),” in which she transformed a trash bag into an unforgettable ensemble—were in constant rotation on MTV. Her songs were omnipresent on radio, and earned her a collection of the industry’s highest accolades (including four Grammys and several MTV Video Music Awards). She’s an exceptional rapper, as well as a production genius and lauded songwriter (and one who’s been officially honored by the Songwriters Hall of Fame). She’s collaborated with some of the most beloved hitmakers in R&B and pop at large: Aaliyah, Jennifer Hudson, Jazmine Sullivan, Ciara, Nelly Furtado, and many more. In short: Missy Elliott is, and has been, a force to be reckoned with, an MC who can do it all with infinite crossover appeal. And now, to top it all off, she’s making history.

Sheryl Crow

IT’S BEEN NEARLY 30 years since the release of Tuesday Night Music Club, Sheryl Crow’s debut album, and yet its tunes—“All I Wanna Do,” her first single; the frank and fed-up “Can’t Cry Anymore”; the sparse and stunning “Strong Enough”—remain some of the most beloved in her catalog. That says something, given how busy Crow’s been since: 10 albums followed, as have several songs as beloved as that first batch, from the snarling “If It Makes You Happy” and the profound “Everyday Is a Winding Road” to “Prove You Wrong,” her country-rock anthem featuring Stevie Nicks and Maren Morris. Her writing has always drawn as much from classic rock and folk as it has the licks and conventions of country, and as such she’s carved out a place entirely her own with one foot firmly planted in each genre: She’s as much at home in the studio with Chris Stapleton as she is with Justin Timberlake, and her songwriting chops—not to mention her crystal-clear voice—soar beyond the confines of genre.

Rage Against the Machine

RAGE AGAINST THE Machine has been previously nominated for entry into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame four times, but the fifth time’s the charm for the righteously deafening rock mainstays. Since forming in 1991, the four-piece has made heavy protest tracks their calling card, with 1992’s unfiltered breakout track “Killing in the Name” and subsequent singles—like “Bulls on Parade,” “Guerilla Radio,” and “Sleep Now in the Fire”—all speaking truth to power while shining a glaring spotlight on the myth of American exceptionalism. Read Rage Against the Machine’s statement regarding their induction in full here:

It is a surprising trajectory for us to be welcomed into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. In 1991 four people in Los Angeles formed a musical group to stand where sound and solidarity intersect. We called ourselves Rage Against the Machine. A band who is as well known for our albums as we are for our fierce opposition to the US war machine, white supremacy and exploitation A band whose songs drove alternative radio to new heights while right wing media companies tried to purge every song we ever wrote from the airwaves A band who shut down the NY Stock Exchange for the first time in its history A band who was targeted by police organizations who attempted to ban us from sold out arenas for raising our voices to free Mumia Abu Jamal, Leonard Peltier and other political prisoners A band who sued the US State Department for their fascist practice of using our music to torture innocent men in Guantanamo Bay A band who wrote rebel songs in an abandoned, industrial warehouse in the valley that would later dethrone Simon Cowell ’s X-Factor pop monopoly to occupy the number 1 spot on the UK charts and have the most downloaded song in UK history A band who funded and organized delegations to stand with Mexican rebel Zapatista communities to expose the Mexican government’s war on indigenous people A band whose experimentation in fusing punk, rock and hip-hop became a genre of its own Many thanks to the Hall of Fame for recognizing the music and the mission of Rage Against the Machine. We are grateful to all of the passionate fans, the many talented co-conspirators we’ve worked with and all the activists, organizers, rebels and revolutionaries past, present and future who have inspired our art.

The Spinners

“I’LL BE AROUND,” the immediately recognizable hit from R&B and soul crooners The Spinners, is a groove with with a unique cultural footprint. You can’t hear the subtle drums and telltale chords without humming the chorus in your head: “Whenever you call me, I’ll be there/Whenever you want me, I’ll be there/Whenever you need me, I’ll be there/I’ll be around.” The Spinners are one of a few Detroit soul groups who truly found their groove by leaving Motown. On that label they hit with Stevie Wonder’s “It’s a Shame,” but it took a hook-up with Philadelphia maestro Thom Bell to bring out their best. Bell’s smooth and sumptuous productions were the blueprint for Philly soul, and The Spinners’ Philippe Wynne had the voice to match. Lightly funkified love ballads became their trademark, but they could also draw from gospel on “Mighty Love” and do social commentary on “Ghetto Child.”

Kate Bush

THOUGH FANS OF Kate Bush have been blasting Hounds of Love and the rest of her greatest hits for decades, the reclusive British singer-songwriter saw an unlikely resurgence when her 1985 single “Running Up That Hill” was worked into the supernatural plot of Netflix’s hit series Stranger Things last summer. It’s hardly surprising that younger audiences connected with its driving drums and synth-laden, discordant chorus, nor is it shocking that Bush’s robust voice continues to stun listeners when they encounter her signature song—or “This Woman’s Work,” or “Wuthering Heights,” or anything else in her repertoire—for the first time. The list of famous Bush fans is long, and it counts everyone from Adele and Björk to ROSALÍA and Solange, not to mention several artists previously honored by the Rock Hall (like Stevie Nicks, who considered recording her own version of “Running Up That Hill” before realizing she “can’t really do that song better than Kate Bush did”).

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Congratulations 🍾🎉🎊🎈 to this year’s 2023 rock and roll hall of fame!

⭐️George Michael

⭐️Sheryl Crow

⭐️Willie Nelson

⭐️Missy Elliott

⭐️Kate Bush

⭐️The Spinners

⭐️Rage Against the Machine

⭐️Chaka Khan

⭐️Al Kooper

⭐️Bernie Taupin

⭐️DJ Kool Herc

⭐️Link Wray

⭐️Don Cornelius

#rock and roll hall of fame #2023 #George Michael #⭐️Sheryl Crow #⭐️Willie Nelson #⭐️Missy Elliott #⭐️Kate Bush #⭐️The Spinners #⭐️Rage Against the Machine #⭐️Chaka Khan #⭐️Al Kooper #⭐️Bernie Taupin #⭐️DJ Kool Herc #⭐️Link Wray #⭐️Don Cornelius #Congratulations 🎊🍾🎈🎉#Induction ceremony

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