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pink-flame · 3 years

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Lucky it Was Hotdogs

So! This is my gift for the @jatp-gift-exchange celebrating 6 months since the show came out. I just so happened to be assigned my friend @tmp-jatp as my giftee. Which is awesome because she’s awesome. She asked for angst and my first thought was my reputation is just going to get worse. 😂 And then I started writing, started over, changed to a different prompt two more times...had a few breakdowns but here we are! Basically all of my friends had to hear about my spiral the last couple of days so thank you and my apologies. 🙏

T, I hope you like it! 💜💜💜

In some ways Luke thinks that it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Of course, if he had been asked to choose a way to go back in 95 he probably would have said old and in his sleep. Or maybe he would have been a smart ass and said jumping the grand canyon on a motorcycle or playing an epic show in bad weather and having some sort of electrical incident (Reggie wasn’t the only one who had been involved in that amp incident not that he was in a hurry to tell Alex that). Contaminated hot dogs in an alley on the night of their big break probably wouldn’t have occurred to him and it definitely wouldn’t have cracked the top ten list of his requests.

But now that he’s in the future, with his band and with Julie and with their dreams once again a real possibility...he thinks the hot dogs would have been the right choice.

The truth is it doesn’t matter how tragic it is that three kids had their lives cut short at the same time it’s always going to be at least a little bit funny that they went from death by hot dog. It lets him use the tragedy as a means of teasing Julie as she bites into her sandwich and it lets Willie give Alex an affectionate nickname that’s only a little in bad taste. It lets Reggie hover behind Ray when Julie’s dad gets the grill out and clutch his stomach dramatically in a reenactment for his friends amusement. It lets Julie look at Luke like the fact that he is a ghost is mildly exasperating but not inherently upsetting, not like it would be if he was a walking reminder of a car accident or the cancer that took her mom.

So yeah, it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Except...sometimes Luke wishes that it wasn't.

Sometimes he wishes that he had died from an illness or an accident or anything that would prompt someone to look at him and ask if he wanted to talk about it. Because...he does. Just sometimes. Wants to talk about how much it hurt. Wants to talk about how scared he was. Wants to talk about how even though being able to make music still (being able to make music with Julie) matters most it does bother him.

It bothers him that Julie is the only lifer he can touch (even though she would clearly be his first choice).

It bothers him that he fades into non-existence as soon as they stop playing.

It bothers him that he can’t even thank Julie’s dad for hosting their garage gig or show her brother that he’s holding it all wrong when he catches him strumming lightly on Luke’s guitar one day.

It bothers him that he won’t ever be anything other than what he is, a teenager with a guitar and a longstanding suspicion about the consequences of wearing sleeves while performing.

It bothers him that Julie will always be what she is now (an amazing teenage girl with a wrecking ball voice and a heart big enough to keep them with her through sheer force of will) but she will also become so much more.

An adult.

Someone with a job and a family and…

He can’t think about it.

Except he does.

Not all the time but often enough, especially at night when Alex is off with Willie and Reggie is watching tv with an unsuspecting Ray and Luke is wishing more than anything that he could find the escape of sleep.

So usually he ends up writing when he feels like this, seeking out the familiar sensation of pen flying over paper, words tumbling from the deepest recesses of his mind to collect into the shape of a song.

I know I’m being selfish

But feeling alive isn’t being alive

Feeling you breathe isn’t breathing

I just want this feeling forever

Instead I count every moment I’m stealing

“Why are you writing in the dark?” Julie’s amused voice cuts through the silence causing him to jump, a remnant of a time when he had anything to fear other than his own uncertain future.

He’s not sure if it’s a ghostly superpower or just the fact that he had been peering at his notebook from only about an inch away but it’s true, he hadn’t bothered to turn the light on and he saw it just fine.

The dark felt more appropriate somehow when he felt like this anyway.

She flips on the light and crosses the room to sink down beside him where he’s spread out on the floor. He’s so distracted for a moment by just how Julie she always manages to be (beautiful and amazing and distracting in the best way) that he doesn’t realize that she’s reaching for his notebook until it’s too late. He tries to snatch it back fruitlessly as she turns her eyes to the words he has scrawled across the page. He hopes momentarily that she won’t be able to make out his infamously illegible handwriting but his hopes are dashed when she reads out the last few lines in a thoughtful tone. He has a brief flash of affection at the realization that she must be his soulmate if she can read his handwriting.

He’s distracted from that thought though when he sees the smile slide off of her face only to be replaced with a tight frown before she turns to face him, concern shining in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” He says quickly, hoping to prevent any of his dark mood from seeping into the girl beside him.

The girl who has already known enough darkness for a lifetime.

“Every moment you’re stealing?” She quotes back to him, setting the notebook carefully back on the floor. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

He considers brushing off her concern, playing it off, claiming he’s not even writing from his own perspective anyway, that he doesn’t know where the idea came from.

He can do that because he may be dead but the culprit was hot dogs and that gives him an out to make a dumb joke and change the subject and keep things the way they are now.

And if it was anyone else he would have. But it’s Julie. And he’s Luke.

She can read his handwriting.

And she can read him too.

If he lets her.

“You know how you said your dad made you talk to someone after your mom died?”

She tilts her head, clearly not expecting this question. She answers it anyway.

“Dr. Turner,” She nods. “Three times a week for a while.”

“Did it uh…” Luke swallows hard, his throat suddenly impossibly dry considering he was pretty sure he wasn’t actually producing spit anymore period. “Did it help?”

Julie’s hand twitches in her lap and he can tell she is deciding whether she should touch him. He reaches out to toy with the frayed edge of her jeans where they burst open at the knee. The answer to whether Julie should be touching him is always a resounding yes in his opinion but he also wants to let her come to him. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve even been able to touch each other and despite how much they crave it there’s a lingering awkwardness after all the build up.

“Talking to someone?” She asks carefully. “Yeah, it did. After a while I felt like I needed space to sort through things on my own but by then I was able to talk with my dad and Flynn too.”

He nods, keeps his eyes firmly on the hole in her jeans.

“Luke…”

Damn.

He has to look at her when she says his name like that.

He raises his eyes slowly, meeting her soft ones with nerves he can’t quite place.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Always.”

Her question is so small and yet so big at the same time. Such a simple offer containing such a big promise.

Always.

Wasn’t that the problem?

His always might not line up with hers.

He could forget that fact for a bit when the band was hanging out and laughing over nothing or rocking a crowd’s face’s off or when Julie was smiling in that certain Julie way that seemed reserved only for him.

But he couldn’t forget forever.

And he couldn’t promise always.

So where did that leave him?

“Luke?”

She breaks him from his thoughts again and he pushes past his caution this time, reaching out to link her hand with his, their fingers slotting together effortlessly despite the way one of them isn’t really there.

He isn’t really there.

Is he...real?

Luke suddenly feels a strange rush of panic, all of the thoughts he’s been pushing aside for months crashing through him at once.

He must have squeezed Julie’s hand inadvertently because he sees her flinch.

“Sorry, sorry,” He says breathlessly (not that he needs to breathe, he’s breathless, literally, he’s dead), drawing her hand up to press an apology against the skin there, his lips lingering for a long moment before he pulls away.

She’s not unaffected by his sudden actions, the way her eyes widen for a fraction of a second is proof enough of that, but she’s also determined and she doesn’t let him off the hook.

“Talk to me, Luke,” She says like an order and a request and a prayer all at once.

And he can’t deny her anything.

Not even this.

“I’m fine, I am...it’s just...I’m so happy that we ended up here with you Julie no matter what. I need you to know that ok? I just..I don’t...I don’t want…”

She waits as long as she can for him to finish that sentence but when he doesn’t seem prepared to, she leans closer, squeezes his hand, gives him that last push off the cliff he’s been teetering on the edge of for months.

“Don’t want what?”

“Don’t want to be dead.”

The words escape him in a hurried rush, one blending into another until it sounds like one long syllable of pain rather than a proper sentence. Still. He’s pretty sure the message got through.

“I know,” She says simply, her eyes sad but her touch impossibly gentle as her free hand comes up to cup his cheek. “I know, Luke, I know.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until she’s brushing his tears away with the delicate tips of her fingers.

And maybe he is real, at least a little bit if his eyes can still muster up the ability to leak like this and damn it why is that what he’s thinking about right now when the girl, the living girl, he loves is waiting for him to say something.

He wants to think of the perfect thing but what ends up coming out leaves a lot to be desired.

“Julie...I love making music with you. I love y...I love being in your life. But I’m dead. And maybe...maybe it would be better…”

“No,” She cuts him off firmly, gripping his chin lightly to turn his face more fully towards hers. “Whatever you think you’re about to say, the answer is no.”

“Julie…” He tries again.

She’s already shaking her head.

“I don’t care if you’re about to suggest some noble sacrifice or push me away or blame yourself for something...just...don’t.”

Any protest he has prepared dies on his lips, the slightest quirk of a smile taking their place even as a few stray tears make their way down his face.

“Ok,” He agrees simply.

Julie brings her other hand down to grip his knee as though she’s trying to keep him with her by anchoring him physically, making him part of her, making him real.

And that’s that.

It takes time.

A hundred aborted conversations with half confessions and unspoken requests for comfort and love freely given if not freely spoken.

But eventually he gets used to talking to Julie the same way he got used to writing with Julie and singing with Julie and falling in love with Julie.

So steadily he doesn’t feel the progress until one day he looks up and there’s no going back, not that he would ever want to.

He’s dead.

He can’t get around that.

He ate some bad hot dogs, and that will always be a little bit funny. It’s also sad and scary and tragic.

He’s dead.

But he’s also so alive.

He can’t promise always but he can promise as long as I’m here.

And he does.

Over and over and over again.

#JATP gift exchange #juke #jatp #my fics

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casualarsonist · 6 years

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Wolfenstein II, and the importance of tone.

B.J. Blaskowicz's pregnant lover, Anya, tears her burning shirt from her body as her grenades explode under the feet of the advancing Nazis. She straddles B.J's prone body and brandishes two machine guns aloft as blood showers her naked skin, and I roar with laughter. My girlfriend asks me what the f**k is happening. Hitler pisses into a bucket and vomits on the floor. B.J. rants against bourgeois pacifism in a drunken rage and passes out. And as the sword bites into his flesh, and his head falls into a pyre, only to be collected by a machine and reattached to a synthetic body, I rejoice at the moments wherein Wolfenstein 2: The New Colossus has the balls to embrace the absolute madness of its setting and take everything up to 11.

But something doesn't feel quite right. Its predecessor - The New Order - subverted and exceeded the expectations of everyone that awaited it; I don't think anyone could have imagined what Machine Games would do with the franchise rights of the world's first FPS. As a pitch, the idea of taking the inherently daft premise of a man fighting Nazi-zombie robots in a retro-futuristic 1960's and grounding it all in a real emotional place with characters that understand and communicate the gravity of their situation to one another and to the audience alike...well, it's mental. And yet it worked. It worked really, really well. The action was intense and bombastic, but when it was over and the game asked us to understand what was motivating these people to do what they were doing, the drama felt earned, and every enemy you defeated felt like a cathartic victory rather than an exercise in psychopathy. When a friendly character died, it hurt because you cared, and because the death felt like a genuine loss amongst all the well-written personalities. The New Order was dark and visceral and at times terrifying, but always a joy to play, and in the end, no matter which turn the story took, you were invested.

So why does The New Colossus feel like such a mistake?

To be fair to the game, as I've already said, there were moments that I was literally rolling in my seat with laughter, and it is certainly at its best when it says 'fuck it' to the concept of restraint and goes mental. It is, at times, incredibly fun, and funny. The aforementioned scene in which an insane, addled, syphilitic Hitler pisses in a bucket whilst auditioning actors for a terrible, terrible film he has written is one of the best in the entire game, not just because it makes an absolute mockery of the long-feared icon of human evil, but also because it is rendered and animated so well that looking into his eyes is genuinely chilling for how lifelike it all appears. But moments like these are few and far between, and it's regrettably rare that, buried amongst long, long cutscenes that have nothing important to say, one feels like they are genuinely being surprised and entertained.

I suppose it's all about on which end of the crazy scale you heap your content - balance is good, as is committing to one style and tone on either side, but to be indecisive, or to miscalculate and mistime and portion your moments improperly so as to leave your audience confused as to your intention can be fatal, and in the case of Wolfenstein 2, it very nearly is. Whereas The New Order balanced the silliness in its gunplay with sincerity and moments of genuine tenderness in its story, The New Colossus couples inappropriate moodiness and melodrama with the violent actions of its characters, and leaves them looking like hypocrites. After tearing through a gauntlet of soldiers leaving little but a hallway littered with bloody chunks of flesh, B.J. chooses to wax poetic about the loss of a friend's life and the loss of all her experiences with it, in turn completely ignoring the dozens of lives and thousands of experiences he just erased. The moment is timed so perfectly and the recitation of the lines so genuine that the juxtaposition almost feels intentional, as if the game wants you to scoff at his lack of self-awareness, and it might have been a nice subversive moment if this game’s immediate predecessor hadn’t pinned all its integrity on the fact that its characters and narrative were supposed to be relatable. Instead, B.J. comes off psychotic, annoying, and unlikeable, and the writers seem less like they’re in on the joke and more like they just don't know what their doing.

Which is rather baffling, given that it's the exact same creative team behind the The New Order - the same two writers that created a masterpiece of action storytelling, and somehow married an impossibly absurd premise with a genuine, heartfelt narrative. They created a terrifying villain, complex and likeable sidekicks, and together with the ambitious and intense soundtrack crafted a world that lived and breathed despite exploring all manner of ridiculous scenarios (moonbase FTW). The New Colossus is this, but less well made. It repeats a lot of the same beats of its predecessor, and so they all feel forced, unearned, and inferior. It's as if the setting of Nazi-occupied America wasn't fertile-enough ground for the creative directors, so they needed to borrow directly from their previous game. They delve into B.J's childhood and fill his backstory with caricatures that overstate the point they're there to make, and yet at the same time expect us to invest in a depressing world that is directly at odds with the light-hearted insanity of the rest of the story, and I think moments like this come from a desire to leave the tone of their previous game behind in favour of something a bit more fun, while still feeling like they need to bridge the gap with some kind of drama. Unfortunately, they fail to find the balance, and the attempts at seriousness reek of try-hard melodrama and smash against the humour like two cars travelling opposite directions down a one-lane road.

I could be mistaken of course; perhaps I’m just too thick to ‘get it’ and they were trying to ironically deconstruct their own work, but the drama is so heavy, and heavy-handed, that I just can’t believe that this is the case, which is such a shame because there are all the makings of an amazing game under the hood - fantastic components have been assembled together in a confused and chaotic manner, leaving the follow-up to one of the greatest shooters ever made (and one of the most unexpected underdog releases) feeling like a victim of its own success. And this is exemplified in no better place that at in the ending of the game, which is in almost every way the antithesis of that of The New Order.

A recap: in The New Order you must fight a super-robot implanted with the brain of one of your former comrades. After defeating it and ending the suffering of your friend, you’re attacked by the main villain - General Deathshead - as you fight amongst an increasingly unstable network of gas pipes and crumbling concrete. When you finish the desperate battle and kill Deathshead from within a conflagration of fire and flames, a short, poignant cutscene activates in which the game implies the end of one of the most important parts of the franchise. It’s a perfect example of why the game did best as a whole, offering the traditional trope of a boss fight with a new coat of paint, and then ending with a no-nonsense but impactful piece of genuine drama.

So how does The New Colossus conduct itself? Well not only does it unravel the risk of the previous game’s ending within the first few seconds, but it ends by making the player’s last interaction with its Big Bad a single button-press that then triggers a five-minute-long cutscene in which the characters stand around and spout cliche ideological platitudes about America rising up. Then B.J. stares at the corpse of his enemy like a fucking nutcase, before getting down on his knees next to the wrecked carcass and proposing to his girlfriend, which would be funny if this wasn’t the same character we were supposed to be rallying behind and is now clearly insane. It’s anti-climactic, tonally unbalanced, and boring, and worse than all this is that it commits the cardinal sin of second acts in that it ends unsatisfyingly whilst promising a third installment that will be much more interesting.

Fuck off.

This could all have been avoided if the creative rudder of the production had steered it directly into the eye of the storm - the setting, its violence, and its cast of characters are all ripe for parody, so why the hell did they feel like they had to spend so much time exploring B.J’s tragic upbringing in which his racist, wife-beating dad makes him kill his own dog? What purpose does that serve in a story that opens with a wheelchair-bound protagonist machine-gunning Nazis in the face? It’s just madness. And in my opinion it ultimately undid a lot of the good will that The New Order worked so hard at creating. Even if the incoming third game commits completely to its craziness, we’re still stuck with this strange Frankenstein’s monster, and the fact that from about the half way mark I was just waiting for it to end is, for me, a nail in the coffin. It’s just...it’s such a shame. The New Colossus is a smooth, beautiful shooter, and also an trainwreck of mismatched tones, confused pacing, regurgitated story beats, and an unsatisfying ending. It tries to vary its gameplay and somehow ends up feeling more of a generic shooter than it’s predecessor - a game that actually set out to reboot the world’s first FPS. It has moments of absolute brilliance that it just fails to perpetuate because it doesn’t let them gather momentum, which leaves it feeling starkly weak specifically in the areas that The New Order excelled, and that makes it a much larger kick in the nuts to me than it ought to otherwise be.

Of course, if you’re not a whiny little baby like me, or are like a friend of mine who’d never played a Wolfenstein game in his life before this one, you might just enjoy it for what it is - a gorgeous, ambitious, and gratuitous FPS set in a strange and fun alternate history, but if you asked me to recommend it as a sequel to it’s fantastic predecessor, I just can’t do it.

6.5/10

P.S. I think I’m going to remove the qualification titles of my ratings from this point onwards. I’m not 100% certain that I’m going to get rid of them forever, but between my poor attempts at thinking of ‘names’ for half-marked titles and the fact that I’m tied to classifying a 7/10 game as ‘good’ even though my subjective impression of the game might not agree with that, means that the more complex my feelings about a certain title, the harder it is to put a specific label on it. Wolfenstein II is a good example of this conundrum. I don’t think it’s objectively good at a lot of what it’s trying to do, and yet I don’t think it’s objectively ‘just okay’ across the board. With this in mind, if you refer to my review scoring system you’ll get a better idea of what each ranking means, beyond what a single word can convey. You’ll see that Wolfenstein II gets a 6.5 because I think it is largely unsuccessful in the pursuit of its intentions regarding its narrative and tone for the reasons I’ve detailed above, and yet I can’t at all say that it offers a poor return-on-investment for the average gamer. Hell, you might think it’s an excellent game and disagree with me entirely - this is just my opinion, after all - but given that I will obviously weigh certain aspects of a work’s design more heavily than other aspects, I still think this is the best way to understand what each score means for me (and thus for you), and why I might have come any given conclusion.

#wolfenstein ii: the new colossus #bethesda #machine games #video game #review #pc #b.j. blazkowicz #id software #fps #shooter #ww2 #gore #sequel #alternate history #imnotgoingtotagthefuckingnazisinthis #shitijustdid

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turnabouttoothbrush · 6 years

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Reckoning, Chapter Eleven

Today’s sporkers: Fallen, Aziz, and Cade again.

Cade: Hey! No fair!

(Excuse me.)

Fallen: So you were in the last Reckoning sporking. Aziz and I were in the last sporking in general.

Cade: Yeah, yeah...

Aziz: ...why does it feel like it’s been forever since we last updated?

Fallen: Because it has. ...well, to be fair, we’ve been really busy!

Aziz: We really should update our askblog sometime this week...

Fallen: I think at this point our followers are used to there only being one update every six months!

Cade: That’s not a good thing.

Rating: M

Cade: Fuck me.

Aziz: No.

"What? Tell me what?" Axel asked, reaching out and grasping my chin, lifting it lightly until I looked at him.

"I… I don't know exactly," I said, calming a little when I looked at his face, "but whenever I'm not around you, I think about you all the time… when you're close by, I feel happy, when Luxord hurt you… I couldn't stand it, I tried to be quiet so you wouldn't get hurt, but…" I said breaking down. I had to pause and look away for a moment before I could get my composition back. "When I thought you'd died… I… " I said, looking at him again, shaking as fresh tears started streaming as I looked into his widened eyes.

"Roxas…" He whispered, gripping my shoulder, bringing me closer to him, extremely slowly so I could get away if I wanted to. "Roxas," Axel whispered again when his lips were nearly touching mine. I still didn't pull away. Then, he slipped his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me toward him until my lips met his. I shivered at the initial contact before allowing him to kiss me. It calmed me a lot.

"Is that love?" I asked, pulling back a little when he paused.

Axel smiled up at me. "That, or something like it."

Fallen: I am now realizing that, last chapter, you missed the chance to post

youtube

Cade: The line here is “Is that love?” not “What is love?”

Aziz: Close enough.

Cade: You’re right, and anyway it’s a good song.

Fallen: Shame on you and Silverpelt and Hawksky!

Aziz: It’s always shame on those two anyway...

It took about a week of being in the hospital, before Axel had nearly fully recuperated.

Cade: Hope he has good insurance.

Fallen: He’s blackmailing the hospital staff, remember? They’ll probably just write him off.

Aziz: Or else he’ll just toss the bill in the trash when it gets sent three months later, the hospital has no real way to collect and I don’t think a gang leader’s gonna care about wrecking his credit score. Anyway, wasn’t he just shot? Generally they don’t keep you in the hospital that long.

Fallen: To be fair, it wasn’t specified what kind of damage it did or if there were any complications. If it were just soft tissue damage only, no vascular injuries, bone not hit, no complications etc. he should have been discharged days ago but staying a whole week over a gunshot wound is totally plausible.

Aziz: Hang on, I found a study.

The average length of hospital stay in days varied according to the type of injury sustained by patients. Forty-three out of 97 (44.3%) patients with soft tissue injuries only were discharged on the day of admission, most of which underwent non-operative treatment. The average length of hospital stay for soft tissue injuries without vascular damage was 1.2 days (range 0–10). Patients who sustained bony injuries along with soft tissue injuries average length of hospital stay was 7.1 days (range 0–88). The average length of stay for patients who sustained vascular injuries along with other soft tissue injuries was 11.7 days (range 0–24). Those injuries that included a combination of vascular, bony and soft tissue injuries stayed for an average 17.0 days (range 0–35, 0 = died same day of admission). Patients who sustained multiple organ injuries had hospital stays at an average of 13.5 days (range 2–33).

Fallen: So I guess, most likely, Axel had soft tissue and bone damage, but no vascular injuries...

Cade: Girls, please don’t kid yourselves about the author actually thinking this through. We all know they didn’t. Anyway, let’s get back to the fic.

During his hospital stay, I had stayed close to him the entire time much like he had done for me when I'd been in the hospital. I even stayed when Demyx and Zexion visited, declining leaving with them afterwards. Once they'd left, I told Axel everything that had happened to me, from the kidnapping to discovering my mother. I didn't bother recounting the rape. Axel already knew every detail.

Aziz: And Roxas is very casual about it.

"Oh, Roxas," Axel said sadly, gripping my hand once I'd finished. "I can't believe that your dad made you look at your mom like that. I can't even imagine… I'm so sorry. God you've been through so much…"

I glowered at him. I wouldn't stand for him pitying me. "Didn't I tell you last time we were in a hospital not to pity me?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, Rox." Axel said apologetically.

Fallen: Uh, there’s a big difference between pity and being sympathetic and trying to empathize when your boyfriend has something traumatic happen to him. You don’t need to dismiss that concern out of hand?

Cade: Also, Roxas throwing a fit about being pitied makes noooo sense considering how much time he spends flaunting his twagic backstory.

I looked at Axel studiously for a moment. He looked like he meant it, so I forgave him.

"Roxas," Axel said gently, gripping my hand after I'd gone silent for a few minutes. I gave him my full attention when he squeezed my hand. "Can I give your mom a proper funeral? Would that be okay with you?" he asked. I felt the familiar sting of oncoming tears.

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked.

Aziz: Because not everyone’s a heartless sociopath like you are?

Fallen: I think at this point Axel has more respect for the dead than the living.

I still hadn't even given him a proper answer about giving him a chance. I mean… sure I'd admitted feelings for him, but that still wasn't an official answer.

"Because, Roxas," he said, grimacing slightly as he sat up to get closer to me, "she deserves it," he said wiping away the tears that had formed at the corners of my eyes.

Cade: *as Axel* Gotta pay respects to the pussy that popped out my favorite bitch so far.

"And she meant a lot to you, didn't she?" he asked, smiling when I nodded.

"Okay," I said.

Aziz: *as Axel* So, you good with cremation?

Fallen: *as Roxas* Why, you got coupons or something?

Aziz: *as Axel* Or something.

Almost two weeks later, once all of the preparations had been made and he had been released from the hospital,

Cade: You just said that after a week Axel was “nearly fully recuperated”. How did he stay there for a full week after that?

Fallen: Freaking malingerers! A drain on resources!!

Axel held a funeral for my mother. I'd managed to find a photo of her to put on the casket in a dusty frame when we'd gone back to my house to get her body. I never did hear what happened to my father's corpse. Perhaps it was just buried somewhere, since there was no family to claim it. I really didn't care.

Aziz: lol, of course you didn’t.

"Axel," I whispered, gripping his hand at the funeral. They were just beginning to lower the casket into the ground next to a lovely gravestone Axel had helped me pick out.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"Thank you," I said, throwing the rose that I'd been holding in my other hand onto my mother's casket just before it was swallowed up into the ground and hidden from view. Axel just nodded.

Cade: *as Axel* So, now that this part of your tragic backstory has been resolved... I don’t have to hear about it anymore, right?

Aziz: If I remember correctly, Roxas’ mom literally doesn’t come up again after this.

Cade: Of course she doesn’t.

We stood there until we were the last ones at the gravesite. Demyx, Zexion, and Xaldin had headed home already as well as everyone else. Axel squeezed my hand lightly before slipping his hand away and putting his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer. "Ready to go home, Rox?" he asked. It was mid November and the winter chill that came with it was starting to creep in. Today was especially chilly. I shivered slightly before allowing him to lead me to the car, still looking back. "We can come back as often as you'd like," Axel said reassuringly.

"I'd like that," I said, smiling up at him as he opened the car door for me before going around to the driver's side.

"Axel," I said as he started the car, making him look at me. "Could we just… drive around for a little while?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, putting the car into gear.

Fallen: That way he can monitor his territory and flex on rival gangs.

Aziz: Maybe do a few drive-bys.

Fallen: Life on the streets: A romantic setting

Axel drove around for about an hour, before taking off, going out of town, obviously having a destination in mind. He stopped at a place called 'crystal fissure'. Axel said that it was a natural wonder and it was located in a town called Radiant Garden. I looked at it, amazed, as we got out of the car. It was absolutely beautiful.

Fallen: I’m gonna give the author the benefit of the doubt for not describing this at all and assume it’s an in-game location and we’re supposed to know what it looks like already!

Aziz: Actually, it is.

Cade: Isn’t this the same author who felt the need to tell us what Axel looks like earlier?

"Do you like it?" Axel asked. We'd arrived just before sunset, so it was reflecting the different hues that the sun was giving off.

"It's beautiful," I said, awestruck.

"So are you," Axel said, grasping my hand. I stared up at him and he gazed straight into my eyes. That was definitely bold of him.

Aziz: Hasn’t he been doing this shit all fic?

"No I'm not," I said, softening my gaze a little, searching his face in an attempt to know what he was thinking. He smirked down at me.

"I think you are," he said. I felt my cheeks heat up at those words. I turned to leave so he wouldn't see, but he gripped my hand more tightly, pulling me close and turning me around.

"Axel…" I whispered, staring at him wide-eyed and shivering a little from the cold. He smiled briefly before looking away. He probably thought he was scaring me.

"Look Roxas," he said, indicating the fissure, "its magenta now." I didn't tear my eyes away from his face.

Cade: Axel’s prettier than some stupid ol’ crystals any day.

Aziz: I wish I could argue with that.

Fallen: Why is he so pretty?!

"Axel," I said a little louder, making him look at me again. He looked like he was about ready to speak, but I beat him to it. "Do want an answer to your question now?" I asked, looking up into his surprised face.

"Ready to give me an official answer?" he asked, sounding as surprised as he looked and blinking.

I smirked up at him. "Yeah," I said, "something along those lines." Axel continued to look at me as anticipation worked its way across his face. "I'd love to be your boyfriend," I said, "if you don't mind me not being able to get over my past yet and if you can accept the fact that I can't handle much physical action."

Fallen: Not that it’s a good idea to jump right into ‘physical action’ anyway... *cough*

Cade: ...isn’t this chapter rated M?

I literally saw Axel's face transform, from anxious to extremely excited in a matter of seconds, making him look a lot like a child in a candy store, as his face lit up. "Of course not, silly," he said gleefully, bending down and kissing my forehead, making my flush darken a little. I couldn't believe that he was so happy just because I'd said yes and even had conditions attached. "I can be patient," he said, brushing his nose against mine.

Aziz: *as Axel* But I do expect sex eventually, trauma be damned, you got that?

"I'll even listen if you ever want to talk about the past."

"I'd like that," I said, turning toward the fissure again. We watched it until the sun had set then made our way back to the car as it got dark.

Cade: *insert low-effort joke about stumbling over something and falling off a cliff here*

By the time we got home, the last traces of twilight had completely vanished and the stars had already come out. Axel and I went inside his darkened home. He pressed a finger to his lips, looking back at me when he turned on a light, before locking the door. I peered around him and saw Demyx snuggled up on

top of Zexion on the couch.

Aziz: Don’t they have, like, their own house or something? Why are they always at Axel’s?

Fallen: I honestly don’t remember anymore.

Cade: We really need to update more consistently...

Both were asleep despite the TV being on. I smiled at them as we passed by and Axel shut off the TV. He turned back and grasped my hand, smiling as he led me into his bedroom.

"Do you want to stay in my room or would you like a room of your own?" Axel asked, taking off his shoes.

Fallen: And I thought lesbians move in on the third date jokes were stupid.

Aziz: Lesbians move in on the third date. Gays move in on the first.

I took off my shoes as well as my jacket before answering.

"Staying in yours is fine," I said, taking off my gloves, "if you don't mind," knowing full well that he wouldn't. "Axel, will you tell me about yourself?" I asked, sitting on his bed.

"Sure, Roxas, but first, I need a shower," he said. I nodded just before he vanished.

Aziz: Forever, hopefully.

As soon as he was gone, I searched through his dresser. I found a clean shirt and underwear, not bothering to look for anything else; I'm sure the rest of his clothes would've been way too big on me, since he was so tall. I slipped away and went out, past the sleeping lovers, going to shower myself as well. I was sure I needed it.

I wanted to get done before him though, so I didn't take more than five minutes then got dressed in the clean clothes, gathering up the dirty ones, and heading back. I barely beat him, just sitting on the bed again before he came in, in only underwear.

"I see you raided my dresser," he said, smiling at me before sitting next to me.

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind," I said.

Cade: Pretty sure none of it fits.

Fallen: Yeah, Roxas has a pretty normal build while Axel is built like an anorexic giraffe.

Aziz: Roxas bends over and the underwear rips because it’s too tight on his hips. “Oh no~” he trills, putting a finger on his lower lip and glancing back at Axel. “My entire ass is on display~”

Cade: Can we get to the M-rated part already? At least bad sex is usually entertaining.

"Not at all," he said shaking his head. I smiled at him before letting my eyes wander down to his chest. For someone who was only twenty-three,

Cade: How old is Roxas again, sixteen?

Fallen: At this point I literally just remember child bride jokes.

he sure had a lot of scars. Guess that that was part of gang life. I winced. Two of them had been my fault. "What's wrong, Rox?" Axel asked. He'd seen me start to look a little upset.

"Did it hurt?" I asked, running my thumb across his two newest scars. Axel laughed lightly.

"Of course," he said, "But saving you made it worthwhile," He said.

"Does it still hurt?" I asked, looking into his face.

Aziz: For him? No. For us?

Fallen: Maybe.

He shook his head no, but looked a little pained as if he'd just remembered something. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Just thinking," he said. I smiled, but felt a little bitter.

"Just thinking…" I said, "about Luxord?"

Fallen: *as Axel* About that ass I won’t get until you get over your PTSD shit or whatever.

He didn't answer me and I knew I was right. "Did he injure your heart or your mind?" I asked, sliding my fingers along his chest. I was surprised when he shivered as I touched him. When he still didn't answer, I pushed him down gently.

"What are you doing Roxas?" He asked, clearly surprised as I kissed first his chest then his forehead, both deliberately slowly and lovingly.

"Whenever my dad would get angry and hit me when I was little, before my mother passed, she'd kiss me where I was hurt like that and I'd feel better," I said, running my fingers along the tattoos on his cheeks. "Was I wrong?" I asked, widening my eyes a little.

Axel smiled at me warmly. "No," he said, "I feel much better."

Aziz: Well, that’s corny.

Fallen: And scene.

Cade: ...wait, seriously? Where’s the porn??

Fallen: Um, in the next chapter maybe?

Cade: Why was this this chapter rated M, then???

Aziz: *clicks through* They all say that.

Cade: Uh. How did we just notice on chapter eleven, then?

Aziz: Because they’re in the author’s notes and we always ignore those.

Cade: Ah... well... that’s stupid. What’s the point in pointing out the M-rating every chapter?

Fallen: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

To be continued...

#mst #kh #cade #fallen #aziz

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appleblossomgirl0305 · 7 years

Text

Chapter 16 of Holiday is posted here and on AO3.

Aloha! So we've finally reached the end of this Holiday. I hope you've enjoyed reading it half as much I've enjoyed writing it. I want to express my gratitude to the @d12drabbles moderators who inspired this story with their weekly prompts and for creating a platform for new and experienced writers alike. And to @xerxia31, I owe you more than I can ever adequately express for your time, your incredible support, your excellent humor and genius assistance. And most of all for your friendship.

I've never finished a WIP before, so I'm pretty nervous about this chapter. Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated. Seeds have been planted for an epilogue, proving that even when I finish something, I don't actually finish it. *Sigh*.

Thank you for reading and joining me on this Holiday!

After placing the cake carefully on the passenger seat, I jumped into the driver’s seat and tried to jam the key into the ignition several times before it finally slid in. I couldn’t get the damn seat belt on either and realized that I was essentially fighting against every inanimate object I came in contact with because my hands were shaking so hard. I beat my palms against the steering wheel in abject frustration before giving up and resting my forehead against it. I slumped against the wheel and let the full impact of how much I'd blown it settle around me. I had exposed the fragile soufflé of our relationship to a drafty room, the delicate bud of our love to a hard frost, the spun-sugar confection of us to enough pressure for it to crumble and slide through my fingers. Whatever cheesy metaphor you chose, I had totally fucked up.

I forced myself to take several deep breaths. Being a total wreck wasn’t going to help me right now, I needed to get a grip before I got to Katniss’ house. I took a moment to hate myself for letting the evening go so tragically downhill. For not standing up for her in the way I should have. For letting her believe for even a single second that she wasn’t perfect.

I fought back my mother’s voice telling me I was a lost cause, that I should just tuck my tail between my legs and crawl back inside before I embarrassed myself further. But whether it was a lost cause or not, Katniss deserved to be fought for. So I sat up, started my car and drove to her apartment.

I had never been in her building before. The Seam was on the border between town and the forest. The woods were privately owned by an international logging company, so not many people had reason to go there. Though over the years, I had heard snippets of Katniss and Gale’s conversations about hunting trips beyond the fence. Imagined her there, walking silently among the trees, arrow notched, but bow loose at her side. There were so many things to learn and discover about Katniss, I needed more time. Hell, I needed a lifetime.

The light on the front of the building was out and the dark street felt perilous. I hated the idea of Katniss and Prim having to feel unsafe, particularly at their own house. I grabbed the cake and double-checked that the car doors were locked. The entrance buzzer didn’t seem to work, but an older lady weighed down with plastic handle-bags pushed her way through the front door with a grunt and I grabbed it and held it open for her. She eyed me suspiciously as she passed, and asked in a voice raspy with disuse, “Cake?”

I nodded, holding it in front of me for her inspection and she nodded, apparently deciding that a guy holding a cake didn’t pose enough concern to warrant further discussion. I nudged through the door, feeling like I’d make it through the first trial of my quest. I made my way to Katniss’ ground-floor apartment, wondering if the old lady would have let me in if she knew that the only reason I had Katniss' address at all was from surreptitiously peeking at her paychecks.

I took a moment as I stood at her front door and ran my free hand through my hair, hoping it wasn’t too messy. Taking a deep breath and making a quick prayer to Clementia, the goddess of forgiveness and redemption, I knocked.

I heard footsteps approach the door and stop at the threshold, presumably to peer out the peephole. I held my breath, hoping Katniss would let me in, let me explain. My heart was in my throat as the door swung open and I was met with Prim’s blue eyes instead.

“Hi Prim, is Katniss home?” I asked, brandishing the cake in offering.

“Hi Peeta, she’s not. Would you like to come in?” She sounded apologetic and I tried not to look disappointed.

I walked in feeling like a deflated balloon. I hadn’t really stopped to consider that she might not be home.

“I’m not sure when she’ll be back. She’s at the Hawthorne’s.” My expression must have shown my devastation as visions of Gale’s hands undressing Katniss, his lips sliding over her neck or worse, him whispering soft comforts into her ear as he wrapped her in his arms, made me feel faint. “To see Hazelle,” Prim added hurriedly. “She’s kind of a second mother to us.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice and knowing that this information was still somehow a check in the Gale column of the imaginary ledger I assumed Katniss kept. A lovely mother was not something I had to offer. It was difficult to imagine that Hazelle Hawthorne would counsel Katniss to give me another chance. The realization that I could really lose her, maybe had already lost her, slammed into me so hard I nearly staggered backwards.

Prim reached out and took the cake from my hands and placed it on the kitchen counter. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”

I cleared my throat and nodded, “Yes, thank you.”

As she prepared the tea, I took a moment to take in the apartment. Katniss’ description had not been wrong. It was shabby and small and I could detect a slight smell of damp, but it was tidy and homey. It was also a treasure trove of Katniss-related information. There was a small bookshelf populated with various field guides (mushrooms, native plants, birds), some outdated medical textbooks that I assumed were Prim’s, a couple of cookbooks as well as a number of paperbacks by Whitman, Thoreau, Cather, Dostoevsky, Atwood, and Krakauer. I wanted to touch each one, run my fingers over the dog-eared pages and broken spines, to worship any object that had captured her attention and imagination.

The formica countertop that divided the living room from the tiny, dark kitchen was a horrible pink-beige with several prominent cracks scarring the surface. I couldn’t help wondering how many times Katniss had run her fingernail along those cracks as she scarfed down some insubstantial meal standing at the counter. I peeked down the dark hallway carpeted in dingy gray carpet that I assumed must lead to the bedrooms.

Prim slid a steaming mug of mint tea across the countertop to me. “Do you take anything in your tea?” she asked.

I shook my head and thanked her before blurting out, “I’m so sorry for what my brother said tonight. He didn’t mean it like it sounded, but I can’t believe I let you both leave thinking it did. I’m so sorry.” I had meant the apology for Katniss, but owed it equally to Prim.

“I know, Peeta. And I think Katniss does too, deep down. He just said exactly what she was afraid your family would think.” She shook her head giving me a small smile. “I’m having trouble figuring out what to say. Katniss is such a private person, I don’t want to say anything that will upset her.”

I nodded, completely understanding her conundrum, but desperate for anything, any crumbs of insight or information she could offer me on what Katniss might be thinking. I blew into my cup and waited while she sorted it out.

“I don’t know how much you know about us, but Katniss is a survivor. She kept our family alive, literally, after our dad died and our mom succumbed to depression. She hasn’t given herself much room to enjoy life. I don’t think it is a betrayal to tell you that she has trouble trusting anything good.” She grinned up at me over the rim of her cup as she added, “And you, Peeta Mellark, seem too good to be true.”

I sputtered out an incredulous laugh and she shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “If I hadn’t spent years watching you stare at Katniss from afar looking utterly smitten every time, I’d be skeptical too. Did I mention that Katniss is also completely blind to the obvious?”

Despite still feeling sick with worry that I’d blown it, I found myself smiling back at Prim. She really was as sweet and lovely as Katniss said she was.

“So what can I do?” I asked, feeling like the entire world rested in Prim’s response.

She shrugged and took a tentative sip of her tea. “You give her some space. You leave her messages letting her know how you feel, but not pushing her to respond until she’s ready. You leave her that amazing-smelling cake, minus a piece for her sister.” She winked at me, then continued, “I know it sucks, but a lifetime of living with Katniss has taught me that giving her time to sort out her feelings is the only way. She processes her emotions at a glacial pace, but she usually comes to the right decision for what she needs. And I honestly think that you're what she needs, Peeta. I hope she allows herself to give things with you a chance. I think you’re just what the doctor ordered.”

I took several scalding gulps of tea to keep myself from begging Prim for the Hawthornes’ address and tracking Katniss down to plead her forgiveness and her favor. But I knew Prim was right and that I was lucky to have gotten her advice.

She picked up my empty cup and placed it in the sink before turning and adding, “I’m sure she would hate that I’m telling you this, but I’ve never seen her like this before, Peeta. I’ve caught her scrolling through pictures of you two on vacation more than once. She’s talked about your adventures and your friends and you practically nonstop, which is unprecedented.”

Relief and hope coursed through me and I offered Prim a shaky smile as I assured her, “I promise not to tell. And I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m heading back to school tomorrow. Just give Katniss a couple of days to sort through things at her own frustratingly slow pace.” She squeezed my arm, before adding, “I promise I’ll put in as many good words for you as I can. It might not seem like she listens to me, but I swear she does sometimes.”

“Are you kidding,” I asked grinning, realizing that maybe even Prim didn’t know all of Katniss’ feelings, “You’re her very favorite person in the world.”

She laughed, “It’s a pretty short list, but I’d wager that you’re near the top too.”

Impulsively, I leaned over and hugged her, feeling a thousand times better than I had an hour ago. “Have a safe trip back to school, Prim. Promise to come into the bakery next time you’re home, I owe you big.” She laughed and promised she would.

Walking back out to my car, I couldn't help wondering what my life would have been like if I’d had a sister as wonderful as Prim.

When I got home, I texted Katniss that I was desperately sorry about how our night had gone, and that I hoped she’d give me a chance to explain. And that I missed her and wanted to see her whenever and wherever she would allow. I stared at my phone, gripped tightly in my fist, willing it to light up with a response from her. It didn’t. Sighing heavily, I plugged it in to charge and closed my eyes.

Despite my exhaustion, I knew sleep would be elusive tonight. I followed my exhausted brain down into the depths of my worst fears and anxieties. All the dark, dank chasms with slimy walls and perilous pitfalls that assured me that I would never be happy, never be able to make anyone else happy, that I would always be alone. I knew these labyrinthine tunnels by heart, but there was no way out until the sun came up. So I tossed and turned until morning, extraordinarily grateful for first gray rays of morning light.

There was still no response from Katniss the following morning. After the twentieth time I had obsessively checked my phone, Rye asked, “Did you talk to her?”

I shook my head miserably.

“So it’s not over, you may still be able to fix it?” he asked.

I shot him a withering look, expecting to find his signature cocky smirk, but finding a cautiously hopeful one instead. I didn’t trust him, but I could feel myself wanting to, wishing that I could. I shrugged and he clapped me on the shoulder as he pushed past me into the walk-in.

There was still nothing from Katniss as my shift ended. The thought of hanging out in the apartment made me feel like the walls would crush me. Despite my exhaustion, I pulled on my running shoes and headed out for some fresh air. The relief once I got outside was immense and immediate. I took several deep breaths, feeling the constriction in my chest lessen as I took the first few jogging steps.

I started out on my usual route, past Katniss’ building, with equal parts hope and worry that I would run into her. I knew I couldn’t force things between us, and that she would likely attribute a chance encounter in front of her building as more stalking than fate. So instead of turning east to stay within the boundary of the town, I kept going north towards the meadow.

As my feet rhythmically slapped the pavement, I felt my muscles relax into movement and the tight knot of my thoughts untangle a bit. The burn of my lungs was demanding enough to pull my attention from the repetitive cycle of anxious thoughts. As my feet marked the transition from the taut slap of the pavement to the quiet thud of the packed earth of the park trail that snaked through the meadow on the border of the woods, the one thought that I worked so hard to suppress came bubbling up out of nowhere. Okay, not nowhere, from that deep, dark place where every insecure, self-loathing thought dwelt. And that shameful truth was this: No one had ever truly loved me. And even worse, maybe no one ever would.

I realized something I had always known but never consciously acknowledged, I had always hoped that if Katniss, the epitome of strength and beauty and self-sufficiency and defiance could love me, it would override all of the other loves I'd been denied: my mother's kindness, my father's loyalty, my brothers' kinship. It would make those missing pieces matter less. It would redeem me.

But the truth was, the lack of all of those things sucked. Their absence had stunted me, deprived me of a sense of security my entire life. But I didn't have to keep letting it. A light went on somewhere deep inside me. It was small and dim, but it illuminated a place where some of my nightmares lived and it wasn't as dark and ghoulish as I would have thought. I wasn't irredeemable and Katniss wasn't my savior. I still wanted her more than anything in this world, but even if she didn't want me, I wasn't worthless. Maybe this just wasn't our time yet, maybe I just needed to give her the space I had promised, but never really understood the need for.

And while it was true that no one had ever truly loved me, for the first time in my life I realized how fucked up that was. Everyone deserved to be loved. I deserved to be loved. I looked out over one of my favorite views, over the misty pond and woods beyond, and let that sink in. I realized that’s what it must feel like to love yourself. To be outraged on your own behalf for the unfairness of your life, to feel a blazing recognition that you deserve more.

I slowed my pace to a walk, hands on hips, breathing hard. I stood at the fence line and stared into forest beyond. As my heart rate slowed and my breathing evened out, I let my eyes blur the riot of green and imagine the Hawaiian forest speeding by Finnick’s car window. I closed my eyes and imagined the perfume of overripe earth, of tropical blossoms, of the sea. I let the memories wash over me - the silkiness of Katniss’ hair as it slid through my fingers, the throaty sound of her laughter, the exact color of her eyes with the technicolor sunset reflected in them. I pulled up the picture of her on my phone that I had taken at the airport on our last day, that incredible orchid tucked behind her ear, her eyes luminous as a small smile played on her lips. I clutched the screen to my chest letting all of those precious memories overwhelm me. I would've given anything to have any one of those days back. Her smile, her sun-kissed skin, her eyes like wisps of smoke. I wanted to fall head first into the past. But even as that hypnotic pull of the gilded past beckoned, I recognized it for the trap it was. It was time to fight for a future.

I took a deep breath and allowed the smell of pine forest and sweetgrass flood my senses. Those experiences had existed, we had shared them. And whatever came next, good or bad, they had meant something. But we were here now and as much as I wanted to give up and crawl under the covers and daydream horrific punishments for my brothers’ behavior, this wasn’t hopeless. The fat lady had yet to sing and I still had time to become the man Katniss Everdeen deserved.

Maybe it was the runner’s high and the sunshine or the infusion of hope, but I felt some of those raw, empty places inside of me fill up and heal over. I felt a foreign resilience flood through me. Certainty was its own kind of strength. I loved her. I’d be here, waiting for her when she was ready. But I would live my life the best I could until then.

I jogged home, feeling fortified and knowing what I would do when I got there. I would do the things that made me feel like my best self. I would paint. I would experiment in the bakery and take whatever I baked to the Boys and Girls Club for their after school program. I would hold on to this hopeful feeling with both hands for as long as I possibly could. Because, after all is said and done, hope is all any of us really have.

I spent the afternoon making various types of cheese buns. The one with the swirl of pesto was the most promising one. I imagined that this would be a perfect morning treat to try out on Katniss given her preference for savory breakfasts. I loaded up the truck and headed over to the Boys and Girls Club to drop off my the best batches.

Vic, Gale’s youngest brother worked there and was shooting hoops with a bunch of kids as I pulled the trays out of the truck. He broke off and grabbed a couple of the older kids to come over and help me unload.

“Hey, Peeta, it’s been awhile. What’d ya bring us?” he asked, inhaling deeply over a tray that a tall, dark-haired girl had grabbed from me.

“Hey, Vic, good to see you. I hope you guys like cheese buns.” I handed the next tray to him. Despite my initial aversion to him due to the uncanny resemblance all of the Hawthorne brothers shared, Vic had always been a good guy. And if anyone understood about not being judged by their brothers’ actions, it should be me.

“If they taste anywhere near as good as they smell, I do now!” He handed the tray over to another one of his charges before grabbing a bun and shoving it into his mouth. He let out an exaggerated, “Mmmm,” shaking his head in appreciation. My heart swelled.

I grabbed a box of day-old bread to leave for any of the families that needed it, and Vic and I walked in side by side.

He finished chewing and said, “I heard you and Katniss had a really good time in Hawaii.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. “It was an amazing trip.”

He nodded, clearing his throat, “Yeah, Prim told me.” I glanced over at him and caught the flush in his cheeks at the mention of her name. I knew that look. I knew it very well. It was surprisingly companionable to see Vic visibly smitten. Seemed I was in good company.

I bumped his arm lightly with my shoulder and said conspiratorially, “Those Everdeen sisters are something else.”

He shot me an equally sly half smile and said, “Yeah, they sure are.”

I stuck around long enough to see the kids devour the cheese buns in a delighted feeding frenzy. It felt good. There were very few things that were more satisfying than feeding a throng of ravenous teenagers. My mind flashed back to Katniss throwing her arm around Konani’s shoulder and comparing her appetite to that of a teenage boy’s. Before my mood could turn wistful, I grabbed the empty trays and headed out.

Walking back to the truck, I glanced up and saw Marvel across the street. Though we’d texted a couple of times, it was the first time I’d laid eyes on him since the night I’d helped him into his town car and accepted the tickets that would change everything. As I raised my hand to wave to him, a gorgeous dark-haired woman stepped out from behind him. I watched, my hand frozen mid-wave as he leaned over and kissed her before slapping her ass and ducking into a waiting town car.

I don’t know why I was so surprised. Glimmer had been the worst fiancee imaginable, running off with Marvel’s best man was beyond shitty. She didn’t deserve mourning or wasted regret. But I couldn’t help the indignant shock that he could have moved on so quickly, not to mention looked so carefree about having done so. I thought about how you can stand next to someone, you can share experiences with them, hold their hand through parts of their lives, letting them skim across the surface of your heart without really sinking in, and then change partners and start over. That’s how most people lived their lives.

Every relationship I had ever been in before I left for Hawaii had been like that, temporary and insubstantial. But I understood in that moment, or maybe I’d always known, that I wasn’t really built like that. I had just been booking time until Katniss noticed me. A life with Katniss was my only real option. Now that I understood how good it was possible to feel with the right person, how complete I could be with her, there was no going back. She had germinated in my heart that fateful kindergarten day and her love had grown like Maleficent’s thicket of thorns around my heart. I had tended those thorn bushes, weeding, watering, sharpening their thorns. There were no other choices now. I would have to figure out how to make this work or accept a lifetime alone.

Despite the nagging exhaustion from my bad night that made my limbs feel leaden and clumsy, I loaded a ladder on the truck and headed back over to Katniss’ building. I worked fast to change the lightbulb over the front entrance. I had a sneaking suspicion that Katniss would consider this overstepping my bounds. The old lady from last night sauntered by with her plastic bags and gave me a nod of approval. I couldn’t do anything about the streetlight, other than put in a call to the City, but I felt better knowing that I had chased away at least a little of the darkness in Katniss’ life.

The sun set on my drive home, coloring the sky a soft peachy-orange amidst the wisps of gray clouds. A pale imitation of a sunset by Hawaiian standards, it was lovely all the same. I fought the creeping anxiety that set in as the sky darkened into night.

I couldn’t bring myself to eat the leftover lasagna for dinner, so I scrambled a couple of eggs and ate them with one of the pesto cheese buns I’d made that afternoon. It was good, but I had to force myself to taste it. My incessant yawning announced that this long day was coming to an end, and despite the fact that I had kept busy enough all day stay a few steps ahead of the despair that was licking at my heels, I was dreading the moment when I would run out of road and have to be still with my thoughts. When I would have to go to bed alone.

There was still no word from Katniss at bedtime, so I sent her another text wishing her sweet dreams and begging her to call me. Despite being nearly incapacitated by fatigue, I dreaded closing my eyes. I tried to take some deep breaths, to assure myself that I was being ridiculous, that maybe tonight would be better. But I couldn’t help worrying about what was awaiting me in the depths of my subconscious.

Bolting upright, I found myself momentarily blinded by the sharp glare of the sun reflecting off of the water. I quelled the panic surging into my throat. As the world came into undulating focus, I understood that I was suspended over the water by some sort of platform. Some twenty yards away there was a metal walkway leading to a metallic sculpture where a battle was raging.

Katniss! I knew she was there, but couldn’t see her. Terror ripped through me when I took in the mayhem unfolding around me and realized I couldn’t find her. Spotting her on the walkway, I was overcome with relief that she appeared to be safe and intact. Finnick was swimming out to me and I went limp as he towed me to Katniss. She kissed me and handed me an arsenal of weapons I wasn’t sure what to do with, but that I tucked into my belt.

Once we reached the beach, I just wanted to collapse into the sand and hold Katniss until this mayhem stopped. But I knew we couldn’t, we weren’t safe, the only option being to head into the jungle. The foliage was thick and the earth beneath our feet black and spongy. Despite the tree cover, the heat was relentless and I was drenched in sweat as we climbed.

Monkeys appeared as if from nowhere, a shrieking mass of orange fur that converged on us, fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switch blades. I hacked and slashed, trying to reach Katniss.

But she was lying on the ground, an unbreakable glass wall between us as she screamed and writhed, tormented by winged demons disguised as birds. I slid down the wall, pressed my face next to hers and prayed for it to end.

I woke up sweating and shaking, the sheets balled in my clenched fists, her name lodged in my throat. I was in agony without her. I missed her terribly, achingly. I said a prayer into the darkness that she was alright, that she’d talk to me today. I grabbed my phone off the floor beside the bed and sent her a quick text telling her so. It was all I could do right now.

Feeling completely wrung out, I forced myself out of bed. I groped my way down the hall in complete darkness. I was used to starting my day in the dark, but this was early even for baker’s hours. After a long, hot shower that made me feel at least halfway human, I dressed quickly and headed down to the bakery to get a headstart on the morning chores. I preheated the ovens, turned out the dough that had proofed overnight and began to knead it. The warmth from the ovens and the rote activity loosened my mind and muscles and I felt a little better. I loved these peaceful moments when I had the bakery to myself. Maybe someday I’d open my own bakery and do something I loved in a place that wasn’t built on a foundation of pain and bad memories.

My mind began to run with ideas about how to get myself unstuck. I needed to move out. It was so obvious, I was shocked I hadn’t realized it earlier. I would probably need to take on another night at Abernathy’s to afford it, so I added talking to Haymitch to my mental to do list. Before I knew it, I’d formulated a plan and had several sheets of cheese buns that I slid into the hot oven to bake. Maybe if I just went ahead and got my life together, then by the time Katniss was ready to talk with me I’d be ready to share it with her.

Trudging out to the dumpster in the predawn light, I almost walked right past her. She was huddled on the bench outside the bakery peering out at me from under a knit cap. She looked so adorable and so miserable, I instantly wanted to pull her into my arms.

As soon as I had convinced my sleep-deprived brain that she was not a mirage, I ran the few steps that separated us, reaching for, but not actually grasping her shoulders as I knelt in front of her, afraid of what could have brought her here at this ungodly hour of the morning. “Katniss, what are you doing out here? What’s wrong?”

I took in her messy braid snaking out from under her hat, the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. I ran my thumbs over her cheeks and asked softly, “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

She tipped her head forward, pressing her cold nose into my neck before mumbling, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” I said, meaning so many apologies at once. I waited for her to continue but she just sighed into my skin. Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I added, “And I’m so happy to see you.”

Though mostly healed, the the cut on my knee hurt as the sidewalk asphalt dug into it, so I pulled away to sit on the bench next to her. I could feel the frustration rolling off of her in waves and wasn’t sure what she needed from me. I reached for her hand and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She let me take her hand, but didn’t look at me or say anything. I took the opportunity to say what had been eating at me since she stood up from my dining table. "Katniss, I'm so sorry about dinner. My brothers were horrible. And I was a coward and an idiot. I should have fought for you while you were there. I was so shocked, I just froze. I don't even know what to say." I hung my head, too ashamed of my failings to meet her eyes.

She shook her head dismissively, like that wasn't what she wanted to talk about, but she said absently, “I've seen your mother, her pinched face and mean words, I always figured she was the worst of it."

"Oh, she is. My brothers aren't the best, but... Let's just say we were forged by the same hammer."

"Your dad?" She looked so perplexed.

"He's an incredibly kind man. He's just never really been able to stand up to her."

"So he's never stood up for you."

"Ah, no, not really." I cleared my throat, willing my voice not to crack. No one had ever talked to me about this before. And as humiliating as it was on the one hand, the relief of Katniss caring was almost overwhelming.

"And both those big brothers who should have protected you, not only didn't, but made things worse." She wasn't asking and I was too choked up to answer. The whole sorry story of my life was laid out before her. How each of my family members had appraised me and found me wanting. Worthless.

"You've been let down by so many people." She wove her fingers with mine. "And yet, you're so kind."

I looked over at her, tears of relief gathering in my eyes, making the world shimmer. That she didn't lump me in with them, that she could see me differently, that she was holding my hand. My heart felt as if it was trying to reach her too, and would beat through my chest if necessary.

She shook her head. "I always figured you had it so easy. But really, we just had it hard in different ways."

"Makes your apartment seem like less of a big deal, right?" I tried for levity, but the tears were still blurring my vision and my voice fell flat.

"It certainly puts it in a different perspective,” she said ruefully. “I've always known your mother was awful. But even though my mother was awful in a different way, I've always had Prim. We're a unit. She's the cornerstone of my family. Having her has made everything else bearable. Worthwhile, even. It kills me to think about how alone you've been."

The lump in my throat kept me from responding, but I squeezed her hand. She continued, “I’ve had depend on myself for most of my life. I’ve had Prim, and she’s great, but that isn’t really what I mean…” She huffed out a frustrated breath, then continued, “And I figured I always would be. Alone. It’s safer that way. I’ve figured out how to keep my head above water and that was the best I could hope for. But since I’ve gotten to know you.... Well, I’ve started to hope for more. I can’t seem to help myself. I want to be with you.”

I was stunned, afraid to move and shatter the perfection of this moment. The perfection of her saying these words to me. She glanced up at me, searching my eyes, looking for all the world like she was worried about how I’d feel about this confession.

In that moment, I had never been more grateful or loved anyone more. I couldn't help myself, I pulled her into my arms. I felt like every conversation, for the rest of our lives, should happen with my arms encircling her and her head resting on my chest, so she could hear my heart as plainly as my words. She scooted up tightly against me and allowed herself to be swallowed in my embrace before pulling back slightly. She met my eyes and there was still a question in hers.

“I gotta be honest, I’m not really seeing a problem here,” I offered, sniffing a little and clearing my throat. “That’s actually kinda the best news I’ve ever heard.”

Scowling, she stared at our clasped hands. “The problem is, I can’t sleep without you. I miss your arms, your warmth, your heartbeat, your,” she huffed out a breath and gestured towards me, “You.” She looked upset as she finally met my eyes and said defeatedly, “I miss you.”

My heart felt like a sparrow caught in the rafters and I wanted to spring off this bench and break into song, but she still looked so miserable. Instead I asked, “Why is that a bad thing?” I couldn’t keep the joy exploding within me off of my face much longer, my eyes felt squinty with the effort to keep from grinning like a manic fool.

“I hate wanting things.” She scowled and my heart sang.

“You really want me?” I asked teasingly, nudging her with my nose.

“It isn’t funny, Peeta,” she murmured, her scowl deepening.

"I'm not laughing. Honest." But I couldn't keep the grin off my face. “These,” I held out my arms to her, “are yours anytime you want them.”

“You can’t promise that.” She looked so sad and uncomfortable, I was dying to gather her to me and hold her forever just to prove how possible it was. But I took a deep breath and tried to quell some of the elation that was filling my chest at the knowledge that Katniss missed me, had wanted me when I wasn’t there. At the possibility that she would want me tonight. She pushed me back a few inches and looked straight into my eyes. "What if you change your mind. What if you leave."

I barked out a laugh, I couldn't help it, it was such a preposterous proposition. "That's impossible."

She pulled away, scowling. Not understanding that I was as serious as a heart attack.

I grabbed her hand to keep her facing me. Running my fingers down the length of her braid, I whispered, "Katniss, It’s not like that for me…” How could I explain this to her? Simply seemed best. I shrugged and continued, “I'm here for as long as you'll have me."

“I’m not easy. I’m grouchy and demanding and solitary in my ways,” she warned.

“I don’t want easy.” Taking my life in my hands, because she still looked as prickly as a porcupine, I kissed her nose. “I just want you. Snarling wildebeest and all.”

She sighed, "You say that now..."

"I don't know what to say to make you believe it, but I want this. I want you. Always."

"How can you know that?" she demanded, looking upset.

"Because I know” I said, shrugging. “I've always known. I guess you're just going to have to trust me."

"I'm scared." It was almost a whisper. I tipped her head up so she'd meet my eyes.

"I'm gonna do everything I can to make you understand every day just how much I'm not leaving." It was all I could say right now, all she was ready to hear. I couldn't keep the stupid grin off my face.

"You're ridiculous, you know that right?" Her mouth was still trying to scowl, but her eyes were smiling.

"Yeah. I can't help myself around you. You're just gonna have to get used to being adored." I shrugged, it really was out of my hands. “And while you’re right, I don’t know what the future has in store exactly, what I do know is that I just want to spend every last minute of the rest of my life with you.”

Her eyes softened as she looked up at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She fell into my arms and pressed against my chest. Nothing had ever felt better than her arms wrapping around my back as I pulled her snugly to me. I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling the heavenly scent of her.

“So,” I asked, trying to keep the naked hope out of my voice, “your place or mine tonight?”

“Mine,” she mumbled into my shirt, “less brothers.”

“Good point. See I knew you were more than just a pretty face.” She pulled away to shoot me a scowl before burrowing back into my neck and inhaling deeply. “If only you were good with a bow, you’d be the whole package,” I joked.

She pushed away from me before pulling my arm back around her. “Don’t make me show you my bow skills, Mellark.”

I chuckled and kissed the top of her head. I was literally on the verge of tap dancing. And I had no idea how to tap dance.

I heard the relentless chime of the timer from inside as if it were a mile away. Finally, my mind grasped the meaning of the incessant noise and I cringed.

“What?” she asked, concern etched around her tired eyes.

“Oven timer,” I groaned, hating to move a muscle for fear I would break the magical spell that had allowed me to dream this up this reality. “The cheese buns will burn.”

Her stomach growled audibly. “Can we go in?” she asked, her eyes sleepy. “I’m cold and tired. And now I’m hungry.”

“Absolutely. That’s one of the perks of dating a baker. And since we generally fall asleep by 8:30 at night and get weirdly competitive about baked goods, you have to take advantage of whatever perks you can.” I waited to see what she would say about me casually slipping in a dating reference like it was no big deal.

She stood up and grabbed my hand, leading me back toward the alley door, “Speaking of falling asleep early, what movie do you want to watch?”

I squeezed her hand, “Whatever you want.”

As if on cue, the sun lit the sky and the first pink rays of morning light streaked across the sky, echoing off the gray clouds and gilding her in a golden glow. As she reached for the door, I stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at me, her eyes like silver mirrors reflecting the rosy blush of sunlight.

"Let me get that," I said, clearing my throat to cover the rasp in my voice. I reached around her, grasping the door handle in one hand and lacing my fingers through hers with the other.

"Okay." Her smile was small and a little shy, but it was mine. It was passion fruit cocktails and technicolor sunsets and Narnia all rolled into that magnificent quirk of her lips. And I was willing to work for another one every day for the rest of my life.

She stopped just before she stepped through the door, her eyes luminous as they met mine. “So we’re really gonna do this?”

“Yes,” I said, “we really are.”

~Fin~

#last-ish chapter #working on an epilogue #whew endings are hard!#Holiday

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kingteufel · 4 years

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“So, tell me Greg. You’ve stopped coming to my office for some time now. I would like to spend some time catching up with you and to know what brings you back into my office?"

Greg paused it was a little difficult going into more details on his life to someone he only knew inside a small room someone he only spoke to two hours a day three days a week. It was part of the deal he made with Ethan. He needed to talk to someone about what was on his mind he couldn’t “what’s on your mind Mr. Teufel?” “What’s on my mind.” Greg paused Dr. Ruth knew that Greg was a bit dramatic with the way he expressed his emotions and could paint words into pictures when he wanted to but then there were times that he couldn’t sort out his thoughts or knew where to begin a conversation.

Sometimes it was hard to come up and say ‘hello,’ he sat back against his chair thumbs twirling around in his hands that were placed on his lap it was something that he did out of habit when he was nervous.

"My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations."

“Care to elaborate on what you mean?”

“What I mean is that when I'm thinking about so many things and I can't get any of these thoughts straight. I want to say what I'm thinking, but I can't make out the actual thoughts. I have no idea how to describe this. I guess it’s like when you know what a word means but you have no idea how to describe it to someone else.”

“I can understand that sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint where to start when there’s so much bottled up. Why not start from the first thing that you think of.”

“Dina.” “what about Dina?” “It’s my fault she’s dead.” “why is it your fault?”

The oldest Teufel paused it was a memory he hadn’t taken a trip down since the event. Memories of Dina were starting to seep through the cracks the closer her funeral became. He was terrified of what the outcome of the funeral would do to not only to himself but to Oliver.

“When they pulled her out of the baptism water, I was one of the ones to go up and pull her out. I remembered doing CPR once on someone at the diner and didn’t really think much of it she was my sister and I had to do something. I started and didn’t stop until the paramedics came. When they got there, she was declared dead on the scene there was nothing they could do but I can’t help but to think to myself. Was I even doing it right? Did I cause more harm than good? Did I contribute to her death?”

“You didn’t contribute to her death I can assure you did everything right.” “How do you know?”

“Because I was there I witnessed everything that happened that night there was nothing that you could have done differently to stop such a tragic event. She was a life that was taken from this world premature.”

Greg brushed some tears aside he didn’t know what to think or how to cope when it came down to talking about Dina “any time someone mentions her name I freeze I want to just choke up and swallow in my own self-pity. It doesn’t matter if it’s Ethan or if it’s my brother. Talking about her is too painful to imagine.”

“Is Dina the only thought on your mind?” “No. Oliver is.”

“How has your relationship improved with your brother since you said he moved in with you, and Ethan?”

Greg looked down at his lap “it’s about the same. Part of me doesn’t think we’ll ever be close like we used to. There’s too much pain there’s a wall that was built so high so thick that it will take a while to knock it down. Oliver is.” Greg tried to think of the right words to describe his brother “Difficult sometimes he’s stubborn and doesn’t let too many people in. Once your out your out and there’s hardly any exceptions. Doors were closed on me when I abandoned him for almost a year.”

“But you didn’t abandon him.”

“Oliver knows but in his mind for eight months I abandoned him.” He sighed and ran fingers in his hair wanting to talk about something positive for a change not wanting his heart to ache or his mind to wonder in so many painful directions.

Tears filled his eyes “I miss when we were close, I crave being close to him he’s my best friend. At one-point people thought we were twins though we looked nothing alike. When we were little, he used to look up to me all the time even though there were times I was a piece of sh*t to him. I mean we were siblings we were going to fight and do stupid sh*t when we got mad it was our given rights as brothers.”

Greg ran sighed and leaned back against the chair putting his hands on the arm rest he started bouncing his leg. “Do you think you drifted apart because you were gone for eight months or do you think you started to drift apart when you started dissociating and your alters started to front?”

Honestly? Greg didn’t know the answer to that. Part of Greg knew that he started to dissociate from himself after their father’s death. The car accident was enough to terrify anyone. Greg was ten when Cindy packed them up and forced them to move from their home in New York to Englewood, Ohio.

Going from a city life in the big apple to a small-town boy changed Greg. He became a little more distant a little more crude and cunning. In results he hurt a lot of people along the way not just Oliver but others that he grew close with.

“I started to grow distant from Oliver after our dad died about ten years ago in a car wreck. We tried to stay close even then, but I know I kept pulling back because I was afraid. I was so scared of something bad happening to Oliver and there being nothing that I could do to fix it. I blamed myself for the accident it was a trip that I wanted to do where I wanted to go we wouldn’t of left the house if it wasn’t for my Dad wanted to do something special for all of us. When we moved Cindy just acted like nothing ever happened. When we wanted to talk about dad or bring up dad, we would get a smack in the face.”

“How did that make you feel?” “I hated her. I hated Cindy. I hated her for distancing me and Oliver. For turning me against him for making me do things to him that no brother should have done. It’s not something I’m proud of for hurting Oliver it eats at my very core every day it kills me in ways that I never thought possible. The older we got the harder it got to look at him in the face.”

“Did this happen right away?”

“No. It happened over time I was probably sixteen the first time Oliver just a few years younger. Cindy said if I didn’t do what she wanted if I didn’t punish him then she would only make matters worse for him. So, I left.”

“You left?”

“By that point I’d broken up with my girlfriend and hooked up with another girl. I was messed up in the head.” He tapped his forehead with his fingers “I cheated on the most amazing girl I’ve ever met with a devil. Sure, temptation was pretty at the time but the more I got to know Julia the more I hated her and the more I hated myself. Julia didn’t help things with Oliver.”

“The four years that we were together she never wanted me to spend time with him or Dina. Never wanted me to do any of my Jewish traditions I had to be baptized in the church in order to be with Julia so I gave up a lot but I was hooked it was like being hooked on a bad drug and every time you were just about off your high the temptation pulled you right back in.”

There was a pause talking about Julia still salted opened flesh wounds “Julia was intoxicating we did nothing but fight toward the last two years of our relationship there were so many nights that I checked myself into a hotel before I let myself crawl into bed with a snake.”

Greg wasn’t sure why he was willing to open up now but maybe he needed it. Some type of redemption for all the wrong he’s done in his past he wanted to be good. Wanted to do good. Wanted a fresh start.

A start that would never happen. In his eyes he was nothing more than a monster.

“How did Julia feel about you having D.I.D? This is the first time you’ve been willing to talk about her in the year we’ve been meeting.”

“Julia didn’t understand she didn’t want to understand any time an alter would try to front she would start screaming at me like I was about to abuse her. Would blame that Sam tried to rape her but I know Sam never fronted around Julia and I know your going to ask why. I don’t know fully why but intuition tells me that Sam hated Julia and the thought of being near her was repulsive to him. John started to think the same thing and my little? He was terrified of Julia.”

Greg bounced his leg he was getting anxious opening up so much, but he was just needed everything to be aired out.

“What was it like dissociating?”

Dissociating was different for each individual who had D.I.D he’s never met anyone else who had D.I.D but from the research and videos that he’s watched everyone’s was different though there was some common symptoms or experiences with each. Greg sat back against the chair trying to explain to his psychologist what it was like to dissociate how others around him responded.

“What is it like dissociating? It can be scary depending on who fronts and the situations that I’m in. Dissociating and having alters front is different for each person but one common side effect is migraines from hell. There’s also forgetfulness.” Greg ran fingers in his hair as he explained to the best of his abilities what it was like for him to dissociate “Explaining what it’s like in detail is just like the starred thoughts in my mind it’s hard to point out a constellation.”

“That I’m aware of I have six alters each with a mind and life experience of their own. I have John who is my protector, Sam in away is my protector but he’s more of a vigilante. Those two are my main. Jamie is my female alter I don’t know much about her still, and same for Remington. There are others that come and go they don’t always stay around. I also have a little who likes to come out when I’m out in public he can be triggered by happy thoughts or certain locations that excites him. He’s six-years-old so walking by a candy store he’ll want to go in. There’s times when I am shopping alone and I end up coming outside of stores that I don’t have any knowledge of going inside.”

“What’s your little name.”

“With all due respect I prefer not to give my little’s name for his own protection and my own sanity of keeping him safe.” Greg told her “Going out in public when my little fronts I worry about where he might end up and then there’s the fear of my little being kidnapped. I know it’s not a reality or a pretty slim reality but it’s still a thought that can be worrisome.”

“Was your little your first alter?”

Pausing for a moment he thought about it trying to rack his memories in order when his thoughts were still so jumbled up “No.” Greg said, “George Walters was the first.”

Greg could see the interest in the psychologist. “I can see now why it’s hard to pinpoint a starting position to with a conversation.” The therapist said. “there’s a lot going on inside that head of yours.”

Greg tried to smile it wasn’t the alters he was worried about. “What really brings you here?”

Greg sank into his chair there was always a reason to come back after not being there so long “the fear of Ethan rejecting me. Leaving. The fear that he won’t want to be with me. That I might be the cause to break his heart like I broke Ellie’s. I fear that I’ll unintentionally hurt him and do something that I regret.”

Using the back of his sleeve he brushed back tears. “I fear that he will grow to resent me and see me nothing short of a monster.”

#kingteufel #greg teufel #greg teufel-johnson #get to know greg #headcannon

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