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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

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“Warrior”

Awwwwww SHIT. She cannot be stopped, folks.

So I thought about making this an Epilogue to “Helpless”, but I MIGHT turn it into a sequel, if that’s something you guys want. I have so many ideas!!!

Anyway, here is a “Helpless” SEQUEL ONE SHOT as of now.

TBH I love it so much. I was listening to the song and I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head. OH RIGHT, if you haven’t heard Demi Lovato’s “Warrior”, listen to it now. And/or as you read this. I listened to it the entire time I wrote it. Hell I’m still listening to it. LOL.

“Please, Liv?”

Barba was begging his best friend, on his knees in his own office.

“This is ridiculous, Rafa. You’re a grown man. Stop begging,”

“Then promise you’ll do it,”

“I..wha...WHY do you need me to take your girlfriend out?”

“Look she just went through a traumatic event--”

“Um it was pretty traumatic for me too, if you couldn’t tell,”

“Right. I know...Liv, you know I love you,” He put a hand on her shoulder. “But she ALSO lost the one person in the world that she’s had for most of her life. She has no one now,”

“She has you, obviously,”

“Well yeah sure she has me, but I--I can’t be her whole world. She needs friends. And she doesn’t meet anyone because she had to quit her job at Fazzoli’s. So she’s just been my Personal Assistant for the past month until she can find something else, and she’s just…. around, ALL the time,” He explained the past month of your lives.

“Sounds like you’re getting sick of your little hustler,” Liv chuckled.

“DON’T, call her that.” Rafael warned her.

“Why? It’s what she did,” Liv scoffed.

“Olivia...look,” Rafael rubbed his temples. “You are my best friend in the entire world, and I love you. But you have GOT to let this little...grudge against Y/N go,”

“Grudge? What-- She--” Olivia protested, but Rafael cut her off.

“Whatever happened, it’s in the past. We’re putting it behind us, and so should you,”

“Whatever….” Olivia rolled her eyes.

“If you want to keep being my best friend,”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a plea, once again,” He took her hand. “If you truly love me, you will help me help her,” He gave her those puppy dog eyes, the ones she could never resist, even if she wanted to.

“Oh that is DIRTY, Barba,” She pushed him away with her hand over his face.

“Again though, I don’t know what you want me to do. She obviously doesn’t think we’re going to be friends, and all of my friends are your friends-- also, they’re all adults,”

“She’s an adult,”

“....Sure she is,”

“OLIVIA,”

“Okay okay, I just...Oh you know what, I could ask Lucy if her and her friends want to come,” She picked up her phone and flipped through it.

“See? You’re brilliant,” Rafael smiled.

“Whoa there counselor, I’m not sure how excited she is going to be to drag her friends out with her BOSS, her friends and your pet---girlfriend,” She quickly corrected herself, but Barba heard it anyway.

“You’re unbelievable,” He sighed.

“Look I said I would ask her, I didn’t say it would be happy about it,”

“Alright, alright,” He nodded. “Thank you, Liv,” he gave her a small hug then she turned to walk out.

“Don’t make me regret this,” She eyed him. Just then, you came up behind her in the doorway.

“Regret what?”

“Uh...my lunch plans, Rafael suggested a place I haven’t tried,” Olivia pushed her hair behind her ears nervously, looking everywhere around you but your eyes. Classic lying tells, but you really didn’t want to deal with her stuff right now so you left it alone.

“Oh, well have fun detective!” You gave her a cheery smile as she walked out of the office. You handed Rafael one of the two coffees you had brought in.

“Fuel for my baby,” You smiled, kissing him on the cheek. You could see the screaming behind his eyes when he smiled back at you.

“...What?” you raised an eyebrow.

“What, what?” he asked, acting oblivious.

“Rafael, you know I know something is off,”

“Wha… no, not--” he started but you gave him a knowing look. “You said you weren’t going to do that anymore, Y/N,” he was suddenly stern, referring to using your ‘superpower’.

“And I told you, I can’t turn it off!” You reminded him, you had said it in your very first conversation.

“Okay but you can...y’know pretend you don’t see things,” he pointed out.

“Or, you could just tell me why your eyes are screaming for help right now,” you crossed your arms.

“Wha--that--Good lord,” He sighed, taking a swig of his coffee.

“I’m around too much, aren’t I?” You finally stated the obvious, tired of ignoring it anymore.

“No! No no no…” He put a hand to your face. Overly repetitive denial, meant yes.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I don’t have anywhere else to be,” You bit your lip and looked down at the floor. You hated being this helpless, relying on him for everything. Ever since he had left the hospital, you’d moved in with him and took care of him while his shoulder healed. And then when he went back to work, you told him you had to quit working at Fazzoli’s because it was just too hard to go there every day after everything that had transpired there. You really had tried, but you just kept having flashbacks or panic attacks that Arianna would come walking through the door and take you away again.

Rafael was totally understanding, as usual. He told you that you could be his Assistant for the time being, which really just meant you followed him around all day like a puppy. And he was paying you with his salary, so he was basically just giving you money. You hated it; you were used to being completely independent-- sort of.

Sure Arianna ‘protected’ you, but it wasn’t like you were a baby bird. You had been through so many horrific things in your short life, all on your own. You knew how to survive in the mean streets of NYC, making your own money. You were like a bulldog, and now you were a lap dog.

“Hey,” Rafael picked your head up back to face him. “I know. I’m not blaming you for anything,”

“But you are sick of me,”

“I just...I think you need more people in your life, that’s all,” he stroked your hair.

“Yeah, I know,” you shrugged.

He was right, but you weren’t used to having more than one person looking out for you, or vice versa. You didn’t really know what it was like to have a normal friend, and your serious trust issues really didn’t help the situation. Rafael had tried to get you to go to therapy to work through your “issues”, but you didn’t trust your therapist, which made the whole thing moot.

“...Wait, so what were you actually talking about with Liv?”

“She told you, I was--”

“Can we not do this again,” You rolled your eyes.

“....Alright fair enough,” He sighed, giving up. “I asked Olivia if she knew of any girls that might want to ‘hang out’ with you,”

“Oh my god, Rafa!” You were humiliated.

“God now I’m like that weird kid in class who eats paste, and her parents have to to talk to the teacher who makes the other kids be her friend,”

“....That’s a weirdly specific scenario,” he raised an eyebrow.

“...Yeah, well-- not my first time,” You shrugged sadly.

“Aw honey,” He half laughed, taking your into his arms and kissing your forehead. “I would’ve been your friend, no matter what you ate,”

“Yeah well considering you were probably in high school when I was in elementary, I doubt it,” You smirked.

“Ooof, below the belt,” He put both hands over his crotch with a pained expression.

“I’m sorry,” you stuck your tongue out with a smile. “But you kinda deserve it, trying to beg people to be my friend,”

“I didn’t BEG…” He started, but saw that look in your eyes. “Okay but it worked,” He came clean.

“Oh Olivia and I are gonna have a girls night? Are we gonna braid each other’s hair and talk about boys we like? OH WAIT,” You made sarcastic gestures. “We like the same boy!” You rolled your eyes.

“I mean, I can’t blame you. He’s pretty awesome,” He smirked.

“And so not full of himself,” You pulled on his collar towards you.

“Not at all,” He kept smirking, as he placed his lips over yours.

Just then Barba’s phone vibrated-- a text from Liv.

“KARAOKE NIGHT. TONIGHT. 8PM,”

“Uh….well, I guess you might be right?” He showed his phone. It vibrated again, another text came in as your were reading it.

“LUCY AND FRIENDS, YOU BETTER BE THERE TOO. I’M NOT A BABYSITTER,”

“Well, she is just lovely,” you handed it back to him with a roll of your eyes.

“Hey, at least she’s trying,” he texted a reply to Liv.

“Can you try as well? Please?” He asked you while looking at you with the same puppy dog eyes, Liv wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist them.

“Fine…” you sighed, and he rewarded you with a kiss.

“I need something to wear,” You batted your eyes, to which he rolled his own and pulled out his credit card.

“See? I’m leaving you alone, it’s working already!” You giggled, walking out of the office to go shopping.

------

That night, you and Rafael showed up to a place called TOP5.. It was a fun, trendy hipster restaurant. There were several booths, some tables, even a few couches for people to chill. And in front of everything was a huge stage, with a piano next to it. But there was also a DJ, spinning records.

Rafael noticed Olivia waving to him; he lead you to a giant half booth half table where Olivia, Rollins, Fin, Carisi, and four young girls you had never met before sat with drinks in their hands.

“How did you get these guys out?” Rafael gestured to the squad.

“I asked them nicely,” She smiled.

“Yeah, if ‘nice’ means it was either this or catching up on paperwork all night,” Fin rolled his eyes.

“This is Lucy, my nanny,” Olivia pointed the young girl next to her, who gave a small wave.

“And these are my friends Riley, Lexi and Brianne,” Lucy pointed to each of her friends, who also did a wave as they heard their name.

“Rafael Barba,” he nodded to the girls. “And this is my--”

“Y/N,” You interjected, introducing yourself. You were determined NOT to just be “Rafael’s Girlfriend” anymore.

“So we were looking through some songs, I don’t think anyone’s brave enough to go up there though,” Lexi informed you, gesturing to a huge black binder in front of her and her friends.

“More like not drunk enough,” Lucy laughed.

“Hey we can fix that!” Brianne giggled, calling for shots from the bar.

“Great idea Barba, it’s like we’re chaperoning,” Amanda whispered to Rafael, who rolled his eyes and nodded to a waiter for a scotch.

“May I?” You asked Riley, sliding the book in front of you. You flipped through a binder, until a song stood out to you. It was like it was screaming to you from the page.

You had heard so many “therapeutic” mantras over the past month, people trying help you get over your trauma. Talk it out, they said. You need to get it out.

Well, this was one way.

You excused yourself and walked up to the DJ, whispered something to which he nodded, and went to the mic.

“Alright alright, looks like we have our first vict--I mean, superstar!” He joked. You seriously thought about punching him in the face for using “victim” as a joke, but you knew that was the trauma talking. And you were to fix that, not indulge it.

The music started, and you just let the words spill out:

This is a story that I have never told

I gotta get this off my chest to let it go

I need to take back the light inside you stole

You're a criminal

And you steal like you're a pro

All the pain and the truth

I wear like a battle wound

So ashamed, so confused

I was broken and bruised

Thoughts of you and Arianna’s life together ran through your mind like a movie montage as you sang. The words were so scary accurate.

Now I'm a warrior

Now I've got thicker skin

I'm a warrior

I'm stronger than I've ever been

And my armor, is made of steel, you can't get in

I'm a warrior

And you can never hurt me again

That first chorus felt like you were letting out a huge breath you had been holding in for God knows how long. You wanted Olivia, Rafel, the squad...EVERYONE to know, that you weren’t this helpless little lamb they had seen for the past month.

Out of the ashes, burning like a fire

You can save your apologies

You're nothing but a liar

I've got shame, I've got scars

But I will never show

I'm a survivor

In more ways than you know

'Cause all the pain and the truth

I wear like a battle wound

So ashamed, so confused

I'm not broken and bruised

Now the flashbacks of the real trauma you had been through came pulsing through your mind. Horrors that still kept you up at night; you’d have night terrors sometimes but had hidden them from Rafael so far. He didn’t need to know just how fucked up you truly were. None of it mattered now anyway, you were a survivor. And you had the scars to prove it.

'Cause now I'm a warrior

Now I've got thicker skin

I'm a warrior

I'm stronger than I've ever been

And my armor, is made of steel, you can't get in

I'm a warrior

And you can never hurt me

There's a part of me I can't get back

A little girl grew up too fast

All it took was once, I'll never be the same

Now I'm taking back my life today

Nothing left that you can say

'Cause you were never gonna take the blame anyway

You thought of everything Arianna had taken from you. Sure your childhood was shit, but you were fairly young when she convinced you to run away with her. You could have stayed in your small town, found a decent job. Lived a normal life, with normal friends. But she sucked you into your life of crime and deceit, all while telling you it was perfectly fine, and that she loved you. But it was all bullshit, all of it. You saw that now. And now if she ever came back into your life and tried to convince you of anything, you wouldn’t fall back into her lies.

You took a breath before the last chorus, suddenly feeling your face getting wet. You realized you had started crying while you were singing, but for some reason you weren’t ashamed of it. It actually made you feel stronger, like letting your tears wash the pain and shame from yourself.

Now I'm a warrior

I've got thicker skin

Now I'm a warrior

I'm stronger than I've ever been

And my armor, is made of steel, you can't get in

I'm a warrior

And you can never hurt me again

You finished the song in a whisper as your head dropped to looking at the floor. You were exhausted from the mental journey that song had taken you on. You had never felt so...free. Before you could even look up, the room erupted in applause.

You lifted your head to see everyone in the room giving you a standing ovation...even Olivia, who you could swear had tears in her eyes.

You gave a sheepish smile and a curtsy, quickly getting off the stage and returning to your booth, where not a face was dry.

“...Aww, guys...,” You didn’t know what to say; you had never been that open and vulnerable to ANYONE before, and here you had gone and ripped your soul open in front of a group of strangers.

“That was--”

Olivia came around and hugged you, a genuine hug. It lasted uncomfortably long, so you had to break it with a confused smile.

“I’m sorry I judged you,” She apologized, and you saw the absolute sincerity and guilt written all over her face.

“It’s fine, if I were you I would’ve judged me too,” you gave her an understanding smile.

She nodded, giving Rafael an apologetic look as well, to which he took her hand and pulled her into a hug.

“So, who’s next?!” You smiled, pushing the binder to the middle of the table. Protests and laughs began at the table, bickering about who was drunk enough to follow you.

Rafael leaned over to you, whispering in your ear over the noise of the crowd.

“You’re the bravest warrior I know, Y/N” He wiped tears from his eyes, kissing your cheek.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you smiled, wiping the rest of his tears as you kissed him.

And for the first time maybe ever, you believed it.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #warrior #helpless

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littlelittlebear · 4 years

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Two Drifters | 3/3 Jeronica Secret Santa

@fangstomysweetpea oh my god.... its finally time!!!

The moment i’ve been aching for is finally here and i am HYPE

Happy Christmas my dear Tumblr-friend, I hope you enjoy this jeronica playlist/au/riverdale rewrite.

A couple things first, the descriptions on each song are just an outline as to whats happening in that moment/what the song calls for. Also, this is like a story, so its not really something you can play on shuffle lol. I’m confident you didn’t really need these “instructions” lmao, just want you to have a bomb-ass jeronica experience XDD

Also, you don’t have to “follow” the descriptions when you think them out, you can completely take the reigns too if you’d like!

So.... here ya go!!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1MflcKtyBDRjnP0giX03X4?si=ZcsD0GfxR0KevhgDpTZVKQ

And here are the descriptions-

Oxford Comma-

Locking eyes for the first time… wow. Just- everything is in slow motion.

Baby Doll-

Slow dancing in Pop’s after the dance. (V goes to Pop’s instead of Archie)

Can I call you tonight?-

Jughead and Veronica’s moments of glee when they finally set up a date with each other. Veronica squeals and jumps up and down, Jughead punches the air, they both fall down on the bed with blissful looks on their faces. Two cinnamon rolls.

“So, I’ll call you tonight?”

“Yes! *Too enthusiastic- calm down Veronica* Yes. Call me tonight.”

*Que music*

Just Like a Movie-

Jughead calls this their theme song one day when they’re just hanging out in the student lounge as a joke.

Scrawny-

Veronica calls this Jughead’s theme song in response, they have a good laugh and Jughead rolls his eyes at the lyrics A LOT.

Space Girl-

Jughead calls this Veronica’s theme song- because she’s “oUt oF tHiS worLD!”.

She smacks his arm for being so cheesy.

Good Morning-

The morning after they do the “horizontal tango” with each other for the first time, they dance in Veronica’s kitchen, knowing all the words- only to be interrupted by an amused Hermione Lodge.

Unforgettable-

Their first Christmas together, spent snowed in at The Pembrooke. But honestly, they don’t mind.

Shake it out-

Jughead and Veronica cry together after her parents blackmail them/force them to break up. #parentssuck.

Your star-

Coping with the breakup, newsflash- they aren’t, or when they are... they don’t go the healthiest route. So. Much. Angst.

Rare-

Veronica changes up her style a little bit, which really is just lower cut tops, just trying to forget about Jughead- does a lil sexy performance singing to this at a pep rally.

Out the door-

Jughead never leaving the depressional stage of grief.

+ Exchanging broken looks that just scream “I’m not over you.”

I can’t get you off my mind-

Drunkenly hooking up at a party because their tension recently had just been… w o w

Drugs-

Sneaking around- sexy times ;)

Why Do You Love Me-

Having a screaming match, then a very angry/hot makeup session, then very angry sex XD

The Wind-

After some hOrIzOnTaL TaNGo at Sweetwater River, they admit that they can’t keep away from each other, saying that they love each other for the first time- followed by Veronica crying tears of joy cuz she’s never done that before- and that they’re going to work everything out, together. They just hold each other after that.

“I love you, Princess.”

Veronica props herself on her elbow to face him (they were laying down before)

Jughead sees her widened eyes. “Y-you don’t have to say it back, I know its ha-“

“I love you too, Jug”

You and I-

Montage of working at Pop’s for summer, ending with a jam sesh in Jughead’s trailer- Veronica just in his shirt and Jughead just in his sweats. FP comes in, surprised to see Veronica, but welcomes her easily. FP and Veronica bond, and he embarrasses Jug with some baby photos. While Jug’s probably beet-red, he can’t help but completely oggle at Veronica- happy that they don’t have to hide from his dad anymore.

Start a Riot-

Jeronica send a little message to Hiram through security cameras (they just make out lmao), showing that he can’t keep them apart. They then proceed to trash Hiram’s jingle jangle lab. :)

Moon River-

Slow dancing after having been crowned homecoming King and Queen. And of course, because Veronica is 1/2 of this relationship- this becomes their song.

“That’s us.”

“What do you mean?” Veronica asks, confused.

“The two drifters in the song. ‘Two drifters, off to see the world.’ That’s us”

Veronica’s eyes start to gloss.

“I absolutely love that. And you.”

Teenagers-

Being the badass power couple they are, being 100% team Serpent against the Bulldogs during the riots. Its all one long shot too- no cuts :))

A Sunday Kind of Love-

Looking at each other in slow motion (wow- I really love putting stuff in slow motion) when Veronica is officially named Serpent queen, they’re absolutely smitten with each other. Cut to them dancing in the Wyrm to the song, discussing how they’re going to make their big debut as Riverdale’s resident power couple… second to Choni of course.

“So… now that I’m your queen, I was thinking had a debut of sorts. Just to educate the public of this new order.” Veronica jabs, only kind of joking.

Jughead laughs, but it sounds more of a huff.

“Could you settle for a hand-in-hand entrance at school? Or would you be more comfortable with a red carpet event?”

Glory-

Veronica and Jughead walking into school as Serpent Royalty with matching Serpent jackets- no special colours thank you very much. You can bet your ass its in slow motion.

Worlds Apart-

Veronica crying at Jughead’s bed-side after the Ghoulies fuck him up.

Boss Bitch-

Veronica gets revenge on the Ghoulies and Penny Peabody with the help of the female Serpents, the River vixens, Hermione, Betty, and Alice.

Le Symbolique-

Veronica and Jughead reunite from his state of unconsciousness, this whole sequence is in slow motion, with a lot of white lighting/glare. Jughead almost died and just that thought alone KILLED Veronica.

“Jug I was so scared-“

“Shush Ronnie, let me look at you.” His teary eyes trace over Veronica’s face with a beaming smile, before he brings his girlfriend closer and kisses the top of her forehead.

Harmony Hall-

Some core four bliss before it gets chaotic again, with a side of Jeronica and Barchie cuddles.

Not Your Barbie Girl-

A River vixen performance, Jughead is so fricken in love with Ronnie right now cuz she’s just RADIATING empowerment.

Therefore I Am-

Jeronica sends Hiram to jail again after a bomb ass one liner from Veronica:

“Mija, you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Only one thing’s false in that sentence Hiram, I’m not your Mija anymore.”

(HELP ME I CAN’T WRITE)

*Proud Jughead smirk*

This Life-

Veronica meeting JB and Gladys, them getting along great- just a wholesome Lodge/Jones get-together.

Don’t Call Me Angel-

Veronica changes her name to Luna, fully emancipating herself from Hiram, and this gets Jughead really turned on XD

Sway With Me-

La Bonne Nuit’s first successful night, Josie, Veronica, Toni, and Cheryl perform. Veronica somehow convinces Jughead to dance with her in public. Think Moulin Rouge’s Diamond Dogs type editing.

My Oh My-

Getting screwed over my Hiram, Veronica is in a TON of debt and needs some “stress relief” with Jughead. He obliges. Happily.

HIP-

Veronica and Cheryl start their rum business, Jughead helps and oml he’s so proud of her. Btw, Cheronica are HUGE badasses right now.

Bury a friend-

Surviving Eversgreen Forest and Penelope Blossom…

Youth-

The core four are free from the forest, successfully escaping Penelope Blossom. Jughead and Veronica share a tearful but happy kiss, laying down on the back of a truck.

Don’t Take The Money-

The core four hang out at pops and promise to have fun this senior year, Jughead steals Veronica’s cherry from her milkshake, but being so vulnerable to Midget’s (He calls her Midget. Yup.) puppy dog eyes, he makes it up to her by sharing his fries.

“And for a brief, shining moment, we were kids again.” all that good shiz

The Four Seasons: “Winter”-

Jeronica hangs with the Stonewall psychos.

(Online Love)-

Veronica and Jughead FaceTime and Veronica has this vibe like she’s the montage of the hero’s dead girlfriend in a movie. Like her hair is all splayed out on her pillow and she’s all smiley-

“You look like an angel right now- with your hair like a halo and how much you’re smiling.”

Veronica laughs

“Well it’s your fault I’m smiling you idiot.” Her voice softens towards the end of the sentence.

“I love you too, Ron.”

El Tejano-

Party at Stonewall, Jeronica are absolutely WASTED. Fun fact- Jughead get’s really into PDA when he’s drunk

Burned Out-

Oh shit… I guess Jughead is dead now. (dw, Betty’s still the one who “kills him”)

Claire de Lune-

Just kidding, he’s alive, and he and Veronica have a really cute moment in the bunker. Veronica starts reading his novel, per his request, and he just starts playing this on the record player and she smiles but her eyes are still on the book. He just kind of watches her, and when she starts beaming at the book he can’t help but kiss her right there. Then they just cuddle and little bit, Veronica on Jug’s lap, reading the book some more.

Girls Like GIrls-

Veronica has to prove Jughead is dead, so she and Betty kinda sorta… make out. Like, a lot. Betty is dating Archie at this point, and he’s the one who gets “mad”. But basically Betty and Veronica end up making out again cuz they spot Donna watching them. Veronica is a bi con, and Betty might be too but everyones in denial so *shrugs*.

Dream Lover-

(Time skip, because I’m lazy) Jughead’s alive again, sadly, his spot at NYU was taken by well, Veronica. Luckily, after pulling some strings, she surprises Jug with a full-ride acceptance letter from NYU starting second semester.

Magic Moments-

Yay! Prom! Barchie gets crowned king and queen (Beronica was kind of forgotten about, but thats fine, because we’re here for Jeronica first). While Betty and Archie are totally lost in each other, Jughead and Veronica are just kind of joking around on the side. While it’s Barchie’s moment, Jeronica is still looking pretty damn cute rn. Also, this becomes Barchie’s song!!

Oxford comma-

The song comes through the speaker at prom, Jughead invites Veronica to dance. As they sway, they gaze at one another like they’re seeing one another for the first time, to the song that started it all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And thats it! Thats Jeronica’s story from season one to season four, I hope you have a very merry Christmas and I hope you liked your presents! Also, if anyone feels like adding on to the dialogue or using any of the points in a fic or even making a whole ass fanfiction- please do!! I didn’t do this justice with my mediocre quotes so it would actually be preferred XD.

And again, happy Christmas :))

#jeronica #jeronica nation #Jeronica Secret Santa 2020 #secret santa #jeronica secret santa #jeronica playlist #jeronica fanfictions #jeronica au #riverdale rewrite #jeronicasecretsanta20

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mickmarstookmyheart · 4 years

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Life's a Sick Joke pt 15

Pairing: Mick Mars x Reader

15. Bark at the Moon

Summary: Mötley Crüe joins Ozzy on his tour. Finally, someone scolds down the band while the person who is the most 'innocent', gets in trouble.

∆

"I see the holidays went well." Vince smirked when he noticed you and Mick approaching the tour bus in the parking lot. You were smiling from ear-to-ear because you haven't felt so good for months, also the Crüe joins Ozzy, and this way you can spend more time with Sharon. She truly helped a lot with your brother and since it's only a few weeks until Dylan gets out of jail she will be able to tell you some pieces of advice.

"Indeed." You said, your brand new camera hanging on your neck. Mick placed a soft kiss on your forehead and headed to pack the bags on the bus. You hugged Vince and got on the bus, he following you. When you got on board, you saw Nikki and Tommy in a booth already doing drugs. You sighed but stood beside them anyway. "Hey, guys." You uttered giving them a judging look.

Tommy lifted his head and his eyes lit up when he saw you. He stood up and gave you a big bear hug you couldn't even breathe from his grip. "It's so good to see you, (Y/N). I've missed you." He murmured in your hair.

"Me, too, but can you let me go, please? I-I can't breathe." You mumbled and gasped for air when he let you free and sat back to Nikki. He didn't even glance at you just kept doing lines. "What's up, Nikki? Are you ready?" You hit him in the shoulder playfully.

"Yeah." He rubbed his nose. This tour will be unforgettable but not in a good way. Not to mention Ozzy. The guys worshiped him as a god or something.

"Cool." You settled down behind the bus driver and waited for Mick and Doc to finally got on and set off to this madness. You weren't worried about the concerts, more like the things happening after those. The parties, the drugs, and the booze. This will have a bad ending. Or middle...

"Hello, (Y/N)." Doc greeted you and looked over the guys. He made an 'i can't make it through' face which you could relate with.

"Hey, Doc." You tried to smile and cheer him up, unsuccessfully.

"I hope we will survive, (Y/N)." He huffed sitting down and burying his face into his hands.

"We will don't worry. I just don't know with what kind of injuries." You hummed.

∆

"So he has three children?" Vince gasped as he was consuming his food in the canteen of the hotel. It was nearly noon so plenty of customers were spending their time there. You could hear people murmuring, the forks and spoons hitting the plates.

"Shut up, Vin. Nobody can know about that." You hissed through your teeth and glanced around to see if anyone could hear that.

"Sorry. But really? I knew he is old and all but I didn't think he is a father. He isn't father material." He chuckled. You kicked his foot under the table making him groan. "Hey! What was that for?!"

"Mick is a so much better father material than you. And you don't know the circumstances." You took a sip from your coffee. Not that you knew properly.

"Alright, I'm sorry." He sighed and started to observe your face. "Did something happened?" He tilted his head.

"It's just..." You hooked your feet around the chair legs and were drumming your fingers on the table. "Did you know Mick was the one who got me the job?" You asked quietly.

"What?" Vince frowned his brows. "I thought Doc hired you."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. But while we were at his parents' house I heard them talking about me. And that Mick talked with Doc to give me the job. And I'm happy, truly, but...I don't know. Maybe I would just have to accept it." You twirled your fork in your food.

"Look, (Y/N). I don't think Mick was the only reason. You are a great photographer, a great person and you make Mick happy. I think these are more than enough reasons." He cracked a smile and placed his hands on yours.

"Thank you, Vinnie." He managed to calm down a bit, though that thought didn't let you rest.

∆

"Tommy fucking Lee, come here!" You exclaimed while trying to catching up with him in the corridor. He stole your camera giving you a heart attack every time he jumped or dropped it in the air. "GIVE IT BACK!"

"Catch me if you can, Cooper." He snickered and turned in the corner disappearing from your sight. When you turned, too, you bumped into Tommy's back. You rubbed your nose and stepped aside to see why he stopped. Sharon was standing in front of him with crossed arms and stomping feet.

"Oh my, Sharon! Praise Satan, you are here." You let out a long breath both from the running and relief. You walked over to her and hugged her. "It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, (Y/N)! How is your brother?" She asked resting her hand on your shoulder.

"He is getting better and better. Thanks to you." You smiled gratefully.

"I'm glad I could help...not another inch Mr. Lee!" She yelled. Tommy stopped as he was trying to escape. "Give the camera back to her."

"No." He murmured pressing it to his chest.

"What did you say?" Sharon required while staring right into the drummer's eyes.

"That...oh come on, I was just kidding. You are such a buzz to kill." Tommy scoffed and handed you back your working equipment. Tommy turned around and turned in the corner, getting out of sight. You sighed and rubbed your nose from annoyance and tiredness.

"And it's only the second day, Sharon. I don't know how I will make this through." You complained making the woman chuckle.

"Don't worry, darling. Just leave it to me. Everything will go smooth, I promise." She winked encouragingly.

"I hope you are right."

You really did hope. All the stupid stuff they could do was countless and their purpose was to try them all, making all the people around them annoyed, feared, and fed up, hopefully not injured. However, with Sharon by your side, the tour, will be a piece of cake.

∆

Three weeks already passed and you have been to many interesting and new places you have never been to. The only constant thing was traveling, sitting on the bus, packing the pieces of equipment off and on the bus, running backstage if either of them needed anything. You were a photographer, of course, you just helped the crew out occasionally which they thanked very much with grateful smiles and great company after the concerts.

If you could, you didn't attend the parties which were not that rad, thanks to Sharon. She let neither Ozzy, not the Crüe to buy and do drugs and merely drink booze. You and Mick often went for a walk nearby the hotel to kill time or stayed and relaxed in the spa section or your room. You had the time of your life and you felt like the luckiest girl alive. Working for a rock band, being the girlfriend for a kind, generous and hot guitarist; and lastly having your brother back the next day. You were eagerly waiting backstage just before the concert started. You were walking in circles when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, are you alright?" Mick asked as you turned around to face him. He cupped your face with his big hands and pecked your lips which never failed to melt your heart. You sighed as you placed your hands on his.

"Yeah. I just-Dylan will get out of jail on Thursday and I can't wait to meet him, that's all. There are many things I would like to tell him."

"I'm sure everything will be just fine. And I will stand beside you no matter what." His lips curved into a smile and you couldn't how lucky you were. He always listened to your problems, helped you with everything you needed, and even introduced you to his family. You almost managed to let go of the thing that was nagging you and just tried to live in the present.

"Thank you, it means a lot to me." You whispered and pressed your forehead to his while you intertwined your hands. You stayed like this until you heard footsteps and loud groaning.

"I can't believe that we can't have 5 fucking moments." Mick cursed and tightened his jaw.

"Hey, Mick! Let's go!" Tommy yelled so loudly you needed to press your hands on your ears so as not to get deaf. He drummed on the wall with his sticks as the other members arrived, too. Nikki looked clean, though you doubted since he didn't even look at you. You began to worry, maybe he was mad at you, but why? You didn't do anything.

"Come, (Y/N)!" Vince hang his arm around your shoulder and followed Tommy. "Make some marvelous photos of us." He smirked. You glanced back at Mick who just shook his head but smiled. You couldn't help it, Vince was just Vince. "Also, there is someone who is eager to see you."

"Who?" You asked turning to him when you felt two cold hands folding your eyes.

"Guess who!" Isabelle giggled as you saw, well, rather hear her. You hugged her tightly, almost choking her. Being in her embrace made you forget everything around you. Never leaving her side for years and now not seeing her for months made you sorrowful, yet proud that she went to college and is standing on her own.

"What are you doing here?" You inquired with wide eyes.

"You didn't think I will let you and Dylan have two quiet minutes without me, right?" She chuckled and pulled you back into her embrace once more. "I've missed you." She muffled in your hair.

"Me, too."

"She meant 'we'." Mick noted as he caught up with you in the meantime. He opened his arms and hugged your sister.

"Hey, Mick." She greeted the guitarist. "What's up?"

"Nothing much." He said as he pulled her in a sideways hug and headed towards the stage just as Vince did previously. He looked back and smirked leaving you there with a pout on your lips. Nevertheless, you adored both of them and would kill for them instantly. You sighed and followed the others as the concert could start at any moment now. You arrived at the same moment Vince ran on the stage with huge steps after the others got their instruments. The crowd was more than ready and they got what they wanted. More than they wanted.

This time you weren't alone since your sister was in your steps like a puppy but you didn't mind at all. You even let her take some photos with your camera, yet you took it back quickly after she almost managed to drop it. When your eyes wandered to Tommy he looked quite shocked when he noticed your sister. Considering, he fell in love with her then later 'lost' her. You just hoped that he accepted that your sister wouldn't return his feelings. Pity, though since Tommy was the only guy you would be happy to see your sister with. Not Vinnie, not Nikki.

When the show finished and the audience was prepared for Ozzy, the guys stormed offstage. They were hyped up and powerful and were ready to party. Mick approached you and pulled you in a sweaty kiss, not that you minded. Vinnie made an 'eww' sound earning a hit from your sister in his shoulder.

"They are so cute, don't dare to deny it." She threatened playfully making you and Mick snicker.

"Hey, Iz, are you coming to the party?" Tommy asked shyly with puppy eyes.

"I don't know, Tommy." She pouted and then turned to you with the same puppy eyes as Tommy. "Can I?"

"Ahh. Alright." You eye-rolled and sighed.

"Thank you, sis!" Isabelle cheered along with Tommy.

"But behave yourselves." You held up a finger earning quick nods from them.

"Then can I?" Tommy asked Isabelle who looked confused but then the drummer gestured at his back.

"Yeah, sure." She jumped on his back and left shouting.

"I can't believe them. I'm starting to feel like some kind of parent now." You let out a long breath.

"Just now?"

∆

"Alrighty, Isabelle. Truth or dare?" Tommy asked.

"Not this game, again!" She complained.

"Don't kill the mood!" Nikki added. "Come play with us. It will be fun, I promise."

"(Y/N) already told me stories about playing this game with you and it didn't turn out as good." She stated.

"But you are much funnier than her." Vince chuckled and took a sip from his beer.

"Okay, you convinced me. Then let it be truth."

"You are soooo booooring." Vince rolled his eyes while laying down on the floor.

"Hey, you asked."

"I can't believe it. Is this some Cooper thing to say this? It runs in your veins." Nikki muttered.

"Tommy, truth or dare?" Isabelle asked turning to him.

"That's not how it works. It's still your turn." He pointed out frowning.

"I don't care. So?" She had a wicked smile on her face.

"Dare, motherfuckers!" He yelled.

"Fuck, yeah, man!" Vince shouted along as Nikki gave a high-five to Tommy.

"Yes, T-Bone!"

"Okay, tell me what should I do."

∆

"Finally, in bed." Mick muttered into the pillow next to you while you were already on the edge of sleep. It was quite late now and you had to get up early the next morning to be able to pack your stuff and pick up Dylan. He snuggled to your back and placed his arm on your waist and pulled you closer. You smiled at his touch and then fell asleep.

A half an hour could pass when Mick heard loud crashing noises from the corridor.

"No way. I will kill these idiots." He cursed and got out of bed with only a boxer on him trying to scold them down until you get kicked out of this hotel, too. He glanced back at you seeing you didn't even flinch, just kept sleeping. He cautiously opened the door and closed it after himself. He noticed Tommy running towards him almost naked. "Stop it, you idiot!" He hissed through his teeth.

"No way, old man!" He laughed and kept harassing people. He tried not to blow up and start to run after him with a gun but then two cups approached him panting.

"Sir, stop right there." One of them required.

"I beg your pardon?" Mick arched his brow, not understanding.

"Sir, we got a call that a rocker man with long black hair and only a boxer is harassing people in this hotel." He said and the other pulled out a handcuff and put it on Mick.

"But that...I will kill you, drummer." He murmured already planning the various methods.

"Please, not in front of cops." The officer said while escorting Mick to the car.

∆

"(Y/N). (Y/N)! Come on, wake up." Doc was standing by your bed his hand on your shoulder shaking it in order to wake you up.

"What is it?" You murmured into your pillow. "It's already 6 am?"

"No, it's not. But there is a problem." He hesitated.

"It has to be a big problem cause I'm not in the mood, Doc." You growled sitting up and preparing yourself to hear the worst.

"Mick was just taken away by the cops."

"What?" You thought you misheard it. Or dreamed.

"He was arrested. For something he didn't do of course." He added rubbing the back of his head.

"Then it's not an emergency. He can wait. I thought you had a real reason, Doc. Go away and let me rest a bit." You snapped sleepily. It has been quite a rough day, week, and month.

∆

"Good morning, miss. How can I help you?" The cop asked at the entrance.

"There is someone who was brought in during the night and I would like to get him out from here." You smirked.

"This way, ma'am." He gestured toward the door on your left and opened it for you letting you first. You thanked with a nod and you noticed that there were only a few men there, most of them sleeping. "He is here, ma'am. As I'm concerned he didn't bring in any belongings with him. So as you are ready he is free to go." He said goodbye and let you find Mick. The prisoner. The criminal.

"Hey, there." You said trying your best not to laugh. Mick's eyes opened instantly and sat up as quick as he could.

"What took you so long?" He growled as he rose from the bed and stepped in front of you grabbing the bars. You bit down your lip and can't help but chuckle. "Don't dare to laugh. It's not funny."

"Yes, it is." You said and placed your hands on his. "But you know, I'm starting to get tired of visiting the prisons."

"Don't say another word just get me out of here."

"Or what?" You teased him. "I think I should tell the cop to handcuff you, you are being dangerous."

"Are you serious?" He sighed and rolled his eyes. "(Y/N), I just get back to the hotel, get dressed, and rest a bit only after I kill the drummer." He scoffed.

"I will help you if you want."∆

Taglist: @cmft-jr-winchester @safari-karrot @leatherandheels @crazyrockrlady ❤️

#motley crue #glam rock #mick mars #rocknroll #80s music #80srock #vince neil #nikki sixx #tommy lee #mick mars x reader #mick mars imagine #motley crue imagine #motley crue x reader

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girlobsessed21 · 4 years

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My thoughts on The 100 7x05

Hey, guys,

Sorry for not doing any comments on the last two episodes. I’ve been a little busy and I struggled to connect to the show, so it hindered my enjoyment, but it’s all better now. Liked episode 4 and 5 was even better, jampacked with info and it answered a lot of questions.

Welcome to Bardo

Badass Octavia is da bomb (people don’t say that anymore, right?). When she was captured in episode two, I thought she had lost her fighting spirit, but it’s back, bitches. Well, until she runs into an invisible wall trying to escape. She’s captured and transported to M-cap (whatever that means). Then we get a welcome little flashback to Lincoln but it’s obvious that Bellamy would be the hand reaching out. He’s her rock, like she’s expressed many times.

Unlike John Murphy who is not quite a friend, or family and definitely not a lover. Introducing so many new characters in the final season of a show is never a good idea, because this is the time to wrap up all the stories of the existing ones, but come on, who cannot love Levitt. Even when he first meets Octavia, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Jason, you better not harm one hair on this precious little puppy’s head!

As he binges The 100 through Octavia’s eyes, he starts rooting for her, and he actually gives a damn, unlike most people on this show. He understands her strengths and weaknesses and he makes her see it too. “You’re a warrior to be sure, but your heart is pure.” Wow, what an honest and beautiful line. (Scroll down for my shipping comments.)

So is O and Hope’s fleeting little reunion. It’s amazing to experience this deep loving side of Octavia after her darkness. She’s truly one of the most diverse and developed characters on the series. Now Hope and her resilience is quickly making it to the top as well.

While Hope is trying to send her back home, we learn that memory loss is due to the time dilation. One quick note on this, it’s not linear, there’s no easy equation to calculate it unless you’re Stephen Hawking or Einstein. I don’t think it’s constant either. 10 years on Skyring = 11 days on Bardo = a few minutes on Sanctum. In the current time, 5 years on Skyring = 1 day on Sanctum = 7 days on Bardo. So, it’s clear that the planets are moving, and other factors are playing into the phenomenon. It’s more important to understand the time relative to each planet.

Levitt was the one who tattooed Hope’s code onto O’s back, also the one who planted the note into Hope’s arm. Indeed the kind of man you want on the inside, he even accepts a blow to the face as thank you.

Sheep-ish?

Thirty minutes on the clock and the trio gets led to a congregation to praise the shepherd. I never thought it was Anders, I do, however think it might be Cadogan. The Bordoan’s built the underground forest because they destroyed their planet. Ugh, what’s new? The shepherd herded his sheep from earth to Bardo via the stone. Cadogan and his second dawn cult?

Back to Clarke. So, after last episode I thought ‘the key to winning the last war’ line was an artifice for luring Clarke to disciples, but now it’s clearly true. They’ve located the key and they will win the last war. Levitt was interested in Clarke surviving the City of Light with the flame in her head, they probably assume she still has it. Cadogan burned Becca alive. Could it be because of the flame? Is this all because of that damn little chip that can’t seem to die?

Bellamy is not dead, I repeat, Bellamy is not dead! I believe that memory could be staged or implanted for a reason. Also, there’s no body, he jumped through the bridge. In the promo photos, he wears a ring but his actions towards Octavia seem a little cold and generic. On first watch, I thought it was bad acting but if he was programmed to do this, it makes sense.

Note the sequence of events. Octavia returned 7 days ago and was asked to talk her brother down, but we don’t see the actual scene. Instead we’re shown a memory. They could have implanted it to make her vulnerable and perhaps more susceptible to the procedure. I don’t know, but this theory could lead to Robot-sheep!Bellamy on Nakara, where he’ll encounter Clarke and the gang.

I have to be honest, I really don’t like this character arc for Bellamy. It’s unoriginal and a mime of Peeta’s storyline in Mockingjay. Sorry, but so far it feels like the writers were so over the show, they just wanted to get it done. And that attitude really bleeds into one’s creative concepts. I could be completely wrong, in fact, I hope I am.

Echo spins a Finn

My word, I lost the love of my life once, but I sure didn’t kill anyone. When Echo received that vision of Roan, I was hoping for some progression on her individual arc, they’ve made me care about her, and now we get the opposite. Why? One thing I have to admit, a killer performance from Tasya Teles! No pun intended.

Look, this show hasn’t explored Bellamy and Echo’s relationship enough to make her murder believable. It was the exact same thing with Finn. I wasn’t invested in Finn and Clarke’s connection, so his actions of killing a grounder tribe was more repulsive than understandable. Sure, Echo loves Bellamy and her sole purpose is to save him, but I’ve never truly witnessed their love for each other. They had one or two intimate scenes which cannot compel a deed like this. And in the process, she screwed Hope and Diyoza.

Anyway, I don’t think there’s any coming back from it. She murdered an innocent person in cold blood. That’s sure to open a door to the dark side. Just look at Octavia after killing Pike and her actions were justified by jus drein jus daun.

Say Sanctum three times slowly and it sounds like… Sanctum

Blind faith

Look, I’m just gonna come out and say this song is getting old. Every episode featuring Sanctum is the exact same thing with different lines. Can we please move on from it, already? Yes, we know the COG want Russel dead, and the adjusters will go to extreme lengths to free Russel and the prisoners are background noise.

I did appreciate Nelson stepping in to try and save the girl, though. Still doesn’t save the fact that it’s repetitive. The Sanctum plotline is really struggling to take shape and I hope it happens soon. Dramatic eyeroll.

At least in the drought of a desert, you can always count on Murphy. “…I say we live and let die.” Typical cockroach line, right, but it’s ironic when he’s the one to step up, even if it is for Emori. Under the magnifying glass it’s the exact same plot as episode 1 and 3. He hesitates to take action, and eventually becomes the hero.

I mean, he saved that poor kid from being burned alive. Can you imagine sacrificing your own child in such a horrific away? Cults are beyond whacked, and, unfortunately, it’s reality that cult members are so blinded by their faith that they do not see rhyme or reason.

How did Murphy fail that test? I didn’t. When Trey named the four pillars, I thought, isn’t rejoice one of them? Surely, a cockroach would have smelled that trap a mile away.

Indra the great

Can we just give a massive round of applause to Adina Porter!!! That powerhouse walk vibrates strength and majesty, damn, she should be a false god, I wouldn’t dare threaten her with or without an army.

Three little words was all it took for her to recognize evil. “There’s a spider on your shoulder.” Smooth. Too bad she can’t kill him. Why not, how many of the faithful are left to cause an uproar? Wonkru doesn’t know it’s Sheidheda, they won’t care, the COG will fall in line and the prisoners will be happy as long as they get their compound. Sorry, I don’t get it and I don’t understand why she doesn’t tell anyone. Someone please explain?

Granted, JR Bourne as Russel is way better, but I still don’t understand his actions. I hope they explore and explain him more, because he still feels flat unless he knows something of this final war. I’m hoping these two storylines align soon since it’s really driving a wedge between me and my love for the show.

Shipwreck

I’ll start with the easy stuff, Murphy, Emori and the perfect dress gets a heart eye emoji from me. They are so damn cute this season, can they please live happily ever after in the palace?

Octabriel vs Levittavia

Now, I enjoy Levitt fangirling over Octavia. I feel like he has a deep sense of her through her memories. If I have to root for an underdeveloped relationship, it will have to be one where the characters share thoughts and experiences even if it is through a sick, sci-fi procedure.

On the other hand, Gabriel and Octavia have immense chemistry, two seconds of them together bends my mouth into an “Aah, cute” pout. This will also add some approval and representation for mixed racial relationships.

I really don’t mind either way as long as they make me care through showing and not telling.

Bellarke

So, if my theory is correct, and Bellamy does end up on Nakara, Bellarke will encounter each other quite soon. Bellamy won’t be himself though, but he might pretend to be Bellamy to win Clarke’s co-operation. Is there hope for Bellarke yet?

Echo is now trotting a dangerous path and Bellamy might be pledged to a cause, so I doubt there will be a happy ending for Becho. Since 7x01 I’ve been thinking that the writers might want to develop something between Clarke and Gaia but if they are separated, is there enough time? Guess we’ll see.

This monster of a review is finally done… If you read through everything, you deserve a gold star! Let me know what you think, till we meet again…

#The 100 #the100 7x05 #the100 season 7 #octavia blake #levitt the 100 #hope diyoza #bellamy blake #echo #john murphy #indra kom trikru #gabriel #bellarke #sheidheda

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softboywriting · 5 years

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You Are Baby | Shawn Mendes

Summary: You’re still sick and you’ve been stealing Shawn’s clothes as comfort. Shawn has been forbidden to get too close to you, but he just can’t stay away any longer. [fluff] [Second Part to I’m Baby]

Word Count: 1.1k

|Masterlist In Bio|

"How many of my clothes are you going to steal?"

You look up from the info pamphlet you are reading about the arena. "Hmm? What do you mean?"

Shawn chuckles and walks toward you. You put out your foot to stop him just short of getting too close. You're still contagious from a cold after all. "You have taken every one of my sweaters and two of my shirts this week. What am I supposed to wear if you're infecting everything?"

"But... I'm sick." You poke your lip out and give him puppy dog eyes. "I need comfort."

"Oh don't give me that look." He crosses his arms and you sniffle.

"You don't want me to be comfortable? When I'm ill?"

"I-I didn't say that." He unfolds his arms and reaches for you. You let him hold your head to his chest even though he's forbidden to touch you. It's been three days and you're miserable without his touch. "I want you to be comfortable. You can wear all my clothes okay?" He pets your hair down. "God I can't wait for you to be better. I want to be able to hold you and sleep together again."

“I know. At least Andrew didn’t confine me to the other bus.”

“True. Do you have everything you need? I can get you some tea. How’s your cold medicine? I can send Brian or someone to get another package if we need it.”

You nuzzle against his chest and he pets your hair down more. "I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“How can I not worry about you? You’re sick.”

“It’s just a cold. You gotta go get cleaned up for the show. And make sure you shower, and use hand sanitizer before you touch anything else. You're not supposed to touch me remember?"

Shawn steps back and drops his hands to his sides. "I know, I know. It's so hard, you know I survive of of touch."

"I know bud." You shake your head. "But you know it's for the best."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Mmmhmm."

"I love you." He blows you a kiss and you catch it. "See you in an hour or so."

"See you soon."

You spend the next several hours napping on the couch in the catering room. Your cold medicine knocked you out since you took the night time stuff by mistake. When you wake up, everyone is gone, which means the show is starting or has started. You’re cold, and you go to Shawn's backpack for a hoodie. All he has is his salmon pink sweater and you smile as you pull it out and pull it on over your head. It’s warm and cozy and though your nose is still pretty stuffy, you can smell Shawn’s cologne on it. You wrap your arms around yourself and head out into the main concourse to find the doors to back stage.

Josiah walks out of a set of doors and sees you heading for him. He shakes his head and walks over to you. "Looking for Shawn?"

"Yeah." You sniff loudly. "Is he on stage?"

"He went on a while ago. You should get some more rest."

You shake your head. "I have to tell him good luck."

"I'm sure he'll make it through one show without it. He's almost done. You look like hell. You should rest, you’re sick.”

"It’s important. You don't understand." You sigh and push past him into the doors to the inner workings of the stage. The crew all nod to you as you pass and walk up the steps to the side stage. Shawn is in the middle of Mercy and you wipe your eyes, they're all gross and watery. This cold was going to be the death of you for sure but you won’t miss your boy.

Zubin spots you and makes his way to Shawn as he plays. When Shawn holds the mic out for the crowd he leans in and says something, pointing to you. Shawn looks over and nods. You know he can't come over and see you, so you just watch as he does his thing.

You feel a wave of sleepy dizziness wash over you so you go into the back and sink down on top of an extra amp and lean your head back against a stage support. It's so loud but everything is muffled by your stuffy head and ears. Fix You turns into In My Blood and you know Shawn is almost done. Minutes pass and you’re almost asleep when the confetti cannons go off and startle you. Shawn runs by, you can see his legs as goes off side stage to the barrier to hug people. It's a wonder he didn't get sick with how he was so affectionate with fans.

As soon as Shawn's done he finds you backstage. You're honestly about to pass out. The cold medicine hasn't worn off yet. You feel better than you have aside from the tiredness, you can almost breathe through your nose finally.

"Look who's baby now." Shawn laughs, gesturing to you.

"I'm baby?" You yawn and slide off the amp.

"Mmmhmm. You're wearing the pink sweater. That's the “I’m baby” sweater."

You look down and giggle softly. "This is the baby sweater now? You're so weird."

"Yeah, but you love it." He pulls you into a hug and rests his chin on your head. You want to push him away because he could still get sick, and he's really sweaty, but you don’t. You have missed his touch for days and it was wearing on both of you.

"Why didn't you wake me up? I didn't get to tell you good luck before you went on."

"And I did fine, I swear. I wanted you to rest."

"But it's our thing, our tradition."

"I know." He leans back to look down at you. "I just watched an old video of you saying it. The one Connor posted a while back."

"Good." You smile and lay your head back against him. "That'll work."

"It did. So how was your nap? Are you feeling better?"

"It was good." Another yawn. "I am actually feeling a little better too. Another day of medicine and rest and I should be able to snuggle you again.”

"Good." He walks you toward the doors. "Because I'm tired of sleeping alone. I wanna kiss my girlfriend again. It's been an eternity."

"Mmm. Who's this girlfriend you speak of?"

"What?" He laughs, looking down at you. "You of course?"

You pull back and smile at him sleepily, your body fighting the sleepiness of the cold medicine like crazy. "But you said I'm baby."

He sighs and rolls his eyes at your joke. "Okay okay, very funny.” He rubs up and down your back. “But yes, you are my baby. Come on, let's go get you back to bed."

You giggle and lean into him as he walks you to the buses. This is the most physical interaction you've had with him in days and you're loving it. The head cold be damned.

End (To be Continued)

-----

Thank You! Please reblog and share :) - A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

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soft-pentagon · 5 years

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191019 Prism concert in Lisbon

Hello it's tumblr user soft-pentagon and I'mma tell you guys how my prism concert experience in Lisbon was!!!

Since I'm on my phone idk how to put this under a read more :( it's gonna be a long post so if you're not interested pls just scroll through it!

ANYWAYS SO!!! they're amazing.... Absolute legendary.... Guys I love them so much it's crazy 🤧🤧 I had a blast from the beginning to the end 😖😖

I got into the venue and I went alone :') so I was like "ahahah what am I supposed to do now" but I got friends with this girl who also went alone so we stick together until the end of everything :') new uni friend: achievement unlocked ✓ sdhksjms she was really cute :(( well all unis are in general I love you all 🤧🤧

ABOUT THE CONCERT: they're so good it should be illegal... Like you literally can see they love what they're doing and it's such a good vibe... Chills literal CHILLS 😖

God yuto... I'm absolutely whipped sdgjkkghk I'm not kidding he's unreal... He's so fine... And he cut his hair and it suits him so much... I'm absolutely in love with him after this sfhklldgj I'm no longer Hong biassed it's yuto era now 🤟🥺 AND SHINWON AAAA HE'S SO FLUFFY!!!! i love him so much he's seriously so cute with this hair :(( truly baby, I wanted to hug him and hold hands because how soft he looks :( hui is the true intellectual on this, now ik WHY 🤧 AND ALSO special mention to changgu and his silver hair... Guys he's crazy, he's no longer the cute soft boy we knew, well at least out of Korea, he goes hard af... His body rolls and expressions....... He knows we're thirsty and he makes sure to deliver, a demon 😔

During beautiful we had these banners saying "pentagon & universe together we shine" and we had to rise them during the song. And lemme tell you it was so beautiful.... Here's a vid. All the banners, unibongs and flashlights... it's was really really pretty :( and the boys got emotional, you could see... They're so genuine and they love us unis so much it's crazy... The ones that were more emo were kino and shinwon imo,, pretty sure kino teared up a lil bit sdhksjms he was trying so hard no to :(( baby must protect 🤧🤧

PT unis did an amazing job tho... It was crazy, we sang along to every song, screamed like crazy and the boys felt it sdhjnvss they got so excited lololol I lost my voice sdgjkkkkfdf but worth it hope you guys are proud :')

They made us sing a lil bit of round 2 and fantasystic acapella cause they know we'd nail it and we did sdgjkkkgh shinwon also did his part on round 2 lololol we stan the best rock star out there 🤟🤟

The boys were throwing water at us and at themselves idk sdgjkkghj go stupid go crazy I guess 👏👏 and in the encore when they were already leaving, kino poured a whole water bottle on himself, and did that thing with your hair when it's wet, you throw it back you know.... Hot sexy indeed 👌👌 and then shinwon came wildling but he saw karma instantly sfhklldgj,, here a vid.

Also bad boy and best song ever........ Unis who are going to future shows: good luck surviving pls don't die adgjkdsd

ABOUT HI TOUCH: It's so fast sdgjkkfdf my initial plan was saying ily to everyone and go but it failed sfhklldgj 1) I lost my voice she no longer exists in this world adgjkdsd; 2) I got super nervous idk sdgjkkfdf I was like "omg it's happening bitch is happening" :') but it's okay 😔

So the first was hui and omg he's so CUTE sfhklldgj he has such a cute face I wanna kiss him in the cheeks sdfghjdjjddkd baby energy radiating from him, tiny cute hand ✊✊ I told him ily in tiny txt sdgjkkfdf the best I could and he was like "thank you :D" I'm also taller than him and I'm 175cm so 👀👀,, then yuto!!! I don't remember how it went with him I'm sorry :(( but I remember him the most from the concert so it's okay 😔 after all I'm yuto biased now,, then wooseok! He had his lil glasses on and my heart was crushed for how cute he is like sdhjnvss he has such cute and shinning eyes, he looks at you in such a cute caring way like we already friends you know :(( thinking about this is making me feel soft inside :(( he looks like a cute puppy ugh softttt babie I wanna protect!!!! I told him ily~ Then kino! He an angel in person, the girl before me was like "kinooo" and he pouted and grabbed her hand :(( truly so cute, I think I said hi cause after him my system broke sdhksjms, then I think it was shinwon but I'm not sure about the order I don't remember if he was before kino or after, but I do remember that when I went to h5 I scratched him a bit with my nail adfhhjjkkjh I was like "UPS" asfhjklllj nothing serious ofc,, THEN MY NO LONGER MAIN BITCH HONGSEOK: guys he's so beautiful I almost had an heart attack sdhksjms I could look at him all day cause he truly so pretty it's crazy.... I don't remember if I said ily or his but I remember I stayed some good 3 secs looking him in the eye and smiling like I'm some crazy person adfhhjjkkjh I made it in life with these 3 secs lmao 👌✊😔 then!!! Yeo one! I don't remember much about from him either :(( just that I said hi and that his silver hair blinded me sdgjlkgd and finally jinho!!! He got such cute tiny hands :(( he's so cute overall, soft hyung we love 🤧🤧 he was wearing a ring 👀 fashion king even during hi touch, kino is shaking sdhksjms

I had this big ass smile during this whole thing sdfhkjkgfd like I couldn't help myself I love them so much :(( 🤧🥺🥺 I cry

And yeah I think that's pretty much it!! I took pics and vids but my phone quality is shit and I was kinda far from the stage sfhklldgj everything looks extremely low quality :') so idk if i'mma post anything... But if I see something good enough I will!!!

Truly an amazing day, I love my boys so much I had so much fun, I lost my voice, I jumped like crazy I got wet sdhksjms I loveeee being in this fandom :(( I love pentagon 🤧💞

#alex.txt #long post #pentagon #fave #:((( this is the second time I'm writing this sdgjkkkkfdf #i truly had so much fun :(( they're incredible #myprismexperience

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caiminnent · 5 years

Text

glass houses [Shaun & Lucy with mentions of one-sided shaundes & deslucy, rated T]

Prompt(s): sleep deprivation (BTHB, 2/25) + 14

Summary: “We’re in love with the same person. Friendships have been built on less common ground.”

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Tags: College AU, Bonding, Pining, Unrequited Crush

2.3K || Also on AO3.

Forty three—no, forty two minutes left to have lunch, get his essay printed and rush to Leonardo’s office on the other side of the campus—and Rebecca is still droning on and on about the part next Saturday, because clearly the life he doesn’t have is more important than the grade he won’t be getting unless they pick up the pace already. Murder on school grounds would probably get him expelled, among other things, which is why he’s only contemplating it; but an under-slept, under-caffeinated man has his limits and he is approaching his fast.

“No, Rebecca,” he repeats on a deep sigh as they finally get in line behind a couple in matching PJ’s, seemingly having a heated argument through sharp looks and contained gestures in that way only couples can. “I do not want to come to the party, thank you very much. I’m not even invited, remember?”

“I could ask Lucy,” she offers, unfazed. “We’re having lunch with her anyway, I could mention it then—”

His stomach drops.

“—I’m sure she won’t mind. I mean, the more the merrier—”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, “We’re what?” he cuts in. The Couple glance over with raised brows and pursed lips, as if he sullied their petty issues by having his own.

She frowns. “What?”

He just shakes his head. Lunch with Lucy, Christ. Today just keeps giving. “You won’t ask her to invite me,” he says, pinning her with his I Mean It, Rebecca look. “Or don’t even hope for a single page from my notes ever again.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll swear on anything, Rebecca.”

Fishing her phone out of her pocket, “Whatever,” she throws, fingers already dancing on the screen. His own remains suspiciously silent in his bag. “What’s your beef with Lucy anyway?”

The Couple aren’t even pretending not to listen in, half-turned in their direction as they are. He glares steadily at them until they get their noses out of his business and back into their own, although some of those meaningful looks are probably about him this time. Hell if he cares.

“I don’t even know Lucy,” he points out, rubbing at the throbbing spot over his brow—not that that’s ever helped. “Why would I have a problem with her?”

“You get weird whenever I mention her, man. Coulda thought you had a thing for her if I didn’t know better.” Pockets the phone again, shrugging a shoulder at his look. “It’s either that or hate.”

Oh for the love of— “I don’t hate her, either,” he says—the truth, too, no matter the disbelieving face she makes at him. He has no real reason to hate Lucy. He just... doesn’t prefer to share space with her if he doesn’t absolutely have to.

If he sometimes goes out of his way to make sure he doesn’t, well.

By some miracle—more likely, because they’re finally within reach of food—she drops the subject, shoving a tray into his hands and grabbing one of her own. His stomach curls into itself at the sight of half the containers, the other half he can’t even recognise beyond had it before and didn’t die.

He accepts a serving of each and trails off after Rebecca.

Once they push past the growing crowd towards the tables, scanning the sea of heads, “You should try to get along with Lucy, you know,” she pipes up—because Rebecca leaving anything alone would’ve been too much like good luck to happen to him. “You know who she’s friends with.”

“Rebecca.”

“I’m just saying. Sheesh, someone’s touchy today.”

And whose fault is that, he’s about to snap when he spots Lucy off to the side, dumping an ungodly amount of sugar into her coffee—from Creed Coffee, no less. His first stop as soon as he drops off his essay; he’s earned a treat.

Because it’s just that kind of day, Lucy chooses that moment to look up and catch him staring like a buffoon. She beams at him like there was no one she would’ve been happier to see, waving them over.

“There she is,” Rebecca says, taking a sharp turn in her direction. He follows suit, squeezing between tables she breezes through and almost spilling his chow all over people on three separate occasions until they safely take their places across from Lucy.

To his credit, when Lucy smiles at him again, he does try to return it. His face muscles ignore the command entirely.

The women have already jumped into conversation on nothing he particularly cares about; he tunes them out for the most part and buries himself into his ‘food’ instead, fielding Rebecca’s attempts to lure him in with one-word responses and the occasional grunt when he can get away with it. About twenty minutes left; he can make it if he hurries. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Ignore him,” she stage-whispers to Lucy—with ‘him’ sitting right next to them, thank you very much. “His coffee machine broke last night.”

The audacity. “She means she broke it,” he clarifies around his spoon. It’s not grumbling if he’s right.

“Semantics,” she waves it off, reaching for her coat. “I’ll fix it when I get back, promise.”

“Wait, where the hell are you going?”

Raising her brows, “To turn in our papers, like we talked?” Rebecca says, confusion so thick in her tone that he almost doubts his own memory—except he could recognise that glint in her eyes anywhere. “You’ll keep Lucy company while I’m gone, right?”

That meddling little—

“Right,” he says for Lucy’s benefit, who is glancing between them with polite curiosity, doing his best to convey you owe me so much for this with one look. “Of course I will.”

Rebecca dares to grin at him, dropping the pretence altogether. All of three seconds and she’s off, leaving only an unused fork behind.

Without her around, the table has gone alarmingly smaller, Lucy everywhere within his sight unless he stares straight down at his tray. Had he ever been alone with Lucy before? Alone alone, within speaking distance, without anything or anyone to hide behind?

He doesn’t even have coffee to hide behind now.

One slides in front of him.

Raising her hands, “You look like you need it more,” Lucy explains, that too-warm smile on her lips; he feels shittier the longer he looks at it. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He did catch a sight of himself on the way here—not his best moment.

The polite no, thank you he should say is on the tip of his tongue—almost impossible to get out with the warm temptation is sitting right there in front of him, right under his nose, smelling—well, sort of like a unicorn exploded in there and caramel. Not that he can afford to be picky.

Besides, he’s survived vending machine sludge; it only goes up from there.

“Come on, take it,” she insists, honest-to-god batting eyelashes at him. “So that I can feel a little better about asking for your ComLit notes next week.”

He snorts and accepts the bribe, only too eager. It’s syrupy to the point of nauseating, not unlike those energy drinks Rebecca fills the dustbin with, except with a lot less immediate kick. He doubts there’s any caffeine in there, even.

Magic might be involved, however, given the way he’s already feeling a tad closer to human.

He nods his thanks. She returns it.

“You know, Shaun,” she starts slowly, with an odd sort of caution—or maybe he’s just not used to people who think before they speak anymore. “I don’t know what Rebecca threatened you with, but you don’t have to sit with me just to be nice. I know you don’t really like me.”

He can’t help a wince—then a deeper one, when it hits that this was probably among the worst ways he could’ve reacted to a statement like that. Leave it to him to put his foot in his mouth without even opening it.

“It’s fine,” she adds, saving him from himself. “I mean it. Not everyone has to be friends.”

That’s not it, not at all.

Thing is, under different circumstances, they could’ve been friends, he and Lucy. He doesn’t know her, not really; but by the electives they keep coming across each other in and the books she carries, he doesn’t doubt they could find plenty to talk about if, if, he could get his head out of his arse and get over—

Well. He obviously can’t tell her all that.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not you,” he allows, the closest thing to an explanation he can afford to give.

“It’s okay,” she says gently, those huge, impossibly blue puppy eyes of hers trained on his. “I know.”

Blood freezes in his veins.

It’s a simple phrase. It doesn’t have to mean anything beyond the face value. There’s no reason for it to; he’d been careful—more than, really—but that smile, all sadness and sympathy—

He swallows against the bitter taste in his mouth, a light burn all the way down his throat, pooling in the pit of his stomach. “You do?”

“I do,” she confirms, jerking her head somewhere to his far right. He follows her gaze to—

Oh, hell. She does.

“He doesn’t know,” she answers his unasked question, lowly enough that the rush of blood in his ears almost drowns out the words. “Don’t worry, you’re not obvious about it or anything.”

Clearly he is, if she noticed.

He risks another glance—he is sprawled on his seat with an arm resting on the other one, laughing at whatever bollocks story Cross might be telling, that stupid one-strap bag of his sitting on the table.

“You’re sure he doesn’t?” he has to ask, heart both at his feet and racing in his chest somehow.

She nods. “Positive. He’s the worst when it comes to this sort of thing, you wouldn’t believe it. He won’t notice unless you come at him with a brick that says I like you.”

Something at the back of his mind prickles like static.

See, past the initial shock, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’d gone wrong. As far as social circles go, his and his are on different planes entirely. They don’t have mutual friends beyond the tangential; they don’t frequent the same places unless Rebecca drags him out to Bad Weather; they hardly talked enough for him to develop this… thing he’s been saddled with, even. He’d thought—as long as he kept to his corner of life where he doesn’t have to face them, he’d thought he could pretend his feelings away.

It had never even occurred to him that someone might notice him not looking. That someone might have reason to care why.

He’s fairly certain of the answer when he asks, his stomach heavy with dread, “Speaking from experience?”

Her face goes carefully blank. It’s as good a confirmation as any.

He takes a deep breath, locking the irrational sting of disappointment down and away, where he can pretend it doesn’t exist, either. What does it matter if she is the competition? He had decided not to pursue that line of thought long ago. What does it matter if he’d already lost?

“You’re not obvious, either,” he tries. She smiles, if that rueful little curl can be called one. “He doesn’t know?”

She shrugs, too nonchalant to actually be that. “Or doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. I dropped, like, a lot of hints; no one’s that oblivious.”

Would it be awkward if he kind of sort of maybe wants to give her a hug?

It would, wouldn’t it.

What even is his life.

“Anyway,” she sighs, glancing at her watch. “Time to leave. Vidic’s class.”

Ugh. That he doesn’t envy her for. “Good luck,” he offers, reaching for the cup again—a bit sorry to have taken it from her, now.

She makes a face. “Thanks.” She drops her spoon on her mostly full tray, Rebecca’s abandoned fork with it. “By the way, it’s his birthday next Saturday. We’re having a party at our place; you should come.”

He almost chokes on the next sip, saved by a stray half second. “Me?”

She raises a brow, a perfectly arched duh.

His brain stutters. Why does she—why would she want him there, if she knows? If she—

It makes no sense.

Lucy is still seated across from him, calmly waiting him out like there’s nothing odd to this. Just two friends making casual weekend plans.

Not all that sure it’s not the exhaustion fucking with him, he licks his lips. “So you’re fine with…”

“That you’re on the same boat?” She shrugs again, zipping up her jacket. “We’re in love with the same person. Friendships have been built on less common ground.”

Huh.

Digging into her bag, she comes up with a blue marker, reaching for the other cup. “My number,” she says as she writes on the sleeve and puts it back, written part facing him—all neat, efficient lines, because of course. “Let me know if you make up your mind.”

He nods blankly, for lack of a better response. She smiles, standing up with her tray.

She’s already halfway to the door when he remembers: “I’ll bring the notes!”

She winks at him over her shoulder, fixes her bag and disappears into the crowd.

#Bad Things Happen Bingo #Assassin's Creed #Shaun Hastings #Lucy Stillman #Rebecca Crane #Cai does words #finished fics #glass houses #I did it folks #I finished this before 2019 ended #this was a trip #excuse me while I lie down and die now #hopefully Tumblr won't fuck with my formatting again

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celestica-1988 · 5 years

Text

Shooting Stars

Desclaimer: MGK!TommyLee x Female Reader

Sometimes luck had the shape of a tall man with fluffy black hair and a lot of make-up.

You just moved in LA, but you were considering came back to your old dear town in Maine because you can’t stand the heat, the fire on the hills and all the weird people you met.

You worked in a bar at your hometown, you worked in a bar now. The difference was that there you know all the people: fishers, old people, the mayor, the doctor, the chief.

You know what they wanted and it was safe healthy food, here you kept pouring alcohol to already drunk people.

What was the goal of a life like this?

Saying to the school mates you kept in contact with that you live in the city of angels?

Fuck that bullshit.

“Hey, Angie.

I’m gonna smoke a cig, are you gonna cover me?”

“Yea, but be careful, small town girl.” You nodded and left, you wanted to smash Angie’s head on the counter since the first time you met her, she was a pure Los Angeles girl and she didn’t miss any chance to remind it to you.

You went out on the back door and lighted up your cigarette.

“Hey, can you give me your lighter?”

You looked at the boy and handed him the piece at a loss of words: he was the most beautiful boy you saw in your life.

“Hey, what’s your name? Mine is Tommy. Tommy Lee.” He kept moving, he must be one of those people always full of energy.

“Y/N.” “You aren’t from here, are you?”

“I’m from Maine, how do you understand? It’s written all over my face?” “The accent is not from California.” He said simply.

“But it could be cool have “Maine” tattooed in your forehead.”

You laughed.

“You’re funny.” “I’m in a band, I must be cool in my own way.” “Really? What band?”

“Mötley Crüe.” Something rang your bell.

“You played at the Whisky a Go Go last Saturday, but I was too far away from the stage and I only saw the singer because he was blonde.” “That’s a shame. When you finish your turn I’m gonna make you meet everyone and maybe I ask you for a date.”

You laughed again, it was months you stopped laugh.

“You run a lot, Tommy boy, but, ok. Find me in front of the bar I work and don’t be late.

Now I gotta go or my mate is gonna kill me.”

You threw away the cigarette and come back inside.

You didn’t think that he could remember his promises, but he did.

And that’s how you met the band.

Nikki was almost as charming as him, but there were a deep pain inside him, sometimes you saw it in his eyes when he wasn’t busy with girls and drugs. Vince was the most flirty and egocentric person you knew.

Despite the fact you came in the apartment with Tommy he tried to hit on you, till the drummer showed him his fist. And you caught him checking his image in the mirror more than one time.

And then there was Mick. He was older than the other guys and seemed the type he always complained about something but in a cool way.

“Oh, God. Tommy you brought at home another fucking teenager.”

You gave him a cold look.

“Hey, old man.

When I was in my own hometown I dealt with drunk piss men drunk bigger than you. And with dealt I mean I kicked them in the ass, so even if I’m just a fucking teenager don’t underestimate me.”

You said calmly, Mick looked at you.

“Hey, drummer! I like this one!”

And so you became friends with everyone and your moving to Los Angeles seemed to have some kind of sense.

………………………………………………………………………..

Lately you and the guys took the habit to meet at your house.

The Crüe home was always a mess and you were okay with them making stupid shit in your living room, but you put a restriction. The only drug permitted in your house was weed, you don’t like saw people blow cocaine or shoot heroin in their veins.

The boys were not that happy but they accepted it.

Right now you were laying on the sofa in the arms of Tommy, that kissed your neck occasionally, you both were smoking a joint. Mick was sipping his usual vodka while Nikki and Vince were rolling other weeds.

“It’s relaxing, isn’t it?” You murmured happily.

Nick snorted, it was crystal clear he wanted at least some cocaine.

“One of my coworkers is Italian.”

“Girl?” Asked Vinnie.

“Yes.”

“Pretty?” “Pretty and engaged, her boyfriend is like a walking wardrobe. He would kill you if you try to hit his girl.”

“Fuck.” They all laugh.

“Go on, kid and ignore this animal.”

“Thank you, Mick.” “You are welcome, Vince.”

When they all stopped teasing Vince you kept your story.

“She told me then the 10th of August in Italy there’s a tradition. You watched shooting star and made a wish upon them, but you don’t have to say it loud or to someone or it didn’t come true.” “That’s cool, baby. What day is today?” “10th of august.” Answered Mick.

“Let’s go into the desert and watched the shooting stars!”

Screamed Tommy.

He became easily excited even over small things and you loved him for that.

“I’ll pass. I want some coke.”

Nikki got up, greeted everyone and left the house.

“Vinnie?”

“I prefer a girl to the desert”

And he went away.

“Mick.” “My back is killing me so I pass and also you two should give up.”

“Why?” “Do you know what there is in the desert?”

“Uhm, sand and cactus?” Tommy answer was uncertain.

“Snakes, scorpions and other poisonous things.

But if you wanna die young, go and see the stars, my friends.” Mick left the house, you looked at Tommy.

“Is it true?”

“Why do you ask to me?”

“Because you grow up here so you should know.” “I don’t know, Y/N.” You were too stoned to listen to the voice in your head that told you to stay at home.

“Oh, who cares! Let’s go!” You took your car’s keys and grab Tommy hands.

“That’s why I love, Y/N. Let’s go to adventure!!!”

You stumbled out from house, closed it in some ways and then jumped in the car.

You were ready for big adventures, like the ones you saw in the movies.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

There were no one in the desert.

You stopped the car in a stopping place, the headlights lighted up a big ass cactus and nothing else, before got out you took a torch. There were two blankets in the hood, you grabbed them and watched around.

“We can’t put the blanket here, Mick is right. It could be dangerous.” “So?” “Lemme thing, Tommy.” You looked again the big cactus.

“Let’s go on the top of the car, we should be safer.”

“Agree.” You jumped on the hood and with some help from Tommy you reached the top and spread the blanket, you and him laying soon on it. Tommy started to kiss passionately, but you didn’t feel comfortable, so you gently put your hands on his chest.

“No sex here, Tommy.” His look was confused, you never said no to him, even in the weirdest places.

“Why, baby?” He used his puppy eyes, but you didn’t fall for them.

“If we won’t be careful we may fell off from the top.”

Tommy looked at dark that surrounded the car.

“What if a snake bite my dick?

Or a scorpion goes up to my ass?” You sighed.

“Shut up, Tommy and just watched the stars.”

“Okaaaay, Y/N.” You started to watch the stars, pointed the shooting ones and telling each other’s the stupidest things, like childish fears and embarrassing moments of your lives.

Tommy had ton of shit to tell and you wondered how he survived to his current age, he was the kind of person that if saw a lion instead of run away run to look in its mouth.

You were just a girl from a small place, you hadn’t much to tell, but that wasn’t a problem: your boyfriend talk so much that covered your silence.

Slowly, after wishes and stories you felt asleep in his arms.

……………………………………………………………………………..

When you woke up it was cold frozen, like in some mornings in Maine.

Tommy was still asleep, you checked the hood and the rest of the car. There were a thin layer of sand and, on this, signs of things that slither and have a lot of paws: snakes and scorpions.

You woke up Tom and you carefully checked around the car: nobody.

At the other side of the street there were some remains of work in progress, so you took a long bar.

“What are you doing with that?” Tommy was half asleep.

“If some of the beasts around here decided to make a home in my car I’m gonna kill them.” You opened all the car doors and the hood, you checked every inch of the car.

“Ok, it’s safe. Let’s go.” You and Tommy jumped in the car.

You both watched each other’s in the eyes.

“Next time we’ll listen Mick, ok?” “You said it right.” “Yes.” Then you burst in laugh.

Regardless the danger of the beasts it has been a fun night and you hope just the one of a lot to share with Tommy.

Just not in the desert.

You laughed again

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wordsturnintostories · 5 years

Text

show me your rosettes, baby (g)

summary: The world tour is over and the Bangtan Boys finally get their well-deserved break. When Namjoon suddenly can’t find Jimin anywhere, things take an unexpected and pretty unbelievable turn. “Kim Namjoon!” “Hyung. How common is it for people to turn into cats?” word count: 1.6k note: hmmm i can't just leave you guys without at least giving you a short treat, can I? this is for you, @taeshuworld... i hope it will all get better soon. i know this won't help much but maybe it can give your heart some comfort ✨

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

It’s during the third day that Namjoon begrudgingly makes three mind-blowing discoveries. Firstly, he really needs to keep a better tab on his friends (aka he’s not a perceptive friend at all outside of Bangtan), secondly, Jimin really has no idea what they are saying to him and thirdly, he realizes that he can’t lie to save his life. (He should really work on a good way of introducing this Jimin to the others - he can’t lie about this.) But then again, it’s not like Namjoon lies to the members often, let alone enough to get some practice in. (But the thought of the cheeky brat called Taehyung that always plays along with his lies does annoy him. The younger always acts so gullible and innocent, never giving off any vibes of treason with those big brown puppy eyes. The nerve!)

The day starts rosy. Hues of red and lilac mix with faded blue in a slow, heavenly progression, calling for a mellow day in Korea’s capital. Namjoon enjoys it, takes a few photos of Seoul’s skyline that elegantly poses in front of the impressive canvas. His own lyrics travel through his mind, reminding him of the shifting image the metropolis takes in his mind, being so different than what he remembers from his first days with the members.

When he looks down through the window, there’s nothing he hasn’t seen before - the bustling of too many humans on too small sidewalks, pressed towards the high buildings by the loud traffic that separates them from the other side. Almost everyone chooses a fast walking pace in this part of Gangnam, born with a destination and stepping ahead with bold steps and expensive clothes.

Locking these images away as precious memories, Namjoon turns around, watching with golden anticipation how the first rays of sun slowly reach out to create a sight that he has never seen before. A baby leopard’s body softly rises and falls with every breath, nestled into the curving white sheets of the rapper’s bed. Thanks to the visiting sun’s light, the fur glows in a warm golden tone even through the dark spots almost make up all of the cub’s plushy baby pelt. He looks like a tiny glowing ball of fur. It’s a sight, truly a sight worth seeing every day, Namjoon thinks and takes a few nice pictures of his little dongsaeng. Pictures even Taehyung would frame and hang on his walls, right next to his thousand-dollar paintings.

At the moment, everything is quiet and Namjoon even hears his own heart rumbling its own chill melody, riding the soft indie playlist vibe. The only thing that makes him feel even better in this beautiful room with the big windows that let him see even Namsan Mountain dipped in the glorious sunrise is the feel of Jimin under his fingers.

At first, Namjoon is hesitant to even sit back on the bed. It would be a shame to wake my little dongsaeng up, he thinks, he’s sleeping so peacefully. But then a strange yet not unfamiliar sense of loneliness, of reclusion wraps around him in this early hour, struts in before he can close the door and he needs to feel another warm body close to himself. To his relief, Jimin doesn’t protest when he is slowly lifted against Namjoon’s t-shirt-clad chest. His little paws simply knead the firm underground and he finds a new way to curl up, not able to hold himself on his feet with the morning stuck inside his bones. He slightly tips over to the side and into Namjoon’s open hand.

It’s pleasant to have him here like this, Namjoon thinks, even if we don’t know what’s happening. Maybe Yoongi was right and this is a blessing rather than a curse. Until it ends, we’ll just cuddle and play. It sounds like a good plan in Namjoon’s mind and it’s enough to push away the bitter feelings that come with being an ever-recognizable idol who can’t even step in front of his own door without precautions.

Jimin doesn’t seem to sense his inner struggle, just comfortably nuzzles his snout into the rapper’s throat and falls asleep with his tail and legs slightly twitching against Namjoon’s palm. He must be dreaming. How adorable. The small movements remind him of Rapmon and with a longing sigh, he tells himself to pick her up later. When Jimin dreamily darts out to lick Namjoon’s jaw, he wonders whether Jimin and Rapmon would like each other. Whether the dog would recognize that this is Jimin, who she has played with many times before (even she can’t resist Jimin’s charms).

Namjoon’s soul feels light with the sun falling in gently and Jimin lathering him in kitty affection at the same time. He can only hope that Rapmon likes sharing.

Breakfast goes… okay. It’s not difficult to get Jimin to munch happily on meat. It’s just that he’s so easily distracted (and by the smallest things, really) that Namjoon has to catch him from rolling off the table twice and after relocating to the floor, retrieves Jimin from underneath the sofa, not once, not twice, but four times. There is just one incredibly bold (and lucky) ladybug inside the apartment with them and there seems to be no other explanation; this one must be part of the Resistance because even when Namjoon carries it outside, it just comes back and continues crawling over any given surface. Namjoon notes with a discouraged sigh that all his parenting methods and tactics are useless with his dongsaeng now.

The first time Jimin catches it in his mouth Namjoon has all the mind to let him have this victory and get him back to breakfast (Jimin’s stalked after the bug for five minutes, looking disheveled and dirty as he’s collected every single cloud of dust from behind the bookshelves and Namjoon is not koniophobic in any way, but he simply doesn’t have the nerve to wash Jimin ten times a day).

The second time the dancer catches the red little thing in his mouth (yeah, because it escaped the first time, good job Jimin), Namjoon looks to heaven while he waits for the crunch. It doesn’t come. Instead, he has to deal with a regretful-looking cub that puts its paws on his thighs and meows some hardly understandable pleas at him while opening its mouth. He has no idea what it means but he spots the wet little bug and digs it out. The second it’s out in the open, Jimin excitedly paws at it, effectively tossing it through the room and sprinting after it before Namjoon can complain or even remember that he wanted his dongsaeng to eat this nutritious breakfast that required twenty minutes (!) of passionate research. But the kitty plays and just when the hyung rises to pick up the happy-go-lucky cub, the doorbell rings.

Shit. A shock flows through Namjoon’s body without him even knowing who this is going to be. It could be Yoongi, who has forgotten something in his room (unlikely, he’s got all one could need to survive a zombie apocalypse in that studio of his), or any other member who took a few trains too early to surprise the leader with a premature return (just as unlikely, they will all spend as much time with their families as possible). Other than that, there is a slight possibility that staff is at the door, sent by management with some new information about their upcoming tour or schedule changes or maybe a new sponsoring deal. Shit, it might be staff. I haven’t checked my mails or my schedule since we came home. Who else can get into the building?

There’s just a slight issue that comes with the reassuring knowledge that this is staff (staff is on very good terms with all the members). Staff can’t see Jimin like this. Namjoon moves fast, grabs a complaining but weak cub with a thrashing tail and a little ladybug provocatively crawling over his face. For a lack of good hiding places and time, the rapper places the kitty in a drawer in the next room. Best solution, he thinks, (pats his own shoulder for his problem-solving skills) and rushes towards the door when the bell rings for the third time.

Trying to present himself as a collected, calm human being with no leopard cubs hidden in his apartment’s drawers, Namjoon remembers his stage breathing exercises, takes a really deep breath (and a second one, for good measure) and moves a hand through his hair. A soft meow that sounds like a confused question sounds in the distance and he hopes he can either get this business done outside the apartment or that whoever is out there won’t be able to pick up Jimin’s vocalizations. (He is aware that separating the cub from the only parental figure in his life so spontaneously can’t be good, but he shoos that gut feeling away in hopes of good luck.) The bad feeling is accompanied with a crashing sound in the distance that makes Namjoon’s head whip around so hard he might get neck strains later. The little leopard, undeterred by his fall and crash, runs to the door immediately.

“Oh God, no, Jimin-ah,” Namjoon pants in surprise and tries to grab the little one who is just way too curious for his own good. Those blue eyes glow with babylike innocence and Namjoon has to hold on to the wall to not fall for the younger’s charms. No, he wants to say sternly, but something tells him the little leopard doesn’t understand the concept of… things… yet. So all he can do before the doorbell rings a fourth time is to kinda push Jimin away gently and ignore the playful mewl and the sharp claws digging into his big toe. That should occupy him enough, Namjoon hopes and grabs the door handle.

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

tags: @xmagicxshopx, @taeshuworld, @justanemptydream, @hoodmeup, @gingerpeachtae

#park jimin #jimin #bts #bangtan #bts fanfic #smyrbg #show me your rosettes baby (g)#yay #part three #wordsturnintostories #oct18 #what do you think?#who is behind the door?#cute jimin #cute namjoon #kim namjoon #rm #wow

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shy-magpie · 5 years

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RQG 126

We lost two people in the literal sense, and the remaining team are out numbered 2 to 1 by former hostages who need to be seen to.

Wow poor Bryn sounds down, and Helen doesn't sound much better. I think that was fake crying but I don't think I ever heard him so low energy Alex! Neither deserved it Bryn: "You monster! I don't respect your craft" Einstein set up the room properly to receive them? Really impressively well. Did he have help? Azu jumps in with the sensible questions Alex shouldn't have set himself up, if he wanted sympathy today of all days Oh Veseek and Bi Ming looking for Sasha and Grizzop Helen yells at Alex for us Hamid is hugging Veseek and trying to reassure him Year and a half?! !WHAT!! -both Hamid & Azu Hamid is having an attack, which is a fair reaction Well that goes pretty far to explain how he got things set up Hamid is jumping right into how we fix this, Einstein is trying to gently tell him its not fixable Everyone is underground? What happened in the rest of the world? There's Azu to get things on track Einstein is trying to calm things down ~ Oh thank Artemis he isn't making us wait to find out what happened with Sasha and Grizzop. I saw the all too short cast list and thought we would have to wait until the side quest to find out! Alex barely has his scene description out before Bryn calls him "the worst, the actual worst" Helen is once again speaking for all of us Same room different time? Oh I have never been happier to hear Grizzop's voice! They are alive to take damage so I really don't care Ben don't remind him he needs to be creative in punishing you Yeah Sasha's gutter french is not going to cut it So did anyone notice them dropping into the room and will that cause problems? Ah too crowded for people to notice? "Only a 19" Sasha takes her skills for granted Grizzop would notch an arrow first thing even before getting off the floor OK Alex has gone 3rd person again so I will cut him a little slack since it shows he is only pretending to be a bond villain If we had to have 2 of the team in Ancient Rome, then there are no two I trust to adapt, survive, and cover each other's backs. Also my issues are showing but it sounds like Eldarian was left in the stone circle rather than showing up with them, which is frankly a relief even if she did have some useful skills. OK so they did see Sasha and are alarmed at Grizzop Racist Romans, this is why they get smote Good Grizzop checks with Sasha on how they want to play this Fair Grizzop, (anyone grabs him, he'll shoot) That's how you make sure the enemy stays down So they barely set foot in town before making an enemy of the rich, very in character Human only town, very quickly seeing the dragon's point in destroying the place Please can I have Sasha wrapping Grizzop in her cloak and passing him off as her child? Maybe carrying him like a tired toddler? Thank you, Alex ~ Einstein better talk over this meal. Oh he is, spill! Yeah yeah riots, possible possession, Thank you Azu, foreign occupation by who? OK whatever is possessing people is now in charge Down a(nother) Meritocrat and the rest are dithering. Does that make the possessed 9/10ths of the law? I could really learn to hate the Acast bells Ok so the weather thing isn't under their control Good questions Is Alex drawing to explain something on the audio only medium? Einstein had 18 months with nothing to do but prepare and worry, of course he has everything Why did I doubt Alex, of course this is really helpful Blue Veins, aren't curable, aren't obvious until later stages, paladins are vulnerable I refuse to be grateful to the Mars lot, even if they are helping for now Cairo is safe, Hamid's family is okay Poor Bi Ming is babbling worried, but answers are scarce So the main plot has been entirely abandoned or what? That doesn't feel like an Alex thing Wilde went off grid I am so proud of Einstein, he did such a great job Azu has to fill Hamid and the rest in on how we lost the other 3, my heart ~ Sasha is trying to wrap her mind around this So Artemis is here? They predate the Roman gods, after all Sasha to Grizzop: you'll just have to be my weird child Wow that's some complicated feelings as Grizzop explains about Eldarian Sasha is reduced to staring at the wall OK its canon, they beat Hades Grizzop would think that balances the new set of emotional baggage Sasha bounces back a little as she mentions the locals are easy to rob Oh Grizzop "I'll kill every single one of them" Sasha, honey you'll be ok, they'll be ok ~ Charming are we going to have the Salahs on our hands again or can we just leave them in jail? Yeah Veseek is close enough to Grizzop to be a hostage, so it tracks he would be game for vengeance Ed sweety, you don't have to fix it all, but are so welcome to join Poor Ishak, kid is holding up but that is in many ways more worrying than if he broke down. Not touching the twin part So what would Einstein consider a survival pack? Nice, our professor has hidden depths Hamid re:The mobile stones "they rock" We have a plan! ~ So does the paladin thing outweigh the goblin thing? Or is my boy about to get shot? Love it, you can spot the temple of Artemis by the arrow slits Cicero? Is a wanted man? Sasha uses her sign language to play charades with the Artemis guy. Lydia makes her case for it well. Of course the episode ends with an explosion and screaming Lydia sounds betrayed that this is the end of the recording session so she doesn't get to know what it was either. Thank you for that ending speech, Bryn. Might be more effective if you didn't sound so fond. Guess who stabs Cesar? I adore Lydia PS: Grizzop was right to tell Sasha what Eldarian did as soon as possible; letting her draw her own conclusions only to yank the rug out from under her latter would be worse. This does not change who Eldarian was. People like Eldarian often think that even their worst abuses are acts of love, even after being shown the harm it does their charges. Saying "this is for your own good" before you kick a puppy doesn't make you less of a puppy kicker. A grand act of self sacrifice appeals to the need to control the narrative.

#Rusty Quill Gaming #long post #RQG spoilers #RQG season 3 #live blog thingy #RQG 126

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ievenranthisfar · 5 years

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Going Really Big At The Bigfoot 200

I’m only 165 miles in. Still more than 40 to go. Pain shoots up through the bottoms of my feet. Every step feels like the trail is covered in broken glass, but it’s just the early stages of trench foot setting into my waterlogged soles. For the last half hour I’ve been practicing meditative breathing—in throoough the nooose, outttt throooough the nooose—just to take my mind off the shudders of pain rippling through my body.

I might hyperventilate.

I’m so deep in the pain cave, I’m not sure where the entrance was. And it’s very, very dark in here.

Just then, a realization washes over my body—a glimmer of hope. I pick my head up and croak at my pacer, “Hey Marc, I just had a pleasant thought.” “What’s that?” “At least I never have to run Badwater now.”

Who needs some sissy 135-mile race when you can go 206.5 instead, right?

Of Course

My obsession with the Bigfoot 200 started the moment I crossed the finish line at Western States in 2016. States is the granddaddy of 100-milers, after all, and I had just executed a nearly flawless race. It felt like the culmination of something. No 100 will ever come easy, but it felt like I had figured them out. I needed something that scared me again.

And that’s how, one Friday morning in August, I find myself standing at a starting line in the middle of a remote section of the Cascade Mountains in Washington state. My mind is remarkably calm. There’s nothing to be nervous about; who can predict what’s going to come over the next 206.5 miles and 86,000 feet of elevation gain? I just have to let it happen at me. And it’s about to.

What it takes to run 200 miles apparently.

All smiles... at check-in. (Howie Stern)

My amazing (and still fresh-smelling) crew: Peter, Erin, Marc, and one big ole puppy. (Peter Dawson)

Laughing or crying? Hard to tell. (Howie Stern)

A whole bunch of idiots. (Howie Stern)

3!... 2!... 1!... Go!

A mass of 160-something bodies lurch off the starting line. Within 50 feet, I find myself out front already. Someone’s gotta win. Why not me? I say to myself, a mantra I adopted many years ago.

Leading already? (Howie Stern)

youtube

The first miles are generally easy. Soft, dusty trails under a tunnel of pines. Three of us—me, Ryan and Ben—pull out front on our own, chatting intermittently with the standard ultrarunning small talk.

As we break out of the trees and into the volcanic rock, Ryan pulls away. Run your own race, I remind myself. There’s about 200 miles left of it…

We’re on the south side of Mount St Helens, the volcano which famously blew in 1980, instantly ripping apart hundreds of square miles in every direction. Our route will take us through the barren blast zone where little has managed to survive.

Thar she blows.

As we gain elevation, we enter the field of volcanic boulders. Bubbly, black and sharp, the rocks are a jumbled mess, and I hop my way from one to another, following large wooden poles that define the route. It’s fun, and I nearly slip and slice my entire body open only twice. I’m wearing my trusty New Balance Summit Unknowns. They’re too minimal to go the full distance, but they’re perfect for the nimble scampering I need to do here. My poor gaiters are not as lucky, however. The sharp rock makes quick work of the cords that wrap under my shoes, and soon they gaiters are flapping freely around my ankles, letting in all the dirt they want. I chuckle to myself, Of course.

I make it to the first aid station, Blue Lake (mile 12.2), feeling good, aside from a couple of bee stings I’ve already acquired because, Of course. I fill all four of my bottles, dump ice into my ice bandana and shovel some watermelon and grapes down my gullet. The next section is going to be a long one. More than 18 miles in the open sun.

I’ve caught Ryan, but he takes off so I hurry to follow him. Run your own race, I try to remind myself.

The trail winds us in and out of pockets of forest, mixed with sections of skeleton trees. They stand bare and bleached in the sun—a whole forest of death. Seems like a good sign.

When the trail opens up again, I can see that we’re going to descend down to a big river. I pick up some speed, slaloming down the rutted trail and enjoying the ride.

Suddenly, WHAP!

It all happens so fast I don’t even understand. All I know is that I’m flat on the ground saying the word, “Oof.” I pick up my poles, and one of them dangles in the air like a snapped crab leg. Of course I snapped a pole 15 miles into a 200-mile race. Of course.

Embarrassed but unhurt, I take off again. The broken pole whips around with every bounce. It’s annoying. Finally, I devise a system where I tuck it under one arm while I use the good pole in the other hand. For a brief moment, I feel like Killian at last year’s Hardrock. Except he dislocated his entire shoulder, and you just snapped a pole, I hear myself say. Right.

The course moves clockwise up and around the volcano, and soon I break into blast zone. Vast, desolate, gray and dusty, there’s little life here and even less water. But despite the direct assault by the sun, I’m moving well and feeling good.

Of course I broke a pole 15 miles in. (Scott Rokis)

Things are strange out here. I discover an insect I name the Sprinkler Bug because, well, I that’s what I thought it literally was at first. It chirps just like those lawn sprinklers that spin slowly and then come back fast. Tct, tct, tct, tct, tct, tctctctctctct! At another point, we climb switchbacks up a massive ridge of soft gray dust. I’ve never been to the Moon, but now I don’t need to.

I’m rationing water now. I still have miles to go before the aid station, but my 80 oz is running low. The race directions said something about a water source at mile 16 of the section; I’m just praying I’m close.

A half mile later, I hear something glorious: water. Coming around a curve, I spy a grove of plant life bursting from the rocks. I break through it to see a tumbling waterfall. “Oh-ho yeah!” I exclaim involuntarily and out loud. I pull out my Katadyn filter bottle and greedily begin guzzling water. It’s so clear and cold I nearly get brain freeze. It’s a proper oasis in the middle of a desert.

After dunking my hat and bandana in the glacier-fed water, I bound off with new life. Eventually, the trail hits a dusty fire road, and I begin to climb up on my approach to the Windy Ridge aid station (mile 30.3).

Pole still broken. Because of couse. (Howie Stern)

“Can anyone do some surgery on a trekking pole for me?” I ask as I blow in waving my janky broken pole around in the air. No one seems to want to really be responsible for this fool’s errand, but eventually someone finds some duct tape and gets to work. I know there’s no way they’re going to be able to make it functional; it’s fully snapped in one place and smashed in another. But seeing as I have no crew for another 10 miles, I just don’t want it whipping around anymore.

The duct tape job is so bad that it’s funny. The poor volunteer has created a splint from a spare—but not straight—stick which is then wrapped in black duct tape a few dozen time. The effect is that my pole has grown a malignant tumor. But it’ll do the job. I shove a few potato chips in my mouth, thank the volunteers for their help and bound off.

The Chase

There’s a short out-and-back to get to the Wind Ridge, and by the time I complete it, I come to a confusing sign directing 200-milers to turn right. But there’s no right turn, just desert. Hmm. I run a little more until I come upon Ryan. He’s standing in the trail waiting for me. “I guess we go this way?” he points to the trail we’re on. It’s not a full right turn like the sign suggested, more of a very gentle branch. But we decide it must be right and take off together.

Ryan and I share the next set of miles together, picking up our standard ultrarunner chatter again. We cross washes, bushwhack through dense underbrush and just start to bake in the sun a little. Turns out he’s doing the Triple Crown (Bigfoot 200, Tahoe 200 four weeks later and Moab 240 three weeks after that). Now I’m really impressed but also a hair confused why he’s running out front like that. No mind, we push on.

The trail eventually begins to climb up as we point towards the observation point and our next aid station at Johnston Ridge, mile 39.9. I start to get a little wild hair and think, Eh, let’s push it. I ramp up my speed and start to leave Ryan. I find that being able to come into aid stations ahead of other people is a huge mental boost, for me and for my crew (which in turn is another boost for me).

The view of Mount St Helens and the blast zone, from Johnston Ridge. (Peter Dawson)

I get into the aid, grab a hunk of watermelon and find my godsend of a crew, Marc, Peter, and Erin, for the first time in 40 miles. “Wow! You look amazing!” they tell me. “I’m having fun.” “You’re blazing out there!”

“I’ve got an assignment for you guys. You think you can do some surgery on this thing?” I hold up my sad, dangling Z-Pole. Everyone stares at it. Yikes. Finally, Marc offers a solution, “Hey, I’ve got a pair of adjustable Lekis. Why don’t you just take them?” He shoves them into my hands. They’re new, pristine, never been used. I feel bad sullying them. But I think it’s about my only option if I want to finish this thing. God bless you, Marc.

I munch some pretzels and we change out my Summit Unknowns for my cushier Hierro v2s. They’re the biggest shoes I’ve ever run in, but I’m crossing my fingers that they’re going to save my legs because #166milestogo.

By the time I’ve switched shoes, figured out the new poles and fixed my fussy SPOT Tracker we’re all required to carry, Ryan has taken off ahead of me. I wave to my crew and the volunteers and go to chase him down.

It’s now late afternoon. The sun is high and the trail exposed. I’m pushing the pace to catch back up with Ryan, and I think to myself, I don’t remember it being this hot a few minutes ago. Maybe I’m pushing too hard.

I’m starting to question myself when I see Ryan a few switchbacks below me. I lock in and start careening downhill. It’s a little surprising how quickly I catch him. He sort of grunts a nice “Hey” at me, and I realize he’s hurting. And with that, I’m gone.

Over the next few miles, bodies of several 100Kers litter the trail. It’s hot, and the distances between aid stations are too long for inexperienced runners. Poor 100Kers.

I saunter into Coldwater Lake aid (mile 46.5) feeling good. Really good. I’ve been looking at my splits, and I’m almost an hour up on course record pace. Did not see that coming.

Getting prepped for the first night already. (Peter Dawson)

“Hi, Peter!” (Peter Dawson)

“Bye, Peter!” (Peter Dawson)

Headlight in pack, I roll out. This section to Norway Pass promises to be one of the hardest—20 miles, more than 5,000 feet of gain, all as the sun sets. But for now, I’m just enjoying myself. The trail follows the length of Coldwater Lake, and the trees give me reprieve from the heat that’s undoubtedly out there in the sun. Life is good.

After what feels like a few miles, I cross a bridge and start heading up switchbacks. Ah, the climbing begins. All along the trail bushes of various wild berries burst open. Huckleberries, blackberries, raspberries, thimbleberries. I pluck their gifts as I go hiking by. Natural trail magic.

Eventually, I top out and find myself high above the landscape below. The sun hangs low in the sky, and the trail snakes its way under ridges and peaks. Up and over a crest and suddenly the whole of Mount St Helens is laid out in the distance. The volcano has her own ring of clouds clinging to her. And in the golden hour, everything glows amber. I’m totally gobsmacked. I turn another corner and suddenly Mt Adams comes into view in the far distance too. My insides ignite with pure joy. It’s hands-down the most spectacular sunset I’ve ever witnessed. And I have it all to myself.

I’m totally alone for miles and miles. Up here. I’m on top of the world. I slow down and breathe it in.

Continuing on, alpine lakes unfold below me, hidden from the rest of the world behind a fortress of peaks. A third of their surfaces are covered in white. For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Then I realize it. They’re massive tree trunks, bleached in the sun. The lakes are covered in them. They must be from the blast, killed off decades ago and left to float on the lakes. I know I’m the only person who will see these tonight, and I feel immensely lucky.

Just then I hear a screech. It’s high and sharp and echoes off the mountains. There’s only one thing it can be. Mountain lion. Oh heeeey.

The sun sets at 8:25, but I’ve always liked to run in twilight so I keep going without my headlamp, seeing how far I can get before absolutely needing it. Turns out I can make it all the way to 9:00. OK, I’ve tempted fate long enough, I say to himself as images of me eating shit in the blackness play in my brain.

Headlamp on, I top out again and seem to be heading downhill. There’s a quick out-and-back to tag the Mt Margaret peak. I’m sure it’s lovely in the daylight. In the dark, it’s mostly just very dark.

I careen downhill, eager to make it to the next aid. Finally, a faint light appears in the valley below. I remember a race report saying that the aid would be visible but still very far away. But after what feels like a few miles, it’s still very far away. Maybe that’s not it? It’s the only light I see out there in the inky night. But is that really it? After what seems like an eternity of “Guess-If-That-Light-Is-The-Aid-Station” I come upon a sign that reads “Norway Pass 1 mile”. Guess it is. And it’s still kinda far away.

Another down in and I come into Norway Pass aid station, mile 65.2. After being alone in the dark for so long, the sudden buzz of activity and light is a little shocking. Someone brings a blanket—it’s getting chilly now—and I request a cheeseburger and Coke.

There’s a boy of about six years old who’s very excited to see me. “I said he was going to be here soon, and then he showed up!” he keeps repeating proudly. “I said he was going to be here soon, and now he’s here! Do you want chili? Coffee?” He flitters around me like an overly excited mosquito.

For a moment, I think of my own one-year-old boy at home, and I’m taken out of the race. Watching this kid bounce around, I think to myself, One day my baby will grow up to be a super-annoying little boy, just like this one.

Into The Heart of Darkness

Burger in belly, I shove off again. The trail out of Norway is in bad disrepair. Bushes obstruct the trail and dead trees lay littered everywhere. At one point, the trail seems to dead-end into pure forest. I stop, feeling it’s wrong, but go ahead and push my way through a mess of pines. After 20 feet of thick bushwhacking, I turn around. I try a different entry point and push through. Another 15 feet and nothing. I turn around again. I try a third time, but nothing. This seems bad. Finally, I turn around and look behind me. There’s a hairpin turn in the trail at about a 350-degree angle. A ribbon sits squarely but invisibly in the middle. Ahh. In my frustrated state, I can’t remember which way I’ve come. Or more importantly, where I’m going. Everything starts to look the same. I pick the right side and start going. But it feels weird to be going uphill. I stop and turn around to try the other direction. I make it a little way down this direction before I see something familiar feeling. Now I’m very confused. Stop. Breathe. Think. I pull out my iPhone and switch it on. We were required to load the race into our Gaia GPS app before the race. Thank God. I look at it. Yep, I’m definitely going the wrong way. Score one for Gaia.

Heading back in the right direction, I start to feel better. The trail improves, and I enjoy some night miles once more.

The trail seems to be crawling with all kinds of thing. I see toads hop away from my feet. Salamanders wriggle under leaves. And bugs of all kind squirm everywhere. I’m not having hallucinations, but my mind starts to play a game where it makes faces out of every leaf or rock I step over. At one point, I look down a see a rock that’s clearly Zombie Barack Obama.

I’m enjoying my time so much that I forget the last time I saw a marking. They’ve been spaced rather far apart, but, Maybe I just haven’t been paying attention? I keep going, suddenly on high alert. Nothing. The trail begins to climb. A lot. For some reason, that doesn’t feel right. My hands are on knees as I’m pushing uphill. Where is the damn marking? I’m starting to panic a little again. But, foolishly, I keep going. The markings HAVE been really far apart, I convince myself, not wanting to admit what I’m fearing.

Stop. Breathe. Think. Common sense finally appears. I stop and pull out Gaia again. I’m off-course. By a lot. Somehow I’m on a parallel trail to the correct trail. (Unless GPS is placing me slightly off, and I’m really on the right trail?) I wonder if I can connect to the right trail if I continue, but that doesn’t seem likely. What if I bushwhack? Dense brush, going fully off-trail, not a good idea, my common sense rebuts. The only option is to turn around. So I do.

It takes me a long time to get back. At least 15 or 20 minutes. I’ve probably added a minimum of two miles to my race by the time I get back to what Gaia tells me is the proper trail. There, I find a three-way intersection. I see flagging uphill, where I came from originally. And then I see a flag pointing down the trail I’ve just backtracked on. Meaning, according to that flag, I was on course. But my Gaia is telling me otherwise. I look off to the only trail I haven’t gone. No flagging, but Gaia says it’s right. I cautiously proceed, wondering what the hell is going on. Confusion mixes with anger with just a dash of annoyance.

A ways down the trail, I finally see it: a flag. Finally. A little farther, another flag. Farther still, another flag. OK, I must be on the right trail. It starts to dawn on me that the flag pointing downhill at the intersection was placed incorrectly—maybe by a bad course-marker? But by then, I’ve already gone too far to turn back and fix it. I’ve already added enough extra miles tonight.

The side effect of the episode is that now I’m super paranoid. Suddenly I can’t trust any marking. Any time I go more than a couple of minutes without seeing a ribbon, I start to freak. The forest suddenly feels a little more sinister.

That’s right when a bird hit me.

It flies right smack-dab into my chest. OK, weird.

A few minutes later, I hear something directly off to the right side of the trail. It sounds big. Like, pretty darn big. But thinking it’s just a deer, I don’t worry, and it seems to disappear. Fifteen seconds later, I hear it again, it’s directly off to the right. Still. It’s paralleling me. I hear it crashing through the underbrush, still precisely off to my right. IS THAT BIGFOOT??? Objectively I know it’s not, but also, I mean, the race is named for him. Now I’m proper freaked. I begin shouting and singing nonsense, hoping Bigfoot hates my voice. He must because I don’t hear him after that.

It begins to rain now. Just a little. But enough to make the trail slick.

I enter a small, narrow canyon with the trail built onto a shelf. Or at least that’s the best I can tell from the beam of the headlamp through the rain.

Suddenly, through the darkness I hear, CRACK!

Holy shit, there’s lightning now??

The thunder sounds as if it struck just a few hundred feet to my right. Then I think, Wait a second. There was thunder but no lightning. That’s weird. Then it dawns on it. That wasn’t lightning; that was a tree falling. OH GREAT. I look up suspiciously. THE ENTIRE FOREST IS READY TO FALL DOWN AND KILL ME. If I was paranoid before, I’m out of my mind now.

Finally, mercifully, I make it to Elk Pass aid at mile 76.3, alive. I immediately start blubbering about the trail marking fiasco. “It’s somewhere near Badger Peak,” I tell the aid station captain. “Oh, I know exactly where that is. Same thing happened last year. Someone vandalized the course.” “Oh man.” “Yeah, these stupid local kids on dirt bikes go out there and switch up the markings. Think it’s funny.” It’s a bit of relief to know that it wasn’t my fault. But also, what the hell?

I sit down to regroup and eat some more real food for the first time in hours. As I do, someone asks if I saw any wildlife out there. “Uh, well, I heard a mountain lion, got hit by a bird and am pretty sure I was being hunted by Bigfoot.” It feels good to have a laugh and know that all that’s in the past.

The good news is that I’m still well up on my splits. The course record feels within reach. I’m going for it. I wave everyone farewell and head out.

But the stress of the night has taken its toll. I feel worked. A cold is slowly materializing in my chest and nostrils, adding to my general feeling of shittiness. Not only that, I’ve been relying on gels between aid station stops for most of this first day, and they don’t seem to be giving me everything I need.

The trail rolls, then climbs. I start to feel a little foggy. It’s now very, very early morning, that magical time when things get weird in a race. Fifteen miles to the next aid and my first pacer. I just have to make it.

Things get colder too. This is not fun anymore. A deeply awful feeling suddenly washes over me. This is impossible. It’s too much.

A terrible idea takes root: I’ve just run 70 miles. I HAVE TO DO THAT TWO MORE TIMES. All that I just did. Again. Twice.

The flame that’s been burning inside me suddenly extinguishes. Poof.

It’s not that I don’t want to finish; I just don’t know how. It’s just not possible.

It’s a black pit. I’m standing at the bottom of the Dawn Wall, staring up, no rope, no clue what to do. That task in front of me does not compute.

This is impossible. It’s just not possible.

It’s the first time I’ve felt like dropping in years and years. But it comes on so suddenly that I feel like I’ve been punching in the gut.

I begin formulating my exit plan. When is it OK to drop? Where can I drop? What will that feel like? How is my crew going to feel? The last question hits me. I realize how shitty it will be if I asked them to take off almost a week of their lives to come out in the middle of nowhere, just to have me drop. I start to feel really bad.

You feel bad for them? What about you?? a voice asserts. Just think of the time and training and preparation and—screw it—MONEY that YOU put into all of this? It’s true. It’d be pretty shitty to just give up this easily.

Plus… the voice winds up for its final knockout punch. There’s a pause.

Yes?... I ask.

You know you’ll just have to come back and run this again if you drop.

Shit. I know it’s right. And I am not about to come back and run this dumb race again. No way.

And with that, I resign myself to finishing. I’m back in.

I top out of the climb and beginning rolling downhill. In the fog—both metaphoric and literal—my legs work at an embarrassingly suboptimal pace. Picking my way down the rutted-out trail, I finally reach the bottom and spill onto a dirt road. I’ve made it to the mile 91.3 aid station, Road 9327

Marc, Erin, and Peter are there. “I need to sleep,” I announce. They hurry me into the back of the rented Suburban. Mercifully, I rip off my dusty shoe and slide into the trunk. “Get me in 15 minutes,” I mutter as they shut the Chevy-branded sarcophagus on me.

I close my eyes, and all I can feel is cold and the ribbed, plastic bed of the truck on my back. I shift left and right. Nothing makes me feel as sleepy as I know I should feel.

I remember advice from my friend Bryce who said he wasted an hour trying to fall asleep last year. I’m determined to not let that happen. After ten minutes of bullshit, I sit up. My caffeinated gels must be working a little too well. I knock on the window and beg to be let out. Oh well.

By the time I’m out, my breakfast is ready. Eggs, bacon, coffee. It’s glorious. I scarf it greedily. It’s amazing. Then it dawns on me: I need to switch to real food. These formulated gels and chews can only do so much for me. If I’m out here for two and a half days, I need good stuff on my stomach. I ask them to whip me up a quesadilla to go.

Day Two Dawns

Reluctantly, I strap my shoes back on. Time to go. At least I have Marc with me now. We say goodbye and amble down the mountain farther. The morning light filters through fog, and things feel a little better. We chat and catch up. It’s nice to share miles with someone again.

Meanwhile, back in the crew car... #vanlife (Erin Gardner Dawnson)

Marc has downloaded the course onto to his InReach. After a bit, he announces, “OK, I think we have this climb and then we head down to the aid.” We climb for a while longer. At one point, in the total middle of nowhere, we come across some senior campers out for a morning stroll. “You guys out for a running? Doing the one-mile loop?” We just stare at them, unsure how to answer. “No, we’re not,” is the only appropriate answer that comes out.

Marc checks his GPS again. “I think it’s just this climb again.” This climb seems to have been going on forever. And then it keeps going even more. And more. It’s getting steeper too. I have zero recollection of reading about a monster climb here in any course description. “Dude. What the fuck.” This thing does not end. I look up and only see more climbing. We keep telling ourselves that it must top out at the next bend. But every time we hit a turn, we look straight up another half-mile of trail. The cursing becomes more frequent and emphatic. Marc keeps promising that we must almost be there, but every time, I wind up heartbroken. Things start to feel impossible again. At some point, I cross the 100-mile mark without fanfare; I don’t even notice until much later. One hundred miles in 25ish hours. Fast for a 200. But a sub-24 had a nice ring to it.

After what seems like five times too long, we reach the top of Spencer Butte. (Or Spence Butt, as I’ve obviously named it.) Rather unceremoniously, we drop off the top and down towards the aid. It’s a long descent, but not nearly as long as the climb. Ragged, we pop out onto a paved road and the aid. Mile 102.5.

I sit, regroup myself a bit, eat some more food and then off we go. Marc and I patter down the paved road. In the sunlight, I don’t feel terrible, but I don’t feel good either. After two miles, we see the turn-off, a small foot trail that seems to drop precipitously off the side of the mountain.

“Is this even a trail?” Marc wonders aloud. We switchback down a very steep descent, covered with leaves. It’s a screamer. “I think the last time anyone used this trail was last year’s race,” Marc says. “Agreed.” But it feels good to be running again.

Eventually, we bottom out and snake our way towards the Lewis River. And civilization. We cross a road. We start to see cars, hear people, catch tents. After spending the last day in the backcountry, the sudden assault of other human beings is a shock to my system. People who have no idea what I’ve been through or what I still have left to do. Just people merrymaking and lazily cooking eggs over campfire and walking down to the river to get a glimpse. Their presence energizes me a little. After all, people equal an aid station nearby, right?

Marc and I hit a well-trodden path that parallels the river, running upstream. The water looks crisp. I fumble to get some orange-flavored Honey Stinger chews into me.

We must be getting close, I think to myself. Then I say it out loud. “We must be getting close, right?” Marc checks his InReach. “We have a little ways to go.” “OK.” We wind inland some, away from the water. Surely we’re headed into the aid. I ask Marc again, but he only deflects and tells me we have a few more miles to go. My optimism starts to sour. Somehow I’ve conflated the mileage of different aid stations in my head. I’m confused. The trail continues to roll. We head along some cliffs, hear a waterfall, pass more day-hikers. I grunt to acknowledge them. In my head I imagine myself to be a small slobbering hedgehog of a creature. It’s probably funnier in my head than it actually is.

Finally, after what feels more eternal than the previous eternity, we see a sign telling us that the Lewis River aid station (mile 112.1) is a few hundred feet away. There’s a series of signs, a Caribbean theme I think. I recognize a Jimmy Buffett quote, I think.

I throw myself into the folding chair. I made it. Well, I made it to halfway-to-making-it. At least I’m still in the lead, I assume, by a considerable bit. Nevertheless, I want to get out there quickly. Or, rather, I want to want to get out there quickly. It feels good to sit. It’s morning, and I’m eating chili. I change shirts. We wash my feet. I have a long debate with Peter and Erin about whether to change out my shoes to the next half-size up for swelling but ultimately decided against it. Then, I brush my teeth. Oh God. It feels so good. I’d been looking forward to that for about 100 miles now.

I’m patched together as best I can. I feel like spare parts, but at least I’m still well in the lead. With a wave, I amble out of the aid station, back down the hill and past the possible-Jimmy-Buffett quote signs, with Peter now in tow. Just as we near the turnoff to get back on route, a thick bear of a dude comes flying up the trail towards me. He flashes a smile and says hi. I’m dumbfounded.

We turn onto the trail, and then I turn to Peter. “That can’t be another runner… right?” “I don’t think so, man…” “I mean… I don’t think that was one, right?” I get a little more uneasy.

We drop down by Quartz Creek and begin following a trail that’s only slightly better than a game trail. At times, the trail turns and shoots straight up the hillside, leaving us clawing our way up, hands on knees. Then it inexplicably turns down and drops again. Then up and down and up and down, without purpose. It's beginning to feel a little maddening. Then again, I realize, it’s sort of a metaphor for this whole thing, isn’t it?

Rain begins to fall in spits. It cuts the air pleasantly, and I allow myself to enjoy it. But after a few minutes, I realize I’m starting to get soaked. No bueno. I stop to slip on my rain shell.

A few minutes later, we hear a sound over our shoulder. Within a minute, that same bear of a guy we saw coming up to Lewis River aid, goes shooting past us. “Nice job, guys!” he hollers as he sails off. Gut punch. He really was a runner after all—Wes Ritner, I learn later. Well, there goes that. I’m sad but mostly just jealous of how well he’s moving. Within two minutes he’s out of sight.

The rain subsides, and we keep up-and-downing our way along the creek. Finally, we get to a crossing point, likely the last water for another 15 miles. Peter and I stop on a jumble of rocks to filter water into our bottles. I look around at the forest, the creek, the two of us sitting there, and it feels just really pleasant. If I wasn’t 118 miles deep into a race, we could just be two friends out a little adventure hike. I savor the moment. The weight of leading the race has slid off my shoulders finally. Now I just want to finish.

We drink our fill, top off bottles and then press on. Several minutes later, as we’re picking our way through thick, razor-like thorn bushes, we hear a crashing sound behind us. It’s Ryan from before. And he’s flying too. He says a quick hello, asks if I’m OK—Geez, do I look that bad? —and then shoots off uphill.

The next few hours feel like more wandering. We claw our way uphill on the “trail” only to drop back down again moments later. It feels pointless, and I become angry with whoever designed this stupid, stupid trail.

Soft rain falls off and on, and I foolishly feel grateful for the change of pace. But it starts to chill as we make our way up to some road that’s supposed to materialize yet never does.

Pretty par for the race course. (Peter Dawson)

I’m starting to feel truly, deeply exhausted. I want proper sleep. “I’m going to lay down to sleep once the sun goes down,” I announce to Peter. I check my watch. It’s 6:28. Sundown is at 8:00. I can’t wait till 8:00.

We finally reach the dirt road high up on a ridge. It’s a mess. A combo of rains and ATVs have torn it up, in that annoying way that ATV tear things up. But I’m happy to be making progress at least. The late summer sun shines through the wet trees, bathing us in golden light. I’m starting to stumble a bit.

I keep checking my watch. 7:41. 7:46. 7:52. 7:55. 7:57. Finally, it’s 8:00. I can officially sleep, based on my totally arbitrary designation. I begin hunting for a spot to lay down, but the rain has soaked most of the ground. After another few minutes, I spot a small dry patch behind an island of trees in the middle of the trail. Sleep time! I take my pack off, make a little pillow with it and lay down. The dirt is lumpy but soft. I can’t wait to sleep.

ZzzZzzzzzZZ! Smack!

ZzzzzZZZzZZzZ! Smack!

ZZZzzZzZZZ! Smack smack smack!

Shit. Mosquitoes. Really??

I’m absolutely swarmed in mosquitoes. They assault every square inch of exposed, short-shorts flesh. I swat them in vain, convinced I’ll still sleep. My legs and arms are pricked and pierced mercilessly. Shit.

I dig into my pack and produce a long-sleeve shirt which I lay across my legs like some sad pair of pants. It obviously does not do the trick at all. I toss angrily. I give one more valiant effort to ignore the pest, but nothing is going to stop this assault. “It’s not going to work,” I tell Peter, sitting up. “Let’s keep going,” I say, defeated.

We arrive at the Council Bluff aid station (mile 131) in the dark. It’s starting to get cold, and I’m starting to feel properly wrecked. The cheery aid stations folks can tell. They plop me under a blanket near the fire and someone offers me chili. “Sure, thanks.” They bring over a paper bowl lined with a flour tortilla and then covered in a very corn-forward chili. The tortilla-under-chili thing confuses my brain, but I eat it greedily as best I can.

“Alright, I want to go soon,” I tell Peter. If I can’t sleep I might as well keep moving. Chain of Lakes is less than 10 miles away, with all my stuff and another chance at sleep.

“Hey, you need to eat some more,” a volunteer comes barreling over to me.

“I’m good, really. I just want to keep moving.”

“No man, you need to eat more food.”

“I have been eating.”

“Listen, dude, I’ve run a lot of races. I’ve DNF’d before. You need to eat more.”

Weird flex.

“I don’t. want. food. I want to go.”

“I’ll get you some M&M’s.”

“Dude. I’m good.”

He continues to brag to me about running a 36-hour 100-miler or something. I guess if he’s trying to prove his prowess at being bad at ultras, I'm convinced. Either way, he won’t let me leave, and I’m starting to get really annoyed. The other volunteers can sense the weird scene unfolding. One of the volunteers offers, “How about some Oreos?”

I can sense that this woman is just trying to help me get out of here. “Sure,” I acquiesce.

I leave annoyed, with a paper towel sleeve of three Oreos, muttering to Peter.

The next hours drift hazily at best. We roll along, just trying to bide our time until Chain of Lakes. My head cold from before has fully bloomed into something serious. I shoot snot rockets from my nose every few minutes, and it’s getting harder to breathe. Cool.

As we climb up to a paved road, there’s a promise of civilization. Road signs tell us of Takhlakh Lake and its campground nearby. I assume that it’s part of the Chain of Lakes so we must be close. Really close.

Along the sides of the road, we see white frost delicately forming. It’s frigid and exposed on the road. We slip on gloves and await the aid station’s arrival. But instead of turning down the obvious road to what had to be the aid, the flags point us past and then turn off the road entirely and into the woods. It must just be a quick jog through the woods to get to the aid on singletrack, I think. But the aid never comes. Peter looks at his watch and tells me it must just be another half mile. But that passes. And passes again. And we’re still not there. I can feel despair setting in again. I foolishly say I’ll wait to eat food till I get to the aid station because we must be so close. When too much time passes, I fully stop in the middle of the trail to eat. My bar is rock hard in the cold.

Just then, we see lights. Within minutes, Jordan Chang and his pacer on upon us. We exchange a few pleasantries, and then they scamper off. He looks awesome. I feel like shit.

Ten minutes later, the trail spits us out onto a small road. We’re there, finally. I’m energized by making it this far. One-hundred and forty miles. The aid station is dead. After all, it’s 2:00 in the morning and below freezing. Erin and Marc are excited to see us, and I happily take some soup and quesadillas from the hearty volunteers who have shaken themselves awake on my account. But my focus is sleep. Marc informs me that his puppy has somehow popped the sleeping pad. “I don’t think it’s going to matter, man,” I say, fully exhausted.

I clamber into the back of our Suburban, remove my shoes and socks, slide into the sleeping bag and tell them to get me in 20 minutes. I’m very excited for sleep.

But almost immediately, I learn that I was wrong about the sleeping pad. The trunk of the truck is cold and hard with long, plastic grooves. It’s surprisingly uncomfortable, and the knobs of my bones feel like they’re poking out everywhere. It’s also freezing. I toss and turn, trying to find some position that doesn’t suck. Mostly I’m amazed that I don’t fall asleep. I never have a problem sleeping in real life. I start actively thinking about sleeping. I have to sleep. Yeah, no shit. OK, sleep now. Nothing. OK… sleep now. Nothing. OK, sleep… NOW. This is not looking good.

Just then there’s a bang on the back window. “Hey man.” It’s Marc. “It’s been 20 minutes.”

“Wha?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Uhh, I don’t think I slept?” It comes out as a question. “Gimme another 20 minutes, OK?”

“OK.”

I return to my latest impossible task. I try to force myself to sleep for another ten or fifteen minutes, but to no avail. Finally, I give up and drag myself over the back seat of the car and spill out the door, shoeless. The gravel in the parking lot is cold and sharp on my battered, naked feet.

My crew seems a little concerned to see me. But I’ve already moved on. I’m just not going to sleep at all I guess. With a little too much effort, I slide on a pair of light tights and a jacket. I guess we’re still doing this…

When Hell Freezes Over

Marc and I give a wave and thank the volunteers before shoving off into the dark. We quickly hit some winding, descending singletrack. It feels nice to be moving well again. Soon thereafter, we hit the first of our three river crossings. It’s 3:00 am.

Bundled up for the night. Or so I thought.

The water isn’t high, but it feels glacial. I yelp as I slip my legs in. The cold wraps up to my mid-thigh. A minute later, we emerge on the far other side, water-logged.

The next two crossing come fairly quickly and are equally unpleasant. But at least we’re done with them, I think.

The trail soon becomes a little less distinct, and it feels like we’re meanderingly aimlessly through dense forest. Thick, lush underbrush, heavy with the evening’s rain spills over the trail, and we’re doing whatever one level below bushwhacking is. We continue like this for some time, and I start to realize that I’m getting wet. The water-bedazzled foliage shows no signs of letting up, so we stop to slip on rain jackets.

I’m getting cold. Like, really cold. My teeth start chattering. Then they start chattering really loudly. My body starts shaking. Why is my body shaking? The underbrush doesn’t let up. Neither does the shaking. I start to feel like shit. Like, really not good. This is not good.

Marc pushes on in front of me. As I fall behind, I realize something is very wrong. I weakly squeak out to him, “Hey man, I’m exactly sure what hypothermia is… but I’m pretty sure I have it.”

In the moment, I couldn’t access the file in my brain labeled “hypothermia.” I couldn’t recall what it was. But it seemed like this must be it.

Marc spins around and sees me. Hypothermia confirmed. “Put on everything you have,” he instructs me. I don’t have much more in my pack, but I zip up my rain jacket completely, to that awkwardly high point that rain shells zip to. Only the round of my face peeks out. “Can you eat anything?” I pop a Gu. It’s cold and thick and caramelly and a terrible flavor.

I can barely speak through my chattering teeth. My body spasms violently. We just have to move. Help is not coming. The Klickitat aid station is mile 158.1, almost 20 miles away from Chain of Lakes. I just have to hold on till morning.

We start moving again. My body is revolting against itself. I feel frozen down to my bones. I realize my breath is escaping unused into the air, so I pull my jacket up over my mouth and breath down into it, blowing warmish arm down the front of me. I’m not sure if this is actually doing anything, I think to myself. But at this point, just the fact I’m able to come up with any sort of attempt at a solution feels like a win.

Time passes. The clattering and shaking continue. I eat an extra gel. How does this all end?

Finally, we start to see the first glimmer of morning light in the sky. We hear a bird. Then, another. Morning is coming. We couldn’t have hit the river crossings and wet underbrush at a colder time—the dead of late night—but the day was slowly clawing its way back.

Eventually, my shivering slows and finally stops. I’m still cold, but I feel like I have my body back, at least a bit. I’m still alive. What a weird, horrible dream.

In the morning light, we climb up to an empty paved road. I get that disorienting feeling of seeing something manmade again. Across the road, the trail drops into a forest. We drop down too. I find myself moving decently again. The forest feels huge. Giant redwoods tower overhead. It’s dank and dark. The air hangs heavy with the glorious smell of wet, rotting wood. Green and brown. Everything else that has happened melts away. I feel like I’m in the presence of magic. My mind tries to wrap itself around where we are, but it can’t. The only thing I think of is that we’re truly in the middle of nowhere. I suddenly become very grateful. I’m far out, way far out here.

We wind through the forest for a while before spitting out on a series of dirt logging roads. Their presence feels jarring and blasphemous.

We cross another paved road and begin to climb a hill. A very steep hill. We quickly realize that we’re starting our climb up to Elk Peak. The last test before we reach aid. The thought energizes me a little. I pop in my trusty iPod Nano loaded with music from 2012 and start power hiking.

The high dissipates after a mile, and it’s just really fucking hard again. Then I feel it, a twinge in my left heel. My Achilles. Literally. It’s my nemesis. An injury that’s haunted me for years. I instantly worry. Any weird step and it could be the end of my race. The only upside is that I can’t believe I’ve already gone 155 miles with zero problems. Look at you thinking positive!

I slow down, hoping to be kinder to my stupid leg. The climb drags on. Every time I’m sure that we’re topping out, the mountain keeps going. It’s not just false summits. It’s tiny false peaks that raise before us. First, it’s annoying. Then it’s infuriating. Then, eventually, it’s just hilarious. Our frustration gives ways to pure, hysterical acceptance of our situation. A running joke, about running.

Just as it seems that we can’t possibly hit another false peak, we see another, rocky peak rises in front of us. But this one is different. It’s an out-and-back. Our out-and-back. We scramble up the sheer, angled rock and finally arrive at our goal.

The view is breathtaking, in the truest sense of the word. We’re surrounded by it. In 360 degrees, the Cascades stretch out around us. Dense, green forests. Rocky, gray peak. Wispy, white clouds clinging to them all. I remember the course description, word-for-word. “Look out from Elk Peak at Helens, now so far in the distance. And Adams, once so far away, now so close.” My mind searches to understand what I’m looking at. Adams is right there. And Helens is so far away. I think back to days? weeks? months? ago when I was next to Helens and Adams was so far away. I’ve traveled 155 miles on my own power. How am I supposed to understand that?

Just a taste of the Cascade, savored by other runners. (Scott Rokis)

I suddenly don’t care about racing anymore. I feel like I’m floating. As we descend of the slightly-sketchy rock face of the peak, another runner and pacer amble up. They’ll pass us on the way down to Klickitat. Oh well.

We bomb down to the aid, getting passed on the way in, of course. I can’t wait to get my still-soaked shoes off for a short respite. They’ve been drenched since the river crossings. Finally, we pop out on a small dirt road in a break from the trees. It’s startling how bright and warm it is. I'm not sure what time of day it is, but it feels like mid-afternoon. But maybe it’s not.

A very nice woman with a thick Eastern-Bloc accent attends to me. We explain the hypothermia and soaked feet, and they lay me up a reclining camp chair. A medic introduces himself and starts to work on my feet. They’re mushy and soft, with deep trenches running through them. He rubs them down with alcohol and sets up next to a gas-powered heat lamp. In the openness of the harsh sun, the heater feels vulgar and awkward.

I sit for longer than I want. But I don’t care. I’ve just been out there for 20 miles. And I have another daunting 20 to go before I see my crew and gear again. Jordan comes in (He must have slept somewhere. Lucky.) He leaves before me. The Eastern-Bloc woman offers to rub down my legs. I don’t particularly want it, but she seems very into it. She spends a lot of time on my calves. It’s getting weird.

After what feels like half an hour, we finally gather our things to leave. My feet are dry now, but despite our best efforts, my shoes are still woefully waterlogged. The moment I slip them back on, I feel the squish. Great. All that’s left to do is keep moving.

We thank everyone for their hospitality and slide off into the forest. The dark, foggy forest has given way to a bright, open one. Hyped on the aid station stop, I feel good, and we start to crank again. We roll through the hills, underneath the ancient pines. Things are looking up.

That’s when the mosquitoes hit. Not just a swarm. A cloud. They descend on us, thick and swirling. Never in my life have I seen anything like this. I swat them away, and I feel like I’m batting at seagulls. They nip at us. We shriek and try to outrun them. It’s no use. They’re everywhere.

After all these miles, it finally dawns on me: This race never gives you a break. As soon as you start feeling good at any point, you’ll suddenly get blindsided by some totally unforeseen thing that smacks you across the face and leaves you crying foul.

“I’ve got some wipes!” shouts Marc. Moments later, he produced two individually wrapped Off! wipes. God bless him. I’ve never seen mosquito wipes before, but I decide right then and there that they’re going in every race pack I ever carry from now on. We tear them open and frantically wipe our entire bodies down with them. Almost instantly the mosquitoes disappear. It’s a miracle.

Mosquito-free, we’re now left to make our way through the forest. The trail begins to wind up and down steep hillsides in seeming random fashion. I feel lucky to have Marc with me. I’d hate to be out here without him. I tell him that. “This is really remote, man. Like, really remote. If you got in trouble out here—like serious trouble—you’d be fucked.” I say this knowing we have still have 15 miles to the Twin Sister aid. I try imagining being out here without a pacer, but I can’t.

It’s hot now. I remember something about how the description said there was no water in this section. Marc pulls out his InReach and spies a small lake just off-trail. We make a small detour to refill our bottles, but mostly to just dump water over our heads. It’s a rare moment of pleasure.

It’s late afternoon, I think. Things start to get really fuzzy. I’ve now been up for two and a half days. No sleep. Hypothermia. A bad cold. Other stuff, probably. I can’t think straight. I just need to be at the aid station. It’s hours away. My waterlogged feet feel like I’m stepping on shards of glass with every step.

Marc is talking, but I sense myself snapping at him. Nothing’s funny anymore. Or fun. All I feel is the need to be somewhere else. I snap at Marc again. For a moment, I have clarity. I pull out of myself and see what’s happening.

“Hey dude, I’m really sorry I’m being a jerk. I’m literally in survival mode right now.”

I realize I’m no longer in control. My body has taken over. We’re in full “flight” mode. The only thing that Andy Pearson—the organism, the collection of cells and DNA—cares about right now is pure survival. I’ve lost agency over myself. The animal is taking over.

We start breathing through in through our nose… out through our nose… in through our nose… out through the nose. It’s loud and raspy. I realize we sound insane. But it’s the only thing that’s taking our mind off the pain in our feet, any bit. In through the nose… out through the nose… in through the nose… out through the nose… It’s working, a little. We’re running at full speed now. But I’m also feeling dizzy. I’m not sure how much longer we can keep this up. But at this point, we don’t care. We just need to not be here right now. In through the nose… out through the nose… in through the nose… out through the nose…

After about 30 minutes, I realize we’re actually going to pass out, and I pull on the brakes. We slow to a walk for a bit. My brain comes back online a little bit. I’m back in control.

“Hey Marc, I just had a pleasant thought.” “What’s that?” “At least I never have to run Badwater now.”

The afternoon wears on. We work our way through the forest. The aid station feels impossibly far away. At one point, Marc takes out his InReach and says we’re not too far away.

The landscape opens up, gets a little rocky. I’m beginning to teeter.

Another swarm of mosquitoes descends on us. Our Off! wipes must have worn off, and Marc doesn’t have any more. We pull out the old used ones he stuffed in his pocket and try to rub ourselves down again, but it doesn’t seem to work. We just have to run faster. Marc takes off. I can’t keep up. A massive hill rises in front of us. I can’t do it. Marc’s gone. Fully gone. He’s bounded up the hill. I’m at the bottom of it.

I suddenly feel alone. Utterly alone. I can’t believe he just left me. Despair floods in. I’m angry at him. I know it’s not fair. He’s out in the middle of nowhere getting his ass munched on mosquitoes like me, while he clocks 50-something miles to support my ill-advised misadventure. But it doesn’t matter. I feel so utterly fucking alone.

I trudge uphill. A hill that seems to never end. I sit down on a rock in protest. I can’t move. I wait a few minutes and then pick myself up again and trudge off. I make it to the top of the hill but don’t see Marc. A few more minutes, and I find him, waiting for me. He apologizes for jetting; he was just trying to get out of the mosquitoes. It’s total fair, and I push down my anger. He’s out here for me.

We move on. The sun sets. We’re back in the forest. Marc’s been with me since the middle of the night to the next day now to the next night again. And we’re just trying to go 37 miles. Damn.

We near the aid station. Or at least we think so. We’ve taken a turn-off, which should be a sign. I’m starting to get really wobbly. The lack of sleep, the distance, everything is compounded. I go through periods where I’m just not there. It’s something akin to blacking out. I’m coming full unraveled. My have never been in so much pain. I don’t actually know how I’m going to take each new step. I black out again momentarily.

The trail become narrow in places with tight ledges and drop-offs below. I think about how I’m glad to have a pacer and how it’s good I’m not super messed up right now. I wobble again. Maybe I am messed up. I can’t tell. I black out again. Probably. I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can finish this thing.

Finally, we turn a corner and see the aid below. Holy shit. We’re here.

I stumble into the Twin Sisters Aid Station (mile 177.5) feeling like I’m floating. Everything is surreal. But I’m seated in a camping chair. A hamburger materializes in my hands. I can’t believe how good I suddenly feel. I’m not running anymore. I’m safe. My brain and body relax. I start cracking jokes with aid station people.

That’s when someone pops his head into the tent. “Welcome, welcome! Tell me what’s going on.” He grabs my arm. “You got a hamburger, great. What’s going on? My name’s Mark. I’m going to help you out.” He grins widely. His breath smells of whiskey. I realize that he’s totally hammered. “We’re going to take good care of you. Let’s get those shoes off and see those feet.”

He wrenches wrestles my shoes off. My soles are a horror shoe. White, puckered, fleshy, with deep crevices running through. “I’m so excited to have you here!” Mark the Medic twitters. “I wait all year to come up here and help you crazies patch up your feet.” He’s an odd bird, but very sweet, and I don’t care. Anyone willing to take care of my 180-mile feet is an angel. Mark and his assistant go to work.

They do all sorts of things to my feet. What? I don’t know, but it seems like magic. I just huddle under my blankets and munch on my hamburger. It feels weirdly nice to be fawned over like this. I’m warm and safe. Pleasure radiates from my brain.

Masticated feet are hilarious! (Peter Dawson)

Not so funny anymore. Look at how white my feet are. (Erin Garnder Dawson)

We talk about my hypothermia, and Mark tells me that my body was probably just so worn out it couldn’t produce its own heat anymore. That was almost 20 hours ago at this point, but obviously I was still compromised. On top of that, my head cold is full blown now. Snot and other things are pouring out of me, and my voice fades in and out barely able to escape my throat. If John Mayer’s girlfriend’s body was a wonderland, mine is the opposite of that.

“I need to sleep,” I tell them. Somehow, this time, I’m pretty sure it won’t be a problem. Mark says they have a tent all set up for me with a cot. He and Peter help me up and lead me off into the dark. They deposit me into a small tent with a cot and sleeping bag waiting. “Here,” Mark says. “Wrap yourself around this.” He hands me a Nalgene full of hot water. “It’ll help bring your core temperature up.” I put it in the bag with me. It’s very warm. I’m instantly worried that I’m going to pee myself, but don’t think much past that.

“This is so cool,” I tell Mark and my crew who are staring down at me on the cot. They look inquisitively. “I’ve never been this messed up in a race before. Like, I’ve always seen people laying on cots and stuff. But now I’m actually getting to be one of them. It’s never happened before. This is so cool.” They laugh, knowing I’m insane. I probably am.

I tell them to get me up in 90 minutes. They leave. For a moment I worry that I’m not going to be able to fall asleep yet again.

Suddenly I slip into inky, warm blackness.

Resurrection

I sit up straight in bed. Time to run! I think excitedly. I look down at my watch. It’s been exactly 89 minutes since they left me in the tent. Just then, I hear a ziiiiip at the door. Peter pokes his head in. “Hey man, you alive?” “Yeah man,” I grin. “I’m alive.”

It’s turned dark outside. I hobble out of the tent, happy to have not peed myself. Back in the aid station tent, I feel like a totally new person. Mark the Medic checks my feet again, giving them a once-over. “Look at those things! Beautiful!” he exclaims. “Almost good as new!” I had to give it to him, they did almost look like they hadn’t spent the last 20 hours soaking in water.

Twenty-nine miles left. Easy-peasy. I gather my new gear, scarf another half a hamburger. During my downtime, I’ve managed to slip to tenth place. I’m just happy to be alive, so I take my sweet-ass time.

Finally, I’m ready. Peter’s ready. We wave a merry goodbye to everyone, and we’re off.

It’s a 2.7-mile trek back to the main Klickitat Trail, all uphill. I run it. I don’t just feel good. I feel great. Holy shit, I think. We cross paths with a few runners coming downhill to the aid, and I cheerily say hello. I even start to drop Peter a little. Maybe it’s because of my 180-mile warmup. Either way, we top out much more quickly than I expect.

Back up top, we fly down the trail, catching up about everything that’s transpired in the last 20 hours or so. The night is cool—not cold—and we soon feel pleasantly warm inside our clothes. After a few miles, we hit the short out and back to Pompey Peak. We climb the switchbacks up to the bald rock peak. Everywhere around us, we can sense the mountains and the tree, and we joke that it might be a lovely view. But in truth, it is. The sky is an explosion of stars above us. We linger a moment, savoring the rewards of our deep labor.

Another runner takes in the night sky on top of Pompey. (Scott Rokis)

“It’s all downhill from here,” I tell Peter as we drop off the top. And it’s true. The trail eventually turns downward, and we begin descending quickly. Just as I feel like maybe I’m home free, we come to a massive downed tree laying across the trail. I groan with annoyance, but in the grand scheme, it’s not so bad.

I detach my/Marc’s Leki poles, pull myself up and top, reattach the poles and then use them to hop down on the other side. We continue on. A minute later, we come to another tree. Argh. I do it again.

This time, when I clear the tree, I see another one just a dozen feet again. And then there’s another. And another. It’s an absolute mess out here. Fallen trees everywhere. Fallen trees that fell over more fallen trees. Each time, I have to detach my poles to free my hands to climb over. Each time, I grunt. Each time, it sucks more and more.

I don’t remember anything about this in the course description, I tell Peter. But here we are.

“I didn’t really expect to be doing fucking parkour at mile 185.”

Any happiness that I was riding before has been totally sucked out of me. I’m annoyed and miserable again. Then, I realize that I’m annoyed and miserable. I pull out of myself to see what’s happening. I remember my revelation from earlier. The moment you feel good out here, the race punches you in the face. No, I think. I’m not going to give in. I fight against the anger—not super convincingly—but I fight nonetheless. I don’t let it take hold.

It lasts for maybe a mile and a half. (It’s hard to have any objective understanding of distance at this point.) It’s awful. But I don’t give in to the anger. What’s the Yoda quote? “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” Well, I was already suffering so no point in throwing the other three in, right?

Eventually, the trees thin out and the trail flattens. We emerge from the forest into… green. Just all green.

We’re in a green tunnel. Green grass underneath, overgrown green grass to our left and right, green trees beyond that. We’re on what appears to be an old road, now reclaimed by nature. There’s a slight downhill grade so we just roll with it. It’s nice to be getting easy miles in again. It’s also, just really… green. It’s all we can talk about. Our headlamps enhance the strange tunnel-ness of it all. I use it as fuel, ticking my speed upwards. Time to get this shit done.

The green tunnel seems to last forever. I’m running my face off. After a while, the monotony of the speed and vegetation creates mental drag. I occasionally stop to walk for a minute or two before picking the pace up again.

After an hour(?), we see something in the distance. Something manmade. It must be the aid station. As we near it, it gets smaller and smaller. Once we’re finally on it, I realize it’s a table stocked with bottles upon bottles of tequila. Gag. “Oh, this is the surprise that Candice promised out here.” I think back to the pre-race briefing where the RD hinted that she might have a surprise out here for us. For some reason, I figured it’d be someone in a bigfoot suit to scare us. I’m momentarily grateful because I don’t think I could handle that shit right now. Either way, there are a lot of nonsensical things about this sport, but ultrarunners’ fascination with taking a shot of tequila late in the race I will never understand. Needless to say, we do not partake.

On the upside, I assume this is a sign that the aid station is close. Ten more green minutes later, we round a bend, and the Owen’s Creek Aid Station (193.5 miles) comes into view. It’s all flood lights, heat lamps, and sizzling bacon. There’s also another—shall I say, “difficult”—runner already there. His family stands around him, trying to appease his whims. He snaps at them, complaining about stuff. I’m just happy that it looks like I’ll be moving up a place.

I want to get out there fast. I grab a plate of eggs and bacon—because, fuck it—and coffee—because, also fuck it. I finish half of everything and then declare it’s time to go.

The End

Thirteen miles to the finish. I check my watch again. It’s around 4:30 in the morning. All day my goals have been slipping. From CR to winning to sub-60 to just staying alive. But now with 7:00am on the horizon—meaning a 70-hour finish—I have a something to shoot for again. It’s going to be close though. I check my race plan, just 385 feet of elevation gain. Hell yeah.

Peter and I barrel down the gravel-and-rock road. It’s two miles to the paved road and the final leg of my journey. We make it to the road and turn left. Pavement. Civilization. Weird again.

As we pound the road, we can feel the earth starting to slowly awaken. Sunlight yawns and gently shakes the slumber from its eyes. Clouds of mist billow and rise from meadows next to us. Sleepy cows stare back at us, suspiciously. I feel alive myself.

The road is remote and desolate. There’s no shoulder whatsoever, so we find ourselves hugging the sides, hoping no one comes barreling around a curve. It’s Monday morning, after all, I think to myself. What will someone on their way to work think if they see my bag of bones shambling along the road? And then I think, Holy shit. Monday morning. People are going to work.

But I have a deadline to hit. I can smell the barn. I’m cranking. In fact, I start to pick up speed. I feel like I’m flying. I feel like I’m running faster than anyone’s ever run before. I’m in a full-out sprint.

Just then, I realize there are mile markers along the roadside. Great. I can see just how fast I’m going. I hit a mile marker and note the time. A few minutes later, I see the next one. I check my watch again. Well that can’t be right. Ten and a half minutes? I note the time again. The next mile marker comes. Eleven minutes?? I feel like I’m running faster than I’ve ever run in my life. Really, I’m running 11-minute miles. Cool.

All things considered, it’s still pretty fast. I guess.

And it was because a few minutes later, we come upon another figure gimping along ahead of us. He’s listing ever-so-slightly to his right side, as all ultrarunners like to do at the end of a race. And he’s alone. Ouch.

“Hey.” He greets us. “Hey. Are we on the right side of the river?” Oh boy.

“Yeah. This is right.”

“Oh, ‘cuz I thought we were supposed to be over on that side.” He points across to the opposite bank, far away, which has just disappeared from view in a jumble of forest.

“Well, that’s where we’re going. But we’re going to get up to another road and then turn to take a bridge over it.” I can’t believe I can recall all the details of the course three days in. Wish I had remembered something about all those downed trees…

Our friend is still confused, but at least he’s moving. So we bid him adieu and press on. Eighth place.

I like the number eight. That sounds good to me.

We pick our speed up again and start flying (relatively speaking). Eventually, the road passes a cluster of house, barns, and garages. More civilization. A good sign.

We turn onto a more major road. Another good sign. I can see the map in my head. I’m so close. So close. Holy shit I’m close.

At some point, Peter tells me he has to stop to take care of “some business” but tells me to keep going, and he’ll catch up.

Suddenly I’m alone again.

But it’s a good alone. Just me and the countryside. I pass more houses. Front yard set up in permanent yard sales. A sign for a farmer’s market. Tractors. A truck rumbles past.

Finally, I see a bridge. I know this bridge. I saw this bridge three days ago. I’m close.

I cross the bridge and the river below. I’m close.

A few hundred more feet, and I’m at an intersection. Of a highway. With gas stations and cars and stuff. More civilization. It’s all surreal.

I cross the highway and follow the flags onto a smaller backroad than curves to parallel the highway.

This is it. The home stretch. All alone, I think back over the last few days. How many has it been? What is today? I think back over everything that’s transpired. The moments of despair. The moments of elation. My crew. The mountains. The out-there-ness. The volcano. The forests. The hypothermia. The doubt. The quesadillas. (Oh, the quesadillas.) The shoes. The changes within myself. The miles. How many has it been?

I savor every step now. I will not be back here again soon.

There’s a gentle curve in the road, and the high school comes into view. A minute later, I find myself passing through its fence, into the parking lot. I see cars and trucks and piles of gear scattered everywhere and being sorted. It hit me how much goes into this. Not just my journey but everyone’s.

I follow a small sidewalk, through a short chain-link fence, and suddenly I’m on the track. It’s soft underfoot. Almost disarmingly so. It’s black. It has long white lines that I follow. I hear people cheer from the shanty town of awnings across the field, at the finish line. The finish line.

I take in everything. The pine trees. The brown, parched grass on the infield. The sky. The electrical wires. A pair of crows perched above. My mind floats inside my skull.

Smelling the bar, hard. (Scott Rokis)

Moments away. (Marc Laveson)

I turn the final corner and look down the barrel of the finish, now populated with the screaming skeleton crew of a crowd.

There’s nothing left inside me except joy. Pure, vibrating joy. I’m swimming through it. My face already hurts from grinning.

And then, I’m done. I cross the finish line. It’s been 69 hours, 29 minutes, and 5 seconds. 206.5 miles—call it 208 with the sabotage. I’m done. It’s done.

Done. (Scott Rokis)

Like, really done. (Scott Rokis)

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What running 208 miles feels like looks like. (Scott Rokis)

After The Party, It’s The After-Party

I lean over my poles as people swoop in to congratulate me. Candice is there. We exchange a few blurry impressions of the course. I tell her it’s the most beautiful course I’ve ever been on. Someone else asks if I want to eat anything. I never want to eat anything right after a race. I decline. “Maybe a grilled cheese?” she offers. “That sounds suspiciously like a quesadilla,” I shoot back. Everyone laughs. I laugh because I’ll never eat another quesadilla again in my entire life.

They sit me down in a camping chair and cover me with a blanket. I suddenly become acutely aware of how badly I stink.

What the feeling of three days of running looks like.

Fat feet. (Toenails previously removed.)

Our listing, confused road friend appears a short time later. After lingering at the finish line the requisite amount, I’m ready to get into a hotel room and shower. We pile into the massive Suburban. With the enclosed space, I once again become acutely aware of how badly I smell. I apologize to my crew. I’ve put them through enough already.

The sun is fully up now. It’s warm and aggressive. I’m standing in the parking lot of a hotel I booked months ago. I get in the room throw my bags down and slump into the shower. After 20 minutes(?)—time is meaningless—I get out, throw on clothes, and check my phone. There’s a message from Ethan Newberry on it. “Dude, congrats on the finish!!! Do you want to be on Ginger Runner Live tonight?” Sure, that sounds like an intense way to end this whole thing.

I exit my room out into the harshness of the late morning sun. I need food now. In cut-off shorts and flip-flops, I stagger down to the highway and follow it for a half mile until I come to Packwood, Washington’s finest—and also only—grocery store. Inside I proceed to buy the most insane things I can find. A platter of bright red colored Chinese pork of some sort. A bag of spicy pickles. Cheese sticks. A bag of cheese-flavored potato chips. A pint of cookie dough ice cream. A six pack of some local IPA. My only solace is that I’m probably not the strangest thing to blow through this roadside grocery store.

This is the kind of quality advertising the have in Packwood. A picture of elk fighting with a Mountain Dew logo over it and a picture of another elk with a Pepsi logo over it with the tagline “Delivering the fun.”

As I get to the register to check out, the cashier asks me how I’m doing. As I go to answer, I simply croak. A “…” Nothing comes out. A weak noise escapes my mouth, like a squeaking, frightened animal. I try again. Again, nothing comes out. I smile. She smiles back at me. It’s awkward.

The cold I’d been experiencing all race has finally fully manifested itself. Somehow between the stress of the miles and the illness, my vocal cords have packed up and gone home. I’m totally incapable of any sort of speech. I simply croak a “thanks” and retreat back to the hotel, where I proceed to feast and take a second bath again because, hey, I earned it.

The hotel after every 100-miler or more is always a blur. This is no exception. I knock back a beer and turn the Discovery Channel on. At some point, the Deadliest Catch lulls me to sleep.

I wake two hours later. The pain in my legs is all-consuming. I test my voice again. Nothing. I have to be on Ginger Runner Live in three hours. I brew some tea in the hotel coffee maker and add some lemon and honey that I’ve procured somewhere.

After two cups of tea, I venture out of my room. I hate sleeping.

It’s mid-afternoon now. I hobble down to the Blue Spruce Saloon. Anything called a saloon automatically has my vote. The enter and find a vast expanse of a place. But everyone is huddled around the curved bar at the front. Who patronizes the Blue Spruce Saloon in Packwood, Washington, at 3:00 in the afternoon on a Monday? Old people. RV types. Locals too. They’re all in there getting hammered off $3 Coors Lights. It’s fascinating.

I try to order a Stardust IPA—the most expensive and obviously douchiest—thing on the menu. The woman working the bar can’t understand a word I say. Mostly because I’m not really saying words. Just sounds. It’s instantly embarrassing again. I feel like the weirdo in a bar of retirees getting schlitzed at 3:00 in the afternoon. To be fair, I guess I am the weirdo who just ran 208 miles.

I enjoy my beer and the general feeling of not-running before hobbling back to the hotel.

At around 6:00 we start Ginger Runner Live. I’ve now slept a collective 3.5 hours in 3.5 days. Groovy.

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I always love talking to Ethan and Kim, and it’s fun to be able to talk about the race with such fresh, raw emotions. At one point, Ethan turning to Kim and says, “I don’t think we’ve ever had someone on the show who just finished a race while the race was still going on.” It’s true. People are still out there running. God bless them. I’m not.

A few times, my voice goes out entirely and is replaced by what can only be described as a death rasp. At least it adds to the drama of the whole thing, I think.

But I make it through. After a really fun interview, I sign off. Now there is nothing left to do but let the sounds of the Discovery Channel lull me to sleep once more.

Now, I am finally, officially done.

I ate so many bowls of free Fruit Loops at breakfast the next morning.

And I enjoyed a Bigfoot beer beneath Mt Rainer.

Looking Back

Running 200+ miles is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It broke me down. It made me dig deeper than I’ve ever had to. It asked everything of me.

I got exactly what I wanted out of it. It scared me. Not just “scared” me. It scared me on a deep, animal level.

When I finished I said I would never do that again. In fact, I said no human being should ever do that. It was dreadful.

But it was also unimaginable. Unimaginably beautiful. Unimaginably remote. Unimaginably brutal. Unimaginably whole.

I came closer to understanding own mortality and my own immortality in a single event. I came closer to touching the universe and everything in it.

The more time I have to reflect back on my experience, the more deeply affecting I realize it was.

I believe.

#race #ultrarunning #Bigfoot200 #200miler

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