#but im like 70 slides behind and it takes me hours to get through them

[twosomeofcuteness]

Trying to stay on top of my homework while having 12 assignments due in the next 4 weeks is insane. I have so many class slides to finish writing notes for but I simply do not have the time to do them.

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 85. brb x oc

THIS FIC IS 18+ ONLY! MINORS PLS DNI!

a/n: hi guys, this weekend was...rough. But im a bit better tonight :) im trying to not sabotage myself because of the algorithm...anyway smut

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: rooster being rooster. that's the warning.

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63/64/65/66/67/68/69/70/71/72/73/74/75/76/77/78/79/80/81/82/83/84

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @dhwanishah09 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23 @gh0stsgoodgirl @mygyn @chavivaelisheva

-

Beatrice is smiling when she feels his lips pressing open mouthed kisses to the back of her neck, one of his hands sliding down her torso while the other remained on her breast, “Roos…” she murmurs, almost admonishing him but does push herself back towards his chest, “What are you doing?”

Between wet smacks he says, “Kissing you.” His teeth take hold of the cartilage on her ear, all the while his hand gets lower.

“We should be asleep.”

“Should we?”

Beatrice holds back the whiny sigh when she feels his hand slipping between her legs, inside her panties,their bodies still warm because of the events of that night, events that even after showering they still felt on their bodies. “Y-yes.” She whispers, fluttering her eyes shut “W-we have things to do…in a few hours.” But her husband's lips never stopped, in fact he dropped his mouth to her neck again, licking and sucking the soft flesh.

She whimpers again, clenching her legs around his hand as he gently brushes over her already sensitive bundle of nerves,”W-What’s gotten into you t-tonight?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” and she knows he’s smiling by the way he says it, his lips still teasing the skin of her neck as his hand moves between her legs. Beatrice’s body was still shivering from the last two times they made love that night, first on the chair then in the shower…against the wall… when they had to wash themselves but instead her husband preferred to just pin her there and repeat everything they did all over again. When his hand ceased it’s movements, Beatrice held back the disappointed moan, “Do you want me to stop?”

God she loved him so much.

He always looked after her own comfort.

But really, did she want him to stop?

It’d be the third time in the night and it was already three in the morning…they could wake a bit later tomorrow,right? Plus, Nikki was going to sleep more too considering how late she was awake during the night. “...no…” and his smirk on her neck returned, just like his hand got back to its movements against her lower body. Beatrice buries her face into the pillow, her one hand on top of his, nails gently nipping the back of his as she moaned quietly, parting her legs just enough to give him more room to maneuver.

Rooster’s lips made a wet trail of kisses up to her cheek, his pelvis grinding against her ass and Beatrice could feel him already. “It’s going to be quicker this time.” he whispers, “Really quick, gorgeous…open them for me?”

Beatrice loved how deep his voice sounded, how his accent got thicker whenever he was turned on like that. She did as he asked, parting her legs a bit more, biting her lower lip as his hand gave her center one last swipe of his fingers, “Atta girl.” his hand moves behind her and she gently nudges himself until she feels him prodding at her entrance after pushing the crotch of her panties to the side. Beatrice’s little smile was hidden by her hair and the way she was hiding her face in the pillow, but she could never complain about Rooster’s undying want for her.

As someone whose sex life was…pretty much nonexistent for a good chunk of her life, having a partner like Rooster was such a huge ego boost she could only sigh in relief. He was perfect and wonderful…and he brought the best out of her too. When he hilted inside of her, Beatrice just moaned quietly, pushing her behind against his pelvis as she felt the fabric of his underwear touching the back of her thighs, “Roos…” 

His teeth scrape the side of her jaw, tongue brushing over it before he kisses the area, “Yeah,gorgeous?” he smiles, furrowing his brows as he moves his hips, “Fuck,I can’t get enough of you.” his hand comes up to her hip, lifting her night shirt higher,tugging on the elastic of her red boyshorts, “Fuck, you are so good…so good…fuck baby you take me so well.”

Beatrice moaned in reply, trying her best to keep her voice down again…but this being the third time in the night it was going to be a bit hard. She just bit her lips inside her mouth, one of her hands clenching the pillowcase as Rooster’s hips kept moving behind her, “Fuck I wish I could film this.” he blurts out, “But not tonight. No,let me just fuck,” his thrusts get sharper with each word, “You,” the subtle slap of his hipbones against the plush flesh of her ass punctuating his sentence, “Just,” she gasps, “How you like it.”

Her face buries into the pillow even deeper, the hand not clutching it was fisting the sheets, trembling ever so slightly. Her legs part a bit more, Rooster clasps her thigh, placing it over his hip to give more space and leverage “F-Ffuck, Roos!” she digs her nails on the back of his hand when the sensation intensifies and he hasn’t sped up his thrusts yet. She could feel his warm breathing against her ear, against her cheek and down her neck, beads of sweat dripping down his face down to hers. “W-We are going to-” she sucks in a breath, “H-Have to shower again.”

“Is that a proposition?” he smirks, quiet groaning breaking out of his throat, “You know I can’t say no.”

‘B-But just t-to shower, Roos,we…oh God. We,” she couldn’t finish her sentence,so she just flopped her head to the side while still clenching the sheets and pillow. Eventually she bit down on the pillowcase as a jolt of pleasure darted all over her body, her brows crinkling as a whimper made its way out of her throat.

Rooster smiles down at her face, covered by that beautiful brown hair of hers, and speeds his thrusts a bit more, the slapping sound getting more frequent and louder, his hand climbing up her body until he reached her jawline - never squeezing her throat, he knew she hated that - to keep a permanent hold on her body, “In a little bit,” he pants, closing his eyes, “A little bit, gorgeous - fuck you are so wet - in a little bit.Yeah? Yeah? You won’t take too long to cum, will you?”

Beatrice shakes her head negatively, “No, no you are so fuckin’ sensitive like that.” he smirks at her little whine and the clench around him, “Yeah, fuckin’ taking my cock so well too, like always, fuck you are so fuckin’ good,Bea.” his own groan broke the sentence as he dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing in and out heavily as his hips moved.

It was the third time that night and yet he was only feeling like his muscles needed a break now. He didn’t know why, maybe it was all of what happened, maybe it was because he just want to forget that ‘he who shall not be named’ made her uncomfortable and he wanted to make her forget about it as well…or maybe he was just horny for his wife, which would be very possible as well.

Beatrice’s moaning of his name just fueled the raw thoughts in his mind, he wrapped his arm around her waist for leverage as he sped his thrusts, their conjoined quiet groaning followed by the subtle smacking of skin together being the only thing that gave any sign of what was happening inside the privacy of their bedroom. Beatrice’s nails dug into his hand again and she cried into the pillow, her body convulsing one more time as her channel fluttered around him, “S-Shit!” she whimpers, undulating her hips back to get more friction out of him.

Rooster wasn’t that far behind, his own fingers sunk into the soft flesh of her hip bone, muttering her name repeatedly until he stilled with a loud groan. A groan that was muffled against her shoulder, his hot breath washing over her shirt and making another wave of goosebumps form all over her body.

His hips slowed down once he came, each final thrust making a sigh of relief break out of him until there was nothing more but their own panting breaths to be heard. They lied there, still connected, with their eyes closed and mouths parted in hopes to get some air back, “....holy shit.” he murmured with a chuckle, “Holy fuck…” her shoulders shake in a weak laugh, his grip on her leg loosens and his hand  drops to the mattress in front of her body, “Fuck, you are so fuckin’ good,Bea.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m so good.”

Beatrice giggles sweetly, looking back at his sweaty and flushed face, his nostrils were flaring and his hair was a bit messy because of the perspiration, but he looks so happy, even giving her a warm look through his half lidded eyes, “You look good too.”

He chuckles briefly, kissing the hand that came up to touch his cheek, “So do you…so…showering again,huh?”

“It’d be wise. And then sleep…because it’s really late Roos.”

“Hmmm…” he buries his face in her neck again, “You are so warm though.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes playfully, kissing the top of his head, “We can shower together but no funny business.” he peeks up at her with his eyes squinted, “I mean it Roos. We better sleep now.”

He knew she was right…so with a sigh he pulled out of her - trying to not focus on the string of fluid that broke when he pulled away from her -  and flopped back on the bed, chest heaving, “Roos,” her soft hand touches his chest, gently caressing his pecs, “Do you want me to wait a bit before we go?”

He just laughs quietly, dropping his head onto the pillow, closing his eyes, “Give me a few minutes, gorgeous.” he just wanted to enjoy the silence for a bit. He rubbed his face with both hands, inhaling deeply into his palms before he pushed himself up to a sitting position, “Alright, come on,missy.” he walks around the bed to pick Beatrice up, tossing her over his shoulder - a squeal making its way out of her - slapping her ass on the way, ‘Time for shower!”

-

They passed out on the bed the moment they left the shower. Understandably so, considering what happened minutes before, they slept close to one another, with Rooster being the little spoon for the first time since they started their relationship, his hand holding Beatrice’s as they slept. 

It was almost like he was a shield, protecting her from harm.

It was Nicole’s gentle cries that woke them up, Rooster groaning in his sleep as he blinked at the baby monitor, still confused at what happened, “Babe.” he calls, groggily, checking his phone for the time - it was nine in the morning, amazingly that they all managed to sleep that long - “Babe, we need to get up.”

Beatrice buries her face in the space between his shoulder blades, “I was awake already.” comes her obviously more alert voice from behind him, followed by a gentle kiss to his nape, “I just wanted to hold you a little bit more.”

Rooster was still blinking hard because of his sleep induced body, then looked back to see Beatrice leaning closer to kiss his pouty lips, “Mwha?” he murmured, watching as she scooted to the edge of the bed to stand up, running her hands on her hair to pull it up in a quick bun after combing through any knots, “Wait, you were awake?”

Bea smiles at him, one hand holding her hair up while the other grabs the elastic on her side table, “Yes, sir.” she knows that’s going to make him wake up faster and from the way his eyes snapped towards her she was right, “Nikki just woke up, she slept just as soundly as we did.”

“Oh…good.” he was still blinking, “Wait you were awake-” she laughs, cupping his face in her hands to kiss his lips a few more times.

“Stay in bed,Lieutenant, no need to stand at attention now,” she flicks her eyes downwards, “I know it’s a bit hard for you to do that.”

Rooster’s lips tried to follow hers, but she walked around the bed to the door, throwing another flirty look over her shoulder to her still waking husband. He chuckles sleepily, rubbing his face with both hands as he hear Beatrice’s voice talking to Nicole, the high pitched squeals from their daughter was already making him smile, “Alright.” he tells himself, sitting up on the bed and stretching his arms above his head, groaning deeply, “Time to spend the day with my girls.”

And it’s Halloween too!

As he leaves the room, petting Eleanor and Jack on the way, he stops by the railing to see his girls in the kitchen. Beatrice is bouncing a laughing Nicole in her arms, walking barefoot around as she prepares their food. He just supports his weight on the railing, his other hand propped on his waist as he watches them, his mouth curling up in a smile.

His eyes closed in relief as he remembers that, hopefully, Eric will no longer bother Beatrice. That part of her life is finally gone…hell she even appeared lighter as she said she’d be. 

Bradley just admired her from afar, then turned his eyes to the picture of his parents on the wall, right above the piano in their living room. He stands a bit straighter, flicking his gaze from the picture to Nikki and Bea, a slow smile on his face…they’d love them. They’d love his girls just as he does.

“Nikki,look! Who’s that?”

He turns his eyes back down, seeing Beatrice standing by the threshold with Nicole’s big green eyes looking up at him. His daughter gasps, then squeals happily, grabbing the air towards him as Bea holds her still, giggling even more when Rooster walks down the rest of the stairs to pick her up, “Hi, precious baby! Hi,” he kisses her soft cheek, “Good morning! Have you been keeping mommy company?”

‘She has, she even tried getting some of the blueberries.”

“Oooh,blueberries?”

“And milk chocolate chips.”

“Ooohhh, now why would you need that for?”

Beatrice looks back at him from the sink, watching as he wanders inside with Nicole in his arms, “I just wanted to prepare something for my sweet husband.” she says sweetly with an innocent shrug, “He needs the energy.”

Rooster clears his throat, face burning just a bit as he moves Nicole to his opposite arm, “Well, I wouldn’t mind it…by the way how long until Nikki can eat solids?”

“Oh um,well she’s already five, we can start trying.” Beatrice smiles, “Buy some nice baby food- no, no my mom would hate me if I bought some.”

“Why?”

“Because she always made our baby food and honestly still does to this day for her grandchildren…it’s honestly so good. I may have tried it once.” she whispers the last part, almost as if she is a bit ashamed of admitting it, “But we can try!”

“Maybe we can tell your mom to bring some over,” he says, wriggling his finger over Nicole’s face, fake crying when she holds onto it, “For Nikki’s first taste.”

Beatrice just smiles at him, still focused on their breakfast, “I can talk to her, she’ll love it.” and she would, knowing her mother, “Anyway, today is going to be great! It’s going to be so amazing! It’s Halloween and it’s Nicole’s first! And-” and Beatrice rambles on excitedly, all the could do was look at her with hearts in his eyes as she explains how amazing this celebration was going to be.

Rooster was so in love with her. He finally felt like his life had a rhythm, a steady, constant rhythm. He had a home to come back to, a wife, a daughter, dogs…what more could he want? He of course had a job that was his favorite thing in the universe and wouldn’t trade it for the world - at least not now.

He was really happy.

“Hey,” he says once she’s done, “Why don’t I play us some songs? To celebrate Halloween?”

“Really?”

The way those green eyes shone, she even held up the batter covered whisk with excitement, “Of course, I don’t see why not. Plus it’d be nice for Nikki, and so,” he gets closer, gently pecking her lips, “I can be distracted, because for some reason I feel like getting close to you today.”

“Oh just today?”

“Just today.” he kisses her one more time, smiling sweetly at her red cheeks, “Anyway,we’ll be over there,right Nikki?” he nods to the piano in the corner of the living room, “And you won’t even see we are gone.”

“Hopefully not.” she smiles, watching the two of them leave the kitchen, Eleanor and Jack following as their mother lied close to Beatrice, huffing with her eyes closed. Beatrice sighed as well, happily, amazingly happy. She couldn’t imagine her day getting better…and then he started playing the Halloween Theme song. “Oh my God.”

“You should see her face!” Rooster calls, “She’s loving it!”

“Of course she is!” Bea giggles, humming along to the piano song as she poured the batter on the pan smiling even more at Nicole’s happy laughter from the living room. With the music she couldn’t hear her phone’s ringtone…but Eleanor did. She rushed up the stairs to grab it, nudging it into Beatrice’s thigh so she could get it.

“Huh? Oh!” she removes the phone from the pup’s mouth, wiping some of the slobber with her shirt, “Thanks Ellie!” she kept on humming to the song, only walking away when she saw who the caller was.

“Ev! Hi!”

“I heard it was a substantial night.”

Bea laughs, leaning her lower back against the counter, “It was…something alright.”

“Yeah, Shells told me that Rooster beat the shit out of Eric.” her friend says and she could hear the Jason theme song in the background of her end, “How are you though?”

“I’m okay,I’m fine…I’m…relieved,really.”

“As you should be. Maybe now he can understand shit and leave you alone.” a pause, “But that’s not why I called you for.”

‘Oh?Hold on I’m going to put you on speaker, it’s going to be easier to talk.” she didn’t hear Evelyn’s quiet ‘there’s no need’ followed by a sigh as Beatrice placed her down on the counter, right next to her as she plated the pancakes, “All ears,Ev!”

Her friend takes a while to reply, “Well, I better cut to the chase then. I told my dad.”

“Oh, really? How did he react?”

“He fainted.”

Beatrice blinked, pausing her movements to turn to the phone, “What?”

‘Fell like a giant sack of potatoes, broke some of mom’s china cows, scared Wiley…you know,those things.” she stops for a second, “He’s okay though. He’s strong, barely bruised himself…he’s happy about it tho.”

The brunette relaxed, easing out a breath, “Oh, that’s good!” just in time Rooster returns to the kitchen with Nicole in hold, leaning down to kiss Beatrice’s cheek over and over, asking who she was talking to and throwing a ‘hey Ev’ once he is told who it was. “That’s good Ev.”

“Yep.”

“You don’t sound too excited.” Rooster peeks over at his wife as he grabs his mug, letting Nicole tap the colorful images while babbling happily, arching his brow as he overhears it, “Is everything okay?”

Evelyn sighs on the other line, “...Well…yes. It is but…”  Beatrice hears her grumble something, followed by another sigh “I’m…inviting you to my wedding.”

Rooster almost drops the mug, slapping it on the air to prevent it from crashing all the while balancing Nicole on his other arm - the baby excited by her dad’s funny movements - “Holy shit!”

[passmethemolly]

dteam + friends as old navy employees

 Bad is the manager. a very tired one, but he keeps everyone in check

bad: guys please make sure we’re asking for cards today- we’re behind and-

dream: its georges fault

george: it’s not! i ask and everyone says no-

dream: thats because you aren’t asking them right 

george: how the hell do you ask for a credit card right???

bad is long gone by that point. he’s quietly sitting in the office watching george and dream bicker

he has a photo of his dog on his desk and will smuggle her into the workplace sometimes 

will deal with the difficult customers but will feel bad for being mean even though its his job

sapnap is on the floor bc he can perfect fold things

hates every second of it and always hides in the fitting room or goes up to cash wrap to bother george

purposefully messes up piles of clothes so dream has to refold it

scares tommy whenever he hides in said fitting room

overall, super chill and will go where ever he needs to but folds like a sloth

once caught someone stealing but he didn’t say anything

george is always up at the registers and he absolutely hates it

he will never ever ask people to open up a credit card unless bad is there or unless dream gets put up there with him and they compete against each other

as soon as a customer has an issue with something, george calls bad up to the register to deal with it and he walks away

george will ignore customers and let wilbur take them instead

he steals the candy all the time

dream is tossed around all over the place

doesnt do anything, yet still manages to meet his credit card goal which annoys the fuck out of george and sapnap

he hits george with hangers 

george will always hit him back

the kids are fighting again ft. hangers 

he attracts the weird customers which makes for good stories

he once fell off a ladder and george saw that and he will never let dream live that down

a BOPIS beast- not a single order goes unnoticed by him

sapnap likes to fold the kids clothes since theyre easy and bad never checks kids

dream is a huge wingman to sapnap through the walkies 

dream: sapnap, tell that girl that the boyfriend jeans are 100% off at your place.

sapnap: dude i have a girlfriend 

dream: okay, say it for me then

sapnap: dream im not saying that-

george: will you please shut up i can’t hear anything but you two idiots

alternatively- also the biggest instigator

dream: george, i dare you to not talk to the next customer

george: what? no, i have to it’s literally my job to talk to them-

dream: do it, trust me

george: im not gonna ignore them as i check them out

dream: if you dont, im telling bad that you dont ask to open credit cards and you didn’t count the money from last night and youve been stealing the kitkats

long story short, they got a complaint and george was tasked with cleaning the bathrooms that night as punishment

tommy is in fitting room and he loves it 

he was put there since he was “too aggressive” to be on sales floor

but hes the only person at the store that can open more credit cards than dream due to his aggression 

he gets to go on his phone and drink coke whenever

once locked sapnap in the fitting room for three hours 

whenever he has to return the ‘go back’ clothes, he sprints through the store. he literally runs the clothes. 

once fought a customer that told him he was wrong about a price. 

tommy: HOW IS IT WRONG I SCANNED IT WITH THE FUCKING IPOD AND IT CAME UP THAT PRICE HOW IS IT WRONG

tubbo is holding him back while bad is apologizing to the customer and offering them 70% their entire purchase

wilbur is on register with george and they gossip about the customers 

wilbur is the best dressed there 

everyone swoons for him, which racks up sales since everyone wants to be checked out by the cute cashier

him and george are lowkey the power duo on register 

he cares very much about sizing and taking proper care of the clothes

he drives tommy and tubbo to work

dream and george go get lunch together on their break

dream will occasionally bring george mcdonalds if he feels like it

george, in return, won’t do anything special <3

jk- george just helps dream fold the floor after closing instead of hiding behind the cash wrap counter

george will always bring dream a starbucks cookie on fridays

one time, bad wouldn’t let george wear one of his supreme shirts and he had to wear dreams hoodie to cover it up

techno is a ghost at this old navy. hes never scheduled to work but when he comes it- everything is perfectly folded and they have a spike in customer satisfaction- but people rarely see him do these things

small rivalry between dream and techno obviously 

they will always make a competition out of everything

always a closing time employee- he never opens the store. 

dream is obsessed with how he perfect folds and will stalk him around the store when he does work

techno just wants to work tbh  

tubbo is in fitting room with tommy 

hes more…passive… with the customers 

will always wish everyone a nice day even if they leave the room a mess

will take the time to clean each room while tommy sprints in and out with his arms full of clothes

does whatever tommy wants to do

except when it comes down to who is cleaning the bathrooms at closing time- then its a battle

(just rock paper scissors) 

tubbo and dream sometimes trade places, but tubbo always goes back to the fitting room since he has no idea how the sales floor works 

dream ROCKS old navy clothes 

he abuses the fuck out of his employee discount 

sometimes he’ll get george to give him a bigger discount 

george always wears stuff with brands even though its against dress code (he will not give up his hypebeast shirts) 

bad will let it slide most of the time but not all the time yk?

sapnap shoves his phone into clothes and plays games 

on the quiet days- everyone is on sales floor except tommy. tommy is forbidden from being on sales floor.  

tommy watches from afar as his friends slap each other with hangers and talk shit about the public

his time will come. he will get out of the fitting room

at closing time, dream and george hide in a blind spot and talk for the rest of their shift

sapnap: can you guys please stop flirting and go fold in mens? bad says if we fold everything we can leave early-

dream throws a bundle of socks at sapnap 

george wants to be on sales floor so bad, he complains about register everyday

dream wants to be on register since sales floor is boring to him

bad wont let them switch 

tommy, tubbo, and wilbur always start fights with george, dream, and sapnap

a ‘war’ broke out one night when they were closing

bad made them stay an extra two hours to refold the entire store since they trashed it

george once parkoured over a jean table

sapnap is always friendly to the customers and will ask them how theyre doing as soon as he sees them

scares the shit out the customers at the same time. he’s a ninja

tommy got out of the fitting room once and hid in a rack of dresses so bad couldn’t find him

bad just wants people to open up credit cards

sapnap would bring his girlfriend in a lot and now bad is considering hiring her since shes here so often

on their breaks, they will all sit in a circle and watch the cameras and make fun of people

they have a groupchat called “the navy soilders” and they literally just send the same video of dream falling off the ladder that george pulled from the cameras

[illfoandillfie]

The Come Down

Pairing: 70s!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: It's hard for Roger to unwind after the excitement of playing a gig. But you have a favourite way to help him.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), but also quite fluffy, rough sex, enough to leave marks but nothing overly kinky, some hair pulling, scratching, shower sex.

Words: 4226

A/N: This started life as a blurb about brushing Roger's hair - a thought I haven't been able to shake for at least a week - but gradually turned into a full on smut fest lmao. I guess Rog just has that effect on me...

Taglist: @laedymoon​ @dtfrogertaylor​ @vee-ndetta​ @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac​ @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks​ @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​ @queenmylovely​ @supersonicfreddie​ @taron-egrotten​ @johndeaconshands​ @borhapbois​ @stardust-galaxies​

It’s Pavlovian, the way you react to Roger’s playing. If he wasn’t so charming you’d curse him for it. How all you have to hear is him counting everyone into the first song of the night and already you’re thinking about later, about what happens when you get home. Most weeks are the same though you’d never call it a routine. That sounds too boring, too predictable and Roger is anything but boring and predictable. But there is a pattern forming. And it all starts with that fucking count. The way he twirls his drumstick as he settles himself to play. He’s wired from the beginning, from even before they get on stage. Bouncing on the balls of his feet as they get ready, endlessly joking and playfully teasing. So much so that your side hurts from laughing just a little bit. And that energy, that excitement, only grows as they play. Feeding off the noise of the smoke-filled bar and the way people cheer and his mates playing beside him. You watch him every show, close to the front though a little to the side of the stage. He can’t see you anyway and being out of the main crush of people makes it easier to get to the bar again if you want another drink. Not that you ever do. You’re too entranced by it all. The way the four boys perform, make it look so effortless, though you’ve heard the spats and hours of practice that prove it’s not. The way the crowd follows them and spurs them on. Girls with eyes glued to the fingers roaming over frets and plucking at strings. Voices slurred with alcohol or rough from yelling or husky from smoking, all mixed as they call out names of favourite songs and cheer no matter what gets played next. Your attention wanders back to Roger more than anyone else though. Hands rapidly flying from one drum to another, his whole body caught up in the movement, twirling his sticks between notes because he can and he wants everyone to know it. His head tipped back, flung forward, hair and eyes wild. You don’t quite understand how his hair doesn’t get in his way, doesn’t annoy him with the way it flicks around every time he moves. But it mustn't because he refuses to cut it whenever you make the suggestion.

By the time their set is drawing to a close you’re feeling pretty fired up yourself, high from second hand smoke and the bass drum vibrating through your bones and the way Roger’s glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, his shirt open, the necklace you gave him glinting as it catches what little light there is. The final notes ring out, overwhelmingly loud, and you know that’s your cue. Ducking under arms and squeezing between people as you push back to the bar to order the usual after gig round of drinks. The barman knows you by now, so you don’t have to say anything before he’s pulling out glasses, a mixture of shots and pints and a couple of cocktails thrown in for colour, and by the time the selection is laid out before you the boys have materialised at your side. Roger is quick to wrap his arm around your waist as you all down a few shots and then grab the rest of your drinks and head to a table. The lack of space between you and he doesn’t stop a couple of bold women from approaching, flirting with him as they congratulate the band on another great show. He thanks them, polite but uninterested in whatever they’re trying to offer, and pushes on with you tucked tightly to his side.

For a while you just hang out but Roger’s still completely amped. Half his beer is gone the first time he brings the glass to his lips and he fidgets in his seat, restless energy personified. He’d play a whole second set if he was asked. No one asks. Instead he crosses his legs, un-crosses them, slouches low, sits up, arm on the back of your chair then dropped to grab your hand then rubbing your knee then tapping the top of the table. His laugh is frequently heard cutting through the noisy conversations around you as he leans across the table, sits back, slides lower in the chair and then pops up straighter once more. Never still for long. It’s a relief when Brian suggests packing everything into the van. You help them wind up cords, carry amps out the back door. When everything’s packed away there’s more drinking and joking around. Roger’s hands wander a little further, unashamedly squeezing your arse or sliding up your thigh until you remind him where you are. The room feels ten times warmer than it did before and you wouldn’t have stopped him except your sat across from his best mates and something about the way he’s touching you makes you think he doesn’t have the cognitive awareness to recognise that. He’s just got too much adrenaline, too much energy he doesn’t know what to do with, fogging up his brain. He obviously has ideas though, the same ideas you’ve been trying to ignore since he first sat down at his kit. He leans towards your ear, asks if you’re ready to leave. You nod, say goodnight to the others. Roger tells them to stay out of mischief, voice a little louder than it needs to be. “Look who’s talking,” “They’ll be no mischief on my watch, I’ll look after him.” “Y/N you’re an enabler,” “As long as he’s not getting arrested,” “Oi, fuck off,” “Quick Y/N, get him home before he slags off the wrong person,” There’s laughter and a round of see you laters, a few nicknames the boys wouldn’t want their mothers to hear, before you exit the bar, Roger’s arm around you once more.

His voice is still loud on the drive home and he taps out a beat on the steering wheel, antsy, eager to continue the night unobserved by everyone else. Your ears are still ringing so you can only imagine what’s going on in his head – a play by play of the best parts of the set probably. A song he likes comes on the radio so he turns it up loud, winds his window down, grinning at you, letting the whole neighbourhood hear the whine of the guitars. “We should cover this one,” he half shouts, accelerating a little, the rhythm of his tapping fingers changing to match the music, “Fuck! We should cover it! Bri’d go feral for the chance to play it,” You agree though you aren’t sure he hears you. You’re lucky he hasn’t started air drumming along. It happened once before, his foot suddenly hitting the break as he put it down in time with the song’s beat. You’d only been going slow then so all you’d had to deal with was a honk from the car behind you. Roger apologised, promised to be more careful, and you laughed it off. It’s a bit of a wonder he hasn’t ever repeated the mistake with how into the music he gets, how absentmindedly he drives, especially after a show and a few drinks. Muscle memory and second nature. Maybe he shouldn’t be driving but you live close enough that it doesn’t even cross your mind to call a cab. The song fades out and is replaced by yours. The song that was playing in the second hand store you’d met at. Roger takes his eyes off the road to find yours, smiles, clearly thinking about that day. You’d been trying on a dress you’d found, modelling it for a friend to get her opinion, when Roger had complemented your look, suggested adding a fur coat to it. He offered his own but said he’d need your number so he could get it back. You’d laughed at the line but decided you could afford to reward his boldness and written your number on the back of his hand. The coat had kept you warm for the rest of the day and many since. You’re about to say something about the memory, ask Roger if he really thought the pickup line would work (judging by the look on his face when you’d pulled a pen from your bag and grabbed his hand, he hadn’t) but he’s already singing along, hand squeezing your thigh again as his attention shifts back to the road. He glances at you a few more times, encourages you to sing along by holding his closed fist in front of your face like it’s a microphone. He keeps singing as he pulls up in front of your apartment, turns off the engine, steps out of the car. You meet him at the edge of the driveway where he grabs your hand and twirls you around in a circle, both of you giggling. And then he’s heading inside, up the stairs, pulling you along with him.

Your heart is beating faster now, fully aware of what’s coming, like one of Roger’s drum solos playing out against your chest. Roger doesn’t disappoint. He opens the door with enough force to make it bounce off the wall behind it, helping it shut with a kick from his foot. His hands are well and truly occupied, resuming their path over your body, grabbing and squeezing. There’s a flurry of movement from his hands, like he isn’t sure where to start or rather like he’s eager to start everywhere all at once, before he focuses in on your shirt and getting it off of you. It hits the ground carelessly as you walk backwards, further into the apartment, but Roger’s fingers are already working at the fly of your jeans. He gets the button undone, gets distracted trying to kiss you without overbalancing. His hands slide over your stomach, your sides, down to grab your arse and pull you into him. It’s only then he remembers the zip on your pants and moves one hand back to pull it down. You start removing his clothes but you’re too slow for his liking. He has energy to burn and he wants to burn it right away. No stopping to savour the moment, no slowly working up to the big finale. No, he wants to be in you already. And it’s impossible to pretend you haven’t been thinking about exactly that since right back at the start of the evening. You kick your jeans across the floor as Roger tears his own clothes off. There’s enough time for half a breath before he spins you around to face the wall, pushes your back to make you bend at the waist. He doesn’t bother to remove your underwear at all. Fiddling with the clasp of your bra would be too time consuming and why bother pushing panties down when you can pull them to the side instead. He laughs as he realises just how damp the crotch of your knickers is. “Good. Don’t need to worry about fingers.” You gasp, tense up as he plunges into you. His grip on your hip is tight enough that the tips of his fingers have turned white, keeping you in place as he roughly fucks you. A small scratch appears in the wallpaper as you try to find a sturdy grip. An impossible task. You have to make do as best you can, relying on Roger to hold you in place. “Love how wet you get from watching us play,” “Just you, Rog,” you whimper as he uses you. He laughs, somehow grasps you even tighter, “Good. My needy little groupie.” He nips at your neck and you turn your head, lips opening with a whimper as he pushes himself deeper into your heat. The kiss is messy, teeth colliding as he tries to release all that pent up energy he’s been carrying around since he exited the stage.  You don’t cum that first time, you never do. It’s about Roger’s need for release, Roger’s excess energy, not yours. But you don’t mind. He’s gone above and beyond for you plenty of times before and he’ll do the same plenty more to come. The least you can do is be a pliant hole for him to get off in after each gig.  

You stay bent over, palms pressed firmly against the wall, as Roger gives a few extra thrusts, prolonging his own pleasure, before he pulls out. You stay there as he leans against you almost hidden by a curtain of his own hair, panting heavily in your ear, until he can find it in him to stand up. You stay there, with his hand on your back to keep you in place until he sees his cum dribble from your cunt. He’s calmed a bit, the bounce in his step a little less pronounced, but he can be worn out further. He needs more, needs to fully come down from the high of playing, if he wants to get a wink of sleep. When you regain your full height and turn to face him, he kisses you. He almost catches you off guard with it, making you pull in a sharp breath as his lips meet yours and he presses you into the wall. You feel completely breathless when he pulls back, dizzy from the taste of him. You both laugh softly as you look at each other, still so close you’re breathing each other’s air. “You’re sweaty,” you say softly, , dragging one palm down his chest, pouting a little. The statement is fact but it’s also code for please keep fucking me. It’s the sexy kind of sweaty. “That’s what happens when you play drums and then come home and fuck a slut,” You try to hide the shiver his tone sends along your spine, how hungry for more one little degrading name can make you. Unsuccessfully judging by the way Roger winks at you. He knows you too well, knows which buttons to push to turn you into the needy slut he so enjoys using and you so enjoy being for him. Not that it takes much to get you there, especially after he’s dropped a quick load in you and left you eager for your own release. If you had the space you’d drop to your knees to clean his cock with your tongue, taste yourself on him. But he’s still got you up against the wall, boxed in by his arms, so instead you bite your lip and give him a look that you hope comes across as either sexy innocence or sultry seductress. He laughs again, leans into your ear, “You need it that bad, love?” You just nod as he catches your earlobe between his teeth and gently tugs. There’s no point pretending otherwise. “You’ve wanted it all night, haven’t you?” He pouts back at you, teasing, mocking you for being so easy, “Let’s give her what she wants then.” He’s hasn’t quite finished speaking when he grabs your hand and pulls you into the kitchen. Sometimes you make it to the bedroom, sometimes you don’t. Tonight there’s no chance, or at least not until you’ve taken him a few times. He clears off the small square table where you eat most of your meals with a sweep of his arm, sheets of uni notes and scrawled ideas for the band fluttering to the floor, beaten there by the loud thump of one of his biology textbooks. The moment the surface is free he’s lifting you onto it, pulling your underpants off as you focus on your bra. When it too has joined the mess on the floor you lie back, arms around Roger’s neck to keep him close, the cold pendant hanging from his necklace making you shiver as it gets caught between you. He kisses you again, bites your lip with a smile and then dips his head towards your chest instead. You twist the ends of his sweat damp hair around your fingers as he enters you again. It’s not quite the same as when he took you against the wall moments before but it’s still rough, fast, hard. The first time he fucked you like that you were surprised such an angelic, pretty, soft boy could be such a devil. Biting you, pulling on your hair, leaving you with marks from how tight he held you. But you left him with marks too, nails digging into his arms and back, tugging on his hair as much as he tugged on yours. He’d just laughed when he saw the scratches in the mirror. Laughed and told you he loved you for the first time. A lot of firsts that day. He says it again now, words gasped between rapid breaths and those little whines he makes. You’d say it back except you’re not sure how to form words anymore, aside from fuck and god and his name if he’s lucky. He doesn’t mind though, he always enjoys making you speechless. You moan as he mouths at your neck, pounding into you like a fucking jackhammer, and he raises his head just enough to gloat. “Feels good doesn’t it love?” You’d call him an arse if he’d just slow down and let you breathe, a cocky bastard, a big-headed prick. You must manage to stutter one of them out because Roger responds. “T-think you mean epic – fucking – shag,” there’s a few panted breaths and then an order to rub your clit and you don’t even consider disobeying, slipping a hand between your bodies to find it. Your so close already, wound up beyond belief, eyes screwed shut and body arching as you moan. It only takes a few more moments for your climax to hit, accompanied by a violent thumping from the other side of the wall that you barely hear and that Roger only laughs at.

When you can open your eyes again they meet Roger’s. He’s still leaning over you, both palms braced against the table top, but he lowers himself a little to kiss you, smiling against your lips. You mewl as he pulls out of you once more but he swallows the sound. Slowly he retreats, pushes his hair back from his face and then takes your hand to help you sit up. He stays standing between your legs, kisses you a few more times as you both relearn how to breathe properly. His nose bumps against your cheek as he finds your lips once more, like a cat displaying affection. It’s a much softer kiss. “How’re you feeling?” “Mmhmm, good,” your voice sounds raspy to you so you swallow as best you can before saying more, “need a shower.” He laughs again, a soft puff of air against your mouth as he rests his forehead against yours, “Always so practical.” “One of us has to be,” “So you keep saying. D’you think you can stand?” “Let’s find out. Get ready to catch me.” Roger helps you down, helps you stand on shaky legs, helps you walk to the bathroom. He insists on helping you into the shower too, saying he feels responsible for your lack of mobility since he’s the one who fucked you so well. You bat his shoulder but let him accompany you into the bathroom and under the steaming water. “Mr Johnson next door hates us by the way,” he said it with a grin, looking very happy with himself, “Think we might have been overheard,” another laugh, his hand sliding from your waist to press against your pussy. You lean against Roger as his fingers rub over you, collecting the evidence of the evening so far, sliding along your slit before pressing into you. “Think we can piss everyone off a little more though, don’t you,” You agree with a soft moan, the sound echoing around the small bathroom as Roger pulls his fingers free, lifts your leg, slides into you once again, pressing you against the cold tiles on the wall. Its much slower that time. Partly because of the location, partly because Roger isn’t as hyped as he was before you got home. He holds you tightly though as you whine into his neck, his fingers on your clit. The noise makes your head spin, the drops of water hitting the floor of the shower, his grunts and encouraging words mixed with your own sighs and moans, all of it bouncing around the room, layered over each other. Your orgasm builds relatively slowly, kept alive by the constant pressure around your clit more than the cock buried in you. And Roger doesn’t chase his release like before, doesn’t thrust into you forcefully. Rather, he just holds you as close as possible, bucking his hips a little but mostly just enjoying the way you clench around him as you get closer to the edge. He swears in response to the way you tighten, warns you he’s close. You reach up and drag your fingers through his hair, press your lips to the base of his throat. He doesn’t hold out much longer, running out of energy to maintain control like that, pressing you firmly against the wall as he fills you again. His fingers fall from your clit as he shudders through his release but it’s only a momentary lapse, the pressure back even as you whine at the loss. You both know you’re close, Roger leaning into your ear to tell you to let go, to cum for him. When it does hit, it’s not an earth-shattering orgasm. You don’t see stars, don’t scream, don’t collapse in an exhausted heap. You let out a soft whine against Roger’s skin as warmth spreads through you, calm and nice. He rubs his hand over your hip until you let go of his hair, let your foot drop back to the floor. The steady stream of water reminds you where you are as Roger kisses the top of your head. He asks how you feel now, stops hovering quite so close when you say you’re fine to stand on your own. But he doesn’t go further than the corner of the shower, watching as you wash your hair and lather yourself in soap, just in case. He gives you a hand out when you’re clean but stays under the shower himself while you get changed and take care of your post-sex routine. When you glance back at him he’s got his eyes closed, head tilted back, relaxing.

You’re sitting in bed, a book open in your lap, though you aren’t really reading it, when you hear the shower close off, the soft pad of wet feet, and Roger appears in the doorway. He digs around in his clothes for a minute, finds some clean underwear and slips them on quietly. He smiles at you, a soft sleepy sort of a smile, as he takes the towel to his head, trying to wring as much water from his hair as possible. When he can’t be bothered with it anymore he lets the towel drop to the floor, a problem for tomorrow much like the rest of the mess you made through the apartment. A trail of lust fuelled destruction you’ll need to pick up and put away. He grabs a hairbrush from the top of the chest of draws and sits beside you, trying to hide a yawn. “Tired?” “No,” Roger lies, settling himself and beginning to work the brush through his locks. “Well I am so if you were planning on starting another round you’ll have to do it on your own,” He shakes his head as he tugs the brush through a particularly knotted section, “I’ll keep – fuck – I’ll keep that in mind. You got any spare socks I can use?” You laugh but Roger winces as the brush gets caught once again. “Jesus, knew I should have used more conditioner,” “You want some help with that?” “Yes please,” You mark your page and place the book to the side before pushing yourself to your knees and shuffling closer to Roger. He turns around so his back is to you, handing the brush over his shoulder. Slowly and carefully you start to untangle the knots his hair has twisted into, pulling the brush through small sections over and over until it runs smooth. “You ever think ab-” “I’m not cutting it Y/N,” “Just a suggestion,” “If I cut it you’d have nothing to hold on to.” “Fair enough,” You keep chatting as you brush Roger’s hair, able to feel him relax against you, the tension leaving his shoulders and neck, able to hear the exhaustion in every word he says. By the time you’re done his eyelids are drooping, every ounce of the overabundance of energy gone. “C’mon babe, time for bed,” you say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Roger just nods, shuffles around until he can crawl under the covers. You put the hairbrush on your bedside table and join him, laying on your side to face him. He takes one of your hands, lazily tugs it to his lips. “Love you,” “Love you too, Rog,” He lets his eyes close but doesn’t release you. Not until he’s well and truly asleep.

[inthebivy]

Fear & Trembling in the Winds

Late July, 2016

I’d been scared all day, since Tommy and I started up the Wolf’s Head at dawn. My friend Zach had warned me that three groups of his friends climbed it and all said “Horrifying, terrible, don’t do it!” I already knew I didn’t like being on top of vertical cliffs, where there’s no escape. But here I was anyway. Here, halfway through the “Piton Pitch,” the most notorious 50 feet of the route. It was easy for a while, a ledge traverse with a crack nicely protected by old pitons, so plenty of places for my hands and feet - then I rounded a corner and suddenly the ledge and crack petered out into nothing, into a sea of holdless slab. 15 feet away I saw the end, a huge sandy ledge you could sleep on. But in between was nothing - just one old piton hammered into the middle of it, what seemed like a very far way away. 

I started out towards that piton, and found nothing good to hold, or stand on. Shit. I retreated. There was another way, going up a hard-looking crack, also with a piton in it. Maybe I should go that way? I pulled out the “beta,” information on which way to go where, and confirmed that indeed, I should just head out the slab. Damn it.

I looked out, and down. The exposure was relentless. “Exposure” meaning cliffs falling away below you for hundreds and hundreds of feet. Still no good holds. But a storm was threatening, and there was no going back, or down, so I cast off into the void, the sea of nothing. 

Wolf’s Head ridge looking steep from Pingora

How I got into this pickle 

A couple months ago I wrote about my mountain mentor and great friend Ben. I wrote about how he took me up climbs that scared me so much I couldn’t move. And now I was back in what I knew was Ben’s favorite kind of climbing - ridge traverses - like Evolution, or Palisades, or Forbidden. This is a climb Ben would have loved.  It’s a climb Ben would have taken me up, dragged me up, me paralyzed with fear, “gripped,” rattled, lost it, but still there.

Today I want to talk about that fear more.

Most climbers I know don’t have the same fear of heights that I do. Sure, everyone says they’re scared of heights. Even Will Gadd. But Ben would hop up on a tiny summit pinnacle. Greg does that too, and Ryan - “climbers” do that. They’re comfortable in thin air, like mountain goats. It’s not like that for me. Get me even 5 feet off the ground and I cling tight, I stay seated, I don’t want to stand up, I feel the vertigo, the “what if,” “what if I fall?” I like to hold on tight. I’ve bailed off beginner routes because I was scared - a 5.6 in Lander last spring, a 5.8 (with bolts!) just last week. So … why do I climb? I used to say “I’m retiring” after every climb. But then I go again. I’m probably the worst climber who’s been climbing for 10 years, because my fear resets my skills to 0 every season.

I’ve felt fear for a long time. Growing up, I was afraid of the dark. I would jump from my bed to the safety of the hallway to avoid being nabbed by the monsters under the bed, or on the floor. I wasn’t scared of heights, I don’t think - I spent much of my waking hours climbing trees in the yard, looking down at our roof. But as time went on, I gained that fear. The Fear, I called it. The paralyzing fear.

I’ve tried to work with the fear a few times. It’s a knot in the pit of your stomach. It’s a tight chest, or neck. It causes me to leave, to run away. In DC, in 2005, I tried “exposure therapy” to fear - I’d stay in dark rooms, or shut the door in the bathroom (with monsters hiding in the mirror). I re-read “Dune” and found the Litany:

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

I read Buddhist philosophy and practice about detaching from the illusions we think are our true self.

But I lost my nerve and stopped facing fears. When I hiked half the Appalachian Trail in 2008, I was scared of being alone, and never sat through to see what was on the other side of it. I clung to other people. And I grew ever more scared of heights.

Fear and the Diamond

Three mountains stand out as the peaks of my fear, all 2010 trips with Ben: downclimbing a 4th class slab onto the Little Bear - Blanca traverse (Ben had to talk me down); getting totally paralyzed, unable to move, on the East Ridge of Forbidden Peak (Ben had to break out the rope and throw me one end); and what has become the Ultimate Fear, the ultima thule of terror: getting three pitches up the Diamond on Longs Peak (also with Ben) and completely losing it; we bailed and he noted the cause as “Skye altitude sick” - a generous diagnosis. I may have been altitude sick, as I went from sea level to 13,500’ in a day. More to the point, I was completely psychologically shattered.

Little Bear to Blanca. Intense fear, and eventually came to terms with it.

Ben rapping down to the start of the Diamond, after my first rain-bivy, also at 13,500′. Note his smile.

Here’s me, petrified, on the side of Longs Peak just before we bailed. Note the terror in my eyes.

  Into the Winds

The Winds have been on my list for 2 years, and were high on the list for this fall. I planned to go in September, after the legendary mosquitos died down, but an old ranger friend from Philmont, Tommy, hit me up on Facebook a month ago.

Hey Skye! Nice looking pictures, you defintitely have the beta for Wyoming. Im looking for a climbing last weekend of july to climb Pingora or something in the Cirque. Ive got a rope and half a rack. Seeing if youre interested

I was interested. I hadn’t seen Tommy in a decade, and I remembered him as a bit of a wildman, so I made sure we were on the same page about risk:

Me: Also as a general caveat, I am pretty darn cautious / conservative when it comes to risk, and have lost the "summit fever" I used to have... my priorities are 1. come back alive 2. come back friends 3. get to a summit. You down with that philosophy? Tommy: Absolutely, Ive definitely learned to swallow my pride when it comes to summits. No more of a humbling feeling than when mother nature decides whether or not you send. Here are my priorities, 1. get on the route. 2. get off the route safely 3. enjoy the climb 4. summit.

So it was on. A month went by, I got my gear together, and I headed south after work, through the Cliff Creek fire zone (props to the wildland firefighters out there!), met Tommy in the morning, and hiked in to Cirque Lake. 

Hiking in, Pingora at right and Wolfs Head atop a cloud.

We climbed Pingora Peak’s South Buttress, the chillest sweetest sunniest rock, huge ledges and nice climbing and straightforward rappelling. 

We looked at Wolf’s Head from the top and were both fully intimidated. We camped at the lake again, shooting star photos. Tommy dreaming of Wolf’s Head. We woke, and we headed up. 

Wolf’s Head

I was scared from the first step onto the rock, up grassy ledges to the start of the route on the “Sidewalk.” Tommy was fine.

We got near the Sidewalk, and I felt inside: I should climb this. This is what Ben taught me to do - and I’m ready. I can do this. I told Tommy I was up for it, and he protested not.

I headed up the Sidewalk, 2 feet wide, unprotected, cliffs on both sides - and I wasn’t really there, mentally. I was moving tentatively, clinging. Halfway out I thought maybe I could get a piece of gear in, so I pulled out the “nuts” - metal chocks that fit in cracks to hold a fall - and, something I’ve never done before, I dropped half of them off the side of the mountain. Now I was trembling for real. This was a problem - a major portion of our safety gear, gone, and me shaking in the middle of an unprotected skinny slab.

Looking back down the Sidewalk

The nuts had landed on ledges below us, so I retreated back down the Sidewalk, downclimbed the ledges, retrieved the nuts, and got back up to the Sidewalk. Take 2. I breathed deep - this time, just go for it. And I just went for it. Feet, rubber soles smearing on sticky granite. Hands, holding the two edges, corners, solid holds. And I just moved. No funny business trying to put a nut in halfway - I just went. I crossed the Sidewalk, got to a solid spot, I put in solid gear, and I whooped with joy. I had done it. And my head was in the game. But The Fear was still there, underneath - fear of what was to come.

We climbed 4 pitches to get to the towers. The Towers. Four towers, each with its own “crux” or hard move. The “hard moves” were only 5.6 - easy, by any good climber’s standard - but still bone-chilling to do above hundreds of feet of thin air, when you have an almost-debilitating fear of heights like I do.

This whole time, I had The Fear. It was ever-present. And in turn, I worked on being present with the fear. On seeing the fear as something separate from me - so that I wasn’t consumed by the fear, but could hold it at arms-length, thank it for keeping me safe, and still not be paralyzed or ruled by it. “Ah, fear - that’s a feeling.” And keep moving.

Getting to the base of the first tower move was a scary and awkward down-crawl on loose rock without good protection, and we both got rattled. “Good gear, good rope, keep moving” became my mantra. I saw a rappel station and thought “maybe we should bail…” - better yet, maybe we should get the Canadians behind us with double 70 meter ropes to bail, and slide down their ropes back to our camp. But they weren’t bailing, and we kept moving.

Tommy did the boulder hug move in style, then got into a very tight awkward chimney and stopped, inside the slot, before the piton ledge. The Piton Pitch. He was around a corner and kept shouting back about how awkward it was. “Awkward is fine” I shouted back, “just make it safe.” He did. I followed, and popped out on the ledge. Tommy was not stoked, which is unusual with him, but he was hanging in there.

The ledge looked great, and I saw two pitons in the crack in the corner. Pitons are old-school climbing gear, metal hammered into cracks too small to take other gear. Solid. All’s well. I walked out, around the bend - and the ledge petered away into nothingness. There was another piton, out in the middle of a sea of slab. Slab meaning no cracks, nothing to really hold on to, grab, stick a hand or foot in securely. Just little holds. This is fine when you have bolts the whole way, and a short walk back to the car. But here, although safe, it still was terrifying.

I saw another route, a vertical crack, with a piton in it. It looked harder, and it wasn’t clear if it “went” all the way to the ledge. I looked back at the horizontal route. The ledge was only 15 feet away, huge, and inviting. I just had to get there across an infinity of slab, and one piton.

Tommy entering the Piton Pitch

I checked the beta again. Yep, definitely have to go out that slab. And so I went. Good handholds, one at a diagonal but it worked. Decent footholds. I headed down and right to the piton. I clipped it with a sling. And I headed out, into space, towards the ledge. There was another crack. I reached it. I let out a whoop and holler. I was home free. I placed a cam in the crack and headed to the ledge. I built an anchor, and told Tommy I was off belay. I was safe! I had made it through the hardest part! And I hadn’t really even looked down, down the hundreds and hundreds of feet to the ground.

This is just how climbers climb. It’s not anything special. But for me, with my fear of heights, it was downright magical. It was a breakthrough. The Fear was gone.

Waiting for Tommy to take down his anchor, I thought about Ben. I thought about Ben like I had thought about him on the Grand last summer, “my first big mountain alpine lead.” I thought he would have loved it, and I thought Ben I miss you fuck I miss you. I missed him, and I cried, and my eyes stung from the sweat and fear and sunscreen. Then I had Tommy on belay, and he was climbing.

Tommy followed to the ledge, unhappy on the slab too. Then he headed up around Tower 3… and right then, the sky opened up and the rock was instantly soaked with rain. Tommy continued, aiming for a cave at the base of Tower 4. He climbed quickly, then I followed. This was a hand crack traverse, over infinite space again, on a rope, and wow: heady.

Tower 4, the final crux. I wanted to hand it off to Tommy but instead just went for it. Did it. Climbed it, had fun with it! I stuck my foot in the crack, along with my 2 hands, in order to be solid to place a big cam in the crack. Now this is fun! The Fear was gone. I was just climbing.

We got through tower 4, then climbed 2 more pitches of easy, fun rock, and I ended up on the summit. The summit!

The clouds had vanished when Tommy was halfway through Tower 3, by the way, and stayed away for the rest of the day.

We headed down 6 rappels and a bunch of ledge-walking, some exposed, some mellow. I had a new rappel system down, taught me by my roommate Mike, for extra efficiency and safety. I felt efficient and safe on the rappels. I felt safe in the mountains.

We got back to camp, swam, ate, shared food with the Canadians who were right behind us all day, drank a beer and stayed up late taking star photos.

From camp, at night under stars and Milky Way, surrounded by mountains, and in the morning, sunrise advancing over the granite peaks, I bowed to the four directions:

Thank you, mountains Thank you, family Thank you, friends Thank you, Ben (and all who’ve gone before)

Life, death, what is this existence anyway??

This life, and the fact that it’s going to end for each of us, is a crazy thing to me. It doesn’t fit in with the day-to-day in our society, or the stories we tell, or what we take for meaning. Save money, buy a house, get promotions, buy a bigger house, buy a bigger TV, a bigger truck. All of that falls away during climbing.

Up on Wolf’s Head, a thousand feet off the deck, dark clouds all around and rain coming down, no escape other than keep going all the way over, for hours, with fear and trembling - that truth, that mortal truth, is very present. And the focus and presence, the “lead head” or “lead mind” that I have to get into in order to climb - that place of sheer utter presence, because you have to, of separating from The Fear, of sitting with it, not running away from it, for hours, on top of a 2 or 10 foot wide ridge, counting on your partner to stay with it too, to save your life by building a safe anchor and catching you if you fall - that specific mental focused place - that’s why I go climbing.

I headed up Wolf’s Head for Ben, because I knew he would have loved it, and would have taken me up it. I fought fear for hours, and found the presence and place that lies beyond fear. And by staying through it, I found something deeper, not for Ben or for anyone else, but for me.

Thanks to Tommy for being a great, fun, and safe partner (not in that order). Thanks to “the Canadians” - Rob & Jill - who were right behind us all day with a double-70m rope, giving me some extra security if we’d had to bail. And big props to Max and Ryan for free-soloing pretty much that whole route, in about an hour, early in the morning before we even got to the Sidewalk.

Postscript, June 2017

This is the Diamond. Two months before Wolf’s Head, I climbed a peak across the valley from the Diamond with Philmont friend Chris Sawyer. I’ve spent much of the year since re-learning the physics, mechanics, and safety systems of climbing. I bought a new harness, new rope, better shoes. And this year (almost a year since Wolf’s Head) I’ve climbed 50 pitches of “sport” climbing and am back in the game. I’m climbing as hard as I was at my peak in 2012, and getting better. This story about the Diamond may not be over yet...