#carboloading i guess

[autobahnmp3]

im like stress eating rn bc im scared I'll actually run out of stamina halfway through the hike lmao

[spacestationstorybook]

3, 5 and 9 + Rainbow dash, 14, 16 and 18 + Glados, 4, 7 and 20 + Karlach for the fem f/o asks please!

💌donahdevotees💌

WOOHOO thanks so much @donahdevotees!! <3333 i love. Women

3. What foods does she love that you hate and vice versa? i actually think we might have more in common than not (canonically she loves to carboload which Same and also dislikes pie which. same! for the most part. sorry‏‏‎ ‎pinkie.‏‏‎ ‎though i do like chocolate pies just nothing with fruit in them) but i feel like while she snacks a lot she also eats a lot of weird health food to help her stay in shape which i'm not a fan of. not sure what i like that she wouldn't i'm usually the pickier one. i guess the chocolate pies lol

5. Do you stash snacks for each other? What kind? i believe in my heart and soul that she's a sour gummy worm girl. probably doritos and other chips too (she likes spicy chips i like tangy ones. salt and vinegar ftw) we probably have similar snack preferences but we both kind of hate to share (unless it's one of those ginormous bags) so i like to think she keeps a little cupboard just for astral‏‏‎ ‎snacks‏‏‎ ‎(or more likely astral keeps a cupboard for her because she lives in the sky so she's probably visiting them more than vice versa.)

9. Do you have nicknames for each other? just mentioned calling her speedy...which again. precious. dashie‏‏‎ ‎of course but since that one's a little more cutesy it's usually used during private just the two of them time (pinkie‏‏‎ ‎and‏‏‎ ‎fluttershy‏‏‎ ‎use it too but well. they're pinkie‏‏‎ ‎and‏‏‎ ‎fluttershy).‏‏‎ ‎astral's name doesn't lend itself to nicknames so well but ohhhh my god what if she called them sparky like to go with speedy.......FUCK okay that's adorable

answering the rest under a cut because my answers to ask games get long sorry haha

14. What are your thoughts on each other's profession? Do you visit each other at work? they technically have the same job lol which is scientist at‏‏‎ ‎aperture‏‏‎ ‎labs‏‏‎ ‎but after‏‏‎ ‎portal!nyx‏‏‎ ‎gets their robot body and aperture‏‏‎ ‎becomes defunct they don't Have to work anymore they just do it for fun. they help her set up the testing chambers. sometimes they go above ground just to explore but they always come back and tell her about their day :)

16. What type of gifts do you give each other? (For birthdays, special occasions, holidays, etc) i think‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎glados‏‏‎ ‎likes running little simulations for portal!nyx‏‏‎ ‎to complete (enrichment for them!!) so for a special occasion she'd run a really advanced and intricate one like some sort of one person escape room or something. she doesn't really get the point of holidays and such but she does like to see them having fun.‏‏‎ ‎and in exchange they bring her little gifts from aboveground :) books or stuffed animals or shirts with dumb sayings on them (she can't wear them but they amuse her).

18. What's one moment in your relationship where she changed your perspective of yourself and vice versa? i feel like‏‏‎ ‎portal!nyx‏‏‎ ‎struggles a lot with feeling useful and important (one of my most common insecurities to give to my s/is). and i think that‏‏‎ ‎while‏‏‎ ‎glados‏‏‎ ‎is somewhat annoyed by them at first (though she still chose to put them in the robot body soooooo) they feel energized by all the little tasks she gives them and while sometimes they're lonely it's nice to find meaning in being useful for someone. as for vice versa portal!nyx‏‏‎ ‎is the classic Villain's Soft Spot so maybe they just change her perspective of herself as rageful and evil allll the time. (just some of the time)

4. What drink does she order for you? What do you order for her? oh i LOVE trying weird drinks and‏‏‎ ‎karlach‏‏‎ ‎loves trying weird anything in general.‏‏‎ ‎i think‏‏‎ ‎aerax‏‏‎ ‎should get a fancy lemonade that like changes color (which‏‏‎ ‎in‏‏‎ ‎the‏‏‎ ‎original‏‏‎ ‎bg3‏‏‎ ‎setting would probably be because of magic) and‏‏‎ ‎karlach‏‏‎ ‎should get hmmmm. something tropical probably....maybe a pina colada that'd be fun (regarding alcoholic drinks i have no idea about my own preferences yet because i'm 20 in america but i like virgin margaritas so we'll say‏‏‎ ‎aerax‏‏‎ ‎likes real margaritas)

7. What hobbies do you share? What hobbies do you do separately but encourage the other about? both of them LOVE adventuring and discovering new things!‏‏‎ ‎karlach specifically likes more dangerous stuff and aerax...could really give or take the life threatening peril but loves discovering new plants or animals or spells or anything really.‏‏‎ ‎karlach‏‏‎ ‎is very into athletic pursuits and‏‏‎ ‎aerax‏‏‎ ‎is fairly strong but not nearly to her level but they like to encourage her (it helps that she can pick them up easily despite them being almost as tall as her).‏‏‎ ‎aerax‏‏‎ ‎is a big reader and‏‏‎ ‎karlach‏‏‎ ‎is not so much but she Does let‏‏‎ ‎aerax recommend her things they think she'll like as long as they don't make her read any of the big dusty spellbooks.

20. Free space, gush about her/your ship! she is SOOOO lovely...definitely the‏‏‎ ‎number one thing that got me into‏‏‎ ‎bg3.‏‏‎ ‎there were many other smaller things but i might not have bought it and just been content to enjoy it through my mutuals if it hadn't been for her. she's so tough but also SO kind and caring despite all she's been through and she feels so much...she deserves to never have anything bad happen to her ever again forever

[amnachil]

The College Society Chapter 3 Part 9

Another part ! Quite funny to write tbh :)

Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey Friday February 22 – Saturday February 23

The night was going perfectly until the baboon call. The Dean's grandson managed to hit on a girl band, and they were all in his bed right now. He had such a good time when they had sung his name. Because they were from the chorale of the university, it was joyous, in every sense of the word. They had been taking great care of his body and especially his dick, but then, Liam had called. And that was why he, Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey the best hunter, ended up over the balcony, dressed only in briefs despite the cold. And we saw eachother like two hours ago... Fuck these conditions and my weak will to respect them.

"What do you want baboon ?" he asked, trying to sounds annoyed. "It's late and I'm busy you know ?"

"Wanted to hear your voice." whispered his boyfriend. "Today, Colton and I managed to get Nick into water, and wow it was so hard... Imma go sleep, but I missed you."

This is bullshit. The blond lad thought that quickly but in truth ? In truth he was more than delighted with this crappy romantic stuff.

"What's so special abou' my voice ?"

Liam chuckled.

"It's cute." he explained. "It make me smile, and I want to wrap you in my arms."

Holy cow. Stop it baboon. Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey started to blush and to have a boner in the same time. He could picture himself hugged in his boyfriend's arms, warm and comfy. He almost felt his head against his strong chest, his lower back pushing into his soft middle...

"And you called only for that ?" he mumbled, in a vain attempt to get back his self-control.

"Yeah. Is it a problem ?"

"No. I mean, I'm not sure to understand why my voice's cute, but whatever... As long as it please you..."

He was falling in this stupid romance, day after day. And the more he tried to convince himself it was fake, only a way to caught the prey, the more he doubted to be able to go back. To be his former self afterwards.

"Thank you Dami, for this and for everything." whispered suddenly his boyfriend. "I have something to give you tomorow, after the game."

"Yeah ? What is it ?"

"A surprise."

Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey felt way too happy. He even thought he was sick so much he was eager to see Liam again. Damnit. He definitely corrupted me after all.

The next morning came quite fast. He didn't sleep much. Someone had to take care of this boner and the girls were there. But today, he had something important to do. The football game was tonight. And he promised to help Nate. Thus, he headed towards the stadium around 10 am, and went straight into the lockeroom. The football team was there, most of them getting ready for a last training. Since it was their round of sixteen for the national, it was a pretty important game. I banged most of them... He glimpsed a lot of guys lookin' at him with lust, but he ignored them. He just went in the coach office. Well, to be honest, it wasn't the coach office anymore, but Archie's one. The sophomore had made a long way since his arrival. He was a nobody. Now, he's my precious heir. After all, the quaterback was the most famous alpha hunter in the campus. And his pack ? Well, the whole football team and most of the cheerleader. All what we call omega hunter under his will. According to the list Deborah gave him last week, Archie had caught at least seven more member since january. Himself was totally gay and slept only with his teammates from time to time, but several omega charmed girls for him. Anyway, when Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey entered in the room, the quarterback was on the phone, surrounded by Oliver and another teammate who was rubbing soflty his belly.

"What do you mean you don't have enough ?" was asking Archie. "You're a fuckin' delivery company, and you don't have enough beer to provide for a student party ? Awesome."

He hung up on his intelocutor, pissed.

"We'll find something." assured the captain Oliver with his sweet voice. "Don't be mad about this."

"I'm not mad !" mumbled his quaterback. "I've a stomachache and it hurt. I did too much carboloading yersterday..."

Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey hawked, a bit tilted to be ignored. Just, he liked Archie, for several reasons, and he respected him way more than the other hunters. For proof, they never had sex together. But it wasn't a reason to ignore him.

"Oh man, sorry I didn't see you." exclaimed the sophomore. "You, stop rubbing my painful tummy and go out. My mentor's here."

The footballer left them. It's better that way. I don't want everybody to know I'm asking help.

"Oliver should leave too." he said. "It's a private matter."

The blond lad had already slept with the captain several times. He was a kind guy, despite his impressive physique. And I like how he moaned my name. Once alone with Archie, he smiled.

"Dude, how are you since you won the bet ?"

"I used the money to buy thongs." his heir revealed. "I like these. And it's you who won, I just gambled right. But you're not here for an idle conversation Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey, are you ?"

His belly made a discontent gurgle, and he discreetly put an hand on it. Archie wasn't the kind of man to put clothes, especially when he was alone or with his pack. Right now, he had sweatpants but no top, and the Dean's grandson could see how bloated he was. And he ate yesterday ? I can only imagine how full he was. Greedy as my boyfriend.

"Let me guess." suggested the quaterback. "You want me to look after your prey Liam while he plays the mascot for Amber ? She wants him, I can tell."

This fuckin' bitch. When the baboon had texted him the news, Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey had been pissed. Really pissed. This whore was hunting his boyfriend. How dared she ? Nonetheless, it wasn't the reason of his coming.

"I need you to talk with a guy, Archie." he explained. "I'm not worried for my... prey. Amber can't catch him, she's just too bad. But there's a young lad named Nate who could use a little chitchat with you. About... what you know."

The quarterback opened his eyes wide.

"You want me to speak about..."

"Yeah. Will you help ? Look, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I know you don't like to even think about this stuff, but you have succeeded to go trought this better than anyone."

The footballer shuddered. He wasn't happy, a blind mole could say that. C'mon.

"D.R is still looking after me." he recalled. "And you helped me. It's thank to you that I'm a better man now. So yeah, I'll do it. I owe you."

"Nice. Thank you Archie. After the game tonight ?"

"Okay. Bring him to me, and I'll see what I can do."

At least goods news. Liam'll be reassured. Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey was sure it would be nice for Nate.

Liam Saturday February 23

"It's Nate, but not really Nate." whispered Nick. "Honestly ? This Nate scares me a bit."

Liam pouted. The unicorns did their best. They were about to leave for the football game, and for the first time since his arrival, Nate had showered, shaved, got dressed and was ready to go outside. But it wasn't like before. He was thinner, almost skinny, and darker. He had dark rings under his eyes, messy hair and a bad expression. For clothes, he chose to wear a dark shirt, with dark jeans, dark shoes and even dark sockets. He looks like a dwarf vampire. (It was a real living creature, mostly in canada).

"Why are you staring at me like that ?" he asked with a hoarse voice.

Or a little demon...

"It's nothing." Liam lied, but Nate didn't believe him at all. "Ready to go ?"

"Not really, but you didn't give me the choice." he grumbled.

Last monday, his bestfriend had promised to make an effort. But it was apparently harder than Liam had expected. Nate had nighmares almost everynight, and most of the day, he was just pondering bad memories. Whatever he did that fateful night, it had affected him deeply.

"C'mon, you love football." Liam recalled. "And you promised me and the unicorns, remember ?"

"Yeah, yeah... Let's go already, I want it to be over asap."

When they arrived at the stadium, there were already people everywhere. For a game of this importance, both team had a lot of supporters. Even Judy came, and she had given Liam a free evening. They joined Dami near to the V.I.P entrance. Liam smiled to him, but restrained himself to kiss him. He had understood his boyfriend wanted to keep their relationship secret. The unicorns had explained him it was better that way, because a succubus-clairvoyant-cook was probably a target for the forces of evil. (When the unicorns said something, you just obeyed).

"Glad you're here on time." stated Dami. "Let's go, I chose good sits for us."

They headed towards the bleachers when Liam glanced Amber coming nearer. I'm gonna be a red panda ! He looked forwards to this (For real, he even had trouble to sleep so much he was excited).

"I'm coming after my show with the cheerleaders." he announced.

His bestfriend shrugged, obviously not happy to be there. Nick, being Nick, was playing his gameboy. He didn't like football anyway, he just came for Nate. As for his boyfriend, he took his hand and whispered :

"Be prudent baboon, she's mean. And come back right after, clear ?"

"Yes sir. Watch Nate."

Amber led the chestnut lad among her team. She nicely introduced him to the girls, and then showed him the costume. I love it. Damn, I love it so much.

"I'll let you put it." the captain said. "Then, you come with us for the show."

"About that, you didn't train me at all." he recalled. "What am I supposed to do ?"

(Liam the 8yo was just eager to be a red panda, but Liam the prudish stressed a bit). (After all, he was about to perform in front of thousands of people, including his bestfriend and his boyfriend). (It was too much pressure).

"Just dance, whatever, it'll be perfect. You're perfect." Amber smiled.

She left him to regroup her team. Since it was a fullbody outfit, he quickly undressed, and then put it on. However, he had some difficulties. It appeared the previous owner was smaller, in every way. He had some difficulties to breath.

"That's beautiful." complimented the captain when he joined her. (And all the girls giggled). "It show your muscles, and your belly. I love you like this, big guy."

"Uh.. Thanks I guess ?"

What does she mean, my belly ? He honestly had only a slight curve, absolutely nothing noticeable. Well, except with this too tight outfit apparently. But he was a red panda, and red panda didn't care about that stuff.

"Let's go for the show !" yelled Amber. "Let's remind to the crowd that our university is the best !"

Dancing as a red panda happened to be way more exhausting than Liam had thought. But at least, the audience was thrilled. Once the show over, the girls and him were going back to the locker room when a footballer came to him.

"It was awesome." he yelled (the chestnut lad guessed it was the quaterback). "I loved it ! By the way, Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey's waiting for you. My girls will distract Amber to let you go."

Liam nodded, not really sure to understand what it meant. Anyway, he changed and joined his friends in the tier. Nick was still playing. Apparently, he was facing Rayquaza and couldn't stop now. (Fyi, Liam knew pokemon. In fact, he even thought they were real and livin' in a secret parallel world). Nate wasn't affected by the good atmosphere in the stadium. It was electric, but the short lad was just sitting, obviously on edge. I hope it'll be better after his talk with Dami's friend. Speaking of his boyfriend, this one slapped him. (Gently). (He slapped him often, but Liam never took offense, he considered it like a sign of love).

"What the heck was this dance down here ?" he asked. "It was way too cu... ridiculous. You embarrassed yourself."

He was as red as a tomato. Liam blushed a bit.

"It was instinctive." he explained. "You didn't like it ?"

Dami mumbled something, but the audience shouted because their team just opened the score. Then, his boyfriend just took discreetly his hand, and focused back on the game.

Barbara The party Saturday February 23

What the hell is going on ? I don't understand. The football team had won its round of sixteen. Consequently, they were attempting a huge party in a community center near to the stadium. Thanks to her new built network, she had managed to get invited. Needless to say, the players were the center of attention. She could see them, surrounded by fans and supporters. She glimpsed Archie at the beginning, but he and his closest friends were spending the night in another room, with less people and noises. Anyway, Barbara and her hunter accomplices had been expecting something big tonight. Sam was supposed to ditch Summer with a public humiliation the whole university would remember. But nothing happened yet. That's abnormal. Until now, the short girl had stayed in a corner, in order to be the more discreet as possible. She had read a whole book, but nothing. Just a party, with music, alcohol and food everywhere. People were dancing, talking, playing beerbong... What on earth was doing Sam ? Curious and a bit anxious, she ventured into the crowd when suddenly, Leila hailed her.

"The blonde bitch. I should've know you would be there." she said as a greeting.

"It's normal to socialize when you're about to rule the student union." Barbara replied. "But the mystery is, what are you doing here ? This's a private party for the football team and their entourage."

"I got an authorization thank to my association." she explained. "We're insuring the safety of the women. And anyway, Colton had been invited. He could've bring me."

What ? How did he managed to do that ? His ex boyfriend was an unknown dude, and absolutely not interested in football.

"I get it." teased Leila. "You had to lick some balls in order to come here. You're prostituting yourself to get power. That's so degrading. Colton didn't had to make any effort to be there."

"How ?"

"Like if I'm gonna tell ya. Go die bitch. See ya."

And with a laugh, this asshole left among the mob.

At this point, Barbara started to feel a bit uncomfortable. How Colton succeeded to come ? Maybe I ditched him too fast after all... Did he possess ressource she didn't hear about ? But she knew him by heart... He was wealthy, but had zero ambition nor will. A weak minded like him, here ? And this Sam who hadn't followed the plan yet. Something is going on. I need to find what. She looked for her partners, and eventually found Linda. The professor was in the middle of an argument with a guy. What is it now ? The dude yelled at her for at least ten minutes, and Barbara didn't dare interrupt. Then, he stormed out, and Ms. Weber started to cry.

"What happened ?" asked the blonde girl. "What did he said ?"

"This was my third boyfriend..." whined Linda. "They all discovered I was cheating on them, and they all left me... I don't know what happened. That's terrible. My reputation is completely wrecked."

"What do..."

"Girls ! Girls you need to help me !" cut off Steve, who hurtled like a fury. "Bettany ditched me ! She said I wasn't fitting her tastes anymore. Do you know what the hell that means ?"

Barbara tried to say something, but Linda and Steve were totally paniced. And they call themselves hunters ?! She didn't know why these things were happening now, but it wasn't relevant. They should pull themselves together.

"It's a true nightmare." complained Steve. "If my own girlfriend leaves me, people will stop selling me things, and I will not be able to make exchange for videos."

"And now, all the men in the university will know I slept with students." whined Linda. "What the others professors will think about me ?"

"Guys, stop whining and..." Barbara started.

"There you are !" interupted Amber. "I need your help future head of the student ! It appeared the other cheerleaders voted for my deposition as captain. I didn't even know they had this right ! They havn't, have they ?!"

The short freshman started to lose patience. Why are they acting like kids ? I just don't care about their problems ! They were supposed to be powerful hunters ! And why everything was happening now ? She had more important stuff to take care of. She glimpsed Sam, and just decided to ignore these three dimwit to speak with him. But she suddenly noticed this hideous dude was crying. He was literally bawling.

"My girlfriends all ditched me." he revealed. "And since I'm not studying since three months, I'll be expelled from the university."

At this point, Barbara thought the evening couldn't be worst. She was wrong. Completely wrong. Because she saw her. She saw this damn queen walking through the crow to her. The blonde girl noticed her smile, her pride. She noted in her eyes a glint of morbid satisfaction. She did this. All of this.

"Hey there." greeted Summer. "Looks like you've all some troubles ? Maybe the head of the students can help ?"

All the pathetic hunters nodded in unison. They cried like babies for help, forgetting Barbara like if she had never existed. How ? How the hell this happened ?

"I'll tell you a secret people." smiled her opponent with irony. "Do not gamble against Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey. Ever. But since I punished you, I'm sure he'll be more than happy. Now, just left this party losers, and go pray somewhere for your future."

Steve, Amber, Sam and Linda obeyed. So much for their presumed hate for her. Summer turned towards her and outlined an arrogant smile.

"Seriously Barbara, what did you expect ?" she asked. "I'm here for almost two years, you seriously thought I wouldn't know how to deal with your pathetic plan ?"

"How ? How did you figured out everything ?"

The freshman could guess at least one person betrayed her. Probably Javier. Damnit. I knew he was weak.

"Let me be perfectly clear." stated Summer. "First of all, I only let you get the pathetic hunters who gambled for Theo. The swimteam captain crossed the line, and he got his punishment, but them ? They needed a lesson, as you. That's why Javier and Irina regrouped them and you. Yes, the old queen and me are closer than you thought. Aferwards, it was easy as the head of the student to make you all pay in one go. I have one of the widest circles of acquaintances in the university."

And I fell for it like an idiot. Steve, Amber and the others were just bad hunters Damian and Summer wanted to get rid of. They gave them to me for the fun...

"Don't try to beat me ever again." threatened her opponent. "I'm older, better and smarter. Whatever you are ploting, I'll know it."

"You won a battle." whispered dangerously Barbara. "Not the war."

She already knew what to do next. She hadn't the time to plan a revenge, or to punish these useless hunters she hab been allied with. She needed to catch the biggest prey in the campus, which would bring her the support from all the hunters at once. The idea make me nauseous, but I have no better plan. Liam, I'll catch you, ready or not.

To be continued

Damian doesn’t know what the hell is he doing half the time. But when he knows, he’s very good at it. Smooth talk isn’t part of it.

Archie’s back, is role is now revealed. 

Liam is doing what Liam do best : total nonsense. 

As for Barbara, a lot of ploting for that ? Girl, work better next time please...

[auntie-diluvian]

What would have happened in chapter 2 if you decided to write it?

Eek I’m so sorry I took so long to answer this!

The longer I think about it, the more I think a second part would have really jumped the shark any way I’d have written it, but I did have some thoughts*, which got… uh, kinda long (hence me taking forever to answer your ask), so I’m gonna put them beneath a cut if I can figure out how.

Some of this was sort of charted out in a long chat between me and Py (specifically I think the bit with Papyrus showing up, which I think was her idea?), but that conversation was so long ago it’s been lost to the sands of time (and tumblr chat having no search function), so most of this is new and specific to the version I posted.

I had a couple of scenes in my head that were a little more defined, the rest was just kind of vague, and it never came to a conclusion, really. So I guess, in theory, all of those “Reader goes to Italy and carboloads themself into personal fulfillment, Sans dies of skelesyphilis, and his gf fucks off somewhere” fantasies can still happen. If, you know, by the end of me rambling about this, any of that still sounds, oh god, you know, fuck, appealing, or whatever. If not, then uhhh whoops sorry I don’t have any ending for you at all, my dude.**

Also this hasn’t been beta’d or anything, I didn’t want to give it the same status as the stuff I actually publish, just like, on principle? so like. keep your expectations in check maybe? especially re: some of the most cliche and melodramatic dialogue I’ve written to date lol

The first scene was to take place on Jan 2nd:

Your friend, the one you’re now glad isn’t speaking to you, is standing at your door, anxiously clutching a small, rectangular cardboard box bearing a sticker you recognize as the logo of your favorite bakery. She speaks to you, and you feel your stomach flip.

“Um, so, these are for you. Uh, happy new year, by the way, and um, the frosting probably got a little smushed- you know how high they like to pile it on. But, you know, they’re fresh, so- should be good. Got your favorites.”

She hands you the box and you peek inside. Cupcakes, of course. Half the frosting’s on the lid, like she said, and you stare at them, dumbfounded. Can’t look at her.

She clears her throat.

“I know what I’m like, sometimes. I can be melodramatic and petty and- and self-destructive. I do dumb shit like drive away my closest friend with the silent treatment because I didn’t get the answer I wanted. I’m so sorry. You were right, and, god, furthermore? The entire thing was just… stupid, you know? Can you forgive me?”

You sway on your feet, dizzy.

“Of course.”

She steps forward and hugs you, and as her arms wrap around you, so does an awful panic.

Your cell phone is burning a hole in the pocket of your bathrobe, from the text you had received ten minutes prior, alerting you to your friend’s impending arrival:

Sans: she’s coming over to your place. please don’t tell her anything. i’ll figure something out. sorry to ask you to do this. i’ll make it up to you

Sans: ok that sounded wrong. not what i meant. everything sounds wrong though

Sans: i’m sorry

“Oh, thank you,” she says, sounding more grateful than she should, her scarf tickling your cheek. “That’s such a relief. Thank you.”

Really just laying that guilt on thick. Uhhh let’s see, after that:

You tell her you’re sick just to get her to go away and she believes you because you look horrible and are wearing a bathrobe in the middle of the afternoon

Cue angst about furthering the extent of your dishonesty

The next day she texts you just to “catch up” but in the middle of it, drops that Sans has been more than usually distant. They talked about so much and she knows it’s going to take time for things to get better, but since that first conversation on New Year’s Day, he’s kind of shut down-

But enough about her problems, what’s been going on with you? Oh, Not Much, you tell her. You’re still getting over your cold but you’ve gone back to work. It’s the truth, more or less. You have the sniffles, at any rate, though that’s more due to your daily extended heartbreak/guilt crying alone sessions than any physical malady.

A week later, your friend is back to sending you memes and talking about her job, your favorite shows you watch. Sans is living with her. Everything is normal, on the surface. Sans chimes in on the group chat every now and again, but that’s it. Not another word from him. The awful feeling in the pit of your stomach has faded to a dull ache that only bothers you at night.

Which is why it’s a total surprise when Papyrus shows up on your doorstep one evening and lets himself in. You didn’t even know he was in town. You’ve met him a few times, loved the guy, but he’s not here for a social call.

Well, okay, he is, but it’s not a pleasant one. He is. So. Disappointed. In you. He’s prepared a speech! To express the enormity of your fuckup.

About the 45-second mark of which, you break down sobbing. He stops immediately and grabs you a glass of water and a cool washcloth for your neck.

He apologizes as you calm down, and you have a long talk with him about the hows and the whys. It’s incredibly cathartic, you’ve never told anyone about any of this situation, and you’re drained by the time you’re done. But as he leaves, he has this look on his face and you hate it- pity tinged with trace amounts of leftover dismay, so it’s a relief to lock yourself in for the evening, even if the alternative (i.e. being alone with your thoughts and your guilt and everything else) isn’t much better.

An hour or two later, you get another text from Sans: “i’m sorry again, i didn’t know he was gonna do that.”

Interrupting myself here to say as an aside, so much for a synopsis of my vague concept; this is now going on 800 words. Look at all this work you definitely made me do that I didn’t put on myself at all. Anyway.

Sans text, continued: “he’s in town cuz of me, though, so i think i gotta listen to him. he’s uh saying we should get together and talk about how i”

“hang on”

Five minutes later: “scratch that i’m not listening to him.”

Ten full minutes later: “we can have lunch tomorrow. to talk. if you want. you don’t have to agree to it. i’ll understand.”

It’s about two in the morning when you finally respond: “Where and when?”

He replies immediately.

It’s a good sandwich. A shame you can’t do much more than just poke at it and nibble at the toppings that have fallen out of it onto the wax paper basket liner. And the bag of chips is completely out of the question. You’ve already put them away for later, for when you might eventually start regretting skipping lunch because of the awful somersaults your innards keep doing. Sans’s sandwich isn’t faring much better- he’s twirling his frilly-ended toothpick between his fingers, occasionally poking it into his dill pickle wedge.

Neither of you has said a word past your perfunctory greeting and the order you’d both placed at the counter eight minutes ago. The rest of the sandwich shop doesn’t seem to care, though. Most of its other patrons are absorbed in getting their order and getting out, or making the most of their too-brief lunch hour. It’s noisy, and it would be the perfect setting for the conversation you’re supposed to be having, you credit Sans with that much. If you could just speak.

You’re staring off over his shoulder, at the display rack of different brands of hot sauce, when he startles you by biting off over half of his pickle, chewing, and swallowing with his eyes closed and a sigh.

“thanks for… you know, not telling her yet.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you say with enough sourness to give that pickle a run for its money.

“no, yeah, i know- i just. yeah. i’ll tell her, though. soon. uh, -ish.”

“Will you tell me when you do it? I don’t think I can take another unexpected visitor, and  I-” you laugh, ”-I’m going nuts checking my phone, panicking at every single notification.”

“‘course. yeah.”

“Okay. Thanks. For that.”

“sure.”

You tear off a piece of sliced turkey that’s hanging out the edge of your sandwich.

“…can i say somethin’?”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“i didn’t- uh, know you had- i just thought you were riding the same wave of… whatever that was, as me.”

He clears his throat.

“i didn’t know you felt that w- i mean, that you had actual feelings for- at least, not until you started sayin’ all those things–”

“–I changed my mind, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He ducks his head.

“yeah, okay.”

You take another bite of your sandwich, chewing as you scramble for something, anything, else to say.

“So. Uh, how’s, um, y'know, everything else?”

He blinks, shakes his head, and laughs.

“what, you really wanna know? or are you askin’ just to ask?”

Shit. No, you don’t really want to know.

“Yeah. I wanna know.”

He leans back, the plastic of the chair back creaking, and looks out the window behind you.

“shit… it’s all… it’s all fallin’ apart on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, already a well-honed reflex.

“not your fault, really. in the end. i’m just already tired. a week ago, this’s all i wanted, for everything to go back to normal. but it turns out normal was just a lot of her pretending she could stand me. and we’re not pretending, anymore. so… but that’s supposed to help us sort everything out, right?”

Goddamn your bleeding heart that got you into this in the first place.

“feels capricious of me, right? but if it’s gonna end, why can’t it just end already? but i’m not allowed to give up yet, because that’s not what we’re doing, we’re working through our issues.”

He pushes his basket over to the seat next to him, and folds his arms on the table, head nestled into them.

“even though giving up is all i wanna do anymore,” he says, voice muffled by his sleeves.

“Every relationship requires work, Sans,” you say. Platitudinal, but true, if not particularly helpful.

“but at what point do you cut your losses? is it before or after the seventieth thing this week she tells you you’ve been doing wrong all along that she never bothered to mention to you before? you know she prefers the loose end of the tp to come out underhanded? i didn’t. she’s wrong, but hey, fuck- anything for my baby. i’m tired. i didn’t know it was gonna be like this.”

Underhanded toilet paper rolls? Do you even know who she is?

“i should just go ahead and tell her about this whole thing, already, see if that- i dunno, breaks us beyond repair. but if i do that now when all our wounds are still fresh, i don’t get to say i tried to fix things, and i guess on some level, i need that.”

He rubs his face.

“fuck, listen to me whine. i’m making it sound worse than it is. ”

“Dude, I don’t know. I’m still horrified by the toilet paper thing.”

He snorts.

“i don’t even use the stuff much, so it wasn’t worth makin’ a whole thing out of it.”

“Okay, but I’m fixated on it. It’s like, all I can think about. What the fuck?”

You’re overcome with the strangest feeling- it shouldn’t be so odd to you now, three weeks into your guilt spiraling, but you want to text her about this so badly, to give her grief about it. And if this were a normal situation, if you hadn’t made everything awful, you wouldn’t hesitate. But you’re having a clandestine lunch with her boyfriend to discuss the awful thing you did, and therefore you can’t give her shit about her weird habit you now know about thanks to him, which is what friends do. Friends don’t let friends put the roll on the wrong way without at least dragging them for it for the rest of their natural lives, so can you still even call yourself her friend?

Probably not, huh? That, and the other thing you did. Friends don’t do that, either.

Your smile fades as you start to understand on a much more personal level what he meant. You doubt you’ll be granted the same mercy as him, of working out your issues, and until then you have to live like this, unable to even joke around without it turning bitter. You’re going to lose her, too- you’re going to lose them both, maybe, probably, and the waiting and pretending is only adding to your misery. It’s a hollow kind of wanting, for something to be over and done with, but it’s rooted in you all the same.

You finally decide you’re not going to finish your sandwich, but you wrap it back up in the wax paper liner anyway, and start putting your coat back on.

“Well. Thanks for meeting with me. I think I’d better head back to work, now.”

“you realize we didn’t talk about what happened at all, right?”

You shrug. “Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we don’t need to.”

“you don’t- you don’t have anything you wanna say to me.”

You close your eyes and sigh.

“I’m… sorry?”

“shit, yeah, me too.”

“It was a mistake.”

“unequivocally, yeah.”

“I think that about covers it, don’t you?”

He nods silently.

“Then… I’ll see you around.”

You almost make it to the door, leaving him slumped in his seat with his uneaten sandwich. You look outside at the cold, slushy parking lot, check the time, and nearly get in your car and drive back to work. But instead, your feet carry you back to the table, back to Sans.

“I do actually just have one question.”

He looks up at you, and you can see deep into his eye sockets, and the dark semicircles beneath them, how tired he is.

“sure. anything,” he answers.

“If you had known how I felt, would it all have gone- would we be here now, having this conversation? Or would I have gone home before and none of this would have ever happened?”

Your fool brain wants you to continue: Or would you have stayed?

But you already know the answer to that one, so you stop yourself; these questions are dangerous enough, as is.

He actually looks somewhat taken aback.

“i don’t- i dunno. and i dunno how much good speculating about it’s gonna do. what’s done is done.”

“Please. It’s the one answer I feel like I have any right to.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and leans back.

“yeah. i think i’d have done the same thing.”

Your chair creaks as you fall back into it, defeated.

“Why?”

“what do you mean, why? did it seem like i gave a shit who else i was hurting at the time?”

He slumps a little further down, and in a softer, more soothing tone, says, “what are you after? do i care now that i hurt your feelings? …yeah. not that it really counts for anything.”

“It counts,” you croak.

“hmm.”

He stands, finally.

“guess you’re right, though. i’d better be getting back to work.”

He shrugs on his wool coat and winds his scarf around his neck.

“you uh… you gonna be ok?”

Are you? Feels like… maybe not?

The sobbing starts, even as you will it not to- christ, no, anything but that.

“oh. uh. shit.”

People are staring, now. You hide your face behind your hands, try to even out your voice to reassure him and your new audience that no, really, you’re fine, but it just comes out all the more overwrought for your efforts. Sans is useless, grimacing, hands outstretched towards you, placating, like with a panicking animal, and it reminds you of the conversation you’d had that night, when you’d offered yourself up as a shoulder to cry on.

“you wanna get out of here?” he asks, and you nod, rolling your eyes at your own uninvited histrionics and swiping at your cheeks.

“k,” he says, and when you open your eyes again, you’re sitting on your couch, in your apartment.

“got tissues?”

You swallow.

“Uh, bedroom, but- please don’t go in there, it’s- it’s bad.”

“k.”

He returns a few seconds later with a handful of toilet paper, and you take it from him.

“hey. it’s gonna be okay. y’know why?”

You blow your nose.

“Why?”

“no matter what else happens, you’ll always know: you put the toilet paper on the holder the right way.”

You chuckle weakly into your wad of tissue.

“You’re right. I’ll always have that.”

He sinks down on the couch next to you. Not too close.

You sigh and slump forward, elbows on your knees, calmer now.

“Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen. The- you know, the turning on the waterworks in a sandwich joint. That was embarrassing. I’m embarrassed.”

“happens. plus, i think you’ve earned the right to cry.”

Your chin wobbles again, threatening.

“Oh? I have? Cool. ‘Cuz I don’t know what I have the right to feel, or do, right now. It all feels wrong.”

“yeah. i know,” he mumbles.

“Sometimes I start feeling sad, for me, because of what I’m about to lose because of this? But then- no, can’t do that, because- hey, maybe I should have thought of that before we-” you catch your breath.

“yeah.”

“I’m mad at myself, and I’m pretty okay with that. But then sometimes I think maybe I’m mad at you for like, seven different reasons, and half of those reasons conflict with each other, but I can’t even… stay mad at you like I think I want to.”

You aren’t looking at him, but you can feel his stare.

“like how?”

You poke and prod at your face, trying to relieve some of the tension headache that’s building around your eye sockets and temples.

“Like, as your friend, I’m annoyed that you put up with ALL of her bullshit. You’re such a doormat when it comes to her. But as her friend, I’m so fucking appalled that you’d sleep with me, her best friend, less than a month after the breakup of a like- how many years? Six?”

“…seven.”

“Seven year relationship. Fuck, sorry, not to belabor the point or anything, but- yeah.” You sniffle. “And then- here’s the kicker. Just as me, alone, not relative to anyone else- I keep wishing you’d just fucking stayed in bed after I poured my heart out to you. Like I have any right to feel that. And of all of it, all the shit, that’s the one that sticks the worst, so the rest don’t get a chance to mean anything.”

The second you turn your head to make eye contact with him, he’s there, leaning in, warm. Big old eye sockets looking at you just like you’d wanted for so long.

“i should’ve. i know.”

Your breath leaves you, almost-but-not-quite on a sob, as he kisses you, and everything is right and better, if only for a split second.

“Wait.”

“yeah- yes. ok.”

“What about-” you can’t bring yourself to speak to him more than a few inches removed from the kiss, as if tethered there by a spell, “-what about everything you just said, what- this isn’t fixing things.”

“no.”

“And I can’t- you can’t do this to me again.”

“i won’t. it won’t be like last time.”

“You can’t promise that,” you say as matter-of-factly as you can manage, given the circumstances.

“keep thinkin’ about how i can’t remember the last time i felt the way i did when you were sayin’ all that stuff about me.”

Your cheeks flush even harder, as if the rest of you hadn’t yet gotten the memo.

“That’s called an orgasm.”

The ridge above his nasal cavity scrunches up pleasantly when he laughs.

“We shouldn’t.  If it was wrong before, it’s so much worse now.”

“i know.”

You cast your eyes aside to your front door, then down to where your hands are almost touching as you lean towards each other on the couch.

“You’re so full of shit, you know that?” you ask. “Fuck you for making me fall for it twice.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as you pull him in by the back of his neck.

THEN YOU FUCK AGAIN!!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!!! HOW COULD YOU!!!

hehe

He keeps his promise, more or less. It’s not her he has to run off to, at the end. You both have half a day of work ahead of you. You’re both late, and it’s as good an excuse as any for you to pretend he won’t still be going home to her, later.

You still have questions. You can’t focus at work.

He never promised much of anything, you now realize. It felt like he was offering much more, but- so what? Is he actually done with her? After everything? What does this look like tomorrow? A week from now?

What, you seriously think he’s going to leave her for you? Only if she kicks him out, you think, bitterly. Which makes you what, exactly? A consolation prize for his neglected ego?

You call him right as you’re getting off work, but hang up before he can answer. You want the truth??? You can’t handle the truth!!!

Things get better as they get worse. He starts coming over to see you, at least once a day. He stays an hour or two when he can. He talks with you in bed.

Yours, now, you think, sometimes.

You don’t ask him when he’s going to tell her. He’s choosing you, so he has to, right?

He will. Soon.

*Now I’m looking back at the beginning of all this and I’m like-

Some thoughts??? Bitch! You just wrote most of the damn thing! And after you said you weren’t gonna!

…So CLEARLY I had like, a little more I evidently wanted to say about this fucking thing. So there you go???

GOD that was a lot of dashes in there though, huh? I didn’t even try to keep the number down.

Oops hehhe

But, uh, yeah! I don’t know how this ends! Or even, at the risk of sounding a bit pretentious, if it ends! Maybe everyone learns from their mistakes and suffers the consequences! Or maybe nobody does! Or maybe it’s a weird combination of learning and not learning and suffering and not suffering because it’s supposed to be like, way more complicated than that.

**Or maybe reader and Sans’s gf wind up auditioning for the same local network tv wrestling show and they have lots of sexual wrestling tension together and also reader has like a will-they-won’t-they thing with an 80s disaster caricature of Marc Maron and they both bond with a group of wonderful interesting women and get to create something bigger than themselves!

God, I love GLOW. Maybe just go watch GLOW instead of this, it’s like, basically the same thing only with more eighties vibes and less skeletons and more women’s wrestling and less magical penises.

So really, not the same thing at all except for the one plot point of sleepin’ with your best friend’s dude that they kind of share, but very very good, you know?

Anyway! I love getting asks (I apparently love them so much that I can’t help myself and end up writing almost an entire chapter just to answer them), and fleshing out all the vagueness a little more without the self-imposed pressure of having to finish it into something publishable was really fun. So thanks for this ask!

[departmentofmotorvehicles]

@jrobertsons Thank you for the tag!!

THE LAST (this just says “the last” so I assume it’s supposed to say the last six months)

1. Drink:  An overpriced iced chai where I witnessed the barista turn the can of chai powder upside down so he could shake out the dregs to make my drink. 2. Phone call: Phone screening for General Assembly :) 3. Text message: I just got back from a confusing date and texted @littlegiraffe about it. But I also woke up at 8am and immediately texted @salliethesalad a pic of Phil Kessel with hot dogs and I think that’s probably notable.   4. Song you listened to: Drink (Soca Remix) by Lil Jon. Because y’all know I love a fuckin banger.   5. Time you cried: I cried wednesday night for the first time in a while.  6. Dated someone twice: uhhhhhh I exclusively repeat date people. Catch me with that on-again/off-again bs.  7. Kissed someone and regretted it: I Live To Smooch.  8. Lost someone special: No? 9. Been cheated on: Can’t be cheated on it you don’t date!!! 10. Been depressed: I think I’ve been doing okay. 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: 8-)  Three favorite colors - I LOVE JEWEL TONES B*TCH

IN THE LAST YEAR I HAVE

15. Fallen out of love: I guess? 16. Laughed until you cried: Constantly.I love you guys. Peep my ”#Do you ever bypass laughing and go straight to crying” tag 17. Found out someone has been talking about you: this is a major anxiety of mine so if you’re gonna talk shit you better move 10,000 miles away and encrypt your entire life so I never have to find out and get sad.  18. Met someone who changed you: YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  19. Found out who your friends are: Listen, I am a low-drama person. My shit ain’t this exciting.

20: Kissed someone on your Facebook list: why would I kiss someone without meticulously looking through their facebook. What if they post rick & morty centrist memes?

GENERAL

21. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: College added a bunch of people I don’t know so idk.  22. Do you have any pets: Nope I’m MC Sneezy  23. Do you want to change your name: Listen I have an ongoing list of baby names that I keep on my phone that is probably worthy of its own phone. They are all gems and they all embarrass me. 24: What did you do for your last birthday: My DC roommates threw me a birthday/halloween party and it was my first birthday party since I was like 10 and it made me so happy and so thankful babes ily.  25. What time did you wake up: I can’t seem to sleep in past 7:30. This morning was 5:30 :/// 26. What were you doing at midnight last night: Listen I sleep from 11-7 and I’m not ashamed.  27. Name something you can’t wait for: A JOB OFFER    28. When was the last time you saw your mom: She and my step-mom came out for graduation in May, but idk when I’m going to see them next. Maybe not until Christmas 2018 :( 29. What are you listening to right now: The cover of “I Don’t Mind” by Postmodern Jukebox.............................it’s a ride from start to finish 30. Have you ever talked to someone named Tom: I don’t think I’ve ever met a single person named Tom (I vaguely know a Thomas but he’s not a Tom). 31. Something that is getting on your nerves right now: My compuslsion to carboload.  32. Most visited website: Definitely Facebook/Messenger.  33. Hair color: So I tried to dye my bleached hair back to brown but the dye is really washing out. So I have what looked like a botched ombre atm. It’s not terrible though 34. Short or long hair: I’m growing it out :)  35. Do you have a crush on someone: get tf outta here with that kinky shit.

36. What do you like about yourself:  For the most part I am chill as fuck. I am genderless and have p nice legs.

37. Any piercings: My belly button is pierced but that’s it. I’ve been thinking about piercing my ears but it’s not a priority.  38: blood type: A positive? who cares. I donate when I can. 39: Nickname: I’VE NEVER HAD A NICKNAME BEFORE it’s the curse of having a one-syllable name. Freshman year on drumline the seniors called me “P-Nizz” (aka penis) but I don’t think that counts.  40. Relationship status: Single and interested in staying that way  41. Zodiac: Listen b*tch ......i’m a scorpio 42. Pronouns: not found 43. Favourite TV show: Enjoy the next two months while you can because Agents of Shield returns in November and you will all have to suffer my blog.  44. Tattoos: Not yet.  45. Right or left handed: Left handed, equally-footed.  46. Surgery: Wisdom teeth in two parts.  47: Sport: Hockey!!!  48. Vacation: @jillyyfish and I will be at Worlds next month in Montreal!!!!! 49. Trainers: This is a sneaker family. fuck you. 50. Eating: constantly  51. Drinking: I’ve never 52. I’m about to: Make rice crispy treats  53. Waiting for: my own ass to get it together  54. Want: paycheck 55. Get married: in an apple orchard because i’m Basic 56. Career: Marcomm :)))) 

WHICH IS BETTER

57. Hugs or kisses: both u asshole 58. Lips or eyes: my “friends” have sent me too many bad posts and my eyeballs have fallen out. 59. Short or Tall: I am exactly average height. This pleases me.  60. Older or younger: ????  61. Nice arms or stomach: ALL TUMS ARE GOOD TUMS 62. Hookup or relationship: EhhHhHHhHHHHhhh   63. Troublemaker or Hesitant: look.........I’m a cautious b*tch

HAVE YOU EVER

64: kissed a stranger: so my freshman year I went to my first party and this girl just walked up and kissed me and I was like “uh?” and she was like, “are you gay?” and I was like “no” but before I could tell her I was bi she literally ran away. I have never seen someone run so fast  65: drank hard liquor: NO I’m a dry b*tch 66. Lost glasses/contact lenses: My excellent eyesight is wasted on me because I would look SO GOOD IN GLASSES 67. Had your heart broken: this question is rude. ofc  68. Been arrested: no!  69. Cried when someone died: whom’st’ve died? 70. Fallen for a friend: nah

DO YOU BELIEVE IN

71. Yourself: ofc who else will  72. Miracles: uhhh I guess  73. Love at first sight: nah 74. Santa Claus: I don’t give a fuck about christmas but I do want his elves to unionize.  75. Kiss on the first date: I’m too anxious for that.  76. Angels: not really sure what those are?

OTHER

Eye color: HAZ Favorite Movie(s): I just watched Kingsman Secret Service and everything about it was my brand.

Tag 20 people: you really think I’m gonna subject 20 people to this nightmare list? @littlegiraffe @salliethesalad @moitey @thegreenpianoman @gammametroid

[travelswithzsubes]

Boston.

It’s strange to sit in the quiet of your own home, the familiar yellow comforter on your bed wrapped around you. The same poster is on your wall that’s been there since college. Everything feels the same, and still, and quiet. That’s strange. It’s strange because you’re lying there, and you realize you just did something that you’ve been looking forward to your entire adult life.

That’s what Boston was for me. The goal that I couldn’t accomplish, the thing that was just perpetually out of reach. I’m overdramatizing it a little bit, but that is how it felt. 

It was 2008 when it became a goal. I signed up for the Pittsburgh Marathon in 2009, only to go way too hard and tweak a hamstring during training that still bugs me to this day. I qualified in 2011 at Delaware, but I didn’t get in. I qualified in 2012 at Ocean Drive, but said no and went to China. I got injured. I ran slow times. I doubted if I would get there. I started from scratch, crosstrained, ran a lot, hurt my knee, ran faster, and gutted out the Philly Marathon in 3:01:41. Ten months later I found out I got into the race, tears springing to my eyes as I saw the happy email on my computer.

Fast forward another seven months. I trained better than I thought I had for Philly, and D and I took the bus to Boston, coolers of food in tow, knowing that we’d be part of something amazing but not really sure what that would mean.

My goal was to run a faster than 3 hour marathon for the first time ever. My mom had promised that if I did that, she would try to qualify for next year, and we would run Boston together in 2018. 

Pre-race

It was Passover. I decided to keep the holiday. That meant no pasta, no PB&J, none of the carboloading that I’ve always done. It did mean a lot of quinoa, which was a strange thing. That’s where the coolers of food came into play - we brought lots and lots of food with us. More on that later.

The first order of business, though, was going to the expo to pick up my number. For me this was the most emotional part of the entire weekend. Something about handing over my credentials and getting my very own Boston number, and hearing tips from the volunteers on how to run the race and on how it the streets would be packed with wall-to-wall people, all cheering for me and making me feel like a rock star - it was too much for me to handle. It would be a lie to say I didn’t choke up.

Getting that elusive number and T-shirt.

I recovered for the athlete’s capitalistic party that was the pre-race expo. Every running or even athletic product you can imagine - it’s there. People buying half-price shorts, testing out some sort of leg sleeve massage contraption, taking free samples of green and red and brown gels...that is what was going on. We stayed for an hour before I started worrying about staying on my feet for too long, but not before we checked out the ubiquitous Boston Marathon jackets that cement people’s status as a legit runner and were given a free poster that listed, in small print, every one of the 30,000 runner’s names that was registered for the race. (I bought a jacket later - with all the people walking around Boston after the race wearing them, their purchase kind of feels like an involuntary part of your marathon registration fee.)

Then it was home for a bowl of quinoa and cheese and tomato sauce and endless tinkering with my gear, wondering what shoes I would wear, and so on. I finally got to bed a little after 10pm. It was on.

The get-up.

Monday Morning

I actually slept pretty well - not long, but deeply. I woke up excited, threw my clothes on, and was out the door quickly, off to Central Station, where I hopped on the train with other clear-bag-toting folks en route to Boston Common, where we would board buses to Hopkinton and the starting line.

The ride to Hopkinton takes an hour. “We’re going to have to run this whole way?” someone said. Indeed, we would.

Course map - 26.2 straight east.

The marathon has a true army of volunteers that don’t seem to leave your side throughout the entire marathon experience. They’re there in Boston Common, repeating the same directions over and over for hours. And they’re certainly there when you get off the bus in Hopkinton, directing you to the large field area, where everyone’s waiting. It’s a typical race starting line with way more stuff than you’re used to, like people whose job it is to write your name on your shoulder, free gels and Gus to eternity, on demand sunscreen, bagels, and a very, very long line for coffee.

Some people brought boxes to lay on and blankets to cover themselves and laid down for a nap - nothing you bring to the starting line can be shipped to the end of the race. Others brought incredibly trashy magazines to read - there’s something to be said for the power of gossip and Justin Bieber to take your mind off the supreme effort you’re about to put forward - while others just sat, staring off into the eternal abyss. Everyone was wearing layers of throwaway clothes, cargo shorts and sweatpants that were far too big and strange fleeces, adding to the bizarro nature of the scene. There was a palpable nervous energy in the air no matter what people were doing. 

I got in the short bathroom line once I arrived, ate a banana, bathroom again, sat and stretched, contemplated getting my name written on my shoulder for cheering purposes, decided against it, borrowed someone’s phone. got in a longer bathroom line, got right back in the same bathroom line, ran into an old runner friend from Philly, and munched on the matzah/almond butter/honey I brought to the starting line with me. That last part was certainly a first. (More on that later.)

It was 9:10 at that point - time to walk the 0.7 miles to the starting line. “It’s time,” the Philly friend said. I had told him about my three hour goal. “Just go out and do it.”

It was exactly what I needed to hear.

The Walk

The walk to the starting line is like a funhouse of runner fantasy. Take my picture with my bib number 5,000 times? Don’t mind if I do. Provide countless places to drop off your trash and clothing? Yes. Cheering people, cheering bros, encouraging you to “hydrate” with a morning swing of brownish rum? Mmm-hmm. All along, I was walking with all the very fit and attractive people around me, trying to wrap my head around the fact that this was THE walk to the Boston Marathon starting line. 

At the expo, on the way to the start.

There’s an additional area with port-o-potties near the start, which I certainly visited. Some men try to pee against a school right there, and were promptly shooed away (and ticketed?) by a whistleblowing police officer. It was then off to walk to my corral. The national anthem was played, which was less emotional than I expected, followed by a very loud fighter jet flyover timed just right.

I made my way to the corral. Typical runner energy - people hopping, shaking out muscles, and doing things that were probably unnecessary. There’s nothing better to do. The minutes counted down quickly. They announced the elite males, and the Americans got a huge cheer. A TV camera panned over us. We all waved.

And then - the gun. We all heard it go off and a collective yelp emanated. I instinctively gave the stranger next to me a high five and we wished each other good luck. We shuffled toward the starting line, and two minutes later it came into our vision.

The loud crowd, the runners dwarfing me, everything else...if you guessed that I choked up as I crossed that starting line as I set my watch, you are correct.

The Race

Maybe this is the part you’ve been waiting to read. Congratulations on making it this far! You are a true marathon champion for doing so.

Everyone warns you about the first few miles of the race, and I can see why. The first mile is straight downhill. People were passing me, so I tried to maintain the pace that I wanted. I don’t have a GPS watch, so it’s a little tougher to know my exact speed, but I have a decent sense of it. 

I was trying to maintain a 6:52/mile pace throughout to get that elusive three hour marathon. I went out too fast at my last marathon in Philly, running the first half in 1:27 before finishing out the second half in 1:34. I was determined to run a more consistent race this time and try to negative split (run a faster time in the second half than in the first half). I’ve never negative split a marathon, and I wanted this to be my first. So I was gunning for a 1:30 first half, and something faster than than over the last 13.1 miles.

The first few miles are actually tough because the road is so crowded with people and it’s tough to run at your pace - there’s always someone in front of you, blocking your way. I ran the first mile at 7:02, which was great - I really didn’t want to go out too fast. People warn you about Boston’s hills throughout, and it’s true - the race is rarely flat, and there are rolling hills the whole way. The big hills - including the famous Heartbreak Hill - begin at Mile 16 in Newton and end with Heartbreak around 20.5. The Newton Hills. How quaint.

It was a hot day, but I usually run well in heat - and on hills. I wasn’t all that worried, but I did notice within the first two miles that it already felt especially hot. I hadn’t done any training in hot weather - I did a 17 miler in the hills of Northwest Connecticut in 7 degree weather - so my body wasn’t quite prepared for it.

I resolved to drink more than usual. I poured water over my head every couple miles and tried to get as much water down as I could at the water stops. The stops do slow you down as people stop in front of you, so that made me a little nervous, but I got to Mile 6 right at my target pace. At that point I felt like I was out for a casual run - I was very optimistic. 

Have I mentioned the crowd yet? They’re everywhere - and loud. It’s unreal. There’s a biker bar at Mile 2, and they are out in full force. Amazing signs along the way, too. Framingham at Mile 6 is filled several feet deep with screaming fans, as is Natick, Newton, Wellesley, Ashland and pretty much every other town you pass through.

It was around Mile 7 that I slowed down for the water stop and noticed that I was a bit tired - that I actually felt pretty hot. I was still on pace, but that wasn’t a great sign. Throughout Miles 7-10 I tried to maintain that 6:52, but I was a little behind pace, and I got to Mile 10 20 seconds slower than what I wanted. No matter - I resolved to run easier throughout Miles 10-13. No need to burn myself early - I needed to save myself for the end of the race. A few seconds now probably wouldn’t come back to bite me later. Once I adopted that mindset, I instantly felt better. I can do this, I thought. It was also a boon to see D at Mile 11 in Natick, just totally screaming my name.

The famous Wellesley scream tunnel is right before halfway, and it is as advertised. College students hold signs like “Why do all the cute ones run away?”, “Kiss Me: I’m Competitive,” “Call Me (followed by their actual phone number”, and so on. You can hear the screams from half a mile away. I choked up here, too - the scream tunnel is legendary, and here I was, right in the middle of it. Some people stopped for kisses, as is per tradition. I soldiered on. 

Halfway came up soon after that. I hit it in 1:30:16 - close enough to the pace I wanted that I was satisfied. I need a sub-1:30 second half, I told myself. You can do this. Still - I could tell the hills, which never stopped, took a little bite out of me, each and every time.

Mile 14 was more of the same. When I checked my watch after Mile 15, though, I realized I had lost a full 20 seconds off the pace I wanted in that mile alone. I did math frantically in my head, wondering how that could be the case. I didn’t feel like I had slowed down. How was it possible?

And yet it was. It’s not a good sign when you don’t notice that you’re slowing down but your watch tells you that you are. It means your body can’t keep up with the same pace you’ve set already - that it’s physically starting to break down. In other races, you can buckle up and push through that and use your will to maintain your speed, but with 15 miles behind me and another 11 to go (and 11 feels like an eternity at that point), there’s no real doing that for that amount of time.

Mile 16 was pretty much straight down hill into Newton Lower Falls before you start the Newton Hills. I resolved to try and make up time on the downhill before the hills. Downhills aren’t really my strength, but I let my legs go, knowing that it could have a bad effect on my quads later but also knowing that I had to do something to make up the time I had lost.

When I hit the Mile 16 sign I realized I had run it in 6:57 - not fast enough. I needed a 6:45 at the slowest to really give myself a chance. I was really starting to hurt at this point. 

The first Newton Hill starts right at that point. As I said - I like hills. Before the race, I created a mantra for myself: “Hills don’t scare me.” Now was the time to put it to the test.

But when I started up the hill, something happened that doesn’t usually happen to me - I just seized up. My left groin just seized and buckled and spasmed, and all of a sudden I felt like I was running in slow-motion, nearly a full minute per mile (or more) slower than I had been for the earlier part of the race. It felt like I could barely make it up the hill. People were passing me left and right, and I instantly felt like the slowest person on the course. (Since everyone in my wave had qualified for Boston, this was by far the fastest caliber marathon I had ever done. EVERYONE is fast. People don’t mess around. It’s humbling, and it’s part of the reason why everyone started passing me.)

I knew in the back of my head that this was the end of my chance to run a three hour race. The margin for doing so was already razor thin by Mile 15, and if I was going to hit the wall this early on it wasn’t possible. I considered the possibility of walking. It hurt really bad in that moment.

But I knew I’d probably see Sarah soon after that, which helped me keep going after the top of the hill. I also passed someone I had seen in the Barkleys Marathons doc, legendary ultra runner (at least in my eyes) John Fegyveresi. He was spectating. I was so shocked to see him that all I could do was unintelligibly point at him and yell “hey!” as I ran past. But he waved and returned the greeting, somehow. (Which led to this Twitter interaction.)

I did see Sarah right around 17, and I was able to get out a full “How’s it going?” If I still felt like I had a shot at three hours, I would have chugged on by, barely stopping, but I knew it was probably out the door at this point.

From then on, every step just hurt. The next hill came and I zombie-ran up it. It helped to unexpectedly see Marvin from RVRR, taking my picture. “Go Zach!” But it was all I could do to keep my legs moving at that point. The miles started to pass very, very slowly. My calves were spasming, and both sides of my groin were as well. My shoulders hurt. My forearm was spasming, as well, which makes no sense.

So I wonder what exactly had gone wrong with my body. What exactly had caused it to revolt against itself? I had trained for distance, but I didn’t do a ton of miles (for fear of injury), and I wasn’t at a tip-top fitness level, but I had thought my training leading into the race had been good. I had cut out alcohol and dessert for the two months leading up to race day as well. It was hot - that wasn’t helping, I was sure, even though I had stopped at water stops.

But I think the spasming was indicative of a lack of nutrition. I may be wrong, but I think I just hadn’t had enough electrolytes/salts to keep myself moving efficiently, especially in this heat. And when I thought back to the matzah breakfast (instead of the typical PB&J I eat with bread), the quinoa dinner (instead of pasta with cheese), and just the general Passover food throughout the week, I started to wonder...

So that I think was the biggest reason I was hurting in the very specific way I was - in combination with the other factors.

It was a little sad to realize that I wouldn’t achieve my goal. It kind of hurt too much to be sad, though. Also, I was here, running Boston. I couldn’t let it go to waste, and so I started noticing the crowd more, trying to actually absorb its energy and feed it to my arms and legs.

Mile 19. Mile 20. The famous Heartbreak Hill came, and I shuffled up it. I honestly don’t have a real sense of how hard it was since I wasn’t running like I normally do. I was just trying to drag my body to the top. And I did, and I knew the next five miles would be mostly downhill.

The top of Heartbreak, high-fiving what I’m sure was a screaming spectator.

They’re not entirely downhill, though. There are some upticks that you feel. I was really just trying to hang on at this point - I had started running a 10 minute mile. Running that pace isn’t typically aerobically difficult for me, but my legs could barely sustain it. 

I saw RVRR’s Lauren right after 21, which helped. Any cheer helps. And then I resolved, right around Boston College and Cleveland Circle, to give as many high-fives to the screaming fans as possible. (A solid, unbreakable wall of adoring, loud fans had begun in Newton and didn’t let up for the rest of the race.)

The crowd was unbelievable. Words can’t describe how important they were in getting me through the race. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Actually, bros are some of the best people to pass. They’re drunk and loud and give powerful high-fives. It’s the best. (Giving high-fives to children is the best too.)

So as most of my wave continued to pass me, and not run directly along the crowd, I broke the mold. I ran right alongside the crowd and had everyone pretty much to myself. And I gave high-fives to everyone who offered their hand. People were cheering for me personally. When the crowd was a little more subdued, I egged them on. “Come on!” I yelled, gesturing with my hands. They responded enthusiastically.

I stopped three times to stretch especially spasming muscles, but I never walked. Maybe that’s a little dumb and macho, but it feels like a point of pride.

Around Mile 24 I caught a big wave of cheer and sped up for about a 1/4 mile. After that, I realized my body just didn’t have it to do that. So I stopped again, stretched, and then shuffled along. The big famous Boston Citgo sign came into view, and I knew we were approaching Fenway Park.

Citgo - finally attained!

We finally got there and to Mile 25, and I saw the baseball game there was still going on. Finally, I thought. I could smell the finish line, and that was wonderful.

Still, a tinge of sadness accompanied that thought. Soon the Boston Marathon would be over, and that would be the end of the race that I had dreamed about for years. I tried to hang on to the moment as long as I could. 

I knew I’d probably see D and Danny at Mile 25.5 or so, near the Mass Ave crossing. And there they were, above me, screaming my name. It felt good. I had given my last few high fives before then - security kept us far away from the crowd at that point. That was fine. I was soaking in the love, and the love was certainly there.

I stopped under the Mass Ave bridge one more time to stretch an aching hamstring and then was back up one of the final hills. By that time my watch read something like 3:23. Earlier, I had thought to myself that it would be nice to crack 3:30. But I saw that I probably wouldn’t. And I didn’t care, because no one else did.

I made the famous right on Hereford Street, and I knew the equally famous left on Boylston was coming up. I did it, and there was a long straight away to the finish. The large finish line display was in the distance. 

I put my head down and tried to bask in the glory, trying to alternately get myself to the finish line but make the moment last as long as possible.

And then, all of a sudden, there it was. Right in front of me, as others passed. I raised my arms, more to have the race photographer capture the moment than for any feeling of triumph. I didn’t feel like I’d triumphed over those particular 26.2 miles. It was a painful slog with thousands of your best friends cheering for you. 

But it was the end of a chapter in my life, and so I raised them high.

The end.

Post-Race

There’s a very long walk through an endless supply of helpful angels. One of them wrapped a heat blanket around my shoulders; another placed a finisher’s medal around my neck. “Do you need chips? Apples? Gatorade? Vanilla Powerful Muscle Building Hero Energy Drink? Water?” The rock star feeling that you have throughout doesn’t end at the finish line.

More than a few people asked me if I needed a wheelchair. I was walking, but very, very gingerly. Somehow, my legs felt just moderately better than they had after the Philly Marathon, when my calves were stuck in a hellfire, but still - everything hurt. It certainly would have been nice to have one, but I refused because if I sat down, I wasn’t sure if my legs would allow me to get up at this point, and also because of pure, irrational machismo. It’s true.

But I kept walking, eventually making my way to the Family Meeting Area, where D would meet me. I called her twice from different people’s cell phones as she walked two miles and made her way through long security lines. She is the official champion of the day. 

And as the sky darkened and the wind picked up and it wasn’t hot anymore, how was this possible? and I drank my power drink and talked to a guy who casually mentioned that his wife had finished ninth in Boston 30 years ago, D showed up. I wrapped my heat blanket around me one last time as I prepared to put on warm clothes.

And we walked to Back Bay Station, where I got a free subway ride. “Congratulations,” every single person said. We got off the subway. “Congratulations. Congratulations.” I passed a flower shop. “Here’s a free rose - for all finishers,” they said. I felt happy and light and sore and champion-like.

My finishing time was 3:32:13. I slowed to 11 minute miles by the end. But as I type this one week later, I’m over that. I’ll just remember the long procession, and the cheering, and I’ll wrap my blue Boston Marathon jacket around me and finger my medal as a tangible reminder of all of that.

I don’t know if I’ll get back to Boston. If I do, I hope it’s with my mom. But what matters now is this is the first time in my life I truly achieved a long-term personal goal I had been working toward for a very, very long time. I’ve made lists, I’ve made incremental process toward others, but some have just died on the vine. I’m not sure what that means for the future, other than the fact that I want to build a house of my own one day, with my hands.

Let’s add that one to the list next - and happily check Boston off. 

Cherry blossoms and a finisher’s jacket I haven’t taken off since I got it.

[jicasas]

I guess it was a Seattle Philharmonic strings eat things day today? Dustin sent a message containing a review of a new ramen joint. That's all it takes on the right kind of day. Like Friday, yannow? 🍜😋 #ramen #carboload #yummy #tinyprawns #secretshayatrumpetmissionwasongoing October 07, 2017 at 12:50AM http://ift.tt/2y08gsM