#also; it's not like there's a choice. Everyone comes to brazil eventually; whether they like it or not. these are the rules of the world

[qrevo]

W- why do you need me to go to Brazil- are you planning to kill me? I mean, I'd let you because I love you, but-

i mean, i was thinking about inviting you to a churrasco, spending some time together in a cafe in the late afternoon, and maybe going on a journey to overthrone god, but if you want to jump straight into platonically motivated murder that's fine by me 🐱👍

[theasstour]

𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟕.𝟕𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐚

Tuesday, 13 December 2017

Tooley Street was always busy, whether there were a horde of people walking to and from the riverside and underground, or cars driving by at a ridiculous speed. London Bridge station on the other side of the road to where Y/N and the gang sat at Caffé Nero, looked like a small insect in comparison to The Shard that reached like a pillar above the partly cloudy winter sky. The blue painted brick building beside it, The Shipwright Arms pub, was a lively addition to an otherwise very bleak street.

The winter wind by the riverside was horrendous, but Y/N had offered to come with Annalise on her cigarette break, so she had only herself to blame for exposing herself to more of the biting cold than completely necessary. From where the two were sitting, they could just make out Tower Bridge behind them, bare trees rising up along the streets that indicated summer was long gone and winter had arrived.

Y/N had spent a lot of time just sitting outside the last few days. Whether it was on a bench by Regent’s Canal, in the grass at Shoreditch Park, or at a table outside a café with a coffee in hand. She had just been sitting there, staring out at nothing. Thinking. All she had been doing since finding that watch was think.

She had tried to find some kind of logical explanation as to why that watch had the coordinates for her family’s Newport cabin, but there was none. What kind of connection did George have to Newport? To that cabin? Had he just fucked her and left it there because he knew who Y/N’s sister was? And where was George now? She had not seen him since that night in October, was he still around? Or had Y/N just missed him when he had been, and this had all just been a huge coincidence. But Y/N somehow knew, deep down, that this was far from a coincidence and she should not treat it as one.

“You have to come to Monnickendam,” Annalise said, blowing out a puff of white smoke.

Y/N looked away from a man across the street who was arguing passionately with someone on his phone. Shoving the thoughts of the watch that was laid on her desk in her room, out of her head. She had not told anyone about it, this was not something she wanted everyone to know about because she had no idea what it meant. The only person that knew was Harry, and she would like to keep it that way.

“I’ve never been to the Netherlands,” Y/N said.

“Even more of a reason to come.”

Y/N smiled. “Buzzing. I haven’t travelled much in Europe, mostly been to Brazil with my family.”

“When you come to Monnickendam, we have to take the train to, like, Germany or France. Andorra is also so beautiful, I think you’re gonna love it.”

“Make a roadtrip out of it.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N’s smile grew. “Had you been to London before you came here for school?”

Annalise brought the cigarette up to her mouth. “Loads of times.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we went here around Easter in 2012 the first time, and I fell in love. Went here four more times, then to an Open Day last year.”

Y/N nodded. “Was Helmond your first choice then? Did you like it the best?”

“No, Battersea was, but I’m happy I ended up at Helmond.” Annalise breathed out white vapour. “Helmond’s prettier.”

Y/N laughed. “The aesthetic is more important than the uni itself, innit? If you can’t take decent Instagram pictures there, what’s the point of spending the next three years at that place?”

Annalise laughed along with Y/N, taking a last drag. “I rarely use Instagram.”

“I used to. I loved to like document my life, to let all my friends and family know what I was doing at all times. But then I found Snapchat, and it’s just better.”

“You know that if you, like, save a picture or video in the Snapchat app, Snapchat owns it?”

Y/N blinked.

“At least what someone at home told me once.”

“Doesn’t Instagram do the same?” Y/N asked.

“Think so,” Annalise said, walking over to the litter and stumping her cigarette out in the ash tray on top of it. “Ground rule: don’t save anything onto social media. Anyone can save and see your pictures.”

“Basically,” Y/N mumbled, looking over at the man she had watched earlier. He was still arguing with someone over the phone.

“Ready to head back inside?” Annalise asked.

“Yeah.” Y/N got up and the two strolled back over to the Caffé Nero their three other mates were sat in. Thian, Hayden, and Chloe were all sat with their laptops in front of them and books in the centre of the table behind their screens. Chloe was talking animatedly as Y/N and Annalise approached, Hayden busy with something on the laptop in front of them while Thian sat with a book in his hands, looking at Chloe as she spoke. Y/N took off her puffer jacket, hanging it off the back of her chair as she sat down, adjusting her black V-neck jumper and loose denim jeans.

“…the problem isn’t that. The problem is the fact that they never clean up after themselves. That’s the problem,” Chloe said, groaning loudly. “And when I ask in the flat groupchat if anyone wanna be social, no one answers. I swear, all of them hate me.”

“Maybe they’re just busy,” Thian suggested.

“They always say that, but I know two of the boys are in Dave’s room playing something on that PlayStation.” Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. “Should I learn how to play FIFA?”

“You don’t have to impress them,” Y/N said, turning her laptop back on to finish the essay for Critical Reading that was due that Friday.

“No, I know. But if I want to hang out with anyone in my flat, I gotta do something. What games do you play in the PlayStation, Thian?”

Thian stared at Chloe for a second, mouth working before he mumbled, “I didn’t bring one to uni.”

“Alright, then what did you play at home?”

“Call of Duty.”

Chloe scrunched up her nose. “Isn’t that a war game?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I’m not into that.” Chloe grimaced, looking at something further away. “I’ve never really played PlayStation. One of the blokes I dated in college gamed a lot, but I couldn’t be asked to sit around and just watch.”

“The three in my flat play GTA,” Y/N said. “At least that’s what Nathan wants to play, Harry and Mason just go along.”

Chloe’s face instantly lit up. “Oh, my word, Y/N. You have to make Harry teach me how to play something on the PlayStation.”

There was a slight pang in Y/N’s chest at the sound of his name leaving Chloe’s lips in that way. Y/N opened, then closed her mouth, then opened it again. “I don’t really hang out with them when they play it. I’ve had so much to do these past months.”

“That’s fine, Nathan can keep us company,” Chloe said, leaning back in her seat. “Make Mason come, too. God-“ She grinned, letting her head fall between her shoulder blades. “-Your flatmates are fit.”

“Harry’s fitter than Mason,” Hayden chimed in.

“No, definitely Mason,” Annalise said.

“I can’t choose. Depends on my mood,” Chloe mused.

Thian kept quiet, staring pointedly at his laptop.

“Can you do it? Make them teach me?” Chloe begged, sticking her bottom lip out at Y/N.

Y/N took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

Chloe grinned.

“They might be busy, too. Might not get to it till after Christmas break.”

Chloe waved her hand. “That’s fine. I just want to hang out with someone from my flat eventually.”

Y/N glanced down at her laptop again, trying to forget the conversation she had just had with the other three. Chloe continued chattering on about something of no significance, Y/N did not care to listen as she wanted to finish her essay before she had to leave for home coming Saturday. Though her coffee was cold now as she took a sip of it, Y/N still appreciated the taste of caffeine. It woke her up, made her more alert and focused.

Ever since she was seven years old, her papai had made her coffee to drink. He always said “coffee is as vital to a Brazilian’s existence as tea is to a Brit’s” and she had drunk it ever since. She loved the taste of it much more than tea, but seeing as tea was much easier to make, she had come to resort to it here in London. Home in Nottingham, there was always a brew in the making or one ready for whoever felt like having a cup, made with a proper coffee machine that Davi had invested proper money in. He had bought it back in 2001, and it worked just as well as it did back then. Y/N, like her papai, loved the coffee from that old coffee maker more than anything else. She could not wait until she was home with her parents so she could drink proper coffee all the time without going to the nearest coffee shop to do so. The instant coffee Nathan often made smelled and tasted rank, Y/N would have no other coffee than her papai’s and a cup made at a coffee shop.

“I’m gonna go buy a muff,” Hayden said, getting up from their chair. “This essay is doing my head in, I need something to sooth the pain.”

“Oh, could you buy me a scone?” Thian asked, putting his hands together as if he was begging on his knees. “I’ll pay with five stellar knock knock jokes.”

“Make it six.”

“Deal.”

The two shook hands and Hayden grinned as they looked at the other three. “Anything from the trolley, dears?”

Y/N and Annalise chuckled. “No thanks,” Y/N said, Annalise saying the same thing.

“No, I’ll just add to this,” Chloe said, patting at her stomach.

“Add to what?” Hayden asked.

“A belly.” Chloe gripped the little that was protruding from her tight denim jeans. “I’m trying to start working out for bikini season, to remove that extra uni weight, you know?”

Hayden looked absolutely lost, so did Thian, and Annalise looked to not be paying any attention at all. Y/N, however, felt a familiar pang in her chest. It was a small explosion she had felt before, one that would taint the rest of her day. Instinctively, she put her scarf around her chest, letting it fall over her stomach.

Hayden did not comment, instead they just walked up to the till, ready to tell the lady working there their order. The table fell silent, but not for the reason Y/N wanted it to. No, they were all just busy with their essays. Y/N knew that it would be impossible for her to concentrate on the assignment now that the only thing she would be thinking about for the rest of the day was Chloe’s comment. Chancing a look over at her friend, she saw her flicking through a book in her lap, completely unbothered, Annalise was cocking her head to the side as she wrote something on her Mac, while Thian was watching Hayden pay for their food. None of them had batted an eyelash. Which was nothing new, Y/N was used to no one picking up on covered up fatphobic comments.

She knew that Chloe had not said those things with her in mind, that the statement had been about her own body only. But Y/N could not help but feel the comment in her very soul. She could remember her mates from school in Nottingham making comments similar to that one, so hearing it wasn’t alien, but it stung as much as hearing it that first time.

“Here we go,” Hayden said, putting the scone down on Thian’s keyboard.

“Scones are so bloody good,” Thian moaned, taking a huge bite out of his. “If we had to fuck a food, I’d fuck scones.”

The table went quiet, all looking at Thian. He just continued on eating, humming some Alesso and Conor Maynard song that was always playing on the radio.

“Why did you just say that?” Hayden asked.

“Felt like sharing my thoughts with the class.”

Hayden raised their eyebrows before looking at the laptop in front of them. “The class did not need to know.”

Thian shrugged his shoulders and Annalise laughed, Chloe joining in after a little while. Y/N smiled at them, but her thoughts still drifted back to Chloe’s comments just a minute earlier. She spread her scarf out over her stomach, wishing she had worn something that wasn’t so tight fitted.

Friday, 15 December 2017

“Sorry we’re late,” Mason said as him and the rest of the rugby team streamed into the seminar room. Hayden, Y/N, Thian, Chloe, Annalise, Nathan, and Annalise’s two friends were all sat around one table, already having started a round of Uno.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Hayden smiled. “I’ve put Uno decks on the other tables.”

“Cheers.”

Mason and the rest of the team sat down, all chatting amongst themselves and letting go of heavy sighs as they took their seats. It was clear that the last training session for the team this year had not only been cold, but also immensely tiring. They all looked very ready to travel home for Christmas break, and it looked like a few already had.

Y/N felt their struggle with the cold. She herself was wearing a mini linen skater dress in black. The skirt was loose, making it comfortable to hide her belly in – she had not stopped thinking about Chloe’s comment all week, but it would not stop her from looking really fucking good – and the waist was open, baring some of her skin and rib tattoo to everyone. Her skin protruded around the straps that were wrapped around her waist, connecting her skirt from her top, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she just tried to stay out of Chloe’s vision. The plunge neck revealed a very deep cleavage and skin, making it so Y/N had put on two silver necklaces to top of the outfit. The rest of the top had long sleeves and a nice collar, which was why Y/N had bought the dress. It was slutty, but in a modest way.

The rest of the gang around the table had also dressed up, ready to go out after this. They all had their last lecture of the semester today, meaning that their Christmas break had just started, and they wanted to celebrate before everyone travelled to their separate locations the next day. Chloe to Oxford, Thian to Bristol, Hayden to Sheffield, Annalise to Monnickendam, and Y/N back home to Nottingham. It would be weird not to meet up with them, to not go to lectures and stress about assignments for the next month. Then again, Annalise had made a Snapchat and Messenger group to ensure that the gang would talk every single day. And knowing her mates, Y/N was sure they would.

During a break between rounds, Y/N got up from their table after making sure that her polyamide shorts underneath her dress didn’t roll down her stomach. She wore them to prevent chafing, knowing that if she did not wear them underneath her skirt, it would be hard for her to wear anything the next day. She did the zip of her chunky sock boots before making her way over to Mason’s table.

“Alright, Y/N?” Mason said as she came closer, giving her a small smile.

“How’re you lot finding the society?” she asked, looking around the table, meeting Kai’s eyes.

Kai beamed. “Good, it’s nice to spend some time with the whole team off the rugby pitch.”

“You’re dressed up,” Mason pointed out. “What’s the occasion?”

“Uno Society.”

Mason smiled. “Trying to pull some rugby players, are ya?”

“No. No, rugby players.”

Mason only raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe her, smile widening.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re just as unbearable as Harry sometimes.”

“Nah, Harry’s worse than me.”

“Right.” Y/N took a big breath. “Chloe over there, the blonde,” Y/N said, motioning behind her with a nod of her head. Mason’s gaze immediately fell on Chloe. “She’s wondering if you and Harry can teach her how to play the PlayStation.”

Mason blinked, looking over at Kai as the bigger man clapped his hands together before laughing.

“Is that funny?” Y/N asked.

“No, it’s not. I just knew Kai would react like that,” Mason said. “But I’ll do it. After Christmas at some point.”

“Nice, I’ll tell her that, then.”

“Why does she need someone to teach her how to play PlayStation?” Kai asked, and though there was laughter in his voice, Y/N could tell his question was sincere.

“Some blokes in her flat never want to be social, they just stay in this one room playing PlayStation, and she’s kinda left out ‘cause she doesn’t really know how to play.”

“That might not work out,” Kai said, smiling still.

“Worth a shot, either way.”

“Maybe she just wanna spend time with this hunk,” Kai grinned, putting a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Or the other hunk that’s not here.”

“Speaking of him,” Y/N said, putting a hand on her hip. “Not that I care, but where is he?”

Kai grinned, sitting back in his chair. “You don’t care? Not at all?”

“No, Y/N doesn’t like Harry much,” Mason explained, completely unbothered. “He’s working. The team’s popping by The Stag’s Head later to check on him since it’s his last shift and all that.”

Y/N nodded, suddenly remembering how Harry had told her that a few weeks ago.

“What’s the bellend done to you?” Kai asked.

“Another time, Kai. We’re in the middle of a round,” Mason said. “I’ll find a day that’s good for Chloe to come over.”

“Wicked,” Y/N smiled. “See ya.”

“Later, mate.”

Y/N walked back to her table, sitting down in her seat again. “Sorry,” she said when Hayden gave her a look. “Chloe, Mason said he could teach you how to play PlayStation sometime after Christmas break.”

Chloe squealed. “Really?!”

“Yeah, he’ll text me saying when.”

“Ahh! Buzzing!”

Y/N gave her a smile before the gang went back to playing.

Though she was physically present over the next hour or so, Y/N’s mind travelled back to the flat and the watch on her desk. Besides assignments, Christmas, and what Chloe said on Tuesday, that was all Y/N had spent her time thinking about. She would be in bed, about to go to sleep, then just get out of her bed and look at the watch, study it carefully. Maybe there was another message of sorts on it, maybe she was supposed to do something with it. But other days she did not want to touch that watch. There was something about it, something about how it had just been left in her possession so casually, something about the fact that she had not seen George since that night, that did not sit right with Y/N at all.

Throughout the rest of the night, after the Uno Society, while the gang was sat at a pub, and then dancing at a club later, Y/N could not bring herself to enjoy herself thoroughly. All her energy went back to that watch. She wanted to understand what it meant, why George had it, and what she was supposed to do with the information. Was she even supposed to do anything at all? It only made her want to travel down to Newport even more. She had to now. Her parents might think about getting rid of that cabin, but Y/N had to revisit it one last time before that happened.

Y/N did not drink that night; she was afraid of the conspiracy theories she would form if she did. She had one cocktail at the pub they went to, but could not do more than that, and her mates did not ask questions as to why she was not drinking, something she really appreciated. It was late when she announced she would be going home, and so she called Nathan and made him stay on the line with her as she took the tube back to Haggerston Station. Once she reached Orsman Road, she could hear his snores on the other end, and hung up halfway down the road to the flat. However, in the distance, she saw a stag’s head sign hanging out on a metal pole, protruding from the building opposite her flat building. She suddenly remembered what Mason said, and crossed the road, making her way over to the pub.

A small group of lads made their way out of the pub as Y/N reached it, the last one holding the door for her. She smiled and thanked him before walking inside. Now that she wasn’t affected by alcohol, Y/N was finally able to take in the pub properly without having the slight haze of alcohol taint it. The lights were comfortably dimmed, not too much so you could not read the menu, but just enough so that a person’s facial features would be a tad blurry. The red that ran along the wall behind the dark bar counter was subtle, giving the bar a sense of holding onto the secrets of each person who walked through the front doors, like a Victorian murder mystery. Y/N could see Sweeney Todd’s barber shop trapped in the same colours.

“Excuse me, miss,” a man walking out from behind the counter said, grey hair and broad shoulders. “We’re closed.”

“Oh,” she said, looking around the dark pub. “I… I thought I might find Harry here.”

The man narrowed his eyes a little. “He’s got a new girlfriend? So soon after the other ones?”

Y/N felt herself narrow her eyes back at the man. Girlfriend? Harry’s had girlfriends – plural – since he started working in The Stag’s Head? There was a very strange combination of a lot of different feelings that swarmed around Y/N’s body, suddenly making her feel seasick. She was about to abort her mission, to say she would just catch Harry at home, when there came a voice from the door leading out into the smoking area.

“Y/N,” Harry said, turning the lights off outside and closing the door. It looked as if he could not quite believe his eyes as he saw her standing there, like he had not thought she would ever show up to his work like this. Without seemingly able to help himself, his green eyes fell down to her green dress and her exposed legs. He quickly looked to his other co-worker, clearing his throat as he walked behind the pub counter. Y/N could swear she saw a slight pink hue to his cheekbones.

“I’ll leave if you’re busy.”

“No,” Harry said, the word coming out a little too quickly as if desperation got the better of him. “No. Not busy.”

The grey-haired man raised his eyebrows at Harry. He must have seen something in Harry’s demeanour, because he said, “You’ll be alright to close up on your own?”

Harry smiled. “It’ll be a nice way to end my time at Stag’s Head.”

“Nice,” the man Y/N now suspected was Harry’s boss, said. “Pop by with the keys tomorrow, will ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave both Harry and Y/N a smile each before he started on his walk up to his office. The pub was suddenly very quiet, not a single sound came from inside, just the distant siren outside and the low buzz of the city. A place that was usually bustling with noise, energy, and anticipation, was now left with the latter. Y/N looked around the place, unsure of what to do with herself now that it was only her and Harry there. Harry watched her, picking up the Cif spray from where it stood under the counter. She felt his gaze on her as she walked along the booths, touching the red velvet cushions, a rush of goosebumps travelling up her spine at the knowledge that she had his full attention.

She turned around, leaning her bum against a table as she took in the liquor behind Harry. He was washing the counter, looking over at Y/N again, eyes falling to her mid-area that was expanded slightly at the pressure the surface behind her was providing. He quickly looked away again, biting his lips together as he focused on the counter in front of him. Y/N could not help a small smile.

“What made you show up to my work, then?” he asked.

“Can’t a friend show up to another friend’s work?”

Harry let out a strangled chuckle. “Alright. That’s very nice of you, but I don’t buy that for a single second.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You don’t?”

“There’s gotta have been another reason as to why.”

“Okay…? What’s that?”

Harry shrugged his shoulder, spraying more Cif onto the counter. “You were bored. You didn’t want to be around your other mates any longer. You wanted to see a delicious man with an irresistible Northern accent clean up a pub since it’s his last shift ever here tonight.”

Y/N let out a laugh, placing her hands on either side of the table beside her. “None of the above.”

“Alright,” Harry said, coming out from behind the pub. “What didn’t I cover?”

“You weren’t at the Uno Society meeting.”

The answer came so effortlessly, as if her subconscious had been holding onto the answer for Y/N until she was strong enough to know the real reason. Her hands instantly gripped the table harder, feeling embarrassed for admitting vulnerability so easily. She blamed how easy it was to talk to him, how he just seemed to throw a lasso around her deepest secrets, her most private desires, and drag them out of her.

Harry looked over at her from where he was cleaning the tables a bit further away in the pub. “Had work. Would’ve been there if I didn’t have to be here.”

She nodded, looking down at her black boots. For some reason, his words warmed something inside her. Hearing someone care about something she cared about made her feel special. Then again, someone she just met on the street could tell her they hated Marmite, something Y/N also did, and she would feel equally as fuzzy inside. Finding small bonds, small preferences, small somethings that connected you to other people, made you feel like you weren’t alone, but it also made you feel special, made you feel seen and understood. It was as if someone opened a door into their soul, and giving you a warm handshake, welcoming you into them and their life.

“The lads had a blast,” Harry said, now closer to Y/N as she had zoned out for a minute and some.

“They did?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to just sit down and relax like that. We don’t really get to do that.”

Y/N watched as Harry hovered by a table, leaning over it to clean it. His black tee shirt stretched over his broad back, his shoulder blades visibly working as he ran the cloth over the table in front of him. The outline of his muscles, the way they were so hard against the soft fabric of the tee shirt, made Y/N’s body feel very hot all of a sudden. He worked so carefully, sliding his hand holding the cloth so slowly over the table, paying it his undivided attention. She adjusted her position against her table, looking away from Harry as he stood back up, his black trousers that had been tight around his buttocks, slacking at the lack of pressure on the material. Get a fucking grip, Y/N screamed at herself in her head, focusing on the wall in front of her. She saw Harry look at her over his shoulder, gaze lingering on her for a few seconds. Y/N suddenly found it very hard to draw a proper breath.

“You’re mad I didn’t show up?” Harry asked.

Y/N was silent, her brain completely blank. “Didn’t show up…?”

She could see his smug smile in her peripheral vision. “Yeah.”

“To what?”

His smile widened and he focused on a table closer to her. “The Uno Society.”

She closed her eyes. Her checking out Harry while he had his back to her had not just made her forget the whole reason why she had showed up to The Stag’s Head in the first place. His body looking the way it did, him caring about the society, him teasing her to get a reaction out of her… Why the fuck did he have that effect on her?

“No,” Y/N said, refusing to look at him still. “I’m not mad.”

“Then why won’t you look at me right now?”

Y/N could feel her hands instinctively grabbing harder onto the table behind her. “No reason.”

“You know,” Harry started, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “You can try all you want, but I still know you.”

She huffed. “You wish.”

“I don’t gotta,” he said, chuckling a little. “Don’t gotta wish when I already do know you. Wish I knew you better, wish you’d just open up to me like you did so easily before, but that’s for a later time.”

That made her look over at Harry, her eyebrows drawn together as she just watched him clean yet another table. He… Did he really think she would one day open up to him again and they would go back to being friends like they used to? Was he really that optimistic? Had he thought about it? About them and their friendship? And what a future with her alongside him at uni would look like? Her eyes landed on his bicep as it flexed, holding his body weight as he leaned against the table again. Her gaze following his arm all the way down to his hand, long slender fingers wrapped around the edge of the table, and the thick veins over the dorsal part of his hand made something in Y/N’s brain short circuit. That along with the casual way he was leaning his hips against the table, staring down at it with his head cocked.

What the fuck, Y/N said to herself again, looking away from him. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?! How was she supposed to stay neutral, to not find him attractive, to not want to sink right back into old habits when she allowed herself to study him and look at him like that. She had to stop. This was getting out of hand.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” Harry said, working slowly as he cleaned up the table in the booth beside the one she was stood leaning against.

“No, I’ve just got things on my mind.”

“What things?”

Your broad shoulders. Your hands. The way you stick your tongue out of your mouth when you are concentrating. But Y/N said none of those things, as doing so would sentence her to a lifetime of humiliation.

“Insignificant things.”

“When they’re taking up a lot of space in your head and preventing you from being present, they’re not insignificant,” Harry said, sounding a little serious all of a sudden. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, there’s nothing inherently bad on my mind, just… I’ve got a lot of… thoughts,” Y/N said, not knowing how else to explain it without giving something away.

“What thoughts?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Thought you did Architectural Studies, didn’t know you also had a degree in being Nosy.”

Harry let out a laugh, coming to stand in front of her with the spray and the cloth in his hands. “I’m very nosy.”

“Glad to hear you’re self-aware.”

“But right now I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Bloody hell, Y/N thought, could he just fucking stop being so nice? So fucking adorable? And fit? It made hating him so much harder than it already was.

“I’m okay.”

He took a step closer. “What’s been on your mind then?”

“Just… life.”

“Has uni exhausted you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not what I’m thinking about.”

Harry took another step closer. Y/N’s palms were suddenly very clammy.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked again, a small smile on his lips as if he was challenging her.

“Maybe you just have to face the fact that I won’t tell you and you can’t figure it out on your own.”

“Nah,” Harry said. “I’ll figure you out.”

Y/N watched as Harry took another step closer, her heart suddenly beating very fast inside her chest.

“I just gotta…” He trailed off, now standing directly in front of her. Tip of his shoes against the tip of hers. Without a warning of sorts, he leaned closer, bending over her until his head hovered beside her own. Chest wavering above hers, touching as she drew in a precipitous breath and he did the same. Their bodies did not brush against one another again, an invisible, burning shield was built to keep them apart the second their upper bodies made contact. As if the universe was telling them that by touching like that, the world would go up in total flames around them.

Harry’s sudden closeness made her breathe in a little too harshly, she was sure he must have heard it but she simply did not care. The reaction her body was having to him being so close was electric, it made all the hairs on her body stand on end. She didn’t know what he was doing that close to her, thinking at first that he must have wanted to whisper something in her ear, to say something to her that would undoubtedly make her glad she was leaning against something solid for support.

But she heard the familiar sound of the Cif spray, and a second later, Harry reached his cloth behind Y/N’s back, cleaning the table. She felt his breath against her neck, triggering something radioactive inside her. The oud aroma of his cologne, with notes of cedar, patchouli, and spicy saffron filled Y/N’s nostrils. In those seconds when Harry hovered above her like that, his warm body inches from hers, breath fanning against her skin, his aroma, and aura mere inches from hers, Y/N was conflicted as to if she wanted time to speed up or slow down some more. She knew that if she stayed like that, with Harry so close to her, for much longer she would go absolutely mad and have an impossible time resisting him if he were to try something like he had done in the living room the week before.

No sooner had she thought that, he pushed off, face lingering just centimetres from hers. “I just need to take a look,” he said, speaking as if he did not mind if the whole world was watching them. He raised his hand, about to touch her chin. For what reason, Y/N did not know, but she didn’t ask any questions. However, he stopped, as if touching her was something he could not do. Y/N was glad he hadn’t, because God knows how her body would have reacted had he tenderly touched her jawline like it looked like he wanted to.

“Take a look?” Y/N mumbled.

“At you.”

A small breath left her lips.

“Maybe the answer to what’s been on your mind is somewhere in your eyes,” he said, eyes suddenly falling to her lips. “Or your lips.” He glanced at her forehead. “Or in the slight lines that appear between your eyebrows when you’re deep in thought.” He looked down at her hands on the table edge. “Or the way you’re gripping the table so tight right now.”

Jesus Christ, she was about to explode. Y/N let go of it immediately, standing up and forcing Harry to take two steps back. His intense glance lingered on her, falling to her lips as she opened her mouth to take a breath.

“It’s getting late,” she said, fingering the hem of her leather jacket as her heart continued to hammer away inside her chest.

“Wait for me, yeah?” Harry walked over to the next table to clean it, doing it way faster than all the other ones. Biting his lip and moving his hand with the cloth over the table as if to make up for time spent on something else, cleaning very slowly and standing too close to her.

“No, I can walk home by myself.”

“I know you’re capable of walking, but I don’t like you being out in the streets all alone late at night.”

Y/N looked over at Harry as he cleaned the last booth, seeing the determination to finish as quickly as possible.

“It’s just across the road,” she said.

“Please just let me walk you across the road, then.” Harry walked behind the bar counter, putting the cleaning supplies away.

“You make me sound like an old lady.”

“Just-“ He appeared from behind the counter. “-Wait.” He then disappeared into the backroom where he only stayed for a few seconds. Y/N would have thought that since he enjoyed working at The Stag’s Head, he would have at least lingered for a few moments to take in the last time he would ever be back there. But instead, he emerged wearing his coat, locking the door behind him, mere seconds later. He turned the lights off, and, walking over to where Y/N was standing, placed a gentle hand to her lower back, guiding her in the direction of the door that she could only barely make out in the dark. Goosebumps instantly ran up Y/N’s back and she inhaled at the pressure of Harry’s hand on her body. He held the door open for her and Y/N stepped outside, watching as Harry locked the front doors to The Stag’s Head for the very last time.

He looked around them after locking the door, checking up and down the three streets that came to a crossroad just outside the pub. Once his eyes finally met Y/N’s again he gave her the smallest smile, then motioned for her to lead the way back to their flat. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she could not find it in herself to do just that in that moment. Though it was just across the road, she very much appreciated Harry’s company back to their flat. Distance was nothing when the roads were dark and the faces of the figures walking past were left blurred by the dim streetlamps.

Harry held the door for Y/N once again, letting her be the first to enter the building. She strolled upstairs, unlocking their front door and watching as Harry gestured for her to walk on inside. The flat was dark, except for the warm yellow lights Nathan had twined around the railing of their terrace and the changing colours of the luminous Christmas tree in the living room. The kitchen was usually left in darkness, as was the rest of the flat, but since their eyes were used to night outside, it wasn’t hard to navigate their way to the stairs. They took their jackets off, and without her leather jacket on, Y/N was very aware of how much of her skin was exposed to Harry. Her dress showed off her legs, arms, and parts of her back to him, and she knew that, if he walked behind her up the stairs, he would get a good look at her bum.

She took her boots off and started up the stairs with her purse in her hand, hearing Harry make his way up them as well. If any man were to walk behind her up the stairs, Harry was one she trusted not to take the mick, to not look up her skirt and make her feel uncomfortable. But… after everything… she still didn’t want him to see her knickers. However, facing her door, she heard Harry walking up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to face him once he reached the first floor. What happened next happened so suddenly that Y/N barely managed to wrap her head around it before the moment was gone.

She had just turned around to face Harry when he walked up over to her. Taking a step back at the sudden closeness, she felt herself breathe in sharply as Harry’s face lingered only centimetres from her own again. Though the person standing in front of her was a man, a completely different person, something inside her brain took her back to that night when they were 16. He hadn’t been this close to her since then, had not touched her or looked at her like this since then. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and then to meet hers, wet lips parting as if the anticipation was killing him.

And Y/N had to painfully admit, it was killing her, too. As much as she had tried to fight it, it was impossible to now. She wanted Harry to kiss her. Not tenderly kiss her like you would peck a person you were in love with, or to gently rub his thumb over her cheek as a show of affection, or to hug her tight when they met up for lunch. No, she wanted him to fucking kiss her. She wanted him to grab her face and kiss her hard; desperately, needily. She wanted them to fumble to take each other’s clothes off, and for him to make up for how bad that first time together was. There was absolutely no denying it, Y/N wanted Harry. She really wanted him. All these months, all those moments spent trying to push the thought away, she simply could not anymore. There was a hunger inside her for him, but only in the sexual sense. She could never fall in love with this man, she just wanted to fuck him. And she wanted to fuck him bad.

Her own lips parted, and she looked into his eyes with an expression she hoped he could read, because she needed him to understand. Once again, Harry raised his hand, hovering between them as if he were unsure what to do with it. Fingers twitching, she could see he was conflicted, whether he should touch her cheek as it looked like he wanted to, or if he should stop himself. Y/N let her eyes fall to his hand, to tell him she wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel him somewhere, anywhere on her. Just looking at him, she could see he wanted the same as her. He wanted to feel her body, to explore it in a completely different way to last time.

Harry’s hand fell out of view, and just as Y/N thought he was going to let it hang limply, uselessly, at his side, she felt something on her waist. A warm pressure, snaking around the black linen of her dress. She waited for him to pull her closer to him, for their torsos to connect, but it never happened.

“Y/N,” Harry whispered, eyes falling to her lips again.

She did not answer, instead just tilted her head so it would be easier for him to kiss her. With her eyelids hanging low over her eyes, her body language not showing any sign of protesting, and with her lips parted, Y/N hoped the message was coming across clearly. Harry leaned in closer, his nose almost touching hers. Her heart was beating so fast and hard it hurt. Her hands were clammy. All her attention focused on Harry and the electricity they created on that spot where his hand rested. He leaned down, lips hovering just over the crook of her neck, making her close her eyes. Breath against the hair of her shoulder, lightning shooting up Y/N’s back. He slowly leaned back out again, nose hovering beside hers. The anticipation was absolutely killing her.

“I…” But he drifted off, eyes falling to her lips again. She could feel his breath on her mouth, could smell his cologne. The tension was making her dizzy, she just wanted him to bloody kiss her already.

She was just about to do it herself when she felt his warm hand drop off her waist. She blinked, and the next second, Harry took a step back. He only looked at her, mouth working as if he was trying to find the right words to say, but there were none. So, as if blinking himself awake from a sort of dream, he took another step back. Suddenly, he opened the door into his room. He stopped in the doorway, looking back at Y/N. Again, he tried to say something that must have died on the tip of his tongue, because again, he did not utter a word. It looked like he physically could not say them out loud. Instead, he closed the door, leaving Y/N standing alone out in the dark hallway.

Y/N’s eyes rested on the door to the bathroom, trying to go over in her head where it had just happened. Had… Had Harry just walked away just now? Had he teased her in the pub, then done almost the same just now, only to walk away? What had gone wrong? Why had he not kissed her? What had made him step away? What had made him stop? Y/N could not answer a single one of the questions, and she doubted Harry would give her any. She closed her eyes, resting her head against her door behind her. This was exactly why she had not wanted to live with Harry, this was why she had not given in to his charms and flirts before. Now, because of what had just happened, because of how awkward that had just been, they were back to square one. Just living under the same roof as him infuriated her. She could not fucking stand Harry Styles.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 4th April, 9PM GMT!

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[rae-does-stuff]

Chocolate Brown and Olive Green (Nyo!Greece x Japan) Part 3

Started: March 27th 2021

Ended: March 31st 2021

Word Count: 6651 (Overall)

Reminder: I do not own Hetalia or Nyotalia. I'm also using Nyo!Greece instead of Canon!Greece but everyone else's gender is the same as what it is in canon. I apologize if characters are OOC.

June, 1919

Japan waited as the countries voted on his Racial Equality Proposal. He knew that the choice would ultimately depend on their bosses and delegates but just knowing that they supported his country's proposal would be nice.

Eventually the votes came in. He read through them:

Japan - Yes

France - Yes

Italy - Yes

Brazil - Yes

China - Yes

Greece - Yes

Serbia - Yes

Czechoslovakia - Yes

British Empire - Not Registered

United States - Not Registered

Portugal - Not Registered

Romania - Not Registered

Belgium - Absent

Japan looked at the bottom five in confusion.

What did "not registered" mean for his proposal? Absent he could understand but not registered?

He counted the amount of yes votes he had and it said that seven countries out of twelve voted yes. That was still good since it was the majority.

•••

The next day was the moment of truth on whether or not countries within the League of Nations would get equal rights regardless of race or ethnicity. Japan would've tried for equal rights in all countries but he was already pretty alienated from the rest and didn't want to seem even more so.

The countries sat in the meeting room waiting for the verdict to come. That's when the news came:

The Racial Equality Proposal will not be accepted due to no unanimous votes.

Anarchy began in the room.

France yelled, "But there was a clear majority!"

Belgium cried out, "I wasn't even apart of the vote!"

Britain sipped his tea in a somehow angry manner, America looked deep in thought (which was rare for some countries to see), Czechia and Slovakia were a bit busy fighting over a hyphen but eventually the shock got to them and Brazil and Serbia simply had shocked expressions on their faces.

Portugal, Romania, Greece and the Italy brothers gave Japan a look, Greece and the Italy brothers having a little bit more sympathy for their friend.

China exclaimed, "Aiyah, why didn't everyone vote aru?!"

That's what made the time bomb explode.

The nations that said yes started to bombard the nations that didn't vote with questions. Well, every nation but Belgium who everyone figured must've been doing something important in order to miss a meeting.

Meanwhile Japan was just looking down at his notes trying to not let the bitterness and disappointment show on his face.

Then America yelled, "Alright dudes! We have to come up with a compromise for our bro Japan! And as the hero, I have an idea!"

Britain muttered, "Well that's a first."

Japan was definitely curious as to what America's idea was for a compromise. He also hadn't really expected the loud American to make a compromise.

America continued, "Anyways, my idea is that we give Japan some of Germany's stuff in China,"

Before he continued China shouted, "I think I should keep Germany's possessions in my home, aru!

America ignored him, "Then we can give him the Marianas, Marshall and Caroline islands in the Pacific! All in favor?"

Most of the countries in the room agreed with America and the meeting was adjourned for those nations.

When Japan left he heard a familiar voice call after him, "Ιαπωνία (Japan)!"

He turned around and saw Greece running after him. He never really noticed how fast of a runner she was until he saw her in action.

She finally caught up with him and let out a breathy huff, "You're a really fast walker Japan."

Before Japan could apologize Greece stopped him, "Don't apologize or else I'll smack you."

Japan knew full well that she'd make well on that promise so he shifted the conversation to something else, "Do you need something Greece-Chan?"

Greece looked up at him, "I came to apologize about your Racial Equality Proposal. I really thought we could get it done and I'm sorry."

Japan replied, "It's fine, at least I acquired some new territory since America was feeling generous."

Greece offered to walk with him back to the his hotel and Japan agreed.

He enjoyed sightseeing and since Greece offered he didn't want to be rude and say no.

As they walked Greece commented, "It's been a while since we talked one on one hasn't it?"

Japan thought back to the last time they had a one on one conversation without one of them being pulled away for work. He couldn't really think of any besides the phone call back in 1916, when the war ended in 1918 where they had a face to face reunion but after that he'd been so busy with work they hadn't really talked alone together.

Japan agreed with her, "Hai it has."

For a while the walk was silent and Japan took the time to think about the war. For example, why was Germany blamed for the war when it was clearly Austria and Hungary's fault?

He also thought about how much the world map changed and how much territory people gained. While Japan did get some territory from the war, how come some countries like Italy barely got what they wanted?

Greece's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "What are you thinking about Japan?"

Japan shook his head, "It's nothing, just thinking." Greece didn't look convinced, "Are you sure?"

Japan replied, "Yes, I'm sure."

Greece dropped the subject and shifted the conversation to something else.

When they got to Japan's hotel, Greece waved goodbye and went to her own hotel.

Japan still wasn't sure if he felt bad for the Central Powers and the countries that didn't get what they wanted from the war but he didn't dwell on it and went to sleep.

[mikeydoodledandy]

“Barclay? What are you doing all the way out here? It’s late.” Barclay sighed softly, looking up to his partner as Joseph approached. The agent was dressed in what he’d worn to bed, a light blanket wrapped around him and his sneakers hastily pulled on without socks. He looked worried, but Barclay supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Waking up in the middle of the night to find your lover missing from your bed was no doubt kind of jarring.

“I... woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to go for a walk rather than bother you with my tossing and turning. Sorry.” He was seated at the edge of the clearing overlooking the archway, on a wooden bench that had been put there after the events of the Quell. The moon was full, shining brightly overhead and casting a pale glow on the forest below. 

Joseph nodded quietly. “May I join you, or would you prefer to be alone?”

“...Go ahead.”

Stern sat, adjusting his blanket around his shoulders before carefully offering his hand to Barclay. They sylph considered it a moment before gently entwining their fingers between them, not saying anything else. They shared the silence together, the cool mountain breeze rustling their clothes and hair as shadows crept from the woods as the moon rose higher.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Joseph asked after a time, rubbing his thumb against his partner’s.

“What is there to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Any of it. The new connection back to Sylvain. They sylphs leaving the lodge. Why you’re out here of all places.”

“Ah. Those things. Right.” Barclay sighed again, looking down at their hands. His chest was tight and all the feelings he’d been having lately threatened to bubble up in his throat. The sylph swallowed thickly, considering his words.

He and Joseph had been together going on almost half a year now, settling into their new reality as best they could. Much of it had been wonderful. Joseph was an amazing partner and it felt so good to finally reciprocate their feelings after almost an entire year of pining, and make up for lost time together. Whether it was dinner dates, or curling up by the fire, or falling into bed together, it had been bliss.

But, as all things tended to be, not everything was perfect. Life went on and the people of Kepler rebuilt, but the scars had been left on the town and its people. Perhaps those in the Pine Guard most of all.

Dani and Aubrey were still on their travels in Sylvain, healing in their own way together. They’d promised to return for a big reunion in the fall that Amnesty and the townfolk were planning, but the lodge was quiet without them in the meantime. Thacker too was missed, away on his own travels into the wilds of the planet Barclay had once called home. Barclay hoped they were all doing alright, he missed them a lot and while they were able to get in touch, their conversations were few and far between.

Duck had left too. He and Minerva and Juno had all left for Brazil in the noble effort of replanting the forests there. Barclay suspected though that Duck needed to get away from it all as well and do some healing of his own.

Which meant only Barclay and Mama remained of the Pine Guard. Not that it really mattered anymore. The abominations were long gone, no longer being grown by the DOM and sent to Earth to incite conflict between their worlds. For the first time in so long, they could rest easy knowing that the full moon would come and go time and time again and no beasts would slink from the shadows to threaten their way of life.

Barclay always thought he’d be relieved for it all to come to an end, and for the most part he was, but he’d found he didn’t quite know what to do with himself anymore. Now that they’d managed to reconnect Earth and Sylvain with the help of Dr. Sarah Drake and Minerva’s strange magicks, many of the sylphs at the lodge had made the choice to go home, their exile having ended in the wake of the prevented apocalypse.

For the first time in years, Amnesty Lodge was.. just another inn. 

They’d gotten more business as tourists flocked to the town to see the mountain that had moved. The FBI had covered up most of it and the official statement was that it had been a massive collapse of underground caverns that had caused the mountain to crumble into the river, but there were rumors of what really happened. There would always be rumors.

But Barclay found that, even in his happiness of a new relationship, he missed the home that they’d all once made for themselves. It felt... empty. Jake and a few others had stayed and he was grateful for that, but he still found himself wistful for what they’d once had.

He finally let out a long breath, leaning over and resting his head on Joseph’s shoulder. “I miss them, Jo. I understand why they left, they needed to do what was right for them, but I just.. miss them so much it kinda hurts. The Lodge took me in and gave me a purpose all those years ago. We were all scared and tired and recovering from what was taken from us, but we were a family, y’know? We had each other. And now everyone’s... somewhere else.”

“Not everyone, but I know that’s a small consolation,” Joseph replied, gently squeezing Barclay’s fingers. “I’m sure Dani and Aubrey will return eventually, as will Thacker. But I know that’s not now and it’s okay to miss them.”

“Yeah.. And it’s not like.. I’m not moving on either, just in kind of a different way.” He raised Joseph’s hand to his lips, pressing a careful kiss to the back of it. “I never would have thought I’d find someone like you, Jo. Not like this. I don’t regret for a second that everything changed, because if we’d just kept on fighting the abominations for the rest of our lives and never stopped the Quell or the DOM, you and I.. probably wouldn’t have ever been able to get together. I just wish so many people hadn’t left me behind in the process.”

“I’d like to think you might have told me one day regardless, but I suppose that’s rather wishful thinking, isn’t it.”

“I dunno, I might’ve. I’d been considering it before the shapeshifter came and messed everything up. We had that moment and I know I chickened out, but if I’d had just a little more time, I think I might’ve come clean anyway.”

“Yes, that was all quite the mess, wasn’t it? Still, regardless of if you had told me your identity or not, if you’d continued to fight the abominations, well.. Tell me, how many of the Pine Guard actually survived the ordeal? You would have always been at risk.”

“I mean... hm.. Guess you have a point. I don’t think there’s really any answer to this though. I’m just... sad. My heart hurts with missing them.”

“No, I know. I’m not trying to rationalize away your pain, Barclay. I just wish there was more I could do,” Joseph sighed, Barclay nodding quietly.

“I appreciate it, Jo. And honestly, you’re doing plenty by just being here with me. How lucky am I that my boyfriend is willing to hike out into the middle of the woods in the dead of night just to make sure I’m okay?”

“I would hope anyone in a loving relationship would do the same. You came looking for me last winter when I got stuck out in that snowstorm, and that was even before we were together.”

“Well, yeah I wasn’t just gonna let you freeze out here.”

“Still. We look out for each other. I want to be here for you just as much as you’ve been here for me.”

Barclay smiled a little, but he still felt like he had a knot in his chest. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“...It’s all the little things I miss about them the most. Like making everyone’s favorite order. I had everyone’s preferences and tastes down to a science. There was familiarity in that; a sense that I was a part of a bigger picture. And stuff like Dani, Aubrey and Jake all piling on the sofa and giggling together over some dumb meme or joke or what they were planning for a new prank. And how Duck always had the funniest ranger stories, that he could just deliver so completely deadpan that you couldn’t help but laugh. And when Ned-” Barclay stopped himself, throat too tight to continue without choking up anyway. His eyes were wet and itchy, the sylph rubbing them with the heel of his hand. “Fuck, Jo I just..”

Before he could try to say anything else, Joseph pulled him into a strong hug. It was firm and loving and surprised Barclay for a moment, but after he relaxed in the other man’s hold it reminded him that he wasn’t so alone. 

With an anchor to ground him, Barclay found he couldn’t hold back the swell of emotions that had been building within him. Pressing his face into Joseph’s shoulder, he hugged his partner back and let himself cry.

He missed his friends, he missed his community. Change was a part of life, but rarely was it an easy one. He just wanted them all to come back and be a big happy family again. He wanted the lodge to feel like home again. Everyone had gone on their way and left him to pick up the pieces and it hurt. It hurt to be left behind.

His partner rocked him gently as he finally released all the exhaustion and sorrow he’d been carrying the last few months. Barclay might be the bigger of the two of them, but Joseph held him with a strength that made him feel safe to be vulnerable like this. The agent stroked his long hair, wrapping the blanket he had around both of them as Barclay clenched his fingers in the man’s shirt while he cried.

Eventually, his grief slipped into exhaustion, leaving him shaky and spent. He was grateful to have the man he loved there to steady him through it, resting heavily in Joseph’s arms.

“Sorry...” The sylph mumbled hoarsely, his eyes raw. Joseph shook his head, threading his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair.

“Don’t be. It’s okay.”

“I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s also okay.”

Barclay managed a chuckle at that, pulling away and wiping his nose on his sleeve. Joseph smiled at him softly, reaching up and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Barclay’s eyes were puffy and he was kind of starting to get a headache, but he felt a little better than he had before.

“Thanks, Jo.”

“Of course, love.”

They both sat quietly once more under Joseph’s blanket, this time wrapped in each other’s embrace as the night grew longer. The agent was calmly observing the archway, fingers idly stroking the hairs on Barclay’s arm. He bit his lip as he often did when there was something he wasn’t sure he should say, the sylph nudging him when he noticed.

“What’s up?”

“Well, I...” Joseph let out a soft breath, his fingers stopping their ministrations. “You could always go back, you know. I was always a little surprised you never brought it up or suggested it, actually. I thought maybe you’d want to return with everyone else and you clearly miss your friends.”

“Ah.” Barclay’s shoulders sagged, the man scuffing his shoe in the dirt as he mulled on his words. “I’m not gonna say I haven’t considered it. I’ve actually thought about it a lot, but I just.. don’t think there’s room for me to heal and grow in Sylvain. It’s not home to me anymore. I was born here on earth and while Sylvain gave me my mind and my form, my love for this planet has always been stronger. I was exiled when I was young and stupid, so all my growth and experience come from learning from humans. As much as I miss my friends, I think at the end of the day, my place is still here.”

“It’s been a long time though, hasn’t it? Out of all the other sylphs, you’re the only one who hasn’t even gone back to visit. Even I’ve been back to Sylvain at this point.” 

“Yeah, well... Hm. It’s kinda complicated. I guess I just.. never really fit in Sylvain to begin with. Something about earth always called me in a way that being there didn’t. These mountains feel more like I belong here than I ever felt there. There’s something about Earth, about Kepler especially that just.. makes me feel at peace. It’s this swell that I feel right in my chest whenever the sun sets and spreads a warm glow through the trees or how the earth smells after a fresh rain. Things like that that just feel right that I never felt on Sylvain.

“Those are good reasons.” Joseph nodded, looking back up at the arch. “I was worried it might just be me keeping you here, which if that was the case, well...”

“You do play a part in it too, Joseph, but don’t take that the wrong way.” Barclay leaned over and kissed Joseph’s forehead, enjoying the warmth of his skin against his lips. “That warmth I feel when I think about how much I love earth, I feel the most when I’m with you. You remind me of everything I love about humanity, Jo and I don’t ever want you to think that you’re holding me back.”

“Alright. I don’t know if I exactly embody everything great about the human race, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Naw, I don’t mean it like that. I just mean.. I love you for you. Your kindness and warmth and habits and flaws, they make me happy. You make me happy, Jo.”

“You make me very happy too, Barclay.”

Joseph gently cupped Barclay’s face, leaning in to kiss him. It was soft and careful, Barclay wishing he was a little less rough from crying, but grateful for the comfort. He leaned his cheek against his Joseph’s palm, closing his eyes. It was a mild night and he found he wanted to linger in the gentleness of his partner’s affection. The man had been so good to him in their time together and had given him so much. The sylph opened his eyes, meeting Stern’s fond and understanding expression. One last sorrow bubbled up in his chest, one he found he was finally ready to share.

“I’ve.. never told you how I was exiled, have I.”

“You haven’t, no. It didn’t seem like my place to ask.”

“You can always ask me stuff, babe. That said, I dunno how great of an answer I would have given if you had.” Barclay smiled sadly, settling back beside his boyfriend and gazing up at the full moon.

“Well.. I was exiled because I loved humanity a bit too much. I came to Sylvain as all animal sylphs do, stumbling through a gate without a mind of my own yet, scared and confused. I don’t remember that part, but no one ever does. Slowly, I grew though. I started forming memories I still have, was taken in by a loving family, grew up in a society that’s both progressive and stunted compared to a human one. The usual story.”

Barclay took a deep breath, taking in the soft scent of pine on the breeze, his knee pressed to Joseph. “I had a best friend growing up. We got into all sorts of trouble together. Nothing ever malicious, but we certainly weren’t perfect angels by any means. We’d get into places we shouldn’t, played pranks, that sort of stuff. We were best friends to the end back in those days.”

“Anyone I would know?”

“He’s not one of the sylphs who came over here if that’s what you’re asking. But you might actually.. well, lemme just continue before I start dropping names.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine, Jo. Anyway, we were still friends into our young adulthood, and still kinda mischief makers. He was being groomed for a really important position in the sylvan government, however, while I was kinda.. I dunno, doing my own thing. But we still had fun and he could get us access to places no one else in the kingdom could enter, which.. included the gate.”

Barclay gazed up at the archway with a soft sigh. “It was in New York back then and at first we’d just do really stupid shit like put a hand through it or quickly jump in and out of it when we got bold enough. Eventually though, we got ourselves disguises and would sneak through to earth in the middle of the night. It was peak risk-taking, but in the process we both kinda fell in love with humans. Not like.. literally, not yet anyway.”

He nudged Joseph with a small chuckle, who returned it with a smile, a faint blush to his cheeks, but this time he stayed quiet as Barclay continued. 

“Human society was so different from ours, yet still so familiar. I think a lot of animal sylphs experience that if they go to earth. There’s this connection we have that, even though we can’t remember our lives as animals, we can feel it, y’know? It’s kinda like deja vu. But it wasn’t just that. Humans are creative in a way that sylphs really aren’t. Humans don’t have magic, so they have to come up with new and interesting ways to do things and bring new and creative ideas to their media and books and films and my friend and I, we loved every minute of it.”

There was a wistfulness in Barclay’s eyes, the sylph rubbing his nose again. “He always had a love for films and tv shows. I always loved the books and music. We’d make a challenge for ourselves whenever we would sneak over to try to bring something new back with us each time. It was fun and earth was so bright and interesting, and not just because it was forbidden. I loved it. It felt.. I dunno.. Right.”

“But I’m guessing your adventures to earth didn’t go unnoticed?”

“Yeah... eventually we were caught and going to earth is like... a huge taboo in our society. There’s a reason we get exiled here. They found all our human stuff and brought us before the council and... Both of us were going to be exiled, but I... Vince had a life ahead of him in a way that I didn’t, so I... took all of the blame. He was let off and I left Sylvain.”

Joseph rubbed his shoulder comfortably, his brows furrowed. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“I dunno. I assume life just went on and he got that position he was being prepped for. I adjusted to earth and decided to travel for a while. I made a lot of stupid mistakes, got seen a couple of times. I’m sure a couple of photos of me have crossed your desk at one point or another. But... I grew. I learned love and creativity and kindness not from sylphs, but from humans. I learned to play the guitar and cook. I saw the world. And at some point, the planet I’d left behind, with its harsh laws and broken friendships just.. wasn’t where I belonged anymore. I belong here, on earth, and then in Kepler at the lodge, and now here with you, Joseph.”

He turned to face his partner, taking the man’s hands carefully in his own. Joseph’s fingers were long and slender, an interesting contrast to his rough and calloused palms. He rubbed his thumb against the top of the man’s hand. 

“I miss my friends, I do. But.. I’m right where I need to be. For the first time in a while, I finally get to choose my own path without worrying about abominations or someone ruining everything for us by discovering the truth. I get to be with someone who’s made me happier than I’ve been in a very long time and I don’t regret that.”

“Barclay, I...” Joseph pressed his forehead to the sylph’s, squeezing his fingers. “That was beautifully put. I’m glad you’re with me too. I’m glad you love earth. I’m glad I can make all this a little easier and be here to support you. I want us to be able to talk like this and for you to feel comfortable being open with me. You deserve what you need to grow and be okay and I know I’m not perfect, but I want to give you everything I can. Now and in the future.”

“Oh, Jo. You already do.” Barclay wrapped his boyfriend in a warm hug, his heart feeling lighter than it had. “Just being here and listening and caring, that’s enough. It means more to me than you can even know.”

“I suppose no one ever said moving forward was going to be easy but... at the very least, we can do it together.”

[qqueenofhades]

the tangled web of fate we weave: xxii

welp, it’s almost done. the epilogue is probably gonna be tomorrow before the finale. in the meantime, yes, after what i did to you last chapter, here i am. back again.

part xxi/AO3

July 21, 2014

There is no one word in the English language that is really sufficient to describe the scale of São Paulo, Brazil. Huge has a decent stab, but still doesn’t get there. When the eggheads who study urban planning and population density and civil engineering use terms like “macrometropolis” and “megapolis” to describe it, you start to realize the shortcomings. It’s not actually the biggest city in the world; it’s something like eighth or ninth, including the metropolitan area, but right now, it might be. It is a sea of endless buildings between distant blue mountains, known for its notoriously changeable weather, a city to which “diverse” likewise does no justice, a melting pot and a global powerhouse. It’s winter in the Southern Hemisphere, so it’s not very hot. In fact, the temperature struggled to get above fourteen degrees Celsius today, and a fine Atlantic drizzle is dampening the pavement outside, bleared in the endless lights. It’s ten o’clock at night in a down-at-heel bar in Vila Andrade, not far from the poor Paraisópolis favela on one side and the wealthy district of Morumbi on the other, and Garcia Flynn intends to keep drinking as long as they’re going to serve him.

Ogroman, he thinks. Maybe ogroman does as a word for this place. It’s Croatian, means “vast, tremendous, oversized, immense.” It also sounds a bit like “ogre,” in English. Ogre-man, which he isn’t altogether sure he isn’t, become something monstrous and deformed and barely human that cannot venture into the sun without turning to stone. São Paulo’s sheer magnitude is his refuge: nobody can find him here, or at least he’s fairly sure they can’t. A needle in thirty million haystacks, a completely anonymous blip on nobody’s radar. His Portuguese is rudimentary, but he knows enough to order drinks, and for now, that has to do.

The bartender passes him a glass, Flynn grunts in thanks, and puts a crumpled five-real note on the counter, as this isn’t usually the sort of place where you run a tab. He’s not even sure what he ordered, but he also isn’t going to be terribly particular, as long as it does its job. He has been in São Paulo for three days, and his wife and daughter have been dead for two weeks. No, not dead. That sounds sedate, easy, like the “passed away” bullshit that people use to make it sound peaceful and palatable. No. Murdered. Murdered in the middle of the night by a full hit squad, the muffled thump of silencers and bullets flying in the dark. He barely got out of there alive himself. He honestly wishes he hadn’t.

Flynn lifts the glass to his lips and throws down a burning gulp of whatever local poison is within. It doesn’t taste good so much as it’s a promise that eventually, with enough repeated applications, he might be numb for a little while. He has his gun back at the room if it gets too much tonight. That’s the comfort. Make it through one more day if you can think of any reason to, and kill yourself if you can’t. When the only thing burned into his brain is the image of Iris in her little flowered pajamas with a bullet hole in her head, Lorena half-fallen over her where she was trying to shield her, that’s the place he goes.

Rittenhouse. Flynn takes another drink. When he took the fairly routine corporate finance job for his old buddies at the NSA, he didn’t see anything unusual about it. Broke the encryption and discovered something about a company named Rittenhouse funneling huge off-the-books sums of money to tech billionaire Connor Mason, through multiple offshore accounts in the Caymans. Intended, of all the things, to fund a time travel project. Flynn figured they were just crazy, but not his business. He flagged the transfers to his contact, who said they’d take care of it. Flynn thought nothing more of it. Went on with his life.

Four nights later, Lorena thought she heard Iris cough. Got up to check on her.

That was when, in under ten minutes, Garcia Flynn’s entire world was destroyed.

He has no solid proof. He has nothing. In fact, when he tried to call the police, call fucking someone, as if there’s any ordinary authority that has any jurisdiction over this, he discovered that he was the prime suspect in the murder. Everyone knows the husband probably snapped and gunned down his family one night, that’s how it usually goes. The killers – Flynn knows in his gut, he knows somehow that it was these Rittenhouse people – have framed him for the crime and they want him dead or alive, and his only choice was to go off the grid and on the run. He still has a few tricks up his sleeve, so he got out of Dubrovnik and went to South America because it seemed the farthest away. He wants revenge, it’s the only reason he hasn’t stuck his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, but he has no idea how to start to go about getting it. They appeared from the shadows and destroyed everything and vanished again. How do you fight smoke? How do you even catch it?

(Nothing, the darkness chants at him. Nothing. You have nothing. You are nothing. You should just go back to the room and get it over with.)

Later, Flynn thinks. Later. It wouldn’t be the first dead body they’ve had to carry out of that place, he’s sure, though if he’s going to make a mess, he should truck up into the hills and keep it to himself. They might not find his corpse for weeks or months, and there is something morbidly alluring about the idea of dying under the stars, staring up at them until he sees Lorena smiling at him, and it’s just a bad dream, and all the world falls away and it is all gone, it is all gone. But he can’t do that just yet without at least trying to take the bastards down with him. He has to think of something.

Right now, however, Flynn has thought all day and still come up with a big fat blank, and he’s not drinking because he wants to keep doing it. He yearns and aches and pleads for oblivion, for a sweet soft coma, and he doesn’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world for it. He has a little money, and he can get more if he puts his mind to it, but unless he’s going to bounce from place to place like a billiard ball, he needs to get himself together and decide what he’s going to do. Or he could just find somewhere high and jump. Christ the Redeemer is in Rio de Janeiro, but Flynn could head up there and really make a splash. Rub it in Christ’s face for not being any sort of redeemer. Tourists gawking at his broken body, probably a few headlines. Rittenhouse would definitely know he was dead, then. Might frame it and put it on their wall. In that case, no. He can’t give them that satisfaction.

He finishes the first drink and pushes the glass back for a second one, which is duly supplied. The door opens and closes, letting in wafts of cool, damp night air, as patrons come and go. There is a group of young men with gel-slicked hair, leather jackets and flashy necklaces, who might well know where to get the stronger sort of anti-depressant, but Flynn doesn’t feel up to it right now. A few women with too much makeup, short vinyl skirts, and platform heels circulate through the drinkers; he suspects they’re hookers drumming up business. There’s a futebol match on the TV in the corner, which Flynn stares at for the simple need to look at something besides his own reflection in the dirty bar mirror. His wife and daughter are dead. He’s not the only man who this has ever happened to, but it feels like he is. His wife and daughter are dead. His future is gone. His entire world has been erased.

One of the hookers comes up next to him, trailing her fingers over his arm, and Flynn brusquely sends her packing. He doesn’t want to be touched, he doesn’t want company or solace. He wants a miracle, and he knows he isn’t going to get one; the world is, as well proven, not that gracious and not that forgiving. Another drink, or call it curtains and go back to the room? He’s not sure he can resist the pistol tonight. If he’ll survive, he has to walk.

When the second drink is down to the dregs, Flynn cursorily pushes it back and asks for something else, just to change it up. The bartender looks askance at him; even in a place like this, it’s obvious when someone is intending to drink until they end up on the floor, and he probably doesn’t want to have to drag someone of Flynn’s size out by his heels. But Flynn puts another bill, of a larger denomination, on the counter, and the bartender hesitates, then pours him a third. Flynn isn’t drunk, since it takes a considerable amount, but he can feel the floating edges of not-total-sobriety. Good. That’s the point. He takes a sip, then another.

The liquid in the glass has dipped to about halfway when the door opens again. He doesn’t bother looking around, since it’s not going to be anyone he’s interested in. All he wonders is if it’s stopped raining, because if it has, he might think about leaving (how permanently is still up for debate). It might be stupid to care whether or not he gets wet, but he has to cling to whatever excuse he has by his fingernails, because otherwise he will –

“Hello, Garcia.”

Flynn almost has a heart attack. He jostles the glass of whiskey with his elbow, splashes it on the scarred wood, and whirls around. He doesn’t have his gun on him, if only because the temptation to use it might overtake him, but he doesn’t need it to kill someone. How – how – after all his precautions, his certainty that the megacity would hide him, after leaving no trace, has Rittenhouse found him? He’s had just enough to drink that the urgent command from his brain to snap into Terminator mode gets lost before being fully received by his body. Half-stumbles as he knocks the stool, prepares to fight whatever operative this is in the middle of some slovenly dive bar in –

And at that, he freezes.

The woman facing him could very well be Rittenhouse, and he’s certainly not ruling out the possibility that she is, but she has both hands up, clearly aware that she has startled him and that, given his current mental state, it might not have been the best idea. She holds his eyes as he stares at her in a confused, bleary, furious haze, waiting to be sure that he isn’t going to lunge at her. Then she says gently, “I’m sorry. How about you sit back down?”

Flynn tries to answer, but his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth for more reasons than just the percentage of alcohol in his bloodstream. She’s about his age – forty, give or take a few years – and she’s beautiful. Petite and trim, with shiny dark hair that shows just an elegant touch of silver at the temples, and a few lines around her soft brown eyes. She’s stylishly dressed in skinny jeans, a long coat, silk blouse, and scarf, and she’s spoken to him in English, with an American accent, rather than in Portuguese or any of the numerous other languages spoken in São Paulo. Some faint, attractive floral scent lingers around her, as if inviting him to lean in and take a breath. He’s not going to, of course, but the desire has briefly passed through his brain. She can’t be a hooker too, can she? No. CIA, or something in that department. Intelligence agent of some stripe.

“How do you know my name?” It’s not the most scintillating question in the world, but it begs asking anyway. He sinks heavily back onto the barstool. “Look, if you’re here to kill me, Jesus Christ, just get it over with.”

“I’m not here to kill you.” She looks at him. . . tenderly? Almost like she knows him. “I’m sorry for surprising you. My name’s Lucy. Lucy Preston.”

She holds out her hand, and before Flynn has any idea what he’s doing, he shakes it. It’s small, like her, but her grip is strong, and since it’s the first time he has touched anyone in any capacity for two weeks, it’s a shock, a reminder that there is still a physical, concrete world beyond the tortured hellscape of his thoughts. He almost wants to hold on, but this total stranger (is she a stranger?) has not come here to be his emotional crutch. He withdraws and clenches his fist on his thigh, trying to stop it trembling. Finally he says roughly, “If you’re not here to kill me, what the fuck do you want?”

“It’s complicated.”  Lucy looks at the remnants of his drink. “You might want another.”

Flynn grunts. “I’ve had a few already.”

“I suppose you have.” She tilts her head, studying him with that strange, soft look that both unnerves and intrigues him. “Do you want to talk here?”

“Where else?”

“All right.” She signals the bartender and orders a drink of her own in serviceable Portuguese, though it sounds like she’s practiced the phrase. Flynn keeps watching her carefully, waiting for any hint what her game is. When she’s gotten her glass and taken a sip, she says, “This is going to sound insane, and hopefully you’ll hear me out before you make a decision. There really isn’t an easy way to start, so. . . well. I know who you are, I know what happened to your family, and I know that you’d do anything for revenge on Rittenhouse. I’m here to tell you that there’s a chance.”

That, despite himself, snaps Flynn’s spine straight like a whip. Some of the fuddled torpor burns off, almost that fast, and he stares at her narrowly. “How do you know about – ”

“Again.” Lucy raises a hand. “Let me finish?”

He bites his tongue, though his head has turned into such a cyclone that he has to force himself to pay attention. He looks at her expectantly, as she reaches into her jacket pocket and removes a slim black leather book, monogrammed with the initials LP in the lower right corner. “This is my journal. I want you to read it.”

“You. . . want me to read your journal?” Flynn blinks. Anger is starting to replace confusion. “You come here promising revenge on Rittenhouse – when I still don’t know how you even know that name – and instead you give me your fucking diary? What, am I supposed to read about your high school crushes and – ”

“This isn’t an ordinary diary.” Lucy’s tone remains level, though there’s a certain aggravation that suggests, heartbroken and spiraling as she knows he is, he’s still frustrating her with his inability to follow simple instructions. Viz., keeping his fucking mouth shut for thirty seconds and letting her talk. “As I said, this was going to sound insane. That journal is going to help you take down Rittenhouse. And – well, we’ll start with that.”

“And how the hell is it going to do that?”

“Because – ” Lucy takes a deep breath. “Because I came here from the future.”

That, as might be expected, hits Flynn between the eyes like a bowling ball. He stares at her, waiting for her to proffer some, any other explanation, half-wanting to shout at her for thinking it would be funny to come here and pick the heartbroken, suicidal widower and bereaved father for her fucking YouTube prank show. He looks around for her cameraman. If this is supposed to go viral, he’ll kill them first. Finally he says, “I beg your pardon?”

“I came here from the future.” Lucy’s lips press together. “That’s how I know your name and about your family and about Rittenhouse. We’ve already met. We’re – we know each other.”

There are implications in that pause that make it clear she could have said any number of other things. Flynn can’t quite get air into his lungs, so he reaches for his drink and polishes it off in a long, burning slug. Then he shoves it across the counter. “Outro agora.”

The barman pauses, glances at Lucy (Flynn’s almost relieved for the confirmation that he can still see her, since he briefly started to wonder if this might be a total nervous breakdown), then figures that since Flynn has paid him enough for several drinks, it’s his department if he wants to get shitfaced in front of the lovely senhora. Once the glass is returned in an acceptable state of replenishment, Flynn takes another gulp. The tipsiness is starting to be less pleasant, a grating buzz like a nail between his eyes, and is on the verge of proceeding to full-on drunk. There’s something to be said for just quaffing it all and passing out, but Lucy hands him a glass of water, and he finds himself taking it. Finally he says, “You know there’s no way I actually believe you, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Lucy hasn’t broken character, if this is an act, or summoned some hipster with a man-bun to appear from behind a video camera. “Honestly, I don’t blame you.”

Flynn debates what to say. He could be much crueler, he could lash out, he could tell her to take her ill-conceived practical joke and shove it up her ass, but something – he has no idea what – is making him hesitate. Maybe it’s just a testament to his desperation, that any lead, no matter how ludicrous, might be the difference between life and death tonight. She knows about Rittenhouse. She knows his name. Even if not from goddamn time travel, she learned those somewhere. And the way she has been looking at him, with tenderness and sympathy and care. . . perhaps he’s just too small and weak and shattered to stand up, but he can’t quite bear to remove himself from it, not yet. Even if it’s all a lie or a trick. Maybe especially if it is. Reality is too much and he could do with a few comforting illusions.

After a moment, he pushes his drink aside and takes another sip of the water instead. “The future,” he says, with something between sarcasm and curiosity. “When?”

“I can’t tell you that exactly. We’ll say the relatively near future.”

“Convenient.” Flynn toasts her sardonically. “No firm dates.”

“Time travel is very confusing.” It seems as if this is probably the understatement of the millennium, but Lucy says it simply and almost apologetically, as if she really would tell him if she could. “I don’t know what I would risk changing if I told you too much, and things have happened in a certain way that. . .” She trails off. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry.” Flynn considers that. He isn’t sure he wants to ask for what, or if she would tell him. “So you’re going to appear, tell me that time travel is real, hand me some magic diary, and think that this will take down Rittenhouse? You can’t know what they are, if you think that’s going to work. You can’t possibly – ”

“Can’t I?” Lucy’s eyes flash. For the first time, she looks downright formidable, a mature and beautiful and slightly terrible queen – no Snow White evil stepmother, but no gentle, naïve princess frolicking with the songbirds either. She stands half up, staring at him. “I can’t know what Rittenhouse is? Do you think, do you remotely think, that I would have done this, that I would have risked everything to come here and find you, if I didn’t know exactly who they are? They killed Lorena and Iris, and before that, they – never mind. But they’ve taken more from you than you even know. I’m here because I’m willing to do whatever it takes to stop them. Is that you too, or not?”

Despite himself, Flynn is jolted. He recognizes the anger in her voice, because it’s the same rage that has been burning unceasingly through him, turning him to ash and soot and char, stripping away and tearing up everything he used to be, any soft place there ever was. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, even as Lucy takes a considerable slug of her own drink. He almost feels as if he should apologize, though she’s the one who turned up here spouting deluded fairytales. There’s a fraught silence, until he says, “All right.”

Lucy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer. She wipes her mouth and leans on the counter, still too beautiful and put-together and glamorous for a shithole like this, composed and mesmerizing even in her anger. She controls it well, has taken it out and then put it back in its box, but it’s clear that it rubs raw nonetheless. She takes another deep breath, then says, “I’m sorry. I realize the burden of proof rests with me here. I brought the journal this time, I wrote everything down – well, as much as I could. It was actually your idea. Sort of.”

“What?” Flynn is thrown by that. “How can it have been my idea?”

“It. . .” Lucy debates something with herself, then shakes her head. “There are. . . there are other ways things happened before,” she says at last, unhelpfully. “We’re working on retrieving some of those, but it – anyway, it’s complicated. The best way I can describe it is the garden of forking paths. You walk in, and you see all the choices that you could have made, all the realities you could have existed in, branching off to every side. You can only walk one course through the maze, and that becomes your life. But there are echoes of what used to be, what might have been, or what was taken away. They’re still there somehow, on some quantum level, with some leftover trace that can be found in the time stream. Glimpsed, perhaps, if not recaptured. You and I, in one of those, we were – ” For the first time, her voice cracks. “There’s a reason I’m here for you.”

Flynn is even more thrown, understandably, even as Lucy turns her face away as if she didn’t mean for him to see that. He finds himself fishing out his handkerchief and offering it, some idiotic gentlemanly reflex, as she takes it, dabs at her eyes, and hands it back. “Yes,” she says, her tone once more cool and businesslike. “Anyway. It’s not random. How do you think I could have found you tonight, in a city this size, if I wasn’t here for you? If I didn’t know, in fact, exactly where you were going to be?”

“I don’t know,” Flynn says uncertainly. “You could have been looking for me for a while.”

Lucy snorts. “Do you really think that would work? Going door-to-door in all the gin joints in the world? Across this city, across the entire world?”

Flynn has to admit, the odds seem low. He doesn’t know if that means he believes her or not, so he takes a few more sips of water. He wants to judge if this seems remotely sensible at even partial sobriety, or if the alcohol is the only reason he’s entertained it thus far. There is certainly a part of him that is touched at the idea that she’s traveled through time and space to see him, that they have some sort of deep connection she can’t or won’t explain, but the rest of him is horrified. His wife died two weeks ago. He is not in the market for any other options. He wants Lorena back. Lorena. Whoever Lucy Preston is, she can’t be what he’s really looking for, what he needs. But walking into this place looking like an angel, telling him this impossible story, and seeming to think he might actually believe it. . .

He doesn’t know. There is another part of him that is well aware he was just asking for a miracle, and this seems as close as it’s possible to get. He’s prayed to God for answers, he’s begged for anything – that was, when he wasn’t screaming his pain and rage into the empty, uncaring void, swearing and cursing and bleeding. Lorena was the believer more than him, though he went to church to humor her, but Lorena is the one who was murdered in cold blood in her own home, trying to save her five-year-old daughter from men with machine guns who did not turn a hair. How can God have let that happen, if He is any sort of God worth His salt? Flynn knows the technical term: theodicy, or the question of how the existence of evil is compatible with a loving and powerful divinity. None of the explanations he has heard have ever quite satisfied him. This, even less.

There’s another silence as he and Lucy stare at each other. God, she is beautiful. Disloyal as Flynn feels, he’s a man with eyes, and he can’t quite take them off her. He glances at her hands, as if in search of a ring. He still wears his own, he can’t imagine wanting to take it off, but her fingers are bare, keeping their secrets. He wants to ask more about how they’re supposed to be connected – is this some sort of past-life nonsense, does she think they’re the reincarnations of Antony and Cleopatra, or something else to add to her clearly quite eccentric beliefs about the nature of reality? What’s even stranger is that he keeps having momentary, elusive flashes of something just below the surface, like sunlight on goldfish in a pond, that he cannot grab or hold onto. Is this hypnosis? Power of suggestion? She said something outré, and now he’s adjusting his beliefs to accommodate it? He’s been a soldier and a special operative for a long time. He can usually see mind tricks coming a mile off.

“I’m not sure if you’re crazy,” Flynn says at last. “There’s still a good chance you are. But I think you believe you’re telling the truth. If nothing else.”

Lucy seems to accept that is a start, given what she’s just asked him to swallow. She pushes the journal toward him. “Please. Take it.”

Flynn looks at it. He wants to ask if there’s a piece of Voldemort’s soul contained in it, because it seems like it might be a pertinent question, but he takes it and puts it in his jacket pocket. Then he gets to his feet, and promptly staggers enough that Lucy notices. “Come on,” she says. “How about you let me walk you back to where you’re staying?”

This is almost adorable, given that Flynn is a six-foot-four ex-commando with extensive military training, and Lucy is a five-foot-five woman who doesn’t look likely to be Black Widow in disguise. But he oddly doesn’t want her to go just yet, and he reminds himself that it’s really him doing the favor for her, making sure a foreign woman on the streets alone in a huge city, late at night, doesn’t get into any unfortunate situations. The ground, however, does feel a little farther away than usual, and he weaves his way to the door, Lucy bobbing at his elbow. He pushes it open and strides out into the night. Drops of mist bead finely in the air, but it isn’t raining anymore. Cars drone by, splashing puddles. The coolness is bracing against his hot face. For once, it feels good to breathe.

Lucy walks quietly beside him, dark hair tugged by the breeze, face intent and inward-looking. She doesn’t seem in a hurry, and he is absurdly tempted to ask where she parked the time machine (that has to be how she got here, right?) and if she has to get back before the meter runs out. The endless city lights flicker across her face. She is fine and ethereal and even more lovely in the glow, like something or someone not quite mortal or human. He keeps looking at her. He can’t stop.

After another few minutes, they reach the door between an all-night Japanese restaurant and a used electronics store, which leads up into the kind of apartment that can be rented with cash, without much paperwork, and a generally flexible occupancy. Flynn takes his key out and unlocks the door, then steps through into the shabby front vestibule, mail for previous tenants stuffed in the slot. He doesn’t expect Lucy to follow him in, but she does, and then up the narrow stairs. When he glances at her in confusion, she says quietly, “I know you have your gun in your room. I’m worried. That’s all.”

For the first time, after everything else she’s said or hinted at, that’s what rocks him the most. There is not any way he can specifically think of for her to know that – everything else could be a combination of very good intel and accurate guesswork, the kind of trick that fairground fortune-tellers use to read people and come up with something that might be relevant to their lives. He hasn’t said anything about that, about the lure it has on him, the coin toss every night as to whether he’s going to buckle and give in. Shaken, he turns away and takes longer than necessary to unlock the door. Muffled samba music drifts up from the flat below. He might mind it more if he thought there was any chance he’d ever actually sleep.

He pushes open the door into the apartment. It’s a bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a battered couch, with a bathroom squashed on the end. There are definitely cockroaches, the décor has not been updated since the eighties, and the power can be unreliable, but if he wanted to leave tomorrow, he could walk out with no strings attached. He almost feels compelled to apologize, again, for its sheer dreariness, but he stands awkwardly in the middle of the floor instead, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, half-wondering if he is supposed to be presenting for parade inspection. She is even more beautiful in the slitted light of the old venetian blinds. His throat is dry for other reasons than the alcohol, but he can’t quite get his feet to move.

Lucy looks up at him, as if trying to make up her mind about something. It’s well apparent that there is tension between them, whether or not there should be, and that if she made a move toward him, Flynn doesn’t know that he would turn her down. He’s still a little drunk and he probably shouldn’t, but he is so exhausted and so heartbroken and barely holding up, and she has appeared literally from nowhere and she’s here in front of him. He feels like he should say something about his gun, remind her why she came up, but his entire chest hurts and he is blind and raw and shaking with need. For what, he doesn’t even know. Not her, exactly. Maybe what she represents. Life. Hope. Light. Any remote, wild ghost of a chance. She hasn’t said what exactly she’s offering, what the journal is supposed to do, or how it’s related to taking down Rittenhouse. He could ask her that. He could ask her a lot of things.

Instead, slowly, Flynn raises both hands. Lucy’s throat moves as she swallows, but she shifts closer, rather than away. She looks up at him with simple, vulnerable, unselfconscious trust that shreds his already crumbling resolve. He puts his hands very, very lightly on her upper arms, not quite closing his fingers. Not grabbing her, not trapping her, not trying to give her any reason to regret coming into a terrible apartment with a mentally unstable strange man who is twice her size, but because he doesn’t know what else he can do. Because the desolate, impossible, harrowing pain inside him eases the smallest bit when he does, and he is utterly desperate for that relief. He has no pride left. He is flattened. He is wrung out.

Lucy’s eyelashes flutter, her lips parting, as she tilts her head up. Flynn runs his hand up her shoulder, cupping her face. He traces his thumb along her cheekbone, still mildly astonished that she is a flesh-and-blood woman, and not a detailed hallucination. Lowers his mouth closer, not sure if he wants to kiss her or just breathe her in, absorb her in some elemental way like symbionts, like atoms, like stardust. Her lashes make dark shadows on her cheek. Her breath is soft as a whisper on his.

Flynn closes his eyes just as their foreheads touch, as a shudder racks him from head to toe and he briefly thinks he might go to his knees. But that’s when Lucy grabs his face in her hands, guides his hungry, hollow mouth to hers, and kisses him so gently that his broken heart snaps again. The sound is almost soft, a light, dry click. Then the floodgates open.

He lifts her almost off her feet, arms wrapped around her waist as hers lock around his neck, as they turn their heads and mash their noses and open their mouths and gulp and gasp and kiss and kiss as if this is the only thing they have meant to do since she arrived. Flynn doesn’t know if it’s the case or not, and frankly does not want to think about it, or anything. If he keeps his eyes closed, it’s easy enough to pretend that she is Lorena, and either way, if he is not going to die tonight, he needs this. He can add it to his sins later. He already has enough.

There is not much attempt at seduction or foreplay. This is clumsy and staggering and primal as an avalanche, and there is just as much point (which is to say, none) of getting in the way of it. He breaks away from her mouth, pressing blind kisses into her cheek and neck and shoulder, as he shucks off her jacket and scarf, throwing them across the room. She unbuttons her blouse as they keep kissing, as he pulls his shirt off and she runs her hands over the heavy muscles of his chest and arms, catching a nipple between her fingers. He reaches around to unclasp her bra, and she shucks it off her arms. His hands come up to cup and caress her breasts, and she shudders like the wind.

They walk backwards into the bedroom in a muddle, and fall on the bed in a heap. It occurs to Flynn that he does not have any condoms, and while he does not have any diseases, thank you very much, she might not want to walk away from this night with the risk of an unexpected souvenir (of whatever sort). He manages to pull away long enough to pant, “I don’t have – are you sure you want – ”

“It’s all right.” Lucy looks touched by his concern, that he is able to snap out of his mad blind delirium long enough to make sure she is safe. “I have it handled.”

“You. . . mmm. . . sure?” Flynn kisses her again halfway through asking. “I don’t – you might – ”

“Yes.” Lucy crawls on top of him and leans forward, bracing her elbows on either side of his shoulders, lowering herself onto him at full length. “I said I was here for you.”

Flynn wonders if that encompasses the possibility of what is apparently about to happen, then decides to hell with it. He would have stopped if she said so, no matter how much it might have literally killed him, but if she’s sure – he’s shaking, he’s not able to touch her enough, as much as he needs. They untangle long enough to shuck trousers, and then underpants. The sight of her naked body in the low light – God. For a second he swears, he absolutely swears, that the sight is as familiar to him as his own, that there is nothing strange or unusual about it. He’s noticed, even in their hungry making out, that there isn’t any of the awkwardness or fumbling or uncertainty about what to do where and how that normally attends a one-night stand with a stranger. There is something uncanny about the fact that they already know exactly how to kiss each other. Almost lends a true touch of destiny to whatever she’s saying, and yet. It will just make it easier, for now, to pretend.

They stand on their knees, as Flynn grips Lucy’s hips and pull her gently toward him. He nudges at her just a bit, just a little, as she takes hold of him and helps guide him, as he slides carefully into her soft warm wetness and almost loses his mind. He doesn’t know why she is here, why she is giving herself to him like this. In the back of his head, he wonders if this is a calculated ploy, if she is making sure that he will read the journal no matter what, take to heart whatever insane thing it says, and want to see her again. Something cynical and intentional, the old honeytrap game. She could be. He wonders if he cares.

Lucy rolls her hips, easing the fit of him inside her, uttering a small whine in the back of her throat that makes him want to roll her over and take her as deep as deep goes and fuck her flat into the bed. But he goes down on his back beneath her when she pushes lightly, straddling him and bracing herself, still breathing in quick, shallow gulps. Sweat beads on her forehead, her eyes are glazed. She seems almost as shaken by it as him.

Their hands reach out and meet, clasping hard, as Lucy pushes his arms over his head and starts to ride him, with long, possessive swoops that drag him against every single bit of her and make him see stars. But then she gives the control back to him, lets him flip her onto her back and brace his weight on his elbows, cover her with his height and bulk, and thrust into her hard enough to make her hips jerk. She draws her knees up on either side of him, wrapping her arms around his back, as he buries his face between her breasts. “Lorena,” he mutters indistinctly, cursing and gasping and praying all at once. “Lorena.”

He has just enough consciousness left to know that he is calling another woman by his dead wife’s name and he should probably try to stop doing that, but it spills out of him anyway. He gulps, he tries to apologize, but this is already enough of a mess, and Lucy seems somehow to have expected that he would. The pace of his thrusts increases, raw and reckless, rasping and rutting. He needs her, whatever – whoever – she is. The realization is coming to him in punching bursts, breathless, blinding, hot as the heat of their coupling. He can’t walk away from whatever she is offering. He has to read the damn magic diary and learn what it is. He has to follow her. He has to – somehow – trust in the utterly impossible. Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else is left.

All further thoughts, however, are driven out of Flynn’s head in the next instant, as he bucks and jerks and loses himself entirely, collapses on Lucy as if his back has been broken, and realizes belatedly that he is probably squashing her. Guilt percolates through him, slow and cold. That was probably the worst lay Lucy ever had in her life. If it was just to bind him to her, maybe she doesn’t care if it was good or not, but he feels the duty to own up to it. Slowly, badly, as if he has two broken arms and legs, he manages to disentangle his body from hers, roll off and collapse next to her. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He tastes the choking tears in his throat, struggles to spit them out. “M’ sorry. M’ sorry.”

Lucy rolls over and pulls his head down onto her chest, letting him rest there as she strokes his hair, as he grips hold of her side and presses his face into her. He jerks and shakes with sobs he won’t quite succumb to, his entire body torn between the sweet release of climax and the stabbing agony in his heart, his mind, his soul. He feels as if he must be hurting her, as if his hands are sinking into her like clay, molding her and marking her. She’s tiny, especially compared to him. It feels like far too much to ask for her to bear the weight of his pain.

And yet, Lucy doesn’t move, stays where she is, until he’s finally gone still, too exhausted and heartsick to stir at all. She rolls out from underneath him and goes to the bathroom, then pads back, pulling the covers out and crawling in. He manages to do the same, collapsing, as she slides up next to him and lets him rest his arm over her. He feels like a soldier that has been through far too many wars �� which, perhaps, is exactly what he is. His chest heaves a few more times. His hand runs up and down her ribs, her hip, her slender thigh. “M’ sorry,” he mumbles again, eyes closed. “Isn’t what you deserved.”

Lucy doesn’t answer that, at least aloud, but he feels the light touch of her lips on his unshaven cheek. The backs of her fingers ghost along his jaw. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not.” He opens his eyes and stares at her. “It’s not, it’s – it’s not, it’s not.”

“It’s not,” Lucy agrees, admirably steady. He wants to cling onto her, he wants her to make it stop shaking. Perhaps it’s unfair of him to think that one small woman can make the whole world stand still, and yet, he almost thinks that if anyone, she could. “It’s not right now. But it will get better, Garcia. I promise. I promise.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask her how she can possibly know that, until he remembers, right. From the future. He’s too tired not to play along, is starving for any drop of reassurance, however childish or impossible. “What is it?” He has to know. “What am I supposed to do? With this – with time travel. Do I save them? My wife and daughter?”

Lucy hesitates for a long moment. It’s clear she’s deciding what to say, what sort of oracle it is permissible to play. At last she says, “We’ll say you do.”

“How?” He pushes himself up on his elbow. He desperately wants to believe her and he thinks, somehow, that he already does, has made the decision and felt the key turn. “How do I do that?”

“Read the journal,” Lucy repeats. “I’ve written down everything I can tell you there. It’s going to be hard, and it’s going to be difficult, and what it’s going to cost us, and you – I can’t possibly tell you that it’s going to be easy, or that it’s something I’m asking of you lightly. But if nothing else – ” she laughs, dry as dust – “it’s been like this before. I made another visit back to you, and that set things in motion once. I have to trust it will again.”

“What?” Flynn is confused. “I’ve never met you before.”

Lucy hesitates, then shifts his head down to rest more comfortably on her stomach, fingers still playing with his hair, a soft little gesture that seems almost unconscious. “No,” she says at last. “I suppose we haven’t.”

Flynn has a feeling that that is another one of the things she’s said which wouldn’t make sense even if he was sober. He’s closer to it than he was earlier in the evening, but the combination of alcohol and sex and heartbreak is never brilliant for a man’s brainpower. All his strength has run out of him, but in a different way than when it first left him, along with a sizeable proportion of his will to live, when he saw Lorena and Iris’ bloodied bodies on the floor. He has had to bear the shattered pieces of his world in absolute solitude and silence, barely any time to even grieve, when he needed to get out of Dubrovnik and avoid being framed and deal with the logistics of staying ahead of Rittenhouse and choosing a hideout and renting this flat and resisting the ever-present urge to eat the business end of his gun. He has not let it out, not once properly wept, because he is afraid there is no way to recover from it if he does. He still doesn’t know, in fact. And yet.

He cries so hard that his entire body shakes, face pressed into Lucy’s stomach, his tears glistening on her skin like sweat. He tries to bite it back, but he still makes horrible, hoarse, gulping noises like a wounded animal, one long, choked howl that comes out of him over and over. Lucy doesn’t make any attempt to shush him or tell him not to. Finally, she nudges him up so he can put his head on her shoulder instead, wrapping her arm around his back and pulling him alongside her. She waits until he’s finally fallen silent, drained and done, can’t even open his eyes or think about ever standing up again. It seems, even more than everything else he has heard tonight, utterly impossible.

They drift and doze. They’re still both naked, there is nothing between them in the dark, and for the first few hours since the murders, Flynn sleeps without any nightmares at all. When he wakes up, the light in the room is grey, he has a splitting headache, and Lucy is asleep next to him, curled up on her side with the quilts tucked under her arms. He stares down at her, not knowing what to do or think. Is she going to stay? Can she stay? Whatever faces him, it seems as if it might be easier with her help.

Lucy stirs as a touch of fragile sun peers through the blinds, rolls over, and opens her eyes, as he’s drinking the glass of water from the bedside table, grimacing and grumbling. Hangovers always suck, but for some reason, Flynn almost welcomes this one. It feels real, it feels like waking up from the haze of grief and guilt and alcohol, the wastelands he’s been wandering on. He thinks of the gun, one final temptation, and then pushes it aside. It doesn’t have the same hold on him anymore. Its curse has been broken. Now, he has other plans.

“Morning,” he says gruffly, seeing that Lucy’s awake. “About – everything. Last night. I wasn’t very – I wasn’t.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Lucy sits up and glances at the clock, which – given where, or rather, when, she’s come from – strikes him as oddly and unbearably poignant. “I can’t stay much longer, Garcia. I was promised only twenty-four hours in which this would definitely work, and any more than that was playing with fire. And I have other places to go.”

Flynn bites back his instinctive response that she could. “Lucy – ” he starts. “Lucy, are we – we are going to see each other again?”

“We will.” Lucy swings her legs over the side of the bed, goes to peer in at his shower, and apparently thinks better of it. “It’ll be a few years, but yes.”

“And? Then what?”

“I suppose you’ll have to find out.” She looks at him gently. “We both will.”

Flynn can’t believe he’d be visited by a woman from the future who then is no help about the future at all, when all he craves is a flicker of certainty and stability in the sea of chaos, but he can already sense that it will get him nowhere to push. He watches as Lucy gets dressed, then gets up to do the same. “Can I walk you to your – car?”

Lucy grins wryly. “All right,” she says. “I suppose you can see it work. You might as well have your proof that it’s real.”

Flynn suddenly wonders if he’s prepared for this or not, but doesn’t demur. He pulls on his shoes and jacket, and they step out into the cool, misty morning – São Paulo is once more living up to its unofficial nickname of Terra da Garoa, Land of Drizzle. It’s early enough that the streets are as quiet as they ever really are. A few fruit sellers on bicycles speed past, cardboard crates strapped precariously over their back wheels, and Flynn and Lucy walk awkwardly side by side, not quite looking at each other, hands in their jacket pockets. It’s about twenty minutes to a certain back alley, where Lucy strides up to a shrouded object at the end, pulls the lashed-down tarp off, and reveals a large grey metal eyeball. As time machines go, it looks like the junior varsity squad, and Flynn eyes it skeptically. “You came here in that thing? You’re braver than I thought.”

Lucy laughs. “Like the Millennium Falcon, yes, I did. It’s called the Lifeboat. You’ll probably want to stand back. But, well. This is goodbye for now. Good luck.”

Flynn doesn’t want to ask why she sounds as if she thinks he’ll really need it. He isn’t ready to let her go. “Lucy – ”

“One other thing.” Lucy tilts her head back to look at him. “My younger self meeting you is going to be… well, it’ll be an experience for both of us, let’s put it that way. She will ask you eventually how you got the journal. Don’t tell her about this – this night, all right? It’s going to be – well, I don’t want her to know that way. Just tell her that I gave it to you at the bar that night, and leave out the rest.”

Flynn has to run over that sentence in his head a few times to be sure he’s understood it correctly. He coughs, then nods, and holds out his hand. “Well then… goodbye?”

Lucy looks at him, then nods in return, takes it, and shakes it. Then she lets go, hits a lever, and opens the Lifeboat door, crawling in with what seems less than total grace. Flynn is almost tempted to offer her a hand up, but doesn’t. As ordered, he stands back.

The door shuts, and the bands on the outside of the machine start to whirl, building up momentum. The whine of the engine grows, and then, with a sharp backwash that rattles the windows in the nearby tenement, it vanishes into thin air. There one moment, gone the next. Jesus fucking Christ. It’s actually real. Time travel. What the hell.

Flynn shakes his head, resists the urge to rub his eyes, and stands there another few moments, as if to be sure that Lucy didn’t forget her purse and might have to come back. But the morning is still again, and there’s a faint brightness on the underside of the mist. The sun will probably come out later, and burn it all away.

After a final minute, Flynn turns his back and starts to walk. Slowly at first, and then faster, weaving through the streets of São Paulo as they’re starting to come to life, and the commuter traffic is soon to be in full and crushing throng. For the first time, he knows for a fact that he’s going to make it to the end of the day today, and then to the end of the next one. He is possessed, consumed, afire with curiosity, brain spinning fast as the Lifeboat’s gyro, as the world does not seem – not better, not exactly. It will not be better, nothing will be resolved, nothing will be stopped or surrendered, until Lorena and Iris somehow take another breath, and that night never happened, and the broken world is set to rightness. But it’s something. It’s more than that. It’s hope.

Flynn reaches his apartment, and heads up the steps. He has a feeling he won’t be staying in Brazil much longer, will be going somewhere else, and he needs to find out where that will be, needs to find out everything he can. He steps inside, shuts and deadbolts the door, and goes to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Black and rich; Brazil is one place you will never go without good coffee. He opens the blinds and cracks the window. Can smell diesel exhaust and the salty wind from the Atlantic Ocean and the whiff of roasting meat from sidewalk carts, gulps it all down. He’s ready now. Life can have him back. His head hurts with an almost crystalline clarity.

When the coffee is ready, Flynn pours it into a mug. He goes to his jacket, takes the journal out of the pocket, and carries it over to the table. Sets it down, runs his fingers over the embossed LP on the cover, and stares at it for a very long moment. Then he takes a deep breath, opens to page one, and begins to read.

[acuppellarp]

We’re excited to announce that MC has decided to level up Reggie Clifton from a mumu minor character to a main character! Please go through the checklist to make sure you’re ready to go and send in your account within the next 24 hours. 

OOC INFO

Name + pronouns: MC + he/him/himself Age: not so freshly 25 now Timezone: PST Ships: Reggie/Chemistry Anti-Ships: Reggie/Forced, Reggie/Not Being Gay

IC INFO

Full Name: Regina “Reggie” María José Cliffton Face Claim: Victoria Moroles Age/Birthday: 23/January 14th, 1995 Occupation: Student at Culinary Institute of Education, Medicinal Budtender Personality: Adventurous, Reserved, Cynical, Humorous, Ambitious Hometown: Carolina Beach, North Carolina

Bio:

Rodrigo Águila and Gina Cliffton had a whirlwind romance that didn’t make sense, but didn’t matter because they had each other. Or so they assumed. They met during Gina’s year abroad to Brazil. She had been invited by some friends she made down there to go to a concert for a rock band from Mexico. They were getting a large following in South America and were playing a secret show at a local bar. It was an intimate venue as it was on the down low. It was there that Gina couldn’t take her eyes off the dreamy bass player and singer. While Rodrigo couldn’t take his eyes off the girl in the crowd with the American-80s style who was dancing wildly and making eyes at him. They fell hard and fast, not caring about the logistics of their romance and going with what felt right. His band continued to gain fame, but instead of focusing on school, Gina went along with him. Their love was in the public eye, but it was nothing too major as Rodrigo’s band was still gaining traction.

However, once Gina became pregnant with their first child, things changed. Now their relationship was being scrutinized as Gina was a US citizen on a quickly expiring student visa, now pregnant out of wedlock with an up-and-coming musician’s child. They were’t constantly bombarded by those trying to snag the exclusive baby pics or pictures of Rodrigo and Gina together, but it was certainly more than before. Once their eldest, Octavia Águila , was born, the unwelcomed paparazzi starting coming around more, wanting to get the pictures of a growing rockstar’s child. Rodrigo didn’t mind the attention as getting public love and adoration was part of his dream, but Gina didn’t share the same sentiment. And she was quickly seeing the impact it was having on their four year old daughter who was often ready to fight people taking photos of them. So she told Rodrigo she was moving back to the US and that if he wanted to be a father, he could join them. He, however, did not.

Heartbroken but strong, Gina took Octavia back to the US to her home state of North Carolina. Originally from Charlotte but having been since disowned, Gina settled on a small town at the coast called Carolina Beach. For three years it was just a seven-year-old Octavia and her making the best of what they had, until the day Rodrigo showed up saying he wanted to be a father. A real one. And without hesitation, Gina took him back so they could start again. It was during their attempt at being domestic together that Gina got pregnant again barely a year later with Regina Águila-Cliffton, and Rodrigo promised he would be there for her this time. And for a few years, they did have a family. Rodrigo wanted them to move and find somewhere nicer, but Gina was determined that Carolina Beach was right for them. They didn’t need to have fancy things to be happy, and the cheaper they lived, the longer Rodrigo’s money from music would last. The four of them were making it work in a home together. Rodrigo clearly missed his music, but he had promised to make this work with Gina. But, as they say, all good things come to an end.

When Regina was 9, Rodrigo got a call from his old manager saying that the bassist that replaced him in the band was fired, leaving the slot open. They were about to go on an international tour, and if Rodrigo came, it would be the greatest publicity for the band he helped make. When he told Gina, she wanted to be happy, but she knew he would never be satisfied with fatherhood if he went. And so they were once again faced with the choice: his band or his family. Just as before, Rodrigo chose the former, leaving behind two children and a woman he loved yet came second to his music. Gina was able to get through the heartbreak this time, because she had two children to take of and deep down knew their love was doomed. But now she didn’t have the additional income to continue to do so with ease as she was only a maid for one of the bigger hotels in Wilmington. Her eldest daughter saw her struggling, and given she had just turned 18, she took it upon herself to leave home. It seemed like the logical step to Octavia, as she was an adult and would be one less mouth to feed, cloth, or worry about. Except she did it without telling anyone, simply leaving one night and never returning, knowing her mother would insist she stay due to not wanting to be abandoned.

It was having Octavia leave home that made Gina shut down for some time. Leaving a now freshly 10 year old Reggie to try and be an adult for the both of them. She learned to cook meals that would surely have leftovers, spend her time doing chores to keep their own home clean so her mom wouldn’t have to, she did her homework without being told to, and was able to keep a low profile. When Octavia was around, she was often causing problems with people whether it be fights, back talking authority, skipping out on school, or skipping out of town. Regina never liked that part about her sister, but her sister had also protected her. If someone picked on her, Octavia would be the first to get in their face. If Regina was frustrated and unsure of what to do, Octavia would tell her to breathe and not worry so much about the small stuff. She was even the one who came up with calling her Reggie instead of Regina, finding that it suited her much better. And Reggie was quick to agree, adopting the name, loving it instantly, and keeping it even after Octavia left home.

It was around this strange life transition that Reggie was old enough to do extra circulars. Being a kid already with a strong sense of responsibility, sports and team activities came naturally to Reggie. She loved getting to run around and clear her head of everything going on in her own life, never having difficulty focusing on the game at hand instead. Soccer quickly became her favorite one out of them all, though. She first started as a defender, managing to have quick feet that could steal a ball quicker than most could realize. Eventually as she got better, she could even kick a ball from midfield into a goal every now and then. Soccer made her feel unstoppable, and the many accolades she got added to that. Come high school she became a forward, and was frequently referred to as “the Rocket” for her leg power (though she had been calling herself that since she first started playing).

Aside from being gifted with strong sports ability, something that often got mentioned was the fact that Reggie was out and proud as girl who liked girls. She was sure about it at age 13 and came out to her mother first, and then made no effort to hide it even in a small town of only a few thousand people. It was the one thing about herself that Reggie was public about, as with having a famous father who she was estranged from made Reggie cautious about how others viewed her. It was luck that he was mainly famous in another country, but Reggie did not want to cause unwanted attention. She feared that their low-key life would be put in jeopardy if people knew who her dad was. And her mother did not need any added stress while she was trying to start and run her own cleaning business from home.

So Reggie tried hard to be the opposite of her sister– never missing school, keeping herself busy with nothing that would get her in trouble, avoiding altercations with others, and being self sufficient. She also dropped the Águila from her last name, even getting her mother’s blessing to make it a legal change so she could further distance herself from Rodrigo’s shadow. The only times Reggie found herself in trouble were when she would be defending others from the gay bashing that she saw. Unlike Reggie, most LGBTQ+ students in her school were closeted but still would be on the receiving end up slurs or violence. Reggie could handle insults directed towards herself, she was secure and strong in her convictions, but others didn’t need to be ragged on for who they were. Especially if they weren’t ready to be that person. Not everyone appreciated it as it certainly made the bullies seem right in their assumptions, but Reggie didn’t do it for the thanks or appreciation. That was just her sense of justice, and her hotheadedness that certainly existed.

Due to being so open and actively trying to protect others, it made Reggie often attract the girls that were curious to know what it was like to be with a girl, too. It became a cycle where she would get close to a girl, they’d become best friends, and then start to fall for each other. It was a dance and process that Reggie herself loved, and she fell into dating easily. The relationships were genuine as they would last months at a time, sometimes in secret, and sometimes not so secret. Some girls claimed it being a phase, others would only plead the fifth until they were ready to come out. It didn’t matter to Reggie though, she was just happy to be with girls and making them feel special. It was the romantic in her that kept her going rather than be discouraged by each break up.

Nearing the end of her sophomore year Reggie met Jenna “Jinny” Edwards after being paired together for a class project. Reggie had been single for a couple months and was feeling especially lonely, and Jinny was a girl that wasn’t unpopular nor popular. She was simply there. Much to both of their surprise, they got along right away and they progressed into summer romance territory. Jinny knew she was gay, but she was nowhere near ready to be out of the closet. Reggie having already gone through that before with others said she didn’t mind. Most of her relationships fizzled out eventually anyway, so it would be okay if she wanted to stay out of the public eye.

What was even more unexpected was the fact their relationship seemed to have no signs of stopping. Reggie was sincerely falling for Jinny, and Jinny for her. Things took a turn as Jinny’s family said they were moving to Wilmington at the start of the New Year, with Jinny going to attend a private school there instead. Rather than call it quits, Reggie promised they could and would make it work. So she would drive to Wilmington to hang out, trying to find places where they wouldn’t get caught making out or seen together as to avoid rumors circulating about Jinny’s sexuality.

It was rough, and hard, but Reggie loved Jinny and felt it was worth it. Especially once they made plans to go move to Evanston, IL together after high school. Reggie would work to get a soccer scholarship to Northwestern, and Jinny was going to attend Northwestern for their top notch Journalism program. They romanticized Illinois, deeming it would be the place they would finally get to truly be themselves and in love. Jinny would finally come out and they would be able to be seen in public together rather than avoid it. It made the sting of not getting to go to either of their proms together a little easier to manage. Especially once Reggie did get the soccer scholarship, making their future seem within their grasp.

Sadly, the hope for their forever plans to come true hit a snag the summer between graduation and their college years starting. Reggie and her high school soccer team decided to pool money together and take a rock climbing trip to Colorado together as one last group hoorah. While on their guided climb tour, the pulley holding Reggie up came loose from between the rocks as she tried to make a jump for a farther away ledge, causing her to fall 50 feet to the ground and rocks below. She was immediately rushed to the nearest hospital with doctor’s sure she wouldn’t make it through the next couple days. Somehow, Reggie did, but she was forever changed from that moment on due to having such a close brush with death. The biggest factor? She would never be able to play soccer again, which meant her scholarship was now an impossible dream. Suddenly, the somewhat optimistic Reggie started to see the world as a little darker and less beautiful.

With soccer no longer an option she was lucky that Northwestern still wanted her due to her academic background, but now her mom had no money. All of her college savings were being put forth in Reggie’s hospital bills and recovery. The idea of being in Illinois with Jinny now came to be a pipe dream, until the day Gina told Reggie that her father had offered to pay for her college education. Reggie instantly hated the idea, never wanting to owe anything to Rodrigo and feeling like he was trying to buy his way into their good graces. Still, Reggie knew that her going to college meant the world to Gina since she didn’t get to finish her degree. Not only that, but what else would she do? Go back home and wallow in her injury? No, college was expected from someone as bright as her, and she loved her mother too much to let her down as well. So she reluctantly accepted the offer, which put all her previous plans on track except for the fact she had months of recovery ahead of her.

With being such an active person her whole life, it didn’t take long for depression to settle inside of Reggie. She was angry at the world for taking away the rose-colored version of Evanston that Reggie had thought of for years. Ginny and her still moved in together, but it was nothing like they planned. Reggie was too in her own head, solely focused on everything she lost and feeling like a prisoner at a college she had wanted to go to before. But having her father’s money pay for her education tainted the whole thing for her. She picked a Chemistry degree because she was good at it, though had no passion for it which only added to her clouded view of the world. Ginny tried to be there for Reggie, but it was the first time the two of them were getting to be in their relationship out in the open. Yet Reggie seemed to want nothing to do with her as the process of recovery took its toll.

Reggie started to feel smothered, having never lived with anyone besides her mother and even she had hardly been home most of the time. Arguments started popping up more and apologies started happening less. They tried a whole school year to make it work before it finally hit a breaking point. Ginny couldn’t be with the person Reggie had become, and Reggie didn’t know how to stop being that person. Ginny transferred schools by the end of the next school year and Reggie never heard from or about the girl she dedicated three years of her life to again. The message was loud and clear though: the person Reggie had become wasn’t as easy to love. And perhaps that was true before given her many previously failed relationships. Thankfully, not everything in Illinois was dark and gloomy for Reggie. Nearing the end of her Physical Therapy, and a few months after losing Ginny, it was suggested she try giving dancing a shot as a way to strengthen her body.

Reggie was never big on listening to music, in part due to her father being famous for music and often associating it with him. But she was also simply a person who could appreciate the silence of the world and didn’t need it to be filled with something. Once she started to get into dance, her relationship with music changed completely. She started to notice the importance of lyrics and melody, how they could set a mood or evoke certain emotion. As she fell for the fun and freeing feeling of dance, she also fell for the joy of music. It helped having a physical vice to express herself with, and soon she was trying to learn how to move her body more and more both to make it stronger, and to find which style was the most her. It helped having music there to fill the void that sometimes her depression left, too.

Once she was able to walk without assistance due to the help that dance provided, Reggie looked into getting a job. She got hired as a waitress at Ten Mile House which wasn’t ideal, but it was money and she could take it. It was there she started to fool around with cooking after hours with some of the chefs she befriended. They’d make their own creations and rate them. She started brainstorming recipes she wanted to try and watching cooking shows to learn more. In time it became a genuine joy to go to work while college was the thing that dragged on for her. But Reggie was struggling with the pain that still lingered from her accident.

While she had painkillers, Reggie didn’t like taking them as she knew the risks associated with the pills. In an effort to provide an alternative on a particularly achy day, a coworker offered Reggie some marijuana-based creams he had for his own pain-related medical issues. They worked far better than the pills had, and were more natural and soothing. Having been an athlete all her life, Reggie never tried any kind of drugs as to ensure she would pass her physicals and get to continue playing. But now that was soccer was out the window, she had less reason to say no, especially when it truly helped her pain. As well as helped her mental state be less overwhelmed by life which was incredibly needed.

In an effort to still keep true to her word but get out of Evanston faster, Reggie took courses year round to get her degree in three years. At 21 she was a college graduate from Northwestern University which was something to be proud of, but mainly, she was just glad it was over with. Even if that meant she didn’t know what to do next. For a brief moment she considered going to grad school, figuring that would be the next expected step. But her boss at Ten Mile House said that he saw a potential in Reggie’s cooking. Deep down that thought meant more to her than she would admit, but she wasn’t sure about pursuing something she had never seriously done or even considered before. He recommended for her to apply for the Institute of Culinary Education in New York City. She went back and forth on it, not sure if she was ready to put faith in such an unknown thing. But after years of doing what she assumed was expected of her, Reggie allowed herself to give ICE a chance and was over the moon once the acceptance letter came in for her to start their Winter quarter. Suddenly her zest for life was coming back, finding solace in the idea of leaving the bad memories Illinois now held for her.

So once she was in New York, Reggie decided that instead of going for another restaurant job, she would look into the Cannabis industry jobs NYC had to offer. It had helped her immensely, and she wanted to try to help others with it. After checking around, one dispensary owner took to Reggie’s positive attitude about medicinal marijuana’s benefits. He offered her a position after she took the needed training course for certification as a Budtender. She was officially hired the next week and things started to fall into place. Reggie was sure that New York City would be a chance to reinvent herself into someone completely different. Someone nothing like the Reggie from Carolina Beach or from Evanston. One that didn’t form romantic attachments easily, one that would live her life with herself in mind instead of what everyone else assumed of her. Sure it was easier said than done, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. And if there was one thing  Reggie Cliffton was not, it was that of a quitter.

After about half a year of living in NYC and a few months of working as a Budtender, one of Reggie’s regulars and her got to talking about soccer. Reggie mentioned how she used to play but hadn’t in many years though she missed it. The customer then mentioned how her granddaughter’s small business league team, the Mighty Morphin Flower Rangers, were looking for someone else to join them. While unsure at first, both because it sounded too good to be true and she hadn’t played in so long, Reggie eventually met the team. They liked Reggie instantly and even if she was rusty, she still had skill that they needed. Upon revisiting the sport she loved, Reggie knew she wasn’t going to pass the chance up to play again. She’s aware of the risk being taken by playing such a physical sport again, but she hadn’t spent all of those years strengthening her body for nothing.

Pets: None that live with her

Relationships:

SPENCER PORTER- The history between Reggie and Spencer goes back farther than either of them care to think about. What started as a small dislike between two 10 year olds in community league who didn’t like how the other played started to run deeper as time went on. Being two of the best players in their county and state, they often found themselves head to head in tournaments and high stress games. After high school they fell of each other’s radar so imagine the surprise and not-so-welcome wave of nostalgia that happened when discovering they both played on opposing teams in the same small business soccer league. The two are trying to keep their rivalry to only the field, though with their overly competitive natures, it’s hard to tell if it will stay that way

DANI HARPER/MATT SOLIS- After a few months of living in NYC, Reggie started to branch out at other small shops around the city and eventually found Acup. It was a slow day when she came in and behind the counter was a hot barista with A+ latte art skills named Matt. They hit it off right away, becoming friends quickly and by Reggie’s third visit, friends with benefits. A few weeks after that while waiting outside of Acup for Matt, Reggie saw a girl she had met only a couple nights before at the local gay bar, The Library. While she knew her name was Dani, she did not know she also worked at Acup until that moment. The two managed to keep a friendship (also with benefits) afterwards, with Dani being the optimist to Reggie’s own pessimistic view

TINA COHEN-CHANG- Never having been someone who grew up with a pet, or even a desire to get one, it only makes sense that Reggie co-owns a dog with someone. While out one night after winter classes, Reggie came across a shivering French Bulldog getting buried by the New York snow. Remembering she saw a vet clinic only a few blocks away, she grabbed the animal and made a mad dash on her skateboard to get him some help. Tina was there closing up the clinic though she opened it upon seeing someone frantically trying to get in with a pup-scile. They were able to warm him up and decided to name him Andrew Bernard Jr (thanks to a Cornell dog sweater that was in the clinic’s lost and found). While Andy lives with Tina, they co-parent him together.

HARPER CLARINGTON- Harper Clarington came out of left field for Reggie, but in one of the best ways possible. At least until Reggie found out her and Spencer were apparently an item. Still, Reggie was drawn to Harper’s quick wit and chill attitude, finding herself wanting to know her but not wanting to cross any lines. All of that went out the window the day Harper and Spencer broke off their semi-relationship, leading to Harper and Reggie to hook up only hours later. Rather than it be a night of passion, the two continued to both hang out and hook up together. While Reggie gave her her usual talk of “I like to keep things casual, I don’t do feelings” to Harper after sleeping together, the fact Reg constantly is willing to do whatever it takes to make Harper smile sure gives a different impression

EXTRA INFO

reg /@rocketpowerreg (private)/ if you don’t know me, don’t follow

Five latest tweets:

@rocketpowerreg: out of loyalty to my hometown’s boardwalk, i can neither confirm or deny that coney island is one of the coolest places in the world @rocketpowerreg: @scxutshonor where did the donuts i made for class go? also, answer your phone @rocketpowerreg: dimes are the worst. proof: they’re worth 10x more than pennies and 2x more nickles, but are smaller than both making them easiest to lose #downwithdimes @rocketpowerreg: if you can’t handle me at my running man, you don’t deserve me at my moonwalk @jpboogie @rocketpowerreg: actual conversation between me and an 85 year old customer- “what kind of joint pain are you having?” “the kind where i’m in pain and need a joint” #respect

[finalyearfugitive]

The Inca Trail

The Inca trail is often the first thing people associate with South America. When I signed up for the 42km walk, I remember being incredibly worried about whether and how I would survive it considering my very lacking level of fitness. Now that I’m on the other side, I wanted to write a bit about the concerns I had and how they eventuated as well as all the things I did and didn’t expect from the trail. As a disclaimer, this is all very subjective information and I have no doubt that every person has a very different and unique experience of the trail.

Most importantly, if you have the choice between the trail and other ways to get to Machu Pichu and you don’t have any medical conditions preventing you, DO THE INCA TRAIL. The four days of the trail were four of the best on my trip and very much a bucket list-ticking, perspective changing experience. Besides suddenly now having muscles in my legs and a much greater stamina, I have a greater appreciation for many things in my life and in the world. Finishing the trail was definitely one of my proudest moments of life.

Walking the trail

Hire walking sticks. Prior to the trail I had spent a long time mentally preparing myself for the uphill battles ahead, however one of the biggest surprises was just how painful it was to go down. On the afternoon of day two, after conquering dead woman’s pass, a steep decent of a couple of hours awaits you. This is when the only significant injury in our group occurred and it wasn’t hard to see why. As a 23 year old who has never had knee issues in her life, my knees were in a lot of pain at the end of each downhill segment. The only respite were my two walking sticks, without which I’m sure I would definitely have fallen on the slippery, steep Inca stairs. The sticks are also helpful on the uphill slopes, acting like a second pair of legs and after my sticks were taken away at Machu Picchu I found myself grasping at phantom sticks (I also may have been slightly delirious from exhaustion at this point);

My group agreed that half (or possibly more than half) the battle was mental and psychological rather than physical. Before leaving Sydney I had all the best intentions of improving my fitness before the trip, but uni, exams and life inevitably got in the way. Nevertheless, while travelling prior to the trail I did a few hikes and walks in Brazil, Chile and at altitude in Bolivia and Peru. These were enough to prepare me physically for the particular challenges of the Inca trail, namely inclines, altitude and stamina. By the time I arrived at Km 82, my body was fairly well prepared and I had learnt how to pace myself and keep hydrated. Nevertheless, unlike the other walks I had done, the Inca trail is 4 days long and offers little in the way of physical and emotional respite at the end of each day. Despite sleeping mats and warm sleeping bags, there were sore limbs waking up each day and the exhaustion wasn’t helped by the altitude. Waking up on day 2 to the coming hours of uphill climbs proved that the challenge was largely emotional. I remember at one point on day 2, I was channelling all the anger and emotion I had built over the previous year into my walking sticks to keep going. Day 2 is when walking groups disperse and perseverance and determination become particularly important when you’re own your own. Prior to starting the trail I had hyped it up mentally to the point that I felt sick on the bus ride to Km 82, but had I not done this I’m not sure I would have made it to the top of dead woman’s pass. I knew this would be one of the biggest challenges I had faced and because of this I was able to fight with it and feel the incredible sense of achievement at the top;

I’m not sure if it was because of altitude or rainy season but my nose wouldn’t stop running through the trail, and I ended up with tissues in every pocket of my hiking pants. It sounds trivial but having a runny nose while struggling to breathe on a steep incline at altitude isn’t much fun. Keep lots of tissues with you;

Seriously, lots of tissues. Tissues and toilet paper may be your saviours on the trek, particularly since they will be your only glimpse of luxury while using inca trail toilets. Toilet options include the ‘au naturale’ (which our boys used most of the time) or campsite pit toilets (the state of which was the reason the boys preferred nature). If you have had experience with camp toilets it’s not that really that bad, however I highly suggest wearing your hiking boots to the bathrooms rather than thongs as some suggest to change into at camp. It rained as we arrived to camp on our first night and as a result I kept my hiking shoes on until I slept. On the second two nights I changed into thongs after going to the bathroom. Toilets on the morning of day 4 in the dark are a particularly interesting experience, my only advice is to hold your breath;

This was highly unexpected but the first day and a half is highly populated by horses, donkeys and llamas which leave droppings to be avoided as you walk. This disappears as rescue from the trail by these animals gets more difficult on day two;

I carried a camel pack for water however I didn’t end up drinking nearly as much as expected. This may have been because we were hiking in the clouds during rainy season so didn’t really feel the dehydration. Nevertheless, my camel pack was one of my best purchases for the trip and helped through the two months along all the hikes and walks I did;

It doesn’t matter what the weather is like at the Sun Gate or at Machu Picchu. That stereotypical photo at the top? It doesn’t matter. I learned that the inca trail to Machu Picchu isn’t about getting to a picture perfect location and taking the perfect cloudless photo, it’s about the journey and everything you learn about the Incas, about the world and about yourself on the way. It rained when we got to Machu Picchu, but as it turned out this was one of the most enjoyable days of the trip. Three of us decided to ditch our ponchos and run around the wonder of the world in the rain, stopping to take frantic photos with the sites and the llamas and it was one of the most liberating experiences of my life. The sense of achievement at getting to the top is unmatchable and because of this it is important not to worry too much about the weather and perfect images particularly when hiking in rainy season.

Teamwork is everything on the trail, and when one member of the group is struggling it’s important that everyone chips in to encourage them. From the moment we were tattooed with some sort of dead insect blood on day one, it was a team effort to get each other to the top: the Inca trail is not and should not be a race. You will come across other groups along the way, and I enjoyed getting to know different people on the trail and occasionally having mass Disney sing-a-longs. Keeping our collective spirits up was on of the most important things, and I’m glad I had a good group to walk with.

Packing and clothing The weight porters are able to carry is limited and after subtracting the weight of the sleeping bag and air mattress (both which I recommend because the former is warmer than anything in the world, and the latter will be a life saver when camping on rock), this leaves only 2.5kgs for personal items.

Clothing: I wore my Kathmandu hiking pants for 3 days of the hike, adding cotton leggings underneath for day 2. This was a perfect balance for me as the excessive number of pockets on the hiking pants will be more helpful than you anticipate when having to carry tissues, quick sugar fixes, torches, and a variety of other things on your body. Day two can be very cold and I was also grateful for my leggings. I was advised to wear long pants through the trek because of flies and the terrain and as I think my whole group followed this advice I cannot comment on the alternative but I don’t see any reason to wear otherwise. I wore three quick dry active wear singlets on the three first days, and I appreciated the quick dry material as well as being able to change every morning (my clothing was light so this wasn’t a big issue). In addition I carried a thin long sleeved top, a thin sweater and my down jacket. Dressing like an onion is ideal on the trail, and I constantly altered between different combinations of these items. Day two is particularly confusing because as soon as you stop walking, you freeze enough to throw on your down jacket only to feel incredibly hot again 10 minutes later. Apart from this, I always had my beanie, gloves and scarf in my backpack and this was a periodic lifesaver as the weather kept changing. I also wore a bandana everyday or the hike which was one of my favourite items: it dealt with sweat, rain, kept my hair out of my face and did a multitude of other things. I also wore my cap (which provided protection from both the sun and rain) and sunglasses. As we were hiking in rainy season, my poncho was always easily accessible and used excessively enough that it was the first thing to be thrown out when we returned back to Cusco. There are plenty of rumours regarding what to wear at night to keep warm: I wore just a thermal top and bottom every night and never felt cold, while some in our group were wearing all their jackets to sleep and getting cold. One hypothesis is that the sleeping bag works best when it’s closer to body heat but this isn’t verified. I carried four pairs of hiking socks for each day on the advice of the Internet - this comprised a lot of my weight and I’m not sure if it was entirely necessary to change socks everyday (particularly since my boots were waterproof) but I don’t know the alternative well enough to comment.  I changed into a new set of clothes for the last day (a t shirt and leggings): this was a good idea because you are more likely than not to only finish the Inca trail once in life and you might as well look decent (and smell relatively decent) for the photos that await. 

Shoes: We grappled with the hiking boots vs hiking shoes vs sneakers and the buy vs rent decision before leaving. Ultimately we both bought Colombia leather waterproof hiking boots which we used as our closed shoes for the entirety of the trip. I found myself in huge relief for this decision throughout the trip, as the boots served us well on all our walks and hikes and the ankle support and waterproof material was a life saver on many occasions. All the girls in our group wore hiking boots, most were bought but two hired boots in Cusco and were happy with their hire. Some boys wore sneakers and they appeared to be okay with that decision. Ultimately the decision is a subjective one and is dependent on how much walking you intend to do on your travel and whether you have another pair of sneakers that could fulfil this role.

Other items: I enjoyed my wet wipe shower at the end of each day. Take all the medications you need in your backpack - altitude tablets, panadol and asthma medication were my most used. I took two spare camera batteries in my backpack which is important if you want the freedom to take photos throughout the trail without being concerned about a lack of photos at Machu Picchu. I kept these in my sleeping bag at night to prevent them draining. I didn’t take my phone on the trail because I wasn’t using it as a camera, and didn’t find I needed it as we were awoken each day either by the sun, each other or the porters. One of my biggest regrets is not carrying a proper head-torch (still haunting me in the Amazon with a lack of electricity)- invest in one. Besides this I carried glasses, contact lenses and spares and contact solution, many plastic bags and deodorant. I was considering taking a blow up neck pillow (one girl in the group did this and appreciated it), however I was tired enough at night to sleep soundly on my clothes stuffed in the top of the sleeping bag. I think any luxuries beyond this are unnecessary and I enjoyed having little to worry about.

The Porters

The porters on the Inca trail are some of the most incredible men I’ve come across in life. Besides lugging tents, our belongings, food and literally everything we needed every night, they treated us as some sort of Inca royalty, even waking us up with cocoa tea in the mornings (drink this even if you don’t like the taste - it helps with the altitude). They cooked our food (including three courses for lunch - a healthy soup, main course and dessert), set up our tents and always had smiles on their faces. On our third day they even baked a cake to celebrate, ‘New years eve’, a feat I’m still coming to terms with. It’s almost impossible to fully appreciate these men until you actually experience their work. From learning their names and backgrounds on the first night to cheering them on along the trail with claps and ‘vamos amigos’ to saying goodbye on the last night, the porters were one of the most overwhelming aspects of the trail for me.

The Camino Inca is an experience that I’m sure has a profound and varied meaning to everyone who complete it. I am extremely glad I recklessly signed up to walk the track, and I hope my little guide helps someone else make that decision in the future.

[the90dayfianceblog-blog]

season 7, episode 2

The episode begins with Tania continuing to panic in the taxi, with her entourage. “THERE’S TRAFFIC!,” she says about New York City. We are not from NYC and yet, even we know you should probably leave 5 minutes earlier than you think. Because city traffic.  The three friends finally arrive at the airport, where they proceed to drop rose petals all over the floor. Of the airport. A janitor comes behind them to sweep up the obvious slip hazard they have created, and they proceed to yell at him. Tania continues to describe her mild stress in wildly dramatic ways. “I’m having a panic attack,” she says. (She isn’t.) Finally, the man of the hour arrives. The three women erupt into…maniacal laughter? Really, though – Tania cannot stop laughing. “Yo yo yo,” Syngin decides is a good greeting. They embrace, and it’s briefly cute until she opens her mouth to hyena-laugh again. Syngin admits to the camera he thought they’d be a one-night stand. One point given for honesty. We have 90 days to figure out if our future is a lie, he continues. He is maybe ¼ joking. Finally, he addresses her friends. “It’s nice to meet everybody,” he says, laughing nervously. Tania sort of introduces them. They do not shake hands but awkwardly wave at each other instead.

They all (yes, all) head back to the hotel, and he is touched by Tania’s effort with the rose petals and sex toys. She instructs her friends to come back in exactly two hours so that they can have some alone time. He is confused, as are we all, about the friends being there, as he just wants a shower and some sex. He mentions to Tania that her friends being there is weird, and he asks if this is something he should expect going forward. Conveniently, the two hours elapse right at that moment, marked by the return of her friends. “LET’S TAKE SOME SHOTS!” Tania says, rather than answering his question. They proceed to take shots of gin with a Red Bull chaser, because evidently they are drinking for the very first time. At least it is decent gin. Syngin is up for it, which seems to be his nature, and then out they go into the “concrete jungle.” He is mesmerized by it all. Golly gee I’m just a guy from the bush, he says about the very large, modern city of Cape Town. They put a blindfold on him – again, he is shockingly compliant – and drag him out into some public square to reveal a banner (this couldn’t have occurred at the airport?) that says “thanks for moving around the world for me, love, your suger.” No one notices or cares that a 29-year-old spelled sugar wrong, and I briefly wonder about the butchered contents of her democracy protest signs. Tania has since said she knows it was spelled wrong and that is how Syngin spells it. This may be a viewpoint on their relationship. We end their segment with more of the same concern from Syngin that perhaps 90 days is not enough time. “There’s some nitty gritty niggles to sort out,” he says, and shame on TLC for not using this as the name of the episode.

Alyssa predicts: I still don't think they end up married. I actually kind of like Syngin because he wants to make Tania happy right now, even if he is a bit uncomfortable. Tania is presently insufferable.

Laura predicts: Agreed - I still think they won’t get married. They’ve got way more than nitty-gritty niggles to sort out (recall the “kids freak him out” issue), and I don’t see her as the master of compromise or conflict resolution.

Michael and Juliana

These two get the most airtime this week, because the BIG VISA INTERVIEW is upon us. Michael is preparing to go to Brazil. But not without first taking a trip to the jewelry store to buy a $4,000 custom necklace that is red, white, blue, green, and gold, to represent America and Brazil, because all of those colors definitely go together. We hear him continue to defend his relationship to no one in particular, including a discussion how modest Juliana is, layered over a gratuitous shot of Juliana in a string bikini. (I see you, TLC.) Juliana calls him while he is at the jewelry store. There’s an issue with a credit card. “You probably maxed out the card,” we hear him say. “Oh, shit,” says the jewelry store clerk, all judgment. Ah yes, the money. We begin to learn the extent of it. He won’t say how much he’s spent on her, or whether it’s more than $150,000. She bought a car with the credit card, despite her apparent plans to move to the US in a few weeks. “I want her to respect the value of things,” he says about his teenage daughter adult girlfriend.

He arrives in Rio, visibly stressed. He arrives at a hotel, where Juliana is waiting. They both seem genuinely happy to see the other, which is a surprise on her end. She is beautiful, but I would believe she was 16. You look skinny, he tells her, and he chalks it up to their lack of recent extravagant vacations. Somehow the next words out of his mouth are “You’re a poor Brazilian when I’m not here and a rich American when I am.” This appalling statement has no effect on her, but I imagine she’s heard worse. She’s nervous about the interview but is determined to go to America to work…oh yeah, and live with Michael. Work consistently comes first in her stated “why America” priorities. She’s using him, clearly, but he is a negging paternalistic asshole, so I support her choice.

They’re on their way to the interview. She’s in a sexy outfit; he’s in an ill-fitting suit. For someone who is "rich," you think he could find a decent tailor. “Ready to rock and roll?” he asks, as every dad asks his daughter before taking her to school, err, to her visa interview. We meet them on the other side of said interview. It was “very bad,” she says. They wanted to know whether she’d been working as a prostitute, as we already know from the promo that has aired 900 times. Plenty of girls in my position do it, she says, but not me. She says this very matter-of-factly, almost rehearsed. Maybe it’s just her nature, but she doesn’t seem particularly bothered. Michael is more visibly affronted: “WHAT DOES THAT MAKE ME? A PIMP? A JOHN?” He’s quick to let us know he’s never had to pay for sex, as though this were somehow about him. It’s increasingly clear that he is obsessed with his own status and others’ perception of him. They need to produce a police report on Juliana for the consulate’s consideration, so something – maybe not capital P prostitution, but something – definitely happened. Now he has doubts. I’ve been naïve with women my whole life, he says, and I wonder who that’s about…probably not Sarah, the stable mother of his children. He is afraid of what they’ll find on that police report, and he decides there’s about a 50% chance that Juliana will get the visa. She suggests they move to London instead, but oh that’s right, you have kids. She admits to the camera that she’s worried he will give up on her and doesn’t know if she’s important enough to him. She starts to cry about this. This, but not the prostitute accusation. Again, let is remind everyone that Michael claims he and his ex-wife married too young, but his relationship with a 23 year old is different. Anyway, they’re still a better couple than Big Ang and Mai-kuhl. It bears mentioning we’re so glad they haven’t shown up yet.

Alyssa predicts: they end up married, but Michael continues to be patronizing and Juilana uses the show as a stepping stone to a model career. They do not stay married.

Laura predicts: they end up married. She’s in it for money, he’s in it for arm candy, and they’re both getting what they want. Seems like he has enough money to throw at the visa problem.

Emily and Sasha

The happy couple heads off to dinner with Masha, Sasha’s first ex-wife. (The rhyming names would be cute if she didn’t so clearly resent him and his life choices.) She looks quite a bit like Emily – blonde, fair, and waifish. The purpose of the dinner is to convince Masha to let Daniel visit them in the US. In all honesty, it may also be a way for Emily to convince herself that Sasha is the "good guy" and the other wives were "mistakes."  But first, we recount Sasha’s history: he married Masha at 22 and left her for his second wife a few years later. The second wife and second kid remain anonymous, and good on them for staying away from this dumpster fire. Sasha says that he became more muscular and his second wife didn’t like it, because that’s definitely how marriages end. Emily loudly mentions how much she, in contrast, appreciates his physique, and much more quietly mentions that she and Sasha were “talking as friends” while he was married to his second wife. Sure you were. Anyway, the dinner. No one’s particularly thrilled to be there. Emily says beforehand that she’s going to fake being nice to Masha, but she doesn’t fake it well. They don’t even communicate directly or even look at each other. They rely on Sasha to translate, and he takes some liberties. I’m tired, says Emily eventually. “She’s tired of this situation,” Sasha (correctly) translates. Masha, it turns out, doesn’t have a strong opinion on the Daniel question. Daniel can choose whether he’d like to visit or not. File this dinner under “could have been accomplished in a text message.” Emily insists once again that she isn’t feeling well and promptly leaves. Masha then gets a bit more friendly with Sasha, reaching over and touching his arm and telling him she doesn’t want to leave. Her post-dinner thoughts are more critical, however. “Where the wind blows, there a man flies,” she says of Sasha, and I am definitely saving that phrase for a rainy day. Masha puts herself and the second wife in the same category – “good, kind, calm” – and sees Emily as nothing more than an excuse for Sasha to get to America. At this point, doesn’t seem like an unfair assessment. I would prefer more of Masha and less of Emily at this point.

Alyssa predicts: they get married, and Sasha finds wife number 4 at a crossfit class. He seems like he'd get into crossfit here.

Laura predicts: they won’t get married and agrees with Masha that Emily is Sasha’s easy ticket to the US. We know that kids aren’t a compelling enough reason for him to stay with her.

Robert and Anny

Robert goes for a beer with his friend Juan, who is Dominican. I know Dominican girls, says Juan, and they’re all just out for your money. Robert makes a valid point that this is an awfully sweeping generalization about an entire country, but he does not really have the high ground considering the circumstances of his own relationship. They end up having a very adult conversation about it; Robert says he respects Juan’s opinion, and Juan says he’ll feel stupid if he ends up being wrong about Anny.

Later, it’s airport time. Bryson is very excited. It’s clear that Robert really wants a mother figure in this kid’s life, which is a veritable crapload of pressure for an eight-hour relationship. Bryson is similarly invested. “I love Anny,” he says. They wait at the airport long enough for Bryson to get cranky, and then here she comes, somehow pulling off a denim jumpsuit. Bryson sprints towards her, and she’s genuinely happy to see him. She’s very put-together (which is always impressive post-airplane) and family-oriented. “Bryson is my new kid,” she says. She wants a big family with Robert. She loves how funny and hardworking he is, and how much he loves his son. I didn’t expect this affection from Miss Angry Emojis. She admits she has a temper, but we don’t see it this week. There is a moment in the car where Anny looks at Robert and seems to be a genuine look of love.

They head back home. Their rapport is shockingly natural for only having spent 8 hours together. Things sour a bit when we learn the house contains only one bed that they’ll all be sharing. Where exactly was that lingerie meant to be used? Robert admits he didn’t get around to getting a bed for Bryson, and Anny is understandably displeased. Robert tries to put Bryson to bed, to no avail. Bryson really wants to show off for Anny in the form of climbing all over her. She is increasingly less thrilled. She’s sexually frustrated, which she tells us in so many words. There’s some metaphor about a lion. Do lions have a lot of sex?

Alyssa predicts: I have more hope for them this episode. I think they'll get married. I also hope Juan shows up more, because he seems sensible.

Laura predicts: they will get married. This is not a well-thought-out relationship, but they’re both clearly motivated to build some kind of family unit.

Mursel and Anna

Mursel and Anna head off to Anna’s house from the hotel. They had sex, which I find hard to imagine. Mursel, like anyone who has ever driven through Nebraska, is unpleasantly surprised at the lack of mountains and the surplus of corn. He decides, rather quickly, that he is no longer excited and misses Turkey. He starts playing some Turkish music and his mood turns back around just as quickly – he begins dancing as passionately as one can dance in a car. There's something...endearing about this. Anna is uncomfortable with the dancing and says she’ll just have to learn to live with it. (Again, back to the disbelief at the sex.) They’re both nervous about meeting her sons. Mursel decides he wants to be a brother to the older two and a father to the youngest one, which is some interesting line-drawing. The meeting of the kids is a bundle of awkward. They try to ask about his trip and ask if he likes pizza (the answers are “good” and “yes,” respectively). The pizza that arrives is inferior to Turkish pizza, Mursel decides, and won’t eat it. I’m not sure if he’s jet-lagged, culture-shocked, or just naïve, or maybe all of it, but in any case his behavior is strange and borderline rude. Her kids are offended that he doesn’t like the pizza or their house. “It was really awkward,” Anna summarizes. Yeah, no shit.

Mursel, Anna, and Gino (the middle kid) head out to dinner with Anna’s mom. It’s suggested that the mom might have some negative views of Turkish people. In reality, she is an absolute racist nightmare. She asks her actual grandchild to type “Don’t stone Anna” into the translator app. Seriously, if there isn’t a GoFundMe for these kids’ extensive therapy, now is the time. Mursel is confused and offended, which is appropriate. He says to the camera that he wants to protect Anna, not hurt her. The dinner goes on, though, and Mursel doesn’t want Anna to have a beer, but she needs one. We all need one from watching this go down.  Anna should have been far more nervous about this encounter than the meeting with her kids. Mursel reveals to everyone that his family doesn’t know about Anna’s kids, he doesn’t plan to tell them, and if they find out, he might go back to Turkey. It’s a blow to everyone. Anna starts crying. Gino now has even more doubts. It is not a pleasant outing.

Alyssa predicts: they do not get married. Mursel returns to Turkey and Anna is devastated.

Laura predicts: they will get married and said marriage will swiftly end in divorce. This divorce will almost certainly include some Mursel family drama. Seriously, what is the long-term strategy there?

[lymhash]

The Brazilian Flag does it mean anything for you ???

Brazil has called to be the Country in which the Event will be emanated first becomes an enormous energy of the awakening of that region. With all the events that country and a country where the biggest corrupted and made the Brazilian people suffer with the lack of resources, but that people had a happiness unmeasured with their music and parties, their love and their hospitality with all those who were Unknown. We wait for the awakening and with some signs we see the truth of the nearest dawn as the awakening of the sun each morning.

The Brazilian flag has the same form of the sacred geometry, constituted by those who come to help us to be free of the matrix and the beings of light waiting for us to do our work.

Who are the beings who bear the same banner of universal awakening?

           Pleiadian, Sirian, Arcturian Council of Light: Q&A Session

I first heard from this Council of Light in the early 1990’s, and have been working with them to varying degrees since then. I have written about this Galactic Group in most, if not all, of my books.

However, that which was once a “far away dream,” is getting closer with each passing day. Therefore, I am going to ask each of them, “The Pleiadian, Sirian, and Arcturian Council of Light” some questions regarding our reality within this NOW.

If you, the readers, want to ask the Council, or just the Pleiadians, Sirians, or Arcturians a question, just let me know in the Blog Comments Sections. Make sure you note to whom you are sending your question.

Then, your question will get sent to me via email, and I will channel the answer on the Blog. I know that I have a zillion questions. How about you?

SUE’S QESTION:  Dear Pleiadian, Sirian, Arcturian Council of Light, do I have your permission to call you the: P.S.A. Council of Light?

P.S.A. ANSWER:  Yes, we are fine with that adjustment. We realize how much effort your logical, sequential, time-bound, 3D communication can take. Perhaps in our discussions we can speak with you about Light Language.

SUE: I would greatly appreciate any information about Light Language. Maybe it is because I was a Speech Therapist, Audiologist, and then Psychotherapist that I am interested in all forms of communication.

Because I primarily worked with human communication, I am very happy to be able to learn more about “Inter-Galactic Communication.” In fact, is it fine with you to use the title of, “Inter-Galactic Communication?”

PSA:  Yes, that is fine with us. Do you mind if we continue to call you Suzille, as that is the name that your Higher Self uses? Therefor, it is your “Galactic Name.”

SUE:  Yes, please use that name. In fact, I would like to ask you if you prefer to use the “Galactic Name” with all the humans with whom you speak?

PSA:  That depends on the individual. We have found that “individual choice” is a very important component of being a third dimensional human. However, as the humans with whom we are speaking expand their consciousness beyond the fourth dimension and into the fifth dimension, they begin to release their human attachment to “individuality” and increasingly enjoy the constant camaraderie of Unity Consciousness.

In fact, as our visitors, as well as the returnees to the Ships, bond more and more deeply with their Inter-dimensional SELF, their need for individual identity quickly, or slowly, shifts to a sense of shared identity of purpose. On the Ship we all have a shared purpose, which is to assist dear planet, Gaia, with Her Planetary Ascension.

It is not that we do no care about the ascension of humans. But, since we already know and embrace the fifth dimensional expressions of humanity, we know that they will eventually remember their fifth dimensional expressions of SELF on the Ships and on their higher dimensional Home-worlds.

SUE:  Thank you so much for that “vote of confidence” for humanity. With the constant interference from the Illuminati, some of us on Earth are having trouble feeling “confident” within our higher knowing.

My next question is not so much my question, but a question that I think many people on Earth would like to know. Does everyone have a fifth dimensional expression on one of the many Starships that are now surrounding Earth?

PSA: Indeed, many would like to receive that answer. Every person, from Saints to Illuminati, has a Higher SELF. Unfortunately, there are still many who do NOT remember, yet, that they are multidimensional beings that are simultaneously living many versions of reality.

The humans, who are barely “getting by” and/or those who feel overwhelmed by life on third-dimensional Earth, often cannot expand their consciousness enough to consciously embrace the higher dimensional expressions of their Multidimensional SELF. Hence, too often, they feel as if there is no hope for a better future.

In fact, we have asked Suzille to create this blog in hopes that some of those who are lost to despair can realize that help is on the way. Best of all, this “help” is not bound by any sense of “time,” or “deservedness.” This help is FREE for EVERY one who asks for it.

We say, “every one who asks for it,” because Gaia is a free will planet. Therefore, we cannot help any one who has not asked for our assistance. On the other hand, it does not matter whom you ask to help you, or whether or not that source is able and/or willing to assist you.

The fact that you chose to ask for help regarding your ascension process, or even if you ask for our help regarding your daily challenges of 3D life, allows us to know that you are ready and willing to communicate with the “invisible you” who is an active member of your present, ascending reality.

We, your Galactic Family, as well as all the higher dimensional expressions of your Multidimensional SELF, are here NOW to assist any of our grounded ones who wish our assistance.

Also, any of you who ask for assistance for your planet Gaia, or for others than yourself, are greatly expanding your consciousness by perceiving your “SELF”, not just as an individual but also as a member of a greater group.

When you, our grounded ones, perceive yourselves as more than an individual, your consciousness expands beyond “individual consciousness” into “group consciousness.” Then, if you include Gaia in your personal call for assistance, your consciousness expands into “planetary consciousness.”

SUE: How do these different state of consciousness influence our ascension process?

PSA: Thank you Suzille, for asking a question that we receive from many earthbound humans. We will answer your question in three phases:

Individual Consciousness Requests: When one calls us asking for “individual assistance,” they greatly limit their ability to understand the “bigger picture” of the huge reality shift that each individual is consciously, or unconsciously, undergoing.

On the other hand, we warmly welcome any “grounded ones,” which is the term we Galactics us regarding our “away team to Ascending Earth,” who are ready to remember and embrace the many members of their Multidimensional SELF.

In fact, the first phase of your personal, ascension process is to remember that you are a Multidimensional Being who enjoys many differing realities within the NOW of the fifth dimensional ONE. We, your Galactic Family, realize that there are still many humans who have not yet accepted that concept.

Therefore, they have not—yet—embraced the many components of their own Multidimensional SELF. Fortunately, the recollection and embracing of their expanded SELF so changes their “Sense of SELF” that they automatically begin their process of remembering their own Multidimensional SELF.

Once these grounded ones realize that the earth vessel that they are currently wearing is just one of many expressions of SELF that live within their higher states of consciousness, their curiosity to learn more about themselves and the world around them is ignited.

Curiosity brings forth questions, which invites the awaking one to find the answers to their own inner questions. As they begin the quest to answer their inner questions, they must consult others either by writing or in person. It is this consultation with another about their own multidimensional self and the ascending planet on which they live that ignites their Group Consciousness.

Group Consciousness Requests: When one calls on us for “group assistance,” they have consciously, or unconsciously, expanded their “Sense of SELF” beyond just the earth vessel they are wearing. A Group Consciousness Request means that the 1 has become 2 or 10 or 100 or 1,000…

To us, it does not matter how many people are within that group. Instead, we seek to assist that group to remember the deep intimacy of group consciousness that they experience when they visit us on our/their fifth dimensional Ship.

Yes, many of you who wish to communicate with us are beginning to remember your fifth dimensional reality on your Starship. What is so very important for us to remind you is that when you remember our fifth dimensional reality on the Ship, you can feel the difference when you return to your third/fourth dimensional reality on physical Earth.

As your heart and mind begin to contrast and compare your third/fourth dimensional reality on Earth with your fourth/fifth dimensional reality on the Ship, you begin to remember how it “feels” to live within the fifth dimensional resonance.

In fact, we ask each and all of you to take a moment of your NOW to remember the “feel” of being in a fifth dimensional environment. We will take you on a short inter-dimensional meditation to ignite your memory.

Since most of you visit us in your “night body” while you sleeping on Earth, we invite you to perceive yourself lying in your bed…

First, feel yourself ON or IN your bed…

Now change your perspective form you being IN your bed to the “you” that are floating ABOVE your bed looking down at your sleeping or meditating body…

Your sleeping, or meditating, self is comfortable and safe. You will NOT leave your body. Instead, your will EXPAND your perceptions beyond your body by allowing your Mind to relaxand remember.

Relaxing and Remembering is how you remember your Life on the Ship. Relax NOW, as you remember your self, walking through the welcoming portal for our “Visitors from Earth.”

We suggest that you remain with that image until you can consciously FEEL and totally EXPERIENCE the Unconditional Love that invites you to join us. Eventually, you will feel the “group consciousness” of our “loving welcome.”

Now, remember this reality is “in your mind.” We wish to remind you that ALL reality is also “in your heart.” “What you think about, is what you bring about!” is a common, and very accurate saying on Earth. Also, “What you love, you welcome!” whereas “What you fear, your reject!”

Furthermore, the thoughts that you allow to linger in your mind will deeply effect the emotions that you carry in your heart. Your heart and mind work as a unit to assist you to create—move toward—a reality that “calms your mind” and “comforts your heart.”

Allow the inner image of your standing before the portal to our Ship to gently settle into your heart and mind. When you have totally embraced the Unconditional Love and Multidimensional Information that await you across that threshold, you will have a conscious, or unconscious, experience of your inter-dimensional visit.

(Note from Sue: I have written many articles and books about life on the Ship, but I have only physically perceived a few ships, which were “hidden in the clouds.” The memories that we hold in our heart and mind may or may not become physically manifest.)

Planetary Consciousness Request: Once one has expanded their consciousness to embrace the fact that Earth/Gaia is a living being constructed of the same elements of Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Either that are used to construct the human form, they move into the expanded consciousness of Planetary Consciousness.

When one has Planetary Consciousness, they perceive the planet as a huge, living being on which they have the privilege of visiting. Once a human has expanded their consciousness enough to embrace Planetary Consciousness they have usually meditated and worked towards being the master of their thoughts and emotions for decades.

On the other hand, there are more and more “new humans” being born within your NOW who innately remember their Higher Self, as well as many past lives on Earth, as well as many off-world lives on Starships and on other planets.

These “new humans” are born with Planetary Consciousness because they have studied for many earthly incarnations. They have also learned and experienced “planetary consciousness” in-between their Earthly incarnations. It is not that this is the first “time” in which many higher evolved beings have taken incarnations.

In fact, it is common for more evolved beings to make the sacrifice of taking an Earth Vessel whenever Earth is on the cusp of a planetary challenge and/or transmutation. A strong flow of Unconditional Love is necessary for a peak society to be born.

Therefore, many humans who can still remember their Multidimensional SELF, as well as their experiences aboard our fifth dimensional and beyond Starships, have chosen to take a human form within your NOW to assist Gaia, and ALL Her life forms, to return to their true fifth dimensional, Lightbodies.

We, the members of your Galactic Family are here to assist you. Please feel free to call on us when you need comfort and support. We are Always HERE within your NOW!

Give us a call!

You Inter-dimensional Friends and your Multidimensional Family

The Pleiadian, Sirians, and Arcturians.

By VInicius Santos

Bubblevinnie.

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  BRAZILIAN FLAG and The Galactic Council The Brazilian Flag does it mean anything for you ??? Brazil has called to be the Country in which the Event will be emanated first becomes an enormous energy of the awakening of that region.

[acuppellarp]

♬ Full Name: Regina “Reggie” María José Cliffton  ♪  FC: Victoria Moroles ♫ Alternate FCs: ♪ Age/Birthday: 24 / January 14,1995 ♫ Occupation: Student at Institute of Culinary Education, Medicinal Budtender ♪ Hometown: Carolina Beach, NC ♫ Personality: adventurous, reserved, cynical, humorous, ambitious

Rodrigo Águila and Gina Cliffton had a whirlwind romance that didn’t make sense, but didn’t matter because they had each other. Or so they assumed. They met during Gina’s year abroad to Brazil. She had been invited by some friends she made down there to go to a concert for a rock band from Mexico. They were getting a large following in South America and were playing a secret show at a local bar. It was an intimate venue as it was on the down low. It was there that Gina couldn’t take her eyes off the dreamy bass player and singer. While Rodrigo couldn’t take his eyes off the girl in the crowd with the American-80s style who was dancing wildly and making eyes at him. They fell hard and fast, not caring about the logistics of their romance and going with what felt right. His band continued to gain fame, but instead of focusing on school, Gina went along with him. Their love was in the public eye, but it was nothing too major as Rodrigo’s band was still gaining traction.

However, once Gina became pregnant with their first child, things changed. Now their relationship was being scrutinized as Gina was a US citizen on a quickly expiring student visa, now pregnant out of wedlock with an up-and-coming musician’s child. They were’t constantly bombarded by those trying to snag the exclusive baby pics or pictures of Rodrigo and Gina together, but it was certainly more than before. Once their eldest, Octavia Águila , was born, the unwelcomed paparazzi starting coming around more, wanting to get the pictures of a growing rockstar’s child. Rodrigo didn’t mind the attention as getting public love and adoration was part of his dream, but Gina didn’t share the same sentiment. And she was quickly seeing the impact it was having on their four year old daughter who was often ready to fight people taking photos of them. So she told Rodrigo she was moving back to the US and that if he wanted to be a father, he could join them. He, however, did not.

Heartbroken but strong, Gina took Octavia back to the US to her home state of North Carolina. Originally from Charlotte but having been since disowned, Gina settled on a small town at the coast called Carolina Beach. For three years it was just a seven-year-old Octavia and her making the best of what they had, until the day Rodrigo showed up saying he wanted to be a father. A real one. And without hesitation, Gina took him back so they could start again. It was during their attempt at being domestic together that Gina got pregnant again barely a year later with Regina Águila-Cliffton, and Rodrigo promised he would be there for her this time. And for a few years, they did have a family. Rodrigo wanted them to move and find somewhere nicer, but Gina was determined that Carolina Beach was right for them. They didn’t need to have fancy things to be happy, and the cheaper they lived, the longer Rodrigo’s money from music would last. The four of them were making it work in a home together. Rodrigo clearly missed his music, but he had promised to make this work with Gina. But, as they say, all good things come to an end.

When Regina was 9, Rodrigo got a call from his old manager saying that the bassist that replaced him in the band was fired, leaving the slot open. They were about to go on an international tour, and if Rodrigo came, it would be the greatest publicity for the band he helped make. When he told Gina, she wanted to be happy, but she knew he would never be satisfied with fatherhood if he went. And so they were once again faced with the choice: his band or his family. Just as before, Rodrigo chose the former, leaving behind two children and a woman he loved yet came second to his music. Gina was able to get through the heartbreak this time, because she had two children to take of and deep down knew their love was doomed. But now she didn’t have the additional income to continue to do so with ease as she was only a maid for one of the bigger hotels in Wilmington. Her eldest daughter saw her struggling, and given she had just turned 18, she took it upon herself to leave home. It seemed like the logical step to Octavia, as she was an adult and would be one less mouth to feed, cloth, or worry about. Except she did it without telling anyone, simply leaving one night and never returning, knowing her mother would insist she stay due to not wanting to be abandoned.

It was having Octavia leave home that made Gina shut down for some time. Leaving a now freshly 10 year old Reggie to try and be an adult for the both of them. She learned to cook meals that would surely have leftovers, spend her time doing chores to keep their own home clean so her mom wouldn’t have to, she did her homework without being told to, and was able to keep a low profile. When Octavia was around, she was often causing problems with people whether it be fights, back talking authority, skipping out on school, or skipping out of town. Regina never liked that part about her sister, but her sister had also protected her. If someone picked on her, Octavia would be the first to get in their face. If Regina was frustrated and unsure of what to do, Octavia would tell her to breathe and not worry so much about the small stuff. She was even the one who came up with calling her Reggie instead of Regina, finding that it suited her much better. And Reggie was quick to agree, adopting the name, loving it instantly, and keeping it even after Octavia left home.

It was around this strange life transition that Reggie was old enough to do extra circulars. Being a kid already with a strong sense of responsibility, sports and team activities came naturally to Reggie. She loved getting to run around and clear her head of everything going on in her own life, never having difficulty focusing on the game at hand instead. Soccer quickly became her favorite one out of them all, though. She first started as a defender, managing to have quick feet that could steal a ball quicker than most could realize. Eventually as she got better, she could even kick a ball from midfield into a goal every now and then. Soccer made her feel unstoppable, and the many accolades she got added to that. Come high school she became a forward, and was frequently referred to as “the Rocket” for her leg power (though she had been calling herself that since she first started playing).

Aside from being gifted with strong sports ability, something that often got mentioned was the fact that Reggie was out and proud as girl who liked girls. She was sure about it at age 13 and came out to her mother first, and then made no effort to hide it even in a small town of only a few thousand people. It was the one thing about herself that Reggie was public about, as with having a famous father who she was estranged from made Reggie cautious about how others viewed her. It was luck that he was mainly famous in another country, but Reggie did not want to cause unwanted attention. She feared that their low-key life would be put in jeopardy if people knew who her dad was. And her mother did not need any added stress while she was trying to start and run her own cleaning business from home.

So Reggie tried hard to be the opposite of her sister– never missing school, keeping herself busy with nothing that would get her in trouble, avoiding altercations with others, and being self sufficient. She also dropped the Águila from her last name, even getting her mother’s blessing to make it a legal change so she could further distance herself from Rodrigo’s shadow. The only times Reggie found herself in trouble were when she would be defending others from the gay bashing that she saw. Unlike Reggie, most LGBTQ+ students in her school were closeted but still would be on the receiving end up slurs or violence. Reggie could handle insults directed towards herself, she was secure and strong in her convictions, but others didn’t need to be ragged on for who they were. Especially if they weren’t ready to be that person. Not everyone appreciated it as it certainly made the bullies seem right in their assumptions, but Reggie didn’t do it for the thanks or appreciation. That was just her sense of justice, and her hotheadedness that certainly existed.

Due to being so open and actively trying to protect others, it made Reggie often attract the girls that were curious to know what it was like to be with a girl, too. It became a cycle where she would get close to a girl, they’d become best friends, and then start to fall for each other. It was a dance and process that Reggie herself loved, and she fell into dating easily. The relationships were genuine as they would last months at a time, sometimes in secret, and sometimes not so secret. Some girls claimed it being a phase, others would only plead the fifth until they were ready to come out. It didn’t matter to Reggie though, she was just happy to be with girls and making them feel special. It was the romantic in her that kept her going rather than be discouraged by each break up.

Nearing the end of her sophomore year Reggie met Jenna “Jinny” Edwards after being paired together for a class project. Reggie had been single for a couple months and was feeling especially lonely, and Jinny was a girl that wasn’t unpopular nor popular. She was simply there. Much to both of their surprise, they got along right away and they progressed into summer romance territory. Jinny knew she was gay, but she was nowhere near ready to be out of the closet. Reggie having already gone through that before with others said she didn’t mind. Most of her relationships fizzled out eventually anyway, so it would be okay if she wanted to stay out of the public eye.

What was even more unexpected was the fact their relationship seemed to have no signs of stopping. Reggie was sincerely falling for Jinny, and Jinny for her. Things took a turn as Jinny’s family said they were moving to Wilmington at the start of the New Year, with Jinny going to attend a private school there instead. Rather than call it quits, Reggie promised they could and would make it work. So she would drive to Wilmington to hang out, trying to find places where they wouldn’t get caught making out or seen together as to avoid rumors circulating about Jinny’s sexuality.

It was rough, and hard, but Reggie loved Jinny and felt it was worth it. Especially once they made plans to go move to Evanston, IL together after high school. Reggie would work to get a soccer scholarship to Northwestern, and Jinny was going to attend Northwestern for their top notch Journalism program. They romanticized Illinois, deeming it would be the place they would finally get to truly be themselves and in love. Jinny would finally come out and they would be able to be seen in public together rather than avoid it. It made the sting of not getting to go to either of their proms together a little easier to manage. Especially once Reggie did get the soccer scholarship, making their future seem within their grasp.

Sadly, the hope for their forever plans to come true hit a snag the summer between graduation and their college years starting. Reggie and her high school soccer team decided to pool money together and take a rock climbing trip to Colorado together as one last group hoorah. While on their guided climb tour, the pulley holding Reggie up came loose from between the rocks as she tried to make a jump for a farther away ledge, causing her to fall 50 feet to the ground and rocks below. She was immediately rushed to the nearest hospital with doctor’s sure she wouldn’t make it through the next couple days. Somehow, Reggie did, but she was forever changed from that moment on due to having such a close brush with death. The biggest factor? She would never be able to play soccer again, which meant her scholarship was now an impossible dream. Suddenly, the somewhat optimistic Reggie started to see the world as a little darker and less beautiful.

With soccer no longer an option she was lucky that Northwestern still wanted her due to her academic background, but now her mom had no money. All of her college savings were being put forth in Reggie’s hospital bills and recovery. The idea of being in Illinois with Jinny now came to be a pipe dream, until the day Gina told Reggie that her father had offered to pay for her college education. Reggie instantly hated the idea, never wanting to owe anything to Rodrigo and feeling like he was trying to buy his way into their good graces. Still, Reggie knew that her going to college meant the world to Gina since she didn’t get to finish her degree. Not only that, but what else would she do? Go back home and wallow in her injury? No, college was expected from someone as bright as her, and she loved her mother too much to let her down as well. So she reluctantly accepted the offer, which put all her previous plans on track except for the fact she had months of recovery ahead of her.

With being such an active person her whole life, it didn’t take long for depression to settle inside of Reggie. She was angry at the world for taking away the rose-colored version of Evanston that Reggie had thought of for years. Ginny and her still moved in together, but it was nothing like they planned. Reggie was too in her own head, solely focused on everything she lost and feeling like a prisoner at a college she had wanted to go to before. But having her father’s money pay for her education tainted the whole thing for her. She picked a Chemistry degree because she was good at it, though had no passion for it which only added to her clouded view of the world. Ginny tried to be there for Reggie, but it was the first time the two of them were getting to be in their relationship out in the open. Yet Reggie seemed to want nothing to do with her as the process of recovery took its toll.

Reggie started to feel smothered, having never lived with anyone besides her mother and even she had hardly been home most of the time. Arguments started popping up more and apologies started happening less. They tried a whole school year to make it work before it finally hit a breaking point. Ginny couldn’t be with the person Reggie had become, and Reggie didn’t know how to stop being that person. Ginny transferred schools by the end of the next school year and Reggie never heard from or about the girl she dedicated three years of her life to again. The message was loud and clear though: the person Reggie had become wasn’t as easy to love. And perhaps that was true before given her many previously failed relationships. Thankfully, not everything in Illinois was dark and gloomy for Reggie. Nearing the end of her Physical Therapy, and a few months after losing Ginny, it was suggested she try giving dancing a shot as a way to strengthen her body.

Reggie was never big on listening to music, in part due to her father being famous for music and often associating it with him. But she was also simply a person who could appreciate the silence of the world and didn’t need it to be filled with something. Once she started to get into dance, her relationship with music changed completely. She started to notice the importance of lyrics and melody, how they could set a mood or evoke certain emotion. As she fell for the fun and freeing feeling of dance, she also fell for the joy of music. It helped having a physical vice to express herself with, and soon she was trying to learn how to move her body more and more both to make it stronger, and to find which style was the most her. It helped having music there to fill the void that sometimes her depression left, too.

Once she was able to walk without assistance due to the help that dance provided, Reggie looked into getting a job. She got hired as a waitress at Ten Mile House which wasn’t ideal, but it was money and she could take it. It was there she started to fool around with cooking after hours with some of the chefs she befriended. They’d make their own creations and rate them. She started brainstorming recipes she wanted to try and watching cooking shows to learn more. In time it became a genuine joy to go to work while college was the thing that dragged on for her. But Reggie was struggling with the pain that still lingered from her accident.

While she had painkillers, Reggie didn’t like taking them as she knew the risks associated with the pills. In an effort to provide an alternative on a particularly achy day, a coworker offered Reggie some marijuana-based creams he had for his own pain-related medical issues. They worked far better than the pills had, and were more natural and soothing. Having been an athlete all her life, Reggie never tried any kind of drugs as to ensure she would pass her physicals and get to continue playing. But now that was soccer was out the window, she had less reason to say no, especially when it truly helped her pain. As well as helped her mental state be less overwhelmed by life which was incredibly needed.

In an effort to still keep true to her word but get out of Evanston faster, Reggie took courses year round to get her degree in three years. At 21 she was a college graduate from Northwestern University which was something to be proud of, but mainly, she was just glad it was over with. Even if that meant she didn’t know what to do next. For a brief moment she considered going to grad school, figuring that would be the next expected step. But her boss at Ten Mile House said that he saw a potential in Reggie’s cooking. Deep down that thought meant more to her than she would admit, but she wasn’t sure about pursuing something she had never seriously done or even considered before. He recommended for her to apply for the Institute of Culinary Education in New York City. She went back and forth on it, not sure if she was ready to put faith in such an unknown thing. But after years of doing what she assumed was expected of her, Reggie allowed herself to give ICE a chance and was over the moon once the acceptance letter came in for her to start their Winter quarter. Suddenly her zest for life was coming back, finding solace in the idea of leaving the bad memories Illinois now held for her.

So once she was in New York, Reggie decided that instead of going for another restaurant job, she would look into the Cannabis industry jobs NYC had to offer. It had helped her immensely, and she wanted to try to help others with it. After checking around, one dispensary owner took to Reggie’s positive attitude about medicinal marijuana’s benefits. He offered her a position after she took the needed training course for certification as a Budtender. She was officially hired the next week and things started to fall into place. Reggie was sure that New York City would be a chance to reinvent herself into someone completely different. Someone nothing like the Reggie from Carolina Beach or from Evanston. One that didn’t form romantic attachments easily, one that would live her life with herself in mind instead of what everyone else assumed of her. Sure it was easier said than done, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. And if there was one thing  Reggie Cliffton was not, it was that of a quitter.

After about half a year of living in NYC and a few months of working as a Budtender, one of Reggie’s regulars and her got to talking about soccer. Reggie mentioned how she used to play but hadn’t in many years though she missed it. The customer then mentioned how her granddaughter’s small business league team, the Mighty Morphin Flower Rangers, were looking for someone else to join them. While unsure at first, both because it sounded too good to be true and she hadn’t played in so long, Reggie eventually met the team. They liked Reggie instantly and even if she was rusty, she still had skill that they needed. Upon revisiting the sport she loved, Reggie knew she wasn’t going to pass the chance up to play again. She’s aware of the risk being taken by playing such a physical sport again, but she hadn’t spent all of those years strengthening her body for nothing.

♬ Spencer Porter

The history between Reggie and Spencer goes back farther than either of them care to think about. What started as a small dislike between two 10 year olds in community league who didn’t like how the other played started to run deeper as time went on. Being two of the best players in their county and state, they often found themselves head to head in tournaments and high stress games. After high school they fell of each other’s radar so imagine the surprise and not-so-welcome wave of nostalgia that happened when discovering they both played on opposing teams in the same small business soccer league. The two are trying to keep their rivalry to only the field, though with their overly competitive natures, it’s hard to tell if it will stay that way

♪  Dani Harper & Matt Solís

After a few months of living in NYC, Reggie started to branch out at other small shops around the city and eventually found Acup. It was a slow day when she came in and behind the counter was a hot barista with A+ latte art skills named Matt. They hit it off right away, becoming friends quickly and by Reggie’s third visit, friends with benefits. A few weeks after that while waiting outside of Acup for Matt, Reggie saw a girl she had met only a couple nights before at the local gay bar, The Library. While she knew her name was Dani, she did not know she also worked at Acup until that moment. The two managed to keep a friendship (also with benefits) afterwards, with Dani being the optimist to Reggie’s own pessimistic view.

♬ Tina Cohen-Chang

Never having been someone who grew up with a pet, or even a desire to get one, it only makes sense that Reggie co-owns a dog with someone. While out one night after winter classes, Reggie came across a shivering French Bulldog getting buried by the New York snow. Remembering she saw a vet clinic only a few blocks away, she grabbed the animal and made a mad dash on her skateboard to get him some help. Tina was there closing up the clinic though she opened it upon seeing someone frantically trying to get in with a pup-scile. They were able to warm him up and decided to name him Andrew Bernard Jr (thanks to a Cornell dog sweater that was in the clinic’s lost and found). While Andy lives with Tina, they co-parent him together.

♪  Harper Clarington

Harper Clarington came out of left field for Reggie, but in one of the best ways possible. At least until Reggie found out her and Spencer were apparently an item. Still, Reggie was drawn to Harper’s quick wit and chill attitude, finding herself wanting to know her but not wanting to cross any lines. All of that went out the window the day Harper and Spencer broke off their semi-relationship, leading to Harper and Reggie to hook up only hours later. Rather than it be a night of passion, the two continued to both hang out and hook up together. While Reggie gave her her usual talk of “I like to keep things casual, I don’t do feelings” to Harper after sleeping together, the fact Reg constantly is willing to do whatever it takes to make Harper smile sure gives a different impression.