I sometimes wonder if Miguel ever tried recreating that sense of family he had with Gabriella with Miles and Gwen...except Miles and Gwen only received that toxic parental side from him and not the healthier, wholesome part he had with Gabi because he's mentally unwell and grieving and punishing himself daily as penance.

This is a really good thought cause Gwen alludes to this in her rant at Miguel during the Go Home Machine sequence, “Maybe you weren’t hard enough on him!”. Miguel views his actions based on being Spider-Man not as being Miguel. Either way, he is acclimated to loss in grief in such a unique way that it just seems difficult for him to understand that others aren’t or don’t become susceptible to his alternative to grief/guilt.

It would be plausible that Miguel is sort of worried about gaining a connection with members of the society (especially the younger ones) as he’s lost a lot in his life (if his backstory is any similar to his comic + gabi) and the healthier side would undoubtedly led to a less formal work relationship and something that bleeds into what little life he has outside of Spider-Man as Miguel.

For all intents and purposes Miguel genuinely believes that he is being reasonably protective of Miles and Gwen by over-protecting the canon as he doesn’t want them to experience the pain of over-stepping cosmic and normal boundaries like he did along with dampening his emotional investments in them by being harsh. I mean, recently people have been pointing out he tears up when Miles tells him he can’t not save his dad.

His intentions and sentiments towards these kids are pure and based in altruism but his actions and executions of them are destructive if outright hostile.

The Day the World Rocked on its Axis

This is probably the most personal thing I've ever written. There is so much personal background in it, and it felt so good to write even if I hurt Carlos. There may be a part 2 sometime later; still not sure.

Thank you @moviegeek03 for reading this for me and all your encouragement. 💙

Read on A03;

masterlist;

It Started at ACC series

Carlos was halfway through his rookie year on the force when his world was rocked. He and TK were going strong; life was good. He’d just come off a twelve hour shift, TK having gotten home right before him. He was just slipping into that really deep state when his phone started ringing. He was tempted to ignore it, but after one call hung up, it started ringing once more. He groans as he rolls over and grabs it. The name on the screen has him answering quickly. 

“Hola primo. Qué está mal?” ** Carlos asks worriedly. It’s not like his cousin to be calling him in the middle of the night. 

It’s so quiet for the longest Carlos is afraid the call has dropped. “Carlos, it’s Tonio.” 

Carlos sits straight up so fast it rouses TK. Carlos sucks in a breath before asking what’s wrong once more. TK can hear the panic in his voice which wakes him even more. He sits up beside Carlos and lets his hand drift to Carlos’s back to rub soothingly. 

“There…. There’s been a wreck. We… we need you.” 

“Where?” Miguel went quiet on him once more, and Carlos could feel the panic coursing through him. “Miguel where? Tell me where and I’ll be there.” 

“They’re going to take him to St. David’s South. They… they gotta get to them and get them out,” he manages to get out. 

“What do you mean?” Carlos questions gently as he gets up and starts dressing in the first thing he sees. 

“They… they were riding up around Pilot Knob. One of his friends called me. He got in the car with someone else, someone he didn’t know that well, but wanted to see what the car could do. The guy lost control, went off the road, hit a tree head on. You know how hard it is to get up there. They were towards the top, but they’re saying it’s bad, Carlitos.” 

“Ok. Ok i’m on my way. If they get him out before I get there, I'll meet you at the hospital. It’s going to be ok.”  

Carlos grabbed his badge just to be safe as he finishes dressing and gets off the phone with his cousin. He turns to tell TK what’s going on, but he finds his boyfriend already dressed and standing beside him. Carlos does his best not to cry right then. “Come on,” TK says gently, seeing Carlos try to hold back his emotions. Carlos squeezes TK’s hand as they lock up and get in the camaro. Carlos drives, just because he knows where he’s going. He’s speeding and he knows it, but he can’t help it. Miguel and Antonio were the closest thing he had to brothers all his life. They’ve always been close, always shared everything. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if one of them is gone. TK holds his hand the entire drive to the mountain; he wants to ask questions, wants to help, but he stays silent knowing Carlos will tell him when he’s ready. 

“That was my cousin Miguel on the phone,” he finally says when they’re about halfway there. “His younger brother Antonio was in a wreck. They… they’ve always been like my brothers. They’re my best friends,” he chokes off. TK squeezes his hand harder. 

“I’m here. Whatever you need,” TK tells him when Carlos can’t go on. Carlos squeezes back as he keeps driving. They head up the mountain, and they’re not far behind an ambulance. They’re stopped about halfway up the mountain and told the road is closed. Carlos flashes his badge and tells the officer it’s his family. “I’m sorry sir. I’m gonna advise y’all head back down.” The look in his eyes, TK knows; it’s not going to be good. 

“I’d rather not. I’d like to get to my family,” Carlos demands; the officer relents and lets them through. Carlos gets the car in park, and jumps out faster than TK can stop him. He rushes to his aunt and uncle and cousin’s side. EMTs are down the side of the mountain working, and Carlos is holding his breath. TK slowly joins his side, offering his support. They’re close enough to other officer’s to hear the call over the radio that it’s a recovery op now. TK feels Carlos go rigid beside him. “Carlos?” he whispers, but Carlos doesn’t respond. His body is taunt with anxiety as he turns to his family before another officer can deliver the news. “Tia, Tio….” his aunt and uncle look at him with wide eyes as he takes a deep breath to keep it together. “Come on,” he says as gently as possible trying to steer them back towards their cars. 

Miguel looks at Carlos with tear-filled eyes, and Carlos just gives him a nod. The most devastated no he’s ever heard leaves his cousin's lips as he tries to break for the side of the hill where the rescue team is working. Carlos reacts on instinct; he reaches out and grabs Miguel, wrapping him up in his arms and holding him tight. He talks to him in Spanish as TK is left to keep Carlos’s aunt and uncle back. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs to them as Carlos does his best to comfort Miguel. It takes a while, but Carlos is eventually able to steer Miguel away from the hillside. He guides him and his aunt and uncle to their truck. He gives TK the keys to the camaro; “Follow us?” he asks him softly as Miguel helps his distraught parents into the truck. 

“Of course,” TK promises, giving Carlos a soft kiss and a tight hug. 

Carlos gets in the truck on autopilot; he heads for the hospital knowing they’ll take Antonio there regardless. The only sound in the truck the whole way is the cries of his aunt. They end up staying at the hospital until the morning; they finally got official confirmation of death about seven am, and Carlos had to dissuade his aunt and uncle from seeing his cousin. He knew they wanted to, hell he wanted, but he knew now was not the time, not fresh from the wreck. Carlos drives them back to the ranch to his own parents. The rest of the family shows up before lunch; tears are shed, hugs are given, stories are told quietly, and the whole time Carlos is stoic, emotions carefully concealed. TK stays with him the whole time, refusing to leave. Carlos appreciates it more than he can express. 

The next few days are hard. There’s arrangements to be made, most of the family takes up residence at the ranch, his aunt and uncle staying with his parents. Miguel needs him more than anything, and Carlos does his best to be there every minute for him. He holds himself together every day, and at night when TK is asleep, he lets a few silent tears fall until he gets a few restless hours of sleep. 

He calls in a favor to his training officer the day they make arrangements after seeing Antonio at the funeral home. He knows the news has gotten out that he’s taken personal days for the funeral, but he has to know what the accident report says after hearing all the funeral home completed for an open casket service. Luckily his TO is a friend of his dad’s, and despite advising Carlos against reading it, he sends the full unedited accident report to Carlos’s email. The day before the funeral, TK had to work so he could be off for the funeral, and Carlos waits until then to open the email. Carlos promised him that he would be fine, and TK made him promise to call if he wasn’t. Carlos of course didn’t call, but TK wasn’t surprised. He reads over the report more times than he should’ve. The accompanying pictures are the hardest thing he’s ever looked at, but they tell the story more than the report. The images are ingrained in his brain, and he knows his aunt and uncle will have the option to receive copies of all this. He wants to do his best to dissuade them from getting it. No one should have to see the gruesome scene he just studied; the car in the tree, the way the seats were displaced one on top of the other, the blood splatter and the lifeless bodies encased within. It was too much, but he had to know.  

TK didn’t know Carlos had requested the report or that he’d even looked at it. So he was surprised to get home that night and find Carlos curled up in the corner of the shower sobbing. “Oh babe.” It came out almost as a whine, his pain for Carlos evident. He dropped his bag, kicking off his shoes, and climbing straight into the shower with Carlos. He sank to the ground pulling Carlos into his arms. “It’s ok. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he whispers over and over, rocking side to side as he cradled Carlos to him. It took several minutes and several stuttering hiccuping breaths before Carlos started to calm down. TK had no idea how long he’d been like that before he got home, but the water was still mostly warm so he figured it couldn’t have been too long.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos whispered as he pulled back and scrubbed at his face. 

“No. No. You have nothing to apologize for. You needed this.” TK lets his hand card through Carlos’s wet curls. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else. You need to let yourself grieve too.” 

Carlos gives him a short nod as he scrubs harder at his face. He knows TK is right, but he also hates that TK has to see him like this. “Hey. It’s ok to hurt and feel what you’re feeling. It’s ok to let me see that too. I’m here for you. I love you and nothing is going to change that,” TK reiterates as he pulls Carlos’s hands away from his face. He pulls Carlos close once more as Carlos loses it again. He can’t seem to stop the tears. He’s not sure how life is supposed to go on without one of his best friends, without the first person he came out to, without one of the few people who support him no matter what. TK barely holds back his own tears as Carlos sobs his heart out in his arms. 

When the water turns cold, TK eases Carlos up and helps him out of the shower. His tears have dried, but he’s clinging to TK like he’s the only thing holding him up. TK gets a towel around him as he strips his wet clothes before wrapping a towel around himself. “Come on. I got ya,” TK says quietly as he dries Carlos off before leading him to bed. He gets him tucked in before drying himself. Once he makes sure the house is all locked up, he climbs in bed pulling Carlos in as close as possible. 

Carlos has worn himself out, but before he falls asleep he whispers; “I read the report. I requested it and got it. I just… I had to know.”  

“Oh babe,” TK whimpers as he tightens his hold on Carlos. “Oh Carlos. It’s ok,” TK whispers over and over not really knowing what to say to that. He knows that had to be hard; he knows Carlos probably shouldn’t have seen it, but he knows if he’d been in Carlos’s shoes, he’d want to know too. It’s not long after that little confession that Carlos drifts off from exhaustion. TK is thankful he took tomorrow off to go with him; he knows the coming days, months, years even are going to be hard, but he will be there for it all. Whatever Carlos needs, TK is going to be there. 

 

** “Hello cousin. What is wrong?”

Crossed Wires

Thank you @pridelumos​ for trusting me enough to write this request! 

This is the first one I’ve ever done so I hope you all enjoy it! 

Word Count- roughly 2,200.

Warnings- mentions of murder, guns, sex, drugs. My terrible writing. 

The ticking of the office clock was the only thing breaking the tense silence. Yet another day had passed and not a single tip, clue or evidence was sent in. You sighed loudly and got up from your desk. The evening sun still flooding the room in a warm glow. 

‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ Agent Roger Knapp commented on your louder than normal exhale. 

You shot him a look as you poured yet another cup of coffee, The third of the day. ‘It’s been weeks Roger, weeks. We still know shit.’ You’re fresh, not three years out of the academy, still  chomping at the bit to make a difference; after all you’ve heard about the emerging ‘drug war’ in Mexico.  The more….seasoned agents have gotten cynical over the years. Unless it falls into their lap they don’t bother to investigate. 

You dropped into your comfortable office chair and slumped over the desk. Letting out a frustrated groan. Honestly? If you knew the adventure that was about to ensure you’d  wish for a few more of the lazy office days. 

----------

Miguel Ángel Felix Gallardo, arguably the most wanted man in Mexico, leaned back in his office chair. Specially designed with French leather. Not for the faint of heart. He too let out a frustrated sigh.  The Gulf was weeks away from overtaking most of the land border into the United States. All he’d been able to do was sit back and watch it happen. 

He sighed again and stood up to look out the window. The fading rays of sunlight doing nothing to ease his apprehension. The Gulf was mere weeks away from securing the majority of the land border between Mexico and the United States. It would lead to a drop in profits; and an increase in problems. As if he hadn't had enough, Tijuana and Sinaloa were in a war, Pacho had him in a vice grip and Maria was gone. Fled. Kids and all. 

Miguel lit a cigarette, as he watched the ash tip onto the stone balcony he realised there was no point in wallowing. This wasn't going to sort itself. At least this may be something he could fix. Miguel caught his jacket from the coat rack and slammed the door behind him. 

If he had known the events of the next few days maybe he would have gently closed the door instead. 

----------------

You stood at the side entrance of the offices, leaning against the door frame and watching the Guadalajara streets begin to light up with nightlife and music. You glanced back at the building you called a workplace for a moment. Your eyes scanning the stonework. When you laid eyes on him, however.  your jaw dropped to the floor. 

Strutting up the steps to the main entrance. To the United States DEA base in Guadalajara Mexico was none other than the man that had saved your life almost two years ago. 

Miguel Ángel Felix Gallardo.

*Sinaloa two years prior*

As the first female in the DEA you felt as if you had a point to prove. This was your shot to do it. The biggest night time raid the DEA was about to undertake in the city of Sinaloa. Three houses, two down, now it was your turn to show off all you had learnt. It's not an Old Boys Club anymore. 

In the end it had all happened so fast. First you lead the team tactically into the premises, cleared the perimeter. You did everything by the book. After that night you learnt that rules become blurred south of the border quite often.

 There was a sudden whirr of bullets, frenzied screaming.... an odd smell of smoke. Fear overtook you when you heard the order coming from your Walkie Talkie. Two words registered. 'Ambush... scatter.'

You gripped your gun so tight it was a miracle it didn't snap in two. Barely taking in your surroundings you ran. Hastily. The streets passed in a blur. Your lungs felt on fire as you slowed your steps. Slowing to a stop, leaning against a building. The panting made the footsteps approaching behind you inaudible, it was far too late by the time you noticed. 

The sickening click of a gun being drawn from its holster behind you caused your face to drain of blood. Trembling you slowly turned. You were staring down the barrel of a gun.

 Seconds ticked by. The masked gunman's hand trembled. In that split second a gunshot rang out.. as you were thrown to the ground. You kept your eyes squeezed tightly. A warm hand ran down your arm. Daring to open one eye was the best and worst thing you ever did. You opened both. A pair of deep brown eyes stared back. Entranced. He helped you up, how kind of him. 

Once steady on your feet you got a good look at the man. Time for round two of heart attacks of the day. One of the most wanted men in Mexico had his hand in yours, his other holding your elbow to keep you steady. He looked, well, he looked concerned. 

'Estas bien mija?' 

Your mouth opened and closed.

 He chuckled. 'We,' he gestured to the giant of a bodyguard standing over your would be killer's corpse. 'saw what happened. He was on our hit list anyway.'

You felt your cheeks heat up. His voice was like melted butter. He squeezed your hand. 'I hope I'll see you again... agente.'

 ------------------------------

A bunch of roses with no name attached appeared at the office two weeks later. After getting a LOT of shit from the other agents you figured it could only be Miguel who had sent them. Two days later a necklace arrived. Your internal monologue went a little like ‘Oh no Oh no Oh no no no no no no’, especially when you realised the butterflies before evening opening the little box tied with a red ribbon.  He’s a goddamn Narco. You’re meant to be putting him in a prison to rot.

You threw the flowers out and hid the necklace in your wardrobe. Get rid of all keepsakes and therefore all memories. He’s not for you. It’s not right. It’s damn illegal. 

Now here he was walking as calm as could be into the lion’s den. You stayed watching his cool demeanour. His cockiness. That blue suit, that jet black ha-no stop. You didn’t even notice the small smile appearing on your face as he disappeared indoors. 

Realising the worst thing you could possibly do was follow him. So you waited. Hiding behind a tree. Smooth. Real smooth. He emerged from the building about twenty minutes later. You almost deflated in relief as the car turned the corner and sped off down the next street.

Naively thinking it was safe you returned to your desk. Only to have Roger and Chief Jamie Kuykendall waiting with eyebrows raised and an unreadable look on their faces. Jamie was the first to speak. ‘We-um- we had a visitor.’ 

You acted confused. They fell for it. ‘I- we- Felix Gallardo was here. Looking to give us information,’ he finished. 

‘Wha- what?  How? Why?’ you babbled.

‘We don’t know the specifics. That’s the problem, we haven’t the faintest idea why he wants to give it to us. All we know is. He’ll only give it to you.’ Roger intervened. 

Your jaw hit the floor. ‘Me?’

‘No, he came all the way in here to ask for the Pope. Yes you,’ Roger snapped.    

Jamie handed you a scrap piece of paper. ‘He asked to meet you for dinner. He’ll give you the information then.’

Your brow furrowed. The moral compass going into overdrive. He’s a narco. He saved your life. You’re just getting information. Pushing all the thoughts aside you nodded slowly. ‘I’ll do it. It’ll be okay.’  Whether you were convincing them or yourself is still up for debate. 

You didn’t sleep at all that night. The bed was uncomfortable, the night was too humid, the pillows were uneven. All excuses you convinced yourself were the issue. Sitting straight up at dawn you stared at the wardrobe. The necklace. Sneaking up on the shelf you caught the box and pulled it down. Inside lay the most beautiful silver and diamond collar. 

Slipping it on felt right, It fit like a glove. The dress you chose was a bit risqué to say the least. But you know, we have to give him something to look at. Grabbing your purse before leaving you noticed a driver and his car outside. 

‘Para ti Senorita,’ He opened the door. Champagne and truffles awaited. The smell of the new leather filled you with apprehension as the streets rolled by, before long you were in an unfamiliar part of town. The filthy rich side. The driver pulled up to a villa straight out of a Hollywood movie. The old fashioned villa, complete with a football field sized yard  and outdoor pool was a stark contrast to the cramped apartment you called home. 

Feeling slightly out of place you followed the driver to the entrance. He pushed open the door to a beautifully ornate interior. A butler handed you a glass of champagne and led you to the outdoor terrace. A table for two was set, with a view overlooking the city. It was almost too much. Almost. You took a seat at the table. Admiring the white table cloth and, of course, the vase full of roses as a centre piece. You nervously tugged at the necklace, anxious for Miguel to arrive. Still mixed feelings on the whole deal.

‘Hola Senorita,’ that voice, It stirred something in the pit of your stomach. 

‘Hola.’ There was a slight bit of tension in the air as he sat across from  you. The look in his eye was mischievous, bordering cocky. 

‘Antes de cenar agente. Tengo un regalo para ti.’ He pushed a brown envelope across the table. You let your fingertips touch it before he lets it go. You take another glance back at him. The cockiness is gone. This is the envelope with everything in it. Names, addresses, routes. You tapped your fingers on it for a second. Contemplating. Eventually deciding against better judgement you slipped the invaluable information into your purse. A look of relief washed over Miguel’s face. 

It honestly took you by surprise how funny he could be. You felt a six pack coming on before dinner was even served. The tension disappeared. As the wine flowed you felt more at ease with your supposed arch nemesis. His shoulders slowly dropped throughout the meal. Simply enjoying the company. The butler cleared the dinner dishes away. As he did so the sound of slow classical music filled the night air. Bringing with it Miguel’s invitation for a dance. Slightly embarrassed at the prospect he put you at ease by assuring you he didn’t know the steps. 

He held your hand in his. His grip around your waist was both comforting and reassuring. You simply melted into the embrace. Resting your head on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was music to your ears. That moment, nothing could ruin that picturesque moment.  The smell of his expensive cologne, the feeling of his cool shirt against your skin.

You gazed up at him, his beard tickling your upper lip. You felt a smirk, his hand around your waist tightening. Oh dear, no. You place your hands on his chest where your head once lay. He looks at you, concern filling his eyes. ‘Que pasa mija hm.’ 

‘I-I.’ you fumble. ‘This,we,’

He stopped dead in his tracks. Moving his hands to hold your shoulders gently but firmly. ‘What are you worried about?’

You stared down at the floor. ‘I can’t be a notch on your belt Miguel. That’s not what this is, I'm a DEA agent. Of course I’ll be forever grateful for saving my life but…. But I just-’

His grip became slightly firmer. Barely noticeable but yet, you felt it. ‘I’m not going to bring you to my room mija. If you do decide to, it'll be because you want to. Not to, what, thank me for the information? That’s not what this is.’ His tone was reaffirming. Yet Calming. His juxtapositions were almost overpowering. How could one man be so much Ying and yet, so much Yang? 

You held his hand. Entwining your fingers with his. ‘This is the way it has to stay Miguel,’ your voice cracking slightly. This is the way it has to stay. 

You quickly wiped a tear from your cheek. With mascara threatening to run you turned to leave. Picking up your purse you took the first steps. Before bidding adieu to the glorious villa you  glanced back at the Narco standing in front of you. ‘If you have any more information you know where I am.’ 

With that, you bid the man that firmly held your heart farewell.

Chaparrastique (San Miguel Volcano) from Conacastal

We had been in El Salvador for more than two weeks, and so far the trip had gone better than any of us could have hoped for. I surprised Asaka with a trio on the morning of her birthday. She stood outside the window while they sang her loves songs which she couldn’t understand. We celebrated by having a big pool party with Erick and his family. We bought a piñata and ate a special cake that my mom used to eat in her childhood. 

There was so much that I still wanted to do, so on our last Friday we went to Cascadas Tamanique. It was a steep hike down the canyon from town, but we were eventually rewarded with a beautiful set of waterfalls.

We swam in the pools and jumped off some cliffs. Leif made several motions to jump off the same cliff as well, but we told him that he would have to wait until he was older.

The next day was my last full day in El Salvador, and I wanted to go out with a bang. Chaparrastique, also known as Volcán de San Miguel, is the southernmost ultra prominent peak in the country, and until very recently, had been too active to climb, with large eruptions as recent as 2015. When I initially planned my trip, I didn’t even think climbing this volcano a possibility, but I learned through Nahuat Tours that the minister of geology had determined the mountain safe enough to climb. Zach was flying out that day, which meant I would be on my own. This would require the longest drive, as we had to go all the way from El Zonte to the “Wild East”. Apparently the people on this side of the country look and sound different, and perhaps the most glaring distinction is how they eat pupusas. I was mostly concerned with the heat. Erick joked that when people from San Miguel go to hell, they complain that it’s too chilly. I could find no trip reports online, aside from a YouTube video which didn’t delve into the details surrounding mileage and elevation gain. Nahuat Tours didn’t have much information either, again leaving such details to the local guides. To prepare, I brought a lot of water and expected the worst. What I experienced in the end was a moderate hike with agreeable temperatures.

Erick and the gang were outside of Villa Letty at 4am. I snuck out of the room trying my best not to wake the baby, grabbed my lunch from the fridge and threw my stuff in the back of the car. Chico and Young Erick were crammed in the back seat, while Gerardo had other tours to lead that day. The drive was long, but not terrible as El Salvador is a small country. We reached the town of Conacastal where we met our local guide Fernando. From there we hopped in the back of a 2WD pickup truck, then drove south along RN16S until reaching La Placita. We turned off the paved road here and continued up dirt and cobblestone roads further up the northwestern side of the volcano.

Riding in the back of a pickup truck was so fun, but just another day for the average Salvadoran. We drove to 3,800 feet where the road simply became too steep. Our driver gave it a couple shots, but there was no point in pushing it since we already saved about a thousand feet by driving up to this point.

We continued hiking up the road through a cedar forest. The road ended soon after but we picked up a trail. We passed a big family group who had started from Conacastal earlier in the morning. While this peak is somewhat reclusive to the “intrepid traveler”, it seems reasonably popular with the locals. We left Erick to hang back with them, while Fernando, Chico and Young Erick continued with me at a faster pace.

Fernando asked if I wanted to go up the rocky way or the sandy way. To me the answer was easy, so I requested rocky. An overgrown but well defined use trail ensued, but the dirt was solid and travel was generally easy.

Soon we emerged from the thick jungle, and the western expanse captured my attention. Volcán de Usulután, Cerro Taburete, Cerro El Tigre, Volcán de Tecapa and Volcán de Chinameca flooded the expanse before me.

More inland ran the Sierra Madre.

There was a nice breeze keeping us cool. We would need it because the next thousand feet would comprise of the worst volcanic scree to climb up that I have experienced to date.

It was the classic two steps up, one step down. I had a trekking pole with me that made the section bearable, but I eventually lent this to one of my young guides as he was having more difficulty than I was.

There wasn’t really a trail, but more of a path of erosion. One thing was clear, and that was to continue upwards.

Things started to get easier as we neared the top. A big block of solid rock caught my eye, so I decided to find a scramble route up.

I picked a class 4 route straight up the rock to add some juice to an otherwise non technical hiking trip. This can of course be completely avoided, and I think my guides looked at me quizzically for taking such an unnecessarily dangerous route in the first place.

Shortly after we reached the crater rim.

We dropped down to the flat sandy section beneath us and walked to the edge.

Inside, the fumaroles were seeping out of the yellow rock. There was no visible lava, but the volcano was clearly very active. Our local guide Fernando claimed that he scrambled halfway down the crater, and it was probably for the best that he didn’t go any further.

After the very cool detour, it was time to continue to the peak. We headed east and scrambled back up the crater rim.

The rim was easy to follow and there was a use trail most of the way.

After a few more minutes of hiking we made it to the top.

To the northeast was the city of San Miguel.

To the southeast were Laguna de Olomega, Volcán de Conchagua and La Union.

To the south was the summit crater.

To the west was the flat area from where we examined the depths of the crater. In the distance was Volcán de Usulután.

To the northwest was Volcán de Chinameca.

A point on the opposite side of the crater looked like it could potentially be higher, so I requested that we traverse the entire crater rim, even though Fernando confirmed that we were standing on the highest point. For these types of things you can’t be too sure.

To circumvent the rim, we had to drop into a small notch. Climbing out of this was a loose mess, but we eventually made it back atop the high rim. The travel was very easy and breathtaking, with everchanging views in all directions.

Once we reached the summit contender, it was clear that the opposite point was higher, however I am glad we chose to go this way.

-Volcán de Conchagua

-Laguna de Jocotal & Punta Mango

-Endless Beaches

As we continued circling, we got more views into the depths of Chaparrastique.

We got back to our original starting point of the rim traverse where we ran into the kids from the family we saw earlier. The parents were still below making their way up the loose scree. Among them was older Erick, chatting away about different business opportunities. I would not be patient enough to wait for him to reach the top. He turned around without me asking, but he would end up taking a long time to descend. We took the sandy (sandier) route down this time, which I was really looking forward to. This was some of the best scree skiing I have ever done, however this bliss was interrupted since I had to wait for Erick many times. I finally decided to enjoy the sandy portion of the descent uninterrupted, and wait for Erick down below. It was a very nice descent while it lasted, and afterwards we found a spot in some shade back in the forest. Fernando claimed that he made it from crater rim to dirt road in under 20 minutes. We ended up waiting for over an hour, and needless to say I was pretty annoyed. Once he finally showed up, I grumpily walked the remaining distance down to the road, and later to the car.

As we approached the car, I started to sense big animals moving in the nearby brush. Several heads of cattle were grazing the mountain slopes.

Our driver was waiting for us right where he left us. The hike was 6.3 miles round trip with 3,400 ft of total gain (including the crater rim traverse). Please keep in mind that this does not include the section we were able to drive. We dropped off Fernando in Conacastal, then began our long drive back to El Zonte. Traffic was pretty bad towards the end of the drive, but I was able to make it back in time for dinner. This will for sure be a trip that I will never forget.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9ENCjN5o7M&t=5s

Coop | Seal Team

Summary: Bravo 4 makes a trip cross country following the events of “Never Out of the Fight”, S2, Ep22.

Pairings: Trent Sawyer, OC Zoe “Coop” Cooper

Zoe Cooper let out a shaky breath as she turned the key in the ignition and her Jeep engine quieted in the dark outside her bungalow. Letting her head thump back against the leather headrest, yet another tear rolled down her cheek. After all these years, she thought that this - saying goodbye - would get easier. But it didn’t. How could it? These were kids she was losing. No matter how hard she tried, how hard her team fought, it was just never enough for so many of these kids they were trying to help, to save. The drugs and the violence - they were losing more than they were saving most days.

She knew she was winding down. After all these years working with so many troubled kids, each loss weighed heavier and heavier on Zoe’s heart. Losing Miguel tonight...she shook her head, trying to erase the image of the 15 year old as the light went out of his eyes.

Zoe took a deep breath and got out of the Jeep, grabbing her bag from the back seat. She was halfway up the walkway when she looked up and saw soft light streaming out her living room window. She didn’t recall leaving a light on when she left at first light. She had wanted to get some painting done at the studio before she headed to the outreach center for what she thought was a short afternoon but turned into a ten hour long nightmare.

Looking back out to the street, Zoe didn’t see anything much out of the ordinary except for a blue sedan parked across the street. Turning back to the front door, she uncapped the mace on her key ring but changed her mind. Instead, she reached into her bag to put her hands on her Smith & Wesson. Only two scenarios came to mind - either her ex had shown up for a booty call (fat chance) or someone had neatly broken in and announced themselves by leaving the lights on while they tossed the joint. Whichever one, she was ready for either.

Quietly sliding the key into the lock, she found it already undone. Strangely, as she cracked the door open, she smelled something delicious coming out of the kitchen.

Definitely not her ex.

He could burn water.

So, burglar who cooks dinner as a way of saying sorry?

“You can put that away,” the voice said.

That voice.

No, it couldn’t be, Zoe thought. Could it?

Taking another step into her living room, Zoe froze in place as the body that the voice belonged to stepped around the corner.

“Hey Coop,” he said softly.

Zoe took one look at the clean shaven face and short hair…

And busted out laughing.

Looking nearly the same as he looked when they first met all those years ago, when he was starting BUD/S and she was tending bar in that dive just off base, stood Trent Sawyer.

Rolling his eyes at her, Trent shook his head, spread his arms out and turned in a circle in the dining room archway. “Go ahead, yuk it up. But this is actually what I’m supposed to look like. Not the long haired hippie freak look you love so much,” he joked with her, a small smile on his face. Man, he had missed her laugh.

But then the laugh began to fade out and the look on her face - one of surprise and joy at his arrival twisted into one of pain and misery as her laughs turned into sobs. In three strides, Trent was in front of her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she collapsed against his chest. Not completely sure what was going on, he just held her tightly until she was ready to tell him what was going on.

After several minutes, and no signs of being cried out, Trent bent down and picked Zoe up, bridal style and sat down on the couch in front of the large picture window that dominated the front of the house. Now set in his lap, Zoe curled in even further into Trent’s chest. He slowly ran his hand up and down her spine, hoping to soothe her a bit, calm her down. He rested his cheek atop her head and whispered affirmations, letting her know he was there, she was safe and that he had her.

Always.

He cupped the back of her head with his right hand, kissing her forehead as another wave of emotion hit her. He ran his left hand lightly up and down her right arm, noticing a few new pieces of art that hadn’t been there the last time they saw each other. It had been nearly two years after all. He had been spun up to Liberia, Estonia, South Sudan, the Triple Frontier, deployed to Afghanistan - again. If he was honest, he probably could’ve come to visit after the helo crash but he had felt compelled to stay close to home while the team recovered. He and Coop had talked and she understood his need to stay close. Then Alanna died, they lost Adam in Mumbai, deployed to Mexico, almost lost Sonny, Clay, Ray. Now Swannie. It had gotten to be too much and he needed time.

So after visiting his mother, he got on a plane and landed in San Diego seven hours later, rented a car and was digging up the rock in the Coop’s backyard with the spare key in it without really thinking about it. It had always been like that between them. Just show up. No questions asked. After another few minutes lost in thought, Trent noticed that Zoe’s breathing started to even out. While there were still a few hitches in her breath here and there, she seemed calmer and Trent started to wonder if she had fallen asleep in his arms. It wouldn’t be the first time. But after another minute, Zoe lifted her head. “Hi,” she smiled sadly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Looking into her bright blue eyes, Trent pushed a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “Hi. Surprise,” he chuckled.

Zoe smiled a little brighter in response to the levity.

“Definitely. And one I needed tonight,” she replied, as she tucked her head back against his chest.

“You hungry?” Trent inquired. “I managed to scrounge together the ingredients for some spaghetti.”

Zoe smiled into his chest and hugged him a little tighter. “Do you mind if we just sit like this for a little longer?”

“Bad day?”

Tears threatened again as she nodded. Curling further into Trent’s chest, Zoe took a deep breath and said, “Can’t talk about it yet.”

Pressing his lips against her forehead, Trent simply nodded, learning long ago that Zoe wouldn’t talk until she was ready to. Her stomach, however, had other ideas, growling loudly. Trent chuckled. “When was the last time you ate?” he queried. Zoe shrugged her shoulders. She honestly couldn’t remember. A scone with her coffee at the studio? Some chips or a bite of a sandwich at lunch?

Zoe lifted her head to once again look into Trent’s eyes. She lifted her right hand, lightly running her finger tips along his jawline. She smiled softly, remembering the clean shaven young sailor who walked into the bar she was tending in Coronado all those years ago. They had clicked immediately. She had been dating...Matt? Steven? Bodhi? Hell, she couldn’t remember after all these years. Didn’t matter. She had been involved with someone, Trent had had a girl “back home” but they still clicked and started a friendship that had outlasted every other relationship both of them had had. He was her rock, and she believed she was his, though he’d never said it out loud. Hell he was here, wasn’t it.

Wait, she thought. Why was he here?

“What’s with the babyface?” she questioned.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Trent dropped his eyes. “Funeral,” he answered.

Before he even knew what was happening, Zoe flipped up and straddled Trent’s lap, wrapping her tattooed arms around his neck and squeezing as hard as she dared. “I am so sorry,” she cried. “God, I suck. Here I am, freaking bawling and mopey and you spent all day on a plane to get here to get away from all that and I just...just, ugh, I’m sorry!”

Trent chuckled at her. His Zoe. Just like that, she could flip that switch and all of a sudden, BAM! All that focus was on someone else now, her own pain and heartache forgotten. His arms snaked around her waist and held her just as tight as she held him. It always amazed him how they were the only ones who could do this for the other - hold each other tight enough to glue all the broken pieces back together.

They sat like that for another few moments until Zoe’s stomach once again made it’s displeasure at being empty known. Both chuckling, they pulled away from each other after a brief forehead bump and got up off the couch.

For the next hour, the two old friends sat at Zoe’s dining room table, eating spaghetti and a small Caesar salad Trent had thrown together with what was left in Zoe’s fridge. As they were loading the dishwasher, she turned to Trent and asked the question she always hated asking when he came to visit. “So,” she began. “How long do I have you for?”

Turning back to her from the stove, Trent smiled at her. “Return flight is on Monday at 1:20 pm.”

Zoe’s head snapped up so fast, Trent thought she would give herself whiplash. “I have you all weekend?” she asked incredulously. Rarely did his schedule allow him the opportunity to spend more than 24 hours with her. Now she had him for 3 and a half days. She jumped up in his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist like a koala bear. It was his favorite thing in the world when she did that.

“Yep, all weekend,” he managed to get out, given the squeeze around his neck.

Zoe felt lighter, just a bit. While she was pretty sure there was going to be a funeral that weekend, at least he would be with her. She always felt like she could get through anything as long as she had her best friend by her side.

“Coop…” Trent whispered. “Can’t...breathe!”

Rolling her eyes, Zoe pulled back, releasing some of the tightness in her hold on him. She was, foolishly, she knew, scared that if she totally let go, he would disappear and that was not something she could handle right now. He was there and she was going to take full advantage of having him by her side the next few days.

Knocking her forehead against his, she let out a sigh that turned into a full blown yawn. Trent chuckled at her. “Am I boring you already? I can always get on the next flight back to Virginia Beach,” he kidded with her, even as he pulled her even more snugly against his body, hoping she understood he was just messing with her.

As he suspected, she again adjusted her grip around his neck in protest. “Not happening, big guy. You’re mine until 1:20pm Monday afternoon. And not one second sooner,” she protested. Unfortunately the force of said protest was nearly drowned out by another yawn.. Trent looked over at the clock hanging on the dining room wall and saw that it was after midnight now. No wonder she’s exhausted, he thought. With whatever it was that happened today, combined with the time, he knew he needed to get her to bed.

“Come on, Coop, time for some sleep,” Trent informed her.

Not even bothering to set her feet on the floor, Trent flipped the switch on the wall and walked back into the living room, flipping the wall switch in there as well. He carried Zoe down the hallway to the bedroom and unceremoniously dumped her on the bed. Zoe answered with a small howl of complaint. “Rude,” she snapped at him, as he chuckled at her.

“Go get changed,” he ordered. Sticking her tongue out at him, Zoe started walking towards the en suite when she stopped in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

Zoe turned back to Trent with the same sad look that had haunted her face earlier. Tears threatening to spill again, Trent walked around the foot of the bed and put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them soothingly. Letting out a shaky breath, Zoe quietly began to speak.

“His name was Miguel. He was coming to the center this afternoon to help tutor some of the younger kids,” she said with a small sob. “He was so good with them. He made doing homework fun for them. He would do these little puppet shows or come up with silly songs to sing to them to help them memorize how to do a math equation. Sometimes, I would stay late and paint at the center and he would hang out and ask me all kinds of questions about art and painting and history. He was such a good kid” Tears were freely flowing down her cheeks again. “It was a fucking drive-by. He didn’t deserve...in the middle of the street for Crissakes…surrounded by strangers,” she choked out. “Trent, he died in my arms.” Now fully sobbing, Zoe sank to the floor, in the doorway of her bathroom, repeating one word.

Why...

Once again, Trent felt more than a little helpless. All he could do was hold her, and hope that the newly broken pieces could somehow fit back together, but he knew that wasn’t how it worked. All he could do was sit on the floor with her, stroke her hair and hold her tight until she was able to cry it all out.

Slowly, Zoe’s uncontrolled sobbing started to slow. Her breath continued to hitch every so often. Trent had to admit, this was not the most comfortable position but he refused to move until Zoe did. He was a SEAL after all. He had been in much, much worse conditions. At least here, there was air conditioning. The hardwood floors sucked though.

Trent felt Zoe going limp in his arms, so he looked down to see that she had, indeed, cried herself to sleep. Not wanting to spend the night on the floor if he didn’t have to, Trent began to stand up and move Zoe to her bed. She flinched and grabbed the front of his shirt tighter. “It’s ok, hon. I’m still here,” Trent said. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Better not,” Zoe sleepily mumbled.

Smirking, Trent started to pull the covers down the bed, laying Zoe down on the cool sheets. “Sweetie, let’s at least get these jeans off of you, ok?”

Zoe just grunted at Trent. Shaking his head in amusement, Trent gently stripped her out of her jeans. He left everything else as his because, frankly, he valued his life. The one time he thought he was being helpful by taking her bra off when she had passed out after a long night of tequila, her foot connected with his junk and he swore he didn’t sit right for a week. So, friendship ended at taking her jeans off.

Zoe was still whimpering in her sleep, so Trent decided to just kick off his shoes, take off his own jeans, and crawl in next to her. As he was getting ready to turn the light off and climb into bed, something caught his eye. Zoe’s tank top had ridden up just a little, just enough for Trent to see a tattoo he never remembered seeing.

It was his insignia. Well, the Bravo insignia.

And it was right on her ribcage.

As he got closer, Trent saw that underneath the small insignia it said “TSB4”.

Trent Sawyer. Bravo 4. His initials and his call sign.

“Hey,” Zoe sleepily called out.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Trent replied as he turned off the light on the bedside table. In the dark, Trent got settled in bed and pulled Zoe’s back to his front, winding his right arm around her waist. Zoe ran her hand down his arm, over the scars no one else ever wanted to look at or acknowledge, let alone touch. But Zoe? She never shied away from touching him there. She always said it meant he lived. She touched it because she could, because he was still here.

Trent lightly kissed the back of her head as Zoe linked her fingers with his. “Love you,” she said sleepily.

“Love you, too,” Trent answered, as he squeezed her just a little bit tighter into him, drifting off to sleep with Zoe in his arms was always the best night's sleep he had.

Heritage - Chapter 2 Steve Rogers/Black!reader

Summary: The annual Gathering is approaching causing all Irish wolves to come and celebrate their history together during a five-day week filled with feasts, games, entertainment, and storytelling. However, The Hunt is also during this time and Steve is volun-told to participate in this Coming-of-Age ceremony by none other than his grandfather. To have a successful hunt, one must possess all the attributes of a wolf to succeed, but Steve doesn’t have that. How can he successfully complete the challenge (and not die) when he can barely make it down the stairs without collapsing into an asthmatic fit?

Author’s note: Hello everyone! Sorry for the late submission, but life outside has a way of killing the writing muse and distracting me. I struggled through the beginnings of his chapter, but as you can tell, steam was picked up as my excitement grew. I would also like to point out that I tried to do extensive research on wolf mythology in Irish culture. If it is not accurate, please let me know and I’ll promptly correct it. I like to be as concise as possible with my works. As always, likes and reblogs are well received and I love comments and asks! Thanks again, everyone!

P.S. I’m sorry the reader has not shown up yet! It’s such a slow burn but I want to build the story up!

Word Count: 3341

Warnings: Bad language and a singular event of physical abuse

Chapter 2: The Hunt Part I

Cashel watched on as the contractors he hired lifted a wooden beam that would eventually be part of an intricate large tent. The tent will house three long wooden tables and benches, all made from the wood of the ash trees that grew in his homeland. They didn’t take long to import and the wood maker he had hired was a family friend. The man has been making crafts for them for well over twenty years and there was just something special about his work that caused them to keep requesting. With the tables that Cashel needed for this event, he specially carved the family’s crest into the top of the table and poured resin into the gaps to smooth it back out. It was beautiful and each tabletop was glossed and stained to bring out the rustic coloring. Marvelous, he had praised when he first saw them released from the shipping box.

One of the workers was drilling in the beam when his assistant, a relatively young wolf by the name of Finnian, approached him with his notebook in hand. The lad was lean, average height, and had a soft face that didn’t match his stern, cold eyes. Cashel had recruited him during the latter parts of the fifties, and he has been pleased with his work ever since. Finnian was prompt, organized, and quick on his feet whenever things went south. Cashel had also noted the young man had a dark streak to him, which complemented his unwavering loyalty to the family and his boss.

Finnian, who was already opening his notebook before he reached Cashel, was looking to finalize plans, receive a few confirmations, and update Cashel on all the arrangements and changes that are taking place. “Sir, I need to update you on a few things,” he had begun, formal and professional about everything.

“Firstly, I confirmed the menu with the chef, and he has already begun making preparations for the dinner. The baker has delivered the cakes and pies. However, she tried to skimp on one, but she was able to dock off some of the cost after some nudging. The contactors are, as you know, in the middle of their building and they will be done well in advance.” Cashel nodded, pleased with the news. But he didn’t say anything because he knew Finnian wasn’t done.

“Now, as for the Coming of Age ceremony, I have made sure that there are roadblocks and barriers put in place to prevent any…unnecessary leavings of the property. There are also barrier markers in the woods at the edge of the land. And some of the men have volunteered to stand watch and prevent anyone from entering and leaving without permission. As for the ceremony, I have three boy’s names down: Matt, Sean, and Miguel.”

“Steve,” Cashel provided. Finnian’s eyes widened and he paused at Cashel’s sudden addition. Without looking at the lad’s face, Cashel continued. “Add Steve’s name. He shall be participating in the Coming of Age ceremony, too. And make sure he and his mother are notified.”

“But sir, Steve…” he trailed off, wondering if it was his place to ask the question.

“I understand. Steve is lacking the physical qualities that are preferred to participate in The Hunt, but I believe he can still participate with what he has. The boy is smart, and a fighter. I know he is the runt to everyone else, but there is something under that weak exterior that is trying to fight its way out. And I want to be there when it does.” Cashel’s words didn’t ease Finnian in the slightest. In fact, they worried him and confused him. The boy was going to die, Finnian thought as he wrote down his name under the list of participants.

 ~~

“He wants me to do what?!” Steve screamed, face red and blotchy as he looked into Bucky’s worried eyes. “I-I can’t do the Coming of Age ceremony! I-I’m not, I c-can’t even run to the bathroom without having an asthma attack and increasing my risk of heart failure! And now the old coot wants me to compete against my strong ass cousins in an effort to show off what, my ability to die at the slightest breeze?!” He was breathing very heavily, almost wheezing, and Bucky reached into his pocket for the back-up inhaler.

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Bucky softly answered, but the responding glare aimed back at him told him that wasn’t the best approach. “Okay, listen, you’ll be given the tools you need to complete the challenge okay? And guess what, knowing you, you’ll do great!”

Steve flopped down on the bed, shrinking into himself and putting his face into his hands. “I knew my grandfather was trying to kill me. I bet he’s like, ‘Oh ho ho, let’s put him in the ceremony. That way he can die without it being on anyone’s conscious.’ Acting like I’m not the fucking runt.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, I know that’s not your voice I hear dishing out that horrible language,” came his mother’s stern voice. Steve jumped in surprise and watched his mother enter the room, a garment bag dangling over her arm.

“Sorry mam,” he grumbled. Bucky stood to the side and watched as Mrs. Rogers went to the bed and laid the garment bag down.

“Apology accepted,” she smirked, unzipping the front and exposing about five outfits for Steve. Her son let out an irritated groan and she quickly shut him up. “No, none of that. You know this is an important event and you need to look the part. Especially given you’re now in the ceremony!” She looked excited, but Bucky could smell the presence of nervousness and fear. She felt the same hesitations as Steve, but she couldn’t voice them unless she wanted to discourage her son. Even so, the matter was out of her hands.

“Now, c’mon and try on these outfits. I want my son to look good for the ladies this weekend!”

 ~~

The Hunt was only a small celebration within a larger one called The Gathering. The Gathering was the annual meeting of Irish wolves to celebrate their origin, survival, and thriving heritage. It has been held for centuries, usually somewhere within Ireland, but after the Gathering of 42’, it was decided that it should be held within America. It was a safety and security issue, and Cashel had taken up the mantle of hosting the event at his mountain estate every year.

The Gathering consisted of five days of events and various festivities. The first day was dedicated to the history of Irish wolves and everything involving the lore and stories behind their origins. A huge bonfire will be erected, and everyone will gather around to listen to the elders' recount old tales, both scary and mesmerizing. Steve always loved the tales, even if he’s heard them every year. They were so inspiring and made him proud to be part of a family with so much history. They told tales of the Laignach Faelad, a tribe of wolf-men who followed under the cruel rule of Crom Cruach and demanded payment in the form of newborn babies. Or the fight between Morrigan and Cúchulainn and how the goddess shifted into a giant wolf and caused destruction in her path. The stories were also exaggerated to make them more outlandish, but they were always entertaining, and everyone listened attentively every year as if they were brand new.

The second day would be dedicated to various games, tournaments, and music. It was an all-day party that ended in a giant feast and all the alcohol anyone could dream of. There wasn’t much Steve could do on this day since it mostly required you have the strength and skills of a wolf, so he usually just cheered his cousins on as he stood off to the side.

The third was a day of rest. A day where everyone tried to get over their hangovers and compose themselves before the big ceremony. A simple dinner was held, and it was usually a peaceful affair. There might be some rowdy individuals, but most just ate their dinner and either talked about the previous day or the one to come.

The fourth day was the big ceremony: The Coming-of-Age ceremony. This is where the chosen youth come forward and participate in a challenge and upon successful completion, they will fully be recognized as adults. It was a very important event amongst the family and every young wolf must participate if they want to be accepted and respected. The ceremony started with another big feast. The participants are sat in the middle of the table and given a hearty helping of food to increase their energy. Once that is done, the elders will announce each of them and give a speech on what it means to be an Irish wolf. And then, begins The Hunt.

 ~~

Steve was brought out of his thoughts when he realized his name was being called repeatedly. He gazed up from the book in his hand (he wasn’t actively reading it anyway) and saw his father standing in the doorway. His face was a mix between nervousness and irritation, probably because he has been calling his son’s name numerous times. “Yeah?” Steve asked, curious as to why his father was here. He never came to Steve’s room. It was like a silent agreement between the two. They stayed out of each other’s way and never had to deal with each other. But here they were, staring at each other as Joseph leaned against the frame of Steve’s bedroom door, looking at Steve with a weird smirk on his face.

“I just wanted to see how my son was doing,” Joseph chuckled. Steve’s frown deepened. This was highly unusual. Joseph saw the open expression of confusion cross his son’s face and his own smirk faltered. “What, I can’t see how you are doing?”

“You never come here,” Steve shot back. Was there something he did wrong? Did his father want something from him?

Realizing that Steve was not buying the fact his father became suddenly attentive and caring, Joseph eased off the doorframe and entered the room. “I heard you are participating in The Hunt.”

“Yeah, granddad volunteered me. Apparently, he has this notion that I’d be a great candidate for it, and I need to have the “experience”,” he raised his hands and did an air-quote on the word “experience.”

Joseph shifted his feet and chuckled, “Yeah, that’s your grandfather for you. Always making decisions for himself without considering others. But you know you can opt-out of it right?” Steve closed his book, narrowing his eyes at his father.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, son, let’s be real. If you go out there, you’re going to die, and it won’t be pretty either. Your mother is already worried sick about you going into this thing without a lick of strength and skills to guide you. So, yeah, you can save yourself by opting out. It won’t hurt anyone’s feelings and I’ll make sure your grandfather knows. Okay?” He actually had the audacity to aim a smile at Steve, like he didn’t just propose that he become the ultimate coward in front of his family.

“No one has ever backed out of The Hunt before,” Steve sneered.

“I know, I know, but listen. It won’t be that problematic. I’ll talk to the elders; your granddad and I’ll make sure you catch no slack from it. Everyone will understand why you want to opt-out.”

“So, you want me to…to become a damn coward?! To become the only person in the entire Rogers family, no scratch that. In the entire history of Irish wolves, to not participate in The Hunt? Really? You really think I want that on my name along with the fact I’m a literal runt?!” His voice raised at his father because he couldn’t believe his father would try to talk him out of something so important. Now, don’t get him wrong, Steve didn’t want to participate in the ceremony to begin with, but he’d have to at some point. So, he wanted to go ahead and get it out the way, hoping that luck was on his side and he wouldn’t die in the process. But he didn’t think his father’s hatred for him was deep enough to talk Steve out of finally being seen as something more than a stain on the family. No, Joseph didn’t want to be seen as the man who had an embarrassment for a son. He’d rather his son live his life silently as a runt than go out and get himself humiliated and killed during such an important event. It would only solidify the fact that he might not be a great heir to inherit the Rogers throne. He’d be the man who carried the weakest genes.

“I didn’t come here to start a fight, Steve. I’m only trying to protect you,” he began but was immediately cut off.

“You came here to protect your image. Not once have you shown any concern for me. No, you only care about what I’d make you look like if I participated in The Hunt. Well, sorry, Dad, I’m going to be in The Hunt and if I die, so be it.”

Joseph’s eyes flared a bright, blinding blue, his anger clear across his face. “You are a selfish child! And I don’t need you to solidify my place as a family heir anyway because your grandfather has already made it known that he will announce an heir to the family this weekend. And since your uncles have no knowledge of any of the business that goes on with the family, guess who is left to lead? ME.”

“Oh great! An ego booster that you don’t need.”

“I will not be disrespected by some child who can’t even breathe straight half the time. Especially one who is willing to put their mother through the pain of losing a child!”

“Is it comparable to the pain you put her through when you fuck around with other women?” The slap didn’t register to Steve until his face was already turned towards the other wall. The sting of his cheek followed soon after and he could already feel it swelling. When he turned his head back forwards, he saw his father standing over him, eyes blazing with sweltering anger. His hand was still raised, and his breathing was coming out more raggedly as if he had just run a mile. Steve glared right back at him, hoping his face was showing the same level of hatred.

“Sir, Mr. Cashel has requested you to be at his mansion as soon as possible. He’s looking to speak with you on some of the plans for the weekend,” Bucky piped in, face stoic and composed. Joseph, hearing the man’s voice, jumped back from Steve and straightened himself out.

“Ah, yes. I’ll be there shortly,” and with that, he hurried from the room. Bucky watched the man leave, waiting until he was around a corner before entering Steve’s room and shutting the door. He quickly went to the bathroom and prepared a warm towelette covered in water and rubbing alcohol. Steve silently took it and placed it on his cheek.

They sat in silence for a good minute, listening to the sounds of cars as they passed by the front of the house. “How much did you hear?” Steve eventually asked, eyes aimed at the window.

“Enough,” Bucky supplied, sounding grim.

“Do you think I’m in the wrong?” Steve turned to look this time. Bucky’s face softened and his head slowly shook from side to side.

“No…You have every right to do it,” Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, aiming a small smile at Steve. “Plus, you have that determined look. Even if I tell you no, you’ll still do it anyway.”

“You’re damn right,” Steve grumbled. “I’ll show them all I can do it. Even if it does kill me.”

 ~~

Things with Joseph did not get resolved by the time the weekend started. Sarah, who was ignorant of the exact reason why her boys were acting strange, tried to ease the tension with conversation and excited talk about the events to come. But it did nothing but make the long drive up to the mountains more awkward. She had given up three-fourths of the way and they all just sat quietly as the radio droned on.

When they reached Cashel’s mountain estate, they saw that there were already quite a few people already there. Eight cars were neatly parked in a line towards the edge of the lot and Steve recognized two to belong to his Uncles Brennan and Aiden. Joseph must have recognized them too because he was currently cursing under his breath.

Everyone in the family knew that Joseph was not liked by his uncles, Cashel’s brothers. And while Steve didn’t know the exact details of what caused the dissonance, he faintly heard that his father had said the wrong thing at the wrong time and has been on their hate list since then. Add that to the fact they thought of him as a lowly individual and constantly berated him whenever things went to hell. If they thought that bad of him now, wait until they heard he was being considered as the next leader. Steve can already imagine the looks of disapproval and distaste.

Thankfully, Steve and his mother never had an issue with Cashel’s brothers. If anything, they adored Sarah and Steve and wondered how both of them ended up stuck with Joseph for a husband and a father. It was hilarious and they made Joseph the butt of their jokes whenever he came around. And while Sarah tried to defend him, Steve always laughed along and agreed with half the shit they said. Mainly because it was true.

They climbed out of the car and walked towards the front of the mansion, already consumed by its great shadow. The large wooden front door was opened to reveal Cashel, who looked down upon them with a huge smile and a glass of wine in his right hand. “Son! Daughter-in-law! Grandson! Welcome!” he cried. Deeper within the mansion, music could be heard, and someone’s laughter cut through.

“Hello, father,” Joseph uttered as he crossed the threshold. He bypassed Cashel’s open arms and made his way further inside. However, it was noted the way he looked around as if looking for someone. Or maybe trying to hide from a specific pair of individuals.

Sarah, on the other hand, walked into her father-in-law’s open arms and hugged him. She smiled brightly and started giving compliments to the Cashel about the house and how she was looking forward to another year of enjoyment. Cashel thanked her and eased her inside. But he paused and looked back at Steve. Steve stood just outside the door and looked up at his grandfather’s face. The man’s merry smile was replaced with something darker, more mischievous. As if he was hiding a secret that only he knew.

“And hello Steven,” the man grinned, making Steve suddenly uncomfortable.

“Hey, granddad,” he muttered.

“Are you excited about this weekend?” The smile was gone, replaced by his signature intense stare.

“I don’t know if I’ll do good. I mean, I’m not really cut out for…The Hunt, or anything. I don’t want to disappoint you or the family,” Steve gulped, hating he was showing any slight weakness in front of Cashel. But what he didn’t expect was his grandfather’s firm grip on his shoulder, pulling him into the mansion and leading him through the hallway towards the music.

“Don’t worry Steven. I believe you are fully capable of completing the ceremony. And hell, you might even surprise us.” Steve looked up at his grandfather’s face, trying to read the man, but there was nothing but a knowing smile. And before he could inquire the man about what he said, he was called away.

Previous Chapter <-- ---> Next Chapter 

Taglist: 

@mygirlrenee​

@sunlightandkisses​

chatzy au log with @alessafalling, @bumblingbrujo, @cassiegermaine, @ephrampettaline, @isadelavega, and @joeyvoeman

The car was parked a little ways down the block and across the street from the designated halfway house as to not be obvious, but still close enough to keep an eye on everything. Everything about this exchange was planned down to the last moment. Admittedly, with Joey at her side Cassie was a bit out of her element. She had wanted to make the Clair de Lune transfer a bit more face to face. Legitimate, if one were to stretch the definition. But Ephram clearly had other ideas. She sighed heavily, resting her cheek against the car window, eyes still trained on the building, "We aren't supposed to go till a light flickers in the upper right room."

Joey sat in the driver's seat of the car leaning against the wheel, and he took the opportunity to steal a few glances at Cassie's profile as she gazed on at the house in the distance. "I know," he muttered. Not condescending in any way. He knew repeating the plan was a valid way to pass the time. "And once we see it we pull in back to unload." He sighed, snatching his flat cap off his head and scratching his short hair for a moment. "How have you been, Cassie? It's been a while since we've been..." he didn't finish the sentence, letting it hang in the air like humidity weighing down on them.

"Right." Cassie murmured. It was an akward close space for the two of them, but she was happy to stew in the strained silence for the good of business. Of course, Joey couldn't resist, and it's not like Cassie could right out ignore him. She glanced to the tall man slouched in the drivers seat and gave half a grin. "Yeah. Don't think for a moment that is unintentional. Though I feel like Ephram is punishing me, more than you." Her gaze dropped to Joey's discarded hat, "Not a punishment. It's..." Cassie quickly corrected, sneering slightly, "Not business. Come on Joey, spare me till the guns are moved."

Joey nodded slowly, gripping his hat in his hand a bit tighter than he'd meant to, wrinkling the fabric under the pressure. "'Course," he muttered, completely ignoring her correction in his mind. She saw him as a punishment. That made sense. Seeing her felt like punishment to him. Ephram sure knew how to get under the skin of those around him. Turn the thumbscrews tighter as his victims just bit back their screams, smiled, and said 'yes sir'. "Till the guns are moved. Right. Until you move the finish line again." His tone was a bit more biting. They had nothing to do but stew as they waited, and Joey couldn't help his feelings boiling over a bit.

His frustration was possibly the most palpable thing in the car, and while Cassie was well aware it could quickly turn into rage, she wasn't the least bit concerned. Growing up in the Kingfisher household had well dessensitized her to tempers of almost every degree. Still, it didn't mean she wanted the job to prolong any more than necessary, and she caught the bite of Joey's comment as quickly as he threw it. "Someone has to draw the line in everything." Cassie's jaw clenched, and she sat up squinting more intensely at the designated window, "What's taking so damn long?" 

She glanced at her pocket watch again. Her other hand lingered on the car door, she was moments away from doing things her way.

Joey pursed his lips, shoving his hat back on his head. "You're real good at it too," he grumbled to himself. He tried to let the feeling go, but it lingered. It always lingered. To have had her and lost her would always weigh on his mind. But she was partially right, they needed to focus. "What are you thinking?" he asked, eye on her hand on the car door, his tone clear his mind was on the job again.

"I don't...know." Cassie whispered. It's not like she expected Clair de Lune to go south on them. Ruby had always been a solid contact. Unless something else had gone wrong inside, which was always plausible with a halfway house. "Take the car to the back." Cassie instructed him, opening the car door and stepping out. "We're doing this now before the window closes. Be careful. Maybe the cops are sniffing around but, I'm going through the front for better coverage." She shut the door before Joey had a chance to interject, and waved him off. She stuck her hands in her coat and started down the sidewalk. 

She took her time, eyes scanning the area with acute observation. For the most part, the streets were empty, and Cassie gripped the hand rail next to the porch steps to enter Clair de Lune when she felt the cold metal of a gun press into the small of her back. "Let's go Ms. Kingfisher. And no one gets hurt." Cassie shook her head, glancing at her dark blue heels. "I'm meeting a friend." 

The raspy voice chuckled, "We just wanna talk business."

Essie had made the call. She knew the consequences. Hand pressed to her shoulder around the area of where her collarbone ended she stumbles down the street. Passing by a parked car, but she didn't register the inhabitants, too focused on getting to where she was going. She knew the half way house was safe, would be safe with the right kind of cash anyway. Trying to act as casual as possible she pulls her coat around herself, hand still pressed to the wound in her shoulder she tried to walk a little straighter into the establishment. She bought a room for three times it's price to ensure discretion and waited by the front desk for a few requested items she might need to get fixed up.

Miguel had an understanding with the woman who owned the half-way house - he would sometimes check the girls who worked there without a fee, which helped keep her in business - with more of a profit, and healthier gals. And that meant that she would look the other way when other people used the house to meet up with the doctor on a more secretive basis. Miguel wondered, a lot, how his life had gotten so complex. He walked through the house, said hello to some of the residents and regulars. And went looking for whoever was bleeding. Eventually he found his way into a little room with a woman he recognized as the arms dealer, another not quite affiliated troublemaker, like his brother. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked as he set his black bag down and opened it up.

Essie sat on the bed with her spine hunched double. Not quite the posture of a lady, this being the image she usually tried her best to portray when not conducting business. The hint of tears in her eyes were covered by the intense look of anger in them. "Seven point five millimetre shot in my left shoulder." she tells the doctor. "No exit wound." she adds with a cringe as she shifts her shoulder looking up at him.

No exit, that made things interesting at least. Miguel sighed. "Well... Faye isn't going to be thrilled about this. Lay down on your back, on the floor." He got out his scalpel and his forceps and threw them in a disinfecting bath. Then he got out a strip of leather and handed it to Essie. "You're going to want to bit down on that when the time comes." 

Ephram tapped his cigarette into the cut-glass ashtray he'd set next to him on the narrow bed, not overly mindful of keeping the sheets un-ashed as he waited for Isa. His head was still ticking, calculating the way that the weapons handover had gone down -- dwelling on Freddie Watts' involvement and what was in it for the other gangster boss. The past few days had rekindled their friendship, something that Ephram wasn't (for all his hardened heart) entirely immune to, but at the same time ... something he could ill-afford, at this precarious juncture in the Kingfisher family's establishment as the head of the Slap Jacks.

He raised his eyes as the door to the room opened, silent, waiting for Isa to speak first. A cruel greeting, to be sure -- it would plummet her immediately into wondering if she'd fallen into disfavour -- but an impulse Ephram indulged himself in, for the moment.

Isa headed for her room with tea in her hands. She didn't expect anyone for several hours so her plan was to get a bit of rest before one of her regulars showed up at the usual time. When she walked into her room, however, it wasn't empty as she'd expected it to be, instead Ephram was sitting on her bed, smoking and Isa stopped in the doorway for a second in surprise. He wasn't saying anything and it only took Isa a couple of seconds to start worrying that something happened, something that came back to haunt her now. She shut the door behind her swiftly and without a sound, walking over to the desk to place her mug down, trying to mask her discomfort. "Didn't expect you here tonight, Ephram."

Ephram hummed, a low thrum in his throat as he watched Isa attempt to act as if his presence wasn't a concern. "That's the thing about us bad pennies," he murmured, "--we always turn up." He took a drag, saying tightly through the smoke filtering into his lungs, "Don't let me keep you from enjoying your tea. I want an update on where you're at with Councilor Brindle, is all, Isa. Did he tell you if there have been any competing bids for the government charter for brandy shipping, or is Kingfisher still the leading tender?" 

It was a huge prospective deal, and one that the old man had never shown interest in; it was Ephram and Cassie who wanted to mix legitimate business in with the jobs under the counter. Brindle was a lech, but he was also canny, and Ephram wasn't about to assume that merely throwing a beautiful prostitute at the man would eke information out of him. No, he'd chosen somebody clever, too; somebody who could act, somebody who could think on her feet.

Isa hesitated for a moment, not wanting to pick the tea back up just to not seem like she was doing what Ephram said, but at the same time, at least it gave her something to do with her hands, so she ended up picking it back up as she leaned against the table. "He's not easy to get anything out of, Ephram. Most of the time he just complains about his wife and barely talks about anything relating to his work." She felt like she needed to explain why she hasn't gotten all the information needed yet. She needed the money she got from the Slap Jacks, she needed to make sure Ephram didn't think she wasn't capable of getting the information he needed. "I did find out that there are other bids, I think at least one of them is better than yours, but I couldn't get it out of him yet who the bid was from."

Ephram grunted thoughtfully. "Not bad," he said, a verbal pat on the head to let Isa know she wasn't in the doghouse. "I can follow that for the time being." Kingfisher wouldn't revise their bid unasked -- it would do them no good to seem overeager -- but Cassie could start putting out feelers from an accounting side of things. There weren't so many shipping companies in Soapham with the vessels and manpower to handle this sort of big contract. 

Screwing his cigarette into the corner of his mouth, Ephram took a folded wad of bills from his vest pocket, removing the silver money clip and beginning to strap off dollarpound notes with sharp, quick motions. "How's that mother of yours in the country, eh? The one with the sick cow and the ailing hip?" The mother and the cow and the bloody hip could be a complete fiction, for all Ephram knew; but he didn't much care about that. He appreciated people who put some creativity into trying to ootch a little more out of their boss's billfold into their own, especially when they did it with such flair as Isa did. 

Holding out a slightly thicker crease of bills than was strictly warranted, Ephram waited for Isa to approach to take the money and took her hand when she did, pressing the folded paper into her palm. "Take your dress off," he said. "Only the dress." 

Essie grimaces as she stands up and shifts painfully onto the ground, first sitting and gathering her dress around her knees before putting one arm back to ease herself down. Not an easy task with the other hand still holding her shoulder, her back hitting the ground with a little force. She stares right back at the man, taking the leather and holding it simply in her hand for the time being. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."

Miguel looked down at her, a sympathetic sadness in his eyes. How had she gotten into this business? And how many people could he convince to change their ways? "Of course. It's my calling. I come when people need me." He shook his head. If only he had ever learned to say no. Oh well, he needed the cash, who didn't? Was that the only thing that lead people astray like this? He held Essie's good hand with one of his, held it tight. And then he doused her wound in the disinfectant. It burned less than previous iterations, but there was still a bite to it.

Essie recognised what she thought was sympathy in his eyes and she couldn't help but speak. "I got shot but I'm not delicate." she snaps. Steeling her face she moves to stare blandly at the ceiling, however her eyes show her true emotion, pain mixed with the same anger than she'd retained from before. That facade broke when she felt the sting of the disinfectant. "Fuck." she snaps, her fingers closing tightly around his hand, with almost too much force. "Warn a person."

Miguel cleared his throat. "That was just the start, and it's nothing compared to what's next. I'd put the strap in now if I were you." Miguel had been on the front, that was where he was good, field medicine. Doing what he could when he could, and cutting his losses when he had to.

Essie stews for a moment just staring back at the man before closing her eyes and shifting to put the leather in her mouth. "Warnings, at least let me know when you're going to do something so I can be ready." she requests. Teeth clamping down on the leather she opens her eyes again. This time watching his hands.

Miguel nodded once Essie's eyes were open. Then he took his scalpel and his forceps and dug into her shoulder. He tried to do as little damage as possible, but it was hard when the flesh was already inflamed. Not getting the bullet out would be worse. The chance of infection would be high. So he kept going, until his hands came back bloody, a big piece of shrapnel in his grasp. He poured more disinfectant in the wound and let it soak before he got out the needle, driver, and thread. "Alright. Just a couple stitches to keep it closed." There would be a puckered scar, but she would live. She would need water and rest, but the halfway house could provide those.

Essie keeps her jaw tense so as not to make any noise. It's difficult. The entire process excruciating but she keeps her eyes locked on the process taking place on her shoulder. She focuses on hand movements and after the bullet is out she lets her eyes follow it as something to hold onto. Tears leak out the corners of her eyes unable to stop them, unable to wipe them away either as they trail down the sides of her face. "Just do it fast." she says muffled around the leather in her mouth.

The stitches took no time at all. One, two, and knot. Miguel wiped at her wound and squeezed her arm. "All done. Drink a lot of liquids and rest. You need it. I'll clean up."

Essie sits up slowly. A hand moving up to hover over the stitches in her arm changing direction last second to instead tug on her blood soaked clothing. The hole in her dress causing her to grimace, but able to ignore the pain now that she wasn't so worried about blood loss. "How much?" she asks the doctor. "For your services and your silence?"

Miguel sighed. He hated this part. "This covers my time and supplies." He wrote a number on his pad and left it on the nightstand. "You don't have to pay extra for silence." He started rolling up the carpet, it was thoroughly ruined. But it was easier to replace the rug than get the stains out of the wood floor.

Essie eyes the doctor and glances at the price. "Who are you loyal to?" she asks him. Making to stand up and out of his way. Pleased that she would not have to do the cleanup and that this certain job he would do without being asked. Shrugging her coat back on with slowed movements she watched him move around the room. "I won't be staying here though."

"The Hippocratic Oath," Miguel grumbled. "I help everyone. I don't have loyalty to any one family." He hefted the rug over his shoulder and started out of the room. "Wherever you do it, Essie. Be safe."

Joey opened his mouth to protest but Cassie was already gone before he could stop her. He knew not to argue with her in most cases, and she'd do what she wanted even if he had, but he also knew it was his job to protect her during this hand off. Still, he did as he was told, pulling off and heading around the block to the alley at the back of he large house. He parked and got out, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the car to wait for Cassie to come out the back so he could start unloading. But minutes ticked by and the tobacco burned down to the filter on two different cigarettes before he started to sweat a bit. But he trusted her, so he waited.

Isa felt the relief wash over her that she was still in, only nodded though. Playing it cool and all of that. “I’m going to get the names,” she said firmly. She needed the money, yes, but there was a small part of her that enjoyed the challenge. It was definitely better, made it a lot more bearable to have something to pay attention while somebody she did not feel any kind of desire for was in her bed. 

There was a new glint in her eyes when Ephram pulled out the dollarpounds, placing the mug back onto the table. “The hip is still ailing, the cow died about a week ago,” she gave the reply to his question that was mostly fiction. Her mother did live on the country, but her hip was just fine and they never had cows. She walked over to Ephram slowly and took the bills. “Thank you,” she said and before she did anything else, she took the money and put it into the drawer of her table. She’d hide it later with the rest, but for now, it made her feel better to not have it out in the open. 

And then she undid her dress and let it drop around her legs, stepping out of it and walking back to Ephram as she turned her brain over to work mode. “Where do you want me?” she asked, her fingers toying with his clothing, looking up at him with a question in her eyes whether he wanted her to undress him or not.

"I want you," Ephram said, letting his fingers trail along her silken slip with his callouses catching and pulling, "exactly where you are." He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, the paper coming apart in a twirl of tobacco, and put the side of his face against Isa's stomach, breathing in deep. "Brindle needs to think that you're loyal to him," Ephram told her, wrapping his arm around Isa's thighs, just under the lush curve of her backside. "He's not foolish, but he's arrogant. Be impressed by everything he tells you, even if it's a particularly prodigious piss he took that morning." Ephram breathed a damp circle against the silk, tugging it up until his lips were brushing skin.

Skull Boys tended to be ex-fighters, ex-military, ex-whatever sort of man had plenty of brawn and nowhere to expend it anymore. The one who marched Cassie down the alley beside Clair de Lune and into a damp, deep alcove between two buildings was clearly of the first sort, from his missing teeth and cauliflower ear. "Thinking up taking work as a whore now that daddy's kicked the bucket, Miss Kingfisher?" he leered, using the gun to wave Cassie over to a few wooden crates where he indicated she should sit. He kept himself angled to see if anybody should pass by the alcove, continuing, "Skull Boys hears that you've been seen taking meetings with your brother. Now we know that Kingfisher's not about to hand business matters over to some broad with two brats, but that don't mean you're not important, does it."

Cassie walked lightly down the alleyway, stealing a few quick glances to the Skull Boy crook that guided her until she was met with the boxes and signaled to take a seat. The mention of whoring only had her chuckling for a moment and she smoothed her coat as she followed directions and sat patciently. "I told you. I was meeting a friend. You've seen me with my brother? Than why the hell would I waste my time on prostitiion." She clicked her tongue in disapproval at the stupidity of the idea and crossed her ankles. "What do you want? The longer you keep me, the harder Slap Jacks will come down on your sorry ass."

The boxer sneered, "Oh yeah? What kind of friend does a fancy lady like you have at a place like this wot shits out reprobates of all types day and night? Run that mouth all you want, Miss, it won't change your situation any. Skull Boys could use Slap Jacks as toothpicks if we had a mind to. This right here? Is a courtesy." He moved to the edge of the alcove, keeping an eye on Cassie as he took a quick glance around. "Right, look sharp and reconsider answering our questions, if you want to keep all your pretty teeth." The boxer flattened himself against the wall to allow a woman into the alcove, as small as Cassie herself but with a fluffy cloud of bleached-blonde hair under a wide-brimmed dark hat. 

"That's my business." Cassie told the boxer calmly only just barely starting to sweat when the man threatened her directly. The fact of the matter was, she wasn't armed. If she had been, she was sloppily trained at best. So she didn't really understand the Skull Boys angle here, unless they were lower than dirt and simply didn't care. "Ask your questions, the important ones, instead of playing around." Cassie practically commanded of the boxer, but then it all became clear as another set of heels clicked on the cobblestones.

The blonde woman walked up to Cassie and tapped the box Cassie was sitting on with her skull-topped cane. "Be straight with me, bitch," the woman said in a tone as sweet as if she was inviting Cassie to tea. "You know as well as I do that it's the female of the species that's deadlier, hmm? And I've always wanted a little girl and boy of my very own. Bang bang, you're dead." The woman smiled, fingers held like cap guns.

Isa wanted to point out that Ephram wasn't saying anything she didn't know already. That was what her job entailed, whether she was trying to get information out of somebody or just making them believe they were the best fuck of her life despite being a paying customer. It's what kept them coming back. Feeling like they were amazing, feeling like they were listened to, when their wives, their girlfriends, their sidepieces, sometimes their mothers weren't doing the same. She ran her fingers through his hair, playing with a lock of his, letting him guide what would happen for now. 

"Yeah, I can do that," Isa said, sounding completely genuine, as if she's never thought about this before, as if Ephram himself came up with the most brilliant idea ever. Whether he realized she was doing the same thing with him he was suggesting her to do on Brindle, she didn't care. "He talks a lot, you know. Complains mostly, but it goes on and on for a long time. But I can definitely act like it's the most interesting thing I've ever heard."

Ephram, truthfully, wasn't considering that at all, taking at face value that Isa had found his somewhat redundant orders as completely fresh and new. It was the scent that wafted from her silken underthings that he was more focused on, the shift of her belly as she breathed and spoke, the feel of her fingers in his hair. "That's enough about Brindle," he said abruptly, looking up at her with his hands tightening on her custard-smooth thighs. That was enough about government contracts, and extorting information, and Slap Jacks, and even fucking Kingfisher. 

Ephram reached up to pull Isa down, rising slightly from the bed so that he could kiss her hot and hard with his hand tangling in the dark hair that spilled over the nape of her neck. "Undo my trousers. I want you riding me, Isa, you got your fucking money -- give me something better than you give that bastard Brindle." A corner of his lip twitched up in a grimace, hand in her hair clenching.

This boxer wasn't the man in charge. He couldn't possibly be. Cassie stared at the woman in the widebrimmed hat, taking in her words and only flinching when she raised her fingers like...pop guns. Cassie got the message loud and clear. That was a crossed line. "Let's play straight then. What business do the Skull Boys want with Kingfisher? I was overseeing firearm delivery for my brother. That's all I have."

The woman practically purred, opening the dark mink coat she wore and letting it hang open over her gown, dripping with jet beads. "See, Bosco? I knew if we just snatched up a lady, we'd get some answers instead of the runaround. Eminently more reasonable than you barrels of testosterone and ..." She reached over to drag one manicured fingernail down Bosco's chest, "...other things." 

Turning her attention back to Cassie, she said, "We haven't been introduced, how ditzy of me. My name's Petal Popovitch. Nice to do business with you, Cassie Kingfisher." She sat on one of the other wooden crates, crossing her legs and lighting a cigarillo. "Now, about this firearm delivery. I'm not really interested in your firearm delivery -- I'm more concerned about the other party involved." Petal directed a level stare at Cassie. "You know who I'm talking about, don't you."

Cassie watched Petal carefully as she took the seat next to her, lifting a thumb to chew the nail down to the nub with anxiety. "Freddie Watts?" She spoke, mostly to clarify that this was who The Skull Boys were after. The thing was, Freddie wasn't family. She'd rat on a potential business partner with the drop of a hat, especially if her kids were put at risk. Ephram would forgive her. "You have to tell me if he has a golden dick, or something." Cassie laughed bitterly. "Aside from the frocks, I simply don't see the appeal. Anyways." She shrugged that curiosity about Freddie away, "What do you want to do with Watts? I'm not his keeper."

Petal threw back her head in a laugh, saying, "It doesn't matter to me, darling, if he has a gold dick or three dicks or no dick at all. It's Watts' sparkly fingers and the promise of access to more jewels that entices me." Puffing on her slim cigar, Petal said, "--he hasn't offered to share that side of the business with Slap Jacks? Huh." 

She shook her head. "Greedy boy. But this does change the relationship between you and me, I'm afraid." Petal gave a regretful sigh. "If you've got nothing on Watts and nothing interesting to do with Jacks, then your only value is as a hostage. You've been one before, I assume? Growing up the extra, and all. The spare imitation Kingfisher."

Essie crosses her arms as the doctor leaves. She'll find a way to slip a little extra his way, he's good at his job and she appreciates his discretion. Essie tucks her coat further around herself and heads for the door. She heads down the halls and out the back door. Pausing in the threshold looking at a stationary car with a figure in it. In the wake of a discussion gone bad she's weary, her fingers tucks into her coat and over the handle of a gun. One of many she's always got on her person. Squinting into the windshield of the car she recognises the face.

Joey saw a somewhat familiar face exiting the house and sighed with relief, almost kicking off the car as he flicked his fifth cigarette in a row away. “Ms Caird,” he began as he jogged up to her. “Did you see Ms Kingfisher in there?”

Essie moves her hands away from her firearms and pulls her coat over her blood soaked dress. "Ms Kingfisher? No I haven't. Did you drop her off?" Essie wonders still holding the door open and looking back down the hall. "I walked the place just now, no sight of her."

Joey grimaces at Essie's answer. "Shit," he grumbles, panic setting in. This was bad on so many angles. If anything bad happened to Cassie, he'd kill whoever was responsible. But also he lost Ephram's sister, and that could result in him being dead before he had a chance to even kill a house fly. And on top of it all, he had this shipment he couldn't leave alone. "Look, I think we've got a situation on our hands. Cassie was supposed to go in front and arrange for the shipment drop off, but if she never made it in..." God, his stomach hurt. "I've gotta look for her, but I can't leave the car alone."

Isa kissed him back hard and strong, her fingers in his hair slipping down to his neck and pulling him close as if all she wanted to do was kiss him, as if she's been waiting for this, needing this to happen since the first moment she walked into her room and saw him on her bed. Her fingers worked his trousers, opening it quickly just enough for his cock to be out on the open, her fingers working it to get it ready before she quickly slipped out of her undergarment and straddled Ephram, sinking down onto him. "You feel so good, so filling in me," she breathed against his ears, husky and sulky, like she's never had better before, while she started to move on him.

Ephram knew, logically, that this was as much a pretence as the performance at the old man's gravesite. And strangely, that made the encounter eminently more satisfying. A lie agreed upon was more honest in its own way than actual feelings that required cold, constant vivisection to make sure nothing was being missed. He groaned as Isa pushed herself onto his cock with the skill required of her profession, his hands spanning her waist and rucking up her slip as her voice, just as silken as the heat inside her, started to drip honeyed words. Not new ones, but dammit -- gangland boss Ephram might be, but he was a man as well. And he liked to hear how good he fucked just as much as the next.

Growling, he turned them and shoved Isa down on the bed, gripping her thigh to tug her leg up higher as he drove into her. The glass ashtray spilled its contents onto the sheets and smeared their clothes, the parts of their skin that were exposed, as Ephram thrust over and over. "Say it again," he demanded, his dark-blown eyes meeting hers in the command. "How much you want this. How good it feels." He rolled his hips forward, then held still, panting. "No," Ephram said, changing his mind as he looked down at Isa. "Tell me something new. Tell me something true. Do that for me, Isa."

Cassie raised her brows at the mention of Freddie having hand in jewels. No, that wasn't information she knew. Ephram? Maybe. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. He's almost as slick as they come." Cassie tried not to look concerned at the mention of changed relationship. What did that mean? This Petal Popovitch clearly enjoyed teasing and rousing. "You want Watts? You can have him. He's dirty. But I'm honestly a little offended Petal." Cassie placed a hand over her heart, "You take me, jerk me around, and assume I'm a throw away nobody?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Why waste the energy? This is the kind of business model my father couldn't stand. The games. From one woman to another," Cassie stared at her. "You might wanna look a little deeper."

"Oooooh!" Petal wriggled on her crate seat, leaving her cigarillo in her mouth for a moment to clap in delight. "That's a relief, I tell you, Cassie, a real honest relief. Not about Watts, that can be filed under Other Business for now. But you!" Petal held out her hands, gesturing at Cassie, before taking her little cigar from her lips. "For a moment there I was prepared to be disappointed. I know what it's like, after all, being--" she made a face, rolling her eyes, "the girl in the gang. Nobody takes you seriously!" 

Petal made a moue of commiseration, until something occurred to her and she cocked her head. "Your brother does, though, doesn't he? That's the little deeper part of it, hmmm?" She gave a sly grin, twirling her cigarillo in Cassie's direction. "You two scamps are trying to pull something over on us all. Go on, tell me! You've all but admitted it already."

Essie purses her lips at the man. "A shipment of what?" she asks seriously. "I'll stay here if you tell me. Depending on the cargo. You should inform your...organisation as quickly as you can before you go looking." she suggests. "Backup on the way is always a good thing. And let them know who's with the shipment."

"Your guns," Joey hissed quietly. The cargo wasn't high on his priority list any more. But knowing someone that cared about it would watch over it was comforting, at least to save his ass. "Get in," he said, gesturing she round the car. "I don't have time to let anyone know. Every second counts." Once she was inside, he drove a little way down the alley, going slow and glancing down each adjoining alleyway down the block. That's when he saw a car blocking one of them, and a group of people further down. "Shit, shit, shit...."

Bosco made a hupping sound from the mouth of the alcove. "Company on the way, boss," he said, raising the gun he was holding. Petal looked put out, but rallied quickly. "Looks like you and me are going for a ride, toots," she said, standing and doing up her mink again, taking Cassie by the elbow in a startlingly strong grip. "Shift it, and quick."

Cassie shook her head with a sigh, "Aw Petal, the camaraderie. It's sweet." But a part of Cassie wanted to bash the woman's face in, or at least have one of the Slap Jacks do it. For threatening her kids. She wouldn't forget that. "Unfortunately the Kingfisher's have very little interest in you and your bucks. I'm sorry to inform you." Cassie tilted her chin up slightly, "So unless you have something to offer-" But Cassie's digs and cuts at the other mob boss was cut short when the boxer came back, and Petal was pulling her towards a car for escape. "And here come the revelry. What was that Petal? Five minutes tops?"

Essie glanced at the car and nods once. Her own guns, well. Not hers any longer as they'd been signed over. Getting into the car with a man heavily integrated with a gang like the slap jacks wasn't high on her list of things to do. But at that moment she wanted to affiliate with them, she might have just been stitched up but perhaps this would aid her business in the long run. Or at least if this guy got himself killed she could drive the shipment back to Watts. Pulling one of her guns as they drive she spots what Joey does. "Your call, but I warn you, I'm not looking for as much trouble as you are."

Joey jumped out of the car like a jackrabbit, digging into his waistband for his revolver. “Stay here,” he says to Essie. No need to get her too involved in this, as she made clear. Moving into the alley, he saw a glimpse of Cassie being pushed into a car by a woman, before that car sped away too quick for Joey to even aim his gun at the tires. There were two men heading toward him though, trying to get to the car close to the opening of the alley. Without hesitation, Joey aimed and shot one of them in the head, the body slumping to the cobblestone in a heap. 

Joey grabbed the other man by the neck, shoving him up against the brick as he aimed his revolver at his head. He quickly reached down to unarm the man before returning a hand to his neck and squeezing slightly. “Where are they taking her?” he hissed. “WHERE ARE THEY TAKING HER?!” he then yelled before the man even had a chance to respond.

Skull Boys were loyal to a fault, and Skull Boys didn't hesitate when it came to dealing death -- either for others, or their own. The heavy who Joey grabbed didn't show any fear, even less care about the sudden violent demise of his companion, and he gave a gold-toothed smile even as he struggled for breath. "Where the boss lady takes things that she wants alterations done on em," he said, tongue lashing against his cheek with lurid suggestion.

Essie had no qualms about staying where she was, she was in absolutely no hurry to be shot at again that day. Maybe she wanted credit for helping out, but she wasn't willing to go far into danger herself for it. She recognised one of the skull boys, but the next moment his head was blown and his body had hit the pavement. Standing half out of the car she watches Joeys attempt at interrogation. "Break all his fingers." she suggests unhelpfully.

Isa was rocking on Ephram, putting her best performance forward like she did with everyone else - this was a kind of acting, just the one most people looked down on, even though it probably brought the most pleasure to the people who came to her bed, and she could tell Ephram was enjoying it. No surprise to Isa, what man didn't like to hear just how good he was, that he was fucking so good even a prostitute liked what he was doing. 

He swiftly turned them around, shoving Isa onto the bed and she opened her legs just a little wider, more inviting, while her mind momentarily wandered just how her sheets and her slip would need extra washing because of the cigarette's ash. He then asked her to tell him something true, and she pulled him down and kissed him hard instead of answering him right away, buckling her hips up against him. 

"Your lips, they are soft and inviting, but when you kiss, it's hard and demanding. I like that," she said, something that sounded like the truth, maybe because half of it was, and maybe because it wasn't something she usually said. Wasn't the kind of compliment most people wanted to hear.

Ephram gave a growl as his movements against and into Isa grew shorter and deeper, the iron bedhead clanging against the wall. He cupped her cheek with his free hand, thumb stroking her cheekbone, and said in a strangled, low voice, "--good enough," before ducking his face against her throat and coming with a cracked, stifled cry. He stayed there for a few heartbeats, catching his breath, and then raised his head to plant a firm kiss on the corner of her mouth. 

Pulling out, Ephram sat up on the side of the bed again and lit a fresh cigarette, puffing hard on it as he tucked himself away and did up his trousers. "Here," he said shortly, tugging off the amethyst cabochon he wore on his pinkie finger and tossing it onto Isa's body. "For your trouble. And the fine performance."

Isa's movements became ragged, her thurst upward getting more and more erratic, her panting getting harder as Ephram was clearly getting close to the climax, and when he dropped his face against her throat, she cried out, pretending to have come. She hasn't actually come from a client in... well, probably never, but they didn't come to her to know that. She once against ran her fingers through Ephram's hair, stroking his head while he caught her breath, still heaving as if she was trying to catch her breath too, and after he pulled away and sat up, she pushed herself up against in a sitting position and leaned against the bed frame. 

"You've got one for me too?" Isa asked nodding towards the cigarette danging from his mouth. When he threw something at her, she picked it up quickly, her heart starting to beat faster now when she realized what it was. She looked up at Ephram and then back down onto the ring. "Happy to be of service, please do come back whenever you're in need." She looked at him for a long moment in silence before she turned the conversation back onto her task. "How time sensitive is Brindle thing, Ephram? How long do I have until I need to get it all out of him?"

Ephram shut his eyes when Isa sat up, securing the ring he'd given her and turning immediately back to the topic of Brindle. Kingfisher business a tap-tap-tapping at his skull without a moment's respite, even with the taste of her eroding under the cigarette smoke at the back of his throat. He stood up, long fingers flicking a cigarette from his case; he swapped it for the one he'd just begun, using the lit cigarette to light the new one and then handing it over to Isa. "Till the end of October," he said, raking his fingers through his damp hair and one-handedly doing up the top button of his shirt. "Conservatively. If anything new arises--" 

Gunshots rang through the air outside, and Ephram reached over to Isa, hand on her shoulder urging her down lower on the bed." Stay there," he snapped, and went over to the window to peer out, his own handgun unholstered from his shoulder harness in the two steps between bed and curtains.

Joey bashed the enforcer's head against the brick behind him at the mere suggestion of the Skull Boys doing something to Cassie, pressing the barrel of the gun right between his eyes. "Don't yank my chain, asshole. Tell me the truth or you die like your friend." At Essie's suggestion, Joey smiled a bit. "Now that's an idea." Gun still square on him, superior body weight holding him in place, Joey took his free hand and snapped two of the man's finger's in one swift motion. "TALK!"

Essie steps out of the car. Joey was trying to do an awful lot at once. Feeling at no personal danger she moves forward and puts her own gun to his head. "Focus please. Fingers. Information. Holding him to the wall." she requests of Joey, trying to lighten his load for a moment. She looks at skull boy and hums. "You can't be talking about a tailors now, speak up."

Skull Boys might be tough, but their bones broke like anybody else's. The man howled, spittle flying from his mouth at the force of the sound. "There's a dress shop!" he yowled. "That's all I know, a shop south of the river, it's all I know, the boss lady don't tell us rank and file where exactly she does her business, you know she wouldn't!" He yanked, trying to pull his hand away, and then leaned forward and sank his snaggle teeth into what meat of Joey's shoulder he could manage, eyeing Essie as if he'd lunge for her next.

Essie squinted at the man when he spoke. However the sudden movement was not lost on the young woman. She steps back as teeth dig into Joeys shoulder. Her gun shifting from the skull boys face to his crotch and she fired off a shot quickly, the look didn't sit well with her.

Joey was appreciative of Essie coming to lighten his load. He'd felt like he'd been juggling chainsaws trying to keep the man in place and be menacing at the same time. Finally, the man talked, and Joey believed him. He knew what it was like only be told the bare minimum to get the job done. Not trusted or rewarded with the details. He was ready to let the man go, honestly, until the man straight up BIT him. He stifled a cry of pain and used the hand of his gun to hammer into the side of his head. Essie's gunshot made him jump back, but even as he bled he quickly smiled as the man cried, cradling his bloody trousers on the pavement. 

"I think we're good and done with you," Joey growled, reaching down and snapping the man's neck with his own grunt at the effort. "Good shot, Ms Caird," he said as she stood again, wiping some sweat from his brow as he tried to catch his breath.

The Skull Boys heavy dropped like a sack of soaked cement -- albeit one that screamed and bled profusely -- and once Joey broke his neck, a flat, unnatural silence fell over the alleyway.

Isa slipped the ring onto her fingers for now and nodded at the deadline Ephram gave her. It would be tight, getting anything useful out of Brindle was like trying to find a sober one in a pub aside from the barkeep - practically impossible. But she'd already gotten him to talk, all she needed was to get him to that point again. Ask questions as if she was nothing but a dumb body. She took the cigarette and took a drag of it when the gunshots pierces the relative silence around them, and Isa jumped in shock and fear, but when Ephram told her to stay where she was, she didn't listen, crawling down onto the floor instead, her heart beating in her throat now. "What the hell is happening?" she hissed at Ephram.

Ephram swore viciously when he scanned the street further down from Clair de Lune and saw no outlines of any cars. There was no way that Ruby had already opened her hiding-holes for the storage of the Slap Jacks weapons shipment, which could only mean that something had gone wrong before the boarding house had seen even one of Essie Caird's guns. "Nothing good," he said roughly, and looked over at the bed, about to say something when he realized that Isa was no longer there. 

Going over to where she was half-tucked under her bed, Ephram bent down, holding the sheets up. "That's a good place to stay," he said, any traces of a person other than a cold-blooded gangster evaporating with each word. "If you hear shooting downstairs, get under the floorboards. Don't come up until an hour after everything falls silent." He looked over the bed at the door, then back down at Isa. 

For a moment it seemed like he might say something -- maybe ask her something -- but then Ephram let the sheet drop, the thump of his booted feet circling the bed and fading as he left.

Essie lowers her gun as Joey snaps the mans neck. "I'm always a good shot." she says in return. "Location. You have a location. The locals might have already called the cops about the shots this is not the place to stay any longer, not with a shipment of munitions this big. No time to load them into wherever they were going in this place and no time to waste not going to this unknown tailors." she speaks quickly. On high alert she raises her gun when she hears steps coming down the alleyway.

Joey knew she was right. He started going over the scene to make sure they hadn't left any evidence behind. "I've got to take the shipment back to the compound first. Ephram should be roped in on this." He grimaced at the thought. "You don't gotta stick with me. But thanks for the help."

Ephram came down the alleyway at a dead run, taking in the two corpses and the Slap Jacks shipment car before he reached the other two and gesturing at the deceased men with his gun. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded, aghast. "Is that our shipment? Why are you in this alley and where--" Ephram almost raised his gun in Joey's direction. 

"Where's my sister, Voeman?"

Hermanos -- Coco Villain!au

Hey guys! It’s been a while since the finale of the villain!au. Miguel is getting the care he needs and Enrique is getting some much needed rest, Ruy has been spending time with Iria on her side of the afterlife while he recuperates and everything is generally blessedly calm.

Except things never end that cleanly, not when there’s been literal decades of turmoil to repair. The Rivera family at large has been undergoing some serious upheaval. Teto and Matty is doing his best to rebrand the family charities and foundations as being separate from their now disgraced parents while Teto does most of the heavy lifting with PR and finances. 

Ruy meanwhile has been characteristically absent and trying to ignore the growingly obvious unaddressed issues that still lie between him and real happiness, instead content to distract himself with Iria’s company while he recovers.

But Teto isn’t one to leave jobs half finished, and even though he’s spent nearly the last century feuding with his younger brother, he knows this may be his only chance to try reconnecting with him, and that it’s his older sibling duty to at least try. Even if he’d rather die again.

Here’s part 1 of a 2-part special for the villain!au, it’s a dig into the two youngest Riveras and their brotherly relationship, so enjoy. The Iria and Ruy POV are written by @slusheeduck , and the Teto POV is written by me.

 Part 1

 “You know, I’m sure if we just sent flowers by mail there would actually be a higher chance of emotional repair.” Teto said, scratching the back of his head as he looked at the door of the house where his younger brother had reportedly been staying for the last couple of months.

Ever since the disaster.

“And we would have to pay triple for shipping.” Jasmine said with an ironic little smile, “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Hilarious.” Teto said, rolling his eyes, “But if I get punched in the face let the record show that this was your idea.”

“It’ll all be over in a few minutes anyway.” Jasmine said, kissing his cheek, “And we both know it’s the right thing to do.”

Teto sighed, holding her hand more tightly. Everything about this was strange, the real fresh flowers he was holding, seeing Jasmine young and alive looking again, but mostly him about to voluntarily speak to Rodrigo.

 Well. Pride was a dish best eaten quickly.

 Teto let go of his wife’s hand just long enough to rap loudly on the door.

The knock rang loud enough to be heard through the whole house. Ruy, as usual, let out a grumble of protest as he threw an arm across Iria’s lap.

“Don’t,” he mumbled against her skirt, clearly very content to keep using her lap as a pillow. “They can come back.”

He looked up just in time to catch Iria roll her eyes, though the act was softened as her fingers ran through his hair.

“You do this every time there’s a knock.”

“I just got you back, Estrella. I shouldn’t have to share you yet.”

Iria pressed her lips together, then let a breath out through her nose before she pushed his bangs back to look at him. “Look, it’s someone I expected. Please, honey, if you could be a dear for just two minutes and open the door?”

Rodrigo’s brow furrowed. “If you are the one expecting them, why would you want me to open the door?” he asked slowly. “Most of your friends on this side still look at me funny.”

Iria gave him a small, tight smile. “They’re not from this side.”

Ruy’s eyebrows rose, and his face brightened. Ah, so it must be one of his friends coming to say hello. Probably not Seba--he wouldn’t be so sneaky--but Tonio would. Or Paloma, or Cheque--Cheque would definitely be this sneaky. He pulled himself up, scrunching his face at the stiffness in his torso as he did. The majority of his injuries had fully healed, but he still wasn’t quite at one hundred percent. He really ought to talk to the person in charge of this side.

Ah, but that didn’t matter. He gave Iria a sweet, quick kiss before getting to his feet and making his way to the door. It’d be nice, seeing someone from his side. As much as he didn’t want to go back just yet, there were still some skulls he missed. So, once he reached the door, he stretched out his back, ruffled his hair, and opened the door with an excited grin.

The grin immediately died as he saw his least favorite person in the entire world on the doorstep, and, with only one spat-out profanity as a greeting, slammed the door right in Teto’s stupid face.

“Well, we tried.” Teto said, an entirely unexpected chuckle escaping him.

Ruy’s reaction had been laughably predictable, and now he was off the hook. He’d come, he’d tried, and now he could leave.

“Not yet.” Jasmine said, catching his sleeve as he turned to go and knocking on the door again.

“We’re closed.”

Iria had been sitting on the edge of her seat as Ruy went to the door, and she sighed as she heard the door slam and the snarled out snark. She’d...figured it’d go like this. And, honestly, she wasn’t all that keen on having Teto of all people here to see him. But...well, his wife had sounded surprisingly rational for a Rivera--even one that had married-in--and she’d raised a good point about the two at least making an attempt to reconcile after...everything. 

She got to her feet and made her way out to the foyer, wincing as Ruy turned and gave her a look of complete betrayal.

“You were expecting them?”

She held up her hands. “Listen, honey, I…”

“He made my life hell for twenty-three years, Rita! And that’s not even counting all the years of him judging me at the welcoming parties!”

“I know, Ruy, I know.” She stepped forward, cupping Ruy’s face and brushing her thumb against his cheek. “But...look, his wife and I talked…”

“Like she’s any better than him.”

“Listen. She said he’s...a little in shock, after everything that happened. He just wants to talk, and if things go south, both Jasmine and I will end it right away.”

Ruy’s jaw set, eyes hardening as he stared at nothing in particular over her shoulder. This was the very last thing he wanted, especially after what had happened. He didn’t want to let any Rivera into his last safety net, much less the one he’d fought with for so long.

“Ruy?”

Iria’s question was followed by another knock at the door. He grimaced, then looked down at her.

“You promise we can kick him out if he does anything awful?”

“Yes.”

Ruy huffed out a breath, then took her hand and quickly kissed the palm, though his eyes were still hard as he lifted them to look at her.

“Anything. I mean it,” he said, then let go of her hand and took a deep breath. He set his hand on the doorknob, hesitating until he felt Iria’s hand land on his shoulder. He set his face into as emotionless an expression as he could, then let out the breath as he opened the door again.

“Jasmine, he doesn’t want to see me. Let’s just leave.” Teto said, taking her hand.

“You both need this.” Jasmine said, shaking her head and resolutely refusing to let him pull her down the steps, “And Iria agrees. This is for both of you.”

“You called ahead?” Teto asked, grimacing.

“Of course I called ahead, idiot.” Jasmine said, yanking him back, “Now please stop acting like a child.”

Teto whined but dutifully stood behind her, pulling on his best disinterested face as the door opened again.

His mask nearly broke as he got his first good look at his brother.

He looked...clean.

Aside from looking alive, just like he had before he’d died, Rodrigo actually looked put together. Clean tasteful clothes, clear eyes, even his hair looked like it had been cut.

He looked uncomfortably like the Rodrigo that had lived in Mexico with them. Not the Rodrigo that had spiraled into madness, taking the family name with him. Whatever had happened to him in the last few months, it honestly looked as though he had fared the best of any of the Riveras.

And there standing behind him was the mystery woman who must have done it, Iria. He’d never heard of her before he’d started asking around a few weeks ago to track Rodrigo down. Apparently, she was some old flame of Rodrigo’s from back in New York he’d never cared to write home about. Teto had assumed she must be some tramp...but when faced with her handiwork he could already feel his respect for her rise exponentially.

“Rodrigo...” he said, keeping his face neutral as he floundered for words. “You, uh, you look good.”

Rodrigo rolled his eyes. “And you look like a cabron, as usual. Thanks for the visit, don’t come back.” He started to close the door, but Iria caught him.

“Ruy.” There was a definite note of surprise in Iria’s voice as she stopped him from shutting the door. She’d heard horror stories about Teto, certainly, but...well, she’d never seen him be actively unfriendly. With anyone.

Well, unless they deserved it.

Even so, maybe that was a better reason for them to have this talk. At the very least, she could find out what had made Ruy hate his brother so much. She looked up and gave her best ambassador smile. “Come on right inside. Let’s have our talk somewhere besides the front porch.”

Teto glanced at Jasmine.

I didn’t expect to get this far.

She raised an eyebrow back at him as she stepped into the doorway first.

Well think fast, dear. She seemed to be saying.

Teto nodded to Iria as he entered her home, which was very tastefully designed and decorated, and joined Jasmine on one of the parlor sofas that Iria had motioned them towards.

As they made their way back to the sitting room, Ruy huffed as he grabbed a poncho haphazardly draped on the stair bannister, pulling it over his head as he entered the room. He gave a cool glance toward Teto and his wife, then walked over to where Iria had sat and threw himself down beside her. While normally he would find some way to maintain contact with her, this time he simply crossed his arms beneath the poncho and sank down into his seat, sending a dark stare Teto’s way.

Iria glanced over at him, still reeling from the way he was acting, then shook her head and turned her attention back to Teto. Better to get this over quickly so she could get her normal Ruy back. “So...there was something you wanted to say? That’s why you’re here, yes?”

“I...yes.” Teto said, looking at the flowers in his lap.

Jasmine put her hand on his knee and he glanced at her gratefully. He took a steadying breath and looked at Rodrigo, who had seemingly materialized one of his ridiculous woolen ponchos out of thin air when he hadn’t been looking.

“There’s not really any way to say this easily I suppose.” Teto said, recalling the phrases he’d practiced in the mirror that morning on the off-chance that they did end up talking, “But with everything that’s happened I thought it was my responsibility to reach out to you. With...everything that’s happened...we wanted to let you know that we don’t stand with our parent’s...choices. If we’d known anything about all that we would have left the mansion much earlier.”

He leaned forward, setting the bouquet of flowers they’d brought on the coffee table between them.

“I’m really sorry for what happened Rodrigo,” he said, sitting back again, taking Jasmine’s hand in his, “None of this should have happened, I think we’re all still processing it. I know I’m not welcome here, but...I didn’t want to just leave it unsaid. I guess.”

Jasmine squeezed his hand in approval as he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He’d said what he needed to. Now he just had to weather whatever Rodrigo threw at him without lashing back at him, and then he and Jasmine would be able to escape for good.

Ruy kept his gaze fixed on Teto, jaw clenched tightly as his brother spoke. He let out a long breath through his nose once Teto finished. Clearly he thought he was doing Ruy a great favor here. What an arrogant prick.

“So….what? Am I supposed to forgive you?” he asked, acid in each word. “You only apologized for the things you didn’t do. Que generoso! What a kind brother I have, saying sorry for what other people did.” He narrowed his eyes. “Look, you may not have splintered my arm or killed a kid, but you’re just as bad as everyone else in that family. So stop pretending you have the high ground and head back to them.”

Iria stared at Ruy as he spat his response to Teto’s apology, and she quickly took his arm as she noticed the way his shoulders trembled--with anger, she realized. She pulled his hand into hers and threaded her fingers through his, swallowing as he squeezed it tightly in a silent plea to help keep him grounded. Almost immediately, she put on a cool expression as she looked up to Teto and Jasmine, ready to push them out if Teto fought back too hard.

“If you had actually listened,” Teto said, showing his teeth in a false smile, “then you would have heard that I haven’t apologized for anything, hermano. A lot of bad has been done by a lot of people, but not by me.”

It had been a while since he’d actually spoken face to face with Rodrigo, he’d forgotten just how aggravatingly thick he was. All temper, no brains. The worst part was that Teto knew he could  be intelligent if he wanted to. He just never seemed to want to.

Jasmine’s hand was still in his, but she wasn’t showing any sign of him having gone too far. Rodrigo had misconstrued what he’d said and now he was fixing it. Teto wasn’t the one being confrontational and abrasive. As usual.

A sharp, harsh laugh burst out of Ruy at Teto’s words. “Not by you! Oh, sure, of course not. You’re the model son. You’ve always done right by everyone.” He tilted his head toward Iria, but kept his gaze on Teto. “You know what his favorite nickname was for me while we were growing up, Rita? Accident. And you know who gave every new member of the family a crash course on the Rivera black sheep and what a disappointment he was? I’ll give you three guesses.”

Iria bit her lip, then squeezed Ruy’s hand to bring his attention back to her. While nothing she was seeing was making her any more keen on his brother, Ruy getting worked up would be good for exactly no one’s sake. It took one soft, “Ruy,” to get him to finally turn his attention back to her. His expression was still sharp, his body still tense, but he softened ever so slightly as he fixed his eyes on her face.

“Alright.” Teto sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “So the grand tally of my earth-shattering grievances against you are being a good son, a fight we had when I was nine years old, and having to be the one to explain why the youngest child of the family was an alcoholic addict that had drained our parent’s bank account, sullied the family name in the papers with outrageous stunts, had broken our mother’s heart, driven our father to madness, traipsed off to the United States without a second glance, left scar on my face, and left us all behind without a single phone call or letter for the three years it took him to drive himself off a bridge.”

Teto looked up at Rodrigo, surprised to realize that there was no anger inside him at that moment, just very very tightly wound exhaustion, decades of it, rising to the surface.

“So tell me Rodrigo.” he said, his voice tired and stiff, “What part of that is my fault. Where did I wrong you. Where are the lies I told. I didn’t have to slander your name Rodrigo, all I could do was try to keep your own self-sabotage from bleeding back to Mexico to stain the rest of us.”

Ruy pulled his hand away from Iria’s to point sharply at Teto. “Do not blame me for whatever happened to Papa,” he said through his teeth. “He made it very clear that I was no son of his, even before he died.” He sank back in his seat, crossing his arms as he looked off to the side. “And don’t pull the concerned son act. None of you even wanted to hear from me once I left. You probably thought my dip into the bay was the best thing that could have happened to the family.”

Now Teto was angry.

“Why does everything have to be about you?” he said, his voice rising, heat flushing through him, “Why do you always have to be so dense? Why do you always need all the attention, all the spotlight? You don’t exist in some kind of vacuum Rodrigo, your actions? They actually affected other people, I know it must sound crazy to you.

“But guess who had to do all the social damage control once you left? Matty. Guess who had to keep the family together? Coco. Guess who had to talk Mama out of her depression when she would stare at the wall for hours without moving because you’d just left and hadn’t called. Guess who had to face Papa roaming the house listlessly for days because his favorite son, who by the way was the only one who had ever been the son he wanted, had run off and gotten himself killed. Because it wasn’t you Rodrigo. It was the rest of us who had to try and find a way to hold our family together after you shattered our parents.”

Teto didn't remember getting to his feet, but he was standing now, shouting down at Rodrigo as the words spilled from his mouth, leaving an acrid burning taste behind.

“It didn’t even matter that you’d done everything possible to hurt our parents, because their golden musical child of course would be better someday, of course Rodrigo would come back, of course precious Ruy didn’t mean it and would someday return the triumphant prodigal son. You never had to do anything Rodrigo, because our parents didn’t have the sense to cut you off before you cut yourself off, because you were their only son that even mattered.”

Ruy sank back into the seat, eyes wide as Teto’s voice steadily rose and even cringing back once he got to his feet. He stayed completely still as the accusations spilled out of Teto--even if he’d wanted to get a word in edgewise, there was no way he’d be able to. He didn’t even move once Teto finished, too much in shock after hearing his ever-cool-headed brother be emotional.

Iria sat still during Teto’s accusations as well, but she quickly took Ruy’s arm again as barb after barb flew at him. Right now, it didn’t matter if what he said was true or not; it was too soon after everything that had happened to be having this sort of confrontation. “Look,” she said once Teto went quiet. “I think it’s time for you to le--”

She trailed off as Ruy let out a strange noise, and looked up at him as his head tilted back before he started to laugh. He covered his eyes as he laughed almost hysterically, shaking his head.

“Ayy, Teto, I didn’t think you could be funny,” he said as he wiped his eyes. “Me? The favorite? Que gracioso!” He shook his head again, his last few laughs turning bitter. “They didn’t mourn me. They mourned the musical son they wished they’d had. There’s a reason Papa only put up that damn first magazine cover on my grave; that was the last time I tried to get him to look, to listen to what I did. And after all that, what did he do? He sent a telegram saying ‘Sorry, Ruy, couldn’t make it’ after the debut I begged him to come to.”

He let his head fall forward for a moment, then let out another bitter laugh. “But my brother. Why can’t you be more like him, Ruy? Why can’t you be like the perfect son that we actually wanted to have? The smart one, the war hero, the one who has a lovely family and rolls over every time we ask him to?” He lifted his head to stare up at Teto, mouth in a hard line. “There was definitely a favorite son, but it wasn’t me.”

Teto stared at him, shoulders still shaking slightly from his shouting.

He tried to find any trace of sarcasm in Rodrigo’s face, any sign that he knew what he was saying was absolutely ridiculous, that he wasn’t that dumb.

But it wasn’t there. Rodrigo truly believed that he had been wronged, not only that, but that he hadn’t been the golden sunshine child of the family that had drained the life out of their parents, leaving the rest of his siblings with only shells.

There were so many things Teto could say that he found himself speechless, the words clogged up behind a barricade of emotion inside him.

“I can’t do this.” he said hoarsely, turning to Jasmine, “I, I can’t. I can’t do this one Jasmine.”

She stood, her mouth a hard line as she looked pityingly at Rodrigo. They both could see how deep this ran and neither of them knew what to say.

Ruy let his head fall back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “Wish you could’ve been there when they crossed over. You probably would’ve loved seeing that. Leti convinced me to come see them, and the looks on their faces. It was like they’d forgotten who I was, and they’d expected to see that pendejo on the front of that damn magazine--all starry-eyed and desperate for Papa’s approval.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “The very first word out of his mouth was ‘Rodrigo,’’ he said, doing his best impersonation of his father’s disappointed tone. “Like I was just some kid who’d tracked mud into the house.” He pressed his lips together and idly rubbed his cheek. “I hadn’t even done anything yet and I was still the family disappointment. Definitely wasn’t like the hero’s welcome you got.”

“So Papa missed your stupid concert. The one concert.” Teto said, the barest edge of a hiss back in his voice, “And that was the end of your world? He missed your debut concert, you knew he was a literal celebrity with a freakishly busy schedule, and that one time you couldn’t manage to get his attention, the one time you were ignored, that is what tipped you into your spiral of self-destruction? You’re even more pitiful than I thought. 

“I guess one missed concert sure is enough to erase all those hundreds of hours he spent with you on his lap learned the piano or guitar or whatever else was going to be your freakish prodigy accomplishment of the week that he could go brag to everyone about. I guess two hours of missed concert sure erases all the nights he would stay up late crowing over your scribbles on lined paper, or him constantly taking you on private outings to concerts and performances, and press conferences and parties and literally anywhere else that he could show you off to whoever would possibly listen.”

Teto squinted at Rodrigo, actual childhood hate coming back to him. “You want to talk about being ignored? Alright, let’s talk about being ignored. First of all, imagine never being called your real name, because it was a cheap copy of your father’s. Second, did you ever stop to think for one instant how much time Papa spent with me? He never took me out with him anywhere. Not once. Not once Rodrigo. I hate music. It’s never made sense to me, it gives me migraines, and that made me unlovable to Papa, all he knows is music and your blasted bones are made of it. I don’t remember a single time that he was ever interested in my projects, not a single time I had a real conversation with him about something I loved.

 “I grew up thinking that maybe if I was perfect then maybe he would love me back, I went into business because that’s what Mama did and he loved her. I hate business, but I did it anyway. And guess what, it still didn’t work. I enlisted because it was the right thing to do, and when I got back it was to a press conference, not Papa’s love. He wasn’t proud of me Rodrigo, he was proud to show me off. So don’t you dare try to tell me I was the favorite son, don’t you dare talk to me about being ignored. I did everything I could to keep from being forgotten and failed, you did everything you could to be ignored and failed even then.”

There was something wrong with his throat. It felt like it was closing up, making him choke on his words, and he was really shaking now. Something was in his eyes, he wiped at them with the back of his sleeve, wet marks left behind on the fabric.

Ruy once again froze as he stared at his brother, but this time for an entirely different reason. This was...wrong. Teto didn’t cry. Teto didn’t have emotions, and he definitely didn’t show them. He was logical, he was calm; he was the polar opposite of Ruy. And seeing him start to break down left a sick feeling in Rodrigo’s stomach. He couldn’t bring himself to move or speak for a very long moment, until finally he shook his head slowly.

 You’re...an idiot,” he breathed, eyes wide. “You had all the freedom in the world. You could have done anything. And you threw it away because you wanted his love?”

“You already had his love, why were you so eager to throw it away?” Teto said, rubbing his eyes. He felt Jasmine’s hand on his shoulder.

“Because it wasn’t worth all the effort to keep it!” The words were almost a snap, but too incredulous to keep any of the sting. “You thought he showed you off? What do you think happened on all of those concerts he brought me to? I was always goaded into playing whatever I’d been writing or even making stuff up on the spot. And I kept performing, I kept writing songs he would like so that he would keep loving me.”

Ruy sat up straight, running his hands through his hair. “Do you even remember what I was like when I went to school? Every day, every hour I was terrified of doing something Papa wouldn’t like. That I’d get that Rodrigo again like I had growing up. He liked me plenty when I did music, but everything else? I was just disappointing him over and over. 

“But I kept thinking, if I work hard, if I show him that I love music the same way he does, he won’t stop loving me. My first concerto? It’s Papa’s song. It’s everything I knew he would love. That’s why I begged him to come. That’s why I needed him to be there. Because I didn’t know what I would do if Papa decided that even my music wasn’t worth his time anymore.”

Ruy blinked, feeling his eyes sting, and he leaned forward as he looked up at Teto. “You could have gotten out from under his shadow. You could have been your own person without even trying. And you didn’t. That’s your own fault, not mine.”

“I did, Rodrigo.” Teto said, blinking hard as he looked down at him. He put an arm around Jasmine’s waist, pulling her to his side. “I cut my losses. I stopped performing for him when I got back from the war. I knew it was a losing game, but I didn't make others suffer for it. I married Jasmine, she’s my whole world, we have children and grandchildren and great and great-great grandchildren. Everything Papa did to me I made sure I never did to my children. I was in business, but I made the best of it.

“Papa rarely gives me the time of day, but I knew that family was still important, and that I still needed to be there to support our siblings and parents so that the next generations could be provided for and safe and happy. Jasmine and I have an entire legacy Rodrigo, we’re not perfect, but we’ve done the very best with what we had, love or no love. We didn’t let it rule our lives. Or afterlives.”

He took a shaking breath. “So why did you have to punish the entire family when you realized you were losing?”

Ruy flinched as Teto spoke about marrying Jasmine and the grand family they had, an awkward chill running between him and Iria even as she rubbed his back. Maybe that would have saved him--and the family, too. Or it would have made him just like Teto. Which was the worse option?

He wilted in his seat as Teto shot another accusatory question at him, and he pressed the base of his hand to his forehead as he stayed silent. It wasn’t fair, having all the family problems foisted on him--Teto clearly didn’t understand the immense pressure that came from being the “favorite” (please), and he was just trying to blame him for everything, as usual. He let out a soft whine as he shifted, still keeping his head down.

“I just wanted it to stop,” he whispered. “Just for a little bit. Just to get some peace.”

“And did it work? After all that, did you find peace?” Teto asked, feeling calmer just from having Jasmine against him.

Seeing Rodrigo this close to admitting that maybe he wasn’t right, that maybe he had messed up, it was surreal. Seeing him as anything other than sarcastic and raging hadn’t happened in decades.

He wondered for the first time how much Iria must have hurt when his brother had died.

Did it work? No, no. Nothing had worked. Nothing had made things stop, not even his death. And he’d even driven off the best thing in his life when he’d frantically tried to find some peace without her. No matter what he’d tried, he hadn’t been good enough. Not for Papa, not for Rita…

He tried to hold off on touching Iria much while his brother was here--a part of him still fearful that any show of how much she meant to him would make his family ruin things--but the wave of utter failure that hit him was too much, and he turned to bury his face in her shoulder with a soft, begging “Estrella.” She was still here. She hadn’t stopped loving him. Not yet.

Iria blinked as Ruy threw himself at her, hands automatically going to stroke his hair. She pressed her lips together as he held her tightly--as if she’d disappear--then looked up at Teto and Jasmine coolly.

“This would probably be a good time for you both to leave,” she said softly as Ruy’s face pressed against her neck.

“Iria, thank you again for allowing us in your home,” Teto said, feeling a surreal sense of calm, not taking his eyes off Rodrigo, “but I’m not leaving until my brother can give me a real answer. He’s an idiot but he’s not an imbecile. I know he’s better than this, and I want to know why he hasn’t chosen to live up to his own potential yet.”

“Really, I’m going to need you to--”

“You try it!”

Iria went silent as Ruy pushed himself up, trembling as he snarled out the words with glistening eyes. He sucked in several breaths, blinking rapidly as he stared up at Teto.

“You try it,” he repeated, pushing himself up to his feet. “You try having the entire Rivera family legacy on your shoulders. You try being told again and again and again that you’re so talented, but your recent work...eh, not that great. You try--”

“I’m not talking about music Rodrigo,” Teto interrupted sharply, “I’m talking about you. I don’t care about your concertos or your symphonies or whatever you wrote or didn’t write. I don’t care what Papa told you or didn’t tell you. I’m talking about you.”

“My music is all I have!” Rodrigo snarled, stepping forward to get into Teto’s face.

“What about her?” Teto snapped.

He pointed at Iria.

“What about her Rodrigo? What’s more important? Your precious music or the woman you loved and who loved you? Did you let your own disappointments get between you and what should have mattered more?”

“You leave her out of it. I never wanted any of you to find out about her and this is why.” He took several breaths, then set his jaw as he stared up at his brother, quickly swiping at his eyes. “I...I…”

“I don’t appreciate being used like this,” Iria said tersely as she got to her feet. As she set a hand on Ruy’s arm, she looked up at Teto with a hard stare. “You don’t know our history. You don’t know how we got to where we are now, and trying to use me as a...a crowbar to get whatever confession you’re looking for out of Rodrigo is not appreciated.” She let out a short breath as she rubbed Ruy’s arm, then sent another frown to Teto. “I asked you politely to leave, Senor Rivera, but if I have to ask again, it won’t be nearly so polite.”

“While I agree that my husband is beginning to be rather blunt,” Jasmine said quietly, looking up at Teto for a moment, “I would respectfully ask that they be allowed to at least reach the end of their conversation. It’s true that we don’t know your history, that’s an unfair assumption to make, but similarly, you don’t know their full history either Mrs. Solares. This is something they’ve been struggling with for nearly a century now, and this is most they’ve spoken in nearly that entire time combined.

“What Hector is trying to say,” Jasmine continued, gently pulling Teto’s arm so that he silently sat down on the couch when she did, “is that it’s been terribly painful for their family to see Rodrigo engage in so many behaviors that are not only destructive to others, but to himself as well. The reason we came was to try and extend an olive branch of sorts, because Rod-, because Ruy has been greatly missed-”

“Don’t call him Ruy,” Iria interrupted.

“My apologies.” Jasmine said calmly, nodding, “because he’s been greatly missed from the family and there’s been so much dysfunctional anger built up over the years on both sides. With everything that’s happened, so many assumptions being overturned and the family at large having to reinvent himself without Hector Sr and Imelda to dictate things, this is the first time it’s felt like there’s been a good chance to reach out.”

“I don’t want-” Teto stopped as Jasmine looked at him warningly, then carefully continued, “My wife is better at these things than I am.” he said, looking at the floor, “What I’m trying-”

“So’s Rita, but she’s not speaking for me,” Ruy said shortly. He puffed a breath through his nose. “Can you just leave?”

“She’s not speaking for me, Rodrigo, Jasmine speaks with me.” Teto said tiredly.

Rodrigo rolled his eyes at Teto’s response, but otherwise remained quiet, eyes narrowed as he listened.

“But alright.” Teto continued, “I’d hoped for a conversation, but evidently I assumed too much to think you were ready for that kind of thing.”

“Thank you for allowing us to visit.” Jasmine said as they both stood, taking Teto’s arm, “We wish you both the best as you...adjust.”

Iria gave them a short nod as Ruy fell back onto the sofa, wilting again. He pressed his lips together, then, before Teto and Jasmine were out of the room, he said, “That potential you were talking about? I did live up to it. And I was miserable. And when I gave up on it, I was still miserable, but at least I wasn’t living someone else’s dream anymore. That’s more than I can say for you.” He shrugged. “But that’s what family’s about, isn’t it? Trying to make the world’s worst father love you when you know he never will.”

“I don’t think you have a dream anymore Rodrigo.” Teto said as he pulled the door open for Jasmine, “As long as you think of your future as either what Papa wants or what he doesn’t want you’ll never be happy.”

And then they stepped out the door, and were gone.

 ----------------------- 

This has been an extremely interesting familial relationship to explore, seeing the same but different traumas affecting siblings differently even into adulthood, and the emotional complexity that comes with trying to repair long burnt bridges. 

Part 2 will be posted this Sunday. And don’t worry, this isn’t going to dethrone teacher!au, this is just some role play work that Slush and I have been doing over the last couple months to relax that we’ve finally finished and have finally gotten around to posting.

- Wit

Don Juan and the Runaway Knight by Phyllis Houseman https://ift.tt/338nvih Linda, feeling abandoned by her husband and children, flees for a holiday in Ecuador, where she has an unexpected encounter; by Phyllis Houseman.

Well, Linda, you've gone four thousand miles south, and sixteen years into the past - pretty good for a novice fugitive. The tall, slender woman smiled at the wry thought as she stepped off the plane's ramp onto tropically hot concrete. Breathing deeply in the thin air, Linda instantly identified pine, a mix of exotic flowers, and dust. Even if she had been blindfolded, her nose would have told her she had landed in Quito, the capital of Ecuador, the symbol of her carefree youth. As she looked toward the city, Linda felt a stab of dismay. Quito had changed. There were high-rise buildings everywhere, almost obliterating the umber-tiled roofs and white-capped volcanoes she had captured on slides so long ago. Dampening down her sense of disappointment, Linda walked into the terminal. When her turn came in the Aduana, the Customs officer inspected her papers. Amazingly, the Ecuadorian consulate in San Francisco had re-approved her visa in less than a day. She had explained that now she would be going alone on this long-awaited South American vacation - the trip John had backed out of last week. Linda was even able to get a low-priced, no-wait plane ticket - thanks to the current industry price war. Since the money had originally come from her teaching salary, she felt absolutely no guilt about raiding the account yesterday. She needed this vacation. She had weathered months of upheaval. There was only so much a person could take. Linda had tried to be understanding about John's position as a newly transferred employee, however, it hurt that instead of spending a wonderful week in Ecuador with her, he had taken off on yet another open-ended business trip. A little feminine sympathy from one of her friends might have helped, but everyone she knew lived on the East Coast, three-thousand miles away from her new home near San Francisco. It was a potentially beautiful house, but three weeks after moving into it, confusion still reigned. The dust raised by an overzealous landscaping bulldozer covered every surface. Linda's camp-bound twelve-year-old twins had pulled out most of the clothing and games they owned, trying to decide what to include in their duffel bags. Camp had seemed the perfect solution for the homesick boys. Linda hadn't been prepared for the numbing loneliness their departure brought. It was then that she had decided to fly to Ecuador. "Is this your first visit to our country, Señora Knight?" The Customs man's polite question cut into Linda's thoughts. "Uh - no, I worked here as a Peace Corps Volunteer for two years," she murmured. "Espero que su estancia en nuestro país sea tan buena que no quiera irse." "Ah - er - that is, gracias." She gave trying to translate the rapid flow of words. Something about enjoying her stay so much, she would never want to leave. Obviously, all the Spanish-language soap operas she had watched on television recently hadn't been enough to regain her old fluency. Linda gathered her belongings, then went in search of a taxi.

The small, third-floor room of the Pension Suiza was freezing when Linda awoke the next morning. She automatically reached for John's warm, solid body, finding only the cold, squishy comfort of a goose down pillow. Punching that inadequate substitute into submission, Linda leaned back, savoring the architecture of the gabled bedroom. The gingerbread on the window might be ersatz Swiss Chalet, but the magnificent view it framed was genuine Ecuadorian. The sun had just begun its run down the eastern flanks of patchworked Pichincha. Like a spotlight, it revealed the civilized earthen squares thrifty Ecuadorian farmers had tilled into the steep sides of the dormant volcano Yawning widely to get more of the thin air into her lungs, Linda pulled the plump feather bed quilt up to the tip of her cold nose. She watched the golden line that separated dawn and day inch down the mountainside, until the raucous cry of a morning bird jarred her from a semi-trance. Forty-five minutes later, she had showered, dressed, and was on her way to the reception desk to turn in her key. She also wanted to find out when a bus to the equatorial monument would be leaving. Manager Señor Velasquez was busy processing an early arrival. A huge potted weeping fig tree hid most of the newcomer from Linda's view. All she could see of him was a broad shoulder in a suede jacket as the bent over the registry book. Then hearing the man's soft, gravelly burr suddenly made her wish she had picked some other place to spend the night - some other country to visit. She must have made some sort of sound for the manager turned toward her. "Ah, good morning, Señora Knight. I'll be with you in just a moment." Linda was about to back away from the edge of the desk. Her intention, to slide around a nearby corner into the hallway leading outside. With nightmarish predictability, before she could take a step, the tall man leaned around the fig tree, fixing dark eyes upon her face. With all her senses shouting "DANGER," Linda wanted to run. Yet, she couldn't move; she couldn't take her eyes off his compelling face. Constructed of sharp angles, his features had a manly beauty that had nothing to do with handsomeness, everything to do with masculine strength. As Linda stood there, staring, his gaze intensified. In an encompassing sweep, dark eyes caressed the shoulder-length fall of her ash-blond hair, then traveled down her slender body. Linda shook off her paralysis, stalking toward him, ready to protest the embarrassing visual evaluation. Her rage was abruptly neutralized when a wide smile revealed strong, white teeth. Before she could recover from that powerful grin, its owner turned to the entranced clerk, demanding, "Señor Velasquez, I would be honored if you could present me to your lovely guest." The opened-mouthed employee stood for long seconds before he nodded, beamed a gold-accented smile, and made the introduction. "Señora Knight, it is my pleasure to present to you Don Juan Caballero del Rey, a valued executive with, ah -" He looked at the register. "- with International Computers." His bald head bobbed between Linda and Don Juan. "Señor, allow me to acquaint you with the Señora Linda Knight." Forgetting the angry words she had planned, Linda played back the introduction, her mind bemused. Mulling over the surname, she tried to translate it. Something like 'Gentleman of the King'? Playing along, she inclined her head, murmuring, "Encantada, Señor Caballero del Rey." "El placer es mío, Señora." The sudden rumbling of Don Juan's stomach completely ruined his aura of suave sophistication. "I've been flying all night. I guess my stomach just caught up with the rest of me. Come, Señora Knight, please join me for breakfast." He held out his hand to her. Linda stared at those beckoning fingers, torn between preserving her matronly dignity in front of the avid manager, and wanting to know just what was going on here. She found her eyes focusing on the wink of gold on Don Juan's left hand. "What would Mrs. Caballero del Rey say about you having breakfast with me?" "Well, after fifteen years of marriage, she must know how much I love her - too much to let anything ruin our relationship." He indicated the wide band on her own marriage finger. "Señora, you must feel the same way about your husband." Linda forced herself to look into that dark gaze. "Of course. Having breakfast with you can't possibly do any harm to my marriage - such as it is." "Such as it is?" Don Juan echoed softly. Before Linda could respond, Señor Velasquez appeared at her side. "Señora, Senor, the dining room is open. Let me have the honor of escorting you to our best table. It has a magnificent view of Vulcán Pichincha. You must see it up close, and El Panecillo -" He listed several tourist attractions as he shepherded the pair into the adjoining room. "We'll have Naranjilla juice with croissants and Café con leche," Don Juan informed the waiter who instantly appeared as they sat down. "Señor Caballero del Rey," Linda chided, almost choking on that surname. "You're supposed to let me order for myself, or at least ask me what I want." "Ah, Señora Knight, I'm so sorry. It's just that my wife used to live in South America. She's raved about Naranjilla juice and the Ecuadorian style of coffee. They boil the beans down into a thick essence, then add hot milk," he explained. "I'll call the waiter back." "Ah - now that you mention it, what you ordered is fine," Linda recanted. She had suddenly remembered the piquant, frothy green drink and the rich Ecuadorian brew. When the juice arrived, Linda took a tentative sip. A sigh of bliss escaped her lips. Her breakfast companion chuckled. "Well, it is wonderful," she challenged. "Of course, it is. I can always rely on my wife's taste in food, drink, music -" He looked around, focusing on the empty platform at the end of the dining room. "Shoot! That's just what we needed with our breakfast - romantic Latin music. Too bad it's so early; the band probably plays only at dinner." "That's right," the eavesdropping waiter agreed, as he turned from serving the next table. "A magnificent three-piece band plays the latest American hits from eight to eleven." "Never in the morning?" Don Juan asked. The waiter shook his head. "What about CDs - a radio?" The employee looked more and more downcast as he denied each suggestion. Don Juan shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry, it would have been -" "There is Miguel," the waiter interrupted. "Miguel?" "Yes, he's only a dishwasher, but he plays the guitar. He's been begging the manager to let him try out for the evening show. Maybe - no, I might get in trouble -" "Just tell them I insisted," Don Juan coaxed. A thousand sucre bill appeared on the table. The waiter looked at it longingly, weighing rewards and consequences. He abruptly took the money, making for the kitchen. Before the swinging doors stopped flapping, a short, slender teenager appeared. He clutched the neck of a battered guitar under his arm, wiping his hands on a damp apron. The grin of delight on his face was so endearing, Linda felt her eyes sting. Bowing to his unexpected audience, the dishwasher put one leg on the seat of a chair, tested the tuning of his instrument, then broke into a boastful song Linda remembered from her Peace Corps days. "Yo soy el chullito Quiteño. La vida lo paso encantado. Para mi ella es un sueño. ¡No hay mujeres en el mundo como las de mi canción!" "I am a proud man of Quito. Life passes enchantedly. For me, it's a dream. There are no women in the world, like those in my song!" Linda found herself murmuring the translation. Without waiting for applause the novice entertainer changed moods, beginning a sad, sensual melody that pledged passion and undying love. The music generated sympathetic vibrations in Linda's body. Although she tried not to look at Don Juan, she felt her eyes being pulled toward the man. He watched her, not the singer. His gaze was assessing, serious. Linda couldn't move, her sea-blue eyes were entrapped by his deep brown irises. Long, soul-searching seconds passed. Applause from the other diners broke the hypnotic power of those eyes. Don Juan seemed equally startled by the clapping. Shaking his head, he turned away from Linda, beckoning to the young troubadour. The dishwasher shyly accepted the verbal and financial praise they both gave him for his impromptu performance. The dining room settled back to the business of eating breakfast. Don Juan didn't touch the rest of his meal. He just sat there, looking at Linda. Several opening gambits ran through her head. She finally blurted, "That was a marvelous gesture, Señor Caballero del Rey, thank you for an unforgettable treat." "It was my pleasure - with an ulterior motive." His penetrating gaze speared Linda's complete attention. "In return for the musical interlude, I expect you to end this - this formality. Let me call you Linda," he demanded. He pronounced "Linda" with just a hint of Latin caress. A broad grin stretched his generous mouth. "You must call me -" "Don Juan?" Linda interposed. "- Well, OK, I'll accept Juan, for the time being, cara mia." "Now, don't push your luck," Linda warned, her body stiffening at the endearment. "I wouldn't want to do that." Then, as if striving to reestablish the genial atmosphere, he changed the subject. "So, Linda, what brings you to Ecuador?" It was a casual question. It would require such a complex answer. Linda looked at him, trying to decide if she wanted to open up to this man. If she did, what was most important? The move? The twins' reaction to it? The canceled trip? "I guess I came to Ecuador to get a breather," she said. "We just moved into a new state. John, my husband, was transferred. His promotion involves constant traveling, so I've been left alone to deal with two unhappy children, a house that's a mess, a thousand minor decisions -" Linda stopped, aghast at the bitterness of her tone. "Sounds like he dumped a lot on your head," Don Juan ventured. "Yes - no, oh, I don't know. He was supposed to be here on this trip - a second honeymoon. Then, he had to cope with some customer emergency," she admitted. "I can't blame him for that. But when the kids went off to camp, well, I just decided I needed to get away. You must think that was wrong of me, Don Juan." Linda's voice had a waver in it she tried to control. "No, Linda, I don't. I'm sure your husband understands how angry you must have felt." Long-fingered hands reached across the table, ready to provide comfort. Not able to accept it, Linda jerked her hands away. "Just why are you here, Don Juan?" "Business - very important business." "Of course, what else? Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure your clients are waiting. I've got a lot of sightseeing to do this morning." She rose, unconsciously extending her hand as a polite South American would. He took the offered hand. Instead of a pro forma squeeze, Juan brushed the tips of her fingers with his lips before letting it go. "Linda." Soft, husky seduction. "Linda, let me join you. My - my wife has told me so much about this beautiful country. Where are you going today?" A myriad of conflicting emotions battled in Linda's mind. Oh, she was very tempted to go sightseeing with this beguiling stranger, who reminded her so much of Johnny. Johnny, the carefree young man she had married. Johnny, who had climbed the corporate ladder, transforming into serious, preoccupied John. Distant, elusive John. This man was warm, funny, gorgeous - so tempting. Perhaps going on an innocuous sightseeing trip with Don Juan was just what she needed. "I'm taking a bus to the monument on the equator, and - you're welcome to come along." "Terrific! We don't have to take a bus, I've a rental. It comes with a complete set of maps, so you can be the navigator." Linda couldn't help laughing. "Don Juan, I have to warn you. My family and friends all know I get lost going to the supermarket." Linda wasn't trying to get out of the trip. She couldn't back out now, not when the devil sparked glints of humor out of those compelling eyes. Not when his lean face was so relaxed, so attractive.

It took a half hour for them to get out of the city. Once they got on the Pan American Highway, there was little navigating for Linda to do. It was the only road that followed the high basin dividing the two cordilleras of the Andes. After a while, guardrails disappeared. There were just buffering earthen banks that often fell away, leaving their little car clinging to bare mountainside, thousands of feet above meandering river ribbons. When Linda slid next to Juan's sturdy body, he asked through clenched teeth, "How much further to the monument?" For the first time, Linda could see he was as nervous as she was. His knuckles gleamed white on the steering wheel. "About six miles, according to the map," she said, trying not to look over the edge as they rounded a sharp curve. "My God, I don't understand how people can drive on this highway every day!" "I know how you feel," her companion admitted. "For the last half hour, I've been sending up prayers for every denomination I could think of." He laughed. The rich sound curved around the low ceiling of the car, wrapping Linda in a sudden cloak of security. "Juan." She laid a light hand on his arm. "I have a feeling Someone up there already heard you, you're doing just fine." Her faith in his driving appeared to relax him. Broad shoulders settled back against the seat. Smiling at Linda, Juan fiddled with the radio until the lyric chords of a pasillo filled the small car. They found the equatorial monument twenty minutes later. At the stone obelisk, Juan took Linda's camera, asking an obliging Japanese tourist to snap a picture of them straddling the line dividing the hemispheres. Juan slid his arm around Linda's shoulders at the last instant. She looked up at him, not knowing that what she was feeling escaped her eyes, being captured for posterity on the film. Linda was startled when she felt a shudder run through Juan's body. "So, cara, where do we go from here?" The hoarse question held multiple layers of meaning. Gazing up at him, Linda felt lightheaded, until she realized she had been holding her breath too long in the rarefied air. Taking a deep, ragged gulp, she said, "There's supposed to be a small village near here, known for its woodcarvers. We - my husband and I - tried to find a piece of art when we used to go on vacation." "That's a wonderful tradition. Let's see if we can locate the place." There were choices this time. Linda made some wrong ones. Paving, then cobblestones disappeared. The road turned into a rutted trail, which terminated at the top of a high plateau. They were lost amid such compelling beauty both left the car, drawn to the edge of a precipice that could have marked the end of the known world. In the distance, a pale blue sky melded with the jutting, indigo escarpment of the eastern cordillera. From old geography lessons, Linda knew that just on the other side of the seemingly impassable barrier rivulets merged, eventually forming the headwaters of the Amazon. In her mind's eye, Auca and Jivero Indians - headhunters only a generation ago - glided through steaming jungle just fifty miles east, and ten thousand feet below. The danger - the splendor - coalesced, tugging at the couple. They turned. Linda found herself taking a hesitant step toward the man who was more dangerous, more wonderful to her than anyone else she had ever known. Her step was all he needed. Closing the distance between them, he captured her in his arms, raining hot kisses over her face, not caring where they landed. Their kisses grew desperate, hands moved to mold, to caress. Their melding bodies sank onto minty ground cover. Linda couldn't get enough of his firm, tender mouth, or get close enough to the warmth of his body. Her head was spinning, tinkling bells began to play an exotic tune in her ears. Running counterpoint to the jingling melody, were the haunting scales of Andean pan pipes playing somewhere in the misty distance. The music grew louder and nearer until reality jolted Linda out of the fantasy she had been playing along with since early morning. "Juan. John! Stop kissing my neck. JOHN KNIGHT, I said let go of me this instant. We're going to have company," she yelled into her dazed husband's ear. John finally heard the panic in her voice. He stumbled to his feet, pulling Linda up with him. He was still clasping her, leaning against the support of a wind-bent eucalyptus tree, when a small boy of ten or so rounded a rocky outcrop. The child's eyes widened at the sight of two disheveled gringos clutching each other. With inbred good manners, he doffed his colorful knitted cap to them, grinning a white smile of hello and goodbye. The dignified string of llamas following him paid no attention to the bewildered couple. "I just don't believe this." John shook his head. He looked out at the seemingly empty vistas surrounding them. "I would have sworn nobody else has been here for the last million years." "John. Oh - Johnny," Linda managed to gasp through the laughter shaking her body. "It's my fault. I should have remembered that old Ecuadorian saying - 'No matter how high the mountain, an Indian will be there before you.'" John joined in on her compulsive laughter. When he sobered, he looked into his wife's eyes. "Linda, I was never so frightened as when I walked into that empty house yesterday," he said, dropping a soft kiss on her hair. "I'd forgotten about the twins going to camp. I imagined a kidnapping, or that you had left me." He put a restraining finger on Linda's mouth when she tried to protest. "Just let me finish, honey. I should have realized how unhappy you were. You never reproached me, but I heard the sadness in your voice the last time I called. So, I rushed through those Mexican contracts and got home a week early." He placed tender hands against each side of her face. "Linda, I swear that was my last business trip for a long time. I don't care if they fire me. I've refused any more travel for the next six months." John looked at his wife, his face whitening when he saw tears sliding down her cheeks. "Linda, you've got to let me have another chance!" he pleaded. "I know I've given you a rough time, but I won't let you leave me. When I found the notations you made about your travel arrangements, next to the phone, I even followed you to Ecuador!" That explained most of the questions Linda had about his arrival at the Pension Suiza. "Oh, John," she sighed, hugging his strong body. "I know it was dumb to bolt. And as anti-woman's liberation as it sounds, I needed you to lean on at times, and you just weren't there. In fact, you, the 'Johnny' I fell in love with, hasn't been there for a long, long time." "Sweetheart, I know. I got too involved with my new responsibilities. That won't ever happen again. My God, don't you understand how much I need you, too? Your strength, your laughter, your love?" Nodding, Linda wiped away the last of her tears and smiled up at her husband. "I think I realized it this morning when I saw you leering at me around that potted fig tree. 'Don Juan Caballero del Rey,' indeed!" She repeated his alias once more, a sweet hint of laughter lingering in the lilting Spanish flow of the name. "Well, what does 'Caballero del Rey' mean? A king's man - his knight," he translated. "Yes, I sort of figured that out. My reputation must be ruined with Señor Velasquez and everyone else at the Pension." "Don't worry, honey. Velasquez was in on the game. I had to show him my passport and explain my mission. That guy's a romantic at heart and put on a first-class act for your benefit." Grinning, John pulled Linda down to sit with him against the rough-barked wood of the storm-canted eucalyptus. Safe in each other's arms, they leaned on the wind-tested tree. They had mended their marriage; a marriage, like the tree, that would endure.

The Year of Bold Freedom and Unplanned Adventures

It’s hard to believe that just 8 months ago I was handing in the keys to my first solo apartment, saying farewell to a company and career that I had invested 11 years of my life in, and walking away from a life of comfort and security to follow my dream of traveling the world. It seems like a lifetime ago. Even writing this I find myself a bit emotional as I reflect on all that has transpired this year.

2018 has been one of the most challenging, epic, and rewarding years I’ve experienced in my 34 years of living. And when I declared it to be the Year of Bold Freedom, I had no idea how much these two powerful words would impact each step I took along the way. I took more chances than I’ve ever taken; said goodbye to my possessions and car; said Yes! to more adventures in life; allowed myself time to reset, heal, and surrender; and discovered what it is to be a confident, daring, and bold woman.

It was a year filled with many unknowns, one way tickets, and unplanned adventures.

In fact, I had no plan when I set off on my nomadic journey—just a one way ticket to the other side of the world and a willing spirit open to whatever was to come. Little did I know when I started the first chapter of my nomadic journey in Australia, I’d be ending it in South America.

I let my intuition lead the way and went places where I felt pulled to go.

I started my journey in Sydney, Australia. I had been to Australia 4 years ago but didn’t make it to Sydney. I saved my Hyatt points to stay at the Park Hyatt, a hotel set on the Sydney Harbour with the best view of the Sydney Opera House and some of the most amazing sunrises. It was quite surreal being there. I was by myself on my first solo journey and present to all that had lead me to this point. After Australia, I set off to Thailand for 6 weeks. Thailand brought a lot of healing and showed me what it is to fully surrender. Being in Southeast Asia also showed me that I am never alone; there are always new friends whenever you need them. Some of my dearest friendships this year are from my time in Thailand.

I came back to the states to attend World Domination Summit (a week long event centered around community, adventure, and service) in Portland, Oregon. It was my first time in Oregon and my 50th state! While at WDS, I met so many friends and people living unconventional lives. It was reassurance that I was on the right path and that my life was mine and no one else’s.

I could create my own rules and not follow society’s definition of how to live.

I spent some time back in the states for a few weeks and then set off to Mexico for a month. Mexico was very empowering and showed me that I could travel somewhere by myself without knowing the language. Many of the other places I had been, I could always find people who spoke English. Mexico pushed me out of my comfort zone and showed me the core of this beautiful country and its people. I also had my first international photoshoot for the year in San Miguel de Allende. I hired a local photographer and had my makeup professionally done. It gave me the inspiration to do more photoshoots and inspire other women to do the same. It is a project that I will expand even more in 2019.

I headed back to the states after Mexico to attend Mike Lewis’ Jump Club in Boston. His Book When to Jump: If the Job You Have Isn't the Life You Want was a big influence in my life this year and gave me the courage to finally make my jump. I had the privilege of mentoring in his Jump School program and co-lead a breakout session at Jump Club Boston.

After Boston, I set off to South America, my 6th continent to visit and 4th for the year! I started my journey in Medellin, Colombia for the 7in7 Digital Nomad Conference. I had learned of 7in7 while attending WDS earlier in the year. 7in7 connected me with 100 people who are living life as a nomad or location independent. I made so many dear friends and connections at this event and look forward to the next one in New Zealand in 2019!

Colombia made such an impact on my life. It was the first country to introduce me to South America and one full of many surprises. This country has really transformed over the years and made many great strides in providing clean water, safety and education to its people. Colombia and South America also reminded me that it is possible to get around and experience a place even without knowing the language. It was humbling and empowering.

I visited many beautiful places and found myself at many times out of my comfort zone.

I attended my 4th Wildhearted Meditation retreat in the Sacred Valley of Peru after leaving Colombia. It was an intense and eye-opening time for me. I allowed myself to fully disconnect from social media and my phone. I spent a lot of time soul searching and being present to many hard truths. During the retreat, we visited Machu Picchu which was a total dream of mine. It was as green as I had envisioned and full of powerful energy. The train ride alone was a top highlight. I spent another 2 weeks in Peru after the retreat which was a great time for reintegration and reflection.

While in Peru I learned that my college study abroad professor and his wife were in Santiago, Chile with a group of students from my Alma Mater, Lipscomb University. I found a last minute flight and headed to Chile. It was not on my radar at all. In fact, I was supposed to be back in Southeast Asia after my retreat for my annual trip with my two travel buddies from college. We have taken a trip every year since 2004. We had a change in plans and had to cancel the trip. I chose to stay in South America and see what else this continent had to show me. Chile was a complete game changer for me. I visited my dream destination—Patagonia and hiked in Torres del Paine for 4 days. On my final day, I hiked a mountain which totally transformed my view of myself and what I am capable of. It gave me so much confidence. Chile was one of my top countries of 2018. So many hidden gems to discover!

I spent my final 2 weeks in South America in Argentina and Uruguay, with a mini birthday vacation to Mendoza, Argentina for wine tasting and relaxation. Even nomads need vacations to relax and reset!

I am in awe of all that has transpired this year, and so proud of myself for all that I accomplished.

I allowed myself to fully release and let go of old patterns that no longer served me, try things I never would’ve considered, and be fully present to every place I visited. What a rewarding year its been. I am beyond grateful to be living the life that I am and hope that in some way my story will inspire you to live your best life and travel to places unknown. Here’s to 2019 and even more adventures!

May you be blessed in the New Year and find the courage within to follow your own path.

What Does Bold Freedom Look Like?

Moved into first solo apartment knowing that I would only be there a few months

Put together a Fear Show where 30 individuals came together to do something they’ve been afraid to do on stage

Finished the Self Expression & Leadership Program which completed Landmark Worldwide’s Curriculum for Living

Turned in my notice for my job of nearly 11 years

Completed my 50-hour Yoga Extensions program and became a Yoga Teacher for CorePower

Attended my 3rd Wildhearted Meditation Retreat in Mexico

Ran my first 5k

Sold my furniture and moved out of my apartment

Quit my job with one month’s pay and little savings to follow my dream of traveling the world

Said farewell to my company and career of ~ 11 years

Bought a one way ticket to Sydney, Australia

Set out on my solo nomadic journey starting in Sydney, Australia

First Podcast Interview with Rick Clemons on Life Uncloseted

Allowed myself to surrender and heal in Thailand

Lived with total strangers in Chiang Mai (who now are dear friends)

Got a bamboo needle tattoo in Thailand

Taught Yoga in the park in Chiang Mai

Partnered with an awesome holistic business coach (Brook Woolf, Emotional Body Mapping) for writing and mentoring

Attended WDS in Portland, Oregon

Took an Aerial Yoga class

Road trip from Dallas to Tennessee with my 3 and 5 year old nieces

Sold my beloved car to sustain my year of travels

Spent one month in Mexico visiting many different regions

Launched myself as an international model in Mexico in a bold, red lace romper; did a photoshoot with FDfotofer

Traveled 4,500 miles to take a chance on a guy and free myself from a lifetime of stories around dating and relationships

Danced my heart out in the name of Power & Bold Freedom

Took a Bollywood Dance class in Portland

Rented a car and braved the crazy drivers in Mexico

Ate a fried grasshopper in Playa del Carmen

Flew to Boston from Mexico for Jump Club Boston; co-lead a breakout session and shared my jump story

Participated in Landmark Worldwide’s Communication: Access to Power course

Bought a one way ticket to Medellin, Colombia; first entrance into South America

Attended 7in7 Conference for Digital Nomads in Medellin

Climbed The Rock of Guatape ( El Peñol) in Guatape, Colombia—655 steps to the top!

Jumped in a giant rubber ducky bounce house at the mall in Medellin (and when I say giant, I am not exaggerating)

Took a Bachata dance class in Colombia

Photoshoot with the talented and award winning Gabo y Mafe in Cartagena, Colombia

Visited Taganga, a small fishing village near Santa Marta, Colombia on the Caribbean Coast; pushed me out of my comfort zone in many ways and reminded what it is to have humility and gratitude

Went on a day excursion to beaches along Tayrona National Park in Colombia; left my phone behind for the day so I could be fully present to where I was

Attended my 4th Wildhearted Meditation Retreat in the Sacred Valley of Peru

Turned notifications off on my phone and stayed offline and off of Social Media for 12 days

Went zip lining 550 feet high over Colca Canyon—the second largest canyon in the world (Grand Canyon being the largest); spent the day with my 2 Argentinian & Uruguayan instructors afterward and became friends

Visited with students and my professors from Lipscomb University in Santiago; spent Thanksgiving with them and got to share with them about my story and what it’s like to reintegrate back to the States after being out of the country for a long time

Planned a last minute trip to my dream destination - Torres del Paine in Patagonia

Hiked for 4 days in Torres del Paine by myself; hiked during the day and slept in a tent at night; hiked 55 miles in 4 days; 19.5 miles on the last day!

Hiked up a mountain on my final day in Torres del Paine; my body was so tired and I was ready to give up until I saw a beautiful snow-capped mountain in the distance; I persevered and kept going—so glad I did! The journey to the top was incredible.

Visited Capillas de Mármol in Patagonia based on a referral from someone I met in Santiago; rode 5 hours on a bus there, took a boat tour of the caves, and 5 hours back on the bus—long day and extremely worth it!

Went to Olmue, Chile and stayed with two of my dear yoga soul sisters’ abuela

Celebrated my 33rd birthday early in Mendoza, Argentina; stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel and Park Hyatt; went wine tasting at local vineyards

Visited Buenos Aires and stayed with the sister of my zip lining instructor I met in Peru; another stranger who welcomed me with open arms into her home

Final Photoshoot for 2018 with Dolores Fotografia in Buenos Aires

Took ferry from Buenos Aires to Colonia, Uruguay; spent final 2 days of South American journey in Montevideo

Flew from Montevideo to Panama City on my 34th birthday; took myself on a birthday date in Panama—my 11th country for the year!

Danced and played in the rain numerous times

Danced and skipped down the streets of many cities

Bought one way tickets and went places based on recommendations from people I met throughout my journey

Set myself free from old stories, programming, and patterns

Healed old wounds and restored various relationships in my life

Dressed up and took myself on fancy dates once a month without a book or phone

Got lost numerous times and still managed to find help from kind strangers without knowing each others’ language

Made friends with hundreds of people all over the world—some for a day; some for a season; some for life

Gave myself permission to travel through the end of the year and release pressure to find a job or start anything new

Discovered that I am a confident, daring, beautiful, and bold woman who is capable of anything I set my mind to—and I finally believe in me!

Visited 11 countries, 4 continents, 65 cities on my solo nomadic journey in 2018

Boehm: An ode to Ibson, a Brazilian star who found himself in the North

May 3, 20182:19PM EDT

Most goals, unfortunately, are single-serving friends – fleeting or workmanlike occasions that tick the scoreboard but don’t live long in the memory, the wellspring of stolid locker-room mantras like “on to the next.”

Others are dense delicacies that demand repeat viewings, analysis, contemplation, even Zapruder-like dissection.

Ibson’s game-winner for Minnesota United vs. Houston last week is the latter.

Take a look at the clip. Maybe twice. Then delve into a slow-motion view. No rush – take as many loops as you need. Go ponder the comical injustice of its modest place in this week’s tally of AT&T Goal of the Week voting. Ruminate on whether his personal hashtag should be spelled #Ibsonity or #Ibsanity.

Pity the misfortune of Dynamo defender Leonardo, alert to the danger of Ibson’s near-post run, close behind as the low cross arrives from Miguel Ibarra, but nonetheless still “posterized” – nutmegged, and on his knees, no less! – by the outlandishly well-timed and well-executed flick.

Purify Yourself pic.twitter.com/5kKzRM878K

— Minnesota United FC (@MNUFC) April 30, 2018

At some point, you may also want to savor the myriad creative posts that cheekiest of backheels has inspired across the Loons’ social-media channels, powered by not only the sublime skill of the finish, but the perfectly smug, yet spontaneous smile that followed.

The Boy from Flamengo

🔊 SOUND ON 🔊 pic.twitter.com/E1vei7Acxi

— Minnesota United FC (@MNUFC) May 2, 2018

“I haven’t seen the other goals, but because of the difficulty of the goal, I think I should win Goal of the Week for sure,” the Brazilian impishly told reporters via translator this week.

“It was meant to be! When Miguel went to cross the ball, I already had an idea of what I was going to do.”

It’s only the second goal of Ibson’s MLS career, and at age 34, it’s anyone’s guess as to how many more he’ll net on these shores. Besides, he’s already starred on some of the soccer world’s biggest stages, winning league titles in Brazil and Portugal and competing in UEFA Champions League, Europa League, Copa Libertadores and the like. He doesn’t seem to have anything left to prove.

But they might just sing his name for years to come in Minnesota.

Ibson with Loons head coach Adrian Heath | USA Today Sports Images

Ibson arrived in the North Star State in 2015, back when the Loons were playing in the NASL, far from sure whether they’d get to make the move to MLS, but ready to grow under the then-new ownership group led by Dr. Bill McGuire.

“We were just looking for different types of players,” Loons sporting director Manny Lagos told MLSsoccer.com this week. “We brought a couple of veteran Brazilians in and another great servant of the club, Tiago Calvano, came to me and said he knows a player that is a big-time player, but really looking for something different.”

After wandering the earth in pursuit of his footballing fortunes from Flamengo to Porto to Spartak Moscow to Bologna, back home for stints with Santos, Flamengo again, Corinthians and Sport Recife, Ibson was seeking a more stable, less stressful environment for his spouse and children.

“Money wasn’t as important at the time to Ibson, maybe, in terms of his market value as much as getting somewhere he felt like he could feel good about his family, his kids, and put them somewhere in a new experience,” said Lagos.

Ibson (L), then with Porto, battles Chelsea’s Michael Ballack in a 2007 UEFA Champions League match | Action Images

“I didn’t know if it was going to work out. But in the end, I give a lot of credit to the club and our community for showing him that it’s a great place to live, and I give credit to our veteran Brazilians who told him the experience they were having living here, and the type of growth potential the club had.”

If his Loons teammates didn’t know much about the newcomer at first, they soon found out when they visited Brazil during their 2015 preseason.

“For [teammates] to see how recognized he was in Rio, walking down the street,” said Lagos with a chuckle. “We had to have police escorts and horse escorts traveling around the country because of how popular he is there.

“Part of the reason why he lives here is because he wanted a bit more of the quiet lifestyle.”

Nominally a holding or two-way midfielder alongside Rasmus Schuller at the heart of Minnesota’s typical lineup, Ibson approaches the anodyne duties of a No. 6 with a carioca’s flair. He reads and roams to maximize his influence, hunting touches, interceptions and combinations, drawing fouls and occasionally even sneaking into the opposition’s penalty area to wreak further havoc.

“My whole career has always been like this – trying to be a surprise in the box,” he said on Tuesday.

“He certainly isn’t called upon to create and score offensively, but he is such a gifted, skilled player that he’s an incredible problem solver on the field,” said Lagos. “The goal [vs. Houston] just showed a little of the flair and the special qualities he has in the middle of the field that he got to exemplify in the final third.

“His skill level and thought process, how he thinks about things, is off the charts. So it doesn’t surprise me that in that situation he’s able to think so quickly and finish with amazing technical ability.”

A few months after Ibson’s arrival, Minnesota United were awarded their MLS expansion slot, and as with many players on their final NASL rosters, the technical staff had to make a sober assessment of how well he’d keep pace at the next level up.

We see you, Ibson 👀 #RSLvMINpic.twitter.com/oCNp5cpInJ

— Major League Soccer (@MLS) June 18, 2017

“There were certain guys that we just felt like would add, and help build this club the right way both on and off the field,” said Lagos, a Twin Cities native who considers Ibson the most skilled player in his community’s long pro soccer history, alongside the old Kicks’ South African NASL star Ace Ntsoelengoe. “Ibson’s just one of those personalities who decided to come here for soccer but also for his family, to be part of the community.”

Some consider him a diver, a dabbler in the dark arts, or a taker of unnecessary risks. And he’s not universally adored across his team’s fanbase – local site FiftyFive.One last year called him “a player who can make you swoon one second and tear out your hair the next.”

Yet MNUFC’s faith in the well-traveled Brazilian has been rewarded.

“He’s shown the club and the guys that come to the club, young or old, how much he loves soccer and how much he loves playing, how much he loves being involved every day,” said Lagos, revealing that Ibson is a “formidable” soccer tennis player whose skill delights his teammates around the training ground. “Showing up, working hard and loving it – really loving it, loving the little moments.”

Perhaps surprisingly, Ibson has started every one of the Loons’ matches so far this season, and sounds ready to keep on trucking as MNUFC count down to the 2019 debut of Allianz Arena.

“It’s been pretty manageable for me,” Ibson said this week when asked about his workload. “I’ve been working pretty hard on and off the field, taking care of my body.”

Lately he’s also become a guide and mentor to his talented young countryman Maximiano, helping the newcomer get settled. And should he sustain his personal renaissance, Ibson would provide a welcome thread to the past when United open their gorgeous new stadium.

The adopted Minnesotan, eager to represent.

“He really has enjoyed the soccer side here,” Lagos said. “[And] also being part of this special project in Minnesota.”

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Boehm: An ode to Ibson, a Brazilian star who found himself in the North was originally published on 365 Football