#Javier Camarena

[vera-dauriac]

Since it came up recently thanks to @doyouknowthisopera and someone already asked me, and others might also be wondering...

excellent recent Il Pirata recording featuring Marina Rebeka and Javier Camarena.

Even since first hearing it, I've been particularly obsessed with this little moment.

[miss-mollys-ballet-blog]

Javier Camarena in La Fille du Regiment at the Met.

[tenorissimi]

FRANCISCO ARAIZA 🇲🇽

with Mexican Tenors Ramón Vargas & Javier Camarena

Photo 1 Luz Butron Soprano edition

[hausofmamadas]

For Those That Seek the Jungle's Forgiveness | Part 2

(formerly "Gone. Like That." Catch up with -> Part 1)

⁂

Pairing: Mika Camarena & Connie Murphy and Mika Camarena x Javi Peña

Word count: ≈ 5.2K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, major character death, grief/mourning, loss of significant other, discussion of guns

This was an argument she'd had a long time ago with men in fancy suits that held prestigious, official-sounding titles and had absolutely no intention of actually listening. Mika almost accidentally manslaughters Javi when he sneaks up on her on dark street at night, and then she proceeds to roast him for pulling some trick-ass shit, not keeping in contact with Connie while he’s been looking into Steve’s disappearance. Eventually, he accepts that Mika’s 40x smarter and wiser than him and bends the knee to the real comandante of this operation and comes one step closer to realizing he’s lowkey in love with her.

⁂

Mika glanced at her watch. Almost exactly half past eleven. She pulled up and idled in front of Connie and Steve’s place, staring at the front steps and metal railing that led to the black, geometric, lattice work on the front door.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. By who? No clue. But with every tick of her watch, she jumped, confusing it with the phantom sound of a camera snapping. She could already see what the picture might look like: her station wagon parked conspicuously in front of the building, bathed in the warm, sallow glow of the street lights. 

Hand on the wheel, she leaned forward, surveying the street with an outstretched index finger before making a U-turn and parking on the other side of the street. The engine was already off by the time she noticed it in the rear view mirror, a familiar boxy silhouette, two cars back, jacked up on all four wheels, that giant hood covering the back. Shit. It was Javi’s. She’d recognize that jalopy anywhere. So much for keeping the information contained between just her and Connie. So much for keeping the DEA out of it.

Oh well, she’d just have to find a way to convince Javi to go it alone with them. That would probably take some doing. She’d have to call Laura, see if she could look after Kikito and Danny for a few more hours. She hated to be more of a burden but they couldn’t risk Javi getting a bunch of agencies involved that would only eat the clock fighting over jurisdiction, paperwork, money. Plus, Danny loved when Laura showed him all the new additions to their huge fish tank.

Still, it was strange. Didn’t Connie say on the phone that Javi went back embassy? He did live downstairs, though. He might've just stopped at home. But Connie made it sound like he’d left in a rush. Maybe he forgot to tell her something important. That’d make a lot more sense than him being home. Hell, chasing a man they didn’t know and would probably never meet, these guys always found reasons not to come home. Chasing a partner gone MIA? Fucking forget it. So sure, maybe he’d got some news. Maybe he’d booked it back in a hurry because the news was bad. Mika shook her head. No, no, don’t go there. Not yet.

Reaching over, she popped the glove box. The door fell open to reveal the barrel of a Glock that Kiki had given her years ago, shining in the low light of the car. Was she really going to walk around with this now? Was it even necessary? Of course it was. Steve was missing and this place was a war zone. She tucked it into her bag, keeping her hand inside around the grip but off the trigger just like Kiki showed her. This sense of certainty had been almost unthinkable back when he had first suggested he teach her how to use a gun. 

It had been right after the DFS shot Víctor in that cafe and the Guadalajara cartel put a hit out on Roger. A vision of the Knapps’ front yard and driveway, littered with sheets of broken glass, struck her. Goosebumps erupted, traveling up the back of her neck as the memory replayed.

Kiki had been gently rubbing her back while they were watching Roger and Rita frantically jam suitcases in the trunk of their car, the same glass crunching beneath each frenzied step they took. She distinctly remembered, as she took in the scene, being afflicted with an almost inappropriate sense of relief that Rita wouldn’t have had to clean all of that up herself.

Looking from the driveway back to her, Kiki declared almost out of the blue, 'See if Clarice can watch Danny and Kikito sometime this week. I’m gonna take you to the range.’

He was startled when she’d started laughing, beside herself because the whole thing was absurd, right? Except, the look of unwelcome assurance in his eyes, an ominous forecast of what was to come, reminded her that it wasn’t. And that itself was absurd. 

‘Baby, c’mon I’m serious.’ She could make out the ridge of his jaw bone under the skin, tensed to keep his voice low as he shook his head. ‘No. We can’t count on them coming after just me anymore. And I won’t leave you alone without knowing you can at least protect yourself, protect the boys. I’m tryin’ to end this, you know I can’t be with you all the time.’

She took a deep breath to quiet the anxious laughter. A flat look of resignation had passed over her face as she breathed out, ‘No, you’re right. You’re right.’

He put his arm around her and pulled her in so she could rest her head on his shoulder, lips dusting her forehead with a quick kiss.

‘No, I’m sorry. And I know, I know, I know. You don’t even have to say it, okay? As soon as I get this motherfucker Félix, we can start looking for places in San Diego. But right now, I need to know you can take care of business. I mean, look, okay?’ he threw his hand up, waving it around in the direction of the house. ‘Look– I mean, fuckin’ Roger was makin’ fuckin’ pancakes for his kids when they started shooting up the place!’

Mika mumbled something in agreement. 

‘And anyway, you’ll feel better knowing you can kick some ass,’ he looked down and gave her a wink, ‘y’know, the Calexico way.’

The warmth of the smile in his voice got her to crack one too. 

And the thing was, he had been right. She had felt better after that. Taking Kikito to school, baseball practice, doctor’s appointments, going for lunch with Ana and Ronnie, thinking about what guys who pulled her over - like that greaseball with the slicked back hair and sunglasses - would do if she flashed a gun when she reached for her license instead of cash. It might not have changed the outcome much. But at least they wouldn’t have been so smug, knowing she wasn’t going to make things easy for them. The naive part of her that had been stuck back in Calexico knew how insane that was. But the part of her there, in Guadalajara, had understood that’s simply how things needed to be. Such was their life.

Or, her life. Now.

And would you look at that? Steve gone, it was all hell breaking loose, all over again. Except whatever optimism she might’ve clung to back then like a deflating life raft went to the grave with Kiki. So, these days, she had no problem admitting she felt better with a gun. Kiki put it as, ‘knowing she could kick some ass.’ Today, she thought of it as more, in the likely event that she didn’t survive, she could make whoever decided to fuck with her regret choosing her to fuck with.

She steeled herself with a breath before opening the car door, then pulled the handle and swung it open. Kicking one leg out and whipping her head around to check the street, she felt like a periscope rising out of the sea, slowly standing up. Clear. Good. And with more self-assurance than she felt, she shut the car door, locked it, and made a beeline for the concrete stairs of the building entrance, fighting every step of the way not to give over to the mental image of being tracked by crosshairs, to not think about a little red dot on her back right where her heart would be. 

Halfway to the other side of the street, a voice rang out from the dark behind her. “Hey stranger.”

She stopped cold, heart pounding so fiercely, she wondered if maybe she hadn’t been right about the crosshairs and this was what being shot was like. Relief nearly knocked her on her ass when, glancing down to make sure she was still in one piece, she realized there was nothing. Hand still gripping the gun in her bag, she whipped around faster than she could think, nearly clocking Javi in the jaw with the barrel. Just barely dodging the blow, his hands went up in a gesture of armistice, and froze like that in the middle of the street, laughing awkwardly. 

“Oh my god, you scared the shit outta me. Enserio, cabrón? Has vuelto loco? Sneaking up behind a woman on a dark street? In one of the most dangerous cities in the world? Do you have a death wish?”

“Er, sorry. Yeah, I guess I sorta forgot living in a place as, uh–”

“Lawless? Insane as Medellin?”

”I was gonna say uh, unpredictable— but yeah, of course this isn’t really be new to you, is it? Pero,” he slowly brought one of his hands down and pushed the gun barrel to the side with his index finger to inspect it, “pues tengo que admitir que no esperaba que sí estuvieras tan preparada.”

He put his hand back up but something in looking at the gun made him drop his shoulders and relax into that familiar, annoying, Saturday-afternoon, Javier-‘The Man’-Peña posture he assumed when he was especially pleased with himself. 

“What?” Mika’s eyebrows shot up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Man, I don’t know how to tell you this exactly,” he said, scratching his forehead. “But at the risk of er— taking a bullet to the face when I do, I— well, you should probably know that, uh … well, your safety’s on.” 

From the position marked with a tiny, engraved letter “S,” the safety switch mocked Mika as much as the upturned sides of Javi’s mustache. He kept his hands up as if to reassure her that she was still in control but doing a piss-poor job because he couldn’t seem to hide that shit eating smirk on his face. 

“Well,” she narrowed her eyes and shrugged, trying to play it off, “maybe I’m not out to get anyone killed. Maybe I just wanna scare them. You think anyone who matters is really gonna notice?” 

He cocked his head like a curious puppy, smiling even more, “I did.” 

“But do you, Agent Peña?” 

“Do I what?” 

“Really matter?” Mika shot back, voice laden with sarcasm but enough good humor to show she didn’t mean it.

They stared at each other for a moment and the combination of the half-wounded expression on his face and the way the street lights lit it orange like a fake tan made her want to laugh. 

“Ah shit,” she glanced down the barrel of the gun, tipping it slightly to the side, “that is such a Soccer Mom move. But y’wanna know what’s worse?” 

A touch of curiosity came to keep Javi’s smirk company, the desire to hear her answer punctuated by his silence.  

Mika shrugged. “My kids don’t even play soccer.”

Javi looked down, shoulders shaking as he tried to direct his laughter into the pavement instead of at her. It didn’t matter though because she was laughing too. Standing in the middle of the street, they dropped their hands and busted up together so synchronously, it looked almost rehearsed.

Once their little fit subsided, Javi was the first to come up for air. “So, what’s a rogue lady of the DEA wives’ club doing on an empty street in Bogotá this late at night? Besides trying to murder me with— what is–? Hold on, is that an MHS?” Javi grabbed her hand to get a better look at the piece. “Man, where’d you manage to get one of these?” 

Perplexed, Mika’s eyes darted down to the gun because for all she knew about firearms, it might as well have been a potato that she was holding. “Uhhh, it was a gift from Kiki’s partner. So, I could learn how to use one. Obviously,” she rolled her eyes, “you can see how well that went.”

“Man,” he said, letting it go with such fondness, “I didn’t even know they still made those things.” Which again, made as much sense as if he were marveling at a potato she was holding. “Y’know those are one of the only kinds of Glocks they made with slide mounted safety.”

She kept switching focus from Javi to the gun, trying to figure out what was so special about it, before realizing she didn’t actually care, “Alright, nerd,” and dropped her arm at her side.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway,” Javi said, back to reality, “I think you were about to explain the reasons for my brush with death?”

“What? Before you got sidetracked, being all nerdy and shit?” 

“Sure, yeah.” 

“Well, what? You can’t guess?” Mika looked up at Connie’s window on the second floor and then back at Javi, whistling. “Man, you boys at the DEA must be losing your touch. They’ll hire anyone these days.” 

Javi rolled his eyes, “Ha ha ha” finally letting his hands drop, palms smacking his hips on the way down. “C’mon, put yourself in my position. Sure, that wild look of biblical hellfire in your eyes is gone, but you’ve still got that,”  he gestured at her side, “in your hand? So, y’know– thought it best to keep the conversation light.” 

“Whoops,” Mika said, chuckling and checking that the safety was still on before putting the gun back in her purse. 

Glancing at the empty street around them, Mika realized this might be a good opportunity to needle Javi for more info while she had him alone. Before he could clam up in front of Connie. “So, any news about Steve? I’m guessing that’s why you came back here, and not for a night cap and a bedtime story.” 

Javi regarded her, amused but not without suspicion, brows cinched as he caught his tongue between his teeth. Another mannerism of his Mika had picked up on in the few years she’d known him. Historically, she’d found it kinda cute when he wasn’t being evasive and annoying. When he was, she found herself hoping he’d slip and bite down a little too hard. 

Right now, he was being evasive and annoying. 

“Please, Javi. Don’t make me go there.”

”Sorry?” 

She eyed him with a measure of regret, acutely aware that his foot had just hit the metal plate of the conversational trap she’d just set and the mechanical jaws were about to clamp shut. “You’re not gonna make me invoke my dead husband’s name to shame you into telling me, are you?” There they went. 

His hands flew to his hips as he cocked one out to the side, face morphing from suspicious to pained and almost pleading. But still, nothing. 

With that, all regret evaporated and Mika just rolled her eyes, turning on her heels and headed for the door of the apartment building.  She made it to the other side of the street and up the steps but paused, fingertips on the handle, when she realized he wasn’t following her. 

“Cmon Agent Peña, just tell the truth.” Turning around, she shifted the weight of her bag on her shoulder so she could grab the spare key from one of its pockets. “Look, I know it’s not something that comes naturally to you boys in blue, but just think of it as practice. You know, for when you talk to Connie.”

Javi’s eyes darted from her, to the window of Connie and Steve’s apartment on the second floor, then back at her, then back down at the ground. Weighing his options, it seemed, he stood like that for what felt like ages before rubbing his face, grumbling into his palms, “Ah, fine. Fuck it.” 

Mika turned back to the door, taking a mental victory lap - gotcha - as she swung it open. 

And in a few long strides over to and up the stairs, skipping every other step, Javi was slipping in the door right behind her. He followed her down the hallway, both of them walking in silence, past his apartment, up the first flight of stairs, until, when turning to climb the next flight, he was seemingly unable to contain himself. “Hey. What’d you mean back there?” 

Mika kept pace about to start up the next set of stairs, paying him no mind.

He raised his voice to a kind of whisper-yell, grabbing her hand before she could get too far up the stairs, “Mika!” 

She turned around and walked back down stopping a step above him.

“Not something that comes naturally?" He let her hand slid out of his almost reluctantly before crossing his arms. "You wanna explain what that’s supposed to mean, exactly?”

There was more vulnerability in this than anger, the words of a boy on the playground whose feelings were hurt because someone kicked over his sandcastle.

She almost felt sorry for him but Connie’s words, thick with tears rang in her ears. Javi left before I could ask him anything. All he said was that he thinks Steve’s alive, but that just means he’s not sure he’s dead.

And all of a sudden, the long since dormant bitterness and fury that had made its home deep in the pit of her stomach when Kiki died came back to collect. With interest. It burned in her chest so tangibly, it felt like some toxic, poisonous gas all these years had been incubating in her body for all of these years that she was about to unleash with the steady stream of a flamethrower. Poor Javi. He was in for it.

The tragic part, the part she’d feel guilty about later, was that none of this was his fault. It was some bureaucrat’s, some bored old bastard, way up the chain of command, tucked away in some embassy office, sat behind a titanic mahogany desk so expensive it could cover the down payment on her house, even though he did nothing but shuffle papers around, shake hands, kiss babies, make phone calls to grieving wives and mothers to give them that familiar speech: Why yes, everything is under control, ma’am. We’re doing all that we can, ma’am. Well hey now, there’s no reason to raise your voice, ma’am. You just need to understand these things take time. Now, please take a seat over there so I can pretend like you’re not wasting mine, ma'am.

Unfortunately for Javi, he was the one in front of her. And there was nowhere else for it to go. He’d looked like he’d taken a few on the chin in his day, but she couldn’t be sure he could bounce back from this one. Not that it mattered. This was an argument she’d had a long time ago with men in fancy suits that held prestigious, official-sounding titles and had absolutely no intention of actually listening. If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Christ, was this going to be any different? 

“Look,” Mika sighed, “Connie already told me everything you’ve shared with her.” 

Looking like he was frozen in time, Javi stood there, forehead pinched in a moment of calculation. As much as he seemed unsure of what to expect, at the same time, he was aware enough not to insult her by playing completely dumb. 

“And to be honest?” she continued, crossing her arms. “So far, that ‘everything’ sounds like a whole lotta nothing.” 

Javi winced but managed to sputter out, “I don’t know what you’re talk—“ 

“Please. Don’t patronize me with all that,” Mika’s fingers came up to make air quotes, “‘What on earth could you mean?’ bullshit” and then ended the bit, dropping her hands at her hips. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime?” 

Eyes wide, mouth open, Javi looked stunned, the inevitable ‘What are you talking about?’ stuck in his throat, leaving him with nothing to say or do but wait for her to elaborate. 

“You wanna know what I’m talk—? Fine, fine. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you exactly what I’m talking about.” With a clipped breath, she steadied herself. “You think you’re protecting Connie by keeping her in the dark. Gone for hours, not answering her calls, not checking in, not telling her where you’ve been, who you’ve talked to, where you’re going.” 

Her eyes pinned Javi in place, right there in the middle of the stairway. Perhaps trying not buckle under the weight of decades of forfeited accountability, in an effort to cope, he shrank back trying to become one with the wall. But Mika wasn’t done. 

“She’s not some precious fucking flower who’ll wilt at any mention of the truth. And she’s not an idiot. She deserves the facts and your honest assessment about well,” she waved her hands, “whatever is going on. And that includes what you think Steve’s chances are.” 

“His chances?” 

“Of being alive, Javi.” 

His jaw tightened hard, lips pursed like he was sucking on a lemon, and he paused for a long time before launching into the same good-ole-boy schpiel she’d heard a thousand times. With Javi though, there was a well-veiled but desperate sincerity with which he delivered it that reminded her of Jaime. “With all due respect Mika, I can’t— I don’t know if you understand the moving pieces at play here. How rigged the system is. How— well, how beyond fucked up it all is.”

Mika’s head sank, chin nearly touching her chest. However sincere, it wasn’t enough. 

“Y’know,” she spoke down at the ground, through a cruel, thin laugh, “I don’t bring this up often because it doesn’t make for great dinner conversation, certainly not an ice breaker. But since you’re such a man, I bet you can handle it,” and then looked back up to him with a smile that came nowhere close to her eyes. “When I arrived at the ME’s office to identify Kiki’s body, do you know what they were picking out of the gaping wounds on his head?” 

The look on Javi’s face said he wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole. He didn’t need to.

“Chunks of rebar and wood. Along with pieces of his skull.” 

A war waged in Javi’s eyes between heartbreak and indignation but he was smart enough to know that now was not the time to give voice to either. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, maybe I’m mistaken. But were you there, Agent Peña? Were you the one to survey all the wounds he had? Did you read the coroner’s report– the one with that stupid, generic outline of a body that cataloged each and every injury? Did you see how riddled his body was? With bruises? Cuts? Welts? Burns?” She shook her head like she still couldn’t believe it. “Actual holes?”

His face conveyed nothing but heartbreak now. No matter that these were all rhetorical questions, it was the right answer. 

“So, I think a better question is, do you know how fucked up it all is?”

Eyes cast off to the side, Javi was quiet for a long time, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek, likely trying to decide what, if anything, to say, until he was reanimated by a moment of epiphany. He stood up straight, no longer resembling a shriveled barnacle, stuck to the wall. And it all came out, practically in one breath. 

“Alright, alright. Fine. You want the truth? The truth is, I have no idea. I have” he threw up his hands with the frustration of a man whose luck had run out, finally folding at the poker table, “not a fucking clue who took him. Nothing. No leads. No evidence. Except my colleague’s contacts in the military haven’t caught wind of anything about a DEA being taken by Escobar’s people, so it’s probably not him and I’ve just been trying to keep things quiet so th—“ 

“So you don’t get him killed by spooking the kidnappers because you turned law enforcement onto a big search. That’s a song and dance I remember.” 

“Right,” Javi carried on without missing a beat. “Which means I’ve got no help from the embassy, no help from my own agency, no help from the military. And I sure as fuck don’t want help from any of those shady fucks in the CIA. So yeah,” he;d been talking so fast, he was nearly gasping now, “I think— since it’s not Escobar, I think he might— well, might be—” 

“Dead.”

He exhaled a defeated, “Yeeup.”

After her little speech, Mika wasn’t sure what Javi would come back with but she didn’t expect him to fold quite so easily. He was an even easier nut to crack than Jaime had been when he came to give her the news that he’d found Kiki’s car. To be fair, she did have more leverage now, what with Kiki already being dead. Everyone already got their crash course, a ‘How-To’ in ‘What-Not-To-Do’ when a DEA agent goes missing. Still, she expected more resistance, more half-truths couched in platitudes, more bullshit. But he didn’t do that to her. 

She looked him up and down, sizing him up like she hadn’t gotten it right the first time and decided, in that moment, she respected him infinitely more than she had just minutes ago. 

“Okay,“ she began, breaking the silence. “Besides Escobar, who else would take him? Could it be someone in the government? Maybe loyal to the cartel but, I don’t know,” she shrugged, “operating without Escobar’s say-so?” 

Javi shook his head, “We have most of the financials of his operation, who takes his bribes, who’s on his payroll. Shit, half of them are bribed by us to look the other way when it’s convenient,” and looked wearily off to the side, grumbling, “The fuckin’ good guys, right.”

“Yeah, it seems like, no matter where you go, these ‘company’ men don’t have any real loyalty. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s some kind of professional code that the rest of us don’t know about.” 

Mika thought of Heath and the dozens of others in the DEA, Homeland Security, Defense Department, men in the same gray suits offering the same recycled condolences and half baked apologies in the months after Kiki died. She didn’t bother to wipe the stray tear that escaped down her cheek.

Javi shoved his hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Alright,” Mika said, with a knowing smile. “Well. There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it.”

“Oh sure, yeah, real piece of cake,” he scoffed. 

They were both quiet, staring at each other until Javi piped up, “Y’know actually, I hear there are some teaching positions open at that uh,” he snapped his fingers, “whatsit, the School of the Americas? Yeah, they could learn a thing or two from you. Call it Emotional Blackmail and Interrogation Techniques 101. You should look into that. Might be your calling. I hear the pay’s nothing earth shattering. But the health benefits— tsk great.” 

Mika looked down at the floor, chuckling. 

“Although, I gotta say, that biblical hellfire look? That is— phew,” he waved his hand in front of her face and she giggled, “that is raw talent. Can’t teach that. So alright, what's next, patrona, Ms. Inquisition? What do we do now?” 

“Well,” Mika’s nose scrunched, giving way to real laughter this time which helped her to break the news gently, “for starters, you’re gonna tell Connie everything you just told me.” 

Javi opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “Look, if nothing in the last five minutes told you I’m not here for bullshit, maybe this will: as his wife, she deserves the truth.”

He crossed his arms again, quietly defensive.

“And as his wife, you might be able to leverage her, in case the higher ups try to play games, drag their feet on this.”

“Sorry,” he leaned forward like he didn’t hear her right, “leverage?”

“You said it yourself, you have no leads. It’s time to take this up the ladder, and there’s more than one of those, yes?” 

Javi groaned. 

“Look, when Kiki went missing, no one did anything at first. His boss Jaime was the only one looking. There was more traction when I got involved. But really,” she shook her head in awe,  like she still couldn’t believe it, “it’s not ‘till I lost my shit on one of the deputy directors in Mexico City that things started happening.” 

Get off your ass and start helping the other agents. Go find my fuckin’ husband! 

“It makes sense now, chain-of-command and all that, but if I’d known direct worked better than diplomacy, I would’ve started off yelling.” 

Javi raked his hands over his face. 

“So now, you need to figure out which ladder to take this up to.” 

“Yeah, okay,” his palms were nearly in his eye sockets now, “so when I figure that out, you want me to what—“ then dropped them from his face with a sigh. “Parade Connie, the distraught maybe-widow in front of whatever executive leadership and hope that’ll force them to act?” 

“Jesus Javi, it’s not like you’re a stage parent forcing your kid do pageants.” 

“Might as well be.”

“Don’t trivialize this, okay? This could work. Connie’s more than someone’s wife. She’s a person. And she’s smart. Articulate. Not only that, she’s a blonde-haired, blue-eyed nurse for god’s sake. America’s sweetheart. And frankly, she can be convincing to whatever executive leadership in a way that you can’t. I mean, let’s face it, all your police-radio jargon, letter-of-the-law, doublespeak nonsense, none of you law enforcement guys know how to properly emote.”

Javi laughed at that such fullness and depth, Mika realized that every time she’d heard him laugh before had been nothing but a pitiful shadow, a cheap imitation of the real thing. They'd known each other for a two years. How long could it have been since he'd laughed like that?

“Okay, Press Secretary Camarena. Point taken.”

“Plus, you have a trump card this time. Something Jaime and I didn’t have.” 

“Oh yeah. What’s that?” 

“The myth, the legend, the man himself, Kiki Camarena. Or really, the stain on the squeaky clean record of the DoD. The death of the myth, the legend, the man.” 

Javi chewed on that in silence, along with the inside of his cheek.

“Believe me, that’s a level of public scrutiny they don’t ever want to see again. They’ll avoid it at all costs. Especially if the government wants to keep selling weapons to anti-communist guerrillas. Undisturbed.” 

“Jesus Mika,” Javi kicked back off the wall, eyes wide with admiration, and she could practically see the lightbulb above his head, “You really have thought this whole thing through.” 

She bit back the tears welling in her eyes, an inexplicable wave of self-consciousness sweeping over her, and all she could think to do was shrug. “When someone dies, like how Kiki died, you always hear people talk about the hours they spent agonizing over it. Not sleeping for weeks, months— because you can’t help it. It’s involuntary. You think about things, replay every moment, every interaction– what could I have possibly said, done differently? What didn’t I see before it was too late?”

She swiped the tears off her cheeks and swallowed hard. He looked at her, touched by the peculiar sorrow that can only accompany surrogate grief. 

“Not many people get a chance to see the ‘what-ifs’ through. Me? I’ve had seven years to think about it. What I’d do differently. And now, I can use that to protect someone I love? Shit, this?” she smiled, making a gun gesture at Javi and pulling the trigger, “pschew. This is my shot.”

Javi just looked at her, dumbstruck. 

“Whatever happens,  god forbid, if Steve dies, however this plays out, it sure as hell won’t be because I wasted my shot.” 

With that, she turned, and walked up the stairs to the second floor. 

⥈

taglist: @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @ladygoatee, @ashlingiswriting, @ashlingnarcos, @kesskirata @artemiseamoon, @cositapreciosa, @rerorero-my-cherry

[hojeandolibros]

Operativo de búsqueda para localizar a los hermanos Camarena en Ocotlán

La Comisión de Búsqueda de Personas del Estado de Jalisco, en coordinación con autoridades federales, estatales y municipales, realizó un operativo de búsqueda individualizada en diversos puntos del municipio de Ocotlán. El objetivo es obtener datos que permitan dar con el paradero de los hermanos José de Jesús, Ernesto, Tonatiuh y Osvaldo Javier Camarena, reportados como desaparecidos en 2019 en…

[derring-do]

Opera Streams: Mid-Late December 2024

15th: Rachmaninoff's Aleko (alt link) from Greek National Opera. Featuring Tassis Christoyannis, Yannis Christopoulos, and Myrsini Margariti. Subscription.

20th: Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin from Finnish National Opera. Featuring Iurii Samoilov, Aistė Pilibov, and Tigran Hakobyan. Free!

21st: Rameau's Les Fêtes d'Hébé (alt link) from Opéra-Comique. Featuring Lea Desandre, Cyril Auvity, Marc Mauillon, and Ana Vieira Leite. In celebration of William Christie's 80th birthday. Subscription.

26th: Verdi's Rigoletto from Teatro Real. Featuring Javier Camarena, Ludovic Tézier, and Adela Zaharia. Free!

31st: Strauss II's Die Fledermaus from Wiener Staatsoper. Featuring Georg Nigl, Hanna-Elisabeth Müller, and Wolfgang Bankl. Free (with login)!

[cowgurrrl]

Playing the Game

Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader

Summary: The Aftermath [4.0k]

Warnings: interrogation setting, language, description of injuries (NOTHING GRAPHIC), discussions of nightmares, short dialogue in Spanish, Chekov’s gun if you squint really hard, some smutty thoughts and happenings, a little bit of backstory, canonical violence

"I understand that the events from a few months ago are still fresh in everyone's minds," you say, looking around the room of higher-ups. It's a big mix. CIA, DEA, military personnel, and even Ambassador Noonan. That's standard, you think. It's not every day an undercover CIA agent gets made in the streets of Medellín, kidnapped, and tortured for three days. "But my health has improved over these past few weeks, and my doctors have cleared me to return to the field. Given the grace of the board here today, I would like to return to work and finish the job I came to Colombia to do." 

You accepted the transfer to the United States Embassy in Bogotá a little over two years ago and did desk work for a few months before committing to an undercover job to collect intel on the cartel. It was safe enough. Most days were uneventful as you tuned into the codes and subtle behaviors of those involved. Still, you almost always carried your service weapon with you. You made the right friends. You kept your head down. You checked in with another CIA agent once a week and regularly relayed information to two DEA agents, Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. You were fine until you weren't. 

You still don't really know how they found out you were undercover or exactly what happened over those three days after they snatched you from the sidewalk. Sometimes, you're able to string together conversations had between them beating the shit out of you, but it's a lot of you repeating yourself. "No sé nada. No sé nada." You said over and over again as they accused you of lying and went back to torturing you. It wasn't an official ruling, but the people who stormed into the building collectively believed you were dead. When they stumbled in to find you sitting there, beaten but breathing, they thought it was a small-scale miracle. Upon further investigation and questioning, they were even more surprised you didn't give up any information. Instead, you threw out false leads to buy yourself and the embassy time. This wasn't your first rodeo. You knew better. 

All in all, you walked away starving and dehydrated with a perforated eardrum, deep lacerations from your own pair of handcuffs, a broken wrist, countless cuts and bruises, a concussion, a fucked up knee, and cigarette burns on your arms. Guards parked themselves outside your hospital room and your apartment until they were sure the threat to your life was suspended. Since then, you've been stuck at home, bored to tears, doing physical therapy exercises to regain strength in your leg, and reading declassified files sent to you. You're up to date on the latest happenings in Medellín and more than ready to come back. 

"Agent, I appreciate your willingness and courage to return to work, but how do you know the sicarios won't try to come after you again?" Colonel Wysession asks, and you shrug.

"How do we know that they might not try to come after any of us?" You ask. "You made a statement when you killed everyone involved with my kidnapping. They should know not to fuck with government agents, especially after Kiki Camarena's death." 

"'Should' doesn't mean they won't try it again." Ambassador Noonan chimes in. 

"You're right. They're still out there, wreaking havoc on the country and innocent people, which means you need all the hands you can get to catch them. I know firsthand how they operate and communicate with each other. You won't be able to get that information again, especially after the raid." You say. Agent Jones, the CIA representative, sighs as he flips your file open and looks over it. The interagency cooperation is nice and all, but it really comes down to him and Ambassador Noonan to make the final call. 

"You have an impressive record here, Agent. You were one of the top graduates from Camp Peary. A stint overseas to surveil communist groups in Eastern Europe. Assistance in multiple criminal investigations at home. Your information and skill have helped your country in innumerable ways," he says. "They even gave you a code name for your successes undercover: The Swallow."

"To be clear, I didn't approve of that name." You say quickly, and Agent Jones looks up from your file. 

"It's rare to get a code name anyone approves of." He says, and you nod, deciding to play nice.

"I guess that's true." 

You know exactly why you got given that name, and it will never not make your skin crawl. Years of work in the Agency, months spent undercover, and enough bullets fired in the name of democracy to haunt you for a lifetime, and in return, you get that name plastered to your record forever. So much for respect, right?

"Agent, our main concern right now is that in bringing you back to the field, we are putting a target on your back. Now, you've made it very clear that is a burden you're willing to carry, but that doesn't mean the United States is willing to carry it as well." Ambassador Noonan says.

"Ambassador, with all due respect, the second we put American agents on the ground here in Colombia, the United States not only carried the burden but also condoned it. Other Agency personnel are all aware of the immediate threat of being here and doing this work, and many, many men have disappeared because of it. I've made it back more than once. I can do it again."

"Are you sleeping well, Agent?" Agent Jones asks out of the blue, and you turn to look at him. The question throws you off guard. You were prepared to defend your work and skill, not your personal habits. But, your mind immediately jumps to the other night without your permission. 

It started how it always starts. Flinching in your sleep at phantom hits and talking to no one in particular. Random mumbling at first but then clearer, louder, until you were screaming. You shot up in bed, shaking and crying and swearing you could smell burnt flesh again. You didn't know where you were at first, but old habits die hard, and you instinctively reached for your gun. Someone grabbed your hand to keep you from hurting yourself and shushed you when you cried louder at the grip on your wrists. "It's me," he said gently, turning you around to face him. "It's me."

"I'm sleeping as well as anyone in my line of work can." You tell Agent Jones, pushing the memory from your head. "I'll sleep much better once Escobar's in the ground or behind bars."

"You're really dedicated to this, huh?" Colonel Wysession says, eyeing Noonan out of the corner of his eye, and you nod.

"A couple of loyal men with guns don't scare me, sir," you say. "After the show of force at the recon, I doubt they'll come after any one of us again. But if they do and it's me, I'll get on the first flight home. No questions asked." You know it's a good offer. You know they love to take risks with their agents and then act like they're doing them a service by taking them out. You know how to play this game.

Jones, Noonan, and Wysession talk quietly amongst themselves as you sit there, your hands folded calmly in front of you. It takes them all of two minutes to come to a decision. 

"You're cleared to return to four weeks of desk duty. After that time, we will reevaluate your position and see if we can't get you back in the field." Ambassador Noonan tells you decisively, and your jaw clenches. 

"Four weeks?" 

"I can make it six."

"Four will be perfectly fine, ma'am. Thank you, Ambassador." You say as you stand up and shake her hand.

"Welcome back, Agent." 

You almost forgot how mind-numbing desk duty is. If you hadn't been made, you definitely would've. All day, you watch agents from other agencies come in and out with intel and stories from the streets while you're forced to sit there and file reports on a typewriter that may be older than you. You want to gouge your eyes out when you catch wind of a planned tactical pursuit. The gun sitting in the top drawer of your desk feels like it's burning a hole in your brain, and all you want to do is go back out and do actual work. You didn't graduate top of your class to be a fucking secretary.

You don't know what's worse: desk duty or being chained to your desk when a familiar voice calls your name.

"Well, if it isn't the biggest pain in my ass," you greet as Javi parks himself in front of you. He doesn't object to you calling him a pain in the ass. It even seems to amuse him. "How can I help you, Javier?" 

"What makes you think I need somethin', huh? Maybe I just wanted to see how you're doing." Javi says, and you chuckle, shuffling especially important files away from prying eyes. He rests his hands on your desk and leans forward, his billowy shirt opening enough to give up a nice view of his chest. You glance between him and his collarbones and level him with a knowing look. 

"Call it intuition." You say. You wait another second for him to fess up to what he needs before lifting your hands to start typing again. He sighs and slides you a picture of a sicario, looking around to ensure nobody's watching the interaction. 

"What do you know about him?" He asks quietly. You furrow your brows and shake your head. 

"Who's that?" 

"C'mon, I know you have intel on all these fuckers. I just need to know where he hangs out. We need to ask him a few questions." 

"And when Noonan asks where you got the information? Because you know she will ask."

"I'll say I got it from an especially beautiful high-level CI."

"Enticing," you say. "I don't work for you, Javi. If you want information, go out on the streets and get it yourself." 

"Nobody's willing to acknowledge that this guy is the reason a CIA agent got kidnapped." He says. You stiffen in your chair and look at the picture again. You know you have information on him and remember seeing him around town when you were undercover. You also know you're not supposed to give classified information to the DEA until it is declassified.

"How do you know that?" You ask, and he shrugs as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"If I tell you, are you gonna give me something in return?"

"If you make it good." 

"We have reason to believe one of Pablo's informants caught you sniffing around for information and started tracking your movements. We still don't know how he found out you were CIA, and we need to find him to understand how," he says, pointing at the picture to emphasize his point. You take a deep breath and debate your options. "Look, all I'm asking you to do is… misplace a few files. It happens all the time. There's no way it would come back to you. Plus, I know how bored you are. Live a little."

"They've still got you on desk duty?" Steve asks as he comes down the steps, and you look away from Javi's intense gaze to smile at him. Steve, Javi's partner and DEA's golden boy, has always been kind to you. You're friends with his wife, Connie, and you've spent many a drunken night at their apartment. He's a good man. You give it a few more months here before that changes. 

"Couple more weeks." You say before looking back at Javi. “Sabe lo que me estás pidiendo que haga?” Thank God for white men who move to a country with no understanding of the language. Javi gives you a look and chews on the inside of his cheek. 

“Por supuesto que no.” He shakes his head and you scoff. 

"Eso es que piensaba," you say as you sigh, tear off a corner from a scrap piece of paper, and write down the name of a local bar. "His name is Jorge Alemán. He hides from his wife and mistresses at this bar downtown. He's gonna be armed, so be careful." You hold out the piece of paper to Javi but pull it back before he can grab it. "This doesn't come back to me."

"Course not." He says. You finally hand it to him and look over your shoulder to make sure nobody's watching you give him information. Steve looks confused but willing to go along with whatever as Javi memorizes the name. 

"Do me a favor?" You say, forcing his brown eyes away from the paper. "Don't pull your punches with him. They certainly didn't with me." It's the most you've talked about the kidnapping at work since it happened. You catch both Steve and Javi looking at the thick scars around your wrists, but you don't pull them away. If anything, you hope it inspires them to get a little creative with their interrogation. 

"Yes, ma'am," Javi promises. With that, he takes the paper and the picture, and the two of them disappear up the stairs to do whatever they need to get information. It's better for all three of you if you don't know the exact details of how the other does their jobs. You've each seen the aftermath of each other's training. You don't need to imagine much, but it's a nice boundary in a time where there seems to be none.

When Steve and Javi come back a few hours later with "important intel" for the Ambassador, you pretend not to know anything about it. Thirty minutes later, you're called in to get the information for the first time, and you tell them what you already told Steve and Javi. They agree to fly CENTRA SPIKE over him for a few days to see if they can pick anything up. "Is there anything I can do to assist with this investigation, Ambassador?" You ask before she can try to dismiss the three of you, and she shakes her head. 

"A few more weeks, Agent. I need to ensure your safety before I let you loose again."

"Ambassador, it might be helpful to let her return fully to the field. It could inspire Alemán to reach out to his contacts about her, and we could get more information about how she got made." Steve suggests, and Javi nods.

"He's right. We have to give CENTRA SPIKE something to pick up. Why not details about her?" Obviously, your absence has impacted them, especially if they're going to bat for you. Part of you warms at the thought of them caring so much about you, but the other part worries about what the Ambassador will say. 

"Her work is also valuable to the Embassy as a whole. It would be a mistake to sideline her any longer."

"Okay, gentlemen, you've made your point," Noonan cuts Steve off before he can continue, and you have to fight your smile when she looks at you. "Can you handle this?" She asks, and you nod.

"Yes, ma'am." You say. She shakes her head before reaching for what you're assuming is your file behind her and writing something down.

"The second I think it's too much for you, I'm pulling you back out. This time for two months and there will be no negotiations to be had unless you want to get on a plane home. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," you agree. "Thank you, Ambassador."

"Don't make me regret this." 

You'd be lying if you said you didn't go home with a little extra pep in your step. You got two weeks taken off of your mandatory desk duty and got your badge back. You've had much worse days, most of which ended with you drinking one too many and smoking until your small apartment is hazy. Today, you feel much better despite your apartment being a mess.

Mail has piled up on the counter next to your medical discharge paperwork and physical therapy exercises. Letters postmarked from the United States bore into you as you do your best to ignore them by plopping your bag on top of them. Half-open rolls of gauze are scattered around, so you could always have one on hand when changing your dressings. Your breakfast dishes are still in the sink, but you are not motivated to wash them. Besides, you're just gonna make a bigger mess once you start making dinner. 

You'd been thinking about what you would make all day and only settled on it once you left the Ambassador's office. There's not much you get to control during your day, so you take special care with the food you eat. You like cooking. You always have, and you're not half-bad at it. It's one of the only times you can call the shots and turn your mind off, worries about cartel numbers and communist groups in the jungle pushed away for a time. You're stirring a big pot on the stove when the knock sounds at your door.

He's late. He's always late. He'll claim it's deliberate so nobody can track his movements, but you're convinced he has no sense of time. His work habits can prove as much. You can't count how often you've been working late with him and had to pull him away from his desk because he didn't realize it was midnight. "Just let me do one more thing, and then we can leave," he's always tried to negotiate. You barely manage to get him to stop every time, but he relents after so much convincing. 

You turn down the radio in your kitchen and walk over to the door to let him in, a smile already tugging at your lips. You barely have the deadbolt unlocked before he's pushing through the door and stealing air from you. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes (a nightcap with Steve?), and your hands reach up to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. He hums against you as he shuts the door behind him and presses you against it. 

"Somethin' smells good." He mumbles.

"I'm making dinner. Figured it was a special occasion." You say, but he's already ducking his head down to mouth at the column of your throat, his teeth grazing the spot he knows makes you dizzy.

"'M not hungry." He says even though you know for a fact he's been living on cigarettes and coffee all day. You push him away and give him a look, but he feigns innocence, his fingers sneaking their way up your shirt.

"I did not cook all this food for you to tell me you're not hungry," you say. He opens his mouth to argue, but you kiss him before he can, and he, predictably, melts into you. "Dinner first, and then I'll let you do whatever you want me to do. Deal?" 

"Whatever I want?" He echoes, and you nod. "Must be a damn good dinner."

"Mm, the best." You say as you push him off you to return to the stove. He sighs and lets you pass, but he quickly settles behind you, his hands dangerously roaming over you as you stir the pot again. You smack his wrist when his hand tries to duck under your waistband, and he groans. "You made a deal."

"Deals are broken all the time," he kisses the back of your neck, insatiable, and you shiver as his mustache brushes against your skin. "I've also been thinkin' bout this since you pulled that shit at work."

"That really did it for you, huh?" You ask, a smirk pulling at your lips, but it quickly fades when he grinds his hard cock against you. He nips at your earlobe and successfully manages to unbutton the top of your jeans, your breath hitching when his fingers trace the waistband of your panties.

"You don't work for me, huh?" He breathes, and you laugh as you rest your head back on his shoulder.

"My security clearance is higher than yours." 

"Y'know, sometimes I think you like terrorizing me."

"Who says I don't?" You know you're treading thin ice with him, but you don't care. You always like to rile Javi up just to see what he'll do. When he reaches around you to safely turn off the stove, you know you've got him right where you want him. Something in your brain complains about the dinner you made, but it quickly shuts up once his fingers push your underwear to the side and graze your clit. You sigh in relief, already putty in his hands, and he's barely touched you. 

He draws tight circles around the little bundle of nerves, and you grip the edge of the counter to try to keep your balance. His other hand rests lazily around your throat, not enough to restrict your breathing but enough to keep you upright with the promise that he could. This— the desperate need and no time wasted— is more familiar than anything else.

Since the kidnapping, he's treated you like you're made of glass. He tried a few times to come to take care of you, but every time you argued about something, you would make him leave. You'd rather heal alone than have someone staring at you like a kicked dog. You were the one practically begging him to touch you the second you felt well enough, and you were the one who had to convince him you wouldn't break. Later, he would tell you he was scared to even kiss you because he just kept seeing you chained to that chair, bloody and beaten. It's taken a lot of adjustments on both sides, but him pressing you against the counter and taking control is the most reminiscent of the beginnings of your relationship when it was still "one more time," and you could barely stand each other. 

It was stress relief. In a lot of ways, it still is. Nobody knows about you two, and neither of you is ready or willing to disclose to Noonan. She'd immediately send one of you home, but it definitely wouldn't be Javi. So, you're completely fine sneaking between apartments and fucking catastrophic days away. It's enough. Unlike the way he's touching you.

"Javi," you whine, arching into his touch, and he shushes you. His middle finger barely pushes into you when a loud boom sounds nearby, followed by blaring car alarms. You jump, and he quickly withdraws and shields your body with his as the floor shakes. It might not have been in the neighborhood, but it was really fucking close. You wait out any aftershocks or additional bombs, and both your phones start ringing, not even five minutes later. 

A car bomb planted in Jorge Alemán's truck exploded when he put the keys in the ignition. He died before the bomb was even done exploding. Whoever found out you were CIA not only sold that information, but they killed Alemán before he could talk. They must've seen Javi and Steve poking around. They might know you're back at the Agency. They might try to kill you as a way of tying up their loose ends. Steve warns you as much when you show up at the scene, uncomfortably turned on and annoyed at the same time. 

"This could get real ugly," Steve says, and you nod. 

"You regret coming down here?" You ask. He gives you a look as Javi walks around the vehicle's wreckage but shakes his head.

"Do you?"

"No," you say. "I came here to nail Escobar, and I'm not going home until we do. If it has to get ugly for that to happen, that's fine." He looks like he wants to say something more but stops himself. Instead, you join Javi next to the car and talk with the local police about what happened, completely aware that bystanders have seen your face and the gun on your hip. They know you're with the United States government, and they know what you're worth.

Yeah, shit was gonna get real ugly, and you thought you were ready for it. But then again, everyone did in 1992.

TAGLIST:@abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia (let me know if you don't wanna be tagged for this series!)

[princesssarisa]

Opera on YouTube 3

Il Barbiere di Siviglia (The Barber of Seville)

Mario Lanfrachi studio film, 1965 (Sesto Bruscantini, Valeria Mariconda, Ugo Benelli; conducted by Alberto Zedda; no subtitles)

Jean-Pierre Ponnelle studio film, 1974 (Hermann Prey, Teresa Berganza, Luigi Alva; conducted by Claudio Abbado; English subtitles)

New York City Opera, 1976 (Alan Titus, Beverly Sills, Henry Price; conducted by Sarah Caldwell; English subtitles)

Arena Sferisterio, 1980 (Leo Nucci, Marilyn Horne, Ernesto Palacio; conducted by Nicola Rescingo; no subtitles)

Teatro Real de Madrid, 2005 (Pietro Spagnoli, Maria Bayo, Juan Diego Flórez; conducted by Gianluigi Gelmetti; Arabic subtitles)

Teatro la Fenice, 2008 (Roberto Frontali, Rinat Shaham, Francesco Meli; conducted by Antonino Fogliani; Italian subtitles)

Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, 2009 (Pietro Spagnoli, Joyce DiDonato, Juan Diego Flórez; conducted by Antonio Pappano; English subtitles)

Vienna State Opera, 2019 (Rafael Fingerlos, Margarita Gritskova, Juan Diego Flórez; conducted by Evelino Pidó; English subtitles)

Arena di Verona, 2022 (Leo Nucci, Nino Machaidze, Dmitry Korchak; conducted by Daniel Oren; English subtitles)

Garsington Opera, 2023 (Johannes Kamler, Katie Bray, Andrew Stenson; conducted by Douglas Boyd; English subtitles)

Rigoletto

Wolfgang Nagel studio film, 1977 (Rolando Panerai, Franco Bonisolli, Margherita Rinaldi; conducted by Francesco Molinari-Pradelli; Japanese subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1977 (Cornell MacNeil, Plácido Domingo, Ileana Cotrubas; conducted by James Levine; no subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1981 (Cornell MacNeil, Luciano Pavarotti, Christiane Eda-Pierre; conducted by James Levine; no subtitles)

Jean-Pierre Ponnelle film, 1982 (Ingvar Wixell, Luciano Pavarotti, Edita Gruberova; conducted by Riccardo Chailly, English subtitles)

English National Opera, 1982 (John Rawnsley, Arthur Davies, Marie McLaughlin; conducted by Mark Elder, sung in English)

La Monnaie, Brussels, 1999 (Anthony Michaels-Moore, Marcelo Álvarez, Elizabeth Futral; conducted by Vladimir Jurowski; no subtitles)

Arena di Verona, 2001 (Leo Nucci, Aquiles Machado, Inva Mula; conducted by Marcello Viotti; Italian subtitles)

Zürich Opera house, 2006 (Leo Nucci, Piotr Beczala, Elena Mosuc; conducted by Nello Santi; no subtitles)

Paris Opera, 2016 (Quinn Kelsey, Michael Fabiano, Olga Peretyatko; conducted by Nicola Luisotti; English subtitles)

Teatro Massimo, 2018 (George Petean, Ivan Ayon Rivas, Grazia Schiavo; conducted by Stefano Ranzani; English subtitles)

Così Fan Tutte

Vaclav Kaslik studio film, 1969 (Gundula Janowitz, Christa Ludwig, Luigi Alva, Hermann Prey; conducted by Karl Böhm; English subtitles)

Jean-Pierre Ponnelle studio film, 1988 (Edita Gruberova, Delores Ziegler, Luis Lima, Ferruccio Furlanetto; conducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt; English subtitles) – Act I, Act II

Teatro alla Scala, 1989 (Daniela Dessì, Delores Ziegler, Josef Kundlak, Alessandro Corbelli; conducted by Riccardo Muti; Italian subtitles) – Act I, Act II

Théâtre du Châtelet, 1992 (Amanda Roocroft, Rosa Mannion, Rainer Trost, Rodney Gilfry; conducted by John Eliot Gardiner; English subtitles)

Vienna State Opera, 1996 (Barbara Frittoli, Angelika Kirschlager, Michael Schade, Bo Skovhus; conducted by Riccardo Muti; English and Italian subtitles)

Teatro Comunale di Ferrara, 2000 (Melanie Diener, Anna Caterina Antonacci, Charles Workman, Nicola Ulivieri; conducted by Claudio Abbado; no subtitles)

Zürich Opera House, 2000 (Cecilia Bartoli, Liliana Nikiteanu, Roberto Saccá, Oliver Widmer; conducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt; no subtitles) – Act I, Act II

Opera Lyon, 2007 (Maria Bengtsson, Tove Dahlberg, Daniel Behle, Vito Priante; conducted by Stefano Montanari; French subtitles)

Salzburg Festival, 2009 (Miah Persson, Isabel Leonard, Topi Lehtipuu, Florian Boesch; conducted by Adam Fischer; English subtitles)

Zürich Opera House, 2009 (Malin Hartelius, Anna Bonitatibus, Javier Camarena, Ruben Drole; conducted by Frans Welser-Möst; English subtitles)

Aïda

San Francisco Opera, 1981 (Margaret Price, Luciano Pavarotti; conducted by Luis Garcia Navarro; no subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1985 (Leontyne Price, James McCracken; conducted by James Levine; English subtitles) – Act I, Act II, Act III, Act IV

Teatro alla Scala, 1986 (Maria Chiara, Luciano Pavarotti; conducted by Lorin Maazel; English subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1989 (Aprile Millo, Plácido Domingo; conducted by James Levine; English subtitles)

Teatro Comunale di Busseto, 2001 (Adina Aaron, Scott Piper; conducted by Massimiliano Stefaneli; Italian subtitles)

St. Margarethen Opera Festival, 2004 (Eszter Szümegi, Konstantin Andreev; conducted by Ernst Marzendorfer; English subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 2012 (Liudmyla Monastyrska, Roberto Alagna; conducted by Fabio Luisi; Russian subtitles)

Tbisili State Opera, 2017 (Maqvala Aspanidze, Franco Tenelli; conducted by Marco Boemi; Russian subtitles)

Teatro Colón, 2018 (Latonia Moore, Riccardo Massi; conducted by Carlos Vieu; Spanish subtitles)

Teatro la Fenice, 2019 (Roberta Mantegna, Francesco Meli; conducted by Riccardo Frizza; French subtitles)

[lboogie1906]

Lawrence Brownlee (November 24, 1972) is an operatic tenor associated with the bel canto repertoire.

He attended Anderson University in Indiana for his undergraduate degree and Indiana University Jacobs School of Music for graduate studies. He studied with soprano Costanza Cuccaro, David Starkey, and Fritz Robertson. While a graduate student, he became a member of the Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity.

He participated in young artist programs at the Seattle Opera and the Wolf Trap Opera Company.

His professional stage debut took place in 2002 as Almaviva in Rossini’s The Barber of Seville with Virginia Opera. He made his Metropolitan Opera debut in a new production of Il Barbiere di Siviglia in 2007. The role has since become one of his most recognizable and famous. He has appeared in Il Barbiere in Vienna, Milan, Berlin, Madrid, Dresden, Munich, Baden-Baden, Hamburg, Tokyo, New York, Washington, San Diego, Seattle, and Boston. His career highlights include performances of The Barber of Seville at the Vienna State Opera, the Boston Lyric Opera, and Madrid’s Teatro Real. He has appeared in Rossini’s L’italiana in Algeri and La Cenerentola at Milan’s La Scala, as Belfiore in Rossini’s Il viaggio a Reims in Brussels, and as Tonio in Donizetti’s La fille du régiment at the Cincinnati Opera. He has received acclaim in Rossini’s Armida, alongside Renée Fleming in the famously challenging role of Tonio in La fille du régiment, and as Arturo in I Puritani at the Metropolitan Opera. He, Juan Diego Flórez, and Javier Camarena were called “The Three Tenors,” and said to “represent a new golden age in high male voices and the singular thrill of their top notes.” #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #kappaalphapsi

[joaquimblog]

LICEU 2023-2024: LA NOVA TEMPORADA I UNA NOVA DECEPCIÓ

Jonas Kaufmann, Lise Davidsen, Aušrinė Stundytė, Eleonora Buratto, Anita Rachvelisvili, Freddie De Tomasso, Javier Camarena, Tamara Wilson, Julia Lezhneva, Michael Volle, Adriana Gonzalez, Varduhi Abrahamyan, Magdalena Kožená, Elena Pankratova, Nadine Sierra, Maria Agresta, Gerald Finley, Elizabeth DeShong, Noms, noms, noms, alguns dels més valorats i esperats per a mi, altres que no esmento…

[musical-chick-13]

🎧!!! I love song recs!!!

I am recommending this!! This guy is one of my all-time favorite opera singers, and this piece (okay fine it's technically a "piece," not a "song") is one of my favorites of his. Javier Camarena is EVERYTHING to me.

Send me a 🎧 and I’ll recommend one of my favorite songs.

[miss-mollys-ballet-blog]

One of my absolute favorite moments in music/arts ever was Javier Camarena's standing ovation and encore of Ah Mes Amis in a performance of La Fille du Regiment at the Met. Whenever I'm sad, I watch that video because he is filled with such joy and talent and gorgeous music, you can't help but grin along with him.

[operaportugues]

canção "Caro mio ben" (Tommaso Giordani)

Letra em italiano e português

Cecilia Bartoli

Irina Arkhipova

Montserrat Caballe

Luciano Pavarotti

José Carreras

Javier Camarena

Hvorostovsky

Letra em italiano: Caro mio ben, credimi almen, senza di te languisce il cor.

Il tuo fedel sospira ognor. Cessa, crudel, tanto rigor!

Tradução para português: Meu caro bem creia-me ao menos, sem ti debilita-se o coração.

O seu fiel suspira sempre. Cessa, cruel, tanto rigor!

[acapulcopress]

141 aspirantes a legisladores federales renuncian a sus apoyos económicos

CIUDAD DE MÉXICO * 5 de marzo, 2024. ) Apro Diputadas y diputados que participarán en la elección consecutiva manifestaron su renuncia voluntaria a apoyos económicos, informó la Cámara Baja en un comunicado. La Mesa Directiva informó que 141 legisladores federales que participarán en la elección consecutiva en el proceso electoral 2023-2024 manifestaron su renuncia voluntaria a los apoyos económicos a que tienen derecho. Estos apoyos consisten en asistencia legislativa, atención ciudadana, casa enlace, transporte y hospedaje y tarjeta Viapass para peaje, y dejarán de contar por ellos por el periodo que comprende del 1 de marzo al 2 de junio. De la cifra total, 45 son de Morena, 47 del PAN, 29 del PRI, 19 del PT y uno del PRD. Estos son los legisladores que expresaron su deseo de renunciar a los apoyos: Morena César Agustín Hernández Pérez, Carol Antonio Altamirano, Reyna Celeste Ascencio Ortega, Ana Elizabeth Ayala Leyva, Manuel de Jesús Baldenebro Arredondo, Rocío Natalí Barrera Puc, Juan Ángel Bautista Bravo, María del Carmen Bautista Pelaéz, Bruno Blancas Mercado, Francisco Javier Borrego Adame, Héctor Armando Cabada Alvidrez, Óscar Cantón Zetina, Olegaria Carrazco Macías, Mario Miguel Carrillo Cubillas, Alejandro Carvajal Hidalgo, Favio Castellanos Polanco, Olga Leticia Chávez Rojas, Armando Contreras Castillo, Armando Corona Arvizu, Roberto Ángel Domínguez Rodríguez, Olga Juliana Elizondo Guerra, Leonel Godoy Rangel, Juanita Guerra Mena, Rosa Hernández Espejo, Arturo Roberto Hernández Tapia, Mónica Herrera Villavicencio, Irma Juan Carlos, Mayra Alicia Mendoza Álvarez, Moisés Ignacio Mier Velazco, Evangelina Moreno Guerra, Julio Cesar Moreno Rivera, Blanca Araceli Narro Panameño, Araceli Ocampo Manzanares, Pedro David Ortega Fonseca, Jaime Humberto Pérez Bernabe, Sonia Rincon Chanona, Carlos Sánchez Barrios, Azael Santiago Chepi, Paola Tenorio Adame, Teresita de Jesús Vargas Meraz, Manuel Vázquez Arellano, Julieta Kristal Vences Valencia, Dulce María Corina Villegas Guarneros, Merary Villegas Sánchez y Joaquín Zebadúa Alva. PAN Marco Humberto Aguilar Coronado, Laura Patricia Ahedo Bárcenas, Salvador Alcántar Ortega, Marco Antonio Almendariz Puppo, Daniela Soraya Álvarez Hernández, Ana Teresa Aranda Orozco, Itzel Josefina Balderas Hernández, Ana María Balderas Trejo, Carolina Beauregard Martínez, María Teresa Castell de Oro Palacios, Román Cifuentes Negrete, Erika de los Ángeles Díaz Villalón, Yesenia Galarza Castro, María Josefina Gamboa Torales, Pedro Garza Treviño, Mariana Gómez del Campo Gurza, Carmen Rocío González Alonso, Karla Verónica González Cruz, Diana Estefanía Gutiérrez Valtierra, Genoveva Huerta Villegas, Jorge Ernesto Inzunza Armas, Julia Licet Jiménez Angulo, Berenice Juárez Navarrete, Diana María Teresa Lara Carreón, José Elías Lixa Abimerhi, Noemí Berenice Luna Ayala, Gustavo Macías Zambrano, Esther Mandujano Tinajero, Noel Mata Atilano, Miguel Ángel Monraz Ibarra, Sarai Núñez Cerón, Ali Sayuri Núñez Meneses, María Elena Pérez-Jaén Zermeño, Gabriel Ricardo Quadri de la Torre, Éctor Jaime Ramírez Barba, Sonia Rocha Acosta, Juan Carlos Romero Hicks, Martha Estela Romo Cuéllar, Paulina Rubio Fernández, Ana Laura Sánchez Velázquez, Rodrigo Sánchez Zepeda, Luis Gerardo Serrato Castell, Armando Tejeda Cid, Héctor Saúl Téllez Hernández, Fernando Torres Graciano, Roberto Valenzuela Corral y Margarita Ester Zavala Gómez del Campo. PRI Norma Angélica Aceves García, Yeimi Yazmín Aguilar Cifuentes, María de Jesús Aguirre Maldonado, Pablo Guillermo Angulo Briceño, Karla Ayala Villalobos, Frinné Azuara Yarzábal, Sue Ellen Bernal Bolnik, Jaime Bueno Zertuche, María del Refugio Camarena Jáuregui, Adriana Campos Huirache, Alma Patricia Cardona Ortiz, Eufrosina Cruz Mendoza, Carolina Dávila Ramírez, Juan Francisco Espinoza Eguia, Xavier González Zirión, Marcela Guerra Castillo, Fuensanta Guadalupe Guerrero Esquivel, Johana Montcerrat Hernández Pérez, Ana Lilia Herrera Anzaldo, Jazmín Jaimes Albarrán, Roberto Carlos López García, Tereso Medina Ramírez, Rubén Ignacio Moreira Valdez, Rafael Alejandro Moreno Cárdenas, Mariana Erandi Nassar Piñeyro, Lorena Piñón Rivera, María Elena Serrano Maldonado, Maribel Guadalupe Villaseñor Dávila y Cynthia Iliana López Castro. PT Lilia Aguilar Gil, José Alejandro Aguilar López, Mary Carmen Bernal Martínez, Francisco Amadeo Espinosa Ramos, Alfredo Femat Bañuelos, José Gerardo Rodolfo Fernández Noroña, Irma Yordana Garay Loredo, Margarita García García, Jesús Fernando García Hernández, Maribel Martínez Ruiz, Luis Enrique Martínez Ventura, Brígido Ramiro Moreno Hernández, Magdalena del Socorro Núñez Monreal, Jorge Armando Ortiz Rodríguez, Ángel Benjamín Robles Montoya, Ana Karina Rojo Pimentel, María de Jesús Rosete Sánchez, Reginaldo Sandoval Flores y Dionicia Vázquez García. PRD Francisco Javier Huacus Esquivel. ] Síguenos en facebook.com/acapulcopress.news ) Síguenos en facebook.com/angelblanco.press ] Síguenos en ) acapulcopress.com Read the full article

[hausofmamadas]

FANFIC

✸ TELL ME SWEET LITTLE LIES | Kathy Cross x Danny Lyon (The Bikeriders) -> Part 1, Part 2

✸ FOR THOSE THAT SEEK THE JUNGLE'S FORGIVENESS | Mika Camarena & Connie Murphy + Mika x Javier Peña (Narcos/Nmx crossover) -> Part 1, Part 2

✸ ONE LAST SECRET OF DESOLATION | Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham (Fic in a Box 2023)

✸ SO MUCH FOR MY NINE LIVES | David Barrón & Benjamín Arellano Félix (Narcoctober - Horror)

✸ HARD TO HATE UP CLOSE | Andrea Núñez & OC! Julián “Bugsy” Barrón Corona (Narcoctober - Monsters)

✸ THE OCCUPATIONAL HAZARDS OF LIVING | David Barrón & Rustin “Crash” Cohle & OC! Ziggy Morenas & OC! Chato Quintana Colmenaro - Nmx/True Detective Crossover (Narcoctober - Cross Pollination)

✸ TO LIVE AND LEAVE FAST | Andrea Nuñez x Horacio Carrillo (Narcoctober - Surprises)

✸ IN DEFENSE OF WONDERBREAD WHITE | Eureka! Character Moments - Analysis of garbinge’s Foldin’ Clothes (Narcoctober - Support)

✸ TU CÓMPLICE | Ismael "El Mayo" Zambada x Benjamín Arellano Félix (Narcoctober - Firsts)

✸ WHAT’S WAITING DOWN ZUNI ROAD | Gabrielle Castillo x Ignacio “Nacho” Varga (Mayans/BCS Crossover - Rarepairs 2023)

✸ OUR MAN IN MEXICO | Andrea Nuñez x Horacio Carrillo (NFF Smut Alphabet - ✷ ✷ 18+ NSFW ✷✷)

✸ ONLY GOOD FOR A GOOD TIME | Isabella Bautista x Enedina Arellano Félix - ✷DRIVEL DRABBLE✷

✸ THIS IS WHY THE EARTH EATS THE DEAD | Rafa Caro Quintero x María Elvira

✸ EVERY ALLEY IN MEXICO HAS ITS OWN GHOST | David Barrón x Ramón Arellano Félix

Dinarrón:

✸ CHASING GHOSTS AND CHOICES | David Barrón x Enedina Arellano Félix (Narcoctober - Life)

✸ THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US | David Barrón x Enedina Arellano Félix (NFF Smut Alphabet - ✷✷ 18+ NSFW ✷✷)

✸ ALWAYS SHORT TO THE GATE | David Barrón x Enedina Arellano Félix (Candyhearts Exchange 2023)

✸ OJITOS ANOCHECIDOS | David Barrón x Enedina Arellano Félix (aka Dinarron, ft. AU Barron)

[cheetos-and-chopsticks]

*shakes head* thats bullshit. you should know they wouldnt risk turning me into another kiki camarena. especially on american soil. - 🩷

They don’t give a shit. Connie and Olivia had to leave the country. They’re in a safe house somewhere.

- Javier