#anyways yeah most of the self righteous people you DO refer to from the past I don’t like either

[fleshrenderturbine]

I guess my actual final thought will be that uh

This isnt as serious as some serial abuser running around hurting people, but he has a track record of being a self victimizing manipulator to gain sympathy in past circles that can see future partners and friends being hurt by.

All I wanted to do is remind him that people know what he is doing even if he seems fine identifying with loads of lies with this new crowd he’s around. I’m going to be honest but he doesn’t even know *me* that well so he probably thinks of the wrong set of people when wondering about who this is.

Had I approached privately itd be swept under the rug but in this harsher method of speaking out, at least more people will become wary. Yea I probably took a jab at some crap that doesn’t ultimately matter in light of this but, I guess that’s my own disgust at actively enduring a lot of the stuff you guys are attracted to in my own abusive past, and at least it should be recognized that not everyone’s going to like that stuff. (I mean duh, but don’t double down to “write Mel’s legs getting chopped off out of spite”) - that I did see bcs someone pointed it out to me specifically and that’s just weird to me as a response more than “omg how could you”

He also likely scammed you of donation money as well just to buy whatever himself indulgences. People aren’t vocal openly about it but it’s very obvious you just went to spend the money on indulgent stuff. I had multiple people dm about this.

On the note of “self righteousness” also, he isn’t even innocent of this and has incited harassment against someone else in the past, going off of said lies that ultimately did more damage to the situation. He apologized for it at the time, after being caught at it but now I see he’s actually still lying about how the situation actually went despite apologizing in the past for said lies like (???)

M has done some fucked up shit too but by you playing self-righteous victim and taking away from the reality of the situation to look better than him, a minor that was actually abused was semi glossed over, and in that nature about lying about specific details to fuel harassment he became more of a danger to others, because why take criticism seriously if you’re going to be harassed about flat out lies just as well?

That to me, is dangerous. And the hypocrisy I talk about and want to reiterate on. Don’t speak about being left alone when you’re still representing and identifying with the same behavior you were criticized about way back. I’m not “digging up old stuff” if it seems to be active

@snuffk1t (didn’t plan to ping as the wording is in 3rd person anyways, but whatever)

After a ton of ripping into you so to speak I will end this off on a semi positive note that; I think ultimately you should learn to be real with yourself and grow with your focus based on improvement rather than continued self-victimization, I speak so harshly against it because I literally used to do the same and I live much better now. I know you might play this off in public if you respond to this but I know that you know what I’m talking about and I just hope you deeply internalize this message.

[rekuuza]

Dark Humor

I never liked this kind of humor. It's disrespectful to the dead, insensitive to people who suffered and utterly offensive to most religious groups. It is kind of crazy that my view of dark humor just drastically changed when I started high school. That's when my frequent exposure to social media also started. I often see memes. Not just memes with a picture and a joke written with large fonts, but the one that includes a bit of reality. Dark history of wars, fascism, imperialism, racism, genocide and tragedies that have shaken particular countries in the past. At first, these kinds of jokes were infuriating for me but I realised, I'm on the internet. Almost anything can be possible here for anyone. I got used to seeing these kinds of jokes but also everytime I laugh I curse myself, "What the hell is wrong with me?!", "Why am I like this?!", "Will I still laugh if those things happened to me?". I tried practising self-control, holding back my laughter whenever I see a video of a person falling from a height edited with banger music in the background. It's hard. Like really hard. I feel like I'm a really bad person because of laughing uncontrollably from a person's misfortune though, I really am, in that sense. Years passed, and most kinds of dark humor don't bother me anymore. Like, I would laugh my ass off hysterically whenever I hear remixed prayers with a really cool beat and a dancing Jesus, I don't care. Most of these religious people were a bunch of hypocrites anyway. From my observation, the most used kinds of dark humor were death, historical wars, blasphemy and racism, which is what I hate. I'm well aware of black people's history and how much suffering they endured so I know how it must feel to be mocked and referred to by that word any non-black people were not supposed to say. I wouldn't also want someone racially discriminating against us like if I do practise this kind of humor. So yeah, even dark humor has limits for me. Aside from the previous four that were mentioned, homophobia is also the theme of many dark jokes circulating on the internet, which I also loathe. Like, bro you think you're a sigma male giga chad for shitting on how people want to live their lives? No. Well, most of these chad wannabes belong to the religious bunch so it's not really a surprise. And there goes blasphemy, for me this will always be the most funny to me. One might say, "Respect others' beliefs so they respect yours too". Hell no. They couldn't even respect anyone that has a different belief in them. They would try to shove their belief to anyone's face and insist that this is the real god, you should give up your life and worship him when there are actually many gods different people of different cultures worship and they couldn't even prove the existence of theirs. That's why I find it really funny when someone jokes about their religion. They deserve it. So yeah, if I would rank these five most used dark humor I always see on the internet, blasphemy will be the first. It's so funny and I've always hated self-righteous hypocrites. Death will be the second, we're all gonna die anyway so let's just laugh about it. Wars? I don't know. They are sometimes funny but it's just wrong, totally wrong so I hate myself about it. Racism? I'd avoid joking about it as much as I possibly can, because whenever I try to do so to join my friends' fun, guilt instantly strikes me. Homophobia? Nope. Let people live their lives. As I said, dark humor also has its limits, at least for me.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

- Chapter 10 -

Nie Mingjue was starting to become accustomed to the routine of the cell.

Wen Ruohan would generally visit the Fire Palace twice weekly, sometimes more if he had had a very bad day and wanted to let off some steam. Nie Mingjue would get visited on at least one of those instances, whether for a short time and a bit of emotional devastation or for a longer and much more physically uncomfortable visit, and sometimes more often if Wen Ruohan was not doing well in war.

Wen Ruohan still enjoyed asking him questions, but Nie Mingjue didn’t think he had to answer them anymore. This was a subject that came up sometimes during some of those longer visits.

The rest of the time, he was left to recover and be bored. He was not given access to his saber – Baxia had been hidden away somewhere, he thought, he could feel that she was safe if unhappy – but his spiritual energy was not restrained, the way some other prisoners were.

He spent a great deal of time meditating. Sometimes, if his physical condition allowed for it, he would practice old techniques, trying to focus on a different muscle each time to try to avoid letting them atrophy. His empty hands bothered him, but he deemed it unlikely that anyone would give him equivalent to a saber something to wield, not even if he asked.

Food was twice a day, usually just a bowl of rice and vegetables that the kitchen would otherwise have thrown away, and it was brought by the same prison guard each time.

Nie Mingjue liked the prison guard.

Possibly it was because he was the only person Nie Mingjue saw on a regular basis, other than Wen Ruohan – Nie Mingjue’s cell was a little ways away from the other prisoners, lest they infect him with something and he die too quickly, although he was still within earshot of all the screams – or possibly it was the prison guard’s pleasant demeanor, friendly and calm like a lake of still water.

They were playing a long-running game of sorts.

Nie Mingjue had guessed that Meng Yao – that was the prison guard’s name – was an outsider, recently joined, and that he had previously spent time in both the Lan and Jin sects.  This perspicacity had surprised Meng Yao, drawing his interest, and he had asked, very politely, for Nie Mingjue’s name.

Nie Mingjue had, just as politely, refused to give it.

Meng Yao, surprised yet again, had asked for his reasons.

Nie Mingjue had explained that he wasn’t sure if Wen Ruohan would react badly to other people knowing about him, and it would be a shame for Meng Yao to be murdered while he had yet to achieve whatever it was that he was seeking so strenuously to accomplish.

For some reason, Meng Yao saw this as a challenge.

“Gongzi, I have your dinner,” Meng Yao said. “Would you like me to ask the cook to give you some meat, next time? Just let me know. I would be more than happy to tell her to send more food to…?”

“Certainly,” Nie Mingjue said. “You can tell her that it’s on behalf of the last cell on the right.”

Meng Yao wrinkled his nose at him, and Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes back.

Their normal initial exchange of wits over, Meng Yao gave him the food and supervised him as he ate – a babysitter upon whose head the consequences would fall if Nie Mingjue misbehaved was the condition of giving him chopsticks. Wen Ruohan had a great deal of experience in keeping prisoners alive, and he knew Nie Mingjue’s character quite well.

“I heard that you were giving Sect Leader Wen advice on the war,” Meng Yao said casually as Nie Mingjue tried to guess what pickled vegetable he was eating, since neither taste nor appearance was definitive. “Gongzi must be very well-respected.”

“Did you hear about the part where I told him the best counterstrike would be to shove his troops up his own ass?”

“…and very brave.”

Nie Mingjue chuckled. “And you must be very competent to have made your way up to prominence in two separate sects, especially at such a young age.”

Meng Yao did not want to like him, Nie Mingjue could tell. He did anyway.

It wouldn’t help him if something more important to Meng Yao was at stake, of course – Nie Mingjue had lived too long with Qishan Wen cruelty, selfishness, and ruthlessness to miss seeing it reflected in others – but it was still nice to be liked.

“…how do you know?”

“Was that a direct question?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Be still my heart.”

“This humble servant has observed that gongzi does not answer anything else.”

“Humble,” Nie Mingjue drawled. “Yes, that’s the first thing I think of when I think of you.”

Meng Yao’s eyes were narrowing, though, so he stopped teasing.

“It’s your hair.”

“My – hair?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “The way you set it. It’s clear that Xichen must have taught you how to arrange the braids personally, which means that you must have gotten fairly high up in the Lan sect – but Sect Leader Wen referred to you as being poached from the Jin sect.”

Meng Yao reached up touch his hair. “…I never made it that high in the Jin sect,” he finally said. “Not even lieutenant.”

“In the middle of a war, with how competent you are? Does Sect Leader Jin have something against you?” A small furrowing of Meng Yao’s brow. “Did you complain that he raped your sister or something?”

A long, slow blink. “Is that a problem he has?”

“Not liking people who try to make him responsible for his actions?” Nie Mingjue snorted. “Yes.”

Meng Yao looked contemplative.

“What are you thinking?” Nie Mingjue asked, finally giving up on the pickled vegetable and handing back the bowl.

“Only that you know a great deal of gossip –”

“Involuntarily, I assure you.”

“– and that you feel comfortable calling Lan-da-gongzi by name, and are familiar enough to know how he personally styles his hair.” Meng Yao smiled. “I’ll figure out who you are yet, gongzi.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “They’ve probably already forgotten me.”

-

“This is your fault,” Wen Ruohan murmured in his ear, and Nie Mingjue was too weak to refuse to listen. “You did this – to yourself, to them. Why couldn’t you have just been obedient?”

He didn’t know anymore.

-

“I’m Sect Leader Jin’s son,” Meng Yao said.

“Your mother must be a genius,” Nie Mingjue replied.

There was a moment of silence – probably Meng Yao staring at him.

It was probably not the response he had been expecting.

“I’ve met Sect Leader Jin,” Nie Mingjue said in explanation. He was lying face-down on the floor of the cell while Meng Yao tended to his wounds; the conversation, he knew, was only to distract him from the sting of the stitches. “He’s cunning, not smart, horribly self-absorbed, and ‘competent’ isn’t the word I’d use for him; he makes do mostly by paying enough to hire good help. Given the contrast with you, it follows that you must have gotten all the good traits from the other side…I hope he didn’t rape her. Sorry about making that joke, earlier. I didn’t realize.”

“You said sister, not mother.”

“Right,” Nie Mingjue said. “I forgot.”

“Anyway, he didn’t have to rape her. He bought her,” Meng Yao said. He was tightening the bandages now and his hands were perfectly steady. Too steady, the way Wen Qing’s were when she was having to control himself. “She was a whore.”

Nie Mingjue got the feeling that Meng Yao was expecting some sort of reaction. He wasn’t sure what, though.

“Okay,” he said. Out of lack of anything better to say, he added, “Was she nice?”

“What type of question is that?” Meng Yao demanded.

He’d picked the wrong reaction again, Nie Mingjue presumed.

“I don’t know,” he said. His eyes were closed and his forehead was pressed against the cool stone. “I don’t really remember my mother. All I know is that she was a rogue cultivator, and tall –”

“I would never have guessed the latter, gongzi.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like I’ve never heard that one before. My father raised me on his own – we don’t believe in using nursemaids to do it.” He exhaled. “I’m forgetting him, too.”

“He died?”

“Sect Leader Wen killed him.” He heard Meng Yao exhale. “I know. I’m not very filial, am I?”

“I don’t think that’s a consideration,” Meng Yao murmured. “Under the circumstances.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t want to talk about it. “So, your mother,” he said. “Was she nice?”

“…does it matter?”

“Why wouldn’t it matter? She’s your mother, isn’t she?”

Meng Yao chuckled. It was not a nice sound. “Most people don’t really care to listen past the part where they find out she’s a whore.”

“I’ve never actually met a whore,” Nie Mingjue confessed. He was starting to drift off again – it was hard to stay awake. “The closest I ever got to even talking about one was when we had to put the fear of brothels into A-Chao. Sect Leader Wen was trying to ruin him.”

“A-Chao?”

“Mm. Like – a little brother, almost. I’ve got a bunch.”

Meng Yao snickered. “Yes, gongzi does seem the type.”

Nie Mingjue smiled into the floor. He knew that tone – it was just the same as A-Chao’s, in fact. “You’re welcome to join in, if you like.”

Meng Yao’s hands stopped moving abruptly.

“Assuming I’m not dead, of course.”

After a moment, Meng Yao’s hands started moving again. They were gentler.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “After a promise like that, I’ll be sure not to let him kill you.”

“Need to get your money’s worth out of me?��

“Of course.” A pause. “Naturally, it would be easier if gongzi would tell me his name…”

Nie Mingjue huffed – like Meng Yao was going to get him that easily.

“No need for such formality, A-Yao,” he said. “Just call me da-ge.”

-

“You must have some hobbies.”

“Must I?”

“Everyone has hobbies.”

“I collect younger siblings. Does that count?”

“It does not.”

-

“It’s your fault,” Wen Ruohan crooned as Nie Mingjue’s shrieks split the air. “Your fault. You turned them against me. It’s because of you that I’m going to need to kill them…”

-

“I don’t think I would have liked you, in the normal course of things,” Meng Yao said conversationally. “I usually find righteous people boring. Most of the time, they’re arrogant hypocrites, as rigid like the stiff pole that must have gotten shoved up their asses at some point. No one looks down on you like the righteous, and usually for stupid reasons, too. For something as petty and as simple as just not being them. Not having their advantages from the moment you were born.”

He paused. Cleared his throat.

“Lan Xichen was the first one I met who wasn’t like that. He really – he’s nice, I think you would put it. Kind. Everything they say about what gentlemen ought to be, he is.”

A brief silence.

“Naïve, though. Almost painfully so. I twisted him around my little finger without even trying…even when I was trying not to.”

Nie Mingjue believed him. Manipulation seemed to come as second nature to Meng Yao, even when he was being sincere. Sometimes, even especially when he was being sincere.

It was a bit like Wen Xu, actually. It was hard to throw off the way you’d been raised.

“At first I thought the problem was with me, that I didn’t appreciate him enough, that I didn’t understand how to have a friendship with a person like that. A good one. Sometimes I thought, well, no, maybe the problem’s with him – he pities me too much to see what I’m really like, and that means he’s deceiving himself, it’s got nothing to do with me. In the end…I don’t know. I don’t think I ever resolved it.”

He sighed. It was a long, low sound, almost whistling in the dead air of the Fire Palace.

“You’re not like Lan Xichen at all. You really are unbending, rigid, inexorable…I ought to despise you. You ought to despise me. I torture people most of the day, you know. I even enjoy it.”

For all his poise, Meng Yao was younger even than Lan Xichen. He shouldn’t be anyone’s prison guard. Shouldn’t be torturing anyone. How could you blame children for doing something that would win them praise?

“It’s this place that makes me like you, I think. It’s just – it’s filthy, here. Disgusting. The more I’m in this prison the worse it gets. The more bad things I do, the more bad things I think. I barely dare recall my better memories, my mother, Lan Xichen. I’m too afraid that the filth and grime of this place will stain their purity even in my thoughts.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t understand, not really - maybe he’d been here so long that the stain had sunk in already, blackening everything it touched. But he tried as much as he could to sympathize.

“And then there’s you. You, all shining steel and stiff unbending morality, the sort of person I hate the most. But when I’m here knee-deep in the muck, trapped in the dark without any hope of surfacing, I look at you and I feel – it’s almost like I can see light again, reflected in you. As if I’m breathing clean air. For the first time in my life, I think I understand why people have ethics. That they’re not some stupid thing made up by someone to fool someone else into voluntarily crippling the hand they’ve been dealt to play.”

That was definitely not what ethics were.

“I don’t know if we’d get along outside this place. Where I’m still me, with all my flaws that make me all the worse, and you’re still you, with all your imperfections that only make you better, but without this place to make us get along. I really don’t know. For once in my life, I don’t have a goal, a target, a scheme. As far as I know, you’re nobody I can use, and keeping you close to me will only tie an anchor to my legs, weigh me down. But even with all that, even if nothing I do works out and it all blows up in my face…I’d still like to find out. Find out if we would get along, if you really would treat me like your little brother even though you know what I’m really like under the smile. Find out if someone like me really can get along with someone like you.”

Nie Mingjue felt Meng Yao squeeze his hand, and wished he could respond in kind.

“So you have to wake up, da-ge. You hear me? You have to wake up.”

-

“It’s done. They’re gone. And it’s all your fault.”

He lies, Nie Mingjue told himself. He lies, he lies, he lies –

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (4)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

tags&warnings: spoilers for S3 eps1+2 mainly, some for later episodes also; mention of drug use; brief description of a panic attack; sleazy David Rodríguez is sleazy; somewhat liberal use of the f-word and also other swearing; reference to past canon character deaths; this blog is CIA station chief Bill Stechner-phobic to the max; most non-graphic, vaguest possible reference to sex (to when Javi goes home with that lady in episode 1); oblivious mutual pining; idiots with zero emotional self-awareness; domesticity

word count: 15.435 (I’m sorry, here are some snacks 🍌🥨🧁🥤)

summary: Diana goes into the lions’ den. Javier is not having a good time. No one gets enough sleep.

tag list & author’s notes have been moved to the bottom. let me just say sorry this took me so long and I hope you’re all well and healthy and happy holidays and may the new year be better for all of us 

Masterlist

Prologue • Chapter 1 - The Informant • Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals  • Chapter 3 -  Swallow Pride and Anger

Chapter 4 - Prime Numbers

Franklin Jurado, Diana thinks, is a bit of an ass. It's not even that he happily, willingly, goes around laundering narcos' blood money, or that he gets rich off that himself. In this moment, it's mostly the way he dismissively rolls his eyes and can barely keep the contempt out of his voice when arguing with her about Maltese vs Caymanian tax loopholes. Like she's an idiot for actually reading the laws, spotty as they are. 

On top of everything, it's keeping her in her office well past the time she was meaning to start getting changed and dolled up for the grand party that night, and she feels a pressure headache of annoyance building behind her temples to boot. 

She's this close to bludgeoning the man with her stapler when an insistent knock sounds at the door, followed by a blonde head poking in. The blonde lady starts speaking in rapid English, too abrupt for Diana's brain to keep up with what is being said, but she instinctively recognized the tone of a husband being reamed out with righteous indignation and if nothing else, it gives her a certain kind of vindication. 

"Hi, I'm Christina Jurado. Just Christina is fine. Pleasure to meet you!" The other woman now stepped fully into her office, holding out her hand and smiling just a tad too brightly. 

"Diana...Galindo." Why she'd chosen to be known here under her married name is anyone's guess. Perhaps it was mostly a matter of having grown used to it. Perhaps it allowed her to pretend that this wasn't quite her, just an act to be put on for a greater purpose. That helping drug cartel bosses hide their blood money from the tax man and signing off on their henchmen's paychecks was something that Diana Teresa Artemisia Rivas Rincón would not be caught dead doing, no matter the circumstances. "Pleased to meet you." 

"Franklin, we'll be late!" the other woman throws over her shoulder. Rather pointedly, too. 

"We're not done discussing-" 

"I don't care, Franklin!" There's a moment of very animated eye contact, the kind of wordless back-and-forth that she'd dreamt of developing with Juan Mateo but that they never quite managed. Just another little detail that ultimately spelled the end of their marriage. "Actually, why don't your ride with us?" 

"I, um-" Diana instinctively reached to adjust the wire she'd been wearing for most of the day (to get used to the feeling and not inadvertently betray herself later), only catching herself in the last moment and fidgeting with the collar on her blouse instead. "I- Felipe was supposed to drive me. I need to get ready still, too." 

"Eh, he can tag along. What are you wearing? Do you have your dress here?" She did. There was no arguing with Christina, but no malice in her overbearing imperiousness either. Nonetheless, Diana tried to argue, if only for politeness' sake. How she wouldn't want to impose. That it wasn't a problem, since Miguel Rodríguez had very kindly arranged for her transportation in the form of the afore-mentioned Felipe. Mrs Jurado waved it all off. And perhaps the obvious annoyance in Franklin Jurado's eyes gave her a little push. Say what one might about the Rodríguez brothers, but at least neither of them had ever questioned her professional expertise. 

Before she knows what hit her, the three of them are sailing out of the building and towards the cars parked out front. Well, Christina is sailing, while Franklin and Diana are trotting along behind her and shooting each other sour looks. It's the kind of wrathful indignation that she hadn't felt since second grade, when Bruno Moreno had pulled her pigtails and stolen her pencil. Christina seemed unperturbed, ordering the drivers around in her accented but surprisingly decent Spanish. Felipe caught Diana's eye, wringing his hands and questions in his eye. 

"It seems I will be riding with Mr and Mrs Jurado. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to follow us to their hotel and then take my work clothes back to the office after I've changed? I'd hate to have to lug around my stuff or leave it lying around somewhere. You'd be a great help this way, and as far as I'm concerned, you can go straight home after that." 

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded, seeming relieved by the clear instructions. Diana smiled and handed off her garment bag to the Jurados' driver. 

The drive itself could have been more awkward, what with being caged in the back of this limousine with two strangers, one of whom all but openly despised her and spent his time pouting after his wife had told him in no uncertain terms that if a single word of work talk left his lips she'd shove him out the door and into oncoming traffic. Luckily she also had made it her personal mission to pack half an evening's worth of small talk into the barely twenty-minute-ride. 

The Jurados' suite was grand, the lounge alone bigger than the house Diana had grown up in. She was still trying not to show how out of place she felt among all the marble and gilded edges when Christina steered her towards the back, still prattling on in a way that the DEA would have a lot of fun picking through when they got the recording from her wire. 

"Ugh, this place is so... Sorry, we wanted the president's suite, but one of the North Valley people snatched it up. Their... Who is he, Franklin? That unpleasant little man - is he the leader of the pack? With the young woman we saw when we checked in. Was that his wife?" 

"Salazar." Franklin muttered, his face curdling into a deeper frown. At least Diana wasn't at the top of his most hated list, apparently. "Yeah, I think so honey." 

"She looked awfully young." 

"I'm sure we'll meet them all at the party." 

"Something to look forward to." Christina grimaced and pulled Diana into the spacious bathroom, settling her down in front of a gigantic vanity mirror. 

"Alright, what are we doing with you?" Diana looked at her own wide-eyed reflection staring back at her while Christina started pulling her hair free from the simple clip she'd used to hold it up. 

"I, uh-" Diana pushed her glasses back up her nose and frowned. "I have contact lenses." She gestured vaguely towards her reflection. She had also packed a small bag with the handful of make-up items she owned, but lack of practice didn't exactly serve to make her adept at using them. Christina grinned excitedly, her whitened teeth shining. "Well no, that won't do! Hang on." 

She sprung up and rushed towards the door, only stopping when she reached her husband who had lingered there, leaning against the frame.  

"Hey you." For a moment, they softened, stealing a small kiss amid halted momentum. Diana ached to witness it. "Hey yourself." 

"Go get changed." Christina smiled, kissing his cheek as she brushed past to dive into her suitcase. 

"You're telling me? Don't take too long, we're on a schedule here." The words were softened by his tender expression, and as she walked past on her way back he reeled her in for another, deeper kiss. Diana pretended to be very invested in not poking her eyeballs out. Well, half-pretended. Putting in contact lenses was another thing she wasn't exactly used to. When she'd finally managed to fumble the second lens onto her eyeball, Franklin had long left and closed the door. 

Without further ado, Christina set to work. Within moments, the marble counter was covered with various cosmetics and the other woman's eager hands set to work. Diana had no choice but to submit. Thankfully again, it was Christina who shouldered the bulk of the conversation. 

"So, I did notice you're not wearing a wedding band, Mrs Galindo." Diana's eyes were closed, as her eyeshadow was currently being blended, but she did stiffen and instinctively her other hand went to touch where her ring had been. "Oh damn, I hope that wasn't- He's not tragically deceased, is he?" 

"No, we're...separated. Divorcing. It's... it's dragging on, to be honest. I've learned more about Colombian marriage law in the past year than I ever wanted to know." She tried to diffuse with a joke, but it didn't quite land. 

"Sorry, you must think me so rude. We only just met and here I am acting like we're friends!" She bit out in a jarring departure from her hitherto genial tone. "Anyway, I admire you. That can't have been easy what with how...uh-"

"...Catholic this country is?" Diana supplied, clasping the other woman's hands in hers with a slight smile. Christina huffed in relief. "Yes, I suppose. It's just... it's so hard. Marriage I mean. Sometimes I don't even know how to bear it." Her gaze fell towards the bathroom door that Franklin had closed behind himself upon leaving. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued. "How did you even know you couldn't go on like this?" 

Diana gulped, hating what she was about to do. Resenting, for a moment, women like Gabriela who only had to sell a bit of their time and acess to their bodies to these people. She felt like she was selling away her soul every single day. 

"Mrs Jurado-"

"Christina. Please, you can call me Christina."

"Christina, let me be honest. I never truly loved my husband, and he didn't love me. We liked each other and it was convenient, and expected, to get married. And in the end that proved to not be enough. But from what little I have seen, that's not something you and your husband have to contend with. Even if things are hard, as long as there is love you can overcome them. You have to believe in that." 

Christina choked out a tearful little laugh, like in spite of herself. 

"Oh God, good thing I haven't put on mascara yet. You're making me all dewy-eyed." She chuckled, then threw her arms around Diana and gave her a tight squeeze. "Thank you. Really." 

"Of course," Diana awkwardly patted the other woman's back, thankful that she wasn't currently facing the mirror, "and I would be happy to become your friend." Whatever ice had remained between the two women was broken after that. Christina perked up and returned to chatting animatedly, finishing her make-up, doing up her hair in a very elegant twisted bun, and gushing over her dress.

"Do you have any jewelry to go with it?"

"Not really, no. I only ever wear this." Diana indicated the thin silver chain around her neck. Christina tutted. 

"Well, that just won't do. Wait, let me just-" An impatient knock at the door interrupted her. "Oh dear, looks like we're running late."

Diana saw a chance to get a moment alone and suggested they each get dressed quickly, and separately, lest they waste any more time and husbandly nerves with their chatter. 

"Okay, but holler if you need help with the zipper or anything." 

Diana had never squeezed into a garment faster, glad that she had chosen to put on the wire device that morning already. She tugged the actual wire tight around her body where it had loosened over the course of the day, then shimmied into the underdress she'd brought in the hopes that it would conceal any suspicious bumps or lines. She had almost wrestled the zipper into its final position when Christina knocked and entered, quickly getting the last inch or so with a comment of how husbands were useful for some things. 

"Anyway, I thought these would suit you." Christina presented an opened velvet case. Sitting inside it was a jewelry set, sapphires with diamonds set in gold. Real ones, judging by the Cartier labelling embossed into the velvet. A necklace, earrings, bracelet and ring, all fancier and more ostentacious than anything Diana had ever set eyes on. Immediately, her palms started sweating. 

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-" 

"Nonsense." Christina cut her off, placing the case down and snatching the bracelet and Diana's wrist. "You'll look so pretty and expensive. You can return them to me later, we'll be in town until Tuesday." Having clasped the bracelet around her wrist, she now moved on to the earrings. "Maybe we could get coffee on the weekend or something." 

"I'd like that." Diana lied. Christina smiled at her brightly. "Great! I just need to ...uh, freshen up a moment." Taking the hint, Diana gathered up her things and stepped outside, awkwardly holding her bag of of work clothes to give to Felipe down in the hotel lobby. Franklin was standing by a sideboard, boredly rifling through a magazine. 

"Mrs Galindo." He acknowledged. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to add something, but caught himself. Diana followed his gaze towards the closed bathroom door, behind which low noises of shuffling and splashing water could be heard. 

"How long have you two been married?" She had no idea how this information might help the investigation, but determined that wasn't for her to worry about. Franklin sighed, gaze still fixed on the door and absent. 

"Seven years now." He finally tore his eyes away from the door and let them flit over her briefly, catching on the borrowed jewels but electing not to comment on it. "They say the seventh year is the hardest, don't they?" 

"I wouldn't know. I never made it that far." Though if Juan Mateo didn't pull his head out of his ass soon she would spend the seventh year still technically married. The thought made her frown. 

Before either of them had to search for more overburdened smalltalk, the bathroom door blessedly clicked open and Christina emerged with a wide grin and a spring to her step, her eyes just a smidgeon glassy and too bright. Diana politely pretended not to see the remnants of fine white powder that Franklin surreptitiously wiped from her nose and upper lip. --- They arrived not exactly on time but not fashionably late either. There's a line of cars already plugging up the driveway to the sprawling estate, stringed lights illuminating against the darkening sky. They got out and sauntered towards the two-storey villa, the Jurados up front and Diana trailing behind like the kid that's finally allowed to come along to the fancy family outings. Her dress hadn't felt this tight in the store, or at any point afterwards, until just now. 

"Franklin! I'm so glad you're finally here! Mrs Jurado, it's a pleasure." Diana can only just contain the flinch at the sound of this voice, and before long Miguel Rodríguez turns to her with one of his bright, self-satisfied smiles. "Mrs Galindo, I'm so glad you could come. We need to introduce you to the rest of the guys! It's been too long!" 

He has his arm around her shoulders within the same breath, exuberant and steering her through the scattered throngs of people at a pace that doesn't even allow for snatching a champagne flute from one of the waiters floating around. She plastered on a fake demure smile. The 'invitation' hadn't exactly been a matter of mere suggestion. 

Miguel led them to a dainty pagoda that sat a comfortable distance from the pool and most of the din and chatter of the other guests, nestled between the luscious greenery of the large garden. Diana could hear the mumbled whispers of the Jurados behind her, Miguel's droning on of meaningless small talk that she barely paid attention to. She could see Gilberto's back, his stature dwarfed almost comically by that of a much larger and broader man sat to his side, with short silver hair that gleamed in the low light. 

"Gentlemen, I believe we are complete!" Miguel boomed, ushering her up the few steps and into the circle. 

"Mrs Galindo, what a pleasure!" Gilberto shot up and made a show of shaking her hand and pulling her close to present her to the rest of the ...associates. 

"Now I believe you've not yet met these fine gentlemen. Pacho Herrera, Diana Galindo." Pacho stood and took her hand gingerly, his face impassive and tone painstakingly polite and neutral. "My pleasure."

"Mr Herrera." Diana replied, heart thumping up into her throat. They'd not so much met as passed each other in front of offices or meeting rooms a handful of times, his tightly coiled, jaguar-like energy always seeming just a smidge out of place in those blandly corporate spaces. 

"And here's Chepe, came all the way down from New York especially!" The large man with the silver hair stood to his full impressive height, snatching her hand with a wolfish grin and dropping a just-too-moist kiss on the back of it with a wink. Diana did her utmost not to flinch. For just a moment, she regretted the moment she'd taken off her ring and put it in front of a shocked Juan Mateo on their kitchen table before leaving their shared apartment. It was moments like these that she missed the protection it had afforded her from some unwanted advances. 

Pallomari was last, balding and skittish, with huge owl-eye glasses not unlike the first pair she'd ever had. 

"Mrs Galindo, how interesting to finally put a face to the name." He greeted, sounding painfully rehearsed. Diana returned with some meaningless pleasantry, hyper-aware of the wiretap device against her skin. She wondered whether it even picked up anything apart from the thundering of her heart. 

"So, about your big announcement-" Miguel began once everyone was settled into a seat with a drink in hand. Gilberto cut him off almost immediately.

"Now, now brother, let's enjoy the party a bit beforehand." A look passed between them, a challenge issued and accepted, until Miguel turned his gaze away with a barely concealed snarl. Gilberto leaned back in his seat, glass raised with a smug and triumphant smirk. "Let's just say that I have made an important investment into our future. We will continue to thrive, but more importantly, we will be safe. Our families will be safe." 

With that cryptic remark, he threw back his drink, expression melting from jovial to grim. The ensuing silence made the hair on the back of Diana's neck stand up, a feat she wouldn't have thought possible with the amount of hairspray Christina had encased her head in. 

"He's dead, Pablo's dead." Miguel reached over where she was squished between the two men, squeezing his brother's arm in reassurance. "He's gone and we helped bring him down." 

"We did. This country should build us monuments, instead they issue arrest warrants!" Gilberto bit out, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. 

"To Pablo Escobar, may he forever rot in hell!" Chepe bellowed, glass raised high. They all joined in. Diana thought of her father. How he'd done her hair and walked her to school every morning and tucked her in with a new story every night when she was a girl. How, during her first year of university when she'd been so lonely and homesick she broke down crying, he'd taken precious time off work and taken a night bus to come visit her in Bogotá for a weekend. How her heart still split down the middle whenever she so much as thought of the crash that killed him. But the gentlemen didn't need to know that she despised them just as much as she did Escobar, not yet anyway. So, she raised her champagne alongside and joined her voice in the chorus of gleeful condemnation. - She'd just escaped Christina and the gaggle of wives for a moment, excusing herself to the restrooms. What the DEA might glean from their inane chatter, she couldn't possibly fathom. She was glad that she was free of them for a moment, and that disecting the recording wasn't her problem to deal with. On her way into the house, she must have passed by at least two dozen important and powerful people. There were a few handfuls of representatives, a number of mayors, at least two senators, an attorney general and an army general. No one she'd ever voted for, at least. And those were just the ones she'd managed to get Miguel to introduce to her, or her to them - either way, she'd made sure to repeat every name as clearly as possible for the recording. 

Rounding the last corner in from the veranda, she all but ran into Salcedo. 

"Mrs Galindo." His tone was clipped as ever. She wasn't sure whether he might be suspicious of her in particular, or whether it was a general thing and he was just like that. 

"Mr Salcedo." She nodded, tone painstakingly polite. He set her teeth on edge, always so stiff-backed with that serpent edge to him; in a ranking of people within the cartel who had this effect on her he would probably come in about third. She wondered what Javier- what Agent Peña would make of the man. "What brings you here, Mrs Galindo?" Or perhaps he just didn't like her for some reason. Which was very much a mutual sentiment. Not that she held particular sympathies for anyone here. 

"To the restroom?" *Take a wild guess, buddy*, she thought, one eyebrow arching with clear condescension. 

"To the...house." 

"The restroom." She resisted rolling her eyes. As much as she may personally dislike Miguel's chief of security, purposely antagonizing him was probably a bad idea. And yet, petty temptation beckoned in every nook and cranny. Like the sideboard they were currently standing in front of that displayed a solid bronze statue of a very rotund dancing couple. "To marvel at the Botero, naturally." 

Salcedo's eyes followed her nod towards the heavy bronze. "It's genuine, you know." He said it not in the tone of an art aficionado, but rather in the crudely suggestive one of a third-rate telenovela detective trying to be slick by not outright asking if she meant to steal it. 

"Of course, Mr Rodríguez wouldn't stand for anything less." The thing was half her size and probably twice as heavy, what was he thinking? Himself a master at subtle insinuation, probably. Or that being poor and growing up in the comunas naturally meant she had sticky fingers. Uptight, hoity-toity middle class prick. Like his employers weren't internationally wanted criminals of the highest degree. The audacity of it!  

His mouth was already halfway open to retort when his name being yelled from outside made both of them turn. David Rodríguez hung onto the veranda door, snapping at Salcedo that his father wanted him for something, and pronto. Diana could practically hear his teeth grind in irritation, but he schooled his face into a carefully blank facade before he gave David a nod. 

"Ma'am." Salcedo gave in and moved, squeezing by David. David purposefully did not budge, instead giving her a leery once-over before following after the other man. 

Diana fled into the bathroom down the hall in a manner she hoped looked urgent rather than as panicked as she felt inside. She held it together until the lock slid closed, and then she was crouched on the floor, curled up and heavy breathing into her hands. The small pressure point of the wire recorder thingy felt like a ton weight against her chest and her heart was beating so fast she could feel it everywhere. 

Hyperventilating. You're hyperventilating, her brain supplied unhelpfully, and she almost laughed at herself. She wished she wasn't here all on her own, wished she had at least one of those spy devices in her ear for some moral support, tried to recall the exact feeling of Agent Peña's hands on her shoulders, warm and grounding. One hand remained up, muffling the desperate breaths and whimpers from her mouth, while the other dropped, thumb dipping underneath the fabric at her chest to brush soothingly across her collarbone. It worked...to a degree. A very small degree. What she would give to at least have the deep, comforting rumble of his voice, or the way he'd held her close after the festival. Did he even know how calming his presence was? It always seemed to work on her, in wrath and anxiety both (something that Juan Mateo had never been able to affect unless it was to irritate her more). So much so that now even just focusing on it was enough to help her pull herself together. 

The guest restroom was bigger than her childhood room had been and, of course, looked more like it belonged in some fancy hotel. All warm-toned marble and matte gold appliances. The mirror was huge and its frame, naturally, also gold. What was it with rich people's obsession with gold? 

"Okay." Diana said to her reflection, then went to work freshening up. Carefully, she wiped away the smudged mascara under her eyes and reapplied her lipstick where it had come off on her drink earlier. She stuck her hands underneath her dress to check on the recording device, concerned that a wire had shaken loose or something, but the small rectangular container still sat right snug right against her sternum. She gave it an absent tap and adjusted the microphone bit so it sat just below the seam of her collar again. 

"I hope you'll get something worthwhile from this because I am never doing this again." A knock on the door nearly sent her into cardiac arrest. Diana swore under her breath, then called out that she'd only be a moment. 

"Sorry," an apologetic female voice came from the other side of the door, "You've been in there a while, is all. Are you alright? I have an aspirin in my purse if you need it." 

Diana stopped dabbing at her still damp eyes and tried to determine whether her near panic attack was the sole reason her vision was still a bit hazy. She could count the times she'd been out without her glasses on one hand. 

"Oh no it's just-," she crossed over and unlocked the door to find a young, very pretty and very concerned looking woman on the other side, "I just had some trouble with my contact lenses. They're awfully fiddly." She stepped back and opened the door wider. "All yours." 

"Oh I don't-" She looked down the hallway, further into the house, her eyes widening slightly when she caught sight of something or someone outside of Diana's field of vision. "Actually, I think I need to...uh, powder my nose or something." 

The door fell into its lock the same moment the younger woman had stepped into the room, not giving Diana a chance to leave. Not that she was over-eager to get back outside and mingle with the corrupt and criminal. That and the discomfort and anxiety hung around the other woman like a cloud. Diana made up her mind, sitting down on one of the plush benches in the room. 

"I'm not a big fan of parties either." She stated, voice careful and soft. The other woman stood, unsure and tugging at the short hem of her dress. 

"I wish they could just open the buffet already. My husband is three drinks in and he gets-" She trembled. No, shuddered. Diana patted the space beside her on the bench, a gentle invitation. 

"It's alright, we can stay here for a little bit. I'm Diana." 

"Maria." She stuck out her hand, which was also still trembling slightly. "Maria Salazar." --- By the time the two of them dared venture outside again, there was indeed, finally!, food to be had. Diana pulled Maria along to the relative safety of the gaggle of wives, busy amusing themselves while their husbands dealt with their important business matters. But then, the bandleader announced that the dancefloor was now officially open and started off with a spirited selection of the finest Colombian rhythms of the past twenty years. One by one the wives were collected to fill said dancefloor, leaving Diana sitting alone at the table with the sad remnants of various canapees and salads. Here was another occasion where she didn't miss Juan Mateo. Or his two left feet. Idly, she turned the near-empty cocktail glass between her fingers and wondered whether Javier danced, or could at least be persuaded to try. 

"You don't dance?" David appeared so suddenly that she almost spilled the last bit of her drink. She remembered his leering earlier, forced her face not to flinch until she had raised the glass and could hide her  expression of distaste behind a sip of the overly sweet and fruity cocktail. Hummed non-committally and hoping against hope that he'd grow bored and leave. Of course, she had no such luck. 

"Oh, whom with? Everyone's paired up already." Sip again. The glass had another three or four in it, if she stretched it smartly enough. "I'm afraid third-wheeling is the unenviable fate of divorcees." How old was this boy anyway? She must have ten years on him, at the very least. But apparently he'd got it into his head that he must prove to himself what a man he was, and how irresistible. At least he had the good sense not to try anything with the wives of any of the powerful men present. 

"Dance with me." David stated. Ah, bingo. He might have at least pretended to ask, she thought sourly. "I insist." 

Of course you do, you entitled brat. "It would be my pleasure." She lies, as most politeness is lies, here in these circles comprised of snakes. Fakes a smile the way she's been taught to by this world, so easy to act and conceal the disdain underneath. It doesn't falter even when his hand, clammy and slightly sweaty, settles way too low for comfort or propriety on her hip. She resolves to step on his feet - accidentally - at least twice. 

David Rodríguez was not what one would call a skilled dancer. At first, Diana had been thankful that the band wasn't playing any slow songs yet, but it had taken approximately half of 'Bamboleo' to dispel the hope that this would keep David's hands from wandering. Well, if she was stuck here she might as well try to get some intel out of him. 

...It takes about two and a half songs - the band now switching to their international collection - to determine that this route of inquiry is absolutely doomed and David completely useless. Doesn't know any business particulars, and doesn't care to. Too distracted with trying to put some moves on her, which she steadfastly ignores. Well, if details of her failed marriage and dragging divorce aren't enough to discourage him, she's got another one up her sleeve. Not to mention she's been curious ever since the gaggle of wives had made their introductions earlier. 

"You're not married." She leaves the 'yet' unsaid, hanging in the air between them as heavy insinuation. 

"If I were, would I be dancing with you?" A faithful husband, and in these circles at that? What a novel idea. Diana almost snorted out loud. Left it at a telling look that seemed to go over his head completely. Doesn't have the energy to dissect how a dance with a friend or acquaintance at a party isn't exactly on par with, say, the juridical definition of adultery. Which brings her mind back to the tedium of having to explain to various lawyers, notaries, judges that no, her husband wasn't a cheating pig who drank and beat her, and that there were a multitude of quieter reasons why marriages failed. 

"I have been wondering, though, where the third of the Mrs Rodríguezes belongs. Besides your mother and your aunt." She nodded over at the three women in question, one dancing with either Rodríguez brother, the third being currently twirled about by Chepe and looking a bit motion sick from it. 

"My mother is dead." Ah, shit. Diana faltered, and this time the graze of her heel on his shoe really was entirely accidental. Something in David's eyes shuttered and hardened, gaze for once lifting from her body and darkly fixing on his father. "They're all my uncle's wives." 

"Oh. Oh!" Diana's mouth falls open. Of all things she could have expected, this was certainly not one. "That's um... That sounds, uh..." Illegal, but then again, what did a bit of consensual polygamy matter in the grand scheme of things, she supposed. 

"You sound so scandalized. Didn't think he had it in him, didn't you?" David smirked, tightening his grip on her back again and leading her in a turn. 

"No, I'm just...wondering...about the, um...time management...aspect." In fairness, that was one of the things she did wonder about. David laughed, bringing her in closer. 

"Each gets two days per week and Sundays he has them come all together and sit there while he watches sports." 

How thrilling. "Whatever works for them, I suppose." 

Diana tried to subtly twist away again. She wasn't going to get anything else from this, what with David already being bored and growing increasingly impatient. And she didn't have an escape plan that didn't consist of ramming her heel into him somewhere until she struck bone. 

"Damn, can't they play something from this decade?" He whined as 'Money, money, money' faded into 'Knowing me, knowing you'. "All of this ancient stuff-" Sensing another chance to subtly nudge him away from his inexplicable sudden attraction, Diana jumped. "Oh I quite like it," she remarked lightly. Now go in for the kill "Reminds me of my youth." 

David harrumphed, then grunted as her heel dug into his toes again. "Oh dear, so sorry." Diana said breezily,  forcing his hand up from where it had been creeping towards her ass with a deft twirl. 

"It's fine." He gritted. "Did you want to-" 

"Allow me to cut in." Herrera stepped up, lightly shoving David aside to take his place. "I've not had the pleasure yet, Mrs Galindo." Diana forced a smile as his hand settled at her waist. Pro: at least this one wouldn't spend the whole time trying to feel her up. Con: not being thus distracted, he might notice...something. And become suspicious. If he wasn't already. Truth be told, Herrera scared her almost as much as Navegante did. Sometimes more so. 

"Right, well this is a very tight dress, so I can't do any adventurous moves." She warned, plastering an apologetic expression onto her face. Thankfully the band had changed to a faster track, though they kept with the international flair of the selection. Next up was some Brazil, if she wasn't mistaken. David stood between the twirling couples for a long moment, glaring but not daring to do or say anything that might affront his father's business partner. She shot him a fake apologetic smile, but suspected it was more the insistent raised eyebrow from Herrera that ultimately got him to scurry. 

Pacho Herrera could dance, that much was undeniable. Under different circumstances she might have even enjoyed this. He was also unnervingly quiet. If the purpose of this was to unsettle her, his tactic was very successful. At this rate, just keeping her feet under her proved to be challenge enough. One could think the band had launched into a Tarantella, given the speed they were going. Her head swam from the quick succession of turns and twirls, and when he dipped her upon the song's grand climax, her heart stopped for a variety of reasons. One of them being that she thought she felt some of her concealed wiring dislodge. 

"I think your dress is not too tight after all, Mrs Galindo." He pulled back up and righted her again, blessedly stilling a moment while the band segued into a mellower number. Diana gulped in a few deep, unladylike breaths. 

"No trust me, it is." She was still catching her breath; meanwhile he didn't even have a single hair out of place. Unfair. "So," Diana began her feeble attempt to bring the situation back under some semblance of control, "Are you interested in... tax exemptions?" Apparently humans could wheeze and cringe simultaneously. Very interesting. Herrera didn't answer immediately, just started leading her back into a mellow sway. 

"I think you're interested enough for all of us, Mrs Galindo. Miguel showed us the figures earlier. Very impressive. I see why DIAN recruited you right out of university." How he made what was ostensibly a compliment sound like a threat, Diana didn't know, just that it did nothing for her heart rate. 

"Thank you." He spun her out along with a flourish from the brass section, turning her already shaky voice into a squeak. She really hoped the recording had not picked that up. After the spin, his hand slid up over  her back, before settling back on her waist. To her horror, something in Pacho's expression twisted and he pulled her closer, hand splaying over her mid-back again. So much for avoiding being fondled for one dance. 

"What's this?" 

"Oh, I don't want to bore you with the details of women's undergarments. Suffice to say I'm wearing an insane amount of Spanx right now." 

There was a prolonged moment, during which Diana tried to keep her cool while deciding how much of a scene she was willing to cause should he not let it rest. Normally none at all, then again it was her life on the line. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Rodríguez requests you make your way to the equestrian ring for the big announcement." 

Never in her life had Diana welcomed an interruption like at this very moment. Herrera hesitated for a split second, expression still unreadable, before joining the throngs of people set in motion. He grasped her hand firmly, looping it through his elbow until it rested on his forearm, where he pinned it with his other hand. Just unconspicuous enough to look polite to any onlooker, just forceful enough that she knew she couldn't free herself without obvious struggle. 

"He could have done this up on the other stage." Miguel grumbled when they reached him, standing off the side to the stage that had been set up in the area. 

"You know how he is, Miguel. Always has to have his way." The two men exchanged a glance around her while more people filed past. 

"Mrs Galindo." 

Diana hummed in acknowledgement, returned the meaningless pleasantries. Yes of course she was enjoying herself. What a lovely party. The music? Exhilarating. The buffet? Exquisite. Her divorce? Ugh. She would really prefer not to think about that right now, thank you very much. 

"It's next Thursday, right? Your court appointment?" 

"Yes, thank you for letting me combine this with a work trip to Barranquilla. It's my personal business after all." 

"Of course, we want you at your best. Undistracted. Unburdened." Diana almost laughed, barely managed to suppress the snort and cover it with clearing her throat. 

"I thought that had all gone through ages ago." Herrera remarked lightly, grip finally easing up some from her wrist. Diana sighed. 

"I'm divorced, as far as I'm concerned. I moved out, signed my papers. I don't know what he thinks he's doing. I'm not going back to him. This obstinate little tantrum isn't helping his case anyway." Countless hours spent arguing with various legal professionals flashed before her eyes. "It's a very tedious process."

"It's a very catholic country." Pacho said, somewhere between wistful and embittered. She used his momentary distraction to pull her arm free. 

"That's true." 

Up on the stage, Gilberto was fiddling with a microphone and waiting for the last few stragglers to come and fill up the equestrian ring so he could begin. Again, the two men exhanged a telling glance around her. 

"You gonna go up there with him?" Pacho said lowly, hands now crossing behind his back. Miguel shook his head. 

"You go. I'll stay here. Better view." 

Diana stayed demonstratively rooted to the spot when Herrera started moving. He shot her a look, which she pretended not to notice in favor of striking up more mindless small talk with Miguel. Apparently Herrera decided that it wasn't worth making a big deal out of, choosing instead to let her be and weave through the audience until he reached the bottom of the stage, exchanging a greeting with Santacruz and glowering over the assembled crooks and accomplices. 

Gilberto's speech was... full of pathos and grandstanding, and too many high-minded terms for such a petty crook, she thought. When did the delusions or grandeur usually start appearing, she wondered. Was it with the first million? The first billion? But it's the core of the announcement that makes her gasp and sets the wheels in her mind into overdrive, the implications just mounting up. She spares a quick glance at Herrera at the foot of the stage, his face too demonstratively blank save for furrowed brows. Miguel beside her is more expressive, but quick to reign his face back in. Among the surprised gasps and whispers all around it tells her enough. Briefly, she thought of making a comment to Miguel, but his jaw is set so tight she can hear the grinding of teeth and she doesn't have anything productive or intelligent to say anyway, so she lets it be. Swallows the bile that rises up in her throat as Gilberto proclaims 'For our children! And for our children's children!', and tries not to roll her eyes. Or gouge his out, for the sheer gall of it. Because here she stands, approaching thirty-five and still deathly afraid to bring a baby into a world they have made so violent, so toxic, so dangerous. Meanwhile Salome is without her parents, both murdered by this unending war. Meanwhile a David Rodríguez flounces around as some sort of better henchman, he and his cousins all cushy and carefree thanks to daddy's blood money. It churns the stomach with rage. 

"Mrs Galindo! Just the woman I've been looking for!" 

The crowd parts for him, less so out of reverence and more because people are slowly drifting away, gossip already flying about, Diana is pleased to note. 

"Mr Rodríguez, what an...impactful speech." She said demurely, keeping all her sneering tucked safely away behind the mask of officiousness. 

"It's the coup of the century!" She catches Miguel's scoff just in the corner of her eye. "It also means transferring our assets into the...ah, ...legitimate sphere, if you will." He's got his arm around her shoulders again, leading her back towards the dancefloor, the buffet and tables, the house. By chance and his smaller stature, he's speaking almost directly into the shoulder with the hidden microphone attached, detailing all the financial acrobatics he wants her to perform to save all their assets from both law- and taxman. There she went again, trading complicity for access. --- Just over an hour on and the gender ratio has left Diana sitting squished between Herrera and the youngest of the Mrs Rodríguezes, but at least he seems to have taken his measure of her. And swallowed her undergarment excuse. Swallowed...undergarments. She snorted semi-loudly into the cocktail she'd been nursing this whole time, the ice in it all but dissolved. Dammit, here eyes were getting heavier by the minute and it wasn't even that late, barely midnight. Then again she had been up since five and alcohol, even though she hadn't had all that much, always made her sleepy. And the guests had started trickling away, leaving behind a scene of mild devastation. 

"I think Mrs Galindo needs to go home." It was Franklin Jurado speaking, Christina's head buffered on his shoulder as she slept. Diana had just enough self-control left to not tell him to fuck off. Or maybe she really is too tired to; doesn't even have it in her to get annoyed at Gilberto's patronizing tone as he agrees. 

"Yes, why don't you drive Mrs Galindo home?" 

She hums more in acknowledgement than agreement to Hererra's suggestion, tired eyes hazily following his line of sight to the man stepping forward from the shadows at being summoned. His gaudy shirt reminds her of one Juan Mateo had worn on their honeymoon and which she had hated half because it had been a gift from her horrible mother-in-law, and half because it was the most hideous thing she had ever seen. And then realization hits and her blood runs ice-cold and alertness slams back into her consciousness like a bullet. 

"Mr Velasquez." her voice is so weak and brittle, she thinks it must give her away if nothing else did so far. She took one last sip to wet her dry mouth, and because frankly she needs the alcohol now more than ever. The suggestion to call a taxi died on her lips as she realized that there was truly no way out of this. So, she steels herself and stands on sore feet, bidding the bosses of Calí and their dependents a good night. "I would be much obliged, Mr Velasquez." 

Navegante approximated a smile and stalked ahead. --- Well, there goes his progress. He'd been down to three smokes a day, four on a bad day, due in part to an iron adherence to some hard and fast self-imposed rules, such as no smoking in his office (or, in fact, no smoking inside the building at all). Tonight, however, is the night of the Calí godfathers' big announcement party, and Javier had not moved from his office for longer than a quick bathroom break or coffee run. He had also gone through half a pack of cigarettes in the last two hours, and his stomach was beginning to feel queasy the longer he spent glancing at the phone on the edge of his desk from the corner of his eye as he pretended to make his way through the mountain of paperwork that somehow never seemed to get any smaller. The fact that he'd woken that morning with the memory of Diana Turbay's lifeless body crumpled in that cupboard certainly hadn't helped. 

He last looked at a clock around half past nine, when a very insistent cleaning lady had shooed him out of his office and he'd spent around ten anxious minutes hovering by the door in case the phone rang. It hadn't, and now here he was, eyes burning and brain mushy with his heartbeat a steady pulsing behind his temples. And he wondered– 

Javier swiped up the phone before the first ring had even finished. "Miss Rivas!" 

"I'm fine." She didn't sound fine. She sounded on edge. Rattled. Like she was trying to reassure herself. He gripped the phone receiver tighter. 

"Where are you?" What was he gonna do? Drive all the way to Calí from Bogotá at half an hour past midnight? Even a flight would take hours, and raise suspisions to boot. 

"I said I'm fine," she replied, nails clacking rhythmically against the plastic phone casing in what he knew by now to be a nervous tick. "I'm safe. I'm home." 

Javier breathed a relieved sigh, rigid shoulders slumping a fraction. He supposed he could have ordered Duffy or Lopez to do something if push had come to shove, though what he honestly had no idea. 

"Good, that's good." 

"Mr Velasquez gave me a lift." 

Who the hell was that? "Who the hell is that?" Javier asked. 

"You probably know him as Navegante." Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Mentally he's already halfway out the door, physically at least halfway out of the office until the phone wire makes known its spatial limitations. 

"You alright? Is he still there? Lock your door, double lock it, I-" 

"I didn't give him the exact address, please calm down." He does, but only enough to catch his breath and not bolt out the door. There's a rustling from her end of the line, and she makes a sort of breathless little sound, somehwere between a sigh and a grunt, followed by a low but vicious curse.

"You okay?" 

"It's the damn zipper again; I'm this close to pulling something. Hang on." Judging by the thud that reverberates she set the phone down on a counter or table. Javier's hand went to rub at the back of his neck, half reflex, half sympathy. "Let's focus on the real issue here. The announcement." 

The way she said it was urgent, but he chose to believe this was due to wanting to get the message out and not to any concerns of Navegante lurking nearby. He had to, for his own sanity. 

"Apparently Gilberto cut a deal with the government." 

"The government?" Javier echoed weakly. 

"The new Samper administration. I knew why I didn't vote for those clowns. No, that's ...I had many reasons for that actually, first and foremost of them being that the Liberal Party nowadays is a damn joke. And to think that this is the same party that my parents fought for in their youth! Anyway, enough of that. They get half a year to get their house in order, then turn themselves in on the smallest possible charges, minimal jail time, back out again after a few years and back into their cushy lives with all of their blood money laundered neatly away. A clean slate." He'd never heard her sound so bitter, and he'd heard a good deal of her opinions on the Gentlemen of Calí over the past year. 

"So they're just going to get away with it." Javier grit out, equally livid. "Wait, you said Gilberto cut the deal? What about the others?" 

"Yes, so here is where it gets interesting. I didn't get the sense that they knew. Beforehand I mean. You should have outfitted me with a camera too, because Miguel's face was priceless." Another grunt and then a triumphant little 'ha' and then her voice sounded clearer again, nearer as she picked the phone back up. 

"He doesn't like it." 

"None of them like it. Don't want to give up the power, if I had to guess. What is it with men and building their entire ego on how much they can make others fear them?" 

Javier hummed non-committally, deciding that he had nothing valuable to add at this point. 

"Yeah, you're right. So how do I get the 'ooof' ...the recording to you? Usual way?" Javier didn't even get to reply no when she went on, now audibly shuffling around her apartment and out of the rest of her clothes. "I can't believe I almost forgot! I met the money launderer. His name is Franklin Jurado. He'll be in Calí until Tuesday with his wife Christina. I somewhat promised her to meet for coffee on Sunday; if you can have one of your agents trail me you can get them." 

She sounded so hopeful that he hated to have to dash it, even for her own safety, but snatching such an important cartel member so soon and with her so close would cast suspicion. She couldn't be involved. And he hadn't heard back from his agents yet, which was possibly a bad sign. Javier made up his mind, cringing while he glanced at the clock to make some mental calculations. 

"I'm coming over." 

"To Calí?" 

"Yes, what's your address? Unless you'd rather meet somewhere else?"

She gave her address, sounding stunned. He jotted it down under the note he'd made of Jurado's name; he'd need someone to look the guy up first thing tomorrow. 

"You're not leaving now, are you? It's late, you need to sleep." Javier could picture the way her brow creased in a frown just from the tone of her voice. 

"No, I'll call you again as soon as I know when I'll be there." Driving the whole way would be a nightmare and eat up most of the day. Javier whirled around and pulled an atlas from the shelf behind his desk. Flying in directly was out of the question with the way the godfathers had the whole city under surveillance. Buenaventura, under two hours by plane and then about two and a half from there to Calí. Yes, that would work. 

"Goodness, you're actually serious about this." 

"Of course." Javier stopped in his tracks for the first time in several minutes now, taking a moment to breathe and slump in his seat. He was exhausted yet wide awake, and likely would be for some time. "I mean, if that's okay with you." 

"Of course, umm...anything in particular you'd like for dinner?" Javier stopped. He would be staying for dinner, possibly the night, too. In a hotel of course, he couldn't possibly impose- 

"You don't have to cook for me." His mouth said, but his stomach said bandeja paisa. Briefly, the thought of taking her out for dinner popped up, indulgent and unbidden, and was immediately squashed by the thought of the godfathers' eyes everywhere. "I can pick something up on the way." 

Her protest turned into a yawn not two syllables in. Javier couldn't help the small smile appearing on his face, felt it only by how it twinged his tense jaw. "You're tired, you should rest." 

"We're not finished with this." She mumbled obstinately. "You rest." 

"I will." He would, eventually. "I'll call you tomor- ...today." A quick glance at the clock revealed it was now past midnight. She made a very grumpy, very adorable huffy sound, mumbling something about the inexorable passage of time. 

"Sleep well, Miss Rivas." 

"You too..." There was a rustle and the quiet squeak and groan of a bedframe and mattress. He waited a moment, unsure whether more was coming or whether she'd just been too tired to disconnect the call. A short silence burst into a quick curse, her voice remote but still clear enough to make out. "...God fucking dammit, fucking contact lenses! Son of a rabid-" 

"Miss Rivas?" By the rapid padding of feet and the continued cursing he had to suppose that she hadn't heard, and by how either sound seemed to be at about equal distance with neither decreasing, he supposed further that the phone was still in her hand. As soon as he heard the 'thunk' that most likely meant that the phone had been tossed down on some surface, he tried again. "Miss Rivas?" 

"You're still there?" She sounded marginally more awake now, but not like this state would persist for very long. 

"You didn't hang up." And perhaps Javier wasn't all too opposed to having the continued assurance that she was alright and her cover intact. "You swear very entertainingly, by the way." 

"I'm glad my lack of filter and ladylike decorum amuses rather than appalls you." Splashing water interrupted them for a moment, but was quickly replaced by more colorful cursing. 

"Please, don't hold back." Javier commented drily, not really expecting to be heard clearly since the satphone didn't have a loudspeaker. 

"Very funny. Why don't you talk to me a bit more while I try not to poke my eyes out by accident-" 

"I- ...I'm afraid I don't really have anything interesting to talk about." 

"And I don't have enough brain left today for anything more taxing than the weather anyway. I just need your voice; I'm dead on my feet. How was the weather in Bogotá today? I always found it so cold when I was at university there. Nothing like Medellín. They used to call me 'chompa' at uni because I would never go anywhere without one. Too cold. And of course Calí is so much warmer than either..." 

"It's been quite grey here, and not especially warm either. Back home it's at least twice as warm but I've been here so long now I think I'm more used to it." 

"I never asked where exactly you're from..." 

"Laredo, Texas. It's right on the border with Mexico." 

"Laredo..." She mused, puttering about still. "Oh like the song? As I walked walked out on the streets of Laredo..." She must really be tired and devoid of all usual inhibitions, Javier thought, to just start singing like this. Not that he minded. She got halfway through the first stanza until she faltered, the lyrics escaping her. Her voice was soft and with that same raspy edge she had when speaking. It was a voice suited best to lullabies he thought; or to yearnful ballads performed in smoky bars, or some similarly wistful thing. "Aren't I supposed to be the one talking?" 

"Hmm, this works too. I'm almost done, so you won't have to humor me much longer. So, tell me more about Laredo while I brush my teeth." --- He ended up talking longer than that - divulging more than he ever planned to as per usual, of the town and the ranch that sat up against the river - until she was settled back into bed and about to doze off for good. If nothing else, it settled him too somewhat, though sleep would elude him for a a good while yet even despite the physical and mental exhaustion the day, or in fact the whole week, had brought him. No sooner had he disconnected the line with a soft 'Sleep well' than the phone rang again. 

"Yes?" 

"Boss, I've been trying to reach you for half an hour!" Duffy's voice sounded strained and any modicum of relaxation Javier might have gained dissipated with immediate effect. He scrubbed a hand over his burning eyes and resigned himself to dealing with one more catastrophe. 

"Duffy, what is it?" Agents Duffy and Lopez had organized their own infiltration of the godfathers' party, courtesy of the intel provided by Miss Rivas as well as what Operation Cornerstone had shaken loose. At least he knew it was nothing that had blown the cover of his informant. 

"Okay well, no use beating around the bush here. Our guy got made, and Calí knows we're here-" Javier listened to his agent's report with his frown deepening. Why was it that with every step forward, another wrench was thrown his way? 

"Alright, close up shop. Leave as soon and as inconspicuously as you can. I'll see you back here at the embassy on Monday morning." He ordered. Hopefully the gentlemen and their security would leave it at the gesture of intimidation, especially if they thought themselves well on the way of becoming untouchable, but one could never be too careful. 

---

Javier consulted the clock for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. Normally the bar down the street from the embassy wouldn't be his first or even fourth choice, but tonight he was looking for a place to wind down with the shortest possible distance to cover afterwards. The danger of being accosted by any of his co-workers was one he'd simply have to brave. If luck was on his side for once, none of the more sociably inclined would be there any more, or too engrossed in their own merriment to notice him slink in, and if not, his curmudgeonly ways were known well enough that a civil yet decisive refusal would hopefully be deterrence enough. 

It was for Stoddard, but of course not for Bill Stechner, the non-drug-lord bane of Javier's existence. Ostensibly on the same side, though Javier would argue that the CIA was on its own side entirely. Or that their budget would be spent more productively by making the damn lot of them just feed dollar bills through a shredder, but no one asked Javier about these things. So, he sits and grinds his teeth while Stechner's smug voice grates on his nerves. Visualizes strangling the CIA station shief with the tie he'd just pulled off and balled up into his pocket moments ago, which does a little bit to alleviate the almost overbearing urge to smash Stechner's face into the bar top. "Oh come on, you don't care about American streets or dead Colombians." 

And the deal? How the hell does Stechner know about the deal when it's only just been announced? For a split-second, he wonders whether Diana- but no, he trusts her completely, and he hasn't told anyone except a handful of his agents about her, deciding this information was so sensitive it was strictly need to know, and even they only knew her by her assigned code name. Not even the ambassador knew that he had such a high-priority informant on the inside of the cartel. Stechner must have some government source, be it an informant of his own or bugs in the offices of ministers. The way he only mentions Lopez and Duffy's operation confirms it. 

"Same goal my ass." Javier muttered into his whiskey after Stechner slithered away. This had been supposed to be a one-drink-night, but now he was feeling like he might need at least three more, if only to dull the screeching of his swirling thoughts. 

It's no use. He's all keyed up still, something feels like it's burrowing inside of his chest, some sort of woodland critter both desperate and unable to settle down. He's tired, too, of course, eyes heavy and burning and sore, feels like his eyeballs are coated in smoke and pitched open by caffeine. He shouldn't have had that much coffee that late; despite his high tolerance it does still have an effect on him. Thank goodness on any given day, but right now he's regretting it. His leg jumps, knee knocking painfully against the bar front. He feels eyes on him. They've been there since he walked in, furtively glancing throughout his confrontation with Stechner, but bolder now. He feels it like a prickle on his skin. Turns his gaze finally. Sees long dark hair, open, melting into the late shadows of the bar. Too long, but it'll have to do. She's... he's definitely seen her around before. The elevator? Different department, perhaps press office, or visas. Definitely nowhere near the DEA offices or he would have known her name. She's coming over now, leaning easily against the bartop, slender fingers tapping, and an easy, eager smile. Her hair isn't dark enough, and too long and wavy all the way through instead of only curling at the ends, and nothing else about her appearance quite matches up, but she's pretty and willing and he's pent up and about to crawl out of his skin. And so he lets her take him home. And he means to leave right after, he really does. If only not to give any impression of this having even the slightest potential of becoming any more than it is. But Katie (that's her name, but he's learnt a long time ago to not groan out names during, because whether the name is correct or not it always turns out bad somehow), Katie sleepily mumbles that he can stay because it's late, and truth be told? He's completely shot, feels like he couldn't move if he wanted to. And the thought of dragging himself back to his empty apartment with only his thoughts for company is the most unbearable thing at this moment. Her mattress is too soft and despite the fact that he only laid on it until waking again at first light, it messes up his back for almost a week. --- It is indeed much warmer in this side of the country, and an especially hot day in Calí itself. On the coast where he'd landed, there had at least been a breeze blowing in from the Pacific, but the further inland Javier drives the less the air seems to move. He felt the sweat start to gather at his hairline, and down his neck, as soon as he parked the rental car in front of the cluster of new-ish high rise apartment blocks in one of the north-western boroughs of the city. 

Javier grabbed his one piece of luggage and the bag of takeout he'd picked up on the way, just as promised, and walked up to the first building to study the panel beside the door for the correct bell to ring. A sharp whistle made him look around, then up at the next building. Miss Rivas was all but hanging off the side of her balcony, waving down and giving Javier half a heart attack seeing as she was on the sixth floor. He waved back in acknowledgement, then jogged over to the already buzzing door, which he pushed open. Blessedly, there was an elevator, and not two minutes later he stood in front of her apartment, the door swinging open before he could raise his hand to knock. 

"Hi." She sounded breathless, as if she'd run up six flights of stairs, not across an apartment. 

"... Miss Rivas." In his relief, he'd almost slipped. Almost called her by her first name, but they're not there yet, strangely. Or not strangely at all, in fact. It's quite by design. It's a way of keeping himself detached; professional. Or whatever excuse he could come up with to maintain this state of perpetual denial. 

"Umm, ...lunch? I brought lunch." He thrust the bag foward, watched it swing between them while cringing inwardly. 

"Good! I've only been up for two hours or so; I don't even care what it is, I'm starving!" Carefully, she took the bag from him, one hand supporting the bottom like a newborn's head, the other brushing his as she looped her fingers through the handles. "Come in, come in." 

Javier stood a full three seconds or so after she'd already turned around and walked down the narrow hallway, rooted to the spot and struck dumb like some sort of imbecile. His skin prickled in all the places he'd let Katie touch him the night before, which, admittedly, hadn't been too many - but still enough to be burning him with that familiar mixture of guilt and shame now. So he does what he does best when it comes to emotions: deny and repress. 

He left his shoes beside the pair of strappy heels she must have discarded there the night before, probably in a hurry to get the severely uncomfortable looking things off after spending a whole evening in them. The hallway opened into an open living room and dining area, the balcony beyond that, and a galley-style kitchen off to one side not unlike his own apartment. It was a sparse place, not quite enough furniture to fill the space - a long couch and coffee table, a low sideboard with a TV on it, none of it new save for the stereo system that was of course on and softly playing the usual eclectic music mix. Javier dropped his bag beside the couch where it would be out of the way. The dining table barely deserved the name. It was a small, round, reedy looking thing, just large enough for two, or maybe two and a child, with two plastic fold-out chairs. On it stood a light blue and white ceramic fruit bowl that currently held zero fruit, just the recording device he'd given her and... some pieces of golden sapphire and diamond jewelry? Puzzled, Javier picked up what turned out to be a bracelet. He raised one eyebrow at her as she set down plates for them. 

"Got a raise?" 

"Ha! As if. I should have, though. What with the extra work I got saddled with last night. That's the problem with rich people. Miserly. The more zeroes on their bank statements the stingier they get." She scoffed, ranting away all the way to and fro carrying the cutlery. "No, this-" she stabbed a spoonhandle through the bracelet and swirled it around once, twice, before glowering at the gemstones darkly, "This is what Mrs Jurado had me borrow to complete my outfit yesterday. Obviously I have to return them, which is why I'm meeting her for coffee tomorrow afternoon. If you do your whole government agent covert spy observation thing you could at least get eyes on her, maybe even him, too. Franklin Jurado, the money launderer. You can just smell the entitlement on him. I bet he went to one of the really fancy schools over there, like Princeton. Or maybe Harvard." 

"I'm glad to see you're making friends." Javier had followed her to the kitchen, leaning against a cabinet and watching her place the food on plates, any attempts to help or make himself useful deftly rebuffed as always. 

"I think it was Harvard actually. I think he mentioned it- It's on the recording, in any case. Real smug about it too. La Javeriana is a perfectly good university, too. Older, too. Luis Carlos Galán attended it, you know? Graduated in economics and law, like I did." 

"Like the new president, too." Javier dared remark, only to be leveled with a death glare that could make a man fear for his life. 

"Professor Samper, oh yes," she said pointedly, thrusting the plates at him, "Don't remind me please. The whole family attended, have for generations." 

Javier dutifully carried over the dishes and set them down, returning a moment later for the pitcher of water. Diana followed him, wiping her glasses with her tee-shirt in a gesture he had come to know was more about calming down than it was about being able to see better. 

"Right, no politics at meal time. Tell me something interesting instead." Diana attacked her food with a frightening kind of fervor. And suddenly the only thing he could think about was what Stechner had told him the night before, how the deal would go ahead, a neat little setup by politicians whose only objective was looking good enough for re-election. Naturally, the words died in his throat. He shrugged and started digging in. 

"Nothing huh? Okay, well, how about this then: How many Mrs Rodríguezes are there?" 

"Is this a trick question?" There should be one only, seeing as Miguel was widowed and his little shit of a son wasn't exactly husband material - nor looking to be. "One?"

"Close. There's three." 

That didn't make any sense. "That doesn't make any sense. Miguel is widowed and David- ...Gilberto! Gilberto?" 

"Gilberto." She confirmed. "All three. They have a rota, apparently. On Sundays they just sit around while he watches whatever game is on which sounds thrilling. And I thought my marriage was crap." 

"Huh." If Javier thought that the farcical nature of governmental - and inter-governmental - bureaucracy had prepared him for the absurdity of chasing drug kingpins he had apparently been sorely mistaken. But mostly, he was relieved to see that Diana was in such good spirits again, what with how affected she'd sounded the night before. Lunch was over in no time at all, and Javier felt his short night starting to catch up with him. He yawned surreptitiously as he helped carry the dirty dishes back into the kitchen, or what he thought had been surreptitious anyway. 

"Okay, coffee or nap?" 

"Huh?" Dammit, his eyes were burning. Diana took the plates and deposited them in the sink, leaving him to blink sluggishly. "I can do those. The dishes." 

"You're about to keel over. Haven't slept a wink, have you?" 

"About three hours, and another half hour or so on the plane. I'm fine, really." He admitted. The fact that he had to lean against the cabinets did not exactly serve to strengthen his argument. Diana tutted. 

"I need to run some errands, grocery shopping and the like. If you are really determined to get to work on the recording I'll make you a good strong coffee before I go, but I would personally suggest you use the time to catch up on some sleep. The couch pulls out." 

It was tempting, it really was, but Javier also knew that he'd have a harder time falling asleep later if he messed up his rhythm more now. 

"Coffee it is, then." She set to work in the same breath. 

A fond smile pulled at Javier's lips. "Thank you." --- Even knowing she was fine and safe now, she hadn't expected that listening to the recording would be so excruciatingly stressful. She had very helpfully compiled a list of encounters, along with time estimates (and a very evocative caricature of the chief accountant, Guillermo Pallomari), which had allowed him to fast forward through the recording to get a general overview. Even so, he'd gotten stuck on several bits, even replaying a few. The introductory round, for one. Her panic attack in the bathroom. Or the segment with that slimy little bastard David Rodríguez. Her quick thinking and clever diversion of Pacho's suspicions. He hated hearing the strain in her voice, the barely masked anxiousness that none of them even seemed to notice but that stood out to him so very clearly. His jaw was clenched so tight he could feel his teeth grinding– The lock on the front door clicked open, jolting Javier from his focused state. A quick glance at his watch told him it had been well over three hours since she'd left for her errands, afternoon now melting into early evening. In his haste to get up he tangled the wires, cursing as he he sat back down. Diana huffed into view, heavy-looking bags on each arm. 

"Hey there," she threw him a quick smile before vanishing into the kitchen to set down her load, re-emerging a heartbeat later. She crossed the distance in a few strides, lightly squeezing his shoulder as she leaned over him to peer at the notes he'd taken. "How's it going? Anything viable?" 

Her touch, given with such casual affection, electrified him. He'd never been, never considered himself the type of person anyone would come home to. 

"Plenty." He needed to collect himself, clear his throat and mind and get a grip. "You did amazing work." And I can't use it in court because you incriminate yourself all throughout.

"Good, I'm glad. Would have been a re-" 

The shrill ringing of her landline interrupted them. Immediately, Javier mourned the loss of her touch, the spot on his shoulder where her hand had lingered now turning cold. Pull yourself together, dammit! 

The telephone was mounted on the wall that separated hallway and kitchen, and had a cord long enough to allow for a range of movement to about halfway into the latter. Unsure of whether he was supposed to be listening, he tried to go back to the recording. Only tried rather turned into pretended. As quickly as he had put the headphones on, he took them off again, watching Diana for a moment of hesitation. She was shuffling around the kitchen entrance, emptying her shopping bags with the phone receiver pinned between her cheek and shoulder. She was talking to her aunt, tense and worried, but managed a small smile when she caught Javier's eye. Wordlessly, he started helping her putting the groceries away as directed. 

"No, I know you don't approve. No one approves except Gabriela, and incidentally Gabriela is also the only one who saw that I was making a mistake right from the start and the only one who tried to dissuade me from going through with the wedding, and if I'd only listened to her and my gut back then, I wouldn't-" She turned her back at this, and Javier put away the last few pieces and left the kitchen, giving her the pretense of privacy at least. It wasn't like the apartment was so vast that her voice wouldn't carry. He walked over to the stereo system he'd turned off earlier and switched it back on, fiddling with the volume by way of looking distracted. 

"...No, and I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't care what the Pope says; the Pope was never married! ...Yes, put her on; I think that's better for everyone involved." 

Immediately her voice and stance relaxed, became softer and warmer, and the conversation a lot more one-sided as Diana talked to Salome on the phone. Javier's knees were starting to protest at his half-kneeling by the sideboard, but he was too transfixed by trying to determine whether the little girl would perhaps say a few words today. She sometimes did, though very rarely, and Javier had yet to witness it himself. 

"Okay, my little darling, you be good for granny, alright? Sleep well, sweetheart. I love you. Bye-bye." 

Diana hung up and shuffled over, taking a seat on he edge of the coffee table closest to him. Javier gave up on the volume dial and turned towards her. 

"Everything okay?" She nodded and took off her glasses to rub at her eyes. Cautiously, Javier placed his hand atop hers where it laid in her lap, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the top of it soothingly. "And are you okay?" 

"I will be; I just- ...I try that she at least hears my voice every day, even if I can't be there and- She's so little and has already lost so much, and every time I have to leave I feel like I'm just making it worse and like maybe that's why she still barely talks. And it's so unfair! She's just a little girl and she needs her mother or at least she needs a mother and we try - my aunt and I try our best but we're all that's left of this family." Her voice got quieter with each word, fading to a whisper before ceasing. Javier didn't know how to respond; all the obvious things seemed like meaningless phrases, frivolous and unhelpful. Diana deflated, her whole frame drooping like misery personified. She let out a single, quiet sob, gripping his hand in both of hers like he was her anchor. "I just wish I at least knew what I was doing." 

She wiped at her eyes angrily, blindly grasping for the glasses on the table behind her until she found them and shoved them back on. She stood abruptly, but did not let go of his hand, instead tugging him up, to which his beleaguered knees only objected more. 

"Sorry, forget that. Let's sort out dinner." She stalked back into the kitchen, and Javier could only follow of creaky knees, the blood rushing back down into his feet and making them prickle and almost falter. She finally let go of his hand in front of the refridgerator, throwing open the door of it like a shield between them.  

"So for dinner I was thinking-" 

"Miss Rivas." She didn't even hear him, just went on explaining what was possible with the ingredients she'd picked up earlier. Javier laid his hand on top of hers gently, feeling the tension in her fingers, the tremble in them as she gripped the fridge door tight. Gently still, he eased her grip and shut the door. She didn't even look at him, obstinately staring down at the tiled floor instead. 

"I'm in control of my emotions." She declared defiantly. "I'm not a liability to your investigation." 

"I know." Javier took both her hands in his now, squeezed them once, still gentle. Kept his voice soft too; soft and low and for her ears only. "I know you ...aren't. It's okay. You're doing so good. You're doing amazing. It's okay." On the last few words, he raised their entwined hands, nudging her chin up to look at him. Took in her reddened but stubbornly dry eyes, her lips pressed into a painful line, and the hard set of her jaw and brows. All she needed was one final push to let go, one word of permission, and he gave it gladly. "It's okay." 

He'd expected an outburst now, an explosive outpouring of grief or at least wrath. Instead, Diana squeezed his hands back once before letting go, leaving him standing in the kitchen while she went into her bedroom. He heard her rummage around for a moment, then she returned with a small photo album in her hands which she carefully set down on the counter before throwing it open and flipping through the pages until she found the picture she was looking for. It showed what he assumed was her family. He recognized only her and Maritza, both noticeably younger then. Side by side, the family resemblance became more apparent, especially in comparison with the respective parents. Wordlessly, she flipped through the pages. In the next one Maritza's father was missing, the one after that, her own father was no longer there. The one after that showed the addition of a young man and what must have been a newborn Salome, him holding the baby with a broad, dimpled smile that his daughter had inherited. He was gone in the following picture, Diana's mother vanished in the one after that, until the last photograph showed only Maritza's mother, Diana herself, and little Salome. 

"Some time after we cleared out Maritza's apartment, I went to Escobar's grave. If I was looking for some kind of satisfaction, I didn't find it there." She closed the album with a sharp snap. "The whole drive back, last night, I was sure I was about to end up fish fodder, and I just thought... with how my aunt's health is failing, will Salome be all alone in the world before she's even five?" 

Javier swallowed hard, choking on the words that had sprung up onto the tip of his tongue. That he wouldn't let that happen (but it could have happened not twenty-four hours prior and there would have been nothing he could have done about it). That he would make sure the little girl was taken care of (How? He wasn't kin and Diana's aunt didn't know him. And he wasn't exactly prime fatherhood material, so what exactly did he think he could do?). And in the back of his head, he still heard the desperate shallow little breaths she'd heaved during her panic attack. So different words jumped onto his tongue instead, tumbling out before he could ever think through the implications. 

"Do you want out? You don't even have to go meet Mrs Jurado tomorrow, I can organize to have you pulled out within the week. And your family too. You'd be safe." 'I am never doing this again', she'd said. Well, he wouldn't make her. And considering what he knew now, that his whole investigation was just a front? What was the damn point of it anyway? 

Diana smiled, just a slight quirk of the corner of her lip, but the first in what felt like hours now. "Now? No. I don't want anyone else having to go through what my family and I went through, here or anywhere. This kind of...lust for power - it's grasping. It never stops, it is never satisfied. And it doesn't care what stands in its way." 

"You sure?" He ought to tell her, he really ...but even though the betrayal isn't his, just his to hand on, he hesitates again. 

"I am. Starting with meeting Christina Jurado tomorrow. Besides, you'll be with me all the way through." 

"Yeah," his voice creaks like a rusty hinge, "Yeah, of course I'll be. Just a stone's throw away." --- "Goodness, does she ever shut up?" Javier shut the door behind himself, hanging up the spare key on the hook by the door. They'd just returned from Diana and Mrs Jurado's coffee and lunch date - separately for safety purposes - and Javier's head was still swimming. Diana might be reasonably called talkative, but at least she had things to say. Christina Jurado, it turned out, could talk a mile a minute without saying much of substance at all. Diana had been all but steam-rollered by the barrage of conversation and Javier, who had listened closely to all two and a half hours of it, was starting to feel the beginnings of a pressure headache building. 

"Without being condescending, Agent Peña, there is so much that men don't understand about the way women talk with each other." Diana peeked out into the hallway with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, she may well have been... uuh-" 

"May have been what?" After discarding his shoes, he walked into the apartment fully. Diana frowned, then touched a fingertip to the side of her nose with a meaningful look. When he didn't light up with sudden understanding, she gave a good-natured yet long-suffering sigh. And Javier really thinks he should probably have slept more than four hours, but his back was now paying the price for his stint on that marshmallow fluff that passed for Katie's mattress, and also his mind liked to give him trouble when it ought to quiet down. 

"She may have been what, Miss Rivas?" 

"Mrs Jurado, I have good reason to believe, likes to uhh... sample the product." The penny rolled around Javier's exhausted mind a moment longer before dropping. 

"...You mean to tell me she was high on cocaine the whole time?" 

"Yes. Why are you whispering?" Why indeed. Javier cleared his throat and wondered why this revelation left him so scandalized. "She did use on Friday night, too, which is a frequency I honestly find alarming. I hope it's more of a weekend thing- Franklin knows, but I don't think he has any idea what to do about it. I'd reckon it's something they're both keen to keep under wraps, though for different reasons. I don't imagine the gentlemen would be overly thrilled, especially the brothers. They like to keep a pretty tight hold on everything even remotely to do with the business." 

"Huh... what the hell are you do-" While he had been musing on this new development in his sluggish mind, she'd stuck one hand down her blouse from the top and the other up it from the bottom, fumbling around for a moment before pulling the wiretap she'd been wearing for the meeting out and handing it to him non-chalantly. 

"When's your flight?" 

"Uh, late. Later. Ten-ish." He'd be back in Bogotá before midnight, but there was the drive back to Buenaventura to consider. Even so, it was only mid-afternoon now. Javier rubbed his hand over his burning eyes. His brain was no longer in a state to be doing that kind of math and he sighed, the coffee he'd just had clearly not doing anything. 

"You have at least an hour to get some sleep. Come lie down." She was out from in front of him and across the room before he could blink tiredly, already pushing back the coffee table and bending to pull out the couch. Javier meant to protest, he really did. But. Sleep beckoned. And so, with heavy feet dragging across the laminate floor, he acquiesced. 

"Thanks." He mumbled, gratefully receiving a pillow. 

"I'll wake you in an hour, hour and a half tops." She already sounded further away than she should be, considering she was by the sofa-bed's - and his - head still. Javier hummed a reply, more affirmative sound than any proper words. As he drifted off, he thought he felt gentle fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead. But surely that was just wishful thinking, for what else could it be? ---

So, six more months of looking busy and doing nothing while the Calí godfathers revved up operations to squeeze as much money as they could out. He'd had to send his agents home after they'd been splashed all over the front page of the Espectador, so not only did the DEA not currently have any presence on the ground in Calí, it also left Diana without even the faintest layer of protection. And with the massive stink the Colombians, fronted by General Vargas, had kicked up about it, he couldn't send in any replacements, no matter how eager or indeed fastidious Agent Feistl was. And now the incident in Yumbo. The youngest of the dead had only been six years old. Javier glowered at the TV report where the safety inspector was giving his final report. Natural gas leak... yeah, sure. This thing reeked; he felt it in his bones that the cartel was responsible somehow. And he couldn't go after them. The desire to go find Stechner and smash his stupid smug face through the screen became near unbearable. He turned the TV off before the urge manifested into action. 

He sat down behind his desk, taking a moment to look around the largely dark and empty office space around him before opening that particular drawer on the top right and taking out the arrest warrants. Their money and power and the influence both bought meant that the Calí bosses could move comparatively freely, but they still hid away. Carefully so, with the kind of tight-knit security that most heads of state could only dream of. Even if he did find a way to get at them, his hands were now unofficially bound. Well over a year's work, two good agents sent home, his informant risking her life every single day, more innocent dead who would never get justice, and what for? He hated it. He still hadn't told her. He thought about quitting. 

The phone rang. He knew it was her. She didn't even try his home landline first now, knowing he spent his evenings at the office more often than not. Javier let it ring once more while mustering up the courage to come clean. 

"Miss Rivas, good evening." 

"Decidedly not. Did you watch the news?" 

Javier scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut so as to not have to look at the warrants spread out on his desk. There was only so much mockery a man could take. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." 

"It was them. David specifically, that self-absorbed buffoon. They chewed him out for over half an hour over it, which is far less than he deserves." 

"I figured." His throat felt tight; undoing another shirt button did precisely nothing. 

"Gilberto worries it will give the government leverage to go back on the deal. I hope it does."

So did Javier, but knowing the special interests being at play here he didn't hold out much hope. 

"And you have been made to recall your agents from Calí." 

Javier gulped. "Yes." 

"But they'll be replaced, right?" 

Well, here goes nothing then. "...No." 

Silence. She's not one to raise her voice even when upset and right now she must be livid. But perhaps she's shocked before anything else. Shocked into silence, into disbelief. He hates this, too. He wishes she would scream at him. Instead all he gets is a brittle quiet little '...What?' 

And it's so unfair, all of it. Stechner doesn't have to face her with this, the bastard. None of the politicians who are oh so invested in this little vanity project do either, the consequences aren't real to them. They get to collect the empty symbol of a supposedly bloodless surrender, some good publicity, and don't have to do or face any of the ugly truths on the ground. He thinks about quitting again. Pats his pocket for the reporter's business card. If he's leaving, he thinks, he'd do it with a bang. Burn all bridges with a mighty barrage of his personal J'accuse. But for now that's all idle thinking. 

"The surrender deal is going ahead as planned, because the powers that be will it so." He explained, truly understanding the sentiment of shooting the messenger at this very moment. "My hands are bound, there's nothing I can do."  

"Bullshit!" Yeah, agreed. He tries saying more, justifications that turn to dust on his tongue before the words even leave his mouth. His heart's not in it, and it only serves to stoke her wrath, fearsome even over the distance of the phone line. 

"What else will they get away with? If you're rich enough you can buy impunity? A blank cheque for murder? How many more people must die? Every day I go in and make myself complicit in it all on the promise that it will take them down!" 

The worst part of this, perhaps, is that he knows she's right. If any of those senators in their cushy Washington offices had even a bit of her bravery, her steadfastness, her moral clarity– 

"I'm sorry." His mouth is so dry. At last he opens his eyes again, glaring down at the warrants. Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela. Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela. 

"You're sorry?" Even now her voice is still level. Full of venomous disbelief and cold with rage, yes, but it has not risen even a single decibel. 

"Miss Rivas, I-" 

The line went dead with a click. She'd hung up.

--- --- --- 

author’s notes: 

*me, an idiot* this chapter will cover episodes 1 through to 4. this is a thing that is feasible and realistic

*me, 7000 words in and still at the party* ah. oh no.

in other words: remember last chapter when I cut things off because I wanted to keep it below 10k? yeah, that won’t be happening anymore. It takes as long as it takes. *shrug emoji* stay hydrated.

DIAN (Dirección de Impuestos y Aduanas Nacionales) is the Colombian government agency that is responsible for collecting taxes

Fernando Botero is a Colombian artist and sculptor, famous for these really chunky bronze statues, though the one I reference here is a complete fabrication and does not actually exist

according to the Art and Making of Narcos book Navegante’s actual name is Jorge Velasquez

‘chompa’ according to the dictionary I used, is a term for jacket used in Colombia and some other places

yes I looked up average temperatures in all these cities. I have concluded that it gets hot af in Laredo

La Javeriana (Pontificia Universidad Javeriana) is one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Colombia. Presidential candidate Carlos Luis Galan did indeed attend there, as did president Ernesto Samper, who is president during the season in the show. He also did indeed teach there for a while in the early 80s, which fortunately matches up with my timeline. It was indeed founded before Harvard. Thirteen years before to be exact (1623 vs 1636)

here’s the drawing Diana made of Pallomari (contador=accountant): 

tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @fromthedeskoftheraven @dindjarindiaries @shikin83 @cinewhore @maddoggrahaml @javier-djarin @huliabitch @heatherbel @shestillwrites1​

didn’t ask to be tagged but reblogged all previous parts and therefore I assume you enjoyed it regardless of that you reading my story made me very happy list: @asoftcollection​ (thank you for indulging me and brainstorming the Jurados with me it helped a lot) @holographic-carmen​  @dermandalorianer​  @oldstuffnewstuff​ (sry it won’t let me tag ur sideblog hope this is okay)

Next Chapter

[jackalopey]

i am literally so bored rn so im gonna do An Entire Ask Meme for melyn

if your character switched factions, how would they react to having to fight an old friend/ally from their original faction?

awfully bold of you to assume anyone can make melyn do anything. she often befriends strangers from the opposing faction instead of fighting them; if she met an old friend on the battlefield she would be fine with it. she’d either talk them down, or if that wasn’t possible fight them and leave them unconscious / otherwise incapacitated. she wouldn’t take it personally and would expect them not to, either.

if your character could romance anyone, regardless of class or npc status, who would they have romanced?

*gestures to lana* shes already got the wife. genuinely dont think theres anyone else she’d be interested in. we really lucked out there (unlike poor quizzi, destined to never smooch ashara in-game)

do they regret any choices they’ve made in the past?

yes :) in my legacy, lyn sacrifices vette to save torian and that Haunts her. she does it bc she insisted on not taking lana’s advice & keeping the mandalorians safe. she realised that torian had a chance of being the next mandalore, or at least being influential amongst the mandalorians, so keeping him alive was strategically the right move. that choice was influenced by valkorion, and she considers her judgement to have been clouded. she often wonders if she could have done something different and saved them both.

are there any choices they wish they could’ve made?

redeeming vaylin, 100%. lyns big thing is choice - she strongly believes in the importance of personal choice, so the fact that vaylin never truly gained self-determination feels like a personal failing to her. she also wishes she could have saved more of the children of the emperor, for similar reasons, though as she was younger & less experienced back then she tries not to beat herself up for it.

if they switched sides (dark side to light, light to dark), how much would change about them?

i honestly have no idea. so much about who she is is a product of her jedi upbringing; if she hadnt been raised by the jedi i have no idea how different she’d been. if she just fell though she’d probably still be like herself - just carrying that righteous anger harder. but she wouldn’t fall, because she embraces the complexity of the force. i think to truly fall there has to be some degree of fear of the dark, or at least an awareness of ‘dark = bad’ somewhere in you. idk, its complicated & i have complicated feelings about it.

did they name their ship, or is it just referred to as “the ship”?

i think the consular’s callsign is the guardian and she’d probably call it that, or something else similar to that.

if they were a companion, what class would they be for and how would their missions go?

hmm. excluding the consular dsfhjsf i could see her as a companion for any class tbh, but i’d probably go with the knight, with her conversations revolving around the concept of self-determination & forgiveness.

if time travel existed and they were thrown into the prequel/original/sequel trilogy, how would they react?

im doing an rp like this actually fsdghfdsh but she’d primarily be curious about seeing how things from her time went down, and what people of the future remember of her and those she knew. she’d also end up being fascinated by the way people distort and misremember history.

have their light side/dark side actions changed over time? (i.e., a sith warrior who starts out light but ends up dark, etc.)

not so much? i guess she’s started to make some darker choices when those she cares about are in danger, but generally speaking she’s still very light.

are there any choices they wouldn’t have taken, knowing the eventual outcome?

not really? i dont think so at least. most of her regrets are more personal.

if they were the opposite class, what would change about them? (a sith warrior becoming a jedi knight, smuggler to bounty hunter, etc.)

im doing a play like this! i am... still on korriban fdsghdsfhsdf but imagine the most light-sided inquisitor you can get. that’d be her. she’d probably say ‘sorry’ to the ghosts.

do they wish they were/weren’t force sensitive?

nope! her force sensitivity is a big part of who she is - she wouldn’t be her without it!

does their past/background effect how they react to things?

yeah, she’s hugely influence by the sacking of coruscant in particular. this was what inspired her to become a healer! she’s also hugely influenced by yuon parr’s sickness- this is what caused her to become so fixated on the concept of self-determination.

do they consider themselves a hero?

yes, but not in a conceited way. she knows that she fits the definition of a hero. she won’t brag about it, though - she thinks that jedi are supposed to be heroes. it’s their job, to be heroes so others don’t have to.

if they weren’t “the” imperial agent/etc., who would they be? how would they react to the decisions the person in their place is making? (i.e., an agent who is not cipher nine, a smuggler who is not the voidhound.)

‘damn, that sounds rough. anyway, im going to go meditate under a fountain for a week.’

[my-personal-writing-wonderland]

You truly are something else

Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Warnings: self doubts, one or two slightly sexual references and Joffrey being Joffrey in the future chapters

Summary: You’re the younger sister of Margaery Tyrell and you accompany her to Kingslanding. Since you are a child you feel inferior to your sister and the fact that she is about to get married once again doesn’t really help to build your self-confidence. You dream of a man who loves you for who you are and makes you feel special but are you able to find love in a city reigned by a tyrant like Joffrey?

A/n: This is my first game of thrones series, so I hope it’s alright. There will probably be five or six chapters. Sandor is likely to be very ooc, so please be gracious.

Important: Sandor didn’t leave Kingslanding during the battle of blackwater in this story.

(Pictures aren’t mine)

Your POV:

What did this stupid man think he’s doing? Interrupting your conversation as if the kings guard (which name you still sadly don’t know) didn’t even exist. If there is something you truly hate it’s noble man looking down at others only because they aren’t as high born as them. Finally, you had the chance to talk to someone who seems interesting. Someone who’s different than the rest and doesn’t seem to care about all the superficialities the others around you seem to love so much… and than this over confident lord had to interrupt you two. Normally, you would have smiled it off like the noble lady you are but for some reasons, you couldn’t hold yourself back this time.

No matter how important it is for your house, you will never marry someone as self-righteous as him.

Sandors POV:

The next few days Sandor catches himself admiring you from afar. He immediately notices you beside your sister. You look stunning to him no matter what you are wearing. You’re beautiful in a natural way, without styled hair or extraordinary jewellery. Without even talking to you he learned much about your personality. One day he catches you walking around the halls when a young male servant, maybe 15 or 16 years old, walks past you, trips and accidentally spilled some wine over your dress.

The boy is beyond frightened, knowing the punishment if this happened with Joffrey or Cersei would be severe. But you just laugh, see it with humour and guarantee the poor boy that it’s fine, you will just change your dress. The servant can’t even believe that he won’t be punished for what happened and apologized as well as thanked you again and again, even after you told him it’s really fine and no problem at all.

He saw how kind hearted you were to the servants. You always thank your handmaiden and the others around you like it’s the most natural thing to do, like everyone treats their footman like that.

Once again he realizes you truly are something else. Not that it matters, right? There is no way you would be interested in someone like him. A guard dog with nothing to offer. House Clegane isn’t wealthy or powerful. It’s a house only born to serve.

Your POV:

Today you are forced to have dinner with Margaery and the king. There is nothing you would rather avoid than spending time with this spoiled child. You have no idea how your sister can listen to him all day, the little time you had to spend with him during your stay in Kingslanding was more than enough for you. But you can’t just say no to a king, a cruel unpredictable one nonetheless.

So you make your way to the gardens where you’re supposed to meet them. You’re not surprised to spot the Hound next to the king, as loyal and observing as ever.

The last few days you noticed he spends his free time without any company. Every time he doesn’t stand next to the king, he is alone. The thought he could be lonely makes you sad. You wish you had the chance to approach him but your grandmother and brother kept you rather busy the last few days, mostly talking about engagement offers from some lords and knights. But you don’t want a man who rather sends your family an offer than talking to you in person. Are really all man this pathetic?

Speaking of pathetic, during the dinner Joffrey makes it his duty to put you down with hurtful remarks.

‘Say (y/n), how is it possible that your sister already had a marriage and now marries again while you’re still alone. Isn’t it embarrassing for you that you bring shame over your whole house?’

'If you continue to eat so much it’s no surprise you will never get a husband. You’re lucky your family is wealthy, otherwise you would never find a man.’

'Your sister told me your grandmother already tried to marry you off. I bet she would be glad to finally find a man desperate enough to marry you. I mean he would have to live with you while having your more beautiful sister right next to him. That’s a shame for every man. Luckily for me, I’m a king. I’m able to demand to get the pretty sister and no one can say something against it.’

All you wanted to do is cry but with all your power you try to hold the tears in. But according to Joffreys stupid smirk your face shows exactly how he makes you feel.

Hurt. Angry. Embarrassed.

Who does he think he is? Being a king shouldn’t give him the right to talk to you like that. You would love to slap some sense into this stupid brat and scream your opinion right in his face but you know you and your family would suffer for an outburst like that. So you stay silent and try your best to endure his hurtful words, like they don’t kill you from the inside. You already know you can’t compare to Margaery so you don’t need someone to remind you about that.

During the dinner your eyes focus on the cup before you, you don’t even dare to look at the Hound, scared to see something on his face that indicates he sees you exactly like Joffrey. You don’t even want to think about it. You just want this dinner to be over before you can’t hold back your tears any longer.

Almost as if the gods heard your prayers a servant comes and tells Joffrey his presence is required in the small council room. There seems to be a problem but you don’t understand what it’s about because of the servants quiet stuttering. Not that it matters, anyway. As long as Joffrey leaves you couldn’t care less.

And thank the gods, after a few moments the boy king says his goodbye and leaves without another mean comment towards you.

Before your sister has the chance to say something you run away from the gardens, back into the castle. You can’t hold in the tears any longer and in the moment you really don’t want the kings guard to see you cry like a little child. You would hate crying in front of people, most of all in front of a strong warrior like the Hound.

Therefore, you follow the next best idea that comes to mind: crying while sitting on some stairs and hoping no one will find you there. Without noticing your feet carried you to an rather umbusy side of the castle, so with some luck you’re able to hate yourself in peace without curious looks from others. No matter how hard you try to fight your doubts you can’t stop thinking about how much happier you would be if you looked like your sister. Since you were a child everyone compared you to her, so of course you started to feel inferior to her. Because of your sobs you don’t even hear someone approaching you. Only when you see a pair of boots right in front of you, you notice you’re not alone. 

Shocked, you look up only to see the face of the man you couldn’t stop thinking about these last days.

Why is he here? Did Joffrey send him to accomplish you back to him, only for him to bully you some more? Or does he want to continue making fun of you just like his king did a few moments ago?

You truly don’t know how much more you can stand today, you feel like you’re drowning in your negative thoughts. So why can’t he leave you alone?

The moment you look at him to tell him to fuck off you see something in his eyes which you never saw before in them. Compassion. Compassion and sympathy, like he knows exactly what’s going through your head in this moment. You’re unable to recall the last person who looked at you like that and even through you barely know this man, you feel strangely at ease in his presence.

Like everything will be alright.

'You shouldn’t cry because of a cunt like him.’, he breaks the silence after a minute or two. If you didn’t know it better you would say he looks rather uncomfortable. As if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands or where to look while talking.

'Is it clever to talk about your king like that?’

'Idon’t give a fuck. Just because I stop calling him a cunt doesn’t make him one any less.’

At that you can’t hold back a smile. 'Yeah, that’s probably true. Don’t worry I won’t tell him. In fact, I will do my best to avoid him as best as possible.’

'Won’t be easy once your sister marries him.’ His face turnes serious again, you begin to think it’s probably his usual look. 'You need to ignore him. Everyone in the court has to live with him and his temper.’, he continues with a grunt.

Talking with him feels surprisingly refreshing. It’s different than with all the other lords and ladies in Kingslanding. He freely speaks his mind without a second thought, a characterist you cherish a lot in people.

'Easier said than done, I guess. It has to be hard to work for him everyday.’

'Well and that’s why I drink.’

You have to laugh at his answer. That’s not what you expected him to say but it definitely lightens up your mood.

This man truly is something else.

[inayatnaz]

Yeah, it's her, Queen B from the Upper East side. For all those who didn't get that reference, she is a critically acclaimed part of Manhattan's elitist. So, this time I've tried to make an exception to the candids and the pretty smiles, to talk about someone who might have just partly become my new role model, if that makes sense.

                 Blair Cornelia Waldorf, portrayed by the beautiful, Leighton Meester, is not only a fitting example of the idiom "Beauty with brains", but also a driven, strong-willed woman with an impeccable taste in fashion. She has a flair for dramatic irony throughout the series, which when clubbed with her intelligence account for her title - Queen B. Many might claim, that all she is, is an uptight bitch who wants everyone to dance to her tune, making sure her word is final and binding. Not going to disagree with y'all on that, but is it that wrong to want to be like her? Maybe in an ideal world it is possible to be pleasing and street smart at the same time but does that apply to reality as well? I would like to make sure everyone understands that I don’t think she is perfect. Hell, no one is. After all, she is just a character in a TV sitcom. However, she is empowered, sophisticated and a virago in my eyes. All that, in an ideal sitcom, yes. But, the Upper East side isn’t an alternate universe. It’s a different world, with the same teenage goof ups, the same maddening society, the same conventional parents and the same crazy situations- with just a few million dollars.

                      Ignoring the digressions and coming back to the point. Yes, being self-righteous is not actually wrong. You see, no one gives a fuck about you. They really don’t. If family did, there wouldn’t have been any old age homes and orphanages and if friends did, well, most of you know Instagram better than I do so I guess you can figure that one out. Yet, I don’t really believe this statement just like many of you don’t. I believe friends and family can get you through any circumstance faced by mankind. So now when we’ve come to conclusion that people around you actually do care, why are we like this? Why are most of us hiding behind facades of flawless feeds or walls? Again, like I said it’s true for most of us, not all of us. For those who aren’t a part of the ‘most’, congratulations, you’ve already understood the point of this post, so you can scroll down. To all the others, let’s continue. To survive this century as a mature adult, you need to be street smart, the intellect of sweet fox will do, if you can imbibe that from somewhere. It’s not just about putting up a tough front and being a narcissistic bitch, it’s about realising what you want in life.  Life is beautiful, but didn’t someone once say ‘beauty lies in the eye of the beholder’?

                                               Now Blair here, is also delusional and adding to the misery, she is a hopeless romantic, which would work great for Cinderella, Ariel or Bella maybe. It did ultimately work out for Blair too but then we have the writer of this rant, sugar-coating her miseries but oh well! In the 18th year of my life on this Earth I’ve realised that being only humble never gets you anywhere. I mean you gain everlasting friendships, a little praise here and there and then…. nothing. I’ve realised that if someone belittled me right in front of my face, I wouldn’t even be able to retaliate. Hell, the other day I couldn’t even ask for the money one of my friends had borrowed when she had mistakenly forgotten to give it back. Anyway, that’s beside the matter at hand. It’s important to voice out your needs because no one gets premonitions these days and even if they did, its your fucking requirement. You also can’t expect stuff from people. Expectations from the people of this world should be equal to none, zilch, nada. Not because some of them are malevolent to the core but because presumptions lead to goof ups. See, you get one life (I may be wrong), so live it like its your last. Love yourself, even if you think no one else does. Struggle for what makes you happy. For some, having no alterations in their love lives since birth may also be a struggle. So what if your parents are only ones you exchange ‘I love you’s with? So what if your crush doesn’t like you back? He’s no Harry Styles and you’ll get better options. Don’t know when but, soon. You’ll be just fine without a certain him/her.  Fairy-tales aren’t possible because well, life is a race but then maybe your fairy-tale is in you being content with what you have struggled to achieve. This struggle might change you; it may transform you into a mutation of Blair Waldorf but hey, it isn’t that bad. You fought the right battles. You said the right ‘yes’ and right ‘nos. You gave the perfect comebacks. You were sassy with the mean girl of your college when she bullied your best friend. You were classy in front of the audience as you debated for your team. You were diplomatic when the interviewer snatched the ball from your court and turned the questions from easy to difficult. You stood your ground when your dad said ‘no’ and made sure he said ‘yes’ for same course after one week. You worked day and night for 3 years, irrespective of the sarcastic jibes of classmates and the forbidden pleasures to make your dreams come true. Sometimes you lied, misinformed, hid and backstabbed many as well. Of course, you’re sorry and the sentiment counts. But now see how you’re important and that past in the past. Blair transformed yours truly into a more cheeky and unrepressed version of herself so I’d advice you to go watch some Gossip Girl and learn some life lessons.  Ending this on a beautiful yet very priggish dialogue by Blair herself, “Destiny is for losers. Its just a lame excuse for letting things happen to you instead of making them happen” Also, sorry for the long caption, I hope it wasn’t much trouble and I hope you liked it. (Some habits die hard :))  

                                                                                                                      XOXO, yours truly.          

[sparda3g]

Gintama Chapter 689 Review

Before going into this chapter, I thought it was safe to assume that it’s going to be another hilarious chapter with a few nice scenes here and there. To my surprise, the comedy and serious tone ratio has been altered. Therefore, we got ourselves a really captivating chapter with funny and drastic scenes. The time to throw down and get serious is coming, and yet, I’m not ready.

After what happened last time, there’s no way you can skipped the comedy. By that, I mean the false or “wrong” fan service moment with Granny Kagura. Usually, Gintama recaps the last moment of a segment; reminding fans where they left off. In this case, it’s necessary for a comedy skit that had me rolling.

The theme is how Shinpachi has become a player; at least according to Gintoki’s observation. What’s hysterical is how he believes Shinpachi has risen to the level surpassing Gin-san. I heard of a student surpassing the master, but this is downright ridiculous. But that opinion is shattered when naked Granny Kagura appeared. As expected, she doesn’t know Gintoki is there. The funny part is he doesn’t know that’s Kagura. So it begins a train of hilarity.

What stunned him really is not just because he saw a naked granny, though my eyes would dried out, but because Shinpachi has gone way above Gin-san, aiming for Ginsan and Kinsan tier. This joke is hilariously clever if you know those twins’ background, who were over 100 years old, and how the name with suffix became a full name. I was laughing so much to see Shinpachi skiing through space; a hilarious callback to one of my favorite reactions. The puns about elders are also funny.

Things got very awkward when Little Kagura comes out of the shower, wondering if Shinpachi is home. I died from laughing when he thought this is the final chapter with Shinpachi, for whatever reason, skiing through space with law enforcements arresting him. That’s the most tragic ending ever. I can’t stop laughing at how self-aware Gintoki is about the final arc going on for a while and wondering when is it going to end. I know it has to end one day, but good God, don’t end controversial. That’s one way to kill your manga.

I can credit Gintoki for looking after Shinpachi’s safety, even if everything is misunderstanding. It becomes tensed when Kagura can’t find her underwear, but he’s blocking doors to avoid contact. What could possibly go wrong? How about breaking through doors with her bare arms. How terrifying that must have been for him. Rejoice, fans. You got your actual demanded fan service more or less. I’ll say this much; she’s another victim of longer hair equal prettier. I need to take a break from manga…

So yeah, Kagura is about to bash his head, but still doesn’t know that it’s Gintoki. However, he now knows that it’s Kagura, so at least he cleared out his mistake. Unless he thinks Shinpachi went “there.” This sounds like some Batman and Batgirl twisted fantasy. Anyway, he luckily escapes, though a bit bummed that another reunion is stalled for another time. That is until Kagura notices the hair belongs to her precious father-figure, Gin-chan. The run and hide charade is nearly over.

After one wacky reunion, we finally got to see what’s up with Katsura and Takasugi. Takasugi took the opportunity of another enemy warfare occurring outside and snuck inside to meet with Katsura. That was nice to learn how he did it, especially when you consider that he has no army anymore. That said I’m a bit surprised that he went all the way there to kill him. I know Katsura is Zurump, which is understandable for him to be targeted, but think of the friendship.

I can’t help but laugh at the scene where Elizabeth is standing atop of the chandelier. It looks so funny to me. But of course, Gintama has its own way to present a cool moment out of a funny sight. I honestly thought there will be a battle between him and Takasugi; that would be a money-making match. But instead, Elizabeth takes a snapshot and then, we ensue the true way to shape the future: Twitter! The reference to Trump is genius.

Never would I thought to see a comedy skit with Katsura and Takasugi, but after what happened earlier with Gintoki, anything is possible now. It’s so funny that he has tweeted many times with random nonsense or casually downplay the assassination attempts. This is too close to home. What makes it funnier is Takasugi was practically forced to play the straight man, but he lacks energy to be one. Everything that is stupid, he replies in a normal calm manner. Even Katsura calls him out at failing. Either Takasugi legitimately don’t know what is a straight man or pretends to not know, Katsura notes that next time, they will play in their reversal role. This is comedy. Sadly, it ends here and the atmosphere drastically becomes serious.

The tone gets heavy when they begin discussing about their beloved master, Shouyo. Takasugi let him know that he has been searching for his master to save him; similar to what he has said to Gintoki. Katsura’s decision is different yet arguably more righteous of the two. There’s no mistake, he too wants to save their master. It almost sounds like he was agreeing with Takasugi. However, his definition of saving differs.

It’s awe-inspiring yet kind of hurtful with Katsura’s decision to save Shouyo by eliminating him. I was touched on how much he has learned as a Prime Minister and meant what he felt about his people. He wants to protect everyone, like what a Shogun used to do. It’s just Shouyo is also Utsuro and instead of gambling their chance, he wants to end the religion and him. That, to him, is what he considered “saving him.”

I mentioned hurtful because some fans would like Shouyo to return and earn freedom to live, but the reality is he’s the most hated criminal. Letting him live is an awful decision; making all “coolest guy ever” characters look like no crime record people. This moment leaves Gintoki as the middle man since he is torn between ending and sparing Shouyo’s life. I know he wanted to kill him before, but that flashback with him raising the child gave us a clearer view of his character. This subplot is seriously exciting. Please, Sorachi. Don’t ruin the payoff.

Katsura has some serious sincere dialogues that really got me picking his side over the debate. You can argue that he is more mature than Takasugi in this predicament. He hits right in the feels by closing the argument with everyone cannot go back in time after what they have become. It’s so true yet sad at same time. This discussion helped Takasugi to make his final decision: kill Katsura. Not like this…

This chapter is just fill with surprises. Not only would I never thought to see a comedy skit with Katsura and Takasugi, but now, a battle between them. The way how the setup plays out definitely feels like this is going to be a serious one-on-one combat. Katsura versus Takasugi is really happening. So many battles that I thought it wouldn’t happen, but since Sougo versus Kagura, anything is possible. I don’t know if the cliffhanger interrupts it, but if not, oh man, I can’t contain my excitement.

I was so happy that Kagura is chasing after Gintoki; however, I was so sad to learn more depth of her inner conflict. There’s no laughing matter here. In the flashback, Umibozu gives her a deep meaningful advice about letting go. Kagura was conflicted to return to Yorozuya, but he told her that if she doesn’t reach her hand out, there will be no one to grab back anymore. It sounds like a guilt trip, but it’s true in many ways. I sadly can relate to that. One must make a move to bring back together.

What really did it for me is another flashback about Shinpachi’s past two years action. Kagura thought Shinpachi was protecting their home and waited for Gintoki to return, but the truth is he wasn’t. He only protected it because he couldn’t move on; he too was stuck in the past. After all, Yorozuya is designed for those who have nothing to do. That…is a deep reference. Honestly, that made me whisper, “…aw…”

This left Kagura to carry a heavy burden. She has the chance to bring the family back together again. I love how the chase scene slowly becomes emotional. This could have been a funny gag, but the more you understand her feelings, the more you are feeling her pain. You want her to stop Gintoki from leaving. Her expression changes overtime from determination to sadness. Her reaching out her arms moment is so moving. The metaphor could not be any more painful.

The ending twist is not what I expected. The terminal is about to blow up, which I don’t get. I thought Tendoshu need them, unless there’s something else I missed. But that means the series is about to get dark again. The best part is how Gintoki drops his charade that reads, “To hell with hiding! I must protect Kagura!” I love that moment so much. This is why these characters are amazing. What comes next is anyone’s guess.

This chapter was a lot of things and outstanding is one of them. It’s filled with great laughs, especially in the beginning. I can’t stop laughing at the thought of ending the series controversial. It’s filled with serious developments such as Katsura versus Takasugi, which I, if uninterrupted, can’t wait for it. Lastly, it’s filled with emotional connections, including a teary scene with Kagura crying for Gin-chan. It looks like it’s time to begin another war. I thought I was ready… I guess not.

[onisionhurtspeople]

Sorry I just ran into this blog, Lainey said on Twitter they're an ISFJ awhile back. I can see both them being an unhealthy INFP that thinks their Si is stronger than it actually is due to looping and them being an unhealthy ISFJ. They could be in an Si-Ti loop where they dont let new ideas in and believes their experience/conclusions are always correct without looking further than that for information. (1/3)

They’re also very tactful (auxiliary Fe) which makes them seem innocent and wanting group harmony instead of drama. An unhealthy Fe user sweeps issues under the rug to live in their ideal “peaceful” world. If an ISFJ is gripping, their inferior function is Ne. This may cause them to think of all the ways life could be and using it as an excuse that nothing could go wrong due to the likelihood (they think) of it in their life (ex. bringing 18-20 year olds into an unhealthy relationship, believing Onision didn’t cheat due to the fact many things could happen since there are infinite truths in the world and Si-Ti may think that their POV is the most correct from what they gathered). I can see INFP but I do want to see what you think of this. 

Sorry it took so long to respond! I knew this was going to be a long one, so I’ve been avoiding it because tbh you will never meet a lazier INTJ than me. I apologize in advance for the poor quality of this message, because my brain fog is really shitty today and I’m feeling not nearly as sharp as I usually am. My arguments will probably not be as convincing or wordy as they usually are.

Anyway, I believe she actually said she was INFJ. I remember because I was the one who asked her to take the quiz. >_> (Unless we’re thinking of two different incidences? This was, if I recall correctly, around the time that Billie had just left for the final time, so I want to say September or October of 2016.) Anyway–tbh, the fact that she got INFJ just confirmed to me more than anything else that she really was an INFP, because let’s be real, I’m pretty sure no INFP has ever existed who didn’t first mistype themselves as being an INFJ. (I’m mostly joking, but like.. only mostly.) Of course, ISFJs also frequently mistype as INFJs, so this is an idea worth exploring.

Anyway, I shall try to explain why I see her as an INFP rather than as an ISFJ or INFJ. I apologize in advance if you’re an INFP; if I end up saying anything rude about them, please understand that I’m not making disparaging comments about INFPs in general - I’m just evaluating Lainey, who is (I believe) a very unhealthy version of her type.

So, first and foremost: Fi. Sooo much Fi. But Fi in the most unhealthy way possible: incredibly self-righteous and self-absorbed, and excessively concerned with interpreting and relaying her own individualistic, unique identity to the world. She needs to be acknowledged for her differences. If you look back at all of the arguments she’s ever had with Greg on social media (in other words, the times when he says something that aggrieves her enough that she’s actually willing to confront him over it), they all have the same theme in common: they’re always about her feeling affronted because he invalidated her values or sense of self somehow. For example: the last fight they got in was because Greg referred to himself as being in a straight relationship, which offended Lainey because she interpreted that as him undermining her gender. I can think of a few other examples of their arguments on social media off the top of my head, and they all follow that same theme: Greg being insulted that she was hero-worshiping a musician who didn’t like him (also an Fi user); Greg arguing with her about eating fish; Greg calling her filthy because her room was dirty and she hadn’t cleaned it; Greg insulting her family (especially her mother and sister). When Lainey gets involved in Greg’s debates or ongoing feuds with other content creators (Jaclyn Glenn, Joy Sparkle BS, Blaire White, etc), it’s never to weigh in with her opinion, and only ever to express her irritation over them misgendering her, either accidentally or on purpose. When she’s rude and condescending towards her fans, it’s typically because they questioned her sense of self somehow (usually in regards to her gender, internal motivations, or relationship with Greg). It’s rarely in defense of anybody else, which I feel like would happen more often if she really was an Fe user.

I think the tactfulness and willingness to sweep things under the rug that you’re interpreting as being aux Fe may actually be a combination of Fi seeking harmony in relationships (high Fi users can do this too, just like Fe users can; the difference mainly lies in when, and for what reason, their feeling function becomes triggered when somebody crosses the line. For Fi users, this tends to be when something strikes a personal nerve or attacks and invalidates their character or sense of self; for Fe users, this tends to be when somebody rejects, abuses, or takes advantage of their warmth and care, or when somebody expresses a lack of concern for the collective (family, friends, neighborhood, club, church group, society, etc) - other words, selfishness. If you dismiss their overtures of affection after they’ve put effort into displaying warmth and consideration, then they may become offended when that same person then takes advantage of those polite gestures, or refuses to reciprocate them), and also Lainey just generally not caring enough to say or do anything to counter Greg that might rock the boat in their private life. 

Secondly: Ne. In Lainey’s case, her Ne is not as overt as I’ve observed it in other INFPs, and I’m not sure why this is. I apologize if this comes off as rude (and it really kind of is, but I don’t know how else to say this in a non-offensive way), but I think it’s really just because Lainey is an INFP of average intelligence, whereas most INFPs (that I’ve encountered, anyway) are in the gifted range, and so their Ne is much more readily apparent. Ne and Se share many qualities (being that they’re both Pe functions), including that they both have a preference for wanting to live life by their own standards, a strong dislike of feeling constrained or held back, feeling compelled to seek novelty (Se in a more physical, concrete way, and Ne in a more abstract, conceptual way), and wanting to learn through experience. Se and Ne both feel driven to be seen as cool–but in different ways. Se wants to be seen as cool in a more physical and conventional sense - for example, by being entertaining, or by dressing in a manner that is immediately impactful in a sensory way. Ne, on the other hand, wants to be cool by being unique, different, iconoclastic - it wants to be regarded as quirky and iconoclastic, cool for being “uncool”, if that makes sense. And so many INFPs are drawn to countercultures (hipsters, for example) who are unconventional, but still have a certain mystique and draw to them; and I definitely think Lainey fulfills that aspect of Ne.

Ugh. I’m sorry, my brain power is running low. Brain fog is super bad today. I think we both see Si in her, so I don’t think I have to explain that. Mainly where I see Si in her (especially in the form of Fi-Si loops) is her inability to let go of people from her past. She even did it with Billie: brought her back over and over again because she would find herself looking back on the good times, and minimizing the bad ones. She makes the same mistakes repeatedly because she reviews her memories of them (memories which are attached to emotional experiences), and feels compelled to relive them, no matter how painful they were. 

Please don’t make me write something for Te. My Te is all pooped out today. :C

Anyway, it’s lovely running into somebody on here who’s knowledgeable about the cognitive functions! =O I’m guessing you’re an INFP as well? Sorry for this shitty argument, I  might try to redo it in a few days when my brain fog dissipates a little.

Edit: I just went back to the the post; and yeah, she scored as INFJ-T on the 16personalities test (admittedly shitty and has nothing to do with the cognitive functions). In the comment section, I left a link on how to differentiate between INFJ and INFP, lmao.

Edit #2: Oh, one last thing: here’s a description of what a destructive INFP looks like from one of my favorite MBTI sites, Psychology Junkie. Doesn’t it remind you of Lainey?

Destructive INFPs are self-absorbed, self-righteous, and waver between being passive and extremely judgmental. They enjoy living in their fantasies, but care little for the practical realities of daily life. They may neglect their loved ones and family members and instead prefer to live in a world of their own making, in essence abandoning everyone who holds them dear. They may consider themselves more morally superior or “righteous” than others, married to their idealism to such an extent that any and everyone in the real world seems flawed and disappointing. They may retreat from the world and silently judge everyone they see. Over time, they may become increasingly harsh and condemning of people in their lives. They may become so obsessed with their own emotions and fantasies that they shun or berate anyone who tries to find a way into their hearts.

Healthy INFPs are extremely empathetic, gentle, and compassionate individuals. They care for the persecuted and marginalized people of the world, and strive to help them. They are honest and driven by their morals to live a life that adheres to their values. They are creative and insightful, slow to judge others yet holding themselves to a high standard.

Also, just for the keks, here’s the description of destructive ESTJs, the type that I suspect Greg is. (I do believe that he actually took an MBTI test and scored as ESTJ, which he hilariously tried to use to “prove” that he wasn’t a narcissist or psychopath. Really shows how much effort he puts into researching his “facts”.

Destructive ESTJs are dictatorial, aggressive, and controlling. They believe that they know what’s best for everyone, and that their way is the only way. They suppress their moral compass and disregard the feelings and values of other people in exchange for their own rigid views. They push forward to achieve their goals, but instead of taking time to reflect on their decisions, they steamroll over everyone in their path in order to accomplish tasks without considering alternate viewpoints or the moral implications of their actions. They may be loyal to a corrupt system or authority and suppress anyone who stands against that authority or questions it. They trust their own personal experience and disregard other people’s experience. They scoff at the emotions and values of others while they allow themselves to have their own temper tantrums and emotional overreactions.

Healthy ESTJs: Healthy ESTJs are hard-working, trustworthy, and loyal. They see the world logically and push themselves to live up to a high standard. They don’t ask other people to do things they wouldn’t do themselves, and they uphold traditions they see as morally right and effective. They are intellectual, practical, and usually outgoing. They are very supportive of their communities and families and want to make the world a better place.

(Source)

[empresskira]

(I AM AWFUL I DIDNT EVEN NOTICED THESE I”M SORRY) (Plus I am just answering the quesitons for these, thank you all~!)

tagged by @fire-lark and @awkwardonthedancefloor

Always repost the rules

Answer the 11 questions posted for you

Create 11 new ones

Tag 11 people (if you want!! No pressure <3)

1. What is your favorite quote from One Piece (or any other anime)?

“Pirates are evil? The Marines are righteous?... Justice will prevail, you say? But of course it will! Whoever wins this war becomes justice!” - Doflamingo Donquixote 

2. Favorite fictional genre?

Fantasy or like school/slice of life stuff.

3. If you could wish for one thing, no limits, what would it be?

To be all honest? Whenever I go to buy something, money is always there for it, so I could donate or buy for people as well.

4. Oldest/middle/youngest sibling? Or an only child?

Youngest and have an older sister.

5. What is worse? Being too hot, or being too cold?

Being too hot. I can at least try to stay warm if cold.

6. Tell me a funny story!

There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red! --- Hahaha,Skyrim reference~! But funny? I guess just a few days ago I thought there was a snake in the house, but it was just a ribbon. I am near sighted, so I was having a mild heart attack while trying to figure out what it really was. XD

7. What’s the first word that comes to your mind? Type it down :D

Phoenix 

8. Do you have a favourite plot bunny/art idea you haven’t been able to work on yet?

Yes, I want to do a story where Ace and Sabo set off together instead of separate as planned. But like, Sabo helped Ace through his whole anger stuff, but still wants to duel Whitebeard. Anyways, kind of the same happens but instead in his exhaustion makes a deal that if he can’t beat Whitebeard, that he will become part of the crew. Sabo, of course, protests but at the same time doesn’t fight it too much since he knows Ace is thick headed and as he has heard is that the WB pirates weren’t bad. Plus, Sabo is looking out for his brother so he thinks maybe it will do them both some good. Sabo and Ace eventually both become the second commander as a joint position like they did when they were Captains.

9. When did you start writing/drawing/creating in general?

Drawing was like seven and then I started typing stories at 12.

10. If you could make a crew of characters to sail on the Grand Line, who would you choose?

I will just join the Whitebeard pirates, I don’t even care if I was a nurse. 

11. If you were to go on a trip, where would you like to go?

Denmark, believe it or not. Or possibly Japan.

1) What is one project that you’re most proud of?

At this moment for story wise is ‘The Maiden’s Light’ I think I did fairly well with that one. As for painting, I did a mermaid and dig it mostly since it was my first really painting project. Drawing would have to be my recent one of a worn out version of me, but in anime style XD 

2) What’s one word that does not describe you? And you never want to be associated with?

Outgoing. To be all honest, I am not at all. I am a hermit, but sadly I am associated with it a whole lot.

3)  Have you ever broken something that you couldn’t fix, no matter how hard you try? (Like an egg?)

Besides an egg, lol. One of my Buddha statues had a shelf fall on it. There is no way I can fix his head.

4) Who do you love the most in the world right now? (Family, friend, s/o, etc)

It’s always going to be family, but I have amazing people on here and the ones that review my stories are high on my list even if I don’t know them because they make my day so much better.

5) What’s your arch nemesis? (for me it’s mayo, and mean people, and chinese)

FEET. I absolutely cannot have feet touching me. I absolutely hate feet with a passion, I only find mine pretty!

6) If you could play rock paper scissors with anyone in the world, who? ( They can be ancient people, like “the last emperor of china”.)

Probably my Nana or Grandaddy so I could have one more moment with them.

7) What was your most successful lie?

I actually lied to my mom a few times, one being that I stayed at a friends house and she told her parents she was staying with me. Our parents never communicated and we went to another town to go drinking. But karma back to bite me later when I tried to lie again about something and got into n ATV accident, so yeah... you learn. lol

8) Who changed you?

To be all honest, my ex-girlfriend did. We don’t talk anymore because of me getting married and complications in her life and miscommunication between us. But a lot of the occasion, I wish I could talk to her still.

9) If you could go back to the past, but could not interact with your past self…what would you do? (no notes, no warnings, no advice)

Tell other people that they should get me to be more adventurous. Though, then again, I wouldn’t have my beautiful daughter, so I guess it would be tough to decide on if I wanted to do anything. Maybe tell someone the winning numbers to tell myself? Someone I trusted to write it down since I can’t. Lol

10) If you could be a plant, what plant would you wanna be? (I wanna be a tree, like a giant ass tree so that I could look down on all the tinier trees.)

A Mongolia tree. My grandmother used to have one and it was gorgeous~!

11) If you were stuck on a deserted island….. Yeah, that’s the question. “If you were stuck on a deserted island…”

If I was stuck on a deserted island... I would most likely be able to live. I have some pretty decent survival skills, but I would probably turn delusional with my imagination. Picturing myself on a One Piece island or something XD

[bindy417]

So Stephen Amell did a Q&A video last night on Facebook. One of the questions involved the Susan Williams issue, and he addressed why Oliver acted the way he did in that situation. If you were like me, you were rolling your eyes the entire time as he twisted himself into a pretzel to try and excuse Oliver’s behavior. I don’t really blame him, because the guy isn’t going to say anything negative about a storyline that is currently unfolding even though it is one of the worst ever for his character. It’s his job to promote Arrow, and he’s not going to piss off the higher-ups. However, I do believe he and the writers are getting the message because there was a big push to promote 5x15 and scrambling to do some damage control afterward.

There were many responses to Stephen’s video, and I wanted to share one that I thought was really great and hit on a bunch of important points. It was posted by another Brittany (a.k.a @snarky_bee on Twitter). It’s definitely worth a read, and I’m hoping Stephen (even if he remains radio silent) will take a look at it.

Hey Stephen!

Thanks for answering a few questions tonight. It's really nice to have your perspective on the season & your character added to the mix so it feels more like we can talk TO you about the show instead of AT you about the show.

Since you have expressed some confusion as to where the intensity of unfavorable feelings towards Oliver Queen's actions this season are coming from (considering he's done much worse in the past or you don't even really see the fault in his current actions), I'd love to continue the conversation and respond to some of that with the singular intention of shedding some light on where I, as a fan, am coming from. I have to imagine viewing the show on a week-to-week basis vs. having the information you have behind-the-scenes makes for a wide gap in thought and understanding that sometimes could benefit from being bridged. I hope you will have the time to read this and take it with the heart it is intended. [Addendum A* This ended up being a LOT longer than anticipated. While it would be awesome if you read the whole thing, you may need to kick up your feet somewhere comfortable and grab some Doritos… or, you know, kale chips… whatever floats your boat]

So, let's dive in. Yeah? :)

Let's start with Oliver Queen. That is who you play, after all. When wondering how Oliver's actions this week (and last) in pursuing reconciliation with and absolution for Susan Williams (she is always referred to by her full name on the show, so I'm following suit) ultimately "was the straw that broke the camel's back" for many fans, you reference multiple examples from Oliver's past of things he's done that were MUCH worse. No one (well, at least not me) is arguing that Oliver hasn't had.... questionable morals in past seasons or that he hasn't made tiny (read: huge) "mistakes." However, as a viewer, despite his struggles he was always someone worth rooting for. He was someone who was growing. And he was someone who the audience could sympathize with because of everything he'd been through. Like Felicity, we could see he was a good man with a good heart who was just… in progress. In season 5, Oliver is 5 years into his growth and 5 years into having people in his life who do nothing but support and care for him. His (mis)treatment of those people, his ego/self-righteous attitude, his unfortunate choices of whom to trust, his over-inflated "man pain" or self-pity, his return to killing and more than anything for me, his selfishness have made him feel regressed and almost unrecognizable as the character and hero I loved. I know there's a chance his "spiral" will be related to a greater game that Prometheus is playing with him... but Oliver just said to Thea last week that she makes choices and is responsible for those choices. Oliver can't blame his actions on anyone but himself. He makes choices. And this season, the majority of those choices have been wrong. Examples are our friend, so let's see:

Susan Williams (*insert gag here*): You commented that Susan Williams hasn't exposed Oliver. Well, she's had her job back for all of two seconds and has now been kidnapped... so... there's that (I mean, honestly, when has she had the opportunity since getting her job back to release the story?). Also, Susan Williams blatantly said something along the lines of "and I can't even release the story now because I've been discredited." So, she admitted she was writing and at very LEAST hoping (if not fully planning) to release a story on Oliver Queen/Green Arrow and Oliver still blindly and with unfounded certainty defends that she wouldn't do that? Dude, Oliver, she was interviewing you in bed!! (Sorry, I needed to yell at the character for a moment) Let's all not forget about that terribly distasteful moment (actually, I changed my mind- someone Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind me because I never want to think about it again). From what the audience has seen, she is nothing but shady and unethical and deserved to lose her job (even if it was for a different reason than why Thea had her fired). In fact, I think she's been so abundantly clear about her actual intentions that his continued blind-eye is making him appear terribly foolish. [See above: unfortunate choices of whom to trust… also falling into this category, but not warranting his own paragraph tonight since his whole existence is crafted around fooling Oliver into trusting him- Adrian Chase]

Thea: Can we all take a moment and clap? (*pause here and give a round of applause to my girl, Thea) In episode 1 of this season Oliver mutters the familiar phrase "no one can know my secret" and proceeds to snap a man's neck [See above: return to killing]. However, mere episodes later, when Thea protects Oliver and his secret (out of love for him) by discrediting a reporter who has been lying to and using her brother and has the means to expose Oliver and potentially compromise the entire team, she is labeled a villain (even though she found another way... you know a way besides murder to protect his secret). When Oliver does "whatever it takes" to protect Thea and others on the team, he's labeled a hero. For him to shame and vilify Thea for looking out for his and the team's best interest didn't ring true or fair [See above: self-righteous attitude]. Whether or not he wants her to be better than him isn't really on the table, because he didn't communicate that (Plus that whole “do as I say, not as I do thing” doesn’t really work. People should lead by example). And, as a viewer, how can we not cheer for her when we want to protect Oliver from this snake as well? (Ok, well, we DID want to protect him before he went full-force "Susan Williams can do no wrong" and we all rolled our eyes so hard) Instead of trusting his sister, someone he's known his whole life and he can be assured had his best interest at heart, he fought for someone who had betrayed, lied to and manipulated his sister earlier in the season (and that he’s known for a hot second, calm down son). [Remind you at all of him teaming up with Malcolm Merlyn in S3? Someone who had hurt the people he loves? A real problem at the time, but as a repeated “mistake” in S5 it’s inexcusable.] Additionally, this is the second time a very important woman in Oliver's life has said, "you have to let me go." At some point Oliver has to acknowledge that he's the common factor… he’s pushing the people who love him the most away (when they need him the most) instead of drawing them closer and being there with and for them. Why is that? And why isn't he more concerned with fixing it? [See above: his treatment of the people who have always been there for him; See above: selfish]

Felicity: Now, while the last two episodes were decidedly rough, Felicity’s part of the discussion requires us to take a slightly longer journey. First of all, thank you for acknowledging that Oliver’s aggressive lying was a very valid reason for Felicity to walk away from the relationship. It was and I appreciate that being seen and acknowledged. After “walking away” however, Felicity put aside her hurt (from one of the most painful experiences of her life) to be there for Oliver and the team.  She comforted Oliver after the loss of Laurel, she stayed when everyone else left, she immediately forgave him for killing Billy [See above: killing again]. . . . Ok, let’s take the journey there. Oliver comes back to the lair after killing Billy and immediately turns a moment that should have been about Felicity into a moment about himself and his pain [See above: over-inflated main-pain and self pity], but it didn’t end there… oh no. While Felicity was home alone crying on her couch, Oliver made his way over to Susan Williams’ couch [See above: selfish]. I mean, Billy's body isn't even cold yet and Oliver's making out with....... Anyway, I want to continue to talk about the end of 5x09, because I think it’s a very important piece of the assassination of Oliver Queen’s character development, but my hands are shaking from rage and if anyone can’t see the problem with Oliver’s actions at the end of 5x09 then I don’t know what to do for you anyway. So, let’s move on. Fast forward to six episodes later.  Could someone link me to the scene where Oliver asks Felicity how she’s handling the loss of Billy and if there’s anything he can do to help?  Oh, wait, what? There wasn’t one. Ok. And yet, in two episodes we have seen Oliver belabor and mourn the loss of Susan Williams’ job and how that loss was affecting her to ad nauseam. But despite the fact that he and Felicity's relationship ending was his fault (and he never apologized), Billy’s death was his fault (and he never asked her how she’s doing) and he’s tried so little to be there for her it’s hard to believe a year ago she was “his always,” he still has the audacity to ask her for help with his girlfriend?! (Remembers Daniel Tiger’s lesson on anger.. deep breath.. count to four. 1. 2. 3. 4.) Ok, as if the audacity wasn’t enough, she tries to tell him no TWICE and he persists, pushing her into helping him when she’s obviously not comfortable with it [See above: treatment of the people who love him; See above: selfish]. Yet, in true Felicity fashion, after this unacceptable behavior from Oliver, she still stops him from leaving the lair to tell him he’ll get through this and that he’s a hero (there’s a fairly good chance Felicity is an actual angel). We find out later in the episode that Oliver has passed off some of his concern for Felicity to Diggle (so maybe he does notice things and care? Were not sure because, if it’s true, it’s happening off-screen… and we all know that in the land of television, that which is valued gets screen time), so Diggle talks at Felicity and while it’s a nice moment it’s clear he’s not really having a conversation with her that’s seeking to understand where she truly is at the moment- he’s just telling her how she has always been and how she should continue to be.  This obviously didn’t work since Felicity joins Helix at the end of the episode.  And why wouldn’t she? Rory is the only member of the team who has been a true friend to Felicity and now he’s gone. So, let’s recap… Felicity: follows Oliver to the darkest corners of the world and his soul to be his light no matter the cost to her personally. Oliver: is busy.

[Addendum B* Susan Williams breaks up with Oliver & wants him to leave her alone, she ignores his phone calls and resists his in-person pursuit, but he continues to do everything he can to fix it. Where was this with Felicity? Honestly, I feel so betrayed as a viewer that I never saw him even call and say he missed her. Even on a voicemail or something. Where was that fight? It makes me look at Oliver Queen and shake my head sadly. I'm sad.]

Honestly, I thought this season would be Oliver proving last season’s words by this season’s actions. That we'd see a flipped script of Oliver being a light to the people in his life. That he’d be re-building trust and proving Felicity wouldn’t ever lose him, that he wanted to fight through the danger together, that he would include her, that she was his true partner and that she really was his always… instead, he’s disregarded her feelings in favor of his two-week girlfriend, shown disrespect for her earned place on the team as someone who should be able to call shots when his judgment is impaired, is currently failing to even be a friend like he would have been years prior to them falling in love and almost getting married, has conveniently forgotten her trauma from gun violence and obviously thinks things like Havenrock, Billy’s death, the leaving of her friend Rory, etc, etc don’t require any compassion from him. This week the doctor told him he could use a friend and whom did he call? Exactly. Not the person who chose to stand by him and continues to choose to stand by him (despite EVERYTHING), but the one who manipulated his sister and betrayed his trust. This is the Oliver Queen on our screens today and he’s hard to look at. (Also, really Arrow? Oliver could use a friend? See how much FELICITY could use a friend above)

I want to love Oliver Queen. I miss him. I hope they redeem him brilliantly because I still want to believe in him and Olicity. But he has some work to do. He has some sacrifices and apologies to make; some light to bring. So, maybe now you see that one single straw didn’t break the camels back… it’s been straining on the weight of bails of hay this season and at some point one straw is too much. This week that one straw for me was Oliver fighting for Susan Williams job when we wanted to see him fight for Thea’s soul and Felicity’s heart. Fighting for the wrong things and the wrong people isn’t growth, it’s just… disappointing.

I hope this has bridged some of the gap between what you want us to see and how it’s playing on screen.  Obviously, I only speak for myself, but this is what I’m seeing and it’s breaking my heart. Every week I hope the pendulum will start to swing up and when instead it goes lower than I ever imagined it could, my heart and my hope sink with it and I can only hope when the up swing finally happens that in the words of Taylor Swift the high is worth all the pain. I want to see it rise. I want to see Oliver Queen rise and Olicity rise and I really wanted to see Tometheus rise… but two out of three wouldn’t be too bad.  :)

*Sidenote: in S2 Slade took the wrong woman by not kidnapping Felicity… so, we’re supposed to believe Oliver cares about Susan Willa—uhh, I’m tired—more than he did Laurel? Nah. If Prometheus is as awesome as the show wants us to believe he would have known who to take… hint: he took the wrong woman.

Anyway, thank you for all the hard work you put into the show and for opening up a dialogue and an outlet. I hope you are able to appreciate the passionate fanbase Arrow and its characters have created. I am passionate about Arrow and I want nothing but the best for this show and for the characters I have grown to love. Have a great day!

P.S. if you want to be like, "thank you for all the time you put into this thoughtful post Brittany, here's my favorite upcoming Olicity line from S5 for you to keep in your pocket and pull out when you need hope...." that's cool. I mean, whatever you want