#figeroa

[scarlet-titan]

School Spirits 1.06 Grave the Last Dance

[sammi-xox]

Hi hello, could you please make me a plus size female sim? I would love it if she had korean roots. I don't know how else to describe her but she's an up and coming fashion designer. She's can come across as cold because she has a perpetual resting bitch face and really does call it like it is but she's actually socially awkward and can be very caring. I don't know if this was enough details but please feel free any if you want. Thank you very much!

SIM DOWNLOAD // Min Figeroa

Requested by Anon :)

cc included

DOWNLOAD; SFS // Origin ID: Sammi_xox

[doggirlsotd]

VERY LATE DOG GIRL IS COP FROM EVA FIGEROAS ANIMATIC.. ILL ADDD PICS LATER

[dogandcatcomics]

#repost @_shellyne_ Shellyne Rodríguez (Bronx, New York City, USA, 1977-). First image is Loitering Gato, 2022, linocut relief print/ chine collé/ collage, 24 x 36. Second image is Ruth Figeroa, Ñieta Guerrillera (Carolina, Puerto Rico), 2021, Color Pencil on Paper, 19.5 x 25. 5. I am a fan of the feline and canine representation in Rodriguez's work.

[miwisconsin]

Llamado de emergencia: servicios sociales para latinos, en riesgo de desaparición

Yannette Figeroa Cole es la primera latina presidente del Concejo de la ciudad de Madison y contó detalles de su experiencia al servicio de la comunidad, aseguró que se requiere la participación de los latinos en los programas de servicios sociales y expresar sus necesidades para poder tomar medidas urgentes y evitar recortes de beneficios. Lejos de imaginarse estaba Figueroa Cole que llegaría a ser la primera presidente latina del Concejo de la ciudad de Madison; esta dominicana llegó hace más de 30 años a la tierra del Tío Sam y su don de servicio, el cariño por la comunidad y sus ganas de ayudar desinteresadamente a la comunidad hispana la posicionaron en el cargo que hoy ocupa. Su experiencia y visión de ciudad como una agencia pública que tiene diferentes componentes, le ha permitido proyectar las debilidades y fortalezas financieras en Madison y activar estrategias que permitan un mejor porvenir para la comunidad en general y especialmente para los latinos. Durante la entrevista con MIWISCONSIN, Yannette Figueroa explicó que el funcionamiento del presupuesto en la ciudad funciona por porcentajes “una tercera parte del presupuesto va a la Policía, al departamento bomberos y el resto va para prestar todos los servicios que se brindan en la ciudad. Por ejemplo, si una persona paga 10.000 USD de impuestos, solo el 35% de ese valor es para Madison” indicó la Concejal. Después de esa explicación aseguró que “no tenemos dinero para ayudar a la gente con todo lo que necesita. El Estado no nos deja buscar dinero y la fórmula que se utiliza no permite añadir más impuestos”. Esta encrucijada económica por la que atraviesa la ciudad se intensificó con la llegada de la pandemia. Durante este tiempo surgieron imprevistos que tocó solucionar rápidamente y lentamente la caja se ha ido quedando sin efectivo para responder por las necesidades inmediatas. “Sabíamos que íbamos a llegar un momento en que ya íbamos a estar del dinero, no iba a estar ahí, pero la pandemia realmente aceleró el proceso. El dinero que se recibía de los estacionamientos en el centro o los impuestos que generaba el sector hotelero disminuyó y eso en número fue evidente”, manifestó la presidenta latina. Para solucionar esta situación, la líder política tiene diseñado una estrategia que permita pre visualizar cuáles son las necesidades de la comunidad latina, pero para que esto llegue a un feliz término, Yannette Figeroa Cole hizo un férreo llamado a la comunidad latina a que asista a los encuentros que se tienen programados. De acuerdo a lo que expresó la Concejal, estos espacios serán importantes porque servirán para que los latinos e hispanos hablen, expresen sus necesidades, propongan ideas y se priorice las iniciativas más importantes y de impacto. “Por favor, aparezcan. Por favor, vengan y sean parte del proceso. Tenemos muchos servicios que le ofrecemos a la comunidad y cuando se empiece a hablar de impuestos, lo primero que van a querer atacar son los servicios. Por eso necesitamos saber si estos servicios los han ayudado y si no está surtiendo el efecto deseado buscar otras medidas”, enfatizó la dominicana. La primera reunión será el 1ro. de mayo a las 6:30 - 8:30 en Jhon F. Kenedy Elementary 221 Mero Lark drive Madison Fighter 53714. Las personas interesadas en participar y requieren de un intérprete pueden realizar el registro al correo district10@cityofmadison.com y contarán con esta opción. Las personas que no tienen documentación o no son ciudadanos americanos o no hablan inglés, no tienen por qué preocuparse pues en este espacio no serán cuestionados o interrogados, simplemente podrán dar a conocer sus necesidades y así mismo contribuir al mejoramiento de las condiciones de vida en Madison. La Presidenta del Concejo de Madison admitió que los tiempos y la situación de los latinos e hispanos es diferente comparada con la de los norteamericanos, pero pidió compromiso con la ciudad y la comunidad “tenemos niños pequeños, estamos cuidando a nuestros padres y tenemos mucha más presión que otras personas, pero ahora mismo en la ciudad de Madison la situación es crítica y necesitamos priorizar el presupuesto”. El llamado de emergencia de la concejal prende las alarmas para que la comunidad en general y especialmente la latina tome conciencia y se involucren, participen y entre todos aporten un grano de arena para evitar que los servicios que hoy tienen, continúen y mejoren porque en ocasiones el dinero se va para otras minorías por falta de la presencia de los latinos.   Read the full article

[crownsandqueens]

3 Miss El Salvador from the 70's. Ana Carlota Araujo (1974), Carmen Elena Figeroa (1975), Mireya Carolina Calderon (1976).

[diario-vespertino]

Femicidios de uniforme: la primera causa de muerte de mujeres a manos del aparato represivo estatal

Si de los femicidios a manos de efectivos de las Fuerzas de Seguridad del Estado se habla poco, de los femicidios a sus propias mujeres, mucho menos. Sin embargo, lo cierto es que los números van en aumento y al día de hoy son 434 mujeres las victimas de uniformados desde el primero registrado en 1992 por CORREPI.

Cabo Gladys Paz

Maria del Carmen Espindola

Oficial Carolina Figeroa

Sargento Laura Gutierrez Oficial Mabel Quiroz

Ursuka Bahillo Desde que la CORREPI -Coordinadora Contra la Represión Policial e Institucional- empezó a elaborar el Archivo de Casos de Personas Asesinadas por el Estado, advertió que la enorme mayoría de los asesinatos de gatillo fácil, con su fuerte componente de control social, correspondía a varones, especialmente adolescentes, con muy pocos y excepcionales casos de mujeres y niñas. También se evidenciaba que el número de mujeres muertas en lugares de detención era sensiblemente menor que el de varones, dada la diferencia cuantitativa de la población carcelaria y de comisarías en relación al género. Sin embargo, también se advierte que, en un porcentaje importante, los casos registrados de víctimas mujeres se relacionaban con situaciones de violencia machista y patriarcal. La cantidad de mujeres asesinadas por integrantes del aparato represivo estatal en el marco de ese tipo de violencias llevó a la organización a empezar a sistematizar esas situaciones -sin perjuicio de que, simultáneamente, encuadraran en otras modalidades según la forma de la muerte-. En el caso de los femicidios, los dos primeros casos registrados se remontan a 1992. Desde entonces el índice ha sido creciente, hasta llegar hoy a 434 femicidios sobre un total de 755 víctimas mujeres. Esa cifra convierte los femicidios de uniforme en la primera causa de muerte de mujeres a manos del aparato represivo estatal. Se registran, además, 52 femicidios relacionados, esdecir, hijxs u otrxs familiares o personas cercanas a la víctima asesinadas en contexto de violencia machista, para castigar a la mujer o cuando intentaron defenderla. Casi un tercio de los femicidios relacionados tienen niños y niñas como víctimas. En el caso de las personas trans y travestis, se encontró la gran dificultad de que, en los reportes oficiales, especialmente de personas muertas en lugares de detención, pero también en casos de fusilamientos, se consignan los nombres de los documentos de identidad. Así, aunque se sabe que son más, sólo aparecen registradas como tales 11 casos de transfemicidios y travesticidios cometidos por miembros de las FFSS. Este gráfico compara la proporción de femicidios en cada una de las modalidades registradas. Se advierte que casi la totalidad de los casos de muertes en contexto intrafuerza o intrafamiliar son a la vez femicidios de uniforme. Sobre 397 muertes de mujeres en casos intrafuerza o intrafamiliar, 386 fueron femicidios, mientras que es mucho menor la incidencia de la violencia de género como factor determinante en las demás modalidades:

FUENTE: Correpi Read the full article

[ellenandportiatruelove]

Still not over Vicci 😁

[vergazov-report]

Corvette Stingray C7. Clean shapes of the stock body match to Stingray Concept in this evening light.

[coridallasmultipass]

Looking down into the valley. #figeroa #figeroamountain #drawing #sketch #pencil

[nocklebeast]

Expedition to Figeroa Mountain 24 December 2019. Figeroa Mountain. Santa Ynez, CA.   #Figeroa #FigeroaMountain #SantaYnez #winter #mountain #mountains #solstice #leicasl #varioelmarit2490 (at Figueroa Mountain) https://www.instagram.com/p/B6jv4UcnTkY/?igshid=1nviha6t4mvl8

[onyx-was-here]

I’M LISTENING TO THE BONUS TRACKS FOR TLT ON SPOTIFY AND TRY IS SO PRETTY WHAT THE FUCK

[zikbitume]

(THOUXANBANFAUNI) @Thouxanbanfauni - FOREVER FIGEROA

[junkienicky]

Orange Is The New Black season one: A summary

Bonus:

[minikate--24-05]

“I see large earrings, I see unapproved makeup. Am I the only one who sees this? Do I have supervision? Am I like the boy in The Sixth Sense who sees infractions no one else sees?”

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

PROMPT

Che “Taza” Romero x Reader

@stardust1978 asked: I wanted to request a Dialogue Prompt #5 under Angst with Taza when you are taking requests again. Thank you :)

Prompt: “My heart tells me to kiss you, my head tells me to walk away”.

Word Count: 2.6k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @arved 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Who said ‘ride or die’ for first time, surely he knew you, because ride is your life. 

“Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?”

“She came from nowhere! I didn't see her!”

It wasn't true. Once your helmet is on, your motorbike and you are one. There's no difference, as if you got melted with it when you turn the engine. You know every single inch of Cali's asphalt. You know every traffic light, every signal, every road, every street, every city, every single driver. You didn't come from nowhere, but he was looking his phone when he crossed the corner's avenue. He didn't see you, that's true. But you came from Sunset Boulevard with Figeroa street. You was driving fast, as always, but respecting the limit.

You were lying on the ground, upside down, when you realized that you couldn't move your right leg. You couldn't even feel pain. As the orders of your brain reached the toes of the left foot, the right foot didn't respond. Nothing. Breathing fast, you were drowning into agonizing coughs. You're a nomad. You know every single bone of your anatomy. You know what's broken, you know what's fragmented and you know what's twisted. You're choking because of the blood filling your lungs, for a splintered rib. And only when you hear the sound of an ambulance sirens, you let yourself go.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

A hard headache is lashing your whole body, growling slightly whilst feeling some long fingers tangling into yours. You know their touch pretty well, you don't even need to open your eyes to confirm it. Those fingertips have traveled through your skin so many times you lost the count long time ago. They hold yours tightly, with a trembling and cracked lips kissing every one, every knuckle and the wrist. You're sleepy, coughing for a while and raising your free hand to your belly when a bitter twinge hits it. You don't need to ask where you are, 'cause you know it at the exact moment you notice your right leg immobilized hanging of the metal structure of the bed. 

Feeling weak and decayed, you turn your face at him, opening your eyes so slowly. The man drags his chair a little bit closer, leaning above the hospital bed to leave some dearly kisses on your forehead while your free sleepy hands toured your stomach till reaching his nape. It's been a long time since you saw him in Santo Padre. And even if you think he betrayed you, Taza still being the most important person in your life. And he will always be.

You met him sixteen years ago in Santa Madre, when you were almost fifteen. You stole a loaf of bread. You didn't have family, nor money, nor a job. You were a child suffering the poverty of the Mexican border. And as a fallen angel from heaven, he found you. He was running away too. 

He saved you and you saved him.

Taza taught you every single thing you know today. About animals, about guns, about motorbikes and mechanic, about how to be silent, about fighting. He welcomed you in his ranch, he gave you a family and he brought you back to life. 

“What ha—happened?” You mutter feeling high because of the morphine.

“A guy missed a traffic light and hit you”. He says licking his lips, choosing the correct words.

“And wh—what happened to me?” His sigh is more painful that have every bone of your body broken.

“A rib pierced your left lung, but you're okay now, cariño”.

“And what abo—about my leg?”

The Mayan doesn't know how to tell you. Isn't that bad, actually. But riding is your life.

“Femur fracture”. He can't lie to you. At least, not a second time since you met.

You turn your neck and face to the opposite side, feeling awake suddenly. You know what it's means. Your eyes filled with tears and your heart racing. The sanitary machines starts to beep louder, claiming the attention of some nurses who come to try to control your pulse. 

“I'm ok—okay! Fuckin' leave me!” You cry squeezing over the bed, while Taza tries to hug you.

“Sh, (Y/N). Calm down, calm down. Everything is gonna be fine. Sleep a little more...” He whispers on your eyes, watching sideway how a doctor inject a whitish liquid into the line connected to your wrist.

You let yourself go again, between Che's strong arms, making you feel as if you were at home again.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

He explained you that you fell with your knee slightly curled and that was why you broke it. Luckily, in Los Angeles didn't wait for transferred you to San Diego, to make the surgery necessary. After one day unconscious, they flew you in helicopter to Santo Padre. And even if Taza told you that you could walk again and drive your motorbike, you couldn't help but feel anxious, terrified and mournful. 

It was one long month in the hospital, receiving visitors every day from Stockton, Charming, Tijuana, Mexico... Even from the charters of Connecticut and Pennsylvania. You didn't used to talk a lot, mostly some words and some sentences. You were submerged on a gloomy environment, crying all the time because of the pain and the rage of being bedridden. Taza slept with you every night, before complaining all day about his back hurting with Bishop and Tranq. But he would do anything for you. Anything.

After the high medical and all the information the doctors gave you for the home life and rehabilitation, you agreed with the idea of coming back to the ranch. Actually, Taza as the stubborn man he is and Bishop as the president of your charter, forced you. They didn't give you any options. So you just ‘agreed’. Your next six month were going to be summed in the first one to rest, the next four going two times per day to the hospital and the last one trying to walk by your own. Feeling pain and agony with every step until you can make it disappear, by following the recommendations.

You used to be laid on the bed with the blinds half down, holding tightly your black leather vest against your chest, feeling that it was your only hope to wake everyday. Of course, there are things in life worse than a femur fracture, but for you it was painful in a psychologically speaking way. The doctors recommended the crew and your friends to talk you about day-life, happy situations or whatever that didn't let you think about it, so you could avoid  a depression and harmful thoughts. So when Mayans came to visit you at the ranch, sitting by a side of your bed or lying next to you, they were always trying make you laugh and talk. But you couldn't. You were like a scared child believing that the sheets were shields that protected you about any hurt.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Opening your eyes, rolling over the mattress, hearing some whispers outside of your room that won't let you sleep. Your heart race, getting up on your palms, when you can't find your vest on it. You look for it on the floor, behind the blankets, behind the pillows. Nothing. With a lot of effort you move your whole and heavy body to the wheelchair next to the bed, supporting your arms on it with a growl drowned in your throat. Rolling your fingers above the wheels faster than you can think, you go towards the door opening it loud and making it crash to the wall. Following the hallway to the living room, the voices stir anxiously. Tran and Gilly are blocking your gaze to the huge table, where you used to meet al the Mayans for a lunch, a dinner or an impromptu meeting.

“Look at you! You did it by yourself!” Angel is very proud, leaning towards you before your able to kick his crotch with your good leg, making him fall to the floor between whinings and sobs.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, karate kid!” Creeper holds your shoulders, while EZ press his hands on your tights and on your left leg, to avoid the fact that you hit them too.

“Where's my kutte?! What are you doin'?!” You shout with your eyes filled with tears, stirring to loosen from the grips. 

“Cariño, calm down”. Then you hear his voice, appearance behind the big guys in front of you.

“You, fuckin' traitor! You're doin' it again! I fuckin' hate you, bastard!” You want to kill him, yelling full of rage while the tears run through your cheeks soaking the shirts.

“Fuck, (Y/N)! Calm yo' fuckin' self!” Angel growls trying to getting up from the floor.

“Bishop, please! I'll ride again! I'll soon”. Your cry gets louder seeing how the man is cutting a patch of your vest, between Tranq and Gilly, above the table. “It's the only thing I have! Please, don't!”

The president doesn't say a word  knowing how much you're suffering and don't giving a shit about it. Riz leans close to you, slapping him when he tries to clean your tears.

“Don't fuckin' touch me!” You scream at him totally mad, squeezing on the wheelchair and trying to get up of it.

“Jesus Christ, calm down!” He says somewhat scared.

“I earned it! I did it! Please! Don't take it away!” 

You feel like the air is leaving your lungs and your mouth when Bishop holds the kutte on air having a look of it, before starting to walk towards you. And when you're able to grab it, you do it holding it tightly on your chest, raising your gaze confused. He makes a soft move with his chin, pulling a way some inches the vest to see the new patch. The “nómada” one isn't there anymore, having been changed for “Miembro de honor”. Gasping not knowing exactly what to say, you hold it close again.

“It's the only thing I have...” You mutter with trembling lips.

“We know”. Bishop says bending down to leave a kiss on your forehead with a hand placed on your nape. “No one is gonna take it away, querida. But at least, I made you go out of your room”.

“Yea', the kick was worth it”. Angel says with a hoarse voice rubbing his crotch.

You can't help but smiling for first time after long months, when Creeper and EZ  let you go. Riz helps you to wear it, putting it well on. It looks good on you, better than ever and you're starting to feel blissful again.

“We decided to have a day off, here with you. And we bought you free alcohol beer, so you can drink too”. EZ says almost singing, making you chuckle. “And pops' meat for the barbecue”.

Sounds good. Really good. So you nod without doubting pulling away some hair bristles behind your ears.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

You can't remember when was the last time you had so much fun with your true family. Vicki came too with some of your friends and Letti, who turned out to be better than you expected, after Coco told you so much about her. And even if you didn't want the day to end, you were waiting for it, so you could be alone with Taza and tell him that you were sorry about what you said early morning.

After all the goodbyes, and the apache bringing you back to the inside, you turn at him with some effort on the wheelchair. Placing both hands on your lap and pursing your lips, your gaze travels looking his.

“I didn't me—”.

“It doesn't matter”. He interrupts you, passing you away to let his body fall down on the nearest sofa.

Turning again, you guides yourself to him, insisting about it.

“I'm sorry, Che”.

“God, forget it, (Y/N)”. Rolling his eyes, he lies his head against the back of the sofa.

“No, 'cause I know it hurt you. And it's not fair”. You continue, getting up of the chair to jump with the other leg by his side.

He doesn't say anything when you wrap his neck with both arms, hugging him. Taza only clicks his tongue, slicing a hand between your back and the sofa to put you closer, holding you against himself. Resting your face on his chest, closing your eyes, yes, it's feels like you're at home again.

“You know what?” You say almost in a whisper.

“What?”

“My heart tells me to kiss you, but my head tells me to walk away”. It's not a secret, but sounds like. And you're not ashamed of recognizing it.

“You can't walk, idiot”.

You chuckle shaking your head, raising it to him, touching his cheek with your nose.

“Don't leave me again, please”. He sighs rubbing his forehand. “I know I fucked up things with that... chick. But I truly love you and I'm gonna regret all my life for hurting you”.

“Just... give me some time”.

“The one you need, I could wait all my life”. Pressing his lips on yours in a smooth kiss, you travel one of your hand towards a side of his neck. 

The love you feel for him has never disappear, not even when you tried so hard to hate him when you became a nomad just to run away from all the sorrow he provoked you three years ago, a winter cold night when you arrived of a two weeks travel with the Stockton charter. By that time, you were going through some trouble and each one had a different way of facing it, instead of remaining together.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

It's been almost six month since the accident and everything has changed. Taza is driving his bike, with you by his back, towards the clubhouse. You called Bishop before to meet the crew on the front yard. You didn't tell him why, having a little surprise for them. So when you finally come and the guys are waiting you there, EZ is the one who notices that you're not carrying the crutches, drawing a big smile on his face and palming his brother's chest before pointing at you. 

Taking off the helmet and giving it to Taza, proud-hearted of what are you going to do, you practically jump out of the motorbike. You can see every reaction on every face. They're happy and a little shocked when you put your right foot on the floor. You're walking without help. And even if you feel a little pain yet, there's nothing that could stop you now. You're like a child giving her first steps. Limping very slightly, you open both arms.

“What's up, guys?! Cat got your tongues?!” You laugh happily going towards them.

Bishop is the first one who holds you in his arms when you're close enough, laughing too for your feat.

“You did it, querida”. He says, and you're sure the president is about to cry.

“I told you!”

“Are you gonna kick me again, if I try to touch you, mi dulce?” Angel walks somewhat closer with a funny gesture on his face, before hugging him.

“The doc' said I could ride in two weeks, but I'm gonna wait another one, just in case”. You inform them, with Angel's left arm on your shoulders. “So, where's my bike?”

“Resting too”. Taza says then, kissing your cheek. “Waiting for you”.