#jade herrera imagine

[witchthewriter]

𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴

Please tell me that there's people who love From just as much as I do??

I am definitely writing about the characters. This has become one of my favourite shows this year. I wish it was more well-known!

So I will be writing for:

Boyd

Kenny

Fatima

Randall

Jade

Kristi

Victor

Julie

Donna

And a lot of these will be platonic! But some will be romantic as well 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡

[sgt-dignam]

when i tell you i felt fear in that moment like i've never felt in my life. but there was also this—this glimpse of something that i knew was there, but i couldn't...even with all the fucking horror, it was like, for the first time, i felt like there were threads that were finally starting to connect. connect how? I don't know.

Jade Herrera & Tabitha Matthews in FROM | 3.05 - The Light of Day

[givekennyabreak]

Be Still My Heart (Kenny Liu x fem!reader)

Summary: Kenny is relieved to see you safe after the awful night he spent at the station with Sara.

Word count: 920

Request: Hey theeeeeere! Thank you for replying to me and good luck with uni! Soooo ofc do it whenever u can and pls take your time! But I would reaaaally love smth fluff with Kenny x fem reader anything you want! Also 3rd person it's perfectly fine I love it don't worr about anything love💗💗💗

Rating: T

Warnings: spoilers for s2e9 and 10 of From, swearing, reader wears glasses, hugs, use of (Y/N), one (1) kith.

“This sucks.” (Y/N) mumbled.

Hidden in Victor’s old hideout, the one he so kindly showed her a few days before – ‘In case you wander too much’, he said -, she tried not to make any noises. There was no talisman inside, which meant the monsters outside could get in if they managed to unlock the tailgate.

It has been many, many hours since she got here alone, after going out to empty her head; people were dying, one after the other, more than ever before, and now they couldn’t sleep.

“Keep your eyes open, shitstain.” The woman whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes, back leaning against the metal wall. Her sight was trained on the tailgate, wondering why in the fuck she would wander off near nighttime – never again.

And then, a sliver of light passed by a tiny opening on the metal.

Too bright to be a flashlight.

(Y/N) scrambled up, face dangerously close to the cold metal, and peeked out.

“Sun, my beloved!” She shouted, and turned around. With ever raising excitement, she opened the latch and slid up the tailgate; the warm rays of sunshine hit her face with full force, and she leaped down onto the dewy grass.

The woman ran down the familiar path towards the town; by the diner, she waved at Mrs. Liu, Victor and Ethan, smiling as she saw the familiar faces.

“Morning, Jade!” (Y/N) shouted, slowing down as the curly-haired man left the bar with a frazzled look, some book in his hands.

“Where the hell have you been?!” He shouted back, brows furrowed.

“I was taking a walk, dude.” She replied, staring at him. “Where the fuck are you going, looking like my conspiracy theory uncle?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Don’t die!”

Jade grumbled something under his breath and left as (Y/N) headed, now walking at a decent pace, towards the Liu’s house.

The familiar sight of closed windows and an open door greeted the woman as she neared the place. She saw Sara leave the house with Boyd; nodded at them, and did her best to ignore the way her heart ached as her eyes focused on the man right behind the duo.

“Kenny.”

The ex-deputy looked up as (Y/N) whispered his name, brown eyes widening as he took in her messy appearance. Her hair was sticking up in weird angles, dark circles adorned her eyes (nothing new there, to be honest), and her glasses were kinda askew on her face.

A few seconds was all it took for the freckled man to run up to his friend and pull her into a tight hug. His arms circled her shoulders, and she sighed; he was warm. He smelled good. He was soft, comfortable-

She was sleep deprived.

“You’re alive.” Kenny said softly, nose nestled in the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Last I checked, yes.”

“I was worried, you dumbass.” He leaned back, staring into her eyes.

The tension between them was palpable as they locked eyes, the weight of their emotions hanging in the air. Kenny's words had hit her hard, stirring a whirlwind of worry within her. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to cup his cheeks, her touch gentle and filled with a mixture of affection and regret. Her thumbs traced tender circles against his skin, feeling the warmth gradually spread beneath her touch, a sign of their shared vulnerability.

With every passing moment, their faces drew closer, their breaths mingling. Their noses almost brushed against each other, creating a delicate connection that mirrored the fragile state of their hearts. It was a moment suspended in time, charged with longing and the unspoken desire for solace.

She mustered the courage to ask, her voice filled with a blend of uncertainty and hope, "I'm sorry... Can I kiss you?"

Kenny's response was barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of his longing, "Please."

In that instant, their lips met, a gentle collision of souls seeking solace and reassurance. It was a tender, tentative kiss, born out of a shared understanding of their vulnerabilities. Their worries and fears melted away, replaced by a rush of affection and the undeniable connection between them.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the softness of the moment. The world around them faded away, leaving only the sensation of their lips moving in sync, a dance of tenderness and forgiveness. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, expressing their unspoken apologies, their longing, and the depth of their feelings for one another.

In that single, stolen moment, they found solace and healing, their hearts intertwining in a profound embrace. And as they pulled away, breathless yet content, they knew that their bond had grown stronger, fortified by the power of their shared vulnerability and the healing a simple kiss could offer.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Boyd’s voice rang out, and the couple finally remembered there was an audience near them. “But we need Kenny right now, (Y/N).”

The woman felt her own face warm up now, and slowly let go of her friend’s face, arms hanging limply by her side.

“I’ll see you soon.” Kenny whispered, a small smile on his handsome face. “Really soon.”

“Be careful, okay?” (Y/N) whispered back, gaining a nod and a grin in response.

“Always.”

Right then and there, as she watched the trio walk off towards the forest, the woman sighed, with a lovestruck smile on her face.

“Be still, my fucking heart.”

Permanent taglist: @tiredwritersworld

I forgot the taglist, sorry guys :')

[divorcingjimmatthews]

jade comforting a new resident through their second night in the town

this was gonna be a one shot but the status quo changes way too fast this season so i might as well get the idea out as quickly as i can 😂

it's an hour or so before nightfall and jade's settling in at his new home at the bar

finally somewhere he can be alone

he hears a knock on the door

he opens the door and sees you, a stranger, with a backpack and a small suitcase by your side

"h-hi. i'm (Y/N). i... my bus stopped here and..."

oh, no. no, no, no, no

he asks why the fuck are you not at colony house

you stutter and mumble your way through an explanation

basically, someone just told you about what happened there the night of the party, so you just grabbed your things and came back to the town

you wanted to stay at the diner like on your first night but it's closed for the night

someone told you the bar would be empty

you're such a mess

jade hates this but hes like okay okay fine come in jesus

he offers you a drink. there's potato vodka and potato vodka. also water

seeing your state he withdraws the alcohol offer quickly, on second thought

he watches you not really look any better after sipping your way through some water

"hold up. i'm going to see if they have something at the clinic"

you're TERRIFIED like NO YOU CANT GO OUT THERES THOSE THINGS OUTSIDE

he tries to convince you that there's still plenty of time but you look so scared to be alone that he ends up staying just in case

he just sits next to you for a while and you finally start to calm down

"how is... how is any of this happening?"

"that's what i'm trying to find out."

"what have you got so far?"

he scoffs

"fucking nothing"

you smile a little, incredulous

"you have to know more than me"

you pull out a notebook and a pen and write "monsters" as a heading, then underline it

jade takes a deep sigh and starts listing what he knows. they come out at night. they don't run. they shriek. and so on.

while you're formulating a theory, you ask jade if he knows what an endless loop is in coding

he stares at you like i'm jade herrera, well-known tech enterpreneur

you blink, confused

he realises it may be time to maybe shave

the activity is pretty engaging and the time passes quickly

you're so relieved. when you realise it, you even smile

"h-hey. this is... actually, this is okay. this isn't too b—"

the monsters start shrieking in the distance

"oh, jesus fucking christ"

jade realises that there's not gonna be a point where you're gonna be okay to fall asleep and not bother him for the night

"wait. i'll go get blankets"

you don't even want him to leave to go into his room, but you'll have to be brave about it

he comes back and throws a big blanket over your shoulders, then sits back down and throws another blanket over his legs, and leans back on a pillow he brought

he hands you another pillow and you cling to it immediately

reluctantly, jade tries to reassure you

"listen. all you have to do is stay put. a baby could do this, okay? there's no fucking it up."

you're so tired from being scared that you actually fall asleep as soon as you feel safe

the night goes by with you asleep leaning on jade with your pillow in between the two of you, and jade borrowing your notebook to continue with the theories

eventually, some hours later, he also falls asleep

he would never admit to himself or to others that he actually slept well that night

who would've thought other people just being there could be good and comforting huh jade

maybe isolating yourself is not the solution to anything huh jade

he will learn nothing from this

he really doesnt want to share but he ends up letting you stay

he tries to sleep alone in his room that night

he ends up conceding that you're a much nicer roommate than the ghost of that cristopher guy manifesting through his visions

grabs his pillow and blanket and pretends to be intending to go check on you. what a gentleman

you're actually soundly asleep

"are you kidding me?? really?"

accidentally wakes you

"hm? jade?"

"sorry. i just wanted to check if you were..."

you're too sleepy to make much sense of what he's saying, but as soon as you notice his pillow and blanket that he's carrying, you get a rough idea of his reasons

you move a bit to make room for him and he immediately takes the cue

you fall back asleep like, right after

he's just thinking "fuck this, fuck this, fuck this"

leans into you a bit to make himself as comfortable as he can

his back is really noticing the sessions he's missed so far at the gym but this still beats his usual sleeping situation

oh well. he can be embarrassed about this tomorrow

right now, he'll just close his eyes and get some proper rest, for once

[fizzytoo]

how tall is adrien he just seems like he would tower over EVERYONE

he tall! he’s 6’2”/189cm 🦔

he’s like one of those big dogs that doesn’t know they’re huge. he likes the drape his entire body onto his shorter friends and act like it’s not a problem

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

(For the sake of this poll, please disregard any canon relationships if they exist. In this alternate universe, everyone is single and ready to mingle. Or, if you want, imagine that you ARE the canon love interest)

[kudosmyhero]

The Amazing Spider-Man Annual (vol. 3) #1: Mask of Death

Read Date: June 03, 2023 Cover Date: January 2017 ● Writer: Humberto Ramos ◦ Christos N. Gage ● Penciler: Francisco Herrera ● Inker: Francisco Herrera ● Colorist: Fernanda Rizo ● Letterer: Travis Lanham ◦ Joe Caramagna ● Editor: Devin Lewis ◦ Allison Stock ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● where’s Dr. Girlfriend, because The Monarch has arrived!

● 👏👏

Synopsis: While Peter is in Mexico City for a scholarship award ceremony, a terrible earthquake terrorizes the city and a monster named Itzpapaloti emerges from the earth. Peter throws the demon back into the ground and learned from one of his collaborators, Peter follows her into the cave to find the jade mask in which the monster had been trapped. Spider-Man manages to trap the demon, but he does not imagine that it was Diablo who freed the monster and now that he trapped it again he has taken possession of it to subjugate the monster. He now he wants to find the other nine death masks.

(https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Amazing_Spider-Man_Annual_Vol_3_1)

Fan Art: Spider-man: Homecoming by EmmShin

Accompanying Podcast: ● {none}

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (1)

a Javier Peña x OFC story 

now also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (if u wanna come say hello on main)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death

words: 5521

Author’s note: dude this chapter fought me every step of the way but it’s here now so suck it, muses or whatever

---

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries (thank you sweeties whom I will hold forever in my heart)

(message me if you want to be added to the list)

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

'Liliana' the file said. I was tucked away in the locked bottom drawer of his old desk, the one he hadn't even had time to clear out when they'd sent him away. To be fair, Javier had only known to look because Murphy had called him to tell him about this informant. It sounded too good to be true. An informant coming to them of their own accord, ready to spill valuable inside secrets of the Calí cartel, and they didn't even want payment? One would be forgiven, in their line of work, to smell a trap. But Murphy had vouched for this one, and he trusted Murphy, knew that his partner (former partner) did his homework with due diligence. That, and the first batch of intel Murphy had brought back from their first few meetings had already proven invaluable. 

There was apparently only one hiccup, and it was that the informant refused to talk to any agents other than him or Murphy. It had even led to Steve having to postpone his return to the States for almost two months, until it was clear that Javier would return to Colombia. Fair enough, he'd need to make up his own mind about them anyway. He collected the file and tucked it into the box that held all the stuff he'd cleared out of the desk, since he would now officially be moving a an office of his own.

Upon arriving in said office, he kicked the door closed and sat, lighting a cigarette and reaching for the file. As thin as it was, it still took him almost an hour to work through it, though half of the time was spent deciphering Murphy's chicken scratch mess of annotations. The rest was spent on making his own. After checking the time, Javier fetched himself a cup of the same old tar brew that passed for coffee here, lit another cigarette, and dialled Steve's new office number in Miami. 

"Murphy."

"Alright, I've read the file." Javier started without preamble. Perhaps that was a bit short. He grimaced, then added, "About the informant. Liliana."

"Yeah, I figured." Steve exhaled probably puffing away at his own nicotine habit. Javier meant to quit, but kept pushing it off. The intent was all there was to it, at this stage. "So what're you calling me for, big boss?"

Javier elected to ignore the taunt, knowing it was friendly. 

"You've met her. Is she legit?"

"Why, you smelling a trap?"

Pathological mistrust was a feature one acquired while on this job. Those who didn't ended up dead. Those who did would still end up dead, just later and more jaded. Either way you'd get a lot of other people killed on the way. "Just making sure." 

They spent the next half hour and a bit going over the file together, comparing notes, catching up, thinking aloud - all of which were much easier to do when they had each other to bounce off of. It felt good, almost like old times. Javier went through close to a third of his pack of cigarettes, the air growing heavy in the windowless room. Just as well that it was almost time to wrap this up. A look at his watch told him that it was getting late in the day, and that Steve would want to get home to his family. All Javier could hope for at this point was avoiding resident CIA-asshole Bill Stechner on his way out, at least on this day. 

"You won't be able to pull your usual shit with this one." Steve remarked, accompanied by the sound of shuffling papers. Javier bristled, even though he knew the things people said about him, both behind his back and to his face. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Knowing didn't mean it didn't, occasionally, sting, but he'd given up on trying to influence other people's minds long ago. A reputation once acquired was not easily shed, not that he'd made much of an effort to. 

"It means that you shouldn't. Pull your usual crap with this one. For one I hardly think it'll be necessary."

"That would be new." Javier snorted. He could hear Steve's eyeroll through the phone. 

"Still the same asshole-" Steve snarked. "I'm just saying be nice for once, especially since that woman's intel is the only reason you still have a job. She's a nice lady, so with a bit of luck some of that might even rub off on you." 

"And I'm the asshole..." 

"So everyone keeps saying." 

"Fuck you, Steve."

"Go fuck yourself, Javi." Steve's chuckle told him it was all in good humor. "And don't fuck this informant."

"Yeah, yeah," Javier waved it off. The woman was an accountant, for fuck's sake. Note exactly his usual type. Or the type he usually attracted. 

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

They were meeting at one of the small restaurants lining the edge of Parque Sabaneta in Medellín. Over the phone her voice had sounded... hesitant, above all else. Tinny, too, but he blamed the connection for that. And he'd brought her a satellite phone for future contacts; her driving out to remote phone cells and him waiting for calls after hours in his office just didn't cut it. 

There hadn't been a picture in the file, but Steve's description had been quite accurate and Javier was able to pick her out at the table she'd chosen before making himself known. Dark hair and darker eyes behind large, slightly old-fashioned glasses. She was almost tall and hid her figure underneath loose-fitted clothing; today a flowy blouse and high-waisted dress pants, and a bulky cardigan against the spring chill that lingered even into the late morning. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun that reminded him of his fifth grade math teacher, Ms Jenkins. Javier approached the table. 

"Diana Rivas?" She froze for a split-second before relaxing again, returning his greeting softly. In real life her voice was deeper than he would have anticipated, raspier too, but not unpleasant - the kind of voice one would expect first thing in the morning, just after waking up. 

"I do hope your drive was not too tiring, Agent Peña." she said as he sat. He grimaced slightly. The drive had been long, above all else. Not his first choice of how to spend a Friday morning. Well, he'd endured worse for this job. But next time he'd definitely travel by plane.

"Do they serve decent coffee here?" Javier scrubbed a hand over his burning eyes and settled, resuming his assessment. She squirmed slightly under his unrelenting gaze, but squared her shoulders after a moment, meeting his gaze head-on and motioning a waiter over with a flick of her delicate wrist. 

"Of course they do, this is Medellín!" She sounded mildly offended, then ignored him in favor of telling the waiter their order. Javier took the time to observe her further. 

No make-up, no jewellery, save for a simple, functional watch and a small silver locket on a long, thin chain. No wedding band either, but the paleness and indentation around her ring finger still indicated that she'd worn one in the recent past. Her features were soft and feminine, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, all making her look younger than she purportedly was. His gaze caught on her defined cupid's bow just a second too long. Her complexion seemed far too sunkissed for someone who spent most of their time indoors, in air-conditioned office spaces. In conclusion, undeniably lovely to anyone with eyes who cared to look, but obviously taking great pains to discourage closer scrutiny, to look as mousy and plain as possible. It worked, to a degree. 

It occurred to Javier that maybe he should actually talk to her, since that's what he'd come here for. 

"Do you always begin your interrogations with the silent treatment? I can see how that might be effective." She beat him to it, just before the coffee cups were set on the table in front of them. 

"This isn't an interrogation." he groused, taking a tentative sip of the coffee. The scent of it alone was enough to wake the dead; it was heavenly. He'd have to see if he could weasel some halfway decent coffee out of his budget at the office. 

"Regardless, I only have until noon today. We can meet again tomorrow; I can make myself available all afternoon for you, Agent Peña." 

Javier huffed out a breath before taking another sip. "Why can you suddenly do Medellín anyway? You had Murphy travel across half the country to meet you." 

She made a face at that, something between annoyed and apologetic. "My aunt, she... she's sick and been getting worse. I make the time to come down here every other weekend now to help her."

"And your employers are alright with that?" He hadn't exactly pegged the Calí cartel for employers of the year. Or to pioneer part-time models so their employees could care for sick relatives.

"As long as the work gets done, yes. It means I work ten to eleven hour days Monday to Thursday, but I am the only one left in this family..." She sniffled a little and swept the tips of her fingers under the plastic rim of her glasses, wiping at her eyes. Javier looked away, pretending it was to give her privacy. He imagined this unusually forthright woman walking up to Pacho Herrera to ask for reduced work hours so she could care for her aunt- That could really have gone either way, but somehow he thought that was probably not how it happened, or whom she'd asked. He just couldn't picture it. Maybe one of the brothers; they liked to style themselves as charitable family men, to a degree.

"Anyway, Medellín's closer for you, and we're less likely to be found out here. They like to keep security pretty tight in Calí. My friend Angelika calls it the Calí Stasi, and she's from the former East Germany, so she'd know." 

He hummed in acknowledgement, his coffee almost gone and him almost feeling like a living human being again. He flagged the waiter down for another. 

"In any case, I am glad that we can keep this to Spanish now. My English is not very ...confident." She prattled on, sipping from her own cup. Murphy had told him that she'd brought a dictionary to their first meeting, and apparently, with his former partner's dismal language skills, they'd actually needed it. 

"I'm sure your English is better than Murphy's Spanish." Steve had told him as much, but then again, Steve's Spanish was shit, so it really wasn't saying much. There was something else niggling at the back of his mind. 

"Why me?" 

Her glasses slid down her nose half an inch or so in surprise at his -admittedly abrupt- question. "I'm sorry?"

"Murphy said you wanted to speak to me specifically when you first called. Why?" 

She hesitated a moment, squirmed a little and averted her eyes, then pushed her glasses back up her nose before answering, softer than before. "Gabriela said you could be trusted."

"...Gabriela?" He said sharply, neck flushing at the thought of the beautiful redhead. 

She shrunk in on herself, hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. Perhaps his voice had come out a little bit harsher than intended. He hadn't even thought that she'd actually tell him her real name. He'd just been a client after all. 

"Yes," Miss Rivas breathed out, her voice so soft now that he had to lean halfway across the table to even catch it. "She's my best friend. We've been inseparable since the firts day of school. We tell each other everything. She told me she knew a DEA agent; that's why I told my cousin to go to her when she ran into trouble with Pablo Escobar-"

"Your cousin???" He almost roared. It came out as more of a whisper-yell, but she still flinched, eyes going wide behind the lenses. 

"Yes, my cousin," she said carefully, "Maritza Rincón." 

"Maritza–" he patted his pocket for a smoke and swore under his breath when he remembered how he'd left them in the car with the intention of advancing his 'quit smoking'-idea beyond idle talk. "What is this, a fucking trap? Very elaborate setup just to yell at me, missy. Unless you've got some buddies of yours here to–"

"What- what are you *talking* about? I don't blame you for Maritza's death!" By now people were staring. Not a lot of them, since it wasn't really the time yet for the midday crowd and too late for the morning rush, but the few pensioners and whatnot were definitely sensing the tension at their table. Javier gave up on his cigarette search and took a deliberate breath, willing himself to calm down. 

"Maritza is dead?" He hadn't known that. He wasn't sure how he would have learned of it, but it still shocked him regardless. He looked over to see her fidget with her locket, lips pressed tight and trembling. Shit. Another informant on his conscience, fucking great. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't-" he started, his voice catching. He bought himself time with his now lukewarm coffee, "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know that. I-"

"It's alright." She whispered, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated it wasn't. She swept her glasses off with trembling fingers and pressed beneath her eyes, as if to restrain the tears that pooled in her lashes. 

"I'm sorry." Javier said again, insistent, soft, sincere. "What happened?" 

"We- I don't know. She called me to say she was in trouble with Escobar, and I helped her set up the meeting with Gabi."

"With me." He remembered that evening, that young girl sitting in Gabriela's apartment, ready to be sprung on him. Part of him had resented it; Gabriela had been someone he'd sought out to get away from the damn narcos and their dealings. Miss Rivas nodded. 

"Yes. It was that idiot Jhon. He was one of the neighborhood kids. Growing up he'd always had a crush on her..." She talked a lot, he found. It should irritate him more, the way she'd throw in seemingly irrelevant asides without explaining further. Instead he only found himself worrying that someone so pathologically honest could not possibly keep the Gentlemen of Calí off her tracks, at least not if she kept spilling her life story so eagerly. 

" ...and then she hid out on her uncle's farm again, where my auntie - her mom - grew up and went back to after my uncle - that's Maritza's dad - died of a heart attack. Auntie had been out for the day and when she came back- "

He can't bear to listen to it, but forces himself to anyway. In the sea of his regrets, what's one more? Besides, there's nothing else he can do for the girl now; the least he can do is witness how he failed her. 

For all her unassuming bluntness, Diana Rivas is not one to hold back, even on unsavoury details. At least he doesn't get the sense that she does it to torment when she tells him how they found Maritza's lifeless body with her young daughter next to her.  

By the end of that sorry tale, he has his head in his hands, Miss Rivas is still just this side of openly weeping, and all the other patrons have demonstratively averted their attention so as not to impose on what must, on the outside, look like an urgent case for a damned good couples' counselor. 

"I'm sorry, I know this is a lot." And why in the hell is she apologizing?

"No shit." And yeah, he has to digest this before he can even think of making any attempt at non-destructive human interaction. "You couldn't tell Murphy any of this?"

She gave him a look. 

"Yeah, alright. Sorry." More than just a language barrier, got it. 

"I didn't come here today with the intention to relive this, you know?" She said archly. He supposed she had all the right to be upset. And he'd never had a meeting with an informant turn this harrowing, which was really saying something. 

"I'm sorry." He said again, putting the weight of sincerity behind the words. Her hands were in the table now, fidgeting again as she sat slightly hunched over, staring into her coffee cup.

"Unless your government has a time machine to spare, I would prefer not talking about it again. At least not more than necessary." She replaced her glasses and checked her watch. "1 pm tomorrow?"

Javier nodded dumbly, already plucking a few bills out of his wallet to pay for the coffee. "Yeah, 1 pm is okay. Where?"

"Meet me at the church. Santa Ana. You know it?" He didn't particularly, as in he didn't know its name before now, but he could see the building's tall white facade from where they were sitting. 

"Iglesia de Santa Ana, 1 pm tomorrow." Javier confirmed, rising as she did. The stared at each other for a moment, unsure of how to conclude this meeting, until she stuck her hand out for him to shake. He took her smaller, slender hand in his, squeezing it wordlessly. 

"Until tomorrow, Agent Peña." She said, managing a sad little smile. "I hope you'll get some rest. You look like shit." 

Javier bit down every one of the snarky replies that sprung to mind, not least because he knew it was true. His bags had bags and he itched for a smoke.

And to think, this was Murphy's 'nice lady'. 

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

Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that at the church meant inside the church. Not until a very miffed face peered out between the heavy doors, giving him a look as he stood there smoking. 

"It's barely been five minutes!" Javier defended himself, stubbing out the cigarette beneath his heel. 

"It's 1:07pm." She informed him matter-of-factly, pushing the glasses back up her nose pointedly as she made to turn back inside. Javier caught the door, crowding perhaps a bit too close, but the damned thing was heavy. 

"Sorry." He said simply, seeing no point in making a scene out of it. She had to crane her neck just the slightest bit to meet his gaze. 

"Wait here, I'll be out in a minute." And with that she stalked off. Javi watched her sweep down the aisle, her hair and skirt fluttering behind her. She wore her hair loose today, the ends of it curling around her shoulders, and a simple off-white shirt dress that reached down to mid-calf. He let his eyes trail after her, leaning his weight more fully against the heavy wood of the door to lever it open. She walked around two thirds of the way down the pews before stopping by a... baby carriage? 

She bent over it before carefully wheeling it around and starting back towards the door. Javier racked his tired brain. The file hadn't said anything about a kid. Married five years but no children. That didn't seem like the kind of thing one would easily miss, and he knew Murphy to be thorough in his inquiries. 

"Who's this then?" He peered inside the carriage -more of a buggy really now that he got a closer look- and barely caught a glance of a dozing toddler with soft brown curls, while hoisting the door open wider to let her pass more easily. "Didn't know you had a kid."

"I don't." The buggy caught on the threshold and jolted, and a displeased cry came from inside it, making her curse under her breath. "This is Maritza's daughter, Salome. I've got it! Just- the door, just get the door!"

The last part of that came out high and sharp, much like the crack of a whip, and in direct response to Javier's attempt to swoop in and help heave the buggy over the worn-down threshold. He jolted back on instinct, grunting when the door swung squarely into his spine. Who the hell was responsible for all these old-ass church doors being solid enough to squash an actual living human between them?

After some fumbling they managed to make it out with most of their dignity still intact. Javier bent down and quickly shoved the bag he'd brought into the wire basket underneath the buggy's seat, next to her purse. 

"Where to?" He asked, straightening up again. Miss Rivas still looked cross, her lips pressed together.

"Follow along. There are some secluded benches a little walk away." And off she was, leavin him to catch up.

"If your intention is to disguise this meeting as just another family enjoying the sun I suggest you slow down a little." Javier hissed under his breath. He'd actually had to jog a bit to keep up with her steamroller pace. She looked even more annoyed and declined to grace him with an answer, but slowed with a sigh that told him that this was indeed her intention. It was a smart enough plan, he wouldn't dispute that. 

At least the kid seemed to have calmed from her little jostle-startle, seeing as she was now quietly babbling away as if narrating the sights. Javier tried to loosen his tense shoulders and to look like he was enjoying himself as they fell into step ambling along the walkways between the lush greenery. 

"How old is she?" he asked, thinking that perhaps some small talk would ease the woman's sullen mood. 

"Almost two and a half." Or not. Well, he tried. Javier wasn't exactly an expert with kids and none of his previous informants had ever shown up with theirs. Not that that would have been appropriate considering the circumstances. They walked for about a quarter of an hour, which Javier spent agonizing about how to smooth over the sudden mood change Miss Rivas was displaying compared to the day before. By the time they'd made it to their destination he was no closer to that goal. 

She sat with a weary sigh, shaking out her flowy skirt before sitting and rolling her sleeves up to her elbows. It was much warmer today than when they'd met previously, only in part due to the later hour. Stiffly, Javier sat down next to her at a distance that instantly belied their 'family outing' cover. She turned to him after checking on the baby, peeling back the sunshade of the buggy to allow her to look around. 

"You can smoke if you want to." Miss Rivas said offhandedly, her tone forcedly polite. Javier cleared his throat. 

"I'm actually trying to quit."

Her lips quirked into a pleasant curve. "And how's that going?"

Javier sighed. "I'm thinking I might have chosen the wrong time."

"Or the wrong job."

The laugh that bursts forth from him is short, but not altogether hollow. "Yeah, or that."

"Very well, then you may not smoke even though you might want to." 

Javier smiled. Couldn't help it, really. He had been worried that he'd somehow managed to offend her during their last meeting. He said as much, and she shook her head with a look of remorse.

"No, it's not your fault. It's just..." She pushed her glasses up and rubbed at her eyes, revealing the dark rings that had previously been hidden beneath the plastic rim. "Yesterday dredged up some things, and I didn't sleep well as a consequence. That always makes me snippy. And to top things of, this one," she leaned over to unbuckle the child and heave her into her lap, "was being fussy all morning, which didn't help. Sorry for being so short with you earlier."

"In this job, people usually shoot at me. It's alright, really. You're alright." Truth be told, he was glad she pulled herself out of this funk. Maybe she was as nice as Murphy claimed after all. The kid looked at him with large, round, strangely sage eyes. I got your mommy killed. I got your mommy killed and you had to watch. If he had gotten her that visa- The thought made him gulp, made him dizzy and nauseous and if there was anything to be glad for in this situation it was that he was already sitting down. Miss Rivas replaced her glasses and looked at him with furrowed brows. He felt like he was being read. 

"I already told you that I don't blame you for Maritza." Javier tried his damnedest not to squirm underneath that discerning stare. Screw read, he felt like he was being flayed open. "Obviously you still blame yourself."

"Wouldn't you?" He shot back, defensive. She didn't answer for a moment, gently rocking the kid who had grabbed a hold of her locket and started to play with it. 

"I have enough regrets of my own, Agent Peña." Part of him wants to scoff, even just to dispel the heavy moment, but the severity in her tone nips that impulse in the bud. Instead, he clears his throat and gestures to the buggy where he stored his bag earlier.

"I brought you something." 

Her features soften into not quite a smile, but something close enough. "What a coincidence, so have I."

And then she hands him the toddler, who lets out a displeased cry at having her toy wrenched from her chubby hands in so unceremonious a manner, and Javier freezes as her squirmy weight is settled in his lap, only his hand shooting out to steady her on instinct. Up close her big brown eyes are even more enormous. 

"Um, hi. Nice to meet you, Miss Salome. I'm Javier." He says awkwardly and is met with a pout. This is patently terrible and reminds him of the few times he'd been handed baby Olivia. She'd started crying instantly nine times out of ten. He hopes against hope that today will be a deviation from that norm. Salome considers him a long moment, blinking owlishly and making that certain kind of skeptical face that little kids so often do. He's had less tense moments in interrogations. He might be sweating in a way that has little to do with the midday heat. 

And then Salome blows him a raspberry and dives for his wrist to investigate the shininess of his watch. And when he can breathe again he allows himself a smile. Of relief, mostly. In stark contrast to the smile Miss Rivas wears as she regeards them both, which is pure mischief with a dash of smugness. 

"Well look at that. You passed muster, Agent Peña." Miss Rivas set both their bags down in the space between them, then leaned over to press a quick kiss to little Salome's soft curls. And Javier has been much closer to many women than this; his heart shouldn't lurch at the sudden proximity, the waft of her perfume or the light brush of her soft hair over his bare forearm.

"Ladies first." Javier gestured at the bags between them. She smiled and rummaged through hers, producing two thick stacks of folded papers, either parcel secured with a rubber band. 

"Trade you?" she motioned at the girl, who was now intently examining the fingers of his right hand. Reluctantly, he let Miss Rivas pluck the small child from his lap and stand her next to the bench. Salome frowned adorably for a moment at having been interrupted in pulling his pinky finger off, then realized she was free to roam around and brightened instantly, hitting the bench a few times with chubby palms and babbling. 

"Yes, of course I have your toy, sweetie." Miss Rivas said earnestly, presenting a brightly colored ball. Salome grabbed for it with a squeal, her momentum propelling her straight onto her backside. Miss Rivas turned back to Javier with that soft, fond expression still on her face and handed him one of the parcels. 

"Do... did you want to go over this? While I'm here to explain things?"

"That complex, huh?"

"Well, it's a lot to do with creative book-keeping and tax law loopholes. It's more about how they structure their business to launder their incomes than anything else, but it'll still be helpful in building a case, no?" 

It is, which is the whole reason he's been sent back here apparently. And while it's nothing the analysts back at the office can't handle (probably), he still likes being in the loop. And also maybe because he enjoys the sound of her voice. In any case he peels off the rubber band and unfolds the stack of papers, keeping a careful hand around it to ensure that nothing blows away in the spring breeze. Miss Rivas pulled out a pencil from her purse and shuffled closer. Close enough that he can smell her perfume again. - - - Over the following hour and a half Javier realized several important things: 

One. Diana Rivas is likely one of the cleverest people he has ever met. By page eight his head is swimming with numbers, but her even explanations make even tiered corporate tax rebate systems sound fascinating. Even in his line of work, he'd never truly considered accounting to be the stuff of suspense, but she makes it sound like a thriller that even the brightest heads in Hollywood would have trouble coming up with. 

Two. Having to do anything while keeping an eye in a rambunctious small child who is still learning to walk is a uniquely stressful experience. Little Salome is bouncing around the small patch of grass in front of the bench much like her ball, endowed with seemingly endless reservoirs of energy. She crashes into his knee a few times while chasing her ball or deciding that playing hide and seek underneath the bench is a better use of her time, and it puts him on edge that he feels responsible at all. 

Three. The Rodríguez brothers make more than enough money from their few legitimate businesses to never have to worry themselves financially. Not that this had been in question, technically, but to see the numbers in black and white is still galling, even if he's not nearly as incensed about it as Miss Rivas seems to be. And while Javier is far from a religious man, he does consider greed that is levered with blood to be at least distateful. 

Four. It's not her perfume he smelled earlier, but her shampoo, bright and fruity, with high notes of citrus. 

Five. As long as this is all they have and all she can get, the DEA cannot make a move against the Calí cartel. His orders had been very clear on that. Nail them down beyond escape and make absolutely sure you get them into custody, in that order. It means that whatever Miss Rivas can reveal about the inner financial working of the cartel is valuable, but on its own won't be enough. As always in this job it's sorting through a haystack with a rake in search of needlepoints. 

Which brings him to the next thing he needs to ask her. Needs to ask her to do for him, and the operation, to be specific, and he can already tell she'll say yes eagerly. Eager informants should be a blessing, but their eagerness seems to directly correlate with their likelihood of getting killed, or close enough. 

"This is for you." He says instead, handing her the satellite phone. There's directions that go with it, but he takes the time to walk her through it nonetheless. Also his numbers, both office and home, just in case. He watched as she carefully tucked everything into her purse.

It's later in the afternoon now - past three - and Salome comes toddling over, handing Javier her ball and sitting down on the grassy ground with a world-weary sigh. 

"Okay, time for your nap I think, young lady." Miss Rivas plucked the child from the ground and stood to deposit her back in the buggy, then holding out her hand to him expectantly. He hands the ball over after a split-second of dumbstruck hesitation. 

"Well, goodbye then, Agent Peña." 

He stood. Offered her his hand to shake, which she took. "I'll call you during the week. What time is good for you?" 

"Any time between seven and ten. I'll probably be in Medellín again in a month. I'll let you know if I have more intel by then." He nodded, finally releasing her hand after realizing he still had her fingers clasped in his. She smiled and turned to leave, wheeling the buggy around from its resting position and onto the footpath. "Oh, and Agent Peña?" She turned halfway, throwing the words over her shoulder with a smirk. "Gabriela won't be available tonight, just so you know. We're meeting for dinner and general catching up."

His neck flushed hotly, both despite and because he'd had no intention of visiting her. 

"Thanks," he said stiffly, "Give her my best."

"Will do!"

Shaking his head, Javier watched her retreat until she disappeared from view behind a bend in the path.

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

Further author’s note bc apparently I have more to say:

I’m gonna play a bit fast and loose with the timeline, because the show makes it look like Javi was sent back pretty much immediately and it only took those ~6 months to take down the cartel bosses, but in reality Escobar died in December of 1993 and the Calí godfathers weren’t arrested until summer of ‘95, so I’m sending Javi back to Colombia in the first half of ‘94 (April to be specific), meaning the time frame for this story is about a year

also I thought Maritza’s daughter in the series was still a baby, but upon rewatch it is actually stated in s2 ep4 that she’s two, and now I had to rewrite those parts. As to why she doesn’t speak, that’s actually something that will come up later and has nothing to do with my bad memory of the series. though tbh I probably assumed that because Olivia was a baby for like three years. (also according to the timeline I determined Maritza’s daugher would actually be between three and four at this point, but I’m going to disregard that. I’ve already had to age her up once and for the purposes of this story I need her to be still this little)

Chapter 2

[xavierdesousaofficial]

performingborders e-Journal #1 Fragments for Borderless Futures

October 2021 (LINK)

performingborders proudly present our very first e-Journal, bringing together commissioned multimedia research and reflections on borderless futures.    We want these journals to be a space that centres embodied knowledge and artist perspectives, challenging academic spaces as the only spaces for knowledge production. We hope that this will be the first in a yearly series, creating a space to collectively reflect on borders, live art, community, and resistance.

This issue looks not only at what borderless futures could be and how we see fragments of them already in process but also at reflections on what seems impossible about getting there.

This collective thinking has allowed us to look at new ways in which we can expand in our artistic, organisational, intellectual and bodily landscapes and continue to slowly build (even in fragments) multiple paths towards borderless futures, imagined and real.

What are the (im)possibilities for borderless futures?

We are grateful to be able to launch the first issue with thoughtful text contributions from Elena Marchevska, Syowia Kyambi, Jade Montserrat, Vijay Mathew, Jemima Yong and Sagar Shah. These texts sprang thinking around sheltering, collective work, 'boundarying' and freedom of movement, the impossibility of a single borderless future, and the frictions between the self and the institution.

These writings sit alongside newly commissioned works, including a place to sit, a performative reflection by Tara Fatehi Irani as well as a visual essay titled urgent images by Manuel Vason.

Edited & taken care of by: Alessandra Cianetti, Xavier de Sousa, and Anahi Saravia Herrera.

Designed by New Nuevo

Thank you to our friends at the Necessity Fund and to Arts Council England for supporting this work.

[richincolor]

For poetry month I started looking for books to highlight. What I realized is that there haven’t been many young adult poetry books in my life lately. There have been a few books containing some poetry though. Here are some of my favorite novels with at least a little poetry woven into the story:

Gabi, a Girl in Pieces by Isabel Quintero [My Review]

Summary: Gabi Hernandez chronicles her last year in high school in her diary: college applications, Cindy’s pregnancy, Sebastian’s coming out, the cute boys, her father’s meth habit, and the food she craves. And best of all, the poetry that helps forge her identity.

July 24

My mother named me Gabriella, after my grandmother who, coincidentally, didn’t want to meet me when I was born because my mother was unmarried, and therefore living in sin. My mom has told me the story many, many, MANY, times of how, when she confessed to my grandmother that she was pregnant with me, her mother beat her. BEAT HER! She was twenty-five. That story is the basis of my sexual education and has reiterated why it’s important to wait until you’re married to give it up. So now, every time I go out with a guy, my mom says, “Ojos abiertos, piernas cerradas.” Eyes open, legs closed. That’s as far as the birds and the bees talk has gone. And I don’t mind it. I don’t necessarily agree with that whole wait until you’re married crap, though. I mean, this is America and the 21st century; not Mexico one hundred years ago. But, of course, I can’t tell my mom that because she will think I’m bad. Or worse: trying to be White.

Shame the Stars by Guadalupe García McCall [My Review] [Interview with Guadalupe García McCall]

Summary: Eighteen-year-old Joaquín del Toro’s future looks bright. With his older brother in the priesthood, he’s set to inherit his family’s Texas ranch. He’s in love with Dulceña—and she’s in love with him. But it’s 1915, and trouble has been brewing along the US-Mexico border. On one side, the Mexican Revolution is taking hold; on the other, Texas Rangers fight Tejano insurgents, and ordinary citizens are caught in the middle.

As tensions grow, Joaquín is torn away from Dulceña, whose father’s critical reporting on the Rangers in the local newspaper has driven a wedge between their families. Joaquín’s own father insists that the Rangers are their friends, and refuses to take sides in the conflict. But when their family ranch becomes a target, Joaquín must decide how he will stand up for what’s right.

Shame the Stars is a rich re-imagining of Romeo and Juliet set in Texas during the explosive years of Mexico’s revolution. Filled with period detail, captivating romance, and political intrigue, it brings Shakespeare’s classic to life in an entirely new way.

Piecing Me Together by Renée Watson [My Review]

Summary: Jade believes she must get out of her neighborhood if she’s ever going to succeed. Her mother says she has to take every opportunity. She has. She accepted a scholarship to a mostly-white private school and even Saturday morning test prep opportunities. But some opportunities feel more demeaning than helpful. Like an invitation to join Women to Women, a mentorship program for “at-risk” girls. Except really, it’s for black girls. From “bad” neighborhoods.But Jade doesn’t need support. And just because her mentor is black doesn’t mean she understands Jade. And maybe there are some things Jade could show these successful women about the real world and finding ways to make a real difference.Friendships, race, privilege, identity—this compelling and thoughtful story explores the issues young women face.Piecing Me Together by Renée Watson [My Review]Summary: Jade believes she must get out of her neighborhood if she’s ever going to succeed. Her mother says she has to take every opportunity. She has. She accepted a scholarship to a mostly-white private school and even Saturday morning test prep opportunities. But some opportunities feel more demeaning than helpful. Like an invitation to join Women to Women, a mentorship program for “at-risk” girls. Except really, it’s for black girls. From “bad” neighborhoods.But Jade doesn’t need support. And just because her mentor is black doesn’t mean she understands Jade. And maybe there are some things Jade could show these successful women about the real world and finding ways to make a real difference.Friendships, race, privilege, identity—this compelling and thoughtful story explores the issues young women face.

Some novels in verse are:

Cinnamon Girl by Juan Felipe Herrera

Summary: I want to see what is on the other side of the dust When the towers fall, New York City is blanketed by dust. On the Lower East Side, Yolanda, the Cinnamon Girl, makes her manda, her promise, to gather as much of it as she can. Maybe returning the dust to Ground Zero can comfort all the voices. Maybe it can help Uncle DJ open his eyes again. As tragedies from her past mix in the air of an unthinkable present, Yolanda searches for hope. Maybe it’s buried somewhere in the silvery dust of Alphabet City.

Booked by Kwame Alexander

Summary: Like lightning/you strike/fast and free/legs zoom/down field/eyes fixed/on the checkered ball/on the goal/ten yards to go/can’t nobody stop you/ can’t nobody cop you…

In this follow-up to the Newbery-winning novel The Crossover,  soccer, family, love, and friendship, take center stage as twelve-year-old Nick learns the power of words as he wrestles with problems at home, stands up to a bully, and tries to impress the girl of his dreams. Helping him along are his best friend and sometimes teammate Coby, and The Mac, a rapping librarian who gives Nick inspiring books to read. This electric and heartfelt novel-in-verse by poet Kwame Alexander bends and breaks as it captures all the thrills and setbacks, action and emotion of a World Cup match!

Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson [My Review]

Summary: Raised in South Carolina and New York, Woodson always felt halfway home in each place. In vivid poems, she shares what it was like to grow up as an African American in the 1960s and 1970s, living with the remnants of Jim Crow and her growing awareness of the Civil Rights movement. Touching and powerful, each poem is both accessible and emotionally charged, each line a glimpse into a child’s soul as she searches for her place in the world. Woodson’s eloquent poetry also reflects the joy of finding her voice through writing stories, despite the fact that she struggled with reading as a child. Her love of stories inspired her and stayed with her, creating the first sparks of the gifted writer she was to become.

A Time to Dance by Padma Venkatraman [My Review]

Summary: Padma Venkatraman’s inspiring story of a young girl’s struggle to regain her passion and find a new peace is told lyrically through verse that captures the beauty and mystery of India and the ancient Bharatanatyam dance form. This is a stunning novel about spiritual awakening, the power of art, and above all, the courage and resilience of the human spirit.

Veda, a classical dance prodigy in India, lives and breathes dance—so when an accident leaves her a below-knee amputee, her dreams are shattered. For a girl who’s grown used to receiving applause for her dance prowess and flexibility, adjusting to a prosthetic leg is painful and humbling. But Veda refuses to let her disability rob her of her dreams, and she starts all over again, taking beginner classes with the youngest dancers. Then Veda meets Govinda, a young man who approaches dance as a spiritual pursuit. As their relationship deepens, Veda reconnects with the world around her, and begins to discover who she is and what dance truly means to her.

Under the Mesquite by Guadalupe García McCall

Summary: Lupita, a budding actor and poet in a close-knit Mexican American immigrant family, comes of age as she struggles with adult responsibilities during her mother’s battle with cancer in this young adult novel in verse.

When Lupita learns Mami has cancer, she is terrified by the possibility of losing her mother, the anchor of her close-knit family. Suddenly, being a high school student, starring in a play, and dealing with friends who don’t always understand, become less important than doing whatever she can to save Mami’s life.

While her father cares for Mami at an out-of-town clinic, Lupita takes charge of her seven younger siblings. As Lupita struggles to keep the family afloat, she takes refuge in the shade of a mesquite tree, where she escapes the chaos at home to write. Forced to face her limitations in the midst of overwhelming changes and losses, Lupita rediscovers her voice and finds healing in the power of words.

Told with honest emotion in evocative free verse, Lupita’s journey toward hope is captured in moments that are alternately warm and poignant. Under the Mesquite is an empowering story about testing family bonds and the strength of a young woman navigating pain and hardship with surprising resilience.

Finally, here are two poetry related books I look forward to reading sometime this year:

The Playbook by Kwame Alexander

Summary: You gotta know the rules to play the game. Ball is life. Take it to the hoop. Soar. What can we imagine for our lives? What if we were the star players, moving and grooving through the game of life? What if we had our own rules of the game to help us get what we want, what we aspire to, what will enrich our lives?

Illustrated with photographs by Thai Neave, The Playbook is intended to provide inspiration on the court of life. Each rule contains wisdom from inspiring athletes and role models such as Nelson Mandela, Serena Williams, LeBron James, Carli Lloyd, Steph Curry and Michelle Obama. Kwame Alexander also provides his own poetic and uplifting words, as he shares stories of overcoming obstacles and winning games in this motivational and inspirational book just right for graduates of any age and anyone needing a little encouragement.

Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds

Summary: A cannon. A strap. A piece. A biscuit. A burner. A heater. A chopper. A gat. A hammer A tool for RULE

Or, you can call it a gun. That’s what fifteen-year-old Will has shoved in the back waistband of his jeans. See, his brother Shawn was just murdered. And Will knows the rules. No crying. No snitching. Revenge. That’s where Will’s now heading, with that gun shoved in the back waistband of his jeans, the gun that was his brother’s gun. He gets on the elevator, seventh floor, stoked. He knows who he’s after. Or does he? As the elevator stops on the sixth floor, on comes Buck. Buck, Will finds out, is who gave Shawn the gun before Will took the gun. Buck tells Will to check that the gun is even loaded. And that’s when Will sees that one bullet is missing. And the only one who could have fired Shawn’s gun was Shawn. Huh. Will didn’t know that Shawn had ever actually USED his gun. Bigger huh. BUCK IS DEAD. But Buck’s in the elevator? Just as Will’s trying to think this through, the door to the next floor opens. A teenage girl gets on, waves away the smoke from Dead Buck’s cigarette. Will doesn’t know her, but she knew him. Knew. When they were eight. And stray bullets had cut through the playground, and Will had tried to cover her, but she was hit anyway, and so what she wants to know, on that fifth floor elevator stop, is, what if Will, Will with the gun shoved in the back waistband of his jeans, MISSES.

And so it goes, the whole long way down, as the elevator stops on each floor, and at each stop someone connected to his brother gets on to give Will a piece to a bigger story than the one he thinks he knows. A story that might never know an END…if WILL gets off that elevator.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Good People Get Fired, But Is a “Failure Résumé” the Best Way to Cope With It?

Here’s a workplace truism that’s hard to dispute: Good people frequently get fired.

Steve Jobs got fired from Apple, eventually returning to build it into the highly profitable, trend-setting company that it is today. Oprah Winfrey, Walt Disney, and Harry Potter author JK Rowling all got fired too.

Pointing out all the famous people who once were “involuntarily terminated” is something that helps to boost the spirits of people who just lost their job,  but take it from me when I tell you that no matter how much you try to sugar coat it … getting fired really, really sucks

I’ve had a lot of jobs, and the more jobs you have the greater the odds are that your number will come up and the workplace reaper will get you, too.

It’s happened to me before, and at the end of 2018, it happened to me again. As you might imagine, it didn’t make for a very Happy New Year. Yes, it really sucked.

Should you fess up to failure?

When I was younger, I would have had an emotional reaction to this event and gone through the 5 stages — anger, denial, depression, bargaining, acceptance — but now that I’m older, I just consider it another hurdle to get past.

But that’s easier said than done. And that’s why I was interested in the concept of the “failure résumé” that Tim Herrera recently wrote about in The New York Times.

Here’s the idea as he explained it:

“Whereas your normal résumé organizes your successes, accomplishments and your overall progress, your failure résumé tracks the times you didn’t quite hit the mark, along with what lessons you learned.“

And why would we want to track our failures? As Herrera puts it:

“Because you learn much more from failure than success, and honestly analyzing one’s failures can lead to the type of introspection that helps us grow — as well as show that the path to success isn’t a straight line.”

Well, he’s right about that. People DO tend to learn a lot more from their failures, as someone noted in a really insightful post here at FOT titled Smart Leaders Know That Letting People Fail Can Help Them Improve and Grow.

“No greater personal failure”

As that writer pointed out:

“People need to “fail” if they are to truly grow, and the greatest and most meaningful learning experiences usually come from those times when things don’t go very well. … Want to build better employees who will take smart risks? Letting them fail on occasion, and having them learn from their failure, is a good way to get there.”

In my book, there’s no greater personal failure than getting fired — even if it’s not your fault and there was nothing you could have done to stop it. I know that people like Liz Ryan make the case that you should just go out and find another job, but that’s easier said than done.

It also doesn’t account for the fact that most people put a chunk of their self-worth into their work. If they need to leave their job, they want to leave it with their pride and self-worth intact — on their own terms and on their own schedule.

However, the reality is that when you get fired, you usually get very little of that, if you get any at all.

If you dig into this New York Times piece on the “failure résumé,” you’ll notice that this trend seems to be popular among academics, particularly people with a Ph.D, and that they encourage people to publish their “failure résumé” the way you would one that was accomplishment based.

But, the published example of a “failure résumé” that The Times points to is pretty scary. It seems like a classic case of TMI and something that you would never, ever want to share publicly for any reason.

Another way to track your shortcomings

I like the notion of tracking the hows and whys of personal failure, but I would never, ever want to broadcast it to the world … and the unforgiving and judgmental eyeballs of every idiot who can type just well enough to use social media.

My version of a “failure résumé” is a comprehensive list I keep of jobs I’ve applied for — when, where, and what happened. This is just as humbling as publishing a résumé of my failures, if not quite so public. It also gives me great insight into my personal recruiting and hiring process.

Guess what I’ve found from this? When I did it around 10 years ago, I was able to see that my direct mail marketing success rate was about 10 percent. That is, I got a solid response or interview from one out of 10 of the 120 plus companies I reached out to.

That wasn’t too bad, I thought, but today it’s a whole different story.

I’ve been looking for a full-time job for two years and have reached out to somewhere in the neighborhood of 175 companies … and my direct mail success rate is down in the 1-2 percent range. The odd part of this is that today I’m even more experienced than I was 10 years ago, and have a lot more perspective and insight. Plus, I know that my skills have improved as well.

Getting better all the time

Some people, like fine wine, get better with age.

What has changed, however, is that today I’m thought to be “overqualified” — aka, too old, too experienced, too expensive — and I can’t get the time of day from recruiters and talent managers for a great many jobs I’m clearly qualified to at least interview for.

Plus, the overall candidate experience seems to be a whole lot worse as well.

There’s a part of me that feels that publishing a “failure résumé” would be incredibly liberating. But that’s the optimistic side of me coming out. My pragmatic side sees the “failure résumé” as just another thing for jaded and overwhelmed TA pros to use against candidates who are already fighting against a system they feel is stacked against them.

As more than one friend of mine has told me, “Wow, I thought everybody was fighting to find good candidates today. What does it say if someone like you can’t get hired with all the skills and great experience you bring to the table?”

I can’t disagree with that assessment, but I do know one thing: Yes, lot of good people get fired, and a “failure résumé” may help keep you focused on how to improve yourself, but publicly sharing that information is suicidal in today’s recruiting and hiring environment.

I wish it wasn’t so, because a very public failure résumé” DOES have its merits. Unfortunately, none of them have anything to do with getting hired somewhere. 

The post Good People Get Fired, But Is a “Failure Résumé” the Best Way to Cope With It? appeared first on Fistful of Talent.

from Fistful of Talent http://bit.ly/2DCJ50l

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐚𝐝𝐞'𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: romantic friendship btw ... there's feels galor

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

INTP

Ravenclaw

Chaotic Good

Gemini Sun, Aquarius Moon, Virgo Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You have really cute nicknames for each other: asshole and jerk-off.

・It took a lot of time for Jade to warm up to you.

・Which you found a little funny; to you it was like a game. Some days it was 'lets see how many buttons I can push before he blows up.'

・Not to make you feel bad reader - Jade is an absolute awful person at times.

・However, he is incredibly interesting and very smart (not like you would ever tell him that).

・But part of the reason why you hang around him so much is because ... god you find him so attractive.

・And what is there to do in Fromville???

・Having a crush is so normal - it's harmless and it changes your thoughts from extisential to gushy and warm.

・Jade had absolutely no clue about your feelings.

・A lot of his focus is on finding out clues and you always offer to help, but it wasn't until recently that he let you help.

・A big factor why he never wanted you to help was because he thought you would think he was crazy...or crazier then you already thought.

"Look, I've been seeing things..." he took a large gulp of the shitty vodka and wiped his mouth.

"Yes, I am aware," you answered curtly.

"Really, fucked up things. And I'm sorry if I disappear, but they just feel ... so real."

・It was then that you realised how serious this was.

"I can help you Jade. Please, let me help."

・His gaze couldn't meet yours. Not until you got up and sat next to him, gently holding his hand in your own.

"Please let me in. I promise not to rile you up ... all the time."

・Low and behold, Jade Fuckin' Herrera smILED. And butterflies erupted inside you.

"Why do you keep wanting to help me?" He asked in almost a whisper. His shoulder rubbed against yours and you thought you might explode.

"I like you."

・The words came out without your permission. and you nearly slapped your hand over your mouth.

"You like me?" Jade's eyebrow raised and then knotted together.

"Yes," you squeaked.

And then he smirked.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Pretends To Be Annoyed (Jade) x Knows He's Pretending But Is Trying To Push His Buttons (You)

Two damaged individuals who attach themselves to each other

Will follow each other to the end of the earth

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies-to-Lovers

Growth through Adversity

Intertwined Destinies

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Sexy Boy by Air

[musiccosmosru]

Getty ImagesVivien Killilea

When you visit Goop’s website, an article called “The Minimalist: The Woman Leading the Charge to End Plastic Pollution” appears underneath a rotating gallery of Paltrow-approved goods. Among them, a $1,290 sweater from Caroline Herrera, a $1,700 cigar ring encrusted with diamonds, and a $925 Serves bucket bag that could support the weight of a single Goop jade egg (on a still day).

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And so this is Goop’s great paradox; for a brand that evangelizes the importance of self care in every day life, the price tag they’ve attached to wellness is a tough pill to swallow—and I’m not talking about their $90 vitamins.

And yet, the Goop brand has grown astronomically in the last decade. What was once a simple lifestyle e-newsletter sent from G.P.’s kitchen is now reportedly a $250 million wellness brand streamlining editorial content, a line of original beauty products, and third-party goods like Sex Dust, crystal-infused water bottles, and Altitude Oil—”an inhalation essence that fully transforms the in-flight experience”—for when the miracle of human flight just doesn’t get you off anymore. C’est la vie.

Getty ImagesMat Hayward

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This idea of enhancing your life with wellness products is one that I, like many, have bought into (literally). There’s an aloe plant sitting on my desk as I write this, because I read that it helped to purify the air. I put a shot of collagen in my coffee this morning because it helped me trick myself into thinking I felt “well” and “good” even though I was out at a Britney Spears concert until 1 a.m. last night.

It seems to me that Goop is at the forefront of this trend—pulling the wool over your own eyes. So when the New York Times published a recap of of Gwyneth Paltrow’s recent visit to a Harvard business class (where she discussed the inner workings of the company), you better believe I gave it a big ‘ole click.

In the lecture, G.P. illustrates Goop’s seemingly astrological alignment with “radical wellness” and the deliberate way she hires “smart people with founder DNA” and working mothers because “[t]hat bitch will get things done.”

Getty ImagesMatt Winkelmeyer

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Of the lecture, the NYT writes that “The students nodded studiously as [Paltrow] spoke about her clothing line and CPGs and ‘contextual commerce’ and open rates and being ‘cash positive,'” but that the class inevitably began to drill G.P. with questions about Goop’s elitist nature. Or, as Paltrow calls it, “aspirational.”

“It’s crucial to me that we remain aspirational.”

“It’s crucial to me that we remain aspirational. Not in price point, because content is always free,” Paltrow answered one student. “Our stuff is beautiful. The ingredients are beautiful. You can’t get that at a lower price point. You can’t make these things mass-market.”

And of course, by “aspirational,” I take Paltrow to be revealing the nature of that sweet spot where she’s pinned her target consumer—between wanting to be and being. In Goop, Paltrow has re-defined wellness, brilliantly expanding the market to infinite proportions. In an ironically exhausting scramble to care for yourself in the most exorbitant ways imaginable, G.P. is steadily raising the bar just as someone is about to graze it with the tip of their finger. In this regard, Goop’s following lives in limbo, encompassed by the orgastic sensation that they are almost well. Almost good. Almost Goop.

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The brand’s definition of wellness is just unattainable enough that it keeps consumers pining to reach the next rung in the ladder, whether that’s sexual wellness, spiritual wellness, wellness of the skin, or some feeling of yes, I am contrived from rolling a rose quartz crystal across your forehead. It’s a smart business model, to create a new “aspirational” standard of health powerful enough to reverberate throughout the entire wellness industry. But at what cost? Taller, Slimmer, Younger: 21 Days to a Foam Roller Physique is just $22.

<a style="display:none" rel="follow" href="http://megatheme.ir/" title="قالب وردپرس">قالب وردپرس</a>

The post Gwyneth Paltrow Breaks Down Goop’s 250M Biz Model to Eager Harvard Students appeared first on MusicCosmoS.

[givekennyabreak]

Refuge (Kenny Liu x gn!reader)

Summary: Life is tough at whatever the hell this town is, but at least Kenny got you by his side.

Word count: 733

Rating: M

Warnings: spoilers for s2e3 of From, mentions of blood, death, canon compliant violence and gore, a lot of swearing, reader is hinted to wear glasses, hugs, use of (Y/N).

The loud slam of the front door is what startles the duo.

"The fuck?" Swears Jade, as they watch Kenny storm by without a single word.

The chess board is on the coffee table between them, ivory pieces thrown around as Jade tried to teach his confused friend how to actually play it - not just imitate my little pony characters with the horse pieces.

"Something's wrong." (Y/N) whispered, already standing up from their seat on the couch.

"He probably saw his crush with her fianceé again-"

"Dude, he'd just sulk." They retorted, brows furrowing, glasses slipping down their nose. "Something bad happened."

Jade opened his mouth to say something again, but whatever it was got lost as the resident fix-it 'guy' turned around and towards Kenny's room.

"Well, fuck me, then."

Three quick raps against the door was enough to let Kenny know who was on the other side.

His mom called out to him instead of knocking and Jade knocked once before storming in shouting or mumbling from time to time.

"What is it?" He asked, voice strained. It wavered a little, and he heard a small thump against the wood - his friend leaned their forehead against it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" (Y/N) said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear.

The freckled man chewed on his bottom lip, fists clenching by his side. He wanted to stop - to sit or lay down, he was absolutely fucking tired, but his legs wouldn't stop pacing around.

He just saw a young, bright woman die with an iron stick through her head, and those things, those monsters, had the audacity to leave her there to suffer more and more and more until-

"Kenny?" (Y/N) whispered, softly, still waiting for his answer.

"Come in, please."

The deputy kept his eyes on the ground. He heard the door open, and then close; then, a pair of black combat boots appeared in his field of vision.

"Kenny, look up, please."

He didn't. He wouldn't dare look up because he'd see his friend's innocent, happy face and remember the screams amidst the forest.

The first tears fell without him realizing.

The sobs wracked through his body like the thunderstorm a couple of days ago, and it was only then that Kenny felt his friend actually hoist him up by his waist (with little struggle) and his legs soon felt the soft mattress against them. With a small push, he sat down, still looking at the ground, and (Y/N) kneeled by him.

"I don't know what happened." They said, hands cupping Kenny's freckled, warm cheeks. "But I'm here for you. If you do say anything or not, I will be here."

"They- they stuck an iron stick through one of the passengers head's." The deputy managed to say through the sobs, his own hands now engulfing the ones over his cheeks. "She was in the forest. They kept her a-alive."

(Y/N) gritted their teeth, jaw set tight.

"And she felt nothing at all, until she started to scream and then Boyd had to pull the thing out and Kristi held her hand and all Ellis and I could do was watch as she died stuck to a tree in a forest in the middle of nowhere without being able to call her mom one last time!"

The deputy cried harder then, holding his friend's hands with an iron grip. He sobbed until his body shook, and the entire time (Y/N) stayed close to him, their own forehead resting on the crown of Kenny's head.

At some point, the freckled man let go of their hands, and snuck his arms around their waist instead, hiding his teary face on the crook of their neck. (Y/N) opted to hug him back, one of their hands on the back of his head, pointer finger drawing random patterns on the soft black hair.

"I'm sorry." Kenny whispered, still sniffling. "Sorry to dump this all on you."

"Don't ever be sorry about telling me these things, Kenny." They retorted. "I'm here for you, always. No matter how gruesome or cruel, you can let it out to me."

Kenny, for the first time since he got home, looked up at his friend.

Lopsided smile, fogged up glasses, wild hair sticking up to all possible directions, gentle eyes.

"You can always count on me."

Kenny smiled back.

"I know."

Okay this was a RIDE

I hope I made all the two characters justice lmao sorry if I made Jade seem annoying, he just strikes me as an annoying brother (like my own younger brother) so yeah

Hope y'all like it :)

Also if the English is kinda wonky pls tell me bc I'm a tired Brazilian worker :')

[divorcingjimmatthews]

Second Chances - Part II (Jade Herrera x Reader)

Summary: Jade does his best to help you settle in the town, in his own way.

My Jade brainrot is too strong 🥴

After a brief tour of the house, your proxy had left you to unpack your belongings in the small room that you were set to share. Clara's bright and hopeful nature almost made you feel like things were normal—if the state of the building and her own eye injury did not serve as reminders of the horrors that you'd seen in this place you found yourself in, you could have even said that it was nice.

Trying to focus on what you had in front of you, you sat on the floor by your open suitcase, many of your belongings already scattered across the floor. Your clothes, your towels... did it even make sense to put it all away in the closet? It's not like you were going to actually stay here, right...?

"—Hey." Jade greeted you before lightly knocking on your open door, startling you enough to nearly make you drop what you were holding. "Bad moment?"

"N-No. What is it?" You replied, rushedly unfolding a towel just to fold it again, more neatly. "I'm just trying to get this mess out of the way before Clara comes back."

"Mess?" Jade asked, looking at all that you had laid on the floor. "I thought this is what this place always looked like."

You shot him an unamused look and sighed, then grabbed a t-shirt and threw it for him to catch. "Why don't you help me instead of being mean?"

Jade chuckled, clearly finding his own joke funny, and your reaction even more so. "Sorry. In that closet?"

"Yes." You replied, catching yourself lightly chuckling as well. It was contagious. "You still didn't tell me why you're here, though."

Jade folded the t-shirt rather aptly and placed it on one of the closet's empty shelves, then shrugged.

"You know. I just thought you'd appreciate seeing a bit more of my... familiar face."

You stopped what you were doing. You had not forgotten how sweet he could be, in his own way, but you had the faint hope that you weren't so weak for it now as you were three years ago.

"I do. Thanks. I... I appreciate that."

He flashed a warm smile in your direction and sat down opposite you to "help" you sort the rest of your stuff, in the same way that a cat might "help" you work on a sewing project.

He went over all the electronics you were carrying, not caring where he put each device down after he inspected it. He then found a comic book and he started flipping through the pages with interest, which kept him busy for a while. Eventually, the sight caught your eye and you couldn't hold back a small laugh.

"Jade." You told him, clearly endeared. "You're not helping."

He closed the book and threw his hands up in the air in protest. "Of course I'm helping! Where does this go?"

You took a quick look around the room and located a small bookshelf on the wall, with some space still in it. "Hmm... over there."

Obediently, Jade stood up to put the book where it belonged, and you turned back to your suitcase. As you reached for the next piece of clothing in the queue, you had a sudden realization—and you regretted every single choice you'd made while packing for this trip.

You hoped that Jade was too busy with the books to have seen what you saw, but one look in his direction was enough to let you know that you had been caught red-handed. He walked back to his spot and knelt down on one knee, reaching into the suitcase and producing from it a white shirt that had once belonged to him.

He gave you the most puzzled look. "You kept this?" 

"It's Dolce & Gabanna." You defended youself, flustered. "I wasn't going to throw it away."

There was silence.

"Okay." He finally said, sparing you the question of why you'd bring it on your trip with it.

The answer was easy, of course. Not over a month ago, you had seen it on the news that he was presumed dead. It had not been easy to keep the messy feelings that resurfaced in check.

"Okay?" You asked, surprised that he'd let you off the hook that easy.

He nodded. "Mh-hm. Where do I put it?"

"Oh—it's yours." You rushed to say. "You... you can have it back."

Jade recalled the day that he gave it to you in the first place. It was the first out of the grand total of two weeks that you had spent "together", if you could call it that. After he'd stayed at your apartment for a few days, you didn't want him to go. You said you'd miss him that night, and so, in came the shirt.

He also recalled how seeing you in nothing but that shirt easily convinced him to reschedule an important business trip just so he could stay with you for one more day and one more night.

"It's fine." He said, standing back up to hang it on your closet. "There's no keeping white clean in this place anyway."

You smiled a little.

"Are you going to be okay here?" He asked.

A small beat before your answer betrayed your certainty. "Yeah. Donna seems to know what she's doing. I trust her."

"Good. Just do what she says." He told you, taking a step towards the door. "I'll see you around?"

You nodded. "Sure. See... see you around."

You looked down for a moment, lost in thought, and when you looked back up, he was gone. You tried to tell yourself that you parted ways for a reason.

Over and over through the day.

At dinner.

While you brushed your teeth.

And as you reached into your closet for his shirt that very same night.

[witchthewriter]

Jade: name one thing you want to try in the bedroom

Y/N: seeing you get a full 8 hours of sleep