#AND HIS BABY SISTER IS MY CONSULAR | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shynmighty · 1 year

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All my SWTOR OCs (so far)

Because I love them. Also! I’m always down to talk OCs and answer questions, but am terrible at initiating conversations! And if you play on the Star Forge server and happen to bump into any of these guys, feel free to say hi!

Warning! Long, rambling post is long and rambling. 😅

EDIT: Added in the newest additions and updated the Dark Silverblade Universe!

AEONY SILVERBLADE Jedi Knight (Guardian) Aeony can come off as cold or aloof at first. In truth, she carefully controls her emotions in accordance with her somewhat rigid interpretation of the Jedi code. A second generation Jedi, her proficiency for lightsaber combat is matched by a powerful sensitivity to the Force. Aeony is (perhaps a little unfairly) critical of her Jedi mother’s decision to raise a family in secret. Once she became a Jedi herself, she dedicated her life to the Order and swore to uphold the Jedi code to the letter. These deeply held beliefs were shaken when she fell in love with her former nemesis, Arcann, and began a romantic relationship with him.

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FALX SILVERBLADE Sith Inquisitor (Assassin) Aeony’s younger sister. Their home was attacked when both girls were still quite young, resulting in the death of their mother. Aeony escaped the destruction, but Falx was not so lucky -- she was captured by the Sith and sold as a slave. She remembers little of her former life, but the scars she bears from a life in slavery don’t vanish so easily. After displaying proficiency in the Force, Falx was sent to Korriban where she excelled. Dangerously unstable and vicious, Falx found her way to a seat on the Dark Council not long thereafter. Nowadays her marriage to Theron Shan tempers some of her more unpredictable characteristics, but she’s always prepared to remind anyone who doubts it of exactly how deadly she can be.

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AESECA SILVERBLADE Jedi Consular (Sage) The youngest of Aeony’s sisters, Aeseca was little more than a baby when their home was attacked, and does not remember any of that horrific event. Her entire life, as she remembers it, was lived in the Jedi Order. Aeseca grew up worshipful of her eldest sister and her accomplishments, wishing to someday match them with her own. Although this outwardly looks like ambition, a deeply seeded sense of inferiority is closer to the truth. Despite her own impressive achievements, Aeseca constantly compares herself to Aeony, and only time will tell if she can learn to accept herself.

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CHRYSANDER Jedi Knight (Sentinel) Chrysander grew up an orphan in the same Jedi Enclave as Aeony and Falx, and was more or less an adopted big brother. After the Enclave was razed by the Sith, he was separated from the Silverblade family and spent a number of years surviving on his wits alone. He later decided to return to the Jedi and complete his training, reuniting with Aeony much later when they were both Jedi Knights. Chrysander’s sense of humor often clashes with his steadfast Jedi persona. He is immensely fond of his Sith girlfriend, Lana Beniko, as well as his beloved pet grophet, Otis. He’s still working on getting them to be fond of each other.

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TAIJAX Jedi Consular (Shadow) Taijax was another orphan child from the Jedi Enclave. As a boy, he was frequently seen trailing after Chrysander and the girls, eager to join in their games. Little is known of his origins, although he vaguely recalls being shunned by the Chiss for his early force sensitivity. He holds no grudges, however, and was more than happy to continue his life in service to the Jedi. His personality can best be described as “mystical”. He is studious, patient and sometimes annoyingly considerate.

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VHESPASIAN SILVERBLADE (AKA CIPHER NINE) Imperial Agent (Sniper) Unbeknownst to Aeony and Fhalx, there is a whole Imperial branch of their family, presided over by an enigmatic Sith grandfather! After his parents were killed in a skirmish with Jedi, Vhespasian was left behind and raised by said grandfather. When it became clear that he displayed no proficiency in the Force, Vhespasian joined Imperial Intelligence. A chronic overachiever and effortless diplomat, Vhespasian is known to go out of his way to solve his problems with charm rather than his rifle. If the situation requires the rifle, however, he happens to be uncannily proficient with that, too.

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AEIRYSS SILVERBLADE Trooper (Vanguard/Operative) Vhespasian’s elder sister developed a distaste for Imperial culture early. When the Jedi defeated her Sith parents, Aeiryss implored them to take her with them. Leaving behind her brother and grandfather as a young child, she was adopted by a Republic family on Coruscant and enlisted in the military when she came of age. Stubborn, courageous, and patriotic, Aeiryss quickly rose through the ranks and became the leader of Havoc Squad.

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AECENITH SILVERBLADE Bounty Hunter (Mercenary) Aeiryss’s twin sister does not share her misgivings about the Empire and decided to remain with her family... At least for the time being. Truthfully, she doesn’t care about the Empire at all. She was happy enough to mooch off her grandfather’s fortune until she came of age and struck out on her own. With only some armor and a pair of trusty blasters, Aecenith decided that the life of a Bounty Hunter was her calling. But where others see a spoiled rich kid playing at hunting bounties, Aecenith does adhere to a sense of honor, even if few understand it. Her path leads her to become a Mandalorian, which gives her a sense of purpose beyond herself.

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THE DARK SILVERBLADE UNIVERSE

This is an AU I created in which Aeony is killed during the attack on her home and the changes that take place in that event. Without Aeony, things wind up a little different!

AEMBER SILVERBLADE Smuggler (Operative) In this timeline, Falx (whose name at birth was Aember) becomes a smuggler, and ends up the Alliance Commander instead. Although she was still captured by slavers as a child, the slavers were attacked by pirates. Intrigued by her unlikely rescuers, Aember decided against returning home and joined the crew. Spending her life in the underworld, she honed her unconventional skill in combat, carefully concealing her ability in the Force. Eventually left the pirates to strike out on her own as a smuggler. That, of course, brought its own problems.

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DARK CHRYSANDER (KHRYSANDER) Sith Inquisitor (Marauder) Like Aember, in this timeline things go a bit differently for Chrysander. Instead of Falx, he was the one who wound up being enslaved. The trauma and abuse drove him to the Dark Side, and he spent most of his life imprisoned and partially feral. Released by the Emperor’s mandate that more recruits be sent to Korriban, Chrysander was given the chance to prove himself as a Sith, and found himself the apprentice of Lord Zash. He still loves grophets. He just also loves murder and mayhem.

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DARK VHESPASIAN (VHESPASIEN) Sith Warrior (Assassin) In this universe, Vhespasian wound up being Force sensitive after all! This changes his worldview, of course. The morality he would find otherwise is replaced with self-entitlement and an appetite for destruction. This is tempered only by a strong appreciation of Sith culture which lends itself to an honor code that only Vhespasian seems to understand. Earning his grandfather’s favor, he is proudly sent to Korriban, where he promptly excels and becomes the apprentice of Darth Baras... and later the Emperor’s Wrath.

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That’s the gang! Hope you enjoyed! 😊

#swtor #SWTOR OC #shy's OC #yay they're all in one place!

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swtorcompanionsgoofin · 3 years

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I FINISHED THE SMUGGLER STORY. I FINISHED LIROH’S STORY. I GOT HIM TO THE END OF IT, FINISHED IT, AND IT’S AMAZING.

HE HAS A NEW JACKET NOW. AND I SPENT LIKE 10 MINUTES GETTING UNREASONABLY EMOTIONAL TALKING TO ALL THE COMPANIONS AND FINISHING UP THEIR PERSONAL CONVERSATIONS AND I’M GOING TO C RY. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

THIS SCRUFFY, WEIRD LITTLE FAMILY.

I LOVE IT SO MUCH ;V;

#swtor #my swtor #swtor smuggler #liroh #vooretta legacy #The First Continuity #AND #AND AND AND AND AND #LIROH'S OFFICIALLY WORKING FOR THE JEDI NOW #AND HIS BABY SISTER IS MY CONSULAR #SO HE'S GONNA SEE HER MORE #AND IT'LL BE LEGIT AND OFFICIAL AND NOT JUST HIM BEING A LITTLE SHIT AND SNEAKING HIMSELF ONTO TYTHON #I'M GONNA S CREAM #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

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synoxshots · 4 years

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OC list

Yo! I’ve finished the Big Update to my oc page, filling in nearly all the characters in my legacy and including my two new Sith babies. I’m also cross-posting here under the cut in case it’s easier/because I’m extra.

Edited and up to date as of September 2020.

Universe notes:

Main universe has Yalla’ra as the Outlander/Alliance Commander, all fit into that barring Iphedarius

Iphedarius is my dark side Outlander/Commander AU - as I couldn’t see her playing nicely enough to fit in to an Alliance that wasn’t her own.

Qiren also has an AU where she is the Outlander and the Alliance doesn’t side with either the Republic or Empire. In Yalla’ra’s universe Ticcer is the story-canon smuggler, Qiren funds the Star Fortress resistances before formally joining the Alliance.

Yalla’ra

Class: Jedi Knight

Type: Guardian

Species: Miraluka

Born: 12 BTC

Born on the Miraluka homeworld of Alpheridies, Yalla'ra's force talents were clear from a young age and led her to join the Jedi Order. She quickly rose to prominence whilst learning under Master Orgus Dinn, but despite her triumphs she was far from the ideal Jedi – struggling to control her emotions, being too ambitious, and being prone to acting rashly. After joining the Tol Braga's strike team to face the Emperor, she was haunted by her failure and determined to destroy the Emperor no matter what the cost. Despite her success, the dark path she led strained her relationship with the Jedi Council, who denied her the rank of master despite her achievements.

Her path changes after meeting the ghost of Orgus Dinn on Rishi, who helps her realise she's lost perspective of what a Jedi should really be. She regains her memories of her time being possessed by the Emperor and is overwhelmed with guilt – for her actions then, but also before and since. As Alliance Commander she follows the path of the light, being determined to have a positive impact on the galaxy by first and foremost helping its citizens.

Ticcer

Class: Smuggler

Type: Scoundrel

Species: Mirialan

Born: 14 BTC

Ticcer was just a teenager when the Sacking of Coruscant happened, orphaning him and his sister and destroying their home. He has to start doing all he can to get by – running small cons, pickpocketing, stealing speeders – all sorts of petty crime that is part of daily life in Coruscant's underworld. He has a natural charm which he uses to swindle as many people as he can, and he also learns to fight dirty to get by.

He hates the Empire for destroying what his life might have been, but is apathetic towards the Republic because they were never there for him and his sister in their time of need. When his sister dies in the crossfire of a fight, he ends up becoming more ruthless and selfish, taking on an attitude of him against the world.

His life as a smuggler starts when a con gets a bit too big on him, leading to him killing the guy in self defence and running off with his ship filled with guns to be delivered offworld. Ticcer happily obliges and falls in love with the life he finds, first falling in with a smuggling crew and later deciding to go out on his own.

Ruka’ii

Class: Jedi Consular

Type: Sage

Species: Human

Born: 10 BTC

Ruka'ii is devoted to the force, always believing she is following in the path it has laid out for her and trusting in it to guide her actions. She believes her role as a Jedi is to serve others and the Republic, and as such completes her missions without complaint to the burdens placed upon her.

She always seeks to understand the people she meets and their motivations, and would much rather use her words than resort to combat. She believes in justice and redemption, willing to give her enemies a second chance wherever possible. She is also unafraid to stand up to her allies when she believes their choices are leading to a dark path, even when this may be a hindrance to their objectives. She has a talent for diplomacy and negotiating, which leads to her being chosen to work with the Rift Alliance and gaining the title of master despite her young age.

She is a scholar with interests in history and archaeology, the complexities of the force, and other cultures throughout the galaxy. When she is not away on a mission, she is often to be found studying in the archives on Tython and maintaining contact with her allies from her travels.

Qiren Alto

Class: Smuggler

Type: Gunslinger

Species: Human

Born: 15 BTC

When Qiren Alto started smuggling she thought she'd be all about the money, but somewhere along the line she became the person that stands up from the little guy. Her and her crew still get a good share, but she likes to steal from the rich and give it to the poor – a bit of direct action against the political machines of the galaxy. She believes in loyalty and is happy to help a friend out, but still won't hesitate to take revenge when she's betrayed or someone takes a shot at her reputation. Overall she sees herself as one of the good guys, even if sometimes she's doing the right thing for the wrong reasons or vice versa.

She's a massive flirt, not caring if they're Empress of the Sith or Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, she'll still give them the eye. She's snarky and cocky and aware of her skills, charms, and good looks – and she likes to bring that up as well. She'll find the funny side in even the most serious of situations and make everyone – companions and enemies – roll their eyes. She likes to look the part as well, and believes a good hat and a good jacket are two of the most important things a smuggler should have.

Jayma Oli

Class: Bounty Hunter

Type: Powertech

Species: Human Cyborg

Born: 16 BTC

Growing up on Nar Shaddaa, the underworld was just a way of life for Jayma Oli from a young age. Her parents owned a popular cantina on the city planet, but it was more of a front for the shadier business dealings that went on behind the scenes. Jayma followed in the family profession as soon as she was old enough to hold a blaster, gaining a reputation as an enforcer despite her youth and small stature.

Growing up around spacers gave Jayma an unshakeable wish to travel the galaxy however, and to see the sights she'd heard about in all their stories. When she turned 18 she left her home to live that dream, making a living as a hired gun and soon finding a place for her talents with a smuggling crew. She is professional in her role, following her orders to the letter, and though she doesn't kill for the sake of it she is always determined to defend her honour. Money is her prime motivator over any political beliefs: she has no great love for either the Republic or the Empire, but often finds herself working with the Empire as they offer her the best deals.

Iphedarius

Class: Sith Warrior

Type: Marauder

Species: Sith Pureblood

Born: 14 BTC

Iphedarius was born to an ancient Sith bloodline, and taught from an early age to value and pursue power above all else. As the fifth of six children she faced less pressure from her parents to provide further heirs, and was able to focus fully on her Sith training. She proved powerful in the force, fully giving in to the dark side and encouraging Sith values amongst her companions, and rose to become one of the most powerful Sith in the galaxy in her role as Emperor's Wrath.

She tried to remain faithful to the Emperor for as long as possible, though eventually his atrocities could no longer be ignored and she sided with Darth Marr for his expedition into Wild Space. When Valkorion took up residence in her head, she was at first willing to use his power but realised by doing so she would never have true control. After his defeat she seized the opportunity to become Empress, later returning to become Empire's Wrath after the destruction of the Eternal Fleet.

Xianen

Class: Sith Inquisitor

Type: Assassin

Species: Twi’lek

Born: 12 BTC

Xianen was part of a group of Jedi younglings travelling to an enclave when their ship was attacked by the Sith and all non-humans shunted into slavery, though watched carefully for evidence of their force abilities. Initially she resolves to stay true to the Jedi way and attempts to escape from slavery numerous times with varying levels of success, but over time the punishment she is given breaks her resolve and she gives herself fully to the dark side of the force. She is bitter and angry, vowing revenge against the weak Jedi Order and wishing to show them the full force of the dark side. This delights the Sith, and she is duly sent to Korriban to receive full training.

Emyr Devand

Class: Sith Warrior

Type: Juggernaut

Species: Human

Born: 13 BTC

Emyr Devand was born on Ziost, his parents being active members of the Ziost Liberation Front. His parents did their best to keep their terrorist activities a secret, though drip-fed him some of their ideas and also encouraged him to hide his force-sensitivity, not wanting him to become a Sith. However, when Emyr was nine his parents were uncovered as traitors and sent to prison, leaving him to be raised by his staunchly pro-Empire grandparents.

His grandparents were delighted to discover his force-sensitivity, seeing it as a matter of pride when they sent him off to the Sith academy and a chance to dispel the family shame caused by his parents. He arrives at the academy with much to prove and relishes the chance to finally learn to use his force powers, but his parents have had enough of an influence that he finds himself struggling to give himself truly to the full ideals of the Sith.

Onyxus Vai

Class: Bounty Hunter

Type: Mercenary

Species: Rattataki

Born: 20 BTC

Born on Rattatak but fed up with the planet's warring ways, Onyxus always wished to leave his homeworld behind and seek his fame and fortune in the wider galaxy. His size, physicality, and fighting skills honed on his planet soon helped him to find freelance work for many gangs and spacers in the years that followed. However, despite appearances and his obvious ability, away from the job he is a relaxed, quiet character and known by his friends to be a gentle giant.

Over time as a freelancer, he finds himself repeatedly bumping into the pirate crew of Paxton Rall, the two saving each other several times on their travels before deciding it will save them a lot of time if Onyxus simply joins his crew. The two form a close friendship and later romance, travelling the galaxy and living the pirate lifestyle. Onyxus joins the Great Hunt as part of a harebrained scheme cooked up by the crew after his birthday celebrations, another of their wild plans for fame and adventure. It comes as something of a surprise when he gets accepted, but he soon makes a name for himself as a successful bounty hunter.

Leire Santo

Class: Trooper

Type: Commando

Species: Human

Born: 15 BTC

The child of two Republic military heroes, Leire Santo was always destined to follow in her parents' footsteps. After excelling during her time in a military academy and impressing in early postings, she was scouted to join the elite Havoc Squad. Despite a self-confidence that could at times border on arrogance, the shock of having to suddenly take upon a position of leadership proved to be the making of her. She believes in doing the right thing and never wants to stoop to the Empire's level, even when at times it contradicts the strict letter of the orders given.

Though her injuries cause her to step back from active duty during the war against Zakuul, her leadership skills and tactical insight make her a key member of the Eternal Alliance. As the Alliance formally becomes part of the Republic following the destruction of the Eternal Fleet, Leire is elected as the senator for Odessen.

Ank’aeto’sonu

Class: Jedi Knight

Type: Sentinel

Species: Chiss

Born: 18 BTC

Ank'aeto'sonu - more often known as Kaetos or Kaet - was born on Csilla, a force-sensitive child in a society that shunned force users. Loving their child dearly and wanting a future where they wouldn't be forced into hiding, when Kaetos reached adulthood their parents paid for a series of transports to a Republic core world where they could seek out the Jedi.

Kaetos arrived on Corellia in the days following the Treaty of Coruscant when tensions were still high, and so was initially treated with high suspicion on their meeting with Republic forces. However, their persistence paid off when meeting Jedi Master Tol Braga, and they soon found themself joining the Order as a padawan learner. With a lot of catching up to do, they find their force training both frustrating and hugely rewarding, and in the Jedi Order finally feeling like they have a place where they belong.

#it is done #turns out i couldn't shake the urge to do it #oc list

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shadow-assassin-blix · 3 years

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It’s A Gray Area

CHAPTER 8

Finished the last episode 9 finally and moving on to more fun stuff. Um. Slight near death experience. Some Smut. Not very detailed but tis there. Some fluff. Secrets revealed. I am still yeeting canon out the door because I can.

Everything tag: @mikeisthricedeceased

When they finally returned to Ajon Kloss, she told Poe, “Make sure no one makes our newbie uncomfortable until I return?” As she ran out of the Falcon.

Blix ran toward the med-bay, where Leia was resting on one of the beds, while Ben sat next to her.

“Hi! Okay. Let’s… let’s check things out,” She said trying to catch her breath.

She moved quickly over to Leia and began running scans. Minutes later she was looking over the results and was cautiously happy with what she saw.

“Okay. Okay. Well. Good news, your brain is brightly colored again, and I see no dying areas here,” She reported as she presented them.

“And the bad news?” Ben asked warily.

“Not bad news per se. I don’t know if these effects will last is the main issue. I don’t want you working at all. You are on a stress-free lifestyle indefinitely, Princess Leia. I don’t want anything to aggravate your symptoms. Let’s not… Let’s not waste Luke’s sacrifice to save his beloved sister,” She explained with a sad sigh.

Leia nodded her head understandingly, while Ben looked away clenching his jaw briefly.

“Also… may have turned a baby Sith to our side, no big deal. She’s going to help us find Palpatine and defeat him. I suspect he has some nasty surprises for us in store,” Blix explained, before turning to Ben. “What do ya say? Ready to go fight one last battle?”

Ben nodded his head, determination in his eyes.

“Alright, let’s go work out a plan. Amber, make sure our esteemed patient here, doesn’t move an inch,” She commanded giving Leia a pointed look.

Blix and Ben made their way into the command center, where everyone was discussing the best path to Exegol.

They had a solid plan within an hour, the thing was… they didn’t have the manpower. What they truly needed was the Republic to take up arms and join them, but fear ran deep.

They geared up, and every squadron was given orders to head out. Blix who had her lightsabers and was making sure Rey, Ben, and Maeve were ready, looked around trying to find Poe.

When she did, she spotted him by his X-Wing in his flight gear. She walked over to him after telling them to head to the Falcon, which was going to lead the pack.

“Hey.” She greets watching him get BB-8 ready.

He looked up and said, “Hi. What’s up babe?”

She quietly hugs him, and whispered, “Stay safe Flyboy. You’re not allowed to die remember that.”

He gave a soft chuckle as he hugged her back, “Same to you, Consular.”

She snorted slightly at the title, almost regretting telling him about the Jedi Order.

She presses a quick kiss to his lips, gives BB-8 a pat on his head and moves over to the Falcon.

Soon enough, they were on their way. It was about an hour later when they came to a field of red clouds and lightning. It was a struggle to navigate through for everyone.

When they broke through, what they saw made them all gasp. There was a fleet of Xyston-Star Destroyers before them.

“Finn, set us down and we’ll make our way to Sidious. Stay safe yeah? I still got a lot to teach you, so don’t you dare die,” She warned him as they landed.

“Yes ma’am,” He responded with a laugh.

The four of them made their way down to the platform. Once on it, they were confronted with the Knights of Ren.

“Maeve, Rey, go on ahead. Ben and I will catch up,” Blix ordered, taking her stance with both lightsabers in hand, twirling them.

Ben took out his and stood back-to-back with her. He gave a shrug that reminded her of Han, and she shook her head. The knights surrounded them, and they braced themselves.

One knight to her right, lunged for her and she parried with ease. It didn’t take the two of them very long to defeat the knights together. Once they were all down, they ran forward to catch up to the girls. When they did, they spotted Maeve lying on the ground, and Rey was on her knees trying to catch her breath.

Ben rushed forward to help, and Blix moved to join him but was stopped…. She felt something was off… with Poe.

She reached out to him… her mind racing to find him in the chaos above. When she does, she can see and hear the defeat in his voice.

‘Hey, Flyboy aren’t you always telling me to have hope? Where’s that undying flame?’ She asked him in his mind.

He bit his lip worried, and thought, ‘I don’t know what to d-‘

His thought was caught off as Lando Carlrissian’s voice came over on comms, telling him they weren’t alone.

Blix felt the arrival of hundreds of ships and she broke the line off, cheering him on.

She refocused on the situation at hand and noted that Ben was checking on Maeve, as Rey continued to fight her grandfather. Blix rushed forward as Palpatine sent a bolt of lightning toward Rey. She blocked it with her sabers, pushing it back.

The burst ended quickly and as she gave a twirl of her sabers, Palpatine noted, “Ahh. The Kenobi. Yes. You indeed look just like your grandfather. Think of the power you’d have if you joined the dark side.”

“Thanks, and like my grandfather, I don’t give a fuck. Take your proposition and shove it,” She snarled at him.

He frowned deeply at her, and growled, “Same insolence just like him too. I’ll enjoy killing you.”

He sent wave after wave of lightning bolts at her; she blocked each one as quickly as she could. He snarled before changing his tactic. He sent a bolt directly at Ben and Maeve, who had no way of defending themselves quickly enough. Blix ran forward and dove in front of them taking the bolt.

She gasped hard as the lightning surged through her and her limbs locked. Her vision went black as Rey stood up suddenly. Her mind was numb, and she felt pain just radiating throughout her body. Her eyes clenched shut and when she opened them, she was someplace different.

She was in a temple; she could see large city outside the windows. ’Coruscant?’

“Yes. This is the Jedi Temple in Coruscant. Or at least… when it still existed,” She heard her grandfather’s voice.

She sat up looking at him, confused.

“…am I dead?” She asked slightly panicked.

“No. Not yet. You got very close though,” He informed her as he helped her up.

She looked around, noticing that more and more Jedis were appearing around her.

“She did it. She summoned all of you,” She whispered amazed.

“It wasn’t just her. It was you as well. You are going to be an amazing teacher. If you continue on this course, we feel you will bring the balance back and return the Jedi Order back to its former glory,” Anakin informed her.

“Mh. Former glory? How about… a better version? Because… no offense but… there were many reasons why the Order fell way back when. But I will do my best,” She commented.

Qui-Gon chuckled softly at her, “This is why we think you will do well. You will make an excellent Consular.”

“We will be here for you, just like Rey. May the Force be with you, my dearest,” Her grandfather tells her, pressing a small kiss to her forehead.

They all slowly disappeared along with the room. Her vision was dark, and she eventually came to, looking at 3 very concerned faces hovering over her.

“…Hi. That sucked. Don’t get struck by lightning,” She groaned as she fully awakened.

She heard 3 sighs of relief, and some hands trying to help lift her up into a sitting position. Her head hurt but it was not too terrible. Her chest ached as she breathed; it felt a bit like her ribs were bruised.

“Let’s get out of this hellhole,” She requested gingerly standing up.

Ben wrapped an arm around her, keeping her steady as they walked.

Palpatine was dead. The First Order had been defeated. A ship had landed down near them and picked them up, taking them back to Ajon Kloss.

A medic droid checked over ribs, spritzing some Bacta spray onto them to help begin the healing process.

By the time they had landed, her ribs only lightly ached and she was able to walk without assistance. They looked around through the cheering crowd, trying to find Poe and Finn.

Rey spotted them first, sprinting to them. Ben spotted his mother and rushed over to her. Maeve stood nearby Blix, smiling softly at everyone. One of the other pilots, enthusiastically picked her up, cheering. She laughed at Maeve’s look of surprise.

Blix looked around and moved toward her three favorite people. Poe sees her first and pulls her into a kiss that she gladly returned.

He broke away only to hug her; Finn and Rey joining in. BB-8 beeped and chirped happily at their feet, rolling around in circles.

“We did it!” Blix cheered as they pulled away slightly.

The celebrations went well into the night, with every planet contacting them to send thanks and congrats.

The next day, while still in cheerful moods, they planned their next moves which was to get rid of the last of the Empire’s strongholds.

This process took several weeks to carry out, and while that was done with Poe and Finn in command, Blix continued her training with Rey, Ben, and Maeve. Maeve had gotten a new lightsaber, one that glowed bright orange but was “Infinitely cooler than her old one” as she said.

Her and Poe discussed what had happened within her nightmares and figured their best plan was to go see if there were any clues within her mother’s belongings back on Naboo. However, they had a hard time planning a few days to do so.

In fact, they hardly got to see each other much over the past few weeks. One day, she was working in the med-bay, training some new hires, when Poe walked in. She smiled brightly at him, but quickly scanned him with her eyes to make sure he was okay. She finished up her talk with the newbies and walked over to him.

“Hi. Are you okay?” She checked first just to be sure.

“Yeah. I’m okay honey. In fact… I hate to do this but…” Poe said in a mockingly sad tone.

She looked at him confused until he leaned down to lift her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She shook her head at the ridiculousness, ignoring the whistles and catcalls that were thrown their way as he walked. He stopped, and as she heard a small beep, he began walking again, into his room she swiftly identified.

He sets her down into a chair at his kitchen table, where she sees dinner was laid out before her. Poe lit the candles that he had placed and handed her a red rose.

She takes it with a smile, “Poe… what is all this?”

“This… is us making time for us. I haven’t seen my girl in a few weeks and it’s honestly quite upsetting,” He tells her matter-of-factly.

They eat, telling each other about their day’s and enjoying each other’s company.

“So, I hear you’ve been learning how to take care of BB-8?” Poe asked with a smile.

“Yeah. My padawans are pretty well versed and are good about training themselves. The med-bay keeps getting new nurses, droids, and I’ve even hired a few new doctors to help ease up the duties for me. So, I’ve been trying to learn skills. Bee is one of the most important things to you, so I want to make sure he is in top shape when he goes out with you,” Blix explained somewhat embarrassed.

“Thank you. He’s… he really adores you. Can’t get him to shut up about you,” Poe states even though BB-8 beeped from his charging station that Poe was just as bad.

Blix chuckled at them as they playfully argued.

“I guess it’s a good thing I love you both then,” Blix tells them, cutting them off.

Poe looked at her shocked.

“I’m sorry…. say that again?” He requested as he moved around to kneel before her.

“I love you,” She confirmed looking down at him.

He leans up, capturing her lips with his. She slowly stands up along with him, still kissing.

“Bee. Go to bed yeah?” She ordered between kisses.

She hears him beep, saying we were being gross anyway, before he powered down.

Poe slowly pulled away and after taking a deep breath, stated, “I love you. So much.”

The next few minutes was a flurry of clothes flying everywhere and stumbling blindly to the bed. When they eventually got on the bed, they stopped, breathes heavy, and stared at each other for a moment.

Blix bit her lip, mischievously, and flipped them over. She smiled at Poe’s look of surprise and enjoyed watching it morph into a look of pleasure as she took him in and began to ride him. Her control didn’t last long, as Poe sat up, thrusting in time with her movements.

They were so desperate for one another that it didn’t take long for either of them to reach their peaks. They came down from their highs, pulling away from one another slowly. When they were able to move again, they both cleaned themselves up, before returning to the bed.

She laid down on his chest with a soft sigh. She slowly fell asleep laying there; Poe laid there for a few moments… He gently slipped off his necklace, taking the ring off. He slipped it on to her ring finger on her left hand, happy that it fit nicely. He pulled it off, putting it back on the chain, before gingerly clipping it around her neck.

He fell asleep with a smile.

The next morning, Blix woke up feeling rested, and happy. She got up, stretching, snatching one of Poe’s shirts and slipping it on. She quietly cleaned up the mess from last night. It was as she was moving that she notice something was on her neck. Her hand reached up to figure out what it was, finding a chain. She followed it to the weight and gasped when she saw it.

His mother’s ring. She bit her lip softly, gazing at the ring with awe. She didn’t notice Poe sitting up and watching her fondly. He cleared his throat, and she jumped slightly as she turned to him.

She walked back over to him, straddling his hips, kissing him.

“Does this mean what I think this means?” She inquired as she sat there.

“Yeah. I want to marry you. I’m… hoping you feel the same way?” He was hesitant.

She looked down at the ring and said, “Yeah. Yeah. I wanna marry you.”

She took off the ring that he gave her on their first date, the pretty pink opal one, and moved it to her left hand.

“I think this one makes a good engagement ring, don’t you? Then you can put this one on me when we get hitch,” She explained tapping on each ring.

“Sounds like a damn good plan. I didn’t get to tell you last night, but I have some time off for the next 2 to 3 weeks. Finn and Leia, on light duty, are going to take over to give me a break. Figured we could use that time to get things done,” He offered with a smirk.

“Sounds good to me. When do we leave?” She asked excited.

“I was thinking around noon. Gives us time to get packed and give out orders. Then we get the Falcon and head out with Bee. Rey will probably join us,” He thought out loud.

She nodded her head getting up again, to finish cleaning up. Poe packed up a bag, and hopped into the refresher to clean up, and got dressed. Once he was done, she got in the refresher as well, and got dressed. She ran over to her room to pack a bag of her stuff; making sure to get her proper credentials and such for when they arrived in Naboo.

Blix met back up with Poe, once that was done, and they waited on each other as they gave out orders for the next few weeks, and to contact them if anything came up.

When they walked up to the Falcon, Rey was waiting for them, BB-8 nearby and chirping happily. The trip to Naboo would take about 3 hours so, they got on board and took off.

Blix directed Poe to where he should land when they arrived, having to give her credential codes to the guards that were still posted at her mother’s home. When they were cleared, they set the Falcon down on the landing pad and Blix stepped off first, greeting the staff that had gathered there.

Poe and Rey stared at the house before them in shock. It was a large and grand home, that was surrounded by beautiful gardens.

Blix looked back at them, wondering why they weren’t with her.

“What?” She asked looking at their shocked faces.

“I… forgot that you were an ambassador’s daughter. Not gonna lie,” Poe answered as he moved forward with Rey.

Blix made a small ‘oh’ as she looked around, somewhat sheepishly.

“Yeah… Sorry. Is this too much?” She examined looking around, rubbing the back of her neck.

“This is where you grew up? Why would you ever leave here?” Rey questioned rushing forward, her eyes wide as she took everything in.

Blix laughed at her reaction, shaking her head. Poe sidled up next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“So… when you said there was room for your students and our kids, you literally meant… a school and our own squadron. With room for more,” Poe noted with a nod of his head.

She just smiled in response and led the 2 of them forward.

“Dax. Where did my mother’s personal journals wind up?” She asked an older gentleman as they walked inside.

“They went into storage in one of the spare bedrooms,” Dax explained showing her to said room.

“Thank you,” She said as she opened the door and revealed a room that had several boxes stacked on top of one another.

It took a few minutes, moving aside and rearranging boxes to get to the ones marked as journals and photos. They dragged them forward and began to open them up.

The three of them began to read through and look through the photos together. They spent 2 hours going through them before Rey gasped.

“Oh. Ohmy.” She handed some photos over to Blix.

Blix looked at them seeing her mom, at a base she couldn’t recognize. Her arms were wrapped around a man, who was dark haired, and from the side profile of the first picture, he was scruffy. She looked at the next couple of photos and saw a man who had dark eyes and didn’t appear to smile very often.

In fact, the only photo she found of him smiling, was one where he was looking directly at the camera but at her mother, with a deep fondness.

“Ma did always say I got my too serious attitude from him. I can see why,” She mumbled looking at him, as she gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment.

“He was very handsome,” Rey complimented with a smile.

“Yeah. He was. She calls him Cass in these passages,” Blix noted gesturing toward the journal in her lap. “Apparently… they weren’t… exclusive.”

“Ooh. Intriguing. Cass? Like. Captain Cassian Andor?” Poe questioned looking over shoulder.

Blix shrugged not really knowing who that was.

She continued reading long after Poe and Rey retreated to go eat. Her mother tended to be sporadic when she wrote. Either she would write for days or there would be several months gap between entries.

She seemed to stop writing around completely around the time Blix was 5. Her last entry was expressing pride over a podrace Blix had won.

“She did so well today. She was so excited to win. I wish you were here Cass. You would’ve loved it. I know this isn’t the way either of us expected life to go, but I feel you would’ve been so proud of her.”

She remembered that race, it was a smaller race, but it was her first win. It was done on Tattooine and she was aware of the gangs that were there to watch. Her competitors were Huttese gangsters and she wasn’t going to let them intimidate her.

When she won, she was congratulated by Bib Fortuna himself and it was terrifying. She was trying to not let her nerve show, waiting for her mother to appear, to rescue her. When she did, she remembered her mother looking proud but there was a sadness in her eyes that she never could explain.

This entry explained that.

She set the journal down, staring off into the distance. She was vaguely aware of Poe coming back in and urging her to follow him. He dragged her to the dining room, where dinner was being served and she sat down at the table.

She quietly ate thinking about everything, more questions racing around her mind.

They eventually went to bed, and she struggled to sleep. She tossed around a few times, before Poe eventually draped himself over her, to settle her movements. She fell into a fitful sleep in his arms.

The next morning after they woke up and got ready, they were having breakfast when the doorbell rang. Dax came to her a few minutes later.

“Miss Kenobi. Maureen Holdo is here,” He informed her.

“Maker. What? Does she have this place bugged?” Blix muttered annoyed, stabbing her eggs.

“As far as we are aware, no,” Dax answered with a hint of a smile.

They heard the clicking of heels coming toward them, and a moment later, an older woman with white hair, and a gaunt face appeared.

“Hello Maureen,” Blix greeted dully, taking a bite of her food.

“Stop taking such large bites and sit up straight. I know I taught you better,” Maureen said in a snobbish tone.

Blix rolled her eyes, “I am an adult. You are not my mother. I can do what I want.”

Maureen pursed her lips.

“What brings you back here, Blix dear?” Maureen asked in a tone that stated she didn’t approve.

She looked over her companions with a twinge of disgust she failed to hide.

“Just needed to look at some of mom’s stuff. That’s it. You can go now, Maureen,” She dismissed getting irritated.

“You’re not even going to tell me about your engagement? I can see the ring from here, not blind yet,” Maureen stated, looking expectantly.

“General Poe Dameron of the Resistance. Formerly Captain of the Navy for the Republic. Now. Get. Out.” She demanded standing up facing her.

Dax stepped forward and began to usher Maureen out of the house.

“Tell me when you start to plan the wedding, I’ll send you samples!” She called out as she was urged out.

“That’s Amilyn’s mother? Really?” Rey asked staring in disbelief.

“We…. Are not letting her anywhere near our wedding plans. She didn’t even greet us. Looked at us like we were something foul. I see why you don’t like her,” Poe remarked with a frown.

“Let’s.. just get the journals and such and get out of here. Lock up everything so she can’t get back in,” She grumbled abandoning her food.

“Dax. Please make sure that woman does not have access to any of the rooms in the house. I don’t trust her,” She requested as Dax re-entered the dining room.

Dax nodded telling her it was already being done.

They grabbed the 3 boxes of journals and photos and took them to the Falcon. Poe insisted that they go see his father on Yavin 4.

They were there within an hour. As the Falcon landed, Blix noticed an older man who looked a great deal like Poe, but with greying hair and prominent laugh lines. She suddenly felt nervous as they stepped off and made their way to him.

“Blix. This is my father Kes Dameron. Dad. This is the love my life. This is also Rey, our kid sister,” Poe introduced proudly.

The first thing Kes seemed to notice was the necklace she wore. He glanced between the two of them, a smile growing on his face.

“So, this is my future daughter-in-law that I’ve heard so much about? I was beginning to wonder if you were real, he talked about you so much before you started dating,” Kes spoke bringing her into a hug.

She wasn’t expecting it, but she slowly returned it with a shy smile.

“He’s told me a lot about you and his mom. I wish I could’ve met her. I feel like we would’ve gotten along really well,” Blix said nervously.

“Oh yeah. She would’ve laughed at the hard time you gave him,” Kes laughed leading them onward.

He led them to a small, quaint home that was somewhat away from the nearby town, hidden by the forest around them.

They spent some time telling stories about battles and such. Rey had many questions and Kes answered them with enthusiasm. Blix who was curled up next to Poe on the couch, realized something that she decided to ask Kes once they were alone.

Rey slowly nodded off in her chair, and Poe quietly walked over to her and picked her. He took her to one of the spare bedrooms.

While he was doing that, Blix asked, “Kes… Did you… did you know my mother? Willow Kenobi?”

“Yes. I did. She was sweet lady. Wiz at technology, though she never liked to brag about it,” Kes answered after thinking for a moment.

“Did… Was… Did you know anyone named Cass?” She finally asked trying to phrase it properly.

“Cassian. Yeah. She was in love with him. Only problem was Cassian was in love with the Rebellion. He lived and breathed it. He did care for your mom a great deal, but… he wasn’t one to talk about feelings,” Kes explained with a half shrug. “Why do you ask?”

“I… I think he might be my father? I’m not… not sure. I was shown…visions… of a great deal of things. None of which made sense. Scarif being one of them. I know it’s highly improbable that anyone could still be alive… but… but I have to check,” She rambled slightly, fiddling with her shirt nervously.

“Mh. Makes sense. She wasn’t really one to sleep around. She only had eyes for him. This is clearly important to you. So, find your answers. Just know they might not be what you’re expecting,” He cautioned, patting her knee comfortingly.

She nodded in response, and followed Poe to their room, when he returned, wishing Kes a good night.

They spent a few days there, getting to know one another, and making some plans for the wedding. Poe was excited and happy to see his father, and she could tell that when they were leaving, it made him sad. He was trying his best to hide it though.

They stood outside the Falcon, and Blix offered, “So… When we finally figure out where we want to live and such, you are perfectly allowed to visit as often as you’d like.”

“Ooh. I may take you up on that and you may regret it slightly,” Kes said in a teasing voice.

Poe looked at her appreciatively and kissed the side of her head.

“Unless we stay at your mom’s home in Naboo. Turn it into a school for Force-sensitive kids,” Poe stated, before mumbling “Have a squadron of our own kids.”

Blix smiled, feeling her cheeks turn red as Kes laughed and Rey snickered at them.

They said their goodbyes and hopped on board the Falcon. It was going to take a few hours to reach what was left of Scarif. She wasn’t sure what they were going to find there. She simply knew… she had to check it out.

#poe dameron x oc #poe dameron #star wars au

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crqstalite · 4 years

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hey please be throwing stuff at my fic recs page (more accurately, my inbox) so i can read stuff over the break and not grow bored and post unholy fanfics.

love interests i love!

theron shan (i adore the way melissagt writes him), andronikos revel (see previous note), lana beniko (though i haven’t run her path yet), zenith (fandom, i beg of you, write more of him, i love my consular’s sniper), doc, kira carsen, lieutenant iresso, aric jorgan, elara dorne, vector hyllus.

love interests i like!

risha, akaavi spar, malavai quinn, koth vortena, mako, torian cadera, major anri (if there are any i need them now), lord cytharat (have yet to run his path w a male warrior preferably), lord scourge, jonas balkar

love interests im okay with!

arcann (anyone from zakuul honestly), vette (vette is more of a sister character to me than a love interest, but i’ll read her as long as it doesn’t take advantage of her past for story purposes)

love interests i won’t read!

nadia grell (a baby) ashara zaavros (also a baby), darth marr (?), satele shan (tf she’s theron’s mom), senya (she’s team mom like tf), jaesa willsaam (very dangerous), skavak (h-he’s dead dude) kaliyo djannis (no reason other than that i don’t like her character, i’d post a rant but you’d grow tired of me very quickly.)

love interests i’m unsure about but will still read!

lemda avesta (haven’t run a pub through makeb, i got bored halfway through and hit 55 so i played shadow instead), raina temple, and any flirty choices through the story. like chance from the imp agent.

i have played the entire game (except for the second arc of makeb but i get the gist of it), so spoilers are good. keep in mind, i am *technically* 15, so while blantant hardcore smut probably isn’t the great recommendation for me, it also isn’t like i haven’t be exposed to it.

go my friends! find me new reading material!

#find me new reading material #fanfiction #swtor fanfiction find #swtor

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aridoeswtor · 4 years

Note

2, 8, and 10 for the swtor

Oh whoa thanks so much for asking! I thought no-one would!

Lets see

2. What is your favorite class and why? And/or list the player classes in order of most -> least favorite

Sith Warrior - > Imperial Agent - > Jedi Consular - > Bounty Hunter - > Sith Inquisitor - > Republic Trooper - > Jedi Knight

Sith Warrior is my favorite class in pretty much everything - the gameplay, the story, the character behavior and dialogue options, companions, how it fits in the expansions, and overall badassery. Imperial Agent is now a close second if not sharing the first place. I think the only reason why SW is #1 is because of lightsabers, but I do enjoy playing with a sniper rifle.

8. Name your top favorite companions (feel free to include reasons why).

Lana, Theron obviously - because they are interesting, well developed, and have a lot of content.

Blizz - you know Jawas for life

T7 - also little droids for life + legacy from Kotor 1 and 2

HK (all of them) - also legacy of Kotor 1 and 2

Vette - she is a baby sister to my SW and a family basically

Doc - he is annoying slimeball but I love him

Kaliyo - she’s gone from most hated to one of most favorite, and that’s because she actually does develop quite a heartwarming friendship with the agent.

Vector - sexy and hurr durr bugs jokes aside, he is an extremely interesting and well-written character

Nadia - she’s like your daughter

Bowdaar - because you know... no Smuggler is complete without a Wookie

Xalek - I know he barely speaks, but for some reason I love him. I was very happy to dump Ashara for him the moment he joined.

Dr Lokin - kindly old monster... nuff said

Quinn - I thoroughly dislike him as a romance, but as a character and a companion he is great. Slimy and hilarious at certain points. I can totally see how a young brash Sith Warrior tried to seduce him since he is so pretty.

Torian - I liked his story and the Mandalorians are cool ofc. How can you not include a Mando.

Jorgan - grumpy cats are the best.

10. Favorite love interest?

In the larger scope of base game plus expansions, definitely Theron. My main SW romances him.

In the origin stories:

Vector - his romance is one of the healthiest I’ve seen in a computer game to date. Agent and Vector don’t dump their problems on each other, there is only support and understanding. Also there is no “fixing” or “saving” anyone from either sides, even though there are so many reasons for fixing. The whole romance is built on the premise that they love each other as they are. Vector doesn’t want the agent to become a joiner, even though it would have been better for him. And the agent can express that even during moments of intimacy she does not mind black eyes and hive mind, because well its what makes him “him”. To me that’s the epitome of a healthy relationship irl (if we discount all the other creepy star wars stuff). Not that I dislike others, it was just really nice to see.

Doc - well, he is a slimeball, but I think he is great for emotional and rash Jedi Knight. To me JK as the character comes across as self-righteous and stubborn, and imo the potential LI needs to be super persistent to break through that. Also I actually do like when NPCs hit on the main character. I’d like the option to put them down gently if I don’t like the romance, but its better than your PC harassing everyone. Also Doc as a character is actually charming, smart, funny, and a generally good guy who is trying to save everyone, getting into all sorts of stupid trouble as he does.

Torian - also an extremely healthy relationship. I don’t remember much about it since I played it a long time ago, but I remember I loved him to bits.

Once again thank you so much for the ask! I def wrote a lot, but looks like I thought wayy too much about it. Thank you!

#swtor #ask

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msmoonicorn · 5 years

Photo

SWTOR Sun: Gentle Giant ~ Ah, the early days :3 This Zenj’amin (or Zenj’a if you’re familiar). He is actually my Jedi Consular main…though I honestly just love my tiny blueberry so much (Deiphos), so I give her tons of exposure (on Hoth :|). He’s extraordinarily affable, and so easily influenced to help anyone. He’s also smooth and graceful in all his movements, in spite of his rather imposing size. I don’t typically like it when everyone is related to everyone else… familial relations do happen, because that’s a dynamic that I like (as with the Cathar sisters and the smuggler twins). My Mirialan boi here is the baby cousin of Baz’a (my main smuggler :3). Neither of them is aware of where the other is until the Eternal Empire storyline

#Zenj'amin #Jedi #Jedi Consular #Mirialan #Deiphos A'journè #Baz'a #SWTOR #SWTOR Sun #SWTOR Pics #Star Wars: the Old Republic

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jjaywmac · 4 years

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This week, I have had a lot of friends reach out to me. Great. Because it is rather bleak in this small apartment in Paris. I have my favorite songs playing on Spotify; Missy is close by; and a lot of projects in the works, so I stay busy. AND, I have WiFi (FINALLY) and favorite programs on the television (BBC and CNN). So, I am NOT bored. Quite the contrary. But, no matter how you look at it, this is not my idea of the way to see Paris during my birthday 2020. Haha. But this surreal event will begin to move on at some point, so I have to “gut up” while I am going through the days. As do all of us.

I have spent a lot of time upgrading my WordPress “Jayspeak” site, so that I now have a link to a “Voluntary Contributions” and “Donations” for readers to help me fund this project. It is hard to be creative when you’re worried about money. And, I am worried about money (along with my health). So, I am considering this creative project “Jayspeak” a business and plan to develop it for my readers and followers. Let’s face it, it is not every day that a woman, 83 and alone, ups and moves to Paris, France, to live and learn. Haha. It even sounds crazy to me!! Well, actually, there have been a lot of problems, and EVERYTHING is expensive. Duh. …which takes me to my birthday, happening on Monday. March 30, 1937. Ugh. I am going to spend some time with Lillie. Who? Lillie Westmoreland, my grandmother. Hang in there! I will try to make it interesting. Jay (also known as “Janet Tallulah Jewell”) is speaking.

One of my friends this week told me this, and I have thought about it a lot.

“… we all carry the blood of our ancestors, and they survived through much more.”

Thus, I thought about “Lillie”. And, I have been thinking about her ever since. WHO? What? Lillie Westmoreland. WHY? What did she survive? I don’t know. This is what I know, sorta. This is her picture. I don’t know how old she was when this was taken. My niece, Deb Prince Kroll, colorized it. She looks to be around 60 to me.

She was born into a family with 11 (COUNT THEM) – eleven!!!!!! children. I don’t know where she was in the line-up. Not oldest; not youngest. I don’t know. I cannot imagine 10 brothers and sisters in the house. Help!!!!! They were not rich. They were not poor. I don’t know. They lived in Royston, Georgia. VERY SMALL TOWN. Ugh. She was born on September 12, 1840. OK, let’s pause for a money to find out what was happening in the world in 1880. This is her father’s obituary that was in the Royston papers at the time of his death. He was a Baptist preacher. (no comment)

Seaborn Westmoreland Obit

Hello, Wikipedia!!! Help.

It was a Sunday. Lillie was born (probably at home) on a Sunday, in Royston, Georgia. The United States had five Presidents during the decade, the most since the 1840s. They were Rutherford B. Hayes, James A. Garfield, Chester A. Arthur, Grover Cleveland and Benjamin Harrison. On that day, James A. Garfield was president. This is what I found interesting about him.

“At the 1880 Republican Convention, Garfield failed to win the Presidential nomination for his friend John Sherman. Finally, on the 36th ballot, Garfield himself became the “dark horse” nominee. By a margin of only 10,000 popular votes, Garfield defeated the Democratic nominee, Gen. Winfield Scott Hancock.

Major power political disputes back then – same as now. As President, Garfield strengthened Federal authority over the New York Customs House, stronghold of Senator Roscoe Conkling, who was leader of the Stalwart Republicans and dispenser of patronage in New York. When Garfield submitted to the Senate a list of appointments including many of Conkling’s friends, he named Conkling’s arch-rival William H. Robertson to run the Customs House. Conkling contested the nomination, tried to persuade the Senate to block it, and appealed to the Republican caucus to compel its withdrawal. But Garfield would not submit: “This…will settle the question whether the President is registering clerk of the Senate or the Executive of the United States…. shall the principal port of entry … be under the control of the administration or under the local control of a factional senator.” Conkling maneuvered to have the Senate confirm Garfield’s uncontested nominations and adjourn without acting on Robertson. Garfield countered by withdrawing all nominations except Robertson’s; the Senators would have to confirm him or sacrifice all the appointments of Conkling’s friends. In a final desperate move, Conkling and his fellow-Senator from New York resigned, confident that their legislature would vindicate their stand and re-elect them. Instead, the legislature elected two other men; the Senate confirmed Robertson. Garfield’s victory was complete.

In foreign affairs, Garfield’s Secretary of State invited all American republics to a conference to meet in Washington in 1882. But the conference never took place. On July 2, 1881, in a Washington railroad station, an embittered attorney who had sought a consular post shot the President. Mortally wounded, Garfield lay in the White House for weeks. Alexander Graham Bell, inventor of the telephone, tried unsuccessfully to find the bullet with an induction-balance electrical device which he had designed. On September 6, Garfield was taken to the New Jersey seaside. For a few days he seemed to be recuperating, but on September 19, 1881, he died from an infection and internal hemorrhage.

That said, I doubt the Lillie’s family was interested in politics or in the world at large, during those day. No radios or television. This was a large family, living in a small town in the Deep South. Just trying to survive during the depression with a large family (Today, with DNA testing, I have confirmed by Ancestry.com that I have LOTS of cousins and cousins of cousins – especially with 11 kids growing up and having kids – black and white. Hey, that was the South during those years. How? I don’t know how. Get over it!

“The 1890s was the ten-year period from the years 1890 to 1899. In the United States, the 1890s were marked by a severe economic depression sparked by the Panic of 1893, as well as several strikes in the industrial workforce. The decade saw much of the development of the automobile. The period was sometimes referred to as the “Mauve Decade” – because William Henry Perkin’s aniline dye allowed the widespread use of that colour in fashion – and also as the “Gay Nineties”, referring to the fact that it was full of merriment and optimism. The phrase, “The Gay Nineties,” was not coined until the 1920s. This decade was also part of the Gilded Age, a phrase coined by Mark Twain, alluding to the seemingly profitable era that was riddled with crime and poverty.” – Wikipedia

Here is another picture. I think she is 16.

She would have been 16 in 1896, and there were football teams at the University of Georgia and Georgia Tech. I know she played baseball with Ty Cobb in Royston. He was a friend of hers. She married a lawyer, Glen Dorough, who was also living in Royston. I know she dreamed of being an actress and had “shows” in the family back yard and would present “pretend stories” to the neighbors in the afternoon presentation. She would string a sheet on a clothesline for a curtain. Her father has been described as a “character” with a good personality. I don’t know much about her mother.

I don’t know how old Lillie was when she got married. Young, I think. Very young. I do know that she and Glenn had five little girls. Mother was #2, I think. Her name was Anna Louise Dorough when she was in college. Quite a flirt with a good personality.

Ruth was the oldest. Then, Mother (Anna Louise). Then, Lillian. Then, Edna (she died when she was 21, from peritonitis). Then Rose (the baby). They were all in their 90’s when they died. Papa Dorough (Glenn) died of cancer on November 19, 1940. He was 65. Lillie was 60. I still remember the funeral. Mother sent all of us to the movies so we would not be at the funeral. But, before I went to the movies, I visited that living room and studied the casket. I can still remember that day in my mind’s eye. I can still see the flowers surrounding the coffin in the living room of the Mama Dorough’s boarding house on Green Street in Gainesville, Georgia (my home town). I don’t know much about Glen.

Lillie was 45 when her father died, November 7, 1935. I was born in 1937, so Lillie was still rather young when I was born. Mother was 35 when I was born. So she was 33 when her grandfather died. I think I have all of these ages wrong. I keep trying to figure out how young Lillie was when she married Glenn, but I am confused. My brain needs more exercise. But, if Lillie was born in 1880 and her father died in 1935 and I was born in 1937…… That is where I get confused. I think ALL of everyone is too young for ALL of this. And, they all Died VERY OLD. Amazing. I want that blood of my ancestors in my veins, especially now that I want time to LIVE and explore Paris. Haha.

At some point, Lillie started running a “boarding house” and helped with income, taking in “boarders”. I think they were more into survival mode than what was going in the world. Newspapers? College? Marriages? I don’t know. The flu? Plagues? Doctors? Medicine? I don’t know. SEE. That is what will happen to me. My children and grandchildren will know that I existed, but they won’t know much else. I have a lot of trouble with that part – the disinterest. But, enough about me, back to Lillie…

She at some point moved to Atlanta, still making money by taking in “boarders”, cleaning rooms and preparing all meals. Quite industrious and entrepreneurial, especially when the South was going through a terrible depression.

I loved Mama Dorough. She was witty and loved jokes. She would “chuckle”. Remember “chuckles”. Do people still chuckle? She loved all of my kids, especially Craig and Blake. She loved me. She loved ALL of us. Full of lots of love. She loved her boarders. They loved her. How blessed I was to have her as my role model. At some point, I got concerned because the family did not know a lot about Lillie’s life, so I got some tapes and recorded my conversations with her. I asked her about her life growing up. She was reticent to talk about it. But I got a lot from her. I need to have help transcribing those tapes. It is on my long list of projects for “someday”. I seemed to be the only one who cared. Debby (my niece) knows a lot more than I do. She is interested in all of it.

Lillie died March 6, 1992 at the age of 111. She would have been 112 on September 12, 1992. All of her daughters (except for Edna) lived to be in their 90’s.

So, my hope is that I have Lillie’s blood in my veins and God knows what all she survived! No one seemed to ask during those days. “It was not discussed”. Same as today. No one is asking about me. What I have survived. Or that my kids have survived. Or that my grandkids have survived at their young ages. They all have survived a LOT.

Like each one of you. But we are ALIVE. Let’s stay that way. So, on Monday, I shall celebrate Lillie Westmoreland, her life and her times. And, all she survived. And her wonderful spirit! May it continue to live in me, in my blood, in my veins.

Best, Jay

(without hair and make-up. Sorry, but it is recent and in lockdown. So, you get the picture of a current selfie!! Take note of the “support Jayspeak” button. To all I offend with my “support” button, I apologize in advance. But, you move to Paris by yourself when you turn 83 and survive a pandemic!!! This is not a requirement. It is a voluntary simple support button. You can also do any multiple of 50, like 25 (I think), or 100 or 150 or ….. i hope it works. Let me know if anyone has problems with it. It should link with my PayPal account. But, you also have to have a PayPal account, (I think). So, this is a work in process. Haha. Sorry.

Support Jayspeak

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ALIVE IN MY HEART! LILLIE! This week, I have had a lot of friends reach out to me. Great. Because it is rather bleak in this small apartment in Paris.

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breakingasia-blog · 4 years

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Chinese Uighurs in Saudi Arabia Face Impossible Choice

The Chinese mission in Saudi Arabia stopped renewing passports for the ethnic Muslim minority more than two years ago, in what campaigners call a pressure tactic exercised in many countries to force the Uighur diaspora to return home. Half a dozen Uighur families in Saudi Arabia who showed AFP their passports -- a few already expired and some approaching the date -- said they dread going back to China, where over a million Uighurs are believed to be held in internment camps. "Even animals in other countries are allowed to have passports," said the 30-year-old religious student in the Muslim holy city of Medina, whose passport expired in 2018. "Either they should renew my passport or let me drop my nationality. They make us feel like worthless humans." The community, now offered a one-way travel document suitable only for a trip to China, faces an impossible choice: return home at the risk of detention or remain illegally in the kingdom under constant fear of deportation. "Refusing passport renewals is part of China's strategy to smoke out the Uighur diaspora, forcing them to return to China," Norway-based Uighur linguist Abduweli Ayup told AFP. "What awaits them on the other side is detention." Amplifying the community's fears is the conspicuous silence of Muslim-majority states -- from Pakistan to Egypt -- over China's treatment of Uighurs as they avoid crossing Beijing, an economic powerhouse. Particularly concerning is Beijing's deepening ties with Saudi Arabia -- the epicenter of the Muslim world and home to Islam's two holiest sites -- which has reportedly condoned the Uighur policy of China, the top importer of Saudi oil. Saudi Arabia supports "China's rights to take counter-terrorism and de-extremism" measures, Chinese state media quoted Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman as saying last year. This year, China threw its support behind the kingdom over its handling of journalist Jamal Khashoggi's murder trial, which triggered global criticism after Prince Mohammed's closest aides were absolved of blame. China threw its support behind Saudi Arabia over its handling of journalist Jamal Khashoggi's murder trial Untraceable Only a few hundred Uighurs are estimated to be in Saudi Arabia, a disenfranchised community of mainly seminary students, traders and asylum seekers, many cut off from their detained families in China. Many are wary of what they suspect are Chinese spies and some are forced to live in hiding, a Uighur businessman in the kingdom said, showing AFP copies of eight expired passports of fellow Uighurs that have rendered them illegal. "Within the next two years, expect many more Uighurs to become stateless," he said. Many have fled while they can, often heading to Turkey or Sweden. A Uighur student in the kingdom told AFP that three of his friends deported since late 2016 have become "untraceable" after arriving in China, likely now in the so-called re-education camps that Beijing says are meant to counter extremism. Ayup told AFP he had confirmed five deportation cases from Saudi Arabia since 2017. Other Uighur campaigners say the number is higher. Similar extraditions have been reported from Egypt and Thailand. It is unclear whether Riyadh carried out deportations under pressure from China or if they were swept up in the kingdom's broad crackdown on illegal expatriates. Saudi officials did not respond to requests for comment. The Chinese embassy in Riyadh told AFP it does not "cooperate with Saudi authorities to deport Uighurs". When asked about their refusal to renew passports, it only said it had not stopped consular services for their Uighur "brothers and sisters". Multiple members of the ethnic minority said they feared visiting the Chinese mission in the kingdom as some had had their passports invalidated even before the expiry date. Only a few hundred Uighurs are estimated to be in Saudi Arabia We Feel Helpless In a letter sent last year to the Chinese consulate in the western city of Jeddah, a group of Uighur students asked why it was renewing passports for the ethnic Han community in the kingdom while ignoring their requests. "We are from the same country," said the letter seen by AFP. "For two years we haven't been able to contact our fathers, mothers and brothers in China... We have heard they are imprisoned because of our study in Saudi Arabia." Chinese authorities target Uighurs with links to 26 "sensitive" countries, including Saudi Arabia, on the grounds they were prone to "extremist thought", several campaigners said citing government documents. Chinese authorities target Uighurs with links to 26 "sensitive" countries, including Saudi Arabia, on the grounds they were prone to "extremist thought" Uighurs with connections to the Islamic kingdom are particularly vulnerable amid what observers call Beijing's "anti-Saudization" campaign to tackle influences that are blamed for introducing extremism in Chinese Islam. "Greeting someone in Arabic, independent study of the Koran and even naming one's son Mohammed or Saddam are all primary markers of extremism, which can result in detention or prison sentences for Uighurs," Darren Byler, a University of Colorado researcher, told AFP. The Uighur families deny any extremist links. "I don't want to get pregnant and bring a child into this world -- the baby will get a blue document and a bleak future," said one young Uighur woman, referring to the one-way travel permit. "We feel helpless." To learn more about Ethnic Minorities around the world, visit the Joshua Project Read the full article

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bountyofbeads · 4 years

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https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/toronto/plane-crash-iranian-victims-1.5423964

Bodies recovered from the crash site have been taken to the coroner's office, local authorities say

BY Adam Carter | Published: Jan 10, 2020 4:00 AM ET, Updated: January 10, 2020 | CBC News | Posted Jan 12, 2020

Manant Vaidya knows the tragedy of losing loved ones in an airline disaster better than almost anyone.

And in the wake of the plane crash in Iran that killed all 176 passengers on board, his heart is aching this week.

Vaidya endured the same anguish these families are now facing; he lost his parents, sister, brother-in-law and two nieces last year when Ethiopian Airlines Flight 302 crashed shortly after takeoff from the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa.

Now the Brampton, Ont., man is once again seeing news stories of entire families wiped out.

"Those families looked just like the family I lost," he said. "It all came back to me."

Vaidya has also lived through a logistical nightmare that the victim's families are now starting to navigate: Trying to recover their loved one's bodies and bring them home for funerals.

Many of those who died in this week's crash were Muslim, and Muslims customarily must bury their loved ones as quickly as possible after death — something that proves almost impossible in a complex incident like this.

WATCH | Manant Vaidya says he wishes no one would ever lose family in an airline disaster again(VIEW VIDEO ON WEBSITE)

Experts also say that repatriating the bodies of Canadians killed in the crash will be hampered by heightened military tensions and the fact that Canada severed diplomatic ties with Iran years ago.

"There's a lot of psychological trauma the families now have to endure," said Liyakat Takim, a religious studies professor at McMaster University in Hamilton. "The trauma is just unbelievable for them."

Takim is also feeling that trauma first-hand; he was close friends with religious pilgrimage tour leader Asghar Dhirani, who died in the crash.

"I keep thinking about his last moments … it keeps coming in my mind," he said.

DNA TESTING NEEDED

Authorities have said the bodies and remains recovered from the site of the crash have been taken to the coroner's office for identification.

Hassan Shadkoo's wife, Sheyda, was one of the victims. Speaking to CBC News from Toronto's Pearson International Airport Wednesday night, he said that instead of his wife returning to him, he was headed to Tehran to retrieve her remains and be with her family.

"I wish I didn't exist now," he said.

Mohammad Tarbhai, a relative of crash victims Alina and Afifa Tarbhai, told CBC News that authorities need to carry out DNA testing, and he isn't expecting their bodies to be released for at least a week.

Vaidya's experience shows that, in all likelihood, reclaiming the bodies of the Canadians who died won't be a simple process.

He flew to Ethiopia after the crash last March, hoping to identify and retrieve his family's remains from that crash site. He quickly learned that would be impossible with an ongoing investigation.

The only thing he was able to take was soil. "That's all that was left to me," he said.

Vaidya, who is Hindu, brought that soil to India, and was able to use it to perform end-of-life rituals.

"As long as you have the soil and you have the thoughts in your heart and mind … that is how we got the closure initially," he said.

It wasn't until November that he was able to return to Ethiopia to officially recover his family's remains and bring them to India for final cremation.

Muslim families dealing with this tragedy won't be able to observe normal customs, Takim said.

Usually, a dead person's body would be washed and wrapped in a white shroud before prayers and a burial, he said, which would take place as soon as possible after death.

"The normal procedure would not be applicable in these cases," said Takim, adding that a precedent does exist for longer waits for burials in extenuating circumstances, such as when a post-mortem examination is necessary.

This whole situation is undoubtedly very traumatic for the families involved, he said. "Their loved one has not died a normal death."

Vaidya stressed that the families of the Iran crash victims should reach out to Global Affairs Canada.

"They were very helpful," he said.

'A FURTHER SHOCK TO THE FAMILIES'

Foreign Affairs Minister François-Philippe Champagne spoke to his Iranian counterpart earlier this week and stressed "the need for Canadian officials to be quickly granted access to Iran to provide consular services, help with identification of the deceased and take part in the investigation of the crash," according to a readout of the call.

The readout didn't say whether Iranian Foreign Affairs Minister Mohammad Javad Zarif agreed to Champagne's request.

Champagne said Thursday that despite Canada's rocky relationship with Iran, he's been reassured that Canadian investigators will get visas to enter the country.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said Thursday that intelligence now indicates the Ukrainian aircraft that crashed outside of Tehran was shot down by an Iranian missile, possibly unintentionally. Iranian officials have denied the allegation.

"We have intelligence from multiple sources, including our allies and our own intelligence. The evidence indicates that the plane was shot down by an Iranian surface-to-air missile," Trudeau said Thursday during a news conference in Ottawa.

"The news will undoubtedly come as a further shock to the families who are already grieving in the face of this unspeakable tragedy," he said.

The crash happened just hours after Iran launched a ballistic missile attack on Iraqi bases housing U.S. soldiers, in response to U.S. President Donald Trump's decision to order the targeted killing of Iranian military commander Qassem Soleimani.

In a report released Wednesday, the Iranian aviation authority said that it has invited "all the states involved" to join a growing team investigating the plane crash.

The organization's initial report into the crash said a fire broke out on the Boeing aircraft immediately before it hit the ground.

*********

'In the blink of an eye': After a whole family dies on Flight PS752, what happens with what's left behind?

Razgar Rahimi, Farideh Gholami, toddler Jiwan Rahimi killed in Iran plane disaster along with unborn child

By Shanifa Nasser | Posted: Jan 12, 2020 4:00 AM ET, Updated: 1:00 PM ET |

CBC News | Posted January 12, 2020 |

When Shaho Shahbazpanahi went to check in on the home of his close friends while they visited Iran, no one could have predicted they would never return — and that he would bear the responsibility of figuring out what to do with the pieces of their lives left behind.

Razgar Rahimi, Farideh Gholami and their three-year-old son, Jiwan Rahimi, were about to return after a month in their home country and Shahbazpanahi wanted to make sure all was in order at their Whitchurch-Stouffville, Ont., home, about 40 kilometres north of Toronto.

He dutifully scanned each room from the basement to the top floor, and the nursery where the couple would soon welcome their baby boy. Gholami was seven months pregnant, set to deliver her baby in March.

"They painted everything very beautifully, they had a crib ready, even the blankets were ready," he said.

But it was not to be.

'WE WERE GOING TO PLAN EVERYTHING TOGETHER'

"At 11 p.m. Tuesday, we heard the news," Shahbazpanahi said. "A flight from Tehran to Kyiv had crashed."

By 3 a.m., his worst fears were confirmed when the flight manifest for Ukraine International Airlines Flight PS752 emerged, listing his friends among the 167 passengers who perished. Fifty-seven Canadians were killed in the incident, which Iran took responsibility for on Friday after days of denying accusations it shot down the airliner.

The plane was mistaken for a "hostile target" after it turned toward a "sensitive military centre" of Iran's Revolutionary Guard, the country's military said. Iran's Prime Minister called the incident "a disastrous mistake."

Shahbazpanahi said the couple's relatives told him Jiwan's stuffed animal and book were found at the crash site.

Until then, the hope had been for the families' children to grow up together. Shahbazpanahi's daughter's birthday was around the corner.

"We were going to plan everything together," said his wife, Nasim Kamgar.

Gholami was brilliant, studied industrial design and had dreams of one day starting her own business, Kamgar said through tears as she wore the necklace and earrings her friend designed for her.

A KIND OF SPARK

Gholami was also a lifeline of sorts for Kamgar — a big-sister figure who taught her everything she knew about parenting and encouraged her to have a child of her own to be a friend to Jiwan.

"But Jiwan never came back," she said through tears. "My daughter keeps saying, 'Jiwan.' She wants her friend... she can't talk but she knows that something's happened."

Rahimi was exceedingly knowledgeable and had a doctorate in electrical and computer engineering, Shahbazpanahi said. The pair met in 2014 on Rahimi's second day in Canada while Rahimi was studying at the University of Ontario Institute of Technology, and they became fast friends

Both were Iranian Kurds, first-generation immigrants, sharing jokes in their native language that they couldn't in English or Farsi, Shahbazpanahi remembered with a laugh.

"We had a lot of fun," he said.

Three-year-old Jiwan was whip-smart, learning four languages and had a brain like his father, Shahbazpanahi said. He adored painting, reading and building things.

The family had a kind of spark that let them make friends easily, as evidenced by the many friends who considered them family and now mourn their loss.

It was also a function of surviving in a new country, said Shahbazpanahi.

"When you come as an international student... everything is new. You're starting over," he said.

'THIS IS UNKNOWN TERRITORY'

And so while Rahimi and Gholami counted many friends among their family, they have no official next of kin in Canada, meaning Shahabazpanahi now finds himself trying to sort out what happens with the pieces of the lives cut short by the tragedy.

"This is unknown territory," said their town's mayor Ian Lovatt.

"We have an immigrant family that moved here about six years ago for a new life, establishes themselves certainly in our community and in the academic community, and in the blink of eye they're gone."

When friends of the couple approached Lovatt for help, officials from the town leaped into action to track down their landlords to let him know what had happened to the family.

"The neighbours, the friends, and even the landlords don't know what to do," he said.

Shahbazpanahi says he's standing by as the couple's family in Iran processes their loved ones' loss. They aren't ready yet to broach the topic of logistics and what to do with their now-empty home and belongings. Eventually, he expects family members will make their way to Canada to handle the couple's affairs.

For now, the town intends to hold a candlelight vigil for the family, with plans to send a book of condolences to their relatives in Iran.

In the meantime, the couple's car remains parked outside of Shahbazpanahi's house.

He was supposed to drive it to the airport to bring them home.

*********

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badmuslim-blog1 · 5 years

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Dramatic Death Message

December 7 (Day 4 of Hunger Strike)

I drank sugarless green tea yesterday. I was getting period cramps and hoped that, plus a pill, would help. It didn’t. Also drank a few sips of a soft drink for the sugar, I don’t want to faint because of low blood sugar. Today I woke up hearing bio-dad’s voice laughing and chatting in the other room. It made me feel sick. I won’t pretend to be a fearless beast, I’m not. Especially when someone who, for all intents and purposes, is considered my owner threatens me with a gun. I am scared. Scared to see him, scared that I’ll come off as being scared in front of him. None of that fear is being translated into the decision to be obedient or passive. I’m not wired like that. Although I probably would evolve into that if this was the life I was born into, if this was my whole life and there was no way to get out of it like millions of Iraqi and other women across the Middle East, Asia, and Africa.

I thought about my family back in Canada. I thought about my bald uncle who used to always say he wasn’t Arab, he was Canadian. I thought about my uncle who had recently visited here, consoled my mother then heard my story and my plan to leave that I forced into his lap but he seemingly ended up brushing off. I thought about my aunt who had been my mother's partner in crime, helping her with her lies and deception. I thought about my Uncle who lived in our basement apartment with his Cuban wife and girls before they divorced. I thought about my uncle who lived with his rather open-minded and independent working wife. Finally, I thought about my aunt in Abu Dhabi who had been abused and who had her two kids taken away from her forcefully by their father in the divorce and isn’t allowing any visitation or contact. She now remarried and just had a baby, indubitably as an attempt to let go of her grief caused by her previous marriage and to be able to move on. All of my uncles had at least one daughter, and all of them were still young and growing.

I had the idea to sneak away my mother's phone to get into her WhatsApp, open the Family group which they were all in and leave a message. Of course, she changed her password and doesn’t leave her phone unattended in this room anymore, but this is what I came up with:

“This is Huda. I wanted to tell my story to the family I’ve loved and used to think I could always depend and rely on. I recently tried to go to the Canadian Embassy to get a temporary travel document which I was assured I could get by a consular officer. My mother told me there was no option but to wait 8-10 months for a passport. I chose to stop passively accepting that lie. Upon trying to leave, I was beaten with fists and sticks, then threatened with a gun. It’s true that I was planning to go to Mexico for a semester of school for an exchange. I wanted to prove to my mother that I was capable of taking care of myself and being responsible for myself and that I had long outgrown the label of a child. I did my research and made sure there were enough support and guidance from the universities that ensured where I was going was safe. I wanted her to see that women were capable of surviving and thriving without having a husband to take over wardenship. That women were perfectly capable of making their own choices in regards to their faith, their wardrobe, their actions and conduct. And that this was a God-given right, hence the concept of becoming ‘baligh’, and ‘free will’ that we are all rewarded in this life despite our gender. On the day of judgement we won’t be judged on what our parents forced us to do, but our own intentions and actions. So, I decided asking for forgiveness was better than asking for permission that I knew would never be given. I’ve come to realize my ‘radical’ ideas will not help me survive in the prison I’m now living in. Incidentally, I am not willing to compromise on my values, principles, and beliefs. Since this means I will more than likely die in this wasteland, I’ve decided I won’t be a victim of an honour killing, instead, I will die of my own volition. I’m on a hunger strike which will end either when my body is set free, or my creator sets my soul free. Even so, I don’t want to die in vain. Of course, I am currently not allowed to make calls, email, message, have internet access or any kind of access to the outside world. This message probably will never even reach you. But if it does, I want you to know that just as Khalu Yahya dismissed me, I don’t expect any of you to say or do anything in my defence, because your loyalty lies with your sister and your Iraqi upbringing has undoubtedly conditioned you to be passive in such matters. However, when you eventually hear of my passing, I want my blood on all your consciences. If nothing else, I hope that my beautiful, strong, cousins that are filled with potential, will be raised in a way that encourages them to grow into empowered, independent, loving and loved, skilled and educated young women who can always count on their parents supporting them. Smart leaders that affect the world and affect lives, touch people, leave a legacy, and can one day teach their daughters and sons to do the same. Finally, I hope that upon such news, you will inquire and make a real attempt to ensure my sisters are safe. This is not the life they deserve, living in a restricting society where women are beat down and opportunities are put out of reach. More than likely at that time, even my mother won’t be able to leave if she wanted to. Please don’t abandon them, this is my final wish. Living passively, quietly, as compliant sheep is not living. Injustice is what happens when good people do nothing. “

It’s long but I have faith in the good we all have inside of us as well as the power of guilt of course. If nothing else, I have faith that the universe I.e. God, is infinitely good and everything will eventually be balanced. Meaning Karma doesn’t always happen while we’re living.

#when i die

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investmart007 · 6 years

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SAN PEDRO SULA, Honduras | Baby who was in US court now will be back in dad's arms

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/4UpsBT

SAN PEDRO SULA, Honduras | Baby who was in US court now will be back in dad's arms

SAN PEDRO SULA, Honduras— A year-old boy who became a poster child for the U.S. policy of separating immigrants and their children was on his way home to the arms of his parents Friday, five months after he was taken from his father at the U.S. border.

Johan Bueso Montecinos was on a jet bound for San Pedro Sulas from the United States, after Honduran consular officials and U.S. authorities worked out arrangements.

And so ended the extraordinary journey of a baby whose short life has ranged from Honduran poverty to a desperate dash across the U.S. border to the front pages of the world’s newspapers.

Captured by Border Patrol agents almost instantly upon arrival, Johan’s father was deported — and the 10-month-old remained at an Arizona shelter, in the custody of the U.S. government. Over the next five months, he would take his first steps, speak his first words, have his first birthday; his parents, hundreds of miles away, would miss it all.

When his mother and father last saw him, he had two tiny teeth. Now he has a mouthful.

In early July, Johan went before an immigration judge. An Associated Press account of that court appearance — of the judge’s befuddlement over how to deal with this tiny detainee in diapers, sucking on a bottle — set off an international furor, embodying the Trump administration’s policy of separating immigrant children from their parents.

“I never thought they could be so cruel,” said his father, Rolando Antonio Bueso Castillo, 37.

Rolando said he thought his plan was a beautiful one. He would escape his hard life in the tiny town of Libertad — Freedom, in Spanish. His children would not grow up in the same poverty that he had endured — he had dropped out of the fourth grade to sell burritos to help his single mom support him and his four siblings.

His younger brother left the coffee-growing mountains of central Honduras for the United States seven years ago and thrived in Maryland with his wife and children. His sister followed, and also did well. Their eldest brother was killed in a drive-by shooting in San Pedro Sula, one of Latin America’s most dangerous cities.

Rolando was left behind with his wife Adalicia Montecinos and his 35-year-old disabled sister in their pink, two-bedroom cement home with a corrugated metal roof. He earned $10 a day driving a bus; his brother in America sent back hundreds of dollars to help out.

Rolando, an easy-going and hard-working man, was well aware of the dangers of crossing Mexico. Scores of Central Americans have fallen to their deaths jumping on trains or been shaken down by Mexican police, murdered, kidnapped, robbed or raped on their way to the United States.

He paid a smuggler $6,000, money his brother sent to him.

Everything was supposed to be included — hotel stays, three meals daily and transport in an SUV with two other mothers and three children to the U.S. border. He packed five onesies, three jackets, a blue-and-white baby blanket, lotion, cream, 50 diapers, two bottles and cans of formula.

His wife, in her first trimester of pregnancy, would stay behind, working at her market stand selling Nike baseball hats, “California Dreaming” T-shirts and jewelry. In Maryland, their family would help mind Johan while Rolando worked. Adalicia would join them in a few months.

The father and son made it as far as Tampico, Mexico, 500 kilometers (300 miles) from the Texas border, when their beautiful plan started to unravel.

The smuggler drove them into a warehouse in the port city and told them to board a tractor trailer filled with scores of other parents and children from Honduras, Guatemala, El Salvador and Peru.

Rolando and his son would spend three days locked in the trailer, shivering from the cold breeze from a buzzing machine they were told provided air for them to breathe. Buckets served as bathrooms.

As other children cried, Rolando’s son sat next to him quietly, Rolando recalled. They huddled together in the dark; he changed Johan’s diapers by the glow of a flashlight.

“We were carried like meat, but we had no choice by then. We had to do what we were told,” Rolando said.

In the Mexican border city of Reynosa, they boarded a makeshift raft and floated across the Rio Grande. They trudged through the Texas brush. They had made it.

But minutes later, a Border Patrol agent spotted them. “Where are you going?” the agent asked.

Rolando said his response was simple, and sincere: “We’re going to search for the American dream.”

The agent told him he was taking them to a detention center. Still, Rolando did not doubt his beautiful plan. He figured once he was processed he would be released with his son to fight his case in the courts. At worst, the two would be deported together back to Honduras.

Inside a cell cordoned off by a chain-link fence, they slept on a mattress under a thin, reflective blanket issued to them. Rolando said he had to ask for three days before being allowed to bathe Johan.

“He was covered with dirt,” Rolando said.

On the fifth day, immigration officers told Rolando they needed to take him to an office for questioning. One agent removed Johan from his arms. As they walked away, Johan turned, reaching for his dad.

It would be the last time they would see each other for five months. The agents told Rolando he was going to be separated from the boy and deported to Honduras because this was the fourth time he had attempted to enter the United States. Each time, he was caught almost immediately.

“That’s criminal,” one of the agents told Rolando. “A criminal is someone who kills, robs, does things to harm people,” Rolando said later. “I just want to work and give my children opportunities.”

Rolando spent 22 days locked up in various detention centers along the Texas border. He knew nothing of his son.

He had no money to call his wife and tell her what had happened. Instead a social worker from the Arizona shelter holding Johan contacted her and asked if she was Johan’s mother. She told her to send his birth certificate and other documents to prove it.

Adalicia could not believe it was true, and waited to hear from her husband. Five days later, another detainee lent him money so he could call her.

“Baby, it’s me,” he said.

“What happened to our son?” she asked, crying. Rolando broke down. “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “They took him from me. But it’ll be OK.”

“How?” she cried. “When am I going to see my boy again?” She felt so alone. She would wake up reaching for her baby and remember again what had happened. She watched videos of Johan over and over of him kicking and wiggling, laughing with his dad, staring into the camera.

When Rolando arrived in Honduras in April, he was shocked to see how thin she was — she said she lost 20 pounds and her doctor worried she could lose her baby. The first thing she said when she saw Rolando was “Where’s my boy?”

Rolando said he had first been told by immigration authorities that the two would be deported together, so he agreed to go. Then, they told him his son would follow in two weeks. But months passed. Rolando called lawyers, the Honduran consulate and U.S. authorities to find out when his son was coming home.

The social worker in the United States started sending weekly videos and making video calls. At first Johan would reach for his mom, as if wanting to embrace her through the screen. But as time passed, he grew distracted.

He is forgetting me, Adalicia thought.

The boy’s parents learned he took his first steps from the social worker, who also sent a video of him on his first birthday, waking up and crying. From the AP’s news story on Johan’s appearance before a judge, they learned that he had started to talk.

“I will never see my son walk for the first time, or celebrate his first birthday,” Adalicia said, her voice shaking. “That’s what I lost — those memories every mom cherishes and tells their children years later.” At the hearing, Johan repeatedly asked for “agua” — water. At one point, he kicked off his shoes and stood in his socks.

Judge John W. Richardson could hardly contain his unease at having to ask the boy’s lawyer whether his client understood the proceedings.

“I’m embarrassed to ask it, because I don’t know who you would explain it to, unless you think that a 1-year-old could learn immigration law,” he told the lawyer.

In the end, Johan was granted a voluntary departure order that would allow the government to fly him to Honduras — back to the pink house with seven chickens pecking in the dirt outside, with the outdoor wood stove and the cement sink filled with water used to flush the toilet .

The father who awaited him Friday was overwhelmed by guilt over the dismal failure of his beautiful plan. Someday, he knows, his son will ask what happened, and why he had left him in the United States.

“I’ll tell him the truth,” he said. “We thought we had a good plan to give him a better life.”

Will Rolando concoct yet another plan to reach America? He says only that he is a fighter and will work hard to survive, as he always has.

But he knows that his life and that of his family will never be the same.

“They broke something in me over there,” Rolando said. “This was never my son’s fault. Why did he have to be punished?”

By JULIE WATSON , Associated Press ___

#dad's arms #honduras #Johan Bueso Montecinos #Nike baseball #SAN PEDRO SULA #TodayNews #U.S. policy #United States #US Court

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frankcastorf-blog · 7 years

Text

Annie Laurie Daniel

Non Fiction Writing

14 November 2016

DBT: A dark comedy

(My Experiences in a women’s treatment facility)

Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, colloquially known as DBT, is a technique of therapy best described formally as: “a cognitive behavioral treatment that was originally developed to treat chronically suicidal individuals diagnosed with borderline personality disorder (BPD) and it is now recognized as the gold standard psychological treatment for this population. In addition, research has shown that it is effective in treating a wide range of other disorders such as substance dependence, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and eating disorders.”

THE ONLY THING THAT ENERGIZES ME IS THINKING ABOUT MYSELF

The waiting room was harshly lit. My eyes were heavy and swollen, my throat sore from chain smoking on the curb minutes before and my nose dripping from remnants of DOC (drug of choice. DBT is filled with terms for all of our “trigger worthy” vices that land us in such intensive care.)The day after I graduated high school on June 12th, 2015 I was checked into a women’s residential treatment facility in Venice, California. I was eighteen, manic depressive and fresh off of a two year stint influenced by cocaine, harmful and traumatic sexual relations, liaisons and experiences and an overall toxicity that had me fifty-one-fiftyed too many times. A kind therapist and intake specialist had a thick clipboard with all of my information. I was crying, cold, and thirty pounds lighter than I am today. She went through a series of questions required for all intake’s into residential facilities. “Date of Birth?” “March 11th, 1997.” She paused. “Does that mean that you are seventeen?” No, I shook my head. It felt like a pumpkin that had been smashed by angry preteens, orange and rotting, seeds spilling out all around me. “I just turned eighteen.” She continued. “When was the last time you did a DOC and in what quantity?” The night before there were fifty of my classmates packed into my house in Bel Air. We had graduated from Le Lycée Français de Los Angeles less than 24 hours ago. I remembered all the thick white lines and the pink marble of my mother’s bathroom, several bottles of champagne consumed in my honor by myself, and the thick black smoke filled lungs heart and (soul?) before men used my body as their ashtray and I didn’t know how bitter other people and parts of myself could taste. Lonely and lost and very confused. Little to no self worth or inherent values or morals. Manic episodes weekly. Incredibly unstable, drug addicted, borderline alcoholic, uses sexual relations to fill the void and male figure left empty by absent father. “Cocaine and Alcohol, less than 12 hours ago. Moderate quantity.” She wrote it all down. “Why, aside from the obvious, are you here?” I remember shivering in that waiting room, although in the middle of June it must have been quite warm. She offered me a blanket and I accepted. Wrapped up like a baby. Poetry from the dirtiest of mouths makes them howl in delight. An atrocity committed for the amusement of others, a struggle to be heard amongst an unforgiving crowd. An attempt to connect to those who see the filth and hear not the words. “Sexual assault?” I nodded. “Suicide attempts?” A slower nod yes. “Well, then you’re in the right place.”

I checked into treatment alone while my family was on a two month vacation in India, many thousands of miles away. I checked out of treatment alone while my family was in France after their exotic adventure.

(The difference between a relapse and something you can get away with)

There’s something amazing about recovering addicts, regardless of the addiction. We were a small group of women in age ranging from eighteen to late fifties. We each had one roommate in separate room’s of two incredibly well kept houses on the West Side of Los Angeles. We weren’t allowed to use the phone or take a walk without permission from a “Community Consular”, one of the many qualified and over motivational 24/7 staff on location. We had curfews and set schedules and rules and requirements for every section of free time not spent in one of our many therapy groups including but not limited to: ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) is a unique empirically based psychological intervention that uses acceptance and mindfulness strategies), CBT (Cognitive behavioral therapy), Mindfulness, Art Therapy, etc. We were loaded into minivans and escorted everywhere we went. It was posh, expensive, exhausting. To be forced into a position and required to examine and evaluate your every flaw and how to potentially...fix it? Absurd. I was an adult, legally speaking, I knew that much. I had lived on my own since I was fifteen, I didn’t need to be babied at rehab. Silly thoughts from a silly girl. I was there for a purpose, for a reason. My extreme emotions that had fueled my art and every action I made in my life for years was now diluted and told to be quiet. Quiet your unquiet mind, someone is paying for you to get better. Someone is paying for you to be healthy and function. I didn’t want to be functional, and I’m not sure I wanted to be alive. Life can be a cunt with its whirring wheels, wheels that are not intact but never stop. That's not to say that there have not been sweet moments among the bitter and alone. There have been sunny afternoons and sleepy mornings and nights that shake steadily until the sun rises. There has been wine poured and champagne kisses that were fucked out of me in baths and showers and beds all across Los Angeles and Paris. Tormented by a love that we cannot grasp. Too much love for the things that hurt us, that fill us temporarily with a feeling of purpose and meaning. Indulging in emptiness and romanticizing pain. Windows open, arms outstretched.

Some really cool people that i met and were really cool to me but the world was a huge dick to them

My roommate was Yasmine. She’s still one of my best friends to this day, the other night we went dancing in Lincoln Heights and drank Gin & Tonics and smoked spliffs and cigarettes in her apartment in Hollywood and laughed and cried about our time in Venice together. We are both Hollywood women, not meant to be confined by the ocean, the salt in the sea only wishes it could mirror the salt in our tears. We stopped crying out of sadness and started crying out of happiness over the summer. On June 15th, 2015 she barged into the house we resided in during those months by the saltless sea off of Lincoln and Rose and screamed “I’mmm baaaaack !” I hadn't met her yet, but she had been temporarily discharged after her insurance failed. 9 years older, 7 inches shorter, beautiful brown haired expat raised in Saudi Arabia with a similar manic depressive bipolar diagnosis as my own. It was love at first sight. We painted in the evenings, and we smoked in the mornings. We waited in line together twice a day outside of the “medicine chamber” where our beloved caretakers would sit patiently as we choked down our cocktail of numbing mood stabilizers and antidepressants and antianxiety and a few others just for fun. We gossiped until early in the morning about our lovers and our dreams and she read “Tropic of Cancer” out loud to me as I wrote her letters in French. The world was unkind to her in Burbank where she worked by day as a “creative assistant”. Men used her body as they used mine and left her strapped into hospital beds hazy and manic.

Ann loved frozen bananas. She was in her early fifties but looked a decade older. A mother of many from North Dakota, she was almost always silent, a woman raised in a time where women weren’t allowed to take up space with their bodies or minds, especially when they were as unquiet as her’s. There was a smoking bench at the facility, a beautiful stone slab covered with vines. I’ve never met an addict (recovered or in process of) that doesn’t smoke, aside from Ann. She would sit with us while we smoked on breaks between groups, our only vice still indulged. We would bitch heavily about our group leaders, our therapists and the many rights we no longer had, choosing to ignore the fact that we were there for a reason and had willingingly removed the toxic black tar from our eyes and hearts. While we blew out smoke and tap tap tapped our hands against our heads, legs and into the dirt Ann would quietly smile and nod. She knew the tax of being a woman too loud for the men around her. There was a girl my age that came into the program in hellfire. Court ordered, a self proclaimed sex addict, borderline personality queen high on compulsive lies. She would regularly reach into the freezer and eat Ann’s frozen bananas. Ann learned to yell when she confronted the frozen banana thief. The gang of gals was sitting in our usual smoking spot waiting to be driven in a godforsaken Honda Odyssey to Pottery Therapy off of Venice Blvd when Ann screamed for the first time, standing up for herself and her stolen frozen bananas. She doesn't deserve to have an abusive husband or resentful daughters. She deserves to live far, far away from Bismarck, North Dakota, with as many frozen bananas as she wants.

I miss myself a lot

I didn’t need help. I was older. I was mature. When I was fifteen my parents moved back to the east coast, the dirty south my father hailed from. My parents always hated LA. When I was fifteen my mother gave me the opportunity to live on my own. He was 56 when I was born, the last after several marriages and children, and he was deeply uninterested in my existence. I was a pet in my parents home. I didn’t have the brains that landed my sister at The London School of Economics, and it was clear I wasn’t going to be following in their path of super-lawyers. “Annie Laurie is such a hoot ! You know she’s an artist ?” I lived with a boy named Max in Hollywood, he was 21, Swiss-Ukrainian, would wear a thick pea coat and scarf even in July and rolled his own cigarettes as he waited for the mail. I went to Lycée and would illegally drive my mother’s BMW to school. It was a charmed life. Shortly after I fled for France for good, elated to be free of smog and freeways once again. I went to school and I took the métro or sometimes the bus. I had a lover named Anthony and I read lots of poetry and I got drunk on Tuesday nights and sometimes smoked hash. I didn’t do any drugs and I didn’t sleep around. I went to all my classes and I made films with my friends on the streets of Paris and I wrote in my diary and slept in on Sundays and kissed a lot of my friends for fun. Independence is earned. I thought that I had earned adulthood by living without my parents, cooking and cleaning for myself in a small apartment, I didn’t ever think I would be a manic, drug addicted, suicidal lady of the night. When I entered treatment I knew that I needed something, but there was no clear self diagnosis. I went back to Paris for a long weekend in May of 2015. Somber and skinny, my friends contacted my parents and suggested something dire needed to be done. I don’t remember that trip very well except for crying on the train from Rennes to Paris. I suppose that’s the trip that saved my life, but I guess I’ll never really know.

Leave me alone;

To be 14 in the south of France

Holding hands with a Romanian girl who I swore was my best friend and who’s name I cannot remember after 3 cocktails, 2 mimosas and a tall Pacifico.

She had black hair and a laugh that was pure. Her hand was smaller than mine, and we laughed while running through traffic in the streets of Nice, before there was terror and her passport rejected by Sarkozy.

I had my first wet kiss, my braces thick and my hair frizzy without my western appliances. I left my purse on a beach in Nice and lost my phone, wallet, and self esteem with a man much older, the first of many to come.

I remember drinking clear liquid that resembled rubbing alcohol but was purchased from a French man in a liquor store that merely mumbled “put in in your purse, don’t tell the police you bought it here.”

My first cigarette in the park, a Marlboro Menthol stolen from my sisters pack. Finally, feeling apart my of my culture. Many men have said “but you’re not really french, are you?”.

No, I was not born there. My parents are not French, one a blue blooded Boston bred heiress, the other a southern gentlemen that worked his way from nothing into deep wealth and the miscommunication and distance that comes with it.

But yes, I respond. Drunk, almost always, do you want to see my EU passport? My father always hated LA and I suspect he’s always hated me. I’m not resentful or angry at my parents. They provided me with so much……..opportunity. They allowed me to fend for myself with a platinum Amex. That was all they knew how to do, burried in their work and their lives. They were happy that way.

DEAR DIARY: (THE CLASSIC OVERSHARER) (ARE ALL ADDICTS OBSESSED WITH THEMSELVES LIKE ACTORS OR JUST ME) Friday, June 12th, 2015: It is over. I am empty and alone. I am aware that this is the best thing for me but I am sad and scared. I am so deeply sad. Saturday, June 13th, 2015: They say that the first few days are the hardest. I believe it. I’m not allowed to make phone calls or leave this building until tomorrow. Play the game and try and get better. It’s all I can hope for. There’s one woman I’ve met that said she has a finacé and a boyfriend and has been in and out of treatment for over a year. Her mother told me that I look like I’m coming from the stables or a barn. Sunday, June 14th, 2015: Whenever I sleep I have nightmares. Wednesday, June 17th, 2015: The mornings here smell like ocean and grass and nice wood. We don’t have mornings like this in Bel Air. It reminds me of when I was a kid in the south of France, when I was little and very happy to be alive. Tuesday, June 30th, 2015: Today I feel frustrated, untrusted, apprehensive, nauseated. How’s that for mindfulness?

A question commonly asked in mindfulness: “When do you remember feeling loved? Happy? What brings you purpose?” I remember not feeling loved for six months in Echo Park. He was a sculptor, how ironic, as if I wasn’t already made of stone. I wanted him to see the value in me beyond my pussy but as he so often told me “If I can’t commit to my art, how can I commit to you?” I remember not feeling loved outside of dirty punk shows, a place I once considered a community had left me behind as a groupie and nothing more. Now that some time has passed I’m lucky that I escaped those dark sweaty rooms alive, they had nothing to offer me but toxicity and cruel partners with hard hearts and fast fast fast fucking guitars. I remember not feeling loved on the métro from République, raining quickly, my body moving slowly. Are these memories of wasted energy and soulsucking relations and using my body to validate my very existence to all men and mostly myself the reason I was in this situation in the first place? Reflection is key for a good memoir. While I had plenty of time to reflect on every poor life choice and abhorred interaction I had gotten myself into, there’s plenty of thoughts and memories that are still absorbed in the pink cloud of recovery. Sobriety is a mystical concept to me still. I’m livid that cocaine was done in my bathroom in my house a few weeks ago while I slept ten feet away. Friends don’t mess with other friend’s addictions, but my comfort and safety wasn’t a priority when a crisp 100 dollar bill was passed around by my classmates. When I was seventeen I was sleeping with a heroin addict. He was tall and skinny and very mean. YOU DON’T REMEMBER TELLING ME YOU WERE IN LOVE WITH ME WHEN YOU WERE SPEEDBALLING ON HEROIN THANK GOD YOU DON’T REMEMBER WHEN I SAID THAT I LOVED YOU TOO. I had to pull him out of my bathtub when he was nodding off one night at a party. He was wearing a red silk kimono. The dye had started to leak and melt off of his robe like blood. It got all over me as I carried his lanky body into my bed. I locked the door and cried as I put my cheek to his chest, cheek to chest, cheek to chest to hear his heartbeat. I took bumps of cocaine every time I made sure he was still alive. This was my senior year winter formal after party. I remember feeling very alone as I smoked a cigarette in my room waiting for him to wake up. The sun rose, and he eventually rose with it. Gave me a kiss on my face, did a bump of blow, and called a friend for a ride home. “You’re a good girl, Annie.” I nodded. I was a good girl, indeed.

Cocaine changed me in a way that I really liked. I lost a lot of weight and I sure did feel great ! Everyone I knew was a casual user. Most people I know still are. My year and a half sobriety is on December 12th, and I’m getting a cake. You can have some if you’ve never done coke in my house (most of my friends and one of my roommates did not pass this test.) I was aggressive and really happy at parties. I made myself vomit and I felt sublime. I slept through classes and broke into the bathroom at school to stop my bloody noses. I was happy to “function so well on such a great drug.” I had the money for it so I was fine. I was a compulsive liar, and so were all of my friends. I was satiated in my own misery and musically masturbated to my own crash. No one was stopping me, and the numbness that I lived in was far more enjoyable than living in a mediocre emotion of existence. Mundane rituals of Dicté and SAT prep were interrupted when punk boys in beat up cars would pick me up in Culver City and fuck me in dirty apartments in Santa Monica before taking me home to Bel-Air. I really missed my room in France. They didn’t like me talking about it very much. My connection to my home was pretentious and I was a bore. Cocaine made me interesting and more importantly, desirable (the drug and my constant possession of mass amounts kept my musicians happy and unkind.) I had shitty friends and no support system and no stability and that is the end of that.

THINGS MY MOTHER HAS TAUGHT ME:

NEVER TAKE YOUR PURSE OUT AT THE PIGALLE METRO STOP

HOW TO DRINK WINE WITH DINNER (AND AFTER DINNER AND BEFORE)

HOW TO REGULATE AND RESTRICT EATING. THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE CALORIES ARE THE ONES IN YOUR MARTINI

GUILT TRIPS

THINGS MY MOTHER NEVER TAUGHT ME:

HOW TO FORGIVE OTHERS AND MYSELF

HOW TO LOVE SOMEONE, FUNCTIONALLY

PUSSY IS SACRED, DICK COMES FOR FREE.

The first time I was raped was April 2015. Outside of a party in Palm Springs during Coachella weekend, I waited for my Uber. I was there with a man I had met at a party, we flirted a little and did lots of cocaine. That was it. It was warm out when a stranger pushed me against the side of a truck, pulled my pants down, and fucked me. I was in shock. I didn’t start crying until the next day, when my friends abandoned me at the festival. Alone, I drove home. Pussy is sacred, dick comes for free. It comes when we don’t want it. Now we live in a time where over wine me and my best friends talk about the first time we were raped instead of first kiss stories. Losing a part of myself the second time I was raped by an older student at CalArts, the third time I was raped by my older boyfriend the fourth fifth and sixth times I was raped and I started losing count. When my mother was seventeen in 1973, driving outside of Portland, Oregon her Jeep broke down. While she attempted to fix it herself, two men in their 20’s pulled over and offered to help her jumpstart her car. Instead, they took turns raping her on the side of the road. Against her car. Like mother like daughter, raped by strangers in the night. Strange men with fast hands and a female timidness that won’t leave my bones after years of instruction to smile and make eye contact and be friendly and inviting. Pussy is sacred, so sacred men are willing to do anything to take it from you. Sometimes people don’t believe that you were attacked because they saw you arrive and leave the party together, regardless of the fact that your dress was broken and you were falling everywhere and couldn't open your eyes and your shoes had blood on them and he said that we was going to take you home. He said he was going to take me home. He told my friends he was getting me water and would clean the blood. I hope my blood stained his sheets I hope it never washed out. He said that red was his least favorite color. Funny, because there were dashes of it everywhere (RED LIKE my blood my hair my blood my hair my blood my hair).

I could write about why I ended up where I did and how I got started and the first line I ever did and the first manic episode I ever had and every infuriating moment spent being babysat and driven around in a Honda Odyssey and all the things I couldn’t talk about and all the things that I did anyways. How my art is fueled by my traumas and elations. But for now this is enough and I am enough as I am at least for today. I hope you enjoyed your stay. Cumbacksoon.

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