#whenever i see those three letters in the bio of any of my friends from high school i do a double take

[kalach-cha]

something very funny and kinda annoying is that the acronym for my university is the exact same as the acronym for the college that nearly everyone in my hometown ended up going to. and these are on different continents

[neocatharsis]

Ten on his new Represent capsule, grappling with creativity, and evading genre lines.

As Ten Lee - a vocalist and dancer in K-pop groups NCT (with whom he debuted in 2016) and Super M, and Chinese group WayV - is musing over his proclivity for partnering music or visual styles in a way that others deem strange, he veers off on a tangent. “Anything can be matched… except juice and coffee,” he says, suddenly. “Those two should never be.” Ten is infamously anti-fruit. It stems from a mistaken process of association in childhood where “I had the image of a spider and the image of fruit mixed up,” he laughs awkwardly, “so now whenever I put fruit in my mouth, I think there’s spiders in my mouth.”

Random abstractions such as this pepper his rapid-fire conversation, like small fireworks fizzing through the dark. Excitable, enthused and sharply alert, if Ten’s energy was visible it would be a shimmering mantle of gold and silver dust. As a dancer, he moves with a sinuous, controlled power that can shift from elegant to explosive on a single beat. As a visual artist, the Bangkok-born, multilingual 25-year-old recently added the title of designer to his growing list of achievements, launching an already sold out collaboration with the bespoke merch platform Represent.

Aptly, he named his collaboration “What is ??? THE ANSWERS”, for although being a chameleonic artist is one of Ten’s greatest strengths, the personality traits that enable this created within him question marks around how he saw himself fitting into the world. “People ask me, ‘What kind of music do you like?’ And I say, ‘I like R&B but hope it sounds rock’. And they’re like, ‘That doesn’t make sense’.” It was troubling to Ten that people began telling him who he was and how he should be, instead of accepting him as is.

In a recent Instagram Live, the myriad of Ten’s contrasts tumble forthwith. He’s the doting cat-dad. His inner emo, who loves rock music, shows off dried roses, with the stern, black, geometric lines of the large tattoo on his inner right arm sometimes visible. But he’s also delicate in a way, with his butterfly tattoo and hair lightly permed, who names daisies as his other favourite flower, and plays Fousheé’s breathy TikTok hit, 'Deep End'.

“Have you seen the image where I have my name in a cross in lots of different languages?” He pulls the image up on his phone. The design sits on his Represent long sleeve tee. “I was thinking [about this], like, what you’re saying... Ten has this luvvie flower side and a very ‘rawwrr!’ side. I’m always like, ‘Ten, what kind of person are you?’ I do ask myself that, too, because everything I like is so different [to the other].” He could have conceded, and reined himself in. He’s pushed back instead. “I thought, ‘I can be anything I want, I can be this in the morning and this at night. I can be any person I want to be’. And that’s what makes me comfortable and happy.”

On his Instagram, Polaroids feature scrawled messages, like “Don’t tell me what to do!” and “Whatever! I’ll do it my way”. The designs of his collaboration seek to challenge being boxed in by other people’s standards, thus limiting ourselves. The recurring symbol of a cross tipped with arrows is a nod to the Chinese letter for 10, but doubles as a plus sign. He’s added it to his Instagram, writing “TEN_+•10” in his bio. “A plus sign can mean that you’re adding on and growing.” He points to another version of the arrow-cross, one with short diagonal dashes between its points that symbolise light. It means, he says, “that I’m radiating. I’m burning, I’m active, I’m doubling myself.” He touches his forearm, where crowning his geometric tattoo is a blazing sun. “I have this, like, if you want to be the light, you have to burn. I relate to that.”

This isn’t to say Ten’s self-exploration is complete. While celebrating his strengths, the artwork also portrays parts of himself not yet conquered. He admits to being a chronic overthinker: “Even very small things that happen to me, I rethink a thousand times, and I get stressed out because of the things I do. Like, the main theme [here] is me overthinking but trying to find an answer even though it doesn’t have any answer.” Fittingly, spiral shapes dominate his designs, looming large amongst bright, bold shapes that evoke 80s Pop Art and graffiti, though Ten shies away from defining himself as “fully an artist, I’m not in the position to say things like that yet.”

“I’m still learning and trying new things. You learn by getting different elements from different people and I’m in that stage now.” He enjoys wandering the infinite halls of Instagram and Pinterest where he screenshots art that he likes, lost in the images, often for hours. He explains that he’s mostly influenced by whatever his current visual obsession is. “I’m interested in tattoos lately so my paintings look like tattoo designs. I’m that person who, when they see stuff, it goes into my brain and instantly comes out from my hands,” he laughs.

Ten’s introduction to art and design was through his mother, who believed music, art and sport were more important in a child’s development than traditional academia. “She didn’t care if I got an A* or not, just don’t get an F or a D,” he grins. Like any kid forced to do something, Ten railed against spending his weekends at art school. He attended but he didn’t draw. He befriended his teacher and other pupils and, as they worked, he chatted. “I was a very talkative kid! When I came to SM Entertainment (in 2013), I had a lot of my own time because my parents were in Thailand and I was alone. I had to absorb all the new culture and adapt to a new environment.’” When he felt surrounded by “negative energy”, he began drawing, enamoured with the space and freedom it offered because in art, as he often says, “there’s no right answer.”

There is, however, sometimes a middle ground. His goal was to make the Represent collection accessible to his diverse fanbase. “I wanted to make things that people can easily wear because it was my first project to make something with clothes and it’s a collab. If you go too far out, no one will get it. If you go too far back, people won’t reach for it. So finding the middle ground is important but that’s the hardest thing to do. If it’s my own project, I’ll be like, ‘I’m the president of this brand, I’m gonna make all the weird clothes that I can imagine!’”

He sought second opinions to ensure his designs landed the way he hoped. “I have a lot of good friends around me - my choreographer, (SHINee and Super M member) Taemin hyung, my manager. I randomly ask people I’m comfortable with and have known for a long time, like Mark (Lee, of NCT and Super M). Mark has the same kind of perspective as me, but I’m a person who is arrghhh!” He waves his hands in the air. “And he’s very calm. I need a person who is opposite of me because when I’m in a mood, I talk nonsense - ‘I wanna do this, I wanna do that, I wanna make this!’ - and Mark’s like,’Bro, calm down’,” he says in a rather uncanny impression of the Canadian-Korean.

Ten works fast when he’s drawing. He has to. He describes his personality as someone who can't wait until the next day to do something. “I’m very impatient,” he smiles. “If I’m going to paint or draw, I’m going to finish it in, like, two hours. I can’t sit down for three hours.” When inspiration hits him, it’s off the back of deep contemplation, sometimes about the mundane - “Like, why do the cats come to me when they’re hungry only? Is it selfish or instinct? - at other times, something affecting him emotionally.

But whereas his job as a singer and dancer sees him project his energy outwards, art offers the opposite. He’s often alone in his room when he works. As is for many artists, the right mood is fundamental. “When I’m in a good mood, I can’t draw,” he half-sighs. It’s also a multi-sensory process. “Smell or the temperature of the room, that really helps me draw. I light three or four candles. And when I draw, it’s kind of heavy, the feeling,” he explains. “It feels like you’re sinking into something, into yourself, and everything seems so small. Everything narrows down into me, my pencil, the paper.”

The more work he does in different creative mediums, the less Ten’s desire is to keep them separate. His art, dance and music influence each other, whether it’s customising his own collaboration pieces, a choreography video in an art gallery or dancing underwater with a film crew. When someone tells him that something won’t work or match up well, he refuses to let the idea go until he’s attempted it.

“I’ve had that since I was young. I think everything is possible. If you don’t try, you don’t know. When people say it’s impossible, like dancing in water for three minutes, I’m like, then let’s make it possible. You don’t need to walk a straight line [in life], you can walk this way,” Ten says, pointing along an invisible line before switching sharply in direction. “Then go back on track, go that way, come back. No one should tell you to walk in a line, I don’t see the point of that.”

© Clash Magazine

[clownattack]

Castor - character bio

I’ve been struggling with getting a bio out for Cas for waaaaay too long now, but i feel pretty ok with how it looks currently - i'm going to repost it on my art blog with some drawings of Cas and Hjalle in the future (hopefully). If you want to skip most of the nonsense and just get a feel for her personality, the section under the bio paragraphs is FULL OF POINTS.

links to drawn refs here and here

Longpost under the cut

✦ Early life in Hjalle:

Being born into the noble family Aran, Castor’s early life consisted mostly of being pampered by the attendants and strict education. Cas was a rowdy kid, and with time, lack of affection and validation from her family served to amplify the trait - she went from occasionally disobedient to full-on antagonistic towards her parents, and the nobility as a whole. She began to sneak out; spending her time outside of the Fort, spying on the guards and trying to bribe knights into taking her on as a page.

When Cas turned nine a sibling came into the picture, and she made it her duty to assure Aster’s upbringing would be better than hers. She poured everything she had into Aster, but soon developed a brash and overbearing streak, unyielding in her focus to teach the meek little sister to stand her ground. Aster became torn between Cas and the parents, who in all fairness, treated her much better than their firstborn. This would remain the case until Castor’s dragon-induced injuries.

In her late teens, Cas was seldom seen in the fort - to everyone's great relief. Her mood was always sour, she gave up on her studies and only seemed to care about Aster and joining the hunting parties. Her parents reached their limit when Castor announced she would not become one of the renowned judges of House Aran - this led to an explosive argument, which concluded with Castor storming out. For the following two years, she lived and worked with rangers tasked with protecting and providing for the town.

It was in those years that Cas acquired her battle prowess and scars, the most prominent being a gift from an especially large and angry dragon. A single swipe of its tail tore Castor’s chest and forearm open, forcing the hunting party to rush her to the fort in (what the hunters expected to be) a futile attempt to get her family to provide medical help for their dying kin. The reception was cold indeed, and if it weren’t for Aster’s hysterics and outrage over her family’s indifference, Cas would have not survived the grievous wounds. The upside to this event was a new high tale to impress people with, and strengthening the bond between two sisters. The downside - Castor was now under her parent’s thumb. They made her accept the position of inquisitor; to make up for the hassle she caused them. Taking up the mantle turned Castor’s world upside down - not only would she have to work in close proximity to her father, but her dreams of being knighted were shattered, as inquisitorial duties stand in stark opposition to virtues of knighthood. As Inquisitor she was tasked with investigating and interrogating for the court - the latter, as Aran tradition had it, was extraordinarily bloody.

 ✦ Vesuvia:

Almost as soon as she arrived, the city sparked something in Cas. This was unexpected to say the least; she was certain the years of gruesome work as inquisitor numbed her to simple joys of life. The sights and sounds of Vesuvia however, made her eager to explore and see how everything ticked - and the more she saw the more she wished to remain in the city. After attending the Masquerade and becoming acquainted with Asra, Cas was prepared to do anything to stay - even if it meant sucking up to the Buffoon count and begging for a job. Lucio proved to be anything but opposed - he’d heard of the “bloody good shows” (pun intended) Castor was infamous for, and was eager to take her off her parents hands. This led to working parallel to the count and his court, but also enabled Cas to dabble in magic under Asra’s tutelage.

This slight betterment of Cas’ situation would not last long however, as The Red Plague took complete hold of the city mere months after she took up her residence in Vesuvia. After perishing, and being brought back by Asra, she very slowly regains certain memories and traits - her sister, love of astronomy, sword skills. She sneaks out, snoops, and is a handful overall; but Asra is happy to see Castor’s “new” self free of bitterness and pain.

After this point, the “game events” take place. I like to imagine Castor braving an amalgam of Nadia and Portia routes, with a fistful (or multiple) of courtier drama. Castor is tasked with an investigation, slowly  but surely unravelling how deep the corruption runs in Vesuvia, and how much of it can be attributed to the courtiers. The conclusion of her story focuses on first facing off against the court, then the Justice Arcana.

  ✦ Physical appearance

Light olive skin, she picks up a slight tan in Vesuvia.

Dark gray eyes, striking marbling on the iris.

Long girl - 176 cm tall, loves being the “tall friend” (and manhandling people close to her). Being taller than her is taken as an indirect challenge.

She has a rectangular body type, could be described as a “runner’s body”.

Prominent scarring across right forearm and torso, missing right breast.

Tastefully disheveled. Her hair has a constantly windswept quality, and the gray streaks seem to be especially unruly.

Inherited the “Aran silver” (early graying), she tries to ignore it. “The more you hide it, the more it shows”.

Secretly really bothered by the many similarities to her father. Avoids looking at herself too much, and whenever she does it feels like he’s looking back at her, judging.

Only ever smoothes herself over before important court meetings and social events. She doesn't know how makeup works, so before any party she asks Asra to sort her out. Cas looking prim is both a treat and a source of friendly jabs.

✦ Character traits

Power walking by default. This can be somewhat intimidating, and she won’t stop if someone is in her way - just put them to the side and continue.

Puts up a really convincing pretence of formality and refinement.

In actuality she finds this facade tiresome, and just wants to talk fast about battle/hunting feats or astronomy. Maybe show off her pyromancy.

Loves socializing, it recharges her batteries.

Dilligent worker.

Tends to overwork herself and neglect her relationships.

Often scatter minded and wanting to do too many things at one time.

Doesn’t appreciate people instigating physical contact or getting up in her face. She needs to prepare herself for it, or be the initiator.

Stubborn as a mule. Never knows when to stop pressing people.

Extremely callous at times.

Annoyingly overbearing

Most of this springs from a place of fear - things had a habit of getting worse whenever her family imposed decisions onto her. In her mind, if she’s the one holding the reins, everything will be better. And if something does fail - she will be the only one to blame.

Starting arguments comes much too easily to her, but she’s just as quick to introspect, and seek out the person she argued with to apologize and approach the issue in an appropriate manner.

Forgives easily

Eternally scoffing at astrology. She knows shes being bigoted, but at this point its almost like an inside joke between her and Asra. “Astrology? It's baby stuff. PSEUDOSCIENCE!” (she cries as she worries over her afternoon tarot reading and preparing pretty horoscopes for the Shop...)

A huge hypocrite at times. “Do as I say, not as I do” could easily be her motto.

Both the upright and reversed Knight of Swords card sums her character up perfectly.

✦ Occupation & Residency

Vesuvia:

Beginning of her story follows the game canon almost to a T - Cas lives with Asra in the Shop, and works there. It bores her to death, and she plays tricks on every customer just to entertain herself.

After being officially hired by Nadia as the Palace Magician, Castor moves out of the shop and purchases a modest house in Goldgrave, much below the value of what Nadia offered her, and what she could afford. It’s convenient and that’s what matters to Cas. She continues supplying the shop diligently, and takes over whenever Asra runs off.

Nadia insisted on Castor having an office in the palace. It grew on her with time, and after The Devil is dealt with it becomes her little “hub”.

Hjalle:

Cas lived with her family in the castle site until 17 years old.

After denying her parents their plans for her future as a judge, she hunkered down in a hunting lodge outside of the town, and spent almost two years living that way - she still thinks of these two years as the most joyous time in her life.

The only thing she ever used her family’s wealth for was commissioning the construction of an extravagant observatory. Reminiscent of a gothic fortress, the stark exterior is contrasted with insides filled with artwork and art-nouveau ornaments. The central chamber is a vast library with a powerful telescope in its apse - it is a sight that could take the breath of the most haughty of nobles.

There’s a tiny living space below the main chamber, furnished sparingly, but with a lovely fireplace (in Hjalle, its a necessity). It’s where Cas stays after becoming the inquisitor/whenever she visits after the in-game events.

✦ Trivia

Cas is 23 years old when she first arrives to Vesuvia - 28 at the time of The Devil’s downfall.

She freed Merlin from a merchant’s cage in the Red Market, during one of her outings in the three year interlude after her death - Asra fumes after they find out she snuck out to the market - yet is amazed that Cas found a familiar.

Cas regained her first memories via touching objects linked to her past life - a letter from Aster, articles of clothing, a sword...

This self re-discovering takes a turn for the worse when Cas finally finds a large, ornate knife - the one she inherited after becoming inquisitor. The memories it resurfaces are a staggering blow to Castor, completely derailing the beliefs she had about her own person. She thought of herself as a paragon, and remembering the torture she inflicted upon others, the lives taken in the name of “justice” made her relapse into bitterness and disenchantment. She deals with those feelings as her investigation into the courtiers progresses.

Predominantly uses pyromancy, other types of magic are strictly used for her work at the palace, and rather sparingly.

Could be best described as a battlemage - enjoys being in melee range and assaulting her quarry with both sword and fire; the latter being used more as a way to distract or stagger the enemy than actually harm. There's no fun in just burning them up!

Doesn’t cook for herself, although she has a natural knack for it - will only cook for guests and short people.

Her dislike of Lucio clashes with gratitude for employing her when she first arrived to Vesuvia - he was the knife which cut Cas off from her parents, and it’s something she could never forget.

Demiromatic/sexual.

She was offered to be knighted by Nadia after defeating The Devil. Cas declined - It’s much more than a title to her, and accepting seemed like mockery (considering her past as inquisitor).

Short fuse, she learns to better control herself while working in the palace. But if someone really pushes her the nearby candles miiiight get a bit out of control. Or she’ll just throttle them.

Hates her full name - Castor is such a mouthful. Sounds stuck up too...

[aislinswalsh]

AHHHH IS THIS REAL LIFE? I’M SO EXCITED TO BE HERE WOW ! hello friends !  i’m so pumped to get to know all of your children, and i hope you like my painfully irish angel bby aislin. her app did get a bit long so i tried to type up a tldr version, but shutting me up is practically impossible so forgive me if that’s long too. i do have a few wanted connections listed below as well, but if nothing tickles your fancy i’m super open to seeing where the cat drags us or plotting out something else entirely ! @opalsmedia​

            bio that’s just my app . pinterest . playlist .

[ HALEY LU RICHARDSON, CISWOMAN, SHE/HER ] shh ! AISLIN WALSH, the TWENTY-ONE  year old SECOND year FILM & PHILOSOPHY major from WATERFORD IRELAND, is known as a SAPPHIRE around here. SHE was invited to join because OF HER AWARD WINNING SHORT FILMS, and now, they’re here to stay. SHE reminds me of PICKING FLOWERS ON HER WAY TO CLASS, WRITING LOVE LETTERS IN FOREIGN LANGUAGES, THE ART OF SETTING YOURSELF ON FIRE TO KEEP OTHERS WARM.

A Very Brief History:

Aislin grew up a very wild child, which her parents did not like at all. They chose to pay more attention to her brother who muted himself for their approval, and followed them blindly. She took solace in books, and making her own little movies or music videos with her friends. Think of those cringey MVs made by seventh graders. Very imaginative as a child as she spent a lot of time alone. She learned how to entertain herself no matter the occasion, and played a lot with the nannies, maids, gardeners, and cooks on their estate. 

She comes from old money, as the Walsh’s own a long line of car manufacturers throughout the Republic of Ireland and the United Kingdom. Her family praises her older brother for being responsible for getting a deal to import their cars to the US and asia. He was also a member of the society, and her parents never expected Aislin to be invited to join. Especially her mother who doesn’t believe her interest in Film and Philosophy isn’t attractive for a “young elite”

“Talk less, smile more.” ( shoutout to hamilton ) a phrase she commonly heard as she always has a million thoughts running through her mind. Each one she deemed important. There was so much to the world she didn’t understand, and had yet to see. It’s what made her so passionate about exploring it through film. To insert her own philosophy and start discussions around whatever thought was plaguing her the most. But her mother wished she would just shut up and let important people feel important.

The lack of attention from her parents made her a strong people pleaser. Searching for the approval she didn’t get from home no matter how hard she tried. She’s always there to lend a helping hand no matter how late, will be the ear someone needs and offer her best advice. Believes that her loyalty and devotion will earn her the love she so often felt she didn’t receive from her parents. Aislin knows what it’s like to feel neglected and like she’s not being paid attention to and she never wants people to feel that way so she showers everyone in the love she wishes her parents will show to her.

Aislin has a mind for wonder, and an imagination that knows no bounds because she can’t do the things she watches the protagonists she writes do. It’s her only form of escape from her life and she wishes she could live freely as her protagonists do but watching them in films would have to be enough. A passion that shows through as she as three award winning short films she’s known around the film community for. Those films being: “For the Love of a Daughter”, “The Problem with a Promise”,  and “The Ways in Which Footprints Lie”.

Personality:

She puts others before herself always no matter the situation. She isn’t a prideful person, so she’s typically the first to apologize whenever any sign of conflict arises even if she wasn’t the reason the conflict started.

 It’s really hard for her to stand up for herself, and will usually just allow people to take advantage of her or walk all over her. She’s scared of disappointing people so she does her best to keep the peace at all times. 

Aislin wishes to be selfish, and put herself first but can’t bring herself to do it. So she takes out her wishes through her works. Her protagonists are always free spirited, strong willed, and openly opinionated because she feels like she can’t be.

She romanticizes every aspect of her life, and tries to find joy in the little things. She’s quick on her feet, and performs well under pressure.  Also tries her best to give everyone she meets the benefit of the doubt even if they come with their fair share of bad interactions. Even if they treat her poorly she tries to find the good in them.

Wanted Connections:

her muse. this person is someone she longs to be like. they inspire her most ambitious of characters because of how selfishly and carefree they’re able to live. she notices how they put their wants first without showing shame, and aislin tries to mimic their speech, and the way they interact with others but she always folds. she wants to be close to this person in hopes their habits will rub off on her. she’s afraid to ask how they got so assertive because she doesn’t want them to pity her or be annoyed but they’re remain a dream to her all the same.

the one that got away. it’s aislin’s fault these two didn’t work out. she couldn’t get out of her own head. they weren’t ever a couple but this muse was very sweet on her, and aislin wasn’t use to that. she was constantly thinking it was only a matter time before she disappointed them. she was hot then cold, clingy then distant and it made her feels seem like mixed signals. this muse could only take so much and eventually stopped pursuing her all together. something aislin knew was coming yet couldn’t bring herself to stop.

her comfort crowd. this could definitely be a few muses ! these people would be her group of don’t ask don’t tell. they’d have their own code, and hold each other secrets to their heart and take them to the grave. they all have access to each other’s places, know their favorite foods, and spend all night sharing secrets, reciting dreams, and being their most authentic selves. in the days that follow their stress relief they don’t speak of that night, pretending like it didn’t happen until they need another night like it again.

her midas touch. this person manages to always get her out of her comfort zone, and do things she normally wouldn’t for herself. they can see the way she struggles with doing for others and doing for herself and want them to choose herself. they sometimes get into arguments over it because no matter how many steps she takes forward she always ends right back treating others in the way she should treat herself.

her skeptic. this person thinks her treat people with kindness attitude is nothing but an act. they believe she’s working some kind of angle, whether it be within the society, her department, her inner circle, etc. they just don’t trust the way she acts. fully believing there’s more to her sweet persona than meets the eye.

[commonalex]

future ready

future ready by common alex

Listen/download: future ready by common alex

It was around three months after I've been fired. I didn't dare to talk about it much, but it wouldn't that much of a mystery for someone to figure out why the short chick with the plaited hair isn't on the cash register giving wrong change to the old ladies anymore. To be perfectly honest, I was pretty devastated that I managed to fail even at working at the supermarket, where all you needed to get a grip was knowing how to count, wearing an "Olga" tag like a war medal, and acting like everything's okay at all times. Maybe that's why I ended up sneaking into it like a thief that day, out of stubbornness. It was the last sense of routine I had while everything was going under outside the window.

I could barely get out the bed before four in the afternoon. And when I did, all I had planned was dragging my body before the tv to catch some telemarketing and dumb commercials until the sun was out again and I successfully forgot who I am and what I'm going through. Because what other choices did I have really? For the last two years I was jumping from one dead end job to the next, either until I get fired or until I quit. I was leaving on benefits and a sad amount of savings, and I was starting to accept the fact that this would be my life from now on. Like, what else did I really have to rely on? Studies? Big deal, the world wouldn't end with just one english teacher less. Friends? Don't get me started. Family? All I was left with was a mother with a mission to make me feel horrible every time we spoke on the phone because I wasn't bothering to go see her. But even if I did, what would I have to say to her? I was mentally collapsing. So I said "leave it for now" and kept the thought pushed back for later. That's the reason why on that particular day I didn't pick up whenever my mom was ringing this cherry ericsson I had at the time. It wasn't like I really needed to answer, I already knew everything by heart.

"Have you seen how this girl you used to hang out at school does lately, Olga?".

No, mom, I haven't. It's been like ten years since I finished school.

"She's studying this thing you used to like, she got settled, she even has her own house".

Well done for her I guess, and?

"And you?".

I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life anymore, mom.

"But don't you ever think about your future?".

My long awaited future, huh? What a glorious future that was. It was so good, half of the people I used to know didn't make it halfway through.

Outside things were a bit more casual that the deep existential turmoil that was described by the news at the time, yet I was indeed shocked by that eerie amount of silence that was stretching through the cold winds that was piercing my purple coat. I could hear a tv screaming from two blocks away and the screeching roars of the phone lines echoing around the city, but there was barely any human voice left. I was only catching some mumbles and grunts here and there as I was jumping out of fear every time I had to turn around a corner. So it was just like everyday Athens, only with a little more of snow and fear of getting mugged. My social atrophy made me feel like I was being chased as the surrounding landscape was rapidly being stripped from anything that was reminiscing of a typical day. Like, that was the first time I ever saw people looting kiosks and butcher shops. I only managed to see like three to five people with their backs hunched, covering their faces while carrying those huge gray tv screens with the vhs player still attached or fifteen bags of chips, with their eyes moving around uncontrollably. All I had in my mind seeing these scenes was the word "brutalization". Maybe because all this time I wasn't fully aware of what was going on, or maybe because the news told the truth for once.

I snuck from the side door where the staff entrance was, because all the glass on the front of the supermarket was smashed to pieces and I didn't like the thought of my hands sliced open. It was a mess on the inside and the aisles stood empty like sad metal canyons. People must have broke in trying to get all the toiler paper and canned foods left in the previous weeks. From the expired milk bottles at the back to the unstoppable static noise of the refrigerators in front of me, there were all those special little touches to make me feel like I was working in this hole of a job again. And no, I did not bother searching for supplies. Instead, I walked around like I was out shopping with my mom, opening the boxes of the diabetes flavored cereal that no one bother to take, just to steal their toys. I also found a bunch of unopened boxes of the supermarket's very own faux chocolate milk (yes, the one with the dark industrial waste left on the bottom) that was probably expired as well. But, I was a lady, right? So I took some of them to the cash register, because Olga ain't no petty thief. I got around my place of work and scanned the bottles to find out that they cost something less than three hundred and seventy-five million. "Luckily, I don't have to calculate any change now", I thought. Never before have I ever experienced such relief while being there. I was sitting in the same place I was rotting for hours before the world turned to shit, and I was patiently waiting for a huge line of old ladies to pop out of nowhere just to ruin my vibe with their pension money bills. I almost started to miss all of those stuff. This must meant that things have really turned to shit.

The new millennium have begun just like any other year, against the disappointment and secret eagerness of some people. All that screaming about the revelation, the second coming of Satan, the aliens, and the revolution of the machines faded miserably as the days went by and absolute destruction was not to be seen. Yet, at least. Because the first planes that crashed mid-flight in South Africa and Indonesia didn't appear before the end of January, but all were like "okay, technical problems". And when missiles were accidentally landing on Iraqi cities, people were like "well, what to do, technical problems yet again". Only when the bank deposits got erased people started to cry and run like headless chickens. Young people now would call me cynical, but you had to be there to see it. It was crystal clear that people had all of their hopes and dreams for tomorrow stored into a single digit of a computer. A kind of tomorrow which was now failing to promise anything anymore in front of millions of simultaneous personal bankruptcies. Then the reactors in Italy exploded due to a system failure and tomorrow officially died. This tomorrow that we were told would bring everything to us, from cancer treatments to all of Britney's music stored in a tiny mini-disc. From flying cars to underground metros. From huge tv screens for each living room to the giant digital information highway better know as the INTERNET. Nowadays all of these sound so silly, but the pain in the faces of people from the betrayal of their dream did not seem to go away. Until mid-February, everyone lost their minds. Those who saw all of this coming ran away in fear of the new Chernobyl to leave the rest of us behind to die. Shops, services, offices, all ceased to have any actual reason to exist in from of the impending disaster. All you could see around anymore were padlocks, deflated bodies on the street from people that couldn't take it anymore, and some shadows of people left to wander like animals while pretending to be alive. Maybe that's why the tv was constantly playing commercials and other irrelevant bullshit during all of this, it was the last useful thing they could show to the people that were preparing for the grand finale.

But that grand finale wasn't so tangible for me. Everyone had this type of end predetermined, but this panic of theirs seemed more like a slightly less shallow version of the preexisting self-preservation to me. I wasn't convinced by those who screamed that the world was over simply because it already happened to their world. Like, just as Rome wasn't built in one day, their illusions weren't shattered overnight. I mean, at that time the supermarket was filled with those obnoxious promotional banners featuring the new slogan that was everywhere lately, before things change for the worse. They had the "FUTURE READY" catchphrase in large white letters that spread noisy and ridiculous lacking any particular meaning as everything was collapsing. What future exactly was that slogan referring to? The future in general, as a concept of time and space? They wouldn't have thought that out that much. Was it the future of humanity from now on? I wouldn't be so concerned for this with all those rich fucks that had already kissed as goodbye from their shelters, we were far from being extinct and in maybe less that ten years we could wake up with someone like Will Smith ruling the world. No, the catchphrase probably meant that future with the flying cars and the internet. The future only fools would believe it would come (and yes, people actually believe that). That future we lost just as fast as we were promised for it.

So in short, we were crabs in a bucket, pulling each other down in excruciating depths. This wasn't living nor surviving; we more or less kept on functioning like bio-robots with depression. But for me, things weren't looking so grim. "Look at me", I would say, "I reached twenty-nine and haven't done crap to be proud of, I drink expired chocolate milk and I'm secretly glad the world is ending because every day was borderline unbearable for me anyway, so how good would the future be for someone like me?". Nowadays the denial of any form of reality in this reasoning stands out, but at that moment I was reaching redemption. I was now reassured by the thought of the end, acting like a barrier that could block this endless loop that was running relentlessly against me. "So finally", I said to myself, "let's calm down once and for all". I was spinning around in the cashier's chair like a silly kid and was finishing up the bottles of milk like there's no tomorrow, while convincing myself that once everything goes to hell, my torment is over.

My phone’s vibrating through my coat cut me off the carefree twirling around my craziness. "Mom" was flashing on the screen again, but by that point I couldn't be bothered for explanations. Still, the dialogue kept running automatically like a script inside my head.

"I just can't get you. Do you keep on acting unbothered by the world? Even now? Who are you trying to convince anymore, Olga? Me? Because I know you have roughened up out of fear".

Well, truth is I was actually fearing you would start with that kind of shit again.

"You are getting more and more difficult to talk to. You are basically denying something we both clearly see at this point".

We seem to say the same exact thing, ain't that something? I guess I was kinda doomed from the start to be and look just like you.

"You really do me dirty with all these conclusions you're drawing out of anger".

Okay, so what? Did you get upset?

"Why are you angry at me, Olga? Can I hear you say it, just for once?"

I don't have the time for this thing again, mother, I need to enjoy my remaining days over here.

"How much do you think this will last for you? When will you stop stalling and start looking after you and your future again, Olga?"

What future do I have, really, are you kidding me?

-Are you talking to yourself, ma'am?

I almost slipped out of the chair. I had never experienced such horror before. I was barely held off the bench to help me  get up again slowly with my heart sinking to my stomach, only to see a little girl with plaited pigtails looking at me half-frightened. She wasn't over nine years old, judging by the face and the childish dress she wore under this puffy purple coat.

-Why are you here? Where are your parents?

-Over here, come and take a look! But mom told me not to talk to strangers!

That of course made zero sense to me. Just like it made zero sense for a child to be left alone in a destroyed supermarket with the sun setting outside. I asked for the girl's name, nothing. I asked again, she hid her puzzled frown behind her pigtails trying to playfully imitate my posture with her hands on my waist.

-I'm Olga, I work here. And you?

She started to say something and suddenly changed her mind, running like hell to the back. I was confused thinking how would I look like to someone who saw me chasing a little girl in there, but then I reminded myself that probably nobody would be left to live to the end of this month, so I wouldn't be considered crazy for too long. I began running under the flickering ceiling lights and with each step I had to swallow my vomit. This little girl felt sorry for me in the end and stopped to wait for me at the end of the far right aisle, leaving one sleeve of her huge coat to stick out on purpose. I approached with an awkward smile and glanced at the strange grace she had on her face, with those weird baby hair that can't be caught for nothing in plaits pointing upwards. Despite my awkwardness, the girl stood unworried and expressionless as if I put her on timeout. I asked her name again. She slips away from a second time and runs like the wind, squealing something at lime while zigzagging the aisles.

-You should probably pick it up!

My phone was stabbing my pocket. It was "Mom" yet again, but I really wasn't in the mood for "Mama". I had to pick up my lungs from the floor at the top of my priorities, because this little devil wasn't running but galloping like a damn horse. I finally caught up with her in the aisle with the products of the day and tightly grabbed her by the shoulders. The little devil screamed and was banging her feet in pain. My hands had been too coarse for people after all this time.

-Hey, ma'am, did you get angry? I was just playing with you.

-I'm don't have time to play right now, please go to your mom.

-But I told you, My mom's right here.

"Where is "here"?

With just one finger sticking out of the sleeve, she pointed to the right middle shelf at the end of the aisle. She put her finger before her mouth to stop me from talking and I followed her on tiptoes. When we approached the end of the aisle and my eyes got used to the darkness I saw a woman laid inside the empty shelf. She was in her sixties and wearing an old black nightgown with holes on it. From her short hair down to her nails, there were ice flakes stuck everywhere as if she was just found buried in the snow. Her face with her eyes closed was carrying such an expression of pain and torment. I was so weirded out that something made me want to follow those ice streams that filled her skin's scratches with my fingers, however her body felt so stiff I jumped back. She looked more like a porcelain doll than an actual person.

-Ma'am Olga? Are you alright?

I threw up all the chocolate milk I drank. My body got the chills and my teeth were trembling so much that my breath was coming out in sharp puffs in front of the flickering lights of the refrigerators. I must have look like shit, because I scared the little girl for good and made her get five steps back from me while I was going crazy and trying to clear my eyes from the shock.

-Why is she here?

-Nobody wanted her. Nobody called to take her.

I didn't pay much attention. I pulled out my cherry ericsson to call for help, but the chaotic hum of the phone lines echoed in the aisle before I even put the phone to my ear.

-Who put her here?

She was just staring at me. I asked again and again. She let her lower lip half open. I grabbed her by the shoulders like before and she pulled out a choked scream due to my clumsiness. She started crying and feeling loose in my hands. It was then that I felt like something broke inside me and I crawled away from her because she would pass out in any second just by looking at the state that I was. I sat on the floor watching her wipe her tears from a distance, all while fixing her plaits and stressfully straightening the dress inside her coat. Every now and then she would throw these incoherent excerpts from conversations that seemed weirdly familiar, waiting for me to remember the answers I had given to each of the discussions. I felt sick, like my insides would explode at any moment. My mind was working overtime and I started seeing red. I understood, but I did not want to accept it.

"But how?" I was saying again and again. I can't just live through this stuff. I was thinking that maybe that's it, we are officially past this tomorrow. Maybe that was the end of the world and the time I had at my disposal. Only instead of cloud islands or pits with flames I was stuck inside this supermarket with a little girl and a dead woman. Was this fitting? Not really. It might be considered symbolic, but still not at all subtle. That's why I was stuffed with anger and distress. I couldn't digest what to feel after all that I saw. And what was the meaning of all of this? To make me feel remorse? To help me maybe? But how? So many questions hanging above my head I began to feel like I was melting from the uncertainty. Luckily, the little girl found some courage to pick me up from the floor.

-You still don't recognize her, do you?

-I recognized her just fine the first time.

-Are you sure, ma'am Olga?

-I don't know, what do you say?

-You tell me.

-We have to get out of here, kiddo. We can't get through it like this. Even now, with everything else going to hell with us.

-Do you really want me to come with you?

-I don't know. Maybe I want to, maybe I should.

The phone started screaming again. It was dimming "Mama" with small flakes of ice filling its broken tiny screen. The girl bent down and put this in my palm with no emotion on her face. I answered it. I waited for an eternity so thin you could fit it inside a moment like this. "Hello? Mom?". Eventually the same confusing static noise creaked from the other side of the call, and I stuck there waiting through the buzzing to find her smoker's coughing that she used to do before starting to complain about how I constantly forget about her. Waiting just to tell her that I was here, I was fine, and the world might not end there. Maybe, somewhere, somehow, there's even some future we can fit in it.

-So are we ready now, ma'am Olga?

-Ready for what?

She pointed at the banner hanging from the ceiling.

-Future ready.

I didn't catch my mother's voice at the other end of the line, of course. I hung up and weakly threw the phone on the shelf where the woman was laying, just to hear its dying snout. This felt way more fitting.

-Nah, not really. But it probably does not matter right now.

-But. I'm scared.

-I'm scared too, being in here and all.

-So when will we be back? When everything was normal again?

-"Normal" may no longer exist. We'll just have to see. For now, get up.

-You know better, ma'am.

-Ma'am my ass.

The little girl glanced just once at the self with the phone on and continue to walk with me, with her palm lost and warmed up somewhere inside my own palm. An analog clock on the wall pointed somewhere after nine o clock and the sky was bruised from the clouds that were pouring snow on everything around us. I put my hand with hers in the pocket of the miserable purple coat and lifted our hoods to escape the cold on the way home. I don't really remember how long we walked with our backs hunched over somewhere between the white and the gray. I only recall that we took the long way home, like a punishment of some sorts.

Thinking that I would never hear again the saltiness in my mom's voice was my most bitter torment. I never thought of such a possibility. I always had in the back of my mind that she would find a way to defy any rule of the universe, just so she could care for me. That's science fiction, after all. It seems I was holding on to my illusions for so long, so waking up hurts like hell even today. And if my mom died, I believe she must've left with that pain and concern during her last moments. "Look at me now", I catch myself saying here and there "I avoided her only until I had to mourn her". Until then, the only thing I had on my mind was working on what I should say when I would get asked about her, only to answer that we "fell off" with no emotion. What exactly happened to fall off with her would be like unnecessary little details. Still, to this day, that's exactly what I tell people when it's being brought up. I can't talk about it without sinking in remorse. I can't get the right words to come out anymore, not even by force.

Of course I tried to find her. Especially with the years that were to come upon me, I needed this to have my mind calibrated just to not go crazy over the batshit hysteria that was building up inside of me. Deep down, though, I knew I didn't have the courage to look at past trauma anymore, and I was secretly hoping I would never fine here. Maybe because the end of the world not coming anymore, at least as I thought it would, and now I have to live with it forever. Maybe because the worst that could have happened to me in the end was the postponement of the apocalypse. And this falls heavily on my shoulders to this day. Every day I have to justify why it was worth it to stay behind, either as punishment or by luck, trying to convince myself that there is something left to do with the leftovers of my future.

[merigreenleaf]

Unexpected Inspiration Character Backstory: Blythe’s Past

It was pretty, really, the way the molten glass exploded across the room. In places it dripped, in places it pinged. A droplet hit Blythe's hand and she brushed it off before it could harden, then brushed a few more off her shirt as it was smoldering. The glassmaker gasped and snatched her hands away before she could clear off the rest. She turned Blythe's hands over to look at the palms. Okay, so they were slightly red. A few welts were already fading. Nothing big. Blythe rolled her eyes as she pulled her arms back. She'd always healed quickly and a brief touch of hot glass barely registered as pain. The real problem was that this was another mistake in a series of mistakes. If it turned out she didn't have magic and couldn't do anything with art besides make a scribble, a din, a tangle, or an explosion, she was going to have to live with her aunt. A week in her company was long enough to know that was the last thing she wanted. -Excerpt from an early draft of Colorweaver (book 1)

Blythe had a fairly normal Concordian childhood, but in a different way than Adair. While he grew up in a small town, she grew up in the capital city. He comes from a family of Artisans, the artists and craftspeople who have magic, while Blythe's parents and the community she grew up in were Protectorates, the elite group trained to guard art and protect artists. He had a huge, sprawling family. Blythe only ever had her father. 

(More)

Blythe's father became a single parent after her mother passed away shortly after her birth. As a Protectorate who guarded trade shipments, Blythe's mother should never have been traveling so far from healers so late in her pregnancy. But, like her daughter, stubbornness was her defining trait. Truth be told, her father also possessed it in abundance and he was the biggest influence in Blythe's life. Blythe looked up to him: he was strong, brave, kind, and driven to succeed in whatever he did. With his blessing, she began training and studying to be a Protectorate from a young age, until his stubbornness got the better of him, too. As a single parent, his assignment should never have been dangerous. Blythe never learned the details, no matter how much she looked into this later as an adult, and at the age of thirteen was orphaned. She had hoped to be adopted by her father's closest friends until an aunt showed up to claim her. Blythe had no choice but to go with her after she failed every test to see if she had artist magic. Had Blythe shown signs of this, she could have stayed in Concordia. She didn't particularly want artist magic, but would have preferred this to having to leave the country with a family member she had never met, who she disliked immediately.

Her uncle had been the Concordian diplomat to the neighboring country of Galanvoth for several years, long enough that Blythe had barely any memory of him. Blythe didn't mind his company and would not have minded Galanvoth so much had he not been gravely ill. He had been sick for a long time, according to her aunt, and after he passed in the same year as his brother, Blythe's aunt became her lone remaining family member. Blythe was miserable. She wanted nothing more than to return to Concordia and her training as a Protectorate. Her aunt, meanwhile, was determined to turn Blythe into a perfect Named Galanvoy citizen, the perfect house-spouse to one day marry off for political advantage. Something about her aunt rubbed Blythe the wrong way and it always seemed strange to her that no one else saw her aunt the way she did.

This misery lasted only for a few weeks, weeks which were filled with arguments and teenage rebellion, before Blythe snuck out into parts of the city her aunt would never visit. There she saw medics clandestinely helping sick and injured No-Names, people without the protection of a recognized family lineage. This was a thing Blythe could do that would both spite her aunt and give her a purpose until she came of age and could leave! The busy medics brushed the teenager off at first, until her stubbornness got them to see how hard she was willing to work. She got little sleep in those few years, being dragged around to social events and "taught" by her aunt by day, working with the medics and reading their medical tomes by night and whenever she could sneak away from her aunt. Medicine became her focus the way guard training had when she was younger and within a few years she had the culture's equivalent of a medical degree. Before too long the medics realized that she likely possessed magical healing, something not native to Galanvoth. They urged her to find a way back to Concordia for training, a difficult trick with the border closed and Blythe still underage.

Blythe's escape eventually came in the form of a traveling carnival troupe, one of the few Concordian groups allowed to cross the border. It wasn't quite what her Protectorate training had prepared her for, but her experience with blades made her a passable performer. It was there she met Dray who, after a short conflict where they both thought they were competing for the same act as blade-dancers, became her performance partner and sibling-by-choice. Shortly after joining the carnival, she apprenticed to the troupe's healer, who became her friend and mentor and taught her the basics of magical healing.

After acquiring this particular medical license fairly quickly since she was already a trained medic and only needed to learn the magic side, she decided on a focus to study. She picked trans health because the two most important people in her life - - Dray and her mentor Wysta-- were transgender. She took a hiatus from the troupe in order to study, and returned to the capital city where she had grown up. Blythe, being Blythe, decided that while she was there, she may as well do the equivalent of a double major and pick up where she had left off with Protectorate training. By the time she got her second medical degree, she had passed the tests for the Protectorate rank. With these skills acquired and needing a break from academia for a while, she went back to her carnival troupe. There she became the assistant healer to her mentor while she tried to decide what she wanted to do with her career.

What she no longer had, however, was a sibling. She discovered that while she was gone, Dray had left the troupe to become a solo performer. Dray hadn't bothered to tell her. She heard nothing from them except a few stilted letters that sounded nothing like the verbose and argumentative sibling she had left behind. There was never an address to send anything back to, not with Dray on the road. She tried to keep herself busy by helping the troupe and almost managed to convince herself that she wasn't hurt by Dray's actions. She knew as much about Dray's past as they were willing to tell anyone and had picked up pieces of memories while healing them, so she suspected why Dray had left and understood the reason. This didn't make her happy, though. When Etri and Sol joined the troupe a few months later, she essentially became Sol's personal healer as she patched him up after every failed invention and bad idea. Before too long the twins became as close to her as she had been with Dray, and when Adair wandered into the carnival and needed help getting back his stolen art, she and the twins readily agreed to help. Blythe was less than happy when the search led the four to cross paths with Dray almost immediately. Communication had never been her or Dray's strong suit and it took a while before they were able to get back to where they had left off.

Her found family gave Blythe some much-needed direction. It might just be possible to be a healer, a performer, and a Protectorate. As Adair’s sentinel, the significant other to an artist with magic, she can use her guard training as the highest ranking level of Protectorate. Adair is free to travel with a carnival troupe, unlike most Artisans who choose to live in the capital city, because he's a cartographer. This would be the perfect solution if fate didn't have other things in mind than letting the five stay carnies.

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

This is the next in the series of backstory moodboards I’m doing about the dorks. I have one for Addy here, two for Dray here and here, and one for Rosalie & Camille here. I’ll be sharing Blythe’s updated character bio board later this week. :)

This was made for @homesteadchronicles theme “teaching and education” because who better to use this week than the overachiever who technically has three degrees lol

Tagging my series tag list. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list and please definitely tag me in writing things you share, too! 

@homesteadchronicles @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @oceanwriter @desperatlytryingtowriteabook @muffindragon227 @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @dreameronthewind @shadow-maker @pen-for-sword @loopyhoopywrites @emptymanuscript @madmoonink @perringwrites @megan-cutler @elliot-orion @thatwriternamedvolk @indecentpause @writer-on-time @ravenpuffwriter @siarven @musicismymoirail @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @worldbuildingwren @hiddswritingrefs @cay--scribbles @focusdumbass @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword-d @enasroterfaden @missrobinswritings @joshuaorrizonte @zofiehelen @kainablue @kalis-scribbles @inspirited-goddess

[tofuisms]

— ✧ EMMA MACKEY ??  no, that’s just TOVA SOLEIL VIDARSDOTTIR !!  she’s the TWENTY ONE year old daughter of VIDAR BJÖRK-THORSON & SOLVEIG CARTER, and is, in addition to being an UNDERGRAD there, the current POWER CONTROL TA at paragon academy & FLOOR STAFF at a sound purchase record store. i hear she’s TENACIOUS & ECCENTRIC but tends to be ACERBIC & GARRULOUS. her file says that her powers are NATURE MANIPULATION & PARTIAL ASGARDIAN PHYSIOLOGY. redirect to her stats page HERE and her pinterest board HERE.

you CAN change the world, girl                          ( you really, truly can )

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warnings for talk of death & divorce & army 

tova soleil vidarsdottir was born on july 23rd, 1997, one of ( if not the ) first born children of vidar bjork-thorson & solveig carter. she’s what the world would call a legacy ; and she’s felt the weight of this for most of her life.

she’s always loved her parents. her father was her hero, and her mother was her best friend. it’s easy, in a lot of ways, to grow up and resent the people that brought you into the world - in a great many cases, they don’t seem to do enough. when you’re young, when you’re HORMONAL, it’s easy to latch onto what they did wrong and not what they did well. for tova, it was the opposite. neither could have done a better job, in her innocent eyes, the sun rising and setting upon them. 

for a while, this was fine. every parent hopes their child will look up to them, after all - and tova did. she was the kind of child that never wanted to let go of her mother’s hand. never wanted to stop getting piggybacks around the garden from her dad. never wanted to grow up, really, but the sad truth was ; everyone has to eventually. 

she always looks to her childhood with rose tinted glasses. she has no desire not to, even though she knows, now that she’s older, things were never quite as good as she recalls. her dad was never really around. it wasn’t his fault - just the life that he led. he was always overseas, doing his part as a soldier in the british army to keep the peace, to save the world, as tova liked to think. she still gets a little THRILL when she hears the sound of the postbox going - a residual feeling from when she was just a little kid, living with the knowledge that a letter was all she’d have of her dad, for a little while longer. when he was back, things were good until they weren’t. she doesn’t recall what her parents arguments were about, anymore ; just that they existed. sometimes she would hear the rising voices, but for the most part, she would sleep soundly - none the wiser to what was starting to build between them. 

she remembers things as BETTER than they were. she doesn’t remember them as perfect. cracks existed, but tova never thought that they would grow so wide that repairs would be impossible. 

over time, it came to be that tova spent more time with her sprawling family than she did her father. sunny and hers were reliable presences ; vidar’s siblings and the asgardians were, too. he was the only one who wasn’t. as long as aunt theresa was around, though, things were never dire. her dad’s younger sister was probably tova’s favorite family member, though she never would have said, of course. there was just something about her that tova wanted to emulate. she was FULL OF LIFE, and happy, and whenever she came to visit she would bring the best stories, and presents. she was everything.

tova will always feel, in a way, like maybe she was to blame for what happened. she was only eleven - too young to understand, really, when all hell broke loose. theresa pushed her to the floor, lying across her to make sure that she was safe, as shots rang out around them. all tova could think was that she had made her aunt bring her to the shops, before they went to the bank ; she had delayed the trip, she had gotten them caught in this, she --- she had gotten theresa killed. everyone told her differently. in the hours, days, weeks, months after ; everyone knew she harbored some kind of guilt, and everyone knew that it didn’t belong on her little shoulders. still, it was a burden she had to bear. theresa had kept her safe. theora trevor had saved the day. she wouldn’t have been alive without the latter, but if the former hadn’t put herself in harms way.... tova knew it would be different. 

this was the turning point. the real one, at that. however much she had grown up and become aware that as much love as there was, her family life was far from perfect, tova had always been able fool herself. in the aftermath of her aunts death, though, things fell apart. two years later, her parents were divorcing.

she never blamed herself for that. it’s kind of surprising to hear from someone with a guilt complex, but the thing was ; tova was getting older, now. she didn’t want to, but she understood that her parents would be happier apart. sometimes, that’s how things go. 

understandably, her later teen years were fairly rough. she was going through a lot because of her aunt’s death, and she had to learn, now, how to live two different lives ; the one with mum, and the one with dad. she still loved both her parents, but sunny had always been there. the same couldn’t have been said for vidar.

there was a disconnect between them that tova desperately wished didn’t exist. in a last ditch effort to try and be like her dad, to mend part of their relationship, to relate to him and make him relate to her - tova joined the british army after leaving school. it seemed like the right idea. 

it all kind of snowballed, from there.

the army grants educational leave ; tova’s plan had always been to establish herself, and then take that. she spent her seventeenth and eighteenth year in boot camp and then, overseas - time off spent in england. then, she applied and was denied her chance to take a break. she was a good soldier. both her parents had army roots, as did a lot of the people she knew from being a kid ; she knew what she was doing, what to say and how to act, and she was top of her grouping. still, they wouldn’t allow her take her leave. 

instead, on a fateful afternoon, tova was called into her superiors office. a man and a woman in suits sat with him, and they explained - as clearly as they could - how she was a top candidate for a special kind of mission. they knew she wanted to go to college. they knew she wanted to go to college in america, at paragon academy, so she could be nearer to her DAD. there had been a new kind of distance forming with the fact he now lived across the ocean, and she had figured she could spent time with the family. they were willing to allow her that time, that chance at a good college education, so long as she also kept working for them. she asked who ‘they’ were, and was told that weapon x were just trying to keep the world safe. she could help them do that.

she didn’t know what she was signing up for. she just thought that...- it was necessary. and if doing it allowed her to get where she wanted to be... tova didn’t ask that many questions.

and now she’s here. 

SECTION TWO OF THREE: HEADCANONS

tova is a good kid. i really want to stress that, considering the reveal of the end of her bio ; she was eighteen years old when she was made an offer that seemed too good to be true, and she took it even though it was. it absolutely was, and... she’s been reporting on mutant’s, and on specific ones, and on what’s going on at the school at any given time. she’s been keeping bad people in the loop because she thinks that they’re better than they are, though a part of her is starting to cotton onto the fact that they aren’t. she’s not on their level. she was, and is, just naive.

if i was going to use a single thing to describe her, i’d use a few lines from sandi thom’s song ; “i was born too late into a world that doesn’t care, i wish i was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair.” everything about tova is just... a little bit vintage, and a lot bit punk. she dresses in a very specific way ( fishnets, acid wash, embroidered jeans, t-shirts with slogans, faded band shirts made before she was born, combat boots, stressed tights, MORE ), that also, somehow, manages to mix two styles that seem at war ; and seeing her stood inside her room, all its colors and decorations and cacti in painted pots... would almost be jarring. she'll take vinyl over cd, anyday, and would rather own a car from prior to the 80s than she would one with all the modern amenities. she likes the style of the past, though she can admit that she likes how far we’ve come far more, and every inch of her being reflects that.

when tova was younger and playing outside, in full view of home, she was attacked by a neighbors dog. it was one of those ‘freak accident’ type things, that she hadn’t provoked, and that the dog hadn’t forewarned happening. it was fairly serious, at the time, and she spent the night in the hospital. she’s been scared of dogs ever since, or at least... any dog that isn’t dad’s corgi ( a dog that still took her time to relax around )

tova has an eidetic memory ; which means, while in some ways she isn’t the most intelligent of people, she retains information quite well... though better, if she’s actually interested. for her, that means being able to rattle off music facts from the top of her head without an issue ; her real passions lie there, and she drinks in any and all information she can get. for school, it means she typically doesn’t need to try too hard. 

she does have a pet, though ! agatha is her three year old rescue cat, and she’s blind in both eyes. she got her as a kind of ‘welcome to the states and college’ present for herself, mostly because she figured she was going to spend the first few months settling in LONELY, and fell in love the moment she met her. she’s an indoor cat for obvious reasons, and because tova spends so much time with her, has the sweetest and most gentlest kind of temperament she could ; perfect for tova.

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

anything from THIS tag !

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her SQUAD / FIVE + TOVA + THE BEST FRIEND connection who looks like GIORGIA WHIGHAM, LAURA HARRIER, JOHN KARNA, CHRIS VERES / ANY FC who are 20+ YEARS OLD. you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( the squad includes tova and the best friend - but the DIFFERENCE between this connect and the last is that the squad breeds negativity. not actively. not to the point where it’s become a problem - at least… not yet. but think about any group of people in high school / college. think about how the connections formed in said group are intricate and sometimes hard to pin down. think about how some GOSSIP about the others, and how sometimes, someone doesn’t sit with them for a long time because of something that happened last weekend that remains unsaid for a while. there’s always a new drama. there’s always someone on the spot. they love one another, but sometimes it feels like they don’t really like each other - all of them with their own stories, their own lives, their own developments, and they come together for study group, and to hang out after class, and for lunch, and they have a little groupchat on facebook and ios and snapchat, and sometimes they just don’t THINK. who’s to say if they’ll be friends in ten years time, or if they’re only friends now because they tolerate each others presences? none of them know yet, and they’re not rushing to find out ).

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her PARTNER connection who looks like JORDAN FISHER, AMBER MIDTHUNDER, RICHARD WALTERS, ANA GOLJA / ANY FC who is 20+ YEARS OLD. you DO have to contact prior to applying at TOFUISMS or DISCORD ( jean grey rail me challenge#5427 ). ( i don’t really know how to phrase this one. so. tova is twenty one. she’s relatively new to living here in the states. she’s still learning about life, and sexuality, and so on and so forth. i don’t want to label this as a slowburn, or as a hateship, or as… any sort of specific romance connection, because i think it could be ANY of them, or all. not every relationship is the be all, end all. quite a lot of them have an expiration date. and when someone’s young, they don’t always do the big dance around the will they, won’t they - sometimes they talk for two weeks and decide to give it a shot. sometimes they hookup at parties every time one is thrown and ignore each other in the halls the rest of the time. i’m really open to discuss this with someone, because the end goal doesn’t feel like an endgame ship for me ( though who’s to say it won’t end up there? like i said. some have an expiration date, some don’t ). it’s to explore… the relationship side of things. a lot of romance plots are very serious very fast and i think it could b fun to wind it back and make something suPER casual. whom knows where we will end up! ) 

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her EXES / THREE TYPES IN DESC connection who look like TOM MADEN, ALISHA BOE, KHYLIN RHAMBO, MADELAINE PETSCH / PLAYERS CHOICE and are 19+. you DO have to contact prior to applying at TOFUISMS or DISCORD ( jean grey rail me challenge#5427 ). ( one for a relationship that began and ended when they were the smallest of little kids, one for a relationship that ended so badly they have probably never spoken since, and one for a relationship that turned into a close friendship, but was never destined for anything more. take your pick ! )

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for COWORKERS connection who looks like ANY FC who are ANY AGE. you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( just a small connect for more people who work in the local record store ! tova could do with some people who she can have the typical work dynamic with, and mayb they can even be friends outside of it! ) ( zoë barnes + more )

VIDAR BJÖRK-THORSON & TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our CHARLIE HUNNAM & EMMA MACKEY fcs are looking for a SIBLING / PIBLING connection who looks like DANIEL HENNEY, JASON MOMOA, GARRETT HEDLUND, ALEXIS BLEDEL, SKEET ULRICH, HAYLEY ATWELL / UTP who is 35-48 you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( tova loves her pibling! and vidar loves his sib - they’re also vidar’s last sibling ( that he was raised alongside ) that is still alive, they’re very close because they were raised together and were always running around together, causing chaos and looking after each other. their adopted baby sister died 10ish years ago due to a fatality in superheroing ( but tova was able to be saved so ofc - conflicted feelings for vidar! ) honestly, they could be adopted, a child of thor + helene ( wld b 42+ if so ) or a child of helene + someone else! bonus points 4 helene + a different asgardian! check out vidar’s INTRO for background info & more fc options. )

VIDAR BJÖRK-THORSON & TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our CHARLIE HUNNAM & EMMA MACKEY fcs are looking for a CHILD / SIBLING connection who looks like BILLIE EILISH, MARGOT ROBBIE, HENRIK HOLM, ELLIOT FLETCHER, KATELYN NACON, JOE KEERY, JENNY BOYD, NAT WOLFF / UTP who is 17-19 or 23 you DON’T have to contact prior to applying at ofichvr / tofuisms. ( but you can if you want ! ) ( tova would… die for each of them, any time any place, but also… you know how ur sibs are your best friends but also your worst enemies? .. yeah. when they’re good, they’re reALLY good - but when they’re bad, mom or dad probably has to step in eventually to referee the arguments. the dynamic would prob be different depending on whether tova is older or younger ; if she’s the eldest, then her natural protectiveness extends to them, and if they’re older… well, same, but she’s probably a little bit TOO textbook ‘annoying younger sister’ a lot of the time. it is very possible that vidar isn’t close to this child due to him not being around for AWHILE - he was in the army from age 18 to early 30s but would come home whenever he was able to - which was NEVER enough! so they could have a relationship where vidar tries and ur chara just doesn’t want that, ur chara looks up to him but they don’t rly know how to interact , etc! it is also an option for the chara to be a TWIN but thats completely up to u! please check out vidar’s INTRO for background info and more fc options! ) 

[urmomsstuntdouble]

whippity woo, it’s chapter 2

you can read it down there too if you’d prefer that

An anachronism is something that doesn't belong to its place or time. To Catra, that definition was redundant. A time was as much of a place as the alley she smoked in or the library she worked at. The only difference was that you couldn't choose your place in time. So really, an anachronism was something alien to its environment. Then again, there wasn't a point in getting worked up over stuff like that. She could always look away from the word-a-day calendar on the principal’s desk. But she was in trouble, and it would be a lot harder to look him in the eye when he scolded her. So she kept her head down, and remained critical of the calendar.

“Ms. Driluth,” He began drawled, “Do you know why you’re here right now?” She shrugged. It could have been anything, although three specific things stood out: The money she stole from Alicia Jordan, the fight with Iggy’s girlfriend, or her foster dad's drug ring. She wasn't sure how any of those had made their way to her principal, but it didn't matter. She was handling things.

The principal sighed. He leaned forward, and picked up a sheet of paper from his desk.

“Are you aware of your grades?” She shook her head. “Ah. Allow me to read them to you. In English, a C. In Algebra, a D. In Biology, an F. In History, a C. In Spanish-” He sighed, and set down the paper. “Do I need to continue?”

“Any A’s?”  

“No.”

“Damn, I was really hoping to keep my 4.0 going strong,” She mused sarcastically. The principal did not appear amused.

“This is no laughing matter, Ms. Driluth. If you can't bring your grades up, you’ll be suspended.”

“I never understood the point of suspension,” She said, finally raising her head. “I’m doing bad in school so I don't have to come? What kind of sense does that make? Not that I’m complaining,” She added, “I don't get it is all.” The principal was not amused. His eyes remained focused on Catra, his brows furrowed and his jowls pinched into a frown.

“Don't change the subject.”

“I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Getti.”

“Hmm. For now, all I can do is give you detention.” He pulled another slip of paper from his desk and began scribbling all over it. “You will stay for two hours after school every day until Thanksgiving break.”

“What?! That’s not fair!”

“I think its absolutely fair, Ms. Driluth.”

“I have work after school! How am I supposed to do that and detention and bring my grades up?” Mr. Getti shrugged.

“You should have thought of that before you decided to slack.”

“But, Mr. Getti!” Catra could feel the whine slipping into her voice. She hated whining, but she wasn't done talking yet. It was quite the predicament. “That’s so long! Break isn't for another three whole weeks! I can't-”

“Not my problem, Driluth. Take it to someone who cares.” He handed her the detention slip. “You will report to room 205 after school.”

“Come on, Mr. Getti. You have to at least let me do my time on the third floor.”

“That will be all, Ms. Driluth. Now get out of my office, you’re wasting my time.”

“Oh, I’m wasting your time?” Mr. Getti pulled off his glasses and fixed her with a serious look.

“Would you care to make it four weeks?” Catra prepared to retort, and almost started yelling, but managed to reign herself in.

“No, Mr. Getti,” She gritted out, “I’m absolutely overjoyed with my three weeks.”

“Excellent,” He replied. “Now get out of my office before I call security.” Catra stuck out her tongue, grabbed her backpack, and stalked out of his office. She kicked the door shut with as much force as she could muster. She her foot was in the air to kick it again when someone called her name.

“Hey, Catra!” She recognized that voice. As if like magic, her worries faded away. She spun around, a grin on her face.

“Adora!” Down the hall was Adora, her best friend in the entire world. She was tall with blond hair and blue eyes, and could have a career in modeling if she didn't love sports so much. Catra put up a hand and waved- As if Adora would have a hard time spotting her in the empty hallway. “What are you doing here? Isn't it fifth period?” Adora shook her head.

“Nope, lunch just started. I was talking to Mr. Ross. What are you doing here?” Catra shrugged.

“Nothing much, just Mr. Getti fucking hates me.” Adora’s face was immediately sympathetic.

“What happened this time?” Catra held up her detention slip.

“Fucking three weeks of detention is what!”

“Why?” Adora asked, her nose scrunched into a button.

“Apparently, my grades are too bad- Which they’re not, by the way. I swear he has it out for me.” Adora hummed in acknowledgement.

“How are they? Your grades?”

“They’re fine. I’m not, like, failing everything, if that’s what you mean.” Adora hummed again.

“Good.”

“Yeah,” Catra said. They stood in silence for a moment, before Adora shifted her backpack and sighed.

“You, uh, ready to go to lunch? I’m starving.” Catra nodded.

“Yeah, sure.” The pair turned and began walking towards the cafeteria. Catra kept her head down as they walked, trying to align her feet with the tiles of the floor. She didn't actually want to eat lunch, but Adora did, so she’d go too. Most days, she only ate enough that Adora wouldn't worry about her. Adora worried a lot, and sometimes, Catra didn't mind it. At others, Catra would rather Adora stayed in her own lane. Besides, she didn't get it. Catra couldn't eat lunch. She was too fat to eat three meals a day.

“So, I’m just curious, but, like, how are your grades?” Adora asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. “School hasn't been the same without you.” At the start of the school year, Adora got into all honors classes, leaving Catra behind in the world of regular-ness. She’d been badgering Catra about applying for next year ever since she found out she was going to be taking special classes.

“Fine.”

“How fine?” Catra bit her bottom lip, heat prickling at the back of her neck. She always hated this part. It was fact by now that whenever she talked about school, Adora's response made her feel stupid. Adora’s better test scores and neater notes had a remarkable tendency to rain on her parade. So Catra preferred to keep school out of their conversations.

“Not bad, okay? I’m only failing in Bio now, so-”

“You’re failing?!” Adora said, “That’s not fine! Do you need help studying?” Catra shrugged. It was an offer Adora had made before, but one she never accepted. She could handle her shit. She was handling it.  

“I think I’m good.”

“But you always say that, and you’re still failing!”

“Yeah, but I don't have- I can't.  Bio is just harder for me than you.”

“Sure, but-”

“It’s all good in Catra-town,” She said, and slung an arm around Adora’s shoulder. “Now come on. You have to tell me what happened in Razz’s class today.” Ms. Razz was a history teacher, and the least sane woman on the face of the Earth. She was absolutely insane, and many students hated her. Catra didn't have her, but she knew enough people who did to have a good grasp on how insane the woman was.  

“Oh!” Adora perked up, “Not much. Lonnie made a joke about cocaine, then Ms. Razz started ranting about the Opium Wars and Pablo Escobar.”

“Sounds delightful,” Catra said, and pulled her arm away from Adora as they reached the cafeteria.  

“I guess. But, like, none of her classes are ever on the same page. Its so annoying sometimes.” Catra shrugged.

“My Spanish teacher is like that too. I think he’s an escapee from a mental hospital or something.” The expression on Adora’s face was something of a cross between amused and curious. Part of it was natural inquisition, and the other part was that in New York, the rumors were more true than you’d expect.

“Cool,” Adora said, “I’m gonna go get our seats.” She left, running off to their usual table. Catra rolled her eyes. Adora had been doing that exact same thing since the first day of sixth grade. It must've been Pavlovian at this point. Catra qualified for a free lunch, so she got one while Adora found a table. No matter how many other people sat with her, she always made sure to save a seat for Catra. Never once in four years had Catra gone without a seat at lunch. That was nice. Sometimes nicer than others- Like when Catra actually got to sit at the table, rather than on Adora’s lap. But anyway, Catra had stability in her lunch table, which was more than some people could say.

After her mother died, her friends passed Catra around for a few years like in a game of hot potato. The last friend she stayed with had kids of her own. Her name was Ms. Weaver, even to her biological children. It was almost a full year before Catra gave up and sent a letter to Child Protective Services. Two months later, they showed up. They couldn't find anything wrong with the place, to Catra’s dismay, so they left. Later that night, she learned what it felt like to take the clasp of a belt to the eye and what the scar looked like.

But it was fine. It wasn't the first time something like that had happened. And Catra was well aware of the risks- CPS would have had to take them for everything to have been alright. Ms. Weaver also had three more children that she was taking care of. Their names were Esme, Mick, and Luch. None of those were nicknames.  For the longest time, Catra had assumed their actual names were Esmeralda, Mickey, and Lucia, but that wasn’t the case. All three were younger than her, and sometimes it seemed like they had a bond. Other times, Catra feared them. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone. She couldn't be afraid of someone whose head barely reached her shoulders.

After a couple minutes of waiting, Catra was able to get her lunch. Her current foster dad had obscene wealth, although you wouldn't know it from looking at him. He was a tall man with hair dyed blue.  He wore eyeliner, but you usually couldn't see it from behind his red-tinted sunglasses. Parenting was not a priority to him. All he shared with Catra from his life was how to fake tax returns. She was pretty sure he had only taken her in for the benefit of his drug ring. Ever since she moved in with him, her arrest record was filling with drug charges.

After she got her lunch, she made her way over to the table. Adora had, as always, saved her a spot. Also at the table were Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle, three people Catra had known since before her mother died. At one point in time, they were her best friends, but such ceased to be true when the three of them switched into honors classes. But it was fine. Catra had new associates in her regular, shitty classes anyway. She didn't need them.

“Hey,” She said, setting her lunch on the table. Lonnie was the first to look up from her conversation with Rogelio.

“Hi,” She said, and immediately went back to talking to him. Rogelio was an interesting person, to say the least. He was tall and bulky, and had a green mohawk. When he was younger, he was a mute, but now, he could sort of talk. The only person who understood him was Lonnie. Their whole thing was super weird to Catra.

“Hi, Catra,” Adora said. She had become distracted with something- Homework, by the looks of it. She ate an apple with her right hand, and wrote with her left, not looking up.

“Whatcha doin, there, Adora?” She asked.

“Oh, this?” Adora glanced up, and took a bite of her apple. “It’s for Spanish.”

“Que interesante,” Catra replied. Spanish was an interesting subject for her. Her mom spoke some Spanish before she died, and Catra heard it at work, but never the kind they taught at school. That was always peninsular Spanish. And boy, were the Spaniards on something. Catra much prefered the sounds of New York immigrant Spanish to the bastardized version of Madrid Spanish she learned in the classroom.

“Verdaderamente!” Adora agreed, and went back to her worksheet. Great. Now that Adora was working, Catra had nobody to talk to. Well, she could talk to Kyle, but, like. It was Kyle. Come on, now. So instead, she ate her soggy, fattening french fries.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to the vending machine,” She announced to nobody in particular. Nobody looked up or acknowledged her. After a moment, she got up anyway. Instead of going to the vending machine, she wandered around the cafeteria. She was virtually unnoticed. She weaved around people and tables, seldom making eye contact with them. A few faces were familiar from class or drug deals, but most were completely foreign. But that didn't matter. She had Adora, even if the other girl was always busy with homework and sports.

As Catra wandered, she caught the eye of someone she recognized. A small girl, her hair braided, and her eyes almond shaped. The girl, along with a group of others, frequented her library. Though they had never spoken, Catra felt tempted to wave or go over and talk to her or something. What kind of conversation would that be? Hi, I’m aware of your existence. Please make me aware of more. That would be super weird. So Catra sent the girl a curt nod and kept walking. She wasn't sure, but she thought the girl nodded back.

When she grew bored, Catra returned to her table. She sat next to Adora, and tried to be quiet, but it wasn't long before she grew bored and time slowed to a crawl. With a groan, Catra grabbed her backpack from the floor. Doing her homework was always an option- And there was that Algebra worksheet she had to do. Doing math in any capacity usually made her hate being alive, but seeing as her grade was- What? A D? She could stand to do some more work. Her foster dad would kill her upon becoming aware of the D in math.

It wasn't long before they could leave the cafeteria. By the time the bell rang, Catra had gained frustration and understood less than she had when she started the worksheet.

“Ready to go?” Adora asked her, and she nodded. Catra was especially ready for gym in seventh period. That was her only class with Adora this year. But she had to slog- Or sleep- through Biology to get there. Maybe that was why she was failing that class.

“Yeah,” Catra responded, “Let’s go.” They walked together for as long as their schedules would allow before parting ways.

“Bye!” Catra called out, as she turned and started going up the stairs.

“See ya, Catra!” Adora yelled back. Catra grinned to herself. She loved the way Adora said her name, even though it was wrong. She fell into the common pitfall of replacing the first ‘a’ with an ‘e,’ but the way she finished the name off was unique. It was something only she had ever said before, and that made it special. The way Adora said her name…Catra couldn't put her finger on it, but it was sort of like a secret only the two of them knew. It was a shame Adora had a phonetic name and the secret couldn't go both ways.

Catra struggled to force herself through the rest of the day. Biology was on brand in levels of tediousness. When seventh period rolled around, Adora didn't even pay Catra any attention. She was too busy talking to some other girls from her fancy smart classes. Well, that was fine with Catra. She wasn't stupid. She understood that sometimes Adora had people besides Catra who wanted to talk to her, and she couldn't talk to Catra all the time. It was also annoying. Adora was her best friend, not Lonnie’s, or whoever else she was hanging out with.

Though she never joined the conversation, Catra eavesdropped all class. She caught little snippets, mostly from Adora. The other girls she was walking with had softer voices- Although Catra was pretty sure one of them was talking about her dad leaving. Which, by the way, she needed to grow up. Getting stuck up on shit like that only made it worse. And the girl seemed very stuck up on it. She had her hair dyed blue and everything. Heh. Probably part of her rebellious phase or whatever. As soon as her dad started paying child support, she’d be fine, back to being complicit in rich girl world.

When school was finally over, Catra did wind up staying for detention. Even though she talked a lot of shit, she needed to keep herself out of trouble right now. Her foster dad was losing his patience with her, and any more big screw ups would get her sent right back to the home. Or worse, Ms. Weaver’s apartment. She shuddered at the thought.

Despite not giving a shit about her, her foster dad was actually decent as foster parents went. He usually didn't hit her, and he wasn't very mean to her- if not blunt sometimes. He wanted her to do well in school, but didn't every parent? He was nowhere near being a parent, but he kept her safe and gave her money, and that was alright with her.

After her detention was up, Catra had to run to the library. She almost didn't make it in time for her shift, but that was sort of okay. Her job wasn't super important. Most of what she did was shelving books and putting labels on new ones. She made four dollars and hour doing it, and often saw people from school milling around. That day in particular, she spotted the girl she had seen at lunch. The girl was with a group now, who may or may not have also been at school. They hung out between shelves, made lots of noise, and didn't appear to care that they were in a library.

They stayed throughout her entire shift. When Catra was on her way out, she one of the actual librarians stopped her and brought into a side room.

“I’m sorry to hold you up, Catra, but we need to talk,” She said, as though she was talking to a child.

“Okay. What’s going on?” Catra asked slowly, only a little scared of the answer. The librarian sighed, and pinched her nose.

“This is hard to say, but…We’re broke. The library is out of money. We’re going to have to either close our doors or get rid of some employees.” Catra’s heart sank. She couldn't afford to lose this job! Where was she supposed to go after school? And what was she supposed to do about money?

“O-Okay,” She mumbled, glaring at her shoes.

“Its pretty unfortunate. I tried to convince my bosses not to fire anybody, but they didn't listen. So, Catra, I’m sorry to say this, but…You’re done here.”

“I understand,” Catra growled. Her life was over.

“I’m so sorry,” The librarian told her, “But we just can't afford to keep you on, and you’re in a low level position and everything. Its not an ideal situation.”

“It’s okay,” Catra said, composing herself. “I get it, man. No money, more problems, you know?” The librarian looked somewhat relieved.

“Yeah, totally. Its been super rough here the past few months. I’m sorry, though. That’s the first time I’ve ever had to fire anybody.” Catra had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Why did this librarian care so much? She didn't even know the woman’s name. “Oh, and, um. We’ll still send you your paycheck for November at the end of the month.”

“Thanks,” Catra nodded shortly, and then left the room. She took off her name tag and spiked it into a nearby trash can. “Fuck me,” She mumbled, and grabbed her backpack from behind the main desk. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” She kept mumbling as she went on her way. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“Yo, you okay?” Catra was tugged from her thoughts by a somewhat familiar voice. She glanced around, and eventually noticed the girl from school. Instead of responding, her first instinct was to wave. She almost did before putting her hand back to her side.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just got fired,” She said, a little bitter.

“That’s rough,” Said the girl. She left her spot leaning against a bookshelf and approached Catra. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I’m, uh, I’m good,” Catra said as a reflex.

“Oh, good. I don't know shit about talking feelings,” The girl said, and ran a hand through her hair. “Me and my girls were about to hit up this party down in Soho. You wanna come?” Catra shrugged. She should be getting back home. Her foster dad might want her to make a run tonight. Then again, fuck him. Wasn't that supposed to be someone’s actual job? He could get another drug mule whenever he pleased.

“Yeah, sure,” She said on a whim, “Let’s go.” She left with the girl and her group of friends, not knowing a single one of their names. By the night’s end, she learned a couple names- Tamari, Johnny, Matea- but likely couldn't pin them to faces. The music at the party had been okay. Nothing she particularly loved. But more important was the exorbitant quantity of alcohol present. The party was in a storage unit owned by some kid who went to Catholic school, with almost enough beer and Franzia to make Catra wonder if they were okay. Then again, she drank enough to make herself wonder if she was okay.  

She remembered that night in flashes. When they arrived, she was one of the few people in the room who looked like her. Most people wore tight shirts and baggy jeans, or tiny shorts with fishnets, or their hair like Madonna. Catra was anachronistic in her shredded black jeans, dark flannel, and Yankees cap. She felt the urge to find Adora and cling to her side, but Adora wasn't there. Adora was at home studying or something, like the good girl she was.

Catra clung instead to the group she had come with. They didn't pay her much attention, except to ask if she wanted a drink or a joint. She never turned anything down. At some point along the way, her goal turned from having a good time to losing the ability to think. She couldn't remember why; she was overcome by a horrible wave of sadness around ten and replaced it with alcohol. Then came the realization that being drunk was really fucking fun. She was a better dancer and singer, and she was funny.

When she woke up in the morning, Catra learned that the amount of fun one had while drinking was proportional to the amount of suffering the next day. When she woke up, Catra thought she might actually be dying. It was the equivalent of a biblical apocalypse inside her body. Locusts, floods, the whole nine yards. And that was only the headache.

“Oh, fuck me,” She tried to say, but her voice was so hoarse it came out as more of a whisper. She blinked in the bright light of the early morning, and brought a hand up to rub at her eyes. Shortly after, her greasy skin and tangled hair came to her attention. “Shit.” She glanced around her surroundings, and found herself in an apartment. She had no idea whose, but it wasn't the one they had started off in. That was a little strange, but it wasn't the worst place she'd woken up.

The first thing she noticed about the place was the carpet. It was soft under her fingers, and for a minute, she laid there and ran her fingers across the floor. She wasn't sure why, but the softness of the carpet gave her hope. Maybe because the person who lived here had a nice carpet, which meant it was possible for someone like her to have a nice carpet. At that point, what was stopping her from  having a nice carpet? But then again, she drank so much last night she struggled to remember getting drunk. So she didn't know if the owner of the carpet was like her at all, and she was back at square one.

Sitting up turned out to be a mistake. Catra’s vision went dark and she would have collapsed, were it not for the couch behind her. Her headache was not helped at all by sitting up; in fact, it increased tenfold.

“Oh, shit,” She mumbled.

“Shuddup,” A voice groaned from behind her, and a hand fell down onto her shoulder. Catra yelped in shock, and jumped to her feet. Also a mistake, but she was too busy paying attention to the adrenaline to notice that she wasn't ready to jump yet.

Laying on the couch was a girl- Catra believed her to be one of the people she had gone to the party with. The girl was face down, although she hadn't changed her clothes. She wore a denim skirt and a leather tank top, and had tightly coiled hair. Probably tight enough to fit a finger, but that was an experiment for another time.

“Tamari?” Catra guessed. The girl shifted her hand, dangling off the couch. She held up one thumb, and Catra wasn't certain, but she thought there was a small grin on the girl’s face.

“That’s me,” She sang. Catra nodded.

“O-Okay, great. Um, where are we?” Tamari shrugged.

“I ain’t remember, man,” She said, and shifted on the couch to face Catra. “I’m fucking tired,” With a giggle, “I’m still drunk.”

Catra grunted in response. She cursed herself for going along with a group of people with a similar distaste for sobriety. Tamari groaned, and shifted into a different position. Facing Catra, she was able to squint around the rest of the apartment and see what she could see.

“This looks like, uh…Matea’s place. Well, it ain’t belong to her, it belongs to her parents, but, uh…” She trailed off. “Shit, man, this couch is fuckin comfortable.” A corner of Catra’s mouth twitched.

“Is it soft?” She asked.

“No shit,” Tamari responded. She pulled her knees into her chest, leaving the other side of the couch open. “You can sit if you want.” Catra did. She more curled into the armrest bit, as she was finally free of the tremendous effort of standing while hungover. The couch was a haven, and so soft. Not quite as nice as the carpet, but also not far off. If only she could have slept on the couch last night too…

In a couple hours, almost everyone else had woken up. This was, indeed, Matea’s place. Matea was a small, Eastern European girl who spoke with a heavy accent and had a mouth full of dying teeth. She claimed not to be rich, but her family had more money than Catra would know what to do with. As it turned out, daydreaming of infinite wealth got boring after you fixed all your problems. Even so, drowning in money never did sound all that bad.

“Anybody want eat something?” Matea asked, her voice low and gravelly. Catra shook her head, even though she was hungry. She sat with the group of strangers while they ate, and attempted to recall their names. It wouldn't be long before she remembered what day it was.

“It’s Thursday!” She shouted, jumping to her feet, “Shit, what time is it?” She glanced around wildly for a clock. There wasn't one in the room she was currently in, so she ventured off to look for one. Nobody followed her, and she eventually found one in a bedroom. It was ten thirty two, and she should've been to be in English right now. She didn't even know where she was, let alone how to get all the way back to school! Oh, this was all too much. Her foster dad was going to kill her when he found out she missed school.

“Yo, Catra!” A voice called out, snapping her back to the moment. “Where you at?” She stepped out of the bedroom, trying to compose herself.

“Over here,” She said, trying to keep her voice lower than it actually was.

“Yo,” A boy said, turning the corner. “What’s your deal?”

“What’s my deal?” She echoed, “It’s Thursday, dude. I need to be at school.”

“Chill, bro. We're skipping today.”

“I can't skip,” She said slowly, “My dad-”

“Man, fuck your dad,” The boy said, “What’s he gonna do to you? You got a job, right?” Catra shook her head.

“No, dude, I got fired last night. That’s the whole stupid reason I went with you to that party!”

“Alright, chill. My bad.” The boy scratched the back of his head. “But you still got some money, right?” She nodded. “A’ight, so what exactly are you so afraid of?” Catra opened her mouth to respond, but found that she didn't know. She blinked a couple times, trying to think of something. All her foster dad cared about were her grades and selling drugs, so if she could keep her grades up, who cared about her attendance? He only hit her when she deserved it- And she could take it anyway. So, yeah, the boy was right. There wasn't anything to be afraid of.

“Actually, yeah. You’re right,” Catra said, “Son of a bitch doesn't care about me anyway.”

“Yeah, see, you’re fine,” The boy said, “Now come on. You needa eat something, for real. You’re skinny as hell.” Catra held her tongue on arguing with him, even though he was wrong. It wouldn't lead them anywhere.

That was the first time Catra missed school. It was a sort of definitive marker in her life, although she wouldn't remember it. She would only remember that it started when she was a freshman. It wasn't long before she started showing up to school drunk, too. Those were the best days. Everybody loved her when she was drunk. Adora thought she was hilarious, and actually paid attention to her when they talked at lunch. By the time her detention was up, Catra had learned a whole new way of living.

There was only one downside to drinking and smoking and partying like she did. Her foster dad didn't like it. And yeah, he hit her a couple times, but there was nothing wrong with that. Nothing that she could see, at the very least.

Not once did it ever occur to Catra that she would develop an addiction. It was always just this once, or just for fun. But that was the thing about becoming an alcoholic or a drug addict. You say just this once, then twice, and the next thing you know, you’re addicted. And she didn't even realize it. On a subconscious level, she was able to better understand why her foster dad sold drugs. He got his highs from selling, and Catra got hers from using.

As the school year progressed, Catra grew further and further apart from Adora. From the outside, it was quite natural. Everybody thinks childhood friendships are parallel lines, but that couldn't be further from the truth. They each fell in with their new friends and people. Unfortunately, Adora found her people while Catra was left behind with people she couldn't force herself to love. All the while, she watched Adora get everything she ever wanted without even trying for it. They still spoke, but not as much. It was over Christmas break that Catra realized she wasn't Adora’s best friend anymore. That revelation was about all she remembered from that week, actually. She found herself blacking out more and more lately. Who could blame her? She was watching herself slip away from everybody she cared about, and there was nothing she could do about it.

By the time spring rolled around, the Catra most people claimed to know was dead and gone.

[myblogontech]

What is the Voice Recognition System and how does it work? || LN-TECHINFO

Visitor link:lntechinfo.in

Do you know what the Voice Recognition System is and how it works . Along with this, today we will tell you what are the advantages and disadvantages of this technology. I will also tell you about its history. Today we will give you all your information, so let us know.

How would you like it if your computer or Smartphone talks like your friend and also answers all your questions. Yes, you heard it right, but some people may be feeling this joke or dream. But this is true. Now technology is progressing so fast that it is also possible. You do not even need a keyboard in this technology . Like you will say hello, then your phone will also answer you immediately. It was impossible to do all this at one time, but gradually when the Computer Scientist and Mathematician started working on this concept one day and night, there was a technology invention called Voice Recognition. Nowadays this technology is available in every mobile phone and computer.

What is the Voice Recognition System: Voice Recognition is also called Speech Recognition . It is a computer software program, it is also a hardware device that has the capability to understand Human Voice. Speech Recognition is a technology that takes words spoken by Human like Input and converts those words into digital form, taking action over it.

This technology is used to operate mobile phones, to give commands to mobile and to search through voice. In this, you do not need to use any keyboard, mouse and neither do you need to press any button. For this, a program is used called ASR (Automatic Speech Recognition). For this, you need to train (teach) ASR PROGRAM. By which it will answer your questions by recognizing your voice and if you are given the command to do any work, then it will show working. Take an example, you will say "Open WhatsApp", then the mobile opens the WhatsApp by understanding the command given to you.

The best example of this technology is " Google Assistant " which is Google's application. SIRI is also an example of voice recognition technology software. This is Apple's application. You will find many software in the market which   is run by Speech Recognition . The most used of this Voice Recognition Technology is in Bio matrices, Office , Medical. So let's now know how it works .. How Voice Recognition Technology Works

It is very important to know how it works. When you say something, on-screen-text (what you say will appear on mobile screen) or to convert it into a command, Voice Recogntion has to go through a lot of complex steps. Whenever you say something, a vibration is born. This Vibration is nothing else but this Analog Signal. ADC Translator is used to convert Mobile or Computer Analog waves into Digital. You must know this, understands Computer Digital Signal only.

ADC follows all these steps to convert Analog to Digital. Divide the Sounds into smaller Samples in a Particular Interval. Digitizes that sound. System Digitize Sounds Wave removes Unwanted Noise by filtering. Also normalize the sound and move the volume to the Constant Level. There is a need to Constant the level of Sound because not everyone pronounce in the same Speed. However, the Input Sound is easily matched with Sound already available in Sound System Memory.

After this, these Sounds are divided into small amounts and small isa means 1 second's fifth part or thousandth part. With which some of these letters can be easily identified such as P, B, T because it is easy for us to understand them, but if it is a very difficult task in the field of Computer and Smartphone. That is why it is devide in such small matters.

Now the last step is left, small notes of these sounds are matched with digital signal stored in the system. Just like the one that matches with the 'G' signal is G, O with O, D. With D. If these three are mixed then "God" will be created. If you talk about Google Assistant, then by speaking the word God, it shows the meaning of God. So now let's talk about the example of Voice Recognition Software. . Example of Voice Recognition Software

In this, we will talk about 1 special application which runs from the application " Voice Recognition Technology ".

Google Assistant

This is a people's favorite application. This Assistant has been developed by Google. It was announced at the Google I / O conference in May 2016. In this, you can do 2 way conversion, meaning you can talk with your friend the same way you can talk. And you can also operate your mobile without touching it.

Now a question may have come in your mind that what can this application do. So below are some Commands that you can use in Google Assistant. You will also get an answer immediately. Remember, first pressing the Home button in Mobile, use all the commands given below. Or use OK to speak Google.

Google Assistant Commands

what's the temperature: with this command you get the temperature and weather information for the day.

Show me the direction to Chandni Chowk :This command will show you the shortest route from your location to Chandni Chowk in Google Map. If you want, you can take another name instead of Chandni Chowk.

Wake up me at 4 am or Wake up me After 1 Hour : This sets the Command Alrarm and sets you the alarm at 4.00 am. You do not have the inability to do anything else.

Play Music : This is why you would like to listen to the song. Yes, this command is for you only. As soon as speaking "Play Music", songs started playing in mobile. If you want, you can also name the song after Play Music. paly Music kolawari d If you speak, this song will play in Google Music player.

Send a Text Message to Rahul : Through this command you can send anything to TEXT Message Rahul. You do not need to write a message, whatever you say, the name Message Rahul will go on the Contact Number. Here Rahul Udahran has been taken on par.

Whats The Square Root of ___ : This is Mathematical command. If you say a number after speaking this command, then Square Root Result will be generated for that number. If you want, you can use other command as well.

Open WhatsApp : This is a wonderful command, through which you can open any app by speaking. You can also speak Open Map, Open Facebook .

Make a Reminder : Sayed, you must have forgotten a lot, you might not even remember anything. So with this command you can save anything Reminder. You can see Reminder through Show me My Reminder.

Good Morning / Good Evening : This is a wonderful command of Google Assistant. When you say Good Morning, you will get all the details of the day in reply.

Show me my Emails : The emails that came in Gmail. Show them When you use all these Commands in your mobile, then you will understand how Voice Recognition works.

This is how Apple's Siri application works. Let us now know what the application is.

Applications of Speech RecognitionIt is gaining a lot of popularity in the fields of technology, let's know where else its application is. There is a lot of contribution to device control. Like by speaking Ok Google, you can control your mobile completely through Voice and you can give any command.

In this way, you can control your mobile through Bluetooth by connecting Call Receive, Music and Map with Voice Command. You do not need to touch mobile at all.

Voice Typing- You will know about Google Voice Typing, in which you can write anything by speaking. You can write a lot in a very short time. Voice Typing is also very speed and you can write without spelling Mistake.

Call Center- Whenever you call on a CUSTOMER Care number, then it speaks on there, give your message through Voice Command. This is also possible with this technology.

You must have heard the name of bio metrics- where this technology is used more on it. Voice is used for id verification in big software company. Time is ahead to know the history of this technology. So let's know.

History Of Voice Recognition Technology

1. 1950s to 1960s:

This was the period when Voice Recognition Technology was a small child which meant the time of harvest. At that time Voice Recognition worked only on Number and Digit. In 1952, a scientist named Audrey invented it at Bells Laboratory. But even this, only the number could understand.

2. 1960s to 1970s:

After this, in 1962, a company named Shoebox was developed again, this time the thing was something else, because of this number, now this technology was now beginning to understand English words as well. After some time, along with time, the ability to understand 9 consonant and Vowel also came.

3. 1970sUgh .

 The S Defense department changed its thinking and increased its contribution to Speech Recognition Technology, from 1971 to 1976, he started a research program called DARPA SUR (Speech Understanding Research). The result of this program was quite good Carnegie Mellon developed Harpy. In which there was absence of understanding 1011 words. He created a system that could understand Logical Sentence. Due to the advancement in Bells Laboratory, it was so advanced in the 1970s that it was easy to understand the language of two persons.

4. 1980s:

This was the era of the Markov model, it was somewhat different, in which it used data to determine the unknown sound. In which there was no contribution of Speech Pattern or Fixed Template . This technology contributed well to Business Industries and Business Application.

With the help of this technology, a doll was created for the children in 1987. Whose name was Julie this doll was practiced in such a way that she could answer the remaining things. One problem in Surrey Voice recognition during the 80s was that you had to take a break after speaking something.

5. 1990s

The 1990s was the era of Microprocessor. Speech Recognition Software also started appearing in front of people. There was a company called Dragon. Release a software called 'Dragon Dictate' This was the world's first Voice Recognition Software. Common people could also use this software.

In 1997, while improving it, another software was developed called "Dragon Naturally Speaking" Software. In which there was absence of understanding 100 Sabbaths. BellSouth introduced Voice Activated Portal (VAL) and it had many mistakes.

6. 2000s

Till 2001, Google was on Voice Recognition technique, when Google killed Entry. Google invented the Google Voice Search Application for iPhone. Which, using the Data Center, used to answer the questions of the users by matching the data spoken by human to the data center which is the data.

You must have known that Google is very homogeneous. In 2010 Google released a Personalized Recognition application for Android. Through which Google started recording Voice Quries to create a good Speech Model. Due to this, a database of 230 Billion Words was created. Right now the name of the application is Google Assistant, about which I have already given you information.

This Personal Assistant is quite intelligent, it is also funny because you can also talk jokingly with it through Voice. Apple also, without delay, invents its Personal Assistant, which is named Siri. Hopefully, you must have felt good about history, now know about its advantages and disadvantages.

What are the advantages and disadvantages of Voice Recognition

Just as every technology has its advantages and disadvantages, so too are this Voice Recognition Technology. I know if you are anxious to know this, then start with goodness.

Advantage

1. You can get your work done easily and in less time.

2. You need to touch the mobile to get you very little time or no time. You can do all the tasks by just speaking through Voice.

3. For a person who is physically Akhyam, he can do all his work by becoming very helpful and companion. Neither does he need to hold a mouse nor a keyboard. If you want to write some text, then it is possible through Voice Command.

4. Useful for those who have absolutely no hands.

5. You do not need to care for Grammatical Error and Spelling at all.

6. If we talk about Speed ​​then it is quite fast. You cannot even think about which you will keep on speaking and will keep writing.

7. For students, this is a farce, nor do they need to type anything, just those who ask questions will get answers immediately.

Loss

1. As you have been told, Google records your voice. It may also be that your voice is put in a wrong job. 2. Understanding Voice is a little smiling at the time of onset. 3. Due to incorrect pronunciation, the input of word can also be taken wrong and whose output can also be wrong. 4. When the background is sound then the data starts to write less Accurate and upside down. 5. In a quiet place you will have to speak loudly, which can spread the peace. 6. Even if there is a change in your Tone, it is also a little easy to understand Speech. Contact us :https://lntechinfo.in/contacts/

[asthalntechinfo]

What is the Voice Recognition System and how does it work? || LN-TECHINFO

Do you know what the Voice Recognition System is and how it works . Along with this, today we will tell you what are the advantages and disadvantages of this technology. I will also tell you about its history. Today we will give you all your information, so let us know.

How would you like it if your computer or Smartphone talks like your friend and also answers all your questions. Yes, you heard it right, but some people may be feeling this joke or dream. But this is true. Now technology is progressing so fast that it is also possible. You do not even need a keyboard in this technology . Like you will say hello, then your phone will also answer you immediately.

It was impossible to do all this at one time, but gradually when the Computer Scientist and Mathematician started working on this concept one day and night, there was a technology invention called Voice Recognition. Nowadays this technology is available in every mobile phone and computer.

What is the Voice Recognition System

Voice Recognition is also called Speech Recognition . It is a computer software program, it is also a hardware device that has the capability to understand Human Voice.

Speech Recognition is a technology that takes words spoken by Human like Input and converts those words into digital form, taking action over it.

This technology is used to operate mobile phones, to give commands to mobile and to search through voice. In this, you do not need to use any keyboard, mouse and neither do you need to press any button. For this, a program is used called ASR (Automatic Speech Recognition). For this, you need to train (teach) ASR PROGRAM. By which it will answer your questions by recognizing your voice and if you are given the command to do any work, then it will show working. Take an example, you will say "Open WhatsApp", then the mobile opens the WhatsApp by understanding the command given to you.

The best example of this technology is " Google Assistant " which is Google's application. SIRI is also an example of voice recognition technology software. This is Apple's application. You will find many software in the market which   is run by Speech Recognition . The most used of this Voice Recognition Technology is in Bio matrices, Office , Medical. So let's now know how it works ..

How Voice Recognition Technology Works

It is very important to know how it works. When you say something, on-screen-text (what you say will appear on mobile screen) or to convert it into a command, Voice Recogntion has to go through a lot of complex steps. Whenever you say something, a vibration is born. This Vibration is nothing else but this Analog Signal. ADC Translator is used to convert Mobile or Computer Analog waves into Digital. You must know this, understands Computer Digital Signal only.

ADC follows all these steps to convert Analog to Digital. Divide the Sounds into smaller Samples in a Particular Interval. Digitizes that sound. System Digitize Sounds Wave removes Unwanted Noise by filtering. Also normalize the sound and move the volume to the Constant Level. There is a need to Constant the level of Sound because not everyone pronounce in the same Speed. However, the Input Sound is easily matched with Sound already available in Sound System Memory.

After this, these Sounds are divided into small amounts and small isa means 1 second's fifth part or thousandth part. With which some of these letters can be easily identified such as P, B, T because it is easy for us to understand them, but if it is a very difficult task in the field of Computer and Smartphone. That is why it is devide in such small matters.

Now the last step is left, small notes of these sounds are matched with digital signal stored in the system. Just like the one that matches with the 'G' signal is G, O with O, D. With D. If these three are mixed then "God" will be created. If you talk about Google Assistant, then by speaking the word God, it shows the meaning of God. So now let's talk about the example of Voice Recognition Software. .

Example of Voice Recognition Software

In this, we will talk about 1 special application which runs from the application " Voice Recognition Technology ".

Google Assistant

This is a people's favorite application. This Assistant has been developed by Google. It was announced at the Google I / O conference in May 2016. In this, you can do 2 way conversion, meaning you can talk with your friend the same way you can talk. And you can also operate your mobile without touching it.

Now a question may have come in your mind that what can this application do. So below are some Commands that you can use in Google Assistant. You will also get an answer immediately. Remember, first pressing the Home button in Mobile, use all the commands given below. Or use OK to speak Google.

Google Assistant Commands

whats the temperature: with this command you get the temperature and weather information for the day

Show me the direction to Chandni Chowk : This command will show you the shortest route from your location to Chandni Chowk in Google Map. If you want, you can take another name instead of Chandni Chowk.

Wake up me at 4 am or Wake up me After 1 Hour : This sets the Command Alrarm and sets you the alarm at 4.00 am. You do not have the inability to do anything else.

Play Music : This is why you would like to listen to the song. Yes, this command is for you only. As soon as speaking "Play Music", songs started playing in mobile. If you want, you can also name the song after Play Music. paly Music kolawari d If you speak, this song will play in Google Music player.

Send a Text Message to Rahul : Through this command you can send anything to TEXT Message Rahul. You do not need to write a message, whatever you say, the name Message Rahul will go on the Contact Number. Here Rahul Udahran has been taken on par.

Whats The Square Root of ___ : This is Mathematical command. If you say a number after speaking this command, then Square Root Result will be generated for that number. If you want, you can use other command as well.

Open WhatsApp : This is a wonderful command, through which you can open any app by speaking. You can also speak Open Map, Open Facebook .

Make a Reminder : Sayed, you must have forgotten a lot, you might not even remember anything. So with this command you can save anything Reminder. You can see Reminder through Show me My Reminder.

Good Morning / Good Evening : This is a wonderful command of Google Assistant. When you say Good Morning, you will get all the details of the day in reply.

Show me my Emails : The emails that came in Gmail. Show them When you use all these Commands in your mobile, then you will understand how Voice Recognition works.

This is how Apple's Siri application works. Let us now know what the application is.

Applications of Speech Recognition

It is gaining a lot of popularity in the fields of technology, let's know where else its application is. There is a lot of contribution to device control. Like by speaking Ok Google, you can control your mobile completely through Voice and you can give any command.

In this way, you can control your mobile through Bluetooth by connecting Call Receive, Music and Map with Voice Command. You do not need to touch mobile at all.

Voice Typing- You will know about Google Voice Typing, in which you can write anything by speaking. You can write a lot in a very short time. Voice Typing is also very speed and you can write without spelling Mistake.

Call Center- Whenever you call on a CUSTOMER Care number, then it speaks on there, give your message through Voice Command. This is also possible with this technology.

You must have heard the name of bio metrics- where this technology is used more on it. Voice is used for id verification in big software company. Time is ahead to know the history of this technology. So let's know.

History Of Voice Recognition Technology1. 1950s to 1960s

This was the period when Voice Recognition Technology was a small child which meant the time of harvest. At that time Voice Recognition worked only on Number and Digit. In 1952, a scientist named Audrey invented it at Bells Laboratory. But even this, only the number could understand.

2. 1960s to 1970s

After this, in 1962, a company named Shoebox was developed again, this time the thing was something else, because of this number, now this technology was now beginning to understand English words as well. After some time, along with time, the ability to understand 9 consonant and Vowel also came.

3. 1970s

Ugh . The S Defense department changed its thinking and increased its contribution to Speech Recognition Technology, from 1971 to 1976, he started a research program called DARPA SUR (Speech Understanding Research). The result of this program was quite good Carnegie Mellon developed Harpy. In which there was absence of understanding 1011 words. He created a system that could understand Logical Sentence. Due to the advancement in Bells Laboratory, it was so advanced in the 1970s that it was easy to understand the language of two persons.

4. 1980s

This was the era of the Markov model, it was somewhat different, in which it used data to determine the unknown sound. In which there was no contribution of Speech Pattern or Fixed Template . This technology contributed well to Business Industries and Business Application.

With the help of this technology, a doll was created for the children in 1987. Whose name was Julie this doll was practiced in such a way that she could answer the remaining things. One problem in Surrey Voice recognition during the 80s was that you had to take a break after speaking something.

5. 1990s

The 1990s was the era of Microprocessor. Speech Recognition Software also started appearing in front of people. There was a company called Dragon. Release a software called 'Dragon Dictate' This was the world's first Voice Recognition Software. Common people could also use this software.

In 1997, while improving it, another software was developed called "Dragon Naturally Speaking" Software. In which there was absence of understanding 100 Sabbaths. BellSouth introduced Voice Activated Portal (VAL) and it had many mistakes.

6. 2000s

Till 2001, Google was on Voice Recognition technique, when Google killed Entry. Google invented the Google Voice Search Application for iPhone. Which, using the Data Center, used to answer the questions of the users by matching the data spoken by human to the data center which is the data.

You must have known that Google is very homogeneous. In 2010 Google released a Personalized Recognition application for Android. Through which Google started recording Voice Quries to create a good Speech Model. Due to this, a database of 230 Billion Words was created. Right now the name of the application is Google Assistant, about which I have already given you information.

This Personal Assistant is quite intelligent, it is also funny because you can also talk jokingly with it through Voice. Apple also, without delay, invents its Personal Assistant, which is named Siri. Hopefully, you must have felt good about history, now know about its advantages and disadvantages.

What are the advantages and disadvantages of Voice Recognition

Just as every technology has its advantages and disadvantages, so too are this Voice Recognition Technology. I know if you are anxious to know this, then start with goodness.

Advantage

You can get your work done easily and in less time.

You need to touch the mobile to get you very little time or no time. You can do all the tasks by just speaking through Voice.

For a person who is physically Akhyam, he can do all his work by becoming very helpful and companion. Neither does he need to hold a mouse nor a keyboard. If you want to write some text, then it is possible through Voice Command.

Useful for those who have absolutely no hands.

You do not need to care for Grammatical Error and Spelling at all.

If we talk about Speed ​​then it is quite fast. You cannot even think about which you will keep on speaking and will keep writing.

For students, this is a farce, nor do they need to type anything, just those who ask questions will get answers immediately.

Loss

As you have been told, Google records your voice. It may also be that your voice is put in a wrong job.

Understanding Voice is a little smiling at the time of onset.

Due to incorrect pronunciation, the input of word can also be taken wrong and whose output can also be wrong.

When the background is sound then the data starts to write less Accurate and upside down.

In a quiet place you will have to speak loudly, which can spread the peace.

Even if there is a change in your Tone, it is also a little easy to understand Speech.

[parabcllums]

⧼    emma mackey, demigirl, she & they   /   i wish i was a punk rocker by sandi thom   +   the musty smell attached to endless stacks of secondhand records. dozens of mismatched stick and poke tattoos along both arms, each of them telling the story of the changes that occurred with each passing year. bulky headphones that are never not over their ears or resting carefully around their neck in place of jewelry.    ⧽   ━━   let me tell you a thing or two about TOVA SOLEIL VIDARSCHILD. the TWENTY TWO year old child of VIDAR BJORK-THORSON is an UNDERGRAD student at paragon academy, and has sometimes been referred to as THE POP CULTURE FIEND. they’ve always seemed very ECCENTRIC & TENACIOUS, though i’ve heard that they can be pretty ACERBIC & GARRULOUS, too. it’s common knowledge that they have the powers of NATURE MANIPULATION & PARTIAL ASGARDIAN PHYSIOLOGY ; guess we shouldn’t get on their bad side, huh? redirect to her stats page HERE and her pinterest board HERE.

you CAN change the world, girl                        ( you REALLY, TRULY can )

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warnings for talk of death & divorce & army

TOVA SOLEIL VIDARSDOTTIR was born on july 23rd, 1997, second born child of vidar bjork-thorson & mother. she’s what the world would call a LEGACY ; and she’s felt the weight of this for most of her life.

she’s always loved her parents. her father was her hero, and her mother was her best friend. it’s easy, in a lot of ways, to grow up and resent the people that brought you into the world - in a great many cases, they don’t seem to do ENOUGH. when you’re young, when you’re HORMONAL, it’s easy to latch onto what they did WRONG and not what they did well. for tova, it was the opposite. neither could have done a better job, in her innocent eyes, the sun rising and setting upon them.

for a while, this was fine. every parent hopes their child will look up to them, after all - and tova did. she was the kind of child that never wanted to let go of her mother’s hand. never wanted to STOP getting piggybacks around the garden from her dad. never wanted to GROW UP, really, but the sad truth was ; everyone has to eventually.

she always looks to her childhood with rose tinted glasses. she has no DESIRE not to, even though she knows, now that she’s older, things were never quite as good as she recalls. her dad was never really around. it wasn’t HIS FAULT - just the life that he led. he was always overseas, doing his part as a soldier in the british army to keep the PEACE, to save the WORLD, as tova liked to think. she still gets a little THRILL when she hears the sound of the postbox going - a residual feeling from when she was just a LITTLE KID, living with the knowledge that a letter was all she’d have of her dad, for a little while longer. when he was back, things were good until they weren’t. she doesn’t recall what her parents arguments were about, anymore ; just that they EXISTED. sometimes she would hear the rising voices, but for the most part, she would sleep soundly - none the wiser to what was starting to build between them.

she remembers things as BETTER than they were. she doesn’t remember them as PERFECT. cracks existed, but tova never thought that they would grow so wide that repairs would be IMPOSSIBLE.

over time, it came to be that tova spent more time with her SPRAWLING FAMILY than she did her FATHER. her mother and hers were reliable presences ; vidar’s siblings and the asgardians were, too. he was the only one who WASN’T. as long as aunt theresa was around, though, things were never DIRE. her dad’s younger sister was probably tova’s FAVORITE family member, though she never would have said, of course. there was just something about her that tova wanted to emulate. she was FULL OF LIFE, and happy, and whenever she came to visit she would bring the best stories, and presents. she was everything.

tova will always feel, in a way, like maybe she was to BLAME for what happened. she was only eleven - too young to understand, really, when all hell broke loose. theresa pushed her to the floor, lying across her to make sure that she was safe, as shots rang out around them. all tova could think was that SHE had made her aunt bring her to the shops, before they went to the bank ; she had delayed the trip, she had gotten them caught in this, she — she had gotten theresa KILLED. everyone told her differently. in the hours, days, weeks, months after ; everyone knew she harbored some kind of guilt, and everyone knew that it didn’t belong on her little shoulders. still, it was a burden she had to bear. theresa had kept her safe. theora trevor had saved the day. she wouldn’t have been alive without the latter, but if the former hadn’t put herself in harms way…. tova knew it would be different.

this was the turning point. the REAL one, at that. however much she had grown up and become aware that as much love as there was, her family life was far from perfect, tova had always been able fool herself. in the aftermath of her aunts death, though, things fell apart. two years later, her parents were divorcing.

she never blamed herself for that. it’s kind of surprising to hear from someone with a guilt complex, but the thing was ; tova was getting older, now. she didn’t want to, but she understood that her parents would be happier apart. sometimes, that’s how things go.

understandably, her later teen years were fairly rough. she was going through a lot because of her aunt’s death, and she had to learn, now, how to live two different lives ; the one with mum, and the one with dad. she still loved both her parents, but her mother had always been there. the same couldn’t have been said for vidar.

there was a disconnect between them that tova DESPERATELY wished didn’t exist. in a last ditch effort to try and be like her dad, to mend part of their relationship, to relate to him and make him relate to HER - tova joined the british army after leaving school. it seemed like the right idea.

it all kind of snowballed, from there.

the army grants educational leave ; tova’s plan had always been to establish herself, and then take that. she spent her seventeenth and eighteenth year in boot camp and then, overseas - time off spent in england. then, she applied and was denied her chance to take a break. she was a good soldier. both her parents had ARMY ROOTS, as did a lot of the people she knew from being a kid ; she knew what she was doing, what to say and how to act, and she was top of her grouping. still, they wouldn’t allow her take her leave.

instead, on a FATEFUL afternoon, tova was called into her superiors office. a man and a woman in suits sat with him, and they explained - as clearly as they could - how she was a TOP CANDIDATE for a special kind of MISSION. they knew she wanted to go to college. they knew she wanted to go to college in AMERICA, at PARAGON ACADEMY, so she could be nearer to her DAD. there had been a new kind of distance forming with the fact he now lived across the ocean, and she had figured she could spent time with the FAMILY. they were willing to allow her that time, that chance at a good college education, so long as she also kept working for them. she asked who ‘they’ were, and was told that WEAPON X were just trying to keep the world safe. she could help them do that.

she didn’t know what she was signing up for. she just thought that…- it was necessary. and if doing it allowed her to get where she wanted to be… tova didn’t ask that many questions.

and now she’s HERE.

SECTION TWO OF THREE: HEADCANONS

tova is a GOOD KID. i really want to stress that, considering the reveal of the end of her bio ; she was eighteen years old when she was made an offer that seemed too good to be true, and she took it even though it WAS. it absolutely was, and… she’s been reporting on mutant’s, and on specific ones, and on what’s going on at the school at any given time. she’s been keeping bad people in the loop because she thinks that they’re BETTER than they are, though a part of her is starting to cotton onto the fact that they AREN’T. she’s not on their level. she was, and is, just naive.

if i was going to use a SINGLE thing to describe her, i’d use a few lines from sandi thom’s song ; “i was born too late into a world that doesn’t care, i wish i was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair.” everything about tova is just… a little bit vintage, and a lot bit punk. she dresses in a very specific way ( fishnets, acid wash, embroidered jeans, t-shirts with slogans, faded band shirts made before she was born, combat boots, stressed tights, MORE ), that also, somehow, manages to mix two styles that seem at war ; and seeing her stood inside her room, all its colors and decorations and cacti in painted pots… would almost be jarring. she’ll take vinyl over cd, anyday, and would rather own a car from prior to the 80s than she would one with all the modern amenities. she likes the STYLE of the past, though she can admit that she likes how far we’ve come far more, and every inch of her being reflects that.

when tova was younger and playing outside, in full view of home, she was attacked by a neighbors dog. it was one of those ‘freak accident’ type things, that she hadn’t provoked, and that the dog hadn’t forewarned happening. it was FAIRLY serious, at the time, and she spent the night in the hospital. she’s been scared of dogs ever since, or at least… any dog that isn’t dad’s corgi ( a dog that STILL took her time to relax around )

tova has an eidetic memory ; which means, while in some ways she isn’t the most intelligent of people, she retains information quite well… though better, if she’s actually interested. for her, that means being able to rattle off music facts from the top of her head without an issue ; her real passions lie there, and she drinks in any and all information she can get. for school, it means she typically doesn’t need to try too hard.

she does have a pet, though ! agatha is her three year old rescue cat, and she’s blind in BOTH eyes. she got her as a kind of ‘welcome to the states and college’ present for HERSELF, mostly because she figured she was going to spend the first few months settling in LONELY, and fell in love the moment she met her. she’s an indoor cat for obvious reasons, and because tova spends SO MUCH time with her, has the sweetest and most gentlest kind of temperament she could ; perfect for tova.

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her SQUAD / FIVE + TOVA + THE BEST FRIEND connection who looks like GIORGIA WHIGHAM, LAURA HARRIER, JOHN KARNA, CHRIS VERES / ANY FC who are 20+ YEARS OLD. you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( the squad includes tova and the best friend - but the DIFFERENCE between this connect and the last is that the squad breeds negativity. not actively. not to the point where it’s become a problem - at least… not yet. but think about any group of people in high school / college. think about how the connections formed in said group are intricate and sometimes hard to pin down. think about how some GOSSIP about the others, and how sometimes, someone doesn’t sit with them for a long time because of something that happened last weekend that remains unsaid for a while. there’s always a new drama. there’s always someone on the spot. they love one another, but sometimes it feels like they don’t really like each other - all of them with their own stories, their own lives, their own developments, and they come together for study group, and to hang out after class, and for lunch, and they have a little groupchat on facebook and ios and snapchat, and sometimes they just don’t THINK. who’s to say if they’ll be friends in ten years time, or if they’re only friends now because they tolerate each others presences? none of them know yet, and they’re not rushing to find out ).

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her PARTNER connection who looks like JORDAN FISHER, AMBER MIDTHUNDER, RICHARD WALTERS, ANA GOLJA / ANY FC who is 20+ YEARS OLD. you DO have to contact prior to applying at TOFUISMS or DISCORD ( jean grey rail me challenge#5427 ). ( i don’t really know how to phrase this one. so. tova is twenty one. she’s relatively new to living here in the states. she’s still learning about life, and sexuality, and so on and so forth. i don’t want to label this as a slowburn, or as a hateship, or as… any sort of specific romance connection, because i think it could be ANY of them, or all. not every relationship is the be all, end all. quite a lot of them have an expiration date. and when someone’s young, they don’t always do the big dance around the will they, won’t they - sometimes they talk for two weeks and decide to give it a shot. sometimes they hookup at parties every time one is thrown and ignore each other in the halls the rest of the time. i’m really open to discuss this with someone, because the end goal doesn’t feel like an endgame ship for me ( though who’s to say it won’t end up there? like i said. some have an expiration date, some don’t ). it’s to explore… the relationship side of things. a lot of romance plots are very serious very fast and i think it could b fun to wind it back and make something suPER casual. whom knows where we will end up! )

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her EXES / THREE TYPES IN DESC connection who look like TOM MADEN, ALISHA BOE, KHYLIN RHAMBO, MADELAINE PETSCH / PLAYERS CHOICE and are 19+. you DO have to contact prior to applying at TOFUISMS or DISCORD ( jean grey rail me challenge#5427 ). ( one for a relationship that began and ended when they were the smallest of little kids, one for a relationship that ended so badly they have probably never spoken since, and one for a relationship that turned into a close friendship, but was never destined for anything more. take your pick ! )

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for COWORKERS connection who looks like ANY FC who are ANY AGE. you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( just a small connect for more people who work in the local record store ! tova could do with some people who she can have the typical work dynamic with, and mayb they can even be friends outside of it! ) ( zoë barnes + more )

VIDAR BJÖRK-THORSON & TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our CHARLIE HUNNAM & EMMA MACKEY fcs are looking for a SIBLING / PIBLING connection who looks like DANIEL HENNEY, JASON MOMOA, GARRETT HEDLUND, ALEXIS BLEDEL, SKEET ULRICH, HAYLEY ATWELL / UTP who is 35-48 you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( tova loves her pibling! and vidar loves his sib - they’re also vidar’s last sibling ( that he was raised alongside ) that is still alive, they’re very close because they were raised together and were always running around together, causing chaos and looking after each other. their adopted baby sister died 10ish years ago due to a fatality in superheroing ( but tova was able to be saved so ofc - conflicted feelings for vidar! ) honestly, they could be adopted, a child of thor + helene ( wld b 42+ if so ) or a child of helene + someone else! bonus points 4 helene + a different asgardian! check out vidar’s INTRO for background info & more fc options. )

[cathygeha]

REVIEW:

This Earl of Mine by Kate Bateman

Bow Street Bachelors #1

Reading the book description I was taken back to reading a book my father shared with me – a book in which a woman in need of a husband also went to a prison to find a condemned man to marry. The two books diverged from there though neither husband actually bit the dust by the end of the book they starred in. Both men were definitely more than the bride expected and both were fallen in love with by their wives before the end of the stories.

In this book we have wealthy Georgiana “Georgie” Caversteed being hounded by despicable cousin Josiah. He wants her money and isn’t planning to take no for an answer. Thus, the reason for the marriage of convenience. Georgie has plenty of money but no desire to wed the men in the ton that she has met already. There was a frisson of interest when Georgie met Benedict “Ben” Wylde but she realized that it was NOT real since...he was a dirty prisoner...until she experienced the same feeling when she ran into Benedict at a ball the next time.

This book had the two falling for one another slowly while they also spent time trying to solve a case Benedict and his friends were working on for Bow Street. There is a side story of Georgie’s sister Juliet and Simeon and the lead into the idea that either Seb or Alex, Benedict’s friends, will get their stories in books to come. The book did not stand out to me as something new or different but it was an enjoyable way to spend the day.

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in the series? Yes

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Paperbacks for the ARC – This is my honest review.

3-4 Stars

Book-buy link: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250305961

SUMMARY:

Introducing the Bow Street Bachelors—men who work undercover for London’s first official police force—and the women they serve to protect. . .and wed?

Shipping heiress Georgiana Caversteed is done with men who covet her purse more than her person. Even worse than the ton’s lecherous fortune hunters, however, is the cruel cousin determined to force Georgie into marriage. If only she could find a way to be . . . widowed? Georgie hatches a madcap scheme to wed a condemned criminal before he’s set to be executed. All she has to do is find an eligible bachelor in prison to marry her, and she’ll be free. What could possibly go wrong?

Benedict William Henry Wylde, scapegrace second son of the late Earl of Morcott and well-known rake, is in Newgate prison undercover, working for Bow Street. Georgie doesn’t realize who he is when she marries him—and she most certainly never expects to bump into her very-much-alive, and very handsome, husband of convenience at a society gathering weeks later. Soon Wylde finds himself courting his own wife, hoping to win her heart since he already has her hand. But how can this seductive rogue convince brazen, beautiful Georgie that he wants to be together…until actual death do they part?

EXCERPT:

Chapter 1.

London, March 1816.

There were worse places to find a husband than Newgate Prison.

Of course there were.

It was just that, at present, Georgie couldn’t think of any.

“Georgiana Caversteed, this is a terrible idea.” Georgie frowned at her burly companion, Pieter Smit,

as the nondescript carriage he’d summoned to convey them to London’s most notorious jail rocked to a halt on the cobbled street. The salt-weathered Dutchman always used her full name whenever he disapproved of some- thing she was doing. Which was often.

“Your father would turn in his watery grave if he knew what you were about.”

That was undoubtedly true. Until three days ago, en- listing a husband from amongst the ranks of London’s most dangerous criminals had not featured prominently on her list of life goals. But desperate times called for des- perate measures. Or, in this case, for a desperate felon about to be hanged. A felon she would marry before the night was through.

Georgie peered out into the rain-drizzled street, then up, up the near-windowless walls. They rose into the mist, five stories high, a vast expanse of brickwork, bleak and unpromising. A church bell tolled somewhere in the darkness, a forlorn clang like a death knell. Her stomach knotted with a grim sense of foreboding.

Was she really going to go through with this? It had seemed a good plan, in the safety of Grosvenor Square. The perfect way to thwart Cousin Josiah once and for all. She stepped from the carriage, ducked her head against the rain, and followed Pieter under a vast arched gate. Her heart hammered at the audacity of what she planned. They’d taken the same route as condemned prisoners on the way to Tyburn tree, only in reverse. West to east, from the rarefied social strata of Mayfair through gradu- ally rougher and bleaker neighborhoods, Holborn and St. Giles, to this miserable place where the dregs of humanity had been incarcerated. Georgie felt as if she were nearing her own execution.

She shook off the pervasive aura of doom and straight- ened her spine. This was her choice. However unpalat- able the next few minutes might be, the alternative was far worse. Better a temporary marriage to a murderous, unwashed criminal than a lifetime of misery with Josiah. They crossed the deserted outer courtyard, and Georgie cleared her throat, trying not to inhale the foul-smelling air that seeped from the very pores of the building. “You have it all arranged? They are expecting us?”

Pieter nodded. “Aye. I’ve greased the wheels with yer blunt, my girl. The proctor and the ordinary are both bent as copper shillings. Used to having their palms greased, those two, the greedy bastards.”

Her father’s right-hand man had never minced words

in front of her, and Georgie appreciated his bluntness. So few people in the ton ever said what they really meant. Pieter’s honesty was refreshing. He’d been her father’s man for twenty years before she’d even been born. A case of mumps had prevented him from accompanying Wil- liam Caversteed on his last, fateful voyage, and Georgie had often thought that if Pieter had been with her father, maybe he’d still be alive. Little things like squalls, ship- wrecks, and attacks from Barbary pirates would be mere inconveniences to a man like Pieter Smit.

In the five years since Papa’s death, Pieter’s steadfast loyalty had been dedicated to William’s daughters, and Georgie loved the gruff, hulking manservant like a second father. He would see her through this madcap scheme— even if he disapproved.

She tugged the hood of her cloak down to stave off the drizzle. This place was filled with murderers, highway- men, forgers, and thieves. Poor wretches slated to die, or those “lucky” few whose sentences had been commuted to transportation. Yet in her own way, she was equally desperate.

“You are sure that this man is to be hanged tomorrow?” Pieter nodded grimly as he rapped on a wooden door.

“I am. A low sort he is, by all accounts.”

She shouldn’t ask, didn’t want to know too much about the man whose name she was purchasing. A man whose death would spell her own freedom. She would be wed and widowed within twenty-four hours.

From This Earl of Mine by Kate Bateman. Copyright © 2019 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

Author Bio:

Kate Bateman, (also writing as K. C. Bateman), is the #1 bestselling author of historical romances, including her RITA® nominated Renaissance romp, The Devil To Pay, and the novels in the Secrets & Spies series To Steal a Heart, A Raven’s Heart, and A Counterfeit Heart. When not writing novels that feature feisty, intelligent heroines and sexy, snarky heroes you want to both strangle and kiss, Kate works as a fine art appraiser and on-screen antiques expert for several popular TV shows in the UK. She splits her time between Illinois and her native England. Follow her on Twitter to learn more.

This Earl of Mine Blog Tour Q&A

Q: What inspired you to write This Earl of Mine?

A: Most of my books are inspired by real historical events, but for the adventure subplot in This Earl of Mine I was looking up something completely different, fell down a research rabbit hole, and stumbled upon an outlandish plot to rescue Napoleon from exile on Saint Helena using a submarine! I’d had no idea submersibles were even in use in the Regency, but a little digging soon revealed a tale far stranger than fiction—with plenty of smugglers, spies, and underhand skullduggery thrown in. Of course, then my writer brain couldn’t help but wonder WHAT IF . . .?

What if someone loyal to Napoleon stole the plans for the submarine from the Admiralty? And what if London’s fledgling police force, The Bow Street Runners, were tasked with finding the vessel and foiling the scheme?

The main plot, of course, is the romantic one between shipping heiress Georgie Caversteed and Bow Street Runner Benedict Wylde. They try to piece together the clues, while trying to ignore the inconvenient attraction that sparks between them. (Spoiler alert: they succeed at the former, and fail miserably at the latter!)

Q: Is there one thing you would like readers to take away from this story?

A: You mean apart from a new appreciation of early19th century submarine development?! Why, yes! I firmly believe in happy-ever-afters for everyone, and while none of my characters may be perfect, they’re certainly perfect for each other. A successful romance should be a true partnership between equals, with love, respect, humor, and kindness. I hope that’s what readers see develop between Georgie and Benedict.

Q: Where do you go or what resources do you use to make sure your novels are historically correct? 

A: I have quite a bit of overall historical knowledge from my life as an antiques appraiser and auctioneer; I’ve handled plenty of Regency-era artifacts, like scent bottles, reticules, clothes, letters, furniture etc. And I’ve visited (and lived in) plenty of historic houses when I lived in England. So I have a pretty good idea what that world is like when I’m describing it. I do lots of random research online too, though. I suspect I’m on a secret CIA watchlist because of my weird internet browsing history, which currently includes such gems as: ‘does Prussic acid smell like almonds?’ ‘18th century jewel heists,’ and ‘chloroform, first use.’

Q: Did you learn anything surprising while researching for this novel?

A: Apart from the crazy submarine plot, I found out what the chapel of Newgate prison looked like in 1816, discovered more about the founding of London’s first true police force, the Bow Street Runners, and found a new book boyfriend in the wonderfully roguish Benedict Wylde!

Q: Describe the hero and heroine of This Earl of Mine in three words each.

A: Georgie is resourceful, determined, and curious. Benedict is amusing, loyal and scoundrelly!

Q: What was the hardest scene to write in This Earl of Mine? Your favorite?

A: My favorite scene was the sexy banter between Benedict and Georgie as they listen to the terrible poetry written by Juliet’s fiancé. Almost every sentence is a double entendre, and Benedict is shameless in trying to say something utterly inappropriate to make Georgie laugh, and I just giggle every time I think of it. I hope readers can feel the ridiculously flirtatious, slow-burn teasing in that scene. Yum!

The hardest was the sexy scene inside the tiny submarine. It’s a confined space, and I had to think about the technicalities of which body part was where, and whether they had enough space to do the scandalous things I wanted them to do. (Of course they did!)

Q: Why do you write historical romance? 

A: Because it can be total escapism. A reader can travel back in time to a different world and encounter situations that just don’t happen today. As a writer I like the challenge presented by the historical parameters; lots of great conflicts arise because of social, cultural, or economic factors. Plus, there are so many real historical adventures out there just waiting to be discovered. . .

Q: Is there another particular author that inspires you or that you enjoy reading? 

A: SO MANY AUTHORS! Laura Kinsale, Connie Brockway (As you Desire is a favorite), Loretta Chase, Judith McNaught, Anne Stuart, Joanna Bourne, Tessa Dare, Eloisa James, Suzan Elizabeth Philips, Julie Garwood, Galen Foley, Kerrigan Byrne, Julia Quinn, Beverly Jenkins, Alyssa Cole, Joanna Shupe, Johanna Lindsey, J.R Ward, Janet Evanovich, Georgette Heyer, Mary Renault, Jane Austen, E.M Forster, Leo Tolstoy, P.G. Wodehouse, Antoine de Saint Exupery, Jean M. Auel, Gabriel Garcia Marquez,  . . . Ok. I’ll stop now. But there are plenty more.

Q: What’s next for the Bow Street Bachelors?

A: Two more books! Those bad boys Alex Harland and Sebastien Wolff each get their own adventure and I can’t wait for everyone to read them! Alex meets his match in half-French jewel thief Emmy Danvers –AKA The Nightjar­– in To Catch an Earl, (Bow Street Bachelors #2). And Seb gets a sexy cat-and-mouse game of his own when he’s forced to protect the infuriating Anya Denisova – a feisty Russian Princess who’s faked her own death in The Princess and The Rogue, (Bow Street Bachelors #3).

Q: Is there anything else you’d like to add?

A: Only that if you haven’t already preordered This Earl Of Mine, the paperback is currently at a special preorder price of $6.79, so snap it up in time for the release day, October 29th! Happy reading everyone!

Book-buy link: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250305961

[ib-suffering]

Update #3

Sooo this is a continuation of my other two updates that I posted recently. If you haven't read those and are interested in reading my thoughts on my exams, the results, and the advice I may have on any of the courses I took; they're not too far down on my blog, so they shouldn't be too hard to find (and I'm not just saying this bc I couldn't get the urls to hyperlink them on mobile 😅). But I did promise that I would finish my updates with information on my first year of college and what I've been up to recently.

Alrighty, so I spent my first year of college at Boise State University (I'll probably shorten it to BSU for most of this post).

For those of you who have never heard of Boise State, let me give you the highlights. Smack dab in the middle of downtown Boise, Idaho lies Idaho's top research institution. Which is promotional talk for: "We're a college football giant that also happens to have some sciences and liberal arts." BSU is obsessed with their football team, the players admired like celebrities, and game days turning most of the small city into a ghost town, the exception being the the small campus. That being said, BSU is very much a party school, even though it is technically a dry campus (a mistake, if you ask me, given the thousands of dollars they could make serving alcohol at games, but I digress). Boise itself is a beautiful city, and the convenience of campus being downtown and the beautiful weather from April-October makes it a treat to live in. Campus is beautiful, being right on the Boise River (which became a place I frequented when I needed a minute to myself). And Idaho itself is a beautiful state, though most of it is empty hills/farm land. This was a hard transition for me. Though my family is from Iowa (a state very similar to Idaho in many respects), I have spent most of my life in Vegas, a city that has been dubbed "the city that never sleeps" for a reason. Boise is much quieter. Most places close around 8, the rest at 10. And for someone who would take a break from homework to go grab a drink from the convenience store at 1 am, this was a shock for me. And I was very much still in that 11pm to 3 am grind from high school. Aside from that, I had mostly great professors. I am a bio major. And am planning on adding on anthropology as a second major. I bonded fast with my bio professors. I was very friendly with my comm prof, my profs, and my anthro profs. I had an on-going friendly hockey rivalry with one of my bio profs and the student teacher for my anthro class (Go Knights Go!). One of my anthro profs even offered me the opportunity to work further with him on a project I had for his classes. He was impressed with my work and I adored him as a teacher and was excited to work one-on-one with him, especially since he has a reputation for being a harsh grader. If I could impress someone like that, then I was excited to do so over and over again.

So here's the tough part to admit. I'm not at BSU right now. I'm in Vegas (which, for those that do not know, is home for me). And not in school. And know that this is difficult for me. I went from the constant grind of the IB program to sitting at home trying to get my life together. And it's been hard to accept this. Especially, especially because of the amazing opportunity I was offered. I was so proud to have been offered this as a freshman. But, I know that I have made the right choice. And my professor was very understanding, for which I am grateful, and I hope you will be too. And more than anything, I want you to take something from this story that I am about to tell. I know this has been a long post so far, and if you're still here, thank you. But stay buckled, because we're at the beginning of a saga. There will be some highs and some lows, a lot of drama with some comedic relief, and a story of friendship, how it may bitterly end or triumph over all other things. Enjoy.

Allow me to introduce you to our cast (Names will be shortened to a letter or two to keep things relatively anonymous. Shit does go down and there will be secret sharing in the hope that I can give valid advice in its wake):

L- a roommate of mine

M- another roommate

A- another roommate

C- yet another roommate, but she joins the cast a bit later

J- a great friend, met at BSU but he also happens to be from Vegas

R- an unlikely friend

T- M's friend

AG- a small group of army guys that join in later

K-potential love-interest

And I think that'll do. Now, onto the story!

I lived in a suite-style dorm. Four of us lived there, each of with individual rooms. The basic layout was two bedrooms and a bathroom on each side of the dorm with a living room, laundry unit, and kitchen in the middle. M and I shared one side while A and L shared the other. All of us were relatively shy and were placed together randomly as we hadn't used the roommate-selection app the school used. But we didn't have much issue at the beginning. I first bonded with A, introducing her to another friend early on. M and I bonded quickly as well seeing as we shared our own hall. L is fairly shy, so it took awhile longer, but it turned out that her and I just naturally click and still have a fantastic friendship to this day (Read: the same cannot be said for others in this story). L, M, and I easily worked around each other, with each other. A spent most time in her room or at work, but things still seemed pleasant with her. However, she didn't seem like she wanted to hang out with us whenever we did things as a group, so we stopped knocking on her door to ask.

Over the next many weeks, things grew more tense. It was gradual, so none of us were fully aware at the time, but looking back, it was obvious. M invited me to go with her to T's apartment one night. Her and I were interested in drinking (side note: it's up to you imo if you wish to drink in college, but I will insist: always have someone sober around. They will make sure you are safe the the location you are at, get home safe, and will be there for you to help you through your lowest moments and to recount them with you in the morning). T had alcohol. We partaked a little, and I got to get to know T and his roommate, K. It was a good night.

The next night, however, was the breaking point. M and I went over to T and K's again, but this time they took us to a party a floor below their's. We definitely had more to drink that night. I discovered my bartending skills that night, M found her limit and blacked out, and K and I got to hang out a bit more. K had a sober friend that drove us back to the dorm that night. They also helped us upstairs (remember, sober friend). M and I were definitely loud and giggling, and A came out her room to yell at us about not being able to sleep because of our behavior and our upstairs neighbors partying (a nightly occurrence). She went back to her room, slamming the door behind her. L also came out of her room, but instead of yelling at us, she help us through the drunkenness and eventual vomiting, staying up the whole night to do so.

The favour was repaid when M and I picked her up from her first party and walked her home. We stayed by the bathroom all night to make sure she was okay. And it was good to be able to repay the favour.

A felt alienated. And as I said before, that night was the breaking point. The next day, M, L, and I woke up to a letter on our kitchen table outlining her grievances. She didn't feel like our friend. We didn't invite her out anymore, we weren't there for her when she needed us, and she felt like it had to do with our drinking and her not wanting to.

The three of us sat on my side of the dorm, with the hall door closed. And we read the letter and talked it through. We felt bad that she felt that way, but we knew that we never intended that. And that we couldn't be blamed for it all. And that a letter shouldn't have been left for us. That if we were going to resolve this, we would do it in person. This is lesson number two. Resolve things face to face. Children fight through notes/texts/letters. As adults, we knew that we had to sit down together and talk it through. It's hard. You will be nervous. But it made that conversation better. We invited her out and it was awkward. But we went down the list. We made compromises, we learned more about each other. And though things were still tense afterwards, no one felt uncomfortable in their own home. And that's what mattered.

Fast forward to the end of the semester. A moved out. It wasn't because of us, she also had family problems and she wanted to move in with her boyfriend in Texas. We understood and left things on amicable terms. They're engaged now. I'm happy for them.

January. New semester. M, L, and I are living well. T comes over occasionally. K does too, he's also our alc plug. Him and I are still talking, but not much is happening there. I haven't mentioned C yet, but we met her the previous semester, but start hanging out more this semester. She knows that A moved out and is interested in moving in with us. We originally agreed, but after talking about it amongst the three of us, we weren't sure about it. Nevertheless, she moves in.

And it seems to be going well, and we made friends with J through a friend of her's. We host people often, and I play bartender. One of these nights, we run into K and invite him and a neighbor over to play cards. K and I flirt a little, but I was also busy hosting. C and K meet for the first time here.

They start hanging out a bit, and I don't think much of it. Then, she starts gushing over him, talking about his eyes and what their kids would look like. It felt obvious that she was far more into him than I was. So I was nice about it, and let it be.

She ended up just sleeping with him and dropping him only to trash talk him to M, L, and I. This is not the only time she had done this to the guys we had met and become friends with, including T and J, who we met through a guy she did this to. T and J were pretty much her only fails. I bring this up because it had an affect on the rest of us. I'm all for doing whatever you want as long as everyone consents, but this was not just affecting her and it was toxic.

It was difficult to make friends. It stirred up drama. And it lead to the next breaking point. In February, (for context, this is just a few weeks after she moved in), the AG drove out to stay with us for a weekend. C was interested in one of them. So was M. He was interested in M. C is getting upset over this, and decides to demand that M leave for the rest of the weekend. I didn't want her to, but C was already talking shit about me to other people and I didn't want to stir up more drama. Neither did L. I guess we hadn't learned our lesson.

M moved out. And this time it was completely our fault. And I felt awful. I tried to apologize. L did too. But the damage was done. And the bond that I had formed with M was instantaneously gone. I understood it was for the better and M left us with one request: do something about C.

L and I left that night. She wanted to go home for the night, feeling sick about the whole thing. I asked to go along. I didn't have classes the next day. We spent almost the whole night driving around talking it through. M was right, but we didn't know where to start with C. So we sat there, exploring the city, sober as could be (literally and metaphorically), and made a pact that we wouldn't let the same happen to either one of us.

We couldn't be direct about it. A talk wouldn't help. Actions speak louder than words. Because not only were L and I more strict. Not allowing ourselves give in to her whims, but we also had J. He especially didn't given in. And that frustrated her. L spent more time on her own, talking to me when she could. That frustrated her. I spent more time on my own, getting more work done. Shutting myself into my hall and letting the guilt sink in. I even invited over M and T to chat and collect her forgotten things while she was away. I wasn't going to be there to allow her to use us for her habits. And that frustrated her. She wanted the attention and she got none. And lo-and-behold, she started shit talking me again. To L. And everyone she met. It did nothing.

Here comes in R. He was the next one in a string of guys that she was using and cheating on. We didn't expect for him to be around long. None of them were, but C headed home for a weekend and suggested we invite him to hang out. Okay. I did. And both times he came over were great, he easily slipped into a friendship with L, J, and I.

He asked L and I to be honest with him. He felt insecure about the relationship he had with C. Though we were hesitant to say anything, he insisted that he would rather have the truth.

Okay. Have it.

And we knew he'd be better for it. And he was. And so was our friendship. And C was pissed. But she didn't know it was us who said anything. But she decided that he left her for L. And accused her of it.

Nope. He just needed us to be good friends. And he stuck around. And that infuriated her. And we found it easier to stand up against her fits because of it. Don't want him around? Sorry, he's our friend. And maybe you think we're horrible people for that, but we had put up with enough. And it was about time we fulfilled our promise to M.

And soon enough, C moved out. Not because of us, but other reasons. And R kinda moved in (not that our RA knew). R, J, L, and I were happy amongst ourselves for what was the last month of the school year.

Now, that was a lot. I know, I'm sorry. But I hope it was at least an interesting read. It wasn't everything that happened. And I purposely left some stuff out. Though I made an effort to keep things anon, some secrets are not mine to tell. Even if you'll never know these individuals, but especially because you don't know them.

While all of this was happening, I made poor decisions otherwise in regards to drinking. My friends back home were worried. My mental health was going down fast. Previously discussed events may have contributed, but I did push aside self-care in high school in favour of doing school work. And with a less-occupied mind in college, the symptoms only grew worse and perhaps that lead to more drinking. I'm not sure, but I do know that I wasn't doing well at all by the time spring break rolled around. And I worried those closest to me. And they made that clear this summer.

On top of that, BSU is out-of-state for me. And those problems from home didn't go away. And my experience was made worse by that, the events described here and many more, and my financials. I know most in America struggle to pay for school, but it was such a burden on me. It made it difficult to sleep at night, the focus on work, and loomed over every experience I had.

So, the lesson to be learned here is this: take care of yourself. Know your limits. I know it's easier said than done, but it's the only thing that will get you through college. I needed out of an environment that was causing me grief and guilt. I needed to address the problems I had been putting off. And I needed to be realistic about the types of stress I can handle. School, though stressful at times, is an easier stress to handle because the solution is relatively easy to achieve. Financial stressors are difficult to handle because they're long term and can affect how I live the rest of my life (not to say school doesn't, but you can go back to school at 40 but most of us will still be paying for the schooling we got at 18 when we're 40). I still owe BSU money, but not much. And I'm working on paying it off. And then I want to transfer in-state. Get the cheap tuition. My scholarship. And more stability.

BSU wasn't all bad, but it wasn't good for me either. And there's no shame in taking a break and transferring elsewhere. And I had to convince myself of that. And it's still hard to cope with the idea some days. But I'm happier overall. And I've maintained my friendships with L, R, and J. And they all understand.

Again, I'm sorry this was such a long read. But I hope you've gained something from this. If anybody actually read this far... In fact, if you had, could you do me a solid and leave a reply or drop something in my inbox? It'll be nice to know if someone actually read all of this. And thank you so much if you had. I really appreciate it.

[ladyjaneasher-blog]

Wait I'm sorry for being misinformed, but the info about Paul calling Yoko a jap tart is not true? From what i read he sent a letter to john (i think) saying this. So it's not true? (because thank god if it's not true)

it’s okay, anon. let me reiterate: 

the full message – if you believe francie, that is – was “you and your jap tart think you’re hot shit” and the full quote reads:

“John obviously loved Paul enough to let him run wild if it would help ease the tension Paul was creating in the studio and at home. Yoko could see it too.

But Paul was treating them like shit too. He even sent them a hate letter once, unsigned, typed. I brought it in with the morning mail. Paul put most of his fan mail in a big basket and let it sit for weeks, but John and Yoko opened every piece. When they go to the anonymous note, they looked puzzled, looking at each other with genuine pain in their eyes.

‘You and your Jap tart think you’re hot shit’, it said. John put it on the mantle, and in the afternoon, Paul hopped in, prancing much the same self-conscious way he did when we met.

‘Oh I just did that for a lark…’ he said in his most sugar-coated accent.

It was embarrassing. The three of us swiveled around, staring at him. You could see the pain in John. Yoko simply rose above it, feeling only sympathy for John. I was sad to see the Lennons go, even though it took the pressure off of Paul.”

putting aside that you can already read the clear bias between the lines, sometimes in other retellings of the story, it’s said to be a postcard and other times it’s a typewritten message left in an envelope. the discrepancies here alone should tell you something. 

now, where does the claim come from? it comes from an ex-girlfriend of paul’s from the late 60s, who he has parted not on the best terms with: francie schwartz. francie wrote a book about her relationship with paul where francie claims that while john and yoko stayed at cavendish, they received a note saying “you and your jap tart think you’re hot shit”.

why is it bullshit? i have several points to make:

francie schwartz is one of the most unreliable sources in beatles history. ask any beatles researcher worth their salt on their opinion about francie and her book. what’s more important in this particular case: she relies almost exclusively on sensational claims to make her book body count (1972) more palatable and exciting to a general and broad public instead of actual proof. other such claims include paul having been sent love letters from brian; a claim just as insubstantial and without any actual tangible proof. 

first off, to get a more personal picture of francie during the time she wrote and published her book you have to ackowledge her agenda as the scorned ex-lover as is evidenced by the book itself as it displays a great deal of vindictiveness towards paul. read body count and you’ll know what  i mean. it’s absolutely vile in places.

second, the book was published in 1972 – when paul’s critical reputation was possibly at one of its lowest points – and it was published by none other than jann wenner’s rolling stone press, which very obviously chose john’s side in the john versus paul breakup era split and which back in the day had a lot of sway in the music industry. the magazine wasn’t yet the joke it was to become. something else that is interesting and slightly related: jann wenner. paul’s critical acclaim wasn’t at it lowest point because mccartney (the album) was years ahead in its day and the press just didn’t get it, but because wenner directly influenced his reviewers to slam paul for – as wenner saw it – breaking up the beatles. here’s the relevant quote:

“When I became record reviews editor, I made it clear to him after a few months — nobody had done the job before me — that the record review section was an independent republic within the country of Rolling Stone. That meant that nobody else could tell me what to review or what a writer could say. They could argue with me, but ultimately it was my decision. And that worked well. There was one incident where Paul McCartney makes his first solo record and people thought it was wonderful: this rough, homemade one-man-band album. It was accompanied by a press release, a self-interview, about why he no longer needed the Beatles and how little he thought of them … this real obnoxious statement, you know? I assigned it to a friend of mine, Langdon Winner, and Jann saw the piece and said: “We can’t run it this way — he’s just reviewing it as if it’s this nice little record. It’s not just a nice little record, it’s a statement and it’s taking place in a context that we know: it’s one person breaking up the band. This is what needs to be talked about.” I said I didn’t agree and “in any case it’s up to Langdon to say what he wants to say.” Jann said, “We have to talk about this.” So we went to dinner that night and spent three fucking hours arguing about this record review. Finally he convinced me. So I went over to Langdon’s and sat down with him and spent three more hours arguing with him until I convinced him! Now to me this was the essence of great editing, of how you put out a publication that is utterly honest. All that time spent over one 750 word review! And it was worth it.”

—Greil Marcus in conversation with Simon Reynolds,

Los Angeles Review of Books

there are other instances where wenner displays his clear bias against paul, which was especially rampant in the time where paul was hailed as the talentless and flighty hack who did nothing more than book the studio for the beatles and john as the deeply misunderstood true lyrical and musical genius behind the beatles. a narrative that was formed then and persists to this day.

third, a number of writers – including, disappointingly, doggett and carlin – have recounted the “jap tart” episode from paul to john and yoko as fact, but it’s NOT. it’s the unverified retrospective eyewitness testimony years after it happened of a very much biased, secondhand source. we’ve never seen evidence from anyone else that this event occurred. no picture, no copy, nothing. just like any other event francie “remembers”, if i might add. and since other private notes and copies from letters and even journals exist from other and more deeply involved with the beatles people, it is suspicious.

even during “lennon remembers” – also done with involvement from wenner – john himself admits that his examples of the others treating yoko badly in the studio or elsewhere come off as him being paranoid. if he had indeed a clear and very much damning example, such as this “jap tart” postcard or typewritten message or handwritten note, why didn’t he bring it up? or, more glaringly, yoko herself? when discussing why she and john left cavendish in philip norman’s paul bio, she doesn’t mention this incident at all. why didn’t either of them ever bring up this incident in all the years after it supposedly occurred? 

it’s also important to point out that the narrative that paul was an absolute and continuous horror to john and yoko during the let it be era is just that: a narrative. let’s see what yoko has to say:

“After the initial embarrassment, then – um, now Paul is being very nice to me. He’s nice, and a – a very, um, str– on the level, straight sense. Like, um, whenever there’s something happening at Apple, he explains to me, as if I should know, [inaudible] and things like that. And also whenever there’s something like they need a light man or something like that, he asks me if I know of anybody in the art world, and things like that.

And like, um, I can see that he’s just now suddenly changing his attitude, like he’s being – he’s treating me with respect. Not because it’s me – but because I belong to John. I hope that’s what it is, because that would be nice. And I feel like he’s my younger brother or something like that. I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat – because there’s something definitely very strong between John and Paul.

And, um – and probably among those three people of George and Ringo and Paul, Paul is the only one that I can sort of feel the vibration [from]. Like, sort of sense it, you know, that something is among that. ‘Cause Ringo and George, I just can’t communicate. I mean, I’m sure that George and – I’m really sure that they’re both very nice people, but that’s not the point… I think that’s because being, uh, [because of John, Paul, and me] being air signs, like Libra, Gemini, and Aquarius.”

[x]

another point is the nature of the source itself: francie didn’t – at least as far as we know – write any of these instances down, be it in her diary, or even in a letter to her mother, with whom she stayed in contact during that time. all of which would have made the claim more credible, as those would have been never intended for public view and subsequent consumption as her book was. 

she wrote them in her memoir, something she wanted people to buy, and there has been discussion that wenner encouraged her to promote the “sex and dissension” between paul and her and paul and the beatles in her work, because that’s what would sell and ensure publicity. 

lasty, i’ve seen another valid point brought up: linguistics. “hot shit” is something that is more an americanism – francie is american – than something used in the late 60s by someone of liverpool descent.

tl;dr: francie’s claim is unfounded and to this very day has zero (0) proof to it. 

i’ll include another good quote about the issue under a read more should you be interested.

While Erin toils in academia with an unusually heavy workload, I thought I would share another unpublished excerpt from The Historian And The Beatles regarding this now infamous statement attributed to Paul by his erstwhile lover, Francie Schwartz:

One example of Doggett’s occasional acceptance of unverified testimony as fact is his use of Francie Schwartz’s claim that the reason Lennon and Ono left McCartney’s London house (where they were temporarily staying) in Summer 1968 is because McCartney left the couple a postcard with the words “You and Your Jap Tart Think You’re Hot Shit” on it. Schwartz, McCartney’s girlfriend at the time, is the only source for this scene, (Body Count, 220) which, Doggett argues in both You Never Give Me Your Money and in a later interview with Oomska, initiated an irreparable wedge between Lennon and McCartney.

However, neither Lennon nor Ono ever mentioned this incident, even during Lennon Remembers, in which Lennon accuses the other Beatles of seriously mistreating Ono but also acknowledges that their offered examples of mistreatment are unconvincing: “Even when it’s written down, it’ll just look like I’m paranoid.” (Lennon Remembers, 44) Given that Schwartz portrays this incident as an extremely painful moment in Lennon’s relationship with McCartney, and that it directly led to Lennon and Ono departing Cavendish, it would presumably have been, for both Lennon and Ono, a particularly memorable moment. More, describing this incident would have heavily reinforced Lennon’s Lennon Remembers interview agenda to portray himself and Ono as victims of McCartney and the other Beatles. His failure to remember and recount the incident in this particular instance casts suspicions on the accuracy of Schwartz’s account.

While Garraghan declares that “the testimony of a single witness whose competence in every respect is above suspicion may be accepted as true,” (Garraghan, A Guide to Historical Method, 244) Schwartz does not qualify as a competent witness. Her brief relationship with McCartney ended badly when he told her to move out and Schwartz quickly sold articles about her time with McCartney to Rolling Stone and later produced a book, Body Count, in which Schwartz details the postcard scene. The Beatles Bibliography (which repeatedly discredits those pro-Lennon sources promoting the “Lennon Remembers” and Shout! versions of Beatles history) describes Body Count as “a travesty of a memoir,” in part because of its “self-serving and non-reflexive tone.” In credibility terms, Schwartz’s unverified eyewitness testimony is equal to that of the Apple Scruff claiming that Lennon once attempted to hit a pregnant Linda McCartney. While both Schwartz and the Apple Scruff’s claims are generally reinforced by circumstantial evidence (Schwartz by Beatles insider Derek Taylor’s claims that McCartney was sending him anonymous but ominous postcards in that same time period, the Scruff’s by Lennon’s admitted acts of occasional violence against women) Beatles writers who recount both scenes should explain that they are unverified testimony presented by an unreliable source.

Anyone still questioning whether Francie Schwartz is being truthful about the “jap tart” comment need only consider the point which Erin makes here: that J&Y would have been been screaming about this to the press to bolster their position that the rest of the band mistreated them/Yoko, had it been true.  I would also add that the vernacular–calling something or someone “hot shit”– sounds far more American than late 60’s British.  I think Schwartz gave herself away with that one.

I’m shocked that Doggett didn’t come up with those same, very simple observations.

What say ye, commentators?

(source)

i’ve also incorporated a lot of the points from the beatlesbible here.

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

About Nora:

I thought you guys might like to get to know my Nora a little more so I compiled some bio information about her. I don’t remember where I got the set up from, but it was definitely somewhere on this hellsite. If anyone recognizes the format, please let me know ASAP.

Without further ado, here’s Nora!

1.) Describe your character’s relationship with their mother or their father, or both. Was it good? Bad? Were they spoiled rotten, ignored? Do they still get along now, or no?

Nora’s relationship with her family is somewhat complicated due to her extreme political and sociopolitical beliefs. She’s constantly at odds with her mother who expects her to be a Good Southern Girl™. Her father used to dote on her, but he doesn’t anymore now that she’s grown up to be so free-thinking. He tends to stay out of the arguments she and her mother always get into.

2.) What are your characters most prominent physical features?

Nora has wide-set dark brown eyes that are considered her best feature in a traditionally plain face. She’s handsome for a woman, but not delicate and pretty.

3.) Name one scar your character has, and tell us where it came from. If they don’t have any, is there a reason?

Nora has a scar on her right calf from an incident with a kicking horse when she was eight. Because of this, she’s developed certain wariness around horses and tries to avoid them.

4.) How vain is your character? Do they find themselves attractive?

Nora has been told her whole life that she’s not very pretty and she’s definitely felt like it compared to her sister Grace. Grace is the very definition of stereotypical Southern Belle beauty where Nora is not. She doesn’t really see herself as attractive, and expresses uncertainty whenever someone claims to find her attractive. What she is aware of though, is that she has a very brilliant mind and she uses it to her every advantage.

5.) What’s your character’s ranking on the KINSEY SCALE?

0

6.) Describe your character’s happiest memory.

One of Nora’s happiest memories is the day her youngest sister Jean-Louise was born. She’d claimed her as her own the moment she clapped eyes on her and devoted herself to protecting her little sister and her happiness.

7.) Is there one event or happening your character would like to erase from their past? Why?

Nora would very much like to erase the events leading up to her mother exiling her from home. Not only does she not get along with Auntie Jess who is in all definition a Good Southern Belle™, she’s always in danger of being married off, and actually was at some point before she had enough and ran away. But then she was sold into sexual slavery, so there’s that.

8.) Day of Favorites! What’s your character’s favorite ice cream flavor? Color? Song? Flower?

Nora’s favorite ice-cream flavor is plain old vanilla. Her favorite color is yellow despite looking rather ghastly in it. Her favorite flower is a yellow rose, and her favorite song is the Miller and the Brook by Franz Schubert (she has a deep-seeded love of German music)

9.) Who does your character trust?

Nora does not trust easily. Her trust must be earned, but when it is, she is a very loyal friend. As of now, the only person who holds her complete trust is Dr. King Schultz, her traveling partner.

10.) Can you define a turning point in your character’s life? Multiples are acceptable.

The one turning point in her life was getting married off to a plantation owner (she is notoriously and fiercely anti-slavery) and because of this she runs away and finds herself kidnapped by sex traffickers who are looking to fetch a good price for runaways and the like. She’s transported around the South for a while until they meet up with a bounty hunter by the name of Schultz.

11.) Is there an animal you equate with your character?

Nora reminds me very much of a cat. She has to come to you and it has to be her own idea or she’s just impossible for the rest of the day.

12.) How is your character with technology? Super savvy, or way behind the times? Letters or email?

I’ve a feeling this question is moot since she lives in the American South before and during the Civil War, but she likes progress, so she’d most likely be very much in favor of new technology.

13.) What does your character’s bed look like when he/she wakes up? Are the covers off on one side of the bed, are they all curled around a pillow, sprawled everywhere? In what position might they sleep?

Her bed is a complete mess as Nora is a mover when she’s sleeping. She dreams pretty lucidly and kicks a lot in her sleep so it would be a pain in the ass to share a bed with her. She’s a sleep snuggler as well. She sleeps with her head curled around her arm and another arm around a pillow.

14.) How does your character react to temperature changes such as extreme heat and cold?

She does not, and I mean does NOT like the cold. She’d much rather be too hot then too cold.

15.) Is your character an early morning bird or a night owl?

She’s a night owl. She considers any morning before eleven to be an unholy hour and it is almost impossible to rouse her from sleep. She’s like a rock. Schultz has a hell of a time getting her up, and sometimes he almost considers leaving her in the inn. But he generally is a good sport about the whole thing unless in a hurry.

16.) Are there any blood relatives that your character is particularly close with, besides the immediate ones? Cousins, Uncles, Grandfathers, Aunts, et cetera. Are there any others that your character practically considers a blood relative?

No. But there are a few characters she considers family, and that’s Django and Hildy when she meets them. Like Schultz, she is extremely protective of them.

17.) What’s your character’s desk/workspace look like? Are they neat or messy?

Nora is very neat, actually. She doesn’t have a workspace, but she tends to keep things very tidy. Innkeepers are generally happy when she and Schultz leave as she tidies the place up pretty well, leaving it cleaner than she found it.

18.) Is your character a good cook? What’s their favorite recipe, whether they’re good or not? (Microwave mac-and-cheese applies.)

Nora is not allowed near any sort of cookery. She’s a terrible cook and probably would poison Schultz if she tried to make anything. Schultz makes up for it by being excellent because of course he is. Her favorite recipe is anything that’s both a pastry and that’s baked.

19.) What’s your character’s preferred means of travel?

Her wariness of horses causes her to prefer the back of Schultz’s wagon rather than the front. She enjoys closed carriages rather than open ones.

20.) Does your character have any irrational fears?

Horses. Horses and heights.

21.) What would your character’s CUTIE MARK be?

That’s an interesting question. The only thing I associate with Nora is her loquaciousness and her relationship to Schultz, so I don’t really know.

22.) If your character could time travel, where would they go?

She is curious as to the future of the country (or any country really) and she would probably like to see slavery get abolished and people being treated like people for a change. Though she’d be disappointed and downright angry with the systematic racism that’s still perpetrated today.

23.) Is your character superstitious?

Not at all. She’s a pragmatic woman and always has been.

24.) What might your character’s ideal romantic partner be?

Nora’s ideal romantic partner would be someone who is willing to argue and debate with her and know when she’s right (which is all the time) they must love her unconditionally and she must love them in return. They must be a good person, abhor the treatment of those considered lesser than their “betters”, and be able to provide for her and also be willing to let her provide for them as well.

25.) Describe your character’s hands. Are they small, long, calloused, smooth, and stubby?

Nora’s hands are small and delicate-looking, but her long fingers have calluses from her years of work on her family’s farm. Her nails are generally bitten down to the quick as she has a nervous habit of chewing on them.

26.) Second day of favorites! Favorite comfort food, favorite vice, favorite outfit, favorite hot drink, favorite time of year, and favorite holiday.

Nora’s favorite comfort food is anything baked as a pastry, whether savory or sweet. She loves breaded things. Her favorite vice is alcohol, her favorite outfit is a blue work dress that she’s usually wearing outdoors sans corset because she hates them and considers them unnecessary. Her favorite hot drink is black tea brewed with three scoops of sugar and a slice of lemon. Her favorite time of year is the summer and her favorite holiday, despite the cold is Christmas.

27.) Pick two songs that describe your character at two different points of their life, and explain why you chose them.

A Million Reasons by Lady Gaga

The song just reminds me of Nora for some reason (lol, I get it) and the fact that she hasn’t left Schultz’s side yet amazes me. He puts her through a lot what with the whole “I must be in control of the situation at all times” manner he does things in, and his schemes are always more than a little hare-brained.

“I’ve got a hundred million reasons to walk away, but baby, I just need one good one to stay.”

Bitch by Meredith Brooks

This is pretty much her theme song. Nora’s attitude can come across as cold to people who don’t know her well, and she’s been called a bitch by a lot and I mean a LOT of men. She could really care less though. And this sums up her relationship with Schultz just beautifully.

“I’m your hell, I’m your dream. I’m nothing in between. You know you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

28.) If your character’s life was a genre, what would it be?

Romantic comedy because her shenanigans with Schultz could only be the stuff of rom-coms.

29.) How does your character smell? Do they wear perfume or cologne?

Nora tends to smell sweet, and yes she does wear perfume if she can find it. She likes the smell of jasmine and honey. Maybe lavender if she can find it. She likes calming scents.

30.) and finally: Write a letter to your character, from yourself.

Miss Kingsbury, I don’t know how you’ve managed this long. I honestly can’t say I’m surprised, knowing how amazingly stubborn you are. I know that you’ve been through a lot, and I know that you’re afraid of your feelings. Don’t be. I can tell you that Schultz is a good man, and he’ll provide for you, he’ll love you and he’ll keep you safe. He cares about you, Nora. I know he may not seem like it since he keeps personal things personal, but he does. You need to open up to him. Tell him you insecurities and your fears. I promise you it’ll be worth it. After all, he may know you better than you know yourself. Good luck, Nora. And remember that I love you too.

Wingsy

[in-mutual-weirdness]

Elsewhere University: Wayward

AN: First attempt at writing a thing in a long while. I have a weakness for fae stories and urban magic-y kind of scenarios, and @charminglyantiquated‘s universe here caught me hook, line, and sinker. Still, didn’t think I’d write anything for it, until the library scene popped into my head while I was procrastinating. Hope you enjoy what it’s turned into.

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When you were younger, your parents had impressed upon you the importance of going into the sciences.

“Be practical,” they said. “We have three sets of tuition to pay for. You can't waste time on art or philosophy. Love is all fine and noble, sure, but debt is not.”

Your original reaction had been a slowly growing resentment. Now, you're glad for it. You wouldn't touch humanities with a 10 foot pole now.

Oh sure, you're no automaton. You can appreciate people with an eye for theory, ink-stained fingers, or the aptitude for composition. A good portion of your friend group chose to study and create beautiful things. You love hearing about what they do, seeing the way their eyes light up and their words run away from them in sheer enthusiasm. But interspersed between their conversations about theater or lit class readings, you heard...other things. “Weird and inexplicable” didn't even begin to cover it. You finally put the pieces together in the spring of freshman year, after Sydney disappeared and everybody gathered to drink in memory and mourning.

It spooked the hell out of you. No two ways about it. Elsewhere University had a reputation for weirdness, for sure. You'd be lying if you said that hadn't swayed you in favor of attending in the first place. But this went past weird. “Weird” wasn't going to get you killed or kidnapped. The only thing keeping you from just transferring straight away was the impossibility of trying to explain it to your parents. And your grades weren't exactly gonna convince any other admissions office to let you in. Nowhere comparable, anyway.

So you coped in the ways you knew how. Reading all the guides you could get your hands on. Finding source folklore. Your choice of major had already stacked the cards in your favor. And while you still hung out with your arty friends, by sophomore year you'd found another group. A group more shielded from the weirdness. Where things could be normal and nobody thought to ask doppelganger questions or carry old screws in all their pockets. Except that one engineer lady, but far as you could tell, that was just a personal quirk.

And then school brought the hammer down on you.

You knew that college was gonna get tougher. But knowing didn't mean you were prepared. Those grades that had kept you from transferring came back to bite you. That creeping unease from Sydney hadn't gone away, and it was showing up in your work habits and shattered focus. You'd talked to the student health services people about it, and gotten nowhere. Scholarship money was on the line. The second round of exams was coming. And linear algebra was the first one.

You’d done your best to stay away from Elsewhere’s weirdness. But that didn’t mean you weren’t aware. You remembered what your humanities friends had told you. There were things you could do, loopholes you could exploit. Options, options, always options. If you were brave enough to take them.

And so here you are, venturing into the lower floors of the library.

You didn’t know many specifics going in, but you did know where to look. The bio majors Facebook page didn’t explicitly mention their library base camps, but the “Spelunkers Club” did, and had drafted a map to boot. The printout is sitting in your backpack, right now, sandwiched between notebooks. You’d wondered about their ability to diagram a non-Real, inconsistent space, but the solution made you laugh in shocked delight once you saw. While the shape of the shelves would change every six days or so, even a fae-touched library was militant about the Dewey decimal system. You spot the Fashion books (746.92) and make a right, nodding at a dude you recognize from your Psych class. He gives a weak thumbs up in response. Not somebody you'd expect to come here, but the psych lecture is the morning after the exam. If any of you vanish, it'll get reported quickly.

You move off a ways, finding a row of empty carrels against the wall. All identical, save one, whose lone desk light throws shadows around the walls. The rest of the row has their lights off, but you can hear the ambient shuffle of papers anyway. Best avoid those chairs, then. You pull out your ramen packs, selecting the saltiest variety (verified with a taste test, once. And never again.) The remaining 2/3 of the packets you scatter about the table, and stash back into your pockets. Should work.

You crack open your textbook and a bag of chips, and get started.

Time passes. The sound of your pages joins the general rustling. The clatter of laptop keys cuts through intermittently. You pull out your phone to google a definition and glance at the clock--apparently it thinks you’re in Dubai. Well, at least there’s proof that the time dilation here is actually a thing. Or just that it screws with your electronics. You make decent progress through some of the practice problems, but stall whenever you hit the theorems. That's algebra for you. A lot of numbers and graphs and definitions that use letters like they're words you should understand. You don't. Which is why you're even in this part of the library right now.

It takes you a while before you realize that no letters make sense anymore. You're still thinking in English- at least, you're pretty sure it's still English. But now even the chapter headings in your textbook look merely like shapes. It might just be delirium. That's the reasonable conclusion. You’d downed your second can of Red Bull just trying to keep your eyes functioning. But...

On impulse, you try to write your uni name. (Not your real name, you're not stupid. Just panicky.) Descartes. Cogito ergo sum, and all that. It comes out successfully, but it's entirely due to memory. Making the individual letters takes as much effort as if you were writing them backward, every curve meticulously plotted and traced.

Your circle is undisturbed, thankfully. But the shuffle of pages has stopped. Wind howls from beyond the walls, and the shelves creak like old floorboards. For a moment you wonder about the psych kid. It's a moment too long. You see something move out of the corner of your eye, when you look back toward where he was.

Don't move. Nothing’s there.

Except the Red Bulls are doing a number on your system, and even though you were never the wordy sort you'd still like your language back, thanks, and even if you wanted to leave your suddenly too-small circle and brave your way back to the campus proper, that exam would still be there.

The memory of your GPA curdles your fear into anger. “I thought we were the kind of people you'd leave alone,” you snap, turning to yell over your shoulder. Your voice climbs an octave as you start to rant in earnest. “What's the deal? I'm a STEM major. Doing math. Algebra. You don't even like algebra.”

“Mayhaps,” comes a voice from behind the shelves. “Numbers and Logic are mortal things, it’s true. But you are not a number. You just work with them.”

“And other things,” you reply. You strain your eyes into the dark, frozen in your half turn, but the shelves reveal nothing. Whatever’s out there doesn’t sound like it wants to approach. Probably. Your brain is racing, just barely outpacing your heart. “What do you--is there something you desire from me?”

“Presumptuous.” There’s a cicada-like buzz behind the voice. It makes you picture some kind of massive chitin-plated thing waiting just out of view.

“I meant no presuming. Uh.” Your tongue ties itself in knots to avoid the word “sorry.” It’s surprisingly hard to come up with less dangerous words. “Tell me where I went wrong and I shall try to avoid repeat offense?”

The hum continues. It's starting to sound like laughter. Your spine shivers like a loosened spring. “I want nothing of yours, pupa. What use could I have for it?”

You're pretty sure that question is rhetorical, and if it wasn't, any answer you could give would only endanger yourself. “Then if that’s so, we may move on with our lives. I’m sure you have your own stuff to- to attend to.” You try to muster up enough courage to turn back to your desk.

“I don’t understand. My current business is talking to you.” The thing- the Visitor’s legs skitter about around the shelves, its voice circling around. It better not be getting closer. “You’re proving a rather difficult conversation partner. Most im-po-lite.”

“I did not come here expecting conversation,” you say, uneasily. God, you want out. You shouldn’t have said anything to begin with. You never know who’s listening. “I came here to study, nothing more. That’s where my lack of grace comes from, uh, good fellow.”

“Odd, that you should stroll right into somebody’s front parlor and not be prepared for conversation.”

That can’t be right. That can’t be. The map- You turn the chair fully around and reach over to your backpack, before pulling back at the last minute. Can you even show that to a fae? Is that allowed? You wrack your brain for details, and keep coming up blank. Meanwhile, your Visitor- or Host, perhaps, as the case may be now- waits patiently beyond. “I was told that this was neutral ground where I could complete my work undisturbed,” you say, finally. Your hands rest on your lap now, fingers aching from where you gripped the swivel chair armrests. “I was told that this was public ground.”

“Misinformed trespass is still trespass, hatchling.” Their tone of voice doesn't change, but something in the cadence of it makes your hand stray toward your ramen packs. “You've wandered across my threshold and barred the door. Surely even you know what that means.”

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You raise your hands in a placating gesture. “I understand. I will-” Die? Get Taken? Tell the Spelunkers that their map is a piece of shit and they need better cartographers? “I will leave and remove the salt circle. I will find where the actual neutral zones are and leave your domain alone and not trespass on it again. And...”

And? Your brain insists that something is missing, but by now all you want to do is flee and never come back. “And yeah. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

There's a different sort of clicking now. It sounds like pincers. You swallow back the lump of shuddering fear and wait for their answer. The entire section of the library is quiet except for that awful sound. “Usually there are reparations for an offense such as this. But...” Oh God oh god what does it want now. “I see that you've already lost something. That would normally go to the offended party. But I have no use for your words. Go then, pupa.”

It’s already started to skitter away when you’ve finished processing what it said. “Wait!” You even reach out toward the shelves, almost tripping out your chair onto the salt circle. Your legs are practically wobbly enough to wriggle out of your own jeans. “My- the words! English. Do you have my words?”

“They say external ears are better for hearing. I think they're mistaken.” You don't have time for its coy amusement, but it has even less time for overt demands and careless students. You grit your teeth and wait. “I have no need of your words. But I know how to get them back. I could retrieve them for you, even. But, that would be a favor.” You catch a glimpse of something between a gap in the shelves and you look hurriedly away. There's only leather spines and library labels. There's nothing else worth looking at over there. “And I don't give those out readily, even to those who haven't offended me. That is my offer. You know what to do, pupa.”

Trade nothing you cannot afford to lose. But you've already lost- You screw your eyes shut and count to ten, in half-remembered high school Italian. Uno, due, tre... You get to “cinque” before you switch into Spanish by accident. Right. A peace offering. You look at your desk, at your backpack, glance down at your pockets.

Only one option stands out to you.

You pick up the map and throw it out at the room with a flick of the wrist. “Here,” you say, as it drifts down just outside of the yellow-y line of flavor powder. “A map. Designed by the best cartographers of my age.” In a manner of speaking. “Knowledge for knowledge. Use it to secure the borders of your domain.” You reach for your notebook, and while you can't read what it says, you recognize the formatting of the list. “Here is a copy, in my own writing. It is as a contract. Take it as confidence that I will learn and know the borders here, and not cross them, ever.”

There's a rush of movement and suddenly something with more legs than you can really perceive lunges out from behind the shelves. You can't help the scream of terror. (Nor the stream of pee either. Caffeine, what a diuretic.) The sheer speed of it blows your hair back, as if you were standing on a subway platform by an oncoming train. When it’s passed back into the shadows, you look down at your feet. The circle hasn’t moved at all.

“Do not let anybody say I am not fair,” it says. “I always give back equal to what is given in turn. You can have your letters back. I grant you 24 hours of grace period inside this building. That should be more than enough to settle whatever affairs you need to in here. Good morrow, pupa.” It slinks back into the library, the click of its legs blurring together like the sound of pouring sand. Once more, the only sound is from the phantom students on either side of you.

You collapse back into your chair, barely able to move. Thankfully, whatever that fae did seems to have worked. You can read your notes, and even the textbook again. The adrenaline rush of it all has thrown everything into sharp relief. You write with abandon, blasting through proofs and problems alike with new vigor. When you finally leave and walk back out into the late evening sun, you stumble back to bed and nearly sleep through your alarm. But the exam, after that ordeal, feels like a doctor’s visit. Longer than you wanted and a bit uncomfortable, sure. But nothing worse than that.

Psych dude doesn’t show up the next lecture, but you do see him during the break. Probably just came in late. You do that too, you know the feeling.

It isn’t until that weekend, when the exam comes back with a grade better than you could reasonably expect, that you get antsy.

When a about a row’s worth of people don’t show up to your systems biology midterm the week after, you upgrade to worry.

You really wish you could say that you contacted the Spelunkers Club before their page got shut down.  (Part 2?)