#stem learning kit

[nexus-nebulae]

love watching weather science videos but like. why am i 1000x more interested in tornadoes over hurricanes. they're both spinning air

[respirelearning]

Benefits of Experiential Learning for Teaching STEM to Children

Introduction

Teaching STEM to children is essential for fostering a love for learning and curiosity about the world. Experiential STEM learning, a method where students learn through hands-on experiences, is increasingly being integrated into STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) education. This approach makes learning more engaging and equips students with the skills they need for the future. At Respire Learning, we aim to transform children's education through experiential learning. Our STEM Kits provide hands-on activities that introduce children to science, technology, engineering, and math concepts engagingly and interactively. With Robotics Kits, students can dive into programming and automation, learning to build and control their robots. Our DIY Models foster creativity and problem-solving by allowing students to assemble projects independently. These Experiential Learning Kits are designed to ignite curiosity, promote critical thinking, and inspire the next generation of innovators.

What is Experiential Learning?

Experiential learning involves learning through direct experience and reflection. Unlike traditional methods that rely heavily on lectures and rote memorization, experiential learning emphasizes active participation and practical application. This method allows students to explore, experiment, and learn from their successes and mistakes.

Respire’s agenda to focus on STEM Education

STEM education focuses on teaching students in an integrated manner, combining science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. It's designed to prepare students for the complexities of the modern world. Experiential learning fits seamlessly into STEM education, as both prioritize critical thinking, problem-solving, and real-world application.

Advantages of Experiential Learning

Enhances Understanding and Retention Experiential learning helps students understand and remember concepts better by involving them in activities that require active engagement. Students participating in experiments or projects are more likely to retain the information.

Encourages Critical Thinking and Problem-Solving Hands-on activities require students to think critically and solve problems. This approach fosters a deeper understanding of scientific principles and enhances students' ability to apply knowledge in various situations. Promotes Engagement and Motivation Experiential learning makes STEM fun and interesting. Students are more motivated to learn when they can see the relevance of their studies and actively participate in the learning process. Develops Practical Skills Through experiential learning, students develop practical skills essential in the real world. These skills include teamwork, communication, and technical abilities crucial for future success. Respire’s Experiential Learning Kits Experiential learning kits are tools designed to provide hands-on learning experiences. These kits include materials and instructions for conducting experiments and activities. They are tailored to different age groups and educational levels, making STEM accessible and enjoyable for all students. Examples of Popular Kits for Teaching STEM

STEM Kits: These kits cover various subjects like electronics, engineering, chemistry, and physics, providing comprehensive learning experiences.

DIY Kits: These kits allow students to conduct experiments at home, fostering a love for learning outside the classroom.

Robotics Kits: These robotics kits teach students about advanced-level engineering and technology through building and programming robots.

Implementing STEM Labs in the Classroom

Teachers can integrate experiential learning into their classrooms using kits and hands-on activities. Here are some strategies:

Strategies for Teachers

Incorporate Experiments: Regularly include experiments and practical activities in lesson plans.

Use Learning Kits: Utilize available experiential learning kits to make science lessons more interactive.

Encourage Group Work: Promote teamwork by having students work in groups on projects and experiments.

Integrating Kits and Hands-On Activities

Integrating kits into the curriculum can be seamless. Teachers can start with simple kits and gradually introduce more complex ones as students become more comfortable with hands-on learning.

Traditional Learning & Learning in STEM Lab

Common Obstacles in Experiential Learning

Limited Resources: Schools may need more resources for experiential learning.

Time Constraints: Hands-on activities can be time-consuming.

Teacher Training: Not all teachers are trained in experiential learning methods.

Benefits of STEM Lab

Experiential STEM Kits: students have a variety of kits in STEM with which they can do hands-on experiments with the teacher's guidance.

Look and Feel of the lab: Our Innovation lab is a specially curated space for children with a Montessori color combination that can promote learning in the gated space.  

Children's safe Equipment and kits: All the kits representing various subjects and their theories are perfectly safe for students to use from pre-primary to higher secondary education. 

Teacher Training: Teachers are specially trained to use high-functioning equipment easily, they also teach the importance of storytelling which can help students to make boring theories interesting.

Experiential Learning Beyond the Classroom

Learning continues beyond the classroom door. Parents and guardians can support experiential learning at home by providing resources and engaging in educational activities with their children.

Importance of Learning at Home and in the Community

Home Activities: Simple experiments and DIY kits can make learning STEM fun at home.

Community Resources: Local museums, science centers, and libraries often offer hands-on learning opportunities.

Future of Experiential Learning in STEM

The future of experiential learning in STEM education looks promising. With technological advancements and an increasing focus on hands-on learning, we can expect more innovative and effective methods to emerge.

Trends and Innovations

Virtual Reality (VR): VR can provide immersive learning experiences.

Online Platforms: Online resources and platforms can offer interactive science activities.

Predictions for the Future

As experiential learning continues to evolve and Indian government is implementing experiential learning by putting STEM education in the National Education Policy 2020 and evolving as time passes by. it will likely become a staple in education, preparing students for future challenges and making them tech-savvy.

Conclusion

Experiential learning offers numerous benefits for teaching STEM to children. Engaging students in hands-on activities can enhance their understanding, foster critical thinking, and develop practical skills. As we look to the future, it's clear that experiential learning will play a crucial role in STEM education in the Indian Education System.

FAQs

What is the main benefit of experiential learning in STEM education?

The main advantage is that it enhances understanding and retention by involving students in hands-on activities.

How can parents support experiential learning at home?

Parents can support experiential learning by providing DIY STEM kits and engaging in simple experiments with their children.

Are there any specific experiential learning kits for different age groups?

Yes, kits are designed for various age groups, from preschoolers to high school students, ensuring age-appropriate learning experiences.

What are some challenges teachers might face with experiential learning?

Teachers face challenges such as limited resources, time constraints, and the need for specialized training.

How does experiential learning prepare children for future careers?

Experiential learning develops practical skills, critical thinking, and problem-solving abilities, essential for future jobs.

[binduspoint]

Best Educational Toys for Kids

Educational toys The Smartivity Mega Science Kit is an engaging and educational resource designed for young minds, providing an exciting exploration into the world of chemistry. Tailored for boys and girls aged 6 to 14, this comprehensive kit offers 135 captivating chemistry experiments. With a focus on safety, this Kids Safe Science Kit ensures a secure environment for children to delve into…

[andaalbanagere]

Alphabet & Shapes with Osmo!

February 28th, 2023 – Andaal is having an phenomenal hands-on learning experience with Osmo’s Little Genius Starter Kit! She is learning to create Letters (uppercase and lowercase), along with Shapes with squishy, colorful Sticks & Rings. Continue reading Untitled

[ofbatsandballads]

i love you, i’m sorry

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: injured character, explicit descriptions of wounds, brief mention of reader having a panic attack, emotional angst, bad dad Bruce implied

a/n: i just feel like jason showing up half dead at your door would be a massive turning point in your relationship, y’know? can be read as a successor to this or as a standalone.

divider credit: saradika

When Red Hood comes to you, he’s almost always hurt. You’ve learned to keep a first aid kit that would make any hospital jealous and with no formal training you’ve picked up skills that rival that of an army medic. Over the last year, you’ve seen gashes, bruises, concussions, even a dislocated shoulder.

You have never seen anything like this.

You spot him the second you walk through your front door. He’s slumped against the wall just below your window. His armor has gashes in it and blood steadily drips from the tears. There’s more blood dripping down his chest, making the red bat symbol look like it’s melting. More concerning than anything else is the helmet. It’s broken. There’s a huge chunk of it missing on the left side of his head. You can see the red domino mask underneath, the battered skin that’s already coloring the initial red-purple of a black eye, and the blood flowing from a nasty looking cut on his eyebrow.

You freeze. A bolt of panic shoots from your head to your toes. No, not panic. Fear. Pure, undiluted fear. Because he looks like he’s dying. The thought startles you out of your haze and you slam your front door shut, locking the five different locks he’d insisted on installing around three months into your partnership. You run to him. You don’t know what to do. All you know is you need to get to him.

You drop to your knees and place your hands on either side of his head. For the first time, your right hand meets skin instead of cool metal. Maybe another time you’d savor that, but your hand is slick with his blood the second you make contact.

“Red?” you call, voice frantic.

You repeat the nickname over and over, fear rising into your throat when he makes no acknowledgment of you, when there’s no sign of life. You continue to call for him, begin gently shaking his shoulder. Finally, the white lens of the domino mask narrows and expands. A blink. He’s alive.

“Hey.”

His voice is broken, weak, filled with pain. He’s hurt in a way you’ve never seen him hurt. Underneath the fear you feel a surge of anger. Whoever did this to him…you want their head on a pike.

“Hi…hi,” you greet him shakily.

You’re lost. He’s in such bad shape you don’t know where to begin. You decide to look at the wounds on his torso first. There’s many, but the blood that leaks from them is the bright red of surface wounds. Most of the blood he’s drenched in comes from a brutal gash situated just between his helmet and his body armor. It’s a tiny sliver of skin, maybe an inch of exposure, but it’s raggedly cut open.

Whoever hurt him had aimed just right to target the inconspicuous vulnerability. The rage flares again before it’s swallowed up by fear. You press your hand against the wound to stem the flow of thick, dark blood. Your heart breaks at the groan of pain he lets out.

Finally, you look at his head. This is the first time you’ve seen any part of his face. You’ve longed to know who your nighttime companion is, who your friend is. You never wanted to see him like this. The eyebrow cut is long, a slice from just above his eyelid to the middle of his forehead. Bruises cover his brow bone, his cheekbone, his forehead. Every bit of exposed skin looks battered. It clicks in your brain in one horrifying instant.

His wounds aren’t from a shootout or a tussle with a criminal gone south. He’s been beaten. Badly. And there’s only one person who you can think of that would be capable of harming him like this. You pull your curtains shut and say a prayer to whoever’s listening that the World’s Greatest Detective isn’t still hunting him.

“Red? I need to get you to the bathroom, okay?” you ask, the cracking in your voice betraying any sense of strength you were trying to convey.

He doesn’t respond and you feel fear shoot through you again. Then his arm wraps around your waist and you breathe a sigh of relief. You can’t lift him to his feet, nor could you support his weight if you managed it. You realize you’re going to have to crawl to your bathroom.

The process is slow and awkward. Red Hood lifts himself off the wall, slumping forward toward you. You pull his arm over your shoulder, and even with both of you on the ground his weight is heavy against you. You keep one arm wrapped around his waist, the other slowly helping to drag the both of you towards your bathroom.

Your muscles are burning and your arms are shaky when you finally make it. With his help, you manage one last burst of strength to get him into your bathtub. You think that that’s the last bit of help you’ll get from him tonight when he goes limp against the tub wall.

You feel a sudden wave of anxiety come over you. You’re going to need to get his clothes off. Worse, you need the helmet off. You feel wrong even thinking about it. Once when he’d had a bad concussion, you’d woken him every hour on the hour with your eyes closed so as not to see his face.

“Red…I know you’re not going to like this, but I have to take off your helmet, okay? I need to see if there’s any other wounds under there,” you say carefully, slowly, like trying to comfort a wounded animal ready to bite.

You feel his shoulders stiffen under your hands. You wait for him to tell you no, to fight you on it like he has every time before. Instead he gives a nearly imperceptible nod of his head. It makes you feel even worse. You had hoped that if he ever revealed himself to you it would be because he trusted you, not out of necessity.

His hands reach up to push on the undersides of the helmet and you hear the distinct click of it unlatching. He weakly pushes it off his head and drops it on the bathroom floor. It’s more of him than you’ve ever seen and you try not to look too long. But then his hands are up by his face again and you can’t stop the look of shock that creeps on your face as he willingly pulls the domino mask off.

For the first time, you see his eyes. They’re a beautiful seafoam green. You feel your breath catch in your throat. You already felt a fondness in your chest for the man that keeps you safe. He scoffed when you told him that for the first time. Made some snide comment about if you were aware of the fact that he kills people. You just remained steadfast, told him that he protected good people, innocent people. You told him that he was good.

You never doubted the phrase, but now you know firsthand how true it rings. Eyes are the window to the soul. Now there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s good. And no doubt that you care for him deeply. He lets out one shaky breath that pulls you from your trance. He looks a little nervous, a little vulnerable. You suppose he is, so you keep moving.

“Lean forward for me, just a little? I need to see the back of your head,” you murmur.

He obeys, a slight hiss leaving him at having to crane his neck. You’ve got your hand pressed against the cut under his jaw and you feel blood gush as he tilts his head down. Your other hand gently combs through his hair as you look for gashes or bumps. Thankfully you find none, though you suspect he might be concussed.

“I’m gonna patch you up now, but I need to get all this off. Is that okay?” you ask.

He looks extremely put out by the idea of being undressed. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable. After all, you don’t know how thrilled you’d be if you had to strip down in front of him. You think you could stitch him up through the tattered gear, but then he’d need to shower. He can’t even stand by himself right now. He realizes it too. He gives one jerky nod, his sea green eyes staring right through you.

You pull the easiest stuff off first. His boots, socks, and holsters lay abandoned on your bathroom floor next to your small waste bin. You move on to his body armor. He has to help you but you get it off without causing him too much pain. His tactical pants are next. Belt, button, zipper. Simple. You pull them off and add them to the pile of bloodied gear.

Now that he’s undressed you see that your lightbulb moment was correct. Bruises are starting to color across his body, a memento of blunt force. You fix what you can. It’s easy to stitch the little cuts on his torso, slightly harder to close the neck gash. Soon he’s all patched up, the blood beginning to dry on his skin in that uniquely gross sticky-crusty mix.

“Can I—I mean, would it be okay if I ran you a bath?” you ask quietly.

He looks wide eyed at you. You tell him that it’s fine if not, that you can figure something else out. It’s important to you to be careful of his boundaries, always respecting what he was willing to give. Perhaps that’s why he finally gives a slow nod of consent. His final item of clothing comes off and you add his boxers to the literal laundry list of clothing on your floor.

You start running his bath, leaving to grab a washcloth and toss his bloodstained clothing in the washer while the tub fills. As you're setting the cycle to run, your mind flashes with muddled, disjointed thoughts.

Thoughts about pain and sacrifice and betrayal and trust. The Batman did this to him. The Batman also helped him take down a Falcone drug ring three weeks ago. The man in your bathtub was Robin, a bright light in a city so dark that it snuffs any glimmer of hope that shines through. The man in your bathtub is Red Hood, a scourge to the ilk of Gotham with so much blood on his hands that he’s drowning in it. It’s all so much. Then you wonder if anyone has ever extended their hand to him and never curled it into a fist later on. And it hits you hard and soft all at once: you’re in this forever now. You won’t leave him. You love him.

It’s ridiculous. You love this man whose face you had never seen until tonight, whose name you don’t know. But you know that he loves classic literature after the night that he’d browsed your bookshelf after you wrapped his sprained wrist. You know that he has a fondness for chocolate chip cookies after the night he crawled through your window while you were baking a batch. You know he’s kind after the night he came by just to check on you, only to find you having a panic attack on your bathroom floor. You know he’s gentle after he picked you up off the ground and carried you to your bed, after he put your hand to his chest and made you breathe in time with him, after he held you until you fell asleep. And what was a name or a face compared to a heart and soul?

You swallow down the confession you’ve made to yourself and head back to the bathroom because right now it doesn’t matter. He needs help; you can worry about your being in love with him later. The tub is just about full when you get back and you turn the knobs shut. You dip the washcloth beneath the warm water and grab your bottle of soap off the ledge.

“This is all I’ve got, so you may just have to deal with smelling like me for the night,” you say, attempting to crack a joke.

“Well, y’smell nice, so ‘m okay with that,” he mumbles, Gotham accent thicker than you’ve ever heard it.

You can’t see yourself, but you’re pretty sure your face is as red as his helmet. You busy yourself by squeezing an unnecessary amount of soap into the cloth, scrubbing it until it’s more suds than fabric. You begin slowly, making sure his watchful eyes can see every move as you bring the cloth to his neck. You wash the blood and sweat off him gently, careful not to go near the stitched up gash.

“Can you raise your arms for me, Red?” you ask quietly as you run the cloth over his shoulders

“Jason.”

Your head snaps to face him and you feel like someone’s just slapped you.

“My name’s Jason.”

He whispers it like it’s a confession. You smile at him, soft and warm.

“Okay, Jason. Can you lift your arms?”

You spend the better part of an hour bathing him. Once all the blood, sweat, and grime is gone, you give him a towel fresh from the dryer to wrap himself in and leave him to dry off. You give him a thick red hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants you’d bought for him after the concussion incident. You still feel bad about him having to sleep in his gear that night.

You turn your favorite classical music playlist on low volume and the two of you sit comfortably in silence on your couch. You’re reading an Agatha Christie novel and Jason is resting with his eyes closed, no doubt nursing the migraine you gave him some Tylenol for. You think that maybe he dozes off a couple times when his breathing goes even and deep.

You take the time to memorize details of him, uncertain if you’ll ever get the blessing of seeing him as he is again. He’s got inky dark hair that’s on the longer side of short. There’s a stark white tuft in the front that stays neatly curled to itself, not a single hair slipping into the night black mess of waves and curls. His hooked nose and strong jawline give him a striking, rugged handsomeness. Scars litter his face. Some are barely there little white lines, while others are thicker and jagged at the edges.

Scars cover the rest of his body too. Every bit of skin you saw while bathing him has some form of scarring. You recognized healed slashes from knives or glass, thick circles with rough edges from bullet wounds. The one that took you by surprise is the largest of them. It’s red and raised in the shape of a Y, the two forks extending from the edges of his collarbones and meeting in the middle to carve straight down, taking a little curve around his belly button before disappearing into the dark trail of curls that leads to his pelvis. You’ve seen enough NCIS to know what it is: an autopsy scar.

You can’t even begin to fathom how he got an autopsy scar. You quickly remind yourself that it’s none of your business and push the sharp ache in your chest down, down, down. Your mind is still a hazy mess, a deluge of thoughts that leave a faint numbness and sorrow in their wake. You feel so deeply for this man that lies quietly on your couch. You wish you could protect him, as ridiculous as the idea sounds. You don’t even realize you’ve lost yourself to your thoughts until his sweet voice pulls you out.

“You’re in your head again,” he says quietly.

You turn your head to him slowly, still in a daze.

“Sorry, just thinking,” you reply, giving him a strained smile.

Anxiety washes over his face. He pushes himself forward, elbows on his knees like he’s trying to take up less space.

“I’ll get goin’ soon. ‘M sure I’ve wasted enough of your time,” he murmurs.

“Please stay here tonight.”

You spit it out without thinking. The last thing you want is him to think you were spacing out because you didn’t want him here or because he was an inconvenience.

“What?” he asks blankly.

His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks an odd mix of dumbfounded and agitated.

“Please stay. I don’t want you heading back out there tonight. Please, just stay here where you’re safe,” you whisper.

It’s a quiet request, but a desperate one. You need him to stay. You need to know he’ll be safe, that he’ll make it through the night.

“I…” he trails off uncertainly.

“You don’t hafta take care of me, y’know?” he finally spits out, “I’m not somethin’ you can fix.”

You bristle. Is that what he thinks of you? Even after all these months? That he’s some fixer upper to you? Some pet project?

“I’m not trying to fix you, Jason,” you say firmly.

His name is new in your mouth, but it feels natural even in the midst of your frustration.

“Good, ‘cause I can take care of myself. Been doin’ it for years now,” he bites.

Okay, now you’re starting to get a little annoyed. He’s done this a couple of times over the past year. Pushing you away when you just want to help him, just want to make sure he’s okay. And that’s fine. You can handle that most times. But not tonight. Not when you’ve just coaxed him back to life, not when you felt like you were so close to losing him.

“Well, you don’t have to do it alone anymore!” you snap.

You see him tense at your harsh tone and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm your storming emotions.

“I…I’m not doing this because I’m trying to fix you. I’m doing this because you’re a human being. That first night…I’m sure you could’ve handled it yourself once you woke up. But I couldn’t leave you alone, hurting. Not then, not now,” you begin, leveling him with a stare so fierce that it holds him in place.

He goes to open his mouth, no doubt to argue, and you hold up a finger to quiet him.

“And I have no illusions that you won’t come back hurting again. None. I know you will. I know we’ll keep doing this over and over and over again. And I don’t care. I’m not leaving you alone. I won’t do it. So push all you want, but I refuse to be anything less than someone you can count on.”

Silence. The weight of your words is heavy in the air. You’re expecting him to leave. Even with his clothes still in your washing machine. You’re sure if he wanted to go, he’d just unplug the thing from the wall and throw his damp gear back on. You brace yourself for it. A small part of you even feels the pang of heartache at the thought that he might never come back.

You’re not expecting him to surge forward and thread his fingers into your hair to pull you into a kiss. You’re not expecting the burning intensity you feel him pour into it. You’re not expecting the warmth of his scarred mouth pressing against your soft lips. You’re not expecting how easy it is to kiss him back, as natural and simple as breathing.

He pulls away all too quickly. Doubt flashes in those sea green eyes and his entire body recoils back from you. You don’t let him run far, fingers curling in his night black mess of hair. You pull him back to you, his forehead resting against yours even as his body is strung tight as a bowstring.

“Well now I can’t let you go,” you whisper.

“I shouldn’ta done that,” he mutters shakily.

“You should do it again.”

You have no idea where the sudden burst of confidence has come from. It’s so very unlike you, you who are normally so passive, so calm and docile. But it seems to bring Jason to his knees because a desperate noise sounds from deep in his chest and his big, warm hands come up to cradle your face as he slots your mouths together again. You sigh his name against his lips when he pulls you closer and then he’s pushing you away. With no effort at all, he picks you up and gently shoves you to the other side of your sofa. He rises too quickly and sways on his feet.

“I can’t–I can’t do this. I won’t do this to you,” he rushes out as he staggers toward your window.

You’re bolting in front of it before you can even think.

“You’re not doing anything to me. You’ve already told me the risks of being associated with you. I’m okay with them. I want this. I want you,” you tell him, and you’re so earnest that it leaves no room for doubt.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for. You can’t just show me a little kindness and fix me up to love you right,” Jason insists.

You should be mad again, but this time his statement lacks all the bite that it held before. Instead, you can hear the self-loathing in his voice, recognize the burn of it from the countless nights you two have sat on your floor debating whether he’s a hero or a necessary evil. And that just won’t do. You cradle his face and angle his head down to lock eyes, anchoring him in place.

“All I want is you, just as you are, come what may.”

There’s a shine to his pretty eyes, soft silver pools in the pale moonlight of the Gotham night. He shakes his head.

“Can’t make me somethin’ I‘m not,” he says, “‘m not made for this.”

And, oh, how your heart aches for this beautiful man. He’s so convinced that he’s violence incarnate, nothing but blood and gunpowder.

“We decide what we’re made for, what we want to be made for. What do you want, Jason?” you ask him softly.

Your hands are so gentle combing through his hair, thumb stroking his cheekbone sweetly. He flinches at the contact and you go to pull away, but he leans into your touch once he recognizes it won’t hurt him.

“I…don’t deserve it,” he whispers.

There’s something unspoken there. Something buried deep down in his chest. It aches to get out. He wants to scream it but the walls he’s built brick by brick around himself muffle the noise. I don’t deserve it, but I want it. He doesn’t have to say it, though. You understand loud and clear. And that alone is comfort to him, that he doesn’t have to say the quiet part out loud, that you just know him. No one has known him in years.

“This isn’t something you have to earn. And even if your answer truly is no, I’ll still be here in any way you want me to be.”

That’s what breaks him. Because it has only ever been something he’s had to earn. He had to earn it from his mother; earned it with cans of stolen soup heated in a rusted pot when Catherine was lost in the fog of her addiction, earned it with each spoonful he held to her mouth. He had to earn it from Bruce; earned it with every case solved, with every batarang that landed home in a bullseye, with every civilian saved. He had to earn it from Talia; earned it with every hit and kick, every blade mastered, every life taken. He’s had to earn love, earn affection, earn open hands instead of curled fists all his life. And you’re here offering up your love for free. You’re not even asking for him to love you back.

So as his defenses scream at him to tell you a thousand words that would cut you to ribbons–I don’t want you at all, go find another soul to save, you’re wasting your time–his heart hammers, demanding he be honest for once. He takes one shuddering breath before he whispers two words that change the trajectory of his life.

“…I’ll stay.”

And he does. He lets you nurse him back to health with water and painkillers. He lets you read to him after he sheepishly asks what your book is about. He lets you sit closer to him, shoulders and knees brushing under the soft blanket you’ve tossed over both of you. He even lets you guide him to your room, lets himself fall asleep tucked under your covers with your pinkies interlocked. It’s the first night that Jason Todd spends in your bed. It will hardly be the last.

[the-artist-grimm]

Following on from the wonderful "smecks lore" drop earlier, are there any other little headcanons of history within the world you would like to share that maybe you've not been able to incorporate into your work?

I'm sorry for calling it that but it is what it is

Love your work as always Yadda Yadda Yadda I'll shut up now bye!

Alright Miscellaneous Lore Lightning Round go!

Anthea

-Favorite color is green! They don’t mind the red since it’s on brand with the Red Crown, but Anthea would’ve preferred a green cloak had they the choice, it’s why they have green mixed in anywhere else in the outfit they can. 

-They're VERY petite and it's likely from their mother's side since their dad was a giant lol. They can get grumpy about it, but they do really enjoy how Narinder can just pick them up easily. They DON'T enjoy when the kits get taller than they are though XD

-Their love of stars comes from their father! Their village was hidden in the woods with little view of the sky through the trees, so when their father, Aries, started taking Anthea at age 4 out with him on supply runs he would try to always leave time for them to stargaze and tell them stories about the constellations.

-Anthea was the one who found their father’s remains-when he didn’t come home one morning no one else in the village knew his routes, so at just 8 years old they went out on their own to find him in secret. It took hours and was pretty far out, but they did find him eventually, first his bloodied robes and pack, then his charred remains. Heretics had jumped and sacrificed him via a fire to Shamura going off the sigils left burned into his skull, and it was only by the wedding band still left on his hand that they could ID him. From there they broke down for a while, and after crying themselves dry of tears, numbly packed as much of his bones and ashes as they could into the pack and returned home.

Bishops

All the bishops have several domains, but they do each have a main 2 each as follows;

Leshy: Chaos and Order Heket: Famine and Harvest Kallamar: Pestilence and Medicine Shamura: War and Wisdom Narinder: Death and Sleep (the sleep domain was inspired a little by both Greek Mythology and @hotchocolatedemon ‘s AMAZING fic Ichor Betwixt Mortal Palms GO READ IT)

Narinder

-Narinder’s more mellow/melancholic personality in this AU directly stems from his low self-esteem and his belief that his siblings hated him. Had the twins not ended up in his care Anthea likely would've met a VERY numb god, but as guilty as he felt about it, having two sweet kids around was a balm to that festering wound of grief.

-Narinder’s domain of Death is more specifically ‘Peaceful Death’ (Drawing from how Hypnos-the greek god of sleep, is a peaceful god) 

-Narinder's been mostly disconnected from his Sleep domain due to the chains separating him from mortals (he actually feared sleep would be impossible for a time after the chains but thankfully outside of more nightmares most are unaffected rest-wise), but when he starts hearing about Anthea’s nightmares from the crown he starts trying to get them to fall asleep in the Gateway to try and get a chance to peer in.

Heket 

-Heket is a big fucking lesbian ™ and has a thing for ladies that can beat her over the head with a hammer. (cough Forneus cough). While acting as vessel Forneus prefered to attack Heket's ranks the most since it pissed her off a LOT, but it gradually became a weird breaking each others chops to flirt thing. They haven't spoken since Forneus gave up the crown, but Heket is actually part of the reason why she became the one vessel not hunted down-post vesselship.

She didn't know Forneus had been pregnant nor that Shamura took the kits till after the fact, but after learning about it she felt so sorry for her that she told Leshy and Kallamar to leave her be, and that if any of their forces so much as touched her they'd be punished. Like Forneus could be a pain, but she could match her in a fight which Heket really respected.

Aym and Baal

-The twins are technically 300+, but since their aging has been so slowed they don’t recognize it, think children trapped in Neverland, so long as they’re in the gateway centuries can pass and they won’t perceive a thing. They would still be newborns without Narinder intervening with his magic, and the gateway age of 11 is just him guessing based off their teeth (he saved all their fallen kitten teeth since it was the only way to vaguely keep track of their age). When freed Aym still has 2 left and Baal 1, meaning they're just at the start of adolescence.

-Which on that note Narinder feeding them tiny amounts of magic over the centuries has kinda transformed the two-they’re more demi-god than mortal now, and stop visibly aging at 25 since they’re immortal. They also each took on minor aspects of Nari’s domains, Aym can sense when death is near, and Baal can vaguely sense the type of dream someone’s having.

Knucklebones Gang 

-Ranks while working as Ratau’s disciples:

Flinky - Medic and Spymaster, he still actually passes along old contacts/cashes in favors for Anthea now Shrumy - Loyalty Enforcer and Guard Captain, he used to be a pretty tough fighter and later became Anthea’s combat instructor after they entered Ratau’s care. He starts teaching the twins eventually too. Klunko and Bop - Tax Enforcer and Head of Trade, wasn’t very good at actually collecting tax but was good at getting good deals from traders

-I hinted at this in one of my COTLtober pieces but Flinky and Ratau are married! They got together during Ratau’s time as vessel and married after he lost the crown.

-The traps mentioned in the same piece are also to keep Heretics out of Ratau's territory since he's wanted.

-Ratau and Flinky are also technically Anthea’s adopted fathers-they alternate between calling them by their names or ‘Dad’ for Ratau and ‘Pa’ for Flinky depending on their mood/who’s with them. 

-The Cult knows that if the Leader is gonna be gone for awhile then the Rat's in charge-Ratau before Narinder's freed/reconciled with the lamb would often be asked to babysit, though once Narinder's officially Anthea's partner that role goes to him typically, meaning Ratau can go back to enjoying his retirement.

That's just some random bits for now!

[systlin]

Hey friend!

I don't think I've seen you mention anything about doing embroidery, but I am confident I've seen you mention you're in SCA! Can you offer any research tips or point me in any good directions to learn about period embroidery?

I keep managing to forget to ask the experienced folks at my local SCA before they have to head out. 🤦

I do embroider! Usually on clothing items rather than samplers, though I did make my mom a purchased sampler kit recently. Turned it into a pillow. She liked it.

BUT ANYWAY I found this site specifically very helpful when looking into period embroidery for my specific persona.

Long and short of it is; a lot of split stitch, stem stitch, chain stitch, and herringbone stitch. Also couching of gold. I picked up a couple books in the bibliography of that page and they used satin stitch as well to fill bits in.

[mantis-clan]

Mantisclan Year 3 Lineup

I realised I haven’t properly fleshed these guys’ personalities out! Better late than never :D Here’s all our current cats and a bit about them as of year three!

previous / next

Quietstar

Quietstar is a perfectionist at heart, and has been through a lot in the last three years, from losing their deputy and apprentice to then losing their mate, Bonespeckle, over the course of just a few moons. A bit neurotic, Quietstar has always seen flickers of strange shadows and movements in the corners of their vision. Pious to the last breath, the one thing Quietstar cares about more than Starclan and Mantisclan is their daughter. Sunsap.

Bluesky

A former kittypet abandoned by his owners due to sickness, Bluesky joined the clan on moon twelve. He’s very daring, but secretly afraid of becoming a burden to those he loves and being abandoned again.

Blisseyes

The clan’s resident healer, Blisseyes trained under Bonespeckle before the older molly changed paths to being a warrior. She’s an excellent storyteller, able to make even the most mundane of herbs sound interesting.

Fumble

Fumble joined the clan on moon twenty two after a particularly rough kitting on Mantisclan territory. Perpetually an anxious wreck, Fumble gets through his day by telling himself stories and reassuring himself with the knowledge that he’s fast enough to outrun any threat. Though that’s not quite enough to stop him worrying about his kits, Thistle, Osprey and Tadpole.

Breeze

A troublemaker at heart, Breeze joined the clan on moon seventeen, having boldly asked to join with her newborn kits Locust, Branch and Echo. Sometimes she lets her nature get the better of her and can come across as rude or mean-spirited but she really just wants her and her family to have a good laugh.

Perditofog

On moon twenty five, Perditofog and her two kits Stem and Magnolia joined the clan. Just as much, if not more of a troublemaker than Breeze, those two queens get up to plenty of trouble together.

Lynx

The most recent addition to the clan, Lynx is an old friend of Peter Pangrove’s and knew him when she was a kit in a loner group with him. Aggressive and energetic, Lynx seems to have some connection to Spider…

Sunsap

Quietstar and Bonespeckle’s adopted daughter, Sunsap doesn’t let the fact that she’s missing a leg stop her from wanting to follow her ba’s pawsteps in becoming clan leader someday. Ambitious and driven, Sunsap is the first to jump into battle when the time comes.

Mumblecrackle

Once an apprentice from Snailclan, Mumblecrackle ran away to join Mantisclan on moon twenty seven. Always eager to have some fun, Mumblecrackle lives to have a good time.

Locustpond, Branchheart & Echodapple

Breeze’s litter, these three are each unique characters. Locustpond, while she was an odd apprentice, has turned into a stern, Starclan-worshipping adult. Branchheart seems to blend into the background, not seeming to have a solid identity of her own and Echodapple has grown from an egotistical kit into a compassionate, if impulsive, adult. Locustpond and Echodapple both suffer from chronic pain and have bonded a lot over that fact.

Tadpolewood, Thistlefire & Ospreyrip

Fumble’s kits, these three newly made warriors have a lot of learning and growing to go. While Tadpolewood endlessly strives for perfection and recognition, Thistlefire and Ospreyrip seem content to goof off rather than take their duties seriously.

Stempaw & Magnoliapaw

The youngest members of the clan, these two brothers are quite similar in some ways and different in others. Stempaw always has a snappy comeback prepared and excels in debate and inciting arguments while Magnoliapaw is often left to smooth over his brother’s disagreements- not that he struggles all that much, what with his charming personality.

Peter Pangrove

The oldest member of the clan, Peter Pangrove has loved and lost a lot in his life and as a result feels constantly lonely even when surrounded by cats he cares about. He seems to have been a friend of Lynx’s in the past, but, then again, he seems to know everyone.

Dovewhisker

Ambitious and bloodthirsty, this former deputy of Mantisclan acquired the position by murdering Quietstar’s mate- not that anybody knows this, of course. He has since mellowed out in his old age, and may be starting to regret some of his actions, why else would he step down from the deputy position?

Briarmoth

Killed on moon number one by a bear trap, Briarmoth hardly had any time at all to be the fierce deputy for Mantisclan that he wanted to be.

Bonespeckle

The deputy of Mantisclan before Dovewhisker and Quietstar’s mate, Bonespeckle was never one to outwardly show much glee, but that doesn’t mean she loved her family any less.

Larkshade

Grumpy, yet always with time to tell stories for the kits, Larkshade lost herself in her grief when Bonespeckle died and eventually succumbed to a wound she received from a rogue while out on patrol alone.

Spider

New to the concept of clans and Starclan, Spider joined Mantisclan to escape from something in her past- but it seemed to follow her anyway and she ended up dead from injuries sustained in her getaway. Was she murdered, and what did she know about Lynx?

Mousepaw

Poor Mousepaw. Dying tragically young and doomed to the Dark Forest for reasons beyond his comprehension, the gloomy tom has every reason to resent Starclan.

[vaporclan]

Moon 192 Part 19

In case it isn't clear, a lot of Cricket’s behaviour stems from being around Hail the most.

Ice tries to stop his bullying and redirect him, telling him it'll feel better if he does something nice for cats instead (which, to be fair, he HAS tried and is trying with Caterpillar) While Ice does try, she's more passive than she'd like to be

Minty has a much shorter temper when it comes to him, cause she doesn't understand why he isn't learning or growing out of these behaviours, or why he bullies Twig of all cats. She sometimes snaps and yells at him, which obviously won't fix his behaviour

When Ice and Minty need breaks from him, there comes Hail and Frost to come help and babysit. Cricket is also a little menace to Frost, because he finds him annoying. Hail, however, does not stop him when she sees him doing these things. She finds his behaviour funny cause its never directed at her. She often enables him as a "joke" meanwhile all Cricket is learning is that biting cats gets him positive attention from his big sister who he thinks is the coolest ever

Also to note: Hail isn't like. Trying to make him evil. This isn't a case of her training him to attack others or whatever. She legitimately just finds him funny and thinks this is just a kit phase and she should enjoy it while she can before he grows up. Hail is a HORRIBLE role model, she's not exactly trying to be a good one. She does enjoy hanging out with her baby brother though, most entertainment she's had in years

Hail is not self aware and believes she herself grew up "fine" and "normal" despite everything that happened with Ivy. (She did not)

Sometimes, if Cricket isn't being TOO rough, Frost will just let it happen cause . When Cricket is a menace, Hail finds it funny and Frost knows that this is like. the first time he's seen his sister laugh since they were kits.

He likes seeing his family happy even if he has to throw himself under the bus to do so

which,,, also enables Cricket... unintentionally

[yurozo]

hang & bleed (req)

╔══《⚜》══╗ restaurant au!wesker x gn!reader summary: in the closed ecosystem of a restaurant, wesker is a god and you are nothing more than a humble servant. (1.5k words) tags: blood, religious imagery, no use of y/n, swearing, wesker's a little bit of an asshole, mentions of explicit content. a/n: for the anon who requested this, this honestly just kind of slipped through my hands. the tone is very different from the rest of the writing for the restaurant au, but i wanted to stay true to wesker's characterization. i hope you like it anyways!! see more of the restaurant au!! | 1 | 2 | ╚══《⚜》══╝

Sometimes, you think Wesker is God.

Over eons of evolution, humans perfected the ability of pattern recognition. The brain is wired to organize and explain sense information, extracting formulas for complex ideas to sort them into neat little boxes. Which mushrooms you can eat and which ones will have you foaming at the mouth, coughing out your innards until your corpse is cold on the floor.

When you picture a chair, there’s a certain image that will manifest itself. A flat surface, four legs, a curved back. Wrapped in red velvet, maybe, depending on how you feel that day. People learn through these patterns— you have seen a chair before, you know the attributes of a chair, and you know how a chair works. The more chairs you see in your life, the easier it is for those helpful little synapses to fire those images in quicker intervals.

You know a chair is a chair because you have tested the validity of that claim several times over. Even if it’s a different chair, maybe mahogany wood this time, it’s all conceptually the same thing. 

Sometimes, a chair is a chair, a mushroom is a death sentence, and a God is a man. 

Time to test a theory. 

Wesker appears, no, materializes behind you the second blood pools on your finger. A soft click of his tongue against his teeth is what makes you finally drop the broken shard of glass you hastily tried to pick up off the floor, and now the tile is splattered with red. 

“You’re making a mess,” he’s scolding you, pulling you up by the collar of your now-damaged work shirt. Crimson against grey and plasma against silk. Wesker’s glaring at you through his glasses, like some sad cat he found drenched in the rain. Pitiful and ever-so-eager to please. 

“Sorry,” is all you can mutter, stumbling forward on your feet. The defense is followed by a meager attempt to minimize the damage, shoving the side of your finger to your mouth to lick at the blood. 

He says nothing to your half-hearted apology, turning to rip the first-aid kit off the nearby wall and tearing it open. Ada’s watching too, eyes carefully watching your every movement as her knife flies across the cutting board. Her movements are always fluid and precise, a loud repetitive clacking of the blade cutting through the air as another vegetable meets its inevitable fate. The stems are sorted into neat piles and thrown in the trash, and the heads are quartered to be tossed into a pan. 

Something about her always unnerved you. Ada never disappoints Wesker, not like you. 

Another click of metal hitting wood as your hand is wrenched from your mouth and the alcohol wipe comes swinging down on your cut like a guillotine. The kitchen suddenly feels all too quiet, too separated from the chaos of the front, and even the line cooks fall silent out of respect. Disappointing the boss and making stupid mistakes on the job is a crime punishable by death. 

God is an executioner, a judge, and a manager at the town’s shittiest restaurant. 

“For someone as capable as you are, you would think to know better than pick up glass with bare hands.” 

He’s scolding you again as the bloodied wipe is unceremoniously thrown into the trash. You should feel ashamed, should feel repentant, but you hear the word capable and the soft hum of approval hums through your chest. 

“Didn’t want someone to slip,” you mumble,“I thought it would be fine.”

“It is decidedly not fine.” His voice is stern, but his hands are gentle. A bandaid is pressed onto your finger before you can protest, you’re more than capable of doing it yourself, but Wesker is not a man that can handle refusal. 

“I can see that.” There’s no polite way to tell God no. 

Ada scoffs as he’s dragging you off to the execution room, a small bunker of an office so meticulously organized that it feels like an entirely separate realm from the usual chaos of the restaurant. Folders and well-loved cookbooks litter every shelf, tabbed and colour-coded, and Wesker is still saying nothing as he sits you down in the chair and ceremoniously filters through a pile of paper. Red velvet, like you imagined. 

Sense information can often be distorted. The brain can’t catch up with what the eyes are seeing, or the nerves send the wrong messages, and the visual perception of an object appears larger than normal. When a man is coming towards you from far away, his image on your retina grows bigger and bigger until everything else feels miniscule in comparison. Shelves, desks, stupid servers who fall in love with God. 

Wesker is tripling in size, bleached blonde hair haloed by a shitty fluorescent light that should have been changed months ago, and you suddenly feel very, very small. 

“Incident report.” A paper is shoved in your face. 

You stare up at him for a moment, brow raised in curiosity. “It’s like, a one-inch cut.”

“Regulations,” is his simple answer, spoken like a commandment. “We used the first aid kit, and I don’t want your blood dirtying up my kitchen more than it already has.”

“It was barely a drop.” You know it’s a lie, and he knows it’s a lie. It was a lot more than that, and the tile can attest to it. 

He taps on the paper impatiently, and you get to writing. There’s no comfortable way to hold a pen with a bandage making it slip out of your grip with every slight amount of pressure, and you can only hope he doesn’t wince at your shoddy handwriting. 

Name, date, contact information. Nature of injury, small incision to the right hand. Cause of incident, being an idiot and believing you’re invincible. Before the incident, you accidentally dropped a glass on the ground, and after the incident, Wesker had complimented you. 

“What the hell are you grinning about?” He asks derisively, standing behind you with his arms crossed over his chest. 

You try to tamp the smile down on sheer force alone, but it’s a futile endeavour. “You think I’m capable.”

Wesker sneers. “I think you can do a lot better than this shithole.” 

“You run this shithole.” 

“I didn’t say I deserved better.” Wesker turns to pretend-sort through papers, lining up each edge until they’re perfectly aligned. He’s stalling too, the man who never seemed to fall downwards, fumbling about the small space looking for every imperfection just to avoid looking at you directly. 

Looking directly into the sun causes ultraviolet light to damage the retina, burning the exposed tissue. Factors such as depth perception and sight can be permanently altered, and you wonder if Icarus was blind when he fell from the sky. 

For a man who always seemed to be the smartest in the room, it really is a miracle he’s here, hunched over in a tiny office, wrangling a gaggle of twenty year olds into serving steaks. The more you look at him, the more he looks mortal. Too tight skin stretched over wiry muscles, dark bags pillowing under the eyes. 

You hum. “If I didn’t want to be here, I would just quit.”

The phrase gives him pause, and he finally turns back to you.  “Then quit.”

“Huh,” you say, like the thought of leaving here wouldn’t kill you. There’s an ironic sort of comfort in relying on the mayhem, managed only by the orderly system that the divine enacts. “You know, I dread the day that I wake up every morning just to take the same train line to work, talk to the same boring people, and sit in the same shitty cubicle.”

“People like us,”  he continues, crossing the chasm with all the graceful movement his long limbs will allow. He’s always been a little too thin on the bones, and all you can feel is the cadaverous feeling of his fingers as they grip your chin. “Are at least above office jobs.”

Those synapses start firing up images again, of Wesker leaning down and pressing against you, lifting you up on that perfectly organized desk and scattering those papers onto the floor. Humans developed pattern recognition for survival, and not imagining fucking your boss in his cramped office. 

Now you’re giving yourself away too, the way your eyes immediately flicker down to his mouth. It’s downturned, like it always is; reading Wesker is always about the eyes. They’re still half-hidden underneath those stupid glasses, but you can still see the way they’re watching you all the same. 

It’s an act of rebellion to kiss your boss, a death sentence like mistaking a death-cap for a puffball. You wonder if you should add this to the report, that you grabbed God by the collar and crushed him to your mouth post-incident. 

“You’re not fucking invincible,” he whispers against your lips, squeezing the fat of your cheeks between his fingers. Your lips purse at the force, and he grins at the sight. “Don’t do something stupid like that again.”

That stupid, unbidden smile rears its ugly head again. Sometimes death tastes like chapstick and not iron in your mouth. 

[mileenaxyz]

*Spoilers ahead*

I was going to rant about how Season 3 of Industry wasn't Industrying for me. I was going to bitch about the infamous "Season 3 Slump" some shows tend to suffer from. I was going to compare it to The Bear and complain that just like I hadn't gotten enough of Sydney Adamu in S3, I wasn't getting enough of Harper Stern in S3.

I was going to ask if Harper was being phased out in favor of Yasmin and Robert, and I was going to point out that as fond as I am both of those characters, neither one is "enough" to lead this show alongside Eric the way Harper is.

I was also going to call Kit Harington's casting publicity casting and point out that anybody could've been played Henry Muck, because I don't feel like Kit did anything special acting wise.

I was going to do all of that and then...last night's episode dropped.

Y'ALL. Since the end of S2 I've been waiting for Harper to rain fire and blood on PierPoint. I wanted to see how she'd do it and how long she'd draw out the pain and agony. When she started the fund with Petra and became a client of Pierpoint's (and demanded first class service from Eric), I was like, "That's cute and all...but it's not fire and blood."

Watching her scheme with Kenny, Daria, and Jackie, my jaw fell on the floor. I started screaming, "There's my Harper! THERE'S my fucking Harper Stern." And then seeing Eric blow up....

Speaking of Eric, I had no complaints about him this season. Both Ken Leung and the writers did some excellent work; I just felt I needed to see more interactions with Harper (I've dubbed their father/daughter ship Harpsichord). But depriving us worked, because he's been avoiding her all season when she clearly wants his attention, and when he finally confronted her in her office, it was AMAZING! I was soooooo happy when he finally addressed the daddy elephant in the room and she finally pointed out her "monstrous" tendencies stem from him, and PierPoint by and large. Because when we first met Harper, she was too afraid to even pick up the phone.

Eric dragged her kicking and screaming from her shell, tutored her, molded her, and taught her the art of betrayal. He made her a monster and now he's mad...that she's a monster?

And after that, Yasmin's storyline FINALLY paid off, and it was eye-opening.

You have to understand something about me; I'm asexual, so I miss a lot of cues and when it comes to sex on TV, I typically fast forward through that shit because I don't care. I don't think it contributes to the story but this time, it actually did. I now understand why Yasmin feels the impulse to get sexually involved with damn near everybody. Since S1, I found it annoying and thought it was just some dumb thing the writers were throwing in (because so many shows do that shit), but this time, it had an actual point. Yasmin's father weaponized his wealth and status so he could fuck anything with a pulse, so is it any surprise she learned to do the same?

In fact, I think the only reason she blew up at Eric at the restaurant was that she didn't find him attractive. If she did, they would've ended up in that bathroom together. Because wealth and status (and pale skin privilege) taught Yasmin that she can behave in this manner with no consequences (Harper obviously cannot).

Which brings us to the seasonal Harper/Yasmin confrontation. A part of me wants them to be friends, another part a couple, and yet another part thinks they need to permanently split up. Such is the reality of life, and a testament to the writers. Yeah, yeah...Harper's a "monster", but I don't think Yasmin is a "talentless and useless and a fucking whore." Yasmin speaks seven languages, is a deft manipulator, and simply needs to learn that screwing your coworkers, clients, and boss is unprofessional and extremely tacky.

And Harper, honey, sweetie, boo...let that man go. Your little crush should've wrapped up in S1 the minute he chose the spicy white girl who treats him like dirt. I get that Robert's an adorable sweetheart and all, but you're not his preference and you need to get over him. Matter of fact, you've been making bank for a while now - why are you still living with these people?

This is the one part of the story that really works my nerve, but I can't really criticize it because it's real. Harper likes Robert; he's a good guy she has to see everyday at both work and home. The part of her that feels both inferior AND superior to Yasmin desperately wants to "win" him from the spicy white girl who treats him like dirt. That's real. It's as annoying as Yasmin's ill-advised sexcapades, but they're young, insecure women in a cutthroat world, and it's real.

*shrug*

[scariusaquarius]

stay in the magic circle.

Thorin Oakenshield x Fem! Reader

A/n: I should really try to write these up two at a time so I can just post one, write two more, and stay ahead of schedule but lmao. I couldn't think of a better character than Thorin for this, though I did think of using Francis :0 i guess this is sorta a supernatural/hobbit au

WEEK ONE: Mythology, Day 3 - Wendigo

-

Genre: Mythology/Folklore, Angst

Rated: Mature

Warning: Cussing, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Graphic Depictions of Gore, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Graphic Depictions of Cannibalism

-

Author: ScariusAquarius

-

If there was a creature you hated more than anything, it was wendigos. When your father had first taught you about wendigos, you didn't think it would ever be likely that you would have to hunt one.

But in the realm of the supernatural, you should always expect the unexpected.

Your back was against the wall, sweating up a storm and causing your cuts and gashes to burn from the salty fluid seeping into them. Mud and dirt was caked all over your body, and you were trying hard to settle your breathing. From across the cave was blue eyes, wide and filled with apprehension as he looked at you.

You swallowed thickly before whispering, wincing when a loud screeching sounded from deep within the cave tunnels.

"Thorin, are you alright?"

Thorin was clutching his leg, blood seeping between his meaty fingers as he tried to stem the wound, sweat running down his temple.

"I think so. What in Mahal's name is that thing?"

You carefully put a bullet into your gun before shifting a little, grabbing your flame thrower and fumbling for a lighter.

"It's called a wendigo. It's the worst fucking creature to hunt, I swear. Every wendigo was once a man that would resort to cannibalism in a desperate attempt to keep from starving to death. They can be hundreds of years old depending on how much they eat and how often."

The wendigo in the cave screeched again, this time sounding much closer, and Thorin looked nervous.

"Everytime you eat, you just get hungrier and hungrier for it. You start to change until you're no longer human."

Thorin shook his head.

"What a disgusting existence. We don't have creatures like these in my realm."

"Yeah, well, you're also not from a horror story, either."

Thorin nodded as if it made sense, and you finally found your lighter. Just as you lit the flamethrower, there was a gust of wind, and a screech from the entrance. You and Thorin snapped your gazes over to see the wendigo, and you raised both your gun and the flamethrower.

"Stay inside the magic circle, Thorin!"

Thorin gestured to the ground, exclaiming.

"You mean these dirt sigils? How will this protect us?!"

You yelled out as you shot the wendigo in the eye, making it screech.

"I'm a wizard, Harry, that's how!"

"My name isn't Harry!"

You pulled the trigger on the flamethrow, the Wendigo letting out an inhuman scream as it burst into flames, and the hunt was finally over. Panting, your adrenaline began to slow down, and the exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks. Sitting down on the ground, you watched as the wendigo turned to ash, and Thorin asked.

"Is it over?"

"Not just yet. Need to go find my brothers if they haven't already escaped their cages."

Thorin nodded, and you reached into your backpack, pulling out a first aid kit and handing it to him.

"Here, use this to patch your leg up."

Thorin grabbed the bandages from the kit, and he asked as he gestured to the symbols written in the dirt.

"So, are you a sorceress?"

"No. They're sigils that can repel the wendigo. As long as you stay in the magic circle, the monster can't get you."

Thorin nodded before asking.

"Are there sigils for every creature?"

You stood up albeit shakily, and you patted his back.

"Oh, my young grasshopper, you have much to learn. Let's go find my idiot brothers, okay?"

Thorin nodded, and deeper into the caves you two went.

[END DAY 3]

[pinteresttransfer777]

I know no one wants to hear this, but adding the A to make STEAM is actively hurting trying to introduce young girls to subjects previously gatekept from them

The entire point of STEM and specifically Women in STEM is to encourage kids to pursue nerdy school shit that they wouldn't otherwise. Go to the STEM club, kids! you'll build a tiny trebuchet, program a turtle in blujay, solder a flashlight yourselves, get help with your science fair poster! That's good shit, esp geared towards grade school girls when they're constantly told as they grow up that girls are just naturally worse at math, and computers are a boy thing, and all these fields are mostly men cuz that's just what men are good at and you'll probably be better in like, nursing or english or something more appropriate for your woman-ness.

The entire point of girl-centered STEM programs is to introduce them to the subjects young so learning them at a more advanced level later is not foreign, or discouraging, or just a boy thing cuz the societal pressure cut their interest at the root.

When you add the A for arts, practically no afterschool program is going to bother trying to teach kids (and girls) all that nerdy shit (INCLUDING fine arts, which is the POINT of the A) when they don't understand that shit themselves and could just start a STEAM program leaning heavily on the Arts and then adding a cute little "and crafts" to it. I see it in stores, too. A little paint-by-number style craft kit where you glue yarn in the shape of a rainbow was labeled "STEAM!" in bright pink. Sewing kits are labeled STEAM now.

Suddenly your "inclusive" for-girls mentorship program is shoehorning girls directly into the artsy-creative-handcrafts bullshit hole that Women in STEM was meant to take them out of in the first place.

Fine arts is so unbelievably important to teach to and foster in kids, but for fucks' sake, stop forcing girls into the shitty infantilizing version of it, especially with the movement that's supposed to do the opposite

[ironyscleverer]

Can I do a little rant about Nate Shelley for a sec? Im gonna rant about Nate Shelley for a sec. Just becuase for a show about masculinity and healthy relationships and self-love, I HATED how they handled his character arc so fucking much.

Nate starts off in season 1 as this meek, nerdy, short, chubby Asian man who's routinely bullied by the guys (players) that he works for. He's very specifically disrespected becuase he's not conventionally masculine. It's important to note that Asian guys especially are emasculated a lot in society, doubly so if you're shy and/or brainy like Nate is.

But then once he starts getting a little respect and attention from Ted, we first get to see his confidence grow, but then we also start to see a nastier side of him emerge. He uses his new position of power to feed his insecurities and he becomes vindictive, cruel and resentful. He takes it out on his players, his former bullies, but even then he chooses the weakest person to pick on (ie Colin, who's a closeted queer man as we discover later).

And I actually think this part of the arc is really well done and interesting; it feels very real and throughout season 2, even though he's absolutely horrible, I can still see how it's stemming from a place of pain and bitterness. Being part of a system that abuses and disrespects you, especially when race is a factor, can really turn people sour and warp their perception of reality. Frankly, I think I would have a lot less sympathy for Nate's character if he was just another resentful white man, but his being brown really adds a lot of layers to the character.

And it's important to note that even once he becomes a coach Nate still suffers becuase of how he presents himself! The people at Richmond do occasionally make jabs at him (Jan Maas and the suit), and you can't tell me the situation at the Greek restaurant wasn't some kind of racist power trip. Even though he has more systemic power now, he still doesn't get respect becuase of how he exists in the world.

In that context, his choice to go work for Rupert at the end of season 2 makes complete sense. Richmond was a toxic environment for him given his past experiences there, and he was not going to get the mentorship or understand that he needed. I hoped that his season 3 redemption arc would involve him untangling his victim complex, learning to trust and stand up for himself, and looking out for people who are weaker than him (so basically this fic lmao). Basically, I wanted him to step up to the challenge of being a head coach and really confront his insecurities and their roots. Maybe he could've talked to another coach of color or something. I don't know.

The direction they went in with Nate in season 3 was so frustrating to me because he ends up right back where he started at the beginning of the show; at Richmond, working as a kit man for a bunch of white people. Sure, he's forgiven by Ted and he learns his lesson about power, but none of the actual, very understandable hurts on his end are really addressed. He's right back to the same environment he was in before, sans locker room bullying. He isn't allowed to grow or distance himself from that chapter of his life. (the writers also decided to just give him a girlfriend and make that fix everythin which I don't appreciate, but that's another essay entirely).

If I had it my way, I would have had him do the whole scene with coach Beard, reconcile with Ted, but respecfully tell them that he can't go back to Richmond. There's too much history there, and even if they've forgiven each other, it would be a bad environment for him. Then Nate and Ted/Beard/others can have a new relationship as equals, built on respect, rather than a boss/employee dynamic. But maybe that's just me being delusional.

Anyway, in conclusion, Nate deserved a better ending and I'm disappointed that they didn't give it to him. Thank you for reading this completely unedited rant, I may do another in the future about Ted Lasso's queer rep or its female characters. Lmk if you want to hear it.

[thelampisaflashlight]

*peeks around the corner and slides you a mug of coffee and a plate of croissants*

Oh Laammppp...Bea and/or Quincy vs the Imps. Thoughts?

💙

Owoughh coffee, thanks~<3

With the imps, Bea treats them similar to, say, a barn cat.

She puts food out for them if she knows some of them are outside, and every so often she wrestles one or two to get some flea and tick medication on them, because there's parts of the grounds where the lawn is deliberately left uncut/undisturbed (for a variety of reasons), and they keep coming to her covered in bugs.

She also takes seeds/burrs off of their fur if they have it, and occasionally she'll let Mountain's imp hang around inside of the cabin if it's particularly nasty out, but the thing is basically the size of a horse, so she usually just sticks it in the woodshed.

She doesn't really view them as creatures with the capacity to develop a human level of intellect, and to be fair most of them never do, but she's always a bit confused when one of the imps demonstrates the ability to do/learn complex tasks, or speak, though she knows most imps are able to perform mimicry, like corvids.

She just thinks they're just clever little animals, and doesn't dwell on the fact that they could turn into something nearly human if they wanted to.

As for Quincy, he, surprisingly, doesn't encounter imps all that often; They're actually banned from the library, because they tend to climb on the shelves and knock over the books/disturb the siblings when they're trying to study.

He has met one or two, but his experience with them is very limited, and the majority of his knowledge about them stems from his interactions with Dewdles, Dew's pet, and because of how he is, Quincy just assumes most imps are like... cats or small dogs.

Dewdles is a pretty strong example of an imp that will likely never develop into anything else, as he is quite happy being carried around and treated like a pet.

What really confuses Quincy, though, is Aeon and Aurora, because those two started as imps that the ghouls summoned, and then became, well, Aeon and Aurora.

He's not quite sure how the whole evolutionary line of ghouls and imps and all of that works, and to be honest he isn't sure he wants to know.

Quincy has met kits before and made the mistake of treating them like an imp, and that really confused the hell out of him, because why do they look the same if they're not the same creature??

The answer is camouflage.

Kits are often left in imp dens because the imps will protect them like their own, and the whole safety in numbers thing is important in the pit.

However, most surface dwelling ghouls don't practice this anymore, since there's more available resources to keep their kits safe, and, really, the baby buggy should have been a strong indicator that it was a kit, and not an imp.

...Although, truthfully, it can be very hard to tell when Dew carries Dewdles around like this sometimes:

He's learning though.

Among ghouls, Bea's relationship with the imps/caretaking habits towards them is more in line with how they treat them in the pit, and the imps and Bea seem to have an understanding of one another.