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delimeful · 4 years

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the end of being alone (1)

A WIBAR AU (that’s right, an AU of an AU) where the circumstances of Virgil’s introduction to the group-- or rather, Virgil himself-- are... a little different. A commission for @bumblebeekitten!

warnings: unknowingly referring to a person as ‘it’, panic, fear, child endangerment

---

Patton woke up to the distinctive clamor of his teammates bickering. It was a familiar sound.

“-- has been three days, are you certain we aren’t simply chasing a local legend with no basis in reality?” That would be Logan!

“Look, you two are the ones that decided to come with me, I would have been perfectly fine going alone!” And there was Roman, the swish of his tail betraying his agitation. “Besides, there’s something suspicious going on here, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh? And what evidence do you have to support your assertion?”

“... I’ve just got a feeling.”

Logan made a sound of disgust, and Patton sat up in time to see his friend throw all four hands out in an exasperated gesture. He sleepily rubbed at his eyes, shaking out his mussed-up feathers.

“Are you tired of camping already, Lo?”

The Ulgorian exhaled slowly, his ears twitching irritatedly. “No. I simply am uncertain that this venture will prove beneficial. We don’t have the budget to waste time on a vain attempt to soothe superstitious locals.”

“Don’t be so heartless, Professnore,” Roman snapped, quickly checking his pack for everything he would need while out traversing the woods. “They’re asking for help because they’re worried. Something out there has driven the Humlilts into hiding, for all we know, the livestock could be next!”

“They suspect the local fauna are being threatened, but that’s only one potential explanation--,” Logan started, and Patton swiftly tuned out the argument, remembering suddenly what he’d intended to check on. He hopped to his feet and checked on his ‘Humlilt bait’-- a small dish with sweet sliced fruit he’d set out.

Humlilts’s were relatively small, timid creatures, hoofed quadruped mammals that stood even shorter than Patton. They weren’t fond of being directly approached, and even initiating eye contact could scare them off, but if they took a liking to someone, they tended to be fiercely loyal. The fact that many had strayed from the nearby town was concerning, no matter the reason.

“Yes!” Patton chirped in glee when the plate proved empty, only a few spots of juice left behind. Behind him, the heated discussion faltered.

“Something you’d like to share with the team, Feathers?” Roman asked, one of his ridged eyebrows twitching up curiously. Logan frowned at the dish, and Patton quickly replied before he could be lectured on leaving ‘fauna attractants’ out by mistake.

“I’m one step closer to making a new friend!” he announced gleefully. “Good morning, little critter! Are you still around?”

There was no response from the forest, but he remained cheerful, his antennae barely flickering. “Aw, feeling shy? I’ll befriend you yet, little critter, just you wait…”

“Patton,” Logan started. “Do you mean to imply that last night, you intentionally placed food out to lure local creatures to our camp while we are in the middle of trying to track down an unknown, potentially dangerous beast?”

“Of course not!” Patton responded, picking up the plate to stow it away. Before Logan could relax too much, he continued. “I’ve been leaving snacks out since the first day we made camp!”

He scrunched his eyes closed to show his happiness, and not at all to avoid the incensed look Logan would be giving him right about now.

“Have you any idea how dangerous—“

“Woah, Lo, it’s a-okay!” Patton hurried to reassure him. “I know for sure that it’s a little hummer and not anything else. The last two sunrises, when I woke up and greeted the day, I would hear it call back, just like the noise Logan said they make! The little critter is following us around, and soon we’ll be best buds, I can feel it.”

Logan waved a spare hand dismissively, already well into his datalog, muttering as he scoured the articles he had saved for this journey for any mention of on-planet predator animals using mimicry. Roman shuddered his scales in fond exasperation, his tail thumping against Logan’s ankle.

“Relax, Specs, I’ll be sure to protect us from any malignant beasties.” He paused, and then cast a slightly admonishing glance down at Patton. “That is, so long as there aren’t any more secret surprises you’ve been keeping from us, Pattoncake?”

“No secrets here! The next time I try to adopt a new member into our little family, I’ll make sure to let you kiddos know in advance,” he chirped with his eyes crinkled. The gleeful expression didn’t fade a bit as his words prompted Roman and Logan to burst into brand new diatribes.

“Wait, is ‘lure them with sweet snacks’ your usual go-to? Did that work on me--?”

“Patton, we are not kidnapping local fauna--!”

Yup, familiar sounds indeed.

---

The rest of the morning was spent trekking through the woods and filling the air with companionable bickering, but by midday, Roman had found tracks. And then he found more tracks. And finally, he found The Tracks.

Unlike the first few instances, Logan was unable to confidently match the bipedal mammalian prints to any native creature in the area. After some triumphant crowing about his skills, Roman led the way with significantly less chatter, prompting the other two to follow suit as dusk slowly began to fall.

Patton kept his feathers sleek against him so they wouldn’t brush roughly against the foliage, and made sure his glow was as muted as possible as the sky darkened. He didn’t come on bounty trips often, but every proper Ampen knew how to be stealthy when need be. Some made a whole career out of it!

Between one heavy step and the next, Roman suddenly stilled, holding up a clawed hand to ensure they did the same. His ear cones shifted subtly, searching. The moment stretched, tension so thick it felt stifling, and then--

A slight sound to the left. Movement.

“There!” Roman shouted, and a dark shape flashed past Patton, silhouetted by the moonlight off the pale rock wall behind it. It was big. Definitely not a Humlilt. “Cut it off!”

Logan was already in motion, spines raised as he held out his staff and barred the creature's way. He flicked the glow light at the top of the staff on and illuminated the outline of the being, which seemed almost fibrous in nature. Patton knew of some planets with mostly chlorophyll-based lifeforms, and this almost seemed to match. The creature had a body erupting with brush and plant matter, and a face of flat wood.

“Drive it this way,” Roman called. “I’ve got the unit ready!”

It hissed furiously as Logan swung the light closer, and Patton saw the moment it turned its head slightly and realized it was being corralled. It lunged forward in a feint, and then ducked away from Logan’s swing and grabbed the staff, wrestling viciously with the smaller alien for it. The reflected light seemed to shine eerily in the back of its hole-like eyes.

Patton hurried forwards, but he wasn’t close enough to stop the creature from wrenching the staff out of Logan’s grip, knocking the Ulgorian over in the process. Roman shouted, too far away to intervene. Logan shot a few spines, but they weren’t laced and barely seemed to phase the creature. It screamed gutturally as it lifted the staff up, and Patton forgot every promise he’d made to stay out of the way of any quarry larger than him.

“Stop!” he screeched, throwing his arms out and letting his feathers flare up as bright as they could go.

The distraction worked; the creature twisted away from Logan to focus on the new element, jolting forward a few steps before distinctly pausing, its shining eyes fixated on Patton. It took another smaller step towards him, tilting what Patton assumed was its head.

“Little critter!”

“Wh-- what?” Patton replied, stunned.

“Little critter? ...Good morning, little critter?” the creature chirped again, uncertainly. Every syllable was a perfect imitation of the phrases Patton had called out the three mornings they’d been there, just a little muffled.

The creature dropped to a crouch, and the abruptness of the motion made Patton flinch, startled. As though repentant, it set the staff on the ground slowly, and then made the distinct musical tone of a Humlilt.

Patton gaped, the pieces clicking into place. Not a Humlit. The Humlit. The one he’d been working so hard to befriend, the one following them around, the one that apparently wasn’t a Humlit at all.

In the next moment, Roman’s charging footsteps arrived, and all traces of softness vanished from the creature’s demeanor as it rose to its feet with a snarl, turning to face off against Patton’s crewmate.

This isn’t right, Patton thought, and didn’t wait another moment before inserting himself between the two larger aliens, whistling shrilly. “Wait!”

At his back, Roman skidded to a halt, incredulous half-formed protests spilling from his mouth.

At his front, the creature held its aggressive position for a heartbeat longer, and then lowered its hands slightly, stumbling back a step and looking between Patton and Roman with uncertain antsiness.

“Little critter? Little critter good?” it chirped, and Patton could feel the way Roman and Logan stiffened behind him.

“Hey, little critter,” Patton said, slowly moving to sit down on the dirt. “I think we got off on the wrong claw. You don’t really want to fight, do you?”

The creature shuffled anxiously, and Patton tapped the ground behind him. “Roman, why don’t you join me?”

“Pat, come on,” Roman started, and then grumpily lowered himself to a seated position at Patton’s imploring look.

Across from them, the creature visibly relaxed, head cocking to the side inquisitively. After a moment, it lowered itself into a crouch like before.

Patton’s antennae fluttered, and his happy glow increased slightly. “Good job! We’re already halfway to being friends, huh?”

“Good,” the creature echoed, voice still uncertain and so small. “Hurt no?”

“We won’t hurt you,” Patton replied, and the creature’s head lifted up to look at Roman doubtfully.

After a moment, Patton heard the click of Roman’s scales flattening out in a show of nonaggression, and the Crav’on sighed.

“On my honor, I won’t hurt you if you remain peaceable,” he said, extending a hand palm up to symbolize his oath.

To their surprise, the creature reached out and touched him, grazing the dull talons and poking some of his smaller scales with cautious curiosity. It mumbled something to itself in a language Patton didn’t know, and folded Roman’s fingers into a loose fist before finally releasing him.

“He’s pretty cool, isn’t he?” Patton whispered conspiratorially, and the creature held a hand out to him in a mirroring of Roman’s earlier gesture. He reached out and put his little clawed fingers on their palm, marvelling at the size difference. “You’re no critter, huh?”

He turned to the side, the strange alien following his gaze. “Lo, I can hear you taking notes from here. You wanna come say hi?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Logan replied sourly, clasping his hands behind his back. “I simply didn’t wish to startle-- oh!”

Logan’s eyes went wide as the stranger stalked over, body still low in its crouch. The behavior read as classically predatory, but the curious mumbling of the stranger made it clear that they weren’t acting aggressively. He hesitantly offered one of his own thin-fingered hands, the stranger pressing their palms together as though to compare the shapes.

“Hello there,” he greeted belatedly. “Can you understand me? I am Logan, and those are Roman and Patton.”

“Little critter!” the stranger offered enthusiastically, and then dissolved into another string of that unfamiliar language before bounding off and returning with the glow staff in hand.

Patton could feel the way Roman went tense, but the stranger slowed down as they got closer and then set the staff on the ground a little bit in front of Logan, rolling it a few inches towards him.

Logan made no move to pick the staff, and it was easy to see why. The fluorescent lights installed in the head of the staff lit the stranger up from below, illuminating the details that they’d missed before.

Four thin, pale limbs were smudged with dirt and grit, the edges of tattered old textiles peeking out from under the carpet of greenery that cloaked them. They could now see that the foliage wasn’t part of them, but a dedicated attempt at camouflage, built up for so long that some of the plants were growing around their shoulders or tangling in their dark hair. Most striking of all, the wooden plate that had covered their face had been knocked slightly askew, revealing half of a round face with big eyes and tiny features.

“You’re just a fledgeling,” Patton said, something in his chest tightening at the way the child’s gaze flickered between them, nervous but hopeful. The curiosity, the nervousness, it all made sense knowing that this was a youngling.

“No, that’s not just a child,” Roman spoke up, shaken. “That’s… that’s a Human child.”

Patton and Logan turned to him, shocked, but the child reacted the quickest of all, shooting into a standing position. They clumsily darted back a step as all eyes fell on them, chest rising and falling rapidly. “No! No! No Human, go away!”

“Kiddo,” Patton tried, but before he could do more than reach out, the child turned on their heel and vanished back into the underbrush. The rustling of their movements quickly faded, leaving the three of them sitting in the clearing in silence.

“Are you certain?” Logan finally said, rising to his feet and approaching them. “Roman, you’re absolutely sure about this?”

“I… yeah.” The Crav’on flexed his hand, almost dazed. “I thought they would be more-- I mean, yeah, I’m sure. There’s no mistaking those eyes.”

“Very well,” Logan nodded, hands already dancing delicately around him as he committed the encounter to memory. “In that case, I suppose we’ll be staying on-planet for a little longer.”

“Wait, what?” Roman asked, both of them turning to look at the Ulgorian with surprise.

Logan glanced up at them with a raised brow, knowing and smug. “I don’t believe either of you are the type to leave a semi-feral Deathworlder child alone on a planet where the locals believe them to be a monster. Thus, we are staying to help rectify the situation. Am I incorrect?”

“It’s not that simple,” Roman cautioned, but faltered after a moment. “However… you’re right. We can’t just leave them here. They need help, Human or not.”

“That’s right!” Patton agreed enthusiastically, his feathers ruffling up in excitement. “Looks like we’re getting a new member of the family after all!”

#sanders sides #space au #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan #commissioned works #writing #my writing #wibar #wibar au kid virgil #i hope im not missing any tags i feel like im forgetting som #e #teoba #the end of being alone

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lemonadesoda · 3 years

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Prelude story: Parting Words

Summary: Snatcher has a few more words to say to the Captain before he makes his final departure--words best not said in front of the kid.

Notes: Tumblr-only post for now, to give the interested folks the opening context story for the main fic I'm working on (so that some things referenced in future previews will make sense as well.) Once the main story goes up on ao3, this one will go up there too. As always, hope you enjoy!

When the meeting room doors slammed shut, both the Captain and the First Mate let out low breaths simultaneously. In the presence of the two strange Earth beings representing the child, a suffocating pressure had been steadily building--whether real or imagined was difficult to say, but in the empty hallway leading back to the ship’s bridge, the air no longer constricted their chests, no longer sat heavy on their necks.

The two of them walked in silence, the First Mate tense and staring at the ground but constantly glancing sidelong at the Captain whose narrow gaze remained fixed in the distance, far beyond the extent of the corridor, beyond the walls of the ship, beyond the present moment.

The First Mate flinched first when the blanched white light of the corridor flickered once, then again. They blinked and shook their head as the normally faint shadows deepened, sharpening the corners where the walls met the floor. Finally surfacing from his reverie, the Captain stopped mid-step, going completely still as the room darkened around them and the clamping weight returned to the air once more.

“I have something more to say.” The shadow that stretched out in front of their feet across the void-dark floor opened familiar gold eyes. Before them, projected into the floor with the silhouette of his hands clasped behind his back was the one called Snatcher, the proclaimed King of Subcon.

“What are you-” the First Mate yelped, dancing backward. They looked to the Captain who remained rooted in place, then back to the intruder. “You can’t be here!”

Snatcher lifted upward out of the floor to stand face-to-face with the two of them. He grinned far too broadly for what his theoretical bone-structure should have supported, a burning crescent splitting his expression like a volcanic fissure. “Our contractual business has concluded. What I have to say is of a personal matter. Off the record, you could call it.” As it had before, his voice echoed, layered as though he were speaking from multiple directions at once. Though his grin held, his eyes narrowed by a fraction, giving a bladed edge to the expression. “There are some things that are better not to say in front of my child.”

“This could be considered an act of aggression,” the Captain said in a low voice. He had recovered his composure after the initial alarm of the consuming shadows, returning to his rigid posture from their formal meeting.

“Good,” Snatcher snapped. “Because I really must emphasize that the only reason you are still alive is because that little kid, for some reason, prefers you to be.”

The Captain stood eye-level with Snatcher, forced to dig his heels into the floor to hold his ground. “What is your purpose in making these threats? I have already agreed to your terms.”

Just behind him, the First Mate straightened themself and moved up alongside the Captain. Snatcher’s lantern gaze flicked toward them, and he stared them down, holding the sickle-sharp smile in place until the First Mate’s jaw hurt from clenching their teeth. Like a bonfire, Snatcher radiated an aura that urged a retreat, that lit up the neurons in the brain that cried warning.

“Because I want to make some things very clear,” Snatcher said to the Captain, though still bearing down on the First Mate off to the side. “It would be in your best interest to make sure none of you come back. Because no one comes here to make threats or demands of our child. I don’t care if it becomes a diplomatic incident.” Snatcher’s shadowy form dissipated, melting like fog back into the floor.

“If it came down to it,” his voice came from over the Captain’s shoulder now, close as a whisper, making both the Captain and the First Mate whip their heads around, catching only darkness. “I would start an intergalactic war if only she asked me to.”

“That strikes me as irresponsible,” the Captain muttered, eyes searching the dark corners of the hallway for Snatcher’s reappearance.

“Then don’t make her ask me,” Snatcher said in a sing-song tone. His wheezing laugh rattled low in the air, shuddering through their rib cages. “I’m only warning you what’s at stake here. No matter what you or any of those people from wherever you came decide, we will protect our daughter above all else. But I can promise you this-” Snatcher materialized in the wall, shaping his silhouette in mimicry of the Captain’s form beside him. “If it really came down to it, you wouldn’t be around to witness the magnitude of your failure.” He lifted a clawed hand in the shadow and mimed a crushing vice with it. “So what happens next is really up to you.”

Snatcher peeled out from the wall, walking back into the center of the corridor as if from a hidden door. He looked at the two of them over his shoulder, the edge of his smile still visible. “Your move, Captain.”

With the echoes of a final cackle that shook the panels of the ship, the darkness blinked out all at once, replaced by the flash of the fluorescent white returning to the hall. Several meters ahead, the transport staff stood glancing about in confusion.

“Sir, what was that?” one of the staff asked as they approached. “There seemed to be a power failure just now, but we received no alert.”

The Captain remained silent for several seconds, prompting the staff to peer at him, brows furrowed.

“Sir?”

“Have engineering check the power couplers in the central hall,” the Captain said quietly, glaring over the shoulders of the staff. They ducked their heads, nodding at the command and one of them tapped a message into their hand-held terminal before hurrying past them to finish teleporting the entourage from Subcon back to the child’s ship.

As they neared the bridge, the First Mate looked up at the Captain. “You’re really just going to let that slide? We’re well within our rights to issue a reclamation of the time pieces after that.”

“When considering our options, it would not be worth the risk,” the Captain replied, striding just ahead of the First Mate and not turning back.

The First Mate hastened to walk in line with him, trying to catch his attention. “And leave that level of technology in the hands of a child? With those sorts of people as her guardians?”

“I can trust that she understands what’s at stake.”

“She’s a child! How can she uphold the Oath? If those things or anyone else on the planet wants to get ahold of that power-”

The Captain halted as the doors to the bridge chimed to alert them to their opening, finally whipping his gaze to the First Mate. “A child who apparently has the power to start wars with a word, given who is protecting her. The time pieces will see no misuse without her say so.” He bit the words out, an edge of aggravation hastening the statement more than his habit.

The First Mate snapped their mouth shut under the Captain’s scrutiny, only returning a sullen look as the two of them stepped back out to the bridge, the command crews all turning in acknowledgment.

As they took their place at the helm overlooking the various control stations of the ship, the First Mate muttered, “You’re setting a dangerous precedent here. Are we really going to kowtow because of a few verbal threats?”

The Captain’s jaw flexed. The nearest control crews looked up for prompting as to the upcoming course of action.

“What would you do, then?” the Captain asked in a low, steady voice. “Compel an invasion of a planet so far beyond the system that we had no existing record of it? For a derelict ship and its crudely harvested time power? Is that what you’re asking me to risk?”

The First Mate stared at him, mouth parting in disbelief. “He actually got to you, didn’t he? You’d jeopardize the stewardship of time because you’re afraid?”

This time, the Captain turned on them, pivoting on his heel in a lightning-sharp about-face, and though he did not actually advance a step, the First Mate took a half-pace back from the force of their commander’s attention, eyes going wide.

“You feel so strongly about this?” the Captain snapped. Though his voice remained low, his tone drew the nervous attention of the crew. “Then you make the decision, and you take the responsibility for it. I will defer to you!” He turned, addressing the rest of the bridge. “The First Mate will relay upcoming orders. Proceed as they command.” He stepped back, tipping his head to the First Mate, but holding eye contact throughout.

The crew all watched the tense showdown in silence, waiting on the First Mate who glanced helplessly between them and the Captain. Finally, with a last, frustrated glare at him, they stepped forward to oversee the crew. “...Chart courses for Cerian. Prepare for hyperjump,” they said, the orders so barely audible, the nearby staff had to relay them to the rest of the bridge.

As the crew hurried about to prepare for the jump, the First Mate stepped back, once again in line with the Captain.

“The Board won’t be happy with this,” they said.

“I will deal with the Board, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the Captain said, an underlying snarl barely contained by his professionalism worn thin.

The First Mate hazarded a glance at him. The Captain stood, focused ahead as he always was, as the crew always saw him. But the years working as his second reported to the First Mate the weight that currently bore down on him, the tightly-reigned frustration at having his hand forced and stress at the upcoming confrontation with the rest of the powers of the Enterprise. And if that Snatcher was true to his word, with the Captain’s own safety dangling precariously in the mix. They lowered their head. They shouldn’t have pushed.

As the alerts on the terminals warned of the impending hyperjump, the First Mate grimly replied, “It is what I’m worried about.”

The Captain made no further response, and the ship launched them across spacetime empty-handed.

#long post #ahit hide and seek #tbh dont really feel like tagging this as anything else #i just know there are some of you who would be interested in this

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stratharchives · 4 years

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The experience of women students at the University of Strathclyde: Beauty Standards

Niamh Cannon is back with her second guest blogpost in a series exploring the experience of women students at the University of Strathclyde predecessor institution, the Royal Technical College. Find out more about her research in her fantastic source guide, covering the topic in more detail.

(OJD/1/1, Jan 1910, p103)

In this post I will be looking at how beauty standards were portrayed throughout the student magazines, whether this be through short stories and fables or explicit discussions about what was expected from women in terms of appearance and manner.

When reading through the magazines I was not specifically looking out for themes of beauty standards for women, though they presented themselves regularly enough to grab my attention. In the early editions of the magazines, that did not include the Ladies’ Page to speak for the women, the most noticeable representation of how women should look is through short stories written by male authors. In short romance stories about falling in love at first sight, lots of emphasis is put on ‘kind eyes and smiles’. This links in with Rachael Alexander’s observations about beauty standards in the early twentieth century; she writes that ‘facial beauty was associated so closely with spiritual beauty or a goodness of character.’[1] This goodness or innocence translated through facial beauty is apparent in a short story called ‘The Warning Voice’ in the December edition of the Royal Technical College Magazine, 1912. The protagonist is describing a vision of who seems to be his lost love,

‘Her floss silk hair fell in ample waves across her brows, her eyes were very large and of a deep blue, half hidden by long, dark lashes. Her face had the clear sweetness and soft delicate outlines of a child’s.’[2]

There are two things of particular interest to note here: first that the we can most likely assume that the woman in question is Caucasian, by the note of her big blue eyes; and secondly, that the allusion to this woman as being almost child-like or baby-faced in her features is worth exploring further. Geoffrey Jones states that throughout the 20th century, ‘the dominant discourse of ideal female beauty… was Caucasian.’[3] and this short story supports Jones’ point. In regard to childlike features, Caroline Keating writes that, ‘immature characteristics generally elicit caretaking and cooperative responses, and stem aggressive/competitive responses, perhaps human female mimicry of childlike characteristics serves this social purpose.’[4] The ideal of the woman-child appearance described in this short story can be seen as a reflection of these gendered relationships during this period: that a man is the protector over the innocent female.

In another edition of the magazine I came across an interesting exchange in the correspondence section of the issue. This section is where students would seek answers to their questions or problems that would be published in each issue. This particular answer was in reply to a problem put forward by ‘Distressed Maiden’ regarding problems with her weight. The reply was as follows:

‘We are indeed sorry for you… Your desire to overcome such obesity is a laudable one… you are in duty bound to endeavour to reduce your corpulence. We would not advise your continuing taking a bottle of vinegar to every meal.’[5]

What is interesting about this advice to the ‘Distressed Maiden’ is also a point that Alexander brings up in her article on beauty standards in the early twentieth century. She writes that in women’s magazines ‘The concept of self-improvement… permeates all aspects’ of the ideal of beauty. The advice given by the magazine committee echoes the ideology, that it is her ‘duty’ as a woman to reduce her body weight as she is currently existing outwith appropriate ideals of femininity. If a woman’s appearance and body is her primary characteristic, she is bound by societal standards to keep it in check with what is deemed acceptable.

The final example I will look at is from a later edition of the Royal Technical College Magazine and takes form of a limerick under the section ‘Here and There’, where poems and fables were usually published. This limerick talks of a young chemist student spying a pretty young woman in the hallway and passing her by. He writes:

‘To make-up so convincing, no-defect/ This girl now doth like a canvas show/ The colours of a sunset, crimson glow,/ Cheek, lips, hair and lashes lie/ Covered by skilful travesty,/ Pseudo coloured, with face cream below.’[6]

From this description it is clear that the young lady is wearing a lot of makeup. It seems that the chemistry student is admiring but there is also a subtle mocking tone. Alexander states that attitudes to makeup during this period of the twentieth century were mixed. If beauty was supposed to reflect the internal goodness and innocence of a woman, then makeup ‘presented a moral dilemma’. Makeup in middle class culture represented ‘mistrust’ and ‘deep-seated fear’ to many because it had a mask or disguise effect which reflected a lack of morality. At the end of the limerick, the chemist speaks of how he squeezes past the young woman in the corridor ‘And is using petrol on his lab coat still’[7] , unable to get rid of the stains her makeup left. This jokey twist at the end of the poem also highlights how the makeup on this woman has undesirable effects- the staining of his lab coat is going against the ideal that women should clean and care for men, not create mess.

It appears that beauty standards and particularly makeup were a primary characteristic of women’s experience during this period and a topic of comment. It is interesting that women seem to have been held to quite high and specific beauty standards, but the use of makeup was generally frowned upon. It would certainly be interesting to uncover a woman’s perspective on beauty and makeup at this time, as the examples in the magazine are mainly given through the male gaze. Nonetheless, this narrative illustrates that women in the early 20th century were first and foremost judged by their appearance, their character and intelligence being secondary to this.

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[1] Rachael Alexander, ‘Consuming Beauty: Mass-market magazines and make-up in the 1920s’, IJAS Online, 4, (2015), 3-14 (p.5)

[2] The Royal Technical College Magazine, December 1923, vol.V- no.3, p.70

[3] Geoffrey Jones, ‘Blonde and Blue-Eyes? Globalizing Beauty, c.1945-C.1980’, The Economic History Review, 61:1, (2008), 125-154 (p.132)

[4] Caroline F. Keating, ‘Gender and the Physiognomy of Dominance and Attractiveness’, Social Psychology Quarterly, 48: 1, 1985, 61–70, (p.63)

[5] The Royal Technical College Magazine, November 1908, vol.1- no.2, p.50

[6] The Mask: Organ of the Students of the Royal Technical College, February 1930, vol.XIV- no.5, p.134

[7] Ibid.

#Archives #archives and special collections #20th century #student placement #women #university archives #each for equal #students #women at the University

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vieuxnoyesrp · 7 years

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Jennifer Blake ⚜ Witch ⚜ 32 ⚜ Lilith ⚜ ENFJ

Pull out the insides...

(TW: gore, violence) Even as a child, Jennifer had always a morbid fascination with beauty. It had never been the kind of fascination easily sated by simply having beautiful things within her reach; no, she needed to pluck of the wings of a butterfly to see the intricacy of their scales, pry apart the lips of a clam to gaze at the pearlescent insides. She understood that her actions often meant the death of the very creatures she found so beautiful, but her enjoyment and curiosity took priority. And besides, there were so many clams and butterflies out there, it wasn’t as if her prized few were missed. She was a terribly smart child, and knew that her utterly ordinary mother and father wouldn’t see it for was it was, something pure, something that tasted like discovery, like knowing, but instead would just see madness, evil. They loved the precious little girl she let them believe she was, and she had no problem continuing that charade as long as it suited her.

Of course that wasn’t long at all.

Charades were boring, her parents were boring, and really the inside of an animal was only fascinating for the first thousand times, and then it was all the same. Just organs and tissues and nerve endings and electrical impulses. But always, there was something more she could never quite put her finger on, but it wasn’t in any anatomy book she checked out of the library. She spent years plunging her fingers deep into spasming muscles searching for that special magical something, but it was just beyond her reach. Decaying flesh and putrefaction was not worth the unrewarding hunt for this knowledge, not when she didn’t have the tools at her disposal. With nothing to hold her interests, nothing beautiful, captivating to keep her mind engulfed in the mystery of it, boredom began to eat away at her. She began to research more, going to far away libraries, scouring the still-young World Wide Web for that ephemeral...what? And of course, it found her instead.

{Oh but the farrow know Her hungry eyes, her ancient soul It's carried by the sneering menagerie}

Rain St. Agnes, poised, proud, and powerful. All things Jennifer hadn’t known she wanted, needed, but now craved. To be like this woman, to know the things she knew, to command the power, the magic, this woman did, the very idea of it took her breath of way. Rain wasn’t boring, and the world she brought Jennifer into, was everything she had searched for for so long. It felt like coming home. She left the people called her parents behind without much thought, other than they deserved it for not giving this to her from the very beginning. Under Rain’s tutelage, Jennifer soaked in magic like she needed it to survive, surpassing the other pupils of the coven easily in a few months’ time. After that, Rain taught her personally, privately, and Jennifer realized she had found the first person she had ever met who actually looked at her and saw. Intimacy never made much sense to her, her own parents feeling more like inconveniently proximal strangers, but with Rain, she felt understood, she felt recognized, and like whatever Rain saw in her was then returned to her tenfold. Maybe this was family.

Still, it wasn’t perfect. Jennifer was unwieldy in her power, and unorthodox in her methods, her creativity getting away from her too often and her ambition far out-running her foresight. Rain’s keen eye for strategy and preference for discretion often left the two at odds, the gaping ache in Jennifer’s chest every time the woman looked at her with frustrated disappointment only fueling more outrage-disbelief-fear-shame roiling inside her. It made for a volatile combination, one Jennifer never quite learned to control, and one she never quite figured out how to purge.

... You won’t recognize her.

Maybe it was simply because the complex intricacies of human sentiment didn’t quite jive in her mind, but the combination of adoration and resentment warring within her made Rain’s failings as a leader blatantly obvious to her, and they began to collect, insidious, poisonous ants climbing up and down her spine every time they spoke. Perhaps the coven needed a new direction... something more aggressive than Rain’s banal obsession with ancient artifacts, and her innate talent for making even ritual sacrifice into a duty that lost its exciting edge. A plan began to form in her mind, one that wouldn’t just make shockwaves throughout the covens of North America, but a tidal wave of it, stretching the entire world. She had heard of the so-called Original Family. She did her research, years of it, just like where she had started, and learned of two brothers, almost more legend than reality, a sister rumored to be last seen in the 1920s, and a matching set of coffins, which contained everything, anything, the coven could possibly want for their future. It took her years to get everything aligned properly, to find the proper enchantments, locate the proper spells, and create new ones when what existed wasn’t enough.

But she found Finn and Kol Mikaelson. And when she sacrificed them, the Cult of Bracken would be the center of the supernatural world, the ultimate authority. The petty games of intrigue and politics of New Orleans were beneath them. They would own this city, this country, hell, they could have anything anywhere in the world they wanted with power like that. They’d be unstoppable. That’s what a leader what supposed to strive toward. She couldn’t open them. For months, she had the coffins, and was unable to open them, every incantation falling flat, every curse ringing hollow. Familiar embers of resentment burned hot in her gut, but still, she turned to Rain to guide her, to take the coven into the future at her side, together. Instead, Rain refused to help, talking about retribution and exchanges, trade-offs. Jennifer was furious, seething in her embarrassment, in the betrayal that rent like Rain’s precious dagger through her ribs.

Even worse, now, one of the coffins has been opened. They don’t know who opened it, or why, or when the other shoe will drop, but suddenly, another side of things is dawning on Jennifer. Consequences. If Rain had helped her, would they be in this position? Was this her fault? Could she fix this before the coven paid the price? Could she fix this before Rain refused to look at her again? Did she want to?

Web of Connections

Jenna Sommers - Both women are new teachers at St. Aloysius High School, and have bonded over the experience. For all that she doesn’t quite understand sentiment, she’s quite good at mimicry, and having an excuse to go to happy hour every once in a while isn’t the worse thing in the world. What’s even better is that Jenna isn’t boring. She’s human, she’s a single parent, and she’s a mess, and yes, that’s all boring, but there’s something different about her, something Jennifer can’t put her finger on, something she hasn’t felt since she was on the threshold of discovering magic for the first time. She trusts that feeling more than anything in the world and she’s not letting Jenna slip out of her fingers.

Kali Talwar - Sentiment is a strange thing, but sex is not. Sex makes sense to Jennifer. It’s about power, pleasure, and sometimes a bit of pain if you’re lucky. Sex with Kali was divine, and what was more, they spoke the same language. Kali too wanted more; more power, more recognition, more violence. Somewhere along the line, things fell apart, during her research, she supposes, doesn’t actually remember the time very well, and she finds it regrettable. She had enjoyed the wolf’s company, but she would live without it. If she couldn’t understand Jennifer’s mission, then there was no place for her in Jennifer’s life.

Finn Mikaelson - Jennifer doesn't know which brother remains in the unopened coffin, and which roams free. Kol Mikaelson has left traces. Reckless, almost carelessly homicidal, certainly a wild card. But Finn... there was almost nothing but whisper here and there, mentions of mentions of a forgotten brother. She's not sure which she has left to reckon with, but if she had to choose, she’d keep Finn in the box. Despite her love of the unknown, her new-found caution has hairs raising on the back of her neck. This last coffin will stay where she can see it, control its fate. Finn Mikaelson will sleep until he fuels their Coven's rebirth when the time comes. Little does she know that brother dearest has already jumped ship...

Derek Hale - Even if things back-fired with her most ambitious endeavour related to the Mikaelson Coffins, Jennifer is not about to hang low and take a step back from what it is she does best. She’s already missing the fruits of her labour; the unique signature each of her victims leave in her veins, the way they amplifies her power, the taste of their sacrifice on her tongue. And now that she’s in New Orleans, she’s already set her sights on her next victim. She’s never sacrificed an Alpha; and though that would make a notable first in its own right, Derek Hale makes for an appealing choice for more than just the one reason. She knows his family history and the inescapable combination of tragedy-misery-guilt that haunts him. She knows it’s given him a hard shell and a stubborn survival streak that she’d love to add to her own arsenal. But in order to do that, she has to get close. Real close.

Amelie-Marin Morrell - Marin was a puzzle, an anomaly. A piece of the puzzle that simply didn’t fit no matter what angle Jennifer approached from, and like all unknowns, Jennifer was unable to resist. It hadn’t really occurred to her that one didn’t sleep with two fascinating women at the same time, but apparently that was not done. It also hadn’t occurred to her that she was perhaps better at sentiment than she realized, because Marin was... hurt. As if she was attached. Well, then she was angry, and then set Jennifer back several months in her careful plans and destroyed years of work the coven had done. She should’ve been impressed, but Marin’s passion, her rage, it had been beautiful. Inspiring. A bit mouth-watering. Too bad she was gone.

Also mentioned in the following bios: Rain St. Agnes,

Plot Teasers:

✸ Jennifer is younger than her sisters, and for her all her bravado, less experienced. This, in combination with her brashness can make for a dangerous combination; not only to those around her - but even to herself. The sacrifices she performs allow her to take on more than just her victim’s particular skill-set; unbeknownst to Jennifer, her victim’s personalities are also seeping through to mix with her own — creating a mind divided and at war with itself. This has already started manifesting with particular manic and out-of-character episodes that Jennifer doesn’t remember, and the trend will only continue to get worse as she adds more lives to the ones she’s already taken... ✸

Jennifer has met Mary, they didn’t get along. But what she doesn’t know is that she’s not the only ‘sister’ in their hand-picked lineage that Mary doesn’t get along with. A family reunion is on its way sooner than later, and well, Jennifer’s never really been good with family.

On the soundtrack of her life: Deep Green - Marika Hackman (x)

FC: Haley Webb, non-negotiable.

Fortunately for us, Jennifer is T A K E N!! | Follow

#tvd rp #Haley Webb fc #tvd rpg #Haley Webb #Jennifer Blake #t: witch #s: tw #cast #takenf #taken

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cheapest-usps-eddm · 5 years

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Vivek Anand Oberoi in a still from PM Narendra Modi

This week’s new Bollywood release, director Omung Kumar B’s PM Narendra Modi, is not a biography. It is an unwittingly farcical, comical hagiography of Narendra Modi and the Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP), and even that is a euphemistic description. To put it simply, this is a highly fictionalised account of the present Indian prime minister’s life.

Omung Kumar’s recall value so far has come from the vastly superior Priyanka Chopra-starrer Mary Kom (2014) and the embarrassingly bad Aishwarya Rai Bachchan-starrer Sarbjit (2016). PM Narendra Modi falls into the so-bad-it-could-be-fun category, except that it is not fun at all – it is, instead, an insult to viewer intelligence and viewer knowledge. "Modi ek insaan nahin, ek soch hai (Modi is not a person, Modi is a way of thinking/a concept),” says the protagonist himself at one point. Aur Modi ke baare mein soch badalne ke liye, to change the thinking about Modi, the screenplay – co-written by Anirudh Chawla and the leading man, Vivek Anand Oberoi – runs facts through a carefully chosen sieve and presents a new, rewritten history so far removed from recorded reality, that it bears little resemblance to the actual Modi. In that sense, PM Narendra Modi reminded me of a scene in last year’s Malayalam feature Kammara Sambhavam, in which the hero watches a PR film about his life and does not recognise himself on screen. Things that did not happen in Modi’s life are in this film shown to have happened: he is shown being arrested during the Emergency, the then Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee is shown praising him to the press during the 2002 riots, in the run-up to the 2014 election Modi is shown volunteering to do a live interview with a hostile TV journalist before an audience and acing it. In the face of such liberties with facts involving major historical events, all PM Narendra Modi’s other follies and flaws – the word “grateful” being spelt as “greatful” in the opening acknowledgements, the lazy caricature of former Prime Minister Manmohan Singh and Modi’s corrupt government colleague in Gujarat, the false suggestion that Modi never married, other monumental exaggerations and misrepresentations in the screenplay, Hitesh Modak’s overbearing background score and the overall tackiness of the narrative – pale into insignificance. It is worth mentioning here that the aforementioned hostile journalist is a stooge of a corrupt industrialist called Aditya Reddy, played by Prashant Narayanan. Three enemies are very clearly marked out by PM Narendra Modi: Pakistan, the news media and, through the medium of the Reddy character, the dark-skinned self-serving south Indian. On Vivek Oberoi’s shoulders falls the task of playing this larger-than-life version of Modi, determined to vanquish all three. Most of Oberoi’s co-stars are comparatively irrelevant because their roles are dwarfed by his, but despite being dealt the same hand, their performances are a mixed bag. Manoj Joshi looks oddly wimpish as Amit Shah (the BJP chief’s full name is muted out in the film for some reason), but Boman Irani brings some dignity to the role of Ratan Tata as does Zarina Wahab playing Modi’s mother. In an ocean of mediocrity, Anjan Shrivastav does a reasonably good take on Vajpayee without resorting to gimmicky mimicry. As for Oberoi, well, in the actor who hams his way through this role, there is no trace of the young debutant who showed such spark under Ram Gopal Varma’s guidance in 2002’s Company. It is sad to watch an artist lose his touch. For those of us who saw something in him in Company, the only consolation is that his turn as Modi is less cringe-worthy than his performance as a horny young chap in Masti (2004), Grand Masti (2013) and Great Grand Masti (2016). If you think about it, despite the apparent contrast between them, the Masti trilogy and PM Narendra Modi both offer conventionally accepted definitions of masculinity. The Mastis used slapstick comedy as a vehicle to present us with men driven by their nether regions and their hormones as men naturally would be, or so we are given to understand. In PM Narendra Modi, the hero espouses an earnest, asexual, aggressive machoism, initially speaking of wanting to renounce the world and follow the path taken by Lord Buddha, and in the climatic moments ascribing his decisiveness – as the real life Narendra Modi has done – to a 56-inch chest. You see, his political journey is not a consequence of personal ambition, it is the answer to the public’s prayerful longing for “ek sachcha mard (a real man)” to lead them, to quote the words of a character early in the film.

#PM Narendra Modi movie review: Vivek Oberoi hams his way through an unwittingly farcical #comical ha

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piritskenyer · 5 years

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Science officer M1. C. Kort’s observation log n°572 - Human military, n°1: Naval personnel, pt.1 (”Seamen” and “Marines”)

Preface: Following the integration of Earth into the Garsen Alliance, we have set out to observe Human behaviour from up close. This is the first entry on the actual military personnel operating the technology used for warfighting. I have so far spent less than a human week amongst them, so these are only my initial impressions. Detailed descriptions to follow.

My initial impression on these people is that they are fascinating. They have a special form of pack-bonding, based on on suffering and reprehension coupled with extreme professional proficiency called “discipline”. They can remain motionless on command for hours, while at the same time not losing the smallest piece of their inquisitive and curious selves. They have rehearsed (”drilled”) formations and commands to which they will react almost instinctively and will go from joking, uncaring, playful individuals into a focused, aggressive and coordinated group in mere milliseconds. It is truly fascinating (and quite frightening when they do it for no apparent reason).

The Navy as we now call it is structured similarly to what they had back on their homeworld when they used to wage war against themselves: first-line warships, second-line warships for auxiliary operations (blockade, security, bombardment and other specialised combat tasks), support ships, troopships, troop support ships. These ships are generally speaking standardised, something we did not introduce on this scale. The Humans operating these ships are referred to as Seamen generally and by exact rank and trade along with their sub-unit (”family”) name specifically. The structure, especially at lower echelons, can be quite confusing at first but is very logical with few legacy elements. The surface-warfare element of their fleets are called Marines, who, unlike the Army, are attached to the Navy structurally. As with Seamen, Marines is their collective name, and they are individually referred to by their specific rank and name.

There is a stark difference in the way these two groups operate, although they also bear similarities with each other. In day-to-day operations Seamen seem to be less formal, even with officers that significantly outrank them, while always remaining extremely professional, while Marines tend to be either completely formal or not at all. Naval officers and “ratings” (name given to their lower ranks) rarely mix socially, but are generally more easy-going during work, while Marine officers and “enlisted” (name given to their lower ranks) will readily mix socially up to a certain point, but will be rather formal during work. Marines are also much more pack-minded. At the ship’s (UES Amsterdam - UES stands for United Earth Ship, Amsterdam is an Earth city. All their ships are named after places, people and events and have the same prefix, see log n°556) second meal time (”lunch” they call it) I saw the ship’s entire security contingent composed of nothing but Marine “Commandos” (a specially trained branch) march in in complete silence and sit down to their tables in absolutely coordinated motions before they started having quiet conversations over their meals. Once they finished they stood up as one and marched out in the same silence, all the while never once barking a single order. At another instance I experienced a curious, yet telling part of their “discipline”. It was at their third meal time (”dinner”) another day, when mostly junior officers, “ratings” and “enlisted” were feeding. During this time, a senior officer (the ship’s commanding officer, a Captain (N) - see appendix (a)) entered the mess hall and the assigned mess officer shouted “Commander on deck!” to which all present rose to their feet and stood still in silence facing forward until the Captain shouted “Carry on!” at which point everyone resumed what they had been previously doing like nothing had happened. The members of the Human military are conditioned to mindlessly obey commands and yet retain their individualistic nature and thinking.

The latter part of this statement is best exemplified by the way how every Human on board has a favourite off-duty activity (”hobby”) they like to engage in. Some of these activities are related to their occupation (some people train in their spare time), while others are not (I observed a “Torpedoman’s mate, second class” - see appendix (a) - build the model of an Earth sailing ship from hundreds of years ago in the recreation room).

Their professionalism and efficiency are also extreme. They are assigned tasks well before they ever get into combat, and when alarm (”action stations”) sounds, everyone goes to their assigned post to do their assigned duty without hesitation or doubt. Any individual of a specific trade will be proficient in that trade to extreme (the above mentioned “Torpedoman’s mate, second class” was able to list all 231 parts and functions of the standard “torpedo” they use - a sort of guided missile weapon, my understanding is that the name is somewhat a legacy name, but there are apparently technical differences to a missile. I’m not a warrior, I’m a scientist.) Yet they also proved to be extremely resourceful and free-thinking in times of need. On my 4th day on the ship, a shuttle crashed into the ship, causing a breech in the pressure hull. The damage control teams managed to first isolate the depressurising compartments and then, to my horror went into the vacuum area and jury rigged a fix in order for the compartments to be repressurised. I avoid the area as I don’t trust the quality of repair, but the Human crew has restarted work in the compartments with little to no concern. This incident also provided insight into their ruthless nature, as the dead from this incident (the shuttle pilot, its copilot, and three “ratings”) were simply flushed out of an airlock while being covered in nothing but the Earth flag (they call this “burial-at-sea” and is apparently a naval tradition).

Their officers differ little from their subordinates but they appear to be generally older, more experienced and their focuses lie elsewhere. They seem to be macromanaging situations rather than be lost in details, all the while retaining an eye for detail. They have a mentality described as “leading by example” where the officers are required to know what the tasks (and limitations as well as strengths) of their subordinates are and how to perform them. The higher an officer is in chain of command the less he is supposed to be concerned with equipment (unless that is their specific trade, see “supply officer” in appendix (b)) and more with tactics, strategy, and management. Some of their officers are required to make split-second decisions based on complex tactical situations with incomplete information and they can somehow make good decisions in the majority of the cases despite having to decide in less time than it would be possible for our Aeumom 3 computers to calculate all possible outcomes. When asked about this, the response of the Human staff is “we trained for this”, which I find extremely hard to believe as, these situations cannot have been foreseen in their training. I suspect they refer to the general set of circumstances, not specific ones.

PS to however will have to edit my log entries: sorry, I’m not a writer, I’m a scientist. I never imagined that i would at one point have to write my observations down about Humans, so excuse my incoherent writing style.

Last minute addendum: I just observed a curious thing. Apparently Humans have the ability to mimic emotions beyond our range of mimicry and use these to obtain results. The ship just conducted the search of a suspected smuggling vessel, and when it came time for the Marines to board, they discussed and established the behavioural pattern most frightening to the opposing crew. When they finished their search of the vessel (which came back as a legitimate trade vessel), they stopped their mimicking and became most accommodating with the crew of the vessel before leaving them alone in a most orderly fashion. The commander of the Marines explained to me that intimidation this way leads to the opposition being subdued more quickly and less violently. For a species that is this warlike, this statement seems odd, but I’m learning to be surprised by nothing at this point.

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are space vikings

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stevebrooks431-blog · 6 years

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Ants: Amazing And Interesting Facts About These Small Creatures

Amazing Ants

Ants are a few of the most exceptional living things worldwide. They look like humans in great deals of techniques. Their social business is potentially less complex, nevertheless a lot more thoroughly tuned and efficient for all its shallow simpleness. They are extremely clever and efficient, particularly when they function as a massive superorganism. Ants have in fact been exposed to repair concerns that most of living things can not, and they can get rid of victim a lot more effective than the personal when they team up. There is much that individuals learn more about ants, nevertheless there is still more that we may still learn about them, and in doing so, find ourselves.

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Something that great deals of individuals may unidentified about ants is that they are rather thoroughly to hornets, wasps, and bees. This can be rather quickly apparent if one has really ever seen a wingless wasp. Given that it equals from an ant, there is even a kinds of wasp comprehended as the velour ant that is so called. Nevertheless, mimicry is extensive in nature, as we can see from the velour ant. Great deals of animals have in fact established through natural option to look like ants, due to that numerous predators avoid them as much as possible due to their aggressive nature and tendency to hold contaminant and venom. There is even a spider types that has really established to look like a particularly aggressive kinds of ant called the weaver ant.

Ants Have Worldwide Distribution

Ants are distributed all over the world, likely due to their fantastic adaptability. They have in fact dealt with to entrench themselves onto every continent nevertheless Antarctica, a place so unwelcoming even that a great deal of flexible types, individuals, has in fact reduced to live there besides for research study functions. Ants are perhaps most efficient in areas with a huge food supply, as this allows them to expand considerably. When blogging about ants and their versatility it is essential to go over that it is mostly due to their amazing organizational capabilities that they have really had the capability to adapt to many areas throughout the world.

An ant nest is a well-oiled gadget, consisting of many soldiers and staff members, together with numerous queen (relying on the types). Similarly relying on the types, workers and soldiers may be segmented into numerous types. There may be a sort of soldier recreated especially to protect the queen, one established to see the entrances of the hive, one replicated to secure the needed hatchery, and a lot more. Staff members, for their part, are often replicated in techniques relying on the sort of food a nest takes in. Leaf-cutter ants, for example, regularly have numerous castes of workers, arranged by sizes. One sort of staff member has substantial jaws to cut leaves, one is strong and brings the leaf piece back to the nest, and one is little and light, and uses this advantage by resting on top of the leaf to help it back to the nest. Studying information about ants has really provided many scientists insight en paths advancement altered these bugs through the years.

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zacharypaulson938-blog · 6 years

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Ants: Amazing And Interesting Facts About These Little Creatures

Amazing Ants

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Ants Have Worldwide Distribution

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philpetrie582-blog · 6 years

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Ants: Amazing And Interesting Information About These Small Creatures

Amazing Ants

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Ants Have Worldwide Distribution

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victoriacollins728-blog · 6 years

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Ants: Amazing And Interesting Information About These Small Creatures

Amazing Ants

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Ants Have Worldwide Distribution

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destinyreynolds318-blog · 6 years

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Ants: Amazing And Interesting Facts About These Little Creatures

Amazing Ants

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Ants Have Worldwide Distribution

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katherinekirkland437-blog · 6 years

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Ants: Amazing And Interesting Information About These Little Creatures

Amazing Ants

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Ants Have Worldwide Distribution

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