#Hands-on physics experiments

[rajansmoorthy]

Class 11 Physics Practicals: Hands-on Experiments to Master Key Concepts

Class 11 Physics Practicals – Introduction Class 11 physics practicals are crucial because they assist students connect theory to practical applications. Seven basic experiments that improve your knowledge of motion, forces, measurements, and fluid dynamics will be covered in this blog post. “Mastering the Simple Pendulum: Discover the secrets of Time and Motion” Simple Pendulum Experiment :…

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Charcuterie Board, as designed by your votes! Thank you to everyone who participated; this was a fun challenge!

[palskippah]

Nimona and Goldenheart from the comic my beloveds :'''v

There's some other drawings I have made under the cut!

I liked these drawings the most of the ones I've made asjks I love both these men

You know that scene in Princess Mononoke? pipipi

(Translation) Ballister: I'll cut off your throat. That's the only way you'll shut up. Ambrosius: You charm me / I love you > Let me tell you that in English it just doesn't have the same vibe that me encantas has pipipi 😭 English why do you keep failing me. The literal translation would be you charm me but i intended it as an I love the way you are ;;

I'm so normal about them

The sillies

(Se comen = eating each other. In Chile is said, I don't know if in other countries too 🧍) (I love this expression because it's saying that they're kissing with tongue and looking like they're trying to eat the other's lips askjdk)

ALSO, my friend had let me borrow her tablet to draw in a screen and it was very cool :y I drew this guy, I love him. He's like a Disney princess but fucked in the head, also I forgot I drew the sword by his hip, but imagine that it's behind his legs or maybe it's a dagger sdjksj

I had wanted to draw Ballister too but I spent too long on Ambrosius bc drawing on a tablet with screen is different pipipi

[sirhinkjinks]

cleaned up the supergirl doodle from this post

[fluffydice]

Shoutout to that one panel where Kuboyasu is like “I’ve never looked twice at a woman before.” Like okay, homoie

Also even funnier because he’s like “Don’t give into your urges!!” When he sees Teruhashi. Like, it’s okay dude you think she’s pretty. Even Saiki does. It’s fine bro.

[ultimate-marysue]

I have this massive AU for the Batfam (and DC in general) that spawned from a very sleep deprived "You can't just gender swap Batman, there are implications" and honest to God, it's the one thing keeping me sane.

[bad-as-me]

I've sent several of these so apologies if this is a repeat but!

<3 (romantic HC) for both Morgott and Nuala?

No worries! This isn't one I've answered yet

For Morgott, I've tied a lot of his emotional closeness to someone with proximity and willingness to be touched. He's absolutely a touch-starved person, but at the same time despises his own need for it and considers his own body to be poison to others (figuratively and literally, what with the cursed blood and all). So however close you are to him physically is a good indicator of how much he trusts you. And if you're close enough emotionally for him to let you touch him, he's all yours.

Nuala on the other hand is very little experience made up for with tons of enthusiasm. If they like you, they will effectively become an expert in every little thing about you - How do you act when you're stressed? Do you talk with your hands? How you like your coffee in the morning? It's a level of being known that can be mortifying for some, but there's nothing but good intention behind it all. To be loved by them is to become their favorite subject.

[martyryo]

drawing made with the reference I searched up on the computer inside my headspace

[tricitymonsters]

Inquiring minds on brain health meds wish to know; does Amir's powers work around mental health meds that normally tank a libido and can even make orgasms impossible? Tbh i kind of assume so, but you're the person that makes the lore.

They do work but it takes more effort on his part to achieve results!

A lot of Amir's powers are kind of rooted in enhancing a target's own reactions so someone with neurochemistry that kind of inhibits libido will def react a little differently. On the plus side, Amir's creative and knows many ways to work with what he's given so I'm confident he could find ways to do fun things to even an inhibited mind. Besides, not all physical pleasure is sexual in nature either, it could be possible for him to circumvent a lot of libido-based issues with a little thought and planning.

[searchingforserendipity25]

So crazy that if you use your hands to work on the computer too much they'll go stiff and numb and refuse to unbend and also be beset with the sort of pinpricks that feel remarkably like electrical shocks. The work on the computer continues needing to be finished. Btw.

[4lph4kidz]

i was thinking about your dirk and hal poll and i want to mention that i think your concept for ink and iron where dirk creates hal from his reflection by enchanting a mirror is so cool 😌

thank you! hal's predicament and purpose within the canon narrative is so fascinating and i felt it was really important to find a way to explore what i find most interesting with him. i can't take full credit for the concept though i took inspiration from a few placees (one of my friends pitched the idea of the mirror accidentally dumping him onto jake's doorstop for example) but overall i think the idea is very fun and i'm really excited to write more hal stuff!!! also i'm going to take the opportunity to share this oldish doodle i found:

the mispelling of angel as angle was NOT intentional (<- dyslexia haver) but it probably explains a lot. he's pointy

[optimistic-autistic]

does any other autistic person here have a permanent feeling of Disconnect from their surroundings and the people in their life

[deservedgrace]

I don't think that framing "Marginalized™️ Atheism/Deconstruction" and "Cishet White Male Atheism/Deconstruction" as inherently ~separate and distinct~ is super effective (and disclaimer I'm specifically speaking about my experience with christianity, atheism, and ex christian atheists/deconstructors), but also... okay so I was raised in a cult, and cults are oppressive for all its members. Nobody gets out unscathed, everyone experiences the abuse tactics, everybody is a victim. But within the cult there is a hierarchy, and cishet white men are at the top. So while the cult is oppressive to everyone, and everyone is harmed in some way, it is also uniquely oppressive to queer folks, to BIPOC, to disabled folks, to women, etc etc. And the thing that happens to some of those cishet white men is they leave an oppressive cult, where they are considered the "default", and they go into the ~real world~, where they are also considered the "default", and even in atheist/deconstruction spaces, their bodies and experiences are often the leading voices.

The men that leave go from an oppressive patriarchal culture to a far less oppressive (to them) patriarchal society. The white people that leave go from an oppressive racist culture to a far less oppressive (to them) racist society. The people that leave go from an oppressive culture that does not value marginalized voices to a different, less oppressive culture that also does not value marginalized voices. And if you personally do not experience [xyz] oppression, it can be difficult to even realize there are things surrounding that you have to deconstruct unless you listen to the voices of the oppressed. But some cishet white men go from being considered the "default" in an oppressive culture, to being considered the "default" in a less oppressive culture (to them). Their experience of "overcoming systemic oppression" comes from leaving the church, and it can be really easy to fall into the trap that the church, specifically, is the sole oppressor and enemy of everyone.

Of course this doesn't happen in every single case and it's also not exclusive to cishet white men. But those blind spots are why I think it's important for everyone to listen to a variety of voices when they're deconstructing, especially if those voices are talking about oppression you wouldn't have experienced firsthand.

No, our deconstructions are not inherently different, but the experiences and circumstances prior to it often are. It's okay to acknowledge that and beneficial for everybody to listen to each other's experiences.

[fingertipsmp3]

Maybe I did this to myself but it does irk me when people see me knitting and they ask who it’s for and I say it’s for me and the immediate reaction is “you should sell it” yeah… let me spend at least a week’s worth of my free time making an item I like, want, and would wear just to sell it on etsy, making at most a £2 profit on materials and not being compensated for my time whatsoever 👍🏻

[mycological-mariner]

Cool so I get to start training in a forge and welding and steam engine maintenance and fitting on weekends

[randomwriteronline]

Ko-Wahi was a short variety of generally not necessarily pleasant things: it was desolate, cold, harsh, and - when the winds didn't rush after one another through the icy peaks with low howling shrieks, cutting through the frigid aether like claws of an enormous Rahi reaching out to grasp any wayward Matoran foolish enough to dare wander in its territory - it was abnormally quiet.

So it reasoned that if Kopaka, Toa of Ice and Hating Being Around People, was not found anywhere else, he had to have secluded himself to a place that at the very least resembled the environment he had first felt at home in.

He didn't even flinch at the rush of air that accompanied the stomps which suddenly stopped by his side.

"You're late," he only commented.

The jovial jab Pohatu had ready for him froze in his throat, and he tilted his head slightly in genuine confusion: "Late?" he repeated.

"I expected you to be here five minutes ago," Kopaka replied.

"You were expecting... Me?"

"Of course I was," the other replied matter-of-factly: "If there's something I can depend on, it's the fact you'll chase me down to the ends of the silver sea just because."

The Toa of Stone blinked quickly a few times, eventually smirking back: "And if there's something I can depend on, it's that I'll always find you somewhere snowy and deserted."

He then leaned a little closer and proceeded to add, in a goofier tone: "Like your heart."

The gentle elbow punted in his side made him snicker as he successfully evaded it the first time; he cackled a bit louder when the second jab actually hit.

His friend did not dignify his amusement with any verbal response. Instead, he extended his finger.

Pohatu followed where it was pointing, staring at the same vast expanse of white he had just sped through (luckily without having to skid through any frozen snow - perhaps one of the very few things he certainly did not miss about the island of Mata Nui), and found nothing.

At first.

His pinprick pupils, so used to the desert sun, struggled a little more, trying to tighten even harder or widen ever so slightly: even with the clouds shielding his eyes from the sunbeams turned blinding as they were reflected on the candid coat of snow, the uniformity of the colors confused and unified all that supposedly existed before him with only few exceptions. There was snow, snow, snow, more snow, a leftover Visorak web, even more snow, another patch of snow, something looking vaguely disgusting half covered in snow, some more snow, a lance of light reflected from a point just outside the clouds' range, a vast amount of snow, a smaller amount of snow, snow, snow, and one last puff of snow over there. Riveting!

But Kopaka seldom pointed at nothing at all just to stretch out his finger; and once he truly focused on the exact location he was indicating, Pohatu saw.

He saw a jagged thing, sharp end splintered and jutting towards the sky like a blade, ever so slightly greyer than the pallor surrounding it; he saw its missing half laying mournfully among the powdery ground, defeated, cracked, open wide.

He saw its entrails, eroded by the weather, far too small to properly distinguish one object from the other from this distance - still they glittered grey and blue in the lack of color as if to remind in silent screams of their existence, once, as tools and furniture and inventions of scholars, before they'd found themselves abandoned in the wake of their master's leave as strange crystalline gore only partially hidden away in the haste of a half hearted burial.

He saw dozens of the jagged corpse's kind - once pillars, columns, immense bastions, now nothing more than ruins. Enormous animals frozen in place, never to thaw awake once more.

He saw frail, beautiful exoskeletons awaiting with such tiredness to be crushed, replaced by larvae in the bowels of which knowledge would thrive.

The wind passed between them without strength, not even lifting a snowflake.

"Breath-taking, isn't it," Kopaka murmured.

Pohatu nodded in silence.

They simply stood there for a long time, side by side, looking upon the carcasses of Ko-Metru's knowledge towers.

Looking upon what was left of a city of legends.

There had never been a Matoran called Kopaka, in the Turaga's tales.

He had never competed with Ehrye as they rushed to run errands for the seers in the hopes of one day being allowed to stand beside them at the top of those magnificent crystal constructions, spending days pondering and reading stars, uncovering the secrets of the future to the point of turning the very idea of tomorrow into such a mundane thing; he had never known Nuju, never looked at him with awe, or respect, or burning envy. He had never walked those streets, or skied down those slopes, or travelled to the Colosseum inside of a protodermis chute.

And yet he had found his chest aching as he had listened to those descriptions, from a nostalgia that wasn't his own. As though Vakama and his stories had handed him a coal that had long singed the Turaga's hand, still weakly sizzling, that now burned his palm in turn.

Mata Nui had been all he'd ever known as far as he was concerned. There had been nothing before; and if there had been, it wasn't the land the Matoran had been forced away from.

Yet despite knowing as much, despite the attempts to soothe the dull pain that had no place in his logical mind, in the long last hours he'd gotten to spend on the chiling peaks surrounding Mount Ihu the Toa of Ice had been unable to keep himself from wandering away from the material world into absentminded daydreams, trying to construct a memory that had never been there, a life he had never lived.

He had imagined Ko-Metru many times. He had imagined Metru Nui as a whole many times, the orderly archives, the silvery canals, the smoky furnaces, the dangling cables, the unmoving statues - a world for smaller eyes (like his never had been) to see. He had imagined the Colosseum, its inner mechanisms, even the Vahki guards, despite their presence being nothing but an annoyance at best and a source of uneasiness and dread and outright danger at worst. He had imagined himself getting in trouble with them often - who would they have been, to tell him what to do? What made them any different from a Bohrok?

He had imagined them often, but he had never seen them. Never whole. Never alive.

As he stared at what remained of a city of seers, he ached to have been there. Maybe he would have understood better. Maybe it would have hurt more. Maybe it would have felt more like home.

But would he have noticed? Any of the beauty, the lack of strife? Would he have liked a life such as this, spent either pondering on who knows what, or reading pages of history before they were even written, or running around tirelessly for people who did both former and latter? Would this sight have stirred something deep in him now, or would his amnesia have kept his feelings at a distance?

His chest hurt. Something inside it ached terribly, pushing hard against his muscle and metal, like a fish suddenly rushing to break the still frozen surface of a lake in a bout of claustrophobia.

He felt strange, uncomfortable.

Like something misplaced.

Kopaka's eyes wandered over the crystal towers, suddenly overwhelmed. He let out a shuddering, watery breath, as quiet as he could.

He needed not worry about being heard.

Pohatu was too enthralled by the sight before them to notice his momentary frailty.

He gazed on, unable to tear his his eyes from what his brother regarded as an enormous grave he could not mourn properly, and beheld only a thing of beauty.

It was not the vast expanse of Po-Wahi's desert, nor the infinite lushness of Le-Wahi's jungles, the burnt forests of Ta-Wahi, the Ga-Wahi reefs, the cavernous labyrinths of Onu-Wahi - it could not even compare to the frigid landscape of Ko-Wahi despite all their similarities, and he could tell from a first glance.

Ko-Metru and its siblings could have never been what the Koro of Mata Nui had been - they were not a breathing nook interwoven in the world around them: they were carefully constructed bubbles, encased, entrapped within themselves, the wild nature that once had run through it tamed carefully only to cry out despite its weakened form once the binds upon it had been snapped to pieces and left to rot.

It was not beautiful in the way he knew a land to be; it was not open and grand to the point of being frightening. It was shut on itself, broken, a pale imitation of what it had been.

And yet he found it all so gorgeous.

It had embarrassed him at first - not feeling. Remaining still and unfazed as the Turaga had longingly described what the Toa of Stone should have regarded as home, a field of statues tirelessly carved by artisans of his people. He had struggled to imagine it properly, managing only hazy scorches of some undefined place, like a mirage in the desert; and hearing his brothers and sisters wonder aloud, so curious, of how they would have expected their Metru to be, he'd been all but mortified at his own lackluster enthusiasm.

Had he really grown so self centered? All the world seemed to feel as though it had only started existing with his birth upon that fateful shore.

A city of legends on the other side of the sea... He could not have ever pictured it.

But now he was there, walking upon its streets, traveling across its lands, and it looked nothing like it had been described: it looked shattered and lost, and broken, and rusted, and standing still where it had once stood so proud and shining only to spite the cruelty of time that wanted it to bend and turn leveled.

Pohatu had lost himself between scattered remains of monumental statues, details sanded down until unrecognizable, or filled with what little life could make its home in such a crevice. He has searched between the broken Kanohi nobody had ever melted down again, seeing his and his siblings' likenesses over and over and over and over, he had followed broken cables back to the towers from which they had once served a purpose, raced along empty canals to make a sense of them, peeked into tunnels the roofs of which had been torn open like dissected anthills.

Metru Nui had never been whole, not for him.

It had always been this gorgeous wreck, this beautiful ruined landscape. He could not imagine it as anything less; he could not see it as anything mournful, or dead, or ugly.

Each toppled building was where it should have been. Each destroyed spire was exactly as the Great Spirit had intended it to be.

Such a frail, stubborn, lovely, wild thing.

A tragedy and a celebration.

Glowing brighter than the twin suns with every ounce of its incomplete, breath-taking beauty.

Kopaka felt something tug very gently at his arm. When he turned, he noticed Pohatu still hadn't taken his eyes away from the shimmering remains of the towers.

"Did you want to show me this?" the Toa asked, quietly, quietly.

His friend looked back to the sight before them and swallowed a heavy knot in his throat: "I did," he replied.

The grip on his limb tightened ever so slightly.

Comfortingly.

"Thank you." Pohatu whispered.

Kopaka did not answer.

They looked on.