Can someone from the sciencey side of tumblr please explain this ?
This is called shape memory. It’s made from an alloy of titanium and nickel (I believe it’s called nitinol). It has the ability to “remember” the shape it’s taken.
When cold you can bend it whatever which way, but once you heat it (or in this case put it in what I presume is hot water) it will take the original shape.
If I ever tell you I’m going to sleep and then you see me posting or liking things online for about an hour immediately after that, I promise I wasn’t lying to you, I’m just bad at going to sleep and it is usually a long process that begins with disengaging from any sort of immediate contact with people (chats, for example) and ends when everything on my screen is blurry and I’m hallucinating plot points I haven’t written yet
Looking for something to fill that void while on your hiatus or hellatus? Join the Hannibal fandom!
p.s. The Merlin fandom can come too.
are you going to eat us
We only eat the rude
RUN SHERLOCKIANS RUN
think i’ll join this /\/\/\ fandom next week.
ah the problems of not having a real teevee v_v;;;
this is my new favorite post
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me
My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.
The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.
The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
WAIT HOLD THE FUCK UP
IS ‘MRS’ JUST MR’S
LIKE BELONGING TO MR
Mr comes from the French monsieur, which I think literally translates as ‘my lord’ and basically just means master, and Mrs comes from maistre which is the feminine form of master, so actually—for once—no.
This was an extremely relevant comment and I thank you for educating me :D