shamelessindulgencesstuff - Tumblr blog

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i love the percy @adurowrites builds in her stories. I love that her percy is not somehow flat and self absorbed and into promotion and merit but someone who simply was different from his family and wanted to engage in "the right thing" in a way not related to dumbledore (see her greater fic for details). I also love how she explores how a family can be really exclusionary if you don't fit in with their view of "right" my own head cannon is that percy ends up with a highly political pansy (A carter roem /paris hilton type coupling) and most people misunderstand them and/or underestimate their intelligence and social perceptiveness.

A Percy Weasley Snippet

The lecture hall was quiet, but not perfectly silent. Percy could hear the scratching of quill on parchment, the creak of wooden chairs, and every now and again, a hard exhale as someone met a question they weren’t prepared to answer. 

There were twenty test-takers in the room, Percy included. One proctor sat at the front of the room, the other took slow laps about the room, sometimes muttering revealing charms to ensure no one was cheating. The soft footfalls paused somewhere in the back of the room. To the left, a witch coughed, hoarse and rough and momentarily distracting. Some of the test-takers had put silencing bubbles around their desks, wanting absolute quiet to focus on the exam. Percy preferred the ambient noise of the room. It made him think of Hogwarts, of taking his NEWTs in the Great Hall with the rest of his year. 

For as much as he hadn’t been particularly popular, or even well-liked, Percy had enjoyed his time at Hogwarts. He’d gotten along well-enough with his housemates, but he had found true camaraderie in the Ravenclaws of his year. He’d often wondered why the Hat hadn’t put him in Ravenclaw. He’d asked for it at his Sorting, even though he’d be breaking a family tradition and the thought of disappointing his parents terrified him. But it was the logical choice, and so he’d politely asked to be sorted into Ravenclaw. Apparently it was that request, and his bravery to buck tradition, that had the Hat put him into Gryffindor instead. 

But he was too studious for most of his house, and he’d spent most of his time studying with the Ravenclaws. There wasn’t much conversation, just quiet focus and the sense of belonging. Percy had missed that comfortable atmosphere as he’d been studying for the barrister’s exam. His flat, as cozy as it was, had the tendency to make him feel lonely. He enjoyed peace and quiet, but he also enjoyed company. Rather than sit alone, he’d done most of his studying in the Ministry library, keeping company with the various interns, undersecretaries, and paralegals.

He came to the end of the exam and glanced at the clock. There were four hours allowed for completion, and he’d hoped to save an hour and a half for review. He was behind by fifteen minutes. He grimaced and turned back to the start of the test. 

Just before the three-hour mark, a wizard got up and strode towards the proctor at the front. He handed his parchment over and left with a self-satisfied smile. A witch followed a few minutes later, looking a bit disgruntled. Percy figured she had wanted to be the first to complete the exam. He used play such games with his classmates at Hogwarts. Who was the first to finish? Who could write a paper the fastest? He used to think that finishing first was a sign of intelligence. But as he’d gotten older, he’d realized that taking his time with his work was a sign of maturity and wisdom. After all, the quality of the work was far more important than winning a silly race. 

So Percy stayed in his seat and reviewed his answers with the time remaining. There were only a few others that stayed to the end with him, although they appeared to have lingered out of necessity rather than patience. One witch looked disheveled, her hands twisting at her hair, and another wizard appeared damp with sweat. Or tears, Percy couldn’t tell. They filtered out into the hall where the other test-takers were waiting. The two who had finished first were arguing over a couple of questions, and they’d created quite a debate. 

Percy didn’t join. Instead he grabbed his portfolio from the locker and checked it for any messages. The Ministry knew he was taking his test today, but there were still a couple of work-related messages that had appeared inside - questions about the Minister’s meeting with the court, a few requests for paperwork, and a couple of messages wishing him luck, including one from Minister Fudge himself. 

Percy felt a flush of pleasure at the notice. (Yes, his name was spelled wrong, but Fudge was notoriously bad at names.) The personal note meant that Fudge was indeed considering him for position of Assistant. Now, all Percy needed, was just to have passed the bar. 

He took a seat on the benches along the wall and responded to what questions he could while he waited for the proctors to tally the scores. it only took half-an-hour, and then the door to the lecture hall opened. There was a rush and a minor traffic jam as the other test-takers raced inside. The results would be posted on the blackboard, and Percy felt a wave of nervousness. What if he hadn’t passed? What if the Minister had wished him well, only for Percy to have to re-take it? There was no harm in retaking the exam, of course. Plenty of barristers and government officials did. But Percy had never failed a test in his life.

….Divination didn’t count. 

He got up, hands clutching his portfolio to his chest and slowly walked into the room. He logically understood that he hadn’t failed. He logically knew he’d done well, very well in fact. But what if he’d somehow mixed up his answers? What if he’d forgotten to put his name on the test? What if - ?

The other wizards and witches were crowded around the parchment posted on the board. Some of them were celebrating. Some of them were swearing. All of them turned as he approached, and he saw a myriad of emotions cross their faces as they looked at him. Some were openly envious. Others looked impressed. Some gave him congratulatory smiles. 

“There he is!” the proctor said, stepping forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s not every year we have someone achieve a perfect score. Congratulations, Mr. Weasley.”

Percy automatically shook his hand, his eyes going to the parchment, and there it was. His name at the top, and beside it, a 500, a perfect score. He felt a relieved, incredulous, proud smile spread over his face. 

“With that score, you’ll have your pick of law firms,” the proctor said. “Might you consider Bolgers and Fawcett?” A card was slipped into his hand.

“He’s not going into law,” one of the test-takers said. “He’s in government. Senior Assistant to the Secretary.”

“I know,” said the proctor. He gave Percy a sly sort of smile. “Just in case you’re looking for something more lucrative.”

Bolgers and Fawcett was one of the wealthiest, most powerful law firms in the Wizarding UK. Percy knew the starting salary was easily triple what he was making now. 

He shook his head. “I’m quite satisfied with my current position, thank you.”

“Not if you’re taking the bar,” the proctor said. “You’ve got your sights set a bit higher. Well, when you tire of life as a public servant, let us know.”

“Thank you.”

The proctor left and Percy accepted more congratulations from the test-takers, some given more graciously than others. He responded with his own, and then once he was able, he slipped away, back to the Ministry. He still had work to do. 

He did divert by the Ministry’s owlry to jot down a quick message. I passed the barrister’s. A perfect score!

At another time he might have written more. He might have written about how rare a perfect score was, and that less than a hundred people had ever achieved a perfect 500 in the history of the exam. He might have written about the proctor trying to poach him for Bolgers and Fawcett, or about the test-takers recognizing him. But he knew by now that such additions would only be taken as arrogance. It seemed unfair to him, that only his boastings were considered prideful. In truth, Percy may have been boastful as a child, but he’d been forced to speak out about his achievements because no one else seemed to recognize them, or understand how significant they were. He’d grown up insisting on his own merit, celebrating his own accomplishments, and because of it, he’d been labeled prideful. He’d tried to be quieter about it lately, but it seemed even small comments on his success was enough to considered bragging. 

“Where shall I send it, sir?” the postmaster asked.

“The Bur -,” Percy cut himself off. He remembered the last time he shared such news with his parents. They ignored the message. They were unimpressed. No, worse than unimpressed. They were disapproving. 

His siblings had been happy for him though - they’d gotten him a gift for his office. And his parents had seemed apologetic over Christmas. He could try to reach out again, see if the fences had been mended. 

But if they hadn’t… Percy swallowed hard. It had hurt, when no one knew about his promotion, when his mother and father had kept it secret, like they were ashamed of him. It had felt like he’d done something wrong. It had felt like he didn’t belong. If it happened again… Percy didn’t think he could bear it. 

“Charles Weasley,” Percy said instead. “The Dragon’s Repast, Romania.”

“Very good, sir.”

Percy left, feeling slightly easier at his decision. Charlie wouldn’t ignore the missive. Charlie wouldn’t disapprove. Percy could imagine him, getting the owl and reading the message, and letting out a big whoop of joy for him. Charlie might even tell his friends about it - how his younger brother had gotten a perfect score on the bar exam. And the next time he came to visit, he’d insist on taking Percy out to celebrate. 

Percy nodded. That was enough. As long as he had Charlie, it would be enough. 

—–

(So, I have more head-canon about Percy, but it doesn’t really fit into my fic. I thought I’d plot a bit here on tumblr because I didn’t think it was hefty enough for Ao3, and it was just meant to be a little drabble, a tidbit, a snippet. But it doubled in length and then turned a little angsty at the end. So I may have to put it up on Ao3. 

For those folks confused, this is my interpretation of Percy Weasley from my fanfic series The Code, found on Ao3 and FFN. It’s not really about Percy, but Draco Malfoy and Bill Weasley.)

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Krikor Jabotian Spring 2019 Couture

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once again OP its like Im talking to myself in the mirror.  I am deeply comfortable and have comfort spending time lone because I am a social bubbly introvert. I enjoy and crave alone and quiet time after a stint of being on and social.  But being GOOD at being alone and loving long walks alone in the city is NOT. the same as loving being alone.  I desire companionship and a person who has my back. To share my wins and sorrows, to go grocery shopping with, to come home to, to vent to, to help me unwind and mentally unclog, to be the party-partner, to check in on “if ive landed or gotten home. I have fantastic and deep meaningful friendships I make time effort to maintain and can nourish in. I am doing very well career wise and financially, I have tons of hobbies and interests. I belong to three book clubs. I keep pushing myself to try new things. I have random other goals I am looking to accomplish. BUT as the OP said:   “I feel very consistent in my life right now. It’s a very good life which I’m immensely thankful for, but i’m just feeling like the years are groundhog years, and I’m very ready - mentally, emotionally, financially - to move into another phase“   I’m reading the book Pretending by Holly Bourne rn. While some aspects of the book are a tiny bit extreme how they discuss dating as a successful 30 something who doesn’t look like an insta-model - MOST OF IT is hilariously, shockingly,  painfully true.  I am genuinely debating signing up for a match making service, I pray about finding a partner and its always hard to read in plain writing what you always low key. suspected:  “I signed up for a matchmaker service and after hearing about who I am, the women who worked there said firmly, “I want to be honest with you, only about 30% of men will like you. You’re too successful for most of them. They tell me they want to date the nurse, not the doctor.”  A recent podcast I listened to shared that women look for two things in a partner - competence and patience, while men’s ultimate trait they look for is appearance well beyond anything else.” WAY TO HOLD THE MIRROR to me OP.  Perhaps you’re just an alternate universe version of me! 

I don’t know how much you know. Or perhaps what you’d care to know. Or more importantly what I want to tell you.   I guess there’s a lot and not much to share all at the same time.  If you’ve followed along for awhile you’ll know me fairly well, and truthfully I don’t think too much has changed since I was consistently writing here. 

My life has settled into this comfortable rhythm of a single-something woman in New York City. I stay in more, have less but higher quality friendships, travel when I can (pandemic and all), am doing very well in my career, head to broadways and ballets and evenings out often, and return home to Canada to see family frequently..  

But I think this is is why I’m back in this space. The lack of my life advancing has scared me. Does scare me. Sometimes I think the scariest thing of all is when there is no change in my life; I’m feeling this feeling strongly lately. My photo albums and summers and winters and apartment photos are on repeat. Even gorgeous dinners out in the West Village, or walking the streets alone in New York I find myself asking, is this really it? The elephant, of course, in this post is that I’m single. Still single. After all these years, so I think I’m just tired of always being alone, y’know?

I think most people naturally advance move to another phase in life when they meet someone and/or have kids. But when you’re single you sit fairly still in the phases of life. I’ve even noticed the average age of my friend groups dropping as I stay in the going-out-seeing-doing-and-eating phase, as friends my age move to the family one. And this would all be fine and dandy and even fabulous if it’s what I wanted, but I don’t. I want more. I’m ready to move out of this current phase that is on repeat. Last year I got really into “manifestation,” which is essentially a fancy way of saying “constantly think about your goals.” I quickly learnt that I’m actually very good at it. I’m very good at obsessing and thinking and believing and setting goals for myself - from travel to money to friendships to career moves to my apartment in New York City which I so clearly imagined for myself when I live in Toronto.  It’s remarkable, really. How thinking about something consistently will adjust your behaviour and decisions to work towards whatever it is that you’re thinking about and then one day, poof, you’ll have it.  Well… I’ve never ever been able to obsess or think or believe or imagine a partner or family for myself.  It’s always been this weird mental block for me.  Even when I was writing out manifestation things each day, I struggled to write any to do with love.  I once wrote out the words (actually, many many times) “I deserve the love I want” and I just stared at them, not quite believing them. 

Today I don’t know if I do. I want to believe it, and sometimes do, but other days just can’t fathom someone really liking me and vice versa. I also often feel like I’m dramatically overthinking being single - there’s so much chance and luck and pure randomness involved in it all, and in a world where men statistically are taking a back seat, I don’t think my single status is all because of me, but rather this place of transition society is finding itself in. 

In 2021 I signed up for a matchmaker service and after hearing about who I am, the women who worked there said firmly, “I want to be honest with you, only about 30% of men will like you. You’re too successful for most of them. They tell me they want to date the nurse, not the doctor.”  A recent podcast I listened to shared that women look for two things in a partner - competence and patience, while men’s ultimate trait they look for is appearance well beyond anything else.  I’m not mad or angry about any of this, I think it’s reality and probably feeds back into our biology a bit. But I am indeed looking for competence, which translates into many things, and I’m sure I’ll get eye rolls for this, but the last guy I went on a date with in NYC hadn’t had a job in seven years… so, umm, yea.  I’m going into an unintentional rabbit hole right now, which wasn’t my intention of this post, but this is all to say I feel very consistent in my life right now. It’s a very good life which I’m immensely thankful for, but i’m just feeling like the years are groundhog years, and I’m very ready - mentally, emotionally, financially - to move into another phase, so yup.. there’s a lot on my mind lately… because meeting someone is only within your control to a degree, but some other things aren’t… we shall see. 

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oH wow.  that moment when you’re trying to find a new therapist to talk about literally all of this. Like literally I could take this entire post and share it to a new therapist.  long story short - it my mid-late 20′s I kept gaining weight even tho my diet and exercise hadn’t changed a ton. So of course I started working out MORE. And being more self incriminating about ANYTHING I ate. At the same period of my life my carer and other goals were not going so well so it was in general, not a great time.  By the time I turned 29 I discovered I had a cortisol disorder and started some hormone balancing medication which DEFINITELY helped with metabolism and intense puffiness. YAY.  While I definitely LOOK thinner than I was before I am still technically obese and wear pant and dress and shirt sizes larger than I had pre illness and have LOTS. of difficulty with losing weight, maintaining weight,  and also eating properly scoped meals and sticking to diets.  Also I would love to lose 20lbs and get stronger and more toned etc. and not in an insane way-  All this coupled with:  - im in my 30′s now and do desire marriage and children and of COURSE OF COURSE weight and aesthetics matter in our day and age of pretty much only meeting people via dating app.  ALSO in the world of everyone doing fullface make up, contouring, and getting jawline filler for perfect heart shape faces ....it is impossible not to wonder how you measure up against influencer bod full face perfect jawlined women in the snap moments when men are swiping on. your profile.  I have dated as an in shape median weight and low BMI person and I KNOW the difference.  But. even outside the dating  aspect of this, I want to be healthier and not have. belly fat,  I want strong michelle obama arms,  I want to sweat less in the summer, I want. my back to be stronger so I can hold myself up better when sitting at screens 8 hrs a. day.  my MEDICAL doctor who helped diagnose me (And actually believed me about my symptoms and working out all the time) is hot. and thin and that alone was a pill to get over.   so i loved this post and also am probably. gonna use it as a template for my future therapy talks? 

Session One.

Is this a thing? Do people do this? Perhaps it’s actually breaking the rules of therapy, frankly, I have no idea. But here I am, putting it out there.

My first official session was like a scene from a movie.  What made you sign up for therapy? she asked, and then, without warning, the tears came. And there I sat, staring at this woman I met 3.2 seconds ago, crying so hard I couldn’t actually explain why I was sitting across from her that day. God, how cliche. Just thinking about it now, I am embarrassed for that person I was for 1h and 08 minutes (cha-cha-ching! because they charge you for over!).

After the session I told my bruised self that it was a combination of triggers that created that tearful episode. A shitty day at work. That time of the month.  I was nervous. Ect. But truth be told the trigger was this: I am sick of being me. Sick of my own thoughts. Sick of seeing this person in the mirror.  Sick and tired of failing at every single fucking thing I set out to do. And finally, I had acknowledged something needed to change.  Anything had to change, and that I needed (need) help. 

And then within minutes of talking, and after several failed tissues blotted my eyes, she commented, so, you’re very hard on yourself. It wasn’t a question, and yet I answered no.  Well, sometimes, but that’s what drives me forward and pushes me. That hardness on myself is what has lead me to accomplish so many things.

And she nodded along, writing her notes. And there I was, just another girl, sitting in a chair, paying $210 an hour to talk about my feelings with someone I had just met. Someone who nodded away at my problems and issues and thoughts on life. Someone I didn’t know, but someone who apparently could improve my well being. 

Hmm.

But I was honest with her. Well, as best as I could be.  As the clock ticked on, and the money slipped out of my pocket into hers, I made a few long-stories-short, because jeesh, y'all, time moves fast when you’re talking about yourself.

She’s very skinny, my therapist.  Perhaps, too skinny. And maybe, yes, I don’t know. Is it fucked up that I noticed? Would you have? Well, whatever, i did. Because it was sort of ironic, no? That there I was, obese (as per my BMI that she read to me) exploding my feelings about food and weight and binge eating and food obsessing and throwing up and diets and grocery shopping and eating cookies from the cupboard at 4am when I was 11 years old, to her.  Yup, there I was sharing this to this skinny, perhaps even younger than me, therapist. Well fuck. And ladies & gentlemen, welcome to my life.

Look, the first session (well, technically the second) haven’t been that eye opening. She said she’d send me my “homework,” and it’s been over 48 hours and I have refreshed my email 1 million and two times, but nope, nothing.   She did, however, at the end give me a scenario (it was: imagine sitting at a restaurant table, waiting for a friend, and then the friend texts you and cancels) and I had to break apart my thoughts, emotions and actions after that happens. Truthfully I feel like I failed at the exercise. Why? Oh perhaps because I sat there blankly shrugging my shoulders, and then when I did finally come up with something, it appeared to be wrong from her, “yes… but what about this…” response, and she’d then just tell me what my response should have been.  Disappointment. It was an emotion. Not the action of me getting up and leaving (just in case you ever find yourself seeking therapy. You never know!!)

So one down, a few more to go, or perhaps a million, who knows. But all I know is I weigh 190 lbs, and that each & every day I promise myself I’m going to lose weight, and then I obsess and binge and eat all the food in my path.  Actually, I realized last weekend I weigh 23 pounds more than I did this very weekend a year ago. LOL. Weight loss is fucking hilarious. I mean for fucks sake.

Oh, and before I sign off I must confess the topic of relationships/guys did come up. Second LOL for the evening.  Because in good old well meaning therapist sayings, she said but the right man won’t care about your size.  My eyes nearly fell back into my head because how easy is that to say when  you’re 118 pounds? I quickly corrected her, and noted how I’ve been both slim and fat out in the dating world, and that let me tell you, it’s a hell of a lot easier being skinnier.  Sure, yes, I know, definitely, love is about the inside of the person, but hell, to figure out the inside, to even get that far, you have to be attracted to the outside.  To which she looked at me, a little stumped for words, and actually, agreed with me. Or…  perhaps she rolled her eyes as she jotted down notes about my fucked up life, and thought shit, this girl has a weighs (PUN!) to go. (Except she’s not funny. So I doubt she wrote that excellent pun down.)

And with that, until next time dear blog. Until next time…

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Which cast member is most likely to break during a scene? Brett Goldstein.

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the content.

BRETT GOLDSTEIN as ROY KENT in Ted Lasso (2020-): a thirst post.

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oh hell yes. also that leather! 100% down. 

adding to this discourse on cassian esq actors: a long haired bearded can yaman (turkish actor). In my head i always viewed cassian as a young middle eastern version of hugh jackman with long hair

Yeah, I need exactly ZERO convincing about this, he checks all the boxes NO doubt.

Absolutely spot on for me. 💯 🔥 👏🏼

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Cassian ✨ Love of my life ✨

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that expression! 

It took me forever, but finally a finished piece! Print available on society6, inprint and redbubble.

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Chapters: 22/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley Characters: Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Severus Snape, Fleur Delacour, Demelza Robins, Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore, Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor Additional Tags: Feminism, Slow Build, Post Hogwarts, Pre-Epilogue, Ginny-centric, discovery and growth, Character Study, relatively in canon, Ron is not an idiot, Fleur is not a Tart, female bonding, Drama, Adventure, Harry Potter is mature, Harry Potter is still shy, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Sexual Experimentation, Oral Sex, self discovery, Academics, learning to be an Adult, America, Women in sports, Relationship Growth, social development of wizarding world, Wizarding History, Pureblood Politics, Muggle/Wizard Relations Series: Part 1 of Margin to Center Summary:

Ginny Weasley After the Battle and Beyond - a slowly growing Hinny romance with some plot and adventure. Ginny as she develops, changes, and achieves in various arenas, negotiates her relationships (platonic and romantic)

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Speakers and Musicians at the March on Washington

Of all speakers, none was more memorable than Martin Luther King, Jr., who delivered his famous “I Have a Dream” speech during the program (transcript here).The still photo at the top is from the National Archives, ARC Identifier: 542068.

Part of a week-long series of gifs from The March, the James Blue documentary about the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, restored in 2013 by The National Archives. You can view it online here. 

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Photography by Jorge Saenz

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This photo is usually divorced from its specific content. It is the most famous image of Nazi book burning. Most people assume the specific books don’t matter. The horror is at the notion of destroying books, any books, which I can certainly understand. But let’s talk about what was in them anyway. This image shows Nazi-aligned vigilantes (not, incidentally, government agents) destroying the library of Magnus Hirschfeld’s Institute for Sexual Science. Hirschfeld was the founder of modern transgender theory, and it is his displaced students who founded transgender advocacy in the US. Destroying this library destroyed the first central hub of transgender advocacy in the world. This loss is not an inconvenience. Parts of that library can never be replaced. In the 1910s Earl Lind read one of the books from that library and wrote for a feminist magazine that mothers ought to raise their trans children according to their endorsed gender (as Lind said, their “mental sex”). One hundred years ago there was a movement to normalize trans people. It was based on scientific study and the assertion that a just society should be based on logical evidence, and logical evidence showed that gender variance was perfectly natural and perfectly healthy. That movement is what was displaced when Nazis stormed the library and burned all the books they found. We recovered from the loss of Hirschfeld’s collection, eventually. We are once again at a place where people write to feminist journals extolling parents (no longer mothers!) to raise their trans children according to the genders of their hearts. But suppressing trans existence is so visible at the heart of the party that just came to power in this country. We’ll see what happens next.

The OP does not clarify or specify, but as I have repeatedly mentioned before, Hirschfeld was a Jewish doctor. He was also the doctor who performed Lili Elbe’s surgery. Just for some context. 

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Chapters: 21/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley Characters: Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Severus Snape, Fleur Delacour, Demelza Robins, Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore, Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor Additional Tags: Feminism, Slow Build, Post Hogwarts, Pre-Epilogue, Ginny-centric, discovery and growth, Character Study, relatively in canon, Ron is not an idiot, Fleur is not a Tart, female bonding, Drama, Adventure, Harry Potter is mature, Harry Potter is still shy, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Sexual Experimentation, Oral Sex, self discovery, Academics, learning to be an Adult, America, Women in sports, Relationship Growth, social development of wizarding world, Wizarding History, Pureblood Politics, Muggle/Wizard Relations Series: Part 1 of Margin to Center Summary:

Plot progresses! 

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So I’ve been listening to an audiobook of Moby Dick in my downtime, and omg this book is weird. Like prepare yourself for it being super racist, but it’s also intensely gay??? The main character gets gay married to his Pacific Islander roomie like the night after he meets him???? Also I just got to the part with Captain Ahab and omg he is so Extra™ like he actually throws his pipe overboard because it doesn’t fit with his ~*~aesthetic~*~ Let me tell you Great American Literature is wild

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Prince Rupert’s Drop

Did you guys ever hear about Prince Rupert’s Drop? The British Royal Society was really interested in these things back in the 1600s.

It’s basically a long, thin, practically snaky bit of glass that you get when you drop some molten glass into water. It solidifies into a shape like this:

The interesting and weird thing is, you can’t really break the bulb part. You can take a hammer to it but it won’t break. But the long tail is fragile and easily broken. And if you break any part of this thing, it explodes. Really, it just blows up into a million tiny little shards.

With modern high-speed cameras, they’ve managed to measure the speed of the fracture at slightly faster than one mile per second.

The reason why it breaks like this is because, when the molten glass rapidly cools, the surface hardens right up, but the inside still stays hot for a while. As the inside cools, it pulls in on itself really hard in all directions, leaving the entire drop in a constant state of high tension. When it’s entirely cooled, it only takes a tiny fracture to release that chain reaction of released tension that breaks all of it almost at once.