#Property Subdivision

[starsettlements]

Property Subdivision Specialists - Star Settlement

Star Settlements, a settlement agency that provides various real estate settlement services. Property subdivision is the process of dividing a larger piece of land into smaller, individual lots, which can then be sold separately. They specialize in providing legal and administrative services related to this process. For more details, visit - https://www.starsettlements.com/our-services/property-subdivision-specialists/

[realtyhubph-blog]

Foreclosed Townhouse Morning Subd Taguig Lot 7-A

Own a piece of Tagaytay! This foreclosed studio condo w/ balcony at Grand Quartier offers breathtaking views & resort amenities. Bidding starts at Php 5.76M. Submit bids every Friday, 5 PM. Contact JM Listings for details. (AS-IS)

📍 Unit F 3rd Floor Grand Quartier 1 inside Crosswinds Resorts Suites, Brgy. Iruhin Sentral, Tagaytay Cavite Property Features TYPE: Condominium📐 Floor: 45 square meters🛌 Studio with Balcony🚽1 Bathroom✅ On-going Transfer of Title to the OWNER/BANK✅ Unoccupied✅ AS-IS-WHERE-IS BasisYear Built: 2008 About the Development The Grand Quartier at Crosswinds, located in Tagaytay, is a luxurious…

[dsbdesign]

DSB provides dual occupancy designs solution from townhouses to duplex developments in Melbourne. Call 0407 312 052 today, for no obligation quote.

[landsurveyormelbourne]

Hire a Professional Private Building Surveyor in Melbourne for Proper Cost-Effective Construction

A private building surveyor in Melbourne will look for any potential problems or deficiencies in the building's interior, exterior, visible, and accessible areas. If a survey reveals any significant issues with the property that will necessitate upkeep or repairs, they are described in a structural report. Additionally, they offer building set out surveys to assess the practicality of your plans and ensure they can be implemented properly. During the building setting out survey operation, the building lines are laid out to ensure that the property is built in the suitable place and with accurately sized walls. For ease of construction, each line is clearly labelled.

Additionally, these businesses offer comprehensive expert support with property subdivision in Geelong. Act of dividing up a large plot of land into smaller portions so that many lots can be built is known as property subdividing. Along with their knowledgeable subdivision staff, they hire a certified Property surveyor who will collaborate closely with you to ensure the success of your property subdivision project. In Victoria, one of the biggest advantages of subdividing land is that it can significantly increase your revenues. In order to provide the greatest subdivision services in Geelong, they make sure to use the most recent tools and technologies.

Importance of Hiring a Private Building Surveyor:

According to verified websites, building surveyors are in charge of determining the calibre of structures, including residential, public, and commercial buildings. They assess the state of buildings and offer suggestions for how to make them better. Additionally, they offer construction set out surveys as a service. Private construction companies may be relied upon to handle each residential land survey with competence and effectiveness, allowing for the quick and precise processing of your development project.

In conclusion, companies that do property surveys provide a range of services, including monitoring surveys, site analysis plans, feature and level surveys, and more. Anyone looking for these services can contact a local land survey company.

Source

[botgal]

Update on AB 3080 and AB 1949

AB 3080 (age verification for adult websites and online purchase of products and services not allowed for minors) and AB 1949 (prohibiting data collection on individuals less than 18 years of age) both officially have hearing dates for the California Senate Judiciary Committee.

The hearing date for these bills is scheduled to be Tuesday 07/02/2024. Which means that the deadline to turn in position letters is going to be noon one week before the hearing on 06/25/2024. It's not a lot of time from this moment, but I'm certain we can each turn one in before then

Remember that position letters should be single topic, in strict opposition of what each bill entails. Keep on topic and professional when writing them. Let us all do our best to keep these bills from leaving committee so that we don't have to fight them on the Senate floor. But let's also not stop sending correspondence to our state representatives anyway.

Remember, the jurisdiction of the Senate Judiciary Committee is as follows.

"Bills amending the Civil Code, Code of Civil Procedure, Evidence Code, Family Code, and Probate Code. Bills relating to courts, judges, and court personnel. Bills relating to liens, claims, and unclaimed property. Bills relating to privacy and consumer protection."

Best of luck everyone. And thank you for your efforts to fight this so far.

Below is linked the latest versions of the bills.

Below are the links to the Committee's homepage which gives further information about the Judiciary Committee, and the page explaining further in depth their letter policy.

Edit: Was requested to add in information such as why these bills are bad and what sites could potentially be affected by these bills. So here's the explanation I gave in asks.

Why are these bills bad?

Both bills are essentially age verification requirement laws. AB 3080 explicitly, and AB 1949 implicitly.

AB 3080 strictly is calling for dangerous age verification requirements for both adult websites and any website which sells products or services which it is illegal for minors to access in California. While this may sound like a good idea on paper, it's important to keep in mind that any information that's put online is at risk of being extracted and used by bad actors like hackers. Even if there are additional requirements by the law that data be deleted after its used for its intended purpose and that it not be used to trace what websites people access. The former of which provides very little protection from people who could access the databases of identification that are used for verification, and the latter which is frankly impossible to completely enforce and could at any time reasonably be used by the government or any surveying entity to see what private citizens have been looking at since their ID would be linked to the access and not anonymized.

AB 1949 is nominally to protect children from having their data collected and sold without permission on websites. However by restricting this with an age limit it opens up similar issues wherein it could cause default requirements for age verification for any website so that they can avoid liability by users and the state.

What websites could they affect?

AB 3080, according to the bill's text, would affect websites which sells the types of items listed below

"

(b) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) An aerosol container of paint that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(2) Etching cream that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(3) Dangerous fireworks, as referenced in Sections 12505 and 12689 of the Health and Safety Code.

(4) Tanning in an ultraviolet tanning device, as referenced in Sections 22702 and 22706 of the Business and Professions Code.

(5) Dietary supplement products containing ephedrine group alkaloids, as referenced in Section 110423.2 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) Body branding, as referenced in Sections 119301 and 119302 of the Health and Safety Code.

(c) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) Firearms or handguns, as referenced in Sections 16520, 16640, and 27505 of the Penal Code.

(2) A BB device, as referenced in Sections 16250 and 19910 of the Penal Code.

(3) Ammunition or reloaded ammunition, as referenced in Sections 16150 and 30300 of the Penal Code.

(4) Any tobacco, cigarette, cigarette papers, blunt wraps, any other preparation of tobacco, any other instrument or paraphernalia that is designed for the smoking or ingestion of tobacco, products prepared from tobacco, or any controlled substance, as referenced in Division 8.5 (commencing with Section 22950) of the Business and Professions Code, and Sections 308, 308.1, 308.2, and 308.3 of the Penal Code.

(5) Electronic cigarettes, as referenced in Section 119406 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) A less lethal weapon, as referenced in Sections 16780 and 19405 of the Penal Code."

This is stated explicitly to include "internet website on which the owner of the internet website, for commercial gain, knowingly publishes sexually explicit content that, on an annual basis, exceeds one-third of the contents published on the internet website". Wherein "sexually explicit content" is defined as "visual imagery of an individual or individuals engaging in an act of masturbation, sexual intercourse, oral copulation, or other overtly sexual conduct that, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value."

This would likely not include websites like AO3 or any website which displays NSFW content not in excess of 1/3 of the content on the site. Possibly not inclusive of writing because of the "visual imagery", but don't know at this time. In any case we don't want to set a precedent off of which it could springboard into non-commercial websites or any and all places with NSFW content.

AB 1949 is a lot more broad because it's about general data collection by any and all websites in which they might sell personal data collected by the website to third parties, especially if aimed specifically at minors or has a high chance of minors commonly accesses the site. But with how broad the language is I can't say there would be ANY limits to this one. So both are equally bad and would require equal attention in my opinion.

[intheholler]

east tennessee native here, and we don't call them "halfbacks" but the problem is just awful. we have about 30,000 people in my town and most of them live in the older, eastern part of town, and range from poverty-level to middle class. but those "halfbacks" have been tearing up our natural ridges, buying up lake property that used to be priced reasonably for the middle class, and selling it all to other rich folks or to development companies, or using them as vacation houses for a month or two a year.

what's worse is that the local government thinks that pandering to them is the best option since they're rich. our tax dollars aren't going towards upkeep and renovation for the older part of town, which has many more people, but to developing the beautiful forested ridges and farmland on the western end into upper-middle class, cookie-cutter house subdivisions, or worse.

then the devils decided to build a community center - which would be great, if it was in a place accessible to everyone. instead, they build it way out on the west end, too far for those without transportation to walk, and the real kicker is that, even though our tax dollars fund and maintain it, they still charge you a fee to enter. it's plain out tailored to the rich folks.

i don't know what to do about it other than get sad. i'm sick and tired of rich folks and northern conservatives buying out our land and then coming down here and pretending we've ever thought like they did, or that they could ever fit in with the salt of the earth when they're the scum of the earth.

"i'm sick and tired of rich folks and northern conservatives buying out our land and then coming down here and pretending we've ever thought like they did, or that they could ever fit in with the salt of the earth when they're the scum of the earth."

tattoo. that. on. my. ass.

man. reading this ask stoked a real ancient anger in me. i don't know what to do except be sad, neither. sad n pissed.

the speed with which the general sentiment went from "fuck appalachia, let's just saw yall off into the ocean" to "i can fix her with my old money and my backwards politics, actually" liked to gave me whiplash.

atp, id rather them stay home, keep their uninformed beliefs about appalachia and let us in peace to do our thing. better than them coming up the holler and cutting down a tree just to make an expensive sign telling us we're spellin hollow wrong

solidarity, east tn <333

[evilfloralfoolery]

Daggers and Deception - Part I

Being shot is a real pain in the ass, especially if you're coming down with a cold. And that's exactly what's happening to this perpetually surly mercenary who has been forced into seclusion while he recovers.

But he's not the only one stuck in the middle of What Kind of Fresh Country Fuck Hell Nowhere. Someone is in the apartment next to his. Someone who knows something he shouldn't . . . and is obviously allergic to air.

Neither man is what they seem to be.

____________________________________________

The driveway is as long as a damn subdivision block, but the house at the end of it sure as hell isn't like his place.  Tall and shaded by trees, the rambling, archaic property sits by itself with no neighbors, no sidewalks.  No nothing.

When the boss said "the middle of nowhere," he wasn't even kidding.  

Goddamn it.

"Let me carry that."

Max's gruff voice at his side.  Not an offer, really.  More like he was going to do it and there wasn't room for discussion.  Typical.

Grimm grunts.  "Yeah. Whatever."  

Not like he can't manage with his good arm.  But Max isn't having any of his shit today, or any other day, for that matter.

"You're upstairs on the right," Max says as he falls into step beside Grimm, bag in hand.  "I tried to get you space on the first floor, but they're remodeling the--"

"It's fine," Grimm interrupts.  "It ain't my leg that's broken."

Max hefts the bag over his shoulder and fishes through his pocket for a key.  "You're still going to take it easy. Behave yourself or I'll see to it that we extend your stay."  He flicks icy blue eyes to Grimm.  "I mean it, Amadis."  

Oooo, resorting to surnames. So fucking terrifying.

"Yeah, yeah."  Grimm waves his good hand in a dismissive gesture.  

Not like he has a choice.  Couldn't be out in the field with a busted shoulder, much less with his arm in a sling.  The wound had been clean enough not to fuck up anything permanently.  He hopes.  At least, that was the line the doctors had fed him.  But damn, there had been a lot of blood. Lucky as hell that the bullet hadn't ripped through both sides of his body.

If one could call that a silver fucking lining.

He follows Max up the questionable facade of a staircase, the wooden slats complaining beneath his footfalls with every step.

Definitely a death trap in the making. 

"How old is this place?"

Max glances over his shoulder.  "Old."  

Grimm rolls his eyes.  

By the time they reach the third story, sweat has begun a steady trickle down the back of Grimm's neck, the small amount of physical exertion taking an unpleasant toll.  Which is stupid.  And annoying.  Fuck, the stab wound across his chest hadn't hurt as badly as this.

Max sets the bag down in front of a door that looks like it might cave in if Grimm breathes wrong and holds up a set of keys.

"The black one is the front door.  Silver is your room.  You've got a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, all of it.  We'll have groceries delivered to you once a week, but if you need anything, call Rex.  He'll make sure you get it."

"And if I wanna leave?"  

Max levels his stare at him.  "You won't."  

Hmn.  Grimm hooks a loose strand of his dark hair behind one ear as Max finagles the keyhole and convinces the door to open, carting his bag inside and dropping it in the middle of the living room area. 

"Fridge and cabinets are stocked.  Clean sheets on the bed.  Towels in the bathroom.  There's a curator on the property who takes care of all that, so she'll be by to check on you now and then. She's also a nurse and she'll help you with dressing that wound and repacking it.  Be nice to her."  

Grimm rakes a hand through his hair with sniffle.  "I'm nice, dammit."

"Uh huh."  

Max reaches into his pocket and produces a bottle with a white label.  "Take these."

Grimm eyes the label with a look of marked disdain.  Opioids. Not a fucking chance. "You know I'm not taking that shit."

 Max shoves the bottle at him.  "Take it anyway."  

He sets the bottle on the nearest piece of furniture and folds his good arm across his chest.  Too bad the damn sling ruins the effect.

"I'll be in touch," Max says.  "Rest, Grimm."

Like he has a choice. 

"I can't believe you're making me do this country isolation bullshit."  

Max's expression doesn't waver. "Believe it."  He pats Grimm's shoulder with one hand.  "And change your shirt.  You're about to drip sweat all over this ugly-as-hell rug."  

Mother. Fucker.

 "Smartass," Grimm says.

Max cracks a hint of smile. "Take care of that cold, too."

Grimm narrows his eyes. "What cold?"

Max doesn't respond, but takes off instead, leaving Grimm standing in the middle of his new quarters with a whole lot of silence and weird-ass furniture.  Floral couch with a high back and wooden feet.  A carved, pockmarked end table with wooden feet.  Mismatched coffee table with some kind of folded flaps on the side.  With wooden feet.  

"Somebody got a damn foot fetish around here or what?" Grimm mutters to no one in particular.  

Max is wrong about the "cold," but is right about his shirt.  A combination of a bumpy ride and a short stair climb has him sweating bullets.  He hefts the bag onto the couch and paws through it until he finds a black tank top.  A hell of a lot easier to manage than a T-shirt.  At least his target had the decency to shoot him on his non-dominant side.

He slips the sling over his head and pulls his arm out of the thing, grabs the back of his T-shirt with his good hand . . . and hisses with a wince.  

Fuck, fuck, fucking FUCK.

A deep breath.  A struggle.  The material peels its way from his damp skin with far too much effort, leaving him sweating and panting as if he's run a good ten miles without a break.  A shock of cold travels down his spine and he fights against a sudden wave of nausea that forces him to take a seat on the floral fuckery of a couch.

The bottle sits on the coffee table.  Beckoning.  Mocking. He flips it the middle finger and tosses the tank top back into the bag.  Fuck this whole shirt-wearing shit.

After securing his arm in the sling once more, he meanders into the kitchen, takes a quick inventory of the food.  

Chicken, veggies, some ground beef . . .and an entire shelf of instant ramen.  The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.  Max knows him too well.

Not to mention, it's easy as hell to make with one arm.  A few minutes of boiling water, some frozen stir fry veg, and a little soak later, dinner is served.  Grimm sits at the table, palms a pair of chopsticks, and settles in.  

From the stairwell comes the sound of footsteps, a jingle of keys, and the protesting creak of a door.  A rustle of bags.  Footfalls on aging hardwood.  

Grimm tilts his head.  Max had mentioned the house was sectioned into apartments, but he hadn't mentioned other visitors.  Who else even knew about this place, anyway?  It's not like it was on the map. 

And man, are the walls thin as hell.

Pretty much every move his neighbor makes is audible from dropping the keys on the table to moving into the kitchen to put away whatever it is that they're carrying.  Or maybe Grimm's hearing is just too finely tuned for his own damn good.  Not like it didn't come with the job.  

It is not until his neighbor retires to the back of the apartment that Grimm stops being able to hear him walking and moving around.  The soft tinkle of piano keys wafts from the other side of the wall in place of movement, a wistful and almost sad melody.  Was it being played or just listened to?  Not like Grimm knows enough about music to tell.  Still, whatever it might be is oddly soothing and he finishes his "dinner" and drags himself to the bedroom for a rest.  Or maybe just some tossing around and growling.

At least the bed is enormous and inviting enough, all carved with huge spiraling posts and some kind of bars connecting them.  Maybe for a canopy or something at one time.  But whatever, all he cares about is if the mattress is comfortable.  He eases himself onto the duvet and sprawls out as much as his damn shoulder will allow.  The sling isn't exactly comfortable, but he makes do with it via a few propped up pillows and little bit of shifting around.

His eyes drift shut, the whir of the fan a comfortable, lulling nuance that nearly drags him into sleep immediately.  Or at least until the abrupt sound of a sneeze from the other side of the wall snaps him out of it.  A bitingly sharp “EKSSCH!”  And another.  And another.

“EKSSCH! EKCHISSH!”

Well, damn.

A fourth follows less than a minute later and Grimm tilts his head back, eying the wall with a raise of one eyebrow.  

He raps his knuckles on the aging sheetrock.

“Hey,” he says. “You dying or what?”

Silence. Guess the guy didn't realize he had a neighbor, either.

“Yes,” comes the curt response after some time.

Grimm chuckles. Obviously male.  Deep voice, but not as deep as his rumbling bass. Some kind of posh-ass accent, too.  

“-iihEKSSH-uuuh!”

An irritated frustration of a sound that is clearly a “stop this shit right the fuck now!” level of annoyance.

“Bless you,” Grimm says, more out of amusement than anything else.

A pause he can almost feel follows before a quiet "thank you" is issued from the other side of the wall.   

His neighbor opens and closes a drawer or two and wanders back to the other side of the house, accompanied by a few more sneezes and what sounds like a well-placed curse at one point.  

That gets another round of chuckling.

Somewhere from inside the apartment, the piano music resumes and Grimm is now certain it is, in fact, not a recording.  The man is definitely playing whatever it is himself.  With a sigh, Grimm closes his eyes again. Maybe the guy will keep playing long enough for him to ignore his throbbing shoulder and pass the fuck out.  

The fan whirs, the plaintive strands of whatever the guy is playing a nice counterpoint to the white noise.  Grimm takes a deep breath. Exhales.  Repeats.  Sweat beads his brow, threatening to trickle into his ear and the ramen feels like a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach.  A hint of a groan escapes him.  The first few days are always the worst with a wound like this.  It'll pass.  Eventually. 

(TBC . . .maybe)

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 16 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 5.8k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

In Tooele, Utah, the group of them drove aimlessly. T-Bag was still in the back, Tweener in the trunk and Y/N on Michael’s lap in the passenger seat while Lincoln drove.

            “This is a new subdivision,” Y/N muttered. “Suburbia is boring as fuck. I wish to never be part of it,” she stated. Michael rubbed her arms.

            “Noted,” he responded.

            Lincoln stopped the car, glancing over to Michael. “The ranch is gone, Michael.”

            Michael ran his hand through his short hair. “Well, the 5 million might not be.”

            “And you gonna find it how?” T-Bag asked lowly. “What you got a divining rod tattooed on your ass?”

            “Not funny,” Y/N muttered, leaning back, her head hitting Michael’s shoulders. However, she could not get more out because Michael lost it.

            “I don’t wanna hear anything out of your mouth other than what your photographic memory spits out regarding that map!” Michael yelled.

 ��          “Michael, my ear,” Y/N muttered, holding her ear as the yelling went straight through it and he quickly whispered his apology.

            “You watch your tone with me, boy,” T-Bag warned, glaring at Michael.

            Michael moved Y/N slightly so he could face T-Bag. “I will watch you get tossed on the side of the road to fend for yourself, boy,” he retorted. “Because if you can’t remember where that silo was, you’re worthless to us, and I might just let Y/N hurt you a little more.” Then he turned back, holding Y/N once again.

            “Yo, fools, let me out!” Tweener yelled which Lincoln told him to shut up.

            “The map!” Michael barked.

            “Ok, ok, all right, all right, all right,” T-Bag stuttered, eyes closing as he thought. “The ranch…the ranch was in the centre of a box. Sheep Road on one side, Kokosing Road perpendicular. In the centre of the property was a ranch house and the ranch house was surrounded by trees.

            They got out of the car and walked around. A runner came by and glanced at them. Y/N shook her head…they did just come out of a dirty, broken car with four fugitives…

            “Every tree here is a year old, at most. Except those,” Michael said as they stood far away from the house.

            “Where is the silo?” Y/N asked.

            Bagwell hit his head a few times before muttering, “Inside the trees. I wanna say on the left, but that may have been a barn. I remembered the best I could, gents and lady, but I didn’t know this place would now be smothered in tract homes, so you know, I’m sorry that I’m not Rain Man over here.”

            “He’s no help,” Y/N muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Absolute no help.”

            Y/N walked back in the car and they all followed as they waited for T-Bag to remember where the silo was. Y/N felt Michael his head against her back as she drew lines on his arm. Slowly, she took her hand and brought it to her lips. He smiled.

            “I’m sorry for yelling in your ear,” he muttered.

            Y/N smiled, turning around and kissing his lips quickly. “All forgiven.”

            “Silo, silo, silo, silo, silo…” T-Bag muttered.

            “This is stupid. We’re gonna get made out here,” Lincoln interrupted.

            “Shut it. I think I remember. If I had to bet, I’d lay it all on the silo being on the left of the ranch house, inside the trees,” T-Bag explained, finally remembering. His face was right behind Michael’s crouching behind him. A shiver went up Y/N’s spine.

            “No, it’s outside the trees,” Michael replied, smirking and staring ahead. Then he pointed. “Right there. You see those two trees? They’re shorter than the rest. They were all planted at the same time but those two didn’t get as much sunlight.”

            “Something was in their way,” Y/N muttered.

            “Yeah, a silo,” Michael responded. “Our money should be right there under that garage.”

            “You better be right, boy,” T-Bag muttered.

            “This isn’t a high-end subdivision, they slapped this place up overnight. The silo’s foundation might still be there. To save money, they probably laid the concrete for the garage floor right on top of it,” Michael explained. Leave it to the engineer to know everything about buildings. “We’ll dig straight down. If we hit the foundation, we stay. If not, we go.”

            “Let’s do it,” Lincoln agreed, however just as soon as Michael opened the door, a blonde middle-aged woman appeared out of the house and grabbed her newspaper in a robe.

            “Ain’t no problem that screwdriver to her temple won’t fix,” T-Bag muttered.

            “We’re not hurting her,” Y/N mumbled, “you’re not hurting her.” She glanced back with a stare at him. “We are going to be smart.”

            “People die all the time, boys. Especially you, little miss, the wrath of danger. $5 million comes once in a lifetime,” T-bag

            “We gotta do something and it’s not gonna involve hurting anyone,” Michael stated.

            “I got an idea,” Lincoln responded. “First, we’re gonna need some supplies.”

            They drove out of the suburb again, parking as they got out. T-Bag was instantly angry, slamming his door and looking at Michael and Lincoln. “110%, I do not agree with this.” Then he slammed his hand on the car top.

            “Everybody’s got to pitch in to make this happen,” Lincoln stated.

            “But back in the big house, the boy proved he couldn’t be trusted,” T-Bag stated about Tweener who was still in thr trunk.

            “Which is why we’re doing it here,” Lincoln replied. “If he gets caught in town, he won’t know where the house is.” Lincoln threw the keys to Michael.

            “Besides, you’re the one we can’t turn our backs on,” Michael said to T-Bag before opening the trunk.

            Tweener came out, eyes squinting, sweat across his forehead. “Oh, I could’ve died in there, man,” he said, climbing out.

            “Well, guess what? I need you to do something,” Michael stated.

            “I need you to do something for me,” Tweener retorted.

            “I don’t think this is up for discussion,” Y/N muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

            “I want my cut of the money,” Tweener ignored Y/N and continued.

            “Well, we’ll talk once you prove we can trust you,” Michael replied.

            “What do I go to do?” Tweener asked, eyes narrowing on Michael.

            “I want you to go back to that garden centre and get everything on this list,” Michael said as Tweener snatched the list from him. “And gas up the car.” Then he handed him some cash. “We’ll meet you right back here in an hour.”

            “All right.”

            “And, David, don’t screw this up,” Michael threatened.

            “This ain’t Fox River no more, man. Looking at the real deal now. But I want my cut. Back in an hour,” Tweener said, putting his hat on and getting into the car.

            Y/N walked up to Michael and grabbed his arm. He glanced down at her. “I don’t trust him," she muttered and Michael just nodded.

-

 Y/N stood next to Michael with her arms crossed over her chest as Lincoln opened the electrical box. Michael looked down at him and asked him how he knew about electricity.

            “I used to steal copper wiring from transformer boxes, and then sell them on the docks, make a few bucks,” Lincoln told Michael. “When you were at school, of course.” Lincoln began to unscrew a few things.

            Y/N looked over at Michael who looked at her. She sent him a smile but he reached out to cup her cheek, thumb grazing over her lips before pulling away. He noticed that T-Bag was staring at the lady in the window and gave him a glare.

            “I was just looking, Pretty,” T-Bag muttered. “You got something pretty to look at, I’m a little jealous. What’s that old chestnut? ‘I can look at the menu. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna eat’.”

            “We get in, we get the money, we get out,” Michael stated, voice firm. “That’s it.”

            “No. Absolutely.” However, he continued to stare at the woman.

            “Gross,” Y/N muttered. “Love being a woman.”

            “We’re good. Now it’s up to the kid,” Lincoln stated, finishing his task.

-

The kid followed through but he popped a guy with a shovel while trying to get supplies. Bickering happened.

            Y/N stood by the car, arms crossed, her eyes burning a hole into the back of Michael’s head as he explained the plan for their next move. The group was gathering supplies, all of them getting ready to play their parts as a fake trades company to dig up Westmoreland’s hidden money. She knew how these operations went—blend in, keep your head down, and get the job done. But the moment Michael suggested she sit this one out, something snapped in her.

            “I think it’d be better if you stay out of this one,” Michael said quietly, but firmly, as if the decision had already been made.

            Y/N scoffed, stepping forward. “Excuse me?”

            Michael ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the others before lowering his voice. “Y/N, look, it’s not about you not being capable. I know you are. It’s just—”

            “It’s just what? Because I’m a woman? Is that it?” Her frustration bubbled up, hot and sharp.

            “Come on,” Michael sighed, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “A woman in a trades company is going to draw attention. We need to be invisible. The fewer eyes on us, the better. It’s not personal, it’s just strategy.”

            “That’s bullshit, Michael!” Y/N snapped, her voice rising despite herself. “You’re always talking about how we’re a team, how I’m part of this just as much as anyone else. And now, suddenly, I’m not good enough?”

            Michael’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I never said that.”

            “No, but you sure as hell implied it.” Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You’re just pushing me aside because you think you know better.”

            Before Michael could respond, Lincoln stepped in between them, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time out,” Lincoln said, holding up his hands. “We don’t have time for this. We’re supposed to be focused on digging up that money, not digging into each other.”

            Behind them, T-Bag leaned against the van, watching with a smirk. “Ah, trouble in paradise?” he drawled, licking his lips in that unsettling way of his. “Nothing like a lover’s quarrel to spice up a good old-fashioned heist.”

            Y/N shot T-Bag a withering look. “Shut up, Bagwell.”

            T-Bag raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. “Just saying, sweetheart. Ain’t no harm in a little domestic drama.”

            Lincoln turned his glare to T-Bag, making him quiet down with a shrug before refocusing on his brother and Y/N. “Michael, she’s been with us from the start. Let her help.”

            Michael looked torn, his eyes flicking from Lincoln to Y/N. He didn’t want to argue with her, and he certainly didn’t want to belittle her skills, but his mind was on the risk. He exhaled deeply, staring at the ground for a long moment.

            “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Michael said softly, his voice edged with frustration. “It’s the optics. If this goes wrong, we’re all screwed.”

            “I can handle myself,” Y/N shot back, her voice low but fierce. “I’ve been handling myself for years. What, you think I’m just gonna freeze up and blow it?”

            Michael opened his mouth to respond, but Lincoln cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Enough. We don’t have time to debate this. We either work as a team, or we don’t work at all. Got it?”

            The tension hung thick between them, but Michael finally nodded. He looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with conflict. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re in the car, you stay out of sight unless we need backup. We’re not taking unnecessary risks.”

            Y/N clenched her jaw but nodded, her hands still balled into fists. She didn’t agree with him, but at least he wasn’t pushing her completely aside.

            “Good,” Lincoln said, stepping back. “Now, can we get back to work? We’ve got a fortune to dig up, and I don’t plan on leaving empty-handed.”

            As the group moved to gather the last of their gear, T-Bag gave Y/N a wink. “I like a woman with a little fire,” he said. “Makes things interesting.”

            Y/N ignored him, her mind still simmering with frustration. She wanted to help, wanted to prove to Michael that she could be just as valuable out in the field as anyone else. But for now, she’d play her part, and hope the opportunity came to show him she was more than just someone to be protected.

-

Y/N sat in the car, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, her frustration simmering. She hated waiting, she was more of an action girl. She hated sitting still when she could be doing something. Her hand went to the dash storage and took the gun out, she cocked it and reloaded it a few times before throwing it back into the storage. Michael’s caution still stung, though she understood his reasoning. But being stuck here while the others worked made her feel like a caged animal.

            Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror when she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. Two figures were approaching – C-Note and Sucre. She narrowed her eyes in confusion, then blinked in surprise. What the hell were they doing here?

            Y/N opened the door and stepped out, her boots crunching on the ground as she walked to them. “What are you two doing here?” she called, folding her arms across her chest.

            C-Note smiled, but there was a tension in his eyes. “Same reason you’re here. For the money.”

            Sucre, on the other hand, grinned broadly as soon as he saw her, jogging the last few steps to close the distance. “Mami!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. “It’s been a hot minute, huh?"

            Y/N couldn’t help but smile at Sucre’s warmth, wrapping her arms around him for a brief moment. “Good to see you, Sucre,” she said, though her tone was tinged with frustration. Michael would not be happy. She pulled back and gave both men a look. “I’m guessing you’re here for the money,” she muttered.

            C-Note nodded. “Yes, where is the rest of the group?”

            “Inside,” she muttered.

            “Why aren’t you helping, mami? You always help. Usually more than the others,” Sucre asked.

            “Michael,” she muttered, “he’s being an ass, but that’s ok. Something about me not blending in.”

            “That’s nonsense. Go help.”

            Y/N nodded and looked over to the garage where the others were, her expression light with frustration. “Come on. I better let the boys know we’ve got company. This is about to get even more complicated.”

            Sucre clapped her on her back, still in high spirits despite the situation and C-Note gave her a curt nod as they followed her to the garage.

            As soon as she opened the door, and stepped in, Michael glanced up. “What’s wrong?” he rushed.

            “We’ve got company,” she responded. Just then C-Note and Sucre entered.

            C-Note took his hat off, grinned and said, “What’s up, Snowflake?”

            Michael had his hands on his hips, head tilted slightly. “Well, as always, your timing is flawless.”

            C-Note crossed is arms over his chest, muscles flexing in the black tee he was in. “I don’t follow.”

            “Well, let me try and explain it to you. We’re trying to run something here and we can’t have people walking in off the street. Y/N, go back to the car,” Michael said, focusing on her.    

            Y/N kicked the ground and nodded, not in the mood to deal with their bickering. “Come grab me when you’re done,” she muttered, walking out.

            Boredom, that’s what she felt. Complete boredom as she laid in the car, seat back and closing her eyes. Y/N walked back into the garage, hat on her head as she watched them. Michael glanced up and sighed. “Y/N…’

            “Let me help,” she muttered, walking over to grab a shovel. “T-Bag is out as he’s injured so let me help.”

            Michael nodded and they continued to dig. They hit the silo’s foundation which meant they just needed to hit the edge and dig around it.

            “What’s wrong?” Michael asked as Tweener spoke up.

            “We got to stop in Tooele first and gas up the ride,” he muttered, scared of the wrath Michael would bring.

            “I thought you already did that,” Michael responded, voice frustrated.

            “Man, when the garden centre thing happened, I just forgot, all right?” Tweener responded.

            Michael took a deep breath as Y/N rubbed his back. “I want you to go back into town. I want you to gas up that car–“

            “–I can do it,” Y/N interrupted.

            “No, you’re staying where I can see you,” Michael barked. Then he glanced back at Tweener. “I’m not driving around with millions of dollars in the trunk. Do you understand?” his voice was low, unwavering.

            “Man, why do I gots to do it? The girl said she could–“

            “–No, Y/N is staying. She needs to stay with me. It’s your job,” Michael said as Lincoln pushed him a little.

            A car pulled up and Sucre went to go check it out. Y/N kept digging as Sucre explained a cop was here. Y/N threw the shovel down. “I’ll go get Michael,” she muttered as he left to check on T-Bag.

            Y/N walked in the house, seeing the broken glass and panic struck her as she continued up the stairs to the bedroom. That’s when she found T-Bag holding the blonde woman, Jeanette, hostage with a small hammer.

            “There’s a cop,” Y/N muttered to Michael who turned to look at her.

            “I know,” he responded.

            The woman officer came in, calling for her mother, but they stayed quiet. Eyes flickered between each of them, worried struck upon their faces.

            “Stay here…stay quiet,” Michael said to them.

            The officer began coming up the stairs, getting suspicious. She had her hand on her gun, as she slowly came up. Jeanette yelled which caused the officer to run faster to her, opening the door with the gun on them.

            Y/N stayed still, hands up slightly as she stared at the woman.

            “It’s ok, it’s ok,” Michael said.

            “Back away and put your hands up,” she said.

            “Just go easy,” Michael said, trying to calm the situation.

            “Go nothing. She ain’t the one carrying the cards here,” T-Bag said, holding the hostage closer.

            “Back away and put your hands up!” the officer barked.

            “If I put my hand up, gonna take her jugular with it,” T-Bag retorted.

            “Look, I don’t wany anyone to do anything stupid, ok?” the officer said.

            Sucre came out of nowhere, trying to grab the gun, but the officer got him squared in the nose while pointing it at him. “Don’t move!” However, Lincoln came from behind her, grabbing the gun and mumbled something about being civil.

            Y/N let out a sigh as she put her hands down. They took both women downstairs and tied them up. Michael looked to her and brought her into a hug, holding her tight. “It’s ok,” he mumbled, kissing her cheek. “It’s ok.”

            As they got downstairs to where the hostages sat, Michael paced lightly, hands trembling as he looked at what was in front of them. “This is going wrong in every possible way.”

            “This is stupid, man. We cannot do this,” C-Note barked, throwing hands up.

            “Hat’s over the wall now,” T-Bag muttered.

            “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” C-Note asked.

            “We’re committed,” Y/N muttered. Bickering began as talked about what was next. Michael leaned over to Y/N and muttered, “Why can’t it be a silo in the middle of the field with no one around?”

            “I don’t know,” she mumbled, “I guess this is our luck.”

            They came back to see the hostages again and Michael looked at them with sympathy in his eyes. “Sorry isn’t going to mean anything to you right now, but I want to say it anyway,” Michael spoke to the woman. He was always sorry, always caring. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. One of two hours tops and we’ll be out of here, you have my word, no one will harm you,” Michael told them. Y/N was looking at the woman, but the one officer was staring at her, daggering shooting into Y/N’s eyes.

            Michael walked over to Y/N and Sucre. “Keep your eyes open. Nothing happens to them…Nothing.” Then he walked away.

            Y/N looked at them and that officer looked at her. She began to pace back and forth in front of the hostages, her eyes scanning the living room as the others continued digging up Westmoreland’s money. Sucre stood by her, arms crossed, glancing occasionally at her before returning his attention to the hostages.

            The young female officer in the group had been gagged…both women had been, but she was squirming and making muffled noises, her wide eyes locked on Y/N. It was clear she wanted to say something, and Y/N sighed, pulling the cloth off her mouth.

            The young female officer took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes fixated on Y/N. “I know you,” she said, her voice sharp but curious. “You’re the one they talked about at the academy.”

            Y/N frowned, narrowing her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

            “The Black Beauty Murders,” the officer said, sitting up a little straighter despite her restraints. “Your case was part of our training in homicide investigations. It was a cold case for years. They said you killed six men. Everyone in the station called you, ‘The Black Beauty’.”

            Y/N felt her blood run cold. It was not the first time she’d heard that title, but it always felt like a slap in the face when someone threw it at her. She kept her expression calm, but Sucre sitting nearby has gone quiet, his attention fully on the conversation now.

            “You got the wrong idea,” Y/N said, her voice low, trying to keep her agitation in check.

            The officer’s eyes gleamed with a nasty sort of interest, enjoying getting a rise out of her. “Rumour had it, you killed twenty men, not six. Some say you even enjoyed it. Taunted them, played with them–“

            “–enough,” Y/N hissed. “You got the wrong person. I haven’t killed twenty men,” she said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t killed anyone.”

            The officer smirked, leaning forward as much as he restraints allowed. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say. The station loved your story as you had a victim in Utah. We studied you like some kind of celebrity. Bet you didn’t know, huh? The cops who couldn’t ‘t catch you were pissed. Spent a decade chasing ghosts. Then one day, all this evidence just appeared in Chicago and you were found at your apartment, cooking dinner when you were arrested.”

            Y/N felt her heartbeat picked up, anger bubbling beneath her skin. She glanced at Sucre, who was watching the exchange silently.

            “Ok, doll,” Y/N said, pushing off the cabinets and sauntering over to the officer. She kneeled down. “Black Beauty, huh? I wonder why they gave me that name? Perhaps it was the black dress I wore, perhaps the black heart they believe I have or the black gun I havered, but I never used it as it was always–“

            “Knives,” the officer finished.

            “Yes. Quick and easy. Untraceable. Those crime scenes were always cleaned to perfection…it wasn’t until my darling husband came and dropped evidence right at the police station’s door as we had an argument. Don’t fall in love with the wrong man, sweetheart. It’ll haunt you,” Y/N said lowly, smirking as she turned away.  

            Sucre watched the whole thing, walking over to Y/N and whispering, “She’s just trying to mess with you, Y/N.”

            Y/N shook her head and looked back to the officer. “I was your favourite case, wasn’t I?”

            She nodded. “Got to meet the celebrity, huh?” Y/N mused. The girl just stared at her. “I’m not going to hurt you though. I don’t like hurting people. It makes me upset. So, perhaps I didn’t do those murders. You can make your decision,” she muttered, walking away.

            Y/N stood by the hostages, her arms still crossed, keeping a watchful eye on them. The young officer shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at her.

            “Y/N?” the officer's voice broke the silence.

            Y/N raised a brow, tilting her head slightly. “What?”

            The officer hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a second before she spoke. “If you’ve got any sympathy left in you... I need my pills.”

            “Pills?” Y/N echoed, her arms tightening over her chest as she tried to read the woman’s expression.

            “For my baby,” the officer muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

            Y/N’s heart sank, recognizing instantly what she meant. “Metformin... to prevent a miscarriage?” she asked quietly, her voice softening.

            The officer looked at her, something shifting in her demeanour. She seemed to catch the sudden glossiness in Y/N’s eyes, the vulnerability barely masked. “How far along were you?” she asked, her voice gentler than before.

            Y/N’s lips tightened for a moment, her gaze drifting to the side as if trying to avoid the weight of the conversation. But she couldn’t. “Sixteen weeks,” she whispered, the words heavy on her tongue. “Before I lost her.”

            For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air seemed to still between them.

            “I’m sorry,” the officer said, her tone soft, and for the first time, sincere.

            Y/N swallowed hard, pushing past the lump in her throat. “Where are your pills?” she asked, her voice barely steady.

            “In the drawer,” the officer replied, nodding toward the kitchen. “Top one.”

            Y/N moved without a word, heading to the kitchen and opening the drawer. She found the pills easily, grabbing two and filling a glass with water before returning. Kneeling down, she handed the officer the pills. “Here,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly as she helped her take them. “How far along are you?”

            “I’m two months. I just had my first trimester sonogram on Tuesday,” the officer muttered, her hands trembling slightly as she took the water from Y/N.

            Before Y/N could respond, Michael and Lincoln appeared in the doorway. Michael’s eyes narrowed immediately, noticing the wetness in Y/N’s eyes.

            “What happened?” he asked, his tone sharp as his gaze flicked between the two women. He stepped forward, his concern quickly turning into suspicion. “What did you do?” he demanded, his voice tightening.

            The officer shook her head quickly, her eyes wide. “I didn’t do anything.”

            Michael turned to Y/N, his expression hardening. “Y/N, what did she say to you?”

            Y/N glanced up at him, her emotions barely in check. “Nothing,” she muttered, brushing past him and shouldering his arm as she did. “Just... reminiscing.”

            Michael frowned, watching her walk away, his jaw clenching. He turned back to the officer, still trying to make sense of the situation.

            “She told us about the baby she lost,” the officer explained, her voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

            Michael’s expression softened, but the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. He glanced toward the direction Y/N had gone, his heart twisting. He wanted to protect her, but he knew better than to push her right now.

            However, Lincoln didn’t waste a moment. “Keys to the car, where are they?” Lincoln asked in front of Jeanette. Michael looked over at Y/N, who was wiping his eyes. His heart went out to her, but Lincoln was about to make a stupid decision.

            “Just hold on,” Michael said. Lincoln grabbed the keys and began to walk. “You can’t do this, Linc. We’re five minutes away in there,” Michael said following after him.

            “We’ve been five minutes for four hours,” Lincoln responded.

            “Just give me some time,” Michael pleaded. “Be patient.”

            “You think I give a damn about the money?” Lincoln asked.

            “I’m doing what’s necessary!” Michael yelled.

            “You’re afraid to fail,” Lincoln bit back. “You’re afraid this big plan of yours ain’t gonna work out. You want to get caught proving you can pull this thing off, be my guest. LJ’s out there. I’m gonna get him.”

            Y/N focused on her fingers in the kitchen, playing with them as she glanced at the hostages.

            “I didn’t mean to make you upset,” the officer said.

            “You didn’t,” Y/N responded.

            “Was it with the mobster associated with you?” she continued to ask.

            “Why all the sudden questions?” Y/N asked, voice getting a little aggressive, being walking off to go back to Michael.

            She got to the garage, seeing him digging.

            “OK?” he asked.

            “Yup,” she mumbled back, grabbing a shovel. She stood next to Michael, beginning to dig when C-Note spoke up.

            “Yo, this is going to take all day. We need more manpower,” he said.

            “You know, standing around jabbering ain’t gonna get the dirt out of that ground,” T-Bag smirked.

            “All right, that’s it,” C-Note replied, grabbing Bagwell and throwing him into the hole. “Son of the bitch.”

            Y/N stopped digging looking over and sighing.

            The door opened and Sucre stated, “We got to roll.”

            “Why?” Y/N said, voice confused.

            “They got Tweener. It was on the radio,” Sucre explained.

            “Did they say anything about where we are?” Michael asked, holding the shovel.

            “I’m not hanging around to find out,” Sucre responded.

            “Well, maybe you should,” C-Note mumbled, spotting something in the ground. Michael looked down and then Y/N as they spotted some paper sitting in the ground. “Maybe you should,” he repeated, brushing the ground and looking up once he found what he was looking for. “Maybe we all should!”             Cash…a whole lot of cash was there in front of them. Everyone was grinning and hollering as they found what they were looking for. Slowly they packed it all, excited and talking about what they would buy with the cash. Y/N just sat there staring…that was a lot of money.         

            Someone appeared looking for Jeanette and Michael got rid of him, thankfully.

            Y/N continued to watch them with the cash, hoping nothing fishy goes down. Once Michael was back, everyone packed the cash into the backpacks before T-Bag threw cash at each of them.

            Sucre came back, gun pointed at them. “Drop the bag. No one’s going anywhere.”

            Y/N watched with a loud sigh escaping her as she shook her head. Everyone put what they were holding down. Parallelised, everyone was.

            “What the hell are you doing, man?” C-Note asked.

            “Sucre,” Michael whispered. “Whatever it is you want…”

            “I want the money, all of it.”

            “What, are you robbing us?” C-Note questioned in disbelief.

            “The money was never yours to begin with,” Sucre responded. “This is about business. $5 million worth of business.”

            “So, this is how it’s gonna go down, after everything?” Michael asked, voice low and hurt. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

            “You just figuring that out?” Sucre hummed. “The backpack…Now!”

            Y/N watched as this unfolded…

            “Don’t do this, buddy,” Michael whispered. However, Sucre took the bag.

            All of that for nothing. Y/N was in disbelief once again. It felt as though the plan was falling apart and the fear in her for what would next haunted her.

            Michael was her only chance of freedom otherwise, she would be back in the hands of the mob.

            Fear consumed her.

Here you go!

Hope you enjoy :)

I had so much fun writing this.

Much love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars @wonuskie @believeinthefireflies95 @esposadomd @peachmartini @rougegenshin @lindsayjoy444 @fearlessswxft

[fatehbaz]

In the late 18th century, [...] Lahaina carried such an abundance of water that early explorers reportedly anointed it “Venice of the Pacific”. A glut of natural wetlands nourished breadfruit trees, extensive taro terraces and fishponds that sustained wildlife and generations of Native Hawaiian families.

But more than a century and a half of plantation agriculture, driven by American and European colonists, have depleted Lahaina’s streams and turned biodiverse food forests into tinderboxes. Today, Hawaii spends $3bn a year importing up to 90% of its food. This altered ecology, experts say, gave rise to the 8 August blaze that decimated the historic west Maui town and killed more than 111 people.

“The rise of plantation capital spawned the drying of the west side of Maui,” said Kamana Beamer, a historian and a former member of the Hawaii commission on water resource management [...].

---

[S]ugar and pineapple white magnates began arriving on the islands in the early 1800s. For much of the next two centuries, Maui-based plantation owners like Alexander & Baldwin and Maui Land & Pineapple Company reaped enormous fortunes, uprooting native trees and extracting billions of gallons of water from streams to grow their thirsty crops. (Annual sugar cane production averaged 1m tons until the mid-1980s; a pound of sugar requires 2,000lb of freshwater to produce.)

Invasive plants that were introduced as livestock forage, like guinea grass, now cover a quarter of Hawaii’s surface area. The extensive use of pesticides on Maui’s pineapple fields poisoned nearby water wells. The dawn of large-scale agriculture dramatically changed land practices in Maui, where natural resources no longer served as a mode of food production or a habitat for birds but a means of generating fast cash, said Lucienne de Naie, an east Maui historian [...].

“The land was turned from this fertile plain – with these big healthy trees, wetland taros and dryland crops like banana and breadfruit – to a mass of monoculture: to rows and rows of sugar cane, and rows and rows of pineapple,” she said.

---

The Great Māhele of 1848, a ground-breaking law that legitimized private land ownership, laid the ground for big developers to hoard water for profit, said Jonathan Likeke Scheuer, a water policy consultant and co-author of the book Water and Power in West Maui. [...] [T]he creation of private property allowed agricultural corporations to wield “political and ultimately oligarchic power” over elected officials. In 1893, a group of sugar magnates and capitalists overthrew the Hawaiian Kingdom’s Queen Liliuokalani, paving the way for the US to annex Hawaii five years later. Sanford Ballard Dole, a cousin of Dole Plantation’s founder, served as the first governor of Hawaii.

When the last of the sugar companies closed in 2016 [...], Scheuer said, the farms were purchased by large investors for real estate speculation and left fallow, overrun with invasive grasses that became fuel for brush fires. Developers [...] took control of the plantations’ century-old irrigation ditches and diverted water to service its luxury subdivisions. In doing so, it left scraps for Indigenous families who lived downstream. [...] [O]n Maui, 16 of the top 20 water users are resorts, time-shares and short-term condominium rentals equipped with emerald golf courses and glittering pools [...].

---

Text by: Claire Wang. "How 19th-century pineapple plantations turned Maui into a tinderbox". The Guardian. 27 August 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I must say that this is one of the most unique properties I’ve ever posted. It was built in 1977 to resemble some of the red brick towers in Denmark. It’s located in Rural Camrose County, Sherman Park Subdivision, Alberta, Canada. It has 3bds. 1ba. and is a bargain at $175K.

The entry hall. 

Look at this curved door. The stairs look precarious, and they just keep going up to the 2nd tower level with nothing but a rope to hold onto.

Entering the kitchen, there’s a fairly large dining area with a built-in window seat.

On the other side of this fireplace is a large built-in seat.

And, since I don’t see another one, I’m going to say that this is the living room.

I don’t know what the building codes are in Canada, but this home looks like a DIY job. These wires in the kitchen should be redone, at least.

The sink is so tiny, I would have to replace it. 

The hallway to the 3 bds. is nice and wide.

The bds. are tiny and rounded.

I would call this one the main bd. 

I wonder if the wide floorboards are architectural salvage.

This is the single bathroom. 

Definitely a homemade shower. 

This is a room in the basement.

I do love the rooftop deck.

There’s also a deck at the back of the house.

Plus an acre of land on the waterfront. The price is low enough that it would be making some upgrades.

https://www.realtor.ca/real-estate/25611686/158-22113-twp-rd-440-rural-camrose-county-sherman-park

[realtyhubph-blog]

St Dominic Corinthians Foreclosed Lot San Fernando

Attention Investors and Big Families! This foreclosed 5-bedroom house in Punta Verde Angeles City is a steal at only Php 7M. This spacious property boasts a wide frontage and is near major establishments and schools. Complete property documents and ban

📍 Lot 10 & 12 Block 17 Phase 3 Aralia St., Punta Verde Subd.,Pulong Cacutud, Angeles, Pampanga Property Features TYPE: 2-Storey House📐Lot: 360 sq meters | Floor: 225.5 sq. meters🛌 5 Bedrooms🛀 4 Bathrooms✅ 2 Lots, wide frontage of 24 meters✅ AS-IS-WHERE-IS Basis✅ Complete property documents✅ Bank with Possession; With Notice of Tax Lien Annotated on both Titles NEARBY POINTS OF INTEREST La…

[dsbdesign]

DSB is your end to end solution for property development services, from feasibility and concept, to build and marketing/sale of dwellings (licensed estate agents).

[botgal]

oh and which sites will be affected ofc

AB 3080, according to the bill's text, would affect websites which sells the types of items listed below

"

(b) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) An aerosol container of paint that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(2) Etching cream that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(3) Dangerous fireworks, as referenced in Sections 12505 and 12689 of the Health and Safety Code.

(4) Tanning in an ultraviolet tanning device, as referenced in Sections 22702 and 22706 of the Business and Professions Code.

(5) Dietary supplement products containing ephedrine group alkaloids, as referenced in Section 110423.2 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) Body branding, as referenced in Sections 119301 and 119302 of the Health and Safety Code.

(c) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) Firearms or handguns, as referenced in Sections 16520, 16640, and 27505 of the Penal Code.

(2) A BB device, as referenced in Sections 16250 and 19910 of the Penal Code.

(3) Ammunition or reloaded ammunition, as referenced in Sections 16150 and 30300 of the Penal Code.

(4) Any tobacco, cigarette, cigarette papers, blunt wraps, any other preparation of tobacco, any other instrument or paraphernalia that is designed for the smoking or ingestion of tobacco, products prepared from tobacco, or any controlled substance, as referenced in Division 8.5 (commencing with Section 22950) of the Business and Professions Code, and Sections 308, 308.1, 308.2, and 308.3 of the Penal Code.

(5) Electronic cigarettes, as referenced in Section 119406 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) A less lethal weapon, as referenced in Sections 16780 and 19405 of the Penal Code."

This is stated explicitly to include "internet website on which the owner of the internet website, for commercial gain, knowingly publishes sexually explicit content that, on an annual basis, exceeds one-third of the contents published on the internet website". Wherein "sexually explicit content" is defined as "visual imagery of an individual or individuals engaging in an act of masturbation, sexual intercourse, oral copulation, or other overtly sexual conduct that, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value."

This would likely not include websites like AO3 or any website which displays NSFW content not in excess of 1/3 of the content on the site. Possibly not inclusive of writing because of the "visual imagery", but don't know at this time. In any case we don't want to set a precedent off of which it could springboard into non-commercial websites or any and all places with NSFW content.

AB 1949 is a lot more broad because it's about general data collection by any and all websites in which they might sell personal data collected by the website to third parties, especially if aimed specifically at minors or has a high chance of minors commonly accesses the site. But with how broad the language is I can't say there would be ANY limits to this one. So both are equally bad and would require equal attention in my opinion.

[millerflintstone]

Crazy weekend, y'all. There are two other houses for sale in the subdivision. We are not as big as the other two in terms of square feet that you pay property taxes on. We don't really have a yard but our acreage is bigger (.76 of an acre vs .25 ish for both). The biggest selling points IMO are that we have a finished basement, it's kinda secluded because of the woods which is hard to find in the area, and since we're on a hill, flooding issues would be rare.

We have beaten the other 2 houses on views and saves on Zillow. One house listed the day before and the other has been on there a week.

Friday we had a request to view the house within an hour of it being listed. There were 2 viewings on Saturday and Sunday and one request for 7:45 pm tonight. So it hasn't been a ton of people but having to leave the house and make sure it all looks presentable has been a bit odd, especially since we still have some stuff to pack

Movers quotes are in progress. I finally found who we used for MI to GA. It was a MI company called Corrigan Moving Systems but they were a United agent. I can't remember how much we paid then. This is from an email to Unfriendly's parents. I'll report back on current pricing but since it's a longer distance it's not really apples to apples.