#how square feet is an acre

[estatedrive]

Welcome to Estate Drive In this video, we explore why investing in Himachal Pradesh is a smart decision for outsiders and non-Himachalis. Discover the benefits, opportunities, and unique aspects of investing in this beautiful state.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Make The Most Out Of A Bad Situation

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: minor angst

Summary: Bucky comes to your rescue even though you didn’t ask for it. He punishes you even though you did nothing to deserve it. He kisses you even if it’s supposed to be wrong.

Squares Filled: plums (2020) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

I can’t believe I’m here right now. All I want to do is go home and snuggle in bed where I can watch movie after movie. But no. You can’t really blame Natasha. Her boyfriend is the one who is thrown this party with his best friend who just so happens to be your enemy. You and Bucky have never gotten along, even before Nat and Steve started dating. You don’t want to ask her to leave knowing she came with you. You don’t think she’d mind but she hasn’t seen him in a while and you don’t want to take that from her.

The party scene isn’t really what you’re into, so you decided to take a walk around the ten-acre property. You’ve been to this house plenty of times so you know it like the back of your hand, which is why you’re toward the back where there is this small pond that freezes over in the wintertime. You like to sneak onto the property and go ice skating when you can, and you haven’t been caught yet.

The music can be heard from where you are but it’s faint which gives you some time to think with a clear head. Bucky and Steve bought this property when they were in their early twenties and have taken care of it ever since. They have beautiful plum trees that you love to snack on, and you grab one that is hanging low for the taking. You take a big bite and moan at the delicious taste.

You toss the scraps onto the ground knowing small animals will come to feed off it. This place is notorious for deer passing through it. Not now. Not when there is a major party going on. Speaking of, you should really get back. You’re the one who drove here but maybe Natasha won’t mind staying here and letting Steve take her home. You start to head back when three guys come out from the tree line. You’d be scared if you didn’t know who all three of them were.

They’re Bucky’s annoying and arrogant friends.

“What are you guys doing here?” you ask and stop walking.

“See? I told you she’d be out here. All alone like a fucking loser.”

“Yeah, good one,” you roll your eyes.

You try to get past them but they won’t let you go that easily.

“Whoa, where are you going? Stay. Hang out with us,” one of them chuckles.

“No thanks.”

“What an ungrateful bitch, guys. Care to show her what we do to ungrateful bitches?”

On of them grabs your arm tightly and begins to drag you to the pond.

“I hope you love to swim.” That’s when panic sets in. You try tog et away and that makes the man holler in victory. “I think she wants to go for a swim!”

“No, don’t, please!”

You never learned how to swim. You didn’t have a pool growing up, and your parents were too busy to take you to swim lessons. You never liked the water so you never had a desire to learn to swim. Man, you’re regretting that decision right about now.

“Hey.” Everyone turns to see Bucky coming out from behind the trees. “Knock it off. The bitch can’t swim so if you plan on drowning her, do it elsewhere.”

“Whatever. Come on guys. She’s not worth it,” one of them say.

All three of them walk away, leaving you and Bucky by the pond.

“I could have handled that, you know. I didn't need saving, asshole.”

Bucky takes two long strides over to you before pushing you into the warm waters below.

“How about now, doll?” he smirks.

Flight or fight kicks in, and you kick your legs to try and keep your head above water. However, its not working and you’re sinking faster than you’re floating. Seconds later, hands are grabbing your arms and pulling you out of the water. As soon as your feet are planted on solid ground, you must up every ounce of strength and shove Bucky away from you.

“You’re a dick! I’m out of here.”

“With what car?”

His words make you stop in your tracks, and you flip your hair over your shoulder.

“My car.”

“I’ll drive you home. Come on.”

Bucky walks past you but you don’t move an inch.

“If you think I’m going anywhere with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Bucky smirks and reaches into his pocket only to pull out your car keys. What the hell? You feel your pockets and your keys are missing. He must have taken them when he pulled you from the pond.

“It’s not what I think, Doll, it’s what I know. You’re stuck with me until I say otherwise.”

“Give me my keys.” You storm over to him and try to grab it from him but he moves his hands to a height you can’t reach. “What are you, five?” You try again but receive the same reaction. “Fine. Keep them. Shove them up your ass for all I care. I’ll walk home.”

“Take one more step and I’ll gladly throw your ass back in the water.”

You turn to face Bucky and with a smirk, you take one more step back. Bucky moves faster than you can process, and he throws you over his shoulder. You know exactly what is going to happen so this time, you prepare yourself. Bucky tosses you back into the water but instead of going in alone, you make sure to bring Bucky with you. You cling to his clothes and drag him under with you.

He is a whopping six foot man while you’re much shorter than that, so he can stand comfortably on the bottom of the pond and still have his head above water. You wrap your legs around his waist and cling to him like a dryer square on pants. Bucky’s hands go under your ass to keep you there, and you two stare into each other eyes.

“That’s what you get for tossing me--”

Bucky cuts you off and plants his lips over yours in a searing kiss. Never have you ever thought you’d be kissing Bucky Barnes but now that you are, you have no idea why you weren't doing this before. All the pent-up tension and hate turns into passion and lust. His hands claw at your clothes, you fist your hands in his hair, and his lips leave a hot imprint on your skin.

“No, we can’t do this,” you pull away, breathless.

The look in his eyes tells you that he doesn’t care. You lean in again and kiss him, this time with feeling. This might be a one-time thing and if so, you’re going to make the best out of a bad situation.

x

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[hometoursandotherstuff]

This looks like such a normal house. It looks like a development I once lived in. It was built in 2007 in Calhoun, Tennessee, but there's nothing ordinary about it. 3bds, 4.5ba, $424,900.

I was not expecting this. Do you see how the tile curves where it meets the wood? Interesting.

This is actually the kitchen.

Believe it or not, those 3 arches are the kitchen.

Check this out- they took the appliances, but if you want to go to the fridge, you go to the alcove on the left. To cook, you go to the one on the right where the stove is. Then, when it's time to load the dishwasher, that's in the middle pantry. How inconvenient is this? Running back & forth, in and out. What psycho designed this kitchen?

If you need water to cook, the sink is in here. I have never seen anything like this.

Double-sided fireplace so you can enjoy it in the kitchen and the living room. Stairs to the bedrooms are on the right.

I think that this is the primary bedroom. Is that a window above the double window?

The en-suite bath and closet.

The rooms are such odd shapes. What's up with the floor? Did they "pickle" it with white paint?

This room has a large deck.

Very large bath, too. Either the new owner has to take a toothbrush to that grout or have it redone.

The hallway has a bookshelf wall.

This bedroom seems to have a dance floor. What is that white tile? A pattern? Honestly, it looks like 1st base.

This room has a tile floor and a small en-suite.

Stairs to the rec room.

This is a very large space and you can walk right out to the yard.

There's a bathroom down here, also. Why do they put teeny tanks on the new toilets? They look out of proportion.

You can see from the back of the house that the ground floor is partially underground. There's a garage, but no driveway, just lawn.

The patio is attached to a 2 car garage.

The lighting on the ceiling is pretty cool.

This home and the neighbors are in a clearing and this particular home has 5.3 acres of land.

[bonefall]

looking at the nutrition guide posts again, and you say that the clans' territories are bigger than one might think.... how big do you imagine they might be? the book maps always make them seem smaller than they probably actually are due to art scaling

There is no way to give a perfect number, because productivity of land depends a lot more on what's on it rather than raw size. An old-growth oak forest will have more squirrels in an acre than a sitka spruce plantation will in miles.

But this is an aerial photo of Peng Chau island, which is a landform notable for being almost EXACTLY 1 square kilometer.

That's 10 million square feet, for those of us burdened by imperial, and 247 acres, for... farmers idk. Or, 100 hecatares for those who are aware that most UK nature reserves measure their land in hecs.

(does this seem big? it's not. this is merely two 18-hole golf courses. or maybe we should destroy all golf courses. who knows :P)

According to the John Muir Trust, which researches red deer density and conversation, 1 square kilometer can sustainably support 5 red deer; more deer than that and they will begin to damage the environment. Britain is so ecologically devastated that the deer density is more like 10 to 1, but this is what apex predators like boars, lynxes, and wolves are SUPPOSED to be for.

(Remember: the ratio of 5:1 is still an average. The TYPE of land is going to matter A LOT MORE than the raw size.)

So if you're asking me, who has ruled that the White Hart/Forest Territory has an entire herd of red deer which hunters come to shoot at, I'd say the area was at least 3 square kilometers. Enough for a sustainable herd of 15 deer.

(But I imagine the Windovers sometimes toss hay out at them, to sustain a pretty sizeable herd. The map names the WindClan territory the "Windover Moor" so I imagine they actually own the majority of the area. I also write the entire White Hart being MUCH larger than the minimum 3 sKM, more like 10 sKM counting all the territories put together. BUT I don't think about it too much-- I just know it's not a tiny little backyard area.)

(Also Sanctuary Lake is even larger.)

[orcinus-veterinarius]

Hiya! Would you be willing to explain why keeping captive right whales is completely nonviable, as you mentioned? I’m fascinated, but the adhd simply will not let me parse scientific papers.

That's a fantastic question! While it would be wonderful if captive breeding were a viable option for this critically endangered species, it just isn't possible under any realistic conditions.

For starters, their size. Orcas are the largest mammals successfully held in captivity, and we all know how difficult (and controversial) that is, with only a very small handful of facilities ever pulling it off with any semblance of success. Tilikum, the largest captive orca (although I believe that record has since been overtaken by a male in China), was 22.5 feet (6.9 meters) long and weighed 12,500 pounds (5,700 kg). Most other orcas in human care, particularly the females, are considerably smaller. Compare that to a northern right whale. Even the smallest adults are over 40 feet long—double Tilikum's length—and weigh 88,000 pounds (40,000 kg)—seven times his weight—while the biggest specimens on record reached up to 61 feet (18.5 m) and an incredible 234,000 pounds (106,000 kg).

A tank for an animal that size would be far beyond anything we have the ability to engineer and maintain. Think of how deep it would have to be for the whale to even turn around! The water pressure would be astronomical, wreaking havoc on the building materials even if it were possible to build the structure. And remember—someone has to dive to clean it! Our theoretical right whale habitat would have to be a sea pen, but even the 100-acre facilities proposed with orcas in mind are nowhere near deep enough. While right whales are considered to inhabit "coastal" waters, they do not live right up by the shoreline, like certain orca ecotypes and other small delphinids. They are a pelagic species, designed to live out in the open water column, as are all baleen whales. So, the pen would have to be a floating habitat miles out into the open water (think of an offshore oil rig), with netting sturdy enough to not be destroyed by a 50 ton whale and long enough to extend hundreds of feet to the ocean floor. We're talking probably thousands of square miles of netting, that would have to be routinely inspected for safety and upkeep. So, you would probably need a submersible, since no human can dive that deep. On top of that, it would be difficult to find such a larger stretch of ocean in their habitat without shipping lanes, underwater noise, or pollution. And let's just forget about the logistics of staffing that place—or worse, funding.

Additionally, we wouldn't be able to feed them by tossing fish into their mouth like with dolphins. Northern right whales feed on tiny crustaceans and zooplankton, cruising along and filtering the creatures from the water with their baleen. Assuming our right whale keepers were somehow able to acquire the insane amount of food the whale requires (potentially over 5000 pounds of zooplankton a day), it would need to be scattered throughout the massive habitat to facilitate feeding. I imagine this would probably look something like the way Georgia Aquarium feeds their whale sharks from a little boat, although on a much larger scale. And since the food obviously can't be kept alive, we would need to develop someway of delivering the daily vitamins that are lost in the freezing process—and to keep hundreds of tons of krill frozen on a floating kitchen in the middle of the ocean.

Of course, the ultimate goal of this project would be to breed northern right whales... that means we need to take everything we just talked about and double it, at a bare minimum. For the breeding program to be successful, it would need a whole lot more than just two whales. And unfortunately, even if we lived in world with magical floating thousand-acre sea pens, unlimited krill, and endless money... we still don't know if it would even work. Right whale breeding habits are poorly understood, with the whales mating in cold northern waters before migrating 1,000 miles south to calve. Despite our best theoretical efforts, these migratory patterns could very well be necessary for successful reproduction.

Thank you again for the ask! This was actually a lot of fun to think about! If you want to read about JJ, the only baleen whale ever successfully housed in (temporary) human care, you can find an article and pictures here.

[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.

[arthur-lesters-right-arm]

The implication of the pipe organ is the larger the body of water the more dramatic of an instrument, thus in the opposite direction if faroe drowned in a bucket he would be carrying one of those cat pianos

So I wanted to use this logic to see what instrument Arthur would have played if Faroe drowned in a pool

So:

The average bathtub can hold about 40-70 gallons of water. Averaging about 55 gallons

At the time I'm assuming Arthur didn't have the money/space for a full grand and would most likely have some sort of upright piano.

An average upright piano is around 500-800 lbs averaging at 650 lbs

The average swimming pool is around 18,000-20,000 gallons which makes the growth rate from 55-19,000 gallons to around 344.4545

Using y=a(1+b) with y being the final amount in lbs, a being the initial weight of the instrument in lbs, and b being the growth rate, that gives us. 224,542.5 lbs

Someone said that Arthur would play an organ if Faroe drowned in a pool, which is kind of a dead end to figure out because of how varying organs are in weight and I doubt they'd be able to match 224,542.5 lbs. But who knows, I'm in no way an organ expert and please correct me if I'm wrong.

However, I tried the same thing but measuring a piano in Base Size. Average upright piano is 58 inches in width and 24 inches in length. Making our base area 1,392 square inches

Using the same growth rate, that would mean Arthur's instrument would have to be 480,866.4 square inches. Making that 40,072 square feet

Stay with me here. The reason I tried base size instead of weight was because while looking for gigantuous instruments I found this:

The Great Stalacpipe Organ. Located in Luray Caverns, Virrginia, USA, and stretches over 3.5 acres. Now 40,072 square feet is a lot buts it's only 0.92 acres which doesn't exactly cut it. But the good news is we're going based off hypothetical logic and all we need to do to get Arthur to play this little number is to drown poor Faroe in a bigger fuck ton of water!

So, that being said,

We need to find how many gallons of water are needed to make his instrument 152,460 ft.

So if we convert 152,460 ft into inches we now have 1,829,520 inches

If we take the growth rate from 1,392 to 1,829,520 (Which is 1313.31034) and plug it into the eq y=55(1+1313.31034) that gets us 72,287.069.

We can check this by taking the growth rate of 55 to 72,287.069 (which is 1313.31039) and plug it into our original y=1393(1+1313.310) which gets us 1,830,833.83, the exact size of our Organ!

So that being said, 72,287.069, which is about the size of a small lake, is exactly how many gallons of water we'd need to drown Faroe in to make Arthur play The Great Stalacpipe Organ!

**Side note I did this all at literal midnight so I'm providing my calculations because there's like a 80% chance I totally fucked something crucial up because 1. I'm like the textbook definition of mathematically illiterate and 2. It's midnight

[wheelscomedyandmore]

Mar-A-Lago is 62,500 square feet and is on 20 acres, but according to Leticia James it’s only worth 18 million dollars. It's actually valued a $1.2 billion.

Kevin Griffith just bought 27 acres next door for a $450 million dollers.with no home.

A 4,421 square foot home in Palm Beach is currently listed for 11.5 million dollars.

A 13,353 square foot home in Palm Beach is listed at 45 million dollars.

A 21.406 square foot home in Palm Beach is listed at 187 million dollars. I know math is very hard for the left but since Mar-A-Lago is three times the size of the most expensive listing in Palm Beach.. there is zero chance could be worth only 18 million dollars.

In fact, in 1985,

a NYT article chronicles a 12,000 square foot 6.5 million dollar house that was built in Palm Beach.

Again, I know math is hard but Mar-A-Lago is 62,509 square feet

which would put the value of the property in 1985 around 33 million dollars.

Wondering how it’s possible for a judge to be this corrupt and still sit on the bench.

Also wondering how 30% of America is dumber than a box of rocks and allows themselves to be lied to every day.

[racefortheironthrone]

Re zoning regulation reform: could you go into detail as what that would look like in terms of wiping the slate clean. I feel like it would be better to go the houston route and just be zoning free

You do not want to go the Houston route.

Houston may claim to be "zoning-free" - and to be fair, it doesn't have some of the more common regulations on land use, or density, or height restrictions (more on this in a minute) - but the reality is far more complicated and the status quo is not one that's friendly to the interests of working-class and poor residents, or to the possibility of sustainable urbanism.

The answer to NIMBYism isn't to abolish all regulations and let the free market rip, it's to surgically target zoning, planning, and litigation that is used against affordable housing, public/social housing, mass transit, clean energy, and walkable neighborhoods, and to replace it with new forms of regulation that encourage these forms of development.

So let's take take these categories in order.

Zoning

As I tell my Urban Studies students, zoning is both one of the most subtle and yet comprehensive ways in which the state shapes the urban environment - but historically it has been used almost exclusively in the interests of racism and classism. Reforming zoning requires going over the code with a fine-toothed comb to single out all the many ways in which zoning is used to make affordable housing impossible:

The most important one to tackle first is density zoning and building heights limitations. The former directly limits how many buildings you can have per unit of land (usually per acre), while the latter limits how big the buildings can be (expressed either as the number of stories or the number of feet, or as both). Closely associated with these zoning regulations are minimum lot size regulations (which regulate how much land each individual parcel of real estate has to cover, and thus how many how many housing units can be built in a given area), and lot coverage, setbacks, and minimum yard requirements (which limit how much square footage of a lot can be built on, and what kinds of structures you can build).

the other big one is use zoning. To begin with, we need to phase out "single use" zoning that designates certain areas as exclusively residential or commercial or industrial (a major factor that drives car-centric development, makes walkable neighborhoods impossible, and discourages the "insula" style apartment building that has been the core of urbanism since Ancient Rome) in favor of "mixed use" zoning that allows for neighborhoods that combine residential and commercial uses. Equally importantly, we need to eliminate single-family zoning and adopt zoning rules that allow for a mix of different kinds of housing (ADUs, duplexes and triplexes, rowhouses/terraced houses, apartment buildings).

finally, the most insidious zoning requirements are seemingly incidental regulations. For example, mandatory parking minimums not only prioitize car-dependent versus transit-oriented development but also eat up huge amounts of space per lot. The most nakedly classist is "unrelated persons" zoning, which is used to prevent poorer people from subdividing houses into apartments, which zaps young people who are looking to be roommates and older people looking to finance their retirements by running boarding houses or taking in lodgers, as well as landlords looking to convert houses from owner-occupied to rental properties.

So I would argue that the goal of reform should be not to eliminate zoning, but rather to establish model zoning codes that have been stripped of the historical legacies of racism and classism.

Planning

Similar to how zoning shouldn't be abolished but reformed, the correct approach to planning isn't to abolish planning departments wholesale, but to streamline the planning process - because the problem is that right now the planning process is too slow, which raises the costs of all kinds of development (we're focusing on housing right now, but the same holds true for clean energy projects), and it allows NIMBY groups to abuse the public hearings and environmental review process to block projects that are good for the environment and working-class and poor people but bad for affluent homeowners.

As those Ezra Klein interviews indicate, this is beginning to change due to a combination of reforms at both the state and federal level to speed up the CEQA and EPA environmental review process in a number of ways. For example, one change that's being made is to require planning agencies and environmental agencies to report on the environmental impact of not doing a project as well, to shift the discussion away from petty complaints about noise and traffic and "neighborhood character" (i.e, coded racism and classism) and towards real discussions of social and environmental justice.

At the same time, more is needed - especially to reform the public hearing process. While originally intended by Jane Jacobs and other activists in the 1970s as a democratic reform that would give local communities a voice in the planning process, "participatory planning" has become a way for special interests to exercise an unaccountable veto power over development. Because younger, poorer and more working class, and communities of color often don't have time to attend public hearing sessions during the workday, these meetings become dominated by older, whiter, and richer residents who claim to speak for the whole of the community.

Moreover, because community boards are appointed rather than elected and public hearings operate on a first-come-first-serve basis, an unrepresentative minority can create a false impression of community opposition by "stacking the mike" and dialing up their level of militancy and aggression in the face of elected officials and civil servants who want to avoid controversy. (It's a classic case of diffuse versus concentrated interests, something that I spend a lot of classroom time making sure that my students learn.)

Again, the point shouldn't be to eliminate public hearings and other forms of participatory planning, but to reform them so that they're more representative (shifting public hearings to weekends and allowing people to comment via Zoom and other online forums, conducting surveys of community opinion, using a progressive stack and requiring equal time between pro and anti speakers, etc.) and to streamline the review process for model projects in categories like affordable housing, clean energy, mass transit, etc.

Litigation

Alongside the main planning process, there is also a need to reform the litigation process around development. In addition to traditional tort lawsuits from property owners claiming damage to their property from development, a lot of planning and environemntal legislation allows for private groups to sue over a host of issues - whether the agency followed the correct procedures, whether it took into account concerns about this impact or that impact, and so forth.

As we saw with the case of Berkeley NIMBYs who used CEQA to block student housing projects over environmental impacts around "noise," this process can be used to either block projects outright, or even if the NIMBYs eventually lose in court, to draw out the process until projects fall apart due to lack of funding or the proponents simply lose their patience and give up.

This is why we're starting to see significant reforms to both state and federal legislation to streamline the litigation process. The categorical exemptions from review that I discussed above also have implications for litigation - you can't sue over reviews that didn't happen - but there are also efforts to speed up the litigation process through reducing what counts as "administrative record" or by putting a nine-month cap on court proceedings.

Again, this is an area where you have to be very surgical in your changes. Especially when the politics of the issue divide environmental groups and create odd coalitions between labor, business, climate change activists, and anti-regulation conservatives, you have to be careful that the changes you are making benefit affordable housing, clean energy, mass transit and the like, not oil pipelines and suburban sprawl.

[lokis-army-77]

Wild Hearts Pt. 1

Cowboy!Eddie Munson x female reader

Word Count: 1866

Reader is back home from college and ready to show her father she has what it takes to help out with the farm, little does she know the new ranch hand will be somewhat of a pain in her ass... until he isn't.

Warning: Nothing in this chapter except the reader calls her dad "daddy" a few times, but obviously not in THAT way.

Masterlist 

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College had been an experience, to say the least. The stress of taking five to six classes a semester and taking mini-semesters in summer and winter I had little time for myself and barely any time to call home. I never thought I would miss the smell of the barn or getting up before the crack of dawn to help with the long list of daily chores. The closer it got to graduation, the more anxious I was to return home. I craved the rolling hills and the beauty of the Appalachian mountains, I needed to feel the wind in my hair as I rode my horse through acres upon acres of pasture, her hoof beats falling into rhythm with my racing heart. I was a cowgirl born and raised and college life had drained me.

The flight back home had been a late one and thankfully only lasted around four hours which gave me plenty of time to try and sleep. But, even though packing and waiting at the airport almost all day had exhausted me so much that the crapy airplane seats were actually comfortable, I couldn’t get any rest. 

Thoughts plagued me of how the ranch might have changed in the almost three years I had been gone. Mama and Daddy always kept me up to date but our last real phone call that didn’t involve the planning of my homecoming, was maybe five or six months ago, granted there were texts in between but there were just to say ‘hi’ and ‘I love you’, maybe to wish me luck on a big test. Even though I was nervous, I was excited too. I was ready to see my family. 

…

When the plane landed, I rushed to the baggage claim, grabbed my suitcase, and then hightailed it to the exit where I spotted my dad waiting just past the exit doors, cowboy hat and all. I raced to him and he took me into his arms, hugging me tightly. 

I could feel his chest shaking as he chuckled. “Nice to see you too, Baby doll.” 

“I missed you so much.” I hugged him tighter.

He just laughed and shook his head. “You saw me a week ago when I came to put all your stuff into the moving van.” 

“Yeah, but a week is such a long time.” I finally let him go, standing back to smile widely at him. 

“Come on,” He reached for the handles of my luggage. “Let's get you home, your Mama’s dying to see ya.” 

I followed him to the old beat-up blue pickup truck that stuck out amongst the shiny new cars in the parking garage like a sore thumb. The passenger-side door creaked as I opened it and the smell of the ranch hit me square in the face, hints of hay and horse. Sparse glimpses of brown and white hair were the tale-tell sign that our border collie Maggie had been sitting on the scratchy cloth seats. There was dirt everywhere inside but it didn’t matter to me as I sat on the warn dirty seat next to my Dad, it was familiar. 

As we drove we fell into easy conversation. Mostly about my time at college and what’s been going on at the farm, all the stuff that was never said over the phone.

“Your brother has started driving. Nearly gave me a heart attack when I let him practice by driving the hour to town on Thursday.” Dad laughed. 

“Lord, Dad, you have more courage than me. I would never get within fifty feet of him inside a motorized vehicle. Remember when he tried to run me over with the lawn mower when he was seven?” I sighed, remembering being chased around the front yard by a child who was hysterically laughing at me as I tried to get away from him. 

“Yes, I remember.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

“Even though he tried to kill me, I’m excited to see him. Did he really have to get sick right before my graduation?” 

“You know him, the kid always ends up with a bug during important events. Missed the first day of Spring round up this year 'cause he had a fever.” 

After that, we settled into a nice quiet, I turned up the radio and the sounds of Kenny Rogers, George Straight, and Waylon Jennings poured into the cab. I mouthed the words as I watched the fields pass us by in the dark, I could only imagine what it would look like in the daylight. Wide open fields with either cattle or horses grazing, plenty of corn growing as well as other crops, and the mountains in the background with the clear blue sky above. 

…

I was kicked out of my daydream when the radio was turned down when we were maybe thirty minutes from the house. I turned to look at my dad, eyebrows raised in silent questioning. 

“Almost forgot to tell you but we hired a new ranch hand a couple of months back when Alan hurt his back. He’s a few years older than you so you’ll  get along real well.”

“Oh, okay. That’s nice to know Dad.” I paused. “Does this new guy have a name?”

“Uh, we call him Munson but his first name is Eddie.” 

I nod, listening to him. “Cool, maybe I’ll get to introduce myself to him tomorrow. We don’t ever get new people around here.” 

I could feel myself becoming more and more excited as Dad finally turned onto the old dirt driveway. It curved through the hills and pastures for almost three miles before the lights of the house could be seen and even then it was another two before you pulled up to park. 

The sky was as clear as ever and it was almost like you could see to the ends of the universe as you looked into the night. Never had I missed something more than when I looked up at the night sky when I was in college only to find that the light pollution dulled out the stars so much it was almost like they had never existed.  

As we came closer to the house, I could see two awaiting figures backlit by the front porch light. Mama and Randy, our other ranch hand, stood waiting. Mama jumped up and down as Dad parked the truck then bounded down the stairs and directly to me. Throwing open the passenger side door she took me into her arms. 

“Oh, my baby girl.” She planted dozens of kisses all over my face. “Missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too, Mama.” I smiled, laughing as she squeezed me into a tight hug. I hugged her back as best I could with the restriction of the seatbelt and the awkward position. 

“Was your flight okay? Are you hungry? Sleepy?” 

“It was long but good,” I answered. “And yes to both. I’m dying for something to eat and my own bed.” 

She let go then, allowing me to unbuckle myself and exit the vehicle. 

I couldn't help the giddy laugh when I spotted Randy's lanky form striding past my parents as they hugged. He opened his arms and I ran to him. He picked me up and spun us around before placing me back on solid ground. 

"I've missed you, Trouble." He squeezed my shoulders tight. "Let's get a good look at ya."

He held me away from himself and studied me as I smiled widely at him. 

"I'm no more trouble than you are." I laughed at the nickname he had given me as a young child. 

“Mumhm, if you say so.” He playfully ruffled my hair before pulling me into one last hug. “Really glad you’re back.” 

“Me too. I’ve missed this place.”

“Well, it’s missed you too. I think the horses could tell you were gone. Plus it just never felt the same without you buggin’ me all the time.” 

I pushed away from him, my face stuck in a permanent smile. Randy had always been like an unofficial uncle to me, especially since he was Dad's closest friend and had always been in my life.

After the greetings in the front yard, we moved into the house where I sat down and Mama began cooking a late-night dinner of farm-fresh eggs and crispy bacon. It was a meal I had longed for since leaving home and now I was finally getting it. 

It tasted like heaven on a plate and I devoured every bit of it, even asking for seconds. I hadn’t eaten in hours and there was just something about traveling that made you extra hungry, especially in the middle of the night. 

When the food had been eaten and all my things had been brought upstairs to my room, everyone told me good night. Mama and Daddy both gave me a kiss on the cheek before closing the door and letting me settle in. 

My room looked the same as it had before I left. It seemed Mama had been keeping up with the cleaning because there was no trace of dust or the slightest stuffy sent rooms get when they’ve gone unused for a while. The small twin bed still had the old white comforter on it with the colorful patchwork quilt my grandmother had made, before she passed, draped across the foot. I traced the painted white wrought iron bed frame with my fingers, it was cool to the touch. 

Turning around I looked at the wooden dresser. I eyed it wearily, thinking about how I would have to put all my clothes up soon, but that could wait a few days. While thinking of clothes, I went to my suitcase, which was lying on the floor beside my bed, and pulled out my pajamas. 

It felt nice to be in something so thin and simple, like a spaghetti-strap tank top and shorts. Having my travel clothes off of me felt so relieving like I had been cleansed in some sort of way. 

I turned my light off next and was about to climb into bed when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lights of the barn. Usually, they were off by this time of night as we neared almost two in the morning. So, I walked over to the window and leaned over my desk to see outside. To my surprise, in the light of the barn door, was a man. With it being dark and the only light on him being from behind. It wasn’t Daddy and it wasn’t Randy, so it must have been the new guy, Eddie. 

He was working on something I couldn’t quite see, but fortunately for me,  I could see the way his biceps bulged against the shirt he was wearing even from this distance. I watched him for the better part of ten minutes before he paced back into the barn and the lights shut off. After that, I had no clue where he went. 

So, with new thoughts about the new guy, I fell back onto my bed. Exhausted and excited to be home.

...

Cowboy!Eddie taglist: @munson-blurbs @munsonology @my-malachai-stilinski @tiannamortis @chrissymjstan @chelebelletx @breathinfive

[estatedrive]

Square feet to Acres

Converting "square feet to acres" is essential for comprehending property sizes accurately. At Estate Drive, your premier Chandigarh-based real estate partner, we simplify this conversion process for you. One acre equates to 43,560 square feet. Armed with this understanding, you can gauge property dimensions effectively, facilitating seamless decision-making in your real estate endeavors. Whether you're exploring expansive acres or compact square footage, Estate Drive is committed to providing you with the knowledge and support you need to navigate the real estate landscape with confidence.

[nonobadcat]

A real world AU Gothic Romance - part 1/3

Pairing: Ghost Shigaraki X Fem!Reader

Rating: Chapter one is PG-13. The other two chapters will be for readers 18+ only.

Content Warnings: Dead dog mention, cannon typical parricide

Eventual Kinks: Toys, V/oy, relations with a literal ghost

Chapter One Word Count: ~3k, Ao3 Mirror

Part 2 ---❤--- Part 3

Saturday October 15th, 2022

“So…?” gesturing like a vaudeville showman, you held out both hands towards your new house. “What do you think!? Great, right?”

Your best friend, Serenity, shoved her purple box-frame glasses up her wide, button nose and pursed her plush lips. Clicking her tongue, she curled her pointer finger into a loose coil of hair. Two tone sarcasm purred into her one word reply: “M-hmmm…”

Scratching the back of your neck, you glanced up at your new purchase just in time to watch one of the old tiles slip from the upper pitch of the dual-hipped roof. It bounced off the attic dormer, rolled past the mildew coated eaves, and slid across the mossy porch awning before tumbling a mere foot into the patchy, overgrown taxus bush. 

You forced a smile and pointed to the ancient, untamed yew. “Well, at least the roots are strong.”

Serenity pinched the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me you didn't use the realtor's home inspector."

"Oh come on Ren-Ren," you laughed, waving her off. Your eyes rolled to the side as your smile fell by one tooth. "I mean… I checked the plumbing myself, so…"

Brown eyes narrowed at you as your voice trailed off. With a deep, motherly sigh, she squeezed your shoulder. "Listen, you know I love you, right?"

You nodded.

She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. "It's a dump."

"It's a historical home!" You protested, crossing your arms. "It has good bones!"

Serenity eyed up the dingy, chipping brick and sun bleached slate tiles before shaking her head. "How many square feet?"

You fanned your hand across your chest. "3.5k with an acre of property plus a full attic and root cellar."

She blinked. "Hold up. That's like $400k+ most places! I thought you said your budget was $220,000?"

You grinned. "Yeah, and this was only $130,000 including closing costs. Crazy, right?"

Your best friend did a double take, staring at the ramshackle Second Empire with renewed interest. "Well… at least that covers the roof and siding." She thumbed her chin and cocked her head. "You're sure this thing has indoor plumbing?"

You shoved her shoulder. "Don't be a dick."

Serenity snickered into her palm. "Okay, so aside from having a friggen 'root cellar' and all the curb appeal of a haunted house, what else is wrong with it?"

You pointed to the far edge of the property where a line of grizzled pines swayed in the autumn breeze. "Busiest train tracks in the greater metropolitan area."

She whistled. "That's gonna blow."

"Literally," you agreed, massaging your temples.

She elbowed you in the ribs. "Still quieter than living with your ex."

You grinned. "No kidding!" With a wave of your hand, you beckoned her around the side of the building. "Wanna see the cool part?"

"Your definition of 'cool' is sus."

You grabbed the sleeve of her caramel colored duffle coat and tugged. "Just come on!"

Across the clover riddled lawn, Serenity trudged behind you in her knee high, slouch boots. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed to fight off the cool October wind. You pulled to a stop beside a massive old swamp oak and opened your purse. A wax coated paper sack appeared from the depths of your handbag. Scrawled in inky cursive were two words: "Doggone Delish".

You squatted low, and reached between tumbling roots. Gently brushing the leaf litter aside, you unveiled a carved piece of lichen encrusted soapstone. Time had worn the words smooth, but they were still legible.

"Mon: 1885?" Serenity murmured the text out loud before her eyes fanned wide. "Don't tell me that's a—"

You laid the oatmeal biscuit on the gravemarker and patted it fondly. "He was a Corgi. I found an old picture in one of the drawers." Rising to your feet, you brushed your hands on your jeans and grinned at her. "I always wanted a pet Corgi, and now I've got one."

Serenity eyed the long, dark branches of the towering giant above you. Their bare, grasping fingers crawled at the breeze. "Yeah well, hate to tell you this but your new dog is up the stump and fattening the squirrels by now." 

You scoffed and flashed her a playful smile. "So? Ghost dogs are cheaper than live ones."

"Freak," she teased, kicking your heel.

You stuck out your tongue and wiggled your fingers at her.

A low rumble tumbled in on the wind. The train's whistle shrieked out in the distance. Serenity covered her ears and grimaced. You shrugged and pointed to the house. She nodded, trailing behind you.

When they spotted the biscuit upon the gravemarker, the pair of crimson eyes in the upstairs window wrinkled with delight.

After a brief climb up the sagging porch steps and a short war with the new latchkey, your party arrived in the entryway. Pastel grey and tar black tiles arranged in geometric patterns lay just before the lanky old staircase. To the right, sunlight streamed through the bay windows of the empty, blandly colored front parlor. As Serenity handed you her coat, she examined the silk rose print wallpaper of the foyer. 

"The previous owners have all tried to renovate, but all of them had to stop the repairs before completion for some reason." You patted the yellowing flowers. "So a lot of it is still the original turn of the 20th century decor."

"Okay…" A puff of dust fluttered through the air as your companion tapped one of the old gas landliers in the entryway. With a grin, she turned to face you. "This place is kinda old-timey cool."

"Keep your shoes on," you told her, shuffling her coat onto the hanger. Tucking it into the cedar-lined hall closet, you toed the chipped porcelain tiles. "I haven't finished sweeping yet."

Serenity rolled her eyes. "Nobody’s got time to clean this much house by themselves!" She huffed and crossed her arms. "Why do you think my trunk looks like I scrubbed Mr. Clean’s bubbles?"

With a squeal of happiness, you flung your arms around her shoulders and crushed her against your chest. "Marry me, Ren-Ren."

"Keep that talk up and Marcus's paranoid self is gonna blow my phone up with his 'Baby, where you at?’-s," she laughed.

You released your friend and toed her boots. "You sure keep that boy under your heels."

"Mistress Ser knows what he likes,” she agreed, using the sleeve of her hubbie's hoodie to wipe the dust off the flecked glass of an old, gilded mirror. Tracing the ornate brass with the pad of her finger, she turned to you. “I’m loving this. Where’d you get it?”

“Came with the house.” You nodded to a cabriole legged, mahogany console just below the looking glass. Though the deep auburn shellac had silvered with sun damage, crystal knobs and burled wood spoke to its posh pedigree. A square shaped water ring in the dead center hinted at the old flower vase which must have once graced the hall. “Anything fabric was mouse eaten, but I saved the bedroom set.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re gonna sleep in some dead person’s bed? Gross.”

“Don’t make that face, Ren. I’m changing out the mattress.” You sighed. “Besides, this is legit heirloom stuff. When will I ever be able to afford fancy antiques on a my salary?” 

Serenity patted your shoulder. “Long as you don’t go banging a ghost or something.”

You shoved her down the hall. “You're really gonna go putting those thoughts in my head?!”

“You love it,” she teased back, running her hand over the dusty glass shades of the wall bracket lamps. “Are these oil?”

You shook your head. “Natural gas with an open flame. The seller said they capped the lines years ago though. Apparently, they caused a huge house fire back in the day and killed everybody except the little boy who lived here. After that they switched to kerosene and candles.”

“Open flame?” Serenity pulled away from the light as if it had teeth. “Small wonder the place went up.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, cupping your elbows. “Sounds like the people who owned it in the forties tried to repair the damage to the gas when they added the electricity. Supposedly the lines were sound, but the gas never worked right. The flame was always going out, leaving the gas running unchecked. They think it was low pressure or something. It made them annoyed so they sold it.”

As you walked, your companion eyed the soaring twelve foot ceilings and ornate transoms above the massive box doorways. “Well duh. If you make your walls friggin fifty foot tall, of course you’re gonna have pressure problems!”

“Yeah, but the water pipes work fine,” you pointed out, grabbing the round brass handle to the empty parlor. Chantilly parquet floors creaked below your feet as you strolled to the old coal burning fireplace and rested a hand on the chipped marble mantle. In the center of the elaborate plaster medallion, a dusty teardrop crystal chandelier hung above your heads. You flipped the wall switch. The light flickered to life with a painful click, illuminating faded scarlet walls. “The electrician says the wiring is safe, but it still sounds sketch to me.”

“Like it’s grinding or something.” She pressed her ear to the peeling, geometric patterned paper before shaking her head. “Well, at least I don’t hear any bees. Marcus’s mom had them in her walls one summer and Memorial Day turned into a horror movie real fast.”

You strolled to the old pocket doors on the far wall and pushed them wide. Beyond the thick walls, worn stain and gouged wainscot welcomed guests to the formal dining room. Ready for eight, the solid mahogany table stool proudly on hand carved, reeded legs. Beside the bay windows, a matching buffet complete with a wide, oval mirror and rosewood inlays awaited crystal bottles filled with port and brandy. Between twin hall doors, the empty hutch cried out for platinum-edged bone china and silver candlesticks to fill the empty shelves encased in its diamond mutins.

“I had to strip the cushions from the chairs,” you explained, resting your hand on the glossy table. “But the wood cleaned up nice with some mineral spirits and paste wax.”

Serenity shot you an incredulous look. “You've been watching too much ‘This Old House’.”

“It’s only $10 a quart at the hardware store. Way cheaper than a new table.”

Your companion rolled her wrist and beconked you to her. “Show me your hands.”

You cringed, holding out dry, peeling fingers.

Her eye twitched. “That’s it. After we finish this tour, I’m gonna drag your scaley self to Sally's Beauty.” She ripped her phone out of her pocket, furiously thumbing the keyboard. When the signal lit up with one bar, she snarled. “If there even is one in this podunk town.” 

You shrugged. “It’s a well water and septic world out here.”

Gripping her head, Serenity groaned. “I’m buying you a Brita filter. Asap.”

Heading down the long foyer, you made a sharp turn onto a narrow, walnut trimmed staircase. The dark, hand carved banister wobbled in your grip. You frowned at the loose fourth baluster. Not another one! Stupid Victorian hide glue! The original carpenter did some beautiful dovetail joinings but that stuff could not handle the humid summers in this area. More and more, the only dates you seemed to go on were with Norm Abram, Titebond and wood clamps. Now… the question was should you Amazon Prime some of the original stuff for authenticity’s sake or go with the stronger, cheaper wood glue you could get at Milton’s Hardware?

Cheaper probably. Considering the cost of Mansard roof repairs, cheaper was about what you could afford.

Leading her to the creaky upper hall, you bypassed the largest of four bedrooms on the south side of the house. Serenity paused, peaking through the crack in the old, tilted door frame. You shook your head and jerked your thumb down the landing.

“I got stuck in there last week. The house shifted so much over the years that it jams on humid days. I have to sand and rehang it before next summer.”

“Stuck? With cell service this bad?” She glanced out the far window at the long, overgrown expanse of forest which blocked any sight of your neighbors. A shiver rippled down her body. “Creepy.”

You paused, shaking hand rattling the old brass knob to the northern bedroom. “Tell me about it. I’ve left a crowbar and one of those fire escape ladders in there ever since.

Past the solid, double hip door sat a time capsule to the late nineteenth century. The original oak floors had yellowed with age but even the home inspector was impressed by their lack of seam gaps. Overlooking the front of the property, late 2000s double hung bay windows (a testament to the seller’s half-finished remodeling) encircled a small sitting area near the original coal burning fireplace. After hours of fighting with cast iron grating and a stubborn chimney flue, you’d managed to seal out the worst of the draft. The elegant brass chandelier surrendered its tarnish after two hours of polishing, leaving it capped with a luxurious glow every time the sun peeked through the gauzey Walmart curtains. Unlike the worn examples downstairs, dark wallpaper with golden peony blooms looked untouched by the years. 

You flopped onto your new, plastic wrapped mattress and stretched your hands wide. “Behold! Antiquey expensive stuff!”

Serenity’s jaw dropped as she took in the six part, solid mahogany bedroom set. As lovely a red as the day it was made, each piece of satin smooth craftsmanship testified to its owner's fortune. Capped in gothic embellishments and trimmed with burr wood inlays, the queen sized bed looked more like a cathedral than a sleeping space. A marble topped, tiered dressing table with dangling pewter drawer pulls stood ready for silver backed, boar bristle hair brushes and ambergris scented perfumes. You could hide four bodies in the massive armoire. Deep dresser drawers would hold six full skirted walking costumes with ease. Loveliest of all, the free standing, body length mirror reflected your companion’s flabbergasted gawking.

She pointed to the tall, narrow door. “Ho-how’d they even get this stuff in this room?!” 

You snickered, rising to your feet. “That era was all knockdown furniture,” you explained, turning the dressing table around. Tracing the dovetail seam between top and bottom, you tapped your temple. “Not like they wanted to haul all this stuff up the stairs anymore than we would.”

Serenity whistled. “Smart.”

“Oh! I almost forgot!” You dashed across the room to the six foot tall secretary desk and pulled down the writing table. In the center cubby, a luscious painting of olde English foxglove, Narcissus, and Lily of the Valley graced the Purpleheart inlays. You turned the small brass key in the latch and extracted a yellowed, black and white photograph of two children and a pudgy Pembroke Welsh Corgi. “Meet Mon, Tenko, and Hana Shimura.”

Your friend studied the picture. Hana, decked in high pigtails, stood solemnly in her dark pinafore and pristine, lacey apron. Tiny lips smashed in a thin line hinted at her efforts to control her smile. Under a messy flop of black hair, Tenko’s bright eyes gleamed with delight as he forced the Victorian portrait frown while clutching his new puppy. 

“Hold up,” Serenity demanded, tapping the picture with her long, lavender nail. “Aren’t those Japanese names?”

You nodded, returning the old photo to its hiding spot. “I think so.”

She crossed her arms. “Japan had its borders forced open by Perry in 1854. We’re supposed to believe some super rich Japanese family just packed it up, moved to Gilded-Age America, learned the language, and built a mansion in the middle of Podunk, USA just a few decades later?” Jabbing an annoyed figure at the elaborate plasterwork around the chandelier, she added: “Possible, but unlikely much?”

You shrugged. “Deus ex machina?”  

Serenity clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “I guess, but it’s a terrible one, even for a smutty fanfic.”

“Eh… it’s Halloween. Gotta get our fix somewhere,” you replied, kicking the cotton batting. “Help me get this on the bed?”

Bustling to your side, your companion tore through the thin plastic. “So… which one of the Shimuras burnt the house down?”

“I think it was the dad,” you explained, hefting the edge of the mattress above the bed frame. “Might have been rich, but rumor has it he was a perfectionist and family beater. According to the librarian, local gossip was that, after he killed the kid’s dog, the wife tried to take them and leave.”

Serenity grunted as she swung her side up and over. The mattress flopped into place with a woosh before sinking down into the platform base. “Yeah, bet a man like that doesn’t take too kindly to his favorite punching bags up and walking away.”

You scoffed. “Anyone who hurt Mon-chan deserves to burn.”

All at once, your hackles rose. Pricked ears caught the tail end of a distant cackle. You whipped around scanning the room.

“What’s up?”

Rubbing the back of your neck, you shook off the feeling like a wet dog. “N-nothing. Just swore I heard a…” Your voice trailed off as you fixed your gaze on the old looking glass before glancing to the window. “Weird…”

“Hey!” Serenity grabbed your shoulder. “Don’t be pulling that ‘I thought I saw something’ nonsense when I’ve gotta sleep here tonight!”

You laughed and threw up your hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry. Just caught a glint of sunlight in the mirror. That’s all.”

Inside the glass, body shaking with laughter, Tomura’s pale hand clamped tight over a skeletal grin.

Part II coming Saturday October 22nd, 2022

Taglist:

@THE-LADY-WRITES-WHAT @wonwoosbestbuddy @OCEON6  @dabisqueen @shig-a-shig-ah-ah @feral-creep @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-loveuet-love @smilinghowever @imaginedheroine @CLOUDS-NO1-FAN @MOONTHECREATOR @HARLEYWRITESFANTASY @MANJIROSGIRL @vamperilous @MADDY-HAT @cakernofakers @builtd-different25 @kurtasim @shiggyniggy @koreluvsspring @smilee-spooks @beware-thecrow

@m0nim0ni @minnieplier-blog @blehitsriot @moonwad @saikis-seceretcoffeejelly @nainainairi @bakuhoe37 @un-deadinsomniac @nonominchan @utena-akashiya @molita111 @nekolover93 @pimp-in @slaughterbat777 @chxrryvibes @blackchemicals @coldsaladpiecop-blog @flamme-meuf2-shiggy @aphorditeslust @just-yer-average-key @rekoii @justnothingguys

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Oh, my Lord, talk about your colorful homes, you gotta see this one. (I mean, look at the front door, and they painted all the bricks blue.) It was built in 1991, but looks totally mid-century modern. Located in Pauma Valley, California, it has 3bds, 4ba, and is priced at $1.15M.

The front door is purple on the inside. Love the colorful sputnik light.

We have to remember that this home was built in the 90s, so it had to be custom-designed. Look at the size of this conversation pit.

Wow, look at the orange beams and the simulated Lego column. How fun would it be to fill it w/colored plastic balls?

It even has a living wall of ivy.

Look at that- there are beams above the beams. Does that neon sign say "Steak Me Home Tonight?" Like the Eddie Money song, Take Me Home Tonight- corny.

This is the living room, aside from the conversation pit. I like the fireplace.

There's a nice bar back here. I would like it if the furnishings came with this house.

The only color in the spacious kitchen is the center island and colorful dishes on the open shelving.

This is a family room. Look at the texture on the fireplace.

The primary bedroom has a purple carpet and a colorful mural. The bed's a little dull, though.

Love this bath. Where did they find pink toilet paper roll wallpaper?

Love the home office.

The basement is finished, but it's just a blank slate.

Large patio with a pool and a privacy wall on the side of the home.

Looks like there's a greenhouse or conservatory.

Behind the house is a 2-level patio and greenspace.

Brick columns flank the entrance to the property via a long driveway.

The home, surrounded by a wall, is on a .50 acre lot.

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Mori Mori more

@irrelevantbutembarrassing

Mori x Fem!reader

warnings: Mori is OOC (he talks), kissing, the reader gets bothered by a group of guys, the reader is rich,

word count: 1,300 (about)

summary: hosts aren't supposed to have favorites when it comes to their guests, but Mori does, he absolutely does to the point that he's willing to see you after hours.

It was really incredible what Kyoya could do with a little time and the host club's insane budget. What had been a normal music room just yesterday had been transformed into a cozy winter cabin, it even looked like snow was falling outside the frosted windows, something that would be impossible for late august normally, but the host club pulled it off. The snowed-in cold weather was a nice change of pace, and it gave you and the other patrons of the host club a chance to keep warm by cuddling up close with your favorite host. 

You were sat in a plush loveseat with Mori pressed to your side, both of you cuddled under a woven throw blanket sipping hot chocolate together across from Honey and a few other girls as they sampled deserts. 

“This reminds me of my family’s ski lodge in Switzerland,” you sighed dreamily, as you thought about it, you had never been very good at skiing so you didn’t go out to the lodge often, and besides it was kind of small, only five thousand square feet and the lot of land was under two acres, it was a lot less than you were used too, but maybe you would head out there this winter break all the same, the small little house could be cozy. 

“I wish I could see it, it would be nice to be there, just the two of us,” Mori whispered in your ear making you shudder in pleasure, his breath was warm against your skin and smelled like hot chocolate. You were pleased to have this time with him, there was something special about Mori, you knew he wasn’t the most popular host but you preferred it that way, and you ended up getting more time with him that way. 

A sharp wind suddenly blew through the host club, you couldn’t help but shudder, Mori pulled you close, his hands and body felt unnaturally warm it was good being close to him. Little did you know Kyoya had provided the hosts with hand warmers to make sure their touch was always pleasant. 

Eventually, though your time was up, and you had to leave Mori’s side to let another girl have her turn, even if he wasn’t the most popular you still had to share. Before you left, he caught your hand making you stay. 

“Will you let me walk you home after the host club lets out?” he asked. It wouldn’t be a very long walk you knew, he could only take you from the music room to your family’s car that would drive you home, but you happily excepted. You spent the rest of your time eagerly waiting for the time to pass, and thinking about how you would invite Mori to your house for tea, or coffee maybe that way you could have even more time with him.

The host club ended, and you had to leave the room, you were left waiting for Mori in the hallway while he finished up his club activities. You were flushed with excitement, It wasn’t every day you got to walk home with your crush.

“What are you still doing here?” a voice called out, you turned and saw three boys approaching 

“A lady such as yourself shouldn’t be here all alone,” their words were kind but their voices were anything but. The boys leered at you disgustingly. The way they were drooling over you made your stomach churn. 

“I-I’m just waiting for my uhm friend to come to walk me home,” you said nervously, you looked nervously to the doors of the music room. But no one came out.

One of the boys slammed his hand to the wall behind you, pinning you in place. You couldn’t help but yelp in fear, making the three of them laugh. 

“Well, we’re here now, let us walk you home then you could thank us,” one of the boys whistles and he reaches for you, you try to run away but one of his friends swooped in blocking off your only exit. 

You closed your eyes and waited for him to touch you, but it never came. You opened your eyes and saw  Mori, dangling one of the aggressors by his arm. He didn’t say anything, but his stern glare spoke volumes. 

The boy in his arms twisted free and the three boys bolted.

“Oh Mori thank you,” you said throwing yourself at him and catching him in a tight hug. 

Mori reached out carefully and cupped your cheek, making you look at him, his eyes trailing over you carefully looking for injury. 

“I’m fine,” you choked out, tears already clouding your eyes, Mori’s thumb gently caressed your cheek brushing away the tears. 

He pulled you to your feet and collected you into his arms, and gently helped you to the car waiting for you. He tried to let you go once you have seated safely in the back of your family's limo but you held firm onto the lapels of his uniform. 

“Please don’t leave me, I should thank you for saving me at the very least,” you sniffled. Mori nodded after a moment of thought and climbed in after you. 

Your parents weren’t home, and your servants all swore to keep your secret that you had a boy over and that you let said boy up into your room. 

Mori and you sat together awkwardly on your bed, you were still crying a little bit, and he awkwardly tried to comfort you. 

“Thank you, really, I wasn’t expecting you to jump in like that,” you laughed awkwardly. 

“Of course, I had to step in, I don’t think I could live with myself if something happened to you,” Mori scoffed, He took your hand then squeezed tightly. 

“I- I care deeply about you,” Mori said tripping over his words a little bit. He said “care” but what he meant was a little closer to love. He couldn’t imagine anything bad happening to you, especially if he was there to stop it. He couldn't help himself, Mori leaned in and captured your lips with his own. 

He regretted it almost instantly, he tried to pull away but you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, returning his kiss in full. Mori’s arms circled around your waist pulling you onto his lap. He dug his hands into the ruffles of your school dress. He wanted to touch you, but his hands were lost in the overly plush dress.

His hands shifted and suddenly he wasn’t touching your skirt, but your bare leg. You gasped, and Mori slid his tongue into your mouth. You sighed into the kiss letting Mori’s hand explore your upper thigh while his tongue explored your mouth. Mori broke the kiss suddenly, leaving you gasping for air and wanting for more. 

“I-i’m sorry I should have asked before kissing you,” he stammered, here he was, supposed to be a gentleman but he’d kissed you without asking and he still had his hand up your skirt like a slime ball, he felt guilty. 

“I don’t mind,” you breathed, “but if you want you can make it up to me,” you offered, cupping his cheek and bringing his mouth back to yours. 

“How do I do that?” he asked, his eyes falling back to your soft lips. 

“Kiss me again”

[oliviabutsmart]

Physics "Friday" #9 [OPINION]: Is Fahrenheit the better temperature scale?

So as the title suggests, this post is a lot less facts and logic, and a lot more opinionated. It is still physics-y I just believe it's an interesting way to delve into a subject by turning it into an opinionated peice.

Preamble: A summary of Metric vs. Imperial arguments

Education level: Primary (Y3/4)

Topic: Measuring Systems (Metrology)

Now before you throw your hands up at the title and your silly little internet brain is like "this silly impericuck is fahrenpilled!" ... I'm an astronomy student living in Australia - I use SI units (and other unit systems) on the daily.

Though ... it is pretty notorious in astronomy to use like 17 different unit systems. Here's a list of examples:

My beloved SI units

CGS Units

Whatever the fuck a Jansky is

Don't even start with natural units I can't live without big G

"Ampere in CGS units is g1/2 cm3/2 s−2"

Solar Luminosity/Mass of Sun

Angstroms (like please can we just use nanometers?)

How many Jupiters or Earths fit into this cloud of gas?

The vomit of parallax units i.e. AU, pc, Mpc, arcseconds, radians

Steradians (Solid angles can be finicky)

Logarithms, logarithms everywhere!

Hubble's constant being in km/s/Mpc but then having to turn that into Hz or per year - like can someone please acknowledged how cursed this is?

When you do Kepler's 3rd law on Mercury and realise it doesn't work (because you forgot Einstein existed) ... so no units end up working

ADUs and/or whatever you get when you deal with telescope outputs

And as an Australian, I use SI units very regularly. Only measurements of human height and cooking weights are really imperial. And I can express all of them in metric units.

Now generally, the Metric (or SI) units are better than the imperial (or USC) units. The main points in favour of SI are:

(Almost) Everybody uses it

It's basically universal in science (see exceptions above)

It fits well with our base 10 counting system, easy scaling (e.g. 1 kg = 1 000 g = 1 000 000 mg)

It's directly pinned to many natural constants and unchanging laws

Different units interact with eachother much better

Now, generally, the main arguments for imperial units involve a bunch of patriots™ screaming about how "THIS IS THE CoUNTRY OF FREEDOM AND GOD!! AND I AIN'T USING NO CHINESE UNITS!!!1!".

That, or how metrification is hard. Which, well, metrification can occur over the course of decades, literally teaching your kids metric helps the country adjust to a metric system.

The best arguments I've found for imperial units is as follows:

Numbers like 6, 12, 60 etc. - i.e. units based on highly composite numbers - are very easily divisible by 2, 3, and 4

Units like feet, inches, pounds, stone, etc. are of a much more human-friendly scale. Because these units are based on bodily proportions or common objects

Generally, the arguments for metric vastly outweigh the arguments for imperial. And the main reason why is that the two arguments for imperial conflict with eachother. You cannot easily subdivide your units neatly and have human units.

For example, the Roman mile is a unit that measures the usual amount of distance a footsoldier can cover before needing a short stop. An acre is the amount of land that a manual-labour farmer can cover in a day's work. An inch is about the size of your thumb.

The problem is that all three of these units, based on length, are completely off kilter. 1 acre = 43,650 square feet, 1 Roman mile = 58260 in, etc.

The only cases where I would say the human-ness and divisibility of units actually becomes a stronger argument than decimalised units are, time and temperature.

Time is obvious. 1 hour = 60 minutes = 3600 seconds. It's nice, clean and simple. And an hour or half-hour is a very human unit, the same as a second or a minute. We often operate on hour and minute schedules, and that's not just because of capitalism. 30 minutes just appears to be the amount of time we like to work before taking a short rest.

Temperature is a bit more nebulous however ...

Where (I think) Celsius fails

Of course, celsius is an understandable scale. 0 C = Water Freezes, 100 C = water boils. Pinning your scale on water makes life easy for you as you know what the bounds are.

The problem is that there are temperatures that exist outside of the 0-100 scale. And this kinda breaks the neat decimalisation of a scale.

A cold winter's day in Tasmania could drop into the negatives. And just because your in the negatives doesn't mean ocean water or rain will freeze. Temperatures below 0 C doesn't guarantee snowfall.

Similarly, say you are in a desert during the day. The temperature can get as high as 50 C - it's reasonable to say that you're unlikely to see temperatures above 50 C outside of your oven or kettle.

Do you normally see temperatures between 70 - 90 C? Unless if you're pasteurising milk, distilling alcohol, or doing chemistry, you are not going to encounter these temperatures. And do you really need your temperature numbers to be below 100 to do chemistry?

This is the downside of Celsius. Because temperature is a scale, and operates differently to other units, it doesn't really matter where you set the zero point. A boiling point of ethanol at "78" is no better than one at "173".

Celsius also doesn't account for temperatures that are very well below the freezing point of water, temperatures which are very common to experience.

So is Fahrenheit Better?

Fahrenheit solves this problem, partially. It's a more human friendly scale. 0 F is a very very cold day whereas 100 F is a very very hot day. Things beyond both numbers are relegated to the scientists, chefs, and extremophiles of the world.

If we were to completely remove all requirements of not pissing off a bunch of people, we could even create our own temperature scale to make things even better: 0 X = -50 C and 100 X = 50 C.

Even better because now the 0 and 100 of this scale becomes the absolute limit of what we could normally experience on earth, the hottest desert and the coldest tundra. It even comes with the benefit that 50 X = the freezing point of water and 150 X = the boiling point of water - it preserves our common "anchors" of the phases of water.

The problem is that there's a second hidden benefit of Fahrenheit: it's specificity. What do I mean by that?

Well, for every 1 C increase in temperature, the Fahrenheit scale increases by 1.8 F. This means that a temperature of 20 C could mean 68 F or 69 F.

For a lot of normal/casual processes, the Celsius scale may require us get past the decimal point, to express minor changes in temperature, whereas Fahrenheit would not.

For chemistry and physics, our significant figure requirements immediately become extra precise. 58.8 F is a more accurate measurement than 14.9 C, without requiring any more decimal places.

You may say "well why not we use a deci-Celsius scale where 1000 dC = boiling point of water". The issue is that too much precision may be putting it over the top. We don't measure the size of cities in centimetres.

But then what about Kelvin

Of course, the main SI unit for temperature, and the unit physicists and chemists use is the Kelvin. The reason for this is of course:

It is tied to absolute zero by setting it to 0 K

Because of this, we can apply SI order of magnitude quantifiers like milli-Kelvin, kilo-Kelvin, Giga-Kelvin without upsetting the position of our anchor points

It covers and measures cleanly low-K processes

Very hot processes end up having Celsius be approximately equal to Kelvin

It would be difficult to use Fahrenheit because 0 F ~ the freezing point of saltwater.

But let me introduce you to the Rankine Scale. What Kelvin is to Celsius is what Rankine is to Fahrenheit.

Rankine takes all of the benefits of Fahrenheit with it (aside from the human-ness of the scale - but that's not the purpose of the Rankine and Fahrenheit scales), but it also takes the benefits that Kelvin gets.

We can too, have milli-Rankine and Giga-Rankine. And the best part is that it is twice as precise as Fahrenheit.

Even better is that the Rankine Scale is very easily convertible to the Kelvin Scale. 1 K = 1.8 R; 1 K⁻¹ = 0.556 R⁻¹. This means I can very easily re-formulate some fundamental constants:

Boltzmann constant = 1.381 × 10⁻²³ J K⁻¹ = 7.672 × 10⁻²⁴ J R⁻¹

Stefan-Boltzmann c. = 5.67 × 10⁻⁸ W m⁻² K⁻⁴ = 5.40 × 10⁻⁹ W m⁻² R⁻⁴

Ideal gas constant = 8.315 J mol⁻¹ K⁻¹ = 4.619 J mol⁻¹ R⁻¹

Wein's constant = 2.898 × 10⁻³ m K = 5.216 × 10⁻³ m R

Let's hope I converted it correctly, idk my Saturday brain no thinky.

Conclusion: So is it actually better?

Short Answer: In my opinion, yes. But I'm not switching to it.

Of course, when talking about subjective opinions, people can point out the flaws in each others' opinions. I've made it clear that the imperial vs. metric debate very solidly falls to the metric side with only a few exceptions.

Temperature is one of those scales that are more up-to-debate over the usefulness of certain units of choice. Especially because the alternative unit system is still commonly used.

I could've made the same arguments about the meter, and said that we should use a decimalised inch or foot with kilofeet or millifeet. Or invent a completely new unit system that is technically "superior". But that's obviously much more ambitious.

Of course, the likelihood of the global Fahrenheit revolution is almost non-existent, and this is more of a series of "well, technically speaking" arguments that are more for the point of exploring an idea than implementing one.

Regardless I'd like to hear YOUR arguments over why I'm a stupid poo poo head or I'm actually the mother of the next great napoleonic French empire.

I tried to add a bit of colour in this post, specifically with the quotes. I just didn't want it to be a bland wall of text.

Again, feedback that may be unrelated to the specific "you're right/you're wrong" debate like my writing style etc. is also appreciated.

I don't really know what I will do next week. Because technically I was supposed to do philosophy and ethics in science ... but I might not have that time given my university study.

Currently I'm doing three courses in QFT, GR, and Cosmology. And they are all very big and hefty. Thankfully, I think there's a bit of a break period coming as we're now moving to canonical quantisation (which I've found easier than Feynman diagrams), and the measurement of gravitational waves.

Now don't worry that last paragraph is not a flex, it's more an indication that I'm learning a lot of this stuff as I make these posts. More an excuse as to why I might in the future delay posts and such. Like I mentioned the Higgs mechanism in the last post at the same time I was actually learning about the Higgs mechanism.

Anyways, I'm going to go and scarf down some chocolate now.

[sprnklersplashes]

time won't fly (9/?) ao3

this was the very first page (not where the storyline ends)

Martha isn’t expecting much from today.

Which is a silly, self-pitying thought that she should push from her head and move on. She doesn’t know why she had expectations, other than she had a lovely night last week with Veronica. And yes, maybe some part of her-a very naive part of her-thought that they were going back to the old days, to Veronica-and-Martha, where every weekend was theirs, but that’s on her for not knowing better. If she refuses to let the past go, unrealistic expectations will plague her until after college.

With a heavy sigh, Martha drops her cereal bowl in the dishwasher and slams it closed. So much for not thinking about it. 

The house is empty; her mom is working the early shift today so she woke up to a note on the fridge signed off with ‘I love you’. It’s times like this the house feels a lot bigger; two floors become twenty, square feet become acres. When she could simply appear on Veronica’s doorstep, it hadn’t felt quite as lonely. A safety net always existed down the block for her. 

Earlier, Martha had asked Veronica during study hall, tentatively, if she wanted to do something today, but she had shaken her head, mumbling about a doctor’s appointment that morning. Which makes sense; twice now Martha has seen Veronica emerging from the bathroom, face pale and hair limp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Most of the time, Heather Duke trails after her, contempt in her dark eyes. And much as she tried, she couldn’t help feeling uneasy at the sight, a two-pronged fork poking her in the gut. One; someone was helping Veronica and it wasn’t her. And two; Veronica was staggering out of the bathroom with red-rimmed eyes and a bulimic of two years beside her. It’s awful, judgemental, to put those things together and yet she did. 

Martha shakes the thought from her head, scowling. She grabs her backpack from the table and storms into the living room, floorboards creaking beneath her steps.

So, at 9 am on a Saturday, Martha curls up on the couch, flips on daytime TV, and takes out her homework. She has a short essay on The Tempest to start and while she’s been in the class and made, she couldn’t recall the plot of that play with a gun to her head. 

At around halfway down the page, there’s a knock at the door. Martha’s head snaps up. It comes again, quick and dainty against the wood. It’s unfamiliar to her, and for a second she considers pretending she didn’t hear it. Then the instinct fades and she pulls herself up, and discards the blanket before she makes her way down the hall. She does her best to appear happy and welcoming but then she opens the door and she can’t quite do anything. 

Because Heather Macnamara is standing on her doorstep. 

Martha blinks fully expecting to wake up in her bed. In what version of reality would Heather Macnamara be on her doorstep, smiling at her like there’s nowhere else she would rather be.

“Heather,” she says, having taken far too long to find her voice. “Um, uh… hi?”

“Hi.” Heather beams at her, perfect white teeth in her perfect cheerleader’s smile. Her hair is held back in a loose bun, tucked under the same white beanie she had the last time she was here. “I was in the neighbourhood.”

“You were in the neighbourhood?” Martha repeats. She wasn’t aware their neighbourhoods existed on the same planet. 

“Uh-huh,” she says. “I mean, well, I was walking Lola here and I remembered how nice your block was and I thought I’d take her down it.” 

“Lola?” Martha asks. It’s then she glances down and sees that Heather is holding the lead of a very fluffy grey-and-white puppy whose tail beats a steady rhythm against the ground. “You have a dog?”

“Yeah,” Heather says. Of course she does, loads of people have dogs. That is not something to be confused about. “Normally my dad or my sister walk her, but I thought I’d take her down here for a change, and then I saw your house cause I remembered it from the last time I was here, and I thought maybe you’d want to come and walk her with me?” As if on command, Lola lets out a bark and begins sniffing around Martha’s sneakers.

Martha braces herself. Ram’s party bursts across her mind; all dimmed lights and a strong vodka smell, eyes of the world on her. Her hair rises on the back of her neck, waiting for the cheerleading squad to burst from her bushes.

Martha never used to be cynic. But now, she’s pulling away from Heather and getting ready to slam the door.

“So let me get this right,” she says. “You came all the way from your house to mine, which is at least fifteen minutes, to ask me if I want to walk your dog with you when there is a park five minutes from you?”

Heather’s face falls. It’s such a sight that Martha stops short, her breath sharp as she inhales. And then comes the guilt, cold beneath her skin, because this is why no-one likes you Dunnstock-

“I… I did not plan on you knowing all of that.”

“You live near Ram right?” comes her response. In contrast to her previous rant, this one is soft, careful, accompanied by a shift from one foot to the other. Heather nods, and doesn't meet Martha’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean it to be like that,” she says quietly. Her gaze moves up; she takes in the whole of Martha’s small house. The smile on her face is oddly subdued. Martha remembers the Heather who came to this house last week, sheepish and awkward, shivering in her long coat. “I don’t know what I meant, really. Guess I was just…” She shakes her head. “Nevermind. I’ll-I’ll see you around, Martha.” She turns on her heel, not so quick that Martha can’t see the red on her cheeks. Martha stands rooted to the ground, watching her leave. Then something emerges from the back of her throat, and without thinking she calls “Heather wait!” just before she reaches her gate.

When she turns, it’s one swift motion, pink lips parted.

Her hand tightens on the doorframe, the voice in her head whispers to stay put because she’ll end up regretting this.

“Let me get my coat,” Martha hears herself say. “I know somewhere we can go.”

The ‘somewhere’ in question is a woodland not too far from Martha’s house. Well, woodland is a little generous, it’s more a stretch of uninterrupted grass with clusters of trees round it. It’s not quite pretty enough to call woodland, and the stretch of highway in the distance ruins the image a bit. But it’s open and in the fresh air and Lola seems perfectly happy, straining against the leash as she tries to explore.

“She’s cute,” Martha says, nodding at her. “Didn’t know you had a dog.”

“I got her a few years ago,” Heather explains. “She’s a good girl. Most of the time.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “She doesn’t normally get to play like this. When my dad walks her he just takes her to whatever client he’s meeting up with that day and ties her to a railing while they walk.”

“Poor pup,” Martha sighs. Ahead of them, Lola jumps at a tree trunk, fascinated by a squirrel up in the branches. For a second, Martha laughs, caught up in this very strange moment, until she looks down. 

“Oh, hey,” she cringes. “Sorry I should’ve-your shoes are covered in mud.”

“Are they?” Heather stops, seeming to panic for a second. She follows Martha’s gaze and looks down. Sure enough, the pristine white of her boots is now streaked with brown, little jagged clumps nestled in the soles. Martha hadn’t thought of it when she took her out here. Her own sneakers are wrecked too, splatters of soil across the faded rainbow stripes.

“S-sorry,” she says again. “Maybe we should’ve just-”

“It’s fine,” Heather interrupts. She shakes her head once, twice, pink lips turning upwards. “It doesn’t matter. I can clean them later.” She resumes her walk, stumbling a bit as her dog pulls her forwards. Martha picks up the pace and scrambles to her side, slightly bothered by the pain in her hips.

Steadily, she breathes out. She can handle it, at least for the next hour or so.

“So…” Heather begins. “Were you in the middle of anything important?”

“Oh, no,” she replies. “No, just uh, getting a start on that English assignment.”

“The English assignment,” Heather sighs, teeth gritted. It’s there where Martha begins to see the Heather she recognises; steel beneath the yellow satin. “Don’t remind me. I think I just wrapped my head around it.”

“Well, we’ve got time,” Martha says. “It’s not due for another few weeks.” She pokes at a leaf with her foot. “To be honest, I’m still getting to grips with it.”

“You are?” Heather asks. Martha freezes, her cheeks burning. The admission had slipped through her teeth, undetected and unintentional, and now Heather Macnamara has it in her hands. She wills herself not to look at her, and steadies herself in preparation for the onslaught that’s about to come.

Only when she does catch sight of her face, Heather’s eyes are blown wide, her mouth hangs open, pink glows in her cheeks.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that,” Heather insists. “God, I’m-I’m so sorry I did not mean it like that. I just meant that like- well you’re so smart and you get such good grades, I guess I… I didn’t think you could find stuff hard.” She swallows, stuffs her hands in her pockets. “School stuff, I mean.”

“I… I do,” she mumbles. “Sometimes.”

“I feel like I’ll never get any of it,” Heather sighs. “English isn’t… so bad. Not all of the time. Neither’s history.” She huffs, a short and bitter sound. “It’s Math that’s getting me. None of it makes sense, you know what I mean?”

“Sure,” she nods, even though she doesn’t. Math comes pretty easy to her; it’s really just a set of patterns that she can memorise, but Heather is on a roll with something and the ache in her leg is making itself known. Heather can take the reins right now.

“I mean, I know you’re in a different math class to me so I don’t know if you’re doing this right now, but we’ve been doing surface area for weeks and I’ve had it explained over and over and I still don’t get it,” she goes on. Frustration trembles in her voice. “And it’s not… like I look at the numbers and they just don’t make any sense, you know?”

“Yeah,” Martha breathes. “Yeah, I know.” And she does, a bit, but right now the steadily growing pain in her side is taking over her thought process. Before she can think to stop, her hand is pressed to her side, her breaths become shorter, quicker. Heather slows to a stop, her eyes inescapable.

Get it together, the voice in her head whispers. Stand up, you’re fine, be normal.

“Martha?” she asks. All of the anger has fled her voice, replaced with a worry that Martha would be cautious of in other circumstances. She takes a long, slow breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth.

“I think…” she begins. “I think I need to sit down somewhere.” And the admission is humiliating, shameful, she’s handing Heather all the ammunition she could ever want. Forgive her language, but she is so sure this will bite her on the ass.

“Oh…okay,” Heather says. She looks around, fist pressed to her mouth. “I think… there’s a log over there? We can sit there.”

“No.” Martha shakes her head. “I mean… I know somewhere we can go.” She takes another breath and straightens her spine. The pain is still there, but she can bear it, she will. Perhaps if she were on her own she’d collapse on a log, but she’s not about to make Heather sit on a piece of fallen tree. Another breath. “I know where we can go. It isn’t too far. It’s inside. And there’s cake.”

“Oh well, if there’s cake,” Heather replies and inexplicably, Martha grins at her. Grins. At Heather. “You’re sure you can make it?” Martha sets her shoulders. When she was a kid and having panic attacks over going to school, her mom always told her, just make it to the door. Then the car. Then the front gate. Just one step. 

It’s the same thing here. 

“I can make it,” she tells her. She looks down and finds Heather’s free hand half-extended to her, another crutch. Her heart pounds, matching the ‘what on earth’ ringing in her head. She declines the offer though.

Before she turns, she sees Heather’s curl inward, then slowly and limply fall to her side. 

With slow and careful steps, Martha walks Heather down and along a backroad that takes them into the little park near her house. There, she leads the bemused Heather Macnamara and the still-excited Lola down a narrow path to a little white, rectangular building. The cafe’s been here since before Martha was a kid, run by a constantly changing group of local kids and college drop-outs, plus on elderly lady who’s worked here since before Martha was born. For all she knows, she probably built the place.

In the short walk here, the pain in Martha’s bone had sharpened so much that her breath is coming in short, swift gasps.  Her vision blurs at the edges, a familiar heat prickles at the back of her eyes. When they enter the cafe, it takes all of Martha’s self control to not completely collapse into the chair, and if Heather’s expression is anything to go by, she’s not hiding it nearly as well as she hoped.

“I’m… I’m okay,” she pants. It’s far from true, but she grips the side of the table anyway and braces to rise. “Anyway, what do you-”

“Oh my gosh no!” Heather replies. “No. I can order, what’s your usual?”

“it’s fine, I can-”

“Martha!” Heather snaps. “Listen, the fact that you made it here in one piece is a miracle, so I am going to order you a drink and you are going to sit here and maybe play with my dog if you want to!” Heather exhales, a short puff of breath, and then she smiles. “Please. Because if you pass out I will have a nervous breakdown.”

Martha freezes. Her mouth hangs half-open. At the very least, there’s something familiar in having Heather snap at her, her heartbeat spiked out of habit, but the request is so far from expectation that she can’t even formulate a response, let alone say it.

Heather waits until she croaks out that her usual is a vanilla latte, then she smiles and flounces off to the counter. Tiny flecks of mud fall from her boots as she goes.

If this is indeed a dream, now would be the perfect time to wake up. There’s no way it can get stranger than this. 

Martha runs a hand through her hair and lets out a long exhale. Around her, the few patrons in the cafe still watch her, evidently interested in whatever just happened. She wants to tell them that she doesn’t know what just happened either, only that the most popular girl in her school-who used to enjoy making her life hell-is waiting in line at the counter and her dog is rubbing her head against Martha’s leg, nuzzling and demanding pets. Martha gives them, because the motion is the only thing tethering her to Earth.

Good God, what exactly were her plans for today? They sure as hell weren’t this but  as she sifts through the confusion, she finds she’s not really complaining. There’s some part of her that’s enjoyed today. If nothing else, it’s better than sitting in her house.

She leans back in the chair. The pain in her side slowly recedes, and she allows herself a smile as Lola tries to stand on her hind legs. Martha contemplates calling over to Heather and telling her to grab some dog treats from the counter, until she turns her head at the exact time and sees a familiar car round the corner.

And maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s a coincidence, but as Veronica’s mom’s car slows to a halt on the road outside, Martha feels a shiver pass through her. A glance at the clock tells her it’s a little past ten, meaning Veronica’s appointment has likely been and gone. Should she be hoping everything went okay? Should she be calling her or chasing down the car? She can see Veronica, for a minute, jumping from the car and rushing inside. She unloads all her troubles onto Martha, just like she had a hundred times before, and Martha feels whole again.

Then, the light turns green and the car is gone. Veronica didn’t even know Martha was here.

“Okay, two vanilla lattes!” Heathers slides into the chair opposite her. Martha turns back just as she slides her cup across the table. “And they even gave us little cookies too! God you were right, Martha, this place is adorable! I should come here more often. They even gave me dog treats because I told them about Lola!” She giggles, her nose scrunches, and she bends down to feed Lola. “She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

Heather looks up, blonde curls falling in front of her face. Her blue eyes are bright, sparkling, there’s a pink flush on her cheeks and Martha realises that Heather is kind of beautiful. It’s always been a fact, but it’s never felt as real as it has right now.

She is also aware that Veronica is driving down the road to her house because of a doctor’s appointment Martha doesn’t know about. And that she’s been keeping something from her for weeks. Something happened to her at the pep rally and Veronica won’t tell her what. Since September, the person she thought was her one constant has been drifting further and further away from her. 

And she can’t solve that. But she can solve this. 

“Martha?”

“Why are you here?” she asks her. Heather’s face falls. Slowly, she pulls herself upright, her hands rest on the table.

“What?”

“Why are you here?” she says again. “Why are you with me? You have any number of people you could hang out with today-why the hell are you hanging out with me? Are your friends busy or is this some kind of ‘let’s hang out with Dumptruck’ joke like inviting me to Ram’s party was? Because if I’m honest Heather, at least the party invite made sense. That had a punchline. And it didn’t ruin your shoes, so what’s the point this time?” She laughs and it sounds wrong. It’s cold and bitter and all the things she isn’t. “What gives, Heather?”

Now it’s Heather’s turn to be surprised. Martha doesn’t look away as she squirms. She avoids Martha’s gaze, pulls at her sleeves, looks at the floor. Maybe Martha should be uncomfortable with how it makes her feel. She is not a spiteful person and yet for a precious few seconds, she’s watching Heather Macnamara become small beneath her gaze and doesn’t dislike it.

Until Heather answers.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I don’t know why I’m here. When I went out today I did not plan on going near your house.” She looks down at her hands. Her fingers clasp and unclasp. Resigned, she heaves a sigh and slumps forward. “But when I was out… I could just feel everything and everyone. And I couldn’t stand it and next thing I knew I was on my way to your house.”

“Why?” Martha asks. Her voice is barely even a breath. “Why my house?”

Heather shrugs.

“I… I wanted to go to the last place I felt safe. And that was… that was that movie night you and Veronica.” She glances up, her eyes shining. Martha’s breath catches. “You were the last person to make me feel safe. And I don’t know why.” She shakes her head, huffs a breath. It’s almost self-deprecating.

Not almost. It is. Heather Macnamara is crying and self-deprecating right in front of her. 

And she doesn’t enjoy it now. It pierces her chest, as easily as a knife would.

Wood scrapes on wood, and Heather is pushing her chair back and standing up.

“I can go. It’s fine, I can-I can go. Thank you for-for today. For everything really I-” She pauses, presses her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to treat you like I did. I didn’t mean it Martha. And I’m sorry.”

Heather goes to untie Lola’s leash, but this time Martha is faster and she grabs Heather’s hand. The contact is so sudden that Heather gasps, muscles tensing beneath Martha’s hand. Martha realises she is standing too. Her heart is pounding and pounding and pounding. Heather’s hand is beneath hers/

And Veronica is still down the block. And yes, it’s driving her crazy but Heather is right here.

Heather’s hand trembles. Martha didn’t think that was possible.

“I said there’d be cake,” she says weakly. It takes a moment for the words to register. She watches as the realisation dawns on Heather’s face. Cautiously, like she’s expecting a trap, Heather sits back down. 

“Okay,” she says quietly. 

They order a slice of vanilla cake and share it between them.