#unit fractions

[sangfielle]

its really really nice to be getting books out it feels like im finally for real moving in. aww we have a house together...

[springsfields]

sent my tutor a scary e-mail asking for clarification on something other students have been saying.. if i'm wrong it means i have a lighter work load going forward for this module i've been HATING, if i'm right it means i feel vindicated and i'm.. right. it's a win win.

[son-of-avraham]

hiii, im a conservative convert who wears tzitzit! it's definitely not the community norm, and you'll probably get some ppl reacting weirdly or telling you you're getting "too frum" (or maybe that's just my shul...), but that's their problem — what matters is whether you find it meaningful, and how it enhances your connection to Hashem. it's always a positive thing to take on a new mitzvah. personally i have found it to be deeply meaningful. and if you're worried about people's reactions, you can always wear them tucked in! i will add that if you're wearing out, it's my opinion that you should not do things publicly that violate halacha such as eating at a non kosher restaurant, but i also recognize that im very stringent in general for myself so of course, you should speak to your rabbi and use your judgement in making those decisions. all this to say — honestly yes, you will probably be the odd one out at a conservative shul if youre wearing tzitzit, but as long as it's something you find joy and meaning in, then it won't matter!

sorry this was a very rambly paragraph lol, but i really do encourage anyone who feels intrigued by this mitzvah to start wearing tzitzit without worrying too much about what people think. i think it's a beautiful way to remind yourself every day of your dedication to Hashem and to Torah <3

Absolutely! I don't really see anything jewish as being "too frum" to observe - because frum people are amazing people and because the things we call frum are just... part of judaism? I've found so much meaning in the things I have been able to do, and I've found... it's not just as simple as "I do this because I'm told to," these mitzvot are meaningful because of how grounded I've felt doing them, how they remind me I'm part of a bigger world that's not just "me," that I represent part of the human condition and I should act like it. I think a lot of people almost... oversimplify these mitzvot to the point where they can't understand why it's meaningful - which isn't really a bad thing, because I get it! We don't find the same meaning in the same things! But I just love celebrating all of these mitzvot because I think they're deep and personal and bigger than just "do this arbitrary thing lol"

[imagineagreatadventure]

i know there are people to hire to help with deceased belongings but how do i even google that? organizers?? of dead relatives things??

[maeamian]

I love radians as much as the next gal, particularly because of how they make the e^iπ-1 thing work out (it's because e is a circle in the complex plane) but I do think it's a little wild that most programs default to them over degrees the thing that most people who aren't mathematicians use because you gotta get at least to Taylor serieses before getting why radians are so sexy.

[hemantgoel]

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[snoweylily]

Absolutely LIVING for this "imperial vs. metric" baking measurement change. Do USAmericans not learn the decimal system in school?!?

[gender444]

ok i know this is the corniest thing ever to say but ive been crying a lottt lately about the fact that i can actually see a future for myself like a clear goal with steps and my irish passport looks like at the very very MOST it will cost under $200 which is so much less than getting my USA one renewed and their turnaround time is 20 working days instead of 7-12 weeks like it is here and oh my god look at this list of countries i can go to this is like the greatest gift that could have possibly ever been given to meee why am i weepy omg T_T im going to graduate and go far far away with my mummy and be successful and be happy. deep breaths. wistful sigh

[ort360solutionswy]

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[unavernales]

a little more information regarding the maui wildfires:

medical workers on the ground are describing finding hundreds of bodies. the current death toll in the media is, unfortunately, only a fraction of the reality

hospital workers are describing injuries and trauma as if survivors had come out of a warzone

thousands are still missing

an apartment complex for the elderly was lost. not everyone could get out. people were saying goodbye to loved ones over the phone

people who did get out of lahaina were leaving with ashes covering their faces and nothing but the clothes on their backs. people are losing everything.

hotels are still operating. hotels are still operating. they are not the ones offering shelters or housing or food. even bowling alleys are offering shelter, but hotels have the audacity to build on burial sites but not open their doors to local families who have lost everything.

donate to maui united way, the maui food bank, mutual aid, and maui humane society

[thatoneluckybee]

chat how do i remember basic skills from 3rd grade

[math-journal]

Unit 10

Worksheet 1

[1] Solving Equations Using Fraction Busters

[2] part 2 / [3] part 3 /

Terms: LCM (lowest common denominator), I x I absolute value: distance from zero

Note: make sure to combine like constants on same side of equation, otherwise you’ll be prone to mistakes

Edit_8_1_24 fuck fraction busters with a chain saw.

Decimal Busters

D

[syoddeye]

you get a new neighbor.

he moves into the flat across the courtyard. same floor, same narrow balcony. a smoker with restless, twitchy hands. you catch glimpses of him through the blinds.

you’ve never been one to keep them open—facing another unit all these years, privacy has been a comfort. but now, often without thinking, your fingers find the cord, tilting the cheap plastic slats just enough to peek through.

unlike you, he doesn’t bother with curtains. either unbothered or proud of his sparsely decorated, meticulously kept space. when he’s home, he spends hours in full view of his windows. sinking into his couch with a controller in hand, headset on. sometimes, not as often, a book. pacing, phone pressed to his ear, wearing a track into the floor.

more often than not, though, he’s maintaining his body. that, he clearly takes pride in. push-ups. crunches. weights. he’s fit. almost always shirtless. almost always in joggers or shorts. a thick pelt of hair across his chest, matching the wild, overgrown mess on his head. whatever cut he once had, it’s grown out strangely—a longer ridge along the top of his skull, like the raised hackles of a dog. it connects to an untrimmed tangle of a beard, hiding what must be a sharp jawline if it matches the body.

you know what it looks like—watching someone like this. if you admitted it to anyone, they’d call you a creep. a pervert.

but you can’t stop.

you don’t even know when your new little habit began. the moment the sun sinks, your lights go off. you sit in the dark, barely moving behind the slats. waiting. watching.

your spine goes rigid, every nerve at attention, when he steps onto the balcony for one of his many smokes of the night. saliva pools on your tongue in anticipation.

a cigarette dangles from his lips, moonlight catching every plane and muscle of his torso. he stretches. his big, broad back flexes as he grips the rail. biceps bulging when he pulls one arm over his chest, then the other, thatches of pit hair poking out.

however, it’s his eyes that draw you in.

bright blue. too bright. a glowing, animalic eyeshine. fresnel lenses, catching and refracting the light. as unnatural as they are alluring. unsettling in a way that itches at the back of your skull—but still, it makes you want to wrench the door open and leap across to him.

the same feeling you get standing at the edge of a cliff or rooftop.

then, he lifts his head. tilts it back until his nose juts into the air and sniffs.

you freeze. glance up at the closed, locked glass door. he can’t.

smoke billows from his lips as his gaze sweeps the courtyard. down at the ground, then scanning the floor beneath you. searching.

a shiver slides down your spine. you will yourself smaller, pressing into the shadows. he can’t possibly know you’re watching, let alone smell you through the walls and windows.

but then, just as you think he’ll go back inside, he turns his head slightly, just a fraction, toward you.

the cigarette burns, momentarily forgotten, between his fingers. his gaze fixes on you, direct and unblinking.

but there’s no way. no way he sees you in the dark.

then he smiles. the barest quirk of his lips. a knowing pull at the corner of his mouth.

he turns, steps inside, and yanks his blinds shut.

your breath catches. the slats slap against each other as you jerk back, heart hammering, blood roaring in your ears. you reach for the cord, fumbling, pulling too hard—yanking the entire thread free with a sharp, splintering snap.

not two minutes later, as you’re still panicking, up on your toes, uselessly trying to thread it back into place—an insistent knock rattles your door.

[bklynsboys]

Rest On Me (And I'll Lean On You)

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: what surprised the unit chief was that your head, as if drawn by an invisible string, had laid rest on spencer's shoulder—a stray strand of hair tickling his cheek. and not only that, spencer didn't seem to mind, not one bit. or, you fall asleep on spencer's shoulder and the rest of the team sees.

genre: fluff

word count: 1.3k

author's notes: back with another spencer fluff! i miss seeing my baby on my screen. i had to rewatch old episodes right after seeing the new ones because i miss him so bad. anyhow, enjoy reading this one.

RAIN LASHED AGAINST THE WINDSHIELD, BLURRING THE NEON GLOW OF THE CITY LIGHTS INTO A SMEAR. Inside the car, the air was filled with the silence of exhaustion. The BAU just narrowly captured another unsub—fortunately, just in time to save the most recent victim. Hotch, who was driving, glued his eyes to the rearview mirror. He had caught a glimpse of the scene unfolding behind him.

Spencer, usually busy poring through whatever piece of literature on his legs, was nestled into the corner, his head resting against the cool glass of the window. While, you, the newest member of the team, sat beside the male, curled up in the backseat, and brow furrowed in light sleep. Hotch recalled earlier how you were fighting back a yawn and wasn't surprised that he had found you passed out cold.

What surprised the unit chief was that your head, as if drawn by an invisible string, had laid rest on Spencer's shoulder—a stray strand of hair tickling his cheek. And not only that, Spencer didn't seem to mind, not one bit. In fact, a faint blush had dusted his cheeks, and his own eyes, momentarily fluttering open, held a hint of something akin to fondness.

Hotch watched, a small smile tugging at his lips. You and Spencer had been partnered for a particularly grueling case—a string of arsons with a unique signature. The long hours and emotional toll had clearly taken their toll.

Yet, even in exhaustion, an intimacy has bloomed between the both of you. Spencer, ever the gentleman, hadn't moved a muscle, seemingly content to act as a human pillow. On your part, like magnets, you had unconsciously gravitated towards his warmth, your breathing slowing into a peaceful rhythm.

Beside Hotch, a knowing grin spread across Morgan's face in the passenger seat. He glanced back at you and Spencer through the rearview mirror, catching the tender scene. He stifled a chuckle, it was endearing to see the boy genius to be intimate with someone, knowing that he wasn't known to be keen on physical affection.

With a playful nudge to Hotch's arm, Morgan kept his voice low. "Looks like someone found a comfy pillow, Hotch."

Hotch chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving the rearview mirror. "Seems so, Derek. Seems so."

But Morgan, ever the tease, couldn't resist adding another jab. "Just don't drool on him, kid," he called back in a mock-serious tone, knowing full well you were fast asleep.

Hotch shot him a withering look, but a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. He knew Morgan wouldn't disturb the peaceful tableau unfolding in the back. They all needed a moment of rest, a stolen fraction of comfort in the storm.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain. It was then, with a slight bump in the road, that the car dipped, causing Spencer to jostle ever so slightly. His head, as if following the car's movement, dipped as well, and his hair brushed against yours in a soft, unexpected touch.

You stirred in your sleep, a frown momentarily creasing your brow before smoothing out again. Spencer, wide awake now with a jolt of surprised awareness, froze. His hand instinctively reached up to brush the stray strand of hair back from his own face, but his fingers lingered in the air, hovering just above your head.

Heat flooded his cheeks as he realized the intimate position you had found yourselves in. He wanted to apologize, to gently move away, but a strange sense of peace settled over him. You looked so peaceful, nestled against the cool leather, and your brow finally relaxed. The exhaustion of the case seemed etched on your face, a shared burden they both carried.

With a silent sigh, Spencer decided against disturbing your slumber. He leaned his head back against the window, his gaze fixed on the blurry cityscape outside.

The car continued its journey through the city, the gentle sway a lullaby against the harsh symphony of the storm. You drifted deeper into sleep, the weight of Spencer's head on yours a grounding anchor.

As dawn painted the horizon with streaks of pink and orange, the rain finally subsided. Hotch, ever vigilant, announced they were nearing the precinct. Morgan, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, nudged Hotch again. "Think they'll wake up before we get there?" he whispered.

Hotch chuckled. "Knowing them, they'll probably jolt awake the second we stop. But for now, let them sleep."

The car pulled into the familiar parking lot of the BAU headquarters. Hotch gently nudged the brakes, careful not to disturb the peaceful scene in the back.

A trace of sunlight peeked through the clouds, illuminating the interior of the car. It danced across your face, warming your cheek and causing your eyelids to flutter open. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before the events of the previous night flooded back.

A blush crept up your neck as you realized your head was resting on Spencer's shoulder. You were about to mumble an apology when you noticed his head turned towards the window, a thoughtful expression etched on his face.

Gathering your courage, you cleared your throat softly. "Spencer?"

He turned his head slightly, a surprised look flickering across his features before a gentle smile softened his expression. "Good morning."

You felt a tug in your chest, a mixture of awkwardness and something else, something warmer and more exhilarating. The sound of the car door opening startled both of you. Spencer's eyes flew open, a look of surprise mirroring yours.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You felt a renewed warmth bloom in your cheeks. "I… I think so," you stammered, suddenly self-conscious. "How about you?"

Before you got the chance to hear what Spencer had to say, Morgan's voice boomed from behind you. "Well, well, well. Looks like someone slept well."

You scrambled to sit up straight, your face burning. Spencer mirrored your movement, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Uh, good morning, Morgan," you stammered.

"Morning, kids," Morgan chuckled. "Hotch is grabbing coffee. You two coming in, or are you planning on catching some more shut-eye in the parking lot?"

You stole a glance at Spencer, who was gathering his things with a focus that seemed almost deliberate. The memory of his hair brushing against yours sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure if it was the exhaustion of the case or something else entirely, but the shared touch felt undeniably intimate.

"We're coming, Morgan," you called out, your voice a little shaky.

As you were about to exit the car, Spencer held the door for you with a shy smile. "Thanks for letting me, uh, borrow your shoulder," he mumbled, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink.

"No worries, Spencer," you replied, forcing a casual tone. "We both needed the rest. And thank you, as well. I used your shoulder first, so I guess it's only fair I let you borrow mine."

Spencer chuckled at this which caused your cheeks to pinken.

"About earlier," Spencer started. "When you asked me how I'm doing? Much better than I expected, considering the circumstances," he admitted with a hint of a chuckle.

The air crackled with unspoken words, a tension that felt both electric and strangely comfortable. You stole a glance at his profile, the way the soft morning light highlighted the planes of his face.

"That's good," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "We should probably get going."

Spencer seemed to hesitate for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "Right. We have forms to fill up."

Before you could unbuckle your seatbelt, Spencer beat you to it—his hand brushed against yours for a fleeting moment. It sent a jolt through you, a silent echo of the intimacy from the night before.

Stepping out of the car, you took a deep breath of crisp morning air. The city stretched out before you bathed in the golden hues of sunrise.

"Ready to face another day?" Morgan uttered loudly ahead of you, his voice laced with amusement.

You turned to face him, sighing at his teasing. You weren't oblivious to the fact that Morgan liked seeing you and Spencer together. "As ready as I'll ever be, Morgan."

[differenteagletragedy]

What if you are married to Simon but you still have eyes and Price is right there, what then ↓

It's so hot. The sun is beating down outside, summer in full swing, but inside your house the heat is oppressive. It's suffocating.

"Simon, just call someone to fix it," you whine, walking around until you find your husband with his shirt off and sweat dripping down his back, reading something on his phone.

"Don't need anyone to fix it," he mutters, not looking up at you. "Can do it myself."

You groan, because it's painfully clear at this point that he in fact cannot fix it. It's been three days since the air conditioning went out, and three days of Simon trying everything he can think of to fix it. He's been flipping breakers, messing with the thermostat, taking tools to the unit outside, but nothing's worked, because Simon does not know what he's doing.

"I'm going to die," you tell him, sinking down onto the couch. "I'm going to perish and it's all going to be your fault."

You see him smirk, but he still doesn't look up. Instead, he tells you, "You're going to survive this, sweetheart. Going to have it up and running by tonight."

"Why won't you call an actual repairman? Why are you insisting on whatever this is?"

"Cute," he says, finally glancing up at you with a grin. "You're the one who married a stubborn bastard, what do you think?"

You think it's a mix of pride and sheer unwillingness to be outsmarted by a hunk of metal and parts, but you don't say that. Instead, you continue whining.

The next morning, Simon still hasn't figured it out. You tell him more directly, dramatics aside, that you're very uncomfortable and would just like to solve the problem in a normal, reasonable manner.

He makes a deal with you. He's not ready to completely give up and call in outside help just yet. But he will call Johnny.

"Does Johnny know how to repair a heating and cooling unit?" you ask, entirely unconvinced.

He answers, "Johnny knows a lot of things."

A couple of hours later, Johnny comes over, his own tools in tow, and he's brought along a surprise -- Kyle.

You keep your groan to yourself this time and just bring the men drinks while they work. Or, well, while Johnny and Kyle nod while Simon tells them everything he's done that hasn't worked. It doesn't take them long to switch from water to beer, and at this point you're pretty sure you're actually going to die.

"You know," Kyle says at one point, carrying the latest round of empty bottles to the trash, "I think the captain had something like this happen a few years back. I seem to remember overhearing him talking to the missus about it in a call."

"Is that why she divorced him?" you ask. "He wouldn't call a repairman and kept telling her he could fix it himself?"

Simon gives you a look, and you give it right back -- you know you're being cheeky, but the heat really is miserable.

But Kyle only laughs and shakes his head, saying "No, I don't think that's what did it. He got it fixed, I believe, he's pretty handy with things like that."

It's your turn to shoot Simon at look. Your husband shakes his head, twisting the top off another beer, and says, "Absolutely not."

"Simon."

"Sweetheart."

"Please."

An hour or so later, John arrives. And, ever so slightly, the atmosphere shifts. Simon, Johnny and Kyle stand just a little bit straighter, their voices get the tiniest bit more business-like. They're not standing at attention now that the captain is here, it's not that notable, but now it's clear that someone is in charge.

It's cute, you think as you watch them. You smile softly, watching Simon as he gives John a debriefing on everything he's tried so far, and you don't notice that John's eyes linger on you just a fraction of a second longer than what might be considered acceptable.

The captain is the one who finally gets the air conditioning running again, but it's no small effort. From the window, you watch as Price tinkers with something within the unit, and you smile when you hear it kick on, a nearby vent starting the work of circulating cool air through the too-hot house.

"What did you do?" you ask John, a bit of wonder in your voice, when they all come back inside to make sure everything is in order. "Simon's been going at it for days and you got it in half an hour."

The older man gives you a small, tight smile, reaching out to tap Simon's shoulder lightly.

"Just a blown capacitor, love," he tells you. "Easy enough fix."

You return his smile like you always do -- you like John. Always have. It's something, you think, about how similar he can be to Simon. Both men are strong and solid, deeply masculine in a way that's natural, not forced. They both have deep, rumbling voices that you feel in your chest when they speak. And sometimes, though you don't know John as well as you know Simon, of course, you think that the captain has something wild in him, too. Some kind of ache that runs deep through him, one that he's muzzled and tamed long ago.

Your Simon struggles with it still, though less since you married him. It's why he still wears a mask on the job, and why he wrestles, on a base level, with the idea of being seen.

John, you think, wears a different kind of mask. You can see it when he comes over for dinner some evenings, in the way that even after a full meal, dessert and a glass of scotch, the tension stays in his shoulders. You've never seen the man relaxed, and from what Simon's said of him, he hasn't either. It's his tight grip on control, of himself and those around him. He clings to it.

"Is that thing really working?" Johnny asks, grabbing another beer. "It's still hot as hell in here."

"It'll take a while to cool down, but it's working," John answers.

He's as sweaty as the others, but he doesn't complain. Instead, he lifts the hem of his t-shirt up to wipe his face. You look down -- your eyes just tracking the motion, you tell yourself -- to see his belly bared, covered in a thick coating of dark hair and just the slightest bit soft.

When you pull your eyes back to his, he's giving you a grin, but if he caught you staring, he doesn't say anything.

"You wanna get Price a drink?" Simon asks, smirking at you. "For saving your life and all."

You nod, turning back to the kitchen, pulling out the scotch you keep just for him and trying to clear your head.

Sure, John is an attractive man. So is Kyle, so is Johnny. And for that matter, so is Simon. Your husband.

But still, when you return to the group of men gathered in your living room, your fingers brush against John's as you hand him the drink. And you can't help but think about what that beard would feel like against your cheek, between your thighs. How it would feel if, even for just a little while, you were the thing he felt that desperate, innate need to control.

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

I heard there's a TB outbreak in Kansas right now?? Do you know if there's anything we can do to help?

There is ongoing spread of TB in Kansas--so far, 67 cases of active disease.

I want to be clear this is a tiny, tiny fraction of the overall global burden of tuberculosis: 10,000,000 people get sick with TB every year, and 1,250,000 die (almost all of whom die unnecessarily--TB is curable).

It's also a small fraction of the U.S. burden of TB--we have about 10,000 cases of TB annually in the U.S. It's an airborne disease, so we shouldn't be surprised that people are getting sick. We should be horrified that we're allowing so many people to get sick even though TB is both curable and preventable. (We can stop chains of infection by offering preventative antibiotics to close contacts of the sick.)

We should absolutely be worried about TB in the United States. An airborne disease that's allowed to infect and sicken ten million people each year is an ongoing threat to all humans. But we should also remember that while we worry about a hypothetical TB pandemic, much of the world has never emerged from the TB pandemic that has lasted for thousands of years and killed many billions of people.

Should you be worried about contracting TB? Yes. But you should mostly be worried that the U.S. government has paused all TB funding, which will increase antibiotic resistance, needless death, and the risk that untreatable versions of the disease will emerge and spread.