A circle inscribed in a square covers 79% of the square.
A ball inscribed in a cube fills 52% of the cube.
A 4-ball inscribed in a hypercube fills 31% of the hypercube.
A 5-ball inscribed in a 5-cube fills 16% of the 5-cube.
⋮
A 9-ball inscribed in a 9-cube fills it up less than 1% of the way, yet there’s no room to fit a second ball of the same size without intersecting the first.
⋮
In dimensions 23 and up, you can fit a little cube in the corner of the diagram, such that the cube has a larger volume than the ball!
That's especially disconcerting because the 23-cube has 8,388,608 corners. Even if you inscribe the little red cubes in all eight million corners, your big cube will still be 99.5% empty space.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
— 𝜗𝜚⋆ mans best friend rerun ꒰ ﹒rafe cameron's version, e/manchild
he leaves his shoes in the middle of the floor again. not near the door. not kicked off to the side. directly in the middle of the fucking hallway like the world will simply move around him because it always has.
you stare at them for a long second before nudging one with your sock-covered foot. “seriously?”
from the kitchen, rafe barely looks up from his phone. “what?”
“your shoes.”
“what about ‘em?”
you let out a slow breath through your nose. “nothing.”
because somehow every conversation with him turns into this. small things stacking on top of smaller things until you’re carrying the entire relationship on your back while he walks around acting like gravity just doesn’t apply to him.
rafe grins lazily from the counter. “you’re cute when you’re irritated.”
your jaw tightens. "cute". everything is cute to him. you being upset? cute. you crying? dramatic. you asking him to act like an adult for five fucking minutes? suddenly you’re ruining his mood.
he watches you move around the apartment cleaning up the mess he’s left behind from last night — beer bottles, takeout containers, one of his shirts hanging off the lamp for reasons you genuinely cannot comprehend.
“you know,” you mutter, tossing the shirt at him, “most grown men know how to pick up after themselves.”
rafe catches it with one hand, unfazed. “most grown men don’t look this good either, baby.”
you stare at him blankly. he winks and against your will, a laugh almost escapes. that’s the problem. he’s almost charming enough to survive consequences, because dating rafe cameron feels a little bit like babysitting someone who’s taller than you and emotionally allergic to responsibility.
he forgets plans constantly. he says “my bad” like it magically fixes things. he spends ridiculous amounts of money on stupid shit but somehow “forgets” to pay his half of the electricity bill and god forbid you try to talk seriously about anything.
“can we communicate better?” you ask one night.
“we are communicating,” he says around a mouthful of fries.
“rafe.”
“what? i’m literally listening.”
he isn’t. he’s scrolling through his phone while you sit there trying not to lose your mind. you snatch the phone out of his hand. his head lifts immediately. “hey—”
“i’m serious.”
“okay, and now i’m seriously annoyed.”
you laugh once in disbelief because somehow you’re always the problem once you stop accommodating him. rafe leans back in his chair, crossing tattooed arms over his chest. “you’ve been on my ass all week.”
“because you act like a child.”
his eyebrows lift slowly. “a child?”
“yes, rafe. a fucking manchild.”
that gets his attention. he scoffs loudly. “that’s dramatic.”
“is it?” you fire back immediately. “because i’m exhausted.”
his expression flickers slightly at that. good. maybe he should hear it.
“i’m tired of cleaning up after you. i’m tired of reminding you to do basic things. i’m tired of you acting like every inconvenience in your life is somehow my responsibility to fix.”
“that’s not true.”
“you called me three times last week because you lost your wallet.”
“and you found it.”
“IN YOUR CAR.”
he starts laughing. actually laughing. you stare at him in horror while he leans back against the booth grinning like this is all hilarious.
“baby, c’mon—”
“no, seriously, what is wrong with you?” you snap. “nothing is ever serious to you.”
his smile drops a little like you snatched his poor little favourite toy. “that’s not fair.”
“neither is me feeling like your mother instead of your girlfriend.”
silence. rafe’s jaw tightens instantly, defensive walls slamming up so fast you practically hear them. “okay, now you’re being a dick.”
you blink at him. “i’m being a dick?”
“yeah.” he leans forward now, irritation bleeding into his voice. “all i do is try to have a good time and you make everything into some deep emotional bullshit.”
your chest tightens because there it is, the switch. every time you need something real from him, he acts like you’re asking for too much. “because god forbid i want an actual partner,” you mutter.
“god forbid you chill out for once.”
you stare at each other across the table. you angry, him stubborn and neither willing to back down. then his phone buzzes and this motherfucker actually looks down at it mid-argument.
you laugh softly in disbelief, grabbing your purse.
rafe glances up. “where’re you going?”
“home.”
“don’t be dramatic.”
that phrase.
that exact fucking phrase. something in you finally snaps. “you know what?” your voice shakes slightly as you stand. “i genuinely don’t think you understand how to love someone unless it’s easy for you.”
his expression changes immediately. “that’s not—”
“you want someone to adore you and clean up your messes and laugh at your jokes and make your life easier while you give the bare minimum back.”
“baby —”
“and every time i ask for more, you make me feel insane for it.”
people nearby are definitely staring now but you honestly don’t care anymore. rafe stands too fast, chair scraping harshly against the floor. “lower your voice.”
you almost laugh. “or what? you’ll pout about it?”
his jaw flexes. “i’m serious.”
“so am i.”
your eyes burn suddenly because underneath all the frustration is heartbreak. you love him. that’s what makes this hurt so much. if you didn’t love him, leaving would be easy but you do and rafe looks at you now like he knows he’s losing something important but still doesn’t fully understand why.
“i need you to grow up,” you whisper.
for once, he has nothing smart to say.
he shows up at your apartment two days later with flowers and absolutely no plan beyond that.
very rafe of him.
you open the door wearing one of his old shirts and his chest physically aches at the sight. “hey,” he says carefully.
you glance at the flowers. “you googled how to apologize, didn’t you?”
“wow,” he mutters. “that obvious?”
“painfully.”
a tiny smile almost pulls at your mouth. rafe notices immediately like a starving man spotting food. “there she is.”
you roll your eyes, letting him inside. he stands awkwardly in your living room for a second before blurting, “i know i’m immature sometimes.”“sometimes?”
“okay, frequently.” you snort despite yourself and taking that as a sign of encouragement, he takes a cautious step closer.
“but i do love you.”
your face softens a little. “i know you do, rafe.”
“then why does it feel like you’re halfway out the door?”
because loving him feels like dragging someone toward adulthood while they kick and scream the entire way, because you’re tired and because sometimes being adored is not the same thing as being cared for. instead, you look down for a second before speaking quietly. “love isn’t enough if i’m doing all the emotional work alone.”
rafe goes silent. really silent. not fake-listening silent. thinking silent and for maybe the first time since you met him, he looks genuinely scared. “i don’t wanna lose you,” he admits quietly.
the vulnerability in his voice almost undoes you. almost. you step closer, fixing the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. “then stop making me carry this relationship by myself.”
his eyes search yours carefully. “and if i try?”
“then i’ll stay long enough to see if you mean it.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"Holmes, did I really do that bad?
What strategy should I have had?"
"Though you didn't need grub,
I'd have gone to the pub
And bought all the secrets they had."
-=<+>=-
(Holmes goes down to the pub and comes back bloody)
-=<+>=-
"Oh Holmes, what kind of fight did you start?
Those cuts on your knuckles must smart."
"They're proof of outfoxing
Our foe with my boxing.
The other man went home in a cart!"
Art by the **supremely talented**artist @contact-guy!!!
Make sure that you are subscribed, and catch up with all installments of Watson's Sketchbook too!!
so... I've decided to do reruns of this for nostalgia sake.. I don't even know if this fandom is active but if you are and you find this post, chat me up!
The van that Neal hijacked has a cassette player and the old phones with keypad keyboard typing.. this show is old!
ahhh the hot, smart, tall, will-do-anything-their-women, beautiful eyes and hair guys! My type!
Was the requirement of this show 'stunning pair of eyes'? Neal, Kate, Elizabeth, even June's granddaughter Cindy
I love how Elizabeth is with Neal
Ayoo Crowley! I swear man, i miss the days of spotting CW actors in different shows. These days it's just McKenna Grace and Cole Sprouse
I don't know if I'm going to do like full reviews but let's see..
