#How STATA is Useful

[enhaflixer]

campus crush!sunghoon x f!reader

stats class. keep ur glasses on when u fuck me. statistical analysis with ur tongue. thats abt it. sunghoon word porn ngl ENHA HARD HOURS (kinda) 18+ MDNI

-

You're late. Again.

The digital clock on your phone reads 3:10 PM as you sprint across campus, your backpack bouncing against your spine with each step. Statistics seminar started ten minutes ago, and Professor Clarke has definitely noticed your absence by now. Not that it's unusual—you've made it a habit to burst through those doors at exactly ten minutes past, a whirlwind of apologies and bright smiles.

"Sorry, sorry!" you announce as you push open the computer lab door, slightly out of breath.

Twenty pairs of eyes swivel toward you, but Professor Clarke doesn't even look up from his laptop at the front of the room.

"How kind of you to join us," he says dryly. "We were just assigning semester project partners."

You flash him your most charming smile as you slide into an empty seat. "Perfect timing then."

A few people laugh. You've mastered the art of diffusing tension with humor, of making your tardiness seem like a quirky character trait rather than a genuine inability to manage time. It's gotten you this far in university.

"As I was saying," Professor Clarke continues, "this statistical analysis project will count for forty percent of your grade. You and your assigned partner will select a dataset, develop a hypothesis, and use STATA to analyze your findings." He gestures to the complex statistical software displayed on the projector screen—the same software that has been giving you nightmares since week one.

You glance around the room, hoping you'll be paired with Olivia or Zara—friends who wouldn't mind carrying the team if necessary. But when Professor Clarke reads off, "Sunghoon Park and..." followed by your name, your heart does something unexpected.

It skips.

You've noticed him before—it's hard not to. He always sits in the same spot three rows from the front, always arrives fifteen minutes early, always has his notebook open at the exact moment class begins.

What you haven't fully appreciated until now, as you turn to locate him in the room, is just how devastatingly handsome he is. His dark eyes find yours immediately behind stylish wire-rimmed glasses that give him an irresistible intellectual appeal. One corner of his perfectly shaped mouth lifts in the smallest acknowledgment, and a strand of black hair falls across his forehead when he nods at you. The combination of his reserved demeanor and model-worthy looks creates an effect that makes your stomach flip. He's the definition of a hot nerd—the kind that makes you temporarily forget about statistical analysis altogether and wonder what he'd look like with those glasses slightly askew, his usually perfect hair disheveled.

After partnering announcements finish, Professor Clarke instructs everyone to move next to their assigned partners to discuss project ideas.

You gather your things and make your way to Sunghoon's station, dropping into the chair beside him with dramatic flair.

"Fair warning," you say brightly, "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this software. Like, none. Zero. Statistical analysis to me is deciding which café has the shortest queue."

You expect a sigh or a look of disappointment—it's what most serious students do when they realize they've been paired with you. Instead, Sunghoon's expression softens.

"It's okay," he says quietly, his voice carrying just a hint of an accent. "I'm... not an expert either."

"But you always look so focused during class," you say, gesturing to his immaculate notes.

He shrugs, the movement slight and controlled. "I write everything down. Doesn't mean I understand it all."

When he opens the STATA program and navigates through a few screens with apparent ease, you lean closer.

"Okay, so you're being modest. You definitely know more than I do."

"Barely," he admits, and you catch the faintest hint of a smile—not the polite one from before, but something genuine that makes you want to see it again. "I just know how to make it look like I know what I'm doing."

"That's an important life skill," you laugh, pulling your chair closer to see his screen better. "So what kind of data are we analyzing? Please say something fun like ice cream consumption versus happiness levels."

Sunghoon doesn't laugh, but his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "Actually," he says, "we can choose almost anything that interests us."

You bump his shoulder lightly with yours. "See? We're going to be great partners. I bring the wild ideas, you bring the common sense."

"Is that what they call it?" he asks, and there's a hint of playfulness in his voice that catches you off guard.

"What would you call it?" you challenge.

He considers for a moment, adjusting his glasses with a single finger pushed against the bridge. The gesture shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "Survival instinct."

You laugh, genuinely surprised. "So I'm dangerous?"

"No," he says, turning slightly to face you better. "Statistical software is dangerous. You're..." he pauses, seeming to search for the right word, "unpredictable."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one." The quiet confidence in his voice sends a small thrill through you.

Professor Clarke clears his throat at the front of the room. "I expect project proposals by the end of next week. Choose your dataset carefully—it will determine the scope of your entire project."

You glance at the clock. Only fifteen minutes of class remain.

"So, partner," you say, lowering your voice as Professor Clarke continues, "when should we meet to figure this out? I promise I'll try not to be ten minutes late."

Sunghoon's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Would you actually show up if I said 8 AM at the library?"

"Now you're just testing me," you whisper back.

"Coffee shop after class on Thursday?" he suggests instead, his voice equally quiet. "The one behind the science building?"

"Beans & Books? You've got good taste." You nod approvingly. "I practically live there between classes."

"I know," he says, then immediately looks as if he wishes he could take it back.

"You know?" You raise an eyebrow, intrigued and slightly pleased.

A faint color appears high on his cheekbones. "I've seen you there. You always order something different and then type furiously on your laptop."

The fact that he's noticed you before, observed your habits even, gives you a little flutter of satisfaction. "And what do you order, Sunghoon Park? Let me guess—plain black coffee, no sugar."

His eyebrows lift slightly. "Close. Earl Grey tea."

"Of course," you nod sagely. "Sophisticated."

When class ends, you gather your things slowly, suddenly reluctant to leave. Sunghoon stands, slinging his messenger bag across his chest in one smooth motion.

"Thursday, then," he says, as if confirming an important business meeting.

"It's a date," you reply with deliberate casualness, watching his reaction.

His expression remains mostly neutral, but you don't miss the quick blink, the slight pause before he nods. "For statistics," he clarifies, but the slight upturn of his lips betrays him.

"For statistics," you agree solemnly, though you're already wondering what other subjects you might explore together.

The coffee shop meeting goes surprisingly well. What you expected to be an hour of awkward dataset discussions turns into three hours of conversation that meanders far beyond statistics. Sunghoon, it turns out, has layers beneath his reserved exterior—he plays piano, reads philosophy for fun, and has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard and makes you laugh harder than you have in weeks.

By the end of the evening, you've not only selected your dataset (coffee consumption versus academic performance—your suggestion, which he surprisingly agreed to), but you've also learned that his stammer appears when he's either nervous or passionate about a topic. You find both instances equally endearing.

When Friday's class rolls around, something shifts. You arrive only five minutes late (progress), and the space beside Sunghoon, which is usually empty, now seems to be waiting for you. You slide into the seat and he glances up from his notebook, the corner of his mouth lifting in that subtle way that's becoming familiar.

"You're almost on time," he says quietly, amusement in his eyes.

"Don't get used to it," you reply, but there's no bite to your words.

Throughout the class, your awareness of him is heightened—the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating, how his fingers tap thoughtfully against the desk when Professor Clarke asks a difficult question, the scent of his cologne when he leans closer to point something out on your screen.

After class, you find yourself hesitating as you pack up your things, watching as he meticulously organizes his notes.

"So," you begin, aiming for casual, "I was thinking... we should probably meet again this weekend to work on the project." You pause. "My roommate's gone for the weekend. We could use my dorm? Fewer distractions than the coffee shop."

Sunghoon looks up, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nods. "That would be... efficient."

You laugh at his choice of words. "Very statistical of you."

"I meant—" he starts, a hint of that stammer appearing.

"I know what you meant," you interrupt, grinning. "Saturday at four?"

He nods, adjusting his glasses. "I'll bring the data analysis. You bring the coffee."

"Deal."

Saturday arrives, and for the first time in your university career, you spend thirty minutes tidying your room before a study session. You tell yourself it's just basic courtesy, not because you care what Sunghoon thinks of your living space.

At precisely four o'clock, there's a knock at your door. Punctual as always.

You open it to find Sunghoon standing there in jeans and a simple button-down shirt, his laptop bag slung across his body. He's swapped his usual wire-frames for slightly thicker black glasses that somehow make him look even more attractive—scholarly but with an edge.

"You're making me look bad with this punctuality thing," you say by way of greeting, stepping aside to let him in.

"Sorry?" he offers, clearly unsure if he's actually done something wrong.

You laugh. "I'm joking. Come in."

Your dorm room is standard—bed, desk, small seating area with a loveseat and coffee table—but you've made it yours with art on the walls and plants on every available surface. Sunghoon takes it all in with curious eyes.

"I like your space," he says, and it sounds genuine.

"Thanks. Where should we set up? Desk or coffee table?"

"Either is fine," he says, that formal politeness still present even after your hours in the coffee shop.

You end up at the coffee table, sitting side by side on the loveseat, laptops open. For an hour, you actually make progress on the project. Sunghoon explains correlations in a way that finally makes sense, and you discover you have a talent for visualizing data in creative ways that makes his eyes light up with approval.

But as the afternoon wears on, the small space means your shoulders keep brushing, your knees occasionally touch, and each point of contact feels increasingly deliberate. When you reach for your coffee at the same moment he reaches for his tea, your hands collide, and neither of you pulls away immediately.

"Sorry," you both say at once, and then laugh.

"Great minds," you add, but you're distracted by how his eyes look behind those glasses, warm and focused entirely on you.

At some point, you shift positions, both of you turning toward each other to discuss a particularly complicated aspect of your analysis. Your knees are definitely touching now, and the loveseat suddenly seems much smaller than it did an hour ago.

"So if we compare these variables..." he's saying, but you're watching his mouth form the words more than listening to their meaning.

"Hmm?" you say, forcing your attention back to the screen.

He turns to look at you fully, and you realize how close your faces are. "You're not listening," he says, but there's no accusation in his voice.

"I'm distracted," you admit.

"By statistics?"

"By you."

The words hang in the air between you. Sunghoon blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to something more intense. He swallows visibly, and you watch the movement in his throat.

"I'm... distracting?" he asks, his voice lower than before.

"Extremely." Your eyes lock on his glasses, the way they frame his dark eyes, how they complete his devastatingly attractive intellectual look. "Especially with these on."

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. "The glasses?"

"God, yes," you breathe, moving closer. "You have no idea how fucking hot you look in them."

A flush spreads across his cheeks, but there's a new confidence in the way he holds your gaze. Without warning, he pulls you forward into a kiss that has nothing of his usual restraint. His laptop slides forgotten to the coffee table as you shift closer, and then somehow you're straddling his lap, your hands on either side of his face as you deepen the kiss.

When you break apart to breathe, his glasses are slightly askew. You straighten them gently, then run your fingers through his usually immaculate hair, deliberately messing it up while keeping the glasses perfectly in place.

"You're so sexy," you murmur against his mouth. "I've been thinking about this since the first day we were paired up."

His hands find your hips, holding you firmly against him. "I find that... statistically improbable," he manages, but his breathing is as uneven as yours.

"I'll show you improbable," you whisper, grinding down deliberately. His glasses fog slightly from the heat between you, and the sight sends a thrill through your body. "So fucking hot," you repeat, unable to stop yourself.

His hands slide beneath your shirt, exploring with a surprising boldness that makes you gasp. "We should—" he starts, breathing heavily.

“Yes,” you agree, already pulling him up from the loveseat, walking backwards toward your bed while keeping his mouth on yours. “The project can definitely wait.”

You fall back onto the mattress, pulling him down with you, careful not to knock his glasses off as he hovers above you. They’ve fogged again from the heat between your bodies, and something about that sight—this controlled, precise man coming undone while still looking every bit the hot intellectual—pushes you past any remaining hesitation.

“Leave them on,” you insist when he reaches to remove his glasses. “Please.”

His lips curve into a smile that’s nothing like his usual restrained expressions—this one is knowing, almost wicked. “If that’s what you want,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your neck.

“It’s definitely what I want,” you gasp as his teeth graze your skin. “Along with… everything else.”

There’s a playful air to each touch, a slow building of tension as you both start to peel away layers. You tug at the hem of his shirt first, sliding it up inch by tantalizing inch until he lifts his arms to help you pull it off. He returns the favor by slipping a hand under your blouse, fingertips teasing over your ribs. Every time he tries to hasten the pace, you grin and slow him down, dragging the fabric just a bit more before letting it fall away, leaving him momentarily breathless. The sound he makes—caught somewhere between a groan and a laugh—sends a thrill through you.

Time seems to blur as clothing is discarded piece by piece, inhibitions falling away with each new revelation of skin. The afternoon sunlight filters through your curtains, casting everything in a warm glow.

At some point, you find yourself above him, both of you completely bare except for his glasses, which have somehow remained perfectly in place despite everything. You pause for a moment, taking in the sight of him beneath you—all lean muscle and flushed skin, those wire-rimmed glasses still perched on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat between your bodies.

“You’re staring,” he whispers, a vulnerability in his voice despite the intimate position.

“Can you blame me?” You lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, then another, and another, each one growing more insistent. “God, look at you.”

His hands find your hips, steadying you as you continue to kiss him, his glasses occasionally bumping against your face in a way that only heightens your desire. There's something impossibly erotic about him being completely naked except for those glasses—the contrast between his exposed body and that one remnant of his studious, put-together appearance.

"You're so fucking sexy," you breathe against his mouth. "How does anyone focus in that statistics class with you sitting there looking like this?"

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. "I could ask you the same question."

Your kisses become more urgent, your bodies moving together with increasing need. The heat between you builds with each touch, each whispered encouragement. Sunghoon's usually careful movements grow bolder, more instinctive, as your hands explore each other's bodies. His glasses, still perfectly perched on his nose, begin to fog at the edges first—just a light mist that catches the dim light of your room. But as your passion intensifies, as your breathing grows more ragged and synchronized, the lenses cloud completely.

When you pull back to look at him, you can't help but laugh softly at the sight—this brilliantly composed man now completely blinded by the evidence of your shared desire, those glasses that make him look so irresistibly intellectual now rendered useless by the heat radiating between your bodies. To your surprise, he laughs too—not the polite chuckle you've heard in class or the soft amusement from your coffee shop conversations, but a genuine, uninhibited sound that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him. It's rich and warm and completely unguarded.

"I can't see a thing," he admits, his voice husky with desire and amusement. His hands find your face despite his temporary blindness, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with unexpected precision. "But I don't need to see to know exactly where you are."

"Is that so?" you challenge, your breath catching as his fingers trail down your neck, across your collarbone, mapping you with deliberate attention.

"I've been studying you," he murmurs, his touch making you shiver despite the heat between you. "Memorizing. Analyzing patterns." His hands continue their exploration, finding every sensitive spot with remarkable accuracy. "It's very... statistical."

You laugh against his mouth. "Only you could make statistics sound sexy."

Through the fogged lenses, you can just barely make out how his eyes darken at your words. "I have other statistical terms I could demonstrate," he offers, surprising you again with his boldness. His accent becomes slightly more pronounced when he's like this—another detail you've grown to cherish.

"Show me," you whisper, and he does—his hands and mouth conducting a thorough analysis of cause and effect, of stimuli and response, until you're clutching at his shoulders and gasping his name. All while those fogged-up glasses remain perfectly in place, the final vestige of his composed exterior while everything else between you unravels into glorious chaos.

You’re already bare beneath him, skin flushed from teasing and anticipation, but the only thing still clinging to his body—those damn glasses—make it so much worse. Or better. Definitely better.

Sunghoon hovers over you, gaze dark behind the lenses, lips swollen and slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you. You should be embarrassed at how wanton you must look, legs spread for him, body already trembling, but he’s the one who looks wrecked. His composure is gone, shattered somewhere between the desperate kisses and the way you dragged your nails down his back.

His lips quirk. “Still want me to leave them on?”

“Don’t even think about taking them off.”

His smile turns wicked, and then he’s moving—kissing, sucking, trailing his mouth down your body with purpose. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider, and then he’s right there—close enough that you can feel the ghost of his breath against you, the heat of it making your stomach clench.

He doesn’t start slow. No teasing, no light flicks of his tongue just to test the waters. Sunghoon eats you like he’s been starving for this, like he’s been waiting for the moment he could taste you, drown in you. His tongue is hot and relentless, curling against you just right, pressing where you need him most, sending shockwaves through every nerve in your body.

But what really undoes you is the feeling of his glasses pressing against your inner thighs, the cold metal contrasting with the heat of his mouth. Every time he moves, every time he adjusts his angle, the frames shift against your skin—slightly rough, slightly smooth, a reminder of exactly who is between your legs and how absolutely ruined he’s making you.

You fist the sheets, hips jerking up into his mouth, but he pins you down effortlessly, a strong arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you exactly where he wants you. He groans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations shooting through you, making you gasp his name.

“Fuck, Sunghoon—”

His response is a low hum against your clit, and your whole body shakes. You feel the damp heat of his breath, the slick slide of his tongue, but more than anything, you feel the weight of those goddamn glasses as they drag along your skin, fogging up even more, smudging against your inner thigh every time he moves deeper, harder, sloppier.

The sheer filth of it makes you clench around nothing.

Sunghoon notices, because of course he does—because he’s been studying you this whole time, memorizing what makes you gasp, what makes your thighs tremble around his head. And he’s smug about it, too, because when he pulls back just enough to glance up at you, lips glistening, glasses just barely slipping down his nose, he smirks.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice is raspy, breathless, wrecked.

You don’t even try to deny it. “Yes—God, yes, don’t stop.”

Sunghoon’s smirk deepens, and he doesn’t make you beg for it. He dives right back in, tongue flicking, sucking, his grip on your thighs tightening as you lose yourself completely. The drag of his glasses, the precise way he adjusts his angle to push you higher, the way he groans into you like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are—it’s too much.

The coil in your stomach snaps hard, pleasure crashing over you so intensely that you barely realize you’re pulling at his hair, moaning his name like a prayer, like you might fall apart completely if he stops.

Sunghoon doesn’t stop. Not right away. He works you through the aftershocks, his tongue slow, methodical, lazy in a way that makes you shudder from overstimulation. Only when your body twitches beneath him does he finally pull away, chin glistening, glasses fucking ruined.

You’re still gasping when he crawls back up your body, hovering over you, his mouth right there, his glasses so close you can see the way they’re fogged-up and smudged with sweat.

When you finally collapse beside each other, spent and satisfied, his glasses are askew once more. You reach over to straighten them, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm.

"So," you say, when you've caught your breath, "should we tell Professor Clarke we've found an interesting correlation to study?"

Sunghoon laughs, the sound free and unrestrained in a way you hadn't heard before today. "I don't think this is what he had in mind for the assignment."

"His loss," you murmur, snuggling closer. "I'd say our statistical analysis was very... thorough."

"We should probably actually work on the project at some point," he says, but makes no move to get up.

"Tomorrow," you promise, running a finger along his jawline. "I think we need to collect more data first."

His eyebrow raises above the rim of his glasses. "For the sake of academic integrity?"

"Absolutely," you agree solemnly, before dissolving into laughter.

The statistics of probability have never been so compelling.

-

Over the next few weeks, your statistics class takes on an entirely new dimension. What was once your least favorite part of the week has become the highlight—not because you've suddenly developed a passion for data analysis, but because of the subtle dance that unfolds between you and Sunghoon twice a week in that computer lab.

The Monday after your "study session," you arrive to class five minutes early—a personal record. Sunghoon is already there, of course, and the moment he sees you, his ears turn slightly pink. When you slide into the seat next to him, now officially your spot, he gives you a small smile that feels like a secret.

"You're early," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"I had motivation," you reply, letting your knee brush against his under the desk.

His eyes flicker to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to his notebook. "I hope it wasn't just for... statistical analysis."

"Depends on how you define statistics," you whisper just as Professor Clarke calls the class to order.

Throughout the lecture, you're acutely aware of every movement Sunghoon makes—how he adjusts his glasses when he's thinking, the precise way he takes notes, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking. Halfway through class, you deliberately drop your pen between you. When you both reach for it, your fingers touch, and he doesn't pull away. Instead, he hooks his pinky finger over yours for just a moment before handing you the pen. The small gesture sends a flutter through your chest.

After class, you walk together to the coffee shop without needing to discuss it. Somehow, it's already become your routine.

"How's the dataset compilation going?" he asks as you find a small table in the corner.

"That's what you want to talk about right now? Really?" You raise an eyebrow.

A faint smile plays at his lips. "We do have a project due in three weeks."

"Always so responsible," you sigh dramatically, but there's fondness in your voice. "It's going fine. I've got the coffee consumption survey data from about fifty students so far."

He nods approvingly. "That's a decent sample size for our purposes."

When your drinks arrive—his Earl Grey and your excessively complicated latte—you notice something different about him. He's still quiet, still thoughtful, but there's a new ease to his movements, a softness around his eyes when he looks at you.

"What?" he asks, catching you studying him.

"Nothing," you say, then reconsider. "Actually, not nothing. You seem... different."

He takes a sip of his tea, considering. "I feel different," he admits after a moment. "With you."

The simple sincerity of his words catches you off guard. For all your flirtatious confidence, his straightforward honesty disarms you completely.

"Good different?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy.

"Very good different," he confirms, and beneath the table, his foot rests against yours. Not by accident.

By the third week, you've fallen into patterns that blend the academic with the intimate. Your Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are devoted to actual project work—usually in the library where the public setting keeps you reasonably focused. 

Your Saturday “study sessions” in your dorm room are significantly less productive in the statistical sense, though you joke that you’re certainly collecting plenty of data on other variables.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes every time you say it, but you know he loves it—loves how eager, how shameless you are when it comes to him. Because every time you spread your legs for him, every time you drag him into another compromising position, he never tells you no.

Case Study #1: The Textbooks

It starts with an innocent enough setup—Sunghoon sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against your bed, flipping through a statistics textbook while you sit across from him, pretending to study. But it’s boring. He looks too good in his glasses, sleeves rolled up, the slightest furrow in his brow as he concentrates. And before you even realize you’re moving, you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him right there on top of the book.

He barely has time to exhale your name before you sink down onto him, making both of you groan.

The hardcover digs into your knees, the pages creasing beneath you, but you couldn’t care less. Sunghoon is buried inside you, stretching you open, warm and deep and perfect, and the only data you’re analyzing is how his breath stutters when you roll your hips just right.

“Fuck, you’re unreal—” he pants, hands gripping your waist, watching you through the slightly fogged lenses of his glasses as you use him, ride him slow, grind on him like you want to ruin him.

You do. You want to wreck him just as much as he’s wrecking you. The friction, the delicious drag, the way his hands squeeze your hips to urge you to go faster, harder—it all shreds your self-control.

By the time you both come undone, gasping and clinging to each other, the textbook beneath you is thoroughly creased, sticky, ruined. Neither of you even bother looking at it.

Case Study #2: The Desk Chair

Another Saturday, another useless attempt at studying.

Sunghoon’s seated at your desk this time, one leg lazily spread, hand bracing his forehead as he tries to focus. But you’re kneeling between his legs, and the moment you reach for his zipper, his entire body tenses.

“You’re insatiable.”

“And?” You tug his pants down just enough to free him, palming his length, watching him harden in your hand as his breathing turns shallow.

He leans back, exhaling sharply when your lips part and you take him deep. His hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as you swirl your tongue around him, tease him, make him fall apart.

His glasses slip down his nose as he watches you, half-lidded and dazed, jaw slack as you take him deeper, sucking, hollowing your cheeks, making obscene little noises that drive him insane.

He trembles when he finally spills down your throat, groaning your name, head thrown back against the chair.

And the moment he catches his breath, he drags you into his lap, flips you onto the desk, and fucks you stupid.

Case Study #3: Against the Window

Another week. Another “study session.” Another location.

This time, you find yourself pressed against the glass of your dorm window, palms splayed, breath fogging the pane as Sunghoon pounds into you from behind.

The curtains are open.

You don’t know if anyone can see—if someone walking by on the street below can look up and spot your bare body, the lewd way you’re bent over, Sunghoon’s hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with punishing force.

But you don’t care.

All you care about is the way he grunts into your ear, his glasses slightly askew, one hand slipping down to rub your clit, making you jerk and gasp his name as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave.

“Keep your eyes open,” he growls, voice thick with lust, dragging his lips along your shoulder. “Look outside. Look at what a mess you are.”

Case Study #4: The Shower

It’s late, and you should be asleep. But instead, you’re pressed up against the tiled wall of your tiny dorm shower, water scalding hot, steam curling around you as Sunghoon lifts you up, holds you against him, and fucks you slow, deep.

His glasses are gone, finally.

They’d fogged up the moment he stepped into the shower, and the second you’d made a joke about it, he’d taken them off and set them on the sink. But you don’t miss them too much—not when his mouth is on your throat, sucking bruises into your wet skin, not when his fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you in place as he rolls his hips into you with exquisite precision.

You come twice before you finally stumble out of the shower, exhausted, dripping, completely spent.

And the moment you walk back into your dorm room, still naked, Sunghoon picks up his glasses, slides them back on, and gives you a look that tells you he’s nowhere near finished with you.

Case Study #5: The Floor (Again, Because You Can’t Stop)

At this point, you don’t even make it to the bed.

You’re both desperate, panting, **clawing at each other like you can’t stand the idea of being apart for another second.**The moment Sunghoon pushes you onto the floor, you’re already wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him down, gasping when he fills you in one smooth thrust.

It’s fast, dirty, messy.

He grits out your name, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, holding you open as he slams into you, pace brutal, relentless. The carpet burns on your back will be worth it.

He loses his glasses at some point, but you don’t even notice—you’re too busy coming apart beneath him, clawing at his back, moaning his name like you’ll never get enough of him.

Maybe you won’t.

Because the second you catch your breath, still tangled up in him, you’re already thinking about where you’ll fuck next.

What surprises you most is how much you enjoy both versions of your time together. The project, which should be tedious, becomes engaging through Sunghoon's perspective. He has a way of finding patterns in chaos that makes even the driest data seem fascinating. And through your influence, he's learning to approach problems more creatively, to see beyond the rigid frameworks he's always relied on.

"What if we visualize it this way instead?" you suggest one Tuesday, sketching a completely unorthodox chart on the margin of his meticulously organized notes.

His initial reaction is skepticism—you can see it in the slight furrow of his brow—but he considers it longer than he would have three weeks ago.

"It's unconventional," he says finally.

"But?"

"But it might actually work better for presenting the correlation," he concedes, and the smile you give him is so bright it makes the student at the next table look over.

In class, Professor Clarke notices the change in both of you. Your questions become more insightful, Sunghoon's responses more animated. When you present your initial findings mid-semester, the professor actually seems impressed by your unusual approach to visualization.

"An interesting methodology," he comments, adjusting his own glasses in a way that reminds you of Sunghoon. "Unorthodox, but effective."

You beam at Sunghoon, who ducks his head slightly but can't hide his pleased expression.

After class, he catches your hand as you're packing up—a gesture he would never have initiated before.

"We make a good team," he says quietly.

"The best," you agree, squeezing his fingers before reluctantly letting go. Public displays still make him slightly uncomfortable, and you respect his boundaries.

-

It's during a rainy Friday evening in your dorm room, six weeks into your relationship (though neither of you has officially labeled it as such), that something shifts again.

You're sprawled on your bed with your laptop, Sunghoon sitting at your desk reviewing your latest statistical findings, his glasses reflecting the blue light of the screen. Classical music plays softly from his phone—another new development. He's been gradually introducing you to his favorite composers, and you've found you actually enjoy the background music while working.

"Your scatterplot is missing a data point," he says, turning to look at you.

"Mmm, probably deleted it accidentally," you reply, not looking up from your position. "Is it important?"

"All data points are important," he says, but there's amusement in his voice rather than criticism.

You roll onto your back, laptop balanced on your stomach. "That sounds like something that would be on a statistics department t-shirt. 'All data points matter.'"

He laughs—a sound that's become less rare but no less thrilling to hear. "I'd wear it."

"Of course you would," you tease. "With your glasses and a pocket protector."

He makes a face at you. "I don't own a pocket protector."

"Yet," you add with a grin.

He shakes his head, turning back to the screen, but you catch the smile he tries to hide. After a moment, he speaks again without looking at you.

"My parents want to meet you."

You sit up so quickly your laptop nearly slides off your stomach. "What?"

Now he turns, his expression a mixture of nervousness and something softer. "I mentioned you during our weekly call. Multiple times, apparently. My mother... noticed."

"You talk about me to your parents?" You can't keep the pleased surprise from your voice.

He adjusts his glasses, a gesture you now recognize as his tell when he's feeling vulnerable. "It seems I do."

"What do you tell them?" You set your laptop aside, giving him your full attention.

"That you're brilliant in ways I'm not. That you see solutions I miss." He pauses. "That you make statistics class the best part of my week."

Your heart does that skipping thing it did the first day Professor Clarke paired you together, only stronger now.

"Sunghoon Park," you say softly, "are you saying I'm statistically significant to you?"

His expression turns serious, though his eyes remain gentle. "With a p-value approaching zero," he replies, and though it's phrased as a joke, his tone makes it clear it's anything but.

In statistics, a p-value approaching zero indicates an extremely high likelihood that an observed effect is real and not due to chance. It's the closest thing to certainty that statistics allows.

You cross the room to where he sits, gently taking his face between your hands. His glasses are slightly smudged, and you resist the urge to clean them, focusing instead on the eyes behind them.

"So," you say, "when do I meet these parents who raised such a statistically significant nerd?"

He laughs, pulling you into his lap in a move that would have seemed impossibly bold from him just weeks ago. "They're visiting next weekend. Dinner on Saturday?"

"I'm there," you promise, sealing it with a kiss.

-

The day of your semester project presentation arrives with an unexpected lack of anxiety. You're prepared—more prepared than you've been for any academic presentation in your life. Partly because the subject has actually become interesting to you, but mostly because working on it meant spending hours with Sunghoon.

You stand beside him at the front of the class, watching him explain your methodology with a confidence that wasn't there at the beginning of the semester. His voice is still quiet, still measured, but there's a strength behind it now, an assurance that comes from truly understanding his material. When he gestures to your creative visualization on the screen, there's a hint of pride in his voice that makes your chest warm.

When it's your turn to present, you catch him watching you with undisguised admiration. You explain the correlations you found between different types of coffee consumption and various academic performance metrics, throwing in jokes that make the class laugh and complex statistical terms that make Professor Clarke nod approvingly.

"And in conclusion," you finish, "we found that while caffeine consumption generally correlates with improved academic performance up to a point, the type of environment in which the coffee is consumed may be an equally significant factor."

"Furthermore," Sunghoon adds, stepping forward to stand beside you, shoulder to shoulder, "we discovered that the companionship variable—whether students studied alone or with others—showed the strongest positive correlation with both satisfaction and performance outcomes."

His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, and you know he's not just talking about the data anymore.

When Professor Clarke gives your presentation an A and commends your "complementary analytical approaches," you resist the urge to high-five Sunghoon in front of everyone. Instead, you wait until you're outside the building, then throw your arms around him in celebration.

To your surprise, he lifts you slightly off the ground in his enthusiasm, spinning once before setting you down, his face flushed with excitement and mild embarrassment at his own uncharacteristic display.

"We did it," he says, adjusting his glasses which were knocked askew by your hug.

"Was there ever any doubt?" you reply, reaching up to straighten them properly. "We're statistically significant, remember?"

His smile softens, and right there on the path outside the statistics building, with students streaming past on their way to other classes, he kisses you without hesitation or self-consciousness.

"What was that for?" you ask when he pulls away, delighted but surprised by the public display.

"I've been collecting data," he says, his eyes crinkling behind those glasses you've grown to love, "and I've formed a hypothesis."

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow. "And what hypothesis is that, Mr. Park?"

He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you begin walking toward the coffee shop that's become your place.

"That I'm in love with you," he says simply. "And unlike most statistical conclusions, I'm one hundred percent certain."

You stop walking, turning to face him fully. "That's a bold statistical claim. Absolute certainty is rare in your field."

"I have compelling evidence," he counters, and the confidence in his voice, so different from the hesitant student you met months ago, makes your heart race.

"I might need to review your data," you tease, though your voice catches slightly.

"Extensive observation over time," he begins, stepping closer. "Consistent results across multiple variables. Reproducible effects." His voice drops lower. "Significant positive impact on all quality-of-life metrics."

"Very scientific," you murmur, your hands finding their way to his chest.

"I thought so," he agrees, his eyes serious despite the playful exchange. "So my conclusion stands."

You rise on your tiptoes, pressing your forehead to his. "Well, as someone who's conducted a parallel study, I can confirm your findings. The evidence suggests I'm in love with you too."

His smile, rare and full, lights up his entire face. "Independently verified results. The best kind."

“Should we celebrate this breakthrough with coffee?” you suggest, already knowing his answer.

“I was thinking maybe we skip the coffee today,” he says, surprising you again. “I have other hypotheses I’d like to test.”

“Professor Clarke would be shocked at your dedication to statistical research,” you laugh, letting him lead you in the direction of your dorm instead of the coffee shop.

“Some variables,” he says with newfound confidence, “are worth studying in depth.”

You lean in close, pressing your lips right against the shell of his ear, and whisper the kind of filth that would make even the most shameless person blush.

“Then why don’t you pin me down the second we walk through that door, shove your face between my legs, and eat me so fucking good I forget my own name? And when I can’t take anymore, you’ll flip me over and fuck me like you’re trying to imprint yourself inside me—deep, rough, until I’m crying and drooling on the sheets, too dumb to do anything but take it.”

Sunghoon stops breathing.

You feel the exact moment your words hit him—his entire body locks up, his grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear his teeth grind.

His glasses fog immediately.

A strangled noise escapes him, something between a curse and a choked groan, and then he’s moving.

Not just moving—dragging you, fast, purposeful, like a man on a mission.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, voice wrecked, dangerous, and it sends a thrill straight through you.

By the time you reach your dorm, he’s already reaching for the door handle, barely keeping himself together, and the second it clicks shut behind you—

You know he’s about to make good on every single word you just whispered.

That, by any metric, was statistically significant indeed.

-

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @naurwayyyyy @bloomiize @zzhengyu @annybah @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4 @starniras @wonuziex

[the---hermit]

Hello, hope you are having a great day! What are some little trivia about Italian language? I don't know it, but I love learning about languages and cultures. I'd also love if you share random tidbits about Italian culture too. Thank you! Have a great time ahead!

Hello anon! This is a super broad question, so if tou have specific things you'd like to know let me know. Honestly I don't know what trivia could be interesting to you so here's a few random things that come to mind. Mostly about how history and literature have shaped our language:

When something is quite messy or confusionary you can say é successo un 48 litteraly meaning a 48 happened. This refers to the chain of revolutions that happened all throughout Europe in 1848

Similarly when you are referring to a very heavy defeat or a terrible failure you can use the term Caporetto, referring to the terrible defeat Italians had in ww1 in 1917

When you are referring to a very long or troubled and unnecessarily complicated joruney or chain of events you can say it was an Odyssey (ex. é stata un'Odissea), for obvious reasons. This is a favourite of mine I use it all of the time, mostly bc I use public transports a lot and they like to make my commutes feel like the Odyssey lol

Another mythological expression is piantare in asso which means to leave/ abandon someone or something unpredictably. This derives from the phrase piantare in Nasso, to leave (someone) in Naxos, and it's derived from the myth of Ariadne who was abandoned on the island of Naxos by Theseus

These are just a few random things that came to mind right away, again if you have more specific questions about Italian language and culture do let me know and I will try my best to answer!

By the way sorry if it took a while to get back to you, but things have been busy lately. I hope you'll have a lovely day anon!

[yaellaharpe-blog]

LANDMINES IN ANCIENT ROME

MINAS ANTIPERSONA EN LA ANTIGUA ROMA

(English / Español / Italiano)

This seemingly insignificant object could change the course of a battle or even a war. These were the thistles, also called "tribulus" by the Romans. The idea was simple: four (or more) sharp iron spikes arranged in such a way that no matter how they were thrown on the ground, one spike always remained pointing upwards.

Scattered in large numbers over the battlefield, thistles could stop a cavalry charge, wreak havoc on chariots, drive elephants mad or paralyse infantry.

A weapon so simple, inexpensive and effective that it was used not only in antiquity but throughout the Middle Ages and can be found even today at roadblocks or for more questionable purposes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Este objeto de apariencia insignificante podía cambiar el curso de un combate o incluso de una guerra. Se trata de los abrojos, también llamados "tribulus" por los romanos. La idea era simple: cuatro (o más) púas de hierro afiladas dispuestas de forma que se arrojen como se arrojen sobre el suelo siempre queda una púa apuntando hacia arriba.

Esparcidos en gran cantidad sobre el campo de batalla, los abrojos podían frenar una carga de caballería, causar estragos entre los carros de guerra, enloquecer a los elefantes o dejar paralizada a la infantería.

Un arma tan simple, económica y eficaz que fue empleada no sólo en la antigüedad sino durante toda la Edad Media y que podemos encontrar incluso en nuestros días en algunos controles de carretera o con fines más cuestionables.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Un oggetto apparentemente insignificante poteva cambiare il corso di una battaglia o addirittura di una guerra. Si trattava dei cardi, chiamati anche "tribulus" dai Romani. L'idea era semplice: quattro (o più) punte di ferro affilate disposte in modo tale che, indipendentemente da come venivano gettate a terra, una punta rimaneva sempre rivolta verso l'alto.

Sparsi in gran numero sul campo di battaglia, i cardi potevano fermare una carica di cavalleria, creare scompiglio sui carri, far impazzire gli elefanti o paralizzare la fanteria.

Un'arma così semplice, economica ed efficace che è stata utilizzata non solo nell'antichità, ma per tutto il Medioevo e si può trovare ancora oggi ai posti di blocco o per scopi più discutibili.

Fuente: ArqueoEduca

[sciatu]

MODELLE E VESTITI DOLCE E GABBANA SECONDO AI

Ti cerco anche negli occhi delle altre, studio i loro volti, nei miei silenzi, cerco il mare, nelle loro parole, osservo la luce dei loro sguardi misuro la dolcezza dei loro sorrisi usando per metro, il tuo sorriso. Molte hanno la perfezione fredda e inutile delle statue, altre sono prati senza fiori alla fine, non sei nessuna di loro. Il tempo, giorno dopo giorno ci ha cambiato negli occhi degli altri, ma tu, nei miei occhi, sei sempre quella che eri, per questo resti dentro di me unica, preziosa, assoluta. Eppure, abbiamo visto gli altri disamorarsi e perdersi abbiamo visto il loro amore, diventare una stella cadente brillare prima di scomparire nell’oscurità dell’indifferenza. Per questo, mi sono chiesto cosa c’era di sbagliato in noi se il nostro fosse ancora amore, malgrado tutti questi anni in cui la tua mano ha stretto la mia la mia ombra era la tua ombra. Dov’è che abbiamo sbagliato per vivere ancora d’amore malgrado lo scorrere dei giorni, il continuo appassire e fiorire di stagioni sempre diverse dove ogni mattino sei accanto a me per essere il mio giorno la sua unica certezza. Ancora non l’ho capito, ma forse non importa. Non importa Anche se gli anni più difficili, siano qui di fronte a noi con i nostri corpi gelati dall’età da sofferenze e abbandoni da un mondo sempre più veloce da stanze sempre più vuote. Non importa. Importa che sarai ancora con me, la tua mano stretta alla mia, il tuo sorriso nei miei sogni, il tuo respiro nei miei silenzi. Ancora come ieri con me, la stessa bambina che eri imperfetta, insicura, innocente, per come ti sei donata a me imperfetto, insicuro ed ingenuo Per questo, non importa. Importa solo che insieme abbiamo attraversato il nostro tempo i dolori e le felicità di questo mondo e alla fine questa sola è stata l’unica, vera ricchezza che vi abbiamo trovato.

I also look for you in the eyes of others, I study their faces, in my silences, I look for the sea, in their words, I observe the light of their glances, I measure the sweetness of their smiles using your smile as a yardstick. Many have the cold and useless perfection of statues, others are meadows without flowers in the end, you are none of them. Time, day after day has changed us in the eyes of others, but you, in my eyes, are always who you were, for this reason you remain inside me, unique, precious, absolute. And yet, we have seen others, fall out of love and get lost, we have seen their love, become a shooting star, shine before disappearing, in the darkness of indifference. For this reason, I asked myself what was wrong with us, if ours was still love, despite all these years in which your hand held mine, my shadow was your shadow. Where did we go wrong, to still live in love, despite the passing of days, the continuous withering and blooming, of ever-changing seasons, where every morning you are beside me, to be my day his only certainty. I still haven't understood it, but maybe it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. Even if the most difficult years are here in front of us, with our bodies frozen by age, by suffering and abandonment, by an ever-faster world, by ever-emptier rooms. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you will still be with me, your hand held tight to mine, your smile in my dreams, your breath in my silences. Still like yesterday with me, the same little girl you were, imperfect, insecure, innocent, for how you got me, imperfect, insecure and naive. For this, it doesn't matter. It only matters that together, we have gone through our time, the pains and happinesses of this world, and in the end this alone, was the only, true wealth, that we found there.

[y6g6mis]

HOW COULD I?

summary. In which, you and Elio get into another heated argument, until you do something you’ll never forgive yourself for.

includes. elio perlman x gn! reader, arguing, language, reader hits elio, hurt/comfort, kissing, no use of y/n

At first it just started with a disagreement, that’s it. A disagreement.

It then lead to a quarrel, it’s rarely happened before, this was one of the only times it’d happened, you two barely fought.

You thought it would blow over soon. But it didn’t. It just kept getting worse

Though nothing got physical, it still got bad especially in the middle.

Now you don’t even know what started it.

“Why are you being so selfish?!” Elio accused.

“I’m being selfish?” You turned and looked at him

“Sure as hell seems like it.” He said.

“All you do is argue!” You shouted. “And nothing else! Why? No fucking clue.”

You turned and tried to walk away.

“We’re not through yet!” Elio said, walking after you.

“I am.” You said, you then were picking up some of your books that fell on the floor.

“Just listen to me!” He said.

“No.” You said. Still having your back turned.

“Just fucking list-”

…

All you saw was Elio holding his face with his right hand.

You hit him.

It wasn’t a punch, though. A slap, a hard one.

You slowly realized what you did, as you dropped your books on the floor in shock and guilt.

Your mouth was slightly open, tears started to form in Elio’s eyes.

How could you.

“Oh, Elio…” You croaked, your voice cracked, and you felt tears forming in your eyes.

“I’m…I’m so sorry…I-I don’t know why I…” You couldn’t finish, you felt so much guilt you couldn’t speak.

You pursed your lips as tears streamed down your face. you caressed his face in the same place you hit him.

He then put his hand on top of yours, his other caressing your face.

You then pulled him into a hug, you hated yourself for what you’ve done, you hit the boy who loved you the most.

“Perdonami, amore mio.” You croaked.

*Forgive me, my love.*

Elio then pulled away.

“È stata colpa mia, non avrei dovuto arrabbiarmi così tanto.”

*It was my fault, I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.*

You pulled him back in, but instead of a hug, you closed the gap between your lips, his hands caressing your face.

You then pulled away. “How about…no more arguing?”

“I can live with that.”

[sayitaliano]

BALORDA NOSTALGIA | OLLY

Magari non sarà Maybe it won't be Nemmeno questa sera (not) even this night La sera giusta per tornare insieme The right night to get back together Tornare a stare insieme To get back (and be) together Magari non sarà Maybe it won't be Nemmeno questa sera (not) even this night Me l’ha detto la signora, là affacciata al quarto piano The lady over there looking out over from the 4th floor told me that Con la sigaretta in bocca, With a cigarette in her mouth Mentre stendeva il suo bucato While hanging out the laundry Io le ho risposto che I replied her that Vorrei I'd like Vorrei I'd like Vorrei I'd like Vorrei I'd like Vorrei I'd like Vorrei I'd like Tornare a quando Go back to when Ci bastava It was enough for us to

Ridere, piangere, fare l’amore Laugh, cry, make love E poi stare in silenzio per ore And then be in silence for hours Fino ad addormentarci sul divano Until we fell asleep on the sofa Con il telecomando in mano with the remote in our hand Non so più come fare senza te I don't know anymore how to make it with out you Te che mi fai, vivere e dimenticare, You who make me live and forget Tu che mentre cucini ti metti a cantare You who start singing while you cook E tu chiamala se vuoi la fine And call it the end if you want Ma come te lo devo dire But how can I tell you Sta vita non è vita senza te This life is not a life without you

Ma sai che questa sera But do you know this night Balorda nostalgia Foolish yearning Mi accendo la tv I turn on the tv (for myself) Solo per farmi compagnia Just so it keeps me company Che bella tiritera… What a nice rigmarole... Beh insomma Well anyway Ti sembra la maniera Is that any way Che vai e mi lasci qua That you go and leave me here Ti cerco ancora in casa quando mi prude la schiena I still search for you at home when my back itches E metto ancora un piatto in più quando apparecchio a cena And I still add a plate more when I set up (the table) for dinner So soltanto che vorrei, I only know that I'd like Vorrei I'd like Vorrei I'd like Vorrei I'd like Sì vorrei Yeah I'd like Vorrei I'd like Tornare a quando Go back to when Ci bastava It was enough for us to

Ridere, piangere, fare l’amore Laugh, cry, make love E poi stare in silenzio per ore And then be in silence for hours Fino ad addormentarci sul divano Until we fell asleep on the sofa Con il telecomando in mano with the remote in our hand Non so più come fare senza te I don't know anymore how to make it with out you Te che mi fai, vivere e dimenticare, You who make me live and forget Tu che mentre cucini ti metti a cantare You who start singing while you cook E tu chiamala se vuoi la fine And call it the end if you want Ma come te lo devo dire But how can I tell you Sta vita non è vita senza te This life is not a life without you

Ma chissà perché But who knows why Oh, sta vita non è vita senza te Oh, this life is not a life without you

Magari non sarà Maybe it won't Magari è già finita Maybe it has already ended Però ti voglio bene But I love you Ed è stata tutta vita And it was all life

[thecornercat]

(Italian version under the cut)

Note on the possibility that the US tariff's formula might have been generated using AI. Of course this is merely speculation, but asking ChatGPT, Gemini, Claude or Grok for a way to fix trade deficit seems to return a very similiar formula (Trade deficit/Trade imports).

What's missing are the ε and φ used in the official formula, although it's easy to notice how those values have no importance: the first one being four and the second one being 0.25, their product is 1 and ends up having no effect on the result.

Ciò che manca sono ε e φ usati nella formula ufficiale, anche se è facile notare come quei valori non abbiano importanza: il primo è quattro e il secondo è 0,25, il loro prodotto è 1 e finisce per non avere alcun effetto sul risultato.

Nota sulla possibilità che la formula dei dazi statunitensi possa essere stata generata usando l'intelligenza artificiale. Ovviamente si tratta di una mera speculazione, ma chiedere a ChatGPT, Gemini, Claude o Grok un modo per risolvere il deficit commerciale sembra restituire una formula molto simile (Deficit /Importazioni).

[na-uvi-nuu]

Ta Niku'u Mayu/When Mother Got Sick

Mom tells me about the first time she came to the United States. "Ñuuyo titsi ra vatsi/I carried you in my womb and came," she begins. She remembers sitting at a Burger King in Nogales, Arizona to barely disguise having crossed, "That's what the coyotes told us." From there, she and Dad were picked up by strangers who took them to Santa Maria, California. Uncle Enrique and Tía Gisela had crossed with them, but both went to separate places. She remembers her early days working in the fields picking strawberries and tasting food she had never eaten, "It was very hard to work in the fields. I couldn't stand it. Nikuniyu ntanchiko/I wanted to go back. I didn't know anything about pizzas or burgers. I had to get used to that." She didn't know how to cross the streets because there are no traffic lights in her hometown. Her first time in an elevator and escalator was in the Santa María shopping center where the ups and downs were very scary. "Yu'u nchu'a/I was very afraid," she repeats as she tells her story. 

A few months after crossing she began to feel itching all over her body that out of fear and because she did not speak Spanish she did not mention her symptoms to the doctors during her delivery. "In yoo ta nikakú ra ntukuaan ntuchinuu/One month since you were born, my eyes turned yellow. Yu'u nchu'a ku'unyu nu to'o stata tsa ña ntsiniyu a kutunininayu/I was very afraid to go to the doctor because I didn't know if they would understand me. Kue ni tsituniniyu ña ka'anna ta nikakuku/I didn't understand what they were talking about when you were born," she tells me as a lump forms in my throat. Dad says something that makes the lump bigger, "Nikaan maku ña ku nkui/Your mom thought she was going to die. 'Kotova'a se'eko,' kacha/'Take care of our son,' she said. Ntsiníkue nchi ku saakue/We didn't know what we were going to do." Dad lost his sense of hearing on his left side as a child which made it difficult for him to learn and understand Spanish. Both attended elementary school in their respective hometowns, but because they had to work or help take care of their families' animals, they did not complete all their studies. In my ini, my inner being where we Na Ñuu Savi/People of the Place of Rain keep our thoughts and emotions, I feel anger and sadness when I think about the few resources my parents had when they arrived North from Oaxaca, Mexico where they felt that they had to leave to survive poverty. Since my childhood I have seen how migrants from the municipality of San Juan Mixtepec share with each other advice, suggestions, and resources to be able to overcome their difficulties due to the linguistic and cultural barriers they face outside their place of origin. 

That network gave them lodging and that's how they came to live with a cousin of Dad's. It was from that Indigenous migrant support network that Mom finally went to the doctor. Auntie, seeing Mom's eyes, said, "Yu'u nchu'a nchee ntuchinuuku/I'm so scared seeing your eyes. Kutsi nchi ntuu/Who knows what's wrong with you. Tsiniñuu ko'on nu doctor/We need to go to the doctor. ‘Comezon’ ku ña ‘kata’ ra na ntantuko nixika kacho takua na kuncheenayo/’Comezon/Itching’ is the same as ‘kata’ and let's see what else we can say so that they see you." They went to a clinic where – between Mom, Auntie, and a nurse who speaks Spanish – they managed to make the English-speaking doctor understand that they should do an ultrasound on Mom. "I just remember they said something was wrong with my liver. I needed to go to a hospital. They asked me if I knew anyone with a car to go immediately. The nurse who helped me communicate with the doctor took me to the hospital after telling me that we as women are the first caregivers of our children and that I needed to get better to take care of you. Ntsintuñá tsiu ncha ta nikee ra ntasiañáyu ve'e/She sat with you until I left the hospital and took me home," she tells me. They advised her not to breastfeed and prescribed medication to take for seven to eight months. 

"I can't believe you left me with a stranger," I say jokingly. Mom laughs and replies, "Well, yes. I had no other choice. Va'a nchu'a iniñá/Her inner being was very good. I never knew what happened to me. I didn't understand what the doctors said and I didn't ask any more, although it still happened to me when your siblings were born. What am I going to ask? What am I going to say? How am I going to respond? These were things that I was thinking about and I didn't say anything." She recalls the long road she has faced since arriving to the United States, "Now I can communicate. Now I'm used to farmwork. I treat it like a sport. I run, I lift, that's how I make my boxes." Mama's story is not unique and although it has been 30 years since she arrived in the United States with fear of not being understood, the situation in hospitals has improved, but there is still a lot of work to be done. How many other people have gone through and continue to go through the same or worse because of the lack of interpretation? Because of the fear of not receiving support in the language they understand best? How many have been able to count on  similar support that the nurse at the clinic gave Mom? Having worked in an organization that advocates for the linguistic rights of Indigenous communities (Comunidades Indígenas en Liderazgo) my hope is that institutions will seek out the leaders of these communities to come to understand us and our needs better so that one day we all receive the support that we deserve as human beings. 

[davidjones2]

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[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

They’re Lying About Hate Crimes - Wilfred Reilly

Wilfred Reilly: So, the question is why did race relations go from being viewed as 70% positive to being viewed as 30% positive while they were improving? And the answer to that, I think, is that there's constant media presentation of this absolutely false narrative that we're all killing each other over here.

-

Reilly: Following George Floyd's death, I mean, we saw murders rise over 20,000 in the USA for the first time since, I believe 1993. The next year we were at 21 22,000 murders, and those eventually plateaued and then dropped off. They couldn't not. But that's one of the worst things that's happened in the recent history of the country. And to some extent that's simply not discussed. I mean -- and this is one reason I think more people did turn to sort of the edge right. If you look at say, Steve Sailer or Breitbart, I mean people that are by no means idiots and that have Excel and Stata programs on their computers, they were looking at this.

I mean there's a discovery made by, I believe actually Sailer, that traffic deaths skyrocketed at the same time murders did. Because the cops simply stopped enforcing the law. When myself and a colleague named Bob Moranto actually looked at this empirically using modern methods for a pretty major journal, we just published that article, "Which Police Departments Make Black Lives Matter?" was the was the title. But I mean, what we found is that there's a correlation between the rate of stops, like how often police just pull a car over stop the guy, talk to the guy, and the rate of violence that's very unsurprising. I mean, because obviously, if you're out there doing policing, it's going to increase kind of the negative penalty that might go along with crime. So a lot of people died.

Konstantin Kisin: So what you're saying is, just to get this clear, as a response to people's concern about the way that George Floyd was treated, in an environment and an ecosystem in which there's this whipped up frenzy of concern about police mistreatment of black people more generally, the consequence of all that liberal outpouring of love and support and and whatever and money, has been that way more people have died, been murdered, been burgled, been injured, etc and most of those people, or certainly many of those people, would have been black people.

Reilly: Yes, that's an excellent analysis.

==

I've said it before and I'll say it again: George Floyd wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it.

[sarkariresultdude]

"Top Reasons Applicants Miss Out on World Bank Recruitment Opportunities"

 The World Bank is a prominent international economic organization that offers loans and offers to nations for development tasks aimed toward lowering poverty and supporting monetary boom. Recruitment results for positions on the World Bank are eagerly awaited by using heaps of candidates international due to the employer’s popularity and the particular opportunities it gives to contribute to international development.

World Bank recruitment result announcement date

Overview of World Bank Recruitment

The World Bank recruits individuals for diverse roles, starting from economists and challenge managers to economic analysts, environmental experts, and communication specialists. The recruitment procedure is rigorous and competitive, often regarding a couple of tiers of screening and evaluation. These tiers typically consist of:

Application Submission: Candidates put up their applications online, together with a résumé, cover letter, and responses to unique questions.

Initial Screening: Applications are reviewed for eligibility, relevance of qualifications, and alignment with the job requirements.

Technical Assessment: For many positions, candidates have to complete technical assessments or case research that evaluate their competencies and know-how.

Panel Interview: Shortlisted candidates are invited for an interview with a panel of World Bank group of workers. These interviews determine technical understanding, trouble-fixing abilties, and alignment with the employer’s values.

Reference Checks: Successful applicants go through reference checks to verify their professional history and credentials.

Final Decision and Offer: Based on the evaluation, the World Bank extends gives to the most appropriate candidates.

Factors Influencing Recruitment Results

Several elements decide whether a candidate progresses inside the World Bank recruitment technique:

1. Relevant Qualifications

The World Bank seeks people with superior ranges in disciplines relevant to the position, which includes economics, finance, public policy, or environmental science. Candidates with strong academic statistics and specialized understanding frequently have an area.

2. Professional Experience

Experience in worldwide development, project management, or associated fields is a enormous benefit. The World Bank values candidates who've verified their capacity to paintings in complex, move-cultural environments.

Three. Technical Skills

For technical roles, talent in unique tools, methodologies, or technology is crucial. For instance, a candidate applying for a statistics analyst position may need understanding in statistical software such as Stata, R, or Python.

Four. Language Proficiency

As a international institution, the World Bank values multilingual candidates. Proficiency in English is obligatory, at the same time as knowledge of different languages (e.G., French, Spanish, Arabic, or Chinese) is quite appropriate.

5. Soft Skills

The capacity to speak efficiently, collaborate in teams, and adapt to exclusive cultural contexts is vital. Candidates with strong interpersonal skills frequently carry out well in panel interviews.

Analyzing Recruitment Results

Successful Candidates

Candidates who get hold of gives from the World Bank frequently display a mixture of sturdy academic credentials, professional achievements, and alignment with the group’s project. Their success might also stem from:

Demonstrating a deep expertise of development challenges.

Presenting modern answers to case research or technical checks.

Highlighting their impact in preceding roles through measurable achievements.

Successful applicants are generally informed of their effects thru email, accompanied by special instructions for the following steps, inclusive of agreement discussions, onboarding, and relocation (if applicable).

Unsuccessful Candidates

For the ones no longer decided on, comments can also or may not be supplied, relying at the role and quantity of programs. Common reasons for rejection include:

Insufficient alignment between the candidate’s profile and the task necessities.

Weaker performance in technical tests or interviews compared to different applicants.

Lack of demonstrable enjoy in global improvement.

Lessons for Candidates

Whether a hit or no longer, candidates can derive precious insights from the recruitment procedure:

1. Self-Reflection

Candidates have to assess their performance all through the application manner. Identifying areas for development, which include technical information or interview competencies, can beautify destiny applications.

2. Networking

Building connections with current or former World Bank employees can provide valuable insights into the organization’s expectations and lifestyle. Networking also can open doorways to mentorship opportunities.

Three. Continuous Learning

Candidates have to put money into their professional development. Pursuing additional certifications, attending workshops, or gaining arms-on enjoy in development tasks can fortify future programs.

Four. Patience and Persistence

Given the competitiveness of World Bank recruitment, rejection does not suggest a lack of capability. Candidates are encouraged to reapply for suitable roles within the destiny.

Tips for Aspiring Candidates

Prepare for Interviews: Research the World Bank’s projects, project, and values. Be prepared to discuss how your abilties can make contributions to the organisation’s dreams.

Showcase Soft Skills: During interviews, emphasize your capacity to work in diverse groups and adapt to challenges.

Engage with the Development Community: Participate in forums, meetings, or on line courses associated with global development to live up to date on enterprise traits.

World Bank’s Commitment to Diversity

The World Bank is devoted to selling diversity and inclusion. The organization actively encourages applications from people of different nationalities, genders, and backgrounds. Women and candidates from underrepresented areas are especially endorsed to use.

[thegrayascendancy-if]

Sugarcube, flat stats and setter links

As I spent an unspecified time trying to figure it out, maybe it will spare someone the trouble or build towards intuition for how stats work. Or maybe this is bait to see if anyone knows a better solution 😏

First of all, flat stats vs fairmath stats. Fairmath stat accumulation is designed to represent stat gain as inversely relative: the higher your stat value, the smaller your absolute gain would be expressed by the same relative number. E.g. 10% gain at 90 is different from 10% at 15. A bonus (and very important) effect of this is that the stat value increased or decreased via fairmath will never fall below 0 or rise above 100, doing all the stat clamping for you.

Fairmath is easy to test and observe in ChoiceScript, where you can run thousands of tests automatically. You cannot do that in Twine. This is my primary motivation for going with flatmath for my SugarCube project. Which means that someone has to handle clamping, as a gain of 10 at stat value 95 will set the value above 100.

The frequent code for handling that is during change:

<<set $stat to Math.clamp($stat + 5, 0, 100)>>

which, in this example, increases variable $stat by 5 and makes sure the result is not smaller than 0 and not greater than 100: clamping.

My problem with it is how much code repetition is there and how incredibly copy paste error prone this is. You will no doubt be copy pasting this code all over your game files and will need to make sure you are replacing the variable name twice each time, lest one variable will end up with the value of another in an oversight that is way too easy to miss. Ideally we want to specify not only the name of the variable, but also our bounds (0 and 100 respectively) only once.

There are two answers to this problem: widgets and JavaScript. A widget for this is one and done, but it is more fuss to integrate it into code, I found. In the JS solution you would need to figure out a function that works for your variable storage schema.

Let's cover the widget solution first:

<<widget "modify">>     <<print '<<set ' + $args[0] + ' to Math.clamp(' + $args[0] + ' + ' + $args[1] + ', 0, 100)>>'>> <</widget>>

Not only will the above check that each resulting value is within the [0; 100] range, it accepts the variable name as a parameter, meaning it will work for any stat (though you would need to pass the variable name as a String) and for subtraction too:

<<modify "$stat" -18>>

Now to problems. For my links between passages in the format for Twine I use, SugarCube, I strongly prefer the structure of setters:

[[Link text|NextPassageName][stat modifications]]

Calling a widget is not possible inside a setter link though. You would either need to do that in the next passage, which is inconvenient if you do not need that passage for anything else, or to marry two syntaxes in this unholy matrimony:

<<link [[Link text|NextPassageName]]>>   <<set $otherstat to "wowza">>   <<modify "$stat" -18>>   <</link>>

And this is just one link/option.

Now, for the price of extra JS code you can avoid all this. Depending on how you store your game variables, flat or in objects, you can employ tricks to save you time and code lines.

window.modifyStatA = function(value) {     State.variables.StatA = Math.clamp(State.variables.StatA + value, 0, 100); }

This anywhere in your custom JS file for the game will allow to do the following:

[[Link text|NextPassageName][modifyStatA(-18), $otherstat to "wowza"]]

and will change the value of $StatA by subtracting 18 upon clicking that link/option.

You can also do the following:

window.modifyStat = function(statName, value) {     State.variables[statName] = Math.clamp(State.variables[statName] + value, 0, 100); }

which creates a more generic function:

[[Link text|NextPassageName][modifyStat("StatA", -18), $otherstat to "wowza"]]

As you can see, this is suitable for flat stat storage (which I personally do not do). I suppose for the nested stats you could specify the object names as inputs in their order of hierarchy and access them so for a generic function, but I am not sure yet how to do that for a variable number of levels, e.g. Parent.StatGroup.statA vs Parent.statB

I believe this is geared to the very specific way I personally structure my passages and links, so I am ready to be proven wrong 😅

Cheers!

[theacemagpie]

Also, I wanna teach you all the stuff you taught me in Bengali but in Italian, which is my personal third favourite (After Maltese, which is after Bangla- Bangla's #1, and it's entirely because I wanna be able to talk to you in your native language, because it's unfair that we always talk in mine) of the languages I wanna learn! So:

How are you?: Come stai? (Informal)

Girlfriend: Usually "ragazza" is used, to my knowledge- Which is also just the word for "girl"

Yes: Si

No: No

I love you: Ti amo

I love you too: Ti amo anche (The "ch" is pronounced like a "k," like in "ke")

I miss you: Mi manchi

I miss you too: Mi manchi anche tu

How was your day?: Com'è stata la tua giornata? (The "g" before an "i" is pronounced like the "j" in the English word "jump")

I'm good, you?: Io sto bene, tu?

My day was good, yours?: La mia giornata è andata bene, e la tua?

Did you sleep well?: Avete dormito bene?

Have you eaten?: Hai mangiato?

Have you drank water?: Hai bevuto acqua?

How do you say X in Italian?: Come si dice X in italiano?

Love: Amore

Heart: Cuore

Ooooh thank you love!! I'm gonna save all this <3

Ti amo, Cuore <3

[sparviero44]

Morto David Soul, il detective Hutch della leggendaria serie tv “Starsky & Hutch”

La coppia di detective è diventata un'icona della cultura popolare, e il successo dello show ha contribuito significativamente alla fama di Soul

David Soul, nato David Richard Solberg, è stato non solo un volto iconico della televisione, ma anche un talentuoso cantautore e regista nel corso della sua carriera. Oltre al suo ruolo indimenticabile in “Starsky & Hutch“, Soul ha recitato in altre produzioni di successo come Star Trek e “Una 44 Magnum per l’ispettore Callaghan” con Clint Eastwood. L’attore statunitense è deceduto giovedì 4 gennaio, lasciando un vuoto nel cuore dei suoi fan e nel mondo dello spettacolo. La moglie ha comunicato che Soul ha affrontato con coraggio la sua battaglia per la vita circondato dall’affetto della famiglia.

La carriera di David Soul è stata versatile e apprezzata. Inizialmente, ha intrapreso la strada della musica folk, esibendosi insieme a grandi nomi come Frank Zappa e i Byrds. Tuttavia, è stato il passaggio alla recitazione che lo ha portato alla ribalta, con ruoli in telefilm di successo negli anni ’60 e ’70. Il clou della sua carriera è stato, senza dubbio, il ruolo di Hutch accanto a Paul Michael Glaser in “Starsky & Hutch“. La coppia di detective è diventata un’icona della cultura popolare, e il successo dello show ha contribuito significativamente alla fama di Soul.Negli anni successivi al successo televisivo, Soul ha continuato a stupire il pubblico tornando alla musica, raggiungendo la vetta delle classifiche con brani come “Don’t Give Up On Us” e “Silver Lady”. Nonostante le sfide personali, tra cui un periodo di incarcerazione negli anni ’80 per aggressione alla moglie di allora, Patti Carnel Sherman, Soul è riuscito a rialzarsi e a contribuire ancora al mondo dell’intrattenimento.

David Soul, known for playing the iconic detective Kenneth Hutchinson of the duo Starsky and Hutch, has died at the age of 80. The American gossip magazine TMZ broke the news. He was born in Chicago but had English citizenship. In addition to the popular TV series also "Salem's Lot", "Star Trek" and the cult "A 44 Magnum for Inspector Callaghan" alongside Clint Eastwood.

How David Soul died

David Soul died on Thursday in a hospital in London following a battle with cancer. According to what was reported by TMZ, the actor had been suffering from it for some time as well as numerous health problems suffered in old age. In particular, David Soul suffered from chronic bronchopneumonia, due to more than 50 years as an avid smoker: "he smoked three packs of cigarettes a day", says the newspaper.

The career of David Soul

David Soul became an absolute pop icon in the 70s thanks to Starsky and Hutch. He was the blond-haired, icy-eyed detective next to Detective Dave Starsky, played by Paul Michael Glaser. David Soul appeared in all 92 episodes of the series, spanning a four-season span from 1975 to 1979 and also directing some episodes. Other popular shows also include "Salem's Lot", the first miniseries based on the novel of the same name by Stephen King and directed by Tobe Hopper in which he played the protagonist Ben Mears and which in Italy was released with the title "The Last Days of Salem ", merged into a single 112-minute version. Before his great popularity with the series, he had gained recognition in the role of Agent Davis in the film A 44 Magnum for Inspector Callaghan. David Soul had also established himself as a singer by releasing five studio albums and seven collections between 1976 and 2020

[yaellaharpe-blog]

Antonina Fountain (Sagalassos), Burdur - Turkey

La Fuente Antonina (Sagalassos), Burdur - Turquía

La Fuente Antonina (Sagalassos), Burdur - Turquía

(English / Español / Italiano)

Antonina Fountain is a historical fountain located in the ancient city of Sagalassos in Ağlasun district of Burdur province, Turkey. Built during the reign of the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius between 161 and 180 A.D. and restored combining almost three thousand stones, it surpasses other fountains with its millenary water flowing for eighteen hundred years, whispering the history of antiquity to the ears!…. This cascading fountain is built to show the power and prestige of the Roman Empire to the world. Different coloured stones and precious Afyon marble brought from different parts of the empire were used in the fountain. The Antonine Fountain is also an indication of how rich and magnificent the Ancient City of Sagalassos was. The water of the fountain, which flows from the 4.5-metre high waterfall in the central niche, fills the 81 m³ capacity pool. There is also a legend about this fountain: according to the legend, the water of this fountain beautifies people and those who drink it fall in love!

The ancient city of Sagalassos was inscribed on the UNESCO Temporary World Heritage List in 2009.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

La Fuente Antonina es una fuente histórica ubicada en la antigua ciudad de Sagalassos en el distrito de Ağlasun de la provincia de Burdur, Turquía. Construida durante el reinado del emperador romano Marco Aurelio entre 161 y 180 d.C. y restaurada combinando casi tres mil piedras, supera a otras fuentes con su agua milenaria fluyendo durante mil ochocientos años, susurrando la historia de la antigüedad a los oídos!... Esta fuente con cascada está construida para mostrar el poder y el prestigio del Imperio Romano al mundo. En la fuente, se utilizaron piedras de diferentes colores y mármol precioso de Afyon traídas de diferentes partes del imperio. La Fuente Antonina también es un indicador de lo rica y magnífica que era la Ciudad Antigua de Sagalassos. El agua de la fuente, brota de la cascada de 4,5 metros de altura situada en el nicho central y llena la piscina de 81 m³ de capacidad. También hay una leyenda sobre esta fuente: según la leyenda, el agua de esta fuente embellece a la gente y ¡los que la beben se enamoran!

La ciudad antigua de Sagalassos fue incluida en la Lista Temporal del Patrimonio Mundial de la UNESCO en 2009.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

La Fontana Antonina è una fontana storica situata nell'antica città di Sagalassos, nel distretto di Ağlasun, nella provincia di Burdur, in Turchia. Costruita durante il regno dell'imperatore romano Marco Aurelio tra il 161 e il 180 d.C. e restaurata unendo quasi tremila pietre, supera le altre fontane con la sua acqua millenaria che scorre da settecento anni, sussurrando alle orecchie la storia dell'antichità!…. Questa fontana a cascata è stata costruita per mostrare al mondo il potere e il prestigio dell'Impero Romano. Per la fontana sono state utilizzate pietre di diversi colori e il prezioso marmo di Afyon, portato da diverse parti dell'impero. La Fontana Antonina è anche un'indicazione di quanto fosse ricca e magnifica l'antica città di Sagalassos. L'acqua della fontana, che sgorga dalla cascata alta 4,5 metri nella nicchia centrale, riempie la vasca di 81 m³. Esiste anche una leggenda su questa fontana: secondo la leggenda, l'acqua di questa fontana abbellisce le persone e chi la beve si innamora!

La ciudad antigua de Sagalassos fue incluida en la Lista Temporal del Patrimonio Mundial de la UNESCO en 2009.

video: @historiayarqueología

[victoriajohnson2556]

Do Your Statistical Analysis Assignment Using STATA: Tips from an Expert

STATA is a powerful statistical software package that can be used to perform a wide range of statistical analyses, from descriptive and analytical statistics to hypothesis testing and inferential statistics. However, STATA can be complex to learn and use, which can make it difficult for students to complete their statistical analysis assignments on their own.

As a STATA assignment help expert, I have helped hundreds of students succeed in their studies by providing them with the tools and knowledge they need to complete their assignments accurately and efficiently. Here are a few tips from me on how to do your statistical analysis assignment using STATA:

Choose the right statistical test. The first step is to determine the appropriate statistical test for your data and research question. STATA offers a wide range of statistical tests, so it is important to choose the one that is most appropriate for your needs.

Prepare your data. Once you have chosen the right statistical test, you need to prepare your data for analysis. This may involve cleaning the data, removing outliers, and transforming the variables into a format that is compatible with STATA.

Run the statistical test. Once your data is prepared, you can run the statistical test in STATA. STATA provides a variety of commands for running different statistical tests.

Interpret the results. Once you have run the statistical test, you need to interpret the results. This involves understanding the meaning of the output and determining whether the results support your research hypothesis.

Write a report. The final step is to write a report of your findings. The report should include a description of the data, the statistical test that was used, the results of the test, and an interpretation of the results.

If you are struggling with any of these steps, please don't hesitate to contact me for help. I am here to help you succeed in your studies.