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locusfandomtime · 3 months

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Doing the maths: Grian's failure at getting a mending book

lots of talk about maths and probabilities below the cut! but there's a graph and simple explanation at the end if you want to get the gist of it and are bad at maths.

(I am still young and learning maths, critique/advice always welcomed)

What are the odds of getting a mending book in Minecraft?

(I am assuming Grian has been doing all his fishing with Luck of the Sea 3)

The probability of a mending book is actually a bit annoying to estimate. The Minecraft Wiki lists fishing up an enchanted book as 1.9% chance. This is for ANY enchanted book. The Minecraft wiki talks about how the chance of an enchantment being selected is calculated. Mending has a weight of 2. Using the table, mending has a probability of 2/135.

However, Grian is looking for any book with mending, not just a pure mending book. Additional enchantments are calculated in a different way, involving RNG, which means it won't be as easy to model. Due to this reason, I'll just be using the odds for a pure mending book throughout.

TLDR: a mending book has a 0.028..% chance (2/135*0.019*100)

Grian's Data

According to this screenshot, Grian has used a fishing rod 5679 times. This number may not be fully accurate, as it includes the times he's fished other players, rather than just fished for items, but it is a good estimate.

To help visualise this data, with a median waiting time between catches of 17.5 seconds, Grian has spent over 20 hours fishing so far! He may have a problem.

Is this statistically significant?

Hypothesis testing (p-value approach):

H0: p = 19/67500 (the null hypothesis - he has no mending books because of chance)

H1: p < 19/67500 (the alternate hypothesis - he has no mending books due to different odds)

5679 trials, 0 mending books

X ~ B(5679, 19/67500) (binomial distribution, 5679 tries with a probability of a mending book being 19/67500, where X is the number of mending books)

p(X=0) (what is the probability the number of mending books being 0)

p = 0.2021473392

Now, the point at which data becomes significant is subjective. For instance, you *could* get a million heads in a row flipping a coin, it's not impossible, but at a certain point, you can begin to say "okay there's something not normal about this". For this approach, the closer the p-value is to 0, the more evidence there is against the null hypothesis . The p-value here is far above a significance level of 0.01, or 0.05, or 0.1. There isn't a clear line between significant/non-significant, but this is answer is quite a bit far from 0

With this, I cannot reject the null hypothesis.

Personal conclusion: this is not statistically significant, Grian is just unlucky.

Are other values statistically significant?

Gem's proposed 9000: results in a p-value of 0.079... more significant than Grian's number but I don't imagine Mojang would be too concerned. As said though, it's all subjective.

I am bad at maths, what does all this mean?

Here is a graph, showing what number of mending books you might have after 5679 tries. The height of the bar represents the probability of getting that amount. The numbers at the top are the (rounded) numbers I used in my calculation

The pink column is 0 mending books - like what Grian has! As you can see, it is less likely than getting 1 or 2 books, but not too uncommon to happen.

End conclusion: Grian has bad luck. Like, not as hilariously bad as he thinks, but still bad. If he keeps going, chances are he will get a mending book, but I think he should probably stop fishing because at this point he has a problem.

#if you saw my last post no you didnt #<- misread “5679 fishing rods used” as having fully used up 5679 fishing rods #this is so much better written than my last post though. and i think the graph helps a lot #long post #locus fandom time #locus maths time #grian #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft 10 #“why the p value approach” i missed the lesson for it so this is my catch up work unironically

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blackbirdie1234 · 3 months

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Paul's Imprint

What being Paul’s imprint would be like.

A/N: Not proofread. Hope you guys enjoy this and let me know if you would like me to do the other pack members or the Cullens(what being their mates/bloodsingers would be like). I really appreciate all of the likes and reposts! Thank you all so much and I am glad you like my fics :)

Being Paul’s imprint would require A LOT of patience.

He has a soft spot for you, so his anger wouldn’t be taken out on you or directed much toward you, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t see his bad side. When someone in the pack pisses him off he usually gets upset and phases. They fight it out, and then he comes home. He is either still upset or wants serious attention. If it’s the former expect some attitude and him taking it out on basically everything else but you. He might be aggressive with things, slamming things down and being loud. You would probably need to give him some time to cool off some more before trying to comfort him. If it’s the latter then you will have to have a cuddle session, his favorite position is laying in the bed or couch with his head in your chest and you playing with his hair and talking about your day. Your voice soothes him and calms him down, so he likes it when you talk to him. He could care less what you talk about, you could tell him about your day, or how much you hate that one girl in your math class because she chews gum loudly, you could literally talk about anything and he would be content.

Being Paul’s imprint means a lot of love and affection.

When he isn’t on patrol, he is with you. He will be on you and hugging you all of the time. Now if you have trauma with affection or just don't like to be touched he would 100% respect your boundaries, but he would try and find small ways to show and get affection. Like holding your hand or even just touching his pinky against yours when you are next to each other. He would find ways that wouldn’t make you uncomfortable and was still getting his needs met. He doesn’t mind showing his affection in front of others either, he could give less of a fuck if the pack teases him. He loves you and doesn’t care who knows it. At the beginning of your relationship, he was very careful, learning what you liked and what you disliked. He was also very subtle with his affection but he still craved it just as much as he does now. He would softly play with the hair on the back of your head while talking by the fire, small and soft touches here and there, he would DEFINITELY do that thing where guys softly touch your waist while moving behind you.

Being Paul's imprint means you would spend a lot of time with the other imprints.

You would probably be close with the other imprints. Having a werewolf boyfriend isn’t exactly normal. You might feel alone or lost a bit in the beginning. Paul was one of the first to phase, which means you most likely were also one of the first imprints. Especially if you knew Paul before the transition. Emily was one of the first imprints you met, she was so sweet and welcoming to you, and your bond turned into a sibling relationship. She treated you like family right away and made sure you knew that you were always welcome. You met the others as they became a part of the family and now you spend a lot of your time with them. You do a bunch of group things together, shopping, baking, cooking, movie nights, and of course bonfires. You all enjoy each other's company. The boys are on patrol a lot and it helps everyone get their minds off of missing them.

Being Paul’s imprint means late-night texts and calls.

Again, the boys are on patrol any time of the day or night. When Paul takes the night shift he makes sure to update you and let you know that he is safe. He is also expecting the same from you. He misses your voice, especially when your schedule gets busy and you can’t see each other as much. Sometimes he’s able to slip away for a second to see you, give you a hug and a kiss and then he is back out patrolling. He does it more often if he is patrolling near your house, mainly so he can do it quickly before Sam notices that he is missing and makes him come back.

Being Paul’s imprint means he is VERY protective of you.

He is already a protective person, it doesn’t matter if it is his friend, family, or even a stranger. He will take a bullet for someone he doesn’t know, it’s just in his nature. For you on the other hand, he would take that bullet and then hunt the person who shot it down until they beg you for forgiveness for even daring to THINK about hurting you, all the while he is still bloody and hurt. His protectiveness also correlates with his jealousy. He is a very jealous person when he is in a relationship. Even though you are his imprint he still can’t help but let the green-eyed monster loose whenever another person hits on you or checks you out. He knew you were hot, but you were for his eyes only. Being a werewolf means having to control your anger, but Paul was never really good at that, so most of the time it was you who had to calm him down. You didn’t want your boyfriend to maul someone, especially not in public. You were the only person who could calm him down fully, you would reach for him with your soft touch and everything else would fade away. Sometimes all you had to do was give him a stern look and he would cool himself off not wanting to make you upset. It bothered you sometimes how angry he would get, you tell him all the time that he is the only one for you and he has nothing to worry about but he still lets his jealousy get in the way of reasoning.

#twilight #twilight imagine #twilight saga #new moon #the twilight saga #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote #paul lahote x you #paul lahote x reader #twilight wolves #twilight wolfpack #wolf pack #jacob black #embry call #embry call imagine #embry call x reader #sam uley #vampire

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ms-demeanor · 1 month

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do you have, among your many guides, anything for How To Do Taxes without paying some shithead company $200?

I do not because taxes are a nightmare; i looked into trying to create a guide and realized I could cause people for-realsies problems because the system is set up to change regularly and trip you up.

I do know that as of 2024 if you make under $79k a year there is a free file option with the IRS: https://www.irs.gov/filing/free-file-do-your-federal-taxes-for-free

I want to be clear: doing taxes is a fucking nightmare and I hate it, filling out the forms is confusing and upsetting and seems to be worded in the hardest to understand way possible. But I also just sit down and fill out the forms and do the math with no other software; I do not generally pay people to do my taxes because I sit down and do the paperwork myself (or ask Large Bastard to do it because he's better at reading numbers correctly; emotionally I'm more likely to cry and he's more likely to rage-quit so it's a wash on that end).

The IRS website has a step-by-step guide: https://www.irs.gov/how-to-file-your-taxes-step-by-step

The way that I do ANYTHING that I don't know how to do is:

Look up a step by step set of instructions

Search anything that I don't understand in those instructions and research until I've got a handle on it then rewrite that information in a way that I understand it

Read through the instructions from beginning to end, double-checking that I know what each term means

Make sure that I've got everything that the instructions call for in front of me

Follow the instructions step by step; if I get stopped or have a problem I will search the problem using combinations of key terms until I figure out an approach and will try various approaches until that works and I get to the next step

IF I CAN'T GET PAST THAT STEP I call for help from someone who knows this better than I do.

Continue following steps miserably until I am done and can wash my hands of the mess and/or test results.

This is how I learn to cook things and fix cars and thread sewing machines and put trim line in weed whackers and do taxes. Find instructions, make sure I understand instructions, make sure I have everything required for the project, follow instructions, make sure I've got a phone-a-friend handy, and check my work after.

It's not very specific advice for taxes, but it's how I do new stuff (or stuff that isn't new but that I find confusing every time, like taxes).

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 6 months

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Hi!!! Would it be okay if I requested a worried head cannon for Astarion(Or Wyll or Halsin, I’m fine with any of them) where they lost track of Tav while on a scouting/stealth mission or on the battlefield? Thank you!

A/N: I went with losing track of their Tav on a stealth mission because that seemed the most anxiety-inducing… lol. Poor boys. Sorry, it’s not my best, I was rushing :(

✧ Losing Track of Their Tav on A Stealth Mission ✧

Astarion:

The most likely to panic, even though he swears he’d be the last to do so.

He’s running all the worst-case scenarios through his head: you’ve been killed, you’ve been captured, you’re being enslaved just like he is…

Immediately jumps to the worry that Cazador or someone working for him has realized the two of you are together and plans to get to him through you.

He considers getting one of his companion’s attention but ultimately decides to continue sneaking in alone. He’s pretty good at sneaking, and the others could screw it up. He can’t leave your fate in the hands of someone klutzy like Gale accidentally casting fireball and alerting everyone to their presence.

If he wasn’t intent on killing anyone in his way, he is now. They mean nothing to him. You mean everything to him. Do the math. You > Them.

Definitely ends up compromising the mission, by either getting seen and alerting everyone or by causing enough chaos and death that people begin to notice. But none of that matters anymore to Astarion, whose only goal is finding you. Of course, if anyone else was to make that mistake, he’d chew them out for it. But he can’t see how hypocritical he’s being: all he can think about is your safety.

When he finds you, he masks his fear with anger. He calls you an idiot, a fool- every name in the book. He doesn’t intend to hurt your feelings, he just doesn’t like how his affection for you puts him in a vulnerable place. He was terrified of losing you. The fear of that greatly outweighs the fear of the tadpole.

He’ll get you away from there, away from everyone else. He can’t trust the strangers of Baldur’s Gate, and he doesn’t want his companions to see him this emotional.

After the two of you are back to safety, and after he finishes berating you, he yanks you into a tight hug, refusing to let go.

You tell him you’re sorry, and that it’s over now and you inform him it’s okay to let it out. Be prepared for the shoulder of your top to become soaked in tears. He’ll cry into you, telling you in between sobs how you were the first person in forever to see him as an equal. He needs you. You are the only one who sees him. He can’t lose you.

After he’s calmed down, he’ll try to lighten the mood with a joke. Something about also being afraid to lose his very own privately stocked food source. Of course, you see right through the facade. You let him feed after that comment anyway, softly petting his hair as he does so.

And even though normally while feeding, he’d be comforting you, telling you it’s alright, that it’s almost over- you end up comforting him, shushing him, and telling him the two of you will be okay- you’re not going anywhere.

Wyll:

Probably the most level-headed in his reaction, even if his thoughts are racing like mad. As the Blade of Frontiers, he’s learned how to think strategically in most situations. Of course, that’s easier said than done when someone you know and love is personally on the line.

He’s figuring out all the possibilities, working out how likely each one is, in order to figure out which avenues to first explore.

He continues on his own before remembering he’s not acting solo anymore. He’ll round back to where the others are stationed, and give them the news. He tells them the mission’s priorities have changed, and the goal for now is to find you.

He doesn’t plan on completely abandoning the original job of course. He intends to get right back to business. He can keep both ideas in his head

Tries his best not to blow the original mission while looking for you. Of course, when push comes to shove, he’s going to choose you. The mission can be tried again at a later time: he can’t lose you. He’s lost too much in this life to accept having to part with another.

If he has no leads and it's been a while, and he’s growing increasingly nervous, he might consider calling Mizora and asking for her help, even though he knows it’s going to cost him more years of servitude. Having to work for a devil is much more bearable when there’s someone you love. He’d make a thousand deals if it meant you’d stay safe.

Once he finds you, he’ll quickly ask if you’re alright, before ushering everyone out. He wants nothing more than to speak to you freely, but he knows right then isn't the time to do it.

After you are safely far enough away, either back at camp, or somewhere secluded, he’ll firmly but kindly demand to know what the hell you were thinking, sneaking off like that?! He wants you to know he was worried, dammit! He loves you! Can’t you see how much losing you would hurt him?

He’ll take you into his arms and place a soft kiss on your forehead. You are so precious to him. Please, please, he asks, be more careful.

He vows to be at your side for any future stealth missions. He loves how brave you are, and how much you want to protect him. Just let him protect you in return.

Halsin:

Halsin probably reacts the least because he has the most faith that you’ll be okay. He sees you as his savior- a savior of his people, of the grove, of the tieflings- you are the most incredible person to him.

That being said, he’s not going to simply do nothing if he thinks you’ve run into trouble. You mean so much to him, of course he’s going to change courses and instead go search for you!

He’s also going to rope the others into helping him. I mean, he’s not forcing them or anything, but he does regroup and tell the others of his concerns. He’s very calm and level-headed, but also quite determined, so the others have few qualms about switching gears and following him.

He’s also the most adept at staying hidden while looking for you, being able to wild shape into an inconspicuous animal like a cat or a rat or a bird. He uses his druid abilities to his advantage, steering clear of confrontation as he makes a beeline to where your scent takes him.

Once he finds you, if you yourself haven't been discovered and taken, he’ll stay in animal form, and carefully guide you to a reliable exit. However, if you’ve already been caught, be prepared for things to get hairy. (Get it? Hairy?)

He will not hesitate to shift into a big-ass bear and rip people’s throats out as he carries you on his back to safety. Even though this makes him a much more large and obvious target, he’ll do it, if it means keeping you protected. Any hits or damage he can take, he can heal from, all the less pain you have to endure.

He absolutely brings you somewhere outside of the city. He feels safest in nature, and in order to calm down, he needs free-flowing nature, which is hard to come by in Baldur’s Gate.

He’s going to squish you- even if you’re bigger than him. He’ll lay you down gently, before resting on top of you, keeping balanced so that you don’t have to support all of his weight. He needs to be close to you, preferably with skin-to-skin contact. He needs your warmth, your smell, the softness of your skin… It centers him and brings him back down to earth.

He’ll voice his worries while simultaneously complimenting your skill. He doesn't want you to feel incapable, but he must let you know how he felt in that moment when he feared you were hurt or worse.

You are his light, you brought him out of the shadows. And he can’t bear to lose you. Please, don’t fade away. Don’t leave him in darkness once more.

...

Please Like & Reblog!!!

#astarion imagine #astarion x reader #wyll x reader #wyll imagine #halsin x reader #halsin imagine #bg3 x tav #bg3 x reader #bg3 #hc #hcs

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vcill · 1 year

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✧🩷 Good Girl 🩷✧

200 follower special <3 I love y'all sm ♡

Diavolo →

Adjusting to RAD is never easy, with so many exams, having to deal with the demon brothers, baby knows how you feel and knows how stressed and pent you are.

Tell him all about how Mammon and Levi almost burnt down the science lab, and how he would've been able to put it out by how much he's making you squirt.

Angry that Satan got a higher score than you on a test? Take your anger out on him. Squeeze your thighs on his head, suffocate him and make sure he ain't breathing.

Uh oh! What's that tone you used towards the future king? That's not good at all. Don't worry, he'll fuck the sense back into you. A nice apology while fucking you still sounds perfect.

Him fucking and stuffing you so full that you forgot why you even had an attitude to begin with. Apologies being nothing but moan and whimpers while begging him to ruin you. ♡

Him telling you that you did such a good job today, such a good girl for him. Taking him all and not complaining. Draining him dry and making you soaked and full is the best thing a good girl could ever receive .

Barbatos →

He only ever wants the best for you, so failing a test or being late to class isn't gonna make him mad at you.

Good girls know how to study, keep track of their test, when to fall asleep at a good time and not miss school. So really, you've been really bad. But owning up to your mistakes makes it almost better.

Studying for a math test should be easy as you count how many times you've both came. No, it wasn't 5, it was 8. Looks like you guys have to start over. Nope, him eating you out and fucking you is two different things! You don't add those together.

Unless you wanna be there all night, you better start learning.

Falling asleep and missing class? Mm mm. Go ahead and work yourself on his cock while he sits there an does nothing, you need to build your stamina after all. Surprise fuck when you're asleep? Need to always be aware of your surroundings, no excuse for letting your guard down.

Soon enough, you'll learn. You remember how many orgasms you've had, know how to keep working his cock without getting tired, and to properly prep yourself when it's time to get fucked by his cock at night.

Like a good girl, you learn how to do what you're told and be the perfect little fucktoy for the perfect butler.

Solomon →

Being his sweet little apprentice, you'll gladly help in anything he might need. For example, he recently learned a new spell and needed a T̶e̶s̶t̶ s̶u̶b̶j̶e̶c̶t̶ volunteer. Of course, you willing took the part, not even asking what the spell is.

Soon enough, you learn. You feel hot, moist, and slightly dizzy. But most of all, you want dick. Sorcerer dick matter of fact. Looks like the spell works on anyone in the room, cause all Solomon wanted was that phat pussy.

Being railed on one of the desk in the room wasn't on your list today, but you're not complaining. Solomon using all his force and knocking the air out of you as he hits the spot you know and love. Watching your body jiggles from his thrust, drool drip for your cunt and mouth.

Oh this spell is really good. So good, maybe he should cast another, if it's okay with you of course. Your moaning is more then enough consent to proceed, as soon as he casted this one, you both felt so sensitive. His hand on your thighs making your pussy drip even more. Your nails scratching his back made him want to burst.

Ok ok, one more. Be a good girl and let him do his thing, alright? You can take some more. The aching in your legs seem to disappear as your mind goes blank, only thing you can think about is Solomon Solomon Solomon. All you want is him to fill you up and keep you feel. Keep milking him, make sure he can never fill back up again.

You both are so overstimulated but don't give a fuck, maybe this time you also cast a spell which makes both of you whine like crazy. Look at you learning to cast spells just like him, such a good girl you are.

Simeon →

Simeon thinks you're always so good to him. Doing everything as you should, eating your breakfast, brushing your teeth, eating a good meal. What more can he ask?

Good girl deserve the best of course, go ahead and relax as he sucks that tasty pussy of yours. Continue doing your home work while he works his fingers inside of you. Don't worry about the mess your making, he'll clean it right up as long as you keep squirting for him.

How you take care of him when he's stressed, taking his cock whole while drool drips from your mouth. The little tears in your eyes look so beautiful as he makes you choke on it. Such a good girl taking him all! Want him to fuck you now? I bet you do! ♡

He only wants to do what you want him to do. You want him to move? How hard? Where do you want him to hit it? There? That feels good? I'm sure it does.

But he can't spoil you too much. You only get what you earned. You really think you're so slick adding on to the things you did today. You answered a question correctly in class, so you deserve to be fucked one more time. Better hope he doesn't figure out you lied about a few things. Good girls don't lie, rightttt?

When you finish, he lays beside you, telling you how pretty his baby girl is. Asking you if you can do it again tomorrow and how you better promise that you will. His good girl always keeps her promises!

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mathswithnarendrasir · 1 year

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Class-8 Ncert Solution | Chaapter-2 Liner Equations in one Variable

#Math's with Narendra Sir provide to you maths videos for all classes.#Maths with Narendra Sir give you live-class platform #for math skills.#Learn math by taking free online math courses.#Get introductions to algebra #geometry #trigonometry with current math coursework and AP exam Math's with Narendra Sir provide to you maths videos for all classes.#trigonometry with current math coursework and AP exam basic mathema #tics #basic mathematics topics #list of basic mathematics topics #basic mathematics topics for primary school #basic mathematics topics for entrance exam #form one basic mathematics topics #how to learn math #how to learn maths from the beginning #how to learn maths from basics #how to start learning math again #how to self-study math #how to study mathematics alone in self-study #basic mathema #basic ics #linear equations in one variable class 8 in hindi #linear equations in one variable class 8 ex 2.1 #linear equations in one variable class 8 in english #linear equations in one variable class 8 activity #linear equations in one variable class 8 answers

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capricorn-season · 1 year

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Homophobia in drag

When I was a young boy, I loved spending the night at my grandmother’s house. There, I could stay up as late as I wanted, and in the morning, there would always be Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast. But the best part was raiding the closet in her basement, which was full of the gowns she had worn in the 1960s and 1970s – frilly pink and purple confections made of lace, chiffon and silk. I would put them on and watch The Golden Girls, sophisticatedly sipping Coke from a wine glass.

When I was nine, my dad bought a video camera, a giant monstrosity that my siblings and I struggled to balance on our shoulders while we filmed home videos. Alone, I’d prop the camera on the coffee table and record myself modelling various outfits, explaining to the camera why this plaid shirt went with these cargo shorts, or why this teal Starter jacket complemented these acid-washed jeans so perfectly. I captured on camera the dance I had painstakingly choreographed to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch’s ‘Good Vibrations’.

As a kid, I followed my two older sisters around like a shadow, mimicking their mannerisms – the way they tucked loose strands of hair behind their ears when they were concentrating on their maths homework; the way they jutted their hips whenever they were talking to cute boys. Like them, I was a naturally athletic kid. My favourite sport was lacrosse, but I much preferred to play with the girls instead of the boys. The boys were quick to push and shove, and they loved to whack each other with their aluminium sticks. Girls relied more on their speed, their reflexes and the skills they’d honed to keep the ball securely cradled in the shallow mesh of their wooden sticks.

I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian community – most people would call it a cult. From kindergarten to the sixth grade, I attended the community’s tiny school. Because enrollment was so low, there was no in-crowd, no separate cliques of jocks and geeks. In retrospect, I’m sure my classmates and especially my teachers noticed my gender-nonconformity – all of my home videos prove that it was glaring – but it went largely ignored. All that mattered was that we were good Christians, that we loved Jesus and evangelised God’s Word to as many people as possible. When I learned about homosexuals in Bible class, or about AIDS (which we were told God had created to punish homosexuals for their sins), I didn’t think for a moment that I was one of them. Sure, my first real crush, when I was 11, had been on a boy – Elijah Wood, an actor about my age whose performance in the 1994 B-movie, North, had captured my heart. But at the time, before sexual maturity, I mistook the longing I felt for Elijah with the more sanitised desire to simply keep his company and be his best friend. I indiscriminately absorbed all of the lessons I learned about homosexuals, as if they were and would always be irrelevant to my life.

The summer after my sixth-grade year, my family left the community and we moved to a neighbouring town. I began seventh grade in a large public school, where there was definitely an in-crowd. My new classmates wasted little time informing me how unacceptable it was for a boy like me to behave the way I did – the way I enunciated my s-words, the way I brushed my auburn hair, which I had highlighted the previous summer with Sun-In. They called me a faggot, delivered me notes that said everyone knew my ‘dirty little secret’. They asked me frequently, ‘Are you a boy or a girl?’. Well, of course I was a boy, I would respond, trembling.

Meanwhile, I was beginning to sexually mature; I was soon developing crushes that inspired more than just a desire to keep a boy’s company. With horror, I realised that I might actually be what the kids were calling me – which, I knew in my bones, guaranteed me a tragically short life and a one-way ticket to hell. That, after all, was what the old form of homophobia entailed. Self-loathing.

To survive the onslaught, I defeminised myself. I lowered my voice, started wearing baggy jeans and sweatshirts, cut the highlights out of my hair, and replaced my Mariah Carey CDs with Nirvana. Soon, the fear and the anxiety became too much to bear, and the only refuge I found was in alcohol and drugs.

In high school, with each passing year, my drug use got worse. After graduation, I lasted one semester in college before dropping out. Two months later, at the age of 19, I had my first of several stays in a local psychiatric ward. I was delusional, addicted to drugs and suicidal.

It was during my second stay in the psychiatric ward that I was introduced to a 12-step programme, which was how I would eventually get sober in my early twenties. It was slow-going in the beginning of my sobriety to accept my homosexuality. I began to reconnect with the young boy I had once been, the boy whose interests expanded beyond what was typical for males. I experimented with bronzer and mascara, and got French manicures and pedicures.

Engaging in these behaviours felt liberating for a while, but eventually the novelty wore off. In fact, they started to feel performative. I realised I didn’t need those things to be my authentic self. My ideas, my voice, the way I treat other people – these are the things that make me the person I truly am.

In 2011, when I was 28, I fell in love with a man. The following year, I joined the fight for marriage equality. After we won that campaign, I knew I wanted to become a gay activist. I wanted to help create a world in which feminine boys and butch girls could exist peacefully in society. A world in which gender-nonconforming people were accepted as natural variations of their own sex. Minorities, sure, but real and valid nonetheless.

The trans question

In 2017, at the age of 33, I enrolled at Columbia University, New York to complete my undergraduate degree. There, I was shocked to discover how gay activism had evolved since marriage equality became the law of the land. The focus was now entirely on personal pronouns and on being ‘queer’. My classmates labelled me ‘cis’, short for cisgender. I didn’t even know what it meant. All I knew was that they called me ‘cis’ in the same cadence that the seventh graders had called me ‘fag’.

Soon, I learned about nonbinary identities, and that some people – many people – were literally arguing that sex, not gender, was a social construct. I met people who evangelised a denomination of transgenderism that I had never heard of, one that included people who had never been gender dysphoric and who had no desire to medically transition. I met straight people whose ‘trans / nonbinary’ identities seemed to be defined by their haircuts, outfits and inchoate politics. I met straight women with Grindr accounts, and listened to them complain about the ‘transphobic’ gay men who didn’t want to have sex with women.

All around me, it seemed, straight people were spontaneously identifying into my community and then policing our behaviours and customs. I began to think that this broadening of the ‘trans’ and ‘queer’ umbrella was giving a hell of a lot of people a free pass to express their homophobia.

At Columbia, I took classes on LGBT history, but much of that history was delivered through the lens of queer theory. Queer theorists appropriate French philosopher Michel Foucault’s ideas about the power of language in constructing reality. They argue that homosexuality didn’t exist prior to the late 19th century, when the word ‘homosexual’ first appeared in medical discourse. Queer theorists proselytise a liberation that supposedly results from challenging the concepts of empirical reality and ‘normativity’. But their converts instead often end up adrift in a sea of nihilism. Queer theory, which has become the predominant method of discussing and analysing gender and sexuality in universities, seemed to me to be more ideological than truthful.

In my classes on gender and sexuality in the Muslim world, however, I discovered something else, too. I learned about current medical practices in Iran, where gay sex is illegal and punishable by death, and where medical transition is subsidised by the state to ‘cure’ gays and lesbians who, the theocratic elite insists, are ‘normal’ people ‘trapped in the wrong bodies’. I privately drew parallels between the anti-gay laws and practices of Iran and what I saw developing in the West, but I convinced myself I was just being paranoid.

Then, I learned about what was happening to gender-nonconforming kids – that they were being prescribed off-label drugs to halt their natural development, so that they’d have time to decide if they were really transgender. If so, they would then be more successful at passing as the opposite sex in adulthood. Even worse, I learned that these practices were being touted by LGBT-rights organisations as ‘life-saving medical care’.

It felt like I was living in an episode of The Twilight Zone. How long were these kids supposed to remain on the blockers? And what happens in a few years, if they decide they’re not ‘truly trans’ after all, and all of their peers have surpassed them? Are they seriously supposed to commence puberty at 16 or 17 years of age? These questions rattled my brain for months, until I learned the actual statistics: nearly all children who are prescribed puberty blockers go on to receive cross-sex hormones. Blockers don’t give a kid time to think. They solidify him in a trans identity and sentence him to a lifetime of very expensive, experimental medicalisation.

I wondered how different these so-called trans kids were from the little boy I had been. Obviously, I grew up to be a gay man and not a transwoman. But how could gender clinicians tell the difference between a young boy expressing his homosexuality through gender nonconformity, and someone ‘born in the wrong body’? I decided to dig deeper into the real history of medical transition.

Medicalising homosexuality

What I learned validated all of my worst fears. I learned that for decades after their invention, synthetic ‘sex hormones’ were used by doctors and scientists who sought to ‘cure’ homosexuality, and by law enforcement to chemically castrate men convicted of committing homosexual acts.

I learned about actress and singer Christine Jorgensen, one of the first people in the US to become widely known for having ‘sex-reassignment’ surgery in the early 1950s. Jorgensen may now be celebrated by the modern ‘LGBTQIA+’ community as a trans icon, but he seemed more concerned with escaping his homosexuality, which he said was ‘deeply alien to my religious attitudes’. As Jorgensen put it, ‘I identified myself as female and consequently my interests in men were normal’.

I learned that of the first adolescents to be treated for gender dysphoria (or what was then called ‘gender identity disorder’) with puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones in the 1990s and early 2000s, the vast majority were homosexual. And I learned that these studies inform current ‘gender-affirming care’ practices.

Soon, I met detransitioned gay men who had sought an escape from internalised and external homophobia in a transgender identity. They continue to suffer severe post-surgical complications, years after their vaginoplasties.

I began to fear we had reached a point of no return a couple of years ago, during a conversation I had with a supposedly ‘progressive’ friend. I told her that, if I had been a young boy now, I likely would have been prescribed puberty blockers and gone on to medically transition. ‘And you don’t think you would’ve been happy as a transwoman?’, she asked me. Her question left me speechless. I couldn’t find the words to state the obvious: that I am a gay man, not a transwoman; that statistics tell me my medical transition may not have been successful; and that I would suffer severe medical complications. In any case, if I had transitioned, I wouldn’t be living an authentic life. After all, isn’t that what this is supposed to be about? Living authentically?

Sylvester, an androgynous disco icon of the 1970s and 1980s, was once asked what gay liberation meant to him. He answered, ‘I could be the queen that I really was without having a sex change or being on hormones’. Perhaps I belong in an earlier era, when newly liberated gays and lesbians rebelled against the medical and psychiatric experiments they had long been subjected to. Perhaps my early aspiration of expanding what it means to be a boy or a girl was nothing but a pipe dream. In Europe, there is hope that these medical experiments will cease, and that gay and lesbian adolescents will be spared from a lifetime of medicalisation. But in the US, nearly eight years after same-sex marriage became the law of the land, it is full-steam ahead with these homophobic practices.

For voicing my concerns about gender-affirming care for minors, I have been called a transphobic bigot. If that’s what speaking out against the medicalisation of homosexuality makes me, then so be it.

#gender critical #jk rowling #twitter #artículo

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soobpricity · 6 months

Text

this love - kang taehyun

prologue

synopsis: what happens when soccer player!kang taehyun, who isn’t focused on school but is smart enough to pass, sees yn walk in the hallways nearly everyday after homecoming. taehyun’s new hallway crush begins to grow into something bigger, but what happens when he has to make a choice between yn or continuing to fail school ? will taehyun be able to focus on sports, classes, and trying to win yn over ?

taehyun’s eyes lingered over to you, talking to his friends, as they gradually lost his attention. his eyes stayed stuck onto you, watching as you walked towards his way. in all honesty, he wished that his friends could just shut their mouths, not because he didn’t care about whatever they were talking about.. and don’t get him wrong he loved his friends. but he just wanted all of his attention on you. seeing the way you walked down the hallway, your eyes shining with joy, as you contained a pretty smile.

your arms held a math textbook close to your chest, rushing to your next class, worrying over the fact that you only had a minute to get to your advanced mathematics class. your eyes noticed the boy who was watching you from afar, smile growing even wider, and just as you were about to reach him, you went to the left, going down a different hallway. he looked back, watching as you just barely made it into your class.

and since that day that taehyun spotted you in the hallways.. he couldn’t help but see you nearly every single day. even within the large amount of students, taehyun’s attention was always wavered, no matter how much focus he had on a particular activity.. you were always at the center of his mind.

you took a seat lunch tray in your hands, small little smile resting on your face, enjoying the time you spent with your friends. observing your surroundings as they laughed and giggled while playing on the phone, as they took turns playing games on each other’s phones. your eyes wandered the area, noticing the rather noticeable face that you had grown accustomed to spotting in the hallways, his black hair resting just above his eyes. your eyes stuck on his figure watching as he got up from his seat at his lunch table, his eyes glancing over towards you.. and just like that: it was as if the world stopped. his eyes lingered over at you, his heart skipping a beat.

“-.. so yeah, that’s what happened and i was just so surprised because i just never saw it coming, y’know what i mean, yn ?”ningning rambled, peeking back to try to understand what you were looking at, but she ultimately failed as your eyes turned their attention back on her. following along with her statements while taking small peeks at the boy who also continued to glance over at you. smile plastered on both of your faces.

and maybe

this was the sign of a new beginning for taehyun.

soccer captain and his teammates !!

yn and their happy fools

letter 1 ; in which you took my breath away , my future princess.

letter 2 ; in which you become my hydrangea love 💗

letter 3 ; in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.

letter 4 ; attention is what i want

letter 5 ; you’re the only one who cares

letter 6 ; i want your complications too, i want your dreary mondays. wrap your arms around me 🫂

letter 7 ; my love, my heart is breathing for this

letter 8 ; it’s you and me, that’s my whole world

letter 9 ; love sight

letter 10 ; “i can fix him.”

letter 11 ; got lovestruck, went straight to my head

letter 12 : a hydrangea-like love, every little thing turns into me

letter 13 ; pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks

letter 14 ; you are not the exception; you will never learn your lesson

letter 15 ; my heart won’t start anymore for you.

letter 16 ; foolish one

letter 17 ; long live all the magic we made

letter 18 ; it only feels this rough right now

final letter ; kiss me

this love taglist : @run2seob @soobadooba @soobnuuy @pockychuwu @crazynyctophilia @rencarnationofangel @esther-kpopstan @mrsyawnzzn @matcha-binz @michinri @hanstarrs @ariam-96 @pinkheadflowers @kittyhyuka @run4gyu @txnwvc

(send asks to be apart of the taglist for this love !!)

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phantom-0-writer · 7 months

Text

scene 03: get in loser, we’re going shopping

original prompt: gotham academy's mentorship program

more at: table of contents

timeline: much later after scene 1 & 2

Danny and Damian sat at one of the corner tables in the library. Danny had finals coming up, and was busy reviewing the term’s worth of topics from all his classes. Damian, who had insisted on joining him, sat bored. having nothing left to study.

Danny looked at the younger boy when he sighed for the 3rd time in the past five minutes. Deciding that maybe he should take a break and indulge Damian, Danny finished the last problem, and let his book shut with a loud finality.

Damian looked up at him hopefully, “Are you done, now?” He asked. Danny could tell he was trying his best to not seem too eager, but Danny couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.

“Yup,” packing his things away first, he waited for Damian, when he noticed what the boy had taken up in his boredom. “Woah, Damian.” He whispered in awe, picking up the paper closest to him. “You did this?”

Damian seemed to need a moment to understand what Danny was referring to before becoming flustered and embarrassed, a soft pink spreading on his ears, “It was simply mindless work.” He sounded defensive, like someone had berated him for his artist interests before. Danny tried not to react to that, knowing Damian would probably find it insulting.

The sketch was on the back of a math worksheet Damian had long since completed, it was of a fighter who seemed to be using his sword to attack a nondiscript opponent. Danny knew from his many intensive training sessions with Pandora that the figure's form was slipping into leaving them open for an easy frontal attack from their opponent, while simultaneously leaving the fighter to not have the range of motion they might need to defend themselves. Most of the lines of the drawing were scratchy and short but overly repeated giving the fighter the illusion of fast movement, directly in contrast the hard outline of the fighter’s form made it seem like the fighter was stuck in their position.

Liminals and liminal-agencent people by definition did not have a strong awareness to manipulate ectoplasm consciously like other more ghostly beings could. Coincidentally, liminals tended to leak their own internally produced and stored ectoplasm when they acted on their deep emotions. Scientifically this usually showed itself as a person ‘harnessing their full potential’ in moments of crisis or in some more extreme and rarer cases accessing their metagene (meta’s were not to be confused with liminals or ghostly beings they hold few to no similarities outside of coincidence). Danny had known from the beginning that Damian was a liminal, likely from prolonged exposure to ectoplasm, and paradoxically had a difficult time understanding and accessing his own emotions. Emotional negligence was never healthy for an ectoplasmic being, and Danny knew it would be a long process for Damian to learn how to properly deal with his layered and complex emotions.

That being said, there was a steady level of ectoplasm spread over the paper, something that did not match what Danny would have expected from Damian’s current state with his emotional and subsequently his ectoplasmic abilities. The fighter was clearly a character Damian had either consciously or subconsciously created to represent himself.

Danny could work with this.

During the long moment of silence Damian seemed to have grown more and more anxious for Danny’s reaction. Danny let his emotions display easily on his face, wide eyed, “This is so good, Damian. I didn’t know you drew. Do you like art?”

“I do not draw. Art is a meaningless waste of time and only those without higher goals would indulge in such an activity.” Damian sounded conflicted, and the words he was saying were pretty obviously echoed from what someone else had said to him.

“That’s ridiculous,” Danny scoffed, “Art is a very important basis for almost everything. I mean it would feel pretty stale to live in a world where there was no uniqueness anywhere. Drawing, painting, writing, acting, sculpting, singing, or whatever else, are all unique forms of making something that no one else could truly ever recreate exactly. Even if it’s minute, there are always differences in the way that one person would commit to something than another person. It’s the basis of humanity and in the core of the human mind. If you try to block it so harshly from yourself, you’ll end up locking up an integral part of yourself that sets you apart from the other 7 million people on this planet.”

Damain stood there, considering what Danny said.

Not waiting another moment, Danny grabbed Damian’s bag heading out of the library. “What are you doing?” Damian asked suspiciously, quickly falling in step with Danny, grabbing his bag back.

Danny smirked at him, “We’re going shopping, Loser.”

Damian looked scandalied at the nickname, not understanding the reference. “I am not a loser.” he huffed.

Danny just laughed as they waited for the next bus. Once they got to their stop and entered the store, Danny beelined for where he knew the art supplies to be. Damian followed behind him, unfamiliar with the store.

Sure, if Damian wanted, he could easily buy the more top of the line supplies, after all he was a Wayne. But Danny was pointedly a broke scholarship kid right now, and it didn’t sit right to let Damian pay for things he was buying, no matter how much of a trust fund kid he may be. Not that Danny was exactly broke, but he imagined the cashiers at their local supermarket wouldn’t appreciate him trying to pay for a sketchbook, a couple sketch pens and pencils, and a 25 pack of Crayola markers with solid gold coins.

It was around 4:30 when they left the store with their stuff, Damian eyeing the bag curiously the whole time. They walked the rest of the way to a local cafe, and Danny sat Damian down.

“Okay, we’ll be here for the next hour,” He pulled out his own sketchpad, the concepts filling the pages were more accurately blueprints more than drawings, “Draw whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what to draw.” Damian huffed, awkwardly taking the supplies from Danny, and examining his surroundings carefully. Damian sat in the corner for a while, blending into the surroundings as he watched how the world spun around him. Danny was half-way through reviewing one of his older designs when Damian finally decided to open the pack of pencils and the first strike on the paper was made. They stayed there for long over the allotted hour, both sucked into their own projects.

“I finished.” Damian breathed in satisfaction, stretching his hand and back in his chair at the admission.

Danny eyed him with curiosity. “Can I see?” He asked. Danny wasn’t sure how right he had been about Damian using drawing to help regulate his ectoplasm and emotions, and he wanted to check how consistent it would be. Also he was really curious to see what he had drawn.

Damian looked a little bashful at his request, but he nodded, handing the sketch book over to Danny. Danny could easily feel the ectoplasmic energy scattered across the page, it wasn’t as constant as the first drawing had been, but it was still there. So he was right.

The drawing this time was of what had likely originally meant to be the barista, based on the outlines of the industrial coffee machine and register that had started out but been forgotten later for the center of the piece. The man was wearing an apron similarly like the one the barista had been wearing and a similar uniform, but that was the only similarities that Danny could draw from his surroundings in the drawing. The man, unlike their teenaged barista, was quite aged, with thin but well groomed hair, and a mustache. He had a longer face scattered with wrinkles of old age. The old man was looking down, presumably working on something, and seemingly happy with whatever it was. The ecto-signature was more concentrated around the old man, leading Danny to believe it was someone Damian likely loved and admired.

“You’re so good at this.” Danny complemented, honestly. “Did you have fun?” He asked, it was starting to get dark and they had stayed at the cafe longer than Danny had asked him to without complaint.

“Yeah, I did.” He answered after a moment. Danny ruffled his hair affectionately, “Hey, you’re gonna mess it up.” He complained, making no effort to remove himself.

“C’mon, let’s get you home. I have to go to work soon.” Danny led them out of the store, just in time for an expensive looking black car to pull around the bend and expertly stop in front of him.

“Young Master Damian, I’ve come to pick you up.” An old British gentleman spoke from the driver seat, it was the man from the drawing.

“Understood, Alfred.” Damian turned to hand the art supplies back to Danny.

“They’re yours.” Danny refused.

“I’ll take care of them.” Damian promised, placeing the supplies carefully inside his book bag.

“I’m sure you will.” Danny nodded, stepping back so the car could drive away.

“Mister Daniel, I would have no problem taking you home as well. It is quite late now.” The driver spoke kindly. It surprised Danny how accurate Damian had drawn that picture without so much as a reference.

“No it’s alright.” Danny waved away the idea, “I have to go to work now, and it’d be too out of the way for you.” He explained.

The driver didn’t press, but Danny noticed how his eye caught on something in the distance before he bid his farewells and left.

Danny made his way to the bus stop, and waited, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Moments later another older teen approached the bus stop as well, waiting idly for the transport to arrive. He had black hair with a white tuft in the front, a sign of prolonged ectoplasmic exposure Danny knew all too well, roughly 6’ and some inches, and wore a hood of his red jacket over half his head.

Danny supposed it was fitting for someone who called himself the Red Hood.

The bus arrived, and both Danny and his co-passenger got at the stop before Arkham Asylum. Park Row AKA Crime Alley. By the time Danny clocked in and changed into his uniform for his shift it was already dark outside.

“Welcome to BatBurger.” He said in chorus with the rest of the workers at the bell chime of the door opening. The man walked to the counter silently, his white tuft of hair skillfully swept under a baseball cap he hadn’t had before. When he approached Danny’s station, Danny took his order, and right before completing the transaction, as per procedure, “Can I get a name for your order?” He asked.

“Jason Todd.”

#the effects of talia's parenting is showing and danny is a little concerned #damian learning to channel is inner artist #love to see it #also i really wanted to explore liminalness and ectoplasm here so theres that #idk if its kinda random lol #jason trained by the bats and the LoA mob boss extraordinaire and holder of bat paranoia: gives his full legal name #danny: 0_o #jason is literally so dumb smh #danny and damian bonding #damian inherited his dad's emotional competence #luckily danny's here to save the day

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fairyv3x · 25 days

Text

cw: some cursing, kissing

In honor of my bby winning 1st in the popularity poll for like the 5th (?) time in a row idfk <3

Katsuki, the great King Explosion Murder, who doesn’t care for anyone’s opinion begins to blush when he sees Aizawa introduce the cute transfer student to the class for the first time.

Katsuki, who can’t stop himself from stealing glances at you throughout the day. It’s not his fault you make that shitty UA uniform look so good.

Katsuki, who is ecstatic about Mina befriending you, because now he has a reason to be around you more.

Katsuki, who overhears you wining to Mina about your struggles in math class and takes it upon himself to offer you help as an excuse to get closer to you.

Katsuki, who makes sure everyone knows not to even think about asking you to train with them, because he can’t stand the thought of you training with anyone but him.

Katsuki, who both loves and hates that smart ass mouth of yours. Always shooting back astute responses to his sly remarks.

Katsuki, who, after 3 months of this cat and mouse, finally asks you out

Bf!katsuki, who takes every opportunity to sneak away from his place on the couch in the common area to the girls wing and into your room.

Bf!katsuki, who makes himself at home every time he steps into your room. Unmaking your bed and slotting himself under the your covers.

Bf!Katsuki who, rolls his eyes and watches you from your bed trying to learn that stupid TikTok dance. Your phone is set up on the dresser and you’ve been at it for half an hour and he just wants to hold you, you pay him no mind until you feel a stuffed animal hit you square on your back.

Bf!katsuki, who kisses you like he can’t live without you. His hands shake despite his fixed grip on your waist, and his tounge evades your mouth like he’s trying to eat you.

Bf!katsuki, who never lets you forget how much he cares for you. Telling you all the time how beautiful you are, saving you a seat next to his at every event, keeping you close to him during villain attacks, learning all about your quirk, and randomly texting you during class about how he can’t wait to make you his permanently 💍

#mha x reader #mha headcannons #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bnha x reader #mha headcanons #mha bakugou #mha fanfiction #mha x y/n

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autisticlancemcclain · 8 months

Text

Lance gets red around him a lot.

It’s strange.

It’s different from when they first started. (First met? Keith’s not sure. Lance is so insistent that they’ve known each other since they were twelve, but Keith thinks he’d recognise someone like Lance, someone who smiled that brightly and laughed so loud. But he doesn’t, and he doesn’t understand why he doesn’t, so he doesn’t think about it. He pretends in his head that they met saving Shiro and that’s that.) When they first started learning each other (that’s a better way to put it), Lance went red all the time, but Keith knew exactly what that was about, could read the hard set of his jaw and the anger making his dark eyes steely. Sometimes he would grin to himself and make the flush on Lance’s cheeks deepen on purpose; say something incendiary and challenging in the most casual one of voice he could manage, just to watch how furious he got, how indignance straightened his spine and squared his shoulders and made his cheeks glow.

He called Lance Rudolph, once, and he went ballistic. It was the first time he ever won a spar of theirs, and half of that was because Keith was laughing too hard to breathe. To this day no one believes Lance when he insists it happened. (Keith does feel bad about that, a little. Everyone seems to think it was just Lance who egged Keith on in the beginning, just Lance who purposely made things difficult, but Keith is grown enough now to admit that he had as much fun pissing Lance off as anyone else would. Well, grown enough to admit it in his head.)

Keith still makes Lance go red all the time, now. The issue is that he doesn’t know how he does it.

They still compete. Obviously. It’s fun and it’s easy and Keith is a fan of things that are fun and easy. That’s why he’s into demolitions. And pod racing.

But the competition no longer has that flare of genuine rage. Lance himself had admitted it, sniffing pompously after a late night spar and informing Keith that he had, apparently, “sucked all the fun out of hating by being endearing or whatever”. He also mentioned something about Keith’s “stupid fucking big round pouty eyes and depressing backstory”, but Keith doesn’t know what to make of that so he shoves it back into the recesses of his mind like many other things, including the first time someone other than his Pa said they loved him, Shiro’s safety lectures, and any and all calculus lessons he has ever sat through.

(It’s a mess back there.)

Keith, too, can admit that the animosity is gone. He no longer wakes up and hears Lance’s voice and considers drop kicking him into a black hole. Sometimes he even hears Lance’s voice and realises he’s smiling on reflex. Now he and Lance hang out. Voluntarily, and a lot. They spar. They swim. They harass Hunk. They harass Pidge. They harass Shiro. They harass all their friends, really. Sometimes Lance uses manoeuvres he’s learnt in sparring to pin Keith to the ground and force weird products onto his face and hair, dodging Keith’s attempts to bite him, preaching about their cleansing qualities or whatever. Sometimes Keith even does it without hissing and generally being a nuisance.

Sometimes Keith follows Lance quietly to the observation, late at night, and sits with him while he cries. He can’t decide how he feels about those nights. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to think about them outside of when they happen.

In all of this, though, Lance’s ruddy face has stayed pretty common. Keith can excuse it when they’re sparring, because it’s admittedly a lot of cardio, but at the same time Keith doesn’t get that red and he’s way paler than Lance is. He can almost kind of excuse it when they swim, for the same reasons.

He doesn’t get it any other times, though. He doesn’t know why Lance goes red at the most innocuous things, like when Keith tells him his hair smells good or his laugh is pretty or he’s actually really good at that nerdy math game Pidge likes, holy crow, I didn’t know you were that kind of smart. Nerd. He doesn’t understand why Lance goes red when he trips and Keith catches him, ‘cause he’s a big klutz, you’d think he’d be used to it by now (it’s not like Keith is going to let him fall. Well, usually not). He doesn’t get why Lance goes red when Keith compliments him in training, because usually when Lance gets complimented he gets a big head about it and preens for an hour.

It’s just strange.

Mostly, though, it’s not that big of a deal. Maybe Lance is just a blushy kind of person. He’s taken to teasingly calling Lance Red, because it’s better than Rudolph, and also because Lance goes scarlet every time he says it, so it’s kind of like he’s a wizard who can make Lance flush on command. Which is cool. Other than that Keith mostly just pretends it doesn’t happen. They hang out too much for Keith to bother. If he questioned it every time, he would go bananas.

“You have icing smeared on your face,” Keith comments on one such hanging out occasion. (They’re plundering the kitchen for the cupcakes Hunk made and specifically forbade them from touching. But Hunk allegedly broke into Lance’s room last week and stole the last of his toner, whatever the hell that is, so fair’s fair.)

Lance pops the last of the cupcake into his mouth then turns to face him. “Where?”

“Here,” Keith says, tapping the left side of his own chin.

Lance, like a dumbass, makes a swiping motion on the left side of his face, instead of mirroring where Keith touched. He misses the icing entirely.

“Left side,” Keith says, exasperatedly.

Lance scowls at him. “That is the left side.”

“No — the other left.”

“There is no other left! There’s only one left!”

Rolling his eyes, Keith reaches over to wipe the icing off for him. There cannot be any evidence on them, after all. When Hunk has a conniption over his missing cupcakes they must play the plausible deniability card so they can snicker about it later.

He swipes his thumb under Lance’s bottom lip, trying to scrape the icing off with his thumbnail. Lance inhales sharply.

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs, softening his grip. He must have scratched him. The icing didn’t come off, though, so he switches tactics and slides off the counter, shifting so he’s standing in between Lance’s open legs and cradling Lance’s cheek in his palm to tilt his head. He rubs his thumb much softer on the stubborn streak of whipped sugar, and that works a little better. He keeps rubbing until finally Lance’s skin is clear, all the half-dried icing now spread on the pad of Keith’s thumb. He licks it off without thinking.

It’s sweet.

Lance makes a strained whimpering noise. Keith flicks his gaze up to meet his face again and is less surprised than he should be to see a flush glowing across his cheekbones, making his freckles seem much darker than they are. His pupils are dilated so wide they nearly swallow up the brown of his irises, and Keith can’t tell if he’s looking at him or through him.

He sighs heavily. “Dude, do you have a condition?”

It takes Lance a long moment to answer. By the time he finally does, his gaze has moved firmly to his lap, neck bent so that Keith can’t really see his face. His ears are still read.

“I’ve got a fuckin’ heart condition,” he mutters.

Keith furrows his eyebrows. That’s weird. He’s seen Lance’s medical scans before — he’s in the pods a lot. You’d think that kind of thing would be on there.

“It doesn’t show up on your med scans,” Keith points out. “Is it, like, a genetic thing?”

Slowly, Lance picks his head back up, squinting at him for several long moments. Keith begins to squirm.

“You’re actually slow,” Lance says with an almost awed tone of voice. Which is mean. “Like, genuinely, actually slow. I think there are bubbles in your brain.”

“Hey,” Keith protests, pouting. “I help you commit cupcake heists, and this is how you treat me?”

Instead of answering, Lance continues to stare at him. He almost looks bewildered, which does nothing but make Keith more confused.

Eventually he lets out a long, tired sigh. It is not the first time Keith has heard that sigh. That is a sigh he hears when Shiro finds him throwing up his guts after eating a tub of ice cream out of spite. That’s the kind of sigh he hears from Allura when Keith ignores instructions and boulders through the shocks from the invisible maze to get it done faster. That’s the sigh that says I wish I had a trebuchet to strap you to it and release you into the sun. Keith is very familiar with that sigh, although he usually makes it happen on purpose, or at the very least understands how it’s warranted.

Right now he is completely lost.

“I am going to go bother Coran,” Lance says finally, pushing himself off the counter and walking towards the door. “You are not invited. I will talk to you when I want to strangle you less. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Keith calls out, head tilted in confusion. He watches Lance go until he disappears down the hallways.

“He is so confusing,” he announces to no one, then walks out the kitchen himself.

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mynameismckenziemae · 29 days

Text

Underestimated

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x You/Reader/OFC

Summary: Being mistreated isn’t uncommon for a woman working in a male-dominated field, but Bob isn’t going to let it slide when he witnesses it happen to you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, oral (m receiving), p in v, military/mechanical inaccuracies (I’m assuming), misogyny, etc.

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For as long as you can remember, people (men) have underestimated you. Starting with your older brothers thinking you were an easy target, though they quickly learned that wasn’t the case. Next, your math teacher overlooked your intelligence because you were female. Your guidance counselor tried to persuade you away from the Navy after graduation because you weren’t tough enough for the military. The RDC laughed in your face the first day of boot camp, saying someone of your stature would never make it through; it sure felt good to see the smile fall from his face when you received ‘Outstanding’ marks in your physical readiness test.

But just because you were used to being underestimated; doesn’t mean it doesn’t get old.

It’s been two months since relocating to your hometown to be the lead aviation structural mechanic of North Island and none of the men you oversee have warmed up to you. The look of disappointment on your crew’s faces when you were introduced was obvious; your name was gender-neutral so they were counting on a male. You hadn’t expected them to befriend you, but you did expect respect; which was definitely lacking.

“A little help over here,” you call out, struggling to not lose your grip on the intake part you were trying to replace.

“Hello? Can someone help me?” You ask again a few minutes later, muscles trembling as it slides further off your shoulder. Not only would it hurt like a bitch if it lands on you, but it’s also not a cheap part if it bends or breaks.

“Equal pay for equal work, sweetheart. You can’t do the work yourself, you shouldn’t be here,” Jackson, the smug asshole, replies while the others chuckle in agreement.

“Fuck,” you grit out, trying not to panic as it begins to fall. But strong hands are helping you guide it into place. The same hands that have been on your mind since he dwarfed yours when he shook it on your first day.

Your attraction to the rest of him has only grown in the time since, along with your feelings; you adore his sweet, quiet demeanor. Natasha keeps telling you he feels the same way about you, but you haven’t built up the nerve yet to make a move.

“I’ll hold it here while you attach it,” Bob says softly near your ear. Your heart races as you do so, getting close enough that you can smell his signature leather and clean laundry scent.

Bob’s brows furrow as he watches your arms shake from the exertion. “How long were you holding this up?”

“About 5 minutes,” you reply, catching him shaking his head from the corner of your eye.

You’re done a moment later, sighing in relief when you put your arms down.

“Thanks,” you say as you set down your screwdriver and wipe your hands. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in his flight suit.

“No problem. Why didn’t you ask for help?” He asks as he wipes off his own.

“I did,” you sigh. “The boys here uh…aren’t too fond of me being their supervisor.”

“Why not?” He asks, perplexed.

“Because I’m a woman,” you reply with a shrug. “They don’t think I’m right for the job because I ask for help with lifting sometimes. Among other thing so I’m sure.”

His expression quickly turns angry.

“What’s up, Floyd?” Jackson says, smacking Bob on the shoulder. “If you need something worked on, you’re better off coming to me.”

“Why’s that?” Bob asks, shrugging his hand off and turning around.

“Come on, you know a woman’s place is in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant,” Jackson jokes.

But you’re not laughing. Neither is Bob.

“A woman’s place is wherever the hell she wants it to be, Jackson. I know you’re an idiot but I can’t believe you’re dumb enough to say something like that in front of me, but also your female commanding officer. I haven’t been impressed with the way you,” he stops and looks at the rest of the guys that have gathered around, “any of you have been treating her since she started but refusing to help her is going against direct orders. Not only could she have been injured, but the part she was holding costs more than a year’s salary for you.”

He steps closer to Jackson as he continues. “I’ll leave it up to her if she wants to report it, but if I ever see you disrespect her again, you’ll have to deal with me.”

You’re suddenly feeling hot and flustered as the crush you’ve been harboring intensifies as sweet, shy Bob defends your honor.

Jackson visibly gulps, nodding before he looks at you.

“Go home for the day,” you say with a glance at the clock before you begin to clean up your bay. “All of you are dismissed.”

“Look, I’m sorry-“ Jackson starts but you cut him off.

“Save it, Jackson,” you sigh. “I’m not going to report you, but I will if it happens again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies before scurrying away.

Bob follows you as you wash your hands in the sink, scrubbing the grease off. “Sorry, if I overstepped. I know you’re more than capable of standing up for yourself. I just can’t-“ he starts but you interrupt him as you dry your hands.

“You didn’t overstep. I appreciate it,” you assure him as you look over his shoulder to make sure everyone’s gone.

You take a step closer, bringing a hand up to play with the zipper of his flight suit.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you pull him to you for a kiss.

He freezes as your lips touch his, but only for a moment before he kisses you back; the tension that’s been building snapping in an instant.

“I’ve wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he breathes as you kiss down his neck, groaning as you nip his collarbone.

“Me too,” you murmur against his neck before pulling back to take his hand. “Come on.”

You lead him to the parts room, unlocking the door and pushing him against it once closed, gasping into the kiss when you feel his thick erection pressing against your stomach.

He groans when your hand finds him next, palming him through his flight suit. You shiver before pulling down the zipper, wanting more of those delicious sounds.

“What are-oh God,” he sighs when you fall to your knees, flicking your tongue over the wet spot on his boxerbriefs to taste the precum.

“Wanna taste you,” you say, hands pausing by the waistband of his briefs. “Can I?”

You continue when he nods, gulping when his size is revealed to you. “So big,” you murmur, meeting his eyes as you lean forward to lick the precum beading.

“Fuck,” he whispers before his head falls back against the door with a thump and his hands fist at his sides when you suck him into your mouth.

You bring a hand up to stroke what can’t fit in your mouth and unzip your own coveralls with the other, slipping inside and between your legs to give yourself some relief. Your eyes fall close with a moan as you circle your clit.

“Oh-oh my God,” he gasps when you moan, his eyes zeroing in on what your hand is doing. “Are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes open and take in his wrecked expression before you hum around him.

“Ah…w-wait,” he pants, guiding you off him and to your feet. “I almost-I don’t wanna cum yet.”

You smile as he spins you, pressing you to the door. You shiver as he leaves wet kisses down your neck and whimper when he sucks your nipple through the thin material of your sports bra.

“Next time,” you promise, stopping him as he starts to kneel. “Right now I want you inside me.”

He inhales sharply at your words and nods as he reaches for his wallet, pulling out a condom.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a giggle as he puts it under the light while you slip your coveralls off.

“Making sure it’s not expired,” he replies with a chuckle. “It’s been in my wallet for a few years. It’s good for a few more months yet.”

“Good,” you reply, watching as he rolls it on.

You wrap your legs around his waist when he lifts you and lines himself up to your entrance.

Your mouth finds his as he pushes inside you, and you whimper at the sweet stretch.

“You feel like heaven” he whispers before trailing kisses to your shoulder as you adjust, withdrawing to push back in when you’re ready.

Now it’s your head that thunks against the door as he fucks into you at a steady pace, grunting softly into your neck with each deep thrust.

He pulls back to watch you through lust-heavy eyes as he wets his ring and pointer fingertips before sliding them between you to circle your clit. “Feel good?” He asks, voice husky.

“So good,” you moan, clenching around him as your release starts to build.

“Good,” he nods, “I want you to cum for me, can you do that?”

“Y-yes! Fuck, I’m close,” you whine, your hands scrambling to find purchase on his shoulders as your orgasm rapidly approaches.

He leans in for another kiss and the change of the angle is all it takes for you to fall over the edge with a throaty moan.

Bob’s hips stutter and he fills the condom with a deep groan when you clench rhythmically around him.

He sets you down gently once you’ve caught your breath, making sure you’re steady on your feet before removing the condom. You pull your underwear back on while he zips up his suit.

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks as he kneels, helping you step back into your uniform.

“I have a date with a load of laundry,” you joke. “Why, what’s up?”

“Think it’d be upset if you rescheduled?” He asks, leaning forward to press a kiss just above your bare knee, then halfway up your thigh as he pulls up the fabric. “You said I could do this,” he places a wet kiss to your clit through your underwear before continuing to rise, “next time. So I was thinking I could pick up takeout and we could have ‘next time’ tonight?”

“I like the way you think,” you reply with a smile, leading the way out of the hangar.

——————————————————————————

A/N: Thank you @lexixstewart for the idea (again!) You have such good ideas! I hope you like it!

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!

Sorry if you’re not a Bob girly, but I’ll add my taglist here:

@mamamaystbr

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd5

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

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#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd x ofc #robert bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x ofc #bob floyd x you #top gun maverick

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nkplanet · 4 months

Text

FIRST & SECOND

PAIRING: highschool!jungwon x highschool!reader SUMMARY: yang jungwon is your academic rival. the competitiveness between the two of you finally stops when you begin to crack under the pressure WARNINGS: angst (with comfort), toxic parents, jungwon is a little mean, reader skips meals/doesn’t take care of themselves, rushed ending bc i didn’t know how to end this whoopsies WORD COUNT: 1430

NOTE: happy christmas to all who celebrate! and if you don’t, i hope you’ve had a wonderful day anyway. feel free to talk to me about how your day was, even if it wasn’t the best!! 🫶 this fic is my gift to you - enjoy :)

yang jungwon had never been the nicest to you, but it wasn’t like you never reciprocated his snappy comments. sure, you were civil, but the constant competition between the two of you left things tense. even your teachers could sense it, trying to calm things down but failing miserably. you were the highest scoring students in your year, always one or two marks away from each other. some students even placed bets on which one of you would would get the highest scores after exams.

“so,” jungwon drawled from where he was sat behind you, “what do we think this time? personally, i think i’m going to exceed all expectations, and you’ll crash and burn.” you turned around and scoffed, “in your dreams, yang. we both know i’m going to be first this time.”

jungwon simply laughed at you, and you felt anger bubble up inside your chest. it was a math test and, although you were admittedly pretty good at math, jungwon beat you in every exam. his brain was somehow hardwired to remember every single topic you’d ever learned, and he wrote so impossibly fast that he often finished before many were halfway through their tests.

getting home that night, you knew your parents wouldn’t be happy. every time you had an assessment of any kind, they would ridicule you and force you to study until you passed out. tonight wouldn’t be any different.

you were immediately threatened with no dinner unless you studied, a meal which you often skipped in favour of looking over notes anyway. in fact, there were many things that you missed out during the day. you rarely stuck to a skincare routine, as they never fit into your rigorous schedules. it was rare that you really took the time to take care of yourself. although you knew it wasn’t healthy, your parents perpetuated this behaviour to the point where it was now your norm. and so, you began studying. you continued all through the night, almost forgetting to stop for a snack. it was only when you practically passed out on top of your textbooks that you stopped and had some rest.

it seemed when you woke up that your non-stop studying had finally caught up with you. you almost didn’t wake up with your alarm, and panicked after forgetting one of your books. you almost missed the bus but, when you finally got to school and embraced the peace that came with it, a nagging voice in your ear began tormenting you.

“so, almost late today? you’re really slipping, huh?” jungwon teased, leaning on your desk. you glared up at him through your lashes. “i’m not in the mood, yang. leave me alone.” “gosh, so rude. what must your parents think?” that one got you. you but your tongue, despite wanting to both cry and rip jungwon’s head off. you folded your arms and laid your head on them, effectively blocking jungwon out.

he looked confused as he walked behind you to his seat. where was your spark? normally you but him back. were his words really affecting you all that much? he stared at your slumped body in concern, absently flicking through his textbook as an attempt at some last minute revision. you stayed still, not moving a muscle. it was almost like you didn’t care anymore.

in reality, you didn’t. you’d gotten less than jungwon in that test. so much less that you placed fourth in your year. upon hearing of this, your parents went ballistic. they yelled at you, called you a failure and a disgrace, all while you simply sat and stared. you didn’t care anymore. you’d burnt yourself out, and it seemed like you didn’t want to do anything anymore.

people began to take note of your spiral. your teachers, especially, who offered you the minimum they could. you could hear your fellow students murmuring, wondering what had happened for you to fall so far. most of all, jungwon had grown increasingly worried about you. his recent quips (not that there had been many - in fact, he’d laid off a little) had gone unnoticed, and it was like nothing existed to you anymore. your grades continued to fall, as did your rivalry with jungwon.

after an essay, jungwon decided enough was enough. he stopped at your desk, tapping you on the shoulder to wake you from where you were slumped over, sleeping. “what do you want?” you mumbled, not meeting his eyes. “are you okay?” he asked. you could hear concern in his voice but failed to see how or why he felt that way. what if this was all just a trick? “i’m fine, yang. it’s none of your business anyway,” you retorted, looking away from him. “it’s just- you seem really down. you don’t talk to anyone, not even our teachers, and your grades have slipped-“ “is that was this is about? my grades? you couldn’t care less about me, you only want a competition. well, fuck you, jungwon. i don’t care anymore. i’m not gonna be your stupid punching bag.” he took a step back, looking genuinely offended. “fine. if that’s how you want it, that’s how it’ll be. good luck and good riddance.”

the next few weeks were hard. you’d come to realise that jungwon was the only person you really connected with at school, despite your rivalry. the isolation started getting to you, which was how you found yourself seeking him out. he’d been sat at his desk studying in a free period, and the classroom was almost empty. you walked up to his desk, and he looked up from his textbook.

“hi,” you said quietly, your voice cracking and tears coming to your eyes.

he stood up almost immediately, wrapping his arms around you tightly and leading you outside while you cried into his shirt. he shushed you as you continued to sob, stroking your hair. “it’s okay,” he said countless times, “you can cry.” you pushed away from him slightly, looking up at him with wet cheeks and red eyes. “i’m sorry,” you whispered. his heart broke at the sight of you.“you have nothing to be sorry about. if anything, i’m the one that’s sorry - i shouldn’t have said all those awful things to you. it was wrong of me,” he replied softly. you scoffed lightly, “we both said them, we’re both in the wrong here.” he just smiled at you.

you knew eventually you’d have to explain yourself, so you took a deep breath and looked away.

“my parents,” you started. jungwon tried to cut you off, tried to tell you that you didn’t have to tell him, but you raised a hand and continued. “my parents wanted me to be the best. they wanted me to be really smart, to go on to university and make the family proud. every time i got second place, they’d say these awful things. i just kept working harder and harder until i broke, i guess.” jungwon looked at you with something like empathy in his gorgeous eyes. “just how hard did you say you were working?” “hard,” you replied, “i know it’s not right, but sometimes i- i forget to take care of myself. i felt like i needed to forgo things so that i could be better.” he tutted, pulling you against his chest again. some nearby students gawped at you, and he sent them a terrifying glare. “you need to take care of yourself. this isn’t right.”

you simply sighed and buried yourself further into his arms. “i know, but right now i feel better than i have in weeks.” jungwon pulled away from you slightly, a scared look on his face. “listen,” he said, “i have something to tell you.” you became wary, untangling your arms from his. “i’ve liked you for a while. i guess i teased you to, i don’t know, bury the feelings? but i just can’t keep them in anymore. i really do like you.”

you couldn’t find the words to reply. he started to panic, stumbling over words to defend himself, so you did the one thing on your mind - you pulled him in by the collar of his shirt and kissed him.

he short-circuited, standing stiffly before kissing you back. one of his hands reached the back of your neck, while the other rested on your waist. when you separated, he said breathlessly, "i'm guessing that means you feel the same way?" you smiled at him, a sight he'd never be able to get enough of. "yes, you loser. i really like you too."

#nkplanet 🪐#nkplanet’s fics 🪐#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen comfort #jungwon x reader #enhypen jungwon #jungwon x you #jungwon x y/n

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