#compare active funds

[prokopetz]

The whole "the brain isn't fully mature until age 25" bit is actually a fairly impressive bit of psuedoscience for how incredibly stupid the way it misinterprets the data it's based on is.

Okay, so: there's a part of the human brain called the "prefrontal cortex" which is, among other things, responsible for executive function and impulse control. Like most parts of the brain, it undergoes active "rewiring" over time (i.e., pruning unused neural connections and establishing new ones), and in the case of the prefrontal cortex in particular, this rewiring sharply accelerates during puberty.

Because the pace of rewiring in the prefrontal cortex is linked to specific developmental milestones, it was hypothesised that it would slow down and eventually stop in adulthood. However, the process can't directly be observed; the only way to tell how much neural rewiring is taking place in a particular part of the brain is to compare multiple brain scans of the same individual performed over a period of time.

Thus, something called a "longitudinal study" was commissioned: the same individuals would undergo regular brain scans over a period of mayn years, beginning in early childhood, so that their prefrontal development could accurately be tracked.

The longitudinal study was originally planned to follow its subjects up to age 21. However, when the predicted cessation of prefrontal rewiring was not observed by age 21, additional funding was obtained, and the study period was extended to age 25. The predicted cessation of prefrontal development wasn't observed by age 25, either, at which point the study was terminated.

When the mainstream press got hold of these results, the conclusion that prefrontal rewiring continues at least until age 25 was reported as prefrontal development finishing at age 25. Critically, this is the exact opposite of what the study actually concluded. The study was unable to identify a stopping point for prefrontal development because no such stopping point was observed for any subject during the study period. The only significance of the age 25 is that no subjects were tracked beyond this age because the study ran out of funding!

It gets me when people try to argue against the neuroscience-proves-everybody-under-25-is-a-child talking point by claiming that it's merely an average, or that prefrontal development doesn't tell the whole story. Like, no, it's not an average – it's just bullshit. There's no evidence that the cited phenomenon exists at all. If there is an age where prefrontal rewiring levels off and stops (and it's not clear that there is), we don't know what age that is; we merely know that it must be older than 25.

[n1pp]

my pre ‘25; 1 month glow up ✶

SOCIAL

-Review your social relationship satisfaction.

-Spend time with people you love.

-Practice better communication & listening skills.

-Set boundaries to protect your mental health.

-Join a community in person or online to connect with like-minded people.

PRIORITIES

-What is of highest priority to you as of right now? Make a list of your priorities.

-What requires your focus?

FINANCIAL

-Review your Spending habits.

-Start budgeting. Use 50-30-20 budgeting rule.

-Start saving money to an emergency fund.

-Make a plan to pay off any debts.

DECLUTTER

-Clean up your living space so that your environment can bring you calm instead of chaos.

-Declutter areas that are needed.

-Declutter your social media feed.

-Unfollow those who don't bring any value or make you compare and feel bad about yourself.

IDENTIFY STRESSORS

-Make a list of what brings you the most stress?

-Identify your capacity/energy to deal with these stressors right now.

-Take responsibility, believe that you are one step at a time creating a life where you have it all together.

ROUTINES

-Routines help keep you focused. Create a morning and night routine to keep you in check.

-Check-in with yourself daily: How am I feeling? How does my body feel? What do I need right now?

SELF CARE

-Take care of your basic needs: hydration, enough food, enough sleep, and social connection.

-Develop a self-care activity list and pick and plan daily self-care activities in your calendar.

- Identify your needs and try your nest to meet them.

FIND BALANCE

-Focus on Gratitude.

-Focus on balancing your nervous system.

-Develop a daily or weekly spiritual practice.

-Practice meditation.

NEW DIRECTION

-Focus on the new direction your life is heading. Journal or script out your future as you would like it. What does it look like when you have your life together?

-Invest in learning new skills relevant to your career and interests.

[venriliz]

if you casually and regularily download sims 4 cc or anything else from curseforge while blissfully ignoring all the people telling you why it's wrong and why curseforge sucks ➤ all the info is out there and if it isn't enough to convince you to stop i don't know what else to tell you but to eat dirt.

if you are a cc creator who uploads cc on curseforge exclusively ➤ patreon, sfs and so many other file sharing websites exist that don't actively fund a genocide and/or are based in a genocidal country. if you 'can't' do the bare minimum of changing platforms because you favor that sweet curseforge revenue so much i don't know what else to tell you but to eat dirt.

if you are a cc creator (especially one with a huge following) who already has a patreon, sfs account or uploads cc on any other file sharing website BUT also puts their stuff on curseforge and aren't mentioning this on your other platforms ➤ i don't know what else to tell you but that you're a callous coward who should eat dirt.

if you are a cc creator who tries to get us to download your stuff on curseforge by directing us to your patreon first only for us to find a curseforge link to be the only option to download ➤ stop trying to trick people and at least have the balls to be upfront about the trash website you chose to upload your cc to. i don't know what else to tell you but to eat dirt.

visit @verycursedstuff for curseforge exclusive cc, there's no need to visit the curseforge website at all. avoid it like the plague. i know that boycotting absolutely everything is next to impossible but leaving curseforge in the dust to rot isn't. again the info is there and if it isn't enough to convince you to steer clear of this awful website i'm not sure what will tbfh.

it's genuinely horrific how many cc creators are still on curseforge and i'm not giving them the benefit of the doubt anymore that they somehow still don't know how morally fucked up it is to continue to utilize this website. they very likely know and simply don't give a shit in favor of monetization or are supportive of genocide.

obviously curseforge is a comparatively small part of the problem but that only makes it that much easier to avoid.

[dykesynthezoid]

This negative review of the Hillel house on campus is not just cruel and overtly antisemitic but also it’s literally NOT TRUE that there aren’t similar organizations on campus for (non-Jewish) students of color.

There’s the UWSA BIPOC lounge where they hold business markets, art exhibitions, clubs, etc, the Intellectual House which is a meeting place for tribal summits and an education center on indigenous cultures in the US, the Office of Minority Affairs and Diversity which offers various resources for BIPOC students, including the Black Opportunity Fund meant to support opportunities and services for Black students, a mosque on campus, as well as registered student organizations for Afghani students, Bengali students, Black Caribbean students, Arab students generally, Latino and Chicano students, Indigenous American and Pacific Islander students, as well as several Black student organizations and also so many more niche cultural student organizations who specialize in specific fields.

I bring up all of this not to say any of those students somehow have it made on campus/within the university’s institution; they obviously don’t. And I think it’s important to acknowledge how anti-Black Seattle can be in particular, bc it is! There’s not a large Black population in Seattle and Black students at UW are a minority even among racial minority students. Black and (North American/Pacific Islander) Indigenous students, together, make up under 7% of UW’s student population. And that matters.

But acting as if those students don’t have any resources or community on campus actively overlooks all the labor and effort those communities have put in to see themselves represented in student life. Like, why does all that important work not matter to you? How can you find that negligible? Yes, they still deserve more, and better, but that has nothing to do with UW somehow prioritizing Jewish students (which I can promise you they haven’t been doing).

There are two Jewish organizations on campus (a Hillel house and a Chabad house); three if you count the Stroum Center for Jewish Studies. Both Black and Indigenous organizations on campus actually each, respectively, outnumber that. There are about 2500 Jewish students at UW, out of around 52,000 total students on the Seattle campus. I’ve heard from Jewish students that the Chabad house has maybe 30 students who regularly attend there, and the Hillel house maybe 50-60. The Stroum Center is famous for its focus on Sephardic studies and frequently operates jointly with the Middle Eastern Languages and Cultures department.

I promise you that Jewish students on campus don’t even count as a “model” minority. It’s just that the Jewish students and faculty who are actively engaged with their Jewishness (which might even be a minority out of all the Jewish students tbh) are very good at organizing and form a very active and engaged community. It is not their fault that BIPOC students can lack campus resources.

Also how about instead of leaving some fuckass negative review on google maps for no reason you actually got engaged on campus?? Complaining about resources available to BIPOC students and you don’t even know the resources they DO have. And ofc comparing the Holocaust and slavery + segregation is just fucking gross and massively disrespectful to both of those histories.

[ahqueinfortunio]

Babe, Your Butt is a National Threat – A Luke Hughes

You’re lying on the couch, scrolling through Instagram when Luke walks by in just his sweats. And not just any sweats—those grey ones. You glance up casually and then immediately do a double take.

“Oh my God,” you say, sitting up dramatically.

Luke freezes, a spoonful of peanut butter halfway to his mouth. “What? Did I forget to put pants on?”

“No,” you say, pointing an accusing finger. “Your butt. Luke, it’s getting out of control.”

He blinks. “...Thanks?”

“I’m serious!” you jump off the couch, storming over for further investigation. You do a slow circle around him like you’re inspecting a horse at auction. “It’s not fair. I do squats, lunges, Pilates—PILATES, LUKE!—and you just exist and somehow have the glutes of a Greek god.”

Luke, now visibly trying not to laugh, shrugs. “Hockey genes, baby.”

“I demand a butt-off. Right here. Right now,” you declare, already pulling up your leggings like you're suiting up for war.

“You want to compare?” he says, laughing. “You’re insane. This is why I love you.”

“No! Don’t distract me with compliments!” you say, poking him in the chest. “This is serious. If anyone in this relationship should have the better ass, it’s me!”

“Babe, come on,” he says, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you. “You know I’m an ass man. And I happen to be madly in love with yours.”

You cross your arms. “Even though it’s not as... aggressive as yours?”

“Hey,” he says, grinning, “Yours is elegant. Mine’s just... powerful.”

“Your ass could solve world hunger. Mine’s barely getting by,” you mutter, but you’re already smiling as he kisses your forehead.

“Want me to wear the grey sweats more often?” he asks, teasing.

“You know what? Yeah. We’re gonna monetize that thing.”

He laughs. “So, only fans for my ass?”

“Don’t tempt me, Hughes. I could fund our next vacation on those cheeks.”

And despite your outrage, you end up cuddled on the couch ten minutes later, head on his chest, scrolling through photos of the two of you. Every so often, you glance at his butt and shake your head.

Some girls get the 6'2" hockey player boyfriend. You got the hockey player and the best butt in the relationship.

You’re still not over it.

It’s been two days since you declared war on Luke Hughes’ glutes, and you’ve been on a mission. Morning squats. Afternoon squats. You’ve even started Googling “How to bulk your butt overnight” like a woman possessed.

Luke, of course, has been zero help. Every time you bend over to grab something, he dramatically whistles and goes, “Looking like a snack today!”—as if he isn’t the entire three-course meal walking around in grey sweats and oblivious hot-boy energy.

Today, though, you’ve got a plan. A revenge plan.

You wait until he’s napping on the couch—arms spread out, hair a mess, wearing those sweats again like a threat. You sneak over with your phone.

“Operation Steal the Peach is a go,” you whisper, activating selfie mode.

You carefully angle the camera to frame his butt in the background like it’s a museum piece, then snap the pic. You add a caption:

My boyfriend’s ass is so good I’m filing a formal complaint.

You’re giggling like a maniac when you hear a voice behind you: “Did you just take a picture of my butt?”

You spin around. Luke is squinting at you, still half-asleep, pillow lines on his face. He looks offended in the way only someone with a god-tier butt can be.

You hold up the phone. “Just trying to keep the world informed.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you post it?”

You pause. “No…”

He snatches the phone, checks your camera roll. “You captioned it?!”

“You should be flattered!” you defend. “It’s iconic. A peach for the ages!”

He stares at the screen, deadpan. “You put the crying emoji and the peach emoji together.”

“To express my emotional pain!”

Luke stares for another beat, then bursts out laughing. “You’re insane.”

“You knew this when you started dating me.”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling you into his lap, “and I’m gonna use this picture as blackmail when you least expect it.”

“Oh yeah? Well I’m not afraid. I’ve seen your camera roll too. You’ve got six different photos of my foot from when I fell asleep in socks with sandals.”

He gasps. “That was art.”

You’re both laughing now, tangled on the couch like two idiots in love. He kisses your cheek, still grinning.

“Truce?” he asks.

You sigh. “Fine. Truce.”

Then you add, “But tomorrow? Butt day. And I’m coming for your title.”

Luke raises a brow. “Oh, it’s on.”

Ending Note: You never do beat Luke’s butt. But at least you get to grab it whenever you want. So… who's the real winner?

[afloweroutofstone]

There's a lot to be said about how many Native tribes, often lacking in the economic opportunities available in many non-tribal areas, have turned their economic development models towards providing services that are forbidden to provide outside of tribal land. The 1987 California v. Cabazon Band of Mission Indians ruling acknowledged the right of tribes to operate gambling facilities regardless of state regulations, and the Obama-era loosening of weed regulations made it easier for them to sell marijuana with less concern for non-tribal laws.

Although these policy developments were not something that most tribes actively sought out, they eventually realized that these policies gave tribal lands a monopoly on certain goods and services that people were unable to acquire elsewhere. Perhaps for the first time ever, government decisions had given tribal economies an advantage over the non-tribal economies surrounding them. This led many tribes to lean hard into their newfound policy-based comparative advantage, building up their local economies around non-Native tourism in a way that sits awkwardly with many Native activists' desire for economic sovereignty.

Tribes with well-managed tribal governments have been able to use this arrangement to great advantage. The Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians (who this post is really about, simply because I know a lot about them) not only uses the money generated by their casino resort to fund social services, they also distribute some of the casino's earnings as cash dividends to Cherokee residents, effectively funding a basic income for the tribe with the money lost by gamblers (who are, disproportionately, white outsiders). After centuries of being robbed by surrounding white communities, there's something of a perversely poetic justice to this (even if those losing the most money at the casino are not necessarily the same segments of the white population who gained the most from Cherokee dispossession).

But it's not all good news. This arrangement also has some concerning side effects on the political economy of Native tribes. The EBCI Cherokee tribe have long opposed federal recognition of the Lumbee, another group in North Carolina who are the largest Native tribe in the US that is unrecognized by the federal government. One of the reasons that the Cherokee have turned their backs on the Lumbee's quest for recognition is because it would threaten their monopoly on gambling in North Carolina. If the Lumbee were treated as a proper tribe, they could open up their own casino, threatening the monopoly profits of the Cherokee casino. Thus, another use of the Cherokee's casino funds has been to actively lobby against another Native tribe.

The EBCI Cherokee's economic reliance on their casino has damaged any prospect of inter-tribal Native solidarity in North Carolina. From the Cherokee's perspective, they have been placed in a situation where the desires of other tribes come at the direct expense of their own tribes' desires. The tension between these two is not a natural phenomenon, but rather the product of a policy framework which leaves little choice for tribal economic development outside of cutthroat monopoly preservation. If solidarity is to live, the casino-first model must die. The question is: what replaces it?

[thezombieprostitute]

Your small town has been invaded by a biker club. They want a peaceful takeover but they can twist your arm if needed.

Holy shnikes, I spent so much time working on this! I almost had to make it a two part story! I've barely been able to work on anything else because I needed to get this story written up instead. I honestly think I've never written anything like this before.

Word Count: ~3.6k

Warnings: Choking, Dub/non consent, Implied violence, Knife play (mild). Please let me know if I missed any!

Next Part

Sheriff Lee Bodecker and Mayor John Walker caved to the bikers pretty quickly. Part of you could understand why; only a handful of officers in the entire county compared to a full biker gang? They'd never stand a chance. Better to be allowed to live without having to worry about ending up in the hospital. The Mayor didn't care so long as he got to keep his job, which now meant making the bikers happy.

Which meant paying the bikers with money from the city budget. Your library's budget in particular.

When you'd tried to argue about it, Mayor Walker hit back with "well we can't take any more from the school! Besides, no one needs the library anymore. They've all got their home computers and Internet. You'll be fine with the new budget."

In the end you'd had to let go all but one very part-time employee, relying on two or three volunteers instead. You were already working long hours but now they felt endless. With the budget cut, you had to reduce the purchases of new books in favor of maintaining the Internet connection several of older patrons relied on. Almost half of your day was spent working on applying for grants for additional funding for after-school programs and free-lunch programs for during the summer breaks.

Looking over everything, you were certain you'd have to dip into your own meager savings if you were going to meet the needs of your community. Mayor Walker really didn't seem to understand what the people of his city actually needed, but he didn't seem to care so long as he was in charge.

During an after-school reading time with the Kindergartners you're surprised by the entrance of one of the bikers. You think he's the second-in-command, but you're not sure. He's definitely not the blond in charge; "Cap" you think they call their leader. Still, you have kids to take care of, and this newcomer is a grown man. He can take care of himself.

When the story is done it's time for a nap for the kids. This is very likely the longest they've ever been away from home, away from family, and the sleep helps keep them from getting overstimulated. It was another thing Mayor Walker just didn't understand. All of these kids had parents that worked full time and couldn't afford a babysitter. There were no daycare options, either. Decades ago the kids could be left with a grandparent or a cousin, but they're all working as well or moved out of town. That left the library as a haven for the kids who didn't have access to the limited after-school activities as an option.

If there's anything good about working in such a tiny library it's that you can keep an eye on the kids and the biker while going about your other duties. Thankfully you'd gotten some WD-40 for the book carts so they wouldn't squeak and wake anyone up while you re-shelve books.

You also get a better look at the biker. He's sitting in one of the chairs reading The Hobbit. You hate to admit it but he does look handsome. Longish dark hair, steely blue eyes. For some reason he's still wearing his gloves. If only his arrival hadn't heralded such troubles for you. Well, at least he wasn't causing trouble.

Shelving the books gets you a bit of stretching and some impromptu squat exercises. You spend so much of your time at a desk that this is the closest thing you get to a workout. Given how your body continually snaps, crackles and pops, you could probably use more.

Your exercise is cut short by Ruth's entry and you have to fight the urge to let out a groan. Ruth is one of the older ladies in town who refused to get a computer for her home. Unfortunately that means each time she visits, you have to walk her through even the most basic elements of using a computer so she can send an email to her granddaughter. The entire time she complains to you about how much she hates computers and how much she wishes her daughter would've raised her own daughter correctly and been happy to just accept a phone call, and on, and on, and on.

"Hello Ruth," you quietly say, customer service smile on. "Let me go ahead and log you in to one of our computers?"

"I'm not an invalid!" she loudly complains. You try to quiet her, pointing to the sleeping children but she isn't having it. "All you youngsters thinking an old lady can't do anything for herself! How dare you imply I can't log on to a computer? I'll do it my own self."

You take a breath to steady yourself before looking over at the little ones. They seem largely undisturbed but, knowing Ruth, they'll be awake sooner rather than later. Sighing you go ahead and get their after nap snacks ready. Just another hour or so until their parents start coming by to pick them up. It doesn't take long before Ruth is yelling at the computer, complaining to you that "it's clearly broken" and "why can't we just write letters" along with her forever complaint of "wouldn't have to do this if she'd just pick up the damn phone!"

The kids start waking up and you quickly have to balance keeping them from being upset by the angry lady while also knowing any attempts to placate the angry lady will be met with more anger. Thankfully the snacks are a good distraction for most.

"Would you like some help on a different computer, Ruth?" you ask through gritted teeth, knowing the answer.

"Oh stop treating me like one of those brats," she snaps back. "What kind of library is this where computers are more important than books? Shouldn't even have these monstrosities here!"

"Excuse me, Ruth, is it? I'm Bucky." You'd been so distracted going between Ruth and the kids you didn't notice the biker had put down his book and walked over.

"Oh don't get me started on you and yours!" Ruth retorts. "Town was so much better before you hooligans came along! Now I can't even call the police to help me out when then those teenagers are loitering in my yard!"

"Well Ruth, let me give you my number so the next time you can call me instead of the police," he offers. You're surprised at how calm he's sounding despite being yelled at.

Ruth huffs, "you no-good-beatniks! How dare you insult me! You should get out of our town and leave us good folk alone!"

The biker, Bucky, smiles, "seems to me 'good folk' don't go harassing people who are just trying to do their job." You have to bite back a laugh at that comment. It's no good riling her up even more.

Ruth storms out, letting you focus on the kids who are looking unsure if they should be upset or not. You give the biker a quick "thank you" before giving the little ones all of your attention. He nods and goes back to his reading.

Soon enough the parents start coming in and picking up their kids. Several of them stick around long enough to check out a book or movie and you have to balance taking care of the remaining children with getting the families out on their way. It's always such an ado that makes you really wish you could hire some extra help. A few parents complain about the snacks you gave their kids and you remind them, yet again, that they are free to donate snacks they consider appropriate. All the while you keep your customer service smile up, despite how much you're internally screaming and crying.

Things finally calm down and you're able to sit and take a breather. You desperately want to quit but this community needs a library, even if the Mayor doesn't think so. And goodness knows they'd never be able to hire anyone else to work these conditions. You look over to where the biker is sitting, still reading. If his gang hadn't shown up, you'd be in a much better position. Maybe even able to take a vacation.

Checking the time you decide to keep your professionalism and head over to the man. "Sir, excuse me?" He looks up at you, bright blue eyes momentarily startled. "Sir, we're going to be closing in about a half hour."

"Oh, yeah, sure thing," he nods as he closes the book. "Also, please call me Bucky."

"Sure thing, Bucky," you nod, too tired to argue.

"Gotta say, you do a lot of work for a librarian."

"What do you mean by that?" You don't hold back the bite in your tone and cross your arms.

He chuckles, "I didn't mean to offend. Just, I thought librarians were just supposed to check out the books, y'know? Maybe answer questions? Didn't expect you to also be a daycare, IT person and all that."

"And that's just the work that you saw," you snap at him.

"Don't you have anyone helping you out?"

"I did, before your gang came along!" You're unable to hold back any longer. "Because of you the Mayor cut my budget! I had to fire pretty much all my staff! I can't get the half the books the people of this community want! I have to beg the state government for funds to make sure kids have food when they don't school meals! Do you know how much cleaning I have to do because there's no room in the budget for professionals?! Do you have any idea how many of the things around here I have to pay for out of my own pocket?! You bikers demanded protection money and it came out of my budget!"

Bucky's gloved hand grabs neck, stopping you from talking. You try to fight but his arm is stronger than expected. Surprisingly he doesn't look angry so much as amused. "You know, I never thought I could go for the librarian type but this fire of yours does something to me." Your nostrils flare and he chuckles. "I've been yelled at twice today, Doll. A man can only take so much."

"I'm sorry," you grumble as best you can.

His hand loosens, "what was that, Doll?"

"I'm sorry," you repeat. "While you are the reason my budget was cut, you're not the one who made the decision. I'm sorry I took my anger and frustration out on you."

"That's more like it," he snickers. He pulls you uncomfortably close to himself. "And I'm more than happy to reward that better behavior." You look at him, confusion written all over your face, as the leather of his glove caresses your cheek. "Like I said, I never thought a librarian would rouse my interest, but you're something else." You roll your eyes and try to pull away, but he isn't having it. His grip tightens around your throat again, even as his smile widens, baring his teeth. "I can be very good to you, Doll, so long as you're good for me."

His implication is clear and you really don't have any options.

"I need to close the library," you grumble.

Bucky removes his hand from around your throat, "good idea. Don't want to get caught now, do we?"

Your body is shaking as you go about the routine for closing the library. Your brain is working overtime to try to figure out some kind of way out of this. Running isn't an option. Even if you made it to your car, where could you go? Calling for help definitely wouldn't do anything. You seriously doubt he would hesitate to make an example of you if you ran.

With the last of the doors locked and the blinds closed you return the biker and almost whimper, "my office?"

"Oh Doll," he cups your chin. "You don't need to be scared of me. I'll be good to you."

"Do...do you...do you have a condom?"

He chuckles, "don't worry, we're not going that far tonight. But I love that you're ready for it."

Without warning he grabs you and pulls you in for a suffocating, forceful kiss. His tongue quickly pushing its way past your lips. Mentally reminding yourself to do what he wants, you open your mouth to give him access and he moans. One of his hands moves down to your breast and you have to will yourself to not flinch away from the touch.

"Take off the cardigan. And the top," he orders.

You back up just a bit so you can oblige. "The bra as well?"

"Nah, that'll be for me to remove." His voice sounds rougher than before and his eyes are definitely darker. He seems amused by the fact that you maintain eye contact while removing your clothes. "You're so pretty when you're defiant," he teases. "But I'm sure I'll have you pleading for more in no time."

Willing your eyes not to roll you instead snipe back, "don't make promises you can't keep. Wouldn't be the first disappointment I've had."

He has the nerve to laugh at that. "I'll make a believer out of you, Doll."

Walking to your office, he sits in your chair, gesturing for you to get on his lap. "Make me think you want this," he commands.

Taking a deep breath, eyes never leaving his, you move to straddle him. He's surprised when you grab the back of his head and turn his face up before shoving your tongue down his throat. He moans in appreciation and his arms wrap around you as he returns your fervor. You bite his lower lip and start grinding against his crotch.

He removes his right glove before undoing your bra faster than you expected. You pull apart from him just long enough to remove the bra and he takes the opportunity to latch himself to your breast. His ungloved hand moves to fondle your other breast while his surprisingly strong left arm holds you up. His ministrations have you gasping as your body instinctively continues to grind against him. His slow, languid movements are in direct contrast to the speed your hips have set and the difference is affecting you.

Suddenly you're on your back on the desk. Bucky had managed to move his left hand to prevent your head from banging on the desk. Your eyes widened from more than just surprise at the realization of how fast and strong he was.

"Sorry, Doll, you were getting me too worked up already," he smirks at you. He moves his hands so they're on each side of your head, hovering over you. "It really is the quiet ones, huh?" You can't help roll your eyes and he chuckles. "Let's see how loud you can get."

He quickly unbuttons your pants and pulls them off of you before getting out a knife. Your breath hitches and he chuckles as he takes the blade to your panties, cutting them off of you. He puts the panties to his nose, "you smell so good. How long's it been, Doll? Months? Can't imagine you get a lotta action in this town."

"It's been a while," you confess, heat burning your cheeks at how turned on you are. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

He stuffs your panties into his pocket and taps your thighs with the knife so you spread them open. "You look so pretty like this," he snickers, clearly amused by your discomfort.

He slams the knife into the desk by your head, making you yelp in surprise. Using his left arm to hover over you, he whispers into your ear, "such a pretty scream," as his fingers start playing with your pussy. He groans at how wet you are, "fuck, Doll, I should'a known you'd be into the rough play."

You squeal as he mercilessly jams two of his fingers into you, all the way to the knuckle. As you involuntarily arch your back he alternates licking, sucking and nibbling your nipples. He adds a third finger and mercilessly drives his hand in and out of your soaked pussy. He pushes himself up and uses his now free arm to start choking you. You try to push his arm away, but it's impossibly strong. You're shocked to feel your orgasm building as your gasping for air.

He must sense it too because he grins and starts ordering you to "give me what I want, Doll. Cum around my fingers. I can feel how close you are." He gives your nipple a sharp bite that pushes you over the edge and cum with a hoarse scream, his fingers never slowing down, his grip never letting up.

It's only after you've stopped cumming that he eases up. "That was fucking gorgeous," he taunts before pulling his fingers out of you and licking them. He closes his eyes and moans at your flavor, making you burn with embarrassment. You start to get up but his left hand keeps you pressed to the desk. "I'm not done, Doll."

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I shouldn't have assumed."

"God you're a good, smart girl. Keep those legs spread for me." You do as he says while trying to look anywhere but him. He pulls the knife out of your desk and flips it so that the hilt is pointed towards you. "Look at me, Doll. I want you to watch." You struggle to look and he rubs the hilt of the knife against your oversensitive clit, making you jump. "I said, look. At. Me. Doll." You're quick to follow his orders this time.

He puts the knife away before undoing his belt and pants. As much as you could feel when you were grinding against him, as much as you could see the his bulge, you weren't expecting his cock to be so big. Your eyes widen and he chuckles, "like I said, we're not going that far tonight. Now be good and don't move unless I tell you."

Grabbing your legs he pulls you so your ass is a little off the desk and runs his cock over your pussy, gathering up your slick and rubbing over your clit, making you whimper. He starts groaning in pleasure, "god you're so wet from just one orgasm. Can't wait to see how soaked you get after a full night with me." He positions your thighs so that you're squeezing his cock between them and he gives a few thrusts, spreading your own juices all your thighs.

"Gonna mark you up with my cum," he growls as he picks up his pace, squeezing your thighs even tighter. His hands are hurting you but his cock keeps rubbing against your clit and it's feeling so damn good you don't register his words. You moan and whine as you barrel towards your next orgasm. "That's it, Doll. You make the prettiest faces. Can't wait to see you covered in my cum. Gonna look so damn pretty with my seed all over you."

He squeezes your thighs impossibly tight and you cum so hard from the pain and pleasure combination you don't notice him ejaculating all over your stomach and chest.

When he finally catches his breath he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone to take a photo. You try to protest but he gives you a warning look. You drop your face, trying to not cry from how dirty you feel. He puts the phone away and lifts your chin, "don't worry, Doll. That photo is just for me." He kisses the top of your head and you try not to wince. "And because you were so good to me, made me feel so good, I'll be good to you. Now get your clothes back on and I'll escort you home."

"Can I clean up?"

"Not until you get home," he growls. "You don't get rid of my marks until I give you permission."

"Yes, Bucky," you sniffle.

"Aw, don't be like that, Doll," he gently chides. "I take care of what's mine."

The next morning you wake up from a nightmare riddled sleep, feeling more tired than ever. After your morning routine you step outside to head to the library but stop short when you see Bucky on his motorcycle, waiting for you. Wordlessly he hands you a helmet and you don't even try to question or talk him out of whatever he has planned, you just put the helmet on and get on the bike behind him, holding him incredibly tight so you don't fall off.

He stops in front of City Hall and helps you off the bike before walking you in. He doesn't stop until he's led you to the Mayor's office. Your shocked to see Cap, the leader of the biker gang, sitting next to Mayor Walker, whose nose has recently been broken. You gasp and try to turn away but Bucky grabs you and keeps you facing the Mayor.

Cap pats Walker's shoulder, "now what did I tell you?"

Walker shudders a little before looking at you and shakily saying, "I'm so sorry for cutting your budget so much. I will amend that today, making sure to take the money out of my own salary."

Your shaking, unable to respond. Bucky whispers into your ear, "what do you say, Doll?"

"Th-thank you, Mayor Walker," you stutter. "I...I really appreciate that you've ch-changed your mind."

"That's my girl," Bucky whispers before guiding you out of the office.

Next Part

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[ponett]

pet peeve time: as much as i think scott cawthon is a dickhead, people on here always compare him to jk rowling and bring them up in the same breath, when i think that's a terrible comparison. like they're both evil, obviously, but there are different levels to this

cawthon is your run-of-the-mill rich conservative donating thousands to republicans' campaign funds. he sucks, but there are guys like that in every town in america

meanwhile jk rowling is funneling literally billions of dollars into stripping away trans peoples' rights. she is one of the most vocal, influential, and financially powerful people working against trans people today, and her actions in the UK have had a negative impact around the world

so like. it's perhaps doing a disservice to how much active harm she's doing when we act like cawthon's shittiness is anywhere near equivocal, aside from the fact that they're both conservative dickheads who made things that have popular fandoms on here

[theglowsociety]

Why Supporting Black-Owned Businesses in February (and Beyond) Matters

February is Black History Month—a time to honor Black culture, resilience, and achievements. But while most people recognize this designated time of celebration, it doesn’t dismiss the fact that we are Black 365 days a year. Our history and heritage don’t begin on February 1st and end on February 29th. We are the living, breathing manifestations of our ancestors’ dreams, and every day is an opportunity to uplift, support, and build upon the legacy they fought for. One of the most powerful ways to do that? Investing in Black-owned businesses.

Shopping Black-owned isn’t just about economics—it’s about empowerment, equity, and making a direct impact on our communities. When we prioritize Black businesses, we create generational wealth, amplify Black voices, and ensure that our culture thrives in every industry. Here’s why it matters:

1. Circulating Wealth in the Black Community

Did you know that the average dollar circulates in the Black community for only six hours before leaving? Compared to other communities, where money is reinvested locally for days or even weeks, this statistic highlights a major economic gap. When we intentionally support Black-owned businesses, we ensure that our money stays within our community, fostering job creation, homeownership, and financial stability. This isn’t just about individual success—it’s about uplifting entire neighborhoods.

2. Closing the Racial Wealth Gap

For centuries, systemic barriers—such as redlining, discrimination in banking, and limited access to business funding—have prevented Black entrepreneurs from building the same level of generational wealth as others. By choosing to shop Black-owned, we actively work to close this gap, ensuring that Black business owners have the resources they need to thrive and pass down wealth to future generations.

3. Honoring Our Ancestors’ Legacy Through Economic Power

Our ancestors fought for freedom, equality, and the right to build prosperous lives for future generations. Owning and supporting Black businesses is one of the strongest ways to honor their sacrifices. Imagine what they could have built if they had access to the opportunities we do now. When we invest in Black businesses, we are fulfilling their vision of self-sufficiency, success, and economic independence.

4. Strengthening Local Communities

Many Black-owned businesses are deeply rooted in their communities. They hire locally, mentor young entrepreneurs, and provide essential services to underserved areas. When we support these businesses, we don’t just help one entrepreneur—we help entire families, neighborhoods, and cities flourish.

5. Encouraging Sustainable Business Growth

The Black business community is filled with innovative, groundbreaking entrepreneurs who bring fresh perspectives to every industry. But without consistent support, these businesses often struggle to survive. When we make shopping Black-owned a long-term habit—not just a trend in February—we create sustainable demand, allowing these businesses to expand, create more jobs, and increase their impact.

6. Diversifying the Marketplace

Representation in business matters. When Black entrepreneurs thrive, they introduce products and services that cater to our culture, needs, and experiences—things often overlooked by mainstream corporations. Supporting Black-owned brands ensures that our voices are heard, our creativity is valued, and our influence is undeniable in every market.

7. Making a Statement with Our Dollars

Every dollar we spend is a vote for the kind of world we want to live in. Choosing Black-owned businesses is a way to demonstrate solidarity, support economic justice, and create real change in how wealth is distributed. Our spending power is massive—trillions of dollars strong��so let’s use it with intention.

How to Support Black-Owned Businesses Beyond February

• Shop Intentionally – Research Black-owned brands, businesses, and services in your area and online.

• Spread the Word – A simple shoutout or recommendation on social media can bring a Black business new customers.

• Invest Beyond the Holidays – Make it a lifestyle, not just a seasonal act. Support Black businesses year-round.

• Leave Reviews & Feedback – Positive reviews help small businesses gain credibility and attract more customers.

• Attend Black Business Markets & Events – Show up, engage, and contribute to the growth of Black entrepreneurs.

• Mentor & Support Aspiring Black Entrepreneurs – Share resources, offer guidance, and help build the next generation of Black business leaders.

It’s a Movement, Not a Moment

February is a powerful reminder to celebrate Black excellence, but our commitment to supporting each other shouldn’t stop when the month ends. We are Black every day, and we carry the dreams of our ancestors in everything we do. Shopping Black-owned is just one of many ways to live out their legacy and build a future where Black success isn’t the exception—it’s the standard. Let’s make supporting Black businesses not just an annual tradition, but a lifelong commitment to community, growth, and generational wealth.

[jjwolves]

Hey could you write how bbq ena would react to a reader who's body is slowly starting to change to fit in her world like their arms start to look like her meanie side or something along those lines

NEW LOOK, SAME GREAT TASTE ▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

What: 5 Headcanons of ENA The Worker X Reader Who Is Slowly Changing Into Someone In Her World

Who: ENA from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~800 words, ~3 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

When you first entered ENA’s wonderland, you suspected that spending time in this world would corrupt you, slowly but surely altering you by way of magic spell or reality shift. There was no way that something as normal as you could possibly go on existing unchanged. You confided in ENA about your worries one day when you two were picking out Golden Ratios to bring home from the Oblique Patch. She took out a clipboard and began scribbling something on it as she inquisitively circled you. “I’m not so sure that this is a trend you need to be on the lookout for. According to findings from my focus group, you would already be terminated by this property if this were the case. I’d know from experience.” She stopped her note-taking to squat down near a perfectly angled spring, curling to infinity. You got down to her level. “Hmm… This one has been selected!” You went to touch it, but ENA activated pale mode. “WAIT, ARE YOU KIDDING?! This is a sorry excuse for a ‘perfect angle’, look at THAT one over there, for crying out loud!”

So, your magic theory was a bust according to your beloved huckster. The scientific method demanded that you create a different theory (not that you had a control group to compare to). The new theory went as such: this world changed you, sure, but not all at once. And not magically, either. It did so experientially, and slowly. You began to suspect this one day, when, while fishing for a memory with ENA so that you could find your apartment keys, part of the ledge gave way and a romantic date with the acidic ocean was nigh. It smelled like vinegar. Thinking quickly, ENA snagged the back of your shirt and managed to hoist you to safety. “Watch where you cast the line! You could’ve been pickled, damn it!” You meekly apologized, your arm tingling. ENA noticed the effects of the ocean’s brief contact with your arm and, while Meanie lost steam, Salesperson grew worried. “Y-your arm… It’s losing funds…” You looked down to confirm. Yeah, it was; already, your arm was losing definition and becoming blocky. Cracked. You joked that you two were matching now. Meanie wasn’t having it. “Don’t joke like that! You could’ve been an acid statue!”

ENA’s pale claw started to cup around your blocky hand. When you would look back at ENA, she gazed at you like this display of affection was the most natural thing in the world. No, not just natural, but necessary. Your hands fit together perfectly, like a ceramic puzzle, and you figured such a beautiful feeling was reason enough.

Once, you and your girlfriend had to journey through a tunnel which would take you across the sky so that you could catch a taxi. The walls were made of waterfalls, and it was pretty, sure, but it hid danger. One minute you were running hand in hand with ENA. The next, you were being attacked by antique divers’ helmets come to tentacle-abundant life. “GET BENT!” ENA slashed through several of them with her handfan, flashing war, spraying ink. Amidst the carnage, one of the helmets was knocked out of the air and fell directly onto your head by accident. When you two got home, ENA did her best to remove it but all was naught. You guessed you had to wear this thing from now on—it’d be an adjustment, but you’d adjusted before. “The helmet doesn’t do you justice, you know. It’s false advertising.” ENA whined. Normally you’d whine, too, but you were on your acceptance streak and you didn’t want to break it. “LEMME SEE YOUR STUPID FACE!” Wrenching the helmet around, once again, did no good.

Over time, this world took its toll on you. At one point, a wizard turned you into a decorative lamp and ENA only had the spoons (literally) to turn half of you back. She didn’t hesitate to spend them if it meant helping you, and you didn’t hesitate to choose your head—you liked having thoughts. “Look on the bright side. Eh? Eh?” Later on, you touched a meteorite with your bare hands and gained a permanent green outline. “Going green? How ecological.” You got home with ENA one day and looked in the mirror. You looked a lot like one of the odd strangers who’d run up to you to spout nonsense—a blocky arm, an antique diver’s helmet, the legs of a silver tripod and a stylized outline which bordered your form. You said that you didn’t know how to feel. ENA felt for you. “You’re not all that different. You just look as trademark as you are on the inside.” ENA tenderly kissed your awkward helmet and ran her cool claw over your blocky knuckled. You shivered. “This place changes everyone. Think of it like this: NEW LOOK, SAME GREAT TASTE!” You startled and laughed so hard you choked on your spit. She always knew how to lift your spirits.

[oediex]

Hi everyone, I'm making a post for @shahdgazza, whose new fundraiser is struggling to get going.

Please read. <3

The Tumblr account I mention above has been shadowbanned, and when they opened a new one, it was quickly deleted, as happens with so many Palestinian accounts. Because of this, they haven't been able to promote their new campaign much, out of fear of being deleted again. Their current account is @farahgazzaa.

That's why I've decided to make a post instead.

As you can see in this post (which I reblogged here, in case that account gets deleted), they have been scammed out of the money they collected with a previous campaign, and had to start over. They had been able to reach £6000 when it was stolen from them.

So far, their new campaign has only raised £273/£10K. Let's change that.

They have four children and two elderly parents to take care of, so a total of eight people. Their daughter Farah suffers from kidney failure and is very vulnerable. They desperately need funds to be able to provide their kids with food and water.

This campaign is vetted by association as explained here and here, having been vouched for by @rehamyasirrr who has also had to open many different accounts due to hateful reports. Reham's campaign has been shared by @90-ghost as you can see here, see also here.

The vetted fundraiser is an old one, but you can still find it linked in early reblogs of @shahdgazza's posts, such as this one. If you compare the gfm links, you will see they have the same URL: "f6pexj-test".

So even though this is a new campaign, it is the same family. They have removed all links to their new fundraiser from their original account, out of fear of it being deleted, but you can see the new campaign linked in their posts in my old reblogs here and here. You can also still find it linked in their reblog of the post on their current active account.

Please help me support Farah and her family. They are desperate for food and water as the situation in Gaza is deteriorating. You can donate here:

tagging for reach, please share, thank you <3

@a-shade-of-blue @ankle-beez @comrademango @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @kyra45-helping-others

@commissions4aid-international @soft-sunbird @frazzledhare

@murderbot @mushroomjar @hiveswap @kazzsbrekker @postanagramgenerator

@komsomolka @afro-elf @certifiedsexed @the-nobody-tournament @beserkerjewel

@danlous @versacehotty @klapollo @imjustheretotrytohelp

@necronatural @timetravellingkitty @prisonhannibal @redbuddi @autisticmudkip

@virovac @chilewithcarnage @boobieteriat @3000s @spaghettioverdose @dirhwangdaseul

@sawasawako @bluelunas @7yrannic

[thegreenmeridian]

Icelandic healthcare is majorly prioritising trans women over trans men when it comes to selecting a foreign clinic to partner with for bottom surgery. The guy they’re working with is apparently great at vaginoplasty but a) does not do the most commonly desired types of phallo, b) has a horrific rate of complications with urethral lengthening compared to other surgeons and c) has myriad dudes online saying they wish they never went to him. Icelandic healthcare had originally dangled the carrot of letting me find a clinic of my choice that meets funding requirements but when I actually did this, I got told that actually no, the choice is the one they’re working with already or waiting for them to hopefully come to an agreement with another clinic which will hopefully be one that can do phalloplasty with any level of skill.

In the highly likely case of that not coming to fruition, my choices now are:

No surgery at all, continue to deal with crippling dysphoria and a wonderful mix of hormones, loneliness, and a huge unwillingness to be in a relationship or sexually active with anyone until I eventually give up and top myself

Somehow scraping up a house deposit amount of money to get surgery abroad somewhere (note: I have approx. 5% of a house deposit amount of money in my savings account)

Give up and get the surgery from this guy despite it very much not being the type I want, very much involving fucking up a bit of my body I get genuine euphoria from, and likely resulting in a fuckton of complications and revisions

So yeah short of winning the lottery I’m shit out of luck.

[myfandomrealitea]

With my recent Harry Potter posts gaining traction, I just want to make an important note:

You are not a bad person for having enjoyed Harry Potter. You are not a bad person for finding it hard to let go of something so ingrained into your life. You are not a bad person for enjoying the overall story of Harry Potter despite the bigotry JK Rowling managed to smatter into it.

Nobody should be telling you that you are. Your past relationship with Harry Potter is not the issue.

The issue is what you and we all do moving forward with the new information and facts that we know.

And the facts are that JK Rowling is a rampant and proud bigot who is hellbent on using the fortune Harry Potter made her to actively pursue the entire trans community with hostile intent.

And she does not care. She is happy that she is doing it. She is happy that people oppose her because it gives her an excuse to play victim and paint trans people who oppose her as violent, aggressive and evil.

This is not about how you engaged with Harry Potter in the past. Or even how you engage with it privately. This is about whether or not you choose to contribute toward her mission and towards the persecution of trans people right now.

Because when you buy that licensed merch in the store, she gets part of the profit. When you go to Harry Potter World, she gets part of the profit. When you buy the Harry Potter game, she gets part of the profit.

And all of those things result in three consequences:

It shows the marketing departments that Harry Potter is still a cashcow.

It shows JK Rowling that she can say and do whatever the hell she wants and nothing is going to stop that money rolling in.

She is given a steady cashflow which she uses to bankroll anti-trans movements and spokespeople and government petitions.

That is the reality of your choice from here on out. That is why people are asking you to set aside what you once had with Harry Potter and to stand with the people she has made it her life's mission to destroy.

You don't even have to let go of it completely. Just let go of the interactions that directly fund JK Rowling. Just cut off the cashflow she's using to ruin the lives of people she's never even met.

Buy fanmade merchandise or learn how to make your own. If you're cosplaying? Buy unofficial cosplays or buy second-hand off resale websites. Same with other merchandise.

If you want to watch Harry Potter, there are hundreds of non-licensed steaming websites showing it which do not contribute royalty income to JK Rowling.

If you're writing Harry Potter fanfiction, use a site like AO3 which will defend you tooth and claw if she gets desperate and starts coming after fan creators.

Harry Potter might be the comforting memories of your childhood, but JK Rowling is an active threat to the literal livelihood of trans people. People who could lose legal rights and protections simply because of one vicious woman with a bigoted agenda and deep pockets.

All we're asking is that you compare your reasons for enjoying Harry Potter with the facts of why you should make a few simple, easy choices to avoid bankrolling her and determine which is more important.

Or rather, which one should be more important.

And make the right choice.

[probablyasocialecologist]

While they contribute little to society, welfare ranchers on public lands demand a lot in the form of subsidies whose scope is a testament to their outsize power and influence. It’s estimated the state and federal largesse to the industry amounts to between $500 million and $1 billion a year, all of it funded generously by the taxpayer. This includes below-market grazing fees for cows and sheep, fence construction, road building and maintenance, cattle guards, forage improvement and seeding programs, poisoning of unwanted vegetation, forest clearing, stream diversions, water projects such as dams, pipelines, aqueducts, stock ponds and troughs, the monitoring of livestock health, and control of predators and other mammalian and avian pests deemed a threat to the industry. The U.S. Department of Agriculture operates a specialized hunting and trapping unit—referred to by the Saboteur as “hired killers”—that slaughters tens of thousands of animals each year to aid public lands stockmen, including coyotes, beavers, and prairie dogs. Ranchers also receive generous federal and state tax write-offs for every cow they graze, along with reduced state property taxes for their private deeded lands. They are additionally “blow-jobbed,” as the Saboteur put it, by the very agencies that are supposed to be preventing their overstocking and overgrazing of public lands. The Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management are the primary culprits in this charade of regulation, in which it appears the cowboys run the show and the bureaucrats are their puppets. The industry is thus provided all kinds of preferential treatment and survives on the dole because in the arid conditions of the West, where the climate conspires against cattle production, it cannot do otherwise. “Western cattlemen are nothing more than welfare parasites,” wrote author Edward Abbey, the literary father of the eco-sabotage movement in the United States, who also observed that cattlemen “survive by hiding behind the cheap mythology of the ‘Cowboy’: literally, a boy who looks after cows.” Abbey was hardly alone in coming to this conclusion. Conservative pundit George Will opined that an inner-city mother on public assistance was “the soul of self-reliance compared to a westerner who receives federally subsidized range privileges.” The industry, naturally, wants ever more privilege. The primary advocacy group of ranchers who exploit the public domain is the Public Lands Council, which is funded and staffed by the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association, a political and cultural giant in the annals of lobbying. Every few years, the Public Lands Council issues a policy document to outline priorities for Congress and the White House. Katie Fite, an ecologist with the nonprofit Wildlands Defense in Boise, calls it the “Welfare Rancher’s demand letter.” “The Big Hats basically want super-duper extra special status for every welfare ranching permit holder,” she told me in an email, “because if you have herds of cows or sheep you are a Lord.” Among the common demands: the general annihilation of prairie dogs, a keystone species already 98 percent gone throughout the West but which ranchers still consider a pest; the stripping of Endangered Species Act protections for the trifling number of remaining grizzly bears and for “all species of wolves” in the United States; and rollbacks of key provisions of the National Environmental Policy Act, which requires environmental impact assessments of all commercial activities on federal lands, including ranching operations. The Public Lands Council has also sought to amend the Wild Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act so that wild horses can be killed because they compete for forage with cows. “They want wild horses in the West pretty much GONE,” Fite wrote me. “The Endangered Species Act rendered meaningless/GONE. They want a free hand to grossly pollute water. They attack just about everything good or positive with public lands and the environment.”

1 April 2025

[thehighladywrites]

corrupted cops.

pairing: police officer cassian x drug dealer reader

summary: you get caught red handed by cassian and try to do whatever it takes to skip out on jail

warnings: 18+, tiny plot like minimal, smut, backshots, seduction, solicitation, illegal activities, drugs mentioned, car sex, riding, cuffs being used wrongly😉

amara’s note: if u see any mistakes or errors no you didn’t and i blame english

next episode! — tba😉

series masterlist

"10, 20, 30 – are you kidding me? Pay for real or get out of my face," you demand, your hand outstretched, impatience and annoyance evident on your face.

This fool thinks he can score a whole bag for just $30. Not only is your supply top-tier and unmatched, but you also deal in real quality weed. You’re drugs are in demand and are selling quickly on many street corners, earning you hefty profits.

"Can't I pay some other time?" The typical rich, snotty guy with the douchebag hairstyle looks at you as if this is a negotiation, like he can convince you to lower your price for a rich trust fund baby like him. No fucking way.

"Listen dipshit, I'll make you pay double if I have to repeat myself. Then I'll ban you," you warn, narrowing your eyes at him as you slowly retract your arm.

The guy panics, sighs, then pulls out a $100 bill.

"See? You can be good!" you quip, snatching the bill out of his hands.

He mutters something before leaving, driving off in his stupidly loud supercar.

You were so overcharging him but you didn’t care. “Fucking loser.”

You turned around, pulling the massive stack you earned tonight out of your pocket, smiling as you think of what new things to buy for your luxury apartment. You count the money before looking up and freezing.

A man is standing there, dressed in the full nine yards in a police uniform, hands folded over his chest as he looks down at you with furrowed brows.

“Mind telling me what you were doing?”

His gruff voice entrances you for a moment.

It’s in that moment you realize that it’s the voice of the guy from your old class. The loud, popular guy had turned into a police officer. It didn’t shock you, honestly. Cassian was always about honesty and integrity, all about giving back to the community and whatnot.

Then you remember you’re holding a massive stack of money, weed is in your pocket, and he most likely saw you selling. So you smile at him before running.

You bolt, the sound of his heavy footsteps driving you forward.

Panic starts to set in, but you push it down, focusing on your escape. You bite your lip, urging yourself to keep going despite the danger looming around you.

“I’m SO fucked,” you think, looking around for an escape route.

In the dimly lit alley, you spot a door and rush towards it, relief flooding through you. Finally, you think, a way out from this mess. Your hands shake as you fumble with the lock, but no matter how hard you try, the door remains stubbornly shut, making you almost sob in frustration.

Frantic, you search for another escape route, your heart pounding in your chest.

"An alley? How cliche," he remarks, approaching you with a wry grin. The dim light of the alley lamp highlights his handsome face. You didn’t have time to admire him before, since you were running and all, but damn, he looked absolutely delicious.

Dark features, nice hair, a straight nose, and a stubbled jaw. He was wearing a tight short-sleeved officer shirt that hugged his built arms insanely. He had really grown into a fine man compared to the young boy he used to be. You looked him up and down, really taking in his height as he got closer and closer.

"You know there’s no way out of this, so put your hands infront of you and let’s make this easy, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid. Again," he says, his voice firm but with a hint of exasperation.

“Fine.”

You chewed the inside of your mouth, trying to think of a way out of this as he put the cuffs on you, leading you back to his car. Maybe some sweet words and feminine tears would solve it, you thought, hoping for a chance to talk your way out of trouble.

You had never gotten caught before, it was extremely humiliating and you would not stand for it.

—

"What’s your name, officer?" you ask, your voice tinted with slight seduction, testing if he remembers you. You don’t care what you have to do; you will get out of this.

"You know who I am. Badge number 031210," he answers, eyes on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Okay, Cassian. I think there has been a huge mistake. You don’t really wanna arrest me,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully, the cuffs jingling as you motion with your hands.

“Yeah? Why do I really not want to arrest you?”

“Because I’m a good person, I really am. So I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Come on, we can overlook this, just let me go.” you plead, trying to appeal to his sense of leniency from the backseat of his cop car.

He chuckles, lookinh back at you through the mirror. “Can’t do that. Maybe don’t deal drugs next time.”

He sighs looking at you with sympathy that makes your skin crawl. It made you feel ashamed that his old classmate was a lowlife drug dealer.

“What happened, Y/N? I remember how smart you were. Surely, you could have become something big,” he questioned.

You looked away not being able to handle the emotions in his eye. “Things happened Cassian. I’m not explaining them to you,” you try crossing your arms then remember the cuffs and settle for putting them in your lap.

Cassians gaze hardens slightly. “Okay then. I guess you’ll have to explain it all down at the precinct.”

Okay, so you’re screwed, right? Wrong. There’s always a plan cooking in your little head.

You take your cuffed hands in front of you and drag down the zipper of your hoodie, looking down innocently. “Cassian, could you turn on the AC? It’s a little hot in here. And you don’t mind me taking off my hoodie, right?”

Cassian grips the wheel, the leather creaking slightly. “I don’t mind.”

As you slip off your hoodie, you catch his gaze lingering on your exposed skin, a flicker of something in his eyes. The air between you thickens with tension, the heat rising in the confined space of the car.

Thankfully, there’s no barrier between you, so there’s nothing stopping you from getting closer to him.

“Cass, I’m having trouble taking it off, could you help me?” you ask, having shuffled very close to him, talking lowly into his ear. You're directly behind him, knowing the effect your voice had on the man.

You took advandtage of the fact that you were in a red light and got closer, whispering and pleading for him to help you get comfortable. Cassian’s eyes fluttered slight at the way your voice and breath were hitting his ear.

You scanned his body, his composure, cassian was tense, there was no doubt about it––he was more than turned on. “That’s cute.”

That snapped him out of his trance. He straightened up a little. “Do you want me to arrest you for solicitation too?” he mutters, driving to the station.

You start to beg some more, knowing that he’s at his limit. There’s no way he’s gonna be able to keep up the good cop act for long.

You start to place light kisses on his cheek, traveling all the way to his neck. He lets out a groan and tucks his lips between his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Come play with me, officer. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” you add, licking a stripe up his neck. That’s all it takes for him to speed into a abandoned alley and park haphazardly.

The adrenaline makes your heart beat faster and faster, a sick rush going through you.

There was a moment of silence when he pulled you out of the car, his grip firm on your upper arm. You found yourself sitting at the edge of the seat, your feet between his legs, the proximity making your pulse race.

“When will you learn that this isn’t a joke,” he exclaims with irritation.

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through dolled lashes, doe-eyed and innocent.

“Maybe I need you to teach me, officer.”

The corner of his lips rise as he squats down infront of you, putting one hand on your thigh.

“Think some dick’s gon’ set you straight, huh?”

You erupt in goosebumps, loving the way his warm hands roamed your body.

“mm’yeah. think that’s exactly what i need.”

“Yeah? Alright then, step out of the vehicle,” he orders, not having an ounce of shame as he oogles your ass on your way out.

He pulls out the keys much to your surprise. But he only releases you so you can take off your hoodie, if anything it makes you more confused when he makes you put your hands behind your back instead of infront of you.

“I need sumthin’ to hold on to, don’t I?” he announces casually, like he isn’t talking about fucking someone he just arrested.

He walks you over to the hood of his car where he bends you over, thankful for the short sundress you were wearing underneath that hoodie.

Cassian puts his leg between yours, kicking your feet apart. He pushes your front against the hood of his car, the cold metall cooling your warm skin down.

“If you behave, i’ll let you go, understand?” he asks.

You almost scoff. Of course you’ll behave, it’s your-get-out-of-jail card. But you don’t say that. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Cassians hold tightens slightly before he tells you how good of a girl you are as he pulls your panties down to your ankles. His hands move to his heavy belt, the belt thudding on the floor as he clips it off.

His hand lands on your ass with a smack, causing you to inhale sharply while showing him your wet, throbbing cunt. You smile secretly as his cock stretches you until he’s fully inside before jerking himself back out. His fucking rough and hard as his nails dig into the soft skin of your hips.

“Look at that, could just slide right in,” he chuckles lowly.

Your sounds of pleasure slipped from your lips as you tugged the metal cuffs around your wrists that were pinning your hands behind your back.

The way his dick was hitting deep, so deliciously hitting that good spot made your eyes roll back. Who knew a cop could fuck this good?

“—feels too fucking good, Cassian,” you moaned out, body covered in goosebumps.

he was giving you long strokes, pushing all the way in and then sliding all the way out leaving only a bit of his tip in every time

“yeah? some dick settin’ you straight,” he lets out when you squeeze around him, dangerously close to creaming on his cock.

You had to agree— his dick definitely made you act right. You almost started thinking about giving up dealing, maybe settle down and live a happy life. THAT is how good he was fucking you.

Cassian pulled out completely causing you to almost scream in frustration. Just a few more pumps and you would have been deliciously weak in the knees.

“No, no, no— put it back in, please,” you begged with low lidded eyes, god, you could almost cry.

“I’m just taking you into the car. Don’t worry, i’ll be so deep in your guts, you’ll never have to worry about me pulling out,” he whispers into your ear before gently biting your lobe.

—

Tears rolled down your face as you cried relentlessly out of pleasure. The windows had fogged up, droplets dripping down.

you whimpered, burying your head deeper into the car seat. he showed you no mercy, jackhammering into you as he shoved your face down, holding you down by your neck.

your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he dragged along your walls, ramming into your g-spot. some drool seeped out of the side of your mouth as his fingers dug into your hips.

“You still with me?” he asks, gently grabbing your neck to see if you’re alive. Cassian speeds up again when you barely manage to nod.

your mind became hazy and eyelids heavy, pathetic whimpers and gasps falling from your lips as you felt yourself slipping away.

“Officer, m’gon cum— can i, please?” You brokenly let out. Not only did you take backshots; he also made you ride, ate you out and had you gagging on his dick. You were exhausted and spent.

“You promise to be good? Hm?”

“Yeah, i promise,” you whine with tears im your eyes, toes curling as you tip over the edge.

“Then you can cum, pretty face.”

a low, guttural sound escapes his throat as he finishes, flooding into your pussy and stuffing you full with his cum before pulling out and smirking as it oozes out of you.

you collapse in the backseat, sweaty skin sticking to the dark leather. cassian runs a hand through his hair before putting his pants back on. a cocky smirk graces his lips at the sight of your fucked out, tired body.

“You’re a fucking terrible cop. Fucking someone you’ve arrested is grounds for termination, you know,” you rasp out quietly after a moment of peaceful quiet, smiling when his smirk lessens as he rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You just better not let me run into you again. I’ll arrest your ass for real, understand?" he warns, his eyes boring into yours.

"I understand. And I’m sure you will, officer," you nod at him with a smile before gathering your belongings and getting ready to leave.

You kiss him one last time, a filthy, tongue-filled, teasing kiss before you open the door, leaving behind a flustered cop.

Of course, you would sell again. And you would do it especially in his patrol route.

Both him and the dick is far too interesting.

🏷️: @vbbaby-girl @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @azriels-shadowsinger @slut4acotar @clarencetonkin @cherryjain17 @stonerpersona @nobodyb183 @amara-moonlight @cadiawrites @aelinwya @justasillylittlegoofyguy @acourtoflostandwanderingstars @surielstea @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @glittervame @juniperberriesaries @bruhhvv @dlveenhassab @marigold-morelli @claireswritingcorner @redbleedingrose @readychilledwine @honeybeefae @danikamariewrites @blipy-blopy @sarawritestories

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Gwi-Nam (1/4)

Word Count: 3.9k

I remembered that I actually wrote this whole thing for fun several months ago. Might as well use this for an easy peasy ease back into society.

R stared at the email on her phone, her brain scrambling to make sense of the Korean typo in the email. Although she stood in the main hallway, gathering many stares from the native Korean high school students, the posted signs were not the most helpful.

She took in her surroundings once again, adjusting her old and well-loved frog backpack, loaded with stationery. The hoard of students desperate to make it to class on time sometimes collided, and R was astounded at the sheer student population of the public high school. Unlike from her home country, the high school seemed well-funded and quite modern, even compared to the college she was actively attending at home — which had given her this opportunity abroad. The atmosphere made R somewhat anxious.

R sighed, deciding the best course of action — after a few failed attempts of grabbing a frantic student’s attention — was to go to the right and follow past the principal’s office. R’s entire goal was to find the teacher’s lounge. And although one might think to ask the principal, she was terrified of making a poor first impression. 

The hallway had grown vacant and silent, only the sound of her footsteps echoing. She noticed her tattoo cover-up sleeves were scrunching slightly, and while walking, looked down to adjust it.

She suddenly heard loud, quick footsteps come from behind. Just as she went to glance over her shoulder, a hard shoulder smashed into her back and knocked R forward onto the ground. She scraped her knees, which created instant panic. As she scrambled to sit and inspect her knee, there was a cruel snicker.

R scowled, recognizing the tear in her leg sleeve. Luckily, R was always analy OCD and overprepared, and knew she could clip it with a pin and hide it under her knee-length black skirt. 

Two shoes stopped in front of her. R looked up, unamused. A student who looked far more mature than his peers by a few years toward her with black banks and a Korean-styled mullet. As she was still adjusting from her native tongue to Korean, his words did not register at first.

R’s scowl disappeared as she intently focused on the words.

“Since when does our school let in foreign [unknown]?” he sneered.

R blinked, only assuming it was foul language spitting from his mouth, and rolled her eyes. “You are making a bad first impression on a new teacher.” She intentionally left out the assistant.

She watched as his breath and stance stiffened. “Shit.” He glanced her over, a slight smirk growing. “The school must be desperate if they took in a foreign [whore] with fake hair and tattoos.”

R’s eyes widened and her cheeks darkened, pulling the dark brown wig over her head to hide her brightly dyed hair. She finally brushed herself off and pinned the sleeves together. R returned to her feet, only then recognizing the slight burn in her knees.

“Listen, kid. How about you mind your business and I’ll mind mine? I can already tell you’re an asshole, so I’d recommend you get to your class before I bring you with me to the principal’s office for harassment.”

The student sneered and crossed his arms. There was a momentary tense staredown before he seemed to loosen up, clicking his tongue and walking off — but not without snatching one of her decorative to-do list papers. R sighed, not caring enough to pursue her to-do list. She already seemed fairly unprofessional with her frog backpack, so a pink sticky note with Hello Kitty on it was better off left out of sight.

Despite the aggravating experience, R continued on her way, plastering a smile on her face. Eventually, she found the teacher’s office empty. However, a teacher named Ms. Park had left a name on the door with R’s name and the classroom number. R sighed with relief, heading off to the classroom.

R burst through the classroom door. Ms. Park had been speaking, but all went silent except for the muttering of students. R was nervous, but as time passed, the classroom became as familiar as any other.

~~~

R blasted her somewhat generic pop playlist since the old songs from the 2000s never grew old to her. She was chowing down on her boxed lunch, which was cutely styled like everything else: a Hello Kitty lunchbox, as she succumbed to capitalistic desires of that brand easily. 

The concrete, half-built foundation was where she went during the lunch period to get some peace and quiet. During the semester, construction had been placed to a halt except for weekends, as there were frequent noise complaints from school staff and students. To R, it was her perfect hide-away location from prying eyes.

As she finished up her homemade kimbap — an accomplishment R was proud of — Shake It Off began echoing from her phone. R grinned, and she stood up. She sang poorly, but sang with it regardless, even incorporating some equally poor dance moves during the chorus.

R halted mid-song as her stomach had a sharp, sudden pain, hissing loudly and grasping her stomach. She cursed under her breath.

“Eh? How unathletic are you? How embarrassing.”

R gasped in fright, swerving to face the onlooker. She sighed out of relief, recognizing the infamous rule-breaker from her classroom (although he rarely attended class). R had a neutral opinion of the boy, as he was notoriously the “bully’s gopher,” but hadn’t ratted her out or spread any rumors about her unprofessional underbelly. 

“At least I’m more athletic than the gym instructor,” R shot back, noticing that the stomach pain had left.

Gwi-nam’s eyebrows raised, adorning a cheeky grin. He often put up an air of unapproachability, but due to R’s semi-authority, it seemed he neither cared to intimidate nor to fake manners. 

“You could get fired for saying something like that.”

“I could get fired for a lot of things, kid.”

R went over and sat back on the cement steps, furrowing through her lunchbox and sipping on an internationally imported Capri Sun. Gwi-nam leaned on the crudely placed metal rails, leering over the woman. He eyed the package curiously, as well as the rest of the cutified objects.

“I’m amazed someone like you got transferred here,” Gwi-nam scoffed. “There’s nothing professional about you.”

“My college GPA, past internships, letters of recommendation, and my polyglot status say otherwise. Besides, Ms. Park says I bring a modern level of cultural diversity.”

“God, you’re full of yourself.”

“So what?” R chortled, slurping up the rest of her juice. “I deserve to be a little self-confident. I worked hard to get here.”

Gwi-nam rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What the hell are doing out here anyway? I bet you’re too weird to make any friends.”

“Not at all. I just like to eat alone,” R insisted. “Why are you here, kid? Don’t you have anywhere else to be or lunch to be eating?”

“I don’t have friends. Just people I hang out with.”

“Hm. Well, how about some bribery to get you back with your people? Here’s a chocolate bar.”

~~~

R handed the student sitting next to her a tiny container of cut canteloupe and some chopsticks. “At this rate, you owe me an entire hot pot.”

Gwi-nam snatched the bowl, immediately digging in hungrily. “No way,” he grumbled with a full mouth. “That would count as taking advantage of a student. Besides, with how fat you’ve gotten, you obviously have some food to spare.”

R clicked her tongue angrily, swatting Gwi-nam’s neck. “How dare you comment on a woman’s wait like that. With those manners, it’s no wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

The comment made her feel somewhat insecure regardless. Gwi-nam wasn’t wrong. R had been wearing baggier shirts recently, as no matter how much she exercised or ate healthily, it hardly impacted the small stomach bump she had developed in the last two months. The only explanation was that it was from poor sleep, stress, and overworking. 

“I’m too busy for that.”

“Too busy because you’re beating up some helpless classmate, right? Don’t think I don’t notice when your knuckles are all messed up. You’re called the bully’s gopher for a reason.”

“You fucking bitch,” Gwi-nam sneered,“ don’t call me that. Just because you know a fucking language doesn’t mean I won’t kill you.”

R sent a glare before snatching back the cantaloupe from him. “God, you’re rude and sensitive.”

“As if. Now give me my food back.”

She rolled her eyes. She very much assumed he had home problems and had taken some level of pity on him since the boy showed up in the building every day since their first encounter and had neither friends nor food. But after enduring an all-nighter, she didn’t feel like putting up with his foul attitude.

R shoved her food back into the lunchbox and stood up. As she did so, Gwi-nam’s hands latched onto R, causing her to almost trip. Gwi-nam shouted in irritation, but the sensation of standing had made R feel dizzy enough not to notice. Black dots clouded her vision and she stumbled forward slightly.

“Hey!” Gwi-nam exclaimed, grabbing and pulling her back to the step. 

R sat, and it felt as though her stomach vibrated with agony. She let out a hiss of pain and laid back, the lunchbox long forgotten. R gasped and rubbed her stomach, feeling a sudden leaking sensation. It was as though her stomach was hollowing out.

“What’s wrong?” Gwi-nam huffed, aiding in lowering her slowly onto the steps. 

“I… I don’t know — I feel…”

“What the fuck —!”

R was confused, focusing on nothing but the sharp cramps. But as Gwi-nam scampered away, R twisted her head up to see what he was looking at. R screeched as she noticed a waterfall of bloody blobs leaking from her white skirt. R reached for her phone but barely felt the ability to move from the cramps. It was as though her period was on blast.

“Call a fucking ambulance!” R shrieked, to which Gwi-nam clumsily withdrew up from his pocket. 

He called 119, but nothing other than confusion was displayed in his expression. R heard the muffled voice of an operator, to which Gwi-nam stuttered in reply,“ I - I need an ambulance at the front gate of Hyosan High.” Another few seconds passed before Gwi-nam spat out a few stuttered descriptions of the emergency. 

He pocketed the phone before grabbing R’s arms and tugging her up. R grunted, a few tears sliding down her cheek. When R’s legs gave out, Gwi-nam scoffed in annoyance and scooped her up, trying to disregard the blood that stained his jacket.

R grasped onto him for dear life, stuttering,“ What are you doing?”

“What does it look like, stupid?”

A few minutes later, Gwi-nam arrived at the front gate at the knick of time. He flinched at how loud the sirens were as the ambulance pulled up. Nurses rolled out and helped get R into the back, with Gwi-nam deciding to get in the back.

~~~

“Ms. R, it appears you had an intense miscarriage,” the doctor informed the woman, staring at the clipboard. “You were being too hard on yourself during the pregnancy.”

R paled and shivered. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know you were pregnant?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry then. However, you should be able to head home now. Your boyfriend is waiting outside.”

“He’s not my…” R mumbled, watching the doctor walk off. 

The nurses helped R to her feet. She was thoroughly cleaned, adorning nothing but the white robe. However, with the state of her old clothing, they had been discarded with instructions to head straight home and change. R slipped on her shoes and shuffled weakly to the open doorway.

His head bobbed sleepily, Gwi-nam was sitting by the door. R wiped away her tears and softly shook his shoulder. R was surprised he had waited, as by the time everything was okayed, the sun had set. Ms. Park had called at some point, but R would deal with the repercussions of a missed afternoon session and after-school office hours when she got home.

“Gwi-nam,” R called.

His head shot up and a snort escaped. His eyes were wide and his brow furrowed. He rose, immediately eyeing her up and down. “What happened? The sons of bitches wouldn’t let me go in to see you.”

R chuckled, insecurely grasping at her stomach. “It was… just a stomach ulcer that got stuck. They had to get rid of it, that is all. I’m alright.”

Gwi-nam’s shoulders instantly relaxed. “Eh? All that blood for an ulcer?”

“It’s been growing for two months now.” R glanced around. “You should head home now. Let me get you something from the vending machine. It’s not much, but —“

“You were the one in the hospital,” he gruffly mumbled. “Besides, you were the one who said I owed you a hot pot.”

“Nonsense. Your parents are probably waiting for you.”

He snorted obnoxiously. “No, they’re not. So, let’s go.”

Gwi-nam grabbed her arm and started dragging her down the hall to the exit. R protested but with his tight, unrelinquishing hold, she gave in and joined him at a nearby convenience store. After some fuss between them, Gwi-nam was able to take what she grabbed and pay for the food together. R was as grateful as she was surprised by the student’s kindness.

When they sat at the window, R inquired quietly,“ Are you sure your parents aren’t waiting for you?”

“As if. My dad’s probably off at work while my mom’s fucking her new boyfriend in a hotel.” R frowned, to which Gwi-nam snapped,“ Hey, don’t fucking look at me like that. I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” she replied. “I’m upset. You deserve better people in your life.”

Gwi-nam tried not to show that the comment had taken him aback, covering it up with a glare and a scoff. However, despite his best cover-up, R noticed how blood rushed to his cheeks. R sent him a sweet smile, unaware of just how impacted Gwi-nam was.

~~~

The door to the classroom slid open loudly, and without looking, R stated,” It’s not like you to be so early for our sessions, Cheong-san.”

When R received no reply, she looked up. She was taken aback to find Gwi-nam standing at the entrance, harboring an unsure and anxious expression with his backpack shouldered. R tilted her head and sent a smile.

“Gwi-nam, come sit. How can I help you?”

“I need help with English, obviously.”

R chuckled as the man plopped into the seat next to hers, backpack on the floor. “I assumed. I was more so asking what you need help with for English.”

“Oh. Uh, with… the homework.”

R found it endearing how nervous he was, glancing constantly at the door. She knew he would rather be caught dead than at a study session, but was incredibly proud of his courage. Gwi-nam pulled out the paper. The class was assigned various Robert Frost poems to decipher. Gwi-nam had been assigned to Stopping by Woods. And instead of just using a translator, Gwi-nam came to R.

“Do you need help with the grammar functions?” R inquired.

Gwi-nam nodded, grabbing a pen. R began explaining the concepts and switching words to make the sentences more comprehensible to a foreign speaker. Gwi-nam was surprisingly attentive until a ding came from R’s phone.

R glanced briefly at the notification, noticing the time. “Ah. I have a scheduled student appointment in a few minutes, so I have to cut this short. Can I pen you in for next Monday?”

“Eh? Why?”

“So that you can come again. If you do, I’ll even bring you a snack. How does three-thirty sound?”

Gwi-nam shoved his notes back in begrudgingly. “Whatever,” he muttered, not meeting R’s eyes.

“Great! See you then. Get home safe, Gwi-nam.”

He didn’t reply, quickly shuffling into the hallway. R’s heart warmed, and a part of her felt somewhat proud that she was making an impact on her student’s life to some capacity.

~~~

R awoke with a gasp, clasping at her bedsheets. It took not a moment after for her alarm to go blaring in her ears. She immediately shut it off and focused on regaining her breath. 

Everything was going well in Korea. Work, friends, lifestyle, school (as exhausting as it was to be doing college at the same time as her transfer abroad) — all except the overlying issue.

R had managed to attract a stalker. 

It started small, and she was convinced it was a student of hers. She constantly felt watched when nobody was around. Things would go missing from her bag or desk. Then one day, while she was in the office on her own, she glanced over and saw a shadowed figure staring through a crack in the door.

That’s when things seemed to escalate, especially the paranoia. She became more organized with her things and knew when things would disappear. She carried a safety weapon at all times. Sometimes, when a hooded man followed her for a stretch, she’d break for a run.

And then things escalated again — one day, the hooded man ran, too.

That was when, after calling Ms. Park in distress, they went to the police together. R knew that Korea tended not to take cases like her’s seriously, and it’s not as though she knew how to talk to a police officer that well.

With thorough convincing from Ms. Park, they kept an eye on the neighborhood R lived in from time to time. But that hardly seemed to do any good, because that was when R noticed that hooded man outside her apartment building. And then outside her apartment.

R invested in every home safety feature. Door cameras, motion-detecting lights, and a silent break-in alarm if it came to it.

She was terrified and was considering moving, to say the least. Calling the police was a lost cause since they “couldn’t do anything with the footage” and “a crime hadn’t happened yet.”

So R lived in fear. The stalker had even invaded her nightmares.

When R grabbed her phone, she noticed that one of her bear-shaped sticky notes was beside the phone. She went through her notifications before she roused herself. And only then did she notice the content of the sticky note.

Written in messy, almost intelligible Korean, was written ‘The cops can’t do shit.’

R shrieked. She noticed her underwear drawer was ajar. She noticed that her lights had been unscrewed. And the silent alarm hadn’t been triggered. R was a mess getting ready for work, taking photos of the various evidence. And although she tried to compose herself on the subway, she was still a wreck when she got to campus.

As she walked past the school gates, she gasped when a fist punched her shoulder suddenly. R veered her body toward the culprit, recognizing Gwi-nam immediately. He wore a casual expression.

“Gwi-nam,” R stated, recovering from her shock – and momentarily forgetting her troubles.

The student clicked his tongue, motioning to his head. “Your hair is falling off, teacher.”

“Ah!” R, embarrassed, readjusted the wig furiously. “Better?”

His nostrils flared and he eyed her up and down. He nodded.

“Thank you. I hope to see you in class later.”

R walked away, feeling her student’s eyes follow her intensely.

Only then did the panic come back. She was in a rush, greeting students only briefly until she arrived at the teacher’s office. R wrapped her arms around Ms. Park from behind, who jolted in shock.

“R!” she exclaimed. 

“Help.”

R released her and handed the now attentive Ms. Park her phone. The woman scrolled through the photos, growing paler by the second. She handed the phone back.

“You can’t stay there anymore.”

“I know that — but my landlord won’t accept it as a reason to break the lease. My credit score will be destroyed.”

“Fuck the credit score!” Other teachers glared, causing Ms. Park to clear her throat and compose herself. “You have to move out today. I’ll help you after class.”

“My assignment will be late.”

“R. This is not up for negotiation. So stop worrying and let’s leave this for after school.”

She nodded, blinking away the blurred tears. She sat at her desk, rummaging through her items quickly. Ms. Park nudged her, a twinkle in her eye.

“You know, you’re out here doing miracle work for our students. I was checking class B’s overall grades, and I found that On-jo has gone from a D+ to a B-. And even better, Gwi-nam somehow went from failing to a B+. I’m sure you’ll get a bonus from the principal for all your hard work at the end of the school year.”

R smiled, some of her uneasiness lifting off her shoulders from the news.

~~~

Much to R’s dismay, it quickly became apparent that R had forgotten to pack a lunch. She had grabbed her lunch box, but the contents were nonexistent. Thus, R knew she’d have to head down to the cafeteria vending machine grab some carbohydrate-filled junk, and break the bad news to Gwi-nam.

On her way, she noticed Gwi-nam leaning on a wall on his phone. R hummed, approaching. Gwi-nam immediately noticed, eyes glued to her figure. R paused in front of him, fumbling with her fingers.

“Well, Gwi-nam, I… woke up late this morning, so I didn’t pack a lunch. Do you have money for the vending machine?”

“Eh? Late? How unprofessional.”

R rolled her eyes. I’ll take that as a yes. Just make sure you eat.” R spun to head over to the cafeteria before pausing. “Oh, one more thing. I’m proud of you and the progress you’ve made in class, Gwi-nam. I hope you know that.”

She walked over to the cafeteria, not noticing how the student gulped and his cheeks grew red, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman.

The cafeteria was crowded and R struggled to evade students. She replied to greetings from students and eventually made it to the vending machine. R checked her phone as a goofy lunch wrap slowly unraveled. Alas, the lunch period was already fifteen minutes through.

The wrap was nearly loose, sliding down the front. It did so slowly, and R nearly screamed when she realized it was about to stop moving.

R had had a bad enough day and kicked the machine. Just like that, the wrap plopped down. As R grabbed it, the noise level in the cafeteria skyrocketed. R swerved to observe the commotion and was unprepared for what she saw. A hoard of students were flying through the glass entrance, until students suddenly slammed it shut, locking out a small group. Screams echoed, and despite the unknowing threat, R dashed toward the entrance, shoving her wrap into her skirt pocket.

And that was when another hoard approached. Students covered in blood ran at the group, and although they tried to run, the students caught them. Blood spewed against the glass, and R shrieked. Although R was frozen in place, everyone around her was running amock in panic from the sudden brutal attack. 

R stood just on the other side of the pane, not far from the front door. Students ran, and then so did the blood-covered students. The doors went crashing open, and R’s life flashed before her eyes as a student she immediately recognized pounced at her.