#Equation Editor

[franticbindings]

Visited a parallel universe with a webcomic called Film Six Billion Demons. Still had the stuff about royalty being a continuous cutting motion but they mean it in a different way.

[loveletterworm]

my message to those using Blockbench for 3d modeling: It gets better. You don't have to live life this way. You can download Blender at any time.

[em-dashes]

now that suddence is out to betas i'm oscillating between getting more and more self conscious and overthinking about everything that might be wrong with the story vs. knowing that is literally THE POINT of betas and i can't in good conscience let my story slide out into the world with a bunch of faults i didn't catch simply because i was too close to it

[moreaujeans]

fucka uou lab reports

[daisies-on-a-cup]

tiktok authors being like "i work soooo hard, i've been writing this book for like 3-4 months now! authors work hard and you should never ever rate a book less than 3 stars bc we work so hard!!!"

pls go on this webbed site or ao3. some of these people have been writing one (1) work for YEARS. yeah quality can vary, but so can your books... you do not deserve an award just bc you put some effort into whatever it is you're writing, that's the bare minimum for any published piece of work...

[prommethium]

Sci-fi is a hit or miss. Not to be pretentious, but knowing a thing or two either makes me roll my eyes and toss away the piece of media, or hold it close to my chest.

My current read is making me lose my 💩

Listen, like most people I like to question everything and develop ideas or critics by myself (not something I read somewhere) I'm not an expert in many topics, but I'm always looking closely to science and politics. READING THIS WORK MADE ME REALISE THAT THERE IS A POLITICAL COMPONENT IN THE SCIENCE TAUGHT AT UNIVERSITIES. Yes, we study ethics, environmental policies etc., but what is developed follows what scientists believe, appealing not only to the moral components but to the rest of the ideas that make up his philosophy and ethics. Their impressions on society and their conception of the future are a fundamental part of where they direct their efforts. In some areas of science the influence of a political or economic approach is evident. Such like computer science where the development of certain algorithmic models and app development have become a cornerstone for researchers. But in some others, what can be understood as "curiosity" and "pursuing to understand the world around us" can be whims and perpetration of certain ideas that damage people and the world around us under the pretty disguise of science.

[elfwreck]

Micropayments have been tried, several times, and the end result is: It's really hard to have payments less than a dollar at a time.

There are costs in moving money around, because, if nothing else, someone has to move the data around - has to deduct a dollar from your bank account and throw it in someone else's account, and that action requires

The site of sale to register the sale

Your bank to deduct money from your account

The recipient's bank to add money to their account

(We'll pretend that's all, but some transactions involve more steps than this.)

EVERYONE HAS TAXES that need to account for all this money-movement.

And sure, that's only a few seconds for each person involved in each transaction, only a few cents to pay them, but... that adds up. A few cents times three people, call it 10 cents taken out of that dollar.

("They can automate those transactions!" They can, and they do, but there are still people involved in checking the statements, making sure the numbers add up correctly at the end of the month, setting up the systems that can do the transfers at all, and so on.)

Hhheeeyyy, you wanted those banks to have good data security, right? To be very difficult to hack? That cost just went up.

So it's really really hard to just give someone 5 cents or a quarter online.

So instead you get a zillion sites with separate funding accounts, like Steam - you put in your $5 one time, and then you can use it to buy 3¢ digital trading cards, little bits at a time. But that's still "have an account at each site where you might want to buy a thing."

(aaaand we're back to, "and how good is their data security?")

News orgs are scrambling so hard, trying to figure out how to make money from an activity that has never been profitable.

(News was the loss-leader that got people to stay on the channel for the prime-time shows with the expensive ads. Newspapers got their operating money from ads, not subscribers; subscriptions paid for printing & distribution costs.)

Okay, how about this: in stead a subscription model, news websites just initiate a feature whereby reading any article costs you some small, token fee like five or ten cents. You press the button, you pay a one-time fee of 10 cents, and can read it without issue.

I can't stress enough how much I hate have to subscribe to everything.

[dduane]

I wanted to ask a question regarding your "how to become a writer for established IP" post, if that's okay? I'm not much good for anything longer than a short story- should I be looking to get published by a magazine, or would self-publishing be better to show that I can write and finish a short story, or should I figure out how to do long-form?

You've got an interesting situation here. Let me take the possible analysis a step at a time.

First: most of the time, the rule for prepping to sell some specific kind of fiction is a writing version of "Dress for the job you want." Out of the box, as it were, you should be starting to concentrate on learning to do the kind of writing you want to do in the long term. (Not that you might not change streams later, if you liked, but that's not necessarily at issue here.)

The first thing that has to happen is to get your priorities defined.

On one hand, it sounds like you want to do IP work.

On the other hand, it seems like you feel like you currently have difficulties working at longer-than-short-fiction length.

So the first question to answer is, "What kind of writing do you really want to do?" (Because that's inevitably going to affect the quality of what you turn out.)

Then you have to look realistically at your chances of being able to sell to a market that's buying the kind of writing you want to do... assuming that's possible.

I have to say that from what I currently understand about the big-IP market, most of their buying attention is going to be on novels and similar long-form works. The writers who get to do short-form work in big IPs are routinely those who've already distinguished themselves doing long-form work in that IP. (In fact it's possible the editors on such projects won't even be willing to look at pitches from writers who're not already qualified in that regard.)

Writing at short length for magazine markets, even if you get bought, is (on the odds) unlikely to make all that much of a difference to a big-IP editor. Their main question is going to be, "How good will they be at working with pre-established characters, rather than their own OPs?" (Because that was the first question I ran into when I was new at the game, regardless of the success and award nominations that came with my first book. ...In my case, they took the gamble and found out in a hurry that they'd been absolutely right to do so. But that was a long time ago, and in a kinder market than the one we're all in now.)

Self-publishing short work isn't likely to make that much of a difference for you, either. Self-published short fiction isn't just a dime a dozen at the moment: it's sort of a penny a dozen... if that. In your place, I wouldn't waste my time.

So... how to proceed?

If I was in your shoes, here's what I'd do:

I'd start out by changing the one variable in the equation that I have the ability to alter. I'd start learning how to write long form.

After that, once you've got some credential as someone who can write long, and tell a good story at length, you have a chance at attracting a big-IP editor's attention.*

Now, here's the single most important thing to wrap your brain around:

In the ways that matter (plot, structure, characterization), writing longish short-form is almost no different from writing shortish long-form. (...Okay, I'm laughing at myself for having just written that sentence, because it looks ridiculous; but it remains true.)

A novelette (7000-12000 words) is just a short story (1000-10000 words) that kept going. A novella (10000-40000 words) is just a novelette that you didn't force to stop. A novel (70000-100000 words, sometimes longer or a bit shorter depending on genre) is just a novelette that kept right on going and drove off the cliff, shrieking in excitement and waving its arms in the air. (And what's truly bizarre—speaking from experience—is the longer-form you write, the easier it gets. Short stories are remarkably hard to write well because of how concentrated the combination of plot, character and drama has to be. The longer forms leave you way more room to stretch and breathe.)

You can learn to write at greater length gradually, over time, by doing story planning that, each time, contains more plot, more characterization, and more drama. Keep creating gradually-enlarging story containers that hold enough plot, character and drama to hold reader interest at greater and greater lengths.

You can absolutely do this. Gods (or the Goddess) help me, I'm doing it right now. Look at these three: Tales of the Five #1, 20000 words. Tales of the Five #2, 70000 words. Tales of the Five #3 is completing at the moment, and looks like it'll top out at 100000 words and change. Trust me, story wants to get longer. Do this kind of thing often enough, and sometimes you're going to have to hit it with a stick to make it stop. (And if you're lucky, it will.)

I know this prospect looks daunting, from this end of time. Any project this big looks like Everest. But people get up that thing regardless by doing it in short stages, and one step at a time.

So think about this, and see if it's a way you think you can go. And if you do? Let me know how things go.

*NB that you're still probably going to need an agent to help you do this, somewhere down the line. But (a) this is just the beginning of your road: and (b) once you've started writing decent long-form, you have at least a fighting chance at landing an agent. Anyway, one thing at a time.

(And just a reminder for those of you who may find advice like this helpful: I've got a Ko-Fi now.) :)

[naeverse]

Lapdog

🐩staring: NerdMiguel x QueenBee Reader

💗 preview: “Damn, sounds like you want a lapdog.” Peter chuckled, returning to your conversation as MJ followed suit in his laughter, which only made your smile broaden.

“It does…doesn't it?

🌸Summary: You, Queen Bee, have been desiring a little assistant for a while—someone who can fetch you things, do your work, assist you in any way possible, and just make life much easier. However, after witnessing a surprising occurrence with one of the lamest students on campus, Miguel O'Hara, you believe you've found just that, and maybe something even better...

💗rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🐩tw/cw. Blackmail, Caught in the act, College AU,  Demeaning, Desperation, Dirty talk, Dominance, Handjob, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Ownership, Public Masturbation, Power Differences, Praising, Public, Sex toys, Vibrator, etc…

🌸Word count: 9k

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

Small, quiet whimpers escaped the lips of the burly man to your left. His head lowered in an attempt to hide as he diligently tackled your college work. His large, left hand trembled while he solved long math equations, expressions, logarithms, and whatever else the packet held. You shifted your gaze from the four-eyed male to two others seated at your booth.

Peter B. Parker, the captain of the football team and the golden boy of the school, sat across from you, alongside his girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson, or MJ, who was the editor of the college newspaper. They cuddled up against each other, with MJ on his chest and his arm wrapped around her.

The two were considered your "friends" at the university, forming the famous clique that instilled fear and envy in the entire student body. However, between the adored football jock and the news girl, you, on the other hand, were a much bigger deal. 

Everyone knew your name, and if they didn't, you were seen as an utter disgrace due to your cluelessness.

You were known as the university's queen bee.

Everyone loved or hated you; you didn't care. Any attention was welcome. You were the leader of the notorious sorority house of baddies, with a rich family that could drop and sue anyone with the drop of a hat. You could control the student body in masses with just a word, and had everyone, even the staff, wrapped around your pretty, manicured finger. 

Whatever you said went, and don't you fucking dare think otherwise; you'd be an idiot to challenge the queen. Having the ability to turn any person into a complete nobody, withering away in debts and charges, kept everyone in their place.

But you wouldn't exactly say Peter and MJ were your friends, just students at college who possessed a certain kind of power that was highly useful to have in your corner.

Peter and his kind, sweet persona solidified bonds with other universities and the dean themselves. He was the face of your campus and was hella popular.

MJ headed the media, and whatever she said or wrote in the newspaper or the college blog was believed by everyone on campus, even if it was false.

Not that anyone would know...

Peter, MJ, and you were at the top of the food chain at your university; no one else mattered and was worth the time.

So why the hell was this lowlife sitting at your booth?

Miguel O'Hara, known as the nerdiest of the nerds on your college campus, sat beside you at your usual booth in Mama's diner, your clique's hangout spot.

To be fair, you didn't classify Miguel as such; more of a loner because he didn't look like a nerd. His body was covered in bulging muscles that contrasted greatly with his quiet persona. He had a towering height that rose above most of the football team, and he got attention from girls.

Or, well...

Girls gave him attention, not like the guy minded them.

He kept to himself, always having his nose stuck in a book. To make him even more of a dork, he worked at the school library. Due to his elusive nature and  how hard he was to categorize, the loner had gained a distasteful reputation; many students on campus hated him as a result. 

Was he a jock due to his bulging muscles, a bad boy due to his mysteriousness and constant desire for solitude, or was he a nerd for always being found reading, and whenever he spoke, only intellectual things came out?

He was a tricky case.

And not one you cared about until today…

You never would have paid the introverted male any attention if it weren't for you, this morning, stumbling into the library in search of someone to do your homework. Instead of finding a lowlife in waiting, you found something much better…

You found Miguel in his office, located at the far back of the library, moaning and jerking off under his desk. To make matters worse, AirPods adorned his ears, blocking out any awareness of your presence. You even leaned over his shoulder to discover that he was clearly watching porn.

He was definitely an amateur...

But a needy little thing he was...

The sight before you was an honest gold mine, something that would be perfect for MJ to post on the school blog as you captured a video of the surprising occurrence.

It was hard to fathom how much his reputation, if he had one, would plummet once the entire school got a look at this. But then, being the cunning queen you were, you had a better idea for that video…

You decided to use it as a means to have an around-the-clock assistant that would come running at your every beck and call, at any given time. It was a great idea, especially with the lowlife not being unpleasant to the eyes. 

So now here he was, being a good little puppy for you and doing your homework, except...

It didn't seem like your associates were too pleased with your puppy’s presence.

You met Peter's gaze, his amber eyes furrowed in confusion as he glanced from you to the muscular loner and back again. "Okay, why the hell is he here?" he finally asked after a while of just staring at the two of you. A smirk spread across your lips at his question. "I believe you have eyes, Peter. He's doing my homework," you simply said with a sly grin, continuing your subtle movements under the table, which only made the geek clench his pencil even more.

Peter and MJ recognized that look on you, that sneaky smile you wore whenever you were up to no good. But this time, they couldn't quite put a finger on what it was and how it involved the four-eyed freak.

MJ looked between you and Miguel as well, her cherry lips pursing. "Why here, though?" she asked, her head still resting against Peter's chest. "Most of the time when we meet at Mama's diner, we gossip, we talk about deep stuff. We can't do that with him here," she acknowledged, motioning to Miguel in the corner, who seemed very focused on solving a long ass math problem.

You couldn't help but look over at him as well, taking in the sight of his heavy breathing and faintly red cheeks, before looking back at your associates, who still wore expressions of confusion and discomfort. You huffed, giving them a fake pout. “Come on, Miguel won't utter a single word to anyone...

Now, would you?”

You asked, turning to look at the large Latino, his amber orbs covered with a pair of black eyeglasses as he remained silent, adamantly trying to avoid eye contact. You scowled, giving him a tight squeeze, followed by a deep stroke making him jolt. His eyes briefly rolled, his mouth stammering, trying to find his words. “No… I won't.” He said so low and deep you had to lean in to hear him.

You could visibly see him struggling, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he tried painstakingly to control his breathing. You grinned, watching him return to work on your math packet like a good little puppy. “See? He can be trusted.” You explained with a smile, continuing your tantalizing play on the nerd, which only made the Latino male suck in a breath and grip his pencil tighter.

You swore you thought the wooden tool would snap in two any second now…

“Fine, but what made you want to bring him of all people?” Peter asked next, turning your gaze onto him. “He holds no power at our Uni. He’s useless to us.” He said with a chuckle, running his fingers through his girlfriend's red hair. You chuckled at his belief that the four-eyed male was ‘useless’; 

Currently, he was everything but…

“You know how much I wanted my own little assistant for some time.” You replied with a smirk, tracing Miguel under the table, feeling your fingers begin to become further coated in his essence. “As in someone who can fetch me things, do my work,

Satisfy my every need…”

You abruptly squeezed Miguel once more, a sudden audible groan passing his lips, gaining everyone's attention. Peter and MJ glanced over at Miguel with raised eyebrows before just brushing it off as the geek having one of his weird moments. 

Subtly, you shot the dweeb a glare, making his ears redden and clear his throat. He flicked his pencil around in his thick fingers, beginning to erase a mistake he made due to your harsh grip before you turned back to your associates with a nonchalant smile.

“Damn, sounds like you want a lapdog.” Peter chuckled, returning to your conversation as MJ followed suit in his laughter, which only made your smile broaden.

“It does…doesn't it?”

You whispered, glancing over at Miguel, who was trying not to acknowledge your gaze, seeming to be very interested in the ways of Calculus II. 

“Aww… Peter, you know me so well.” You thought with a small grin, continuing to stroke the trembling male. You could feel the dweeb strain underneath his black jeans, enjoying how greatly he was trying to hide his pleasure. With your thumb, you brushed over his sensitive tip, making him whimper loudly, despite his effort to suppress it by biting his lip.

You shot him another stern look, slightly relieved to hear a groan of annoyance from MJ at the same time. At her outburst, it drew your attention over to her to see she was looking over at the workers in Mama's diner who were diligently working in the kitchen area of the diner. “Gosh, we've been sitting here for 20 minutes, and our order still isn't here.” She whined, crossing her arms over her chest like a pouty child in the grocery store. 

“Come on, baby, it should be out in a little bit,” Peter whispered, trying to comfort her. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at her dramatics. MJ always did this to get attention, Peter’s attention in particular, who you’ve noticed was staring at you a lot more than usual upon entering Mama’s diner today.

You met MJ’s blue eyes, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “Actually, why don't you two go check it out? See what's the hold-up?” You proposed, glancing over at Miguel to see his defined Adam's apple bob at your words, his nervousness only exciting you further.

Oblivious to your proposal and the fact that you, the queen, said it, Peter and MJ nodded and slid out of the booth. You watched in the corner of your eye as they walked away from your table and towards the front of the diner. 

‘Now the fun can begin…’

You thought, a wicked grin spreading across your glossy lips. With them gone, you wanted nothing more than to have some fun with your new puppy. You turned in your seat to finally make eye contact with the panting male, and you couldn’t help but snicker at the sight.

The dweeb’s coffee-brown curls were plastered to his sweaty forehead, his amber orbs hooded behind his glasses while his grip on his pencil was slowly loosening. Breathy moans escaped his parted lips as his hips thrust softly into your hand, his eyes rolling with each of his movements.

Upon the two leaving the table, it seemed the nerd had completely dropped his facade, showing just how needy he was.

You laughed, glancing down to see the mess he was making in his black jeans. A small wet patch gradually soaked the zipper and crotch of the denim. “I knew you didn't finish in the library.” You teased, continuing to stroke him. He grunted, shifting in the booth to better angle himself into your clenched palm. “I couldn't…You interrupted me.” He replied hoarsely, making you raise an eyebrow. You abruptly gripped his cock at his response, making him whine.

“I interrupted you?”

You scoffed, not believing the balls on this nerd. “You have more mouth than I thought, Miguel O'Hara.” You hissed, releasing him and drawing down his pants, exposing his huge member fully. His hooded eyes instantly snapped open, deep pants passing his lips. “What are you—what are you doing? Someone could see.” He exclaimed through stammers, his amber eyes blown in a mixture of lust and worry as they looked all around in fear of someone being near.

You rolled your eyes at the nerd’s empty concerns. Your clique's favorite booth was positioned in the back of the diner, completely secluded. Of course, you’ll take precautions; you wouldn’t want someone to capture the sight of you having fun with a loser like him, so the idiot was fine.

Not that you cared at the moment...

“I honestly don't know what you're so worried about. You didn't seem concerned about someone seeing you when you were jerking off this morning.” You taunted, earning an angry growl from him, his cock twitching a little at that recollection. “Mierda, I didn't know anyone was there. The library is always empty in the mornings.” He said in a low voice, his tone rough and holding so much spite in it.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his anger, as if he could do anything about it. His massive body was stuck on the inside of your booth, his well-endowed cock and balls out on display.

He was completely vulnerable to you…

Your eyes trailed him, taking him in slowly, and to your surprise, you found yourself licking your lips at the sight.

Even though the dork was a lowly peasant at your school, carrying his stupid little textbooks and allowing the jocks to beat on him when he had the muscles and height to beat their asses ten-fold.

He had an impressive cock…

It was fully erect, sticking straight up into the air with a small patch of dark brown, coarse hair sitting atop his dark shaft, trailing an irresistible line up under his beige sweater. His cock was long, girthy, and definitely above average, with a brown, angry tip dripping with precum, begging to be tasted and played with.

During your moment of ogling, his large, veiny hand hastily covered the oddly magnificent sight, snapping you from your trance. You glared up at him, taking in his flushed cheeks, coffee-brown curls that hung over his framed eyes, and his attempt to cover his enormity between his legs with his hand.

“Move.” You sternly said, your tone showing just how annoyed and furious you were. You crossed your arms over your white-clad chest, awaiting the loser to obey, but surprisingly, he did no such thing. Miguel simply clenched his jaw, averted his gaze from you, not at all listening to the order you’ve just given him.

Your glossy lips pulled into a snarl, not remembering the last time someone would dare be defiant towards you, but it seemed this nerd, loner, whatever the hell he classified as, was something different…

He knew who you were, yet he was disobeying you, talking back, and worst of all…

Not submitting.

You’ve met many infuriating individuals, but he had to take the cake.

Your jaw clenched, trying to keep your composure and remind yourself that you needed him around because you were a hair's breadth from reaching into your bag and grabbing your phone to do the unthinkable. You cleared your throat, sliding so close to him that you could feel the heat of his bare, thick thighs against yours under the short, expensive pink skirt you adorned.

You brushed a strand of his coffee-brown hair behind his ear, noticing how he flinched slightly before leaning in close.

 “Move your hand, or I'll make sure to send that little video of you jerking off to MJ. I think she’ll enjoy posting that onto her little blog for the whole college to see.”

You whispered into his ear, the threat striking the nerd greatly. A wave of satisfaction rushed through your being when he turned to face you, his amber eyes narrowed in rage, but a hint of fear evident in them as well. “You wouldn't,” he said, calling your bluff in a rough, breathless voice which only made you laugh.

“You must really be living under a rock on campus if you think I’m bluffing,” you chuckled darkly as the nerd gulped. “Now…” you began, glancing down at his shielded hand over what you desired. “Unless you want the entire college to know how much of a needy little puppy you are, you will move your damn hand and allow me to do whatever I please.” You sternly said, looking down at his trembling hand and then up at him.

You found it utterly adorable how he tried to keep your hardened gaze, but he would learn that when you want something, you’ll get it no matter what.

He cursed softly, running a frustrated hand through his messy coffee-brown curls. He captured his bottom lip in his teeth and reluctantly moved his hands, placing them on either side of him on the booth’s cushions. You smirked at his obedience. “Good boy,” you praised in a teasing voice, patting his head like the doggy he was; however, he yanked away. You scoffed at his defiance.

‘It seems my puppy needs more training. No worries; he’ll submit if he likes it or not.’

You thought, casting your eyes down to meet his painfully hard and erect cock. Biting your lip, you wrapped a hand around his base, feeling how brick and sticky it was in your palm.

But before granting your puppy the sweet release he desired, he had a lesson to learn…

You harshly gripped his shaft, earning a loud groan to escape his throat. “I'm very pissed at you. Want to know why?” You asked, squeezing his cock even more, making him hiss. He clutched the cushion of the booth in his large hands, clenching his jaw once more. “Why?” He said through gritted teeth.

"Why? You nearly got us caught with those outbursts, idiot," you spat, finding a rhythm and stroking him roughly under the table. His abundant precum allowed you to smoothly run your fist along him. He groaned, his head falling back against the booth.

"Maybe... you should f-fucking stop then," he said through pants, which only made you giggle. "Oh, I'm just finishing what you started in the library, puppy," you said with a fake pout.

"And here I thought you liked getting off in public places."

Miguel moaned softly at your words, his cock twitching in your hand in response. You raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh? Don't tell me that's the truth," you teased with a soft chuckle, knowing you'll surely have some fun with that hidden kink of his in the future.

However, no response was heard from him, defending nor agreeing with your proposal; only the occasional low moans and groans escaped his lips. You snarled, pressing your thumb into the crown of his tip, eliciting a rewarding jolt and a Spanish curse to fall from his lips.

"If you won't respond to that, then answer this," you hissed, nose scrunched up in disgust as you continued your stroking. "You act all big and tough when you're alone with me, yet you curl up into a little ball when others are around," you stated with a smirk. "Why is that?"

"Because you don't fucking scare me," he said angrily with a steady voice. You scoffed in amusement, your eyes roaming over his bulging muscles through the sleeves of his beige sweater—the fabric appearing strained. "And others do?" you retorted with a snicker, causing him to growl in annoyance and look away. "It's not like that."

"Oh yeah, then what is it?" you inquired, purposely quickening your pace on his shaft, stroking him faster and pressing your palm into his length, the desire to see him lose control driving you. He whined and whimpered uncontrollably, his large hand landing on your thigh, gripping it tightly through your skirt, urging you to slow down.

You sighed heavily; Miguel was so frustrating. The dweeb's mouth constantly spoke of defiance and disrespect, while his body contradicted him each time—his hips steadily moved in sync with your palm, and his member twitched in your hand. It seemed even he was confused about what he wanted, but being the sweet master you were, you'd assist him in discovering his true desires.

But first, he had to be taught to fix his attitude because he was really pissing you off.

You brushed the pad of your thumb over his tip, intensifying his pleasure with every jerk of your hand. "I don't like your attitude with me," you said angrily, smacking his hand off your thigh and grabbing his chin.

You roughly turned him to look at you, his eyes dazed behind his black glasses, and his lips parted. "I hold the power of your entire reputation in my hands. I can get your big ass kicked out of this damn college just by showing the dean that video of you," you warned, looking at his face in complete rage.

"Do you fucking understand me!?" you exclaimed, your nails piercing into the underside of his chin. Your eyes glared daggers at him as you continued to slide your hand up and down his trembling shaft.

He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as his hand landed on your wrist, deep groans continuing to pass his lips at your movement. "Y-yes, fuck," he moaned, biting his lip. "Yes to what?" you demanded, seeking clarity. With your thumb, you caressed in small circles around the crown of his tip, a smirk spreading across your glossy lips when his grip on your wrist tightened. "Yes, I-I... understand," he said, his deep voice sounding rather airy and breathless.

"Good boy," you whispered, tilting your head at him and glancing down to see more pre-cum sprouting from his tip, dripping down his shaft and coating your hand. Miguel growled. "What do you even want from me?" he asked through trembles of pleasure, his cock twitching in your fist. Your smirk broadened, turning your attention from his cock to the four-eyed male, his chin still resting between your manicured fingers.

"You heard that conversation between Peter, MJ, and me, did you not?" you inquired with a raised eyebrow, making him heave a trembling sigh. "Lapdog, right? That's what you want?" 

"Indeed," you chuckled, releasing him. He whimpered, his thighs quivering, as heavy pants passed his lips. He rubbed his chin, pressing his backside into the leather cushions and breathing heavily. You reached over him, grabbing a few napkins from its container to clean your hands, feeling Miguel's eyes on you all the while.

When you met his gaze, you weren't surprised to see the sight of anger and irritation, but what did surprise you was the hint of curiosity found in his intense gaze.

'Was the dork interested in being your puppy?'

"Why?" he finally asked after catching his breath. You laughed, turning to him with a wicked grin. "The better question is... 

Why not?"

You replied with a snicker. Miguel rolled his eyes and sighed once more. "And you want me to be your damn lapdog?" he asked, full of spite and rage, his amber eyes appeared redder than usual, but it didn't faze you. "Yes, or that video goes out to everyone," you said with a grin, your eyes lingering along his body. "And I think everyone would be rather shocked to see what you've been hiding under all that ugly clothing," you chuckled, motioning down at his massive and still very hard cock.

He snarled, looking away from you and out the window beside him. A silence fell upon the two of you as you simply took him in—his defined cheekbones, broad nose, thick neck, and massive body covered in a hideous beige sweater, black jeans, and white Converse.

'Goodness, this is going to be fun. The most fun I've probably had in years.'

You thought, faking a pout and leaning towards him to press your plush lips against his ear. He jumped slightly at your closeness, making you giggle as you ran a hand over his chest, tracing his defined pecs and abs through his sweater.

"Come on, puppy. Don't be so mad; you might even enjoy it."

You teased, and to your anticipation, his cock throbbed in response. He groaned lowly, your chest covered in a white crop top pressing into his arm. "It’s not like I have a damn choice," he retorted, his voice still resonating with fury. 

"Well… get used to it."

You uttered, licking a stripe across his sharp jawline and enjoying how he shuddered at the feeling. You then pulled away, his amber eyes following you like the needy puppy he was.

"Now, every doggy needs a collar," you uttered with a smile, causing him to scowl. "I’m not wearing a damn collar."

"So quick to assume, puppy," you laughed, only seeming to enrage the geek even more. "Stop calling me that," he growled, causing you to sigh, finding it rather annoying how he still believed he held some type of control here. 

He'll learn sooner or later.

"You’ll grow to love it, puppy," you emphasized, turning from his faltering glare to rummage in your $500 Prada bag, fishing out a toy you purchased just for your little doggy. When you acquired it, you turned to him, twirling the dark blue and red crystallized ring in your fingers. Miguel's eyes followed it, his chest heaving in confusion and disdain, but his cock pulsated in desire and curiosity.

He could scowl and glare at you all he wanted, but his body gave him away, every single time.

“What the fuck is that?” He snapped, once he regained his composure, his amber eyes looking from the ring to you through his black eyeglasses. You chuckled, running your fingers along the ring. “After our little run-in at the library this morning, I bought my new puppy something special.” You explained, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The geek looked perplexed for the first time.

 It was a cute look on him…

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I promise...” You giggled, glancing down at his dark cock, still twitching in desire. You then held your hand out to him, the large ring resting in your palm.

“Now…show me how much of a good doggy you can be and put this on…”

“Ugh, they are saying it's another 20 minutes.” MJ groaned, climbing into the booth right after Peter. You heaved a sigh in irritation; Mama's diner was never this backed up. It was rather annoying to think you all would have to wait just for three measly milkshakes.

“So, what’s the two of you been doing? He looks like he’s about to fucking faint.” Peter joked, glancing over at Miguel, whose bronze face was covered in beads of sweat. His amber eyes trained on the packet of math work once more. You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know. The math problem must be stressing him out.” You said with a smile, subtly glancing over at your phone that rested beside you on the booth, the vibrator app pulled up on the screen that was already at level 2.

The ring that you had bought for your new puppy was nestled around the base of his cock, right over his balls, stimulating both of his sensitive areas. You gave him the benefit of the doubt to cover himself; you weren’t a total meanie.

You just needed him to know his place, as it seemed he kept forgetting.

So you decided to seat him in front of two of the most popular students at your college with a pulsating vibrator around his cock. 

What better way for him to learn...?

"Okay…" MJ trailed off, brushing off the situation as nothing. "Umm, what even is his name?" She asked, talking about Miguel as if he wasn't even there. At her inquiry, you turned to your puppy, giving him a soft pat on the head. "Tell her your name," you said sweetly, noticing the subtle glare from him. "Miguel," he responded in a gruff voice without looking up from the packet.

"Your full name," you added with a smirk, wishing to further annoy him. The dweeb’s jaw clenched at your persistence. "Miguel O’Hara," he growled, hastily returning to solving question 24 of your math packet. MJ looked between the two of you, taking in the interaction before leaning across the table, her blue eyes set on you.

“Seriously, what are you up to with him?” 

She asked in a hushed tone like no one at the table could hear her as her red eyebrows furrowed in concern. You scoffed, not believing that she would dare to ask you such a thing.

“Why the hell are you questioning anything that I do?” You spat angrily. “The fucking dweeb is just doing my damn homework,” you said, your eyes glaring into hers.

Perhaps, the load of hair upon MJ's head was the cause of her forgetfulness. Regardless of the culprit, the redhead better keep in mind how much you love fixing her mistakes and kicking her back into line if she oversteps.

You've done it to so many others, she'll be no different…

“Hey, hey, settle down,” Peter said, trying to calm the situation between the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick, it could be sliced with a spoon, let alone a knife.

“There's nothing wrong with what Y/N is doing,” Peter said, placing a hand on MJ’s shoulder and pulling her back towards his chest. MJ sighed, giving you an apologetic look. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” You rolled your eyes, dismissing her as you met Peter’s eyes that also looked between Miguel and you. “Although, I must say…” He began, and to your surprise, settled his amber eyes onto Miguel.

You smirked, loving to see how the aroused geek would handle this, your eyes trained on him. Miguel, noticing the lack of conversation, hesitantly looked up to be met with six eyes staring back at him.

“How the hell are you so…massive?” Peter asked with a chuckle. “You don’t do shit except read, play chess, or whatever else you nerds do.” Peter jested, causing everyone, except Miguel, to laugh. Your eyes were trained on Miguel as he glanced over at you and back at Peter before clearing his throat. “Genetics.” He mumbled, returning back to writing out the parametric formula to solve the equations he was on.

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, the introverted male’s words not seeming to have reached his ears. “What did you say? Speak up, man.” He laughed, causing Miguel to clench his jaw once more. His pencil halted upon the paper as he casted his amber eyes up to the jock. “Genetics. That's all it is.” He repeated in a louder tone.

“So, you are telling me, you do not work out?” MJ asked in surprise and awe, her blue eyes roaming over his body. You were certain she was checking your new puppy out.

You growled, oddly, shooting a glare at her.

You didn’t know what was with her today, but MJ was working your last nerve.

MJ, thankfully, shut up after your look, but your puppy answered anyway. “A little,” he replied, twirling the pencil in his thick fingers nervously. You couldn’t help but gaze at him—his massive musculature snug under his beige sweater that seemed to hug him in all the right places.

His biceps bulging, his hardened pecs defined, and you could even sneak a peek at his abdominal muscles pressing against the warm fabric. You bit your lip, the desire to get him out of that ugly sweater filling your being until you shook off the thought.

The damn dweeb was making you forget your title and your reputation…

But you couldn’t lie. 

The geek was exceeding your expectations…

Not only was he impressive for being at the very bottom of the student hierarchy and having the ability to make you feel all hot and bothered, but despite his cock being heavily stimulated by the vibrating ring, his voice didn't waver or falter.

Your puppy was tougher than you thought…

‘We’ll see about that.’

With a click of your phone, you raised the vibrations from a mere 2 to a 5. Instantly at the change, Miguel jolted in his seat. You watched with a look of pure innocence on your face as Peter’s eyebrows furrowed.

He snickered, eyeing the glasses-wearing male across from him at the table. “Man, you are weird as heck, but I’ll let it slide,” he said with a smile, glancing over at you, his eyes full of admiration. “If the queen here can put up with your presence, which is rare,” Peter snickered, “I’ll be willing to open a spot on the team to see how you do,” he proposed, which shocked you.

It was hard to get on Peter’s football team, yet he was practically giving it to Miguel, the most disliked male at school, on a silver platter.

You couldn’t help but feel a little angry at that, slowly becoming a bit possessive over your new puppy.

But thankfully, Miguel said the words for you. “I-I’m not interested,” he uttered, clearing his throat and clenching the pencil tightly in his large hand. You smirked, watching Peter’s eyebrows rise in shock. He glanced over at MJ, who had become quiet after your glare.

“This dude is really turning down my offer, babe,” he said, nudging MJ, who snapped out of her trance to turn her blue eyes onto Miguel. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Actually…” you said, instantly drawing their eyes on you. “It’s better if he didn’t. I’ll lose my new lapdog, and we wouldn’t want that… Isn’t that right?” You asked, running your manicured fingers through Miguel’s coffee-brown hair. You watched his jaw clench and a subtle blush spread across his lips.

Seems as if he's starting to like the name or you claiming him…

Indeed, Miguel was a naughty one…

Peter’s stunned expression instantly changed at your words. He cleared his throat, giving you a nod. “Of course, but the offer still stands,” he offered once more, looking over at you as he said it.

You gave him a small smile before MJ sat up in her chair with a grin, the color restoring back into her being after you rightfully snuffed it out. “Since the workers are taking so long, let’s play a game. Never Have I Ever, anyone?!” she exclaimed, a smile adorning her cherry lips.

You grinned, liking the idea, before a thought came to your head, causing you to heave a sigh. “Normally drinks are involved. We don’t have any,” you commented, instantly MJ reached into the pocket of Peter’s red and blue varsity jacket, pulling out his metal flask. His eyes widened in shock before he laughed, shaking his head. “Damn, I thought you didn’t know about that.”

“I know everything, baby.” MJ giggled, placing the metal flask in the center of the table. You smirked, glancing over at Miguel, who had his arms crossed upon the table, his head lowered over the math packet. He was panting, and his thighs were trembling next to your own. He wasn’t writing anything as he seemed like he was just sitting there.

But you knew what your needy puppy was up to…

He was enjoying himself, relishing in the sensation from the vibrator ring you had bought him. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

While Peter and MJ discussed the rules of the game, you leaned in close to Miguel, pressing your glossy lips against his ear. “Are you enjoying your little toy, puppy?” you inquired, causing him to suck in a breath. “Ay cono, turn it off,” he panted, whispering to you in desperation. He turned his hooded eyes onto you, and you met his gaze with a sly grin. “Why? You like it,” you whispered back with a small giggle, watching his ears redden and a vein bulge from his forehead as he tried to suppress his anger.

“So no, it’s not coming off anytime soon,” you told him. “Now, you'll play this game with us and finish my work later.”

“I don’t want to fucking play,” he growled, making your forced smile falter. You subtly reached over to your phone, turning the vibrations up from level 5 to 7. Miguel's voice caught in his throat, his hand landing on your thigh once more. You could even faintly hear the buzzing in his jeans that was slowly making the geek lose his composure.

His large palm covered your smooth skin as he gripped it tightly while he quivered. He cursed under his breath, beginning to softly pat your thigh to call a truce. You watched him with a smirk, loving how he was writhing and squirming in his seat, knowing you were the sole cause of it. “I-I’ll play,” he whined, lowering his head to hide, his amber eyes on you over his arm. You smiled, lowering it back to a mere 5.

‘Don’t piss me off,’ you mouthed, turning back to Peter and MJ to find they were, thankfully, still talking. 

You didn’t want to hear what any of them had to say when it came to Miguel and you, especially from MJ.

“The dweeb is going to play too,” you said, hastily gaining everyone’s attention. “Awesome, do you want to go around as ages? Whoever is the youngest goes first?” MJ suggested. “I think the oldest should go first,” you said with a wicked grin, knowing everyone would choose the latter since you, the queen bee, said so.

If your intuition was correct, which it always was, you sensed Miguel was older than the rest of you. His demeanor and rough look showed his maturity, and you couldn’t help but become a little aroused at the assumption.

“Fine. I’m 23,” MJ said, glancing over at Peter next. “25,” he replied, soon looking at you. “24,” you smiled before finally setting your eyes on the trembling male. His amber eyes shifted from all of your eager gazes. He cleared his throat, tanned cheeks a soft red. “26.” His voice, like usual, was deep and rather low, but you heard his answer loud and clear.

You were right...

The muscular geek was not only a disobedient lowlife, but he was older than you. ‘How fun?’ you thought, looking him up and down beside you. It made everything even sweeter.

“Well, you go first,” Peter said, motioning to Miguel with his head, his dark brown hair swaying with his slight movement. The dweeb gulped, merely sitting there for a while. It was for so long that you pondered if he had even played the common game before until he finally spoke.

“Never have I ever fallen asleep during a movie,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the table.

'Of course, a boring one, like I thought.’ You groaned, nudging his arm. “Come on, that shit blows,” you said with an eye roll. “We want something steamy, hot…” You whispered, reaching over to caress his thigh under the table. He gulped, clenching his jaw and landing his large, calloused hand on yours to cease your movement. “Fine…” he said, turning to look at you in particular.

“Never have I ever walked in on someone without knocking.”

Miguel asked with a sly grin that surprised you greatly, and left you angry as hell. You growled, hearing Peter and MJ begin to discuss their answers. “Gosh, I walked in on one of the guys with their girlfriends in the locker room,” Peter sighed as MJ didn’t have an unfortunate occurrence happen to her, but not like you cared about either of them at the moment.

You glared at Miguel, his taunting smirk and stupid glasses adorning his face, the desire to slap them both off overwhelming your being.

You turned to see Peter already taking a swig of the metal flask, a grimace on his face after the drink. “Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have chosen the strong stuff,” he commented, glancing up at you. “Now, what about the Queen bee? Walked in on one of those baddies at your sorority house?” He inquired with a chuckle. You looked over at Miguel, his eyes narrowing as he watched you take the flask, gulping down a large mouthful of the liquor.

As Peter said, the shit was strong, and it took everything in you not to cough, suppressing the urge by clearing your throat. “No…” You replied, placing the flask back on the table and subtly looking over at Miguel before meeting your two associates' curious gazes. “Then what happened then?” MJ asked, deeply intrigued.

“Well, I walked in on someone jerking off.”

You noticed beside you, Miguel’s entire body became rigid on the booth; his hand squeezed yours under the table in a rather desperate way. He was begging you with the slight touch to cease any further words.

How cute…

You smirked at the feeling, loving how you had the dweeb filled with anxiety and nervousness about whether you'll spill his deep secret or not.

But you're only a bitch when you want to be…

“That’s all you get, though.” You laughed, causing cries of frustration to erupt, although you didn’t miss the sigh of relief that passed Miguel’s lips even though he was the one who called your bluff and dug his own grave.

“First round, and it seems Queen Bee and I are tied on who’s paying for our order.” Peter laughed, causing you to roll your eyes. “If it ever gets here,” MJ added with a groan.

“Even more of a reason to continue playing,” Peter said with a smirk. “But it seems as if it’s my turn, being 25 and all.” He said, sitting back against the cushions of the booth, humming in thought. “Ah, got one.” He commented with a grin.

“Never had I ever used a mirror during romantic intercourse.” He asked, his amber eyes looking around the table.

Of course, being the fun queen bee you were, you took the flask. “I mean, if you haven’t, you are missing out.” You grinned, taking another swig of the strong liquor, feeling the satisfying sting in the back of your throat when you placed the container back on the table. You could feel the heat radiating from Miguel’s body at the mention of you doing something so naughty.

You wouldn’t mind doing something like that with him only when he was ready…

A small blush spread across MJ’s cheeks at the erotic question. “I’ve always wanted to do it.” She said, bringing a smile to Peter's lips. He snaked an arm around her, caressing her arm as he spoke in a sultry and seductive voice. “Oh really? We can always try it after-

“Oh my gosh. Get a fucking room already.” You interrupted with a snicker, eyeing the two lovebirds. “Okay, okay,” MJ said with a giggle, eyes turning to Miguel who hastily dismissed it with a head shake.

Of course, the fucking dweeb doesn’t know how to have fun.

With you, he’ll know nothing else; you’ll make sure of it.

“Well, it’s your turn now,” MJ smiled. Finally, it was your turn, instantly thinking of a proposition that could really reveal some deep secrets about Miguel.

Something he's been hiding…

You sat back in your seat, pondering your answer when your eyes met Miguel. Just the sight of the massive male was making your brain sprout with ideas. Who knew how helpful he could be with just his mere presence?

Why not reward him for the assistance?

Subtly, you sat up, turning the vibrations up to a 7 while starting your round.

“Never have I ever had a sexual encounter in a public place and secretly liked it.”

You proposed, glancing over at Miguel, who was losing it. He gritted his teeth, lowering his head to try to hide his fluttering eyes and heavy pants, but your associates’ words surprised you. “Gosh, both of us,” you heard them say, drawing your attention from your puppy.

“Yeah, we did a vibrator challenge on each other, and we went to a mall,” Peter said with a smile and a head shake. “It wasn’t enjoyable with the many people around at the sudden bursts of pleasure, but overall…it was fun,” MJ added, snuggling into Peter’s chest.

You slowly nodded, retaining the idea for further use and glancing back at Miguel, who was shaking. You felt his hand on your thigh once more and soon his soft pats, as if he was a wrestler trying to tap out of the ring.

But you weren’t a merciful referee; he could endure it a little longer…

You leaned in close to him, pretending to reach down to pick up the pencil that had accidentally rolled off the table due to his squirming. “Lift your head and play the damn game,” you spat harshly into his ear as he frantically shook his head. “Fuck, I-I can’t,” he whined breathlessly. “Mierda, I’m close. I-I can’t,” he repeated, only making you smirk.

“Be a good puppy, hold it, and play the game, or I’ll raise it to the highest level,” you told him sternly, your fingers finding the pencil in the leather cushions. You soon rose, a smile on your lips as you placed the wooden tool onto the table. “Miguel, how about you?” you inquired in a sweet voice, the lovebirds finishing their swigs of the flask. “Done anything fun in public and secretly enjoyed it?” you asked, curious about how he'd answer and respond.

Like a good doggy, he lifted his head as you commanded. His dark, hazy eyes looked between the three of you before simply reaching over and taking a swig of the flask.

“Fucking hell!? The nerd knows fun!” Peter commented with a laugh, while the rest of you looked on in astonishment. Miguel placed the flask down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Explain,” you urged, nudging him with a kick under the table. He jolted, shooting you a subtle glare, causing you to raise an eyebrow, reaching over for your phone when Miguel gave you a gentle squeeze of desperation. “Okay…” he began, exhaling and trying to regain his composure while holding back his release and being heavily stimulated.

“I was getting a-a handjob under the table…i-in a diner similar to this,” he said, making you smile, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “T-The girl was fucking rude and mean, but h-had skilled hands. Very skilled hands.” He gulped, avoiding your eyes while he spoke. “But t-that’s pretty much it. I liked it...Who wouldn't," Miguel said, looking down at his lap and leaving the table speechless.

You didn’t know whether to be flattered, angry at his description of you, or apathetic. A burning desire in your gut to simply drag him to the bathroom of Mama’s diner and see just how good his cock would feel inside of you.

But overall, the geek had surprised you with his answer, this being the only time he had spoken his mind and said his true thoughts since he sat down at this fucking booth.

“Damn, sounds hot,” MJ said, making you turn your attention from your loyal puppy to her. “Wish I had the guts like that rude girl you described. I could never.” She said lowly, bringing a wave of pride over you. Her compliment only fueled your already replete ego.

After the steamy encounter that Miguel explained to the group, it was now MJ’s turn. However, just when she was about to speak, her phone pinged with a message. She glanced down at the glowing screen, her eyebrows instantly furrowing. “Oh my gosh, babe, we have to go. I’m needed at the university.” She quaked, turning her blue eyes upon you. “I’m so sorry to pause the game and leave so early.” She apologized, hastily standing up from the booth alongside her ride, and boyfriend, Peter.

“I can only assume it's for the newspaper, so I’ll let it slide,” you told her as she thanked you, swiftly scurrying past and exiting Mama’s diner. Peter watched with a chuckle, tucking his hands into his red varsity jacket, standing beside you at the table.

“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing you around, Queen Bee,” he smirked, suddenly taking your hand and placing a kiss on your knuckles. You raised an eyebrow, a smile forming upon your glossy lips. Prior to pulling away, he held his soft lips upon your skin for a moment longer and gave your knuckles an affectionate caress with his thumb, meeting your eyes. “Call me anytime.” He whispered, giving you his signature charming smile and wink that made every person on campus faint and die on the spot before leaving behind his girlfriend.

You couldn’t lie; you were a little shocked at Peter’s forwardness.

You’ve noticed his interest in the great Queen Bee—who isn’t—but he had a girlfriend, and unfortunately for him…

You don’t like to share…

Many whiny groans and the sound of loud buzzing brought you from your thoughts as you turned to look at Miguel in the corner to see something even more astonishing than Peter’s previous advances.

Miguel was panting, breathing heavily with his head pressed against the back of the leather booth. His black denims were drawn down, revealing his strained cock and the beautiful red and blue vibrator ring around his base. His eyes rolled uncontrollably behind his glasses, his mouth agape while he rambled in a blend of Spanish and English.

You could only make out the English phrases and words he uttered, which mostly were pleas and begs, all desiring one thing and one thing only.

“Please—ay cono. Let me cum. Please, let me cum."

He implored incessantly, his words so full of need and desperation. You could tell he was slowly losing it; the pleasure was blinding him, and he was only at level 7. You were hoping to try the highest level on him, but maybe another time…

You didn’t want to completely ruin your new puppy…

You leaned towards him, running a finger over his sticky tip, tracing patterns across it. He whined and squirmed in his seat at your touch. “Aww, you want to stop playing already? I wanted to try level 10.” You told him with a fake pout. He frantically shook his head, gasps of air passing his parted lips. “Goodness, no. Please, I-I can’t take any more.” He begged so perfectly that you almost allowed him to.

Well,

Almost…

“I’ll let you cum on one condition,” you proposed, taking his chin in your fingers and turning him to meet your eyes. His eyes fluttered, his hands found your wrist, grabbing on tightly to stabilize himself. His face was flushed, his defined cheeks a rosy red, and his forehead covered with beads of sweat. He looked adorable, practically begging you with his hooded doe eyes to allow him to cum. You smirked, caressing his chin.

“Tell me you are my little puppy and sweeten the deal with a cute little bark.”

You giggled, eliciting a growl that came out more like a groan. “A-Are you serious?” he panted, making your smile only broaden. “Very, and I’ll only raise the level of the vibrator if you don’t,” you said with a grin, loving the look of defeat that covered his face. “Shit,” he cursed, looking away.

“No, eyes on me.”

You sternly said, hastily yanking his chin back towards you. He clenched his jaw, making eye contact with you once more. His amber orbs were full of anger, but his desire to be relieved of the vibrator and finally be granted his satisfying release led him to speak what you wanted.

“I-I’m your… l-little… 

Puppy.”

He uttered reluctantly through shaky moans as you waited patiently for the best part of his whole confession. He growled, shaking his head. “I’m not barking.”

You huffed, giving him a stern look. “Do I have to threaten you again about that video? How about I take that little vibrator and give it to the dean instead?” you said with an evil grin. “It has your… essence all over it. Wouldn’t be hard to discover it’s yours.” You cackled. He scowled, gazing up at you through breathy moans. “You are s-such a bitch.”

“Are you sure? You are looking more like a bitch than me right now,” you spat with a laugh, piercing your nails into his chin. “Now be my good little puppy and bark.” You demanded once more, eyes trained on his furious and flushed face.

You watched Miguel resist you as hard as he could. He put up such a fight, remaining silent to disobey for a good while, but just like any wild dog, they break, they snap...

They submit.

So, it didn’t take long before the most satisfying sounds filled your ears.

“Woof…Woof.”

A wave of satisfaction overcame you, akin to taking a refreshing sip of a chocolate milkshake on a hot day. Your glossy lips pulled into a smile, feeling completely overjoyed as you stared at your official new lapdog. “Gosh, I’m going to have so much fun with you,” you promised, caressing his chin affectionately. Miguel’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his entire face turned red; even his cock frantically throbbed around the pulsating ring.

Like a dog wagging his tail, he seemed to like that idea very much...

You wrapped a hand around his shaft, stroking him at a fast pace while the ring continued to buzz against him. “Be a good boy and cum for me,” you whispered. “Make me proud, puppy,” you told him, kissing along his jawline and earning a loud groan to erupt from his throat. His hips left the seat, meeting your fist with each thrust upwards. “Oh yes. Fuck,” he cried through closed eyes.

The leather booth began to creak loudly at his frenzied movement, his cock sliding in and out of your palm, completely slick with his precum. You could feel how powerful the vibrations were on his sensitive shaft whilst he continued to fuck your fist.

“Shit, shit, I’m cumming,” he groaned, before a loud guttural, deep moan erupted from deep within his chest, his thick, muscular thighs quivering. Veins bulge along the underside of his abdomen upon his climax, and with one final thrust into your hand, he shot his white, creamy load.

And the four-eyed male just kept impressing you over and over again.

His release seemed to be endless. More and more of his seed dripped from his slit, coating your hand and the buzzing toy. The vibrating ring and your fisting only seemed to milk him completely, causing him to whimper and whine uncontrollably, continuing to paint his shaft, your hand, his beige sweater, and the leather seats in his essence.

When he was finished, you took in the huge mess he’d made with a grin. “Look at what you’ve done,” you purred, grabbing a few napkins to clean your hands. Miguel didn’t respond, only babbling softly, his words unintelligible.

You laughed at his thoroughly satisfied expression, finding it utterly adorable how fucked-out he looked. You relieved him of the vibrator, turning it off and removing it from his swollen shaft, the toy completely coated with his sticky fluids. 

You smirked, eyeing the white-coated ring; it was so enticing that you couldn't help but bring the toy to your mouth to give it a taste. Like savoring the sweetness of honey on a wand, you ran your tongue along the vobrator, humming in ecstasy.

Your eyes fluttered at the taste. His seed was different—something you couldn't quite put into words, but an essence you'd definitely want more of in the future, something you had to taste straight from the source.

After sucking the ring clean, you placed it into your bag and slid closer to Miguel. His eyes were still closed, his chest heaving up and down while his body spasmed—small tremors spreading through his massive being.

You turned his face towards you, a finger resting under his chin. His eyes fluttered open to meet your satisfied gaze. “I’m happy you enjoyed yourself, puppy,” you whispered, an airy chuckle passing his lips at your words. “I had no choice… 

So I might as well enjoy it,” 

He muttered breathlessly, his response made you even prouder. Your little puppy was understanding the game—the fun. You couldn’t help but love the dork even more.

You leaned closer to him, your nose brushing against his. 

“Finally… you are starting to get it,” you uttered, pressing a rough and searing kiss to his mouth. Miguel, completely exhausted and shocked, instantly lost the fight, giving you control.

You devoured his mouth hungrily, his plush lips feeling just right and tasting even better as your tongue entered his parted lips. He groaned, kissing you back, but not enough to dominate nor challenge you, which you adored so much.

You kissed him until you were satisfied, sucking his lips until they were pink and swollen, and tasting his mouth with your tongue. You then pulled away from his enticing lips, both of you panting heavily. You looked him over with a smirk, patting his head and running your manicured fingers through his coffee-brown hair, and to your satisfaction, he didn’t pull away—either from weariness or pure enjoyment, it seemed your puppy had accepted his role. 

But you couldn’t be so sure…

You smiled, sliding out of the booth and picking up your $500 Prada bag from the seat. His amber eyes were full of confusion as he looked you over. You met your adorable lapdog’s gaze, standing before him in your lavish clothes—a white crop top, pink Gucci jacket, skirt, and heels.

You gave him a sly grin, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “Clean yourself up and have my homework done by 10. 

I want you at my sorority house tonight,” 

You smirked, watching his tanned cheeks turn a deep red. Your eyes took him in one last time, taking in his little mess, his flustered and stunned expression, softened cock, massive body, and those dorky glasses.

 All of that and so much more was yours now.

All yours…

“See you then,” you giggled, blowing him a kiss, and turning on your pink high heels, leaving the dork flabbergasted.

You swung open the door of Mama’s diner, stepping out onto the sidewalk and into the bustling streets of Nueva York. You put on your pink heart-shaped shades, the evening sun beaming upon your face, as an unshakeable smile adorned your glossy lips.

You were excited, no, delighted. 

You had discovered something better than a measly assistant that you had desired before. 

You had a permanent peasant, a puppy who was none other than the outcast of your college—the student at the bottom of the student hierarchy and hated by all was officially yours. 

And you couldn’t wait to have so much more fun with your little bitch boy, Miguel O’Hara.

Your new lapdog...

A/N: I enjoyed writing this soo much!! 😆

I hope u guys enjoyed it as well, I'm thinking of writing a Part 2 but...idk 🤔😏

But hope u guys liked!! 💗💗

P.S: Part 3 of 'A Fate Worse Than Death' would be up next week, my apologies, I just had to write this one. 😌

<3 Taglist:

~@oscarissac2099

~@powerful-niya

(Let me know in the comments if you'll like to become a part of the taglist! ❤️)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[supreme-leader-stoat]

Urban fantasy series where, technically, the only unrealistic element present is that vampires exist. In practice, the writer is very clearly trying to find out how many different supernatural creatures they can cram under the umbrella of "vampire" before their editors call their bluff.

You've got your standard Draculas, your Varneys, your Carmillas, your Orloks and so on. Revenants and zombies are easy to fold in as a kind of humanoid undead. Werewolves aren't too much of a stretch, some old folklore already equates the two kinds of creature anyway. Jiangshi are already often localized as a kind of 'vampire' anyway. El Chupacabra's whole shtick is that it's a blood-drinking monster. Same with the Yara-ma-yha-who, with the added benefit of it being able to turn humans. Yuki-onna are where things start getting kind of weird, but you know, it's a monster that drains a vital resource from someone, the similarities are still there if you squint.

Things start getting real weird after a unicorn's horn is explained as a hollow, blood-draining tusk.

[lavshaze]

Love

✧ contains ⤐ fluff, fluff, fluff! established relationship goodness and several mentions of explicit activities. weekend hair viktor is a blessing not many get to witness so I felt like I had to put this into words. for my lovely editor who's been craving viktor fluff <3 @saydontgojo this one's for u babe w.c. ~ 1.3k

Ao3 version

Your whole life has been building up to this moment. 

Years of studying, innovating, and experimenting with dangerous ideas, all that effort pales in comparison to the great lengths you’re going through to make your boyfriend of two years a decent breakfast. Recipe books always overcomplicate things, you liked to say, but Viktor— the filthy traitor— would always say that you were the problem in that equation. 

Well, Viktor is out cold in your shared bed after one of the best nights of his life, so you don’t think he has any room to complain. He isn’t allowed to. 

You look down at the mixture, seemingly of normal color and consistency. You lean down and sniff it for good measure, normal smell too. None of the eggs were rotten, none of the expiry dates on the packages were alarming, and you’d made sure to use exactly a pinch of salt this time. Salt was a lethal weapon in the kitchen, you were finding out based on recent experiments— experiments that may or may not have had Viktor as the involuntary test subject.    

Okay, maybe he has a little bit of room to complain. 

You turn around to look at the stove. Such an innocent looking machine that’s actually capable of ruining your life, and you’d have to work with it to get the desired final product. You groan to yourself, scooping the bowl of batter up and making your way to the biggest challenge of the recipe. 

Fire, such a fascinating tool. Just as dangerous as salt. 

You turn it on and thank the gods when it doesn’t somehow combust or set your entire apartment aflame. You reach for a spoon and fill it to the brim with batter, approaching the cursed thing with determination. The concoction pours into the pan smoothly on top of the butter, forming the perfect circle you were aiming for, you watch as the little bubbles form into it in the next few seconds. 

“Very good. Will you be able to flip it next?” 

You can’t fight the groan that escapes your throat at the voice of your tormenter. Too busy with the life-changing experience of making pancakes, you hadn’t seen or heard Viktor limp his way into your small kitchen. Him being awake at ten in the morning is nothing new, but it completely spoils your plans of serving him breakfast in bed. You had actually managed to convince him to take a few days off, convinced the both of you really, and the one thing you wanted to do in this time was keep him off his feet. 

Last night was very successful in that regard, this morning doesn’t seem to follow. 

You turn to look at him and you immediately curse yourself for being so stupid, because the minute you lay eyes on him, all the frustration escapes your body as if in osmotic diuresis. Viktor is gorgeous in the morning, even more so when he’s forced to actually get a full night of sleep. Disheveled brown hair and shining amber eyes flickering with mischief, the weight of everything you did last night comes back to you like a fucking bulldozer. He’s wearing nothing besides his underwear and a half buttoned white shirt, exposing his bruised and marked torso, and the devilishly seductive curve of his neck and collarbones. 

Curse the gorgeous scientists. 

“Yes, Viktor, I’m gonna flip it next. I can cook.” 

He leans on the doorway and hums to himself, “yes, lásko, I’m sure you can. I’m not sure, however, if I would call making pancakes cooking.” 

“I’m using a fire, am I not?” 

“It would appear so,” he turns to the stove, “it would also appear that you’ve burnt the first pancake of the day.” 

Your head snaps to the pan and you’re disappointed to find that he’s right. He limps to your side and reaches out a hand for the spatula, you dejectedly give it to him and he grins in response. Smug bastard. 

Within a few minutes, the burnt pancake is cleaned off and long forgotten. He places and flips around twelve in the time it would have taken you to finish two, especially with how low you keep the fire. You sit on the counter next to the stove and watch him work, discussing details of your latest project and how the funding process is going. 

“If I have to listen to another pretentious old man— who isn’t Heimerdinger, though he’s on thin ice— question another minute detail of this research, I’m actually going to fucking lose it.” 

Viktor hums, “unfortunate how everything is managed by such individuals.” 

You groan, “gods, I know. They should really have an age limit for these things, there’s a certain age where you just shouldn’t be allowed to run things like this. Especially if you’re following old guidelines, because hello? What year is it again?” 

“Miláčku, pass me the butter.” 

You mindlessly hand it to him, a new memory coming to mind that makes your rant start all over again. 

“And don’t get me started on getting the council’s approval, it’s like they made that group with the idea of having the most insufferable people in control. I’ve never seen such shallow people all in the same room!” 

He smiles, “I thought you liked Mel.” 

“I do, and Cassandra is sensible enough. But, gods above, it does not cancel out the rest.” 

His eyes crinkle in amusement, understanding exactly what you mean. What’s worse to Piltover than one undercity scientist? Two undercity scientists, with very expressive faces, who are deeply in love and gossip about you at every given chance. 

The silence after your little rant settles over the kitchen as he finishes up the batter you prepared and moves the equipment to the sink. He runs them under water and leaves them to soak, turning around to face you, still on the counter. He smiles when he sees you were already watching him, and walks over to stand in front of you. 

“We make a great team,” you say, “I make the batter and you handle the rest.” You bat your lashes innocently. 

“You always like things done for you, don't you, love?” There's that dangerous glint in his eyes, the one you're used to seeing in the dim light of your shared bedroom.

With one arm placed on each side of your thighs, he leans forward to whisper, “you look lovely today.” You smile, knowing exactly what he’s playing at, “I’m barely wearing anything.” He hums and plants a short, sweet kiss on your lips, “that’s what I was aiming for, yes.” 

“Viktor, baby,” you reach up to cup his face and he leans into your touch, “we are not going to fuck on the kitchen counter.” He smiles and leans forward, planting more kisses on your mouth, clearly not listening to that warning. You curse the gods above for making him so irresistible, your body following his lead before you could do anything to stop the natural progression of events. 

“What makes you so sure of that, miláčku?” 

The words are kissed out of your mouth before you can think of a reply and you physically feel all the resistance escaping your body, allowing yourself to enjoy this rare occasion to laze around and make love to your gorgeous, brilliant boyfriend. His hot mouth drops to your cool neck and you lean back in bliss, sighing when he gently grazes your skin with his teeth. Last night’s marks weren’t even close to healing and he was already giving you new ones, such an overachiever. 

You lace your fingers through his dark hair and allow yourself to get lost in the moment. In these sacred moments, in the private comfort of your shared apartment, none of the work you do outside matters. Piltover and its progress doesn’t measure up to the satisfaction you bring each other within these walls, none of your stress or work could catch up to you when you’re in each other’s presence. It doesn’t matter if you’re not ready for the future, it doesn’t matter if you doubt your abilities or feel hopeless, all those worries seem so irrelevant right now. 

Within these four walls, all you care about is the love you and Viktor have cultivated. 

[animelovelover123]

I was thinking a Yandere Reboot Dante who's obsessed with bartender reader! She works at a strip club he visits. They've become friendly with each other, but she rejects his advances. He tries to make her jealous, but it doesn't work. To which he kidnaps her and takes her back to his place/van to which the non con pursues.

I know his van was canonically destroyed, but the scene where his van was shaking from having sex, made me feral!! Thanks for letting me send this! Let me know if this is too long, I will shorten the idea! 🥹😈

What a devilishly dirty idea (　・`ω・´). Here you go; I hope I didn't destroy it by condensing it so much. Also, I should warn you that my editor is not comfortable with some things, including non-con, and I respect their feelings so this story was not beta read. I'm sorry in advance for the mistakes.

Yandere Reboot Dante X Reader - Incorrigible For Devil's Dalliance’s Angel

Disclaimer: This fictional story contains mature subject matter that is written with the intent to be appealing and/or arousing. If you are reading this, please understand that drawing/writing/reading/imagining things of this nature does NOT equate to desiring or supporting real-world assault. Here is a link to multiple articles and studies on sexual taboos in fantasy, what role it plays, and what effect it has on people.

Trigger Warnings: rape, stalking, kidnapping, degrading comments towards others (not reader), somnophilia, bound wrists

Yet again, for the 4th night in a row, Dante found himself at Devil's Dalliance. He would have been there every night, but you only work 5 days a week. He didn’t bother with the dancefloor where the strippers were twirling around poles. He took an immediate left turn to get to the bar along the left wall where you were.

“Hey angel!” He called out to you, using that nickname since the strippers that worked here were dressed as them, but you were the only one worthy of the actual title. He went to sit down but before his ass hit the stool his usual order came sliding across the bar. He caught it with ease, then looked over at you as you gave him a smile and a hand motion before turning to deal with someone else.

God damn, you were perfect. You knew him so well. And you had that sexy smile and how you swayed your hips as you moved contrasting the cheap wings that were part of your work uniform made you look cute, innocent, and corruptible. If only you would come closer. You two got along well and have spent collective hours in the past chatting between customers. Today, though, it was busy with chicks with far too much confidence considering how much makeup and injections they have to have to make them look decent and sleezy douchebags already shitfaced and shooting their shots with anything with tits. Fuck'em. Fuck them all. They were wasting your time, time that should be spent with Dante. Yet they had you rushing around as they barked orders at you and caused problems. It was enough to make Dante slam his glass down onto the counter after chugging it in frustration.

When he did, another glass came sliding into his view. He looked up and there you were again, giving him that smile and showing him that you were still paying some attention to him. Jesus Christ, he wanted to bend you over the fucking bar.

But there you go, not saying a word to him, just going back to work like you didn’t feel the connection between you, like you weren’t as desperate for his attention as he was for yours. Sure, you had rejected him when he had offered to take you to his place every other night, but that was different. You were just tired, thought he was joking, and didn’t know what he could do yet. You didn’t know how he could rail you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk the next morning. How he could go for hours, leaving you a blithering mess as he licks up his cum spilling out of your pussy while the sun rises. How he can make your body learn that no other cock or dildo can satisfy you. You needed a showcase, a demonstration of what he can do and something to light a fire under that pretty ass of yours, revealing how you can’t stand to see him with some other chick.

And so, Dante grabbed his drink and made his way to the dance floor.

“Dante, hey!”

Well that didn’t take long. He was barely on the flashing floor before some bimbo ran up to wrap her arms around one of his.

“Hey babe, how’ve you been doing?” He asked, assuming by her greeting that they knew each other. Maybe he has fucked her before, he wouldn’t remember and definitely wouldn’t care to. Right now though, they could help each other.

“It’s been lonely working all week without being able to see you.” The way she squeezed her boobs against his arms and looked up at him through those fake ass lashes made it clear that she wanted some action, and he wanted to show off his moves, so they would both get something out of this.

“Well now you’ve got my attention, so enjoy it.” Dante flashed that grin that made girls weak in the knees, and it had the same effect. “Come on babe, follow me.” He gave her a wink and wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her back towards the bar where you worked. There was a small chunk of wall beside where people can get behind the bar, that would be good enough.

In one swift, fluid movement, Dante pushed the woman up against the wall. She let out a squeak in shock but couldn’t say anything as he slammed his lips into hers. She moaned, squirmed, and opened her mouth for him. Perfect, he already had her falling apart for him. Were you watching? Did you see what could be yours?

But you weren’t, you were talking to some fat fuck while making his drink. Out of frustration, Dante placed his drink on the counter beside them and purposely pushed it off. The shattering sound made everyone but Dante jump in shock. Even the chick he had pinned to the wall let out a scream and pulled back. She tried to move away, but Dante wouldn’t let her, keeping her pinned there so you could see. Finally, you looked his way, and here you come! You can see, right? How he got this girl wet just from making out a bit? You want this, right?

You came over, grabbed a broom nearby, swept up the glass, offered another smile, then just walked away!?

“Fuck.” Dante snarled as he stepped back.

“Wait, Dante,” The woman said as she tried to follow, but Dante smacked her hand away.

“Not in the mood, fuck off.” Dante could hear the woman calling him and eventually cursing but he did not give a shit. He was pissed off beyond belief. How could you not care, not even blink an eye? Fuck, he wanted to hit something.

Before he could find a dumbass to be his stress ball, he noticed you leaving the bar. Like a predator stalking prey, Dante followed you with his eyes until you disappeared into the back rooms of the club. Seeing you disappear from sight made his anger worse. How dare you just leave. How dare you leave his side.

“Not anymore.” Dante stormed after you, following fleeting glimpses of you further into the building and up some stairs until finally you reached your destination. It looked like some break room, with a couch and fridge and microwave, basic shit that barely registered in Dante’s mind. His eyes, his thoughts, his heart was focused on you. How you turned to greet whoever joined you in the break room, how you froze when you realized it wasn’t a co-worker, that confused smile at recognizing him but knowing that he shouldn’t be there, and how it fell away as he stalked closer.

The sound of the music blared through the building and spilled out into the streets, making it so that no one heard the sound of a struggle in the breakroom. The sound of screaming, furniture being toppled, then silence. And with how drunk, and for some also high, they were, no one even noticed the young man jumping from the second story of the club and over roofs with an unconscious woman over his shoulder.

×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×

Dante laid you down on his creaky, dirty bed, one that was not visually worthy of you, even with the trickles of blood dried on your head and face that blended in with his red pillowcases and sheets. That made it all the hotter. Seeing you lying there, seemingly sleeping peacefully with that perfect face and body, white wings popping out from behind your back, while surrounded by his filth. The two things were juxtaposed, and he wanted to keep it like that. He was scum, dirty, maybe not even human. But you, in comparison, were pure. Despite where you worked you weren’t some cheeks slut, you held your head high, stood your ground, and kept your tongue sharp. Yet you were still kind to him, treated him like a person, not a problem or something to fuck. You were…

“My angel,” Dante whispered as he crawled over you on the bed. He leaned down, bringing your lips close enough to just barely touch and ran his hands up your sides. He held there for a moment, taking in the sensations. Your warmth, your heartbeat, your breath, before finally capturing your lips, and something in him broke. After you had been rejecting him for weeks, now he had you; you were here, and he could give you everything. He could take everything.

The sound of his belt unclasping seemed to ring through the trailer despite his heavy breaths and his hips grinding down into you, making the bed creak. He couldn’t tear his lips away from your skin so fumbled a bit with his hands when he lifted your arms and, using his belt, bound your wrists to the clasped hands of the heavy as hell metal and neon light encircled angel statue behind his bed. A fitting shackle in his mind. Gagging you popped into his head for only a second, but he pushed it aside. It was late at night and everyone who knew him would be used to screams of ecstasy coming from his trailer late into the night. Plus, he NEEDED to be able to kiss you.

×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×

When your consciousness came back to you, the first things you are aware of are the soreness in your jaw, a salty taste in your mouth, and the feeling of something opening up your folds, subjecting that hot skin to the cool night air. And when something warm and wet slid between them, your body instinctively reacted.

Dante’s heart jumped and a spike of arousal hit him when you finally properly reacted to his touch. He lifts his head from your crotch, the taste of your pussy still fresh on his tongue.

“You’re awake.” Dante crawled back up the bed to hover over you, though one hand stayed low to cup your sex, sliding his fingers between your lower lips to gather slick. Before you could speak, he slammed his lips against yours, his tongue ravaging your mouth, tasting the mix of you and the residuals of his essence. He could feel you squirm, but it was no use. You couldn’t escape your bindings or him. And besides, he wanted you to squirm a bit. It made your body rub against his, your tits jiggle freely since he had removed your top and bra to suck on them, and your heart beat faster. It made you feel alive. When Dante finally pulled back, his lungs dragging air in slowly like he was drowning as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with lust and something inhuman. “You made me wait a while, angel, but I suppose that's my fault. Either way, now that you're awake, I don’t need to hold back anymore.” The two fingers he was using to spread the slick around your folds were suddenly impaled you, burrowing themselves in your core. “I wanted to make sure you were awake when I finally fuck you.”

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡��•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

This was a bit hard for me because the one thing that takes me out of reader stories the most is when the author decides what I say and what I do, so I try to avoid it. That was hard with this but I did my best. ^^;

[mariacallous]

Women have two aesthetic options in Trump world, and they both center on hotness.

Noem’s aesthetic is one of two options available to women in Trump world: the first, and more well known, is the pencil skirted,“realtor-on-a-billboard” look of Lara Trump and White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt. Noem is performing the other available option, Sharet writes: the strong, sexy badass.

For Trump conservatives, it’s vitally important that their women are perceived as hotter than women on the left, who, in their eyes, look more like the lady in the “triggered feminist” meme than Jennifer Lawrence, who knocked on doors for Trump’s opponent Kamala Harris.

They’re convinced they have “hot” on lockdown now that Trump’s won a second time. The “America Is Hot Again” party thrown at D.C. conservative hotspot Butterworth’s that was recently covered in The Washington Post is proof of that. As one speaker at the event told the youthful crowd, conservatives have an “objectively beautiful lifestyle” and an “objectively superior worldview.”

Of course, objectively beautiful doesn’t mean plastic-surgery-free: As Sharlet writes, generous use of fillers and cosmetic surgery ― “Mar-a-Lago face,” as it’s been labeled ― is part of the strategy rather than a deficiency:

Even as it celebrates body modification — there’s no shame in plastic surgery on the fascist right — it frames itself via a topsy-turvy idea of authenticity. Trump women, goes the thinking, are “real” precisely because they try hard to perform “woman”; liberal and left women are not “real women” because, in this logic, feminism makes them rebel against their “natural” roles. The range of such roles has expanded from those of the 1950s even for fascism women, which is why Noem can comfortably show her power — just so long as she contains it within a still-just-as-narrow spectrum of femininity: “maternal” or “sexy.”

Notably, when Noem entered a town hall meeting to introduce herself to staff of the Department of Homeland Security in January, she came onstage to the Trace Adkins’ song “Hot Mama,” a 2003 country hit with lyrics as corny and sexually suggestive as the title would suggest.

But that hotness can have dark, fascist implications.

Brooks Turner, an artist and educator who studies the aesthetics of fascism, told HuffPost he isn’t surprised by what he’s seeing. Equating motherhood with the project of “real womanhood” is common in fascist regimes.

“In Nazi art and propaganda, for instance, women were usually represented either as young sex symbols, ready to populate the earth with Aryan babies, or as strong, stable mothers, maintaining and when necessary protecting family and homeland,” he said. (The Nazis also targeted trans people for failing to conform to traditional gender norms.)

In the prison video, Turner said Noem synthesizes both of those fascist female archetypes (sexy woman and good mother) while subtly evoking another more mainstream and fresh U.S. cultural archetype: the MILF.

“All of this makes her the perfect aesthetic choice for Head of DHS,” he said.

MILF talk may sound like a stretch, but fascism uses a similar erotic charm to attract and repel people. The ideology is alluring to some because it plays on two taboos: our cultural fetishization of masculinity and power, and our discomfort with authoritarianism and nationalism. As humans, we’re drawn to force and domination. As Vox noted in 2017, it’s the political forbiddenness of fascism in modern times that makes it so erotic ― something scholar Laura Catherine Frost describes in her book “Sex Drives: Fantasies of Fascism in Literary Modernism.”

“Images of sexualized fascism derive their meaning precisely from the distance mainstream culture puts between itself and deviation,” Frost wrote. (A magazine editor quoted in a 2000 New York Times article about the rise of “fascist chic” trend at the time put it much more simply: “Fascism — I hate to say it, but it’s sexy,” he said.)

Fascist regimes fixate on visuals in a more general way, too ― their leaders care what a real man looks like, what a real woman looks like, and what a real family looks like (the family unit is the ultimate tool used to promote national unity).

The Insidious Message Behind Kristi Noem's 'ICE Barbie' Cosplay

[of-stars-and-dust]

Astronomy Picture of the Day

2005 February 1

Saturn's Iapetus: Moon with a Strange Surface

Credit: Cassini Imaging Team, SSI, JPL, ESA, NASA

What has happened to Saturn's moon Iapetus? A strange ridge crosses the moon near the equator, visible near the bottom of the above image, making Iapetus appear similar to the pit of a peach. Half of Iapetus is so dark that it can nearly disappear when viewed from Earth. Recent observations show that the degree of darkness of the terrain is strangely uniform, like a dark coating was somehow recently applied to an ancient and highly cratered surface. The other half of Iapetus is relatively bright but oddly covered with long and thin streaks of dark. A 400-kilometer wide impact basin is visible near the image center, delineated by deep scarps that drop sharply to the crater floor. The above image was taken by the Saturn-orbiting Cassini spacecraft during a flyby of Iapetus at the end of last year.

Authors & editors: Robert Nemiroff (MTU) & Jerry Bonnell (USRA)

NASA Official: Jay Norris.

A service of: LHEA at NASA / GSFC

& Michigan Tech. U.

[nanowrimo]

Plot vs. Story: Why the Difference Matters

Is there a difference between plot and story? NaNo participant Hedi Mohammed walks us through this question and talks about how knowing the difference can help you in your writing.

You may be wondering why this is a question at all. While it might not be an obvious problem, many writers tend to mash together the words “plot” and “story” and use them interchangeably. How accurate is that assumption?

It turns out that there is a notable difference between them, and knowing it gives you an edge over plot bunnies, characters acting out, and all kinds of other problems!

What is a Plot?

A plot is a collection of events that happen in a certain order in a story. More importantly, plot is what your characters respond to; it’s the combination of this action and reaction that moves a story forward. Therefore, the plot is considered a building block rather than the whole.

What is a Story?

On the other hand, a story is more than the sum of its parts; it includes the plot events, characters, worldbuilding, themes, and wording of your book. All of these different building blocks come together to form a complete, well-written recount of the story you want to tell.

Why is Knowing the Difference Important?

As you can imagine, trying to force the idea of plot, a building block, being equal to the entire story is a recipe for disaster.

By equating the plot to the whole story, you might find yourself focusing primarily on what happens in the world of your characters. This can make you accidentally compromise on other equally important parts of your story, like better characterization, without you realizing it.

Remember that plot events mean nothing without the reactions of the characters to them. There are many sides to a good story; events can be seen as heartfelt, cold, or scary depending on how characters react and how you set the scene.

How It Helps You Improve Your Writing

Simply knowing the difference between plot and story can clear up a few of the issues that writer’s block can stem from, like not knowing which direction your story is taking. Additionally, you can:

Prioritize different parts of your story. By moving away from the plot every now and then, you start to notice other areas that may need more work.

Improve the characterization of your characters. With the relationship between plot and characters in mind, you can develop your protagonist(s) and antagonist(s) alongside the events that affect them.

Explore more creative ways to make use of your worldbuilding/themes. Develop your mood in less common ways, or take advantage of simple sentences to make punchy statements.

Stay motivated and power through writer’s block. If you consider writer’s block a mystery to be solved, then you just made a breakthrough!

Here you go, a tidbit of information for your writing needs! While the misunderstanding may seem small, resolving it can have an incredible effect on your writing process.

Hedi Mohammed is an up-and-coming content writer and editor of MIST: After the Apocalypse, an Egyptian bestselling novel. Now that they have much more time to dedicate to writing, be on the lookout for fiction and poetry books of their own coming soon! Photo by Alina Vilchenko

[physalian]

The Dos and Don’ts of Giving and Receiving Constructive Criticism

Some of these should be painfully obvious and yet. They come from experience.

Receiving feedback:

Do

Understand that a criticism of a character’s thoughts, actions, morality, and choices are likely not a criticism of you as an author, unless the character is an author insert

Understand that they are being paid to critique how successfully you told an entertaining story, not pander to your trauma dumping

Understand that critiquing a book’s success as an entertaining story means that how much you yourself connect with or love a character or scene or plotline is irrelevant if it doesn’t make a compelling narrative

You might have written your book for yourself. Your editor is a different person with their own human biases and perspectives. If you just want to pay someone to stoke your ego, make that 100% clear up front.

Stand up for yourself and clarify where necessary if some details were overlooked or if explaining outside the narrative can better contextualize anything confusing or lacking detail.

Stand up for yourself in what feedback you are expecting, and what degree of criticism you’re willing to endure. An editor can let more or less of their own views show depending on what you ask for.

Stand up for yourself if your editor delivers inadequate or useless feedback. You’re paying them for a job, and you deserve to have it done properly.

Try to separate dislike of a book from dislike of yourself. It’s not easy, but the goal is to fix your book that you’ve already spent a lot of time writing, and they’re only trying to help.

Remember that your author insert is subjected to the same level of criticism as any other character, and that you asked for this.

Keep an open mind and be prepared for feedback that you don’t like, because you can’t please everyone. Your editor should be able to tell you whether or not a scene or character, or plotline works separate from their own personal tastes.

Don’t

Argue with your editor over their religiosity or lack thereof and insist that adhering to genre expectations means they “worship the god of [genre]”. (really, argue with your editor over anything like this, e.g. their own sexuality, religiosity, gender, socioeconomic status).

Argue with your editor while still expecting more work from them as if your aggression will in any way positively impact their perception of your book.

Insult your editor’s intelligence for not understanding your jargon and attempts to sound smarter than you are.

Get mad when your editor sees right through your BS and calls it like they see it, specifically your self-insert Mary Sue protagonist.

Insist that the solution to better understanding your book is for that editor to do extensive homework on your niche topic. If it’s a niche book for niche audiences, hire an editor who’s already knowledgeable about that niche topic.

Equate a bad review and opinion of the book with unprofessionalism. These can overlap, but they are not interchangeable.

Forget that your book is probably meant for leisure and entertainment, and your audience is under no obligation to read “until it gets good,” when they can go do literally anything else. Your first job is to entertain, if you write fiction.

Giving Feedback:

Do

Pay attention to your client’s wants and needs and expectations. If they’re more sensitive to bad feedback, do your best and stay as objective as possible. You can’t please everyone, either.

Helpful feedback includes an explanation of why an element needs work and how it can be improved. Saying “I hate this” with nothing else helps no one and just makes the author feel bad with no direction of how to make it better.

Communicate beforehand how much of your own personality your author wants from you. Do they like personal opinions and your personal reactions to the text, or do they want it as impersonal as possible and solely focused on the structure of the narrative? This might avoid a mess.

Remember to leave notes of where things worked well to balance the criticism. Even a simple “this is good” highlighting a line or a paragraph or two helps keep authors motivated to keep writing. I firmly believe that no book is completely unsalvageable.

Make it painfully clear with no room for debate that criticism of a character is not criticism of the author, unless it's an author insert, in which case the author absolutely asked for it.

Make it clear that you are just one person and these are all suggestions, not laws.

Don’t

Let your own personal opinions cloud your judgment of whether or not someone with different tastes could enjoy the book.

Unless given permission, get too personal with the narrative and reach beyond what’s written on the page.

Do more than what you’re paid for. You’re an editor, not a therapist for the writer’s trauma dumping.

Forget to wrap up all your thoughts in a condensed format that the author can reference, as opposed to endlessly scrolling through the manuscript trying to summarize your points for you.

Walk away with absolutely nothing positive to say about the manuscript. Even if it’s awful on every front, the writer still tried and that deserves merit.

This is from my personal experience beta and sensitivity reading, and dealing with other beta and sensitivity readers. We are all human and these jobs are not one-size-fits-all and there aren’t really hardline rules as every author, editor, and manuscript is different with different needs.

Just some things to keep in mind.

But also, for the authors who do write self-insert Mary Sues: You are in for a very rude awakening if you expect anyone other than yourself to adore your book with zero criticism. If you really just want someone to proofread and look for typos, tell them.