denied appeal
U.S. Citizen Who Was Held By ICE For 3 Years Denied Compensation By Appeals Court
Davino Watson was imprisoned as a deportable immigrant for 1,273 days, despite having U.S. citizenship. Now a court says he is not eligible for $82,500 in damages he was awarded.

Davino Watson told the immigration officers that he was a U.S. citizen. He told jail officials that he was a U.S. citizen. He told a judge. He repeated it again and again.

There is no right to a court-appointed attorney in immigration court. Watson, who was 23 and didn’t have a high school diploma when he entered ICE custody, didn’t have a lawyer of his own. So he hand-wrote a letter to immigration officers, attaching his father’s naturalization certificate, and kept repeating his status to anyone who would listen.

Still, Immigration and Customs Enforcement kept Watson imprisoned as a deportable alien for nearly 3 ½ years. Then it released Watson, who was from New York, in rural Alabama with no money and no explanation. Deportation proceedings continued for another year.

Watson was correct all along: He was a U.S. citizen. After he was released, he filed a complaint. Last year, a district judge in New York awarded him $82,500 in damages, citing “regrettable failures of the government.”

On Monday, an appeals court ruled that Watson, now 32, is not eligible for any of that money — because while his case is “disturbing,” the statute of limitations actually expired while he was still in ICE custody without a lawyer.
U.S. Citizen Who Was Held By ICE For 3 Years Denied Compensation By Appeals Court
Davino Watson was imprisoned as a deportable immigrant for 1,273 days, despite having U.S. citizenship. Now a court says he is not eligible for $82,500 in damages he was awarded.

After Davino Watson was released, he filed a complaint. Last year, a district judge in New York awarded him $82,500 in damages, citing “regrettable failures of the government.”

On Monday, an appeals court ruled that Watson, now 32, is not eligible for any of that money — because while his case is “disturbing,” the statute of limitations actually expired while he was still in ICE custody without a lawyer.

#angst #fluff #smut

Prompts: @feed-my-geek-soul (your simple needs make me nervous)
Author: @queenofthyme

5th June 1997

He didn’t have much time. The school year was all but over. If he didn’t fix the vanishing cabinet soon he would be killed. His family would be killed. As Draco had come to know all too well, The Dark Lord was not a patient man.

He’d made progress. With the cabinet that is. While he concentrated on fixing it, he didn’t have to think about why it needed to work, about what (or who) it was supposed to be used for. He could just consume himself in its magical properties and rejig mindlessly. But the closer he came to fixing it, the more his work slowed, the more the unwelcome thoughts came creeping in.

It became impossible to deny that his success with the cabinet would directly lead to Dumbledore’s death, and that he would be expected to do it with his own hand. To look the old man in the face and – well, he couldn’t bear to think about it.

There was a part of Draco that was glad every time one of his tests failed. Another, less brave part, the bigger part of him, was terrified. Petrified. He had to make it work. Failure was not an option. Failure was death.

There was too much at stake to give a single thought to celebrating his birthday.

5th June 1998

He didn’t know how Potter knew it was his birthday. He purposefully hadn’t said anything. But here Potter was at his door, singing some silly muggle song and holding a French Apple Cake. Draco’s favourite – he hadn’t said anything about that either, had he?

Draco opened the door to invite Potter in, careful not to step outside the boundary of his doorway, lest he violate his house arrest and end up in Azkaban with his father. Potter bounded in, and made his own way to the kitchen. He had become quite familiar with the Manor over the last few weeks, visiting almost daily, despite Draco’s original protests (which had quickly faded).

Draco eagerly followed Potter into the kitchen – although he didn’t usually care much for his birthday, he couldn’t deny the appeal of apple cake. He only hoped Potter hadn’t burnt the crust as most amateurs were wont to do.

Potter hadn’t burnt the crust. And he was quite intent on ensuring Draco actually celebrated his birthday. Which, Draco supposed, was a lot easier in the company of Harry Potter. Not that he was planning on admitting it. But it was probably obvious when – midway through Potter’s third rendition of “Happy Birthday” - Draco grabbed Potter’s shirt and yanked him into his arms so he could shut him up with a kiss.

Potter kissing him back was the best birthday gift he could remember receiving.

5th June 1999

Draco held back a gasp. Harry was in Draco’s office – in the middle of the Ministry of Magic – atop his desk, completely naked.

Draco had only just left Harry at home, flooed to the Ministry lobby, and taken the lift up to his office. Harry must have been right behind him, must have run through the lobby, must have just managed to catch the lift prior before vanishing his clothes…and sure enough, now that Draco was looking, he could see the beads of sweat running down Harry’s (naked) chest.

As surprises go, it was very bold. And very Harry.

Since it was his birthday, and Harry was clearly his birthday present, Draco allowed himself to stare. That always made Harry nervous. When they were making love, Harry was confident, unashamed, delightfully wild. But in the moments between, in the silence and the stillness, Harry became shy. Those moments were Draco’s favourites.

He let his eyes rove slowly across Harry’s body, so Harry could watch every movement, so he would know exactly when Draco’s eyes fell down to find Harry hard and waiting. Harry appeared to grow harder still beneath Draco’s gaze.

When Draco looked back to Harry’s face, he was pleased to see a blush creeping up his boyfriend’s neck. Oh yes, this present would do nicely.

Draco knew he would be having a very happy birthday this year indeed.

more like this l @queenofthyme

On “romanticizing” unhealthy things in fiction

This is a loose elaboration on @tanannariva‘s excellent post about anti-shippers’ tendency to sling around words like “romanticization” and “normalization” like they’re magic incantations that mean “QED, you are making this happen in real life!” I’m going to leave “normalization” aside for the moment because my contribution would basically be an incoherent snarl of “shrieking that we need more taboos on something that’s already taboo, and has its roots in shit that’s already normal, is just doubling down on the reasons the entire subject is such a stigmatized clusterfuck and it’s the fucking opposite of radical or progressive.” Let’s talk a bit about romanticization, using the original post’s definition of “to describe something as being better or more attractive or interesting than it really is.” In particular, let’s talk about stories whose portrayal of fucked-up, abusive relationships does romanticize them, and where exactly the connection is with real-life abuse apologism.

The thing is that stories, by their very nature, tend to portray things as more attractive and interesting than they really are. When you go through something harrowing and console yourself with “well, at least it will make a great story to tell later,” you’re explicitly planning on distilling the interesting parts from an experience that was a grinding nightmare slog of misery at the time. Many stories are also ways to rehearse the various kinds of shit life might throw at you and transmit models for how people deal with it–and in order to actually be transmitted, they have to be in a form that is interesting, memorable, and engaging.

Also, people fantasize all the time about stuff that’s attractive but too dangerous, costly, or immoral to actually pursue. A cliffside with a spectacular view is attractive. Sleeping in on a weekday is attractive. Taking gory revenge on people who’ve hurt you or cut you off in traffic is attractive. The problem isn’t the attraction. The problem is when people’s idea of the real-life consequences gets skewed. You don’t fix that by telling them to stop finding the thing appealing, you fix that by saying “hey, I know this is fun to imagine, but I feel like we need a reality check on how disastrous the non-fictional version is.”

And of course these two things–dramatizing and fantasizing–are often combined, in the form of stories where obstacles are downplayed or the extent of what people can accomplish is exaggerated. Which is generally OK and understood. Sometimes the execution is criticized for breaking suspension of disbelief or for the implications of what’s downplayed and what isn’t, but even little kids learn pretty early on that just because they read it in a book or saw it on TV doesn’t mean they should try it at home. When they don’t, that’s when the reality check becomes necessary.

In the specific case of stories about abusive relationships… a lot of the most compelling ones are about taking something wild, something that hurts people and would happily hurt you, and domesticating it. Not just taming it, not just making its dangerous qualities work for you, but befriending it and loving it and incorporating it into the fabric of your everyday life. It’s a story that humans find perpetually attractive because that’s what we do, that’s what’s behind a lot of our success, we’re the crazy fuckers who turned wolves into border collies and wild horses into Shetland ponies. The more resistant something actually is to domestication, the more we like stories about the crazy fucker who pulled it off anyway. The attraction isn’t the problem. The problem is that in real life, when it comes to human personalities and relationships that will probably hurt you, there is widespread denial of how dangerous, harmful, and resistant to change some types can be. There is widespread playing-up of the romantic appeal and widespread ignorance of how illusory and manipulative the appealing parts are. And YOU WILL NOT FIX ANYTHING BY DENYING THE APPEAL OR TELLING PEOPLE TO STOP FINDING IT ATTRACTIVE. 

Yes, it is helpful to tell stories about how the cycle of abuse really works, but not because they’ll refute or replace the romanticized fantasy, or destroy its appeal. They won’t. What they’ll do is similar to what an out-of-story reality check or an “abusive relationship” tag will do: they’ll say “hey, when this does happen it’s actually pretty awful.” And they’ll go beyond that to give people models for what shit looks like and possible ways to deal with it. They’ll do that even if some of their edges are filed off and some of their agony is distilled into drama, which is why it’s the opposite of helpful to lump everything you think is flawed/ambivalent/insufficiently realistic into the “romanticizing” category and try to exterminate it all. That actively suppresses resources that might actually reach people who are into the romanticized stuff and have picked up distorted ideas about abuse.

(By all means, criticize and discuss the depiction… but with the goal of illuminating nuances the original story glossed over or bungled, not making the bad thing go away. That’s the other thing that’s so nonsensical about focusing these book-burning campaigns on fanfiction of all things: not only does it come with built-in warning labels, it comes with a built-in book club and author Q&A session. You want context, author clarification, cautionary notes about the narratives the story seems to be pushing, alternate narratives, education about the realistic outcome? They’re all just as easy to attach to the work itself as screeds about what a terrible person the author is.)

Basically, the world is full of stuff that’s great fun in stories but wretched IRL for everyone except the 1% of freaks lucky enough to be Into That Sort Of Thing. Wilderness survival. Swordfights with no safety gear. Extreme painplay as kink. Emergencies where a non-pilot somehow has to land the plane without killing everyone. And since society is messed up, “whirlwind romances with brooding, jealous, obsessive antiheroes” only make it onto the list intermittently, often with vehement blowback. That’s what’s out of whack and needs fixing.

You will not fix it by trying to convince people that swashbuckling duel scenes aren’t fun if the characters aren’t wearing safety gear. You will get even-more-vehement blowback if the people who enjoy the romance equivalent of swashbuckling have even the slightest reason to suspect your PSA about safety is a front for an attempt to take away their unrealistic fantasies, replace them with fencing-tournament footage, and make them watch gory cautionary tales about what will happen to them if they leave their protective gear off. The only way to get anywhere is to accept that it’s okay to see the appeal in romanticized depictions of relationships that would be abusive IRL, because the appeal is separate from understanding how the IRL consequences would play out. Work on people’s understanding of the consequences. In the end, all the hand-wringing about the appeal boils down to worrying that it will distort people’s understanding of the consequences. So focus on what really matters.



our application to get caregiver compensation was denied and the appeal process is said to be a lengthy one. On top of that I was given three days off this month due to holidays and really need some help. Any purchase or donation is appreciated!

it’s weird for me being so into a het ship. generally, if i have het ships at all, they are very secondary to The Gay™. but i dunno, man, bughead just speaks to me.

part of it is the fact that they’re ‘opposites attract’ done right. much of fandom hears ‘opposites attract’ and thinks ‘clearly this means that sworn enemies secretly want to fuck’ and… you know, i’m not denying the appeal, but generally speaking, when two people have tried to honest-to-god murder each other, i don’t see a healthy relationship blossoming between them (not without a lot of work, at least). betts and jugs are polar opposites in a lot of ways, even visually; Jughead, with his dark hair and dark clothes and dark outlook, and Betty, with her bright hair and bright dresses and bright personality. contrast! it’s about as subtle as a shotgun, but it’s effective. it works. they highlight each other.

but they’re also, you know, friends. that’s the other part. they’re opposites, but they also share common ground. they contrast, but they connect. it’s so normal, it seems almost weird. friends? who spend a lot of time together?? and share a common interest??? getting together romantically???? like i realize this seems like a radical concept but it’s actually not! i’m so used to people who have almost nothing in common being thrown together for the sake of a plot-mandated romance that it initially seems strange to me when a relationship arises organically between people who know each other, hang out together, and share interests and hobbies. it’s almost like in real life, people connect for more reasons than being hot. who knew?

betty and jughead are very different people from very different backgrounds, but they like each other, respect each other’s differences, and do what they can to help and look out for each other. like, it just seems nice to me. it seems like grounds for an actually healthy, respectful, nurturing relationship. which is far, far more unusual on TV than it should be, so it probably won’t last. but damn it, i intend to enjoy it while it does. so sorry to any of my followers that this bothers, but i’m onboard with this. i hope you can forgive me.

anonymous asked:

Which craft store is the best to dramatically die in and then haunt

I mean, any craft store will give you premuim access to wooden letters and glitter glue with which to write your cryptic messages, but is it really worth the effort when you know your hard work will just get blamed on teens? You want options.

Jo-Ann Fabrics has a better selection of silk florals to ominously rustle with an inexplicable, spectral breeze, which for me, puts it at the top of the list.

You can’t deny the appeal of getting a Hobby Lobby shut down after a string of mysterious deaths and accidents, but you run the risk of either being dragged back to hell after it closes and you’ve fulfilled your ghostly purpose, or being forced to haunt an empty building for a while, which doesn’t seem fun.


  For a month, I’ve been reading and taking screenshots of instances in which somebody is hateful or disrespectful towards Hwasa from MAMAMOO. I also had mean posts towards and about Moonbyul which were sadly lost in the midst of me cleaning up my phone.

  I decided today was a good day to explore this issue and give my opinion on it. Here are some screenshots I was able to find/save from the mess I made hours ago:

  Unfortunately, none of the screenshots listed above were taken out of context and neither is the one listen down. The Hwasa hate withing the Momoos is not that obvious, but outside of it it’s sadly crystal clear.

  Hwasa has been categorized as “ugly” and also the “ugliest” in the group more times than I can count and it’s a shame I lost some of my screenshots that proved this. Sadly, this is a real issue not just to MAMAMOO’s maknae, but also to various other idols like Rapmonster from BTS (for example).

  Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but as soon as it’s made public that person has to be ready for some backlash as not everybody is going to agree with you. Sadly, I don’t agree with this and I can refute what you say and not just disagree is because you claim her “ugliness” as being a fact and not a personal opinion/preference.

  Down below you’ll see pictures of MAMAMOO with and without make-up for comparison but make sure you understand that I’ve been a moomoo for a while and I love all of them (including their appearance), so I’m not pushing everyone down with this. I have good intentions with this post.

  If you have some time, stick around ‘till the end.

  The photo below is used various times to slander/criticize Hwasa’s appearance on, not only blogs, but also e-papers/magazines which is pretty alarming from my view point.

  This picture was taken during a rehearsal and (from what I read) Hwasa believed it wasn’t necessary to wear make-up as it wasn’t an actual show, but just a “training session”. 

  Unfortunately, the facial expression, the lighting, the angle and the bad quality of the picture obviously doesn’t help her appearance after all she’s human, but look under for another make-up-less picture to see the difference.

  Here you go: in this picture, due to the lighting, facial expression and better quality of the picture she looks way better. Bless lighting, am I right?

  If this picture makes you feel like I’m biased (which I am, to be honest, as she’s my favorite idol), here are more to dismiss those silly ideas.

  Opinions are opinions - of course -, but using a terrible picture in order to get your point across when there are many pictures to refute that idea is begging to be disagreed with.

  In my opinion though (my really biased opinion, of course, let that be known) she’s pretty. 

  Bonus: in my mother’s unbiased opinion, she’s also pretty.

  Now, leaving the solely “Hwasa” topic, let’s talk all of MAMAMOO, shall we?

  I am a big supporter of the fact that you can only be a Moomoo if you respect all the members and unfortunately that’s not 100% homogenized with the fandom’s rules

  Here is MAMAMOO with no make-up on (and oh, do they look great):

  It’s obvious every person who wears make-up on a daily basis doesn’t look as good without make-up not only because make-up is used to make someone’s face more appealing and overall more beautiful but also because you’re used to a certain bone structure (that can be easily messed around with contour and highlight), a certain color of skin and lips, fuller and more colored eyebrows, etc.

  The girls aren’t above that as they’re human - they breathe, they eat and they go to the bathroom just like all of us.

  To me, with or without make-up they look beautiful because I chose these girls as my favorite group not just for their looks but also for their music/talent and humor. Yet, I can’t deny they look more appealing with make-up and I know most of the people out there could agree with me.

  I am pulling any of them down, it’s my opinion. It’s not a fact, but an opinion based on my preferences. 

  Here’s some basis for my opinion:

  Aside from MAMAMOO (but still connected to them), I found something horrible on the internet which was apparently posted a couple of months ago. Still, it was posted, read and commented under, so I can do the same here as it’s in the public domain.

  In addition to refuting Hwasa’s haters, here’s some pictures of the “ugliest” idols listed above in order and let it be known I wasn’t aware of the existence of Bobby, Yang, Seo, Jihyo, Jung or Umji prior to this so my opinion on them isn’t biased in any way. I didn’t search exhaustively for these pictures, they were on the very top of their names’ search.

  Anyways, here are pictures of the idols.

  Warning: there’s a l o t of ugliness ahead. ;)

Here’s Bobby;

  Don’t know how someone could find him ugly with that sincere stare and plump lips, but sure…

Here’s Yoseob:

  He looks like such a happy kid, how can someone hate on him?

Here’s Rapmonster:

  Sorry, I’m biased on this one but his sincere smile is enough to make any girl swoon.

Here’s Eunkwang:

  He’s cute as hell! Reminds me of an EXO member, I just don’t remember which (not a fan of EXO, by the way).

Here’s Jihyo:

  She is such a cutie patootie omfg.

  Here’s Eunji:


Here’s Umji:

  Cutest smile 2KForever (and look at those cheeks!).

Here’s Hwasa:

  Queen of jeans right behind Hani, to be honest.

  Too biased to comment, sorry.

In my opinion,

  None of the idols listed above are ugly and it’s a fact they do not deserve your insults or slander as nobody deserves to be hated on (unless they’re criminals, then I really don’t care) based solely off their looks.

  Did you notice I did not state my opinion as a fact throughout this post? You can easily give your opinion without insulting anyone or making a mess. Wow!


By Arrangement (TMNT 2012, Apritello)

Summary: The war between humans and mutants ends the minute the Kraang come calling. There’s just the matter of making the tenuous peace stick – and Donnie drew the short straw. 

Here’s hoping his blushing bride doesn’t murder him in his sleep. 

Rating: PG. 

Word Count: 8,700.

Notes: My best @hotmilkytea asked for a bunch of kiss prompts for April and Donnie, and somehow what happened was several thousand words of arranged marriage shenanigans. I have no idea how. But enjoy the tropeyness! :D

@donniedrinkscoffee, @cesarin, here you go! 

Read on: Ao3 |


Donnie reminds himself to blink, and to breathe, and to smile – the gentle smile he practiced in his mirror for a solid month – when April appears in the doorway of the chapel.

She takes one look at him, and pulls a gun out of her wedding dress.

Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, he thinks, even though his heart plummets straight to his feet. At his side, Raph growls, and then Casey unsheathes a police baton along with his hockey stick.

Donnie keeps smiling because he doesn’t know what else to do with his face, but April isn’t aiming at him. She’s aiming right over his shoulder.

That’s when the gunshots start, and Donnie realizes that April – his brave, furious, beautiful, absolutely badass bride – isn’t shooting at him, but at the platoon of Kraang who just crashed through the back wall of the chapel.


Let’s back up a bit, shall we?


Once upon a time, there were humans, and there were mutants, and they had been at war for a very, very long time. No one remembers how the war got started – some say it started with two brothers, one human and one mutant, who fought over a woman, but frankly that story has been told too many times and wasn’t very interesting to begin with – but everyone knows about the fields that never stop burning, and the heads on spikes along the road.

It took almost a thousand years – years during which the air over Nebraska boiled, and Beijing nearly fell to an army of rats led by a masked king, and an actual alien invasion – but finally, the powers that be on both sides of the war said Enough.

Which was long overdue, to be honest, but at this rate, the world would be uninhabitable by the end of the century, and since staying alive was the one thing that both sides could agree on, the leaders agreed to a ceasefire.

Getting curb-stomped by pink screeching aliens has a wonderful way of putting things in perspective.

The world took a deep, shuddering breath, and wondered what would come next. Other than the Kraang invasion, that is.

An alliance, said the leaders. That’s what we need.

And how, said the world, which was tired and desperate and had almost forgotten how to hope, do you plan to do that?

uh, said the leaders. We’ll get back to you?


“You’re kidding me,” said Donnie. “A wedding? They do know this is actual, real life, and not fanfiction, right? We need – I don’t know, treaties, and to stop shooting each other, and –”

Leo shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like we have any other options, do we?”

Donnie tried not to choke on his own tongue. “We do,” he said, enunciating each word precisely. “Like treaties. And shooting the actual aliens, instead of each other.

“Yeah, because the other ceasefires worked so well,” said Raph, with a meaningful glance at the deep scar winding up Donnie’s thigh. “We’ll just go yell give peace a chance and put flowers in their assault rifles and boom! We got peace locked in! Up until the Kraang turn us into grape jelly.”

Donnie balled his hands into fists, both to keep from rubbing at the scar and in case he decided to pummel Raph in the face. “It’s an idiotic idea,” he said. “Marriage doesn’t solve anything when it’s just normal life. It’s not going to solve a war.”

Mikey leaned against his shoulder with a tired sigh. “Can we just like, enjoy the silence for five minutes?” he said. “I’m tired, dudes. When was the last time people weren’t tryin’ to kill us?”

“Never,” Donnie said in unison with Raph and Leo. He threw an arm around Mikey’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Mikey did have a point – they should take the chance to rest while they could, in case everything burned down around them tomorrow.

Splinter breathed quietly nearby, asleep or meditating, and slowly, Donnie’s brothers fell asleep too.

He stayed awake for a long time, wondering. Who were they going to rope into this disaster?

Probably not anyone I know, he thought, as sleep closed over his head.


Raph hadn’t stopped laughing in five minutes. Mikey was facedown on the floor, making strangled noises, and Leo was looking anywhere but at Donnie.

“No,” Donnie said again. He’d lost track of how many times he’d said it so far, but nothing else came to mind. “No.”

Splinter laid a warm, dry hand on his shoulder. “You have been honored, my son,” he said, his whiskers ever-so-slightly twitching. “Make us proud.”

Donnie thought about saying No again, and decided to hyperventilate instead.

Keep reading

i named your eyes “forever” and “please don’t go”

Also on AO3:

Their first week in the office had been fantastic. Ransom and Holster came into the office and were sat down with all the paperwork, had two days of training with the rest of the incoming new graduates, and settled in to befriend every single person in the company that had a Facebook account, which was everyone. Even sweet old Imelda, the janitor from Guanajuato, Mexico, was added. They got along swimmingly with everybody, naturally.

The work was new and different, with Ransom and Holster learning still learning the ropes to managing their respective projects, when Dhivya from HR came around to Ransom’s desk.

“Justin can you step into my office real quick?”

“Sure thing. Now?”

“Yup, and bring your IDs with you please.”

That’s odd. Holster shot Ransom a questioning glance, but Ransom didn’t know any better. He shrugged and made a face, and went after Dhivya.

A half hour later found Ransom sitting down at his seat next to Holster, looking very shaken. Holster recognized the look Ransom was giving and exclaimed, “Holy shit, that is coral bleaching. Do we need to go somewhere? Not sure if we can handle a full blown coral reed mode right here.”

“No need… maybe… yes?” Ransom croaked, unsure.

“Ok, we’re going on an early lunch break. Jackie,” Holster turned to the other new hire at their shared open desk, “If anyone asks, we went for an early lunch break.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

For the kink writing marathon thing: just anything with somnophilia. But pls no omo with it. Don't care about who's involved, I just fucking love somno.

- The moonlight was filtering in through the window, drawing a soft edge around Roman’s sleeping face. Logan stared at him, trying to comprehend how something so familiar to him should suddenly look so alien, and so unfathomably beautiful. Roman’s eyelashes were fanned out against cheeks made pale by the darkness, his lips slightly parted and looking full and lush, and suddenly Logan was overcome with an urge to kiss them. 

He didn’t, though. He had permission–Roman had told him in no uncertain terms that he always has permission to look or to touch–but he didn’t want to wake his sleeping prince. Not yet. 

He let his gaze trail instead down the royal’s body. Of all of them, Roman had the most well-defined musculature, the result of long hours exploring and adventuring in his realm. The first time they’d been…intimate together, Logan had felt an unaccustomed stirring of insecurity about his own body, with its pale skin, thick thighs and soft stomach, the result of too many hours sitting and reading and not enough hours exercising. 

But Roman had looked at him like he was a masterpiece carved of the finest marble, and he’d trailed his lips over Logan’s neck, nipping at his collarbone, and reducing Logan to a quivering mess with embarrassing ease. 

They’d been together for three months now, and Logan was still left in awe, every time he was allowed to simply look at Roman’s perfectly sculpted body. Roman might have compared Logan to a work of art, but for Logan, Roman was a perfect example of human physiology; a pure scientific delight. He could be a model for an anatomy class, or the diagram for the perfect physical specimen of man in a book of evolutionary biology. 

(Not that Logan believed in such an ideal, of course; logically, bodies were made in all shapes and sizes, and no one was ‘better’ than any other. But logic and love didn’t always mesh. And maybe he was looking at Roman through the lens of an idiot in love–he wasn’t ready to admit that even to himself–but he didn’t think anyone could deny Roman’s aesthetic appeal.)

His mind returned from its wandering when Roman sighed in his sleep and smiled, murmuring “Logan…” softly under his breath. Logan started slightly, wondering if he’d been caught staring, but no–Roman was still obviously asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly, one hand propped behind his head, the other resting low on his flat, sculpted abdomen, and–

Oh. Oh, my. 

Logan swallowed, flushing, but unable to look away from the sight of Roman’s cock, which was curved against the prince’s hip and getting larger by the moment. As Logan watched, the generous member twitched, then rose slightly, then twitched again, until it lay, fully erect and throbbing softly, against Roman’s stomach. 

“Logan,” Roman murmured again, only this time it was more a moan, and when Logan tore his eyes from Roman’s dick to look at his face, he saw the Prince’s brow was creased, his eyes shifting beneath his closed lids. 

Roman was…was dreaming about him. And dreaming about him had made him…

Oh my goodness. 

Logan drew a breath, feeling an awed answering stirring between his own legs. He swallowed, scooting a little closer and shyly hooking a leg over Roman’s, pushing his own growing cock against Roman’s hip for relief. Roman moaned again, and the arm that had been propped behind his head moved to wrap itself around Logan’s shoulders instead, drawing him in closer to his side. 

But he still didn’t wake, and Logan breathed out softly and nervously. What should he–what should he do? Roman was dreaming about him, Roman had said Logan was always free to touch him, no matter what, awake or asleep, and he was so hard…Logan could see him visibly throbbing in the moonlight, his cock twitching in time with the pulse in his throat, and his own cock throbbed in sympathy. 

“Logan,” Roman moaned softly again in sleep. “Please…” 

Logan made his decision. 

He trailed his fingertips down Roman’s chest and abdomen, which jumped ticklishly beneath his explorations. He mumbled “Sorry,” then reached his goal: the thick, rock-hard erection that was now gleaming at the tip where a drop of precum had beaded at the slit. 

He passed his thumb over it, gathering the fluid and spreading it around the spongy head; Roman hissed softly then sighed. Taking this as a positive sign, Logan swiped again, gathering more of the fluid as it welled up to replace what had been lost, and this time he spread it down the shaft, tracing the vein as he did so. He closed his eyes and lost himself for a moment in the sensations, in the silken skin covering the rigid column of flesh, in the tickling of the wiry hairs that grew curly at the base, in the soft wrinkled sac and the heft of Roman’s balls as Logan curled his fingers around them. He mapped them in his mind through touch alone, then he opened his eyes and mapped them visually too, learning and memorizing them in a way he hadn’t let himself do before, when every encounter had been frantic and fumbling and heated. He let himself take the time to explore every gorgeous inch of his prince, his Roman, this beautiful, impossible being who was so frustrating and so enchanting all at once. 

This beautiful being who was, somehow and beyond all logic or reason, his

He curled his fingers around Roman’s cock possessively, almost without meaning to, and began to stroke. Roman sighed and moaned his name again, and Logan smiled, his previous thoughts confirmed again: mine

He stroked in a loose, slow rhythm, pausing every few passes to rub the pad of his thumb over the tip once more. Roman was leaking a steady stream of precum now, and his hips had begun to hitch upward in tiny little jerks, the crease between his brows growing deeper. The hand that had lay on his belly moved to clutch at the sheets in stead, as his free leg–the one that Logan’s own weren’t wrapped around–slid away, opening him up to Logan’s explorations even more. 

Logan released the shaft for a moment, trailing his hand down to cup and cradle Roman’s balls again, then pressed on, pushing in behind at the perineum. He rubbed his finger along the tender flesh there, getting close to but not quite daring to broach Roman’s hole (they hadn’t done that, not yet, and Logan wasn’t sure enough of his welcome, nor did he want Roman to sleep through their first forays into that particular uncharted territory). Roman was still moaning softly, as Logan pushed his thumb in just behind the prince’s balls, applying steady pressure to that spot that felt so good on him. 

It seemed Roman felt the same way, because his cock twitched hard, spasming a little, and a fresh strand of precum stretched silky from the tip of his cock to his abs. Logan moved back up, giving Roman’s balls one more gentle squeeze, then wrapped his fist around the shaft again. 

He stroked faster now, a loose, rapid rhythm designed to bring Roman to the edge quickly. Roman responded to it, his hips moving up and down in a steady undulation and counterpoint, his mouth hanging open and his head tipped back as his free hand gripped the sheets tighter and his toes curled against Logan’s shin. 

Logan stared, entranced, at the dusky head of Roman’s cock. It was a dark no-color in the moonlit room, but he knew it would be deeply red, edging toward purple, as it disappeared and reappeared from the loose circle of his fist. Knew because Roman was close, he was so close, he was right on that knife’s edge of pleasure and Logan wanted to push him over. He was whimpering softly, a counterpoint to Roman’s long, low groans, and his own cock was pulsing against Roman’s hip, begging for attention. 

He ignored it, and swiped his thumb once more over Roman’s tip, pushing in harder than before and applying the edge of his blunt nail to the slit. 

That was all it took. Roman’s hips arched up, lifting right off the bed, and his cock jerked in Logan’s hand, then spasmed, shooting his release across his stomach in four or five rapid, gooey pulses of heat. He continued to twitch, his body still taut like a bowstring, for several long seconds, before finally relaxing with one last, low groan that ended on what may have been Logan’s name again, or may have simply been a senseless murmur. Within seconds, his body had grown lax with sleep again, his breath once more slow and even. 

Logan worked quickly; he uncurled his hand from Roman’s softening cock and reached up, swiping it through the still-warm seed on Roman’s abdomen, gathering as much of it as he could. He then reached down, wrapping his slick hand around his own cock, lubricating himself with Roman’s release and rubbing the substance into his skin, thinking mine mine MINE

His hips jerked a couple of times, then he came, spilling his own release over Roman’s thigh. He opened his mouth, breathing harshly against the urge to shout with his release, and waited as his cock throbbed through an impossibly long finish. 

Then he slumped back onto the mattress, skin sweat-damp and heart pounding. He wrapped his arm around Roman’s chest and burrowed into his side, clinging to him for all he was worth as he pushed his sensitive, still pulsing cock against his Roman’s hip. 

His Roman. 

His Prince. 


He joined Roman in sleep at last, a smile curving his lips. 


William Charles Morva was executed on Thursday, July 6th 2017 at Greensville Correctional Center in Virginia for the shooting deaths of a Sheriff’s Deputy and a security guard in 2006. Morva grew up with his mother Elizabeth and father Charles (who he reportedly had a difficult relationship with) in Blacksburg, Virginia. In 2000, William dropped out of high school and was a well known figure in the Virginia Tech social scene. He was described as being a passionate, eccentric conversationalist who had an aversion to shoes and jackets even in the dead of winter. In 2004, William’s father died of cancer, which devastated him and led to a downward spiral of bizarre behavior. In the months following, he had become a drifter with no fixed address who lived mostly in the woods, would never wear shoes, and lived on a diet of raw meat, berries and pine cones. He told his friends that he dropped out of high school because he was on an important mission to save the world, or to save indigenous populations all over the world. He believed that he would come upon a secret tribe in South America who would recognize him as their savior. He also believed that he had an intestinal disease and ate raw meat and cheese in large quantities as a treatment for it.

In 2005, William and a friend approached a Deli Mart, both armed and wearing ski masks, with the intention of a robbery. They were unaware that the store was closed, and when the doors did not automatically open, they left. However a store clerk saw them and called the police, who arrested him later that night. While awaiting trial, William was held in county jail, where he sprained a wrist and ankle and was taken to the Montgomery Regional Hospital for treatment. After using the restroom, he knocked deputy Russell Quesenberry unconscious with a metal toilet paper dispenser. He then grabbed the deputy’s pistol and shot dead hospital security guard Derrick McFarland, who was running to the deputy’s aid. William escaped the hospital and was on the run for three days, despite a massive manhunt. On the morning of August 21st, William shot and killed a Montgomery County Sheriff’s Deputy, Cpl. Eric Sutphin, on the Huckleberry Trail near the Virginia Tech campus. William was later found in a briar patch about 150 yards from where Sutphin was shot.

In 2006, William was charged with two counts of capital murder, for which he was found guilty after a jury trial, and was sentenced to death. At that time, he had been diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder, and jurors were told that he had “odd beliefs and attitudes.” In appeals, doctors testified that this diagnosis was incorrect, and that he suffered from delusional disorder which made him unable to tell reality from delusion, which caused him to believe he was acting in self-defense when he carried out the shootings. In June of 2017, William’s lawyers filed a clemency request with Virginia governor Terry McAuliffe to commute his death sentence to life in prison without parole, so that he could be treated with anti-psychotic drugs. Mcauliffe also received a letter from the National Alliance on Mental Illness, who asked him to stop the execution of a clearly mentally ill man whose long standing history of mental illness was not properly diagnosed, nor did the jury hear evidence of it. Finally, McAuliffe heard from the president of the American Bar Association to ask for a review of evidence regarding William’s delusional state when he committed the crime, and advocacy groups presented a petition with 31,000 signatures asking for clemency, as well as 27 Virginia lawmakers and two United Nations human rights experts. Bill Farrar with the Virginia ACLU expressed “severe mental illness should not be a death sentence.”

Despite all of this, William’s appeals were denied. When asked if he had any last words, William responded “no”. He was then given a lethal injection and appeared to gasp for air at one point, and was declared dead at 9:15pm E.T. He was the 2nd death row inmate to be executed in Virginia in 2017, and the 14th in the United States.


Mom who killed her 4 year old daughter by giving her drugs says her prison sentence is too long

Michaela Pyke and her boyfriend, John Rytting were found guilty for the murder of Michaela’s 4 year old daughter, Poppy Widdison. Poppy died on June 10th, 2013 of cardiac arrest.

Toxicology reports found that Poppy had several drugs in her system at the time of her death including diazepam (valium) heroin, methadone, and ketamine. Police found text messages between Pyke and Rytting that said they gave Poppy “blue smarties”. Police believe that was code for the diazepam, because they are small, round, blue tablets. The toxicology reports also drug tested strands of Poppy’s hair and determined that the couple had been giving the child methadone and heroin for 2-6 months before her death. 

The medical examiner determined that the drugs did not cause Poppy’s death. It was the ill treatment she had received for most of her life, including being born addicted to heroin. Michaela received a 13 year prison sentence for child cruelty and possession of class A drugs. She appealed her sentence claiming it was too long. The court of appeals decided that her sentence was justified and denied her appeal. 

The authorities believe that Poppy cramped the couple’s style, and they didn’t want to be bothered with her so they fed her sedatives so she would sleep. Even though the medical examiner said Poppy didn’t die of a drug overdose, it is entirely possible that the drugs caused her heart problems. The couple were not charged with murder because the cause of death was not an overdose.


      You were lying in bed, your eyes just fluttering shut, when you heard a soft knock at the door followed by Cas’ cautious voice. “Y/N?”

      You sat up in bed and squinted at the now open door. “Cas? Is everything alright?” He looked down at the ground and you turned on your lamp, illuminating the room and revealing the angel standing in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing his trench coat – which was unusual – and he looked tense, his throat bobbing nervously.

      “Would you mind if I stayed in here tonight?” Cas asked quickly. You stole one of his moves and cocked your head to the side.

      “Why? Are you sure you’re okay?”

      “Yes, I just … I would feel better if I could watch over you.” You weren’t sure why exactly you needed a guardian angel while you were sleeping in the impenetrable fortress that is the bunker, but you felt your heart rate speed up at the thought and nodded slowly, watching as he moved into your room and shut the door.

      You knew Cas worried about you, and honestly you thought it was a little over the top sometimes, but you couldn’t deny the appeal of having him in your room all night. Then when he started heading towards a chair in the corner of the room you pulled back your covers and said, “You could stay on the bed with me,” feeling particularly bold – or maybe be you were just overly tired.

      Cas looked around nervously for a moment, like that was something he was definitely not allowed to do, but then gave you a brisk nod and kicked off his shoes, sitting on the bed beside you.

      “You could lie down, you know,” you said quietly. Cas’ eyes got wide and he looked straight ahead, but he shuffled down slightly so he was lying beside you, his head just barely propped up on the headboard.

      Then, you did something even you weren’t expecting, and inched closer to Cas, leaning against him just slightly. He stiffened at first, no doubt not used to this level of intimacy, but then to your surprise he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side, your cheek resting on his unnaturally still chest. You breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed your body, humming in content as you breathed in Cas’ scent – clean and crisp, like always.

      “Goodnight, Cas,” you whispered.

      There was a brief pause that for some reason made you incredibly nervous, but then he ran his hand down your arm and back up again, saying, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

      You fell asleep that night to the steady beat of Cas’ heart and had never slept so well in your life.

*These gifs are not mine, both the gifs are from Google Images*

Hi, I’m Elliot (trans, disabled) and I’m homeless and living out of an extended-stay hotel. My ex-roommates and ex-landlord lied to me about selling the house in order to throw me out, moved up the date to have my stuff out (which it is now) and served me an eviction notice claiming I owe a large amount of unpaid rent (which is not true) on the move out day when it SHOULD have been a tenancy termination served a month prior. The landlord was an alcoholic with a tendency to frequently flip her shit over nothing and yell and threaten to call the police over the tiniest things, so I don’t lose sleep wondering why she had such hatred for a disabled trans guy living in the basement unit she was renting to her daughter.

I desperately need help. I had to quit my job in June last year over manager abuse and mental health deterioration, then my conditions progressed to the point that I had to stop job-searching in Dec and apply for disability benefits. I am currently appealing a denial for SSDI, and as usual it is taking forever. In the meantime, I have had no income and now no place to live. I am in deep shit.

I need to get a proper MLST to help my disability case, because a neurologist’s diagnosis isn’t enough for the SSA/DDS to believe I have narcolepsy, apparently. (As though the sleep attacks, cataplexy, 24/7 fatigue, and the injuries from passing out in bad places aren’t enough proof already.) I NEED dental work done very soon or I could become very sick. I need to be able to afford my antidepressants, my doctor visits and bloodwork, and my testosterone prescription (which I am fine on for another 3-4 months thankfully). A family member is helping me by paying for this hotel, but I don’t know how much longer she can afford it.

I have a lawyer to work with me once my appeal is denied (85% are at the 1st appeal level) and he is well-known and good at what he does, so I know he can help me win my case. But what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Being on my feet is so hard when I have surgical screws in the bones. I get sleep attacks on my feet and have gotten in major trouble during past jobs for it. My chest isn’t small enough to hide, and if I end up on the streets I can’t wear my binder 24/7 or while sleeping so I will be in a dangerous position.

I am very scared and anxious. I need help and being in the position of begging for assistance is absolutely humiliating and I feel so guilty for it. It makes me sick that I’ve ended up like this because of my body and mind being so broken that I can’t hold a job.

If you are able and willing to help, I would be indebted. If you want something in exchange, consider commissioning me. I crochet and draw, the first a lot better than the last. It just might take a while because my narcoleptic attacks and my other major health issues aggravate each other and cause me a lot of trouble and pain.

Sorry for the length. My paypal is and once I am stable and win my case I will pay all the generosity forward. (Not that I need an incentive or a reason to be kind. It’s a promise that it WILL be paid forward to the best of my ability, no matter how long it will take with my health.)

Thank you for reading. Signal boosts are appreciated more than you know.


Robert Lynn Pruett was executed on Thursday, October 12th 2017 at Huntsville prison in Texas for the 1999 murder of correctional officer Daniel Nagle. At the time of the murder, Pruett was already serving a 99 year sentence for his “involvement” in a murder that took place when he was fifteen years old. In August of 1995, Pruett was convicted along with his father, Howard “Sam” Pruett, and his brother, Howard Jr. for the murder of a neighbor. Howard Sr. got into a verbal fight with Ray Yarbrough outside the Pruett family trailer, prompting Robert and Howard Jr. to come outside and watch, where they witnessed their father stab Yarbrough to death.

Howard Sr. received a life sentence, and Howard Jr. received a 40 year sentence. Howard Sr. testified in court that neither of his sons had any part in the killing, but both were convicted under the Texas “Law of Parties”, which holds individuals accountable for murder if they participated in any act that contributed to a person’s death, whether they physically had any involvement or not. The brothers were convicted under the Law of Parties despite a total lack of evidence that they had any involvement. Pruett was certified as an adult at 16 years old and began serving his sentence at McConell Unit, an adult prison.

In December of 1999, Officer Nagle was repeatedly stabbed with a tape-wrapped metal rod in an attack that occurred in a cell pod at McConnell unit, though it was later determined that he died of a heart attack that occurred during his assault. Nagle, a union rep for prison guards, had previously complained to Texas prison officials that low pay, high turnover and poor training were turning Texas prisons into a powderkeg. At a rally at the Governor’s mansion two weeks before the murder, Nagle told supporters that “Someone would have to be killed” before TDCJ got the message.

Prosecutors said that Pruett committed the murder because Nagle wouldn’t allow him to take a peanut butter sandwich into the recreation yard, which was against the rules. The only witnesses to the murder were inmates, who received deals from prosecutors in exchange for their testimony. One inmate who testified against Pruett was told that, in exchange for his testimony, he would be moved to a prison that was closer to his family, and that if he didn’t testify, he would be charged with Nagle’s murder.  There was no physical evidence linking Pruett to the murder, and in fact, DNA testing of the murder weapon found evidence that didn’t match Pruett or Nagle. His lawyers suggested that the DNA belonged to the person who actually murdered Nagle. Some correctional officers at McConnell stated that other officers were corrupt, and in league with prison gangs who wanted Nagle dead, a plot that was documented in seized illicit communications between gang leaders. One of the officers who was interviewed during the investigation was arrested weeks later for colluding with inmates to traffick drugs, after being caught bringing in a package with $60,000 in drug profits to gang leaders inside.

Pruett was represented by the Texas Innocence Network who pursued four separate stays of execution and applied for relief based on the lack of DNA evidence. All requested stays were denied.

Pruett’s final appeal was denied at the last minute by the U.S. Supreme Court. When asked for his final words, Pruett said “I’ve hurt a lot of people, and a lot of people have hurt me… I’ve had to learn lessons in life the hard way. One day, there won’t be a need to hurt people.” He said he was sorry and held no grudges. He looked out the execution room window to his friends who were witnessing the execution and said “I’m ready to go. Nighty night, everybody. I’m done, Warden.” He was then administered a fatal three-drug cocktail at 6:17 pm. As the drug was administered, Pruett began chanting “Love. Light. It’s forever” which he repeated , his voice rising each time. He began adding obscenities and was soon screaming. He began to slur his words as he slipped into unconsciousness, and was pronounced dead at 6:46pm, 29 minutes after being administered pentobarbitol. He was the sixth prisoner to be executed in Texas in 2017 and the 20th in the United States.

Caius Veiovis

Caius Veiovis (pictured above) is a 37-year-old, man from Augusta, Maine who in 2011 was charged with the killings of three men: David Glasser. Edward Frampton and Robert Chadwell. Their dismembered corpses were found in Becket. He was convicted alongside Adam Lee Hall from Peru and David Chalue of North Adams. They kidnapped Glasser and his two friends, stabbed and decapitated them. Veiovis, Hall and Chalue are all being charged with three accounts of murder, kidnapping and witness intimidation. All three pleaded ‘not guilty.’

Above: Adam Lee Hall

Below: David Chalue

Apparently, the motive for the murders was to prevent David Glasser from testifying against Hall, a ranking member of the Hells Angels, in an upcoming trial for kidnapping, assault, battery and witness intimidation among other charges. Frampton and Chadwell were reportedly killed because they witnessed Glasser’s kidnapping.

This wasn’t the first time Veiovis has had a run-in with the police. When he was 19, he and his then girlfriend attacked another teen. They sliced at his back with a razor blade and drank the blood from his wounds. The teenager ended up with a 7-inch gash that needed more than 30 stitches. During the trial, Veiovis claimed he was a Satan worshiper and a “vampire with a thirst for blood.” Both he and his girlfriend were convicted of elevated aggravated assault and reckless conduct.

Veiovis served seven and a half years of his original ten-year sentence for the attack and while imprisoned he changed his name legally from Roy to Caius Veiovis. Veiovis, taken from the name of the Roman god of the same name who sacrificed goats and protected criminals and the violently insane.

In 2006, Veiovis was charged for drug possession and kidnapping after he and another man allegedly held two strippers in a hotel room. The kidnapping charges were dropped but he was sent back to prison. The exact date he was released from prison again is unknown.

Above: Veiovis in court

All three received three life sentences in 2014 for their crimes with no possibility of parole. Upon receiving this sentence Veiovis stood up in court exclaimed “I’ll see you all in hell, remember that, every fucking one of you. I’ll see you all in hell.”  (Video of Veiovis’ outburst in court)

In 2017, a supreme judicial court has denied an appeal for a new trial as the defended (Veiovis) is not entitled to relief under the law.

Distraction (Part 1)

Prompt: Your a teacher at the school for gifted youngsters and your favorite students need help sneaking out to complete a mission but Charles said it was to dangerous so he put Peter (Quicksilver) in charge of them. You on the other hand know they are ready so you get talked into distracting Peter so they can sneak out. Jean encourages you to use any method because she plans to wipe his memory.
Little did you know she completely forgets to do so and you may have a small crush on Peter.

Request for the full two parts.

“Please! I know you believe in us I can read your mind!” Jean pleaded. “I do but I don’t want to risk my job,” You replied.

“If we succeed, you’ll probably get a promotion, were not asking you to go with us just distract him!” She said.

“Who?” You asked curiously.

“Peter,” She smiled mischievously “And don’t be afraid to use any means necessary, you need to have his full undivided attention. With his speed we can’t take any chances,“ She explained.

“What do you mean my ‘any means necessary’ exactly?” You asked. She rolled her eyes in amusement.

“You know what I mean, your in your twenties
and super hot plus I know you like him, and if
anything goes wrong or you wanna say or do-things I can always erase his memory,” She said.

You couldn’t deny that did sound appealing, this was your chance to tell him exactly how you felt and maybe some other things if you know what I mean. You couldn’t deny Peter was hot and you thought about him a lot, like one time you saw him vibrate his hands you thought about what else he could vibrate.

“Fine, but you promise to erase his memory?” You asked. “Yes, trust me now go distract him,” She encouraged.

You walked into the room and Peter was leaning against the wall watching the angry teens.
“Hey (Y/N),” Peter addressed as you walked into the room.

“Hey Pete,” You said. “Listen, I need to talk to you,” You said. “Ok? But make it quick cause I need to watch them,” He said moving aside with me.

You took a deep breath and signaled Jean so they could start moving.

“Peter, I like you a lot,” You blurted out.
“You do?-” He said almost turning around. You pulled him into a hug to prevent that. "Whoa, are you okay?” He asked. The kids started opening the window which made a loud sound so you decided to say the next thing on your mind with him still in your grasp.

“I want you inside me,” You whispered.
You felt his body tense up. "Y/N) I-” He tried before you cut him off. The kids were almost out and you only had to hold him off longer. So you decided to get all your dirty thoughts out.

"Peter, I-I need you,” You whispered leaning in closely. “Think about you and your hands, fingers, tongue,” You continued.

“Think about you and what you would do to body, Peter I want you to fuck me, fuck me so hard that I’m limping the next day,” You said looking at the teens as they finished climbing out the window.

Peter swallowed at my vulgar words and licked his lips.

“Touch me everywhere, p-please,” You finished.

You heard the click and saw that they had all successfully escaped. Stepping back you kissed his cheek and ran away in utter embarrassment leaving Peter in shock.

The rest of the night you stayed in the room hoping to avoid everyone.

Peter was dismantled.

That was an understatement.

Peter Maximoff was a twenty-seven year old virgin who lived in his mothers basement up until he moved into the Charles Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters and became a teacher.

The day he met you he swore time had slowed down and not the usual way it does when he uses his power. No, it slowed down in way where he could analyze all your features individually and grow more attracted to you. He met you when Charles asked you to show him around, you were by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, once he found out about your mutation he couldn’t help to be more attracted if that were even possible.

You were this gorgeous, collage educated, fully developed women who taught at one of the most amazing school on the planet.

He honestly couldn’t get enough of you.

You both became fast friends and Peter had already accepted thats all that it could have been since he thought you were to good for him. But little did he know you liked him too, liked him so much your panties would drip just from watching him exist. Like when he ate his jaw would clench and you could see all the strength and power it possessed. Or when he smiled and his dimples would appear lighting up the whole room.

The worst part of it all was that Peter was unknowingly handsy. He grabbed your waist when passing by or when you sat on the couch there was never any room between you and his hand always somehow ended up on your thigh.

It was like this for months and the only person who knew how you felt was Jean. But Peter on the other hand, everyone knew how he felt about you except, well you. He would talk about what he would do to you if given the chance with the guys and all of them agreeing since they all shared a mutual attraction to you. He would spill his emotional side to the young girls to avoid reticule.

But today was a day like no other, Peter had just witnessed the girl of his dreams, the girl he had jerked off to a thousand times beg to be fucked my him.

He couldn’t even move because it felt like a dream.

He looked down to see a throbbing hard on and he groaned. He swore that was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

The next day was a new day. After a night of picturing you naked screaming underneath him he was going to take action. That was until you all got called in to the office for disobeying the rules, thats when Peter had noticed he had failed at his assigned task.

And now here is where you all were.

Getting scolded by Charles despite completing the mission effortlessly.

“Are you insane? Do you have any idea how this could have ended up?” He yelled.

You were getting yelled at for aiding the delinquents in escaping but you couldn’t focus because Peter had been eye fucking you from across the room.

You were one-hundred percent sure Jean did not erase his memory because the way he was looking at you now made your panties drip in curiosity.

“Peter! Get over here!,” Charles called him.

Peter stalked slowly and stood closely behind you, close enough so you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck.

“What do you have to say for yourself? You were suppose to watch them! How did you manage to get distracted?” Charles asked.

Peter chuckled a little and looked up. His whole demeanor had changed and he seemed like he had gained a sudden new confidence.

“Why don’t you ask her?” He said referring to you.

“Fine then, explain,” Charles demanded.

“I told Peter a couple jokes and he got distracted,” You lied. “Bullshit, she came at me with some pretty nasty things Professor,” He said.

“Like what, Peter?” He asked. “Like how she wanted me in-"Don’t you think this is a little ridiculous?” You cut off.

“Im giving you a chance to tell me, you know I can use my power to check the whole situation,” Charles said. “Continue Peter,” He said.

“She told me she wanted me inside her, that she wanted me to fuck her so hard she couldn’t walk the next day. She said she wanted-"Thats enough,” Professor said turning red faced, he had always seen you more like a daughter he didn’t need those images.

Scott and Kurt both turned to look at you in amusement

“I rest my case then, nobody would be able to think straight after she said something like that to them,” He defended.

“Ok, I believe you based on the uncomfortable air in this room and you need to keep your thoughts to yourself this is a place of learning,” He said pointing at you.

“Jean, detention for a month everyone else three weeks plus no training for four months. As for (Y/N) and Peter I think you need to have a private adult talk in Peters room,” He said unable to look at you in the eye.

You were not about to face Peter, hell to the no.

You hurried out of there but you weren’t so lucky since Peter’s mutation was super speed.

Next thing you knew you were in his room and staring at the door to afraid to look back.

Stop Talking.

Originally posted by strictly-bucky

Fandom: Marvel/Avengers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Overweight Reader

Series: Soft Thighs Series

Warning: Insults, hurtful words, body shaming. But it’s okay because Bucky saves the day!

Writer: @imaginesofeveryfandom aka @thequeenofthehobbits

Summary/Request: Bucky rarely speaks around the Tower…until that moment. Until you need him to.

Notes: The poll showed that you guys wanted me to write this one first out of the options I gave you so here you go ;) Also not sure about this one, but I hope you like it anyway!

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