How would the companions react if mod Katalyna became inquisitor?
Cassandra: Oh, yeah, this mouthy little shit definitely blew up the Temple. She’s very irritated by Katalyna’s tendency to respond to everything with snide remarks, particularly when she’s in distress. Though eventually they warm up to each other, it’s a pretty rocky beginning.
Cullen: His first impression is that she’s determined. Even though she’s clearly struggling to keep up and limping subtly, she’s still keeping pace and fighting through. He can respect that.
Leliana: She sees the way Katalyna watches everyone and wonders if she’s as good at observing as the Nightingale. When it turns out that she is, they become fast friends.
Dorian: They’re fast friends. She doesn’t give a shit that he’s Tevinter or a mage or any of that. She actually is more comfortable with him because he’s gay and she doesn’t have to worry about unwelcome advances. As such, they flirt a lot, drink a lot, and read a lot. Dorian’s favorite alcove in the library is often filled with giggling as they make fun of historical figures together.
Vivienne: Katalyna is very intimidated by the First Enchanter and rather put off by her icy countenance. After a while, they manage to form a cautious friendship based mostly on snark.
Solas: It might annoy him how much time she spends around him, asking questions about literally everything, but her innocent desire to learn endears her to him. They end up enjoying each other’s company and spend a lot of time studying together.
Sera: Pranks! Sera is the enabler Katalyna needed to get into all sorts of trouble! Katalyna spends hours and days trying to make cookies that Sera will like. She won’t give up!
Josephine: Despite Katalyna’s penchant for snark and sarcasm, when it comes down to it she can really clean up her act to deal with the nobles and make alliances. Even though the second the banquet or whatever is over she’s stripping out of the fine clothes before the door to her room is even shut, she can still get through it with a smile and grace, and on that basis they are very friendly.
Varric: Fellow writers? Yes, they’re friends. They spend many evenings swapping tricks and tips for writing a good story and editing for each other. There is frequently alcohol involved. Eventually, Varric is the one she comes to when she just needs to talk.
Cole: “Bright and smiling, a happy face to hide the hurt. You don’t show them what you feel because you think they won’t accept you. But they will. They can see. Just tell them.” But she can’t.
Blackwall: They don’t have very much in common, but sometimes when she just needs to get away from everyone she’ll find him in the stables and ask him to show her wood carving. Even though the little carvings she ends up with are the ugliest paper weights ever to exist, it’s still nice because he doesn’t expect anything from her in these moments. They see more of each other when she’s visiting the horses, which is a daily event.
Iron Bull: He’s the one she goes to when she needs a good, stiff drink. While completely sober, she’ll end up riding the Bull just to see what it’s like. That may or may not end up going anywhere. They’re pretty good friends because she reminds him of other Ben Hassrath agents he’s known, even though she detests the Qun. They don’t talk about the Qun much.
Richie Tozier, 17, lead guitarist of your resident small town alt-rock band Gifted just wants to make it big as a musician. Eddie Kaspbrak, also 17, resident pretty boy of Derry High School just wants to live for once in his fucking life.
“You know what I think?” Mike asks. It’s the weekend and they
are at the quarry, the six of them sitting in a circle with a bottle of
something being passed around. There are three tents set up behind them, a
desperate attempt to get away from the world for a little while. Richie is
nowhere to be seen. “I think that guy has a thing for Richie.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Eddie answers, suddenly very irritated. “I
bet he’s with him right now. I just don’t know, like, I don’t get what Richie likes in him.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of weird,” Beverly agrees. “I don’t want to
talk shit behind his back, but… he turns into a different Richie when Bloodbeat
is around. He adapts his style to theirs, in a way but it’s like he’s a
completely different person.”
So I am a product of an all girls’ school. I hated it. At first I liked the no boys thing, helped with my budding bisexuality, but I hated the one-upmanship, the bitchiness, and the splashing of wealth EVERYWHERE. I am almost certain that I wouldn’t have got into that school had I not been as good at logic and English as I was, but hey. I more than made up for that in my maths. Oh god. My maths skills SUCK SO HARD, a hoover would be put to shame. They are SO BAD, i had hidden my awful arithmetic skills under knowing French (before I needed to pass exams in it), writing stories and poems constantly, being able to dance to a higher level than anyone in my peer group, and doing well at almost EVERYTHING else.
I say almost because basically, I was shit at physics (involving maths and sequencing), telling the time when not 24 hour (sometimes I still say it’s 6pm when I mean 4pm, but I rarely do that now), could not do anything involving aiming (yet could somehow pull off full length classical ballet solos, different sort of coordination) and essentially, my spreadsheet skills were awful. Kids my age had been able to memorise their times tables so easily, they could rattle them off in a second. I was still counting on my fingers to add up.
In short, I had a very serious problem with maths, sequencing, timekeeping (yeah I was that irritating kid who was ALWAYS late) and anything to do with figures, and nobody had picked up on it apart from my mother. She often had me sit in the house on summer afternoons, when my sister got to go and play, and she would try and teach me how to add, subtract, multiply and divide… With little to no success. She called me lazy, avoidant, careless… I used to dread summers because I knew I would be working inside whilst all my friends were playing out.
I was avoidant. I hated numbers. They were irritating squiggles which moved on the page like bugs. I felt sick when I saw long division. I would slap my head, bang it on walls, tear my hair out and bite myself if I got it wrong. I was lazy and stupid, after all. Teachers told me so. My own mother told me so.
Fast forward to joining secondary school. I hoped maths would be better because the teachers were obviously well trained, had been to Oxford and the like, and they obviously knew how to teach maths to stupid people like me. Right?
Wrong. I’m so sorry to burst your bubble, sweetie, but no.
I had a teacher who ignored my hundred questions until I gave up and became the class clown. I wrote stories during maths lessons and handed in my homework with everything wrong, because she wouldn’t teach me. We were, let me remind you, PAYING for this asshole to teach me, and instead she ignored my hand and yelled at me when I had no clue how to sequence an equation. Maths was torture all over again. I had no help and no clue what I was supposed to do.
Contrast that with my science teacher, who knew I struggled, genuinely struggled, with my physics and the equations that I had to write. She was sweet and kind, but took no shit. She knew when I was avoiding something and helped out. I spent hours wandering up to her desk to ask her to help me. She spent hours helping me. What a legend.
So then I hit GCSE years, aged 14-16. Shit hit the fan. I had a major cycle of mania then depression which was not spotted by anyone else other than my best friend, and maths wise, I had failed my SAT test (not like US SATs, you had to take these in year 6 and year nine, so at 10/11 and 13/14). My first day back into maths, I walked into the classroom and sighed. Omg. I was a failure.
The woman sitting at the desk in front of me was a LEGEND within the small school. All of five foot nothing, she had tightly curled black hair despite being a white woman, had an absolute no tolerance policy on rule breaking, was strict even in corridors and honestly? I think she invented resting bitch face. She was the Amazonian Goddess of the maths corridor. A tiny, terrifying whirlwind, she would call you out on your bullshit and you would immediately cave. She was feared.
Thing is? She saw immediately that my problems with maths were deep-seated and not because of me trying to get out of doing maths because I was lazy. She, I think, realised exactly what my issue was… And she immediately set to work to fix it.
Now let me put this another way: this tiny woman had been teaching at the school as long as anyone could remember. She had two young children and a husband, but must have started work fresh out of uni, yet she KNEW instinctively that I had a learning difficulty as regards maths. I had a maths tutor as a kid who knew I struggled and was always kind and patient, but even she didn’t spot what Mrs W did. Mrs W was immediately interested in why I could produce three different answers to one equation. I can’t just accept and follow maths rules: this combined with this symbol and this set of letters makes this??! Why? Explain what happens. Tell me why that is the case, break it down much smaller… And I’m there. I get you.
She did just this with me. I would explain how I got my three answers, and she would explain how I had got each one and how I could prevent this from happening again. She asked me how I remembered the steps in equations. I told her I couldn’t remember which bit went where. She gave me mnemonics and new rules to remember things by. She even taught me different methods to solve things that the rest of the class did not know about.
Mrs W was an amazing teacher, but she spotted that I legitimately had something wrong with me. She knew it was the way my brain was wired, and she gave me work arounds.
About a week maybe before I was due to take my final exam, I heard excited yelling from downstairs from my mum. She was yelling for me to turn on the radio upstairs, so I did. She came dashing upstairs a few seconds later, and we listened in absolute silence to what the presenters and guests were talking about.
Someone was explaining how they had been ridiculed as a child for their horrendous maths skills, that they were always picked last for PE because of their poor aiming skills. Another said that she couldn’t pull over and give directions, because even though she lived in an area for all her life, she didn’t have a clue of the names of the roads. An educational psychologist then stated that these people suffered from dyscalculia, a number, pattern recognition, sequencing and processing condition. It was much like dyslexia, however it was much less widely known about, and few tests really were done when a person seemed to have the symptoms. Most people learned they had dyscalculia when being screened for certain jobs, or attending courses which required basic maths skill tests.
I froze, a feeling of joy rising up in me. Mum was also frozen and listening.
I wasn’t to blame for my shitty maths skills, my horrendous sequencing or my shoddy ability to tell the time. I had something quantifiably wrong with my brain that made these skills naturally hard for me. What’s more is that my mum had suffered from these things too, but to a lesser degree. My sister even suffered from them. This wasn’t me being a bad person, lazy or weak: this was something that my teachers should have spotted long ago. The radio presenters went on to ask if there were any other things to note about dyscalculia, and the ed psych agreed there were. Usually, dyscalculia sufferers were strong in other subjects that involved a different part of the brain, and those subjects were often languages, creative arts and writing, some branches of science and performance-related things. I was literally bouncing up and down. That was me!!!
Mum stopped the radio when the segment was over and turned to me.
“We know what’s wrong with us!!” she said.
I ached at the same time as feeling that burning joy. I had taken my first maths paper without any additional help whatsoever. That was the dreaded calculator paper, the hardest of the two. I hadn’t got a clue how to answer half the paper at all, purely because my panic made me forget the rules I had been taught by a very patient Mrs W, and my saintly dad. He had taken on her mantle when she had left on sick leave, and tutored me on trains to my weekly ballet associate lessons. I had gone through the paper slowly, answered any questions I could, and gone back to try and complete it… There were still gaps. I left, hoping I hadn’t failed.
My private school, who allowed extra time for dyslexia, had failed to spot the same symptoms in me because these symptoms shot off in another direction. Instead of the letters that danced, numbers did the cha cha, and I imprisoned them in squared paper to prevent errors. I was simultaneously furious and elated: yay, I have an answer to why I can’t remember any number that’s longer than five digits. Bollocks, I have a legit learning difficulty and nobody has thought to help or test me.
It’s years later and I’ve talked to my therapist about this on countless occasions. She knew instantly that I had dyscalculia from me describing my symptoms. My alters who were most affected have talked about their feelings of hurt and rejection. I’ve talked about how angry I am with my mother for trapping me in the house to wrestle alone with squiggles on a page that wouldn’t make sense and that she screamed at me when I “wouldn’t focus”. I couldn’t focus. There was no way my brain would let me grasp the concept.
I took several things away from this whole fucking debacle, and I’m writing this now to tell you guys that if you are struggling with any of the symptoms of dyscalculia, GET HELP. You’re entitled to it. If you regularly have issues remembering how to tell the time, do basic maths, can’t sequence equations, have no clue how to get to a destination by road names alone (I have a wonderful sense of direction, but ask me a road name and I will stare blankly at you), or possibly be unable to aim well… Please, ask to be tested before your next set of exams. You need understanding and extra time.
The things I took away from my struggle at school were the following:
Don’t sit there quiet when teachers are being assholes. Call them out. Complain to your head of year. Take it higher and complain to the headteacher. Go one step over that if none of that works, and talk to the governors instead. These people are there to teach you. If they screw up and you’re still desperately trying to understand what the subject is actually about, that’s on them. Not you.
Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re stupid or lazy if you have something that’s literally wrong with you. You are working so hard to overcome whatever it is that’s unwisely trying to hold you back. You’re smart and creative for thinking of these badass work-arounds for your personal betterment. Freaking yes! Go you!
Team up with a mate who gets it. I had two mates who helped me when my maths teachers were at their ignorey worst. One girl practically taught me algebra in year nine (12/13). Friends are awesome, help them out with the shit they struggle with, too.
If you are being ignored in class, that’s neglect by the teacher. It is their literal JOB to explain shit to you.
If you have a parent who is doing what my mum did, tell someone else about it. Honestly, it’s not ok. My mum has tearfully apologised about a thousand times for the way she treated me as a kid, but I still think I should have told someone about what was happening at home. Please, don’t keep it in. Tell someone.
If you can, figure your own rules out for things you find hard. I still cannot add up shopping bills to this day, so when I’m at the checkout, I guesstimate my total. I’m always right, almost down to the penny. I’m more accurate that way than if I had used addition.
Most importantly, if you meet that one special teacher… Cling to them. Mrs W was super kind and pleasant with me, very understanding, and ruled her classroom fairly. I was heartbroken when I learnt that she had left on sick leave because her cancer had returned, and after I came back from holidays that year, I learnt that she was in a hospice. She left her loving husband and two lovely children behind, and a huge imprint on my life. Rest well, Mrs W, you were one hell of a teacher.
Why did I write this?
Two days ago, I was panicking on a major scale when I realised that I had headed to the pin-only aisle and I wasn’t sure at all if I had enough money on my debit card to pay for my shopping. I didn’t actually have any cash on me, either. The anxiety left over from years of being told I was a stupid, lazy girl and I needed to buckle down and do my maths is still there, and it would have easily been prevented had teachers stepped up and said to my mother, who was in denial because not my kid she’s good at everything so she must also be good at maths because I wasn’t so she has to be…
“Yeah look, your kid is really honestly not being a dick, she’s struggling badly. She honestly isn’t playing up or acting stupid for attention. There’s something wrong and we should test to find out just what.”
Teachers: PLEASE don’t ignore signs of maths distress in small children. Please. If that child over there needs to use blocks to count way past the age that they should, there may be something up. If they frown in upset when they see a sheet of mental maths, and get it all wrong despite heavy lecturing mere minutes before, there’s something not right. If they seem to absorb a method then somehow use that method to get five different answers, you need to push for dyscalculia testing. I don’t care if it costs money. You will be saving that child from growing up and, years later, almost having a panic attack at a shopping centre conveyor belt when they’re trying to work out if they can actually pay for their food.
Please, teachers. Do the right thing and listen to the kids who are struggling with maths. It’s not laziness or stupidity, the same as it isn’t with dyslexia: there’s something up that needs a bit of extra help, that’s all.
Vettel fans are getting so much hate nowadays and I don’t understand why are we so offended just because we are doing….ehm….what fans usually do?!
Yeah, I know sometimes we can go crazy but which fans don’t? Yeah, I know sometimes we are extremely happy and don’t care about the others’ results just spread tumblr with happiness and love. Yeah, I know sometimes we flood the dash with tears because we are disappointed and very very very sad. Yeah, I know sometimes we complain a lot just like our hero does. Yeah, I know sometimes we say or do things we regret later. Yeah, I know sometimes we can be very irritating. Yeah, I know sometimes we go too far.
But this is what it’s all about. WE ARE FANS.And hey, other fans are doing the same!
We are here for one man. We are one of the biggest and strongest fandoms of all. We are as emotional as our man himself. Maybe some of us became a little bit Italian like our hero did and many of us became a Ferrari fan as well (and maybe you know or you can see how stressful it can be.) We are just like our hero in some aspects. We never give up. We fight for him until the end. We support him, doesn’t matter what he does or what he says. We stick with him forever. And we always want the same: our hero to win. But we win and lose together. That’s why we are so strong together.
You can’t blame us for doing what we should do. You, other fans are doing the same right? So instead of insulting each other let’s just do our job: supporting our favourite driver. I hope we can peacefully coexist here.
“You want me to sit another mission out?” Bruce was in disbelief, for the past three months he’s been told to stay behind while you and the others went on missions. At first he was okay with it but now he was getting very irritated.
“Well yeah but you said just the other day that you had lots of projects to work on. So you can do those while we go on the mission,” Steve nervously smiled.
You understood WHY he had been asked to sit out, in fact you were the one who suggested it in the first place. However, you asked the team to make it seem like it was their idea as you didn’t want Bruce to be hurt by YOUR suggestion.
because of the anon who asked me earlier what was my colouring for ones of my first original characters. From left to right: Kio, Nia, Ace (and Sulfur is the name he came up for his pet the guy clearly isn’t a scientist yeah)
Kio is obviously very irritated with Ace at first, but they totally end up being bros. yeah and Nia is pretty unemotional on that stage
I didn’t really know how to write this at first… It was kinda hard for me, especially because this was my first time to write smut for ya all to read! But I hope you’ll like what I ended up with. ;-; <33
(I didn’t really know what to write when Wade tried to leave or was leaving in the wheelchair… English is not my mother tongue so I had a hard time figuring it out… I hope it’s not offending in any way!)
Peter had always been the quiet kid. He never really got into fights like other boys at his age. Not like everything was that easy for him because of that, because he had at bully who where always after him. Flash – that son of a bitch. But it was not that he was the only one Flash made fun of and bullied. The boy in the wheelchair was a big target of Flash’s. Wade. And this today was not an exception.
“Slow down there. You might get a speeding ticket!”
It was obviously Flash who felt like being an idiot.
“How fast does that thing go?”
Wade was cornered by Flash and his muscles. They were standing around him so that Wade could not just drive away.
“Get out of my way, Flash,” Wade said while trying to get out of the half circle the boys had made around him.
“Hey speed racer, be nice,” Flash said to Wade. He stepped a few steps forward and Wade went back, ending up ramming into the wall and bumping a little bit in the wheelchair.
“Or your ugly ass parents, who gave you that ugly ass face, have not taught you how to talk to other people?”
Peter stood a little down the hallway, looking at the scene. People around him was just standing there, laughing and looking at Wade with pity.
It was not that Peter had talked with Wade a lot – he had just stared at him, adored his smile and the way he did not give a fuck about other people’s opinions about him, as is seemed – but he liked him. Wade was covered in scars and was in a wheelchair, but that did not matter to Peter, because he thought he was perfect the way he was. Somehow Peter felt like Wade was exiting. When Peter thought about the other he felt a warm feeling inside and felt like there where butterflies in his stomach. They only had English together and normally sat next to each other and had made a few assignments together. The two of them did not talk much, but Peter could not stand this.
“Cut it out Flash,” Peters was voice shaking.
Flash and his guys looked in Peter’s direction as Peter walked up to them. He knew that he maybe would be beaten up for this, but right at that moment, he did not really care about it. The only thing he cared for right now was that they would stop being so mean to Wade.
“Got a problem, Parker?” Flash sounded very irritated.
“Yeah, I got a problem, Flash.”
“So, what is it then?”
At this moment Peter would normally just have backed off and walked away. Today was totally different. This time he did not care for himself, he only wanted Wade to be okay and that Flash would let him be alone.
“So leave him alone Flash!” Peter shouted right in Flash’s face.
It was clear that Flash got very mad. The wrinkles were clear on his forehead. The last thing Peter saw was that large fist in the air and the burn against the side of his face. He fell onto the floor and as he hit his head against it, everything went black.
When Peter woke up he was at the hospital, in a bed in a room. His head hurt badly and his throat was dry. He needed something to drink. Suddenly the door opened and a doctor walked in.
“How is everything, Peter?” the doctor asked him while he looked in his file.
“My head hurts a little and my throat is dry, but nothing beside that.”
“That’s good. You’re lucky your friend was so fast on his wheels, so of saying. You hurt your head very hard, especially by the fall.”
Wheels? Peter thought to himself, but at that moment Wade came into the room and drove up beside him. Suddenly the butterflies where in Peters stomach and he could feel a warmth in his cheeks by the blush that appeared.
“It seems like you two have something to talk about, so I’ll leave you to it,” and the doctor left.
There were a long and breathtaking silence that made the butterflies in Peter’s stomach spread across his body to his fingertips and toes. It went on like that for at couple of minutes. Peter looked at the watch above the door and coughed because of the soar feeling in his throat.
“You need something to drink? I go get something?” Wade asked and looked at Peter with a concerned look in his eyes.
“I-if you want to? I-I don’t want to trouble you,” Peter answered. He did not want to burden Wade with those little things.
A sigh came from Wade and he turned his wheelchair around so that he had his back facing Peter.
“Why does everybody think that every little thing will trouble me? Just because I’m a freak on wheels doesn’t mean I can’t do anything myself,” Wade said with a sad tone, like someone had just hit a really sore spot of his.
“S-sorry! I-I didn’t mean to-…”
“Nobody does!” Wade cut him off, “I actually thought you were different from the others. The way you look at me and the way that you don’t seem to care about what I look like. I really thought you liked me.”
Peter had never heard someone be so honest before. But the way that Wade spoke, the words he said, it made Peters heart melt. At the same time Peter felt guilt inside him that made him want to take back what he just said.
“I do like you.”
Again the silence was back. That overwhelming and breathtaking silence the two made because they did not know what to say. Peter, who again felt the butterflies in his fingers and toes, blushed more than before – he had just told the one he liked, that he liked him. Wade turned the wheelchair around, so that he faced Peter again.
“Peter? Your aunt is here,” a nurse peeked inside.
Peter looked at the nurse, before he nodded as answer and his aunt came in.
Peter spent the night at the hospital. The doctor would make sure there was nothing wrong with him at all. After that day Peter did not talk with Wade. He was too embarrassed to even look at him. Every time they would have to pair up in English class, Peter would pick someone else. He did not even sit beside him anymore. He was afraid that Wade would think he was weird, or that Wade maybe did not like Peter, the way that Peter liked him. The young man was simply too afraid to face Wade.
One night Peter was home alone. Aunt May was out with a few friends of hers. Peter was just sitting in the living room, watching some TV. Suddenly the doorbell rang. Peter looked at the watch on the wall. Who is it at an hour like this? But he got up to open the door. On the other side of it, he found the other one that he had avoided for weeks now. Wade.
“Hey Peter, can I come in?” the young man in the wheelchair asked.
Peter opened the door as much as he could so that Wade could get inside. They chose to sit in the living room. Wade looked around the room, while Peter waited for him to talk.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Peter looked at Wade with fear in his eyes. It was not his intention for Wade to get that impression of it. He felt a chill running down his spine.
“N-no? W-why do y-you think that?” Peter stammered.
“Yes you are,” Wades voice had a hard tone to it and it made Peter scared.
The young man did not know what he should say. He could not make himself lie to Wade one more time, it was heartbreaking. Wade was looking directly at Peter and it made him uncomfortable. Peter looked away.
“I-I think you have to-to leave now.”
“No! I want my answers! Why have you been avoiding me?”
Peter was still looking away. He did not want to look Wade in the eye, even the thought of it made him want to bury himself in the cold ground.
The youth did not know what he should say. He was close to tears. His body started shaking and he slowly turned his head, looking in Wade’s direction.
“I didn’t want you to think I was weird for liking you, because I don’t like you as a friend, but as a…” Peter finally said. His cheeks started to feel wet by the tears that started running down from his eyes. He could see the surprised look on Wades face. Peter was curtain that Wade would think he was a creep.
“Why didn’t you just say so?”
The tear-filled Peter looked at Wade in surprise.
“If you had just said so, I could’ve gotten this over with from the start,” and Wade rolled his wheelchair forward, stopping right in front of Peter, where he leaned in and pressed his lips against Peters.
Peter could feel de butterflies in his stomach spread across his body. The feeling of Wades lips against his own felt amazing. It was like all his problems were washed away. Peter discreetly placed his arms around Wade’s neck and pressed his own lips against Wades. He would not let go of him at this point, it felt wonderful begin so close to him. But it did not last forever. Wade pulled away and looked Peter in the eye.
“I have liked you since the first day I saw you.”
And the two of them ended up spending the night together on the couch. Wade hat gotten from his chair to the sofa and laid down. Peter was sitting on top of him, sitting on his lap, looking down at him, with a smile on his face. Their mouths pressed against each other one more time, but this time is was long and they were hungrily slamming their lips together.
Wade had his hands on Peters hips, caressing them while he opened Peter’s mouth to let himself explore the wetness inside. He slid his hands underneath Peters t-shirt which sent shivers down Peter’s spine and made him gasp.
Peter felt a need inside him. A need to rip off Wades clothes and ride him like there was no tomorrow. He pulled away and looked at Wade. The intense look on Wades face made Peters heart start pumping like crazy. Peter could also feel Wades hardening cock underneath him.
“What? What’re you saying, baby boy? Want me to fuck you?” Wade asked, looking at Peters face with that intense look in his eyes. The only think Peter could do was nod, but that was good enough for Wade.
Everything after that happened so fast. Clothes were being ripped off, but that was not everything that was happening. Wade had two fingers sticking right inside Peter’s hole as he slowly spread it to make space for himself. On top of him Peter gasped and moaned by the feeling of Wade’s fingers. It stung a little, but the pleasure was so overwhelming that he could just ignore it. And the third finger was added and that just made the moans even louder.
“Oh baby boy, I love the noises you make for me. I think even the neighbors might like it,” Wade said as he kept on teasing the youth.
“W-would you pl-please stop and f-fuck me already?” Peter stammered.
“Your word is my command,” and as that was said, Wade removed his fingers and slammed his hard cock inside Peter.
The moaning – oh my fucking Gods, the moaning – that came from Peter was insane. It made Wades cock twitch inside Peter – which made him moan even more.
“Now, would you get your ass start running? Being paralyzed from the waist and down require some help,” Wade started teasing again.
Peter sighed and pressed his lips against Wades before he started moving his lower body up and down Wades cock. They both gasped as they came, Peter spraying cum across his and Wade’s stomach, while Wade filled his ass. Peter fell forward onto Wade, as he was trying to catch his breath. Wade was the first to speak:
More Thoughts on Cursed Child After Browsing Tumblr
Spoilers ahoy. Be wary.
Hope is not lost for Scorbus fans, even though Scorpius is canonically crushing on Rose. They’re fourteen, and remember that when Harry was fourteen, he was crushing on Cho, Hermione was going out with Krum, and Draco was with Pansy.
It’s very likely that Delphi was an orphaned witch whose family was lost to the ages and Rodolphus saw her as a total patsy he could control by offering her what she wanted most in the world: a family. The fact that she’s a Parselmouth is a bonus that lends credence to his story. Think a very dark version of Anastasia, or possibly Slade and Terra from Teen Titans. She would have worked better as a foil to Teddy Lupin.
However, if Delphi’s parentage is what she thinks it is, then it makes total sense for Albus to crush on her. The Riddles and Blacks were both hot, so it makes sense that their progeny would be smokin’.
Everyone complaining about Harry’s parenting needs to remember that James and Lily were murdered, Sirius was in Azkaban and wanted to be his best buddy when Harry wanted a father, Remus would have left Tonks and Teddy if Harry hadn’t called him out on it, Dumbledore had to sacrifice Harry for the greater good even though it pained him to do so, and Harry was raised by Vernon and Petunia. The only example of good parenting he ever saw was Arthur and Molly, and he probably had to realize that a lot of behaviors he thought were normal weren’t.
More of the Next Gen would have been amazing. Also, having Molly, Arthur, Luna, and Neville would have rocked.
I like that Albus can’t fly. It’s a little thing, but it is a beautiful way of showing he isn’t Harry 2.0.
Snape and McGonagall get some of the best lines, as usual. It’s too bad that Alan Rickman’s died; I would have loved to hear him say, “How very irritating.”
Yeah, Dark Cedric–I don’t get behind that. Although seeing Hogwarts doin’ things the Umbridge way was pretty terrifying.
Surprised that Petunia’s dead. I thought Vernon would be the one to go, given his diet.
Harry is always married to Ginny (if they’re alive) and Ron and Hermione are always in love. Yay!
Warning: This is smut, if you are under the age of 13 or aren’t comfortable with reading smut, ignore this post x———————————————————————————————————
I’m curled up on the sofa scrolling through my phone. “Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson, video tapping them self’s leaving Peru this afternoon, some directioners might not be happy, with what the video shows.” The reporter piped into my thoughts, and I glance up, my boyfriend of two years is laughing and blowing smoke out of his mouth, and into the camera. Now I knew he smoked; of course, who doesn’t? I didn’t mind that, but what I didn’t know was that he did other things. I turn the television up and listen. When it was over I scramble to get my laptop; opening up and going to the video. I was disappointed in him, and the fact that Louis was dumb enough to post it. I sit here and debate on what to do, I wasn’t sure. But when I hear the door close and keys hit the counter I didn’t care anymore.
“Y/N I’m home, babe?” Zayn calls out but I don’t reply, he comes into to the living room and his smile fades.
“Y/N, What’s the matter?” I turn the laptop screen towards him and he looks down.
“Louis…” I cut him off before you could finish.
“Louis made you roll up that fucking blunt and lite it? No Zayn he didn’t that was all you!”
I wasn’t upset with the fact that he had done it, just the fact that he made it publicly known.
“I’m sorry Y/N.” Is all he really could say, I sigh and my phone buzzes none stop, notifying me that I have a message.
“Have you seen what Louis and Zayn did?” It was Harry; I shook my head and look up from the couch at him.
“I don’t care that you did that, but your band mates do, Zayn this isn’t just you, you have to think of who it will impact and right now it’s impacting the whole band.”
I continue to ramble and rant about what some fans might think; I was cut off with his lips on mine. The taste of mint gum and the smell of his aftershave engulf me. He kisses me softly and pulls back.
“It means a lot to me, that you care so much about the fans.” He smiles and I blush under his gaze.
“Well they love you and so do I. It’s only fair to care for them.” I nod slightly and walk into the kitchen looking through the refrigerator. His arms slink around me and I laugh softly standing up. Leaning into his embrace; I smile.
“What will management to think?” I sigh worried Zayn might be in big trouble with Modest when they find out, if they haven’t already.
“I don’t know babe, but it will be okay.” He smiles down at me easing me or my worries. Within an hour both of our phones were going off. I groaned moving off of the cuddle session me and Zayn had just started to answer my phone.
“Hello?” I say very irritated. “Yeah Y/N, is Zayn there? It’s Lou and –“I cut him off.
“You what Lou, do you need more weed?” I scoff as I hand my over, giving it to Zayn.
“Yeah?” He says. There’s a pause before he nods.
“Y/N and I will be right over.” He ends the call and grins at me.
“Go get ready babe, we’re going to go over to Louis’.” I sigh.
“For what Zayn? Will you be smoking there…?” I phrased it as a statement more than a question, because I already knew they would be getting high, while I was left to babysit them.
“Just go get ready, we’re leaving in ten.” I nod as I drag myself up the stairs disappointed in the fact that I can’t spend some alone time with my boyfriend, but I knew tour would be over soon and I’d get him to myself for a little while. I pull on my jeans from earlier and a regular tee shirt. I slip on my combat boots and jacket walking out going into the bathroom to fix my hair and makeup. When I am somewhat happy with my reflection, I skip down the stairs to find Zayn waiting for me.
“Damn, you take such a long time to get ready.” He jokes and kisses my temple. I shake my head and we walk out getting into the car. It takes us about fifteen minutes to get too Louis’. We were greeted with the blue eyed boy jogging over to Zayn with a friendly guy hug. As he came over to me, I hit him the arm.
“Oi! What was that for? “He looks as me confused and I roll my eyes.
“For being so stupid, how could you post something like that?” He shrugs
“I thought it was funny…” We follow Louis inside his well sized flat. I plopped down on the couch. Zayn pulling out the illegal substance, I look away.
“What Y/N, you aren’t going to join us?” Louis’ voice broke the silence and I shake my head.
“No, I don’t do that stuff. It’s really bad for you…” Louis chuckles at my statement.
“No, it’s not. Have you ever heard of someone dying from smoking weed?” I paused, thinking and was puzzled.
“Well no, but—“He cut me off…
“Exactly, people in the US use this stuff for medication, it helps ill people.” I laugh coming up with a smart ass reply, but I decide to keep it to myself.
“Babe, you don’t have to join. It’s okay; we’ll be back out in a little bit.” I nod softly as they disappear into a room. I sit there for a little bit, the boy’s laughs echoed through the walls, tempting me to go and join them. Finally after what felt like forever, I knocked on the door.
“Zayn, c-can I come in?” I say slightly nervous at to what I might find. The door slowly opens, and a cloud of smoke sweeps out the opening. I hold my breath as I enter the windowless room. Sitting next to Zayn, who is to dazed, his eyelids hooded.
“Here love, take it.” Louis said his voice low and gravely. I nod and take it, inhaling. It was different then a cigarette. Which I had tried before, this burned worse. As I blow out the smoke, I cough slightly and a hard hand comes down on my back.
“Owe Lou” I frown and pass it along to Zayn; he kneels in front of me and cups my face, coming in for what I think is a kiss. The smoke comes out from his mouth into mine and we lock eyes. I feel a tingling sensation in my core and I blush. He sits back down and we continue. After about 15 minutes, we are laying on the floor laughing. Louis is telling us horrible jokes that I wouldn’t have found funny if I wasn’t high. Louis excused himself and after a while he didn’t come back, and Zayn’s lips were attached to my neck.
“You are so sexy.” He mumbles against my skin and I can’t help but giggle.
“That tickles Zayn…” I say and it slowly turns into a moan. He moves up my neck, jawline, and finally reaching my lips. The slow kiss soon turns rushed and heated. Zayn slips his hands up my shirt halfway, his smooth hands slowly rubbing my sides. Somehow even in this delusional state, he is still the sweetest guy I know. He slows the kiss, for some reason and rolls over making me straddle his hips. I always offered to be on top, but he said a lady needs to be taken care of. Now it’s finally my turn. Soon our clothes area on the floor and my chest is pressed up against Zayn chest, his length fully hard and pressing against my clit. I slowly roll my hips, hearing a low groan come out of my dark haired boyfriend encouraged me to continue. Before we got too far, he reaches over pulling out a condom. I take it ripping it open. I roll it down his length making him groan again. I position myself over him and slowly push down, his length filling me. The new position sending tingles through my body. I start to rock my hips, slowly at first picking up my pace as I go along. Our moans fill the smoky room and he rolls over slowly thrusting his hips into mine.
“Fu-uck Z-zayn.” Is all I was able to get out.
“Yeah baby, moan my name. Fuck you’re so sexy.” He whispered in my ear and continues to curse under his breath. Reaching in between us he slowly rubs my clit, I clutch onto his biceps nodding quickly and moaning pornographically. I slide my nails down his back creating him to moan my name. Pushing me over the edge I cum hard around his cock. He grunts, his thrust becoming sloppy and erotic.
“Cum for me Zayn.” Is all I had to say before he released into the condom. He lays on me, breathing hard. I run my fingers through his hair, making him smile. He looks up at me and pecks my lips, suddenly the door is pushed open and all I see are Louis feet before I hear him yell.
“Oi! You fucked on my floor?!” he groans, all I can do is laugh trying to cover Zayn and myself. Louis leaves us to get dressed; once we’re fully clothed he pulls me to him and kisses me lovingly “I love you Y/N, I promise to never do something so stupid again.” He whispers and I smirk “Unless I’m invited.”
——————————————————————————————————— a/n: i haven’t written smut in a long time. this is horrible. i’m so sorry.