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@marcusflintwood
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hot off the press - flint & wood, a two part interview
click for hd + read in full on ao3
A Gentlemen’s Agreement - Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood
London. 1822. Marcus Flint has been betrothed to Oliver Wood for just about as long as they’ve both been alive. Neither of them are happy about it—Marcus thinks Oliver is an annoying, fidgety, absentminded idiot who’s strangely obsessed with horses, and Oliver thinks Marcus is a rude, lazy, arrogant degenerate who cheats at cards—but after years of alternating between snide arguments and transparently well-executed avoidance, they’re generally, albeit begrudgingly, resigned to their fate.
Until.
Until.
Until they both accidentally accept an invitation to the same weekend country house party—a simple miscommunication that results in a drunken, embarrassing brawl in the stables; an appallingly thorough and feverishly misguided kiss against a bedroom wall; and a slightly too candid, slightly too revealing conversation over breakfast the next morning.
And a deal.
A promise.
Their families won’t let them dissolve the marriage contract for fear of a scandal, no matter how obviously they loathe one another, which means that their only option, if they really, truly want to escape a future together, is to make sure that the real scandal—the more socially debilitating scandal—the scandal where they threaten each other with pistols at a very public picnic and then get caught with their hands down each other’s trousers during a very public pantomime and then loudly declare their intentions to elope, to bloody Scotland, during a very public stroll through the gardens—
Well, it has to occur before the wedding does.
It’s a foolproof plan, Marcus tells himself.
There isn’t a chance it goes wrong.
[ written for round 1 of this ]
the statement that Harry and Hermione should’ve been a couple simply because ‘they’re such good friends’ is a ridiculous statement. It pushes the idea that men and women cannot be friends and there has to be some romantic feelings involved if they are close. Them being a couple would also follow the cliché heteronormative narrative that the main male lead has to get the major female supporting character. That narrative in itself in super sexist and Hermione and Harry not becoming a couple stands out because of that. in this essay I will
Pairing: Flintwood
Prompt: police station
Can be found: here
The thing with Marcus’s parents was that they cared. The problem was that the amount of care they exhibited was proportional with the way it affected their image and whether that was a direct or indirect ratio was, most often than not, a bitch to figure out.
Marcus prided himself in having done so pretty well this far.
He’d covered a learning deficiency too shameful to be exposed with medals and trophies in sports and with googling most of his math assignments. He’d masked an unwholesome character with violence on the wrong side of the town, where his parents wouldn’t even glance for fear their eyes would burn in their sockets. He’d hidden his lack of attraction to girls with – well, he’d hidden it. He’d done it so they wouldn’t have to care to pretend caring and he thought it should have brought him a different place from – well, here.
“One phone call, son.”
The police station was cold. The chair he sat in was wet, his jacket was long gone and, handcuffed as he was, he was not exactly in a position to work some warmth into his limbs. Everything hurt, from his ribs to his jaw to his head that was unbearably pulsing.
He hadn’t even wanted to take up with Tom Riddle. His father had different ideas, though, and a ridiculous ambition to continue breathing, and Marcus had been the lucky bastard his life hung on. Fucker. And now he was here.
“I – mm – I don’t really have anyone to call,” he said, eyes glued to his shoes.
His father would not even pick up. Riddle – Riddle would just make sure someone with a knife tripped close enough to Marcus to seem an accident.
“You sure?” The old man scratched his ear, bewildered. “What about your parents? A girl? Hell, even your dog walker would do.”
An idea flashed in Marcus’s mind and, though it made his stomach churn, he grabbed it desperately. He didn’t have a dog walker, he didn’t even have a dog but there was someone who liked dogs whose number he just might be able to remember.
“Yeah, ok, I’ll – uh – try that. Yeah.”
The number was so seared in his mind he’d dialled before he caught up with himself and then it was done. One call. No turning back.
The phone rang once, then twice, then a third time – Marcus started wounding the cord around his finger. He answered right after the churning anxiety inside Marcus’s stomach had turned to ash and the fear in his mouth had soured.
“Wood,” the gruff voice said.
Marcus’s entire body jolted. He wanted to smash the phone back in his holder. He wanted to punch someone and cry. Then preferably punch someone again.
“Hi,” he said instead, fingers pressed so tightly against the plastic they whitened. “It’s me.”
“Who are –” A long pause. “Flint?”
Marcus wished he could see Oliver’s face because his voice was – expressionless and blank and doing strange things to his heart. He swallowed hard. Behind him, the policeman cleared his throat diplomatically.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said before he could lose his courage. “I know we haven’t seen each other in two years but, theoretically speaking, how many blowjobs would you have to be bribed with to pay my bail, Oliver?”
She walked away from him and, as he watched her go, he found that the terrible weight in his stomach seemed to have lessened slightly.
Ron helping Harry calm down after a panic attack because he thought his scar hurt when it was just a normal headache
Ron learning how to use the telephone properly so Harry could call him if he woke up in the middle of the night before of a nightmare
Ron quickly making a joke and changing the topic when a conversation became obviously uncomfortable for Harry.
Ron telling the reporters to piss off when they tried to crowd around Harry.
Ron actually being the best friend Harry could ever have asked for.
37, flintwood.
My writing
Prompt list
“Marcus, would you relax,” Oliver said but that didn’t stop Marcus from pushing him back down on the hospital wing’s bed.
Keep reading
harry potter characters as greek gods: marcus flint
god of war, bloodshed, and violence.
…one of only two slytherin players noted for playing f a i r
harry potter characters as greek mythological figures: lee jordan
god of boundaries, travel, communication, trade, language, and writing
okay so if harry potter was born in 1980, and went to hogwarts in like 91, that means he was in his sixth year in 1996 do you think he knew about the spice girls? i mean.. i know he had shit going on with horcruxes that year but wannabe isn’t something that happens without you taking note of it
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live” Harry Potter [1/7]
Can you do prompt 35 for flintwood
My Writing
Prompt List
When Marcus fell off his broom during a quidditch match on a windy, rainy day, Oliver thought he might faint. The professors wouldn’t allow him to run out onto the pitch, so he immediately went up to the hospital wing to wait.
They quickly discovered that Marcus had only broken his leg, but Oliver still insisted on fussing over him.
“Ollie, really I’m fine. You can go.”
“No,” Oliver argued, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I’m not leaving you, Marcus.
Marcus rolled his eyes, but had a small smile on his face.
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
Oliver stared at Marcus incredulously while still running around, trying to make sure Marcus was as comfortable as possible.
“A big deal out of nothing?!” He exclaimed, looking at Marcus with wide eyes. “My sweet little snake is hurt! That’s not nothing!”
Marcus let out a loud laugh at Oliver’s nickname for him.
“You’re sweet little snake, huh? That’s cute.”
Oliver blushed and was about to say something, but Marcus stopped him, no longer able to take his boyfriend fussing about.
“Will you pease just sit down? You’re making me nervous.”
Oliver smiled and walked over to the chair next to Marcus’s bed. Before he sat down, however, Marcus gave him a pointed look.
“What?” Oliver asked.
“I didn’t mean sit there.” He then patted the empty spot on his bed, indicating where he wanted Oliver to sit.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt-”
Marcus let out an exasperated sigh, cutting Oliver off.
“Yes, I’m sure. I want nothing more than to lay here and cuddle with you.”
Oliver nodded and gingerly crawled into bed with Marcus, who immediately wrapped his arms around Oliver.
Oliver chuckled.
“I feel like I should be the one holding you. You’re the injured one, after all.”
Marcus just laughed and kissed Oliver’s forehead.
“No, this is absolutely perfect.”
FlintWood Stop being so lame For the drabbles u ship them right?
“Stop being so lame,” Marcus complained, reaching for the glass that Oliver had just swiped from him.
“I’m being ‘lame’ because you told me to stop you after six drinks, Marcus,” his boyfriend replied, holding the firewhisky that Marcus very much wanted just out of reach.
“Sober me is stupid,” Marcus said, lunging a bit towards the tumbler in Oliver hand, failing, and collapsing onto Oliver’s lap instead. “You shouldn’t listen to him,” Marcus muttered, rubbing his cheek against Oliver’s jeans.
“Sober you says the same thing about drunk you.”
“So I’m always stupid. Big deal.” Marcus grinned up at Oliver. “You still like me anyway.”
Oliver rolled his eyes.
“Merlin knows why,” he said, but the exasperation in his voice was undercut by the affectionate smile on his lips as he took a sip of Marcus’ drink.
“No fair,” Marcus pouted, looking up at the drink with longing, but his arms were too heavy to try to grab at it again.
“Since when do you know a goddamn thing about being fair, Flint?” Oliver laughed.
“You’re just mad I’m better at Quidditch than you.”
“I might be if that was even remotely true.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
“I know.” Marcus closed his eyes, a smile on his face and Oliver’s hand stroking his hair.
Send me a ship and a sentence, I’ll write the next five (or so)
