i also love olives

Finally a take on the girls and a quick one at that. Similar to the first one, I messed around with both the movie and books/graphic novels to get this mess of a scribble. Shh! I hope ya’ll have a good day. Moving on!

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‘Since when are you such a badass?

Since always’

todaysgonebi  asked:

okay so I've never thought one day I'd say this but I'm really excited to read a Flint x Wood werewolf AU so I do have to thank you for that!!! if this ship doesn't win, can I have some headcanons? I just can't stop thinking about it now. your writing is always lovely and sometimes it wrecks me but I love it

  • so.
  • marcus isn’t the werewolf in this story.
  • oliver often thinks, somewhat bitterly, that marcus should be–because he has the broad shoulders and the gruff voice and the raw, ruthless viciousness of a true predator–but marcus isn’t
  • because it’s a family curse, a genetic poison disguised as a metamorphosis; claws and teeth and fur, moonlit paranoia, a long-dead ancestor who’d drank too much ale and insulted the wrong witch. every time oliver howls, hears the eerie screeching echo of it dance around a forest clearing, he wants to tear himself into pieces; wants to unearth whatever unholy mutation in his blood, in his bones, in his body is forcing the change; and he wants to destroy it. rip and rend and revolt.
  • no one knows, of course.
  • he’s shipped off to school, and despite his precautions, despite his constant, near-pathological awareness of the calendar affixed to the back of his dormitory door, despite his absolute focus on the ever-changing phases of the moon and the stirring, aching pull he has to suppress seven days out of thirty–despite all of that, someone notices. someone sees.
  • marcus flint is the very worst rendition of oliver’s fear of being caught.
  • flint is huge, and heavily muscled, and mean. he clenches his hands into fists when he talks, and his gaze is unfailingly sharp–unfailingly frustrated–when he shoves oliver into the changing room wall after losing at weekend cricket. he sneers more than he smiles, and he has scars on his knuckles, silvery smooth and silky with age. he’s rough. hard. far more cunning than he lets on.
  • and his skin, his breath, his eyes–they’re almost unbearably hot as he reaches out to touch oliver on the night of a full moon.
  • “shit,” flint whispers, deep voice crackling like the leaves beneath his boots. “you–what are you?”
  • oliver isn’t mindless when he’s changed, but the inhuman shape of his jaw and the jagged, hulking line of his fangs make it next to impossible to properly speak. so he shakes his head. growls, and then instinctively flinches at the violence of the sound. a rose-thorned, gnashing burr lodged in the meat of his vocal chords. 
  • “you’re–you’re a–what’s it,” flint goes on, seemingly unbothered by oliver’s lack of verbal response. “a lycanthrope.”
  • his fascination is telling, oliver supposes. men like flint had a tendency to find the potential for brutality appealing, no matter what it was wrapped in. 
  • “you hate this, don’t you,” flint says, trailing a single callused fingertip down the unnatural ridge separating oliver’s forehead from the top of his nose. oliver swallows around another noise–this one softer, more plaintive, so much less angry than he’d needed it to be. “nice country boy like you? yeah, you definitely hate this. bet you think you’re a monster. bet you don’t even realize.”
  • oliver doesn’t move away as flint takes another step forward. 
  • “we aren’t so different, are we, oliver,” flint murmurs, and oliver waits for it, waits for the sour-sweet prickle of rage, inevitable and inescapable, waits for the urge to attack, to fight, to roar
  • it doesn’t come.
  • the next morning, oliver wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, with a very familiar face staring back at him from the opposite side of a pillow. a dried streak of mud stains the curve of flint’s cheek, and a twig is stuck in his hair.
  • “d’you remember?” flint asks, looking curious. calculating. nervous, too.
  • oliver hesitates. clears his throat. coughs, and then scratches at his neck, and then nods, just the once. “yeah,” he says, and flint’s expression flickers with something. yearning. longing. anticipation. “yeah, i remember.”
  • and the kiss, when it finally comes, hits him harder than a full moon.

Guys, forget the drama and the baggage for one moment. EVERYONE take a deep breath. Let’s take a moment to really appreciate that shower scene and how lovely it was, it was EVERYTHING I wanted to see last season and we never got. 

They were talking, being domestic and cute with each other. They were laughing and joking. It was flirty and sexual but it was SO much more than about the sex. For once the sex was in the background. It was fluffy and intimate and felt so normal and natural and it was just so….. lovely to watch? Them washing each other gave me serious heart eyes.

I’ll be honest - SOMETIMES I watch Jack and Conrad and it feels kinda… off. Like the chemistry isn’t quite there and it feels acted, but in this Ep, their two main scenes were incredible. Their chemistry was off the charts and it just flowed so seamlessly and effortlessly and felt so totally real that it was just a joy to watch. Even when they were arguing, they were bouncing off each other and it was so fkn engaging it’s no wonder everyone takes it so seriously. 

They’re the most natural feeling of ALL the couples on this show right now, and tonight kind of felt like they were finally hitting their stride. What they have isn’t something any of the other couples can replicate right now. 

Harry Potter AU #1

Harry Potter AU where everyone survive from both Wizard War 1 and 2.

It’s just another normal night for Harry. After trained by Oliver Wood for upcoming Quidditch match, Harry finally able to breath and enjoy his dinner at the Great Hall with Ron. Ron wouldn’t stop talking about Quidditch and how he adores Harry’s movement on his broom. Harry is bad at taking another person’s compliment, so he just smiling and nodding over Ron’s words. Guess, he’s the first person on first year that joined Quidditch team.

The Great Hall suddenly full of Owls, they flew around above them and drop mails to students. But there’s something that caught everyone’s attention. A snow white owl flew around them with a howler on its feet. Ron gasped for air and elbowed Harry’s ribs. That’s Hedwig, Harry’s owl. Harry hissed between his teeth, “Ron, did Professor McGonagall said something bad about me to my parents?”

Ron, still surprised with the howler shook his head without bother to faces his friend. “I don’t know Harry. Let’s hope for the best.”

And Hedwig drop the red enveloped letter right in front of Harry. Everyone on Gryffindor table gasped, and murmured slowly to each other about the howler. Harry gulped. He pushed the letter with his wand as he squeezed shut his eyes. Merlin, this is his first year and he’s going to expelled? No way, this is his dream to sit on Gryffindor table!

“Harry, just open it. Or something worse will happen,” said Neville nervously towards Harry.

Harry glanced to Ron, who nodded in agreement. Harry, still nervous, slowly open envelop and gasping when a voice roared from the howler. It’s his father’s voice. But there’s also his godfather’s voice.

“MERLIN! MERLIN!” James Potter roared. “THE YOUNGEST SEEKER THAT EVER EXIST! I’M JUST 30 AND I NEARLY HAD A HEART ATTACK BECAUSE MY SON IS JOINING QUIDDITCH TEAM AT HIS FIRST YEAR!”

Harry widened his eyes, his face flushed. The Great Hall fell into silent to hear the howler, including the Professors. Ron’s jaw drop, Neville’s face running back its color and Hermione, ignore her bacons on her plate.

“WE COULDN’T BE MORE PROUD OF YOU, REALLY, MATE?” this time, Sirius Black shouted. “MY GODSON DID SOMETHING AMAZING. YOU KNOW, WE’LL CELEBRATE DURING CHRISTMAS BREAK ALONG WITH UNCLE MOONY.”

“YES, WE’LL DO SOMETHING AMAZING FOR OUR YOUNGEST SEEKER!” James Potter yelped excitedly. “BY THE WAY, WE’RE ALL HERE MISS YOU ALREADY. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU.”

“You can invite your friends during Christmas break,” this time, his mother’s voice softly greeted. “Love, Mom, Dad, and Uncle Padfoot.”

After a moment of silent, his letter brunt and turn into ashes. And The Great Hall still fell into silent, before Oliver Wood roared, “Our youngest seeker!” and followed by his fellow Quidditch teammate. And suddenly, the whole Gryffindors shouted the same words, “Our youngest seeker!”

OqwP�

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