From the proper bottom of my heart, thank you so much for everything. Before we go, I’d like you to find someone in the crowd you don’t know - we might need some light. Are we all paired up? I would like you to turn to the person you don’t know - alright, you came together - whatever you want, you know what whatever you want! If you want to ruin it for everyone… Has everyone got someone they don’t know? I would like you to turn to the person you don’t know, and I would like you to embrace them. Hold hands! EMBRAAACCEEEE! You know what’s not used enough is the word embrace when referencing hugging. EMBRACE! Speaking of embracing, I was told this was removed somewhere, I’d like to put it back [holding up the pride flag]. EMBRACEEEEEEEE!! MAKE SOME NOISE!
Patton had made the realization a week ago: none of them had ever heard Virgil laugh. Snickers aside, he’d never actually laughed in front of any one of them. Patton had presented his finding to Virgil, looking for some kind of solace, but instead he’d just gotten a noncommittal shrug.
“Yeah? So?” He said as he lounged on the stairs, pulling at the loose threads of his sleeves.
“Sooo we’ve gotta hear you laugh! I bet it’s a wonderful laugh and I’d love to hear it sometime.” Patton looked into Virgil’s eyes hopefully, shoulders tensing in anticipation as Virgil leaned closer. He opened his mouth and after a short pause, spoke softly into Patton’s ear.
“Say something funny and maybe I will.”
Patton’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Well I’m loads funny!”
“Sorry, Pat,” Virgil said, leaning back on his elbows, sounding entirely unapologetic. “It’s gotta be funny in the moment or it isn’t happening. Or–” he gasped, “what if I can’t laugh?” He said mockingly, covering his mouth with false disbelief.
“Oh, stop it, you goof,” Patton said, swatting lightly at Virgil’s knee. “We’ll hear that laugh sooner or later, just you wait.” Virgil shrugged again and Patton turned on his heel, stomping away to start planning schemes to make Virgil laugh.
- Has too many extra curricular
- Low- key brags about achievements
- Will and won’t hesitate to roast someone.
- They type of person to read during lunch
- Just a little bit clingy, but in the best way
- “Let me sleep— I only slept an hour last night.”
- Talks to them-self sometimes
- Likes to make random google searchers
- Master at BSing
- Why do they know so much about obscure concepts and theories?
- My random facts buddy
- “Have you heard of cerebropathy?”
- Tries to control me (for the greater good I guess)
- Great at logic puzzles
- If there was an apocalypse— I would want to paired with them.
- Seems like they got their life together
- A bit of a neat freak
- Will not deal with your shit, but will still help you?
- “I need more coffee to deal with all of you people.”
- Is super intimidating at first glance
- Secretly a softy
- will not hesitate to start a debate
- loves politics
- If you tell them a fact they ask where you got it
- Likes to read Edgar Allen Poe and romance novels
- “ Are you sure? Where did you read that?”
- Nice friend
- Poker face
- Everyone thinks that they have chill
- has no chill
- Loves cats and babies
- Great listener
- Has too many feelings and bottles them up
- “OMG!!! I LOVE MUGS!!! I LOVE PURPLE!!!! LOOK AT THIS ITS A PURPLE MUG!!!!”
- Easily flustered
- Will hate you and you will never know
- Once you know them— they’ll argue with you about their opinions.
- Anime nerd
- Wears over-sized glasses
- Gestures a lot when talking
- Roasts me about everything
- Has an unhealthy obsession for cats
- Self deprecation 101
- “ I don’t know what your tal- *gestures and hits someone with arm*- OMG!!! I am so sorry.”
- Identity crisis all day everyday
- Likes to do power poses
- Will do random acts of kindness
- Really imaginative
- Will do stupid stuff to make a sad friend happy again
- You can’t not like them
- “A toast to spongebob and Bob Marley.”
ENFP (not me— another ENFP)
- Loves to art
- Procrastinates kinda(?). It just takes them a long time to do their work
- Is very smol
- Low-key manipulative
- Great at fake accents
- Has the voice of an angel
- Awesome dancer
- “ Oh look, it’s a birb. *makes chicken noises*”
- Is in all my advanced classes
- Gets annoyed with me really easily
- Likes to bake
- Has ten sources to back up one fact
- Will binge watch Crash Course
- Secretly loves bird memes
- “Baking is a science. It isn’t just measuring and mixing— it’s watching the chemical re- *rants about for ten minutes*”
- Literally a cinnamon roll
- Are too caring
- Seriously they are going to get hurt one day
- Mom friend
- When they get mad everyone freaks out
- Will fight you if you hurt their loved one
- “Are you okay? Do you need a band- aid? I have a first aid kit in my backpack.”
- Law and order
- Is practically the teacher
- Strong moral base
- Does not tolerate lying
- Can see your soul
- Loves dark chocolate and hot chocolate
- Eats the same thing for lunch everyday
- Will lay down the law
- “I just told them to kindly leave me alone because their fake personalities were annoying me.”
- Will appear out of no-where
- Social Butterfly
- EVERYONE knows them
- Loves to sing, but is sadly tone deaf
- Can do really intricate pranks and succeed
- Teachers pet, but not nerdy in any way
- “Hi! My name’s ESTJ. What’s your weight— I mean, name?”
- Loves workshop
- Is great at video games
- Everyone thinks they listen to punk rock, but they actually listen to Country music
- Can be bossy
- Likes to wear flannel
- Is really chill
- “I had one job, to finish my homework. Did I do it? Nope.”
- Can’t art
- Can write like there is not tomorrow
- Can also play piano really well, but they never took lessons
- Have eyes filled with wonder
- Great at makeup
- Has good fashion sense
- Thinks shoes are a social construct.
- They have a bucket list written
- Has great stories
- “I once went to an upscale hotel and hijacked the penthouse level with my friends.”
- Loves to play pranks and do stupid stuff
- Is flexible af
- Laughs weirdly
- Has the best ideas
- Smart, but really lazy
- p r o c r a s t i n a t i o n
- “Move I’m gay.”
- Acts like they had five cups of coffee
- Really likes unicorns
- Is a theatre kid
- Wait for it…. they never stop quoting Hamilton
- Great at lying
- Really, really funny
- Loves everything smol
- Everyone loves them
- “Bill Nye the science guy– history has its eyeesss ON YOOOOUUUUUU.”
I love your art so much!!! I absolutely adore KOBB and DriftRod they're my absolute favorite TF pairings and you draw them so well! I love their human designs!! I absolutely don't want to be rude but do you think you could draw them meeting for the first time?
Erm Flintwood please if you're still doing 150. * Winning smile *
pairing: marcus flint x oliver wood
setting: modern, non-magical, soulmates-at-first-touch au
word count: 1394
Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet.
It’s worse than that.
Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet, the flats of his knuckles crunching against the guy’s jaw, hard enough to draw blood and leave a mark and hurt—and then there’s a strange fluttering sensation erupting in the pit of Marcus’s stomach, a comforting, calming warmth suffusing the blood in his veins and the marrow in his bones and it’s exactly like how they’d described it in Health class, the awareness—the connection—slotting into place so seamlessly that he’s astonished he’d never noticed something missing before now.
“Oh, fuck,” Marcus blurts out. “Oh—fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Marcus’s soulmate—who’s tall and lean and has the prettiest brown eyes, what the shit—is just sprawled out on the dirty arena floor, blinking and blinking and prodding gingerly at the bruise that’s already beginning to blossom—
“No,” the guy says firmly. “This isn’t happening.”
“Fuck you,” Marcus immediately snaps. “I rejected you first.”
The guy snorts, kind of irritatingly sarcastic, before grimacing. His emotions, so far as Marcus can tell, are all over the place; shock and dismay and frustration and—very, very deeply—a flickering, almost unwilling tremor of interest.
“It wouldn’t work, anyway,” the guy goes on, more loudly. “You have terrible opinions about hockey.”
“Fuck you,” Marcus snaps again. “You’re the one in the shitty jersey.”
“He’s won three Cups.”
“Yeah, and he was a fucking healthy scratch for two of them,” Marcus retorts. “Try again.”
“Hockey is a team sport,” the guy says hotly. “It isn't—it isn’t about individual accomplishments.”
Marcus rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he drawls, “but your shitty jersey is still shitty.”
The guy’s mouth falls open, and Marcus can feel the sour note of his indignation—the jagged spike of his outrage—as clearly as if it were his own. “Jesus fucking Christ,” the guy sputters, shaking his head like he’s got a nervous tic. “What are you so—what are you so angry about?”
Marcus raises his eyebrows. “Um,” he says slowly, because, really, what the shit, “I’m not angry. I’m confused.”
“No.” The guy frowns. “You’re definitely angry. I feel it, like—” He gestures vaguely to his chest and upper abdomen. “Right there. Like heartburn.”
Marcus’s nostrils flare, and he scratches viciously at the side of his neck to distract himself from the fact that this complete fucking stranger with boy band hair and, and Bambi eyes is apparently better at deciphering Marcus’s emotions than Marcus is.
“Oh, hell,” the guy sighs, “now you're—embarrassed, don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to—hey, come on, where are you—where are you going? You can’t just—hey! Come back!”
Marcus does not come back.
And the ensuing wave of regret that pulses through Marcus’s sternum is lukewarm and salty and depressingly difficult to pinpoint the origins of.
It’s not his, he thinks stubbornly.
Marcus lasts two and a half days before the persistent invisible tugging at his gut becomes too annoying to bear.
He follows it.
He follows it to a bench in Riverside Park that’s near where the gross little fish and chips stand is, and the scent of old frying oil undercut by whatever the fuck is currently decomposing in the Hudson is—less nauseating than it arguably fucking should be, seriously, what the shit.
His soulmate, his soulmate, is sitting with his legs spread obnoxiously wide, wrists crossed and hands dangling in his lap, squinting intently up at the clouds like he’s waiting for them to tell him what to do next. It’s endearing. Maybe. Marcus’s stomach is in knots—a tangled mess of dread and unease and, abruptly, relief.
“Oh,” the guy says, quirking his lips into something that Marcus chooses to generously describe as a smile. The bruise on the guy’s jaw is a lurid, chalky looking violet, partially obscured by the auburn of his stubble. “You found me.”
“Of course I fucking found you,” Marcus says, dropping down next to him. Their knees brush, just for a moment, and it’s like—lightning, bright and fierce and sizzling, coiling around the base of his spine. “There’s been this—this buzzing, in the back of my head—”
“Yeah,” the guy interjects glumly. “I know. I would've—if you hadn’t. I would’ve tried to find you.” He pauses. “I missed you, I guess, which is—weird.”
Marcus scowls down at the sidewalk. There’s a crack in the cement, and it’s dirty, gritty with loose gravel around the edges, splintering off into a dozen hairline fractures before disappearing into the grass. He can feel his own surprise at the guy’s admission, and it’s so—uncomfortable, knowing that there’s nothing he can hide behind. Making himself smaller, holding himself still; they’re not antidotes for anything, not anymore, and this guy—his soulmate—he’s got a rabbit-fast heartbeat and an intimidatingly focused way of feeling things. Marcus wonders how he’s supposed to get used to that.
“I’m Marcus,” he eventually offers, voice emerging gruffer than he’d have liked. “My name, I mean. It's—Marcus.”
The guy turns, slightly, to look over at Marcus. “Oliver. I’m Oliver.” He hesitates before he goes on, sounding nonplussed, “I still can’t believe you fucking hit me. Over a jersey.”
Marcus huffs. “It’s a really shitty jersey.”
Oliver grins, short and sweet and self-deprecating, before nudging at Marcus’s ribs with the point of his elbow. “I’ve, uh. I’ve been told I’ve got kind of a…bad habit of, of taking things too seriously.” His mouth twists, and the stabbing ache of some long-ago insult, or argument; it lances through the pads of Marcus’s fingers, stinging and sharp. “Obsessive. That’s what—I dunno. That’s what I’ve been told. I can be…obsessive. About—whatever.”
“Obsessive,” Marcus repeats, shaking out his hand. “That’s your—one big fault. Enthusiasm.”
Oliver shrugs, easy and casual, like it doesn’t matter, like Marcus can’t literally feel the crippling uncertainty—the tension, swampy and thick—weighing down his limbs. “Enthusiasm is…too nice of a word for it, I think.”
“Bullshit,” Marcus hears himself say, with absolutely zero fucking direction from his brain, or his conscience, or his admittedly flimsy sense of self-preservation. “Enthusiasm is the perfect fucking word for it.”
Oliver startles, slightly, eyes widening a fraction. There’s a coolly refreshing burst of—happiness, maybe; gratitude, definitely—coating the back of Marcus’s tongue. Citrus. Summer. Chlorine and coconut. It’s fucking nice.
“Oh. Um. Okay,” Oliver says, haltingly. “Thanks.”
A tentative silence descends between them on the bench. Marcus drums his fingers against the inseam of his jeans, jiggling his foot and glaring at a rotting spear of tree bark and swallowing around a metallic-tasting lump in his throat that he instinctively wants to label curiosity.
“Sorry,” Marcus grunts, slouching forward. “About the—hitting you. I just—sorry. I was angry. I get angry.”
Oliver stares at him, bottom lip clutched between his teeth, and there’s a swirl of something taking root in his lungs, something chewy and rich, like caramel, so that every breath he takes in is like burnt brown sugar crystallizing against the roof of his mouth, but then there’s more, too, a champagne bubble pop of amusement, and—
“It’s alright,” Oliver says wryly. “I heard I was wearing a pretty shitty jersey.”
Marcus snorts, and then groans, and then laughs, almost despite himself, before confessing, as quietly as he can manage—
A/N: I was actually really happy with how this one turned out. I hope you guys like it xxx Request: Yes! What about about something with Harry and the daughter of Meg and Hercules? Idk with that wit I feel like they would be a good pair ya know! Words: 3700 (Holy shit this was a lot longer than planned) Warnings: Swearing and Fluff
“Ben! I said no. Which word don’t you understand?” “Come on Y/N, I’m desperate. What am I supposed to do? Turn him away?” “Come to think of it that’s not such a bad idea” You knew something was up when Ben called you to his office that morning, he only had meetings there when he wanted something from you. And sure enough, there you were, being sucked into some plan you wanted nothing to do with. “Y/N it’s not permanent! Just until we make some other arrangements” he said, looking at you with wide eyes, a tactic that usually caused you to cave in. “I don’t see why it always has to be me!” You fired back, crossing your arms over your chest in protest. You refused to back down. Being the daughter of Hercules and Meg meant you were fiercely competitive in a way that was often confused for blatant stubbornness, and felt less than enthusiastic to take orders from somebody else. You liked to make your own rules. “Well, you’re the only student left who doesn’t have a room-mate” “Fine. Then I’ll take Uma. She seems to just want to keep to herself which is perfectly fine by me.” You didn’t mind really compromising too much, you’re mothers nature as much of a part of your personality as your father’s. “She’s rooming with Mal and Evie”. You spluttered and tried to stop yourself from laughing, knowing full well that living arrangement wouldn’t last for long. “Queen of hearts daughter?” “With Lonnie” You rolled your eyes and sighed “Okay then, never mind. What about Gil? Gil seems pretty harmless” “With Jay and Carlos” “Leah Gothel?” “Staying with Jane” “Come on Ben, work with me! What about… um … I don’t know … Hayley Facilier?” “She’s with Audrey. Look Y/N, I’m only asking because there’s no other option. We’re all out of rooms!”. You tapped your feet, there was no way you were giving up that easily. “I swear there’s a rule about boys and girls having separate rooms” “ Y/N, I’m King, I make the rules” You huffed once more, taking another deep breath before making a decision you knew you’d regret. “Okay fine! I’ll room with the pirate!” Ben’s eyes lit up "What did you say his name is again?“ “Harry. Harry Hook. Thanks Y/N! You won’t regret this!” He said, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you to your dorm. ‘Hmmm” you answered, not entirely convinced the King was right.
You stopped and turned to Ben one more time before opening your dorm door. “This is going to end badly,” you said flatly. ‘You’ve already said that" “Yeah, well it seemed worth repeating”. He chuckled at you, clearly thinking you were joking. You weren’t. “Come on. He can’t be that bad,” Ben replied, opening the door for you and peering inside your dorm. He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh ..wow! This is, well… Different”. Different was an understatement. You felt your blood start to boil as a you were faced with a tall, red leather jacket clad brunette, swing from your light fitting, painting a red line onto the ceiling that travelled down the walls and across the floor. Most of the walls were tagged with black and red graffiti reading “We ride with the tide” and the floors were already cluttered with miscellaneous pirate paraphernalia. It was safe to say you lost your cool. “WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO MY ROOM!” You screamed charging towards the boy, leaving Ben sheepishly in the doorway. He dropped from the ceiling so he was stood in front of you, twirling a paintbrush in one hand, a silver hook in the other. “I decided to make some, how do I put this, improvements. Didn’t think yeh’d mind” He grinned at you taking another step towards you, putting his face uncomfortably close yours. “The names Harry Hook … And you are?” “GOING TO KILL YOU!” You pushed him backwards “Get this off my walls right now!” You yelled gesturing to the spray paint covering every surface as you charged around the dorm. “Aren’t ye just a ray of bloody sunshine” he retorted, whistling an unfamiliar tune as he strutted over towards you. “Oh, and seeing as we are skipping the introductions, I thought I’d tell yeh, you’re on my side of the room darlin’ ”. Your eyes darted towards the pirate, to Ben, and then to the red line, separating one section to the other room to the other. He couldn’t be serious. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me” you muttered, starting to square up to Harry who was still grinning at you like a lunatic. He reached forwards, biting the air in front of you. “Trust me when I say that I don’t do jokes” he replied, barely above a whisper, pushing his hook into the centre of your chest. You shoved it away. “Ben!” You yelled expecting the King to say something, anything that would be of any use to the situation. He didn’t. “Well, I’ve got to be going” Ben replied nervously, starting to walk away “I’ll leave you two to… um.. work things out for yourselves” “Ben! Don’t you dare walk away from me right now!” You shouted after him but it was too late, he was already gone. “I wouldn’t waste your breath princess, he’s gone” “I’m not a princess” you growled, charging towards the door after Ben “I’m the daughter of Hercules which makes me a goddess” you added pointedly. “Ooo, I’m so incredibly sorry your Royal highness. Do forgive me for forgetting to bow down” he replied sarcastically pretending not to have heard you, waving his hook flamboyantly before curtsying. “I’M NOT A FUCKING PRINCESS! Now look! In fact you know what.. Forget this.” You charged out of the room but stuck your head, back around the door frame. “This isn’t over Hook” “Ready for round two when you are…” He paused for a second and smirked “… Princess” You screamed at him as you stormed down the hallway, knowing full well that life just got a whole lot more difficult.
When you returned to your room later that night, you vowed to prepare for an all out war. Harry Hook was by far the most snarky, inconsiderate human being you had ever met and despite the fact that, yes you found him wildly physically attractive, you wanted him as far away from you as humanly possible. Your plan, as genius as it was, was relatively simple. Annoy the shit out of him until he had no choice but to leave. It was going to be fun.
“Y/N, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING! IT’S 3AM” The pirate pulled himself up from his from his bed, clutching at his ears, glaring at you through the darkness. Struggling to stand up properly, he reached for the light switch, flooding the dorm room with light. There you were, casually vacuuming the carpet in the middle of the night, making sure to create as much noise as humanly possible. “I THOUGHT, YOU KNOW THE PLACE COULD DO WITH A LITTLE CLEAN UP,” you yelled, competing for your voice to be heard above the whirring of the vacuum. You smirked to yourself, the look on Harry’s face was priceless, a mixture of anger and pure confusion. “TURN IT OFF” “Nope!” You said in a sing song voice, continuing to move the vacuum up and down across the carpet. “Y/N I said turn it off now!” Harry growled, charging towards you and taking it from your hands. “You know, I don’t find you at all intimidating while you’re stood in pyjamas with tiny pirate ships on them” you cooed at him, squeezing his cheeks “Coochy Coochy coo!” Harry looked down at himself, bare chested wearing only a pair of rather embarrassing shorts. You chuckled at his scowl. “I could hurt yeh” he said, pulling himself closer and teasing through your hair with his hook “My enemies don’t usually last this long before I hook their pretty little faces” “Oh how sweet of you! You must really love me then because the last time I checked my face was still in tact”. You placed a piece of gum you were chewing on the end of his hook and danced on back to bed. “You’ll regret doing this Y/N,” he said bitterly, pulling the vacuum chord and trudging back over to his bed. “Sure I will. Right, well I do love having these little chats with you but I have an important meeting with Fairy Godmother in the morning so I’m going to sleep” With that the lights turned out and you collapsed backwards into bed, feeling slightly accomplished. “You don’t know what you’ve started princess” whispered the pirate inaudible “You don’t know what you’ve started”
King Ben didn’t really know what to expect when he trudged back up to Y/N’s dorm room the following morning. There had been noise complaints all night from neighbouring rooms on the same wing so he had guessed they still hadn’t worked out their very apparent differences. He knocked on their door but after no reply he pushed it open himself. He had no idea what to say when he walked in on you pelting Harry with your shoes. “I swear down Hook where are they?” You howled, picking up a flip flop and throwing it in Harry’s general direction. He dodged it, virtually crying from laughter as you continue to stomp about. “I have absolutely no idea what yeh talking about Y/N” he chuckled, clearly lying, catching a high heel and lobbing it back towards you. “Harry! Please! I have to go, where are my shoes?” You begged, trying to reason with him. “They’re all over the bloody place!” Neither of you had even noticed Ben standing there observing your thought-provoking behaviour. “YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT! THEY’RE ALL LEFT SHOES! THERE ARE NO FULL PAIRS” Harry convulsed with laughter again until a ballet pump hit him in the face mid-flight. “Now was that really necessary Princess?” “I’M NOT A PRINCESS FOR THE LAST TIME!” You yelled at him, finally deciding that you would just have to go barefoot. You spotted Ben “I told you this was a bad idea” you said, waggling your finger at him. The poor King was speechless. “Prin-cess, prin-cess,prin-cess…” Harry started chanting in a whisper, causing you to shoot round and glare at him. He was still smirking. “It’s okay Harry,” You said as you left with Ben, “Because last night, after I finished vacuuming, I fed your pirate hat through the paper shredder”
You and Harry refused to speak to each other until the next morning, when you continued your plan to irritate Harry until he had no choice but to move out. Subtlety was key in your opinion, so all of your moves were small and calculated. “Morning Harry” you said as sweetly as you could manage, “I made you coffee”. The boy, furrowed his eyebrows, confused by the gesture but took the mug anyway. ‘You ever hear of a little bit of gratitude?“ You mumbled as you made your way into the bathroom to brush your teeth. “Apparently not. Please, enlighten me. Give me the benefit of ye vast wisdom” he replied sarcastically, following you. “Keep rolling your eyes Hook, you might find your brain back their”. You ran your toothbrush under the tap as he winked at you through the bathroom mirror. He took a sip of his coffee. “Did you?” He spat the whole thing out “Ye petty little shit. Replacing sugar with salt. I bet ye finding this so very funny aren’t yeh” Harry said completely deadpan. “Hilarious actually” you remarked, putting the toothpaste onto the bristles and starting to brush your teeth. “You know what’s even more hilarious?” He started, so you turned your head to face him. The corners of his lips tugged up into a smirk. “Last night, I used your toothbrush”
“Ben I can’t do this anymore!” You complained to your best friend as you headed to the Tourney fields. “What do you mean?” “I woke up this morning to find that he had covered the entirety of my side of the room in pink post it notes, including me, when I was sleeping!” you said, throwing your hands up in the air Ben gave you a stern look. “Y/N you’re even worse. Yesterday, when you took his hook, he spent the whole day traipsing around campus with a pirate map you gave him, trying to find it. After all that you’d hidden it under his bed!” “That was pretty funny though” you said, trying to contain your giggles. “See you’re just as bad as each other. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you even liked him” You punched the King in the arm playfully. As much as you wanted it not to be true, you had a sneaking suspicion that Ben was right. All you could think about was Harry, whether it was good or bad, and in some very strange way you began growing fond of the pirate. It was very worrying and you wanted more than anything for it to stop “Ben you don’t know anything”
You returned back to your room that night, carrying the next stage of the plan. Smiling to yourself as you propped open the door with one hand, cradling Harry’s surprise with the other. “Honey I’m home!” You screeched jokingly. “Aren’t I just over the moon” Harry replied, jumping up from the sofa holding one of my dresses which he had cut holes into. Then he looked at me. “What the hell are ye holding?” “Oh this,” you said, setting it down on the floor “This Harry is a cat.” The kitten looked at me before darting off, springing up onto the window sill and curling up into a ball to sleep. “I know it’s a fucking cat Y/N. I want to know why ye brought it into our room” he said, quieter than you would have expected, bringing his face extremely close to yours again. You could feel his breath against you skin. “Do you always use flirting as an intimidation technique or is it just me who’s personal space you invade on a daily basis” “Y/N! I’m allergic to cats” “Oh really! I never knew that.” You lied. Of course you knew, that was the whole reason you got the cat in the first place. “Mr Shnookem’s is staying exactly where he is” “I’m telling ye now Y/N, the first time you take yeh eyes of that thing I’ll…” You pushed your index finger to his lips, taking him by surprise. “ Shhh I don’t want to hear it Harry” You dropped your hand and walked to Mr Shnookem’s, just as he sneezed hysterically, giggling to yourself as you felt his eyes burn into you.
*Short time skip to the end of the week*
“HAROLD FUCKING HOOK!” “Geez Y/N, with the amount of times you scream my name a day next door probably think we are…” “What have you done with him?” You had woken up to find Mr Shnookem’s was no longer sat at the foot of your bed like he did every night, and had spent the whole morning searching for him. You had checked everywhere the kitten could have wander off to, to no avail, with Harry being the only logical culprit for his disappearance. “Yeh not seriously talking about that mangey cat are ye?” He asked barely looking up from the bowl of cake he was eating “That cat never did anything to you” you spat “Well, tell me! What have you done with him?” Harry raised an eyebrow at you, still not moving. “I didn’t touch the stupid thing. Ye probably scared it off with ye non-stop scre…” “I HATE YOU!” You slammed your hands down on the table Harry was sat at. You loved that cat and were becoming more concerned and annoyed at Harry every second he refused to tell you where it’d gone. Harry slammed his bowl full of cake down and stood up, to stare you in the eye. “Oh, ye hate me?” The pirate began “Join the club! There are weekly meetings at the corner of Fuck You Street and Kiss my Ass Boulevard” “And to think I was finally warming up to the idea of becoming friends with you,” You said, but the tone was far more dispirited than you had expected it to be. You turned and started to trudge away, before the pirate could see you tear up. “Can ye stop accusing me for one min… Wait, are ye crying?” Harry’s voice softened towards the end of his sentence, a hint of confusion etched into the Scottish accent. As much as you tried, you couldn’t help but cry. You looked back at Harry with blurry eyes, watching his shift in demeanour as he tried to work out what to do about the situation. “I want my cat back!” You wailed like a toddler, your face crumpling as you wiped your running nose, no longer caring what he thought of you. Harry dropped his smirk and instinctively pulled you into a hug, wrapping his strong arms around, and stroking the back of your head. “Ye know I really didn’t do anything to him” he started, squeezing you a little tighter. “But if that stupid cat means that much to ye, I’ll help ye find it” You shuffled backwards a little, looking up at Harry who towered slightly above you. “Thanks,” you said meekly “I’d like that”.
Harry took your hand as you scowered the grounds of Auradon Prep for the runaway cat, purposefully ignoring your gaze as your palms brushed beside one another. It had become dark by now so the two of you began calling out for the kitten, pointing a torch in the direction of any trees or bushes where he could have been hiding. “MR SHNOOKEM’S!” Harry called out, “Ye couldn’t have picked a more ridiculous name now could ye?” “Hey! I think it’s cute,” you defended “Ridiculous, yes, but cute. MR SHNOOKEMS!” “Sounds like somebody I know” the pirate mumbled. “Did you jus…” “MR SHNOOKEMS!” Yelled Harry cutting you off mid-sentence. Your eyes lingered on Harry’s face, fixated on the blue of his eyes. He caught you smiling at him. “What?” He asked. “Nothing it’s just, maybe you’re not as bad as I thought” “Are ye softening up to me Y/N?” Harry joked, a hint of cheekiness leaking back into his accent. “Shut it! The word bad is still in the sentence” You laughed, lacing your fingers tighter with his. “Oh thank god! I would have had to cancel my war plans if not. Ye should see what I have planned for tomorrow” “Of all the possible villains, why did I have to get you?” You sighed theatrically, clearly joking. 'Of all the princess’s why did I have to get…“ At the mention of the word princess you shoved Harry backwards, causing him to stumble and fall head first into one of the flowerbeds surrounding the castle. You burst into hysterical laughter, before offering a hand to the pirate, who was whispering profanities to himself “Yeh way stronger than you look ye kn… Well, well well, look what we have here!” From the flower bed Harry pulled a very scruffy but easily recognisable Mr Shnookem’s, scooping it up in his arms and handing him you. Immediately, you nuzzled your face into the cats fur, wrapping it in a warm embrace. A beaming smile spread across both of your faces, as the two of you let out an ecstatic cheer, Harry grabbing one of your hands to twirl around in glee, celebrating at your success. “We found him!” You giggled. “I found him,” Harry corrected, sticking his tongue out at you and reeling you in closer with the hand he had been spinning you with You pouted. “I love you” you said, barely above a whisper. “If ye tell that damn cat ye love him one more time, I swear I’ll…” “I wasn’t talking about to the cat” There was an uneasy silence that seemed to last a lifetime “Y/N, your lip’s bleeding” “How can that possibly matter?,” you said panicked at the confession you accidentally made and the fact that Harry wasn’t reacting “Did you not hear what I just sa..” He didn’t give you time to react before he leaned in and kissed you, a subtle taste of metallic blood lingering across your lips. He ran his hand down your neck and along your collarbone, pulling away and blinking at you. You flung yourself into his arms, Mr Shnookem’s and all, letting go of the remaining reservations you had about the pirate boy . You ran your fingers along Harry’s cheekbones, down his chest and curving onto his back, tracing the contours of his shoulders blades. You felt him shudder slightly at your touch creating a the buzz of electricity. You reached for his hand, pressing your thumb against his wrist as he snuggled into your hair. You could feel the blood going through his veins, an indicator of how fast his heart was beating. Neither of you moved until the kitten climbed between the two of you and began to lick Harry’s face. You laughed a little. “See, Mr Shnookem’s does like you” “I’m still allergic to the bloody thing” Harry shot back, pushing you playfully by the shoulder to get the cat away from him. “It’s a good job I picked up these for you then,” You said, reaching into you back pocket and shaking a tub of allergy medication at Harry. He titled his head at you, staring into your eyes with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “What?” You said, picking at a thread on your jumper nervously "You forgot to pick up your prescription” Harry let out a hearty belly laugh and wrapped you back into a hug, squeezing you until you have to pull away for air. “Daughter of Hercules” “Son of Hook” “I. Love. You”. Harry brushed his lips gently against your forehead sending you into another fit of giggles. “Does this mean we can get rid of the red line in our dorm room now?” “Ye know what, that doesn’t sound like the worse idea”
YouTube thinks he’s one, he’s pretty sure, and so do his sponsors, his ex-girlfriends, and the vast majority of his five and a half million subscribers, but–he is really, really, really not a chef.
Case in point: health codes. He does all his cooking shirtless, in the narrow, badly lit, not strictly, technically sanitary galley kitchen of his frat house. There are dry ramen noodle crumbs everywhere, and up until a few months ago, he used an empty dish soap squeeze bottle to store his olive oil. Gordon Ramsay would probably have a long overdue heart attack if he ever shined one of his little blacklights on the grout between the counter tiles. This is not a chef’s kitchen.
Also: Cormac has no idea what he’s actually doing, ever, at all. His first upload was a muffled, partially sarcastic walk-through of how to scramble eggs with beer instead of milk. He literally still doesn’t own a single measuring cup. One of his most popular videos is just him drinking Sailor Jerry from a coffee mug while explaining how to make Kraft mac and cheese taste like tacos. Chefs do not consume nearly as many processed foods as he does.
Conclusion: Cormac is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a chef.
Which is why it’s so baffling that Draco Malfoy–who definitely, certainly, very famously is a classically trained, French-speaking chef with a farm-to-table restaurant in upstate New York and his own line of immaculate copper cookware at Williams-Sonoma–has sent him an alarmingly professional email, personally requesting some kind of culinary collaboration, and he…does not sound as if he is joking.
Cormac squints down at his abs, kisses the gleaming gold cross around his neck, cracks his knuckles, mutters most of a Hail Mary under his breath, and then carefully drafts his response.
yeah, bro, he types, let’s make some fucking magic.
[ send me a fic title, and i’ll tell you what i’d write for it ]
Don’t worry I ain’t forgot about the fic rec I’m getting that prepared. But for today, I just wanted to make an appreciation posts for one of my favorite things in pairings; The Glorious Height difference!
Honestly, Verkwan are iconic for the growing height differences. Mainly, that they used to be the same height, bros that grow together stay together basically. But ever since Seungkwan stopped growing, Vernon is growing like weed aint he? I mean look:
((when Boo was taller and could reach…..look at how smol they both were I’m so….))
((They both grew but Vernon is obviously getting bigger lmao))
These are just few month differences! And Vernon’s still growing everyday! (I wonder if he’ll reach 6ft)
It’s not as much of a disaster as it could be, honestly.
Harry’s only been home for, like, forty-five seconds when something small and plastic and deceptively heavy hits him square in the face, splitting the stitches on his upper lip.
“What the fuck,” he snaps, bringing his hand up to his mouth. There’s a potentially concerning amount of blood. “What's—Pansy?”
Pansy is standing in the doorway that leads to the kitchen, her arms crossed over her lower abdomen, wearing a pair of faded black yoga pants and what looks like most of a canister of flour. Her expression is pinched and kind of…panicked, but also furious, but also maybe the slightest bit relieved.
Harry squints at her in confusion. “What’s going on?”
She raises her eyebrows, glaring pointedly at his feet. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
He glances down without really thinking it through, and—
“Is that a pregnancy test?” he blurts out, stomach somehow simultaneously sinking and twisting. With nerves. And dread. And that very unsettling brand of anticipation that usually precedes, like, playoffs overtime and phone calls from his agent. “Wait, why did you throw it at me?”
She sniffs. “I assumed you’d be able catch it.”
“I wasn’t even looking!”
“You’re a professional athlete, you shouldn’t have to be looking.”
Harry gapes at her, shoulders slumping with a familiar flicker of helplessly fond outrage. “Pansy.”
Her lower lip wobbles. “Well? Are you going to check it?” she tries to drawl, but her voice cracks on a quavering note of hysteria, and Harry momentarily forgets about the blood trickling down his chin.
“Uh,” he answers dumbly. “I’m guessing I don’t…have to? Because it’s positive?”
It’s the absolute wrong thing to say, Harry reflects with a wince, watching Pansy gasp, her mouth hanging open and her cheeks flooding with color and her eyes positively glittering with indignation. When she starts talking, he reaches up, semi-instinctively, to loosen the admittedly crooked knot of his tie. He’s going to be a dad, what the fuck.
"—so bad at birth control, don’t you guys get, like, weekly PowerPoint presentations about paternity lawsuits and—wait, why do you look like a vampire?” Pansy pauses, furrowing her brow. “Harry? Who broke you?”
Harry sighs, deeply, before folding her into a warm, full-body hug and dropping a careful kiss onto the top of her head. A few errant rainbow sprinkles are tangled in her hair, and she smells kind of suspiciously like a spice rack, and the diamond stud pierced through the cartilage in her ear is covered in cake batter. He wonders if it’s weird that he finds all of that…charming. Attractive. Irresistible?
It’s probably weird.
"Hey,” he says anyway, and he isn’t sure if it’s because he hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, or because he’s vaguely lightheaded from the blood loss, or because there’s a stupid expensive ring hidden in the bottom of his bag that he’d had to mortifyingly enlist the help of four separate teammates to buy, but—he feels really, just, abruptly confident. Like he’d made an accidental turn down an unfamiliar street and ended up somewhere significantly, undeniably better than wherever the smugly disembodied British voice in his GPS had originally been guiding him. Like—serendipity. A less shitty version of fate.
“We’re gonna be good at this,” Harry eventually murmurs. “We’re gonna be good.”