#flintwoodnet

[mxrcusflint]

the blame's on me

Marcus and Oliver get into a bit of a tiff around match schedules. The rest goes usually how their friends are used to – Wood sulks; Flint ropes in his long-suffering team. Read on AO3

[oliverwvvd]

the potential for chaos

For the anon who asked about Yule Ball Flintwood, this is a beginning of sorts for you. This didn’t turn out the way I anticipated originally when you presented the concept, so I offer this as version 1.0 with something softer to follow.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: Marcus shows up to the Yule Ball solo. So does Oliver. Neither one is especially pleased about it, and the reasons why are personal.

wordcount: 2,194 words.

The Yule Ball. Welcome to the distinct scent of too much teenage desperation in one room.

The snide thought belonged to Marcus Flint, whose dress robes fit just fine, thanks very much, not that the same could be said of some of the people attending. Weasley the younger, for example, looked like a cat crawled onto the front of his robes, rolled around, and then obligingly threw up a lacy hairball before departing. Marcus’ were, shockingly, not green, because Slytherins were in fact capable of wearing colours that weren’t the house colours. Instead, he’d gone for navy blue, and they were tailored to fit. For now, he was leaning with his right shoulder firmly parked against a nearby wall, drink in hand (liberally spiked, courtesy of Pucey’s far too innocent face which had successfully hidden very good Firewhiskey somewhere on his person), and settling into the buzz around him.

He was razor-edged, dark hair and sharp jawline identifying him in the shadows, gaze steady still despite the warm burn of the Firewhiskey, and the growing warmth of the room. The music was alright, he supposed. He could work with this. He could especially work without being forced to find a date he didn’t like just to fit in, because no one dared give him crap about it. That left him with a sour thought of a very different kind he’d already decided not to dwell on. A lot of other people were on the dancefloor, but he was good right where he was, absorbing the potential for chaos and waiting for the lights to go just a little lower and darker. That was more his speed.

Unfortunately, someone else didn’t seem to care what his speed was, when they came up behind him and spoke into his ear. “You look bored, Flint. Looking for someone?”

Marcus didn’t even turn his head, simply took a sip of his drink. “Hardly. You evidently were, if you spotted me back here. Shouldn’t you be with your date, Wood? I’m sure you had a list of invites to choose from.” The words were cool and more than a little antagonistic, holding the pointed hint that he’d been fine by himself, and that Wood was welcome to leave him be now.

The other boy didn’t so much as take the hint, instead spoke more quietly, that hint of Glasgow burr there and gravelly in his ear. “Didn’t accept an invite, so no date. You?”

A little more to drink, but then he caught a hint of Firewhiskey that distinctly wasn’t from him. “So, you’ve also been in a corner drinking from whatever enchanted hipflask you and your mates in Gryffindor came up with, then,” he observed dryly. “Please to Merlin tell me at least that it’s not one with someone’s initials on it for when they inevitably drop and lose it later, at least.”

There was a very nearly painful silence then, and Marcus snorted, soft but still audible. “It figures.” It really, really did. “You know, it’s good form to at least cast a charm to hide the initials, Wood. I’m assuming it at least doesn’t belong to you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Marcus usually had to shut his eyes and count to ten before he bit the offending person’s head off and told them to mind their business at this stage. The Firewhiskey mellowed him out enough that it took away the edge to some degree, but it was still there.

“Good observation skills there, Wood,” he remarked, aware of other people potentially in earshot. “It’s almost as though it’s not really any of your business. Which it isn’t. But since you apparently can’t let it drop, I chose to attend solo. This is like a knock-off of all the same stuff that half of us deal with on holidays anyway.” The curse of the Sacred 28, old pureblood family gatherings and traditions and parties littered every holiday throughout the year. Inevitably, they all found ways of coping with the boredom after the age of fifteen, and usually that involved finding substances or decent company (preferably both) and vanishing from the scene entirely once it was deemed polite.

Wood moved in front of him then, there in the corner, solidly built shoulders blocking the rest of the room, mirroring the way Marcus leaned against the wall. He didn’t have any choice but to look at him then, and could only be grateful that the warm breath into his ear had stopped. If it hadn’t, he might have had to think too hard about how it made him feel, and he really didn’t want to right now.

“So you didn’t come with anyone.” It seemed like Wood was trying to make a point, but Marcus couldn’t tell what. It was frustrating, so rather than focus on that, he looked at the boy in front of him instead. He’d been lanky when they were younger, a bit skinny and coltish, but Quidditch had bulked him out and he was solidly built now at seventeen. And then there was the choice of dress robes; apparently he wasn’t the only one who made use of a tailor for once. That was a fine outline right there.

Realising he was admiring the view and that that wouldn’t do given the reason why he was in a mood in the first place, Marcus exhaled a sigh. “Obviously. What do you want, Wood?”

Wood seemed to realise he only had a finite amount of patience. That was a years overdue realisation as far as Marcus was concerned. “To dance with you.”

That made Marcus stare for a few seconds. Seeming to register that he wasn’t going to get a response unless he pushed, Oliver tilted his head at him. “One dance, Marcus. Something slow. We can stay right here in the corner for all I care, since you seem to prefer lurking in the shadows.” Then brown eyes examined him far too closely, his lips curled up into a smile that held just a hint of smirk at the edges. “Presuming you’re not too caught up in posing and sulking, of course.”

Oliver was crowding him now, just a little, and Marcus wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about it yet. His immediate response was no longer to punch the other boy in the face, that had been gone for a long while, so that was progress. “You can’t hold your Firewhiskey and you’re seriously misreading things, if that’s the best offer you can give me,” he pointed out bluntly. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll continue minding my own business right where I am. Lurking in the shadows.” That was when he leaned back and away, and took another sip of his drink. No one could see them back here. That thought made his pulse race.

Oliver (Wood, his mind stubbornly reminded him, trying to hang onto it) wasn’t necessarily going to just leave him alone, though, or so it appeared. “Then come out of here with me for a minute,” he said, voice quiet but still carrying through the space between them. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Marcus sighed exasperatedly, and drained what was left in the cup. Obligingly, it vanished the moment he set it down on a nearby table, and at this point, he’d given up arguing with Oliver. “Fine. You get two minutes.”

Once they did get outside, though, Marcus hadn’t quite registered just how much Oliver intended to make the most of those two minutes. He found himself rapidly dragged around a corner and pressed into an alcove hidden behind a statue that he hadn’t even known was there. When he went to ask what the fuck, Oliver put a hand over his mouth. “Shh, someone will hear.”

Beyond annoyed and now suspecting where this was going, neither of which he enjoyed, Marcus dragged Oliver’s hand off his mouth and hissed his next words. “What are you doing?”

Earnest brown eyes were fixed on him then, and this time, Marcus couldn’t get away or give him the cold shoulder. “Are you seriously still mad that someone tried to ask me to this thing?”

Marcus gave him a truly evil glare then. “You mean, am I pleased that someone else asked the person I’m not allowed to walk down the corridor with? I’m absolutely thrilled. Someone else walks up to you and asks right where I can hear; I kiss you in dark corners and Quidditch changing rooms for three months and get ignored when convenient.” The tone was flat, but the sarcasm wasn’t.

He saw Oliver wince, and then, completely annoyed and altogether done with the conversation, Marcus went to shoulder past him. Instead, he found himself pushed back into the stone, found himself being kissed, and he wasn’t letting Oliver think that was the last word on it. He wasn’t about to be lulled into compliance. Rather than lean into it, instead, he nipped the other’s bottom lip sharply, just enough to make him feel it, a kiss like a warning, before he reached up and sunk his fingers into his hair.

If he couldn’t have the evening, he was going to make sure Oliver went back with bruised, swollen lips, hair a mess, and every possible hallmark to show that he’d vanished with someone. Let everyone wonder who.

That it changed when Oliver seemed to yield, to surrender to being kissed rather than one doing the kissing didn’t escape Marcus either. It wasn’t until he could feel him trembling that Marcus released him, leaving him looking faintly dizzy where he stood. He smoothed out his robes then, slow and insouciant, enough to make Oliver watch the trail of his hands. “I’m not going to take whatever scraps you decide to throw me and be happy that’s all I get,” he said, words short, making sure they landed home. This was probably one of the worst sides of him. “You don’t act like it, so you don’t get to call me yours. Because I’m not.” Wasn’t that just the biggest lie he’d ever told, but it was supposed to be, because he was doing it purely to be mean and he knew it.

He lifted his thumb to the corner of his mouth then ran it along to the middle of his own lower lip, as though he could taste Oliver there. He could, Firewhiskey and everything that had become so familiar since they first crashed into trying to understand what this was. The reason he really did it, though, was to be a little bit cruel, to watch Oliver’s pupils dilate some more, to see him want to close the distance again, and then to deny him. Or at least, that’s the intention, right up until Oliver shakes his head. “Merlin help me you’re impossible sometimes,” was the set of words bitten out. “I was trying to apologise. To tell you that I only wanted to go with you, but I also wanted to protect this because it’s ours and people are incredibly nosy. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing. You might not be mine, but I want you to be.”

Those were a set of words that Marcus badly wanted to be true, and it was enough to stop him cold, to make him rein in the sulking (if he was honest about what he’d been doing, that was it) and register them. The attempts to deflect hard that his feelings had actually been hurt had all ultimately proven to be unsuccessful, and he knew better than to use kissing as a weapon, it too often backfired and this was very much a case in point.

As though Oliver sensed the weakness somehow, damn him for it, the next time he was being touched was much gentler. “We could dance right here, if you wanted.” The words were breathed between them. That was when Marcus realised that they could still hear the music from the hall.

He made a decision. “Nah,” he said, not hesitating to turn down the suggestion. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.” He gave Oliver a pointed look then, and threw down the gauntlet. “Together.” It was a ceasefire, or the closest that they’d get, because they still needed to talk about the actual feelings involved at some point.

There was no phasing a Gryffindor with that kind of challenge, though, so Oliver didn’t even bat an eyelid. Show them anything like a bet you can’t and they immediately decided that not only could they, but screw you who says I can’t. The only reply Marcus got was a hand in his. It turned out he did want to kiss Oliver softly then, so it still took a few minutes longer for them to get back to the hall. When they did, the night sky that illuminated the ceiling had darkened to hold a spill of stars, and the lights had gone down to something far lower and barely there.

Oliver got his one dance. What he also got was a truth in his ear. “I’m only yours if you’re mine. Non-negotiable. What about it?”

The night wasn’t over yet.

[oliivverwood]

still mad about peru?

pairing: marcus flint/oliver wood

summary: an angel and a demon walk into a garden, and the rest is literally ancient history

note: this is fluff and humour with a teeny bit of angst if u squint but pls read it anyways UwU

excerpt: 

"I didn't force her to eat the apple."

It's a weak argument, pathetic, really, but it's enough for Oliver Wood to look at Marcus incredulously, his mouth snapping open and closed in an attempt to say something, anything.

"All I did was encourage her a bit." Marcus attempts again, and Oliver's frustrated shrieks are muffled by his own wings, his fists clenched and his feathers quivering.

"Do you know how much trouble she's going to be in?" Oliver finally snaps, looking heavenward for strength. Marcus snickers.

"Eve's a big girl, she can handle it." Marcus studies his own fingernails idly, his own dark wings folded and hidden, preening under the eyes of Oliver Wood.

-

read more on ao3

[adusart]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @flintwoodandco !! <3 I love youu and I hope you’re doing good! Have some Flintwood on the house :)))

[thosebizzareserpents]

There’s a new Flint-Wood in town, and this one accomplished something that his star older siblings can’t put on their resume.

Ian Flint-Wood, Chaser for the Wigtown Wanderers and younger brother of current Ballycastle Beater Terry Flint-Wood and Tutshill Tornados Keeper Landon Flint-Wood, led the Wanderers to the biggest upset this quidditch season.

It’s only been a few months since Gryffindor Chaser/team Captain Ian Flint-Wood graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but he already has his eyes on the next prize: his first season in the British and Irish Quidditch League.

In his first Interview with Seeker Weekly correspondent Demelza Robbins

“Everyone wants to win the League Cup, but in my rookie season, I would love to earn a starting position that can give me the opportunity to be Rookie of the Year,” says Ian. And he’s no stranger to achieving high goals. One of the first of this year’s draft pick for the League.

[flintwoodandco]

time and tide may change (but darling we are forever) - Chapter 7

Previous - Next

Chapter Summary: Nothing like a few injuries to bring people together

Words: 1443

A/N: welp back on my bullshit

-

AO3

or

Marcus is very rarely around the house.

Ben hadn’t noticed at first because of his active avoidance, but now, he realizes he only sees Marcus every few days at most. Finally, he strikes up the courage to ask someone where Marcus has gone off to and they try to explain it as best they can. He finds out Marcus is a double agent, working for the Dark Lord as well as the Order. Ben doesn’t understand how anyone could trust him like that and says as much.

“You told us we should,” is all Kingsley Shacklebolt responds with and raises his eyebrows at Ben.

By the time Kingley is done explaining everything, Ben is overwhelmed and wonders how Oliver got wound up in all of this in the first place. At any rate, he thinks he understands why Marcus is gone and doesn’t question it again. After all, he’d hate to admit that he found Marcus’ actions brave and admirable.

Ben worries though. Worries about everyone’s safety, if there will be nights when Marcus may not come back or if any of the Order might not for that matter. He listens for the telltale cracks and pops in the late night, rushing to the door as people bustle in. More often than not, it’s just news about the wizarding world, the impending war, a boy named Harry, but injuries are not an uncommon occurrence either. Ben doesn’t know how Molly works her magic so well, but he’s thankful that she hasn’t had to deal with anything too serious.

This particular night is foreboding as Ben managed to overhear the meeting from earlier that a life-or-death mission was to happen. Molly picked up immediately that Ben knew once everyone had left, doing her best to reassure him. The pit was already growing in his stomach and he had waited in his room in order not to stress out Molly anymore.

A harsh crack rips through the night and Ben doesn’t even hesitate, sprinting down to the first floor. He stops himself on the last steps, seeing Molly already waiting in the living room.

“Are they back?” Ben asks, despite already knowing the answer. He grips onto the railing, the worst already running through his mind. It had been a big night for Marcus, at least that’s what others had said. All Ben hopes is that Marcus is alive.

When the door flies open, Ben’s stomach drops at the sight. Marcus’s face is covered with blood and he can barely support himself as he’s carried over to the couch by members of the Order followed by Arthur.

“Marcus,” Ben breathes out and rushes over to where the man has been laid. “What happened?”

“Ambush,” Arthur shakes his head. “Marcus tried to warn us but it all happened too quickly.”

Swallowing, Ben crouches down and finds himself running his hand through Marcus’s hair. The man almost looks peaceful if it wasn’t for the blood.

“He’s unconscious. As for his injuries...”

Arthur pauses as Ben stares at him with widening eyes.

“No, no, they’ll heal. Our magic can handle that. I just can’t say how long the recovery will take,” Arthur quickly corrects himself.

Both Ben and Arthur let out a sigh of relief just as Molly comes bursting into the room again.

“Out of the way,” Molly pushes through before anything else can be said. She tends to Marcus’ wounds, having to shoo Ben out of the way every so often because of him trying to hold onto Marcus’ hand.

Ben is wrought with emotion, despite the small part of hostility he still holds towards Marcus. It’s as if another part of him has taken over and all he wants is Marcus to be okay.

The wounds are wrapped up quickly and Ben is moved out of the way again as Marcus is brought up to his room. Ben trails behind, trying to keep an eye on Marcus through the few blocking bodies in his way.

When Marcus is laid down on his bed, Ben pulls over a chair and sits by Marcus’ side. A few people filter in and out of the room to check on Marcus, but once he’s alone, it’s only then that Ben cups Marcus’ face in one of his hands. Looking down at the man, Ben can’t help the feeling of wanting to hold him close. Instead, he lets his hand trail from Marcus’ face down to his chest where he can feel his heartbeat.

Ben swallows down the lump forming in his throat and simply stares at Marcus. This is where he’s meant to be, he thinks.

~

Molly had said Marcus’s recovery would take a few days, but Ben couldn’t help checking on the man every moment he had. He’s not sure what he’s expecting as the fourth day rolls by, lingering at Marcus’s bedside yet again. Ben’s only thankful that everyone in the house is at the very least humoring him.

As he sits in his chair, Ben concentrates on Marcus’ uncharacteristic quiet. Asleep, there is a softness to the man that Ben simply hadn’t noticed before. He wonders if this is the same face Oliver gazed upon in early mornings and his body becomes numb. He wants this. He wants Marcus.

Ben lets his eyes trail down from Marcus’ face to the rest of his body, stopping at the hands, laid perfectly next to his side. There is a comfort Ben finds in them and his fingers twitch in hesitation. Lifting his hand, Ben reaches for Marcus’s own and then stops himself. He feels the turmoil in his mind, the one that feels he should still hate Marcus and the other that wants nothing more to embrace him fully.

Ben curses and takes to leaning back in the chair next to Marcus’ bed in attempt to straighten out his thoughts. He needs to make a decision, he can’t keep changing his mind every time something emotional happens.

He’s scared though. If Marcus is to be his, he wants to be accepted as Ben, not as who he used to be. Oliver might never come back and Ben fears he will be tossed aside when everyone realizes this. He runs a hand through his hair and exhales heavily. Then again, they would’ve gotten rid of him already if they truly did not care.

Movement catches his eye and Ben scoots back, eyeing Marcus as the man starts to move, his eyes slowly opening. Ben waits as Marcus collects himself and holds his breath when Marcus turns his head in his direction. It’s a stalemate of who’ll look away first before Marcus opens his mouth.

“What...happened?” Marcus asks, his voice hoarse and weak.

“Ambush. You were knocked off your broom,” Ben replies as he grabs a cup of water and helps Marcus lift his head to take a drink.

Marcus grimaces but a small portion of his strength seems to come back as he swallows and he attempts to sit up. Ben immediately goes to help him, trying to ignore Marcus’ curious gaze.

“How long have I been out?”

“Just a few days,” Ben attempts to say in a casual tone, but the tension has risen in the room and he feels stifled.

“Have you been with me the entire time?”

Ben hates how Marcus seems to ask the exact question he hopes to not answer. With a few glances out the windows, Ben half-heartedly shakes his head and is unable to stop his response of, “Yes.”

Glancing down at his hands still on Marcus, Ben pulls away to leave, but Marcus grabbing his arm stops him. Ben doesn’t want to fight, so he stands, waiting for Marcus to take the first move.

“Why?”

“I needed to make sure you’d be okay, that you’d–” Ben automatically answers and then clamps his mouth shut, embarrassed that he let his emotions slip.

Marcus’ hand squeezes his arm and Ben finally turns to him. “I am. Thank you for staying with me.”

Ben tries to hide the sigh that leaves his body, but Marcus has already noticed, giving Ben a small smile. “When I’m better, I’ll take you flying, alright?”

Flying. Ben’s heart soars at this and he can barely contain his excitement. He had forgotten until now but flying the remembrance of flying had filled so many of his sleepless nights before all of this. It was the only thing that felt real in both worlds.

Ben’s pulled from his haze by Marcus’ small laugh and he blushes. It’s wonderful to have Marcus back. It’s as if any stress Ben had from earlier has vanished and all that matters is Marcus.

[sectumsemphra]

flintwood — step out into the wild / there's a beautiful storm in your eyes / we're perfectly intertwined / and if it's quite alright / you could be my way of life //

happy (belated) birthday, dear erin @mxrcusflint! ♡

[univcrsefactory]

oliver wood → the most courageous act is still to think for yourself. aloud.

happy birthday to my dear @wylanv​ (20/07)

[wandlores]

@flintwoods event: summer challenge - marcus flint & oliver wood @hpminorcharnet event: non-canon relationships - marcus flint & oliver wood @thehpshipsnet event: gtktm - zelle - marcus flint & oliver wood @slytherdornet & @hprarepairnet event: summer vacation - marcus flint & oliver wood

marcus was the first to pull away, and oliver jutted his lip out to pout as soon as he did so. “do you mean that?” marcus asked, “do you really think i’m better than you?” oliver rolled his eyes and snorted. then he replied, “you wish, flint.” before marcus could protest, oliver’s lips were pressed against his once again. (source)

[kaarina-riddle]

Flintwood

So I found this new ship so don’t hate me for all of my Flintwood posts because they are going to keep coming 😂 there will still be other pairings mixed in but Flintwood is amazing

[mxrcusflint]

objects in mirror may be closer than they appear

Oliver squinted against the glare of the setting sun. Flint’s shadow stretched far on the grass – he’d grown even taller since the end of the school year – and although Oliver seethed at his counterpart getting the best of him yet again, he felt his face heat at the slip-up of familiarity.  “So what?” Oliver said. Flint shrugged, slinging his broom over a shoulder. “Dunno. You should call me Marc from now on. All my friends do.” “We’re not friends, Flint.” Oliver said, confused and at a loss as to what they were talking about anymore. “Of course not,” Flint laughed — what was amusing, Oliver couldn’t tell — and began to walk back to the camp grounds. “But good competition respects good competition. Right, Oliver?”

Read Chapter 1 on AO3

[oliverwvvd]

no safe kingdom, part i

For the anon who asked about battlefield Flintwood without Marcus being a Death Eater. This is a beginning of sorts for you, as promised.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: A meditation on trajectory and impact, on the battlefield and off it.

Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies. —Edna St. Vincent Millay

For Oliver, life is all about shapes, formations, angles. It’s how his mind naturally works. How to calculate the space between where a Quaffle will land and his outstretched fingertips, or the end of his broom, or even his fists when he punches it out of the air. His thoughts capture trajectory and impact as they happen. He knows these things instinctively, a rhythm that at first was trained and then became something so natural that it lives in the way he moves.

He analyses other things in this way too, like how the formation of Chasers should fall exactly like a flock of birds, one leading in front while two stay behind, able to weave and dart and dive towards an end-point. There’s something lovely about watching anyone in that position fly, even when it’s coming towards him.

Maybe he just thinks that because that has so often come to signify a challenging, defiant, sometimes outright mean smirk and a gleaming pair of dark eyes on his. Whatever (intense, sometimes ending in fist-fights) understanding he and Flint had had at school, it hinged on the fact that it was difficult to choose who was more obsessed with Quidditch between the pair of them.

The Gryffindor team would have said Oliver, biased and possibly too used to suffering through his practice regime, but Oliver noticed a long time ago how the Slytherin team moves to respond at the merest lift of an eyebrow from Flint. It’s subtler than Oliver’s raised voice and high-energy motivation, but the ability to call the shots is there in the risky moves that skirt the edge of being fouls. It’s there in how Marcus almost always gets away with it because he knows the rulebook back to front.

On a day where it’s not him on the receiving end, Oliver privately admires it.

On a day when he is, though, it ignites him like nothing else into fire, into competition. This thing between them is smoke and embers and underlying threat and, buried deep, a promise unacknowledged.

This was their childhood, right up until they left school, and nothing happened.

Neither of them knew it then.

There is no time for fond memories of easier times in the present moment because the next time that they lock eyes is across the same Quidditch pitch that they’d spent hours at.

It’s not a pitch any longer. Instead, it’s a battlefield, smoking from being set alight, a ruin.

Oliver had thought he and Flint would be on opposite sides. But there’s no black robe, nothing to indicate whose side he’s on apart from his own.

Oliver sees the way Flint swallows hard, the way his jaw tightens as he registers Oliver’s surprise, but then the word he mouths is clear, a command to duck.

For the first time, Oliver doesn’t run angles or trajectories or the power of command, he hits the ground.

The spell that comes searing hot, streaking violet and violent over his head, hits the ground several feet away instead of going through him and adds another curl of smoke. Flint’s running and Oliver never knew he was that fast on foot, his broad-shouldered frame carrying enough muscle that speed seemed impossible. Seconds later, they’re both on their feet, side by side, and they both target the source of the spells being fired. A handful of Death Eaters have found shelter behind the crumbling remains of one of the stands, and they both dive for the nearest protection, a huge piece of fallen rubble, firing spells back for cover.

They don’t have long.

Oliver’s voice is rough from the smoke, eyes watering when he speaks. “Are you sure about this, Flint?”

He feels Flint glance at him, as though he knows what Oliver is really asking.

“No, but I’m going to do it anyway. Never did intend to get a Mark on my arm, so might as well go out with a bang.” He could hear the dry note, almost feel the grin that isn’t really a smile, more like a warning signal to anyone who comes near the pair of them. “Taking a leaf out of the Gryffindor playbook, Wood. You?”

“Figuring out the best way to bend the rules of physics.” Oliver’s gaze flickers to where another of the stands is precariously attached, and that’s when all of the shapes and formations he’s ever arranged coalesce down to a single point. He nearly winces at what he’s about to suggest, but sentiment won’t keep them alive. “Think we can hit that?”

Flint’s grin turns wolfish. Oliver can feel it, even when he hasn’t turned his head. It’s knowledge long-acquired that he didn’t realise he even possessed. “Let’s find out.”

When they raise their wands, side by side, Oliver takes a second to breathe, and on the exhale, their spells release. The stand comes down and shatters over the Death Eaters’ heads, and they run back to the castle when they hear screams. Screams that they soon learn mean death, and loss, and terror.

It’s the first fight they’re shoulder to shoulder for that night. It won’t be the last.

Their childhood fades rapidly into the sky, curls upwards with the embers, and vanishes.

[oliivverwood]

speak now (or forever hold your peace): chapter 1

pairings: marcus flint/oliver wood, graham montague/daphne greengrass, terence higgs/adrian pucey, katie bell/alicia spinnet, ginny weasley/luna lovegood (minor), draco malfoy/harry potter (minor)

summary: oliver wood's doing pretty well as a wedding planner. new york is good to him. life is good to him. life, more importantly, is simple.

after an unexpected client, oliver's simple life goes to shit when he's working alongside the famous, heartless hotshot lawyer marcus flint, the best man- who's also his former nemesis from university and all-round asshole. the only twist is that he's not an asshole anymore.

that throws oliver for a loop.

note: this is a very self indulgent wedding planner!oliver x divorce attorney!marcus and im Sorry I Disappeared

excerpt:

Graham and Daphne walk into his office hand in hand, looking excited, if not a bit nervous. Behind them is a petite woman with dark hair and a face very similar to Daphne's, and a tall, dark, cleanly dressed-

Oh.

Oliver knew this man.

He should've predicted that Marcus Flint would be Graham Montague's best man.

Marcus Flint looked as much as the surly, grouchy man that Oliver had known in university, this time with an expensive watch and a sharply tailored suit, looking all the big and intimidating lawyer was supposed to be. His face was sharper, his teeth still crooked, but he'd cleaned up. He cleaned up well.

Oliver doesn't flinch. Nor does Marcus.

link to ao3

[adusart]

Flintwood! Who would’ve thought? 

did an updated version of a fanart I did way back when I started with digital art

Imma tag you guys because this is for you @flintwoodandco @mxrcusflint (happy late birthday again im sorry im a bad friend) @lepetitcomte @poppypomfrey  i can’t remember all of you but <3 you guys know who you are <3 

[slytherdornet]

Hello everyone!

Our challenge for September will be all about our favorite rare-pairs and their relationships after the second wizarding war! You can write or create any content having to do with your favorite pairings! Just make sure to create content that sparks your creative interest and fits the challenge theme!

This challenge is being run by us at the @slytherdornet and the @hprarepairnet​, but it is open to anyone that would like to participate. There are a few things you need to keep in mind if you would like to be involved:

These edits can be made for any Slytherin x Gryffindor pairing or any pairing considered rare across the HP fandom.

If you make an edit of a rare-pair that is not between a Slytherin x Gryffindor, only the @hprarepairnet will reblog the edit. The @slytherdornet will only reblog content having to do with Slytherin x Gryffindor pairings.

Make sure to use the appropriate challenge tags and network tags if you want us to see your work for the challenge! Use the general tags #hprarepairnet and #slytherdornet, but also use the challenge specific tags #slytherdornetchallenge and #hprarepairnetchallenge!

Also make sure to specify in the caption of your post that this is for the @hprarepairnet​ and @slytherdornet​ after the war challenge!

And last but not least, the content you make for these pairings can be graphics, moodboards, aesthetics, one-shots, fanfics, headcanons, etc.

From both nets, we hope you choose to participate! It will be a blast. We can’t wait to share our content with you all September long. If you have any questions, you can send an ask to either of the networks!

[flintwoodandco]

time and tide may change (but darling we are forever) - Chapter 4

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Chapter Summary: Ben’s curiosity grows

Words: 882

A/N: sorry for the delay in posting, motivation has gone off to war

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AO3

or

Ben wants to see him again.

He’s never before had such an impact with a stranger, but Marcus lingers in his mind. Even more than that, he wants to feel the broad shoulders under his hands while those grey eyes stare him down into practically nothing. It’s such a strong pull that Ben wonders if maybe he and Marcus once knew each other in a past life.

Once at the supermarket, Ben jumps at every sound in hopes that it’s Marcus, only to end up drudging through night after night.

When a week has passed, Ben’s given up on ever seeing Marcus again. It was probably a fluke that they met in the first place and he scolds himself for thinking beyond that. He checks the aisles in a mundane manner, glancing down the last one before double-taking. He blinks, hoping his mind isn’t playing a trick as he stares at the figure down at the end.

It couldn’t possibly be him, but then again Ben can tell those dark features from anywhere. He almost jogs over to Marcus, then deciding on a slower approach as he holds back a grin. Marcus hasn’t seemed to notice yet and Ben edges into his line of vision.

“Back so soon?”

Marcus jumps, his body stiffening before he lets out a small breath. “God, how are you so good at that?”

Ben shakes his head in confusion. “Good at what? Sneaking up on you for the first time?”

“Erm, yeah. That,” Marcus responds while taking sudden interest in the box of rice in front of him.

This is all amusing to Ben and he bites his lip to avoid grinning like an idiot. “What can I say? Raw natural talent.”

Marcus lets out a loud laugh before covering his mouth to hide the ones that follow. “That’s a new one,” he says once all his laughing is finished and mumbles something that Ben barely catches, but he hears something about his “ego”.

Ben raises his eyebrow and crosses his arms. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uh,” Marcus’s face starts to turn red. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Thanks for the chat.” and with that, he grabs the box of rice, practically sprinting away before Ben can do anything.

Ben can’t deny that all of Marcus’ actions are suspicious, gnawing at the back of his mind. He wonders Marcus knows him, if maybe he’s part of an elaborate plan and soon he'll be swept away from his repetition. It’s something to ask for next time, but for now Ben passes the night off as odd actions from an odd man and nothing more.

~

“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this, “ Ben grins as Marcus’ face turns scarlet.

True to whatever unspoken promise they had, Marcus is back at the supermarket, taken to the frozen aisles this time. Ben had to stop himself from sprinting over to the man, surprised he managed to sneak up on him again.

“What can I say?” Marcus finally responds. “I get to satisfy my cravings...in more ways than one.”

Ben feels his knees weaken at Marcus’ wink, cursing that Marcus is able to flirt back so easily. He casually leans against one of the frozen doors, ignoring the iciness seeping through his uniform.

“What are you doing around three this morning?” Ben attempts to ask, though he can feel his voice shaking just a bit.

He’s never been this upfront with another person like this before, but with Marcus, it feels so right.

“Uh...sorry. I won’t be in town,” Marcus hastily replies. Ben senses a hint of regret in Marcus’ voice and prods on.

“Not in town?” Ben chuckles a little. Three o’clock is only an hour away and yet Marcus plans on going somewhere out of the city. It seems ridiculous to be traveling at such a time.

“Yeah. Friend. Meeting.”

If he couldn’t tell before, it’s obvious to Ben now that Marcus is lying. It stings a little that Marcus doesn’t just say what he means, but Ben knows he’s been guilty of such actions too.

“All right,” Ben sighs and pushes himself off the door. “Well, if you want to spend time together, just let me know. I’m always here.”

He makes eye contact with Marcus and almost convinces himself that Marcus looks a bit misty-eyed. He blames it on the early morning hour, giving Marcus a small wave before heading to another part of the store.

“Wait,” Marcus calls out.

Ben turns back a little too quickly for his liking, his hopes rising tenfold.

“I like you, Ben. I really do. I just...I think I’m still trying to get over someone else. When it’s the right time, I’ll come find you, I promise.”

With that, it’s Marcus’ turn to leave before Ben can say anything. The last words echo in Ben’s mind as he’s hit with another cursed memory. A sparsely decorated kitchen flashes in front of his eyes and he’s staring down at two teacups, one with a splash of milk. Strong hands fall upon his shoulders, Marcus’ voice whispering,

“I’ll come find you, I promise.”

Ben tries to focus his sight, but his body shakes and he sees the ground rushing at him before he’s plunged into darkness.