#idk my third is fucking instagram video meme so like

[acemapleeh]

I posted 2,196 times in 2022

That's 2,001 more posts than 2021!

274 posts created (12%)

1,922 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@kitaychan

@hetaari

@hetagrammy

I tagged 1,909 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#art - 774 posts

#hws england - 390 posts

#hws america - 346 posts

#hws canada - 325 posts

#hws france - 211 posts

#ace twaddles - 121 posts

#writing - 80 posts

#hws scotland - 75 posts

#hws netherlands - 57 posts

#hws russia - 55 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#changing his knitting from alfred's sweater to matt but i bet even after everything matt will be able to tell it was not meant to be his

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Come Ashore for Rack and Ruin

Summary: In the midst of the Battle of the Somme, an ancient horror has decided to show its ugly face on the battlefield and Matthew is somewhere out in the fog. Alistair goes to find his nephew.

Characters: Scotland, Canada, France, England

Word Count: 5282

Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Graphic Description of Gore

Read on ao3

Late Summer of 1916, North-Central Somme, France

It felt like it didn’t even have to rain for the thick wool of Alistair’s kilt to be absolutely soaked and weigh an extra ton against his reddened, numbed thighs. The mud did a good enough job as well as the rain from days long gone still lingering deeply in the fibers.

It was a rare, silent evening and those were the ones that put Alistair on edge the most. Silent, apart from the moans of the plethora of wounded men, many of whom, Alistair would say have copped a blighty and should be on their way home. Gunfire had been shot earlier that day and the entirety of his Majesty’s empire of scattered corpses stretched across no man’s land and a thick fog was the only grave they were getting for the time being. He peered over the top of the trench, but it was as black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat. No one was certain what the Germans had in mind yet but men needed to be retrieved if any survivors had a chance at being saved. 

Matthew was out there somewhere.

The lad was lucky that he hadn’t been found by Gilbert or his brat of a brother.

Alistair wasn’t entirely sure if that was the case though and his stomach lurched at the thought. Earlier in the evening, he had gotten into a shouting match with his youngest brother. ‘ Matthew’s a grown man and will make his way back if he knows what’s good for him and the Empire . I know him, he wouldn’t allow himself capture. ’ He knew he couldn’t rest until he was certain the boy was brought back to the safety of their hellhole of a home, whether that meant dragging his corpse back or knowing for sure he had to come up with a plan to rescue him from the enemy. The latter would mean having to get Arthur furtherly involved which he wanted to avoid at all costs.

He was going to scout it out alone.

Securing his helmet on his matted red curls and kit firmly to his side, he climbed out of the ditch, his belly and out of regulation beard down in the detritus and rubble. 

Matthew was always hard to find in these situations.

Time and time again, Alistair had memorized how to find his kin. He knew the scent of death they all emitted, what their face-down forms looked like in the dark, and the sounds they made as life rushed suddenly back into their flesh and bone.

His brother’s children though? 

Even though he’d spent the most time with the young Canadian, he had only witnessed his death perhaps once or twice before and he couldn’t recall any useful details of how to go about locating his corpse. 

Arthur smelt of the sea and rain-soaked woodland.

Dylan, a hedgerow in spring and driftwood.

Morgan of seaside morning dew and buttery furze.

Himself, blooming heather and an ocean storm.

Matthew smelt like... he wanted to say evergreen pine. He wanted to say he smelt like winter. But he knew that couldn’t be right. There was a lack of smell in the cold, on those freezing, white mornings before he went hunting or hiking; his eyes felt keener, ears on edge for the slightest of sounds. 

The air felt heavy as he shifted through the scattered remains, feeling uneasy with every step until he eventually had to stop to get back into sorts.

Something was amiss in the deepest parts of the fog.

He spotted a shape in the dark and his grip tightened on the butt of his rifle. He would say the thing was at least fifty meters away if he wagered a guess. Squinting, he vaguely made out something large, something that appeared to be scraping in the mud. Just staring at it made him feel uneasy, and made him want to vomit up his sorry excuse for tea. 

He risked firing a flare into the sky, praying the rest of the world was asleep for just these few moments. He had to know what he was dealing with; what he had to fight if it meant bringing his nephew to safety.

A dim red light briefly lit up the night.

His breath stuck in his throat.

It took every muscle fiber to keep his arm raised, to not drop the flaregun and bolt the other direction.

See the full post

100 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

#4

Arthur Home Headcanons

Minimalism? What’s that? This man has stuff everywhere in his home. Cluttercore

He is entirely guilty of reusing containers that don’t match what’s inside. Have you see English tea tins? He has a cabinet dedicated to them but it’s anyone’s guess as to what’s actually inside. He has a separate cabinet that has actual tea and the works. This tin was the limited edition Christmas English breakfast from 1962, of course I can’t get rid of it. That was a gift from Matthew in 2003, he’d be devastated if I tossed it in the bin. He may not even remember the reason for one but thinks if he holds onto it, it’ll eventually come to him.

I’m not even touching his collection of teacups and mugs.

His house is in good, clean condition. I want to make that clear. He just has trouble when it comes to change. If something breaks, it may stay that way for a while because the manufacturer who made it isn’t around anymore. Arthur will attempt to fix it himself but he’s no expert. He’s ruined things in his attempts so he’ll leave them to gather dust. He’s had a bread cutter from before World War II that’s rusted and the cutting board desperately needs a cleaning but he hasn’t gotten around to it.

If he absolutely must swallow his pride, he’ll ask Alistair to fix something he’s particularly found of.

His home in London isn’t his original one from a few hundred years back. The townhouse that was a relic of the Victorian/ Georgian era was all blown the rubble in the Blitz. He’s moved to East London to try to stay a little in the time capsule that’s formed there.

Really losing his home in the war was something that took years to get past but really, he hasn’t. He had saved what he could but the armchair from 1754 that he’d replaced the cushions of numerous times, the entirety of the library, and things one man alone just couldn’t pull from the flames were all silently mourned for.

The newer residence is honestly far less of a death trap and perhaps losing the old one was a blessing in disguise.

Still very much has the “nice” living room for guests and more formal affairs and the much more lived in one where the clutter really has gotten out of hand. Aside from his study that is.

His main residence is that townhome in Spitalfields.

He hates purging. He’ll constantly say he’s in the process of it whenever company is over to excuse any clutter or mess. Sorting through books, seeing if any the shops or museum will take. Going through clothes again that fill the closet even though he rotates the same handful of things.

Has the same spoon he’s been stirring his tea with for over seventy years. The bottom is completely flat. He’s been gifted a new one but he hasn’t taken it out of the drawer quite yet.

Similarly, he was gifted an electric kettle one year but in a drunken state on pure muscle memory, he put it on the stovetop. He’s been gifted a new one and is much more mindful on where he keeps it.

Please stop giving this man new things for his kitchen.

You want to talk museum, you go to his centuries old countryside manor. The land was gifted to him in the 14th century during the Hundred Years War in Suffolk. Perfectly isolated. He’s owned homes and land before, mind you, but this was his first private manor that he’s built upon and had full control over.

The clutter did get out of control during his early archaeology days and he’s been very carefully going through things so they go to the proper place. He has returned things and is trying to make amends.

Some rooms, not all, have those ugly, Victorian wallpaper ceilings.

It’s a hodgepodge of just, so many different eras.

You never know what you’re going to find when you open just about anything. Books? He uses just about whatever was near him at the time as a bookmark. Drawer? Funeral lockets from his children and lovers. Some things haven’t been touched in ages and look like they’ll fall apart if you do so much as breath on them.

There are a lot of rooms here and each one of them of themed to his design. The rooms his children lived in still very much reflect that they were once a part of his home.

Used to throw very elaborate parties here as well as a funeral or five.

Please be careful because this house is not child friendly. All of his weapons and armor are proudly on display in the halls.

There’s little projects scattered around the house that you’ll find pieces of.

This is the house that has the majority of his more precious items. Between the first Great Fire of London and the Blitz, he moved whatever he could fit in that home.

His third home I’ll mention is a smaller cottage in the North Midlands. It’s simple, really meant for one or two people at the most. This is his get away from it all. 

Stunning garden and his absolute pride and joy. The fae watch over this one since he’s unable to tend to it most of the year. They get to reside in the home and take care of it even when he’s present.

Least modernized than a majority of his homes. Still has electricity and running water but no television for example.

The Victorian era really defined what his home would be like going forward. Of course, things were deadly so in his newer versions of the home, the authentic arsenic soaked wallpaper has been replaced with replicas.

121 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

#3

please enjoy this stupid compilation of instagram memes about our favorite dysfunctional anglo family

148 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

#2

Throughout Victorian England, mourning jewelry was used as a tribute or memento to remind the wearer about their love for the person they had lost. Hair was very commonly used in these pieces as it did not decay and represented a love everlasting.

Though Arthur knew his sons would return from death, there was still deep grief and sadness in times they were lost.

Featured here are two funeral lockets in his possession.

Select here for Charlie’s and Jack’s

The first is inscribed, ‘My dear son’s spirit hath fled the 17th of September 1862. Alfred Fortenay Jones.’

The lock of hair was acquired shortly after the Battle of Antietam in the American Civil War. Though the pair was not on speaking terms at this time, Arthur would still quietly mourn times he knew his eldest son had met with Death. He asked his second son, Matthew, that upon checking his brother, should he have perished in battle, to please bring home a lock of hair with him. Arthur wished for a keepsake of his son, to hold onto a hope he wouldn’t speak aloud for his son to live. But in case the war were to end in disaster, he would have something of Alfred’s he could hold onto if he were to return to the Earth.

The second reads, ‘My dear son fell asleep the 27th of April 1842. Matthew Marc Jean-Luc Williams.’

Disease is never an easy way to die. Arthur held Matthew’s hand as he succumbed to consumption, the first time the young man had a disease take him. Arthur would swear that his son never quite looked the same after this took place. His eyes always tired and sunken, skin pale, and just a little too thin. Perhaps he always looked this way and it wasn’t until after this wasting disease did he notice. He had almost lost his son a handful of times in the past to other illnesses but each time he would recover. Not even Arthur himself could escape this dreadfully romantic plague. How quiet Matthew was when he died, quieter still upon awakening. Arthur knew he would return, despite all the turmoil in Quebec some years ago- he had to believe his son would live to see another day.

171 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Pls tell me more about your universe where nations are public and are public meanaces to society. I think it would be super funny,

I haven't really incorporated the idea in any fics or anything, but realistically speaking, nations have got to be known in the public eye. I know when I first started writing for the fandom, I read one fic where nations were considered top secret so I sort of followed in suit for the longest time. Now, the idea of them being very well known and figure heads is hilarious. It also makes more sense canon wise (but like who cares about following canon).

See the full post

549 notes - Posted November 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[illneverrecover]

call you mine (M) | changkyun

➛pairing: Im Changkyun (I.M.) x reader ➛genre: friends with benefits!AU,  non Idol!AU, angst, smut, fluff. ➛word count: 2,741 ➛rating: M ➛warnings: idk this is truly some sweet soft shit, mentions of alcohol, friends with benefits, standing sex, slight rough sex, biting/marking because clearly I have a kink, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of Mingi!!, lots of kissing, soft clown Chaingang truly.  ➛summary: Changkyun knew he ruined your friends with benefits arrangement when he let his feelings be known, and now you’ve left him on read for weeks. So he does the only thing he can to stay sane - he religiously watches your Instagram stories. ➛notes: Another first for me - my first Monsta X fic! I’ve played around with writing Changkyun for a while now, mostly because I live to torture @taetaesbaebaepsae​ (which she deserves from all the PAINFUL and RUDE Baekhyun shit she’s written for me). However, she decided to actively commission her own demise, because she stays not listening to Namjoon and refuses to love herself. I’m glad I finally got a chance to take a stab at writing her ult, and I hope I did him justice! Enjoy your tomfoolery, Kristin! 💖 ➛song: Call You Mine -  The Chainsmokers & Bebe Rexha | Horizon - I.M. & Elhae

It’s pathetic, he knows.

The way he can’t stop watching, the way he seeks your face out in an app full of millions of others. The way he can’t get you out of his bed, his head, his thoughts.

He fucked up, scared you off, and now he’s left with the aftermath of his own stupidity. Watching you through a screen to fight the withdrawals off, to keep his heart beating.

Changkyun knows you would laugh at him if you saw what he was doing. 

Watching your Instagram stories is the only reason he’s heard you laugh in over two weeks, the only way he’s been able to see your eyes light up, your lips curve into a salacious grin. Things he fucking missed, thought he would have plenty of time to indulge in - until he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and ruined it.

He had taken you back to his place after a few shots of whisky at the dingy local bar, hands and mouth unable to leave your skin - just like the hundreds of times before. It had been four months since you had started this friends with benefits relationship, and despite having freedom to see whomever he wanted, Changkyun found himself only starving for you. So hungry that he couldn’t stand another moment in that place, watching you share your smile with anyone other than him. So he had tugged you close, nipped at your ear, told you that you were so damn beautiful that he couldn’t stand there another minute without you coming undone around him. 

You had smirked, slid your hand down the front of his pants, grabbing his cock like you owned it, purring out the words “prove it” before following him outside, just like the hundreds of times before.

Pressed up against his wall, his pelvis flush with yours, Changkyun whispered filth in your ears as he ground up against you, swallowing your moans in greedy kisses. Desperate fingers had pulled at your top, freeing your breasts for him to worship as he worked your skirt up around your waist, thrusting his clothed length against your core until you were whining.

Changkyun always promised to take his time with you, to work you over until you were drunk on his touch and pleading for more - but you never let him, always knowing the right thing to say to get his gaze to go dark and lust to turn frantic, to unzip his jeans and press inside your dripping cunt right there in the hallway. 

Just like the hundreds of times before.

You had come around him, digging your nails in his back so hard it left marks, made him growl your name against your collarbone as his thrusts picked up speed to fuck you through the high. You urge him on in the way only you can manage, begging for his release, whispering how much you want his come deep in your cunt. Biting down against the skin, he had spilled inside you with a final groan, hips twitching as he pumped you full of him, forehead resting against your shoulder.

Instead of pulling away immediately, Changkyun remained collapsed against you, breathing heavy. You had smacked at his shoulder, but he just chuckled, arms adjusting to continue a firm hold of your legs as he stayed inside of you, trapping you against his body and the wall.

“What are you doing, Kyun?” scoffing, you had grasped his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “I let you fuck me dirty against the wall without even demanding you buy me food after. Least you can do is let me get cleaned up.”

He had gazed up at you then, eyes piercing as they looked through you, and your heart clenched tightly in your chest. 

He knew he shouldn’t say it. Knew it would scare you off. And yet….

“I would, you know.” Swallowing thickly, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Take you to go get food. If you - I mean, if you wanted. If you’d let me.” 

It was like he could see the carefully crafted defenses go up, the pain etching your brow and making your eyes go cold. Anxiety flooded his veins as you wiggled out of his grasp, sliding your clothes back into place as you moved towards his bathroom.

“You don’t mean that,” you murmured, faking a smile. “You know what this is, Kyun.”

“I do mean that!” He knew he sounded too eager, too pitiful, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’d take you out to dinner. Or,” following you, he paused in the doorway, watching you appraise yourself in the mirror. “We could just get take-out and go somewhere private, drive to a park, bring a blanket and some booze, eat somewhere no one would know or bother us.” 

Your answering laugh had sounded wrong, like it had cost you something - like it was the last thing you had wanted to do. 

“Like a picnic? Changkyun, you’re saying you want to take me on a picnic? Like a proper date?”

Stuttering, he tried to explain himself, but you had cut him off with a single wave. 

“Listen, we both know I’m not that kind of girl, and you don’t want me to be.” Leaning forward, you had pressed a kiss against his mouth, your eyes somber when you had pulled away, moved towards the door. 

“What if I do?” His voice broke, wanting to reach out but his arms remaining stiff at his sides. “What if I want you to be that kind of girl, with me?”

Tears stung your eyes, your stomach sinking like you had been punched. You couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle the inevitable disappointment that would come when you got your hopes up.

“I’ll see you around,” you threw over your shoulder before shutting the door, and shutting him out. 

Just like the hundreds of times before.

It had been two weeks now since he last saw you in person. It wasn’t for lack of trying; texting you at all hours had proven fruitless, even when he tried to send the usual ‘you up’ message like he didn’t just lay his heart out on the line. You responded airily, non committal, and he knew what you were doing. 

You were trying to let him down easy.

So here he was, phone glued to his hand as he scrolled through to find your picture, clicking on it to see if there was any update. You didn’t post a bunch in your feed, but you had a tendency to update your stories often - filling them with silly memes and cute selfies, little videos of you going about your day. Cuddling with your cat, attempting to cook something for lunch. His favorite was when you would do tarot readings for your followers; the way your face would turn serious as you read the cards, passionate fire in your eyes as you helped deliver the message to its owner. 

Seeing you that excited and genuine did something to him, made his chest feel like it was going to explode.

He knows you can tell that he’s watching, can see the icon of his profile showing up at the bottom of the video under “seen by.” He can only imagine what you’re thinking when you see it - that he’s a loser, this friend with benefits who turned lovesick puppy, but he can’t make himself care. It’s the only way he feels close, can pretend you’re still in his life.

He never thought that he would need you, now all he wants is to see you - for you to answer him, to come back to him. 

Changkyun still sends texts, unable to stop his fingers from reaching out, despite knowing you’ll shut him down. He calls sometimes too, late at night when his blood is more whisky than plasma, though you never answer those. Instead he listens to your voicemail, eyes closed to stop the world from spinning, letting your voice lull him to sleep. 

He convinces himself he’s fine with this arrangement, that things would be alright. He can just miss you from afar, observe you live your life through the pixels of a screen. That watching your stories is enough for him, will keep him afloat.

Until he sees you with someone else.

It was another Friday night he was spending alone, half drunk and on his phone, looking for your picture. Taking a deep breath, he had felt his heart stop when he saw the rainbow ring adorning your profile photo, meaning you had updated your story. Sighing, he tapped it, hoping that it would be a few videos so he could pretend for just a moment that he was beside you instead of wasting space on his bed.

The first clip was a selfie, your heavily lidded eyes staring seductively at the camera through your lashes, making his pulse jump and pants tighten. The caption “gonna get drunk tonight!” scrolled across the image, right below the pout of your lips. The next was a small video of you making a drink, giggling about the mixture of tequila and soju you were tossing in your cup, whispering to the camera how it was going to get you ‘all the way fucked up’. But it was the third clip that had his chest heaving, his lungs forgetting how to work.

You were walking out your door, a few people cluttering your front porch as you asked if anyone had a light. Some tall red headed kid - Changkyun refused to acknowledge him as anything more than that - had shouted out, and you squealed as you ran up to him, sliding directly onto his knee before switching the camera into selfie mode to capture the two of you. The next clip was you in his lap, one of your delicate hands sliding through his hair as he gave you a big dopey grin, a cigarette perched on your lips as you cooed at him and told him just how cute he was.

Fuck. He knew that look of yours, knew those moves. Knew exactly what you were doing, what you were hoping to do with that fucking Mingi kid, and he couldn’t stand it, not anymore.

Taking a few deep pulls directly from the liquor bottle, his fingers flew over the keys of his phone, sending you text after text -  all of which were ignored. He knew calling would be pointless, that you would rather light yourself on fire than answer your phone - especially at a party - and he felt desperation creep up his throat, choking him.

Changkyun couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let you just forget about him.

Clicking back onto Instagram, he started sending you responses to the story video as he got dressed, throwing on the nearest pair of jeans and sliding on his boots.

<What are you doing? Why won’t you answer my texts? I fucking miss you.>

<And not just fucking you. I miss you. I miss us. If you want me to stay for the rest of my life, I will. You already got me.>

<Answer me, Y/N. Or I’m going to come over, see if you can ignore me to my face>

<Baby?>

<I’m on my way. Don’t take that kid to your bed.>

It took painfully long for the Lyft to show up, and he gritted his teeth the whole route there, knee bouncing to stop himself from demanding the driver to go faster, to just hurry the fuck up and get to you. 

When the car had pulled into your neighborhood, he tried to send another message, instead clicking a video. Too frustrated to change it back, he lets it record, his voice low and pained. 

“I’m on my way, please let me in.” 

You were alone on the deck when your phone started vibrating, the ding of an Instagram direct message making you click the app, eyes widening in surprise when you saw the number of notifications. 

Changkyun, all from him.

Awestruck, you scrolled through every line, your heart throbbing with each word he had written. 

You didn’t think he cared, not like that. Sure, he missed the sex, but that’s what you expected. That’s what all of them wanted when they sent you late night texts, when they called your phone at three in the morning. Empty promises and broken vows were what kept you company in the dark, when they’d predictably leave you alone with an ache between your legs and in your chest.  None of them really wanted you, cared about you. After a few weeks of ghosting, they’d all disappear into thin air like expected, and your heart would harden just a bit more.

But now…

Another chime pulls you from your thoughts, eyes flicking back to the light of your phone. Instead of another direct message, it’s a notification that Changkyun had updated his story for the first time in months. 

Shaking fingers slide against the screen, your vision blurring as you take in the shadowed back seat of another person’s car, the only light  neon pink from the sign of the Lyft drivers decal. For a moment, all you can hear is the quiet chattering of a distant radio, of someone breathing heavily. 

And then his voice croaking over the speaker, raspy with need. 

“I’m on my way, please let me in.”

The video fades just as a car pulls up to your curb, a flurry of movement as Changkyun climbs out, stumbles towards you. He all but collapses into your arms, his breath dripping with liquor, eyes reddened but burning fiercely.  

“Y/N,” he mumbles, hands coming to cup your face, thumb dragging against the smooth skin of your cheek. “I want to take you on a picnic.” 

You laugh, though it comes out more like a sob. “What? What are you talking about? Did you call a Lyft and come all the way across town to tell me that, you clown?”

His finger taps against your lips once, twice. “Shh. Just let me-” he sighs, stomping a foot. “Let me talk.” 

He waits until you nod before continuing, words surging from his mouth as if he couldn’t hold back a second longer. 

“I came all the way here because I want to take you on a picnic. I want to buy you food and take you on cute little dates and do cheesy things that make you smile at me like you are right now,” he grins, pulling you until your chest rests against his own. “I’m here because I couldn’t stand you ignoring me anymore. I meant everything I said - that I miss you, that I want to be with you, if you’ll give me the chance. I want to call you mine.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes fall shut, his voice fervent and barely more than a whisper. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

Tears brim your eyes, and you fight every old wound that tells you to shove him away, to call him a liar. Instead you allow yourself to follow your gut, your heart for what feels like the first time, leaning back to give him a watery smile in return. 

“I love you too, Changkyun.” 

His mouth immediately lands on yours, tongue eagerly tracing the seam of your lips until it’s slipping inside, tasting every inch of you, ravenous and unsatisfied until your knees are shaking. He’s walking you backwards towards the door, tugging at your clothes, and you giggle at his impatience.

Pulling away, you gasp for air, palm pressing against his shoulder to hold him back for a moment. “But listen, if I give you a chance, that means you have to stop stalking my Instagram, you creep. And don’t try to deny it, I see you all over my stories, lurking around.” 

He chuckles then, nipping at your bottom lip as his eyes darken. “Please, don’t act like you don’t love the attention,” 

Pushing the door open, he guides you inside, mouth working over your neck, arms wrapped around your waist until your back is flattened against the wall. 

“Plus, there’s no need, now that I got you,” he confesses, his nose swiping against yours gently before he captures your lips between his own, hitching your legs to drape around his waist as he grinds against you, humming words of praise.

Just like the hundreds of times before, but now as his.

[4mulaone]

ok since you got me to love rogro what are your favorite things about him hmm?

let me name u five of my favourite rogro albums 

1) Starring Actor Role in David Guetta’s ‘Dangerous’ Music Video: i cant explain how much this impacts me. look at his little fucking face he’s absolutely LOVING this.......takes a certain calibre of man to stand on the third podium in a make believe scenario of his own job

2)  genuinely nice man who never 2 seconds away from beaming: ok put on an interview with romain grosjean in it. count how many times he full on GRINS like he is literally bursting with positivity and kindness!!!!!

3) Influencer(tm): he gets SO much shit it would be understandable if he wanted nothing to do with any social media but instead he has crafted an online presence full of so much love. love for his hobbies his family his followers idk i dont think drivers should have to share themselves in the public eye anymore than they already do but romain seems so. genuinely content with himself and life and i feel like his instagram just reminds me that social media doesnt have to be evil and bad ! there is good in this world and sometimes its an f1 driver lovingly showing his latest diy projects

4) No Eyebrows? No Problem Bro: this is just king shit idk what else to say

5) in all seriousness the core of why i love grosjean so much is that he has huge strength of character. u type in his name and the top results are ‘CRASH COMPILATION’ and ‘DRIVER ON EDGE???’ and idk how many ‘ericsson hit us’ memes there are out there but if u really peel one layer off the dts ‘romain sucks’ angle u get a man who is hugely determined, motivated, passionate about the sport and safety (!!!!!!) but overall just has a real genuine love for life that bleeds into everything he does and i have nothing but huge respect for him

[oliivverwood]

retweet

marcus/oliver + social media for @rlversongs

LONG POST- idk how to put the keep reading from my phone sorry

--

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial 

Are you ready for thrilling Raptors vs Bucks Eastern Conference Final game 5? Tune in on YouTube 2nite aftergame for play by play analysis + predictions. Watch for live tweets. #NBA #Basketball  

12:00 PM      2,340 likes   1,226 retweets

montyyyyy @grahamcracker

yo @casswarr five dollas on raps making history. wood has been straight sniping this year. bucks have no chance with that offense. #rapsin5

12:48 PM        5 likes 3 retweets

cassius ;) @casswarr

@grahamcracker ur fuckin insane if u think its gonna be easy for the raps. diggory's been an absolute wall this szn. he'll block potter's nasty dunks easy

1:05 PM          4 likes 1 retweets

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Game 5. Tonight. Air Canada Arena. #WeTheNorth

4:00 PM         1,904 likes 837 retweets

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

5 into 1st quarter, Wood from the Raps with the filthy cross on Malfoy, ballhandling like a dream. #NBA #NBAGame5 #Basketball

8:43 PM         734 likes 437 retweets

pants park (marky flints cuzzy) @panzyparkkk

@marcflintofficial im sure handling his balls is your dream ;))

8:50 PM        523 likes 277 retweets

marcus flint for NBA (@marcflintofficial) blocked pants park (marky flints cuzzy) (@panzyparkkk)

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

Potter steals from Diggory, lobs it to Weasley, throws it up to Wood for a dunk on Bole. The Raptors chemistry is off the charts this game. #NBA #NBAGame5 #Basketball

9:22 PM       256 likes 153 retweets

mclaggen the frat god @nolaggingmclaggen

yo why the fuck is flint being so nice about the raps rn. i don't want wood favouritism, i miss asshole flint. talk shit about bole's shitty defense, please. 

10:00 PM   333 likes 457 retweets

oliver wood #0 (@oliverw00dofficial) liked a tweet by mclaggen the frat god (@nolaggingmclaggen)

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Eastern Conference dubs, absolutely ecstatic. See you against the Warriors for NBA finals. #WeTheNorth

11:54 PM   937 likes 765 retweets

HARRY POTTER #3 @harrypottter

to the finalsssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!! #WeTheNorth

11:56 PM      832 likes 655 retweets

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YouTube

NBA by Marcus Flint 

1,267,457 subscribers

Recent Videos

RAPTORS VERSUS BUCKS EASTERN CONFERENCE FINALS (HIGHLIGHTS, PLAY BY PLAY, ANALYSIS) 

Play

"A tremendous game for the Raptors, starting right off the bat. Bulgarian transfer Viktor Krum started it right from the tipoff, an offense immediately set into play by captain Oliver Wood. The Bucks weren't ready for them to come at them so hard so quickly, which was [redacted] stupid of them, it's the [redacted] Eastern Conference Finals. Diggory did steal from rookie Finnegan, who was lucky to have Wood track back as fast as he did for the defense. Further into the first quarter, Wood executed one of the dirtiest [redacted] crossovers I've ever seen in my two years of working in the NBA. Poor Urquhart didn't stand a chance. He's probably wallowing in the memes being made of him now, bless his heart--no, he deserves it. Urquhart, get it together, set your [redacted] feet."

"The second quarter had the Bucks catch up, with Roger Davies shooting 3 for 4 from the three point line, two assists from Bucks rookie Zach Smith, one from Draco Malfoy. The fourth one bounced off the rim into Wood's hands- his offensive rebounding stats have been crazy--

"The third quarter had Weasley on the boards, dribbling out to the corner and lobbing it to Potter on the fast break, and what a [redacted] fast break it was! If you blinked you would have missed it, which apparently Bole did, blink that is. Potter tosses it up to Wood for a nasty dunk on Bole. Humiliating. I'd never show my face to the world again, if that happened to me."

Pause.

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Rita Skeeter for TMZ @ritaskeets

Renowned basketball analyser and former NBA player Marcus Flint's cousin, Pansy Parkinson with a shocking tweet during yesterday's game 5. #marcusflint

6:00 AM     4,003 likes   2,692 retweets

Rita Skeeter for TMZ @ritaskeets

This certainly is a strange development. Through injuries, scandals and incidents, Marcus Flint has had quite a life. Learn more in my article on tmz.com/articles/ritaskeeter #marcusflint

6:08 AM      2,455 likes   1,234 retweets

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Excerpt of Marcus Flint Through the Years, by Rita Skeeter for TMZ

Marcus Caradoc Flint, Chicago born and raised and was eventually the first draft pick, going to nowhere else but the Chicago Red Bull's, and evidently changing the team dynamic forever, and for the better. Flint played rough, fouling out of a game dozens of times and racking up the most fines in the league, but it was worth it. He was still skillful, dazzling audiences with his awe striking shots and dunks. He won rookie of the year, finals MVP, and had 2 championship rings, one from his time on the Bulls, the other from his time with the Cleveland Cavaliers. 

Flint was known to be a little violent on the court, some of the more notable players he got in fights with being Roger Davies, Remus Lupin and Oliver Wood, who we'll be discussing later this article. 

Suddenly, injury struck, and Flint could never play basketball again, a freak accident on the court where he was pushed midair, lost his balance and tore his ACL. He was immediately offered a spot on the NBA reporting crew, where he popularised the channel with his calculated analyses and his filthy mouth. The channel ratings shot up, and the rest was history. 

Flint was never out of the spotlight for long. Two years ago, he was seen walking out of the Peninsula New York with Charlie Weasley, New York Knicks, one morning, the two of them awfully close and sharing an embrace before parting ways. This led to speculation about their relationship status and Flint's sexuality. Not long after that, he was photographed leaving The Monster, a gay bar in New York, again, with an unidentified male. 

Recently, Marcus Flint's cousin, Pansy Parkinson,  a well known tattoo artist in Los Angeles replied to Flint's tweets.

Attached: Screenshot of Pansy Parkinson's reply to Marcus Flint,"im sure handling his balls are your dream ;)))*

Is this an indicator of something between Flint and Wood? Our reporters have reached out to all three parties involved for comment.

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mclaggen the frat god @nolaggingmclaggen

broooo that's why flint was sucking woods dick so hard during live tweet. i don't care if the man likes it up the ass i want some CORRECT analysis #marcusflint

12:00 AM   600 likes 236 retweets

cassius ;) @casswarr

wood and the raps have a presser today maybe he'll say smth about the sitch #marcusflint

12:52 PM   132 likes 121 retweets

#WeTheNorthh @torontoraptorsnumber1fan

*Attached: Clip from the Raptors Press Conference. A journalist from Sports Illustrated asks as question directed towards Oliver Wood, captain. "What are your thoughts on the online blowup regarding your status with Marcus Flint?" Oliver has a faint smile. Harry Potter is sniggering behind his hand on the other end of the table. Oliver goes to the mike. "I didn't realise there was a blowup. We gotta prepare for our next game now. See you all then." The entire team gets out and exits. The journalists clamour for their attention, with more questions.*

1:07 PM     4,082 likes   5,239 retweets

gin n tonic @ginnywheezy

y'all saw that cheeky smirk no?? @harrypottter laughing in the corner no??? my big bro @ronwheezy turning bright red NO???? 

1:20 PM        345 likes   233 retweets

marcus flint for NBA (@marcflintofficial), oliver wood #0 (@oliverw00dofficial), HARRY POTTER #3 (@harrypottter), Draco Malfoy (@dracoma1foy), angie johnson (@angelinaj), forge weasley (@georgewheezy), gred weasley (@fredwheezy) liked gin n tonic (@ginnywheezy)'s tweet

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Instagram

@marcusflintbae

fan account, im in love with marcus flint

Recent Posts:

*Blurry picture of two male figures, seemingly joined by the hand. One of them is brunette, the other black haired. Both tall. One is dressed in a grey tracksuit and clunky basketball shoes, the other in a pressed white shirt and black pants, tie looseness. They are smiling - the photo is too blurry to specify exactly who it is.

marcusflintbae this is obviously marcus flint and oliver wood, that's the tea. im so jealous of wood ugh. 

Posted 1 hour ago

Liked by ginnywheeze, percyweasley, panspark, terhiggs, adrianpuc3y, k8iebell, hazzapotter, fredwheeze and 2943 others

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Private Chat between Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint

oliver wood: marcus ur an idiot

marcus flint: how is this my fault

oliver wood: u were too nice to me on highlight analysis

oliver wood: and u forgot to tell parkinson that we're not public yet 

marcus flint: well u should be happy u wanted to go public like six months ago

oliver wood: nOT LIKE THIS

oliver wood: let's announce it on twitter we've let them suffer long enough 

marcus flint: don't use the photo that im wearing the purple tie in

marcus flint: it's ugly 

oliver wood: you are in no position to be making demands

oliver wood: im not going to use a photo, i love you, I'll call you later

marcus flint: love u too babe

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marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

I'm dating Oliver Wood. I'm not biased to the raptors at all, don't tell him but I actually bet on the Warriors. #NBAFinals

9:03 PM   608,767 likes 438,898 retweets

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Marcus Flint and I have BEEN dating. Keep up. He fr didn't bet on us. If you stop watching him I'll request a trade. Joking. Not really. #NBAFinals

9:06 PM     453,738 likes 234,725 retweets