almost home
roma★
sheepfilms
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Claire Keane
noise dept.
occasionally subtle
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
DEAR READER
Origami Around
YOU ARE THE REASON
🪼
todays bird
oozey mess
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
JBB: An Artblog!
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
@theartofmadeline
No title available
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@curioushearted-blog
I like to call my chickens “beasties” or “fat little monster trucks” and other such affectionate terms, but dad seems to take offence whenever I do and always gently refers to them as “the girls,” “the ladies” and sometimes “the dames” when he’s putting them away, like he’s a butler shepherding a group of well-bred country lasses into the parlour for tea
I wish I didn’t care about anything. But I do care. I care about everything too much.
Palo Alto (2013)
WHAT A PRECIOUS OTP pt.5 (◡‿◡✿)
memory meme.
past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories.
❥ — a childhood memory ♣ — a fading memory ✂ — a vivid memory ✖ — a repressed memory ✈ — an eye-opening memory ✤ — a memory that involves romance/love ☤ — a memory of death/loss ✍ — a memory of their mother ☽ — a memory of their father ♘ -- a memory of their sibling(s) ✌ — a memory of a relative ↕ — a memory that may or may not have happened ♚ — a memory of something paranormal ✓ — a sexual memory ♬ — a friend/best friend memory
DATE: 15 July, 1979 TIME: 1:49 AM SETTING: The Burrow STATUS: closed ( @goldenmvry )
It’s with great reluctance that Arthur leaves his wife at St Mungo’s, a splash of fiery red among the bone-white cleanness of the rest of the hospital. But Mary — bless her heart — is still at home with the boys, and he knows better than to ask too much of the poor girl, who probably wants nothing more than to take off her heels and collapse at her flat. A godsend, really. Arthur decides he’s going to make it up to her one day.
Arthur’s surprised that she’s still awake when he apparates back to the Burrow, since if it were him, he’d be passed out on the couch. “Thank you so much for looking after them, Mary. I hope the boys weren’t too much of a headache. I’m so sorry for troubling you.” Arthur smiles kindly, rubbing a sore spot at the crick of his neck. Merlin. He’s getting old. If he were less tired, he would’ve thought the sight of Mary, draped in her prink frothy dress and shimmering jewels, in the midst of the mess and mundane living room a rather jarring sight. But as it is, his mind is fixed on other things. “It’s late and you’re probably exhausted,” he adds. “If you want, you can sleep here for the night. You can take our room, and I’m sure that Molly won’t mind if you borrow a few of her things to sleep in. It’s the least I can do after asking you to stay so late.”
jones, gwenog.
date: 20th july 1979 time: 7 pm location: status: closed for @curioushearted
It’s amazing really, the way the Burrow reminded Gwenog of her own childhood home. Dozens of bits and bobbles , smelling like food and a rare coziness that her fancy flat in London could never attain. Hands smoothen the imaginary hair strands in her already tight ponytail. A feeling of comfort, it was easy for Gwenog to relax here. She’s always tense, overthinking and criticising. Frown lines and furrowed brows. A constant need for improvement. Alas, in the Weasley Manor she’s calmer than ever. “I haven’t had tea in a while.” She mused grabbing the cup with both hands. It was a consistent diet of coffee, water and the rare butterbeer nowadays.
What an interesting man, Arthur Weasley, was. He had remained unapologetic with his obsession with muggles and muggle-things. In truth, Gwenog found it amusing the way he looked all love-struck whenever he mentioned their technology. The quidditch player couldn’t help the way her eyes dulled at the mention of these things -she liked that batterball or was it baseball thing in America though- but she liked him enough to listen. Sometimes.
“You’re looking tired, Arthur. That’s what you get for having all those boys and no girls. ” It’s said in good humour. “How’s Molly ?” Eyes cast quick glance at a family picture. How sad that a family as sweet as this was caught in this war. She knew Arthur’s scars, cleaned up some of his wounds. After all that blood, he had all these children waiting for him. Did they know that every time he left, he could never come back ? Gwenog was an easy soldier. Sure, they’d cry. The Harpies would close her number, maybe a day of grieving in the papers and an annoyingly busy funeral with Daisy’s eulogy causing a couple of tears but at the end of the day everyone will be fine if she died. Gwenog had no one waiting at home. She wasn’t anyone’s home either. “Do you ever just get tired ?”
A loud crash echoes down from the third floor where Charlie and Bill are almost guaranteed to be whipping up some sort of mischief. Arthur doesn’t even wince at the racket. It’s commonplace at this point, and ever since Bilius — well, he’s been hesitant to discipline the boys as thoroughly as he used to. Leaving for a mission with sore feelings for any member of his family is something he tries to avoid if he can. So, he simply shakes his head and flicks his wand to wash up the dishes with a spell that functions, but isn’t nearly as sleek as Molly’s usually is.
“Not for lack of trying — it’s the Weasley curse, remember?” A small smile, then: “She’s doing better, thankfully... The worst is past, and the healer at St Mungo’s says that as long as she applies the salve regularly she shouldn’t have any scarring.” Arthur lowers himself stiffly into the straight-backed chair at the end of the kitchen table and takes a well-deserved sip of tea. He’s gotten little sleep or rest this week, what with Molly recovering from her burns, the number raids for falsely charmed safety amulets growing steadily and two Order stakeouts in the span of three days. Physical and emotional exhaustion cling to his bones.
But Gwenog’s here, and — well, a part of Arthur wants nothing more than to just pass out immediately and never wake up, but the other part of him is content to see a — a friend? He thinks so, but he’s not sure if she does as well. Either way, she’s welcome at the Burrow. Her question tugs a laugh from Arthur, who takes another sip from his mug. “Gwenog, when you’re the father of five boys, you’re always tired,” he reminds mildly, an easy dryness seeping into his voice. Then blue eyes soften slightly, humor dissipating into something more honest. “I think we’re all more tired nowadays. This whole... well, everything. It’s putting us through the wringer, as the muggles would say.”
MODERN MUGGLE AU — ‹ Frank Longbottom’s Instagram
SEND SILVER FOR OUR MUSES TO SET UP A SKYPE CONVO (OR SOME SORT OF IM), TALKING AS THEMSELVES, TO EACH OTHER. ( @oflngbottom )
thus, though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run
to his coy mistress // andrew marvell
1,2,30
1. go to karaoke song?
Arthur’s musical talent is practically nonexistent, so any chance of him performing in front of a crowd means two things: one, he’s with people he’s quite comfortable with; two, he’s probably had a bottle of firewhiskey. That being said he usually’ll sing whatever godawful songs he and his brothers listened to while at Hogwarts ( because, of course, they’d probably be up on stage with him ). Probably something by the wizarding band Aloharmonics, or a classic ballad.
2. a song that describes them?
Can’t think of a song, so maybe a poem will do? Heart’s Needle by W. D. Snodgrass has always struck me as a bit of an Arthur-ish poem, raising a family in the midst of war and pain.
30. are they religious or spiritual?
Religion isn’t very prevalent in the wizarding community, but Arthur’s got some thoughts and beliefs about life purpose and where we go after we die and why we came into being in the first place. First and foremost, he’s not very Darwinian in his social beliefs: in his estimation, humans ( magical or not ) are intrinsically different from animals because they hold inborn value and carry innate human rights. Where these value and rights come from is a little more hazy in his mind. He thinks there’s something more to this life than just face value and that death is not simply the end, but the specifics are something he hasn’t pinned down just yet.
RED, PINK -- bellatrix
SEND RED FOR AN HONESTY POST ON WHAT MY MUSE DISLIKES/HATES ABOUT YOURS.
You’re so ill-mannered for no reason. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?
Your political views are insane. That’s really what it is. There’s no other way to call it. You legitimately think that some people count as animals just because of who their parents are — and that’s just disgusting.
YOU ARE SO RUDE TO MY WIFE. STOP. This is for your own safety, because if I know Molly I know she’ll hex you one day, and it won’t be pretty for anyone involved.
Money and influence is part of your life like bread on the table is for most families. How much good could you do with that much power? How many lives could you change for the better? But all you do is waste it selfishly and use it to cut others down so you’re the only one on top, and that’s frankly disappointing. Of course, it’s your money to spend, but at least have a conscience.
I can’t say this for certain since all I’ve heard are rumors, but the fact that people even whisper about your sadistic tendencies is more than a bit unsettling. There’s something morally depraved about deriving pleasure from other’s suffering.
SEND PINK FOR AN HONESTY POST ON WHAT MY MUSE LIKES/LOVES ABOUT YOURS.
You seem to be faithful to your husband, and trust in a marriage is always something to be celebrated. ( Although perhaps not in your case, because he’s almost as bad as you. )
You’re a fellow human being…?
