il Sole

Arthur Weasley // DILF-Dad You'd Like to Friend // For just pennies a day you can mind your own business // People think I don't have a soul because I'm ginger // but I really just traded it for a cheese toastie in 2003 // The phoenx rp network

[thearthurweasley]

Wednesday in a Cafe || Molthur

sapph-rambling​:

She almost spits into her mug when he asks if she would like to talk about it. Of course she doesn’t want to talk about it - Weasley’s not the right person. Suddenly, memories of being in class with him come rushing back to Molly: sitting across the room from him as he raised his hand before her. Him knowing the answer when she felt the words would stumble over her lips. She’d written better papers than him, perhaps, but not always. It was when he spoke in front of the class, eloquent paragraphs danced out of his mouth, and as if in exaltation, the room ballooned in anticipation. 

Everyone wanted to listen to Weasley. And he was so damn easy to listen to.

Meanwhile, Molly works hard her entire career to learn everything she can, to best her nerves, to find joy in every corner she can search, and even now, while Weasley’s standing behind a counter making coffee, he’s still the better orator. The charismatic sunshine of a man she’d known since they were kids. She’d bet anything it took him no effort at all to appear charming, which made it all the worse.

“A Healer? No.” She takes another sip of her coffee, but it burns, and she clears her throat. “Researcher. I study genetics.”

She waits for him to say something, but he’s distracted by someone he must know, who leans over the counter to pat him on the shoulder before waving goodbye and then leaving. Bitterly, Molly taps the edge of her mug with her finger, counting heartbeats.

“I study the magical carrier gene,” she announces, and she’s never announced it to anybody, because she hasn’t had an audience yet. She hasn’t published this part of her work, because no one has believed it might be possible - nay, probable - that magic users have a genetic predisposition to manipulating the forces of the earth. But Arthur’s got the steamer going again, waving to someone as they drop him a tip, and she presses her lips to her mug again.

“What’s got you stuck at this coffee shop, Weasley?”

“Genetics.” He says simply, devoid of irony. “Did I say I was stuck?” 

His voice is a bit edgier than he would like, but he also doesn’t like people making assumptions about him.

“This is my sister’s shop. She needed help, I enjoy making the drinks and made most of the menu.” He made all of the menu, actually, but Cora reigned him in, taste tested and was, ultimately, the boss. Arthur needed extra money and would rather face a Hippogriff than ask their parents. Arthur worked at a cheaper wage in exchange for the tips-Cora was in the same Hippogriff vs asking their parents for money. Even with the cafe doing as well as it was, she was barely breaking even. 

He doesn’t tell Molly any of this, he takes a big sip of his tea and makes a face-it wasn’t done steeping. 

“I usually work three nights a week, after I’m done at the minstry. Monday, Wednesday and Friday-write it down if you wanna avoid seeing me stuck so far below my station, Madam Researcher.”

Arthur walks back to the cash register, grumbling. He should’ve known better because of course she could still get under his skin. He glances over and wishes he hadn’t, because she looks so damn sad that Arthur feels a stab of guilt. It’s not exactly her fault-his insecurity is unfounded, his plans for the extra wages, where he’s going to go, he just needs a little more time. It’s not Molly’s fault for walking in here. 

“But uh-” He says, his voice is softer, back to normal customer service. “Magical carrier gene? Sounds fascinating Genetics, if memory serves which it does, is a Muggle science.” Arthur takes her in again and it clicks. “Which I’m uh, guessing your bosses don’t take kindly to.Do remember what you told me once? Probably not, I forget the exact turn of phrase but the gist was only fools busy themselves with the minds of Muggles.”

He smiles, taking a sip on his tea again and glancing at the now empty cash register. “Glad you’ve seemed to have changed your mind.” He looks into her eyes, really looks into them for maybe the first time-he didn’t know green could contain such depths. Arthur looks away and back to his tea.

“I can fuck off, by the way. Just say the word.”

[thearthurweasley]

Wednesday in a Cafe || Molthur

sapph-rambling​:

Molly storms out of Mungo’s, wiping premature tears from her eyes. She’d worked so hard on that presentation, and for Roger to not even let her in the office door…she was furious. He’d only spoken to her through the door, saying that he didn’t have time for her, come back later, maybe do another once-over on her slides. As if she hadn’t spent the entire weekend working through the night making the words make sense, being sure to add the right graphs and pictures.

She rubs her eyes while crossing the street. A horn blares to her right, and instead of bracing herself for being struck, she Apparates to the first place she thinks of: Limerick Street, Diagon Alley.

Molly adjusts her jacket as she turns to face a building she’s never seen before: a small, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop with a brick exterior and white windows. There’s a doormat on the ground that reads “enter at your own whisk”, flower boxes with moss and tiny pine trees, and a door with a floating bell that dings whenever someone passes the threshold. Despite her almost-tango with death, she shrugs, rubs her eye once again, and enters the coffee shop.

She tries not to look up, promising herself she won’t cry. A coffee will cheer her up, she thinks, walking towards the counter, bumping into an elderly man with a cane and cursing herself for how ignorant she can be. She rubs her eyes once again, feeling the dryness within them, knowing that, considering how pale she knows she is, they have to look so red people will either assume she’s drunk or a sad, sad scientist with a career she cannot lift off the ground.

How fitting.

Without addressing the barista, who asks her kindly what her drink order is, she replies with a mumbled, “Americano, extra shot, please,” and shakes a few Sickles into her hand. The barista at the register asks her her name, and when she replies “Molly”, she looks up at the barista for the first time, taking in his long red hair. 

And it hits her like that truck almost did.

“Weasley? Arthur Weasley?”

The name comes out like a whimper, as if she’d been beaten enough today without meeting Arthur Weasley again. But Molly swallows, reminding herself that it is not Arthur Weasley’s fault Roger won’t listen to her, and it has been years since they’ve seen one another - he’s not out to get her like the rest of the world seems to be today.

When a bottle of milk comes crashing to the floor, she jumps out of the way to avoid it.

“Blast. Er, 12 sickles, please.”

Trembling, but willing herself to stop, she hands over the Sickles she’d made warm by clutching them in the palm of her hand. She hopes desperately they’re not sweaty, or that he can’t tell she’s as frightened of this situation as she was walking to Roger’s office today.

“No bother.” Molly folds her arms, stands several feet away from the edge of the counter, and notices, though another person has walked up to the till, Arthur Weasley is still staring at her. And she’s not let her eyes off of him either, as if his presence is so preposterous that she has to watch him - observe him, like one of her projects - to convince herself he’s actually standing in front of her.

“Busy day, mm?”

“Nah, you should see the lunch rush.” He says with a grin, finally turning away from her to help the next person. The few tables are crowded so after he slides Molly her Americano, he nods to the empty stools beside her.

“If you don’t mind the noise, those are free to use. Cheers, Prewett.”

Arthur gives her a genuine smile and notices that Molly’s eyes can’t return it. They’re red rimmed, sad. Tired. Maybe even more tired than his.

No you dumb shit idiot man. He thinks to himself as he bags up six muffins for the lesbian couple wearing bike leathers. You are not going to offer a consoling ear to Molly fucking Prewett of all people.

Arthur feels her eyes on him again but when he glances over she’s staring into her Americano. Her hair is longer than he’d ever seen it, more brown than red now, loosely tamed into a braid-her posture is crumbled, sad too, obviously different than how she normally holds herself. The girl he remembers-short wild hair, shorter temper, wicked smart and funny, if you were lucky enough to be on her good side. Arthur had never been on her good side-and he pretended like it didn’t bother him all through school. He’d fed off of the rivalry just as much as she had, determined to best her, thinking maybe, just maybe, if he proved himself to be the best, it would fix everything.

It of course, didn’t come close. Yet his stupid need to be liked, this desire that still drives him at twenty-seven like it did at seventeen, opens his mouth and speaks.

“It’s not going to sing to you, or anything. If you were waiting for that.” 

Molly’s face is confused when she looks up so Arthur laughs.

“Pitched that idea to my sister-she’s Cora-” He gestures vaguely to the shop around them. “Drinks that sing to you before you sample them, but she nixed that idea I think her biggest notes were “no one would like that” and “that’d pretty weird, Art.” 

Molly’s smile is a little closer to real as she takes a sip of her drink.

“Do you-” ‘want to talk about it’ dies on his lips when she shoots him a look that he is too familiar with. The kind of look he’d gotten when he’d earned one more OWL than her on Charms, whenever he was called on first, or got more points than she did. A match about to be struck, and, as much as Arthur loves playing with fire, he has learned at least a little bit of his lesson.

“Er, work at Mungos, now? You a healer?” He returns to the espresso machine and lets out some of the steam, summoning some loose leaf tea from across the shop to make himself a cup, he speaks as he boils water. “Can see you being good at that, Prewett. Hopefully I never have to see you at work first hand.” Arthur cringes a little when he hears himself. “Er-I hate hospitals. That’s all.”

[thearthurweasley]

habeas-bones​:

Arthur Weasley and his soft hands walk away and she’s almost left with a breathlessness that is tinged with giddy. He’s fun. It’s something that she’s missed in between the reports and the endless piles of obliviate approvals. So when he returns and hands her his own mug it’s all she can do to supress a grin. 

“We should probably have a signal then– going back to you talking too much, maybe it’s something like” she pauses, then taps her chin three times. “A way to alert each other without tipping off the enemy, you know.” She gestures broadly to the rest of the office, oblivious to the fun happening in her cubicle. 

She wants to shush him as he compliments her, but it strikes her that perhaps this is the first man to tell her that to her face that isn’t directly related, so she revels in it. “That’s not a bad idea, these cases hardly ever seem to be standalone in nature.” Amelia takes a sip of her tea, surprisingly, it’s perfect. “I believe it wholeheartedly. Seems like you’re wasted working with things that can’t talk back. And please— Call me Amelia.” 

“Amelia.” He says, trying it out like a new jumper. The tips of his ears turn a bit pink when she compliments him but Arthur clears his throat. 

“I’ll apologize in advance for the state of it, the guy who got fired that I replaced tried to organize it once and his system is in a word....stupid.”

Arthur nods towards the door and she stands to follow him. “The enterance is in my office which as you can see-” He opens the door to the small, cramped space. It smells of oranges due to charmed candle in the corner, and dust, due to the inability for it to go away. “Is also in a state, so perhaps my opinion on other’s organization isn’t warranted.”

Arthur pauses, smiling a bit to himself when he notices she still has her tea and his mug. “Best leave that on the desk, it’s a bit dank down there.”

He goes to the filing cabinet in the corner and taps the top of it three times with his wand. A small curved door appears, big enough for a normal sized human to fit through. Arthur opens the door and gestures.

“After you Mi-Amelia.” He corrects himself. Arthur follows her in, having to bend nearly in half to fit through before straightening back up to his full height on the other side. 

Before them are seemingly endless shelves of various magically mofidied muggle artifacts. Despite his griping about it earlier, Arthur can and frequently does get lost in here. It was part archive, part mad invetor cave, part museum. The light streams in from the upper windows, natural and bright, giving the illusion of a large university library instead of a literal hole in a filing cabinet. 

“You get used to the smell.” Arthur says, laughing a little when he sees Amelia’s face. “Here.”  He waves his wand and the orange scented candle appears in front them. “We can use the light too. Reference!” He calls into the vastness. A giant tome whizzess towards him with great speed. Arthur swears, dropping his wand just in time to catch the book seconds before it collides with his chest, sending him skidding backwards with a soft “oof.”

“Damn thing.” Arthur says lovingly, releasing it to float in front of him. “Sporting equipment, please.” The pages on the book turn and then it floats off towards some of the back shelves. Arthur follows it and he hears Amelia start off behind him.

“Did you like Muggle studies or abhor them?” Arthur says brightly. “Remember.” He taps his chin thrice and grins. “Stop me if you need to. Might come as a shock to you but it was my favorite subject, Muggles studies. It’s fascinating to see how they get along without magic. That-” Arthur points it out as they past. “Is a ‘toaster’ they use electricity-I’ll spare you the explaination but they harness power and they use that power, non magical power, through machines and that helps them make toast. It’s grand.” He follows the book as it goes down an aisle and turns twice. “Course that one is charmed to shock the user hte second they touch it, so, not quite as grand-here we are!” He says, squinting up at the top of the shelf.

“That is...” He chuckles. “A lot of balls.”

[thearthurweasley]

Wednesday in a Cafe || Molthur

“Next!” He says, the tenor of his voice betraying his mood. Barista Mode Arthur was annoyingly chipper, and even a long day at the office couldn’t turn it off. He’d barely gotten any sleep last night, having made the mistake of knocking back too many glasses of whiskey while reading his book about the last Muggle Royal family of Russia. He’d had nightmares, like usual, and then one of his hundreds of reports had been filed wrong, it’d been a whole headache. That headache was still pulsing behind his left eye, but he tries to ignore it. His favorite thing about working at Cora’s (his sister hadn’t been original with her choice of venue name, but it suited the coffee shop just as it suited her.) was the metodical nature of his work. Grind the beans, steam the milk, draw a C in the foam with a tap of his wand-a beautiful reprieve from the monotous chaos of middle management. 

“One Americano, please.”

The voice is familiar, but that’s not that strange, they subsist on regulars. But when he glances up, Arthur does a double then triple take. 

“Molly?” He clears his throat. “Er, Molly Prewett?”

He offers her a tenative smile. 

“It’s Arthur Weasley, you know, from Hogwarts?”

He gives her a once over, noticing her slightly frazzled hair but otherwise pristine lab coat. Of course she was working somewhere with lab coats. He feels a stab of embaressement for his current work attire, but pushes it aside. Arthur had stopped competiting against her long ago.

He starts her drink with practiced precision. “How’ve you been? Americano busy, presummably? Or do you just like to punish yourself via espresso beans?”

Molly had always made him nervous, well, she had as soon as noticing girls had made him nervous, and that hasn’t changed, he knocks into an open bottle of milk and sends it to the floor. 

“Blast. Er, 12 sickles, please.” He adds sheepishly as he waves his wand to fix his spill.

@motherboardx​

[thearthurweasley]

habeas-bones​:

It was all rather precious. Not that she would ever say that to his face– but the energy that he gave off was easy to breathe through; he seemed to be one of the only people he’d met in this building that wasn’t working a hidden agenda into any conversation that had with you. 

When there was a quick lull where he went to breathe she inserted herself. “Not to keen on sports, in Hogwarts it was more of an enjoyent of the comraderie rather than an interest in the game. My brother loves basketball so I’m somewhat familiar. I’m glad to have the head’s up, as last minute news tends to drive me a bit batty. I probably won’t be able to stop you, and so far we think it’s a group of recent Hogwarts graduates who’s heads are a bit up up their own bums.” 

She took a long breath and smiled, having sone what she could to make sure she didn’t leave him hanging. She was already anticipating the change in scenario when she was working with someone that enjoyed to engage, rather than drone at you. 

“I would love one. 2 lumps of sugar and no milk please. And I could probably be convinced to continue the loan of the mug if you pinky promise to treat it nicely..” She shifted in her chair. “You know, take it for a nice steak dinner, make sure you don’t use any other mugs in front of it… stuff like that”  

-

He grins.

“Steak dinner, merlots, I’ll treat it right, plus I’ve got very soft hands.”

Arthur hears it as he’s said it, but he’s able to keep a hold of his face for a second longer. “Erm, be right back.” Arthur turns and immdiately wants to set himself on fire.

Soft hands, you absolute wank? That’s how we flirt these days?

Resisting the urge to pour all the boiling tea kettle water down his throat and drown in the break room, Arthur instead summons the pink mug and another from his own desk. He fixes tea to her liking and leaves his black. He returns, brandishing her pink mug in his left and his “Paul’s not dead” in his right. He places the later on Amelia’s desk and grins. 

“Fair trade and all that-plus now we can use them as negotatian pieces like spies in American movies.”

His smile grows when she laughs and he pulls a chair over to sit across from her at her desk. 

“So, you out rank me and out brain me, I reckon you’re in charge. But er, if you’d like, we could go look at the misuse archives-takes a bit of practice to get the kinds of charms on something that small, they might have older pieces that are just collecting dust. If that’d help.” Arthur adds. “Truth be told this is a bit out of my realm, I typically work on cases with transport-cars, bikes, brooms, the lot, but they tossed me on this one because apparently I’m “best at inter department communication” whatever that croc of shit means. I’m trying to say completely at your service, Miss Bones, just point me in the right direction.”

[thearthurweasley]

Someone New || Arthur & Amelia

habeas-bones​:

“Arthur.” She smiles at him as he approaches, appreciating that there’s a change of scenery in what has been an otherwise montonous day. They couldn’t all be winners, though Amelia wished fervently that they could. “Of course I remember. You’re the only one in muggle artfacts that takes a joke with ease.”

Her eyebrows raise at the mention of the mug, which was missing from the small gather of other various mugs that were shoved int he corner of her desk. Amelia also noticed that he came mugless. “You know, I was about to walk over to aurors and report theft, but I suppose that can wait for another day– what’s up?

She reaches out her hands to grab the box, and with an affirming head nod from him she takes it, holding it up and turning it around to get a better look at it. “I think you’re right, Weasley.” She looked up at him– he really had quite a nice smile. “We’ve been having some issues with althletes participating in muggle sports with enchanted equipment recently.” She pushed her galsses up from where they’d slipped to. “Normally it wouldn’t really be an issue. But they’re flagrently perorming feats in public that are alerting Muggles. That and we have a contingency of them that are using them to participate in high profile games which are bringing them notoriety, which ultimately becomes dangerous for us.”

-

“Flagrent feats are the worst kind.”

“You been to Muggle sports much? They’re quite interesting-a lot of professional qudditch players wouldn’t be able to perfom in most of the games, because you need a completely seperate kind of physique to be good on a broom-basically the opposite of me, fell off every bloody twig I’ve been on. There’s one thats popular in America called Basketball that being tall is good for, but I played it against my sister’s husband last Christmas and I’m shit at that too. I-”

Arthur clears his throat. “I am rambling, sorry. They uh-want me to partner with you. I’m sure the call will come from upstairs tomorrow or something, but just giving you a heads up.”

Arthur gives her an apologetic smile. 

“Since you’re going to be stuck with me, please er, stop me when I get like that. Perkins is used to it, bless him, and I think partially deaf-or he’s very adept at ignoring me, regardless-do you know who might be making them? I’m very good with paper trails-one of my many skills along with not knowing how to shut up.”

Around pretty women. He adds silently, cursing himself for his inability to not overstay his welcome or drone on about something no one else particularly cares about. Yves would always get after him whenever he did that when they’d be out at the shops or a restaraunt-said it seemed like he was trying to show off. That’s far from the reason-Arthur just gets so nervous that he scrambles to gain control over the situation, and usually talking first or talking more or sharing a fact was a good way to ensure that the impression he left was at least closer to what he wanted it to be. And he’d rather be seen as a show off than stupid. 

He clears his throat. “I’ll go grab your mug-er, do you want a cuppa?”

[thearthurweasley]

Someone New || Arthur & Amelia

“Miss Bones?” 

Arthur offers her a crooked smile as she looks up at him from her desk. She’s striking-he’s noticed that before, he does have working eyes and general self consciousness around hot people-but he’d never noticed how interesting her eyes were. Green mixed with gold made larger by the delicate wire frame glasses she wears.

“Er-hi. Weasley, in case you didn’t remember, I know you have lots of people circling through here.” He was pretty sure none of the others were lanky ginger  bespeckled gits, but he’s giving her an out.

“I stole your pink mug that one time, remember? Still sorry about that, bit under resourced over in Muggle Artifacts. Uh.”

Arthur produces the golf ball in the sealed anti-magical case. 

“They sent me to come talk to you about these, if you’ve got a moment? Recurring theme cropping up, unforunately, wondering if it matched someone in your records?”

@habeas-bones​

[thearthurweasley]

emotional support single father | arthur & amos

amosd​:

>> I feel like the two page long to-do list sitting on my desk really speaks for itself.

>> We are alright! My parents are planning a trip to see us which is always an adventure. I’m going to assume at least fifteen times they’ll bring up finding a new wife. 

>> Eventually I’ll break the news to them. Or maybe, Cedric will do it on accident and I won’t have to.

>> Or if he does and it goes terribly, I can make excuses and buy myself at least another year.

>> I’ll spare you my real advice and just caution you that if it does go well, your mum might try to set you up with her hairdresser. And you’ll go on the date and find out he’s not even her hairdresser just a gay man who was at her salon one day.

>> he paid at least so it wasn’t a complete waste of an evening, but -_-

>> you could tell them you met someone and just call her uh....Arthurina? Dunno. But if lying to them is eaiser, or half truthing them rather, then do that. You don’t wanna be stressed beyond belief when they get here. 

>> does Ced make a habit out of outing you? because you could use that to your advantage for sure with the right type of bloke. 

>> Side note-any advice for biters? Charlie is uh, exploring the world via his teeth lets say.

[thearthurweasley]

amosd​:

emotional support single father | arthur & amos

(Over Facebook Messenger)

>> Arthur. You know I’m not normally a judgemental person, but if I see one more post from Stephen whining about something that is easily fixed with a Google search and minimal effort I’m going to blow a gasket.

>> Anyway. How’s your day been? How are the kiddos?

@thearthurweasley

>> I wish I had a quarter of the time that nonce does to post random bullshit online to do literally anything else with.

>> Also I know a trick for getting that out of carpet but I’m not sharing cause I’m feeling bitchy.

>> Perce is still up, she ....lkjhggfffffff

>>has started a phase where she likes to grab my phone. You? Ced?

[wordsnquotes]

He used to think that he wanted to be good, he wanted to be kind, he wanted to be brave and wise, but it was all pretty difficult. He wanted to be loved, too, if he could fit it in.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night (via 89words)

[trashl0rde]

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

i’m sitting at a starbucks in barnes n noble and there’s a small family w a little baby and the baby went “SCREEEEEEEEEgdblbghlb” and the dad goes “HEY! what does that even mean”

[hotsenator]

[bnmxfld]

David Foster Wallace / Infinite Jest

[medusagirlfriend-blog]

Walt Whitman, “Song of the Open Road”

[thearthurweasley]

kid: dad whats a 69

dad: well son, a 69 is when two people who love each other very much get together with a 6 and a 9 and a 5 6 7 8 [spotlight turns on] [dad breaks into jazz number]

[jafaaar]

A man holding his baby up to paintings and talking to him at an art gallery