Peter Solarz
KIROKAZE
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
JBB: An Artblog!
taylor price
AnasAbdin
pixel skylines
⁂
DEAR READER
will byers stan first human second
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
blake kathryn
Discoholic 🪩
NASA
d e v o n
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
Sade Olutola
we're not kids anymore.
seen from France
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@wildcardscout
Nice to know my voice can be bloody soothin’ then. S’alright, just some crook tryin’ to take my gold. Wouldn’t be your type of story anyway, Valentine.
Every story has an audience, you might simply have to look for it elsewhere. Is that really what you Quidditchers do in your spare time, haggle over brooms?
People love me, Valentine. Especially females, of all ages. You’d know that if you were an actual female and not some troll that crawled out of the gutter.
Of course people love you. That's why you're so eager to convince me of that, isn't it?
Your devotion to insulting me as a way of protecting poor Billy is admirable, truly, but it's getting rather old. There must be other hobbies you can try, especially with all this free time on your hands now that you're not keeping the pubs in business. The Prophet's advertisement page features some addresses for knitting classes, if you're at a loss where to start.
What do you even….you know what, never mind.
I dunno more deviant, I guess.
Most of these have instructions, if you're brave. Here, under the price. Never let your squeamishness get in the way of curiosity, Noel.
Assigning morality to sex never ends well, you know.
A fluffy scarecrow… That’s certainly a new one. I’m not sure if that’s worse than kicked puppy or not. Can you attempt to not make it sound like I’m dying when you say that.
I’m not much of a coffee drinker, to be honest. Makes me quite jittery.
That face is a serious condition, love.
Coffee is a pure beverage, it must be your nerves. Or all that tea. It has the same caffeine content as most coffees, only it pretends otherwise. And you can't drink it Irish.
"I’ve been saying it for years: the papers ought to keep out of people’s private lives. If it’s not a crime, it’s not the public’s problem.”
But imagine how dull life would be if the public only ever got to read about crimes, Ms. Wright.
I honestly don’t see how I’m losing anything. It’s not as if I haven’t been in the papers for allegedly shagging some bird before. I could use something sweet to balance out all the salt coming out of you and this conversation. What’s the matter, Valentine? Didn’t have a good time?
The truly sad thing, Fawley, is that I've certainly had worse. Maybe I should continue my debauchment of the Wasp camp while I'm already on the path. Who shall be next -- maybe that sweet girl Madison?
No. I’m just not oblivious as to which way the wind blows when it comes to social stigma.
Four years in the spotlight have finally attuned Art Fawley to the whims of the masses. Do you deserve a biscuit, do you think?
—So I told him that he can’t sell a bloody Cleansweep at Nimbus prices just because he threw another bit of polish on it.
Sorry, am I borin’ ya?
Oh, no, it's a rather pleasant white noise, really. But you'll forgive me if I wasn't taking notes.
You know, I’m not even perturbed by that thought.
Are you growing a thicker skin, Fawley?
Piss off, Valentine. You’re not getting anything out of me. I’ll owl you your knickers if I find them.
I can't say I'll do the same with regard to your dignity.
Don't trip.
I’m not— fine. Does smiling help with the puppy dog expressions or does it only hinder me?
I am worth more than the best of coffees.
Makes you look a bit like a scarecrow when you smile like that. But a fluffy scarecrow nonetheless. I'm afraid there's no hope for you, Arnold.
It's clear that you've never had a good coffee, then.
My standards might be low but I’ve still got standards. Talk to me when you’ve found yours, might wanna look someplace that’s not Billy’s dumpster though. His neighbors are starting to think you live in there.
What was I thinking, of course you don’t, Valentine. That’d require you to actually have half a brain.
I wasn't aware that you have the courtesy to converse with Alton's neighbors, Quintin, much less ask their opinion on the state of the recycling. Did you finally learn to smile in a way that doesn't terrify grandmothers? Do be careful around that sweet lady down the hall, she has poor blood pressure and it would be all too easy to confuse you with an ogre.
Well you heard wrong. Fortescue is last year’s news, Valentine. I think it’s about time you start finding a new tree to bark up.
Ah, but his abandonment of his team is this year's news. How many training hours did he miss, I wonder. Not much opportunity for Quidditch practice on the nude beaches of Ibiza.
He didn’t hurt my feelings because I don’t have any. I’m a hardened, war-mongering Quidditcher, Valentine. Get it straight.
Yes, 'hardened' is usually the right term where Fortescue is involved. Or so I hear.
I’ll play more hard to get next time then— make you work for it. You do seem to like the hunt more than the kill, metaphorically speaking.
I’d say the cheapest is ‘round a couple Galleons. Takes a bit of time, that one.
Don't begrudge me my little delights, you know that work and pleasure are best when they're combined into one. Speaking of which, did you manage to get anything at the Bash?
And discretion costs a bit extra, I take it.
Okay.
….Oh. This isn’t at all what I thought it would be like. Oh….my that’s…..huh.
Points for creativity, I must say.
What did you think it would be like?
SCOOPS FROM THE HOOPS: Auld Lang Syne
The Golden Snitch, The Evening Edition of the Daily Prophet.
While the mice are away, the managers will play — or so the rumor goes. While this Snitch spent the past two weeks recovering from the celebrations (and scandals) that only a New Year can bring, it seems that the players of the League weren’t the only ones misbehaving this New Year’s Eve. Spotted leaving that debaucherous fun house that Puddlemere United manager, Harry Hollingberry, reportedly raked in massive profits for luring unsuspecting citizens into was none other than the host of the party and the notoriously overprofessional manager of the Appleby Arrows Desdemona Wright.
With rumors flying thick and fast about a steamy connection between Hollingberry and Arrows Keeper, Morgan Noel, one has to wonder what game it is that Hollingberry is playing at. (Lest we forget the fate of the last man who dared find himself in numerous Arrows beds, a quick Merlinspeed to former-Quidditch Quarterly staff member, Theodore Edgeminton, may your balls lie in peace in whoever’s pickle jar they finally ended up in.)
It seems, however, that Miss Wright wasn’t the only Arrow to wind up in Puddlemere sheets — spotted leaving celebrations in a decidedly inebriated state of canoodling were Puddlemere Chaser, Charlie Roberts and Arrows Chaser, Holly Oddpick. With Quidditchers gone wild to bring in the new year, it’s no wonder that those who were supposed to be reporting their antics may have slid down that slippery slope with them.
The Prophet’s own Scout Valentine deserves an honourable mention, spotted with no fewer than three Wasps over the course of the night in varying states of debauchery, including what we’ve heard was a very passionate romp in the backrooms with the usually media-shy Arcturus Fawley and getting up close and personal with Madison Noel on a bartop. In which case we congratulate our esteemed colleague, that’s one way to get a leg up on the competition.
Also falling victim to Hollingberry’s house of (highly questionable) delights was Arrows Chaser, Oscar Newcombe, last spotted rehydrating after sampling a few too many of the generously offered ‘party favours’ and missing ever since.
As always, our Wasps didn’t let us down on the debauchery — Miss Madison Noel, notorious Wasps sweetheart, lost her dignity, her date (someone tell Art Fawley that you should at least buy a girl a drink if you’re going to fondle her in a dark corner) and her shirt on a bartop for the most of the night, while her date for the event spent most of his time stripping anyone who crossed his path and imbibing half the bar, if his erratic behaviour was any indication. Regular troublemaker Fortescue seemed in far gloomier spirits, picking fights and spending most of his night sprawled over any surface available when he wasn’t kissing unsuspecting victims.
And while some had to adjourn to other countries to escape the uncomfortable aftermath of their New Year’s rampage (here’s looking at you, Fortescue, and that curious new curse wound this Snitch spotted on that famed torso) others still were conspicuously missing from the event, namely Wasps partyboy, Corvus Quintin and a certain recently turned eighteen Puddlemere Seeker, now there’s a match made in disaster.
With a new year ahead this Snitch only hopes that some of our players can learn from the mistakes of the year behind them and with any luck make some worse ones. Enjoy your 2015.
