alastor moody

alastor moody. fifty. head auor. pureblood

[nicholsons-deactivated20170820]

Benicio del Toro in A Perfect Day (2015)

[herrlindemann]

Benicio del Toro by Yu Tsai (TIFF 2015)

[madalastor]

mvmckinnon:

There was still something in Marlene’s head telling them that the next moment was the last one of bliss that they would ever have, that any second they’d find themself alone again and in the same amount of pain they always were. They imagined that Alastor was about to leave, or that he’d simply cease to exist, a figment of a truly broken and deranged mind… because they couldn’t realistically see themself holding onto something so good for very long. And what they were feeling was so much more than good, it was better than they’d felt in weeks, more than they’d felt in months… Marlene couldn’t help the gut-wrenching fear that all their happiness was about to be snatched away again, quite literally out from under them. They clung to Alastor as a result, not so much with their small, weak hands, but with the way their body was secure around his, thighs tight on his hips, barely enough space between them to fit his hand.

They leaned forward and covered him as much as someone of their stature was capable, their lips sighing pleasurably against his at the increased sensation between their thighs, at the wet sound and feeling that came from his touch. They indulged for a moment in moving against those fingers, putting their pleasure on display for him as much as they had their pain and grief. Their breath came out raspy as Marlene rolled their hips against Moody’s to chase the feeling, to tease closer and closer at the idea of his fingers slipping inside. And they kissed his lips carefully, still suspended somehow between the idea that it could end at any moment and that it was a moment they could live in forever. In either case, it made them take their time, to learn the taste and feel of his lips enough as to commit the shape of them to memory.

His hand, large but gentle as it captured theirs, was oddly grounding. It brought Marlene back to the present moment rather than let them continue to worry over how much longer he’d be there in front of them. Given a task to complete, they became more intently focused, their hips slowing their grind again, backing away from the mounting pleasure only slightly as they made quick work of his buttons. Their damaged fingers were surprisingly nimble when put to the task, but still gentle as they exposed a line of skin down from his throat to the tempting fly of his trousers. They couldn’t help but slide one of their hands inside his shirt almost immediately, smoothing it over Alastor’s battle-worn skin with a sort of reverence, almost. They kissed him again meaningfully, their tongue slipping over his lower lip in a hungry, beckoning way. It was matched by the desire still building in their gaze as they pulled back slightly to mouth again at his neck, their attentions trailing down over his throat, his collarbone, his sternum, and dipping lower still across the expanse of newly uncovered flesh.

At Moody’s words, they were torn for a small moment between enthusiastically agreeing to his suggestion, and taking him up on his offer to stay put. They seriously considered the latter option for a moment, and a rather intricate picture came to mind of them keeping him pinned right where he was, using the pleasure he provided as they saw fit… Had it been another day, or he another person, Marlene might have preferred that option, to quickly satisfy themself and be done with it. But this was something they wanted to remember, something they wanted to ache with the memory of at night, when they really were alone again. They wanted to seize the opportunity for something more while it was still within their grasp, to not let it slip away like they had the past ten years of experiences the world may have otherwise brought them.

“Yes, please…” they answered, somewhat breathlessly, as they moved their lips back up his body. In a fluid motion, they had managed to pry themself away from the contact they continued to crave, from the exquisite burn of pleasure building in them, and they pulled Moody up along with them. Their fingers tangled with his as they led him away, into the cool dark of their bedroom, depositing him again seated just on the edge of their bed. And while they wanted to resume where they’d left off, taking whatever pleasure from him they could manage to grasp, there was another part that wanted action from him as much as he wanted it from them. They wanted, at least, to know that their affection and desire wouldn’t be entirely wasted on him, that he wasn’t someone that would simply disappear on them after they shared in each other’s pleasure.

They stepped closer in a suggestive way, their legs mirroring the way they’d been draped over him in the other room by framing the scene for Moody again, showing him how easily they could do just what they’d done before. But they wanted something else now and their desire for it was palpable in the heat between them as Marlene deliberately stripped his shirt off of him, their fingers running carefully over sensitive skin, studying him. They let themself indulge in looking for a long moment, eyes tracing an imagined path over his skin, kissing down his chest and his stomach in a way their mouth craved to. And then, desire bare in their expression for him to plainly see, they stepped back just a bit, just enough that he would have to reach for them.

Searching his eyes, Marlene found themself probing again at his desire, wondering at the depths of it. They wanted to know how they could make Alastor reach out and take them in the way they were craving, how they could come to find themself devoured, lost to pleasure in a way that made the painful reality of the world sting a little less. The thought occurred to the wix before long to simply show him, and that was how they ended up taking his hand again admiringly, as if they’d missed the feeling of it on them for the momentary time it had been gone. And it was true, there was a weight to his touch that somehow made them feel more real than they had in a long time, and they quickly found themself becoming addicted to it just as they did with their other vices. With their delicate grip, they positioned Moody’s hands, curling into the fabric of their robes or slipping just beneath them, and they suggested what he might do with them by letting one sleeve slip off of their soft, freckled shoulder beneath his palm. They shrugged into it, pressing their flesh against his hands to encourage him to take them in the way they both craved, to undress them and reveal the complete picture of vulnerability and desire permanently etched into their skin.

“Do you want me, Alastor?” As it fell from their lips, the question seemed more teasing than it did a legitimate query, and they couldn’t help but pair it, after a lingering moment, with a dangerously intimate kiss that suggested they already knew the answer.

When Marlene pulls away from him, he has to fight the urge to tug them back down again. Even though it was his idea to move in the first place, the loss of their weight and the feeling of their legs wrapped around him was almost too much to let go. And for a moment he nearly does, his thoughts turning mischievous as they go to pull him up. As much as he’d like to, he does not follow through with this thought, instead allowing them to help him up, reminding himself of the added benefits of being in a more freeing environment. 

Choosing to forgo his staff, he places his other hand firmly on their shoulder for a second as he adjusts his balance between his false leg and his lone working one. The entire process makes him feel far older beyond his fifty years, and he finds himself avoiding their gaze as he does it, fearful that when he looked at them the desire that once pooled in their eyes would be gone, swept away by the reality of what Alastor was now. He was no longer the same man he once was, but instead a broken one, hastily glued back together after he had served his purpose. The sensation of their fingers wrapping around his pulls his attentions back to them though, and when their eyes meet his, still filled with the hunger that dwelled in them before, he finds his worries vanish- at least for the moment. 

Following them back into their bedroom, he eases himself down onto the edge of their bed, watching them intently as they hover in front of him. Once again he’s met with the desire to pull them back on top of him, eager to close the space that still lingered between the two of them, and start where they had left off. But again he stops himself, allowing them to set the pace as they had before. Control had been something Marlene had so little of in their life, always at the will of the cruelties fate had forced upon them. And no matter what happened between them, and for how long it lasted after that afternoon, he thought at least he could give them that. 

A small shiver rushes up his spine at as their hands run over his torso, their touch achingly gentle as their fingertips traced over the hidden history of his life, told through the old battle wounds and stray tattooed creature. He finds himself wanting them to explore more of him, to allow them to pull back the curtain on what he’d tried so hard to hide from everyone else. He wanted them to see more of his own vulnerabilities, to remove the leather straps that held his metal prosthetic in place, and see the red swirling tendrils of his own burn scars that encompassed what little remained of his left leg. But when they step away from him again, and take his hand in their’s, he realizes it wasn’t his turn to share such hidden truths. 

Not yet anyway. 

He wastes no time in the task given to him, his hands removing layer after layer of the fabric that lay between the two of them. He never answers their question vocally, instead choosing to show them through his own actions. When their lips crash back into his, his touch grows more hungry, his hands quickly removing what remained of their robes so that when he pulled them into him, their bare skin was flush was his. 

With all obstacles removed, he pulls his mouth from their’s, planting wet kisses down their throat towards their chest. With his tongue he explores the newly exposed flesh of their breast, licking at one sensitive nub as he takes it in his mouth, while he stimulates the other with his fingertips. When he switches places it’s only then when his free hand moves back down between their legs, resuming the work he’d first started in the kitchen, only this time when he feels them press for more he gives it to them, his fingers slipping between the warm folds of their flesh, to finally give them the pleasure they sought. 

This mercy does not last for long though, when his hunger to taste every inch of them grows beyond the soft skin of their chest. Moving his lips back to their’s, he shows this need through the growing intensity of his kiss as he shifts further back on the bed, pulling them along with him. When they’re fully on top of him he guides one of their hands to his belt buckle, which still remained tortuously fastened. “And do you want me?”, he asks between kisses, his voice raspy from his own arousal. The question almost feels like the finalizing of some kind of agreement between them, as if their approval would seal this bond they both had been testing this entire time. 

[justlikebacon-blog]

[nicholsons-deactivated20170820]

A Perfect Day (2015)

[madalastor]

mvmckinnon:

It was astonishing to Marlene how connected to him they felt already, on what might as well have been their first meeting, as neither of them were the same people that had known each other in passing previously. They felt like a mirror to him in a lot of ways, although in many others they were complete opposites. He had chosen to stay out on the battlefield while they had cloistered themself away, hoping the cruelties of the world would overlook them. They felt like a coward compared to him, but at the same time there was something about him that made their heart ignite with passion. And not just for him, but for all of it- for life, for the human relationships they had isolated themself from, for the world they had left behind in the ashes. Something about him and how they’d always felt his true intentions made them want to be better, to step out into the sunlight again.

They could only nod wordlessly as he took their hand in return and acknowledged their pain, the loneliness they’d suffered as a consequence of their own choice. It twisted up something inside of them half guilty that reminded Marlene that it wasn’t entirely true… that they hadn’t really been alone in all this, but it was easy not to let it show on their face; because that wasn’t their secret to reveal. And if there was anything they’d perfected in the past ten years besides their protection spells and their aesthetic charms, it was biting down that particular reaction- the one real secret they had in a mess of elaborately fake secrets. In reality, Marlene was an open book; anyone who spent more than a few minutes in their company could see that, even if they did disguise it behind the mask of someone else’s name. It only made sense that the one secret they cared to keep was someone else’s.

It was easier to swallow down the guilt than it should have been, easier to ignore the lie in favor of focusing on the show of making themself vulnerable. A show, because- while what they were feeling was certainly genuine, that didn’t mean it wasn’t also theatrical, in a way. They were putting their pain on display for him for a reason after all, they just hadn’t expected to be reciprocated so immediately and openly. There was a part of them that hadn’t expected Moody to take them so seriously, that had perhaps expected him to realize upon having a conversation with them that they weren’t right for his cause at all, that they weren’t worthy of his time or efforts. Maybe it was their fear of being left alone after bearing the pain of it for so long that made them think that way, and maybe that was all that was making them reach out now, but it didn’t change the fact that the things he was making Marlene feel physically and emotionally were unlike anything they’d felt with someone else.

It had been a while and so they’d forgotten just how vulnerable this moment always was, when they revealed some of their worst scars. Of course, the full picture was the most grotesque of all, but still Marlene couldn’t help but be anxious for a moment that he wouldn’t want them anymore, that something about them would turn him off, or that he’d simply decide he didn’t want to deal with the emotional damage that their physical wounds carried with them. But, they reminded themself, Alastor knew what it was like… this was the connection they had been feeling so strongly, some of the many ways they were the same. They both carried the burden of their pasts and their own foolish mistakes in their hearts and their heads. If anyone was to fully accept them for what they were now, the assemblage of broken parts in the shape of something whole, it was surely him. Before they could even entirely talk themself down from the anxious spike though, he was already pulling them closer.

The overwhelming pleasure of their lips finally coming together was met with a swift blow to the stomach that came with his answer. It had the effect of doubly taking their breath away, of sending them immediately into that euphoric headspace that they craved, that they had always been chasing with others. But it was tangled with an ache of self-doubt, of a sudden fear that they couldn’t live up to Moody’s picture of them, that he’d somehow seen them as more than they were. They didn’t feel like an embodiment of hope, not when they were too afraid of the world to be a part of it. But he was kissing Marlene like he saw something real in them, like he saw the horrible truth inside them and hadn’t been scared off by it. And they wanted so badly to believe that they could mean something to him, something important, that they couldn’t help but chase the feeling of pleasure, moving their lips hungrily in response to him, giving over to the intensity of the moment.

They could tell by the waves of desire crashing over them both, sending them ebbing and flowing into each other, that they were in too deep already. Something about this was more than they’d intended it to be, originally. Marlene had lost their grasp on control the second they’d come closer and placed his hand on their thigh. Alastor’s touch was almost surreal in the way it electrified them, as if he’d completed a circuit in their body with his hands. They could feel it inside and out, coiling through their core along the pattern of the scars beneath his fingertips. They felt their skin rise to attention under his touch, felt it yearning for more contact so much that they couldn’t help but shiver and press into it, bringing their bodies closer and more flush, the heat quickly building between them. Marlene’s scars began to stand out from the rest of their skin, heating in a flash so sudden that they felt cold at first touch, but burned fever-like, their texture smoothing over like marble. The reaction leaves them with heightened sensitivity, so that by the time he begins moving his fingers against them beneath their clothes even the slow, restrained attention makes them gasp softly.

Marlene hadn’t even realized they’d closed their eyes until the sound of his voice compelled them to open again, and they saw just how close he was lingering, ready to capture their lips again in an instant. His breath was as ragged as they felt, distorted by lust and the filter of intense emotions they’d been reflecting back and forth, and they were so aroused by the sound of it and the pleasure that was beginning to build up in them under his hand that it took them a full minute to comprehend the question he asked in return. Marlene didn’t immediately know the reason they called him out- again they suspected it was their own loneliness more than anything, but after considering what he said before, they realized the answer was obvious.

“Hope,” they repeated, trembling under his gaze, in his arms. Their voice was painfully quiet between them, as if Marlene was afraid that even speaking of it too loudly would irrevocably shatter it. It had been so long since they’d last admitted to having hope. They’d relied mostly on obligation to carry them through the last few years… hope was something they’d long since believed to be dead. But it was clear that their connection with Alastor and the way it was quickly intensifying meant something… they just weren’t entirely sure what that was yet. All they knew was that whether they’d been conscious of it or not, he’d been the one they had always believed in, even when it felt like there was no point in believing in anything.

Marlene closed the distance between them this time, sealing the bond between them with their words like a pact. Their breath hitched as his touch intensified, as the sensations rolled through their body just right, but their lips never strayed far away, instead pressing their breathy gasps against his mouth. They wanted more from him, they wanted everything, but didn’t know how to ask for it, moving against his hand as best as they could without ruining the exquisite burn of anticipation. Marlene tried to put their desperation into their kisses, into the way their hands tangled into the front of his shirt and into his hair to pull him closer. But nothing seemed quite enough, and it made their breathing and their hammering pulse pick up along with their arousal.

“Please, I want you to really touch me,” they pleaded not far from his ear, trailing a few kisses down his jaw to his throat. “I want to feel you…” Their hands began almost frantically fumbling with his clothes, unsure of what part of him they wanted to uncover, of what would lead them on the swiftest road to the pleasure they sought.

Their single word response, a very mirror of the one he’d only just given moments before, sets something off in him. His touch grows more exploratory and hungry in nature, craving more but not wanting to take it unless given to him. Whatever this was, whether it be a one time thing, or something that could turn into a habit, felt too fresh, too unknown to push them in any one direction. He was giving himself entirely over to them, doing something he’d rarely ever done with anyone else- allow them to have complete control. 

How smart of an idea that was, he found himself slowly caring less and less about, as he could feel their breathing growing more ragged under his touch. A sound he grew addicted to while his free hand slipped under their robes to begin exploring more of the delicate skin beneath, his hand gliding up over the curves of their waist and coming to a rest at the center of their back, fingers splaying out to pull them closer as they rocked into him. 

He felt selfish for having seen and felt so many of the physical wounds they carried, while he’d done little to show any of his. And that really was what this all was about, wasn’t it? To share their burdens with one another in the hope it’d make existing that much easier- so that they’d be doing more than just existing? Slipping his hand away from their back, he takes one of their hands that was already fumbling at his shirt, and leads it to the first button, signaling them to move further, wanting them to see and feel the patchwork of old and faded battle-scars and tattoos that made up his torso. It was a baby step to the real horror that lay concealed under his left pant leg, but it was a step that would eventually wind up in that direction. No matter how scary the thought be. 

When their lips brush over his ear, pleading in hushed whispers of their need for more, he wordlessly obeys, having already fully given himself over to their every desire and whim much earlier. Slipping his hand underneath the waistband of the thin fabric that previously separated them, he lets out a soft groan against their lips as his fingertips begin their work on the sensitive flesh below. 

His own desire grows as they continue down this sinful path, feeling it become further restricted in his trousers each time their hips roll into him. As his touch intensifies, the urge to do more becomes harder and harder to resist. Simply touching the delicate scarred skin beneath their robes was becoming no longer enough, he wanted to see them- to kiss the swirls of scar tissue that covered the length of their body. 

But not here. 

The chair in the middle of their kitchen was fine for what this started out as, but physically constraining when it came to much else. Were he able to, he would have picked them up then, and simply carried them to whichever door across the room would lead him to a more freeing environment, where his tongue could do the work his fingertips were currently serving. But unfortunately those days came to an end the moment Evan Rosier decided to take half of Alastor’s left leg with him to the grave- which meant he was going to have to ask Marlene for the change of location. 

Pulling away just long enough to glance over at the two doors on the far side of the room, his eye flickers between the two of them, unsure what door lead to which room, before looking back at Marlene. “D’you want to...”, he breathes heavily, tilting his head in the direction of the two objects. “Unless you want to stay here, but if so you’re gonna be doing most of the work,” he chuckles breathlessly against their lips. 

[madalastor]

alastor augustin moody / present day

[madalastor]

alastor augustin moody / war years

[madalastor]

alastor augustin moody / pre-war years

[bills-skarsgards]

Visit Original Link

[madalastor]

alongbottom:

Out of all the people who could have come through the unlocked door of her office, she wasn’t expecting him. At least not yet. It was a ridiculous thought, given the fact that she had written him a note asking him to stop by only a few minutes before - but she wasn’t really thinking he was going to follow through right that second. It’s a turn of events that sends her mind into panic mode, because she realises now that she sees Alastor Moody standing there, placing her coffee on the desk, his eyes quickly catching a glimpse of the file there - probably anticipating what’s to come now - that she isn’t at all ready for this confrontation. She was in fact trying to distract herself from the possibility of this happening, and now it’s being thrown at her face and she needs to act if she wants to know the truth. 

She nods as her only response, and slowly stands up, picking up the cup of coffee and taking a sip. It burns, perhaps more than it should, but she doesn’t really care, not even winces. “We need to talk about something.”, she states, not really answering his question because she knows she doesn’t need to. With a swift movement of her wand she makes sure to both lock the door and soundproof the office. What she’s about to say had to obviously stay there, or there could be dire consequences for the both of them. 

Still not offering much of an explanation, she goes to the file sitting in between them and grabs a piece of parchment. The binder is almost empty, most of its contents lost, destroyed, or who knows what in the course of ten years. However, that little speck of evidence survives, and as much as Alastor tries to hide it, Alice knows he recognises it. 

After scanning the words quickly once again, as if to corroborate what she’s seeing is actually real and not some invention of her damaged mind playing a trick on her, she places the parchment flat on the desk - a little more forcefully than necessary. Alastor handwriting is easy to spot there. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” She blinks a couple of times, looking straight at him. “And before you say anything, you better tell me the truth. I don’t want excuses, and I definitely don’t want lies. I need you to tell me everything. Now. This is your last chance. If you ever gave a fuck about our friendship, you are going to tell me everything.”

Alastor waits quietly as she secures the privacy of her office, one of several habits he’d drilled into her since she’d first acquired the space. The fact she even bothers to care about privacy now must mean something in all of this, he thinks to himself, her anger in him was visibly boiling inside of her, yet she still chose to keep this confrontation completely between the two of them. The implications of this small action could mean that whatever trust he’d broken in her from hiding this truth, hadn’t completely shattered the bond between them. 

At least not yet anyway. 

This small glimmer of hope soon vanishes though when he realizes just what piece of evidence she’d uncovered. Out of all the potential incriminating documents she could have found, it is of course his letter to the Wizengamot- the most damning of them all, that she has managed to uncover. He can feel his stomach lurch as she places it down on the table between them, the rushed frantic scribble of the script clearly written in his own hand. From where he sits he can just make out the last section of the letter:

.... And it is with this in mind, that I send my strong recommendation that in the case of Edward Morgan Tonks, a life sentence should and must be applied. If not for the sake of the integrity of our Justice System, but for the world in which we have fought so hard to preserve. 

There are many emotions that rush through Alastor as he glances at his old words. There's a sense of remorse, for having failed so incredibly at his plan to protect that world he’d so desperately fought for. There’s anger, at his own mistake in having allowed this letter to survive for as long as it has. And then of course there’s regret, although still he feels none for having written the letter in the first place, he does wish he’d told her sooner. At the time he chose to hide his actions from her, wishing to protect her from any more pain, where she’d already experienced more than enough of. And as the years wore on, he told himself he’d tell her when the time felt right, but that time would of course never come. At least until it decided to come all on its own without him. 

When she speaks again her words cut deep and without mercy. But he takes it, obeying her command of silence, until she wields her final blow with her last words. If you ever gave a fuck about our friendship, you are going to tell me everything. Her use of the past tense visibly rattles him, and his gaze immediately snaps up to meet her’s. Had she really thought him that cruel? That he was that detached from the outside world he’d fabricated their entire relationship like it was one of his little games of cat and mouse? 

“I wasn’t planning to,” he sighs and looks back to the letter in question. He wants to say ‘you know me better than that’, but considering the very cause of this conversation he chooses not to. He had broken one of their golden rules to each other, never keep secrets, and now he was paying the price. 

He wants to tell her everything, every last grueling detail of it all, but was unsure just where to start in the mess that was his involvement in the Tonks case. He supposes the very beginning would be the most fair to make up for so many years of hiding it from her, as hard as it may be. 

“Well, as you know, Andromeda was the one to turn Ted in, but she didn’t just confess their crime to a couple low level aurors,” he begins, pausing long enough to retrieve a cigar from his coat pocket and light it with the end of his wand. After taking a couple puffs he speaks up again, “she came to me a complete mess that night, going on about how Ted killed- hell, strangled her sister with their own two hands. I sent out a couple aurors to check to see if it was true, once I got the confirmation Lestrange was in fact found murdered, I gave out the order for their arrest.”

“But my name couldn’t be attached to something like that,” he sighs, “not if I didn’t want to lose loyalties within the Order, so I played my part behind closed doors. Made sure everything was done properly and that they’d have more than enough evidence for a trial. And of course when it came to trial well...”, he gestures towards the letter, “I made sure things went how they should have there as well. And I’ll be completely honest with you,” he adds, figuring if he was going to air out all his dirty laundry, he might as well throw out the whole load, "if you dig up the Sirius Black case you’ll find the exact same letter for them as well.” 

Finally pulling the curtain back on the last bit of his secret, he sinks into the back of his chair, feeling as though he’d just done twelve rounds with a mountain troll. He sits in this silence for a moment, taking a couple more puffs of his cigar, before he finally looks up to face the impact his words had on the witch in front of him. 

“You know why I did it though, right? You have to know,” he says, trying to reassure himself more than anything. In all the years they’d spent together she had to know he did it all for the better good of the world that remained after Voldemort’s death. No matter how much his efforts failed in the end. 

[madalastor]

billieweasley:

She does smile at his words, allowing herself the grin he won’t. There is a warmth, in her chest, a spark, that ignites at the sound of his offer.

     ‘Sounds grand,’ she answers, trying her hardest to sound nonchalant, trying her hardest not to sound like he’s just given her the best gift she’s ever received. For a moment, she wonders if this is what her uncles felt like, when they joined up with the Order of the Phoenix; had they, too, sought out Alastor Moody and been asked to join up? Had they felt this rush of exhilaration at the idea that there was something concrete that they could do to right the wrongs they saw in the world? 

For maybe the first time since she’d found out she was being sent home to England, on indefinite leave from her position in Egypt, she feels like she has a purpose, a reason for getting up in the morning, something to focus on, rather than just waiting as the hours pass her by, each morning looking forward only for the chance to go to sleep again and make it through another day. 

     ‘I’ll see what I can find, and drop by next week.’

“Then we have a deal,” he responds, still struggling to keep in his excitement over just what this could mean for him and this new band of rebels he’d been slowly gathering. One more fighter may not have seemed a lot when compared to the enemy that lay before them, but it meant everything when it came to the slow shift it meant for what was soon to come. 

Standing up once again, Alastor removes his wand from its holster that remained strapped to his upper right thigh. With a flick of the wrist and a few mumbled phrases in Latin the door behind the witch clicks open and with it the security wards that lay woven within it. “If you ever run into any trouble you know where to reach me- and I mean any trouble at all. Alright?”, he assures her, knowing all too well from past experience the potential danger that could lay ahead for her. 

After waiting a beat, he extends his hand out to her’s this time, much like how she’d done to him when she first stepped into his office, “I look forward to seeing you next week, Miss Weasley.”

[cinematic-portraits-deactivated]

Benicio Del Toro photographed by Theodore Wood, 1998.

[ontheveldt]

Visit Original Link

And it burns, burns, burns

[madalastor]

mvmckinnon:

Something feels off about the way Moody squeezes their hand, as if it’s a placating gesture more than anything- for them or for himself, Marlene isn’t quite sure. In any case, it feels as if he’s withdrawn a bit, putting up a familiar stoic wall in place of his true feelings. It feels too familiar, like something they’d do if the situation was reversed, and so they know the meaning of the gesture without thinking too hard about it. Perhaps there will always be certain things he’ll hold against himself, but Marley still hopes they can make him see all the good he’s done, too. It’s a bit hypocritical, when they still find it hard to excuse themself for what happened to the world around them, and to the people they loved most. But they’ve always been better at forgiving others than they have themself.

His words are so in keeping with the idealized picture of him Marlene has held in their mind all these years that they can’t help but stare at him, for a moment, and brush their fingers over his more deliberately, as if to confirm he was real and not a very detailed hallucination. The physical sensation is there, like Marley is plucking their fingers over musical strings that lead directly to their own heart; but the evidence still seems inconclusive. They pull his hand to their mouth and trace their lips over his knuckles softly, and somehow that feels better, more real. They want to kiss his hands clean so he stops carrying his grief in them, so that he is forced to lay his burden down, and hold them instead. Marlene often desires physical closeness, but this is something else; it feels like an agreement, although maybe there’s already too many emotions involved for it to be something so detached… On the other hand, that’s what makes it easy to let go, to accept this attraction between them for what it is- an investment in the future.

“Do you think of everything in terms of battles to be won?” they wondered, pulling their lips away just enough to be heard coherently. “It must be an awful burden, to be on the front lines every day…” They sipped on their firewhiskey as they imagined what it must be like to work with Ted Tonks and Lily Evans on a regular basis. Marlene still loved them (which was the worst part) but they were sure they wouldn’t have been able to bear it like he had been… “I’m sorry you’ve had to face this alone…” It wasn’t quite a commitment, not yet, but an expression of sympathy; it was an acknowledgment that they truly wanted to help, even if it wasn’t an acceptance of the responsibility that providing that help would involve.

For a long moment, as they looked at each other, Marley had been waiting for him to bridge the gap between them with a kiss. From the way he’d leaned in just a bit, and the way his eyes seemed to reflect the same desire swimming in their own gaze, that was what they’d expected to happen. And so it scared them, just a bit, when the moment came and he leaned away instead, something unspoken in his eyes. It took them so off guard that they had to process what that look meant, and in the interim their heart pounded heavily against the inside of their ribcage, so loud that it seemed to echo all the way up into the lofted ceilings. They blinked, dazed by the sudden spike of anxiety, and took a moment to look more carefully at his expression. They didn’t sense rejection coming from him, in fact his gaze seemed inviting in a way… They pieced it together before too long; that he was waiting for them to make the choice, to make the first move. It seemed fitting in the sense that it reflected the reason they were having this very conversation- he was asking them to take action.

Marley smiled, as they figured it out. It was clever, but they still hadn’t made their decision completely, whether to follow in his plan… however, they had come to realize that they trusted him on an implicit level, that their body and the rush of attraction they felt for him were working as intuitive tools. This seemed to be the next step, for them. Whether it was wise to give into their chemistry or not, they’d just have to wonder later, when their need wasn’t so pressing.

“But you know… I’m a lover, not a fighter, Alastor,” they said, a slight teasing tone to their voice as their fingers traced over his once more. They paused, letting the statement hang in the air briefly before they chased the desire in his gaze. Marley poured fluidly out of their own chair and approached him, keeping their eye on his all the while. Their hands gathered the skirts of their robes up over their knees as they slipped wordlessly into his lap, hips pressing flush into his in a way that instantly made their face flush with heat. They took his hand again without breaking eye contact, traced it carefully up their thigh where he could push the fabric further up, or slip his hands underneath. With their gaze, they invited him to touch the papery soft scars that cut through them like mineral veins run through stone. They wanted him to understand how the previous war had changed them… and again they likened it to a similar experience of Moody’s. Although their injuries were quite different, they were both still debilitating in ways… both a source of near constant pain… They thought briefly about preparing him a bath, full of soothing tonics and pleasant scented herbs and flowers. As they set his hand against their upper thigh, they thought about how much they’d like to see him in their bath, surrounded by rose petals.

“So tell me, why do you want me? What… value am I to you?” As they questioned him, they put their hands on either side of his face tenderly, stroking at his grey temples, smoothing over worried wrinkles in his forehead and at the corner of a mouth they very much wanted to kiss. They leaned in until their lips were no more than a breath away, eyes devouring the sight of him so close. “What did you see in me that made you keep watching?” they breathed, barely above a whisper and likely more felt than heard.

Alastor’s gaze darts up to the wix’s as he feels their lips softly brush over the rise and fall of his knuckles, sending a soothing rush of warmth up his arm. It is the way they look at him that scares him though. There was a level of hope and admiration that hung in their eyes that he’d seen all too often before, but was fearful that like before, they’d only come to grow disappointed by the actual man that lay before them. No matter how much he willed it, he was not the fearless vigilant “Mad-Eyed” Moody the public so liked to paint him as, he was Alastor-a failed war hero, a flawed and absent father, a barely functioning alcoholic. But as they continue to look at him in the light of the man he once was, he finds himself wanting to try to be that source of strength for them again. 

“Usually, yes,” he chuckles, “force of habit, I guess.” A small smile finds its way across his lips, but soon fades at the mention of burdens and loneliness. “I’d rather be there than anywhere else, at least when I’m in the thick of it I have some clue of what in the hell is going on.” He lets out a sigh and finishes off the last of his glass. When he sets it down he looks over to them, something changing in his features as this time his hand reaches for their’s. “I’m sorry you had to as well,” he replies, briefly wondering whether if he’d sought them out sooner how easier things would have been for them. 

In the years following the war he’d sought out comfort in several different forms from different people, Alice and Neville being his source of purpose in all of this, Maggie being his physical comfort when either of them got too lonely in their too big of houses, and a liquor bottle serving as numbing remedy for all things he didn’t wish to reflect on. He’d found a way to manage though it all in one way or the other, how well of a job he’d done was clearly debatable. Looking at Marlene now he senses they weren’t as fortunate in their methods of comfort, or maybe they’d fared just the same as him, not being fully satisfied with the lives they were living but enough to continue on anyway. 

His smile soon returns, though this time in the form of a faint knowing grin, as he watches the wix realize just what he was implying in his choice to pull away. He does not say anything in response to their teasing though, instead allowing his grin to grow a little wider as they move towards him, liking the way his first name sounds on their lips. When their weight fully settles in his lap he moves one hand to their hip to help serve as a source of balance, while they take the other in their’s. His eyes remain glued to their’s as he feels his hand being run over the expanse of soft flesh at the top of their thigh, hypnotized by the alluring desire that swelled in them. His gaze breaks away for a moment to take in the sight of the exposed skin now resting on his leg. It wasn’t until then did he realize the full extent of the injuries they’d sustained from their own personal tragedy. 

When he touches the swirling mass of scar tissue he does so softy, his fingers following the trail of metallic strands that wove their way throughout the old injury. He wishes his touch could do more than simply soothe the pain that lay there, that somehow he could heal the wounds that he was sure served as a painful reminder of the past, just like his own did for him. Instead he does the next best thing, lifting his gaze back up to their’s he allows his hand to slip under the remaining layers of fabric, further exploring the delicate skin that lay beneath. 

When their lips brush his, achingly close but not nearly close enough, he almost misses their question, too taken up by the allure of the almost to focus on what was being said. He does not answer them at first, instead allowing them to further explore the lines and faded scar tissue of his own that peppered the skin around his pale eye. When he does answer it’s barely above a whisper, the tone of his voice low from arousal.

“Hope,”

is all he says before finally closing the torturing distance between them, his lips crashing into their’s as his hand moves from their hip to the base of their head. As his left hand pulls them closer to deepen the kiss, his right hand begins to further explore the skin beneath their robes. His fingers moving now more hungrily from the swirling scar tissue that made up their upper thigh, until they dipped down to the space where their two thighs meet. As his fingers come across the thin fabric that lay there, he makes no attempt to remove it, instead choosing to have them softly ghost over the light material that was damp from the wix’s own arousal. 

“And what about you?” he asks, pulling away only slightly. His voice is ragged from desire, as his fingers begin to more deliberately massage at their's. “What made you ask me to come here?” 

[madalastor]

alongbottom:

date: november 8th location: aurors office, ministry of magic time: morning availability: open 

Almost an entire week had gone by since the news about Crouch had been published but the excitement and the general buzz didn’t seem to quiet down. Alice was trying really hard to focus exclusively on her work; and that didn’t prove to be any simpler. As expected, the Aurors were going absolutely crazy, setting up the security for the trial and avoiding the press in general. It seemed like both Moody and most of her work mates had realised it wasn’t really the best idea for her to go outside, so she had been pretty much buried in old paperwork and evidence. 

She was grateful for it, if she was being completely honest. Reading piles and piles of documents and sorting them out was a good distraction for her brain, that was still trying to process everything that had happened those last couple of days. After some years of a relative dullness, so many things seemed to have been set in motion once again and she wasn’t sure how she was going to cope with them. 

She was dusting off a stack of old parchments when she heard the door of her office opening. “Morning.”, she said absentmindedly without really looking at the newcomer. “I’m really sorry about the mess. I have been spending a lot of time inside the archives lately and I had to pull out some equally interesting and filthy stuff.”

Alastor was in the middle of his usual morning ritual, which in this case meant a headache inducing read of that day’s Prophet, when his assistant tapped on his office door bearing a message from Alice. 

I need to talk to you, stop by my office when you get the chance. - Allie

It wasn’t uncommon for Alice to send him memos, in fact when it came to busy times like these, when the entire office was wrapped up in a single case, memos often would become their primary source of communication. But there was something slightly troubling about this particular memo, from the ominous tone it carried, to the simple signature of a dash following her name, instead of the usual expression of love or teasing that normally preceded her moniker. It is for this reason he decides to follow through with her request now, rather than during their lunch break when he normally would have. 

He makes just one stop before he reaches the witch’s office, and picks up two cups of coffee from the tea trolley, having the feeling they were both going to need it. Given the early hour, he figured alcohol would be a tad unprofessional, so he hopes this would serve as a reasonable replacement. When he gets to her office he makes no effort to announce his presence, instead simply opening the door and greeting her ‘morning’ with one of his own. 

“Picked you up something,” he adds, as he places the steaming hot cup in front of the various piles that lay before her. It is as he does this when he catches a glimpse of the file number of the top folder, and realizes just what he’d walked himself into. To most the file number TMT-4816JZ-02/1982, would probably mean little to nothing. But to Alastor, someone whose intimacy with that particular case lay deeper than even most realized, it meant one thing-

his secret was out. 

“Interesting and filthy indeed,” he nods, and takes a seat across from the witch. When he asked Alice to go digging through the records department he knew it potentially posed the risk of her running into such old paperwork, given her history with the wix in question. And perhaps maybe deep down that’s why he did it in the first place, so that finally this secret of his could be free. But now, as struggles to keep the anxious surge of emotions he was currently experiencing in check, he wishes he’d done more to keep the ugly truth hidden from her. 

“What all did you find?” He asks, his normally stoic and gruff tone, now showing a rare layer vulnerability and fear. 

[madalastor]

billieweasley:

She closes her eyes, for a moment, like she’s trying to capture the portrait of her uncle’s he’s just painted for her, like she’s trying to preserve the memory somewhere safe where she won’t lose it, somewhere she’ll be able to hold onto it when things get hard. She tucks the photograph into her bag, carefully, making sure its corners don’t bend, making sure it lies flat against the book she keeps in there so it won’t fold or wrinkle.

And as he waits for her answer, she thinks of Ted Tonks, of the way they’d talked down to her, like she was a kid who didn’t understand that the world was hard and would take from you people you cared about. As if he were the only person in the world who had ever lost something. As if a fear of loss, or a fear of death, was enough reason to stand aside and let other people do all the hard work for you. 

Moody isn’t talking to her like she’s a child, spelling out things she already understands. He’s right, even if he isn’t saying it aloud: something is wrong, in this world they live in; something has been wrong for a long time, and she isn’t prepared to stand by while other people do all the hard work.

She wants to make them proud.

She wants to make him proud. 

     ‘Yeah,’ she says, with a nod. ‘I think it is.’

A small smile makes its way across his features at the witch’s response, her words giving him something that had been in short supply as of late: hope. Maybe it would be this generation that could finally turn the tide for the world, that could help the previous one wake up to the mess they had so willingly gotten themselves entangled in. Alastor had fought in the last war in order to give these children a better future, to make sure they didn’t have to live a life of fear. But now, thinking of the world his soldiers had left behind, maybe it would take these children to finally do for themselves what he had failed to do ten years ago. 

“Good,” he nods, fighting the grin that so badly wanted to materialize. There was still much more work to be done, but he couldn’t help but revel in this small victory. The small band of allies he and Kinglsey had been gathering up was finally beginning to grow in number, which meant it wouldn’t be much longer before they could finally reveal themselves to the world. 

“If you’d like to help me with something, I’ve been looking for other... like-minded individuals,” he offers, his tone suggesting there was more to this task than what his words implied. “And in return we could continue to meet up- say once a week? I could answer any more questions you might have about the war or your uncles, and you could catch me up on what you find. How does that sound?”