acciomoody-blog

[acciomoody-blog]

thricedefieds

for  alice,  sleep  has  always  come  in  waves.  even  before  the  war,  it  had  never  existed  solely  as  a  blissful  escape.  storm  brewed,  her  nightmares  could  transport  her  to  endless  rocky  and  foreign  shores,  leaving  her  capsized  body  wracking  with  sobs.  the  only  evidence  of  whatever  terrors  plagued  her  in  sleep.  they've  worsened  with  age,  and  with war.  just  when  she  thinks  she's  free,  terror  rears  its  head  when  it  is  least  expected.

but  this  is  something  she  has  never  experienced.  this  is  visceral.  real.  white  -  hot  pain,  searing  at  flesh.  she  watches  her  own  body  writhe,  watches  as  she  grinds  her  teeth,  spittle  forming  at  her  lips,  sweat  dripping  at  her  brow.  alice  watches  as  her  mouth  twists  as  if  to  scream,  but  the  voice  that  escapes  is  foreign.  is  it  even  her  own?  her  back  arches  at  odd  angles,  tense  and  yet  still  flailing  this  way  and  that…  there’s  another  voice  there,  too,  a  man’s  voice  calling  out.  but  it’s  drowned  out  by  the  screaming.  merlin,  the screaming  and  screaming  and  screaming  ———–

❛      frank!      ❜

the  name  comes  across  as  more  of  a  croak,  words  scraping  and  clawing  against  dry  throat.  it  is  all  she  can  conjure  as  she  feels  a  grip  tightening  around  her  shoulders.  her  own  hands  shoot  out  in  a  panic,  curling  around  the  forearms  of  her  captor,  nails  digging  into  skin  and,  and  —-  and  she’s  gasping  for  air  upon  realizing  the  screams  have  gone  silent.  alastor’s  face  comes  into  view,  and  her  grip  on  him  softens  as  she  slumps  back  in  a  daze.  in  all  of  the  panic  it  dawns  on  her  that  he,  at  least,  is  a friend.

❛      the  screams,  i  just    —-      ❜    confusion  takes  hold  as  reality  begins  to  set  in  once  again.   ❛      who  was  screaming?      ❜

nightmares weren’t an uncommon phenomenon for the wizard, in fact, over the last decade, he felt like he could almost great them like an old friend. night after night of waking up in a cold sweat, his heart racing in his chest as his hand was wrapped so tightly around his wand that his knuckles were as white as bone. haunted by failures, by losses, and the fear that there were so many more to come. yes, for alastor moody, they were now a part of his life that would stick with him til his dying days, but as far as alice was concerned, he wasn’t willing to let her drown in her own terrors without at least trying to help her.

the dream seemed to reach a fever pitch as he struggled to wake the witch, and as she reacted, he imagined the terror was distorting reality as she started to come to. even as the witch dug her nails into his arms, he maintained his grip on her shoulders. not tight enough to hurt her, but firm enough to keep her in his grasp as she struggles to take in air. the pain he could take. he could survive pain. “alice.” he said through gritted teeth, trying to help her recognize him, or even just to pull her back, and he watches as her eyes open and he relaxes his grip on her shoulders, releasing it entirely as her fingers loosen their grip and her nails retreat from where they’d embedded themselves in his arm.

when she finally starts to speak up, he let’s out a gentle sigh of relief. she was awake, alert. everything else didn’t matter at the moment. the wizard prepared to assure her that she was fine, and he’d even parted his lips to do just that when she asked a question that left him silent. alastor moody never hesitates, he acts, and whether that is a good thing or a bad thing is a question better left for those that will come after him, but on this one occasion he hesitates for just a moment, wondering if telling her the truth would do far more harm than good. the longbottom had already been through so much recently ... but in the end, it wasn’t his place to decide for her. alice longbottom was one of the strongest people he knew, and she deserved the truth.  

“you, alice. you were the one screaming.”

[acciomoody-blog]

the wizard offered the witch a gentle nod in the form of a greeting as she entered the room, not looking up from the day’s edition of the daily prophet. the paper was only filled with bad news and gibberish, but it usually served as ample material to make him feel drowsy enough to fall asleep for a little while at least, with the added bonus of usually being a deterrent for any and all conversation. obviously, it didn’t work on this occasion as he heard the little witch walk over and take the open seat across from him. “if i say no, will it stop you from saying it?” though, the wizard was sure he already knew the answer, he didn’t see the harm in asking the question.

even with the lukewarm reception of her other comments and questions, the youngest bones persisted, and moody relented, bending the paper down to face her as he asked about his personal life, giving her his total undivided attention.  

“that’s because you all know everything you need to know already.” his words aren’t crude or unkind in any way, just very matter of the fact. everyone in the order knew his name, knew his allegiance was to them, and knew his skills. everything else, well, that was irrelevant to what they were doing here. then she asks about his personal life, and he put the prophet down.

“there isn’t one. there’s no one, actually. makes it easier, makes things cleaner.” although now, he wasn’t sure how true that statement was. not when there was an entire order of people that made him wonder if he’d made the wrong decision years ago when he closed himself off. no, this was better. wasn’t it?

“no one to mourn when i’m gone, no one to break promises too, no one to disappoint, and in the end, it’ll be like i was never here, and that’s just fine by me.”

¿ - for my muse to ask yours a personal or uncomfortable question. ( request here ! )

date & time: august 19th, 3:45pm. location: order hq. availability: closed ( @acciomoody ). 

Clara practically careened into the sitting room, knocking over a vase but fixing it with a quick reparo. Her spellwork was shoddy as always, leaving cracks where the vase had broken apart, but she was fairly confident that everyone else was too busy to notice. She was always having small accidents like this, spilling and bumping into things and doing her best not to leave too much destruction in her wake. And it was always worse at order headquarters, Clara swearing it was due to the cramped nature of the place, but more likely because of how nervous she felt here.

“Oh, hi there,” she greeted Moody, spotting him by the window. Today, she found herself with a great deal of energy and nowhere to direct it, so she decided in the moment that getting to know Alastor Moody better would be her task for the time being. “Didn’t see you there, Al — may I call you Al?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, taking a seat in the armchair opposite him. 

“Can I just say, I feel like no one here knows anything about you, is that just me? I don’t even know if there’s a Mrs. Moody somewhere — is there? Or… you know, another Mr. Moody. It’s all fine.”

[acciomoody-blog]

while alastor moody usually preferred his own company over that of anyone else, whenever the witch has started a conversation, he hadn’t protested. he found her endearing, interesting even, so he humored her, glancing over her as she rambled on, listening but not really offering any input, preferring to do so whenever she was finished. then she asked something, and then a follow-up question, and things shifted.

has he ever lost someone? the question gets a visible reaction from him, as his gaze drops. his expression doesn’t budge though, his face still as serious as ever as he recollected for just a moment everyone he has lost in his thirty-five agonizing long years. he’d lost comrades, witches and wizards with much more to live for that had lost their lives in pursuit of the peace they were now at war for, comrades that were just like his mother and his father. his parents unwittingly had become the first two in a long line of people who he’d outlive. a long line of ghosts that haunt him every day.

“you don’t.” he knows that it isn’t the answer that the evans is looking for, and it’s no real comfort, but he isn’t prepared to lie to the witch when war was at their door. perhaps he could have added some awe-inspiring wisdom to follow that bleak comment, but he didn’t, because there was no use in sugar-coating the realities of loss. “you never get over it. they’re gone, and nothing will ever change it.” is what he adds instead, looking up to face her as he did so. she was so young, and so full of life. too young for all of this mess, but they're never was quite the right time. he’d learned earlier, yet still, he pitied her. to lose that kind of innocence at any age was a grave loss, and he’d mourn it for her. “you just either learn to live with your grief, or you drown in it.”  

when: evening, august 18th, 1980 where: headquarters who: alastor moody @acciomoody said :  ¿ ( for my muse to ask yours a personal or uncomfortable question )

  she’s not thinking when she says it. well, she is thinking. lily is always thinking, often about everything and nothing in particular; thoughts and feelings and awful emotions running marathon laps in her brain every waking hour of the day. but she’s not thinking about what comes out of her mouth ( she has a knack for doing that ). she’d just been so… relieved about it all, about the return of the others, and safely, too. so many nights she’d spent fretting and studying and losing sleep, and now that they’re back lily’s still in the exact same place as she was before, wondering why on earth that awful sinking feeling in her stomach won’t go away.

  alastor moody would know what to do. he always knows what to do ( or at least, that is lily’s —— admittedly biased —— opinion of him ). it’s why she’s here now, hands clutched around a chipped coffee mug, watching the steam rise and —— and panicking. although she would never say it out loud.

  “   i feel like it’s too simple,   ”   she mutters, not entirely sure whether it’s directed at herself or at him.   “  they just walk back into the ministry like nothing ever happened. and you know i’m glad they’re back, god, i’m so glad. but i can’t shake this feeling that it’s… it’s a trap. it’s too simple. and maybe i’m wrong, but if i’m right…   ”   she blinks.   “   i don’t want to lose them again, moody. have you lost someone? how do you —— how can you even cope with it? learn to cope with it?   ”   ( she’s not thinking when she says it. )

[acciomoody-blog]

when: four a.m. , august 19th, 1980 where: order headquarters who: alice longbottom @thricedefieds​ said :   ✤ ( for my muse to wake yours from a nightmare )

in the middle of the night, the order’s headquarters was as quiet as it ever was. the only noises were the sounds of house settling, and the gentle sounds of soft breathing. inside the walls of their compound, in these earliest hours of the morning, one could almost forget there was a war storming on outside these walls. almost. though, in an ironic twist of fate, this silence and  serenity left alastor moody on edge. the lack of noise, the buzz of dead air, it left him unnerved, waiting for something, anything to break it. without that, he couldn’t sleep, so he walked the halls to bide the time, finding little comfort in the gentle sounds of his steps echoing against the walls.

it was during one of these walks that he heard something break the silence. cries. they caught his attention almost immediatly, and his hand found his wand as he approached the source of the sound, doing his best to remain as silent as he could. he felt a chill run down his spine whenever he saw where the noise was coming from. alice. and suddenly, the auror didn’t care if he was heard, and he got to the door as quickly as he could and threw open the door.

he stood in the doorway, wand ready to smite whoever the hell was threatening her, but, just as things had been with the smell of smoke, things weren’t as nefarious as he had assumed. the witch was alone, and in bed. “alice.” he whispered in a harsh tone as he approached his protege, trying to gauge whether the witch was awake of asleep. she didn’t respond, but instead continued to struggle. “alice.” he repeated, louder this time, hoping it would be loud enough to wake her up, but still she slumbered and suffered, and the auror didn’t bother with a third try. instead, he was at her bed side, reaching down to grasp her shoulders in his hands, shaking her gently while insisting “alice, alice, you have to get up. it’s just a dream. it’s just a dream, alice.”

[acciomoody-blog]

Send a symbol for the following:

™ - for my muse to become jealous of the attention your muse is giving someone else ✔ - for my muse to respond to praise from yours ✗ - for my muse to respond to being scolded or punished by yours ♠ - for my muse to forcibly restrain yours ♢ - for my muse to introduce yours to a family member ♖ - for my muse to submit to or obey your muse’s orders Ұ - for my muse to comfort yours after witnessing an emotional meltdown ✺ - for my muse to help yours get through a frightening situation ✤ - for my muse to wake yours from a nightmare ✞ - for my muse to talk about somebody’s death ✉ - for my muse to write a letter/send an email to yours ✂ - for my muse to rescue yours from danger ¿ - for my muse to ask yours a personal or uncomfortable question ♥ - for my muse to express physical affection to yours ღ - for my muse to express verbal affection for yours ♬ - for my muse to hum or sing to calm yours down

Add ‘reverse’ to switch our muses’ positions. e.g. send ‘✤ reverse’ for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare, or ‘¿ reverse’ plus a question to ask it of my muse.

[acciomoody-blog]

momentvm

There wasn’t much that could truly scare Frank Longbottom — but of those few things, Alastor Moody hurtling into the room, looking ready to take him down, was fairly high on the list (second only to the nightmare which Frank had just lived for three weeks). Frank had always thought he was the vigilant one, the one who saw danger everywhere he went and constantly prepared himself for the worst; but since joining the Order, he’d learned it was nothing compared to the way Moody acted. Not that this was a bad thing, of course. Frank held a great deal of respect for the man, looking to him as one of the few people in the Order (or anywhere, in any circumstances) to whom he was willing to defer his own judgment.

Some men might grow embarrassed to have been caught in their foul mouth by Moody, but Frank had never been the type to feel shame about anything he said or did. Even if he did, that time would have long passed. They could all die at any moment. Who really cared anymore.

“Alastor,” Frank nodded in greeting as he began to scrape the burnt pieces of bacon (aka all of them) into the garbage bin. He most likely would’ve been thoroughly annoyed by the intrusion of nearly anyone else upon his early morning activities, but Moody was by far one of the least irritating members of the Order (Frank’s mind went to James Potter and he immediately started to feel a headache coming on). He didn’t mind engaging.

“’Merlin’s hairy arsehole,’ yes. Not one of my most creative, but I’m not a creative man.” Deciding to have tea instead, he grabbed the empty kettle from where it sat on the stove’s back burner. “You couldn’t sleep either, I take it.”

As the Longbottom spoke up, Moody suddenly became all too aware that his right hand was still wrapped firmly around the handle of his wand. As the smell of the acrid pan still laid in the air, the wizard took a deep breath despite the stench. Everything is fine, he silently reminded himself as he tried to relieve some of the tension in his stance, but he knew that was a lie. As long as the blood purists were out there wreaking havoc, adding to the death toll and aiding in the destruction of the world they knew, nothing would ever be okay again. Still, for the moment, Frank wasn’t a source for concern, and hesitantly his fingers loosened their grip, and he placed it away in his robes as a sign of good faith, but it was still no more than a second away from his ready grasp. Alastor Moody may have been in the company of a friend, but that didn’t make him an idiot.

“You won’t hear any complaints from me. I’d rather hear that than any of that incessant chatter from the children.” While Moody saw the group as a cohesive unit more or less, that didn’t mean there weren’t members that he’d rather never hear speak, specifically the ones who never shut up for merlin’s sake. “Never do. There’s always too much work to be done, and trouble doesn’t stop brewing just because you’re tired.” he offered with as he shuffled his shoulders, reaching into his pocket for his flask. Unscrewing the cap to take a swig of the contents, he looked down at what remained of the bacon in the bin with a slight grimace before turning his attention to the kettle that had replaced the pan that had caused all of the fuss in the early morning hours. 

He lets the silence settle in between them for just a moment as his thoughts turned away from the bacon and the wizard in front of him to someone that had been on his mind more often than not as of late. Worry wasn’t a feeling he was used to expressing, but, for the witch that wasn’t there, he thought he’d at least speak up. “You know, if you’re still struggling to sleep, I’m sure Andromeda could whip something up for you.” he casually offered as he replaced the cap on his flask. “Can never be too careful with how things are right now.”

[acciomoody-blog]

[acciomoody-blog]

[acciomoody-blog]

send “...didn’t know where else to go...”

for your muse to show up at my muses doorstep one night during a thunderstorm, shivering, bleeding & soaking wet.

[acciomoody-blog]

War and death were generous mistresses, but sleep was an elusive one at best, and Alastor Moody was hardly surprised when he’d only managed to get a few hours. Sleepily glancing at the time, he laid in bed for just a few more moments. He wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep, not now as his mind started to wander to their circumstances, and the uncertainty of it all. There was work to be done, and he wasn’t getting anything accomplished by lying there. Dragging himself out of bed, he slipped on his cloak, checking the pocket for his flask. Moving to the bottle he’d charmed only to open for him, he haphazardly began filling the flask before sealing it and hiding it away once more before moving toward the kitchen to follow the rest of his morning routine.

The wizard had smelled the burnt aroma before he’d made it to the kitchen, and it’d made him move faster. It was the first thing in the morning, most of them were asleep, if there was a time to attack, this would be nearly as good as any. Not as good as in the middle of the night of course, but still an adequate time to take them out. He couldn’t let it happen, he wouldn’t. He moved as fast as he could to the kitchen, only coming to a screeching halt when he saw a familiar form, and saw the pan in his hand and he put the pieces together. There was no threat unless you counted Frank Longbottom’s cooking. Not for now at least.

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole?” the wizard asked, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as he examined his sleep-deprived comrade. For a moment, an expression that could have been mistaken for a look of amusement graced his lips, but as soon as it had appeared there, it was gone, replaced by his more frequent expression of disdain. The last few weeks had been so bleak, filled with anger, fear, and worry, that he allowed himself to cherish the absurdity of the curse and the relief that the source of the smell was only burnt bacon, if only for a moment. “Good morning to you too, Frank.”

date & time: august 18th, 7:20am. location: order hq. availability: open.

Needless to say, Frank had been spending the past few days sleeping at the Order’s headquarters — not that he was managing to get much sleep. For three weeks, he was consumed with worry and focused on retrieving those who had been captured. Now, even though they were safe, he found himself more stressed than ever. He rarely left Alice’s side other than to eat or use the toilet, almost afraid she’d disappear again if he looked away. Now was one of those rare occasions, as the lack of sleep had made him quite peckish and he’d decided it was a fine hour to make some breakfast.

Cooking when exhausted, however, was not the smartest combination for Frank. He was jolted out of a slight daze by the smell of burning bacon, causing him to look down and notice that his food was quickly blackening. 

“Motherfu —” Frank swore, jumping to turn off the stovetop flame as quickly as possible and barely noticing that he was no longer alone in the kitchen. “Merlin’s — hairy — arsehole…”

[acciomoody-blog]

ACCIO INTRODUCTION

STATS

name: alastor moody

nickname: moody

age: thirty-five 

species: wizard

gender: cis man

pronouns: he/him

occupation: auror

QUICK PERSONALITY

+ confident, indomitable, and courageous 

- paranoid, reclusive, and blunt

FAMILY

father: amais moody †

mother: marisol moody née cruz  †  

siblings: none

next of kin: unknown

SHORT HISTORY

amais moody was a man with something to prove. his parents had been aurors, as had his grandparents, and so on and so forth for as long as the family could remember. it came as no surprise whenever he stepped up into the position of being an auror, and even less of a surprise when he left his mark in the field.

marisol cruz, however, she was a different story. although she’d come from a pureblooded wizarding family in the philipines, they were wand makers, not aurors. her family expected her to follow in suit, or to simply marry up and spend her days rearing children. neither of those options were appealing to the witch, so, as soon as she had graduated, she relocated to scotland and got a fresh start, and started the necessary training to be an auror.

 as time went on, marisol and amais became well known in their own rights in the wizarding community. the more time they spent together, the closer they became, and sparks began to fly between the pair. amais claimed the day he knew she was the one was the day she beat him in a duel and held her wand to his throat. the pair finally married in their fourties, and had alastor two years later.

born the child of two renowned aurors, alastor moody had a lot to live up to. though, in his earlier years he was a softer boy, bright and full of life, desperate for his parents adoration and attention. while his mother provided it in droves when she can, his father always pushed him away. ever-persistent, the little boy never let himself be deterred, trying effortlessly for his attention, even if that meant simply being shooed away after the slightest sign of acknowledgment. as a young child, his mother was the star of his universe, and his father, his father was a faraway planet he just couldn’t seem to reach.

despite the lack of attention, he received from his father, his childhood felt like a dream. of course, all dreams come to an end, and for alastor the dream ended whenever he was eight years old. marisol and amais had left on a mission in the early afternoon, marisol taking the time to kiss her son on the forehead, and his father even bothering to pat him on the shoulder before they left the cottage. they promised they’d be back that evening, and that they’d be back in time to put him to bed. the neighbor woman who was watching him waited until the latest hour she could before tucking him under the covers and promising to wake him when his parents arrived. stubborn as ever, he was resigned to stay awake until they came home, and at a little past one in the morning he heard the door to the cottage open and he sleepily scrambled to his doorway. standing there was his father, in a soaking wet cloak, and a somber look on his face. alastor tilted his head, looking for his mother’s smaller frame, but he didn’t see it. then his father shut the door, and walked over to the woman alone and spoke in hushed whispers. the witch covered her mouth, and the tears in her eyes spoke volumes, though the young wizard was deaf to them. whenever his father turned toward him, he moved back to his bed, hiding under the covers. he heard his father come to the doorway, and stand there for a moment. his father called his name, but he was to afraid to speak. his father repeated his name one more time, and then he shut the door. the next morning alastor would find out that his mother was gone, killed in the line of duty. but for that night, the dream had still existed, and he was able to believe, if only for a few hours later, that his mother would be coming home and everything would be the way it always was.

after marisol was gone, amais made more time for alastor. in his grief, his father clinged to the one piece of wife he had left, and alastor clung to the father he still had. the next three years passed in a blur for the pair, and then it was time for the younger moody to go to school, and the disconnect between the two began once more. there was an awkward handshake on the platform of 9 3/4, and he was off to school. 

his time at hogwarts was rather unremarkable for the first few years. he wrote his father, made friends, and went through the motions. he was a good student, studied his books late into the night, and tried to stay out of trouble. though, when trouble arised, he was more than willing to stand his own. he looked out for the other members of his house, and of his year, and those younger than him, and even those above him when necessary. he wasn’t willing to stand by and let innocents get hurt, and these moments cost the house points, and on more than one occasion, led to disciplinary actions, but all of them were worth it to him, and earned the moody a reputation as a duelist in his later years.

all throughout school, alastor had struggled with the idea of what he would do after his seventh year. everyone expected him to follow in his father’s footsteps, in his mother’s footsteps, but there was always an ounce of hesitation coming from the wizard. while his skills were suited for the career, hell, some said it ran in his blood, he also wanted to be his man, follow his own path. he was his mother’s son, and he’d started to investigate careers for his other talents, and he’d nearly been convinced he wasn’t going to be an auror up until the winter break of his seventh year. his father had sat with him in front of the fire in the cottage that was filled with memories, and they’d just finished dinner when his father asked him what his intentions were. alastor froze for just a moment, debating if he should say what he wanted to say, or what his father wanted him to say, but looking into the mans tired eyes, he lied. auror. he said he wanted to be an auror, and watching the way amais’ eyes lit up, it was worth it. he told himself he could do it, if not for him, for his father. little did he know, it was the last time he would see his father, and he went back to hogwarts the next morning on his own, oblivious to the future tragedy he was going to ednure.

alastor is preparing to go home, and start the next chapter of his life when he recieves the news. it’s a formal letter from the ministry, and in flowery words it explains the end of the great amais moody. it’d been a mission, he’d been ambushed. it took four men to bring him down, he should find comfort in the fact his father hadn’t suffered though, and that he’d fought hard until the end. it isn’t pride the moody feels, instead, he doesn’t feel much of anything. the pain doesn’t come until later, and when it does, it hits him like a freight train. grief, anger, and the feeling of being completely and utterly alone.

 as they bury his father, and everyone speaks about what a fine man he was, and all the good he and his wife had done, alastor can’t think of any of that. he can’t remember all the love and affection his mother smothered him in, he doesn’t remember the three years he’d shared with his father after his mother passed, or the pats on his shoulders. he didn’t remember the letters they’d exchanged, or the pride in his fathers eyes whenever he’d announced his intentions to become an auror. in those moments, in the graveyard, all he remembers his father’s last promise, and his mother’s last promise. the promise that they’d go home when it was all done, and everything would be okay. maybe they meant it, maybe everything could have turned out differently, but none of that mattered. it was then that alastor moody became a skeptic, and it was then that alastor vowed never to make a promise he couldn’t keep at any cost, and the bright little boy he’d once been disappeared forever.

in his twenties, alastor fufills the promise he had made his father and secures the future of the moody legacy for yet another generation. he doesn’t marry though, hell, he doesn’t even look for anyone, if anything he pushes them away. he buries himself in his work, and it becomes his everything. protecting the innocent, locking up the criminals, and protecting the wizarding world. no matter what kind of day he has, the wins, or the loses that they endure, the job is always there to welcome him home, and he’s ready to drown in it.

the job was everything, until trouble began to brew, and suddenly it wasn’t all that mattered. the order mattered. the wizards mattered. the loses start to matter, and he starts to feel again. he starts to worry, and care again. he has allies, friends that aren’t his flask again. he has a family again, and he won’t lose this one, no matter what it takes.

[acciomoody-blog]

shooting stars always do. // k.s.

[acciomoody-blog]

accio tag drop !!!

ACCIO: MUSE

ACCIO: INTERACTIONS

ACCIO: MENTIONS

ACCIO: MUSINGS

ACCIO: VISAGE

ACCIO: AUDIO

ACCIO: ANSWERED ASKS

ACCIO: ANSWERED MEMES

ACCIO: ASK MEMES

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ACCIO: DRABBLES