#moodboard created by me

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

Reunited

AN: Inspiration hit this morning and I wanted to share this fic with you all! I am open to writing more fics for the characters in this AU. I blame October; it's got me wanting to write spooky and AU fics. The warnings for this fic are injury and sickness, smoking, and foul language. There's also a hint of spice.

Of all the ways you considered your life changing again, a sixth-year potions class with five minutes until the end of the lesson at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry didn’t even cross your mind.

Horace Slughorn straightened up as he finished examining the familial potions in front of him, “They are all safe to consume.”  He beamed, “Make sure that you have your piece of parchment in front of you so you can see the names of your parents, relatives, and ancestors.”

Eagerly, the students uncorked their potions and drank the contents of their vials in a gulp.  A heartbeat passed and you knew something was wrong when Harry Potter went rigid and fell to the floor.

“Professor!” Hermione Granger screamed as she crouched next to her fallen friend.  Her eyes frantically scanned the room for Slughorn.  You got to her side faster than he did.

“Harry.  Can you hear me?  Do you know where you are?”

The sixth year groaned.  His complexion was waxy and his eyes were unfocused.

“’M in potions at Hogwarts,” he slurred.

Displeased with the way his response sounded despite it being technically correct, you pulled him to his feet and wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders, “Meet us in the hospital wing.”  You ordered Hermione and Ron Weasley.

As an afterthought you added, “Bring his parchment too.”

Hermione nodded resolutely, “Yes professor.”

You tried not to focus on how clammy Harry’s skin felt and the way that his pulse was thready and weak.  You escorted the teenager out of the classroom and focused on reappearing in the Hospital Wing.

You knew you were successful when you heard Madame Pomfrey’s shriek of terror, “My Heavens!” She cried, “Where did you come from?”

Swallowing down your impatience, you answered her.  “Sixth year potions.  Professor Slughorn taught the students how to brew a familial potion and after he had inspected all of them, he gave them permission to drink their potions.  Harry drunk his and went rigid immediately.  His complexion is waxy and his eyes are unfocused.  He’s slurring his words.  His pulse is thread--”

“Put him on the bed.”  The matron ordered brusquely, “I will conduct my own assessment, thank you.  Out of the two of us, I am the one who was trained to be a Healer, Assistant Professor.”  Her tone was clipped and condescending.

“I have more experience than you could ever dream of.” You seethed in your thoughts.  “But of course, your people wouldn’t recognise it as experience because I did not complete my training here.”

Within seconds, Madame Pomfrey’s assessment reported the same symptoms that you had identified.  Feelings of pride and smugness swept through you and you fought to quell them as you remembered where you were.

“Professor?”  Ron gasped as he doubled over panting, “How did you beat us here?” Behind him, Hermione appeared to be in a similar state.

“Out!  Out!”  Madame Pomfrey barked as Professors Slughorn, McGonagall and Dumbledore bustled into the room and made a beeline for Harry’s bed, “My patient needs rest.”

Hermione glared at the Healer with such a burning glare that it was lucky for Hermione that Madame Pomfrey had turned to address the staff that had just arrived.  You sent the teens a sympathetic smile and the three of you left the left the Hospital Wing.  You weren’t sure whether it was Madame Pomfrey’s doing but as soon as your group left the Hospital Wing, the door slammed shut and locked behind you.

“What the bloody hell crawled up their arses and died?” Ron spat with a surly expression as he crossed his arms and glared at the locked door.

“Ronald!  There is a professor present.”  Hermione rebuked.

“I get it.”  You cut in and held up a hand to forestall Ron’s response “Harry’s in there and you’re worried about him.”

“I wish we had more professors like you.”

“Thanks Ron.”

Hemione handed you the sheet of paper that she had taken from the potions classroom.  Harry’s piece of parchment only had names from one side of his family.  Your eyes scanned the parchment and while you spotted some familiar names, the one that was most familiar to you was the name of his mother, Lily Potter.  Where the names of Harry’s father and ancestors should have been written, there was simply a black question mark that flashed red every few seconds.

“It was doing that all the way up to the Hospital Wing,” Hermione revealed.  “What does it mean?”

“I’m not sure.  I’ll look into it.” You hated lying to the teenagers but you couldn’t see any other option.

“Come on.  I’ll escort you back to your common room.”

The three of you walked in silence to the portrait of the Fat Lady.  You bid goodbye to the teens and spun around on your heel as soon as the portrait hole closed.  With long strides, it didn’t take you long to reach a blank section of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.  Why he thought trying to teach trolls ballet was a good idea, you would never know.

“I need a safe place to summon the Eldest.  I need a safe place to summon the Eldest.  I need a safe place to summon the Eldest.” 

There was a creaking and grinding noise as two doors appeared in what had previously been a blank stretch of wall.  Running low on patience, you wrenched open the left door as soon as the doorhandle appeared.  You quickly darted into the room and shut the door behind you.  You even took the added precaution of locking the door.

“Well, well, well.”  A masculine voice drawled, “Look who finally answered the telephone.”

Teasingly slowly, the owner of the voice turned around to focus on you.  He was just as you remembered him.  Tall, broad shoulders, clad in a tailored suit, physically intimidating and it seemed that the smile that stretched on his thin lips with a cruel twist was his favourite accessory since it never left his face.  You raised yourself to your full height and stared directly into his eyes. 

“Years ago, you told me that I could contact you if I ever needed to make a deal.”

There was a blast of hot air and a cigar appeared in the eldest’s mouth.  This demon was known by many and feared by more.  In certain circles, he was referred to as “Big Boss” or “the Eldest.”  You were one of the few who knew him by his given name, Alistair.   

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”  He warned you.

You scoffed, “When you say things like that, I almost believe you care.”

His expression hardened, “What do you want?”

“There’s a child in the Hospital Wing--”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.” Alistair interrupted.

You clenched your jaw, “He’s special.”

“Everyone says that.”  The demon argued.

“I need you to heal him.”

“And in return?” The demon questioned, removing the cigar from his mouth with one hand, and tapping it on the first finger of his other hand. This action resulted in some ash falling onto the floor at your feet.  You didn’t move or flinch.

“I return to your domain for one thousand years.”

“Two thousand, five hundred.”

“One thousand, five hundred.”

“Two thousand.”

You shook your head, “One thousand and seven hundred.  That’s my final offer.”

“One thousand, eight hundred and fifty.  That’s my final offer,” he growled, stepping into your personal space.  “What is that child’s life really worth to you?”

“I’m doing this for Harry.”  You vowed.

“Done.”

Alistair moved over to you once more and you had to crane your neck to look at him.  If you didn’t know that he was a demon and you passed him on the street, you would have found him attractive with his southern drawl, tan skin, his unnecessary glasses that matched the shade of his suit, his near-perfect smile, his glittering eyes, and the dimple on his right cheek that became visible when he smiled.

But you did know him.  You knew how cunning, deceptive, manipulative, and vengeful he could be.

“I trust you haven’t forgotten how we seal deals,” Alistair purred, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.  Then he used the thumb of that hand to trace your bottom lip.  Your lips parted and his thumb stayed on your lip as he gazed at you lustfully.  His gaze was absolutely smouldering after your tongue pressed against his thumb.

Slowly he withdrew his hand and you found the words to reply to his statement, “No.  I haven’t forgotten how you seal deals.”

“Good girl.”  The demon praised.

Your mind was too fogged for you to decipher whether he was praising you for remembering how deals were sealed or for touching the pad of his thumb with the tip of your tongue.  His hand returned to your cheek and he tilted your face up before pressing his lips to yours.

It felt like every nerve ending in your body sparked to life at the touch of his lips.   The kiss grew more intense and Alistair raised his other hand to cup your face as he prised open your lips with his tongue.  Reflexively, your hands moved up his shoulders and one of them rose up his neck and buried itself in his hair.  Your nails scratched along the demon’s scalp causing him to moan into your mouth.

Alistair broke the kiss but remained close enough to you that you could feel his breath fanning across your lips.  The tip of his nose was touching yours and he felt a smug sense of satisfaction as you stretched upwards because you wanted his lips on yours again.

He nudged your nose with his own, “The deal is sealed,” he uttered quietly.  Your eyes snapped open and you rocked back onto your heels.  The air was thick with longing but urgency hung in the air too as you recalled why you had summoned him.

With Alistair by your side, it was easy to bypass Madame Pomfrey’s protection spells and appear on the other side of the locked door that led to the Hospital Wing.  You heart sunk as you took in Harry’s prone form on the bed; it didn’t look like any of the professors or Madame Pomfrey had been able to help Harry.  The teenager didn’t appear to have improved at all.

Alistair strode over to the teen’s bedside and rested a large hand on Harry’s forehead.  The air visibly crackled with electricity.  Red and black sparks danced around Harry and Alistair and Harry’s eyes shot open.  From where you were standing, you could see that they were blood red.  The teen arched off of the bed and his hands clenched as he grabbed onto the sheets underneath him.  His mouth opened in a silent scream and after chiding yourself for forgetting about the Hogwarts Mediwitch, you locked the door to her office and commanded her to fall deep into slumber with an unspoken command.

Alistair straightened up and turned to you with an unreadable expression, “You found my son.”

[herbaklava]

homes with character bring me so much joy ✨

[y-ves]

#⃝𝟶1 ( TOKYO DRIFT X SEONGHWA ) 町中すべってのりこむ ?

[princessbrunette]

outlaw!john b x sheltered!reader — the moodboard ♡

[exequien]

steter moodboard/collage thing i made, feel free to use as inspiration!!

[skz-maybe-incorrects]

felix // paris

[doomreed]

DoomReed moodboard

[ember-owlet]

25 days of agere moodboards

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ day 8 : your ideal playroom -> indoor natural theme ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[kitweewoos]

🖌️ heart buck/tommy please 🩵

Send me a 🖌 with a ship or character and a word from the selection below, and I’ll make you a moodboard!

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

[gretelshelby]

Thomas Shelby Moodboard

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︳🪦ᅠ ્᭄ ˖ ॱ EYES INTOXICATED WITH THE LIGHT . THAT HAS LOST IT'S WAY - @crazyfrm ‎‎

[starsandwriting]

Creating a malevolent moodboard and yk looking at pictures of 1930s men for arthur and pinterest seems to know the exact kind of meow meow energy im looking for. Lots of pictures of men in suits looking exhausted, holding their head in their hands, laying on the side of the road. Its so funny like yeah thats him thats our boy 10/10 thats Arthur Lester, PI

[folkloregirlfriend]

hands that create art and hands that love.

[oceanicels]

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[serymn31]

hollow heart [an AU] He would imagine what it was like to touch her. In his drunken state, he would play a scene in his head. She would sigh and accept his touch, she might even like it. She would let him undress her, she would look at him with love and accept him. He knew, though, that the reality would be worse. If he touches her, he’s sure she will flinch. She won’t look at him with love but with disgust. She will accept it only to tolerate it to fulfill her duty. Helaena, ever the good and perfect princess, dutiful despite her husband’s neglect. By the time morning comes, he still would not work up the nerve to do it.