lucius abraxas malfoy

[lucius abraxas malfoy]

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

||what do you see when you look at me [/font]

Name/Alias: Tristan
Age: 18
RP Experience: 8 years
How Did You Found Us: ad on my site, When Doves Cry
How Much Time Do You Plan To Spend Here Per Week: As long as there is a place and people to post, I'll be here (rp-sleeper for life). Most certainly I will check on daily.
Other Characters: None at the moment

||you say you know me [/font]

Character's Full Name: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
Nicknames: 'Malfoy' as a term of endearment and attempt at insult. Any other cutesy names are left under wraps and used with fervent discretion.
Age: 17 - about to turn 18
Year: seventh
Canon or Original: canon
House: slytherin
Birthday: October 24th, 1954
Sexual Orientation: heterosexual
Blood Status: pureblood

||still you've got no clue [/font]

x x
Play By: Boyd Holbrook
Appearance: As said on multiple occasions by any nosy socialite, he did almost look just like his father. He has his father’s cheekbones, his pointed chin, his stern and prominent jaw line and perfectly sized forehead. His skin is a porcelain color that was thriving and healthy due to the amount of water he drinks on a daily basis, not to mention exercise. In fact, many wonder what quality did not belong to Lucius’s father. Even the rich, silky, platinum blonde locks were inherited.

Starting on that bountiful head of his, his hair literally looks like shredded silk, tapered into short, but defining layers. The only sign to signify that he didn’t have some Persian dress on his head would be the soft crinkles and waves that formed from time to time when dampened or unmaintained. Currently it is layered so that it falls before his forehead just short of his brow, layered to about the lobes of his ears.

Following to the tips of his hair, a dark, thick brow gently humps over his eyes. Ah yes, his eyes. They are a soft pewter color with flecks of blue and perhaps a tad bit of a green if one looks close enough. But it isn’t the color that makes them so different, it is the shape. Unlike his father and grandfather, who both have narrow eyes his are a round-almond shape, and big too, capable of holding much expression, depending on what he would like to convey. Between his twin irises is also a sloping nose; another trait that wasn’t completely taken from his father. Abraxas’s nosed is pinched and aristocratic, Lucius’s however, though aristocratic, is not quite as pinched and it’s slope is more noticeable. It is not too big, though, which keeps Lucius’s face proportionally sound.

If he were to ever to have his clothes off before you, you’d see very broad shoulders and a long neck. His arms are not too bulky, but they aren’t thin and frail either. Down to his wrists are two very large, well-crafted, masculine hands that he works at to keep soft despite the callings of quidditch; he is son to propriety, after all. Going back to his core, you’d see a square chest with perfectly formed lines and no scars to be seen, despite his rather wreck-loose stunts. If he turned around, down his back you’d see very much the same perfectly symmetrical lines. On his shoulder blade you may or may not notice the scar line that had healed over a once deep cut. One can not distinctly feel it and he doesn’t exactly pride himself on the sole imperfection, but it is there and perhaps if you are ever in good light you may see it.

Turning around once more, you follow the line made by the muscles of his torso, and very delicate lines they are. They aren't bulging mounds lining down his body, but slender and lithe dips that detail a very athletic build. It one touched you’d feel the slight bumps his muscles created, but nothing profoundly bulging off his torso. Lucius's utterly flat upper body stops short with two sinewy lines leading to his …Ahem, legs.

Now they are a piece of work. They are beautifully sculpted with creative lines that run down his the length of his appendages, honed muscle any artists would love to draw. A couple of almost non-existent scars are on his knees, but who hasn’t procured at least one - if they did have something akin to a healthy childhood? All the way to his ankles even to his narrow, nicely lined feet (if feet could look attractive) is a work of art. It would be appropriate to quote Shakespeare and say that overall Lucius Malfoy is a man of wax, in multiple ways.

But, I bid you to stop visualizing the naked Malfoy and picture him with his clothes back on. Through the years, he has had quite a few styles, all of which were changed and tweaked to fit Lucius and Lucius alone. Copying him would prove rather difficult. A maid of the Malfoy Manor always commented how Lucius seemed to grow out of clothes every month, and that was practically true. He didn’t just have one or two spurts in his life, but was constantly in a state of growing. It didn’t seem to bother him too much, that meant that almost every month he could try something else new. With this fashion freedom, however, it is a know fact that Lucuis always dresses in a sharp, conservative, and well-put together manner following the dictations of a good reputation and surface value. One would be so lucky to catch him in a tee shirt and lounge pants.

||off all the things that I can do[/font]

Likes: subtlety, all aspects of water (rain, ocean, etc), history of magic, potions, cleanliness and hygiene, nature, fresh linen sheets, anything that's soft that he can touch, quidditch, his family and name, chocolate, papaya juice, classical music/opera, good perfume, flashy/hypnotic/captivating spells, his home and family, physical fitness, secrets.
Dislike: Cages/confined spaces, Divination, adolescent mannerisms, bad gossip about himself, stigmas, poor etiquette/dirtiness, blemishes, a scar he acquired in his youth – a prominent exterior flaw, blatancy, getting caught or revealed, and far too many things to list.
Strengths: Cunning, Manipulation, Intimidation, Flying / Quidditch, Potions, complicated/dark spells, Influence, Power (physical/mental/influence), Reflexes, Public Speaking, Physical Fitness, Name and Family, research and knowledge in dark arts and their defenses, occlumency, emotional detachment, reflexes, public speaking, self-preservation
Weaknesses: vanity, snootiness, astronomy, good perfume, sweets, pride, unerring devotion
Boggart: Unicorns in it’s most glorious state – shimmery, glowing, healthy – otherwise at it’s most tempting and striking. With the riddikulus charm it turns into a shriveled cow.
Patronus: snow leopard that slinks in a defensive position
Personality:
[»] Contradictory: Lucius Malfoy as a person is contradictory by nature in many aspects. Quite often the devil’s advocate and most opinionated person in the room, he sees no qualm in stating his beliefs and shutting down the rebuttals of others with singularly-lined quips. But aside from his general personality to contradict whomever or whatever displeases him, by birth he’s been contradictory in actual personality traits. To some, this could be seen as hypocritical at times, or merely just odd, but somehow, in some way, he’s managed to portray seemingly opposite traits, sometimes in the same breath. He’s a walking, living, breathing paradox that one should stray from - in stating this it will become easier to find the realism in the fantastical opposites found in Lucuis.
[»] Passionate and Driven: It could not be denied that the boy has aspirations and the drive to execute them. This passion controls, if not overwhelms, his entire life, giving him the edge over the mediocre or undecided. Once his mind is set, he pursues and is hard to turn down or away. This drive makes him more than annoying at times, if not more unbearable than his personality alone. But he has yet to be thwarted, the enthusiasm and confidence of youth has yet to wane, even as no grand success has yet to reveal itself to the young blonde. Obsession, too, is another traitorous quality he finds difficult to overcome, as the ardor of want is poisonous; and yet he drinks from it as if medicine.
[»] Ambitious and Manipulative: Ambition greatly ties with his superfluous amount of fervor. In small doses it is deemed praise-worthy, if not enviable, by most, but what he does for the cause of sating his own desires brings forth the horrible, yet honed trait of manipulation. The word on it’s own makes one think of deviousness and deceit, but for Lucius it is a tool and one that he uses often.
[»] Introverted Socialite: Here is one of the many big contradictions known to Lucius's person. He was born wealthy and privileged and as such knows how to speak and speak well. Still, an air of thoughtful quietness overwhelms his aura, even when in a crowded room. What is on his mind is almost never painted on his face before a mass of people, and he does get by in saying the most concise phrases that get to the point and yet not clipped. Cutting down to the contemplative side of Lucius is a mean trick to any who want to try, as his front is hard to slip through, and probably less pleasing than his outward façade.
[»] Jealous and ‘Mean’: It can not be helped, just as people breathe, Lucius is by general standards ‘mean’. Sarcasm his one of his main tools of conversation, matched with his opinions one would have to have a tough skin to survive a conversation with him. Jealousy is another trait that plagues him, though this is one trait he wished he did not have. It is part of his whole obsessively addictive ways, what he doesn’t have he wants, and is envious of any who have what he craves. While not up front with this vice, it certainly molds how he treats people in a social situation.
[»] Quirky and Stoic: No one is without their oddities, as it is what makes them human, Lucuis is surprisingly no exception. Many of his quirks include his contradicting personality, his eating habits, sensitivity to his surroundings (a surprise, seeing as he comes off as brash and narrowly-minded). He adores very peculiar things like classical music, water, and nature, despite being an obviously civilized and sharp character. These likes and quirks are hidden, however, by a stoic air, comparable to the Hellenistic, marble sculptures of Gods and deities that are such a cornerstone in Italian history. These holier-than-thou airs are also not very well received.
[»] Extremist and Underhanded: Unsurprisingly (in recognition to all the above stated traits), Lucius is rather extreme in whatever he does, always. He is neither flippant, fair-weathered, nor passive in aspects pertaining to his true self. This perpetually large quality stays in the shade, however, as his front gives off nothing else but indifference or carelessness. What he wants, needs, and desires stays inside, which would ultimately make him an underhanded fake and a liar of sorts. He does not formulate an opposing exterior for the sake of protection, rather self-preservation and the strange affection he has towards secrets.
[»] Athletic and Competitive: For such a driven and persevering person, of course he uses these traits to fuel acts of physical exertion. He loves sports as winning, pushing himself to the brink, and sculpting his figure are all things he admires and strives for. Competition, of course, is one of the things that keeps him breathing so imperiously and so long as there is a challenge he shall pursue, as one of his fervent dislikes is boredom or the mundane.
[»] Poised and Wanton: Collected. Sharp. Put together. All these words and phrases could describe him adequately. He always likes control, and henceforth exudes that very air, even though it comes off as arrogant. He never reveals too much in his words or visage, but always says just enough for the sake of intrigue and mystery, just as his noble upbringing has dictated. Even so, he manages to get away with whatever he wants whenever he wants, having a serious disregard for authority, rules, or societal principles (though the juicy details will remain a pleasant secret). How he manages to be so collected and yet a wreck-loose is a wonder in itself, but if anyone could pull it off, it would be Lucius Malfoy.
[»] Emotionally Void: He does not trust, nor is he a particularly trustworthy. He doesn’t fully relinquish himself to anyone without a great amount of respect and esteem for the person, which is hard to come by, seeing as he is a rather repulsive person. He remains a stoic passerby on the stage of life, remaining more to himself than seeking friendship, companionship, or love. There are few traits that are admirable, at least not from a basic level. He remains recluse and mostly to himself, hollowed to a shell, or as Shakespeare wrote: ‘a man of wax’.

||history may repeat itself [/font]

Father: Abraxas Malfoy
Mother: Not too sure
Siblings: n/a
Other Family: purebloods to put generally, though no seen ties to the Blacks for at least three generations.
History: “Oh, he looks just like his father.”

He’s been hearing that phrase since he took his first breath, and they weren’t lying either. They also foretold that he will always have a big head, though in time (thankfully), not literally. It was in those moments between being born and getting cleaned up that the last and only connection between he and his mother was cut off at his navel. After that, she was just another character cooing at him in the background. Now most children have blue eyes when they are born and take to their actual hues within the weeks, months, and years. It was the same for the Malfoy son. When he had finally opened his very large, round eyes, they were a magnificent, magnetic blue color, not exactly the same color as his father’s nearly translucent gray color, but nevertheless, Abraxas did not seem upset to finally having a son to carry the name. Born just in time for the month of the Scorpio, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy on the 24th of October in 1954.

Life was rather hectic at Malfoy Manor with the little inheritor in their midst. Nannies and Lucretia all tried to keep up, but he was indeed a handful. From the cradle, Lucius adored attention. Whenever friends of the family came over he cooed and giggled as their entertainment, and when left alone too long, he would take a vow of silence for attention. For a while he was confined to the baby room, but it just got too small by the time he was two.

By then he could walk and constantly loved to prove it. White blonde, wavy pieces of hair sat on top of his head, bountiful and thick. He enjoyed being outside immensely and would often go wandering over the green grounds or go with his father through the mazes of their massive gardens. It was there that he learned his first word. His eyes were then dulling to a soft, but deep gray, more like his father’s, but of a richer hue. It was during the late summer that he watched a frog leap into a small, man-made pond in the gardens did he croak ‘frog’ (pronounced ‘fwog’) quite loudly. Not exactly the cutest word to resound. Nevertheless, everyone had a hay day about that for a while, laughing and applauding every time little Lucuis said ‘frog’ much like a real croak of an amphibian.

Now getting older, it was true to say that he suffered the case of ‘terrible twos’ until he was five. He had an immense amount of energy and Lucius caused havoc. Not to say he was purposely a heathen, though that seemed to be the case. In fact he was just curious, vigorous, and adventurous all at once, not to mention completely hyper all the time. Accidents happen, but he was indeed something entertaining to watch and follow after rather than constantly discipline. It was quite early in life when Lucius wanted to take a stab at flying (mostly without a broom) and his father or the nearest maid had to step in, therefore only left a few incidents of bruised faces (not mentioning the great presents of broom equipment by age seven). Despite his alluring nature, he didn’t make friends well. In fact, he became a little monster when set with people who he wasn’t related to or instintively didn't like. There were the exceptions, but other than that, he either caused mischief by himself, or he toddled around his family.

Getting older, and after more cases of ‘falling’ out of windows (thankfully with brooms now), it was time to broaden his space further, seeing as he knew every nook, cranny, and hole in his house and all outdoors. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry seemed like the next place to go. In this transitional period Lucius was taught the values of his forefathers, the concepts of tradition and pride instilled in his mind and relished upon forever. Abraxas taught Lucius much about a 'dieing era' and 'the last of the purebloods' - not exactly the warmest bedtime stories; in fact, they were actually quite frightening to think about. Lucius mentally devoted himself to the cause of keeping the rich and bountiful history of witches and wizards alive, not mentioning his desire to keep the secret society under wraps from the wasteful and superfluous muggle world. All these developed values were brought with him to Hogwarts.

During that year he was completely and utterly alone. Very few remember this point in time in Lucius’s life, but when first coming into Hogwarts, many saw him as a 'loner'. He was constantly doing singular activities, assuredly keeping people (strangers in his eyes) away and didn’t make any friends. Many actually thought him really weird because his eyes seemed far too big for his face, not also mentioning his lips which were extremely full, especially for a male. Besides, he also had an obsession with Papaya juice and chocolate that nobody seemed to understand. All his quirks that were understood, even well-received at home were solidified as weirdness with Lucius's strange aura of foreboding soberness, a trait not common in an eleven year old. Many thought that the Malfoy son would lead the life of a loner - an outcast. Oh, how wrong they were.

By his second and third year he was one of the tallest of his year. He grew up into a lanky form, though his face seemed to grow and blend a bit better together with the help of hormones. It was his personality that attracted the most attention, however, because after first year jitters, he grew a taste for defiance, which was well heard in class the simplest, quiet words and visionary expressions. After a few detentions with the same old people, you start up conversations, and from there, people to talk to outside the detention room. By the end of his third year he also filled out substantially due to quidditch, which also helped a bit with his notarization.

It was his fourth year that some major changes occurred, with help of adolescence. He thrived, his skin remained flawless like marble, unlike many other unfortunate children, but his voice did drop substantially, making him that much more intimidating and a primary player of Slytherin bad habits. He also grew taller still, filling out more into his quidditch frame and bringing proportion to his body's climb to 6'2 height. But it was really his remarkable taste for all things flashy that caused the most attention. After winning a quidditch game he had the end of his broom ignite into green sparks as he flew about the stadium. That caused a bit of attention. So did the flooding of the third floor girl’s bathroom, while girls were inside (they deserved it, really). Though he left his fourth year just as friendless, it was truthful to say that a vast majority (unless the students spent their time beneath a rock deep under the castle) knew the name Lucuis Malfoy.

His dry, dark humor and quick wit scored a couple respect points from his teachers apparently, as he was dubbed a prefect for his fifth year, something that Lucius has milked for all it's worth. It was power that he wanted, after all. The vast cultural changes were not of his favor and so he spends a good deal of his time with conservative ventures, though ironically rallies behind an extremist group. It's all about making something for himself just as the Malfoy name has done before him; it is his duty and honor to serve his family, parents, heritage with the utmost decorum.

||at least I've got skills[/font]

RP Sample: Most recent post in relation to a Malfoy Christmas party

^{Another head aches, another heart breaks
I am so much older than I can take
And my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection}

[/i]

The rush and whirlwind of the Malfoy Manor is comparable to the apocalyptic end of the world - that is if the dire necessities for survival were dainty fabrics, seating arrangements for musicians, and flutes of bubbly. The whole day had faces upon faces of many ethnicities and expertise running through the manor to ensure the last touches were perfect before they dashed off to their own humbler Christmas Eve gatherings. Heated and stressed, on such a holy eve, a good slew of swear words (in an array of languages) have been thrown; people have huffed and puffed, and after all the designing disaster and costume dilemmas had subsided, what was left was something akin to a very lovely party. The sun set much earlier in correspondence to winter, leaving the grounds dim save the reflective layer of frost and snow as far as the eye could see. But from anyone climbing the hill towards the Malfoy Manor, prospectus salvation from the chill was assumed by the golden light that poured from most every visible window on every side of the house, making the stony abode seem porous and luminous, if only for tonight. Foods and snacks had already been served, leaving an array of delicacies and delights to accompany one’s seat before one of the many raging hearths if one wished it. No expense was spared it seemed, as the Malfoys apparently had a lot to celebrate, and strongly desired every notable pureblood known to the British Isles to be in attendance.

The small prickle of exhaustion had already struck Aiden. After spending a great amount iof time and expended energy in throwing this gala together, as well as planning it, the great night to come seemed inconsequential now that it had finally arrived. The hour was early and all he could think about was the sensuous feeling of a long, steamy hot bath followed by sandwiching himself in slick satiny sheets in which he could indulge himself in six or so hours of sleep. The brandy that presently coated his throat did not help in ceasing these mental fantasies, perhaps even ignited them further. Any trace of innuendo or debonair alterations of his desires, however, were thankfully halted as he was not in the company of anyone or anything visually inspiring - at least not yet. Aiden was currently in one of many chairs that occupied the main billiard room which held the lavish pool table that drew in the fascination of the older pureblood men. While not one man in that room could ever turn away the likes of a woman (especially not of the caliber seen tonight) - right now it was ‘men only’, leaving the gents to redirect their testosterone onto other matters and fend for themselves, as they did not have a lady to pour their drinks or keep their lap warm.

Aiden was the youngest of this lot for now. Draco had acquainted Aiden with this crowd from a rather young age, fully knowing that these old men cowering in the pool room were the most powerful in the matter of pureblood hierarchy. Aiden was to be one of these gents one day - sans the gruff voice, wrinkly skin, and lack of hair - hopefully. At the tender age of twenty-four, Aiden had been delegated to ‘check in’ on the gents to make sure there was enough brandy and cigars to last another hour as they yammered and yammered. Young Malfoy was coaxed into staying longer than he pleased to in fact, and after a round of pool, a couple glasses of brandy, and basking in a fog of cigar smoke like it was a steam room - he was ready to join back up with people (women especially) his age. Cutting into one of their rants or monologues, however, is extremely rude; henceforth Aiden had to bear the drudgery of hearing one bark about the plight of purebloods. Perhaps if Aiden was not so petulant and tired, he would actually be severely interested, as this conversation was not empty or baseless banter like he’s heard so many times before. The Walpurgis Knights were spoken about, both as vigilantes and ill-bred heathens, a hot topic as the subject of marriage fees and the new Ministry regulations were brought up. They sounded angrier, more passionate, even more interested than Aiden has ever heard them - they were not merely a room full of conservative cynics and whiners - apparently they wanted to do something, even brainstorming 'options'.

But Aiden could not bear one more inhale of stagnant smoke, no matter how faintly sugary it smelled, the pungent scent of smoke overpowered any mysterious delight that could be had when there is no ventilation. The second one red-faced man stopped to take a breather, sip, and puff, Aiden set down his glass of half-finished brandy, sliding out the hazy room and onto the second floor hall, where the sound of trumpets and saxophones could be heard even from the opposite side of the stair case. It was as if the classics of yore once recorded on vinyl records had jumped from their encasement and splattered into a raw mix in the ballroom. Aiden’s spectacularly shined, classic dancing shoes could not resist the upbeat tempo and swanky flares rarely heard live in this day and age. The music matched the 'old glamour' theme, and the people made the best out of both the music and costume genre from what Aiden could see. While he had no glamorous appeal save the subtle pinstripes on his charcoal pants, vest, and jacket, he had most certainly kept the idea of ’vintage’ in his mind with flat, plain buttons and a narrow, black tie to hold his white-washed, crisp oxford collar to his throat. Many others took full advantage with over-sized plumes, sparkly flapper-inspired dresses, and even elegant evening gowns (most likely authentic) timelessly worthy of any occasion circa 1920s to 50s (posh cigarette holders, drawn-on moles, and pinned fringes and roller curls in tact). Every and all colors seemed to pop that much greater when set in the ballroom, as the gold filigree and warm amber light gave a heavenly glow to anyone perusing over the deep crème and emerald marble.

In the grand center of the large room bordered with thin pillars was a dance floor full of an array of couples young and seasoned, with dresses sweeping across the glossy floor, the heels of the ladies and rubbery pads of the gents adding to the undertone of clinking glasses, tinkling laughter, and softly spoken words. If one was not dancing they could be doing a multitude of things as well. It was not hard to catch the attention of the passing servers with trays of bubbly champagne and fruity thingytails, their main source being a spot along a long table filled with Christmas treats such as gingerbread, frosted cookies, and creamy pastries stacked upon a white table cloth with lacy trim. If one’s stomach was full or ungracious to the prospect of sweets, there was the ample amount of space to both sit or stand around the perimeter of the ballroom where low-toned gossip, overdue reunions, and unadulterated merriment was to be had by clumps of people both youthful and handsomely aged. Along the corners of the ballroom, one could even admire the view of many tall, decorated, local evergreens that emitted a whitish light with an array of pinned candles and gently hued ornaments and silvery tinsel topped by gleaming stars. But if the perfumed, velvet or chiffon dresses were too overbearing, the room too stuffy with literal and metaphorical warmth and smugness, or even the current band of brass instruments (as the orchestra were waiting their turn) was too much, there were other things to do as well. A pair of French-latticed double doors led out to a balcony that stood over the back grounds and garden all covered with white, flaky powder, giving a spectacular view of the actual evening and skylight, so long as one did not mind the chilled, winter air.

And even if that did not suit one’s tastes, no guest was forced to remain in the ballroom, or even on the second story. The entire house was to every guest’s disposal, leaving the Malfoy home open and free (to a good extent) for viewing and perusing. Places such as the billiard room (which was currently overdosed with seasoned testosterone) and portrait hall were some touring favorites, the reputed and grand library coming in at a close third. While there were few rooms that were not specifically tidied for use like the guest rooms and parlors were, there was an aloof sense of mystery in the colder, deserted halls and behind closed doors as well - it just depended on what tickled one’s fancy. Though saying that, one could not assume that the Malfoys would be obtusely hospitable and just leave their precious family heirlooms, antiques and priceless goods out in the open ... but the house elves do give off that illusion. Nothing is out of reach for the rich and famous (unless it belongs solely to the Malfoys), every luxury and want is either already served or can be fetched for anyone with the desire. The night was young still with couples and families coming in at thin intervals; some just to pay their respects, and others to bask in the opportunity of not serving their own meals. With the appearance of some, the occasional few would make their leave, too, families with young, irritable children could not be kept entertained for long, afterall. And as for the occasional older fellows, they managed to sneak away from the prospect of rowdy dancing and smarmy laughs to indulge in apparently more interesting banters away from the general, public eye. Even crowds of young ones, if one was sly enough to notice, were making their way away as well, their lacy trains following behind them as their gloved hands clutched to pilfered bottles of hard liquor. What a whirlwind.

And so, Aiden was not going to catch a break any time soon. The big band was still tooting spunky tunes and keeping the energy up to it’s best ability while Aiden half-wanted the night to recede and disperse. The labyrinth crowd was so thick and woven with extraordinary gowns and accessories, he has not yet found someone long enough to utter a decent sentence with, or even able to keep close enough to offer a dance without being whisked to some duty, introduction, or something of that political order. At least the stench of cigar smoke had dimmed in the musk of evergreen and warm champagne, though his view, sadly, was still rather hazy. The gentle roar of conversation matched with clicking heels and soles was not going to subside any time soon, and so even attempting to sleep would be impossible at this point for dear Aiden - not to mention his father simply would not allow it; part of the extravaganza was, seeing ex-inmate and Draco -carbon copy, Aiden Malfoy, in the flesh and in good repair, after all. This was the first Christmas in six years that he has actually been home, who knows how long it’s been for the old goats to pinch Aiden's now-healthy cheeks and tug at his perfectly tailored clothes and glossy, platinum blonde hair. The fun just really never ends - what would really make his night would be to find someone who didn’t want to instinctively claw at his face without consent - that would be a lovely Christmas gift.[/size][/color]

[/blockquote]

[narcissa acardia black||]

I absolutely love how you've written his history! No other word than Accepted of course!