A prompt! Lucius and Draco reunion, when Lucius first gets out of prison.
Draco stood his ground firmly even though his hands were shaking. He hadn’t seen his father’s face in too long, and he could perfectly picture the sneer, the unsavoury twist of his lips, the deep frown, all the little ways in which he would show his disapproval at Draco’s choices.
It’s not like he could do anything about it. Lucius had been away thanks to his own bad choices, and in his absence Draco had built a new life; a better life, and he was not ashamed of it.
That didn’t make it easier, though.
Lucius walked into the dark excuse for a lobby of the Azkaban prison where Draco awaited him. His skin was even paler, his long hair thinning out, his body slight and fragile, but his face still held that characteristic air of superiority that Draco suspected would remain even in death.
“Hello, father.” Draco felt his voice shake too, and he took a few temptative steps closer, not really sure if the man would approve of a public display of affection.
Lucius smiled weakly and Draco felt a bit of relief. He was afraid that the impresionment would turn his father into an even colder person, but Lucius closed the distance between them and embraced Draco in a hug; not too eager, but definitely not too cold.
“My son,” he breathed and Draco had to choke back tears.
When he composed himself, Draco stepped back, remembering that his mission that day wasn’t just to pick up his father. He needed to know from the very start if Lucius was going to accept everything that Draco was now before having him in his life again. Before it was too painful.
“Father, I need to tell you something,” Draco started and Lucius’ smile disappeard. “I’m sure you’ve heard some things over the last few months…”
“I know about you and the Granger girl. I read about it in the papers.” Lucius’ voice held no contempt or disgust whatsoever and hearing it made Draco feel strange, like he was dreaming.
Draco nodded. He wanted to continue but it was too hard.
Lucius suddenly laughed. “I have to say son, I did not see this coming. Much to my dismay, I always imagined you’d end up with Potter.”
Draco’s heart felt liteally stuck in his throat and he had to cough rather ridiculously to get it to come down. Lucius laughed even more at this, but was abruptly interrupted by two people walking in through the door behind Draco.
Hermione Granger and Harry Potter stood on either side of Draco, looking equal parts scared and ready to fight. Lucius frowned.
“Are you okay?” Hermione whispered to Draco, who had a hand on his chest and was trying to come down from his coughing fit.
He nodded and cleared his throat.
For a moment, no one made a sound, but then Draco knew he had to get it over with once and for all. “You see, father…”
He took Hermione’s hand and Harry’s hand. Lucius’ eyes almost bulged out of his sockets.
“I guess you weren’t so mistaken after all.”
Draco’s hands were sweaty and cold, but the two people he loved holding him so tightly reminded him of why this was important.
Lucius stood watching the three of them like some unsolvable puzzle, his eyes fixing briefly on each of their faces interchangeably. Draco gulped so many times that his throat started to feel raw.
Eventually, Luciu’s shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“I’ve been here for five years,” he stated. Hermione squeezed Draco’s hand just a bit harder. “It could have been more. It should have been more. I’ve seen terrible, unspeakable things during these five years,” he paused.
They all seemed to hold their breath waiting for him to finish.
“What I’m trying to say is…I’m too old and tired to be bothered by this anymore.” Lucius even managed to smile uncomfortably and Draco’s whole body relaxed.
He couldn’t contain his relief and Harry and Hermione knew it, so they let go of him so he could wrap his arms around his father. He felt frail under Draco’s hands; old, tired, but so, so much wiser.
[ Literally do not click play unless you’re willing to sit through me being awkward while talking about SU and pronouncing random words for 15 minutes. (Ft. Pearl and Connie Burn Down an Applebees: The Move 2017) ]
Pain??? Concern???? Steven adopts a (possibly) defective Gem??? Connie gets the utter crap kicked out of her by someone or something protecting Steven???? Garnet being a badass??? Pearl questioning Steven and Steven just gIVES A THUMBS UP THAT IS NOT AN ANSWER STEVEN WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING!?!?!?!
THE NEED TO RESCUE MY SON AND MY POTATO DAUGHTER AND MY ONION CHILD???
One weird thing about being mentally ill is when you’re relieved at finding out your symptoms are at least foremost a physical illness at a given point? Like I’m sitting on the train cold and shaking and like, “is this a panic attack? we just don’t know,” but then I get home and find I’ve got a 39°C temperature, so I guess it’s probably tonsillitis, yay!
this - obviously - wasn’t written by me, but I decided to rewrite it in a different format because it’s one of my favorite writing pieces of all time from irynka! ps, excuse the way goddamn is written, it was the only way I could post it onto that platform (◡‿◡✿)
Skype convo with Ducere about her OC Scandia’s parenting skills. They leave a lot to be desired, and he’s over all not exactly great at it. But he tried! And failed. A lot. (Tw: terrible parenting I suppose?)
Scandia considered himself a pretty decent father. Perhaps a little strict at times. And maybe a little brutal too.
But he was raising future nations, so he really didn’t think there was any need to honey coat life all the times for them.
And it wasn’t like his three sons were easy to deal with either.
But the beauty of it, Malcolm and Nicola, is the way you two behave I’m pretty sure you’re BOTH Russell Crowe. So yay, here’s ONE issue you don’t need to fight about anymore! Isn’t that nice?
(But now I want to know does Malcolm have a secret passion for fishing? Maybe he was so sad about not meeting Stephen Fry at the BBC because he’s been waiting all this time for his invitation to go fly-fishing with him.)
There is something strangely
satisfying in getting your hands around
a neck. Something oddly soothing
in watching a person’s life
drain out of their body. Watching their
Her sister -
Oh her sister hopes and
prays that she will join her little
circle. Her little group of fates,
those venerated ones who
decide a human’s story. She doesn’t see
the point. After all, no matter what
their lives always belong
She has never been one who is
content with idleness, after all. Just because
she isn’t as well known
(as well loved)
as her sisters - as the others -
doesn’t mean she has no power.
She has no need for scissors. How could she
when she herself is all the blade she needs
to end a life?