it's in the eyes

| Mykla (MK) | she/they | lgbtq+ | 16+ | prompts/asks open! | multi-fandom/multi-ship | SALS, DL;DR |

[readdreamwrite28]

A Wake

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: brief

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To catch a glimpse of one's love is quite a sight to see.

Even a sight still, a dream where lovers lie entwined, eyes among star's gleam.

However brief, the love-

The pain, to say-

I wished I could have loved you while you were awake.

[wordswithkittywitch]

I am aware that my "sincere" tone often comes out as "passive-aggressive" and I'm working on that. So, with the knowledge I'm going for "sincere" here, I want as many people as possible to know about a key difference between renfaires and SCA events.

Renfaires have audiences. SCA events have participants.

This means that SCA events are often a lot cheaper to get into, because there are no actors practising skits, just nerds like you who have been doing it a bit longer. You still can watch people sing and swordfight, but there's no plot to follow. Because we are doing this for ourselves.

And you can join in! We want you to join in! We want to teach you how to spin flax and swordfight and forge armor and build kilns!

Because you aren't an audience. You're playing the same game as the rest of us and you have to play by the rules. We will loan you garb. It's free, we're happy to do it. But if you refuse to wear it, we are permitted to ask you to leave, because you aren't following the rules of the event.

I know you don't have to wear garb at a renfaire, but the SCA isn't a renfaire.

Anyone can reblog this. Even if you don't intend on attending an SCA event or a renfaire you should know the difference.

[readdreamwrite28]

For You To Hold

For @drarrymicrofic 's prompt: Ink (and also bingo!) (also was listening to The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra because ~mood~)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And as he walked down the street, all the puddles and rain-drops washing across the stone path and all the light-poles that glimmered in them; it all seemed dull.

All the nights they had spent walking down these same streets together, the neon and street-car lights the only things lighting their way as they danced around each other like leaves that were falling from the same tree. Now, the neons flickered in his wake, the collar of his coat pulled up to hide his nape from the rain, his boots taking lashes from the dips in the path where the day’s tears had collected.

He wouldn’t add to the puddles, he told himself; he wouldn’t let the ghosts of nights passed twirl around him even as the cigarette smoke curled past his figure.

But he can’t help to wonder what part of the dream they had had was too heavy, which road they had walked down had tired Harry’s feet, and which song had died in his throat. What comfort had made him too comfortable, too safe?

Draco lets the questions fall with the water that runs off the brim of his hat as he walks under a gutter. They were of no use to him. The ink that stained his hands was of no use; no comfort was to be found in the letters that had gone unanswered, the words of spite and of grief had no use, and the bottles he emptied had no use.

The coat he wore, double-breasted and made of wool though it was, had no use; he was still too cold. The whiskey he drank that burned his throat had no warming effect on his heart—on his soul. The world they had known—the world he had thought he knew—was empty now.

And that’s how it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? Ending with marriage with no love, a house but no home, an heir but no child, a blood pure as fresh-fallen snow, spilled over a desk-top, a letter that would be burned by the end of the night; a world that they thought they had known— but was never really meant for them.

What was the use?

[readdreamwrite28]

I made something...

Happy 11 years to this.

Can someone send me back to 2013/14 so I can experience at least a little bit of it? (Damn 7/8/9 year old me, could've been into them back then- but nope.)

I joined this fandom last year, almost exactly a year ago, actually, and if you had told me that right now these five people were the reason I smile every day, or laugh- like genuinely laugh- I'd... probably believe you. But also I'd most likely be like- you crazy? It's true, though.

Don't repost!!

Creds under the cut!

Also tagging @church-of-burnt-romances (sorry) (...) (no im not)

Creds: x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x

[rosaalee]

me reading the tags people put in my notifications

[readdreamwrite28]

Forget matching my freak. Match my romantasy.

[234hr]

anonymously message me (3) things you want to know about me.

[readdreamwrite28]

Run To Me (Lover)

Inspired by the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Wound (and also the song Run by Hozier.... and vampires) (I don't know what kind of warning this needs, I was trying to go for something darker than I usually do and it kind of takes a bit of a mature turn at the end so take that as you will.... mentions of blood, for sure, slight description of blood)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He shouldn't have gone, in the first place, but the idea of being owned, of following, with no thought-- truth be told it him thirsty.

The dark forest surrounds him. Branches hang low, the leaves almost black, the berries on the bushes wrinkling and spotted. He wants to stand up, run, get away; get out. But he can't move.

There are vines crawling on him, thorns digging into his forearms, his calves, the jasmine flowers blooming across his stomach, a soft touch to a wound cut so deep.

He can hear it still. The cold, snide, and soft whisper on the nape of his neck, real as the blood pumping through his veins, dropping from the cuts scattered across his body, feeding the monster beneath.

He can feel the pinprick of his teeth, scraping across his neck, his tongue soothing the warm flesh.

Harry could feel the belonging within himself, though not to himself. He could feel the blood running, following the command, "Run to me, lover." He could feel the command now, his skin singing as the cold hand cups his face, a thumb pressing into his now-pale lips.

"So pretty, aren't you? Laid out for me, not being able to move. So vulnerable, lover. So easy for me."

And it felt good, to bleed. To see the dark crimson cuts, the blood smudged across his skin, painting his lips, the moonlight hitting his blond hair, stark against the dark setting of the forest.

And when he's done bleeding, and the command is but an echo in his mind, less than a thought, less than a prayer, he begs for another kind of release. And the pain makes it so, so, sweet.

[valtsv]

character in a fight scene: *restrains their opponent by pinning them against the wall by their wrists*

me:

[icantwritegood]

character in a fight scene: *pins their opponent down by straddling their waist and holding their wrists to the floor*

me:

[ladylike-foxes]

character in a fight scene: *lifting their disarmed opponent’s chin slightly with the business end of their weapon*

me:

[g3ncyho3]

character in fight scene: *pins down the opponent and leans in close to whisper in their ear*

me:

[breyito]

character in fight scene: *restrains the opponent by twisting their arm/s behind their back and pinning them to the wall chest first with their own chest pressing against the opponents back*

me:

[abandoned-as-mustard]

Character: *distracts their otherwise equally good/better opponent by flirting*

Me:

[bmarvels]

Character in fighting scene: *restrains opponents arms in a lock hold with their own, entangling their arms together forcing their bodies to be pressed together and faces in close proximity*

[lime-on-my-side]

character in fight scene: *holds opponent by the collar, lifts them and brings them close to their face*

me:

[miqojak]

Every time this crosses my dash it gets better.

[murderonthedullexpress]

characters in fight scene: *tussle then break apart and warily watch each other while breathing hard*

me:

[cadiebug]

"Your ship isn't real-"

I however, am real, and in your walls.

[hussaroflight-deactivated202302]

Reblog this to give your mutual a nice dagger as a present 

[memories]

Pour one out for #neville longbottom.

[readdreamwrite28]

Three Fundamental Truths (she is helpless)

I decided to re-write my @drarrymicrofic for Satisfied

OG post

Warnings: Semi-explicit material, Brief mention of scars/past parental abuse

Present:

The candles cast shadows upon the walls, the wax nearly dripping on the floor. The summer's heat doesn't help.

I stand just off to the side in the ballroom, "No less for our little girl," our parents had said. Sometimes I wish they'd pay just as much attention to me. Give me just as much love.

That's what I get for being Unmarried.

She's glowing. She glows. I watch as the guests dote over her, their flower, their bride.

That's what Fleur does.

She attracts the attention of all those who are so much in the same building as her.

My sister.

Maybe I shouldn't be jealous.

Past:

"Draco," Fleur calls to me, her accent tinged French from the summer. The summer she spent in France. Alone.

I paste on a smile, at least semi-genuine, and turn to her as she enters the room. She's dressed in a baby blue dress, her blonde hair curled and pinned up in a twist. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was Jane Bennet come to life.

But I know better.

She wraps her arms around my neck and I take a small slice of comfort in the smell of fresh lavender. "Fleur. Darling. How was France?"

"Oh, Draco, you would've loved it! It was so warm and the art. Draco. The men."

We never got along well, at least not towards the end of our childhood. She was always off with Gabrielle, teaching her how to sew, and picking out ribbons. Gone were the days when we could climb trees together, taking armfuls of apples and handfuls of berries, staining our shirts, and scuffing our pants.

It was bound to happen, I guess. Sometimes I wish it hadn't, but most of the time I know it had to.

"Have fun did you?"

"I always have fun in France. Hardly anyone cares who I am when I'm there. You should come with me next time. Maybe I could introduce you to someone." She looks at me earnestly.

"Maybe one day," I allow myself a few seconds of daydreaming, "Until then, however. You best reacquaint yourself with your wardrobe. England is, after all, not France, and we have a ball to attend to tonight."

"So soon?"

"Yes, little dove."

Present:

You're taking her hand as the officiant makes his speech. Fleur's eyes shine, and yours- your eyes glimmer, but I can you glance. I can see the ink-stained fingers and tired circles. If you had neglected your ascot, or worn a collar was was not as high, I know I could spot a sweet bruise there.

My hands sweat through my gloves, and I clasp them together so others cannot see. I should have seen this coming. Though your promises and words and admittedly short letters won that thing that had gone dormant for so long, that beast in my heart.

The ceremony lasts so long, that I resist the temptation to run out of the room.

And it is this moment, I wish I could rewind to that night.

Past:

As much as my sister had supposedly been taken fancy regarding men she met in France, the second she stepped into that ballroom, the second she laid her eyes on you (though I admit I did not see it), she called you hers.

I made my way to you first and had been skirting my way around the many eligible ladies in the room, the vicious mothers, and the many invites to new men's clubs.

I had been trapped in one such conversation when you came and begged for a word.

“You strike me as a man who’s never been satisfied,” you greeted.

Piano notes softly trickled through the air, floating about the room. I studied you for a moment before deciding to humor you. “Why, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I forget myself. I blame you.

“You’re like me, I’ve never been satisfied.”

"Is that right?"

"I am not very often found satiated."

I laugh slightly, my stature morphing, I know how to handle this. "Draco Delecour," I introduced as I lifted my hand in front of me.

“Harry Potter.” You took my hand and stepped a bit closer. My heart beat just a pace faster.

Present:

Our conversation had only lasted a devastatingly short three minutes, but I knew. I knew I wanted you, then and there. I had teased it, a breathless chuckle here and there. I had watched as your eyes became glued to mine.

I can still feel it.

Regardless, I paste on a smile, and lift a flute of champagne. "To my sister, for which I am always by your side." I will never leave her, despite our troubles and despite our differences. I am her brother and though sometimes it may be complicated, I will always love her. I will always be on her side.

Maybe that was my fatal fault.

"To your union!"

The look in your eye, as I turned my gaze to flit across the room, said you were thinking about that night too.

Past:

“Your name is French, correct?”

“Yes, it is. On our mothers’ side.” I see you quirk your eyebrow at the ‘our’ but you don’t question it.

I turn to find my sister across the room. I smile, thread my arm through yours.

“Where are you taking me?”

I smirk at him gleefully. “I’m about to change your life.”

We get separated by the crowd and when I see you next, you and my sister are greeting one another. “Fleur Delacour.”

“Delacour?”

“My sister,” I say from behind you. You turn around, momentarily startled, but nod your acknowledgment.

Every few minutes you would turn towards me with a twinkle in your green eyes.

For her. I convinced myself.

For her.

All it took was the helpless look in her eyes and I knew I couldn’t have you.

Present:

"And the hope that you provide!"

I can hear several chuffs from the crowd, the ones who had caught on to the double meaning.

Past:

Later that night, though, long after I had escorted my sister home, it seemed as if we could not go longer without chasing satisfaction.

Your hands splayed across my cheek and back. The summer heat swayed in through the cracked windows, passing through the curtains, and making the candlelight flicker.

God, kissing you was… You set my heart aflame.

You pulled my body closer to yours and my pulse spiked.

We danced on our feet, each pace another step towards something new.

You pushed me against the wall, unlaced my shirt, pinned me against the soft silk sheets of an abandoned bed.

You mouthed over my chest, marked with my mistakes, my late father's rage.

You ran your hands down my sides. Gripped my hips so tightly they ought to have left marks.

Your skin sticking to mine.

Your lips kissing my body and leaving sweet bruises in their wake.

Our bodies melded together.

You tore me in half and then sewed me back together.

You were penniless but that didn’t stop me from wanting you. From this ache in my being that I could not avoid.

Maybe I should’ve said no. But I figured if I couldn’t have you after, at least I’d have this. At least I'd have your eyes, your gazes burned into my memory, your breath a sound to catch in the wind.

Present:

"May you always be satisfied.”

So, as I watch you kiss her, turning her about the dance floor, I feel the ache turn into a raging fire- burning me from the inside out, but I swallow it back, fake a smile, and cheer for the ever-happy couple.

But I see it. When you glance back at me, the glint in your eye, the crease, the way your eyebrows pinch ever so slightly inwards. I also see the second you look at her, and I know I will never receive that look from you. Not love.

And maybe I hate you for it a little, maybe I hate you because whenever you come to me and you give me the look I've seen so many times, that lust, I always give in.

I could never say no to you.

[readdreamwrite28]

Some Things are Meant to Be

For @drarrymicrofic 's prompt: Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What I do know, is that I will find you in every life, in every smile, every laugh, every summer day and autumn night. I will look for you in the crevices of the sand dunes and under the couch where you always lose your keys. I will hear you in every heartbeat and every laugh and cry and song I hear because I love you. No matter how much I shouldn't because it's only going to make leaving you so much harder, I love you.

And part of me hopes you never find this letter because that means I'll have gone and left you to live your life and find another love and if I'm being honest (I don't even care that I'm rambling now), that is the singlehanded most terrifying thought I will ever have.

I will see you again, one day. But for now, for when you see this letter, if you see it, as surely as the river flows to the sea, we were meant to be. Even if you can't see it now.

I love you.

D.M.

[readdreamwrite28]

First post 11/13/2019

[vintagegf-deactivated20151128]

u know those mutuals who you are like silent buddies with and you never talk to each other but you reblog each others stuff and when you see them on you’re dash you’re like yooooo thats my bud!! 

[readdreamwrite28]

Duality of Memory

Fairly ambiguous, you can decide who's who for yourself, I'm not quite sure who I wrote as who for myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's dew on the grass, a fog rising up from the hills surrounding them. Him. It's just him now. The sun is just starting to rise on the horizon, casting its orange hues into the blue sky, bleeding pink and fading into a lake-ish green.

It's silent in their house. His house. It's just his house now. He knows the bed is still unmade, and the coffee maker is starting to drip in the kitchen by now. He knows music should be playing softly from either their radio or turntable. His radio. The radio that's missing from its spot when he looks over. He knows there should be a creak coming from the stairs, and again ten seconds later from the corner by the entrance to the family room.

It's a funny thing to notice how much he doesn't have anymore.

He sits on the porch, hands empty. He sits and stares at the sky as the sun rises as surely as it does every morning, but somehow it falls hollow today.

He'd always been an early riser, firstly, it was just a part of his childhood. After his childhood had long been stripped from him, it was because it was the only way to escape from the nightmares.

Really, he's not entirely sure what happened. They had been doing good. A new home to make their own. Professions they both loved. Time together- maybe too much, but they had their spaces. They talked, and they danced- maybe even enough to cause creaks in the kitchen and living room floors.

They were happy.

They were.

So why was the sky orange today? Why was the sky orange if the sun had driven down their driveway before color even started to peek through the night?