splatter marks

if it was you

i am so sorry you’re feeling down, baby. this is what i came up with, i hope it helps. i love you, hope you feel better :) 

mark/jack. 1248 words. pg for cussin’, naturally.

Water splatters constantly as Mark clutches the bathroom counter, leaning over to watch the water rain against the porcelain and swirl down the drain, heedless of its audience. Its innocuous sound does a decent job of covering up Mark’s short, tight sobs.

He lets himself shake for a minute that stretches into miserable timelessness, the muffled sound of his friends’ laughter in the hotel room beyond his closed bathroom door serving as a constant reminder that he can’t hide in here forever. He can’t fall apart on the second day of a con with most of his friends eating pizza ten feet away. He can’t.

And yet here he is.

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2

How can you hold an image in your mind?
To see
To feel
To touch
To find yourself lost in the glittering illusion that gives credence to the parlance of emotion?
You spell it out,
Folding it
Rolling it
Wrapping it
Tight, and tighter still about My cerebellum, until I can taste the flavor of ink that drips from the font of your pen.
How can I offer thanks for the lover and friend that has thrown words into My face
Slashing them
Screaming them
Impaling them
Into the darkest parts of My measured mind, sliding them unaware under the door to taunt?
Handing them out like candy to tease Me until I, in turn, answer in kind.
To fall into the vortex of languages spell, drifting along the hidden currents that sparks wildfires in the core of creative intuition.
Flung high..battered and beaten against the walls that fight to hold you down, and rebelling with each soul dripping splatter of venom that marks your mouth.
Or sent running over moon drenched meadows , silvers and gilded, laughing
Crying
Sighing
Until the words fade from the screen, only to find they have been left in burning marks on the insight that was given, the window to a soul opened for a tiny glance into dreams
Given freely                                                                                                    

Photographs

words: 3989

For HPshipweeks. There was no way I was going to skip out on the ship that brought this whole mess to this site in the first place. Hope you all enjoy!

ao3

Remus shifts in the makeshift nest of cushions and blankets surrounding him, sinking deeper into its soft warmth. His hands move to wrap one of the quilts father around him, fending off the cellar’s biting chill, the papers scattered across his lap shifting and tumbling over each other as he pulls the blanket farther over his shoulders. His muscles ache with the movement, looking out into the room that was anything but welcoming; grey cement walls marked and crumbling with the white streaks of vicious claw marks, red splatters drying to brown accenting each cluster of scratches and tracing patterns on the floor. But his attention was removed from that grim reality, bearing no mind to the marks that would terrify or disgust any other individual. Instead, his mind is brought to the warm body by his side, and the photographs splayed over their legs, a mosaic of overlapping memories and waving, laughing figures. It’s a nice distraction from the pain and cold, one that he’s grateful for, and Tonks knows it; even after his tired protests, she had lumbered up and down the steps to throw down family albums and blankets and all, bringing the warmth outside the dreary room to him when his muscles were too weak for him to make it outside himself.

He lifts one hand from the tangle of blankets covering him, sifting through the photos, one in particular standing out to him in its peculiarity. He looks over the photo with a smirk, eyes taking in the image of Tonks in her school robes, hair a shocking and spiky yellow reminiscing someone who had just been struck my lightning, before pressing into the body beside him, his lips finding their way against Tonks’ temple teasingly.

“I like this look on you.”

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