light smears

we had a love for the books. a love that could go down in history if we told enough people. we had something special. i was- or we were trapped inside this fantasy of a world. and we thought we were eternal. that our love would go on until the day we died. but eternal’s a long time. and after a long time your words dont have the same meaning and your spilled blood on the carpet is another stain to deal with and you were a hurricane and i was a small town.

whenever i meet someone else i look for your qualities. your likes, your dislikes. your quirks. your responses when i said certain things. but i came to understand quickly that you are really gone and im really here and the blood in my mouth is heavier than i last remember it to be and i still remember the smell of your moms car and you touched me like spilled wine on a white carpet. i still see your hand prints all over my body.

when someone dies you leave flowers. you make food. you cry. you reflect. so when you remember how i used to be in your life from time to time i hope you cry. i hope you reflect. skip the flowers and cooking but remember who i was and why you let me in at all. i will leave blood stained hand prints on your light blue walls and smear my paper cut fingers on your mirrors and ill throw up blood from the way i can still feel when you held me through the night. ill cut my body everywhere i can still see you in me.

but i will not cry over you. i will not wake up screaming because you are no longer there. i will not smell your shirts and hope you come back. you are gone. and that is okay. you were a hurricane and i was a small town. you destroyed me. you were ruthless. but brick by fucking brick i will rebuild. you were the stain in my white rug. but i will scrub you out. you do not own me anymore.

—  statechampsus 

anonymous asked:

All the mentions of darkroom photography and silver nitrate burns and The Sight make me wonder - do photographs taken on film and developed in the darkroom show things Differently than digital photos? If so - do they show the true forms of things, or are fae and otherworldly things just... not present. Are they so inimical to strange metals and chemistry that it just can't capture them? Or does the presence of otherworldly things leave strange smears of light and impossible exposures?

There is no real rhyme or reason to what happens to pictures of fae on old film. Digital cameras … somewhere in all the metal and electricity is a quiet negation of unreality that renders the world entirely mundane. But darkroom photography can capture the fey sometimes - sometimes as they are, sometimes without the glamor (entirely too spindled and predatory), sometimes as bizarre distortions that come up again and again in your dreams. Photos of the fae have a Wrongness to them, but in this particular case it’s the Fair folk who seem more disturbed and shaken by being captured in an image than the photographers seem to be at having taken it.

anonymous asked:

If I could make an Obianidala prompt suggestion (and it's totally cool if you don't want to do it), how about this one from obianidalasuggestion: post(/)161900186455(/)concept-anakin-trying-to-walk-out-the-door-of

Padme’s leaning back against her desk, her hands fisted in Anakin’s tunic, and they’re kissing as if they’re not in the middle of her offices with the door unlocked and her next appointment on their way there. His hands are on her hips, his thumbs stroking soft over the fabric of her pleated dress and Padme bites lightly at his bottom lip, making him whine into her mouth. 

He feels the knock on her door more than hears it and pulls away as Threepio opens the door with an introduction of her next appointment. By the time the door is open and the three senators and their aides are in the room with them, Anakin and Padme are a respectable distance away from each other and there isn’t a wrinkle or a hair out of place. 

“Thank you for briefing me, General Skywalker.” Padme dismisses as she turns to greet her other guests and Anakin bows lightly before leaving. 

Obi-Wan meets him at the parking garage, feeling vaguely annoyed as he usually does when he has to deal with politicians that aren’t Padme or Bail Organa. He looks up to greet Anakin and then takes an extended breath, as if he’s just caught Ahsoka skipping class. 

“Nice lipstick.” He deadpans and Anakin almost winces until he remembers that Obi-Wan loves him. Loves Padme. Accepts them both. 

He takes out a compact mirror and opens it to check his mouth and finds that his lipstick is indeed smeared. The soft peach color is smeared in various spots that luckily aren’t noticeable at just a glace but they’d be noticed during an extended council meeting, like the one they were headed towards. 

“Thanks.” He responds and starts to fix his makeup as they wait for their speeder to be brought up by the stacker. 

Mr. Min - Chapter 05 Preview 02

Hoseok returned with two more bottles of beer and managed to keep the conversation away from what was bothering Yoongi until he had nearly finished the first bottle. “Alright,” he said with a sigh and adjusted himself in his seat to get more comfortable, “let’s hear it. What’s going on with you?”
Yoongi rubbed his hand over his face with an annoyed sigh. “That’s just the thing,” he said with a resigned laugh, “I don’t even know what is wrong.”

“Well that’s helpful,” Hoseok said with a bright laugh. Leave it to him to always find the humor in a situation even when Yoongi’s thoughts were all bleak.

“I’m not sleeping much lately,” Yoongi finally answered with a shrug, as if the admission meant nothing. “I thought it was that I have been drinking too much coffee but I haven’t had any in days and still can’t sleep.”

Hoseok’s brows furrowed and the edges of his lips cast downwards as he studied his friend again. “How long has that been going on?”

“Since earlier this week. It started the night of that party the company threw for the anniversary.“

“That’s awfully specific. What happened that night?”

Yoongi’s mind flashed back to your eyes shining in the light with impending tears, smeared mascara across your cheeks, and the way you looked at him as if he wasn’t even human. He cleared his throat and shook his head to try to rid himself of the unwanted image that had haunted him since that night. “Nothing much,” he finally muttered and took another sip of his drink.

“Uh huh,” Hoseok said in a tone that conveyed his disbelief. “You know, if I charged you like a therapist I wouldn’t even have to work. You’re so repressed that you could be my only client and I could charge you for every hour you sit in front of me and say ‘I’m fine’ or ‘nothing is wrong’. I’m in the wrong field clearly.”

"There was a little fight that night,” Yoongi finally admitted with a groan, “but really, honestly, it hasn’t been bothering me.”

"I’m curious, does it ever work?”

Yoongi brought his eyes away from his drink to look at Hoseok and wrinkled his brows in confusion. “Does what work?”

“Lying to yourself like that. ‘It hasn’t been bothering me’ you say as you reek of booze and admit that you can’t sleep. I’ve known you my entire life, Yoongi, and I can’t say that I have ever seen you admit that you had a problem. So if you are content with living your life feeling whatever the hell it is that is going on in your mind right now instead of just facing what is troubling you then by all means continue to ignore your problems,” Hoseok sighed and leaned back in his chair to study the other patrons of the bar. He waited for Yoongi to say something, anything, to refute his observation. When the older man remained quiet and merely left his gaze on Hoseok, who stubbornly refused to meet his stare though he knew his friend well enough to have predicted it, he continued. “So why don’t you start with who the fight was with?”

"I don’t see why it matters.”

"Well, I’m not a doctor but stress usually factors into not being able to sleep. Maybe you can’t relax because of this fight.”

"It was with an employee of mine. It really hasn’t been bothering me,” Yoongi said and finished the rest of his drink. He had lost count of exactly how much he had drank and couldn’t remember the last time he had let himself get to such a state.

Hoseok let out an annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes before he took another swig of his beer. “Well if you aren’t going to tell me about it then just go sleep with that girl you’ve been fucking. That should wear you out enough to go to sleep, right?”

Yoongi bristled and rolled his empty tumbler between his fingers. “I can’t.”

"Why’s that? Did you finally break off your agreement with her?”


"Oh so she did? It’s about time. I can’t believe she agreed to be your sex slave in the first place. What kind of woman doesn’t have a problem with that,” Hoseok said with a laugh.

Yoongi took a sharp breath and tried to ignore the way his chest tightened with the way Hoseok spoke about you. “That isn’t it either. I can’t fuck her because she was who I fought with that night.”

He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table to get as close as he could to Yoongi, a sinister smile on his face. “Now it’s getting interesting. So what was it that caused the fight between you and your fuck doll?”

Yoongi wasn’t sure what happened in that moment but something inside of him burst. He could feel it, first in his chest as a sudden heat, then in his hands as they tightened around his glass tumbler before finally finding release through his throat. “Don’t call her that,” Yoongi growled. Hoseok paused only for a second in surprise before his eyes widened and suddenly his twisted smile had grown and he exposed every tooth in his mouth. Yoongi wanted to punch him and his stupid smile at that moment.

“So that’s what this is about!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Yoongi snapped and looked around towards the bartender only to see a slew of people surrounding the man. “I need another drink. Why the fuck is the bar so busy?”

“You like her,” Hoseok said with an awestruck tone.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yoongi said brusquely.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok whispered, completely ignoring his friend.

“Just for that this one is now mine,” Yoongi said with a glare and grabbed the second beer bottle Hoseok had bought. He pulled the top off and took a sip before giving an exaggerated sigh, “so refreshing.”

“Min Yoongi is capable of feelings stemming from somewhere other than his dick,” Hoseok muttered to himself in disbelief.

another useful life tip: don’t be Dumb Goon Neighbor who ruins people’s moon blogging by apparently drunkenly draping a random asymmetrical length of string lights across your balcony and leaving them on 24 hours a day in the middle of summer you stupid fucking swamp weasel

anonymous asked:

Omg... pen tattoos!!! On Remus... out of his scars because he's feeling down about them? Probably making the drawings move with magic and telling him he's beautiful BECAUSE HE IS

  • yes, okay I see this totally as a thing that starts in class
  • like you just get bored one day in Charms
  • and you’ve been playing with your quill for the last 15 minutes, dipping it in and out of the ink
  • and Remus’ arm is just laying there on the table that you can’t help but doodle a little something on his arm
  • at first he yanks his arm away because “Y/N, what are you doing??”
  • but you just give him your best puppy dog eyes and tell him that he’s gonna smear your creation
  • so he rolls his eyes and looks down at his arm to see it, in fact, smeared
  • and the look of disappointment on your face has him digging in his bag with a sigh and finding a pen
  • “Here, use this. It won’t smear.”
  • you light up and smile, and see him hesitantly give you him arm to work on
  • but as you are doodling, he is just staring at the scars on his arm
  • and you stop, feeling him tense as you run your pen over one of the larger scars on his forearm 
  • you look up at him with a small frown, “Remus, are you okay with this?”
  • he just looks at you and tries to smile, nodding his head
  • “It’s fine, but try not to be too distracting as some of us are trying to pay attention.”
  • he goes back to listening to the lesson, trying to ignore the idea of you staring at his scars for so long
  • it’s only about 20 minutes later when he feels a slight tingling on his arm does he look down and see a series of footprints walking around his arm with the saying ‘mischief managed, Moony’ at the top of his wrist before the footprints disappeared
  • he looked down at you curiously and you simply smiled, tapping his arm with your wand
  • “If you want to see what I drew, use the spell.”
  • Remus smirked softly and waited until after class to see what was drawn on his arm
  • “I solemnly swear, that I am up to no good.”
  • and the beautiful artwork that suddenly appeared made him smile at his scarred arm for the first time in years
  • at the bottom was your signature, along with a little message 
  • “Aren’t you beautiful, Moony?”
  • and for the first time, he thought just a part of him was.
  • (wowwww that was cheesy sorry guys)

MIDNIGHT MISCHIEF WITH KAY!! (send me headcanons!)


Description: the twins take you laser tagging for their new video. Cameras are attached to each of your guys shoulders. You and Grayson end up in a corner where things get a little heated.

Pairing: Grayson x reader, Ethan x platonic!reader

Warnings: cussing, fluff maybe.


The twins were in need of a new video for their random video of the week and being the good friend you are you agreed to help them. You all pulled on the best and smeared black light paint on eachothers faces as you got ready for the intense battle you were about to have.

Cameron and a few of the twins other friends had come along and you all chatted as you waited for your session to begin. You and Grayson stood in the corner together as Ethan mingled with everyone else.

“Who do you think will win?” You whispered to Grayson. He looked down at you from his leaning position on the wall.

“Me duh.”

“ I think I can give you a run for your money.” You fought back.

“Mhmm we’ll see.”


It was halfway into the game and half the players were out. The only people you knew were left for sure were Grayson, Ethan, and Cameron. But that was only three people and there were at least 10 originally which meant there was one more not counting you.

In your opinion the only other person who could be left was Aaron. You and Aaron played paintball with eachother on a weekly basis seeing as he was your brother and you both had paintguns on hand at your shared apartment. You would always ambush eachother for videos.

The lights flashed which meant another person was out. You saw Aaron groan and stand up. He didn’t see you as you poked your head around the wall and watched Ethan run off into the dark room. You snickered at your brothers demise and slyly followed Ethan.

He faced the opposite direction as he crouched down and aimed. The lights flashed and Cameron stood up with a frown on her face. She saw you behind Ethan as you aimed. You winked at her as you took your shot and hit him in the middle of his back. The lights flashed as his vest lights shut off. He looked behind him and scoffed at you as you ran away to find Grayson.

It was like the fact that you two had spoken about who would win before led it to being only you two. You stood in a corner between two cushion which stood up right your lazed gun held up to your chest. You poked your head around the corner and saw Grayson’s back faced towards you. He was walking backwards toward you and you snickered. You ducked back behind the wall and waited.

His back appeared in your line of vision and you yanked him into the corner with you. His back sat pressed into the corner and his gun dangled at his side as he stared at you.

“Hi.” You whispered. Your lips were extremely close together. Closer than they’d ever been before and it clouded Grayson’s mind leaving him to forget about the laser tag game.

Your face inched closer to his and your lips connected. His lips were soft and tasted of the lemonade he’d had before you arrived at the laser tag place. You smiled as your lips moved in sync and you raised your gun to his chest.

You pulled back as you pulled the trigger and the lights went off. His vest shut down as the lights came back on. You smirked at his betrayed expression.

“I win.” You skipped off leaving the boy in shock at what had just happened.

the-lonely-ghost  asked:

Could I request "Kiss" for FrostIron please? :)

For this prompt list.

A solid blast with the unibeam shattered the golden force field around Loki’s cell, and Tony didn’t hesitate for even a second before he stepped inside the bare, white space. The bright light made the smears of blood on the floor stand out sharply, even though they were clearly dried and not close to fresh.

Loki was tightly curled up in a corner, shackled hands resting limply between his chest and thighs. His head was tipped forward, and his long, tangled hair hid most of his face, but Tony could still see the bloody, ruined mess that was Loki’s mouth. And he caught the green glint as Loki’s wide, staring eyes rolled around to flit over his face when the helmet retracted into the suit. His gaze didn’t seem to stick anywhere, wild and unfocused.

“Hey, Loki? You with me?”

There was no movement, no change in Loki’s expression, but a faint, whimpering noise came from deep in his throat.

Tony took it for a yes, stepped up close, and sank to his knees. “Let’s get rid of these”, he muttered in disgust, and made short work of the shackles. It wasn’t a challenge for the gauntlets. No magic in the armour to suppress. He tossed the mangled remains away and turned back to Loki, hands now hovering uncertainly. Where did he dare touch without hurting him more?

Before he had made up his mind, Loki’s hands left his lap, and shot up to Tony’s face. The touch startled him at first. It was so sudden, and maybe Loki didn’t really know him? Maybe he didn’t realize he was being saved, rather than facing more torture? But he quickly realized that the trembling touch was soft, almost reverent, as the thumbs brushed his cheekbones, the tips of Loki’s long, thin fingers slipping into the damp hair behind Tony’s ears.

The movement made Loki tip his head back a bit, and Tony got a proper look at his mouth - and then wished he hadn’t. The soft, delicate flesh had been pierced and torn, over and over, a nasty-looking, black thread stitching his lips together.

“Fuck”, he ground out, throat thick and painful. Then forced himself to take a slow breath. “I’m getting you out, Tricks. I’m taking you back home.”

Another noise came from Loki’s sewn shut mouth. This time a little hum that sounded like approval. While his hands slipped deeper into Tony’s hair, twining into the thick half curls, and gently tugged him closer, down, closer still, tilted his head to the side, and then Tony couldn’t deny what Loki so obviously wanted.

Carefully, gently, softly, he settled his lips against Loki’s, felt the swelling, the heat of the inflammation, and the harsh, hard lines of the thread against his own mouth.

It was everything he had never wanted their first kiss to be.

And it was still everything he had dreamed.

beautiful-rainstorms  asked:

The lights stretched across the glossy wet road, streaming fingers reaching for her. They'd stain her skin if she got too close, leave a piece of their essence on her if they touched her. Some days she wondered if she should let them.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket and, with reluctance, she pulls out the half-dozen napkins to get to it. “This is Sawyer.”

“We need you back at headquarters,” Lt. Foresight, head of the Hero’s Association says without preamble. “Five minutes.”

“Be there in fifteen,” she says, still staring at the lights. It’s pointless to ask Foresight why she’s being called in. He’d tell her when she got there.

“Come in costume,” Foresight tells her. “I’m calling everyone in.”

That actually gets her attention. “Everyone? The S-levels? Or everyone?”

Everyone I can afford to pull off active duty,” Foresight says, more of an answer than she’s ever gotten before. “Come in. Full costume.”

She starts walking back to her car, feet inches from the lights. “On my way.”

“Good.” Foresight pauses. “Sawyer. Don’t touch the lights. You feel that way again, you come here. Understand?”

She feels like she’s been doused in ice water. She turns invisible, her body perfectly mimicking her surroundings in response to her emotions. “I wasn’t–” She cuts herself off, nearly biting through her lip. They both know what she was doing. “I can handle myself.”

Foresight’s voice is gentle when he says, “I know.” The phone clicks as he hangs up.

She slips into the driver’s seat of her car and closes her eyes. She needs to be visible to drive, but she’s still…mortified? Defensive? She’s still upset and visibility is hard. She settles for painting herself the same color as the shadows of the streetlights, a compromise that will have to be reworked before she gets into costume.

Across the street, the smear of lights flicker as a car goes by. This is the only place near the city where they’ll do that, spread and gather and pool. Something about reflecting off the cloud layer to this particular road, to this particular patch of nowhere. They’re a hundred different colors, lights from windows and streets and signs and signals. A hundred different places to get lost in.

She remembers watching her brother melt into the light, the smile on his face, the last peace he tried to give her as he transformed. Back then she had wanted to go with him, wanted him to not be alone, not wanted to be alone.

Foresight had stopped her then too.

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Foo Fighters albums and videoclips


This was a ship brought to my attention through an anon and then I accidentally planned a childhood friend au with @tetsustetsu and it also happens to fit for the prompt hope for @kaminaridenki-appreciation so win-win.

[Read on Ao3]

Shinsou hated his quirk. His mother said hate was a strong word, but here it was necessary. Years of waiting and looking forward to it manifesting had ended in gutting disappointment.

It was said that fate chose carefully in those first four years of life, observing for as long as it needed to develop the quirk that would suit your life the most and so the worry of being destined for a villainous path was planted in his mind early on. Shinsou’s quirk was villainous, custom-built for parasitic use with countless chances to leech off someone else’s success and take advantage of others crossing his path every day. Yet he resisted with no trouble, for he was the one who cowered the most in front of his own ominous power.

Six months after his fourth birthday the universe had handed him his fate. He was granted with a stereotype and the resulting fear. No one would talk to him now.

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anonymous asked:

For the delivery boy: they argue so kookie goes to the kitchen and tightens all the jars and ofc reader wants something in one of those jars afterwards

Jeongguk takes his arguments too seriously, and you hope to every God that the trait is not passed onto Pizza.

You bet it was about the goddamn fight you had earlier in regards to your particularly unhealthy food craving options. Once in a while is okay, but eating ice-cream between every meal is not, he had contended while you were three spoonfuls deep into the peppermint choc chip tub, light green cream smeared on your lips that he had ever so graciously licked off before snatching the rest of the frozen treat from your grasp. Now, four hours later, the cravings have started kicking back in and you are absolutely desperate for all kinds of food paste, from nutella to peanut butter, anything that you can comfortably spoon out of a jar and onto your tongue.

If only you could get any of the unusually tight lidded jars open.

None of the lids budge a millimetre, a low groan sounding from the back of your throat once you reach the jam jar and end up with the same, agonising result. The glass reveals the beautiful, mouthwatering sight of crushed red strawberries within, and you gaze at it longingly, almost ready to smash the jar in the sink just to have it open until a low cackle snaps you out of your craving-driven reverie.

Evil mastermind, jar tightener, father of the baby you have nurtured within your belly for four months now, leans against the doorframe with a wolfish grin that has you trembling with rage. Jeongguk gaze flicks between the jam jar in your hands and your scowling features that are slowly growing more and more betrayed with every passing second.

“How could you?”

He shrugs, indifferent. “I told you, baby – every once in a while. You need to eat healthier otherwise your bones will get weak.”

“Jeongguk,” You whimper, and you are already emotional, defeated, prepared to grovel at his feet if you have to just so you can have a spoonful of that jam. “Please– Please help me. I need this, okay. I promise to eat a carrot or something afterwards, but I need this.

And he, that bastard, wears an obnoxious smirk that has your skin crawling, that makes you want to curl your nails into his throat. But he strides over, plucking the jar from your fingers and raising his eyebrows. If his lips can even tilt any higher, they certainly do.

“Hmm, you’re cute, yet I’m not convinced.”

Your eyes are on nothing but the jar, the succulent red contents within desperately calling for your taste buds. “Jeongguk, if you seriously want me to give you head right now, I will do it without hesitation for that jam.”

Jeongguk, for the briefest of seconds, appears bewildered, the smile wiping straight off his lips and his eyes glassing over in the way that they do when he is thinking seriously about something. Then, he refocuses back on you, taking a step closer.

“A kiss will suffice,” He confirms, and you cannot stand on your toes quick enough to crash your mouth to his own. He laughs beneath your urgency, a hand coming up to squeeze the nape of your neck as he parts your lips with the tip of his tongue, gently lapping at your own until he is satisfied and you are feeling somewhat much calmer, dropping back onto your heels.

When you hear the pop of the lid loosening from the jar, you could almost cry.

“Oh my god, I love you,” You moan, digging the spoon in, your cravings dissolving as the sweet taste of strawberries coats the roof of your mouth. Jeongguk takes the spoon from your fingertips and scoops up some of the jam for himself, humming with delight and lightly tapping the utensil on the tip of your nose. When you fixate your eyes back on his own, you almost choke at the wicked glint that darkens his irides.

“So, is that offer for head–”

“Are you serious.”

“You are the one who offered.”

“I was desperate–”

“Aw baby, come on!”

en este espejo / in this mirror
(words and photo by víctor m. alonso)

En este espejo - víctor m. alonso
Yo soy el que tú ves en este espejo;
en las noches soy sombras
que andan buscando luz en tu mirada,
melodía de lúgubre sonido
que te busca en los pliegues del océano.
Yo soy el que tú ves al otro lado,
el de tus sueños,
el que vela el cristal; espectro que refleja
esta luz manchada de versos
que llena de tu piel el ámbito que ocupo.
Yo soy el que tú ves en este espejo
yo soy el de la voz, el del reflejo.

free translation

I am the one you see in this mirror;
In the nights i am shadows
looking for light in your eyes,
sad sounds melody
seeking you in the folds of the ocean.
I am the one you see on the other side,
The one of your dreams,
The one who watches the glass; spectrum that reflects
This light smeared with verses
filling of your skin the field that I inhabit.
I am the one you see in this mirror
The one of the voice, the one of the reflex.

Stray Bullets - Chapter Two

Rating: M/E

Summary: Every day he stood between her and any number of carefully trained bullets and he’d take every last one of them if it meant her safety.

Important note: In 7/2016 I posted a request of this same name. The first chapter link can be found below as well as [Chapter 29 in Request Prompts.] A couple of months ago I started pondering the idea of expanding it and then last week a reviewer on another site told me I should do a mafia AU with a very similar premise to what I’d already written and what I’d been considering. Obviously it was fate so here we are.

This might read a little abrupt between the chapters but I didn’t want to change the original request. They don’t flow directly one after another so there has been an undisclosed (and unimportant) brief passage of time.

[Chapter 1]

Also posted here:



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øster volgade, 11:54 p.m. [inhaling.]

the street lights are smeared across asphalt,
painted as streaking impression, as slashing
color— so brief, so indistinct under scrutiny,
like a monet or renoir. the rainfall’s radiance
is reflected in myriadic hue across mirroring
water; it lingers still across still silent streets.

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: Part Thirteen! The fear is real. Falling for the ‘enemy’ is scary shit. A bit delayed, but here. I’m not adding the previous parts because I’m falling asleep as I post this (I’m weak, I know). Also, not entirely sure if I love this part, or not. But, it’s here! Hope you all enjoy! Next part, Sammy is going to start evaluating his side of things….

Previous: One | Two | Three | Four | Five |Six |Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

@bookishdorito @captain-rose-princess @faegal04 @supernatural508 @1967-wayward @kelincihutan @rocker-chic17 @i-just-wanna-live-gc @impossible-box @magie16 @jared-padaloveme @ifckinglovespn @22justanotherfangirl (Hope I got everyone!)

Warnings: Heavy makeout, Implied smut. Pretty innocent for me, actually…

Word Count: 2690

“Shit!” You hissed gritting your teeth as the blood trailed down your hand. The safety on your gun was clicked on before you set it down. Your ear muffs were pulled off and joined the weapon before you inspected your thumb. When you’d pulled the trigger, your thumb had been caught and sliced. Something that hadn’t happened since you were first learning to use a hand gun. You’d still hit the target, but not quite where you’d want it. “Damn it!” You punched the tree near you, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

You were mad. Partially at Sam for charming you until you’d become vulnerable to him, but mostly at yourself. You were going to ruin everything over him.

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