holster-purse

that the ice was so thin under the snow - chapter two  

on ao3 | chapter one

TW: vomiting, somewhat graphic description of a wolf hunting and killing prey, blood mentions, vague non-graphic descriptions of violence


Dinner was an…interesting affair.

The men who’d found Blue—Ransom and Holster, Eric called them—were loud and boisterous, and eerily in sync at times. They one called Shitty was somehow even louder, and the only woman among them, Lardo, uttered maybe three words during the entire meal. Still, between the looks she gave Jack and the way she appraised him when she thought he was distracted, it felt like she said more than all of them combined.

Blue ate with the other two dogs in the kitchen, already at home in this strange, strange house. The dog food itself appeared homemade, meat and rice and sweet potatoes. Jack wondered if Eric was a chef, or maybe the house husband of this ragtag family unit. Either way, he piled dish after dish onto the table in front of them, beaming when Jack’s mouth fell open in shock.

“It’s not every day we get a guest for dinner,” he said in explanation.

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Very much so - Sam x Reader

A/N: So, I basically wrote this because of a prompt @angelbeandean sent me. It started as something, and then it completely evolved into something else. So now, what I’ve ended up with is pretty much just for you! So whoever you are, reading this right now, this is to make you feel sexy, independent, beautiful, and desired by Sam Winchester. ALSO WRITTEN IN LIKE AN HOUR SO DON’T HATE ME. 

Request/Prompt: “I’m sorry but it’s very hard to focus when you’re dressed like that.“

Warnings: Swearing.

Word Count: Around 1400.

Originally posted by secretgif-s


So far, hunting with the Winchester’s had been a surprisingly rewarding experience. You got to save people every day, kicking ass and road tripping with your two best friends. When you weren’t hunting, you got to chill out in a huge underground bunker with a library bigger than your apartment. Where was the downside? 

Being a hunter, you normally opted for jeans and a t-shirt, dressing it up to a blouse and some kind of skirt for ‘FBI’ interviews. Other than that, neither of the boys had ever seen you in anything that wasn’t loose, long, or covering 75% of your skin. 

Despite this, dressing up was something that you really, really enjoyed. The makeup, the hair, the gorgeous clothes. It always took your mind off things and was a great excuse for ‘me time’. So, when you and the boys decided to go check out the local gala ball as part of your hunt, you were stupidly excited. Honestly, you didn’t think the boys were expecting much effort from you, and you were so ready to prove them wrong. 

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Yondu Week: Day Four: Settling Past Scores

A/N: I originally had this as a future bit of Loyalty, but I figured it worked pretty well for Yondu week. :)


While Yondu brokers a deal, Kraglin sits at the far end of the bar, sipping idly at a drink while he keeps an eye on the place. The bar is filled with all sorts of seedy types; Baluurians, Badoons, Shi'ar, even a few Dire Wraiths - the place is a melting pot. He keeps an eye on Yondu. He knows that the Captain can well handle himself, but if Kraglin can prevent anything from happening in the first place, he’d rather do that.

The deal seems to go well; Yondu shakes hands with his client, and gets up to join Kraglin. 

The mechanic doesn’t see the limping Kree soldier until he catches Yondu’s arm from behind. He’s a head taller than the Captain, with a jagged scar running down across a milky eye. He barks something, and suddenly the bar is swarming with Kree.

The limping one that holds Yondu hisses something in his ear that Kraglin can’t hear, wrenching the Captain’s arm behind him. He watches Yondu’s face turn from a frown, to a grimace, to the ugliest, most furious scowl of hatred he’s ever seen on the man’s face. His lips curl back over jagged teeth, and his implant flames. His tongue darts over his lips before he purses them.

Kraglin holsters his gun and gets the hell down, slipping down beneath the bar with his back up against the counter’s surface between the bar stools.

 A shrill whistle seems to slice the room in two, and the sound of blood-curdling screams and falling bodies fills the air. Kraglin moves and dives under the nearest unoccupied booth, drawing his knees up to make himself as small as possible. The arrow flashes by, zig-zagging around the booths and patrons. Dark blue blood spatters across the floor in front of him. Glass shatters. Blastershot is fired. The whistle changes pitch. More screams, gurgling noises of blood in the lungs and throat.

At last, all sounds die down but for the echo of Yondu’s last whistle. Kraglin can still hear the slight whine of the arrow as it continues to fly around the room unhindered. Cautiously, he peeks out of his hiding place. 

His Captain stands in the middle of a heap of bodies, his back to Kraglin, fists still clenched. Even from this distance, through the haze of smoke, the mechanic can see Yondu’s hands are trembling; his shoulders shake. Kraglin spies the Yaka arrow, and remembers that the weapon, as it’s connected to Yondu’s implant, must be connected somehow to his brainwaves. Whatever inner turmoil the Captain is experiencing is affecting the arrow’s flight path; it zips around him erratically. 

The boy doesn’t move for several moments, until the arrow has decided on a slower, more organized pattern and the trembling of Yondu’s shoulders has subsided a little, then he slowly, hesitantly crawls out of his hiding place. 

The arrow seems to sense him, and streaks his way. “It’s me! It’s me!” he yelps, shielding his head with his arms.

A sharp note from Yondu and the arrow about-faces and whisks back into the Captain’s fist. Yondu holsters it, and turns, numbly surveying the damage. The boy suppresses a shudder; blood and gore cover his Captain from head to toe; dark blue, almost black Kree blood is spattered across his face; drips from his still-pulsing fin. His eyes are narrowed, his irises nearly black, his pupils are so dilated in anger. His mouth is still curled in a snarl.

Kraglin slowly rises to his feet, deciding that any kind of sudden movement is not good idea at the moment. He gingerly makes his way over to the Captain, stepping over dead body after dead body - mangled almost beyond recognition. “Are you hurt, Cap'n?” he asks gently.

The snarl slowly relaxes, his pupils begin to shrink, and the light on the implant fades. His ruby eyes lock with Kraglin’s concerned blue ones, seem to focus on him. “What?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“Are you hurt?” the mechanic repeats in the same calm tone.

Yondu looks himself over, turns his hands to view their backs and fronts. “No.”

“Tha’s good,” Kraglin replies softly. “Let’s get outta here, Cap.” The boy places a tentative, light hand at Yondu’s shoulder, and starts to lead him out of the bar.

Yondu falls into step beside him, but pauses, looking down. The scarred Kree lies there dead, his head almost completely severed by the arrow. “Ya owned me once,” he growls, and Kraglin isn’t sure if Yondu realizes he’s speaking aloud. “But I ain’t yer slave no more. Not anymore.”

@mattiecarterrpblog

“Understandable miss just can ya point it away from me. I’m not gonna hurt you,” standing next to the unconscious man. Recognition flashing in his mind at who the lady with the gun is.

Voices, feet shuffling both ladies turn and Clint looks over seeing the officers coming there way. “We’ll take over from here Mr. Barton,” Officer Gordan states nodding at Clint.

“Good to see someone on the beat who knows what their doing, Officer Marks,” he grins looking to the partner with a smirk moving away from the mugger.

Shaking his dark head, “So not funny,” Gordan snarked looking towards the ladies. “So what exactly happened here?”

Mira’s gun disappeared into its holster in her purse before the police arrived. June narrowed their eyes at Mira, and she looked back innocently. June shook her head, then explain what happened to the officers, leaving out the part about Mira’s gun as their girlfriend’s hand slipped into theirs. 

“…if Agent Barton had not happened by, we probably would be missing our money if not more.” They finished the recounting with a grim smile. Mira squeezed their hand a little, and they kissed her cheek.