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howlingday · 4 months

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Non-Descript Winter Holiday Party

Weiss: Hello- Oh... It's you two.

Emerald: Wow. Aren't you cheery?

Oscar: Hey, Weiss! Uh, everything okay?

Weiss: It's fine, it's fine. Honestly, I'm a little relieved. You're the first non-couple I've seen all night.

Emerald: Really?

Oscar: Really...

Weiss: Yes, and it's a little grating on my nerves to have so many couples over with no other single people to talk to. Everyone is just finishing each other's sentences and rubbing and kissing oh so wholesomely~!

Weiss: It almost makes me want to puke.

Emerald: And a bah humbug to you, too.

Weiss: Well, thankfully you're here, so I don't have to worry about you two sucking face all night.

Oscar: Yeah...

Weiss: Anyways, come on in. There should be plenty of food left unless-

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Nora: (Shoves another fruitcake into her mouth)

Jaune: ...

Nora: (Mouthful) Whuh? Iz nundezkri-

Jaune: I know what it is, Nora. I just wished you practiced a little self control every now and then, y'know?

Nora: (Swallows) Oh, believe me, I am. You think I'm not holding myself back from taking you and this food into the back room and-

Yang: OKAY! I think that's enough from Nora for tonight. Seriously, were you always this weirdly horny for food and guys?

Nora: Not just any guys. Just the guys I like, like you, but mostly you~! (Snuggles Jaune)

Ren: Even though we never did anything.

Yang: Which is still amazing because Ren is such a-

Jaune: I think it would be better for everyone here to practice a little more self-control.

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Ruby: And what the heck is that supposed to mean?

Blake: I have nothing against the effort, but I just feel there wasn't enough effort put into the relationship for the ship to mean anything.

Ruby: What do you meeeean?! There was so much effort put in! The setups, the music, the kiss!

Blake: Felt forced, didn't fit the scene, and was weirdly good for two characters in a realistic teen drama to be kissing so well together, despite neither having ANY prior relationships before each other.

Whitley: ...I thought the story was okay.

Sun: Yeah, and the music was sick! I still have that rock song playing on my scroll all the time.

Ruby: See! Sun agrees with me!

Sun: Huh?

Blake: Whitley was right. The story was only okay.

Whitley: What? Nonono, I said-

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Weiss: So then I told her, "Well, this was your fault for trusting me in the first place!"

Oscar: Hahaha!

Emerald: Heh. Sounds like you guys had fun at Beacon.

Weiss: We did, though you would know, since you were there, too.

Emerald: Yup. Plotting and scheming with Cinder.

Weiss: How did you three pass for students?

Emerald: Apparently, Haven doesn't look too deep when it comes to "late age" students, which probably came from when Spiders would lend out their lackeys as students as a sort of "student exchange" between real students and gangsters.

Weiss: Really?

Oscar: Yup. It's part of why I didn't go to any sort of huntsman schooling. Well, that and my aunt needed my help with the farm.

Ozpin: (Thinking) It's sad to see how far Leo fell, after fighting so hard to get where he did.

Weiss: Oh, excuse me. There's someone at the door.

Emerald: ...What did you guys grow out there?

Oscar: Oh, uh, carrots, turnips, beets. Y'know, the usual.

Emerald: Y'know, I can't say I've ever had beets before.

Oscar: You haven't? They're really good!

Emerald: Yeah? All I see are those red blobs in cans.

Oscar: Well, yeah, but those are actually really good. Especially when you slice them up and put them in your salad.

Emerald: Guess I'll have to try out this recipe of yours then.

Oscar: Really?! Er, I mean... Cool. Cool.

Emerald: Heh heh...

Ozpin: (Sighs)

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Weiss: ...Is there a reason you're sitting here alone?

Ilia: Ack! I, uh... I'm just, y'know, relaxing, winding down-

Weiss: Staring at Blake?

Ilia: Staring at Bla- No! Of course not! I would never do that!

Weiss: Really? Because from where I'm sitting, there is an entire room of people all conversing, both couples and single people alike, and yet the only thing you've said tonight beyond "Hello" is a sigh. Just because you're single does not excuse your isolation from everyone else here.

Ilia: Oh, what do you know? You've always had someone to talk to! But some of us only had one person, and that one person then chose to leave us behind!

Weiss: It's called growing up. It's a new thing, I know, but it works wonders, I hear.

Ilia: Oh, screw you!

Weiss: ...Wait. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so hostile with you. I've... I know what you mean by being left behind. Everyone at this party is someone I got close to or was the reason they left. It's not easy being single in a party of couples, but... But the least we can do when we're single is to be happily single. So... What say we be happily single... together. Just for tonight.

Ilia: ...Okay.

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all-the-things-2020 · 5 months

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Summary: When you land on a backwater planet for a routine job, your feelings for your bounty hunter boss are revealed, thanks to a local holiday tradition.

Rating: PG-13 (implied sexual activity but everything happens off screen)

Notes: This was written in 2020, before we knew Grogu’s name. I wrote it for the Pedros12DaysofChristmas gift exchange on tumblr as a gift for @djarinslover.

Word count: 3600+

Tags: @morallyinept Jett, please add to your Festive Fic Rec List 🎄❄️🎁

The wind whipped across the plain that lay outside the little town. You huddled into your coat, which was not thick enough for this weather. Din’s cape plastered itself to his back and the Child he carried whined at the cold. “It’s not far,” Din said. “I’ll keep you warm, kid.” The green child snuggled closer and made an inquiring noise. “And we’ll get something to eat. I promise.” The Child cooed and snuggled closer, his tiny clawed hand clutching at the smooth beskar of Din’s breastplate. You marveled at how well the two communicated, considering the Child couldn’t talk yet. Of course, you and Din were often able to communicate without words, even though his face was always hidden by his helmet.

The ramp rumbled closed behind you as the three of you made your way to the gate of the town. It was another nondescript settlement on a nondescript planet; somewhere that should have been a safe hiding place for a being on the run, but Din was a relentless hunter and very rarely failed to find his quarry. You were surprised that he hadn’t simply left you and the Child on board while he checked out this new lead, but you had learned not to question him when it came to bounty hunting. That was his area of expertise, not yours.

There was a gateway of sorts over the road into town, and it was bedecked with boughs of some evergreen plant that smelled spicy and stringent. Bunches of red and white berries were tied here and there with bright yellow ribbons.

You stepped a bit closer to Din as you entered the town. The houses looked empty, although some had colorful lights hanging in the windows, and most of them had boughs hanging over the door frame. “Where is everyone?” you asked, disconcerted by the lack of people and the empty echoes of your feet against the walls.

Din shifted the Child in his arms and grunted. “Must be in the center of town for the festival,” he said briefly.

“Festival?”

He nodded, but kept walking. “It’s the Midyear Festival. Winter solstice or something like that. I thought the kid might enjoy seeing it.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of credits, which he handed to you. “There’s sure to be some food for sale. Maybe you can find him a toy or something, keep him from stealing the knob off my gearshift all the time.”

You hid your smile, knowing that Din would just get brusque and dismissive if he saw it. You took the pouch and slipped it into the inside pocket of your coat. “And it gives you a good excuse to be here, too,” you said. “Bringing the kid to see the festival. Who’d be suspicious of that?”

Din turned his helmeted head slightly and you just knew he was rolling his eyes at you; the man could convey a full range of emotions with just a tilt of the head or shift in body weight. You’d learned to read him well during your time aboard the Razor Crest. You just wondered what it would take to get him to express the emotions you were almost certain were lurking just underneath the surface of what he’d allow himself to feel.

The town square was packed with beings of all kinds, eating and drinking and shopping at the booths that had sprung up around the perimeter. They were all decked out with the same evergreen boughs and berries. Din handed the Child to you. “Here, find him something to eat and look around at the wares,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. It shouldn’t take me long to get the information I need and then we can move on.”

You held the Child close as the two of you watched Din walk away, his cape swaying behind him as he strode across the square. He didn’t have to weave his way through the crowd; they parted in front of him. You felt a swell of … not exactly pride, since it was mixed with a healthy dose of lust ...Din looked good as always, and you had to remind yourself that so far he’d treated you as no more than a crewmate.

“Come on, kiddo,” you said once Din had been swallowed up by the crowd. “Let’s get you something yummy to eat.”

The Child made it clear that he wanted one of the large, sugar dusted cookies that several children were carrying around, and you quickly found the booth that was selling them. You purchased two and found a place to sit down. You and the Child nibbled at your treats, watching everyone in their festival finery. “They sure are dressed up, aren’t they?” you said. The Child continued to munch on his cookie, but he pricked his ears up, so you knew he was listening. “Think we’ll ever have money to waste on fancy clothes like that? Yeah, probably not. Your dad’s pretty tight with the purse strings. And fuel and ship repairs are expensive.” You sighed. Life was better now that you were traveling with the Mandalorian and his strange little foundling, but it was never easy in this part of the galaxy.

Once the cookies were gone (and part of yours might have mysteriously found its way into the kid’s hands), you picked the Child up and wandered around the square, looking at the sights. At one booth, you found an assortment of wooden toys which you found charming but which barely got a glance from the Child. What he did like were the shiny ornaments that hung from a large bough in the next booth over.

“Those look awfully fragile, kiddo,” you said doubtfully.

“But you would be wrong,” said the young woman behind the counter at the booth. “They are made of durasteel, hand painted and beautiful, but guaranteed to withstand the wildest gaggle of children and/or beasts.” She took down the one that had caught the Child’s eye, a silvery globe just big enough for both of his little hands to grasp, painted all over with geometric shapes in a brilliant azure blue. As the Child reached desperately for it, you knew you’d never hear the end of it if you didn’t get it for him.

“How much?” you asked, sure it was going to be outrageously priced and Din would be mad at you for spending so much on a useless bauble.

“Five credits,” the woman said. She tilted her head, taking in your patched trousers and the raggedy hem on the Child’s robe. “Let’s say four. Can’t let a kid go without a Midyear present, can we?”

You would have gladly paid five, but bit your tongue. A credit saved was a credit earned, after all. You handed over the money and the Child cooed as he examined the beautiful ball in his hands.

“And what about for you?” the young woman asked. “Do you have your sprig of laramin yet?”

“My sprig of what?” you asked.

She nodded. “Figured you for an offworlder,” she said, reaching up to pull a bundle of blue and white leaves down from a rack at the back of the stall. “Laramin,” she said, holding it out to you. “Almost sold out, so you’re just in time.” She held it up above her head. “It’s a tradition. At midnight on Midyear Day, you try to get your sweetheart under the laramin. Legend has it, if you kiss them under the laramin leaves at midnight, they’ll love you forever.” She gave you an appraising look. “I saw you come into the square with that tall fellow in the shiny armor. I’ll bet you’d like to get him under the laramin.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, but still asked the price of the bundle of leaves. One credit, and she threw in some silver ribbon to hang it from. “Little guy might want to play with it, after. Since it matches his ornament and all,” she said. You thanked her and tucked the sprig of laramin in your pocket next to the credit pouch.

You took another turn around the square, but the Child only had eyes for his ball, and soon you settled back down on a bench to wait for Din. You’d bought a couple more of those cookies, but hidden them away from the Child. You wanted to save at least one for Din, although who knew when he’d have a chance to eat it. He always snatched a bite here or there when you and the kid were asleep or busy.

Finally, you saw his shiny helmet weaving its way through the crowd, swiveling back and forth as he scanned the crowd for you. You suppressed the urge to stand up and wave; Din was a skilled hunter and he’d find you and the Child easily enough. Besides, you didn’t want to seem desperate or anything. You thought guiltily of the sprig of leaves in your pocket and your face got hot. It was ridiculous and a waste of money, but at least you’d saved the credit you spent on it when the vendor cut the price on the Child’s bauble.

Din reached you. “Come on,” he said, motioning for you to stand. He picked up the Child, who held out his new treasure for inspection. “Hmm … very nice, buddy. You do like shiny things, don’t you?” The Child chirped his agreement and returned to admiring the blue and silver ornament. Din turned to you. “Did you get yourself anything?”

You were flustered. “Um, I bought the kid and me each a cookie earlier, and I got a few more to take with us. So you can have one later. They’re pretty good.” You were rambling, but you didn’t want to admit you’d bought the laramin sprig. You’d toss it in the trash compactor when you got back to the ship.

Din simply nodded and began to walk. “We can stay overnight and head after the quarry in the morning,” he said as you followed him through the crowd. “I don’t think he’ll be on the move for a while, according to the intel I got.”

The ship was quiet and cold when you arrived, but that was normal. It just seemed darker than usual because you’d come from the brightly lit festival. Din closed up the ramp and busied himself with a check of his arsenal. “Keep an eye on the kid,” he said. “He’ll probably be busy with his new toy, but still, I don’t want him getting near the weapons.”

You nodded and took the Child into the tiny bunk where he and Din slept. The Child had a hammock strung from the ceiling; the sleeping area took up the entire bottom of the bunk, which you secretly thought looked more like a storage closet than a bedroom, but it wasn’t your ship. Your own sleeping area was a pile of blankets on top of a foam pad tucked behind some crates between the main hold and the carbonite freezer. It wasn’t fancy, but at least you had more room than Din and the kid had.

You sat with your back to the bunk entrance, with the Child in front of you, so he was blocked from getting out. The little womp rat was stealthy and you’d learned that unless you could see him at all times, he was capable of slipping past you and getting into trouble. Right now, though, he was enthralled with his new shiny toy and happy to sit and burble at it. You slid the packet of cookies out of your pocket, worried they would get crushed. The Child perked up at the sight of them, but you said, “Not right now. Wait until your dad’s done, then we’ll all have one, okay?” His ears drooped a bit, but he returned to the toy with only a tiny sigh.

You also pulled out the credit pouch. You would return it to Din when you gave him his cookie. The sprig of laramin came with it, the silver ribbon tangled around the pouch.

“What’s that?”

Din was almost as sneaky as his little green kid. “Oh, just a decoration,” you said, hiding your face by looking down at the Child. “The girl who sold us the ornament insisted I take one. No charge.” You dropped the laramin on the bed and held out the pouch. “Here’s what’s left of your credits.”

Din held out his gloved hand and took the pouch gently. He didn’t open it, or even test its weight, even though you knew he was always careful with his money. “Don’t lie to me,” he said firmly.

“What?”

“I told you when you came aboard, I don’t tolerate lying,” he said, tucking the credit pouch back into a pocket. “I know what that is.” He pointed at the bedraggled bunch of laramin leaves. “It’s some sort of love charm or something, isn’t it?”

You took a deep breath before you spoke. “It’s a decoration,” you repeated. “You hang it up and if you can kiss your sweetheart under it at midnight on Midyear Day, then the legend says they’ll love you forever. It’s silly. I just took it because the girl insisted. We can throw it away.”

You reached for the leaves, ready to crumble them into a wad, but Din was faster. He picked up the bundle and dangled it over your head by the silver ribbon. “No, let’s hang it up,” he said. “We could use some decoration in this old bucket.” You turned around in the bunk, wondering what he was going to do.

He reached up and tied the ribbon over an exposed girder. “There,” he said. “Festive, don’t you think?” Then he turned abruptly and headed up the ladder to the cockpit.

“What was that all about?” you asked the Child, who had crept up beside you. He stared at you for a moment, then shrugged and went back to admiring his ball.

You could hear Din moving around up in the cockpit but he wasn’t planning to move the ship until morning. Had he gotten embarrassed by the laramin? Was he trying to pretend nothing had happened to spare your feelings? You’d tried your best to hide your attraction to him, but the man was a hunter; he noticed details. He was probably well aware of the way you watched him, the way your eyes lingered over certain parts of his anatomy as he moved. And you were sure he knew how you tensed up when he moved close to you, how hard you resisted leaning into his touch when he laid a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the wilted sprig of laramin, just hanging there mocking you.

It was getting late, so you arranged your bed, which usually got messed up during the day, either from the movements of the ship as it flew, or the feet of the Child, who pattered around the hold when he got restless. The kid slowly followed you, his eyes starting to droop. When he yawned, you scooped him up and tucked him into his hammock. “Your dad will be down pretty soon,” you told him, even though you didn’t know what the hell Din was doing up there.

With the kid in bed, and Din busy, you pulled off your boots and got ready to crawl into your nest of blankets. You had just untied the string that held your hair back out of your face when you heard Din’s boots on the ladder. You looked up. He glanced briefly at you and then ducked into the bunk. Oh, well.

“Here,” Din said, suddenly looming over you. He was holding out a scrap of old blanket.

“What?” You took the piece of fabric, wondering what was going on.

“Put it on,” he said curtly, making a circling motion around his head. “Cover your eyes.”

“Um, okay,” you said, twisting the fabric and wrapping it around your face. You tied it behind your head. It was an effective blindfold; you couldn’t see a thing through it’s tight weave.

“Good,” Din said. He reached out and took your hand. “Stand up.” When you did, he moved his hand to your shoulder. “Over here.”

You shuffled after him in your stocking feet. The floor of the hold was cold and hard through your socks. Din carefully adjusted your position and then stood quietly. “What’s going on?” you asked, but he shushed you.

“Almost time,” he said. When the alarm on his chronometer beeped, you heard him take a deep breath, followed by the click and slight hiss of his helmet being detached. You held your breath. Was he … was he really …

A gloved hand stroked your cheek and slid behind your head, holding it steady. “I’m not sure how to do this,” Din said quietly. His voice wasn’t distorted by the vo-coder in the helmet and you heard a nervous quaver in it. “I’ve … I’ve never done this before,” he whispered.

Your heart was pounding. It was happening. “That’s okay,” you said softly. “Just do what feels right.” You lifted your hand to touch his face, the face you’d imagined so many times. You gently traced the curve of his cheek, the sharp ridge of his nose, the soft pillows of his lips. You felt his breath hitch as you slid your fingers back and forth against his lips. Then he brushed your hand out of the way and pressed those lips against yours.

It was everything you had imagined, and more. His lips were soft and clumsy as he kissed you, his fingers tightening in your hair as he held your head in place. You lifted your other hand to the back of his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, giving a gentle tug as he pulled back from the kiss. “How was that?” he asked breathlessly.

“Not bad,” you said. “But you definitely need practice.” You pulled him closer and kissed him harder, sliding your tongue along the seam between his lips, until he parted them and you were able to deepen the kiss. When your tongue darted into his mouth, he gasped and his free arm wrapped around your waist. You responded by pressing your body against his armored chest, wishing he’d shed more than his helmet.

After a few minutes, you came up for air. “Happy Midyear,” Din said, his voice raspy.

You laughed and pressed your head against his shoulder pauldron. “Was that my present?” you teased.

“The first of many, I hope,” Din said hesitantly. “I … I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about me, but when I saw the laramin sprig, I thought, what the hell.” His arms tightened around you and pulled you closer to him, squishing you against his armored body.

“Is the kid asleep?” you asked.

“I think so,” he replied. “I closed the door to the bunk.”

You chuckled. “Good idea. He doesn’t need to see this.” You pulled Din’s head down for another kiss, and started backing toward where you thought your bed was. Din steered you by the shoulders until you felt the edge of your foam pad under your feet.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said. “I’ve been dying to find out what’s under all that beskar.” He laughed and kissed you again.

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When you woke the next morning, you were alone. Your blindfold was gone. Your clothes were folded neatly on a crate next to your bed. You could hear Din talking softly to the Child in the cockpit.

You got up carefully, stiff and sore in places that hadn’t seen much activity recently. You got dressed and made your way to the ‘fresher. After you’d splashed a little water on your face, you climbed the ladder to the cockpit.

“Good morning,” Din said quietly. He was in the pilot’s seat, the Child perched on his lap, watching as he entered coordinates and ran through the pre-launch sequence. The new durasteel ball was clutched in the Child’s hand and the knob had been returned to the lever where it belonged.

“Good morning,” you replied. Din waved you closer and as you came alongside the chair, he slid his hand to the small of your back. You leaned down to greet the Child, who babbled to you about something.

Din sat back in the pilot’s seat. He gently placed the Child on the floor. “Get in your chair and buckle in,” he told the small creature. As the kid toddled toward his seat, Din tilted his helmet up to look at you. His hand returned to your waist. “Last night …,” he began.

You cut him off. “It’s okay if it was just the holiday,” you said. “It’s okay if it never happens again.”

He shook his head. “No, it … it wasn’t just the holiday. I’d like it to happen again. It’s just … I can’t let you see my face. It will have to be like that.” His hand slid gently up and down against your back.

You leaned over him and pressed a kiss against the cold beskar of his helmet. “It’s fine,” you said. “I know how important The Way is to you. I would never ask you to abandon it.”

Din was silent for a long moment, then nodded his head. He pulled away from you. “Okay, then. You’d better get buckled in. We’re taking off in two minutes.”

You took your seat next to the Child. Din finished the last few checks and pressed a button to ignite the engines. As the ship began to lift off the surface, you noticed something dangling above the control panel, jiggling with the vibrations of the ship. A bedraggled sprig of blue and white leaves, tied tightly with a silver ribbon.

#the mandalorian #star wars #grogu #baby yoda #fanfic #din djarin #holiday themed #friends to lovers #din djarin x reader #din Djarin fluff #tooth rotting fluff #festive fic rec list

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thepariahcontinuum · 4 months

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MARZ Rising - Chapter 143: Blockades and Backroom Deals

Happy nondescript winter holiday to those who celebrate, as an early present here's the first chapter of Vol.09, the penultimate volume of this story.

FF Net

Ao3

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scham-wcan · 1 year

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Ruby, calling: Cinder, Weiss suffers from premature Treejaculation

Cinder, choking on her tea: RUBY, WHAT THE-?

Ruby: It’s November and she’s already put up the Schneemas tree

Cinder: I-.. oh that’s what you meant

Ruby: What did you think I meant?

#cinder fall #winter schnee #cinwin #ruby rose #weiss schnee #white rose #scham rambles #on topic of early decorating and schnees loving nondescript winter holiday

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eleanorblythe · 4 months

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Romantic Homicide - Anton Chigurh x Orginal Female Character - One Shot

This is a supplemental to my first three chapters and explores Anton and Her before the events of Romantic Homicide.

This is how she died.

Also on Ao3 with author notes and translations - here

Winter of 1978

She just needed to hold on a little longer.

She needed to move.

She was starting to feel numb. And cold.

She couldn’t remember the last time she was this cold. A bone deep chill. Her mind flashed to a morning from her childhood. The first time she had ever seen snow. Her nose, touching the window feeling the wet of the condensation. The distant voice of someone calling her.

The irritating rustle of polyester as she sprinted through the house in her winter coat, with the speed and determination that only a child can possess. A woman’s voice scolding her about inappropriate shoes as she whizzed past and out into the garden.

The snow was dancing.

She danced with it.

She remembered trying to move around the snowflakes, tasting them. She remembered allowing herself to fall face first into the snow, trying to be as quiet and as still as possible - wanting to be enveloped by it. Buried under it. Consumed by it.

Strong arms lifted her out of the snow and spun her round and round. She had never felt as free and as happy as she had that day, in the snow.

She felt like she was face down in the snow again, feeling the cold slowly starting to seep into every part of her being. Only instead of the peace and stillness of the earth, she was staring at mineral fibre tiles with yellow damp stains and watching a rickety ceiling fan stutter as it span slowly above her.

She just needed to hold on a little longer.

But, hold on for what?

She had other flashes of a life that felt so long ago and so removed from the person she was now, they didn’t feel real.

Family dinners with faceless parents, holidays in towns she couldn’t name, losing her virginity on an unexceptional Tuesday, graduating with classmates who must have assumed she died years ago.

Her first kill.

Sitting in the aftermath, watching the blood drip and spread over the linoleum. Feeling the heavy weight of the kitchen knife clenched in her hand. Staring as her panic and pain turned to curiosity and pragmatism.

Her first contract.

Sitting in a waiting room filled with older, hardened and grizzled men, waiting to be called into the nondescript office. Feeling a great sense of pride. Knowing she was better than any of them. Praying one of them looked at her funny so she could prove it to them.

The first time she nearly died.

She remembered a beach, from the ever distant memory of her youth. Those same strong arms hoisting her onto their shoulders and wading into the ocean, feeling and tasting the foam and salt on her skin. She had nearly drowned that day, but she remembered an overwhelming sense of peace as she dipped beneath the waves that final time - before being yanked out of the water and her name being called out, over and over, in panic. A scratchy terrycloth towel being wrapped around her and being shaken until her eyes opened and she saw the blurry faces of her mother and father leaning over her.

This time she knew she would not be so lucky.

As she lay on the nondescript floor of the nondescript office, staring up at the speckled ceiling tiles, she tried desperately to remember the faces of her parents.

She couldn’t.

She would die soon, and they wouldn’t be there to save her.

She tried to look down at her sticky red hand clutching her side, but her body was starting to shut down. She could not move.

She had been gutted, like a fish and left for dead.

She could live (and soon die) with the physical pain, but she could not accept the betrayal. The greed. The dishonour of it all.

She never claimed to be an innocent, or even moral. No one in her world was, but there was an unspoken code within her world.

1. Don’t interfere with others’ contracts.

2. Settle your debts.

Sometimes the first was unavoidable, with as surprising many operatives and agencies as there were in this little underworld - mistakes could happen. In her experience sometimes happy accidents.

But the second rule.

If you were prepared to break the second, then prepare yourself to be hunted to the ends of the earth. By everyone. You would be found. No matter where. No matter how long it took. You would never know a single moments’ peace ever again.

It was unfortunate that she would not be the one to do the hunting. She had done everything she needed to do. She had completed the job, she had extracted the information she needed. She delivered in a timely manner. Yet she was killed for it.

She was deemed a ‘liability’ and needed to be put down, ‘like a bitch’. She remembered thinking, as two men held her down and her former contractor sliced her open; “You’ve damned yourself, for money that was never yours anyway…”

She could still hear the distant voices of her betrayers, drinking and laughing in the next room. Toasting her demise. She supposed the plan was to wait for her to bleed out and then go and have a celebratory dinner. How inconsiderate of her to die slowly. Eventually they got bored of waiting and left anyway, leaving the lackey behind to make sure she died.

She was unsure how long she lay there. If she were in a better mood she might have scoffed that they couldn’t even kill her properly. Then again, a slow death may have been part of the design.

Her breathing became more shallow and the cold sensation had now fully enveloped her. A tear escaped the corner of her eye as she lamented that her last view would be of this stained ceiling in this tired looking office in the middle of the desert. She’d always hated the desert.

Her vision was starting to darken and she finally let her hand that had been desperately clasped at her side, drop to the piss and shit stained carpet.

She thought about praying, but who should she pray to, who would listen? Instead she thought about those who she would miss.

Not a long list.

She thought of her parents and wondered if wherever she ended up, she would see them again. She had friends, she supposed she would miss them, but they weren’t true friends, she had shown them only a fragment of herself and as a result, her friendships were mostly surface level.

And then there was Anton.

Anton was the only person who really knew her. Her only ally. She wondered in another life, if she might have married a man like Anton, found a normal job, bought a house, had a few children, got a dog that would bark at everything. Live.

But life was not a Norman fucking Rockwell painting and that life was something she could never have. Was it even something she would ever want?

Too late for that now.

What little of a life she had started to build with Anton- late night drives to nowhere in particular, weekends away exploring everything like tourists, leaving each other’s personal items at each other’s houses, tentative and disguised discussions about the future - ended here.

She felt a shadow pass over her and the blurry figure of a man standing over her. She wondered if her father was finally here to take her away.

For the first time since this ordeal, she smiled. A small, weak, smile. She was finally ready to admit defeat. She was ready to go.

With what little strength she had left, she lifted her bloody hand up to reach for her father.

“Is it time?” Her voice was barely there. She continued to reach, but her father would not take her hand. Maybe he could only take it when she finally crossed over.

__________

Anton stood over her body. He thought she was already dead until her glassy eyes moved over him, she smiled and her hand stretched out towards him.

“Is it time?” She whispered.

His gaze flicked to her wound, despite the thickness of the carpet, her blood had spread everywhere. She was still alive, but barely.

“Not quite.” He responded.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly and she blinked in confusion.

“Where’s mom?”

Anton titled his head, before replying,

“Your mother’s dead.” He said.

“So are we,” she strained “aren’t we?”

“No, we’re not dead,” he said quietly, still observing. He didn’t want to think about the tightness of his throat. He saw death everyday. He dealt death everyday. Why should today make him feel any differently?

Because it’s her.

He had enjoyed himself this last year. She was fun, he found that he actually quite liked having her around. He had even humoured her and gone on a few trips and played the part of a regular person who takes vacations and goes sightseeing. He would never admit, that he really enjoyed those trips and would wait patiently until she brought up planning the next one.

The company was good and the sex was great.

That’s all this was meant to be.

So why did he have her birthday memorised?

Why did he make sure he always had strawberries in the house, just on the off chance she came over and wanted some?

Why did he once drive to three different florists to get her favourite flowers? For that matter why did he even know what her favourite flowers were?

Why did he never sleep peacefully on nights when she was away in jobs?

Because it’s her. Because you-

He knew why. It was that same ‘why’ that told him to come out into the desert.

Earlier, his relatively mundane evening was interrupted by a phone call. As soon as he answered and heard her signature “hey handsome” the corners of his lips turned up and he relaxed into his seat. It had been a couple of weeks since they last saw each other and she announced she was staying at his place once she had turned in her latest assignment. Three hours later and she still hadn’t arrived. Anton inexplicably felt something wash over him. Dread.

And now here she was. Dying. Her outstretched hand had lost its strength and it hit the carpet with a quiet thud.

“Is it snowing at the house?” She murmured. Anton finally knelt down and took her hand. He watched her eyes refocus and scan his face. “Oh. It’s you,”

“Who did you think it was?” Anton asked, genuinely curious.

“My father…hey handsome,” she said weakly.

“Can you feel my hand?” He said giving her hand a small squeeze.

“No.”

“What can you feel?”

“Cold.” Anton only managed to catch the first sound, she was fading. Her watery eyes found his. “Can you end it, please? It hurts.”

Anton wasn’t unfamiliar with people begging him for death, he was usually happy to oblige. It made the job cleaner, more efficient. He didn’t like the idea of doing it to her.

As if sensing his hesitation, she used the last reserve of strength she had to squeeze his hand.

“The coin will tell you.” Anton’s eyes snapped to hers where they had previously been staring at her hand clasped weakly in his. He shook himself out of his thoughts and took out a coin. She had never pretended she was fully on board with the concept of fate and the way Anton chose to strictly adhere to the coin face, no matter what, but she knew it was important to him. She knew it would help.

She knew it would show the right choice.

Anton made his choice.

Heads, he kills her.

Tails, he holds her hand until she dies.

He flipped the coin and let it land on his open palm.

Heads.

He quickly shoved the coin back into his pocket and turned his gaze back to her. She gave a pained smile.

“It’s okay, Anton,” She mouthed.

The choice was made for him. Every choice they had both made brought them to this. The end. He nodded and leaned down to kiss her clammy forehead. He spoke her name against her skin and whispered an apology.

He had made his choice.

He leant back and ripped a strip of fabric off of the end of her dress and pressed it hard into her wound. He heard a stuttered gasp of pain, the biggest sign of life she had shown thus far. He ripped more of her dress to fashion a tourniquet. He wrapped it around her waist and secured it tightly. She jolted up from her prone position with an agonising scream. He kept murmuring apologies and kept talking over her cries of pain- for her sake or his, he wasn’t sure.

Eventually the catastrophic bleeding finally stemmed and Anton was able to scoop his arms under her and pick her up. He carried her out of the nondescript office, past the nondescript lobby (over the dead lackey), and out into the desert night.

She twisted her head from Anton’s shoulder once she felt the night breeze on her face. She looked up to see stars, every one of them glittering and bright. She gasped and wept. She wouldn’t die staring at a stained ceiling, she would die surrounded by millions of stars, swirling and circling around her.

Like snow.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt the pull of darkness, carried in those safe, strong arms.

#fanfiction #anton chigurh #no country for old men #anton chigurh x reader #ncfom #anton chigurh fanfic

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