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kee-writestrashh · 5 years

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Guns for Hire

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

ao3

Summary: You are the wife to the Heir of the Red Kings, Ramsay Bolton. living the undercover life of a mob wife has its perks, and you love your husband. But you find out something that seems to unfold a series of unwanted events…

**warning: blood, violence, gore, torture, smut; a very ramsay things kinda chapter

Chapter 35: Kill4Me

"Is this smart?" You asked, looking at the rundown bar.

It sat perfectly on the corner between the Roses, Lions, and Stags. Nowhere near the Kings or Boys. If things went south, there was no back up readily available.

"Who cares about smart when you can have fun? You hear all kinds of shit in here. Rowdy folk. Good place to get the scoop on anything you want. Technically not allowed to be here anymore, but I see they've made some staffing changes and new management." Ramsay shrugged, leading you to an empty table as glancing over at the bar.

There you saw a pretty young woman with long, platinum hair. She looked very out of place next to all the other staff members.

"This place is shit." You said, curling your lip in distaste.

"Uh, yeah. That's why the locals call it the shit hole. Full of hookers, bikers, convicts, felons. Shit drugs. Good drugs. Whatever. And yet for as shitty as the place is, plenty of uppity people come here too." Ramsay replied, watching a big, tattooed biker grab all over the blonde girl.

But she seemed to like it, as she laughed and carried on with him.

"Here's how the game works. Watch these people and pick one. Tell me their story and why they deserve to die." Ramsay said, holding you close in his lap, and taking a beer from Matt, who had just returned to the table.

You leaned back into him, lacing your fingers in his free hand.

"But what if they don't deserve to die?" You asked, looking around.

"We all deserve to die." Ramsay chuckled.

"Okay, Sweeney Todd." You laughed, he snorted.

"Here, watch. Dame, bloke in the corner. What's up with him?" Your husband said nodding to the end of the bar by the bathrooms, where a very sullen looking man sat.

"Overworked, middle class. Hates everything. Kids too loud. Wife's a fat, nagging bitch. Comes here to get away from his trailer park trash life. Wonders if maybe there's someone else here as lonely as him. Does he deserve to die? Probably. He's already dead inside. Might as well do him a solid." Damon said, examining the man closely.

"See? Now, find someone." Ramsay said, placing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You watched a group of men, savoring Ramsay's touches as he kissed at your neck.

"What did your father want?" You asked, as you watched Damon lead Charlotte out to the dance floor.

"Don't know honestly. Went over some numbers and shit. But I think it was just to rub it in my face that he's alive, I guess. Says he will be at the twenty week ultrasound." Ramsay shrugged, fingering his empty beer bottle.

You frowned, panic forming in the pit of your stomach.

"Why do you want to tell Stark we have his sister? We don't have his sister." You questioned.

"Hush, you're ruining the game. Hurry up and pick someone." He said with a huffy sigh.

"This game is boring." You said, resting your cheek on your hand, elbow on the edge of the table.

"It is not boring." Ramsay said, rather defensively.

"Fine. See that guy there in the middle of that group?" You nodded to a group of five men at the middle of the bar. "He has a real hero card. Comes here to rescue drunk women from other dudes just like him. Gets them way too fucking drunk, asks to walk them home, gets them halfway home and they pass the fuck out because he's drugged them. Has his way with them, they never remember, and so off to the next one. He deserves to die because he looks like a fucking douche, his hair is stupid, and I don't like his insecure way about using women."

Ramsay stared at you as you spoke, finally letting his eyes wander to the guy you were talking about.

"Is that so?" He asked, mildly impressed.

"Yes." You shrugged.

He let his wicked grin form, "show me."

You gave him a quick kiss and a smirk, standing abruptly. You slapped him across the face as hard as you could.

"How dare you! Stay the fuck away from me!" You screamed, stomping off and playing up the emotional theatrics until you sat at a table across the room.

You caught Ramsay's eye, as he rubbed his cheek, looking slightly dazed. He bit back the evil smile, watching the man you had pointed out order a drink and made his way over to you at your empty table.

"You okay? Thought I could bring you a drink. He do that to you?" The man said, setting the glass down and sitting across from you.

You brought your hand to your cheek and dropped your gaze, forcing tears.

"Yes." You lied quietly, sliding your wedding ring off and slipping it in your bra, pretending to adjust your breasts.

"You're too beautiful to be with a scumbag like that. Beautiful things should never be hit, or broken." The man, said brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

You looked past him to see Ramsay watching closely, eyes blazing as the jealously crept up. You gave him a sly wink and turned your attention back to the man trying to seduce you with bullshit words.

"What's your name?" You asked, not sure if you really wanted to know, seeing as he would be dead before the night was over.

"Viserys. And youself?" He said, flashing a toothy grin.

"(Y/n). New around here?" You replied, looking him over. He dressed a bit... different?

"Yeah, actually. Well, sort of. My sister and I were born here, but some fucked up men stole our lives from us, forcing us to flee the country. But now we have come back to take back what is ours." Viserys said, rather emotionally, slidding into the seat next to you and resting his hand on your leg.

"Right. Good luck with that." You said, getting bored of the man, and suppressing the urge to punch him and his smug look, like he had just won the lottery, angry he was touching you.

Maybe this game was fun, when you weren't required to be sober.

"Do you have someone you can call to pick you up?" He asked, his voice sounding hopeful that you would say no.

Charlotte saved you the answer as she swooped in to rescue you, "hey, sweetie, let's get out of here. Found a couple of cute boys to take us home."

You looped your arm in hers, thankful for once to actually see her.

She pulled you along, out of the bar and returned you to Ramsay around the corner.

"The fuck was that?" He growled, pulling you into him and placing a harsh kiss to your lips.

"The way you play is boring. So I altered the rules. You told me to show you, and I did. I didn't slap you too hard did I?" You asked cupping his cheek.

"Do it again and I may make you weak in the knees." He purred, kissing along your jaw.

"So, uh... we'll just go grab him up?" Alyn said awkwardly, looking up at the sky.

Ramsay waved his men away, biting down on your neck.

"Baby, stop. Not here. It's cold, and I will not be fucked in the alley like a fucking whore. Not on this side of town anyways." You said, pulling away from your husband.

"You're right. Apologies, baby girl. Besides, you have someone to kill." He nodded, mastering himself and smoothing out your dress.

You pulled your ring from your bra, slid it back on, and laced your hand in his as he led you to the Jeep.

"Where are we?" You asked, looking at the abandoned building.

"You know... I've honestly no idea. Used to be a hospital. Maybe an asylum. The sign was torn down years ago. But either way, hospital of some sort." Ramsay said, pushing the door open for you.

You wished you had worn anything other than heels tonight as he made you trek up the hill to this damn place.

"Is this where you kill all your victims?" You asked, glancing around the dark, dirty lobby, squinting to see better.

"Nah. Not all of them." Ramsay replied, pulling his gun and a flashlight.

"What if someone comes up here?" You asked, standing rather close to him as he led the way up a flight of stairs.

He laughed loudly, and it sounded eerily haunting as it echoed in the cold darkness.

"No one will come up here. The folks around think it's haunted. Hear bone chilling screaming and begging. Stupid fucking twats. Haunted. Ha."

You nodded, looking around. Ramsay disappeared through a door and you were startled to not find him in the room when you entered. You stood stock still, confused.

"Coming?" He asked, behind You.

You turned quickly, with a gasp. "How'd you do that?"

He chuckled, nodding at a door to your left. You rolled your eyes and followed him, this time gripping his elbow.

He led you up another flight of stairs and finally into a large room, that looked as if it had once been used to preform surgeries.

He pulled his lighter and lit a few oil burning lamps.

"You're a twisted fucker, you know that?" You said, examining a pile of metal tools as the room was bathed in cold light.

"It might have been mentioned to me a time or two." He replied, setting his gun on a tray with the flashlight.

"Now what?" You asked, picking up a cold metal hooked pick.

"Now we wait on patient..." He picked up a clipboard and ran his eyes over it, "one hundred and twenty five to arrive for a very botched surgery." He pulled a pen from his jacket and scribbled on the clipboard.

You continued to examine the tools; some of them making your skin crawl as you tried to imagine what they were used for.

"Well, nurse, it seems you need to get ready for said surgery." Ramsay said, rummaging in a cabinet.

You turned to him and he held out a face mask, surgical gloves, and stained apron.

You stared at him. "Really?"

"Can you confirm he doesn't have any diseases, doll?" He asked.

"No." You said, taking the gloves and mask.

Ramsay slipped the apron over your head and tied the back. He stepped back from you and gave a wolfish grin.

"You should do this more often. Nice white pair of hooker boots next time though. And maybe a shorter dress so I can see that beautiful ass when you bend over." He chuckled, pulling on his own gloves.

You couldn't help but feel your face warm as you glanced him over.

"So... what do I do?" You asked, sitting on the table beside the metal tools.

"Whatever you want. Make him confess his sins. Make him tell you a story. Make him give you the information to his bank account. Sing a song for you. Or just kill him. Whatever you want to do baby girl. I'm only here as support. Just watching today. Today I am just a student." Your husband replied, stepping into you and pulling your mask down so he could kiss you.

You opened your mouth under his, cupping his face, as he snaked his tongue in your mouth. As always, the world fell away as you explored his mouth and a warmth started to grow between your legs.

Banging from the floor bellow made you jump and pull away from Ramsay as you heard Damon talking shit and cursing as he tripped up the stairs.

A few moments later Alyn and Damon shoved Viserys to his knees, Matt bringing up the rear, looking slightly distressed. The man had bound wrists and wore a cloth sack over his head. He struggled violently to get free, making muffled noises, as he apparently had been gagged.

"Strip him." Ramsay said, as if no more than ordering a beer.

"All of him?" Alyn asked.

"No, idiot. We have a lady in the room." Ramsay replied, picking up his knife.

You watched Alyn and Matt strip Viserys as Damon held him still.

"Boss, check it." Alyn said, stepping away from Viserys to reveal his bare chest.

Ramsay tutted in amusement and turned to you, "did you catch his name?"

"Uh, Viserys, I think?" You shrugged, examining the large, red three-headed dragon tattoo on his chest.

Ramsay laughed a cold, merciless mirth. "Viserys Targaryen. The Beggar King. How honored I am to meet you. Well, you sure know how to pick winners, baby girl."

"Should... Should we kill him then?" You asked as Matt pulled the bag from Viserys' head.

"Oh yeah. For sure. But I want to ask him a few questions before he stops breathing. But you are free to do whatever while I question him. I won't take the fun away from you. Get him in a chair." Ramsay said, glancing at Alyn as he spoke the last part.

Alyn heaved Viserys up to standing and thrust him into a empty chair. Matt and Damon tied the man's legs to the chair and the three of them left back through the door.

"What do you want to do first, doll?" Ramsay asked, looking from you to victim.

"I-I don't know. I've never done this before, exactly. You know that." You said, cheeks warming.

Ramsay gave you a warm smile, "come here, my pet. Let's start small. I'll show you."

You stepped over to your husband and he placed a scalpel into your hand. You took the tiny blade, staring at it, still unsure what you would actually do with it.

"Mkay, Targaryen. I'm going to ask you a series of questions. If you do not answer, refuse to answer, or lie, my foxy little wife here will cause pain. Though, I think she will cause pain, regardless..." He stepped into Viserys with a grin, "she thinks your hair is stupid." He whispered with a smirk as he pulled the gag away from your victims mouth.

"You fucking bitch!" Viserys screeched, struggling to stand, eyes narrowed at you.

"Manners." Ramsay warned, his tightened fist coming into contact with Viserys' cheek bone.

You pushed Ramsay aside, gripping the scalpel, jaw clenched. You stopped in front of Viserys, looked him over, and stabbed the blade into his thigh with as much strength as you could.

He howled in pain and struggled in his chair some more.

You stepped back, taking a deep breath and turning to your husband.

"Sorry. He just... made me mad? I dunno. Weird. Anyways, continue." You said, with a small shrug.

"This would be a wonderful time for me to tell you that I love you. I'd also really like to fuck you too. But, first..." your husband said, kneeling down as fingering the handle of the scalpel, "What are you doing back here?"

"Go to hell!" Viserys shouted at Ramsay.

Ramsay turned to you and gave you a look.

You looked around, picking up a cross shaped insturment, "What's this?"

"I believe they call it a trocar? Very sharp. Not sure of its exact use. I'm a banker, baby doll. Not a surgeon." Ramsay said, pulling a stool up and sitting in front of Viserys, who watched you through wide eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" He whimpered.

"I told you, my wife hates your hair. And if something offends her it's my job to make sure it's taken care of. Like any good husband would do. Now, tell me, how many know you are here?" Ramsay said, watching Viserys closely.

"A lot. I'm rebuilding my father's empire!" He said through clenched teeth.

"Liar." Ramsay laughed, pulling the blade from Viserys' leg.

Viserys cried out in pain again. Ramsay sighed, and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket.

"Do you smoke?" He asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a long, deep drag. "Who am I kidding? Of course you do. Look at those track marks. Do they call you the Beggar King because you spend all your money on top dollar shit? Hope you don't mind menthols. Something about menthols lately. Ya know?" He held out a cigarette to Viserys, who gave Ramsay a very cold look.

"Are you going to take it or not?" Ramsay said patiently.

You snorted, setting the tool you were holding down and picking up what looked like a pair of scissors crossed with pruning shears.

Ramsay glanced over at you and motioned you over. Once close enough, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into his lap.

"These are fun for cutting off fingers." He chuckled, taking the cutters for you. "Or, cutting flower stems. Whatever."

"You're a sick bastard. Let me go!" Viserys demanded.

You stared at Viserys. For a man about to die, he was putting on a very brave act.

"How close can I get to cutting your pinky off without you pissing yourself?" Ramsay asked, handing you your weapon back.

"What do you want?!" Viserys screamed, struggling against his restraints again.

"For you to answer my questions." Ramsay replied, nudging you to stand up. He grabbed your hand and led you behind Viserys to his bound hands.

"Will you let me go?" Viserys asked, trying to shift in his seat to see behind him.

"Uh... sure." Ramsay said kindly, clapping the man on the shoulder who jerked and gave a whimper.

You glanced up at Ramsay who shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Oh! Before I forget." He dug in his pockets and pulled out headphones and held them out to you. "I prefer to listen to music. Drowns out the annoying begging and screaming until they pass out."

You took the headphones, remembering you left your phone in the Jeep. Ramsay pulled out his phone and handed it to you before he resumed his seat in front of Viserys.

You put the headphones in your ears, plugged them into the phone. You hit shuffle, slidding the phone in your bra, letting out a loud laugh. Thriller.

You drew a breath, hands shaking as you knelt down to Viserys' bound hands. He tried to fight you, but Ramsay decked him in the face.

You swallowed, gripping the cutters tight in one hand, and grabbed one of Viserys' fingers in your other hand.

You clenched your jaw, bringing the cutters to the skin. You closed your eyes tight, swallowed hard, and held your breath.

Flower stems. You told yourself as you clamped down on the cutters as hard as you could.

You felt the breaking of bone and heard the screaming, despite the headphones. Your stomach flipped. You dropped your hands and everything in them, standing quickly, back turned from Ramsay and victim as you willed the need to vomit to go away.

You tried to master your trembling hands and swallowed hard again.

You weren't sure how long you stood there. A deadly war of pleasure and disgust raging inside of you at what you had just done.

Finally a tapping on your shoulder brought you back to earth as Ramsay pulled the earphones from your ears.

"You've made a wonderful start, baby girl. I'm done with him. Kill him." He said gently, kissing your cheek and grabbing your hand.

"I... I don't know if I can, Ramsay." You admitted weakly.

"I'll help you if you want." He smiled.

You took a deep breath, looking down at the box blade he held out to you.

You took the handle and heaved a small sigh.

"How are you already done?" You asked, with a tiny sniff.

"You've been lost in la la land for about," he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes."

You gaped, unable to say anything. He took your free hand and led you back to Viserys.

You swallowed down the hot bile in the back of your throat as you looked down at the man. Nose broken and bleeding freely. Mouth busted. The dragon tattoo hacked and mostly gone, the bloodied thin strips of skin in his lap. The blood pouring from his chest. You weren't sure he was conscious. You wouldn't even have known he was alive if the blood didn't shimmer every time his chest rose and fell, weakly.

"Quick slit of the neck would work. Or you could stab him here," Ramsay suggested, pushing on a pounding vein in Viserys' neck with his gloved hand.

You gave a simple nod. Ramsay stepped back, crossing his arms and watching you like a hawk.

"Go on." He breathed, excitedly as you placed the blade to Viserys' neck.

"I..." You began, hand shaking again.

Ramsay gave another kind smile and stood behind you, taking your shaking hand in his. Slowly he pushed your hand into the soft flesh and the blood welled quickly under the pressure to escape, spurting from the deep cut.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Ramsay dropped your hand. You dropped the box blade, again, fighting the urge to gag or vomit. You stared at the man you had sentenced to death because of a silly game.

You felt slightly numb. You should have been disgusted. You had committed murder. Twice now. And yet... Well you couldn't place it. You were turning into a monster. Just like your husband.

Slowly you turned your gaze to Ramsay who stood there staring at you through hungry eyes.

He crossed the room and slammed the door. He turned back to you, closing the space between you both in a few quick strides. He pulled your mask off, pulled at your gloves, and hastily discarded the apron. He grabbed you, probably harder than he meant in his excitement.

"Baby girl, fuck me." Ramsay panted, going slightly weak in the knees as he kissed you hungrily.

You kissed him back with just as much force, grabbing his waist and pulling him close.

"What does my daddy need?" You asked gently, sliding his jacket off and clawing at his chest.

"Hurt me baby girl. Make me bleed." He whimpered in your mouth.

He dropped to his knees, bunching your dress up, and nipping at your folds and grabbing your ass with both hands.

You tangled your hands in his hair, with a moan, casting around the room. Plenty of things to cause pain, but nowhere other than a dirty table to get fucked on. Maybe the wall could do too.

"Knife.." You finally said, through a choked moan.

Ramsay dug around in his pockets before placing his favorite blade in your hand.

"Up, baby." You said gently. "And get your shirt off."

You watched him tear his shirt away and ran your eyes over him. The fire in his eyes, flushed cheeks, wayward hair, bare chest, rising and falling with each heavy breath, a slight look of discomfort at the restraint off his pants.

You stepped into him, holding the knife tight. With one finger you ran it across a series of scars along his breast.

"Where did these come from?" You asked kissing each one.

"Me. Whenever I needed to feel pain." He said softly, lacing his hand in your hair.

You pulled away slightly, placing the tip of the knife against the deepest scar. You applied pressure and felt Ramsay tremble under you, making a noise in his throat.

"Harder, you fucking bitch." He growled his grip tightening in your hair.

You pressed the blade further until the tip had disappeared into his flesh and blood began to rise quickly. You pulled the knife down and Ramsay made a hissing noise, tipping his head back as his grip tightened on you and moaned.

You pulled the knife away when you were satisfied with the cut and let the knife fall to the ground with a clatter.

Without really thinking, instinct and curiosity took over. You pressed your finger to the top of the cut and ran it along the edges of the skin. His blood was slick, warm, and bright red.

He whimpered, releasing his hand from your hip to grab at the front of his pants.

You smirked, "You better slow down baby, I've only just started."

You gave him an evil look and pressed your tongue to his cut. Tangy and metallic. Warm, and slightly... sweet? Was that the word to use? Eh, what did it matter? It was intoxicating and erotic and so very guilty.

"I can't." He panted, knees going weak again.

"Oh, you can." You whispered wickedly, sliding your hand in his pants, gripping him hard, and running your tongue slowly over his cut skin again.

Was this how he felt when he was the one in control? Because it was powerful. He was at your mercy.

"Baby girl, fuck me. Quit teasing." He growled, canting his hips as you slowly ran your hand along him, fingering his cut with your other hand.

"No." you whispered, shrugging out of your dress, sliding your hand in his pants again as the dress pooled to the floor at your feet.

You ran your bloodied hand across your breasts, tracing over each nipple while Ramsay watched, licking his lips slowly.

You slowly slid you hand down your body to your throbbing pussy. You slid a finger in with a moan.

Ramsay couldn't stop himself. He yanked your hand from his pants, took one of your breasts in his mouth, worrying your nipple aggressively between his teeth, and sliding his fingers into you with yours.

"Baby." You panted.

"Shut your fucking mouth, slut." He panted back, pulling away from your breast, and walking you back into the wall.

"Mm, daddy. Make me a bad girl." You whispered in his ear, before nipping at his ear.

"On your knees." He demanded.

"But it's cold." You protested.

He grabbed at your breast, pinching at your nipple until you shifted uncomfortably.

"I said, on. Your. Knees." He bit.

"I said, it. Is. Cold." You hissed, grabbing his side and digging your nails in.

"I will punish you for your defiance." He panted, trying to pull away from your grip.

"Do it. Spank me. Hurt me. Fuck me bloody." You whispered back, sliding your free hand to your warm wetness and rubbing at your sensitive spot.

"Fuck, when did you become so perfect?" He moaned, picking you up and walking you to the table.

You leaned back on the table, breathing hard, as you watched him push his pants down. You bit your lip, watching his dick throb.

"Hurt me, daddy."

"Scream for me." He panted, grabbing your hips and pulling you to the edge of the table, where he shoved himself into you.

You drew a sharp breath, grabbing at him, as moved in you again.

"Harder." You moaned out, arching your back and pushing your hips into his.

The warmth at your core began to bubble and become hot. You were rapidly coming undone upon each thrust, breath, and touch.

You clawed at his chest, wanting nothing more than to feel his whole weight on you, to wrap your fingers around his neck, and feel him struggle to breath.

As the hard rhythm with him continued, you pushed yourself up. He slid his hand down your back, pulling you in closer to him, and kissed at your neck.

You tipped your head back with a loud moan, sliding your hands up his chest to grip his throat in both hands.

He made a deep noise of pleasure, and thrust harder into you as you applied pressure to his throat.

Feeling his pounding pulse, his staggered breathing, and his difficulty swallowing made you feel so very powerful. You couldn't hold back the high any longer.

It hit you with such force you weren't even sure what to do as you screamed out and fell back into the table.

Suddenly you were overly emotional as the tears welled quickly and slid down your cheeks.

Ramsay fell into you, breathing hard through a throaty, guttural moan, having met his release. He kissed your tears away, placed a gentle kiss to your lips, and pulled away from you, helping you sit back up.

"I love you, Ramsay." You blurted out.

Ramsay looked up from fixing his pants, "I love you too, (y/n). More than you could ever understand."

You stared at him, savoring his gentle words, as you slid off the table to redress.

"What's on your mind, baby girl?" Ramsay asked, helping Matt untie Viserys and move the body.

"Food honestly. I'm fucking starving." You said, swinging your legs off the ledge of the table you sat on.

"Well, what do you want?" He asked, dropping the dead man and standing up straight, leaving Matt to struggle under the deadweight.

"So, this is going to sound really fucking weird, buuuut... I would kill for the crusts off of grilled cheeses. Ya know? Like, it's just... and like lemonade. But the flavored kind because I hate lemonade. Especially the pink kind. Like how is that even possible? Have you ever seen a fucking pink lemon at the supermarket? Exactly. But like raspberry lemonade or some shit. Yeah..." You said, examining your nails.

"And how many crusts exactly would qualify as a meal?" Ramsay asked, crossing his arms and eyeing you closely. As if he thought you mental.

"How many times do I have to tell that I'm not the math genius, you are? But here, lemme put it in a word problem for your geek ass." Matt dropped the dead man and stared at you, as if afraid for you, but Ramsay only tilted his head with a smirk, raising his brows at you. "(Y/n), can eat two whole grilled cheese sandwiches and feel comfortably full. Each sandwich has four side's, and four equal length crusts. If (y/n) wants to only eat the crusts, how many crusts would she need to consume to get the same comfortably full feeling as eating two whole sandwiches?"

There was a tense silence that followed your words as everyone stared at you, wide eyed.

You gave an innocent smile to your husband, as he narrowed his eyes at you.

He clicked his tongue, running his hand through his hair, "does that include a drink contributing to the fullness, or not? If so, how many sips of said drink are typically in the course of the meal? And is this prepregnancy comfortable or...?"

You gaped at him, "Are... are you being fucking serious?"

"Fuck no, I'm not being serious, woman. Though, in my educated opinion, I would assume the crust off of about five sandwiches would float you to that content feeling. Maybe five and a half. We will test my hypothesis," he turned to Matt, Alyn, and Damon, "if these idiots would ever hurry the fuck up, of course."

"Working on it. You don't exactly make it easy to clean up, you know." Alyn muttered, mopping the floor.

"Alyn, quit your bitching you sour grape. Dame, crashing at your place tonight. We have work to do tomorrow." Ramsay said, lacing his hand in yours and helping you from the table, "Kid, bring five grilled cheeses and raspberry lemonade to Damon's. And be quick about it."

Matt only nodded, looking a bit sick as Ramsay led you from the room.

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krysakrys · 4 years

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Traveling 2018

As I wrote before, the 2018 was a year of crazy travellings. Our first trip was to Germany. We drove to Wraslaw-Drezden-Berlin and back. Wraslaw is the most European city in Poland since this one was before German Breslay. We thought that we were gonna like it but that did not happen. The city seemed grey, empty and party focused. The next our step was Drezden. We liked the city much bigger than Wrolsaw. The place was perfect for chilling out and taking a walk slowly by watching beautiful buildings. We left our pets there for a day and made a trip to Berlin by car. We parked our car in the Turkish quarter and took a trip on foot. Berlin seemed to us like a dirty and crazy place. There were a lot of renovations everywhere. Homeless persons asked about money and the trash everywhere. I could not imagine a capital of Germany like that and how could we know that once we will live there for 6 months. At the start of the fall our wish of adventure took over. First of all, we had a trip to Lviv to my cousin. She was happy and could not believe that we eventually came. We walked in Lviv with her and tried to comprehend her Ukrainian. Lviv seemed like a mix of Poland and Ukraine for us and was quite cozy. Anyway we wanted more and after a short rest we had a trip to Budapest and Bratislava. Surprisely, we loved small Bratislava. We felt the small Slavic city like home and we walked a lot along narrow streets. But alas, Budapest disappointed us. As we realised afterwards, we just do not like youth hangout European cities. Although we liked one part of Budapest. Buda met us with green trees and cozy parks for walking. We were tasting trips and could not stop. After counting our money we were prepared for a trip to Benelux countries. We went to Dortmund since that was cheaper for renting a car. Dortmund seemed to us like a small and cozy German city with an amazing park. Getting a car there we drove to Amsterdam. I have not written before, but I am not a specialist in drugs. Surely I tried some weed when I was a teenager but I liked more the traditional addiction like nicotine. Anyway, we decided to try something there since it is Amsterdam. Hateing bikers and Nederland weather we found quite a good place for it. Waiter asked about the type of grass and we decided to have some relaxation. At first we did not feel anything but suddenly our brain just went out. We felt some empty spots in our fast memory and we were terrified. I thought I was prepared for that since I bought some coca-cola and it has a lot of sugar. Unfortunately, I bought cola zero without sugar and we drank it a lot without any effect. We sited near the entrance to the coffee shop and looked pity. Luckily waiters had quite good experience with this problem. They gave a lot of drinks with sugar for us. We had been sitting there for 3 hours. Meantime we were afraid to die there. Anyway, our brain became cleaner step by step and we decided to walk to the hotel. The walk was one of the biggest in my life. Miraculously we sited on the last train to our hotel. Barely recovering we drove to Brussel. We came to Brussel in evening and parked our car near a hotel in quite dangerous place. Moreover, we had been trying to find something not bad in Brussel for the next day. Unfortunately, we found there only crowds of immigrants and the streets full of trash. Sadly Brussel totally disappointed us and we drove to Luxembourg. We were quite sad after Amsterdam and Brussel and anxious about the trip to Luxembourg. Luckily this one was perfect. We liked so much the small city with a lot of hills and comely small buildings. The live there flowed like water in a river there namely slow and natively. We just walked there a lot and felt happiness. Our next stop was in a small city in France near Luxembourg border. We spent there only a night in the hotel but we felt some casual Franch style like "nobody knows English”. The last stop on our trip was Cologne. We had only few hours for that and we wanted to see the famous Cologne cathedral. This one did not upset us. It was a tall and huge cathedral. We felt near it like an ant on Earth. Anyway, the trip time was approaching the end. We went to Krakow keeping in our mind that we must to rest afterwards. But alas, our wish of adventures took over again. We seamed quite prepared for everything and we thought that we were ready for Italy. In fact we were not, but let's move on steply. We rented a car near the airport and drove to Milan. The city met us with an overwhelming bunch of sounds and with terrible roads. Afterward, we drove to Venice. Since we had a Polish salary we looked at cheap places to stay. Unfortunately, we did not find any cheap one in Venice, but we found a trailer village near it. When we came there everybody were sleeping. We difficulty found somebody who could lead us to our trailer. This one was small and really cold. We had been trying to fall asleep for the whole night there and got totally frozen. At last we came to Venice. We walked through tourist places there but we really felt something in small casual Venice streets far of main squares. Right there was real Italian life that filled the streets. After one day there we drove to Rome. In the way, we got some problems with our hotel and had to book another. We came to Rome at night and parked there for a while in overflowed Rome center. We saw those old semi-destroyed buildings and the trash in the streets and could not understand why people love Rome some much. We visited Vatican too, but alas I did not see any special there. Our last step was Florence. After some struggles with parking and terrible hotel, we eventually saw Florence streets. They were full of drank tourists and hookers and we did not find anything interesting for us. Moreover, the trip to Italy was the biggest disappointment of tourism in the year. In conclusion, we decided to celebrate Christmas in Barcelona. As always, having bought the tickets at the last moment, we went there. We liked the city itself, although there traditionally were quite big problems with parking. What we didn't like was Andorra. Firstly, they spent a huge amount of time in traffic jam on the way there. Secondly, we did not find anything to see there at all. The city consists of shops only and seemed like nothing to us. It's been a really crazy year of travelling. In the end, our psyche simply overloaded and stopped perceiving the events that happened to us. But in the end it was cool.

#recap #travel #diary

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c-valentino · 7 years

Text

A Lighter Next To Your Coffee Mug XIV

The next time they met was at Andrew’s place again. It had taken Neil a week to get over his illness, including all the nasty phases like coughing up phlegm for example. He had not wanted Andrew around for that. He felt much better now and they had gone back to their weekly appointments.

The first thing Andrew did was hand Neil the money he owed him for their last session. The taller man looked at him questioningly.

“You could have just given it to me at the end.” Neil put it in his pocket.

“Maybe. I don’t like owing people something.” Andrew crossed his arms in front of his chest. I don’t owe you anything, he told himself yet again. He had imagined this meeting during the last week over and over again, had gone through all the possibilities his mind could conjure up. It still tasted bitter, an imaginary aftertaste of his own thoughts, the fake sensory impressions he associated with betrayal and potential danger. He had grown accustomed to this taste over the years. This can’t go on. It had taken him all week to draw the final line. He hadn’t called, hadn’t seen the man, hadn’t even texted him until Neil had wanted to know about tonights appointment last night.

“Technically, you didn’t. I mean, you took care of my meds and bought me dinner twice. And we went for that drive.” Neil shrugged. Andrew couldn’t help but see the man acting his role with every movement, every breath he took now. He didn’t know why. Neil certainly hadn’t caught onto the change between them yet. Or maybe he had and was trying to escape the inevitable.

“How much do you think I spent on you? Don’ be ridiculous. Besides, you just spent a whole week at home. Don’t lie to me about money. We both know you need it.” Money, Andrew thought, was always an incentive –but maybe not the whole motivator in this case. He was thinking of men who dealt in threats and terror more than in trust and hard currency.

“Do we now?” Neil averted his gaze. He didn’t like the topic, Andrew noticed. It was true, he needed the money, Andrew had at least found out that much. Neil just didn’t like admitting it, least of all in front of the goalkeeper. “It’s fine,” the young man said. Time to change the subject.

“We also needed a clean slate for this,” the goalkeeper added. Neil didn’t quite follow yet. Tabula rasa, Neil, Andrew thought. He still called him Neil in his thoughts. He had done so after the strange phone call the man had given him. Another lie, he knew now, but somehow it had stuck.

“For?” Neil was curious. Maybe he thought Andrew had something new in mind for tonight –and he did, just not the way Neil imagined it. He moved across the room, leaned against the bar, facing his duplicitous hooker, but keeping his distance. Well, technically Neil was a hooker. That part was true. The other clients were real. He had checked. He had seen some very convincing footage. But something wasn’t right with the man. He should have noticed it sooner, wondered why he hadn’t. Because he had not been looking for anything wrong? Because he thought the whole matter had been initiated by and about him. Because he had other things on his mind lately and had let his guard down. Maybe someone else had noticed though.

Clever, using this guy like this. Oh, he was good. The way Neil looked at him right now, expectantly, eager to please. How much had been fake between them? Andrew truly couldn’t say anymore. It was his fault, he knew. He had slipped up, had looked away. You can have this, he had told himself because he had thought he had worked hard for it, every single step, had earned it somehow. Well, nice thought. He grinned a little. Being angry with himself made the whole thing even more distasteful to him. ‘Game over’ he heard Neil say again, and he couldn’t agree more. Get it over with.

Neil was still waiting, standing in his living room, relaxed posture, expression open –trusting– Andrew had come to call it. It had never sat right with him. He shouldn’t be trusted so easily as Neil seemed to do it. It was part of the reason why he had kept coming back for more, he knew. He remembered now what the young man had said to him in anger: ‘Do I really need to tell you that I’ve had worse?’ His scars were proof enough of that, they both knew.

The real question was, who had given them to him. Somehow Andrew had imagined abusive parents –maybe an echo of his own wonderful childhood, though his had been a different blend of fucked-up. Parental figures seldom got away guilt free in his imagination. Now he wondered if there wasn’t a little more to that story than another trailer-park-trash-cliché story, an alcoholic father, a runaway boy fighting for his own survival on the streets of some city, getting caught up in some milieu of organized crime. Maybe Neil had indeed met part of the mafia, one family in particular.

Part of him wanted to make excuses for the man. Part of him wanted to call him just another victim, a tool, a weapon, but not the one wielding it. Part of him wanted to hate the guy, simple as that. Thinking of Kevin helped him listening to that part. Maybe his friend had been a little premature when he had told Andrew that his part of their promise had been fulfilled after all. He would make sure that he would never break that promise, no matter what Kevin said.

The silence stretched on between them. Neil was waiting patiently. They hadn’t touched, hadn’t kissed. Maybe he thought they were taking it slow today. He was wrong. He wouldn’t have a chance to see what was coming for him.

“You must have excellent teeth,” Andrew said suddenly.

“Exceptional,” Neil agreed, not knowing what the blonde was getting at. Something wasn’t quite right with Andrew tonight. It wasn’t nervousness; Neil would have noticed that immediately. The Exy star was keeping his distance from him. What then? It didn’t seem like a drug issue either. Neil was beginning to feel a little uneasy all of the sudden. Andrew was looking at him as if he needed to figure something out about him. This was not something Neil wanted to encourage. He was sincerely fine exploring all of Andrew’s depths, his darker shades he kept hidden, all of his fantasies. He wanted to know these, wanted to know who the man truly was. That was dangerous, and he had admitted to himself that he would make that mistake. He wanted to know if he could replace his Andrew Minyard with the real one entirely, if he could give up his fantasy.

They would never end up in something like a relationship between them, since Neil would never be able to lay his cards on the table, but maybe Andrew didn’t want that anyway. The thought about Andrew paying for his company, his confidence, his trust –all that held a strange and intimate appeal to Neil. Still a client, but a special one. One he would hate to give up one day, one he would miss. A real person in his life, not just a fleeting shadow. During their week apart he had thought about this over and over. But today Andrew seemed different, and Neil couldn’t figure out why.

“Couldn’t even find your last dentist appointment,” Andrew said and Neil felt his blood running cold. Stop! “No records, nothing,” the man went on evenly, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ll ask you again: Who are you running from?”

Andrew had done a background check on him. No. No no no no no… This can’t be happening… The Exy player stared at him coldly. Motherfucker… Why? Neil clenched his fists, squared his shoulders. He was suddenly very aware of the distance of Andrew’s apartment door behind himself, added the three steps he stood apart from the goalkeeper right now.

“Why are you doing this?” There was real desperation in his voice, he didn’t need to fake it, didn’t want to hide it. He felt hurt. He felt his anger rising. Why did Andrew have to ruin everything? Why now? He had let his guard down around this man –knowingly– only to have his illusions shatter like a Price Rupert’s Drop. The goalkeeper reached to the side and picked up a folder. Everything he had found out about him, no doubt. It reminded Neil of a folder he had kept over years.

“Want to read it?” The grin on Andrew’s face looked grotesquely sinister and out of place. Neil glared back at him. He couldn’t read the shorter man at all right now. He wasn’t sure if Andrew was actually enjoying this, or if the man was angry. Both were possible. For the first time Andrew felt like a real threat.

“No. I think we’re done here.” The urge to run was overwhelming. His heart was pounding in his chest. Neil felt betrayed, but more than that he was worried. He tried to act indifferent, tried to hide behind a cold facade, but it was already cracking. He needed to get out of here. He turned around.

“Back in college, our coach took me and Kevin along to recruit a new striker at Millport named Neil Josten. Apparently, his coach had told him about us being there –maybe to motivate the poor bastard, since his team was losing. All he had managed though was to scare the guy off, ‘cause our potential new striker vanished during the last break into thin air and never showed up again. Needless to say, we left empty-handed and one striker short for the next season. –Well, I don’t have to remind a fanboy like you how that turned out. Neil had frozen in his place.

Andrew threw the folder back onto the bar and looked at him, reaching for his cigarettes instead and lit one. “Took me a while,” he admitted and blew smoke up to the ceiling, frowning a little. “You see…” He took another deep inhale. “I don’t forget.” His gaze was lazy but it felt like it burned a hole into Neil. “I don’t care if it’s my turn, I don’t care if you want to play, you’re going to answer me now. Why did you run back then? And why are you back now?”

Neil had looked over his shoulder during Andrew’s speech, but now he needed to get out of here, fast. Andrew saw it coming, moved first and beat Neil to the door. He caught him in the hallway, took him off his feet and twisted Neil’s arm behind his back, threatening to dislocate his shoulder. He grinned down on him and Neil cursed, felt Andrew’s weight on his back.

“The man named Neil Josten doesn't exist. We tried to recruit a ghost back then. Who the fuck are you?” Andrew said in a voice cold as ice, his grin never wavering. The cigarette fell from his fingers and in its stead appeared a knife, pulled out from under one of those black armbands. “Did Riko send you?” he hissed. Moriyama? The name brought a stab of cold fear and unbidden memories with it. Three boys, Evermore, a dull axe… a dead man… his father. Neil began to struggle, but Andrew was having none of it. The knife was not just for show. It was pressed against his throat, and Neil had to pull his head back not to get cut.

“No,” Neil snarled. Had this guy really been carrying knives while he had been with him? What the hell? Had he really been seeing a sociopath all these past weeks? How could he have missed that? The knife lay cold against the skin of his throat, and he could feel the edge starting to cut him like a careless stroke of a razor. What an idiot he had been. After all those years of running and hiding…

Neil forced a breath in through his mouth and out through his nose. It didn’t help much, he was starting to shake. He dug deeper, searched for his rage. It was there. It never left him. If he had ever needed it, now was the time. There was nothing left for him; only panic and anger. He swallowed, tried to glare at Andrew over his shoulder, tried to focus his hatred on the Exy star. You betrayed me! I trusted you! I thought I could. Wrong. He had been wrong, about Andrew, about thinking it was worth the risk, about believing he deserved a piece of normality –about everything. Time to pay the price. He needed Nathaniel back in his life.

“For someone who’s been raped, you sure as hell understand precious little about the meaning of the word ‘no’.” He managed to keep his voice from shaking, barely. Neil knew fear intimately and this was way too close to the images he kept buried deep down in his memory. Andrew’s eyes narrowed. That had hit –good. He needed to fight back. If Andrew thought a little knife was all it took to keep him down, he was mistaken. His touch felt alien to Neil. There was a stranger on top of him, holding him down, threatening him. This was the man who had attacked another player after a game and shattered his kneecap, this was the man who had singlehandedly taken down three men and nearly killed them behind Eden’s Twilight, the man who had taken medication for years. Seemed like he had woken the beast. I might hurt you. What a joke. Might… How could he have been so stupid?

“What do you want from Kevin?” Andrew’s grip got tighter, the knife’s edge started to cut. Neil felt the first trickle of blood running down his throat. You won’t kill me, he thought. Nathaniel was taking over more and more of him now and he let him –gladly for once.

“You got it backwards,” he hissed, shaking in Andrew’s grip, but more from exertion than fear now. “Kevin knows me and I can’t let him find me.” He saw the realization in Andrew’s face, felt him hesitate. Funny how he could see the moment another puzzle piece fell into place in that pale face, but Andrew’s emotions often seemed to be written in a foreign language. “Now get off me!” He took the first chance he got. As soon as he felt Andrew pulling the knife back, Neil tried to buck him off, tried to get onto his feet again. If Andrew hadn’t let go of his arm then, he’d have dislocated his own shoulder. He bolted, was out the door and down the hallway in seconds, took the emergency exit and ran. No time to wait for the elevator.

Alone in his tiny apartment behind his locked door, Neil felt the rage taking over completely. The black Audi, the men following him, his panic attack, his renewed paranoia… all Andrew’s doing. How long had the man been playing with him like that? Why? What kind of game was he playing? All those questions, his insistence of the truth, him bringing Kevin up… No, no, it made no sense. He had mentioned Riko, and the only Riko worth mentioning was the youngest Moriyama and he was in Japan. His mind recoiled every time he ventured close to that minefield. Moriyama… the mob, his father… still looking for him after all those years. The memory of his dead mother was unavoidable at that moment. No, he told himself, don’t go there right now.

It was the middle of the night, but there would be no sleep for him. He could barely keep himself from grabbing his old duffle-bag and stuffing it with his most important belongings right now. He forced himself to stay in here and think it over. Maybe he’d have to vanish again –no, that was already a certainty. Staying was out of the question. But he had to be careful, had to think, had to wipe away all his traces.

Minyard knew where he lived –but he had known that for a while now, and the fact that none of his father’s men had shown up here until now told him that he had got some time left. Andrew Minyard was still a wildcard in this game. Maybe he was another player, Neil wasn’t sure of that yet. The man was dangerous, that was certain. If he isn’t one of the Moriyama’s… not one of my father’s –and he wasn’t, Neil thought he had gotten that right at least, then who is he?

Kevin Day was another piece on the board and there laid the real problem. Kevin Day was indisputably tied to the Moriyama family. He still wore the number two tattooed on his face for heaven’s sake. Riko’s second. But he must have had some kind of falling out with the Japanese mobster family when he had left the Ravens and joined the Foxes years ago. And Minyard had been Day’s shadow for years. The more he thought about it, the stupider he felt for getting close to the goalkeeper in the first place. He wanted to hate the man, needed to, so his mind wouldn’t search for excuses and possibilities, for misunderstandings…

‘The man named Neil Josten doesn’t exist.’ Yeah, no kidding, asshole. But he could have if you hadn’t ruined it all –twice! He hadn’t known back then that Kevin Day and Andrew Minyard had personally shown up to watch his game back then. All he had heard had been Foxes and that had been enough. He had skipped town that very same night back then. He had kept the papers though. He had gotten attached to Josten, and had wanted to bury Wesninski so deep that no one would ever be able to dig that bastard up again.

Part of him –a huge part, he had to admit– had always regretted running away during that game. The ‘what ifs’ had never left him alone again up to this day. Payback maybe? The thought came unbidden. He didn’t want to think of it like that. He hadn’t blamed Andrew Minyard for his pathetic excuse of a life. But it had felt like fate when the black car had pulled up next to him that night. No, he had not planned to harm Andrew Minyard –he had though, wanted to stay close to him this time, to avoid new regrets and ‘what ifs’. But fate hadn’t been smiling down on him, he realized now. Not at all.

‘Why did you run back then? And why are you back now?’ Andrew’s words replayed over and over in his head. Back at the goalkeeper’s apartment he had not been able to think clearly. Well, who could blame him, really? A background check, a knife to the throat… I ran because you would have exposed me to my father. I’ve already told you too much. All you need to do is ask Kevin now. That was a dumb move, idiot. He sighed. I’m not back at all. You came to me, or so I thought. I’m not so sure anymore.

It couldn’t all just be a huge fucking coincidence. What were the odds? Neil paced his apartment for the rest of the night, lights turned off, burning through his coffee reserves at an alarming pace. By the time the sun came up he was jittery, but the light creeping through his window was comforting at least. He had made it through another night. He was still here. He hadn’t run –yet. He would escape again.

And then he heard the car. Instantly he was at his window. “You gotta be kidding,” Neil growled, furiously. The black Maserati pulled over on the other side of the road. It was enough. He had enough. He could just imagine it; this crazy sociopath sitting in his car, waiting for him to leave, like a perfect little stalker… –Or maybe he would come up here. This is what you get for breaking the rules, he told himself.

Neil went to the door, grabbed his keys, pulled on his boots and snatched the racquet up that was leaning against the wall. He took the stairs down, jumping over the last few of each flight and to hell with the sleeping neighbors. He swung the front door open and crossed the street. If Andrew saw him coming, he had no time to stop him. Neil raised the racquet and smashed the driver seat window in. A million little pieces showered down around his feet and covered Andrew still sitting inside.

“Stay away from me! Or the next time, it will be you I break!” Racquet against knife, the odds were clearly in his favor this time. He pulled the money he still carried with him out of his pocket and threw it through the broken window. Andrew actually managed to look perplexed, if anything. Disturbingly calm, though. It made the hairs on Neil’s neck rise. “Now fuck off,” he hissed and turned to leave.

He heard Andrew getting out of the car, leaving the door open, but it took him by surprise just how fast the goalkeeper got to him, grabbed the racquet with both hands as Neil turned, and shoved him backwards against the wall, racquet pressed against his chest painfully. Andrew’s lips crushed against his, front teeth colliding, and if he hadn't pulled back fast enough, Neil would have bitten him. Instead, Andrew shoved some of the money back into Neil’s pocket, gave him another push for good measure that would leave bruises and turned around to get back into the car. Neil was fuming. He wiped his mouth and spat another insult at the man, but the Maserati’s engine drowned his voice out and Andrew, ignoring him, vanished down the road.

<<Ch13 Ch15>>

#lntycm #andreil #tfc fanfic #aftg fanfic #cval madness #andrew minyard #neil josten

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qqueenofhades · 7 years

Note

Someone not remotely named Kate, whose tumblr name is in no way related to a verse from an Emily Dickinson, humbly requests further exploration of the intricate push and pull between the various men in Lucy Preston's life. It somehow, someway, smut and or angst by some divine providence finds its way in, more's the better. If it spontaneouly occured in the Victorian Gothic era, that would be spiffy.

tagging @sweetestinthegale who absolutely is not the author of this mysterious missive, @prairiepirate for reasons, and @extasiswings, also for reasons; catch up on the foregoing installments and general goings-on in the trash saga of flynn and lucy

Lucy gets a cab to the hotel. She doesn’t feel up to a longride on the train, and she badly needs to lie down. It’s late and it’s dark andher head is still rushing and every time she thinks about anything, it wants tosplit in half. It’s probably her imagination that the driver keeps looking ather in the rearview mirror, as if he’s seen her face somewhere recently and istrying to put two and two together. When they pull into the hotel, the kind ofdismal cinder-block place where a hooker was probably murdered recently, shealmost forgets to tip him in her haste to get out. Then as she is crossing theparking lot, she sees something – rather, someone – standing in the grimfluorescent lights by the front. A little girl about eight, thin and wet andshivering.

Lucy hesitates, then decides she can’t just walk by and pretend she didn’t see anything.“Hey,” she says gently. “Hey, honey, did someone drop you off here?”

The girl jumps and cringes. She blinks, then looks up atLucy. “I’m cold.”

“Yeah, I see.” Lucy glances around. The parking lot is stilldeserted. A car backfires in the alley. It crosses her mind that Rittenhousemight really be trying to be as awful as possible and use a child for a stingagent, but… after a moment, she takes off her coat and wraps it around thelittle girl. “Is someone meeting you here?”

“I don’t know.” The girl continues to shiver. “I don’t knowwhere to go.”

Lucy is about to call 911, the usual response in thissituation, before she remembers that she really doesn’t want to see any copsright now. If the girl was dropped off by human traffickers or something elseterrible, she is not about to stand by and do nothing, and she also doesn’t want to deal with this by herself. Besides, ifthat cab driver was onto her, she doesn’twant to sit here and wait for the fuzz to turn up in the middle of the night.With that, she makes a decision. “Do you want to come with me?”

The girl considers, then gives a tiny nod. Lucy takes herhand, and starts to walk.

Forty-five minutes later, they’re standing in front of theabsolutely shitty apartment Wyatt has rented under a fake name in anothertrailer-trash development, as he doesn’t want to keep changing hotels everytime they’re back in the present. Lucy knocks, and when the door is opened acrack with the snout of a pistol pointing out, she hisses, “Jeez! Easy! It’sme!”

“Lucy?” The doorjerks open further. “Is something – ” Just then, Wyatt catches sight of herplus-one, and stares. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry. We need somewhere to lie low for the night. Shewas wandering around outside the hotel by herself, I couldn’t leave her.”

Wyatt still looks as if someone brained him with by atwo-by-four, but shuts his mouth with a snap and beckons them inside, glancingaround warily before closing the door and putting the deadbolt in. He’s in hisundershirt and jeans, and the place is bare and dismal, but he takes charge ofthe runaway, warming up some pizza for her and encouraging her to eat it. He’sgood with kids, Lucy thinks. He and Jessica probably planned to have some oftheir own one day. The little girl is still hesitant and shy, but warms abit under his gentle, matter-of-fact attention. She has thick dark hair anddark eyes, and her clothes are slightly too small for her, worn and dirty. Sheclearly has escaped from some kind of a bad situation.

At last, when the girl has fallen asleep on the sofa cuddledagainst Wyatt’s side, and he’s clearly trying to think of how to move withoutwaking her up, his phone buzzes abruptly on the card table he’s using as adinette, startling him and Lucy. She reaches for it, swipes it open to see atext from Rufus, and winces. It feels almost personal. “Flynn’s jumped again.”

“What are we supposed to do about – ” Wyatt jerks his thumbat their guest. “Lucy, we can’t leave her here by herself in Felon Park, andwe can’t seriously ask a child totravel through time after an international terrorist. So what?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy says feebly. “Call Child ProtectiveServices?”

Wyatt snorts. “Yeah. That would go really well. Get them upin our grill, in here, with us?Listen. Maybe you should stay behind with her. Rufus and I will take care ofFlynn this time.”

Lucy sits up straighter. “What? You don’t want me to come?”

Wyatt looks uncomfortable. Glances away. “Lucy, I just… whatever has been going on with you andhim, it’s still not been enough to stop him, has it? He’s still trying to hurtpeople, he’s still on his crusade, he’s… he’s not changing. I don’t know ifyou thought he would, or… or what. And if you’re there, it might… complicate it.”

“You mean I might stop you from shooting him on the spot?”Lucy’s voice rises. “Wyatt – ”

“Lucy.” He closes his eyes briefly. “The reason I was hiredin the first place was to kill him. You know that.”

“Yes. By Mason Industries. We don’t work for MasonIndustries anymore. And I told you! You can’t kill him! If you do, Rittenhousewins! They all win! We can’t – we can’t letthat happen!”

Wyatt opens his eyes and looks at her steadily. “We can’t?”he repeats. “Or you can’t?”

“Right now,” Lucy says, “I don’t think it matters.”

Wyatt’s phone buzzes again. Another text from Rufus. Any time this century, guys.

“We have to take her with us.” Lucy can’t see anything elsefor it. Maybe they can just tell her it was a fun adventure. She stands up, andWyatt hesitates, then does the same, scooping the sleeping girl into his arms. “I’llkeep an eye on her, if that’s what you want. But Wyatt, promise me. Promise me you won’t go after Flynn byyourself. We just stop what he’s there to do. As usual.”

“And let him off the hook to do it again.” Wyatt soundstired. “Is this the way you want to live whatever time we have left, Lucy?”

She opens and shuts her mouth. She doesn’t know. She doesn’tknow anything. Except this. It’s devouring, all-consuming, that no matter what,she cannot let Garcia Flynn die. “Promise,” she repeats, half-desperately.“Promise me.”

Wyatt keeps looking at her. His voice is very quiet.

“Fine,” he says. “I promise.”

—————-

A few hours later and a hundred and fifty-six years earlier,the team – and the little girl, whose name they still haven’t gotten, but whotook surprisingly well to the idea of dressing up in fancy old clothes andgetting into a clanking metal eyeball that is supposed to take them throughtime, sitting on Wyatt’s lap while Rufus muttered that he didn’t know they werenow running a daycare – is stepping out into a dim, pungent back alley inLondon, December 1861. It is colder than a witch’s tit. This is only theirsecond mission outside America, after Nazi Germany in the 1940s, and all ofthem are feeling a little out of their element. The fog is yellow and burnswith coal smoke, the Thames reeks like an open sewer, carts and carriages andbroughams clack by on filth-splattered cobblestones, and Lucy, in her bonnetand long dress and fur capelet and woolen gloves, keeps a tight hold on theircharge’s hand. For her part, she’s looking around with wide-eyed interest. “Didwe really,” she says. “Did we really travel through time? That’s so cool.”

“You’re taking pretty well to this, kid.” Wyatt eyes hernarrowly from beneath his fine beaver tophat. He turns up the collar of hisovercoat; Jiya has managed to get them copies of the keys to the clotheswarehouse, and conveniently scrambles the security cameras, so aslong as they are very, very careful,they can still dress to blend in on their various missions. “What are you, BabyEinstein?”

The girl looks up at him beneath her long eyelashes. “I likescience,” she says, apparently by way of an explanation. “Grandma was a rocketscientist.”

“Cool,” Wyatt mutters, not paying attention, as they glancefrom side to side. London is covered in black bunting, and the newspapers areall sold out. It’s two days after the death of Queen Victoria’s beloved princeconsort, Albert, and the entire country is in shock. “Lucy, what did you sayyou thought he was going to do? What, kill Victoria? Make it a clean sweep?”

“I don’t know. British history isn’t my specialty. MaybeRittenhouse is trying to take advantage of Victoria’s grief, get her to makesome kind of bargain with them while she wasn’t thinking straight – or herkids, perhaps, Victoria blamed her eldest son for Albert’s death. Could bethey’re exploiting that feud somehow, making a deal with her to ensure that themonarchy survives, but they get to control it.” Lucy looks around restlessly.“Or – honey, what? Honey, come on.”

The little girl has stopped dead in her tracks, face white.“I don’t like Rittenhouse.”

The trio exchanges stunned, suspicious looks. None of themare sure what to say to that, even as they are increasingly convinced that herpresence might be no accident at all. It’s Rufus who breaks the silence. “Trustme,” he informs her, “we hate Rittenhouse.”

Wyatt looks at her flatly. “How do you know about them?”

The girl’s lip quivers, and she hides behind Lucy, who givesWyatt a she’s just a child look. Herheart is pounding for no good reason. “I’ll go to Buckingham Palace,” she saysafter a moment. “There will be a lot of reporters and looky-loos there, nobodywill notice. See if I can pick up anything about whether there have beenstrange visitors recently. Someone pressuring the queen to do something, thatkind of thing. You two, check the Houses of Parliament, Westminster.”

Rufus and Wyatt exchange a look, as if they are well awarethat she is once more proposing that they split up, but after a moment, theynod. They catch a hansom cab going one direction, and Lucy and the girl get onegoing the other. As they bump and jolt along in the whiskey-smelling interior,Lucy says quietly, “You didn’t tell me your name.”

The girl glances up at her with an expression that isjarringly, hauntingly familiar, then back out the soot-streaked isinglasswindow. “I’m scared to.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you might try to hurt me.”

“Honey, I am not going to hurt you. I promise.” They jolt toa stop, Lucy opens the door and gets out, presses a few coins into the driver’shand, and emerges to the sea of public grief before Buckingham Palace. Itdoesn’t look that different to when, say, Princess Diana died, flowers andtributes and handwritten notices of condolence. “But if we’re going to find your family when we getback, you have to tell me.”

The girl looks up, seems to be thinking about sayingsomething, but doesn’t. Lucy bluffs her way closer by pretending she’s a motherwith a curious child, trying to get to one of the helmeted “peelers” on dutybefore the palace gates. She’ll sound American when she speaks, which can’t behelped, but if she can just ask him if the queen has received any fellowAmericans recently, pretend she’s with the delegation, hear what offerRittenhouse is making the monarch of close to a third of the world, the BritishEmpire at its height, when she’s beside herself with grief and would promisethem anything if they –

If they told her, say, that they could bring Albert back –

Just as Lucy is turning cold all over with the thought thatit might not be nineteenth-century Rittenhouseoperatives here, but modern ones,actively and openly trying to change the course of history, they step aroundthe corner by the Mews and the girl stops dead again. Then her eyes go verywide. “Daddy?” she says. “Daddy?”

Lucy’s head jerks up. She stares at the tall, dashing figurein the well-cut suit and tails, collar likewise turned up against the cold –and is struck down on the spot by lightning.

Flynn stares back at her. Back at them. He isn’t moving. Nordoes he appear to be breathing.

“DADDY!” The girl breaks loose and runs to him, buttonedboots splashing in the puddles, neat and pretty in her borrowed clothes (theyhad some trouble finding a set small enough for her, but there are still a lotof things hidden in the corners of that warehouse), and throws herself aroundhis legs. Flynn remains transfixed to the spot, as revelation crashes over Lucyin further waves of ice-cold shock. This – this can’t be – the name floats up from the depths of the file. Iris Flynn. His daughter. The one whowas murdered, along with his wife, to warn him not to say anything about whathe had discovered, and when Rittenhouse officially made their monster. Thescale of the history Flynn has changed recently – whether it was saving the Titanic or something else – he’s doneit. Twisted and tweaked it somehow, totally by accident. Whichever Rittenhouseagent was supposed to kill his daughter wasn’t there, or only his wife wastargeted, or –

(Is his wife back too? Isshe?)

(Lucy feels almost gut-wrenchinglysick, and has absolutely no idea why.)

“You.” Flynn speaks at last,putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing her back. “Y…” His hands areshaking. He looks like a ghost, like nothing Lucy has ever seen before. “Ithink you’re mistaken.”

“No, I’m not. Daddy, it’s me!” Thegirl grabs hold of his jacket and shakes him. “Daddy, it’s me, Iris!”

Flynn might be having a heartattack. He moves as if to touch her shining dark hair, clearly wants to pickher up and clutch her and never let her go, and is terrified more than anythingelse to do it. Whatever he came to 1861 London to do, he has completelyforgotten it. He disentangles himself clumsily, turns around, lowers his headagainst the sleet, and just about starts to run.

After a moment, Lucy’s paralysisbreaks. It is a pain in the ass to run in heavy skirts, but she says to Iris,“Wait here, don’t move,” and then she does her damndest. Flynn has aconsiderable head start and he is moving like a bat out of hell, but shefinally corners him under the eaves of some supper-club on a side street,grabbing his arm and shoving him around. “It’s your daughter?” she manages,half in statement and half in accusation. “It’s your daughter.”

“No. No. It’s not. It’s a trick.It’s some kind of fold, some ripple in reality, some – I don’t know. I don’tknow what it is.” Flynn’s eyes are utterly black, his face dead white. He lookslike Dracula, torn from the crypt by day to crumble to ash in sunlight. Notthat there is much of that, this being London in winter before the invention ofelectricity. “Lucy. Just…go.”

“I am not. I am not going.” Lucy shakes him. “Do youknow how much I would give to see my sister again? If that was Amy back there,if there was even the smallest, most remote chance that I could see her andtouch her again – Garcia. Garcia, please. Don’t walk away from her. Don’t walkaway!”

Flynn jerks as if he’s been shot.That is, as far as either of them know, the first time she has used his firstname, and she closes her hands around his arms, their faces very close in themurk and mist, his eyes like open wounds. “Go back to her,” Lucy whispers. “Goback.”

“I can’t.” His lips barely move.“I am not her father any more. I’m not going to – Lucy, are you insane? Youknow who I am! What I am? Do youreally think it’s such a wise idea to make her live with me? Jumping through time with her strapped into a carseat in the Mothership? Rittenhouse isn’t destroyed! They could still kill heragain! All of us! YOU!”

Lucy flinches as if she’s beenslapped; his voice isn’t loud, but it feels like a roar, even as her nervelessfingers clutch the lapels of his coat. She wants to physically drag him back toIris, even as she thinks ludicrously of the song by the same name. And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘causeI don’t think that they’d understand/When everything’s meant to be broken, Ijust want you to know who I am.

She knows. God. She knows who heis, and it is tearing her almost in half. Tears ooze from beneath hereyelashes, even as Flynn makes half a convulsive movement as if to fish out ahandkerchief. Then his hand falls, and he tries to pull away.

Lucy Preston does not let him go.

They take a step, and thenanother, and stumble around the corner and into a courtyard, into one of thetents where London’s poorest people try to scrape out a miserable existence; itis essentially a punishable crime to be a pauper in this day and age, thosehorrible Dickensian workhouses and debtor’s prisons and orphanages aren’t justflights of fancy, unfortunately. This one is empty, its occupant out to push acostermonger’s barrow for hours, or hawk a paper about the prince’s death for afew pennies, and Lucy and Flynn fall entangled onto the pile of rags and coatsinside. He grasps hold of her, kissing her like he’s drowning, raw and hotterand more desperately than he ever has, practically tearing her skirts away and gettingtwo fingers into her, opening her, as he hitches himself up on her and thensheathes himself inside her with a thrust, deep and desperate. The cold airwhirls around them, biting at any exposed skin, even as they’re striking sparkswith the force of their coupling. He ruts hard against her, drives to the backof her spine, as she jerks and bends her hips up on him, arms around his neck,mouth open, keening.

Lucy almost thinks she’s left herown body by the time the dam breaks, and whatever is in her can barely becontained, and they roll over and over,riding and thrusting, in snow and ash, excelsis.She thinks briefly of the fact that the Victorians are supposedly very, very Not Amused by sex, wonders ifsomeone is going to report them to a very disapproving bobby with a handlebar mustachewho will throw them in one of the aforesaid prisons, but doesn’t care. All thatmatters is him, and him inside her, and her shuddering and slick anddeep and sweet, and how desperately she has come to hunger for his familiarweight and solid stretch of her, his heaviness and hardness, fit exactly forher. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s meantto be.

After the dazzled, shivering afterglowfades, he pushes himself back on his knees, slides out of her. Gets up, does uphis trousers. Stares down at her as if to sear her onto his eyes, his mind, hissoul, his existence, for eternity. And then – if nothing else, Garcia Flynn isa man of his word. Does what he promised, and goes.

Lucy understands only too latethat this is goodbye. Jumps up, shakes her skirts down, and runs out of thealley after him, heart in her throat, thighs still slick with him. “Flynn?” shescreams. “Flynn!”

There is no sign of him. Only thefalling snow. Somewhere in the distance, church bells begin to boom the hour,deep and dolorous.

“FLYNN!”

Nothing.

Lucy stands transfixed, numb andshaking. Knows she has to get back to the palace, find Iris again – and then wonderssuddenly and horribly if Flynn was right, and she was just some sort ofaccident, a momentary glimpse into a reality where she was still alive. As ifshe too will have faded in the smoke of London’s countless chimneys, a ghostcome to visit Scrooge in the dead of night. Telling him to mend his ways,warning him, and vanishing in morning light.

Lucy turns and starts to trudge. Wrapsher arms around herself.

She has never been so cold in herentire life.

#lucy x flynn #garcy #the trash saga of flynn and lucy #sweetestinthegale #anonymous #ask #garcy ff

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ANTIDOTE TO STARDOM -- KRISTIN STEWART

Despite good early reviews for her upcoming live action Beauty and the Beast, Emma Watson still gets trashed for dumb stuff like showing a hint of breastage in the current Vanity Fair.

Meanwhile another tender “beauty” (Twilight’s Bella – Kristin Stewart) has devised her own antivenom to the snakebite of stardom: a steady stream of anti-Bella roles.

Since she first cleared the horizon as Jody Foster’s daughter in Panic Room, Stewart’s output has been prodigious – 35 features in 15 years. There’s a 36th on the way — she’s playing the poetic axe murderer Lizzie Borden.

Granted, the first 13 (pre-Twilight) were a motley group, her tender Into the Wild performance notwithstanding. But once she could pretty much pick and choose, the quality really picked up — many of the films weren’t necessarily brilliant or groundbreaking, but she made sure she got to work opposite of the best actors around.

Stewart’s got a new film out this week, a second collaboration with French director/writer Olivier Assayas. So we thought this would be a not-so-bad time to flash back on five Kristin Stewart films worth watching.

PERSONAL SHOPPER (2017)

Personal Shopper premiered at Cannes a year ago. The film got booed.

Then it was nominated for the Palm d’Or and Assayas won best director.

Stewart’s character here is superficially similar to Clouds of Sils Maria – she’s a personal shopper to a star, who jets around Paris from atelier to atelier on her motorcycle.

Then the spooky stuff starts. This is a real oddity — French horror from a director with art-film chops. Stewart’s character is a twin, her brother died a couple months ago, and because they share the same heart defect, they each promised to reach back to the other from beyond the veil.

The film is a heady, unconventional mix which leaves Stewart alone on the screen for most of the film. Oh yes, and topless in two scenes, which earned it its R rating, which is beside the point, especially since the film is French.

As for the booing – some people think it’s a hopeless hodgepodge. That may be why IFC Films let it sit on the shelf for a year, despite the star, the horror and the nudity. Then others give it four stars and think it’s Assayas’ best in a long time. Those love it/hate it films that always seem to be right up our alley.

ADVENTURELAND (2009)

Adventureland was Stewart’s first movie after the release of Twilight – sandwiched in between the first in the series and Twilight: New Moon. A lot of people thought she’d played a zombie to Robert Pattinson’s vampire – and that her super-contained performance was an indication of an inability to stretch farther.

Adventureland was from Greg Mottola the director of Superbad, who managed to turn a pretty formulaic setup into something sweet and moving.

Jessie Eisenberg, who was still best known for The Squid and the Whale, plays a kid in between college and grad school who in 1987 suddenly has to scramble to get a summer job. He ends up working at a shabby, bottom-of-the-barrel amusement park, owned by Bill Hader and wife Kristin Wiig.

He’s managed to stumble through college still a virgin – which in 2009 would lead you to expect a much grosser movie than this one. But instead of being so horny that he can’t get out of his own way, he’s actually a romantic. So he doesn’t fall for the resident bombshell, but instead strikes up a friendship with Kristin Stewart’s character – the darker, more introspective choice, a part that she plays with sensitivity and a lot more heart than she gave to Bella.

The movie is really funny, sweet, and moving.

The Twilight movies were coming out every November, but in 2010 the hard-working Stewart sandwiched in two additional features –the indie drama The Yellow Handkercheif and in this rock bio of the eponymous 1975 female band.

Stewart plays singer/guitarist Joan Jett, and Dakota Fanning plays lead singer Cherie Currie. Michael Shannon is the sexually ambiguous manager who invents the band after meeting Stewart in a bar.

We’ve seen the rise/flame/burnout arc so many times that it’s actually a good thing that the movie is an impressionistic whirlwind.

If you’re looking for substance and insight, look elsewhere. The performances are what drive this film. Dakota Fanning (who by now was playing a vampire in the Twilight films) absolutely nails currie, the blonde jailbait from hell; Michael Shannon is incredible as the manager/puppeteer; and Stewart is incredibly convincing as a driven Joan Jett – proving here that she had range as well as chops.

And to top it off, Stewart and Fanning actually do their own singing.

WELCOME TO THE RILEYS (2010)

In this movie Stewart knocks off the obligatory runaway/stripper/hooker, and does it with flying colors. Once again this is a film that falls into a definite niche (parents benumbed by grief). But again, it is redeemed by truly fine performances – and not just from Stewart. Melissa Leo plays the devastated housewife. And especially worth experiencing is James Gandolfini – this is one of his late performances that were filled with seemingly bottomless warmth. In many ways it’s a lead-up to his endearing penultimate role, opposite Julia Louis-Dreyfus in Enough Said.

Gandolfini and Melissa Leo are an Indianapolis couple who lost their daughter in a car accident. They are both destroyed, but he is at least able to leave the house. He goes on business trip to New Orleans and wanders into a strip club, where Stewart does a hard sell on extracurricular enhancements. Although he ends up moving into her nasty flat, he isn’t interested in sex – he takes on the role of a surrogate father. And when Leo appears on the scene, she takes on the role of mom.

It’s a fable, but like Adventureland, one that rises above the genre, both because of the performances and the execution – in this case by Ridley Scott’s son Jake.

Two noteworthy details: Gandolfini nails a deep Midwestern accent; and Stweart’s teenage hooker actually has zits!

CAMP X RAY (2014)

In November, 2012 the Twilight Saga lumbered to its cheese-drenched conclusion. (FYI – all our snarky remarks are based purely on the trailers. Despite being curious, we haven’t seen or read any of the Twilight stuff.)

In 2013, Snow White and Robert Pattinson were also behind her, and Stewart seems to have slowed down a bit to figure a few things out. Like what it feels like to be the highest paid actress in the universe.

Camp X Ray came out in January of ’14, and it was the moment when the critical community began to acknowledge that Stewart is actually quite a good actor.

Here at The Thread, we’re always fascinated by that moment of conversion in our own minds, that instant when we get hooked on an actor who we’d always ignored or questioned and start inwardly cheering for them. This is a great role for Stewart, who was often accused of being wooden as Bella. But because the young soldier she plays here has an implacable façade, and because first-time director Peter Sattler exploits the subtlety of Stewart’s performance in close-ups, you have a chance to see her doing the nuanced close-up acting that shows her at her best.

The story is about the bond (like Rileys, non-erotic) that develops between Stewart’s young female guard, and an English speaking detainee, played by Payman Maadi (the husband from A Separation).

The film falls apart in a rush toward conventionality at the end. But it very much fits the mold of many of Stewart’s best films – a not-too-original setup that is redeemed by exceptional performances. The through line starts to become not so much the mediocrity of the material as the high caliber of the performers she’s chosen to work with.

CLOUDS OF SILS MARIA (2014)

Stewart was in three films released in 2014. The third role was Julianne Moore’s daughter in Still Alice – a film she must have known would be dominated by Moore’s stunning performance.

It seems she was clearly charting a course – of which this poetic, enigmatic triple twist on All About Eve, directed by the unpredictable Olivier Assayas was the entree. It screened at the Cannes, Toronto and New York festivals and won Stewart a Cesar award.

Sils Maria is an elite Swiss resort which has been a retreat for luminaries ranging from Einstein and Nietzsche to Rod Stewart. The swirling, crystalline high mountain clouds are an excellent metaphor for what Assayas is doing here as he unpacks the interplay of art and celebrity,

Juliet Binoche plays a star of a certain age, who is cast in the role of the older woman in a play that launched her career years before, when she played the ingenue. Now the ingenue role is given to a hot young starlet (Chloe Grace Moretz) who turns out not to be nearly as craven as we expect.

Stewart’s role is Val, Binoche’s personal assistant, who manages the stars cyclone of art and celebrity, appointments and cel phone messages from inches away. And she also feeds Binoche the ingenue lines as she memorizes her new part; lines that blur indistinguishably with the film’s own dialogue.

It’s an intoxicating swirl that purposely eludes any clear resolution or statement. Except that it does successfully paint Stewart as intelligent, hip and self-reflective, which she actually does seem to be.

ANTIDOTE TO STARDOM — KRISTIN STEWART was originally published on FollowTheThread

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