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rookthorne · 24 days

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐎𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥, 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐌𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞

Something was coming, and it was on its way to you — there was no way to save yourself from the devil that set his sights on you, and you were hopeless against the whims of his charm or rugged ways.

And in an act of gratitude and pure innocence, you allowed the devil in, none the wiser for what was to come; no man was without his sins, but better the devil you don’t know.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ꕤ Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ꕤ 5.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ꕤ Explicit threats, attempted assault, non-graphic background character death, Grumpy!Protective!Bucky, fluff ჻჻჻ TROPES: Touch her and you die, Grumpy/Sunshine

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ꕤ Oh no, it's a Grumpy/Sunshine, touch her and you die trope collection in the form of a brooding outlaw — someone stop me.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ꕤ Way down We Go by KALEO ꕤ Broken Bones by KALEO ꕤ The River by Blues Saraceno ꕤ The Devil Inside by Daniel Murphy, Anthony Sanudo, Eric Serna ꕤ Deadwood by Really Slow Motion ꕤ Ain't No Devil by Andrea Wasse

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ꕤ @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ჻჻჻ Bad Reputation (February), Wild West AU (April) — Masterlist ꕤ @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟭 — Outlaw AU — Masterlist

𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The bustling street that cut straight through the middle of the local livestock town as the main thoroughfare was overrun with folks going about their day.

Men, clad in leathers and vests with holsters on their hips lined the saloon stairs, while women in an assortment of skirts and blouses rushed with baskets and wares from the general store; their children playing in the mud, dirtying their worn clothes while mothers shrieked their grief over the once clean garments.

You couldn’t help the slight laugh that fell from your lips as you passed by a small boy who was splattered from head to toe in mud, his mother in a tizzy. “Now, Johnny–”

It was a pleasant day. A cool breeze blew through the side streets and over your sun-warmed skin. The basket on your arm was full of wares from your trip to the hunter down the lane, and the saddlebags on your old, trusted mare were lined with provisions from the general store.

Though no matter how pleasant it was, or how many children shrieked with laughter while they ran around your legs in joy, something screamed in the back of your mind that something was wrong — an instinct long honed after working on a ranch since you were only a child.

“Good mornin’, miss.”

You startled from your reverie at the sound of a deep, rasped voice to your right. “Oh–!” The man smiled sympathetically, and you realised with a jolt that it was one of the old sharpshooters — a man well past his prime, but one of the very few that had a shred of decency and sense within the town. “Oh, good morning,” you replied, smiling. “Pleasant day.”

He hummed in reply, and you continued on.

The shade of the awnings overhead disappeared as you walked out into the muddied street, and you blinked from the bright rays — halos of rainbows danced in your vision while the sun warmed your face.

From a way, a few stragglers from the saloon stumbled into view, and you sighed as you caught sight of the haggard appearances and putrid smell. You kept your head down and eyes averted as you neared their stumbling figures and scrunched your nose in disgust.

No decent, respectable man stunk to the high heavens of liquor with a temper to match a lit fuse.

The centre of town came into view, and the further you walked towards one of your last destinations for the day, the stronger the sense of impending something lingered in the air — it crackled with tension, akin to the static before a storm.

Every single man you passed was twitchy, their hands migrating to the holsters on their hips; every woman was hurrying by, faces taut with some unexplained worry.

Instinct — a woman’s intuition — insisted that something was coming.

You looked over your shoulder and cursed your past self for hitching your mare such a distance away. Her broad, muscled frame was no longer in sight through the scurrying crowds — the golden glow of her coat coloured with patches of white impossible to see through the scurry of people.

“Oh, girl,” you mumbled, and you half considered turning tail to head back home.

But the doctor’s office was only a few paces away, you reasoned, and you hurried along, resolutely ignoring the collective, worried gazes from the townsfolk towards the horizon. The muddied skirts of your dress fluttered as you trotted towards the clean building that housed the resident doctor, and the basket over your arm swayed with your gait. Best be fast.

When the heels of your old boots hit the wooden slats of the wrap-around deck, the door to the doctor’s office just within reach, it happened.

Around you, the townsfolk fell deathly silent — not a peep, not a sound. Every last man, woman, and child froze in place and stared, wide-eyed and stricken, down the street, downwind towards the horizon they were so fixated on.

Your stomach turned with nerves. The skin on the back of your neck prickled while your hair stood on end. It was an unnatural silence that pounded against your ears, and the blood that pumped through your veins turned to ice.

Gravely unsettled, you blinked against the instinct to run and hide, in favour or searching for the source.

The steady beat of heavy hooves thundered from down the street. Beside you, a woman and child gasped quietly — you paid them no mind, for the sight of two horses enraptured you.

Muscle and sinew rippled with the gait of their long, lean legs. They walked side by side, the tack on their back, chests, and proud, handsome faces jingled and followed the contours of their broad flanks. Their coats shone under the light of the sun, but there was no mistaking the inked black beneath the splatter of mud from their journey.

It would be almost impossible to tell them apart if it weren’t for the one on the left appearing far calmer than their companion, who snorted proudly and tossed their head.

Your focus moved from the stunning creatures to their riders, and your breath hitched.

The man atop the fiery, fierce horse clothed similarly to his mount. A rippling, black coat barely concealed the hip holsters that held revolvers with ebony accented grips, or the elaborate bandolier wrapped from his shoulder to his waist — the same black leather as his coat, but accented in silver, ornate imagery.

Rifles were strapped to the side of his saddle, long barrelled and scoped alike. From beneath his tilted hat, you could see the flow of jaw length, dark hair that fell in tresses to cover the profile of his face.

A man prepared for war, you thought distantly. He held himself like a soldier — straight-backed and proud, guarded and eyes swivelling to take in the stilted townsfolk.

Though you could not discern what was being said, you watched the man’s mouth move, and his head turned towards his companion.

You followed his gaze and took in the other rider. He sported a blond beard and brown leather, his own coat shorter and far less impressive — a simple rifle and a hunter’s bow was strapped to his saddle, and his gaze was far softer.

The horses walked closer and closer, and the nearer the two men came, the more nervous the people around you grew. A few men skittered off and bolted down side streets, or plainly ran away.

For the life of you, you could not understand why — they looked no different from the men that went rogue against the laws of society to take up arms in the wilderness.

You were still rooted in place when they came so close you could scent the rich, cured leather of their boots and saddles, and you couldn’t help staring at the extravagant wealth that lined their person and padded their mounts. It was plain as day they were no strangers to wealth, but to be an outlaw with wealth? That was unheard of.

It was only when they were right next to you did your ability to breathe truly vanish.

“I don’t like this,” the blond grumbled, his eyes darting from person to person. “It’s too open—far too open, we’re exposed. You know what’ll happen if we’re cornered–”

“Enough.” Sharp, grey eyes met yours, and within the second of that glance, you felt your stomach flip upside down. The heart that hammered in your chest rocketed upwards into your throat.

The stranger seemed to have an inkling for your reaction, or he experienced something similar — his eyes narrowed as he considered you, a piercing look that took hold of your wriggling stomach and forced it to still. “We’ll get what we need and move on. Calm down.”

You blinked, and he was no longer looking at you. Instead, his blond companion gazed at you curiously, tilting his head.

“Move on,” the dark-haired man spat, and he nudged his horse into a trot. The slap from the leather reins against his horse’s neck was loud.

Rather than spur onwards, the blond stared at you for a moment longer. “Rogers, get a move on.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, still staring at you. Blue eyes moved over your face before he turned his head forwards, then he followed behind his partner.

When the both of them were out of earshot, you heard multitudes of townsfolk collectively exhale with what you guessed was relief. “We don’t need another shoot out thanks to those bastards,” one of them grumbled. “Not after the last one.”

“Shootout?” you questioned, feeling your heart slowly sink back down into your chest. “What– What happened?”

They regarded you carefully. “You don’t come down this way often, do you, miss?”

You shook your head. “No, I live over–”

“Count yourself lucky,” they interrupted, raising their brows. “Those two are monsters. Don’t have the bounty on their heads for nothin’, and you don’t get any bounty hunters in these parts that go after ‘em ‘cause all the ones that do, end up fed to the wolves.” The bag over their shoulder was shrugged further up, their grip tight. “Just stay well away from ‘em, miss—not the kinda folk you want to get involved with if you want t’a live in peace.”

“But–”

They turned away. Their hunched back swayed under the weight of the sack on their shoulder.

You frowned at the retreating stranger.

Sure, they looked the part of a deadly duo, not unlike the ones in your novellas or dreams, but they passed through the town peacefully, if ominously — that was the fault of the townsfolk acting as though death himself strolled down the muddied street.

“I don’t understand…” A loud snort of one of their horses drew your attention, and you watched as the strangers dismounted and hitched their mounts right out the front of the general store.

Everyone gave them a wide berth; heads down and feet fast over the mud to get out of their way.

What a lonely existence, you thought.

For the entirety of your life, you were regarded as a bright, intelligent woman that worked hard. The passing of your family had hit you hard, but you were determined to live up to their memory, to maintain the ranch they left behind and restore it to its full glory — only that took up far more time than you anticipated, and while it was still a raw wound, you trudged on.

Being all alone up on your small slice of good ol’ Western soil was something you took pride in, but you had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it wasn’t all it was cut out to be.

The thought alone made you sympathise with the two outlaws — a life on the road, running from societal norms and expectations while maintaining the lifestyle they no doubt had become accustomed to, made even you feel a sense of weary exhaustion deep in your bones.

Isolation was not a weak man’s game.

“Get it together,” you hastily whispered, shaking your head under the guise of shooing a fly. Your bright, generous personality would not help them, nor would it help you, you reasoned — not this time.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed open the door to the doctor’s office to purchase some medicine and supplies for the coming weeks.

The entirety of the town was still strung up with tension when you exited the doctor’s office half an hour later, according to your pocket watch — a family heirloom. People still rushed to and fro with their gazes locked onto the two black horses settled by the hitching post at the general store.

It was a foolish decision, but you stopped to admire their fine confirmations and broad builds.

There were no doubts on how war-ready the two were, though their docile nature threw you — never before had you seen horses stand so blessedly still and patient, even back on your own ranch.

You couldn’t help but take a step closer, the urge to feel the silken soft coats that were muddied from their journey overwhelming your rational sense. There was no mistaking the fact that they were both stallions now you were beside them; finely bred and hardened for battle from their owners' tendencies for violence.

A dark, mahogany eye met yours, and if it were possible, their face softened while their ears perked forwards.

On the other side of the stallion you greeted, was the one with a white star. His eyes were far kinder and softer than the first’s.

The first stallion knickered lowly while you stepped even closer, the compulsion to be near overtaking you, and you held your hand out for the creature to sniff. The brush of his lips over your offered hand made you giggle. “Aren’t you two beautiful?”

They snorted in tandem.

Suddenly, the hair on your arms stood on end, and the feeling of being watched spooked you into stepping back hastily. You glanced around to search for the cause, afraid for what you would find, but there was no one paying attention to you; far too consumed in their own needs to finish their runs for supplies or complete their jobs.

“I have to go, beauties,” you said quietly to the two horses, who only blinked in reply.

Your feet carried you swiftly away, but you glanced over your shoulder to the two stallions one last time, in awe of their strength and beauty.

You weren’t to see the set of steel grey eyes watching you from the gunsmith’s window on the opposite side of the street, not while you hastened your pace to get back to your own mount and go home — where it was safe.

People bustled and shoved against you as they made their own way, and you kept your breath steady and even the best you could.

Shouts and calls of workmen and ranch hands followed you as you half walked, half jogged onwards, and halfway to your patient mare, you were pulled up short by the rotten stench of waste and liquor — a potent mix that would make anyone’s stomach turn.

It was sickeningly close, and the source was a stumbling, drunken fool in front of you.

“Oh, no,” you mumbled. The volume of your voice was next to impossible to make out among the background noise, and you were grateful — there was no telling what this drunkard would do if he heard you.

His back was turned towards you, and you carefully hastened to walk around him, to avoid his line of sight, but his head turned just as you took a step to the side.

The sudden appearance of a woman within his filthy grasp caught his attention, and the words that fell from his drooling mouth weren’t even intelligible. “Ain– Pretty girl–” A hiccup and loud belch cut his torrent short.

“I’m just– Oh,” you gasped as the man pulled a knife and an old, rusted revolver from the inside of his jacket. A cascade of fear shut your mind down and locked your joints, the immobility frightened you beyond what you could bear. “No, no, please–”

They were only small weapons, but they would do no less damage if he shot you point blank or forced the blade through skin and bone. “Sir, please–”

“Gim’ money!”

“I don’t have– Please, leave me be,” you pleaded, holding up a placating hand. The fear turned your tongue into a lead weight in your mouth and you couldn’t speak more than a few words to plead for your life, which only infuriated the man further.

He advanced, his steps stumbling and uncoordinated, and the gun he brandished glinted in the sun — a menacing shine of metal that you knew was your last. The stench of his breath made your stomach roil with sickness. “Good for nothin’ whor–”

Footsteps rustled and waded through the mud behind you, and the world around you froze.

The drunkard’s mouth hung slack, wide with the shock from the sudden, cold bite of metal from the end of an ornate muzzle pressing hard into his temple. A gloved finger was poised over the trigger.

Your attention snapped to the brave soul that came to your rescue, and your own mouth fell open in shocked awe — the same outlaw that sent the town into a terrified silence held his ebony revolver to the drunkard’s temple with little regard for the force behind it.

He looked inhuman with fury laced through the pale blue of his eyes. Malice and disgust radiated from him in waves.

“Now do you really want to finish insultin’ this poor woman?” a husked voice asked behind you. You whirled around, the skirts of your dress fluttering, and found the blond outlaw standing behind you, terrible in his rage. “Robbin’ an innocent girl to get your fuckin’ dick wet at the whore house?”

There was a pregnant pause, only broken by the piteous whimpering from the drunkard. “I– I–” A dark stain grew over the crotch of his worn, stained overalls.

His head jerked hard to the side as one of your saviours pushed the muzzle of the gun harder against the thin bones of his temple with a snarl. “He asked you a question.”

“What the fuck do you think you were doin’, you bastard?” The blond spat. “Answer me before you get a third eye.”

Before the drunkard could answer, you cut in fearfully, “I– I just want to go home.” The darker-haired outlaw’s eyes flashed angrily as he looked at you, and you stepped back on instinct, only to come back to chest with his partner. “Please, just– I am so sorry–”

“You aren’t the one tossin’ around a damned fuckin’ gun like it’s your cock, sweetheart,” the blond soothed.

A low growl of anger came from the dark-haired outlaw’s throat. “And pathetic men who disrespect a woman in front of me tend to lose theirs—by a fuckin’ bullet or a knife, your choice.”

The drunkard stumbled to the side with the shove from the gun.

“Buck,” the blond said, and you guessed that was the dark-haired outlaw’s name. “I don’t think this fella is goin’ to answer me.” A hand rested on your shoulder, and you jumped. “Whoa– Easy, sweetheart, we’re not the ones that are goin’ to hurt you.”

The warmth from his palm abated the worst of the fear, and you followed where he guided you to stand — in his shadow that casted itself over the ground. “As for him, well…”

“Apologise,” Buck spat, nearing the drunkard’s pale, sweaty face. “I don’t care if I have to lose a bullet to get you to do it, either.”

“S– Sorry, miss,” the drunkard whispered, his voice high with terror. “Sorry, I–” He was cut off by the shove to the shoulder, and you watched as he clumsily ran away.

Only, Buck raised his revolver and cocked the hammer back before a shot ran out with a cloud of smoke. The sound echoed like cannon fire off of the surrounding trees and sparse buildings — you could even hear faint shouts and screams of fear within the township.

“Good riddance,” the blond said with a nod.

“I wasn’t goin’ to let the bastard go,” Buck said lowly, voice still laced with a poisonous vitriol. He looked at you then and lowered his head respectfully. “Miss.”

“I–” You tried, but some force was making you tremble from head to toe — waves of flight or fight warring within your mind as you stood between the two deadliest men you had ever encountered. “Please don’t hurt me–”

“Oh, sweetheart, no,” the blond said quickly, holding his hands up and away from his holsters. “Name’s Steve, this here is Buck—or Bucky.”

You looked between them, eyes wide with your fear and still rooted to the spot with your pulsing terror. While you looked at Steve beseechingly, you saw from the corner or your eyes as Bucky shrugged off his thick, leather coat to reveal a white, long-sleeved shirt, and a black vest that had embroidery and filigree within the expensive material.

He was silent while he stood there, coat in his gloved hands.

“Where’s your horse?” Steve asked, looking around.

“Over– She’s over there,” you whispered, pointing towards where you hitched your mare. The bustle of noise had caught her attention, and you could see her kind face looking in your direction with her ears perked. “I didn’t think to–”

“Don’t worry, miss,” Steve assured, and he looked at Bucky with a brow raised. “You good?”

Bucky nodded, then offered his coat to you. “To keep you warm,” he rasped. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

You blinked and almost dropped your basket, but Bucky rushed forward and caught it. “Here,” he offered quietly, passing the basket to Steve and holding up his coat — the inner leather was warm and rich with his scent, and you couldn’t help but burrow into the comfort it provided.

The basket with all of your wares hung from Steve’s arm. “We’ll take you home, then be on our way—that alright, miss?”

Bucky was still working the large coat over your shoulders until he was satisfied it would sit comfortably. “I– I don’t know–” The journey home was a long one, and you wouldn’t say no to the safety their company would provide, but the problem of your trembling limbs made you doubt whether you would be able to stay in the saddle for long at all.

The two of them seemed to catch on to your concern.

Steve frowned and glanced at Bucky, who was wordlessly staring at your hands. “You can hop on behind Buck—your mare can follow behind, I’ve got her.”

Without another word, Steve started to walk towards their two mounts that were waiting a few feet away — you hadn’t even noticed them.

Bucky glanced up at your face while you stared into his, and he smiled slightly. The ice that had settled in your stomach inexplicably melted away with the softness of his gaze. You followed behind him as he led you to their stallions.

The shadow from a building beside them made their coats even darker, and the bigger of the two started to walk forwards at the sight of you approaching with one of their number. It was the same horse that affectionately brushed his lips over your hand out the front of the general store.

“Oh, hello,” you whispered, unable to help the smile that pulled at your lips. “You are beautiful, aren’t you?”

“Don’t give ‘im a bigger ego than his owner,” Steve chortled. The withering glare Bucky sent Steve almost made you laugh.

“This is Rebel,” Bucky said, patting the stallion’s lithe neck and making the skin ripple.

“Hello, Rebel,” you cooed, scratching his nose affectionately. Then, you realised you hadn’t given any of them your name, and when you glanced at Bucky after offering it, his head was tilted minutely to the side.

He did not give you a chance to question why before he mounted Rebel and sat in the saddle proudly. “You can ride?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s grip on your hand was tight and firm, and he yanked you up from the ground with apparent ease. “I, uh– My home is a ranch.”

There was a pleased hum from Steve, and Bucky looked over his shoulder at you while Rebel’s hooves shuffled to accommodate the sudden new addition on his back.

“Hold tight,” Bucky said gruffly. You rested your hands on either side of his waist, holding steady while Rebel’s movements were smooth beneath you — the reins were loose, and Bucky’s thighs clamped around the barrel of his mount’s flanks.

“He is so beautiful,” you murmured again, just as Rebel made to turn around and walk towards your mare. On impulse, you moved one hand from Bucky’s waist to the dark coat behind your thighs.

The inky pelt felt not unlike a luxurious silk.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, then he clicked his tongue. Rebel took the cue and picked up the pace. “He’s been through hell an’ back with me. There ain’t many horses as strong as he is. I’m a lucky bastard.”

You moved your hands from Rebel’s coat back to Bucky’s waist to hold on. Even over the vest you felt the heat radiating from his body, and you couldn’t help but shift closer.

All the while a part of your mind screamed for you to drop and run — a long, dormant instinct that arose with such strength you’d never felt before.

The two men were no doubt two of the fiercest you could have ever encountered, that was not for debate or contest — you could feel the strength of Bucky’s control on his horse in the way the mount moved with such trained ease. Not to mention the muscles that rippled under the long-sleeved shirt of his made you realise there was far more than met the eye.

What held your tongue from screaming or crying for help was the way the two of them did not even bat an eye before shooting a vagrant drunk that accosted you, even though they had no idea who you were — just a woman going about her day.

Not to them, you thought.

You noticed the townsfolk that stopped and stared at the three of you while you passed them by, both shock and fear painting their pale, grime-streaked faces, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. A poor, foolish girl riding with the most dangerous men.

“There she is,” Steve said suddenly, pulling you from your reverie. You blinked from the light of the sun, and found Steve pointing towards your mare, a beautiful, golden palomino who’s coat gleamed in the morning rays. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling softly at the softened gaze of your mare once she spotted you. “That’s my girl.”

“She’s a fine horse,” Bucky said as he pulled Rebel to a stop. “Stevie, you’ve got ‘er?”

Steve nodded and dismounted to unhitch her from her post. “You take the lead; I’ll follow behind with this pretty lady.” You watched as your mare was tied to the horn of Steve’s saddle, and she came into stride next to him with as little as a heavy sigh to acknowledge her predicament. “A dramatic one–”

“You haven’t seen the worst of it,” you laughed as you scratched at her ears. “Not in the slightest.”

During the journey back to your ranch, you couldn’t help but notice how silent Bucky was — all conversation and pleasantries were held between Steve and yourself, with minimal input from the brooding rider in front of you. During one of the longer stretches of silence, albeit a strangely comfortable one, you took a moment to consider with a keen eye how Bucky held himself.

The man was truly a marvel, that you assumed correctly. His broad, wide shoulders were straight, only slumping when he seemed to grow weary — most notably through Steve’s many tirades.

The black vest he wore hugged his chest and waist, accentuating the lines of his muscled torso in all of the right places, and it made you think countlessly of the heroes in your stories that lined the old, wooden bookshelf in your bedroom.

His shirt wrinkled and smoothed with each movement of his arms, the tight muscle beneath making your mouth water.

“How far do you live from town?” Bucky asked suddenly, and to your horror, he glanced over his shoulder before you could school your expression, or at least look away from the expanse of his back. Something flashed in his grey eyes, and you were embarrassed to see a small smirk forming on his full lips.

The coat over your shoulders was a welcome reprieve and you found yourself burrowing yourself deeper into the warmth it offered your still trembling limbs, and you hastened to answer before Steve could interject — the blond looked about ready to cause more trouble. “Not far, just a little while longer. You’ll come upon my fields soon.”

He nodded and urged Rebel a little faster, the movement of the horse’s hindquarters jostled you into being pressed right up against Bucky’s back. In the slight moment of shock, you clamped your arms around his waist tighter. The fabric wrinkled under your sudden, iron-clad grip, and under your hands, you could feel the low rumble of his chest while he laughed.

You rested your forehead against the smooth fabric of his vest to hide your shame.

Wooden fence posts suddenly appeared in your peripheral vision, and you glanced up to find the outer fence line of your ranch perimeter in all its glory.

The farmhouse at the end of the dusty, dirt lane was a modest building from the exterior, but you were relieved to see it nonetheless — wooden slats were bleached from the harsh light of the sun, and the characteristic weathervane of a loping horse still sat perched on the roof from when you were a child.

“We’re here,” you said happily, unable to stop the smile of relief. “That’s my home.”

Bucky said nothing while Steve moved his mount closer. “It’s beautiful. You live out here by yourself?”

“I do,” you replied wearily, side-eyeing Steve. “Why?”

Steve looked at you quickly. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, I swear.”

“Shut your trap, you fuckin’ bastard,” Bucky snapped, glaring at Steve. You blinked and stared between them. “Leave ‘er alone. If she is happy on ‘er own, she’s happy. She’s already proven to be a strong woman who doesn’t need the likes a’you to judge ‘er.”

“Settle, settle,” Steve laughed, “I meant nothin’, I swear, Buck.”

Bucky shifted in the saddle, and you felt him press back against you. The simple act to get closer made an indescribable heat climb up the skin of your neck. “Good, now shut it.”

You caught Steve’s gaze, and he winked while Bucky’s gaze was elsewhere.

The swirling confusion in your mind overtook any sense to question what just happened between them — they truly were an odd duo, but you didn’t linger on that thought too long before Bucky pulled Rebel to a halt on the earthen path that led to your front door.

The gate creaked and groaned in the slight breeze, and a few of the horses looked up from their lazy grazing to investigate the newcomers.

“Well, here y’are,” Steve said, handing you the reins for your mare. The two men were looking around your property with interest as you took hold of the rope, and a thought crossed your mind — it was reckless, dangerous, and possibly the most foolish idea, but something nagged within your heart to voice it.

“Why don’t– Uh, well–” The rope was tight around your knuckles while you fidgeted with it, and your mare nuzzled your elbow. “Why don’t you come on in? I can fix you up a hot meal and you both can, well—you can rest. I can at least thank you for your efforts.”

There was a beat of silence, then Steve said, “You sure, darlin’? We can head on off; we’re only passin’ through.”

Bucky’s expression remained impassive, but there was something in his gaze that told you that you were doing the right thing — however much your good sense screamed that it was a mistake. “I’m sure—come on in and I’ll get the pot going.”

You didn’t wait for them to answer before you set off to walk towards your home, all the while praying that you hadn’t just bitten the bullet.

“Well, that’s real kind,” Steve called, then you heard soft hoofbeats thudding over the earth behind you.

The horses scattered throughout the fields watched you walk by with the strangers in tow, ears perked forward and eyes bright with interest. From the corner of your eyes, you could see Rebel start to gain on you, and then you felt his muzzle brush your shoulder. “Hi there, pretty boy,” you cooed, kissing the side of his nose.

A deep chuckle sounded from his back, and you looked up towards Bucky, who was looking down at you with a soft smile — one that you found you’d do anything to see again.

“You can hitch the boys just here,” you said as you pointed to a wooden rail set just next to the porch railing. The worn oak was sturdy, and you knew it would hold the two stallions should they grow restless.

Steve dismounted with a loud groan, and he stretched to the sky when his boots landed on the dirt.

Bucky, however, moved his left leg up and over Rebel’s neck, and he slid from the saddle with as little effort — a difficult dismount performed with ease, and the bastard knew it, too. An arrogant smirk pulled at the corner of his lips for a moment before Steve rounded the back of his horse, when it vanished.

The sudden change in his demeanour made your brows furrow with confusion, but Bucky shot you a look that forced your expression to be neutral — whatever made him conscious of his outward expression of happiness was his business, you reminded yourself.

But you couldn’t deny the pull to see him smile again, not after your interest in the brooding man had grown tenfold over the journey home.

you're not gonna stop me, are you?

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #alternate juneiverse 2024 #babb2023 #rookthorne's works

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play-now-my-lord · 8 months

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i've been hired by Nintendo to come up with a third Mario brother, Andrea. He's got a handlebar moustache and a combover. He looks like a fatter, slightly more desperate and haggard Mario. He's a real loser, like he keeps gambling on cockamamie business schemes and Mario and Luigi keep having to get him out of trouble. I think he gets kidnapped by Bowser because he owes him money. Not even a lot of money, like $1000, but it's not like Andrea has a job and he spends basically all of his disposable income on scratch-its

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undergroundbillions · 5 months

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Hii hope ya don’t mind but do you guys have any info on understudies/alternate casts in Rag Dolly?

we do!

each production of the show had slightly different casts, as some ensemble and minor characters were replaced between productions, but most of the major characters stayed the same! Ann, Andy, Baby, Camel, and Mommy/Witch were the same actors through every production (Ivy Austin, Scott Schafer, Carolyn Marble, Joel Aroeste, and Elizabeth Austin respectively). once the show was broadway-bound, about half the cast was replaced, likely because many of the actors in the original ESIPA productions were resident actors at ESIPA.

here's a history of the recasts of the major characters!

Marcella: Tricia Brooks (ESIPA 1984/85, Moscow 1986) -> Lisa Reiffel (Kennedy Center/Broadway 1986) (Tricia had aged out of the role, as she was 15 turning 16 in 1986. Lisa was 13 when she took on the role, just as Tricia had been when she first played the role in 1984) Poppa: MacIntyre Dixon (ESIPA 1984) -> Gibby Brand (ESIPA 1985, Moscow 1986) -> Bob Morrisey (Kennedy Center/Broadway 1986) Panda: Jeanne Vigliante (ESIPA 1984/85, Moscow 1986) -> Michelan Sisti (Kennedy Center/Broadway 1986) General D: Paul Haggard (ESIPA 1984) -> David Schramm (ESIPA 1985, Moscow 1986) -> Leo Burmester (Kennedy Center/Broadway 1986) (Paul Haggard was battling cancer when he played General D, and unfortunately passed away less than 2 years after the 1984 ESIPA run) Bat: Pamela Sousa (ESIPA 1984/85, Moscow 1986) -> Gail Benedict (Kennedy Center/Broadway 1986) Wolf: Tom Pletto (ESIPA 1984/85, Moscow 1986) -> Gordon Weiss (Kennedy Center/Broadway 1986)

there was also a version of the show that was staged in 1983 that had a completely different script written by a different playwright and different songs by Joe Raposo (basically a completely different show). we don't have a full cast list, but we do know that Ivy Austin still played Ann, and Mark Baker (yes the Mark Baker from the movie) played Andy, with Scott Schafer as his understudy.

for the broadway production, the understudies are listed in the playbill (which is available online), and we have a scans of the kennedy center and moscow programs in our archives! the understudies are the same for broadway and kennedy center.

i'll put the lists under a cut, but most of the understudies are raggettes/ensemble.

the only one that i'd like to draw attention to is Gordon Weiss, who played Wolf, as he was the understudy for General D during the kennedy center and broadway runs. looking at Gordon's resume, it makes sense-- he's basically a professional understudy! but within the context of the show it makes a bit less sense lol. if Leo Burmester were to be out for a show, Gordon would be bumped up to General D, Joe Barrett would go on as Wolf, and Steve Owsley would leave the ensemble to take Joe's place as a doctor. there would be a lot less shuffling around of actors if General D's understudy were one of the doctors like previous productions.

Gordon would also be bit silly visually as General D because he is quite small. All of the General Ds were very tall, each over six feet. Gordon Weiss is not. in photos you can see Gordon only comes up to Leo's shoulder!

as far as we know, from our research and interviews with cast, none of the understudies ever had to go on.

- mod wowf 🐾

Kennedy Center and Broadway (1986)

Joe Barrett - Wolf Kenneth Boys - Andy, Panda, Swing Melinda Buckley - Bat Sara Carbone - Marcella Dick Decareau - Poppa Anny De Gange - Mommy/Witch Susann Fletcher - Raggedy Ann Steve Owsley - Doctors Richard Ryder - Camel Gordon Weiss - General D Andrea Wright - Baby Helena Andreyko - Swing

Moscow (1986)

Nina Hennessey - Marcella, Mommy/Witch Joe Barrett - Poppa, Camel Scott Evans - Andy, Panda Neal Ben-Ari - General D Michaela Hughes - Bat David Bunce - Wolf

#meowydoe #thanks for the ask!#i had a lot of fun compiling all this info hehe #raggedy ann musical #rag dolly #raggedy ann broadway #rag dolly musical #mod wowf

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astrabear · 2 years

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Andrea can't look him in the eyes for a week after she finds out. She can barely look at him at all... while he's awake. When he's asleep she can't look away. She never knows when he's dreaming - by the time he gasps into consciousness it's too late, the dream is gone. But she feels like she should know, should be able to sense it somehow. If she did, if there was any sign at all, she would find a way, she would reach into his head and pull the dream out of his brain. Or pull herself into it. Why do you get to see her, she thinks bitterly as he numbs himself with drink. It should be me, you don't deserve her, and the envy curdles in her gut while the three men hold each other in their grief. He asks how long the dreams last. "Until we meet," they tell him. "For years, for decades." It took Andrea over a century to find her the first time. And then you lost her. Sebastien's face falls, going haggard at the thought of drowning endlessly in his sleep, drowning in the rage and fury of a woman he'll never meet. You don't deserve her, Andrea thinks, this time aching with pity and guilt. It should be me.

#the old guard #my fic #andromaquynh #andromache the scythian #quynh #sebastien le livre #hey ho I was possessed and spat this out #just going feral over Them again

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enithinggoes · 1 year

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CREW, part 6

USER LOG 000001001111

ANDREA

ANDREA: Hngrh… Yeah, Melissa?

PERMISSION TO CHECK THE CREW’S TEMPERATURE?

ANDREA: Y-yeah, yes please, we’ve all been pretty haggard since we left Sector 38. It feels so cold inside this ship, could you raise the ambient temperature?

CERTAINLY, RAISING GLOBAL SHIP TEMPERATURE BY 2 DEGREES, I WILL BEGIN MEASURING YOUR TEMPERATURE AS WELL. YOUR RECENT SHIVERING IS QUITE CONCERNING.

ANDREA: I’ll be alright, just, just need some rest, that’s why I’ve been letting the folks stay in bed longer, they need the rest.

SO DO YOU

ANDREA: A captain must fight the hardest for their ship.

I HAVE LEARNED THAT THAT KIND OF SELF SACRIFICING MENTALITY UPSETS THE CREW.

ANDREA: … You’re right, can you go into full autopilot towards the nearest planet with a good hospital while I take a little nap?

CERTAINLY

USER LOG 000001010000

ANDREA: Ok, Melissa, we’re heading to the hospital now, hold the fort for us, okay?

UNDERSTOOD

MR. WILSON: See ya kiddo. Ah won’t be here to fix anything up so, take good care of yerself while Ah’m gone.

I WILL DO MY BEST, MR WILSON

ANDREA: Everyone ready?

DANIEL: Yeah.

ANDREA: Bye Melissa! We’ll see you soon.

DANIEL: See you around

MR. WILSON: Stay safe.

GOODBYE.

I WILL EAGERLY AWAIT YOUR RETURN

USER LOG 000001010001

WELCOME BACK, IT’S BEEN QUITE LONG

ANDREA: Hello, Melissa…

I NOTICE MR. WILSON IS NOT WITH YOU, WILL HE BE STAYING LONGER IN THE HOSPITAL?

ANDREA: Wilson… Didn’t make it. He won’t be coming back.

I SEE

SHOULD I ERASE HIM FROM THE CREW REGISTER?

ANDREA: No.

ANDREA: Please don’t.

ANDREA: I’m sorry.

UNDERSTOOD

MR. WILSON WILL STAY IN MEMORY.

ANDREA: Let’s get out of here.

USER LOG 000001010110

THOUGH PREVIOUSLY THOUGHT TO BE GENERALLY SOLITARY, THERE IS NOW EVIDENCE THAT RACCOONS ENGAGE IN SEX-SPECIFIC SOCIAL BEHAVIOR. RELATED FEMALES OFTEN SHARE A COMMON AREA, WHILE UNRELATED MALES LIVE TOGETHER IN GROUPS OF UP TO FOUR RACCOONS IN ORDER TO MAINTAIN THEIR POSITIONS AGAINST FOREIGN MALES DURING THE MATING SEASON AND AGAINST OTHER POTENTIAL INVADERS. HOME RANGE SIZES VARY ANYWHERE FROM 3 HA (7.4 ACRES) FOR FEMALES IN CITIES, TO 5,000 HA (12,000 ACRES) FOR MALES IN PRAIRIES. AFTER A GESTATION PERIOD OF ABOUT 65 DAYS, TWO TO FIVE YOUNG KNOWN AS "KITS" ARE BORN IN SPRING. THE KITS ARE SUBSEQUENTLY RAISED BY THEIR MOTHER UNTIL DISPERSAL IN LATE FALL

ANDREA: Melissa? What are you doing? There’s nobody in here

MR. WILSON TOLD ME TO READ TO HIM EVERY DAY AT THIS TIME

THERE WAS NO ORDER TO STOP

AND I HAVE NOT FINISHED HIS BOOK

SHOULD I CEASE THIS ACTIVITY?

ANDREA: No.

ANDREA: It’s fine.

ANDREA: I miss him too.

ANDREA: Good night, Melissa

GOOD NIGHT, ANDREA.

#original writing #original story #original work #sci fi #CREW #spaceship #robot #part 6

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girlsofcomics · 5 years

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Lodestone

-Real name: Andrea Haggard

-A.k.a.:-

-Publisher: Marvel

-Type: Human (experiment)

-Afilliations: Masters of Evil

-Powers: Magnetism, blast power, flight, levitation, power suit

#character #lodestone #andrea haggard #marvel #Marvel Comics #human #expe #masters of evil #magnetism #blast power #flight #levitation #power suit

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silveragelovechild · 5 years

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When I was a kid, I was fascinated with stories and movies about lost civilizations. One of my favorites was the 1965 Hammer film “She” starring Ursula Andress. Gawd! I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. (I didn’t see “Dr. No” until years later.)

Regarding the actor who played her lover Kallikrates (aka Leo Vincey), I had misread the credit listing and though he was Peter Cushing. They didn’t have IMDb back then. I now know he’s John Richardson.

#h rider haggard #she #hammer films #Ursula Andreas #John Richardson #peter Cushing #lost civilizations #Kallikrates

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beepbeepmockingbird · 3 years

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Beep Beep Mockingbird

Summary: A tragic incident tears a rift between Stanley and Richie as the former blames himself for what happened on that night.

Chapter 8: It was Andrea who insisted he take a day off from school. Stanley had never skipped a day in his entire academic career, barring severe illness or family emergencies. But one look at his haggard face that morning made his mother turn him around and escort him back to his room.

#beep beep mockingbird #stozier fanfic #stozier #stanley uris #richie tozier #it fanfic #it fanfiction #chapter update

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shanastoryteller · 5 years

Note

Saw your post mentioning reading your favorite poems and I was wondering what they were? I've never really liked poems but I really liked that one by Emily Dickson you put in the front of that teen wolf fic so you probably have really good taste in poems, and I've been trying to find some to like.

Good Bones by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.Life is short, and I’ve shortened minein a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,a thousand deliciously ill-advised waysI’ll keep from my children. The world is at leastfifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservativeestimate, though I keep this from my children.For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,sunk in a lake. Life is short and the worldis at least half terrible, and for every kindstranger, there is one who would break you,though I keep this from my children. I am tryingto sell them the world. Any decent realtor,walking you through a real shithole, chirps onabout good bones: This place could be beautiful,right? You could make this place beautiful.

Because I could not stop for Death (479)

Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children stroveAt Recess – in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us – The Dews drew quivering and chill – For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemedA Swelling of the Ground – The Roof was scarcely visible – The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yetFeels shorter than the DayI first surmised the Horses’ HeadsWere toward Eternity –

this one is an old nursery rhyme:

One bright day in the middle of the night, Two dead boys got up to fight. They turned their backs and faced each other, Drew their swords and shot the other. One was blind and the other couldn’t see, So they chose a fool for their referee. A mute eyewitness screamed with fright.A cripple danced to see the sight. A deaf policeman heard the noise.He came and shot the two dead boys.A paralyzed donkey passing by,Kicked the copper in the eye, And knocked him through a rubber wall, Into a ditch and drowned them all.If you don’t believe this lie is true,Ask the blind man. He saw it too.

She swearsshe will nevergive birthto a daughter.Won’t evenplant a garden.— Adira Bennett

Do not go gentle into that good night

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sightBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.Do not go gentle into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

My mouth is a fire escape.The words coming outdon’t care that they are naked.There is something burning in here.

— Andrea Gibson

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

By Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weepI am not there; I do not sleep.I am a thousand winds that blow,I am the diamond glints on snow,I am the sun on ripened grain,I am the gentle autumn rain.When you awaken in the morning’s hushI am the swift uplifting rushOf quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.

Never regret thy fall,O Icarus of the fearless flightFor the greatest tragedy of them allIs never to feel the burning light

— Oscar Wilde

Annabel Lee BY EDGAR ALLAN POEIt was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

self-parodies & psalms for shit-scared twenty-somethings by gyzm

is perhaps my favorite poem and just gut punches me whenever i read it but they are a tumblr person who’s poem deserves more attention so please reblog/comment on their poem directly :)

most of what i’ve learned in the first half of my twenties is to embrace statistics i’m not smart enough to verify; theones about black holes and how much of the universe is justempty space: between atoms and from one planet to another.it makes it easier, to stare at my overcrowded sink and thinkthat to get from the floor of this filthy kitchen to the neareststar would take more lifetimes than i could borrow or steal.maybe there is a single withered raspberry molding beneath every single plate i own but in the scheme of things that’s insignificant, a non-event in the life of a non-event, and so canwait until tomorrow, when this hangover is gone.

please, god, don’t let me die before i turn thirty. i’ve heardthat that’s when it all comes together, and i know those’re allfish stories, probably, the lies of those who need to pretend justlike me, but hell, i choose to believe. because the thing is, god, if idie tomorrow, a few years from now, i can pretty much guarantee it’ll be in torn underpants, on a bad hair day, in a bra that doesn’t fitthe way i’d like it to; please, god, don’t let me die before i work outhow to drag myself out of bed in time to dry my hair every morning. i’vebeen promising myself for years i’d learn to get off the couch on monday nights and do laundry, god, okay, i don’t mind living in dirty jeans but i don’t want to die in them, i’m begging, i thank you, i’m sorry, amen.

there should be a page at the back of every baby book thatsays “baby’s first moment of cold realization that they are an gigantic shitheaded asshole.” it’s important, as milestones go. iknow it’s not as glamorous as a first word or a graduation but i’dargue that developmentally, it means at least as much — god knows i put more thought into the bleak portrait of myself at two a.m., staring haggard out from the filmy surface of my mirror, than i did in my ham-fisted infant attempts to say my father’s name. it would benice, is all, to have a warning, to flip through pages of childhood accomplishments and see that placeholder, at the end; to know that the future was coming, inevitably, to make dipshits of us all.

don’t put liquid soap in the dishwasher. don’t put your vibrator in the dishwasher. don’t forget that your mother is coming over until fifteen minutes before she shows up and put every scrap ofevidence that you are a disaster zone living underneath a veneerof overdone eye makeup and slapdash dreams of better tomorrowsin the dishwasher. don’t put your grandmother’s china, that vase you bought at the flea market, a bowl half-full of aged guacamole,in the dishwasher. on the mornings that will keep coming — when the shower does not seem like enough, when you can feel your long history of mistakes pockmarking your face and oozing out from beneath your armpits — don’t put yourself in the dishwasher.

the human body replaces skin cells so quickly that two weeks from now, every part of me will be brand new, and i will still feel as though i have spent my first quarter-century on this planet touching both too much and not enough. that feels profound atthis moment but the human body replaces humiliations fastereven than skin; two weeks from now i will remember saying this,stare at the ceiling above my bed and think: no one has ever been as big of an asshole as you are. there are billions of stars in our galaxy and billions of galaxies in our universe and my ceiling is the only clean part of my apartment. i know it’s a fish story, but c’mon, god, okay — i’m just asking to believe i’ll make it to thirty better dressed; less selfish.

#poem #a poem is just an undirected prayer #you know i read a short book of poems in middle school written from god's pov and one of them was about him/her being pissed that everyone #assumed they were a guy #and i've been thinking of it for 13 years but i have no idea what it was called or what the book was called #anon #asks

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popentertainment-moviereviews · 4 years

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THE NIGHT CLERK (2019)

Starring Tye Sheridan, Ana de Armas, John Leguizamo, Helen Hunt, Johnathon Schaech, Jacque Gray, Joey Miyashima, Austin Archer, Walter Platz, Ibrahim Quraishi, Frantz Louizia, D.L. Walker, Maria Julian, Ivey Lloyd Mitchell, Brandice Brown, Isaac Akers, Cindy Perez, Dee Macaluso and Peter Epstein.

Screenplay by Michael Cristofer.

Directed by Michael Cristofer.

Distributed by Saban Films. 90 minutes. Rated R.

There is an art – well, maybe not an art, but at least a craft – to making a satisfying straight-to-video thriller.

It is a craft that the filmmakers of The Night Clerk show some proficiency in, however they are far from being completely successful at it. The Night Clerk takes an interesting and slightly sordid concept and eventually bleeds most of the suspense out of it.

It is a grabber of an opening, though. Bart (Tye Sheridan) is a young night clerk in a chain hotel. He has Asperger’s syndrome, which makes social interaction with the guests difficult, which is probably why he is stuck in the night shift.

One night, a pretty woman (Jacque Gray) checks in very late at night. Bart has an awkward exchange with her, and then as she retreats to her room, he opens his laptop and watches her inside her room, which apparently has several cameras set up throughout the suite. In fact, we watch Bart checking in on several families staying there: just normal things like kids playing, a man getting ready for a big meeting and the like.

It seems awfully creepy, though Bart later insists that it is not a sexual thing; he likes to watch how humans interact and tends to imitate it in his own life. Apparently, that is even mostly true, although later in the story he does take a more prurient – or at least romantic – interest in a femme fatale who registers at the hotel.

However, in this situation, his shift ends as he is watching the woman. He goes home and watches her (apparently not only does his laptop capture a live feed, it also records what is happening). He sees her letting a man in from a patio door. She is apparently a wife who caught her husband trying to cheat on her. They get into an argument, and then he attacks her. Bart rushes back to the hotel, but obviously is too late and finds the woman dead.

This puts him in a terribly awkward position. He can’t tell what he knows about the murder without revealing his habit of illegally spying on his guests. And yet, he is obviously covering something up. In fact, he has tampered with the crime scene to get rid of his cameras. And, due to his condition he is a terrible liar, and he knows just enough that he becomes suspicious to the head detective on the case (John Leguizamo). That suspicion grows when access to Bart is limited by Helen Hunt – in the thankless role of his haggard and over-protective mother.

His sympathetic boss likes Bart and doesn’t want to fire him, so he is transferred to another nearby location. This is where the above-mentioned femme fatale enters his life.

She is Andrea (played by the suddenly very busy Ana de Armas of Knives Out and the upcoming James Bond film). She is extremely beautiful, sweet, understanding (her brother also has Asperger’s) and very friendly. Soon Bart is finding himself having alien romantic feelings towards her, particularly after he stumbles upon her skinny dipping in the hotel pool. He dares to imagine that she may like him, too.

And then it turns out that she may have some sort of connection to the murdered woman.

Like I said, it’s a pretty neat setup. The problem is the suspense is sapped because we know from the start that Bart is innocent, and we are pretty sure who probably committed the crime. The only real questions that the viewer has is what will happen when Bart is caught videoing his clients, and whether Andrea’s apparent feelings towards Bart are legit or all an act.

However, the acting is good. Sheridan does a terrific job of acting like someone on the spectrum, and de Armas radiates an understated sexy charm.

The Night Clerk is far from being a great thriller, but it is a pretty good one. Sometimes that is enough.

Jay S. Jacobs

#The Night Clerk #2020 #Movie Review #Tye Sheridan #Jay S. Jacobs

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cadcnce-archived · 6 years

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@cirocchio || has questionable luck

Wylan plans a few routes prior to going forward with fulfilling his contracts. The one he ends up going with in the end is random. Decided by something as light as how long he had to wait for the bus or how many people were in line when he got his coffee. That he chose to make this alley a drop point after the deed is one of these odd choices. And that someone familiar appearing with haggard breath an odder coincidence. They could probably forgive his steely gaze when she first runs in to him, something that softens to a confused frown when she makes an odd amount of eye contact for someone who wasn’t apologizing after the run-in.

....she’s that friend of Andrea’s, isn’t she? He recognizes the stutter during the response and androgynous appearance. . . she seemed pretty harmless from the time he met her a year or so back. Nice, but definitely an odder sort. What was she running from police for.

....wait, fuck. Police?! Fuck. ...He’s still holding on to the small trash bag that has the disassembled firearm and his gloves among... other things. Lets just finish dropping that in the dumpster he’s next to once she’s set more upright and not breathing like she’s choking. Cops shouldn’t be able to find them here, considering only trash men come around to grab the dumpster used by the offices and small shops whose walls currently kept them closed in the shade.

“And... why were you running from the police?” Gaze drifts from her back to the direction of the gate and the street. He has no intention of turning her in regardless. But his normal curiosity blended with his current edge of caution may give off that sort of impression.

#cirocchio #verse :: main #look it's here

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victimsofchrishill · 2 years

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Rocky past for Naperville promoter of failed shows

Naperville Sun, The (IL)

Author/Byline: By Andrea HeinSection: AROUND TOWNPage: 6

News that a summer concert series in Joliet fell apart at the hands of Naperville-based Group 7 Marketing and its president Joe Hill surprised many people but not those who have dealt with Hill before.

"He's a big snake," said David Jurek, owner of the Naperville store The Great Frame Up, who sued Hill over an unrelated business matter and was awarded more than $11,000, court records show.

In fact, people have been suing Hill, his wife Joi and their businesses since the 1990s when the couple lived in Ohio where they also filed for bankruptcy.

Twice.

As of last week, Hill maintained Group 7 Marketing was trying to make things right regarding the concert series.

"We do understand that certain individuals seek an earlier resolution to this matter; however, we are dealing with this situation as quickly as we possibly can," Hill wrote in an e-mail response.

Hill lists a new business address that turns out to be a mailbox at an UPS Store in Naperville .

The summer concert series was supposed to feature acts ranging from John Tesh and Merle Haggard to Collective Soul and Big Head Todd and the Monsters. Only one show was held, on a cold, rainy July 10 and only a few thousand showed up to see The Guess Who, Jefferson Starship and John Kay & Steppenwolf. The rest of the series was cancelled.

Hill blamed the cancelation on an alleged financial fallout from the first concert because of bad weather and other issues.

Not everyone agrees.

"That show was dead long before Mother Nature showed up," said Mark Miller, a former production consultant to Hill.

Miller, who has worked in the music industry for 26 years, said Hill's concept of a concert series at a ballpark was great but not his execution.

"He did not understand how to produce live entertainment," Miller said.

Other consultants would have told Hill to move or cancel the series before the first show if they had known about the low ticket sales, but they weren't kept in the loop, Miller claimed.

"He was hiding ticket sales from all of us," he claimed.

Concert goers officially could purchase advance concert tickets from three places, including Group 7 where Hill's wife controlled ticket sales, Miller said.

People who worked with Group 7 have said that besides one office worker and at least one investor, the company consisted only of Hill's family and was run out of a Naperville home.

Hill also was selling tickets on eBay.

Following the first show's low turnout, Miller said he told Hill to move the remaining concerts out of Silver Cross Field to a venue where shows would be cheaper to produce.

Hill didn't take his advice. Miller said within a week of the first show, Hill "went underground," cut off almost all communication and never paid him.

Besides Miller, other Group 7 contractors and some artists have said they have not been paid or received only partial payment. And ticket holders have reported refund problems.

Hill did not return phone calls about Miller's comments but admitted previously that some people were unpaid and claimed Group 7 needed 30 to 60 days to sort out the financial situation.

Those claims angered Naperville woman Chris Schulz, who didn't even have an interest in the concert series.

She knows Hill and his wife from one of their other ventures - auctions and estate sales.

Jurek's store sued Hill and Joi's Private Collecting in April 2005 stating that the company never paid the store for framing pictures for the Schulz auction.

When the Hills repeatedly did not show up to court, a DuPage County judge sided with The Great Frame Up.

Sun-Times News Group

Joe Hill, president of Group 7 Marketing, has his latest business address listed as this UPS Store in Naperville .

Record Number: , The Naperville Sun.

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warriorqueen1991 · 6 years

Text

Monster (pt.15)

Characters: Werewolf Negan x Melissa (oc)

Warnings: Fluff, Negan being Negan ;)

Notes: if anyone's got any questions or any suggestions regarding this fic, please don't be afraid to send em my way. I absolutely love hearing from you guys ♡

Please Let me know if you'd like to be tagged :)

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Negan was staring up at the ceiling, the steady sound of Melissa’s breathing fighting to sooth his chaotic mind as he shifted against the thin mattress. His eyes were glowing dimly in the darkness, he knew someone was awake in the lobby but he couldn't pick up who exactly.

This particular scent foreign to him.

After Rick had walked in on them Melissa had suggested they keep it PG while they were here. Negan of course thought that was ridiculous, but he didn't want her to be uncomfortable.

It was frustrating.

He felt... needy.

Every since Melissa had called him her mate he had wanted to be buried within her, to have her scream his name in pleasure for the entire prison to hear.

Fuck he wanted Rick to hear her.

Glancing over at her bunk he growled, his fangs peeking out from under his lips as he pressed his head back against his pillow.

His hands lifted to scrub his face with a rough sigh, he needed to calm down.

His breathing was becoming heavy as he shifted against his thin sheets, his hand resting on his stomach as he let out a haggard breath.

He felt like he was gonna crawl out of damn his skin if he didn't at least touch her.

He needed her hands on him.

To silence his raging beast.

Glancing at her once more as he panted, his claws forming up from his fingers as he let out a light groan.

Fuck he couldn't take this anymore.

Growling softly Negan rolled off his bunk so he landed on his knees on the cold floor.

Shaking his head with a soft grunt he crawled to his mate on all fours, his head nuzzling her hand as he purred against her flesh. His lips sliding over her fingers as his claws dug into the side of the mattress.

Melissa shifted rolling over on her side, her eyes fluttering open before her brow creased in confusion.

“N-Negan?...are you ok?”

He ran his face up her arm with a soft growl before nuzzling into her chest, her fingers running through his hair in a slow soothing motion.

Letting out a deep sigh at her touch he groaned in relief, his voice a rough whisper.

“ I just...needed to feel you...m’sorry”.

Melissa smiled tiredly into his hair as she cradled his head, his large body still kneeling on the floor.

The claws of one hand dug into the side of her mattress as the other hung at his side. His breathing was still slightly labored but he could feel himself calming down. Melissa kissed his hair making him growl in appreciation, pressing his forehead against her chest firmly.

It was like he was touch starved…

But they had only been without contact for a few hours at most.

“Are you sure your ok?” she whispered into his hair, her nails scratching against his skelp gently. He shuddered as a wave of pleasure shot down his spine, the fingers of her right hand sliding down his back.

Relaxing against the side of her bed, he growled softly. His head nodding slowly against her chest, she hugged him closer the best she could with him kneeling before urging him to sit back.

Whimpering in protest, his heart began hammering in his chest at the distance.

Watching as she sat up in her bunk, his eyes instantly fell shut as her hands cupped his face. She didn't quite understand what was happening to him, she just knew he needed her.

Sliding to the floor with him, Melissa wrapped her arms around his neck as he nuzzled against her face.

Scooting back against the wall, he dragged her onto his lap with a growl. Her hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as she draped her legs over his thighs. Pressing her head against his forehead she smiled as he purred closing his eyes.

Caressing his cheek before pressing her lips to his softly, Melissa smiled running her thumb over his bottom lip.

“Ya know, if you had an issue with the sleeping situation...you could've said something?” Her light laugh made him smile exposing his long canines.

Running his clawed hands up and down her arms, he pulled her closer so she could rest her head against his chest. His eyes closing as he laid his cheek against her hair, his breathing returning to normal as he finally drifted to sleep.

****

“When did they get here?”

Daryl chewed on his nail before folding his arms across his chest “dawn”.

Rick scratched his cheek before nodding “ok...i'll get the others”. Daryl grunted in acknowledgement as he watched the group of walkers shambling around the square.

“You gonna bring the new guy?”

Rick sighed “we need all the help we can get”. The younger man nodded looking back out the window “don't trust him”.

Rick chuckled “you don't trust anybody” Daryl growled “I trust you...don't make me regret it”.

Shaking his head Rick moved back to the group of people sitting in a mishaped circle. Andrea was holding her younger sisters hand while Glenn was messing with some walkies he found in the back.

“Anyone seen Negan and Melissa?”

****

“Negan we need to get out there, they're gonna wonder what's wrong with us”

Melissa giggled as his beard scratched against her neck, his teeth biting her shoulder gently as she attempted to tame her hair.

“Hmmm just tell em to fuck off, that always works for me”.

Shaking her head, Melissa pushed his face away with a bubbling laugh “alright, alright down boy!...we're guests remember?”

He growled softly as he buried his nose into the back of her neck, her soft hair clinging to his scruff as his hands slid around her waist. Melissa sighed leaning her head back against him as his mouth found her neck once more “Negan!” she whined as he growled against her skin.

The sound of boots echoing down the hall finally urged Negan to give her sensitive skin a break. Letting out a blissful moan, she ran her fingers up through his hair before righting herself just as Rick rounded the corner.

Negan rested his chin on top of her head, his hands wrapping securely around her waist as he narrowed his eyes at Rick.

The Sheriff eyed the two of them with an uncomfortable shift before clearing his throat “Negan can I talk to you?” The older man raised his eyebrows in question before separating himself from his mate. His alpha swagger on full display as he gave Rick a wide smile, leaning into his personal space “why sure thing Rick”.

Lifting his gaze Rick nodded before looking at Melissa once more, his lips in a straight line as he left the two of them alone once more.

Negan waggled his eyebrows at Melissa as he backed out of the room making her shake her head with a smile “behave!”

He chuckled biting his lip before following Rick down the hall, no way in hell was he making that promise.

Not when it was so fun to rile Rick up.

****

“When did they fucking get here?”

Rick was loading his gun as he eyed the window “arrived with the birds apparently”. Daryl moved from behind Negan with a glare “probably followed ya from the road”.

Negan growled leaning against the window before glancing at the younger man with a deep chuckle “that kinda fuckin logic makes you a special kind of fuckin stupid…”

Daryl glared at him, wrinkling his nose as he went to retort just as Negan raised his finger in silence. “Follow my way of thinking if your hillbilly mind can handle it....”

Rick winced at his barb but remained silent as the older man gestured to the group still in the small lobby “I know you sorry shits ain't the only folks livin here so…” he leaned back gesturing with his arms theatrically “where the fucks everybody else?”

Shaking his head at Rick and Daryl's slightly thoughtful expressions as they shared a look, Negan looked back out the window.

“Hate to bust your nut but these particular dead fucks were already here”.

“Then why they comin outta the damn woodwork now?”

Negan ran his hand down his mouth before eyeing Daryl “probably the gunfire last night”. The younger man snarled “sounds about right you passin the blame”.

“Whoa pitbull, calm the fuck down” Negan growled “I would've done the same damn thing”. Daryl shook his head before moving back beside Rick who sighed, scratching his neck “we need a plan”.

Catching Daryl's glare Negan bristled, he was getting real fucking tired of this assholes fuckin stink eye.

“I got an idea!”

Rick looked at him in question “you do?” Negan smiled before moving to tower over Daryl. “Let's get one thing fuckin straight hillbilly, you don't fucking know me...you wanna judge a man's fuckin merit let's do this shit…”

Rick stepped forward to protest but Negan held his hand up to stop him, his eyes never leaving Daryl's. “Let's go clear those dead fucks…” he grinned running his tongue over his pearly whites “you and me”.

Daryl's jaw ticked but he finally broke from Negan's gaze making the older man's smile widen.

That's right bitch!

Rick nodded “it's a good plan...i'll cover you from the window”.

Negan glanced out the window “only fire if it looks like one of us isn't comin back, we don't need any more of these fuckers comin at us”.

He sighed running his hand through his hair “the less noise we make, the better”.

Rick nodded holstering his gun before moving past Negan “Let's go break the news to the others”. Grabbing him by his elbow, Negan glared down at Rick as Daryl moved back into the lobby.

“Now I'll make sure your precious Daryl gets back to you in one fuckin piece because I'm a stand up guy…” he smiled. His hazel eyes taking in Ricks worried expression, before his smile slid into a snarl “but if you don't pull the fucking leash back on your fucking dog…” he growled “I'll put him in his fucking place Rick...i'm done with his fucking shit ya hear me?”

Rick swallowed thickly before grimacing, his blue eyes narrowing up at Negan “I'll talk to him”.

Negan smiled slowly with a slight nod as he released Ricks arm, the sheriff leaving him by the window as his eyes flashed yellow.

“You do that Prick”

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