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imagine-silk · 1 year

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Marvel; Not sober

Marvel characters being inebriated

[Tony] Almost got demolished along with his suit but came out intact. So when he woke up hopped up on morphine he thought he was fine. "Care for a drink?"

"No, and you shouldn't either."

"I, am very thirsty." He said grabbing a bottle off the self.

You took it and pulled him. "Let's have something with no alcohol"

"That's fine. MONDAY, can I get a Tahitian Noni?" That was followed by a 'right away, sir'. If you didn't know better you'd say he wasn't inebriated at all. How the fuck did he say that anyway? Apparently it was juice. "Hey." He said to grab your attention that was already focused on him.

"Hey."

He poked you on the chest. "I love you." It hit you like a sucker punch.

[Peter B] As soon as he got home through the window he reached in a drawer and injected himself. It was unholy and unfortunately not uncommon. "Imma sleep this on off." You couldn't blame him. He'd done this for years so it was down pat. All you could do is help.

"Get in the tub first. I'll stitch you up."

He gave a lazy thumbs up and stumbled to the bathroom. "Thanks babe."

[Scott] He almost always came back unscathed but when he didn't it was bad. So you pulled up to the Pym house to a blissed out boyfriend. When he saw you he stretched his split lip, "Honey." Came out in slurs.

You walked up and he bunched his fist in your shirt while you cradled his face. He didn't flinch when your fingers grazed over his swollen eyes. The tears were only noticed when Scott started to whine, "Why? What's wrong?"

You didn't mean to say it but it slipped out, he scared the shit out of you. "I hate you." It was a sigh out of your mouth, deflated and defeated.

"What? No, don't hate me, I love you." That's what he was worried about, not the fact he almost died. "I want to go home. We still have that cake-pie-thing, right?"

You didn't. "Yeah baby, let's go home."

[Miles] Going to get his teeth pulled wasn't the worst thing in the world. They gave him relaxers to help him with the fear and now he felt like he wasn't on this world. During it you had to tell him not to talk so much while they were drilling into his face. And now he was out of words and just stared at you. "Something on my face?"

"Perfection." Damn. That was quick too. "You got a man?"

Oh, you were going to have some fun. "And if I do?"

"I'd say something that made you think I'm better. Something very clever and smooth."

"Well, I think you already perfect for me." You leaned over and kissed him. He was so drugged out his reaction was delayed.

"Hell yeah."

[Stephen] He was no stranger to alcohol but he had a bit too much, or more accurately more than you and Wong. The cape was all but carrying him to where he was trying to go. "Stop moving, your gonna hurt yourself."

"You should come stop me." The cape was not amused. It grabbed him and flew him over to you, basically dumping him on you. And he just smiled, "Hi."

As much as he was further gone than you you were still wobbly. "Hi." Then you fell asleep holding each other in the hallway.

[Bruce] Science was truly beautiful. [epic poem about science] And to you a few key chemicals bonded in the right way was able to let your boyfriend fully relax. "Feeling okay?"

He sighed heavy in his own body. "What's a word that means better than perfect?"

"None comes to mind." You were perfectly sober to make sure he was okay and enjoying himself. "Perfect is the top. Maybe absolute or immaculate."

"I feel absolutely immaculate."

[Eddie] You would never be able to tell if he was drinking or not. He didn't carry himself different and was just as observant and articulate. You only truly knew when he told you. "Hey babe, can we have potatoes?"

You quirked your eyebrow. "Why?"

"I need to come down before I get a migraine."

You nodded, "Yeah, okay."

[Steve] Due to his insane metabolism regular painkillers didn't work on him so they needed horse tranquilizers, but that fucked him up because they were made for a god damn horse. "Fuck." He drew out the word like he never wanted it to end.

"Potty mouth." You tease.

He was not amused. "God, just kiss me."

"Well, I don't think he can so I'll take his place."

[TASM] "I don't think we should get a pet. Too loud, I'd lose my mind have something that loud so close." Peter was very outspoken when he hard a few. And by a few that meant a lot. So he was shamelessly straddling you on the couch. "And all that hair would kill me."

Every time you would take his conversation seriously. You found out a long time ago he didn't like when you undermined him when he was like this. "I don't want any animals either."

"See? We're perfect for each other." He rested his head on your shoulder and played with your collar. "We should stay together for like, ever."

"I can arrange that."

[Trilogy] He is stoned out of his mind. You offered to shared a blunt on your couch and apparently he had never tried weed before, and with heightened senses it really got to him. "Peter? You doing good?"

His voice was meeker than usual, "I think so." You peeled him from the floor and plop him against you. "I feel… I feel."

You stroked his back. "Good or bad?"

He hummed, "Good."

[MCU] To get hit by a bus and come away with only bruises was insane. And said person needed painkillers while he was recovering. "Why do I have this on?" A lot of painkillers.

"Because you need it." You said pulling his hands away from his bandages. "And I need you to keep them on okay?"

He looked outside and started to get up. "I need to go on patrol."

You gently pulled him down, safe back into his bed. "Stark has it, don't worry." He melted at your touch and you guided his head onto the pillow. "Can you sleep for me?" The answer you got was his eyes falling closed.

[Marc and Steven] Marc's job was not easy. Being a merc is dangerous and almost always ends the same. Marc was used to doing it though, he had the suit. Steven was not very good at fighting. He got mugged when Marc was asleep and they woke up in the hospital. And they almost fought their way out if you weren't there to calm them.

You took them home but had some rules. "Don't. Summon. The suit." The reasoning was Khonshu would hold it over them as a service they needed to pay back. There was no question he knew what was happening and he was there but that wasn't enough for him to ask anything.

"Christ, [Name], it hurts so much." Steven moaned as he tumbled out of bed towards the kitchen. You panicked for a second before getting to work. You grabbed the pills and made him drink it down with water. The medicine seemed to start working because his eyes fell out of focus. "Marc. Marc, I'm scared. Where are you?" Quiet whining.

"Steven, listen to me. Your being so brave. But I need you to sleep now. Can you find Marc?"

Like that he was gone. "Fuck, that hurts like a bitch." You sighed in relief. He was still in pain, you knew that, but Marc was better equipped to handle this. "I'll try to keep us asleep."

You helped him back to bed. "Thank you." He scoffed and pulled you into a kiss.

[Natasha] She wasn't one to get drunk, she liked to drink but no one ever saw her at a point of complete helplessness. So whenever she was in a tizzy after a particularly hard mission she went to you to get drunk because you wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. "You need new kitchen knives."

She was currently laying on the counter, her foot at a strange angle to rest in the cabinet. "I know. I haven't found the time to go out to get some."

"Tony could probably get you some nice ones."

You nodded and sipped your coffee. "Yeah."

[Thor] What else was he supposed to do after returning home after a hard fought battle other than have a feast? You submitted yourself to sobriety to inevitably handle a drunk version of him. "My love, are you not enjoying yourself?"

"I am. But I've had enough ale."

"Then I shall have enough for the both of us." The feast was loud, proud, and unapologetic. And after he fell asleep in your arms while murmuring he missed you. A giant soft bear.

#marvel #marvel imagine #tony stark #peter parker #peter b. parker #mcu peter parker #tasm!peter parker #trilogy peter #miles morales #stephen strange #bruce banner #eddie brock #steve rogers #marc spector #steven grant #natasha romanoff #thor #marvel x reader

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insomnihan · 2 years

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han's SECOND DREAMCATCHER CONCERT EXPERIENCE

BICYJ-

FIRST OFF OUTFITS THERE ARE SKIRTS AND SHORTS NO PANTS THIS TIME

STARTED WITH MAISON OH S HIT THAT HIT DIFFERENT

PLS THE WAY I WANTED TO BE A HANDONG FANSITE FOR A DAY AND I WAS F UXKING SHAKING AS SOON AS THEY WALKED OUT

HANDONG IS SO F UCKING BEAUTIFUL YALL REALLY WERENT F UCKING LYING THAT SHE WAS MORE BEAUTIFUL IRL I FEEL LIKE I WAS BLESSED BY GOD

THAT IS A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN

I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT HER™ MY EYES WERE ON HER THE ENTIRE NIGHT GODDAMNIT

THEYRE ALL SO F UCKING F I N E™!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i got some solo videos of handong but theyre absurdly shaky <3 theyre beautiful <3

sua singing a little bit of copycat how about i ASCEND- (she wanted us to sing it too but we just yelled <3)

them continuously calling us angels :cccccccccc

yes to them talking about in n out (and handong saying she wants a pinks hot dog)

we kept woofing after every performance............. EVERY. PERFORMANCE.

LOCKED INSIDE A DOOR IS T H A T B I C T H LIVE

STARLIGHT IS R E A L L Y THAT B I C T H LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NO DOT EVERY MEMBER HAD A CHANCE TO DANCE TO IT YOOHYEON THREW MAJOR A S S™ TO IT I ALMOST PASSED AWAY WHY DID SHE THROW IT SO DAMN HARD-

HANDONG GETTING ON THE GROUND ON ONE SIDE AND DAMI JUST BEING A BAD BICTJ ON THE OTHER OHH ITS BAD FOR THE DADONGISTS

ALSO WHY DID SUA GRAB JIU LIKE THAT DURING THEIR TURN BICTH I WILL D*E!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE WAY SUA JUST GRABBED A CHAIR AND DANCED TO NO DOT ON IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

yes i recorded handong doing winter <3<3<3

sua shushed us a few times (sorry queen were so f ucking stupid for you <3)

in the frozen and silent nighT YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS

TENSION ENG VERSION (we practiced the line we all needed to scream and it sounded like a MESS™ the first time)

jiu was given a small sign thing of heR HEAD ON THE BODY OF THE TINY HEADED KINGDOM BEA R-

and then yoohyeon got a shirt with pies face printed all over it

yoohyeon and sua breakdancing at one point????????????

BLACK OR WHITE BELOVED 😍😍😍

B R E A K T H E W A L L!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THEY PERFORMED S C R E A M BICTH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PIRI ODD EYE BOCA DEJA VU PERIOD PERIOD PERIOD PERIOD👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

A I R P L A N E

wake up and MAYDAY ENCORE BICTJ??????????

and ofc new days my beloved <3<3<3

I NEED TO GO BACK IMMEDIATELY TAKE ME B A KC

thank you again to @f-scott-inebriate for the tickets i am eternally grateful <3<3<3

#im certain there are more songs but i can barely think rn #im sure this isnt even in the right order they happened!!!#BUT #I MISSED THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#DAMN IT I EVEN MISS THEM ALREADY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#han.txt #han's milestones

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f-scott-inebriate · 5 years

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Changed my username

rip the f-scott-inebriate era

I’m a Rosé fan first and a person second

#username #url #f-scott-inebriate #me

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shibanunu · 7 years

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f-scott-inebriate replied to your post: I need to watch smth gay asap or I’ll d*e

Listen I know it’s popular so you’ve probably seen it but what about Imagine Me and You

ldjghlakdjfghladfkjg YES I HAVE LDSKFJSLGD THANK YOU SO MUCH

#f-scott-inebriate #you were so fast omg you're a princess thank you for sending this

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tagsecretsanta · 2 years

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From @the-original-sineater

By and from @the-original-sineater for @tsarinatorment

- - -

The Amsterdam Affair

Parker despised Amsterdam with a passion. Anyone who thought it was a “lovely city” had never been past the highly traveled, overly photographed tourist area. That being said, it was also a perfect city to hide in. If you kept your head down, your mouth shut, and paid in cash, they ignored you. Parker was very good at being ignored. With the help from some ‘alleged contacts’, he’d gotten a tiny studio flat on the second floor above a grocery store on the edge of the Bijlmermeer, as a base of operations.

It was supposed to be simple. “Simple” was on the list of words that Parker never used. Along with “easy,” “quick,” and “quiet,” all words that tempted the fates to prove just how wrong you were.

Still, it was supposed to have been simple. Mister Scott had a series of meetings. Two days, in and out, with his own TI security team.

That had been six days ago.

They had butchered the security team. That was the only word Parker had for it. It had been an ambush in a parking garage. Another place Parker despised, and for that exact reason. Too damn easy to build a kill box and trap someone. He’d been that someone several times, and had only gotten out by being cannier than his opponents.

M’lady had pressed her lips together when she’d seen the video that Mister John had ripped out the Amsterdam police computers. Miss Kayo had been slightly more vocal in her displeasure. But with a shattered arm and shoulder, she was stuck on the island. Though Parker agreed that if she’d been with Mister Scott, this wouldn’t have happened.

M’lady had shredded the upper echelons of the Dutch government like so much tissue paper. She’d been the visible part of the search. He’d been the one to visit old haunts and older chums to see if anyone knew anything.

He’d come up croppers.

That was two days ago. Before a bit of Tracy luck shined itself up.

He was visiting with his old china Dries when he’d cut through an alley on his way back. He tried never to take the same route back twice. It kept his shoulder blades from itching. What he hadn’t expected to find in the alley was Mister Scott.

How he’d escaped from whoever had kidnapped him was a question for another day. But it was Mister Scott, the man was stubbornness personified, but stubborn will only get you so far. Between some very nasty knife work, blood loss, a lack of food, and a serious delirium from a fever caused by some of the wounds becoming infected, he’d been as weak as a day-old kitten.

If things had been a tiny bit different, or they weren’t in the nightmare that was Amsterdam, he would have gotten Mister Scott to a proper hospital. But for every bit of good luck, there was a pile of bad. Amsterdam and the whole of the Netherlands were at the start of the five-day festival that was the Queen’s and King’s days. Nearly a million more Dutch than usual were in the city, and they were there to party. And the bastards would be watching the hospitals.

Hospitals that were already full of accidents, drunks, and OD’s. Just getting through the streets was an Olympic-level event. Parker could do it without even thinking about it. But only by himself. Trying to get Mister Scott out- just would not happen. He was too weak and too hurt to even try. Mister Virgil’s suggestion of flying One or Two in for a pickup was soundly overruled. The inebriated partiers would only try to get closer to the famous craft and put themselves in danger while doing so.

He really didn’t like being separated from M’lady, but sometimes, needs must. She couldn’t get to them - not that he wanted her anywhere near this part of the city - she’d just draw attention to them. Which might expose them to whoever had gone after Mister Scott, and after seeing what happened to the security team, that idea had been just as quickly knocked down. Getting out and coming back with a vehicle was just as undoable. There was no way that he’d leave Mister Scott alone for any longer than it took to go to the chemist’s and back. Since Parker had found him not that far away, it meant that they had held him somewhere close. Which also meant the kidnappers would look for him in this area.

So they were on their own until the end of the festival, at least physically. His comm was always on, and the spare was near Scott. The family was listening out around the clock. So much so that he’d taken to narrating his day, just to help keep them sane. Mrs. T had been a right godsend. He’d fixed up mates - and himself - in worse conditions with less, but she’d been in his ear to talk him through patching up Scott. They’d had nearly everything he’d needed. He just had to keep Mister Scott from doing himself a damage, and keep him safe until they could get picked up.

Right now, keeping Mister Scott from trying to damage him, was the issue.

“Bas’ard.” The swing was weak with an engraved invitation for next week, “Naut gonna let you.”

Parker dodged it with ease.“Mister Scott, right, please! It's me. Parker. Yor safe nowr.”

“Fuck you.” This swing was a little more coordinated.

Parker narrowed his eyes. Bleedin’ perisher was trying to work his way over to the door. Which was locked, and the key was in his pocket. He wasn’t stupid. “Mister Scott, h’I promise, yor safe. Yor gran will 'ave me head, if yer undo 'er 'ard work.”

“Fuck you!” Scott launched himself toward the door.

Parker dropped down and caught the delirious man with a shoulder into the diaphragm. He shoved upwards and Scott folded over his shoulder with a woosh of air. With that went the energy to keep fighting. Parker carried him back over to the Murphy bed and laid him down with gentle care. It wasn’t his fault he was literally out of his head. The fever and the infections had done that. It was safe enough, with Scott trying to get his wind back, to leave him alone long enough for Parker to try and find his earpiece and to see if the small scuffle had wrecked the takeaway he’d gotten.

The koninginnesoep (Queen’s Soup) was pretty much Amsterdam’s version of chicken soup and had survived just fine. The earpiece was proving a bit more elusive. He’d yanked it out when everyone had been yelling to find out what was going on. Not that there was a lot to search. A table of questionable stability, with a pair of equally questionable chairs. A chest of drawers that was possibly older than Parker was, and the Murphy bed. He hoped it hadn’t tumbled under that. Ah, there it was, up against the toe kick of the built-in efficiency kitchen.

Goddamn it, Parker! If you’ve gotten yourself kidnapped or killed, I’m saving your ass so Penny can kick it!

“Mister John, hI don’t see where there’s a call for that sort of talk.”

Oh, Parker, thank God. What happened? We thought you’d been found.

“Not found. Just Mister Scott tryin' to escape 'is kidnappers. h’gain.”

There was laughter on the line. That’s Scott. He's going to escape. Doesn't matter he's already escaped, he's going to try to escape.

Has he reopened any of those wounds Parker?

“h’I don't fink so Mrs. T. Give us a moment, and hI'll check.”

Parker approached the bed. Narrowed, cloudy blue eyes watched him with something resembling hate. Parker would be damn glad when the delirium went away. Mister Scott was a handful when in his right mind. But now? It was like trying to herd cats. “Yor gonna behave, Mister Scott? h’I need ter check yer bandages.”

“Go. To. Hell.” Parker let the sigh out. “That’s most likely where hI'll end up, Mister Scott, but not today.”

There were sounds of disagreement over the comm. Which he ignored. He knew his past, if there was a Hell, he was going there. Scott neither helped nor hindered him from opening the shirt up to see if there was any seepage on the white gauze that covered most of Scott’s chest.

“M’ fam’ly will find me.” The blue eyes burned with more than just fever. “M’ bro’her will ruin you. M’ sis’er will destroy you. ” There was a small hiss of pain as Parker eased Scott onto his side so he could check the back. “M’ bro’hers will bury you.”

Parker, you know he doesn’t mean any of that. “Yer’re wrong Mister John. He means ev’ry word of it. He's just sayin' them to the bleedin' bastards that did this to him, not to me.” He stepped back, “It doesn’t look like anyfink reopened, Mrs. T.”

That’s good, Parker. Have you had any luck getting him to eat or drink?

“Not since 'e tried ter bite me fingers off. hI'll use the glucose tablets, later.” Not that Parker enjoyed doing that. Slipping something to Mister Scott’s mouth while he was unconscious felt like a horrible betrayal. But he had to get some kind of food into the man. He’d already lost weight, and the fever, plus healing, was taking even more. But since Mister Scott wouldn’t eat, and an IV was just not going to happen, because 1. They didn’t have access to one, and 2. If they did, Scott would try to kill Parker with it.

He left Mister Scott glaring at him while he put the room back to rights. He was tired and he wanted his dinner. There was also a minor hope that the smell of the food would convince Mister Scott to at least try some. The aroma of chicken, cream, and veggies mixed with the scent of fresh bread filled the room, along with a proper cuppa - which was about the only thing he liked about Amsterdam, they knew how to make a decent cup of tea - Parker settled down to his dinner.

Between the healing, his body was trying to do, and the energy wasted on the not-fight, Scott soon fell asleep or passed out. Parked finished his soup and lingered over his tea. In the last 48 hours, he’d become very adept at telling when Scott was faking sleep. Once he was sure that true sleep had been achieved, he got the antibiotics from the fridge and prepped the injection. Again this felt like a betrayal, but it was the only way to get the medication into him. “hIntermuscular or should hI try for a vein this time, Mrs. T?”

Intermuscular would be best, Parker. Less chance he’ll wake up while you’re looking for a vein.

“Right yer are. hI'll give 'im anuvver tablet as well.”

Don’t forget to crush it up, so he doesn’t choke.

Parker rolled his eyes and kept his comment to himself. She was worried, not that he blamed her in the slightest, but he was pretty sure he knew where the smother gene had come from in the Tracy family. The shirt was once again pulled aside and the shot was given to one of the few places without a wound that Parker could get to. The crushed glucose tablet was carefully placed under the tongue. Saliva would melt the sugar and his body would absorb it from there.

He pulled the blankets back over the sleeping man. With luck, heat, and the medicine, the damnable fever would break and Mister Scott would be back in his right mind. Which would be wonderful. Though Parker knew from his own experiences, a shave and a wash would be damn high on the priority list. He really hadn’t expected Mister Scott to be so scruffy. He must shave twice a day to keep the clean look going. He puttered around the small apartment, made the occasional comment of, “He’s still sleepin,” to keep the family calm. Then he settled in to read about the painters of the Dutch golden age; he'd always had a soft spot for Vermeer.

Scott actually stayed asleep for the next two injections. A fact that thrilled both Mrs. T, and Parker. Maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten enough rest and support from the medications to break the damn fever.

Parker did his evening ablutions and made up his pallet on the floor in front of the door. With only one bed, it was the best place. The Tracys had thrown such a wobbler when they twigged on to the fact he was sleeping on the floor. Parker didn’t care about “right” or “proper,” he cared about keeping Mister Scott safe. Besides, compared to some of the places he’d slept, this was downright luxurious. He was warm, dry, had blankets, and rats weren’t running races on him. Hard to beat that.

After seeing what happened to the security team, Parker had brought a gun with him. No one, not even M’lady, knew he’d done that. If the bastards did find them, they’d pay dearly for trying to take Mister Scott again. He turned off the lights, settled down with his back against the door, wrapped a hand around the pistol’s grip, and went to sleep.

Dawn found Parker already up and moving. He’d given Scott another shot, and more crushed-up sugar. He’d also gone down to the grocery for another loaf of the spice bread that seemed to be the default breakfast here. He added it to the “good things about Amsterdam'' list. Which now consisted of: proper tea, Queen’s soup, and whatever the bread was. The local butter wasn’t half bad, either. He still despised the city on the whole, but not all of it was horrible. He ate two slices of the bread with his strong tea. Then he went to check on Scott again.

“ ‘ker?” Clear blue eyes blinked up at him.

The worry slid off his shoulders like an oversized coat. “Good mornin' Mister Scott. How are yer feelin'?”

“Ugh.”

Parker laughed at that, and at the yelp that came through his earpiece. It sounded like young Alan.

“That sounds about right. Yer want to try sittin' up?”

“Water?”

“Yer need to sit up first. Don’t want yer to choke.” Parker got him sitting up and resting on pillows mounded against the wall. Water was fetched, and several swallows were taken. “Easy does it, Mister Scott. Yer don’t want to overlord yor body,” he said as he pulled the bottle away. He couldn’t help but grin at the face that statement got. The grin turned into a full smile, as his ear filled up with Tracys. “There are some blokes right eager ter talk wiv yer, if yer feel up to it?” Scott nodded. Parker tapped his own earpiece, “Right yer lot. Take it slow and easy. He’s barely o’rake.” He then fitted the spare over Mister Scott’s ear and moved away to at least give the illusion of privacy. He had his own call to make.

“M’lady?”

Oh, Parker. Please tell me you have good news?

“hI do, M’lady. Mister Scott is o’rake, in 'is right mind, and goin' on the uvvers now.”

Oh, thank goodness.

“Just so, m’lady.”

I will see what I can do about getting dow…

“Absolutely not, M'lady. It's far too dangerous. We can stay…”

You will do no such thing, Parker! If it’s too dangerous for me to come down…

The earpiece suddenly filled with static, and Parker pulled it off. “What the bloomin' bloody 'ell?” The noise cut off, and Parker looped it back over his ear. “M’lady?” Parker, what’s wrong with Scott?

He hadn’t been expecting Mister John, or that question. He whirled around, Scott was nearly the same shade as the bandages on his chest and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. “Ah, bloody 'ellfire. ‘e's damn tired, is woss wrong. I said to go easy on 'im!” He crossed the small distance, “Easy there, Mister Scott.” He started to pull the earpiece off.

Scott tried to push his hand away. “I’m fine, Parker.”

“Yor not fine. But a right, strong cup of tea will 'elp.” He tugged his hand free with little effort and got the earpiece off. “Once we get yer on the outside of that, we'll spot a cup of soup, and maybe some bread.” He looked the trembling man over, “Maybe some pain medication if yer keep the tea dahn. Sound good?”

Scott nodded.

Parker, is he alright?

“No, he's not, Mister John. But we'll get 'im there. It will just take a mit. Yer leave 'im to me for a bit.”

There was a long moment of silence, Thank you, Parker.

The tea was kept down. Parker was just handing over the painkillers when Scott grabbed his hand. “My team?”

Aw, hellfire. Not the thing he wanted to tell, but…“The bastards were quite frough, hI’m bloody well sorry to say.” There was a soft trembling breath, then Scott squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back on the pillows. Parker wanted to leave him alone, to mourn, but Scott had a tight hold of Parker’s hand. So Parker just sat on the side of the bed and ignored the bits of moisture that appeared on Scott’s cheeks.

Once things were a little calmer, they went off comms for an hour while Parker got Scott cleaned up. It might have been a studio flat, but it had its own bathroom. Which had been damn helpful during the two days of delirium. He really wouldn’t have wanted to try and get Mister Scott to a shared bathroom and back when he hadn’t been lucid enough to deal with that. At the very least, he would have tried to do a runner. At the worst, they could have been found by the bastards. They didn’t quite rate the capital letter, yet, but it was coming close. He hadn’t paid a lot of attention to things just after he’d gotten Scott back to the flat, and he’d been too busy cleaning wounds to get a good overview of the damage. But helping Scott get to the bathroom, strip down, remove the bandages because the blood still on his skin “itched,” and give the man a wash, brought home just how… inventive the bastards had been.

“So, wot did they want?”

There was a sigh, then a hiss as Parker touched an especially tender spot. “Thunderbird One. Failing that, Thunderbird tech.”

Parker kept his swearing behind his teeth. It wouldn’t do a damn bit of good and would only upset Scott. So he checked the wounds, rebandaged them - with more ease and in better form than before - then eyed Scott’s face. “I can do sumfink about that scruff if yer want, eh? Or yer can just keep it and annoy young Gordon.”

The huffed-out laugh turned into a groan as things objected to the movement. “I think I’ve had enough of sharp things for a while, Parker. If you don’t mind.”

Parker swore again but at himself this time. He should have thought of that. “So annoyin' young Gordon it is, then.” That got another laugh-groan. Which Parker considered a win. There were more grumbles while he dealt with the mess that was Mister Scott’s hair. Which turned out to be, well, wavy. He now understood the amount of gel that he had just washed out. Parker’s own spare set of pajamas covered bandages and bruised skin. Then he guided his charge back to bed.

Which was eyed with extreme disfavor. “I’m fine. I can sit in a chair.”

“If yer’re not so bad, yer can walk over to the chair at the table wivout me 'elp.” Just as Parker expected, three steps were taken toward the chair before Scott’s knees gave out. Parker was there before he could fold more than an inch. “Not eatin', blood loss, a just broken fever, do not mean ‘not so bad.’” Scott got into the bed with ill grace. Parker just wanted to shake his head. Tracys were a stubborn lot, but Mister Scott took the prize.

“Yer just rest 'ere. I’m gonna get some more supplies. We just need to last out today and the two after. Right. Then it’s to hospital wiv yer.”

“In three days, I’ll be in good enough shape to go home.” His eyebrows drew in. “Wait a minute, why do we have to wait three days?”

Parker blew out a breath, “Because wen the Dutch frow a knees-up, they frow a knees-up, and it lasts for a week. We can't get out, and they can't come and get us." He shrugged, “So, we wait." He activated the spare earpiece and slipped it on Scott’s ear before he could stop him.“ ‘e’s all yors.”

Parker slipped out while Mister Scott was reassuring the family that he was “fine.” Parker just shook his head. Someone needed to teach that man what “fine’ actually meant. He made sure to lock the door behind him as he left. Mister Scott couldn’t walk across the room, but he wouldn’t put it past the man to try.

Gunner Rassk was an old china of Dries, who’d vouched for Parker with him. Which was good enough for Gunner. “English, you need to stay in.”

Parker jerked around. “Wot?”

The older man ran a hand over a shiny pate. “You need to stay in. De zonen van Oranje are looking for buitenlanders.” His face drew in. “Outsiders. They are looking for outsiders.” He pointed at Parker with his chin. “Like you.”

“Bloody ‘ell.” He knew their luck had been too good to hold. “Thank yer, mate.” He ran down what they had up in the flat in his head, then bought everything he thought they would need from Gunner and vanished back upstairs.

The rest of the day was spent slowly feeding Scott, and Parker reading about Berckheyde, de Hooch, van Loo, and Hals. Sometimes out loud just to keep Scott entertained. The author knew her stuff and had a witty way of writing that was quite enjoyable. Which had also led to Mister Virgil coming on the line to talk art. Which nearly put Parker to sleep. He liked to look at paintings, and, once upon a decade, steal them. But tonal qualities and the play of light? Not his cuppa.

He waited until Tracy Island had signed off to tell his bad news. No need to worry the family any more than they already were. He’d brought M’lady up to speed during one of Scott’s naps.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

"Do yer want the uvvers to fret even more?"

Scott leaned into the pillows and sighed. “No. But I don’t want to lie to them, either.”

"M'lady says it's selective truff. Yer tell blokes what they want ter hear, not wot they want ter know."

Blue eyes pinned him. “So, what’s the plan?” “Well, with luck, we stay 'ere unnoticed until after the festival, and then we meet up with M’lady. Without luck, we fight, and don’t let the bloody bastards win.”

“Are you telling me what you think I want to hear?”

Parker snorted. “h’l ravver not be telling yer at all, but yer needed to know.” He went over to where he had hidden the gun, got it out, and took it over to Scott.

“Parker, what the Hell?!”

“This is in case them bastards find us.”

“Parker, that’s a gun.”

“h’I know wot it is Mister Scott. M’lady doesn’t know h’I 'ave it.” He held it out. “This is just in case they show up.”

“Parker, I can’t even walk across the damn room.”

“Yer don’t 'ave to walk, just shoot.” He took Scott’s hand and pressed the gun into it. “This is Amsterdam. Guns are so restricted that even one-shot will 'ave the bobbies 'ere in minutes. Even wiv the bleedin' festival on. Yer'll just need ter delay them long enough for the bobbies ter show up.”

“I don’t like this.” But even as he said the words, his hands, slow and a bit unsteady, were checking the pistol and feeling the heft.

“h’I don’t like it eever, but no geezer asked me wot h’I like.” He went to get another injection and some more tea. “But we just 'ave to make do.”

Once dinner was eaten - a slice of bread and half a cup of soup for Scott, much to his dismay - Parker checked the perimeter, such as it was. The door and window locked, and the curtains pinned closed so it was impossible to peer inside. Parker refused to play poker and Scott wasn’t coordinated enough for Jack or Slap, so that left Cribbage or Gin Rummy. Scott had a low opinion of Cribbage, so Gin Rummy it was.

“Are you sure you aren’t cheating?”

Parker looked up from writing down his points from his latest run. “hI'd only be cheatin' if we were messing for brass and h’I didn't like yer.”

Scott tossed his cards down. “It’s like playing against John.” He leaned back on the pillows. “I’d love to see the two of you play each other.”

“Feh, yer want ter see M'lady and Mister John play. They go for blood.”

“Only if I,” a massive yawn interrupted, “can bring the popcorn.”

“h’I fink that's enough for tonight. Yer need ter rest."

That earned him a look. “I can take the first watch.”

“h’I 'aven't 'ad a wotch yet. We boff need sleep. They'll eever find us or they won't. We can't worry about it.” Parker got up, picked up the cards, and proceeded to put the flat back to rights.

“Parker, we have to be on our guard.”

“We can only guard if we know they’re comin', init? Wich we don't, Mister Scott. Besides, if we start actin' different, some bloke might get suspicious and come sniffin' 'round.”

Parker took the silence to mean that Mister Scott wasn’t happy, but couldn’t think of a way to argue. Once the last ablutions of the evening were taken care of, and Scott back in bed, Parker made his pallet up again. “Parker, what the Hell?!”

He sighed, another Tracy wobbler. “Makin' me bed. There's only the one, and yer 'ave that. This is also the best way ter know if some bloke is tryin' ter get in.”

“God, it’s annoying when you’re right all the damn time.”

Parker had to laugh at that. “It comes from bein' 'round M'lady all the time.” He turned off the light, “Good night, Mister Scott.”

The sound of breaking glass woke Parker up. He rolled away and shoved his blankets against the door. Dammit, he knew their luck couldn’t hold. He activated his comm as he back toward the bed. “'ooever is listenin'. hI fink we’ve been found.” Bastards must be desperate to find their quarry if they were breaking and entering to look for him. There were shouts and sounds from the floors below theirs. Maybe, if there was still a bit of Tracy luck to be had, the bobbies would show before they found them.

There wasn’t any Tracy luck to be had.

Parker had considered for a brief moment hiding Scott in the bathroom, but that would limit the use of the gun. And he was damn worried they were going to need that gun.

There was no finesse with the bastards. They were using a door ram to knock doors open.

As soon as the door crashed open, he threw one of the chairs, and the first villain went down, blocking the door and slowing the others down. Which bought Parker precious seconds to get between the door, and the man trapped in the bed.

The other four shoved past their fallen friend. This was the sort of fighting Parker knew best: survivor wins.

Elbows slammed into throats. Skin burned as a fist skimmed across a cheek. A kick to a knee summoned a shout of pain and a wet, popping sound. He rode out blows to the ribs. Cupped his hands to slap over ears. He had to stay between the men and Mister Scott. The other man was in no kind of shape to defend himself. Parker refused to consider them getting their hands on him, again.

That small thought was enough to distract him, just enough for him to end up on the floor. The man loomed over Parker, a knife coming down. Parker tried to scramble out of the way.

Crack!

Parker watched as a red poppy bloomed bright against the grey sweater. The man blinked once, then toppled toward him. Parker rolled out of the way as the man crashed onto the floor. Parker risked a glance back. Mister Scott was on the far side of the bed, arms braced on his knees, and the gun in both hands. Parker rolled to his feet. Three bodies lay on the ground, and he was sure there had been five of the bastards. His side screamed at him and he dropped back down.

“Parker!”

There was another crack, followed by a scream, then the sound of another body hitting the floor. Parker always forgot how good a shot Mister Scott was. He tried to get up again, but his side felt like it was on fire.

There were the soft sounds of a stumbling shuffle. Hellfire, he just shouldn’t be lying here! He needed to get up and do his damn job.

“I don’t know, John!”

He tried to stand, but this time the pain was sharp enough to make the world fuzz out. A new and different pain snapped the world back into focus.

“--can’t do that! I don’t even know where anything is.”

Mister Scott, and he sounded worried. Hell, he sounded scared. Something bad was going on. He forced his hand to move (why was it so hard to move?) and latch onto the arm closest to him. “M-mister Scott?”

“Gah! Damnit Parker, don’t scare me like that.”

The question of “like what?” died in Parker’s mouth as his brain finally caught up with his eyes. “Yer bleedin.” The younger man had slashes of blood across his chest and there was a smear on a cheek, above the beard.

The blue gaze dropped down. “It’s not my blood, Parker. It’s yours.” He did something to Parker’s side that made Parker hiss in reaction. Bloody Hell, that hurt.

He tried to speak but a third kind of pain flared up as Scott removed his hands up from Parker’s side. There was a long blink, and Scott was sitting next to him, eyes trained on the doorway, with both hands cupping the pistol that was pointing the same way as his eyes. There was another long blink. “ --it Lady P! I could have shot you!”

Oh, good, M’lady was here. She’d take care of Mister Scott. Because a bit of kip seemed like a good idea right now. He was so very tired.

“Parker!” M’lady appeared next to him and was holding his hand. That was nice. He smiled at her. Or at least he hoped he did. The muscles of his face didn’t want to work. “M’lady.”

“Oh, Parker. Just stay still. Help is almost here.”

That was good. Mister Scott needed a proper hospital. But staying still sounded good, too. He’d feel better after some kip. Parker let his eyes close.

-o-o-o-o-

Parker woke up to a soft beeping and something tickling his nose. He went to wipe at whatever was ticking him, but a strong hand caught his and held it. He panicked a bit and the beeping sped up. “Easy does it, Parker. You’re safe now. It’s all going to be alright. You’re safe now.” He’d know that soft, calm voice anywhere.“Mis-ter J-john?”

Something pale and red came into view. “Are you with us this time, Parker?”

“Maybe?” He went to push himself higher on the bed. But his side let him know in no uncertain terms it was not happy with him, and a pair of hands gently pressed him back into the bed. He gave it up as a bad idea. “Erg.”

There was a small chuckle. “That’s a good summation. Try to stay awake, I need to let the others know.”

Parker closed his eyes and took stock of things. His side felt like he’d been kicked by a horse. There were a lot of minor pains, but those felt distant. Which meant he was on some very strong medication. Between that, the coarse weave of the bedding under his fingers, the beeping, and the weight on his face - which he guessed was a nasal cannula for oxygen - all summed up to “hospital.” But how did he get here? The last thing he remembered…

“Bloody ‘ell! Mister Scott!” He snapped his eyes open and grabbed the rails of the bed to pull himself upright. Pain be damned!

The pale and red blur came back into range and pushed him back down onto the bed. “Parker, stop! Scott’s safe. I promise, Scott’s safe. You’ve been the one to make us worry.”

Parker blinked furiously to bring his eyes into focus. “Wot 'appened?”

“During the fight, you were stabbed. It was deep enough to damage your liver and one of your kidneys. It’s been two days since you got out of surgery. Three since the fight.”

Well, if that wasn’t one for the books. “Where are we, right, and where is Mister Scott?”

“Academic Medical Center. Scott is on another floor.” The pale had started to turn into a face. “You had the good luck to get stabbed not too far from one of the best hospitals in Amsterdam.”

“Feh.” There was nothing about Amsterdam that was lucky. He revised his opinion of the city even lower.

The door to the room was shoved open. “Parker!”

He only had a glimpse of blonde hair and blue eyes before he was engulfed in a hug that smelled of Assam and tuberose. “M’lady.” She held him for a moment longer, then pulled away. His heart sank, her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair was ruthlessly scraped back, and there wasn’t a smidge of makeup to be seen. “ hI’m sorry M’lady. hI didn’t mean ter worry yer so.”

“Oh, Parker.” The smile was slightly watery. “Only you would wake up and apologize for getting hurt.”

Parker wasn’t sure what to say to that. But a sudden influx of people saved him from trying. First and foremost was Scott, being pushed in a wheelchair by Alan. Scott was still bandaged to a fair-thee-well, with an IV attached to the chair. But seeing him let the last bit of tension slip away, and Parker let himself sink into the bed. “Mister Scott, yer’re still in yor scruff.”

There was a laugh at that. “I was waiting for you.” Scott was pushed to the foot of the bed. “It’s good to see you awake, Paker.”

“Waiting for Parker? Why?” M’lady had a tight grip on his hand. Which told him just how badly he’d scared her.

“He promised to help me with it.”

“It might be orhile Mister Scott.” He looked around, “'I don’t fink we’ll 'ave as easy as a time copping out of 'ere as we did at the flat.”

The room filled with laughter.

Parker shifted a bit on the bed, and let the sound wash over him. Everyone was safe, maybe not sound, but safe. Though, Parker wasn’t too sure about the safe. He’d be a lot happier when everyone was home. God, he despised Amsterdam.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Aloysius Parker #Scott Tracy #the-original-sineater

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papermoonloveslucy · 4 years

Text

THE DARK CORNER

November 10, 1947

Synopsis ~ A former San Francisco private eye, just in back New York after two years in prison (the victim of a frame-up), finds himself a target for another send-up and murder.

Directed by Fred MacKaye with musical direction by Louis Silvers and sound effects by Charlie Forsyth

Adapted for radio by Sanford Barnett from the screenplay by Jay Dratler and Bernard Schoenfeld based on the book by Leo Rosten.

It was based on the 20th Century Fox motion picture of the same name released on May 8, 1946.

In later years, Lucille Ball was vocal about hating the experience of shooting The Dark Corner. Director Henry Hathaway's bullying reduced Ball to stuttering on set, at which point Hathaway accused her of being inebriated. At the time, Lucille Ball was suing to get out of her contract with MGM. As a result, MGM loaned her to Fox for this picture, which included a significant pay cut.

Lux Radio Theatre (1935-55) was a radio anthology series that adapted Broadway plays during its first two seasons before it began adapting films (”Lux Presents Hollywood”). These hour-long radio programs were performed live before studio audiences in Los Angeles. The series became the most popular dramatic anthology series on radio, broadcast for more than 20 years and continued on television as the Lux Video Theatre through most of the 1950s. The primary sponsor of the show was Unilever through its Lux Soap brand.

CAST

Lucille Ball (Kathleen Stewart) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. “My Favorite Husband” eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Mark Stevens (Bradford Galt) reprises his role from the film version of The Dark Corner (1946). He became a contract player for Warners at $100 a week in 1943 but they darkened and straightened his curly ginger-colored hair and covered his freckles. At first he was billed as Stephen Richards, he later changed it to Mark Stevens at the suggestion of Darryl F. Zanuck when he switched to 20th Century-Fox. He died in 1994 at age 77.

Joseph Kearns (Ralph Wickett) appeared on “I Love Lucy” as the psychiatrist in “The Kleptomaniac” (ILL S1;E27) and later played the theatre manager in “Lucy’s Night in Town” (S6;E22). His most famous role was as Mr. Wilson on TV’s “Dennis the Menace” (1959). When he passed away during the show’s final season, Lucy regular Gale Gordon took over for him, playing his brother.

In the film, the character was named Hardy Cathcart and was played by Clifton Webb.

Norma Jean Nilsson (Little Girl at the Boarding House) was a child actress who left Hollywood at age 19 after appearing in 16 films and television shows.

In the film, the character carries a slide whistle, which is not used here. She was played by Colleen Alpaugh.

Wally Maher (Fred Foss aka Stauffer) was born on August 4, 1908 in Cincinnati, Ohio. He was known for Mystery Street (1950), The Reformer and the Redhead (1950) and Hollywood Hotel (1937). He was married to Molly Bruno. He died on December 27, 1951.

In the feature film, the role was played by William Bendix, who would go on to fame as the title character in TV’s “The Life of Riley.”

Dan O'Herlihy (Anthony Jardine) was an Irish-born actor nominated for an Oscar in 1954 for Robinson Crusoe. In 1960 he made an appearance on Desilu’s “The Untouchables.” He was in two of the RoboCop movies. He died in 2005 at age 85.

In the feature film, the role was played by German-born actor Kurt Krueger.

Fay Baker (Mari Wickett) was born on January 31, 1917 in New York City as Fanita Baker Schwager. She was known for Notorious (1946), The House on Telegraph Hill (1951) and Deadline - U.S.A. (1952). She died on December 8, 1987.

In the feature film, the role was taken by Cathy Downs, making her first credited screen appearance.

ENSEMBLE

Trude Marson was seen in uncredited roles in four films from 1937 to 1947.

Noreen Gammill started her screen career as the voice of Catty the Elephant in Disney’s Dumbo (1941). She made two background appearances on “The Andy Griffith Show” (1963 and 1964), filmed on the Desilu backlot.

William Johnstone is probably best remembered as Judge Lowell on the long-running daytime drama “As The World Turns”. Prior to that he worked extensively in radio and took over the role of Lamont Cranston on "The Shadow" playing opposite Agnes Moorehead when Orson Welles left the series.

Janet Scott was a regular background voice on “Lux Radio Theatre” with dozens of episodes to her credit from 1937 to 1955.

Lois Corbett was married to Don Wilson of “The Jack Benny Program” and as such did more than a dozen episodes of the television shows with him from 1954 to 1964.

Edward Marr was seen in The Affairs of Annabel with Lucille Ball in 1938. He was also in two Bob Hope TV specials with Hope and Ball in 1966 and 1970.

Stanley Farrar was seen on “I Love Lucy” in “Home Movies” (ILL S3;E20) and “Staten Island Ferry” (ILL S5;E12). He on “The Lucy Show” in “Lucy and Arthur Godfrey” (TLS S3;E23) and “Lucy Meets Danny Kaye” (TLS S3;E15).

Herb Butterfield was born on October 28, 1895 in Providence, Rhode Island. He was known for The Halls of Ivy (1954), The House on Telegraph Hill (1951) and Shield for Murder (1954). On radio, he portrayed the Commissioner on NBC 's "Dangerous Assignment" (1949-53) and Clarence Wellman on "The Halls of Ivy" (1950-52). He died on May 2, 1957

Cliff Clark was seen with Lucille Ball in Her Husband’s Affairs (1947), Miss Grant Takes Richmond (1949), and The Fuller Brush Girl (1950).

OTHERS

William Keighley (Host and Producer) was the director of nearly 40 feature films between 1932 and 1953. His film The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) was selected for the National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being culturally significant.

Dorothy Lovett (Commercial Spokeswoman as Libby Collins, Hollywood Reporter) appeared as Meta Bauer on radio’s “The Guiding Light" (1945-47) and as Toni Sherwood in "The Adventures of Rocky Jordan". She did three films with Lucille Ball from 1939 to 1941.

Betty Ann Lynn (Herself, Act Two Intermission Guest) is best known for playing Thelma Lou on “The Andy Griffith Show” (1961 to 1965) which was filmed on the Desilu back lot.

John Milton Kennedy (Announcer) was the announcer of all 35 episodes of “The Loretta Young Show” from 1954 to 1955.

ACT ONE

William Keighley introduces the program, noting that many years earlier, director Fred Kohlmar saw a titian-haired young model who had great possibilities - Lucille Ball. He later had the privilege of presenting her in the film version of The Dark Corner. After a mention of Lux Toilet Soap, the program begins.

The action opens in a New York City office building on a sultry summer afternoon. Police detective Reeves visits the Offices of Bradford Galt, Private Investigator and speaks to his secretary, Kathleen Stewart.

Galt enters and Reeves wonders why Galt didn’t notify him that he moved offices after his prior unpleasantness. Galt asks Kathleen to have dinner with him. After dinner, Galt asks her to go dancing but she’s wise to his advance. As they walk down the street, they realize that they are being followed.

Kathleen takes a cab back to the office, while Galt confronts the pursuer at gunpoint, taking him back to his office for questioning. He says his name is Fred Foss, and that he’s also a private detective. Galt doesn’t believe him and decides to beat the truth out of him.

After some roughing up, Fred discloses that he is being paid to tail Galt by Anthony Jardine. In the tussle, some ink spills on Foss’s white suit. He lets Foss leave. Kathleen was supposed to tail Foss after he left the office, but he tricked her and got away.

Back at his rooming house, Foss uses the hall telephone to call art gallery owner Ralph Wickett, and his ink-stained suit is noticed by a Little Girl neighbor.

At a party for his third wedding anniversary, Wickett hangs up and is greeted by Jardine, a lawyer. Mrs. Lucy Wilding takes Jardine aside pretending to ask legal advice, but it is revealed that he is blackmailing her.

Meanwhile, Galt confides in Kathleen about his past. Jardine is trying to kill Galt because he was a former partner that Galt confronted about his blackmailing female clients. Now Jardine wants to finish the job.

Mari Wickett, Ralph’s wife, is having an affair with Anthony Jardine. She wants to run away with him. At the same time, Galt is headed there to settle the score.

End of Act One

A Lux commercial break takes the form of a story from Libby Collins, Hollywood Reporter. She says she saw Universal’s The Lost Moment starring Robert Cummings and Susan Hayward. Libby says she was on location when they filmed the big fire scene, the biggest fire ever done on a sound stage. She says that she and Susan Hayward washed the soot off their faces with Lux Toilet Soap!

At the time of the broadcast, The Lost Moment was still two weeks from being released. It opened in cinemas on November 27, 1947. The story is set in Italy, so the cast included Edward Ciannelli, who played pizzeria owner Mr. Martinelli in “Visitor from Italy” (ILL S6;E5) and Saverio LoMedico who played the Rome hotel bellboy in “Lucy’s Italian Movie” (ILL S5;E23). The film was not a box office success.

ACT TWO

An hour has past since the end of Act One and Galt is at Jardine’s door. Galt threatens Jardine, who denies tailing him.The two fight while Mari is hiding in the other room. After Galt leaves, she convinces him to run away with her.

At the Gallery, Wickett is visited by Foss. It is clear Wickett is setting up Jardine to take the fall when he has Galt killed. Foss calls Galt to betray Jardine for a price. Galt suggests a one-on-one meeting at his apartment - 904 West 52nd, apartment 307 at 8pm sharp. Wickett will send Jardine to Galt’s apartment at 7:30pm.

In reality, there is no such address. West 52nd Street in New York City ends at the the 600s block. This is similar to the Ricardo and Mertz apartment building. 623 East 68th Street, which, if real, would be in the East River!

Kathleen and Galt are supposed to meet at the movies, but he doesn’t show so he goes to his apartment at 8:30. Galt opens the door and reveals that Jardine is dead. Galt was ambushed with and knocked out with ether. He woke up to find Jardine’s body bludgeoned by the fireplace poker. Galt realizes he was set up.

Later, Galt meets Kathleen at her apartment. He couldn’t find Foss and doesn’t know where to look next.

Wickett reminds Mari that they are due at the Kinsglsey’s that night, but she begs off. He strongly hints that he knows that Mari is stepping out on him and looking to run off.

Galt suddenly realizes that Foss would have to have his white suit cleaned, so he is determined to search all the cleaners for the suit and get his address.

Foss phones Wickett, and the Little Girl is there to overhear his conversation. Foss makes a plan to meet Wickett on the 31st floor of the Grant building.

Galt and Kathleen are about to give up on the search for the suit when a cleaner comes through. They get his address and trace Foss to the rooming house where he lives. His name turns out to be Stauffer, not Foss. The landlady reports that he moved out an hour ago and doesn’t know where he went. But the Little Girl does - and spills the beans for a quarter! Galt and Kathleen head for the Grant Building.

End of Act Two

In the break, Keighley interviews Fox contract player Betty Ann Lynn, who saw filming of Daryl F. Zanuck’s Gentleman’s Agreement starring Gregory Peck and Dorothy McGuire in a “very unusual picture”.

Gentleman’s Agreement premiered on November 11, one day after this broadcast, in both New York City and Chicago. It dealt with anti-Semitism and went on to win three Oscars, including Best Picture. The cast included Lucycom alumni Mike Lally, Shep Houghton, Roy Roberts, and Amzie Strickland in uncredited roles. Betty Ann Lynn says that she also likes to watch the filming of a costume picture like The Foxes of Harrow starring Rex Harrison and Maureen O’Hara, who had 26 costumes made just for her. She notes that O’Hara has a Lux complexion.

The Foxes of Harrow was released September 13, 1947. "Lux Radio Theater" broadcast a sixty minute radio adaptation of this movie on December 6, 1948, with Maureen O'Hara reprising her movie role. The movie was the screen debut of William Schallert, who did several episodes of “The Lucy Show.” O’Hara and Lucille Ball became lifelong friends after their 1940 film Dance, Girl, Dance. Like Gentleman’s Agreement, The Foxes of Harrow also features Roy Roberts, who went on to play bank president Mr. Cheever on “The Lucy Show.”

ACT THREE

Kathleen and Galt rush to the Grant Building, where Mr. Wickett is about to settle accounts on a remote fire escape. Foss / Stauffer brings proof that Jardine is dead but Wickett throws him from the fire escape to his death.

Galt and Kathleen witness the whole incident from the street, as does the cab driver who was waiting for Foss / Stauffer. Thinking fast, Galt steals the cab which still contains Foss’s luggage. Later, we hear that the bags were only full of clothes. Kathleen urges him to keep thinking. Kathleen suddenly remembers that the Little Girl mentioned galleries. They put the pieces together and all evidence leads them to the Wickett Galleries. Galt heads there and questions the clerk. Under the guise of buying a painting, Galt inquires about meeting Mr. Wickett, and the clerk departs. Mari comes in the side door, and Galt tells her that Anthony Jardine has been murdered. She faints. Wickett comes in and when Galt tells him the truth, Ralph locks him in the gallery vault. Mari has revived and overhears Ralph’s threats, holding a gun on him. She shoots her husband dead.

Kathleen has tipped off the police, who only want to charge him with stealing a taxi cab. Kathleen asks if he can be booked at another time because they have a date at the City Hall - to get married.

End of Story

As a curtain call, Keighley chats with Lucille Ball and Mark Stevens. He congratulates Ball on the success of her stage show, Dream Girl, a play she says she will do again in San Francisco. When Keighley asks how Lucille’s busy schedule and that of her husband Desi Arnaz’s leave any time for a personal life, Ball says that they will be playing in San Francisco at the same time.

In June 1947, Lucille Ball performed at New Jersey’s McCarter Theatre in Dream Girl, a play by Elmer Rice. It also played Brooklyn, Detroit and Boston.

The San Francisco production opened just a week after this radio telecast. As Ball states, Desi Arnaz was also in San Francisco at the time, playing in the Rose Room of the Palace Hotel, a fact that was advertised in the Dream Girl program. During the Los Angeles engagement in January 1948, Ball fell ill and had to withdraw. Although she love performing on stage, her radio career and then television success did not allow her to return to the footlights until 1960.

Lucy notes that like many other busy stars, she owes her good complexion to Lux Soap!

Turning to Mark Stevens, Lucille notes that he will play an FBI man in his next project at Fox, with Keighley as director.

Although the film’s title is not mentioned, they are referring to The Street With No Name, which won’t be released until June 1948. Stevens plays Gene Cordell aka George Manley, a covert FBI agent who infiltrates a ruthless gangster mob. "Lux Radio Theater" broadcast a 60-minute radio adaptation of the movie on January 31, 1949 with Mark Stevens reprising his film role.

Keighley notes that next week “Lux Radio Theatre” will present Jane Wyman and Ronald Reagan in Nobody Lives Forever.

The Warner Brothers picture Nobody Lives Forever was released on November 1, 1946. It originally starred John Garfield and Geraldine Fitzgerald in roles taken on radio by Reagan and Wyman, who were husband and wife at the time. Of course, Reagan left Hollywood for a grander stage, first in California as Governor, then as President of the United States. He bestowed Lucille Ball with The Kennedy Center Honor in 1986.

A public service announcement asks housewives to salvage kitchen fats and turn them in at their local butcher for cash!

These were used to make supplies for wartime, such as ammunition and weapons.

Announcer Kennedy notes that Mark Stevens appeared through the courtesy of 20th Century Fox, producers of Forever Amber.

Forever Amber is a 1944 romance novel by Kathleen Winsor set in 17th-century England. It was made into a film in 1947 starring Cornel Wilde, who appeared in “The Star Upstairs” (ILL S4;E25). When “Lucy Writes A Novel” (ILL S3;E24), Ethel jokes about finding Lucy’s hidden manuscript and burning it: “We pulled down the kitchen blind and changed the name of your novel to 'Forever Ember.'”

‘DARK’ TRIVIA

In a September 1985 episode of “Remington Steele,” a character played by Stephen Dillane has the name Bradford Galt! The stories, however, are not otherwise connected.

In both the film and the radio show, Fred Foss gives his phone number as CH-elsea 4-43510. However, according to the Manhattan phone book for 1946, there were only CH-elsea 2 and CH-elsea 3 exchanges. Real phone numbers were rarely used in film or television.

When television began to supplant radio, “The Lux Video Theatre” was introduced. It was seen from 1950 to 1959. Initially, the show was a thirty-minute weekly show featuring live stage plays, but when it moved to NBC in August 1954, the show was extended to sixty minutes. As on radio, the programs were then primarily adaptations of motion pictures. The host would introduce each act, and would conduct an interview with the stars at the end of the play. Of the cast of this radio version of The Dark Corner:

William Keighley directed an episode in 1951.

Mark Stevens did an episode in 1955.

Dan O’Herlihy did five episodes.

Joseph Kearns did three episodes.

The character name Ralph Wickett replaced Hardy Cathcart for the radio show. It is likely that they could no longer get legal clearance to use the name Hardy Cathcart, necessitating the change.

The film featured Ellen Corby as a maid, a role not in the radio drama. Corby went on to be seen as Lucy Ricardo’s high school acting teacher and in several small roles on “The Lucy Show” before her best-loved role of Grandma on “The Waltons.”

The film also features background work by Sam Harris, who did 15 films with Lucille Ball, in addition to multiple episodes of “I Love Lucy” and “The Lucy Show” as well as Harold Miller, who did eight films with Lucy and two episodes of “I Love Lucy”.

The film is available on DVD complete with DVD commentary and original trailer.

#The Dark Corner #Lucille Ball #Mark Stevens #Lux Radio Theatre #Radio #1948 #Joseph Kearns #William Keighley #1947

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themusicplayedherlife · 4 years

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Full House

4. “how many days has it been?”

pairing: steve rogers x f!reader characters: steve rogers, sharon carter, bucky barnes, reader, pietro maximoff word count: 3k+ warnings: family issues, fluff summary: steve finds out something about you and you just want pietro to stop being so broody

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Steve sighs deeply, dropping the towels Bucky had asked for on the front desk, ignoring the greetings of a couple of members making their way to the lockers to his left.

Sharon lifts a delicate eyebrow in his direction, pulling the pile of towels in her direction to fold them neatly. “This is the tenth time you’ve sighed in the last hour, Steve.” She shifts her weight to one foot. “What’s gotten into you?”

Bucky chuckles, clicking away at the computer. “Most likely his mystery girl.”

Steve shoots him a glare, but Bucky doesn’t even turn to look at him, continuing to scroll through whatever he’s looking at on the computer screen.

It’s not like Steve has been thinking thinking about you, but it’s hard to forget such an eventful meeting (how many get to say they took a stranger home after finding them black out drunk in their stairwell, potentially saving them from the dangers of the night) like yours? Especially when you ran out of his apartment looking like a skittish animal and without a mention of your name, leaving him to wonder what your name could be; but no name he comes up with ever sounds right—fitting.

“Still?” Comes Sharon’s exasperated reply. “It’s been days, Steve!”

“Nine days,” he murmurs, and Bucky’s eyes finally rip away from the screen to stare at him with something akin to astonishment, Sharon mirroring his expression. “What?”

“You’ve been keeping count?”

Steve frowns, but the heat he refuses to acknowledge still rushes to his head. “Not exactly?”

“Wow,” Bucky says, gaping. “You have it bad!”

“It’s only been nine days!”

“Only?” Bucky scoffs. “Stevie, pal, that’s enough for me to forget every person I’ve fallen in love with at first sight.”

They’re being ridiculous. He just can’t help the curiosity—why were you in the stairwell? Why did you seem so sad? Who texted you that you got so terrified that you ran out of his apartment? Did whatever you were going through get resolved? Or were they getting worse? And most importantly:

What is your name?

“You have issues,” Sharon directs at Bucky—to which he responds with a shrug and a cheeky grin—before turning to him and saying, “And you? You need to move on. You don’t know anything about the girl!”

“I think that’s the point. Steve is loving the mystery!” Bucky leans back into the rolling chair he’s occupying and locks his fingers behind his head. “And truth be told, I kind of like her too, ‘cause, ya know, she didn’t end up murdering us in our sleep.”

Sharon looks at him expectantly as if waiting for him to answer and all he can do is flash her a sheepish smile. Her eye twitches and she throws her head back. “Seriously? That’s it? That’s what—“

“Rude! Second of all—”

He pauses—wait, what was that?—fading out Sharon’s voice, his eyes frantically search around the gym—he swears he heard—taking in every person in the room.

—was it really you?—but he doesn’t find what he’s—

His breath hitches, heart beating against his rib cage rapidly—you. It’s really you!

“Uh, Steve?”

“She’s here,” comes his breathless reply, taking a step forward, smile spreading on his lips. But it’s ripped away from his lips so easily, feet coming to an abrupt halt when they take in the sight of a muscular, younger and definitely more handsome than him, man standing at your side and staring down at you with exasperated fondness.

And you’re not alone.

Pietro moves at a fast pace—calves burning and sweat dripping down his face, but he keeps on pushing. It reminds you of a younger Pietro, who struggled with high school and teachers constantly picking on him for being too hyperactive; only finding reprieve in track and field and working out. He used to drag you—and Wanda—to the gym then too; it helped deplete all those negative feelings festering in his mind.

You only watch from your spot on the leg press, pretending to put in any effort if only to satisfy your brother’s excess nagging that you—and the family—need to work out more. Maybe he’s the one that needs to work out less. Has he ever thought of that?

The machine beeps and it begins to slow down, Pietro doesn’t wait for it to. He hops onto the sides, legs spread as he presses something on the touchscreen of the treadmill to turn it off.

“How do you not die?” you ask him, your earlier plan to pretend to work out with him being left abandoned to stare at your brother in awe, who is barely out of breath. “Are you some kind of freak?”

He finally cracks a smile, snorting as he nudges his nose with his knuckle. “It’s called exercising regularly.”

You roll your eyes and lean back into the backrest of the machine. “Daisy once asked me if you were on steroids and I’m starting to think she might’ve been onto something.”

He bends low for his water bottle next to your feet. “My muscles and gym drive are 100% authentic, kid.”

“Yeah, okay.” You’re worried about Pietro. Out of all of your siblings, he’s the most sensitive. Sure Scott was more attached to your parents than the rest of you, but it’s Pietro who feels more strongly about everything.

A lot of people would assume it’s Wanda, and while in a way they’re right, they’re also very much wrong. Wanda is empathetic, understands what other people feel more easily. Pietro isn’t as empathetic as his twin, he’s the type of person to get caught up in his own feelings and drown in them. He’s kind of similar to Clint in that aspect, but over the years, your older brother has become more logical (and Natasha would never let him linger in his feelings for too long, anyway), while Pietro has… not.

“So, for how long are you going to keep avoiding Wanda?”

His hand freezes mid air as he brings his drink back up to his lips. “I’m not avoiding her,” he says, moving to a different machine—a pull up machine.

You get up, picking up your own water bottle and follow after him. “Right,” you drawl, “because sneaking out is totally not avoidance.”

He readies the machine, moving things, adjusting shit. “We did not sneak out.” Yeah, okay. He pulls away and then stares at you expectantly.

“What?” His eyes move from you to the machine and back. “Oh, no! No, no, no. I’m only here as moral support.” He rolls his eyes as you step away. “You get on that machine.”

“I would if it were a challenge.”

You scoff and cross your arms defiantly. “I’m not doing it.”

“Should I tell Wanda that you stayed over at a guys house when you almost gave her a heart attack?” he says, raising his eyebrow in challenge.

This jerk! You shouldn’t have told him! Why did you tell him anyway? Oh, right, he’s annoying (and didn’t believe your lie of having passed out in Daisy’s bedroom after having way too much to drink and your friends not noticing because they were equally inebriated—Wanda probably didn’t believe you either, but she probably thinks you’ll eventually tell her, and you will. Eventually. Maybe. If Pietro doesn’t tell her out of spite first).

Your mouth parts and you stare at your brother with wide eyes. “Okay, first of all, rude! Secondly, it was a mistake! An accident! And it’s not like I slept with him,” you hiss, looking around the gym to check that no one is close enough to listen in on your conversation. “He was just a kind soul that helped me out.”

“You do realize that’s worse, right? Sleeping at a stranger’s house? He could’ve been a creep for all you know.”

“Well, he wasn’t. He was a kind stranger!”

He pushes you towards the machine. “Do it.”

“Listen,” you tell him, spinning your arm to the point where you can hear creaks and bone popping, “my body wasn’t made for working out!”

“Is everything all right?” A voice interrupts, and you and Pietro both spin on your heels almost in sync to find the guy that was sitting next to a pretty blonde lady that—your brother didn’t try flirting with, surprisingly enough—signed you in as a guest.

His eyes are an intense blueish-gray eyes, brown hair pulled back into a bun and day old scruff adorning his jaw and chin. He’s pretty—prettier than Natasha and Wanda combined, and those are some fighting words—in a masculine way or whatever. But he doesn’t hold a candle to Steve, your kind and totally not a creep, stranger.

“Yes,” Pietro says at the same time you blurt out, “No.”

He shoots you a glare and you ignore it as you address the other guy, eyes drifting down to his handwritten name tag. “Bucky,” you start before doing a double take. “Bucky?” What kind of—never mind. You’re getting distracted! “Can you please tell my brother here that forcing me on a machine is completely against safety guidelines?”

Bucky—seriously, who names their kid Bucky?—blinks, eyes moving between you and Pietro. “Brother?”

“Yes,” you deadpan. You know you look nothing like Pietro or any of your siblings—he’s not the first to be surprised at the revelation and he won’t be the last—but it gets old. “Brother. He’s my brother.”

“Oh,” he says, eyes drifting over your shoulder and you almost turn, but he stops you by saying, “It isn't against safety guidelines, but it is if you don’t use the machine properly.”

Pietro sighs deeply. “If you don’t want to do pull ups then get on the treadmill.”

“That’s worse!” you argue. “Do you really think I have the stamina to run?”

Your brother’s nose flares and you just know you’ve hit his limit of patience—oops—but before he can rip you a new one, Bucky interrupts, “We had a boxing class cancellation if you’d—“

“Is it low effort? Or fun?”

Pietro is about to pop, if him closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath is anything to go by.

Bucky, on the other hand grins as he says, “It's better than boring ol’ cardio and pull ups, that’s for certain.”

You press your lips together, thinking it over—it’s really just for show, you’d do anything to get away from treadmills and bars—as Pietro rubs his temple. “We’ll take it!”

“Sis, I don’t have the money—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky interrupts your brother, already leading you to a different part of the gym, weaving through machines and people working out at night.

Your brother isn’t entirely convinced, but he follows anyway.

He knocks on a door—that reminds you a little of those noir detective movies with the dramatic acting that Cass and Scott like forcing everyone to watch—before opening it to reveal a whole other room with different training gear and a large ring smack dab in the middle.

Grunts and loud smacks fill the room—1, 2, 1, 2, 2.

“Hey, punk, we have company!”

The grunting and the pounding stops, and just as you turn to look at Pietro with a wide grin, it falls from your lips as you pause at the sight of a familiar face rounding the large ring—“Steve?”

“Steve?” Your brother mimics, eyebrows knitting together.

Blue eyes meet yours in confusion before moving between the three of you, mouth gaping and looking like a fish out of water. You would have laughed at the handsome man if you weren’t so shellshocked yourself.

“The miss—,” you interject Bucky with your name and he repeats it, “and her brother—“ you swear you hear some heavy emphasize on brother.

“Pietro,” your brother adds grumpily and Steve physically straightens, disbelief coloring his face as they take you and Pietro in. Yeah. Also won’t be the last.

“Were hoping for something a little more fun and since we had a cancellation—“

“A what now?”

“A cancellation,” Bucky repeats testily, shooting Steve an annoyed glare. “I thought I could offer them the time slot.”

Steve blinks once, then twice, but his eyes never leave you. “Right. Right a cancellation,” he murmurs.

“Why don’t I take you over here,” Bucky says to your brother whose eyes narrow in suspicion, the two talking, but you pay them no mind as you close the distance between you and Steve with a wide smile.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he says, still not shaking off his shocked expression.

You introduce yourself, personally this time, and hold your hand out for him to take, and he introduces himself again too, as if you could have forgotten his name to begin with. “Sorry for running out on you that morning. How many days has it been?” you wonder aloud, not really expecting an answer.

“Nine days,” he answers quickly, confidently and now it’s your turn to stare at him in disbelief. His ears turn a bright red and he clears his throat when you raise an eyebrow. Has it really only been nine days? Huh. “Lets, uh, get you wrapped up.”

Steve’s grip on your hand is gentle, unlike the white cotton being wrapped around your hand; tip of his tongue sneaking out between his lips, eyes completely concentrated at the task at hand. Hasn’t spoken much of a word to you either, only when you asked what the cotton wrap was for. He said it was for protection, less chance of an injury or something; you practically zoned out as he lectured you on the importance of it, opting to get lost in his gorgeous blue eyes instead.

He really is cute, isn’t he?

You haven’t had much of a chance to think about him since you left his apartment, but there’s no denying that you did sometimes think about looking him up, to maybe ask him out for dinner as a thank you for keeping you out of trouble that night—him being good looking has nothing to do with you wanting to ask him out, scouts honor. Maybe.

Daisy said she’d keep an eye out for your mystery man, but so far she had no luck.

Today, however, it seems you have a lot of luck.

Grunts fill the room and your attention leaves Steve for once, finding your brother already strapped in, fitted with gloves and punching the living daylights out of the thick pads Bucky holds in front of him. A loud smack causes you to grimace and for Steve to pause his work.

“Did I hurt you?”

You tear your eyes away from Pietro and find Steve peering down at you through his dark lashes, genuine worry coating his immensely blue eyes.

His head tilts, patiently waiting for your answer. Even that is endearing.

Why is he so attractive? What the fuck?

“Sorry, no, no. You didn’t hurt me. Pietro surprised me is all,” you tell him honestly, eyes moving to your brother again, who is completely focused on the pads. Maybe boxing is what he needs to exert himself? “So,” you start, smiling at Steve, “how have you been? Been saving any other drunk damsels in distress?”

He cracks a smile at that, returning to his task of wrapping up your right hand, his fingers gliding to your wrist and you keep your hands straight as he told you in the beginning. “I’m afraid not.” He briefly glances at you. “Not since you, anyway.” If your smile grows wider, it’s involuntarily. “But I’ve been good, busy. And you?” He pats your hand when he’s done with it and reaches for your left hand, cradling it in his larger ones.

“I’ve been… I’ve been okay. I guess.”

He hesitates, wrapping the cotton around your palm slowly. “Right…” His eyebrows knit together almost in concentration, but he’s not in concentration at all, if him looking at you every once in a while is of any indication.

Pietro’s grunts and Bucky’s commands fill the room with sound, but it’s dull compared to the loud silence between you both. You watch him, occasionally meeting his gaze. You wonder what he could be thinking about: that night? Did you do or say anything strange? Because you wouldn’t put it past your drunk self. You’ve been told you’re an open drunk—says too much and is way too affectionate. So maybe you did say something?

When he’s done wrapping your hand, he does the same as before, pats it and let's go. “How do they feel?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

You clench and unclench your hand, feeling the wrap adjusting nicely to your movements. “They’re good. Not too loose and not too tight.”

He nods and moves away, pulling out a couple of gloves from the closet behind him. He surveys them, checking their sizes before settling on one pair. He lays them aside before turning back to you. “Why don’t we warm up first?”

“Teach away.”

He cracks a smile and moves to stand beside you, his own wrapped hands lifting in front of him. “We’ll start with shadow boxing.” He stands with his legs slightly spread and bent at the waist, bringing his fists up to his face. “This is a resting pose, after every punch, you should come back to it.”

You mimic him, but something doesn’t feel right.

“Bend your knees a little—no, do you mind if—“

You grin, wicked and amused at the reddening of ears. “Go ahead.”

His large hands settle on your waist, turning it away from him. “Keep your weight distributed evenly. Don’t put it on just one foot.” His fingers glide from your elbows to your hands—and you’re one hundred percent sure boxing shouldn’t be this touchy feeling, but you don’t mind it. Not when your instructor is Steve. “That’s it. Now, when you punch, make sure your thumbs aren’t inside your fist, keep them out—there you go.”

He keeps demonstrating, occasionally putting his hands on you to guide you, but only if necessary (which is literally all the time). If you don’t get it right the first couple of tries, it’s totally not your fault.

By the end of your session, you don’t know whether you want to kill Bucky or thank him. You’re drenched, heart racing for more than one reason, and legs wobbling from all the exertion. Steve is just as wet as you, sweat seeping into his shirt and droplets raining down his neck and disappearing under the black t-shirt he’s wearing; cheeks deliciously flushed and chest heaving. How can your heart not race at the sight of this Adonis?

But also, why is boxing so damn exhausting?

Steve did every single exercise and activity with you, doing them twofold just to give you more motivation since you were being a whiny bitch. Something you’re completely grateful for, because if he hadn’t, you would have thrown in the towel ten minutes into it.

Pietro is still training with Bucky, one final set of jump rope and they’ll be done and you’ll soon be on your way; and then it’ll only be a matter of time before you’ll be in your bed resting, sleeping off your exhaustion and completely and utterly happy—well, until you wake up with sore muscles and deep regrets, anyway.

And hopefully with this full workout, Pietro won’t be as moody.

Steve stretches next to you, offering you water after you finish yours during a small break. You thank him, relishing in the cool liquid sliding down your throat.

“Want to get dinner sometime?” you suddenly ask, taking him completely off guard and causing him to choke on his saliva. You quickly get on your knees and pat his back.

He waves you away when he’s no longer coughing. “What?”

He’s completely red, from his neck to the tips of his ears. Whether from his choking incident or your question, you don’t know, but you still grin. “Dinner?” you repeat. “You and me?”

He gawks as if he can’t believe you’re really asking him out for dinner and as cute as you think he’s being, you’re also growing impatient with every second that he doesn’t answer.

“Yes or no? Because I need to know whether you’re okay with the idea or—“

“Dinner sounds great,” he finally says and your grin only grows wider.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #reader insert #marvel imagine #full house series

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palpatitty101 · 5 years

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I think of mitski when I see your url

omg thank you? i love mitski so

#f-scott-inebriate

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insomnihan · 2 years

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so @f-scott-inebriate is a BAD B I C T H and i woulD D*E FOR H E R™

#THATS THE BESTIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#the moots!!!#its allowed megan!!!#(i think thats your tag lmao)#han.txt

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my-drowning-in-time · 5 years

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I was tagged by these lovely pals @springlullaby and @stardustheartbeats (thanks! xx) to post my lock screen, home screen, and the last song I listened to.

I’ll tag: @bootifulbreen @sutherlins @lesserknownhero @f-scott-inebriate @rayshippouuchiha @onlinedragon

#shut up kmorgs #tagged #thanks caroline and naomi!!

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hcwlingccmmandcs · 6 years

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hcwlingccmmandcs’s masterlist

Wanna be added to my taglists? Click here!

Last Updated: November the 26th, 2018

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes

Series

Sweet

Florist!Bucky x Baker!Fem Reader; You own a bakery right across the street from American Botany, a small flower shop owned by two very handsome and very muscular men. What happens when you run right into one of the shop’s owners on the quest to fix a last minute order?

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] (Ongoing)

Barnes

Modern!Bucky x Fem Reader, inspired by F. Scott Fitgerald’s The Great Gatsby

[Barnes Masterlist]

Oneshots

Drunk Girl

Bucky x Fem Reader; Inspired by Chris Janson’s song of the same title; Bucky meets an obnoxiously inebriated Reader and treats her how any other gentleman would, by making sure she got home safe with her dignity.

[Read Here]

Camp Spirit

Bucky x FemReader (idk if gender is specified but just to be safe); Inspired by my own experiences as a summer camp counselor; The first time Bucky sees you leaving for camp, he thinks you’re leaving. Once you come back, he’s curious as to why you give up your time and energy for those children. He nearly jumps at the opportunity to get to know that side of you a little better.

[Read Here]

So Right

My entry for the 1K AU Writing Challenge; Modern!Bucky x Reader (Gender not specified); For your first date, Bucky takes you to your first Brooklyn Cyclones baseball game. Towards the end of the game, the two of you find your faces on the giant screen behind the field with hearts all around the two of you.

[Read Here]

Steven Grant “Steve” Rogers

Oneshots

Reckless

Steve x Reader (Gender not specified); Steve stumbles to your door beaten up and bleeding. While trying to keep him alive, the two of you take a pretty big step in your relationship.

[Read Here]

Oneshots

Sky and Sea

Steve Rogers x Fem Reader x Bucky Barnes; While on vacation to Stark’s private beach, your boys decide to show you how much you mean to them; 18+ Only Please!!!; Contains nudity and light smut.

[Read Here]

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #bucky imagine #steve imagine #stucky x reader #b writes

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guildielove · 6 years

Note

♬ @ F. Scott "Actually Brendon Urie" Fitzy :3c

@embers-among-ash has a message for [ FITZGERALD ] ! SUBJECT: Send “♬” and I’ll give you a song that I think fits my muse [ ACCEPTING ]

BONUS! BONUS! BONUS! F. SCOTT - P!ATD EDITION. ALL SONGS!

THERE’S A GOOD REASON THESE TABLES ARE NUMBERED HONEY. YOU JUST HAVEN’T THOUGHT OF IT YET

next is a trip to the, the ladies’ room in vain, and i bet you just can’t keep up with, (keep up) with these fashionistas, and tonight, tonight you are, you are a whispering campaign i bet to them your name is “Cheap,” i bet to them you look like shh…

LET’S KILL TONIGHT

if i retreat words, wars, and symphonies make room! we’re taking over here

MEMORIES

when july became december their affection fought the cold but they couldn’t quite remember what inspired them to go and it was beautifully depressing like a street car named desire they were fighting for their love that had started growing tired

TURN OFF THE LIGHTS

turn off the lights, turn off the lights turn on the charm for me tonight i’ve got my heavy heart to hold me down once it falls apart my head’s in the clouds so i’m taking every chance i’ve got like the man i know i’m not

OH GLORY!

i can only hope it’s true enough that every little thing i do for love redeems me from the moments i deem worthy of the worst things that i’ve done and saves me from myself at times of envy when i’m missing everyone

VEGAS LIGHTS

ain’t it so, ain’t it so perfect? our cynical minds will make it totally worth it so give it to me now we’re lost in a dream now do it (5-4-3-2) one more time

VICTORIOUS

tonight we are victorious champagne pouring over us oh my friends, we’re glorious tonight we are victorious

DON’T THREATEN ME WITH A GOOD TIME

i’m a scholar and a gentleman and i usually don’t fall when i try to stand i lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt but i make these high heels work i’ve told you time and time again i’m not as think as you drunk i am and we all fell down when the sun came up i think we’ve had enough

EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES

sycophants on velvet sofas lavish mansions, vintage wine i am so much more than royal snatch your chain and mace your eyes

GOLDEN DAYS

time can never break your heart but it’ll take the pain away right now our future’s certain i won’t let it fade away

(FUCK A) SILVERING LINING

we’ve been falling, falling it’s like we fell to the top i was born to cut a million cut my teeth and make a killing now i’m dodging, dodging everything that you think that i’m not archetype of television was lost in thought, but held my vision, ey

HEY LOOK MA, I MADE IT

are you ready for the sequel? ain’t you ready for the latest? in the garden of evil i’m gonna be the greatest in a golden cathedral i’ll be praying for the faithless and if you lose, boo hoo

HIGH HOPES

mama said burn your biographies rewrite your history light up your wildest dreams museum victories, every day we wanted everything, wanted everything

ROARING 20S’

maybe i’ll medicate, maybe inebriate strange situations, i get anxious maybe i’ll smile a bit, maybe the opposite but pray that they don’t call me thankless

OLD FASHIONED

now it looks like a wasteland not the way that we remember one more sip for the past and always tip your bartenders

#do you ever wait for the longest day and then miss it? [ ask ]#the romantic egotist [ in character / fitzgerald ]#music muse [ meme ]#// thanks for the ask!#// <3 #// THIS IS 101% UNNECESSARY BUT JUST FOR THAT STATEMENT ALONE #// I GAVE YOU ALL THE P!ATD SONGS I ASSOCIATE WITH FITZGERALD #// BLAME URIE FOR LIVING THE GATSBY AESTHETIC NOT ME

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mariahmccarthy · 2 years

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The Portrait

It was dusk by the time the last inebriated guest departed from the wake of Ms. Dahlia May. The high hanging full moon sat behind a mesmerizing night fog that in combination with the light sprinkle of snow, was creating an iridescent effect. From the grand window in the sitting room of Dahlia’s expansive Victorian, her daughter Lilith watched as the last car pulled away, its headlights exposing a swirl of snow dancing through the frigid air. Her expression was blank, not furrowed or sorrowful, but relaxed, her gaze unmoving. Doris Day’s “Dream a Little Dream of Me” played on the old phonograph that Dahlia’s father had left her when he had died. Lilith cracked a small smirk, her mother always hated that song, calling it an overrated piece of garbage that made women seem more pathetic than they already were. “Sweet dreams til sunbeams find you…” she sang, twirling away from the window, “Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you”. Slowly and gracefully she swayed to the music, throwing in a twirl here and there, “But in your dreams whatever they be'' she continued, “Dream a Little Dream of Me”.

After some time she sauntered toward the kitchen, the tip of her fingers lightly caressing the textured vintage wallpaper, tracing along the delicate gold accents.

First thing I’ll do is change this tired old wallpaper.

The stench of stale quiches, liquor and body odor lingered in the house, trapped by the steel reinforced door and sealed plexiglass windows that Ms. Dahlia installed some years before when her daughter left home. She was a paranoid woman, with a plethora of exhausting, though not uninteresting, psychological issues. The most significant of which was the inability to leave her property without trepidation.

I’ll also have to switch out these goddamn windows for ones that actually open, gotta get some air in this place.

As she circled the sitting room, collecting the stray tableware left by lazy mourners and drinking the remnants of liquor in each glass, Lilith admired her newly acquired estate.

Finally, she thought.

Though she had been raised in the house, Dahlia had made certain Lilith never forgot that it was Dahlia’s house, and it was at her discretion that Lilith be allowed to inhabit it. The sitting room had been her mother’s favorite and accordingly, was off limits to Lilith. Another smirk crept across Lilith’s face and she considered how infuriated her mother would have been at her for allowing the attendees of the wake to mingle in her sanctuary.

HA.

Ms. Dahlia has filled the shelves in the room with magnificent first editions that no one was ever allowed to remove from the shelves, let alone read. Lilith reached for F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby” , then paused with hesitation.

I hope you’re watching this mother.

Removing the book from it’s spot between J.D Salinger and Ernest Hemmingway, a sense of euphoria washed over Lilith. As it had been some time since the book had been put on the shelf, a thick curved layer of dust lay there.

Viva la revolución.

She swung open the stained glass French doors to reveal the front parlor, home to an arresting oil portrait of Dahlia as a young woman that she had gazed at everyday from the antique armchair in her sitting room.

The portrait was exquisite; it commanded attention by taking up almost the entirety of the wall. Standing valiantly in a tailored merlot butterfly-sleeved dress with a dangerously plunging neckline, the depiction of Ms. Dahlia was captivating. Her expression was severe, with a gaze that could intimidate any onlooker who dared to rest their eyes upon it. Fashioned in a way that perfectly framed her face, her dark locks drew focus to her piercing eyes, which were a brilliant hazel with flecks of amber.

Lowering herself slowly onto the burgundy settee that sat against the same wall as the French doors in the parlor, Lilith found herself engrossed in the portrait. As a child she had always admired the painting. Its demonstration of beauty and strength created something for her to aspire to. It displayed a facet of Dahlia that had not been present since Lilith’s father had disappeared from their lives, taking with him any ounce of confidence that Dahlia had left. The portrait was Dahlia’s most treasured belonging. She cherished it even more than her own daughter.

Living in a constant state of paranoia, Ms. Dahlia did not trust televisions, telephones or radios to be present in the house, as she feared they were listening and recording the details of her life.

As if your life was ever interesting enough for anyone to desire listening in.

As such, there was nothing to entertain Lilith except to study the grandiose depiction of her mother looming over her, ever-disapproving. Forever making Lilith feel small and unwanted.

God I need a drink.

Reaching over to the mahogany mini bar on her right, she poured herself a glass of wine from a crystal decanter before guzzling it swiftly and pouring another.

Indicative of a kind of toast, she raised her glass towards the painting and considered the peculiarity of her childhood in a house that never truly felt like home. She remembered the many Christmases they did not celebrate because Dahlia would not allow so many extra lights collected in one place, as they might emit radiation and kill her.

I suppose now I can buy a tree.

Ms. Dahlia also did not allow decorations for Halloween as she considered it a childish holiday, and thought it disgraceful that anyone would go door to door knocking and begging for food. While Dahlia did not forbid Lilith to participate in such activities, she made it clear that she considered the practice distasteful and unbecoming of a young woman.

Examining her surroundings with a new sense of freedom Lilith thought,

What fantastic birthday parties could I have hosted if mother did not fear outsiders in her house? What other experiences have I missed out on? Could I have had a good relationship with my mother if she had wanted one?

Taking a swig then lowering the glass to her lap, cupping the bottom with her other hand, she looked down at her reflection in the liquid. Her eyes, she noticed, looked not her own. Though she could see her features clearly, the face being reflected to her she did not recognize as herself. With wide eyes she whipped her head up, and focused on the face in the painting.

It’s me, Lilith concluded with discontent.

It was her. Not just her features, but the very expression she witnessed in her own reflection. Severe and disapproving, with no trace of her normal, passively-content expression to be found. Incredulous, she became enraged and flung her glass at the offensive portrait. The glass shattered on the beautifully finished cherry hardwood floors, the wine slowly dripping down the painting onto the floor below.

Screw this, she thought as she got up and retrieved the poker from the fireplace in the adjacent room.

I cannot look at this shit anymore.

Shoving the poker as far as it could reach behind the frame, she attempted to pry the painting off the wall. Her jaw clenched tightly, she vigorously yanked the poker to no avail. She pulled with such intensity that the metal bent around the withstanding frame and left her hands raw, red and blistering.

Shit.

Throwing down the hopelessly bent metal, she grabbed the frame with both hands and positioned her foot on the wall for leverage.

“Ow fuck” she yelled out in agony, her finger nails unnaturally bending backwards.

Even with her efforts, the frame would not budge, and now in a frenzy, she lost her footing on the wine covered hardwood and fell to the floor. Her face was red with fury and her once white dress was covered in burgundy colored splotches from the spilled wine. Further enraged, she let out a blood-curdling scream before slowly pushing herself up off of the floor.

This is some bullshit, I’m not fucking playing around anymore.

Returning from the backyard with the axe used for cutting firewood, Lilith dragged the, surprisingly heavy, weapon through the house, scraping a trail on the hardwood that led directly to the portrait.

Let’s fucking do this, she thought, the inner chaos apparent in her eyes.

Struggling to hoist the axe over her shoulder, she took a swing and struck the frame but failed to even scratch the finish. She took another swing and to her displeasure, it presented the same result.

Over and over, she hacked at the frame. Each time creating no dents, chips or scratches in the wood. Her face was a picture of determination, unrelenting and clearly pissed off. Pacing back and forth in front of the painting, she considered her options. Though she admired the painting, Lilith did not think she could reside in the house with a constant reminder of Dahlia’s disapproval, and the reflection of her own shortcomings looking back at her.

With one more precise swing of the axe, she attempted to cut a line down the middle of the canvas. As if it was completely solidified and made of cement, the canvas did not tear. Similarly to its frame, the axe had not caused a single deformity on the surface of the painting. “What the actual fuck”, she said, exasperated, with flared nostrils and rapidly shaking hands. There was no longer a look of determination on her face, it had progressed into full fledged outrage, as if the painting was antagonizing her.

Now in full frenzy, she thrashed at the portrait relentlessly. She kept thrashing but with each strike she exhausted herself further and eventually collapsed to the floor. Her breathing was heavy and strained, with a noticeable wheezing sound growing louder with each breath. Her complexion looked as if she had sat in the sun for days, blotchy and radiating heat like a furnace. Her glamorous dark hair now lay matted against her head, soaked in sweat. Her hands and feet were covered in blood, cut up by the broken glass that littered the hardwood. The wall and baseboard were covered in gashes, the wallpaper curling up at every slash.

For some time Lilith sat motionless, staring blankly at the untarnished portrait. Her expression no longer displayed rage, but defeat. She contemplated how it was she got to that point, defeated by a painting.

A fucking painting.

Turning her gaze to the sitting room behind her, she set her eyes upon the fireplace. There's an idea.

After rolling a few condolence cards together, she held them against the fire until they caught the flame. Slowly and with great care not to burn herself, she carried her handcrafted torch into the parlor and, without hesitation, set it against the corner of the frame. Within an instant, the fire had traveled up and across the painting, spreading to the wall on either side and to the floor which was still covered in alcohol.

Shit.

Stricken with panic, Lilith stood frozen.

Fire.

“Fire!”, she screamed, finally finding the words.

She turned towards the front door, a mere 10 feet away, but the path was blocked, as she had inadvertently tracked the alcohol all over the room in her frenzy. The fire now surrounded her on every side, smoke engulfed the entirety of the ceiling and she began to choke. The flames intensified with every second that she took to find a way out, inching closer and closer.

I’m trapped, she finally accepted.

One last time, she turned her gaze to the portrait of Ms. Dahlia whose disapproving face was still visible because, although the painting was engulfed in flames, it was not burning.

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thisdaynews · 5 years

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Reeling O'Rourke seeks a way forward

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/reeling-orourke-seeks-a-way-forward/

Reeling O'Rourke seeks a way forward

Presidential candidate Beto O’Rourke will have to counter increasingly negative perceptions following his performance in the first Democratic debate. | Drew Angerer/Getty Images

2020 elections

The Texan’s boosters think organization and a moment could turn the campaign around. ‘Things can change on a dime,’ says one strategist.

INDEPENDENCE, Iowa — He got battered in his first presidential debate. His poll numbers have sunk to low single digits. Glowing press coverage has given way to questions about how long he can hang on.

Beto O’Rourke’s candidacy today is almost an inversion of what it was at the start of his campaign less than four months ago. Back then, he bathed in national attention and raised a staggering $6.1 million in the first day of his campaign, while drawing criticism for his light policy footprint and lack of campaign infrastructure.

Story Continued Below

Today, even as he’s assembled a stable of experienced operatives and released a spate of policy proposals, O’Rourke is polling at 2 percent nationally in the latest Morning Consult survey. One Iowa poll released this week put him at 1 percent in the state. A fundraising machine in his Senate campaign last year, O’Rourke has dodged questions about his latest performance in the money race.

Yet O’Rourke returned to Iowa this week in seemingly high spirits, campaigning alongside his wife and young children as they covered the state in an RV. The candidate has been expanding his organization at his Texas headquarters and in early primary states. And his advisers and supporters insisted they aren’t worried: The race is nothing if not fluid, they said, and O’Rourke has the political talent to catch fire.

O’Rourke is now working with the political media consultancy WIN and its Bill Hyers, a top Democratic strategist who specializes in running progressive campaigns, an O’Rourke aide confirmed to POLITICO. He has hired several other well-respected operatives in recent weeks. He has nearly 50 staffers in Iowa, and after spending two nights at his home in El Paso in June, he is beginning July with two full weeks on the road.

“It’s a long haul, and we’re in the third inning, and maybe Beto’s down 3-1,” said Kurt Meyer, an influential Iowa Democrat who hosted O’Rourke at his home in St. Ansgar for a house party this week. “But Beto has a fresh voice, and he’s whip smart, and he learns.”

O’Rourke’s reception in Iowa, the first-in-the-nation caucus state, marked a reprieve from a difficult stretch in the campaign. On Thursday, O’Rourke walked in a Fourth of July parade in the small town of Independence in Iowa’s Buchanan County, starting two car-lengths behind fellow candidate Joe Biden but falling blocks back as he lingered to speak with spectators and pass out candy. He carried his 8-year-old son Henry on his shoulders and thanked even his critics “for talking with me.”

“I feel really good,” O’Rourke told reporters, when asked about the state of his campaign.

It was only a week ago that O’Rourke, in his first presidential debate, was pummeled by fellow Texan Julián Castro over his opposition to decriminalizing border crossings.

O’Rourke, who has centered much of his campaign on improving the treatment of immigrants, does not agree with Castro on the issue of decriminalization, and O’Rourke and his advisers publicly maintained he debated well. Privately, however, some cringed.

“He looked like someone drowned a puppy in front of him,” said a Democratic strategist who has been helping O’Rourke in early primary states and who still supports him.

However, the strategist added, “Nothing matters. Things can change on a dime.”

Inside O’Rourke’s orbit, the fallout from the first round of debates has been taken, paradoxically, as a source of comfort. Kamala Harris vaulted up in polls after one commanding debate performance. Castro gained a step in the primary after his exchange with O’Rourke. The thinking in O’Rourke’s camp is that if he can muster a similar performance — in an upcoming debate or some other venue — he could quickly improve his standing, too.

“It is clear that he is going to have to have an amazing debate performance this next time,” said Scott Brennan, an Iowa Democratic National Committee member and former state party chairman who is uncommitted in the primary.

O’Rourke’s poor poll numbers have spurred doubts about his long-robust fundraising. After saying earlier this week that he had not yet seen his money totals from the second quarter of the year, O’Rourke on Thursday said he had since reviewed those figures but declined to detail them.

He characterized the fundraising numbers as “good, because they reflect people who are willing to make a donation — five, ten, fifteen bucks, contribute to this campaign.”

When asked if he had raised more or less than the $9.4 million he collected in the first quarter of the year, O’Rourke demurred.

“We’ll release those numbers at some point soon,” he said.

O’Rourke said his strategy to win Iowa remains unchanged: “To continue to hold the town hall meetings, to gain the commitments of caucus-goers, and to expand the electorate that will participate, which is something that we did in Texas.”

In Texas last year, O’Rourke was initially considered an almost comically longshot candidate in what became his near-miss Senate run against Ted Cruz. But he also ran from behind in his successful city council and congressional races. And now, he appears in the presidential contest to be settling into his position outside of the top tier.

Joined by his wife, Amy, and his children on the eve of Independence Day, O’Rourke lingered for three hours at a carnival in downtown Clear Lake, tasting funnel cakes and deep-fried Oreos and climbing onto rides.

His advisers asked anyone who appeared interested if they would like to meet him. He spoke at length with ride operators and passers-by about immigration and health care. He posed for a photograph with an inebriated man who told him, “We agree on almost nothing” and with a man who said he was in his current “top four.”

When a woman said to him, “Hopefully, you become the president,” O’Rourke responded, “Yeah, hope so. We’re working on it.”

In recent weeks, O’Rourke has drawn such highly-regarded professionals to his campaign that some former critics are refraining from discounting his candidacy. Unlike many other low-polling candidates, O’Rourke has enough small-money donors to qualify for debates into the fall, one such Democratic strategist in Iowa noted — and a large enough donor list to reanimate his fundraising if he can capture the public’s attention again.

At a house party in Ames, Joan Bolin Betts, a former deputy state treasurer in Iowa, compared O’Rourke to Robert F. Kennedy.

“I think this guy can do it,” she said.

At WIN, Hyers and Matt McLaughlin, who will produce video for the campaign, helped launch Randy Bryce into fame in his unsuccessful run to succeed former Speaker Paul Ryan in Wisconsin. Hyers, a former Martin O’Malley strategist, previously advised de Blasio and New York Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand. He was President Barack Obama’s Pennsylvania state director in 2012.

Monica Guardiola, who was deputy general counsel for Hillary Clinton’s presidential campaign, is joining O’Rourke’s campaign as its director of ballot access, a campaign aide confirmed to POLITICO.

Those hires follow the addition of Abe Rakov, a longtime aide to former Missouri Secretary of State Jason Kander who lived in Des Moines for much of the 2018 election cycle and forged close ties to influential Iowa Democrats, including state Auditor Rob Sand. Rakov has signed on to be O’Rourke’s early-states director. Dan Sorenson, the national finance director for John Hickenlooper’s presidential campaign, defected to O’Rourke’s campaign, as well.

In Iowa, O’Rourke now has seven field offices in addition to a headquarters in Des Moines. And J.D. Scholten, an Iowa Democrat who ran unsuccessfully for Congress last year, said “it’s far too early to write off somebody who has the name recognition that he does.”

“I mean, obviously he hasn’t had the moment that Mayor Pete [Buttigieg] or Kamala is having now,” Scholten said, “but it’s still anybody’s game.”

#Foreign #forward #Politics #seeks

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