#the tell tale heart 1941

[weirdlookindog]

The Tell-Tale Heart (1941)

#the tell tale heart 1941 #joseph schildkraut #roman bohnen #1941 #1940s movies #jules dassin #short film #edgar allan poe #hidden gem #movie poster

[tismrot]

GOOD, EXTENDED OMENS - a fic list

READ IT IN THIS ORDER! (And read song lyrics for more clues) Click red links to find my ‘explain what we’re not seeing’-minisode fics - allow me to break your hearts, please. I make my own explanations for everything that hasn't been explained yet. Would be cool if I was right about some of these.

4004 BC - 2000 BC - Mostly hot fluff, them finding each other in odd places throughout history, trying to figure out why the pull is so irresistible. Starts with figuring out certain physical aspects in Eden. 🌶️🌶️🌶️

1941 - Oh no, the apology dance... with a twist! Who confessed their love on this fateful night? ...And who turned out to be the ineffable idiot? And who came back later? TW: Abusive language, bad things happening in bed 🌶️

1991 - THREE NEW CHAPTERS! Celestial beings go to a 👁️rave👁️ Rated E for... E. Yes. That kind. Do not read if you shouldn't. This is not a cautionary tale, but you might pick up life-saving knowledge. Really. 🌶️🌶️🌶️

1994 - 2008 - Crowley is in recovery, Azi is writing about their yearly meetings in his diary. Meshes with the first scene of them in St. James' Park in season 1. 2019 - 2022 - FINISHED! They averted the Armageddon, and nobody gives a hoot what they're up to. Aziraphale seems to have learned to trust Crowley after what happened in season 1, but Crowley doesn't trust herself. This fic is about what happens up until Monday, September 4th, 2022, when a box-carrying man-friend appears on Aziraphale's doorstep. I wrote an alternate ending, what would have happened in season 2 if Gabriel hadn’t showed up.

BOOK OF SARAQAEL - Apparently, Saraqael knows what’s up. So, what is up, you ask? Saraqael wouldn’t tell you, but perhaps you’ve paid attention to the Clues and figured it out?

BOOK OF LIFE - Time hasn’t started yet, and Aziraphale comes to his senses sitting at a conference table, certain the feeling that something is wrong would go away if he could be near… something or someone. He doesn’t know yet. This is the one, guys - this one explains the Fall, it explains everything.

—

They’re all on the same timeline and it’s gonna be kinda huge. I don’t know why I’m writing this, but I have to.

To the world!

Will update this when I write more minisode-fics❤️

#crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens fandom #aziraphale x crowley #good omens 2 #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable spouses #innefable husbands #crowley edits #ineffable divorce #good omens minisode #good omens fan fiction #good omens fanfic rec #crowley good omens #good omens crowley #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #aziraphale theory #good omens aziraphale #archangel aziraphale #aziracrow #aziracrovember #good omens apology dance

[aduckwithears]

I want to talk about Aziraphale's state of mind in the second season.

The big problem? He got his happily ever after in season 1. He and Crowley both did. Together. So by every story and fairy tale and romance book logic they are happy and everything is well. Right?

This is how he is acting during much of season 2. He's enjoying his bookshop, supporting his local community (purely in selfish ways of course), and occasionally contacting Crowley to talk about whatever it is that has happened recently. It's perfect! It's what they always wanted! Crowley is perfectly happy too and absolutely not living out of the Bentley and not telling Aziraphale that. Right? But of course it isn't (both for reasons of continuing the story and the presumed lengthier adjustment period of 2 immortals). Where this gets interesting is when pressure is applied by a new crisis (Gabriel) and instead of, idk, communicating, Aziraphale leans harder into the fantasy. Everything is great, and now they are solving a mystery together! This is a partner thing, right? Like the plot of a novel! Or a film.

And this is where I want to take a little step back, and point out that every single one of the flashbacks are framed from Aziraphales point of view. We see him bring up, research, and look pensive after the Job minisode. The Resurrectionists series of events comes up with the mention of Edinburgh, but are also framed with his diary. The 1941 romp shows up after Shax mentions it to him in the car. Storytelling and fiction are Aziraphale's coping device this season!

I'm not saying that the minisodes are doctored or incorrectly remembered (although there are moments where everything seems so gosh, gee whiz, over the top that it has me squinting) but rather that it helps to frame the rest of the season (the present day Gabriel and Maggie/Nina plots) as stories to Aziraphale, rather than a thing happening in real time that requires communication and actual thought. Because after all - he and Crowley are in their happily ever after! They will solve these little problems, and even better, Aziraphale can play out the next step of their story (making it a little more human and tactile... how Aziraphale of him) through all the glances, little touches, and the Ball. Then Crowley will sweep him off his feet, because that's how these stories go! He is increasingly consumed by this narrative up to and including ignoring the demons outside until one literally throws a brick into his carefully constructed Pride and Prejudice LARP. Even so. Holding the bookshop against the demons is only a temporary setback because what happens next? Love conquers all. Gabrial and Beez get their happily ever after. Looking at Aziraphales face in that scene there are truly no thoughts only heart eyes directed at Crowley.

Except. Then the Metatron shows up. In the most spectacular reverse deus ex machina possible, he makes The Offer. And maybe THAT is the happily ever after? The best possible happily ever after? Maybe this is the next part of the story! But finally we get the cold water. It turns out Crowley has been living in an entirely different (and probably more realistic, although still heavily secret agent based) narrative. So we have the Confession and still such terrible miscommunication... until the Kiss. After that I think Aziraphale understands. (A Kiss of awakening?? The sleeping storybook princess?? Maybe a metaphor too far). He can finally HEAR and realize the this is NOT yet happily ever after. That it could be but they aren't there yet. However at this point it's too late and emotions are running too high. He panics into old habits. He forgives. Crowley leaves. And then once again at the perfectly wrong time, the Metatron shows up, rushes and bundles and all but pushes Aziraphale out the door and onto the elevator. At one point Aziraphale almost says he's changed his mind. I think he does change his mind. Or at least his story. Because the fairy tale is over and now HIS double agent days are about to begin.

#this post sponsored by Into the Woods #which honestly Aziraphale should be more familiar with it being Sondheim and all #happily ever after is not the end!!! #i'm still working through things #there is just so much at the end of this season #but aziraphale is NOT living in reality for most of it #that i can tell you for sure #good omens #good omens meta #good omens s2 #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #aziraphale #a duck talks

[scotianostra]

January 11th 1940, John Buchan, diplomat, soldier, barrister, journalist, historian, politician, publisher, poet and novelist passed away.

Born in Perth the eldest son of a Free Church of Scotland minister, he spent time in the Borders as a child before the family moved to the Gorbals in Glasgow, he went on to have a truly extraordinary life from humble beginnings.

Educated at Hutchesons Grammar School Buchan graduated from Glasgow University then gained a scholarship to Brasenose College, Oxford. During his time there – ‘spent peacefully in an enclave like a monastery’ – he wrote two historical novels.

In 1901 he became a barrister of the Middle Temple and a private secretary to the High Commissioner for South Africa. In 1907 he married Susan Charlotte Grosvenor; they had three sons and a daughter. After spells as a war correspondent, Lloyd George’s Director of Information and MP, Buchan – now Sir John Buchan, Baron Tweedsmuir of Elsfield - moved to Canada in 1935 where he had been appointed Governor-General.] Despite poor health throughout his life, Buchan’s literary output was remarkable – thirty novels, over sixty non-fiction books, including biographies of Sir Walter Scott and Oliver Cromwell, and seven collections of short stories. In 1928 he won the prestigious James Tait Black Memorial Prize, Britain’s oldest literary prize for his biography of the Marquis of Montrose. Buchan’s distinctive thrillers – ‘shockers’ as he called them – were characterised by suspenseful atmosphere, conspiracy theories and romantic heroes, notably Richard Hannay (based on the real-life military spy William Ironside) and Sir Edward Leithen. 

Buchan was a favourite writer of Alfred Hitchcock, whose screen adaptation of The Thirty-Nine Steps was phenomenally successful, the pair can be seen together in the second photo.

John Buchan served as Governor-General of Canada until his death on this day in 1940, the year his autobiography Memory Hold-the-door was published. His last novel Sick Heart River was published posthumously in 1941.

From The Pentlands Looking North And South is a poem by John Buchan I can relate to, The Pentlands was part of my playground when growing up on the outskirts of Edinburgh.

Around my feet the clouds are drawn In the cold mystery of the dawn; No breezes cheer, no guests intrude My mossy, mist-clad solitude; When sudden down the steeps of sky Flames a long, lightening wind. On high The steel-blue arch shines clear, and far, In the low lands where cattle are, Towns smoke. And swift, a haze, a gleam,-- The Firth lies like a frozen stream, Reddening with morn. Tall spires of ships, Like thorns about the harbour's lips, Now shake faint canvas, now, asleep, Their salt, uneasy slumbers keep; While golden-grey, o'er kirk and wall, Day wakes in the ancient capital. Before me lie the lists of strife, The caravanserai of life, Whence from the gates the merchants go On the world's highways; to and fro Sail laiden ships; and in the street The lone foot-traveller shakes his feet, And in some corner by the fire Tells the old tale of heart's desire. Thither from alien seas and skies Comes the far-questioned merchandise:-- Wrought silks of Broussa, Mocha's ware Brown-tinted, fragrant, and the rare Thin perfumes that the rose's breath Has sought, immortal in her death: Gold, gems, and spice, and haply still The red rough largess of the hill Which takes the sun and bears the vines Among the haunted Apennines. And he who treads the cobbled street To-day in the cold North may meet, Come month, come year, the dusky East, And share the Caliph's secret feast; Or in the toil of wind and sun Bear pilgrim-staff, forlorn, fordone, Till o'er the steppe, athwart the sand Gleam the far gates of Samarkand. The ringing quay, the weathered face Fair skies, dusk hands, the ocean race The palm-girt isle, the frosty shore, Gales and hot suns the wide world o'er Grey North, red South, and burnished West The goals of the old tireless quest, Leap in the smoke, immortal, free, Where shines yon morning fringe of sea I turn, and lo! the moorlands high Lie still and frigid to the sky. The film of morn is silver-grey On the young heather, and away, Dim, distant, set in ribs of hill, Green glens are shining, stream and mill, Clachan and kirk and garden-ground, All silent in the hush profound Which haunts alone the hills' recess, The antique home of quietness. Nor to the folk can piper play The tune of "Hills and Far Away," For they are with them. Morn can fire No peaks of weary heart's desire, Nor the red sunset flame behind Some ancient ridge of longing mind. For Arcady is here, around, In lilt of stream, in the clear sound Of lark and moorbird, in the bold Gay glamour of the evening gold, And so the wheel of seasons moves To kirk and market, to mild loves And modest hates, and still the sight Of brown kind faces, and when night Draws dark around with age and fear Theirs is the simple hope to cheer.-- A land of peace where lost romance And ghostly shine of helm and lance Still dwell by castled scarp and lea, And the last homes of chivalry, And the good fairy folk, my dear, Who speak for cunning souls to hear, In crook of glen and bower of hill Sing of the Happy Ages still. O Thou to whom man's heart is known, Grant me my morning orison. Grant me the rover's path--to see The dawn arise, the daylight flee, In the far wastes of sand and sun! Grant me with venturous heart to run On the old highway, where in pain And ecstasy man strives amain, Conquers his fellows, or, too weak, Finds the great rest that wanderers seek! Grant me the joy of wind and brine, The zest of food, the taste of wine, The fighter's strength, the echoing strife The high tumultuous lists of life-- May I ne'er lag, nor hapless fall, Nor weary at the battle-call!... But when the even brings surcease, Grant me the happy moorland peace; That in my heart's depth ever lie That ancient land of heath and sky, Where the old rhymes and stories fall In kindly, soothing pastoral. There in the hills grave silence lies, And Death himself wears friendly guise There be my lot, my twilight stage, Dear city of my pilgrimage.

#scotland #scottish #writer #poet #diplomat #administrator #politician #history

[therealnuclearplatypus]

Brave Soldier (I'll See You Again).

1940

"Nǎinai, what if America joins the war, too?"

Frank's grandmother looked at him sharply. "Then we would have fled in vain. Your mother would have stayed to fight back in Canada in vain."

Frank gulped at her bluntness. "Our side will win though, right?"

The old woman looked away, wincing. "I can't tell for sure. Though the US seems intent on staying away from it all for the time being. We should be safe for now."

"We've been here a year. We haven't heard from Ma in three months. I worry."

"Don't. There is no use. What will happen will happen regardless of your fretting. It's a war. People die and get maimed. Be thankful you don't have to see any of it."

"Yet."

"Yes. Yet."

***

Leo stilled, fearing he'd be found. He was in a new foster home (again) and his current parents didn't like him too much. He tried to keep out of their way.

Fifteen years old and still running. Soon he'd be sixteen, and he wouldn't have to depend on anyone anymore.

He was under his bed, counting imaginary sheep in the dark. Frank told him it helped him calm down. Leo hoped it'd help him, too.

Since Frank had moved to the city last year with his grandmother to escape the war, Leo had harboured the most embarrassing crush on the boy. But it was dangerous. Two men together? It could never be.

Plus, he doubted Frank would reciprocate his sinful feelings. They'd have to remain hidden.

___

1941

They were on a low stone wall, swinging their legs and trading jokes and anecdotes. Frank was talking about his mother again. He seemed unable to help it. Ever since she'd died a few months ago, Leo had promised him he'd be there for him. He didn't want Frank to go through it alone, as he had.

"She used to tell me this story ..." Frank was saying, recounting an old Chinese folk tale his mother used to tell him. Leo listened intently. He loved Frank's voice. He loved everything about Frank.

Frank looked at Leo as he narrated, saw the concentration in the furrow of his eyebrows. He couldn't help smiling a little. He'd found such a good friend. Everyone felt this strongly and lovingly towards their best friends, right? They did. Everyone did.

***

Frank was kicking a ball around the empty alleyway. Leo watched, having long since given up trying to keep up with him. He'd rather watch him, anyways.

Frank paused, panting a little. He turned to Leo and called, "Oi, it's your birthday soon, isn't it?"

"It is," Leo agreed.

"What do you want?"

Leo shook his head. "You don't have to buy me anything."

"But I wanna give you something. What do you want?"

Leo smirked. "I wish that the love of my life would come to me and hold me in their loving arms and kiss me and treat me like the king I am."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "'Their'? Don't you mean 'her'?"

Leo shrugged. "Yeah."

"Why did you say 'their'?" Once Frank had caught hold of something, he rarely let go until he got a response or was given clear signs it wasn't up for discussion. Leo considered giving him such signs. Or maybe it would be best for Frank to know why. They were friends. It was wrong. But Frank would be kind about it. Or would he? He—

"Leo?" Frank had walked up to him, face close to his. Leo's heart was beating a mile a minute.

He threw caution to the wind and said, "Because it doesn't really need to be a woman."

Frank stared at him. "Oh—you—"

"Yes," Leo said, fear creeping up all over him, "yes."

Frank was silent for a moment, then said, "I think I'm like that, too."

Leo was caught completely off-guard. What?

"I've had, um. Feelings for a boy. I think? I thought I felt very strongly platonically towards him. But, I, uh. That delusion did not last long."

Leo kept staring. Frank worried he'd said the wrong thing. He looked away uneasily when Leo whispered, "God, I thought you'd hate me."

Frank looked back at him, incredulous. "What, hate you for—for feeling attraction towards men? Why would I?"

"It's not natural," Leo said quietly.

"I'll decide for myself what's natural and not, thank you," Frank said severely. "And I don't think any form of love is unnatural." He hesitated. "Though I may be saying that because I am the same."

"Possibly." Leo shot him a grin. "But I am glad you are not condemning me for it."

"Condemn you? As if. I love you too much for that."

Leo froze. Frank froze. What the fuck had he just said? He loved him? Frank wanted to die on the spot. He couldn't believe—

"When you say love—" Leo started.

Frank flushed. "I just—"

"You mean like, the way I love you?"

Frank looked at him. "What do you mean? How do you love me?"

"Like this," said Leo, and he kissed him full on the mouth.

***

No one had found out yet. They'd meet as they always did, and kiss and laugh in hidden corners. Sinful love be damned, this was too right to be a crime.

Canada had joined the war on the tenth of September, 1939. Frank thought they'd be safe. It was 1941 and America was still in the clear. His grandmother had passed of old age and grief over her daughter's loss. Frank felt the blow, but Leo was there to soften it. As always. How he loved him.

But then. December seventh, 1941. A bombing on Pearl Harbour by the Japanese. Suddenly, the US didn't seem too inclined to stay out of it.

Leo evaded enlistment on account of his bad leg. Also because even the recruitment guy thought Leo wouldn't be able to hold his own in a fight.

(Joke's on him, though. Leo would be able to fly a plane. But he was glad to have avoided all that.)

Everytime Leo brought that story up, Frank would fall silent. Leo saw it coming. He tried to blind himself to it, but he couldn't. Not for long.

"I'm enlisting."

He winced as he heard the words. He wanted to ignore it. He really did. But Frank was right around front of him, stiff with suspense, rigid with determination. Leo felt like crying.

"Why?" he asked, unable to say anything else.

"My—my mother died fighting. This country needs all the help it can get. I—I'm a good fighter. Hand-to-hand combat, guns, whatever. I'm competent. I can do it."

"You want to enlist just because you can do it?" Leo said, nearing tears. He didn't want to cry. He wasn't going to. He wasn't.

Frank was almost trembling. "No. I—I—I don't know, Leo. I feel like I have to."

"To live up to your mother's legacy?"

"Maybe. Yes. No. I don't know."

Leo sighed, eyes just barely tearing up. "You can die."

"I'll come back to you."

"There's no guarantee of that."

"I will. You're not getting rid of me so easily."

"It's not like I want to."

"I—"

The tears fell. "Enlist. Go. Fine. Whatever. I don't care."

Frank's eyes were brimming with tears, too. "You're mad at me."

"Of course I'm fucking mad at you. Do you have a death wish?"

"They'll come after me to enlist anyway, and I don't have an excuse to stay. I'm not sure I want to make one up, either. They'll call me out on my bullshit anyways. But—I really don't know. I'm itching to fight."

Leo sighed again, less angrily this time. "Oh, baby. I get it. I do. It's still wanting to avenge your mother's death, in a way—I don't blame you. I'm sorry for snapping. I just—"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

"Don't be. Please, don't be." Leo moved to hug him, but Frank pulled him into an all-consuming kiss, and when they parted, Leo remained as close to him as he could possibly be. These moments were precious. Even more so now.

"Go do what your heart feels it must do to be free, my soldier. My brave, brave soldier."

___

1942

Letters after letters. Frank made sure Leo felt his presence even in his absence. Leo was just glad he was still alive. Maybe, somehow, miraculously, he'd make it out alive. He'd come back to him.

Frank came back for a short spell, and they made the most of it. It wasn't nearly enough, but they had to make do with what they had. They were both grateful for any extra moment they got to spend with each other.

The end of 1942 did not see the war's end. They were still hoping.

___

1943

The distance did nothing to dim the fire in their hearts. Frank still sent him letters, though they became sparser are the Japanese became harsher with their attacks. Leo could almost imagine that Frank would be back any day now. That was the hope keeping him alive at this point.

Frank sent him gifts for his birthday amd for Christmas. Every letter included narrations of their days and how much they missed each other. Frank kept listing the names of all the dead or MIA soldiers, "so that they may be kept alive in some way," he said.

Leo just hoped that Frank wouldn't just become another memory immortalised in ink, too.

___

1944

Leo carefully opened the envelope, smiling as he saw the familiar handwriting.

Leo,

Why is Japan so beautiful? And I met one of their soldiers. We had orders to fire but he came in peace. Really. It wasn't a ruse. They're actually so nice. Why are we even fighting at all?

Leo kissed the name at the bottom of the letter. Frank. He'd come back. Soon. He would.

***

My love,

Nǎinai always told me that we humans fight so terribly because we insist on refusing our animal side and, rather than taming it, we call it civilised and let it become worse. I'm starting to think she was right.

***

Darling,

Good news! I should be back within the month. Victory is in our hands now. I didn't even lose any limbs!

***

My sweet,

I'll be able to hold you in my arms again in a fortnight. We'll never have to be separated again. I love you. Till the ends of the world and eternity, I'll love you.

***

Dear Mr. Valdez,

We regret to inform you that soldier FRANK ZHANG has been confirmed dead in battle—

___

1945

On the fourteenth of Augustz 1945, Japan agreed to surrender.

On the second of September, 1945, Japan formally surrendered, thus handing victory to the Allies.

Frank had been buried amongst countless other bodies of dead soldiers.

Somewhere in the city, a gravestone read, Leo Valdez. The death year was marked as 1944, not too far off from the day he'd received the last letter.

Frank had been right. They got to see each other again.

#valzhang #frank zhang #leo valdez #pjo #hoo #toa #rick riordan #i hope there are no typos #enjoy!! <33 #im back with valzhang lol oop

[aftaabmagazine]

شب چو در بستم  |As the night embraced me tightly | احمد ظاهر | Ahmad Zahir

شب چو در بستم

As the night embraced me tightly

آواز احمد ظاهر

Song by Ahmad Zahir (1946-79)

شعر محمد فرخی یزدی

Poem by Mohammad Farrokhi Yazdi (1889-1939) 

شب چو در بستم و مست از می ‌نابش كردم

As the night embraced me tightly, and I lost myself in its pure wine

ماه اگر حلقه به در كوفت جوابش كردم

If the moon tapped at my door, I paid no heed

غرق خون بود و نمی‌مرد ز حسرت فرهاد

Drenched in blood and not dying like the longing of Farhad 

خواندم افسانه شيرين و به خوابش كردم

I recited the sweet legend and immersed myself in its dream

Translated from the Farsi by Farhad Azad, with edits by Parween Pazhwak 

Spring 2024 | بهار ۱۴۰۲

* The phrase “sweet legend” is a play on the word “shirin,” which literally means “sweet.” It also refers to the story of Princess Shirin and the sculptor Farhad, as told in the “Shahnameh,” “Khosrow and Shirin” and folk tales.

With his soulful voice, Ahmad Zahir brings to life the verses scribed over a century ago by Mohammad Farrokhi Yazdi.

As the sun sets and darkness envelops the land, Ahmad Zahir finds solace in the twilight. With the virtuous wine of the night, he begins to recite the age-old story of Farhad and Shirin. It's a tale of undying love and heartbreaking tragedy passed down through generations.

Farhad, the legendary sculptor, pours his heart and soul into carving steps out of the rocky cliffs, hoping to win the hand of his beloved Shirin. His determination knows no bounds as he toils day and night, driven by his unwavering love.

But fate has other plans. Just as Farhad nears the completion of his monumental task, tragedy strikes. A cruel deception orchestrated by his rival shatters his world as false words reach Farhad, telling him of Shirin’s death. 

In a moment of despair, Farhad takes his own life— he stabs his chest with the sculptor's chisel and throws himself off the steep cliff. It's a tale of love and sacrifice, dreams crushed and hearts broken.

Yet, despite the tragedy, Farhad's story resonates through the ages, inspiring countless souls to pursue their dreams against all odds. 

In two lines of the poem, Ahmad Zahir's voice carries the weight of this timeless tale. His songs are not just poetry—they reflect his heartache, a bittersweet reminder of the fragility of love and the inevitability of loss.

As a child listening to Ahmad Zahir's cassette tapes, I eagerly listened to this song and awaited hearing my name. With excitement, I would exclaim, "He sang my name!" It was a moment of sparkling magic. Many years later, I still feel the same. 

Mohammad Farrokhi Yazdi (1889-1939) was a writer and political activist who played a significant role in creating the Iran Constitutional Revolution (1905-11), which included the establishment of the parliament in Iran. He also published the political journal Storm, which he used to criticize the totalitarian regime of Reza Shah (r. 1925 – 1941). Unfortunately, he was arrested and executed in a Tehran prison.

The singer, born seven years before the execution of the poet, met the same fate at the age of 33, alas cowardly masked by the Khalq oppressive regime as a “car accident” near Salang, north of Kabul.  

For centuries, these neighboring regions have shared a tragic commonality as is today: the dogmatics’ noose hunts free-thinkers.

Although their breaths may have been extinguished, their art lives on because true art is ardent and eternal.

—Farhad Azad 

March 29, 2024 

#AhmadZahir #Kabul #Kabulistan

[voidblacktea]

Christmas Classics: Dark, Tall and Handsome (1941)

This is a clever Runyonesque tale of a notorious mobster (Cesar Romero), who is actually a soft-hearted fellow who has never killed anyone, but maintains his reputation in the underworld as a brutal tough guy by taking the credit for rival mob killings that he really had nothing to do with.

While shopping for Christmas 1927 in a department store, he meets a pretty young lady (Virginia Gilmore) who babysits children while their parents shop and although he’s a bachelor, he tells the reserved young lady that he’s a banker and needs a nanny for his young son, so he hires her for the job. The only problem is, he now has to come up with a kid to be his son.

A good story good with some laughs and a succinct ending make "Dark, Tall and Handsome" a little unknown Christmas b-movie that should be watched at least once. It's on YouTube.

#christmas classics #Christmas #dark tall and handsome 1941 #cesar romero #virginia gilmore #warner bros #old hollywood

[myfrenzi]

15 Classic Movies You Should Revisit on OTT

In the vast landscape of modern cinema, classic movies hold a timeless charm that continues to captivate audiences across generations. These cinematic gems paved the way for the film industry and left an indelible mark on the hearts of movie enthusiasts. Thanks to the convenience of OTT platforms, we can now relive the magic of these iconic films from the comfort of our homes. In this blog, we’ll take you on a nostalgic trip through 15 classic movies that you should revisit on OTT. Plus, we’ll help you find where to watch web series online through myfrenzi.

“Casablanca” (1942) – Directed by Michael Curtiz Set against the backdrop of World War II, “Casablanca” is a timeless romantic drama that transcends time. With unforgettable performances by Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, this masterpiece is available on various OTT platforms, easily accessible through myfrenzi.

“Gone with the Wind” (1939) – Directed by Victor Fleming A sweeping epic that has stood the test of time, “Gone with the Wind” tells the tale of love and loss during the American Civil War. With breathtaking cinematography and powerful storytelling, this classic is a must-watch. Use myfrenzi to find where to watch this legendary film online.

“The Godfather” (1972) – Directed by Francis Ford Coppola Regarded as one of the greatest films in cinematic history, “The Godfather” follows the Corleone family’s rise to power in the world of organized crime. Don’t miss this iconic crime drama, available on OTT platforms suggested by myfrenzi.

“Citizen Kane” (1941) – Directed by Orson Welles Widely considered the greatest film ever made, “Citizen Kane” explores the life of media tycoon Charles Foster Kane. This groundbreaking classic continues to inspire filmmakers and movie lovers alike. Discover where to stream it online with the help of myfrenzi.

“Psycho” (1960) – Directed by Alfred Hitchcock A masterpiece of suspense and horror, “Psycho” is a chilling tale of a motel owner with a deadly secret. Alfred Hitchcock’s directorial brilliance makes this film an unforgettable cinematic experience. myfrenzi will lead you to the best OTT platforms to watch this spine-tingling classic.

“Lawrence of Arabia” (1962) – Directed by David Lean An epic biographical drama, “Lawrence of Arabia” follows the life of T.E. Lawrence during World War I. The film’s grand scale and remarkable performances earned it multiple Academy Awards. Find out where to watch this monumental classic online through myfrenzi.

“Schindler’s List” (1993) – Directed by Steven Spielberg A powerful portrayal of humanity and sacrifice during the Holocaust, “Schindler’s List” is an emotionally charged film that leaves a lasting impact on viewers. Use myfrenzi to locate the platforms where you can stream this poignant classic.

“The Shawshank Redemption” (1994) – Directed by Frank Darabont “The Shawshank Redemption” is a heartwarming tale of friendship and hope in the most unlikely of places — a prison. Its universal themes and brilliant performances have made it a beloved classic. Myfrenzi will guide you to where you can watch this uplifting film online.

“Casino” (1995) – Directed by Martin Scorsese With an all-star cast, “Casino” delves into the dark and dangerous world of Las Vegas casinos. This gripping crime drama is a must-watch for fans of mobster movies. Discover the OTT platforms where you can stream “Casino” through myfrenzi.

“The Wizard of Oz” (1939) – Directed by Victor Fleming An enchanting journey to the Land of Oz, this musical fantasy remains a favorite among audiences of all ages. Relive the magic of “The Wizard of Oz” on various OTT platforms suggested by myfrenzi.

“Taxi Driver” (1976) – Directed by Martin Scorsese A haunting character study of a mentally unstable war veteran turned taxi driver, this film showcases Robert De Niro’s exceptional acting talent. Find out where to watch “Taxi Driver” online through myfrenzi.

“E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” (1982) – Directed by Steven Spielberg A heartwarming tale of friendship between a young boy and an alien, “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” is a beloved classic that has left a lasting impression on audiences worldwide. Use myfrenzi to locate the platforms where you can stream this timeless film.

“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (1975) – Directed by Milos Forman This powerful drama set in a mental institution explores the struggle between individuality and conformity. Jack Nicholson’s iconic performance makes “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” a must-watch classic. Find it on OTT platforms with the help of myfrenzi.

“The Graduate” (1967) – Directed by Mike Nichols A coming-of-age classic, “The Graduate” follows the life of a recent college graduate as he navigates love and uncertainty. This iconic film’s impact on pop culture remains significant. Discover where to watch “The Graduate” online through myfrenzi.

“Star Wars: Episode IV — A New Hope” (1977) – Directed by George Lucas A groundbreaking space opera that launched a global franchise, “Star Wars” remains a monumental achievement in cinema history. Relive the adventure on various OTT platforms suggested by myfrenzi.

Conclusion: Revisiting classic movies is like opening a time capsule of cinematic brilliance, allowing us to relish the timeless art of filmmaking. Thanks to OTT platforms and the assistance of myfrenzi, you can now embark on a nostalgic journey through these 15 legendary films. Whether it’s the romance of “Casablanca,” the crime saga of “The Godfather,” or the fantasy of “The Wizard of Oz,” myfrenzi will guide you to where you can watch these classics online. So, grab your popcorn, sit back, and enjoy these masterpieces from the comfort of your home. Happy watching!

[whatisthismandoinghere]

Book asks:

1, 2 and 15 please. I need to read something new...

Thanks for the ask! Hope you find something that tickles your fancy

1. Book you've reread the most times?

Hmm... it's between The Book Thief, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Hobbit

2. Top 5 books of all time

*suddenly forgets every book I've ever read*

Also this was super hard, I like too many books 😂

Days of Infamy by John Costello - tells you about what happened at Clark Field on Dec 8, 1941 and Douglas MacArthur's shortcomings, is sheer perfection, go read it

Lord of the Rings Trilogy by J R R Tolkein- I mean the amount of effort put into the world building here, the detail, the characters, the plot, absolutely divine

Dracula by Bram Stoker - I loved all the different viewpoints and it was scary in a good way, has stood the test of time

World War II: The Definitive Visual History from Blitzkrieg to the Atom Bomb (from DK, Smithsonian Institution) - this book is so thorough, gives you stuff leading up to the war, during the war, and after the war, has maps, pictures, timelines, everything, you could become an expert on ww2 from this book, borrowed it from the library then went and bought it cuz I liked it so much

The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe - I don't care if it's a short story it still counts, it's creepy, it's well written, gives me twilight zone vibes and I love it

Was that way more than you wanted to hear? Probably. Sorry for my rambling

15. Recommend and review a book

Let's Get Lost by Adi Alsaid

A little background: it's about this girl named Leila who's on her way to see the northern lights and helps some strangers along the way

This book has everything: adventure, fun, a little mystery, and some heartwarming moments. I like that it feels like separate stories but also like one single story at the same time. It's something different and not what you'd expect. And the ending wrapped everything up perfectly.

[garbandier]

Only a very wise man at the end of his life could make a sound judgement concerning whom, amongst the total possible chances, he ought most profitably to have married! Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes: in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world, or even with a little more care in this very imperfect one) both partners might have found more suitable mates. But the ‘real soul-mate’ is the one you are actually married to. You really do very little choosing: life and circumstance do most of it (though if there is a God these must be His instruments, or His appearances). It is notorious that in fact happy marriages are more common where the ‘choosing’ by the young persons is even more limited, by parental or family authority, as long as there is a social ethic of plain unromantic responsibility and conjugal fidelity. But even in countries where the romantic tradition has so far affected social arrangements as to make people believe that the choosing of a mate is solely the concern of the young, only the rarest good fortune brings together the man and woman who are really as it were ‘destined’ for one another, and capable of a very great and splendid love. The idea still dazzles us, catches us by the throat: poems and stories in multitudes have been written on the theme, more, probably, than the total of such loves in real life (yet the greatest of these tales do not tell of the happy marriage of such great lovers, but of their tragic separation; as if even in this sphere the truly great and splendid in this fallen world is more nearly achieved by ‘failure’ and suffering). In such great inevitable love, often love at first sight, we catch a vision, I suppose, of marriage as it should have been in an unfallen world. In this fallen world we have as our only guides, prudence, wisdom (rare in youth, too late in age), a clean heart, and fidelity of will…

J. R. R. Tolkien, from a letter to his son Michael, 6-8 March 1941

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

Favorite movies of 2021

I was tagged by the queen of my heart, @safarigirlsp ​; thank you, this was so fun! :D

You can check out her post and her recommendations here :)

I’m very late to any kind of party, so I didn’t see too many things that actually came out in 2021 - I might eventually catch up by 2030.

The good

The Last Duel (could be better, but enough there to enjoy)

Dune (I was surprised I enjoyed this as much as I did. Not the best thing you’ll ever see by any stretch, but Denis Villeneuve, my beloved, knows how to shoot a movie. The soundtrack is iconic)

The Bad

The Matrix: Resurrections (it’s like watching the decomposing corpse of someone you loved being dressed up and put on strings to dance for you. I did get a chuckle out of Neo/Trinity becoming a coffeeshop AU)

The Green Knight (someone put in a tiny bit of effort in researching the myth and the medieval era, and that’s good to see. It just didn’t make me feel much of anything)

And the ugly

House of Gucci (abysmal and embarrassing, I truly feel bad for almost everyone involved. Except Jeremy Irons. He has a grace about him that even the Waluiginess of it all couldn’t extinguish)

Movies in general I actually enjoyed in 2021:

Haxan (1922)

I don’t know what I was waiting for in seeing this gem. It’s everything you’ve heard it is and if you’re like me and love 1920s horror, it’s, mwah, chef’s kiss!

Suspicion (1941)

It’s better than it sounds on paper and I was surprised how well Hitchcock portrayed the complexities of these two characters - I’d mostly watched his movies for the suspense/horror. I think I’ll rewatch it as soon as I can. Tonight maybe.

Rebecca (1940)

Absolutely delightful. After Suspicion, which I watched every day for a week, I had a bit of a Joan Fontaine moment and my second favorite so far is Rebecca. After hearing ‘I’m asking you to marry me, you little fool’, I drafted a whole Charlie fic based around that kind of proposal xD

 The Company of Wolves (1984)

I don’t know how I never saw this before, but as I was planning my werewolf!Jacques story, this was the perfect mood-setter. It’s a perfect blend of fairy tale and abrupt, unapologetic carnality that lurks beneath those stories.

Little girls, this seems to say,

Never stop upon your way.

Never trust a stranger-friend;

No one knows how it will end.

As you’re pretty, so be wise;

Wolves may lurk in every guise.

Handsome they may be, and kind,

Gay, or charming, never mind!

Now, as then, ‘tis simple truth—

Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth!

Princess of Thieves (2001)

I was surprised I liked this as much as I did! The cast is good and the story knows what it is, moving suitably fast. Can you tell I was outlining another story? This time, a Robin Hood!Clyde one and a Joan of Arc/Mulan-inspired Jacques one. 

*

If anyone feels like sharing, I’d love to hear your faves, whether they came out in 2021 or no :)

[themadamespod]

The Great White Gripe

A lot has been said about the “social commentary” within The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. 

“Since when is Marvel a bunch of SJWs? I don’t need this shit.”

“All this race stuff feels SUPER forced.”

“Oh here we go Marvel tryin to be all woke to get the libs on board.”

If you personally know anyone who spews this brand of ignorance, we’re sorry. 

Let’s make one thing perfectly clear: there is no social commentary on TFATWS. Showrunner Malcolm Spellman and director Kari Skogland simply show the reality of life in America. It’s not their fault that so many (white) people (men) don’t like looking in the mirror.

And some people claim they have no problem with film and television addressing politics and social change.

“Just keep it out of my comic book movies. It doesn’t belong there.”

They could not be anymore wrong, even if Chandler Bing himself was lecturing them. 

If you asked 100 people to name the top ten movies of all time, you’d get 100 different lists. But one thing we can all agree on is that film has power. It has the power to move us, to divide us, to unite us. Entertainment can lead to the kind of discourse that prompts action and positive change.

And that’s why The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and the conversations it’s sparking are so important.

One World, One Reality

“Marvel has always been and always will be a reflection of the world right outside our window.” - Stan Lee

There are two takeaways from that statement:

One: Stan Lee didn’t say that in the 1960s, 1970s, or even the 1980s. He said it in 2017.

Two: Our window, not your window, is a subtle but important distinction, particularly as it relates to TFATWS. The Flag Smashers, led by Karli Morgenthau, live by a simple creed: “One world, One people.” The core message of the show is that white Americans and Black Americans experience the world very differently, but there’s still only one world, one reality. 

It’s just a matter of people opening their eyes and seeing it.

TFATWS is an extension of Marvel’s early support of the Civil Rights Movement. In 1963, Stan Lee created the X-Men as an allegory for the ongoing struggles of the African-American community. Though he didn’t explicitly base Professor X and Magneto on Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X, there are ideological similarities.

Five years later, following the assassinations of Dr. King and Robert Kennedy, Stan wrote the following:

“Bigotry and racism are among the deadliest social ills plaguing the world today. It’s totally irrational, patently insane to condemn an entire race—to despise an entire nation—to vilify an entire religion. Sooner or later, we must learn to judge each other on our own merits. Sooner or later, if a man is ever to be worthy of his destiny, we must fill our hearts with tolerance.”

In 2021, Stan’s words still resonate. Racism in the United States is as virulent and damaging as it’s ever been. Black Americans are facing deadly policing, Jim Crow 2.0 voting laws, mass incarceration, and countless other roadblocks to mobility that most white people have never encountered.

Through the journeys of Sam and Sarah Wilson, Lemar Hoskins, and the heartbreaking Isaiah Bradley, TFATWS shows the unvarnished truth of what Ira Glass might call Black American Life. And through John Walker, the writers nail home the message that’s really making certain people squirm:

White men are the greatest threat not just to Black Americans, but all Americans, because TFATWS is as much an indictment of toxic masculinity as it is of bigotry. 

As aggressive racism has spread like wildfire since 2016, so has hostile sexism towards women of all colors. John Walker is the embodiment of the hyper aggression that the Proud Boys applaud. The clearest example of this comes when Walker dares to clap the shoulder of Ayo, one of Wakanda’s Dora Milaje.

Her swift and, ahem, pointed response had women the world over screaming like they’d just won the lottery. 

One could also argue that Walker’s dogged pursuit of Karli and displaced peoples supporting the Flag Smasher cause mirrors the Trump administration’s war on immigrants. 

There are plenty of parallels to draw. The point is, none of them are forced or manufactured or exaggerated. And whether we’re talking about a fictional road in Latvia or a real street in Minnesota, white Americans need to stop avoiding conversations that make them uncomfortable.

The Politics of Comics 

In 1938, Americans were still reeling from the Great Depression. Enter Superman, the everyman hero, who made his comic debut while the nation was facing widespread unemployment, rampant poverty, and blatant corruption at every level of government.

Superman could have faced off against any number of supernatural villains. But Siegel and Shuster went a different route, setting a precedent for comic books that has prevailed to this day:

They got political. 

Throughout Superman’s earliest adventures, he fought against evil politicians, apathetic bureaucrats, aggressive police officers, greedy businessmen, and even a Washington lobbyist. 

Then in 1941, Joe Simon & Jack Kirby introduced Captain America just in time to fight the nazis and free the world from fascism. A couple decades later, Kirby and Stan Lee would tell the tale of the aforementioned Erik Lehnsherr, who survived the horrors of Auschwitz. These comics endured because their passion and nuance transcended entertainment. So what was the secret sauce?

Like Siegel and Shuster, Simon, Kirby, and Stan Lee were Jewish. Representation matters, folks. 

Later on, the X-Men weren’t the only conduit through which Marvel supported Civil Rights. In 1966, on the heels of the “March Against Fear” from Memphis, TN to Jackson, MS, Stan Lee & Jack Kirby unveiled Black Panther. When African-Americans were fighting harder than ever, Black children could suddenly read a comic book about T’Challa, the noble warrior king of a highly advanced African nation. 

Marvel has never been shy about critiquing foreign policy either. Tony Stark and Iron Man debuted in 1968 as the conflict in Vietnam was escalating. And let’s not forget, Tony made his MCU debut in a film that is a clear indictment of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

We could do this all day, but you get the idea. 

Comic books have always reflected the politics of our times, and so has the MCU. Fanboys can’t start crying now just because they’re on the wrong side of history. And when they do, we defer to the great Jon Bernthal when asked about alt-righters appropriating the Punisher symbol:

“Fuck them.”

Life Imitates Art

In 1986, American men felt the need for speed. After Top Gun was released, applications to U.S. aviation forces increased by a staggering 500%. 

Two years later, Errol Morris exposed police corruption in his film The Thin Blue Line. The documentary prompted a new investigation that eventually exonerated death row inmate Randall Adams for the murder of a police officer.

That same year, the Polish government ceased all executions after leaders were swayed to do so by A Short Film about Killing.

Following the release of Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine in 1999, Kmart bowed to public pressure and stopped selling handgun ammunition. 

And 5 years ago, Pakistani Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif changed the law on honor killings in response to the critically-acclaimed film A Girl in the River. 

Like we said earlier, film has the power to spur social change. Even if the effects aren’t always so direct and immediate, television and movies have always contributed to the process in America. 

Seeing the Ricardos sharing a bed allowed some Americans to start relaxing their prudish ways. 

The Mary Tyler Moore Show and Maude empowered women as they fought for reproductive rights.

The Jeffersons and Good Times facilitated calmer discussions about race relations.

And The Ellen Show led to greater representation of queer people on screen and greater acceptance of queer people in society. Though Ellen herself has become a problematic figure in the last year, that legacy still remains.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is hardly the first show of its kind. And given the impact film has on society, we believe Hollywood has a moral obligation to produce content that exposes society’s ills and fosters productive debate. 

Stan Lee would be very proud of the team behind TFATWS for bringing the stark reality of American life into people’s living rooms. The next time you see someone bitching about it, remind them what Stan himself said just a few years ago: 

“Those stories have room for everyone, regardless of their race, gender, religion, or color of their skin. The only things we don't have room for are hatred, intolerance, and bigotry.”

#marvel #mcu #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #isaiah bradley #sarah wilson #ayo #wakanda #wakanda forever #dora milaje #stan lee #jack kirby #superman #marvel comics #dc comics #iron man #tony stark #anthony mackie #sebastian stan #social justice #george floyd #justice for george floyd #justice for daunte wright #daunte wright #lgbtq #representation matters #representation #racism #tfatws #flag smashers

[yelenasdog]

wondrous mess (40s!bucky x fem reader)

𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: angst with some tooth rotting fluff halfway 

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: war is so cruel, it’s only fair that the both of them have to expirience it’s wrath together.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 11k+ (my longest fic!!)

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: the beginning shows implications of alcoholic tendencies and behavior as well as derogatory terms from the 40s to describe those who are suffering from alcoholism, war, character death, denial of death, being a widow, cheating, crying, implications of sex, that’s abt it. if i missed any, feel free to shoot me an ask or message :) 

𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: (listen to these in order for best reading experience)

☆time flies- mac miller

☆at last- etta james

☆crying time- dean martin

☆paper rings- taylor swift

☆fine line- harry styles

☆dream a little dream of me- ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong 

☆twilight time- the platters

☆you don’t have to say you love me- jerry vale

☆moon river- andy williams

☆as the world caves in- matt maltese

☆we’ll meet again- vera lynn

☆everlong (acoustic version)- foo fighters

𝚊/𝚗: i hope u enjoy this!! i’ve worked so hard on this and done so much research, it truly took the most time and effort i’ve ever used in a fic. there’s more disclaimers at the end :)

·。·☆·。·。

December 28th, 1941

The alleyway was dark, unnerving, and cold. A man’s loud and gruff voice projected through the nearly empty alley, bouncing off of the newly propaganda strewn walls. His arm was left hanging defenseless in the air.

“Don’t go, please, we’ll talk it out.” His 5 o’clock shadow seemed more prominent, his clothes wrinkled and smelling of alcohol while his breath was that of smoke.

He had changed since they had gotten together, but he wasn’t the only one.

She turned on her heels from where she stood just outside the backstreet, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill. 

She had aged in the time she had been with Jake, the lines on her face deepening, the bags under her eyes darkening with blue and purple hues. Her painted lips had become cemented in a scowl, her formerly bright smile rarely seeing the light of day. But the distraught girl had no intentions of letting her new Bésame mascara go to waste on some jerk, much like the past few years of her life had. She strutted towards the blonde, regaining her lost composure.

She jabbed a manicured finger onto his chest, causing the man to recede slowly, the girl he had angered not far behind.

“You listen here, you crumb. I will not sit around all slack happy so you can go around and kiss some other dame behind my back.” She removed her hand, crossing it tightly against her chest with her other arm.

“Well, I was buzzed, that bird wasn’t even any importanc-“

“You’re unbelievable!” She gasped, rolling her eyes. She turned away once again. Jake followed in suit.

“Leave me alone, Jake.” She kept her eyes straight ahead on the unfamiliar Brooklyn sidewalk. She had originally come to the area to surprise her now ex- boyfriend after his work in the factory, but was in for a shock when she saw him making out with some girl (not for the first time) just outside the diner on the way.

So even if she didn’t have a clue where she was going, she sure as hell was going to act like she did. Seeing that her stride wasn’t faltering, he made an outcry of her name followed by a bellowed  “No!”

Jake grabbed her shoulder, and she shrugged it off, continuing to walk down the cobblestone street. There were cars buzzing past, and people talking around her on the street.

Couples. Happy couples who she quite honestly envied.

“You’re not allowed to touch me like that anymore.” Jake scoffed at her seemingly venomous words, wrapping a strong hand around her dainty wrist.

“Now don’t go into a decline, it’s not that big of a deal.” Her eyes narrowed at the sandy blond.

“Oh, please. You kissed her, and all the others, because you wanted to and because you could. No regard for anyone’s feelings but your own, just like always. And I’m sick of it, I really am!” She threw her hands up, and they fell back to her side with an audible plop against the gabardine fabric.

Jake looked around nervously at all the people whose attention he had drawn, his eyes darting to and fro.

“Don’t make a scene,” he called her by her nickname in a vain attempt to draw out her sympathy. “Please, we can work it out like we always do.”

“Don’t you dare call me that. You have no place to do so. And I think I’ve made my point fairly evidently. Jake Nelson, you are nothing but a swigger and a cheat, and I want nothing to do with it any longer. Goodbye.” She felt a rush of adrenaline as she picked her head up, the setting sun in what to her seemed a poetic manor.

She didn’t know where she was, how she would get home, where she would sleep. But he was gone. That parasite that had been feeding off of her and her emotions, taking advantage of her again and again, was finally gone. And it felt great. She took a breath of the heavily polluted air, noting how it somehow seemed clearer.

She could breathe again, and the feeling was intoxicating. In her newfound bliss, she continued walking for she didn’t know (nor care to find out) how long.

The sky that had since changed from it’s scarlets and oranges to an indigo sheet (becoming nearly impossible to see the stars with all the heavy smoke wafting in the air from the ever so busy factories) provided a hint at exactly how long it had been since she began her adventure. 

She would stare at the buildings as she walked past, analyzing those who walked in and out of them, considering the way they walked, how some appeared dreary, others animated, and making up backstories for them each in her mind. Some of her stories were sadder than others, and some had the most glorious of tales. She liked to think that she was correct about her human hypotheses, even if she was the furthest thing from it.

She swung her head to the left side of the street she was walking on, and not far ahead, she noticed a rickety looking old bar. After her day's events, she felt she deserved a celebratory drink, so she pushed the heavy door open, stepping into the dimly lit area.

The airy sound of piano filled the air, a joyful demeanor to the place. Couples (which she still envied, even if momentarily the said envy had gone vacant) were dancing about happily. Not a care in the world. Not in the moment, at least.

But when she made it past the entrance, that moment stopped. It was like every head turned, all conversations paused, the clinking of the piano keys was no longer to be heard. She gave a small nervous smile to the occupants of the room as she walked to the bar itself, standing just a tad bit taller at the attention. 

And as soon as the moment had stopped, it seemed to have started back up again when she ended up at her destination. Because as she had learned, time truly never stopped for anyone. 

The piano’s melody resumed, everyone was back on their feet in no time. She took a look around, soaking up the atmosphere in complete awe, feeling free as a bird of some sort.

Soon enough, she was slowly sipping away at her concoction while facing the splintering door, her head occupied with thoughts concerning what came next, how she would handle the effects of this adrenaline high she was now stepping off. Her thinking was interrupted, though, by a deep voice and a tap on the shoulder, making her jump in her seat.

“‘Scuse me?”

She turned on her stool to face whoever it was that wanted her attention. Both figures eyes widened at the sight of the other, shock spreading across their faces.

“Well if it isn’t James Barnes!” She spoke, genuine excitement filling her soul. He called out her old nickname, contended with his discovery.

“It’s been awhile! And please, doll, it’s Bucky.” He reminded her with a charming smile. A warm blush rose up from her neck to her cheeks, and butterflies suddenly hatched in her stomach, fluttering about like nobody's business. She nodded, taking another sip from her drink to avoid meeting his eyes (which were much prettier than she ever had remembered from school). 

The clean shaven boy- or man as of late, pulled out a chair next to her, sitting down. The two engaged in friendly conversation, their laughs mixing in the warm, thick air with the sounds of the music. Her heart was beating out of her chest, leaving her feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush all over again.

After some time of very pleasant conversation, a less effervescent matter had risen.

“So,” James began, taking a swig from his glass. “Still with that souse, what was his name,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Jake! That’s his name, Jake!” 

The girl shook her head and rolled her eyes with a laugh.

He was enchanted already.

She began to tell a toned down version of the occurrences with Jake, Bucky remaining captivated by her presence the entire time. James would speak up every few statements, always resulting in her losing her place, not that she minded.

Towards the end of the so called story, there was an interruption towards the front of the bar. 

The moment stopped once more, but in a quite different manner than how it did when she had first entered.

He hollered out her name, followed by an equally as loud “Where are you?” He turned to a man to his left. “Where is she?” He slurred. The scruffy man only shrugged, scooting away from the drunken one that had walked into the brick building.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” She questioned, slowly walking towards the man, trying not to upset him further. 

“Why’d you leave me, huh?! Why’d you cause a scene and go?” He was hysterical. Tears ran down his red face and his hands feverishly grabbed at his scraggly locks for some sense of comfort. 

“Jake, you’re not in your right mind. Leave me alone and go home, you’re leaving your mother worrying, I’m sure of it.”

Her voice began to shake, ripples of emotion that had been repressed for the past years bubbling up to the surface, taunting her, threatening her, to erupt.

And God, his mother, his poor mother.

The frail old woman was half the reason she had even stayed with Jake in the first place,

Her heart was weak, and her son’s behavior never left her any room to breath. So the girl would dedicate much of her time to cooking meals for the widowed Ms. Nelson, bringing them over and sitting with her for hours on end, speaking with her of Jake’s childhood, memories of her late husband spending time with the boy along with it.

Her favorite stories throughout them all, though, were the ones of Jake’s childhood pup, a golden retriever called Benjamin.

Ms. Nelson loved to tell the story of how odd it was that the young boy chose the human name, rather than something frivolous and fun, like Buddy, or Peanut.

So a teary eyed version of the girl would think back to that story whenever Jake would behave in this manner, she would think of Benjamin and a youthful Jake, frolicking in the Oklahoma fields where Jake had grown up.

An extremely happy child, an even sweeter boy.

But no longer could she do so. Not now, after Jake had gone and betrayed her for some random girl.

Some random girl who would never sit with his mother for hours, listening to her weep about her broken son who she pretended to not notice was silently suffering. Some random girl who wouldn’t comfort him when he had a rough day at work, trying to be an active distraction so that he wouldn’t turn to his vice.

Because she had loved Jake Nelson, even if she wanted to pretend she didn’t.

And it hurt her to walk away, but she had to, for his own good.

Which led her to push the image of a golden fluff ball and the face of a smiling small boy out of her mind completely, weighing herself down to the present, meeting Jake’s sad emerald eyes. She walked forward, taking him by the shoulders. Her voice was hushed as she spoke.

“Jake. You’ve become someone I don’t know, someone that’s hard to love. But I did it anyway for a long, long time. Maybe some other time, perhaps even in another life, we can be together. But that all depends on you.

You’ve hurt me, and I can’t pretend you haven’t any longer, Jake. So go home. Please.”

Her eyes hunted through his, sifting for some sign of reassurance that he understood the gravity of the situation.

“But I love you-” He whispered, acting a stuttering mess. Everyone at the bar had gone back to whatever they were doing before he came into the room, not wanting to involve themselves in whatever mess it was obvious the two of them were in.

She took hold of the brown fabric of his coat, gently turning him towards the door. She walked behind him, her hand not leaving his back for some subconscious fear he would do something he would regret once he was of sober mentality.

She discarded it as nonsense;

But nevertheless, her death grip on him never faltered, even for a moment.

As soon as she made it outside, she waved over a cab, the bright yellow vehicle being the only completely visible object in the cool night.

It pulled over with a loud screech, leaving rubber tracks on the damp asphalt. She wrinkled her nose, before digging around her embroidered bag in a flurry, pulling together $5.27 exactly. She knew it would be enough to cover the long ride from the factory to his home, as the high cost of the ride was one of his many worries he did his best to forget in any way he could possibly fathom.

So she told the cabbie his address, helping Jake into the back of the car. He held her hand and looked up to her with pleading eyes. She squeezed it once before putting his back on his lap.

“Goodnight, Jake.” She smiled softly, briefly touching his cheek before shutting the door. She saw him look out the dirty window, before leaning back into the leather headrest and letting his tired eyes flutter to a close, finding momentary bliss, despite all going on around him.

She took a deep breath, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, watching him until the taxi was just barely visible, to where calling it a yellow blob would be generous. But she followed it with her eyes not a moment later, for she had some explicable fear from a tall-tale her mother had told her long ago, about how you would never see someone again if you watched them off completely.

Whether that be by death or some curious mishap along the journey towards it, she never quite felt the urge to find out. And one could take that as a bitter yet nectarous testament to her feelings towards Jake, but even if she wanted to, she wasn’t even sure if she could herself.

She revolved in zombie like fashion, too caught up in her own world once more, to notice a certain brown haired (soon to be, not that he knew it) sergeant.

A stormy look of displeasure had casted itself across his stark features, but his cerulean eyes remained cordial, almost like a safe haven of calm waters to find refuge in.

And almost like in every cliche love story that ever was, she bumped into Bucky, gasping before transitioning into an expression of her regret, a waterfall of apologies gushing from her lips.

He called her by her nickname once more, catching her attention and making her heart skip a beat.

“Seriously, it’s alright, no harm done.”

She zipped her mouth shut, so to say, and just gave a curt nod before starting to go inside. And ever the gentleman, Bucky let her get halfway to the door before calling out her name. She turned once more, salty droplets beginning to roll down her face. 

“Yes?”

He looked down to his feet and then to the bustling city street beside him. After much contemplation in the span of what felt like hours (but was only a few moments), he met her eye.

“I know it’s not my place, and if you don’t wanna talk ‘bout it, we don’t have to, but what happened in there-”

He paused, taking a deep breath in a futile effort to put his nerves at bay, keep the storm from shore to the best of his abilities. He puffed his cheeks, offering his arm before retreating it again, similarly to the way Jake had however many hours ago.

“You don’t deserve that.” He shook his head, left to right, his ungelled hair shiny under the yellow street lights, making him look like an angel.

“I know.”

He shuffled closer to her, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The wind howled around them in an agonizing manner, how lone wolves under a full moon would do the same.

They watched as their frosty breaths floated like smoke in the air, their faces illuminated by the storefront displays lining the streets from Christmas that was only a few days prior, leaving no time to take down the brightly colored decor. You could practically hear the animated Santa Claus’ “Ho ho ho!” from where he sat in the front of a toy store, beckoning those who walked past to come on inside and take a look, maybe spend a few dollars.

But to Y/n, it felt as if the cheery old man was simply mocking her as she was in her current state.

“Really, I mean that, I do.”

Now to reiterate, Bucky was a gentleman, that much was clear. So although he outright wanted to tell her that it seemed as if she didn’t realize her own worth and that, Hell, Steve could treat her better than that punk. But alas, he kept it to himself, only doing his best to comfort her, upsetting her further, never an intention in his mind.

She nodded, giving a tight lipped smile. “Thanks, really.”

She shivered, admiring the red and green lights around her, her glazed over eyes reflecting the image of them beautifully, almost like a work of stained glass art in her iris.

“You wanna head back inside? You look kinda chilly.”

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m just going to stay out here for awhile.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

All that was heard then, was the clicking of his shoes against the cobblestone, with the occasional car whizzing past. But then, she asked him to stay.

Her voice was soft, so much so, in fact, that she possessed what Bucky would say was mistakable for the voice of a mouse, which he would know after spending as many years around Steve that he had. He almost had missed it, but by some miracle, maybe a lucky star, he didn’t

So he turned around, not saying anything to disturb her seemingly exteriorly serene state, only walking up behind her, pulling off his jacket and placing it on top of her shoulders. He smoothed it out briefly, his touch feather light. For he wasn’t sure if he was breaching a certain level of intimacy, breaking any boundaries, with a woman who was practically a stranger.

“Is this alright?”

She nodded again.

“This is fine.” She closed her eyes, feeling much warmer now, but she was slightly torn on if the newfound comfort was accredited to the jacket resting upon her shoulders, or the company standing patiently beside her.

She was starting to think it might just be a little bit of both.

-

June 14th, 1943

The two's relationship (if you could call it that) was painstakingly slow, not that Bucky ever minded.

Word of the war and when, not who, would get drafted had spread, and any waking second for the past years, she was terrified the man she was developing ever strong feelings for would be ripped away with only a moments notice.

But regardless of that, she had a hard time trusting him, that much was true. It wasn’t his fault, not in the slightest. She wished more than anything to forget her past with Jake, but it was no use. So it took her much time to be able to trust James. But he was patient, and he always stayed.

So when he did get called away, it was a rude awakening.

She had only recently met Steve, before Bucky (who she still called James) was sent overseas. Her maternal instinct she didn’t even know she had immediately kicked into overdrive at first sight of the sickly boy, making her promise Buck that she would watch over him, much to Steve’s dismay. Although, there was no doubt in any of their minds she would in the first place, it was a given.

(Steve secretly loved the way she fussed over him, but he would never admit to that.)

The three of them had a lovely time at the Stark Expo the night before Bucky left, leaving a happy new memory for Y/n to drift to whenever she missed the scent of sandalwood, sweat, and his cologne, that was all uniquely him.

She would picture entangling her arms with Steve and Bucky’s own as she skipped happily, pulling the boys along behind her; not too rough of course, for Steve’s sake

She had been full of an electric happiness that night, stealing kisses with James when Steve wasn’t looking, a pink tint falling upon his plump cheeks. She stole his hat right off his head of hair that she loved to run her fingers through so much and put it on, crooked so much so it nearly fell right off. She wore it the whole rest of the night, Bucky wanting to never see her take it off, if it were possible.

Later that night when he took her home, she stood by the doorway, the porch light doing a sad job of lighting up the area, casting a faint amber glow across James’ features.  

The hairs left astray from where she had Bucky’s hunter green cap previously were lit up, forming a halo. 

She was a wondrous mess, and James simply adored her in that moment.

(He also adored her in any other instance since the minute he had laid his eyes on her, but the point still stands.)

You could smell the grass if you had tried, freshly cut and still damp from the late night shower they had run through while making their way home, turning through twisty alleyways, feet pattering against walkways.

Their hands had been slipping apart the entire time, perhaps an attempt by Freyr for a cruel joke in the last hours the lovers would spend together before James was to leave.

Maybe he was up in the sky at Mount Olympus, laughing down at the two mortals as the girl kept her hand gripped securely around the man’s stronger limb, refusing under any circumstances to let go. Maybe his laugh turned to a fond smile from above, finding pleasure in how his jest resulted in such an act of youthful care, not minding in the slightest that it had been counterproductive in the best ways.

“Thank you, James. I had an amazing night.”

He grinned ear to ear, awkwardly shuffling closer to her silhouette.

“Same here, doll.”

And just like that, she had crumbled like a coffee cake, another warm and itchy wave silking up her neck. Past the neckline of the uncomfortable dress she wore because she knew Bucky loved it (even though he would no longer love it and would insist she never wear it again if his ears heard any words of upset at the garment fall past her lips).

It traveled right past her best pearls with the rhinestone right in the center that she had made sure to wear because James had once told her that they made her eyes sparkle, that sly son of a gun.

The twinkle truly had been there solely because of him on that day and most others, but she would allow him to believe what he wanted to believe until the end of time, if it kept that boyish smile cemented on his pretty face.

But as it eventually always would, his smile began to falter, shifting into a slight pout, then into a full on frown as soon as her eyes had become visibly misty.

Bucky reached a hand forward snatching the cap from her head. She huffed, and he rolled his eyes as he placed it back on his head. 

“I’ll be needing this tomorrow, sorry, sweetheart.”

They both laughed for a moment, the memories of the night still fresh in their young minds.

“I’m going to miss you, James.”

Her chin suddenly quivered, her nose ran, and her thoughts were racing at the speed of light.

She couldn’t lose him. No, not yet, she wasn’t ready, she wouldn’t ever be ready. She hadn't even begun to express to him how much she loved him, let alone that she couldn’t bear to live a day without him (as the information was quite new to her as well). So how in God’s name was she supposed to ship him off to war, just like that, practically a sitting duck for those bastard nazis to poke and prod at all they want?

“I’ll miss you more, darlin’. More than you know.”

They both made an attempt at watery smiles that ended up looking more like two painful grimaces, which was more of a reflection of their current moods than the aforementioned. His eyes pleaded with her to say something, anything. One of her quick witted facts, maybe a scolding perhaps, for having such a negative attitude in the current predicament.

Not able to stare at his collapsing facade any longer, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. She quickly reciprocated, placing a strong hand on her waist.

There was a longing look in her eyes as the gears of her brain turned, carefully formulating what she wanted to say.

“Marry me.”

Well, formulating is a strong word.

He laughed at the notion, the sound ringing out and echoing off the small porch. But the whimsical tune soon halted when he realized he was the only one making it.

“Doll, are you serious?”

“Never been more serious about anything in my life, James.” She moved her hands to take his, holding them up to her chest and shaking them as she spoke with a supplicate glance. He said her nickname in a careful manner, trying to articulate a response, muttering something about not having a ring, how their families (Becca included) would be furious they missed the wedding. But she was having none of it.

“Well I’m sure given the circumstances, they’d understand, and if they don’t then oh well. And quite frankly, as for the ring, I could care less, James, make a ring out of paper and slap it on my finger, it's all the same to me. We can go to the court tomorrow morning before I see you off-”

She moved her head down to where Bucky was gazing, tilting it back up with her pointer finger.

“Let me marry you, dammit.”

They laughed for a second, both of them this time, although her’s was much more convincing.

“But why now?”

She paused again, the only sound to be heard was the soft chirping of the crickets hidden in the grass.

“Because I know you're far too much of a gentleman to leave me widowed, James Barnes.”

He pressed soft kisses on her knuckles, meeting her eyes.

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Oh, only every day.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled, pulling her in by the waist. He connected their lips, and felt her smile into the kiss. He also happened to feel a hand creeping up to where his hat rested on the crown of his head, but the feeling wasn’t prolonged.

She snatched it off his shiny locks with a devilish grin, a sparkle in her eye shining like the North star Bucky soon would be gazing upon at night to direct him through the dark nights.

“You should keep that on for forever, you know. Looks better on you, anyway.”

She raised a messy eyebrow, the corner of her bright red mouth turning into a smirk.

“Oh really, is that so?”

Bucky hummed and nodded, kissing her nose and watching in delight as it crinkled up and a high pitched giggle escaped from her lips. Then it was quiet for some time, the only thing able to be heard was the droplets of rainwater sliding off the roof and plopping on the floor as her and James stood in contemplation.

“I’ll marry you, doll.”

She smiled at him warmly, leaning into his larger frame completely, the scratchy green fabric of his uniform flush against her cheek.

“I know.”

He barked a loud laugh, and she felt it through the fabric covering his chest, savouring the feeling.

“You know? Well how did you know?”

She only sighed, moving to open her rickety front door, which the whole neighborhood probably knew judging by the squeak that echoed from it.

“Because, just as I said before. You’re a gentleman. You’d never turn down a proposal in public, especially not from me.”

Bucky’s face contorted, and the gears of his head turned as he made an honest effort at understanding how they were in public.

“But, we’re not?”

She shook her head, stepping into her home and then turning to face him straight on.

“Technically, we were on the patio, which is in the yard, which is in the neighborhood, which is in public. Now, if I were to propose to you right now with you-”

She tugged his arm, forcing him into the building. 

“-also in my home, you would have every right to say no.”

She looked up, scanning his features. Admiring his cheekbones, his lips, and his sharp jaw. But most prevalently, she found herself absolutely enchanted by his eyes, as she always was.

“But I won’t.”

“But you won’t.”

She smiled, the look on her face resembling that of a fox smirking at her prey. She waltzed to the door, closing it softly.

“So,” she began, taking hold of Bucky’s hands.

“Tomorrow morning it is, then?”

“I think it is.”

“Whatever shall we do in the meantime?” She questioned, both of them having ideas that were entirely the same.

“I think I might have an inkling of an idea.”

She huffed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“You and your ideas, James. Always ‘thinking’ of something new.”

He only hummed in agreement, nuzzling his forehead against hers, before moving down to her ear.

“I’d like to believe I act on those ideas. Would you agree?”

You can most likely guess her answer.

-

The next morning was a mixture of great sorrow and great joy all at once. Sure, they had to get up at the crack of dawn on what would be Bucky’s last chance to sleep in for a very long time, and sure, the minister had given them very strange looks, but it had been done.

And to the newly wed Mr and Mrs. Barnes, it was worth it completely.

But nearly as soon as the exciting event had ended, she was standing on the slimy pebbles of Brooklyn's Pier 57, doing her best to not lose her footing on the wet stones. She had given James one final goodbye kiss, before watching him board the Dominion Monarch to be shipped off to England.

The large vessel departed, and for once, she allowed a few tears to slip down her blushed cheeks, her smeared mascara coming with it, just as she knew it would. The bitter droplets were warm, a juxtaposition to the feeling in the pit of her stomach formed by the voice nagging at her that Bucky would never see her again. That her wedding day would be the last time she would ever see her husband. It was a possible reality she never wanted to have to face.

And after so long, she decided she was tired of waiting. So she made a call.

“Hello? Is this Agent Margaret Carter?”

-

December 25th, 1943

Bucky Barnes was not opposed to the idea of Y/n joining the army. He was appalled.

So when on the crisp morning of December 25th, it was quite a surprise when he opened what he had presumed to be a letter wishing him a Merry Christmas from his wife, and rather receiving some interesting news.

He had been laying his backside against a tree, the scratchy bark feeling rather uncomfortable. He smiled, smiled at the news of his wife going to war, not that he knew, when Steve handed him the parchment, taking another sip of some watered down joe from an aluminum cup, before excitedly ripping into it like a little boy.

“I wanted to save it for today,” Steve had told him, his chest puffed out in pride for keeping the secret for so long.

Bucky initially had found it humorous and exciting, why wouldn’t he have? But his mood soon changed after reading just a few lines in.

“James, my love,

I hope this message finds you and the rest of the boys in good health, tell them I wish them all a happy Christmas, as well. There really isn’t a simple way to put this, and I hope it doesn’t put a damper on your holiday spirit, but I’ve been tired of sitting around, so I’ve spoken to Steve’s friend, Agent Carter. I now have enlisted in the SSR as Agent Barnes.”

The paper clenched in his fist, his eyes screwing shut. He didn’t even bother reading the rest before standing up and walking over to Steve, a fiery look set in his eyes. Steve soon caught on to his anger, standing up and parting his lips as he neared.

“Steve, did you know?”

Steve, a horrible liar, shrugged, furrowing his brows. “About what? Buck, what's wrong?”

“Don’t lie to me, Rogers! Did you know about her enlisting?”

At that, it went silent in the forest aside from the rustling of the branches, and the chirps of early rising blackbirds. 

The rest of the Commandos turned, eyes wide, shoulders hunched. Steve gestured for them to calm down and return to normal with a dramatic sweep of his arms, with most of them complying, but not without a few snarky comments from Dum Dum and Gabe protesting the treatment.

“Listen, I tried to stop her-”

“Well apparently, you did a horrible job. God, Agent Barnes. That’s what she'll be known as now. We'll have the whole bunch! Sarge and Agent, wow, we are gonna be one decorated family, ain’t that right, Steve?”

Bucky was ranting and rambling now, spewing angry nonsense at Steve as if that would change a thing. Steve felt a pang of guilt, hanging his head and biting his knuckle.

“Buck, is it a problem that she’ll be an Agent?”

Bucky paused, his nostrils flaring and his eyes slanting.

“Of course it’s a problem, Steve! If they put her in the field, God knows what’ll happen! What if I have to see that name on a plaque some day, huh? In a museum, in some memorial for fallen agents.” His arm put emphasis on every word he shouted, and his voice had grown raspy, tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.

Steve sat his exasperated friend down, putting a comforting arm on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him. It distressed Steve to see Bucky this upset, after all he had done for him over the years. So if he could try to make him feel even the slightest bit relieved, he would in any way he had to.

“Bucky?”

He looked up, his eyes red and nose puffy.

“Think about how you're feeling right now. The fear, the hurt, the anxiety, all of it.”

“Steve, I don’t get how this is going to help me-”

“Just trust me.”

Bucky nodded, slumping over again.

“That’s how she feels. That’s how she felt when the war was announced, how she felt when you submitted your draft, how she felt when you were called away, Hell, how she feels every second of every hour that you’re not with her.”

“Still not helping.”

“Shut up, jerk.” They laughed, Steve elbowing him in his shoulder. The sound echoed through the lush green of the space, the tension noticeably thinner.

“The point is, the pain that this all has caused for everyone is inevitable, inescapable. So learn from it, and savour it. In the long run, we’ll be okay, Buck. I promise you that.”

James bit his bottom lip, puncturing the chapped skin, the blood pounding in his head making it hard to process what Steve had said. But what he did manage to gather, was that they would be okay.

-

February 11th, 1944

“Peggy, I’m nervous.”

“What? Are you kidding? You must be kidding, you’re ridiculous.”

Peggy gave the girl a dirty look from where she stood behind her in front of the only full length mirror at the base, looking as she straightened out her skirt and touched up her “victory” colored lip.

“I’m not kidding, Peg. What if he’s mad?”

The other agent only laughed, briefly touching her on the shoulder before walking around her to where a map of the Hydra bases they had been tracking were laid out. Peggy fiddled with one of the flags for a moment, speaking to a soldier nearby. She impatiently tapped her crimson nails on the board, the sound driving her friend insane. Peggy then began to speak, not even looking up from where she stood, bent over as she examined something else.

“Darling, the only thing Barnes will be mad about by now, is not seeing you for so long. If he was angry before, he’s long forgotten about it, I assure you that.”

She nodded (even though nobody except a nosy recruit had witnessed it).

“You know what, I think you’re right. Thanks, Peg.”

Margaret half smiled, “mmhm” ing, but keeping her head down. She did, however, lift it up when she heard the other woman’s heels clicking in the opposite direction.

“Excuse me?” Peggy remarked, brows raised and her arms crossed.

Agent Barnes turned, her painted lips beckoning Peggy to go on in a most humorous manner.

“We aren’t done here! Get over here and help me mark this up, I’m nearly finished.”

She rolled her eyes, to which Peggy only rushed her more.

By the time they were done (spoiler, she was not almost finished) several hours had passed, and the camp was now lit only by the lanterns and the moon in the obsidian sky.

The stars were visibly bright that night, twinkling like small diamonds without the restriction of smoke from busy factories and the blockage of the ever so fascinating skyscrapers.

Mr and Mrs. Barnes both were watching the stars that night, smiling at the thought of the other doing the same.

Yes, even Bucky, smiling at the thought of his wife despite his neck developing a crick from having laid on the knapsack in the back of the truck for so long. A lovestruck glance was still plastered on his face as he stared up, the road bumpy underneath the wheels of the vehicle. His body would jolt as a cause from this every once in a while, but he paid it no mind, the soft smile staying put.

Steve watched Bucky’s facial expressions, a grin coming across his own features.

“You thinkin’ about her?”

Steve looked up to the sky.

“Always am.”

-

“I know you want to wait up for him, but I promise as soon as I get word of if he’s here, I’ll wake you. You need rest.”

The agent only smiled, her eyes staying trained on the stars above. “I’ll come to bed soon, Peg. I swear.”

But Margaret knew her friend all too well, so she simply bid her goodnight and shook her head.

She whispered, though her friend was too far away to hear her, laying on her backside and tucking her arms behind her head on the damp grass.

“Goodnight, Peggy.”

She had fallen asleep on the green that night, the stars wooing her into a slumber with thoughts of her beloved. She was only awoken when she felt the ground rumble beneath her, and heard the loud whirring of a hummer engine. She sat up, pressing her hands in the wet soil. She squinted and was barely able to make out two tall men jumping out from the back of the car. 

She was initially unsure of who it was, but a shield being reflected on by the pale moonlight, and a hearty laugh soon confirmed her suspicions. She gasped and only to herself muttered Bucky’s name, picking herself up off the ground, running as fast as her feet could take her. 

“James! James!”

He turned his head from where he was talking to Colonel Phillips, immediately recognizing the voice as his wife’s. By the time he had noticed, she was already to him, so all he could do was welcome her with open arms. Literally.

She jumped into his arms, planting kisses all over his face. He laughed and laughed, Steve, and the Colonel, too, cracking a smile at the two’s reunion. She pulled away momentarily, looking over his dirty face. She ran her fingertips over the scratches and gashes, still having a hard time believing that after all this time, even under all the grime and blood and sweat, it was truly him. 

“Sarge, it’s been awhile.” She giggled out, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Same to you, Mrs. Barnes. Too long.” He commented, leaning forward and burying himself in her neck, allowing her to cradle him. He inhaled her perfume, taking the scent to memory for when he would inevitably have to go away once again, leaving her behind.

(So he thought.)

“That would be Agent Barnes to you.”

Bucky saluted, nodding and throwing a wink in her direction, before leaning in and planting a firm kiss to her lips that now only had remnants of red left around the edges from when she had applied it earlier on in the day. Their voices were now reduced to raspy whispers, both of them completely out of breath.

“Well either way, I’ve missed you greatly, Agent Barnes.”

“I’m glad we feel the same way.”

The two of them also felt extremely tired, leaving them to fall asleep that night packed side by side on a small cot in the corner of Steve’s tent. The brown sheets were horribly scratchy, and they had to mainly rely on each others bodies for heat. But despite this, all felt well, as if this new normal was finally worth it. 

-

In the morning, Steve had wanted to let the pair sleep in as long as humanly possible. The sun rising was one thing the great Captain America couldn't prevent, though. So as yellow light began to stream through the barely there material of their temporary home, the Barnes’ were given a somewhat pleasant awakening. 

Birds sang, bugs hummed, and the loud voices of Steve and Bucky’s soldiers could be heard, along with Steve occasionally hushing them if they came too close to their tent, still trying to preserve their well deserved rest. 

The thought made her smile, eyes slowly coming to an open. Bucky’s hand grew tighter on her waist, running circles on the silky fabric by her hip. Hers delicately made its way to brush messy brown locks from James’ closed eyes, the feeling comparable to a feather tickling the bridge of his nose. 

He scrunched it, blinking a few times, before commiting the view of waking up to the face of his wife for the first time to his memory, locked away to where Hydra would hopefully never take it. 

“Good morning, Agent Barnes.”

She shook her head, snuggling further into his chest and stretching her arms. “Mmmhm, not right now.” He placed a confused hand on her back, tracing a line up and down.“I thought it was only Agent Barnes?”

“Not in bed, James.”She looked up, smiling ear to ear. “Right now, I’m your wife, and only your wife.”

It was quiet in the tent, then. But always the one to break the silence, Bucky began to speak, his morning voice so incredibly low that it sent a shiver down her spine. 

“I mean, being my wife is a job in itself.”

They laughed, she shook her head and whacked his chest.

“Right you are.”

She stood up out of bed, shifting her hair to one shoulder with her hand. The glass on the face of her small watch reflected onto the walls, painting a rainbow stripe of light above Bucky’s head. She moved about, her babydoll pink colored slip moving along with her, almost as a toga would flow behind a goddess in the wind. James watched in amazement from his position propped up on his elbows, complete and total awe evident in his heart eyes for his wife. 

God, how he loved to say that, and hear it roll off of his tongue. Just to think it, even.

His wife.

He truly was a lucky man. And as she felt holes being stared into her back, she turned and giggled at Bucky’s antics.

“Now, I know your mother taught a gentleman such as yourself that ogling at women is rude, hmm?” She questioned, throwing the discarded slip at Bucky’s peeping eyes, then pulling on her uniform and beginning to fix her hair and makeup. Fingers moved quickly and expertly as she went about, her red nails almost appearing to move so quickly they were blurring.

He scoffed, forcing his nimble fingers through his knotted hair that could have been comparable to the nest that the very birds that played a hand in awakening them had resided in.

“Even if that woman is my very beautiful wife who I haven’t seen since I went away for war?”

He looked up, eyes bluer than Bing Cosby’s. (Sure, she had only seen them in the magazines, but hey, they seemed quite nice.) She finished putting on her lipstick, walking over and placing a hand under his chin. He looked up in a dreamy haze, basically begging for her lips to be placed on his.

She rolled her eyes and placed a long and sweet kiss upon his plump lips, restoring some of the color that sleep had stolen from them. She giggled at the lipstick left on his ivory skin, wetting her thumb and smudging it in a poor attempt to remove it. He cocked his head like some sort of puppy, slimming his eyes in an amused confusion.

“I guess that’s an exception.”

She leaned forward, leaving a short peck on his forehead, before ruffling his hair and making her way out of the tent. She briefly stopped hanging onto the post that acted as a door of sorts.

“Also, brush your teeth and hair, James. You stink.”

They smiled goofily at each other and she bit her lip, bidding him goodbye. And with that, she was off.

It was later in the day, now, and Bucky, Steve, and the rest of the commandos were in with the Colonel, discussing an upcoming mission. Peggy and Agent Barnes were decoding some of the Hydra messages the commandos had gathered on their previous mission in their general vicinity at the same time.

The paper was yellowed and stiff under her fingers, her eyes could barely stay focused on the multiple symbols in front of her, practically jumping off the page, vibrating at a high frequency.

She briefly closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to free her mind of the distraction that was her husband and honorary little (not so much now physically, but still) brother planning what sounded like an incredibly dangerous mission.

It was like a buzzing in her ear, the mention of capturing one of Hydra’s most valued scientists, and risking their lives in the process. And of course, he often did do just that, risking his life.

But call it wife's intuition, (Is that a thing? She isn’t sure) but she had a horrible feeling about it in the pit of her stomach. Something was telling her she should hug him a little tighter, kiss him a little harder, that kind of thing. And perhaps it could be discarded as the paranoia that had spread through many spouses as the war had started up, in fact, she wished it was.

Too lost in her own thoughts, it took Bucky’s hand on her shoulder to wake her from her trance. He began to quietly and cautiously speak her name in his position.

She turned, jumping ever so slightly. 

“Doll, you alright? Colonel was calling your name, you seemed real out of it.” He placed a hand on her forehead, then to her cheek, checking for any signs of a possible fever.

She didn’t reply to his concerns, only setting her hand utop his, leaning into him and closing her eyes. She opened them only moments later to see James squinting, his glance serious. He was quiet as he spoke, hesitating slightly. He muttered her name, trying to meet her eyes. He looked to see what was wrong, analyzing her, so badly wanting to fix whatever hurt there was lingering in her heart.

They stayed in that position for a while, the rest of the office seemingly standing still. She was the first to remove her hand, Bucky’s following suite.

“There’s a mission, in the Alps. Colonel wants you to come with the commandos and I, Peggy’s to stay here and work coms. He said something ‘bout needing someone who can sneak into places they shouldn’t be.” He chuckled, the sound bringing slight reassurance to her worrying mind.

“I’ll brief you tonight.”

She nodded, looking to her feet and whispering a quiet “okay”. They exchanged I love you’s, and then all that was heard was the faint clicking of James’ boots as he left her standing.

-

March 2nd, 1945

It was downright freezing in the Swiss forest.

And It would have been unbearable, if it weren’t for the fact she had Bucky to keep her warm, the man acting as a living furnace despite the frigid temperatures. The trek to do recom on the train they were intercepting was treacherous, feet ached, fingers were frosted, and the group spent much of their time (minus Steve, he had done enough of that when he was a sickly 90 pound asmatic) complaining to Mrs. Barnes, much to her dismay.

Usually, she would tell them off with a shake of her head or a slap to the arm, discarding their whines are nonsense.

In return for putting up with said nonsense, the commandos took her under their wing, so to say.

They never treated her differently than the rest of the group (or else she would have probably made her displeasure known, which both James and Steven warned them heavily against). Sharing the scotch, poking fun. In fact, if it weren’t for the nature of their escapade, she would have gone as far to say that she was having fun.

The only exception to this treatment was if she had to change, oftentimes borrowing a henley of Bucky’s or a pair of his trousers, the extra fabric heating her up quite nicely. Bucky would stand in front of whatever tree trunk she was hiding behind, watching to make sure no wandering eyes made any shameful attempts to catch a glimpse.

But overall, they worked well together, and were beginning to grow into a family, not that any of them would admit it.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“What’re the chances this goes horribly wrong?”

He looked to his right to meet her eyes, wrapping an arm around his wife. They both turned back to the landscape of mountains, which were ironically quite beautiful. They were greeted with howling wind biting their noses and cheeks, causing her to let out a yelp, turning her head and tucking into Bucky’s arm briefly. He smiled and stroked the top of her messily tied back hair, allowing her to momentarily find comfort within his hold for what they didn't know would be the last time.

“With me? Nah, We’ll be alright. Zero to none.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled at his cocky behavior as she always would, his smirk settling her nerves.

“Yeah.” She exhaled. “We’ll be alright.”

-

March 4th, 1945

The brick remains of the pub were dimly lit by the lone street lamp standing bravely on the cobblestone, illuminating the puffy faces of the two sitting inside. Steve, stone cold sober, and Agent Barnes, drunk and with tears streaming down her flushed skin. The dust had barely settled; it could still be felt, burning her nostrils.

She heard heels, a telltale sign that Peggy had arrived, sorting through the rubble.

She had approached calmly, observing the situation. Steve muttered something about not being able to get drunk, earning some heartfelt speech from the other agent and a proclamation of a newfound fire for justice in Steve. But Peggy’s sorrowful glance soon became unreadable, then transitioning into one of anger and sympathy, however that was possible.

She tried calling the surviving Barnes’ name, voice stern. She snatched the bottle from her friends hand, noticing she had downed the whole thing.

She began some winded spiel, none of it processing, only a faint buzz in one ear out the other.

“I know you’re hurting, but James would have wanted you to pick yourself up, an-”

“He lied. You know that? The bastard lied.”

She wiped a singular tear from her left eye, staring blankly at the ring that still managed to shine even then, in what was close to total darkness in every sense.

“He said that we would be alright. That him and I would be okay. And then he went and you know what he did, Peg? He died.”

Steve looked up, and stood, walking to where she was across from him. 

He gently tugged her up and wordlessly pulled her into a hug.

She was stiff as a board at first but slowly melted into it, realizing that it felt nice to be cared for by him like she did all those years ago, the favor being returned when she most needed it.

“We’ll fix this, I promise.”

She closed her eyes tighter, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“I know.”

-

May 26th, 1945

“Steve, I’m not leaving you!”

“Go, grab the parachute and go, I’ll send your coordinates to Peggy! Both of us don’t have to die.”

“Steve, it’s alright.”

He met her eyes, water pooling in both of their orbs.

“I’ll be with him.” She forced a smile, taking hold of one of Steve’s gloved hands.

“It’s not too late for you to go, Stevie. I’ll put her in the water. If you wait any longer you won’t make it.”

The time was passing, they could hear the uncomfortable sloshing of the Arctic water below them, coming closer and closer. Jagged ice taunted them, glistening faintly in the light.

“Please, don’t do this to Peg.”

Steve had made his decision, as had she.

“See you on the other side, Barnes.”

The sound was difficult to decipher at the command center, static intercepting the voices of the pair as they bargained with death. But it was clear enough in order for everyone to realize what was happening.

Heads were bowed, tears fell, and even the Colonel allowed a salty drop to roll down his weathered cheek.

Steve and Peggy conversed, while Barnes sat next to Steve, closing her eyes. She was content. She was finally going home.

“I’d hate to step on your-”

Then, the line went dead.

“See ya, Rogers.”

-

2011

“This guy is still alive!”

“And the girl?”

The other man only shook his head.

-

2013

Skye dragged her finger along the etchings on the gray stone, mentally reading the names of fallen soldiers and agents.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.'s history can be traced on walls like this.”

Then she came upon something peculiar. Her finger lingered momentarily, the name on the plaque bringing back memories of when she was a young girl in school, learning about James Buchanan Barnes, one of two Howling Commandos to have died in the line of duty. The other, she couldn’t quite seem to remember.

“Huh. Bucky Barnes.” She looked a moment longer, reading the script underneath James’ name. 

“There was another Barnes?”

She turned to Agent Ward who was standing behind her, arms crossed and chin down.

“Yeah. They were married. Some say she put that plane in the water on purpose. That she could have left, but wanted to see him again after he died.

Puts it in perspective- What we do.”

-

2014

The lights in the exhibit were bright, too bright. Faces were plastered everywhere, familiar faces. The soldier felt lost without his handler, no direction whatsoever as he aimlessly wandered.

Aimlessly wandering, what a foreign concept. Not running from an enemy, or sneaking around, a shadow. Free to do whatever he pleases.

He saw his own reflection on a glass panel, information of who he supposedly was written next to it, about when he was born, when he had died. Videos playing on repeat of him and Steve nearby caught his attention, leading him to slowly make his way towards the shiny screen. He saw himself laugh, smiling with whoever this Steve guy was.

Then the screen switched to him and a girl.

In a slight contrast, the girl was the one laughing this time, her smile igniting something within the soldier, overwhelming him with a flurry of emotion and realization.

He panicked, turning to his left, only to see her again, standing next to him in a large mural. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

A voice began to speak, clouding his senses even more.

It spoke about Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers, how they were “inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.”

It continued, and his confusion grew even further. It mentioned a girl who had what he learned to be his last name.

Not a mother, or a sister, but a wife.

“They became the only Howling Commandos to give their lives in service of their country."

Her name rang in his head, over and over again. He was married, he had a wife.

Had.

He walked up to where her clothes were displayed under her portrait, reaching a tentative hand out and feeling the fabric, rough from time. He could remember doing that before, but the fabric was silkier, then. It was different as a whole. It was pink satin, and the wearer was his wife, he now could see.

He was in a tent, laying on a scratchy cot, the girl laying with him, in his arms.

“Right now, I’m your wife, and only your wife.” Her smile and laugh were heavenly, her voice like honey. Her touch was smooth and left a tingle in its wake, bringing peace to his bustling mind.

Then he was suddenly back in the museum, hand still planted firmly on the hem of the shirt.

“Excuse me? Sir? You can’t be touching that.”

The soldier turned, facing the scrawny worker. His glasses were too large, hair too short, and pants 2 sizes too big. He gulped, doing a double take from the mural of James Barnes (who last time he checked a history book, had his remains somewhere buried under piles of ice and snow in the mountains of the Alps) and the man in front of him, who matched the recently trending image his coworker showed him of the Winter Soldier, the assassin who had over two dozen kills under his belt.

And if this were a mission, the soldier would have killed the man, executed him without second thought.

But now, he had free will. He had a choice.

So he chose to mutter a low “sorry” under his breath, pulling his baseball cap further over his brow and exiting the facility as quickly as possible.

The worker quit that night.

-

2016

A feed began to play on the tiny screen that Tony, Steve, and Bucky were crowded around, no video, just black with a thin line, moving in accordance with the audio. The sound was choppy, like it had been modified.

Zemo’s beady eyes slanted, a cold smile growing on his bearded face.

“I’ll be with him.”

“What the hell is this?” James yelled the question aimed towards both Zemo and himself.

But Steve knew exactly what it was, knew that voice, knew the feeling of the cold water enveloping him as he did his best to keep her warm in her final moments, a final favor for both Bucky and his wife.

“It’s not too late for you to go, Stevie. I’ll put her in the water. If you wait any longer you won’t make it.”

It was quiet, the line stopped moving. 

“See you on the other side, Barnes.”

“See ya, Rogers.”

The audio cut out.

“It’s her.” Bucky’s metal fist audibly clenched, his eyes darkening.

“You let her die, Steve.”

“Buck-”

“You killed her! I had a wife, and you let her die!”

Steve backed up, instinctively raising the shield from Bucky once more.

“That was her choice, Bucky.”

He was calm. Too calm.

“I don’t give a damn what her choice was, you should’ve pushed her out of that damn plane if you had to.”

“She wouldn’t have survived that fall, Buck, even with a parachute, she probably would have drowned, or gotten hypothermia or-”

“You don’t know that!”

Bucky rushed forward, anger infiltrating every fibre of his being. He threw a punch with his metal arm, a loud clang ringing out as it collided with the vibranium shield.

-

2024

“We’ll meet again

Don’t know where, don’t know when

But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day”

The room was pitch black aside from the blinking light on the record player, letting Bucky know that power was still running through the wires of the machine, keeping the same song spinning, over, and over, and over again.

The same one that’s been playing for the past 2 months. Over, and over, and over again.

The door creaked, sending a stream of light cascading across Bucky’s ridden features from his place where he was sat staring blankly at her tags laying in his flesh hand. He had started wearing them when she insisted, just in case anything were to happen to her, she wanted him to have a physical reminder of her. He had refused to give her his own, not wanting to admit anything might go wrong to where she would need them.

What a joke.

Zola had recovered them from around his neck, later to be stored away and then found by Steve in 2015 during a Hydra base invasion. He had immediately recognized the name pressed onto the material, and assumed someone who was an undercover agent snagged them during the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., never thinking anything more of it.

“This isn’t healthy, man.” Sam spoke softly from the door, his hand never leaving the doorknob.

“When we got snapped away, I didn’t mind it.”

Sam opened the door even more, sliding in the slim crack, closing it behind him.

Bucky’s glance never faltered.

“I thought that maybe, I’d finally see her again. And, I know it was selfish-” He laughed dryly, meeting Sam’s warm eyes.

“But she wasn’t there. When I died, she wasn’t there.”

Sam’s arms were crossed, now, and he was unsure of how to proceed with the fragile shell of a man in front of him.

“Then everyone came back 5 years later, she still wasn’t there.” He chuckled once more, feeling over her name on the plates, tossing the chain over his head. It was quiet, the record stopped.

“And this sounds crazy, but I got to thinking, that she must still be alive-”

“You know she’s gone, Bucky.”

James stood up, walking over to Sam, a terrifying blaze set in his eyes. He was frantic, hands moving about the air, neck straining.

“She’s not, Hydra has her! I’m certain, just like they had me. What else would explain her not being there?”

“You’re in denial,”

“No, I’m not! She’s waiting for me! She’s waiting for me to come find her, Sam!” He yelled, every word louder than the last.

And Sam Wilson had enough. 

“Alright, that’s it.” He grabbed James by the wrist, taking his chances.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting some sense into you.”

More yelling and fighting ensued, all the way to the car, Bucky only ceasing his behavior upon realizing where they were heading. He was silent, then.

Getting out of the vehicle, they stepped onto freshly wet soil, green patches fading to a burnt orange, the rain a poor attempt at revival. They could hear their own footsteps all the way to their final destination, turmoil settling in.

“Why’d you take me here, Sam?”

It had started raining, the cold droplets making his hair stick to his forehead, and his tears invisible.

Mere inches before him sat two headstones, both fairly worn. The first, reading “Cap. Steven Grant Rogers, a true American hero. Loving brother, friend, and son.”

The second? Her.

Most of the words all blended together, it was clear Steve’s was the only one that had any regular visitors, willing to clean off any dirt or grime, or occasionally bring flowers (always red roses for Cap, as for his wife, he hoped that when it did happen, it was her favorites, lilies. He doubted it was, though). 

The only words that managed to stick out, at least to him, were “Barnes” and “loving wife”. He inhaled, capturing the scent of fresh rain and roses, grounding him. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, giving a light squeeze.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, but she’s gone, you know?”

He nodded, squatting down in an awkward position.

“Can I have a minute?”

Sam nodded, turning to go.

“‘Course, I’ll be in the car.”

Bucky waited until he could no longer see the outline of the shorter man, before taking the tags off from where they rested around his neck, positioning them utop the marble slab. He gathered a few weeds, messily shoving them into the vase, dirt and stray blades of grass falling all over the place. He tried to brush it off, only creating a sludge-like watery mixture.

He leaned forward, taking hold of the hard stone.

“I’m coming for you, sweetheart. I promise, I’ll find you.”

“Bucky?” Sam yelled from the car, confused at the extended amount of time his friend was taking.

James turned, yelling over his shoulder, “Coming!”

-

Once Bucky got back to the car, Sam reached over and patted his back, starting the engine.

“You think you’re gonna be okay?”

James only smiled, looking out behind him to where they all said was her final resting place, excitement for the future running through his veins.

“Yeah.” He said, sitting further back into the seat, closing his eyes. 

“I’ll be alright.”

·。·☆·。·。

hi!

disclaimer: (skip if u dont care) so i’ve had personal expiriences w alcoholism, and my pov has changed so much on the disease and as well as how to handle it w more empathy, and i just hope that is conveyed. my hope w my work is never to upset or offend anyone, and i hope u enjoyed. if u have a prob w anything, shoot me a message or ask to chat :)

go drink water, eat protein (if u can!) and take an electronics break. i love u, 

xx hj

#tw alchohol mention #tw alchoholism #tw denial #tw character death #tw war #if theres any more tw u want me to tag lmk pls #bucky barnes #40s!bucky x reader #40!s bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #steve rogers #Sebastian Stan #Seb Stan #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #seb stan imagine #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes x oc #seb stan x reader #seb stan x reader smut #sebastian stan imagines

[johngarfieldtribute]

Julie ❤️ from fellow actors

John Garfield pictured above with his movie family from THE BREAKING POINT. The older daughter was played by Sherry Jackson. She was in the early cast of TVs “Make Room for Daddy” with Danny Thomas.

She said this of working with Julie, "Most of all, I remember a long scene with John Garfield, who played my father. I was told he was a “Method” actor, but at that time I really didn’t know what that meant. He had two daughters and one had died. When he looked at me, he was projecting his grief, but also his past joy – the whole experience of being a father. I told myself I knew he must have a daughter, as no one ever related to me like he did. His understanding, his performance – he had so much love and warmth towards the person I played…It’s heart-wrenching. Totally genuine – an absolutely different aspect of his character, which made him more complex, so real."

Edward G. Robinson teamed with Ida Lupino and Julie in THE SEA WOLF. In Robinson’s memoir, “All My Yesterday’s” he wrote, “John Garfield was one of the best young actors I ever encountered, but his passions about the world were so intense that I feared any day he would have a heart attack. It was not long before he did."

Lana Turner was Julie’s costar in one of his most best known films, THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE. Lana said Cora Smith was the role she liked best and Garfield was her favorite leading man. She said, “John Garfield was shy, vibrant and intelligent. And so ahead of his time. He had terrific magnetism and I respected John as an actor, and we had developed a certain steamy chemistry as we performed together. [He had] a reputation as a demon lover.”

In her later days in Florida, Hedy Lamarr spoke highly of her leading men James Stewart and John Garfield, of whom she had autographed, framed photographs prominently displayed in her living room. Here’s a touching article about those days.

Hedy also enjoyed working with Julie in TORTILLA FLAT. Together they projected remarkable screen chemistry. Hedy took delight in his stories of riding the rails as a hobo when he was a youngster, before becoming an actor. There was something very Steinbeckian in his persona. Hedy loved adventure, and her romantic fantasies were whetted by Julie’s tales. One particular vignette, when Dolores feeds a sickly baby, is tenderly photographed by Karl Freund.

This was one of Julie’s favorite films to make. He called Hedy 'Wild Cat Lamarr', and she seems to have enjoyed making the movie too. She relished the opportunity of not having to glamorize her character. (See Train Bellies blogspot).

This interesting woman was an inventor! Here’s some info from the Smithsonian, “there was much more to Hedy Lamarr than her stunning dark locks, translucent fair skin and sparkling green eyes. She was an ingenious inventor who planted a seed that would blossom into some of today’s most ubiquitous technology, including Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, GPS, cordless phones and cell phones. Her inventions were a part of a complicated life filled with contradictions and elusive truths that were not part of her film star persona.”

Eleanor Parker later said the "big break" of her career was when she was cast opposite John Garfield in PRIDE OF THE MARINES (1945). "It was a great part, and who wouldn't look good with John Garfield", she later said. "He was absolutely wonderful."

Ida Lupino was not only an actor but a pioneer. She was a writer, producer and director. As an actor she was Julie’s costar in two films, OUT OF THE FOG and THE SEA WOLF. This article covers this groundbreaking and fascinating person, and here is a Train Bellies blogpost.

As mentioned earlier and above, Edward G. Robinson was impressed with Julie’s abilities. Ida was also enthralled. She said, "His real name was Julius Garfinkle. He was wonderful and I loved him.”

In 1941, Lupino took on the bad-girl role in the seafaring film The Sea Wolf, filmed on a mock ship in a dank tank on the Warner Brothers lot. She quickly found an intellectual kindred spirit in her sensitive costar John Garfield. “He and I were like brother and sister,” she recalled. After a brutal shoot with autocratic director Michael Curtiz, the exhausted cast and crew had had enough. At the cast party, she and Garfield pushed Curtiz into the stinking water tank. “Boom!” she recalled. “He was wet.”

A staunch Democrat, Lupino was horrified by the post–World War II Red Scare, and watched angrily as her friends, including her third husband, Howard Duff, were persecuted for their alleged ties to communism. Garfield in particular found his career tanking and began a personal and professional downward slide.

Garfield went back to New York and found new success on the stage, but was beset with personal and medical problems. Out in Los Angeles, Lupino had been meeting with the FBI, working to redeem both Duff and Garfield. She flew to New York to tell Garfield that he had been cleared, but found him haggard and exhausted, unable to go onstage. Checking in on him one night, she found him propped up on pillows, asleep. Lupino hugged him, and Garfield awakened.

In the book, “Ida Lupino: A Biography”, by William Donati, the scene is described, “Would you mind holding my hand till I drop off?” he asked. The words sent a chill through Ida. “You bet,” she told him. “I’ll sit here till daylight if you want.” She held his hand until he fell asleep.

Lupino went back to Hollywood, determined to find Garfield a film role. But it was not to be. In 1952, shortly after their last meeting, John Garfield died of a heart attack. He was only 39 years old.

#john garfield #Julie love #sherry Jackson #the breaking point #hedy Lamar #tortilla flat #the sea wolf #edward g robinson #Eleanor Parker #pride of the marines #Lana turner #the postman always rings twice #ida lupino #out of the fog

[paulinedorchester]

Garrett, Leah. X Troop: The Secret Jewish Commandos of World War II. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2021; London: Vintage Publishing, 2021.

(The American cover is on the left, the British on the right.)

Every so often, gifs from something called X Company cross my dashboard. When I came across Leah Garrett’s book X Troop, my first thought was that it must treat the same subject, but it seems that that can’t be the case: Garrett maintains that none of this story has ever been told before, because most of the documentation remained classified until very recently. (She claims to have single-handedly declassified many sealed British military records.) X Troop is about No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando, 3 Troop, commonly referred to as X Troop, comprising 87 German, Austrian, and (in a few cases) Hungarian refugees, all but five of them Jewish (at least under Nazi racial laws — I’ll get to that). It is indeed an extraordinary story, and occasionally an infuriating one. Garrett has done a tremendous public service in relating this tale, but the book itself has some puzzling — no, let's be honest, irritating — aspects.

The men who would make up X Troop left their native countries in their mid to late ’teens during the late 1930s, most of them without their parents as passengers on the Kindertransport. They occupied themselves in various ways until the middle of 1940 when, apparently without exception, they were interned on the Isle of Man, in Canada, or in Australia, to which more than 2,500 of them were transported on the H.M.T. Dunera, a dangerously over-crowded liner on which they endured conditions so horrific that the officer in charge — Major William Patrick Scott, a gleeful sadist and anti-Semite — ended up being court-martialed.

It is heartening to be able to report that British public opinion appears to have turned strongly against wholesale internment by mid-1941, but it wasn’t until that December that the internees were released from confinement. Those who had been transported overseas were offered immediate permission to return to the U.K. — if they volunteered for the Pioneer Corps, and I’m grateful to Garrett for providing the first detailed explanation that I’ve seen of what that meant. It wasn’t a good situation: they did menial labor and were bored out of their minds.

In the summer of 1942, they were finally offered an opportunity to join in the fight against the Nazis. This appears to be an instance in which the “great man” theory of history is perfectly valid, Lord Mountbatten being the great man in question. Garrett explains:

Mountbatten made a bold suggestion [to Winston Churchill]: they should create a new special unit of commandos, different from anything used before. Rather than coming from the ranks of the army or the navy, No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando would be composed of soldiers made up of displaced nationals such as Poles, Norwegians, and Frenchmen. Each of the units . . . would be used for different missions depending on their native languages. They would be unified by the shared desire to drive the Nazis out of their home countries. These commandos, highly trained and highly motivated, would lead the way when the time came for the Allies’ invasion of Europe.

And that’s exactly what happened. There were French, Dutch, Belgian, Norwegian, Polish, and Yugoslavian troops within No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando. There was also a troop known as the “British” troop, made up of Germanophones. That was X Troop (a nickname Churchill gave them). “X Troop would be Britain’s secret shock troop in the war against Germany,” Garrett relates:

They would kill and capture Nazis on the battlefield. But that would not be all. They would also immediately interrogate captured Germans, be it in the heat of the battle or right afterward. The men’s fluency in German would enable them to get essential intelligence that would guide the next moment’s choices rather than having to wait to interview prisoners until they were back at headquarters. ... They would have to be in peak form both physically and mentally. And because they were nearly all Jewish refugees from the Third Reich, they also would need to be diligently protected.

The situation was particularly dire because most were stateless — stripped of their citizenship in Germany or Austria, but refused naturalization by the Home Office. As one officer later recalled, “If any of them were captured in battle and their true identity had been revealed, their fate would have been almost impossible to contemplate.” (Those who chose to remain in the U.K. after the war faced an uphill battle in gaining British citizenship, as Garrett relates. She tells us nothing, incidentally, about Jewish personnel in the other No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando Troops.)

The first step was to have them adopt pseudonyms. When they arrived in Aberdovey (now Aberdyfi), Wales, for training they were each given 30 minutes to come up with a nom de guerre. They also had to concoct false backgrounds to explain why they spoke English with foreign accents. One man told the couple with whom he was billeted “that his accent was somewhat peculiar because his father had traveled a lot on business,” an unlikely story that they apparently accepted without question.

X Troop personnel were involved in the Dieppe raid — which may have been a mistake, as the troop was just past its infancy and several of the men were killed — and the Sicily landings and their aftermath, but of course all of that was really just a warm-up for the invasion of Normandy and, beyond that, Germany. More than half of the book is devoted to this. Assigned to various units, nearly all of the commandos landed at Sword Beach on June 6th, 1944, and proceeded into Central Europe, achieving victory after victory. Garrett places great emphasis on anger as their motivator: anger at the disruption of their lives and at their uncertainly over the fate of their parents and other relatives.

Leah Garrett is American; she is also Jewish. Like the overwhelming majority of my fellow Jews in this country, she is incapable of acknowledging the possibility of viable Jewish life outside of the U.S. or Israel. Her main piece of evidence for this view, which she hammers home repeatedly, is the fact that all but three of the surviving X-Troopers (22 were killed in action) chose to continue using their noms-de-guerre after the war — and, as she is at pains to point out, all of those who resumed their original names ended up emigrating to the United States! (The book’s excellent index helps the reader keep track of who was whom.) It’s true that names hold an important place in Jewish culture, but coming from someone using Garrett as a surname, her attitude comes across as either oblivious or chutzpadik, I’m not quite sure which. She also seems not to know that, historically at least, Jewish immigrants to Britain have changed their names with an assiduousness that makes the same phenomenon in the U.S. look like a mere blip.

Garrett also informs us, in the written equivalent of hushed tones, that some of the men who settled in the U.K. after the war married gentile women and brought up their children as at least nominal members of various Christian bodies. I share her discomfort with this, to be sure, but in order to maintain her shocked, shocked, stance she has to ignore something that she has in fact explained at some length in the book’s early chapters: a significant percentage of the future X-Troopers had only one or two Jewish grand-parents apiece, were brought up as Lutherans or Roman Catholics, and had absolutely no idea that they had any Jewish forebears until Nazi racial laws forced the issue into view. While I’ve known quite a few converts to Judaism whose initial impetus was the discovery of Jewish ancestry, it’s a bit much to expect that everyone will react that way. On the other hand, it’s dispiriting to learn that the inscription on the monument to X Troop that was raised in Aberdyfi in 1999 does not include the words Jews or Jewish.

Garrett is Professor of Jewish Studies and Director of the Jewish Studies Center at Hunter College, part of the City University of New York (CUNY), a post she has held since 2018; she previously taught at the University of Denver and Monash University. As a former CUNY faculty member myself, I’m in a position to tell you that (a) even as a full professor, she won’t have been hired with tenure, and (b) this book probably won’t help her to achieve it. It’s a great read on an important topic and represents prodigious research, but as a work of scholarship it has several marks against it. It doesn’t come from an academic publisher. It has only a partial scholarly apparatus — end notes, but no bibliography, or even a list of the many abbreviations used in the notes. Those notes aren’t always as useful as one would like, I might add: after relating that some of the men interned in Australia chose to remain there permanently, Garrett announces that they ���would forever change the landscape of Australia. They would be known as the Dunera boys and would become leaders in the arts, sciences, culinary arts, and industry during the twentieth century,” but fails to give us any clue as to where we can go to find out more.

She also adopts an informal writing style that alternates between the faintly slangy (“All the evidence I’ve found points to ... ”) and the unnecessarily dramatic: two key chapters are written entirely in the present tense, a strategy that would normally be after my own heart, but which feels contrived in this context. It also seems not to be the case that none of this has ever been written about previously, as Garrett asserts. (Last but not least, Garrett recently resigned from CUNY’s faculty union, which may end up affecting her status there, as tenure recommendations are made by union members.)

Mixed feelings, then; but the book is worth reading, and I can recommend it.

#world war ii #u.k. armed forces #refugees #historical accounts #a long post for sunday #longer than i had intended in fact #with some very long paragraphs #book review #recommended with reservations

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Richard Ewing Powell (November 14, 1904 – January 2, 1963) was an American singer, actor, voice actor, film producer, film director and studio head. Though he came to stardom as a musical comedy performer, he showed versatility, and successfully transformed into a hardboiled leading man starring in projects of a more dramatic nature. He was the first actor to portray the private detective Philip Marlowe on screen.

Powell was born the middle son of three boys in Mountain View, the seat of Stone County in northern Arkansas. His brothers were Luther (the eldest), and Howard (the youngest). The family moved the boys to Little Rock in 1914, where Powell sang in church choirs and with local orchestras, and started his own band. Powell attended the former Little Rock College, before he started his entertainment career as a singer with the Royal Peacock Band which toured throughout the Midwest.

During this time, he married Mildred Maund, a model, but she found being married to an entertainer not to her liking. After a final trip to Cuba together, Mildred moved to Hemphill, Texas, and the couple divorced in 1932. Later, Powell joined the Charlie Davis Orchestra, based in Indianapolis. He recorded a number of records with Davis and on his own, for the Vocalion label in the late 1920s.

Powell moved to Pittsburgh, where he found great local success as the Master of Ceremonies at the Enright Theater and the Stanley Theater.

In April 1930, Warner Bros. bought Brunswick Records, which at that time owned Vocalion. Warner Bros. was sufficiently impressed by Powell's singing and stage presence to offer him a film contract in 1932. He made his film debut as a singing bandleader in Blessed Event.[4]

He was borrowed by Fox Film to support Will Rogers in Too Busy to Work (1932). He was a boyish crooner, the sort of role he specialised in for the next few years. Back at Warners he supported George Arliss in The King's Vacation, then was in 42nd Street (both 1933), playing the love interest for Ruby Keeler. The film was a massive hit.

Warners got him to basically repeat the role in Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933), another big success. So too was Footlight Parade (1933), with Keeler and James Cagney.

Powell was upped to star for College Coach (1933), then went back to more ensemble pieces including 42nd Street, Convention City (both 1933), Wonder Bar, Twenty Million Sweethearts, and Dames (all 1934).[3]

Happiness Ahead was more of a star vehicle for Powell, as was Flirtation Walk (both 1934). He was top-billed in Gold Diggers of 1935 and Broadway Gondolier (both 1935), both with Joan Blondell. He supported Marion Davies in Page Miss Glory (1935), made for Cosmopolitan Pictures, a production company financed by Davies' lover William Randolph Hearst, who released through Warners.

Warners gave him a change of pace, casting him as Lysander in A Midsummer Night's Dream (1935).

More typical was Shipmates Forever (1935) with Keeler. 20th Century Fox borrowed him for Thanks a Million (1935); back at Warners, he did Colleen (1936) with Keeler and Blondell. Powell was reunited with Marion Davies in another for Cosmopolitan, Hearts Divided (1936), playing Napoleon's brother.

He made two films with Blondell, Stage Struck (1936) and Gold Diggers of 1937 (1937). 20th Century Fox then borrowed him again for On the Avenue (1937).

Back at Warners, he appeared in The Singing Marine, Varsity Show (both 1937), Hollywood Hotel, Cowboy from Brooklyn, Hard to Get, Going Places (all 1938), and Naughty but Nice (1939). Fed up with the repetitive nature of these roles, Powell left Warner Bros and went to work for Paramount Pictures.

At Paramount, he and Blondell were cast together again, in the drama I Want a Divorce (1940). Then Powell got a chance to appear in another non-musical, Christmas in July (1940), a screwball comedy which was the second feature directed by Preston Sturges.

Universal borrowed him to support Abbott and Costello in In the Navy (1941), one of the most popular films of 1941. At Paramount he had a cameo in Star Spangled Rhythm and co-starred with Mary Martin in Happy Go Lucky (both 1943). He supported Dorothy Lamour in Riding High (1943).

He was in a fantasy comedy directed by René Clair, It Happened Tomorrow then went over to MGM to appear opposite Lucille Ball in Meet the People (both 1944), which was a box office flop.

During this period, Powell starred in the musical programme Campana Serenade, which was broadcast on NBC radio (1942–1943) and CBS radio (1943–1944).

By 1944, Powell felt he was too old to play romantic leading men anymore,[citation needed] so he lobbied to play the lead in Double Indemnity. He lost out to Fred MacMurray, another Hollywood nice guy. MacMurray's success, however, fueled Powell's resolve to pursue projects with greater range.

Powell's career changed dramatically when he was cast in the first of a series of films noir, as private detective Philip Marlowe in Murder, My Sweet, directed by Edward Dmytryk at RKO. The film was a big hit, and Powell had successfully reinvented himself as a dramatic actor. He was the first actor to play Marlowe – by name – in motion pictures. (Hollywood had previously adapted some Marlowe novels, but with the lead character changed.) Later, Powell was the first actor to play Marlowe on radio, in 1944 and 1945, and on television, in a 1954 episode of Climax! Powell also played the slightly less hard-boiled detective Richard Rogue in the radio series Rogue's Gallery beginning in 1945.

In 1945, Dmytryk and Powell reteamed to make the film Cornered, a gripping, post-World War II thriller that helped define the film noir style.

For Columbia, he played a casino owner in Johnny O'Clock (1947) and made To the Ends of the Earth (1948). In 1948, he stepped out of the brutish type when he starred in Pitfall, a film noir in which a bored insurance company worker falls for an innocent but dangerous woman, played by Lizabeth Scott.

He broadened his range appearing in a Western, Station West (1948), and a French Foreign Legion tale, Rogues' Regiment (1949). He was a Mountie in Mrs. Mike (1950).

From 1949 to 1953, Powell played the lead role in the NBC radio theater production Richard Diamond, Private Detective. His character in the 30-minute weekly was a likable private detective with a quick wit. Many episodes ended with Detective Diamond having an excuse to sing a little song to his date, showcasing Powell's vocal abilities. Many of the episodes were written by Blake Edwards. When Richard Diamond came to television in 1957, the lead role was portrayed by David Janssen, who did no singing in the series. Prior to the Richard Diamond series, he starred in Rogue's Gallery. He played Richard Rogue, private detective. The Richard Diamond tongue-in-cheek persona developed in the Rogue series.

Powell took a break from tough-guy roles in The Reformer and the Redhead (1950), opposite wife June Allyson. Then it was back to tougher movies: Right Cross (1950), a boxing film, with Allyson; Cry Danger (1951), as an ex con; The Tall Target (1951), at MGM directed by Anthony Mann, playing a detective who tries to prevent the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.

He returned to comedy with You Never Can Tell (1951). He had a good role in MGM's popular melodrama, The Bad and the Beautiful (1952). His final film performance was in a romantic comedy Susan Slept Here (1954) for director Frank Tashlin.

Even when he appeared in lighter fare such as The Reformer and the Redhead and Susan Slept Here (1954), he never sang in his later roles. The latter, his final onscreen appearance in a feature film, did include a dance number with co-star Debbie Reynolds.

By this stage Powell had turned director. His feature debut was Split Second (1953) at RKO Pictures. He followed it with The Conqueror (1956), coproduced by Howard Hughes starring John Wayne as Genghis Khan. The exterior scenes were filmed in St. George, Utah, downwind of U.S. above-ground atomic tests. The cast and crew totaled 220, and of that number, 91 had developed some form of cancer by 1981, and 46 had died of cancer by then, including Powell and Wayne.

He directed Allyson opposite Jack Lemmon in You Can't Run Away from It (1956). Powell then made two war films at Fox with Robert Mitchum, The Enemy Below (1957) and The Hunters (1958).

In the 1950s, Powell was one of the founders of Four Star Television, along with Charles Boyer, David Niven, and Ida Lupino. He appeared in and supervised several shows for that company. Powell played the role of Willie Dante in Four Star Playhouse, in episodes entitled "Dante's Inferno" (1952), "The Squeeze" (1953), "The Hard Way" (1953), and "The House Always Wins" (1955). In 1961, Howard Duff, husband of Ida Lupino, assumed the Dante role in a short-lived NBC adventure series Dante, set at a San Francisco nightclub called "Dante's Inferno".

Powell guest-starred in numerous Four Star programs, including a 1958 appearance on the Duff-Lupino sitcom Mr. Adams and Eve. He appeared in 1961 on James Whitmore's legal drama The Law and Mr. Jones on ABC. In the episode "Everybody Versus Timmy Drayton", Powell played a colonel having problems with his son. Shortly before his death, Powell sang on camera for the final time in a guest-star appearance on Four Star's Ensign O'Toole, singing "The Song of the Marines", which he first sang in his 1937 film The Singing Marine. He hosted and occasionally starred in his Dick Powell's Zane Grey Theater on CBS from 1956–1961, and his final anthology series, The Dick Powell Show on NBC from 1961 through 1963; after his death, the series continued through the end of its second season (as The Dick Powell Theater), with guest hosts.

Powell was the son of Ewing Powell and Sallie Rowena Thompson.

He married three times:

Mildred Evelyn Maund (b. 1906, d. 1967). The couple married in 1925, and appear on the 1930 census in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where Powell was working in a theater, and on a 1931-passenger list for the SS Oriente, returning from Havana, Cuba. They divorced in 1932, although Mildred retained her married name.

Joan Blondell (married September 19, 1936, divorced 1944). He adopted her son from a previous marriage, Norman Powell, who later became a television producer; the couple also had one child together, Ellen Powell.

June Allyson (August 19, 1945, until his death, January 2, 1963), with whom he had two children, Pamela (adopted) and Richard Powell, Jr.

Powell's ranch-style house was used for exterior filming on the ABC TV series, Hart to Hart. Powell was a friend of Hart to Hart actor Robert Wagner and producer Aaron Spelling. The estate, known as Amber Hills, is on 48 acres in the Mandeville Canyon section of Brentwood, Los Angeles.

Powell enjoyed general aviation as a private pilot.

On September 27, 1962, Powell acknowledged rumors that he was undergoing treatment for cancer. The disease was originally diagnosed as an allergy, with Powell first experiencing symptoms while traveling East to promote his program. Upon his return to California, Powell's personal physician conducted tests and found malignant tumors on his neck and chest.

The marker on Dick Powell's niche in Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Glendale, California incorrectly identifies his year of death as 1962. Powell died at the age of 58 on January 2, 1963. His body was cremated and his remains were interred in the Columbarium of Honor at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale, California. In a 2001 interview with Larry King, Powell's widow June Allyson stated that the cause of death was lung cancer due to his chain smoking.

It has been speculated that Powell developed cancer as a result of his participation in the film The Conqueror, which was filmed at St. George, Utah, near a site used by the U.S. military for nuclear testing. As well as Powell, who directed the film, about a third of the actors who participated in the film developed cancer, including John Wayne and Susan Hayward.

During the 15th Primetime Emmy Awards on May 26, 1963, the Television Academy presented a posthumous Television Academy Trustee Award to Dick Powell for his contributions to the industry. The award was accepted by two of his former partners in Four Star Television, Charles Boyer and David Niven.

Dick Powell has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6915 Hollywood Blvd.

#dick powell #classic hollywood #classic movie stars #golden age of hollywood #old hollywood #singer #1930s hollywood #1940s hollywood #1950s hollywood #hollywood legend