And I suspect Steve more or less forgot all protocol on saluting about two weeks after taking the Commandos, because, well. MCU!Steve. 😛
#WWII Steve comes in to camp after a mission and there’s a passel of strange new officers #OH SHIT #um #do I take my hat off??? #no no wait hat stays on #do I count as being in uniform right now #they are going to make fun of my uniform #PEGGY DO I HAVE TO SALUTE THEM ALL INDIVIDUALLY OR #halp oh halp #and Bucky is watching from far away #knowing proper salute protocol because he’s a sergeant #and laaaughing
Yes, good. Correct. *gives gold star*
(Bucky’s salute protocol is technically correct but ever so slightly sardonic – not enough you could say for sure, but enough to ruffle at least a couple feathers of every officer that gets it – and the other Howling Commandos follow his lead except for Jacques, whose salutes are so flawlessly smart and crisp that they are, in fact, mockery in and of themselves.)
okay we ship darcy with steve or bucky or loki or clint or bruce or tony and even thor and so on
but imagine sif/darcy
tough beautiful asgardian warrior goddess falling for sarcastic quirky earthling
sif asking thor how he courts jane to try and learn the proper way to court darcy
darcy introducing sif to donuts and music
sif and darcy cuddling on darcy’s small ugly couch watching a movie
please gimmie more of this
This is …actually my Sif-ship. In part because I can also totally see Sif feeling more than a little bit bewildered at her reaction to this tiny imperious mortal who kind of needs to learn some manners but is at the same time totally enthralling THOR HELP WHAT IS WITH EARTH WOMEN I JUST THOUGHT YOU’D BEEN HIT ON THE HEAD ONE TOO MANY TIMES. D:
Darcy and Sif planning a shopping trip together and Sif has to stop and clarify, “This is a courting ritual, correct?”
“Well, if you want it to be, though dragging someone through change-rooms usually comes later in the relationship…”
“I have no wish to be presumptuous! Should we perhaps postpone?”
#sif deliberately being as formal and decorous as possible #half because she wants to make it clear this is a COURTSHIP #not a jump-the-pretty-girl-from-nowhere #and partly because it makes darcy make that face #that she makes everyone else make so often #and that face on darcy is adorable
So you mean, “Sif being a giant troll and pretending she thinks two dozen blood-red roses is an appropriate second date gift, because watching Darcy cart them around London under her arm all evening is totally hilarious.”
Yes that is in fact basically what I mean. 😀 (On the other hand those are HELLA fine roses and nobody from Asgard will doubt her sincerity.)
so I am not sure if the captain america fandom knows that “hydra” is also the name of an open source digital repository framework (like, it’s the architecture that certain museum/archive/library collections databases are built on)
but on an unrelated note, I am not allowed to dramatically whisper “hail hydra” at content management meetings anymore
Somewhere in the Marvel Universe, a very confused archivist ended up being interrogated by the CIA for several hours because of course she worked with HYDRA. All the archivists were working with HYDRA.
REPORT: operative has confessed to a “full knowledge” and “high level of expertise” regarding hydra operations. was apparently recruited by hydra at a clandestine gathering under the guise of a digital humanities conference. subject showed zero remorse and even offered to show both interviewing agents “how to get started” working under hydra’s basic command structures. subject displays a high degree of infiltration capability; civilian dress at intake included a cardigan and a handmade wooden pin of a siamese cat. the latter was acquired via “etsy" (coded equipment drop site?) when questioned regarding the deployment of the asset, subject indicated close control over multiple assets “catalogued” within diverse fields (geographic coordinates?). subject indicated over 9,000 individual records for assets. we were not prepared for this. 9,000 assets. 9,000??? Jesus Christ i quit do you hear me shield
I kind if want a fanfiction where the Howling Commandos are picked up by Princess Elizabth driving an ambulance recklessly through Europe.
DAMMIT, YES! *bangs fist on desk* That’s the kind of quality entertainment I expect from this website!
I kinda want the yanks to not really recognize her and don’t understand why Falsworth is having some kind of a stroke and Dernier’s freaking out and when they get let out somewhere they both explode with HOLY FUCKBALLS MAN. (Or, alternately, Peggy rounds the corner ready to tear them a new one and Her Majesty just lights up because, seriously, if they are not bros, nothing in the universe makes sense)
because Ha.
“Three more miles, Falsworth, three more miles…” Falsworth turned the pain from his injury into even greater sarcasm. “Kilometers, Gabriel, KILOMETERS. I am BRITISH.” Gabe snorted to himself. He should know better. None of the Howling Commandos ever admitted they were having trouble. Not even himself. He moved forward, planning to take point from Dum Dum. He felt Dum Dum’s surprise before the man made a sound. “An ambulance? Did we already cross the lines? Are we clear?” Gabe covered the remaining ground quickly and quietly. “No, we’ve got another 3 miles to the lines. But that sure as shit looks like an ambulance…one of ours, too.” Morita suddenly hissed for silence. He’d heard something from the vehicle. A few more quiet steps, and Gabe heard it too – the sound of the bonnet being slowly, carefully, quietly lowered into place. Gabe realized Jim had heard the driver repairing the engine. The quiet, the location, and, suddenly – the too-short body with an awful lot of hair put it all together for Gabe. This was one of theirs – the Nazis were too caught up in breeding new generations of perfect Germans that few of their women worked, let alone served. The petite woman stepped forward – my God, she’s TINY, how does she see to drive? – Gabe stopped himself from saying something unfortunate just in time. “Gentlemen? You are recent associates of Steven Rogers, correct?” The quiet, posh tones did nothing to hide the steel underneath the words. “I have been asked by a mutual acquaintance to assist you over the last few miles. I apologize for not finding you sooner, as my vehicle is uncomfortable with French roads.” Gabe felt Dernier shift indignantly behind him, but surprisingly said nothing. Gabe looked at Dum Dum and Morita, but ultimately he was in charge of this mission. Before he could say anything, Falsworth staggered to the front of the group and mustered his best salute. “Yes, mum, we are, mum. Thank you, mum. It’s no trouble at all, mum, thank you, mum. Shall we ride in back, mum?” He stood, trembling slightly, holding himself at attention even as she waved the salute away. “Not here, man! Yes, quick, inside the back, she’s ready to go. No one in the front, it will look odd if there’s a man up front. You’re clearly injured, you take the gurney. You, and you” – pointing to Dernier and Dum Dum – “you’re the medics, and you two” – Gabe and Jim – “you’re his squadmates.” She waited expectantly. Falsworth, for all he’d been acting like he was dying not five minutes ago, turned sharply and began chivying the group to do as she said. The bemused Americans bundled themselves into the back of the ambulance, sorting themselves out as the young driver had requested – certainly Falsworth and Dernier weren’t letting them challenge anything she’d said. Gabe felt the ambulance shift as she climbed in. She opened and opened the window. “I’m Bet, but if we’re stopped, I’m leftenant and I outrank you all,” she called back. Falsworth snorted but didn’t say another word. Bet eased the truck into gear and off the side of the road. The half moon hadn’t been a problem when they were walking, but Gabe wasn’t sure it was enough light for a driver. He was about to say something when she suddenly accelerated and took a hard left, throwing him against the wall. “Stay seated back there! I’m to deliver you in the same condition I found you, so SIT!” Bet barked, in a tone that clearly conveyed she expected to be obeyed. Gabe opened his mouth again to – well, he never could say later if he’d intended to apologize or to ask a question. But at that moment, Bet drove past the packed dirt roadway they’d expected and continued cross-country. “It’s three-quarters of a mile shorter this way, no hedgerows to cross, but I’ll have to get back on the road to dodge a cattle guard. Bloody French cattle, no sense of propriety or where they belong.” Dernier made a choking sound that might have been laughter on another night. The ambulance bounced and rattled as Bet dodged shell holes and the remnants of walls and trucks with terrifying ease. True to her word, she turned the vehicle sharply to regain the dirt road. Gabe wasn’t sure it was an improvement. As they turned off, Falsworth’s bloody hip was thrown against the side of the gurney and he stifled a grunt of pain. “What was that? Has he been hurt more back there? Well, you’re pretending to be medics, pretend harder!” Easily the least absurd command of the last 10 minutes, Dum Dum began fishing in his pack for something useful. Dernier sighed theatrically and began rummaging in his pack for field dressings. Gabe leaned forward to reassure Falsworth, and was amazed to see a look of…awe?… in his eyes. Falsworth shook his head, precluding any questions Gabe might have asked. He looked helplessly at Jim. *What on earth has gotten into these two? They weren’t fazed at all by Steve…or Peggy! I don’t get it…* Gabe thought to himself. Bet suddenly shouted through the open window, “Hold on everyone, this bit’s been shot to hell!” They had endured a tooth-rattling 300 yards when she shouted in triumph, “The fenceline! We’re back!” As they crossed the invisible line onto better maintained roads, Bet’s driving became more aggressive. She accelerated sharply, taking corners at high speed, taking the ambulance to the very limit of its capability. She made a final turn and neatly parked the ambulance behind the hospital tent. Gabe wasn’t sure if it was the wildest ride of his military career, but it was certainly up there with the oddest. He hadn’t gotten a coherent word out of Falsworth or Dernier the entire time, and Dum Dum and Jim were just as confused as he was. They piled out of the back of the ambulance, supporting Falsworth – until Bet came around back and he snapped to attention again. “Can’t stop me now, mum, we’re in our territory, mum, and I’m honored, mum, thank you, mum.” Gabe had never heard Falsworth use that deeply respectful tone with anyone – not even his own mother. Dernier managed one halting sentence: “Madame…merci.” The Americans thanked Bet as best they could, still confused, until Peggy Carter strode briskly around the corner. “Bet! You’re right on schedule! Every time.” The warmth in Peggy’s voice was unmistakable. Bet laughed. “Thank you, Peggy. I have a reputation to maintain, after all. And I must say, your talents for getting people away from bureaucrats and into the war, where they can help, have in no way diminished. I am afraid, now that they’re back, I need to confess my unauthorized excursion to my babysitters – I mean chain of command. Or I could just speak directly to Papa.” She grinned and hugged Peggy tightly.
Gabe still wasn’t sure who she was, but he could take a hint. In the bustle of getting Falsworth official medical attention and debriefing, Gabe forgot the name of the person who picked them up. Small fella, dark hair, nice enough, didn’t talk much…couldn’t say what he looked like, really, it was dark. And we didn’t want to distract him from getting us home, sir, it was dark. No, didn’t get his name. Didn’t think it was safe, sir. We called him Ben.
A few weeks later, Gabe was on leave in London. He stopped in a movie theater to see the latest Bugs Bunny cartoon, and caught the latest newsreel. Standing in front of a battered old truck, bonnet raised, tire on the roof, stood a petite, dark haired lady. No insignia on her uniform, but the smile was unmistakable. Gabe barely restrained himself from blurting “Bet!” As he listened, he suddenly realized why Farnsworth and Dernier were behaving so oddly. It’s not every day a princess takes you joyriding.
*Jim Morita’s kids and grandkids never got why Grampa Jim was such a royal watcher. It just didn’t seem to fit with anything else he did. But they took him to see The Queen when it came out in theaters. What they didn’t understand was his reaction to the scene where Elizabeth II flooded her truck’s engine and had to call for help. “Yeah, RIGHT,” Jim snarled.
THIS IS LOVE!!!
SO GOOD.
A+ Quality content!
*bangs fist on desk* This is the kind of content I want on my dash!
Ok but see the thing is that I feel like while they’ve been on the road Sam and Steve have been sharing tender kisses and making out on motel beds and exchanging handies and then they find Bucky and suddenly Sam is up against this epic love story that spans a century and mind control and fuck if that isn’t intimidating and Sam just thinks he’ll step aside and let them do their thing until one night when they’re all sitting on the couch watching tv and eating pizza and Bucky and Steve are sort of snuggling and Sam thinks it might be time to leave but Bucky just reaches over and pulls him in with them and they become a giant gay cuddle and kiss pile and then sometime later when Steve is out Bucky can’t help but take Sams hand and say “thank you for taking care of him” and it’s just unspoken that they’re all gonna be inseparable now and that no choice has to be made because they are all starving for love and honestly the more the merrier
Natasha: I know how much Bucky means to you
Natasha: I, too, have a loyal sharpshooter boyfriend that the writers will never let me kiss
If you adjust for superpowers Sam Wilson is inch for inch and pound for pound the strongest and most agile of the team. The reason he hasn’t been experimented on is because he already has like 800lbs of pure awesome.
I mean try it your damn self. Do a plank for two minutes.
Ok, did you do it?
Did you not because your core muscles clenched in fear? I know mine did.
You have the assistance of the earth to hold you up, meanwhile Sam is in a constant state of plank going like eighty miles an hour in the sky against all kinds of wind conditions and shit.
But SAM MOTHAFUCKING WILSON is like no I am a graceful torpedo.
ALSO WHO THE FUCK CAN HOLD STEVEN GRANT ROGERS (6′1″, 200lbs) IN ONE HAND and drag him along through the air mind you LIKE I TRIED TO PICK UP MY EIGHTY POUND DOG IN BOTH HANDS AND I THINK I PULLED SOMETHING.
Does this man just casually bench 400lbs on arm day? Does his bicep curl move the entire machine???? WHAT KIND OF MAINTENANCE REGIMEN DOES HE HAVE?
I feel like Sam does body weight workouts on all the DC light poles he can find like man I gotta take the ferry somewhere, better get my workout on.
Ugh CAN U IMAGINE
HE PROBABLY DOES LIKE TWELVE MINUTES OF EACH POSE EVERY DAY
THere’s probably an instagram account of the mysterious DC planker with like 7million dudebros following trying to figure out which protein he takes.
The wings are a fucking jet pack there is no way you can convince me they’re anything less than 50 lbs of dead weight deactivated, and then over 300lbs of torque strapped ten inches from his asshole. He’s just casually maneuvering this shit without getting thrown are yOU KIDDING.
I feel that Tony would be a far second because he moves his equipment around all the time, therefore has big arms, but I also feel like Tony is the kind of man to not know his macros and who never learned to lift with his goddamn legs and therefore has injured himself countless times until Rhodey forced him to build lifter bots.
AS A FOLLOW UP HE PROBABLY RECREATES THIS VIDEO BUT WITH STEVE
Hell yes. Sam’s a PJ, Air Force Pararescue. Do you know how incredibly badass that makes him? No? Go take a gander at this. Some highlights:
“The process of becoming a “PJ” is known informally as “the Pipeline” or “Superman
School”. Almost two years long, it’s among the longest special
operations training courses in the world. It also has one of the highest
training attrition rates in the entire U.S. special operations
community, at around 80%“
You know what the attrition rate is for the Army Rangers? At its highest, 65%. Navy SEALs? 75% These are people who parachute into combat and disaster situations, perform field surgery in the harshest conditions in the world (sometimes under fire), and do every damn thing they can – including DIE – to get people out. Their motto? “That Others May Live.” That’s not enough? How about this:
“The qualifications and capabilities of Pararescue teams are extensive:
all PJs are qualified experts in Advanced Weapons and Small Unit
Tactics, Airborne and Military Free Fall, Combat Divers, High
Angle/Confined Space Rescue operations, Small Boat/Vehicle Craft
utilization, Rescue Swimmers, and Battlefield Trauma/Paramedics.”
FUCKING BADASS. And Sam? Sam Fucking Wilson? He was picked for the EXO-7 program, which means that he was one of the best damn PJs out there to have been selected.
Sam Wilson didn’t become a superhero when he strapped on his wings and joined the Avengers. Sam Wilson was already a goddamned superhero.
How the heck did her hair get braided like that? Did she and the other officers just have a braiding train at night? ????
do you think Peggy carter needs anyone to braid her hair? she does it herself. The right hand’s nail polish? my girl has it covered. Zipping and unzipping the back of the dress? pff… Peggy Carter can do anything. Liquid Eyeliner? in one try. Peggy carter can do anything.
anything.
a n y t h i n g.
That’s not a braid. It’s a roll. It is one of the most beautiful hair styles to come out of the 40s and is incredibly simple. The hair styles you should be impressed with are these.
Waves: I had a 1920s themed dance last month, and I wore my hair in waves. I sat in a chair with a professional stylist for AN HOUR for FOUR of those beauties. I see at least eight. And she does those regularly for work.
Victory curls: I can do victory curls. Two, to be exact. Not counting practice, I have worn my hair in V-curls exactly twice. It took me an hour and a half last time, and I didn’t even curl the ends, just two v-curls on the top of my head, and they weren’t nearly this amazing. Again, another casual work look.
Do you think Steve curled her hair? Fat chance. Be in awe of Peggy Carter. Be in awe.
I now have a mental image of Peggy Carter doing her nightly routine, which of course doesn’t necessarily happen at night, just whenever she has a chance to lie down and sleep. It starts with sitting at her desk, where a mirror has been wedged into the right position by militarily files, but she doesn’t look at it any more. Instead she’s pouring over whatever has to be memorized for the following day, fingers working on automatic as she wedges pins into place. It takes forty seven pin curls to get the look she wants, and she’s done with it before she finishes reading the memo.
There’s little flickers of red on her gun as testament to smudged nails before she learned to check her weapons first and then paint her nails. While they dry she reads something else, filing it all away for future reference and remembering key words by which finger she was painting at the time. When Peggy Carter checks her nails she might well be looking for chips, but it’s more likely she’s remembering names.
She ran out of cold cream weeks ago, but she stills has some rose water left and uses it sparingly, careful not to get it mixed up with the other little vials in her kit.
And of course there will be that one night, when the alarm sounds and everyone is forced from their beds in a panicked hurry. Peggy Carter will not only be at the center of it, but she will be the one keeping the intruder pinned down. Dressed in a faded floral nightgown thrown over her night clothes, smelling like rose water, her hair hidden under a silk scarf to keep her curls in place, gun held steadily in a perfectly manicured hand. Everyone else is dressed, however hurriedly, but it’s Peggy who is the most put together, even in her pin curls.
I love the expression, “Hell in high heels”, but frankly Hell has never met Peggy Carter.
ALL of this ^^^. Also, the glorious queen probably does her winged liquid eyeliner in that stupid jeep, bouncing along the path to a meeting.
This is the most beautiful thing I’ve read so far about Peggy Carter. *chinhands and sighs, dreamily* Because Peggy fucking Carter.
Kimchi and Justice 