Steve Rogers did, in fact, realize that something was off when he saw the outline of the woman’s odd bra (a push-up bra, he would later learn), but being an officer and a gentleman, he said that it was the game that gave the future away.
No, see, this scene is just amazing. The costume department deserves so many kudos for this, it’s unreal, especially given the fact that they pulled off Peggy pretty much flawlessly.
1) Her hair is completely wrong for the 40’s. No professional/working woman would have her hair loose like that. Since they’re trying to pass this off as a military hospital, Steve would know that she would at least have her hair carefully pulled back, if maybe not in the elaborate coiffures that would have been popular.
2) Her tie? Too wide, too long. That’s a man’s tie, not a woman’s. They did, however, get the knot correct as far as I can see - that looks like a Windsor.
3) That. Bra. There is so much clashing between that bra and what Steve would expect (remember, he worked with a bunch of women for a long time) that it has to be intentional. She’s wearing a foam cup, which would have been unheard of back then. It’s also an exceptionally old or ill-fitting bra - why else can you see the tops of the cups? No woman would have been caught dead with misbehaving lingerie like that back then, and the soft satin cups of 40’s lingerie made it nearly impossible anyway. Her breasts are also sitting at a much lower angle than would be acceptable in the 40’s.
Look at his eyes. He knows by the time he gets to her hair that something is very, very wrong.
so what you are saying is S.H.E.I.L.D. has a super shitty costume division….
Nope, Nick Fury totally did this on purpose.
There’s no knowing what kind of condition Steve’s in, or what kind of person he really is, after decades of nostalgia blur the reality and the long years in the ice (after a plane crash and a shitload of radiation) do their work. (Pre-crash Steve is in lots of files, I’m sure. Nick Fury does not trust files.) So Fury instructs his people to build a stage, and makes sure that the right people put up some of the wrong cues.
Maybe the real Steve’s a dick, or just an above-average jock; maybe he had a knack for hanging out with real talent. Maybe he hit his head too hard on the landing and he’s not gonna be Captain anymore. On the flipside, if he really is smart, then putting him in a standard, modern hospital room and telling him the truth is going to have him clamming up and refusing to believe a goddamn thing he hears for a really long time.
The real question here is, how long it does it take for the man, the myth, the legend to notice? What does he do about it? How long does he wait to get his bearings, confirm his suspicions, and gather information before attempting busting out?
Turns out the answer’s about forty-five seconds.
Accepted as truth.
So I see this, and of course I think of Pie Without Plot. I can’t help but wonder, 972 what? 972 parts? Too much to hope for. 972 kisses? Well, of course. But then I finally figure it out. 972 pieces of rosemary in the fuckin’ foccacia. Of course.
The answer is actually 972 miles.
That’s how far the food truck got on their first trip out, on their way to Greenville, SC.
They followed Dean in the Impala down I-40, east. On long stretches they could hear him crank the stereo and AC/DC whipped past them in the wind. Cas was still pretty new to long-distance driving, in a hulking truck no less, and Sam was taking a turn so he could rest.
Cas dozed in the passenger seat, head lolling.
Exit 54 was just coming up and Cas shook himself, roused as if sensing they were about to stop for gas or something, but he said, calmly, almost as if commenting on the scenery, “We just blew a tire.”
Sam snorted. “You were dreaming, dude, we didn—”
A wobble underneath him, a flapping, slapping sound, and the muscles in Sam’s body tensed the way they would to take a kick to the chest as the truck started grinding.
"Shit," Sam eased her off to the shoulder at the right, of all absurd things, muttering "sorry, sorry" at the honks from behind and around him.
The exit sign so close when he turned the truck off.
It mocked him.
Dean noticed the shift in his rear-view soon enough and parked at the side of the road, threw on the hazards, and jogged back a quarter mile.
He didn’t let Sam hear the end of it, of course. Sam knew that would happen. He’s not a bad driver. Bad shit just happens when he’s the one driving. It’s incredibly terrible luck.
Cas had felt the shift in the wheel well underneath him. Front passenger-side.
They had no spares.
He spent a good long while stroking the metal sides of the truck as if tending to a wounded bird while the Winchesters strategized. They didn’t notice him on the phone between coos or else they would have expected the AAA truck that pulled up behind them. He handed over a goddamn Gold Card membership and they simply drove into Asheville in the Impala while the whole thing was handled.
"Triple A," Dean kept repeating, shaking his head. Cas only blinked, as if it were obvious.
(It was, really. Cas was slightly more protective of the truck than they knew, already.)
They had lunch and Sam wanted to visit the Biltmore Estate. Dean and Cas made out down a dormant, snow-dusted garden path and Sam abandoned them to go to the Red Wine & Chocolate seminar.
972 miles. 973 to the proper exit. Late November, North Carolina.
can someone bring capes back into fashion
when the fuck did they even go out of fashion
Why the fuck did they even go out of fashion
The first time the Incredibles took over a post and I am so happy about it
reminder that stratogale was in high school when she got sucked into the airplane propeller and died
do you ever just think edna sat in the back of the funeral in the little hometown church
the sound of sniffling and crying surrounding her
wearing a floor-length black dress and a black veil to hide her puffy eyes as she takes out her sketchbook and starts ripping all her design ideas for costumes out
whispering “no capes. no capes. no capes.” over and over, knowing that it was her fault a high school student died a horrific, painful death to the point where they can’t have a body to bury
WHY WOULD YOU
WHY WOULD YOU
Best Worst decision I made today: I started reading “Hawkeye” by Fraction and Aja.
My paper ain’t gonna be written any time soon A H A H
Interviewer: Tell us about your relationship with Robert Downey Jr on set.
Jude Law: Oh, I love him. I love him.
Interviewer: Yeah? You had a bit of a bromance going on there.
Jude Law: What is this new term everyone is using?
Jude Law: Oh, it’s a horrible term. What about just a romance?
Interviewer: No, it’s not the same.
Jude Law: Why not? Why?
Interviewer: Cause then you’d have to star in a romantic comedy together or something.
Jude Law: We just have. Have you not seen it? [x]