peninsulamamoenam replied to your post “Watching Captain America while I pack, and I’m suddenly wondering if…”
Please please please please please
…I might have started writing it in my head while trying to fall asleep last night.
"I think they only know the one song —" His voice, that uncertain waver, can barely be heard above the jeering crowd. Maeve rolls her eyes, dropping her helmet onto the shelf. A year in the USO, nine months on the road, seven hours of practice a day, and he thinks they only know the one song. If he weren’t so goddamn kind he’d be insufferable.
I will also accept Peggy/Stark’s
unnamed secretary (Lorraine). Because hello Natalie Dormer, I forgot you were in this. And because Natalie Dormer and Hayley Atwell together is what dreams are made of. And because it puts the scene where Peggy catches the Secretary Lorraine and Cap kissing into a whole new light.
This has to have already been written. LINK ME PLZ.
ETA! what-alchemy informs me her name is Lorraine! Yay! (I very lazily imdbed Natalie and didn’t see it listed)
Watching Captain America while I pack, and I’m suddenly wondering if there’s been any fic from the point of view of one of the USO girls, with Cap as a background figure. How she always wanted to dance and now can do so while serving her country and seeing the world. How she maybe sometimes feels conflicted about what her war effort contributes, especially after Cap goes on his Bucky-rescue-mission and becomes an active soldier, but always circles back to how she felt any time there were performers of any sort in town. The hope; the knowledge that there was a big world out there and that she could be more than small-town morals told her she should be: the hope for a brighter future they all fought for.
The way it gets awfully close at night on the road and how one of her friendships starts to feel like something new, something different. How she manages the attentions from the enlisted boys; how it feels good sometimes and invasive others; how it’s only the girls on her left and her right who understand that, even though it’s hard to put into words. How everything is bright and new one night, with her striped skirt up around her hips and her best friend’s face buried between her thighs. How they save away their wages, together, for what will come the other side of the war.
After a long day’s work cleaning, packing, and moving, pour yourself a drink; you deserve it! And then another, and another, until the bottle’s empty. Hey, look! One more thing you don’t have to pack.
From Chapter 24(!!!) of Into the Dark Stream:
He hasn’t seen anything that looks like a body, though, which gives him enough hope to turn and stumble to the door, falling to his knees on the gravel and gulping fresh air.
— Gulping, laughing, Sherlock’s narrow forearm under his hands, Sherlock collapsing on the grass, laughing and shielding his eyes from the sun —
— Sherlock, movements strained and cheek bruised; Sherlock warned off by Tom Barry himself —
— Sherlock at the mortuary, his body the one on the cold steel table, his skin peeling and burnt; or his skeleton, found days later, once the fire burns out —
Sherlock burned; Sherlock shot; Sherlock killed.
John’s tyres send a skittering spray of gravel up as he speeds off toward town.