#sam wilson i guess

[piouscoffeelover]

can we just talk about how sebastian freaking stan is an AMAZING actor. the way he's able to act with micro expressions but also in such a humanly way? i feel like too often the acting industry zones in on not being expressive even tho that's such a big part of the human experience. humans are FREAKING EXPRESSIVE. every bit of what we think and feel screams to be heard, to be expressed. but the industry can be so hyperfocused on micro expressions, or portraying emotions "realistically". but the thing is, some of us aren't as expressionally (as in facial expressions) or verbally expressive as others. but humans are SO expressive. they are so communicative through their faces, and physical mannerisms. through the slightest glint passing through the eyes.

and of course this would be a huge moment in bucky's life, where he's admitting his personal sin to someone he cares so so so deeply about. he's having to be honest about something he never wanted to do, something completely out of control, and say he killed his friend's son.

his friend's son, someone who saw him as james—not the charming bucky barnes, 1900s best friend, or the winter soldier. just james. a friend. a brother. a son. and sebastian perfectly nailed everything in this scene. the internal battle that can't help but break past your mask. the knitting of brows as his thoughts pour out onto his face. the shaking of his lips as he looks for the words to express the utter terror and guilt and GRIEF he has. acting is hard, it is so hard, and sebastian nailed it. like i'm not even a big sebastian stan fan, but MAN, i love him as bucky. i can't see anyone else playing him.

LOOK AT HIS EYES IN THE LAST GIF I NEED TO TAKE A LAP

[potofsoup]

Happy 10th year of me doing this dorky comic! Hope people don't mind the fact that I haven't really dabbled in Cap stuff for a few years, except for my weird yearly July 4th ritual. On AO3 here, and tumblr tag here. (2022 was about Dobbs, 2020 was about seeing the stars, 2019 was about building new systems, 2018 was about voting, 2017 was about immigration.)

@histrionic-dragon tagged me yesterday and posted a bunch of cool links of ways to help: https://histrionic-dragon.tumblr.com/post/721837010124488704/almost-captain-americas-birthday

Rail workers paid sick leave: https://www.ibew.org/media-center/Articles/23Daily/2306/230620_IBEWandPaid

Lots of posts out there on the 2023 Minnesota legislative session, but here's the OG tumblr roundup post.

California is trying to divest its two largest pension funds from fossil fuels, but apparently today they decided to table it until next year. :/ I guess more meetings are needed! (productive ones, not ones that could have been an email.)

[lovinthosecrits]

I am bawling over here with today's episode. The connection, the introspection, facing yourself, facing your mirror self, saying it all aloud you've been too scared and felt too silly and couldn't catch your breathe to be that vulnerable... And then, it's on the outside. You can't take it back. You already took the risk. All you can do is keep going

[wilson-is-a-slut]

you heard what i said

[thesmilingproudwandererswor-blog]

the fact that both Anthony Mackie and Sam Wilson know how to deal with grumpy old men 😭

X

[jemgirl86]

Well, guess who just watched Sam’s episode of What If and has mixed feelings about it?

Idk man, it’s like the creators had to be bullied into actually including Sam in any significant way, and then the first thing they do when they actually deign to give him a story is make him another sad white dude’s Emotional Support Negro.

Like… it was awesome seeing him be Cap and lead the Avengers all on his own. And I thought it was cool that Monica and Bucky seemed to be his number 2 and number 3, respectively, and I especially enjoyed the Sam/Monica interactions. Catching a glimpse of Sarah and the boat was great too…

BUT… but… this fandom, and the MCU fandom at large, already make Sam play second fiddle in everything, they already think his sole purpose is to be a “therapist” to whatever white dude he’s in the vicinity of, so, idk man, something about this plot just kind of rubbed me the wrong way. I certainly didn’t hate the episode, and again, I enjoyed a few things, but the connection between Sam and Bruce, didn’t hit at all the same way as the connection between Sam and Steve. It felt more one-sided and shallow, and I know they can only fit so much into one episode, but it would’ve been nice (it would be nice) to see Sam’s friends give as good as they got in their friendships with him.

[staying-elive]

Really weird to think about how Marvel keeps whining about mourning the loss of their original line-up, when blatantly neglecting their next most senior member in terms of actual Avengers team cred and actor longevity... yes, I'm talking about Sam. (of course I am lol)

Look here...

Tony, Steve, Nat, Maria = all dead

Clint, Bruce (not pictured), Thor = retired maybe? but no word on future appearances. Certainly no solo work on the slate. Passing the mantle?

Vision = dead. Wanda = evil and dead (lol), but complicated.

Rhodey stupidly got turned into a Skrull and while yes, he does have a movie coming, he's not heading it as a title hero. (Armor Wars)

Which leaves Sam. Captain America, thank you.

I just can't fathom (at least in-universe wise) why Marvel hasn't invested in building Sam up as part of a new Big Three.

The OG Big Three had a Science Guy, a Moral Compass Guy, and a Cosmic Guy.

Sam clearly fulfills the Moral Compass quota.

Science could've been Shuri and/or Scott

Cosmic could've been Carol

or could switch Cosmic for Mystic and have Doctor Strange handle that corner.

And that would've been the trifecta anchoring the new Phases. Add new characters like Shang Chi and Ms Marvel and Monica in around these core characters as needed and build from there, but anchor the new Saga with repeated (and timely!) check-ins with the core.

And Sam's the last (almost OG) active Avenger.

It's just crazy that he won't have been seen since 2021 to 2024. With nary a canonical film reference, by name, as Captain America.

[colettetatouss]

me watching anything: sambucky au ?!?!?!

[plantswithme]

[margarethx]

I know that it’s not the most common interpretation, because a lot of fans find the actor handsome, but I honestly like the idea of Bucky being... not that attractive. At least when he’s after his Hydra treatment.

Most people see his flirtatious behaviour and good looks as a big part of his characterization, but I prefer to think about those things as something he has also lost over time. It just makes more sense to me that he would look less presentable in the 21st century, considering his experiences.

And it also makes Sam’s affection for him even more special, because it’s not just: “Sam is reckless and does anything for a pretty boy” (which is also a fun plot at times), but more of a: “it never mattered to Sam if Bucky looked good, because he cares about him so much that it’s irrelevant”.

Idk... maybe I’m just not a big fan of a “tragically beautiful” trope. But also the idea of Bucky re-learning how to take care of himself and look better while he heals is more appealing to me that him just being freed from years of torture and looking like a model with no effort. And... It’s also a cute idea for a fic where Bucky would not care about his looks at all, but the moment he meets Sam, he suddenly wants to comb his hair, or shave, or find clean clothes. (Even though Sam had liked him even when he had dark under eyes, uneven beard, or greasy hair.)

[kitwilsonsass]

[micamicster]

I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You

Have a Bucky scene! This is supposed to be the b-side to whatever much more serious story I was writing in Sam's pov (link to that snippet). As I will probably never finish these please don't take them seriously <3

Also this isn't canon compliant but Marvel isn't real you know

~

Sometimes he thinks Sam is the only good thing about the future. Sometimes he thinks that Sam’s everything good about the future. If there’s a difference between those two thoughts, he doesn’t have any better words for it.

When he’d first met Sam—well, depending on your definition, they’ve had several first meetings. By one definition he’d either ripped his steering wheel out through his windshield, yanked him out of the sky, or tried to put him through a wall face first. Bucky doesn’t really remember those ones. He just has to go off of the (obviously exaggerated and totally unreliable) versions Sam recounts when he decides to seize the opportunity offered by the question ‘how did you two meet?’ and make Bucky squirm.

If Bucky doesn’t remember it, he thinks it doesn’t count. Maybe it’s the first time Sam met him, but the first time he met Sam was during the year Sam and Steve were chasing him.

A year of drawing smaller and smaller circles around them as they sighed and fought and slept and drove and kicked the frozen rocks in the Hindu Kush or the Smokey Mountains, squinting into the sun like it had any clues to give them, anything at all. The first time Bucky met Sam, it had been through a rifle scope.

He’d met him in the air. Watched him from a hundred paces upwind twisting against the blue, soaring, looping around the sun. Sam eating tacos in the passenger side of a jeep, laughing at Steve’s beet red face and playing it off like he wasn’t coughing on the spice himself. Teaching Steve to fist bump, complete with explosion noises. Rumpled and serious over stacks of files in a diner, too late or too early for company. Dark eyes tracking bullet paths from sniper rifles he didn’t place, cautious in the face of Steve’s leaping optimism, watchful where Steve throws a wave or salute, reserving judgment. Sam.

Sam says these don’t count. Meeting someone according to Sam, who is casting himself as an authority on the subject, involves walking up to them, introducing yourself, getting their name, and shaking hands. “Two people gotta be involved! The time you watched me choke on an m&m through my bedroom window and didn’t even intervene, ain’t meeting, Boo Radley. It’s called stalking, and I’m adding it to your rap sheet.” Sam marches over to the poster paper hanging off the bathroom door and scribbles on it.

Bucky follows him, glowering. “By that definition, I’ve never met anybody.”

“By that definition,” Sam mimics. “Man, don’t give me that poor-little-orphan-boy act. What, they didn’t have handshakes in the 30s? Didn’t have names? ‘Never met anybody,’ You’re so full of shit.”

“Never met anybody important,” Bucky concedes, for the sake of the brief moment where Sam blinks at him. Sincerity always catches him off guard. Bucky has to be careful not to overuse this tactic or risk diminishing returns, but it’s worth it for his startled, wide eyes, the barely noticeable hitch in his stream of words.

In that moment of silence he leans over Sam’s shoulder to read the additions to the list. Stalking, and Watched me coughing for a full minute and didn’t break in to give me the heimlich. “I thought you were for prison abolition.”

“I’m not asking for jail time, I’m asking for reparations. I coulda died, man!”

Bucky lets his face go dour and gloomy in response to the teasing, a look that never fails to increase Sam’s enjoyment of a situation.

“Look out, Eeyore,” he says gleefully. “Your face might stick that way.”

“Too late. It froze like this in cryo.”

Sam’s delighted cackle is loud enough to attract Natalia’s attention, and Bucky carefully suppresses his reaction—his face might look blank and intimidating to others, but Tasha can pick out a mockable emotion at a hundred paces.

Her attention is enough to distract Sam, rerouting him into the kitchen where he starts fussing with the coffee pot. Bucky trails after him to hover silently in the doorway like an Eeyore balloon at the Thanksgiving Day Parade, avoiding eye contact with Natalia. She thinks she’s so fucking funny.

Good things about the future: Drunken noodles from Royal Siam with fresh basil and lime, extra spicy the way Sam orders it on movie nights. Losing at spades to Sarah and Cousin Jay, Sam blaming him for their downfall every hand of the game. Cass facetiming him from the kitchen table in Delacroix, history homework all spread out in front of him, both of them ignoring Sam shouting, ‘amnesiac, A-M-N-Something-S-iac, definition ‘he don’t know shit,’  you’re better off trying wikipedia,” from the couch.

“Man, just ask me.” Sam doesn’t bother turning around, but his amusement is palpable in the set of his shoulders, the back of his neck.

He sighs. “Who’s Bo Rad Lee”

The crinkle at the corners of Sam’s eyes, when he wears his smug stupid face. That’s a good thing about the future.

~

[marvel-lous-guy]

Tony: You know what's better than a weekend in Las Vegas? A week in Las Vegas.

Steve: I don't think that's a good idea, Steve. We have responsibilities.

Tony: That's why you need a vacation from your life, Steve. A week in Vegas is like hitting the reset button on your soul!

Sam: And your liver.

[jonsnowisthesexiestbastard]

Maybe it’s because of my dislike for Hailey Atwell, but it’s so weird the focus on Captain Carter on the new season of What If, when we still haven’t seen Sam Wilson in it even though he IS Captain America.

[rolandtowen]

Chapter Six of I'm Doing This For Revenge is live! Which means this fic is now completed. My utmost love and appreciation to everyone has read so far. Merry Christmas and Chag Sameach!

Read on Ao3 or under the cut:

Saturdays are Bucky's meal prep days. He's slowly been working his way through a variety of cuisines and tweaking them to suit his enhanced metabolism. This week, he's settled on a pot roast. He can't remember his Ma's recipe, but thanks to the internet, he easily found a New York community cookbook from 1938 that had been digitized. Should be close enough.

The recipe calls for brisket, and that element he does remember. Even with his and Steve's families pitching in together, they had to settle for the toughest cuts of meat, and even those were only bought sparingly, saved for special occasions like their joint celebrations of Passover and Easter or Hanukkah and Christmas. Pot roasts cook low and slow, tenderizing even the toughest of cuts, so a pot roast was an all-day commitment.

Bucky knows there's new cooking tools these days – some kind of special pot Sarah had mentioned? – to speed up the cooking process for long dishes like these, but Bucky's found that he prefers the process. It's grounding, having to check on a pot throughout his day. The fact that his apartment smells delicious for days is just a bonus.

Since his impromptu cooking lesson with Sam, his skills have improved considerably. He now knows dozens of types of knife cuts, from roll cuts to various bias cuts. Carlos had recommended art therapy early on, and to Bucky – food is art. He loves learning and mastering new techniques, experimenting with new flavors, and refining even the smallest of details, like plating. The last time he'd cooked for Sam, his boyfriend had looked at him with a little bit of awe at the bowl of Coq au Vin set in front of him. Bucky liked that look. He loved being able to kiss it off of Sam's face.

Bucky smiles fondly at the memory as he seasons and sears his brisket. Into his thrifted dutch oven go the brisket, his chopped vegetables, and enough beef stock and red wine to almost cover everything. The pot goes into the oven at a low temperature, and Bucky takes a few minutes to methodically reset his kitchen.

He'd cleaned a lot when he was a kid – primarily as part of his chores, and then to keep Steve from getting sick so often. But he'd never thought of cleaning as a form of mindfulness until Carlos suggested it. “Mindfulness doesn't have to mean seated meditation or yoga – cleaning ties you to your present moment and your surroundings.”

Bucky dumps his dirty dishes into the sink and turns on the hot water. Though his apartment came with a dishwasher, like so many things he does, he finds the manual, traditional process grounding. After thirty minutes, Bucky has a spotless kitchen. He checks the temperature of the brisket, then curls up in his armchair with his copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. A hot meal, a clean kitchen, and a good story. It is a good Saturday. He writes in his notebook:

glimmers: the smell of pot roast, a clean kitchen, reading

Sundays are even gentler than Saturdays. When Bucky's in New York, he likes to take these days to enjoy the city. Sunday mornings are his favorite time for this. Though Brooklyn could never be described as “quiet”, there's a calm that covers the borough for several hours on Sunday mornings, when the rest of the neighborhood either sleeps off last night's indulgences or attends church services. The contrast amuses Bucky. This Sunday, he orders his usual online, before retreating to Prospect Park. He'd never tell Sam, but he'd gotten into birdwatching recently (blame Banner), and he likes to spend a few hours walking the grounds of the park and soaking in the birdsong.

glimmers: a caramel latte, spotting a Dark-Eyed Junco

On Monday and Tuesday, Bucky shops. He's been invited to the Wilson family Christmas, and he has no idea what to bring. He visits Lydia at the bookstore and asks what a good gift for a chef would be. She gives him several recommendations, and he lands on Julia Child's book, The Art of French Cooking, which Lydia tells him is a classic.

The whole of New York must be shopping too, judging by the crowds in the stores. Bucky came well prepared with his headphones and his fidget, weaving through the crowds with a practiced ease. For Sam, he buys several records in the Motown genre, plus one record the storekeeper has insisted on. “Diana Ross,” the young woman tells him. “If your guy likes Marvin Gaye, he'll love this one.”

Bucky's last stop is the gaming store on the way back to his apartment. Cass and AJ have started calling him “Uncle Bucky”, so of course he has to spoil them. Even if Sarah might not appreciate every one of his gift selections.

glimmers: seeing Lydia, buying gifts, getting music recommendations

On Wednesday, Bucky flies to New Orleans. Being Avenger-adjacent does have its perks – including a private Stark jet. It'd probably be damn near impossible for him to go through TSA anyway. When he lands four hours later, Sam's waiting for him at the airfield.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he teases affectionately, opening his arms to Bucky. Bucky folds into them, nuzzling into the warmth of Sam's shoulder. “How was your flight?”

“Can't complain,” Bucky says. “A lot smoother of a ride than with Torres.”

Sam laughs at that. “Come on, Sarah's got dinner all planned out.”

Louisiana is almost balmy compared to New York, mid-60's and drizzling. Sam catches him up on the last mission he'd gone on, something about freeing a few more Widows with Kate and Yelena. He'd been working the two of them off and on since the fall, trying to finish what Natasha had started.

Sarah greets him at the door with a warm hug. “Come on in, I've got dinner all laid out. Oh!” She gasps when she sees Bucky's duffle bag full of wrapped gifts. “You shouldn't have!”

Bucky grins. “You might actually mean that tomorrow.” He whispers to her: “I might've gotten the boys a drone.”

Sarah laughs. “Lord have mercy, as if Redwing wasn't enough.”

Sarah pulled no stops in creating her Christmas feast: roasted carrots, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, and on and on. What she was most proud of was her roast turkey, beaming when Bucky shyly passed his plate to her for seconds. At the end of the meal, she sends the boys upstairs to get ready for bed. When they protest, she emphasizes: "PJs, then presents.”

Bucky flicks his eyes to Sam. “Tell me they haven't been waiting all day for me to get here before opening their presents.”

Sam waves it off. “Of course not. They opened the stuff from us this morning. They have stuff to give you though. Which, while we're alone,” Sam pulls out a box wrapped in blue paper.

“Kate and I talked a lot on our first mission together, and I wanted to get this for you. I don't know how much you still practice, but–” Sam cuts himself off, thrusting a box into Bucky's arms. “She told me about Hanukkah, and how it's about rededication, and with all the work you've put in this last year, it seemed – I thought you might want to celebrate.”

Bucky unwraps his gift from Sam, and tears spring to his eyes. It's a beautiful gold menorah, but it's so light, which must mean…

“I had Shuri make it out of vibranium.” Sam's breath catches, like he wants to say more, but doesn't. Bucky quirks an eyebrow at him and he continues. “I thought – Hanukkah is supposed to be about resistance too, so –”

“You made an indestructible menorah.” Bucky's at a loss for words after that, turning the gift over in his hands, running his fingers down the stems. “Sam, I…I don't know what to say.”

“It's okay if you don't like it,” Sam offers quickly, worried he might have overstepped. He knew Bucky was Jewish, but was this too far? Did Bucky want to keep this part of his life private?

“Sam.” Bucky's voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. “I love it. You don't know what this means to me.”

When the sun begins to set, Sarah gathers the boys as Bucky places the menorah in the window and gathers two candles, placing one in the furthest right stem, and one in the center stem. Bucky searches his memories, worried he's forgotten, but the prayers fall from his lips like water in a stream.

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah

Baruch atah, Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh

Baruch atah Adonai, elohenu melech ha’olam, shehecheyanu, v’kiyimanu, v’higiyanu lazman hazeh

Bucky strikes a match, lighting the center candle, the shamash first, then using it to light the candle on the right. He feels a flicker of a memory, his mother's hand on his wrist, guiding him in lighting the menorah for the first time, and then it's gone. He lets out a sigh and opens his eyes.

Sam squeezes his hand. “All good?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out.

“Does this mean Uncle Bucky can open our presents now?” AJ asks.

“Wait, I want him to open mine first!” Cass protests.

Sarah shoots Bucky and Sam a look, mouthing “boys”, while shaking her head in a laugh. AJ and Cass run to the tree in the living room to get their gifts for Bucky, and the two men savor the momentary quiet. “Happy Hanukkah, Buck.” Sam murmurs.

“I think this is my first Hanukkah in eighty years, Sam.” Bucky's voice cracks from the weight of his words. “I didn't think I'd ever have this again. Carlos said it might be good for me to go to temple again, just try it one time, but I –” Bucky's words end in a choked noise. He tries again, his voice small. “I know it wasn't really me, Sam, but…this body…my body, it followed Nazi orders. And I can't bring it – myself – into a synagogue. I won't.”

Sam's heart clenches. He is so out of his depth here. “Listen, I'm no expert, but my mama used to say that sitting in church didn't make you any more Christian than sitting in a garage made you a car. So I imagine the same is true with Judaism. Your religion ain't a place, it's your actions. So make it whatever you want, sweetheart.” Sam takes both of Bucky's hands in his. “I'm here for wherever that leads you.”

glimmers: Hanukkah, Sam, family.

fin.

[skullfragments]

they really made a whole tv series named “sam & bucky” just to have them not working together in their upcoming appearances