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philtstone · 2 years

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but not alone

in a shocking twist i really was able to finish this on time for it to be a birthday gift to myself lmao -- done with 2 minutes on the clock

some background: i watched "why didn't they ask evans?", remembered i adored agatha christie novels, and immediately had to try writing this. depending on what you guys think and my Life schedule i may write part 2 because the potential latter half of this plot is so fun it really deserves to see the light of day -- but anyway. The Premise: bucky didnt fall off the train, steve still sacrificed himself, and a whole lot of characters were born multiple decades earlier than in canon. a big thank you to @firstelevens and @parlegee for their emotional support and plotting help and also to @flyinghome-againstthewind for their lovely encouragement and enthusiasm re the fic concept! i wrote more, as promised, and here it is!

the title is from fellowship of the ring because i am insufferable, and every little comment and kudos makes my year

Summary: After the weird-looking carpet cleaner has whistled three times the man says,

“You don’t look like a German spy,” muttered, like he’s really thinkin’ about it.

“Seriously?” splutters Sam. He says this so forcefully that the other guy has the nerve to look a little offended. But now, come on – come on, Sam thinks. It’s a fair question. Only Sam’s been having a really difficult forty-eight hours, so he doesn’t appreciate it.

It’s here that something big and important feeling clicks in Sam’s head. He’s seen that scowl before – just yesterday, ignoring poor Miss Dollie.

And just this morning, in the papers plastered all over his motel lobby.

“Oh,” says Sam, “you gotta be kidding me.”

But alas, there’s no kidding to be had.

“From the paper – they think you killed him, man!”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes pales three shades under what little tan he has, but otherwise doesn’t react.

OR: Sam, Bucky, and a Post-War murder mystery that demands the power of friendship.

Excerpt:

The thing about Peggy is that she understands him, which is just a bitch and a half sometimes.

“You threw the weapon out.”

She’s repeating this, flatly, but with enough inflection that Bucky comprehends the are you perhaps a massive idiot implied therein. Peg would say it like that too — use perhaps and massive and arch her eyebrows.

Bucky presses his hands harder where they’re clutched at his temples and grimaces. “Look, I wasn’t thinking clearly, alright?”

“James.”

James, full name, not Jim like when she’s being chummy and of course Agent Margaret Carter of His Majesty’s Royal Service never quite got around to following Steve’s lead on the Bucky front. Bucky grimaces harder. Peggy will stare and be sardonic and, God help him suspicious until he explains.

“I dunno what you want me to say, Peg – it was there in the drawer and I couldn’t bear lookin’ at it anymore.”

Her resultant expression is just a touch too understanding for his taste.

“How the hell would I know that tossing a Colt into the Hudson in the middle of the night would get Howard killed?” Bucky adds, to move past it.

Minutely as possible Peggy flinches. Balls of steel, he’s always said. The other guys thought the same, but none of them had the guts to say it aloud. Speaking of other guys –

“Dugan’s coming over.”

“Like hell he is,” Bucky says.

Peggy takes an elegant drag of her cigarette. She’s sitting at the dull brown edge of his made-up bed and being careful enough that the ashes don’t spill. What difference that’ll make Bucky’s not sure. His apartment’s the definition of sad. Becca nearly cried last week when she visited, but then instead of crying yelled at him ‘til he relented and got a pillow.

“Evidently,” says Peggy, still on the topic of Dum-Dum, “he has not considered the double agent angle. His wife made you casserole.”

“Mm,” says Bucky, grim. He walks over to his meager kitchen, pulls a dusty bottle out from the cabinet and unscrews it. “Gonna get him killed one of these days.”

“Given my ongoing conviction that you are not in fact a spy –”

“Jury’s out on you though,” Bucky says, raising the bottle at her.

“-- you do realize that you are a prime suspect in the murder of our close personal friend.” She blows out. “If we can’t rely on our comrades, we’re rather fucked.”

“I am, you mean.”

Her mouth turns mulish and she looks away to the window then back. Maybe she did mean we, lumping the two of them under the tarp of some morbid umbrella. Steve’s dead and gone and sacrificed nobly, isn’t he.

“You didn’t kill Howard and he didn’t damn well kill himself,” says Peggy, steely. “I’d like to know which bastard did.”

Read More on ao3

#my writing #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #the first avenger #agent carter #peggy carter #sarah wilson #howard stark #dum dum dugan #rebecca barnes #marvel #murder mystery au!!#tfatws fic #sam x bucky #sam x sarah #peggy x bucky #all platonic tho; this is a gen fic

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ivyentwined · 2 years

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Thick and Red and Violent and Good – AO3 | FFN

Peggy Carter was a woman of science yet what stood before her defied rational explanation. What had she got herself caught up in this time? Fandom: MCU Complete: yes Pairing: Peggy/Bucky Rating: mature Length: 939 words Warnings: AU - Vampires, character death, creature fic

#peggy carter #Bucky Barnes #peggy x bucky #mcu #a taste so sweet #mine #my art #my writing #storycard

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bitchymama · 4 months

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So I did a thing.

Link under the cut.

I wrote a Peggy/Bucky fic if anyone is interested.

#peggy x bucky #bucky barnes #peggy carter

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incorrect-marvel-because-why-not · 3 months

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You know what I love about this scene?

Peggy and Steve BOTH look at Bucky like “sooo, can we have some privacy??”

And this little shit looks over his shoulder to see what they’re looking at, turns back, and proceeds to do everything in his power to prevent their flirting while staying professional. He knows he’s not supposed to be there, but this -frankly amazing- woman is this close to winning over his boy and like hell will James Buchanan Barnes take it lying down.

His audacity just kills me and I love it.

#marvel #marvel mcu #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #steven grant rogers #captain america #steve x bucky #stucky #peggy carter #agent carter #the winter soldier #sargent barnes #captain america the first avenger

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mostlymarvelsstuff · 5 months

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Reader receives their nudes accidentally

Summary: Through various means each hero ends up sending you their nudes without meaning to (Not interconnected. Meaning each is its own lil multiverse where R gets the nudes of their crush/crushes, whomever it may be)

Authors note: I was originally going to post all of these in 1 post, but I ended up not doing that so ya'll didn't have to scroll on down through them all if you just wanted to read for one character.

Warnings: light angst(just anxiety really), nude pics, implied future smut i guess?, smut(in couples drabbles and part 2s)

Natasha Part 2

Wanda Part 2

Yelena Part 2

Carol Part 2

Bucky Part 2

Peggy Part 2

WandaNat Part 2

BuckyNat Part 2

PeggyNat Part 2

CarolNat Part 2

How They React To Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

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pararave · 2 months

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one lucky guy from Brooklyn

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captainsophiestark · 2 months

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Hypocrite

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requested by @flowers-and-fichte! Hope you enjoy, Novalis, and thanks for the request!

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Bucky's gotten close with Peggy's best friend, the two bonding over the reckless mavericks they both chose to care so much about. But Steve and Peggy aren't the only couple dancing around each other in this war.

Word Count: 1,396

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: I can't believe this is my first time writing for Bucky, lol. Most of the rest of the fandom has been here since Winter Soldier, but better late than never I guess!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I shook my head as I barely managed to put one foot in front of the other, heading through the front door of my favorite dive bar. The Howling Commandos and I had spent many a night here, toasting success or planning our next move, but tonight I was without the rest of my group.

Peggy Carter was going to well and truly kill me, and I needed a night to process that.

She'd been my best friend for just about as long as I could remember; we'd joined SOE together, and somehow managed to end up on General Philips' staff, two of the only women getting as close to combat as we did. We made an excellent team, and normally, I had no complaints. But sometimes she could just be so reckless, flying head first into insane danger, that my heart needed a break lest it burst on the spot.

Tonight had been no exception. Peggy and Steve Rogers, the one and only Captain America, had worked together on a Commandos mission just across enemy lines. We'd been successful, and the two of them together had made an incredible difference in the war effort, but damned if I didn't also rue the day they'd met.

I slumped into a stool at the bar, barely registering my surroundings until someone slid a glass of my favorite drink in front of me. I frowned at it, then turned to my left to see who exactly it had come from.

Sargeant Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers' best friend, stared back at me with a faint smile on his face. He looked almost as tired as I felt.

"You look like you could use this," he said. I huffed.

"Thanks. How'd you know what I liked?"

He just shrugged, his eyes never once leaving mine as I took a drink, the corner of his mouth gently tugging up.

"I usually pay attention to the drink orders of pretty girls."

I snorted so hard a bit of my drink came out of my nose. It burned like hell, so it took me a few moments to recover myself enough to meet Bucky's gaze again. He'd leaned forward a bit, one eyebrow raised, looking a bit concerned.

"You alright there, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, fine. Just wasn't expecting you to hit on me, especially with that lame ass pickup line."

"Lame?" Bucky asked, a hand flying to his heart in mock-outrage. "That hurts."

I just rolled my eyes. "Knock it off, Barnes. We've quite literally been through hell together, I think we're a little past you trying to get my number in a bar."

"Well then how would you suggest I get your number?"

I paused, drink halfway to my lips again, and cut my eyes towards Bucky to let him know how truly ridiculous I thought the question was.

"You already have my number. It's the same one for Peggy and all the Commandos, as long as we're all stationed at the same camp."

Bucky just stared at me for a long moment. I sipped my drink and set it back down on the bar before he finally spoke again.

"Shit."

"Yeah. Nice try though."

Bucky huffed a laugh and took a sip of his own drink, then turned back to me with renewed energy and a bright, charming smile. I held up a hand before he could launch into whatever he was planning to say next.

"Okay Buck, why don't you just tell me what this is about. Because I came in here exausted after dealing with our best friends, and I don't have the energy to coach your rusty ass on how to flirt, if that's what you're trying to practice."

Bucky cleared his throat, deflating a little, but not all the way. He sighed, then set his shoulders and met my stare again with a determined expression.

"Actually, I'm trying to ask you on a date."

I laughed, until I realized Bucky wasn't laughing.

"Wait, are you serious?"

"Very. Although you're really testing my resolve, since you've now laughed in my face twice. You know I used to be good at this before the war?"

I shook my head, a disbelieving smile subconsciously forcing its way onto my face.

"Bucky... I'm not saying no, but... I mean, why? Why me, why now? We've known each other and been working on missions since Steve got you out of that prison... what changed to make you think this was a good idea all of a sudden?"

He sighed heavily, the muscles in his jaw working as he apparently forced the words to come.

"I've been feeling like I wanted to ask you out since I saw you, honestly. But we were going to have to work together, and I think it's pretty clear I'm a little rusty. So I waited, and I was just starting to convince myself to wait all the way to the end of the war, until I tried to get Steve to ask Peggy on a date."

My eyebrows shot up. "You did? How did that go? Those two have been dancing around each other for way too long, I've been trying to tell Peggy the same thing-"

"Well, maybe between the two of us we can actually get them to take the leap. But I realized when I was talking to Steve that I can't expect him to take my advice when I won't take it myself. I'm turning into the biggest hypocrite in the world encouraging him to talk to Peggy while chickening out on talking to you. So... here we are."

"Here we are..." I repeated, my voice a little faint as the full weight of Bucky's confession sank in. He had feelings for me, and apparently had for a while now. And now he was asking me on a date, the fact that we were in the middle of a war be damned.

I grinned.

"Is that a good sign? That looks like a good sign, but now I'm not sure..."

"It's a great sign, Bucky," I said, meeting his eyes and feeling a spark of excitement in my chest. "I'm glad you decided to take your own advice."

"So that's a yes?"

"That's absolutely a yes." Bucky's shoulders finally relaxed, a smile appearing on his face to match my own. "So... when do we do this? Do we call tonight our first date? We're out together, the two of us, at a bar..."

"No. No way," Bucky quickly decided. I raised an eyebrow at him, so he continued. "Tonight's not a date, sweetheart. Even in the middle of a war, I can find a way to make our night on the town something special. A little magical, and definitely just about the two of us. Tonight might be just the two of us, but it's about the two reckless idiots we call friends."

I laughed, then reached for my drink and raised it towards Bucky.

"I'll toast to that. To taking tonight to cope with the people we care about, and putting something on the books for a real night out together soon."

"Hear hear."

Bucky and I shared a smile, then each took a drink. I finished mine off, then sat back in my chair and stared at the man before me.

"So... how do you feel about a game of darts? Person who's not throwing is allowed to distract the other person, but only by relating the most insane shit our friends have done lately. True stories only."

"Bring it on. I've known Steve long enough that nothing's gonna surprise me anymore."

I snorted as the two of us grabbed another round of drinks and headed for the dartboard at the back of the bar.

"Look, Peggy might've gone through a phase of trying to be a proper lady, but she's been making up for it by doing even more ridiculous nonsense lately. Your boy's got nothing on her."

"I guess we'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

Bucky and I shared another smile. The routine was familiar, but now, there was an extra spark attached that hadn't really been there before. Even though tonight wasn't a date, spending time with Bucky felt a little different, now, in a very good way.

Maybe this could be the silver lining I held on to the next time Peggy tried to kill me via heart attack, until the end of the war and beyond.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @songbirdcannabe @infinetlyforgotten @coinsublime

If your name is crossed out, Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you for some reason

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wintereyed · 5 months

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Oh, dear diary, I met a boy

He made my doll heart light up with joy

#winterbaron #bucky barnes #helmut zemo #tfatws #the winter soldier #sebastian stan #daniel bruhl #bucky x zemo #peggy carter #wwii au #spy zemo #i love them your honor #i will never tire of this au #young n flirty bucky #im a baron james

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philtstone · 2 years

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Sam & Bucky, “grabbing onto their arm”

soooo ... i watched "why didnt they ask evans?" remembered that i loved agatha christie novels and immediately landed here. obviously wave the historical accuracy away bc i did just enough research for Flavour but not much for anything else. premise: everything remains the same as canon except bucky didnt fall off the train & a whole lot of characters were born much earlier in the 1900s. this isn't technically finished yet but it's enough to justify answering the prompt; i want to try to get the latter half of this "part" done & perhaps if the fates align even write a part 2 to actually complete the story but for now have this!! if you'd like to see more pls let me know <3 thanks for the prompt zainab love u

Sam figures this is just typical. So he’d decided to go to New York – get that loan. Hell, they need that loan. Boy, don’t do it, Sarah had said, but Sam figured it was his right just as anyone else’s, and Stark talked all that talk about his new GI grant. They won’t have you, Sarah said, and like an idiot Sam went anyway. He went, and he sat himself down in that nice fancy apartment building lobby across the room from the saddest lookin’ white fella he’d seen in a while, which was saying a hell of a lot. He got up, walked over, he spoke to the nice receptionist, he wrote his name down.

Of course, he was right – they would’ve taken him. Had the paperwork done up and everything. Stark may have been a bit crazy, hell if Sam knew, but he had money to throw at things.

Only then, the very next day, Howard Stark died.

HEADLINE EXCLUSIVE: HOWARD STARK FOUND DEAD IN ALLEY BEHIND MANHATTAN APARTMENT

The New York Times, Monday, October 12th, 1947

Nation mourns death of eccentric millionaire inventor and war hero Howard Stark, found dead of a gunshot wound this morning in the alleyway behind his Manhattan home. With him, also dead, was socialite fiance Maria Caruso. Police have yet to identify the nature of the death but have not ruled out suicide. However, sources confirm that the firearm found at the scene was not Stark’s, but rather belonged to Stark’s comrade and fellow veteran Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes.

The thing about Peggy is that she understands him, which is just a bitch and a half sometimes.

“You threw the weapon out.”

Bucky presses his hands harder where they’re clutched at his temples and grimaces. “Look, I wasn’t thinking clearly, alright?”

“James.”

“I dunno what you want me to say, Peg – it was there in the drawer and I couldn’t bear lookin’ at it anymore.”

Her resultant expression is just a touch too understanding for his taste.

“How the hell would I know that tossing a Colt into the Hudson in the middle of the night would get Howard killed?” Bucky adds, to move past it.

Minutely as possible Peggy flinches. Balls of steel, he’s always said. The other guys thought the same, but none of them had the guts to say it aloud. Speaking of other guys –

“Dugan’s coming over.”

“Like hell he is,” Bucky says.

“Evidently,” says Peggy, still on the topic of Dum-Dum, “he has not considered the double agent angle. His wife made you casserole.”

“Mm,” says Bucky, grim. He walks over to his meager kitchen, pulls a dusty bottle out from the cabinet and unscrews it. “Gonna get him killed one of these days.”

“Given my ongoing conviction that you are not in fact a spy –”

“Jury’s out on you though,” Bucky says, raising the bottle at her.

“-- you do realize that you are a prime suspect in the murder of our close personal friend.” She blows out. “If we can’t rely on our comrades, we’re rather fucked.”

“I am, you mean.”

“You didn’t kill Howard and he didn’t damn well kill himself,” says Peggy, steely. “I’d like to know which bastard did.”

Bucky puts his drink down. Sighs. Crosses his arms.

“So?”

“I’ll poke around at SSR –”

“You really do think it’s a spy –”

“Stay here. Word is they don’t want this in the press just yet, which, well. Neither of us were born yesterday.”

“You callin’ me old, Agent Carter?” he asks, just on the right edge of bratty.

Peggy steamrolls forward, “Don’t do anything untoward, please.”

“You’re the one sitting on the bed of an unmarried man,” Bucky says. He walks over to the window and tugs it open, letting cigarette smoke out and giving him an eye to the dank alley below. It’s spring and the sunlight’s pale and his room’s not too high up; were anyone to jump, they’d barely sprain an ankle. And Howard’s fucking dead. Bucky turns back and flicks a thumb under his chin. “C’mon,” he says, “gimme the rest of your cigarette. I’m the one wanted for murder.”

“Christ,” Peggy mutters, getting to her feet.

She hands the cigarette over anyway, and Bucky spends the minute it takes her to leave wiping off the lipstick stains. It’s a lost cause, more or less.

He has to put it out, against the peeling windowsill.

Sam’s rung the service bell a third time when the receptionist finally appears.

“Concierge’s assistant,” she corrects in a trill voice. Her curls are pinned tightly and her skirt waist more so. The red of her lipstick clashes garishly with her hair. Her nametag reads Dolores. “Can I help you?”

“Um, yeah,” says Sam, “Ma’am.” He grips his bag. “I'm here to inquire about my loan.”

The lobby he’s in is just as fancy as it was the first time around, with tall ceilings and crystal chandeliers and fine imported rugs on the floors. It was pretty empty last time too, quiet and genteel the way rich white people pretend to be. Only last time Sam was kept company not just by Miss Dollie’s red lipstick but the scowling, oblivious man she kept batting her lashes at; this time the place is empty. Police have roped off the elevator and even the white folks’ plush seating area is out of bounds. Dollie looks pastier than usual.

“Oh,” says Dolores, “oh. From –”

“Yesterday,” Sam says, slow and expectant.

“You’d better go home,” says Dolores.

“They took my name down,” says Sam, a second time. “I wrote it on paper and everything.”

Dolores has busied herself with some stationary thing under the desk and distractedly says, “I just don’t think dead people can give loans. It’s a shame, don’t you think? He was a real dreamboat.”

“Ma’am – Ms. Dolores –” She stops looking wistful about Stark’s erstwhile good looks and refocuses, “Now c’mon. I paid train money for this. My sister’s got two kids – our family’s business is on the line. I’d like to talk to someone.”

“I’d guess you oughta get a lawyer,” Dolores says mournfully.

“Dollie,” Sam starts, “can I call you Dollie?” She perks up, which is inconvenient, as Sam remembers that he knows better than to flirt with a white woman. “Don’t they have some kind of insurance in place?” he asks. “His family – estate, somethin’? I mean, Howard Stark, a guy like that wouldn’t leave millions lyin’ around.”

Not that Sam knows much about men like Howard Stark. But if the police won’t bother listening to him, he’s just gotta run with his own theories.

“Jeez,” says Dollie, sniffing. “I couldn’t tell you. The whole back door’s swarming with cops. No one’s even gone through the rooms yet.” And then she says, “Oh – oh!” And bursts into tears.

Sam hovers awkwardly on the other side of the reception desk and offers her his ratty handkerchief until she has collected herself enough to wave him off with one hand and stumble away to the bathroom. Her low heels thump unevenly on the carpeted floor as she goes. He straightens the tie of his dress uniform and looks around again. He can hear voices, but far past the desk, closer to the alley door and the mail room. Hell, he’d bet even the cleaning staff have been either sent home or brought in for questioning.

“Ain’t this just our luck,” Sam mutters.

There’s no one around. The elevator is right there. Sam takes a deep breath and heads upstairs.

Upstairs is fancier than downstairs in the sense that Sam’s been in lobbies before but has never been in the type of suite that takes up a whole floor. The tall gilded windows look out on nearly all of Manhattan. Someone – he guesses the same police who told him to stop wasting their time, they had better things to be dealing with – has taped off the entrance to each room, but other than that, Dollie was right: it’s more or less untouched.

Which makes sense, ‘cause there’s a whole lot to touch. Sam can barely see the bedroom (with its big four-poster bed) or the bathroom (with its marble counter) because there is stuff everywhere. There’s a painter’s easel with a feminine aura to it in the corner and paints laid out, slowly drying, and yesterday morning’s newspaper. A large cylindrical contraption moves back and forth beside the desk, over the carpet in one corner, like someone forgot it there; it emits a loud suctioning noise (Sam can see the carpet hole forming) while steaming a smoking jacket to misshapenness at the same time. The coffee machine has three levels, one each for cream, milk, and sugar; the coffee smells burned. These are not the weird things. The weird things are the three stacks of metal drawers emitting a strange humming noise, and the industrial sized ice box, and the half-deconstructed bicycle sitting on top of the desk with what looks like a freakier version of a machine gun strapped to the handlebars. It has wires and hydraulics and everything comin’ out of its ends.

“Just check the desk and leave, Sam,” Sam mutters to himself, pushing down his nerves. You’re the fool who got yourself into this, says Sarah’s voice in his head.

She ain’t wrong.

The glossy desk is smaller than Sam expected. He checks it; two drawers with locks on them, and the third opens to a couple loose lead pencils rolling around. He supposes an important man like Howard Stark wouldn’t keep his papers sitting just anywhere. Under the desk, maybe?

Nothing. Not even a damn cardboard box.

He straightens, hums at the locked doors. In front of him a lopsided chalkboard reads CADILLAC IN OUTER SPACE???? ASK JARVIS in giant block letters.

“Going around wastin’ my time …” Sam mutters, picking his bag up and rubbing behind his neck. “Maybe we do need a lawyer.”

Then he narrows his eyes.

There.

Right there.

Someone has picked the lock.

The first drawer sits just off its latch and the second has scuff marks under where the key goes in. “Well, shit,” he mutters. He gets back down on his knees. There is definitely a splinter, right down the middle of the second lock, like someone wrenched at it when a gentle picking didn’t do the job. “Now why the hell would he have to do that if he’s got a key?”

Sam’s habit of asking himself rhetorical questions is very suddenly put on the spot when, instead of the silence he usually anticipates, he is answered by a faint creak from the foyer beyond the study door. Sam freezes. He doesn’t think his dress uniform is enough to stop him getting arrested if anyone were to find him here now. Then again, with these locks and the general strangeness of the situation, arrest could be the safer option. Scooping up his bag, Sam slowly rises to his feet and pads softly around the desk, just barely missing the steam-cylinder and its jacket (it lets out a sad whistle), and slips a small pocket knife out from the inside of his left sock. He stalls at the doorframe, trying to breathe as quietly as he can. There’s definitely someone on the other side.

Inhaling sharply, he pounces.

“Oomph!”

“Shit!”

On instinct Sam grabs the arm that swings at him. He brings his knee up and his elbow down and there is a moment where they grapple, with strong emphasis on the moment part – very suddenly Sam finds his arm knocked out of the way and himself grabbed by beneath his chin, and slammed into the foyer wall like his cousin Deedee’s flour sack doll, so hard that all the breathe leaves his lungs in one fell swoop. His hat gets knocked off of his head with the force of it and falls to the floor.

Sam blinks. There is a scruffy, pale face in front of him, which features two big blue eyes that are blinking right back, looking equally startled.

They stay frozen like that for the space of two heartbeats. Sam’s fingers tighten where they’re fisted at the guy’s collar, refusing to yield. He’s pretty sure his knife has skidded under the shoe rack.

He really liked that knife, dammit.

“Who the hell are you?” asks the man suddenly, both loud and Brooklyn about it.

“Funny,” wheezes Sam, “I could ask you the same thing.”

He releases Sam, which is nice of him. Stumbling, he moves a few steps back, and looks quite suddenly more bewildered than before. He’s not much taller than Sam is, with dark floppy hair that hangs over one eyebrow and a frame like a heavyweight boxer. Despite his startling strength – Sam aint exactly the smallest of men – there’s an exhaustion that sits fragile under his eyes and a tense, well-concealed tremble in one arm. There’s something very familiar about his face. His slacks have scuffs at the knees and he’s wearing a lumpy-looking knit sweater that does little to mask what Sam’s dress greens are plainly revealing to him – that whoever he’s just run headlong into, trespassing in a dead guy’s bedroom, is a fellow soldier.

Or was, anyway. No more war to fight and die in. Sam tugs at the hem of his jacket. It’ll be a pain in the ass to steam again, and Sarah will raise hell about it ‘cause he’ll beg to borrow her steamer. They don’t get all that nice starching stuff at the dive motels Sam can afford.

“No one’s supposed to be up here,” insists the man, still looking baffled.

Sam straightens and rubs at his jaw, which feels like it just got caught in an industrial press.

“Sorry to disappoint,” says Sam, “but I am. Why are you here?”

“I asked first,” says the man, so unselfconsciously mulish that Sam can only stare.

“I didn’t just slam me into a wall.”

“You came at me with a knife!” protests the guy, which Sam thinks is a little unfair; that knife was kind of useless. He narrows his eyes. He oughta pick his hat up from the floor, but he figures it’d be kind of stupid to let his guard down. They stand there, eye to eye, at impasse. After the weird-looking carpet cleaner has whistled three times the man says,

“You don’t look like a German spy,” muttered, like he’s really thinkin’ about it.

He decides to consider the situation a bit more fairly; how does he know this crumb hasn’t been having a tough time, too?

It’s here that something big and important feeling clicks in Sam’s head. He’s seen that scowl before – just yesterday, ignoring poor Miss Dollie.

And just this morning, in the papers plastered all over his motel lobby.

“Oh,” says Sam, “you gotta be kidding me.”

But alas, there’s no kidding to be had.

“From the paper – they think you killed him, man!”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes pales three shades under what little tan he has, but otherwise doesn’t react.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says instead, a divot deepening between his thick eyebrows. “It isn’t safe.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” says Sam. “Some guy just grabbed me by the throat.”

Barnes does not seem to find this amusing. Instead, he looks a funny cross between ornery and miserable, and sets his jaw to considerable mulish effect. Sam hums to himself. Fact of the matter is, Barnes has had plenty of opportunity to kill Sam so far and hasn’t taken advantage of it. If he really was guilty – Sam thinks, briefly considering the warped mind of a cold-blooded killer, a few inches removed from the necessities of soldierhood – wouldn’t he want to get rid of any witnesses or evidence?

And yet here Sam is, very much not dead.

“Well … you don’t look like a murderer,” he says aloud, slowly, but keeps his arms crossed. Somehow despite his sardonic tone and clear mockery (at least, that’s what Sam hopes is coming across), there is something profoundly relieved about the expression that flickers across Barnes’s face.

Then it is back to its customary scowl.

“You gotta leave,” he repeats firmly, pacing once, back and then forth. Sam watches him carefully; there’s that tremble again, along with a steady, even tone and deliberate eye to the skyline behind them. More than just Barnes’s face is familiar.

But Sam is still annoyed.

“Through the window?”

“There’s – a stairwell.”

“Through the stairwell definitely crawling with cops?”

“For the love of God –”

“I am just listing my options, here.”

“Just leave, go away, pretend you never saw me,” Barnes says, waving two hands in front of Sam’s face like he’s batting the whole morning away, and looking harassed. “Okay? Jesus, it ain’t that hard.”

“Pretend I never saw you, creepin’ around the apartment of the fella you’re supposed to have killed,” Sam says. “Yeah, no, I’m gonna tell somebody.”

“Seriously?!” It’s Barnes’s turn to sound offensively incredulous.

“Or,” Sam says, “you could tell me what’s goin’ on.”

There’s a long pause. Sam hardly thinks his voice is friendly – if anything, he’s annoyed as hell – but Barnes opens his mouth, two beats, a sudden vulnerability stuck to his chin. Too vulnerable for whatever Sam’s asking. In that split second it sucks the breath outta the room.

Sam doesn’t have any idea what it is that’s just made Barnes’s head whip around until a bullet explodes into the lobby mirror above their heads.

“Fuck!”

Two rough hands shove him back into the study and Sam nearly knocks over the artillery bicycle; he looks up in time to see Barnes throwing his lanky frame against the opposing wall and holding his arms up over his head, yelling loudly in annoyance when another three bullets spray into the beautiful engraved wood above their heads and nearly bring down the chandelier. The coffee maker starts whistling out of control. Sam groans.

“Gimme your gun!” demands Barnes, which is beyond unhelpful.

“I don’t have a gun,” says Sam, waving one hand in the air to demonstrate this. “Where’s your gun?”

“I threw it in the fucking Hudson!” says Barnes. He looks like a guy who’s had a very long forty-eight hours; Sam can relate. “I’ve been framed for murder, remember?”

“We actually never established that that’s the truth,” Sam feels the need to point out, a second before another bullet tears through the poor over-steamed suit jacket.

Bang.

“Common sense!” exclaims Barnes.

Bang.

“Somethin’ you don’t seem to have much of!” yells Sam.

Bang.

“THERE IS A MAN SHOOTING AT US.”

Bang.

“HOW IS THAT MY FAULT?!”

Jiminy Christmas, says Sarah’s voice in Sam’s head. His sister is not gonna be happy about this.

They scramble for the front door as another two bullets sound off. Sam just barely has the time to reach down and grab his hat, and can just make out a slight, shadowed figure ducking back behind the wardrobe in the bedroom before they burst into the elevator lobby – right in time for the elevator door to ding open, and the tomato-red of the huffing police commissioner’s face to peek through.

Barnes has grabbed him by the arm again and pushed him into the stairwell going back downstairs before Sam has any time to react.

And, maybe importantly, before any of the many police officers squeezing themselves out into the hallway can see him.

Huh, he thinks, a second before the other man’s bulky shoulders burst through the door in turn, knock haphazardly into Sam, and half tumble them down the staircase with a garbled, “Come on, move!” tacked right onto the end.

“Can’t run anywhere with you fallin’ on top of me!” Sam says.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

And for all that Sam was raised Southern Baptist, he has to agree.

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ivyentwined · 1 year

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The Moose – AO3 | FFN

When Peggy, Bucky, and Sirius go on a mission for SSR, they get caught in a snowstorm.

Fandom: HP, MCU Complete: yes Pairing: Peggy/Bucky, Bucky & Sirius Rating: teen Length: 2k words

Tags/Warnings: Bedsharing, Bucky Lives!, Canon Disabled Character, Coworkers (SSR), Pessimism about Survival, Sirius Lives!, Time Travel

#peggy carter #Bucky Barnes #Sirius Black #peggy x bucky #hp #mcu #anomalies of time #mine #my art #my writing #storycard

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whore-for-chris-evans · 5 months

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I don't know what you expected but I am still not done talking about the infamous fifth episode of the What If...? show.

Spoiler warnings ahead.

Throughout the episode, while trying to pull Steve out of the mind control, Peggy keeps repeating "Steve, this isn't you, wake up" an abnormal amount of times. It's actually sickening how lacking the scriptwriting is, at least for her character.

Bucky interacts with Steve for barely a minute and even then, his efforts to get Steve back display a wider vocabulary than Peggy's throughout the whole episode.

Furthermore, I'd like to break down and compare Steve's words to Bucky and CATWS, and Peggy's words to Steve in What If...?

Steve: "I'm not gonna fight you," and here he drops the shield into the river below, "you're my friend."

Moments later, as Bucky nearly punches him to death, saying "YOU'RE! MY! MISSION!", Steve's calm, collected response is "then finish it, cause I'm with you till the end of the line."

Yes, tear-jerking, we know. Let's move on.

Peggy, having gone up against Steve in a huge (around the same size as the armour Tony built in the cave) metal suit, made of plutonium or something, and still standing straight up, says:

"I don't want to fight you, I can't fight you anymore. I'm done fighting, I've been fighting for so long, to end the war, to forget what I lost...I'm tired. Steve, I want to be with you. I want you, even if this is the end."

Keeping aside the frustrating repetition of the word "fight" in just a few lines of Peggy's speech, let's look at the motivation behind both the dialogues.

Peggy talks about herself. About how she is tired of the war and of losing people, how she tries to forget how Steve isn't in her life anymore, about how she wants to be with him. Her entire purpose is not to save him, but to save him for herself. Her actions come from a selfish point of view, and by the time she says this, she is far from being as battered and bruised as MCU Steve. In fact, she gets away with just a couple of bruises at the most.

On the other hand, Steve's intention was to free Bucky from Hydra's torture, to protect his childhood best friend and lover. He had been shot multiple times, stabbed at least once, had his skin split open in several areas when he dropped the final bombshell. Steve was nearly dying while he was saying all that; yes he would've loved a second chance at life with Bucky by his side, but it was never his primary focus.

His primary focus was making sure Bucky had a second chance at life, even if he himself died trying. It was as if to say "I may die right here right now, but I love you too much to hurt you any further than I already have. You've always been more dear to me than life itself, so if your mission is truly to kill me, you know I'll support you in it even as you're taking my last breath out of me. All I ask for is your safety and well-being."

And it shows in the consequences too - in CATWS, Bucky not only regains just enough of his memories to stop, but also pulls Steve out of the Potomac before he can drown to death and places him somewhere he knows Sam and Nat and the others will easily spot him.

On the contrary, Hydra Stomper Steve barely shows any affection, shock or remorse towards the woman in front of him, but instead, he flies up to the Red Room and destroys it. It is unclear whether he survives the crash himself.

Like I said before, despite Marvel trying their absolute hardest to push StevePeggy as the superior pairing, they still end up portraying Steve and Bucky's (I say romantic, because Steggy mirroring Stucky proves the latter to be a romance) bond to be far stronger than that of Steve with a woman he only knew for a couple of years at most during a world war.

They dug their own grave and cannot crawl their way out of it. Stucky prevails.

@buckymilf @mainly-marvel @oneofstarkskids @jjmaybanksgun @averageambivert

#steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #stevebucky #anti peggy carter #what if #what if season 2 #marvel #forever my top ship #on top of all this #of course there's the fact that chris and seb did something in that scene im not sure even they themselves could recreate #there was unbelievable chemistry #and the emotions were real #compared to the bleak ass scenes in what if

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incorrect-marvel-because-why-not · 3 months

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I will die on this hill

#marvel #marvel mcu #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #steve rogers #steven grant rogers #captain america #the winter soldier #steve x bucky #stucky #sargent barnes #marvel memes #meme #peggy carter #agent carter #margret carter

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thatsashitplan · 2 months

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he may be your husband who time-traveled to be with you, but do you have an entire section dedicated to your relationship in his exhibit in the Smithsonian museum?

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mostlymarvelsstuff · 5 months

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How They React To

Summary: for shorter (at least that's the idea lol) fics that have the same plot/prompt but show multiple character reactions/interactions

Authors note: not sure stuff like this will have any traction, but I felt like writing a few things like this

Warnings: Smut, angst, hurt/comfort, violence (these are broad as each will have their own specifics)

Reader receiving their nudes accidentally

Reader getting injured on a mission

Marvel Masterlist

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cesperanza · 5 months

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Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers Characters: Joseph James "J.J." Rogers, Tony Stark, Howard Stark, Maria Carbonell Stark Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Kidfic, drag racing, Suburbia, Day At The Beach, Sacrifice, a whole other kind of catastrophe Summary:

An ongoing alternate universe to The Fifties.

Hi, I have COVID! Again! It sucks!! But it’s More Joy Day and I wanted to contribute something--so here’s a bit of story that will only make sense to people who’ve been reading me for like, at least ten years. :D. But it’s what I’ve got, so I give it: my Black Widow’s mite, so to speak. Happy More Joy Day 2024!! (<3 <3 @sdwolfpup, bringing the Joy for so long now!)

#more joy day #mj day 2024 #AU to my AU to my AU #OT3 #steve x bucky x peggy

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steveandbuckysdaughter · 5 months

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Hi, again. 👋

I found the post you were talking about. The stan's account was deactivated, but yeesh. 😬 Nice replies to them, btw.

The stan that bashed on me said I was being misogynistic, even though I'm a black woman who just wanted to see another black character get their chance to shine.

Hell, it's not just the shows and movies (I think this all started with Endgame). It's also the Steve Rogers musical too. I don't know if you know about it, but Disney made the musical real, and it really did Sam and Bucky dirty.

Sam isn't even in it. Maybe he was mentioned once, but the musical showed an image of Sam as Captain America. As for Bucky, his scene from CA:TFA, where he saved pre-serum Steve, was given to Peggy instead. Bucky was mentioned once, and the musical tried to justify Steve's ending from Endgame. All for this ship.

And, frankly, I don't hate Peggy, I'm just more annoyed that other characters get shoved aside as well as this great dynamic that Steve and Bucky had, while she and her ship with Steve has been getting propped up more and more. But, seeing some of your and the others' posts, I get why you guys don't like her.

Girl, don’t get me started on the abomination that was Rogers the musical. It could have been glorious, it had so much potential, but once again Bucky’s role in Steve’s story was given to Peggy, and Sam wasn’t even there!

I feel like Marvel feels the need to tone down Stucky or their friendship overall because it was just too powerful. We all remember the hashtag that begged Marvel to make Stucky Canon, #givecaptainamericaaboyfriend. They just couldn’t let it happen, not to a main and important character like Steve, god forbid. And so ever since civil war Stucky has always had little to no scenes together no matter how well established it was in previous projects. All their scenes and dynamic were given to Peggy, their friendship was toned down, Steve’s whole ending happened. It just feels like Stucky is so menacing to Marvel that the only way to stop us is by destroying Steve, Bucky and their relationship.

I mean, Steve is given no justice in his ending and in all the other projects he appeared in. Bucky went from a victim and prisoner of war to someone who must make amends for things that were beyond his control. And the depth of their friendship was toned down and reduced every time Peggy was involved. And then they wonder why many people in the fandom dislike Peggy or why the whole Rogers the musical initiative flopped the second it went beyond Hawkeye.

Like, even if you don’t ship Stucky you can tell that they care for each other, and you can tell there was a shift after people actually wanted Marvel to take action and do something about this dynamic. Steve can’t get even one episode as his own character because Peggy must be there. Bucky had more luck, but still… and let’s not even talk about Sam, his only appearance was as a zombie!

In another post of mine I ranted about how bothered I was that Peggy was inserted in the 1602 storyline, and i haven’t changed my mind. It would have been so nice to give Steve one episode about himself, about his dynamic with his best friend and about the relationship with himself and his fellow avengers. But no, Peggy must be there too, and for no good reason as well.

I feel like Marvel trying to erase pre-existing relationships to have Peggy shine only results in fans turning their back on Marvel and hiding in fanfiction or whatever piece of media that can actually bring justice to the characters. Once someone on Tumblr said “you gave us the characters, but once you mess them up they’re not yours anymore. You don’t understand and respect them, therefore you don’t deserve them.” and I couldn’t agree more, which is why I am currently reading and writing fanfiction rather than buying into everything marvel gives us.

Peggy was the love interest with more screen time even before what if and all that jazz, she had her own show! And I fear that the day Marvel will realize that pushing a reimagined Nazi turned Mary Sue into every single what if episode where she can fit instead of enhancing the characters that are actually relevant in-universe it will be too late.

Sorry about the rant, I get carried away when it’s about my boys lol

#Steve rogers #pro Steve rogers #anti endgame steve #bucky barnes #pro bucky barnes #stucky #pro stucky #steve x bucky #anti peggy carter #anti steggy #marvel critical #mcu critical #what if #sam wilson #pro Sam Wilson #sam wilson is Captain America

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