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#captain america
artwinx · 3 days
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a couple of spring husbands for you guys 🌻
(redraw of an old art of mine from 2022)
my commissions are still open and you can support me on ko-fi
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ssavaart · 2 days
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Have you ever painted Loki? Kinda random just sort of seems like something you might do. (I love your art btw :D)
Hi. I did do this little doodle during a live once.
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I also did a few other MCU characters too.
They're tiny little 3x4 inch sketches, but they were fun to do.
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I think these three were done in gouache...
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Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥
Scott
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incorrectquotesmcu · 11 hours
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Steve: That’s why we needed to get an expert.
Y/N: Oh really? Who did you get?
Steve, staring: …
Y/N: Oh! Right, that’s me... yes.
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countessravengrey · 2 days
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Favorite Steve quote for Day 2 of the 10th Anniversary of Captain America: The Winter Soldier:
"Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?"
I love the moments before this fight, when he's watching all these guys get on and surround him, and we see, not Captain America, but Steve Rogers--who knows what being cornered looks like--catch on to what's about to happen. They may think they're fighting Captain America, but when he says, "Does anybody want to get out?" it's that skinny, scrappy little guy named Steve that's about to kick their asses.
In general, I love what this scene says about Steve Rogers, his resignation, determination, his stubbornness to see any situation through no matter how dire, and the big middle finger he gives to anyone who tries to take him out or stop him from doing what's right. Also the death wish factor when he jumps out of the elevator. It's gold.
@catws-anniversary
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hurtcomforted · 2 days
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When Steve loses Bucky, he thinks, What more could the universe take from me?
When he wakes up in New York, the universe answers. Everything.
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howlingcommanddo · 10 hours
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Bucky: as top in this relationship-
Steve: i cannot believe your pulling rank on me.
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*Puts on my tinfoil hat*
What if it's not a coincidence that Marvel brought JM DeMatteis back for a solo minicomic featuring Steve grieving Arnie Roth last year, or that Bucky mentions Steve having had an ex-boxer friend named "Chick", or a new Cap comic run featuring Steve's childhood?
What if this is all leading up to them *finally* confirming Steve as queer???
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whinysteve · 2 days
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love language: gift giving
part 3/?
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way-former · 1 day
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demobatfluffyart · 1 day
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abarbaricyalp · 2 days
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Give Me Toothaches Just From Kissing Me
"But March 10th was two weeks ago!" Time doesn't exist. Happy Birthday to Bucky Barnes
The first time Sam had gotten Bucky a birthday cake, it was a joke. It was 2016, just a few scant months before their whole operation went to hell in a handbasket, and Sam had texted Bucky without expectation of a reply. Just a picture of the view from his fancy hotel balcony in Monaco or something, with a fancy chocolate cake on the wide balcony ledge. He was in town for a military tech conference, so his morning jogging schedule had been interrupted. Eating a whole cake on his own over four days would totally be in the realm of possibility. 
An hour later, when Sam was more than half a bottle of wine down and two albums in on a 'crooners' playlist, a shadow peeled itself off of the wall and greeted him with a, "Hey, birdbrain."
Sam, perhaps, did not do any work towards proving that nickname stupid by flailing dramatically and knocking the cake with his forearm. With twin movements, they watched the cake sail to the ground seven stories below and explode into a shower of sugar and cream. Then they turned to look at each other. There were three beats of shocked silence and then they both burst into laughter together.
"That was a really good cake," Sam whined in between the laughter as he leaned into Bucky's space and Bucky wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"Yeah, I could tell. You already had half."
"I didn't figure you were gonna actually show up," Sam pointed out.
"Why wouldn't I show up? You called."
"That hasn't stopped you before," Sam pointed out. He spent a few extra seconds staring at the mangled cake on the ground before he sat back on the balcony furniture. Bucky followed him down. He kept his arm around Sam until it was unfeasible, and then he let his hand fall to Sam's, fingers tangling together. Sam allowed it because it was his birthday, even though it was vastly out of the range of usual activities for them.
"Well, this time I was promised cake," he added after a few seconds of amiable quiet.
Sam looked over at him to discern if he was serious or not. The grin pulling at his usually severe mouth said all Sam needed to know. They burst into quiet giggles again.
“Good thing I got all the sweetness I need right here,” Bucky eventually conceded. He tucked a knuckle under Sam’s jaw and leaned in to kiss him beneath the moon and the lights and everything but a cake.
. . .
The second time Sam tried to give Bucky cake, it was a year later. It felt almost impossible that the world had slowed down around them long enough to justify an impromptu visit to Wakanda to check in on Bucky.
When their jet had touched down, Bucky was waiting for them with a wide smile that Sam had never really seen before. "Now, I know I told T'Challa not to do anything for my birthday, but he went a step further and got me everything I didn't want," he joked as he and Steve collided in a fierce hug, the kind of thing that always made Sam want to look away.
Then Bucky was extricating himself from Steve's hold so he could crowd around Sam instead, ducking his face down to Sam's neck as he squeezed his waist. If it was supposed to be a hug, it was like no hug Sam had ever had. He could get used to it though. After a few heartbeats shared between them, Sam pinched Bucky's hip and stepped back.
"Hey, old man," he greeted. Bucky grinned at him, boyish and a little smitten. It was a look Sam was more familiar with. "Happy birthday."
"Is that what this is about? You stop paying attention after 90," Bucky joked. For a split second, his fingers lingered over Sam's but he didn't take his hand--Sam didn't take Bucky's either--and he turned back to Steve to amble along together as they instantly fell into a conversation like they hadn't just been apart for the better part of half a year.
By the time they got around to dinner and a small party, Sam felt silly for bringing a dozen store bought cupcakes--hidden away in his room upstairs. The dinner had been more of a feast, despite Bucky's protestations, and the dessert spread that followed was unlike anything Sam had ever seen. No expensive wedding or VA event or Stark fundraiser held a candle to the cakes and cookies and sweet bars that were available. Sam ate more Wakandan desserts than he could name American desserts and each one was better than the last. Bucky, for all his talk of not wanting anything, had at least sampled every chocolate food on the table and gone back for full servings of most of them.
By the time they managed to crawl into Bucky's room--which branched off into Steve and Sam's rooms and connected bathrooms--all of them were groaning about stomach aches and sugar comas. Bucky crawled under his blankets, becoming nothing more than a groaning lump, and Steve settled along the bench at the end of the bed, laying back on it and resting a hand over his stomach, while burping and then apologizing every few minutes.
Sam ducked into his room while the others settled and grabbed the two bags from him and Steve, as well as the plastic carton of cupcakes. It was absolutely not going back with him at this point. His stomach hurt just looking at it.
Back in Bucky's room, he passed off the bounty. Bucky set aside the gift bags, but his eyes gleamed at the sight of more sweets.
"Come on, open the gifts," Sam jostled, sitting on the bed nearest where Bucky was sprawled.
"Nah, I'll look at them later," he said as he peeled the safety seal sticker away from the cupcakes.
"Oh, come on," Steve laughed. "You're still shy?"
"I'm not shy," Bucky snapped. "I'm civilized. Not everyone has to tear into their gifts as soon as they're within reach."
Sam snorted and tried to hide it from Steve.
"I do not do that," Steve objected, but not with much conviction. Actually, he wasn't that bad, Sam had to admit. But clearly Bucky had better stories than Sam.
“What are these?” Bucky asked instead of fighting a battle he knew he’d already won. He took the cupcakes and deftly opened the package without making a cacophonous sound, which meant he knew perfectly well what they were and clearly had had his share of them.
“I know they’re not anything special after that whole show,” Sam acknowledged, waving his hand in the general direction of the kitchens. “But these are packed so full of preservatives, you’ll be able to keep ‘em until his birthday,” he joked with a gesture towards Steve.
“Way to sell ‘em, Wilson,” Bucky chuckled. He was already halfway through one of the cupcakes and he held a blue one out to Steve. It was the middle of march, so most of the predesigned things were spring flavored. This set, blues and greens swirled around, was about as festive as Sam could find. “I love the frosting on these things,” he added around a mouthful of cupcake.
Steve shot Sam a knowing, slightly gloating look. He’d been the one to insist Bucky would enjoy these, no matter what else was going on with the day. Then he shoved the entire cupcake in his mouth just like Bucky because apparently manners hadn’t been invented yet back in the ‘40s. Sam shook his head at their antics, both of them trying to one up the other until almost the whole carton was gone.
Bucky reached over to snag a smear of frosting off of Steve’s cheek and sucked his knuckle into his mouth while Steve cried foul about uneven division of frosting.
“You two are gross,” Sam laughed and made sure his own face was devoid of any frosting before their turned their attention on him.
It didn’t work. By the time Bucky had turned his playful, teasing expression on Sam, his eyes had darkened just a little and one eyebrow rose in a challenge.
“No,” Sam warned, holding up the half of a cupcake still in his hand. “Whatever it is, no.”
But Bucky didn’t listen. He reached out to and shoved the cupcake against Sam’s cheek, frosting first, then pinned him back against the headboard with a broad hand across Sam’s shoulder and collarbone. Sam swallowed thickly, couldn’t help the way he went lax beneath Bucky’s weight as the other man settled across his thighs and leaned forward to lick a stipe of the icing off of Sam’s cheek.
“Stevie, you might wanna think about gettin’ to your own room,” Bucky warned without taking his dark, hungry stare off of Sam.
“Ah, come on. You two are gross,” Steve complained, but he did hustle out of the room pretty quickly. Took a cupcake for the road.
Sam tried to put some structure back in his bones, tried to posture up under Bucky’s hold. He reached up for the frosting, wiped most of it off of himself, and then smeared it across Bucky’s cheek, down to his mouth.
That mouth split into a grin before it was against Sam’s, lips parted, tongue hungry as he licked over Sam’s lips, chasing after the frosting he was depositing.
Sam had to admit: this may be better than the desserts downstairs.
. . .
The next time he actually got to sit still for Bucky’s birthday, it was a few lifetimes later. He had every intention of sleeping in just a little bit, skipping his run to get up before everyone else and make a cake, wake up the house to the smell of chocolate and buttercream, the way his mama used to always.
Instead, he slept in a lot a bit and woke up to the sound of nothing short of chaos in the kitchen. Sarah was out already, he surmised when he finally dragged himself upright and grabbed his phone from where it had fallen the night before to check the time. He and Bucky had gotten in late the night before, stuck in New York doing paperwork after some giant worm appeared out of a sinkhole in New Jersey. He had no idea how Bucky had the energy to get up, much less start making noise in the kitchen.
Groggily, maybe a little grumpily, he pulled on a hoodie and a pair of shorts that wouldn’t aggravate all of the scrapes he was covered in and went out to see what was happening.
Bucky did make it a point to clean up the kitchen any time he was near it. Especially after himself, but even when Sarah cooked. He insisted that she did the cooking, so he should do the cleaning. And somehow this reflected badly on Sam, as far as Sarah was concerned, which seemed unfair. Sam cleaned plenty.
The cleaning never seemed to justify the mess beforehand.
“What in the world is going on here?” Sam asked, leaning on the wide doorjamb that led into the kitchen.
Cass whirled around first, clutching a too large mixing bowl to his chest. “Nothing!” he exclaimed.
AJ, less practiced in the ways of subterfuge, said, “We’re making cupcakes! For Bucky,” he clarified
Bucky, who was remarkably clean for the amount of flour and egg otherwise splashed across the kitchen, grinned at Sam. “I didn’t ask, by the way. They brought it up. I dunno how you and Sarah say no to these little faces.”
AJ preened and gave another spin with the spatula, sent more frosting over the edge of his too-small bowl.
“You guys are working at a disadvantage, trynna listen to Bucky,” Sam said, coming into the kitchen. “I know you know how to use paper towels. Why does the kitchen look like this?”
Cass let out a little noise of guilt, but Bucky saved him from having to answer by producing a roll of paper towel from behind himself. “It’s probably supposed to be my job, but I’m a better taste tester.”
“Uncle Sam, is it true he can’t get salmonella ‘cause of the super soldier serum?” Cass asked.
“Can I have some?” AJ added.
Sam shot Bucky an unimpressed look, but he was nothing but cheeky smiles and not a shred of embarrassment. “I guess we’re gonna find out if it’s true or not,” he said. He snagged the paper towels from Bucky to begin wiping up at least the bits of cracked egg that lined every countertop. “Lucky it’s me in here and not your mama.”
Cass made the same kind of noise again as he searched for a place to put down his mixing bowl. It must be an oldest sibling gene, because Sam remembered Gideon making the exact same kind of sounds. Usually when Sam was about to do something like jump off the stair bannister.
“Mom’s out at the restaurant,” AJ said, unbothered. He was usually unbothered.
“Come here,” Sam said, gesturing more for AJ to make space than for him to actually move closer. “Bucky let you pick the wrong bowl, so you’ve gotta be careful,” he said, holding AJ’s hand as he held onto the spatula. “Go slow, like this.”
He looked up as AJ failed to do that, more frosting going flying, and caught Bucky’s eye. Bucky grinned again, soft and lovely in the mid-morning light coming through the kitchen window.
“A guy could get used to this view,” he said with a warm honey tone.
“A guy will not,” Sam said. “Get to actually cleaning.”
Bucky gave him the laziest of salutes and took the paper towels back.
By the time Sarah came home, with balloons and, hilariously, an ice cream cake, the kitchen was clean and they’d managed to make the best cupcakes Sam had ever had.
. . .
It took finding their own place, saving the world a few hundred times, a lot of missed events, and one perfect spring day for Sam to finally have a cake on the table on Bucky’s birthday. Handmade, from the same recipe he always got for his birthdays as a kid.
“Happy birthday, old man,” he said, kissing Bucky’s temple.
Bucky caught Sam’s hand against his shoulder, tugged him down to sprawl across Bucky’s lap. “Is that what all this is about?” Bucky teased, like he did almost every time Sam tried to do anything for his birthday, no matter how delayed the celebration was.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam laughed. He dragged the cake closer and lit the handful of candles–he was not putting a hundred candles on a cake–before sitting back a little. “Make a wish before you keel over.”
Bucky laughed, bright and loud, and his arms tightened around Sam. “I haven’t had to wish for anything for a long time, Sammy.” And he kissed Sam without even trying to blow out the candles.
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lokischambermaid · 12 hours
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Fugitive: Nomad Steve x Reader 🍆
Summary: In a barely-disguised ploy to keep warm while on the run, Nomad Steve pleasures you wearing his slutty fingerless gloves.
Contains: Nomad Steve who’s horny AF but also super safe and gives top-tier aftercare.
Warnings: Fingering, quickie, Steve being a little perverse.
Words: 1,300
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“Remind me to intercept a wire transfer from Stark next time we go on the run.”
The motel room was covered in years of dust, the brown windows thick with grime. A lone lightbulb hung from the low ceiling, its ruched off-white shade long-since pulled down during the final moments of a vodka-fueled bender, the faint stench of a stag party still hanging in the air and lodging itself into the pores of the woodchip-papered ceiling.
And more to the point, it was freezing.
Ordinarily the grounded, low-maintenance gent, Steve was tentative as he rested a forearm on the wall above the dirty window. He wrinkled his nose. “Well, at least no one’s gonna find us.”
“For a start off they can’t see through the glass, so.”
He stood straight, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his tactical suit. “That’s what I meant.”
“Was it a tactical decision, Rogers?” you teased.
His gaze raked up and down the yellowed wallpaper. “No. But it was cheap.”
You squatted down next to the radiator, careful not to kneel on the brown carpet, inexplicably spiky and hard as though something had spilled and dried out. You didn’t want to imagine what. Gloved hands turned the radiator dial. It spun underneath your hand.
Steve’s matter-of-fact tone drifted in like a cool breeze. “It’s broken. That’s why he gave it to us so cheap.”
“Well call me cynical if I don’t trust the word of a guy working the graveyard shift in a motel on the fringes of the sleaziest city in the country.” You continued teasing the loose radiator dial to no avail.
“You cold?”
“Freezing.”
“Come ‘ere.” The softness in his voice made you feel a solid ten percent warmer.
He leaned against the least grimy wall he could find, arms inviting you to press yourself against him. He stroked your hair, despite his voice taking on a darker tone. “You know in the army, we had a couple tricks to keep warm.”
“Oh yeah?”
“We used our body heat.”
“I like the sound of this, Rogers.”
He was, clearly, about to demonstrate. You stepped back to observe.
“First hot spot. Under the arms.” He wrapped his arms around himself, high across his chest, tucking his hands underneath his armpits. “Next, back of the knees.” He bent one leg up, placing his hand in the nook with a scissored hand. “Now, of course everyone knows the warmest place on the body.”
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
He scratched at his beard, the backs of his fingers grazing his lips. “Well, I’m gonna need you against the wall.”
Silently, you complied.
“The warmest place,” he spoke softly as though sharing state secrets, kneeling in front of you as he spilled the intel. “Is…. here.” He slid his hand in the upper apex of your thigh. He whispered in earnest now, eyes wide as he gazed up at you. “Put your legs together for me.” When you obeyed, closing your thighs around his hand, he groaned.
“You getting warm there, Rogers?”
“Oh yeah….” His eyes were closed, lost in the sensation, the brown leather of his fingerless gloves visible only above the wrist, the bulk of his hand keenly swallowed by your flesh. “God…..”
He always did this. Right before.
The body of a soldier married with the heart of an artist, Steve was sensual. He loved sensations. Touch. Scent. Taste. And when he felt something that was particularly pleasurable, no matter how benign or platonic, he would close his eyes and he would moan.
Just like he was doing now.
Still kneeling, he looked up at you once more with devastating baby blue eyes framed by a head of messy dirty blond hair. “You gonna help keep me warm, comrade?”
“Is this what you did in the army?”
He blushed, head hanging, a gloved hand pressing against his thigh as he rose to his feet.
You would definitely ask him about his army stories later.
Not that you needed verbal foreplay. The sight of him like this was enough. Steve Rogers. America’s goldenboy. Reduced to a desperate man on the run.
A fugitive.
His clean-cut appearance disintegrating in time with his reputation, he wore a beard and messy hair. His hands were dirty. Literally. Figuratively. You recalled your first memories of the squeaky-clean soldier who joined the team, a squaddie so obedient he would raise his hand to be excused from meetings, even if it was to leave for two minutes to use the restroom. That man was gone. The brute towering above you would take what he wants. When he wants. With who he wants.
You swallowed, slickening at the thought. Arousal fluttered in your belly, breath following suit. The blond mercenary noticed the change in your breathing pattern. He closed the space between you, his body pressed against yours, hand long since discarded from the heat of your thigh. His right hand moved to the top of your zipper, sliding it down wordlessly as his eyes bore into your soul, while his left forearm pressed against the wall above your head, steadying him. His scent a heady mix of sweat and testosterone. You observed his chest rising and falling, his breathing deep, slow and steady.
Your zipper reached your waist. Tenderly, he cupped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. Ironic, given the debauchery you were about to partake in. Perhaps that was why. Perhaps it evened it out.
Perhaps you didn’t care.
Perhaps your brain went blank when he positioned his leg next to yours, the length of his cock pressed into your hip, clearly visible despite the thickness of his suit. Your brain rebooted, coming back online solely with the sound of him unbuckling his brown leather gloves.
“No,” you husked. “Keep them on.”
A sly smile crept onto his face, visible through the thick fibres of his beard. His eyes narrowed. Head cocked. “Kinky, huh.”
Both leather gloves touched your face, strong hands holding your cheeks as he kissed you firmly. Messy kisses, clashing teeth and ragged breaths gave way to the descent of his gloved hand, squeezing down past the zipper of your black tactical suit and into the heat of you.
“God, you’re wet,” he gasped between kisses.
His fingers were inside you within moments, digits penetrating you like a piston, the edge of his fingerless gloves catching your clit on way in, and out, in, and out…. your torso writhing up the wall, overcome by the sensation.
“Fuck,” he breathed, biting the bare skin of your clavicle. There would be marks hidden underneath your suit tomorrow.
He bucked his body into you, groaning, cock pressing into you and driving you to the brink of insanity and veering over the edge like a car on a dirt road, tumbling over the precipice and into the valley below.
You grabbed at the nape of his neck, clawing his skin with the tips of your fingernails, firmly pushing his face into the soft corner of flesh at the base of your neck. His fingers continued their attack, the leather relentlessly teasing your clit and causing heat to rise in your cheeks. He moaned as you pulled at his hair, the heat exploding in your belly like fireworks and bursting through your cells, the force of your climax plowing into you like a freight train. A lone ragged cry escaped your lips amidst the moans, the pleasure too much as he sealed the deal with a talented thumb over your sensitive bud.
You became weak, boneless, in the aftermath of his attention, collapsing into him, knowing he could hold you and trusting that he would. Your heart pounded, breathing fast as though you’d run 10k, head resting against his chest. He stroked your hair.
“Hey. It’s okay. Shhhh.” One firm hand held your back. The other cradled your head. Little hums of satisfaction tumbled from your lips. Eventually, after an age, you looked up. A smiling super spicy super soldier greeted you.
“Feelin’ a little warmer?”
“Warm? Cap, I’m on fire.”
Taggos: (Happy Easter, all! 🐣🪺🌸) @lokisgoodgirl @fictive-sl0th @flesh--amnesiacunrated @skymoonandstardust @alexakeyloveloki @cabingrlandrandomcrap @cakesandtom @mrs-illyrian-baby @muddyorbsblr @irishhappiness @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @glitchquake @dangertoozmanykids101 @animnerd @wavyhairedvixen @emarich7 @km-ffluv @thegodofnotknowing @simplyholl @acidcasualties @foxherder @salempoe @loz-3 @late-to-the-party-81 @mochie85 @loopsisloops @somewereinthegalaxi  @lokiandbuckysdoll @meg81589
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lovestony16 · 2 days
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incorrectquotesmcu · 2 days
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[America, Kamala, Billy and Tommy walk by and they’re all covered in glitter and slime and feathers and holding water guns]
Sam: I would ask what’s going on, but then you’d tell me, and why would I want that?
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rosstrytobe · 3 days
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I understood the Captain America reference...
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Also the Bucky one 👀👀
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avengerscompound · 1 day
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Steve Rogers
Tales of Suspense (1959) #75
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