#thomas falcon

[21st-century-boys]

Thomas Falcon

[edgarmoser]

thomas falcon

[bruciemilf]

And if I said “Thomas knocked Martha up on their first meeting and they had a shotgun wedding bc her family was pissed, so these are the only wedding pictures Bruce has” WHAT

[kanellebullar]

[margarethx]

I like that a big part of the Sambucky relationship is often just Sam giving Bucky full permission to be a little fucked up. Not in the sense that he recognizes his mental problems, but also because he sometimes just shrugs and allows Bucky's worst instincts to take over. (Which is mostly a fandom thing, but a small part of canon too, since Sam went with Bucky's plan to free Zemo with very little push-back, for example..)

It gave me the idea for a story where after Hydra everyone around Bucky wants him to move on from his traumas and heal, but Sam gives him the space to also be furious and unhinged about that. Like... all the other people would say: "what they did to you was awful, but the best revenge is to live a happy life <3". And Sam's like... "no, the best revenge is to wake them up with a gun to the temple in the middle of the night and to burn down their home, actually. here's a lighter, are you free this weekend, handsome?".

I don't mean to say that other people don't understand Bucky's anger, but they believe it'd be healthier for him to deal with the pain only by finding hobbies, adopting a pet, eating nice food etc. Whereas Sam offers all those things with an extra dose of pure vengeance. One night he takes Bucky out to a nice restaurant. The next night he stands aside as Bucky beats the shit out of some doctor, who experimented on him in 1989 and then helps him cover it up.

This dynamic would probably work better in a AU with no powers where they're regular people and where Bucky's been kidnapped or integrated into a cult that ruined his life. But it could apply to the canon too, in some ways.

I just like the the idea of all the well-meaning people in Bucky life trying to put as big of a distance between him and his abusers as possible... While Sam - who everyone sees as a rational almost-pacifist with a lot of empathy - helps his boyfriend hunt these abusers for sport.

[imomnba-x07]

Yall we are getting deleted scenes for FATWS in the disc release AHHHHHHHH I CANT WAIT TO GET MY GRUBBY LITTLE HANDS ON IT

Need it to release NOW

[ikoarts]

Book #25 - Story 2: Bulldog

"The tunnel was curved and pitch-dark, Falcon felt stifled, he wanted to get out.

Presently, the light grew, two ribbons of track appeared ahead in the gloom."

-

I'm proud to finally share my entry for the Railway Series Collab 2024, from Duke the Lost Engine! It was so much fun to participate, please remember to check out the video when it premieres later today, as well as everyone else's entries!!

[edwards-exploit]

Sir Handel Takes On Puzzles

[dreamings-free]

comments and congratulations on Joshua’s post about winning the 2024 iHeart Radio Music Award for Favorite Tour Photographer 2/4/24

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Oh my loveliest nonny writer. I'm in great need of some protective Sam vibes, with a sick or hurt reader who hides it to not make a fuss, she's afraid the others think she's too weak to be in the team, cause she's new. But Sam noticing her being hurt or sick and goes all in full blown protective mode. And takes cares of her 🥹😪 and makes sure that she can trust him. 💔

"my loveliest nonny writer" 🥹🥹 i'm swear my heart is ready to explode. you guys are just all so sweet. i hope you enjoy and thank you so much 💛

Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader Sam Wilson Masterlist | Anon's 1K Celebration

i'll take care of you.

Sam Wilson is the epitome of caretaker. He is Caretaker with a capital C. He notices something off with you the moment he walks into the conference room, far before anyone else does.

Your head is tipped into your hand, eyes slightly glassy, flushed pallor.

"You look like hell."

You barely move - another sign that you're not feeling good. Your eyes dart over to him as he stands over you, "Thanks."

"Go get some rest. I'll catch you up on anything you miss," Sam offers, concern painting his face.

You wave him off, or at least, you try to wave him off, "I'm fine. It's just allergies."

He presses a hand to your forehead, his lips pursing in distaste, "Allergies don't give you a fever. Go back to bed. I'll check on you when the meeting's over."

You softly grunt in objection, "No."

You know you're being stubborn, but the whole reason you dragged yourself out of bed this morning was to prove a point. You wanted to prove you could handle whatever this team threw at you - even if that was just a little virus.

The point was getting a little murky with the fever, but it was a point nonetheless. You shake your head, making yourself a little dizzy.

"Listen, you're not helping anyone by being here like this. Help us by helping yourself," Sam softly explains like he can see exactly what's going on without you even having to tell him. "And if anyone gives you shit for it, I'll kick their ass. Promise."

"Sam..." you grumble.

"Go or I'll carry you out of here."

Your glare is softened by how miserable you look. "You're really bossy, you know?"

It doesn't stop there. Not with Sam Wilson as your Caretaker.

He was right, even if you don't want to admit it. Because after he sent you away, the second your head hits the pillow, you're out like a light. You're not sure how long you've slept until you're suddenly awoken by Sam's presence.

"Knock, knock," Sam announces himself, entering your room armed with the sick survival kits of sick survival kits.

You sleepily groan, "Aren't you supposed to do that before you walk into a room? How did you even get in here?

"The door," Sam cheekily replies.

"It was locked."

"I may or may not have a key."

"We'll talk about this when I can see straight."

Sam crouches down to the edge of your bed. He presses a hand to your forehead again. "You're still burning up. You might have the flu."

You halfheartedly push him away. "The flu is contagious, Sam. Go away."

"Just let me take care of you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." He tenderly strokes the hair out of your face. "This would be a lot more romantic if you weren't all sweaty."

"I hate you."

"And in spite of how mean you're being, I brought you a few things." He reaches for his bag, unpacking item by item. "Tissues. Cooling rags. Plenty of fluids, Gatorade, ginger ale, and some tea. But most importantly, my mom's world famous chicken soup. Perfect for when you're feeling sick."

"You take such good care of me," you hum, reaching out and gently stroking his cheek. "My favorite nurse."

"I think you're delirious," Sam chuckles. His heart fluttering at your sweet caress. He reaches over you, pulling your thick cover over you, tucking you in. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, "I'll always take care of you."

Anon's 1K Celebration Sam Wilson Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064

[edgarmoser]

thomas falcon

[bruciemilf]

hiii ily tell some more abt silly little bruce wayne

Baby Bruce gets kidnapped. A lot

Luckily for all involved, it happens when he’s a little too young to comprehend what kidnapping IS. It does seem rather odd that mama and papa fire cooks, gardeners, and drivers so often.

(‘Fire’ is the childproof version of ‘we slaughtered these bastards in the basement’)

Thomas is very protective over him and has huge doubts about leaving him unattended. It’s just kind of hard being around your child when you reek of murder all the time

Alfred can handle it, but there’s a collective mourning in the fact that he HAS to.

Very shy kid; Aside from Oliver and Harvey, he never made a lot of friends, but then again, his parents don’t have that many either. He has his uncle Oz and his stuffed toys, and Alfie, and that’s alright with him

I think Thomas and Martha would love for him to have some, but you just can’t be too sure, ever

I think he’d make good friends with Alberto Falcone; Thomas knows an unwanted child when he sees one, so Carmine’s little son is always welcomed around.

“you know, you’re nothing like your dad” for Alberto, that’s a compliment.

Martha was an expert marksman and definitely thought him how to handle guns, but she always made a game out of it. Can’t be too harsh with the baby

Bruce was a mafioso baby let’s be real

Thomas was big on spoiling him, but he also made it clear Gotham didn’t have favorites; She can, thought, pick sides sometimes.

After he and Martha get killed, Bruce wonders why she didn’t pick theirs.

[aintinacage]

endless peter parker - part 21

[margarethx]

There is a strange man standing at Sam's door.

Pale, with long hair and beginnings of a thin beard; his eyes covered by a baseball cap, but glinting in the shadows in a way that suggests he's sober, or at least alert.

He stands in an ostensibly relaxed pose.

He still looks like he's one abrupt sound away from bolting.

He knocked on the door instead of ringing the bell, as if he knew Sam was home and close enough to hear the noise muffled slightly by the glove covering his hand.

There's no one around at this hour and the entrance to Sam's house is obscured from the street by a few bushes and trashcans pulled out for the garbage men to collect in the morning. If someone broke inside, no one would be able to tell if they weren't already looking directly into Sam's small garden. Which, likely, no one does.

Sam also doesn't have any friends who visit him at home and both sides of his close family live a few states away. He tries his best to keep in touch with them, but if he disappeared from the radar for a couple of days, maybe even weeks, no one would be alarmed. So... if the stranger at his door harms him, it'll take a long time for anyone to notice. Maybe a couple of people at the VA will have some questions after the weekend, but his schedule is not regular enough for anyone to think something's off when he's not there the next Monday.

With all that in mind, Sam pushes away from the peephole he's been peering through for the last minute to unlock the door.

The man outside looks a bit lost. In need of assistance. And Sam's spent way too many years risking his life to save others to back down now, just because he's what... scared? Sam's not scared. He fought with literal helicopters and won such duel multiple times. A strange man with no fashion sense visiting his home is nothing compared to that.

The guy's probably homeless, simply trying his luck in a safer neighbourhood. It's better if Sam's the one to open his door instead of some weirdo down the street, who'll chase him away with a gun.

Sam is, technically speaking, a weirdo with a gun tucked into the waistline of his sweatpants, though he's not planning on using it. And if he'll have to, he won't be excited about that. Which is a key difference in his eyes.

Sam's a couple of years removed from the initial fear and PTSD fuelled paranoia that haunted him after leaving the Air Force. He did the work. Went through therapy. Read the books. Pushed himself to go out there; to mingle with people without succumbing to the need to crawl under the nearest table at the first louder noise.

He's not removed enough, however, to answer the door completely unarmed. Which is how he ends up here. With a gun concealed on his back, opening his home for a random man, whose intentions might range from simply asking Sam for something like directions to the nearby cemetery, to making sure Sam's the one who ends up there within the next week.

The hinges screech a little as he pushes the door, which is by design. Because of the lingering paranoia of course, not because he forgot to buy a new can of WD-40 for a fifth month in a row.

The man at his porch looks up, as if alarmed by the noise. He seems surprised that Sam answered, but he smiles pleasantly right away. If Sam was listening to his aforementioned paranoia, he'd say that the smile was too quick, almost too pleasant, and too calculated to seem genuine. But he really tries to get better and not assume the worst these days.

"Hello? How can I help you?", he asks, trying to match the energy and sound just kind enough for the ghost of his mother to not appear with her disapproving face in his next dream.

The man hesitates a little, giving Sam a second to take a proper look at him.

What's most striking about him is the bulky built. Broad shoulders and strong legs, paired with a - probably - flat stomach. It's difficult to see with all the layers of clothing the guy's wearing, but overall, he seems like a naturally muscular person hidden under an ill-fitting jacket and too-baggy jeans.

There's some underlying stiffness to his pose - something that Sam's already noticed at first glance, but which is all the more evident now that he can see the full silhouette of the man

If Sam had more time to assess his guest, he's probably dwell on the fact that his face looks disturbingly familiar. Or on the fact that said face, along with the rest of the body, is very much Sam's type. But he does not have that time, so he cuts this line of thinking as quickly as it forms in his brain.

"I've...," answers the man, finally. "I know it'll sound weird, but I..." He pauses once more, looking down at his palms, as if he's a student trying to cheat by reading the answers of the inside of his hand. "A guy I met recently goes to the VA. The one you work at," the man clarifies unnecessarily. "And I've heard that you've helped a couple of his friends before, so I thought that... well."

He stops talking, losing steam by the end. Speaking seems to be taking a toll on him and he stops even looking at Sam by the end of his vague explanation.

It's enough, however, to calm Sam's nerves. He unclenches his jaw and all the other muscles his body readied for a fight that never came and the immediate relief almost startles an embarrassing moan out of him. He didn't even realize how tense he was. He hopes that the guy didn't notice too.

"It's okay, man. I get it," he replies with a smile.

And he does get it. He's been there. He knows how it feels to finally take a step in the new direction. To try staying neutral or cynical because of misplaced self-preservation instincts, but feeling the hope already filling your chest anyway.

The man lifts his head and shoots a shy smile Sam's way.

"I hoped you would," he says. "My friend said a couple of his old buddies from the army been to your groups and it helped. So I... I wanted to check for myself.

Sam's smile becomes much more genuine.

"Glad to hear that," he replies honestly. It's always good to know that his efforts actually affect the people who struggle the same way that he did. He's curious which vets his guest is referring to, but he stops himself from asking. It's not relevant right now. "And you'd like to join one of my groups too?"

The answering nod is a little unsure, but Sam can work with that.

"I'll give you some pamphlets and the schedule for my next three meetings," he offers, trying to remember where he put the pile of fliers from the VA which littered his coffee table for a few months at one point.

Before he has the time to fully move from the doorstep he's stopped by a strong and sudden grip on his wrist. Very strong. Almost crushing.

The alarm bells in his head blare, his vision narrowing, while his other hand makes a move to his back where a gun is still hidden in his sweatpants.

But then the pressure is gone from Sam's arm and the man is looking right at him, confused, then mortified. Whether he's scared of his own reaction or the gun he must sense in the vicinity, Sam cannot tell.

"I'm so, so sorry! I don't know why I did that, just... Let me..."

He stops. Sam blinks at him.

There're good ten seconds of uncomfortable silence before any of them speaks again.

"It's fine," Sam says, carefully. He wets his lips and the man's eyes track the movement. "Like I said... I get it." He tries to laugh, but it comes out a little strangled. "I don't like sudden movements too."

The guy at the door almost shrinks, his shoulders going up, as if he's trying to cover his face even more. But he seems relieved. Like it's easy to just have someone who understands, when the explanation seems too embarrassing to voice.

"Yeah..."

Sam takes a deep breath, hoping to push through the awkward moment and put the man at ease.

"Like I said, I'll go to take a pamphlet and write down my schedule for you," he says, taking a slow step inside. "I'll be back in a minute." Without waiting for a response he nods as if to silently ask the guy to stay where he is. Then looks for a pen and the fliers almost on autopilot, hoping that his porch won't be empty when he's back.

Or maybe hoping it already is.

When he steps through the door again, the man is still there. Just as shifty as before. As Sam hands him the papers, he opens his mouth, starting another apology, but Sam shushes him right away.

"It's alright. Don't worry about it." He adds a smile for reassurance. "My schedule is right here. If you can't come this month, you can always go in anyway. Ask around and find my office. We'll figure something out."

With a silent "thanks" the man starts to slowly back away from his doorstep. It seems as if he wants to stay, though. To ask for something more, but doesn't know what to say or maybe how to say it. Finally, with a small wave, he exits Sam's lawn. And then he's gone.

It takes Sam another five minutes of contemplative staring at the street to remember that his home address is not public information and neither of his former vets should know where he lives. None of them would know where to look for him outside of the VA.

Before he has the time to have a panic attack about that he finally registers the pain in his arm. He frowns and pulls up his sleeve where a set of dark, angry looking bruises form a shape of a closed palm on his skin.

He locks the door as calmly as possible, using an extra lock he hasn't taken out of the drawer since last year. He pulls the curtains over the windows, grabs his phone, and spends the rest of the day sitting on the floor with a gun between his legs, within reach.

--- ----- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----- ---

Well... I don't even know what this story is xD I just sat down and wrote the first thing that came to my mind. Now I somehow ended up with a plot outline for at least 4-5 chapters. Maybe I'll even write them one day <3

Hope you enjoyed witnessing the birth of my WiP number 2309745.

[PART 2 on tumblr is here]

[Ao3 LINK is here]

[imomnba-x07]

Look at him he’s adorable

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

Sam: What is wrong with you!

Y/N: Everything. Except for the way I dress.