Kat's Blog

They’ve known each other since they were children but it doesn’t look like it at a glance. T’Challa is standoffish in meetings with Sam, not joining him in any games and preferring to discuss books or music rather than kingdom gossip. Sam, in turn, is rather sarcastic and even rude at times. But whenever asked, their families aren’t concerned over whether the match will keep.

“Their sons must be quite loyal,” the citizens mutter. “To still be willing to marry someone they dislike to much.”

But what people don’t see is the way T’Challa and Sam exchange smiles over dinner when some diplomat says something foolish. They don’t see the little gifts that the two have exchanged over the years. Small things, all kept in nooks and crannies. 

They don’t see the way T’Challa will hum and nod along, listening to whatever Sam is talking about regardless of whether he knows anything about it. They don’t see how Sam cooks meals for the two of them, no servants allowed, every time they see one another.

No one knows about the rings T’Challa has commissioned, a secret from even his parents, that he plans on exchanging with Sam in a private ceremony before the pomp and circumstance of a royal marriage. 

T’Challa would be rather upset, but also flattered, to know that Sam has the same thing planned.

So no, strangers may not see it, but there is no question of whether the marriage will go forward.

Sam can’t believe that he and T’Challa had the same idea. He also can’t believe that his ring is pure vibranium, a silver circle painted lightly with black letters on the inside. T’Challa won’t translate but Sam has a few dozen advisors; between the lot, one of them has to be literate in Wakandan. Honestly, Sam should be too but he’s always been more of an auditory learner. 

Twenty-two…. Twenty-three…

They aren’t allowed to see each other a full 24 hours before the wedding. It’s driving T’Challa crazy and he paces his room, back and forth, counting the steps in an attempt to keep himself calm. Shuri watches but says nothing as he spins on his heel and turns around again.

One… Two… Three…

It’s difficult to sleep for Sam. He keeps tossing and turning and eventually gives up with an exaggerated sigh. Part of him regrets turning Steve, his best man, down for some late-night drinking. Then again, the last thing he needs is a hangover on his wedding day.

Eight… Nine… Ten…

T’Challa loves the ring Sam gave him. It’s gold, as is the tradition in Sam’s kingdom, but carved on the inside is “I love you” in his handwriting. As much as T’Challa enjoys poking fun at how Sam loops his letters together and scrunches everything so that there’s hardly any room between the words, it’s still Sam and that means more than anything to T’Challa.

Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen…

This is the first time in maybe eight years that they haven’t spoken to each other in so long, Sam realizes. Ever since they were children they’ve always been close, mostly by force, but it wasn’t until they turned fifteen that the teasing and annoyance transformed into genuine friendship. 

All Sam wants is to be able to reassure T’Challa that everything will be ok. He knows that it’s all too easy for T’Challa to fall into his thoughts, going over plans and situations too many times for it to be healthy. But Sam has no idea how to get a message to his soon-to-be husband. It’s not like he can fly…

His eyes go over to the bird resting in the corner.

Eighteen… Nineteen.. Twenty…

“You are going to be exhausted for your own wedding, brother,” Shuri comments from the chair she’s sitting in, finally fed up with his pacing. “What are you worried about? You and Sam love each other. There is no question of how this will go.” 

T’Challa stops in his tracks. He looks down at his hands. The left is where the band sits, glittering. In the morning, he will have to take it off and wear it around his neck, keeping it secret. That is fine. After the ceremony he will no longer have to hide how much he cares for Sam. 

Something taps on the window. Both T’Challa and Shuri exchange a look and, silently, she draws a large dagger out of its hiding place under her skirt. T’Challa reaches for the war club that is leaning against the wall. It’s a gift but, well, not dying from an assassination attempt takes precedence over being polite. 

Shuri flings open the window and prepares to strike, but instead of a person it’s a bird that comes inside. T’Challa recognizes Redwing instantly and smiles even as the falcon lands on his bed and sticks his foot out. If a bird could look annoyed, Redwing is.

“What is it?” Shuri asks as T’Challa takes the note off of Redwing’s leg. He smiles and, well, that’s all Shuri needs to know.

Both T’Challa and Sam sleep peacefully that night.

T’challa: Then why did you run? 

Bucky:

Marvel Art 

Us:

If Sam Wilson my son can naturally talk/connect with birds, shouldn’t he be considered a mutant?

Sam lay there, depleted, like a run down battery desperately in need of charging. Inhale, exhale, inhale… so simple, yet so tiring at the same time. Not that the feeling wasn’t welcome. If he had to be completely and utterly honest, this night would make it right to the top of his “best nights in history” list. The tired feeling seeping slowly into every nook and cranny of his body was more of a sign of content than anything else. He was completely satisfied, and couldn’t care less that he wasn’t able to lift a finger anymore. He didn’t want to lift a finger, he didn’t want to move, except for turning his head to the side.

T’Challa didn’t look as tired as he was, but then again, his Royal Highness wasn’t known to be the type to tire soon. In fact, his Royal Highness had an outstanding stamina. They tested it very thoroughly. Sam smiled slowly, running his eyes over the smooth dark skin covering those lean muscles, now glistening with a sheen of sweat. Tasty, he thought, then chuckled. T’Challa was lying on his stomach, arms drawn underneath his head, deep brown eyes blinking open to the sound. Sam was about to make a comment, to crack a joke as was his usual, when suddenly something warm and soft hopped onto his stomach.

He almost cried out, but bit back the sound, and turned his head towards the new arrival. A big black cat was sitting on him, purring softly, its green eyes boring into his like it wanted to read his mind. After a brief staring contest the cat tilted its head to the side, as if shrugging, then hopped down from him, walking over the King’s back to settle into a fur crescent by his side. Sam felt approved somehow.

I HAVE BEEN CONSUMED BY LOVE FOR SAM WILSON so obviously this had to be drawn. 

HOW DO I EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN SAM WILSON? 

Steve: Sam Wilson is FLAWLESS

Tony: He has full vibranium wings and flies a quinjet 

Fury: I hear his face is insured for $10M

Natasha: I hear he captured Khalid Khandil in Bakhmala 

T’Challa: His favorite animal is a pigeon…that’s what he dresses up like, yes? 

Scott: One time he met Steve Rogers in D.C. and Steve told him he was pretty 

Ask-Spiderpool “Beautiful Dreamer“