Okay but honestly do you guys know how often I think about those little gray hairs in Bucky’s beard in Civil War? DO YOU??
Do you know how often I think about him going to look in a mirror, maybe during their stay in Wakanda before he goes back on ice, and maybe he’s thinking about shaving it off, maybe he wants to stop looking like, uh, how did that one post put it, “the shiftiest sad hobo in all of Romania”? And like, he’s about to get his face all lathered up when all of a sudden he leans in a takes a closer look, and is absolutely floored by the fact that some of the hairs are gray. Because sometimes he feels ancient, like he’s lived a thousand more lifetimes than any human being should, but more often than not he feels like he hasn’t lived any sort of life at all, that he’s been cheated out of the life he should’ve had, cheated by the war, cheated by HYDRA, and now cheated by his own traitorous mind. The last time he was really Bucky, he was round-faced, clean-shaven, well-groomed and pressed and immaculate. And now here he is, aging, of all things, like a person—
So he grits his teeth and lathers up his face and puts the blade to his jaw, but he just…can’t do it. Steve finds him liked that, face covered with soap, head bowed over the sink, the razor hanging limply in his hand.
“Buck?” Steve asks. “You need some help?”
Bucky shakes his head, meeting Steve’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “We’re really old, Steve,” he says.
Steve shrugs. “I’m just a spring chicken compared to you, grandpa.” He frowns when Bucky doesn’t smile, puts a hand on his back. “Hey.”
“I look old.” Bucky shakes his head at his reflection, as if doing so might erase it and leave a fresh one in its wake. “I look tired.”
“Vain as ever, huh?” Steve gets a little twitch of the lips at that, knocks his hip into Bucky’s for encouragement. “What’s this all about?”
Bucky blinks at his reflection. “Do you have any gray hair?”
Steve laughs. “Buck, I got my first gray hair at thirteen.”
“Well, to be fair, they weren’t an easy thirteen years.”
Bucky runs a hand through his hair. “I was afraid maybe we…couldn’t. Maybe we…didn’t…we weren’t going to—”
“Me too. But I think we can. We just do it a little slower than everyone else.”
“Well what the hell is that serum good for, if we ain’t gonna live forever?”
Steve laughs, a quick, surprised sound, and pats Bucky’s shoulder. “You wanna live forever?”
“Fuck no,” Bucky breathes. “But I wanna live…some.” He touches his face gingerly. “Enough to have earned these.”
Steve looks at Bucky for a moment. “Ma used to say a little gray hair just meant you’d put some miles on your soul. That you’d seen and done some things, and were ready to face it all, armed with the strength of your experiences.”
Bucky huffs a bitter laugh. “Hell, I must be indestructible then.”
“Must be,” Steve says with an earnest smile, and Bucky has to look away, bow his head, to keep Steve from seeing the tears that spring to his eyes.
“You think I still got a soul?” he asks quietly.
Steve grabs a washcloth and starts wiping the soap from Bucky’s face. “Miles and miles.” He takes his thumb, brushes gently at the corner of Bucky’s eye. “You’d look good with some laughter lines, too, old man.” He dabs a little bit of shaving cream on Bucky’s nose. “We’ll see what we can do about that.”
How dare you.
not for nothing but im still not over Bucky telling Steve he didn’t know if he was worth all this, and then 20 minutes later Steve is dropping the shield and the captain america mantle and picking up Bucky like “yeah you’re worth all this, you’re worth everything to me, i won’t ever have you believe otherwise”
How dare you.
If you know film and/or photography, you probably know the name Muybridge, the man who effectively invented cinema by taking photos in rapid succession of a horse galloping in order to settle a bet. And then went on to film endless movement sequences, mostly walk cycles, of various animals and human subjects (to the enternal gratitude of animators everywhere).
Apparently this is what happened when he got to cats.
This is definitely the “photographing cats” experience.
“Awwwww…. look at you, so pretty all curled up like that…. let me just take a quick – no noooooooo don’t move – don’t come over here! – WHY DO YOU NEED TO SMELL MY CAMERA!? …. stop getting noseprints on the lens you little monster…. yes, good cat, all the headscratchies…. purr purr purr ….. all right, fine, I’ll feed you.”