do you ever think about how perfectly steve, bucky, and sam typify the 3 big wars america’s fought in over the past century?
steve is the soldier who fought in world war 2. he’s the tail end of the glory and honor of war. his reasons for fighting are clear cut, moral, as far as he can tell. but the weapons used are too deadly, too fatal for glory and honor, really. there’s the attempt to treat enemy combatants with respect, with honor, all while killing them quick than has ever been possible before. there’s the unease of the shift from the old style of fighting to the new. there’s the tiredness that only comes from a second global war in only two decades. there’s the closure that comes from unprecedented total destruction. the thought of “maybe now we can go home. maybe now we can build lives like our parents, those of us that are left.”
bucky is the soldier who fought in vietnam. he’s the one that couldn’t dodge the draft, that couldn’t evade the fight no matter how hard he tried. he’s the one who followed the orders he had to, and rebelled against all the others. his uniform was askew, more civvies than not. he didn’t look a soldier, and he didn’t fight like one either. he didn’t know why he was fighting, who he was fighting. he saw too many innocents die by the hands of his comrades, of himself. he felt agent orange burn his lungs, saw orphans crying in the streets. he came home, the rat-a-tat of machine guns echoing in his ears, always. he disembarked a plane, and was spat on by anti-war protesters. he couldn’t even be angry– he agreed with them. he participated in the winter soldier investigations, confessed what he’d been forced to do, and that almost abated the weight on his shoulders. almost.
sam is the soldier who fought in afghanistan. the modern soldier, with just as much shit as the rest of them. the difference is, where steve was greeted with celebrations and bucky was greeted with vitriol, sam is overlooked, forgotten. he suffers in silence, expected to endure without protest. sam copes, but not all vets are able to do the same. afghan war vets are the ones who take their own lives in droves, the unacknowledged, unknown aftershocks from an invasion founded on half-formed ambitions from men in suits who’d never have to bear the real burden. sam is the modern day vet, unknown, unseen, unthanked.
what about this is heterosexual, exactly? who looks at their totally-platonic-bff-slash-soulmate like that? all i’m seeing is a “i’m undressing you with my eyes” look at the very least, but it def feels more like The most “i’m gonna fuck u senseless the moment we’re alone” look
“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.” ― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
People who are disappointed by Steve’s reaction or (apparent) lack thereof after Bucky dissolved really don’t grasp Steve Rogers at all. This isn’t like fanfic. In fanfic, Steve sometimes, sort-of, semi works through his problems in a sometimes dubious but mostly healthy way.
Canon Steve doesn’t do that.
This is a man who buried his last living relative and was ready to refuse to live with Bucky because he didn’t want to appear weak.
This is a man who, after watching someone he loved literally slip through his hands and die, separated himself from the undoubtedly well-meaning Commandos, and Peggy (until she ultimately sought him out) and cried and attempted to get drunk in a bombed out bar because he was their leader and he couldn’t, wouldn’t let himself fall apart in front of the men that follow him into battle and trust him with their lives.
This is a man who has grown used to the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he now feels that weight more than ever. This situation with Thanos is so much more than any situation has ever been, in every way.
So he cannot be Steve Rogers. He cannot mourn for his best friend, he cannot scream at the top of his lungs, or pull his hair, or weep, or wail, or break. Despite how much he might want to. Despite how he feels. Because, whether the official title is his or not, whether he wants it or not, he needs to be a captain. He needs to be The Captain. With Stark gone, with his people – everyone he trusts and loves – gone… if you think for a second Steve Rogers is not going to beat back his anguish and pain immediately after suffering tremendous, soul-rending loss to do what needs to be done, you are dead wrong.
An alternative to being disappointed, is to really think about who Steve is. He is self-sacrificial to a fault; he swallows the knives of duty with a bitter smile until he all but chokes on them, keeps going even when blood runs down his chin and his throat is in shreds. Emotional, yes, he feels deeply, but only when it’s “safe” to; when he doesn’t have to be on, when he doesn’t have to be anything other than body, and mass, and fractured soul. Unfortunately he doesn’t feel safe that often. A soldier, yes, that’s who he was trained to be, but inherently, that’s just who Steve is.
His soft “oh g-d” at the end – about Bucky, about Sam and T’Challa and everyone – was as much emotion and devastation and fear as Steve Rogers was going to let himself show. Just a second, just a moment. And then… Then he’s going to get up, he’s going to throw his shoulders back, and he’s going to go back to work.
Usta jak krew o smaku malinowym 