#this is just such a fucking sassy remark like#it sounds like something my mother would say to my spoiled sister#i never really stopped to think about it before but damn steve#it’s almost childish you are being a chiLD (via marvelobsessions)
That’s why I love it so much though. Because it’s so, so easy to forget this — SHIELD constantly forgets this — but Steve *is* a child. He was twenty-six years old and terrified when he died. And to him, that was maybe ten days ago. Just — ten days ago, he died. Eleven days ago, he watched his best friend and protector fall to his death in a clusterfuck he will always believe was his fault. Ten days ago, he died while the listening to Peggy cry on the other end of a static-filled radio. Ten days ago, he was still in 1945. He was supposed to leave it; it wasn’t supposed to leave him. And he woke up, and everyone he loved was gone, and now he’s confronted with an agency that’s lying to him about everything and he’s just found in their storage facility the exact weapon that killed the person he loved most and he’s arguing with a man who looks far too much like someone he called a friend, who he knows now is dead, who died violently in a car crash, and he doesn’t know Tony well enough to know this is how he deals with fear, so to him, this is just…someone with money, with all the privilege and padding he and Bucky never had, who would never have to go to war if he didn’t want to, making light of a situation way too close to Steve’s chest.
Steve was being prickly as hell through most of this movie, but he was bleeding out and in pain and had no one to bleed on. The comment he makes to Tony, about knowing guys with none of that worth ten of him? Imagine all of the people he was thinking about then. All of the people he knew he’d never see again; who he wished he wasn’t standing there to never see again. Trying to organize a time bomb and remembering the Commandos. Trying to co-lead with a man he doesn’t yet understand, and remembering Bucky. Trying so hard not to keep seeing him fall. Being expected to be above all of those messy human emotions, because he’s Captain America, and while he was asleep that name became a legend so much bigger than any real, living person could be.
He’s only twenty-six.
I just made myself sad.
Beautiful things happen when you distance yourself from negativity.
I remember when I was younger and I wanted to be beautiful; now I’m older and I want to be intelligent. I want to burn hearts with brilliance and engulf souls with compassion. I want to be loved for my thoughts and nothing else.
Date someone who would rather watch your favorite movie with you then go to a party on Friday night. Date someone who will share their food with you even though you said you didn’t want any. Date someone who will warm your hands in the winter and kiss your pink nose. Date someone who will text you they love you at 2am and at 9pm. Date someone who will let you change the station in the car when they’re driving. Date someone who can make you smile when you would rather die. Date someone who makes your insides feel like you’ve just downed a bottle of vodka. Date someone who makes you better.
I think about this sometimes: about how messed up we all really are on the inside. How we put on this “day face” and try to just live life and be okay, but underneath all that we have all these layers of neuroses and disappointments and unresolved issues that stay dormant until they’re triggered. Not overtly, most of the time — we wouldn’t be able to function if it were overt all the time — but under. Underneath us, inside of us. Things that happened to us that changed us. Heartbreak and trauma woven into the texture of our skins.
What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger but it also makes us fucking tired.
…Of course, someone somewhere always has it worse. And I’m not going to say everyone deserves some sort of medal for getting out of bed in the morning. But damn it, when you think about all this weight that piles up on us, and all our different coping strategies (some adaptive, some not so much), and the scars we accumulate throughout our lives (everyone has them) that make us all the interesting damaged messes that we are; the way we individually experience loss and heartbreak and nothingness and push through it, we’re doing a pretty good job as humans. We do things. We go to work. We go to school. We do the laundry. We breathe. We function. We grieve and we pick ourselves up and adapt and keep going.
We keep moving, because there’s not a whole lot else to do.
Cat doesn’t know what to do with the butterfly that flew on its paw.
I can’t breathe I’m laughing too hard
was not strong,
the darkness could not
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