Isitbiorisitlesbian - Em_32557038

Honestly Sam and Bucky’s journey in TFATWS goes from disdain to love because they spent the first part of it trying to see Steve in each other, and in turn resented each other when they didn’t succeed.

Bucky wanted to find Steve in the new Captain America. Sam wanted to find Steve in the 1940s super soldier. Neither of them succeeded and that bothered them. They wanted to replace what they lost.

‘Steve had a plan’

‘Steve adored Marvin Gaye’

Then as the episodes progress, they’re able to see each other as individual people (shock) for the first time properly and are able to realise like ‘hey, this guy isn’t Steve, but maybe he’s something else that’s amazing’.

Bucky realised that as a black man, Sam’s experience on this planet shaped him differently to how they shaped a blonde haired, blue eyed Steve and he has to be so much more careful in becoming Captain America. Sam realised that Bucky never wanted the life he had like Steve did, and power and the life of a hero was forced upon him without his consent so he would never be the bright eyed, happy to learn/embrace anything man that Steve was and that’s okay. They both finally saw each other in that show.

“... and I almost wish that we would have explored more because there's that whole situation where Bucky is having memory lapses, some of his old memories coming back. I thought it would have been interesting to go, you know, what it would have been like for him to wake up after that fall and missing the one arm, doesn't know where he is.”

i’d wear the fuck out of this. gotta let ppl know i have elite taste in men💪💪

when there is one chapter left of the series but the author suddenly disappear

the “pleasure to have in class” to overly active tumblr user pipeline

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

I remember someone saying "mad scientists in fiction aren't scientists because there's never a control group"

I think if you've created an elixir that turns people into goat men you have sort have gone past the need for a control group. The control group is not going to placebo themselves into goat men. You can probably not run the control group, and safely assume that none of them would have turned into goat men. That said, having a control group for that would make the mad scientist seem extra crazy and be really really funny, especially if he was carefully testing them for goat like features from the dyed water they drank instead of the elixir

SAME

OMG IM GOING TO SEE BEYONCÉ THIS SUMMER!!