To find heroism dull is, to me, the worst kind of cynicism. It is rejecting not only the idea that goodness for goodness’s sake can exist, but that goodness for goodness’s sake should exist. When you reject Cap’s brand of heroism, you are stating plainly that you would rather see selfishness than selflessness—that you would rather see bigotry than tolerance—that you would rather see pettiness than nobility. You are saying you would rather see the small ways in which humanity can fail than the enormous ways in which we are capable of being extraordinary.

so that terrible vulture article happened, and i had furious feelings all over my shiny new wordpress

may go up on medium later, after i’ve gotten some feedback; for now, enjoy







In CATWS who refused to input the launch codes even with a gun to his head. Give that man a raise.

That guy, right there, is why I love Cap so much. Steve isn’t about the flashy bits of being a hero (Tony). He’s about being the best you can be. He was…

Steve Rogers makes the world a better place just by living in it.

Oh man. Sorry, mandyp12, I just keep writing long replies to stuff you post (procrastinating? me? why would you say that?).

So, yeah. Inspiring other people—ordinary people—to do the right thing is the only way that superheroes make sense.

Heroes can’t be everywhere. They can’t stop every fight. They can’t grab every mugger. They can’t track down every murderer. They just can’t. And if you look at the big picture—well, okay, it made a difference to that guy and that girl and that family, but what about the barista on the corner who didn’t get saved while the hero was busy saving those other people? It’s a few deaths delayed; maybe—in the case of supervillains trying to blow up whole countries or start wars—more than a few deaths delayed, but ultimately heroes can’t stop everything bad happening on their own. (Supernatural touches on this—the emotional cost of feeling like you’re responsible for stopping every bad thing, everywhere, when that’s an impossible task.)

What heroes can do is inspire.

One hero, over the course of a year, might save—let’s say, a person a day. One life a day. Three hundred and sixty five people in a year, over a career that—given the typical heroic life expectancy—might not be more than ten or fifteen years. Call it twenty years: 7,300 lives saved.

But how about the people that hero inspires, if she does her work publicly? Say one percent of the US population (just fer instance) observes that hero’s work, either personally or through the news media, and is inspired. Say, over the same twenty years, that one percent of that one percent ends up in a situation that calls for heroic action, big or small: sticking up for someone bullied, or stepping in to perform CPR, or intervening in an abusive situation, or any case that requires making the right choice and not the easy one, and that one percent chooses to act as their hero would.

That’s over 30,000 heroic acts.

We love superheroes. But it’s ordinary people who have the real power when it comes to changing the world for the better.

I’m always okay with long replies. 

Actually, what’s interesting—when that scene played, you know what I thought?

I thought of the Dauntless motto.

“We believe that cowardice is to blame for the world’s injustices. We believe that peace is hard-won, that sometimes it is necessary to fight for peace. But more than that: We believe that justice is more important than peace. We believe in freedom from fear, in denying fear the power to influence our decisions. We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another. We believe in acknowledging fear and the extent to which it rules us. We believe in facing that fear no matter what the cost to our comfort, our happiness, or even our sanity. We believe in shouting for those who can only whisper, in defending those who cannot defend themselves. We believe, not just in bold words but in bold deeds to match them. We believe that pain and death are better than cowardice and inaction because we believe in action. We do not believe in living comfortable lives. We do not believe that silence is useful. We do not believe in good manners. We do not believe in empty heads, empty mouths, or empty hands. We do not believe that learning to master violence encourages unnecessary violence. We do not believe that we should be allowed to stand idly by. We do not believe that any other virtue is more important than bravery.” (emphasis mine)

When I was watching the scene, I thought to myself, “I believe in ordinary acts of bravery.”

I’ve never been very brave. I’d like to think I would have done the same in that situation though every personality test will tell you I’m the farthest thing from a Gryffindor or Dauntless. But you know what—Steve Rogers, fictional as he may be, he inspires me to be brave. 

And I think that inspiration is the main importance of fictional heroes. They’re not actually saving real people, but they can inspire real people to be brave.




"merriment can sometimes be a heavier burden than battle"

like i understand hes making fun, i understand he’s talkin bout parties, but come on

what thor really means is “im sad” “im sad all the time” “im happy on the outside but im always sad” “because nothing is the same” “ive had to face things that tore me apart from the brother i love and the fun of life and of being young and free” “im conscious and clearheaded and because of that im sad” “but i still smile cause people expect me to smile like the golden son im supposed to be”

I meant to just reblog this, but then I started thinking about it and thinking about Thor and how he deals with this sadness, because, yes, so much of it is about not being that carefree (reckless, arrogant) youth anymore, but having seen the true cost of war (Loki is the cost of war, Thor lost him because of war), he bears a much heavier burden.

And like Thor says, it’s true that surrender is not in his nature, he still gets up every day and still fights to protect people and still enjoys that fighting, his laughter on Vanaheim was genuine, it’s just… not carefree anymore, it’s a fight to try to stay happy now.

But he still smiles because Thor is someone who protects other people, who smiles for them to reassure them, smiles because he is at heart an optimist, even if he’s learning to balance it with realism.  And the thing that makes me really heavy hearted for Thor is that it’s not like he couldn’t show that he was sad, it’s not like he couldn’t tell people he was sad, but that it wouldn’t fix anything, so he doesn’t.  He doesn’t talk about how he’s sad at the loss of Loki, because what will words do?  He doesn’t have the words to bring Loki back.  He doesn’t have the words to make him and Jane not from separate worlds.

So he keeps getting up and keeps fighting back Marauders and keeps working to stay positive and help as many people as he can and to try to work through all this, because Thor is never one to give up a fight, even the fight to just simply love people and live his life.

But it’s sad right now.  Thor has a lot of sadness because there are so many things that he can’t fix and he’s a doer, he does things, that’s who he is, and doing thingscan’t fix them now, of course he’s sad and I just.

/cries into my pillow



 #this is still one of my favorite things #and it caught tony’s face right where i loved it #slightly caught off guard that cap is willing to go against him#he’s used to how it was during iron man 2 #he felt like one of a very elite and small group of heroes #and even among them he felt far superior #and fury tried to explain it #but this is the true reality check #this is tony seeing equally strong people willing to face him off #and maybe he’s even a little intimidated #because he knows he isn’t actually super-powerful without his suit #unlike cap and thor #in fact#since bruce can get angry and natasha and clint are VERY well trained in hand-to-hand combat #he has suddenly went from the most powerful #to one of the most vulnerable #and i think here he’s realizing that a bit



I’m going to have to talk about Natasha first, because apparently all of my meta is about being Russian.

I’ve seen people complaining about it, but Natasha being from the post-Soviet era is fucking brilliant. I don’t care that it’s different from the comics. Obviously, part of the reasoning for this comes from my own lived experience as a Ukrainian immigrant in the United States — I can’t tell you how weary I am of how many Russian women in American media are Cold War-spy eye-candy, and Natasha being removed from that is incredibly important. But it’s not just that. The post-Soviet origin story fits Natasha’s MCU characterization so much better. 

This Natasha watched an empire crumble when she was a child. She was born into a time of decline and economic scarcity — stores with empty shelves and a government struggling to keep it all together, watching republics slip through their fingers. There were endless waiting lists for everything useful — it was a normal part of my childhood that I was not able to call my best friend unless she was at her grandmother’s place. Her building had not yet had phone lines installed. When I’d ask my parents when her apartment was going have a phone, my parents would scoff, “They’re on a list.” 

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So I had a startling realisation recently in relation to why Tony is so damn fucked up in Iron Man 3. Why a question like “How did you get out of the worm hole?” Turns him into this:


The truth is, Tony doesn’t actually know how he got out of the worm hole.

To Tony…