#that’s it #that’s the entire character #’you can’t pick fights with people three times your size t hey’re gonna pummel you’ #’WE’LL SEE’ #’you can’t join the army steve #you’ll die #’you can’t go beyond enemy lines to rescue your friend steve it’s suicide #’you can’t save your brainwashed boyfriend he’s going to kill you’ #on va voir: an autobiography by steve grant rogers #’i didn’t sign up for this: a foreword by natasha romanoff’ (x)
Today’s the day. The day you help save the internet from being ruined.
(Long story short: The FCC is about to make a critical decision as to whether or not internet service providers have to treat all traffic equally. If they choose wrong, then the internet where anyone could start a website for any reason at all, the internet that’s been so momentous, funny, weird, and surprising—that internet could cease to exist. Here’s your chance to preserve a beautiful thing.)
Women did not ride the subway alone very late at night, I realized. And as I made this realization I felt not fear, but fury.
Even now, at a much more wary and guarded age, what I feel when I am told my neighborhood is dangerous is not fear but anger at the extent to which so many of us have agreed to live within a delusion—namely, that we will be spared the dangers that others suffer only if we move within certain very restricted spheres, and that insularity is a fair price to pay for safety.
Fear is isolating for those that fear. And I have come to believe that fear is a cruelty to those who are feared. I once met a man of pro-football-sized proportions who saw something in my hesitation when I shook his hand that inspired him to tell me he was pained by the way small women looked at him when he passed them on the street—pained by the fear in their eyes, pained by the way they drew away—and as he told me this, tears welled up in his eyes.”