mom—nicole:rainewynd:olivesawl:phynali:kyraneko:darkmagyk:fallenangelcastiel:storiesbyladychi:charac
mom—nicole:rainewynd:olivesawl:phynali:kyraneko:darkmagyk:fallenangelcastiel:storiesbyladychi:character development#not so much character development#as the difference between joss’s gee golly gosh truth justice and the american way cap'n america#and actual steve rogers the potty mouthed daredevil IDIOT who let the army experiment on him because he was born so goddamn full of FIGHT ME (via absentlyabbie)That is the best description of Steve I have ever seenI was always so confused about if Joss Whedon had seen The First Avenger. Because Steve swears in the movie. Not like hard, its a PG-13 family movie, but he does swear. I think Joss Whedon falls into the same trap as bad fic writer, where he thinks Steve is a farmer from 1950s Kansas instead of Irish Catholic kid from 1920s Brooklyn.Steve Rogers is 400 pounds of righteous kickass in a 100 pound body and by using the serum the army found room for only most of it.he thinks Steve is a farmer from 1950s Kansas instead of Irish Catholic kid from 1920s Brooklyn.this is it. this is the description for how steve is so often mischaracterized. My grandpa was born in a Brooklyn tenement in 1917. He was five-foot-nothing, fond of bare-knuckle boxing and once flipped my 6′1″ uncle to make a point. Enlisted in Dec 1941, got shot and blown up and turned down a medical discharge twice, but took the bronze star (which he tossed in the back of his closet). He cursed in two languages and told ribald stories about french prostitutes. He cared deeply about doing what was right even at personal cost, and would give you the shirt off his back. He learned how to use a computer just to spite my father telling him he was too old. He climbed on his roof at 87 to fix the chimney. At 89 he threatened to kick my husband’s ass if he broke my heart, and my husband was like “I genuinely believed him and was kind of scared.” When he died, people filled the largest room in the funeral home, then the line stretched down the hall, out the door, and down the sidewalk. I heard dozens and dozens of stories that could all be summed up as “Here’s how he helped/stood up for me” and/or “I really thought he was going to get himself killed with that”. My last surviving great-uncle said he was best summed up with “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”This is the man I think of when I write Steve. Plus: Steve was in the US Army. I learned to swear really inventively in US Army basic training, and credit those eight weeks for teaching me that “fuck” can be a noun, a verb, AND an adjective if used correctly. Don’t tell Steve does not swear like the soldier he is.All. Of. This. -- source link