I’m scared to grow up. what if I end up alone. what if my career choice plummets. what if all my friends are happily employed and in relationships. what if no one wants me.
I don’t want to grow up.
i think about this almost everyday.
Elizabeth Olsen and Aaron Taylor-Johnson on set of Avengers: Age of Ultron (x)
out of all the aspects of millennial-bashing, i think the one that most confuses me is the “millennials all got trophies as a kid, so now they’re all self-centered narcissists” theory
like— kids are pretty smart, y’all. they can see that every kid on the team gets a trophy and is told they did a good job; they can also see that not every kid on the team deserves a trophy, and not everyone did do a good job
the logical conclusion to draw from this is not “i’m great and i deserve praise”— it’s “no matter how mediocre i am, people will still praise me to make me feel better, so i can’t trust any compliments or accolades i receive”
this is not a recipe for overconfidence and narcissism. it is a recipe for constant self-guessing, low self-esteem, and a distrust of one’s own abilities and skills.
where did this whole “ugh millennials think their so-so work is super great” thing even come from it is a goddamn mystery
Holy shit! I have this EXACT problem. They started this assinine tradition of “everyone gets a trophy” (and then accusing us of being spoiled for it) with Gen X, and now I literally hear all compliments as “You suck, but I don’t think you’re strong enough to hear the truth.”
in the movie a little boy recognises steve at the captain america exhibit. it’s my headcanon that a little girl recognises bucky when he goes to the smithsonian exhibit to find out who he really is
because little girls have heroes too
"You should tie your hair back," a little girl with pitch-black hair says to the Winter Soldier. He stares down at her, silent, but she continues undeterred. "Mommy says that we need to have our hair tied back or we’ll trip over things because we can’t see. She makes me wear these—" She displays her wrist, which is encircled by a rainbow of different hair bands. "—because mine keep falling out. You can’t fight evil if you can’t see it. I want to be a police officer when I grow up. Are you a…"
She trails off, her eyes steadily getting bigger. They dart to the large digital image of James Buchanan Barnes, then back to his face. The Winter Soldier’s eyes dart, too, over the exits and the crowd and the girl’s distracted mother—attempting to corral three other black-haired children—before landing back on the girl’s face, where an improbable grin has begun to grow.
"I knew it," she whispers.
The Winter Soldier blinks down at her, thrown off by the delight in her expression. No one is ever happy to see the Soldier.
The girl reins in her wide grin and does her own scan of the crowd. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. People can’t handle the truth. But I can.” She turns her shining eyes back to the Soldier.
Slowly, very slowly, the Soldier reaches out with hands that have broken, maimed, strangled, shot, stabbed, and ripped apart human flesh. His voice creaks out of him, rusty with disuse. “Can I have a hair tie?”
Without taking her eyes off him, the girl rolls a light blue one out of the rainbow and hands it over.
I AM REALLY UPSET BECAUSE NOBODY IS KISSING ME OR GOING OUT WITH ME OR CRUSHING ON ME EVERYONE ELSE HAS A PERSON WHERE IS MY PERSON WHY DONT I GET A FRICKIN PERSON