Through a career that has included crotch-grabbing, nudity, BDSM, Marilyn Monroe fetishizing, and a 1992 book devoted to sex, Madonna has been viewed as a feminist provocateur, pushing the boundaries of acceptable femininity. But Beyoncé’s use of her body is criticized as thoughtless and without value beyond male titillation, providing a modern example of the age-old racist juxtaposition of animalistic black sexuality vs. controlled, intentional, and civilized white sexuality.
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The conversation surrounding Beyoncé feels like assessing a prize thoroughbred rather than observing a human woman, and it is dismaying when so-called feminist discourse contributes to that.
there are not enough words for how much I loved this. hnnnnnnggg rhodey you’re so hot when you’re competent and in charge
What’s Your Number + Chris Evans
Tumblr etiquette: when you find something in a tracked tag but saw one of your friends reblogged it as you were scrolling down your dash to where you left off so you wait till you’re caught up with your dash so you can reblog it from them
The sun was low in the sky by the time they arrived back at SHIELD. The city had already begun to transform, slipping from the hard clean lines of daytime into sparkling evening finery.
Rather than the main entrance to the medical wing, Steve walked her around to one of the side doors, where the foot traffic was less frequent. Peggy stood, toying aimlessly with the electronic pass card she’d been issued, and continued to chat with him for almost fifteen minutes.
She could tell by the way he was staring at her mouth that he was thinking along the same lines that she was. And thinking was marvellous, it really was—but it wasn’t quite in the same realm as doing.
“I had a lovely time today, Steve,” she prompted, stepping forward until her toes bumped the caps of his shoes.
He was nodding, a determined set to his square jaw.
“Thank you so much for suggesting it,” she continued, in what she hoped was an encouraging tone.
“I’d like to kiss you now,” he told her earnestly. His “May I?” overlapped with her “Yes, please,” and then he was smiling even as he leaned down.
Their first kiss had been a frantic push, a last-ditch effort to tell him everything she had never been able to put into words. This, now, was Steve’s response: a gentle brush of his lips against hers, a squeeze of her trembling fingers. He kissed her once, softly and slowly; and then again, a quick peck that served to punctuate the statement.
It wasn’t quite the passionate embrace she’d been dreaming about—but then, there was time for that.
Steve said, somewhat incongruously, “Your outfit is nice. Really pretty. I should have mentioned it before now.”
“Better late than never,” Peggy replied, trying not to laugh.
From chapter 4 of Flames We Never Lit by roboticonography.
fine then i will just sit here with a dopey smile on my face for the rest of the day
