#icons jane the virgin

[icardigan]

[iconsfinder]

[your-blorbos-are-queer]

character pride icons pt. 40: misc. tv/movies (again again!) pt. 1

canon queer characters

adam eduardo alvaro (jane the virgin) + petra solano (jtv) - bisexual | luisa alver (jtv) - lesbian

tina tevetino (dirk gently's) + kitty song-covey (xo kitty) - bisexual | yuri han (xo kitty) - lesbian

florian + q (xo kitty) - gay

juliana (xo kitty) - lesbian | denise bryson (twin peaks) - transgender

feel free to use these for any non-commercial purpose, as long as proper credit is given!

if you'd like to see a different combination of character + flag, my ask box is always open for requests

[timingmatters]

Absolutely fuck the teen wolf movie but i just saw a clip of the promo interviews rounds and tyler says he still talks to dylan a lot and they were texting almost daily when the filming started bc dylan wanted to know how it was going AND MY LITTLE HEART IS SO HAPPY???? Ik when Tyler was going thro an addiction they stopped talking and it wasn’t a bad thing. Dylan maybe couldn’t handle it or Tyler push him out or who knows. There wasn’t bad blood i just remember tyler saying they didn’t talk as much really but love was still there. But im so glad they seem to have reconnected and are friends again. I love their friendship so fucking much😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

[screensland]

Jane Villanueva — Jane the Virgin, 2014.

[the-lily-blooms-late]

THE FIRST TIME JANE AND RAFAEL INTERACT ON SCREEN THE LOVE THEME PLAYS AND ITS ALSO THE FIRST TIME WE HEAR THE LOVE THEME IT WAS REALLY ALWAYS RAFAEL FR

And then two seconds later she calls him a jerk

[eyesxxyou]

First Smoke 🚬

💨・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 2.5k

synopsis. you were everything logan shouldn't want. young, religious, and innocent. you were sweet to everyone. and you've never been touched. logan wants to be your first everything.

warnings. age gap relationship (reader is 21, Logan is nearing 50) , religious reader, innocent reader, smoking, shotgunning smoke, dubious consent, dry humping, spanking, a bit of toxic relationship dynamics, logan is not a good person, not edited

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

You’ve always been attracted to Logan Howlett. From his strong build—broad shoulders, the fine lines of veins on his arms—to his carefree disposition. You liked the way he carried himself, confident, lumbering, like his dick was too big between his legs. You especially liked his belts. The thick, worn, leather. The large buckle was always either silver or bronze, engraved with a design.

It was a worldly lust, one you shunned for many years growing up. One you tried to pray away. A test from God to see if you could remain devout. And for a while, you were doing so good. You kept your left for him down, you prayed for the strength to face him everyday.

And then he offered you a drink.

You were back the next day, and the next, and the next. All with the promise of great pleasure and even greater corruption. You prayed every night for forgiveness and went back to commit more sins, more atrocities against your body. You never let Logan take your virginity, but he did penetrate you with his fingers nearly every day. You’ve seen his erect cock, long and thick, 8 to 9 inches of solidity, while he jerked off while fingering you. He came on your belly, just nearly missing your cunt.

You sat like a pretty, little doll in Logan's garage in white stockings with flower designs on them, a white dress dotted in lilacs that went down to your shins, a white cardigan you knitted yourself, and your iconic mary janes heels. You fiddled with the pearl necklace sitting delicately on your collarbones while your heels clicked and your cardigan fell slightly off your shoulder.

Logan was shirtless, the muscles of his sweat covered back flexing as he rummaged through his toolbox. He was beautiful, sun-kissed, pants hanging low on his lips with that thick belt of his. His hair stuck slightly to the nape of his neck.

After a moment, he grunted, closed his toolbox, and reached into his pocket for a lighter while going over to grab a cigar. He placed the thick thing between his lips and flicked his lighter.

“Isn't that dangerous, Mr. Howlett? Lighting a cigar around grease and oil and gasoline?” You ask softly, watching him take a long drag before blowing the smoke. He looked at you with a quirked brow. “Don’t worry about it, doll.” He sat down on an old chair across the garage out of the sun, fingers motioning you over to sit in his lap as you always did. He loved you in his lap, your frame so pretty on top of him, the way you squirm.

Your eyes flickered to the open garage door, rolled up all the way to let the waning sunlight in. “I can't, Mr. Howlett. Someone will see us.” And that someone will recognize you as the pastor’s daughter and inform your father that you were caught in his lap. Canoodling with not only a man, but a man twice your age. He’d never let you out of the house again.

Logan glanced out of the door. “Nah, we’re hidden behind the bike.” A lie that fell too smoothly from his lips. You both were in the corner, in the shade. Eyes would glaze right over your bodies. No one would notice you two unless they were truly taking the time to look. People rarely ever did.

You seemed to calm a little at his words and carefully made your way over to his little corner where he lounged. Logan offered out a hand to keep you steady as you hiked up the skirt of your dress a little and straddled his thighs. You placed your hands on his chest to balance yourself. You liked the hair on his chest that led down his rock solid abdomen. There was a single vein leading down below the belt.

You looked back over your shoulder at the open garage door, eyeing the street as a car passed by. Logan noticed the worry pressing wrinkles to your face, the doubt in your eyes and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him instead of the street. Smoke came out of his nose slightly, “stop worrying.”

He took another long drag of his cigar and watched with amusement as you eyed the thing curiously. “You don't want none of this, baby. It’s too strong for you.” Logan’s hand stroked your thigh through your stockings. Your lips unintentionally formed into a small pout. You were used to being told no in your life, but Logan never did. You liked the freedom that came with being with him, even if that was at the expense of your soul. You were making dealings with the devil.

Logan sucked up smoke into his mouth and grabbed you firmly at the back of the head, pulling you in to press your lips to his. He blew the smoke between your lips and let it fill your mouth and billow down your throat. Breaking away, began to cough into the back of your hand.

“I told you; too strong for a little babydoll like you.”

The taste lingered on your lips and in your mouth, smokey, bitter. How could he possibly enjoy this stuff? He smoked and drank like it was nothing but you had remained abstemious your entire life, you weren't accustomed to the taste yet. More importantly, your lips had tasted his lips. He had so suddenly stolen your first kiss from you.

You whispered to him, “that was my first kiss.”

“Oh baby,” Logan leaned forward, chuckling softly. “That wasn't a kiss. I can show you what a real kiss looks like.” He took his cigar from his mouth, enjoying the way you shuddered as his prickly facial hair brushed against your cheek. He kissed you because he could, because he wanted to, because he knew if he didn't steal your first kiss from your delicate hands, someone else would. He had to take everything from you, be your first everything, possess you wholly.

You were awkward, squirming, unsure of what to do with your mouth, your tongue. Logan held you by the hips, pulling you ever closer, tasting of smoke, whiskey, and bad decisions rolled into one. His tongue pressed to yours, tracing and exploring every crevice of your mouth. He was not gentle with you. You were no child, you could handle it.

Your lips tasted like a medley of fruit from your lip balm and toothpaste. You were fresh, clean, so terribly pure that every lick of his tongue against yours, every orgasm he drew out of you dirtied you in the mud of sin. Your hands were clawing at his shoulders, your hips pressed down into his lap with the help of his hands.

Another car went past and you leaped away from his kiss, panting. “Someone’s going to see us, Mr. Howlett. My father will kill both of us.” Logan didn't seem to care all that much. He pulled the skirt of your dress up and pulled you down until your body pressed flush with his. Your little cunt pressed right to the large buckle of his belt.

He reached between your legs and found a weak spot in your stockings, jabbing his finger through and ripping the lacy fabric through the middle to access your pretty center. You were wearing another pair of cotton panties, white, with a little bow on the front. “Mr. Howlett.” You whined at your ruined article of clothing. You’d never be able to explain it to your parents. “Listen to me. We can't, not here.”

“We'll be fine, doll.” He grunted, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. Logan was so much stronger than you, his hand forcing you to press yourself down onto him, your cotton-covered clit catching along the design of his buckle. You gasped, shuddering, your eyes growing heavy. Your hands on his shoulders, rubbing his chest. You weren't like you were before. Timid. Afraid. You were scandalous in a way you never thought you would be. You took the time to grind your hips against his buckle, finding just the right ridge to play with your clit.

How he's tainted you.

Logan leaned back, smoking with a serene smirk while he watched you take your pleasure against his belt. It was quite the show. Your fingers against his solid chest, your eyes fluttered to a close, the way you humped him almost like a desperate bitch in heat. Dulcet moans passed your lips like a song, silky and sweet with a touch of depravity.

“Oooh– Mr. Howlett~” You liked all the bumps and ridges of the design on his buckle, the way it all tickled your pussy at just the right spots and angles. Logan stroked your hip with his free hand, smoking with his other. You were all whiny and squeaky, already falling apart in his lap. He’s made you something monstrous, disgusting. And you liked it.

You were soaking through your panties. Any other time you would have been humiliated, the sin of your lust. But oh, you were hitting all the right spots and you couldn't hear anything beyond the ringing in your ears. Someone could have walked right into Logan's garage and witnessed you pleasuring yourself on his belt of all things and you would have hardly noticed.

Logan, thoroughly amused, took a long drag from his cigar and blew it into your face. You felt a little hazy, whining a little. “Stop.” He did it again, smiling and chuckling lowly as you squirmed. “I can get the whiskey out again, doll. You seem to enjoy yourself better when you’re drunk.”

You shook your head. “Nuh uh, let me– let me keep going. I'm…enjoying myself– just fine.” You squeaked as you found a little nub to rub your bundle of nerves across. You could feel everything as if you didn't have any panties on at all. Your underwear stuck to your cunt like a second sink, so thin that it might as well not be there in the first place.

You were a sensitive little thing. Getting you to cum was an easy task. A few clicks at your clit, a few dirty words in your ear, and you were melting into a puddle in his lap. This time, you were doing it all by yourself, showing off all you had learned. But there was nothing quite satisfying about that. Logan liked his unwavering control over you.

So as you teetered towards the edge of relief, Logan grunted, “Don't you cum until I tell you to.” There was a warning hidden behind his voice. There would be consequences if you disobeyed. You were used to obeying, you just found a new master to serve. 

You cried softly. “No, no, no, ‘m so close,” you slurred, rutting your hips like a wild animal. Logan tapped his cigar off the side of the chair before placing it back between his lips. “Don't you dare, doll.” It threatened unknown possibilities, an infinity of punishments. “I’ll march you out into the street and finger you in the front yard. Everyone will see you for the slut you are.”

He’d never actually do it. Logan would like to keep the sight of you cumming to himself alone, but the threat was enough to keep you at bay, to keep his firm control over you.

You shook your head wildly, still rubbing and humping, tears pricking your eyes. “No, please–” You wept at the thought of being ousted from your community, disowned by your family, made to be some shameless whore on the street. A man like Logan would never marry you. He'd never make you his wife. He liked playing with the hearts of little girls like you, who didn't know any better.

So you try your best not to cum with tears streaking your face, tears that only make Logan harder. You look so pretty when you cry. Partially from pleasure, partially from fear, maybe some pain. Your legs trembled with the weight of an orgasm denied.

You went like this for 2 orgasms. Your pussy rubbed red and puffy through your panties, a wet patch on the crotch of his pants from your dripping cunt. “I can't! I can't, Mr. Howlett.” You were sobbing hysterically. Your entire body shook violently with your next orgasm that rushed you like a freight train and came with a hot flash throughout your entire body.

Logan watched you cum on his belt, pussy pulsing and rubbing. You almost went cross-eyed, how cute. Your cheeks were dripping wet with salty tears he could just lick right off your face if he so desired. He liked seeing you cry, liked the way you sobbed like you had no sense.

You were panting, aching, nearly fell right off his lap if he didn't catch you. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry. Please don't take me to the yard. My– my family will never look at me the same.” You murmured out your words, still crying like a baby.

“I ain't gonna take you to the yard, doll.” Logan, thoroughly amused by your panic, guided you to lay over his lap with your ass facing the open garage door. “I am gonna give you a spanking though.” He smiled at the whimper you let out; his hand flipping up your skirt to reveal your ripped stockings and soaked through panties.

You were reminded of when you were a little girl, in your father's lap when he would spank you for doing something bad. You wiggled and writhed with anticipation, fingers gripping his thigh. Logan soothed his hand over the soft skin of your ass as he gripped great handfuls of flesh into his palms.

The first one came with a great ring of skin against skin. You yelped, lunging forward. More tears, more childish crying. Logan rubbed the spot where he spanked you to soothe the pain. “Quiet down. You don't want anyone to get curious, do you?” You shook your head with feverish intent. You couldn't have anyone looking this way, watching you get spanked, reporting back to your father.

Logan raised his hand and brought it down against your other asscheek. You bit your lip to stifle the sob that threatened to leave you. You did the same when he spanked you again and again, biting so hard you could taste the metallic beginnings of blood.

In total, Logan spanked you 15 times before he deemed it enough and let you up. You were shaking like a startled dog, your once neat, pinned up hair now ruined, your dress wrinkled, your stockings ripped. You were a beautiful mess. His beautiful mess. He was ruining you.

“Come here, babydoll.” Logan coaxed you towards him as he put out his cigar in the ashtray nearby. He took you by the hips and pulled you back into his lap. You were so small and meek, you didn't even fight.

Logan brushed your hair out of your face, carefully fixing it back up with various bands and clips until it looked reasonably neat again. He was gentle for once, taking your chin in between his fingers, and he kissed you. He was tender with that too, licking the blood from your bottom lip with a smile.

Logan always had a habit of destroying his favorite toys.

[steveyockey]

While some of both Davis and Crawford’s work could arguably be described as camp (for the former, King Vidor’s Beyond the Forest; for the latter, later-era films such as Strait-Jacket and aspects of the wondrous Nicholas Ray film Johnny Guitar), that their entire careers and places within film history are defined as such does a disservice to their artistry. But they aren’t alone in representing what has become a troubling trend when it comes to women’s work. As camp entered the mainstream lexicon, especially after Susan Sontag’s landmark 1964 essay, “Notes on ‘Camp,’” the term has been increasingly tied to work featuring women who disregard societal norms. Camp is often improperly and broadly applied to pop culture that features highly emotional, bold, complex, cold, and so-called “unlikable” female characters. I’ve seen films and TV shows such as the witty masterwork All About Eve; the beguiling Mulholland Drive; the stylized yet heartwarming Jane the Virgin; Todd Haynes’s Patricia Highsmith adaptation Carol; the blistering biopic Jackie; the deliciously malevolent horror film Black Swan; Joss Whedon’s exploration of girlhood and horror, Buffy the Vampire Slayer; the landmark documentary Grey Gardens (which inspired the 2009 HBO film starring Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore); and even icons such as Beyoncé and Rihanna be described as camp. Look at any list of the best camp films and you’ll see an overwhelming number of works that feature women and don’t actually fit the label. Usually, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, the film whose behind-the-scenes story provides Murphy’s launching pad for Feud, will be at the top of the list.

While camp need not be a pejorative, that hasn’t stopped it from being widely used as such. In effect, being labeled as camp can turn the boldest works about the interior lives of complex women into a curiosity, a joke, a punch line. The ease with which camp is applied to female-led films and shows of this ilk demonstrates that for all the (still-paltry) gains Hollywood has made for women in the decades since Davis and Crawford worked, our culture is still uncomfortable respecting women’s stories.

That major Hollywood icons such as Marlene Dietrich, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford (and, more recently, Natalie Portman, thanks to Jackie) have been roped into this lineage isn’t surprising. Society doesn’t know what to do with women of this ilk without discrediting their very womanhood. Take artist and filmmaker Bruce LaBruce’s offensive description of Mae West in an essay on camp: “[She] played with androgyny to the degree that her final performance — her autopsy — was necessary to prove her biological femaleness.” In his 2013 essay “Why Is Camp So Obsessed with Women?”, J. Bryan Lowder expands on Sontag’s most well-known line: “It’s not a lamp, but a ‘lamp’; not a woman, but a ‘woman.’ To perceive Camp in objects and persons is to understand Being-as-Playing-a-Role.” Lowder writes, “‘Woman,’ the concept within the quotation marks, is not the same thing, at all, as a real woman; the former is a mythology, a style, a set of conventions, taboos, and references, while the latter is a shifting, changeable, and ultimately indefinable living being. Of course, there may be some overlap.” But if all gender is a performance, where does the “real” woman begin? And why does the presence of camp hold more importance than the actual work and voices of actresses such as Crawford, who have come to be defined by it?

At times, camp can feel like a suffocating label. Its proponents often misconstrue the fact that recreating oneself as a character is not merely an aesthetic for women, but rather, for many, a matter of survival. Living in a culture that profoundly scorns ambition, autonomy, and independence in women, girls learn quickly the narrow parameters of femininity available to them. When they transcend these parameters, life can get even more difficult. Women often pick up and drop various forms of presentation in order to move through the world more easily. Performance as a woman — in terms of how one speaks, walks, talks, acts — can be a means of controlling one’s own narrative. Camp often limits this part of the discussion, focusing instead on the sheer thrill of watching larger-than-life female characters cut and snark their way across the screen. How these works speak to women, past and present, becomes a tertiary concern at best, and the work loses a bit of its importance in the process; it either comes to be regarded as niche or, if it still has mainstream prominence, as abject spectacle. In turn, the conversations around these works become less about the women at their centers and more about how those women are presented.

Much of Baby Jane’s camp legacy comes down to how more recent audiences have interpreted Davis’s performance. She’s ferocious, frightening, and grotesque. But framing Davis’s performance as camp, as Murphy does, doesn’t take into account how dramatically acting has shifted over the course of film history. In some ways, camp has become a label used when modern audiences don’t quite understand older styles of acting. Modern actors privilege the remote, the cold, the detached. The more scenery-chewing performances that make the labor of acting visible — such as the transformative work that Jake Gyllenhaal did in Nightcrawler, or most of Christian Bale’s career — is typically the domain of men. (Or, at least, it’s only men who can get away with it without being called campy.) As Shonni Enelow writes in a marvelous piece for Film Comment, “[Jennifer] Lawrence’s characters in Winter’s Bone and The Hunger Games don’t arrive at emotional release or revelation; rather than fight to express themselves, her characters fight not to. We can see the same kind of emotional retrenchment and wariness in a number of performances by the most popular young actors of the last several years.” Davis’s work as an actor was the antithesis of that; she painted in bold colors. Even her quietest moments brim with an intensity that cannot be denied.

[medievalanchoress]

Hi, if you ever feel up to it, I'd love to see a books recs post from you! ✨️

without ruminating too much on it, off the top of my head, my top five authors are:

-Virginia Woolf (The Waves, Mrs. Dalloway, To the Lighthouse, Orlando). if you’re having trouble getting into her work, begin with A Room of One’s Own.

-Marcel Proust (Swann’s Way, In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower, The Guermantes Way). an absolute must-read at some point in one’s life and i hope to one day reread the first four volumes of La Recherche and make it to the seventh!

-Elena Ferrante (The Neapolitan Quartet, The Days of Abandonment). if you enjoyed My Brilliant Friend (or even the tv series), i’d highly recommend reading her collection of essays, Frantumaglia, too.

-Vladimir Nabokov (Pnin, Pale Fire, Lolita, Invitation to a Beheading; Speak, Memory).

-Marilynne Robinson (Housekeeping, Home, Lila, Gilead). an American author who writes in spare, beautiful prose with a theological underpinning; the first book here broke my heart while the last three books listed form a trio of sorts, an expanded rumination on the Parable of the Prodigal Son. 

beyond the above list, many of my favorite books from high school still feel fresh: Sula by Toni Morrison, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Hemmingway’s A Moveable Feast, as well as the iconic sad girl books that i think are damn well-written: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath & The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides. 

my favorite classics include Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, My Ántonia by Willa Cather, Kafka's selected short stories, Aeschylus' Oresteia, and, of course, Homer's Iliad + Odyssey (trans. by Fagles). i’m not super up to date on contemporary novelists but i like include John Banville (The Sea), Michale Ondaatje (The English Patient, Cat's Table), and Donna Tart (for her fashion sense, reclusive lifestyle, and The Goldfinch & The Secret History obviously). Rachel Cusk's work is also dryly witty and good. finally, i have a soft spot for well-written memoir; it's a genre that gets put down sometimes but Lit by Mary Karr, Firebird by Mark Doty, and Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson (btw i highly recommend her fiction too) saved my life in small but meaningful ways. 

well, this answer is itself fast approaching a novel, so i will end by saying, if anyone would like a book rec, tell me a few books you like or what you’re in the mood for and i’ll try to come up with a reply. 😌

xxx Ana 💫

[girlstalkmichael]

Some green flag characters in tv shows/movies in no particular order

Part 1

Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf)

Loyal till the very end

Funny

Carries the whole show on his back

His bromance with Scott is ICONIC (literally the no. 1 bromance in teen dramas)

Do I need to say more

Jake Peralta (Brooklyn Nine Nine)

Husband material right there like his love for Amy is the healthiest out of this world love

Immaculate sense of humor

Amazing in his job

Peeta Mellark (The Hunger Games)

A literal cinnamon roll

Took a beating from his mum to give Katniss a loaf of bread so she won't die of starvation. Selfless king

Michael Cordero Jr (Jane The Virgin)

Husband material alongside my man Jake Peralta

Supportive af

Loves Matteo like he is his own kid

Literally besties with his wife's dad (aka drama king Rogelio De La Vega)

Loyal and as you know loyalty is super sexy

Manuel Gutiérrez (Bia)

His romance with Bia is the healthiest non toxic romance in DCLA main ships

Supportive

Nice & kind

So sweet

He can sing and play piano (his voice is sooo good)

Símon Álvarez (Soy Luna)

Sees the best in others (aka his whole relationship with Ambar)

Will do anything for his friends (literally traveled from Mexico to Argentina on his own to be with Luna)

Can sing and play guitar AND roller skate (like what can't he do)

Wrote bops like Eres & Valiente

Gaston Perida (Soy Luna)

He's a super nice jock

Always tries to knock some sense into Matteo (just really his bromance with Matteo)

Super supportive of Nina/Felicity and her boundaries (like when she asked him to dance with her blindfolded as she was not ready to reveal herself to him yet and he accepted)

Federico Paccini (Violetta)

Always there for Ludmila and helped her through all her mother's abuse

Really nice and cute

Has the voice of an angel

Sarcastic and funny

My first childhood crush (and better believe I'm not over him yet)

Dustin Henderson (Stranger Things)

The cutest human being to ever exist

The smartest person in the whole of Hawkins

Super funny

His bromance with Steve & Eddie is brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, complety never been done before

Has the cutest laugh ever

[sovaghoul]

Know Your Bisexual History Spooky Edition: Mary Shelley was just 20 years old when dared by her good friend Lord Byron, wrote her literary masterpiece "Frankenstein", it remains a work of genius that can still horrify readers with the depths of man’s depravity and pursuit of knowledge at all costs. It is also a novel that places love, and the desire for love in its absence, at the heart of life. For this, and many other reasons, Shelley has become an idol for those whose souls search for belonging in dark times.

After all, this is the woman said to have married her lover, Percy Bysshe Shelley, after losing her virginity to him at the graveside of her mother. And then, after he drowned in a storm in 1822, carried his calcified heart – the only thing to survive his cremation – with her, wrapped in a silk shroud, until her death in 1851. (It was found in her desk, wrapped in the pages of one of his last poems.)

Shelley was bisexual. Writing to her close friend Edward Trelawny in 1835, Shelley recalled the years of loneliness and longing that followed Percy’s death, saying: “I was so ready to give myself away – and being afraid of men, I was apt to get tousy-mousy for women.” Jonathon Green, one of the most important historical lexicographers, was able to tell that “tuzzy-muzzy” as slang for the vagina dates back to 1642. There are also stories of Shelley having a love affair with Jane Williams not long after Percy’s death. She was also instrumental in procuring fake passports for two friends, Isabel Robinson and Mary Diana Dods, to flee to Paris and live there disguised as man and wife.

Acknowledging Shelley’s sexuality is very important for bi-visibility, something we still struggle with. But bi-history is everywhere, and now it has the gothic mother of science fiction icon herself. Long may she reign.

Source

[mustakrakisch]

Lucky Luke: Swiss Bliss

Sooooooo, I finally got my hands on König's one album of Lucky Luke, you know, the gay one, and I fucking love it. Like, the names of the character and places, the innuendos, everything!

-the main characters: Bud and Terrence (totally not Bud SPencer and Terrence Hill references)

-The only city ever named in the whole thing is Straight Gulch and everyone (except for the straights) hates this place lol

-Calamity Jane is a lesbian with a native american girlfriend named Sitting Butch

Just look at her and her fancy horse!

-some spice in there for good measure (good thing I was reading this on public transport lol)

Terrence: We're not going to do this Bud:.... proposition: we ARE going to do this, just once, just to know how it is.

-Lucky Luke being an ace icon by chilling with Bud and some herd of cattle on Bareback Mountain for several days just listening to Bud's relationship problems with Terrence

-Jane greeting Luke like "Hey bro, still a virgin?" and it's so fucking funny

-also

Jane about to get her pussy eaten like she should

tldr; Lucky Luke-Swiss Bliss is queer media that healed my soul, but I should not have read it on public transport.

[heavenboy09]

Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To You

The Lovely & Amazing Puerto Rican👩🏽 🇵🇷🧡 Actress Of The Hit CW TV Show Of 2014 to 2019

Rodriguez was born on July 30, 1984 in Chicago, Illinois, the youngest daughter of Puerto Rican parents, Magali and Gino Rodriguez.

She is an American actress. She is known for her leading role as Jane Villanueva in The CW satirical romantic dramedy series Jane the Virgin (2014–2019), for which she received a Golden Globe Award in 2015.

Born and raised in Chicago, Rodriguez began her career in 2003 in theater productions and made her screen debut in an episode of the police procedural drama series Law & Order. Her breakthrough came in 2012, in the independent musical-drama film Filly Brown. She has gone on to star in such films as Deepwater Horizon (2016), Ferdinand (2017), Annihilation (2018), Miss Bala (2019), Someone Great (2019), Scoob! (2020), Awake (2021), I Want You Back (2022), and Spy Kids: Armageddon (2023). She voiced the titular character of the Netflix animated action-adventure series Carmen Sandiego (2019–21) and starred and executive produced the Disney+ comedy-drama series Diary of a Future President (2020–21). In 2023, Rodriguez began starring in and executive producing the ABC comedy series, Not Dead Yet.

Please Wish This Iconic & Naturally Down To Earth 🌎 Latina Actress Of The CW & More

A Very Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

You Seen Her On The CW

You Loved Her As A Particularly Loveable Virgin / Mother For 5 Years On TV & Became A International Female Spy 🕵🏽‍♀️ Based On A Old 90's Classic Cartoon

& She keeps getting better in every movie 🎥 and TV show she keeps getting into

Ms. Gina Alexis Rodriguez👩🏽🇵🇷🧡 Aka Jane The Virgin Of The CW & Netflix's Carmen Sandiego

Happy 40th Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To You Ms. Rodriguez👩🏽🇵🇷🧡 & Here's To Many More Years To Come

#GinaRodriguez #JaneTheVirgin #CarmenSanDiego

[secondaryartifacts]

In a conversation with EW, former Bond girl Jane Seymour revealed the unexpected backstory behind a famous promotional image from the 1973 James Bond film Live and Let Die, featuring herself and Geoffrey Holder on a beach. Contrary to popular belief, this photograph had nothing to do with the actual movie scenes.

Reflecting on her career, Seymour shared that her journey to becoming a Bond girl was as surprising to her as anyone. Initially a ballerina in London, she transitioned into acting with her debut in Richard Attenborough's 1969 film, Oh! What a Lovely War. Subsequent roles in The Strauss Family and The Onedin Line set the stage for her unexpected casting as Solitaire, the High Priestess of Tarot, in Live and Let Die.

"I was the only woman on the planet that was not trying to be a Bond girl, literally," she said. "That was not the trajectory I was looking for. I was going to go and do Shakespeare and Ibsen and all the classics. They were looking for a virgin to play the High Priestess of Tarot, and I was playing a virgin on television [on Onedin], so I'm assuming they thought I had some memory of that experience. I just remember Roger Moore was lovely. He realized I was so green and didn't know what was going on. I took the whole thing terribly seriously, like it was a major acting role — and they were probably more concerned about how I looked and how my figure was."

Describing her experience on the set of Live and Let Die, Seymour reminisced about the lavish locations and elaborate costumes. However, she found the most joy in her interactions with Geoffrey Holder, who played the menacing Baron Samedi. Holder, a gifted choreographer, was often rehearsing the film's elaborate voodoo dance sequences, and Seymour, drawn to her dance roots, frequently joined him.

"So whenever I wasn't on one set, I ran over to the other [stage] and joined in the dance. I always felt much more comfortable dancing than I did acting, so it was a perfect combination for me. I'd sort of run off. They'd say, 'Where's Jane?' And someone would say, 'Oh, she's off rehearsing with the voodoo guys.'"

It was during this downtime with Holder that the iconic image was captured. "One day, we went down to the beach in our costumes and we did a sort of dance kind of improvisation on the beach. Someone took photographs of it, and that ended up on all the posters," she says. "It had nothing to do with the movie at all. It was just Geoffrey and I dancing in our costumes."

📷: EVERETT COLLECTION

[gayest-classiclit]

ROUND 1; classic literature adaptation bracket

CLUELESS:

based on: emma, jane austen medium: movie propaganda: 'Both are true classics in their own rights' 'cher fashionista and matchmaker of all time! also a virgin who can't drive!' 'ugh, as if!'

THE LION KING:

based on: hamlet, william shakespeare medium: movie propaganda: 'disney really said hamlet but make it lion musical. and it was iconic'