#spanish ballet dancers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

steve-hen-grant · 2 months

Text

Pas de deux (Jake Lockley x reader ) 🌙🩰

A/N: So! Kinda my first fic? Trying to exercise my writing skills. (You won’t believe how many times I had to just write “excersize” for autocorrect to save me.) So I hope y’all can enjoy the product of my practice!

In a previous post, I mentioned Jake crying while watching ballet. But what I meant to say was I had already developed a fic to this very concept. Needed the confidence to post it- which the reception to the first post got! It said Swan Lake, but for the plot’s conflict it’s Nutcracker.

Warnings: Fluff, mild comfort, reference to MK lore but you can pretend it isn’t, reference to Tchaikovsky mourning his sister, No use of Y/N, may be read as the POV of Layla, or yourself, mentions of Marc and Steven, no direct use of Spanish but reference to Jake speaking it, Reader may or may not know Spanish, it’s ambiguous this way for a self insert!, and again, my first full fan fiction. That is a warning. Surprisingly unserious. implied that narrator and the moon guys are visiting the US for this show.

Gender Neutral reader, but with uncomfortable formal shoes because they plague us all no matter

Word count: the word counter website broke so let me know when you get down there kk

You and Jake go to the Opera house in downtown Chicago. However, the loyal servant of the Moon God reacts unexpectedly…

Hours earlier, Jake struggled with his tie while I mulled over walking into the opera house together. His dark mustache furled as I helped arrange the black fabric and romanticized the pair of us strolling down the Chicago street: dressed to the nines, my arm in his, with the Christmas lights illuminating our path to the theater. Jake refused, mumbling something about how he didn’t want to make me walk longer in formal shoes than I had to. Knowing how I wouldn’t say anything, refusing to complain or burden the evening, until my Achilles tendons were shot by the time we got back to the hotel.

Among the three of them, Jake’s love language was having foresight to make life as accommodated and comfortable. But he forgets that he has a place in it.

Right now, in the brisk December evening, I trotted towards the warmly lit-refuge of the Civic Opera House. Jake dropped me off directly in front, rolling away to park his sleek Rolls Royce Phantom somewhere secure.

The exterior was like that of most concrete high-riser buildings. Though at ground level, in stark contrast, a sculpted arc entrance stood on the corner of the street. A light snow casted over the figures shaped into the stone. Tall preview posters displayed the principal dancer for the evening: the sugar plum fairy.

My pace towards the ticket booth was quick in the biting cold. The Opera house clerk smiled.

“Reservations under… Spector?”

“No- wait, yes. Yes.”

At my hesitation, I was rightfully earned a disconcerted expression. Marc must have booked the tickets. Before the words left her mouth, Jake appeared to save the day. Showing his- or Marc’s- ID. The clerk was satisfied and gave us two red tickets for entree. Jake took my arm in his, like a Highschool couple in a 50s movie. Between the regal opera house, the way he supports my arm, and opens the car door- truly old fashioned.

“Thanks, Marc,” I teased. He nudged me with his arm.

“Oh please, he made Steven book them,” Jake took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. We handed our tickets off, and at last, we were on our way through marble floors and high ceilings to find seating.

Maybe that’s why we both enjoyed viewings in this specific opera house. It was completed in 1929, yet shined as brightly as ever. Velvet red fabrics and amber blown lights. If you weren’t careful, you could become easily motivated to write a romanticized novel.

In a world of my own, I don’t notice Jake looking over my face. But he wasn’t appreciating the interior of the architecture. Maybe the exterior of me.

Some hors d’oeuvres later, we situated in a balcony, closest to the stage. Jake insisted this would be ‘the best spot in the house’. From the balcony overview, patterns in the snow droplet’s sequence could be figured into the shape of snowflakes. Once again, Jake’s love language would make the evening special, by meticulous design. Jake’s prior knowledge of ballet was limited, yet his relationship to the music goes back.

No one would assume that, from what meets the eye. Even if you knew of his nightly servitude to Khonshu- there was less reason to believe he keeps a special mix of Tchaikovsky’s Greatest in his car’s dash. His work isn’t easy, and who doesn’t wind down to music? An avatar to the god of the moon is no exception.

Live orchestra has become a small thing for us. One that Marc chuffs at and Steven… would probably like to be apart of.

The elevated booth was tailored to the best view possible of the tilted stage. Below, forms of people moved to their seats, shed overcoats, and checked the time. Soon, the red curtains would pull apart to reveal the iconic home of the Stahlbaum’s, and delicate Clara center stage. It was a matter of time, and based on Jake’s mild leg bounce, not soon enough. I place a hand over his palm, steadying his nervous habit to a somber sway.

INTERMISSION

We returned to our secluded seats from the main area. Maybe or maybe not, pocketing some cheese squares and fancy crackers in napkins. Jake put his arm over the back of my seat and smirked, “You think I could do that?”

“Do what?”

“The dancing,” He grinned like a ferret. I pause for a moment to process the idea literally. You know what? Maybe. I’ve stayed in the car while Marc or Steven took care of their missions. From what I’ve seen, Moonknight is pretty agile. Mr. Knight is comparably a Gymnast. Making- often unnecessary- flips and turns over bullets and blades.

“Try asking Khonshu when you can take classes- conveniently between delivering justice.”

To which, Jake snickers. He takes his contraband-horderve from the lobby and speaks, “Oh yeah, it will happen. I’ll just borrow Steven’s tutu.” Jake looks aloft and grins, for a moment, it’s like I can hear his alter too.

“THOSE CLASSES WERE A ONE-OFF TIME!”

The second act. Clara and the Nutcracker prince have crossed the forest into a world of her childlike creation. Her and the prince are welcomed by flowers, candy, and snow. It seems like the defeat of the rat king would be the last of the room’s worries. Except for me.

Nearing a majestic finale, the nutcracker prince shares a dance with her majesty, the sugar plum fairy. He takes her hand and holds it, as her powder pink leg ascends. But this isn’t what Jake is thinking about. His eyes are hardly on the scene below, but he is paying attention to the music. The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux. He holds his breath for a moment. A small gesture I might have missed if he didn’t drop my hand when he does so. I glanced at him, not wanting to disturb his fixation to the show.

And maybe I didn’t want to disturb the way his locks messily fell on his forehead and ears. He’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t wear his hat into the event. But by removing it, the bunched hair underneath fell loosely. Marc and Steven were supposedly relentless about on the way downtown, if his passive looks to the rear view mirror meant anything.

Does a family of birds live in your hat, mate?

Cmon, Jake, everytime I get the body I have to run a comb through it.

After Jake lowered his hands from applause, he took mine in his again. As if he six whole minutes without it was too much. I press my thumb into his knuckles. He pulls my hand closer to him, holding it totally casually to his heart.

The Finale had wrapped up in a roar of an audience. The evening’s dancers made their bows and the orchestra had begun to pack up their bows and sheet music. Neither me nor Jake were one for crowds, but fortunately, the box seats were close enough to a flight of stairs that crew members likely took. We stood and peeked down the flight that turned around the ivory painted walls.

Jake held my arm and smirked, “Do you want to take a shortcut?”

I gave him a puzzled look. “That way? Are you sure there is an exit? We might get a meet and greet with the rat king,” I half-joke. Jake grins and his eyes light up at that risk.

My eyes narrow,

“You want to meet the rat king don’t y-“

“Yes.”

It’s Christmas. Might as well give Jake the gift of following through one of his mischievous schemes- together. Jake is laughing and throughly unserious as we move closer to the landing of the stairwell. I slide my hand down the glossy railing, “If we find this rat thing-“

“When. When we find the rat thing,” Jake interrupts.

I pause and continue, “Yes, my apologies. When we find the rat, are you going to valiantly slay it, and save me?”

Jake thinks for a moment, stopping on the stairs. He responds, “I’ve fought weirder.” I nod agreeably as we continue hand in hand. But he mumbled something I couldn’t hear, perhaps some Spanish intonations, but too low to react to.

But I had a pretty good idea what he meant to say out loud. Jake will show his affection in careful planning, a car ride anywhere, but not typically his words. In those tender instances where he has to resort to sweet nothings, he expresses it in Spanish. The words flow so naturally that they aren’t being filtered by a process of translation. Just his feelings, as they are.

I smile, and pull him into my arm tighter. It was more than likely he was protectively, lovingly ranting about how well he would protect me. How he would welcome the chance to prove it. In the dimly lit corridor we found ourselves in, we located an exit door and push it. I recall the December air and hold his arm closer.

Jake holds up his keys and presses down on his buttons. Immediately after leaving the back door, we are greeted by the flashing headlights of his car in a neighboring lot. Jake looks at my face of surprise and laughs, “You thought I was going to let you walk so far in those shoes?”

While in the car, on the way back to the flat, Swan Lake plays over the radio. I clutch my coat in the warm embrace of the car’s heating system. Jake is tapping his finger along while letting cars through, but he stops as the piece ends and the next begins. The Pas de deux. This time, I don’t miss my chance to ask. My hand grazes his leather coated arm, “You alright?” Jake keeps a deadpan look through the droplets on the windshield, blinking several times. I lean in a touch closer, “Jake?”

“Uhm, I just read where, you know, what’s-his-face, wrote this piece for his sister who passed. It uhm…” Jake, agitated by the way his mouth wants to curl into a grimace in front of me, lays his arm down in a finalizing gesture. He was done talking about it, not without losing clear vision while driving. I hold his gloved hand, and without thinking, hold it to his chest. His shoulders finally lowered. The light turned green. The music filling the gentle silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌙~~~~~~~~~~~~

#moon knight #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockely x reader #fluff #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader

89 notes · View notes

daydreaming-en-pointe · 2 months

Text

the swan and her princess (part 2)

summary: Swan Lake isn’t all beauty and grace, contrary to popular belief. And you experience firsthand that as you wage a one-sided war with your “rival” for the role of Odette.

chapter summary: A pleasant surprise turns out to be possibly not so pleasant after all.

pairing: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Woman) x fem!Ballerina!Reader [aka some sort of a messy Ballet!AU]

word count: 2695

warnings: cussing, ballet terms, creative liberties taken since I’ve never been to Lincoln Center and the research I’ve done may or may not be fully accurate

a/n: :D got a little carried away with this one whoops doing this is much harder than i expected this au is taking up my entire brain pls help

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 (pending)

glossary:

Barre: A handrail used by ballet dancers to maintain balance while exercising. One hand is placed on the barre at all times, and the dancer stands beside it.

Kitri: The feisty and wilful heroine of the ballet Don Quixote. When her father Lorenzo tries to marry her off for money, she doesn’t play the victim, but hatches a plan to marry Basilio, the charming barber who has won her heart, and pursue her own version of happiness. As a dancer’s role, Kitri is athletic and demanding. Kitri wears striking red costumes (look them up, they’re really beautiful) and gestures expressively with a fan in a nod to her Spanish heritage.

Don Quixote: Don Quixote is a ballet in three acts, based on episodes taken from the famous novel Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes.

Kurta: A loose collarless shirt/dress of a type worn by people in South Asia, usually with a salwar, churidars, or pyjama.

Dupatta: A length of material arranged in two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez. Usually worn by women from South Asia.

Right after you set foot in the studio and dropped your bag in the corner, you made a beeline for the cacophonous, eagerly buzzing crowd that had formed around the cast list.

You saw a familiar duffel bag and raised your eyebrows slightly. Surprisingly, Gwen had showed up on time. Miracles really did exist.

Murmurs of disappointment and cheers of satisfaction rippled through the dancers in the room as they dispersed one by one, either wearing an expression of genuine excitement or a mask of disguised regret that they hadn’t tried harder or trained longer.

You pushed your way to the front, your eyes immediately darting to the name next to Odette. Your heart sank as you traced over the curly loops and sharper lines of the handwritten letters.

White Swan/Princess Odette : Patricia Roberts.

Pat…?

Sure, she was good, but she was always a little bit too fast for the pieces. She was brilliant at lightning-quick steps in speedy variations, but couldn’t ‘dance like a flowy fairy’, as your ballet teacher said, to save her life.

And the White Swan was all about being slow and sad and graceful.

Your eyes travelled further down the list, going through the roles of Odile, the cygnets, the general swans, and the royals. Each time, you were disappointed. By the time you reached the end of the list, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit anxious. Your name just… wasn’t there.

You were a part of this, right?

The entire class was taking part in this production. It wouldn’t make any sense for you to not be there. Even if it was just as a regular background swan.

“Can’t find your name either, huh?”

You hadn’t noticed that everyone else had broken off into excitedly chattering groups to start warming up and take their places at the barre, leaving only you and Gwen standing and craning your necks up at the piece of paper that seemed to decide your fate in the studio for the next few months.

You shook your head no, earning a sigh from Gwen that lasted longer than it probably should have.

“Well, we could ask Miss Walker, but she’s not here yet. So…” She shifted awkwardly beside you. You tried to observe her from your peripheral vision without being too obvious. She sounded… tired. Exhausted, really, like she hadn’t slept in a few days and then had to run a marathon around the city. She had done a pretty shoddy job of concealing the heavy dark circles under her eyes — which truly was saying something, because her makeup was usually immaculate.

Fuck. You couldn’t believe it, but for a moment you almost felt sorry for her. Well, maybe not just almost.

“Hey, uh… you good?” You winced at your attempt at a nonchalant tone. Gwen turned to look at you like you had sprouted a third head, slight confusion reflecting in her eyes.

You had never noticed them before, but she had nice eyes, honestly. The expressive kind that could show every little shift in her emotions if she didn’t hide it. And right now she looked like she was about to grin or crack a joke, so you fixed a scowl on your face to ward off any amusing thing she might have been gearing up to say.

The smile in her eyes faded.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Time to poke the bee’s nest. “You don’t sound—”

You were cut off as the studio doors flew open, and Miss Walker, looking extremely hassled, practically sprinted in. Random strands of hair poked out of her unusually-untidy bun, and her glasses were perched precariously on the tip of her nose. She held her phone in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Class, pointes on and everyone to the barre right now, please! Finish your second warmup, I’ll be right with you. Gwendolyn, Y/N, may I have a word with the two of you?”

We’re in trouble, mouthed Gwen with a comically scared, wide-eyed, completely exaggerated expression that was very childish and definitely should not have made you want to laugh. You bit the inside of your cheek to clamp down on your smile.

Your ballet teacher led you both over to a corner of the studio, adjusting her glasses right as they were about to fall off. “Okay, so I have some very good news for both of you. You might have noticed that your names weren’t on the final cast list at all, correct?”

You both nodded.

“As it turns out, you’ve been selected by the School of American Ballet to feature in New York City Ballet’s version of Swan Lake! And not selected for just any role — you girls are playing both Swans!”

The words took a few seconds to register in your mind. The sheer improbability of it all was phenomenal — two mere teenagers chosen to perform by the most prestigious ballet company in the world, to dance alongside some of the best professional ballerinas-in-the-making? This was a dream come true; was any of this real?

“You’re joking,” you heard Gwen say beside you. You felt like you were about to lift off and float all the way to the sky when your teacher just gave a broad, proud smile.

Everything after that was surrounded by a hazy glow of euphoric shock — blurred by excitement and lightheadedness and disbelief. You might’ve blacked out at one point, bracing yourself against the wall while you waited for your vision to clear.

Gwen suddenly narrowed her eyes in a wince, squinting as if she had a headache. “I’m so sorry, I have to go,” She mumbled hastily, before grabbing her bag and slipping out of the studio. And just like that, she was gone. Again.

You and Miss Walker exchanged a look of slight confusion, but she shrugged. “Well, you’re dismissed for today, Y/N. They’re expecting you tomorrow. You know where the company is, right?”

“Yes, miss.” Of course you did, which ballerina didn’t? Of all the best aspiring ballet dancers’ dream companies, New York City Ballet was right up there with The Royal Ballet in London, Paris Opera Ballet in France, and the Australian Ballet in Melbourne. In other words: this was a giant fucking deal and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You’d have to be beyond idiotic to blow it off.

You arrived at Lincoln Center (which housed the New York City Ballet), fresh-faced and a few minutes early. Well, maybe not so fresh-faced, since you could barely sleep because of nerves. Throughout the night, what felt like a million thoughts that were all variations of what if I’m not good enough? and maybe I’m not cut out for this plagued you well into the early hours of the morning.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Gwen, looking annoyingly (and most probably effortlessly) put-together and honestly quite fashionable. Did she have to have such perfect eyeliner? Even her hair tips seemed pinker than usual.

“Wow, you’re early for once,” You tried to load snark into your tone but failed miserably, earning you an insufferably relaxed chuckle from Gwen.

You shook your head and focused on trying to find the ballet company’s actual studio. Lincoln Center was comprised of a complex of buildings in a giant neighbourhood that you had never been in before, and the David H. Koch Theater which housed the New York City Ballet was just one of those many buildings spread over 16.3 acres.

You were lucky you two had arrived early, because it took you ten whole minutes trying to find the theater - because, as it turns out, you and Gwen had entered from a separate entrance from the main one. Finally you entered the studio, and for a while the only sounds were that of your shoes squeaking on the shiny wooden floors.

Something that struck you was just how big everything about it was.

The light fixtures that lined the walls cast yellow light all along the hallway, illuminating everything with a soft glow the colour of honeyed amber. Just walking that corridor made you feel like you were approaching a royal ballroom, floating around in a gown that could put Kitri’s costume from Don Quixote to shame.

You finally saw the door to the studio. Someone was waiting outside — a man in an all-black suit with close-cropped black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His face broke into a smile as he saw you and Gwen, and without waiting for you to fully make it to the door, he strode forward and clasped your hand.

“Welcome to New York City Ballet! I’m Carlos, the resident choreographer of this company. We’ve been expecting you! Your teacher has informed you of the production we are working on, yes?” He rattled all of this off at full speed in clipped, staccato pronunciations, so fast that it took you a second to register what he was saying.

“Swan Lake, right?” Gwen answered for you.

“Yes, yes. I assume you both know the combinations for both swans?” You nodded maybe a little too eagerly, eliciting a subtle eyebrow-raise from Carlos. “Very good. Come, I will introduce you to Shaoni. She is our support staff, and a former ballet mistress. She taught many young dancers who went on to become famous prima ballerinas. Don’t take her words too seriously; her bark is worse than her bite.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile and pushed open the double doors. Immediately the first thing you saw was a woman wearing a blue kurta with a gold-trimmed dupatta, her dark hair pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck. The thing that stood out most about her was her highly displeased scowl that had her looking like someone had insulted her entire bloodline three times over, spat in her face and then wrecked her favourite tutu.

Forget a simple resting bitch face, this was a prime, next-level display of an I’m-done-with-this-shit-and-I-need-a-vacation expression.

“Good morning, girls. My name is Shaoni Lahiri, you will address me as Miss Lahiri. You’re a bit early; please begin your warmup while we wait for the others. Also, our artistic director wanted to talk to you about your first day, so once he arrives meet him in his office.” Miss Lahiri had just finished her introductory monologue when her phone buzzed in her pocket with a notification.

Her eyes swiped over the lockscreen for a brief second before she tucked it away again, and you could’ve sworn you saw her roll her eyes slightly when she saw the name of the messager. “Mr. Osborn will see you now. The door to his office is in the far left corner of the studio. Try not to get lost, will you?” Even her sarcasm sounded effortlessly annoyed beyond relief.

And just like that, she abandoned you and went over to compare choreography notes with Carlos.

You turned and followed her directions, noticing a polished wooden door near the end wall of the studio. “Hey, wait for me!” Gwen had been busy gawking at the studio and, really, you couldn’t quite blame her. It truly was something else compared to the much smaller one you were used to.

You knocked once and pushed open the door once you heard a voice call out, “Come in!”

The moment the door swung open, you were immediately blinded by the brightest white light you had ever seen. The entire office looked like it had been bleached to within an inch of its life; there were no specks of dust to be seen and everything was neatly arranged in cupboards and on shelves.

“Oh, hello there!” Once your eyes had readjusted, you noticed a man with greying red-brown hair in a crisp suit with a green pinstripe jacket, an orange vest, and black pants. He sat with his hands clasped neatly on the lacquered teakwood desk in front of him, wearing a polite smile.

“You must be the new arrivals, yes? Let’s see, what are your names…” He opened a folder that had been pushed to one side of the desk, flicking through pages. “Gwen Stacy and Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes, that’s us,” You answered quickly, feeling slightly giddy with excitement as the truth sunk in properly. This wasn’t a dream, you had really been selected by the fucking New York City Ballet. You would be working alongside some of the best ballet dancers in the area. Better yet, you had more than a fair chance at dancing Odette. Of course, so did Gwen, but you were obviously the better choice… it wasn’t personal, really, just that she barely attended a full class and therefore should probably dance Odile instead.

“Excellent, excellent. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Norman Osborn, the artistic director of this company.” He stood up and shook your hand. He smiled at Gwen, but instead of smiling back, she just dropped her gaze, inhaling sharply as if she had been stung.

“Something’s not right with him,” She murmured to you the moment Mr. Osborn turned his back to retrieve a folder from his filing cabinet. “I can’t explain it, just… please trust me. I think he’s going to be a threat to us.”

You felt annoyance flare up inside you, white-hot maelstroms of anger expanding by the second. “Please excuse us, Mr. Osborn. Gwen and I need to discuss something.” You tried to sound as inconspicuous and well-mannered as you could. You grabbed Gwen’s shoulder and pulled her through the door, closing it behind you.

“Listen here,” You hissed, letting go of her. “I didn’t make it all this way and train for an extra four hours a day for three years just so you could blow this off. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re some sort of a package deal. So don’t you dare make up stuff and tell me this perfectly polite man is a threat. Is this some sort of scheme? You make me get cold feet, pretend like you’re dropping out, then when you convince me to leave the company you swoop in and snatch up the role of Odette? Is that what you’re playing at?”

Gwen stared at you in utter disbelief, rubbing her shoulder where your grip had tightened just a little too much. “What? No, of course not. I would never—”

“Okay, good. Now let’s get back in there and do whatever the hell he wants us to do, because this is the New York City Ballet and we are not leaving till we’re done with this production, got it?”

For a split second, intense desperation marred her features and she looked like she was about to cry. Then, just as quickly as it had come, all the vulnerability displayed on her face disappeared — but not from her eyes. Her mouth and eyebrows were relaxed, cool, but her eyes shone with a feverish light that made her look a bit manic. Finally she took a deep breath and glared levelly at you.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Something about her tone would have sent a shiver down your spine if you hadn’t been so pumped up about this whole ordeal. You dismissed it easily, penning it, possibly, as the sullen disappointment of a plotter whose evil scheme hadn’t gone quite according to plan.

You entered the office again, Gwen trailing behind you reluctantly, and gave Mr. Osborn a big smile. “You were saying?”

He passed you and Gwen two sheets of paper and a pen. “Sign this. It’s a contract that officialises your stay at this company for the duration of this production.”

You signed it eagerly. Gwen, who was studying the words intently, noticed your impatience and signed it too.

“Perfect,” said Norman Osborn, giving you a big smile. Was it just you, or did it look more plastic this time…?

Nope, definitely just you. He carefully filed the sheets away and clasped your hand in a handshake once again. “Welcome to New York City Ballet. I’m sure this contract will prove to be beneficial to the both of us.”

Gwen dropped her eyes to the floor. Probably just her odd headaches acting up again.

Taglist:

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @theprismyyy

72 notes · View notes

lynlmao · 7 months

Note

Quackity with s/o who loves dancing and always begs him to dance with him or take dancing classes with them 🥺

Dancing with Quackity 🩰

cc!Quackity x gn!Reader hcs [SFW]

cw: swearing

notes: NOT PROOFREAD, “texting my best friend” grammar/vibe

I feel like he would be good at dancing…in theory😭

I remember him talking about how stiff he actually is so he’s not that professional at dancing. But it’s fine cus he’s having fun😸‼️

if ur like a ballet dancer, he would learn how to tie your pointe shoes!!

Sometimes he gets a lil cocky....

”I can do that too😒” until you reply with "do it then.☺️"

Both of you knew he couldn't do whatever dance move you could do, but he tried his best‼️

LMFAO I CAN IMAGINE HIM KNOWING HOW TO DO THE RUSSIAN SQUAT DANCE😭

He always surprises u with a bouquet of flowers and your fav candy/chocolate/whatever you're into yk

He would record these type of vids just for u and just showing u off on his ig story:

I swear he just zones out on you. Like he’s just hypnotized by you and all he’s thinking is “I can’t believe they’re MY s/o😦😍”

During lazy mornings, u two would dance while making breakfast as if u guys were in high school musical.

He would twirl u around n everythingggg

If there’s a kid in the dance studio he would get humbled so quickly💀

He was ranting about it during the car ride home.. poor boy got embarrassed by some middle schooler😭

He would try learning an old choreography but would give up halfway but I feel like he Luke be doing so well so you talk him into not giving up!!

He posted himself and you dancing on his ig channel with the caption “DANCE MOMS COULD NEVER😍”

IMAGINE HIM DANCING WITH HIM IN HIS BLACK SUIT BROOOO HOLY SHITTTT

He would pull your hips closer to him and put his head in your neck, whispering something (maybe in Spanish) in your ear

Also I saw him wearing RINGS😍😍 during the “name your price” live so i can imagine how pretty his hands look on your body while u two dance🙏🏼

sorry for the late reply anon!!

#quackity #quackity blurb #quackity headcannons #quackity x reader #alex quackity x reader #quackity fanfic #ask me anything #qsmp #quackity imagine #quackity fluff

133 notes · View notes

keenzinemugstudent · 11 months

Text

Miguel O'Hara x Black reader Spider woman! Imagine art work

Meet Y/N L/N Mile's godmother who is also Spider woman and soon to be Miguel O'Hara lover but for now they are enemies yeah

You are basically the fun and Goofy Aunt who will sneak you out of school just to go get you some McDonald's or go to the movie theaters Miles loves her she's the best she was kidnapped by and scientist who found out miles is identity and she was accidentally bitten by a Spider that gave her the strength like a spider she has tiny fangs not poisonous but they're sharp enough that she could literally just bite through your flesh she was really confused on why she had felt different and why her Godson was dressed as Spiderman that's how she found out about his secret she was freaking out bad Miles explained everything to her the best he could but she was freaking out everything was

Miles: Yaknow I could stay home from school and help you with your powers?

Y/n: Boy if you don't get your ass to school!

Miles: Y-yes ma'am.

You used do gymnastics and ballet when you were a kid and also you were a dancer so being flexible wasn't an issue it was swinging from the freaking walls in the air was the issue! After school Miles checked up on you and you were stunk in your own webs he thought it was hilarious until you hissed at him the set you free.

Three mouths and you got the hang of your new found abilities but you did not know the whole entire time miles was helping you he was also failing school Rio called you when she was said that she found out that Miles was skipping his classes all six, you were annoyed that he did not tell you that he needed help because you easily could have just took over and helped him while he focus on his school.

Later you meet Gwen Stacy, Miles friend who invites you both to this Spider society thing where all the best spider people there than you are introduced to Peter b Parker and his cute daughter Mayday than there was Miguel O'Hara who you quickly started to dislike because of how he thought you and Miles weren't good enough to join his little club which pissed you off making you cuss at him in spanish yeah you two started hated each other he was attractive but there is no way you're going to let him talk down and you or Miles! So yeah y'all hate each other for now.

This is all I can think of until I get to see the movie myself gonna keep making new ideas for her outfit tho if y'all have any ideas please help a bitch out

235 notes · View notes

ficsinhistory · 4 months

Text

Continuing the series Miles and Gwen plague my thoughts, Morales-Stacy family version 😃

I personally like the original idea of the Earth-8 comic but I'll improve it with my touch.

First, I love that Miles and Gwen share last names. It's important both because it shows that Miles and Gwen are still their individual people, but they also love sharing each other's lives and that hyphenating shows that.

Their eldest daughter is not called Charlotte, but Elena. Elena Rio Morales-Stacy. In honor of her two grandmothers, since Elena is the Latin spelling of Helen, and Rio is kind of obvious, in addition to being a name that means light, which it would be for Miles and Gwen.

As for Max, his name is Aaron George Jefferson Morales-Stacy. Because there was no way Miles would stop honoring the most important men in his life, and Gwen would do it for her father too. Not to mention that the meaning of strong would be very appropriate.

Elena is 4 years older than Aaron and they would both have a good relationship with each other, despite normal sibling tensions. You know, sharing things, telling on each other, fighting on the roof of the house and breaking a chandelier once…

They would easily be the most beautiful children you would ever see in your life, I mean… have you looked at Miles and Gwen? The genes these kids inherited are insane! Beauty runs in the family blood.

I like to think that they are both a perfect balance of Miles and Gwen, and that Elena inherited Gwen's eyes while Aaron inherited Miles's. They would have curly hair and their skin tone would be more similar to Rio's.

To Rio's pride, btw, the two are bilingual, in addition to being well involved in the cultures of both parents. When Gwen became pregnant for the first time, she and Miles had a serious conversation about how they would raise their children, so both Elena and Aaron were raised in a Spanish-only household until they went to school. As Gwen at this point already spoke fluent Spanish, it wasn't a problem. Rio and Jeff also greatly influenced Elena and Aaron's early years of creation. You need to be proud of your roots after all!

Elena and Aaron, like their parents, would have a spider bond with each other, this being fraternal rather than the parents' obviously romantic one. Which would make them both very protective of each other, always letting them know that one is in danger. However, being her mother's daughter, Elena is the more protective of the two.

And this happens because Elena has a ridiculously refined and sensitive spider sense, something that Gwen suspects comes from herself, since from the films, it seems that Gwen has a spider sense beyond the ordinary and Elena would inherit it.

Aaron loves dancing. He especially likes breakdance and hip-hop, although he also knows salsa and ballet, being a popular dancer in the neighborhood where the family lives. Sometimes he participates in school competitions and the whole family enjoys watching. The Morales-Stacys are the best hypemans you will ever meet.

Elena is an excellent singer and is part of a band! Gwen and the Mary Janes sometimes like to go to rehearsals, and when they do a show, the whole family goes to watch. Elena also likes to sing in karaoke and at home.

Unlike Miles and Gwen, and just like Mayday, Elena and Aaron were born with spider powers. Therefore, Peter helped and continues to help a lot in their creation, having his own share of experience. He's Uncle Pete to them.

Elena and Aaron have a lot of uncles and aunts in general. Hobbie teaches them the importance of thinking for oneself and questioning absolutism (something both Miles and Gwen are grateful for), Pavitr brings sweets, practices dancing with Aaron, and the two of them plus Elena plan to break into the British museum. Gayatri also visits sometimes, helping Elena with her stage presence, as she is a model after all.

Noir and Ham always tell stories about their dimensions and this entertains the brothers a lot. Margo and Peni visit a lot too, as they and Gwen have game nights every Wednesday, as well as teaching lots of technological tricks.

Miles G. is a funny case in itself. Since I think he and Miles are going to become like brothers in Beyond, he definitely wanted to be present in the lives of his honorary nephews, and as soon as both Elena and Aaron were a year old, he started visiting them… and both of them cases, kids think he is their father and then confused because "daddy has a twin now?" when the two are together.

Well, that's what came to my mind. Thank you and good morning!

#gwen stacy #miles morales #gwiles #ghostflower #spiderverse

66 notes · View notes

dance-world · 11 months

Photo

Gonzalo Alvarez Alonso

#gonzalo alvarez alonso #spanish ballet dancers #bailarín #ballerino #dancer #danseur #boys of ballet #ballet men

387 notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales · 5 months

Text

Celeste

Day 12: Stripping (Colonel Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: A minor mention of drug use; Smut-ish but nothing explicit; stripping; talk of a naked body; imagined sex; 18+ only to be safe.

Word Count: 1377

AN: This was requested by the lovely @justreblogginfics

Colonel Carrillo sits deep in the shadows of the club, hidden away. Most men cluster up close to the stage for the best view, but he doesn’t want to be noticed. He’s tucked away out of sight, out of his usual uniform, blending in with the other men there to ogle beautiful women.

The club is a frequent hangout for many of Escobar’s men, low-level narcos who nonetheless have important intel that they often blab to their dancer girlfriends. Those dancer girlfriends then blab backstage, snicker and laugh as they touch up their hair and makeup, as they do bumps of coke to keep their energy up for a long night of dancing.

And you’re there too, a willing ear to listen for that intel that you pass onto your fellow agents. You have arranged drops that Murphy picks up, and Carrillo combs through them carefully each time. He waits until he’s alone in his office at night, and then he traces over your neat printing, the simple code that you and Javier devised before you went undercover.

Carrillo pictures you in your UC apartment, shabby and small. He pictures you bent over the slips of paper as you pick at a late dinner, pictures you rubbing the calf of one leg with your other foot, that absent-minded habit you have that he noticed immediately when you sat outside of his office. He pictures you sighing, tired, missing home, missing even your DEA-issued apartment in the expat block of buildings. He pictures you missing your real name, your real job.

Carrillo hasn’t laid eyes on you in months. He can edge up to the truth but can’t quite admit it to himself, and you may miss your life, but he misses you.

-----

Your UC work has layers. You’re you, normally, but undercover, you’re Elena Aguilar, a Mexican-American ex-pat with shadowy provenance. Your cover is that you possibly maybe probably had legal troubles in the States and fled to Medellin to avoid arrest. It’s an easy way to explain away your American-born Spanish, and it gives you an extra layer of cover: you don’t answer personal questions because Elena Aguilar is wanted by authorities in the States.

But Elena Aguilar becomes Celeste on the stage, and when Carrillo finally sees you again after so many months, he almost doesn’t recognize you. Even clothed for a gentlemen’s club, you’re more exposed than he’s ever seen you before. You’re in a short, pleated skirt that barely covers your ass, and it flounces as you take the stage, platform heels that add entire inches to your height. You’re dressed up like a Catholic school girl—a tight, low-cut white blouse, a loosely-knotted tie, and a pair of loose braids—and Carrillo hates the hot beat of desire that pulses through him when he sees you.

The music is loud; Carrillo’s heartbeat seems to sync up to the bassline, and he catches himself holding his breath as he watches. Dios, but why did he never consider how good of a dancer you are? You had made a joke once to Murphy before you went UC, said something about all those ballet lessons in childhood finally paying off, but maybe there’s some truth to it.

Watching you, there’s a sensuous, natural movement to your body that Carrillo never would have guessed at. Some of the other dancers before you were blatant with their sexuality, sharp snaps of the hips, pushing their bared breasts into the faces of the patrons crowded against the stage, but you seduce the crowd, and by extension, you seduce him.

You work to the beat, but you don’t rush it. You unbutton your tight blouse to reveal a flimsy see-through bra that pushes your breasts up. You lean against the pole, slide down along it, arch your back like a cat, which makes your breasts push up even further. You stand again, turn away, push the tiny skirt over your hips and ass. When you bend over to push it down the rest of the way—you’re in a tiny thong—Carrillo inhales a harsh breath, and his throat feels too tight.

Maybe the song you dance to is long. Maybe time slows down. Carrillo knows you must be blinded by the colored lights dancing over you as you strip, and he knows he’s invisible in the shadows, but sometimes it feels like your eyes meet his. Sometimes everyone else in the club—the hooting, leering men waving Colombian pesos and American dollars (he even swears he sees a Panamanian balboa at one point)—falls away, and it’s like you’re dancing just for him.

Carrillo went to Catholic school. The man has few sexual predilections that veer into kink territory, but something about the Catholic school girl uniform makes him feel a certain way, reminds him of coming of age around other boys in slacks and button down shirts, around girls in knee socks and pleated skirts. And you, as Elena Aguilar, as Celeste, has chosen his one, lone kink as your on-stage costume.

He only wanted to lay eyes on you, but here he is, reduced to a panting idiot, hard just from watching you, his erection straining until he shifts in his seat uncomfortably. He’s a moment away from rushing the stage and wrapping his coat around you, carrying you home and fucking you senseless. You, though: not Celeste or Elena.

It doesn’t get easier for him as you finish your set. You’re naturally athletic, graceful, and when you wrap around the pole, Carrillo can imagine it translating. He can picture your legs wrapped around him. He can picture your back arching underneath him, your arms above your head, your eyes heavy-lidded as he makes you come. And when you shed your bra, Carrillo actually groans: your breasts are perfect, your nipples pert and pebbled, and he can imagine putting his mouth on them, kissing you there, your hand against the back of head as he sucks against those perfect nipples, the sounds he could pull from you—

The songs ends. It breaks the spell; the crowd claps and hollers, crude propositions in Spanish, a flurry of paper money that you bend down to gather up along with your clothing. You do a cute little curtsy, flash the crowd a winning smile, and then you’re gone.

He wants to stay only long enough to calm. He can’t careen out onto the streets of Medellin with an erection, so he sits in the shadows and watches the next dancer. She doesn’t elicit the same response, thankfully—only you seem to have that power—so his blood cools by degrees and he deflates and his heartrate slows.

But when he starts to plan his exit, a waitress brings him a fresh drink. He hadn’t ordered it, and when he tries to wave it away, she insists.

“On the house,” she says, and she sets down a clean cocktail napkin and sets the glass down on top of it.

His first thought is that he’s been made. A narco in the club has recognized him and is sending him this drink. As a message? Poisoned, perhaps? He runs his thumb over the rim of the glass and jostles it so the ice clinks. He looks around but doesn’t see anyone obviously watching him.

Then he sees it: slowly bleeding as the condensation of the glass wets the napkin, but he snatches the glass away before it becomes illegible. A message on the cocktail napkin, and he recognizes the neat handwriting immediately.

You must have seen him come in. Carrillo knows little about strip clubs, but it would make sense that there be cameras posted everywhere, and it would make sense that the dancers would watch them. How else might they target the men who might give them the most money? How else might they identify problem men? Maybe you watched him enter the club, watched him be seated, and maybe those moments where he felt like he was locking eyes with you were real after all.

But the message, half-blurred by his drink. Carrillo reads it on the sly, pretends to sip his drink and toy with the napkin like he’s bored.

H - I want to come home.

#horacio carrillo #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo imagine #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo imagine #colonel carrillo #narcos #tropes and tales #kinktober 2023

91 notes · View notes

iwtvfanevents · 24 days

Text

Rewind the Tape —Episode 4

Art of the episode

Just like we did for the pilot and for episodes two and three, we took note of the art shown and mentioned in the fourth episode while we rewatched it. Did we miss any? Can you help us put a name to the unidentified ones? Do you have any thoughts about how these references could be interpreted?

Bust of a Woman with Her Left Hand on Her Chin

Edgar Degas, 1898

Degas, whose work already appeared in the second episode, was a French painter of the 19th to early 20th century. His impressionist paintings often depicted ballet dancers, racehorses, and human portraits of isolation. [Identified by @terrifique.]

Krumau on the Molde, Kneeling Girl with Spanish Skirt and Self portrait in a jerkin with right elbow raised

Egon Schiele, 1912, 1911 and 1914

Schiele, whose work we have also been seeing around Rue Royale since the pilot, was an Austrian Expressionist painter, very prolific despite passing before turning 30. His work is recognizable for its transgressive portrayal of the nude body, including his nude self-portraits; but his later oeuvre features many landscapes.

The Kitten's Art Lesson

Henriette Ronner Knip, 1821-1909

Knip was a Dutch-Belgian romantic style artist best known for paintings of animals, particularly cats and dogs of a playful nature. See more of her work here. [Identified by @terrifique.]

Nosferatu

F.W. Murnau, 1922

Nosferatu is a silent expressionist horror film from the legendary German director F.W. Murnau. It is an unauthorized adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula. While not a commercial success upon release in 1922, film historians now consider it an influential and revolutionary film in the horror genre. Since it has been in the public domain since 2019 in the U.S., it is now free to stream on YouTube.

New York

George Bellows, 1911

Several of Bellows' pieces have been featured in previous episodes. He was an American realist painter, known for his bold depictions of urban life in NYC. His work "revolutionized the conventions of the traditional American urban vista and surpassed the efforts of other contemporary urban realists" [x]. [Identified by @nicodelenfent, here.]

Backstage at the Opera

Jean Beraurd, 1889

Beraurd was a Russian born French painter known for his depictions of Parisian life and society during the Belle Epoque. [Identified by @nicodelenfent.]

Unidentified works

In Claudia's room: above the Knip we can see a painting of what looks like four people, maybe women sitting at a balcony. To the left of the door we can see, on top, a floral bouquet over a dark background, and below that, an illustration or painting of a woman with flowers over a bright pink background.

And, of course, there's that incredible piece on the wall of the reading room! We haven't found any statements from the set designer or art director about it, but we remain on the lookout for any information.

If you spot or put a name to any other references, let us know if you'd like us to add them with credit to the post!

Starting tomorrow, we will be rewatching and discussing Episode 5, A Vile Hunger for your Hammering Heart. We can't wait to hear your thoughts!

And, if you're just getting caught up, learn all about our group rewatch here ►

#the vampire claudia #claudia iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #daniel molloy #lestat de lioncourt #vampterview #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #IWTVfanevents #rewind the tape #analysis and meta #art of the episode #the ruthless pursuit of blood with all a child's demanding

31 notes · View notes

queerasfact · 1 year

Text

Queer Calendar 2023

We put together a calendar of key (mostly queer) dates at the start of the year to help us with scheduling - so I thought I’d share it around! Including pride and visibility days, some queer birthdays and anniversaries, and a few other bits and bobs. Click the links for more info - I dream one day of having a queer story for every day of the year!

This is obviously not an exhaustive list - if I’ve overlooked something important to you, feel free to add it in the reblogs!

January

3 - Bisexual American jazz-age heiress Henrietta Bingham born 1901

8 - Queer Australian bushranger Captain Moonlite born 1845; gay American art collector Ned Warren born 1860

11 - Pennsylvania celebrates Rosetta Tharpe Day in honour of bisexual musician Rosetta Tharpe

12 - Japanese lesbian author Nobuko Yoshiya born 1896

22 - Lunar New Year (Year of the Rabbit)

24 - Roman emperor Hadrian, famous for his relationship with Antinous, born 76CE; gay Prussian King Frederick the Great born 1712

27 - International Holocaust Remembrance Day

February

LGBT+ History Month (UK, Hungary)

Black History Month (USA and Canada)

1 - Feast of St Brigid, a saint especially important to Irish queer women

5 - Operation Soap, a police raid on gay bathhouses in Toronto, Canada, spurs massive protests, 1981

7 - National Black HIV/AIDS Awareness Day (USA)

18 - US Black lesbian writer and activist Audre Lorde born 1934

12 - National Freedom to Marry Day (USA)

19-25 - Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week

March

Women’s History Month

1 - Black Women in Jazz and the Arts Day

8 - International Women’s Day

9 - Bi British writer David Garnett born 1892

12 - Bi Polish-Russian ballet dancer Vaslav Nijinsky born 1889 or 1890

13 March-15 April - Deaf History Month

14 - American lesbian bookseller and publisher Sylvia Beach born 1887

16 - French lesbian artist Rosa Bonheur born 1822

20 - Bi US musician Rosetta Tharpe born 1915

21 - World Poetry Day

24 - The Wachowski sisters’ cyberpunk trans allegory The Matrix premiers 1999

April

Jazz Appreciation Month

Black Women’s History Month

National Poetry Month (USA)

3 - British lesbian diarist Anne Lister born 1791

8 - Trans British racing driver and fighter pilot Roberta Cowell born 1918

9 - Bi Australia poet Lesbia Harford born 1891; Easter Sunday

10 - National Youth HIV & AIDS Awareness Day (USA)

14 - Day of Silence

15 - Queer Norwegian photographer and suffragist Marie Høeg born 1866

17 - Costa-Rican-Mexican lesbian singer Chavela Vargas born 1919

21-22 - Eid al-Fitr

25 - Gay English King Edward II born 1284

26 - Lesbian Day of Visibility; bi American blues singer Ma Rainey born 1886

29 - International Dance Day

30 - International Jazz Day

May

1 - Trans British doctor and Buddhist monk Michael Dillon born 1915

7 - International Family Equality Day

7 - Gay Russian composer Pyotr Tchaikovsky born 1840

15 - Australian drag road-trip comedy The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert premiers in 1994

17 - IDAHOBIT (International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism and Transphobia)

18 - International Museum Day

19 - Agender Pride Day

22 - US lesbian tailor and poet Charity Bryant born 1777

22 - Harvey Milk Day marks the birth of gay US politician Harvey Milk 1930

23 - Premier of Pride, telling the story of the 1980s British activist group Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners

24 - Pansexual and Panromantic Awareness and Visibility Day; Queer Chinese-Japanese spy Kawashima Yoshiko born 1907

26 - queer American astronaut Sally Ride born 1951

29 - Taiwanese lesbian writer Qiu Miaojin born 1969

June

Pride Month

Indigenous History Month (Canada)

3 - Bisexual American-French performer, activist and WWII spy Josephine Baker born 1906

5 - Queer Spanish playwright and poet Federico García Lorca born 1898; bi English economic John Maynard Keynes born 1883

8 - Mechanic and founder of Australia’s first all-female garage, Alice Anderson, born 1897

10 - Bisexual Israeli poet Yona Wallach born 1944

12 - Pulse Night of Remembrance, commemorating the 2012 shooting at the Pulse nightclub, Orlando

14 - Australian activists found the Gay and Lesbian Kingdom of the Coral Sea Islands in 2004

18 - Sally Ride becomes the first know queer woman in space

24 - The first Sydney Mardi Gras 1978

25 - The rainbow flag first flown as a queer symbol in 1978

28 - Stonewall Riots, 1969

28 June-2 July - Eid al-Adha

30 - Gay German-Israeli activist, WWII resistance member and Holocaust survivor Gad Beck born 1923

July

1 - Gay Dutch WWII resistance fighter Willem Arondeus killed - his last words were “Tell the people homosexuals are no cowards”

2-9 - NAIDOC Week (Australia) celebrating Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture

6 - Bi Mexican artist Frida Kahlo born 1907

12 or 13 - Roman emperor Julius Caesar born c.100BCE

14 - International Non-Binary People’s Day

23 - Shelly Bauman, owner of Seattle gay club Shelly’s Leg, born 1947; American lesbian cetenarian Ruth Ellis born 1899; gay American professor, tattooist and sex researcher Sam Steward born 1909

25 - Italian-Australian trans man Harry Crawford born 1875

August

8 - International Cat Day

9 - Queer Finnish artist, author and creator of Moomins Tove Jansson born 1914

9 - International Day of the World's Indigenous Peoples

11 - Russian lesbian poet Sofya Parnok born 1885

12 - Queer American blues musician Gladys Bentley born 1907

13 - International Left-Handers Day

22 - Gay WWII Dutch resistance fight Willem Arondeus born 1894

24 - Trans American drag queen and activist Marsha P Johnson born 1945

26 - National Dog Day

30 - Bi British author Mary Shelley 1797

31 - Wear it Purple Day (Australia - queer youth awareness)

September

5 - Frontman of Queen Freddie Mercury born 1946

6 - Trans Scottish doctor and farmer Ewan Forbes born 1912

13 - 1990 documentary on New York’s ball culture Paris is Burning premiers

15-17 - Rosh Hashanah

16-23 - Bisexual Awareness Week

17 - Gay Prussian-American Inspector General of the US Army Baron von Steuben born 1730

23 - Celebrate Bisexuality Day

24 - Gay Australian artist William Dobell born 1889

30 - International Podcast Day

October

Black History Month (Europe)

4 - World Animal Day

5 - National Poetry Day (UK)

5 - Queer French diplomat and spy the Chevalière d’Éon born 1728

8 - International Lesbian Day

9 - Indigenous Peoples’ Day (USA)

11 - National Coming Out Day

16 - Irish writer Oscar Wilde born 1854

18 - International Pronouns Day

22-28 - Asexual Awareness Week

26 - Intersex Awareness Day

31 - American lesbian tailor Sylvia Drake born 1784

November

8 - Intersex Day of Remembrance

12 - Diwali; Queer Mexican nun Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz born c.1648

13-19 - Transgender Awareness Week

20 - Trans American writer, lawyer, activist and priest Pauli Murray born 1910; Transgender Day of Remembrance

27 - Antinous, lover of the Roman emperor Hadrian, born c.111; German lesbian drama Mädchen in Uniform premiers, 1931

29 - Queer American writer Louisa May Alcott born 1832

December

AIDS Awareness Month

1 - World AIDS Day

2 - International Day for the Abolition of Slavery

3 - International Day of Persons with Disabilities

8 - Pansexual Pride Day; queer Swedish monarch Christina of Sweden born 1626

10 - Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners host Pits and Perverts concern to raise mining for striking Welsh miners, 1984

14 - World Monkey Day

15 - Roman emperor Nero born 37CE

24 - American drag king and bouncer Stormé DeLarverie born 1920

25 - Christmas

29 - Trans American jazz musician Billy Tipton born 1914

#calendar #queer calendar #queer observances #pride days #queer history #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbt history #gay history #trans history #queer #gay #trans #lesbian #lesbian history

252 notes · View notes