queerextremity

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“I am tired of everything I have ever desired.”

— Zeb-un-Nissa, tr. by Paul Smith, from “Makhfi: A Selection of Poems,”

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[AU where Sienna and Vicky are college rommates, before any of Art's attacks]

The magical wasn’t seeing what Sienna created, it was watching Sienna create. Whenever she entered her headspace of grinning silence, meticulous solitude, and her hands finally got steady, and she talked joyfully, like everything was nothing and nothing was important. Vicky thought it was magical. Sienna always bought the cheapest paint, the ugliest dresses from thrift stores, armed herself with threads and needles and made it look like all she ever needed were her ideas. If you could sell an idea to Sienna, she could make everything come true. It’s a superpower, really. When Vicky first brought Sienna to meet Tara, Tara, with heart eyes and everything, brought Dawn along. Ever since then, Sienna had helped Dawn with all her Halloween costumes, partly on her own will, partly to avoid another drinking session of questions and gushing. At least Vicky never asked her for anything, except to watch Sienna work, and for that she never had to ask.

“What are you doing this time?” Vicky asked, sitting cross-legged on her bed in their small dorm room, with windows wide open and doors sealed shut. She put the laptop away when she saw Sienna pouting and furrowing her eyebrows. She had been working for a while now, hidden between boxes and spray cans, and Vicky thought she saw something resembling wings.

“It’s my Halloween costume,” Sienna smiled absentmindedly. “My dad’s character.”

“Well, what does she do?” It’s a game they play—Sienna wanting to be asked and Vicky always asking. Letting herself get carried away.

“She’s a superhero,” Sienna looked up and beamed at her. “Daddy created her when I asked him why he never drew girls… She’s an angel warrior with a fire sword. As long as she has her sword, she can defeat anybody”. An angel warrior. Vicky didn’t think there ever existed truer ways to describe Sienna, and it made her feel as if all splendor was always hers, a birthright.

“Well, I’m scared for everybody who’ll try to fight you,” she jokingly put her hands in the air and rolled her eyes, to which Sienna laughed. It’s a step up from last year when Sienna made them dress as Jennifer and Needy from Jennifer’s Body, and Vicky had a hard time keeping herself together, whether from how hot Sienna looked or the fact they passionately kissed in the movie. This year, Vicky was hoping to go as herself. “What’s puzzling you now?”

“Well…” She furrowed her eyebrows again, thinking. “There’s something you can help with. Come here!”

“What?”

“C’mon, it’s not scary… Also, take your shirt off.”

“Excuse me?” Vicky stared at her, blinking.

“C’mon, I need to see how it looks and do some measures. It’s hard to do on myself!” She grinned, motioning Vicky to come closer. “Please,” she pleaded jokingly.

“Okay, okay,” Vicky got up from bed and walked across the room to Sienna’s desk, bathed in the glowing light of Sienna’s pink lightbulbs. “You could’ve just said so.”. She peeled her shirt off, her back to Sienna, and reluctantly turned to face her.

“It’s not as much fun,” Sienna answered, refusing to see red in Vicky’s cheeks. “Okay, here it goes…”

She put the armor top on Vicky, gently pulling the straps over her shoulders and down the sides, brushing her skin with her fingertips and breathing her air, putting hair away from her face and watching her with an artist's intent, like she sees her completely. The armor didn’t fit properly, but the way it wrapped her in cold and hard foam around the sides made Vicky feel unstoppable, held together.

“Well, aren’t you beautiful…” Sienna said quietly, examining the costume. “Here, try the wings on,” she got them out from under the boxes of threads, leather and fabric, craft feathers and wire. Vicky hesitated before awkwardly sliding her hands through the holes, feeling ridiculous every step of the way. “Now look at yourself. What do you think?”

Vicky turned to face the mirror. She didn’t look heroic in a way she’s learnt to see heroic—she had bags under her eyes from study nights, her posture wasn’t straight, and she had that light of content tiredness around her, of all her meditative bliss. She wore her pajama pants and her purple fluffy slippers, feeling like a Frankenstein’s monster created from all the wrong parts. But then there was gold against her skin, white feathers behind her back, and if she tried hard enough, she could see the fire sword making its way through the dark, guiding her towards the light, like electricity circulating around. As of right now, everything felt right. She couldn’t tell why.

“It’s pretty,” is all she could manage. “You would look good in it... She does sound like you.”

“Really?” Sienna asked from behind her shoulder, her breath on Vicky’s skin and her words somewhere deep in Vicky’s brain. “You don’t think I’d look stupid?”

“I don’t,” she smiled. “You already make everything seem possible, and what does a couple of wings do for somebody like that?”

“I don’t know, she feels so right on you,” Sienna murmured, her eyes sparkling and her voice softer. “You have that aura of somebody who could slay a couple of demons.”

“Or an aura of one,” she shrugged, mockingly raising her eyebrows.

“Not without that, of course,” Sienna laughed, her hands now on Vicky’s shoulders. Vicky felt the desire to put her hand over Sienna’s, to look over her shoulder, to look into Sienna’s eyes with the same intent Sienna’s always looked at hers. The only demon she needed to slay was her ever-present need for closeness, her tangible longing for something bigger. Sienna put her hand away before she had a chance to either slay the demons or surrender.

“Plus, you’re very beautiful,” Sienna whispered in her ear before moving away, sitting at her desk, smiling with her head low, working her magic.

Vicky stood there, in a spray-painted golden armor, feeling like the most powerful person in the world.

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Fever is a hilarious immune response. Our bodies tell the disease “hey, wanna see which one of us dies of overheating first? No? Too bad.” and honestly they’re not even the winners a decent chunk of the time but it works often enough that we never evolved it away or anything. Fantastic work.

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i remain forever changed and forever your kale

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NO DAVID LYNCH DIED 😭😭😭

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“I can almost hear the kudzu growing. The rain is hitting the pavement hard, and across the street, in the bunch of tangled woods where I think the owl lives, though I’m not terribly sure, I can hear the kudzu creeping. Is it weird to say that I could hear you dying like that? Slowly, but viciously, inching your way toward the gray sky, tongue out to catch what was left of the world. You floated in the sea for a bit before, swam with dolphins off the coast before, you drank mai tais before, and smoked pot under a palm tree before, but the before was always that, the before. And underneath you could hear it coming, not like a train or something metal, but something clearly unstoppable, and it made a sound, like wet leaves, a weed spreading its runners, stretching out to meet what was next, feeding delightedly, unaware that it was about to darken our whole world with its rapid climbing toward the sky.”

— Ada Limon, The Vine

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that scene from female vampire (1973) where lina romay is about to have sex with a woman, but she ends up just standing there, looking at the woman with her dead eyes, playing with her nipples and sticking her tongue out, driving her crazy by that alone, and then she just disappears while the woman starts crying uncontrollably that's all i wanted to say

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scooby-doo voice actors fucked my letterboxd wrapped up

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perverts by ethel cain is so female vampire by jess franco

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Dawn was always impossible. Whenever she declared her love for Tara in loud bars, hiding behind her never-ending cocktail glasses, flirting with every bartender in town, shining her light on the dancefloors, all through the mirrored ceilings and bright disco balls, losing her desire to talk but never to flirtatiously wink, Dawn was breathtaking, unreal, impossible. She always whispered, “I’m only getting us free drinks,” and it was absurd not to believe her. After all, it was only Tara whom she incessantly kissed everywhere from empty parking lots to dirty bathrooms, and it was only Tara who ever took her home. Long before they figured out what to call it, long before anything about Dawn started to make sense. Whenever she came back from parties, whenever Tara had to save Dawn from all of her reckless ideas—from drunk driving to skinny-dipping in the dark—Tara came home ten times more tired and ten times less drunk. Dawn, who took the longest humanly possible time to fall asleep, still always woke up earlier. Everything about Dawn was unreal, because nothing ever left its mark.

It was good while it lasted, and even better before it started to last. White sheets, coffee with cream in the morning, pop music playing through the speakers, long showers that they never took alone, Dawn’s hands travelling all over her body, searching for all the places that make her fall apart, that could take her down bone by bone. Tara was always rude over the phone whenever one of the guys from the night before called. Dawn never minded Tara answering the phone for her, but she always told her, “You’re wasting your breath for nothing.”. The truth is, Tara was mad at Dawn lots of times, confused by her more times than she can count, but she was never jealous. Victoria joked it’s her way of exercising a human’s birthright to scream and shout, be feisty without reason. “You woke up right on time,” Dawn always said over the music, working magic in the kitchen, when Tara hugged her from behind and kissed her ear. “I swear, I found the best recipe in the universe.” Eight out of ten times, it was true. Dawn, her Dawn, was quiet on weekdays, never trusted anybody’s judgment better than Tara’s, made fun of the way Vicky clung to her solitude, always joked the dirtiest, especially during Tara’s lowest points, and had a smile worth a couple of lifetimes. Dawn had a heart with no idea of recklessness, but she also had Tara, who sighed annoyingly, took away her car keys, and took her home. Would it have made any difference if Tara had ever considered that one day, she might not be able to save her? Tara always hugged her from behind in the mornings, kissed her passionately before every party, and they both always made sure to be together, long before they figured out what to call it. Dawn was always breathtaking, almost too much to exist, and it never made it to words how Tara always behaved as if it were temporary. As if some things can’t last. Dawn first asked her, “What’s wrong?” not long before everything ended. The truth is, nothing was ever wrong. It’s just how it is, tragedy claiming its right on everything too good, everything nameless, and everything right to the bone. Everything worth a couple of lifetimes. (song: Carly Rae Jepsen - Never Get to Hold You)

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if this flops, it never happened, but i created a community dedicated to exploitation cinema, most specifically jess franco

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black christmas (2006) directed by glen morgan

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i need to practice my english more, so i think about writing oneshots every day in january, maybe i'll post some of them here also

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WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN MY NICHE FUCKING CHILDHOOD ULTRA HYPERFIXATION IS GETTING A FUCKING XMAS REUNION SPECIAL LIKE TEN FUCKING YEARS LATER???? I LITERALLY JUST GOT NOSTALGIC FOR IT ALL OVER AGAIN THIS WEEK THIS IS CRAZY

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CHRISTMAS REUNION ????????? HELLO ??????????