spiderqueenfriday

[spiderqueenfriday]

Old Vinyl

The slender fingers of Luisa Ortiz lift the arm of her grandfather’s record player and set the needle gently on the old vinyl. She has done this every day since his funeral three years ago, and will do it again tomorrow. The machine itself is delicate and meticulously cared for. The needle is kept fresh and only ever handled with the tips of her lilac-hued acrylic manicure, sharpened tools with…

[spiderqueenfriday]

The Fire and the Wheel

[flash fiction, 1,205 words]

You stick to the old town anymore, and that suits you fine. These clapboard sidewalks haven’t changed much, or at least not as much as everything else ‘round these parts. What few tourists wander through this district find it charming. A throwback. Mark Twain and Black Bart and panning for gold feel as close as breathing on this side of town. A body can just step around the road apples and find a…

[spiderqueenfriday]

The Soaring Starlet

Did you ever wish you could fly?

Even with the net, the riggings, the adrenaline, the roaring crowd and the bright bright lights, she was afraid to fly. Always had been. Her heart could soar like a trapeze when watching the aerialists whizzing about overhead, but each time she tried to climb the ladder, willing herself to stand atop the platform, inching toward the edge with shuddering breath, the world would tilt around her and…

[spiderqueenfriday]

I’ma need this potato to help me out here. 🥔🙏

[spiderqueenfriday]

Numbubbles

She counted silently along, measuring her breaths deliberately as she always did, watching them creep up and over the lip of the slender glass flute one or two or three at a time. At first they had come up foaming, all the individual bubbles pressed close together. Did that count as one or as ten? Thirteen, she thought. It counted as thirteen bubbles. Sundays meant champagne brunch. He had…

[spiderqueenfriday]

There Was a Flower.

Do you like surrealist sci-fi shorts about space aliens and flowers? 💮👽 (I don't know what this is, just doodling.) _______________________________

One year after the last person walked down this street, a bloom followed a bud that followed a stalk. Under the ice that hadn’t melted in months, under the ice that must be four inches thick at least, there was undoubtedly a flower. I leaned my elbows on the sill and gazed from my dining nook window directly downward into its depth. The ice so clear I could see each individual petal and stamen,…

[spiderqueenfriday]

Piercing, Sucking Mouth Parts

I was just thinking about bugs and plants and mouths and complex hormonal ecosystem communications. Did you know trichomes cry in volatile aromatics? My heart totally gets that vibe, how about you?

My mother is an entomologist, or rather a forest pathologist who has studied a lot about bugs and their parts and their functions. She says a lot of freaky space alien sounding things about her work, but really that’s just how bugs are built. My favorite thing she talks about is the way their mouths are, and how many insects have pointy grabbing bits like sharp hollow arms coming out of their…

[spiderqueenfriday]

Adopt a Feral Horse!

Oh yeah dang, the very last thing a feral horse needs right now is my broke, frightened, overworked, underpaid, tiny apartment dwelling ass. Nice try, social and ecological responsibility lifestyle research newsletter, or whatever you are that I know I put my email address into the contact form for like years ago, but I’m not even 100% sure why I signed up. Maybe I thought I could do something,…

[spiderqueenfriday]

One of my short stories was published in the current issue of the digital queer lit mag “My Galvanized Friend.” I’m in great company for uncomfortable yearning in this one, and my piece “Growth” is of the magical realism awkward plant gay genre.

[spiderqueenfriday]

Writers/storytellers: what is your descriptive strength?

Por ejemplo, while I struggle with dialogue and visual description, I’m GREAT at sensory immersion and creating an atmosphere of untethered weirdness.

[spiderqueenfriday]

Never was a man come through Calaveras County who didn’t learn the story of The Gentleman. A demon on the roads, he is. A monster he is, a-waiting on this boulder or that or maybe behind that tree there...

[spiderqueenfriday]

The ancient sensation finds metamorphosis in Cece’s evolving blood. A want-turned-need, writhing like eels sliding electric beneath too-taut flesh. Her pretty compound eyes gleam with seventy-two pink satin reflections, running over the sea of pointe shoes until they land hungrily upon the tousled brown hair of the trembling ballet master. He reeks deliciously, and her mouth drips acid hunger as it telescopes toward him, hissing softly in dainty droplets as pinpricks melt through the Marley flooring. She has never felt thinner or more deserving, arms bending backwards at the elbows, insectoid and graceful and gliding into his personal space. A breath away, a gaze piercing with atavistic hunger through his silent, begging eyes and right into his deepest knowing self. She unhinges her secondary jaw set and caresses a pincer over his urine-soaked leggings.

“Am I good enough now, Maestro?” she rattle-whistles through gleaming mandibles and leans in for a kiss. The wet shrieking from his dissolving mouth under hers would be plenty of answer, had it been a real question.

[spiderqueenfriday]

Canine Brain Tumors, tragically.

ur government assigned gender for the day is the first thing u get when u click this link to a randomised wikipedia article. NO REROLLS . i am the  trollsteineggje mountain in norway

[spiderqueenfriday]

Habitual NPC Attempts to Become Human(ish)!

Oh hi, Tumblr. I’m Friday (she/her/ella), queerdo Chicana tea witch chef ballerina fandom dweeb, aspiring death doula and brand new baby writer of horror & surrealist melancholia. I’ve been here a long time, off and on, but like, not really BEEN here, you know?

You may already know me as the founder and synesthete blend crafter behind the gross majority of the teas at Friday Afternoon Tea. I LOVE IT. Talk about jobs you have to pinch yourself over. My whole life revolves around brewing love and blending empathy and crafting space for folks to feel Seen and Safe and Welcome. The thing about building a life in fae-adjacent service to one’s community is this: it tends to disappear a person’s other facets. Kinda lonely an experience, and I end up feeling a bit like a mosquito net a good majority of the time.

There are other sides to this human Care Bear, and those sides are toothy and twisted and gleefully morbid. They’re daydreamy and wandering and liminal. They’re big slabs of shale with glacial melt sluicing around and about. Know what I mean?

I’m trying to learn to grow my bravery and individuality back, both of which I think I set down somewhere around my second pregnancy, which in my world looks like stealing a speck of time now and again to write creep-ass nonsense, geek about witchcraft, books I’m reading, spooky fashion and death care work.

If you want to follow a wannabe end of life midwife and author of spooky bummers, wassup! Let’s get weird!