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[sydneyquin]

Requested by anon

[sydneyquin]

[sydneyquin]

Curled Up Roger Parry, 1965 / Sb, 2018 / Pictor Mulier, 2018 / Paul Gauguin, 1921 / Stefania Panelli, 2006 / Bastiaan Woudt, 2020 / Quang Ho, 2014 / Svetlana Tartakovska, 2019

[sydneyquin]

kaiwintersons​:

          True to form, Kai is too old for this.      ‘This’ can take many different forms, from a flight of stairs, to the lyrical composition of WAP, to doing the Time Warp at the Festival of Fright, but the weariness? The weariness is eternal, enough to rival the most exhausted of Exhausted Ben Affleck memes. He’s here for his children – Sid included, wearing a costume that, as an act of goodwill, he’s conveniently chosen not to spare a fatherly sigh at – and his own enjoyment, or lack thereof, is unacknowledged. He sits alone, on the periphery of movement, of dance, of life, stirring sugar into a styrofoam cup of tea and keeping a watchful gaze over proceedings with no desire to participate.   Cléo is dancing with a joy she usually reserves for throwing Arthur across rooms or microwaving her Barbie dolls, Wednesday wig lop-sided, liquorice-plaits fuzzy. Arthur dances in a manner that can only be described as maniacal, doing the time warp again and again as if his life depends on it. It’s enough to drag out a a delicate smile from their father, just enough to raise the apple of a cheek.

                   The apple falls when the gruesome-twosome approach – hand-in-mischievous-hand, determination in shining eyes and pink cheeks – replaced with horror. Persistent hands grab at his arms – a chorus of come on, dad, come on, dad, with the occasional tim-tams! inexplicably thrown in – and all but drag him to the dance corner. In the absence of mercy from his own children, he appeals to the honorary one.

          “Sid – I’m being manhandled. Can you believe it?!”    It’s a struggle to be heard over the music, telling them all it’s just a jump to the left – yeah, Kai thinks, and hell is just a sauna – followed by the force of his kids dragging him to the left with their own jumps.

    some thrive in chaos.   their barres of life abandoned---  scoffed at.  call it innate in sid,  with her graceless way of directly opposing order;  she came into this world feet first,  after all.  landing on top and baring teeth   ( but tonight we call ‘em fangs ).  the rest do not.  kai...   has not dressed up tonight.  it’s how he exposes himself as a BORE,  the type that will always be welcome at her table,  but not without groan.  see, sid will not have it.  she just WON’T !    something wicked is left to rot and metastasise on one bloodied grin.  predator has found prey and for this particular bestie----  there’s not a damn mercy left.         “   you’re being?   wow---  that’s CRAY CRAY!  that they would do that.  HUH! “   she’s in the middle of a step to the right,  delivering the kids their wink of approval.  as for the promised goods?  they’ll come later,  with the rest of what kai must only consider pandora’s box when its spoils equal bouncing-off-the-wall disease.  sid’ll be right beside them,  obviously,  making hamster wheel out of living room carpet.        “  you’re not doing it-----  THE PELVIC THRUST !   kai,  “  like SHE’S the disapproved parent who’s not mad,  just disappointed.   he misses the mark,  but there’s no escape for a song who’s nothing without its repetition.    the horns on her head find their way onto his now-disheveled tresses.        “  from the top, baby.  and if you don’t play ball, i’ll throw my head back and start screaming.”    she will on any given night,  but particularly now on the ween of hallow.  

[sydneyquin]

[sydneyquin]

  𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.   @kaiwintersons​

  this is the epitome of power.   sid dons sheer lace,  slithering down each wrist.  sid,  taller than most of the men here in these fuckin’ boots.  sid,  managing in spite of them,  to execute the perfect time warp.  not just once.  not just twice.  oh no,  this vampire-demon-whatever queen is a professional. she’s reaching the hundred mark.  about every kid in this place has filtered in and out of her dance corner, but none so much as wednesday and pugsley addams.      kai,  always a man on the outside looking in,  and always a man--- no wings or tails or horns tonight--- leans back and observes.  unfortunately,  sid loves this man,  which means there’s no escape from her torture.  did he seriously think he’d get away without busting a groove tonight?  like a true sadist,  sid waits until the last ten minutes of this set before reeling in her hook.  while seven year olds are jumping to the left,  sid puts good use to her power.  it comes in eye-level request with the kids more family by now.  well.  request is one word.  bribe is another.     “ go on,  get old man over here,  will ya?  ---there’ll be a pack of tim-tams in it for BOTH of you ---- if you can make it happen.  “   with that deadly wink,  made all the more deadly with blood on her face and horns in her hair.

[sydneyquin]

I’m sorry, I find it funny

[sydneyquin]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.

    halloween?   here in this body we call it the most wonderful time of the year.  grinning like its christmas,  but there’s blood on her chin.  WHAT!  it’s dried and not real, motherfucker.  not tonight.   “ pick a hand, “  one of the two behind her back,  enclosed and crushed,  details a mess of pumpkin guts.  the other,  witchetty grubs.  the LOLLY,  asshole.  who do you think she is?  --- the type to pay enormous price for australia-specific sweets,  months in advance is the correct answer.

[sydneyquin]

[sydneyquin]

𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓   vampire/demon costume from     𝑺𝒀𝑫𝑵𝑬𝒀 𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑵 !!

[sydneyquin]

Saint Maud dir. Rose Glass (2020) / Arch of Hysteria, Louise Bourgeois (1993)

[sydneyquin]

norareed​:

nora doesn’t believe in ghosts.  as a result?  she doesn’t let herself be haunted.  a graveyard is no daunting task for the woman dissolves to nauseous anxiety over phone calls.  quite the opposite, in fact.  nora looks rather at home here.  and of course she does — she’s visiting her sister, after all.  there’s no need to take off shoes inside this house, but nora is barefoot on the grass:  enjoying the last bearable remnants of summer heat.  soon the ground will be covered in frost, and it’ll be snow she’s brushing off elena’s grave rather than dust.  nora must remember to bring a blanket, next time.  but oh, she can’t think about that now!  she’s just getting to the good part!  her blue gaze clings to each word with fevered intent, heart already racing as the killer takes a step forward.  of course she’s readying horror, what else did you expect?  and suddenly, her fear launches off the page.    nora yelps (dramatically).   “ jesus!!! wh- sid?! ”   she clutches her chest, doubling over where she sits to catch her breath.  but make no mistake, her finger still manages to slide between the pages and save her place.  she’s giggling, evidently with no clear concept of how inappropriate that is (given their setting).  nora doesn’t assign judgment to sid either, and her strange choice of route.  “ you scared me half to death! … good place for it, i guess. ”   she pauses, and after a beat:   “ … what are you doing here? ”   nora inquires, nothing in her tone but curiosity.

   the young,  beautiful woman has wide eyes that glimmer with a quintessential flaunt of life.  she wastes no time humouring the dead,  however.  sid is just as quick to laugh.   “ same day delivery,  “ she quips,  joining nora when she plonks down on the grass,   legs crossed  &.  palms holding weight from behind.  this could be a seance;  the set design would allow it.  instead,  they’re near sunbathing.  well,  nora is.  a baby born in broome can never fully climatise,  not with all that red dirt,  balmy nights,  and over-worked acs.      “ admiring the view.  "   but in the next she’s stretching like a diligent athlete,  palm flat against shoe sole.   it’s difficult to keep still and this sid examples brilliantly &. without conscious consent.  “  what about you,  baby?  “  it’s a pseudonym that carries endearing tone.  this time it’s not forgetfulness covered in a cosy blanket because sid knows nora’s name.   she remembers clumsy speech and even clumsier legs.   “ you’re not--- like--- summoning something,  are ya?  “   i can tell you she doesn’t sound frightened.  frightened women don’t lean in,  squinting to get closer look at the paperback.

[sydneyquin]

Black Ajax by Locksley

I got my sunlight laughs and my moonlight grins And the ladies like whiskey and the boys drop gins When all the mas and the pas tell ‘em please to go away And when all the motherf***ers were coming out to play

[sydneyquin]

That screen test was the moment that I could put onto film the thing that I felt that we had, which was this incredible chemistry.

A Star Is Born (2018) dir. Bradley Cooper

[sydneyquin]

@norareed​ asked, 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐘:  what would a   ‘  happy life  ’   look like in your muse’s eyes ?

  sydney quin was meant to be a mother.  she was... supposed to be one,  permanently,  not for three years til the universe said BITCH, YOU THOUGHT!  mothering anybody else is AN ACT OF BETRAYAL.  sid does not intend to betray her daughter,  ivy.  and still.  nature can’t totally be shaken.  not for sid,  not with this.  so she sprinkles maternal love over friends,  and their hands she’ll hold without verbal prompt,  the dependency she has in answering a call no matter the hour.   all of this love has to go somewhere,  after all.    what i’m saying is sid doesn’t have to be a mother to unleash this instinct.  a happy life means friends to cry with,  bitch with,  dance with.  hands to hold,  food to burn and replace with the nearest takeout option.  ( it’s dairy queen,  if you were wondering.  )        out of this vein,  in a whole other body,  is the survival of her business.  she’s privileged enough where the financial aspect of it wouldn’t be a concern,  should it fail.  but it’s her project.  seeds of her own happiness are planted.  sprouted is the beauty and joy of others.   sid is not quick to let go of this dynamic,  even if the month of november watches her stretched too thin,  a woman scattered.        both are currently possessed by sid.      what’s missing...  a husband and a daughter.  the perfect life,  for sid,  has a mould. this mould is unattainable,   and sid has learned to be okay with that.  no,  she doesn’t have a perfect life,  but she has a happy one;  it doesn’t have to be imagined when it’s felt.    (  side note:   don’t tell sid,  but she’d loathe this ‘perfect life’.  to be tied down,  not working again, bound to the home?  it GETS OLD. she doesn’t know it,  but like the jeans that once fit,  this mould shaped by a 20 year old just doesn’t work for sid anymore.  and yet it’s what she knows & what she thinks she wants. )

[sydneyquin]

ONE TREE HILL - “ARE YOU TRUE”

[sydneyquin]

julienesbit·:

obsessed, you say?  julia has (historically speaking) had that effect on people.  but from sid it is swaddled with affection that wouldn’t dare sour.  and that feeling, most importantly, is mutual.   “ you got it, doll! ”   julia promises her return: valiant, and bearing gifts.  less of a waitress, now.  more of a friend, fetching another friend something from her kitchen.  better they do it here than in julia’s actual house – if you can even call it that.  a rundown motel room with a mini fridge hardly classified as a home.  not great for hosting dinner parties.  as if julie could cook in the first place… which she can’t.   “ aw, well! if you insist! ”   devilish, even, she calls back across the diner in response.  translation: you read my mind. and return julia does: a few minutes later, food for two in hand.  she sets the shake and curly fries in front of sid, before placing down a plate of her own topped with a greasy sandwich and fries to match.  julia slipped the apron from off her waist, sliding into the booth opposite the brunette to take a seat.  “ coffee’s behind the counter, if they fuckin’ want it. ”   julia remarked, dressed in zero concern.  she chases the sentiment with a large bite, hand covering her mouth while she chews.  “ tell me about you, doll. how’s the boy? he back in town, yet? ”

  julie’s got a hell of a work ethic.  it’s one which sid receives payment for,  not in lousy coin but in nutritious goods.   ( nutrition is a stretch. )    it takes the shape of curly fries and--- oh fuck,  strawberry goddamn milkshakes.  its obviously the thing she’s all grabby hands for first.  you can’t give sid anything strawberry-themed and not expect her to freak out.  something so artificially bright shouldn’t trigger an innate need.   but whatever.  the stripey straw is cute,  but pointless, and quickly discarded on the napkin.   sid means serious business and a gulp is taken straight from the glass rim.      “ the boy? “   to clarify, once the animal behaviour is over- or at least halted,  as if there’s any more than the one.   well.  yeah i guess there is,  as private messages will expose behind a locked home screen.  but only one of significance.    sid places the cup on a coaster   ( see?  not all feral  ),   settling into the seat like its her own.     “  you mean simon?  “   she quirks a brow,   acting cool.   but clarifying is the easy part.  excitement slips through with the next,  an unheld tune.    “  tomorrow---  i think,  yeah tomorrow,  “   hardly the save it was meant to be;  her smile is too big.  too fuckin’ big.    “ why baby,  you missed him?  “   julie can’t miss the wink sid throws.