kleenexwoman: A picture of a man swooning girlishly against a wall.  (Strapping young bucks)
title: a mary sue fantasy i have had about "the man from uncle" when i am nervous about getting or keeping a job
genre: freeform poem
explanation: I was reading some Tao Lin poems, and I was impressed by the aesthetic of writing about incredibly mundane things that other poets would either ignore or glorify. So I decided to poeticize the most mundane fantasy I have ever had.

drunk poetry )
kleenexwoman: A caricature of me looking future-y.  (Default)
They watch the fiery cloud rise above the city. Illya can almost feel heat on his face, cutting through the salt breeze. Beside him, Napoleon makes a strangled moaning sound.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Marinetti asks. The rogue THRUSH anarchist’s face is rapt, sincere. Illya imagines New York, now--monuments of steel and glass twisting into charred lacy tangles, pedestrians vaporized in an instant, their shadows etched into the concrete.

He can hear Napoleon retching over the side of the boat. How odd, Illya thinks distantly. Napoleon never gets seasick.

Marinetti glances at him and shrugs. “Not everyone appreciates modern art.”

kleenexwoman: A green face with its lips sewn shut.  (Zombie crush)
The inside of the Prague compound smells of dead earth and old paper, musty and choking. They smash the carefully sculpted arms and legs and torsos they find in the laboratory, showering the floor with clay. Illya rifles through sheets of crabbed Hebrew he knows are not innocuous as code.

They find Professor Bergl’s severed head in a corner in the laboratory, mouth open in shock, three Hebrew characters--aleph mem tav--carved into the temple. There’s a trail of dry red splashes leading to the smashed door, but it’s impossible to tell by now if they’re clay or blood.
kleenexwoman: A picture of a man swooning girlishly against a wall.  (Strapping young bucks)
Illya was seven, and he feared the rusalka in the pond. He saw her blonde hair waving like seaweed, her eyes warm as sky, decoys for the rotting monster he knew lay beneath. He knew she stretched out her long white arms not to hold him, but to drag motherless boys down into the cold.

Through Moscow, Oxford, Paris, New York, he thinks he has left her behind. But he sees her treacherous eyes and strangling arms in the woman his best friend swears is an angel, like her name. Napoleon has no fear, and Illya knows he will drown.

kleenexwoman: A picture of a man swooning girlishly against a wall.  (Strapping young bucks)
I wrote this for an anonymous Secret Santa. Stuff like that seems to be the only thing that will get me to actually finish whole stories in this fandom. Anyway, the prompt that I used was "bureaucracy," and I couldn't figure out what to do with it, then the day I graduated I took some acid that I'd had sitting in the freezer for six months, and in the middle of the (rather disappointing) trip, I figured out what the story was going to be about. It worked that time, but I suspect this method may be a one-trick pony.

The Electric Espresso Acid Test )
kleenexwoman: A picture of a man swooning girlishly against a wall.  (Strapping young bucks)
I wrote this for a "Guess the Author" challenge. The first person guessed it was me because of the spookiness and mythological background, which was impressive because at that point I hadn't written anything else for that fandom except for that "Cigarettes" drabble. My Livejournal tells too many tales for games like these, apparently.

The Pomegranate Affair )
kleenexwoman: A picture of a man swooning girlishly against a wall.  (Strapping young bucks)
I was trying to quit smoking at the time. It didn't work very well, because I still really liked smoking. Now that cigarettes make me sick, it's been very easy to quit.

Cigarettes )

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kleenexwoman: A caricature of me looking future-y.  (Default)
Rachel

April 2015

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