At the urging of dmajor7th, I have decided to create a master list of all my fics. Even the shitty ones I wrote when I was just starting out in my current fandom. If you're looking for variety or sanity, I suggest you go elsewhere. What will greet you here is an veritable cornucopia of Batman and Axis Powers Hetalia. Fuck yes.


( Onward! )



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I walked into the Liberal Arts building today to find that it had been attacked by what could only have been a disgruntled office supply clerk. Yellow post-it notes clung to every available surface, fluttering like a flock of lunatic canaries every time a new rush of people came through the big double doors.

On closer inspection, though, it turned out that they all had writing on them, in all sorts of different handwriting. It turns out that the English Department laid out stacks of Post-its and sharpies all over the building and asked students to write their favorite bit of poetry (or song lyrics) and stick it somewhere in the hallways. My class was at eleven, but my sharpie-armed peers had already gone crazy. We had everything from Milton to the Decemberists, Emily Dickinson to John Lennon.

Here are a few of my favorites:


"Thou answerest

them only with

spring."

-Found in the ladies' bathroom. I'm sure Cummings would be very proud.


"What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?"

-I didn't get five steps in before I was beset by Ginsberg. We're lucky the Department didn't give us chalk, or, Liberal Arts students being what they are, someone would have been outside scrawling Howl across the sidewalk.


"We climbed, he first and I behind, until,
through a small round opening ahead of us
I saw the lovely things the heavens hold,

and we came out to see once more the stars."

-I can't help but feel that Dante is cheating, somehow. XD


"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king."

-Had it come from anyone else, the sound I emitted upon seeing this could accurately be described as a squeal. But since it was me, it wasn't. Really. Tolkien, why so fangirl-able?


And here was mine!



I stuck it on the wall in the outside courtyard.


While we're on the subject of poetry, holy crap, Hetalia f-list, I just noticed that Chicago, by Carl Sandberg, is, like, so America it's kind of ridiculous.

"Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse,
And under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!"

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Also, I'm watching Glee, and Jesus Christ, I ship Finn/Kurt so hard it hurts.


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So I went and saw Paranormal Activity tonight.

That was my first mistake.

My second was not closing my eyes during the bits where the music swelled.

It is now 4:12 in the morning, and I am too terrified to fall asleep. Ordinarily, I'd have the tv on, as well as every light in the house, praying that a heaping dose of the Venture Bros would keep me from wanting to climb the walls every time a gust of wind rattles the windowpanes. But I'm at a friend's house. So all I can do is sit here with my computer in the dark, trying to forget how badly I have to pee.

You think for one second I'm walking down a pitch-black hallway looking for a bathroom?

Not on your fucking life.


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Title: "Simplicity"
Author: wizzard890
Character(s) or Pairing(s): young Russia, Israel, Byzantium. Various humans.
First Posted: For pyrrhiccomedy, at her journal.
Rating: PG
Summary: 988 AD: In which little Russia searches for God. Or a god. At this point, either one will do.


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( Vanya is looking for God. )


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This weekend, I did three things.

1) Wore the most pretentious Halloween costume in the history of anything ever.

2) Shared a pack of cigarettes with seven men in full-on Frank N. Furter garb (fishnets, platform heels, corsets, the whole shebang) outside the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

3) Discovered a fucking wicked all night creperie downtown.


What's that you say? "Pictures or it didn't happen"? Well, you're in luck.




I know, right? Just look at that epicness. Take a moment. Bask in it. I'll wait.


( Sadly, there are no corsets under the cut )


All in all, it was a damn successful weekend. A few misteps, but still a blast. I'm glad, too. I'm going to be in and out of the hospital for the next couple of weeks (nothing to worry about), so it's nice to finish this month with a bang.


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Title: One Reverential Man
Author: wizzard890
Rating: PG
First Posted: At russiamerica, for the CMC Event!
Warnings: A brief depiction of Russia's childhood. Nothing too awful, though.
Summary: Russia's been gazing at the moon since he was old enough to know what it was. And now America's gotten there first.


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( Vanya doesn't think he's ever been so cold in his life. )


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After an hour and a half battle with my much-too-long hair yesterday, I decided that a change was in order. So I trotted down to the nearest hair salon, and asked for them to "get the fuck rid of it". The girl complied, but I guess I forgot to take into account how curly it is. It's to my chin, but it falls a lot higher, because of the curls. I'm not sure if I really like it, honestly.

Because, well...








Just putting that out there.


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Okay, so I'm still totally working on the drabble meme I posted earlier. Sorry it's taking me so long! I've been, uh, sidetracked as of late. My last three evenings have been pretty full up. So yeah. *cough* It's legit, though. I make such sacrifices for nationporn, guys, you have no idea. You know, for the given value of "porn".

Also, there was a paper for America Lit, but let's face it, that's not what kept me up late.

But anyway, I've been fiddling with my computer and I finally figured out how to do voice posts. Took me long enough, but I triumphed in the end. This is either due to my inherent badassery (possible) or the fact that my roommate took pity on me and showed me how (slightly more possible). Now I'm just dying to try it out. So I'm combining two memes in one!

Step One: Ask me a question, any question! Well, okay, I won't give you, like, the latitude and longitude of where exactly I sleep at night, or say what I'm wearing right now (even though chances are it'll be something awesome) or the like. But anything else is fair game: hopes, dreams, desires, opinions, thought on fandom, thoughts on pairings, thoughts on the fucking intellectual abortion that is Glenn Beck, anything!

Step Two: Then you get a voice response! I would just write this down, but I really would like to talk to all of you. And anyway, getting my point across is sooo much easier when I can actually inflect!


(WARNING: Management apologizes in advance for any responses peppered with copious amounts of swearing, and/or Valley Girl speak. It just kinda...happens.)


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I'm sort of dicking around at home this afternoon, washing my kitchen floor and dancing yes, with the mop to that freaking amazing new MIKA album. But cleaning and odd, eurotrash pop can only keep a girl so entertained.

So, meme!

I don't know who I ganked this from. It might have been lindensphinx. Anywho, here are the rules.

First: Give me a character from a fandom I'm familiar with. If it's a character from an certain sub-canon (TCE, pretty much), give me a heads up.

Second: Once you've got that, pick a line (or two, I suppose) from the poem below.

Three: BAM! You get a motherfucking drabble, based on what you've chosen.

That's easy enough, right?


Free man, you'll always love the open sea!
For, gifted with a gulf more bitter still,
Those endlessly reflective waves instill
The image of the soul's transcendency.

Immersed, you revel in your element,
Incorporated by your counterpart,
Distracted from the pounding of the heart
By the wild tide's maniacal lament.

How nervous and circumspect you seem,
To veil yourselves so enigmatically; (TCE America, scribblefish)
What prying eye can fathom man or sea--
Or say that either one is not a dream?

A civil war--blood brothers, savage foes,
Locked in relentless combat, eye for eye;
Unreconciled, the corpses multiply, (Yami Bakura, crosswhisper)
And waves of age pass, as on it goes.

--Charles Baudelaire, Man and Sea


Indulge me, f-list!


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Dear Roommate,

I love you. I really do. You know that.

But.

I offered to give you and your boyfriend all the room you wanted. Give me a thirty minute head start, and I can crash somewhere else. Five minutes, and I can do my homework in the common room. I even said that ya'll could fucking go to town on the futon. That's, like, seven freaking yards from my bunk. While I'm sleeping.

That's hella generous.

And somehow I still ended up sitting on my balcony at two in the morning, wearing my pajamas and wrapped in a comforter, with only the soft, angsty wail of Damien Rice to keep me company. Also fic, but that's not the point.

I learned this morning that it dropped below freezing last night. Which probably explains why my throat hurts.

Fuck.

Very little love at the moment,

Emily


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Sometimes nothing puts things into perspective like an invasive class assignment.

I was in Creative Writing the other day, bracing myself for yet another fun-filled three hours of the odd-smelling hippy next to me detailing how he plans to turn Macbeth into a "environmental satire" using owls, when the professor gestures for our attention. He then proceeds to tell us that he expects us all to keep a log of how many minutes a day we spend writing, not only for this class, but for anything at all. The would-be poets shit themselves in excitement and I sit there in silence, realizing that I'm going to be clocking truly ridiculous hours.

Why? One word: fanfiction.

I couldn't tell you how much time I spend writing fic a week, but I'd be willing to bet that it's kind of ridiculous.

This little incident kind of got me thinking about fandom and my involvement therein. I've been in fandom, to a greater or lesser extent, since I was thirteen years old. That's six years. Granted, most of this has been limited to writing and reading fic; cosplay doesn't really do it for me, and I'm not much of a visual artist. Fandom has markedly improved my writing, especially from ages thirteen to fifteen, and it's honed my understanding of the relationship between authors and their audience. </pretension>

But here's the thing. No one, absolutely no one, knows about it. There is not a single person in real life who has even an inkling of my involvement in fandom. It's always a bit odd for me when other people in, say, my current fandom, have friends with whom they can fangirl, or siblings or significant others who know what they're up to online. The thought of that is just totally foreign to me. It's not that I'm embarrassed about fandom, or afraid of what people will think. Nope, no one knows because, honestly, I like it that way. Fandom is a totally private place where I can go to deal with things that are going on in my real life. It's nice. If I'm having issues with stress or family (often the same thing) or whatever, I've got a quiet way to blow off steam.

So it's a little bizarre to have my real life bleeding into my fandom life. I can see the conversation now.

Professor: "Five hours? My God, Smith, what were you working on last night?"
Me: "Um. Nation porn?"
Professor: "What?"
Me: *thinks* "This proud country of ours having sex with the Communist aggressor?"
Professor: "What?
Me: "Ah...There was a rather deviant use of guns. Also, a creative incorporation of cigarettes."
Professor: "WHAT?"
Me: "I can haz A+? =D"


Awesome.


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They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

- "For The Fallen", Robert Binyon


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So, I have fic idea. For Hetalia, of course. A fic idea with which I am utterly besotted.

The only problem is, I'm so crazy about this idea, and it seems so obvious, that I can't believe I didn't accidentally lift it from somewhere.

Am I committing unintentional plagiarism? FOR GOD'S SAKE, SAVE ME FROM MYSELF!









(Oh, yeah, the idea. Well, my icon is a clue. But basically, Scully and Mulder meet America.)


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This epic shit.


the_chosen_end


Go.

Behold.

Join.


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Title: "Ruin"
Author: wizzard890
Rating: PG-13
Summary: August 6, 1945: Russia spends the most important evening of his life in the company of a carton of cigarettes, a stack of photographs, and helpless envy.

This is a chapter from The Chosen End, a Russia/America collaboration spanning from 1780 to the present day. You can read all of the fics in this story at the Index.


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( Three heavy glass ashtrays sat in a squat row in the center of the coffee table... )



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Please read our Rules & FAQ before posting. / Пожалуйста, прочтите Правила и FAQ прежде чем комментировать.


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The balcony of my dorm room provides me with a delightfully urban, beat-poetry-inspiring view of the shared back parking lot of a pawn shop, and a certain establishment known rather redundantly as the Chinese Mandarin Buffet. Across the street from this prime real estate is a Chevron gas station. A strip of lawn separates my hall from a chain link fence put in place to keep us from mingling with the patrons of the Chinese joint.

And thus, the scene was set.

This evening I decided to pop over to the Chevron with my roommate for a pack of cigarettes. I don't smoke very often, but it felt like a lazy evening, best spent standing on the balcony, watching the trains go by. This sort of enterprise requires a cigarette.

We walked a hundred yards to where the fence ended, and cut across the huge parking lot, crossed the street, bought what we needed at the gas station, and started back. My roommate headed for the gap in the fence, but noooo, I said, that would take "fucking forever" and we should just jump the fence, because "It's not even that high, seriously."

Hubris, my friends. Such hubris.

My roommate clambered over. I followed. I perched on the top of the fence, broken links digging into my ass, while I looked down at the sidewalk, trying to find a likely place to land.

Here's the part where I should say that I leapt into the air, soaring like a great condor with the spirit of God in its wings, landing safely on the ground.

Here's what actually happened.

Chain Link Fence: "I'M ON UR CAMPUS, POKING UR BUTT."
Me: "Fuck this shit!" *jumps*
Ground: *rushes up to meet me*
My Left Ankle: *crack*

No joke. I think my heel is fractured. My fucking heel. Who hurts their heel? That's, like, the most illegitimate injury ever. I've been hobbling around my room for hours now, with white spots flashing behind my eyes every time I put weight on it. Fun. And guess who has to walk three miles to the other end of campus tomorrow?

This is why smoking is bad, kids.


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Title: "Quid Pro Quo"
Author:pyrrhiccomedy and wizzard890
Rating: R
Warnings: Contains the following: temperature play, wax play, sensory deprivation, bondage, bruising/biting, gun play and, um, rather dubious consent. Yeah. Enjoy.
Summary: Potsdam, 1945: America's nuclear capabilities are revealed to the Allies, and Russia reacts accordingly.

This is a chapter from The Chosen End, a Russia/America collaboration spanning from 1780 to the present day. You can read all of the fics in this story at the Index.


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( You knew about them, didn't you? )



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Please read our Rules & FAQ before posting. / Пожалуйста, прочтите Правила и FAQ прежде чем комментировать.


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I'm getting all my stuff packed, loading about a hundred pounds of clothes I don't need into the back of the car, and hoping I don't forget anything when I head back to school tomorrow morning.

But I saw this on kc_anethema's journal last night, and it was so beautiful, I had to share. This is Kseniya Simonova retelling the German invasion of Ukraine during WWII through sand painting.




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My family has always been extraordinarily health-conscious. Not for us the artery-clogging hedonism of McDonalds, or the sedentary lifestyle of our peers! Nay, our food is healthiful, and our physical activities strenuous!

But guess what? I'm still a big girl. 5'8", with wide shoulders and hips to match. I'm not fat, (and no, this isn't a "I'm not fat, I'm voluptuous" thing, either) but I am--curvy. Think of any place a girl can be curvy, and check the box. I got it.

This makes me an anomaly in my immediate family. They work out like God's going to take physical fitness into account when they die. My seventeen year old sister is a hundred and forty pounds of pure muscle, and is going to college on a tennis scholarship. My twenty-one year old brother has abs you could fucking grate cheese on. My dad is fifty and is in better shape than any man I've ever known in my life, and my mom could probably bench press me. My little brother just started his first day of junior high...and he's kind of what prompted this. Not him specifically, but tell me if you think this is as fucked-up as I do.

So, my brother--let us call him N--showed up for his homeroom, and after the teacher gave his introduction to the class and stuff, the man explained to a room full of twelve-year old kids that they'd all be on a diet this year. They get a food journal, and monitored in PE class, and if they misfire--fast food, miss a workout, etc--they lose points. This is fucking graded. And it's not a mere diet, either. The teacher grilled each kid individually in front of the class on what they'd eaten that day. Apparently they'll be weighed later. Also in front of the class.

Now, this isn't a school with a rampant obesity problem or anything like that (and even if it was, I'd still have a problem with it), but here's a teacher telling a class of adolescents, boys and girls, that they are, to all intents and purposes, fat. My brother came home from school completely baffled, not to mention a little hurt. Over dinner, he asked my parents if he was fat. They told him no. But then when he started explaining what the program at school entails, my entire family hopped on board, telling him they'll help him work out, eat certain foods, hold him accountable, etc. He then looked at me and asked if I would help him count his calories.

Me: "No. Absolutely not."
N: *confused* "Why not?"
Me: *stabs her salmon a little too fiercely* "Because you're twelve, N. And take it from me, if you start counting calories at that age, your life is pretty much over."

I later got a dressing-down from my mother for not being supportive.

Am I in the wrong here? Just. As somebody who's had to deal with bullshit diets that I genuinely didn't need just to look like my friends who were 5'4" and flat-chested...It crushes me to hear that an entire group of kids are having their burgeoning insecurities (because, Christ, do you remember how many body issues you had at twelve?) fostered like this. My brother goes to a small, private school, and I have seen every one of his classmates. They're normal twelve-year olds. I hate to think of how that first homeroom made them feel, especially the girls.

Also, my family's desire to help N. reach some bullshit goal really pissed me off. It's great that they want him to do well in his class. Really. But the reason he isn't "fat" in the first place is because we don't do fat people in this family. I'm don't even fall under that header, and I still barely get away with it. Honestly. My mother is about 127 pounds, give or take, and she talks about how fat she is all the time. I wish she wouldn't. Because if 127 is bad, then I'm up shit creek. It's sort of sad to think that she might think of me like that.

*reads through entry*

Oh, fuck. This sounds so emo. God, guys, I'm serious, I'm not trying to be. I'm not even upset right now, just pissed on the behalf of my brother and a room full of kids I hardly know. Ngk.


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Title: "No Woman Gets An Orgasm From Shining The Kitchen Floor"
Author: wizzard890
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Femme!Russia/Femme!America
Summary: Written for erueru_2d for the Russia/America community's 300 Prompt Request Thingie. Here's the prompt: Genderswap America and Russia talk about feminism (socialist feminism versus the Women's Liberation Movement). America is all excited about the topic and argues with Russia, who firmly believes that her role is, after all, that of Mother Russia.

Author's Notes: I really, really hope this is worthy of such an awesome prompt.


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( If Russia didn't know better, she'd think America had dressed up )


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