Bleed For Me
Nov. 25th, 2003 06:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amfiguree[N'sync/BSB crossovers] [NC-17]
Bleed For Me
This is a hugely AU series (because yes, I *am* writing popslash for NaNo *grin*) wherein the mafia is involved, and kidnapping for murder takes place, and you can't help falling in love with people you shouldn't be falling in love with.
The club was smoky. People pressed up against each other on the packed dance floor, writhing and hot, a mass of synchronized energy. Justin clenched his fists tighter as he surveyed the scene, reminding himself of the reason he was stuck there in the first place, before leaning back into the couch, hidden by the shadows, watching the crowd. He leaned his head back against the booth, exhaling quietly, shutting his eyes.
Then his cell rang, and he opened an eye slowly. He considered ignoring the phone – knowing who it was without having to look – but he finally gave in and flipped the cover open, holding it up to his ear, wearily, “What, Chris?”
“Dude. You didn’t. Not again.”
“Yes, *we* fucking did. Again.”
“Justin…”
“No, Chris.” Justin sighed, eyes falling shut again. “No.”
“J, what was it?”
“Stupid, that’s what.” Justin ran a hand over his curly mop, swallowing hard. “It’s always so fucking *stupid*. And then we blow it out of fucking proportion, and-“
“What.” Not a question – a demand.
“I… he. He walked in on me and Christina.”
It took a second, or two. Then, “No fucking way! Justin!”
The blond hardly winced, “I tried to explain. God, I. I always end up with her. And I don’t even know *why*. But we couldn’t talk it over,” he laughed, bitterly, “then again, we never do. But he got mad, and I was pissed, and drunk as hell, and we argued some, and then he left.” Justin sounded broken now. Like pieces of glass strewn across the floor. Bleeding. And still drunk. “He *left* and told me to clean up after myself, and to stop acting like a fucking whore, before I fucked someone else up, and he kicked my sorry ass.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and Justin could hear the frown in Chris’ voice when he said, quietly, “Damn. That’s harsh.”
Justin’s voice was rougher now. Brittle, almost. As though the tears were close to falling. “Yeah? Well, maybe I deserved it. I cheated on him. I wasn’t fucking enough. I never am, am I, Chris? All this fucking running? What the hell is this?”
Chris sighed. “No, J. You just, you gotta sort this out, man. I know you love him.”
All Chris could hear now, as Justin replied, was fatigue. Pure, unadulterated exhaustion. “I do. But that’s not enough. I know that. I gotta… God, I don’t understand. Half the time I can’t stand being around her and in the end, we still…”
“Don’t make excuses. That’s not going to get you anywhere.”
“I know.” Justin pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing. “I can’t. I can’t reach him. Anywhere. I’m worried. And fuck, I… I just need to… I have to talk to him, Chris. Make sure he’s all right. Anything. I just… I gotta.”
“J, you know I-”
“I have to. Chris.”
And Chris knew that Justin, had he not been who he was, with as much status as he had, would be begging right now. And crying, perhaps, desperate and helpless and vulnerable.
“Look, I…”
“If I don’t try again…”
Chris sighed. “He’s at the Littrell’s.”
“Littrell’s?” Justin sounded confused, almost, for a split second. Then, ”Brian?”
“Yeah. Short, blond, married with a kid – you know the one.”
“No! He wouldn’t! Brian fucked him over! He wouldn’t…” Justin sounded less certain now, and he ran his hand over his hair, again. “He wouldn’t.”
[”I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Nick…”
“No, J.” There was a long, terse pause. Then Nick shook his head. “He fucked me over.”
“What?” Justin wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
“He fucked me over, J. With Alex. And when I found out, he just looked at me like he thought I was going to start fucking *crying*, and said ‘no more, Nick’. I just told him to fuck off. And we haven’t talked about it since.”
“Haven’t the two of you ever…?”
“No.” Nick’s eyes were hard. Cold. “No more.” Then he leaned over to kiss Justin.]
Chris licked his lips, sure he was going to regret sharing the information. “Look, kid. Double D let me in on it, okay? ‘pparently, your boyfriend’s over that shit. They’ve shacked up – and the little missus doesn’t know any better.”
Justin blanched, although he quickly regained his composure. “Leigh thinks Brian and Nick are just friends?” His voice was soft now, strained. “But… but doesn’t she know? What they shared? I thought… I thought Brian told her everything.”
“Not everything, I guess.” Chris’ tone was resigned. “J, come back here. We’ll work this out, all right? Maybe you need therapy, professional help. It doesn’t fucking matter. You just… you gotta stop sneaking out solo like this. C’s worried sick. And Lance is going crazy. They all want to know if you’re safe – you know what kind of shit we’re in, man. The other side’s still looking for us. You shouldn’t be out there alone like this.”
“I know, Chris.” Justin sounded frustrated, “I’ve been through the debrief ten hundred times. Just. Just tell them I’m fine. And that I’ll be back in a while.”
“J–”
“Yo, Timberlake?” Another voice cut through Chris’ shrill yelling over the phone, and Justin looked up, distractedly, his eyes narrowed – he was buzzed, but not enough to let his guard down. His gaze was bright, alert, and it darted around, looking at the man who’d just spoken, suspiciously knitting his eyebrows.
He sat up a little straighter, slowly, cautiously, phone still at his ear, Chris’ words running blankly through his head. “Look, CK, I gotta go. I’ll hit you back later,” he muttered; then he put his cell away, and returned his attention to the scrawny man.
“Timberlake,” his voice was lower this time, more urgent, and he motioned for Justin to follow him out of the bar.
Justin sat put. “Wade, why the fuck are you here?”
“I’ve got news on your bitch, bitch.”
Justin had to grind his teeth together, and clutch discreetly to the edge of his seat to stop from jumping up and questioning them, even as he felt his stomach lurch. But his voice was neutral, almost conversational, and sounded forced to no one but himself when he said, “really.”
Wade didn’t reply, just folded his arms across his chest, tapping his foot against the floor impatiently. There was a long, terse silence, and Wade finally broke it, annoyed. “Look, buddy, I don’t have time to play games. If you don’t want my news, I got other people who want it. Okay?”
Justin relented, “how serious is it? Jail term?”
“We’re talking hanging here, man. Doesn’t look good.”
Justin met the Wade’s eyes, and his heart nearly jumped out of his mouth. Justin’s calm all but shattered, his face turning pallid, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was beyond terrified. “Take this outside,” Justin said, quietly, throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the table, ignoring the fact that it was probably ten times the price of the cheap beer he had gotten, and then turning and following Wade out of the bar. When they were outside, finally, the younger man turned to him, as a silent circle of men surrounded him, and Justin knew, immediately, that something was wrong. “What do you know? What happened?”
“You.”
And then there was a flash of silver as someone else joined the ring around him, knife in hand. Wade had melted out of Justin’s line of vision, and Justin’s eyes flickered dimly with recognition as he stared calmly at the newcomer, although the wheels had begun turning furiously in his head, and he scanned the area silently for exits. There were none.
Justin faced the man squarely, “McLean.”
McLean nodded, a smirk on his lips. “There’s no way out, Timberlake. So, sit back. Enjoy the ride from hell.”
Nick and the words Chris is going to kill me flashed through Justin’s mind, before something slammed against the back of his head, so that the world faded and then completely disappeared.
Justin’s arms throbbed as he felt the light of the world come rushing to greet him. He closed his eyes, and a soft groan kissed his lips as he tried to move, but something held him down, and Justin felt himself begin to panic. Voices were coming from far away, faint, distant. He managed to hear snatches of conversation about something – or maybe it was someone? – stirring, and then something about cloths and Tim and lakes, and wondered, in his half-dazed state, if they were maybe planning a tea party.
His eyelids fluttered open, again, and he managed to make out the blurry outline of a stranger looming over him before the distorted images began spinning before his eyes, which began watering, and he had to shut them, realizing suddenly, foggily, that he – wherever he was – was moving. And the floor was cold and smooth, but not tiled.
“Nick?” he wanted to say, but then realized he’d been gagged. That sent him over the edge with panic, and his head cleared, now painfully aware.
But then someone pressed a rough cloth to his nose, and he could barely think ‘chloroform’, before his eyes rolled back in his head, and his body went limp, consciousness fading into black.
[“Codes? Why do we need a fucking *code*?”
“If someone comes up to you and says that I sent them to see you, how’re you gonna know they’re not lying? How’re you gonna know they’re not playing for the other team?”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Justin, you’re so fucking dramatic.”
Justin wrapped his arms around Nick’s waist, pressing himself warmly against Nick’s back. “Well one of us has to be.”]
“When can we kill him?”
McLean’s eyes glittered, almost dangerously, “did I say we would?”; his minion looked properly subdued, and McLean glanced to the back of the vehicle, where Justin lay motionless on his side, chest rising and falling in even intervals, his hands roped painfully together behind his back, his legs anchored securely by the cord binding them to the floor of the van.
He turned back to gaze out the window, his voice sharp, “keep your mouth shut, Fatone. Ask another question and I’ll shoot *you*. Understood?”
A curt, deathly silence ensued, and their speed increased as the van continued down the dirt path, unnoticed.
[Justin unlocked the door to his apartment, rolling his shoulders to get the kinks out of his system. God, he was tired. Wandering into the bathroom, Justin started his bath and then went to pour himself a whiskey while it ran. A hysterical shriek echoed as flashes of pale faces and open-mouthed stares replayed over and over in his head, like a broken movie.
He downed his whiskey silently, hand steady.
Then someone wrapped an arm around his waist, and Justin’s hand instinctively dropped the glass, and reached for his gun. “Hey, baby.”
Relaxing, Justin breathed a sigh of relief. Nick. Turning to meet his boyfriend’s eyes, Justin shook his head, trying not to smile. “How did you do that?”
“Didn’t I mention?” Nick’s grin was wide, “I do this for a living.”
Nick’s smile faltered as Justin raised an eyebrow and asked, “What *do* you do for a living?”
“I’m.” Nick couldn’t answer. The atmosphere changed. He dropped his gaze, and his hand went to his ankle as he bent down. Justin bit back his shock as a pistol was placed on the mini-bar counter. Nick looked at him, and they didn’t trade words for a long time.
“It’s okay,” Justin said, finally, when the silence had gone on so long that Nick closed his eyes. “It’s okay. Me too.”
And then Justin pulled out his own gun.]
The van lurched to a stop, and McLean climbed out, slowly. He shot Fatone a stern look, and the man cut himself off mid-yawn. “Get Littrell here,” he pressed his lips in a thin line as he surveyed the darkness around them. When he glanced over, Fatone was still there. “Go,” McLean hissed.
Fatone gave him a puzzled look, and then seemed to shake himself out of his daze, ambling off to the back of the van. There was a hurried exchange of murmured conversation that McLean didn’t bother trying to make out, a soft trill of laughter, and then a shock of blonde hair materialized before McLean’s eyes.
“Brian.”
“You want me to take over the wheel, Alex?”
“You up to it?”
Brian shrugged, massaging the back of his neck with one hand, “shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t wanna stop for the night? I could hook us up with a couple of rooms. There’s a town nearby, only about thirty miles down. We can get there in under an hour if I floor it.”
McLean shook his head. “Take it easy, and drive through the night. We need to make time. I’ve got to catch up with Kevin the next stop.”
“He’s handling Nick all right?”
McLean pulled off his shades, and rubbed at his eyes for a second, before putting them on again. “They’ll be okay.”
Brian just looked at him, eyes unreadable, and then turned and got into the driver’s seat, studiously not noticing the hesitation before McLean climbed in after him.
Bleed For Me
This is a hugely AU series (because yes, I *am* writing popslash for NaNo *grin*) wherein the mafia is involved, and kidnapping for murder takes place, and you can't help falling in love with people you shouldn't be falling in love with.
The club was smoky. People pressed up against each other on the packed dance floor, writhing and hot, a mass of synchronized energy. Justin clenched his fists tighter as he surveyed the scene, reminding himself of the reason he was stuck there in the first place, before leaning back into the couch, hidden by the shadows, watching the crowd. He leaned his head back against the booth, exhaling quietly, shutting his eyes.
Then his cell rang, and he opened an eye slowly. He considered ignoring the phone – knowing who it was without having to look – but he finally gave in and flipped the cover open, holding it up to his ear, wearily, “What, Chris?”
“Dude. You didn’t. Not again.”
“Yes, *we* fucking did. Again.”
“Justin…”
“No, Chris.” Justin sighed, eyes falling shut again. “No.”
“J, what was it?”
“Stupid, that’s what.” Justin ran a hand over his curly mop, swallowing hard. “It’s always so fucking *stupid*. And then we blow it out of fucking proportion, and-“
“What.” Not a question – a demand.
“I… he. He walked in on me and Christina.”
It took a second, or two. Then, “No fucking way! Justin!”
The blond hardly winced, “I tried to explain. God, I. I always end up with her. And I don’t even know *why*. But we couldn’t talk it over,” he laughed, bitterly, “then again, we never do. But he got mad, and I was pissed, and drunk as hell, and we argued some, and then he left.” Justin sounded broken now. Like pieces of glass strewn across the floor. Bleeding. And still drunk. “He *left* and told me to clean up after myself, and to stop acting like a fucking whore, before I fucked someone else up, and he kicked my sorry ass.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and Justin could hear the frown in Chris’ voice when he said, quietly, “Damn. That’s harsh.”
Justin’s voice was rougher now. Brittle, almost. As though the tears were close to falling. “Yeah? Well, maybe I deserved it. I cheated on him. I wasn’t fucking enough. I never am, am I, Chris? All this fucking running? What the hell is this?”
Chris sighed. “No, J. You just, you gotta sort this out, man. I know you love him.”
All Chris could hear now, as Justin replied, was fatigue. Pure, unadulterated exhaustion. “I do. But that’s not enough. I know that. I gotta… God, I don’t understand. Half the time I can’t stand being around her and in the end, we still…”
“Don’t make excuses. That’s not going to get you anywhere.”
“I know.” Justin pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing. “I can’t. I can’t reach him. Anywhere. I’m worried. And fuck, I… I just need to… I have to talk to him, Chris. Make sure he’s all right. Anything. I just… I gotta.”
“J, you know I-”
“I have to. Chris.”
And Chris knew that Justin, had he not been who he was, with as much status as he had, would be begging right now. And crying, perhaps, desperate and helpless and vulnerable.
“Look, I…”
“If I don’t try again…”
Chris sighed. “He’s at the Littrell’s.”
“Littrell’s?” Justin sounded confused, almost, for a split second. Then, ”Brian?”
“Yeah. Short, blond, married with a kid – you know the one.”
“No! He wouldn’t! Brian fucked him over! He wouldn’t…” Justin sounded less certain now, and he ran his hand over his hair, again. “He wouldn’t.”
[”I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Nick…”
“No, J.” There was a long, terse pause. Then Nick shook his head. “He fucked me over.”
“What?” Justin wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
“He fucked me over, J. With Alex. And when I found out, he just looked at me like he thought I was going to start fucking *crying*, and said ‘no more, Nick’. I just told him to fuck off. And we haven’t talked about it since.”
“Haven’t the two of you ever…?”
“No.” Nick’s eyes were hard. Cold. “No more.” Then he leaned over to kiss Justin.]
Chris licked his lips, sure he was going to regret sharing the information. “Look, kid. Double D let me in on it, okay? ‘pparently, your boyfriend’s over that shit. They’ve shacked up – and the little missus doesn’t know any better.”
Justin blanched, although he quickly regained his composure. “Leigh thinks Brian and Nick are just friends?” His voice was soft now, strained. “But… but doesn’t she know? What they shared? I thought… I thought Brian told her everything.”
“Not everything, I guess.” Chris’ tone was resigned. “J, come back here. We’ll work this out, all right? Maybe you need therapy, professional help. It doesn’t fucking matter. You just… you gotta stop sneaking out solo like this. C’s worried sick. And Lance is going crazy. They all want to know if you’re safe – you know what kind of shit we’re in, man. The other side’s still looking for us. You shouldn’t be out there alone like this.”
“I know, Chris.” Justin sounded frustrated, “I’ve been through the debrief ten hundred times. Just. Just tell them I’m fine. And that I’ll be back in a while.”
“J–”
“Yo, Timberlake?” Another voice cut through Chris’ shrill yelling over the phone, and Justin looked up, distractedly, his eyes narrowed – he was buzzed, but not enough to let his guard down. His gaze was bright, alert, and it darted around, looking at the man who’d just spoken, suspiciously knitting his eyebrows.
He sat up a little straighter, slowly, cautiously, phone still at his ear, Chris’ words running blankly through his head. “Look, CK, I gotta go. I’ll hit you back later,” he muttered; then he put his cell away, and returned his attention to the scrawny man.
“Timberlake,” his voice was lower this time, more urgent, and he motioned for Justin to follow him out of the bar.
Justin sat put. “Wade, why the fuck are you here?”
“I’ve got news on your bitch, bitch.”
Justin had to grind his teeth together, and clutch discreetly to the edge of his seat to stop from jumping up and questioning them, even as he felt his stomach lurch. But his voice was neutral, almost conversational, and sounded forced to no one but himself when he said, “really.”
Wade didn’t reply, just folded his arms across his chest, tapping his foot against the floor impatiently. There was a long, terse silence, and Wade finally broke it, annoyed. “Look, buddy, I don’t have time to play games. If you don’t want my news, I got other people who want it. Okay?”
Justin relented, “how serious is it? Jail term?”
“We’re talking hanging here, man. Doesn’t look good.”
Justin met the Wade’s eyes, and his heart nearly jumped out of his mouth. Justin’s calm all but shattered, his face turning pallid, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was beyond terrified. “Take this outside,” Justin said, quietly, throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the table, ignoring the fact that it was probably ten times the price of the cheap beer he had gotten, and then turning and following Wade out of the bar. When they were outside, finally, the younger man turned to him, as a silent circle of men surrounded him, and Justin knew, immediately, that something was wrong. “What do you know? What happened?”
“You.”
And then there was a flash of silver as someone else joined the ring around him, knife in hand. Wade had melted out of Justin’s line of vision, and Justin’s eyes flickered dimly with recognition as he stared calmly at the newcomer, although the wheels had begun turning furiously in his head, and he scanned the area silently for exits. There were none.
Justin faced the man squarely, “McLean.”
McLean nodded, a smirk on his lips. “There’s no way out, Timberlake. So, sit back. Enjoy the ride from hell.”
Nick and the words Chris is going to kill me flashed through Justin’s mind, before something slammed against the back of his head, so that the world faded and then completely disappeared.
Justin’s arms throbbed as he felt the light of the world come rushing to greet him. He closed his eyes, and a soft groan kissed his lips as he tried to move, but something held him down, and Justin felt himself begin to panic. Voices were coming from far away, faint, distant. He managed to hear snatches of conversation about something – or maybe it was someone? – stirring, and then something about cloths and Tim and lakes, and wondered, in his half-dazed state, if they were maybe planning a tea party.
His eyelids fluttered open, again, and he managed to make out the blurry outline of a stranger looming over him before the distorted images began spinning before his eyes, which began watering, and he had to shut them, realizing suddenly, foggily, that he – wherever he was – was moving. And the floor was cold and smooth, but not tiled.
“Nick?” he wanted to say, but then realized he’d been gagged. That sent him over the edge with panic, and his head cleared, now painfully aware.
But then someone pressed a rough cloth to his nose, and he could barely think ‘chloroform’, before his eyes rolled back in his head, and his body went limp, consciousness fading into black.
[“Codes? Why do we need a fucking *code*?”
“If someone comes up to you and says that I sent them to see you, how’re you gonna know they’re not lying? How’re you gonna know they’re not playing for the other team?”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Justin, you’re so fucking dramatic.”
Justin wrapped his arms around Nick’s waist, pressing himself warmly against Nick’s back. “Well one of us has to be.”]
“When can we kill him?”
McLean’s eyes glittered, almost dangerously, “did I say we would?”; his minion looked properly subdued, and McLean glanced to the back of the vehicle, where Justin lay motionless on his side, chest rising and falling in even intervals, his hands roped painfully together behind his back, his legs anchored securely by the cord binding them to the floor of the van.
He turned back to gaze out the window, his voice sharp, “keep your mouth shut, Fatone. Ask another question and I’ll shoot *you*. Understood?”
A curt, deathly silence ensued, and their speed increased as the van continued down the dirt path, unnoticed.
[Justin unlocked the door to his apartment, rolling his shoulders to get the kinks out of his system. God, he was tired. Wandering into the bathroom, Justin started his bath and then went to pour himself a whiskey while it ran. A hysterical shriek echoed as flashes of pale faces and open-mouthed stares replayed over and over in his head, like a broken movie.
He downed his whiskey silently, hand steady.
Then someone wrapped an arm around his waist, and Justin’s hand instinctively dropped the glass, and reached for his gun. “Hey, baby.”
Relaxing, Justin breathed a sigh of relief. Nick. Turning to meet his boyfriend’s eyes, Justin shook his head, trying not to smile. “How did you do that?”
“Didn’t I mention?” Nick’s grin was wide, “I do this for a living.”
Nick’s smile faltered as Justin raised an eyebrow and asked, “What *do* you do for a living?”
“I’m.” Nick couldn’t answer. The atmosphere changed. He dropped his gaze, and his hand went to his ankle as he bent down. Justin bit back his shock as a pistol was placed on the mini-bar counter. Nick looked at him, and they didn’t trade words for a long time.
“It’s okay,” Justin said, finally, when the silence had gone on so long that Nick closed his eyes. “It’s okay. Me too.”
And then Justin pulled out his own gun.]
The van lurched to a stop, and McLean climbed out, slowly. He shot Fatone a stern look, and the man cut himself off mid-yawn. “Get Littrell here,” he pressed his lips in a thin line as he surveyed the darkness around them. When he glanced over, Fatone was still there. “Go,” McLean hissed.
Fatone gave him a puzzled look, and then seemed to shake himself out of his daze, ambling off to the back of the van. There was a hurried exchange of murmured conversation that McLean didn’t bother trying to make out, a soft trill of laughter, and then a shock of blonde hair materialized before McLean’s eyes.
“Brian.”
“You want me to take over the wheel, Alex?”
“You up to it?”
Brian shrugged, massaging the back of his neck with one hand, “shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t wanna stop for the night? I could hook us up with a couple of rooms. There’s a town nearby, only about thirty miles down. We can get there in under an hour if I floor it.”
McLean shook his head. “Take it easy, and drive through the night. We need to make time. I’ve got to catch up with Kevin the next stop.”
“He’s handling Nick all right?”
McLean pulled off his shades, and rubbed at his eyes for a second, before putting them on again. “They’ll be okay.”
Brian just looked at him, eyes unreadable, and then turned and got into the driver’s seat, studiously not noticing the hesitation before McLean climbed in after him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 03:35 am (UTC)i hope you're not the only one who thinks so.
*hugs* thanks, sweetie.
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Date: 2003-11-25 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 03:42 am (UTC)you're my darling. you really, really are.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 03:45 am (UTC)*loves on you more*
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Date: 2003-11-25 03:45 am (UTC)And ooh! Interesting story. Is there more or is that it for NaNo? Because I remember you were Singapore's #1 writer at one point.
BTW, my friend Erin (
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Date: 2003-11-25 03:48 am (UTC)heh. there's more. tons more. but i'm breaking it into parts so it doesn't get too heavy on the eyes. ;) oh, and i know i never said (i'm lazy *blush*) but i think what i've read of YOUR NaNo so far is brilliant. i'm loving the characters, and the stories, and that's a difficult task for me when it comes to original characters.
#1 writer? wow. *laugh* didn't know my story was going along that fast.
awwww! :) thanks for telling me. it's always nice to hear when your fic is appreciated.
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Date: 2003-11-25 03:56 am (UTC)Aaww thanks for your comments! My story's nowhere near completion, in fact a few more chapters SUDDENLY appeared and they are going to make me CRY o_O
good luck with your novel! :D
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Date: 2003-11-25 06:09 am (UTC)Good luck with your novel. What is your profile at NaNo? Mine's parlance.
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Date: 2003-11-25 06:20 am (UTC)thanks a bunch. good luck with yours, too. or have you already finished it? ;) mine's etsu_88. heh. we're both lj freaks.
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Date: 2003-11-25 06:31 am (UTC)I'll go take a look at your profile now!
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Date: 2003-11-25 06:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 10:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 11:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 05:33 pm (UTC)mmmm your icon. so pretty.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-25 05:54 pm (UTC)i made it a long time ago... but since the whole 50 icons thing. i got to rotate it back in.
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Date: 2003-11-25 02:17 pm (UTC)OK, I know it's serious and stuff but I was all OOOH... and OH WOW...
I like it.
Good luck
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Date: 2003-11-25 05:31 pm (UTC)thank you, god. heh, i'm glad you're having fun. ;)
*hugs you* and thank *you* for reading, hon.
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Date: 2003-11-25 05:36 pm (UTC)Good luck over the last days.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-30 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-01 10:14 am (UTC)awww, thanks, hon!