FIC: Hello, Disease (1/1)
Nov. 15th, 2007 11:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Hello, Disease
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Pairing: CWRPS, JDM/JA
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not real. Not character defamation. Just fiction.
A/N: Hooker fic. Betaed byhederahelix despite midterms and grading, which makes her a goddess.
By the time the driver pulled up to the appropriate condo, Jensen felt like acid had chewed through his stomach. It had been a lousy day; no calls from from his regulars, and Christian had come back from an appointment with a busted lip and bloody knuckles. And then Yuri had called.
Hooking sucked anyway, but most times he could do his grocery list or wonder about the Black Hawks' chances for getting to the playoffs. Not with Yuri. When Yuri called, Jensen went; there was no option of walking out, no pretending that he could control what happened. He consented, but he knew it was a lie. If he said no, it would happen to him anyway.
Likewise tonight. Yuri called; Jensen went. But the game had shifted on him. This wasn't Yuri's home or his office, or the warehouses where Yuri's boys dealt out their goods and Jensen could almost hear Adam's voice. Jensen had never seen this place before. It was too public for Yuri to shove his body into the river. Small mercies.
"This is it?" Jensen asked the driver, hating the nervous edge to his voice.
His only answer was the music that kept on playing: midnight jazz, slow and smoky and sweet.
"Right," Jensen said finally and got out of the car. The driver barely waited for him to get both feet on the ground before pulling back out into traffic with the back door still open. The car tore off, brakelights receding in the mist that poured off the river. Jensen stared after the driver, gripping his cell phone too tight.
"She's expecting you," Yuri had said. Had he sounded nervous? No. Distasteful, almost, like this was some task to be dealt with while wearing latex gloves and a mask to block the stench.
Still the condo stayed silent, the lights inside like staring eyes.
This was ridiculous. Jensen was just getting paranoid; he dealt with worse things three times before breakfast, and there were better things to be afraid of than a condo. Tucking both hands in his jacket against the chill, he started to unlock the door.
The knob turned easily beneath his hand, and the door began to open on its own. Nobody left their doors unlocked in downtown Chicago; there should have been security out the eyeballs, three locks, and a suspicious person waiting behind the door to lock it again as soon as possible. The smell drifting through the half-open door raised the hair on the back of Jensen's neck. It was an antiseptic smell-- a hospital smell, sickness and desperation.
The door opened into the sterility of a barren entry hall. The foyer was white and clean and hollow, no signs of life aside from an empty wheelchair down the hall. Holding onto the door, Jensen cleared his throat and asked, "Hello? Yuri said you were expecting me?"
"Hello?" someone called back a moment later. A woman's voice, dry like brittle leaves. "Hello, hello?"
Jensen stepped inside the condo, pulling the door shut behind him. His nerves were on overdrive, expecting a SWAT Team to come surging out at any moment. But there was eerie quiet and, as he moved towards the voice, the rustle of sheets.
"I'm, um. My name is Jensen. I work for Yuri." Jensen got to the wheelchair and stopped, his attention drawn to the dust on the handles. The wheels had started to rust. "He sent me here for you."
"Yuri," the woman crooned, running her tongue over the syllables in a sigh. Then, "Jensen."
Goddamn, he wished he'd given her another name. Too much time with Jeff-- his mind veered away from the name, the anger and the dull ache of loss. "That's right," Jensen said, forcing cheer into his voice. A hooker who could double as a kid's show host; who would've thought? "What's your name?"
"Here, Jensen. Just down the hall."
Jensen slid past the wheelchair. His mind played tricks, telling him that the walls narrowed as he walked towards the door at the end of the hall. The door was the only one that was open, spilling light; the other doors along the way were shut soundly. Jensen had the uneasy feeling that those doors wouldn't open if he tried the locks. If he kicked through the door he'd find a sealed wall behind it.
This was firing up every fight-or-flight reflex he still had. But if he ran, whatever Yuri would use to punish him would be much, much worse than this. So he went through the last open door.
It wasn't a horror show. It was a young women in a white gown, in a white bed, in a white room. She looked like one of the flowers Jensen's grandmother pressed between heavy books, a dried-out echo. The girl turned her face towards Jensen, her mouth curving in a tired smile. She raised her hand, and the veins showed blue against the stark knobs of her knuckles. There was glittering polish over her yellowed fingernails, so overgrown they curved inward. She couldn't have been more than 20.
"I'm Belle," the girl said, holding out her hand like a princess waiting to be kissed. She smelled like disease. She smelled like Adam had. Her eyes were the only dark thing about her, large and liquid and too wide. "You're pretty."
All the skin on Jensen's body felt tight, trying to pull away from this room and this girl. He pushed himself closer to the edge of the bed and took her hand, barely touching her. "Thank you, Belle," Jensen said, trying to sound okay. It was just a woman, a sick one, and it wasn't her fault Jensen knew that dying smell too well. Very carefully, he bent and kissed the back of her hand. Up close, she smelled powdery, like her skin was flaking away into dust. "It's nice to meet you."
When he let her go, he could see the bruises left by her fingers. Belle stared at her fingers, her mouth thinning, then back at his face. She looked like she was trying very hard not to cry. "You're still pretty," she said, her voice cracking.
God. Kneeling down, Jensen touched the bedspread by her hand. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay. You're--"
Belle was wearing a pendant, its chain coiled around her throat. A gold cage rested in the dry nest of her hair.
Into his silence, Belle whispered, "Hold me."
Something like rage surged up in Jensen's throat. He looked at her, ready to demand answers, ready to tear them out of her if she didn't tell him why she wore that cage. What it meant. What any of this meant.
Belle looked back at him. There was a vein of red in her eyes, her pupils shocked wide. She was afraid in that cracking shell.
So he climbed up in the bed beside her, wincing every time their bodies brushed. It hurt to watch her struggle onto her side, but after a few awkward minutes she lay curled up against him, his chest to her back as he cradled her there in her deathbed. Her hair smelled like mint.
Belle pulled his arm around her, sighed, and closed her eyes. Jensen held very still and followed her labored breathing, adrenaline jerking in his veins every time her breathing hitched. She felt like she might just die now, a shivering rabbit pinned under the cat's teeth. He stroked her stomach, and she was cool beneath the nightgown.
"Thank you," Belle said.
Jensen closed his eyes. This close, the smell of her was sickly sweet beneath the medicinal bitterness. If he breathed too deeply, he might gag. He was afraid to breathe through his mouth, afraid to taste her. "Jesus, honey. What did Yuri do to you?"
Belle began to hum softly and tunelessly. Her fingers rested on his arm, a cuff of bone and sinew. The bruises on her looked as dark as some corruption spreading under her skin.
"Belle," Jensen began again, spooked and yeah, okay, a little annoyed. "We can get you to a doctor-"
Belle gripped his arm, pulled him to her mouth, and bit down. It took a second, a blink, and suddenly there was blood welling up from his arm and she was snarling. Jensen yelped and sat up, wrestling his arm away, but she clutched him with two hands and wouldn't let go. He got up, dragging her a few inches, his arm burning the whole way. Beneath her dress, her skin ripped like parchment, and there was darkness on the bed, too dark for blood. Jensen tore his arm away with a hard yank and fell back on his ass, only able to watch as Belle lay crumpled beside the bed, broken and keening and bloody-mouthed. There were large ragged wounds on Jensen's arm, the irregular set of flat teeth, punctures, and bruises.
"What the fuck?" Jensen yelled, and backed towards the door. "What the fuck?"
Belle sobbed on the floor, her face pressed against a spreading dark stain on the carpet. Then he realized her face was the dark spreading stain, that half of her had torn away. He staggered back against the doorframe, gagging on the bile in his throat, and collided with Yuri's solid body. It was almost a comfort.
"Belle, Belle," Yuri sighed, sliding an arm around Jensen. "I told you to behave."
Belle wailed, and Jensen felt the impact-sting of something in his shoulder. The hell and stench of the once white room slid to red, and then black, and then nothing at all.
****
There was water on his face, in his mouth and ears, the drum of it on tiles like the rhythm of his heart. It was hot and steady, washing off the blood, washing him clean.
Jensen opened his eyes.
His bathroom, his shower, built in the safehouse's trademark blue and gold. Outside of the fogged glass, he saw the dim shape of a swimsuit calendar Christian slapped up on the wall. Even as messed up as he was, there was no missing the red ink marking Yuri's appointment.
What day was it? Christ, he didn't remember. He couldn't think. Days since Adam, days since Jeff... twelve appointments. Six days.
A few borrowed hours until the party, then. He pushed the thought away and stood, his legs wobbling under him. When he put out a hand to steady himself, he managed to be dully surprised by the sharp bones of his own wrist. At least Yuri would be pleased. He'd always thought Jensen was too sturdy to be attractive. Better to waste away, skinny and full of junk, pale and breakable--
Belle and her teeth in her white, white bed. Just a dream.
Turn the shower off. Step out into bathroom. Dress. Separate the world into small, digestible chunks. Chew and swallow. Be good.
Jensen went to the kitchen and dropped into a chair. The distance to the fridge seemed like miles, and he couldn't trust the food in it anyway. Not after Sunday, when the safehouse delivered tainted coffee. He wasn't hungry anymore. Nausea rippled under his skin when he smelled food on the street, when Christian brought things home and tried to force them down Jensen's throat. "This isn't helping Adam, Jen. You can't just give up."
He wasn't giving up. He was tired. Wasn't he allowed to be tired?
The phone rang, jerking Jensen upright in his chair. He winced, grabbing the arms to steady himself, and listened until it went to the answering machine. Dispatch; he recognized that bored tone. "Call sixteen from client Corleone. Requests another callback."
Jeff again. Jensen had sent Christian to scratch Jeff's itch. What more did he fucking expect?
As dispatch rambled on about contact numbers and offered price, which Jeff escalated with every call, Jensen shifted the chair back and touched the kitchen cabinet. The knives were there, all lined up with the whetstone. Jensen grabbed his knife and brought it to his lap with the stone. He began to sharpen, his hands steadying as he worked.
"Message from Corleone," Dispatch droned. "I need to see you. I can help. Please."
The knife shrank, grew thinner and sharper and better. The whetstone was warm in his hand. On the inside of Jensen's arm, he saw a pink, irregular circle where Belle sunk her teeth in. Jensen closed his eyes.
One more night. Yuri was waiting.
The knife would be ready by then.
Author:
nilchancePairing: CWRPS, JDM/JA
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not real. Not character defamation. Just fiction.
A/N: Hooker fic. Betaed by
hederahelix despite midterms and grading, which makes her a goddess.By the time the driver pulled up to the appropriate condo, Jensen felt like acid had chewed through his stomach. It had been a lousy day; no calls from from his regulars, and Christian had come back from an appointment with a busted lip and bloody knuckles. And then Yuri had called.
Hooking sucked anyway, but most times he could do his grocery list or wonder about the Black Hawks' chances for getting to the playoffs. Not with Yuri. When Yuri called, Jensen went; there was no option of walking out, no pretending that he could control what happened. He consented, but he knew it was a lie. If he said no, it would happen to him anyway.
Likewise tonight. Yuri called; Jensen went. But the game had shifted on him. This wasn't Yuri's home or his office, or the warehouses where Yuri's boys dealt out their goods and Jensen could almost hear Adam's voice. Jensen had never seen this place before. It was too public for Yuri to shove his body into the river. Small mercies.
"This is it?" Jensen asked the driver, hating the nervous edge to his voice.
His only answer was the music that kept on playing: midnight jazz, slow and smoky and sweet.
"Right," Jensen said finally and got out of the car. The driver barely waited for him to get both feet on the ground before pulling back out into traffic with the back door still open. The car tore off, brakelights receding in the mist that poured off the river. Jensen stared after the driver, gripping his cell phone too tight.
"She's expecting you," Yuri had said. Had he sounded nervous? No. Distasteful, almost, like this was some task to be dealt with while wearing latex gloves and a mask to block the stench.
Still the condo stayed silent, the lights inside like staring eyes.
This was ridiculous. Jensen was just getting paranoid; he dealt with worse things three times before breakfast, and there were better things to be afraid of than a condo. Tucking both hands in his jacket against the chill, he started to unlock the door.
The knob turned easily beneath his hand, and the door began to open on its own. Nobody left their doors unlocked in downtown Chicago; there should have been security out the eyeballs, three locks, and a suspicious person waiting behind the door to lock it again as soon as possible. The smell drifting through the half-open door raised the hair on the back of Jensen's neck. It was an antiseptic smell-- a hospital smell, sickness and desperation.
The door opened into the sterility of a barren entry hall. The foyer was white and clean and hollow, no signs of life aside from an empty wheelchair down the hall. Holding onto the door, Jensen cleared his throat and asked, "Hello? Yuri said you were expecting me?"
"Hello?" someone called back a moment later. A woman's voice, dry like brittle leaves. "Hello, hello?"
Jensen stepped inside the condo, pulling the door shut behind him. His nerves were on overdrive, expecting a SWAT Team to come surging out at any moment. But there was eerie quiet and, as he moved towards the voice, the rustle of sheets.
"I'm, um. My name is Jensen. I work for Yuri." Jensen got to the wheelchair and stopped, his attention drawn to the dust on the handles. The wheels had started to rust. "He sent me here for you."
"Yuri," the woman crooned, running her tongue over the syllables in a sigh. Then, "Jensen."
Goddamn, he wished he'd given her another name. Too much time with Jeff-- his mind veered away from the name, the anger and the dull ache of loss. "That's right," Jensen said, forcing cheer into his voice. A hooker who could double as a kid's show host; who would've thought? "What's your name?"
"Here, Jensen. Just down the hall."
Jensen slid past the wheelchair. His mind played tricks, telling him that the walls narrowed as he walked towards the door at the end of the hall. The door was the only one that was open, spilling light; the other doors along the way were shut soundly. Jensen had the uneasy feeling that those doors wouldn't open if he tried the locks. If he kicked through the door he'd find a sealed wall behind it.
This was firing up every fight-or-flight reflex he still had. But if he ran, whatever Yuri would use to punish him would be much, much worse than this. So he went through the last open door.
It wasn't a horror show. It was a young women in a white gown, in a white bed, in a white room. She looked like one of the flowers Jensen's grandmother pressed between heavy books, a dried-out echo. The girl turned her face towards Jensen, her mouth curving in a tired smile. She raised her hand, and the veins showed blue against the stark knobs of her knuckles. There was glittering polish over her yellowed fingernails, so overgrown they curved inward. She couldn't have been more than 20.
"I'm Belle," the girl said, holding out her hand like a princess waiting to be kissed. She smelled like disease. She smelled like Adam had. Her eyes were the only dark thing about her, large and liquid and too wide. "You're pretty."
All the skin on Jensen's body felt tight, trying to pull away from this room and this girl. He pushed himself closer to the edge of the bed and took her hand, barely touching her. "Thank you, Belle," Jensen said, trying to sound okay. It was just a woman, a sick one, and it wasn't her fault Jensen knew that dying smell too well. Very carefully, he bent and kissed the back of her hand. Up close, she smelled powdery, like her skin was flaking away into dust. "It's nice to meet you."
When he let her go, he could see the bruises left by her fingers. Belle stared at her fingers, her mouth thinning, then back at his face. She looked like she was trying very hard not to cry. "You're still pretty," she said, her voice cracking.
God. Kneeling down, Jensen touched the bedspread by her hand. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay. You're--"
Belle was wearing a pendant, its chain coiled around her throat. A gold cage rested in the dry nest of her hair.
Into his silence, Belle whispered, "Hold me."
Something like rage surged up in Jensen's throat. He looked at her, ready to demand answers, ready to tear them out of her if she didn't tell him why she wore that cage. What it meant. What any of this meant.
Belle looked back at him. There was a vein of red in her eyes, her pupils shocked wide. She was afraid in that cracking shell.
So he climbed up in the bed beside her, wincing every time their bodies brushed. It hurt to watch her struggle onto her side, but after a few awkward minutes she lay curled up against him, his chest to her back as he cradled her there in her deathbed. Her hair smelled like mint.
Belle pulled his arm around her, sighed, and closed her eyes. Jensen held very still and followed her labored breathing, adrenaline jerking in his veins every time her breathing hitched. She felt like she might just die now, a shivering rabbit pinned under the cat's teeth. He stroked her stomach, and she was cool beneath the nightgown.
"Thank you," Belle said.
Jensen closed his eyes. This close, the smell of her was sickly sweet beneath the medicinal bitterness. If he breathed too deeply, he might gag. He was afraid to breathe through his mouth, afraid to taste her. "Jesus, honey. What did Yuri do to you?"
Belle began to hum softly and tunelessly. Her fingers rested on his arm, a cuff of bone and sinew. The bruises on her looked as dark as some corruption spreading under her skin.
"Belle," Jensen began again, spooked and yeah, okay, a little annoyed. "We can get you to a doctor-"
Belle gripped his arm, pulled him to her mouth, and bit down. It took a second, a blink, and suddenly there was blood welling up from his arm and she was snarling. Jensen yelped and sat up, wrestling his arm away, but she clutched him with two hands and wouldn't let go. He got up, dragging her a few inches, his arm burning the whole way. Beneath her dress, her skin ripped like parchment, and there was darkness on the bed, too dark for blood. Jensen tore his arm away with a hard yank and fell back on his ass, only able to watch as Belle lay crumpled beside the bed, broken and keening and bloody-mouthed. There were large ragged wounds on Jensen's arm, the irregular set of flat teeth, punctures, and bruises.
"What the fuck?" Jensen yelled, and backed towards the door. "What the fuck?"
Belle sobbed on the floor, her face pressed against a spreading dark stain on the carpet. Then he realized her face was the dark spreading stain, that half of her had torn away. He staggered back against the doorframe, gagging on the bile in his throat, and collided with Yuri's solid body. It was almost a comfort.
"Belle, Belle," Yuri sighed, sliding an arm around Jensen. "I told you to behave."
Belle wailed, and Jensen felt the impact-sting of something in his shoulder. The hell and stench of the once white room slid to red, and then black, and then nothing at all.
****
There was water on his face, in his mouth and ears, the drum of it on tiles like the rhythm of his heart. It was hot and steady, washing off the blood, washing him clean.
Jensen opened his eyes.
His bathroom, his shower, built in the safehouse's trademark blue and gold. Outside of the fogged glass, he saw the dim shape of a swimsuit calendar Christian slapped up on the wall. Even as messed up as he was, there was no missing the red ink marking Yuri's appointment.
What day was it? Christ, he didn't remember. He couldn't think. Days since Adam, days since Jeff... twelve appointments. Six days.
A few borrowed hours until the party, then. He pushed the thought away and stood, his legs wobbling under him. When he put out a hand to steady himself, he managed to be dully surprised by the sharp bones of his own wrist. At least Yuri would be pleased. He'd always thought Jensen was too sturdy to be attractive. Better to waste away, skinny and full of junk, pale and breakable--
Belle and her teeth in her white, white bed. Just a dream.
Turn the shower off. Step out into bathroom. Dress. Separate the world into small, digestible chunks. Chew and swallow. Be good.
Jensen went to the kitchen and dropped into a chair. The distance to the fridge seemed like miles, and he couldn't trust the food in it anyway. Not after Sunday, when the safehouse delivered tainted coffee. He wasn't hungry anymore. Nausea rippled under his skin when he smelled food on the street, when Christian brought things home and tried to force them down Jensen's throat. "This isn't helping Adam, Jen. You can't just give up."
He wasn't giving up. He was tired. Wasn't he allowed to be tired?
The phone rang, jerking Jensen upright in his chair. He winced, grabbing the arms to steady himself, and listened until it went to the answering machine. Dispatch; he recognized that bored tone. "Call sixteen from client Corleone. Requests another callback."
Jeff again. Jensen had sent Christian to scratch Jeff's itch. What more did he fucking expect?
As dispatch rambled on about contact numbers and offered price, which Jeff escalated with every call, Jensen shifted the chair back and touched the kitchen cabinet. The knives were there, all lined up with the whetstone. Jensen grabbed his knife and brought it to his lap with the stone. He began to sharpen, his hands steadying as he worked.
"Message from Corleone," Dispatch droned. "I need to see you. I can help. Please."
The knife shrank, grew thinner and sharper and better. The whetstone was warm in his hand. On the inside of Jensen's arm, he saw a pink, irregular circle where Belle sunk her teeth in. Jensen closed his eyes.
One more night. Yuri was waiting.
The knife would be ready by then.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 04:55 pm (UTC)I'm glad you have the time to write again. Deathnell and now this, all in one week. Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 05:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 05:25 pm (UTC)This is just such a powerful verse. Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 05:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 06:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 06:22 pm (UTC)Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 06:37 pm (UTC)*flaily hands*
NO SERIOUSLY. OMG. I LOVE YOU.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 07:15 pm (UTC)Jensen's existence is so tragic - Jeff needs to do more than make phone calls - it looks like Jensen has given up on himself.
A beautifully heartbreaking tale - can't wait for more.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-16 12:14 am (UTC)I haven't commented before, but I absolutely adore this verse.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-16 12:51 am (UTC)Broken is good. I like my boys broken.
But only so they can be put back together again! Please send Jeff to the rescue soon. (maybe with Christian's help...?)
no subject
Date: 2007-11-16 05:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-16 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-19 02:20 pm (UTC)Jeff to the rescue? I do hope so.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 04:10 am (UTC)(and I can totally tell you've been reading Atwood. Have you ever tried Elizabeth Hand?)
no subject
Date: 2007-11-25 01:34 am (UTC)wow. i just read all of the stories in this 'verse in one large go and...wow. it's been so long since i've been knocked out by a writer! i'm so amazingly delighted with this story, and with your style. gah!
there were parts where i gasped, and squeed, and kind of went thud, lol. i can't even explain how awesome this is. you've managed to hit so many of my kinks here, with the d/s, and the hooker thing being primary, but followed up by hints of previous trauma and drug abuse and...yeah. all of it. i love it. and i love how compelling and intense the attraction is between jensen and jeff. you're managing to draw out this amazing tension between theem that just makes it all the sexier.
and i love how twisted and broken jensen is. the more i see into his head, the more i want to know! and the lucid, heroin induced nightmares, as they escalate? are brilliant. i loved how this chapter in particular drifts back and forth between reality and hallucination. poor jensen. i wonder how long his food was spiked? and how long will it take to get it out of his system?
not to mention, how long will it take, given that he's losing the will to resist.
and i'm dying to know more about jeff. what is his deal? why is he paying for it? what exactly does he do for a living, and how is he so awesomely perceptive?
yeah. this is just awesome. and i'm delighted to have stumbled across your work! i'm going to friend you, if you don't mind, so that i can keep up with this. are you, by any chance, intending to keep going with this 'verse? *hopes*
thanks again for what you've made already. i'm seriously just. i'm incoherent with glee. these stories have been wonderful.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-30 01:47 am (UTC)The only complaint I have is how long it is between fic-fixes - don't you care about your loyal fans at all?!? (The other day I caught myself making a little "go, Fig-Jam" chant in my head when I checked to see if there were any new installments)
Anyways, I guess it's not really fair to complain about quantity, when I'm enjoying the quality so much!
Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2007-12-07 10:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-13 09:42 pm (UTC)I adore this 'verse but you make it so hard to keep from pulling my hair out. Its amazing. And the suspense is killing me.
Also, little question: why are all the chapters labelled 1/1?
no subject
Date: 2007-12-17 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-04 12:43 pm (UTC)So how do you feel about shrines?
Date: 2008-05-01 12:41 am (UTC)I stumbled onto a REC for one of your fics this morning and them proceded, with mush panting, lack of blinking and AWE, to read through you entire cwrps memories list.
You are.....shit I need to learn more languages becuase their aint no word in english to encompas your amazing ability to make a story hot, sexy, gritty, real, emotional, powerful and downright memorable.
So, since I think ive fallin in love with your (your writing at least :0) How do you feel about me building a shirne for you? Cause I think id be willing to kneel down and worship every time you write something!
Honest you are one of the best writers ive read in a while, and when that is paired with a subject matter/pairing that I love, there really is no words.
What do you mean?!!
Date: 2008-07-19 01:36 am (UTC)What do you mean?!! Will he kill Yuri? Kill him self. I rather have him kill him self and then Jeff come to the rescue.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-09 09:58 pm (UTC)lanie