![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterFandom: X/1999
Pairing: Subaru/Kamui
Rating: R
Warnings: Unconventional character interpretation, disturbing themes and sexual practices, yaoi, S/K.
Dedicated to Shi, for her challenge that sparked this story.
VIRTUAL FUTURE: TOKYO SYNDROME'
/ m a s k s /
"The bomb can be readied for explosion in fifty minutes. It can take out ten city blocks - an area of one kilometer radius if it detonates in a less densely developed area."
"And you are sure he is Al-Qaida?"
Agent Davis sighed. Here they went again, for the fifth time. She had been warned the Japanese had a peculiar approach to meetings, but this rehashing was more than tiresome. It didn't help that there were exactly three people under fifty on the other side of the table; two were cops and spoke little. The third she pinned down as the black magic guy.
He looked the part, in an understated Japanese way. If not for the width of his shoulders, she'd have said he was a girl. He had the longest hair Davis had ever seen on a guy in this country; it probably fell halfway down his back when loose, though he kept it in a ponytail right now. Between the hair, the lack of a tie (though the suit was impeccable) and the discreet black pearl earrings, he looked like an elegant local rockstar, or maybe a sarariman vampire, but she remembered the NSA's own Wiccas dressed far weirder. When someone was able to strangle you with a thought, enforcing a dress code was usually the least of your worries.
Still, it was a choice between staring at him or listening to the fifth rehashing of the NSA's proof that somewhere in Japan a fanatic had hold of a KGB-manufactured nuclear suitcase, handed to him by an Al-Qaida cell. She wondered why she had decided the long-haired guy was a black mage, when he had only been introduced as an "occult expert". Part of it was the affected dark air, the earrings and the black shirt. But most of it was his look - cold, impassive, the kind of smile a tiger would use, strange on a delicate face that she could almost call angelic. And the eyes.
The eyes looking at her now, in fact. One a deep green, the other a typical Asian brown shading into gold. He smiled, and Davis smiled back.
Thank God I'm not working with you directly, pal, she thought.
"We take this threat very seriously," the oldest Japanese guy - minister of something or other - was saying. "We are prepared to take special means to prevent it."
The magician laid his hand on the glossy wood of the conference table. His fingers were long and slender, the nails manicured and gleaming with a single coat of white nail polish. Davis found herself wondering how sharp those fingernails were.
"For locating the man, yes. I think the seizure should be performed by regular officers." His English was good, barely accented. "More.. influential towards the public opinion."
"You mean it'll be something you can show on TV?" Davis commented when she saw her colleagues' blank looks.
"Yeah, and you guys could use that," one of the Washington bigwigs remarked.
Davis saw the embassy guy wince, and knew they would be in this nondescript Tokyo building for well into the night. Especially since it was already nearly midnight.
Not magic guy though. He was looking around the table, receiving nods. "In this case, my involvement ends at locating the perpetrator," he stated as he got up.
"Well, you do need to do that, still," the CIA resident from the embassy pointed out.
One of the local cops stifled a grin. The magician took a black envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to the minister.
"He will sleep for the next seventy hours. It would be wise to conduct the operation while he is in no state to arm the weapon." His voice was calm, with a hint of a polite smile.
Davis frowned as the guy passed her on his way to the door. Was that a cell phone in his hand? And why did the air smell of cherry blossoms?
/ h u n t e r /
He shut the phone and slipped it into a pocket as he left the building. Something that might have been anger flashed behind his strange bi-coloured eyes. The sharp click of the heels of his boots echoed in the near-empty parking lot. His dark hair flowed behind him like a scarf.
He had been spending so much time here since the government decided to send troops to Iraq that the night guard at the parking lot knew his name.
"Good night, Sakurazuka-san."
/ b r o k e n /
"Subaru."
The young man - boy - who called out his name sounded happy, but he did not look it. The tanktop he wore must had been expensive and stylish once, with black fabric and lace, but now the lace was torn. His make-up had run, and the eyeliner was smudged into a raccoon pattern around violet eyes. Underneath, the still childlike face was lined with tiredness, a scowl causing a deep cut on each side of the expressive mouth.
There were parallel bruises on his neck.
"Kamui," Subaru acknowledged. Then he turned to the person on the other side of the desk.
The policeman looked supremely grateful to see Subaru. This might have had something to do with the fact Kamui had appropriated a notebook and a pen, and was filling page after page with detailed drawings of dismembered bodies.
"You're his caretaker, right?" The law enforcer gathered a sheaf of forms. "We got him off a ledge at Sunshine 2000 an hour ago, he was just standing there. Does he do that sort of thing often?"
"No, not at all. He doesn't usually go out alone, but I had an emergency at work. I am sorry." Subaru smiled. "It was very kind of you to call me so promptly."
"It's no problem - we still get too many of those TS cases. Sign here, please. Someone from the social service will visit within the week, to check on him."
Kamui got up from the chair and stretched sinuously. He dropped the notebook in front of the policeman before he followed Subaru out of the police station.
The last drawing was a body in a police uniform, mangled and burned.
/ c i t a d e l /
The car's top was down. Kamui reached up, streaming the neon-lit night through his fingers. They drove into Shinjuku and the skyscrapers rose on both sides of the road like canyon walls. The new architecture had turned some of the buildings inside out; the tracts of air-conditioning installations and electric cables lined the outer walls, sticking out over the street like tangled roots.
The place once occupied by the Keio Plaza Hotel had been a black void for the past five years, but now new walls were growing out into the sky. Their surfaces shimmered as ripples - birth pangs - shook the structure and another section extended itself. The construction site was well-lit, and the sidewalk filled with people despite the late hour. Tokyo's favourite pastime: watching buildings grow.
Kamui wondered if the nanomachines used were the original Tojo Pharmaceuticals or one of the LiCorp knock-offs from the mainland.
He wondered if the new buildings were as easy to bring down as the old ones.
/ d a n c e /
The room was dark. The only light came from the street lamps outside and the flat screen of the television set that filled one entire wall.
Kamui sat on the carpet in front of the television. His face was pale, calm, like a doll someone had touched before the paint on its face dried. His hands moved incessantly, picking at his own nails and at carpet threads. He still wore the torn tanktop.
Subaru came into the room. His bare feet sank into the carpet with each step. Kamui heard the clink of ice cubes in a glass, the soft rustle of Subaru's loose hair on silk.
Kamui felt that silk as Subaru knelt behind him, wrapping his arms around the younger man's neck. Kamui's skin was feverish, and the touch was cool except for the pricks of sharp metal down the middle. The Chinese-style jacket with the silver clasps then, the black one with the red dragons.
A hand pressed a glass of ice water into his fingers. Subaru's cheek brushed his hair. "What did you smoke?" the onmyouji asked calmly.
The water was too cold, like liquid ice. Kamui set it down.
"I asked you a question." Subaru's fingers caught his wrist, making the bones grate against each other.
"Sugar," Kamui muttered. "Not much."
"Why?" Subaru let go and now twined his fingers with Kamui's.
Kamui leaned back, putting his head on Subaru's shoulder. The ceiling of the apartment was white and featureless. A line of lighting panels ran along the walls. Nanotech lights, half alive and half dead. "It helps me forget."
Subaru drew Kamui's hand up. It seemed he was looking at the younger man's nails, bitten to the skin. "Is it that troublesome?"
"Troublesome?" Kamui smiled. It was so nice a word. Troublesome. Some trouble. Just a little, won't hurt a bit.
He moved fast. A twist and a kick, and he had Subaru on his back, one knee holding the onmyouji down. He made to get up, but a hand twisted in his tanktop stopped him.
"Don't." Subaru looked unnervingly calm, lying on the floor with his long black hair spread around him like a dark halo.
Kamui snarled and struggled, and the fabric gave with a loud rip. Subaru's fingernails, sharper than they looked, left three jagged lines down the younger man's chest.
"Don't what? Don't mourn? Don't wish none of this happened? Don't remember all the deaths?" Violet eyes narrowed in the semi-dark. "I don't have anything to replace it. Nothing to do, no voice in my head. Nothing to make me not wish I chose another way. Another side."
He did not see Subaru move. He only felt the touch of a foot on his ankle, and then everything went flying as he fell. Pain exploded behind his eyes as the back of his head hit the floor.
There were spots of sharper pain at his throat and wrists, his hands stretched over his head and pinned to the floor. Nails biting into his skin.
Subaru's hair fell around Kamui's head, cutting off most of the light. The onmyouji's eyes were two bright points in the darkness. Green and gold.
Then the flickering illumination from the television was on Kamui's face again as Subaru moved away a little. The vise around the younger man's wrists disappeared, and the cool palm rested on the bare chest, against the fluttering heart.
"Kill me," Kamui hissed. "Now!"
For a moment he thought that was it. Over, with five years' epilogue that everyone would forget by the time the credits rolled. Over, and those five years never happened.
Subaru's head dropped. Soft lips brushed an ear. "Kamui."
The hand around Kamui's throat constricted, stifling his gasp. The hand on his chest moved, slipping in the blood and scoring new traces in the skin as the fingernails found purchase. The fingers brushed his nipple, and he shuddered. A leg moved along his thigh, teasing and bringing all nerves to life.
It was getting hard to gather his thoughts as he struggled to breathe, but he managed to writhe still, trying to bring Subaru lower - to get some sort of pressure, something to rub against. A painful bite to his ear stilled him.
Then the hand at his throat loosened just as he was about to fall into darkness. As the black spots receded, he saw Subaru rise over him, propped on one elbow. The dark hair fell in smooth locks down the angelic face, and the onmyouji's eyes were ice. Kamui was struck by the resemblance to the expression the other had worn once when buried in a book or a set of problems from Kamui's homework.
Kamui's eyes slid shut as a hand slid down his chest and lower, opening his pants with barely a pause. He would have cried out, but the other hand was back at his throat, squeezing mercilessly. His own limbs lay limp, beyond his control, as his world narrowed to the pain at his throat and the pleasure further down.
He did not know what burned more. The fire in his veins or the tears in his eyes.
/ t e r m i n u s /
Kamui lay on his side, covered in sweat, blood and semen. He was rolling the melting cubes from his ice water idly in one hand.
The tears dried on his face as he watched the television.
The current program was a talk show. The guest, a psychologist with a sideline in journalism, was promoting a new book.
"Western specialists classify it as a variant of post-traumatic stress disorder, but I think the symptoms common among survivors of 1999 in this city are defined enough to call it a new diagnostic unit. It's not simply survivor's guilt: they dwell on the ordeal and come to idealize it. They're unable to cope with reality, unable to accept that the new order is stable and their life is no longer in danger. They think they would be happier as people if they died in the earthquakes. They find it hard to express emotions, therefore they rarely seek professional help. They're unable to form healthy relationships and often fall into codependency, as well as being prone to chemical addictions. For some of them, care for the other victim in the codependent relationship is the only driving force, though that care may find strange ways of expressing it - I'm sure you remember the case with the wife who blinded her husband and kept him tied to a bed so that he wouldn't have to suffer by going outside."
The psychologist adjusted her glasses. Her name scrolled across the bottom of the screen in rounded ideograms: Aoki Mariko.
"I chose the name in use among paramedics and policemen. Tokyo Syndrome."
=FINIS=
Author's notes:
Agent Carmen Davis from the first scene is an original character of mine who happens to be a convenient POV vehicle.
NSA: National Security Agency.
Subaru's new image, attitude and sexual practices are all his own idea, and I still can't believe I wrote them.
Yes, this is manga Kamui = violet eyes.
Pairing: Subaru/Kamui
Rating: R
Warnings: Unconventional character interpretation, disturbing themes and sexual practices, yaoi, S/K.
Dedicated to Shi, for her challenge that sparked this story.
VIRTUAL FUTURE: TOKYO SYNDROME'
/ m a s k s /
"The bomb can be readied for explosion in fifty minutes. It can take out ten city blocks - an area of one kilometer radius if it detonates in a less densely developed area."
"And you are sure he is Al-Qaida?"
Agent Davis sighed. Here they went again, for the fifth time. She had been warned the Japanese had a peculiar approach to meetings, but this rehashing was more than tiresome. It didn't help that there were exactly three people under fifty on the other side of the table; two were cops and spoke little. The third she pinned down as the black magic guy.
He looked the part, in an understated Japanese way. If not for the width of his shoulders, she'd have said he was a girl. He had the longest hair Davis had ever seen on a guy in this country; it probably fell halfway down his back when loose, though he kept it in a ponytail right now. Between the hair, the lack of a tie (though the suit was impeccable) and the discreet black pearl earrings, he looked like an elegant local rockstar, or maybe a sarariman vampire, but she remembered the NSA's own Wiccas dressed far weirder. When someone was able to strangle you with a thought, enforcing a dress code was usually the least of your worries.
Still, it was a choice between staring at him or listening to the fifth rehashing of the NSA's proof that somewhere in Japan a fanatic had hold of a KGB-manufactured nuclear suitcase, handed to him by an Al-Qaida cell. She wondered why she had decided the long-haired guy was a black mage, when he had only been introduced as an "occult expert". Part of it was the affected dark air, the earrings and the black shirt. But most of it was his look - cold, impassive, the kind of smile a tiger would use, strange on a delicate face that she could almost call angelic. And the eyes.
The eyes looking at her now, in fact. One a deep green, the other a typical Asian brown shading into gold. He smiled, and Davis smiled back.
Thank God I'm not working with you directly, pal, she thought.
"We take this threat very seriously," the oldest Japanese guy - minister of something or other - was saying. "We are prepared to take special means to prevent it."
The magician laid his hand on the glossy wood of the conference table. His fingers were long and slender, the nails manicured and gleaming with a single coat of white nail polish. Davis found herself wondering how sharp those fingernails were.
"For locating the man, yes. I think the seizure should be performed by regular officers." His English was good, barely accented. "More.. influential towards the public opinion."
"You mean it'll be something you can show on TV?" Davis commented when she saw her colleagues' blank looks.
"Yeah, and you guys could use that," one of the Washington bigwigs remarked.
Davis saw the embassy guy wince, and knew they would be in this nondescript Tokyo building for well into the night. Especially since it was already nearly midnight.
Not magic guy though. He was looking around the table, receiving nods. "In this case, my involvement ends at locating the perpetrator," he stated as he got up.
"Well, you do need to do that, still," the CIA resident from the embassy pointed out.
One of the local cops stifled a grin. The magician took a black envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to the minister.
"He will sleep for the next seventy hours. It would be wise to conduct the operation while he is in no state to arm the weapon." His voice was calm, with a hint of a polite smile.
Davis frowned as the guy passed her on his way to the door. Was that a cell phone in his hand? And why did the air smell of cherry blossoms?
/ h u n t e r /
He shut the phone and slipped it into a pocket as he left the building. Something that might have been anger flashed behind his strange bi-coloured eyes. The sharp click of the heels of his boots echoed in the near-empty parking lot. His dark hair flowed behind him like a scarf.
He had been spending so much time here since the government decided to send troops to Iraq that the night guard at the parking lot knew his name.
"Good night, Sakurazuka-san."
/ b r o k e n /
"Subaru."
The young man - boy - who called out his name sounded happy, but he did not look it. The tanktop he wore must had been expensive and stylish once, with black fabric and lace, but now the lace was torn. His make-up had run, and the eyeliner was smudged into a raccoon pattern around violet eyes. Underneath, the still childlike face was lined with tiredness, a scowl causing a deep cut on each side of the expressive mouth.
There were parallel bruises on his neck.
"Kamui," Subaru acknowledged. Then he turned to the person on the other side of the desk.
The policeman looked supremely grateful to see Subaru. This might have had something to do with the fact Kamui had appropriated a notebook and a pen, and was filling page after page with detailed drawings of dismembered bodies.
"You're his caretaker, right?" The law enforcer gathered a sheaf of forms. "We got him off a ledge at Sunshine 2000 an hour ago, he was just standing there. Does he do that sort of thing often?"
"No, not at all. He doesn't usually go out alone, but I had an emergency at work. I am sorry." Subaru smiled. "It was very kind of you to call me so promptly."
"It's no problem - we still get too many of those TS cases. Sign here, please. Someone from the social service will visit within the week, to check on him."
Kamui got up from the chair and stretched sinuously. He dropped the notebook in front of the policeman before he followed Subaru out of the police station.
The last drawing was a body in a police uniform, mangled and burned.
/ c i t a d e l /
The car's top was down. Kamui reached up, streaming the neon-lit night through his fingers. They drove into Shinjuku and the skyscrapers rose on both sides of the road like canyon walls. The new architecture had turned some of the buildings inside out; the tracts of air-conditioning installations and electric cables lined the outer walls, sticking out over the street like tangled roots.
The place once occupied by the Keio Plaza Hotel had been a black void for the past five years, but now new walls were growing out into the sky. Their surfaces shimmered as ripples - birth pangs - shook the structure and another section extended itself. The construction site was well-lit, and the sidewalk filled with people despite the late hour. Tokyo's favourite pastime: watching buildings grow.
Kamui wondered if the nanomachines used were the original Tojo Pharmaceuticals or one of the LiCorp knock-offs from the mainland.
He wondered if the new buildings were as easy to bring down as the old ones.
/ d a n c e /
The room was dark. The only light came from the street lamps outside and the flat screen of the television set that filled one entire wall.
Kamui sat on the carpet in front of the television. His face was pale, calm, like a doll someone had touched before the paint on its face dried. His hands moved incessantly, picking at his own nails and at carpet threads. He still wore the torn tanktop.
Subaru came into the room. His bare feet sank into the carpet with each step. Kamui heard the clink of ice cubes in a glass, the soft rustle of Subaru's loose hair on silk.
Kamui felt that silk as Subaru knelt behind him, wrapping his arms around the younger man's neck. Kamui's skin was feverish, and the touch was cool except for the pricks of sharp metal down the middle. The Chinese-style jacket with the silver clasps then, the black one with the red dragons.
A hand pressed a glass of ice water into his fingers. Subaru's cheek brushed his hair. "What did you smoke?" the onmyouji asked calmly.
The water was too cold, like liquid ice. Kamui set it down.
"I asked you a question." Subaru's fingers caught his wrist, making the bones grate against each other.
"Sugar," Kamui muttered. "Not much."
"Why?" Subaru let go and now twined his fingers with Kamui's.
Kamui leaned back, putting his head on Subaru's shoulder. The ceiling of the apartment was white and featureless. A line of lighting panels ran along the walls. Nanotech lights, half alive and half dead. "It helps me forget."
Subaru drew Kamui's hand up. It seemed he was looking at the younger man's nails, bitten to the skin. "Is it that troublesome?"
"Troublesome?" Kamui smiled. It was so nice a word. Troublesome. Some trouble. Just a little, won't hurt a bit.
He moved fast. A twist and a kick, and he had Subaru on his back, one knee holding the onmyouji down. He made to get up, but a hand twisted in his tanktop stopped him.
"Don't." Subaru looked unnervingly calm, lying on the floor with his long black hair spread around him like a dark halo.
Kamui snarled and struggled, and the fabric gave with a loud rip. Subaru's fingernails, sharper than they looked, left three jagged lines down the younger man's chest.
"Don't what? Don't mourn? Don't wish none of this happened? Don't remember all the deaths?" Violet eyes narrowed in the semi-dark. "I don't have anything to replace it. Nothing to do, no voice in my head. Nothing to make me not wish I chose another way. Another side."
He did not see Subaru move. He only felt the touch of a foot on his ankle, and then everything went flying as he fell. Pain exploded behind his eyes as the back of his head hit the floor.
There were spots of sharper pain at his throat and wrists, his hands stretched over his head and pinned to the floor. Nails biting into his skin.
Subaru's hair fell around Kamui's head, cutting off most of the light. The onmyouji's eyes were two bright points in the darkness. Green and gold.
Then the flickering illumination from the television was on Kamui's face again as Subaru moved away a little. The vise around the younger man's wrists disappeared, and the cool palm rested on the bare chest, against the fluttering heart.
"Kill me," Kamui hissed. "Now!"
For a moment he thought that was it. Over, with five years' epilogue that everyone would forget by the time the credits rolled. Over, and those five years never happened.
Subaru's head dropped. Soft lips brushed an ear. "Kamui."
The hand around Kamui's throat constricted, stifling his gasp. The hand on his chest moved, slipping in the blood and scoring new traces in the skin as the fingernails found purchase. The fingers brushed his nipple, and he shuddered. A leg moved along his thigh, teasing and bringing all nerves to life.
It was getting hard to gather his thoughts as he struggled to breathe, but he managed to writhe still, trying to bring Subaru lower - to get some sort of pressure, something to rub against. A painful bite to his ear stilled him.
Then the hand at his throat loosened just as he was about to fall into darkness. As the black spots receded, he saw Subaru rise over him, propped on one elbow. The dark hair fell in smooth locks down the angelic face, and the onmyouji's eyes were ice. Kamui was struck by the resemblance to the expression the other had worn once when buried in a book or a set of problems from Kamui's homework.
Kamui's eyes slid shut as a hand slid down his chest and lower, opening his pants with barely a pause. He would have cried out, but the other hand was back at his throat, squeezing mercilessly. His own limbs lay limp, beyond his control, as his world narrowed to the pain at his throat and the pleasure further down.
He did not know what burned more. The fire in his veins or the tears in his eyes.
/ t e r m i n u s /
Kamui lay on his side, covered in sweat, blood and semen. He was rolling the melting cubes from his ice water idly in one hand.
The tears dried on his face as he watched the television.
The current program was a talk show. The guest, a psychologist with a sideline in journalism, was promoting a new book.
"Western specialists classify it as a variant of post-traumatic stress disorder, but I think the symptoms common among survivors of 1999 in this city are defined enough to call it a new diagnostic unit. It's not simply survivor's guilt: they dwell on the ordeal and come to idealize it. They're unable to cope with reality, unable to accept that the new order is stable and their life is no longer in danger. They think they would be happier as people if they died in the earthquakes. They find it hard to express emotions, therefore they rarely seek professional help. They're unable to form healthy relationships and often fall into codependency, as well as being prone to chemical addictions. For some of them, care for the other victim in the codependent relationship is the only driving force, though that care may find strange ways of expressing it - I'm sure you remember the case with the wife who blinded her husband and kept him tied to a bed so that he wouldn't have to suffer by going outside."
The psychologist adjusted her glasses. Her name scrolled across the bottom of the screen in rounded ideograms: Aoki Mariko.
"I chose the name in use among paramedics and policemen. Tokyo Syndrome."
=FINIS=
Author's notes:
Agent Carmen Davis from the first scene is an original character of mine who happens to be a convenient POV vehicle.
NSA: National Security Agency.
Subaru's new image, attitude and sexual practices are all his own idea, and I still can't believe I wrote them.
Yes, this is manga Kamui = violet eyes.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 04:04 am (UTC)and, hee... love this line...
If not for the width of his shoulders, she'd have said he was a girl.
that can be the only way to tell in the CLAMP uni sometimes, can't it? ^_^
love it. wow. thanks!!! (hee, i even have a subaru/kamui icon for you...)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 05:02 am (UTC)And love that icon.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 04:13 am (UTC)...And Subaru's look is hot :3
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 04:38 am (UTC)And thank you :)))
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 05:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 05:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 05:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 05:44 am (UTC)I have very, very evil muses lately. Thanks for letting me know it worked :>
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 06:37 am (UTC)And Davis amused me a GREAT deal. I rather like her n_n But your OCs tend to move to my good side like that, I suppose.
Subaru's new image, attitude and sexual practices are all his own idea, and I still can't believe I wrote them.
Would you believe I paid a heavy amount of attention to this and loved it? I really, really did. From his nails, his hair and clothing. I went over this and just let the image stay in my head.
ANYWAY. All in all, this was precious. I'm so happy you finally managed to finish it. A definite treat n_n
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 06:41 am (UTC)I'm glad Davis was amusing. She's fun, but she's got a tendency to push her way in whenever I need an OC, which can be troublesome ^^;
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 06:50 am (UTC)*giggles* See, now I'm liking her more. Has she been used on other fics or just this one?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 07:05 am (UTC)Has she been used on other fics or just this one?
She's originally from my Nanowrimo thing, but that's still unfinished and unreadable. She also wormed her way into my OUATIM fics from the "Back in the Fold" series as Sands' American second-in-command.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 07:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 07:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 10:01 am (UTC)I might have to draw this new Subaru
Meep! Pretty please with sugar on it? ^_^
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 10:38 am (UTC)Meep! Pretty please with sugar on it?
I'll try. If I can figure out a decent pose. But it'll take time because I suck like that *adds to the list of things-to-draw*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 10:57 am (UTC)Oooh. Shiny. Vampire plotbunny. *snuggles bunny*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 11:30 am (UTC)YAY :D *eats bunny* :D
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 10:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 09:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 10:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 11:09 am (UTC)Gina
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 11:20 am (UTC)Well, this was definitely not typical for the fandom. But if you're interested, I've quite a few X fics here - it was my sole fandom for a long while. If you like lots of stylized blood, angst, feathers and apocalyptic prophecies...
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-13 11:50 am (UTC)Gina