Fic: if you come knockin' late at night
Dec. 13th, 2011 04:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leigh57fandom: Justified
title: if you come knockin' late at night
word count: 805
warnings: Season 2 spoilers
a/n: This is for you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sardonicynic, with apologies for whatever I have done with these characters we love so much. I'm crossing my fingers that a little Raylan/Winona will perk up your holiday season for five minutes. The complete list of prompts is here.
The title and cut text are from Bruce Springsteen's "Secret Garden."
************
She’s waiting for him when he limps back from Harlan.
He holds the doorframe with one hand and his ribs with the other, amusing his Vicodin-fogged brain (Art insisted, said he’d force Raylan to spend the night in the hospital if he wouldn’t take the damn scrip) with the image of how many hands it would take to splint all the places that hurt.
Less amusing is the image of Winona, sitting on the bed with posture most pageant girls would kill for, white fingers clutching the edges of the same black coat she was wearing this morning.
Leaning his head against the cool wood, he thinks about the taste of her toothpaste on his tongue, freshly mixed with a stiff shot of, Holy fuck. I’m gonna be a father.
The look on her face reminds him, again, that sometimes you can’t measure elapsed time with clocks.
He’s dizzy.
He should probably say something.
“Raylan, come lie down before you fall over.” She stands up and pulls the covers back. Her ankle is doing that nervous back and forth twisty dance it does when she’s pissed off.
He wants to argue, defend himself, prove that he was right. It was no big deal. He can take this bullshit and more.
But if he stays vertical much longer he’s gonna throw up, so he holds his breath to power through the three strides to the bed and sinks down on his back, one foot still on the floor. “Thank you,” he breathes out, shutting his eyes for a second so the room won’t swirl.
“You need anything before I go?” she asks.
“Don’t think so.” He drags the second leg onto the bed, wishing he could will the boots off his feet.
She’s clearly not gonna take them off for him.
Not tonight.
“There’s water and a bagel on the table. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Winona.”
“What?” Her shoulders are angled toward the door.
“You talked to Art.” He clears his throat. His spit tastes like dirt. “You’re the reason the cavalry showed up. The reason I didn’t take a bullet between the eyes.”
“Correction, Raylan.” The last time she said his name with that much venom they were still married. “I’m the reason you didn’t take a bullet between the eyes today.” She shakes her head, jaw jutting, and although she’s looking in the general direction of his face, her green eyes never land on his. “Get some sleep.”
He knows it’s coming, but the slam of the door jolts him anyway.
In the quiet that fills the small room once she’s gone, Raylan stares at the ceiling for a while, until the weight of Vicodin and failure forces his eyes shut.
If Winona hadn’t gone to Art . . .
If Art hadn’t gone against all his better instincts . . .
As he swims in circles through drug-infested dreams, he hears Loretta’s trembling voice.
I want him here to tell me.
************
The sun glares him into full consciousness at 7:34.
He’s reaching for the Vicodin when he stops, closes his fingers into a fist, and gets up to find the Aleve instead. He swallows three in one gulp while he dials Winona with a punch of his left thumb.
“What, Raylan? Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Can I take you to breakfast?”
He can hear her breathing in the pause. “Why?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“That’d be a first.”
Damn, she’s still pissed. There’s water rushing in the background, squeak of a faucet. Under any other circumstances, he’d say, That’s not true, because it isn’t, but he just needs to get her-
“What’d I say?”
“Huh?”
“That you’ve been thinking about. What’d I say?”
“Winona, could you please-” He squints at the back of his chair, hopes the jeans tossed there are clean. “Just let me take you to breakfast? We’ll go to that new place I saw you lookin’ at last week. The one with the burgundy cloth napkins and fancy croissants.”
He holds his breath. His bruised ribs protest.
“Pick me up in an hour. And wear a clean shirt. You can-”
“I can what?”
“I bought you a new one. It’s in the top drawer. Wear that.” She disconnects the call before he can blink.
************
After his shower (gritted teeth and muttered-under-his-breath creative profanity as water and soap sting past sliced and battered flesh), plastic wrap crinkles in his fingers as he pulls out the deep blue cotton shirt.
Raylan shuts his eyes as his achy hands fumble the buttons.
In his mind, he feels the deft touch of Winona’s softer, swifter fingers, smells her perfume as she leans in to kiss his neck, flirty laughter bubbling.
He hopes he’s imagining the future, not reliving the past.
************
This video is so flippin' cool. Thanks todealan311 for the link. And speaking of Kay, can I just take this opportunity to say that I miss my layout like woah right now? It actually took longer than I thought it would to hit me, but it's like I pull up LJ and suddenly remember that I'm missing an arm. /hyperbole
In other news, I rewatched "Bloody Harlan" for 'research' (snicker), and Justified needs to come back right now. RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT.
You guys, it's less than two weeks until Christmas. ZOMG, insanity. What's going on?
title: if you come knockin' late at night
word count: 805
warnings: Season 2 spoilers
a/n: This is for you,
sardonicynic, with apologies for whatever I have done with these characters we love so much. I'm crossing my fingers that a little Raylan/Winona will perk up your holiday season for five minutes. The complete list of prompts is here.The title and cut text are from Bruce Springsteen's "Secret Garden."
************
She’s waiting for him when he limps back from Harlan.
He holds the doorframe with one hand and his ribs with the other, amusing his Vicodin-fogged brain (Art insisted, said he’d force Raylan to spend the night in the hospital if he wouldn’t take the damn scrip) with the image of how many hands it would take to splint all the places that hurt.
Less amusing is the image of Winona, sitting on the bed with posture most pageant girls would kill for, white fingers clutching the edges of the same black coat she was wearing this morning.
Leaning his head against the cool wood, he thinks about the taste of her toothpaste on his tongue, freshly mixed with a stiff shot of, Holy fuck. I’m gonna be a father.
The look on her face reminds him, again, that sometimes you can’t measure elapsed time with clocks.
He’s dizzy.
He should probably say something.
“Raylan, come lie down before you fall over.” She stands up and pulls the covers back. Her ankle is doing that nervous back and forth twisty dance it does when she’s pissed off.
He wants to argue, defend himself, prove that he was right. It was no big deal. He can take this bullshit and more.
But if he stays vertical much longer he’s gonna throw up, so he holds his breath to power through the three strides to the bed and sinks down on his back, one foot still on the floor. “Thank you,” he breathes out, shutting his eyes for a second so the room won’t swirl.
“You need anything before I go?” she asks.
“Don’t think so.” He drags the second leg onto the bed, wishing he could will the boots off his feet.
She’s clearly not gonna take them off for him.
Not tonight.
“There’s water and a bagel on the table. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Winona.”
“What?” Her shoulders are angled toward the door.
“You talked to Art.” He clears his throat. His spit tastes like dirt. “You’re the reason the cavalry showed up. The reason I didn’t take a bullet between the eyes.”
“Correction, Raylan.” The last time she said his name with that much venom they were still married. “I’m the reason you didn’t take a bullet between the eyes today.” She shakes her head, jaw jutting, and although she’s looking in the general direction of his face, her green eyes never land on his. “Get some sleep.”
He knows it’s coming, but the slam of the door jolts him anyway.
In the quiet that fills the small room once she’s gone, Raylan stares at the ceiling for a while, until the weight of Vicodin and failure forces his eyes shut.
If Winona hadn’t gone to Art . . .
If Art hadn’t gone against all his better instincts . . .
As he swims in circles through drug-infested dreams, he hears Loretta’s trembling voice.
I want him here to tell me.
************
The sun glares him into full consciousness at 7:34.
He’s reaching for the Vicodin when he stops, closes his fingers into a fist, and gets up to find the Aleve instead. He swallows three in one gulp while he dials Winona with a punch of his left thumb.
“What, Raylan? Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Can I take you to breakfast?”
He can hear her breathing in the pause. “Why?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“That’d be a first.”
Damn, she’s still pissed. There’s water rushing in the background, squeak of a faucet. Under any other circumstances, he’d say, That’s not true, because it isn’t, but he just needs to get her-
“What’d I say?”
“Huh?”
“That you’ve been thinking about. What’d I say?”
“Winona, could you please-” He squints at the back of his chair, hopes the jeans tossed there are clean. “Just let me take you to breakfast? We’ll go to that new place I saw you lookin’ at last week. The one with the burgundy cloth napkins and fancy croissants.”
He holds his breath. His bruised ribs protest.
“Pick me up in an hour. And wear a clean shirt. You can-”
“I can what?”
“I bought you a new one. It’s in the top drawer. Wear that.” She disconnects the call before he can blink.
************
After his shower (gritted teeth and muttered-under-his-breath creative profanity as water and soap sting past sliced and battered flesh), plastic wrap crinkles in his fingers as he pulls out the deep blue cotton shirt.
Raylan shuts his eyes as his achy hands fumble the buttons.
In his mind, he feels the deft touch of Winona’s softer, swifter fingers, smells her perfume as she leans in to kiss his neck, flirty laughter bubbling.
He hopes he’s imagining the future, not reliving the past.
************
This video is so flippin' cool. Thanks to
dealan311 for the link. And speaking of Kay, can I just take this opportunity to say that I miss my layout like woah right now? It actually took longer than I thought it would to hit me, but it's like I pull up LJ and suddenly remember that I'm missing an arm. /hyperboleIn other news, I rewatched "Bloody Harlan" for 'research' (snicker), and Justified needs to come back right now. RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT.
You guys, it's less than two weeks until Christmas. ZOMG, insanity. What's going on?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 09:41 pm (UTC)MY FACE, MY FACE, MY FACE.
I love you so much.
(When I am not drilling through an ugly heap of the regulatory guidance from the FDA regarding phone consent, legally authorized representatives, and what this means for adopted children and their unable-to-consent parents, I will be BACK HERE WITH THE PROVERBIAL BELLS ON to give you actualfax love and oh my god this is them and I cannot even ahhhhh.)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 10:47 pm (UTC)JFC, that sounds like kind of a downer, what you are doing.
Also, how the eff did I miss this? A says it was on a page to which I previously linked, but I must have been too distracted by the hot of Boyd and Raylan with guns. ZOMG, S3 get here!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 01:01 am (UTC)This, up here? What you have does? Reads as effortless and easy as a summer Sunday drive on a two-lane back road. I'm not even kidding. This is gorgeous, so sharp and achy and just -- ahhhh, them.
Of course, you had me with your opening sentence, but here:
with posture most pageant girls would kill for
-- is where I legit sat up straighter, and I was six years old again, taking first runner-up in the Little Miss Foothills pageant, and craning my neck at the older, beautiful high school girls in their heels and sleek dresses, with awe and more awe all over my made-up little face.
That turn of phrase is just -- JFC, woman, it is perfection in less than ten words.
The whole damn thing -- it's, like, exactly what I didn't know I needed to read until you put your fingers to your keyboard and this is what happened.
I love that she leaves. I love that she is still so angry, and so stung, and that there's a bagel on the table for him in the morning.
And I love that Raylan knows he's disappointed her, and he feels that in a way he can't even articulate. But he's still thinking about Loretta, and that he did the right thing, even when he didn't on paper, and he just wants to take Winona to breakfast.
I can hear them; I can see this; I love every blessed word.
Seriously, seriously -- thank you for writing this, and them. That last line is like a gut punch, in the very best of gut-punchy ways.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 01:11 pm (UTC)Okay but wow. Did you seriously compete in the Little Miss Foothills pageant? I can't imagine you made that up, so that's probably a very stupid question. It's a world I've never witnessed and can't understand, but I know it exists. Geez. I just wanted to climb trees, although I was quite the gymnast for a bit there. Anyway, wow look at me digress. I'm glad you liked the turn of phrase!
It may also be possible that being 5'2" with good posture makes one very . . . aware of good posture.One thing that fascinates me about Raylan and Winona is the way that they can't seem to stay away from one another but they can't seem to get it sorted in a way that works either. I feel as if it's so messy and human in a way that to be honest, usually turns me off (I have enough humanity in my real life -- bring on the superhumanity a la Jack Bauer in my fantasy world). But something about them is compelling, and while Winona often irritates me, I adore the way she frankly calls Raylan on his shit in a way most people are afraid to.
If this little ficlet was worthy at all, then I'm just happy about that, is really what we're dealing with here. Thank you so much for your kind words that have made me all blushy over my pumpkin-eggnogged (wow, look at that word I made up!) coffee:)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 02:06 pm (UTC)I did compete in the Little Miss Foothills pageant! Uh, I should probably clarify that it was country miles away from anything resembling Toddlers and Tiaras territory. My mom was never a ~pageant mom,~ and I really only did it for kicks; I think I was in a grand total of three of them, from elementary school through middle school. Remember, my hometown is a tiny, tiny rural place, and pretty much all my friends were so excited about the annual fall festival, and the pageant (and the tractor pull, and the demolition derby, and the lip-sync ... yeah.).
Anyhoo, one of my mom's BFFs was a seamstress, and I got to design my own dress at six years old. (It was cool then, okay! It was amazeballs! I drew it! And picked out hot pink sequins and taffeta and everything! Oh my god, I sound like such a girl -- really, I was quiet and bookish.) So there was a ~perm,~ and patent leather Mary Janes, and white socks with fuchsia-edged ruffles, and a corsage from Betty-the-sweet-old-lady-florist, and man, it was the late '80s, and that's really all I have to say, right?
But, for reals, it was just a fun, low-pressure time all around -- it wasn't some insane, psychologically damaging experience. When I got a little older, I had zero interest in the politics/the whole she-bang, and that was more than all right with my family.
Lololol, until now, I had not thought about this in, um, FOREVER.
Re: Raylan and Winona: SHE IS FEARLESS WITH HIM. That is why I love her so, I do believe. She does call him on his shit, and it usually leaves him blinking and gob-smacked with Well, damn, now I have to formulate an answer or defense that actually makes SENSE, as opposed to 'it was justified.'
So. Yes. This was so much more than worthy. Ahhh, I am just. I don't know, man. Seeing you and A write Justified scenes is pretty much the bestie-best. <333
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 04:17 am (UTC)No lie, getting that phone call at the end of the day was zero fun, and I was just the person on the regulatory end.
(I have so much respect for the coordinators, research nurses, and MDs we work with at the UK Med Center, Markey Cancer Center, and surrounding clinics and hospitals. Those folks deal in heartbreak pretty much every day, and they remain so optimistic that maybe a different dosage, or a different combination of treatments, will work this time.)
A coordinator called to see if we could get our IRB chair or one of the vice-chairs to sign off on an emergency use single treatment for a patient in a clinical trial who'd gone non-responsive. And then, the sticky wicket -- this patient's son is in Tuscon, and can give verbal consent over the phone, but he's an adopted son and not an actual blood relative; what does that mean as far as a legally authorized representative is concerned? Do the FDA guidelines recognize adopted family members? (For the record, they do; they've revised the language to encompass a broader definition of "family," thank goodness.)
ANYWAY, really, all I could think was how much it would suck to get that phone call, and to be so far away from what's happening. I mean, I see sad-ass adverse event reports roll in from studies all the time, but that phone call made it way more personal.
Our IRB chair approved the single-use treatment of the experimental drug; I hope the patient pulls through. Losing a parent will never be easy, but this is a doubly terrible time for that to happen.
But, in way more upbeat and way less tl;dr news, the day's over, I've had another sliver of delicious birthday cheesecake (complete with that optional cherry topping!), and I have re-watched "Reckoning" (because apparently I wanted to sob on the inside during Helen's funeral scene with "Annabelle" playing over it all, ahhhh), and I am working on more gift-fic.
I cannot wait for season three. I could watch Boyd punch Raylan through a glass wall all damn day! I linked that clip on Twitter last week (I think? Time and me, we're not so tight right now, lol), and in the immortal words of
Excellent question!
Somewhere, Art Mullen is disapproving of everything ever.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 01:03 pm (UTC)Wow, that is insane. I had never even thought about the possibility that an adopted child wouldn't have the same legal rights as a blood relative. The wild and depressing things you learn every day. I'm glad that at least the consent wasn't an issue in this case, although ugh, of course you're right about the possible outcome, time of year, etc. Ugh.
Birthday cheesecake FTW! That looks absolutely delicious. I still haven't even gotten around to making the Christmas cookies I want to, but I will this weekend or bust. Mmmmmm, cookies!
Speaking of gift fic, I must pop over to your prompt post and find out what is coming up from you. Squee! I'm supposed to be writing Mulder/Scully, but I'm in that phase where there's an idea that . . . won't turn into anything else? *headdesk*
eta: HOLY FUCKCAKES IN FUCKLAND, I WENT TO YOUR PROMPTS POST. AND THREE OUT OF THE NEXT FOUR DAYS ARE JACK/RENEE. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
Ahem. Whut? That wasn't meant to put pressure on your or anything, promise. Just got a little excited there. As you were.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 02:10 pm (UTC)I am also beering you strength, and inspiration, as I lift my espresso-soaked coffee in your general direction. <333
COOKIES. I approooooove. (Omfg, Cinna e-mailed me the most yum-tastic recipe for pumpkin cookies a couple of weeks ago, and I think they will be happening in my kitchen this weekend. We have canned Libby's left over from Thanksgiving!)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 02:45 pm (UTC)I should probably squee less, as you will most likely kill/torture/maim them or something, given that the prompts aren't for me:P
Cinna's pumpkin cookies are insanely delicious. I have had them. Mmmmm. In fact, pumpkin cookies might be a GREAT idea for the kids, because it's pretty much throwing a bunch of stuff in a giant bowl, mix lots, and drop onto tray. DONE.
eta: *thinks* I did specify that you could not kill/torture/maim them in MY story, right? SINCE IT'S CHRISTMAS?
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 03:49 pm (UTC)I did promise there will be no gutting shenanigans in your Jack/Renee fic. I did!
The rest, uh. I can make no such guarantees. But. Ffffff, details.
I mean what.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 05:20 pm (UTC)I didn't even realize what people could do to characters in fic
and on TV shows I love insanely, I mean huh?until I met you andno subject
Date: 2011-12-14 07:33 pm (UTC)Here's the thing! You are comparing me and
BRB, crying with laughter into my cup of espresso roast.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 12:15 am (UTC)But here is what will happen to you if anything awful happens to Jack and/or Renee in MY prompt!
Jack will interrogate you with a pen while I watch and pretend to be concerned;)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 04:42 am (UTC)that I'm up to no goodthat nothing -- and I mean nothing -- terrible, horrible, or very bad will happen to either Jack or Renee in your Christmas fic.Deviant's honor.
>:DDD
(But really! It's Christmas! I am pinky-promising you from here! <333)
eta: ninja-edited TWICE because I fail at typing. Faily McFailerson. AW YEEEAH.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 01:23 pm (UTC)But hell yes. My Christmas ficlet had better look like this icon! >:-DDDDD
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 12:55 am (UTC)Just to annoyingly make sure, C, I also specified that I wanted these two alive, right? And not in some horrible situation? This is what my face will be like if they are:
Also, here is a picture Kiefer's butt, in case you think I'm not serious. Just like fic requests, I'm always serious about butts.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 01:38 am (UTC)due to her inherently demonic nature and desire to make us cry.Also, JFC, why do I find Kiefer's butt hot even in that terrible photo? I JUST WANT TO GRAB IT A LOT, OKAY? AND THIS IS MY JOURNAL, SO I CAN SAY THAT IF I WANT TO.
I mean. LOOK AT HIS UNDIES.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 01:50 am (UTC)and
OH GOD. You have no idea how much I'm wanting to mainline rewatch S7!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 01:57 am (UTC)My reaction to these two makes Pavlov seem pedestrian.
LOOK AT HER CUDDLING HIM IN THAT TOP .GIF. One hand on his neck and the other one on his shoulder. THAT IS NOT HOW YOU SNUGGLE YOUR COWORKERS.
In sum:
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 02:04 am (UTC)How come I don't have that gif?
She's snuggling him not like a coworker because she LOVES him. And besides, he told her not that long ago that he MEANT IT LIKE IT SOUNDED!
So. She is pretty much into snuggling him a lot.
I'm trying to imagine like... Just them on a couch and his heads on her lap and she's rubbing his ears and he's telling her about how he's so glad she's getting better and he wants her to live with him still, even when she's fully recovered and of course she wants to but... she doesn't know if he's just saying that or like... you know. Really wants that, so she just asks him. And he's like... No, I really want that. And he all fumbly nervously offers to fix up his place and paint it any color she wants or find a new place to get together and she's like WHAT I JUST WANT YOU so please it up so I can kiss you!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 04:56 am (UTC)Yes. For the doubting Thomases among us, to ensure the integrity of your Christmas ficcage, Jack and Renee will most certainly be alive. (And not just in someone's heart and/or mind, el-oh-elll.) And they willl be mostly intact! (As intact as two damaged people can be!)
Butts are a serious matter! I am v. serious when I say that man has no ass. It's just like, a tiny flat point before we meet the backs of his thighs. (Not that I'm complaining, because he can make jeans work, and how. But I will shamelessly say that the voice -- unf, the Velvet Whisper -- more than compensates for the asslessness on display here.
BUT I DIGRESS.
Christmas fic will be damn skippy! Possibly even approaching ~adorable,~ just for you. LIKE THIS:
Except with 100 percent more words, and prrrrobably zero Knut.
:D?
no subject
Date: 2011-12-15 01:22 pm (UTC)Heh.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 10:43 pm (UTC)splint all the places that hurt-- That's so Raylan, being amused by what that might look like, and so all over the place with his thoughts.
toothpaste on his tongue, freshly mixed with a stiff shot of, Holy fuck. I’m gonna be a father.-- I LOVE THAT!! I just...do. The contrast of those two things. How that's exactly the scene on the show and he's like... woah hold the phone you're PREGNANT? ATTMO, but I can just picture his adorable face when he says that's the best news he's heard in like... and she finishes for him with...EVER? GAH, the adorable.
Okay and seriously. Props for lines I can just SEE, as though they are acting this out FOR me? I can hear it too. Perfect audio.
“Correction, Raylan.” The last time she said his name with that much venom they were still married. “I’m the reason you didn’t take a bullet between the eyes today.” ---She would SO SAY THAT. Augh, you and
And then he's like... all fumbling for words and like...please just come to breakfast and he noticed her looking at a fancy restaurant place and she bought him a nice and new blue shirt she wants him to wear. (AUGH, the sexy). I can just picture him kinda squinting as he talks to her on the phone, trying to get his words right. And She disconnects the call before he can blink. -- because yes. I can see that exact image. Especially with him all druggy.
He hopes he’s imagining the future, not reliving the past. --That is like...the most perfect Raylan line.
Thank you for sharing your gifts. (ahaha get it?)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 12:02 am (UTC)Wait, what was I saying?
Are they not so damn cute in the bathroom? She's just all, "I'm pregnant" and he's all WOAH NOW BACK THAT TRUCK UP. Hee.
In any CASE. Thank you for your oh-so-lovely comment, as always, and I'm delighted that you didn't find them so far OOC that they seem from a different universe. This was stressful shit, man!
I get it! I get it! Bwah. #badpuns
no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 10:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 10:54 pm (UTC)I forgot to flail about your line from Loretta. Which was so perfectly placed and thematic I just... augh. Got that sorta warmish heart beaty feeling of being moved.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-13 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 02:04 am (UTC)P.S. Can you send me your PPM current mucic, or did you get it on iTunes or something?
no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 01:05 pm (UTC)