"Manic Monday"
Jan. 31st, 2008 08:17 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
asuka14.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wl_fanfictionTitle: Manic Monday
Pairings: Chip/Drew
Rating: I don't know. There's some cursing. PG-13ish.
Summary: From credit card companies, to demonic kittens to religious fanatics, Chip is having a very bad day. Drew tries to make it all better for him. Written for my girlfriend,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clayangel, for her birthday. Happy Birthday, baby! *kiss*
“Manic Monday”
It's just another manic Monday.
I wish it was Sunday
'cause that's my fun day.
My I don't have to run day.
It's just another manic Monday.
The telephone started to ring and Chip grumbled from his warm bed. The annoyingly monotonous chirping continued until the answering machine clicked on a minute or two later. A voice that belonged to a guy named Bill filled the room, alerting Mr. Esten that he was calling from Capital One and that he desired not only the current monthly minimum, but Chip's soul, left testicle and two pints of blood, as well. Bill wished Chip a “Fantastic day!” and then promptly ended the call. Chip blinked in the direction of the machine and then moved to scrub his face.
“Fucking credit cards,” he spat, daring himself to open one eye to peer at the clock. Bill had even gone so far as to wake him a half an hour early. Chip made a mental note to some day hunt down Bill and murder him in his sleep with the very same credit card he wanted payment for as he shifted onto his side in search of a little more slumber.
* * *
The coffee maker smirked at Chip. Chip, in turn, glared back at it. The thing had decided that it was time to die and had done so, leaving Chip to the lowly misery of instant coffee. Its ghost was practically cackling at Chip's despondent face and Chip soon found himself wishing to chuck the thing out of the window.
Or perhaps at Bill from Capital One.
Chip sighed and opened his cabinets, vaguely wondering if he even had any instant lying around. He thought he had at one point but was pretty sure that Greg, once upon a time ago, had thrown it all out. Something or another about it not being “real coffee.” At the time Chip had been laughing and nodding in agreement. Now, though, Greg was quickly earning himself a spot beneath Bill from Capital One and the conniving, dead coffee maker.
The cabinets were filled to the brim, courtesy of the shopping trip Chip had gone on just the other day. He pushed past packets of pre-made noodles and rice, more Ramen than he knew that he had, a container or two of frosting from some long-since-forgotten “cake project” with Wayne and scowled deeply. Aside from some creamer, there was nothing remotely instant coffee like in sight. Greg had succeeded in throwing it all away. Suddenly Chip didn't hate Bill from Capital One so much.
“Fucking coffee maker,” he spat, closing the cabinet doors once more. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and then stole a quick glance at the clock. If he hurried he could run by 711 for a quick cup before he was to arrive at the studio for the day's taping. Chip nodded his head in silent agreement with no one and scurried off to the bathroom for a quick shower.
* * *
Jack, Chip's kitten, sat perched on the floor by Chip's hunched over figure. He was purring and watching Chip pick up the mess that he had happily made for him. Upon entering the bathroom, Chip had stopped and simply stared. Shampoo bottles were knocked over, bars of soap had been reduced to scratching posts and sitting in the middle of the room, between the toilet and the dirty clothes hamper, was a large, shifting pile of toilet paper that Chip hoped contained his cat. He heaved a quiet sigh, added Jack to the list following Bill from Capital One, the conniving, dead coffee maker and that God damned Proops and had gotten straight to work cleaning everything up.
Jack meowed just as Chip was picking up the last shampoo bottle. Chip turned his head to glare at him but ended up failing miserably as the cat started to purr once more.
“Fuck you,” he smiled. The cat continued to purr. Chip shook his head, shooed the cat out of the bathroom and then hurried to jump in the shower.
* * *
The bleeding had slowed a little and for that, Chip was grateful. Somehow he had failed to notice the shaving razor waiting for him in the tub. Jack had probably knocked it off the shelf in midst of all the destruction. Chip had promptly discovered it, however, and had yelped in pain as the thing bit into the sensitive flesh on the sole of his right foot. Muttering and cursing and adding the razor and the razor company to his growing list, Chip managed to shower through the pain and was now sitting, naked, wet and dripping, on the toilet lid as he awkwardly attempted to bandage the bottom of his foot. How he was going to prance around and act a fool that day on the set was beyond him. Judging from how badly his foot was aching, walking wasn't going to be an easy task to accomplish.
Chip finally slipped the bandage on as securely as he could manage and then stood back up, wincing immediately. He wrapped a towel about his waist and then hobbled out of the bathroom. Jack was waiting for him in the hallway and perked up upon seeing him, a wet, torn $20 bill hanging from his mouth. Chip had left his wallet on his dresser from the night before and had been foolish enough to leave his bedroom door opened that morning. He didn't see the wallet anywhere, but there was a trail of spare cash leading from his bedroom door to the mischievous cat. The Capital One credit card was dangerously close to plummeting down the stairs and his Driver's License was resting on the second to last step down at the very bottom of the staircase.
Chip looked at Jack. Jack started to purr and offered a sweet, quiet meow.
“Oy vey,” he sighed and opted to leave his gutted wallet for later. He hobbled to his bedroom, made damn sure to shut the door and then started in on getting dressed for work.
Jack stared at the closed bedroom door and then left the mutilated $20 bill for death. He scurried downstairs and batted around Chip's Driver's License for a while before becoming distracted with the living room curtains.
* * *
Chip ended up leaving the house about twenty minutes late. It had taken him a while to first piece his wallet back together and then fish his cat down from the curtain rod. And now he sat stuck in traffic, his head hinting at a migraine and the sole of his right foot wishing death upon Jack back at home. Because he had been running late, Chip opted to not stop by 711 but now was wishing he had. Some caffeine would be nice.
Nothing good was playing on the radio. Just crappy love songs from the 80's or some song that used to be good but now was way too overplayed. Chip sighed and started to drum his fingertips on the top of his steering wheel. All morning long he had tried to keep himself from thinking that the day couldn't get much worse because he knew that as soon as such a thought crossed his mind, he would either become paralyzed on the spot or the world would spontaneously go up in flames. But as the minutes dragged on and as his head and foot gradually increased the amount of pain he was in, Chip couldn't keep himself from allowing the illegal thought to creep across his skull. It did, smirking and cackling all the while, and Chip was reminded of the dead coffee maker back at home. Vaguely he wondered if Jack had broken it. But then he came back to his senses and dismissed the idea.
He inched his car forward. The car in front of his was decked out in various religious bumper stickers. One read “JESUS IS MY MASTER” whilst another asked the question “HAVE YOU ACCEPTED JESUS INTO YOUR LIFE YET?”
“No, I haven't,” Chip muttered as he fought the urge to smash his head open on the steering wheel.
The car beside him was blasting loud music with a loud bass. Chip could feel his bones start to vibrate and knew that, if he ever reached the studio, his head would be pounding and begging for half a bottle of Tylenol.
Chip inched his car forward a little more as he added religious fanatics, traffic jams and loud basses to his list.
* * *
By the time Chip finally arrived at the studio, he was pushing on being a half an hour late. A few stage workers had questioned his tardiness whilst Ryan just laughed at his friend's misfortune. Colin had seemed concerned, however, and Wayne had been somewhere in the middle. Chip had muttered to all of them something or another about his kitten and religious fanatics and how instant coffee just didn't live up to the real deal. He ended his half-assed explanation by saying that a razor blade to the sole of one's foot hurt and that no one better expect him to bounce around on stage that day because his head was pounding and threatening to break his skull in two. And then he had turned on his heel in search of his dressing room, muttering about wasted toilet paper and Bill from Capital One all the while.
Colin and Wayne blinked at each other. Ryan simply shook his head and offered to go find Drew.
“Yeah, I think that's a good idea,” Colin answered, watching as Chip's silhouette grew smaller the further he hobbled down the hallway. “Let him know Chip, uh... that Chip's had a bad day.” Wayne frowned.
“I don't think 'bad day' quite covers it...”
“Nonetheless,” Colin said, replacing his eyes on Ryan. “Please?”
“Yeah, I said I would. Just make sure his dressing room doesn't spontaneously combust while I'm gone.” Colin rolled his eyes, moving to smack Ryan on the arm, but he was already off and down the hallway in search of Drew.
* * *
Chip absolutely hated the couch in his dressing room. It was uncomfortable and old and no matter how much Febreeze he drenched the thing in he could never quite make it smell all right. But at the current moment in time he honestly didn't care. Chip's head hurt and his foot hurt and the way that he had been walking around all morning to prevent straining his hurt foot was beginning to agitate his fine foot. It was official, and Chip had long ago agreed, it was just another manic Monday on a bright Los Angeles morning. And somewhere in his mind was a list of people, animals and electronic devices to all mercilessly slaughter at a later date.
A knock on the door startled Chip from his reverie. He blinked and lifted his head curiously. “Come in!”
Drew poked his head in and Chip immediately smiled. “Hi,” he smiled back. “Ryan told me you wanted to see me?”
Chip blinked once more, adopting a confused expression. “But I never said...” he trailed off, taking in all of the items Drew was holding. A bottle of some sort of pain reliever, a styrofoam drink holder from Starbucks that held two precious cups of coffee and a box of band-aids. There was also one or two pieces of folded paper resting between Drew's side and his arm but Chip didn't pay much thought as to what was on them. He shook his head, smiling once more and then replaced his eyes on Drew's face. “Nevermind. Yeah. C'mere, baby.” Drew smiled brilliantly and crossed the room over to Chip. He placed everything he was holding down on the table in front of the couch and lightly trailed his fingertips along Chip's cheek. Chip made sure to pout on purpose and Drew chuckled softly, kissing him on the tip of his nose.
“I'm sorry Bill wants your money and your cat is a demon,” he said, leaning his forehead against Chip's. Chip burst out laughing and shook his head once more, shifting forward to draw Drew into a tight hug. He loved Drew. Drew was always able to make everything and everyone all right again. He was warm and he smelled good and Chip had never been as happy as he was when Drew was holding him in his arms. It felt right and safe and, on a day such as the one he was experiencing, a huge and comforting relief.
“It's all right,” he said, pulling away, smiling still. “You're here now. None of that matters anymore.”
Drew couldn't help a slight smirk. “You're only saying that because I have drugs and caffeine, aren't you?” He leaned forward then, reaching for the bottle of pain reliever and fishing out a couple of pills for Chip. Chip chuckled quietly and shook his head.
“No, but it's a damn good perk, don't you think?” He accepted the pills and the cup of coffee Drew offered with a playful expression. Chip popped the pills in his mouth and then washed them down with a little bit of coffee, making an almost orgasmic expression, much to Drew's amusement. He chuckled and then shook his head and shifted his position, one arm placed comfortably about Chip's shoulders. Chip smiled much as a child might and shifted around as well, resting his head atop Drew's shoulder. Drew instinctively started to pet Chip's arm.
“You're an idiot,” he said quietly, “but I love you anyway.”
“I love you too, Drew,” Chip practically cooed. The two fell into a comfortable silence, sipping coffee and cuddling, until Chip blinked and raised an eyebrow at the papers Drew had been holding onto earlier. They were still resting on the table in front of them. The bottle of pills had been knocked onto its side and was obscuring some of the print at the very top of the page but Chip could still make out the middle and the bottom. The papers were just upside down, making comprehending rather difficult.
“Baby?” He called softly. Drew answered with a quiet “Hm?” as he took another sip of his coffee. “What're the papers? What's on them?”
“Oh,” Drew smiled mischievously, “the warranty for your coffee maker. I told you it was a flaky brand. Remember? You didn't believe me and tossed all that stuff out the night you bought it. Bet you're glad I held onto everything, aren't you?” Chip chuckled gratefully and nodded his head, pressing himself even closer to Drew. He reached up his free hand to the hand Drew was petting his arm with and thread their fingers together, smiling contentedly at the array of papers his conniving, long-dead coffee maker had come with.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I'm glad you held onto everything.” Drew gave Chip's hand a slight squeeze and Chip sighed happily. Chip loved Drew. Drew never failed to make him smile when the rest of the world was trying its hardest to cause him to frown. Other than the feel of Drew against him and the cooling cup of coffee in his hand, Chip felt, for the moment in time, that nothing else in the world mattered in the least. Not even the gradually expanding list that he had been putting together all morning. Bill from Capital One, the dead coffee maker, the makers of razor blades and his demonic kitten were all as far away from his mind as humanely possible.
Chip started to think that maybe the manic Monday wouldn't be so manic after all.
.end.
Pairings: Chip/Drew
Rating: I don't know. There's some cursing. PG-13ish.
Summary: From credit card companies, to demonic kittens to religious fanatics, Chip is having a very bad day. Drew tries to make it all better for him. Written for my girlfriend,
clayangel, for her birthday. Happy Birthday, baby! *kiss*It's just another manic Monday.
I wish it was Sunday
'cause that's my fun day.
My I don't have to run day.
It's just another manic Monday.
The telephone started to ring and Chip grumbled from his warm bed. The annoyingly monotonous chirping continued until the answering machine clicked on a minute or two later. A voice that belonged to a guy named Bill filled the room, alerting Mr. Esten that he was calling from Capital One and that he desired not only the current monthly minimum, but Chip's soul, left testicle and two pints of blood, as well. Bill wished Chip a “Fantastic day!” and then promptly ended the call. Chip blinked in the direction of the machine and then moved to scrub his face.
“Fucking credit cards,” he spat, daring himself to open one eye to peer at the clock. Bill had even gone so far as to wake him a half an hour early. Chip made a mental note to some day hunt down Bill and murder him in his sleep with the very same credit card he wanted payment for as he shifted onto his side in search of a little more slumber.
The coffee maker smirked at Chip. Chip, in turn, glared back at it. The thing had decided that it was time to die and had done so, leaving Chip to the lowly misery of instant coffee. Its ghost was practically cackling at Chip's despondent face and Chip soon found himself wishing to chuck the thing out of the window.
Or perhaps at Bill from Capital One.
Chip sighed and opened his cabinets, vaguely wondering if he even had any instant lying around. He thought he had at one point but was pretty sure that Greg, once upon a time ago, had thrown it all out. Something or another about it not being “real coffee.” At the time Chip had been laughing and nodding in agreement. Now, though, Greg was quickly earning himself a spot beneath Bill from Capital One and the conniving, dead coffee maker.
The cabinets were filled to the brim, courtesy of the shopping trip Chip had gone on just the other day. He pushed past packets of pre-made noodles and rice, more Ramen than he knew that he had, a container or two of frosting from some long-since-forgotten “cake project” with Wayne and scowled deeply. Aside from some creamer, there was nothing remotely instant coffee like in sight. Greg had succeeded in throwing it all away. Suddenly Chip didn't hate Bill from Capital One so much.
“Fucking coffee maker,” he spat, closing the cabinet doors once more. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and then stole a quick glance at the clock. If he hurried he could run by 711 for a quick cup before he was to arrive at the studio for the day's taping. Chip nodded his head in silent agreement with no one and scurried off to the bathroom for a quick shower.
Jack, Chip's kitten, sat perched on the floor by Chip's hunched over figure. He was purring and watching Chip pick up the mess that he had happily made for him. Upon entering the bathroom, Chip had stopped and simply stared. Shampoo bottles were knocked over, bars of soap had been reduced to scratching posts and sitting in the middle of the room, between the toilet and the dirty clothes hamper, was a large, shifting pile of toilet paper that Chip hoped contained his cat. He heaved a quiet sigh, added Jack to the list following Bill from Capital One, the conniving, dead coffee maker and that God damned Proops and had gotten straight to work cleaning everything up.
Jack meowed just as Chip was picking up the last shampoo bottle. Chip turned his head to glare at him but ended up failing miserably as the cat started to purr once more.
“Fuck you,” he smiled. The cat continued to purr. Chip shook his head, shooed the cat out of the bathroom and then hurried to jump in the shower.
The bleeding had slowed a little and for that, Chip was grateful. Somehow he had failed to notice the shaving razor waiting for him in the tub. Jack had probably knocked it off the shelf in midst of all the destruction. Chip had promptly discovered it, however, and had yelped in pain as the thing bit into the sensitive flesh on the sole of his right foot. Muttering and cursing and adding the razor and the razor company to his growing list, Chip managed to shower through the pain and was now sitting, naked, wet and dripping, on the toilet lid as he awkwardly attempted to bandage the bottom of his foot. How he was going to prance around and act a fool that day on the set was beyond him. Judging from how badly his foot was aching, walking wasn't going to be an easy task to accomplish.
Chip finally slipped the bandage on as securely as he could manage and then stood back up, wincing immediately. He wrapped a towel about his waist and then hobbled out of the bathroom. Jack was waiting for him in the hallway and perked up upon seeing him, a wet, torn $20 bill hanging from his mouth. Chip had left his wallet on his dresser from the night before and had been foolish enough to leave his bedroom door opened that morning. He didn't see the wallet anywhere, but there was a trail of spare cash leading from his bedroom door to the mischievous cat. The Capital One credit card was dangerously close to plummeting down the stairs and his Driver's License was resting on the second to last step down at the very bottom of the staircase.
Chip looked at Jack. Jack started to purr and offered a sweet, quiet meow.
“Oy vey,” he sighed and opted to leave his gutted wallet for later. He hobbled to his bedroom, made damn sure to shut the door and then started in on getting dressed for work.
Jack stared at the closed bedroom door and then left the mutilated $20 bill for death. He scurried downstairs and batted around Chip's Driver's License for a while before becoming distracted with the living room curtains.
Chip ended up leaving the house about twenty minutes late. It had taken him a while to first piece his wallet back together and then fish his cat down from the curtain rod. And now he sat stuck in traffic, his head hinting at a migraine and the sole of his right foot wishing death upon Jack back at home. Because he had been running late, Chip opted to not stop by 711 but now was wishing he had. Some caffeine would be nice.
Nothing good was playing on the radio. Just crappy love songs from the 80's or some song that used to be good but now was way too overplayed. Chip sighed and started to drum his fingertips on the top of his steering wheel. All morning long he had tried to keep himself from thinking that the day couldn't get much worse because he knew that as soon as such a thought crossed his mind, he would either become paralyzed on the spot or the world would spontaneously go up in flames. But as the minutes dragged on and as his head and foot gradually increased the amount of pain he was in, Chip couldn't keep himself from allowing the illegal thought to creep across his skull. It did, smirking and cackling all the while, and Chip was reminded of the dead coffee maker back at home. Vaguely he wondered if Jack had broken it. But then he came back to his senses and dismissed the idea.
He inched his car forward. The car in front of his was decked out in various religious bumper stickers. One read “JESUS IS MY MASTER” whilst another asked the question “HAVE YOU ACCEPTED JESUS INTO YOUR LIFE YET?”
“No, I haven't,” Chip muttered as he fought the urge to smash his head open on the steering wheel.
The car beside him was blasting loud music with a loud bass. Chip could feel his bones start to vibrate and knew that, if he ever reached the studio, his head would be pounding and begging for half a bottle of Tylenol.
Chip inched his car forward a little more as he added religious fanatics, traffic jams and loud basses to his list.
By the time Chip finally arrived at the studio, he was pushing on being a half an hour late. A few stage workers had questioned his tardiness whilst Ryan just laughed at his friend's misfortune. Colin had seemed concerned, however, and Wayne had been somewhere in the middle. Chip had muttered to all of them something or another about his kitten and religious fanatics and how instant coffee just didn't live up to the real deal. He ended his half-assed explanation by saying that a razor blade to the sole of one's foot hurt and that no one better expect him to bounce around on stage that day because his head was pounding and threatening to break his skull in two. And then he had turned on his heel in search of his dressing room, muttering about wasted toilet paper and Bill from Capital One all the while.
Colin and Wayne blinked at each other. Ryan simply shook his head and offered to go find Drew.
“Yeah, I think that's a good idea,” Colin answered, watching as Chip's silhouette grew smaller the further he hobbled down the hallway. “Let him know Chip, uh... that Chip's had a bad day.” Wayne frowned.
“I don't think 'bad day' quite covers it...”
“Nonetheless,” Colin said, replacing his eyes on Ryan. “Please?”
“Yeah, I said I would. Just make sure his dressing room doesn't spontaneously combust while I'm gone.” Colin rolled his eyes, moving to smack Ryan on the arm, but he was already off and down the hallway in search of Drew.
Chip absolutely hated the couch in his dressing room. It was uncomfortable and old and no matter how much Febreeze he drenched the thing in he could never quite make it smell all right. But at the current moment in time he honestly didn't care. Chip's head hurt and his foot hurt and the way that he had been walking around all morning to prevent straining his hurt foot was beginning to agitate his fine foot. It was official, and Chip had long ago agreed, it was just another manic Monday on a bright Los Angeles morning. And somewhere in his mind was a list of people, animals and electronic devices to all mercilessly slaughter at a later date.
A knock on the door startled Chip from his reverie. He blinked and lifted his head curiously. “Come in!”
Drew poked his head in and Chip immediately smiled. “Hi,” he smiled back. “Ryan told me you wanted to see me?”
Chip blinked once more, adopting a confused expression. “But I never said...” he trailed off, taking in all of the items Drew was holding. A bottle of some sort of pain reliever, a styrofoam drink holder from Starbucks that held two precious cups of coffee and a box of band-aids. There was also one or two pieces of folded paper resting between Drew's side and his arm but Chip didn't pay much thought as to what was on them. He shook his head, smiling once more and then replaced his eyes on Drew's face. “Nevermind. Yeah. C'mere, baby.” Drew smiled brilliantly and crossed the room over to Chip. He placed everything he was holding down on the table in front of the couch and lightly trailed his fingertips along Chip's cheek. Chip made sure to pout on purpose and Drew chuckled softly, kissing him on the tip of his nose.
“I'm sorry Bill wants your money and your cat is a demon,” he said, leaning his forehead against Chip's. Chip burst out laughing and shook his head once more, shifting forward to draw Drew into a tight hug. He loved Drew. Drew was always able to make everything and everyone all right again. He was warm and he smelled good and Chip had never been as happy as he was when Drew was holding him in his arms. It felt right and safe and, on a day such as the one he was experiencing, a huge and comforting relief.
“It's all right,” he said, pulling away, smiling still. “You're here now. None of that matters anymore.”
Drew couldn't help a slight smirk. “You're only saying that because I have drugs and caffeine, aren't you?” He leaned forward then, reaching for the bottle of pain reliever and fishing out a couple of pills for Chip. Chip chuckled quietly and shook his head.
“No, but it's a damn good perk, don't you think?” He accepted the pills and the cup of coffee Drew offered with a playful expression. Chip popped the pills in his mouth and then washed them down with a little bit of coffee, making an almost orgasmic expression, much to Drew's amusement. He chuckled and then shook his head and shifted his position, one arm placed comfortably about Chip's shoulders. Chip smiled much as a child might and shifted around as well, resting his head atop Drew's shoulder. Drew instinctively started to pet Chip's arm.
“You're an idiot,” he said quietly, “but I love you anyway.”
“I love you too, Drew,” Chip practically cooed. The two fell into a comfortable silence, sipping coffee and cuddling, until Chip blinked and raised an eyebrow at the papers Drew had been holding onto earlier. They were still resting on the table in front of them. The bottle of pills had been knocked onto its side and was obscuring some of the print at the very top of the page but Chip could still make out the middle and the bottom. The papers were just upside down, making comprehending rather difficult.
“Baby?” He called softly. Drew answered with a quiet “Hm?” as he took another sip of his coffee. “What're the papers? What's on them?”
“Oh,” Drew smiled mischievously, “the warranty for your coffee maker. I told you it was a flaky brand. Remember? You didn't believe me and tossed all that stuff out the night you bought it. Bet you're glad I held onto everything, aren't you?” Chip chuckled gratefully and nodded his head, pressing himself even closer to Drew. He reached up his free hand to the hand Drew was petting his arm with and thread their fingers together, smiling contentedly at the array of papers his conniving, long-dead coffee maker had come with.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I'm glad you held onto everything.” Drew gave Chip's hand a slight squeeze and Chip sighed happily. Chip loved Drew. Drew never failed to make him smile when the rest of the world was trying its hardest to cause him to frown. Other than the feel of Drew against him and the cooling cup of coffee in his hand, Chip felt, for the moment in time, that nothing else in the world mattered in the least. Not even the gradually expanding list that he had been putting together all morning. Bill from Capital One, the dead coffee maker, the makers of razor blades and his demonic kitten were all as far away from his mind as humanely possible.
Chip started to think that maybe the manic Monday wouldn't be so manic after all.
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Date: 2008-02-01 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-01 02:00 am (UTC)Re: demon dog
Date: 2008-02-01 02:05 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2008-02-01 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-01 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-01 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-01 11:37 pm (UTC)Thanks so much!
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Date: 2009-01-28 01:07 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing!