Acacia can has JournalFen?

Rec Request: urgent!

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 05:35:36 GMT

(Because I'm sort of struggling with the depths of despair here, a little.)

Does anyone know of a decent (or even half-decent. Or crappy, for that matter. I'm desperate here.) piece of genre fiction, fan- or original, where a main character was autistic or otherwise neurodivergent?

I really, really need a Hero Like Me right now.

The Cult of the Amateur

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 04:03:18 GMT

...so. The Colbert Report just interviewed the snobbiest snob I have ever seen, declaring that it's not art unless you're getting paid, and the Intertubes are worse than the Nazis because It's Destroying Our Culture!!!!!!one

And I stared, appalled.

And then sat back and smirked. I can imagine Blogistan's response to this. It will be glorious.

In other news, I must have Jon Stewart's babies immediately.

LJ Clones

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 23:03:01 GMT

I am happy about my JournalFen, but, you know, not everyone can easily get one, and some people are using GreatestJournal and so on instead/too. I've got the hang of mirroring LJ and JF with Semagic now, it doesn't take much effort, so keeping more going shouldn't be hard.

What do you guys think? Should I at least claim my username on some of those other sites?

Interactive character meme!

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 05:55:09 GMT

Nicked from darkbunnyrabbit.

1. I have made a list of 15 characters, which I am keeping to myself for the moment.

2. I ask you, dear flist, to post questions in the comments. Crazy questions. Whatever you like. For example: "4, 6, 12 & 15 are starting a band together, what is their name and what kind of music do they play? Also, who's the lead singer, and what instruments do the others play?"

3. After you ask enough questions, I will round them up and answer them using the 15 characters I selected beforehand, and then post them.

Answers will be forthcoming tomorrow, as right now? I really should sleep.

I am a Vampire of the Internet!

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 05:24:11 GMT

International Blog For Entitlement Week.

Hm. A chance to be totally inane without fear of looking like an idiot, while laughing at a pompous antifandom author? I'm so in.

Fic: Disconnect (Heroes, PG13, Eden/Isaac)

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:46:12 GMT

Title: Disconnect
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Eden/Isaac
Rating: Light PG-13, but only for the canon content.
Summary: In which a prisoner/guest is comforted, and a great deal goes unsaid.
Warnings/Notes: Drug references. Written for the rare_heroes Brave New Ship challenge. Cut text is from The Road I'm On by 3 Doors Down.

Well, shit.

He'd actually been clean for a while there. For the first time since... God, the first time he could remember, he'd even fought for it, despite the glasses guy's sob story. That hadn't been easy. But then that Eden girl with her big sad eyes had come in and sat by him and explained- he didn't quite remember clearly, except that it had been calm and reasonable and delivered in the sweetest voice he'd ever heard. And that all his resolve, living as it was in unfamiliar territory, had instantly crumbled.

Despite the general misery- he could probably write a book by now about coming down off a high, but experience didn't make it any easier- Isaac was eager to get a look at what he'd painted, and a little disappointed that it didn't seem to have anything at all to show timing or location. While he was staring at the figure, trying to make sense of it, the sound of the door opening and closing interrupted his thoughts.

It was that girl again, walking quietly, her big eyes fixed on the painting. "I don't know what it means," he told her, his voice rough. "There's no landmarks, no date or time... if it's got anything to do with that guy's kid, she's just gonna have to stay home." Unless that was where it happened, of course. Why couldn't this shit be useful?

But Eden was shaking her head. "That's not how Sylar operates. He has... more of a personal touch," she added, sounding both awfully certain and kind of disgusted. She turned her attention back to the exploding man, and Isaac couldn't blame her; it was hard to ignore. "It looks like Hell," she muttered, and Isaac had to agree.

"So what happens now? This isn't what he needs, but- I'm not going through that again," he said, with more determination than he really felt. He'd said that before, after all, and then given in in a moment to pretty eyes and a gentle voice.

"No," said Eden, frowning. "You're not. We shouldn't have asked for that in the first place- I'm really sorry, Isaac." There seemed to be a little more edge, more guilt, more of something that almost seemed like desperation, than the situation really seemed to call for, and he almost asked about it. Almost.

Later, he would wonder what would have been different if he had asked, if he'd known what had been done to him and where to place his trust, instead of staring into those big brown eyes and remembering the only other person who'd ever shown this much concern for him, and why she never would again. While Eden was here, and Eden- "You said you understood," said Isaac. "You said you knew what it was like."

She nodded. "I've done some things I don't really like to talk about. But-" and here she reached out to cradle his cheek- "it doesn't always have to be that way. It won't stay that way, if I have anything to say about it. We're going to actually help you now."

"I want you to help," said Isaac, on impulse. "You're the one who cares."

Eden smiled oddly at that. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Fic: The End of the World (Heroes, PG13, Hana)

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:44:10 GMT

Title: The End of the World
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Hana "Wireless" Gitelman
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dying is like dancing.
Warnings/Notes: Graphic novel spoilers up to and including The Death of Hana Gitelman: Part 2.

There wasn't a name for the sensation, and it didn't need one; it was something soldiers had probably done since the dawn of time. They went out, when there was no guarantee that they ever would again, and had one last dance, one last drink, one last screw. They ate, drank, and were merry, for tomorrow they might die.

Hana had done that with just as much grim determination as she had devoted to what came next. And now...

Whatever that damn security system had done to her had hurt, but on its heels came the same dizzy feeling as that night at RGS, dulling the pain and confusing the clarity that came to all those probably about to die. But there were some things she was certain of. The satellite was well and truly disrupted. She knew because it was falling right alongside her through the thinnest of thin air. It would only get thicker. And hotter.

It felt like that night in the club, tipsy and with all cares cast aside, head pounding not with music or drink but with the ravages of a virus, warm not because of hundreds of sweating bodies but because of aerodynamic heating, caressed not by a reasonably good-looking man whose name she hadn't bothered to remember but by the friction that would vaporize her, and she was just too numb for it to hurt.

And she was certain that the satellite was the tracker, and dangerous. And it was worth it to have brought it down.

Fic: Hag-Ridden (Heroes, NC17, Candice/Mohinder)

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:38:23 GMT

Title: Hag-Ridden
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar!Candice, inspired by the Pornathon prompt "domination".
Rating: NC-17
Summary: hăg´rĭd`d'n (n.) tormented or harassed by nightmares or unreasonable fears
Warnings/Notes: Non-con, but not as generally understood; mindfuck. Spoilers through .07%. Candice probably needs a warning all her own...

He was in with a bad crowd now, and he knew it. Thompson was intimidating, that no one would tell Mohinder what had happened to the man in the glasses was worse, but what really frightened the life out of him was the young woman who always seemed to be around. She was polite- mostly- but the way she looked at people was too much like a look he'd seen, only occasionally out of the corner of his eye, on Zane-who-wasn't-Zane when he thought Mohinder wasn't looking.

Candice Willmer didn't bother to hide it, and maybe it was that reminder that was behind the things he kept seeing. Not that they were surprising; he knew the effects of trauma, and seeing Sylar around every corner was horrible but to be expected.

"Mendez is dead," came Sylar's voice, right behind him, and he managed enough self-control to suppress the flinch almost completely as he turned to see what he knew would only be Candice's smirk.

"Thank you for the update," he said, through gritted teeth. He'd really hoped they might get there in time to protect the artist, but mostly he just wanted that smirk to go away. "I take it Sylar wasn't at the scene."

"No. And no clues where he went next, either." Her smirk broadened into a grin. "He could be anywhere."

He knew she was trying to provoke him, but Mohinder didn't have quite enough self-control not to shudder.

Letting the Company provide his room was one of the many questionable decisions Mohinder had made lately, but the alternative was sleeping in his apartment, haunted by the smell of blood and memories best left to lie. He'd tried it the first night, but sleep simply didn't come, and he'd been awake and on the road all the night before, and he knew too much about physiology to let that continue. It was a long time coming now, but at least it came: the first real sleep he'd had since he'd exposed Sylar.

There were nightmares, of course. He was frozen and shattered, the top of his head was coming off, he watched helplessly from the ceiling as Peter was killed, Eden, his father. He was bound into a chair with duct tape, Sylar behind him and whispering in his ear.

Now, relax, and enjoy this.

Mohinder didn't- couldn't- move as his clothing split and fell away at the crook of Sylar's finger, or when Sylar was suddenly kneeling in front of him without apparently moving through the intervening space, but when he took his cock into his mouth he gasped-
-and jolted awake.

It was like waking from a dream into a dream. He wasn't in the chair, but in the bed, hardening under an expert tongue, with only a little more presence of mind to try to jerk himself away. But his hands had been fastened above his head, and the form barely visible at his disadvantaged angle didn't look like Sylar. And then it did when it looked up from what it had been doing and broke into a too-familiar grin. "Oh, you're awake."

"You're not him," said Mohinder, more firmly than he really felt. Sylar had lost his chance at Mohinder's good graces; if he really had found him even here this wasn't what he'd be doing. He hoped.

"You're so clever, Suresh," said Sylar's voice, but with a touch of laughter it had never held even as Zane. "How come it took you so long to say that the first time?" The apparition (Candice, it could only be Candice) took him firmly in hand and stroked, eliciting an involuntary groan as he came to full attention, then made her way up to where she could whisper to him-
he good at making people stupid, Suresh? did he suck all the blood away from your head?
-as he slid into a slippery opening that his eyes refused to register, and watered when he tried to look at it. Without his hands, struggling just meant bucking his hips up, which only got him a pleased little whimper in Candice's real voice while Sylar's in his ear never stopped in its obscene litany.
wouldn't have been a hardship, you're so damn pretty. did he tell you that, Suresh? is he that good, or were you just that fucking desperate?

To hell with not giving Candice what she wanted- Mohinder lost it then, thrashing and bucking and shouting "Stop it, get off, get off" while she groaned and clenched around him, Sylar's face finally dropping away as she leaned in to capture his mouth in a mocking kiss.

Then she stood up, smoothed out everything that was rumpled, and set a plastic bottle on the bedside table with an oddly precise click. "Thompson thought you might need some help getting to sleep," she informed him cheerfully. Then she turned and left and shut the door behind her.

Thompson had been right.

Fic: Her Sister's Keeper (Heroes, R, Hana+Kristy)

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:34:45 GMT

Title: Her Sister's Keeper
Rating: R
Fandom: Heroes
Character/Pairing: Hana Gitelman, Kristy
Spoilers: NBC graphic novel The Path of the Righteous
Warnings: Potentially triggering themes.
Summary: One in five children is sexually solicited online. Still want my ability?

The problem with being able to see anything on the Internet is that I do see it. It's used for actual useful information, but also for art, and for socializing, and for indulging in some people's sick fantasies. Not a good signal-to-noise ratio. I've gotten better at filtering, but you just can't tune everything out, and there's only so much one person with problems of her own can do.

Anyone can hear the statistics. I can see it happen. I'm sure if I put my mind to it I could settle the question of exactly how much money the child porn industry makes each year down to a fraction of a cent. If I put my mind to it. If I was willing to put myself through that.

What does it take to get me to do something about it? Biking down a Las Vegas street, suddenly spotting the beginnings of a live feed from that building right there. I was on the trail of something important, but I thought too much, and I realized that someone who'd walk right by something like that wasn't someone I could face. Not a whole lot in my life has felt as good as kicking the crap out of that pervert, and setting the cops on the other three hundred and fifty-two.

Kristy doesn't go online much anymore, but I'm there when she does. I know she likes Bratz dolls and cats. I know she still wants to be an actress when she grows up. I know she hasn't told her parents what happened that day, and especially not what almost happened. I know she exchanges emails, sometimes, with someone she knows only as Wireless; and that she doesn't fully trust me yet; and that I would be disappointed if she did. But she does listen to my advice whenever I have any to give.

There's always time in the day to use, even if it's only during meals and in transit. KutieKristie@hotmail.com won't be troubled again in the foreseeable future. I know I can do that.

Fic: Leave Only Footprints (Heroes, G, Hiro+Ando+OC)

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:28:54 GMT

Title: Leave Only Footprints
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing/Characters: OFCs, Hiro Nakamura, Ando Masahashi, Nissan Versa
Rating: G
Summary: A study of a friendship, through someone else's eyes. Well. Not exactly eyes.
Notes: Written for darkfire_blade, for the prompt Hiro and Ando and their car fic or pic ^_-

The past is entombed in the present, the world is its own enduring monument; and that which is true of its physical is likewise true of its mental career. The discoveries of Psychometry will enable us to explore the history of man, as those of geology enable us to explore the history of the earth.
-Joseph Rodes Buchanan

Rachel Clark had been an archaeology student, and a good one; it was kind of surprising how much the habits she'd learned from it (like meticulous neatness) came in handy when you were trying to be discreet about ransacking rooms. Or, in this case, someone's car.

They'd found the blue Nissan Versa with the right plates exactly where they'd been told they would, and her appreciation of the absence of unexpectedness was all Company. These days, "unexpected" tended to mean "potentially fatal". The lock had presented her partner with no difficulties, and the car was... almost completely empty. Apparently the people renting it were in the habit of carrying their personal effects with them. There were a few touches, though- some fast-food wrappers in the little trash drawer, a comic book, that was about it.

Then she tugged off her gloves, shut her eyes, and began running her fingers lightly over the steering wheel, the dashboard, the radio, every surface she could find.

Oh, yes... they were definitely on the right track, the oddly spicy taste of someone very special was very, very strong. She held to that thread to keep from being distracted by all the other people who had rented that car before him, and sent her mind questing deeper, and soon even the spice was overwhelmed by the rest of it. There was a sadness so deep no tears would come, curled around a hope for the future that Rachel hadn't felt since the day she'd really come to understand how much history repeated itself. There was joy as pure as any she'd ever sensed, warm and smelling of sunlight, and she couldn't quite tell where that ended and the laser-harsh intensity of purpose began. And there was another presence, very distinct, very much without the other's heat, but amplifying the joy and blunting the edge of every pain-

A do-over. I like that.

It was almost overwhelming already, and she'd barely gotten beyond the surface impressions. She went deeper anyway.

The image of a katana flashed through her mind- it had loomed large in mood and talk- and that odd helical symbol she'd be prepared to swear she'd seen before. She thought she caught a glimpse of another spicy presence, but couldn't be sure. Entire conversations replayed in seconds, flickering back and forth between the sound, which wasn't a language she spoke, and the sense, which was the language everyone understood. I was afraid for you. I miss her. I'm so sorry I ever left- I forgive you- I will not let it happen again. I love you, friend.

This had to be too much. Rachel tugged her fingers away with the sound of gunfire echoing in her ears, and made damn sure to put her gloves back on before she started replacing items just where they'd been. Even through those, she got a last lingering taste of comfort (creamy and sweet) using the door handle to get out.

"It's definitely th- him," she told her partner, as she committed to her notebook everything she could put into words, in case it ever faded. "We should probably look into swords next. And that RNA sign."

Her partner was not unobservant. She almost certainly noticed that there were tears on Rachel's face, but she didn't comment.

Fic: Glamor (Heroes, R, Candice/Isaac)

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:23:36 GMT

Title: Glamor
Rating: R
Fandom: Heroes
Character/Pairing: Isaac/Simone (kinda), Isaac/Candace
Spoilers: through Parasite
Warnings: Dark themes, drug use, mindfuck.
Summary: He can't save the world. He can't even save himself.
Notes: First posted here. Cut text is from The Faerie Oak of Corriewater, a delightfully disturbing Scottish folk ballad with themes of transformation, enslavement, and destruction...

She doesn't come here to help Isaac. She doesn't even come here to use him, at least not for whatever purpose he was drawn into their God-damned conspiracy game for. He would keep on painting regardless, little though he cares anymore; his power is no power of his, the future just wants to be seen and it seizes control of the mind and hands it has available.

(It's not as if Isaac is using them for anything worthwhile. The drug hasn't been invented that will let him leave his mind behind forever, ripped to pieces as it is with guilt and grief, but he's trying as hard as he can.)

And when he has finally run out, Simone is always there, except that it's not Simone, of course, it never will be again. Sometimes she's wearing her bloodstained clothes, and presses Isaac's hands to the holes in her side, and kisses the tears from his face: not to relieve him of them, of course, but just to taste them, and smile. Sometimes she looks almost normal, in clothes like she would have worn to a show, and won't touch him at all. (He tried to touch her, once, only the first time since she'd sent the police away, and was sharply slapped- how dare he, after what he'd done?- and could only babble apologies through the haze.) And sometimes, she wears nothing at all, and those times are always the worst.

He still fucks her, of course.

And of course the world always flickers just before he comes, taking Simone away from him (again) and leaving in her place this strange woman with her broad smirk. Because she comes here to hurt him, and to watch him hurt himself, and she can see plainly that he's just a little bit more broken this time than he was last time, and next time he'll be a little more broken still. She is worse for him than any drug, and just as impossible to resist. (They had to lock him into his room to get him the few clean weeks he got; he hopes Peter never comes back to see how right he was. You couldn't even save yourself.)

Isaac wonders, sometimes, what she'll do when she's used him all up; whether she has someone who will leave another junkie on her table the way she leaves the drugs on his (or sometimes stays to watch him shoot up, smiling at the sight that would have horrified the real Simone). He wonders why she's so much more turned on by the despair in his eyes than the lust. He wonders if maybe she needs to torture him like this, and why.

But he won't ask her.

She might stop coming.

Fic: Conductor (Heroes, PG-13, Claude+various)

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:20:27 GMT

Title: Conductor (or: Five People Claude Never Bagged)
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: PG13 (for dark implications; it's rather tamer than canon)
Character/Pairing: Claude, Mr. Bennet, OCs, minor mention of Claude/OFC
Summary: It wasn't the first one, it was just the first one the company had found out about.
Notes: Yeah, I should be working on my girlslash, but this grabbed my hindbrain and demanded to be let out. I hope it's good, because it kind of took me by surprise. Spoilers for Company Man.

I. Dynamic Camouflage
The first was a young shapeshifter, shy and scared, who'd flashed through about a dozen different faces in sheer startlement when he'd popped back into visibility. And then he'd realized that, once she'd learned enough control to copy a shape and hold it, it would be the easiest thing in the world to let her copy him, and go with her unseen.

One Claude went into that building, and one Claude came out, and much later someone else entirely, who had never ever been seen before by anyone, left the state. She should be fine as long as she didn't let herself be scared into changing again.

II. Enhanced Speed
It was never so easy again, of course. Not everyone could have the perfect disguise.

A man that crackled with electricity all the time was liable to be noticed pretty damn quick... so he didn't risk it. Later (not that much later, either) he caught a look at something he wasn't supposed to see- the man's autopsy photos- and didn't sleep a wink that night.

So, the next time he was creeping invisibly into someone's bedroom, he accidentally knocked over a lamp. Its owner must've been pretty twitchy since finding out he wasn't normal; he ran away at what his partner swore had to be a landspeed of at least a thousand miles an hour. No way of measuring it properly now.

III. Hyperspectral Vision
Then there was the one they hadn't even been looking for. She'd seen him, though, plain as day; the heat of his body, she said. And that wasn't all those gray eyes could see, not by a long shot.

Claude had never really approved of Bennet having a wife; it only put her in danger. But here was a woman he could keep contact with without anyone ever knowing they had any association. It wasn't the same thing at all. Still, whatever they were, it didn't last long.

For all he knew, she was still living in the same place, totally unmolested. Quite the head she'd got on her shoulders; she'd probably never have let on to anyone at all if she hadn't been so surprised at seeing someone by infrared alone.

IV. Cryokinesis
Crackling made for some unpleasant memories, but this time it wasn't electrical, or the burning of a devastated apartment. The grass, wherever he stood, was crackling with frost, in a Texas summer. About the only place you could probably hide this one would be in the bloody Arctic, unless he could learn to cut it out, and fast.

It only took a few days to get the ice under control. It took considerably less time than that to start to hate Claude more than he'd ever hated anyone in his life, but then he wasn't looking for a buddy.

V. Baseline
He had no idea which one they'd found out about, but did it matter? They'd briefed Bennet without him (as far as they knew) and it wasn't anything good, and when had his rookie become able to look him in the eye and lie like that? If he hadn't known already-

He hesitated, at the open car door, just for a moment. He could still run. If he never reappeared, there was at least a chance of keeping hidden...

"Are you coming?" asked Bennet.

Claude forced himself to smile. "Of course."

Fic: Just Good Fortune (Heroes, PG, Kimiko)

Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:17:32 GMT

So, I'm copying all my fanfic from my LJ over to this account. This is the first...

Title: Just Good Fortune
Rating: PG
Fandom: Heroes
Character/Pairing: Kimiko Nakamura (and the rest of the family)
Summary: Kimiko has no time to fold cranes, but there are other ways of wishing.
first posted here

Kimiko is fourteen, and her brother will read his manga instead of studying, however she reminds him. Hiro fears their father's disapproval, but he has never been willing to work to avoid it. He was at the bottom of his class last year, and she knows he will be there again this year.

Once she did some of his work for him. She did not mind. The work is like breathing to her, not the torment of the mind that it is for Hiro. But Father caught her, and gave her that sharp look that she is certain is worse than blows, and she has never done it again.

So when she has finished with her own, Kimiko looks for more in other places. There is always someone who will accept her help. They rarely admit that they have had it, but Kimiko does not care; it is the work itself that she loves. Recognition seems less important, at this age.

When Hiro gets his first job, Kimiko is already all but running one division. She is the daughter of the CEO, but he does not believe in making his children's lives too easy, so she knows that she has achieved this through her skill. She knows this the more because she is not yet in charge in name. That will come soon, if fortune is with her.

Her brother is working at the lowest level, of course, to make him want to rise. Kimiko knows this is foolish; great of heart though Hiro is, trying to teach him ambition is like trying to teach market analysis to an ant. Of course, she would never say this to Father. Kaito Nakamura commands respect, and demands deference.

Sometimes she wishes- passionately so- that he would be made to see, but she hasn't the time for folding cranes, and there are more important things to do with paper.

Kimiko knows that her brother was the very farthest thing from being vital to the workings of Yamagato, but now that he has gone, there seem to be three times the problems to deal with. Perhaps it is only that she misses him, but after the eighth idiotic accounting mistake that has come to her attention this week, it is quite clear that this is no product of her mood. And she has just begun to hear of the rumblings... talk of Father, and how he cannot even control his son. She makes it clear that she does not care to hear such talk in her presence, but it does not help now that she knows what is said.

Her own divisions (three now) are getting back on track, she can tell. Otherwise, she would never leave them alone even for the short time it will take them to bring Hiro back. It will not put out these fires, she knows, but at least it will quiet the whispers.

She is somewhat taken aback when Hiro and his friend come out of the van with a man with a gun, but she learned long ago not to let such things show on her face. In the same way, she does not let slip that Father is mishandling Hiro greatly. She merely asks to speak to him herself, afterward, because she can speak without Father's pride. So she speaks of the trouble, and the whisperings, and offers to let him save the day.

And for that, he makes her want to strangle him for being foolish... so much, indeed, that she can no longer keep her silence but tells him what he must do. She is sure that she has done that at least once before, she must have, but it is as if Father is seeing her for the first time, and suddenly she knows what Hiro meant by proposing something so ridiculous.

Her brother has never been clever, but he is wise. Her wish is come true.

It is not the last time. Kimiko knows that joy can make life seem easier, but... this much?

Those idiotic mistakes seem to have ceased entirely, or perhaps they are simply being corrected before they reach her. They certainly must pass through more hands to reach her now, at that, so it is not strange. And that Saido Avionics suffers grave misfortune at the same time she finds that they are prepared to acquire them, that is good fortune. That it is to the very minute... she surely has no cause for complaint. Coincidences happen. She can well imagine Father's reaction to worrying that life is going too well.

Then a man she has never heard of calls her from America, and asks to know (her translator tells her) whether anything is strange in her life. No? What of her brother, that he cannot find?

Her reply is only that business is good, and her brother is vacationing, but she can ignore it no longer, and devises a test.

Kimiko feels somewhat foolish to say this aloud, even alone, but it must be done; "Let it be six," she whispers, and drops her handful of dice onto the table in front of her, and gapes.

For every single cube shows six neat little dots.

She gathers them up again, and thinks (rather unsteadily): One. This time, a couple of twos are to be found among the uniformity, but when she clears her mind, refocuses, and rolls one more time, they show a sea of ones.

And they do the same thing again the next time.

And the next.

Kimiko laughs, and thinks of Hiro, away in America with his mission. He still had his cell phone, when last she saw him. Perhaps he will understand.

But she knows what she needs to know, for now, and she does not call him yet.

New Journal!

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 15:20:48 GMT

So I decided to buy myself one of these. They have fandom_wank here, and they do not have Six Apart. Seems a good deal.

In the next few days, I shall be copying my fanwork from my old journal to this one, and experimenting with making a LOLcat layout. The coding can't possibly be unlearnable, seeing how many people learn it...