The Citadel: Love's Hard Labor, Part 1
Jun. 23rd, 2011 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: The Citadel: Love's Hard Labor - Part 1
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Frodo/Faramir
Summary: AU of an AU. Yep. You read correctly. Let me explain: This particular story takes place in the same universe as The Citadel. If you’ve not read the original story and don’t want to bother, all you need know is that it's a crazy AU in which Frodo, Halbarad, Aragorn, and Faramir live together in a lodge in a mysterious village in Middle-earth with vague memories of dark paths in another time and place. However, this is sort of an AU of The Citadel. This will be end up being posted in about 3 or 4 parts.
Warning: none in this section...just interspecies sexxx :D
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moit, who has been waiting for too long!
Prim picked her way along the icy path that wound up the rolling hill. Frodo shivered in his multiple layers of shirts and wool cloak. Nothing warmed him in this north country. The winters seemed endless. In the Shire delicate crocuses would already have bloomed and buds would be able to be seen on trees. But not here. Frodo had been cold for five months straight. Day after day his muscles ached and he could barely feel his fingers. Faramir had lent him a fur muff for his hands, but he could not use it while navigating his pony over such a treacherous path. Just three more messages to deliver and then he could call it a day. That is, as long as Fomhal did not send him on an urgent end of day run.
He hoped that Faramir would be off duty this evening. As of late he rarely spent evenings at home. Orcs and other unsavory creatures had become more numerous, causing trouble on the borders surrounding the Citadel, and many of the most skilled Rangers were now required to patrol or even fight for longer shifts, particularly at night. Frodo's heart sank. Faramir could be in a ferocious battle right at this moment. Faramir did not belong in battle. Faramir belonged in Frodo’s arms. Always. Just last night, while Frodo worked to snuff the fire in the hearth, Faramir had crawled to him and captured him in a long, devouring kiss, and things might have progressed beyond a mere kiss, but Halbarad had returned home.
Prim stumbled on a thick crust of ice, and Frodo gasped, his heart in his throat. If he fell off Prim and got hurt, nobody would find him until he froze to death.
“Time to take care,” Frodo whispered, his heart pounding from the near accident.
The trail leveled out when he reached the top of the hill. He headed for a scattered cluster of thatch-roofed cottages that were mainly occupied by dwarves. The dwarves rarely interacted with the men in the Citadel. At least Frodo had seen no sign of that, except at The Moon Tavern on rare nights. Frodo pulled out the letters he was to deliver. Two to a Tili Brookil and one to a Broin Glamdral.
When Frodo glanced at the envelope addressed to Tili, his heart skipped. The handwriting reminded him of Bilbo's. The strokes flowed from a firm hand, and yet they had rather an elvish flourish. Could it be? Bilbo must have befriended dwarves over the years that Frodo would not know, especially since he had left the Shire. Frodo's hands trembled, and he was barely aware that Prim had slowed down to nibble on a few strands of grass that poked above a crust of stale snow.
I could open it to see. Just one glance.
Fomhal had sternly reminded his messengers that anyone caught opening mail for any reason would be disciplined in a severe manner. Opening mail had never been even the remotest of a temptation for Frodo thus far. He prided himself on never once having wanted to read anyone else's mail. Not even Faramir's when he had longed to know more about him.
This was different. Frodo yearned to know whether Bilbo had indeed written letters to a dwarf friend. While it would hurt his feelings to learn that his dearest cousin had been capable of writing letters but had not written to him, at least it would confirm that Bilbo lived still.
Frodo carefully opened the letter. He would reseal it after he looked. The dwarf need never know. He could use a bit of mud from the ground. Yes, it should be all right. He would glance at the letter, reassure himself that it was not Bilbo, and then seal it with a bit of mud and snow. He could tell the dwarf that regretfully he had dropped the letter. No harm done. He just needed to see the signature.
Frodo pulled the letter out of the envelope with trembling fingers, praying that a rogue gust of wind would not rip it from his hands. With breath held, he looked to the end of the letter. The signature was nearly illegible, but it was not Bilbo’s.
Frodo folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. His stomach twisted with disappointment. He climbed off Prim and dabbed his forefinger in a patch of dirt surrounded by ice. There was no real mud, as the ground was still too frozen. The dirt crumbled on his finger, but he rubbed it into the ice and soon a nice mud developed. He put it on the envelope and pressed it closed again. The envelope popped open again. He tried it several more times. Soon the back of the envelope was smeared with mud and dirt and it still would not close.
“Oh, bother,” Frodo sighed in frustration. If the dwarf was a surly sort, Frodo might face trouble for delivering an envelope in such poor shape, but he doubted the dwarf would accuse him of opening the mail to read it.
Frodo reached Tili's home, and he tried to put the open envelope under another piece of mail that he was receiving.
Unfortunately for Frodo, Tili was indeed a gruff sort, large for a dwarf, but younger than any Frodo had met before. He glared down at Frodo.
“Sending hobbits out this far, I see,” Tili said, shaking his head. “No wonder all my mail is late all the time.” He glared down at the envelopes from under his bushy brows. “What's wrong with this envelope? It's a mess.”
“I would beg your pardon for that,” Frodo said with a slight bow. “I dropped it just now and my pony stepped on it. It came open and I tried to reseal it with mud. I am very sorry. No harm done, I think.”
“It best be legible,” Tili growled. “Go on, get out now.”
Tili slammed his door shut. Frodo felt uneasy. Tili might well complain, and Fomhal had a temper. Frodo had witnessed him beating other messengers. Frodo had been slapped once when he had failed to deliver something in a timely manner. Frodo suspected that Fomhal did not dare knock him around too much, as it was well known that he was dear to three very protective Rangers. But this matter was different. Frodo had broken a law of the Citadel, and consequences in the Citadel were severe, far more than they would be in The Shire or even in Breeland.
Frodo delivered the other dwarf his mail with no incident. Then he guided Prim down the long, icy trail back to the main village. By the time he returned to Fomhal, it was nearly dark and Frodo was exhausted and cold down to his bones.
“Don't have nothing else for you, runt, so go on home,” he said. “See you at daybreak tomorrow.”
Frodo nodded, trying not to let Fomhal’s constant insults sting, and swallowing hard against his growing unease. As long as Tili did not complain, all would be well. Frodo’s conscience did not bother him because he had not actually read the content of the letter. Tili lived far from the center of town, and he seemed too surly to bother traveling all the way into the main part of the Citadel to complain about a dirty, opened letter. But if he did complain, Frodo planned to stick to his story about dropping the letter and Prim stepping on it.
When he reached the cottage he shared with Faramir, Halbarad, and Aragorn, Faramir came out to greet him and to help him guide Prim into the pen.
“You're late,” he said. “I was worried.”
Frodo gave Faramir a weary smile. “I had to go all the way up Taaltin Hill to deliver a letter. Poor Prim's feet must ache. She had to navigate a rough road. And how about you? Did you face trouble on the border?”
Faramir knelt on one knee and slid his hands around Frodo's waist and pulled him into a tight embrace.
“Nay,” he whispered. “It was a quiet day.”
Frodo pressed his cheek against Faramir’s for a moment, breathing his lover’s scent in utter contentment, before Faramir shifted and captured his lips in a long kiss. Frodo opened his mouth to him, surrendering, welcoming Faramir’s tongue. Warmth seeped down his limbs, and his heart battered hard and furiously. His cock twitched and hardened.
Faramir pulled back and clasped Frodo’s face with both of his large hands. “Tomorrow evening both Halbarad and Strider will be on duty in the evening but I will not. You and I will be alone.”
“I cannot wait that long.” Frodo pressed against Faramir. “I want you to take me,” he whispered, biting Faramir’s ear gently. “Now.”
“Here?” Faramir asked, looking over his shoulder as if he expected an audience.
“It is dark,” Frodo said, glancing back at the cottage. “Halbarad minds his own business. Is Strider here?”
“Nay,” Faramir said, breathing hard and fast. “He’s on duty. Come, at least let us go behind the shed.” He climbed back to his feet.
Feeling a bit like a miscreant youth, Frodo took Faramir’s hand and led the way to the dark, broken shack of a shed.
“You are an eager one,” Faramir laughed. “Just what have I gotten myself into?”
Frodo fell to his knees and pulling Faramir down with him into a patch of downy grass. “There. The clouds have broken a bit. Look at the moonlight!”
“Only in your eyes,” Faramir said, and he kissed Frodo’s neck.
Frodo blushed. “You say these things,” he said, breathing hard. “And you do not need to. I am already yours.”
“I mean every word.” Faramir gently put his hand behind Frodo’s neck, pulling Frodo to him for a long, devouring kiss.
Frodo shrank away, laughing. He pushed down his breeches over his hips just enough to reveal his pale hard cock and round bottom. He lay flat on his back, his breeches bunched around his knees, his shirt tucked out, his suspenders off his shoulders. Faramir panted impatiently as he undid his own breeches. He stroked Frodo’s side, letting his hand roam over his hip, then back up under his shirt to rub his nipples. Then his hand slid down to grasp Frodo’s cock, stroking it. Frodo arched his back and moaned. Faramir’s large, callused hand sent sweet reverberations through his body and he almost came violently and too soon.
“Faramir,” he gasped. “Take me in mouth. Hurry.”
“I did not know you knew of such things,” Faramir said with a devilish grin.
“Hush your mouth!” Frodo said. His cheeks burned and his entire body cried out to be ravaged.
Faramir obeyed and took Frodo in mouth. Frodo lay back, gazing up at the moon. Being as inexperienced as he was – fumbling with Sam in the orchards behind Hobbiton did not quite count – he had never imagined that there was this whole world of pleasure to be had with the right lover. Faramir’s mouth was sure and wet.
Still sucking on Frodo’s cock, Faramir slid his hand under Frodo’s buttocks, and prodded at his backside. Frodo flinched with surprise as one of Faramir’s fingers delved inside. Frodo writhed and moaned as a second finger joined the first, prodding him wider.
Pleasure surged through him with wicked violence, and he gasped for breath, clutching Faramir’s hair in his fists. He collapsed again on his back, utterly limp and spent. He barely noticed as Faramir released him from his mouth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He withdrew his fingers from Frodo’s backside. Frodo could see how huge, rock hard, Faramir’s cock had become.
“Go on,” Frodo said. “Take me. And don’t be gentle.”
“I’m not sure that I can be. . .gentle,” Faramir said. Frodo’s backside reverberated with gentle tingling. He was open and ready. “I only hope not to hurt you—”
“I care not,” Frodo said, biting Faramir’s lip. “Go on. Unleash Faramir the Fierce.”
Panting, Faramir entered Frodo, thrusting hard, pushing Frodo’s shoulders down into the ground with bruising force. It hurt terribly but Frodo was determined not to cry out. He knew it would hurt this first time, especially with a cock as large as Faramir’s. He and Sam had never actually gone this far, and even if they had, Faramir’s size opened a whole new world of pain and pleasure. Faramir cleaved Frodo into two as he pounded into him, grinding him into the earth, and yet Frodo cried out for more.
Faramir drove into Frodo with more violence, harder, faster, and at last, with a final thrust, Faramir shuddered, gasping and sobbing, clutching Frodo’s upper arms as if he were drowning, before collapsing on the hobbit.
Frodo could not breathe with Faramir’s full weight on him, and he pushed at his chest. With an exhausted yet thoroughly content sigh, Faramir withdrew from him and rolled off of Frodo, lying beside him on the grass. Frodo pulled his breeches up over his now very sore backside. How he would ride Prim around the next day, he had no idea. He did not care. He laughed, stroking Faramir’s cheek.
“What is funny?” Faramir asked.
“Just. . .how sore I will be tomorrow morn while riding around on my poor, patient pony.”
“I love you,” Faramir said, kissing Frodo on the lips with utmost tenderness.
A feeling of utter contentment swept through Frodo, melting him until he felt a part of the moonlight. He belonged to Faramir. Nothing could break this bond.
Go on to Part 2
TBC
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Frodo/Faramir
Summary: AU of an AU. Yep. You read correctly. Let me explain: This particular story takes place in the same universe as The Citadel. If you’ve not read the original story and don’t want to bother, all you need know is that it's a crazy AU in which Frodo, Halbarad, Aragorn, and Faramir live together in a lodge in a mysterious village in Middle-earth with vague memories of dark paths in another time and place. However, this is sort of an AU of The Citadel. This will be end up being posted in about 3 or 4 parts.
Warning: none in this section...just interspecies sexxx :D
For
moit, who has been waiting for too long!Prim picked her way along the icy path that wound up the rolling hill. Frodo shivered in his multiple layers of shirts and wool cloak. Nothing warmed him in this north country. The winters seemed endless. In the Shire delicate crocuses would already have bloomed and buds would be able to be seen on trees. But not here. Frodo had been cold for five months straight. Day after day his muscles ached and he could barely feel his fingers. Faramir had lent him a fur muff for his hands, but he could not use it while navigating his pony over such a treacherous path. Just three more messages to deliver and then he could call it a day. That is, as long as Fomhal did not send him on an urgent end of day run.
He hoped that Faramir would be off duty this evening. As of late he rarely spent evenings at home. Orcs and other unsavory creatures had become more numerous, causing trouble on the borders surrounding the Citadel, and many of the most skilled Rangers were now required to patrol or even fight for longer shifts, particularly at night. Frodo's heart sank. Faramir could be in a ferocious battle right at this moment. Faramir did not belong in battle. Faramir belonged in Frodo’s arms. Always. Just last night, while Frodo worked to snuff the fire in the hearth, Faramir had crawled to him and captured him in a long, devouring kiss, and things might have progressed beyond a mere kiss, but Halbarad had returned home.
Prim stumbled on a thick crust of ice, and Frodo gasped, his heart in his throat. If he fell off Prim and got hurt, nobody would find him until he froze to death.
“Time to take care,” Frodo whispered, his heart pounding from the near accident.
The trail leveled out when he reached the top of the hill. He headed for a scattered cluster of thatch-roofed cottages that were mainly occupied by dwarves. The dwarves rarely interacted with the men in the Citadel. At least Frodo had seen no sign of that, except at The Moon Tavern on rare nights. Frodo pulled out the letters he was to deliver. Two to a Tili Brookil and one to a Broin Glamdral.
When Frodo glanced at the envelope addressed to Tili, his heart skipped. The handwriting reminded him of Bilbo's. The strokes flowed from a firm hand, and yet they had rather an elvish flourish. Could it be? Bilbo must have befriended dwarves over the years that Frodo would not know, especially since he had left the Shire. Frodo's hands trembled, and he was barely aware that Prim had slowed down to nibble on a few strands of grass that poked above a crust of stale snow.
I could open it to see. Just one glance.
Fomhal had sternly reminded his messengers that anyone caught opening mail for any reason would be disciplined in a severe manner. Opening mail had never been even the remotest of a temptation for Frodo thus far. He prided himself on never once having wanted to read anyone else's mail. Not even Faramir's when he had longed to know more about him.
This was different. Frodo yearned to know whether Bilbo had indeed written letters to a dwarf friend. While it would hurt his feelings to learn that his dearest cousin had been capable of writing letters but had not written to him, at least it would confirm that Bilbo lived still.
Frodo carefully opened the letter. He would reseal it after he looked. The dwarf need never know. He could use a bit of mud from the ground. Yes, it should be all right. He would glance at the letter, reassure himself that it was not Bilbo, and then seal it with a bit of mud and snow. He could tell the dwarf that regretfully he had dropped the letter. No harm done. He just needed to see the signature.
Frodo pulled the letter out of the envelope with trembling fingers, praying that a rogue gust of wind would not rip it from his hands. With breath held, he looked to the end of the letter. The signature was nearly illegible, but it was not Bilbo’s.
Frodo folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. His stomach twisted with disappointment. He climbed off Prim and dabbed his forefinger in a patch of dirt surrounded by ice. There was no real mud, as the ground was still too frozen. The dirt crumbled on his finger, but he rubbed it into the ice and soon a nice mud developed. He put it on the envelope and pressed it closed again. The envelope popped open again. He tried it several more times. Soon the back of the envelope was smeared with mud and dirt and it still would not close.
“Oh, bother,” Frodo sighed in frustration. If the dwarf was a surly sort, Frodo might face trouble for delivering an envelope in such poor shape, but he doubted the dwarf would accuse him of opening the mail to read it.
Frodo reached Tili's home, and he tried to put the open envelope under another piece of mail that he was receiving.
Unfortunately for Frodo, Tili was indeed a gruff sort, large for a dwarf, but younger than any Frodo had met before. He glared down at Frodo.
“Sending hobbits out this far, I see,” Tili said, shaking his head. “No wonder all my mail is late all the time.” He glared down at the envelopes from under his bushy brows. “What's wrong with this envelope? It's a mess.”
“I would beg your pardon for that,” Frodo said with a slight bow. “I dropped it just now and my pony stepped on it. It came open and I tried to reseal it with mud. I am very sorry. No harm done, I think.”
“It best be legible,” Tili growled. “Go on, get out now.”
Tili slammed his door shut. Frodo felt uneasy. Tili might well complain, and Fomhal had a temper. Frodo had witnessed him beating other messengers. Frodo had been slapped once when he had failed to deliver something in a timely manner. Frodo suspected that Fomhal did not dare knock him around too much, as it was well known that he was dear to three very protective Rangers. But this matter was different. Frodo had broken a law of the Citadel, and consequences in the Citadel were severe, far more than they would be in The Shire or even in Breeland.
Frodo delivered the other dwarf his mail with no incident. Then he guided Prim down the long, icy trail back to the main village. By the time he returned to Fomhal, it was nearly dark and Frodo was exhausted and cold down to his bones.
“Don't have nothing else for you, runt, so go on home,” he said. “See you at daybreak tomorrow.”
Frodo nodded, trying not to let Fomhal’s constant insults sting, and swallowing hard against his growing unease. As long as Tili did not complain, all would be well. Frodo’s conscience did not bother him because he had not actually read the content of the letter. Tili lived far from the center of town, and he seemed too surly to bother traveling all the way into the main part of the Citadel to complain about a dirty, opened letter. But if he did complain, Frodo planned to stick to his story about dropping the letter and Prim stepping on it.
When he reached the cottage he shared with Faramir, Halbarad, and Aragorn, Faramir came out to greet him and to help him guide Prim into the pen.
“You're late,” he said. “I was worried.”
Frodo gave Faramir a weary smile. “I had to go all the way up Taaltin Hill to deliver a letter. Poor Prim's feet must ache. She had to navigate a rough road. And how about you? Did you face trouble on the border?”
Faramir knelt on one knee and slid his hands around Frodo's waist and pulled him into a tight embrace.
“Nay,” he whispered. “It was a quiet day.”
Frodo pressed his cheek against Faramir’s for a moment, breathing his lover’s scent in utter contentment, before Faramir shifted and captured his lips in a long kiss. Frodo opened his mouth to him, surrendering, welcoming Faramir’s tongue. Warmth seeped down his limbs, and his heart battered hard and furiously. His cock twitched and hardened.
Faramir pulled back and clasped Frodo’s face with both of his large hands. “Tomorrow evening both Halbarad and Strider will be on duty in the evening but I will not. You and I will be alone.”
“I cannot wait that long.” Frodo pressed against Faramir. “I want you to take me,” he whispered, biting Faramir’s ear gently. “Now.”
“Here?” Faramir asked, looking over his shoulder as if he expected an audience.
“It is dark,” Frodo said, glancing back at the cottage. “Halbarad minds his own business. Is Strider here?”
“Nay,” Faramir said, breathing hard and fast. “He’s on duty. Come, at least let us go behind the shed.” He climbed back to his feet.
Feeling a bit like a miscreant youth, Frodo took Faramir’s hand and led the way to the dark, broken shack of a shed.
“You are an eager one,” Faramir laughed. “Just what have I gotten myself into?”
Frodo fell to his knees and pulling Faramir down with him into a patch of downy grass. “There. The clouds have broken a bit. Look at the moonlight!”
“Only in your eyes,” Faramir said, and he kissed Frodo’s neck.
Frodo blushed. “You say these things,” he said, breathing hard. “And you do not need to. I am already yours.”
“I mean every word.” Faramir gently put his hand behind Frodo’s neck, pulling Frodo to him for a long, devouring kiss.
Frodo shrank away, laughing. He pushed down his breeches over his hips just enough to reveal his pale hard cock and round bottom. He lay flat on his back, his breeches bunched around his knees, his shirt tucked out, his suspenders off his shoulders. Faramir panted impatiently as he undid his own breeches. He stroked Frodo’s side, letting his hand roam over his hip, then back up under his shirt to rub his nipples. Then his hand slid down to grasp Frodo’s cock, stroking it. Frodo arched his back and moaned. Faramir’s large, callused hand sent sweet reverberations through his body and he almost came violently and too soon.
“Faramir,” he gasped. “Take me in mouth. Hurry.”
“I did not know you knew of such things,” Faramir said with a devilish grin.
“Hush your mouth!” Frodo said. His cheeks burned and his entire body cried out to be ravaged.
Faramir obeyed and took Frodo in mouth. Frodo lay back, gazing up at the moon. Being as inexperienced as he was – fumbling with Sam in the orchards behind Hobbiton did not quite count – he had never imagined that there was this whole world of pleasure to be had with the right lover. Faramir’s mouth was sure and wet.
Still sucking on Frodo’s cock, Faramir slid his hand under Frodo’s buttocks, and prodded at his backside. Frodo flinched with surprise as one of Faramir’s fingers delved inside. Frodo writhed and moaned as a second finger joined the first, prodding him wider.
Pleasure surged through him with wicked violence, and he gasped for breath, clutching Faramir’s hair in his fists. He collapsed again on his back, utterly limp and spent. He barely noticed as Faramir released him from his mouth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He withdrew his fingers from Frodo’s backside. Frodo could see how huge, rock hard, Faramir’s cock had become.
“Go on,” Frodo said. “Take me. And don’t be gentle.”
“I’m not sure that I can be. . .gentle,” Faramir said. Frodo’s backside reverberated with gentle tingling. He was open and ready. “I only hope not to hurt you—”
“I care not,” Frodo said, biting Faramir’s lip. “Go on. Unleash Faramir the Fierce.”
Panting, Faramir entered Frodo, thrusting hard, pushing Frodo’s shoulders down into the ground with bruising force. It hurt terribly but Frodo was determined not to cry out. He knew it would hurt this first time, especially with a cock as large as Faramir’s. He and Sam had never actually gone this far, and even if they had, Faramir’s size opened a whole new world of pain and pleasure. Faramir cleaved Frodo into two as he pounded into him, grinding him into the earth, and yet Frodo cried out for more.
Faramir drove into Frodo with more violence, harder, faster, and at last, with a final thrust, Faramir shuddered, gasping and sobbing, clutching Frodo’s upper arms as if he were drowning, before collapsing on the hobbit.
Frodo could not breathe with Faramir’s full weight on him, and he pushed at his chest. With an exhausted yet thoroughly content sigh, Faramir withdrew from him and rolled off of Frodo, lying beside him on the grass. Frodo pulled his breeches up over his now very sore backside. How he would ride Prim around the next day, he had no idea. He did not care. He laughed, stroking Faramir’s cheek.
“What is funny?” Faramir asked.
“Just. . .how sore I will be tomorrow morn while riding around on my poor, patient pony.”
“I love you,” Faramir said, kissing Frodo on the lips with utmost tenderness.
A feeling of utter contentment swept through Frodo, melting him until he felt a part of the moonlight. He belonged to Faramir. Nothing could break this bond.
Go on to Part 2
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-06-23 07:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-23 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-23 07:34 pm (UTC)*happy sigh* I have been waiting SO long for this. I have to ask, though, if it's finished, why are you posting it in parts?
no subject
Date: 2011-06-23 10:15 pm (UTC)I'm posting in parts because it will kick me in the butt to finish faster, especially getting to share and getting some fb, etc. I was going over and over the same parts and it was driving me nuts. Time to bring the plane in for landing! ;D Like I'm hoping to post maybe another part this evening or tomorrow. :) The ending scene(s) are way weaker and require more editing...so those might take a bit longer!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-23 07:34 pm (UTC)Unleash Faramir the Fierce ROTF! That made my day.
no subject
Date: 2011-06-23 10:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-23 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-23 10:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-27 05:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-27 11:54 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading!