Mine (sasunaru)
Author: Nekochi Sakuma
Clacificasion: 15-R
Characters: Sasuke x Naruto
Genre:
G Warnings: No
State / Style: Drabble
Resna: A little thing that emerged some time in parallel otras tantas historias que no he concluido xD ... les espro good.
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° OOOOOOOOOO °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°; ;
My
Sasuke yaaa! - Barks with laughter and tantrums, a beautiful blond blue-oji.
-No. This is your punishment for letting the raccoon haggard .- Judgement kiss you an incredible sexy jet onyx iris. Who brutally tortured his partner in a tickle attack.
-Demo ... "I try to defend the blond, with an adorable pout. Over his executioner gave no respite, and fell in a stunning lips kiss.
. You are my Naruto. Never forget .- declare the sexy torturer. Naruto just nodded in affirmation form. With an adorable cinnamon coloring their crimson face, gasping and her sweet little mouth ajar. Too shocked even to allow his throat to pronounce a word.
They kissed again, this time prompted by Naruto, who put his arms around the snowy neck of his koi, and among his mouth slightly opened to allow free access to the language of his companion.
- Kyaa! - Shout again tortured guy. For the dark-haired was not yet satisfied with the previous torture.
- Yamette kudasai! - I ask the blond, colored eyes more night did not intend to let it go ...
Soon I'll upload new stuff, I've been preparing for some, especially a fic Zetzuai''Bronze''I had it ; saved some time and was not a good way how to make scrit.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Tattoo Rugs And Runners
Le fleurs du mal
wanted Fatu-chan better explore my feminine side, told me that all my women characters always had final cruel or mediocre lives, so here I am, 5 cigarettes after a toast with cream cheese, too many times to Baker Street and the desire to not be so cliché, total, 6 in the morning but I think the result is satisfactory. Are faced with a poem-fic (?) If something like a songfic but with different pieces of poems instead of a song.
Never happened to them it is folly, our own mistakes, guilt and atavistic remnants of our minds, greed and the eternal desire of most are those who occupy our minds and consume our body work? They are like beggars at the threshold of our dwellings, feeding and nurturing of our misery, they survive based on our regrets. Are the sin of our vain passions.
is stubborn, cowardly, hiding in our desires and frustrations, and finally appears with his finger and makes us pay all lived and forgotten, and when after the tears and guilt we are forgotten and die in fall sulfur from the same water just to escape.
are the charm of our soul, that we are perverts with the precious metal to sell ourselves, and imprisons the will, to see how attractive the most disgusting, for each day a step down into the abyss where we will stink and tormenting darkness ancestral rites.
is the oldest and fiercest of the punishments, the most insidious and the less said, makes your life like an outcast, swallowing the world in a yawn, and smile fills us with boredom. Everything
this I win? Corrupted my best virtues are extolled my vices, by now I care, look into the abyss and it looked back at me, now it's not beyond me.
why I stand here alone in my room, surrounded by my heroes, immortalized them looking at me from the walls and paper houses, listening again and again the evening of Chopin and his beautiful sadness, no doubt Life without music would be a mistake.
Exactly in whom I am thinking? What I had and I lost for my mistakes? "You? Not exactly, should feel as I do, I always find a way to forget everything, to lose myself in myself and light or cigarette, I feel sorry for losing you, do not miss you, but lying if say that I miss your love, strange feel loved, I miss being under your arms and knowing that I want, but you, you do not miss you curious is it true? Madness would call my friends who still believe in eternal love and the insincerity of the soul. Perhaps
that is why we exist, to think and regret as time eats the life, there is nothing that lasts forever and as our enemy lurks in us, growing and gaining strength and that in the autumn of our lives are extended mantles in the earth and furrows in the earth are our souls by paying others who repeat the drama of this comedy useless.
Who do I think?, In these times that I have brought nothing new in public asylums white walls, red rabies invade the hearts of those who have nothing to cling to, but mostly, I think the fear of feeling good What I intend? Maybe he just is not having any illusions, and not get hurt you, but I know this can not be too many things tying me to this world to be able to leave this negragrisblanca luck, I would not be able to feel, be as cold as the moon, to feel is a weakness that I can not stand.
So I sink into the poetry, there where no parameters tried in humans, there where there is neither good nor evil, that true freedom ethereal region. And weeping nymphs
we hit with the poison, fire and the knife, play with our desire and embroider on our skin its whimsical drawings, will tease us with that word called destiny, escape unpunished to know ourselves very little daring .
why we run, but the flowers of evil does not allow us to be.
And more that I think and think, I always come to the conclusion that death is the only true freedom, and yet only think of a tomb cold and can feel the cold, even after death, the film is always trying to commit suicide as something inconsequential, man pointing the gun and shoot the head, the woman in red dress taking pi medicine or pills to sleep and lost in a night's sleep, which never mention is that before he died and his bowels loosen any debris out of the body, an image of very unpleasant death.
then? What is the key that can not find the door can not see? Where is this paradise we were promised at birth, the utopia of peace and tranquility can not find anywhere? It was just a lie, like many others that we were to fall into this world, I get to the Greeks who cried to the child being born and unwoven the old ones died.
and I "But one day be free?
And this book? Why am I so obsessed with? In the end there is more than a weapon, is beautiful but deadly, but that does not sink deeper and deeper into my passions, leaving me dry and forgotten in history, What I have left? Taster of all wines and dock at each port that is that what my parents expected of me? I can not stay in any place, always moving, looking for a place that is mine, Central America, North Africa, the Mediterranean, and end of the road was as empty as when I started, only a few years more and a loneliness that was beside myself, so I had to share it, but me and my eternal errors I'm not so unconscious as to blame the other, the only constant in all this was me, and that has not changed, is a Legion of the French Republic, is a Greek or a clerk hippie Panamanian to force my soul misadventures has become dark, and do not blame them if they end up hating.
No more guilty than me.
And that is what I got? A book of poems, some old posters of wrestlers and a pack of cigarettes What that forces us to fight? At the end they always end up alone in the end we die alone, fulfilling the same crude joke again and again So little worth? This world is crazy, and all I wanted was to find a place to call my own, I was the eternal nomad, and in my search a site belonging to belong only complete fire and wine, the memories intoxicating in the air, the eyes are closed in an instant, the vertigo of my soul spear expired and even deeper into my soul and injury. You look like a song
Rafferty, always saying that the new year would be happy to leave the night ye drink will get me some land and establish quiet or small town " Why I can not? Who
remind me enough to stay in his memory and honor my memory? I can no longer enjoy anything or even a sinister memory, if I did something big, something that shows I was here, I get to EROSTRATO and that fire that temple, maybe I should do the same, well maybe, do not forget me.
What do I need to stay in one place? What I've been looking without finding that makes me move? I could not find them, and while I hold both the loneliness that eventually I could not not stay by myself, so maybe escape from it, I pushed too much, I offered my soul and my body Why , not my heart? Fear. To forget when I needed to take my things and escape, when love could come to my terrified girl ran like the wolf "that I have served all these years of traveling, seeing the world, accumulating knowledge if the final will be killed in a social security hospital? So where is
by all that fight? If at the end I am only a slave of the passions but caused flowers of evil, the beauty that seduces and leads to destruction, the music reaches the ear and drag her in search for the transcendental, to taste the forbidden emotions are "slaves just over the flowers of evil? What does more need to forget? "The eternal refrain of love?
And all this time I've been waiting for, the scent of smell loss, laughter torn agony, something that makes me feel life, to think, feel and there, which I offer when you need more, when you lose my way, let me again someday. But I've always been lost in the fog, looking at infinity, see if you get that it will never come, but the route continues, this road, the wind and just drying my tears, always fast, and relay ; mpage in the cold night, crossing forever, never stopping "both I flee from myself? The only explanation I give is that the evil genius of Descartes plays too much with me, that I move or have just finished looking at myself.
I be free one day maybe my search?
Tell me your heart, Agate, sometimes fleeing
Far from the black ocean of the filthy city
Looking for another sea that sparkles and flows
Blue, clear, deep which virginity?
Tell me your heart, Agate, sometimes running away from?
How true, the world is how we see, in the absence of interpreters is when words and truths become lies these only remain, is when we see that the whole engine to be ready to take the rest of the world has not been strong enough to remove rmelo all, but where? I find consolation in my desire to write verses to Dulcinea.
Always running in circles, always looking, never found, well at least my end is where I started.
If things are going to end so I sink more than once, before you completely lose the best job in the world ended, I prefer at least choose the time and place, if the only consolation my turn is able to choose my end, I prefer it as he always lived: with the heart vacíoy a gun in his hand.
I smoke a last cigarette could take some of Bourbon, maybe even get drunk but I prefer to be aware when it's over, but no, I have fear that somebody stop me! But I'm not Robert Ressler, no one here to avoid terms with this, I will not kill anyone, I just want to end my misery, why not want to go?
and pass by a bridge, and hear a saxophone, is deep and powerful, is melancholy and beautiful, one last time, the music alone does not realize that this cheering me my last moments on earth, if even Baudelaire saw the beauty and came to cling to a life for this and the pleasures provided why I can not do in my last moments? plays more and more, even could make out the smooth sax of the night passes, Orion is lost, the polar star is lost, the bears are lost and Quetzalcoatl appears illuminating the morning, the end of play and already morning, the first rays of just starting out, puts his instrument case and comes up to me, is, the same who leave for my cowardice, you must hate me but it just looks at me and smiles.
- Do not cry more, give me your hand, tell me your luck, so maybe it's not death, we dulled the pain.
Well? What has seemed a new scan of my feminine side? In case you are interested these are the poems that used for the story, all are
Baudelaire Flowers of Evil
VIII sick Muse X
XVIII The enemy
XXXIII Regret The ideal
XXXVIII A posthumous portrait
Phantom IV XLVII Harmony pm I irreparable
LIV Canto LVI LXII
fall Moesta et wandering
Offal
III Women Sentenced
wanted Fatu-chan better explore my feminine side, told me that all my women characters always had final cruel or mediocre lives, so here I am, 5 cigarettes after a toast with cream cheese, too many times to Baker Street and the desire to not be so cliché, total, 6 in the morning but I think the result is satisfactory. Are faced with a poem-fic (?) If something like a songfic but with different pieces of poems instead of a song.
Le fleurs du mal
l 'amour fatale
l 'amour fatale
Never happened to them it is folly, our own mistakes, guilt and atavistic remnants of our minds, greed and the eternal desire of most are those who occupy our minds and consume our body work? They are like beggars at the threshold of our dwellings, feeding and nurturing of our misery, they survive based on our regrets. Are the sin of our vain passions.
is stubborn, cowardly, hiding in our desires and frustrations, and finally appears with his finger and makes us pay all lived and forgotten, and when after the tears and guilt we are forgotten and die in fall sulfur from the same water just to escape.
My poor muse, alas! What happens this morning
Your eyes are full of delusions
night And I see reflected in your complexion with reluctance
madness, horror, cold and taciturn
Your eyes are full of delusions
night And I see reflected in your complexion with reluctance
madness, horror, cold and taciturn
are the charm of our soul, that we are perverts with the precious metal to sell ourselves, and imprisons the will, to see how attractive the most disgusting, for each day a step down into the abyss where we will stink and tormenting darkness ancestral rites.
is the oldest and fiercest of the punishments, the most insidious and the less said, makes your life like an outcast, swallowing the world in a yawn, and smile fills us with boredom. Everything
this I win? Corrupted my best virtues are extolled my vices, by now I care, look into the abyss and it looked back at me, now it's not beyond me.
why I stand here alone in my room, surrounded by my heroes, immortalized them looking at me from the walls and paper houses, listening again and again the evening of Chopin and his beautiful sadness, no doubt Life without music would be a mistake.
My youth was just scary lightning storm
soles of alternating joy and
-ray of rain have made such havoc in my garden
That's just what has been has
soles of alternating joy and
-ray of rain have made such havoc in my garden
That's just what has been has
Exactly in whom I am thinking? What I had and I lost for my mistakes? "You? Not exactly, should feel as I do, I always find a way to forget everything, to lose myself in myself and light or cigarette, I feel sorry for losing you, do not miss you, but lying if say that I miss your love, strange feel loved, I miss being under your arms and knowing that I want, but you, you do not miss you curious is it true? Madness would call my friends who still believe in eternal love and the insincerity of the soul. Perhaps
that is why we exist, to think and regret as time eats the life, there is nothing that lasts forever and as our enemy lurks in us, growing and gaining strength and that in the autumn of our lives are extended mantles in the earth and furrows in the earth are our souls by paying others who repeat the drama of this comedy useless.
those beauties will never
Products damaged bullet that took a century
Feet empty boots, brown fingers
Those content to a heart like mine
Products damaged bullet that took a century
Feet empty boots, brown fingers
Those content to a heart like mine
Who do I think?, In these times that I have brought nothing new in public asylums white walls, red rabies invade the hearts of those who have nothing to cling to, but mostly, I think the fear of feeling good What I intend? Maybe he just is not having any illusions, and not get hurt you, but I know this can not be too many things tying me to this world to be able to leave this negragrisblanca luck, I would not be able to feel, be as cold as the moon, to feel is a weakness that I can not stand.
So I sink into the poetry, there where no parameters tried in humans, there where there is neither good nor evil, that true freedom ethereal region. And weeping nymphs
we hit with the poison, fire and the knife, play with our desire and embroider on our skin its whimsical drawings, will tease us with that word called destiny, escape unpunished to know ourselves very little daring .
why we run, but the flowers of evil does not allow us to be.
When deep sleep, my beautiful dark
A black marble vault built
and I have no more for room and That a rained
dwelling cave and a hollow pit
A black marble vault built
and I have no more for room and That a rained
dwelling cave and a hollow pit
And more that I think and think, I always come to the conclusion that death is the only true freedom, and yet only think of a tomb cold and can feel the cold, even after death, the film is always trying to commit suicide as something inconsequential, man pointing the gun and shoot the head, the woman in red dress taking pi medicine or pills to sleep and lost in a night's sleep, which never mention is that before he died and his bowels loosen any debris out of the body, an image of very unpleasant death.
then? What is the key that can not find the door can not see? Where is this paradise we were promised at birth, the utopia of peace and tranquility can not find anywhere? It was just a lie, like many others that we were to fall into this world, I get to the Greeks who cried to the child being born and unwoven the old ones died.
and I "But one day be free?
disease, death, fire ashes are burning
for us and we lit
From that mouth where the heart drowning
Of those large eyes, burning or ask
for us and we lit
From that mouth where the heart drowning
Of those large eyes, burning or ask
And this book? Why am I so obsessed with? In the end there is more than a weapon, is beautiful but deadly, but that does not sink deeper and deeper into my passions, leaving me dry and forgotten in history, What I have left? Taster of all wines and dock at each port that is that what my parents expected of me? I can not stay in any place, always moving, looking for a place that is mine, Central America, North Africa, the Mediterranean, and end of the road was as empty as when I started, only a few years more and a loneliness that was beside myself, so I had to share it, but me and my eternal errors I'm not so unconscious as to blame the other, the only constant in all this was me, and that has not changed, is a Legion of the French Republic, is a Greek or a clerk hippie Panamanian to force my soul misadventures has become dark, and do not blame them if they end up hating.
No more guilty than me.
Each flower evaporates like a censer
Violin is like a broken heart Melancholy waltz cadence
rocked
The sky is sad and beautiful as solitary altar
Violin is like a broken heart Melancholy waltz cadence
rocked
The sky is sad and beautiful as solitary altar
And that is what I got? A book of poems, some old posters of wrestlers and a pack of cigarettes What that forces us to fight? At the end they always end up alone in the end we die alone, fulfilling the same crude joke again and again So little worth? This world is crazy, and all I wanted was to find a place to call my own, I was the eternal nomad, and in my search a site belonging to belong only complete fire and wine, the memories intoxicating in the air, the eyes are closed in an instant, the vertigo of my soul spear expired and even deeper into my soul and injury. You look like a song
Rafferty, always saying that the new year would be happy to leave the night ye drink will get me some land and establish quiet or small town " Why I can not? Who
remind me enough to stay in his memory and honor my memory? I can no longer enjoy anything or even a sinister memory, if I did something big, something that shows I was here, I get to EROSTRATO and that fire that temple, maybe I should do the same, well maybe, do not forget me.
How to filter it came in to tea
Drown in this harsh and greedy
Destroyer
as a courtesan, and the ant patient?
How to filter it came in to tea?
Drown in this harsh and greedy
Destroyer
as a courtesan, and the ant patient?
How to filter it came in to tea?
What do I need to stay in one place? What I've been looking without finding that makes me move? I could not find them, and while I hold both the loneliness that eventually I could not not stay by myself, so maybe escape from it, I pushed too much, I offered my soul and my body Why , not my heart? Fear. To forget when I needed to take my things and escape, when love could come to my terrified girl ran like the wolf "that I have served all these years of traveling, seeing the world, accumulating knowledge if the final will be killed in a social security hospital? So where is
by all that fight? If at the end I am only a slave of the passions but caused flowers of evil, the beauty that seduces and leads to destruction, the music reaches the ear and drag her in search for the transcendental, to taste the forbidden emotions are "slaves just over the flowers of evil? What does more need to forget? "The eternal refrain of love?
Soon we will gather in the cold darkness
Farewell, bright skies and summer evenings
and that noise is heard among funeral mist
That break in the cold wood pens.
Farewell, bright skies and summer evenings
and that noise is heard among funeral mist
That break in the cold wood pens.
And all this time I've been waiting for, the scent of smell loss, laughter torn agony, something that makes me feel life, to think, feel and there, which I offer when you need more, when you lose my way, let me again someday. But I've always been lost in the fog, looking at infinity, see if you get that it will never come, but the route continues, this road, the wind and just drying my tears, always fast, and relay ; mpage in the cold night, crossing forever, never stopping "both I flee from myself? The only explanation I give is that the evil genius of Descartes plays too much with me, that I move or have just finished looking at myself.
I be free one day maybe my search?
Tell me your heart, Agate, sometimes fleeing
Far from the black ocean of the filthy city
Looking for another sea that sparkles and flows
Blue, clear, deep which virginity?
Tell me your heart, Agate, sometimes running away from?
Always running in circles, always looking, never found, well at least my end is where I started.
If things are going to end so I sink more than once, before you completely lose the best job in the world ended, I prefer at least choose the time and place, if the only consolation my turn is able to choose my end, I prefer it as he always lived: with the heart vacíoy a gun in his hand.
was looking now at its sensual laziness troubled
By pure heaven
distant childhood Like a traveler who turns his head towards the beautiful horizon
I cross one morning
By pure heaven
distant childhood Like a traveler who turns his head towards the beautiful horizon
I cross one morning
I smoke a last cigarette could take some of Bourbon, maybe even get drunk but I prefer to be aware when it's over, but no, I have fear that somebody stop me! But I'm not Robert Ressler, no one here to avoid terms with this, I will not kill anyone, I just want to end my misery, why not want to go?
and pass by a bridge, and hear a saxophone, is deep and powerful, is melancholy and beautiful, one last time, the music alone does not realize that this cheering me my last moments on earth, if even Baudelaire saw the beauty and came to cling to a life for this and the pleasures provided why I can not do in my last moments? plays more and more, even could make out the smooth sax of the night passes, Orion is lost, the polar star is lost, the bears are lost and Quetzalcoatl appears illuminating the morning, the end of play and already morning, the first rays of just starting out, puts his instrument case and comes up to me, is, the same who leave for my cowardice, you must hate me but it just looks at me and smiles.
- Do not cry more, give me your hand, tell me your luck, so maybe it's not death, we dulled the pain.
Well? What has seemed a new scan of my feminine side? In case you are interested these are the poems that used for the story, all are
Baudelaire Flowers of Evil
VIII sick Muse X
XVIII The enemy
XXXIII Regret The ideal
XXXVIII A posthumous portrait
Phantom IV XLVII Harmony pm I irreparable
LIV Canto LVI LXII
fall Moesta et wandering
Offal
III Women Sentenced
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Aveeno Shampoo Ingredients
Are you happy?
Well, I come to take a couple of drinks and suddenly I feel the need to write "never happened? This is a strange hour, and spend four in the morning and after a long talk about nothing special so I thought this story ... jejejeje cruel, maybe one day appear around like "a dark and twisted version of the vision of the common man" fuck, it sounded like what the Joker would jajajajajaja, well maybe turn it into a fic, but maybe not while I leave for you to read. was
am and to the monotonous sound of the refrigerator, warm purrs and strong, the department is pequeñoy the device used to cool your food heated strongly kitchen a few weeks ago would have appreciated it at night in rain and lonely but not today, today you compañíay the smell of sweat makes the atmosphere makes you even more heavy, that's when another sound fills the small apartment, from the beginning is rhythmic slap, slap, slap, not stopped ringing, and you can not even pretend to enjoy.
is the only thing you do every day baby, pretend, pretend a smile when morning attend to dirty old men you order their breakfast and stare at her ass, finger in the afternoons when you act and try to make the best impression to a group of directors who are always looking for the best, and she is not you, whether acting in a comedy or a tragedy is always the same phrase "I call" pretend when you talk with your pseudo-friends that you know talk about you behind your back, always criticizing different but envying at the bottom of it, and at the end of the day, you look in the mirror and hope in the darkest corners of your room, as scorpion crawls to them that your life hiding behind a smile is what gives it meaning.
is why you can not end and prefer to keep pretending to be another one to take charge of your life, follow the patter, plop, plop, plop, and while this happens go back to escape reality, and as no I like to think in the future remember the past, when playing with dolls with your sister in the backyard, when the municipal pool to swim and swim like you, when you saw the cartoons and you laughed with Bugs Bonny and feel like an eternity has passed since those days are gone so when you go back and shouts over one hundred years old, you shrink the heart and respiration stutters. And you know
lost ..
The truth is that little matter where you are looking for, you can not find where you went wrong is that when you left home it appeared successful, young, pretty, with a natural talent for acting, all said that when you return to see would be in a soap opera, everyone saw, nobody will perdíay you wanted to be known, do not settle for being the prettiest of your people, you went to great city, but then was but failure after failure, even seemed natural to follow your path, is that perhaps everything was predestined? Why can not know where we lose our way, have done exactly everything you said in the beginning, started studying drama but I felt this insect in place, all talking about theater, Sartre and Shakespeare, Moliere and Goethe, Le Normand and Sophocles, you did not know it was surrealism and existentialism, absurdísimo never heard of, much less participated in anything but a Christmas, your whole culture is based on soap operas, and your knowledge were at most the difference between Avon and Jafra How did you expect to fit on that site?
And money became scarce, at first started to miss the classes in the mornings, then it was when you started to wear the same clothes twice a month, visits to the stores ran low, sold your TV, you sold your microwave, you changed your department, then another even more dirty little that had not happen like that! It is assumed that a producer handsome leather jacket fall in love with you and become a TV star! So why not come? And your fellow students why these women preferred to go with berets and dark clothing to listen boring music and nonsense poems? You wanted to dance and have fun, not sit and talk about the philosophers before Socrates "and that nobody speaks? In your town were the queen, all you spoke, were ignored here, you did not have that work hard! Why do the ugly, which do not have a boyfriend, this could not be true, it should be assumed that and when you could not but left the school.
But just could not go home, I had told everyone that he now had a big apartment and would soon go on television could not return defeated by the big city, so you kept introducing yourself in the events, and always the same answer.
And the sound of your room does not abandon its rhythmic plop ... plop ... plop
then? Do not even know what that is with thee. That's why you stopped walking. What do you say when there is nothing more to say? You want somebody that you care, to protect you and fill you with pampering, but instead you get a jerk for which there are more than a container of semen.
And when you start to notice it starts to increase the pace and strength, hurts, is too heavy for you, and you feel that you look bug-eyed sadism how to achieve orgasm with double-barreled shotgun gunning in the face? It leaves you and only you feel the warm liquid on your breasts, she likes cum there, and you just groan his name hoping that you note, while the stifles a moan what happens next? It just takes you off quickly, as if your touch was corrosive, are you happy? Are you happy with your new life?
The answer should be yes then why do not you feel it? Aaahhh true, the eternal routine that she removed all the magic you expect to your sex life, no passion, no love, just the same act over and over again, for this you all an expert, he arrives and you receive it with open legs, and then everything else, no kisses, no touching and nice words, but that does not matter, you do not like being alone, well that's only temporary, soon a producer of sunglasses and leather jacket fall in love with you and take you to New York, Paris and Tokyo as you star of the novel back nine. While only these nightly visits here waiting for your boyfriend, lasting the same thing in the morning and leave you burning in the crotch that you never do it gently. at the moment you enough not to be alone.
the meantime you see dressed, runs every muscle in his body, his legs, his chest, his arms, his penis Why can not meet his eyes? Is it to not hurt yourself? You see it heading for the door between darkness and you dare to ask.
- Do you want to see you tomorrow for lunch?
- mmmmmmm
's all you can get from him, every time is less communicative, but that does not discourage you, offends you that you deserve a little more attention, but did not say anything for fear of starting a fight. You're faking a smile
new cover your nakedness with old sheets, you feel like semen on your chest sticks to sweat on the sheets, but no attention and hope that either, and expect something of it, thank you, a touch, a smile or least one eye but only answers:
- See you later.
- Stay another time.
- It's late, I have to go with my wife - the only thing that reaches to murmur.
and simply directs his steps to the door, and not re-look at you, you no longer pay any attention, and he came in you why bother? No goodbye kiss, there is a "mon cherie je taime" not a compliment or a promise even a reproach, a glance of compassion, unless we require you prepare dinner, nothing.
And when you hear the sound of the door and steps away down the hall feel like a huge weight fell on you and overwhelms you more than you and them, and throw a shoe at the mirror because you're afraid to look and add more years to your soul and your eyes and feel guilt, you look like nothing, not worth enough to leave his wife for you and let you feel anger for use in this way, and finally, when you disgust subsided quietly crying on your pillow.
feel moisture on your face, sliding down to your hands and how they end in your sheets, mixing even more with all other fluids in them. Looking at the ceiling cracked, not rain today, there are leaks that fall, not water, are your tears, the ones that make you company for some time now, the only ones that do not abandoned.
And that's when you accept that you cry and scream and break and hit everything in your room, you tear your Virgin of Guadalupe and you tear your candles, you break your hooks and pieces your fashion magazines, and these are what more hate and destroy the smaller pieces you can, because that you are to others, an erotic magazine, which asks anything to anyone, beautiful and just flicking through to get what they want and nothing else, then hide in the bathroom under the bed.
is why sales in the morning with swollen eyes and frog both mourn, small veins burst and now they are blood red like passion in your life there, walk slowly down to the cafeteria, you come and put your old revealing attire for green can imagine all you want with you, you get to the dirty kitchen and pick up orders of eggs and chips, and they put up with their abuses over and over You see, while you're still dreaming to get on TV.
And then appears to her, the other, but it is not the other, you're the other, and they have to meet and watch the kisses and caresses and smile, is the ultimate humiliation have to serve it, all you want is to leave you there, return to your apartment and sleep, go back to that fantastic dream where a television agent loves you, you use beautiful gowns and travel the world to return to your luxury home in Miami-
And you feel the eyes on your back, it hurts, disdain and lewdness, and instead of answering only in the kitchen you run away like a rat.
You're not nothing, just a small town girl who aspired too fired high and too far, you're just a pornographic magazine, the men look and use in secret and furtive glances and then hide or throw away, because they are embarrassed that their mothers or wives see, so you only buy when they win, they do not say no, that gives them everything without asking anything in return, which does not claim, which has no rights.
Now you realize the reality?
Do you see that everything is not always wanted?
And you scream and cry and rend the soul that are only for others, for all, and this is how you got to look at yourself, because only eso eres, te sacan, te emplean y te gozan y tu solo los complaces.
Entonces un grupo de viejos, son cuatro, mínimo tendrán sus sesenta años, sudorosos, peludos, calvos, panzones y con dentaduras postizas te dicen que necesitas un hombre en tu vida y que bien pueden ser ellos, y tu les dices que tu turno termina en media hora y te esperen a la salida, y te vas con ellos y llegan a un motel, y te desnudas para ellos, bailas para ellos, lames sus vergas y bebes su semen para ellos, te cogen por delante y por detrás y tu no te quejas, te llaman zorra y puta y perra y sucia golfa y tu solo asientes y te dejas hacer lo que sea por ellos y cuando están saciados te dejan ahí, take your clothes as a trophy and you just looking at the ceiling and you look in the mirror, but see nothing.
Are you happy now?
Well that's it, what do you think? Sorry for the spelling, but I Striving in that no more of it, try to improve.
onward to victory. Health and rebellion
Well, I come to take a couple of drinks and suddenly I feel the need to write "never happened? This is a strange hour, and spend four in the morning and after a long talk about nothing special so I thought this story ... jejejeje cruel, maybe one day appear around like "a dark and twisted version of the vision of the common man" fuck, it sounded like what the Joker would jajajajajaja, well maybe turn it into a fic, but maybe not while I leave for you to read. was
am and to the monotonous sound of the refrigerator, warm purrs and strong, the department is pequeñoy the device used to cool your food heated strongly kitchen a few weeks ago would have appreciated it at night in rain and lonely but not today, today you compañíay the smell of sweat makes the atmosphere makes you even more heavy, that's when another sound fills the small apartment, from the beginning is rhythmic slap, slap, slap, not stopped ringing, and you can not even pretend to enjoy.
is the only thing you do every day baby, pretend, pretend a smile when morning attend to dirty old men you order their breakfast and stare at her ass, finger in the afternoons when you act and try to make the best impression to a group of directors who are always looking for the best, and she is not you, whether acting in a comedy or a tragedy is always the same phrase "I call" pretend when you talk with your pseudo-friends that you know talk about you behind your back, always criticizing different but envying at the bottom of it, and at the end of the day, you look in the mirror and hope in the darkest corners of your room, as scorpion crawls to them that your life hiding behind a smile is what gives it meaning.
is why you can not end and prefer to keep pretending to be another one to take charge of your life, follow the patter, plop, plop, plop, and while this happens go back to escape reality, and as no I like to think in the future remember the past, when playing with dolls with your sister in the backyard, when the municipal pool to swim and swim like you, when you saw the cartoons and you laughed with Bugs Bonny and feel like an eternity has passed since those days are gone so when you go back and shouts over one hundred years old, you shrink the heart and respiration stutters. And you know
lost ..
The truth is that little matter where you are looking for, you can not find where you went wrong is that when you left home it appeared successful, young, pretty, with a natural talent for acting, all said that when you return to see would be in a soap opera, everyone saw, nobody will perdíay you wanted to be known, do not settle for being the prettiest of your people, you went to great city, but then was but failure after failure, even seemed natural to follow your path, is that perhaps everything was predestined? Why can not know where we lose our way, have done exactly everything you said in the beginning, started studying drama but I felt this insect in place, all talking about theater, Sartre and Shakespeare, Moliere and Goethe, Le Normand and Sophocles, you did not know it was surrealism and existentialism, absurdísimo never heard of, much less participated in anything but a Christmas, your whole culture is based on soap operas, and your knowledge were at most the difference between Avon and Jafra How did you expect to fit on that site?
And money became scarce, at first started to miss the classes in the mornings, then it was when you started to wear the same clothes twice a month, visits to the stores ran low, sold your TV, you sold your microwave, you changed your department, then another even more dirty little that had not happen like that! It is assumed that a producer handsome leather jacket fall in love with you and become a TV star! So why not come? And your fellow students why these women preferred to go with berets and dark clothing to listen boring music and nonsense poems? You wanted to dance and have fun, not sit and talk about the philosophers before Socrates "and that nobody speaks? In your town were the queen, all you spoke, were ignored here, you did not have that work hard! Why do the ugly, which do not have a boyfriend, this could not be true, it should be assumed that and when you could not but left the school.
But just could not go home, I had told everyone that he now had a big apartment and would soon go on television could not return defeated by the big city, so you kept introducing yourself in the events, and always the same answer.
And the sound of your room does not abandon its rhythmic plop ... plop ... plop
then? Do not even know what that is with thee. That's why you stopped walking. What do you say when there is nothing more to say? You want somebody that you care, to protect you and fill you with pampering, but instead you get a jerk for which there are more than a container of semen.
And when you start to notice it starts to increase the pace and strength, hurts, is too heavy for you, and you feel that you look bug-eyed sadism how to achieve orgasm with double-barreled shotgun gunning in the face? It leaves you and only you feel the warm liquid on your breasts, she likes cum there, and you just groan his name hoping that you note, while the stifles a moan what happens next? It just takes you off quickly, as if your touch was corrosive, are you happy? Are you happy with your new life?
The answer should be yes then why do not you feel it? Aaahhh true, the eternal routine that she removed all the magic you expect to your sex life, no passion, no love, just the same act over and over again, for this you all an expert, he arrives and you receive it with open legs, and then everything else, no kisses, no touching and nice words, but that does not matter, you do not like being alone, well that's only temporary, soon a producer of sunglasses and leather jacket fall in love with you and take you to New York, Paris and Tokyo as you star of the novel back nine. While only these nightly visits here waiting for your boyfriend, lasting the same thing in the morning and leave you burning in the crotch that you never do it gently. at the moment you enough not to be alone.
the meantime you see dressed, runs every muscle in his body, his legs, his chest, his arms, his penis Why can not meet his eyes? Is it to not hurt yourself? You see it heading for the door between darkness and you dare to ask.
- Do you want to see you tomorrow for lunch?
- mmmmmmm
's all you can get from him, every time is less communicative, but that does not discourage you, offends you that you deserve a little more attention, but did not say anything for fear of starting a fight. You're faking a smile
new cover your nakedness with old sheets, you feel like semen on your chest sticks to sweat on the sheets, but no attention and hope that either, and expect something of it, thank you, a touch, a smile or least one eye but only answers:
- See you later.
- Stay another time.
- It's late, I have to go with my wife - the only thing that reaches to murmur.
and simply directs his steps to the door, and not re-look at you, you no longer pay any attention, and he came in you why bother? No goodbye kiss, there is a "mon cherie je taime" not a compliment or a promise even a reproach, a glance of compassion, unless we require you prepare dinner, nothing.
And when you hear the sound of the door and steps away down the hall feel like a huge weight fell on you and overwhelms you more than you and them, and throw a shoe at the mirror because you're afraid to look and add more years to your soul and your eyes and feel guilt, you look like nothing, not worth enough to leave his wife for you and let you feel anger for use in this way, and finally, when you disgust subsided quietly crying on your pillow.
feel moisture on your face, sliding down to your hands and how they end in your sheets, mixing even more with all other fluids in them. Looking at the ceiling cracked, not rain today, there are leaks that fall, not water, are your tears, the ones that make you company for some time now, the only ones that do not abandoned.
And that's when you accept that you cry and scream and break and hit everything in your room, you tear your Virgin of Guadalupe and you tear your candles, you break your hooks and pieces your fashion magazines, and these are what more hate and destroy the smaller pieces you can, because that you are to others, an erotic magazine, which asks anything to anyone, beautiful and just flicking through to get what they want and nothing else, then hide in the bathroom under the bed.
is why sales in the morning with swollen eyes and frog both mourn, small veins burst and now they are blood red like passion in your life there, walk slowly down to the cafeteria, you come and put your old revealing attire for green can imagine all you want with you, you get to the dirty kitchen and pick up orders of eggs and chips, and they put up with their abuses over and over You see, while you're still dreaming to get on TV.
And then appears to her, the other, but it is not the other, you're the other, and they have to meet and watch the kisses and caresses and smile, is the ultimate humiliation have to serve it, all you want is to leave you there, return to your apartment and sleep, go back to that fantastic dream where a television agent loves you, you use beautiful gowns and travel the world to return to your luxury home in Miami-
And you feel the eyes on your back, it hurts, disdain and lewdness, and instead of answering only in the kitchen you run away like a rat.
You're not nothing, just a small town girl who aspired too fired high and too far, you're just a pornographic magazine, the men look and use in secret and furtive glances and then hide or throw away, because they are embarrassed that their mothers or wives see, so you only buy when they win, they do not say no, that gives them everything without asking anything in return, which does not claim, which has no rights.
Now you realize the reality?
Do you see that everything is not always wanted?
And you scream and cry and rend the soul that are only for others, for all, and this is how you got to look at yourself, because only eso eres, te sacan, te emplean y te gozan y tu solo los complaces.
Entonces un grupo de viejos, son cuatro, mínimo tendrán sus sesenta años, sudorosos, peludos, calvos, panzones y con dentaduras postizas te dicen que necesitas un hombre en tu vida y que bien pueden ser ellos, y tu les dices que tu turno termina en media hora y te esperen a la salida, y te vas con ellos y llegan a un motel, y te desnudas para ellos, bailas para ellos, lames sus vergas y bebes su semen para ellos, te cogen por delante y por detrás y tu no te quejas, te llaman zorra y puta y perra y sucia golfa y tu solo asientes y te dejas hacer lo que sea por ellos y cuando están saciados te dejan ahí, take your clothes as a trophy and you just looking at the ceiling and you look in the mirror, but see nothing.
Are you happy now?
Well that's it, what do you think? Sorry for the spelling, but I Striving in that no more of it, try to improve.
onward to victory. Health and rebellion
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Ovarian Cancer Tri Suit
As it is the first to write
As it is 3:00 am and I can not sleep, I like to hear some rock bar and getting drunk, or driving a car bomb on the streets of Tel Aviv, or at least be able to sleep but as I usually do not give me happy to upload this so I can read other outdated, according to many the three o'clock is usually the time when the spirits from beyond the more often come here, go on the prowl for souls, and if that's the case you could make friends with them, I say if they have lived ever for the chaos and destruction must have very good tricks, and while not to bore you and me pretentious intellectual airs I give you a reflection I wrote recently about passion.
Passion Passion is the strange puppeteer who rules us from the hidden corners of our being. Sleep and wait patiently, and when least expected, and something triggers it, no matter how, death, pain, delirium, just listed, our senses bangs and screams. Speaks guíay us commands us, governs us all, no one escapes of his tyranny, and we gladly obey it, says jump and I said so high, says dog and barking, and we have no alternative resist him what choice do we have?
So at what I can not help, why would I resist? I am not an immovable object hitting an unstoppable force, better let him invade me deep inside me and do not control, better train derailed ship anchored, the problem of the whole thing is when you see that you just have this way and see that your passion has become the flames that burned your life. And the fire spreads and all-consuming living the life of a vampire, only survives by killing and destroying other beings, and when it expires, you keep wanting more and more, you keep eating like a ravenous wolf that gives you more hungry and can not find something that satisfies you, and continuous trading.
Maybe that's why this world seems so boring, everything is routine and moral force of habit, all too big for me, only I have this love of blood and ashes, and before the altar of passion I have had devastating my best, or at least clearer, the hatred of stagnation, the ecstasy of orgasm or the confusion of life. And the loss of my free will hurt more than I can bear, if I could throw everything it could find peace and tranquility she so desperately seek, but would be empty, a broken shell surrounded by oppressive gray, no passion I would not be nothing, and that's worse than a thousand deaths.
The truth is, like I can not think and say goodbye .... and if you excuse the orcografia failures, try to improve until the final victory MMMMMMMMM
As it is 3:00 am and I can not sleep, I like to hear some rock bar and getting drunk, or driving a car bomb on the streets of Tel Aviv, or at least be able to sleep but as I usually do not give me happy to upload this so I can read other outdated, according to many the three o'clock is usually the time when the spirits from beyond the more often come here, go on the prowl for souls, and if that's the case you could make friends with them, I say if they have lived ever for the chaos and destruction must have very good tricks, and while not to bore you and me pretentious intellectual airs I give you a reflection I wrote recently about passion.
Passion Passion is the strange puppeteer who rules us from the hidden corners of our being. Sleep and wait patiently, and when least expected, and something triggers it, no matter how, death, pain, delirium, just listed, our senses bangs and screams. Speaks guíay us commands us, governs us all, no one escapes of his tyranny, and we gladly obey it, says jump and I said so high, says dog and barking, and we have no alternative resist him what choice do we have?
So at what I can not help, why would I resist? I am not an immovable object hitting an unstoppable force, better let him invade me deep inside me and do not control, better train derailed ship anchored, the problem of the whole thing is when you see that you just have this way and see that your passion has become the flames that burned your life. And the fire spreads and all-consuming living the life of a vampire, only survives by killing and destroying other beings, and when it expires, you keep wanting more and more, you keep eating like a ravenous wolf that gives you more hungry and can not find something that satisfies you, and continuous trading.
Maybe that's why this world seems so boring, everything is routine and moral force of habit, all too big for me, only I have this love of blood and ashes, and before the altar of passion I have had devastating my best, or at least clearer, the hatred of stagnation, the ecstasy of orgasm or the confusion of life. And the loss of my free will hurt more than I can bear, if I could throw everything it could find peace and tranquility she so desperately seek, but would be empty, a broken shell surrounded by oppressive gray, no passion I would not be nothing, and that's worse than a thousand deaths.
Friday, January 14, 2011
2005 Tahoe 23fb Trailer
美しい
Author: Sakuma Nekochi
Rating: 18
Category: RPS / J-music ççReal
Person Slash''
Fandon: L 'Arc en Ciel
Characters: Ken x Yukihiro
Genre: G
Warnings: m-preg
State / Style: Drabble
Review ; to: attempt romantic comedy, a mi me parecio gracioso pero la verdad es que no se lo que los demas opinen U_U
ooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo
Author: Sakuma Nekochi
Rating: 18
Category: RPS / J-music ççReal
Person Slash''
Fandon: L 'Arc en Ciel
Characters: Ken x Yukihiro
Genre: G
Warnings: m-preg
State / Style: Drabble
Review ; to: attempt romantic comedy, a mi me parecio gracioso pero la verdad es que no se lo que los demas opinen U_U
ooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo
Beautiful
From the door in the room they shared, Ken observed with sweetness and charm, the rounded figure of the & lsquo ; 'husband.''twisted Who with a gesture in the face, watching his bulging reflection in the mirror full body rested in its place next to the closet.
-
Hello beautiful .- Le Alaga, when it was where Yukihiro, to attract around s Yukki the bloated stomach with your arms. Who kiss the left side on the corner where they meet the shoulders and neck.
- Nan "? -
wanted to know. As the reflection of ; koi l in the mirror showed again that he twisted gesture reflecting disgust and frustration.
- How I see me beautiful in this state? -
was suspicion in his eyes, thinking that the words of her husband'''' they were just another of the evil tricks of Ken.
- ... if I seem a watermelon .-
protest, with self-disgust.
- True
reaffirm .- Ken, after he let out an amused chuckle.
- But you're a beautiful watermelon .-
said, kissing again the corner of her husband's neck, while stroking round and bulging belly.
- Bakaaaaaaa.-
Le llamo Yukihiro, mientras daba vuelta para reclamar los labios de su marido.
Owari.
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