Dress Sizes Of Japanese Women

[Original] Journey to the End of the Night

Title: Journey to the End of the Night
Author: body-ko
Fandom: Original
Rating: R
Word Count: 1550 (W)
Prompt: Original fantastic female character, another world
Summary: "Hello," greeted her, "that makes us a nice girl like you, all alone in the woods?".

advanced machine on the deserted street, the morning fog smothered the landscape in a blanket of gray mouse, while a light drizzle smoothed the asphalt on its treacherous nice day in the world. The car took the curve too fast and did not keep the road going to crash into the guardrail. Ford was an old, ugly green rotten chest of drawers that was not even looking for new, a few decades before, from the radio and sent silly love songs. After a few seconds the woman went out, reeling in her flowered dress, put his hand to his temple and found it stained with blood. The pale thin lips curled into a grimace of disgust and pain, while searching for a handkerchief to wipe away the blood from his face. Then, he went in the trunk, took a heavy bag, retrieved his bag from the back seat of the car and, angrily slamming the door, said goodbye to that masterpiece of science and technology.

walked briskly, almost running, despite the heavy bag he carried with him, he had climbed over the guardrail and highway, in the cold light of dawn, its thin and slender figure stood out in the wide field of grasses . Every now and then looked back, without stopping or slow down the pace, shortness of breath and gaze into the eyes of an animal during the hunting season, saw the car coming and was not surprised when he stopped behind his jalopy. Two men got out of black Mercedes, the tall and massive checks in the Ford and in the trunk, the other - that was so short and fat to look like a ball - she looked around the nose to the air, such as sniffing, and Finally he saw her. He peered from a distance, in reality the woman does not distinguish the features, even if he knew who he was.
"Miss Elizabeth," cried the man, «Go back. We will find a way to fix things, believe me. "
The woman slowed down or turned over in front of him opened up the forest now, and passed, with a firm step: if they wanted, they had to meet you take.

feet sank into the muddy ground, did not grow grass in the forest cold and unhealthy because they stopped the huge maples and firs, with their leaves every ray of sunshine: the cursed land had never been touched by any light. Elizabeth advanced to the heart of the forest, did not expect to find any trace of other human beings, because Only a poor fool - or a woman trapped in a dead end - it would also be in that territory, even the animals avoided him sensed something evil: the migratory birds do not stand between those trees, no deer or wild boar trampled on the ground treacherous, l & rsquo who lived only snakes and - more in depth in the swamp - crocodiles and leeches.
She dragged the heavy bag worn, yet wore the fierce determination in the eyes of those who are not willing to surrender. Finally, he saw the cemetery of virgins, glue moss-eaten stone statues that were slowly crumbling. He stopped to catch my breath, pondering what to do, the men who had the ribs could not be far away, were stronger and faster than her in their scruples and travel light luggage. He decided he could no longer afford the luxury of hesitation, crossed the gate of the rectory, and mingled with the stone statues, watching those icy expression appears, those wooden faces and slender figures those bundled in heavy clothing of the past and recent . One near the gate, his face smeared with bird shit, looked like so much to a girl he had met many years earlier, went to school together even though they had never been friends, because she was the daughter of the mayor while Elizabeth was a gypsy.

She sat on a stone, which was also possibly a statue, but now do not give human traits remained, rested, now completely disinterested, the heavy bag that had dragged her here, and lit a menthol cigarette.
did not have to wait long, the man left the rectory, and with fluctuating pitch and vaguely effeminate, approached her. He looked puzzled, with its huge green eyes, green as green apples, such as wrecks covered with seaweed, eyes of an unparalleled glow, like werewolves, fluty eyes full of charm and sweetness, and in the middle of them a black hole, which is their core property: peering into the depths of darkness, Elizabeth felt that darkness peering inside her.
The man smiled at her, Elizabeth felt his body become covered with cold sweat, and his heart was beating a rhythm of despair at the inevitability of evil.
"Hello," greeted her, "that makes us a nice girl like you, all alone in the woods?".
The woman was silent, with mind overwhelmed by fear, uncovering totally unable to move a muscle or ponder a thought. It was him, the man whom so many had heard from his mother, would never have believed one day to meet him, and yet here it is: real, tangible, real. And what can the human race is faced with an evil so wicked?
Two men crossed the gate of the rectory, the first man was lower than Elizabeth, and had greasy hair and a face from the pale.
"A good morning to you, good sir," he said, "in this beautiful and pleasant day '*. The host Home averted his gaze from Elizabeth and left him unmoved on the funny little man, the way they looked was very different from what he had reserved for the hungry girl seemed disinterested rather than annoyed.
"What do you want? This is private property. "
"I'm sure you'll want to excuse this due to our unexpected intrusion, you see, nothing but this is not a concern for our sister who lost - I note with delight overwhelming - we have preserved the integrity of its functions and joints."
The Lord of the Wood looked at him dazed, as if he had not understood a word of what he heard.
"Are you the police?" Asked dry. The second visitor, a tall man who stood a few steps behind his friend, until then had said nothing and simply wait, impressive and impassive. Now he laughed, once, with a deep tone and vernacular, was the laugh of a madman.
"Unfortunately," said the man down, "we do not have this privilege. A career in law and justice, as undoubtedly tempting, was not written in the papers that Lady Luck has spread to my brother and me. No, we are only individuals. Allows you to make presentations. I'm Mister Croup, and this gentleman is my brother, mister Vandemar.
"Your brother?" Asked the man, "You should not have the same last name?".
"I'm impressed. What a brain, Mr. Vandemar. Dubbing it a shrewd and subtle it is not justice. Some of us are so keen "to the lord of desolation came and began to speak to him on his toes a few inches from my face," that might even cut yourself. " Elizabeth felt the blood drain from his body when he saw the full lips, lips to kiss, realizing the vision of every woman, bent in a feral grin of sweetness.
"We have embarked on a long journey," continued Mr. Croup, who, unlike Elizabeth, who did not know before, "whose chief purpose was the search for our beloved sister, a rebellious child, stubborn and strong-willed, which has almost broken the hearts of our poor widowed mother. "
"She is ours," clarified Mr. Vandemar, mellifluous. Elizabeth looked at her with dead eyes and the woman became more small as he could, while the wolf, the cat and the fox decided who would be eating it. "And the money ... also, "he added, pointing to the suitcase abandoned in the mud. The King of Gnomes
cocked his head thoughtfully to one side, then turned to the two patrons expression regretted.
"No," she said, Mr. Vandemar pulled out his gun and shot him right between the eyes, Elizabeth cried, bringing his hands to his throat, the man's face was disfigured from the impact of the bullet that had pierced the skull from side to side, but did not fall. Stood firm on his legs as oak and slowly turned his neck to point its menacing green eyes bloodshot on the two hit men, from the lips uttered a hoarse growl of anger animal. The surprise would have hit anyone, but those were men used to shoot first and ask later, so both point their machines against the creature and sent down two magazines.
The creature still did not fall, Mr. Vandemar at the height of incredulity, he decided that there was nothing in the world that he could not annihilate, and that he would have done with their bare hands. He seized the spirit of the woods and twisted the neck of one hundred and eighty degrees, it seemed to have even less effect of projectiles and the creature laughed revealing its sharp teeth as a predator. Both men rushed to the caricature of a human being, with unfailing dedication and methodical ferocity, the spirit of the woods with nails like claws to answer their attacks, leaving deep furrows across the elegant Armani clothes and flesh. The three fell to the ground and rolled between the earth and mud, slapping violently against members of the stone, the thundering silence of the cemetery of curses, screams, and bestial grunts.

step back with plush, Elizabeth turned away from the field battaglia.Quando he reached the forest, he turned his back to the rectory and his dreams of wealth, and began to run.
still running.

* Neil - The Genius - Gaiman

Parche Antifreeze Pokemon Heart Gold Usa

[OZ] Definitions

Title: Definitions
Author: body-ko
Fandom: OZ
Characters: Hoyt, Robson, O'Reily, Alvarez, Rebadow, Busmalis
Rating: R
Word Count: 582 (W)
Prompt: Chris Keller / Tobias Beecher, " not Oz that made you become a whore, I've always been "
Summary: When Beecher Keller accused of being a whore, in the convivial atmosphere of the hall of Oz opened a discussion to answer a simple, fundamental question: Tobias Beecher is a whore?

Everyone knows of Beecher and Keller, even newcomers quickly learn to stay away from sweet Tobias Keller for not finding the proper waiting in some dark corner. Some think it's true love, others it's just sex: everybody knows for a fact that this is a story in which they do not want to be in the middle. But life is very boring to Oz and, eventually ends up being almost fun to watch - from afar - and declare their eternal love, or attempt to kill himself. The result was yet another argument
with interest by a large group of witnesses and those who if they lost, did not fail to receive a detailed report from Busmalis, the official cheerleader of Keller.

When Beecher Keller accused of being a whore in the convivial atmosphere of the hall of Oz has opened a discussion to answer a simple, fundamental question: Tobias Beecher is a whore?

Among the most active participants was Jaz Hoyt, the Bikers, a staunch supporter of the theory that the defendant was innocent of the accusation that he had been moved, and ex-husband of a porn star, and his resolute opposition, Robson was Arian, with his dick cut off.
The discussion lasted for days, in an atmosphere of utmost civility and composure; Hoyt forth his thesis defense with the eloquence he had learned in his past to Harvard, but Robson - determined than ever - the retort point by point. It was concluded that essential for the continuation of the debate, was the exact definition of the meaning of "bitch." Here the old man gave his contribution Rebadow, a lover of books and culture, which he called "a bitch" she or he who has sex in exchange for a compensation / reward / payment.
"But Beecher does not pay, so it can be a bitch," O'Reilly interjected, "to the limit, is a bitch."
"Jesus," Alvarez blurted out, "and that you like better?".
"Hey amigos, there is a difference between doing it for money and do it free," O'Reilly said with absolute certainty.
"However," interjected Rebadow clearing his voice, "I think the term should be dropped in context. I mean, we all live in paradise and we are not angels, we aquariums where there are fish and is full of tits though there are no women. "
Hoyt looked focused, "So what can we do? Keller going to ask what is the exact meaning that he meant by calling Beecher "bitch"? Who asked him? ".
No one volunteered.
"A whore is a man who has a thousand excuses ready at his command. He said Hamlet. " Robson
Everyone looked stunned, but no one dared ask him how fucking public school of suburbs of Chicago teach Shakespeare, but he saw that he had upset a large group of murderers, drug addicts and hustlers, and had mercy on them
"I saw the movie, ok? What is it: Do you think I am an ignorant, bunch of bastards? ".
After a brief exchange of compliments between Robson and Wangler, interrupted the Poet:
"I think we can take for good the theory of Robson," he said, "a whore is a man seeking justifications and excuses. And 'one who does not take responsibility for what has become. "
The large group of good guys who participated - for various reasons - to the debate, locked in a thoughtful silence.

Alvarez was to ask the question in the correct way to Oz:
"Well, that one 'to blame for what's to alcohol, to Schillinger, the system or Oz, is a whore? ', and Hoyt was to settle definitively the age-old question:
"Yes."

Competition Cheer Noisemakers

[Original]

Title: The Weaver of Shadows
Fandom: Original
Author: body-ko
Rating: R
Word Count: 11,787
Summary: Unfortunately I was a bit 'the victim of circumstances, you must understand that I really had to deal with terrible creatures, and the mere fact of having kept the sanity is a real impertinence on my part.
Written by: F3.UCKS Fest of fanfic_italia


Notes: this tale inspired by the book "The infernal desire machines of Dr Hoffman ; A. Carter.



Chapter Five
Now that the world was over, I found myself completely incapable of dolermene. I was numb with shock, but even more to my total indifference. I tried to trace the man inside me and I found that I had been more than a stele of hard granite, polished and hard, and painful in his deadpan delivery to loneliness. My father was dead and I did not feel pain, but in the end was not really my father and I had never loved. Few would take me seriously because the more it is incomprehensible that a child might not love his father, but the truth was that I my just tolerate it: it was not a person that I could assess or meet. He showed me the way, and it was always the wrong way, it was my responsibility to have it taken, of course he could not force me and he never did, but I had the full right and title - and all fucking reasons - to feel it a bad teacher.

walked for days to reach a converted church where I found refuge. The old gods were left to rot and no one had bothered to save them, prim-looking Madonnas were devoured by moss that had crept in that place through the roof, which collapsed arch West. The forest loomed, however, had not yet won, and in a ravine, the building still retained an aura of his holiness lost, there was allocated a statue created by a Florentine master, portrayed Santa Chiara, and shone in the purity of its marble . I watched the light that flows from it and from which the forest is far away: all around the statue just peace and quiet, while the rest was destroyed. I was sleeping when they arrived I woke up, had a noble with his valet, traveling a long time. When I palesai the old count drew his sword and then, seeing that I was not dangerous, the sheathed.
"I thought I was the snake of Eden, but you're just a little priest country, "he said. I smiled out of pure indulgence. He wore a black cape with many layers of coats and a hat from which hung a black crepe veils. He seemed ready for a funeral service and challenged a stick topped with a silver apple from the air lethal. It was high and its thinness made it seem even more inhuman than did the flashy dandyism itself.
was one thing Slovak, traveled to the capital to attend the wedding of the Regent. He spoke highly of him, I have never met anyone who would use in a sentence many times the word "I": I found it boring beyond belief, albeit with a certain charm that once would have hit me, but now that I had seen the end of the world, I found nothing of interest. He asked me if I had seen the disaster, and how many people had died.
"You must know, young man, I'm a connoisseur of catastrophe. I witnessed the eruption of Vesuvius, when thousands of people were buried alive in lava. I saw her eyes burst and pour the grease crackling dall'arrosto Nagasaki, Hiroshima and Dresden. I dipped my fingers in the blood under the age of Terror guillotine. I'm crazy for natural catastrophes. " He told me everything
this as a gauntlet, but I do not understand. He denied the world, denying God, we believe that the only living creature with any relevance was him, was the most egotistical man I had ever known.

The old count said through his monocle the poor church that offered both a refuge from the dangers of the night, kicked the statue of Santa Chiara and piss on the altar, so immersed in its very essence can not do less than what was already showing the offending side, so tied to the ancient symbols that they can not resist the need for desecration.
"You know, my friend," he said looking at me as if I were an insect, which was then the way they looked at all, "you have before my eyes a man on the run. He who gives me the hunt is my nemesis, my enemy, the only person in the world that I respect myself worthy opponent. His name does not count, he has made many during his long life, as I did. The first time I met him, centuries ago, was the protector of a caravan of whores at Nantes. Just as evil and ruthless, his whores loved him with the same intensity with cu feared him and there was one, his favorite, had planned to sell it as a mistress of a noble and offered to sell it to me. I told him I did not buy any goods without being sure of its proper operation and he agreed with me. I had the girl on probation for one night. "
"What happened?" I asked bleak.
Count put on theatrical expression of grief: "I passed the test. More often, the hothouse flowers are very delicate, so I always preferred the wild roses that cultivated: they give much more satisfaction and have the undoubted advantage of lasting longer. "
I thought that the Earl deserved to die, for all the flowers he had picked and trampled for the sake of doing so, I tried not to show my face from the contempt I had for that person because, even Campania thousand years, I could compare with him, hoping to beat him. His will too strong and too ruthless to his madness, and certainly too sharp knife which he kept hidden in his walking stick.
"Since then, the evil black man pursues me longing for his stupidity to feed my blood to increase his power by stealing mine. It 's a powerful man, violent, and the will indomitable and his mind is great, my brother lost ... sometimes I think that final meeting with him, is perhaps the only thing that could ... "he hesitated, searching for the appropriate word, which was unusual in him, always had a myriad of words on the tip of your tongue ready for a bow like blood from an open wound, "... the only thing that would surprise me," he concluded.
I thought it was a tragedy not just his own: the count could not feel surprised at all, and a man incapable of surprise might as well be stillborn, because his eyes were never open *. The footman had meanwhile

unit in the old church, there was a can of pate de foie gras, truffled terrine of game in gelatin, a large amount of cold roast pheasant, cheese whose flavor flavorful foreign pinched nostrils , a slice of smoked salmon from which the valet cut thin strips, an exotic pebbles of assorted caviar, a salad and another container full of grapes and peaches, and a portable cooler containing a dozen bottles of French wine. There were pottery and glassware of the highest quality. The cutlery was of solid silver.
Count ate with great appetite; Indeed, a blind greed that demolished the food so fast that the valet and I durammo hard to grasp how to satisfy. When there was nothing that gnawed bones, dirty dishes, empty bottles and peach pits, Count sighed, belched and grabbed the valet. His hat rolled on the ground.
"Look at me! Look at me! "He shouted as if, in order to appreciate the effect of his own actions, should have known to be seen. But in the ruined church was too dark to see anything close. I heard the grunts and groans of the valet and amazing roars that accompanied progress of the long count towards orgasm. All the while shouting terrible and atrocious curses came from the throat of the count, as a stallion snorted, cursed the womb that had received him, until the orgasm is not reached him as an attack epilissia. Ecstasy seemed to cancel the libertine and there was a silence broken only by the pathetic whining until the valet, velvety darkness and light, the count did not speak in a voice drained of all force.
"I wish that God exists," he said, "so he can say the supreme blasphemy, the supreme denial, but because God there can not exist even the supreme negation, pure evil. This is very unsatisfying for me, "he concluded sadly," all my talents, all my power, are so inadequate at this stage a world so small. "
"This will be your last performance, count," thundered a voice from the stage and then, an immense figure, a tall man as much as the count, but the muscular body like a predator of the forest, the beast by the sharp knife, climbed on stage with a jump. He wore a pair of black leather pants and a sleeveless shirt open to the hairless chest and powerful, masculine traits in the face by the light dark eyes stood out, blacks holes devouring every light in their consecration to destruction.
The count tried to escape the sharp sickle, the attendant yelled terrified and huddled in a corner like a scared mouse, I - decided that the beast was not what I was looking for my blood - I am meticulous care of stay out of his line of fire. The count jumped like a grasshopper from one direction to another, in the whirlwind of the escape of his death did not spare his unquenchable energy, but the beast was as strong as him, and equally determined. At the end had to surrender and, in the blink of an eye, the sharp scythe sheared clean off the thin neck and his head rolled to the feet of St. Clare, patron saint of those condemned to death.
The fury of the beast died suddenly, his mission was completed, the purpose that had illuminated his path throughout its existence was finally reached. He looked at me with his huge eyes, "my life is over now," he said.
"But then, why did you do that?" I asked naively.
"Why I did? "he repeated, smiling sweetly," if you knew the classics, I'd know. I could not hit him with my stinger, even if it means death for me. Why kill the Count's my nature. "
patted me on the cheek and walked away, the camera follows the sad tragic hero away to the tune of an old ballad, and began to scroll through the credits. * Albert Einstein




Chapter six
continued my journey to the castle and found myself immersed in vegetation. The forest did not exist until shortly before, was the shadow of Lucien, it surrounds and protects the castle. The place was rotten and unhealthy, the trees rose in the air have stunted and leafless branches, the sun never touched the ground was covered with a smelly and sticky mud. I soon realized, at my expense, that the plants that grew in that area were carnivorous and damn, when I had stabbed a shrub clinging arm, it groaned beast that terrified me. The lament spread deep into the woods and they said it many others, until the air was vibrating with a haunting dirge and threatening: I thought that I would never come out alive, especially if I kept hitting those damn plants that were all connected to each other. Rinfoderai my weapon, and continued to immerse myself in the green, being careful not to touch the trees.

I do not know how many days in the green and walked in the mud, eating few fruits and berries, which, miraculously, I was not killed. I was near a pond when from behind a wall of ivy and willow branches came out a huge creature, at least three meters high, the upper body had vaguely human appearance, two arms, a head, beard and hair on the face dark. The bottom part was that of a horse, muscular, powerful. On the first rider was followed by a second and third: I soon found myself surrounded and not even thought of putting his hand on my knife, because what could I do with the toothpick against superhuman creatures? I watched, fascinated and terrified together, the first of the Centaurs, Cerberus, his eyes were blacks, without pupils, the sharp teeth of a predator, pointed ears and long thick hair and thick. The upper half of his body was covered with tattoos blacks, and the bottom dominated a very male attribute that belonged to a horse. Faced with the puissance of their half beast, I thought I would end walked out of their sockets, and with those powerful legs would have been enough to break a single stroke of the net the spine, and set aside in a moment of my being. They had no reason not to kill me, I was an alien, different from them, ugly, and probably contagious: I felt very miserable.
"Welcome, my lord," said the king of the centaurs bowing in front of me, "it's been a long time since you came to visit my people." I
stirai lips into a fake smile like a smash, and I thought for those people's rights should be a bit 'all the same, a bit' as a white man are the blacks or Asians. The implicit racism of a single community Racial I had never made so happy.
"I'm visiting," trying to reduce the rest tremor of the voice, "I must get to the castle as soon as possible."
"I hope not so fast as not to allow me and all my people to pay homage," he said, his face expressionless and completely dominated by the will and confidence completely inhuman. I did not dare deny me, his will was too strong and all that he was above me. I agreed, one of his soldiers made me sit back and we rode together to the land of the centaurs. They lived in stables
proportionate the size of their populations, at the beginning I thought that there were no women among the Centaurs and the thing seemed very strange, because I did not understand how they could do to reproduce, then I saw that women were very badly but differed by their male companions, unless you observe them under the tail. They were men of the same size, equally powerful, and beautiful in a savage manner, male, face sculpted in marble and hard eyes of darkness and cold destruction.

I was made to accommodate a building of wood and earth in the middle there was a large table laden with fruits and vegetables of all shapes and sizes, and I sat at the right of the village chief and was served in all their delicacy, made exclusively of vegetable nature as the centaurs did not eat meat. After weeks, perhaps months, of long marches and little food seemed like a meal fit for a king. I asked the village head if the fruits grow in the forest, because in my long pilgrimage I had not seen, only a few berries and dried-apple buggy I was nurtured in my trip, and he told me that they grew them in the fields, far away trees destroyed by the evil that their fruit rather than let others enjoy them. I am not surprised to hear that story, because I already knew that the forest was evil and mean, that would make me of evil if he could, and so would any other living creature except himself. I ate as if it were my last meal, enjoying each bite and savoring every taste and flavor, because life is short. My perhaps more than other. Then the village head and beckoned me to follow him, accompanied at a respectful distance by a group of the most powerful warriors, I was brought into the home of what turns out to be the master tattoo artist. They considered a great honor what I did, they gave me the tattoo that each had won at the cost of great trials and hardships overwhelming: the mark of the great horse god, what every rider took effect on muscular back. The cavern was filled with tattoo of gouges and chisels, a massive wooden table was the center of the room and I could not help but go with the memory to the acrobats of desire, as I had destroyed and forced to beg and cry and call your mom. It would happen again, I was about to be skinned alive by larger creatures twice a man, that would have affected my flesh, blood and pain. And this time I would not be forced to do it, I would have done voluntarily, simply because the fight against fate had brought me to the brink of insanity, and thousands of people died, and if they accept the other hand, perhaps the world would end.
One of the centaurs
wiped the table with a cloth, and arranged a cushion of straw at one end, where I rested my head, and offered as a sacrificial victim on the altar of the god on horseback. The three sons of the master is lined up, singing with a scalpel, another with the color and the third with a bowl of water and a sponge. The Singer, head of the table, began to chant, celebrating the magic of the emblem, explaining how the horse who would take effect on the skin took on the virtues of the horse, while the teacher dipped the brush into your left hand and, taking a chisel or a gouge in the other, depending thickness of the line you want, rub wet brush on the tool and push the dye under the skin. And then the third son wiped the blood with a sponge. Each session lasted one hour. I guadagnai their admiration for my stoicism, not a breath came from my lips while I was being tortured, and for the three weeks that it took the conclusion of the ritual, I was treated like an important person. Losing weight very much, my hair turned white, and my blue eyes change color to become transparent like a blind man. Perhaps the color m'infilavano under the skin was poisonous plant extract from some kind of malevolent forest Lucien, at least I gave blame one of my physical changes. Soon left of me but bones and skin, held together by simple stubbornness. Somehow I survived, and the god was riding on my back with me when I mounted the lord of the Centaurs and galloped toward the center of the forest. I rode on the wings of the wind, as fast as any man could ever be, and I arrived at the gates of the kingdom of the lord of dreams, the conqueror of the world, the threat, the antagonist.
get off the centaur and I crossed the gates of the city walls, which opened up a building of marble and stone, massive proto Doric-style columns on which it held the top of the world. Sitting on the steps of the temple, there was a man with long white hair collected in a queue, who played a song by the Stones. When he looked up, our eyes met, and of course I knew who he was: the author, the slothful, who plots in secret, the puppeteer of us all poor men. Lucien.


Chapter Seven
I approached him walking in bright sunshine, the forest was not only a memory in that desert of sand and rock: the kingdom of Lucien. The man did not seem to notice me, his hands moved as if they had life of its own on the guitar strings, producing a slow and insinuating melody. Not stopped play even when I was a step away from him, I waited until the last day known song would end, without a word.
"You're good," I said when he put down the guitar, he smiled kindly.
"I'm not really cut, in reality," he said, "I had to work hard to achieve a decent level. But then anyone in my family or my knowledge of playing the guitar or any other type of instrument, let's say I'm an anomaly in my race, "he concluded with a flash of irony.
"You have other talents," he remembered.
He looked at me with his eyes, metal, 'E' so, in fact. " He got up and I followed him into the darkness of the temple, endless rows of columns littered our path, between the light of the midday sun and the shadow of the sundial, we walked, the master of the world before me, I'm behind him.
"I am a murderess," he said without looking, without a shadow of remorse or shame, its just a cool finding, "War is my reason for living, the purpose for which I was brought into the world and end that I was trained to pursue. There are other avenues that I could go, even if they wanted ", then looked straight at me," and, anyway, I never wanted to. "
He stopped at a fountain and took a sip of water, then pulled her hair back in a gesture that was to be a habit for him.
"So, you are the assassin that my good friend, the Master at Arms, has sent me," she waded intent, such as assessing what stuff I did.
"Do you think you would succeed?" I asked, not without a glimmer of irony.
"At first glance I would say not, "he smiled almost apologetically," but you are here it and it was not easy. " Continue its journey and I with him, "How did you manage to escape the centaurs?" Dropped with ostentatious indifference.
"The beginner's luck," I answered laconically, and he did not seem to believe, but let it run.
We entered a large room covered with tapestries on the walls that tell a story, all stories: At the beginning I thought it was an optical illusion, then I perceived that these figures woven of gold and silver were moving, were lives. We went to a side room from which came a familiar sound of looms at work and once inside, I saw it. The most horrible and beautiful creature I had ever seen, as revolting as hypnotic: the demon of my dreams. It was, in appearance, more like a centaur to a human being, as the lower part of his body was not equine. Even though he was sitting, I realized that it was very high and his shoulders were those of the thickness of a man, his chest was flat and his hair wild snakes of fire that came to life. Her skin was dark and his features were a mixture of all races and nothing I had ever seen or known, but the dress she wore had the shape of the strange clothes they wore Indian women.
was sitting on the frame, and the product of his incessant weave wire was what I had observed the previous room, the woman was weaving stories that are trapped on the canvas, but became real and walk the earth with the human foot.
"Let me introduce you to my fiancee, Anya," he calmly stroked his hair as he looked pleased with the outcome of the work of the weaver.
"Unfortunately, Anya has no voice is mute since birth," she added glancing amused by my obvious dismay.
'E' so therefore you do ... it's you who does. "
"Anya weaves the dreams of men, is his gift and his talent, and do it to please me, her savior."
looked the creature in the eyes and in those dark eyes did not see any intention or any sign of consciousness. Long fingers, nails like claws, moving headlong speed to weave the threads of dreams. Lucien did not seem to find it necessary to ensure its assets, which was not imprisoned in any way bound by it, if not by his lack of desire to escape.
"Why not escape?" I asked.
"Why should he? And 'the last of his race and there's nothing out there for you: I am all he has. "
I wondered how could he believe his own words, but it's true: he really was sure that nothing and no one could ever stop him, and never thought it would be prudent to keep the creature on a leash. Trasbordante his confidence in himself was his only weakness, Anya's gaze with my crosses and a flash of understanding passed between us.
"What did you intension do with me? "I asked, ready for the worst.
The man looked at me as I replied, pleased too busy canvas of dreams:
"Do not do anything," he said, "you are free to come and go as you like and groped to kill me, if I resolve to do so. You may be very lucky and unlikely to succeed, or win and I'll answer your attack without hesitation, "I looked at her edgy," I do not know the hesitation and doubt I Amadeo and pity remember. " The idea that
Lucien knew the pity I had not even gone to the hall of the brain: the man was a machine.
I left the temple and tried to decide what to do in the rest of my life. I still had the knife of the count, I could use it as a weapon to fight evil. I could give a meaning to my life, finally, in pursuing a goal, could become the man worthy of respect that I always wanted to be and be recognized worldwide as a savior. Barely stifled a laugh, I was not cut out for that stuff, I was not ever been, and if anyone thought that Lucien dies, he could be doing it, because I did not no intention to get my hands dirty with murder.
"Sir," called my attention to one of the palace guards, 'I'm sorry to bother you, what we do with the stranger arrived with centaurs. "
compliant I smiled, "Do not let it get closer to the room of the weaver," I replied, "I have some outstanding issues with the monster and I do not want to be disturbed."
"Yes, sir," replied the man in uniform.
Even though it was sitting on the roof of the world, the great Lucien did not like women. For me, however, shone the light dark of a superhuman love, a woman had given me a terrible and powerful from time immemorial his favor, ignorant of all, even the end of the world. I walked into the room by Anya, we had only a few minutes, I had no idea where he was the scourge of God, but could not be far away. I went, feeling looked up, I closed the door behind him and approached.
"If you want to go, the moment is this."
"I'm ready," his voice, that no human being than I had ever heard, made me fall on my knees and I was bursting with heart and shortness of breath, gave her a look from below above. I realized suddenly what she was huge, to my surprise seemed to amuse her, because now I smiled, grabbed me, thrusting his claws into the flesh, and together they transcend time and space, in flight from death.

Mount And Blade How To Get More Soldiers

The Weaver of Shadows [Original] The Weaver of Shadows

Title: The Weaver of Shadows
Fandom: Original
Author: body-ko
Rating: R
Word Count: 11,787
Summary: Unfortunately I was a bit 'the victim of circumstances, you must understand that I really had to deal with creatures terrible, and the mere fact that he kept his sanity is a real impertinence on my part.
Written by: F3.UCKS Fest of fanfic_italia
Notes: this story takes the plot of "The infernal desire machines of Doctor Hoffman" by A. Carter is probably more comparable to a fanfic in which an original. Angela Carter was a genius, more than in literature, he was in life and the admiration I have for this beautiful English lady is huge. Of one thing I regret, and it's not like her at all.
Too bad, it will be for the next life.

Before the war, I really thought that I would spend my life in my city, with a wife, a house, a mortgage to pay. In short, it was what everybody did? Why I should be different? Coll'avvento the absurdity of war has engulfed everybody, but even when the conflict ended, my situation has not improved. Many of those who survived, they have completely erased the memory, and returned to the roles that were reserved for them the beginning of time, start as a swarm of mice enchanted by the melody of the piper, towards the abyss swallow them all. For me, nothing is to be returned as it was, live in exile and I'll die too, if you can still die and I'm struck more than once the question of having passed that line without even realizing it. Unfortunately, I was a bit 'the victim of circumstances, you must understand that I really had to deal with terrible creatures, and the mere fact that he kept his sanity is a real impertinence on my part.
are doomed to never see again my city, although it was me to save her, because I have a handsome man who wants me dead in the ribs. Nor do I believe that's enough "know myself" dead, by accident or wear: he will not be satisfied unless calm my stubbornness with his own hands to survive.
Yes, it is a personal matter, I do not see how could it be, since I have stolen his wife.

Let me introduce myself.
My name is Amedeo and dreams were a problematic issue for me before they go to war against the human race.
In my youth I had a recurring dream: I was underwater and breathing through gills that I had grown up on the neck. I tried doggedly to get back to the surface, but the weight of the water kept me on the ocean floor, and when I could win the waters and see the sun again, it was only to discover that the world was no longer there: was over, perhaps destroyed, the human race extinct and I was the only one left, the last of the men, although the gills. Suddenly a black tide overwhelms me, oil and death, I ended up under water again and this time I could not breathe and save me from death reached him: the sea serpent creature of gold and silver, sharp fangs, feral eyes, mouth and took me in, flying in the deep ocean, to leave death behind and finally, looking at me with eyes full of sweetness, sank its teeth into sharp my body. I would wake up screaming, and with the sheets soaked in sperm.
I do not know when the dream was started but never finished.

I was born and raised in the city of P., that our adversary, the evil Lucien, he chose as his first goal of his campaign of conquest, we had to be the glove in the face of the Confederation of Cities, the demonstration of the power Lucien, his challenge, his promise. I never knew why we, at the bottom of our city was only a frontier outpost that its economy was based on the textile industry and production of Xanax: of Indeed, what must have been the scene of its majestic entry into the scene, turned out to be the proverbial banana peel. The power of Lucien
time was consistent: he had found a way to realize their dreams. At first we did not know how we could, to date there are too few to get an idea of the truth, there were rumors of a mysterious machine, but in fact - once the enemy was defeated - all were very happy to know as little as possible. Basically, my city was invaded by a multitude of mirages delusional, crazy, absurd. I remember the judge
dancing naked on the table of the inn, women hung upside down to elder trees, and I remember the crack cocaine that were sold to the market and the widespread control of every citizen by the police, remember the nervousness of military, I remember the dead and gone, remember the ghosts and the fires in the streets, the masked men in their processions, and miserable, short sermon praising the end of each ideology **.

I remember everything, and I do not need to close their eyes to return to that dark period, yet to feel that power, and the frantic energy that reality to make it too bright, because the human eye could support the view, without paying the price, without losing my mind . In fact, I have every day before our eyes the flames of hell on earth, the sweet surrender to destruction, the subtle pleasure of destruction and death welcomed as a liberation, however, always reborn, incredulous and bewildered, into the world of perception, without knowing that it never really, what shred of humanity I have left.

I was but a lad of sixteen then, with eyes blue against which I could not do anything and blond hair that, unbeknownst to everyone, tinged with black. I worked as a laborer in a textile factory and I loved to dance. I can not in good conscience say that I love my city, I never thought of it that was more an inevitability of belonging, it was my home, probably was best in the world, and worse, but what is not mine I've always cared very little.
am the son of a foreigner with blond hair that I have never known, back across the border after my mother got pregnant girl, and all my people always told me wonders of this superman who had dissolved over the horizon, as a kind of redeemer or a mythological figure. I actually never cared anything about him. The truth is that I do not have a father and it was absurd to want me to fill in that stubborn head of dreams and illusions.
Well, I always loved the reality, as I have always believed that his actions that make a man and that actions speak louder than the truth. I enlisted in the army when the war began almost a year now, not because I loved the military life, but because this madness must be stopped and the old Master of Arms was one he shared with me little love for the bullshit. We
militia adopt a dual strategy to limit the damage. On the one hand, we were instructed to smash all the mirrors in the city, they were the window through which the power of Lucien was spreading, incurable endemic among the population, then, reinforced the city walls to keep out what it was outside and inside what was inside: could not allow the pandemic became endemic. So, we lived in a state of siege could prevent the enemy from out of town, but we did not know how to fight it, because you fight something evil that is within us. Lucien

agents within the city tried to find it, especially after I became the assistant of the Master was a bit 'as with the non-story of my father who did not tickle my vanity saying I was bound to succeed, I would become one of those men who make the difference in the world, saying that all I would have admired, believe all these fine prospects has always been beyond my ability. Basically, the power of Lucien was ineffective on me because I always did theories, theories that later proved to be the truth and, by a person intimately as immodest in fact I am, I always esteemed my truth more than anyone else. Including that of the master of the world. So it was that on a long journey, I followed the river, climbed the high mountains and m'inoltrai deep in the forest, until he reached a temple, where we go to order ...
But I'll tell you from war ' start to finish, just tell the facts as they have done, and I will talk about the shadow that project and that, in my knowledge, set my hand and there I will discuss how a man like me, concealed by hypocrisy in his pride, is sentenced to serve a master first and then the other finding - in the meantime - the strength to accept his fate a slave. *

Xanax, an anti-depressant
** The Future, Leonard Cohen.



Chapter One
When it all started, I worked in the factory of Mr. G., we were mostly destined to the packaging and junk carded by coats. I lived with my mother in the house where I was born, I knew everyone in the neighborhood and everyone knew me: I was the son of the foreigner. 112 drove a green pea that I had bought with my first savings, and continually insulted because he was uncomfortable, noisy and unreliable, but it was also the only car I could afford.
Lucien began its invasion quietly filed and more strange things that happened as the benevolence of fate, or - alternatively - a sign of bad luck. In fact, when it began to spread the word that the blond foreigner had been seen in the Town Square, I thought of some drunken hallucination. By the way, I never understood the obsession with people for that man, I do not think it was anything special, it was just my father. The mother, in truth, was rather skeptical and told me that there was no chance that he came back. Sometimes, I imagined that my mother after mating he ate like a mantis, so I'm without a father. So I fantasized that he was bitter over the sky and the stars, because there is no token of love than be consumed by the biggest of your life. Yes, sometimes I was surprised I was full of crap in my tiny brain. How was the city

before changing? It seemed that does not ever change.
Grey, methodical, male as well as some cities are feminine: a city accustomed to work, the noise of the looms, the smell of filthy rags that more, more lousy, most were rags, and more were on invaluable for a people who knew how to waste the wealth of the whole earth.
Flags of every nation, uniforms of generals and soldiers of every army, and skirts as a priest, Monsignor stockings, purple, cardinals, judges in robes, coats of policemen, the cops, the prison guards, bridal veils, lace yellowed strips infants: all of us, and all in rags, was to finish the history of the world *.
Together with rags, the foreigners had come to work: it was a city rich mine, which had a constant need for labor and had the money to pay for it. Blacks, Chinese, Hispanics, Indians, all arrived in the city and made part of, as they had been there forever, and soon distinguished himself as a black man from an Asian or a white man, because everyone assumed the greyish color dust and time.
All the money I earned them I spent the weekend with friends, went dancing or to the sea for the weekend. One evening I went with my
112 to go to a party in the nearby city of F., I waited a long time that event because it sounded a group that was particularly good music 70. When I arrived, I sat at a table and I was kidnapped by the singer. I stared at the makeup on her face, her long hair floated around that the blacks and the feline grace which charmed all the spectators. With a bound went up on stage, wearing jeans full of members of glitter and began to sing his songs of darkness and delusion. It was fabulous, her band accompanied him from the stars and beyond, I had never seen anything so spectacular, really something out of the ordinary. He sang all night, evoking ghosts fascinating that materialized from the shadows and danced on stage with him: femme fatale that each of us spectators gazed with delight, climbed on chairs to catch a ghostly representation of that moment and that was when, for the first time, I realized that this was too much. The magical storyteller continued to trap the audience in a web of seduction and notes and I walked away to avoid being entangled in the web of illusions.
I found a woman and we made love in the back seat of my car **.

The invasion was gradual, beginning only little quirks that everyone listed as a distraction of the mind: a dead person that greeted me from across the street, the coffee machine, which gave me a good morning in the morning, the fat woman of Botero that came from his frame and I found it that she was swimming in my bathtub, the day after we attacked in the bathroom of the Pirelli calendar.
dreams of your neighbors you traveled all day to the apartment and in the end the only moment of peace was the night when asleep, and then you knew you were dreaming. By day, you do not understand anything, what was true and what was not were so intertwined they can not distinguish: a man threw a baby against the wall because he had a smile too natural to be authentic. There was a widespread phobia of hallucinations, which over time became increasingly powerful, increasingly common, and finally - the last stage of our defeat - tangible. The crimes increased, the city was no longer a safe place, a curfew was in force at night, robberies, rapes, violent crimes grew exponentially, and when a thief came into my house, killing my mother's face, taken my decision: I entered the army to try to stem the end the world.
The Armsman recruited the greatest scientists on which he could get his hands, locked them in a laboratory and refused to let them out until they had not found a way to fight and destroy these illusions. At first, we were completely unaware of the dynamics of the curse that had rained down on his head, then realized that the ghosts could be kept away and dispersed with salt: the militia began to go around with loaded guns and a salt chase the illusions began with our immeasurable satisfaction.
I was in the Town Square when it happened, we were doing a patrol with my team and I saw him: blond, skinny, his head sunk between his shoulders slightly, his hair disheveled, his blue eyes on a face sharp cheekbones. The instant I pointed against my sawed-off shotgun loaded with rock salt and fired.
"Ouch! You hurt me, "he said.
"Pig shit," I said looking at him in disbelief. It was then that we discovered that the illusions had become real.
"I am not an illusion," said the blond man who looked like me, like a drop of water.
"Believe me," I replied, "I you are. "
bring the prisoner from the Master at Arms who looked grim and began to question him. The man, the image, the dream was clearly stronger than any other picture we had encountered so far, on him the salt had no effect, we had to figure out what was the reason for this resistance, and the Master of & rsquo ; Arms called me because unfortunately I had a lot to do with the illusion quell'adone linked to blond. I explained the situation to my boss, I told him how many people dream of the mythical creature that had disappeared over the horizon with the promise to return one day with many sweets for all, and the load of faith and hope that many poured over him, and we knew that the collective illusions were refractory to treatment.
The blond man looked at me and I pretending indifference.
"You are incredibly beautiful," she said. I gave him a smile, all teeth and I do not degnai to give him an answer, he began to turn myself around, took my hand as I was a doll and pulled away, I touched her hair uncertain, moved away the hand, looked skeptical my uniform and I looked at him grimly.
"Well, you'd be my son."
"No, I'm not. "
"But if you just said that ...."
"I said are not true, you're a collective hallucination, I do not believe in you and I do not care anything about all the bullshit that Lucien is trying to sell me."
hallucination did not blink, in exchange, the Master at Arms looked at me thoughtfully, and I had forgotten about the time where I was, because if I had realized, I would have held, but the presence of shadow in front of terrible in my eyes I devolved a bit '. As far as I persist in denying it, there was a anger inside me that, at the sight of the blond mane so familiar, was afloat, and affects my ability to reason.
"Amadeus," said the Master at Arms, "how about doing a trip? '.

* Cursed Tuscans, Curzio Malaparte
** Lady Stardust, David Bowie


Chapter Two
The Master at Arms was ready to take advantage of any opportunity to grab even the most tenuous opportunities, but to defeat Lucien and m'incaricò to start with the secret mission to kill the enemy of all. Why me? There were several reasons: first of all, I was expendable, then I had shown an unusual resistance to illusions and intolerance of a certain mode of the ruthless offensive. Above all, the new weapon used by Lucien, illusions tangible, the evolution from mere shadow of its distortion of reality, a reality in themselves - as the infinite source of arms for his army? What overflowing threat to the entire human race? - All this took the form of a doll biodiversity, the lovable character, who followed me like a dog, and had the appearance of my lost father. I think this did me a preordained. When bad luck rages ... I watched this tiny little creature, vaguely feminine, and I felt overwhelmed by anxiety: I wanted so much a different father, a father who worked at the factory like everyone else, calloused hands and strong arms and a man not a boy, skin and hair as dark as all the fathers of the world, but my boy was a fragile, insecure, from the huge soft eyes that seemed to want me to devour.

The Armsman my father and I decided that we would leave together. My real nightmare is not fair I never came off the heels, and even came to my house and, while I prepared the luggage, he and my mother were downstairs. A look, I presume, because I can not imagine what could ever say. My mother is a strong woman, invincible, tough, and my father, on his side, had nothing but good looks and sweetness of character - people like us - she was used to estimate very little. I went downstairs, looked slightly dazed and my mother forty real image of my father barely twenty years old, my mother seemed distressed: of course it did not dispute the need for my trip, the Master at Arms had decided that I should leave and then I had to leave, but the idea I should accompany me with the puzzled man.
"He's not your father," she said calmly, repeating what he already had told me when she saw him.
"But I know I Met Your Mother," I blurted out in exasperation, "I know."
"Do not be confused," he continued without any sign of hearing me, "a trick" ;.
"Yes, all right," assented patient.
"I admit that looks like it," said fording either me and him, "but he's too young. He was your age, how could it be your father? ".
"It is not," I said.
"No, it's not," then added with a look of stone, "you are my son."
I looked deep into those eyes of blacks, his dark skin, her hair pulled severely, his stern expression: this right, so appropriate, so the daughter of his people and his time.
"Of course they are, and who else I should be son?" the calmed with a smile, then could not resist the temptation, because really, sometimes people make fun of how my mother is irresistible.
"You're taking on a greenish color, mother, hugs her and gave her a kiss on the cheek," the jealousy makes you wrinkles. "
Mother merely tightening the lips and did not deny, a flash of irony crossed his eyes.
"I have no wrinkles," he said, unperturbed.
looked at her, as I left, still and proud at the front door like a statue, beautiful in its coldness, icy and stern, dark coll'abito appropriate to a woman of her age that the wind was flapping around. I feared for the first time that I would not have the magazine and felt the desire to stop Lucien because in the end there was something I wanted to protect the city I had never loved.

My directives planned to go to the sea in the city of C., who was the appointed place to vacation of my fellow citizens. I left the city by a special pass that I had been provided by the Master at Arms and walked to my destination in search of the circus sideshow, where according to the information I had received, there was a man acquainted with the facts. Me and my mate came smiling into the deserted city, there was not a soul on the streets and the sky was an unnatural transparency, pleasant climate, if it were not for the war, the whole town would have already ; transferred to sunbathe in the air ass, listening to stupid music and planning tours and tournaments pinnacle.

Find the circus sideshow was not difficult, it seemed deserted, the sun had faded and worn from the weather. I went and saw the famous phenomena of which the Master at Arms had heard and which I had ordered an investigation. They were not that articles of wax from the human form, self-propelled puppet packaged in glass cases, and each aquarium was a different scene. One was a bedroom and a doll dressed in lace and ruffles lay languidly on a canopy bed and a huge dark-skinned doll such as oil and penetrated by huge cock with passion and precision mechanics, and another plays the internal a subway where a girl doll, dressed in a school uniform, while a crying doll man ate the thick-rimmed glasses had slipped his hand under her skirt and moved jerkily, in another aquarium there were two men in the play the bathroom of a train station, in the knee of the other's penis in his mouth and moved her head back and forth endlessly.

watched those representations of sexual passion, without passion, and I thought it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever seen. Those shapely legs and those breasts looked hard at all unrealistic, but by dint of watching those representations of desire, my perceptions began to blur. If at first those freaks had seemed nothing more than puppets botched soon my brain was filled with water and my body was subject to external stimuli, I became sensitive to air hot and heavy that one could breathe in that tent, in the light of oil lamps that reinforced the shadows rather than leave, and then smell that smell, the smell of sex that should not be: because those things that mimicked the ' sexual act were not human, they could not produce secretions. It was all very strange, I was a circle in the head, and my vision blurred, I thought that what was burning incense in the censer was not to be and that I had to move out of that trap when the man who laughs, l & rsquo ; too tangible image of my late father, I grabbed his arm and drew my attention to a woman, even a girl who was sleeping in a small room isolated from the main. It was not enclosed in a glass case, wearing a white nightgown lace curves showed that the immature. Her skin was white and his hair blond, his lips were heart-shaped arms and clutched a white teddy bear and pink. My desire was kindled instantly, brutal, treacherous as it is often the desire. Gently stroked her face because she was the only perfection made flesh, the skin was cold as marble, and let my hands slide over his body to warm it, I was hypnotized by long lashes while leaning over the pallid face, stick his tongue in the mouth. I opened my legs, bringing it to me, I unbuttoned the flap of his trousers and with a single shot penetrated the decision. Inside it was hot, throbbing, alive, concluded in a few powerful thrusts, drops of blood stained the virginal bed, my clothes, I looked at the sleeping beauty malicious, I tried his guilt in what happened, why it could not have, in lying there in the midst of all the perversions, exposed to the gaze of all men who passed by, my father grabbed me and dragged me back out of that hood overwhelming.

Lucien was a trap I was there and fell in full. I raped a defenseless little girl, I took her head in her hands, overcome with disbelief, while my father casually stroked his head, "It's not your fault," he said, "do not cry, you did not do anything wrong. E 'Lucien blame. "
I listened to him, as far as I was able to upset my mind, his words were balm for my soul and the fever was devouring me, my head was bursting and I could not keep my eyes open: I fainted and felt the drowsiness of the disease flow of water, opening eyes - in the rare moments of lucidity - I discovered that we were on a barge and were going up the River.


Chapter Three
I do not know how long I was prey to the fever, but when I woke up my hair had been cut short and had said goodbye to the fiction of their pitch black, to return to a insignificant blonde. My beard, the same color unlikely, it was long and well kept. In my life, I never brought the beard: I have always felt too young to seriously be able to afford all that hair in my face. The first time I saw myself in a mirror, I did not recognize. That was not the first time I had. Sometimes, walking through the streets of my city, I watched my reflection in shop windows and the man I saw was not me. A rather curious thing, to not recognize me, that happened to me before the war, before Lucien, first of all. Once I had crossed on a Magnolfi my mother, who came out where Moretti had bought bread, and I went and asked the time. She looked me straight in the face, then gave me the time, I asked if I could offer her a coffee, and she smiled politely but inflexible, I gave spades. I watched her go with her shopping bags, fully aware that my mother had recognized me.

I finished up one of the merchants of the river barges. I had no idea what strange twist of fate I had been picked up by those people so reluctant to open up to foreigners, but that was not my main concern. My father was gone, I could not imagine what could have happened to that idiot, but that alone would not survive a day. I tried to ask the woman who sometimes appeared to take me to my room to eat and deal with the thoroughness and professionalism of a nurse, my needs, but its language was minimal standards and refused to endeavor to understand me.

The women of the people of the river had face covered with heavy white makeup, shave his eyebrows completely and if painted with a black pencil in position much higher than they are in reality, this gave them an expression of perpetual surprise. His mouth was painted red cherry, a kind of small heart which sealed immense mouths without teeth, but in reality, they had teeth, but they used to paint them in black: the effect was staggering. Personally, I am terrified and never failed to curse my father for leaving me alone in the midst of these strange creatures. The first time one of those women I appeared before my eyes, I had a shot and thereafter, would be excessive to say that I was used to. The men, as far as I was able to see, did not live on the boats, which were reserved only for females of the tribes they inhabited the home port, where the mighty barges moored from time to time, in their perennial trace the course River.

As soon as I was recovered, threw me in a cage in the hold, with a mattress as a bed and a bucket for my needs. I tried to ask questions, to understand that those intentions were terrible witches and I taped over your mouth with a muzzle, I tried to wiggle and a female huge, square as a man, I dislocated my shoulder twisting behind his back, all my attempted rebellion was quelled with the icy spray of a fire hydrant that I lashed the naked body. I do not know how long I was helpless, stark naked, in pain and gagged inside the cage, but my shoulder was almost healed when they began the night visits.

The first time I saw the witch who was watching me from the darkness, I did not know how long it was there. It was an old, or so it seemed from his posture slightly curved, because the form that each of them carried a time I could not even understand what age did, and even if they were male or female: there could be any thing down there. I discovered that, when actually she was a woman, entered my cell, stripped and squeezed her little body against my dark and rough. I tried to push it away, more in surprise than anything else, and the old woman slapped me so violently as to make me tingle your brain, I tried to respond again, incredulous that a woman could submit myself physically, and then she grabbed my genitals and squeezed so hard that tears me, threatening me in that language incomprehensible and horrible that I never wanted to learn. I let him take what he wanted, the old woman stubbornly stroked my hair and smiled at me with his mouth demonic darkness As I rubbed it on me: the only thing I could think was that I could never ever have an erection in that situation and that the old one was crazy if he thought that raping a man rape a woman was as easy as . He began to stroke with her little hands wrinkled from long painted nails cherry red and I alternately watched his face is drawn, and the skilled hands that without the slightest hesitation or timidity I masturbated and I buggered. The witch I rode for hours that night exhausted and when I pushed beneath me, I lost the light of reason, sinking violently inside her.

That was the first of many nights when my terrible witch came to visit me and slept with me in my bed. It happened sometimes that will stop them than sex, and then we talked, in that hated her language harsh and evil against my will now that I understood perfectly, and I would say in everyday language that you understand. Was sixty years old, was the wife of the chief elder of the tribe and the midwife. She spoke of herself without complacency, but I recognized in her the stigma of command and as the woman did not speak, I knew I had to face one of the cornerstones of the people of the River. Her name was Hazel, told me in his language meant that the morning star, and I told her that in my tongue the morning star was the devil. She laughed with his huge toothless mouth, he found it extremely funny, I stroked her hair long and wild, as he liked to do, a strange light in his eyes affectionately, then got up to leave, but I held her by the hand. I kissed the palm, not I forced to stay, mine was not that a kind invitation and my sweet witch stood where he was, as I knelt before her, and brought my mouth between her thighs.

The next night greeted the smiling, looked into my cell ready to accept it, I kissed her on the mouth with transport, which more than once I was allowed to do, and helped her to undress. Only when he was naked, I realized that was not Hazel. I was petrified by surprise, she noticed it but did not seem to notice and clung to me, I remained motionless as stone, dazed, wounded.
"Hazel soon tires of his toys," he said vaguely compassionate voice, "Now you belong to the women of the tribe. Do not create problems and you will live a long time: the last man who bought Hazel has learned the hard way what is the reward for the rebellion and was also the last thing he has learned. "
The woman was imposed on me as he had Hazel made the first time, he just stand still and looked at me with his eyes blacks such as stones, waiting for me resumption control of me, then I was to get close to her and kissed her mechanically and did what I had been bought for .

Time passed, I was soon no longer confined in the hold, but I was allowed to work with women on the bulkhead. I was a handsome young man, I had a beautiful body and long blond hair when the people of the river was as black as soot. Younger women loved to spend their time with me, playing and joking, and I looked at Hazel, she looked at me:
"You're doing it on purpose?" He asked, "you know which will be your reward for rebellion, my sweet? '.
"My lady, that I do not like you."
Hazel smiled amused.
"Oh, I know," he taunted her, "Mizar told me that the first night with her, you cried for disappointment, because I had succumbed to another. A man so sweet, you are. " Anger
me crushing her insides.
"And now trying to seduce my women, glue your pretty face and your cock. I want you to know only one thing, "his voice was like honey," despite the imperishable love I have for you, if something happens to any of my girls, I have to do violence to myself, and stamping. "
We looked malevolent, far from the sound of laughter of young women, I bowed and went back to the witch bitch in the hold: I opened the cage and I got locked out.
That night someone left it open my cage, quiet as the night went up to the surface. In the dark shadow was following my moves, I did not need to see her face to know who he was, looked at from a distance, then I threw in the cold waters of the River. I swam in the darkness toward the lights of the port, when I touched the ground My lungs were a painful bellow. In the distance I heard the melody of the tune freaks and replied to their call, until you reach the old circus in the tent, playing with a doll so much like me, was my father.


Chapter Four, "Look," he said, smiling slyly, "you got away," moves the arm of his puppet in a parody of greeting, "you do not I would have considered capable . Hazel must not be so terrible as everyone says, the rest is just a woman, these stories do not could be true. "
smiled without mirth, I wanted to kill him.
"Why did you do? Why did you sell? ".
"And why the fuck I should not do it," she said furiously, throwing away the puppet and coming towards me as if to hit me, 'I'm not your father, right? I am no one, not even have a real person, then why the fuck should not I do whatever I want, why the fuck I should not destroy you, damn you, I hate you as I have never hated anyone. But anyway as you never fail to remember, I have a past, and then you're really the only person I've ever hated. Is not it funny? ".
not find him funny, I had loaded myself that gun at me. The man outraged by the expression turned her ass and turned away.
"Do not leave," he said. He stopped instantly.
"I need you, I'll never face this journey without a companion."
I looked sullen, now no longer seemed so angry: he was too easy.

All the while I was still a prisoner Witches of the river, my father had traveled with the circus, working the puppet sex. She said she had discovered a natural talent to build the manikins, had begun by repairing them when damaged, and now he knew enough to be able to build new ones. I asked him why, if he was so good, had not made other, more beautiful and perhaps better. At first I had not answered, then looked at me puzzled, and said that the desires - sexual and otherwise - were something he did not understand much. He looked very embarrassed and I researched further.

My father introduced me to the circus people, told everyone that from now forward would be working with him and that one day I continued the family business. The owner of the circus, a short man with two huge mustache and round, I'm worthy of scornful look before returning to its core business, which consisted in counting the money. The others are well disposed, who more than not, and my aggregate passed relatively unnoticed.
circus moves from town to town, each of the workers seemed completely unaware or uninterested in the war that had broken out the intentions of conquest and Lucien, in cities where parking, we were always a full house: even if I did not know, mine was a famous circus in all countries of the north.
My father became increasingly obsessed with his dummy, he spent hours and hours in his workshop, where, in a basket next to the television, picking glass eyes to be planted on the puppets, the hangers were hung in every shape and color of hair , heads and legs from old bodybuilder lay abandoned on the counter when I went to work to bring him food. Even noticed that I had arrived and, without saying a word, lascai food on the table.
"You're the only person in my life," he said when I was already at the door. I paused, looked back. "If I were to feel desire, this is for you. There is nothing else for me out there. "
I looked at him blankly, not that what he said had surprised me. I suspected this was the source of his discomfort, his inability to find true love, of wanting something or someone deeply and profoundly: for him, sex was just like that of its mechanical puppets. Definitely dry.
My father looked at me with his clear eyes, suddenly seemed to me not at all similar to mine, rather than blind eye glass dummy; I did not answer in any way: I could say? I felt that he looked at me as I came out of his kingdom and I went back to court to make the fat lady.

From day one, my father gave me all the keys of his kingdom scarcassato and I put everything he had available, with one limitation. In the bunch of keys that I had prepared was also one of the lab, but I should not ever, ever enter into his secret lair when he was not there. I did promise and I promised, I had no intention of failing in my word, but he never failed to check every day that I had not contravened the order. I ended up wondering what to hide, I could not soon think of nothing else: I know.
It was a stormy night, the sky was blind with stars, thunder and lightning raged and my father was out drinking with the man crocodile crossed the threshold of its secret rooms. The laboratory was dark, I turned on the light and darkness I have to admit that thickens those fake human parts scattered everywhere were quite disturbing. Then I saw him at the beginning I thought it was just another doll, until he turned his head toward me and smiled.
"Hello," greeted me.
'Hey, you should not be here, "I said,' the puppeteer does not want anyone in his laboratory. "
The man approached and saw that he was naked, black as ebony skin and bulging muscles of a sprinter.
"Why," I said, "that physical well done! '.
Black smiled, "Thank you, part of my job keeping me informed. Are an acrobat. We, acrobats. "
To which I looked around and I realized I was being surrounded by blacks and muscular men, I counted nine, all equally confident smile and sculpted by master of the world.
"You're French? I asked, uncertain, "I heard you were coming from the Circle du Soleil acrobats. "
"Exactly," replied the boy, "how about a drink?".
I would not refuse and point out to him in there that I was not the host, or at least we were both, and I took the coffee offered. I saw others talking in a language unknown to me, looking around carefully and noticed that the cots were not there, the air smells of sweat and semen, and burning plastic, and asked if the performers did not live there for some time, but it made no sense: why my father would keep them there, waiting for what? I felt the eyes of men staring at me, and my heart began to beat irregularly, and my body before my brain realized that I was finished in the den of the lion, but never could get to my brain provide - even with all the bite of the case, the looks, those looks hungry, those naked bodies - I would never have come to think that I'd been sodomized, against my will, by all nine Moroccan acrobats, one after the & rsquo ; more.

I tried to make conversation and to hide the nervousness I congratulate them for their work. Mohammad replied saying
"We are capable of virtually anything, 'so I can not say in good conscience that he was not warned. I found myself transfixed by those dark eyes, like a modern St. Sebastian, and soon I was unable to move when the power of his gaze fell on me, it was painful.
not know how many times I was raped. I was crying, bleeding, drooling and begging, but nothing could quell a rapacity without remorse and indifferent like the storm raging outside, and now reached the intensity of a hurricane nightmare. I stretched out face down on an artificial silk bedspread pale orange color and in turn kept me nailed to the arms and legs. I stopped counting the penetration, but I think each of them has sodomized me at least twice. Soon I was no longer conscious of my body, only the feeling of an arsenal of swords that pierced me in turn: I was so beside myself that they could very well get me into pieces and play with my songs and, as far as I know , did.
And then, as if in obedience to an inaudible whistle, they stopped. He dressed, with an indifference almost offensive, and I cried and called her mother helpless to save me. Mohammad then helped me get dressed and pressed me into a hug that would be comforting.
"A gift for you," he said and gave me a yellow oval shaped container, plastic, inside was full of eyes.
I put on the door, sending in food to the storm, and I walked away from the circus and the city, walking was very painful, but I had to be alone, away from everyone. I took refuge on a mountain and I do not know how much time I spent there, hidden in the bush, playing marbles with my eyes and when each one of those fake eye was lost or faded, I decided it was time to go, when I got to lay flat when the city, I saw that nothing was left. The earth had swallowed it and all its inhabitants, the guilty and the innocent, the good and bad: from the depths of the earth had awakened the power of the primeval chaos that had erased all traces of man.

Much Do Webkinz Cost Canada

[QAF USA] Plaisir d'Amour

Title: Plaisir d'Amour
Fandom: Queer as Folk USA
Author: body-ko
Pairing: Brian / Justin
Rating: Pg15
Word Count : 457
Prompt: Weapon - Mathew Good @ 4:57 settenote
Summary: The message is clear: this is what you signed, remember (3x09).
Written by: Fifth week ( settenote ) @ F3.UCKS Fest of fanfic_italia

you repeat in your mind & ndash , like a mantra - that you love him, love him, love him ... and slowly go down the stairs, and you go home. He is busy with his appointment of eleven: the guy was a pretty boy, judging from the horrible French accent. You are not jealous, it would be childish At this point, only a little 'you have a companion in your youth did not know: is the shadow that hangs over you, watching you silent and patient, challenges you to venture even a step beyond the circle of light of your will, ready to skinned alive if you let it. It will not happen, because you're a man and a boy, and you've made your choices aware of the consequences and decided to go through.

He loves you, you know. In its way, and his love is worth more than many others, but sometimes you wonder if it is so wrong to want a partner that is yours alone, and I mentally scolded Why do not you should not even make certain the questions, after seeing what happened with Ethan.
No, the point is that you love him, and you've never loved anyone else as you love him and accept his condition and have the terms and in ways that he has established.

E 'convinced that the reports are intended to finish, it is not strange as the educational model that provided the alcoholic mother and violent father. So - in a dysfunctional and immature reasoning that few minds are capable of weaving the threads - if you're not involved in a relationship, in fact this can not even finish, right? And no risk of being hurt, or disappoint the person you love, make her suffer. Make a dejected sigh, if it were simple, if someone would have taken years, rather than just waiting for you, under that streetlight.

Once you sit on the couch at home in the company of a bowl of chocolate ice cream and air guitars of Metallica. You have to be strong, you can no longer afford hesitations and weaknesses: the princess in an ivory tower has already forgiven you once, and that tonight was only the first of many obstacles which you must pass in order to prove yourself. The message is clear: this is that for which you signed up, remember that. You left because he did not accept to be in a relationship and did not want to hear about monogamy, and he did not fail to remember that nothing has changed, and it will be better for you to be sure of what you want.

for a masochist like you to be - literally and metaphorically - to ninety in front of Brian Kinney, is a multiple orgasm.