Fleetwood Travel Trailer Owners Manual

[Original] Soul

Title: My Soul
Author: body-ko
Fandom: Original
Rating: R
Word Count: 1260 (W)
Prompt: White - TricoloreChallenge@fanworld.it
Summary: Dear Thomas, not racking their brains trying to figure out who they are, because you can not understand it. For the simple reason that the two of us we do not know. I caught your name and your address by accident, I've never seen and I do not think the two of us we meet ever. Which makes you the ideal person for my purposes.

Returning from work, Thomas Moretti pulled his SUV in the garage and took the elevator by pressing on the five. As he climbed, glanced at the mail that had just recovered and between advertising to fitness centers and shopping centers, he found a white envelope. He looked carefully, were years that he did not see one, there was a stamp with the post office stamp of Montevarchi. Montevarchi? Where the hell is Montevarchi, but above all those who knew him there? The apartment
quiet and immaculate, Thomas was lying on the couch. He wore a suit and comfortable, after eating dinner, the maid had put aside, it was decided to open the mysterious envelope. Probably it was a love him, he said. Only those in love do stupid things like that.

Dear Thomas,
not racking their brains trying to figure out who they are, because you can not understand it. For the simple reason that the two of us we do not know. I caught your name and your address by accident, I've never seen and I do not think the two of us we meet ever. Which makes you the ideal person for my purposes.
See, at home I can not speak, I can not speak * really * I mean, and what is likely to hinder my learning process, so I decided that I will speak with you. The fact that you're a green-skinned alien who lives in the galaxy of Tannoiser makes it easier, and there is no cause for embarrassment between us, so relax and not think too much.
My name is Luke, and I'm seventeen years. The reason for my inner drama is only one. Sure, acne is a significant problem, or the fact that I'm gay, but they are all accessories. The real drama you know what? My father is a fucking homophobe! Here is what is the real tragedy.
Now, I have thought and thought, and came to some decisions.
First: of course my father will never know that I like the pea, and this at least until I will have to support themselves financially, because I would go into the street. Wondering if I'm not exaggerating? I'm not exaggerating, and it will be better for you to believe me.
Second: I can not tell my mother, that would put it in a very bad situation. Should choose between betraying his son, or betray her husband a nice birthday present, huh?
third point: no big game here. I live in a small town, here's gay there are, because if there were, everyone would know. In fact, I'm not sure people will not have noticed me, even before I was aware of it myself. In this regard, I'm considering myself a girlfriend of coverage.
Fourthly: Plans for the future. After high school I find a job, I'm going to live on my own in a squalid apartment in the suburbs, and I find a man with whom to share a discreet and sober life of sodomy, perversion and creeping subversion of the established order.
This is my dream, my dear Thomas. Living fairly complete debauchery, and persevere in the inversion sex until I get a fuck able to rise. And get this, I will lie, cheat, and - finally - deny the blood of my blood.
I can not wait.
Thomas
That weekend went, it was wrong for a long time local, but suddenly he had taken the light than was lucky to live in Milan, with a plurality of perversion and subversion that hung from gnarled branches, just waiting to be seized. In thirty-four years was the world had caught several fruits of sin, and sometimes had seemed not worth repeating the same experiences. But that night his thoughts were gone in the opposite direction: to be sucking cock in a darkroom will not be as exciting as it was at first, but it is indecent even for someone like him complain about an evening spent between talented mouths and fucking wild. It was a superficial, it said in a fit of introspection, he never thought to those who were worse than him.

Dear Thomas,
are a dickhead.
I did something that I thought I could do: I was ready for anything, right? I told you so, so I went ahead with floor with his head down. Moreover, it is not lying to you if they are lying. But, they are just excuses. I do not want to be the kind of man that 'the fault of the other crap he does, I think, I have no idea what kind of man will become, so far I just thought about how to be a fag freely.
Her name is Mara and it is naive: it has the least understood that I am using. But it is also nice and interesting and we have fun together. If only I was born normal. I will tell you the truth, because he deserves something better and I really feel like shit. However
I knew for the first time someone like me. It 'happened on the train, I was returning from a visit to relatives, dozing in the compartment half-empty. At one point I woke up because I feel that someone is taking with his cock, and who I am before you? A big fat, greasy-haired, looking at me with his piggy eyes as I had been a pastry cream.
I pushed away and I left disgusted. I shut myself in the bathroom and I started crying like a shrinking violet, I had my dick hard as a rock.
How does' that song? Young, free, and gay, and down to dance in the joys of homosexuality. You ever thought about how cruel it is to create images in the minds of young people who are destined to break as soon as one leaves the house? Every time I see one of those fucking advertising where everyone is happy, I want to set fire to the TV.

Thomas was the only one left in the office, he decided to get out of there.
"Good night, sir," said the watchman, when it passed in front of his desk. Thomas answered with a nod, then went back to his feet and stood in front of the keeper. The man seemed to begin to sweat, was fat and blond, with huge blue eyes.
"Arthur," Thomas began, after having studied the name on the badge, "you are heterosexual, right?".
Man became glassy, "I ..." he stammered, "... here," he did not know what to say, that was certainly a trick question, "usually yes, sir."
"Usually?" Repeated raising an eyebrow, "Okay, I'm pleased. I want to know from you that you are almost completely straight: you think that the life of a homosexual is bleak? ".
"Hell no, sir!" S'infervorò, the guardian, "I think the gay brush like hedgehogs: blessed are you", then resumed his semblance of professionalism, "that is no offense, sir. "
Thomas looked at him impassively, "Thank you, Arturo. You just threw a new light on my whole life. " He went off, followed by a puzzled look.

was still in his car, parked under the house, in a quiet neighborhood of mansions ultralusso and lush gardens. He picked up the phone and made the call, rang several times before someone answered.
"I'm Thomas Moretti," he said without preamble, on the other end, long moments of silence.
"Good evening," said a child's voice then, with confidence high simulated. Thomas smiled that guy had style.
"Good evening to you, Luke", counterattacked with a persuasive voice.
"What I owe the pleasure?" Not a shadow of suspicion darkened that crystalline voice.
"I got tired of waiting, "he said," I think in the end you decide to make an appointment? ".

Slogans For Tanning Salon

My Big Damn Table


Fandom: Oz
Author: body-ko
Character: Tobias Beecher
Table © Fanfic100ita

001.	Start.	002.	Intermezzo.	003.	Finish.	004.	interiority.	005.	appearance.
006.	hours.	007.	Days.	008.	Weeks.	009.	months.	010.	Years.
011.	Red.	012.	Orange.	013.	Yellow.	014.	Verde.	015.	Blue
016.	Porpora.	017.	Brown.	018.	Black	019.	White.	020.	Without colors.
021.	friends.	022.	Enemies.	023.	Lovers.	024.	Family.	025.	Strangers.
026.	teammates.	027.	Parents.	028.	Sons.	029.	Birth.	030.	Death.
031.	Alba.	032.	Sunset.	033.	too.	034.	too little.	035.	Sixth Sense.
036.	Smell.	037.	Hearing.	038.	Touch.	039.	Taste.	040.	Vista.
041.	forms.	042.	Triangle.	043.	Diamond.	044.	Circle.	045.	Moon.
046.	Stars.	047.	Hearts.	048.	Quadri.	049.	Flowers.	050.	Spades.
051.	Water.	052.	Fire.	053.	Earth.	054.	Air.	055.	Spirit.
056.	Breakfast.	057.	Lunch.	058.	Supper.	059.	Food.	060.	drinks.
061.	Winter.	062.	Spring.	063.	Estate.	064.	Fall.	065.	seasons.
066.	Rain.	067.	Snow.	068.	Lightning.	069.	Thunder.	070.	Storm.
071.	Rotto.	072.	Fixed.	073.	Light.	074.	Darkness.	075.	Shadow.
076.	Who?	077.	What?	078.	Where?	079.	When?	080.	Why?
081.	How?	082. If	.	083.	E.	084.	him	085.	Lei
086.	Choices.	087.	Life.	088.	School.	089.	job.	090.	House.
091.	Birthday.	092.	Christmas.	093.	Thanksgiving.	094.	Independence.	095.	New Year.
096.	Choice.	097.	Choice.	098.	Choice.	099.	Choice.	100.	Choice.

Physically Stronger Wife

[Original]

Title: Back Home
Author: body-ko
Fandom: Original
Rating: R
Word Count: 1172 (W)
Prompt: Verde - TricoloreChallenge@fanworld.it
Summary: was accustomed to the feeling of slow decay, decay and disintegration, overlooking the woods in autumn.

The Buik black, immaculately polished, stopped at the roadblock.
"Hence you do not pass," said a soldier leaning out the window. Inside he saw a woman who had never seen, she was wearing the uniform of the Reich, and a pair of enormous glasses hid his eyes blacks.
"I have a special permit," she said with a dry voice and gave the soldier a package countersigned by the command.
"Hence there is not any," insisted the man without even looking, "these The following orders. "
The woman gave a deep sigh:
"Can you give me the courtesy to inform his superiors?" The woman asked with a persuasive voice, "Tell them that corporal Mariza Miller asks for permission to cross the border ' .
The soldier looked at her suspiciously, he seemed all a colossal idiot, no one could cross the border and certainly not a woman alone. But security soaked in the voice of the kind of soldier with her tits, somehow, made him resolve to make a phone call for confirmation.
He returned after a few minutes, he motioned to the other soldiers to raise the bar and move the barbed wire: the Buik departed and soon disappeared from sight, swallowed by the forest.
"Who the fuck is that woman?" Asked the soldier to his comrade, fumandosi a cigarette on the sly.
"If you ask me," replied his colleague with a blank expression in the tired blue eyes, "that's why we lose this war."

The air was clear on that autumn afternoon, the rain had taken away all impurities, and crystalline Buik advancing cautiously in reality that surrounded him, and that weakened by the eye with his uncompromising purity: in the forest all was exactly what it seemed.
The sky was full of sulfurous clouds, full of new rain, and the girl looked thoughtful as he soon had to abandon the car to walk, and the trip could become very uncomfortable.
The dirt road ended and Mariza got out, venturing on foot into the forest. The leaves of the forest sparkled, touched by nicotine-stained fingers of light, blackberries, grapes dangling from the brambles, they lay on the ground bark of beech and acorn shells stuck in the mud between the reddish and withered ferns, the rain had so equinox soaked the soil to make it similar to a swamp, the thick military boots Mariza sank in the mud, but the woman there did not care. It was prepared for what you would find in the forest, because only one person knew the territory better than she had lived most of his life in the forest. She was used to the feeling of slow decay, decay and disintegration, which dominated the forest in autumn, was accustomed to elders withered-looking anorexic, firs, which closes on her, as if to remind you that after entering the forest, was more free, but his life belonged to the lord of the woods, and he alone could decide to let it go. Patient knew that silence, the rustling of the trees was like the soft rustle of the skirts of women anxious about that, blinded by the sharp brilliance of the forest, had never managed to get out. Among the trees blacks chased crows, occasionally throwing raucous ways in the air. A stream from the black water and the banks made treacherous by mud flowing from the depths of the forest: Mariza had never followed the course of the river, and suddenly wondered where those unhealthy water sprang. Their origin, however, knew her. The river rose from a rock, which was located near an old rectory, inhabited by an old, old, creature of human had only the appearance.

Mariza came across from the parsonage, it was a simple and durable construction as the very foundations of the earth around the building, a garden of stone statues that once were women: they called the cemetery of the virgins; Corporal ignored the horrors that surrounded him, had long since ceased to mourn for the slaves, the sons of slaves and destined for death of slaves. He took off his sunglasses that gave it form, he looked like a woman no longer young, the fine lines marked face, his eyes were green, green as green apples, Wrecks covered in green as seaweed and her eyes were so big, an unnatural glow and left, like those of werewolves. Mariza's eyes were a mirror, reflecting the fate of those who travel in the shadow of death, they are trapped in an invisible and durable spider the minds of men, who were forced to watch again and again a reflection of their most dark fears there was a black hole at the center of his eyes, was their heart still, and every human being who had laid eyes for too long, it was crazy.
knocked on the door of the rectory, the man came to open eyes and a pair of identical to her to keep it a few inches away, he stepped aside to let her in and Mariza was home again. The King of the Gnomes was an extraordinary housewife, her poor house was impeccable: the pots and dishes clean lay in perfect order by the fireplace, as well-polished shoes, the fireplace hung garlands of dried mushrooms made of thin type, enriched jew called ears, and grew on trees elder when he chose a Judas to hang himself, were kept in jars multicolored piles of dried herbs: thyme, marjoram, sage, vervain, wormwood and yarrow and the room was full of music and perfumes, the fire in the fireplace, always lit, the room cheered with his flame and bathed in a sweet and acrid smoke.
"Stay for dinner?" He asked with a soft voice.
"I'm back for good, my lord," replied the woman. The man laughed, pleased.
"Are you tired of your wandering?".
"I'm tired of humans to me. Do not know what they were able in this last war, "she threw herself on the couch, loosening his collar," and then we would be bad. "
The man sat down next to his beloved, and she lay her head on his knees, big calloused hands caressing his hair and traced the contours of the androgynous face gently inhuman. With the same ease with which skin a rabbit, the King of the Gnomes took off his uniform, to discover a body lean, white-skinned, then bent to kiss her with his tongue, rough as sandpaper. The licked her neck, chest, back and thighs and then, and at every stroke of the rough language, removed a layer of skin, to leave a shiny layer of hair. The nails returned claws, ears took over the tip of their original shape and eyes, which were the key to his mystery, to rediscover their vertical pupil, loving, old lord of the forest watching the wolf that lay in her lap.
"Welcome home, my daughter."


Citations to still satisfy the King of Gnomes and The Bride of the Tiger of Angela Carter.

Fortiguard Web Filter

Back Home [Original] Fetish

Title: Fetish
Author: body-ko
Fandom: Original
Rating: R
Word Count: 1933 (W)
Prompt: Red - TricoloreChallenge @ fanworld.it
Summary: agents broke down the door of the hotel room and is catapulted in, weapons in hand. The man inside was sleeping when they were entered, did not even have time to put your feet up off the bed, automatic pistols, which had three points with three different vital organs : raised his hands, holding my breath.

Yoshiro had many talents: he could recognize a song just to hear a few notes, was able to imitate the handwriting of anyone, and instead spoke fluently. All useful things, in fact worked as a dishwasher in a local third-rate, and lived in a neighborhood where walking around with a knife in the back pocket of your jeans was the norm. To him the arms were fear, as he did not like the big, burly men, women and bad. The women in his neighborhood were able to skin a man using only their sharp painted nails ruby red. He, if he saw a drop of blood, fainted.
short, Yoshiro really had the spirit of the warrior, and then he did not, however, the physical low, minute, and saw us as a myopic mole. Blacks wore their hair long and were tied them in a ponytail, her little almond eyes were protected by lenses as thick as bottle bottoms, and the clothes he was wearing - for one reason or another - always ended by hanging him like a coat rack.
Among its many talents, ve only had one that was of any use. He knew how to draw. It was pretty good and had specialized in capturing the human figure on paper. Why draw anything else, would make no sense.
That night was pure fate to that corner of his eye, he saw the flicker of a dark red, intense, and then spotted a target of respect: he was a boy with thick crimson curls, he was sitting sadly a table of the restaurant, hidden in a dark corner, so that nearly Yoshiro if it was lost. It would be a shame. The place was full
shamefully, there was so so many people that the owner had been ordered not to enter any more. Yoshi was able to take a fifteen minute break and left for the room with his weapons in hand, she chose the best vantage point possible, and - unnoticed - he began to paint the big guy. Why yes, big men made him uneasy, especially if they pecked at a deserted subway in the middle of the night, watching from a distance but did not mind at all. And this guy was a feast for the eyes: soft flame-colored hair, white skin and shoulder hours in the gym. He was tall and four feet eighties, solid and well made, muscular shapely legs glimpsed in the torn jeans: a real crash, and Yoshi caught him on his sketchbook with meticulous precision and from every possible angle. E 'bravo Yoshi, can draw really well, and his plan is really the same as the original, except for one thing. The man is naked portraits of her.
When he had finished, sheathed his sharp pencil, and looking at the result, he smiled: "You're craving a little bitch, right?" She whispered to the picture, "And so tonight I'll have fun."

agents broke down the door of the hotel room and is catapulted in, weapons in hand. The man inside was sleeping when they were entered, did not even have time to put your feet up off the bed, automatic pistols, which had three points with three different vital organs: raised his hands, holding my breath.
"Mike Sullivan is under arrest for the murder of Eliza Lopez," said the agent while handcuffed him with moves elite and little delicate, "has the right to remain silent. Whatever you say can and will be used against her in court. Has the right to a lawyer present during questioning. If you can not afford a lawyer, will be awarded him an office, "after handcuffed, the official hit him with an elbow in the ribs" and this is what we in Texas of a man who kills his wife. " Mike
doubled over, spitting blood.
In the interrogation room was hot, unbearably hot. Mike was sitting with his hands handcuffed behind his back, a small brown table. He was there for a while ', waited and waited, and his t-shirt was soaked with sweat. After a man entered an eternity
thin as a rail, blacks hair, thick mustache, a ruddy face. The man made a sign with an agent to take off the handcuffs and Mike rubbed his wrists sore.
"I am Inspector Black," the man said, "you and I have to do a good chat."
"About what?" Asked the boy without even looking.
"Oh come on, can not know, have talked about all the news, he sees his picture on the news. It is in very good photo, congratulations. "
The boy made a guttural sound: laughter born deformed.
"Well, not really anything to say to me?"
"I want a lawyer."
"It's coming," the detective replied deadpan, "And when it's here, she will be indicted for the murder of his wife, unless it has something to say. I am giving the opportunity, I'm listening to: the arrival of the lawyer will get in the car and what she has to say no count more than anything, I'm afraid. "
Mike shook his head in disbelief and despair.
"I have not killed."
"Okay."
"When I left, she was still alive."
"I see, the man stroked his mustache," then you were on good terms? ".
The boy was silent for a split second:
"Yes, we were on good terms."
"And she has not threatened?". Blacks nailed the eyes Men exposed as a butterfly in a collector's showcase.
"No ... yes, I did, but I did not mean it. Jesus, I never hit a woman "
" Sure, I understand. Well, this changes everything. "
angry blue eyes are pointed at sull'ispettore.
"I'm taking the piss?"
"No, nothing like I thought. Neither of us is here for your enjoyment. I'm just saying that when I said I really did not want to kill her. And the thing that got out of hand. "
"No, no, you did not understand anything. "
"What job did your wife?" Replied the inspector without any sign of having heard.
The boy looked around, like a trapped animal.
"She was a dancer."
"Fascinating. I am very fond of ballet, Swan Lake, "directed by Sergeev I think it was one of the most exciting shows I've ever seen. It 'was in Chicago two years ago, my wife took me for my birthday. "
Mike looked at the small man, impeccably dressed, who sat opposite, as if you do not understand what he said.
"He works in a night, does the lap dance," paused a moment, then corrected himself, "He."
"Yes, and that she did not mind dancing naked around a pole?".
The boy, in response, pursed his lips and twisted her hands nervously.
"I think the thing did not make her particularly happy, I am a man, never accept that my wife did such a work."
"No, no," s'impuntò the boy, "is how he thinks ... yes, that is, I did not want to continue with that work shit, and we argued about that, but I have not killed. "
Inspector Black drew an iron fist from beneath the velvet glove, the expression of her eyes was exactly the same, uncompromising voice.
"That woman was a bitch that gave around and she could not bear it: he has betrayed his trust, he said he loved her, but did not care about her, she was a woman recently who did not know the value of loyalty '.
"Yes. no .. "Babbles the kid, looking around in for help, feeling doomed.
"That's why he killed her," continued the inspector, "did not want to but found himself almost by accident, with his hands around his neck and, unaware of his own strength, has close until he stopped breathing. "
"No, no," the boy stood red-faced, angry, determined to jump on the cop, 'I did, I did not! ", Screamed and threw himself against the his nemesis, his hands outstretched, ready to grab that thin neck, but ducked Black with unexpected speed, and struck him with the cutting off of hands behind the neck, reducing him to his knees, and two police officers swooped into the interrogation room, and wrists of Mike Sullivan knew the cold again metal.
"Bastard son of a bitch, I did, I did not," shouted the two policemen while they were taking him away.
A policeman appeared in the room, the inspector Black smoked quietly.
"Call the attorney," she said lustily sucking his cigar, "the offending."

The day had not started in the best way to detective Black. Just out of the house that morning, a car had buffered and had just spent an hour with the other driver who obviously wanted to fight. Black did not like the war, when all around him people were beginning to get excited, however he turned to ice. He calmed the old Irishman who had invested in his jalopy, saying coldly that offend a public official, was not a good idea, and another had hastily swallowed the bile. This does not comfort him the lump in the body of his mustang. Now
watched his fellow Chinese to question the little nervous in a corner of his mind churning to the fate of his love for the rest listened impassively closed in a mask.
"So when they'd made them?" Asked the inspector McDuff with skepticism and the hardness of the order.
"There is a date written above," said Yoshiro dejected, "is a habit I have. I always put the date on my drawings. "
"A habit ... How to paint naked men. "
The boy blushed, but looked down.
"Yes, more or less. "
"Why did not you live before?" The man urged.
"I did not know anything until two days ago!" Yoshiro defended himself, "I do not have television at home and restaurant work only part-time, when the agents came to check the alibi of Mr. Sullivan I was not there. "
"So you think I should believe you when you say you see things and people that no one else, in a room full of people, has seen."
Yoshiro suddenly felt very inadequate, the rest was the first time someone implied that he was weak-minded, but he recovered quickly: he was not crazy!
"I said I only what I saw," murmured offended, "And I have nothing to justify."
"This is all to see," McDuff said with a menacing smile like a shark.

Black was in his office, flipping through the yellow pages to find a panel beater for classic cars, when McDuff went, furiously chewing gum. Since I was trying to quit smoking, chewing time.
"How is your mustang?" he asked sitting up.
'Evil, dick, "Black said, barely raising his eyes," that asshole Irish is lucky if I shot him. " Hector smiled
McDuff understanding, all within the police were aware of the inspector's unswerving dedication to his car.
"What do you think of Chinese? Asked at the end.
"What has an undeniable penchant for huge cocks."
"All of these perverts East," agreed Hector. Black
he found a panel beater that could be for her, and marked the number on a post-it.
"You believe him?" He asked, continuing to turn the pages.
"Yes," replied Hector sadly.
"Times?".
'coincide'.
"Well, then there is little to do."
Inspector stood up and started to leave Black to his search for a nurse for his beloved, but stopped at the door.
"Do you realize that it is only the passion of the Chinese for the cock that has preserved that asshole from ending up on the electric chair? ".
Black looked up at his colleague, the two looked straight into his eyes for a few seconds, and both discovered the teeth in a smile that had very little fun.

Getting A Fake Id In London Ontario

[Generation Kill] The Lover of Dreams

Title: Dream Lover
Author: body-ko
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters: Brad Colbert / Person
Ray Rating: R
Word Count: 711 (W)
Summary: "Fifty-six minutes," said Brad Colbert, getting up and checking his watch, "I slept fifty-six minutes and I did only a dream." (Episode 1.05)

was in a sleeping bag between the sky and the desert, the man beneath him lazily stroked her hair while Brad kissed him on the mouth, taking all the time in the world, savoring slowly. Kissed him and kissed him, and kissed him and the other said of her kisses and left to eat small bites and put up with his tongue, the body lean and tanned lay completely abandoned him, relaxed and soothed.
"Hey, Brad," the well-known voice brought him back to reality, "we are starting friend. "
"Fifty-six minutes," said Brad Colbert, getting up and checking his watch, "I slept fifty-six minutes and I did only a dream."
"You at least have a dream," Ray replied.
"You were there, we were in Afghanistan"
"You were naked?" Brad
face half smiled but said nothing.

"So you were naked?" Ray addressed him the following night, as resuming a conversation interrupted a few minutes before. Brad was looking at a map while Trombley and Reporter slept in the back seat. Brad looked up and looked at him a certain type, a sly smile on his lips.
"Jesus, Brad, keep doing that sort of dreams?" Ray turned his eyes in exasperation, "sergeant knows, such behavior is outside the rules. Highly outside the rules. "
"It would be outside the rules if you molest really dream of doing so is given."
"It is not allowed to own anything!" Ray blurted, "Well friend, that having a safe sex mess is not unusual in the Jewish middle class family in Boston, but now you're in the Marines. Fuck you dream of your middle is, uncivilized, here. "
Brad turned his gaze on thin, nervous man who knew him so well on her way to the warm night with the memories of Afghanistan of his dreams.
"Do not I fucking", adding, "I kissed her." Ray shook his head in disbelief and exasperation.
"But you were naked, beneath me, then chances are you'd already fucked enough."
Ray laughed.
"You are a perverted son of a bitch, you know."
years was now in a dream that Brad is fucking his communications officer, one could safely say that now know him more intimately than anyone else, and when she told Ray the first time, the boy was left staring dumbfounded at open mouth: one of the few times when Ray Person was left speechless. Brad has since never failed to bring back word for word all the filth that made two of them, at night, in the strangest places, and in the most avant-garde, some of which were able to do even blush that face of his second bronze.
"You know, I begin to understand what are you doing all the time on the Internet," said Ray, "I discharged every gift of God to porn movies that you can find. I mean: you're obviously an expert. Shit, you could share with your old friend Ray-Ray. Give us the really good stuff, I never found anything like that, and believe me I tried. "
"I'm sure you've tried," said Brad, "and I'm sure you'll continue to search diligently. But I am sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not usually spend my evenings in front of a computer screen to look at fat women and big breasts unlikely to work her vagina like a blacksmith hammering a nail, claiming to be the most erotic thing since the discovery of ice cream. "
Ray looked at him with laughter in his eyes, "but then how can you be so good? Do not tell me you've learned in practice, because no man can do so much practice, unless it is a pornodivo. Brad looked at her question, 'E' as sergeant pornodivo does when not on mission for the U.S. Army? ".
Brad smiled looking at his friend: "The truth is that you are a constant source of inspiration. "
"Yeah, well, I know I'm a very sexy man, I have often said, there is no need to feel embarrassed, sir, because he has fantasies about me, many have. Even if you think about it, at least if he felt "a bit" embarrassed, would not be so bad. "
"In the last dream I had had their hands tied behind his back and called me Dad."
Ray bowed his head and began to beat her repeatedly against the steering wheel of the Humvee.

Building Miniature Horse Hay Feeder

Fic: [Glee] [Faberry] Fire

Title: Fire
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Rachel /
Quinn Rating: R
Words: 726
Disclaimer: I do not own the show nor any of these characters. If they were mine, I'd be rich first, and second, surely there would be a conspiracy in place to prevent them ever closer to each other! (Which is a damn shame, because Lea Michele and Dianna Agron have a great chemistry!)
Warnings: Femslash in all its majestic power (no lol oh well, no hot lesbian sex, there is too galvanized)
Spoilers: Sectionals, perhaps? It is not stating anything about that anyway.
Author's Notes: This happens when Glee faberry without end and when I read an obscene amount of faberry fanfictions. The song that I was inspired by the crime is: Fire Bruce Springsteen originally, sung by Kristin Chenoweth in Glee and Matthew Morrison.
Summary: "I say I do not like it, But you know I'ma liar Cases When we kiss, oooh fire. "


I hate what I do.
I hate the feelings aroused in me. Feelings that should not exist.
Damn, I'm Quinn Fabray, the Queen of this stupid school.

[Or at least it was a few months ago.]

And now? Who am I now? What am I doing in the car most annoying person on the planet?
Rachel Berry, with his horrid hand-made sweaters, his fake smiles,

[there is so much sadness behind those smiles]

Stakhanovism his suicide, enthusiasm and inappropriate chatter that they do come probably wants to 99.9% of people put a sock in his mouth.
not really know what I take. I must be crazy. Test output. The hormones of pregnancy to be fully taken possession of my body. Maybe the aliens abducted me while I slept.

[or maybe you just can not find it so unbearable]

There is no explanation otherwise. There is no explanation for the fact that for a month now I let it take me home.
But when she lowers the radio (some stupid showtune), the machine stopped in the parking lot a few miles from my home, and kisses me, drawing her to him, I do not protest.
I hate Rachel Berry, really. But when she kisses me, everything is fire. My body burning and tingling of pure energy. And I can not help it. It is impossible to stop.
And she knows it. You know that, no matter how insulting every day of his school life, everything I say is a lie. Everything I try to convince me is a lie.
But I can not live otherwise. I have always lived in a lie.
is read as if after all the layers of steel that I built to defend myself. And he knows
chin when I say I want to stay alone in a cold house and an enemy in every respect. He knows that behind my detached façade, my skin, my muscles, my whole body quivers painfully, almost tending towards his touch.
I always hated so much by surprise to many people. What had I done? But was her own exist, to make me get excited. That
his way to sneak under the skin almost unnoticed.
It started when I heard her singing for the first time. Since then, I could not put out the fire that burned inside me whenever Nanetta

[not so low now that I think]

had the indecency to open his mouth. I attacked the fire with buckets and buckets of cold water, not giving importance to the flame that was getting higher. I invented the epithets most unlikely to buckle. I humiliated in every way known to man. But the flame still flickering, almost mocking.

against my will, my mind compare our story to all those that came before. It could almost be a story to Romeo and Juliet, except that a) I hate it b) I have no intention of being Romeo c) Juliet was an idiot, and there is absolutely no way that I can identify with she

[c) we would not finish as they ever].

But when he kisses me, holy God.
There's nothing left. Romeo and Juliet are nothing in comparison. No comparison with any stupid stupid natural event can never describe what I feel when that subspecies of Streisand wannabe-kiss me. Burn my hands on her hips, her cheeks. My lips are burned permanently.
And after every kiss, I feel the fire, instead of fading, increases its momentum, but moves, deeper and deeper. Lower and lower.
After each kiss, I feel as if I had one thousand km journey on their knees, as if I climbed Everest, as if I just left a session of ECT.
And it's really stupid to think of it, but it is as if the fire had consumed everything. All the lies and falsehoods. All gone. And I would really give me a slap on the forehead for having exchanged the fire of hatred. Because I never loved so much sunburn in my life.
And I would not ever stop, and I want the fire to overwhelm me to consume every bit of me, except my lips.
her, she has always been aware of this. And he laughs when I try to describe the effect that makes me. But I can not help a meno. Non posso fare a meno del fuoco.
Perché quando mi bacia, io brucio.




Christina Aguilera Purfume

[Generation Kill] Poke & Iceman

Title: Good and Bad
Author: body-ko
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters: Sergeant Antonio 'Poke' Espera (study of the character)
Rating: Pg15
Word Count: 539 (W)
Summary: After the ambush on the bridge (Episode 1.05)

"All I do is to swallow hate and discontent," I told the guys. It was my way of apologizing. Colbert did not comment, as if my behavior had gone unnoticed. But it is not: I I know what I did. He, the knight in shining armor, had tried to drive away from danger Reporter, we all knew that this was a suicide mission, but I Did I stopped. I think I'm the bad guy in this representation, but to me it does not seem to be a monster, but maybe it is one of those cases where the individual concerned is the last to notice things.

We have ordered to cross the bridge in Basra, "the area has been reclaimed," they said, so no reconnaissance, no armor, no nothing: we had to go feed the dragon protected only our balls. We're Marines, we did it. Still, Colbert had tried to protect the civil, stay behind to do it at least for that time. Because I prevented? Because as long as we continue to have luck and get out alive, the command will continue to commit the same mistakes and if we had to die, then he would have died even the Rolling Stones and the scope of that mistake would not have gone unnoticed. And then, if I must die, because he needs to survive? It is also not a bad guy, I like it actually looks very much like 'a labrador puppy and I have always loved dogs: there was nothing personal, really.

Then she went how it went, the ambush that there should have been there, and we saved his skin by a miracle: normal routine, in fact.

I learned things about me in the Marines, I knew what kind of man I am and what my limits are and I learned that Iceman is a better man than me. E 'nature, I suppose, and I am also a bit' funny that a man so blameless on the capacities and the Natural Born Killer of U.S. Navy.
We are all trained, We are killers, we are dangerous, the kind of person that parents warn their daughters, people who are better not to attend and, if we do what we do elsewhere in these remote countries of the third world, we'd all be locked up in prisons maximum safety. Instead, some swear that they call us heroes, and sometimes it sends me out of the brain, but how can a man make a complete change with latitude? For this reason it is essential for Marines to have a strong identity, because if you wait for the world to tell you who you are, you risk coming of the great headache. Who says what, who says another, and truth - like a whore - goes with everything, but do not belong to anyone.

Maybe that's my problem, I do not know who I am. My wife is half white, I speak as a black man, my friends are almost all white, and when I run, throwing the controversial Native Indian. Maybe this is my "vague" that the roots of my anger. Evan I would say that I think too much, he claims to have forgotten my indulgence in the dark side of force, are all good people, I would not be so generous.

Title: Choices
Author: Body-ko
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters: Sergeant Brad 'Iceman' Colbert (Character study)
Rating: Pg15
Word Count: 447 (W)
Summary: The ambush on Deck (Episode 1.05)

hurdle on the road, the convoy of Bravo 2 was forced to stop a few meters from the bridge. In the starless night, the headlights of hamvee were the only light in the silence of the night in Basra, the voices of soldiers and the roar of the engines echoed.
They were going around with a target between the eyes and all of them, even Reporter, they knew it. Agitated, tried to rise from that fucking trap: the Iraqis are not the mortars were sent to hell, but the lack of coordination and insufficient communication.
Brad sang, covered his field apparently completely unaware of their sudden be on top of the line, with all escape routes blocked. Ray began to curse, frustrated by the continuing evidence of intellectual acuity of the U.S. Army-trained troops and waited for someone behind him, began to retreat: to go and dropped his trousers to put on that plane ... almost deserved being killed by Iraqis.
Ray realized that Brad was singing, just before he stopped:
"There are men among the trees" marked Iceman, "Contact right," and from that moment it began to rain lead.

Iceman had only opened fire first, had won only a handful of seconds, and this was only possible that all the Marines wore the skin at home: the men in pajamas did not have a budget so well.
In a shootout, with close contact between the opposing troops, opening fire first is crucial.

'A real coup by Iceman the one you scored last night, "he complimented Poke, "your superhuman powers of observation has saved the whole platoon."
"They were just beginners," said Sergeant Colbert.
"If you were a beginner, then why do not we have seen them? '.
"Because you're not like me."

Ethnic minorities and slums are the army's supply bag. From the shadows of Western society, these men came to where a military career was a better perspective of the other available. Why would a member of the high bourgeoisie of Jewish Boston should become a Marine? Why would someone like Brad Colbert, with all the possibilities he had, he chose a career as a semi-skilled labor in the service of the U.S. government? Because Brad is a hunter. Men like him are freaks of nature unfounded, the proof that God is a gambler. In any event, this time it went well, and good runs Iceman for good. He chose a career civil servant, when he could earn much more than a self-employed: in fact, Brad Colbert is truly the prototype of the knight in shining armor, and chose to use his talent to fight the dragon.