Request Letter For Disconnection Of Line

Traditions Family call!
dell'Halloween German Second Edition.
leave tomorrow and return to Berlin on 6 days ago (but work, so I could get me alive late at night or 7, do not give the plane crashed to XD).
I salute the post now, because the Internet is going to click and I do not want to risk not greet or disappear suddenly. ^ ^ '
Who has my number: it can call and send messages, but the credit risk of ending up in a nanosecond (just because you do not have the passport if you do pay a lot'). So at your own risk. Or make you call me, you also paid as a receiver, but much less. For non-vodafone, I have no idea. Sorry. ^ ^ 'Girls
s Forum: great big kiss. ^ ^ I miss you a lot, as always. It will be a nightmare not being able to connect.
Greetings (advance) to everyone. ^ ^ PS


If the Internet stands, I'm still around until tomorrow morning.
Kiss \u0026lt;3

Does Alcohol Affect Tendonitis

Desktop! Meme:)

stolen lisachanoando and naripolpetta .

1. Go to your desktop and take a screenshot of it Exactly as it is right now.
2. Open a graphics program, paste and save.
3. Post the picture. Also you can give a short explanation on the look of your desktop if you want. You can explain why you prefer Such A look or why it is full of icons.

The wallpaper is a creation of Misako , which is a treasure and put together according to my instructions, the patient even if I made a martyr. However, it is beautiful. Point.
As you can see, the icons are divided into thematic field (obsession-compulsion on the PC, I've got). To the left are all programs, those profits and those a little 'less useful but I weigh my ass off. Above are the *. psd file I'm working on and below the records of the programs I'm doing right now Teen Mom, and the ubiquitous list of hyphenated words (because I never remember which verbs are accent, yes, and I can not write them wrong in the subtitles).
On the right, the infamous directories of doom, namely those folders that are created out of desperation when there is too much stuff on the desktop (it happened about three weeks ago, that's why you see so ordered. What did you think?). At the top, those dedicated to betaggi of Ties that binds and Through His eyes, two of which I am translating fanfictions and which are obviously too late. The typical folder various , which really do not know what there is and the images folder , which is not the default windows, but one where I put all my photos and I find that I needed to do graphics which I have indicated before the *. psd.
Below, on the bar, the inevitable box with MSN fedykaulitz , almost always open 24 / 7 and Firefox is loading a video on YouTube (namely Dexter 4x01). Finally, tons of icons that are in the order of Windows security alerts, MSN, Skype, Dropbox, a handful of stuff that I have no idea, battery, wireless and audio.

Spanish Wording For Wedding Ceremony Program

90


Samuel 90 - Three meters

to the door of the hall had been a mistake - Samuel when he had already realized the image had crystallized into the eyes and the illusion he had stopped breathing in the stillness bloodless, almost marble.
Yet it had been an automatic gesture, a simple step forward. His fingers tightened on the door frame and a name just formed on the lips - a name that had become everyday now: comfort and warmth and tenderness.
Vivian.
Vivian who had hair so blond it seemed snow - so long to fall on their shoulders in soft clumps. Just rolling hills.
And the back of the sofa to cover his body - the angle of view to hide her face.
was not the first time this has happened, but Samuel would never have become accustomed to the vertigo of appearance on the threshold of a room. Launch a look inside - look distracted. E find it there, Björn.
was standing near the window or left on a chair - find out how her hair can become clear in the light of day or how much pain cause images to boy. Its presence felt in the air like a cold wind. Salt fog. And remember with clarity
crippling everything has always been for him - for him the house, the wooden beams of the ceilings and pillows on the couch. For him, the flame of the candles, the aroma of tea. Every word whispered in a low voice, printed on paper.
A lifetime.
for him.
Without that nothing is able to protect him while growing up and maturing consciousness while the blame for not meeting him soon enough.
Without that nothing has been able to protect it later when it became already a misdemeanor crime. When Samuel had raped with words as with the hands, without stopping once to listen to its silence. Away from the religion of blind sound to reach into the void of snow - to hear his story. In the breath.
Vivian is there.
against the illusion - perhaps with more violence. Definitely.
But he remains motionless, looking at this, like a thousand times it has happened in the past. As always happens, in all likelihood. An absurd vice. And there
remedy, because at times seems to be of fundamental importance to understand if the shoulders of Björn appeared so fragile, he was young. At times the need to approach with closed eyes is a physical need - imagine being able to sit still in front of him, offer him a cup of hot tea. Looking at his lips that open and strip the image of each poem is left. Of each metaphor.
pages of the novel are still scattered on the desk in the living room - for months he does not come close to that corner of the room.
He worked at the kitchen table, the desk of the hall. On the chair, too. Often.
But there, in that narrow space between the window and the fireplace, the time has stopped in the afternoon in which he had tucked the blanket on his chest and receiving Björn looked asleep. And he turned on the stereo, because the voice of Cohen could not embrace him as he could do. Without touching it. Without
.
hurt him.
Samuel lower lashes - lowers his head. He imagined
to stop at that point, some nights - far enough to be confused with the lightness of the air and close enough to touch his living space like a caress touch the skin. Björn is not coming back, knows this well.
Yet the heart contracts as if the balance had been sought for so long finally reached, when Vivian feels his presence and turns slowly. It sinks in her eyes that look of glass - Kite. Of sky and ice.
Three meters.
Three feet away to be heard without the body becomes a wall and the intention violence - three feet to hear the breath of Björn without breaking it, to learn to tap it in a different way.
three meters, and do not need it anyway.
is useless, because the blood pulsing ostinato in the veins - because just one look and Samuel again has a high fever. Just one look. And Björn
fingers ran down the traces of wounds, the smell of her skin intoxicates the senses as poison. And his mouth is so close that it hurts - the mole on the neck becomes the vanishing point of each perspective.
has not learned anything, it found. None.
no alchemical formula for changing the body in the wind, no prayer and no blasphemy.
might have to beg when Mark was still time - to force him to tear the flesh with the scalpel of his lips and let it burn out of his hands as if even the ashes were to witness anything.
He could do it for friendship, for pity's sake. Would not have mattered.
How now does not matter still remain there, why do not those three meters separate it from Björn. But Vivian. And Vivian
is already frowning, is tilting his head. The fold of the lips - so poignant, always, and remote - is bending under the weight of a concern indefinitely. Anxiety rising.
"Sam?" He calls softly.
Moving a step forward has never been so painful, never so heartbreaking. Nor difficult.
"Is there a problem? It was your editor, on the phone? "
" Edward Logan. Yes, "replied Samuel, while the face of the boy redraw the boundaries that are proper and he finds himself having to whisper faster than you would like, quell'addio. Locking her fists to keep from reaching out to meet to blur the vision and the void of screaming do not go away, please. Not again.
would be useless.
"Bad news?" Vivian is asking, and Björn is already far away. Dissolved in motes of light, perhaps, or in the smoking hot cup abandoned shortly before the table.
A cup of tea rose.
It makes no sense, in that repetition of nostalgia. Rituals that appear unnecessary loss of values, stripped of life. Prayers unnecessary.
"I have a week from today, to send him the draft of the novel," he murmurs, sitting on the edge of the chair. "And he wants the first three chapters, too." Plan, passing a hand over his forehead. "Complete."
"You're still at a standstill, instead?"
"I do not ..." Pause. "I have not even started, Vivian. I have nothing to give, "she says.
is the first time he admits it out loud the first time forcing himself to remain there. Dealing with that node.
Instinctively, I look across the room to touch the contours of the desk - the white patch of leaves that Björn has to take into his hands, he must have let fall on the floor while the world was collapsing around. While the kettle was boiling on the fire.
And he was not there, not even once.
Even if they would be close enough - just over three meters to avoid yet another pain. The latest violence.
He was a post it, attached to the dashboard.
His name written in small letters - symbols too sharp and too fake. Black ink on yellow background. For a moment
nausea closes the stomach, the thought of what all this must have seemed strange to him. Grotesque, perhaps.
"There are only notes," he says, enunciating the words slowly. "Notes unconnected, pieces written to jet without any order of continuity. Nothing could be structured. "
front of him Vivian's eyes when he is listening carefully - when studies pauses between words to find a deeper meaning.

"Non mi hai mai parlato molto della storia…" mormora, come se non fosse sicuro di avere diritto a fare quella domanda.

Esitando cambia appena posizione - porta le ginocchia al petto. Le circonda con le braccia.

E Samuel ricorda d’improvviso quanto l’avesse sentito fragile , la notte che hanno dormito vicini. Ricorda il sollievo di abbracciarlo, il senso di pace che veniva dal sentir battere regolarmente il suo cuore sotto il palmo della mano.

Vivian è stato l’unico perdono che sia mai riuscito a concedersi – l’unico momento.

Ed è ora di chiuderlo, quel cerchio – radunare il coraggio. Sono mesi che ci pensa.

Mesi che attende il momento right, the opportunity to build a bridge between their loneliness, and finally let him meet them - even just to say thanks. Or to show the place where you can always find it, the sound of the name Björn. The center.
of himself.
"He was wearing a dark jacket that night," begins quietly, as if he were reciting a sacred formula. Or the lines of a poem learned by heart - something very intimate.
"He sat among the people," he adds, "She listened. In silence. "
The hardest part, then:" I thought that there should be a crack in the fabric of the world, if his skin was so translucent. And his shoulders so solid, however. His hands. "He closes his eyes. "So big."
not really a surprise, the vertigo that opens in the chest when the echo of the words bouncing between the walls. When load reaches the ears of the images of that night, and Samuel back to feel the impact of the look of Björn. Sunk into her - for a short moment. That breath broken.
"Him?"
From his corner of pillows, Vivian is staring at him uncertainly.
"She had your own eyes, an identical blue ..."
Or maybe just more transparent - think. As soon as colder.
does not matter. Why
say certain things, however, stops the heart, in front of those irises. It must be strong, not to ask the boy to turn around, not to ask him to lower his head. Lower eyelashes.
"I sought the North all my life, Vivian," he murmurs, while the voice is a little weaker. While the rapid growth, expanding as always. "Him, had it in his eyes," he adds. "It was automatic, find his features in my novel. It was all too easy to confuse fact and fiction. Confusing myself. With him. "
" He would him, then? "Question the other, with the usual caution." The man who got gone? "But
answer is not simple, because that house Björn has never really moved away. It has always been in every object - every corner. Inside every night.
It will always be there, in those pages that are still abandoned on the desk to keep him chained in a cage like an animal rare. How can something that is not free to leave, because it's part of you too far. 'Cause I always will be.
"I have to burn that novel," she whispers.
"Bruce?"
" I have to burn that novel, "repeats. He knows he has to.
He also knows that he would never find the strength, though - that can get rid of guilt be frightfully difficult when the faults, the only thing that remained. The only link between his life with that of Björn.
faults.
Like all the nights that he imagined his skin - the light wind on the back of his hands and the nakedness of bodies wrapped in blankets. How many times he wanted to move slowly - slowly. Slowly, under him, to see him turn his head on his chest and feel like dying. Inside.
"There are too many things," he says, shivering slightly.
the couch, Vivian is watching him carefully.
"Things that are not so free."
"What happened?" is then the question. Inevitable.
"He had found his balance," Samuel whispered, his eyes moving from one point in the room. Wetting their lips - looking for words. "He worked in the library, and I think he liked it. He had his brother here. I've moved away from it all, instead. "Lacks the force. "I," he repeats, however, because we need to remember it forever. I remember well, that he was able to get him.
ask for forgiveness would be too simple, too ugly.
"Sorry, Samuel," Vivian whispered, but he's grateful is not to add more. Not to make any acquittal, leave them all on my shoulders. His responsibility.
"You have not heard from him?" heard him ask, however, after a brief hesitation.
"I know he's in New York now," he says. "And it is alienating, imagine a skyline of skyscrapers. That he was silent. Imagine in a city as chaotic. "
Slowly, Samuel backs away on the back of the chair.
Vivian looked away, and for a moment that blue is blowin 'in the absence of a nostalgic yearning heart.
"In New York?" being repeated, thoughtfully.
He abandons his head back, swallowing. "Central Park has beautiful colors in the fall. The leaves are spread on the grass warm rugs, carpets of light. Sometimes I pretend to forget that summer in the world this year. "
Pause.
"Either that car engines do not dirty the snow, when he falls. That Björn can get lost in the white. "
And the white really seems to lie, at that time. On words, on that image. In the room, with a smoky veil of silence. Silence still. Inhale
floor, Samuel closed his eyes.
not really painful, the necessity of having to delegate to other actions that feels deeply his hand: Björn wrap the body in a slight contact of arms, runs her fingers through his hair. Feel the tension of its muscles is released under the palms. And protect it.
He could not do it anyway.
This is comforting, in some nights, hoping that it may be reflux of the sea to make music - to whisper those poems that his lips would become embarrassed. Or imagine that the wind direction, to stroke his hair. What is the fog to hug him.
Would you say that, too, to Vivian: to dress a body can be terrible, when you love some people. Whom I thank heaven every day to melt in the rain, or to blow air on your face impalpable. He would like to ask him to lend him for one day only, that his bones by bird. Or those eyes as clear as water, slender wrists.
intangible than physical.
"Björn?" question, however, the boy in a strange tone. The tone is hard when running away from something - a sudden alarm. Irrational. And Samuel
raises eyebrows shooting - raises his head. Feeling the chill
born in the stomach, just leans forward.
"Yes," he repeats.
front of him, Vivian became immobile.
"Sam," he says, very quietly. "When did this happen? Please, answer me clearly."
"All this?"
"When you met, Björn? When he went to New York?" For some strange
reason, for a moment, he has practically no voice to answer.
"Earlier this year," can we say, very slowly. Very slowly, as if something irreparable happens as a result of those words. "It was this winter," explains.
It is as if Vivian had expected, because he closes his eyes for a moment and nods.
gulping air, without answering. Without moving, either.
But the next moment is already fired up - is already across the room toward the door. Is closing the fingers on the handle - grabbing his jacket.
"I have to go out for a moment. I swear I'll be right back, but I need a moment," says quickly. Before disappearing. After
, leaving just the mess of pillows on the couch to testify that something really happened. Something that Samuel is still unable to process - something final.
David.
thinking deviates in the direction of his name out of habit, perhaps, or maybe just because suddenly reminded of his words. The opposition proved that day, when he had announced that he wanted to speak to Vivian's novel. The distillate
more nauseating your egocentricity, he said.
It has never been so - has never been true.
Yet there must be something wrong by force, in that intention, if the boy's reaction was so violent.
If this gesture has frustrated all about sharing, instead of facilitating it - now if he is measuring the room nervous and Vivian steps out into the night. Farther than ever, perhaps.
Samuel remembers the first time he must stay in that house, his need for dark. The horror in her eyes, and told him of the assault.
There are people with whom you have to use a different language - something quieter and more intact. Looks dumb, maybe. Only.
Or only the innocent sweetness of chocolate, maybe.
"Vivian," she whispers plan, when the door closes behind him cool night air stings the skin as a siege of pins.
There are fireflies in the woods - known.
For a moment, suddenly, the nostalgia of David is so intense that it almost tears a groan. A breath broken.
"Christ ..."
is sitting on the wooden railing, Vivian. Samuel
not realize it at the time, when the eye moves from side to offset the cat ankle. When the darkness starts to become less alien, less dense.
"Viv," he repeats. Moving a step in this direction.
"Why do you say that was your fault, if he had leave? "
There is something unreal in the evening: Vivian's voice faded into the night - the inability to focus on the intentions. And distances are stretched like rubber bands, with no apparent logic. uncontrollably.
"I should not have to tell this story," he mutters, blocking the movement. Stopping the arm in the air, letting it fall on its side.
The other spoke softly, without even raising his head. Without turning.
And strange that they are still three meters, those that divide every need of relief from physical contact of a caress. From the desperate need to be forgiven.
again.
"I Sorry, "can only say. In a low voice. But Vivian
repeats his name, enunciating the letters one by one. "I need to know what happened," he adds. Almost with irritation.
And he does not just have to gather our thoughts - to impose itself in order to put an emotion to be able to really give it to him, what he is asking. What should the bottom at this point, because if anything it was a mistake now you can not go back anyway. Vivian has drawn a single direction, in front of them. An obligation.
And no matter how hurt Björn talk that way - let go of his name in the cold. In explanation almost too hard to make.
"I started writing the novel before you know it," he murmurs slowly, with a sigh longer. "The main character had a difficult childhood behind - there were heavy episodes. There was a present to be rebuilt, and there was his physical traits. His silence. They were so similar, Vivian ... I superimposed to that the reality of a boy who was seriously wounded him, and I foolishly believed I could save only with words. Only ... "Her voice breaks
and resumed with difficulty.
"Just writing it, his salvation ..."
"And then?" the other insists, Aton. "Do not you hurt someone, writing his salvation. "
" And then he read the novel, "is the answer, just whispered. Syllables that are lost in the voids of breath, white clouds of condensation. In the dark.
Samuel does not know why Vivian's is doing this .
only know that the cold of the night has now made of glass bones, the voice must have been lost in some of the shady corners between the door and the railing. And his eyes burn as if they slept for centuries, that weigh the words in my mouth like boulders.
"I know it was bad after," he adds, lowering her eyes.
The beams of the portico are impregnated with moisture - in some places, the paint is peeling off.
"Then is gone. "Silence. "I never see again," finishes. And
pressed his shoulder against the wall unit, as if suddenly lacked the strength to remain standing. As if so needed support - any one - but think back to past months to find the first time I felt so weak. So tired.
Everything is too confused in his mind.
He can only remember the smell of David - his hands closed on the wood railing and his body down on his back. His arms.
around his waist.
would like to find the strength to bring it back in, Vivian. Or turn on the lights to make sure I've worn the jacket - who has not abandoned his usual somewhere.
It would also call on the night if Bjorn is feeling cold, whether the blind has the same taste in New York. If you can still breathe, his love.
If you still feel ...
"He's fine now," comes the reply, unexpected, and for a moment the relief is so intense that Samuel felt the tears sting your eyes - be as light as the head of breath condensate.
Smoke slim.
"Or, well ..."
He always loved the voice of Vivian.
It flows between the words with the lightness of the wind caresses and remember that you imagined as a child, when it melts in the silence of low moments like that.
moments of absolute stasis.
"Going to New York was a good idea," adding he feels it, almost unconsciously, as the body detects a need for oxygen that has never experienced before. Something abnormal. "Or maybe it's just a good idea to leave or ..."
The heart has stopped, but only Samuel realizes it now.
And only now realizes that in the meantime look hooked the shadow of Vivian, who is probing the darkness of her eyes desperate.
How can become intense, desire, and what can affect the clarity the desperate need of something? How much pressure can stand the mind before falling forever into madness - the silence?
not know how to achieve responses. From his corner
Vivian still speaks - slower still - and he clearly feels the tears run down cheeks.
down her cheeks.
"If you were the one to convince him to go, you did a good thing. He needed a boost, I think," the boy continued to whisper. In the night.
And there is a sense, no logic. Only his voice.
His voice and the vital need to hear it again - let it take shape around the reality and abandon the desires behind any heaviness. He has already done it once, this error. Now, no.
Now the illusion is not enough, a truth to measure. Not just anything like that, for Björn.
"Vivian," and then scans, breathing deeply. Granting even a moment of silence, the last one.
"What are you talking about," he says, without even giving the words the tone of question. But there is no irritation in his voice, only a firm duty.
The will of the brave.
"That night, after having read your novel ..." Vivian is silent for a moment, and he slowly moves away from the wall. "He had a great crisis, as not happened for years. I thought it was my fault, because he had known of the things ... "A nervous movement in the shadows - the back of the hand rubs his eyes." He never said to have known you. And you were talking about this story as if years had passed , Samuel ... I never imagined that it was him. "
" Di ... him? "
It's like lifting a veil, suddenly.
Samuel would never have believed that reality could be so clear, that could overcome all of a sudden every possible fantasy. Blurred.
The truth was right before his eyes all the time - similar gestures, the tilt of the head at close look. And the color of the irises, the same blond hair. The constant presence of Björn, always - whenever Vivian entered the house.
"Sir, you are ... He's your brother ... "she whispers. The breath broken.
And maybe that's had to go - maybe deep down he always knew him as well.
Maybe.
But now it does not matter because there is something in that revelation, which is more terrible than any lack of reality - of any error. Icy panic in his throat.
nausea.
"Have I not kept hidden on purpose," says Vivian suffered and those three meters become intolerable. "Really, I had no idea. As long as you did not say his name." The boy
is still talking but he ends up holding in my arms without even realizing it - without understanding. As if the need to wrap it was stronger than anything - to know that at that time nobody in the world could touch him. None.
closes his eyes, breathing in the plan.
"Okay, baby. Okay so ... "the repeats, while pressing his lips on his forehead. And the temples, hair. There is nothing that is fine, however.
Samuel had not believed that there could be a bigger pain when the story of Björn had emerged in its full load of horror. He had thought the limit was there - that was reached. He was wrong. Why
Vivian is still different picture, surrounded by certain dynamics. Because his body is too thin - too fragile shoulders. And doubt is charged with a visceral discomfort at the thought of how massively Björn love that kid. How much you love him.
is not thinking.
is not thinking about anything, while holding it: the space for the relief seems to have dried up along with the tears and call into question the fate lack the will - lack the strength to break the embrace.
remains only one word in mind, which is attached to the wires of the memory. Modeled in the warm voice of Björn, the center of his silences.
Ljus.
And he repeated softly, that nickname because they can be Björn whispering with his lips. Order to give them their arms and their hands - at that time.
And hold him one more time, Vivian. A moment alone.
Before that night, like every other night, dissolve in light.

ROSA DEI VENTI is licensed under a CCA NC-ND 2.5 Italy . Permissions beyond the scope of this license May be available at: http://rosaventi.altervista.org/copyrigth.html .

Parts For Aromatherapy Diffuser

White Night: The (low) production

Actually, I thought it would go much worse, being sailing in the waters of a fandom that goes over there just very little, indeed, for nothing, like we're in four, but I managed to write two things that never I would have dreamed of taking into account, such as Dexter and The Big Bang Theory. And - very important - I received a Kara / Lee * love * rain
So this is the result.

Title: I'm cold and there are no cookies in the house
Fandom: RPF German Rap
Author: Tabata
Rating: PG 15
Pairing: Fler / Chakuza
Genre: Introspective
Warnings: slash
Notes: Written for the night White maridichallenge for the prompt "I'm cold and there are no cookies in the house."
Summary: "In my opinion, is one that Chakuza should never go to work "

Chakuza is left for the study to an hour sometime between nine and eleven o'clock this morning, when I'm still in the stage where I do not know my name nor where I am. I heard him get out of bed and get dressed because it is the loudest man in the world in every aspect of his existence, let alone when to pull curtains, open closets and getting in and out of bed two, three, four times to get socks, pants and shoes. Wake me even if I was dead, imagine if he does not sleep with the light that I find myself. Fortunately I am one that fits in a hurry, so I'm used to in recent months and I do not really wake up more. Only part of my brain becomes receptive just enough when it comes out to greet him and tell him that I realized what time back, but then when I get up I have to call him to ask when it actually falls. What I have just done, except being told that no one knows.
In my opinion, Chakuza is one that should never go to work or - alternatively - should not be lovers to leave home and then tell him to wait there for an unspecified number of hours, this is because the His house sucks and is not a good place to look forward to his return. First
in this house is cold, but not the cold that you can wait at the gates of November, maybe that one puts on a sweater and is in place. No, it's freezing in here. It 's like living in a cardboard box in the middle of the road, the same thing. The walls are ten centimeters thick and are made of polystyrene, I do not know, the fact is that if we put a hand over is how to lay it on the window, the icy breath of winter it gets into the bones and do not let you down more. The warming would be, perhaps, a partial solution, if it were broken by four years since, that is, it broke the first time, it seems, in the middle of January, and continues to repeat that Chakuza should call a technician just have time, but when he does not waste time calling technical help repair the heating system. No. He usually fucks. Or the kitchen. O broom in the kitchen. In general you will find alternative methods to generate heat, which most often consists of laying naked with another human being. Economical and environmentally friendly, perhaps, but not much functional. Not in this house when you're alone and without someone to undress.
And then of course there is the question of food. Chakuza and food have a troubled relationship, which does not surprise me because every relationship is plagued Chakuza, no matter what it is. There natural incompatibility between him and any object or person that come into contact with him. And food, of course, is no exception. To say, Chakuza loves to cook, is one of the few things that truly fills with joy, that he does view the world with a smile on their faces instead of one that the dog has just died. When she takes a frying pan in hand, we put in the butter and brown does, achieves a sort of mystical ecstasy, a complete interior, almost a mental trip to synthetic drugs. You see that it moves to the kitchen hovering and if you by chance between a duck and a strip of tomato sauce, get the car keys to go to new collided with a wall because you get bored, he, seraphic, says yes, go ahead, but to return to the seven because otherwise the mess of mushrooms, you save. When he is home, the refrigerator is full. The kitchen is full. Everywhere you turn there are food products that come out from all sides. No two apples and three pears, but whole boxes of fruit. Not a chicken and burgers, but two touches of meat in the freezer that seems to have killed a human being. The last time there was a lot of that Italian pasta that when I opened the cabinet, I was buried by a landslide of orecchiette. Something incredible. When he
But there is here is that the kitchen shuts down, it becomes more ugly. Even the walls are gray rat, which then will be so even when he's there but apparently not seen, they are covered by curtains and dried chillies. So, now that I enter the kitchen, wearing all the sweaters I own and a blue cover with seahorses that is indecent stuff I found in her closet, I stop at the door and sigh broken because of the four pig pounds that there was only two weeks ago, the island lying in the kitchen with his chubby little legs, there is even a shadow. Vaguely miserable until the refrigerator, and when I open it, flying ghosts lemon dead for days. The butter is almost green and the cheese - my goodness - I do not want to investigate. Even the cupboards are empty. There is not even a biscuit, not even an orphan, maybe you dropped out of the box and finished in the bottom where Chakuza can not reach.
I call again, which is never a great idea when I first has already said he does not know anything about anything, because it tends to become nervous when his person navigates uncertain and he can not do anything about it but must be aware of what will on his return.
"Fler, what is it?" Answers without even saying goodbye.
"I'm cold," I say.
He remains silent for a bit 'and then I hear him smile at the end. "And at home there are no cookies," he concludes. Why say I miss
would be too obvious.

Title: Lessons of Physics
Fandom: The Big Bang Theory
Author: Tabata
Rating: PG
Characters: Sheldon, Penny
Genre: Introspective , humor
Notes: Written for the night white maridichallenge for the prompt "Lessons of physics"
Summary: "What you need in physics your life everyday, there among the simple minds of the Cheesecake Factory? "

" We had already discussed the topic, Penny, "asked Sheldon, standing behind the toaster, Cylons intent to roast enough to conquer the universe.
"Yes," she said.
"Exactly. And we agreed that your ineptitude to scientific studies and, indeed, any type of study makes it impossible to complete the task to teach anything, it was also poised to take a ball on his nose. "
" Now, do not I'd say so, but I met some difficulties. It 's true. "
" Some difficulties, Penny, "he asked shocked. "We did not go beyond the introduction."
"I learned one thing for Leonard, though."
"That thing Leonard was a speech from me embarrassingly simplified so that you could store it. And let me say that I had to shorten the text less than one hundred words to facilitate the enterprise. I'd call it a disappointing result. "
Penny waited ten seconds, the time needed to calm down and avoid taking the man in front of her by the neck and tirarglielo such a chicken. It was almost certain to do so: there were twice as large turkeys in Nebraska Sheldon, and had never had problems with them. "Okay," sighed the end, when the murderous rage was spent, in total ignorance of the same by Sheldon. "But would you be kind enough to try it again? "
" What you need physics in your everyday life, there among the simple minds of the Cheesecake Factory? "The thought of chicken
comeback. "I ..." Penny clicked his tongue and hands. "I have to give reps to the brother of a friend and I am a bit 'rusty."
"Unprepared."
"Rusty."
"unfit."
"Rusty" insisted the girl, raising her voice and shut up. "So I thought you could help me out." He smiled, tight.
Sheldon thinks for a moment. "In fact, no experiment has ever been able to before. All great minds have had to try repeatedly until nearly exhausted. Then and only then, have produced results. I can not abandon my own, so to speak, experiment zero. "
" Yeah. Yes Something like that. "
" I could help, yes. We can make lessons even more simplified and I could spend some of my precious time to teach you something, we could have dinner together, do some research in the library and why not, you may even come here on weekends and do some small experiments. "
" Are you serious? "
" Bazinga "

Title: "You're crazy, shit!"
Fandom: Dexter
Author: Tabata
Rating: PG 15
Characters: Debra, Dexter
Genre: Introspective
Notes: Written for the night white maridichallenge for the prompt "You're crazy, shit!"
Summary: "I should have some reaction, I guess."

"You're out head, damn it! "
Should I get some reaction, I guess. A start, a start of surprise, even winking help, I think, to create the illusion of being shaken by those words. Angry with me, I should take it or at least feel sad. I try.
"Do not make me that little smile of pity," he attacks with a long finger pointed directly against my chest. "I am incredulos, appalled, are .... nnngh, you can not really be so. "
I am, Debra. I have before, I told you. It 's all clear, I think. Although not too sure of this because what often seems to me it is not clear at all. Now, for example, escapes me the meaning of his anger. He knew, he always knew. The news did not come as a cold shower, it's a puddle in which he had already dipped their feet.
"Sorry," I say. Not really. I do not Sorry. This is what I think. I have my own code, and follow him. What falls there does not seem normal. It 'difficult to go alone all the time I went through and act differently. Debra, you are not like me. This is clear. Nobody is.
She stirs, opens and closes the mouth and then lets go of his arms along the body. Resigns. "No, really, what does not work."
told you so.
"You and your damned fixations. The chain of the door, the shirt, the doors and the juice, "barks listing everything that I asked her to open and close the store floor. "Okay, but your accuracy is a disease, Dex. You're too ... precise. "
If not, Debra, I would have found it already.
"Look, we do that we'll talk later, okay? Gotta go, the bastard who did all those people out is still around. "And goes slamming the door.
Yes, Debra. And you also would like to put in place the juice.

What Does The Peace Sign Sideways Mean

89
Ashley - Time Peace

"Attack of temper, or I may simply to be jealous? "
lifting his head suddenly, Ash blinked perplexed. Then he snorts, annoyed. "I'm not jealous , let's go!" protest, turning on the stool. "Are you having fun?"
"You mean in general, or watching you, who darkens a bit 'more with every guy that comes close to Mike?" Chris laughs, slipping into the empty seat beside her.
It's midnight, and nowhere is the height of its activities: a band on stage playing a less hard rock than with the group of Mike opened the evening and people flocked to the counter, in a frantic bustle.
Ash would never have thought that a night like this he would have to stop in the middle of the pit, after taking a drink, to carve out a space for reflection. He had not ever sit at the same table for Michael, though. What he discovered from experience, it can completely change your experience of a room.
"I'm not jealous," he repeats now, looking absently at the back. "I just need to unplug for a moment. "
Sitting against the wall, Mike is laughing with his head thrown back - at his side, a guy named Bob that maybe something is telling that provides broad and exaggerated gestures. Ash could not say what the topic - is gone too soon to hope to understand it - but there is no doubt that any appeal should have it, because Mike seems fascinated.
Besides, Mike was fascinated dall'aneddoto guy's previous focus on ' Exploration of Korean restaurants in the neighborhood. And even before that, on an alleged love affair between the mastiff and a brother of the Beijing unknown.
The suspect, at times, is that man is ontologically unable not to get involved. Morgan also gave him reason, for that matter, during a rare moment of seriousness that has been granted. For the rest of the time, its purpose seemed more than anything else to tease his friend and his obsession with displays of affection - which would have been hilarious, probably only if Ash had not been pulled clear in the middle.
The others laughed, but he does not remember ever having had a great desire to strangle someone.
"What's the matter?" Seriously, "Chris says now, leaning over to talk your ear. "You will not be seriously worried, I hope ..."
Mike chooses that moment to look in their direction and throw a smile - Ash finds himself almost absentmindedly reciprocate. Soon after started, though, and straightening his back turned back to his friend. "No, really. There is the problem."
"And what would be, then?"
He hesitates, uncertain - and Chris sighs. Pulling up, looking exasperated almost closes the grip on his arm and walks away from the bar, trascinandoselo behind. "Come on, up to half an hour ago it seemed the happiest person on this earth. I mean, you do not even killed when Morgan made the dedication to the 'lovebirds' ..."
"Just because you left me to go on stage," Ash points out, piqued, but can not deny that my friend is right. Because it was really long time since I spent an evening so serene, without fuss, without thinking of Dylan. Enjoying simply want to laugh sometimes gathered in his throat, and the heat of the arm of Mike rested on the shoulders, narrow waist.
chatted and there were others around her lips, sometimes - it was his voice. The strange sensation - a bit 'tender - of stars leaving the train.
could not say what it was, to determine the change of atmosphere - at the beginning that continues to get people to talk to Mike's not bothered. Even if you could see how they looked, they were not only friendly visits - though often felt that there was something in the past, which made a return to those approaches. It did not matter.
It was almost funny, from a certain perspective.
Only time passed and the attention of Mike was always monopolized by others - was all too easy to find room for such thoughts. For the distance stand between them.
Ash had left in the hope that having something to do to help him get distracted, but he was just leaning on the counter and draw the attention of the bartender - an attempt to avert the attack button by a guy who looked at him - to realize that it would take two steps in order to escape this time.
"I do not know what the problem is," begins, while the door is closes behind him and the sounds of local fading at last. "That is the situation in saying that ... I can not handle it."
"For the situation in itself mean, exactly ... What?" question Chris, and he grimaces.
"Mike," he admits. The other raises his eyes to heaven.
"Sincerely, Ash ... I think that when you start thinking you know very well handle it."
He sighs, approaching the mirror. The
is not the room, in recent months - some of his fondest memories are of the dressing room as the scene after the concert.
Before Dylan decides to cut the bridges and the band spent in the company long enough only necessary to keep alive the show, that was where they took refuge often let loose adrenaline and catch my breath.
The thought that those days are over would do more harm, probably, if Ash did not recognize Mike's jacket thrown in a corner - if he had not even skin the warmth of an evening spent at his side.
Nothing and nobody can mend the hole that the escape of his brother opened in his life, but it is reassuring to know that perhaps there may be something still in the future. A new balance to be found, or the promise of an attempt, at least.
"I am afraid that if I have to give back to the head," he murmured, pressing her hip against the edge the plan. Looking up the reflection, to meet Chris and raises an eyebrow. "I mean, who can blame him, but ..."
"What are you talking about?" the friend asked, confused. "Michael has basically spent the evening at touch you."
"Yes, but that ok. It's him. That is, he is unable not to touch someone, you see," explains Ash, turning. "I'm talking about when we are alone. ... When I do not know. She kisses me seriously. It's like if you stop them."
"And you did not want that?"
"I do not know."
is not a simple question, after all - there is no one answer: the wishes and fears mingle whenever his lips Mike touched his ear and he is not knowing if his hands would slip to strip or if the contact of skin against skin may become too .
There are times when you just close your eyes to want to be those of Mike, to see for him - his fingers to trace the outline, accelerate the heart rate, time to decide.
Others, terrified that everything that is happening is nothing but a dream return to scare you. And the urgent need to remain vigilant clashes with the fear of absolute knowledge.
that Mike is aware of all this is no doubt - just a tightening its minimum because the gesture just sketched is interrupted, turning in a more gentle caress. Sometimes you do not even need to happen at all: we think only refrain from, almost Ash's body and he was an uncertain territory explorer careful not to cross certain boundaries.
His withdrawal, in those moments, it is sometimes a relief. More often, however, knows that frustration.
"Ash," Chris whispers, almost gently. "I do not know exactly how things stand between you, but that guy is crazy about you.'m Sure it's more than willing to wait as long as ..."
"This is not, what worries me," he interrupts again - and I think it must be night, that. Chris is missing the target, even if only slightly, and he tries in vain to correct the shot. Without exposing too.
bypassing the center of the discourse.
Taking a deep breath, closes his eyes - you pull back the hair and bent his head forward to breathe, slow.
"I do not want to wait," then whispered, hoping not to blush. "... It's not that I do not know how. Tell her. And I'm not even sure that's true. Why do I always seem of wanting to, but then there's always the moment when reminded of the rest and all is to hell. And anyway, "he adds after a pause of a moment. "There are things I do not want to do .... And do not even know how to say this, because I think he has grasped that I have some problems in that field, but ... "
" Ash. "
raising his head, he fixed his eyes on those of Chris.
the delicacy with which his friend is watching him, it is clear that his efforts to remain composed have not had much success .
"What?" question, annoyed.
The other turns away, rubbing his palm on his face.
"... Just to be clear," he says softly. "We are talking about Brad, right? And ... "
" Yes, "interrupts Ash, again." Brad. "
" Okay. Listen. I never really understood how your brain has processed the story, but what happened with Brad is not the norm. Do not ... would not be so with Mike. "
" I know, "he says quietly. Although it is not true at all.
Why Mike would certainly different, but everything could precipitate the same and Ash is sure that would be even more difficult to recover afterwards.
By Brad there were no barriers to be removed. The street was leveled, it was enough just to want to take.
Now, there were piles of rubble instead. Obstacles and debris and dust.
"Maybe I should talk , "consider, almost to himself.
" talk? "Chris repeated, arching an eyebrow." Of the fact that you're not a great fan of blowjob? It might be an idea, but ... "
"No, I say," corrects Ash. "Brad."
The name is never easy to say - not when the voice is nice, at least. And he does not know how it could do, to tell what happened to Mike without feeling shame or die without painting too pathetic to him - has never had to worry about this before. That night he relived for two persons only, and Chris was treated more like a spit in the face because the truth ceases to be convinced that the worst had happened.
By Dylan had taken more time - two years of secrecy, while gathering the courage - and then finally came out all as a warning. Because Brad was never satisfied to be just a memory, but has always enjoyed nell'invadere his life at inopportune moments. Sometimes I play with him - sometimes just threatening to do so.
And that time the threat was for his brother. Dee
The need to take away from his scheme was more than enough to evaporate any other concern, making a matter of urgency all the doubts. Even the embarrassment was a welcome sacrifice. By Mike
are not so simple words. Already know that will not be painless.
Chris's voice is gentle - almost worried, as every time you touch that topic.
"Are you sure?" application.
It is strange, because Ash has never borne really to be consoled : remember that night, when Grace and Alan did not yet know what had happened but it was obvious that something was wrong. The subdued tone of their voices rubbed on the skin as if it could corrode - he would rather have him scream, rather, that the tug in the car for not giving him time to concentrate on silence.
Soon after, there had been Dylan's lips pressed against her cheek - her fingers to slide on the neck, thin and cold - and quell'insofferenza had turned into pain. In recognition of a lie to swallow.
Now, it gives you vertigo realize that they have no basis on which to imagine the reaction of Mike - just the desire of his hands against the skin, after or during. The warmth of his breath and the terror of not stand it. Or not being able to earn more.
"I will never be safe," he says, swallowing. And he sees Chris opening his mouth - feels his nerves tense in the sketch of a protest - but Mike's voice to echo the other hand, from the corridor.
"Ash?"
Footsteps, and confused sound of the evening that blends with the night, inside the room. Take the handle and he and Chris properties to set the entry, the door opens and the human figure is drawn against the background of smoky violet and Nowhere.
For a moment, the certainty is that he has their conversation from the beginning and that it has arrived to demand an explanation now, without even giving him time to regroup. Ash felt his heart stop - breath property in the lungs, throat, voice closed - then on the face of Mike opens the usual smile, cheerful and reassuring.
"Ah, you're here," he says, satisfied, before looking back and clear his throat. Throwing a glance back, innocently.
"Well, nothing. Continue to speak well, I did not bother you. It's just that Morgan was wondering what happened to you had done here," he adds, chuckling. "It's apprehensive, you know. There he saw for a while '."
It is as if you melted a node: the heart finds the beats - will accelerate - as the breath is blown out almost powerless.
My knees shake just below the incontrovertible knowledge that the choice has already been made and we can only hope, now, that is the right one, while Chris ironic chuckles and says: "We tried Morgan, eh?", Putting his hands in pocket.
test the resistance of the legs, Ash takes a step forward.
"We were, however, to go back," sure, because at that moment seems important to let them know, Mike, that the compass of the evening has always been oriented towards it - even as he walked away from the table leaving the words and looks of others to fight their way, even while allowing Chris pushed him into a corner apart, while trying to keep up with their doubts and nearly lost.
The man does not seem to understand the depth of that statement, though.
It is confined to broaden the smile - to put his arm around her waist, when they go out into the corridor - and pressing her cheek against his shoulder for a moment, Ash thinks that's okay: the words are a jumble of confused memories and injuries never allowed, while the head turns in trying to give them an order, and is not sure that will make coherent speech when it comes to exposing their faults.
Sitting at the table again - Mike's hand on her shoulder, his thumb casually slipped below the neckline of the shirt - Closed his teeth around the straw and sucks what's left of his cocktail: melted ice with just a hint of mint.
You should begin by asking whether this, perhaps: the taste in his mouth before, the color of what Brad was drinking. Maybe
adjusting certain parameters the details of that story could fit into a drawing more sense than offering his memories. If he had been drunk
maybe everything would be easier to explain - burn less know it was some substance, the head of his temper. Remember
laugh against Brad's cheek, though - remember his hands on the hips when someone at the table had been added and there was no place and he had taken the lap to save space.
Grace and Alan were on the other side of the room and were watching from afar - Dylan was with them. There was a blond guy in the neighborhood.
Brad's hair was dark.
front of him, now, Chris keeps frowning and seems more confident than before about the success of that plan. Ash gives him a dirty look as if to challenge him to intervene, but Mike chose that moment to tell him something in his ear and the apprehensions of Chris fade in the background as soon as his lips touched the lobe.
It is a thrill - brows are lowered - but first take a whisper that the meaning is the memory of Brad's mouth, pressed the same point. He also had said something that night.
Want to try?
Ash had brought his glass to his lips but the taste was too strong and had made up their noses - Brad laughed, uncombed hair, and he settled back against his chest.
Now shakes his head, instead, even though he has no idea what was the question. He smiles and moves away
absently, moving a bit 'down on the bench and Mike does not seem to notice - just adjust the position, pressing against his knee.
After all this time, it is still difficult to accept for being so stupid.
This is probably the biggest problem: the humiliation of not understanding. He had left to make fun, or not being able to keep up with Brad in that game. Do not move a step back in mid-game, not without paying a pledge, and after you can not complain if something goes wrong.
Ash has never really explained in these terms the question is not by Chris, who would be furious, not Dee, it was necessary to frighten even if it might serve to protect it.
Now, he wonders if it would be appropriate to say to Mike - try to imagine how he would react.
But the scene is still confused and the man's face constantly in the shade: Ash struggles to define the circumstances, scenarios. Happen in the car, and go home?
Just before saying goodbye - a confession to his lips without looking in his eyes and then escape behind the locked door to give him time to digest in solitude?
O slowly, perhaps. One word at a time, constantly checking his eyes to discover the reaction. When Mike
parked under the house, Ash has not yet decided.
She just knows that your palms are sweating inside the shell of the contract fists, and the jeans rubbing on the knuckles at every step - step after step - as they climb to their landing and options are being decimated by the same passage of time.
The ability to deal with the subject car is already blurred - should be wiped off the shine of the headlights on the asphalt, the sequence of windows. The engine noise in the background to his voice. The strange situation to be him, for once, the only one to speak.
biting his lip, Ash looks at the profile of Michel.
The man walking with the usual elastic step, half turned toward him to say something, one arm extended to the side to illustrate the topic. His eyes are darker, poor lighting of the stairs, a few tufts of hair pasted to her temples with sweat and smoke of Nowhere.
The jacket open on his chest, a smile illuminating his face is so beautiful and alive to tighten the stomach.
carelessly, pushing more forcefully his fists toward the bottom of the pockets, Ash remembers the first time he had seen, on those same stairs, one evening just after their removal.
He was with Dylan and Chris and anyone else - was the period in which it was necessary to baptize the apartment, that. Mike came down with his ex, maybe. Or maybe with a few friends.
meet his gaze, Ash had felt my heart miss a beat. The walk to increase momentum, while the breath hung in the throat and skin seemed to be too narrow.
The resemblance to Brad had not been registered if not third or fourth meeting, though.
averting his eyes in a hurry now, is trying to focus on the latest steps.
right foot, left foot, while a fist emerges from pocket already closed on the keys.
Here, we , think, and immediately returned to submerge a wave of panic. Only then did he realize that silence has suddenly taken the place of the voice of Mike, around him.
The man stopped talking and stopped to look at him: his attention on weight traits, shoulders, and although they seem a hostile gaze Ash can only harden further.
Nervously, he lifts his head.
"Did you say something?" application, hiding the keys in the jacket sleeve.
The other does not seem to have noticed the gesture, though - is focused on her face, as if any answer written on the same skin stretched cheekbone. As if, eye to eye, there was no need to do it, demand to know already what counts.
The name of the problem.
The silence lasts a few seconds, while the study continues through half-closed eyelids - Ash felt his heart beating in my throat as that first day, as this evening when he saw Michael go into the dressing room.
Then, almost cautiously, as soon as the man changes the angle of the head.
"I asked you if you liked the arrangement of the second piece," he repeats, a little 'more slowly. It is obvious that is not what the real question - even if the words are articulated, it is just to steal time.
Give him the possibility of dragging their feet on firmer ground.
Look away, Ash nods. "Very." Back
to turn over the keys in his hand - the thumb rotates around the ring index, metal clashing. A distraction.
Forcing a smile, biting her lip. "Definitely better than what Morgan has done another piece."
"I gather you did not appreciate the dedication?" Mike smiles, becoming even closer. "What I do not moves the idea of us romantically perched on a ledge?"
raising his eyes, he leans against the wall with his back.
is strange, because until a few hours ago, when Morgan had dropped into the microphone the word 'lovebirds' - clearly linking it to the drummer who blushed as the idiot who is behind him and Ash, who is not quite hidden from his position he wanted to break up and sinking - was engraved in the memory as the' most embarrassing moment of his whole attendance of Nowhere, but now he is almost smiling to think again.
The balance still gave the impression of supporting, at the time. The evening was perfect, and there was the music - it was Chris who laughed at his side and a lightness that had almost stopped believing as painted on the skin.
seem past year, ever since. Instead of just a handful of hours.
"I never had a great desire to bury in my whole life, "he says, trying to modulate the voice on the right tone, the usual." Your friend is an asshole. Worse than Chris, and it's all said. "
" Well, it still boasts some credit for the matter of fat Skeletons "is the answer, but Michael's hand rests on the side of his neck and the heel slips almost casually into the neck . While the breath touches the lips - a little closer still.
would thus be easier to lean forward just enough to cover the distance - perhaps not even necessary to get around: just stand still while the man's eyes alight on the mouth . Enjoy the seconds until kiss and wait. and then lose and to listen to Chris, for once, stop thinking about anything and let the balance between them to settle. Allow prospects staggered become true, and perhaps all that has happened in the past will be absorbed by the skin like a bruise slowly decides to disappear.
breath, Ash raises his hands to lay them on his shoulders.
presses her head against the wall, then increasing the distance. He closes his eyes.
"Mike," he murmurs, feeling his heart beating in my ears. "I owe you speak."
He nods. "I know."
"You can get a second?"
Man is still standing in front of him, so close that you can breathe, and for a moment, even if the decision has already been taken and driven mechanism, Ash can not move that want nothing more than a half step forward and brought it into his arms to wrap around yourself, and embrace.
"I can not do out here," is compelled to add, however. Opening his eyes.
Michael says nothing - no questions and does not object: It simply leave space to turn around and take the keys. Open the door.
He feels lightheaded, while crossing the threshold. Her fingers shaking, pressing on the switch, and if the corridor is to always messy and family as he left in the afternoon, the movements are rather uncertain and the CG sembra spostato di qualche centimetro.

Quando la porta si richiude alle sue spalle con un rumore secco lui sobbalza appena - senza controllare se Mike lo sta seguendo, aumenta il passo.

"Vuoi qualcosa da bere, prima?" domanda, alzando la voce. "Birra? Coca-cola?"

"Nulla per adesso. Grazie," sussurra però l'altro, in risposta, e Ash si accorge che nel frattempo si è già seduto sul divano - gomiti premuti sulle ginocchia aperte, occhi fissi su di lui. Dal basso.

La consapevolezza che tutti gli scenari immaginati in precedenza si sono già polverizzati perché questo è il luogo in cui dovrà imbastire il suo discorso lo coglie in quel momento, come un colpo allo stomach, and when the man reached out to him, as if to invite him to come closer, it turns out to shake his head instinctively.
In a hurry, takes another step back.
"That night that you kissed me," he says, crossing his arms behind his back and pressing his back against the wall. "The first time. Do you remember?"
slowly withdraw the hand, Mike nods.
"Ash, listen," he murmured, slightly changing position. "You do not have to tell me anything, if it is too difficult for you. Or if you're not to do so. There should not be no confession, especially, sit here with me, please. You're not alone," he adds.
But it is a lie, this, because solitude is not equal for all and there are people who know how to cross it - people who pierce the veil and can touch, eye contact seriously. If the other lead in the blood, however - a poison that does not dissolve.
And sometimes it's like a wall, sometimes it's like water, others air around you painless.
What protects you.
is never lacking, however.
never fades.
"I never told anyone," then whispers, without detaching from the wall. "Only Chris and Dylan. Not that be a secret or ... But I do not like talking about it. I do not know how to do, actually. It's complicated."
"Ash." On the couch
Michael ran a hand through his hair and a moment he is afraid that will not allow him to maintain distance and to raise it up - which will take you in my arms.
"Okay," agrees the other hand, without moving. "Try to start from the beginning," he suggests.
And as a signal: Ash feel the words forming on your tongue with hardly need to put in order.
"I was fifteen," she begins. "Or maybe fourteen. He was big, bigger than Chris, and an asshole .... That has always been an asshole. It still is. But I was stupid, more stupid than now, and I thought those were just stories that Chris is invented to put the nose in our affairs. "
could tell him that there were also other reasons to distrust the opinion of his friend: he and Brad had hated from the first moment, without either of them could justify it in some way. Ash had asked Brad, one afternoon, and the answer had come, laughing. Maybe we're just too similar. A smile, an accomplice, the determination of those who knew so well. know, both too jealous. Possessive.
The explanation then had seemed perfectly valid and credible, remember now, but back in his mouth the bitter taste of confidence dispensed too lightly. Aloud, however, says only: "I had known the night of our first gig," because there is shame that you can share and other I really do too badly.
With a concentrated effort, he returned to focus on Mike.
"Singing in public always makes me a strange effect, but this time it was louder than usual, maybe because I did not expect. I was little . And I had never met anyone that I liked so much - that was Dylan of the Cooked fulminating, not me. He told me that I had a beautiful voice, as he liked to sing ... The usual things, no? And they were crap because I was fourteen years old and was already so out of tune if I had too many times, but ... "
He shrugs.
Across the room, Michael is listening to the air a bit ' restless, and Ash suddenly feels guilty for having put him in that position - because it is obvious that his words might suggest alarming conclusions for the story so banal, and he should have the courage to go straight to the point instead of getting lost in the details more comfortable. Those who do not really touch him, who can not hurt.
"Nothing has happened to big," he said then, almost abruptly. "For a while 'turned in our country, I never understood why. He and Chris are hated, so maybe it was a revenge on him. Or maybe I gave him only on the nerves - maybe. It made me believe be eligible and convince my friends that we do not even think, until one evening I decided to play that was broken and took me to the bathroom to make me give him a blow job. "
It is only after that - after that night in terms of reduced too normal and everyday to make sense of helplessness , or treason, or fear - that you realize you have taken his eyes as he spoke.
The window became a mirror in the dark, and refers to a picture not too different from what it had received that night when waking from a bad dream had ventured into the bathroom.
Light skin, paler than usual. shifty eyes and his body stretched like a thin thread.
Turning her head suddenly, he meets Mike's eyes: Immediately move look on the wall over his shoulder, muttering: "It was not a particularly pleasant. I took away the desire to do the idiot with males for at least three years."
"He has done nothing?" comes the question - immediately. All too predictable.
He shakes his head.
"It was not what interested him," he says. "I think it would just give me a lesson. Or scared."
Silence.
"Okay," Michael murmured then. Slowly.
And it all breaks down there.
Ash really can not read his expression - in some ways it is clear that the answer has reassured, but the look has not lost his intense concentration with which he had followed the story. The forehead is still frowning, his lips still tight, with no smile.
"Do you feel like you sit here now?" heard him ask.
It would have the courage to say no, as he did with all those who have tried to approach him over the years. Would you have the freedom to react as if it was Chris, who was vibrating from the need to touch it, or when Grace did not seem to know how to treat wounds that had left its mark on the skin but also you could infect. By Mike
this possibility does not exist, because the entire confession is only meant to let you know what happened in the past and need to delegate him the right of every initiative to establish the distances - to choose and decide.
called to himself.
Ash nods, then. Solve the problem of arms behind his back, is detached from the wall. And as he approaches
looks away from her figure - to turn back to the window and tries to remember how long the tents are gone. Dylan was to remove him or thought about it in recent weeks? It's strange seeing
move against the black background, the feeling is that anyone from the outside might look.
If the idea does not usually have a particularly shocking, suddenly the possibility that someone else has witnessed his confession makes him feel again, as when, at the end of that evening too long, she heard Brad tell his friends what had happened in the bathroom. The same sense of dismay, the inability to move his body as he wanted.
gestures are too rigid.
And the confused feeling of being completely naked - stripped.
To cover the distance that separates him from the sofa seems to need whole minutes.
The instinct of escape beats in the blood, reaching new summits, and the eyes of Michael when he finds the courage to face them, they give the same fear of that first time he had spoken: they are too penetrating and warm. Very close.
When I felt his hand close around his wrist, and is drawn down, however - including its arms against his chest - a snapshot of that memory fades, replaced by the details in the present moment: the warmth of the skin of Michael, the tickle of his hair against his cheek. His smell.
Taking a deep breath, pressed her forehead against his neck.
The man is running his hands along his back, slowly, as if to calm him down, and suddenly, for no real reason, the lips bend into a smile and he finds himself laughing.
"Mike," he says, shaking his head but not really change position. "I did not mention this to me consular ..."
"I'm not consoling. I'm just taking close."
"You should not hesitate to whisper to be quiet, it's all over, and then it seems my mother when I had nightmares as a child ... "he chuckles, but the other is not responding.
" So it's only oral sex, the problem? "application Instead, with the same seriousness of a moment before. The same sweetness careful. "If I touch you do not ..."
"No," Ash confirmed. more calmly. "Actually, it is mainly why I wanted to tell you. Although ... "It crashes
, embarrassed.
Closing my eyes, he concludes:" I do not think I have ever gone much further. With a guy, at least. "
In his head, admitted it was always accompanied by some reaction abrupt. He imagined her voice to bend almost imperceptibly, the words, and a new version of the usual fear spread in the veins - imagine Mike's body stiffen. Caresses become more hesitant. Almost listless.
He spent weeks agonizing over the thought of Brad and his own inexperience, and it is almost anticlimatico now be told simply, "Okay."
As if it was of no importance and it is not surprising.
The pressure of the man's lips on his forehead at this point, does not know or refusal of absolution: he recalls, rather, the way you touch it. The naturalness with which, from the first moment, was able to break down his resistance to get there.
"For the rest, do not worry," I heard whispering on the skin. "That guy will go away by itself."
and nods, because there has never believed and do not really believe it even now - Brad is stuck too deep and what happened has now crystallized into something else, insecurities and loneliness and dreams - but it is hard to contradict when Mike use that voice. Are you unwilling to do so, and the strength to fight back.
Keeping your eyes closed, take the time to listen to him breathe, the chest expands and contracts in a continuous rhythm, and silence is woven around them hiss of minutes of the bodies that are very close. When the man speaks again, his voice is only a whisper.
The tone of another confession - another secret.
"It's bad enough what happened to me too. When I was eighteen," he says.
Slowly, Ash returns to open his eyes.
The calm of the last moments seem mixed in his throat, as after hours of sleep. It is hard to put things into perspective - to understand the words - and must put out a little from his body, to do that. Recover a bit 'away, looking for his eyes.
"With a guy?" application, almost without moving his lips.
The other looks away.
"There were six of us, really," he murmurs, but even if the gesture speaks of a sudden reticence There is a quiet family, in her tone. And when, soon after, sinking back in his eyes, he does so with the same determination as always.
"Only, I do not think I ever told anyone."
He wets his lips.
"What happened?"
"I wanted out of the football team," says Michael, his thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. "And they had to settle some unfinished business with me. At first they beat me: fists, more than anything else."
The smiles, tilting her head slightly.
"Then they pulled to the ground and had fun to masturbate on me. To squirt in the face, and swallow that claim."
The nausea that closes the throat at that point is not directly related to the image that the words conjure - is an act of identification and empathy, of course, but it digs deeper. Rake face of the man's accumulated years to regain his features had to be like in twenty years, and feels the sign of bruising.
The trail of blood. Stains. Insults.
"They were your teammates?" Ash whispered, without taking his eyes.
"They were my best friends."
Silence.
"I threw up for hours after. And I have lived in terror for weeks to bring the mouth to the sex of my boy - I was afraid of ..."
Slowly, Michael swallows.
"It's never happened, instead," he adds after a moment, brushes her hair from her face.
He bends his head towards his hands, as if physical contact could help the mind to process more easily what the man is telling. My best friends, he said, and is a dizzy thinking about Chris, at that time. Remember
his arms that night - the security that has always given.
Imagine his face instead of what Brad is a detachment that is almost scary laugh, so it is absurd - at the same time, however, the words of Michael continue to dig the vacuum.
The protective instinct is silly, maybe, but it also impossible without it.
"Really you've never told anyone?" is ask.
"I think I know what it cost you to talk about it tonight," he smiles. "I've never found the courage to do it. Then the years went by, and slowly it has ceased to be all that important."
"And those guys?" Ash asked, frowning. "We have still to be reviewed after, how did you do?"
"I ..." He breathes in, deeply. "I stopped playing football," ends, moving the hand on the neck of his shirt. System almost casually folds, with an odd. "And I could devote myself to photography full time," then added, back at him. "I would say that was not so bad after all."
captures Ash's laugh of surprise - a brief and almost incredulous, yet sincere.
"No, maybe not," agrees, shaking his head slowly. "It seems that as a backup plan, the photo you have gone well ..." Mike laughs
And in turn, leaning over to kiss him the way he kissed throughout the evening: the right hand resting on his shoulder, his lips pressed slightly on her. A quick stroke that does not seem to have no connection with sex, but talk of proximity, rather. Link between the bodies - to stay in touch.
Under the watchful eye of Chris and friends of man to Nowhere, was all too easy to simply to smile. Get involved and do not move too fast - no recoil.
Now I'm alone, though. And the difference is recorded on the skin as soon as Michael deviates - nell'esitazione which avoids backing down at all, almost sudden stillness in which both crashes.
centimeters apart, neither of the two ventured a movement.
Eye to eye, they look.
The man moved a little finger - the index touches the skin of the neck, now - and Ash feel the power of the position maintained for too long in the time of crystallization.
Breathe.
and lower lashes when Mike tilts his head back, because his eyes are too intense and the sensation of falling even before it touched. Because the kiss is different now - more enveloping, more profound - and there his body close. His hands, and the desire that seems to throb with more sincerity than usual - with less uncertainty, fewer barriers.
The first time you were in a similar situation, there was confidence that something would go wrong - that letting go was a mistake. After the concert, in subsequent meetings, the fear had taken a more subtle form - as an enemy that you know will take you by surprise. Now, there is a strange clarity in the same confusion, however: Mike's lips, her tongue, dissolving knots but do not allow the plot to discard. Rather than return to weave with each thrust - new protections are created as old ones collapse.
is a slow game. A come meet.
He is unbuttoning his shirt: his hands moving on the fabric - quick fumble between eyelets and buttons - and he is to follow movements with his fingers tracing the muscles of the chest, feeling the warmth of the skin under the palms.
is the first time it touches someone that way: with the girls was different, and the interaction with Chris has always been so familiar to undress in front of him was spontaneous, almost indifferent.
It was never real attraction, which bound them - had confidence, perhaps, somewhat. Desire for warmth.
With Mike is all this but his fingers under the skin has a foreign substance, and his body a new shape. To discover.
makes your head spin. Stand next to him - look at him.
feel her lips rubbing on the jaw and bend the head to the side: guess his smile. Still, kiss him.
Ash shuddered when the cotton T-shirt runs on the back and shrivels up - leaves stripped and shakes his head feeling the hair stick to the face, while the other slides her hands on her hips naked.
"Let us go there?" Michael then whispers, pressing his lips on his shoulder.
and he has hundreds of times that exact time, the uncertainty of recent weeks, but had never believed he could play both spontaneous as if it were not, again. If that was not the first time that you really are alone, without shields him - in a nudity that is deeper than the simple lack of clothes.
perhaps because of Mike - his smile, his absolute ability to put everyone at ease. Maybe it's because somehow during those months he has already earned the trust and is not a battle that they intend to tackle: Mike is not an enemy, while the wraps her arms around his waist, nor can properly be called an ally. It is a companion, rather. Who knows the way to go - know by heart the steps - but has the same desire to accompany you.
The light in the room is off, when exceeding the threshold - the man does not bother to turn it on, and guides him toward the bed and never get away from him.
"It's a problem?" demand, rising on his neck with his mouth. And any answer is lost in the shadows, where the language sink in the ear and seem to fade, the boundaries of the room.
Stifling a groan, Ash turns.
"What?" asks absently, brushing his lips with his. But Michael does not add another: back to kiss him instead - the window behind him, spreading a dim light, sculpting the shape of his shoulders, that arms. Tracing the curves of the muscles, when sliding your fingers along his torso - illuminating the importance of the lips that rub on the chest. That close on the nipple, sucking it.
Ash shakes his fist on her hair, and feel the touch of her fingers down even lower - touch the hem of the jeans, the belt buckle. Release it. While also lowering his mouth again, drawing a fluid through the chest, circles around the navel.
A kiss to his lips apart - teeth and tongue - and he feels the dry mouth: his pants fell to the ground and the man is on his knees, rubbing his cheek with a little crotch. The body stuck between her legs - solid.
"Mike" he calls it, from above, almost voiceless.
In response, a rise of the eyes - the jet black shine of the pupil while the other raises his hand and take one of his own, to weave your fingers. Soon after that there is only a feeling of balance transfers: the perspectives of the changing room and Ash finds himself upside down on the bed, the temple sank into the pillow. Her hair stuck to the face and the man's mouth and hold still behind the ear - to flow slowly down the neck. The lips opened last vertebra - the tip of the tongue.
And his smile, like a caress on the skin.
Like a kiss. Whatever he
in Serbian that night, now it is impossible to go back.
Eyes closed, Ash focuses on her voice that whispers softly, "You're beautiful." It focuses on his lips - while tracing the form of his name, and draw words - on his hands, which move from the hips to the thighs. And he thinks that has never found a need to measure both contradictory feelings: the feeling of being naked, helpless, with complete assurance that you are fully protected. The confusion and delay the perceptions and movements - the most ardent desire that makes all the odds. The skin of Michael
hot and the air that surrounds them.
shiver of fear and thrill of pleasure.
"So ..." the man is whispering, and wraps her arms around her waist to draw him back. "Relax, Ash," repeats - he just winces when he hears his teeth closed slightly over the meat. When he feels his erection rubbing in the wake of the buttocks and slid his hand forward to shake sex. Caress.
For a moment, he finds himself thinking that the time really has come: now, half of that breath. The slope of the movements that change just a more powerful and profound. Definitive. Instead
each contact remains on the surface: the pressure does not increase - it does not change the angle - and nerves remain loose as if the shape of the body was lost in some stage of that journey.
Mike's voice continues to caress the ear, gliding on the skin, curved on words that make no sense, perhaps, but at that time seem to be the only lifeline that allows you to find some direction and encouragement whispered the vibration of the kisses, the smiles. An arm wrapped around the pelvis to hold it - drive it - and smooth movement - even faster - from the hand.
Ash hardly recognize your voice when you hear moaning his name - does not recognize its willingness nell'arcuarsi back, freezes muscles. It's like living it from the outside and at the same time from somewhere too deep to emerge and interact with the world: Michael's fingers tightening the grip and his teeth close to the skin and he has to bite the pillow to keep from screaming. After
, time seems to shatter into consecutive snapshots scattered on the floor, casually: there is the shining of the eyes of Mike close to his face, just before his eyes return to fall to enjoy the best kiss. The design of the shadows on the ceiling a moment later - the rubbing of the cloth over the chest. Stomach.
The delicacy with which the same hands that were holding a few minutes before it stopped - were moving it - is now engaged to care for his body to dry it.
And the thoughts that come back to rally - who find order, meaning - as the heart gradually slows the pulse and again perceive external stimuli. The ticking clock, the noise of the city outside. The sound of their breathing, the silence in the air.
Michael.
"You're mine, Ash ..."
He opens his eyes.
Beside him, the man just change position - press your lips on his shoulder, in a whisper relaxed. "My," he repeats, and it is a caress that becomes a thrill: the wrinkling of the skin and the melting of a deep junction between nerves in the flesh.
no apparent reason, for the first time in the evening - the first time in years, perhaps - Ash feels the gorge close on the tears.
Around them, the room seems even darker than before, but the night is not at all threatening or exciting, now, only the intimacy collection of a hug. The unmade bed and the blankets wrapped around her legs softly convey a warm feeling of fatigue and languor.
An arm folded under his head, Michael continues to slide your fingers along her bare back - count the vertebrae with the knuckles, maybe, or perhaps simply play tracks on the skin. Against the cheek, Ash felt the rise and fall of his chest - the hair slips his breath, still a bit 'speeded up. And there's the smell, all around.
His taste in your mouth.
Do you not think that ever happened after the days of childhood and Dylan, to hear so distinctly his membership to anyone. A something.
Suddenly, thought is so great that it almost scares: biting his tongue not to say anything - you closer to Mike, turns her head to hide her face against his shoulder. Immediately, the man's hand goes up to stroke his hair, his lips touching his forehead.
He inhales.
And when the wind blows out, but the concern seems to leave the body - the insecurity and the memory of Dylan, the sound almost suffocating his absence. Fear.
remain only the fingers of a man on the skin - the relief of his body and set the perfect fit which seems to welcome his own. There remains only the rhythm of his heart, faster, stronger than the one on which he has always measured, and a languor deeper than any dream to weigh down the limbs. To make
longer breaths.
Sleep, then, is simply to indulge in that embrace. While the mind down the defenses because there is no danger, and her eyelashes flutter in the dark looking for a more absolute.
And as the silence around you heat and wind, and the weight of a hand on her back is nothing but memory.
numbness.
And, finally, relief.

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Financial Accounting Libby Solutions

No Limits When

First of all, sorry for the disappearance.
Between PC repair and various commitments, are not quite able to connect.
From Friday to Sunday I worked from 7, 30 to 23, 30 and Monday from 7, 00 to 19, 00. A very challenging.
rolls are destroyed !
I did the assistant in a course training for businesses and consumers and will refer at least another weekend.
The course covered the Memory Techniques and Fast reading , more moments scattered dedicated to personal growth and the air Uto-awareness.
I do not make your company name, because I'm not doing a post advertising.
I just want to write what has been a wonderful experience. Although it has been challenging and fun to stay all those hours to teach and help.
impression I was terrible, public speaking (yes, me!) And relations students with even twenty years older than me. rolls
skeptics see them, when the first day I said that in 10 minutes, would have memorized the first 45 digits of π.
see them laughing when I told her that if she would be remembered here in months or even years if they wanted. They could learn a lot and remember as long as they wanted.
See you bet I did not know the weekday of any given calendar from 2005 to now.
prove we could also start from 2000. Or to agree any year, including 1874 and 15 minutes of time to think. I could also learn to do them in 3 minutes.
small exhibitions we do start to show an obvious fact and totally ignored. The human being has unlimited memory.
I too, last year, I thought of not having at all, not even memorized a phone number, are anything but a genius. rolls
The truth is that the mind is a fascinating and extraordinary, almost mythical. When you read a book on anatomy, we use only a small part of our brain, we do not really think.
Then discover all you can do instead, when they teach you to use it. To turn the power being applied.
We are a bit 'all of sports cars, which go to 30 per hour for a driving school not told us how well you use the throttle, that's okay. Be content to stay on 30.
When we all went to 100.
Wonderful, I be one of the people who have changed, it is a wonderful gift and is the best reward for all the effort and strokes and fatigue.
Because in the end, they knew how to do what I do know, how to improve and how to do it better than me, with time.
Because if I can memorize 1000 digits and passes, you know 10 minutes in a calendar, learn whole books, or know the vocabulary of a native speaker in just over a month, they know to get ourselves, effortlessly amazing and fun . None
skepticism and fewer constraints in the head. More to do and succeed!
And those who've done this before, are just examples to understand at a practical level, what was quick and easy to prove in 15 minutes, none of them is unable to do so. They did everyone of all ages, all over.
Then there's more, share some really exciting, especially those involving non-technical.
Nothing ... it was great. To see them go away happy and more free and safe. Capaci. Also because of me. ^ ^
I do not think I did much more satisfying as this, at work.


PS I miss you. ^ ^

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