Wainscoting Bathroom Images

...

dry.
And also a bit 'sad. I can not say I did not expect. It was written last week and already by the assignment of the song had given me the confirmation.
Morgan has run his horses kept winning big man hath been amused with his guinea pig. Now
me what dry is not the voice of Henry in the race. It bothers me a lot. I'm angry as hell and m'intristisce.
It bothers me that it came out well and has made a runoff unnecessary even when the boards of the stage knew that there was no story.
It bothers me to death that Henry is a gentleman and gentle way, too dressy, it never went beyond the lines.
It bothers me to death to be "fair" in everything he does.
It bothers me to death that is not one that splits the video.
It bothers me to die than a handsome with an intriguing smile or a little boy looking for sympathy or a funny bastard.
What is a voice with a stamp of ultra special.
Because maybe what would have been more excited me, that every time I resent it, "Once upon a long ago" makes me shudder.

matter of taste, of course. I keep my
and goodnight. But
will remain dry.

Crochet Pattern For Waffle Headband

[RPS - X Factor] Euphoria

Title: Euphoria
Fandom: RPS - X Factor
Characters: Henry - Matteo - Noemi
Pairing: Henry / Matthew
Rating: PG13
Genre: Introspective one-shot Word Count
: 1078 (reading words)
Warnings: mild slash .
Summary: "The evening went well and yet it is as if we dragged out by force of inertia shaky between fatigue and euphoria."
Disclaimer: These people are real but what is said there is absolutely invented . There is no gain nor I want to hurt anyone!
Notes: Join Temporal-mind and the prompt is just below the title.
(And I'm two! Yay!)
The story takes place on the same day last race. The ninth episode damn! Because I feel under the skin that Henry ù___ù goodbye today, I had to post and here I am.

Thanksgiving at my double-beta always Mary . "But Henry is the fat guy?" He asked. I still do not have the faintest idea what's betando, but is making progress and I avoid grammatical horrors. I bow.

Euphoria
"Happiness is a feather pillow, the water of the river that passes will go on. "(Happiness - Al Bano and Romina Power)

euphoric state may result from pathological conditions ... [cut] or be present in healthy people with good character and optimistic, or due to events involving positive and rewarding.
(Euforia - Wikipedia)
The person in the manic phase is without inhibitions: he says what he thinks is very uninhibited and unrestrained in sexual activity.
(One of the symptoms of the form bipolar manic depression)

I lift my eyes from the book and he's there leaning against the doorway looking at me.
I just have time to see her smile fading slightly when touched like never existed.
does not say a word. None.
She turns and walks away.
and 'very late and yet none of us still can not sleep. Naomi also sings in his room. I get tired for no
hide a yawn.
join them in the room and he is committed to fold some clothes. When I enter it even once.
I threw myself on his bed on his stomach and I am looking at him.
We are all still here. The evening went well and yet it is as if we dragged out by force of inertia shaky between fatigue and euphoria.
I miss my girls. I miss my wife. Most times I miss so that pain becomes even sing, but I know that now there is no place for them if they want to sleep, not at this time. Now I need to blow out the last remnants of adrenaline, even the ones that jam session was able to dispel.
"Are you done?" I ask pressing her cheek against the pillow caught between his forearms.
"Almost."
turns to look for a moment, then returns to the fold last things. It seems quiet but I know that it is not. He too is still tense at this time would otherwise have to purr between the covers and not to fix the room.
"Come, come!", I said almost angrily.
finally looks at me, but not smiles.
Is there anything that will not allow it and I can not imagine what it is.
"do not have to stay here," he says cautiously and felt a twang in the voice, forced. "Not today."
not the answer because it is clearly a lie and also because the need is there. It 's my.
sighs. His is a weary sigh, which does not release anything. Lets go on the bed holding back the weight with your forearms at the last minute. The
I quickly put the push of a side against the wall and lifted his head to look at him holding him with one hand.
I find myself staring at the profile serious, absorbed. I wish I could understand but what he thinks when he does that is almost impossible to guess.
She grabbed her shoulders and forced him to lie.
These beds are too small so that should be kept in balance with the leg to shore up the floor.
"I've only been postponed a week," she finally says and smiles.
"You do not know."
"Oh, I know."
remained staring in silence for a while '. I try to understand if he says seriously, but I find that I do not care. We do not want to think that far. A week in here is a life. Long. What interests me is this moment and the immediate need to relax. Henry
usually can make me star well. Today makes it so damn difficult.
I figure it's time to simplify and I lean on her face enough to brush against her lips with mine.
"Do not you miss your family?" She asks in a whisper. I rise
frowning extending both arms and it is my turn to sigh tired.
buries his face in the crook of her neck and move his head up and down.
Of course I miss them. From sick. What the hell kind of question is that? What is it? I ask, barely moving her lips, touching the edge of his shirt.
"I miss. Too, while I am moving my hand down my back in a way so languid as to seem impersonal. "I drain, "whispers convinced. Then I grab the hair on the neck and lifts her face to look at me and I will I see all his quiet desperation even pulls her lips into a nasty grin.
"What, you're not happy to be here?", I ask, using a tone intentionally stupid. "After all, what more do you want?", Freeing him from taking inflation. I'm going to sit with knees pushed up to plant in your side and in the gesture takes me a little bit of nastiness.
He laughs. It has a strange way of laughing. Hard enough.
"Happy ...", it just says that laughter is exhausted as if by magic. "But then what is happiness ..." He stops suddenly as if he realized that two in the morning you can not make do philosophy.
the avoidance of doubt, the first that comes to mind that maybe it's a good idea, attack humming the first stupid thing that comes to mind:
"Happiness is a feather pillow, the river water passing that goes ... ". I am also looking
out loud.
He rises on his elbows and stared at me as if it were to send me to hell.
Instead he sings. "It 's the rain that falls behind the curtains
happiness ..."
And we find ourselves singing phrases mutilated fishing from the memory of this song that contrasts with Veronica beyond the wall.
ends in a collective laugh.
"Maybe happiness is really a glass of wine with a sandwich," says Noemi looking out the door. "I've got 'na hungry!"
"No," Henry ago. "I vote for the feather pillow," a show of yawning and stretching before. "Happiness really did these things ..."
"Well, rega, 'I'm going to bed. 'Night. "
raised his hand in greeting and I stand up for myself when Henry grabs me by the wrist.
"What is your happiness?" He asks. And smiles. Quiet. I shake my
head. I do not know. I do not know if it actually exists.
Personally I like to think the immediate, right now.
"Sleep", then responds with a smile. "So I think I'm quite agree with you on the pillow of feathers."
"Then sleep," he says and pulls me to him.

Henry is uncomfortable to sleep with. He has a nasty habit of turning in bed and Russian, but after I get up and leave so relaxed that I feel an enormous task.
I can hardly keep my eyes open but he still does not sleep. He stared into space.
"Everything okay?" I can say.
nods. "I'm happy," she says, and also through the sleepy I can grasp the irony.
Even in this moment of total relaxation I can feel his torment, this swing between depression and euphoria that is our life here.
I wish I could say it's just a period that will not leave any trailing in us, but it would be stupid and a liar and does not deserve it.
I cling to him and close my eyes without replying.
Everyone survives as he can.
I sleep at last.

Donate Washer And Dryer Detroit

[RPS - X Factor] Confusion will be my epitaph ...

Title: Confusion will be my epitaph
Fandom: RPS - X Factor
Characters: Henry - Matthew
Pairing: Henry / Matthew - Henry hints / Sara
Rating: PG13
Genre: Introspective one-shot
Word count: 1198 (counter word)
Warnings: mild slash .
Summary: "Here you can eat music, drink music, you can breathe, you inhale ... It 's like a drug."
Disclaimer: These people are real but what is said there is absolutely fabricated. We will gain much less want to hurt anyone!
Note: Some . XD
Join Temporal-mind and the prompt is just below the title which is taken from the beautiful song King Crimson, Epitaph .

a mega big thank you to my beta, Mary, who helped me in his usual meticulous spirit without understanding who were the guys I'm talking about! Priceless!

I know that, as usual, "my" pair will be very popular but it is a fate to which I can not subtract. So be patient. I do not think I'll write more RPS.

Confusion will be my epitaph
"And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike." (Thriller - Michael Jackson)

I know how I feel when I'm
around you I do not know how I feel when I'm around you
(System of a Down - Roulette)

Even silence has a sound in the loft and this concert is quiet breaths, several . Or the rhythmic drip of the aquarium where we left it to soak the glasses on shaky terrine.
I can not sleep. In the darkness that broods m'avvolge mind thoughts and notes and I think the race tomorrow.

This place is a prison. A prison that I chose yes, but no less dangerous. Here you can eat music, drink music, you can breathe, you inhale ... It 's like a drug. Sometimes you forget who you are, what you know, what you want to be. It often seems that there is nothing more important than them and our need to sing. It ties me in ways I never imagined.

"Do not you sleep?"
His voice is musical. That hoarse whisper softly of who has run just woke up ... I hold her against my chest and I feel the irresistible instinct to steal his breath to silence him.
shake my head in slow motion and advance his next question by pressing his palm over his mouth so nice.
I just want you to understand that I need to fix the dark thoughts and nothing in this place without distorting its illusory me from thinking.
Above him and his voice.
I could go out tomorrow. It could leave him.
do not know what scares me more, but there is no doubt that intimidates me. My heart was beating in my throat so I have to open her mouth for air in a mournful sigh. He does not talk but I want her lips against his Adam's apple by following the mad movement. The string
more to me.
"I'm fine," I say. "Sleep."
waited patiently as you can in the limited space systems of my bed.
"No. But I'm quiet, "he says.
Curved lips into a smile that lasts only a moment and try not to think about the weight of his head on his shoulder and that it is misleading, however, the pleasure she puts me through.
But the loft is a deceptive world.

close my eyes and comes out strong and uncontested picture of my wife.
Of her eyes, her smile trembling, my love reflected in his face.
I miss Sara.
I miss the real world but too often I find myself thinking that I do not miss as it should, that when I get out of here in this loft will miss you so much for me to feel sick with ferocity and desire.
I'm confused.
Being on stage is like being on an unstable border.
What attracts me in front of me as what I have behind.
sing for her and I think of him. Hug him and I struggle not to find the smell of Sara. The taste of her lips. Of his skin.
Suddenly
m'è unbearable it in her arms.
"You should go in your bed, now," whispered.
"I should, but I'm not going," he replies in the same tone wheezing with laughter in his voice.
I do not want to discuss but I can not restrain a gesture of annoyance. I unfasten from him and sat me isso.
"Explain what?" He asks after a long moment of silence.
In the gloom I see the shape it. He, too, he was sitting at the foot of the bed. In moving the blankets have fallen into a dark spot on the floor.
"I want to go out," I tell him to lie but also knew not to.
"This is fucked up and you know, "he replies quiet.
I shook my head and lifted her hand to massage unable to think calmly.
"Maybe ..." I say. "Or maybe not."
"And this desire to change anything? It will change your commitment? "Ask me and I know he is smiling although I can not see the face. You can hear his voice.
"Never."
"And then you make too many thoughts," he tersely rising. "I go to bed."
Only when his shadow is in the frame of the door lock with the question m'è remained stranded in a while ':
"If we were to go to run-off and me, who takes Marco?" And at the exact moment when I realize that I ask a stupid question. A question that neither of us really want to do. And before he can come up with some of his gun's mine:
"I hope you choose."
And this sentence hides many things, lies and truth. It 's just the final part of an argument can be wrong from the beginning, but I would not say anything or to explain it.
He stands still and know that I fixed narrowing his eyes, not understanding.
"If you think you would go out less confused you are a jerk."
shake my head.
No, of course I have no illusions.
's just that this is a strange night. One of those nights that never end.
One of those who can not wait to pass, but you are afraid of fucking later.
's the night before the race.
days after dissection notes and harmonies until worn out, and try to nausea, do you realize your on a night like this you could lose every moment that you cursed and loved viscerally.
This is what everyone dreams about.
A world where if you talk about scales, chords and harmonies you do not need to add anything else to explain what you feel.
What excites you a voice, a gesture.
Well, maybe he love his voice and the way in which he uses.
"It does not seem smart to start a discussion like this in the middle of night. Not the night before the race, "he says in the tone and I take a repressed hatred.
"No, you're right. I'm sorry, "I reply, and I feel so tired. Why do I want here, close to me. Because he knows exactly how I feel, I swear. But at the same time I can not wait that finally the door openings. Think of us, now, this place makes me sick with disgust.
The silence extends to infinity. He is just a black silhouette against a gray background.
"What do you want from me?" She asks, but it seems to ask himself.
"to hear you sing as long as possible," I reply. And it's true. This is one of the things to bet on the vocal cords.
I feel it makes me laugh and feel good right now, on this night of shit.
"It 's the same for me, big guy," he says, and seems to conclude the speech but still hesitates to come back and let the silence envelop you with its concert of drips and minor breathing.
Like the first time we take a look at our respective templates for a time that seems endless as if there were a thousand things to say to justify what is happening there. Words able to stop, block, delete. But no. We both know. The first time we will not stop. It was night time and as the silence was the same and we both had the chin and throat full of notes ed'euforia.
not escapes, no one can save us from ourselves.
hear this silence and we still stranded in the throat and euphoria known to inflate the chest, but now we know that for as long as we are locked here in this prison of music we want to stay.
Since we want to escape.

Final notes: Perhaps this story will seem very relevant to the prompt you choose, but I decided to embark on a daring subtlety to this work. The beast referred to is not a person, why is not my intention to make the people involved here at the heart of my story. The soul of the story is the music, the competition itself, this force to the point that confuses volersene able themselves to leave but did not subtract. On this night before the race this beast ready to hit play without possibility of escape with the feelings of those who are subjected.

Home Made Noise Makers

resplendent in my isolation ...

not feel like writing. Son
months that I struggle to type two words on a keyboard while in my little brain images follow one another hectic. They concluded that there are good, collide and clash in a creative chaos. Sooner or later they will be to unravel and to choose whether to remain overwhelmingly ovoler simply vanish.
I do not care much. I still have a month to the challenge but in the meantime urge me to do more as well finish the saga of "The Sword of Truth", or watch X Factor, Lost, ER or capture Feisbuc on mice and ghosts.
Nothing too complicated. Nothing that involves too much brain.
not feel like writing. I do not want to work hard, to seek, to unravel ...

And now that I'm in the middle of a bloody game of Ja'La ...