Friday, December 31, 2010

Cover Letter To A Jewellery Store

My fics

Little roundup (stolen as usual), and happy new year for tomorrow since I think it unlikely that I will post again within 24 hours:

This year I wrote 31 fics (Original, J&W, Sherlock Holmes and a couple random fandoms such as Sleeping Beauty crossover'd with Snow White - really, WHAT was I thinking?) for a total of 144,168 words. I totally suck, it was 202,000 last year. Shortest fic: "Mattutino II" (283 words); longest fic: "My Infinite Variety. A Case of Identity" (41,410 words, incidentally my longest fic ever). This year proved that my variety is most definitely not infinite, not even notable, we could rather say non-existent, since 99% of my fic was Sherlock Holmes and what can you do about it.

Masterlist, in case you're lazy


My favorite story of 2010 (of my own): "My Infinite Variety", because it's long, has a plot that works, sort of, and is an AU, which makes it as mine as a fanfiction will ever be. It is also rather appreciated around in the fandom, and the lovely [info] took pains to make it look better than it is with her fabulous illustration, so, definitely my fave.

My best story this year: No, not "My Infinite Variety" again. I'll go for "Far from home, elephant guns", which is a long-ish piece about Watson meeting an old comrade-slash-lover and Holmes getting all jealous and annoyed and annoying about it. Verbal nonsense follows.

Story most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: My Bertie/Vince series, but it's just to be expected, since they are OCs in a fandom (J&W) that nobody in Italy knows.

Most fun story: Nothing is funnier for me to write than the Bertie/Vince stories and I think the funniest is "Fishnet".

Most sexy story: I feel like reiterating the concept: I suck at smut. And I'm not normal, apparently, since I think the sexiest one is the tentacle!p0rn in "Blessings of Babylon".

Most unintentionally *telling* story: Blessings of Babylon. "My Infinite Variety" shows pretty well, I think, what's my problem with the Sherlock Holmes fandom, and the Sherlock Holmes character, and how I - and my Watson - tried to overcome the problem out of sincere love for both.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: By now my collection of end-of-year memes show that I only have one big fic per year. "My Infinite Variety", again, was an exercise in turning Holmes into a real person, with all the problems connected to that. It didn't teach me that I don't like him, because I already knew I don't, but it taught me why, and why that's totally ininfluent in the end, and why I love him anyway.

Biggest surprise: Tentacle!p0rn?

Biggest disappointment: "All that is left, all that I hide". Not the fic itself, I think the fic is okay, but the project connected to it and how rudely I was dumped, which hurt me more than a bit.

Worst story: I'm tempted to name one among the tons of useless drabbles, but that would be easy. I'll say "Secret chord" (CHAS what if), because... just because.

Hardest story to write: "All that is left, all that I hide". My god, it never ended. Never. Ended. And I started picturing RDJ and JL towards the end and couldn't stop, which made it feel completely wrong , since those two are as similar to Holmes and Watson as I and a big fat country rat.

Easiest story to write: "My Infinite Variety". Just plot, plot, plot, just get to the end and then stop writing, don't care if it sucks, just do it. It was SO fun.

"Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: Tent--no, okay, that would be too easy. What about playing with crossdressing stereotypes and then smashing them all in "Fishnet"? No, eh?

Awards:

I don't think I won anything this year. I wasn't eligible at the Italian P0rn Fest #3, after all (which may sound arrogant of me, but it's not my fault if I won all I was eligible for for two years out of two.)



2010 was a bit improductive as to writing. Most part of the year I was busy with my final dissertation (200 pages), which means I wrote little fiction but, on the other hand, my aNobii book count simply rocketed, and reading is - I think - more important than writing. I published a story in a collection, and what else?

Oh yes, I made a serious reflection on fanfiction and writing in general and I reached the conclusion that too many authors I appreciate (some among my friends, some don't even know I exist) in time tend to become self-fanwriters, which means they write fanfiction of their own works. They repeat themselves, and then they become terribly bad at it. You can always feel when an author is self-fanficcing because they don't ring true , they ring like they know what they're aiming at, and that's making you say "oh, yes, that's so X, that's so their style". Which doesn't mean it's purposeful - I don't think it is at all - but it's, nevertheless, dramatic. The next step from that is mediocrity, and the next one from that is pure badfic. I know of people who made the whole cycle: beginner mediocrity, good work, very good work, self-fanfic, irritating self-fanfic, badfic, SPECTACULARLY BAD fic. When you reach the last stage you're fucked, because you know you can write good fic, you have in fact written very good fic, you see what's wrong in others' fic because your judgement skills are still intact, but at the same time you write shit and you can't see it because, well, it's yours and you're good, aren't you?

(This reflection, far from being original as I presented it, it's more or less what Alan Moore says about "having a recognizable style" in his ever so useful Writing for Comics . I just borrowed it and applied it to fanfiction.)

I'll hence devote my future fic (and writing) life to avoiding ever getting trapped into that lethal cycle. That's all, thank you.

Laboratory 1 Osmosis And Diffusion Answers

in 2010 [Sherlock Holmes] Twenty good reasons

Titolo: Venti buoni motivi
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: Holmes / Watson
Rating: R +
Word Count: 3386 (W)
Notes: Pre-and post-study. POV Holmes.
Written by: P0rn Fest # 4 , prompt "I've never thought of you as ordinary" .



In his tales of my adventures, as he likes to call them, my friend Watson has more often mystified the reality in favor of a dissolution more in keeping with its strict moral, aesthetic effect of a generally more pleasant, or even only attribute to the merits of more than my share. It is one of his faults, not the most insignificant, and one for which I have often criticized. However, I have tolerated - or should I say ignored - almost all of these misrepresentations because, from time to time, I enjoyed the discrepancy with reality or that there was some useful facts remain thoroughly covered by a veil of prose of way. But there is a large section of our first co-existence that Watson has been silent, at first out of ignorance, out of discretion after, and this is where my lack that seeks to address.

My roommate even a month writing lists about myself, about my qualities and my faults. It has entered into a Studio red, but there were many more, on most of them did not get to ever lay hands. Intercepted one day, happily, a list that could be titled "Sherlock Holmes - Reasons to hate him" and told in detail of my worst habits. A voice, if I remember right, read: "Why torment that violin in the hands of the Inquisition as a heretic when I able to make the angels cry." Overactive imagination aside, I found it very recreational.

What my roommate did not know is that I had written a list on his behalf. As the title had only his name, and summed up all the reasons why any I could afford that cost John Watson left the rooms in Baker Street, and me, in search of a better system. Its sole purpose was to remind me, in the ugly evening following a big fight (the first among us, I believe) that I had no desire to return to the state of affairs that preceded Watson, for a number of good reasons. He said this:


1. Alone because you can not afford the rent.

2. Why should you look for another accommodation and can not afford to take time away from the Perkins case.

3. Why can not afford the rent and could not afford to seek another home, you should seek accommodations in Mycroft, and that is to be avoided.

4. Why tolerate his presence and even his company.

5. Why smoke cigarettes excellent brand and has good taste in liquor.

6. Because he loves good conversation but does not talk too much.

7. Why is not greedy or rude in any way nor actively irritating.

8. Why not a drunkard.

9. Why is not an opium addict.

10. Why has only one vice (gambling) and broke it already convinced to limit it significantly.

11. Why not bring women home.

12. Why not bring men home.

13. Why would a doctor were always handy.

14. Why care about your health, but is too polite to let you weigh.

15. Why has poor powers of deduction, but notes tirelessly. (Four Five lists so far.)

16. Why is reassuring and chaos when he is silent in the room.

17. Because it is by far the lesser evil among the four Stamford that you have made.

18. And because he loved men in the past - at least one army (inquire) - and even if the worst happens, do not sue.

19. Why do not you suspect that complaints in each case.

20. Because it is a good man, as ordinary and predictable to the ridiculous.



got to the point I was 19 when Watson had appeared at the base of the stairs in her nightgown and robe for an excuse to ask that absurd argument. Now I do not remember for what we had discussed and I know for certain that we both had a drink too many, and we both said things which we had already repented. I had shaken hands, and Watson was back in the room. Then I added the last item in a hurry and, satisfied with the list, I had locked in my drawer.


I would not have thought to list up to a year since that night. Since I only had the keys to my drawer, and it was essential to our life together (for this reason, for example, the checkbook Watson lay there and not elsewhere), I had not thought of destroying it. After the list was for me a certain sentimental value. A silly indiscretion on my part, as I soon learned.

Watson was sleeping in my bed. Nothing strange about that, he did it for some time now, ever since, his goodness, had the idea in my foolish to declare an evening full of surprises for which alcohol was not entirely foreign. He slept then, but when I made a movement to take the bottle of water bedside, as cautious, he woke up instantly. My Watson had, and still has, good reflexes as a soldier and a light sleeper. Perhaps I had awakened from a bad dream, because he raised one hand shooting to grab his arm and shook for a moment, before waking up at all.

"Mm," he murmured, letting his hand fall back on the pillow. "Hello."

"Hello," I said, removing the cork from the bottle. "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept?" He retorted. "I have not noticed." He opened one eye and nodded a laugh with his mouth closed, a little throaty sound that I filled with silent admiration for no particular reason.

"Did you sleep well, and Russia. I've stopped going to sleep for almost an hour. "

" Now this is certainly a lie. I remember perfectly the time you are referring to, and I was awake. We were both awake. That was the point, I think. "

" Then, "I corrected, giggling silently. "I speak after time."

"I do not follow," he retorted. "What after talking about? Once you've owned up to make you tear the pillow with his teeth, or after you came into my mouth and did not say word for fifteen minutes? The second before the first, I think, therefore we should imagine a one-hour break in between ... "

" Oh, is' Shut up, "I sent him to hell, now laughing openly. I calmed down to drink a few sips from the bottle and passed it to him. Watson sat against the headboard. Her hair was matted and the sign on the back of my teeth, the healthier. "You look lost on a hunting trip," I said, cheerfully.

"I think, but I'm not sure, to give preference to a pack of dogs," consider taking a sip.

"They are less aggressive?"

"affordable."

I put a hand on his chest, slightly to the abdomen in a lazy caress. The day was exceptionally beautiful, or so it seemed. Watson looked at me with one eye, because I was too close, and then cocked his head to kiss me.

"Good morning," murmured on my lips.

"You already said."

"That was a greeting. This is a statement. "

" An optimistic estimate, "I replied, and then:" I was thinking something similar. "

"See, you're not the only one with the power to read minds."

For a moment neither spoke, and ticking in the silence I heard the rain outside the window, beyond the curtains drawn, and saw - clear as if they were open - Baker Street gray and wet under a shower of fine rain. I rejoiced, but at the same time I thought my leg would give him problems as he always did with the wet weather, and my joy is partially dried.

Watson was key between the blankets woven in search of that robe, I remembered I had been there the night before. Then with a sigh of surrender, he dismounted from the bed and gave me a vision of his naked buttocks as he tried the suit under the mattress. She pulled on his pants, contradicting my hopes, and the robe with nothing underneath.

"Where are you going?" I asked first to look better, because sometimes Watson, especially if they are completely naked, has this effect on me.

"Deducilo," he said in fact, going to the door.

"The slipper for me," I shouted back, Watson and I shouted back that I smoked cigarettes honest British or I would have got up to take my burnt tobacco alone.

not immediately returned. Because from my bedroom to the living room there are stairs and cigarettes were in the living room, I did not see much reason to.

"Watson?"

"But where you used them, please?"

"Ah, I finished. I left a new package in my drawer. "

Watson emerged in the doorway. "The key?" I pointed my vest lying on the chair and he retrieved the key and went into the living room, this time leaving the door ajar behind him. I saw it reach my desk and open the drawer, then linger a bit 'too long, and then retrace his steps slowly, cigarette in one hand and a sheet in the other.

"What?" I asked.

Watson clicked his tongue against the palate. He seemed amused, and entertainment, along with a dressing gown open to the bare chest, made him a vision. "You tell me. 'John Watson. One. Alone because you can not afford the rent '. What is the list of reasons why you take me to bed? "

Fun, open robe, her hair disordered evidently a fierce lover and now that language from the house of ill repute would certainly have lost me, if my attention was not captured in large part from the list.

"Stupid question. If observed, would know that paper has more than one year, "he said, holding out his hand to take, but Watson filed there instead of cigarettes and matches. Sat sideways on the bed, bending his leg on the mattress.

"Who is Mycroft," he asked, without looking up.

"A friend."

"I did not know I had."

"You're right, 'friend' is not the best definition."

He looked up. "Lover?"

"My God, no," laughed. "Do not you think if I knew him."

"I gladly will I know if I present it," he said, sweet.

"One day," he promised.

He returned to light, a faint smile. "I say, Holmes, were in no mood for compliments when you wrote this list. I'm not ... I read right? ... 'Actively irritating'? "

" I might reconsider this remark, "I replied. The two wings cast a shadow of her gown on her abdomen pointed. I slid closer, the sheets on my legs.

"'Why not bring men home'. A year ago, you said? "

I studied his expression. "I would have known."

"Oh, yes, definitely. I was already clear at this time. "

" Why are you smiling? "

" Mm? Oh, nothing, nonsense. I was so infatuated that I would not have noticed if a guy brothel in the pants I had marched out on the street, let alone get someone at home. "

was one of the most romantic things I had ever said, in a way not quite conventional, but on the other hand are not usually respond to conventional romance. The lips rested on his shoulder, the sign of the bite, going back from there a slow progression to the neck. Plunged his hand between the wings of her robe, stroking with your fingertips the gap between the pecs.

"Oh, glad to know that I can always come in handy," said Watson, read on. Tilted slightly head to let me access to her throat, and really for a moment I compared it to win a prize that is offered for the final blow to his attacker. My fingers went down on the abdomen, touched the hem of the woolen pants and crossed.

"'The chaos when they are silent in the room'? I have no idea what ... ah, Holmes ... what you mean, but I think one of the most romantic things I have ever said. "

I lifted my head. After a year, sometimes under the illusion I have now seen everything there was to see John Watson, and then things like this happening and I was forced to rethink all of my beliefs. It was a glorious moment in his own way, and I had give me a small private celebration taking his face in her hands and kissing until we were both hot and panting against each other. At this point, Watson had placed the list on the bed and it would perhaps be forgotten if the take off the robe, I had not dropped on the sheet itself, which crackled.

"Let me finish," said Watson, fished with dexterity. I climbed on the wreckage of the sheets in the legs, and resumed exactly where I left off a moment before his throat. So I did not see his expression change, but felt it stiffen beneath me.

"Watson, what is it?" I asked instantly Fearing for an absurd moment of hurt him, maybe hit a nerve, because the wound to the thigh was still new. But it was the wound; Watson was still looking at the paper. She lowered her eyes and closed along the fold, leaving him to fly to the farthest corner of the bed.

"Nothing. Where were we? "He asked with a smile that convinced me, leaning his hands on his hips.

My eyes darted to the list, and his follow my avoided. "What have you read? I do not remember ... "

He pushed me flat on my back, I left one thousand miles from the nonsense that I wrote without thinking a year earlier, and without thinking I decided to keep.

"You're right," he murmured in my mouth. "I am a very ordinary person. And predictable. I've never made any secret, and anyway I can not be more than what they are. "

" You can not because you can not, "I said quickly. "It would be an unprecedented achievement for mankind. Watson, really, those things ... "

" I'm not offended. I seem to be so? I swear that they are not. I love you. And you're awfully right, and we both know that is true, so what good is it offend me? "

" Why is not it, " I said, now truly alarmed. "I was drunk, and I knew for a month. We had a fight. I thought you'd apologize first, and he did it, and I was so drunk that the thing I liked and I added that line. Watson, I never thought an ordinary person. Not you, would be idiots. "

He kissed me, gently. "I'm not offended," he repeated. "Stop talking."

"And you stop repeating it, if it is true. Do not believe a word of what I said. "

" No, but no matter. So why am I here, and even though you do not understand why there is - apart from the fact that I do not drink and do not harbor prostitutes at home - I always knew that your reasons were to be completely different from mine. I know that you could not stay with a great guy. This does not mean that I would not be something better. For you. But I can not, and indeed, Holmes, are not ... "

" A perfect idiot, "I muttered. "This is what you are. And I worse than you, for not having that thing burned the night I wrote it. Watson, will you allow me to never waste my time with someone who's not worth it? "

" Holmes ... "

" There's a line that I wrote a year ago, when I barely knew your name and thought have knew everything there was to understand. And I'm here, here, and I tell you that I kept it in the hands of a week I knew I could never write idiotic bigger than that, and I must imperishable reminder of how dangerous it is to theorize without data Working as a general rule, especially when you're in the middle. "

smiled, bowing her head in the most exquisite of creation, and a lock of hair fell on the weary face as the stem of a flower.

"Do not believe a word, is not it?"

He kissed me again. Watson is not a little loving person, usually, but not in the habit of using his body to avoid a speech.

"Do not believe me," I repeated, away. I was starting to irritate me and the thing would not have led nowhere, but the consciousness of having three imprudent, to have wounded, and being forced into the position of having to disprove myself got on my nerves.

"You, an error of assessment so rough?" Watson objected, gently.

"I commit to one hundred days."

"Do not bet on one."

"This is why not look at it."

"tirelessly, you said."

"When it comes you do not do anything but fall into contradiction. You have a deleterious effect on my brain. "

" Oh, no, "she whispered, joking, and I saw the bitterness that was slowly fading.

"Oh, yes. Your presence is highly damaging. "

" This is not the most comforting thing that I have been told. "

" I'm sorry, I have little practice. But no one else has this power over me. None. "I paused to watch him absorb the information. I seemed to see it physically penetrate into the pores on the cheeks and spread in the form of a faint blush. "Kiss me like you have, do you mind?" I suggested.

was in the middle of the kiss that really knew what kind of situation I had gone to hunt, beginning this liaison with John Watson. I had chosen, for the indefinite future, but as long as possible, to accompany me to a man who would die without remorse at my command, but would suffer terribly (and as far as I could not know) a thing of no importance that I had pinned during a hangover ; I worshiped as a deity but refused to believe that a person wanted by my side just as exceptional, who knew nothing of me but he sent me in confusion for the simple fact of its existence, a man who still, after a year, I knew hardly anything more preferences in terms of tailoring.

It was a bad idea, I decided. Certainly it would kill me before the end of the summer, I left for ol'avrei not see that look that said, I love you . I'm not offended, because it would be stupid of me, and I can not, I must not under any circumstances ever let you think I'm stupid, because that is the day I leave for a better person.

Something had to be done, I thought, fighting to keep oxygen to the brain while Watson took me in the mouth with furious greed, and the room was shaking on its foundations. Something drastic. Something that would prevent him to kill me and leave me. It was necessary; I could not take the risk.

"You're an idiot," boccheggiai, cruelly twisting the strands between your fingers. "It's obvious. Even a child would understand. I would not, would not be here. "

Watson drew back slowly, carrying on as if he had not heard, but I felt his hand shake on the side.

"John," gasped, prayed, stifled a groan.

Watson welcomed me whole again, made me feel the surface of the palate and then the walls of the gorge. I sat up in a spasm of pleasure as strong as a thrill, arching his back, and now I let myself fall back on the pillow.

"I love you," I confessed. "I love you and God, is the worst idea I've ever come. You will be my death. It is clear. "

were the last sounds I was able to articulate coherent, Watson before I took off the power completely. I turned off in her mouth, unable to resist, to tell him to wait in bed because Watson is a soldier that a doctor, and there is a perverse pleasure, known to many men, being dominated by their partners.

"Do you have fun, I bet," mumbled a few moments later, when she lay down beside me with a vague smile.

"Oh, thank God I thought I would have to wait another quarter of an hour."
The
leaned a hand on his temple, clutching thin hair in a firm grip. "You," I repeated, "you will be my death."

"Yes, I heard." He kissed me, the feeling is not pleasant, but then it was not the first time. I took her hand between her legs. "Thanks," she whispered, letting slip rough five fingers on my back.

It was not an ideal situation, of course. Sooner or later I would have killed, or would let me, so I had to find someone else to pay half of the rental or - God forbid - ask for help from Mycroft. I chuckled at the thought. The last time I had read him all marks the passing of John Watson, I knew from the way he looked away abruptly.

"Why are you laughing?"

"None. Nonsense. "

I tried to make it last as much as possible. Within a month or two, Mycroft would stop to look away, and within a year or two I could submit to it. Calmly. With a good excuse. If John Watson was still there.

I had a long list of reasons for hope.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Poem For The Money Tree

Happy holidays for you!



Dear my!
wishes all a Happy New Year!
I wish you luck, success, happiness and inspiration.
Love and be loved.
God bless you:)
I will try even appear until the end of the year.
Your milav.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Ghost Sightings Maryland

P0rn Fest, and those who live without?

my times table for P0rn Fest, to be updated when PHP will stop haunting me.

SHERLOCK HOLMES Fem! Holmes / Fem! Watson, leather address book purple ribbon, piece of pomegranate
SHERLOCK HOLMES Fem! Holmes / Fem! Watson, disguise
SHERLOCK HOLMES Holmes / Watson, bearskin
SHERLOCK HOLMES Holmes / Watson, "I've never thought of you as ordinary "Twenty Good Reasons
SHERLOCK HOLMES Holmes / Watson, Tobacco powder
SHERLOCK (BBC) John / Sherlock, The internet is for porn


2 /??

Acrostic Poem On Canada

The Square 2010! The bloody victory of the dictator.

Originally posted by [info] dmitrij_kr at The Square 2010! The bloody victory of the dictator.
evidence of wrongdoing and violations during the выборов
http://burbalka.livejournal.com/895 570.html
http://lighti.livejournal.com/146322.ht ml
http://ihrachyshka.livejournal.com/ 7 98.html
http://ihrachyshka.livejournal.com/1 321.html
http://meliashkevich.livejournal.com/ta g /% D1% 84% D0% B0% D0 % BB% D1% 8C% D1% 81% D1% 8B% D 1% 84% D1% 96% D0% BA% D0% B0% D1% 86% D1% 8B% D1% 8F
http: / / community.livejournal.com / by_pol itics/2708557.html
http://euroradio.fm/by/1436/reports/586 69 /
http://www.svaboda.org/video/2254297.ht ml? IsArticle = 1 - manipulation of the ballots at a polling station in Minsk

Pictures from the protests on 19 and 20 December 2010 Mr.
http://hermanpol.livejournal.com/5953.h like
http://community.livejournal.com/minsk_ by/7010339.html
http://community.livejournal.com/pressp hoto_by/110856.html
http://community .livejournal.com / by_pol itics/2663547.html + репортаж
http://kp.ru/photo/gallery/28675/
http://news.tut.by/elections/208944.htm l
http://blogs.sacbee.com/photos/2010/1 2/west-decries-flaws-violence-in.html - там же фото насилия против мирного пикета 20 декабря
http://www.bbc.co.uk/russian/multim edia/2010/12/101220_belarus_protests_pic s.shtml
http://mmet.livejournal.com/52828.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/12/2 0/belarus-election-violence_n_798939.htm l
http://square-2010.blogspot.com/se arch / label /% D0% A4% D0% BE% D1% 82% D0% BE
http://dranik80.livejournal.com/99831.h etc. # cutid1 - замначальника минского Police beat up photographer in person during the dispersal of peaceful picket on Dec. 20, 2010

Video protests
http://nn.by/?c=video - there is video of a provocateur, initiating "Storm", interviews with victims of beatings and many others. etc.
http://nn.by/?c=ar&i=47681 - one of kits videos on the site of "Nasha Niva".
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GrM8pdXe O68 - scum of the special forces battered women
http://www.svaboda.org/video/2253202.ht ml?isArticle=1 - избивают журналиста
http://community.livejournal.com/by_pol itics/2674329.html - репортаж НТВ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhiSJoBV Bh8 - репортаж РЕН ТВ
http://square-2010.blogspot.com/sea rch/label/%D0%92%D0%B8%D0%B4%D0%B5%D0%BE

Свидетельства очевидцев
http://www.svaboda.org/content/arti cle/2252428.html + много фотографий, видео и аудио репортажей.
http://charter97.org/ru/news/2010/1 2/20/34834/ + фото
http://community.livejournal.com/minsk_ by/7044467.html + фото
http://www.nv-online.info/by/137/news/2 5323/%D0%90%D0%BD%D1%82%D0%BE%D0%BD-%D0%9 2%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%BD%D0%B8%D1%86%D0%BA%D0%B 8%D0%B9-%D0%AF-%D0%BE%D1%82%D1%87%D0%B5%D 1%82%D0%BB%D0%B8%D0%B2%D0%BE-%D0%B2%D0%B 8%D0%B4%D0%B5%D0%BB-%D0%BA%D0%B0%D0%BA-%D 0%BF%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%B3%D1%80%D1%83%D 0%B7%D0%B8%D0%BB%D0%B8-%D0%B4%D0%B2%D0%B 0-%D0%B3%D0%B5%D0%BD%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B0%D 1%82%D0%BE%D1%80%D0%B0-%D0%9D%D0%B8%D0%B A%D0%B0%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%B9-%D0%B2%D0%B7%D 1%80%D1%8B%D0%B2%D1%87%D0%B0%D1%82%D0%BA%D 0%B8-%D1%8F-%D0%BD%D0%B5-%D0%B2%D0%B8%D0%B 4% D0% B5% D0% BB.htm - как захватывали машину Некляева
http://community.livejournal.com/minsk_ by/7008041.html
http://intex-press.by/ ru/834/1/5799 / % D0% 9C% D1% 96% D0% BD% D1% 81% D0% BA% D0-% 9F% D0% B B% D0% BE% D1% 88% D1 % 87% D0% B0-19122010.htm
http://222.by/ya-byl-na-ploshchy-golliv ud-s-house
http://dmitrij-kr.livejournal.com / 5 8154.html
http://dolka777.livejournal.com/50873.h like - It has gone through Belarus by the Gestapo.
http://czerniec.livejournal.com/12 6399.html , http://czerniec.livejournal.com/12 6523.html - another past dungeons

Beaten candidates
Vladimir Nyaklyaeu
Andrew Sannikov
Vitaly Rymashevsky

dastardly provocation against peaceful protest
http://www.svaboda.org/video/2254780.ht ml? IsArticle = 1 - provocateur strikes glass methodically and thoroughly; police не мешает
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFXaC7Dh nkU&feature=player_embedded - Виталий Рымашевский о провокаторах
http://topbloger.livejournal.com/515426 2.html - гэбэшный провокатор детектед
http://www.belaruspartisan.org/bp-f orte/?page=100&backPage=13&news=73484&newsPage=0
http://zmagarka.livejournal.com/107 7296.html - a complete dossier on provocateurs

Journalism
http://msk.kp.ru/daily/24610.5/780345/
http://kompromatby.com/2010/12/20 / k rov-na-snegu.html
http://skalinkina.livejournal.com/12498 4.html + wonderful photo busily working agent GB.
http://www.novayagazeta.ru/data/2010/14 4/00.html


Alotta Fagina Shows Breasts

Maza Help save Christmas hares and take them with you in the new 2011 year!

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

High Heels Bunion Surgery

[Sherlock Holmes] purple ribbon, piece of pomegranate (fem! Holmes / fem! Watson)

Title: purple ribbon, piece of pomegranate
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: fem! Holmes / fem!
Watson Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3959 (W)
Written by: P0rn Fest # 4 , prompt leather address book.

Sharlene Holmes closed his eyes, close the pipe gently between thumb and forefinger of his right hand and an outstretched arm over the arm of his chair, surrounded by a cloud of smoke like an idol oriental incense. The robe, which is also a depressing color smoke, but who knows whether by design or by consumption of the dyer, the waterfalls on the nightgown as a miserable lot, wrapping all the creases in the wrong, tobacco-stained front and with more than a frayed seams. I

withdrawn from time to scold on the subject, since I had never made a laugh of scorn, derision and sarcastic and cruel, like the warbling of a picturesque tropical bird. Over time, though not approved, I had resigned outrage that that rag unseemly made day by day on the features of my friend, wrapped in a shapeless mass of fabric and sad. As I drew, however, some small pleasure. It was surprisingly good, for example, to see the profile of an aristocratic foot emerge from under the hem of her nightgown, the elegant curve and immediately swallowed up by the pot-bellied white slipper winter. When a leg was crossed over the other, as in that afternoon, her nightgown retreated to expose the ankle and shin, showing in all its grace one of the most beautiful parts of the body of Holmes.

Or when such luck extended to the owner unaware of his rudeness, until mid-calf, revealing the muscle strong and well-turned, trained by long walks ...

My eyes went up, of their own will, the thin stretch of his belly and that, slightly less dry, breast. I thought take without thinking about the bizarre speech of Holmes in the first month we had known: what was the fundamental lack of breastfeeding for his disguises, he said, and how little would wished that his chest looked like mine, he added. The bandages were too tight, he explained. They hurt, they would leave red lines on the sternum and belly, and still could not hide much of Mother Nature's intentions.

Holmes had small breasts and thin like a girl, but round and pointed, made to fill the hands of small size.

I felt my cheeks warm and resolutely averted gaze. I had to stop thinking about the body of Holmes, and reflected the decision by holding the two halves of my notebook and forcing them to back to win the elasticity of the leather cover. This, as a sign of protest, let out a nasty crunch.

I made a mistake. Holmes opened her eyes a crack and smiled briefly, but the shadow of a ghost, now eaten by the thin straight line of his mouth.

"The inspiration escapes you?" He said, as far as I know without seeing me, but with the air to absorb my every move in the gray pearl that was visible between the eyebrows.

"I thought he did not want to be disturbed for two pipes," I replied, ignoring the question.

"I did not want, but you're a heavy companion."

"I am mortified."

"You should. I'm glad. "

almost burst to laugh at the absurdity of that exchange, but almost, but changed to be the laughter in a puff and I felt the vague resentment, ineffable as the first snow, the endless solitude of my ruminating on the features of my friend, as I was terribly alone, only to watch her when she could not put me in my place with a look, only to rethink the things he told me to read different meanings, alone, finally, to grow hot to the thoughts that were only in my head, while Holmes was still, quiet and above, to devote himself to his puzzle.

But after all, who did evil? It was not my right to recall how many and which images I liked, when and how long I liked it? And why would I be ashamed to remember things that their own proprietary I had freely offered to the view ( the ditch barely visible between the breasts, the tiny neo incisovi the center, the thin flat muscles and snappy like a man ), without worrying that I might shock or disturb, and besides why would he have ( degrade the curved sides of the dense dark down from the laundry in the triangle of the world's most exquisite, personally designed by the finger of God ), unaware that I looked so different from all others ( thighs athletic contracted ), unaware that my view constitute danger ( your butt, oh Lord, the buttocks to kiss and bite ), unaware of what kind of person was asleep upstairs and eat at his table el'avesse touched and touched more times than they could now count on, always with those obscene thoughts in my head, with that terrible proliferation of images and details, and body parts that were running and did not give peace from morning to night, when sleep finally I returned to myself. The address book

creaked painfully in my hands, and I realized that I had twisted again, without realizing, too taken by the madness that was taking place in my mind.

"Watson," Holmes said, with a certain air of controlled exasperation. "I can not tell you how the noise is irritating when you try to think . On the other hand, I do not expect you to be familiar with the practice. "

Oh, I could tell her what was wrong.

"Holmes," I said instead, piccata. "I can not tell you how your rudeness makes you look like an old maid. On the other hand, I do not expect it any way you thong. "

" You're right, "Holmes said, opening his eyes. He put the tip of the long pipe with cherry lips and those beautiful lips terribly masculine, trying to draw but now finding it a shot off. With indolent gesture, threw the bowl on a sheet of paper on the table open, dropping debris pile of burnt tobacco on their own kind, and stretched out his left hand toward the Persian slipper resting on the armrest of the chair. While he filled his pipe, looked in my direction.

"So," he said, lighting it, consonants deformed by cherry torch between his teeth. "Since I've distracted, you might as well tell me."

"What can I say?"

exhaled Holmes, stretching his long legs over the head of the bearskin and crossing her ankles. "Oh, for me it makes no difference. Although the completeness is always preferable. Start from where you think fit, my dear, and do not neglect the details. You know I love them. "

seemed to me that one of the longest perfect hands of Holmes I went through the flesh and was close to mo 'claw around my stomach. I felt a surge of fear as bile acid and then, in order, a shudder and a hint of nausea. I felt an arch of teeth slide on the other with a squeal.

"I do not understand," I said with all the calm I could muster.

Holmes smiled, tilting her head to one side. She had long, beautiful hair that she hated blacks because, in its say, too uncomfortable. We would have liked wearing shorts as a boy, and tell those who asked him coming out of a long illness, but would have been unrealistic in society, and Mrs. Hudson would not have frowned upon. Not being able to cut them, carried them rolled up in a bunch of luck and fixed at the center of the neck with a pencil or pen or any other necessary arrangements. I had searched for hours, my favorite pen, a fountain pen that was my father's first surprise of the glitter in her hair Holmes.

"Come here," said my roommate now, clapping his hand on the armrest of the chair.

I got up before thinking that I should suspect. The woman with whom I shared rooms Baker Street was, after all, supremely intelligent, and when he wanted, until the pure cruelty. He could get me to pieces with an eye and control my every desire with the touch of a finger. I should be wary, of course, would be the right thing to do. But I got up and joined her without a moment's hesitation, lifting their skirts with their hands against the edge of the armrest, not just sitting, not quite standing.

"It is fortunate that the last pipe is no longer necessary," Holmes said, extending his right arm behind my back and brushing gesture in the lower back.

"Then why did you on?" I replied, rigid.

"We bother?"

I shook my head. The tobacco Holmes gave off a pungent odor and dense that clung to clothes and hair and sometimes I had to redo the bathroom just to take off. But I never complained.

"Ah, Watson, Watson," Holmes muttered. He leaned toward me, resting her head on my legs, a gesture so sudden and unusual that I did not have the slightest chance to predict nor to defend. I felt the warmth of his breath as a relic of the sinking of my crinoline skirt and sink like a punch in my legs, thought no doubt, but no less shocking.

"Holmes ... Sh-Sharlene, "I stammered, his name never used that, who knows where, I went up to the hours I stumbled on the mouth and tongue.

"Do not tell. I hate, "he said. "It's so coy."

"Not true," I replied instinctively.

"Jean," he continued, slowly raising his head to rub his face against my stomach, like a cat as a pet of course, as a diabolical creature sent to lose. 'So clear. Martial. One syllable. No frills, no complications. It would be John, is not it? You'd be a wonderful man, a beautiful John. "

The pain His words caused me blinded me. I took her face in her hands, to stop its rapid ascent over the protective armor of the corset, feeling that even an inch and I would be totally lost, I would not have survived her mouth between my breasts, not even a hundred thousand fabrics in the middle .

"I know it would be better," I muttered, feeling the agony to die. "It would be all right, then."

"What a fool," Holmes said, trying to get closer, but kept my hands. "What am I supposed to do a man? Would hear me, man? Accompany me when I needed? For he would never have anything more than a cow riding? "
Startled that expression
horrible, and Holmes noticed it, because now softened the severe bending of the mouth. "You're so delightfully out of the Puritan," he smiled, "that a poor consultant investigator no less than five months to see what burns inside. You're a horrible person. I would have hated for what you made me suffer. "

" I-I? You? I made you suffer ? "I replied, letting go for the surprise, promptly repaid by the pressure of his lips on my burning throat.

"Be my lady," said Holmes, stepping back to look in my eyes. "You want a man to follow. A man to be protected. A man who absorbs all your energy and your attention. I can be that man. I will not be kind and do not hold you by the hand and will not tell you that the stars pale in the splendor of your eyes, but I can swear to me you'll never be an animal for riding. "

My head was spinning, I rested my hands on his shoulders to keep in touch with reality, and went immediately to his gird up your loins, strong and possessive as male hands, but infinitely more delicate.

"I do not want a man," I said, misinterpreted what I said, thinking to reassure her, and instead I saw his eyes and felt her veil be taken slowly.

"Then it's over, because I can not change. If this disappoints you ... "

" No, no. Please, no, "I hastened, stealing her face in my hands and kissed her, desperate to lose it, you have ruined everything. "I love you, love your body. You are right, they are such a hypocrite ...! Do not say that it's over, please do not say that. "

Holmes grabbed my hands, he found that trembled and shook in her to hurt me, until the thin bones of the fingers do not overlap and the pain becomes confused the fear in my brain, but now both were washed away when Holmes left me to unbutton my blouse and kiss me between the breasts from tight bodice, touching the small central groove with the tip of the tongue.

Holmes moved sideways in the seat of the chair is too wide and I will I fell in on the slippery fabric of her skirt, her arms, tobacco and intoxicating smell of his body. Tobacco still felt bitter with his tongue in my mouth, and then eager hands surrounded me to get under her blouse and be right laces of her bodice, pulling them by forcing them, trying to open them in any way. Holmes grunted half triumph in my mouth, and the constriction around the chest is released abruptly, leaving me to take a deep breath. A hand, emerging from the corner of my dark back and seat of the chair, undid the buttons on the front and between the two wings of the folded fabric bodice tamed, leaving it out ill-treated by a breast corset.

"My God," gasped when her mouth closed around you, when the rough surface of the tongue rubbed mercilessly over and over again, against the tip of the nipple, and I had to press a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Fighting the crowd of colors that clouded my eyes, grabbed the hem of her gown of Holmes and torsos over his shoulder, enjoying the sharp sound of the tear and then the slip of cloth. Then, wearing only her nightgown as ever I had seen, Holmes seemed terribly funny, and I think I laughed, caught his eye question.

"Take it away," commanded, drunk with the power that gave me to be wanted by this creature of all, the feeling of his rough fingers clutching her breasts that I wake up to impress reddish. "Take off everything, like the time stands naked."

The contemplated, half sunk in his chair, pointing his elbow against the arm to lift me in his direction. Holmes performed without words, without looking, without a tremor, as beautiful as I remembered it without the multiple layers that disfigured. Theses hands to pick it up, amazed at his waist so thin, her buttocks so thin, more than I imagined. I kissed her belly and navel and Holmes sighed and opened her legs, put your fingers in your hair and pulling away furiously all the chopsticks until the mass dense and heavy I fell on my shoulders.

laid my cheek on the soft triangle at the end of its basin, savoring the smooth texture and bristling at the same time, but when approached his lips to the little fold of flesh between the groin and thigh, Holmes took me away. Her eyes were open, slightly grainy, which the sun was bright and dull, almost a gray pearl.

I rode him, Holmes, thin and nervous as a hunting dog, rustling of my clothes rustle of a foreign cloth on skin, skin on cloth. He grabbed a handful of skirts and lifted, pointing below the knee, and drove a cool hand against another of my bundle of linen, with mastery by dissolving all the tapes that I shook him. With both hands under her skirt, now, knickers pulled down, leaving them trapped me naked ankles and knee, and offered to the naked eye, bare breasted and a carousel of fabric around the belly. Instinctively, I brought a hand to his right thigh, to cover the horrible scars of shrapnel that had compromised my health forever.

Holmes clicked his tongue against the palate in an obscene gesture, which made me blush.

"Jean, Jean," he murmured, by attacking the throat and face with kisses with an enthusiasm that really reminds me of that of a predator. "I did not even show him who you are." I pushed the hand and raised it to his mouth before disappearing with rapid momentum behind the screen of my skirts. The accartocciai by hand to follow his movements, to prepare to his intentions, but his mouth reached my most secret while the fabrics I resisted and sharply Startled, colliding with her, the fresh tip of his nose.

His hands went to unlock the legs, snapping one on the other arm on her shoulder. So open, I was relieved from his seat and pressed my back against the hard core of the chair under the padding.

Never, not even in my wildest fantasies, those relegated to the secret of my bed, I imagined that it could be. I had wanted Holmes - Sharlene, in my dreams - in every way, with the fantasy I had folded my every wish, every practice I'd suggest that memory and imagination, but if this was no exception, on the other hand not I had never dared to compose a scene so deeply, exquisitely obscene. With the mouth of Holmes under my skirts, dream scenes and fragments of reality are mixed in my mind, intertwined with shock of pleasure and thick liquid that burned me between her thighs. The language of Sharlene - Holmes - cruelly struck once, twice, five times before going to own and do it again, deaf to pleading yelps that I trembled in his throat without finding strength to get out, curling the tip inside me for not leaving a corner it was inviolate. A spasm had to close my legs, another soon to reopen, but they will not let me move Holmes, had his fingers cut into the pit of the knee, the nail short of thumb I was digging the meat on the back of the thigh. His mouth went up and imprisoned me in his mouth, sucking noise with obscene and fingers were not working to keep me strong I penetrated, two and then three, until it touches the soul. I gave up

off against her, forcing me to muster the strength to remove him, to ward off the stimulation had become unbearable. I was trembling all over, jerky, my body turned into a single nerve fiber that I traveled from his forehead sweaty fingers curled toes. I saw that I had a flat sock with the toe, and as always after the pleasure I felt ashamed to mount a wave of blinding.

Holmes emerged from the sea of skirts with an air of safe, lips, chin, cheeks shining with humor, brutally wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and contemplating what he had deposited with detached curiosity. I dreaded the moment where his eyes would meet mine, and maybe she had to draw some concern, because it seemed to me delay it until the last, first committing to gently caress a breast swelling and bending down to kiss each other. Then, when silence had made ice cream around us, looked up slowly, with unusual timidity.

Oh, it was so beautiful, so outrageous, so beautiful. Why did he want me, I was not at all?

"I would take her to bed in her arms," he murmured, kissing me with awe the veins of the wrist. "But you have to work together, I'm afraid." He said with an air of regret, with the air of hate himself for his weakness. "This chair has made a ditch a foot."

Then, for the first time I saw her fragile, I saw her vulnerable, and I felt myself drowning in a sea of sweetness. The stroked his cheek and mouth moist folded into a bitter grimace, trying to erase it with your thumb and not succeeding.

"You'd make a great man," I whispered. "But not so good. You insult me for saying so? I'd be your own though, I know, I feel. "

" What a fool, "he muttered in my hand, his voice broke for a moment and immediately reassembled. "You're a fool with a head full of romantic fantasies, Jean Watson. I do not know why you hate. "

"I know. I love you, "I pleaded.

"I know you love me. You are a fool, I told you. "

" If you do not love me you must not fool me. I do not deserve. "

He raised his head. "I've never cheated."

"So tell me. Just this once. "

" My God, I have grown so badly? If I could go back I'd be already regretting. "

The rested a hand on her neck, twisting my hair and pulled me to kiss her. "But you can not, you can not, I knew, I was right," I muttered, delirious with happiness. "Kiss me. If you are my man, Say you love me and kiss me. "

" How silly, stupid, "he said instead, but - yes - I kissed passionately. "Do not you ever tell. Now bring the facts to bed and fuck like a good wife. You look like a slut, "he murmured with soft voice, running his finger in a caress on her knees open, shoulders bare, her cheeks burning.

not really know how I agreed to strip me of everything and then bring her up, naked as the Lord had me on the stairs leading to my private bedroom. Holmes deposited me on the bed with the infinite care of a husband and locked the door with ease, leaning against my back.

"What's your name?" I asked out of bed, wiping a trickle of sticky inside thigh. His eyes followed the movement off without a moment. "Da man. I know you've thought it. "

Sharlene raised a finger to his mouth, absently stroking his lips. "It would be a bad name, but not as bad as mine, who knows how to lace and meringues. No, it would always be ugly, but not smooth. It would be hard as a snap and a man would think of all the bones and muscles, too tall, too thin, with an ugly nose. "

" Your nose is beautiful and gives you tremendously, "speak, but I ignored it.

"Sherlock. Horrible, is not it? It seems the usurer jew of Shakespeare. "

" Sherlock, "I repeated. I found it ugly, ugly, just as she had intended, and just the way she had thought, but also found that, like his nose, might give him terribly. Half-closed eyelids, imagining a man named Sherlock, and the vividness of the image struck me.

"Sherlock," I said again. "And you still want me, fuck me, yes, just like I said, I discovered," if I were a man and a woman? "

Holmes left the door, advancing slowly in my direction. I kept my eyes half closed and I saw a male belly, a flat chest, sides carved in the rock. "Yes," replied a deep voice, a single syllable choked.

"I would be a veteran and a doctor," I muttered, taking his hand to take her breast. "Stupid as all men, but I take a hundred bullets in my heart for you."

"Oh, my God, what have I got in bed," Holmes gasped, mounted on. "What is obscene and perverse you are, Jean Watson."

"It's my bed," I found yet to be replicated, raising his revenge in the form of a light bite and shoulder pain. "I could write to us," he added, at the ceiling, running his hands possession on your back. "I'm good. I could write about Sherlock Holmes, the man better and wiser and with the worst character in the world, and John Watson who would kill for him. "

" Only a stupid and saccharine little woman like you could write a crap like that, "Holmes muttered. "Now shut up, will you? I can not give you what you deserve if you're always talking. "

obeyed, because I like John Watson asks nothing better than to be controlled and owned by my man. I told her not, therefore, that as was his masculine jaw, as alive and wonderful vision of her as a man, what my senses were wiped his scent of a woman, the perfect combination of edgy and soft all its angles, and vibrant high notes of his voice. If she were a man, I'm sure I would have found other items that sacrifice of reason, but it had not, and I'm not complaining.

With these thoughts in mind, I embraced my wife and kissed her for an infinite time, until my ears are muffled and began to vibrate with a light tinkle.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

First Birthday Invitation Requestfor Money

My baby kimi ga inai yoru....

This time I will write in Italian. I'm sorry for those four that know it (use goggle translator for today and I promise not to call more Amewarashi).

are some days that I suffer dinuovo of nightmares, dinuovo spiders.
But you were not there the first time it happened, but this time the cause is you.

keep looking out the window and every day that passes, the clouds thin out on horizon. You told me I was strong, yes I am ...
"I have suffered a loss. The injured persons are dangerous. They know they can survive ... It's survival that makes them ... because they have no mercy. They know that others can survive, as they ... "
Yet I still have compassion .... so I'm still human?

I never believed in destiny, you cowards who use the excuse to avoid facing their own lives and accept the consequences of their choices unconscious ...

Someone very important to me one night told me that unlike other people I am aware ...
I understand that the love the affection and feelings of which mankind needs so much are just momentary delusions, I thought, I thought you had need of my affection, that was the best thing to feel that you needed me, because I meant that you wanted in your life .... because I was part of my the world is light years from that of others, whoever they are ...

For every wish you pay once a pledge is made

I have always had one desire, that desire that I confessed that night while she hugged me and told me that I was your hero ...
Now I'm a hero without a princess to rescue ....

why I asked you to leave me alone, to forget that I exist, because if you do not need me it makes no sense, because I do not want to hear the stories of those who took my place, because I do not want to hear what you makes me happy, I do not want you to feel guilty, I do not want to worry me because if you did the first is unnecessary and painful now ....

cancellation will not be easy

With each new "contact" I feel pain in the sternum, as if someone took me to punch him right there, and I miss your breath because
your sweetness is not for me is like a chocolate biscuit that I can not touch because it is not mine ....
I should have made us the habit in this world have nothing of my own, I believe even myself ...

You're not my princess
and I am no longer your hero