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(too sexy these two ...)

Rv Bill Of Sale In Texas

[fanfiction] You'll reap the harvest sown That You

Title: 'll reap the harvest sown That You
Author: chibi_saru11
Beta: / / /
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Characters: Danny "Damage" Williams, Steve McGarret, Kono Kalakaua, Chin Ho Kelly, Mary McGarrett, Meka (mentions of Ben, Rachel and Sid)
pairings: Danny / Steve
Rating:
PG13 Warnings: are dogs. It 'true, police dogs. Do you really need to know more?
Word: 7428 (FiDiP u a)
Summary: The first time I had met Danny was still a normal sniffer dog, thank you, completely happy to have just smelled an odd smell (that of someone nothing like the smell of humans that should have been the scene of the crime) when Steve McGarrett and his humanity had burst and they decided to ruin his life.
Notes:
1. I would like to exculpate myself from this, but I really can not. Since I read one of the many puppy! story of (read them, they are wonderful), I plot bunny that I puppy out of his ears. I know that is not exactly an excuse, but ... Forgive me, really. After this story I'm going to bury it somewhere.
2. Danny is a Pomeranian, Steve is a Doberman, Akita Chin and Kono are the Americans, Rachel is a Beagle, Grace is a bastard (but a beautiful bastard).
3. For the prompt Prison @ COW-T maridichallenge (and these two are always in War is their foreplay, dammit)
Disclaimer: H5-O is not mine, Danny and Steve are not mine ... my life is very pathetic.

( Danny liked to think that it is not racist, really. He did not believe in all that crap that humans continued to repeat the DNA of dogs and how some breeds are simply more violent than others. ) @ spieluhrs

What Questions Are On The Cogat?

° A Thousand Splendid suns °

" You can not count the moons that shine on

roofs,
Neither the thousand splendid suns that hide behind
its walls"

.: Fifteen years, Mariam has never been in Herat. Since its Kolba wood up the hill, keep the minarets in the distance and looks forward to the arrival on Thursday, the day her father comes to visit and speak of poets and beautiful gardens of rockets landing on the moon and movies that cast in his films. Mariam would have wings in order to achieve Home of Herat, where his father will not ever because she is a haram, a bastard, and it would be a humiliation for his three wives and ten children legitimate hosted under the same roof. He would also like to go to school, but it would be useless, says her mother, how to polish a spittoon. The only thing you must learn is patience. Laila was born in Kabul on the night of the revolution, in April 1978. He was only two years old when his brothers were enrolled in the jihad. For this, the day of the funeral, find it hard to cry. For Laila, Tariq's brother is the true, the child of his neighbors, who lost a leg to a landmine but can defend it from the teasing of his peers, the playmate who teaches the words in Pashto and every evening to say good night with the light signals from the window. Mariam and Laila could not be more different, but the war will bring together in unpredictable ways. The interweaving of two destinies, an unforgettable story that tells the story of a country in search of peace, friendship and love seem to be the only salvation.

.: Wonderful book, there is more to say. There is no truth except what you create fighting and believing.
I wanted to leave two rows in this regard because at last I managed to finish it - six months after -, I had to read my not being to 'rate' and whenever I had to stop raving impatiently, waiting for the moment where I could continue, as it is a book that knows take the reader - literally catapulted into a reality-and-history- raw, so real that it seems true - and in many ways it really is- in a world devastated by war and bent from the madness , beautiful and fragile as a piece of glass. Sharp. Emerging
then becomes very difficult, as it is difficult to criticize this altrettando; uno dei migliori libri di letteratura contemporanea, sicuramente.

° ° by Morgan

Build Miniature Horse Hay Feeders

· Saint Valentine °

.: XXIV :

I adore you the equal of the vo Ute night
O vessel of sadness, O great taciturn
And love even more beautiful, you shun me.
And you seem, ornament of my nights,
More ironically
accumulate miles that separate my arms from the blue immensity.

I advance to the attack, and I climb to the assault, after
As c. a dead one Oeur of worms,
And I cherish, O b been implacsable and cruel!
Until this coldness which thou art more lovely!

[Charles Baudelaire - Les Fleurs du Mal]

For St. Valentine's Day, è troppo semplice
Perchè avere a
giorno all ' anno in cui amare.

° ° by Morgan

What Is Morton Quick Salt

° Thoughts & Quotes II

[It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt]
(Mark Twain)

.: And you have no idea how much I hate myself every time I speak instinctively , disconnecting the filt that connects the brain and mouth.

[" Not all truths are like, and all the lies they are. ]
( Suzanne Brohan)

.: So the next time they ask me to come in and talk VT I care to disconnect the microphone - the date paccaggine of my brain-mouth filter - relegating the truth in a corner of my head to prevent her emergence misfortunes and propagate in the air as it happened yesterday. Sometimes I hate myself for this spontaneous ability to hide behind the image of good girl, quiet and silent, so they seem stupid and devoid of thoughts, and then demolish all with a single, precise blow.
The truth is that I was never what it seems, especially in recent years and, at times, - Often at this time - I happen to have moments when I say everything, all my actions, apparently made with malice or with the sole purpose of hurting it is not so obviously, it's just an impression, but it is hard to explain to those who know me a little, so I prefer to keep quiet, hoarding pictures of shit and accepting the bubble: girl bitch.
now I've made the call.

That said, I leave you,
the next post.)
° ° by Morgan

Revlon Skinlights Face Illuminator Peach Light

· What Tarot Card are you? °

Prima Carta

.:You are The Tower

Ambition, fighting, war, courage. Destruction, danger, fall, ruin .

The Tower represents war, destruction, but also spiritual renewal. Plans are disrupted. Your views and ideas will change as a result.The Tower is a card about war, a war between the structures of lies and the lightning flash of truth. The Tower stands for "false concepts and institutions that we take for real." You have been shaken up; blinded by a shocking revelation. It sometimes takes that to see a truth that one refuses to see. Or to bring down beliefs that are so well constructed. What's most important to remember is that the tearing down of this structure, however painful, makes room for something new to be built.

Seconda Carta

.:You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised . The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict Any immediate change or Powerful, But it does predict hope and healing. This card Suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, That unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They Might Say you're a dreamer, But You're Not The Only One.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out

why he put two cards instead of one is obvious: the Tower is the 'me' of the past and that part which is destructive and self-defeating ; embodied in my person, while the Stars [Other paper decidedly ambiguous] symbolize the change that occurred and the 'future', or as they are and how I might be in relation to the changes I have - I have to-face.
I will not dwell much longer because there is nothing particular to say, unfounded and just a test that I like to repeat every so often to see if there was some change and to find other designs of the cards , [plus, I love the Tarot. cards are beautiful]
That said, I greet you and go to sleep.
Goodnight ... By Morgan

° °

Left Arm Is Numb Fast Heart Beat

· dance and songs of a dead world °

[Everything was lost? It was inevitable that it was changed?
I had to forget? We must close our eyes ? We must forgive, because everybody lives of crumbs?
We think that all that haunts us is a small thing seen from distant stars
, Altazor, Grapatax, Mab, Zelda and Dandelion?
Or, just because we are small things, we must fight for our
crumb justice, or the stars will fall
?]

(Stefano Benni)

.: Dances and Songs of a Dead World:.
by: Morgan

"I woke up in the middle of a head without remembering how I got there.
The air was heavy because of the humidity of the night and the damp grass tickled my feet, making me shiver with the cold I do not remember anything beyond a few feelings, captured by the senses rather numb.
There was the rustle of leaves stirred by the autumn wind and the soft chatter of the few insects survived the rapid change of season, the dry leaves of the trees, now almost devoid of leaves deltutto, seemed outstretched hands clawed into the black void with the wish to grasp what no man would dare touch.
I looked round again, a bit 'disconsolate. "I want to go home," I muttered, shrugging his shoulders, now tired of the cold.
A firefly, the last of his kind, I buzzed around before disappearing into a hollow tree a short distance, I had always been afraid of the dark and solitude, but there was something in that field is terribly fascinating.
The grass, the wind in the trees ... they are all things that are not now more in my country, buried from the building.
With heart pounding in his chest moved a few uncertain steps. I was still afraid, but the magic of the enchanted world I was slowly kidnapping.
rhythmic thuds heard in the distance created by instruments such as the old world, its so vague those awakened in me an instinctive primeval, ancient as the earth itself.
Without realizing my feet moved in time, dancing on the wet grass describing wide circles around an imaginary point. I could not wait ... I did not feel anything other than a roll that even the wind had been silenced, I felt the adrenaline pumping from the heart to every cell, while the senses are acuivano with the increase of sound in a whirl, as little by little, I had my head whirling ottennebrando reason and thought.
run, run ...
The breathing became more intense following in the footsteps of the ancient dance.
clouds in the sky thundered pouring ice water splashing on the ground. The drums had become deafening.
the fog disappeared, around the ankles to get rid of my feet over his blanket and rain inundates me drenched to the bone, the pajamas glued to a body so unnatural, that I could detect fatigue as my
Frenzy, delirium pictures of the world began to swirl in a spiral of dark colors, undefined, where the glitter of rain and mist of glitter left were the only source of light, although the small intestine.
Suddenly, almost without realizing it, the drums stopped beating while the clouds vanished as if they never existed.
My eyes and soared to the sky, at that moment, I had the most beautiful and disconcerting vision of all my life. A Luna
huge, bloody, reigned supreme in the sky disappearing over the horizon and the more I stared kidnapped, the more I seemed to see human traits in the perfect sphere spectacular hues.
I smiled and I smiled back, waving his arms in the air like a madman, his body shivering ice cream and drenched clothes clinging to the limbs. In that field
timeless screamed with all the breath in his body, tired of dancing, with a light heart and full of animal excitement, old, aware dell'ispiegabile.
I screamed because I was happy because my feet hurt, because in the run barefoot because I was hurt and, ultimately, screaming was the only thing that I could do.
I was free.
I was alive.
I cried for the thick, for the love and pain, for a house was once surrounded by fields, now buried by condominiums. I cried for a ground wire emerged from the waters of a lake that was heartbreaking to sell to tourists. I cried because I finally found myself and the world.
I cried fell on his knees among the bushes.
cried together and the sky faded to the field.
I cried again, and everything became black.


Now I know what they are trying to grab the trees at night and what a man blinded by the desire will never have. Now I know why some people dream of a world, living in another and they are sick.
Now I know, but at the time of unbridled dance was just a child and children, you know, they see that adults are precluded worlds ... "

.: End:.

****

Born after one of the many interpretations of Margaret turtleneck Stefano Benni , recently exhumed from the depths of an old disused forum [recuparare I'm looking for decent scripts and post them all here on EFP], a fantastic short story of an experience in which feelings real - all too -face with the harsh and cruel reality of the world.
Dedicated to all those who never stop dreaming and hoping for a world Unlike .

the next post,
a Kiss.
· Morgan °

Mw2 Language Translation

The tears that you will not know:

Back

Incline your ear, old man

Hear your voice? It is the road that calls.

It's sad, dejected and lacks color

Even you are tired of gray.

I know, I know you, I will not be fooled

From this appearance of good and decent man.

Your true essence is hidden there

Under a jacket and tie and a bitch, yes.

What give yourself away so I do not accept

of what you were still a reflection

Faded, blurred, confused and staggered

meanly disposed of as threadbare fabric

Former soldier, fight back

That this battle is not yet won

All is not lost: there is still compensation

A, incredible, but if you believe possible.

My help is here, does not accept

If you want to do alone, just succeed.

Take your time she feels she needs

I'll be waiting impatiently that day.

Plus Size Walden Galeria

° Thoughts & Quotes I °

['trudge. You know the verb plod? Trudge: the slow, tiring, depressing, but determined to proceed to a man who has nothing in life except having the urge to simply continue the fight "]
(Geoffrey Chaucer)

Sometimes I pull over periods of life lived with quotations taken from books, movies, anime and manga or whatever, because they so often reveal the CGIAR and concise 'picture' of this slice of life that sometimes I distress, driven to put pen to paper my torments. limps , sometimes you can not to more trouble and if you have the unfortunate idea of falling to the ground for a moment - in discomfort blacker- you will be branded as selfish and uncaring, the child who can not deal with adversity and knows how to think only of himself of course they are all balls, before thinking of themselves as focusing their attention on how unfair the world with people who you love, but this, gentlemen, is another story and I'm shamelessly digress.
Arrancp , because sometimes I do not have the strength to walk, but only to get carried away by events.

["And for us every day is precious.
And we have the stories.
And we fix things, you do not.
And even if the wind blows against us, we always ate bread and storm, and this too will pass. "]
(Stefano Benni)

This quote belongs to My mother and His way to infuse strength. Seconded, always pointing to a past which showed fighting, for better or worse, trying to instill important lesson: can not give up, the difficulties must be faced head-on ! Sometimes I remember these words and I can go ahead - head held high, without fear, with new power- other times fear comes over me, paralyzing me off and in any offensive intention toward doom.
It is not easy and often a sense of guilt, which in my mind walking hand in hand with the conviction of being an unnecessary burden on my parents, causes me deep crises tend al'autolesionismo - legacy of hospital-, I'd love to be equipped with His strength and His ability to swallow cum Storm bread without being destroyed, but unfortunately I can define my fighting spirit , vanishes before the thing you hate most in this world: the Hospital.
Trauma 'Kids' which have never been able to emerge, and every time I promises to the idea of spending hours of my life in a place of my mind usually collapses anninchilendo common sense and patience to hold on to a will 'primitive' that prompts me to put more kilometers as possible between me and the infamous place a pity that this is the situation the wrong thoughts, and then apply that I just have to swallow my Bread and Storm , and hope that Past this.

said that, I will stop here, at the next
delirium dictated by the Depression. By Morgan
° °