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Grown Men And Wet Dreams

isilindill @ 2010-12-04T15: 21:00

Two things:

- If you like the Drarry, I strongly recommend this fic. If you do not like, I recommend to start to like. Translated into Intruders, it may be the best I've read post-war frames. It's super-prepared and therefore there Drarry. Transfigurations of Resonant (whose interview can be found here ) has been considered one of the best fics in the HP fandom English speakers. So what are you waiting?

- Second thing within the first thing: If you pass the Drarry (not should), try this wonder written by mullu probably the best output Summary
veil ever
the author: Written

to demonstrate two simple hypotheses:
1) Remove the veil Sirius is not only possible, but logical and simple, and
2) Sirius and Remus are to desperately JKR admit it or not.

I still do not know what you reading this when you read that.

- Two kinds of truth: I'm doing revision of the fics uploaded to my ff.net account and changing only slightly the parties not convince me. If anyone is encouraged:

Title: Canis Lupus
Fandom: HP , obvious
Warnings: nop

pass and nine, the clouds begin to retreat to make way for the night and a five year old runs around the edge of the forest. His house is not far behind, his mother either, but that matters little because the child, oblivious to the darkness closing on trees, trampling the dry leaves to hear the crunch when they break.

The sky turns indigo, violet and blue tones, something that gradually begins to resemble the black and is covered with stars. And all that light. The dark warm autumn equinox full moon shines in all its glory and it shrinks with the first pull of the skin. Dies. We burn the bones and back meestoymuriendodiosmí or help me partírsele is about two by stress. Misses a smile how absurd it is that there is a terrible pain.

The corners are full of sores and dried blood.

The floor of course hard to fall, and a trunk road that runs into the side hurts, but I just feel it. Can not more, pain is transformed into anger and that can not stand. You have to tear, break, break something. Anything. In itself, it does not matter.

ripping You dirty shirt, revealing a chest stitched scars. A more recent and darker than others, but all painfully visible, terribly real and deep. When his lips and nose become greedy snout meat, and eyes turn to be a sickly yellow, remains motionless. Seems to be dead, exhausted by the agony of transformation. But the moon, your best confidant, shares his secret. It lies in a kind of trance, in communion with it, absorbing all their evil power.

The shortness breath out just before the man escapes now in a sort of growl hungry wolf's nose. Rose with surprising agility and just seconds away from the nearest bushes.

finished collecting the kitchen mientras canturrea una vieja canción. No sabe que su niño aún está en el bosque, jugando entre los árboles. Tampoco que está siendo observado desde la oscuridad, entre dos enormes troncos retorcidos. No oye el escalofriante sonido que produce la criatura en la penumbra, ni puede abrazar al niño para que deje de temblar. Los redondos e infantiles ojos abiertos de par en par, teñidos de miedo y un ¡Mamá! muerto en los labios cuando el ser comienza a moverse hacia él.

Eleva la vista al cielo, y ve toda esa luz, esa estrella tan grande que no es una estrella sino otra cosa de la que ya no recuerda el nombre, pero que le mira con maldad. La misma maldad con la que emerge el lobo de entre la espesura, la respiración errática. Tiene el pelaje oscuro, muy oscuro y muy sucio. Y esas garras, tan enormes, demasiado afiladas para un animal cualquiera.

Deja de tener miedo, porque ya no siente nada. Ni frío, ni ganas de correr. Está mirando fijamente a los ojos del animal, de un amarillo tan brillante que parecen pintados con pintura.

Son solo unos momentos, en los que parece que todo se ha acabado. Porque el lobo parpadea, le observa con inteligencia casi humana y está a punto de girarse hacia el bosque again. It happens in slow motion, that motion. You can almost feel the blood, evil, trickles up to fill those terrible eyes red.

And then nothing.

Days later, the doctor at the nearest village, a man named Miggs, asked what happened that night, getting only answer an emphatic denial of the small , a brown head.

But Remus knows, as he knew the wolf. Know of the fierce bite, the uncontrollable and hot blood pouring from his shoulder. Remember the crooked smile of an animal too evil to be beautiful, and the false teeth gleaming in the silvery light.

And now the two share their secrets with the moon.

Garment Racks For Sale

Hello again:)

Hi! I'm back to LJ after two years not spend time here. I have decided to remove the four entries was because a) I gave a little embarrassed and b) was no longer projects (such as a table RHR) to mean nothing and that's not cool.

And because I wanted to start from scratch, bucking. because I want to talk a little of everything and nothing in particular and the horrible hours of this course nobody can stop for a coffee and a chat. so I'll do over here:)

For today I have much more to say because I'll probably spend the afternoon researching here and there on the LJ (and other chorraditas userpics) and being as I am, zero for this kind of thing, I take time not mess up every time you post something. Anyway, as I get a little penilla leave it, leave a bullet makes a lot written (published in ff.net and slightly amended).

- Theo.

- What.

- I need your help.

Those three words from the mouth of the very Blaise Zabbini make it up as fast neck that almost broke his neck. Need help? An alibi, probably. Looks the same as always, there seems to be armed for anything too serious to him, looking expectant, with his hands in the pockets of his robe. Tunic which, incidentally, has an unmistakable smell.

- Why do you smell like you've caído en un tonel de tabaco?

Su escueta respuesta - por eso necesito ayuda - le hacen crear una variedad de hipótesis a cada cuál más estrambótica. Quiere que le haga la colada. Ha conseguido de verdad un tonel de tabaco y no sabe dónde esconderlo. Le ha robado a ÉL su tabaco.

Cuando la posibilidad de no fumar durante la próxima semana se hace patente en su cabeza entra en pánico; su ceja izquierda se levanta involuntariamente y cierra el libro de golpe. Para una persona cuya expresividad facial se limita a distintas versiones de la cara de poker, eso es estar bastante nervioso.

Llegan a la habitación, dónde Theodore ruega por encontrarse su bolsa de hierbas intacta y a buen recaudo, pero Blaise es incapaz de estar quieto - para no variar - y se sienta en su cama. Luego se levanta y se deja caer en la de Draco. Cambia de postura ochenta veces y se le queda mirando con la barbilla apoyada en la mano. No sabe qué demonios hace pero empieza a temer la aparición de un nuevo tic porque le está poniendo realmente histérico.

- ¿Se puede saber qué te pasa?

No se lo piensa. Podría remolonear y hacerse el avergonzado pero, a grandes males, grandes remedios.

- Teach me to smoke.

apparently tried it, swear to have tried it himself. But choking and coughing as if his life depended on it, and Theodore can not suppress a smile because that is seeing, that he observes from his bedroom door is most unlikely, as ú ; last that would have occurred minutes before the Common Room Blaise - not a useless as Longbottom, no - want to smoke because it seems, has seen Ely says it's great, absolutely great to see him smoking. Theodore is supported by the door, do not know whether to laugh mourn but now I need a cigarette.

- Okay, I'll teach.