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TimeTime. It's a funny thing is't it. Tick tock. Ever changing and yet always the same. Essentially it's the same 24 hours every single day, but it always seems to go at different paces. Like during maths class you can feel every single second creeping by, ever, so slow. Tick. Tock. Tiiick. Tooooooock. But during the evenings, time blurs by as you tap away at you keyboard, promising yourself you'll start your homework soon. We don't give much thought to time. We should. Because eventually time stops. It stops for everyone. Everyone. It stopped for me. I remember it so clearly. It was a sleepy summers evening. A thursday evening to be exact. I was just another kid in the crowd, ripped skinny jeans, chains, black converse, headphones. Shy, not making eye contact, just your average kid. Playing blink 182 way too loud as I stood, leaning against the window of the bus. Just observing. Watching people getting on the bus; a young mother with an annoying kid in tow, a bunch of cocky lads and their
HiddenWarning- Unnecessary Swearing and not proof read
"Shit. Oh shit. I need to hide. Where? Fuck fuck fuck. THERE! Under the bed." Why thoughts whirl through my head at 100 miles an hour as I wriggle under the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. I roll up into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest to make myself as small as possible. I listen out carefully, listening for any sign of him, of his footsteps and heavy breathing. I shudder but all I can hear is my own breathing, ripping through my lungs, burning my throat; and my heartbeat, pounding in my ears like a bass drum. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. I swallow, trying desperatly to control my breathing and bring it down to a reasonable level. A shiver runs down my back and I try to stay as still as possible, ignoring my dead arm. Somewhere something creaks and my heart leaps and I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut. I wait, wait to hear his footsteps, hear his low growling voice as he prowls along the hallway. But I hear
RunHer hand was in mine as we ran. My breath came out in short gasps, ripping through my lungs, burning, burning, burning... My sneakers pounded the earth in a steady rhythm.The twisted, dead, trees seemed to tangle above up, suffocating us, trapping us. I could see flashes of him in the corner of my vision as we pelted along the beaten path.The rusty, broken gate loomed on the horizon. I suddenly realised she was lagging behind. But no.... The gate... I could... Suddenly her hand broke away from mine. I hesitated and slowed to a stop.
"COME ON" I screamed glancing at the gate
She shook her head, doubled over, tears streaming down her face as she fought to catch her breath. I glanced back at the gate. Mistake. When I turned back she was choking as a thick, black tentacle wrapped around her throat. Her face was bright red, her bleeding hands pulling at the tentacle, desprately trying to pull it from her neck. I screamed, unable to move. My eyes caught hers, her beautiful, piercing green ey
~ Unique Human - Izaya Orihara x Reader ~
"Oh, [Name]-chaaan~" The raven-haired informant's voice rang throughout the large room. No answer. A small grin appeared on your face as you heard him get up from his chair and approach the sofa you were currently occupying. Stopping directly in front of you, a pair of crimson eyes bore down at you.
"Hello Izaya-kuuun~" You finally answered, mocking him in a sing-song voice.
"Where is it?"
"What on Earth could you be referring to, Izaya-kun?" You asked, trying to hide a smile from your boyfriend's obviously irritated state.
"My cell phone, [Name]-chan. Where did you put it this time?"
From the very first moment you met him, Izaya took every possible opportunity he had to annoy or tease you in one way or another.
After a month or so of his relentless tactics, you decided to start giving him a taste of his own medicine by getting a certain angry, street sign wielding ex-bartender to catch the informant off-guard.
Claiming you were an 'exceptionally interesting human', you slowly d
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 1Marisa hesitated, anxious suddenly, before opening the doors. She looked down at the keys in her hand, trying to get past this nervousness, playfully pinching the meat of her fat, flabby belly with the other. She shouldn't be so nervous, she knew this club perfectly, she'd worked here for a good six months, this should be easy.
Only, it wasn't, because what was behind that door was new. It was hers now, and she had plans.
For a second, she just stood there, nervous, but all of those concerns flew away only seconds after opening the door. She just looked, wide-eyed, and excited now. It was better than she'd imagined. Not finished yet, though, it just didn't seem quite done, she couldn't tell why. Eh, she'd figure it out later. She called back out the door, "Come on in here, Gwen, check it out!"
A few seconds later, Gwen came in, bigger than ever, looking positively massive as she playfully dragged the giggling mass of the helpless, struggling former manager of Porker's, Jo
Cheryl's Night ClubbingCheryl smiled when she accepted her third drink, a long island iced tea, her favorite, from a lusty young man passing her by, but winced when she sat back down, accutely aware of how close these shorts were coming to non-existance.
Her rump, overfed and under-worked, fattened up through a consistent theme of overindulgence and relaxation, was terrorizing the seams of these soft, fabric boyshort panties she let masquerade as club attire. She could feel her overfed stomach, fat and well-tended, pressing in front of her, sagging down just a bit more than she was okay with.
She clutched the drink to her chest tightly, pressing it between the plump, generous globes of her chest, resting the bottom of the glass on the convenient swell of her soft stomach, shivering a bit as the cold, icy glass came in contact with the exposed area of her cleavage. She set her back against the wall behind the bench, sliding down, slowly, praying the stitches would stay together, until she felt her cheeks maki
Good Ol' Days - TGThings were getting rather tough for Nick Kellins. At the ripe old age of 49, the big fifty was looming over his head. A bad construction injury left him rather immobile and confined to a wheelchair. His four kids had all but abandoned him due to the constant attention he needed; at least that’s what he told himself to ease the pain. Nick’s once thick blonde hair had faded to a dull gray, mostly from stress and the meds he was taking to help with said stress.
He let out a cough as he wheeled himself over to the dining room table which had the mornings newspaper sprawled over it. The old college he had attended was celebrating their recent football championship win and was headlining the news.
“What I wouldn’t do to go back in time and do it all over again…” he sighed while reading over the article.
Nick kept reading while sipping at his mug of fresh brewed coffee. The more he read into the article the more he wished he could be there-- as one of the
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 4And so the girls went, in a slightly different order than they were announced.
Lexi went first, her routine little changed from her older one, Aerosmith blaring, her fat, fleshy body writhing, flab jiggling in time to the sounds of guitar, more gymnastically at the beginning of her set, less so as the songs played on. It was getting difficult by the end, and the reason was clear, it was because of those little pauses she'd take every few seconds, grabbing food from the conveyor belt, working it into her act as smoothly as she could, eating more and more, and letting her fullness be seen by everyone, her belly proudly bulging forward, her hands rubbing across it, massaging it, looking for relief, and finding a bit as she made herself belch, audible even over Steven Tyler's wailing. There was no pause in the act there, she reached immediately to the conveyor belt, looking to fill what space the air had just vacated, cramming a cookie into the space between her breasts, leaning her head c
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 2The girls spent an extra forty minutes in The Cheesecake Factory before they were recovered enough to get back to Marisa's car, both of them groaning in unison as they collapsed backwards into Marisa's Mini Cooper, their combined weight lowering the car dramatically.
They spent the next fifteen minutes scrambling around, trying to find some measure of comfort in the hopelessly cramped space, and failing miserably. Marisa was fine, the car had been altered to fit her, but Gwen was struggling, her thunderous thighs spreading wide under the pressure of her almost perfectly spherical stomach and proud, heavy bosom, too wide for the passenger's seat. She didn't seem able to accept this fact, though, trying everything she could to get the door closed, with all of her massive, fleshy rump contained within the car, repeatedly trying to pull it closed, until Marisa spoke up, “Hey... Gwen? Yeaaaaaaah, maybe you should just get in the back seat?”
Gwen tried a few more times, wincing i
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 7Marisa didn't sleep well that night.
She tossed and turned all night, trying to settle her mind, to make all the little pieces fit nicely next to each other, but it didn't seem to happen. She was angry, at John, at Miracle, at herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. She couldn't sleep, not restfully, at least.
Nine thirty rolled around, and she was where she was supposed to be, in her office, ready for Miracle to walk in, but she looked rough. Her hair and make-up were askew, her outfit wasn't co-ordinated the way it usually was. She looked less like a domineering matriarch, and more like a stressed secretary, four years deep into a fast food binge.
And this was what Miracle saw when she came in, sitting on the other side of the desk, her eyes wide in terror as a fat, serious-looking woman stared back at her.
Miracle reflexively shrank back, "I-I'm sorry..."
Marisa shook her head, "It's not important. So. What happened to you yesterday?"
"I-I panicked." M
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 5Two months after that fantastic opening night, all good feelings Marisa had ever had about where she was going with Porker's had officially evaporated.
She rolled over in bed, slapping her alarm clock as she did so. She didn't want to go to work, she just didn't. Work meant not knowing what to do, or how to talk about it, even. Gwen knew the situation, that conversation happened yesterday.
She rolled over in her covers, remembering back to how that had gone...
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
It was 10 AM, the restaurant didn't open for another hour and a half, and Gwen had come bursting into her office, wanting to know about... something.
She couldn't remember why Gwen had come in, and Gwen hadn't either, forgetting the instant she'd seen her friend looking a mess, all disheveled and half asleep on a desk scattered with papers.
Gwen had been worried, “'Rissa? Are you... okay? Did you sleep here?”
She'd woken up, but she was a long way from alert, mumbling as Gwen moved towards her, waddl
Only I know the truthI watch as she smiles her whole face lighting up.
Only I know the truth.
Her laughter rings in my ears, loud and happy.
Only I know the truth.
"Things are going great!" she beams, confidence radiating from her every movement.
Only I know the truth.
Then, right before my eyes, I watch as her face crumples.Her smile fades adn I notice the cracks on her lips. Her eyes fill with tears and I notice how dull and lifeless they are. She runs her thumb under her eyes and I notice the dark rings, evidence of her sleepless nights. A single tear runs down her face, tracing her jawline and falling gently to the floor. She doesn't even attempt to wipe them away. I study her silently, watching her shoulders shudder gently with every sob, saying nothing. She looks me right in the eyes, and when she speaks, her voice is fragile, barely above a whisper:
"I can fool everyone else, why can't I fool myself?"
I let her cry, still watching, still saying nothing. I study her every move, watching her,memorisin
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
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