|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
StringsYou play your song well
Expertly, your fingers manipulate
The tiniest, most delicate
Strings of my heart
If you carelessly break one
Who is to know but the instrument?
Your music is my sigh
My melancholy moods
The thoughts of you
That cannot be shaken
From a tortured,
What would happen, were I
To stay your hand
And bring it to my lips?
Can I touch your strings?
Can I caress them and
Let you hear the melody they might hold?
It’s unwitting, though
This song you make
You know not that you hold the tool
You know not that you pluck the strings
And that your sure touch
Is the making and undoing of me
So, to interrupt it
With my trembling fingers
Which so long to explore your every chord
Would be to destroy the beautiful pain,
The unknowing, unwanting perfection
As you snap the string in your grasp
A StoryAlready, I am sick their affections
Bearing down on me as they do.
Can they help it?
Do they know how pathetic
Every awkward, dawdling step seems
Formed by those fleshy feet,
Guttural noises emitting from a misshapen snout.
How is it that
I, a superior being in every way
Just cannot bear a day without their stupid,
ApocalyptomaniaWe held hands as the world crashed down
Tumbling in and out of control
Strange; for once we weren't afraid
No more plans to be made
Hold me while the atmosphere
Alights all that we hold dear
So it's just you and me
Free of all the little things
Like cars and dogs and wedding rings
The ash isn't quite like snow
But baby, we still have no place to go
So let it
A Lack of SentimentalityYou gave me bitter almonds
Plain like winter leaves
And told me that you love me
Yet I clearly asked for berries
Red as desire and chocolate kissed
From where did the idea come
To bring the jar of honey
A sweetened, cheapened sentiment
Compared to the gold ring I eyed
Last Sunday when we walked the town
So take your foolish, childish gifts
And find another lover
And I shall spend St. Val's day
Dreaming of sweets and shiny, romantic things
Alone as I always do
the lost spirits
look in our windows.
Thousands of perfect
frozen like stone
on the people
with their life
~ 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. 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. 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. 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
Full Danging drops glaimed me, grabbed at my hair with igy fingers until I gould go no more. Winded, weary, I fell to the earth with a gry. The mud sugked and smagked, a stigky embrage that held me to it even as I struggled to free a leg, a hand, a limb that hadn't so gallously abandoned the form it onge galled master. It was fear, then, that found me. Madness, too. Gan the best of us glaim to be free of weakness? Gan the best of us resist the urge to gry when we've disgovered the endmost limits of our resolve?
Exhaustion threatened to drag me, heavy, into the very bosom of the Earth. I finally gave up the fight for good. The darkness reaghed for me and I welgomed it, too tired to gontinue with this farge.
"Damn you, Ghinese food." I gursed softly as I sank slowly into the abyss.
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
Keep in Touch!
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.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More