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VoicesYou're one of the most fascinating people I know.
Really. It's true!
But that doesn't make you good. It doesn't make you right, either Maybe I'm not the person to make that call, since I don't really know what either of those things are; however, I'm confident they are not you.
You live a very ironic existence, don't you? Purposeless and apathetic. Only finding motivation in the petty and the depressing. And you wonder why you hate life. You've never lived a day of it. You watch other people live it, and you wish you had what they have But you can't. You can't ever be like them, can you?
See! That's why you're so interesting! Anybody different is met with curiosity. Anything that breaks the norm is a learning experience.
But some people are different and typical at the same time. They have these unique quirks about them that make them seem interesting on the first glance; but it is only upon close examination does one realize how typical they really are.
I have trouble with
Sewer ManIt felt instantaneous. As if I had gone to sleep normal, and woke up deranged. As if in a single moment, I had become what I am. I don't deny it, either my being deranged, that is. Any man, and I use the term "man" loosely, is deranged if they stray too far from the social focal point; and by God have I done that much!
It started as a fascination, grew to be an active interest, and eventually became what I recognize to be an obsession. I even remember the day that I completely regarded myself as obsessed or rather, deranged. I remember my insanity became so consuming that I submitted my humanity to it. Yes, that is why I use the term "man" loosely, because I often question if I am one.
To me, a "man" is one who thrives in social environments. There are odd balls, but even those who are troubled are still "man." However, sometimes you get these exceptions. You get these transgenders. These people who may or may not have social skills, just as a male in a female's body may
Note to SelfYou. Yes, you. This note has been written specifically to you and its contents are of the utmost importance.
Why should you trust me?
I am you from the future.
If you tell anyone this note exists, they either won't believe you or they won't understand the significance. The words will mean nothing to the stubborn and will be impossibly dilute to the gullible. You are alone in this.
I have written this to warn you.
In exactly thirteen minutes, you will die. You need to evacuate your home as quickly as possible. Once again, if you don't, you will die.
I don't have the time to explain the complex series of events that have led up to this moment, just realize that this is a matter of life and death for us both. Do not throw our life away. Please, get out immediately.
If you don't want to leave, AT LEAST turn on all the lights you can find. Then there is a chance it won't find you. A slim chance.
Before I end this message, I must stress what I said earlier: I am you from the future. I
SometimesI wish I could understand myself better.
I want to know what to do.
There is this constant feeling of lethargy crawling on my skin. There is this sudden and fleeting turmoil in my body. And no matter what I try, it never goes away.
Sometimes I'm depressed, other times not. Well, I'm always a little depressed, because that is just how it is. Depression seems to go hand in hand with confusion; at least, it does when you're confused about yourself. How could it not? We are the most important things in this universe.
The universe is seen through us, by us. By not understanding myself, by feeling this chaotic, lethargic, confusion, I'm not understanding the universe which is the most important thing in ourselves.
I've learned a lot through introspection and comparison. I give them credit for my pseudo-intellectualism. Pseudo-intellectualism being the title I dub my ability to appear far more intelligent than I actually am. Then again, I guess I could call it the same thing everybody
Max and Boston, a Pokemon FanfictionMax pulled his face out of the mud and wiped his cheeks. He was panting, struggling to catch his breath. His whole body ached and his eyes were beginning to water. He glanced back at his trainer, looking for some kind of guidance, for kind of command, but none came. All he saw was confusion and panic; it was all he ever saw in Boston. He started blinking rapidly, attempting to arouse himself; he could no longer think clearly. In the corner of his eye he saw a brown creature moving with terrifying speed, and instantly he knew what was coming. His entire body tensed as he braced for impact. A powerful kick to the face sent him flying backwards, on to his back.
Max's eyes opened. The world seemed to be flying by him. Lights were blurring past and everything was blending together, leaving him distraught and afraid. Instinctively, he looked for comfort, for anything familiar. First, all he could make out was a man above and behind him, but he didn't recognize him. He was beginning to panic.
Theme Four: ChangeSome envy the sex. Others the money. And some envy it all. They wish they could have what I have. They wish they could indulge in the treasures I've amassed. They wish they would have been born with that sensation to persevere. They want to have that inborn compulsion to advance. And if they could, they would shamelessly rob me of it.
But can I blame them? It must look like such a decadent life from the outside. To take pleasure in the stresses of progression and to unwind by basking in the things I worked so hard to attain. I must look as though I was blessed by God. I must look like I am a God; some sort of divine entity sent to earth to instruct the lesser how to live. Yet, I am not without flaw. I am not without doubt. Nor am I without misery.
Through years of walking the same road, the same path of responsibility and logic, I have done two things: (1) I have created an unbreakable habit, a thing that I am obligated to obey until the day I die, or suffer the consequences which are
Force FeedingIt was early morning. The last tray of food was placed on the table. Amy's ruby lips formed a small arch of excitement. After all of the money, time and effort she had managed to construct a banquet large enough. Before her were three tables, piled high with assorted goodies. Cakes, biscuits, pastries, sweets. Enough confectionary to kill, she thought, but she had no intention of dying. This thin woman wanted to eat, and the urge was so powerful that she had to leave the room simply to avoid surging into one of the gorge mountains. Now in the kitchen, she returned to the open book on the side counter. It was a telephone directory, open at a section entitled "Plumbing Services." She took out her phone and dialled.
Mark's whistle was shrill and tuneless. He was not whistling because he had a catchy tune stapled to his mind. He was not whistling because he enjoyed it. He was whistling because the street was gravely silent, and silence scared him. There was but one house, and it was choked
Overindulged It was summer, and a mildy chilly night was coming to its end. A young girl, hidden within her humble apartment, was indulging in the treasures she had summoned from her own kitchen . She quickly became a slave to her own stomach, pandering to its needs and massaging it whenever it stirred. Although already thick, curved and well-filled it remained ever-so demanding, and whenever she wasn't stuffing her face with food she could feel it crying out for more. One luscious treat was soon followed by the next, and as time progressed she found herself taking more pleasure from the feelings within her belly than from the food itself. She sucked the cream from her fingers, licked the grease from the rim of the bowl, but found that nothing could compare to the ecstasy of having an overfilled gut. She could feel her body becoming thicker after each bite, each mouthful, and she often paused to stroke her navel in the hope that she could feel it expanding.
Morgan (Redone) Part 1(XWG, SSBBW, overeating)
(This story is based on a work over at the Dimensions forums that was not only abandoned, but which had serious flaws to begin with. I know it's often arrogant to say "I could write better than this," but this is a case where I felt it was plainly obvious. So, I've redone the story in my own vision. I also have an idea for Part 2 where things really get out of control, which I'll probably post only here because the Dimensions forums don't usually get that kind of stuff. Hopefully it won't take long before I write and post Part 2, but feel free to bug me if a month goes by and there's nothing.)
“What, there won’t even be any cake?” Morgan asked incredulously.
“No. Especially not a cake,” her mother answered calmly, folding laundry “You’re turning 18 tomorrow, so I can’t control what you eat, but I won’t let you stuff yourself. If having a cake is that important, you can buy your own.”
“But I d
Secret Sauce 1WARNING: This story will contain scenes of overeating and massive amounts of weight gain. If that's not your thing, bow out now.
Deerglen was an upscale suburb of Star City, built during the tech-boom of the 90's but with more taste and discretion than the tumors of McMansions that appeared throughout Silicon Valley. A planned community, it was intended to be at one with nature, with the houses colored in Earth tones to blend into the oaks that grew there and the yards front and back spacious and devoid of fences.
But for Jill Crowe the houses could have been bright pink with yellow polka-dots, and the yards covered in coals that burned 24/7, and she would still be ecstatic. At only 26 the legal wunderkind had just made partner at Eggerton and Associates, the most prestigious law firm in the city. A massive bump in salary and a congratulatory bonus allowed her to not only pay off the last of her student loans but move up out of her month-by-month rent, ramen three times a week life.
Maura Part 1
This story features obscene levels of weight gain. If that's not your thing, just move along. There's plenty of stuff elsewhere on the Internet to appeal to you.
I don't really believe telling my story will do any good, not when my only option is to throw it out into the morass of ephemera and would-be memes that is the Internet. Then again, the Internet isn't what it used to be, is it? Maybe I'm just writing this to ease my conscience. I feel like I have a lot to answer for, even if part of me rationalizes that my only fault was one bad decision made in a moment of frustration and little sleep.
Let's start at the beginning, because that's where things usually start. They're too afraid to start at the end because they don't want to die young. Excuse me. I haven't slept much the past few months.
It was in Des Moines. I grew up in rural Iowa, bottom of the middle class. Family wasn't rich enough to send me to a big-name college and my grades weren't good enough to get a sc
Mandy TG"Mandy, you can't go out you have to go to the prom!" I scream.
"Whatever, nobody cares about grade seven prom." She retorts. Then she slams the door and walks out
I fume for a bit before I stomp up to my room.
Then, I hear her stupid ringtone go off. If i listen to it for more than thirty seconds my head explodes, so I darted forward into her room and looked at the caller ID, wondering if I could just hang up.
It was her boyfreind, Max. I put on a falsetto voie and awnser.
"Hey pumpkin." I say.
"Hey cutie."He replies. "You ready to go out tonight for the prom?" He asks. I think fast, Mandy probably sais she would go with Max then ditched and forgot to tell him.
"Sure." I say, might as well humilate Mandy.
"Cool, I'll be there in five." He replies. I hang up and sit doen on Mandy's bed, facing the closet. I remember one time she yelled a certain outfit and it appered on her floor, then she put it on. I don't know how she did it so I decided to try it.
"Prom!" I yell. Then I hear a robo
Thief!Denmark x Police!Reader - Unexpected Truth
Mathias Køhler. Supposedly in his twenties and known for his work as a thief. He is marked as a wanted man and my first target as a new policeman. I had joined the force a while back and had just finished my training. I was then moved to as a new recruit and had come face-to-face with my first job. Scanning the thief's profile one more time with a quick glare, I turned it back over to my boss.
"So why me, sir?" I asked a bit bluntly as I twiddled my fingers nervously behind my back. Hey, it was my first time doing this, I should be nervous.
"Well seeing on how you're one of our new recruits, I had given you this mission since it would be not as challenging to handle. As you saw in his files, the man has done hardly any harm to the public and has only been pick pocketing behind their backs. A simple job for a rookie like you to catch him red-handed." My boss had explained as he was cleaning his glasses.
"How will I be able to approach him without him slipping away? I'm sure
The dented cone on top of the squat concrete bunker spat the command with a hiss of static. The lights either side of the door flicked from red to green and in lockstep the line shuffled a single pace forward. Guards in fur-flapped hats and thick olive green coats shuffled their grip on relics of guns, churned out in their thousands and used until they fell apart they had the misfortune of being one of the few things in this world with any semblance of reliability.
Razor wire lined the wall, the bunker forming the only gap in it. Dogs circled on chain link leashes, sniffing for bombs, sniffing for fear.
Through the heavy door they stepped, like an airlock, the membrane that would either admit them or curse them to never see what lay beyond that dreadful wall.
It was her turn. In she went.
She approaches the counter, the heavy rolling steel shutter poised above like a guillotine.
She looks through the screen, the thick bullet proof glass, and sta
The Silo Complex"You won't believe what I just saw in the field."
I sighed at Eloise in the doorway. "Another dead raccoon? How big was it this time? You know it's just maggots, right?"
"No, that wasn't it. I saw a man."
"Was it John?"
"It was a man, but it wasn't really a man. Almost a man."
"Almost a man?" She had recently taken to wandering in the fields under gray skies, thinking that she'd find her answers among the abandoned farm equipment and rows of dried corn husks. She never did. Just raccoons. I never heard anything about men who were almost men. "How can someone be almost a man?"
"Never mind. You don't believe me."
"Just tell me what he looked like."
"He looked like smoke."
I didn't realize what she meant until the next day when a woman who was almost a woman appeared outside the back door, peering through the window. She was in the form of a woma