If you're 18+ and feedism-inclined, welcome! You can call me Arch 👋
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was chatting to my partner on the phone this morning. they started a new role at work recently. the days are slow, there's a lot of sitting around.
there are multiple canteens. they sell hearty full breakfasts as well as really cheap lunches that come with a side and a drink.
my partner had already had their breakfast, and their lunch, and it wasn't even 10am - and they were hungry again.
they were already thinking about a second lunch, but insisted that they can't start having the full breakfast, followed by their lunch - plus another lunch - and probably plus snacks...
because they're worried that it might become a habit
a habit to have had three square meals, all before noon - only to come home and have more snacks, and dinner, and dessert, whilst working a job that requires next to no physical activity
and i have to say. this is all starting to feel very much like a fantasy of mine
i like to imagine it starts with them having extra meals at work, just because they can; just because they're bored. i like to picture them snacking between meals when the days are especially slow. i'd pack them even more sweet treats, just to keep them happy, and there's always more snacks at home. i'd feed them huge dinners, as a job well done. and of course, i'd follow the huge meals with huge desserts
their clothes gets tighter; they struggle to button themselves in every morning, and by their third meal of the day (at only lunchtime) their clothes are bursting at the seams. they buy a size up for work, just to be comfortable - and then have to size up again, only months later. they maintain that their old clothes are fine, at home at least - until eventually their joggers don't even stretch around their enormous thighs, much less their enormous ass (and their belly never fit in there in the first place)
i love to watch them leave in the mornings, wobbling down the driveway, inches from bursting out of the largest uniform their workplace could supply. three workplace meals wouldn't be enough anymore; they have breakfast at home, a packed lunch, an entire backpack full of snacks, and i suspect - if their swelling waistline is any indication - that they're buying at least four or five meals a day at work by now
every day they find it harder and harder to stuff themselves into their clothes, and every day they find it harder and harder to stuff themselves into the car. in fact, by now, they struggle to even walk down the drive; when they leave they're winded, belly pinned by the steering wheel, uniform threatening to burst at the seams - and still, i see them reach into their bag of snacks, even before the car has even left the drive
ideally at this point they get another promotion, something which means they can work from home - and also afford all of those doordash deliveries they've been ordering. they've long since outgrown their gaming chair, so mostly they just sit on the bed - clothes optional - with the laptop perched on their belly
seven meals a day becomes one continuous grazing session, punctuated by fast food deliveries. we both work from home, so when i need to stretch my legs i make sure they're topped up on drinks and snacks. my partner's rolls and folds slowly expand to fill the borders of the bed, but i don't mind - i'm just so grateful to my gorgeous partner for bringing home the bacon (even if they're eating most of it)
When we moved in together, they told me that they wouldn’t mind cooking most of the time. I couldn’t get enough of what they made so I didn’t argue, but despite their protests I insisted that I do the dishes so I could help out a bit. They would always make way more than either of us could hope to finish in one night, always leaving leftovers for me to take for lunch the next day. Every night after dinner I would clean and they would take care of the leftovers.
Domestic bliss hit me hard. They seemed to love cooking, and I loved what they made. After every meal they would ask what I thought and do their best to encourage seconds and thirds, but no matter how much I ate there was always plenty leftover. I didn’t notice the way portions seemed to grow even as my wardrobe shrank, nor the way they learned my tastes so that I couldn’t resist another bite.
The next year passed quickly, and our little routine started to show cracks. First I would be so full after dinner that they would sit next to me and rub my belly for a few minutes before I could stand to begin cleaning. Next, standing at the sink became too much of a workout so I began to pull a chair in front of the sink every night. They made sure I never felt bad about needing extra help, always telling me how happy they were to see me enjoying their cooking, always cooing sweetly into my ear as they helped me deal with the consequences of my gluttony.
Every day there would be some new task they took over for me, soothing my anxieties and making sure I knew how much they loved to help. My weight skyrocketed under their care. Before I knew it, they were doing almost everything for me, except for the dishes.
On a night like any other, I had just come out of my feast induced daze and began the slow shuffle towards the dishes, using the chair I would need to sit in front of the sink as a walker. As I eased my bulk onto the creaking chair and tried to get into position, my belly pressed against the cabinets and my arms spilled over the countertop like normal, but no matter what I tried I couldn’t seem to reach the faucet. I could see them watching predatorily out of the corner of my eye as I desperately tried to shift and wobble my way closer, but after a few breathless attempts I felt their hand on my shoulder. “You must be so exhausted trying to do all that work by yourself tubby, why don’t you just let me take over?” They whispered in mock sympathy. They help me stand and lead me back to the table, glibly talking about how hard I’ve been working even as I barely make it back to my seat. “How about we switch things up? From now on I can do the dishes. Do you think you could take care of the leftovers for me?” They ask in the sweetest voice they can muster.
I nod and look for the Tupperware, but they just chuckle and walk to the sink, calling back over their shoulder to me. “Oh you wont be needing those, piggy.” They say with a wicked grin as they nod at the table, filled with enough food for a family. “You must be starved after all that exercise. I’ll be done in a few minutes if you need help with that too.” They say with a wink before they get to work. I stare down the plates stacked high with my favorites, and my mouth waters despite the fullness of my stomach. As I pull another place towards me and reach for my first bite, they hum in satisfaction. I could never say no to them anyway.
You had such a weakness for custard. Of all things indulgent and edible — sweet, savory, or otherwise — custard had always been one of your favorites. Decadent donuts dripping with their sweet filling. Plump profiteroles oozing out their yummy centers. But today… you had éclairs on your mind. You’d been salivating at the thought of them for days now, some sickly sweet thought placed in your head.
Buying some wouldn’t do, you needed to make your own. Watch the plump dough swell with cream, slather them in chocolate… the whole process made your heart flutter and your belly rumble.
With the bag in one hand, you used the other to give your soft belly a soothing rub. “So hungry just looking at you…” you said to the doughy desserts, picking up the first tube of dough, pressing the nozzle into place, and watching as the sweet custard began to fill the pastry, plumping it perfectly, leaving it round and teeming with delicious cream. Your bowl of melted chocolate was next. Gingerly dipping the filled sweet in, letting the chocolate just cover the top…
“Bit of a mess already,” you said, licking away the bit of chocolate that stuck to your fingers.
In front of you sat the one perfect éclair…
Your tongue ran across your lips, feeling so greedy for the sweet taste. You didn’t eat it gently. One big bite first, then pushing the rest into your mouth, the cream oozing, the chocolate melting onto the dough as you chewed… perfection.
You wanted more, so much more…
Without thinking, you took the pastry bag and brought the tip to your mouth, groaning as you squeezed and felt the sweet creamy filling starting to push into your mouth. The heavenly taste overwhelming your tongue as you swallowed a huge gulp… then another… then another.
Your belly felt heavy and full already — had you always had this soft and round of a gut pushing against your shirt?
Squeezing the pastry bag harder, you felt your cheeks strain under the pressure of the cream, but guzzling it down was the only thing on your mind. “Mmmmmmm,” was all you could groan as you slid yourself into a sitting position, taking the pastry bag with both hands, feeling your shirt riding up higher and higher as every gulp rounded you out.
The pressure and pleasure in your belly grew as the bag started to feel empty. You frantically compressed it more and more, tighter and tighter, trying to suck down every morsel…
Your strained belly necessitated you laying on your back, the arch of your swollen middle coming fully into view now. Plump, puffy belly pushing up and out, your cheeks full and flushed. The last of the custard passed your lips, your tongue lapping at the nozzle for more…
“So… big…” you moaned, sinking your fingers into the dough-like blob of belly at your middle. You tugged up your shirt to see your chest, looking plump enough that cream might trickle out of your nipple if you squeezed hard enough.
You rubbed your swollen ball belly, the groaning gurgle of your indulgence straining your body audibly. But you realized what you were missing…
“Cho—uuUUrrp—clate,” you groaned, trying to reach up to the counter and grab your bowl of dipping chocolate, the strained belch catching you off guard. There was a moment of feeling around, but it quickly became clear when you made an error.
The bowl tipped, sending a stream of gooey chocolate dripping over the edge of the counter, landing right on the peak of your belly and spreading down the sides of your inflated middle. Your custard-stained mouth was salivating with anticipation as a small dribble slid down your belly towards your chest, your face digging in to your pudgy double chin as your tongue desperately reached for a taste.
When that wasn’t fast enough, you brought your hand up to catch some dripping chocolate and then messily sucking it off your fingers. “I’m so tasty and filled,” you whimpered as the chocolate started to settle, your mouth hanging open with awe and exhaustion, your hands gently sinking into your chocolatey sides…
All you could see was the soft roundness of your custard-stuffed body, coated in chocolate as you moaned contentedly, realizing you’d become the most delicious éclair of all.
Ashley punched in the code to Bree’s apartment, finding a handwritten note on the counter.
Thanks for looking in on Chunk! He’s very food-motivated, so don’t be afraid to use some treats if he’s not cooperating or offer him extra he’s being a good boy. Two containers in the fridge: one for dinner and one for dessert, make sure he finishes his dinner first and uses his bowl! Dessert usually goes in the wall feeder. He loves belly rubs, especially after he eats. -B
Ashley nodded, it seemed easy enough. From the fridge, she pulled out the large opaque Tupperware dinner with a sticky note that said "dinner" in delicate script. She hadn't heard any sounds of stirring, so she figured Chunk must be asleep. Ashley hoped he'd take his meal without too much trouble.
After a soft knock on the bedroom door, she opened it slowly.
"Chuuuunk," she said, her voice like a song. "I've got dinner for y—"
Ashley stopped at the sight of Chunk, who was sprawled supine out on a floor cushion the size of a queen mattress. He had always been big, but he'd grown downright enormous since she'd seen him last. Ashley figured he was nearly 500 pounds, if he wasn't there already. Stretch marks dappled his plump arms, his thighs were two hefty pillows of pudge that forced his legs apart, and even his face looked overinflated. Ashley couldn't tell if he was wearing much of anything, but he was easily kept decent by the bulging rolls of thigh and underbelly fat that were competing for space down there.
The only part of Chunk that didn't look doughy was his belly, which was a firm, round dome of flab that sat heavy against his middle, touching the ground on either side of his hips. The width and intense redness of the stretch marks gave his belly an extremely strained look, even now as it rose and fell with his slumbering breaths.
Ashley found the food bowl on the other side of the room, no more than ten feet from Chunk's bed. She popped the first latch off the Tupperware, immediately rousing Chunk from his sleep. Groaning, his eyes cracked open to see Ashley crouched at his bowl, starting to pour the fattening slurry of meat, cheese, and bread chunks that made up his meal.
"Heyyy Chunk," Ashley said, approaching him slowly. "You've gotten pretty big, huh? Too many treats, I guess."
Chunk was struggling to maneuver himself under his own bulk; stuck on his back like a turtle. His swollen belly sloshed heavily as he jostled himself onto his side. Momentum carried him onto his front, his globular ass wobbling as he reared back onto his knees far enough to unsteadily support his upper body while on all fours. Barely visible between the thick slabs of fat that oozed from under his chin, his collar and name tag jingled daintily as he tried to move.
Panting, his tongue lolling from his mouth, Chunk made his first few inching movements towards his bowl. His belly, visibly hanging low with the combined weight of his fat and the distressing amount of food already in his stomach, dragged across the carpeted floor as he made his way slowly, each weakened arm wobbling at any moment of concentrated weight baring down on it.
He'd barely made it a few feet before faltering and landing heavily on his front, groaning at the pressure of his body landing on his overfilled stomach and looking longingly at the bowl, which taunted him with the promise of more food if he could just make it a few more feet. His round face was growing redder as he intently pushed himself back onto all fours and continued the journey.
Chunk's determination lasted only another couple feet before he was forced to rest again.
Ashley watched on, eventually taking pity on the poor overfed guy. She reached into the wall-mounted drawers labeled "Chunk's treats" and pulled out a few mega-stuffed Oreos. Trying to spur him into completing the trek, she fed the first cookie to him, but it quickly became clear this wasn't going to get her very far — Chunk happily chewed away at the treat he was being hand-fed, then looked eagerly at her for another without moving.
"C'mon Chunk," Ashley said, rolling her eyes a little. "You've got dinner right there."
This time she put the Oreo a few inches from Chunk's mouth, watching as a dribble of drool formed on his lower lip while he forced himself forward just enough to reach the treat.
"That's a good boy, you're almost there," Ashley said, enticing him forward, pulling the cookie back a couple inches every time his mouth was nearly close enough to reach it.
Eight Oreos and lots of praise later, Chunk was in range of his bowl. It was no wonder to Ashley how Chunk had gotten so fat if it took that many treats to even get him towards his dinner, but she felt a sense of caring satisfaction seeing him collapse down onto his elbows, put his face to the large dish and start eating vigorously. Ashley watched him eat, admiring how his belly pooled on the ground and how the fat seemed to ooze around to folds on his sides and back, no matter what position he drifted into.
When his eating started to slow, she'd run a hand down his wide back or tousle his hair to goad him into completing his task. Ashley understood completely how Bree managed to spoil him so much; he made such happy, cute noises as he ate. As his belly filled, he tipped further and further into his bowl face-first, going so far as to lick clean the bottom when the chewable portions had been gobbled up.
By the end of the meal, Chunk was visibly more bloated than he'd started. He rolled with a thud onto his back, whimpering and pawing at his distended belly. He didn't look to be in any state to move much from that spot, but fortunately the wall-mounted feeder was located right beside his food bowl.
Ashley left Chunk long enough to retrieve the second container from the fridge, feeling this one was much more liquid by how it sloshed as she carried it. The wall-mounted feeder had a large hopper where she could pour in Chunk's dessert, then there was a knob on the spout that controlled the flow down a tube that Chunk already had scooted close enough to pop into his mouth.
"You know what's coming, don't you Chunk?" Ashley said affectionately, rubbing a couple lines across his belly beneath his chest. Chunk lazed unmoving as Ashley poured what seemed to be a large amount of milkshake, made of melted ice cream with various chunks of cookies and brownies interspersed within it. She opened the nozzle and watched as Chunk greedily started gulping and chewing down the fattening contents as quickly as it met his mouth.
This part of the meal, Chunk made quick work of. Even his mouth barely had to move, though his belly was growing audibly more strained as he gulped and groaned through each mouthful. Chunk's belly looked painfully swollen by the time his dessert was finished, but he lapped up the last of his shake before letting the tube free from his mouth.
"Such a good boy, you really ate it all, didn't you?" Ashley said, patting the taut dome of his belly, which had rounded out with intense fullness near the peak and splayed into soft fat at the edges. Chunk's grin widened as he planted one foot on the floor and used that point of stability to start rocking himself from side to side, his enormous belly swaying.
"Mmmm someone thinks they've earned belly rubs, does he?" Ashley teased, taking both hands and starting to knead the firm dough of Chunk's middle, watching him groan and grunt and grin as his overfed body was rewarded for obediently gorging itself even further.
"Such a good guy! You're spoiled, Chunk, but I don't think you mind," Ashley said, giving some attention to his moobs and bellybutton, sliding her fingers along the stretch marks that looked freshest among the forest of stripes. Chunk panted appreciatively, then descended into a sort of whimper, his eyes shifting over towards the treat drawers.
Ashley smirked, shaking her head. "Chunnnkkk," she said. "You're getting so big! If Bree keeps overfeeding you like this, you're just going to get bigger and bigger…"
She could tell by the darkening shade of red on Chunk's cheeks that he knew, accepted, and wanted whatever came with being a spoiled, overfed pet. Sighing, Ashley got up and grabbed a package of brownie bites, feeding them to him one by one, watching his happy, food-filled cheeks wobble as he chewed away, her hands roughing up his belly and easing out a couple of deep burps.
Chunk started getting sleepy pretty quickly after that, and he didn't seem to be in any state to make it back to his bed, no matter how many treats Ashley could offer him. She rubbed his belly until he fell asleep, quietly making her way out from his room and pulling out her phone to text Bree as she locked up.
Ashley: oh my god Bree
Ashley: Chunk is so. freaking. huge.
Bree🐝: isn't he just the cutest 🥺
Bree🐝: I can't wait to feed him extra when I get back tomorrow
Bree🐝: thank you for looking in on him!! he gets so hungry when I'm away
Ashley: literally anytime, he's such a cutie!
Ashley: sign me up to pet-sit whenever you're out of town, I'm kind of obsessed
A growing part of Ashley couldn't wait to visit Chunk again, curiosity building within her about if he might be even bigger when she saw him next.
Let me dispel this silly idea that you're getting "too big".
You can never be too big.
Sure, you can get too big for your favorite shirt. You can get too big for your once-loosest sweatpants. You can ware holes in your jeans and rip the seams of all your underwear. Nothing you own can fit anymore.
But there's always a bigger size, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to fit between armrests. You might spill over the seats of certain chairs. You may crack the frame of your couch and hear worrying creaks coming from your bed frame.
But there's always something lower, sturdier and wider that you can splay across, so you're not too big.
You can get too big for you car. You might push the seat back as far as it can go and find your belly is still pressing on the wheel. You may struggle to push your overflowing sides out of the way enough to buckle your seatbelt. The suspension might strain to one side as you plop into your seat.
But there's always the whole backseat for you to grow into when I'm driving, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to climb a whole flight of stairs. You might have to take a break after every few. You can get out of breath walking from your car to the store. Your balance might not be what it used to be. You might realize you're panting and breathless from how full you are after a big meal. You can feel your sides brushing the doorframes as you make your way wobbling from room to room at home.
But there's always the option of staying nice and comfy and relaxed on your bed, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to reach down and tie your shoes. You might need the occasional hand getting up after you've eaten. You've can have a few folds and rolls that you aren't able to scrub down without some help. You might need to ask to be rolled onto your side when you're too heavy and full to maneuver yourself.
But I'm always here to help you, aren't I?
So go ahead. Grow until nothing fits you. And you don't fit into anything. Move less. Depend on me more.
Let me dispel this silly idea that you're getting "too big".
You can never be too big.
Sure, you can get too big for your favorite shirt. You can get too big for your once-loosest sweatpants. You can ware holes in your jeans and rip the seams of all your underwear. Nothing you own can fit anymore.
But there's always a bigger size, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to fit between armrests. You might spill over the seats of certain chairs. You may crack the frame of your couch and hear worrying creaks coming from your bed frame.
But there's always something lower, sturdier and wider that you can splay across, so you're not too big.
You can get too big for you car. You might push the seat back as far as it can go and find your belly is still pressing on the wheel. You may struggle to push your overflowing sides out of the way enough to buckle your seatbelt. The suspension might strain to one side as you plop into your seat.
But there's always the whole backseat for you to grow into when I'm driving, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to climb a whole flight of stairs. You might have to take a break after every few. You can get out of breath walking from your car to the store. Your balance might not be what it used to be. You might realize you're panting and breathless from how full you are after a big meal. You can feel your sides brushing the doorframes as you make your way wobbling from room to room at home.
But there's always the option of staying nice and comfy and relaxed on your bed, so you're not too big.
You can get too big to reach down and tie your shoes. You might need the occasional hand getting up after you've eaten. You've can have a few folds and rolls that you aren't able to scrub down without some help. You might need to ask to be rolled onto your side when you're too heavy and full to maneuver yourself.
But I'm always here to help you, aren't I?
So go ahead. Grow until nothing fits you. And you don't fit into anything. Move less. Depend on me more.
been thinking about someone's fat husband recently 💕💕
"it's not even worth going in," he whines. he had collapsed on the couch immediately after coming in the door, now half out of breath and working with chubby fingers to free his gut from his tightly stretched buttonup and work pants. his spouse comes over, carrying a beer and his first plate of the night. "thank god, i'm starving."
they immediately finish unbuttoning his clothes for him and work on rubbing his gut. it's already swollen--he must have stopped for food on the way home.
"i'm so sorry, honey," they coo, pushing back his hair and planting a kiss on his cheek as he starts inhaling the food like a starving man. "it's okay. you're home now, big boy."
he lets out a groan. "fuck, this is so good." his spouse giggles in response, continuing to rub his fat.
"i'm glad you like it. i'm so glad you're home. i made lots of treats for--"
he doesn't hear them. "it's not even worth going in to the office. i hate it," he complains between bites and labored breaths. "every time i do, they just comment on how big i've gotten. they call me fat. can you believe it?" he lets out a quick belch, and his body jiggles. "sure, i've gained a few pounds. but i'm a married man now. it's not like there's anyone i'm trying to impress." he reaches around and grabs his gut, lifts it and lets it fall back onto his lap. he pats it once before continuing. "and it's such a chore. i'm tired by the time i get there, and then i'm so hungry all day long i can barely get anything done." he pushes the now empty plate towards his partner. "i'm still hungry." he turns on the tv.
"of course. i'll get you another plate." when they return with a plate piled higher than the first, they sit down beside him and resume rubbing his gut. "poor boy," they lay their head on it, looking up at him, watching as he shovels food past his thick double chin. "you shouldn't have to work so hard."
"i know. thank god i have a husband/wife who knows how to treat their man. something nice to return to."
his partner smiles up at him. at their man. big and thick and needy. growing fat off of their cooking, addicted to their attention.
poor boy. it's so unfair.
they'll make him feel better, though. they always do.
I know that ring is not a wedding ring, but I think it's caused my brain to warp your videos as "my domesticated house-husband sends me stuff while I'm at work" vibe. It makes me irrationally turned on idk—Fatty getting fatter at home, teasing me while I work to pay the bills. 😵💫😵💫😵💫
So hot! 🔥 🔥 🔥
Not gonna lie. Being asked to stay home and get fatter for my fat obsessed provider is a thought that's crossed my mind more than once.
Waking up as a trophy husband and being left a list of foods to eat or food already laid out for me, I have to eat before you come home every day. I'm sending photos to help on stressful work days, letting you know I've outgrown my clothes, and maybe go for that managerial position because this chair is creaking under my increasing weight and will need to be replaced if you keep feeding me like this.
Here... I ate everything you asked, and i had to let my belly out to breathe 🥵 your trophy is growing so much soon it won't fit behind this table. Are you sure you wanna feed me more when you get home?
I love what you've shared of the dynamic with your feeder! It seems like you've grown into a bit of a submissive gainer (she's leaving you specific instructions, telling you what to (not) wear, etc.); was this vibe the same when the roles were reversed? Have you intentionally been becoming more soft and obedient, or is that just coming with the tubby territory?
Tubby territory is the perfect way to describe it.
I was always polite and careful with her when she was gaining weight for me because I didn't want to push to hard and turn her off from gaining, So it made sense she would do the same for me when we switched roles.
I never set out to become more submissive. It just went that way with her taking more control as the feeder, but she was always gentle about it. She became even more doting when she started referring to herself as 'mommy' once I started getting quite chonky. I thought it was quite cute, so i went along with it, and it turned she really liked it.
She started saying things like "mommy needs to look after you" while tugging down my shirt over my belly peek or "mom's knows best" when dishing up large dinner portions. It was cute and funny, but I think it allowed her to release some more controlling tendencies that were coming to the surface she definitely didn't have before.
She even started saying the cringe phrases like "Are you mommies big boy or not" when cramming me with food, which felt a little forced. But very genuine when she says "mommy needs some sugar" after rolling me onto my back and, well... getting her sugar lol
Shortly after... yes, 'shortly' after... because she knows her moves up there, I took this pic while she was cleaning herself up, and I was still rolling in the bed, lol
So I guess no is your answer, I never intentionally set out to be submissive, and I dont know if she wanted to be more dominant, but she's definitely stepping into the role. I have wondered if that's one of the reasons she wanted to stop gaining because she prefers being on the other end of the power dynamic?
She has said she never saw herself as a feeder or anywhere near the feedism kink, but she does like doing it. I think she just wants to feel in charge, and this is a pretty good way to feel that power.
Fat Rights? Fat Chance! A History of Fat Liberation In The United States From 1967-1974
by @fatliberation
During the height of the Vietnam War, two months before Woodstock, one month before the moon landing, and just two weeks before the Stonewall Rebellion took place merely twenty miles away, another thread of U.S. history was quietly being written. On June 13th, 1969, an engineering student with no prior experience in political organizing and his fat comrades gathered in Westbury, N.Y. and ratified a constitution for a new human rights movement that was deemed shocking, laughable, and entirely unheard of.
Hey, everybody! My new article is finally finished and available to pre-read on ko-fi for $5. This is a dense history of organized fat activism in the U.S., focused on the late 60s to mid 70s. Learn about the Central Park Fat-In, the beginnings of the world’s first-documented fat rights organization, and the concurrent movement of feminist fat resistance led by queer practitioners of Radical Therapy (and more).
Like always, this article will eventually be unlocked for free, most likely in two or three months, depending on pre-sales. If you benefit from my work and are feeling resourced, consider making yours a recurring monthly tip so you don't lose access to my articles after 30 days.
I hope you enjoy the article and learn something new about fat history!
@fatliberation published a supporter-only post on Ko-fi!
Unfortunately, I only made two pre-sales on this thing last month (shoutout to y'all <3), so I'm extra excited for it to be public and available for people to read and share. If you learned something, enjoy what you read, and want more content like this, please consider leaving a tip!
don’t notice the way you struggle a bit more to button up your jeans before work.
don’t notice the way your shirt feels a lot tighter, how it’s practically become a second skin for you.
don’t notice the way you breathe heavier just walking from your house to your car, sitting in the front seat for a moment just to catch your breath.
don’t notice the way you had to move your seat back this morning, too, because the steering wheel has started to press uncomfortably into your stomach and thighs.
don’t notice the way your first meal of the day has more calories than you should be eating for half the day.
don’t notice the way you stop and get donuts on the way to work more frequently now, so you have something to snack on during work.
don’t notice the way your co-workers are staring more and more often at you, the way your clothes cling to your body, every new pound on full display.
don’t notice the way your shirt has started to roll up while you eat, exposing that soft underbelly for the world to see.
don’t notice the way you eat three times as much as your friends do when you all go out, ordering more and more and finishing off their plates for them, too.
maybe you don’t notice how fat you’re getting, but you’re going to notice soon.
you’ll notice when you try to pull your old favorite jeans on, and they get stuck on your thighs. you’ll fight and pull and try to get them on, but even if you manage to slide them up your legs, they’ll never button across that belly.
you’ll notice when all of your shirts have suddenly become crop tops, sliding up to rest above the top of your belly.
you’ll notice when you get out of breath just walking from your bedroom to the kitchen to stuff your face even more. how a simple few steps make you have to pause.
you’ll notice when the seatbelt cuts into your belly and chest when you move too far in your seat, when it’s a struggle to fit yourself in behind the steering wheel.
you’ll notice when your breakfast order comes out and there’s enough plates to feed a family of 4, and the waitress asks if you’re sure you can finish all that.
(you know you can, you’ve done it before.)
you’ll notice when your two, three, four donuts a day becomes 7, 8, 9, a dozen a day, until the workers know your name and order by heart.
you’ll notice when your co-workers start to whisper when you walk by, asking what happened to you, how could you let yourself go like that?
you’ll notice when your clothes are tight before you even eat, but they become unbearable once you’ve shoved all that food into your face. when you have to unbutton your jeans mid meal, as to not risk losing a button.
you’ll notice when your friends start asking if you need that 3rd, 4th, 5th plate, if you really need dessert after all that food. when they say hey, we’re going to the gym after lunch, do you want to come?
I've been toying with combo fantasies around weight gain and blueberries. do you have a preferred interaction type?
how does getting fatter affect you swelling with juice? how does being juiced affect your appetite?
ps you liked one of my berryfics thank youuuuuuu
wow ok I love this question- there’s loads of great 2nd person fics where you’re already fat and turn into a blueberry they’re so good like the descriptions of having a flabby squishy tummy to a round smooth spherical blueberry tummy is soooo good.
I have a specific fantasy where the blueberry part of the gum doesn’t make you swell up but the tomato soup and the roast beef do 🤤 you don’t change colour the meals just make you verryyy fat like you’ve eaten loads and THEN the blueberry pie comes ughhhh
I’ve also talked about this before but I love the idea of being juiced and still being really big having to haul around a big belly and having thick thighs which would def make you want to eat more 👀👀 and maybe blowing up just a tinyyyy bit more
