if i look back, i am lost
Claire Keane
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trying on a metaphor
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
h
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@fuckingpotato
I think it’s about time I fully introduce myself here
I’m Tate, a transfemme feedee that recently cracked their egg.
I have an enormous fat/feedism/immobility fetish. I’ve been a lurker here for years.
Feel free to DM.
No age, pfp, or blog title will be blocked.
Pump a slovenly larder with formulated slop until its coronary artery is overstuffed with buttery cholesterol, weak valves rupturing, morbidly enlarged cardiac muscle slathered in a layer of fresh, visceral adipose. Torture its screaming heart until that worn out piece of soft meat bursts, until it has to get a transplant of a real pig heart. Replace its most vital organ with a piece of what it really is, a nauseating, repulsive pig.
another flat comm for someone on twitter
I've had this in my head forever, hopefully the second one makes sense
you love to feel like this, don't you?
no responsibilities.
no routine.
no fixed times.
no duties.
just filled to the brim with good food, endorphins beaming from your little piggy brain and dopamine rewarding you for engorging and gobbling on anything edible within a radius of 2 meters from you... wondering what's for dinner.
you wake up at improbable hours, and then you eat, you hit up the pc and devote your hours to videogames, streamings, and food until you go to bed.
i don't even have to encourage you by now...
you're digging your own grave a bite after another.
you know, i see the posts you publish on your kinky socials.
you almost always say that it's me filling that ball of lard you have as a gut...
...but in reality, if I make you stuff once a week it's a lot. After all, I work full time and I'm often too tired to do much but cook for you a filling meal and then going to bed listening to some ASMR to fall asleep...
but you... you love to appoint the entire guilt on me.
you love to tell everyone that it's me rendering you so obese that you can't even walk anymore.
you love to make everyone think "boo hoo poor feedee, her wife is fattening her up!"...
...while in reality you panic if you don't eat for even an hour.
the other day you literally had a meltdown because we didn't have anymore cookies.
and two days before that, you begged me to find another job just so that you could order mcdonalds more often.
(i'm searching for it, of course...)
i'm watching your puffy body sink in the mattress and i can hardly recognize each body part as a human one...
you're deforming your meat vessel by adding so much lard it's becoming unrecognizable.
you're digging your own grave a bite after another...
i'll sleep all night, like always...
...and instead you, like every night, will wake up around 5 am and eat whatever you can fit in your mouth without having to cook it.
oh, my dear hog...
you are so lost in the folds of your own obesity...
so much lost that you fail to notice that, at this point, your own greatest feeder... is yourself.
source
"A lot of you guys requested I try fem hrt as a cis girl. Just to see what'd happen. You guys are bad, you know that? I used to be a normal health and fitness vlogger. You came to me, pretending like this was something you were really curious about. Since it was well known the doses in modern hrt are out of control. Hence so many trans girls get such huge boobs and excess weight gain. But I heard your questions and tried to approach it with a level head, a professional. Right? Like maybe if I exercise, eat a clean vegan diet, and don't overstimulate myself, maybe I can prove it's behavioral and not just hormones..... Boy was I wrong.
[CM] Heavy Niko — artwork by MX-FA on DeviantArt. A cm a little outside my wheelhouse. Niko from Blue Archive done for @/ idonteven101 (on x
Tess Holliday
Re-released an old video of me at almost 500 pounds eating donuts & cumming like a good girl 🤭🐷🍩
See gatsbysgal on OnlyFans. Access exclusive photos and videos. Visit the official page now.
source
When you realize “damn I’m kinda chunky”
Meh, why not an update photo?
Still chunky, but now on E. Could always have more tummy, especially for a tgirl tummy Tuesday
Happy Pride everyone!
warmth knows what it wants
900 words · 5 min read · emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com · May 2026
The fourth meal of the day ended ten minutes ago, and the heat hasn't faded. It's the most I've ever eaten in one session, or close to it. My breathing is fast, my thoughts are slow. The fullness of my stomach radiates outwards, pressing against every part of me.
You're nestled into me, resting your head on my padded shoulder, squished between my arm and the soft slope where my side meets the mattress. I'm not really someone you cuddle anymore, but more like somewhere you settle, soft and comfortable. Your wrist rests on my belly, rising and falling with my shallow breath, as you gently trace lines of glittering fire over my stretchmarks with your fingers.
"You did so well," you murmur. (I grunt in agreement.) "All of it, every bite. I'm so proud of you. You make me so happy."
"You make me happy," I answer, drowsily, unthinking, but it's true. This is all I want - this moment, this warmth. Our closeness. Your voice and your hands and the heavy, satisfied ache that holds me.
"I know I push you a little far sometimes. But you always rise to it. Look how far you've come," you say, moving your hand a little further down my belly. "Six hundred and thirty pounds. My perfect little larder."
I smile.
And then the number lands.
Six hundred and thirty. I knew, of course I knew, I'm on the scale practically every week and again earlier today - but hearing it here, in your voice, in this moment, it's different. Six hundred and thirty. The numbers used to be hot but now they're scary. Those are TV show numbers. Hospital numbers. Numbers that make me think the honeymoon could end at any moment.
I'm still smiling, but it's just the muscles holding position. The rest of me is somewhere else.
Your fingers still trace me but the sensation is gone and I feel what you're outlining: contours of land, like earth poured into this reinforced bed. You're curled up against the expanse of me like you'd curl against a hillside.
You shift, look up at me. Your whole body weighs less than one of my legs. If I rolled I'd smother you in a landslide.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"It's nothing," I say, trying to find the warmth again. It was right here. "I'm okay."
But the cold is in me now. It's not the first time I've heard that doubting voice. It speaks up at every milestone, at every new struggle, each time I need help with something I could do before. But it's always been silenced by that heavy fullness. It's never interrupted a moment like this before - it's never smothered the warmth. It's never stolen you from right by my side.
I need it gone.
"Sometimes I get doubts," I say. "About... this. Of losing it."
You wait.
"There's part of me that hears a number like that and panics. It tries to tell me that this can't be my life. I try to ignore it, but... one day, when I'm empty, when the warmth is gone, I'm scared it'll win me over."
You open your mouth to speak, but I continue. "So don't let me. Okay? I need to stay in this feeling. Promise me you'll keep me in it. Promise me you won't let me go."
You're silent for a moment. Perfectly still.
Then you sit up. You lean over me and take my face in your hands. Your eyes are full of love.
"Yes," you say. "I promise."
Relief floods through me. The warmth burns hot. You understand. You'll keep me here, you'll keep me safe.
"You've made a big decision," you say, gently. "I'm proud of you."
I smile, and relax, but something snags. Decision? The word feels out of place. I was only asking for reassurance.
The endorphins are fading now. The warmth is tapering off, and I find myself lying here in our bed, in this body, this growing six hundred and thirty pound body that becomes less independent day by day, and you're still holding my face in your hands, and your eyes are still full of love, but something within has changed. Something that was waiting and isn't anymore.
What have I done?
I go to speak, but you shush me with a gentle finger. You stroke my cheek.
"You're tired, honey." You reach for the tube, connect it, check the seal, place the end in my mouth. Never mind that I'm already as full as I've ever been. "Let me take care of everything."
No chance to argue. The lights dim. You leave.
There was no hesitation, I realise. No "let's talk about this when you're less full", no "this is a big step", no "are you sure?"
The warmth is gone, fully gone, and in the cold I see clearly: a body I can hardly move, a door I soon won't be able to reach, a life that revolves around you. And I... don't...
...but... those are cold thoughts. Tomorrow, when I'm full, with you beside me, I'll mean every word I said tonight. So whatever I just gave you - if it helps me get back to that warmth, you can have it. That's what I want. That's all I want. I have to believe that.
The feed runs, and I swell.
In the hallway, you stand for a moment, watching me, silhouetted against the kitchen lights.
TW: Immobility, Daddy/Son, Heath Issues, Abuse
It started innocently at first. How did I let this happen? I let you convince me that it was okay to overeat when I already had a severe weight issue. You woke me up with desserts and I didn’t have to lift a finger. I had everything I wanted and then you made me start calling you daddy. Things got dark. Very dark.
Eventually you started feeding me yourself. You started molesting me and associating your touch with chocolate-covered treats. I didn’t know if I liked it. Maybe I did and that’s why I ate for you. Maybe eating myself even bigger was a trauma response. Surely you would quit when I gained too much weight for you. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t know that you didn’t have a limit. Now I’m too helpless to do anything. I can’t leave you. Hell, I can’t even leave my bed.
“Don't worry, sweetie, just one more bite, you know you love my cooking. C'mon, eat up.”
“Dad no, I'm already so big, I'm scared! I just want to be healthy again!”
“What's a little more weight going to hurt?“
“But... Daddy... I can't breathe... the doctor said I have to lose weight if I want to live.”
“Aww, sweetheart, don't worry. All those issues are just side effects. You'll be fine. You shouldn't let a little thing like health issues hold you back from eating all this amazing food. Besides those health nuts just don't understand how much we love each other. Now, come on, open wiiiiiiiiiide...”
“No, I feel sick… from all the cake you've been feeding me. It hurts Please stop feeding me... I'm dying over here... can’t breathe…”
“You're talking nonsense, sweetheart! It's for your own good, really, it is.”
“I'm scared, daddy... please...”
“Here, have some more sugar. That'll put you in a better mood. I’ll even give you your oxygen back when you’ve finished all of this.”
The situation is impossible. I know I’m not getting out of here alive, but I’m also not ready to die yet. If I let you keep feeding me maybe you’ll try to give me oxygen and insulin. Maybe I’ll last a little longer. But also maybe this is a fate worse than death. Something within me gives in. My stomach growls. I’m too weak. I need instant gratification. I eat for you. You give me my oxygen cannula back and a box of donuts to eat while you go deep under my belly to try to find whatever nub is left swallowed in my fupa.
Maybe don't equip any materia that Sephiroth throws at your head
a chubby life-long introvert’s first date
