call me softly | 33 | they/she | asexual
fa blog, i write and draw and quietly admire from afar... | i like male and female wg--i am the biggest sucker for anything soft and fluffy...
i'm a ghost who likes drawing and writing about fat people and people getting fatter. i really like plot and lots of romantic dialogue.
preferably this is a place for 18+ folks, but a safe place nonetheless. i'll mark my stuff appropriately if it starts to get intense.
i am in a relationship, i'm not looking to do anything flirty or feeder or feedee-related, i'm just here to share and find art and appreciate fat bodies and people.
🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍
writing tag: #softly writes
softly's fic index (for when you are looking for something specific)
im not the person who requested the fat nerdy guy illustration but i wanted you to know i saw it rb'd on my dash and it genuinely made me cry. im a disabled bigfat gay trans man who uses a powerchair, and tho im not quite as big as the guy you drew, your illustration is literally only the second time in my life ive seen EVER anyone draw my specific combination of gender, body type, and mobility aid—the first time was a terf on twitter who drew a horrible caricature based on a photo of me and tagged me in the post. so like. thank you. you don't know me, but ive never seen a loving representation of someone who looks like me. it really means a lot.
this is why representation is so important and i am so proud on myself to choose representative art as specialization
i think i cried a bit reading it, because, for me feedback like this is like academy reward and even more. it makes me feel like my art is great and all my life struggles i go for it is worth it
thank you so much anon, i am so glad to serve
also
in my project reqbodyposy i had this guy - disabled visibly transgender big fat dude wheelchair user
aiming my wg beam at more characters...a/starion says he's a man of tremendous appetites and g/ale was a shut-in wizard who loves cooking...........i mean, the bellies practically fill themselves
hey. Hi. Yes i see post about wanting to fatten up miis. there’s a game on itch io called chub chomp chill and its pretty much just feedism tomodachi life. have fun
i realized it's been another while since i've drawn theo and charlotte...i always have to come back to them n_n (and i think i draw theo a little bigger every time...i can't help it, i love a big, big man ;o;)
The fattest guy in the office, or anywhere really, is used to being called “big guy” and being cast a double glance when someone first sees him. He takes it in stride—says he loves to eat—but knows he’s not anyone’s type.
So he never goes for the plunge. He never picks up any signs – not that he thinks there’s ever been any.
He’s used to girls befriending him and he expects nothing more. He has a lot of female friends.
A new worker in the office befriends him, he thinks little of it. She’s a few years younger than him, a little less experienced in this field, so she’s always turning to him for help.
Little does he know she’s obsessed with him. She sees him across the room, shimmying between desks or struggling to grab something from the floor and she’s drooling around her pen.
She unbuttons her shirt when she goes to see him. She sits on his desk as she talks with him, a shoe off when no one’s around, to run a foot up his thigh and under his massive gut.
Trying to stave off his embarrassment, he asks, “Are your feet cold?”
“So cold,” she insists and does the same with her other foot. She tries to aim for his crotch, but he corrects her direction, thinking it’s an accident.
She brings him massive drive-thru breakfast orders, and lunches and she made herself. Invites him out for drinks and even invites him back to hers on several occasions as her apartment is closer to the place they drink at.
He doesn’t make a move because he thinks all of this is innocent, even when she tries offering her bed because the couch is no place for a guy like him to crash.
She finally gets him in bed when the elevators at her apartment complex are out of order. She stays with him as he’s dangerously out of breath and sweating like crazy up the five flights of stairs, and dotes on him with such care after guiding him to the couch. She helps him unbuckle, unzip, unbutton, letting his big, handsome belly spill out freely.
She rubs warm, soft thumbs sympathetically on the angry red lines on his belly. Massages his feet after helping him get his shoes off.
He can’t lie, seeing a gorgeous woman on her knees, massaging his feet with her cleavage and bra on show for him, it’s hot as hell, but he shrugs away the feeling. He scolds himself for watching her ass as she heads to the kitchen to fix him a sandwich, because he needs his strength back. She insisted.
That night, they share the same bed, but for the first hour or two, there’s distance. Not much, because he’s taking up a full half of the bed easily. He’s nervous, too nervous to sleep, and she’s trying to lightly doze, banishing herself to the very edge of the bed just to keep that few extra inches of space.
He’s propped up a little more against the headboard than her to keep himself from snoring as bad as what he normally does, and it grands him a clear perspective of her.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Do you want to come closer? There’s not much space. I promise not to do anything.”
She takes a moment to accept. “You don’t have to promise anything,” she says, before taking her chance to tuck herself under his arm, stuffing her thigh between his thighs his gelatinous overhang, so close to everything else that it makes him gulp.
“…Okay. I won’t.”
Normally, she’s awake before him and making him breakfast to send him off when he wakes up on the couch after crashing at hers, but the following morning, he’s awake before her. She’s fastened to his side, nestled in adorably, using him like a big pillow. There’s drool all on his chest. The fresh streak is going down where his ribs used to be, under a thick layer of fat.
After that, they become closer. In the office, co-workers start to tease him about his ‘girlfriend’, which he has to dismiss to spare her her dignity. She doesn’t deserve to be teased just for being friends with the fat guy.
She invites him over for breakfast more. She even invites him to a garden party for a barbecue with her friends, and she asks him what he thinks of her new bikini.
“Yeah, it’s, um… good.” Because what else are you meant to say when an attractive woman is showing herself off in front of you, but you aren’t dating? “You look great.”
“It’s a really good material, too. Want to feel?” She presses her chest into his side and puts her arms around him.
Sometimes, they even have dinner together, and then they’ll cuddle together again when he’s too full to protest. Sometimes she rubs his belly for him when he’s exceptionally stuffed, because she has this miserable frown on her face when he leaves anything she’s made him.
He feels guilty for how expensive all this must be for her. A table full of toasted bacon sandwiches all for him one instance, a smorgasbord of breakfast menu fast food items the next, a full breakfast the time after that. He invites her over to his for a change, and orders pizza, wings, dirty fries, but takes note of how she says she’s stuffed after two slices, some fries, and a single wing, and then is working to inspire him to finish everything else.
He sees the little bloat under that black mini dress too. She’s not joking: she is full from just that. He couldn’t dream of it. It’s such a small portion to him.
He felt terribly awkward when he opened the door to find her in a pretty dress and evening makeup, hair done up and shoes sleek and elegant. She even brought a red wine. He’d answered the door with a beer in hand, in sweats and a T-shirt, assuming things would be casual, but she smiled at him like he’d just answered the door in a tux with a bouquet of roses.
“You look handsome tonight,” she’d said.
“I – um – yeah. Ditto. Beautiful, I mean. You’re– I mean, you. So.”
She giggled.
Once all the food is cleared, he’s panting heavily and sitting back. She pushes up his T-shirt without needing to be asked. She pushes the waistband of his sweatpants under his belly and starts to rub.
“You really overdid it, sweetie,” she says, as she has many times before. “But it’s okay, I’ll help you.” As usual, she starts at the sides of his belly and works her way inwards. He groans in relief from it.
She puts a knee over his thigh, precariously on the small bit of seat space his corpulence has to offer between his spread legs. His heart hammers. “What are you–?”
She straddles his thigh, perching on his knee. He can feel the heat from her– her–
“Arms up. Let’s get you comfortable.” When his arms go up, she helps pull off his massive T-shirt, squeezes one of his pecs with a tipsy giggle. “You’re so soft. So pretty.”
His brain short-circuits. “You- You know I’m not gay, right?”
She pauses. “Yeah? I’ve been flirting with you for months. You never make a move,” she sulks. “So is this okay? Can I make the move for you?”
He nods dumbly, and immediately she’s unzipping her dress and shrugging it off. He’s face to face with her bra and panty set, black lace and silk. She’s beautiful, but so tiny in comparison to him. She could wear a leg of his pants as a bodycon dress, he’s sure of it.
“The moment I saw you, I wanted you. I was obsessed with you.”
He licks his lips. “I told myself not to get my hopes up.”
A desolate expression takes over her face. She shakes her head, mostly to herself, and arches over his embonpoint to put her nose to his neck. “Your cologne’s nice.”
“Thanks…”
“I like it when you don’t shave for a while, it’s so cute.”
“N-Noted.”
“And those swimming trunks… they looked ready to burst. And these sweats are so hot. I like dressing up for you. I like that you didn’t. I want you to be comfortable. You barely look comfortable in work.”
Then it clicks for him. All that food. The takeout. The encouraging. The foot massage. “I’ve gained so much weight because of you.” He puts a hand on the crest of his belly. “Look what you’ve done.”
She kisses him with a gasp of awe. She clearly cannot help herself anymore. He can smell how wet she is, let alone feel it dripping onto his knee, through the fabric of his sweats.
“Do you think you’re too full to lie down? I was hoping you’d top, anyway. I want to feel all of you coming down on me.”
He can’t believe this is happening. Before he knows it, he’s staring at her on all fours on his bed, waiting patiently for him to lift up his gut and—jeez, he has to lift up his gut to have sex now. It’s so heavy. When was the last time he had sex? At least with a girl? Where he topped? He doesn’t know the answers to any of the three.
She whimpers when he lets his belly drop onto her back. He stresses immediately: “Are you okay? I can get off of you–”
“No,” she sighs, sweetly. “No, this is perfect. You feel so full, it’s perfect.”
Maneuvering himself to get in is difficult, but after a minute or so he succeeds, panting. His knees are twinging a bit, and the angle is hard to keep… he tries lifting her hips a bit more, but it’s a fight against gravity with his massive stomach in the way… Okay, yeah, no, he can do this. He can do this fine.
His thrusts forward are cumbersome, making him pink and sweaty and limiting friction. She rolls her hips back to meet him, pushing herself against the covers.
They find a rhythm, his belly so full and contrarian to the prospect of sex being good, sloshing and moaning with every thrust. The weight of it drags air out of his chest, and by the end, he’s ruined beside her, gasping and scarlet.
He should be– oh God– he can’t– he should be the one to wipe her down. With a cloth or something right? But he’s so… he’s so spent, he can’t imagine getting up now, trying to get his breath back before sleeping.
Beside him, she fingers herself to completion, which is embarrassing. She shows him the way she rubs his spend on her pussy, on her clit, using it as a donation, before rushing into the bathroom to pee.
When she’s back, it’s with a damp washcloth, and acting as though she didn’t just have a 400lbs man poorly fuck her, wipes him down with the cloth. Gets rid of excess sweat and cleans his fat pad up.
She kisses him sweetly, off again, only to return with a candy bar from the kitchen. “For your health,” she says, as she does when she means to get your strength back.
A candy bar for being too fat to fuck. That’s a new one.
She comes behind him and rubs his belly some more as he munches down the bar in three greedy bites, smiling at him like he’s just demonstrated an insane level of ingenuity.
Hhf randomly thinking about taking a group of fatties to a sauna...
Hot sweaty fatties...Warm to touch...Sweaty and wet...Soft warm boobs/moobs...Glistening tummies...loud huffing and panting sbwbbahahqhqhauauau 😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫💖💗💓💗💓💗💓💗💓💗
a big wide soffft belly that gets stuffed so full u can distinctly see the stomach rising from the surrounding fat like an island in a vast ocean…………..yeag . <3
@fatliberation has been terminated by tumblr staff.
I did not hit the self-destruct button! I was silenced! I’m officially an INTERNET FUGITIVE! this is my initial post just getting the word out, sorry if it’s a bit rushed and panicky - I’m trying not to get too worked up over it and just get this out there as efficiently as possible, but I’m the user behind @fatliberation. I am posting this from my feed1sm community blog, which was initially a safe haven for me to reach directly to the feed1st community without the scrutiny of non-feed1sts. luckily, it was not attached to the account that got terminated. go figure! I’ve sent an appeal request to tumblr, but I am doubtful that my blog will be reinstated because feed1sm is officially against tumblr’s community guidelines. yes, this is discrimination. here’s why feed1sm is not a fucking eating disorder.
obviously, I’m in extreme distress over this, because I did not have any of my work backed up. I’m devastated to have lost the hundreds of asks sitting in my inbox, the lists of resources I’ve compiled, and the six years worth of work in the form of replies and essays.
I know that much of my work is still out there on each of your individual blogs as reblogs. I might eventually try to organize a combing operation for specific posts so that some of it can be saved.
I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I will send updates from this blog. I will most likely make my own website with a domain that I own, but it will take me awhile. as many of you know, I’ve worked through a brick wall of deep-rooted shame to get to this point, so my blog being terminated on the account of promoting a culture of harm has caused my brain to backslide into shame-land. I’m experiencing anxiety and doubts about my character that haven’t come up in years. this termination happened during a time where I was taking a break from posting because my mental health was already on unstable ground. so it all kind of came crashing in on me. I’m okay. my friends are here for me. I know that it will take me a minute to get back up from this, but I am not going anywhere.
THEY CAN’T KEEP THIS BAD FATTY DOWN!
🐋✊⛓️💥
If you’re reading this, please spread this post around so my people can find me. my ko-fi account still lives.
I hope that even though much of it has been lost, the footprint it left will live on. running that blog has changed my life in immeasurable ways. getting to interact and learn from you all brought me community, acceptance, and love. I cannot express my gratitude to everyone who has supported me, and who stood behind me when I became vocal about feed1sm. you mean the world to me. I refuse to be silenced. my only ask is that you please keep spreading and circulating the fat liberation flag.
so. I’m wiping my tears and trying to think of this as rebirth. wherever I go from here, I won’t have to worry about censorship. when I got the news that it was all gone, the first thing that came to mind was this scene from pixar’s up.
