#realistic gain

[gainingfiction]

Heavily Used

Summary: This is a bit experimental (or weird), and maybe a bit predictable, but I had fun writing it. This is a story about an important relationship in a fat guy’s life, and the risk of taking things for granted. It’s also a story about coping (or not coping) with change.

Hope you enjoy!

~

I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can only handle so much. It’s one thing to be taken for granted, that’s something we all have to live with. It’s just the total lack of acknowledgment, or even awareness that I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna snap and call it quits.

A little bit about me: I’m stylish, polished, and pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. Born in Poland, but my background is Swedish—I’m European, at heart. The name is Anders, but no one actually calls me that. I’m not super high-maintenance, once you figure me out, but everyone needs a little attention from time to time. Some tending.

Especially living with Max.

I’ve known Max for a while, and he’s not a bad guy. He can be a little rough sometimes, and maybe a little careless, but it doesn’t come from a bad place. I think it’s just a lack of self-awareness. And let’s be honest, that’s a common problem among pretty-boy jocks.

The trouble with Max is that he’s not the pretty-boy I once knew. He’s changed… he’s grown. I mean, he’s literally grown. Grown by about a hundred pounds, if I had to guess, and counting. Over the course of our time together, I’ve gotten pretty familiar with his ass, and I’ll admit, it’s a great one. But, boy, he’s got a lot more ass for me to handle these days.

It’s not insurmountable, not yet at least. But I’m worried it’s getting there.

It started out simply enough, the innocent midnight snacks and occasional takeout treats. No problem, right? Twunks can afford to indulge a little, especially a hot commodity like Max. But then, you get comfortable. You settle into a routine, you let yourself go. That’s the thing about creatures of beauty: one minute you’re the hottest guy in town, trim and toned, with a golden tan and handsome face and perfect, silky hair. The sort of guy who only seems to exist in a Hollywood version of reality. But then, inevitably, something happens. Sometimes tastes change, or maybe you’re the one doing the changing.

I won’t deny, I’m not in the same shape I was when I entered Max’s life for the first time. Any long-term relationship comes with the normal wear-and-tear. Max, though, has taken it to a whole new level.

The little snacks become big snacks. The extra meals go from “occasional” to “frequent” to “everyday”. Gluttony takes over. A 32-inch waist becomes a 36-inch waist becomes a 40-inch waist; size-small shirts are discarded in the back of the closet, soon joined by ill-fitting mediums, and then by larges, stretched out of shape by a gut that won’t stop getting bigger. Max used to flit around the apartment like a bird; now he lumbers like an elephant, heavy footfalls and a slow, waddling gait. His own warning system—you can hear him coming.

On paper, I know I should be trying to help lighten the load. And it’s not like I’m totally unappreciated; there are days when he comes home from work, legs tired and arms loaded down with takeout, and I can tell he’s genuinely happy to have me. But it doesn’t last long. Once dinner’s over, I’m back to being ignored while he sits on the couch, gorging himself in front of the TV, until he comes around again to stuff his face at the next meal. Which, to be fair, is pretty often these days.

It sounds cruel, the way I talk about his escalating weight, his increasingly-indecent greed. I’m not trying to be mean. I just wish he’d consider how it might affect me. I have to live with him, and he’s starting to cramp my style. But it’s not like I can say anything. I just have to sit there in silence, while he eats and eats, grows and grows, piling on pound after excess pound. And the way he eats, moaning and licking and slurping… it’s downright pornographic.

250 starts to feel like a lowball as the months go by. He’s pushing me to my limits without even realizing it. I’ve never had to deal with a guy this fat before, a guy whose big, round bubble butt would hang over the side of even the most substantial chair. And I, personally, am not “substantial”. I’m pretty thin; it’s just how I was made. I thought Max was made that way, too.

I start trying to make my frustration known, but like I said, I can’t just come right out and say something. So I try a little subtlety; a small groan every now and then when he throws himself down at the dinner table for another round of hedonism. If he notices, he doesn’t care. He just keeps upping the ante.

And upping just about everything else: his pants size, his portion sizes, the size of his monster-truck ass and thunder thighs. They press together whenever he sits down, now, lard against blubber. Not like in the old days when his legs were lithe and lean. His moobs bulge against every tank top, his pudgy arms pack his sleeves, his love handles blossom over the top of every waistband like ripening tropical fruit.

In occasional moments of self-pity, I hazard a guess: how much does my man weigh now? 275 pounds? 300? Is he even trying to do something about it? Clearly not. He never works out anymore, unless you count working up a sweat over a third (or fourth, or fifth) slice of cheesecake. I honestly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, just to spite me. Or test me. But I know that’s crazy—like I said, sometimes I truly doubt he even thinks about what it’s like for me.

But the problem is getting harder to ignore; he really throws his weight around these days. He heaves himself up off the couch. He rests a hand on the front of his bulging belly, barely restrained by some poor, threadbare top, back arching forward from the strain of it all (he’s not a tall guy, which makes his increasingly S-shaped silhouette even more pronounced). He trudges from the living room to the kitchen and drops himself in front of the table like an anvil. When he sits down, his ass, spilling out of some indecent pair of jean shorts, spreads out like lava blanketing some hapless Roman hamlet.

Some nights, I strain underneath him, feeling absolutely crushed by his sheer weight, boundless mass bearing down on me with the force of gravity. How big is he now? I wonder, as I listen to him moan and groan with pleasure. 325? 350? Could he really have gained over 200 pounds? How could he not realize what he’s doing to himself—what he’s doing to me?

He’s just so oblivious. I don’t even recognize him anymore. I’ve been starting to make noises about how uncomfortable I am, how much I’m struggling with his extra weight. But, as always, it falls on deaf ears. His tight little butt has become a pair of vast, ponderous globes, his abs and lats and obliques are encased in a spare tire that belongs on an 18-wheeler, his tits bulge out and dangle towards his armpits. And he just. Keeps. Going. 

Keeps eating. Keeps gaining. Keeps expanding.

Things reach a boiling point before dinner one night. I can see him piling up the table, unboxing some outrageous quantity of food for his secret nightly mukbang. Well, secret except for the consequences, which anyone with eyes could notice. “There’s a man who likes his food” would be such a trite, vapid observation that it doesn’t even need saying. He doesn’t just “like” his food, he lives for his food. Food is practically a part of Max’s identity at this point.

He’s starting to lower his colossal ass to sit, and I can tell this is it. Tonight’s the night. Fuck it, I’m done. He’s well past 350 pounds, and that’s too much weight for me to handle.

Maybe he’ll appreciate me more when I’m not around. Hejdå, Max, it was nice knowing you! At least, it used to be.

~

Max sat on the floor, rolls of fat still wobbling from the jarring motion of his fall. His chair had been complaining for a while now—squeaking and groaning every time he sat down—but he hadn’t expected it to actually break. What a load of bullshit! He wasn’t even that fat!

He looked around at the splintered wood, soreness radiating across his ass—and not in a fun, post-fucking kind of way. At least his buttocks were nicely-padded. When he was bony, a slip on the ice hurt like all hell.

He was glad he was alone, or this would have been super embarrassing. At least no one was around to see him smash that chair like a pro-wrestler in a grudge match. He knew he’d been overdoing it, but this wasn’t his fault. How could it be, surely he wasn’t that big? Just a little out of shape, in need of a few good workouts to shed some winter weight. It was just the cheap IKEA furniture he bought.

With a grunt, he started the process of heaving his monumental form to a stand. As he started to gather his momentum, he glanced at the ruined seat and frowned. He actually liked that chair. It was pretty comfortable.

At least, it used to be.

(Author’s Note: don’t forget to rotate your dining chairs!)

#weight gain #male weight gain #gay #wg story #weight gain story #realistic gain #gaining fiction #belly #bhm #chub

[waistful-thoughts]

Are You Sure?

Summary: After finally moving in with his long-term boyfriend, Marcus discovers that his recent weight gain may not be such an accident after all...

CW: Non-consensual gaining Word count: 2669

The afternoon turned to dusk as Marcus lowered the driver’s side window. The end-of-Fall chill shocks his system, causing a slight chuckle and a deep breath to re-compose himself. His dark blue dress shirt tightens against his softened mid-section as it expands with the crisp December air, shifting the strain of the day to the buttons on his shirt and pulling out the tuck in the front a little bit. He decided to undo his belt, then the button on his pants to facilitate the relaxation process. Another breath pushes his zipper down, the next coming easier than the last, once he gets past the novel tug on his sides—something that stays even with the relief of having his shirt fully untucked these days. “You’ve arrived” comes over the car’s stereo as he approaches his apartment.

He pulled into the parking lot, a tingling sensation in his stomach replacing the strain of his buttons as he put himself back together, sucking in slightly to re-secure his pants. He debated whether or not he needed to fasten the button at all given how tightly his thighs were being squeezed against the seams. It wasn’t a far walk and dusk was coming soon enough, so why did he have to button up regardless? The belt that dug into his hips didn’t survive the re-dress either—instead, it was thrown into his bag as he got out of the car.

Tingling in his stomach turned into a fluttering in his chest as the key slipped into the lock. The key turned, the door opened, and the smell of the evening’s meal hit him; garlic and onion and the beginnings of a smell that he hadn’t experienced in a long while. Unloading the day onto a table on the side of the door; keys from his front pocket and, after a notable tug, his wallet from his back pocket. A curve in the thin leather worked its way out as if the wallet had a day to work out on its own.

“Welcome home, handsome,” Leo says from behind, placing a hand on his usual spot on the side of Marcus’s torso opposite where he was standing. With a slight squeeze of the softening flesh and a kiss on the lips, his other hand slides onto Marcus’s belly, a finger lightly circling his visible belly button. “I finished up with work early so I decided to fix us up something new that I think you’ll like.”

“You know I love it when you cook,” Marcus couldn’t help but notice Leo’s attention to the added weight since they finally moved in with each other. The re-sparked honeymoon phase and accepting a new job that he’d been working towards for most of his adult life had settled itself onto his once-fit form. He found himself with less energy to go to the gym these days, not to mention being a little more invested in his doting boyfriend’s newfound love of cooking and baking. He was content with the direction of how things were going in his life. So what if I lost track of my physique? He always thought—that can always be regained, but these little moments are something he always sought to treasure. Still, he couldn’t help but notice another fluttering wave as the love of his life traced the indentation of his belly button. “It smells great, by the way.”

“Really? I’m glad! I’ve been thinking about trying it for a while,” Leo gave another, longer kiss to his bigger-than-usual other half, finding that the button on his pants was unbuttoned when he gave the plumped boy a slight rub on his underbelly. With a pat on his other half’s softer butt and a wink, Leo turned back to the kitchen. “Same thing with dessert, too! Though maybe I should slow it down a bit, big boy.”

The fluttering dropped back into his stomach. What could that possibly mean? Marcus couldn’t even be considered fat and yet Leo has the nerve to comment on it? Maybe he’s right though. He had started letting himself go lately and Leo has been so sweet too. If anything, it’s his fault to begin with! Still, he couldn’t exactly deny that Leo had a point. “Babe, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Realizing that he had slipped up, Leo returned to his boyfriend’s side, grabbing his hand, “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I didn’t mean anything by it, but you can’t deny that you’ve been getting a little chunky lately.”

“Between your cooking and work, I guess I just kinda started dropping the ball,” Marcus looked down and fingered the dimple in his shirt made by his belly button the same way Leo had just a few moments ago. He noticed the strain that his buttons carried even as he stood, the tightness against his thighs, and the remaining curvature that his wallet never quite worked out. There was no denying it—Marcus was getting fat. “You’re right though. I really should get back to the gym”

“I never said I didn’t like it, baby. I think it suits you, personally,” Leo gave one final peck on the cheek before returning to the kitchen to finish the feast he had planned. “Besides, I need a recipe tester. Why don’t you go get a little more comfortable? Dinner will be ready soon.”

Marcus set off to the bedroom to undress. With a sigh, the relief of finally ridding himself of the tightening clothes washed over him. He undressed completely, noting the newer difficulty of pulling his pants over his softening thighs, the indent of the waistband tattooing his hip. Fuck, he thought. I can’t believe this is happening to me right now. After completely undressing, Marcus made his way to shower. With each step, he realized that a new part of him jiggled. First, it was his already-plump butt—Leo’s favorite part; his too if he was being honest. Without being restrained by his now-tight underwear and pants, each cheek jiggled every time his foot landed on the hardwood of their apartment. His pecs came next, the firm muscle slowly being replaced with a new layer of fat. A change so subtle that no one but him could probably notice it was happening.

Turning on the shower, he took a moment to stare at his body in the mirror as the water warmed. He gawked at and prodded his profile, intentionally jiggling the butt and chest that originally caught his attention. He eventually worked his way to his bloated stomach. While he never really had abs in his life, any hope that he might one day had to be delayed indefinitely. He circled his belly button again, sticking a finger to see that it made it past his first knuckle. He grabbed his developing love handles and gave a quick prod to his belly, a mixture of soft and firm fat that made him look a bit more like a teddy bear than he was used to. He tested the water, finding that it was finally the perfect temperature. Although he was out of the critical view of the mirror, he still found himself hyperaware of the sensations as he lathered up his growing body and washed away the day that he was eager to leave behind.

Once done, he dried himself off, paying extra attention to the parts of him that started feeling different. His muscular thighs had more give than he was used to. He liked how big they were looking lately but he had to recognize that that wasn’t because he was hard at work in the gym. The same thing with his arms, too. He flexed, still feeling as strong as ever but his biceps didn’t pop as much as they did just a few short months ago. An incredibly soft mound of flesh had found its way onto the opposite side, next to his armpit. Fuck, how could I let this happen? Taking his cleaned used-to-be gym shorts out of his dresser, he noticed that the waistband was more stretched out than it used to be. It seemed as though it wasn’t just Marcus’s body that had seen better days. His clothes seemed to be losing their grip as well. Regardless, these were still his favorite lounging bottoms so he put them on, complementing them with a plain black T-shirt that showed off his curves more than his muscles.

Walking into the kitchen, he found Leo plating up the pasta dish he had cooked up for the evening. He had been working on cooking without a recipe lately and his skills were getting better by the day. The pride Leo had in making his other half the most delicious meals with the most decadent desserts afterward made Marcus fall in love even more than he had already, he also started to realize exactly how he managed to get into this mess in the first place. Regardless, he couldn’t deny that he was excited about what was being concocted for the night. “Was there anything I can help you out with tonight?” He asked, noticing that Leo was working on finishing the plating of one meal already.

As great as Leo was at cooking, he always said that he needed to make their meals in multiple batches, one for him and one for Marcus because he “wasn’t used to cooking or two just yet.” He also said that it let him cater things to their unique tastes more; regardless, tonight wasn’t any different. Fettuccine went down first, then with what looked to be a white sauce of his own invention. Leo seemed to be a big fan of rich sauces since most meals involved one in some way or another. If it wasn’t for the main course, it was usually involved in the second. A mixture of colorful vegetables and chicken decorated the bowl, something he’d started picking up from the plating videos he’d been watching lately. Marcus’s mouth watered, hoping that this first round was for him, though it never was.

“Nope, you can go set up if you’d like. I need to tweak some things this second go around so I’m not quite ready for you yet,” they kissed as Leo sauteed the vegetables the second go around, so Marcus took it upon himself to do as he was told. They liked to eat at the table together so they could catch up on what had gone on that day. The shit that Leo’s students got up to, some of what Marcus could divulge about his clients of the day. It was Marcus’s favorite thing about coming home to the love of his life, this added piece of connection with his best friend.

Since Marcus wasn’t a big fan of cleaning, he always set out a plate even when the primary dish of the evening required a bowl—a barrier between the table and any potential mess. It was a habit he picked up in college as he tried figuring out shortcuts for the stress of trying to balance everyday demands that stretched him short. It was one of the reasons why he got into exercising in the first place. It was a way to relax and take his mind off of all of the shit he had to deal with. But now, well, he didn’t have much to worry about anymore. Placing down forks for the two of them, he realized that he forgot to bring out wine glasses too. Marcus returned to the kitchen, catching the eyes of his boyfriend as an extra two pats of butter was being melted into the second bowl of fettuccine, a step he seemed to miss when he watched him make it the first time.

“I never would’ve guessed that this is how you’d tweak things,” the boys locked eyes, Leo’s weighed his head down to the ground as his project caught him doing something he knew he shouldn’t be doing. “Care to explain to me what’s going on?”

An “I’m sorry” was all that Leo could muster. He turned his head away from Marcus and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms. What else was there to say when you knew you fucked up?

“How about we start with you explaining to me why you’re doing whatever you’re doing,” Marcus walked up to his guilty boy and grabbed a hand, turning off any burner that was left on, and walking the two over to the dining table so they could sit down for this little talk.

“Um,” Leo struggled with finding the words. Although he was never afraid to put one of his students in their place if they stepped out of line, work Leo and home Leo were two entirely different people. The stress of the situation lived in his throat but was coaxed out as Marcus put a hand on his much smaller thigh. “It was a mixture of a few different things. First, we started talking about moving in with each other which got me thinking about this little fantasy I’ve had for a while. Although I’ve always thought you were the hottest man in the room, I’ve never been able to stop thinking about you getting fat. Then you got this job that took up so much of your time and energy. I didn’t do anything at first, I just liked cooking for you since you’re always so happy when you’re eating but then it all just kinda… got out of hand.”

“How so, baby?”

“It didn’t take long for things to get out of control. You stopped going to the gym but your eating habits stayed the same. The thoughts started getting more and more frequent until I finally spiked one of your meals. It was so fucking hot to watch you gobble it down without knowing, made better by how much happier it seemed to make you. So, I kept doing it. Then you started showing and it just made me so horny.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, right? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve always been so fit! I never thought you’d go along with it when it would mean completely changing your life.”

“So you took the decision away from me?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I can fix this; let me re-make your food.”

“Can you stop for a minute and let me make my own damn decisions about my life, Leo?” Marcus yelled. Leo stopped and made eye contact with his partner for the first time since he was found out. “Did I say that’s what I wanted? I’m pissed that you made a decision for me without even talking to me, baby. I’m not mad at what you’ve done, just how you went about it.”

“I get that, but I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed how much attention you’ve been giving me lately? How happy you are when you cook or bake something that I like? You’re not wrong that I’ve never been happier than when you started spoiling me with your experiments,” Marcus lifted his shirt and rubbed his exposed belly.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying?”

“I mean do anything like this a-fucking-gain and we’re going to have a much bigger problem. But I’m ultimately saying that…if it makes you happy, I’m not against you playing out this little fantasy of yours for a little while,” he motioned for his lover to come over and give his bloated body some attention as he stood.

Leo obliged, first placing a hand on each love handle before kneeling before his overfed boy and kissing his soft belly. “Are you sure?”

Marcus lifted Leo by the chin back up to meet his eyes, caressing his boyfriend’s sweet face as he pulled him in for another kiss. “Would I ever lie to you, baby? Now, how about you go finish up whatever you were doing in the kitchen and we can talk about this fantasy of yours?”

#weight gain #male weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #gay gainer #gay feedee #realistic gain #exjock #gaining weight

[corpusdiem-seizethedead]

Davey: *unable to figure out why he is losing at chess*

Race: *has been secretly eating the pieces*

#this tracks #although I firmly believe that racetrack could realistically win at chess without cheating #though he prefers to cheat #it’s more fun that way #headcanon that racetrack is INCREDIBLY intelligent but hides it to gain an advantage #part of why spot loves him #more than what meets the eye #why do you think he’s jack’s second #people forget that it was race and Davey who took up the strike when jack ‘scabbed’ #justice for racetrack #he’s not stupid #but has a lot of fun pretending he is #newsies #newsies 1992 #seize the day #newsies stage show #incorrect newsies quotes #incorrect quotes #davey jacobs #racetrack higgins #chess #newsies broadway #newsies movie

[swordbards]

did you guys know that, well, the cruelty is the point

#i love this entire scene sooooo bad it's so delicious #flaunting the tadpole abilities and what he's capable of -- he's broken free of cazador somehow AND he can withstand the sun #and THEN once they leave. he attempts to manipulate tav in suuuuch a genuinely horrible way like #oh well of course i feel bad for them. i mean they're FORCED to do cazador's bidding. but no matter! #i'm fine sacrificing them for my own gain :) or rather... for OUR gain :) #this will keep both of us safe :) and... well... you want me to be safe right? :) you want me to be happy right? :) #this isnt him at his worst by any means but god it's soooo so good after how his act 2 arc is if youre romancing him #he's open and vulnerable and tells tav all about his plans and how he's been manipulating them this whole time #only to do it in a fun and new and interesting way all over again. but this time youre already 100% on his team #ANYWAY. i like when he's a bit fucking terrible #bg3 #playing bg3 #astarion #act 3 is really just a whole new beast to me at this point. how fun. i only got here once before and it was buggy and barely worked #sorry. i will be soooo deeply annoying as i rotate everyone in my head like little rotisserie chickens for the next few days #really thinking about how elluin is dealing with seeing this - she understands feeling like power will fix everything and keep her safe #but unlike astarion is capable of thinking long-term and about consequences #so this has her shaking in her fucking boots. and really has her grappling with the reality of their relationship #so until they actually get to the szarr palace and deal with the ritual... she's super withdrawn with astarion and even with the others #she wants him to be safe bc it means that she can realistically be safe since they're weird little mirrors for each other #but also. does safety exist without it becoming warped and horrifying #sorry. i will be normal again eventually

[zytes]

‘bsfm’ process

I didn’t save a ton of documentation/process type stuff for this one - the first image is where I began, but obviously that image is already also very heavily edited and processed and half-regurgitated. I put that first one together some 3~ months ago, with no specific direction or end in-mind; which is very typical of me. Luckily, it pays to have a massive collection of unfinished, unremarkable, wip stuff that I can sort through during times of low motivation or after a streak of particularly poorly planned/executed ideas.

And so, every image here is shown chronologically but I’ve trimmed the fat - lots of the iterations are slightly different color variations or have minor corrective differences, so they’re not very interesting side-by-side unless you’re REALLY into spot-the-difference games — so I’ve chosen 8 that show the broadest steps taken. If it wasn’t obvious, I didn’t have any idea of what I was going to compose until sometime after the 3rd image; once I started playing with hands, everything else fell into place very quickly.

Overall, I put 2-3 hours into it during this “final” stage. Which isn’t much, but it was essentially like %60-70 finished when I began. I’m not sure how much time I spent on the background/texture; maybe a week or two because I was fucking around and experimenting? Finishing it was a much more quick and decisive process, since I had direction and intent.

#these posts are formatted so that anyone can read and potentially gain something from it — but #realistically: this is a reference post for myself to look back on when I get lost #idk what I’m doing but I’m going to just keep doing it #my art #wip art #documentation #internetcore #abstract #wizart

[equilateralromance]

on discord we were having a laugh about how there's probably a dimension where ford is the tall twink & fidds is like... shredded

#fiddleford hadron mcgucket #he's not comically swole here even though that was the original joke bc i was like.... what would he look like if he realistically got gains #or whatever it is u say #fiddleford mcgucket #gay yee haw

[paperbagsandwich]

Hello!! Silly lil questions: which of your ocs would like to have their cheeks squished as the get a forehead kiss the most?

have you ever dressed up any of your ocs in a suit and given them a cane before? (Its such a good combo, the combo honestly makes me go a lil crazy because it just adds attractive points to an oc, plus characters with personlized canes is fun for prop design, highly recommended if not.)

If a basket of baked goods were left unattended which of your ocs is more likely to try and sneak a bite?

For the first question it’s definitely Roslyn with Darnell but at the moment, he’s too big for that…

Drawing suits with fats is a bit difficult, man I want do that so badly!! I also wanna do some cane related stuff too because 👀👀

And as for taking unattended baked goods, that would be Derek…

It smelled so good, he couldn’t help himself… 😔

#male weight gain #bhm #weight gain #ssbhm #fat #big handsome man #chubby #male wg #my art #wg #Darnell and Roslyn #Darnell #Roslyn #Derek #Derek realistically wouldn’t but the question ask who’s more likely and I’m saying he’d do it

[skunkes]

I mean this vent completely neutrally and as an observation rather than Woe is Me negativity but going ham in my sketchbook has been Fun but along with not really Learning anything (tho historically no art knowledge ever sticks to my brain) I'm no closer to understanding how I WANT to draw! if that makes sense.

I dont really identify with or want to continue any of the patterns I try (nor do they get any more muscle memory-y, in the fundamentals area).

Its fine as long as its Fun but I really feel the aimlessness. Like I'll keep going but I've also. Been doing that. All I do is Keep Going, when does it all tetris together!

#continuation of this is like. idk how to trust my eyes if im being honest! and im understanding rules but not how to break em #like how i understand that in realistic proportions theres as much space above the eyes than below them on a face #but obviously people draw characters with shorter foreheads/skulls all the time #ive done it too. but it looks Wrong when i do it on purpose. i feel everything i try to do looks unintentionally wrong #idk how to get to the intentional part or what i even want that to look like! #the permanent issue of not knowing what i want it to look like i just know i dont want it to look like this #which is bad bc you shouldnt qualify things by the negatives like that....wagh #im no good at making things from scratch i wish someone wld just draw in my ideal art style already so i cld study it #(jork) #technically i cld do this with urasawa bc like i said thats a dream style right there ill just infuse it with mine #but it Feels wrong #and i know u dont need to have 1 art style forever but i draw one way and forget all the previous ways ive ever drawn #i rly dont understand! i wish we cld share brains with each other so i cld gain understanding of what to do next ykwim #bc ill always keep going i just worry im never going to Get it #that there will always be that bizarre and extreme disconnect between eye and mind and hand #talkys

[sunkern-plus]

there are so many reasons fictional characters could and should be fat but they're drawn skinny as a rail for no other reason than people think everyone should be skinny to be loveable.

example: guy who drinks a lot of alcohol, like a whole 6 pack of beer every day, is somehow drawn thin as a rail. that guy should have a beer gut and be as wide as a house. why are you drawing him thin

example: woman who is body positive (especially about fat bodies) and is kinky and loves sex AND loves eating is somehow skinny as a rail despite there being an entire kink fixated on eating a ton of food and another kink around appreciating fat bodies. same woman was raised in an orphanage and is trans, likely had to starve herself (which a prior history of starvation can lead to weight gain) to fit the ideal mold of what a trans person "should" be to be able to transition in the first place but is now leaning into hedonism and "if you don't like me the way i am then fuck you" attitudes. why are you drawing her thin

example: person with impulse control issues who even has a quote about how they eat even when they're full. their parents are also notably fat. somehow despite obvious signs of binge eating disorder and having fat people genes is the same size as most of the average characters of their birth assignment.

EDIT: THOUGHT OF ANOTHER EXAMPLE

example: this guy doesn't do much physical activity given that he's the token non superpowered guy in a group of superpowered people, mostly uses his brain as his "superpower" (he's just really smart lmao) and has a diet consisting of instant ramen and candy. somehow is one of the thinnest characters there.

example: this guy can shapeshift into a huge tiger the size of a 6 foot tall human basically, which would logically require a lot of body fat and calories to sustain without pain, EXTREME amounts of stretch marks, or some sort of chronic fatigue. is even joked about in the manga about having "love handles". eats tons of food because of his history with starvation (another factor in weight gain and fatness is previously being starved as i stated in the second example). SOMEHOW is, according to his stated height and weight, UNDERWEIGHT.

like. do you SEE the problems i'm talking about

#first character i'm talking about is that cat boy from hazbin (which thankfully i'm never gonna watch) #second character is poison from street fighter #third character is dan hibiki from street fighter #predictably i think a lot of characters from street fighter should realistically be fat. HELL KEN SHOULD BE FAT given that he canonically #gained a TON of weight from sfiv to sfv only in TWO YEARS that's literally a sign of numerous hormonal disorders or binge eating disorder #or like. being put on psychiatric medications but no way ken was put on a psychiatric medication. no way #ken would NOT be on a psychiatric medication in sf6 but he would be put on one after the events of it lmao #fatphobia for ts #fat characters #the last two edited examples are ranpo edogawa and atsushi nakajima from bungo stray dogs #and the atsushi example one especially makes me mad because i like him a lot and heavily relate to him #yet he's drawn skinny constantly only because everyone thinks bishonen can only be skinny lmao :) very bitter about that #(and atsushi is literally only 18 too like. chill out. he's barely a grown adult. why are you sexualizing him in the first place) #but anyway when you're fat and have been a fat admirer since childhood practically you NOTICE how few characters are fat #despite how LOGICALLY...they SHOULD be fat due to their circumstances

[r-biter]

Acotar mlp au. Thats it

#the high lords are alicorns #realistically after being revived feyre would have a blank flank and then gain a cutiemark later #but im fucking losing it at the idea of her gaining a cutie mark in murder in the third trial #ik thats not how that works. but like itd be funny

[gainingfiction]

Big Bro

Summary: Marco is a cocky jock used to coasting through life on his good looks. His stepbrother Jared has always been fat, and teasing him about it is Marco’s favourite pastime. But when Jared starts slimming down, Marco’s latest scheme (sabotaging Jared’s diet) comes back to bite him in a big way.

This story owes a huge debt to “Neighbors” by Anonymous. I couldn’t match that story’s rapid-fire pace, but I do think I did justice to the narrator’s snarky tone.

~

I’m one of those guys who can eat whatever he wants. It’s true—my whole life I’ve had this amazing metabolism. I ate like a pig all through high school, and I had the best body in that place. Probably because I played so many sports. 

My stepbrother, Jared, wishes he could eat like me and look as good as I do. Dude is so lazy, and so damn fat. The only exercise he gets is lifting a fork and getting up for seconds. I don’t know where he gets it—my stepdad keeps in pretty good shape; he’s a pretty good looking dude, all around. My mom definitely could have done worse.

But Jared was always big, at least as long as I’ve known him. He used to get some shit for it in high school, but never when I was around. In a weird way, I felt kind of protective over him. We were 17 when our parents got married, and we didn’t have much in common—I mean, come on, look at us. But I still don’t like other people ragging on him for being such a fat fuck. It’s like, I can say that, but it feels different if it comes from a stranger. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.

Do I tease Jared? Well, yeah, but he knows I’m just screwing around. When you hit 300, 350 pounds like he is, you probably get used to people messing with you. One time I slapped a “Wide Load” sticker on his back, and he walked around for like, an hour before he noticed. My mom was pissed; I definitely got in some shit for that one. And then there was the time I loosened all the screws in his gaming chair—I still remember the look on his face when he came crashing down like a ton of bricks. Hilarious.

Lately, though, I have a new way of messing with him. It’s so damn funny. He’s doing this diet thing, so I’ll pig out on all his favourite junk food, right in front of him. Put on a real show, too, sighing and moaning and licking the ice cream off the spoon like I’m in some kind of commercial. Or a porno. His face is priceless, with his eyes glazed-over and his hands rubbing that big fat gut of his. It must be torture for a guy like that, to see a guy who looks like me stuffing his face with all the food he knows he can’t have.

So I’m pretty sure he’s gonna snap soon, and fall off the wagon in a big way. He’s never exactly been the poster boy for restraint, loading up at every meal like it’s gonna be his last, then waddling—and I do mean waddling—off to play video games with his arms full of snacks. Plus, he’s in culinary school now. I mean, go figure, right? How’s a guy going to stick to his diet when he’s surrounded by food for a living?

That’s why I’m glad I don’t have to diet. I’m a server at this big family restaurant, so I’m pretty used to working around good food. I’ve been working there for about four years now, since I was 16, so the kitchen staff have gotten to know me pretty well. They’re never shy with the leftovers, and I’ll never say no to free grub. Especially not when it looks that good. I used to just have a quick bite on my break, to keep my energy up, but lately I’ve been bringing a big doggy bag home so I can pig out on ribs, mashed potatoes, burgers and fries in front of poor Jared.

I’m honestly impressed he’s stuck out on this diet thing for as long as he has. It’s been a couple of months now, and he’s still at it, picking away at celery sticks and Greek yoghurt and boring salads while I pile up plate after plate of whatever I want. Seems like he’s starting to get some results, too. He’s still a massive fatass, but his clothes are a little looser (or less hilariously tight), and his gut doesn’t hang out quite as far in front of him, either.

I’ve been trying to save up enough to move out for a while now, but I’m not exactly great with money. I like to have a good time, you know? My mom’s always on my case about how often I go clubbing with my friends, not to mention all the hot clothes I buy to show off my killer bod. That shit just looks good on me. If it shows off how pumped my arms and pecs look, of course I’m gonna buy it. But I’m starting to get serious about moving out—I’ve been taking on way more shifts at the restaurant. It does mean I’ve had to cut back on my trips to the gym a little bit, but that doesn’t matter. Like I said, my metabolism can do anything.

When I do finally move out, I’m gonna miss seeing Jared’s sad puppy dog eyes when he watches me scarfing down chips and swigging beer like it’s going out of style. “Unh, this is sooo good,” I’ll moan, clutching my stomach as I shovel another spoonful of rocky road into my mouth. “These brownies are incredible,” I’ll say, licking the chocolate off my fingers while Jared just stares on, nibbling carrot sticks like the world’s fattest rabbit. So funny.

I’ve been having some uniform problems lately. It’s the weirdest thing. I’ve been wearing size 32 jeans for years, but lately my pants have been kind of hard to button. Same thing with my shirts—I’ve only ever worn a medium, but lately they’re feeling a little snug, especially when I’m a little bloated after my second dessert. My buddies have been joking that I need to cool it with all the food I’m scarfing down, but they’re probably just jealous. They’re all a bunch of diet-obsessed muscle heads; those drama queens don’t understand how much a guy like me can put away without gaining weight.

Speaking of clothes that don’t fit, Jared looks like he’s swimming in his old t-shirts and cargo shorts. I’ve seen him shirtless, heading to and from the shower, and he’s definitely still a lardass, but I can’t deny that he’s lost at least a few pounds.

And speaking of a few pounds, I had the weirdest experience at the club the other night when I was out with a couple of the guys. Looking like I do, I always clean up there. Normally, guys throw themselves at me—I haven’t had to pay for a drink of my own in ages, considering how many I get for free. But that night, I got maybe one free drink from a guy who was about twice my age! I smiled at him, but I was surprised he thought he had a shot with me. And then, later, I was flirting with this pretty little twink at the bar. We’d hooked up once before, but that night he seemed totally over me. When I finally got him to look up from his phone, he put his hand on my side, and then pulled it away like I’d burned him. “You need to hit the gym, Marco,” he said.

And then he just walked away! I was so pissed, I walked right out of there. I stopped by a pizza place on the way home and picked up a few slices… I’ll admit it, I do eat my feelings, sometimes. But like I’ve been saying, it’s no problem when you’ve got a body like mine.

The owner of the restaurant called me into the office recently, and handed me a new uniform. I was sort of confused. Then he pointed at my stomach and said, “You need a size up, young man. That show you’re putting on is distracting.” Show? What show? At first I thought he meant the gun show, although my killer biceps have never been a problem before. Then I realized that my shirt was starting to slip up around my stomach and on the sides. I really must have overdone it on the pasta, to be that bloated.

Still, I do appreciate the new threads. Clearly they’re doing something with the sizing, because the 36s fit me a lot better than my old pair of 34s. To be honest, they still aren’t what I’d call loose, but I can at least get them on without it turning into a whole production. And it’s nice to wear a shirt that I can breathe in—and eat in.

On the subject of eating, I still haven’t managed to get Jared to crack yet. He’s dedicated, but I know I can break him. I think I’m getting close. The other night, I came home with a dozen frosted donuts, and I ate one after the other, moaning like a noisy bottom during a good fuck. I can tell he’s starting to crack, because he got this weird, distant look in his eyes, and he couldn’t stop staring at me. He looked seriously tempted when I dangled my tenth donut under his nose, but he just looked at me and said, “You have it, Marco.” Well, if you insist, bro! Ten was all I could manage, though, since my tank was seriously full by that point. The other two made for a good midnight snack, at least.

Teasing him isn’t as fun as it used to be. He’s dropped some serious weight by this point. He still has a big, soft gut and a fat ass, but he must have shifted about 80 pounds. Maybe more, honestly. And he’s getting to be in better shape—he has a real spring in his step, and his hips have slimmed down enough that he can walk without waddling. I even walked in on him doing bicep curls in his room the other day! I almost laughed out loud. “Gonna get into sumo, bro?” I asked him. He just smirked at me and kept going. Like I said, he’s getting harder to make fun of.

But tempting him has never been easier. He’s practically doing it for me at this point, bringing home all this food from his culinary classes. It’s something different every day: a huge porterhouse steak fried in garlic butter, thick slices of New York style cheesecake, Nashville fried chicken… Like, okay, bro, but it’s your funeral! If you wanna see me eat all the delicious food that you can’t have, I’ll eat it, but don’t blame me when your diet goes belly up. Besides being a regular glutton, he must be a glutton for punishment, since he just stares at me while I eat plate after plate. Damn can he cook, though.

My mom has been kind of on my case about me clearing out the fridge on a regular basis. I don’t know what her damage is; I mean, a guy’s gotta eat, right? But she and my stepdad have definitely been giving me a few looks when I load up my plate with seconds and thirds at dinner. “You must be hungry, big guy!” my stepdad said the other night. He even poked me in the stomach! I assume he was kidding around, but still, it kind of annoyed me. Like, nobody ever said shit about Jared when he would demolish a big bowl of pasta, but when Marco’s the one pigging out, suddenly it’s a criminal offence? Give me a break. And who the fuck is “big guy”? Like, maybe take a look at your own son, bud.

At least Jared’s been cool. He’s really not a bad guy. I guess there are no hard feelings about me messing with him, since he did me a real solid the other day. I was trying to get into a pair of pants before work, but they were giving me a really hard time. I was tugging and fighting, and starting to get a little out of breath from all the struggling—yeah, I know, probably time to hit the gym, but that was like an arm workout of its own! But those damn pants just wouldn’t budge. I’m telling you, 38 inches is not as big as it sounds. And then Jared walks by, notices me having the fight of my life with a pair of khakis, and comes back a minute later with a pair of his own.

I tried not to laugh in his face, since he was trying to do something nice. I mean, come on, dude, those are gonna be huge on me! Or so I thought. Like I said, all these clothing companies must be getting weird with the sizes since a 40-inch waist really wasn’t a bad fit. “Don’t sweat it, Marco,” he said. “Everyone puts on a little weight in their 20s.”

Yeah, you’d know, I wanted to say. Except, that wasn’t really true. He’s still fat, but not comically fat. He just looks like a big bear. But still, where does this guy get off? “A little weight”? A guy that size is in no position to talk.

But I figured that he might have a point. I mean, I definitely do look a little softer around the edges… my gut is getting kind of hard to ignore, and I’m getting a pretty big butt. Not that a big ass is a bad thing… I have to admit, I do kind of like having a nice, round bubble butt to grab onto.

A few days later, I decided to see how much I’d put on.

When I stepped on the scale, I did a double take. I know I might have packed on a few pounds, but I was thinking 10, 15 tops. But the damn thing must have been broken, since it said I weigh 247 pounds. I mean, 247? Are you kidding me? I was 171 when I graduated high school; there’s no way I’ve packed on 76 pounds. Not with my metabolism. Maybe 20, but close to 80? That thing had to be busted.

I decided to ask Jared about it. If the scale said I was closing in on 250, I don’t know what it would have said about him! So I asked him straight-up: “How much are you weighing these days? According to the scale upstairs?”

“245, last time I checked,” he said. “Although I usually use the scales at the gym.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, so they definitely were broken. No way I’m fatter than fatass Jared. Any scale that says I am must be seriously out of whack. I decided to celebrate with a couple of pieces of the apple pie he’d brought home the day before. I ate most of it last night, but there was still enough left for a half-decent snack. I made a big show of looking my stepdad in the eyes as I shovelled out a few scoops of ice cream to go with it, almost daring him to say something. He didn’t, though.

I have to admit, I’m a little bummed out now that Jared’s graduated from culinary school. I had gotten used to free food on a nightly basis, and there was something pretty satisfying about tempting him with his own cooking. Turns out, that’s the least of my worries: Jared got a job as a cook at my restaurant! Which means I’ll have to see him at work and around the house.

There is one upside, at least. Ever since Jared started, the kitchen has been very generous with the free food. I’m talking full steaks and ribs during my shift, with two or three sides: loaded baked potatoes, cheese fries, potato wedges… the good shit. Plus, doggy bags to bring home, complete with some of my favourite desserts. And I make sure Jared can see me eating all of it. It must be killing him, now that he can’t avoid it at home or work! I bet he’s gonna give up that diet thing any day now.

“Maybe you should go on a diet, yourself,” my pal Jordan said when we were out for drinks the other night. Well, the guys were getting drinks, I was getting drinks and a few appetizers; like I said, a guy’s gotta eat! I could see Jordan staring at my body, and he had the nerve to give my gut a slap! “You’re getting bigger than Jared, dude.”

“Fuck off,” I said, laughing. I grabbed a handful of potato skins. I was starting to regret bringing up my little pet project. “He’s a whale compared to me.” I gave my arms a flex for emphasis, and then took a swig of beer.

“I don’t know, man, that gut is getting out of control,” Aiden said, poking me in the stomach. I flushed; what was this, some kind of intervention? “When was the last time you hit the gym? I haven’t seen you around there in ages.”

“Nah, Aiden, he’s been working out,” Tony said. He cupped one of my pecs and gave it a jiggle, “His jaw muscles have never been stronger!” I tugged on the hem of my shirt, trying to remember when my pecs got so damn jiggly. I can’t even explain it, but there was something about my buddies manhandling me like that that got me kind of hot and bothered.

The guys all laughed. “That’s funny, ‘cause I can’t see ‘em!” Aiden chimed in. More laughter. I clenched my jaw; maybe my face is a little rounder, but I hide it well with some stubble. I thought I looked pretty hot.

“I was talking to Reed the other day,” Tony said. “You guys remember Reed, Marco’s old fuckbuddy? Works at Silk and Satin? Well, he said he barely recognized you when he saw you at the club a couple weeks back.”

I must have been bright scarlet by that point. “Reed’s a fucking liar,” I grumbled. “He was all over me that night.” The truth was, I couldn’t even flag that little dick down to order myself a drink, but I wasn’t about to admit that to the guys. Silk and Satin is overpriced and overrated, anyway. Just a meat market full of shallow gym bunnies.

“Yeah, there’s a lot to be all over!” Jordan said. He turned to me and put a hand on my arm. “Seriously, though, let us know if you want some help at the gym. You’re not a bad looking guy, Marco, it’d be a crime to throw those good looks away.”

I wanted to melt into my seat. “Yeah, thanks,” I said. I didn’t even know what they were talking about; how exactly was I throwing my looks away? I was just hungry.

The guys might have a point about me getting bigger than Jared, though. I was passing him in the hallway the other day, and I caught sight of our guts. Well, shit, I’m pretty sure mine stuck out farther than his! Had more jiggle to it, too…. That might explain why I’ve been borrowing his old clothes and he’s been borrowing mine. But I wrote the experience off; his metabolism sucks compared to mine, so it’s definitely temporary. Probably just a bloat. I just need to cool it with the junk food and hit the gym again. I promised Jordan I’d go with him, but I just haven’t found the right time, you feel?

And I also didn’t want to run into Jared. He’s in that place every damn day, running or lifting or doing whatever he’s been doing to shrink that fat ass of his down to a reasonable size. A very reasonable size, apparently, since that ass seemed to be getting plenty of attention in the locker room: a couple of my friends had started commenting on what a round, perky bubble butt he’s sporting. He��s a fatass! I wanted to say… I would have, too, if I wasn’t wearing his old size-46 jeans. And it was probably time to ask if he had any with a 48” waist, since those are getting pretty tight…

It seems like the whole damn world is going crazy. The other day at work, a couple of the waitresses were talking about Jared like he was the hottest guy around. I had to jump in and say something, I just couldn’t ignore it. It used to annoy me when people talked shit about him, but lately, that wasn’t even a problem—everyone seemed to be joining the Jared fan club. And no, I definitely wasn’t jealous, fuck you very much. Why would I be? “Don’t you think he’s kind of… fat?”

I’ll admit, maybe my timing wasn’t great. Earlier that shift, I was turning around in the stock room and I knocked a whole bunch of cleaning supplies off the shelf with my ass. It’s not my fault, okay? That room is cramped; they really need a supply closet that’s big enough for normal people. And I’ve got a lot of junk in the trunk! Since when did that become a bad thing?

They frowned at me. Jessica gave me a look like she’d just stepped in something. Which was pretty rich, given how she used to leer at me like her own personal Playgirl centerfold. “He just has a little dad bod,” she said. “And besides, you’re one to talk.”

I scowled back. “What, this?” I patted my stomach, realizing I’d slapped it hard enough to make it jiggle a little. I had to tug my shirt down where the motion forced it up. “This is nothing. It’s like, a delayed freshman 15.” I didn’t point out that it was more like 100, at this point. Okay, okay, maybe a little more. No more than 150, though. I swear.

Kristen snorted. “Pretty sure you have to be a freshman to pull that off,” she said. “You’re obviously just jealous.”

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Me, jealous of Jared? If anything, they’re jealous of me, bitter that they’ll never have a shot with me.

Still, after that I decided to cool it a little with the food. I’m a big guy with a big appetite, but getting those sorts of comments is way out of my comfort zone. They give me this feeling in my gut that I don’t even understand. It’s like… shit, people are starting to think of me as a fat guy. It’s weird. So I decided to help myself to all the food the kitchen threw my way that night, and cap off the night with a trip to McDonald’s for a few Big Mac meals. The diet would start tomorrow.

Except, it didn’t. I really planned on eating better, but it’s not as easy as I thought it would be. I’ve always liked to eat, and never had to count calories in my life. It’s not like I didn’t try—I had a bowl of granola for breakfast and everything. But I don’t know how people live on that rabbit food; I was starving again after an hour. So when Jared whipped up a big plate of waffles, I couldn’t resist. I had to dig in.

It sort of became a cycle. I’d promise myself I’d start eating better and working out again. I’d have something halfway-healthy for breakfast. But I was so miserable and hangry that I just couldn’t deal. So I’d end up at Five Guys, stuffing my face with fries and washing it down with a chocolate and peanut butter shake. By that point I’d be so full that even thinking about the gym was a chore, so I’d blow Jordan off and head home to take a nap, or maybe watch the game or play some video games with Jared. He’s actually kind of fun to hang out with, to be totally honest. Rinse and repeat, day after day. Meanwhile, Jared is there throwing his healthy diet in my face, munching on salmon filets and garden salads like he’s Jenny Craig’s bottom all of a sudden.

At least he doesn’t make a big deal out of how much I’m eating like our parents. He’s like, the least judgmental guy I know. I’ve been complaining to him about how annoying it is to still be living at home, how I need my independence. Take my mom, for example: she’s always pushing stupid healthy food on me. And I swear my stepdad is judging me for eating as much as I do. I don’t care what he thinks, though. It may be your house, Roger, but I’m a full-grown man, and I can eat whatever I want. So what if I want to eat a lot? That never seemed to be a problem when your own son was stuffing his face around the clock. Glass houses, right?

And then weeks would pass, and then months, and I couldn’t get my pants to button. Well, Jared’s pants. First 48 inches got tight around the waist, then my thighs busted the seams on his 50s, and before I knew it, I had to stop raiding Jared’s closet. I’d straight-up outgrown every damn thing in there. Let me just say, I’m not proud to be walking around the big-and-tall store trying to find something to disguise my gut.

And the guys in the kitchen at work are no help. Tempting me with food is like a game to them. Let’s see how much Marco can eat today, I imagined them saying, as they loaded up plate after plate with pasta, steaks, burgers, and fries. How much can we feed him this time? I swear, it’s like they’re messing up orders on purpose just to push the rejects in my direction.

No one tells you how hard it is to be a fat guy. When I hit 350 pounds, I realized that’s what I was—a fat guy. Getting hungry all the time is one thing, and getting out of breath hauling all my weight around could have been expected. But there are a million little things I never even imagined. Like showers. I used to hop in, lather up my abs and my ass, and hop out. Not anymore. Now, it’s like a goddamn Olympic event, squeezing into the shower, soaping up all those hard to reach places… downright exhausting. And sitting in booths? Not gonna happen. I’ve even started looking at certain chairs funny, wondering if they’re gonna splinter like kindling under all this extra weight. 360 pounds… 370 pounds… When I crossed 380, I decided to stop keeping track. What difference does it even make, anymore?

And the looks I get? I never imagined. It used to be that guys couldn’t get enough of me; I used to turn heads when I walked into a room. Then people just started ignoring me. Now, those jackasses are downright hostile. Their heads turn for other reasons. Like, okay, I’m a little on the big side, I’m not gonna fucking sit on you, or eat you. Some bratty little twink straight-up huffed and rolled his eyes when I sat next to him on the bus. Sure, I may have been taking up a pretty major slice of his seat, but it wasn’t like I was letting my love handles spill over onto him on purpose. You would have been all over me three years ago, I wanted to say. And that bus ride was its own ordeal—those doors are narrow! And I forgot how sweaty I get from just walking around, not to say jogging to catch the 34. I was pretty damn pleased when I got my car back from the shop.

My so-called “friends” are the worst of all. Turns out they’re all shallow gym rats. Aiden, who I grew up with, actually pretended not to know me when I bumped into him at Starbucks for my daily caramel frappuccino! Like knowing a guy my size would make him guilty by association.

They’re all too busy chasing after guys like Jared. Yeah, that’s right, fatass Jared has become a hot commodity among thirsty gay boys. Seeing him fill out my clothes with his muscular lats and round, firm glutes almost makes me want to cry. Those jeans were mine! That Marc Jacobs bomber jacket was mine! Those friends were mine!

I can’t even stay mad at him, though. He’s just too decent. If I even seem hungry, he’ll jump up and start chopping potatoes and frying bacon. I kind of wonder about the new him, though—is he happy? He definitely seems like it, when he’s slipping on some form-hugging muscle shirt to go clubbing, or crawling home with some stud under his arm. But when he sits down across from me at the table, watching me devour donut after donut, burger after burger, there’s always this look in his eyes… it’s not even like he’s hungry. He doesn’t want the food, he wants… something else. I wish he wasn’t so damn hard to read.

I was really starting to like the guy when he went and dropped a bomb on me. He was moving out. “I’m almost 22, Marco,” he said, when I tried to protest. “I can’t live with my dad forever.”

You know what? I almost got a little choked up. “I feel like I was just starting to get to know you,” I said.

He smiled at me. “I’ll still be around.”

But what about your food? I wanted to ask him. Sure, there’s the food he makes at work, and my full-blown fast food addiction, but none of it can match the stuff he makes me. As a former fat guy himself, he knows how to make food taste good. Really, really good. It isn’t just butter and sugar, either, it’s care. Watching him cook… the guy is an artist. I didn’t want to let that go. I didn’t want to let him go.

And when it rains, it pours. About a week after Jared moved out, the owner of the restaurant called me into his office. I sat down—on two chairs, just to be safe—and felt like I already knew where this was going.

“1,932 dollars, Marco,” he said.

I just looked at him. What the hell was he talking about?

“That’s how much free food you ate in the last month alone. If you sat down and ordered all of it off the menu, it would cost almost two thousand dollars.”

I didn’t know what to say. Sure, I liked steak, and pasta, and cheesecake. I liked a lot of food. But I’d never really thought about it like that before. The guys in the kitchen handed me food, and I ate it. That’s what I told him.

He sighed. He had this pinched look on his face. I guess he might have been handsome 20 or 30 years ago, but there was something mean in his features. “I’ve talked to the kitchen staff, and they tell me you’re constantly bothering them for food. I’ve never minded giving out a few meals here and there, but…. This has become an issue.”

I gulped. Maybe I asked for a few freebies here and there, but it’s not like I was some sort of addict. They were pushing it on me! If I asked for it, they made it. 

My cheeks were red hot. What do you even say to that? “Okay,” is what I came up with.

“And it’s been affecting your work performance. Customers have complained. Tips are worse when you wait tables, which makes the other waitstaff unhappy. You take breaks constantly. I think maybe it’s time that you moved on.”

Moved on? This guy was firing me? I’d been working there for more than six years, since I was a kid. And now I was out on my ass, because I like to eat and customers don’t want a 400-pounder waiting at their tables? “Woah, I don’t think that’s fair, I—”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Marco. I like you. But you’re not the young man I hired.”

That pissed me off. So this guy wanted me to stay some pretty little piece of ass for the rest of my life? Like the Peter Pan of hot gay jocks? Sorry I’m not a hunky teenager anymore, I wanted to say. Sorry I got fat. That’s fucking life.

But I didn’t. I just stared at him.

“You can work the rest of the shifts on your schedule. But after that, I think it’s best if you find another job.”

Bye, bye moving out: after years of saving up, getting ready to move out on my own without roommates, I could kiss that plan goodbye. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Food was my comfort and my vengeance. If the owner had a problem with me getting fat off free meals, well, he hadn’t seen anything yet. I had four shifts on my schedule, and Jared and the other cooks made absolutely sure that my gut was completely stuffed after every one of them. How many hundreds of dollars would that have cost me, dick?

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do next, Jared,” I said after my last shift. I was off the clock, but I stayed and watched him cleaning up around the kitchen, prepping for the next day. Damn, he’s really changed: big, brawny arms, prominent pecs, a chiselled jawline… the sort of guy I used to want… and used to be.

He looked up from the herbs he was chopping, staring at me as I picked at a heaping bowl of french fries. “You could move in with me,” he said.

I paused. It was something I wanted, but something I didn’t think I could have. I didn’t even think it was right to want it in the first place. He was such a good cook, and he was pretty much the last good friend I had left in the world. He was the only one who didn’t seem to care what I ate, or how fat I got. Maybe it was because he’d been there himself, or maybe it was because he liked me.

And to be honest, I kind of liked the new me, too. I liked eating. I loved it, actually. I used to challenge myself at the gym, but now, I could challenge myself at the kitchen table. Instead of pushing myself to do more reps, or bench more weight, gluttony was my new challenge. How many donuts can I eat today? Could I polish off a whole frozen cheesecake in one sitting? The answer was usually “yes”, and I’ll admit, there’s an undeniable pleasure in pushing your gut to new horizons. If blowing up like a balloon was a side-effect of that, it was a price I was willing to pay. Big guys had more presence, they took up more space. Was that such a bad thing to be? Was that wrong to want?

I looked at Jared. How many good meals had he made me? How many times had he gone to bat for me when my mom or his dad got on my case? Living with him, hanging out with him all the time, eating his amazing cooking whenever I want it… it all sounded like a dream come true.

“I don’t know, I don’t have a job, I don’t know how I’d pay rent,” I said. Admitting that felt kind of pathetic.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He smiled, but there was something in his eyes, something… dark? “Besides, you’re going to need someone to take care of you when you’re too fat to take care of yourself.”

I felt my throat get tight. He’s never said anything like that before. Jared’s always been this stable, comforting presence. I don’t even know where a comment like that came from.

But I nodded.

Because, deep down, I know he’s right.

And I know I’ll probably like it.

#weight gain #male weight gain #gay #weight gain story #wg story #realistic gain #gaining fiction

[wowwowokay2]

Deep Space Mission Weight Gain / Alien Contact

A small crew of four humans is traveling deep into space. The crew consists of: the youngest who is a multi talented scientist, the engineer, the former jock turned astronaut, and the intelligent lady doctor. They are observed by unseen aliens who are confused by the humans appearance, and seek to help them round out.

The food that the humans are eating remains the same but is about twice as calorie dense. They are floating in zero gravity and are wearing very stretchy garments, so no one notices they are all gaining weight until it is time for a routine exterior hull check and no one can fit into their space suits. Luckily for them, the aliens are taking care of the hull and at that moment make contact. They greet the humans and request that the humans visit their planet. The human crew readily agrees, eager to foster first contact with an intelligent alien species.

The aliens reroute them towards their planet. Soon they are in orbit and schedule a meeting aboard one of the planet's space stations. Unlike the simple human space stations, the alien ones have varying levels of artificial gravity so as to allow space travelers to readjust to gravity. The human crew boards the lower gravity end of the station. They are all quite surprised by how heavy the gravity feels. According to their calculations the gravity is low for human standards. They still don't have direct contact with their alien visitors, but the aliens provide them food that they have tested and deemed compatible with the human digestive system.

The crew happily indulges in the alien food. They are all so excited that they all overeat. It is only at this point that the human crew realizes that they aren't only stuffed, they are have all gained some weight too! It's not a large amount, 10 pounds on the youngest, about 15 on the engineer and doctor, and almost 20 on the ex jock astronaut. They all examine their new bodies tenderly before falling asleep after an exciting day of experiencing alien culture through their food.

The next day they are awoken by the most delicious smells, as their first meal of the day awaits them. The crew tries to ask their still unseen alien benefactors questions about other parts of their culture, but the aliens refuse to answer. The humans are frustrated and demand answers, however, one by one they fall victim to the smell of the food. First it's the ex jock astronaut, then the youngest, followed by the doctor and the engineer. The tastes and textures are everything they could desire. Some of the tastes are familiar, identical to flavours from Earth, others are truly exotic, and yet so comforting. The crew is lulled into a state of bliss, and they don't notice that a group of suited up aliens has entered. They turn their attention to the aliens, who greet them. The aliens faces are obscured but they shape is that of fat humans. The aliens speak to them simply and refer to them and "young folk." The aliens believe that the humans are young and haven't finished growing, so naturally they are nourishing them until they are fully grown. They explain that they can't conduct official business with those who are "barely adults."

The aliens exit and the humans are perplexed. However, being scientists and the only people ever given this opportunity, they are averse to not following the aliens' customs. More food suddenly appears. They are already extremely distended, with round stomachs reaching forwards, some trying to droop downwards in the low gravity. The ex jock astronaut pats his gut "I mean, what the hell." and shrugs. The engineer nods and settles back down with a humph. The doctor already has some form of alien pastry disappearing between her lips, and the youngest strolls back to the table and carefully chooses a round, pale green lump of food.

It becomes difficult to keep time, as the aliens' day is of a different length than a human day. Each day is filled with delicious food. When one of the crew is struggling to keep up eating, the rest assist them and stuff them. One day it's the engineer and they are encouraged by the youngest. Another time it's the youngest encouraged by the doctor and engineer. A different day it is the ex jock astronaut and the doctor feeding each other, massaging their guts. The youngest falls behind the rest and soon has the attention of all three of them. "You can do it." The doctor encourages.

Arms become flabby, and thighs begin to chaff. The aliens gladly supply the humans with lotions, creams, pillows, clothing and some introductory material about other aspects of their culture. The humans similarly try to share, such as the fact that humans don't need to be fat to be fully grown, but they never manage to get the point across. Especially when yet another table of food appears.

The crew is moved to a higher gravity area and they truly begin to feel the effects of their alien diet. They feel the jiggling more keenly, but most of all they feel the weight. Their stomachs arch downwards. At this point the humans believe they must have gained enough weight to get on with business, but the aliens instead host a grand banquet and encourage them to eat everything there, saying that if they don't it is viewed as a insult. Despite the fact that the humans' appetites had grow tremendously since arriving on the station, the amount of food lain before them was barely believable. There is easily enough food there to feed 50 people. Set in front of each human are the foods that they have each taken to the most at the station. The soft green lumps for the youngest, bowls of steaming thick brown stew for the engineer, layered beige rectangles for the doctor, and a thick pink paste-like substance for the ex jock astronaut. A few of the aliens sit across the huge table, faces still obscured. The humans are determined to not let this mission fail, not this far in.

They eat constantly for probably more than five human hours, inconceivable and yet, they keep going, only resting to relieve themselves and massage their almost cartoonly swollen guts. They blech and recline, with one hand resting on their guts, and the other clutching a piece of food or cutlery. The aliens commend them for their effort, and say that they will allow the humans to sleep and continue the meal after they wake. There is still about enough food to feed 35 people left. The food is packed away and the crew is led back to their sleeping quarters. The engineer, ex jock and doctor manage to waddle their way there, but the youngest needs to be carried back.

When they wake they are surprised by how much room it feels like they have in their stomachs. They all examine each other. The youngest grips the lower part of their belly and shakes it.

"I swear this is bigger than it was yesterday, like, fat wise." They gawk.

The doctor grabs the youngest' gut, pinching and squeezing. "Considering the food is alien and the nutritional content of it is unknown to us, I would not be surprised if that was true."

The engineer's folded over gut growls. "No shit, doc." They grumble whilst blushing.

The ex jock grins "I'm honestly loving this, isn't that weird? I love being fat." He stretches his fingers over his gut.

"Same." The youngest whispers.

The doctor straightens, her belly and breasts pressing against her outfit. "We do what we must."

The group is returned to the large room with the banquet. Systematically they get to work, eating, and feasting, and indulging. As the day wears on the aliens remove their clothing to allow for their growing forms to breath. The aliens encourage the humans to recline and hand feed them gently, singing sweetly. On this day the aliens have included yet another weight gaining enhancer. A smooth, thick liquid that increases the elasticity of their stomachs and skin. One at a time the liquid is introduced to the humans. The engineer swallows carefully, the doctor swallows lustfully, the youngest swallows with curiosity, and the ex jock swallows eagerly. None of them realize that they are being fed for so long. They are instead trapped in a blissful fantasy, growing, growing, stretching, fattening.

After a full 20 human hours, one by one the crew comes to. Their guts look like literal blimps. The engineer flushes furiously, blabbering on and on about how could this happen. The youngest is gingerly smoothing their hands over their huge belly. The ex jock is already trying to stand up but can't simply due to the amount of weight in his stomach. The doctor remains reclined, hands cupping her chins.

They are all carefully carried away to their sleeping quarters and left to rest. When they wake up again they are still absolutely stuffed. The aliens come and clean the humans, carefully washing them all, drying them, and applying lotion to them. They continue to spend the next several days recovering, eating a relatively small amount of food. Their banquet stuffing quickly melts onto their bodies, but it is still largely centred on their guts. The amount of flesh that is available to their grasp grows each day.

Finally, the aliens return with news that the humans may now be formally greeted. The crew sizes each other up. The engineer's belly button is hidden in a crease of fat, and their once strong forearms are layered with fat. The youngest has a low, flabby gut that reaches down their thighs. The ex jock has a distended stomach, generous love handles and moobs. The doctor has a massive gut and ass.

They are given new clothes and time to prepare. They had spent so much time eating that now when it was time to make proper contact they felt hopelessly unprepared. In between typing, scribbling and discussions, the crew stress eat. Finally they are ready and go into the meeting room. They all fall to the ground. The meeting room is calibrated to normal Earth gravity and they are all taken off their feet by their girth.

Ever the gracious hosts, the aliens offer to help in any way they can. The doctor requests a scale to weigh them and provides conversion measurements for them to see what they weigh in pounds. The aliens oblige and one by one the humans are weighed.

Before the mission, the youngest weighed 125lbs and was 5'5" tall. They were now 278lbs, gaining 153lbs.

The engineer was 150lbs and 5'9" tall, they now weighed 327lbs, gaining 177lbs.

The ex jock was 171lbs and 5'11" tall, he now weighed 358lbs, gaining 187lbs.

And lastly the doctor was weighed. Before the mission she was 107lbs and 5'2" tall. She was now 282lbs, and had gained 175lbs.

The aliens all rejoiced that the humans were no longer "young folks" and were fully mature. Wearing only a separate breathing apparatus, alien dignitaries flowed into the room. The humans shakily stood to greet them. They did indeed look remarkably like humans, just with varying shades of muted yellow skin. And they were all fat. The aliens approached and the humans put out their hands to shake. The aliens kept moving forward however. They slide their three fingered hands underneath the humans fat new bellies and lightly stroke them.

"Greetings, welcome to our home." A little robotic voice chimed from their breathing apparatus. "This is how we greet each other." The aliens took one of the human's hands and placed it under their bellies, encouraging them to stroke.

The crew and the aliens eventually settle down and the humans present information on the human race. It is only then that the aliens realize what they have done and they interrupt the humans.

"We had no idea, we are terribly apologetic about this misunderstanding." One of the aliens in charge says through their robotic translator. "We hope this has not warped your view of us, we meant to no harm. We do not mean any bad will."

The crew shared glances with each other. First the ex jock and youngest began to giggle, then the doctor laughed, followed at last by the engineer. The laughter caused their fat bodies to jiggle. The alien audience patiently waited, still unsure if they had caused bad will.

The doctor caught her breath to speak "I will not speak for our whole crew, but personally," she caressed her belly. "I thank you for this experience."

The audience whispered among themselves as the ex jock stood and spoke, "Well I can speak for myself when I say I have never felt more confident in my body. And sexy as hell." He lifted his shirt and pulled his gut out from his pants.

"You don't need to apologize to me." The youngest meekishly smiled.

The engineer cleared their throat. "We all make mistakes, but I am more excited to learn about your people and culture than I am upset by all this." They slap their belly lightheartedly.

The aliens and human crew rejoice at the beginning of a new friendship between species. Music is played and and they dance. They all settle down for a feast and gladly chat about the various foods. The human crew is introduced to even more new food and happily oblige to offers of seconds, thirds, and fourths.

The crew is brought down to the planet to explore the fantastical world of these friendly aliens.

THE END.

#wwo talks #weight gain writing #weight gain story #wg writing #it's mostly realistic weight gain.

[kenobihater]

hey if anyone has a storygraph and wants to follow me on there i'm tasseomancie!!! storygraph is like goodreads but has more stat breakdowns and isn't owned by amazon! it's a great alternative imho. i just joined so my stats r not very impressive, but i'm looking forward to reading a lot more and hopefully finishing 9 more books by the end of the year!!

#i tried 2 set a realistic goal 4 myself that i can reach if i read every day. i've only read 1 book this year & hopefully can finish 9 more #by the end of the year. i think 9 in 3 months is doable!! #len speaks #gonna rb this periodically methinks to ensure i gain some moots on there!! btw hmu if you do follow me on there so i know who u are!! #i think i'm gonna add some of my faves on there but i prommy i don't rate everything 5 stars even if it appears i'm too generous lol

[bearwithmi]

I feel like I might have to retire these soon, they're getting quite uncomfortable

do you think i could pop the button if i were stuffed?

#realistically: no the button is sewn on too well #getting fatter on purpose #gaining weight on purpose #feed me #queer feedee #wg kink #ftm feedee #ftm gainer #bear

[chubsette]

What's the largest you'd draw your characters? Cuz I would love to see Aiden and Cece go to Willy Wonka's factory and get filled with so many fattening sweets. Maybe one will have to waddle or roll the other out.

probably not much larger than that last drawing tbh 😅 i like a good waddle but i'm not so sure about the rolling bit

#im more into realistic gains tbh #with that said never say never #i do change my time all the time #chubsette talks #ask

[druidposting]

OF COURSE ABADEENA’S A FUCKING MORAL REALIST

#i genuinly have negative respect for moral realists #like literally gain more fucking brain cells #think just a LITTLE about your ethical system #critical role #cr spoilers #bells hells #cr meta