From S to 50XL

'My oc Waylon and @buttercremepudding 's Abbey

Waylon is a sun mage and sun mage's are supposed to be fat cause they get their power from energy like the sun and stored energy like fat, but Waylon avoids putting on weight so he gets teased a bit for being so small compared to other sun mages.

Abbey is there to help him as an assistant with his magic and perhaps has plans of her own to help him get teased less about his small figure

Please look at my husband

a fullbody sketch commission for @buttercremepudding

thank you for commissioning me!

Quick commission for @thatkinkyasexual ~!

Masterlist of Chubby!Bruce fics

Let’s hear it for chubby Bruce Banner! (Updated 3/29/2020 - new stories, list housekeeping)

These are the ones I know about, but there are probably more. Please rec me if you know of any; I’ll try to keep this updated. Note: Not included were stuffing fics if Bruce didn’t gain weight. 

These are mostly weight gain and/or chubby admiration fics.

Mine

The Bet (Tony/Bruce)

Care and Feeding of Insecure Scientists (no pairings or light OT6)

Checkmate (Tony/Bruce)

 Everyone Overeats on Halloween, Right? (Tony/Bruce)

Fat Cats (Bruce/Natasha)

His Kink in Shining Armor (no pairing or pre-slash Tony/Bruce)

Infundo (Tony/Bruce/Steve)

The Infundo Chronicles (Tony/Bruce/Steve - IF!verse and tumblr prompts)

molecular gastronomy born from astronomy (Tony/Bruce)

In the Night Kitchen (Tony/Bruce/Steve, IF verse)

Safe (Bruce & Bucky friendship)

Sweet Places [an Infundo Remix] (Bruce/Natasha)

Syzygy [an Infundo Chronicles AU - on Ao3] (Tony/Bruce/Steve)

Twice the Man I Used to Be (series on Ao3- Tony/Bruce). Includes:

The Bigger Man

Friction

Inertia

Equilibrium

Circumference

Measurement Theory

Momentum

Tony and the Giant Peach (Tony/Bruce)

Winnie-the-Bruce (no pairings, or v.light Stark-Spangled-Banner)

The Infundo universe and Twice the Man universe minifics on or reblogged on sageventer.tumblr.com, some on Ao3.Tags include chubby!bruce, chubby bruce, or chubby bruce minific or IFverse.

Works by Other Writers

Big Bruce (JaneLowly), Tony/Bruce: Tony’s been caring for Bruce for a few years, and Bruce has put on weight. A LOT of weight.

Bruce Has Dad Bod Change my Mind (QueenVictoriaMarvilGirl), Bruce/Thor:  Bruce is a chubby marshmallow, but Thor tells him he is a perfect little marshmallow.

Dulce de Leche (LupinTheLegend), Tony/Bruce: Where Bruce is eating chicken wings and Tony can’t help but stare.  

(new)! Food and Other Love Languages (ellewrites), Tony/Bruce: As Bruce chewed thoughtfully he made the most delicious face, closing his eyes, clearly appreciating it immensely, hitting Tony straight in his sensitive chest and shooting pleasure through his gut.

Happiness (Zimantha87): Bruce x Reader tale

Hazed & Confused (Kax), Tony/Bruce: Tony stuffs Bruce full of ice cream until he thinks he’s never going to be able to move again. http://archiveofourown.org/works/1935570

I’m pretty flexible in the kink department, (but I’m not into that), (missingplanets), Tony/Bruce: Tony notices that Bruce is considerably softer. (caution: hints at non-permanent weight gain)

The Incredible Bulk (LupinTheLegend), Tony/Bruce: Unaware of the massive amount of weight he’s gained, Bruce gets a rude awakening when he catches himself on TV.

If You Don’t Mind (ChubbyTeddy), Tony/Bruce: Bruce moves into Stark Towers with Tony, and his body isn’t exactly used to eating rich food regularly. 

(new)! Lucky Jeans (LupinTheLegend), Tony/Bruce: Bruce tries to fit into his old jeans that don’t quite fit. He hadn’t the slightest notion of how much weight he’d gained. 

(new)! Merman Clint (acedog), Clint/Bruce: Bruce Banner was always an outcast, even in high school. (Teen/Mermaid AU)

Misconception (a gift for me from CrumblingAsh!), Tony/Bruce:  Bruce’s weight gain becomes a target for the media.

[No title] (where-even-is-my-life-right-now), Clint/Bruce: Bruce gets stuck, Clint thinks it’s hilarious. Until Bruce gets mad.

[No title] (where-even-is-my-life-right-now), Clint/Bruce: Bruce gains a little weight, and is self-conscious about it.

[No title] (where-even-is-my-life-right-now), Clint/Bruce: Bruce has a hard time fitting in his clothes after gaining forty pounds.

Taking their Time (AutumnalBloom - Orphan Account), Tony/Bruce: Bruce associates weight gain with home and safety, and Tony wants to help him feel right at home. (Abandoned on Ao3).

(new)! Tony’s Least Favorite Season (AutumnalBloom - Orphan Account), Tony/Bruce: Tony doesn’t like fall- it’s too cold. Coffee shop AU

**

More Authors on Tumblr

 1000 followers fic 1 (wrtingforthefandom), Bruce x Reader: Fake Dating AU.

 Don’t Care (writingforthefandom), Bruce x Reader: Bruce’s confidence has gone up since you met him.

 Tubby Hubby (writingforthefandom), Bruce x Reader: Bruce wonders if he should lose weight.

(Note: there may be others - please rec me!)

Nah, I’m good. But hey, thank you for at least not hiding on anon! Now I can block you ❤️ hopefully that’ll solve your problems

I love your blog, but stuff like posting stomach stuff untagged into fandom tags and saying its not inheritely sexual, despite being a kink blog for stomachs, there's just so much unnecessary drama. Tag your kinks, don't tag fandom posts. Please, I like you, I run my own tummy kink blog, I sympathize. I just don't want to see you end up on the really gross side of the intrusive kink community like squidbiscuit. Kinks are only fun when *everyone* consents.

Okay, what kind of game of telephone are we playing here? I DO tag my fandom art, if you look at it you can see that it's all been tagged appropriately.

If people don't want to see my art, they can blacklist and block. If me existing causes them so much distress, they can take the appropriate measures so they don't have to see my work. I repeat, I am not here to cater to everyone's needs on the internet when they're in control of their own online experience.

"I don't want to see you end up on the really gross side of the intrusive kink community, like Squid!" first of all, Squidbiscuit is fucking lovely. All of her art is tagged appropriately too, and yet people jump to conclusions that the fandom tags are only for "certain" people to use, which is very untrue.

Feel free to agree to disagree, we don't all agree with the same things sometimes. And that's fine. But I've taken all of the appropriate measures I can, it's time for other people to take responsibility over their own actions to make their internet experience enjoyable for them.

belly kink? yes.

aesthetic appreciation for fat bodies? yes.

loving and respecting fat people? yes.

all three. if you check that first box imo you better check the next two. 

Lots of people asked for more full N…so here’s a little stuffed nature lad for ya~

Ohhhhhh wow 😳

A late Season's Greetings from Set/eth who looks to definitely be enjoying the holiday treats. Though it looks like he's been enjoying treats all year round~

A YCH commission done by @WishyIshi over on Twitter.

His subscribers love guest stars.

In my quest for self-indulgence, I decided it was time to make the fics I wanted. 2020 sucked, I’m finding happiness where I can get it.

So, highly likely this is gonna be part of a really loose series of wg/stuffing second-person fics featuring Qu/ent/in Qu/ire. You’re in a relationship with him, your gender/defining traits are never mentioned.

(Contains: stuffed belly rubs, burps, references to weight gain)

———————————————————————————————————————

Quentin eases himself onto the bed, letting out a slow, measured breath between his teeth. His hands are settled gingerly over his distended stomach, not daring to apply even a slight amount of pressure. Behind his tinted lenses, he’s doing his best to mask a wince, not wanting you to see physical proof that he knew he’d overdone it.

You’re not so easily fooled.

“QQ,” you croon, settled on your knees beside him. There’s a hint of a wry smile on your lips; there’s something you’ve always loved about his tough-guy act, and watching it extend even to something as petty as covering up a stomachache was just the kind of behavior you expected from your boyfriend.

Before you can say another word, he shoots you a scowl.

“Don’t fucking say anything,” he grumbles, laying back slowly against the pillows. The movement causes the hem of his shirt to rise, revealing a sliver of taut, pale skin. You also see what’s likely the cause of at least some of his problem; his swollen abdomen is straining the fly of his cargo shorts, the fabric digging into his lower belly.

You watch him as he tries to make himself comfortable, his overstuffed stomach laying too heavy on him to permit it. He shifts his hips slightly, movements small and slow in a bid to not further jostle himself. After a few moments, he stops, dissatisfaction still clear on his face. His eyes close tight, seemingly resigned to the level of discomfort he’d managed.

You huff out the slightest chuckle. Stubbornly proud as always, Quentin would rather swallow his pain in front of you than ask for your help, even though he knew he would get it.

Confident he’s too preoccupied with feeling sorry for himself, you settle your palm against his exposed lower stomach, drawing a hiss from him as his body momentarily tenses. You’re waiting for a smart remark, but it doesn’t come.

His belly is drum-tight under your fingers, gliding under his shirt to smooth over the rounded flesh. His breath slows, and you notice that even with these drawn-out breaths, his belly hardly moves as his chest rises and falls. He was stuffed to the brim.

You give a few slow strokes over the crest of his stomach, his bellybutton shallow, nearly stretched flat from his fullness. It’s more a test of his receptiveness than anything, watching his face with interest to see if he’d protest.

When he didn’t, his expression remaining a pair of knitted brown brows and clenched eyes, your hand trails lower. Joined by its partner, you struggle a moment to undo the button of his shorts, the two sides of the garment both pulling tight on it in opposite directions. Finally succeeding, the instant the button is unclasped, the zipper comes apart, his stomach surging forward to take up the space.

He lets out a soft grunt before he can help himself, the sound flustering the both of you, leaving him with the slightest twinge of red to his cheeks, and you biting your lip.

Your fingertip traces the angry red digs left by the waistband of his shorts, faintly considering that it might be time to move him to the next size up. The once-roomy shorts were lately starting to hug his waist even outside of his binges, and when he *did* stuff himself, they left him agonizingly constricted.

“Quentin,” you try again, your palm running over his distended midsection. Again, you’re expecting some sort of bark back at you, but you’re met with silence. His own hands move to the sides of his bloat, rubbing gingerly. “You went a little overboard with it today, huh?” you ask, your lips curling in an amused smile.

His hands stop, looking at you as if about to retort— Before a weak burp bubbles from his throat instead. His brows pinch.

Ah, so that was it. Too queasy to bicker, the poor thing.

You switch to a slow, circular motion over the globe of his belly, and after a few turns, you begin to gently press. His stomach is packed tight, with little give, but after a few moments, you get what you’re going for; Quentin belches, a sigh escaping his lips after.

Continuing your ministrations, you help prompt burp after burp from him, feeling his tense body slowly ease into your touch, the jam-packed tightness of his stomach finally returning to something more like its usual doughy consistency as the built-up gas finds its way out.

You wonder faintly if your nursing has earned you any kind of thanks from your stubborn boyfriend, before noticing he’s actually fallen asleep, his hands still resting against his sides. It was thanks enough, you decide, pulling your hand back to watch your stuffed lover doze. You can’t help but wonder how today’s binge would settle on his figure, softening him all the more.

Reaching carefully, you remove his glasses from his face, folding them and setting them on the nightstand. He looks peaceful, and, God, he’d bitch if he knew you thought so, but he looks even a little cute like this. Shorts undone, shirt ridden up with his pale belly sticking out, the slow rise and fall of it with his breaths.

You touch your lips to the crest of his stomach, a featherlight kiss.

“Get some rest, Quentin. You deserve it.”

trans women donation masterlist

aka for every transphobe i had to interact with i found a link to help donate to trans women. you can definitely send me more because i bet im gonna need more.

trans women of color collective

black trans woman transition fund (23k of 50k)

help a trans woman escape yemen (3k of 12k)

save the gully queens of jamaica (45k of 100k)

memorial fund for bree black (3k of 10k)

trans woman of color seeking housing (nearly there)

memorial fund for chyna gibson (4k of 15k donated)

black trans woman gender affirmation fund (20k of 45k)

transition fund (2k of 15k)

medical funds (tw: r*pe) (11k of 20k)

poc trans woman transition fund (5k of 35k)

transition fund (6k of 10k)

support trans asylum seekers (usage of queer) (19k of 25k)

major surgery transitional fund (2k of 95k)

medical support (diabetic coma) (13k of 15k)

transitional funds (10k of 25k)

trans pride march (920 of 1.8k)

hrt fundraiser (445 of 3.6k)

reentry fund (help with housing, clothing, etc) (2k of 4k)

transitional surgery (990 of 5k)

transition fund (2k of 50k)

memorial fund for lisa bryk (tw s*icide mention in description) (7k of 20k)

transitional fund (3k of 20k)

bottom surgery fund (2.5k of 5k)

help two trans women get on their feet (160 of 5k)

supports trans women of color in legal system (and reentry) 

help a trans woman escape a bad household (4.5k of 10k)

support a trans woman after being attacked (810 of 2k)

help for medical treatments + better living (545 of 3.5k)

help trans woman pay for car repairs (19.7k of 25k)

trans woman of color transition fund (3.8k of 20k)

incarcerated trans woman college fund (12k of 20k)

donation to flee an ab*sive house before becoming homeless (1.3k of 6k)

vocal surgery fundraiser (1k of 5k)

support to keep a trans woman off the streets (immediately 150 but anything past that helps as well)

gender conformation surgery donation (77.5k of 100k)

help two trans women get conceal and carry permits (50 of 1.5k)

help a black trans woman fight cancer (3.4k of 5k)

the okra project (donates home cooked meals to black trans people) *

help a trans couple pay rent (available until oct 1st)

need help to fix their car so they can go to doctors

general trans woman assistance donation hub

trans woman assistance funds (targeted mainly for supporting sw trans women)

marsha p. johnson institution

black trans donation hub (including supporting black trans femmes in the arts)

the tgip fund

the transgender law center*

help the fight to end violence against all women of color

LAST UPDATED: 10/21

* not trans woman/transfem specific

please tell me if any of these links need updated/replaced/removed/etc

It’s ya boy.

Yessssss!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 Working with you was a delight, this fic came out so great 😭😭😭

A Fulfilling House Arrest

The very last of the commissions, this time featuring (ex) cha/irm/an Ro/se from Po/kem/on. This was commisioned by @buttercremepudding who you should check out and follow if you haven’t already

Another non-FE one, which I do enjoy doing cause it helps me get to do some character research and also get to do some other game references

____________

Near the snowy, craggy mountains Circhester is known for throughout the Galar region lies a massive two-story villa. The luxurious abode rests far off from any other residences. Situated in the middle of the snowy forest, a long stretch of road leads directly to it. Snow falling year-round in the Circhester region, the road is partially covered by some of the white fluffy snow creeping onto the edges of it. The area seemingly not in use with its sole road in a poor state of management, the road’s lackluster condition is solely due to the villa’s sole resident staying within the warm comfort of their shelter.

In actuality, the villa’s owner is unable to leave.

Former chairman Rose sitting at his glass dining table, he has a rather large bowl of beef stew in front of him. Having turned himself in after the debacle with the Eternatus incident, his contributions to the Galar region as a whole, and a few good words from Galar’s former champion and its current champion, convinced the judges to allow him a more lenient sentence. Thus, as his sentence, Rose was placed under house arrest alongside steep fines for damages and temporarily stepping down as chairman. His normal place of residence susceptible to numerous reporters and journalists desperate for a fresh scoop of the story, Rose decided upon moving to his villa near Circhester. The beautiful, pristine place known throughout Circhester’s locals, none know of its owner. Only a handful of people throughout the entirety of Galar know, all but a few of them high-up Macro Cosmos officials. Free from possible disruptions, the area’s location is also spectacular. A nice chill weather all year long alongside the shining sea from a visible coastline meant the villa had been his best bet for privacy and beauty.

Rose currently watching the news, a live weather report in Motostoke, the meteorologist carries her Castform on her shoulder. Rose watches with mild disinterest, any noticeable change in Circhester’s weather rarer than a lazy Scorbunny. He slowly chips away at his stew, the broth warming his slightly cold body. A light chill permeates throughout his body despite being dressed for the climate. Rose wears a tacky peach-orange sweater with miniature Cufants as its print. He also has on black sweatpants with white pokeball print running down the sides. Matching fuzzy black socks to accompany his comfortable wear, he barely feels the cold. Having owned said clothes for quite some time, the soft material of his sweater and sweatpants stretch a bit more than they used to; the fabric is especially taut around his midsection. Always sporting some extra heft, his midsection has always been the largest part about him, a soft bubble of fat protruding where his stomach is. House arrest affecting his figure, the sides of his belly stretch out further, the front curvature of his drooping tummy now also closer to his pudgy thighs.

The meteorologist ending her forecast, the camera suddenly shifts over to the news station. The reporter sitting at the middle of her desk, her Mr. Rime sits professionally beside her as he passes her some papers.

Rose takes another heaping bite of his stew as he finally pays some attention, any sort of news more interesting than the weather.

“We have just received breaking news regarding the trial against former chairman Rose-” 

Upon the immediate register of hearing his name, Rose changes the channel without pause. Scrolling past a few channels currently stuck on commercials, he stumbles upon some movie he’s never heard of.  Though, he supposed it’s better than the conjectures and libels from news stations when it always comes to him, the most popular subject of talk,  the discussion regarding Rose only less popular than the recent shift in the title for Galar Champion. Rose’s knuckles are clenched around his spoon. Opening his mouth for another spoonful of stew, he picks up the pace a bit, Rose only taking a few quick bites before swallowing and getting more stew. The ramblings of the movie is nothing more than white noise to Rose as he grumbles to himself, his brows furrowed as he contentedly yet angrily devours his food. 

A lengthy number of months passing by, Rose’s days are filled with the same, usual routine. Part of his sentence including the temporary separation of his pokemon until the conclusion of his house arrest meant that any sort of time training with his pokemon was not only unnecessary, it was flat out impossible, Rose only dedicating training time to be with his pokemon. With access to the whole wide world through the internet, even Rose forgoes that most of the time, news and social media still filled with gossip and rumor mills about him despite everything occurring several months ago. Forced to temporarily step down from the position of chairman as well, the stipulations included being barred from speaking to Macro Cosmos members in any way that could be construed as a business discussion. Thus, barred from the entirety of his usual routine from before the Eternatus incident, Rose had shifted into a new one: wake up, eat, lounge around and sleep. Even Rose’s newfound hobby of cooking relates back to his routine. 

Currently practicing said hobby, Rose stands in front of the stove. Circhester’s weather still characteristically cold as ever, Rose remains dressed for the climate. In his own way, however. His prior lifestyle inundated with work, Rose still found time for an occasional walk or even a jog to help combat his mostly sedentary lifestyle: now, with all the free time in the world, Rose refuses to partake in a modicum of exercise. His body clearly shows the effects, his once small yet sizable tummy replaced with a dome of a gut. With all his extra poundage, Circhester’s cold weather is less of an issue with his swaddling fat warming him up. Sweatpants and sweatshirts now make him feel like a furnace; a simple t-shirt and gym shorts are enough for him to get some warmth without retaining it all. Having weighed himself the day of purchasing his new clothes, Rose a few pounds shy of 500 back then, Rose’s sizable added heft is apparent with his current choice of clothing. 

The clothes one size too small, his black gym shorts have some extra space at the bottom, the cuff of his shorts ending a bit above his doughy knees.  His rear shoved into his shorts, the fabric clings to every surface of his portly backside. Each cheek lovingly caressed, the once perky yet flabby bubble butt is now squarish from all the fat caked onto it. All of his ass somehow contained, the waistband of his shorts barely rises above the upper peaks of his fat ass, an indent visible where it digs into him. His tree trunk thighs crammed against one another, the elastic black fabric outlines their shape; creases of fat line his thighs. His thighs now so large, walking like he used to is no longer an ability. Instead, shuffling each wide, doughy thigh is a necessity, Rose developing a full waddle. Rose’s overly plump stomach its own beast, the massive taupe brown belly is the most defined thing on Rose’s figure, any sort of possible definition through muscle completely gone. His white shirt digs into his protruding gut. Rose is an extra step away from the stove so his bulging belly doesn’t press into it. The belly commanding in its presence, the bottom roll of his gut slips past the warmth of his shirt. Filled with an expansive amount of fat, it curves down into a bell shape, the meaty flab under his belly button flattens out the curvature of his doughy belly. The shirt’s bottom hem digs into his fat, a small portion of flab above and below it jutting out from the pressure. The flabby dome of fat sags downward as well as outward, gravity holding a heavy say in its shape from the fat piled onto his gut. The bottom edges of his gut reach down to Rose’s midthigh, his gut still retaining some shape to it. His back affected by his gluttony as well, the plush, doughy expanse presses against his shirt, the sizable, luscious rolls visible. His overly endowed love handles jut out to the sides as well, both of them ripe for a handful, even a handful being insufficient in properly grasping them. His chest endowed as well, the two piles of fat for breasts rest comfortably atop the expansive shelf of his belly. His shirt holding them back, the two plush breasts are pressed up against one another in an attempt for more space. The neckline of his t-shirt somewhat low, the upper crack of fat from his bunched-up breasts is visible. 

The oven dinging, Rose turns off the timer and the oven with as much swiftness as his obese body can muster. His doughy piping bags for arms sag within his sleeves as he reaches over to turn everything off. Grabbing his oven mitts, the dorsal side embroidered with a Klinklang, he stands to the side of the oven door as he opens it. Careful with his sagging stomach, Rose pushing back his great gut with a hand, he reaches down for the tray with the other. He places it on the stove after he closes back up the oven. Rose smiles at the two pieces of salmon amongst the grilled squash. Never quite used to portioning, his plumped-up waistline is a testament to it. A portion for a minimum of four a simple meal for Rose, he already has his plate at the ready, his plate more reminiscent of a serving platter from its sheer size as he licks his lips.

Rose continuing to remain in confinement in his own house, the time all feels blurred together with sleeping and eating the only two real activities of each and every day. The only real difference being the ever-growing portions of food. And his ever-growing waistline.

A fine enjoyer of food, Rose is never one to deny a good meal. His cooking representative of his idea of a good meal, large portions, warm dishes, and a heaping variety, soon cooking became more of a chore than a hobby. His gut always so demanding of food, the demand for food quickly surpassed the amount that Rose could make in a timely manner. Originally supplementing those little extra pangs of hunger with light snacks from restaurants, said snacks more reminiscent of a full meal than anything, the salty delicious appeal of fast food had helped blow up his waistline to further and beyond, cooking slowly getting pushed out by the allure of more and more junk food. Walking a further impediment on his willingness to cook, ordering food online had simply been Rose’s fix to said issue. 

Reclining in his lounge chair, the custom sized chair the equivalent of a loveseat, Rose rests his head on the soft cushioning of the headrest. His feet in the air with the aid of the auto recliner connected to his chair, he rests his mitt for hands on the curvature of his gut. 

Clearly enjoying his food, even the former heavyset 500 pounds he sported a while back is like a Perrserker standing next to a Gigantamax Meowth. His body so inundated with fat; his frame is piled with lard splaying everywhere it can conceivably go.  Needing a serious upsize in clothing to match his seriously upsized body, Rose dons a pair of silver shorts, a single black stripe running down the sides with a green trim on both stripes, the shorts reminiscent of his Ferrothorn. His shirt the same silver coloration, the only form of adornment on it is a drawing of a Copperajah, the elephantine pokemon stretched out from Rose’s breasts pulling the fabric. His stomach always his most notable feature, the large bundle of fat remains so as it rises into the air. His legs offered enough room to spread across the footrests, the upper inner rivulets of fat sprinkled across his thighs manage to rest upon one another despite his splayed legs. His thighs are no longer suitable for walking, Rose struggling and out of breath upon the few times he partakes in the activity. His thighs alone surpass the width of most people. The rest of his legs not far outdone, the two bunched up poles of fat stick together on the few occasions he stands up. His legs spared some room with them splaying out, they splay out as well, the fat oozing out in both directions. Rose’s taupe skin is visible with his shorts cutting off around his upper thigh, both girthy legs occupying a fine amount of space. His ass buried under his crushing weight, the two mounds of lard offer him some extra height despite his seated form. His shorts struggling to withhold so much fat inside of them, the elastic band slips a bit past Rose’s ass, the upper fatty portion of his ass free. His shorts incredibly short, the lower sagging fat from his ass seeps past the hemline of his shorts, his ill-defined squarish mounds of ass fat oozing out. The shorts are already at maximum capacity; the soft fabric is offered no extra room, the legs of the shorts wrapped around each thigh. Though, Rose’s shorts are a mere formality, the behemoth of a gut covering the entire expanse of his thighs. His belly has multiple rolls to contain all the extra fat piled onto his stomach. The lowest roll his largest, it folds right under his cavernous belly button. It oozes out down onto his thighs, blanketing them in a fine warmth able to combat Circhester’s weather. His stomach full of curves and rolls, the bottom roll of fat retains its bell shape. The second roll of fat stacked on top of his lowest roll, it oozes out comfortably above it. His love handles jut out severely on both sides, the tires of fat drooping and sagging from their own weight. His third and final roll making up his stomach rests right under his breasts, the roll similar to a second set of tits. His tits enjoying the safety and comfort of being above Rose’s great vast gut unlike his thighs, they press into his neck. His neck fleshed out, the rounded-out rolls making up his neck and his multiple chins meld together. His breasts digging right into them, they take up most of Rose’s sight, the two melon sized jugs able to envelop someone’s head. The rest of Rose’s vision is filled with his jowls, the two sagging cheeks similarly puffed out, and his titanic stomach. With each wheezy, tired breath Rose takes, the bundle of squirrel-like cheeks seemingly inflates with each gulp of air.

Having just finished his lengthy breakfast, a veritable buffet of pancakes, eggs, and ham, among other treats, he waits for his lunch to arrive. Rose wallows in his own girth. His hands rub the small portion of his gut that he can reach. His body wider than any usual doorway, his hands are barely able to touch one another with his vast bloated gut in the way of his arms. And even then, only for a few seconds before the strain becomes too much, Rose blown up to elephantine proportions. An occasional touch of his hands drift towards his chest to feel the heft of them, his breasts unable to be held in one hand. He snaps to attention as a shrieking caw alerts him to his meal. Reaching to the side, his flour bags for arms seep down as far as they can go, the lower portions of his arms seeping onto the side rolls of his stomach. Huffing, his cheeks puff out as he grabs the remote. Grabbing the remote, he presses the button for the recliner. The chair noisily whirs as it goes back into a normal seated position, an occasional sputter stopping the mechanism before Rose presses the remote again. Rose’s fat no longer half lying down, the spread-out fat slowly bunches up once more. His monumental girth jiggles all the while, the sputtering taxed chair’s vibrations shaking his fat all throughout. Finally in a seated position, Rose presses a fattened hand on the armrest. His arms visibly straining, his fat slowly inches forward off the couch like jam being plopped out of a can. Huffing, his face becomes flushed from the overt effort. Beads of sweat roll down his face, Rose’s eyes half lidded as he struggles with all his might. His fat falls off the couch, the sagging fat pooling down. With a great grunt, Rose grunts as he manages to stand up. Catching his breath, he keeps a hand on the armrest as he slightly bends over. His gut pools forward, the edges of his soft blueberry mass resting against the floor.

Taking a bit of time to regain his breath, a huff still remains from the sheer exertion of standing. Fixing his posture, Rose takes a cautious step forward. His wide right leg swings past the other in something reminiscent of a waddle, Rose’s extreme girth making it hard for him to do even that. His gut a few inches away from the plush carpet lining his floor, his legs are entirely hidden behind the engorged mass of fat. His thighs and ass poke out from behind a sliver of a portion. His entire expanse of a body quivers from the slow, methodical steps. Normally unwilling to partake in the now arduous task of walking, Rose keeps his thoughts on food and nothing but his food, a bit of saliva building up in the back of his throat as he does so. A few full minutes devoted to each and every step, Rose’s body feels like an entire furnace on fire. Tiring himself out from walking half the length of a room, Rose’s face is entirely flushed by the time he reaches his balcony. 

Leaving the balcony doors open for the chill air to nip at his bonfire of a body, the balcony also serves as the perfect spot for his food deliveries. Corviknight’s well trained, the practice of using them as food delivery quickly caught on alongside transportation. The Corviknight already well gone, the bag of food remains on the table on the balcony.  

Smelling the greasy fried food, Rose quickly opens up the bag. Three boxes inside, he pulls the topmost one and closes the bag back up, carrying it with his arm through the bag handle. Slowly shuffling back inside, he greedily opens up the box, his sausage fingers struggling a bit. Fresh, warm fish and chips greet him. Slowly waddling back to his dented chair, his breath comes out strained once more from the effort and from the food right in front of his face. Grabbing one of the fish, he plops a meaty bite into his mouth. Chewing mid-waddle, his eyelids droop considerably, Rose savoring the taste with an audible hum. Despite the food’s heat from being fresh, Rose devours it with practiced ease, Rose taking more bites of the fish. By the time Rose passes his desk, the once work designated area before his house arrest now the designated trash area for all his plates and bags from the numerous daily food deliveries, he already finishes one of the fish. Grabbing some of the chips as well, the fried potatoes melt in his mouth, the soft chew outstanding after the crispiness of the fish. By the time he finally reaches his chair, Rose is a tired mess. His entire body weary, he places the bag of food on the table beside his chair. He then places his half-eaten box on top of that. Rose shifts a bit to get into position before slowly sitting back down. One hand on his armrest, he lowers himself down a few inches; his legs tucker out, Rose crashing down onto his usual indent once more. Rose huffs and puffs to regain his breath. His entire body undulates with each exaggerated gulp for air. 

Amidst regaining his breath, Rose reaches a mitt for a hand down to the bottom hem of his shirt. Feeling absolutely exhausted and heated up, he slowly lifts up the taut fabric, his arms jiggling from the effort. Rolls of fat escaping, they ooze on downward, Rose’s plush breasts eventually sagging outward like two overstuffed pillows. An extra bit of Circhester’s cold air now hitting more of his body, Rose lets out a sigh of relief despite his weary state. Reaching into the luscious soft confines of his breasts, Rose rummages around under the blanketing mass of fat. Grunting some more as he digs through his landscape of fat, he lets out another sigh of relief as he finally finds his phone. Pulling it out from under his breasts, Rose promptly opens his phone despite his massive sausages for fingers. Ordering some more food, this time a light lunch dessert consisting of an entire cheesecake, he adds extra instructions for the Corviknight to drop the food directly to him. Before placing his order, he adds a few extra dozen pastries, Rose placing his phone back under his chest upon placing the order. A semblance of energy returning to him, he reaches over for the box of food. The entire frame of the couch creaking from the minimal movement, Rose’s body quivers from the minimal movement as well. Eventually gripping the box in his hand, he pulls it towards himself. He rests the box on his chest. Grabbing a handful of chips alongside the fish, Rose nearly shoves it into his mouth, a faint murmur of appreciation escaping his lips as he does so. His sentence nearly over, he finds being stuck in his house a wonderful punishment.

Is the artblock hiatus over? God I hope so. A chonky Quentin Quire because this obscure bastard suckerpunched my life and takes up 100% of my brain rent free

Life's full of silly fights. Fighting over the last slice of pizza is anything but silly for these two hungry hefty heroes. Now, if only they could actually reach said pizza...

Another commission from ~Opblaaskrokodil over from furaffinity.