lilfatboy100

[lilfatboy100]

Since feedismburnbook has sadly been suspended, I'm gonna share what I know about scammers and how to identify and avoid one!!

Prepare for a yap session under the cut

First of all, they have a blank profile. It's a no brainer but people can still fall for them!

Secondly, they upload pictures of "themselves" multiple times a day in various outfits.

Third, their likes are either empty, or they have 3 (or any single digit number really) random posts, could do with feedism or not.

Another good tell is how they type. Scam accounts usually have a lot of spelling errors or things alike.

On that note, their username and bio. If it's a mishmash of different feedism affiliated words, it's definitely something to look out for. For bios, it usually won't have any information about themselves besides something like "DM to feed me" or something similar.

A thing that helps me is if they either like or reblog their content!! Or even if they don't reblog at all!!

And for the feeder scams, do not trust so easily. Whether they're legit or not really depends on how they act.

If they give you promises of a weekly allowance, tread lightly. Feeders don't usually throw their money around willy nilly.

TRUST FEES!!!! If they ask for a $50 trust me fee, DO NOT INTERACT WITH THEM ANYMORE!!! Real feeders do NOT ask for trust fees, EVER!!!

And I think that's about everything, feel free to reblog for any other tells of a scam account!

Stay safe y'all!!

[lilfatboy100]

YOU hates terfs

[lilfatboy100]

Hey are you into rednecks, NO, armpits, smoking?

no, except for smoking. idk why but I find smoking incredibly hot in most circumstances.

thanks for the ask!

[lilfatboy100]

water actually sucks why dont we all just drink soda all the time

(i sure do)

[lilfatboy100]

wrong blog whoops

Some might say that it's cruel.

Taking awak your oxygen mask until you finish the whole tray of brownies.

Making you eat on your hands and knees like a fat hog, your overblown belly and moobs taking up all the space beneath your torso.

"Forgetting" to give you your cholesterol and heart medication, only using it as a reward for being a good boy.

Threatening you by saying that every second you don't follow my commands is another second between the start of your heart attack and the time I call for an ambulance for you.

Feeling you so thoroughly that you can barely breathe, gasping for air in shallow inhales, belly too swollen and round.

But I know it's what you want. Even through the pain and the tears and the fear of death, I can tell it turns you on like nothing else.

smaksnnsnsnmwnwn ❤️✨✨

[lilfatboy100]

yo yo yo

this is just @lilfatboy100 again, but this is gonna be a more extreme blog dedicated to my extra horny times

[lilfatboy100]

are you taking applications 👉👈

I want an obese boyfriend 🙁

[lilfatboy100]

We need more trans guys who are fat and filthy gooners. It’s essential to the ecosystem.

[lilfatboy100]

Sometimes, when I wash between your belly folds or deep inside your belly button or even underneath one of your massive, flabby moobs, I wonder just how long that stuff has been there. Grease and crumbs left behind by a random chubby-handed scratch that, if I hadn't come along, would have been left there forever. You're so massive now; there's so much of you to clean. It almost seems like it would be easier to just let you be. Watch as your body gets ruined inside and out. Turned into a blob and a slob. Your belly and fat folds spilling out in every direction, getting so massive that you could never hope to stand again, with untold amounts of filth trapped in the spots where your body rolls over onto itself. The worst is way down, between your thighs (thicker than most people's entire body) and underneath your fat belly (big enough to use as a bed). Your overgrown and overfilled fupa and the scent that builds there, trapped under all that fat, getting worse every time you feel the tiniest twinge of arousal.

using these as feedist slob inspo because *damn* ✨✨

[lilfatboy100]

It's amazing how much all this lard on your frame has slowed you down. Not just physically, though you have slowed conveniently to a complete stop, but mentally, too. You're just so lethargic and lazy. You can barely summon the energy to bring food to your mouth, let alone do any serious thinking. And you need all the oxygen you can get just so that you're poor, overstressed heart can pump it through every inch of your fat-inflated body, so wasting it on words isn't something you can afford.

But right now, it seems worth it. As I feed you, as I keep bringing forkfuls of pasta up to your lips and washing it down with big swigs from giant bottles of soda, something doesn't feel right. There's a pressure, uncomfortable at first but now growing painful. You try to get my attention, wiggling your hands, nearly swallowed up by the swells of fat around your wrists. The layer of blubber coating your legs means that your feet don't even properly touch the bed beneath you, waiving them helplessly in the air. Between bites, you try to say something, but even the simple exercise of moving your jaw up and down, chewing and swallowing, leaves those muscles weak. All you can do is moan and groan, trying to get my attention, making vague sounds that are barely human.

It takes a few moments before I realize that something isn't right, that you're trying to get my attention, quickly putting the food aside. I lean in, brushing the crumbs off of your moobs and scattering them to the floor. "What is it, big boy? What's wrong? It's okay, I can help. Are you having another heart attack? If it's a blood sugar thing, I just picked up some emergency insulin yesterday. Come on, handsome. Tell me what's wrong." I know you can't. I just enjoy watching your mouth struggle to form the words, furrowing your brow in frustration. It doesn't help matters that I keep rubbing your belly and distracting you from what you're trying to say. I press down on your flabby gut, making you gasp in pain. Finally, progress. I put more pressure on, kneading the doughy flab that extends out in front of you, rocking back and forth. The pressure only builds until... until...

BUUUUURP!

The messy belch rocks your entire body, deflating you slightly and bringing you immediate relief. "That's a good boy! There you go. Feel better now? Don't worry. I'll make sure that we fill in all that extra space with more food. Wouldn't want it to go to waste."

😵‍💫 I have no words-

❤️❤️

[lilfatboy100]

Aw, you're sweet! I'm glad you like what I've been writing for you. It's almost enough to make me feel guilty about helping you up to your feet for the first time in weeks, having to basically re-teach you how to walk with so much extra fat clinging to you. That's not that bad, I suppose, but the part I feel bad about is imagining you twisting your ankle. When several hundred pounds come down on it, that's a seriously twisted ankle. You can't put any pressure on it without searing pain, helping you hobble your way back to the bed, laying you down and promising to get you some ice cream (melted, of course, so you can eat the entire container at once) to help you feel better. And the cruel smile on my lips know that your little awkward waddle across the room was probably the last time you'll ever stand on your own two feet again.

snakaidjsmms pleas my brain can't be overloaded by this much goodness at once-

[lilfatboy100]

I just want to buy you an oversized, like, 8XL t-shirt with some video game or otherwise nerdy logo on the front. And I want to make you wear it every single day. Oh, sure. It'll get gross. It'll get stained. With the amount of food in forcing into you, some of it is bound to dribble down your chin and soak into the already messy fabric. But I want to watch you outgrow it, too. I want to watch as it gets tighter and tighter over your body, your belly growing out of it. You struggle to pull it down at first, trying to pull it around your growing gut, but your growth outpaces the stretchiness of the shirt. Your growing gut makes the hem move higher and higher on you and your swelling, fattening, sagging moobs turn the formerly oversized shirt into a crop top. You whimper and beg me to take it off of you once it starts getting too tight. You can feel the sleeves pinching the flab on your arms and the collar, stained and sweat-soaked, is rubbing against your double chin. But if you want out of that shirt, then you're going to have to grow out of it, making yourself so fat that it simply can't take the pressure and shreds apart. Don't worry, though. You won't have to do it alone. I'll be more than glad to force as much food as I can down your throat to make that goal a reality.

not my brain shortcircuiting ✨✨

[lilfatboy100]

attention everyone

if you can find out who tf is cooking so hard in my inbox, tell me!! seriously they (respectful) slay so hard and I wanna talk to them :(

[lilfatboy100]

"Good morning, handsome!"

Your heavy eyes blearily blink open, dragging you out of soft sleep. You don't sit up in bed. You can't, not with how much you weigh. We installed handles to hang down from the ceiling above you so that you could pull yourself upward, but that was before your arms were so thickened with fat that you can barely lift them over your head for more than a few seconds. I take a towel and begin wiping away some of the grease and sauce that dripped down onto your chest from your midnight snack. It's been so long since we actually bothered to keep you clothed. They would just get stained and it's so much easier to keep your soft, flabby, stretched skin clean.

As I mount the funnel to the bedpost, I bring the other end of the tube to your lips, stroking your adorable double chin before slipping it into your mouth. "Guess what, cutie? Today's gainer shake breakfast comes with a little extra." I reach down, sticking my finger into your cavernous bellybutton and give your belly a good jiggle, watching it ripple across your flabby blob of a body. "Since you were so good and had your second heart attack yesterday, you deserve a good reward! I went out and got a triple chocolate cake and mixed it in with the shake! I had to add some extra shake to make it drinkable, but I know my big, big, handsome man can drink every last drop, can't you?"

I turn the knob on the hose and the thick, fattening sludge begins to move down the tube, cooling it as it goes, until it pours into your mouth. Some dribbles out to the side, but that's to be expected. You quickly fall into a rhythm, your eyes fluttering closed while you suck down the rich, thick milkshake. "That's it. Just relax and eat. If you have another heart attack soon, maybe I'll get you dinner from that Chinese place you like. What do you think, one of everything from the menu?"

whoever this is you are spitting straight fire!!

[lilfatboy100]

You knew it was coming but it was still hard to hear. Going to the doctor and having her tell you all the ways that your body is failing. Fatty liver. Clogged arteries. Your heart working overtime just to pump blood through your massive, jiggling, flabby body. You knew it was going to be bad when you overloaded their scale and had to be weighed on a special one, just for fat boys like you. But the reality was so much worse. She told you, outright, that if you keep this up that there's a good chance you wouldn't make it to thirty. You couldn't tell her that there was some part of you that was aroused by that thought, simply nodding along to what she's saying.

Your car sags as you drop yourself into the driver's seat, the shocks on your car being yet another thing worn out by your immense and growing weight. The way she spoke to you, her concern, her forcefulness in telling you your fate... It all hangs heavy in your mind. Thankfully, you know just what to do to ease such emotional turmoil.

Eat.

Stopping at two separate drive throughs on the way home and picking up enough food to feed a family for a few days. For you, it's a late lunch. You're out of breath by the time you waddle into the apartment, setting the food down and plopping onto your couch, wondering when that'll give out, too. Before you know it, you're surrounded by empty wrappers, munching your way through thousands and thousands of calories. You feel a twinge in your chest, reaching up to knead the spot with your chubby fingers, sinking into the doughy flesh that's piled up there. It's like your body is actively screaming for you to stop, but you refuse to listen. You need to be a grease-filled ball of lard, too big to do anything but eat and grow until your body gives out on you. Your muscles atrophying until you're bed bound, barely aware of the passage of time, hooked up to an oxygen tank as your fat weighs down on your chest. If only your doctor could see you now.

i have nothing to say... ❤️❤️❤️

snjtdjingfyinkydsb /pos

[lilfatboy100]

This is a little late to the game but I would LOVE if you made a side blog more heavily invested in death feedism!! I'm a trans man as well and am really into it, and I would love to see more trans men actively feeding themselves into major health issues 🤤 so if you decide to make a side blog, please let us know so people can follow you ♥️♥️♥️

omg I would love to!! unfortunately I'm afraid of tumblr zuccing my blog to the shadow realm lmfao-

my dms are totally open if you wanna hear my fantasies or rp yours!!

[lilfatboy100]

I'm a fellow trans gainer into death feederism, what would you say is your favorite aspect of death feederism?

oh gosh!! uhhh lmao idk! I love a ton of things about it...

probably the health issues, and how much they impact my life even now :3