#fatphobia cw

[foone]

God imagine how much it would make people mad if a robot built their own body and made it fat.

"you can look like anything, why would you make it look like... that?"

Fuck you. Some robots want to be fat, and if they want to be, they can be. It's morally neutral!

You know, just like humans being fat?

[not-terezi-pyrope]

Progressives when people around them are complying with monogamous romantic norms: "All bodies are beautiful ☺️ Nobody should be discriminated against for who or how they love ☺️ Rights for minorities ☺️ Fat liberation ☺️"

Progressives (and everyone else) when they're reminded polyamorous people exist: "Fatty! Smelly stinky fatty! Weird! Weird clothes! Bad makeup! Board games (nerd!). You're ugly. You're ugly and nobody normal would love you which is why I don't have to care that you're getting more love and affection than me. Did I mention that you're fat? Also you're probably a liberal"

Like, we get it, you're insecure, but that doesn't actually mean you're allowed to insult and stigmatise people (and uncritically invoke other bigotries!) to feel better just because you think your mono friends will let you get away with it. The leftism really does leave people's bodies I swear.

This is the number one way I hear monogamous people talk about polyamory, even in leftist and queer spaces. Can assure you that there are multiple posts to this affect being gleefully passed around lgbtq tumblr circles right now.

[where-our-stories-start]

Endless Merthur scenes (3/∞)

[klapollo]

i cant stand that girl on tiktok who walks around saying how she's never nice to herself and makes herself go on walks so she isnt a fatty fat oink oink piggy. sister youre getting out of breath walking down a level suburban street my porky ass could lap you like quicksilver

[xensilverquill]

Does anyone else get a little sad looking at before/after photos of people losing weight on social media?

Like, not sad in the sense of "oh I wish I could lose weight like them." More like... They look content and warm and sweet in the before photo, and then just look so pinched and tired in the after photo. (For an example, I can't tell you how many subreddits I've muted in my feed after seeing a plus-weight brown-haired woman showing the world how she turned herself into yet another thin bleach-blonde model in a black dress who is Conventionally Attractive Now, I guess.)

I know everyone's journey with their own body image and health is a personal one and there is only so much before/after photos will tell you at a glance. But I have to wonder was that descision to change their bodies something they wanted for themselves -- or something that society bullied them into?

Is their relationship with eating complicated and disordered now? Who in their lives/social media feeds made them feel like they had to do this? Did they exercise and bleach and starve themselves to death just to get a body type and appearance people deem worthy of basic human decency? Did they not realize they were just as worthy of being treated with love and kindness before doing all this?

I see these photos and know society expects us to be happy for them, but all I can feel is worry.

[thedeafprophet]

Also back in my 'video games issue with lack of body diversity' topic I think this becomes even more of a problem when it's a game with many many characters.

Like it's questionable in a small cast, you certainly could have done more. But in places with 10s, 100s of characters, and not a single one is at least slightly fat? That's particularly standout and questionable

[fictionkinfessions]

This might just be like. Me who feels this way. But I hate when anyone draws my kins skinny when they’re canonly fat/chubby or would be fat/chubby (like a normally non-human drawn as a gijinka type deal). Like no I’m not sorry I could take a human shape as King Boo and I was very much fat.

x

[seventeendeer]

every time someone does a Dragonite redesign to make it skinny and girly like Dragonair or designs an "alternate final stage" for the family because Dragonite doesn't "fit", I go into a screaming frothing rage, so as a little treat for myself after designing almost 90 fakemon for my little project, I'm going to make a regional variant of Dragonite that genuinely looks like shit and give it like super sad guilt trippy lore and make a whole thing of it. for the bit. to cope

[lemmaeof]

man I'm legit pissed the chubby elphelt strive mod is marked as fetish content, she's literally just fat with normal fat proportions

[beaft]

the two genres that are most closely aligned to dysmorphia are body horror and comedy. dysmorphia is grotesque. it is visceral and it is humiliating. for me, the most resonant depictions are largely unintentional: aunt marge blowing up like a beach ball, jeff goldblum mutating into a fly, content mill articles about plastic surgery gone wrong, the groans from a sitcom studio audience when a fat character does something gross like mention their sex life, the comical horn music when they walk about, mr creosote exploding in the "wafer thin mint" sketch, people on "embarrassing bodies" being paraded around like performers in a freak show. stories about transforming against your will, being turned into an object of disgust and derision. the body as a horror show. the body as a bad joke.

[iatrophilosophos]

Today I have been thinking a lot abt the imperative oppressed ppl face to sympathize with the interiority of ppl who face less extreme versions of that oppression, when those ppl facing less extreme shit do not reciprocafe whatsoever. Specifically the difference that I see in other Actually Fat people venting about self hatred and oppression vs. Average sized ppl venting about how they think they're fat.

Your self hatred is never, ever just about "you". This is WHY we talk about how you need to learn to love other fat people or other trans people or whatever to love yourself, bc it cuts both ways.

There are deeply fat-hating fat people in the world who don't pull punches when they speak on self hatred, but for the most part when I see fat people venting it's with a certain framing of empathy. Shit has content warnings. Shit is about the world, about oppression and society. "Fat" is almost never positioned as the true root of negative feelings--we talk about what we've been taught to believe about ourselves, how hard it is to Be, what might be easier.

Average sized kids just vent about how they're fat and they hate it. They throw out numbers and heights willy nilly with no sensitivity (the next time some 200-something pound motherfucker with 5"+ inches on me talks about being unlovably fat I'm gonna fucking swing 😤). Most bizarrely, frustratingly, and horrible for my mental wellbeing despite the deep seated compulsion to be empathetic with someone aligning themselves with my oppression--my entire life average size people have sought ME, the fat friend, to dump their uncensored, unempathetic, unwarned hatred onto, and have the gall to say "nonono it's not about YOU I just don't like MYSELF" when I tell them I hate it. Most charitably, because i feel I have to be charitable, because the harsh feelings and the misery is *real*, I assume most of the time most people are doing this because they assume (rightly) that I'll "get it"--but it never occurs to them to ask, to talk about it for real, to warn, to empathize.

It's not pc to say "you're not fat" in response to someone talking shit abt their weight and I get why. But from the bottom of my fucking heart: some people seem to really need to hear "you're not fat. You're just fatphobic".

[not-terezi-pyrope]

Cliquey leftists (I am also a leftist, to be clear) will be all about inclusion and equality and no judgement for ancillary characteristics until it comes to their enemies. Look at this shit.

Hey guys! We identified a neo-nazi who tried to scam, potentially doxx and/or poison trans women, but forget that, get this! He's fat!

Really are just looking for acceptable targets to take out your prejudices on. We see what you're doing.

[blindmagdalena]

First I’m literally obsessed with the way you write homie it’s literally so in character.

Second, how do you think he would react to having a thicker gf and seeing them being verbally harassed bc of it? I feel like he would lose his mind

this fic has been rewritten and given a smutty follow up! check it out here. ;)

Tonight's gala is a significant one. Not only does Homelander have about a dozen deals to grease with a firm handshake and some oily promises, it's your first time attending one of these events at his side. He couldn't be prouder. You took his breath away in your formal wear; a sight to behold that had him clapping his delight. "You're gonna knock them dead," he whispered in your ear, savoring the flustered, breathy way you laughed.

Strange now that when he looks for you, Homelander doesn't see you on the event floor. You had gone to get drinks while he spoke with this senator—who has officially lost any and all of his interest in the wake of your disappearance—but you've been gone too long. Like an itch at the back of his neck, something doesn't feel right. "Ah, apologies, senator, I seem to have misplaced my date," he says, flashing his best award winning smile. "Gimme a minute to find her. Make sure she hasn't gotten herself into any trouble," he says, throwing in a wink for good measure. His pleasant expression falls off as soon as his back is turned to the boring little man. When Homelander doesn't find you on the event floor, he steps out. He listens for you, filtering out the music, the chatter, the noise of the world. He seeks what is familiar to him, what he would know from a meter or a mile away, and what he hears puts a lump of ice into his gut. You're crying.

Homelander moves swiftly down the hall, finding the women's bathroom in a heartbeat. You've gone far from the event floor, bypassing the nearer bathroom to use one further away. You're hiding, he realizes, but he can't fathom what from. He moves faster, imagining that you're hurt, that someone has you, that— "Babe?!" Homelander calls sharply, slamming open the door. He doesn't mean to scare you, but he can see in your expression that he did. Your eyes are wide and red, tears trailing black mascara down your cheeks. You stand with your hand lingering on the bathroom sink, and as the shock fades, your expression falters.

He's never seen you look so... sad. It twists in him like a hot knife, the discomfort he feels at it turning immediately into rage. Anger comes quick and easy to him. His voice is low when he demands, "Tell me what happened." "It's nothing," you try to dismiss, picking up the tissues you dropped on the floor to toss them into the garbage. "I just got overwhelmed at the party." "You're crying in a bathroom a floor down from the event, it is categorically not nothing," he argues, taking hold of your arms once he's near enough. He pulls you into him, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face. Thanks to plenty of experience with makeup in film and television, he knows better than to smear the blackened tears on your cheeks, though the impulse to wipe them away is there. "C'mon. Tell me."

You lean into him as you always do. He is a pillar, just as you have been for him. He can't fucking stand seeing you like this. "I don't belong here. I don't... talk, or dress, or look like these people. They're all..." You lift your hands, gesturing vaguely. Your voice sounds hoarse. He can't bear the sadness in it. "Perfect." "You have to be kidding me," Homelander says, his disbelief genuine. "The gaggle of sycophants and suits back there? They're insipid. Boring as all hell. I can't even tolerate being in the same room as them without you anymore," he says, huffing a laugh in an attempt to ease your mood. Anything to bring back your smile. "Seriously, what brought this on? You've never given a shit about all that pomp before." Your gaze drops. He knows you're hiding something from him. "Hey, c'mon," he coos, using the knuckle of his index finger to tilt your chin back up. "Tell me, and I will make it better."

One way or another.

With visible reluctance, you take a breath. "I... went to get the drink, like I said," you begin, fidgeting with the zipper on his glove. "When a group of people kind of cornered me at the bar. They seemed nice at first, they were asking questions about me, about us, which I know you said to expect, but then..." Your eyes prickle, he can see fresh tears well up as you speak. Homelander slips a hand to your back, rubbing it, his brow furrowed.

Sounds like someone's going to die tonight.

"One of them commented on my dress, she said that... Vought must not be used to dressing women my size," you say, voice falling quieter with every word. New tears fall. Homelander's jaw tenses. He looks away from you, blinking back that familiar crimson burn. "They all started laughing, and I just wanted to disappear," you say, a tight little sob escaping your throat as Homelander pulls you in against his chest, rubbing your back. "I'm sorry I didn't-" "No," Homelander interrupts, his anger making the word sound harsher than he intended. "No," he says again, correcting himself to be gentler. This rage isn't for you, after all. "No apologies. Let's get you cleaned up, alright? Get back out there." Someone is definitely going to die tonight. You tense up, pushing back from his arms to look up at him. "Please, I'd really like to just go home." "We will," he assures you, smoothing his hands up and down your arms. "Soon. I want you to show me the group who spoke to you."

"I don't want to cause a scene," you plead, flattening your hands to his chest. "They're not worth it." "No, they're not. But you are," he says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. He holds you firm until he feels you begin to melt, yielding to the warmth of him. By the time he draws back, you look sufficiently pliant. "Okay," you say quietly. He bites back a predatory smirk. "Nothing too dramatic, please?" You plea, leveling him with an attempt at a firm look, despite your big teary eyes. "Me? Dramatic?" He asks, feigning outrage. "I mean it," you stress, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There it is, Homelander thinks. There is not a single heinous thing he would not do to see you smile. "Relax," he purrs. "I'll handle this."

When the two of you return to the event floor, it only takes you a moment to point out the offending group. With a hand wrapped securely around your waist, Homelander brazenly guides you to them. He feels you squeeze his hand anxiously, but he isn't the least bit deterred.

"Heyyy, what's up!" Homelander greets boisterously, bulldozing into their conversation with the friendliest of tone. Only you are wise enough to recognize the venom dripping from the corners of his mouth. His canines glint sharply in the light, as if eager for a bloody meal.

The air is strange, a mixture of drunken excitement and surprised nervousness. It's not every day Homelander himself steps into your conversation. A few of them look at you before they exchange glances, but clearly enough alcohol has been imbibed that they're feeling brave. They don't see the danger they're in. Homelander runs his tongue along his teeth. You clueless fucking idiots.

"Homelander, oh my god! I was hoping to run into you," one of the women announces. He can smell the liquor on her breath when she leans in, putting a bold hand on his arm opposite to the one he holds you with. "I'm such a fan, you have no idea. I've seen every one of your movies," she says, flushed giddy.

"Always great to meet such a dedicated fan," he says, lying through his teeth. A glance through her bag gives him exactly what he needs; her Vought security badge. She works in communications. "Kathleen, right? In Communications," he says, pointing a finger at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he's just now recalling this information. "Oh, I-wow, yes! I can't believe you know who I am," she says, glancing back at her companions.

"I try to know everyone I work with," he lies smoothly, subtly shrugging her hand off of his shoulder, placing his hand on his hip. Not all of them work for Vought, but each of them has their ID on them. A quick flit of his super powered vision between them is all it takes for him to know each and every one of them.

Homelander cocks his head to the side, giving her a once over. Her dress is richly patterned, a myriad of black, white and red. The belt bears a familiar double C logo.

“Wow, Kathleen, look at you. Chanel, huh? Oh, wait…,” he stops himself, leaning forward to take a better look at the details of the dress. He clicks his tongue, standing straight. “Nooope, I misspoke. Chanel doesn’t bleed. Not a bad knock-off, though,” he says with a brief downturn of his lips, shrugging. Immediately, all eyes fall on Kathleen. There are a couple of stifled giggles and some childish oohh's. The man to her left, seeming eager to play along with Homelander’s little game of Mean Girls, readily chimes in, “Busted.” “I’d be quiet if I were you, Chuck,” Homelander says, rounding on the man so sharply, his laughter falls immediately silent. The shock on his face is understandable. He doesn't work for Vought. Homelander has no right knowing his name. “I can smell the red paint on the bottom of those misshapen Johnston & Murphy’s you’re trying to pass off as Louis Vuitton. Now that’s embarrassing.” This time, no one’s laughing. There’s no mirth left in Homelander’s voice, and they've all finally realized it. His gaze is drifting from one potential prey to the next, his mouth set in an unyielding line. He lifts his brows, waiting for them to continue their jeering.

“What? No one has anything to say to that? How about you, Jason?” He asks, startling one of the other men. “Why don’t we talk about those fucking ugly veneers of yours? I mean, god damn. I’ve never seen a more square smile in my life. It’s like staring at white slatwall every time you open your mouth.” Homelander begins to laugh. The sound of it is thorned, vicious to behold. “Aww, c’mon, don’t be so fucking sensitive. You wanted to have a laugh at my girl, right? Let’s laugh, then,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to snap his fingers impatiently, demanding, “Laugh!” Like a bark from an obedient dog, a single man amidst the group forces a stilted laugh. Homelander hones in on him with the precision of a seeking missile, dropping his hand. Deadpan, he asks, “Something funny, Jim?” Jim audibly gulps. “Y-you said-” "Y'see, that's your problem. You're all just a bunch of fucking sheep, so desperate to be seen as somebody, you end up being no one at all. If you put half the effort you put into kissing ass into a personality, you might be a fraction as interesting as she is," he says, gesturing to you with the hand he doesn't have holding you close.

"But instead you prop yourselves up on all this..." Homelander spins his hand loosely through the air before sighing, "Bullshit. It's boring. You're all so fucking boring and miserable with yourselves. You reek of it," he says, lip twitching in a near snarl. "Go. Get the fuck out of my tower,” he rumbles, voice set low. “All of you. Before I throw you off the balcony myself.”

There's a pregnant pause before Homelander snaps, "Now!" Like roaches, the lot of them scatter. Homelander watches them with a sneer. He would have preferred literally tearing them apart, but it's neither the time nor the place. "Holy shit," you whisper. Homelander hums quietly, turning to look down at you. Before he can say a word, you grab hold of the back of his neck and kiss him absolutely senseless. He grins against your lips, turning to pull you properly into his arms. His ego swells immediately, the kiss speaking volumes. You're pleased. Pleased with him. He greedily soaks up the feeling of your body against his, lips moving against yours, eager to chase away the salt smell of your tears with something a little more salacious. The two of you break apart before the kiss becomes any more scandalous than it already was, the buzz of the crowd around you dulled by the fervency pulsing between your bodies. "That was... the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me," you whisper, your heart beating heavily in your chest.

"That so? Might not be for long. This dress on your body has been driving me positively wild. All. Night. Long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. You bite your lip, inhaling a sharp, flustered little breath. "Can we get out of here yet?"

"You're damn right we can," he says, kissing you again.

That night, Homelander fucks you in and out of the dress. The truth of it is that whether you're dressed to the nines or laid completely bare, he will always be wild for you. You're beautiful, you're his through and through, and he's going to make sure every inch of you knows it.

He can deep fry those morons another night.

[queen--kenobi]

Not to jump on the discourse train but like. Y'all. Y'all do know being fat in medieval times was not only a beauty standard but also an indicator of class, right? Y'all do know it was seen as a positive thing because it meant you didn't have to work all day? Y'all do know being thin was only just recently seen as the beauty standard to emulate right?

Y'all do know being fat is morally neutral, right? And stretch marks are morally neutral too? That all of that is natural? That it's not indicative of a moral failing???

[klapollo]

it will never NOT piss me off that i work hard to be healthy and take care of my body in the way everyone tells you to -- gym five days a week, lifting weights, lots of movement, drinking mostly water and doing it consistently and regularly, eating a balanced high protein diet with lots of fruit and vegetables -- and im still thick. these asinine fatphobic insults cant hit me because they do not apply. "go to the gym" already do "eat a salad" already do "stop binging" already do "dont drink soda" already do "dont eat fast food for every meal" i eat one cheeseburger a month max. so what do we do now detective shitfornuts

[fates-theysband]

not to be an oversensitive fatty but does anyone else find it infuriating when they see halloween fanart of something and the only fat character is also the only one in a food-related costume? like wowwww that's REALLY INTERESTING that you decided they should be a pumpkin or a chef or whatever, i'm sure that didn't come from any preconceived notions about fat bodies