zachmannyw

[zachmannyw]

mystery saja seems like the type to eat with reckless abandon. just endlessly going, even if someone points it out he doesn’t see what’s wrong with it

I just think he'd eat the most disgusting combos of food.

[zachmannyw]

wtf is wrong with my microwave bro

[zachmannyw]

rudy is in the hospital because asgore fucked him too hard last time

[zachmannyw]

God I’m so fucking horny I need someone to fuck me in my fat swampy disgusting ass while I shove my face full of food any volunteers

[zachmannyw]

THAT'S your work shirt? You gotta be kidding me.. you might as well show up to the office I spandex. It's like you want everyone knowing how high you stack the plate every lunch - coming back looking like a damn balloon.

Hey as long as I just don’t eat anything and don’t move around at all it fits okay! But I seriously can’t move or eat anything or it starts to ride up immediately

I just look so big now that I bet they wouldn’t be surprised if I ate myself out of my shirt during lunch either 😫

Like could you imagine a coworker who already looks fat comes back from lunch unable to fit in their shirt properly 🥵 like damn what a fucking obese gluttonous fatass they’d be…

[zachmannyw]

I think its past lunchtime and your fat meaty blob of a gut deserves a hearty lunch after all the abuse you put it through yesterday. You've probably already eaten, you're entirely out of control at this point...

I shouldn’t have but had a a bunch of bbq despite not being hungry at all 🥵

Shirts just too small so gotta let the fat full gut out in the car 😫

This meaty blob of a gut is being fed way too much 😫

[zachmannyw]

Orb

[zachmannyw]

I gotta start reeling it back in cause all these nonstop binges are seriously sticking to me now wtf. I did not know I was looking this round. I’m gonna get so much shit from people if they see me waddling around with this giant keg now.

Fuck it’s just too easy to overeat until I can’t breathe. It’s not my fault I’m getting such a bit of a gut from it all. Like there’s so many burger places now and I can just go in and order a fucking stupid amount. And other than a weird look they’d just bring it right to me to then just gorge on.

As soon as I get to my order my brain just starts to panic. Whatever the rational part says, the food crazed part just makes me double it. That way I know I’ll have enough to fully packed with food.

And then I go and stuff it all down, taking bite after bite, knowing I’m not even hungry. But I feel how big my gut is in my lap and I just want to eat for the sake of having MORE.

Halfway through gorging I don’t even crave the taste of the burgers or whatever I’m eating. I just crave that there’s more FOOD I can pick up and shove into my mouth, and gulp down into my big fat gut.

It’s insane that it’s just because of some dark greedy desire to just be stuffed full of food. I wake up and look the mirror and I’m shocked at how much bigger my gut looks. I mean it should be obvious right? But then I go and just stuff my fat face with MORE later that night because that’s all I know how to do.

I gotta figure something out or I’m gonna need help getting out of my car 😫

[zachmannyw]

Fat boy 80s heart throb 🍇🌱🌊

[zachmannyw]

I think my clothes shrunk some in the wash. Hopefully my other outfits are fine

[zachmannyw]

Things go a little messy 😉

[zachmannyw]

😍

https://www.instagram.com/leopapacito?igsh=aTBxaXR4cGNpMXV5

[zachmannyw]

Can you tell bro joined a frat ?

[zachmannyw]

You’re out of control

you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried.

It’s like you have two different personalities. One of them wants to go to the gym, eat normal portion sizes, fit into their clothes, stop eating when their full, have the will power to say no, and ignore the pleasure you’d get from growing bigger.

But that’s not the side of you that you listen to. Instead you’re eating constantly, perpetually looking forward to the next opportunity to stuff your fattening figure full of more calories. Surrounding yourself with fattening treats, staying sedentary, moving your legs out of the way so your belly has more room to stuff food into your ever expanding middle. You’re hopelessly addicted to succumbing to your every last desire.

You’re going to be so fucking huge and you know it, there’s no point in trying to slow down or change course. No matter how long you’re able to stay away, you’ll always come crawling back to this side of you. Desperate for more, more fat, more food, more pleasure.

You’re so unbelievably out of control that even while you’re reading this you can feel the desire growing. Practically begging you to give in. So do it. You’re going to be helplessly huge no matter what you do.

[zachmannyw]

me too!

Why am I salivating at the thought of drinking 2 gainer shakes every day next week?! 🤤

[zachmannyw]

slob (non-consensual)

(Don’t say I didn’t warn you. CW: implied weight gain. slob. sensory descriptions. encouragment.)

I hate to break it to you, but you’re going to be such a slob when you get fat.

I know, I know, you’re not actually going to be that sloppy, surely those folks just don’t care about their appearance, and a nice, put-together fatass is pretty hot anyway, right?

Sorry, but I just don’t think that’s going to be you. I’m sure you’ll start with great intentions, you might even try to keep up your clothes with your rapidly expanding body, but sooner or later everything is going to catch up with you.

Do you think you’re going to want to buy new clothes when you outgrow your shirts again, especially as your appetite necessitates that food budget ballooning? Or will it be easier to let your standards just…drift a little?

It might start small - you wouldn’t normally wear a shirt that makes your tits that prominent, but maybe it’s okay just for a few weeks to wear ‘em a little taut, maybe Christmas is coming up and that holiday indulgence can get covered up with some money afterwards, and you can get away with wearing an extra sweater (that’s also tight…)

You’re already used to that feeling of you being stuffed into clothes like a sausage, it makes it easier to accept when you notice that your shirts sort of rest on top of your belly, coming to rest just past your overhang, making you look even bigger - it’s not like you dislike the look, and even though you’re supposed to make sure the hem of your shirt reaches your pants, you swear you just bought this shirt a few months ago, and you’re hoping it at least lasts a year or so…so you let it go.

Of course, once all your shirts start fitting like that, it might take you a bit longer to notice when a sliver of belly starts showing, too - at first, it’s your tightest shirts, and only when you raise your arms. You probably won’t even notice until you catch yourself stretching in a mirror as you’re about to head out. Of course, you’re already dressed at that point, and you don’t want to to dirty another shirt with your natural sweat…and that little give, that little relaxation, starts gaping wide open once that sliver shows itself more and more, and starts growing into an omnipresent curve instead.

What’s that? Oh, you’re not naturally sweaty? That’s okay. Fat-You will be. Don’t believe me? You know that hot, sticky feeling of skin-on-skin, friction meeting body heat meeting perspiration, the kind that happens when getting intimate with someone while naked? Imagine that feeling across every inch of your yielding flesh.

Maybe it starts with your overhang pressing into your thighs, a joyful blossoming that’s also met with a new sweat patch. Or maybe your side rolls will start accumulating, sagging fat pressing into itself and trapping heat. There’s always the classic, too - fattened, increasingly insulated arms pressing against the sides of your fattened tits (the ones pressing into the front of your shirts), warmth and heat trapped in your new, space heater body. Eventually, your thighs will fight for space with your crotch fat too, you’ll have to fat-spread when you sit just to give a chance of getting some air.

Oh, you can try mitigating some of it - wearing extra layers (which obscure the sweat stains but insulate you even further), or caking yourself in deodorant. But face it. You’re going to be a sweaty fucking pig. Might as well enjoy it.

Speaking of those layers, you’re going to start to understand what fat fucks dress the way they do as you pack on the pounds. That aforementioned clothing budget is made a little easier with some elastic sweatpants, because at least your fat, blubbery ass won’t start hanging out of them for a little longer than usual. (Wondering what happens when you blow out the waist from over stretching? Yup, plumber’s crack.)

And even when you can find clothes that fit, you’ll find that taste goes down as Xs go up - did you think all big folks had no fashion sense? Nah, it’s because the only clothes that go past 3XL tend to be the most painfully generic brand T-shirts. You know the ones.

’Kickin’ it old skool’ in Comic Sans. Stock photo of an NES.

Star Wars Font:** ‘Big Daddy.’ **Clip Art Darth Vader.

Cartoon dog pointing. Speech Bubble: ‘VAXXED?’

Similarly, the act of bending over is going to go from difficult to untenable in the span of a few binges, and you’re going to love the ease of slipping into some cheap flip-flops once the thought of lacing a pair of shoes leaves you breathless.

Oh, yeah. Breathless. You’re going to have that fat fuck mouth breathing habit crop up, and it’ll get harder and harder to hide once a short walk leaves you winded, and walking and talking gets harder than it used to be.

Not even the most cartoonish acts of slovenly decadence will be completely obscurable - as that overhang grows, as that belly you’re going to be so proud of starts to fill your lap, you’re going to have an expanse to cross to get food to your mouth. And you know what that means, right? That’s right, tubby: food stains.

All of it will start to pile up - the stretched clothes and strained waistbands, the lethargy and the sweaty exertion, the sheer urge to no longer give a fuck…maybe you’ll start to realize - all those little things, that extra effort at your weight, will all be to try and placate people who don’t want to see past your size, to cater to tastes you don’t even share, to fit a model for your life you deliberately outgrew two sizes ago.

Then, you’ll realize - maybe those other fat fucks you’ve seen, maybe they haven’t given up. Maybe they merely chose to no longer squeeze into those imaginary rules. Maybe they’ve escaped.

Maybe that’s the feeling you’ve been chasing ever since you decided to get fat.

Personally, I think having some taco sauce spots just under your double chin will really accentuate the section of clefted belly wobbling under the bottom of your sweat-stained graphic tee, don’t you?

[zachmannyw]

Stinky Slobs

Erik and Vinny had always been a little proud of how well put together they were as a couple. Erik, the bigger of the two, had that clean-cut gym guy look with a broad chest, thick arms, and rectangular glasses that gave him a sharp, almost academic vibe despite his muscles. Vinny was the opposite: thin and stylish, with bleached streaks in his dark hair, earrings that glinted under the light, and a wardrobe filled with pastel sweaters and fitted jeans. Between Erik’s steady, strong presence and Vinny’s colorful charm, they looked like the kind of couple who had it all figured out. Their apartment reflected that too   spotless surfaces, candles on the counter, laundry always folded neatly in drawers.

But all that started to unravel one Friday night.

They’d both been lounging on the couch after dinner, a movie paused while Vinny scrolled through his phone. “Babe, you have to see this clip,” Vinny said, his voice bright. Erik leaned over, chuckling. As Vinny tapped the screen, a weird flash of static replaced the video, followed by a low, almost whispery voice.

“Why keep trying so hard? Just relax. Be normal. Be messy. Let go.”

They both blinked at the screen. “Uh… what was that?” Vinny asked with a nervous laugh.

“Some dumb ad?” Erik shrugged, but for some reason, the words wouldn’t leave his head. Something about letting go felt heavy and strangely inviting. He stretched his broad arms over his head, feeling the familiar tightness of his muscles, but instead of pride, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. “Man,” he muttered, “I’m sick of working out all the time.”

Vinny looked up at him. “Wait, really? You love that stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Erik mumbled, slumping further into the couch. “But… I dunno. Feels like too much effort, y’know?”

At first, the changes were subtle. Erik rubbed at his chest and realized the lines of his pecs weren’t as defined. His muscles felt softer, his stomach just slightly less firm. He frowned but then shrugged. “Whatever. Who cares,” he muttered, scratching lazily at his side.

Vinny, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably. His jeans felt tight across his thighs in a way they hadn’t that morning. He tugged at them, confused. “Uh… Erik, I think my legs are like… thicker?”

“Thicker?” Erik repeated with a smirk. “Good for you, dude. Maybe you’re bulking up.” The word “dude” slipped out naturally, and he didn’t even notice how strange it sounded compared to the affectionate “babe” he usually used.

Vinny tried to stand, but his jeans pinched. With an annoyed grunt, he yanked them off and tossed them aside. “Ugh. Whatever. Pants are overrated anyway,” he muttered, plopping back down in just his underwear. Erik didn’t even tease him for it   in fact, seeing Vinny lounge around like that gave him a strange sense of relief, like they didn’t have to try anymore.

It didn’t stop there. The apartment had always smelled faintly of lavender from Vinny’s candles, but now the air felt heavy, almost stale. Erik’s shirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat from doing nothing but sitting on the couch. He sniffed his armpit and frowned, then shrugged. “Guess I’m kinda rank,” he said with a laugh. “Too lazy to shower though.”

Vinny wrinkled his nose, but the smell didn’t really bother him like it used to. “You are kinda ripe,” he said, giggling. Then, to Erik’s surprise, Vinny lifted his own arm and gave himself a sniff. “Huh… I guess I’m not exactly fresh either.” Instead of rushing to shower, they both just laughed about it.

Their tidy apartment started to suffer. Vinny dropped his sweater on the floor and didn’t bother picking it up. Erik kicked his sneakers off near the couch, leaving them in the middle of the room. “I’ll clean it later,” he muttered, but neither of them did.

By the next day, their transformation had only gotten worse. Erik woke up with his hair sticking up in every direction, and instead of reaching for his usual clean outfit, he pulled on the same sweatpants he’d worn the night before. They smelled faintly like his own sweat, but he didn’t care. Vinny, meanwhile, grabbed a baggy hoodie and sniffed it. It had that musty, unwashed scent, but instead of tossing it in the laundry, he shrugged. “Eh, it’s fine,” he muttered.

Their once carefully curated outfits were now replaced with old gym shorts, stretched-out shirts, and socks that didn’t match. Erik scratched his chest absentmindedly, feeling the skin slightly tacky from not showering. “We should get breakfast,” he said, yawning.

“Or, like, order pizza,” Vinny suggested, grinning. “Less work.”

“Yeah, pizza,” Erik agreed instantly.

By Sunday, their apartment was unrecognizable. Dirty plates piled in the sink, crumbs littered the couch, and a faint but undeniable stink hung in the air: a mix of old food, unwashed clothes, and the lingering musk of two guys who’d barely left the couch. Vinny sat cross-legged on the floor, eating straight from a pizza box, his hoodie riding up over his growing thighs. “Man, I don’t think I’ve showered in two days,” he said with a laugh.

“Same,” Erik said, scratching his chest and yawning. “We’re gross, bro.”

“Yeah,” Vinny said with a grin, “but, like, who cares?” He leaned back and let out a loud, unapologetic burp.

Erik cracked up. “Nice one. Bet I can top that,” he said, grabbing a soda and chugging it before letting out a burp that shook his chest. They both laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Their hygiene habits quickly spiraled. Erik noticed that his armpits smelled even after he’d changed shirts, not that he was changing often anymore. “Guess I’m just… permanently funky now,” he joked. Vinny snorted. “Dude, I think I’m sweating through my hoodie, like, constantly.”

“Yeah, you’re kinda stinky,” Erik teased, but there was no judgment in his tone. In fact, he leaned over and exaggeratedly sniffed Vinny’s armpit, making a face. “Whoa, man, you reek.”

Vinny laughed, shoving him. “Like you’re any better!”

Erik lifted up his leg and shot out a reeking fart.

PPFFFFFRRRBRBBBTTTT

By the end of the week, the couple that once looked like an Instagram ad for style and fitness had completely disappeared. Erik’s muscle definition had softened; he had a slight pudge forming where abs used to be. His rectangular glasses were smudged, and his hair was perpetually messy. Vinny’s once-skinny frame had bulked up in all the wrong places, his thighs and hips thick and awkward, his sweaters stretched tight across his torso.

The apartment had transformed into a pigsty. Dirty laundry sat in piles on the floor. Half-empty soda cans and crumpled chip bags covered the coffee table. The air was warm and stale, carrying the smell of sweat, food grease, and just a hint of sour socks from Erik’s sneakers.

They didn’t even care anymore.

“Yo,” Erik said, leaning back into the couch cushions with a groan. “I don’t think we’ve cleaned anything in, like, a week.”

Vinny grinned. “Yeah. Just everything is so stinky…huhuh awesome.”

And with that, they both burst out laughing again, sinking deeper into the messy comfort of their new lives, two lazy, smelly college boys who couldn’t care less about who they used to be.