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How's the holding going? When's the actual last time you shat, and how long do you think you're going to go?

im really not sure, I've been kinda awful at memory recall lately, what with mental health and all. Nothing bad's happening, I'm actually pretty good! My mind's just a little dysfunctional.

On the subject of holding, I actually went just a few minutes ago (whoops). I woke up on autopilot as usual and just let out a big, dense shit 💦 felt like a big weight lifted off my bloated belly

I wish I were better at holding, I guess I'm just always busy or paranoid about health, timing, convenience, etc. it's also that it usually only feels good when I'm actively horny :/

Sorry I'm not very good at writing lately, I'll try to get better. Please be patient with me in the meantime everyone :)

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Ok so I've been dead yeah ummm totally normal

Anyway I need to poop really bad rn and I have no obligations for the next couple of days! Yk what time it is ;)

I could use the toilet anytime I want but holding it back feels so good... I should drink some psyllium husk.

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Single mother with 2 injured children trapped under IOF fire in north Gaza—evacuation and treatment needed NOW!!

Maha and the children were not able to evacuate before the IOF surrounded their area. They are under fire NOW.

Little Khalil has been injured after the lOF rigged a nearby house to explode. Then while seeking shelter, the lOF fired gas canisters at them. They were unable to escape the gas, and now Joan is struggling to breathe!

They need funds for transportation, rent, and treatment for Joan’s breathing problems! In total, this means the amount they require is $2,300 USD. However, we are going to split this goal up. We will focus first an raising funds for transport and rent, totaling $1,700 USD

PLEASE share the family's situation and GFM link across all your social media accounts!

Current: €26,655 EUR

New temporary goal: €28,148 EUR

Need to raise: $1,700 USD, about €1,493 EUR

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What Strength Really Means 💪

Hey everyone, my name is Abdelmajed. I don’t usually talk much about myself, but today, I want to share a little piece of my story.

I was born and raised in Gaza, a place that has always been my home 🏡. I grew up surrounded by my family, my friends, and the streets that I knew like the back of my hand. Life wasn’t always easy, but we had love, laughter, and dreams. I used to think that no matter what happened, home would always be here. But life has a way of changing things in ways we never expect.

Over the past months, everything I once knew has disappeared. The streets that were once filled with children playing are now silent. The houses that held so many memories are now just rubble. And the people I loved—some of them are gone forever. 💔

And I'm now waiting to be Vetted by @gazavetters 🙏

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My Journey to Escape the War in Gaza

My name is Abdelmajed. I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.

The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Basic needs have become luxuries. Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.

I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.

Escape from Gaza is my only hope, but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.

I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.

Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety. Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.

Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.

Vetted by @gazavetters

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You’re hungry. You should eat.

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not into omo personally but i could never be a hater. who among us can say they don't like whimpery little faggots getting shy and embarrassed?? different roads perhaps, but our destination is the same. i love you.

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I just weighed myself and i crossed the 230 mark. It’s the heaviest I’ve been since breaking up with my feeder boyfriend. And I really don’t mind. I’m actually trying to get to 250 by April.

I wish I lived in America, somewhere hot like Houston or Arizona. All those buffets, all those little Debbie cakes, the fast food 😍 being able to lie on the beach In a string bikini with my ass gobbling up the bottoms and my lard poring out of the too small pieces of fabric as everyone points at the beached whale 😍

God, if I did live there I’d easily be 300lbs within 6months. I’d find a slave to fund my fast food diet. A slave that wants to get me fatter, plumper, fat jiggling and swaying when I walk. They’d drive me from restaurant to restaurant and order a dozen dishes, take me to buffets and stuff the food into my mouth as sauce and oil drips down my chin.

Even as my breathing gets heavy , they continue to feed me, until I’m so full and uncomfortable.

Imagining i had just finished polishing 5 heaping plates at Golden Corral for dinner, following a huge Taco Bell lunch with multiple burritos and tacos, and a huge fried chicken and waffles plate for breakfast. I have to waddle back into the car and unbutton my pants to stop my gut from exploding the button off when I sit. Even as I’m painfully bloating and asking to go home, my feeder tells me they have a surprise. They take me to an ice cream shop and get me an XL milkshake. We both know I’m lactose intolerant but it’s such a hot day that I guzzle it down.

As they drive, they take their sweet time, knowing that as I digest all that unhealthy food and dairy, I’ll get so gassy.

The windows are up and I begin sweating, so I try to roll them down, but the window controls are on. They look over at me and hear a long and loud groan from my overpacked belly and grin. They know what that sound means and I wince as I feel a cramp. My belly is bloating even bigger with gas. My feeder keeps the windows locked so as to keep the smell of my soon to come rancid farts in and lingering.

They drive painfully slow as I struggle to keep the gas in. But my belly is whining and pushing me to expel some of it. I can feel sweat dripping down me as the hot Arizona sun turns the car into a real life hotbox. Sweat drips off my rolls and pools into my ass crack, causing a swampy mess.

They tell me I look uncomfortable and to ‘relax a little’. The pressure in my guts is too great and the moment I try to relax, my asshole unpuckers and gas starts rumbling out. I moan and press on my belly as my overstuffed bowels deflate a little. The farts are loud and hot and leave a plume of musk in the air. But it feels too good to stop. The dairy and Taco Bell are truly doing a number to my poor digestive tract.

“That’s it, baby, let that sweaty hole sing for me” they say, pressing on my groaning gut. The farts are slapping out of me but the pressure is still somehow building too fast.

The farts sound so wet and bubbly due to all the sweat in between my huge cellulite ridden ass cheeks.

“I really don’t feel well. Take me home,” I say, as my belly emits a loud pained groan.

“Does piggy need to use the toilet after eating too much?” They ask with a smirk, knowing full well my stomach is churning and will soon be pushing out their dinner in this car if I don’t get to a restroom.

“Yes…My stomach hurts so bad. Please hurry up,” I say wincing.

. After half an hour driving around in a boiling hot car, drenched in sweat and stomach bubbling, I desperately need a toilet. I sit back , undo the zipper on my jeans all the way and roll my shirt up. I scoop up my gut and lay it atop the waist of the offending jeans, breathing heavily as I rub and try to coax out more gas. The sweat from under my rolls splashes as my doughy belly slaps onto my thighs.

The farts sound so wet and sloppy, and I could tell the wetness was not solely from the sweat filling my asscrack anymore. My farts are getting juicier, spraying my panties with little squelching doses of pre-diarrhea juice. I groan , knowing that if my lard ass doesn’t hit a toilet seat soon, my exhausted, slime-slicked hole is going to be inadvertently oozing diarrhea any minute.

By now , I can’t risk farting anymore because of how much slop has descended to rest onto my hole. The tight knot is quivering as I try my hardest to clench and hold back the deluge.

I see that my feeder is not taking me home. He’s going down some obscure path. Half of me is concerned about where I’m being driven but the other half is too busy praying my asshole can hold up until the car stops. Finally they stop onto the side of an isolated dirt road, with fields on either side. I want to look around to see if we stopped because there’s a gas station around, but I can’t move for fear of everything coming out.

“We’re here,” they say.

“What do you mean? This isn’t a joke!” I rub my heavily gurgling gut, hearing all that digested food begging to escape. “ I really need to use the toilet. Please,” I beg, “ I don’t want to ruin another pair of pants. This is the last pair I have that fits!”

“Just barely,” they grin sadistically . “ You want to stuff yourself into growing fatter and fatter? Until your clothes bust off of you and I gotta buy you a new pair? You want to eat like a pig? Then, you’ll be treated as a pig, and pigs use the field as their toilet.

“No, but—“ I am about to argue to take me to an actual bathroom, but a sick rumble deep in my gut interrupts me and my feeder looks at me, knowing he’s won.

“Sounds like you have no choose, piggie. If I were you , I’d pull down those pants quick because it sounds like your shitter is about to blow.”

He’s right. I can’t even scowl at him before another glugging sound tells me I have seconds. I toss the car door open, and stumble out of the stifling gas cloud. My body is coated in sweat, and my asshole in clenched so tight that I can barely get out of the car.I waddle only a few yards before I rip down my pants and peel my sopping panties down. Bending over, I part my cheeks to show my deep crack dripping with sweat.

I point my ass away from the car and without even pushing, the moment I unclench, the built up pressure forces a jet of pure liquid shits to shoot out of me and lands 5 feet away.

“Ohhh, fuck. My stomach,” I groan as it pushes out wave after wave of slop. My feedee has now gotten out of the car and is admiring his work as my incredibly overfilled bowels empty everything he’s stuffed me with.

But my stomach isn’t the only part of my body in pain. All that Taco Bell is searing my ass, it’s leftover just as hot coming out as it was going in. My eyes are closed and teeth gritted as I blast out more. I groan as I clutch my stomach and push down. The farts in between waves of diarrhea sputter more shit out.

I end up squatting as the slop flow slows. The pile under me is massive, and my hole is still oozing more.

Finally after 15 minutes, my asshole begins dry heaving, signalling that I’m just about empty. Farts still rumble out of my tired hole, but for now I feel done.

“Good pig,,” my feeder says. “ look at how much you ate all emptied out. “ I wasn’t sure if I had emptied everything out but my bowels deflated enough to give me unbelievable relief.

They get on their knees and begin the task of licking off the mess that is my backside. After I’m cleaned up , we get back into the car and begin in the direction of home. But not before my gut emits a low burble and my hole puffs out subconsciously. A cramp hits me and suddenly I’m clenching and praying the ride home is quick.

“Let’s get you home and milk out the rest of the slop in that big belly”.

———//

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unnghhhhh

Feed meeee

I'm so hungryyyyyyyyyy

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[CW: this is a hunger kink story. contains painful hunger. character is able to eat at the end]

T//M//A fic no one from the fandom should perceive

———

Jon hummed as he marked papers. Here in this Somewhere Else, he graded stories instead of recording them.

He tapped his fingers against his desk. It was strange to be teaching, but sort of wonderful at the same time.

As he reached over to grab a pen, he felt a wave of dizziness. Concerned, he slumped back into his chair and put a hand to his head. What was that?

He took a quick assessment of his body- light headed, not bleeding, not tired— there. There was a deep ache in his stomach. He prodded it just to make sure it wasn’t an external pain, and as his fingers sunk into the flesh it twisted under them, letting out a long rumble.

Oh. He was hungry. He forgot to eat sometimes, still used to not needing real food to sustain him. Martin always made sure he was getting enough, but lately their schedules meant they weren’t eating together much, only at dinner. It was 6pm now, and Martin wasn’t back yet.

Jon’s stomach growled painfully again, and he wrapped an arm around it, pushing into the hollow organ.

When was the last time he’d eaten? Definitely not any time that day. Must have been dinner last night.

He stood up carefully, and walked slowly into the kitchen. Opening the cabinets and drawers, he found nothing quick. Martin would cook when he got home, but Jon had never been much of one.

His belly twisted unhappily, and Jon rolled his eyes. It had gone through worse than a couple missed meals. He would just wait for Martin.

He was able to continue marking papers, rubbing small circles into his stomach to try to ease the hunger pangs it was inflicting on him.

Martin got home around 7, and came to kiss him hello.

“How was your day?” Jon asked.

Martin shrugged. “Not bad. You?”

Jon gestured to his desk. “Productive.”

Martin laughed. “Aren’t you always. I was gonna make some dinner, have you eaten?”

Jon shook his head, choosing not to add that he in fact hadn’t eaten since the previous night. His stomach panged again, but stayed mercifully silent. Jon slid his hand under his shirt to rub it.

Martin walked over to the kitchen, examining the options. “Pasta or soup?” He asked.

Jon pressed a palm to his tummy, which grumbled under his hand at the mentions of food.

Damn, he was starving. “Pasta,” he said decisively. It would be much faster.

Martin looked over at him, pleasantly surprised. Jon usually refused point blank to make most decisions, and had to be coerced into voicing opinions.

Jon pressed his palm deeper into his stomach, trying to ease the gnawing hunger, and shrugged.

“Pasta it is,” Martin agreed.

Jon walked over to sit at the kitchen stools and watch him. It was also convenient in that the stools were a little too short, allowing him to rub his cramping belly in secret behind the counter. He didn’t like to worry Martin any more than necessary.

Martin chattered about his day, and Jon responded in kind, laughing at the way Martin described his colleagues and customers. He had gotten so much more animated out here, like the enthusiastic man Jon had first met in the archives.

In the joy of talking with Martin, he forgot his aching belly. Hunger did come in waves, which was why he hadn’t noticed it for so long, and the cramping feeling under his ribs seemed to be fading temporarily.

Jon relaxed more, talking about his students and the school. As Martin cooked, steam began to rise out of the pot. As it hit the air, so did the delectable smell of pasta.

It hit Jon’s nose while he was mid sentence, and a sharp pain pierced his hollow stomach. “So I said that- um-“ he trailed off as more of the smell reached him and his stomach twisted harder, making him almost double over in pain.

Martin looked over at him. “Are you alright?” He asked.

“Y-yeah,” Jon stammered, “just-” His stomach released in a rolling wave, letting out a deep groan that trailed off into a grumble and then a high pitched whine. “Hungry,” he finished, blushing and reaching back under his shirt to poke at his shrivelled belly again.

Martin stared at him, mouth open. “Was that your stomach?” He demanded, appalled. Jon nodded reluctantly. “Have you eaten today at all?”

“I forgot,” Jon said mournfully, as his stomach growled emptily again.

Martin sighed, putting the lid on the pasta to let it finish. Jon was grateful for a reprieve from the smell, but his neglected insides were well and woken up now, and would not give up so easily. They shifted under his palm.

Martin held out his arms. “C’mere.”

Jon did, sliding off the stool and walking around the counter to stand with his boyfriend. Martin manoeuvred himself so he was standing behind Jon, and wrapped his arms around him. He pushed his hands up and under Jon’s shirt, replacing Jon’s own hand in rubbing deep, placating circles into his throbbing stomach.

He pressed right where the muscles were tensing up with hunger pangs, releasing a couple more angry grumbles.

“You’re not happy Jon forgot to eat are you?” Martin asked, and Jon smothered a laugh. Of course Martin was a tummy-talker. “You’ve had to be cold and empty all day while he was working.” Martin’s fingers brushed over the concave space under Jon’s ribcage and he moaned, arching into his boyfriend’s touch. Martin moved his hand back, pressing his fingertips into the hollow pocket. Jon’s stomach clenched, then released in a loud gurgling whine of hunger.

“Is this helping?” Martin asked. “It kind of sounds like I’m making it angry.”

“Feels nice,” Jon murmured. “It’s angry at me, not you.”

Martin nodded against Jon’s shoulder, and continued to press circles into his belly. After a few minutes, he disentangled himself to get the pasta off the stove. Jon’s tummy immediately felt colder and emptier than it had before, and he went to sit down to avoid another wave of dizziness. He watched Martin plate the pasta, eagerly awaiting the warm food to fill the sore, pinched corners of his stomach.

Martin deposited a plate in front of him and motioned for him to dig in, which he did gratefully. The pasta slid into his belly easily, and it gave a last grumble at the first few bites, eagerly demanding more. Jon provided.

After a few minutes of eating ravenously and silently, he slumped back in his seat, tummy full. “Thank you,” he said to Martin, who smiled.

“Of course. I’m going to make sure you get all three meals tomorrow though.”

Jon smiled at him. “What would I do without you?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Starve, apparently.”

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Like to charge, reblog to cast

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I have like 9 outdated unanswered asks ughhhhh im sorry IDK what to do about themmmm

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hi everyone I'm sorry aaaaaa!!!!

Hi kernels!!! I'm sorry I dropped off of Tumblr for ages I got so busy with finals and personal stuff and mental things and ughhhh I'm overall great in life but just so tired and done and exhausted

I will update you all on my digestion at. Um. Some point :'3 and maybe share some stories that happened with me n my beloved partner ❤️

I just want everyone to know that I'm ok but I'm just... kinda lazy and ...mentally weird??? It's a mix of things, all undiagnosed ofc 😔✨✨✨

Btw, I did find out a lil while ago and I will be sharing this bc it doesn't affect my anonymity-- I will continue to use any pronouns (mainly she/he/they) bc I am apparently gender fluid :D and I'll update my pinned post about it.

Thank you so much everyone for your patience and understanding! Stay ethical, safe, and kinky!!!! ❤️💋

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I hope the holding is going well. Three days already. You must be so, so stuffed full, and you've still got at least three more to go. You have to let us know just how large your belly gets. Keep on going strong!

I'm not super uncomfy yet, but I can feel all the firm poop building up in my tummy. My colon feels all heavy and my farts are so warm and pungent 🥵

I've been so darn stressed and busy too, which definitely isn't helping 🫠 I think I'm gonna treat myself to as much food as I can while I work, and let it all out on Thursday.

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Hey everyone!

I'm so sorry my blog has been so dead, it's a mix of laziness and education 🫠 but I figured I should let you all know ....

During the past two days, I've had an unholy amount of rich hearty and fried foods, and I havent pooped since Friday 🥴 I can't promise much due to being incredibly busy, but I'm going to try to hold until this Thursday or Friday and try to release in public if I can!

Also sorry about my askbox my mental capacity is very low ugh 🫠😭

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some of u cum/feel pleasure so easily it makes me feel a little homicidal

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I miss when I would get Tumblr asks that actually said things and weren't just digital panhandling scams.