You Fucking With Fat Bitches?

Prey-sludge so thick it actually protects new prey from being digested.

arctic merman and lost arctic explorer

[i will turn this into a comic eventually i promise]

"g-good g-g-god it's freezing out here"

"yknow my mouth is always open if you wanna hop in~ i mean it's warm...and uh...warm"

"i i w-will not feed myself to you, you perverted s-s-siren"

"aw cmon...it's so sad seeing you all cold like this when my organs are right here. i mean they're super warm. doesn't being wrapped up in a sack of flesh inside my tummy sound comfy?"

"i won't yield myself to an agent of the devil! also that does not sound nice at-t-t-t all

[gurgle] "it gets a lot colder at night..."

"..."

"but my tummy stays nice and warm. i mean look at this blubber, it's not just for show~"

"f-fine! you can eat me!"

minors dni

In honor of tumblr banning feedism let's take a moment to remember Sherlock Holmes being like "hello Watson every time I see you your waistcoat's a little bit tighter, and I'm noticing that a normal amount" in like 1890. Lighting a candle. Pouring one out for the noticing it a normal amount community

shirt..

hi tummy enjoyers where are you guys gimme motivation to draw

Scenario: Pred eats their intended target, but in a domino effect of eliminating witnesses, ends up terribly full~

Absolutely Not | Not My Thing Personally | Not Very Much | Neutral | Somewhat | Quite A Bit | Absolutely Adore

the ditzy pred slowly realizing that what they thought was the perfect ambush spot, no escape for the prey, also means there’s no easy escape for them, and people just keep coming in a gasping dramatically when they see the belly…

this is such a fun spot between willing and unwilling pred. yes, they fully intended on eating the first one, but good lord do they wish these idiots would stop coming~

the pred tries out a new lie/excuse with each witness, hoping against hope it’ll work, but the lie is spoiled by a uncontainable belch or a muffled shout for help, and the pred can only groan in consternation before stuffing yet another meal into their aching, crowded tummy

feedism is hilarious because it sounds so wildly wholesome in some regards. like oh you like making sure your partner eats well? or you like it when your partner does the same for you? you like eating together? what a fucking deviant. what a perv. i bet you probably like hand-making little cards that say "i love you" too, don't you, you absolute sex freak. wait no post cancelled i just thought about a feeder slipping romantic notes into generous packed lunches for their feedee every day and now i'm getting hard

Whoops! I'm re-addicted to Tumblr!

M 24 he/him. No pedos, bigots, assholes, or minors

Fandom blogs may be blocked

I do not reblog irl content here

If characters in a post I share are from a fandom, I'll tag it #fandom

where my stoner preds who ate their buddies and tapped out only to wake up to someone beating the shit out of their insides the next morning at

pest control

The call comes in just past noon. A woman, frantic, says she’s spotted a colony of tinies scurrying around her attic. Probably have been living up there for months, stealing crumbs, making little tunnels in the insulation. She wants them gone—immediately.

“Fast, effective removal,” you assure her over the phone, slipping on your jacket.

“No mess, no chemicals or poison.”

It’s a warm day, and you feel good, stomach still light from the morning. Your last job had been a modest infestation—three tinies in a crawlspace. They’d gone down easy, barely noticeable in your stomach. You could go for something bigger.

it was lunch time after all

The house is tidy, suburban, white shutters, flower beds neatly trimmed. The woman meets you at the door,

“I heard them moving all last night,” she says, ushering you in. “It’s disgusting.”

You nod, but you don’t share her disgust. Tinies aren’t much of a problem—not for you, anyway. You dont think they're gross.

In fact, you find them delicious.

You climb up to the attic, flashlight sweeping over boxes and dust-covered trunks.

you hear—the light, skittering sounds of tiny feet, racing around, trying to stay hidden. You don’t bother setting traps or luring them out. You’ve done this enough to know how to catch a tiny with your own hands.

“I know you’re in here,” you murmur. “Let’s not make this difficult.”

A rustle. One of them bolts—you see it, definitely a tiny- not a rat or anything else, maybe six inches tall. Its darting for a gap in the wood.

You lunge, faster, and scoop them up. They squirm in your palm. You don’t waste time. A quick toss, a parting scream, and then the tight, familiar sensation of something sliding down your throat.

You swallow, and feel the tiny land heavily in your stomach.

More movement in the attic.

there’s no escape.

Another darts for a box, and you catch them just as easily. One by one, they disappear down your gullet, bulging your throat for a moment before joining the others.

You pat your stomach as it begins to stretch, filled with wriggling, panicked tinies.

By the time you finish, you’re full—pleasantly so.

The attic is silent again, no more scurrying. Just you now, satisfied, stuffed, as you climb down.

The woman looks at your middle. She swallows. “You—uh. You got them all?”

You smile, wiping the corner of your mouth. “All taken care of.” you pat your full belly.

She pays you in cash. You head back to your truck, rubbing your belly as it gurgles over its new contents. Another job well done.

You pull out of the driveway, and head back towards the city, one hand on the wheel, one resting on your stuffed stomach.

You'd give yourself a break, you needed time to dispose of the pests properly. You never wanted to show up to a job already full.

You had another client scheduled in the evening. For now, you pulled into a roadside cafe

It's a favourite of yours, whenever you're in this area. A perfect place to hang around and digest.

You take a seat in the corner, shifting slightly to accommodate the fullness in your stomach. The tinies are settling now, movement staggering as digestion takes its course. You rest a hand over your gut, feeling the occasional twitch beneath your palm.

A waitress comes by, chewing gum, pen poised over her notepad. "What can I get ya?"

"Just coffee," you say. You don't need food.

In a few minutes, your drink arrives.

You sip your coffee, eyes half-lidded, and let yourself sink into the feeling. You do kinda like your job.