#boyeats

So, I thought of sharing some of my favorite artists in the domain of weight gain/chubby/stuffing/bloating art. 

I suggest you go check them out. Could be interesting, and who knows, maybe you’ll have some marvelous discoveries ;) 

And first a small mention about a comic that a Fur Affinity user that I think is no longer active made. Don’t remember the name of the comic, but the name of the artist was Barexbear, and this small comic was about a human boy turning into a giant pig warrior in a video game. I quite liked the transformation and the art. It is somewhere on Tumblr also, so go check it out. 

Now, on Deviantart I have to mention two artists that I like. But a mention: I don’t like everything they do. I just like some of their stuff, some of their drawings and some of their characters. The first one is RottenHeart6 and the second one is Densen813. 

And a mention to prisonsuit-rabbitman. Everybody must know him by now. However I have to say I used to like his art. Because now... let’s be honest, he creates drawing at an industrial rate, and it’s always enormous inhuman blobs. I used to like his first drawings, when they were more realistic and depicted much more enjoyable and lenghty weight gain sequences. 

And now for Tumblr:

I recently discovered @moxiebox and @boyeats , two blogs that I truly enjoy. 

I liked some old stuff of @pastel-pancakez (even though some of it was deleted by the artist), and also some stuff of @chubbyjoestars. 

And I’ll end this first “artists I like” article with my two favorite artists for now.

1- @fattlestacks. I follow her both on Tumblr and DeviantArt, on the main account and the side-kink account. Nearly everything she does is a delight for the eyes, and she makes great stories. So go take a look! Now! 

2- @verzisnsfwblog  A very talented artist. I even ordered a small drawing from him once... Maybe I should put it in this blog. 

your neuro-pathways just degraded listening to that. the documentary guy drones on and on in a voice to rival every self-obsessed male teacher with nothing truly meaningful to say you've ever had, describing all the intimate secrets of the overgrown fish swimming across needy's television right now. watch your only best friend from where you lay on your side across her bed like a string of diamonds, twice as expensive and five times easier to attain. even demonstrate something like patience as you listen to her speak over the documentary she thought would make such a great study backdrop. patience like a wolf in disguise. patience which keeps your gaze on her mouth as you wonder, wonder, wonder.❛ does science ever make you wet? ❜ smile something weaponized and defensive when she flashes a shocked expression your way. ❛ what? sorry, bill needy the science guy, i was just wondering if you actually get something out of knowing so much about the ocean's ugliest mermaids other than high fives from the nerd table and virginity. ❜ tap your pen against the notebook you've done little but doodle in, an overly detailed eye watching you from the page. ❛ come on. does it ever make you horny? does talking about sperm whales make you want to take a load yourself? ❜

what the hell, jen. your face drops, but you pick it up just as quick. every conversation with jennifer always feels like a knife fight where your hands are bound. she's quick to poke you again. jennifer loves sex, and you love jennifer ( like a friend ! ) but you know yourself, too. you'll have sex when you feel ready, and it won't be to the thought of whales. you think of your sixth grade school tour, where they took you to a museum and you stood in the rib-bones of a whale. you reached up to touch the porous bone, but at the last minute turned it into a wave for jennifer. you look at her clavicle and then your eyes flick back to her face.

you laugh, a little hurriedly. ❛ jennifer. ❜ you say, equal parts stern and disbelieving. but adoring. always, always giddy with adoration. you worry the second you stand up to her that she'll be gone. so you appease her as best you can. but you don't lie, either. right? ❛ you can love something for more reasons than sex. ❜ sandbox love never dies. you look down at jennifer's face and you're taken aback by her beauty. you always are.

a teenage demon — wrong. a teenage girl, life so cruelly ripped away and replaced by a demon. that's the correct way things had happened. jennifer stands, a vision of pink hell and y2k horror all wrapped up in a bow made of guts, saying things that she thinks lucy would possibly want to hear. he reaches a hand out, her fingers soft against the younger woman's skin. it'd be almost kind if there were any kindness left in him.

you can't rush jennifer. you've known that all your life, but this is nothing short of farcical. you're in the background of her car mirror, watching from afar while she reapplies her make-up to cover a stinging pink welt on her face. not that you're watching, per se. that's too intimate. you're... observing. something academic, almost dismissive. she's gotten older in the years since you last spoke, and so have you. the fluorescent light casts a ghoulish blue over all of it. her. you. the body rolled in the carpet. why did you come? you're a scholar of historical feminism. hardly someone useful to the current situation - chad, jennifer's husband, dead - but also someone who hardly seeks out heart-pounding, thrilling violent mystique. 'n- needy?' jennifer had called you, and you'd come. that's why. the second you'd heard the shake in her voice you were there.

you're stooped, hauling the carpet through the garage toward jennifer's truck - she drives, and you live in the city so you still haven't learned. your mom implores you every christmas, and you cite that that's exactly what big oil wants: more cars, guzzling gas and stepping on the neck of biospheres everywhere. you wish you could now, though. it isn't fair that she has to drive right now. it isn't safe, either. jennifer has had a glassy look in her eyes since you got here, only momentarily dispelled when she saw you. i

you. with your hoodie traded in for a collared shirt that hangs too loose around your neck, and jeans traded for unobtrusive slacks. your eyes once again drift back to observe jen. she's even thinner, and that nasty bruise on the side of her head aside, she's got the ability to make almost anyone believe she's leading a glamorous life. but you know her better. you know the dead man too, who you're lugging toward the door while she adds beauty product to her face that you, with your PhD, couldn't begin to figure out. this is just like school, where she'd leave the partnered projects all on you. anyway. you know jen best of all, and she's painfully unhappy. that's obvious to you because you made her happy first. jealousy flickers in you. you can't explain it.