James Duke
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Yoko Littner’s Heavy Retirement
🕑 Added 2024-05-30 01:23:24 +0000 UTCTags: Bittersweet story with allusions to mental health, stuffing, implied weight gain, Ussbbw, mobility struggles
Yo, I FUCKING love Gurren Lagann. Few things have ever been so impactful to me. So, I hope this story comes out well for you all.
--- Morning Routine ---
Yoko Littner struggled awake, moving in a fit of dreams and memories. Her arms flung back and forth clumsily as she reentered the waking world. Flab and blubber pummeled her many chinned face with every movement of her arms. Yoko’s sagging bicep curtains dragged across her billowing chest to slap her chubby cheeks. Her waking fit was calmed more by fatigue than it was by conscious thought. She lacked the strength to keep her arms held up for sustained periods of time. The chunky logs of blubber were most comfortable by Yoko’s side, merging with the rest of her flabby mass. Though, even with them now resting atop her belly, there was still residual movement. Yoko took shuddering breaths, exhausted from the small ordeal. Any amount of physical strain, however minor, made Yoko tired. There was simply no endurance to be had in her 800 pound body. Physical ability had long been replaced by fat, hundreds of pounds of soft blubber.
“Oooooh. . .BBBLOOORRUP. . .guess it’s time.” Yoko mumbled to the darkness. Her stomach roared, doing everything in its power to let the massive woman know that it needed filling. Yoko worked her lips, dancing to the strings of her gigantic appetite. Her stomach was a spreading curtain below her, so thick and warm that she did not need a blanket. The morbidly obese, mobility challenged woman used only a thin sheet for her hands to grip. Even that sheet did not cover her enormity in full. Knees ballooned with sagging fat and calves bigger than a man’s thigh sprouted from the bottom of the sheet. Likewise, full milk tanker breasts flowed out to either side of the modesty sheet. Increasing amounts of Yoko were exposed as she started the laborious process of exiting her bed.
Yoko’s bed was as much a pedestal as it was a prison. It was a throne for her fat to be displayed and a valley increasingly hard to escape from. Her mattress had long broken down, falling into a deep U-shaped curve. Her fat overfilled this depression, spreading now even onto parts of the mattress with firmness left. Through this fat-warmed valley Yoko rolled. She started by building momentum. No part of Yoko could be considered “fast twitch” anymore. The days of an athletic sniper were long behind her. She was a gluttonous mass of educator blubber, fit only for sitting at the head of the classroom and eating treats parents sent via the children. She rolled back and forth, slowly working gravity in her favor. Finally, she had enough momentum to roll out of the hole her weight had created. In a rolling storm of blubber, Yoko ended up at the very side of the bed. Her sheet was dragged along, stuck under a breast thrice as big as a person’s head. Yoko’s face was red as she twisted her legs off the mattress and sat up.
“Doesn’t. . .ah. . .get any easier.” Yoko breathed, talking about more than just leaving the bed. Thoughts of old battles and celebrations danced through her mind. A vastly different Yoko had helped save the world from galactic enemies. Those memories seemed both painfully near and far in the darkness of her bedroom. Kamina, Simon, and Nia were all so far away from her. Even Simon, the last member of the team still alive, had left to wander the earth. There were days when Yoko longed to chase after Simon, but there was little chance of that. Yoko could hardly manage to stand under her own power. Walking any further than the bedroom door was a nearly insurmountable challenge. Yoko shuddered, trying to get her breathing under control. Sweat ran between her folds, flowing like her unbidden memories and emotions. “What a mess.” She blew hair out of her eyes, sausage fingers pulling her long, vibrant red hair over a doughy shoulder. Yoko had always had an excessively long and full body of hair, now the rest of her had grown to match its excessiveness. She sat naked on the bed, stroking her hair and waiting for her endurance to come back. She watched as large rolls heaved in an out with every breath.
The moment of silence was interrupted by an alarm in the other room. “Guess I really have to get moving now. . .” Yoko said. That was the first of two alarms. The first marked the beginning of when she should be getting breakfast and the second marked when she should be leaving for the school. Having missed the first, Yoko imagined that she would be missing the second. She flexed her thick feet, testing them against the boards of her home. Only jiggles followed in response to her movements. Yoko again brought her arms up to grab a bar that had been installed along her wall. Forearms the size and softness of bread loaves struggled to bear the weight of Yoko’s mass. Her thick hands squeezed against the cool bar, heating it with their moist warmth. Yoko slowly began to rise, pulling her body away from the bed once more. It called to her, eager for a day when she could no longer leave it alone. Yoko knew that day was coming sooner than she liked. For now, however, she could channel her worry into breakfast.
--- Food For The Former Heroine ---
“Mmmgghph. . .oooh. . .BBBLOOOORRUUP!” Yoko ate like a pig. There was no other way to describe how she savaged the mountains of food piled onto the kitchen table. Her thick fingers grasped huge, reheated sandwiches. Sauce and meat slipped between her digits, splashing onto her gut. Yoko tried to eat standing, afraid about the time it would take to stand and get ready once more. She was naked. Unable to control herself or clean quickly, the teacher could not risk spilling food onto her dress. The pink and white dress hung in a corner, solemnly passing judgment on the state its owner was in. Yoko cared little, making sure that she ate until her stomach was close to bursting was her only goal. She hunkered down over the table more, not wanting a morsel to fall by the wayside.
Generous community members were largely the source of Yoko’s meals. Men and women who understood the pain that Yoko was going for donated their time and food to her. What had started as small tokens of thankfulness had grown to feasts. Houses throughout the community saved and prepared their best and most delicious food for the hoggish teacher to consume. They hoped that it brought some comfort to Yoko. Bereft of companions from the fight against the Anti-Spirals, she had little besides her work and food for comfort. She indulged in the latter to excess. Beyond even the limits of normal excess, Yoko everything that her hands could grab hold of.
“Mmmghph. . .HOOOLLLLOORRRUP. . .isscch. . .BBBOORRUP. . .too good.” Yoko said as she plowed her way through a gigantic cake. There was little rhyme or reason to what Yoko ate besides taste and proximity. There was no true distinction between courses for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or any of the unnamed meals between. Yoko took fistfuls of cake in one hand and strips of bacon in the other. Her face and body was a mess of what she had eaten before. Stains and crumbs smeared together in a metaphor for what was happening in her gut. Her stomach swang back and forth, hardly close to getting full. Yoko’s breasts dangled down amongst the plates, shoving the food as gravity dictated their paths. Nipples tight and pink with excitement lay like hams amongst the other plates. They were only hauled upwards again when she had grabbed her next course. This time, Yoko selected hoisted a kettle of hearty stew to her mouth, voraciously sucking down the fat thickened meat and tender vegetables. Yoko’s immense chest cuddled the kettle, smearing it with the same mess that was about their bountiful expanses.
Yoko’s mouth and body moved together. Her stomach thrust forward with each new bite. Though distorted by the sheer amount of girth, Yoko’s fat was still shaped sensually. Watermelon breasts rolled upon twin plateaus of stomach shelves. Her butt billowed out behind her, equal parts wide and deep. The kettle in her hands grew lighter as the stew was drained from it. Yoko lifted the pot higher, her guzzling increasing in speed. Melted fat and broth drizzled out of the corners of her mouth. She drank and ate with sloppy noises, lost in the feeding. The bittersweet memories of her comrades fading a bit. As always, eating helped dull the pain without erasing the memories. Food comforted Yoko’s restless mind. She remembered meals passed, enjoyed around dingy fires and campsites. She did not eat as well then as she did not, not by half, but the feelings were the same. She would eat and listen to Kamina’s bold plans and strong beliefs. Through those meals she had watched Simon grow into a man, perhaps one even greater than his mentor. Food kept those two inspiring men alive and well in Yoko’s mind.
“BOOOORRRUP. . .uuggh. . .what. . .OOORRUP. . .nesssccht?” Yoko tossed the kettle aside. It clanged and rolled around the ground, spilling the slight residue left inside. She stood panting in the mess that she had made of her house and body. Yoko wanted to sit, wanted to eat, wanted to bury any feeling that was remotely uncomfortable to her. Pain swelled in her chest just as her stomach expanded outwards. Partially digested food was brimming in her stomach just as partially explored emotions were running through her head. The massive teacher sank towards the table. She had to widen her stance to accommodate her multi-layered gut. Her breasts and forearms pushed plates away, with some clattering and breaking on the ground. Full and vivid hair flowed across Yoko’s wide back. She sank onto the table, double over by her fat. Her butt thrust behind her, huge and dimpled. As a shudder ran through her, then a second. The first shudder was grief, the second was her nibbling some cake between her arms.
Yoko ate without her hands, needing any bit of strength to stay standing. She was close to collapsing, crashing down hard on the kitchen floor. The sun rose through a window, shining beams onto a woman unrecognizable to her past self. The sweat upon her fat glowed, producing a halo effect. Yoko might have sobbed more, but her second alarm went off. A cute chime, complete with music and the sounds of chirping birds, echoed through the small house. Yoko’s shuddering stopped and she rose again. It was time to get moving. She had students to teach. Whatever could be said about her ability to avoid temptation, she would not let her students down. The 800 pound teacher dug her arms into the table and started to stand. Her butt clapped and jiggled as she found against her own immensity. However, she did not give up.
“Okay. . .let’s. . .get going.” She sniffed, starting a slow waddle towards the sink. Yoko had to trust to her memories of the kitchen floor as she waddled. The world was largely obscured by her many chins, breasts, and stomach. The boards gasped and wheezed under her feet, tired of their owner abusing them with her weight. Yoko lurched back and forth, unsteady without the support of a wall or cane. Though her gut looked soft, there was a tautness hidden within. Movement was as uncomfortable as standing. Yoko gave out silent prayers as she reached the sink. Her hands grasped a damp rag and she began to clean herself. Yoko wiped the mess she had made off, cleaning herself to the best of her ability. However, stains would continue to remain. There was little way for her to totally wash her many feedings away. Yoko would waddle into school with hints of food on her person and dress.
--- The Reason Why ---
“Uhm. . .Miss Yomako?” One of the students said, raising his hand.
“Just a. . . minute. . .Gregory.” Yoko responded in a breathless but sweet tone. She hated to ignore any of her students, but she needed to concentrate on her work. She was scrawling out a word problem for them to solve. In one hand she held her chalk and the other clutched a thick cane. On its own, the cane was almost a log. It was a lump of wood which tapered off towards the handle. The cane’s proportions were functional, having the strength to assist Yoko in her duties around the school. Rather than the stately clacking of other canes, there was a resounding thunk when Yoko moved. The cane still warped under the press of the morbidly obese woman’s girth. There was an uncomfortable bend in the middle, as it fought the unyielding blubber above it. Yoko felt the tension of the cane, knowing that it was near its breaking point. She would have to rely on it for a little longer as she wrote. It was always a question of if her cane or her body would give out first.
Yoko’s face had turned as red as her hair. She was tired from even the small amount of standing she had been doing. Her bingo wings filled the sleeves of her dress, ripping through the fabric in several places. Yoko’s ear was bullied by the swinging fat which was up in the air. Each flourish of her hand produced clean cursive writing and thousands of ripples. Her breasts shook, moving like enormous water balloons under a thin sheet. Yoko’s stomach fanned out under her dress, pushing into the metal rail which held her chalk. There was a pile of chalk pieces on either end of the board from where sticks had been pushed by the teacher’s heavy gut. Sweat trickled down Yoko’s red face. She longed to fan the heat away or swipe the sweat off. However, writing the problem would have to come first. Yoko hummed the words out, putting up a facade that she was not as tired as she felt. She wanted to seem indomitable to her students, unphased by the world or her struggle through it.
“Oh. . .ok!” Yoko said, thumping the final period onto her sentence. The chalk slipped from her hand, bouncing off a thick lovehandle to land on the tray. Yoko started to turn, leaning ever more on her cane. The piece of wood was large, but looked almost normal when compared to the woman holding it. Her butt thumped up and down, sinking and falling with each step. Yoko’s butt pushed against her back rolls. She remembered once when her butt had been cute and small. It peeked out of her shorts by her own choice, rather than because its mass was nearly unclothable. Yoko’s breasts worked to keep her moving, swinging her around by their wobbly nature. She moved in time with the gigantic pendulums. Her seat seemed so far away, a perfect Shangri La to return to once she had given the students their next task. “Who would. . .like to. . .read our problem?” Yoko wheezed, still cheery and bright. For these students she would downplay any of the symptoms of her obesity.
“But, Miss Yoko,” Gregory raised his hand. “The problem is gone.” He pointed. Yoko followed his point, looking over one shoulder. Her heart sank.
She had not been paying attention to the distance between her fat and the board. Smears of white chalk decorated the walls and Yoko’s dress. She stumbled backwards, cane slipping from her hand. Yoko was not exactly a stranger to events like these happening. When she first became a teacher she left the school every day with heaps of chalk upon her generous cleavage. However, that was back when she had the energy to redo things. Further, that was back when she might have attained some level of teaching perfection. Now, however, a minor mistake would cost her minutes of time. Yoko practically fell into her chair, a rolling bench too big to fit under her desk. The gears and springs screamed as her strength gave out. Yoko looked back at the board in a daze. “Oh. . .I suppose you are right. . .” She sounded distant.
As far as low points go, there had been more dramatic ones. Yoko stared up at the board, seeing her failures written within the swirling chalk dust.`tain her own body. Hot tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Her cane had fallen away, taking the only means of standing up. Her strength, both emotional and physical had been totally spent. Yoko leaned back, her long hair falling over the back of the chair. The desk cracked under the pressure from the chair and the woman resting in it. Yoko sighed, her mind thrown back into the past. She remembered the hardships and pain. Kamina’s death and then, much later, Nia’s disappearance at her own wedding. Truly, the universe knew how to test the people that lived within it. Yoko played the last memory of Nia over and over in her mind. They had wanted to resurrect her using the power of spiral energy. Simon had said no though. She was just gone, forever.
"Those who are dead are dead. If we bring them back to life, they'll just get in the way of the next generation..."
Yoko started, or at least as much as an 800 pound woman can. The words of Simon rang through her head. It drilled through her mind, penetrating the walls of sadness she had built up over the years. There had been death and all manner of suffering, but there were ways through it. All it took was persistence and understanding. The enormous teacher sat up and slowly brought her chair around. Her breasts were lugged onto the desk, warping it with their heft. Yoko Littner, sniper of Team Da-Gurren, stared back at her class. “Well, it looks like Miss Yamako has made a little mistake. Can anyone fix it?” She spoke, working her lungs to keep any wheezes out of her mouth. A forest of young and eager hands sprung up. Yoko smiled. Whatever the mistakes of the past, there would come a generation after to fix them.
Comments
Caker19
Yoooooo Yoko content! Really like this one, it's a great concept and you pulled it off really well.
Skopps
Genuinely one of the better WG stories I've read, not just in terms of depicting fats but in terms of the actual story being told, and the character reflections. I'm a sucker for internal development in characters, not just in what they do in the greater narrative, but how they take in events around them and process them. It's one of the best ways to make a character feel real, and when done right, can elevate the story even when "nothing" really happens. Plus, your love of the source material is clearly on full display, reflecting the themes of the original (unbroken hope for the future in the face of uncertainty) as well as a believable alternative version of a beloved character. Also, you make Big Booba girl big sexy fats.
