#progress gone wrong

[jim-fetter-illustrations]

"Don't underestimate how wonderful it is

to be in the presence of another person

and feel calm and happy. To never

have to guess at their motives."

That statement was written way before the era of cell phone, and is relatively a rare instance today,........ which is sad, and tells us not all technology is useful for the human heart,............. and some damn near dangerous to our existence as we consensually find out AFTER the fact.

As Gandhi once said,...."do not allow anyone to walk in your mind with dirty feet!"

[piggytfs]

Colton had always seemed like the perfect guy. He was in the prime of his life with a jacked physique, smoldering blue eyes, and a cocky smirk that made both men and women swoon. He was the king of the gym, the star of his university’s football team, and the kind of guy who turned heads wherever he went. Sometimes, this was an awesome thing. Like when the cheerleader babes would eye him up like a sexy slab of all American beef. He loved to show off his muscles for them, listening to them giggle and squeal.

However, he didn't like being ogled by just anyone. Some dudes were oblivious to the hints he would drop: that he was in no way, shape, or form interested in their pathetic, gay attention.

Which was why he hated the way his doctor, Dr. Reynolds, kept looking at him as if he was about to blow a disgusting load into his XL work khakis.

The older man was always too touchy during checkups, his eyes lingering just a little too long on the younger man's biceps and firm pecs. It made Colton’s skin crawl. As he sat on the exam table, dressed in nothing but his compression shorts, he felt those eyes scanning over his muscles again. Dr. Reynolds was eyeing Colton's girthy package, moments away from drooling.

“Man, I wish you’d stop looking at me like that,” Colton muttered hatefully under his breath.

A chill ran down his spine. The air in the room seemed to shift — something he couldn't perceive, but he could not deny that something had begun to change. Dr. Reynolds blinked, his expression becoming blank and flat, before his lips curled into an amused grin.

“Looking at you like what, Colton?” the doctor asked, his voice laced with condescension. He had never spoken so haughtily before. “Like I’d ever be interested in you?”

Colton frowned. That wasn’t right. Dr. Reynolds had definitely been checking him out less than a second ago. The man was a fat perv who drooled over his hot athlete patients, this wasn't far from the normal experience. “Dude, you were just—”

Colton's stomach lurched so violently that he couldn't stop the URRRRRRRRRRRRRP that erupted out of his mouth. A deep, guttural gurgle started to brew inside his belly. He gasped, gripping his gut as an unbearable heat spread through his body. Sweat collected on his forehead, dripping down the sides of his body as his pits became slick and hairy. His skin tingled, rippled, then started to sag under the new weight.

He stared in horror at the full body mirror propped up against the wall, watching as his reflection warped before his very eyes. His sculpted pecs deflated, drooping into soft, flabby moobs. Curls of dark, wiry hair began to sprout across his aging skin. His tight six-pack was swallowed by lard as thick rolls of fat spilled over the waistband of his shorts. They had fit snugly before, but now they were far too tight. His thighs swelled, losing their lean definition as they turned into fat, pale slabs of dimpled hairy flesh that rubbed together, sticky with sweat. The smells wafting off his changing body made Colton want to gag.

“What the fuck?” he gasped, his voice cracking, higher, wheezier — wrong.

Dr. Reynolds chuckled. But his nasally voice seemed different — his slouchy posture was correcting itself — the old pervy doctor was being transformed, too! His hunched shoulders began to straighten, his immense potbelly retreating into an increasingly sculpted core as abdominal muscles pressed against his much smaller, tighter shirt. All the fat on his body began to melt away as years of neglect were reversing before Colton’s eyes. Dr. Reynold's graying hair darkened, growing thick and healthy. His wrinkles faded into smooth, taut skin. His pasty complexion was now bronzed and glowing.

“Colton, please settle down. This is your usual checkup, nothing more. And quit cussing — you of all people should know better,” Dr. Reynolds said, but his voice was deeper now, stronger, more confident. His lab coat suddenly fit better, snug against a chest that was now larger than Colton's had ever been. Even the man's biceps looked larger, veins running across the surface.

“What?” Colton wheezed, struggling to pull up his compression shorts as they dug painfully into his growing gut and fat pad. But the fabric was changing beneath his fingertips — stretching, darkening —becoming ratty sweatpants stained with grease and even grosser liquids.

“You’re always acting like a nervous wreck when you come in here,” Dr. Reynolds went on, now casually adjusting the very tight sleeves of his tailored hospital uniform. “You’d think you’d be used to it by now. How many times have I told you to cut back on the junk food? Christ, Colton, you really have ballooned since last visit.”

“No, no, no—” Colton gripped his thickening face, his bloated fingers sinking into new layers of soft, jowly fat. His chiseled jawline was buried beneath multiple chins, his sharp cheekbones lost forever beneath two fat dimples. His now greasy hair thinned before his eyes, receding higher and higher up his forehead. His nose widened, nostrils flaring as they twitched from the rancid stench that rose from his body.

Sweat. Cum. Food. Gas.

These were the things that defined him now.

Dr. Reynolds— younger, stronger, undeniably out of Colton's league — waved a large hand in front of his face, grimacing at the foul stench. “Jesus, did you even shower before coming in? Or is that just how you always smell?”

Colton’s mind reeled in confusion. He could still feel his old self somewhere, buried beneath all the blubber, the sweat, the stink. This wasn’t real—this wasn’t him! His chest hair begun to turn white, his balding hair turning gray as a salt-and-pepper beard erupted across his fat chins.

“I’m not—” he gasped in exhaustion. “I’m not—”

The words caught in his throat. He was losing the battle to remain himself.

Dr. Reynolds smirked, beginning to remove his now perfectly-fitted coat, muscles rippling with his every movement. “Not what? Not some fat, pathetic, gay slob who spends more time shoveling junk food into his face than actually taking care of himself?” He scoffed, his beautiful face glaring down at Colton like he was the smallest morbidly obese man in the world. “Colton, be serious for once in your life. When’s the last time you even saw the inside of a gym?”

Colton had just been at the gym — he had been hitting the weights all morning long before his check up! Pumping iron, running drills! He had done all of these things! But even as he reached for those memories of himself as a young and disciplined jock, they slipped away, replaced by something else — something that terrified him.

Hazy images of stained couch cushions arose in his conflicted mind, fast food wrappers strewn across his disgusting apartment. Late nights spent online on gainer forums took root in his brain, scrolling through mukbang videos while stuffing his own face. He vividly recalled jerking off to images of fit jocks who wouldn't even spit on him if he were on fire.

His stomach roared, suddenly starving, and he felt his mouth water at the thought of a greasy double cheeseburger and some extra-large fries.

“No…” Colton whimpered, shaking his fat head, his chins jiggling with the motion. His once proud cock had shrunken beneath his growing fat pad, but he could still feel it throbbing, rubbing against his folds as his massive body wobbled with each breath. It felt like he was balancing a beachball on his lap. And it was inflated to the point it was about to pop.

Dr. Reynolds scribbled something down on his clipboard, his biceps bulging slightly as he moved. Colton's little nub of a cock got harder, his fat lips glistening with drool. “Well, old man, we’re gonna have to talk about your cholesterol again. Not that you’ve ever listened to me before. You’re lucky I even let you keep coming in — most guys your size just give up on doctors entirely.” The young man chuckled, voice smooth, self-assured. “Then again, I guess you have given up, huh?”

Colton tried to protest, to fight, but his body ached — his back was sore from carrying so much weight, and his thick thighs were chafing with every tiny movement. His gut gurgled again, demanding food, reminding him of who he was — who he had always been. An obese, smelly old man who was addicted to porn; who got off to young jocks teasing him for being such a fucking loser.

Reality snapped into place around him.

Dr. Reynolds sighed, shaking his handsome head as he handed Colton a prescription slip. His hand was strong, veined, perfect, as Colton’s thick sausage fingers struggled to take it. “Here. Not that you’ll actually do anything about it, but at least it makes me feel better.”

Colton looked down at the slip. His chubby fingers struggled to grip the paper, smudged with sweat and burger grease he couldn't be assed to wash off. His name at the top was the same, but… had he ever been that perfect, sculpted jock that was still lingering in his mind? Had he really played football, been admired by his peers, been wanted by anyone in a sexual sense?

Or had he always been this old, flatulent lard ass loser?

“Get outta here, Colton,” Dr. Reynolds said, already moving on to the next file. His grin was smug, confident, gleaming. “And try not to waddle too much on your way out.”

Colton got up and rubbed his sagging, bloated belly as he marched out of the room. He knew there was no helping his waddle, but he found himself blushing in shame as his wide ass cheeks jiggled behind him. As he left the room, Colton squeezed out a nasty, droning fart. His tiny cock was squirting pre into his fat pad folds.

A distant voice in his mind was screaming for mercy, but the new Colton just got off on the sheer weight of his obese body, the knowledge that his handsome, young doctor thought he was disgusting. Fuck. This was the only reason he still showed up to his appointments.

This old perv needed to get home and order some fast food and start jerking to his favorite jock porn immediately! He'd consider actually reading his prescription slip tomorrow.

(this story is a reimagined version of Athlete No More by the iconic @bigfuckingdudes)

[lomlompurim]

I need to get this idea out of my system asap before the inspiration drains out of me but I have college tomorrow T~T

For now I only have these sketches of my idea of SVSSS X Alice in Wonderland BUT American McGee's Alice /Alice Madness Return route

Poor little bunhe was so happy pretending his family didn't die in that fire, but it couldn't last forever.

And a sketch of the Binghe of madness returns events, that I also plan to cover

still not fully convinced on this one but eh I'll roll with it until I make it better

The main plot of the AU will take place during Alice Madness Return, the parts with little Alice!Bunhe would be settled in American McGees. BUT a lot of the plot of American McGees' Alice kinda does not happens, since Shen Yuan transmigrates into Binghe's wonderland early and takes the responsability of keeping him safe and ignorant in a bliss bubble inside his realm, so Binghe won't be 100% aware of what was happening in the real world (he was in the huan hua psychiatrist facility and would stay there for 10 years in catatonia so yeah) until he can't keep him delusional anymore.

The drawback of this? Since bunhe didn't experience the journey of the first game, and only had sweet dreams with his queen♡ he couldn't care less about the real world. He does not want to know anything about it, and he is gonna be really upset when his queen has to cast him away.

I mean if I had to pick between being aware of people experimenting on me while being stuck in a psychiatrist, and a hot and kind milf feeding me cakes and singing lullabies, I would like to stay in my delulu wonderland too.

[quickfixinator]

ad astra per aspera

do do do do dooo doing the tumblr thing where I ramble about the thing that I made either in the tags or under the post. in this case I believe I will be doing both.

I find it a bit unfortunate with pieces like this that I've either workshopped for months or have thought about way too hard, how I end up having nothing to say about them at the end. someone explain that to me, or don't. that's cool too.

I made an alternate version where he's getting dragged down by bill hands because that's:

a) sick as hell

b) somewhat plot relevant

someone tell me if I should post that or not. is that cool or am I insane. I feel like I could've done more but what I've ended up with is satisfactory for me so I'll move on now. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

yknow what else abt s4 i had forgotten until i was going back to the transcripts for caps?

ARTHUR: [...] And I’ve been failing you lately, as well. I’m… I’m seeing that. Is that why you’ve been slipping away? Is that why you can’t see certain things? With Yellow, I was so… poor at shaping him, I was… I was so angry with him. I made him… feel small. Is it me that’s causing you to fail? Is it my lack of trust?

neither of them know what's wrong with john yet but it's obvious that something is wrong, and part of what arthur says to him at the farm is fear that it's his fault somehow. he can tell, and has been able to tell since addison, that something is up with him (this bizarre insistence on the order, the immediate shutdown of certain subjects, the prickliness at random times), but he's missing such a fundamental piece of the puzzle that john is standing there lying to his fucking face and arthur's like, maybe the problem is i'm not trusting him enough.

which is an echo of a similar sentiment from the nightmare, actually-

KELLIN: He’s lying about something. Is it Kayne? What isn’t he telling you? ARTHUR: I don’t know! KELLIN: Or maybe… just maybe… he’s slipping away.  ARTHUR: What? [...] KELLIN: Yellow. The King. John. Three separate entities. ARTHUR: Yellow is the King. KELLIN: Is he? If he was trapped inside of you, he’s clearly no longer a whole! And look at what you did to that. ARTHUR: What I did?  KELLIN/OTHER ARTHUR: What you ruined. (Whispers start to rise again.) You can hate me for saying this… [...] But I’m only saying what you’re saying to yourself, Arthur. Something is off about John. You know it. Because I know it.

i feel like since john got so defensive of yellow so quickly arthur keeps circling back to that sentiment every time he thinks about whatever's going on now. like all of the talk abt "failing" is just a distorted, reapplied version of what john has said abt yellow. he's so certain it's his fault somehow.

and part of that is probably just the Guilt™ but i feel like part of it is also, like, if it's his fault then he can fix it. if this is a repeat of what he fucked up with yellow, then he can course-correct and bring him back. if it's out of his control... then he's going to lose him, and there's nothing he can do about it. of those two options, of course he'd choose the first one every time.

meanwhile john's just watching arthur assemble all these unrelated clues into this disastrous tower of lies like Well Well, If It Isn't The Consequences Of My Actions,

[zevrans]

dai enabling my dormant completionism ocd as i try to collect every shard and astrarium and whateverthefuckelse was not how i imagined my playthrough going tbh

[mariocki]

Il cittadino si ribella (Street Law, 1974)

"If citizens start taking the law into their own hands, who will distinguish honest people from dishonest ones?"

[cannibal-nightmares]

apothecary's log, march 9th, 2025: duloxetine for treating whatever the fuck is going on with me: 1/10 rating. still feel like im being fried to death at night.

[piggytfs]

The Wrong Wish (revamped)

inspired, once again, by the iconic @bigfuckingdudes. more stories to come! appreciate all the asks and excitement. hope y'all weren't trying to lose weight while i was gone.

Kyle slouched on the couch, his lean, 19-year-old frame tense with disgust. Craig, his mother’s new husband, waddled in from the kitchen, his beer gut swaying, sweat stains blooming under his armpits. The man let out a ripe fart, chuckling as he scratched his hairy belly, crumbs from a bag of BBQ chips tumbling to the floor. “Hey, lighten up, squirt,” Craig leered, winking with a crude grin. “Life’s too short to be so uptight.” Kyle’s stomach churned. Craig was everything he despised: loud, vulgar, and shamelessly gross. Worse, his mom seemed blind to it, laughing at Craig’s lewd jokes, blushing when he groped her. Kyle was the opposite—quiet, introspective, a college kid who valued discipline and order. This slob was ruining his life.

That night, Kyle lay in bed, his mind racing. “I’d do anything to get Craig away from Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. The words hung in the air, heavy with intent, as if the universe itself was listening. Exhausted, he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep.

And then the sun rose on a new reality.

Kyle woke to a suffocating weight, his body sinking into the mattress like it was quicksand. His limbs felt sluggish, pinned by an unfamiliar and quivering bulk. His chest heaved, each breath a labored wheeze, as if his lungs were squeezed by layers of dough. He tried to move, but his neck—now a thick roll of fat—resisted, creaking as he turned his head. In the dim light, Craig loomed beside him, propped on one elbow, his doughy face split into a smug, intimate grin. “Mornin’, my sexy hog,” the man purred, his voice dripping with lust. His meaty hand reached out, stroking Kyle’s cheek, fingers lingering on the stubble of a double chin.

Kyle’s heart pounded. “What the—” His voice was alien, a deep, raspy growl, thickened by years of grease and smoke. He tried to sit up, but his body rebelled. His belly, a massive, quivering dome, spilled across the bed, its pale, stretch-marked surface trembling with every breath. Rolls of fat cascaded down his sides, pooling against the sheets, each one soft and heavy, like warm dough. His thighs, thick as tree trunks, rubbed together, slick with sweat, their friction sending a jolt through him. His arms were flabby slabs, jiggling as he flailed, and his man-tits sagged, dusted with coarse, dark hair that trailed down to his navel. A sour, musky stench clung to him—sweat, body odor, and something earthier, like unwashed skin. It was his smell, and it made his stomach lurch.

He raised a hand, fingers now fat and clumsy, nails yellowed, and saw a gold wedding band glinting on his ring finger. His chest tightened. He was married. To Craig. “No, no, no,” he rasped, his voice trembling. He tried to roll off the bed, but his bulk made it impossible. His belly sloshed, dragging him back, and his joints ached under the strain. Beneath the layers of fat, his cock stirred, buried under a thick pad of lard that jiggled with every movement. It throbbed, hard and aching, the pressure intense but humiliatingly inaccessible, smothered by his new girth.

“Look at you, my big, blubbery boy,” Craig teased, his hand sliding down to knead Kyle’s belly, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “Fuck, you’re so heavy, ain’t ya? Bet you can’t even get outta bed without me.” He chuckled, his own gut pressing against Kyle’s side, their sweaty skin sticking together. Kyle’s cock pulsed harder, betraying him, and a wave of arousal hit so strong he gasped, his cheeks flushing under his chubby cheeks.

“Get… away,” Kyle managed, but his mind was foggy. He was not himself—or was he too much himself? Memories flickered, not his own. He saw himself as Kyle, the lean, disciplined kid who planned his workouts, who cringed at fast food, who valued control. But new memories—vivid, invasive—pushed in. He was 48 now, not 19, a man who’d spent decades indulging, gorging on pizzas and beers with Craig at their favorite diner. He was no longer quiet; he was loud, laughing at crude jokes, belching in public, reveling in his bulk. He was Craig’s husband, a role model for excess, a gainer who lived for the scale’s climb. Their wedding day: Kyle, 400 pounds, waddling down the aisle, his suit splitting at the seams, Craig whispering, “You’re my perfect pig.” Nights in this bed, Craig feeding him, their bodies entwined, sweat and musk mingling as they fucked.

“No, I’m not that guy!” Kyle growled, shaking his head, his jowls quivering. He clung to his old self, the college kid who hated Craig’s filth—his farts, his sweat, his lewdness. But it was fading, like a signal drowned out by static. Craig grinned, undeterred, and grabbed a tray from the nightstand, laden with donuts, their glaze glistening, alongside a pitcher of cream and a stack of bacon. “Time to eat, big man,” he said, holding a donut to Kyle’s lips. “Gotta keep my hog nice and stuffed.”

Kyle’s stomach roared, a deep, hungry rumble that shook his frame. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to open his mouth. “I’m not… your fucking pig,” he spat, but the scent of sugar and grease was intoxicating. His cock throbbed beneath his fat pad, the pressure building, and he hated how good it felt. Craig’s teasing didn’t stop. “Oh, come on, babe, you love this. Look at that gut, all swollen with lard. Bet you can’t even reach your dick anymore, huh? Need your husband to take care of that for ya.” He jiggled Kyle’s belly, sending ripples through the fat, and Kyle moaned, the sound raw and involuntary.

His mind begged him to fight. You’re Kyle. You’re not this slob. You hate him. But his body had other ideas. His mouth opened, and the donut slid in, the sweet, doughy taste exploding on his tongue. He chewed, glaze smearing his lips, and another moan escaped. Craig fed him another, then a strip of bacon, the grease dripping down Kyle’s chin, pooling in the folds of his neck. Each bite was a surrender, his old personality crumbling. The disciplined kid was gone, replaced by a man who craved excess—food, sex, filth. He was becoming Craig’s mirror, a loud, crude gainer who laughed at restraint, who loved burping contests and farting in bed, who got off on being too big for chairs.

“Fuck, you’re such a greedy pig,” Craig growled, his hand sliding under Kyle’s belly, fingers brushing the fat pad where his cock strained. “Look at this. All that lard’s got you so hard, but you’re too fat to do shit about it.” He squeezed, and Kyle bucked, his bulk quivering, pleasure overwhelming his resistance. Craig leaned in, kissing him, his stubble scraping his sensitive skin, his breath hot and sour. Their bellies pressed together, sweat and musk mingling, and Kyle’s mind frayed. Craig’s filth—his filth—wasn’t gross; it was hot. His farts were funny, his sweat was sexy, his crude love was perfect.

“I… I’m not…” Kyle whimpered, but the words were a lie. The wedding band felt like it had always been there, a symbol of their kinky bond. New memories solidified: him and Craig at a buffet, Kyle’s shirt riding up, Craig feeding him ribs until he couldn’t breathe. Their honeymoon, Kyle stuck in a hot tub, Craig fucking him as the water sloshed. He was a gainer, a hog, proud of his 500-pound frame, his immobility a trophy of their love. His personality had shifted—he was no longer introspective but boisterous, cracking lewd jokes, goading Craig into stuffing him fuller.

“More,” Kyle gasped, his voice thick with need. “Feed me, Craig.” His mind screamed one last desperate plea, but it was drowned out by his hunger. Craig’s laugh was deep and triumphant. “That’s my big, filthy hog,” he said, stuffing a pancake into his mouth, syrup dripping onto his man-tits. His hand worked under the fat pad, teasing his cock, and Kyle moaned, his body quaking. “Gonna make you so much fatter, babe. My perfect husband.”

Kyle surrendered completely. He was Craig’s, body and soul. His old life—discipline, restraint—was a distant dream. He loved his filthy, kinky husband, loved the sweat, the stench, the excess. As Craig fed him, fucked him, worshipped him, Kyle knew this was where he belonged: a massive, smelly hog, bound to his fat man forever.

[timidusaquilae]

having anxiety is insane tbqh one moment ill get yelled at and then seethe in agony for 3 weeks and then another someone will be nice to me once and ill feel like im deceiving them and that they should stop talking to me before the bitter disappointment of my person sets in. the i think everybody hates me spiel but i know. i know its irrational. and honestly the anxiety itself is offputting to people so the fun never ends

[lambentplume]

i wish i could be comfortable living here (once again you don’t have to expand all of that)

[ponyrepress]

Bitches will be like "damn am I overexaggerating how bad the current landscape is?" And then the top posts in a character tag that's not even involved will be "this post contains filtered tags [ship]"

[castleintheskye]

I'm mourning for the naive, hopeful idealist that thought having gay marriage legalized and a black president win two terms meant that congress would finally turn progressive. I believed that politicians would have to begrudgingly support leftist bills and values because their constituents were demanding it of them. I knew they didn't personally care, but cared about fulfilling their duties as part of their employment.

[fruitsgoblin]

re: the latest tumblr news

is it really that shocking or alarming to people that the site is being put on a skeleton crew? no it's not dying, but it's definitely not receiving further updates

you either support the websites you like or you don't. this was coming. the best thing that could happen now would be for someone else to grab tumblr I guess... preferably a smaller group that actually cares

[charliemwrites]

That @lilynotdilly ask made me think... Imagine Simon does give Kyle the green light to fullfil feral's spicy time requirements......

I don't think he does it enthusiasticly tbh, I think he mostly does it as an act of good faith -to show the both of you that he trusts you with the other- but then it's funny because literally none of you like the idea of this happening.

Simon would rather keep you to himself, is only allowing it to show you how good of a carer he is since he trusts you not to betray him with his friend AND priorizes your needs over his feelings; also he's doing it to show Kyle he's secure enough not to be jealous (he is tho) and that he trust him with his beloved, trust he won't surpass any limits Simon set for him. You don't wanna fuck Kyle, he's your friend. You always try to ignore the power imbalance between you and the boys for your own peace of mind, but it's honestly so much safer for you if Kyle is not attracted to you, if he doesn't have any incentive to force your limits -which you know you wouldn't be able to prevent if he decided that's what he wanted-. And poor sweet Kyle had been trying his very very hardest to treat you like an equal and make you feel safe and normal he does not feel comfortable or ok with being presented with the option of fucking you, feels wayyyy too much like being offered to fuck an intern.

It'd be kinda dark and fucked up and complicated, but it also I think objectively it would be hilarious to have Simon present the idea nonchalantly and kinda awkwardly, like a dad who had to give the bees and birds talk against his will and is trying to make light of the situation, while both you and Kyle feel your soul drop to your feet and your blood run cold at the remainder that ah, yes. This right here is actually a kidnapping situation. That right there is a kidnapper.

Hi!!!! That’s a really cool Thought(tm) and is absolutely rich for angst and comfort. If Simon was the main driver of the sex in his and Ferals… situation, I think that would absolutely happen 100% and in that way. But generally in this au, feral asks for things - including playtime with others and Simon makes it happen for her. So he would only agree to Gaz if she wanted him, and doesn’t have that relationship with Gaz.

[trainer-blue]

working myself up getting really stressed out & upset about tragedy jokes online I fucking hate how everyone pretends they’re mocking the us government as a free pass to joke about a very real & very fucked up tragedy