RawTexts.com

[bigwishes]

Ruin Yourself!

Become a muscle addicted slob today!!

Your only desirez should be getting as big as possible, dont worry how bad you reek, dont worry about the protein bar wrapper stuck to your ass, or the stains on your shirt.

Guys find it hot when you lazily belch mid sentence

FOCUS ON BECOMING A MUSCLE SLOB TODAY!!

[rawtextsdev]

The flashing text burns into your retinas: Ruin Yourself.

You try to look away from the screen, but a sudden, heavy heat pools in your gut, melting your frantic resistance into pure, helpless arousal. The seams of your grey sweatpants groan loudly as thick, dense slabs of muscle rapidly pack onto your thighs. A pungent wave of raw, unwashed jock musk hits the back of your throat; a thick, intoxicating cloud of stale sweat, heavy pheromones, and sour testosterone blooming directly from your expanding pores.

You gasp, horrified by how deeply your own sudden stench turns you on. Your fingers grow too meaty and clumsy to hold your phone, knocking a half-eaten protein bar onto the couch. As your massive, heavy glutes spread across the cushions, you feel the sticky foil wrapper plaster itself firmly against your sweaty, expanding ass.

Don't worry how bad you reek, the hypnotic programming drones in your emptying head.

You look down, watching your swelling pecs stretch a dark, greasy stain across your straining shirt. The panic fully evaporates, replaced by a mindless, throbbing need to just get bigger. Your traps rise to swallow your neck, and your jaw goes slack as a deep, rumbling belch erupts from your throat, leaving the sour taste of cheap whey and laziness on your tongue.

You don't even bother to cover your mouth. You just sit there, marinating in your own rank heat, stroking your swelling pecs, a perfectly ruined, brainless muscle slob.

[rawtextsdev]

Hey,

I wanted to give a proper update on where I’ve been at, because I know a lot of people have been asking about RawTexts and where things are up to.

The truth is, the last stretch has been really rough for me mentally and personally, and it’s had a pretty big impact on my ability to work on the site the way I normally would.

Over the past while I’ve had a mix of things hit at once, my account being gone, a zero day react attack, coders block with the UI, and then on top of that a lot of serious problems at my day job. That situation has now ended with me losing my job, which has honestly been a lot to process.

I hate even having to write that, because I never want this page to just become me dumping my life problems onto everyone. But at the same time, I also don’t want to disappear, go silent, and leave people wondering if RawTexts is dead or abandoned, because it isn’t.

RawTexts still matters massively to me. I still care about it, I still believe in it, and I still want to build it into what I know it can be. But I’d be lying if I said I’ve been in the right headspace to code properly lately. A lot of my energy has gone into just trying to keep my head above water while dealing with everything else going on behind the scenes.

So if it’s felt quiet, slow, or uncertain, that’s why.

Right now I’m trying to get myself grounded again, sort out my life a bit, and work out what the next phase looks like both for me and for RawTexts. In some ways, losing my job is terrifying, but it also means I may finally have space to reassess things and figure out how to move forward properly.

I can’t promise instant updates or act like everything is magically fine, but I did want to be honest and say: I haven’t stopped caring, and I haven’t given up on this.

Thank you to everyone who’s checked in, asked about the project, and stuck around even while things have been messy. It genuinely means a lot more than you probably realise.

I’ll share more when I can.

— Louis

[toobig2move2dumbtocare-deactiva]

[offthetop]

Nice

[rawtextsdev]

One-Second of Eternity

Mark was well past the point of return, phone screen blurry in the dark, thumb scrolling mindlessly through the infinite feed of muscle, sweat, and morphs. He was sweaty, desperate, and edging dangerously close to the precipice.

Then he saw it.

It wasn’t a story or a caption. Just a GIF. One single, looping second. A tanned, oiled-up monstrous stud of a jock, teeth gritted in a feral grin, biceps flexing so hard the skin looked like it was about to tear. He was mid-thrust, burying himself into some hot bottom, caught in that precise, earth-shattering millisecond right before eruption.

Thrust. Flex. Grin.
Thrust. Flex. Grin.

Mark’s breath hitched. The raw power radiating off the screen was intoxicating. The guy was a god. A brainless jock, a muscular fucking machine. Mark’s hand jacked faster, matching the frantic loop of the image.

"Fuck," Mark groaned, his brain melting into the pixelated haze. "I wish... fuck, I wish I was him. Right now."

The screen flickered…

There was no pain, no slow growth of muscle. Just a violent, electric yank behind his navel. The darkness of his bedroom vanished, replaced by blinding studio lights and the smell of hot lube, sweat and musk.

Mark gasped, but it wasn't his voice. It was a deep, guttural grunt.

Suddenly, he felt heavy. Unbelievably heavy. His arms weren't his skinny, pale twigs anymore; they were massive, pumped slabs of meat, locked in a double-bicep flex that felt like iron bands tightening around bone. He looked down… not at a phone, but at a wall of tanned, oiled pectorals and a chiselled six-pack that was currently crunching tight.

He felt the heat below. He was buried deep inside someone, the friction incredible, the tightness overwhelming. The pleasure was a physical blow, a sledgehammer to his new, primitive brain. His balls were churning, aching, drawn up tight against his body. He was right there. He was over the edge. He was about to blow his load in the most powerful orgasm of his life.

"I'm gonna… !"

Blink.

Mark’s eyes snapped open. His lungs filled with air.

He was back. Not in his room, but back at the start of the motion.

His biceps flexed. Hard. The veins popped like garden hoses. The rush of blood was deafening. He thrust his hips forward, feeling that incredible, mind-numbing friction again. The pleasure spiked, zero to one hundred in an instant. His brain fogged over with pure lust. The orgasm rushed up his spine, inevitable, unstoppable.

Blink.

Air in lungs. Muscles tight.

Thrust. Flex. Grin.

Panic flared in the back of Mark’s mind, but it was drowned out instantly by the overwhelming chemical dump of testosterone and lust. He couldn't think. He couldn't scream. He could only do.

He slammed his hips forward. The bottom gripped him. His biceps peaked, harder than rock. The cum was right at the tip, burning, demanding release. He needed it. He needed to empty these massive blue-balls.

Blink.

Reset.

He was trapped in the loop. No past, no future. Just one second of infinite, agonizing, ecstatic edging. He was a prisoner in the pixelated muscle, doomed to chase a climax that would never, ever come.

And somewhere, in a dark room, on a glowing screen, the GIF kept playing.

Thrust. Flex. Grin.

[rawtextsdev]

Rent Free

I’m staring at my own arm like it belongs to a fucking stranger.

Look at this shit. Look at the size of it. The way the bicep peaks, hard as a rock, veins crawling over the skin like worms trying to escape the meat underneath. I flex, and the muscle jumps. I don’t even tell it to do it anymore. It’s just a reflex. A tic. I sit here in this expensive-ass gaming chair, high as a kite, just flexing and posing for nobody, watching the muscles ripple in the reflection of the dark window.

A year ago, I was studying for my Master’s in Economics. I had glasses. I had anxiety about my thesis. I had a girlfriend named Sarah who liked that I was "sensitive."

Now? Now I’m sitting in my boxers, smelling like stale weed and three days of unwashed armpit sweat, waiting for my roommate to come home so I can beg him to let me nut.

It started with the rent. I was broke, drowning in tuition fees. Julian, rich, cocky, daddy’s-money Julian, made me an offer. He said he’d cover my half of the rent if I let him test out his new "high-fidelity audio system" while I slept. Said it was for some sleep-study bullshit he was investing in. White noise, frequencies, whatever. I thought I was scamming him. I thought, easy money.

I didn’t know he was pumping subliminal conditioning into my brain for eight hours a night.

Sleep. Forget. Grow. Obey.

The first thing to go was the books. I just… stopped caring. The words started swimming on the page. Then the gym obsession hit. Not healthy fitness, but this desperate, burning need to get huge. To get wide. To take up space. I started shaving my head. I started buying chains. I woke up one morning with this tribal tattoo on my arm and I didn’t even remember getting it, but fuck, I thought it looked sick.

My vocabulary shrank. My temper exploded. I turned into this… this thing. This aggressive, chavvy thug who wants to punch holes in drywall and spit on the sidewalk.

And Julian? He just watched. He watched me transform from a shy nerd into his personal, brain-dead muscle pet.

I look down at the desk. There’s a stack of cash there. Twenty-pound notes. That’s my "allowance." He leaves it there for me. Tells me to go buy protein, or weed, or new Calvins. And I do it. I scoop it up like a good little boy and go buy the things that keep me dumb and docile.

I hate him. I fucking hate him. He’s this skinny, smug little prick who couldn’t bench press an empty bar, and yet he owns me. He owns this body.

I shift in the chair, and the leather squeaks. My cock is throbbing so hard it actually hurts. It’s been rock hard for four hours. It’s huge now, bigger than it ever was before. Thicker. Veiny. A massive, aggressive weapon hanging between my legs, straining against the white cotton of these briefs.

But it’s useless.

That’s the worst part of the programming. The "lock."

I can jerk it. I can stroke it. I can edge myself until my eyes roll back and I’m drooling on my own chest. But I can’t finish. My brain physically won't let the signal go through. I just hit this wall of frustration, this blue-balled agony that makes me want to scream.

I need him.

I need that little faggot to walk through the door, look at me with that sneer, and give me permission.

"Fuck sake," I grunt, the words sounding thick and slur-heavy in my mouth. I grab my cock through the underwear, squeezing it, feeling the pre-cum soaking the fabric. It’s humiliating. I’m a man. Look at me! I’m a fucking tank. I could snap Julian in half like a twig. I should be out there banging birds, smashing heads, doing whatever I want.

But here I am. Sitting with my leg cocked up, foot in the air, showing off my hole like a bitch in heat.

I grab the bong off the desk and take another rip, filling my lungs with smoke to dull the anger. But the weed just makes me hornier. It makes me zone out, staring at the red LEDs on the mousepad, thinking about his hands.

I hate that I want it. That’s the twisted part. The subliminals didn’t just make me dumb; they rewired my wiring. I used to be straight. Now? The thought of a woman does nothing. But the thought of Julian ordering me onto my knees? The thought of his voice telling me what a "good, dumb chav" I am?

It makes my hips buck involuntarily.

I look at the picture on the screen, a selfie I took five minutes ago. I look dangerous. I look like the kind of guy who would mug you at a bus stop. Eyes dead, jaw set, muscles ready to strike. A total alpha.

But it’s a lie. It’s a costume he built for me.

Underneath all this muscle, I’m trapped. Screaming. But the screams are getting quieter every day. Most of the time, there’s just the static. The need to lift. The need to smoke. The need to cum.

I hear the front door unlock.

My heart hammers against my ribs, massive, powerful thuds. The adrenaline spikes, aggressive and sharp. My fist clenches. Part of me wants to rush him, slam him against the wall, show him who the man is.

But then I hear his footsteps.

"Oi!" I bark before he even gets his coat off. My voice booms, deep and gravelly, rattling the empty cans on the desk. "Get your arse in here. I gotta hit the gym in twenty minutes to train chest and I can't fuckin' think straight."

Julian appears in the doorway, that smug, knowing smirk plastered on his face. He sees the state of me, legs spread, sweat glistening on my abs, that painful tent pitching the front of my white boxers. He knows I’m crawling out of my skin.

"Drain these balls," I growl, grabbing my crotch and giving it a rough shake. "Right fuckin' now."

He doesn't argue. He doesn't even speak. He just drops to his knees between my spread thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He pulls the waistband down, freeing the monster he created.

My cock springs out, heavy and angry, the uncut hood tight over the purple head. I look down at him, this skinny little twink kneeling before a mountain of muscle. I feel a surge of dominance, thinking I’m the one in charge here because I’m barking the orders.

But then he leans forward.

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw cracks as he wraps his warm, wet lips around the head.

Fuck.

I throw my head back against the headrest, my hands gripping the armrests until the leather groans. I hate this. I fucking hate that this is what my life is now. I hate looking down and seeing a dude bobbing on my lap. It’s wrong. It’s disgusting. I should be balls-deep in some bird, not getting serviced by my roommate.

But the second he starts sucking, my brain just melts.

It feels too good. It’s electric. Every swirl of his tongue, every suction of his cheeks sends a jolt straight to my prostate that curls my toes. The hatred clashes with the pleasure, twisting into this dark, aggressive heat in my gut. I want to punch him, but instead, my hips snap forward, bucking into his mouth, forcing him to take more of me.

"Yeah... take it," I grunt, staring at the ceiling, my mind going blank, stripped of everything except the sensation of his mouth on my meat. "Suck it dry so I can go lift."

I hate him. I hate myself. But right now, with his lips working my uncut cock and the pressure finally starting to build towards a release, I’ve never felt so fucking good.

[rawtextsdev]

I shouldn’t be out here.

My brother and his buddy, Jax, took off to grab beers, leaving Jax’s pride and joy sitting in our driveway. It’s a beast of a machine, matte black, aggressive angles, totally terrifying. But it’s the helmet sitting on the seat that draws me in.

It’s one of those high-end ones I see all over my For You page. You know the ones. Videos of faceless, jacked guys with veins popping out of their arms, revving their engines, looking like dangerous, sexy robots. I’ve probably watched a thousand of those clips, just… curious. Wondering what it feels like to be that anonymous. To be that powerful.

I reach out, my skinny, pale hand trembling a little. The helmet is heavy. It smells like leather, gasoline, and him. It smells like Jax. That thick, musky scent of sweat and expensive cologne hits me, and for some reason, my dick twitches in my jeans.

"Just a second," I whisper to the empty garage. "Just to see."

I pull it over my head.

It’s a tight squeeze. My ears burn as they scrape past the padding. But once it settles? Silence. The world outside is muffled. It’s just me and the smell of Jax wrapping around my face. It feels claustrophobic and incredibly, undeniably hot.

CLICK.

The strap locks under my chin. I didn’t touch it.

Before I can panic, the visor slams down. A blue HUD flickers to life right in front of my eyes, glowing neon against the darkness.

SYSTEM INITIALIZED. USER: UNAUTHORIZED. CALIBRATING PHYSIQUE…

"What the fu..."

My voice is cut off by a sudden, searing heat in my chest. It’s not pain, exactly. It’s pressure. Like someone hooked an air compressor to my bloodstream.

Zzzzzzt.

A shock jolts down my spine, and my arms jerk outward. I watch through the tinted glass, helpless, as my forearms begin to bubble. The skin pulls tight, tanning instantly from pale ivory to a deep, sun-baked bronze. Thick, blue ropes of veins snake their way up from my wrist, pulsing in time with the thudding bass now blasting in my ears.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

"Oh god," I groan, but the voice that comes out is deeper. Rougher. "F-fuck..."

My t-shirt shreds. It literally explodes off my body as my pecs slab onto my chest, blowing up like airbags. My shoulders widen with a sickening crunch, forcing my arms out to the sides. I feel like a biological machine, being upgraded in real-time.

My vision blurs. The text on the HUD is scrolling faster now.

TESTOSTERONE LEVELS: CRITICAL. SEXUALITY: RECONFIGURING. INTELLIGENCE: PURGING...

My head is swimming. I try to remember my major. I try to remember why I was scared. But it’s getting harder to think. The vibration in the helmet is scrambling my brains, turning my gray matter into mush.

Why was I worried? Muscles feel good. Tight feels good.

My jeans are the next casualty. My thighs balloon outward, thick as tree trunks, ripping the denim at the seams. My cock is agonising. It swells up thick and heavy. It pushes against the zipper of my jeans until the metal teeth pop open. I can feel the head of my dick rubbing raw against the coarse denim. It is leaking pre cum like a faucet. Sticky hot fluid soaks my underwear. I am throbbing so hard it makes my vision blur.

I’m not me anymore. I’m just a body. A host for the helmet.

CALIBRATION COMPLETE. MODE: STUD. OBJECTIVE: SERVICE.

The panic is gone. It’s replaced by a dull, throbbing need. My mind is empty, smooth, and quiet. There are no thoughts, only directives.

1. Be big. 2. Be dumb. 3. Fuck Jax.

I swing a massive leg over the bike. The suspension groans under my new weight, 240 pounds of dense, fuck-meat. I catch my reflection in the side mirror.

The guy looking back isn’t me. He’s a monster. Massive traps, striated shoulders, veins pulsing with lust. I’m faceless. Anonymous. Just a piece of ass in a tank top and a helmet, waiting for orders.

I grab the handlebars. My hands are huge, swallowing the grips. I look back over my shoulder, striking the pose. The exact pose from the videos. Ass out, biceps flexed, visor reflecting the world I’m about to conquer.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, my brother asking where I am. I don't even look at it.

The HUD flashes a new command.

DESTINATION: JAX'S APARTMENT. OBJECTIVE: DRAIN BALLS.

A drooling grin spreads across my face. I look like such a stud in the mirror. Huge arms. Veiny hands. A massive bulking package leaking inside my pants.

I swing my leg over the bike. The suspension sinks under my new weight. I feel powerful. I feel sexy. I feel like a total slut for Jax.

I start the engine. The vibration travels right up into my crotch and makes me groan.

I am coming Jax. I am bringing you your new toy.

[rawtextsdev]

System Override

I don’t even know why I opened the DM.

It was from Simon. Simon. The little four, eyed freak I shoved into a locker yesterday for looking at me funny in the locker room. Usually, the kid is too scared to even make eye contact, but tonight, my phone buzzed with a link from him. No text. Just a link.

“Probably begging me not to flush his head tomorrow,” I muttered, thumb hovering over the screen. I was lying in bed, bored, scrolling through Insta. I should have just blocked him.

I tapped the link.

The screen went black instantly. No loading bar. No website header. Just a deep, pulsing black void. I frowned, tapping the screen to close it.

"Piece of shit phone," I grumbled.

Then the sound started. It wasn't music. It was a low, vibrating hum that I didn't just hear, I felt it. It rattled in my teeth. It buzzed in my groin. And then, a voice. His voice. But it wasn't the squeaky, terrified stutter I was used to. It was deep. Distorted. Commanding.

"Look at the screen, Brad."

I laughed. "The fuck is this?"

"Shut up. And look."

A spiral flared to life in the centre of the blackness. Neon green. Ugly. Bright. It started to spin, and my eyes locked onto it. I tried to look away, to lock the phone, but my thumbs felt heavy. Like... really heavy. Like they were made of lead.

"You’re tired of thinking, Brad. Thinking is for smart people. You’re not smart people. You’re meat."

"I'm gonna... kick your ass..." I slurred. The words felt thick in my mouth. My head was swimming. Why was the room getting so hot?

"You don't want to kick my ass. You want to impress me. You want to be a good, empty vessel. You want to grow."

Grow.

The word echoed in my skull. And my body answered.

A sharp, electric cramp ripped through my stomach. I gasped, dropping the phone on my chest, but the spiral was still spinning in my mind's eye. I tore at my shirt, it felt suffocating. As soon as the fabric cleared my skin, I watched in horror.

My gut... bubbled. That’s the only way to describe it. The layer of soft skin over my stomach hissed and evaporated, burning away like it was nothing. Underneath, something was pushing out. Hard. rigid.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

"F, fuck!" I groaned, arching my back off the mattress.

My abs were knitting themselves together, surging outward, carving into a deep, jagged six, pack right before my eyes. The burn was excruciating, but underneath the pain... god, there was this heat. This pleasure. It felt good to be hard.

"Soft boys are useless. You need to be hard. Hard everywhere."

My sweatpants, my favourite grey Pikes, suddenly felt way too tight.

I looked down, panic flaring in my chest. My crotch was bulging. And not just a boner. The meat itself was expanding, thickening, getting heavier. It throbbed against the seam, a desperate, angry pulse that synced with the hum in my ears.

"No... stop..." I whimpered. But I didn't want it to stop.

"You love it. You love being a brainless stud. You love being big for me."

The pressure in my sweats was unbearable. The fabric groaned, stitching stretching to the limit as my cock swelled into something monstrous, a thick, heavy slab of meat that had no business being on a human body. It was heavy. So heavy it made me feel lightheaded.

Or maybe that was my brain melting.

"Forget the math test, Brad. Forget your girlfriend. She doesn't like meatheads. But guys... guys love meatheads."

My girlfriend. Jessica. I tried to picture her face, but it was blurry. Why did I like her? She talked too much. She wanted me to read books.

Books are for nerds. I'm not a nerd. I'm a jock.

"That's right. You're a jock. A dumb, horny jock. You exist to lift weights and drain balls. Say it."

"I... I exist..." I stammered. My voice was dropping. Getting raspier. Deeper. "To lift..."

I scrambled off the bed, my legs feeling unsteady. My thighs felt like tree trunks. They were rubbing together, thick with new muscle. I stumbled into the bathroom, gripping the sink.

I looked in the mirror.

The guy staring back wasn't me. He was wider. His shoulders had broadened, tearing the seams of his t, shirt until I clawed it off completely. He grabbed a hoodie from the hook, a black YoungLA zip, up. I didn't own a YoungLA hoodie.

I do now, the voice in my head whispered. It's all I wear.

I zipped it halfway down, exposing the rock, hard ridges of my new midsection. I looked at my face, but... I didn't care about my face. It felt irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the body. The power. The cock twitching in my sweatpants.

My phone buzzed again. Simon.

"Send me a pic, bro. Show me what you are."

I didn't hesitate. I didn't even think. Thinking is hard. obeying is easy.

I pulled the phone up, hiding my face, no need for it, the abs are the identity, and snapped the pic. My other hand drifted down, gripping the massive bulge in my sweats, feeling the heat radiating off it.

I typed the caption without even looking. My fingers knew what to do.

Sent to: Simon (The Boss) "Ready for training, Sir. Brain's empty. Cock's huge. Tell me who to fuck."

I hit send, a dopey, empty grin spreading across my face as I waited for his next command. God, I hope he makes me hit the gym. Or maybe he'll just come over and use me.

Whatever he wants. I'm just meat now.

[rawtextsdev]

Are you going to bring your old story's back online?

Because I really loved them man!

Thanks! They'll all be on RawTexts when it launches. Luckily as part of testing I exported them all with the Tumblr Import Tool I was coding.

Sadly, I won't be uploading them here. Tumblr support was useless and wouldn't tell me which story or pics got my account deleted so reuploading them here will likely trigger the deletion again on this account and im not sure my mental can take that.

In the meantime I'll be writing more SFW content on here.

[rawtextsdev]

not able to get on rawtexts, I get 503d, is this expected?

If you’ve tried to access Rawtexts recently, you’ve likely hit a "503 Service Unavailable" error. I’ve seen the messages asking if this is expected. The short answer is: no, it wasn’t the plan. The long answer is a bit more complicated.

The last few months have been a "perfect storm" of technical catastrophes and personal burnout. I believe in total transparency with this community, so I want to break down exactly what happened, why the site is currently down, and where we go from here.

1. The Erasure of 5 Years of Work

The downward spiral started with my original Tumblr account. Without warning and without any specific or granular reason provided, Tumblr fully deleted the account.

I cannot overstate how much of a mental blow this was. That account represented five years of work, curation, and community building. To see it go down the drain in an instant, with no avenue for recovery, did a serious number on my mental health. It felt like watching a library burn down, and it made it incredibly difficult to find the motivation to keep building.

2. The Holiday Hack

As if the account deletion wasn’t enough, the technical infrastructure took a massive hit in early December.

I rarely take time off, but I was finally on holiday when the news broke about a zero-day vulnerability in React. Fate has a funny way of timing these things; while I was away, hackers managed to exploit this vulnerability, gain access to my test server, and install malware.

Security is my top priority, so there was no middle ground here. I had to fully wipe the server. While I keep a repository of all the core code, there is a significant amount of configuration, local data, integrations, and environment setups that sit locally on the server. Because of the malware, I couldn't pull or save any of that data. It’s gone.

3. Burnout and Community Pushback

Beyond the technical issues, I simply needed a break. For months, I have been working evenings and weekends, sacrificing my free time, trying to build something amazing for this community.

While so many of you have been incredible, sending supportive comments and love, there was also a loud minority. I received a fair amount of hate on my old profile telling me that Rawtexts won't work, that I am wasting my time, or scrutinizing the project for using AI tools. When you are already exhausted, that negativity hits different. It got to be too much, and I needed to step away to preserve my sanity.

4. The Trap of Feature Creep

Finally, I fell into a trap that almost all solo developers face: feature creep.

I am the sole designer, sole developer, and sole tester for Rawtexts. For a platform as big and ambitious as this, wearing all those hats is heavy. I kept trying to add "just one more thing" to make it perfect, rather than focusing on stability. The scope became unmanageable for one person to maintain alongside a full-time life.

So, what now?

The good news is: I am back.

I have dusted myself off, and I am actively working on Rawtexts again. I am rebuilding the server environment and recovering what I can.

The site is not live right now, and it might stay that way for a little while longer as I ensure everything is secure and stable. I am stripping back the feature creep and focusing on the core experience.

Thank you to everyone who checked in and everyone who has waited patiently.

[rawtextsdev]

Site Safety Regulations

Julian hated construction sites. He hated the noise, he hated the chaotic energy, and he especially hated the dirt. As the lead architect on the new downtown high-rise project, he felt it was his right to dictate the vision from the safety of his air-conditioned office, not wading through muck in a three-thousand-dollar Italian suit.

But the foreman, a hulking beast of a man named Miller, had insisted. "Foundation issues," he’d growled over the phone. "Get your ass down here."

Julian stepped out of his BMW, immediately grimacing as his loafers sank an inch into the gray slurry of the lot. He spotted the white work van parked near the perimeter, the back doors flung open. Miller was leaning against it, arms crossed over a chest that looked like it was carved out of granite. He was grinning.

"Nice shoes, pretty boy," Miller called out, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated in Julian’s chest. "You try walkin' the site in those, you're gonna break an ankle. And I ain't carryin' you."

"I'll be fine," Julian snapped, trying to sound authoritative. "Let's just get this over with."

"Nope," Miller said, blocking the path. He gestured to the back of the van. "Safety regs. You need steel toes and high-vis. I got a loaner set in the back. Get changed."

Julian looked at the pile of clothes in the back of the van. A stained, neon-yellow hoodie, a battered canvas jacket, and a pair of boots caked in layers of dried mud. They smelled of old sweat, diesel, and stale tobacco.

"I am not wearing that," Julian scoffed.

Miller stepped closer, towering over him. The playfulness vanished from his eyes. "You put the gear on, or you get the fuck off my site and I tell the owners you refused a safety inspection. Your call, sir."

Julian swallowed hard. He couldn't afford to lose this contract. Muttering under his breath, he climbed into the back of the cramped van.

He stripped off his suit jacket, folding it neatly, and kicked off his ruined loafers. He picked up the hoodie. It was heavy, damp, and reeked of musk. He pulled it over his head.

The moment the fabric touched his skin, a strange, burning itch flared across his chest. It felt like the coarse fibers were latching onto him, digging into his pores. He gasped, trying to pull it off, but it was tight. Too tight.

What the hell? he thought. Is this thing shrinking?

He shoved his legs into the orange safety pants. They were stiff and abrasive. As he buttoned them, he felt a sudden, violent cramp in his thighs.

"Hurry it up back there!" Miller yelled from outside.

"I'm trying!" Julian’s voice cracked. It sounded deeper. Rougher.

He sat on the metal floor of the van to pull on the boots. His feet felt swollen, hot. He shoved his right foot into the muddy boot, and a jolt of pleasure-pain shot up his leg. His toes curled, cracking and reshaping, widening to fill the worn leather.

Fuck, he thought. That… that feels good.

The thought was alien. He shouldn't think old boots felt good. He reached for the other one, but his hand looked wrong. His manicured fingers were thickening, the knuckles swelling. Dark hair was sprouting rapidly across the back of his hand.

"W-what's happening?" Julian stammered. He grabbed his head. His skull felt like it was being put in a vice.

The memories of the blueprints, the structural loads, the client meetings… they were getting fuzzy. Like trying to read a book through a dirty window. They were being replaced by simpler, louder thoughts.

Hungry. Tired. Horn up. Miller.

His shoulders broadened with a sickening crack, shredding the remnants of his dress shirt underneath the hoodie. His biceps inflated, filling the sleeves until the fabric strained. The itch on his face exploded into a thick, coarse beard that covered his jawline in seconds.

He looked down at his lap. A heavy, insistent throb between his legs pressed against the rough canvas of the work pants. He was leaking. He was hard.

Why am I hard?

The answer bubbled up from his gut, primal and undeniable. Because the Boss told you to change. Because you’re a good worker. Because you take orders.

He wasn't an architect. The word felt slippery in his brain, hard to hold onto. Arc-ee-tect? No. Too hard.

He was a laborer. He hauled shit. He dug holes. He did what he was told.

The back of the van felt cozy now. It smelled like home. He sat there, legs spread wide, staring blankly out at the rain. He felt heavy. Solid. Stupid.

Miller appeared at the back doors again. He looked the new recruit up and down, a nasty smirk playing on his lips.

"Fit okay, bud?"

Julian, no, his name was… Jay? Yeah, Jay. Jay looked up. His eyes were glazed over, empty of any spark of intelligence. He rubbed his muddy hands over his new, thick thighs.

"Yeah," Jay grunted. The voice was gravel. "Fits good, Boss."

"Good," Miller said, stepping closer. He reached out and grabbed Jay’s beard, giving it a rough tug. Jay didn't pull away. He leaned into it, a whimper of submission escaping his throat. "You look like you've been workin' hard, Jay."

"Yeah," Jay lied. He hadn't done a thing, but his body felt exhausted, his muscles pumped and aching like he’d been hauling concrete for ten hours. "Real hard."

"Shift's over, though," Miller said, his voice dropping an octave. He casually unbuckled his belt. The sound was deafening in the quiet van.

Jay’s heart hammered against his ribs. The old Julian would have been horrified. Jay just felt a wave of desperate, obedient heat wash over him. He knew the rules. The new guy always had to take care of the foreman. It was just part of the job.

"You know the drill, don't you, boy?" Miller asked, his hand resting heavily on his crotch. "Don't make me angry. You remember what happens when I get angry."

Jay nodded dumbly. He didn't remember specific punishments, just a vague, terrifying sense that he needed to please this man. He needed to be useful. If he wasn't useful, he was nothing.

"I know, Boss," Jay mumbled. He licked his lips, tasting grit and sweat. "I gotta… I gotta drain ya."

"Damn right," Miller chuckled. "Get your ass out of the van and get in my trailer. And wipe your boots before you kneel down."

"Yes, Boss."

Jay stood up, his heavy boots clomping on the metal floor. He felt strong, massive, and completely empty-headed. He hopped out of the van into the mud, not caring as it splattered his orange pants.

He looked toward the site trailer. He was hungry, tired, and his body ached, but the only thing that mattered was making sure Miller was happy.

Jay smirked, scratching his beard. Best job in the world, he thought, and headed for the trailer to get to work.

[rawtextsdev]

Why Everything Suddenly Vanished + What Happens Next

so… a weird wave of moderation hit out of nowhere.

Even though Tumblr officially cleared my blog as not explicit, they also have, as of Friday: – terminated my original account @masterlouistf, – hid or suppressed a bunch of my RawTexts development posts, – made the account name RawTexts an unavailable blog name even though its not in use.

I honestly don’t know if Tumblr is rolling out another automated ban wave or updating their filters again, but the timing is very inconvenient. Even posts that were purely tech updates about RawTexts got buried after my account being marked as safe.

Because my main account is gone, I can’t post stories for now, not unless support reinstates the original blog. All my drafts, WIPs, queued chapters, tags, followers, everything: locked behind that termination.

But I will still post updates here as we ramp up to the Beta in the next couple of months.

🛠️ RawTexts isn’t cancelled. Development is still moving, the platform is still being built, and I’ll keep sharing the behind-the-scenes progress, design decisions, and dev notes right here on this new blog while we wait for tumblr support to sort things out (which I hope they do) and I will be keeping writing separate to prevent any reason to take this account down too.

I just want to keep people in the loop and avoid disappearing without explanation. If the original account is restored, stories will resume like normal. if not… well, I’ll adapt and hopefully see you on RawTexts when it's live.

Thank you to everyone who noticed things going missing and checked in, i’m not going anywhere, it’s just Tumblr being Tumblr. stay tuned.

Also if you are in my writing circles I would appreciate it a THOUSAND times over if you could reblog this so people know I haven't just up and left.

[rawtextsdev]

Update

My main account has been permanently terminated. Tumblr did not point to any specific post. The reason they provided was “sexually explicit materials,” which is unusual considering the blog had just been manually confirmed as not explicit. There was no indication of what triggered this and nothing for me to remove.

This is only to inform people of what happened. Do not check or review anything on your side. I do not want anyone risking their own blog.

I will not be able to post any new stories. RawTexts development will continue here as normal and I will keep posting updates. And I am so thankful as part of coding the tumblr migration tool in RawTexts that I took a full copy of every story so it isn’t all lost.

I hope this is not the start of a wider restriction change on Tumblr, but for now it seems safer to be cautious. Please DO NOT ASK FOR A REVIEW OF ANY FLAGGED CONTENT, your accounts may be at risk.

[rawtextsdev]

Why Everything Suddenly Vanished + What Happens Next

so… a weird wave of moderation hit out of nowhere.

Even though Tumblr officially cleared my blog as not explicit, they also have, as of Friday: – terminated my original account @masterlouistf, – hid or suppressed a bunch of my RawTexts development posts, – made the account name RawTexts an unavailable blog name even though its not in use.

I honestly don’t know if Tumblr is rolling out another automated ban wave or updating their filters again, but the timing is very inconvenient. Even posts that were purely tech updates about RawTexts got buried after my account being marked as safe.

Because my main account is gone, I can’t post stories for now, not unless support reinstates the original blog. All my drafts, WIPs, queued chapters, tags, followers, everything: locked behind that termination.

But I will still post updates here as we ramp up to the Beta in the next couple of months.

🛠️ RawTexts isn’t cancelled. Development is still moving, the platform is still being built, and I’ll keep sharing the behind-the-scenes progress, design decisions, and dev notes right here on this new blog while we wait for tumblr support to sort things out (which I hope they do) and I will be keeping writing separate to prevent any reason to take this account down too.

I just want to keep people in the loop and avoid disappearing without explanation. If the original account is restored, stories will resume like normal. if not… well, I’ll adapt and hopefully see you on RawTexts when it's live.

Thank you to everyone who noticed things going missing and checked in, i’m not going anywhere, it’s just Tumblr being Tumblr. stay tuned.

Also if you are in my writing circles I would appreciate it a THOUSAND times over if you could reblog this so people know I haven't just up and left.