#Multi Unity

[a-girl-called-bob]

whoever decided that git should only update the download size and speed once it receives an entire object clearly did not anticipate git being used to move around ~500MB objects. my connection keeps getting interruped and i can't even see if it's actually making progress or if it's stalled. plus the lack of download resuming. pain. hatred.

[storm-of-silver]

POINTS AT YOU

hi

tell me a fact about final light that you're really excited about so far in development. it can be anything

EHEHE HI!!!!

Development-wise, not so much sadly. I'm learning about UI and dialogue systems atm and I'm thinking of reusing an old WIP I had to test it out, learn, and practice, but otherwise not much on the FL project itself. Just a bunch of learning and tutorials. I've been chipping away at 3D models too but my laptop hates blender with a passion.

Future Development-wise, I really really want to see the story tunnels in-game. There's a few areas I can vividly imagine and I really can't wait to realize in a game (the Colony of Fireflies and Bone territories), but I want the story tunnels to answer a few questions the player might have about the world and it's past, since from the entrance to the end it's just full murals of the history of the colonies. I also just want it to look cool y'know.

The Commander's Maw is also high up on the 'I want to see this in-game' since it's a camping/shelter location- when the player finds a shelter to stay at, they'll be able to roam the shelter to craft, talk to their follower, organize inventory, etc. So, they'll be able to sit at the maw's opening and look over the entirety of the world there. The Colony of Clicker's settlement would also be a shelter but since there's protection (clicking ones) you'd be able to roam the entire settlement- I really want to push the idea that this is a thriving community that is actually living rather than just surviving.

Super super small thing-wise but I'm still somewhat excited about? I'm close to getting the full character roster filled out, and completing the goal of having almost every character gotten for free. I just got two new characters with super nice art, which I'm also happy about!! This would mean only Arrow and Frost of Heather wouldn't be entirely free- I got those two in exchange for some art I did for their original owner.

Prophet of Opossum (left) is by Buzzing_Honey_Bee on TH, and the guy on the right (no name yet sadly) is by @/ribtear!

[delicatelysublimeforester]

Celebrating International Music Day: Uniting Through Music in Saskatoon

[robitherat]

Centaurworld is intense as fuck what the hell

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Apple faces criminal sanctions for defying App Store antitrust order

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND TODAY (May 2), and in WELLINGTON TOMORROW (May 3). More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

Epic, makers of the wildly popular Fortnite video-game, have waged a one-company war against the "app tax" – the 15-30% rake that the mobile duopoly of Apple/Google take out of every penny we spend inside of apps.

Epic's own digital practices are hardly spotless: just this year, the company was caught cheating players – many of them children – with deceptive practices and had to refund over $72m:

https://www.ftc.gov/enforcement/refunds/fortnite-refunds

But in this fight, Epic is on the side of the angels. The 30% that Apple/Google sucks out of the mobile economy is a brutal tax, and not just on app makers. Patreon performers recently raised a stink when the company announced that it would be clawing back 30% of the money pledged by their supporters – that 30% surcharge is passed straight through to Apple/Google:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/8/12/24218629/patreon-membership-ios-30-percent-apple-tax

From independent news outlets to crafters selling their work out of small storefronts, all the way up to massive entertainment services like Disney Plus and Fortnite, the mobile cartel takes 30% out of every dollar, a racket they maintain with onerous rules that ban apps from using their own payment processors, or even from encouraging users to click a link that brings them to a web-based payment screen.

30% is a gigantic markup on payment processing. It's ten times the going rate for payments in the USA, already one of the most expensive places in the world to transfer money from one party to another. In the EU, payment processing typically runs 1%…or less.

But crafters, Patreon podcasters and small-town newspapers are in no position to fight Google and Apple. Instead, we get Epic, a multi-billion-dollar company that's gone to the mattresses to fight these multi-trillion-dollar companies. Personally, I dote on billionaire-on-trillionaire violence.

Epic was wildly successful. It mopped up the floor with Google, securing an especially punitive award from a judge who was furious that Google had destroyed evidence:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/12/im-feeling-lucky/#hugger-mugger

Epic also won against Apple, though not as thoroughly as it had with Google, because Apple had the commonsense not to get up to the kind of shenanigans that make federal judges very, very mad. In the Google case, the court found that Google had acted as a monopolist and ordered it to open up the payment system in Google Play, a direct blow to the Android app tax.

In the Apple case, the judge did not find that Google had acted as a monopolist, but did rule that the App Store's payment processing racket violated the law, and ordered Apple to end its own app tax:

https://techcrunch.com/2025/04/30/epic-games-just-scored-a-major-win-against-apple/

That's where things get gnarly. Apple is addicted to corrupt sources of income – like the tens of billions it illegally receives every year in bribes from Google make it the default search:

https://apnews.com/article/google-antitrust-search-engine-verdict-apple-319a61f20fb11510097845a30abaefd8

And it really, really loves the app tax. When the EU ordered Apple to allow third-party app stores (as a way of killing the app tax), the company cooked up a malicious compliance plan that was comically corrupt:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/06/spoil-the-bunch/#dma

So, the mere fact that a federal judge had ordered Apple to open up its app store to competing payment processors was not going convince Apple to actually do it. Instead, Apple cooked up a set of rules for third-party payment processing that would make it more costly to use someone else's payments, piling up a mountain of junk fees and using scare screens and other deceptive warnings to discourage users from making payments through a rival system:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/judge-rules-apple-executive-lied

That's the kind of thing that is apt to make a federal judge angry – and, as noted, angry federal judges can make life very hard for tech monopolists, a lesson Google learned when it destroyed key evidence in its Epic case. But Apple didn't just flout the court order – they lied about it to cover it up, and Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers is furious. She held that Alex Roman, Apple's Vice-President of Finance, "outright lied under oath," and she has raised the possibility of criminal contempt penalties for Apple:

https://regmedia.co.uk/2025/05/01/pacer_epic_vs_apple_injunction_judgement.pdf

The judge further wrote:

This is an injunction, not a negotiation. There are no do-overs once a party willfully disregards a court order. Time is of the essence. The Court will not tolerate further delays. As previously ordered, Apple will not impede competition. The Court enjoins Apple from implementing its new anticompetitive acts to avoid compliance with the Injunction. Effective immediately Apple will no longer impede developers’ ability to communicate with users nor will they levy or impose a new commission on off-app purchases

In other words, any junk fees, any impediments to opening up third party payments, will be switfly and harshly dealt with. As of right now developers can start to build third-party payments into their apps and Apple cannot block them. It's the end of the app tax, a source of about $100b/year for Apple:

https://www.theregister.com/2025/05/01/apple_epic_lies_possible_crime/

The world is on fire and everything is terrible, but we are also living through the most consequential season in the history of the war on corporate tech power. Google has been convicted three times of being a monopolist and is almost certainly going to have to sell off Chrome, most of its ad-tech stack, and possibly Android. Meta just put up a pathetic showing in an equally serious antitrust case that could see it forced to sell off Instagram and Whatsapp:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/11/it-is-better-to-buy/#than-to-compete

Countries around the world have passed big, sweeping, muscular antitrust laws specifically aimed at smashing corporate tech power, like the EU's Digital Markets Act and Digital Services Act:

https://www.eff.org/pages/adoption-dsadma-notre-analyse

Most importantly, all of this is happening from the bottom up. There is no dark money campaign to fuck up the tech companies. The politicians and enforcers who are taking on Big Tech are being shoved from behind by billions of everyday people who are furious and refuse to take it any longer:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/10/solidarity-forever-2/#oligarchism

I am deeply grateful for the public servants who have championed this cause, but I also know that these people are the effect of our movement, not the cause. When Kier Starmer fires Britain's brilliant and effective top competition enforcer and replaces him with the former head of Amazon UK, that does nothing to tamp down the political outrage that Britons feel towards America's tech giants:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/22/autocrats-of-trade/#dingo-babysitter

All over the world, countries that passed IP laws to protect US tech interests in exchange for tariff-free access to US markets are grappling with the end of free trade with America. This represents a generational opportunity to pass laws that enable local technologists to jailbreak US tech exports and liberate their people from the extractive practices of Big Tech forever:

https://archive.is/CiBIz

There is nothing harder to stop than an idea whose time has come to pass.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/01/its-not-the-crime/#its-the-coverup

Image: Alex Popovkin, Bahia, Brazil from Brazil (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Annelid_worm,_Atlantic_forest,_northern_littoral_of_Bahia,_Brazil_%2816107326533%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

--

Hubertl (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2015-03-04_Elstar_%28apple%29_starting_putrefying_IMG_9761_bis_9772.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[transhuman-priestess]

Every few years there’s a shift in the discourse where someone decides that there’s a group of queers who aren’t “really” queer and for reasons unknown decided that they will focus all of their discourse on trying to discredit that one group.

It used to be “straight passing” bisexuals. Then it was “Theyfabs” and “transtrenders”. Then it was “hetero aces.” Now it’s “transmisogyny-exempt” people. And the thing you find every time is that the people writing angry multi-paragraph screeds about how these “invaders” are “stealing resources” or “silencing people” but they can never actually point to more than one or two examples, at best, of this happening.

But if you repeat something enough with a strong enough conviction in your voice, people will pretty much always be willing to think you’re right, even when you aren’t.

This is the basis of fascism. Exclusionary rhetoric is fascist. No one is immune to this thought process. You have to actively work on avoiding it.

“Did you just call me a fascist because I’m concerned with TME people silencing trans women” i mean, yeah. I did. Fix yourself, and I’ll be willing to talk to you again. I won’t apologize for what I said, mind you. But you can always fix yourself.

I used to think like that. I used to talk about how you “need dysphoria to be trans” and how bi people can “pass as straight” and how trans men “take up our space.” And I was wrong about all that.

There’s enough space in the queer community for everyone. We are always stronger when we understand this. Please, look towards unity rather than division. Fix yourselves.

Being wrong doesn’t make you a bad person. Changing your views is not evidence of weakness. Your friends will still live you if you change. Please.

[blackstarlineage]

Overemphasis on Assimilation into Western Culture: A Garveyite Perspective

Introduction: The Psychological Chains of Western Assimilation

The obsession with assimilating into Western culture has been one of the most damaging consequences of colonialism, slavery, and white supremacy for the Black world. Instead of embracing African cultural, economic, and spiritual traditions, many Black people have been conditioned to see Westernization as the only path to progress, respectability, and success.

From a Garveyite perspective, this overemphasis on assimilation is not just a personal choice—it is the result of a deliberate strategy to disconnect Black people from their roots, weaken Pan-African unity, and ensure permanent psychological and economic dependency on Western nations.

If Black people do not reject the myth that Westernization equals progress, they will continue to be mentally, economically, and politically enslaved—even without physical chains.

1. The Historical Roots of Forced Western Assimilation

A. The Role of Slavery in Enforcing Western Cultural Norms

During the Transatlantic Slave Trade, enslaved Africans were:

They are stripped of their names and given European names to erase their African identity.

Forced to abandon their languages, replacing them with European tongues.

Converted to Christianity, while their traditional African spiritual systems were demonized.

Taught to imitate European customs, with severe punishments for embracing African traditions.

Example: Enslaved Africans in the Americas were banned from drumming, speaking their languages, or practising African rituals, because European enslavers knew that cultural continuity would fuel rebellion and resistance.

Key Takeaway: The foundation of Western assimilation was built on control—Black people were forced to abandon their culture to make them easier to dominate.

B. The Colonial Education System and the Destruction of African Identity

European colonizers established Western-style schools in Africa and the Caribbean, where Black children were taught that:

African history began with European “discovery” and colonization.

European languages, customs, and political systems were superior.

Success meant adopting Western dress, behaviour, and beliefs.

African intellectuals who challenged colonial education were often marginalized, imprisoned, or assassinated.

Example: Many African nations still prioritize English, French, or Portuguese over indigenous languages, proving that colonial education still dictates cultural norms.

Key Takeaway: The education system was used as a tool of cultural genocide—teaching Black children to reject their own identity in favour of European validation.

2. The Modern Consequences of Overassimilating into Western Culture

A. The Worship of European Beauty Standards

One of the most destructive effects of Western assimilation is the widespread rejection of African beauty.

Many Black people internalize European beauty ideals, leading to:

Skin bleaching – A multi-billion dollar industry fueled by self-hatred.

Hair straightening & rejection of natural hair – Many Black women and men feel pressured to conform to Eurocentric hair standards.

Preference for European facial features – Thin noses, lighter skin, and “mixed-race” aesthetics are glorified over African features.

Example: In many African and Caribbean countries, lighter-skinned individuals are given better job opportunities, proving that colonial beauty standards still control access to success.

Key Takeaway: When Black people reject their own beauty, they subconsciously accept the idea that whiteness is superior.

B. The Dependence on Western Economic Systems

Black nations and individuals are conditioned to believe that true success comes from Western capitalist and neoliberal models, leading to:

Overreliance on European and American corporations rather than developing African-owned businesses.

Brain drain – African and Caribbean nations losing their most talented people to Europe and America.

Import dependency – Many African nations produce raw materials but import finished goods from the West, keeping them economically dependent.

Example: Africa produces over 70% of the world’s cocoa, yet European companies like Nestlé and Hershey make billions selling chocolate, while African economies remain poor.

Key Takeaway: True economic freedom will never come from Western systems—it will come from African self-sufficiency.

C. The Political Submission to Western Powers

Many Black nations seek validation from Western governments, rather than asserting their own sovereignty, leading to:

Neocolonialism – African and Caribbean leaders depend on Western aid and approval instead of leading independently.

Mimicking Western political structures – African nations copy European governance models instead of developing African-centered political systems.

Disrespect for African traditional governance – Indigenous leadership systems that worked for centuries are dismissed as “backwards” in favour of European democracy.

Example: Many African nations still use European constitutions and laws, long after gaining independence.

Key Takeaway: African nations must rule according to their own traditions and values—not copy Western systems that were designed to exploit them.

3. The Psychological Effects of Overassimilating into Western Culture

A. The Mental Slavery of Seeking White Validation

Many Black individuals and leaders feel the need to:

Prove their intelligence to white society – Constantly seeking white approval rather than building Black institutions.

Distance themselves from African identity – Some Black people feel ashamed to be associated with Africa.

Look down on “too Black” behaviours – Some Black people see African culture, accents, and names as “ghetto” or “uncivilized.”

Example: Many Black professionals feel the need to code-switch or “act white” to be accepted in corporate spaces.

Key Takeaway: True freedom means living for your people, not adjusting yourself to fit white society’s expectations.

B. The Weakening of Black Unity and Pan-Africanism

Western assimilation divides the Black community by creating:

Class divisions – Educated and Westernized Black people often see themselves as superior to “uneducated” or “rural” Africans.

Religious divisions – Many Black Christians and Muslims reject African spiritual practices as “pagan” or “devilish.”

Nationality over race – Many Black people identify more with their colonizer’s nationality than with the global Black community.

Example: Some Black immigrants look down on Black Americans, and some Black Americans reject African immigrants, rather than seeing their shared struggle.

Key Takeaway: When Black people are divided, they are easier to control—this is why unity must be prioritized over Western acceptance.

4. The Garveyite Solution: Rejecting Western Assimilation and Reclaiming Black Identity

A. Embracing African Cultural and Spiritual Traditions

Black people must reclaim African names, languages, and traditions to restore their identity.

African spiritual systems must be respected and revived, rather than being dismissed as “evil.”

Black artists, writers, and filmmakers must elevate African culture over Eurocentric perspectives.

Example: Instead of celebrating European holidays like Christmas, Black people should embrace African traditions like Kwanzaa, Odwira, or Ifá festivals.

Key Takeaway: A people without their own culture are forever mentally enslaved.

B. Building Black Economic and Political Power

Black nations must prioritize intra-African trade over dependence on the West.

Black communities must fund Black businesses, banks, and institutions instead of relying on white-owned corporations.

Black leaders must reject foreign aid and IMF loans, developing self-sustaining African economic models.

Example: African nations should focus on Pan-African trade alliances, rather than competing for Western approval.

Key Takeaway: Only an economically independent Black world can resist white domination.

Conclusion: Will We Continue Assimilating, or Will We Build Our Own Future?

Marcus Garvey said:

"Be Black, buy Black, think Black, and all else will take care of itself."

Will Black people continue seeking Western validation, or reclaim their African identity?

Will we assimilate into systems designed to oppress us, or create our own institutions?

The Choice is Ours. The Time is Now.

[hyog-blog]

Can we just talk a little about this unholy unity of Li Lun and Zhuo Yichen? Just look at him :D Why does he look so hot)) And those bare arms, in a show where everyone is so deliberately clothed in multi-layers (apart from demons who are veeeery bad, hence, they can show their sexiness as much as they want).

Anyway, that's it, that's all I have to say XD

And while we're on this bad-demons-look-so-good topic, let's throw in a few of them sizzling hot baddies to the mix. Because no one pulls the bad demon look quite like Zhao Yuanzhou's Inner Demon :3

And I enjoyed the whole dark!Wen Xiao sequence a little too much :D

[pincushionx]

Labyrinth Runners Alternative

Me destroying canon relationships dynamics

More rough sketches part of my late redemption Hunter Au (canon divergent)

Hunter was able to take lead in forcing sigils upon the students and succeeded, now the day of unity stakes are higher. Luckily he isn’t like Adrian and at least provided them the matching sigils to their track…the multi-track students are given sigils based on the original chosen classes on record.

Now they will be affected by the draining spell, Hunter is convinced he did something for the greater good and is proud. This will cause so much conflict in the future.

Connected to this and this

Calling this AU late redemption Au for now and works will be tagged as such

[redwavesolutions]

Red Wave Solutions: Spread The Word

Mason Samsen wasn’t your average 20-year-old college student. His perpetually tousled hair and ink-stained fingertips were more than a badge of his role as a budding journalist; they were the marks of someone who rarely rested when there was a story to uncover. A junior at Jefferson University, Mason had quickly built a reputation as a truth-seeker on campus. His peers respected his tenacity, and some even feared his relentless pursuit of exposing wrongdoing. As an outspoken Democratic Socialist, Mason believed deeply in the power of truth to dismantle systems of inequality and oppression. For him, journalism wasn’t just a career path – it was a moral obligation.

His work spoke for itself. Within just two years, Mason had written exposés that sent shockwaves through the community of his college. The first uncovered a scandal involving a tenured professor who was not only cheating on his wife with his teaching assistant but also allegedly grading female students unfairly. Then there was the damning report on the head of the History Department, whose pattern of racially charged comments and discriminatory hiring practices for his TAs Mason meticulously documented. Both articles landed Mason in hot water with the faculty due to how much news coverage it received, but they also cemented his place as the student body’s most fearless journalist. His articles had been shared far beyond campus, with national outlets even picking up some of his stories. To Mason, this was proof that his instincts were never wrong.

So when the fliers for a company called "Red Wave Solutions" started appearing across campus, Mason’s journalist’s radar pinged instantly. He first noticed them plastered haphazardly on the corkboard outside the student union. A stark crimson logo dominated the page, paired with the tagline: "Reject Political Anxiety and Accept Conformity – Join the Movement Today!" The messaging was vague but calculated, designed to intrigue and alarm in equal measure. The company’s name struck him as odd too, as "Red Wave" sounded more like a politically charged rallying cry than a corporate entity. As such, he couldn’t help but wonder what type of services it could even offer.

Due to this, Mason tore a flier off the board and scrutinized it further. There was no detailed description of services, no list of affiliations, and no website – just a QR code and a phone number. A quick scan of the code on his phone led to a bare-bones webpage with little more than a flashy promotional video and a generic mission statement about "encouraging unity across the political divide." To Mason, it reeked of corporate jargon hiding something more insidious.

As he watched several nervous students hastily follow him and grab the fliers while looking around to make sure no one else saw them, the odd feeling Mason felt continued to gnaw at him. Why was a seemingly obscure yet political company suddenly plastering fliers all over campus? What exactly were they selling, and who had invited them here? Was this tied to the university administration, or was it the work of a private group looking to influence the student body? Mason didn’t know yet, but one thing was certain: the smell of bullshit was undeniable.

Mason’s resolve hardened as he opened a fresh document on his laptop. He would do what he always did – follow the trail, piece by piece, until he uncovered the truth. He had a gut feeling that Red Wave Solutions was up to far more nefarious things than their preachy unity message implied. As such, it was up to him to find out exactly what they were hiding and why they were targeting his campus.

Back in his dorm room, Mason leaned back in his creaky office chair, scrolling through the company’s sparse website with a growing sense of unease. The bright, polished visuals stood in stark contrast to the murkiness surrounding the company's true purpose. Stock photos of smiling queer couples holding hands and multi-racial families posing dominated the homepage. Their warm, inclusive energy clashed oddly with the undercurrent of the program’s messaging, which was as ambiguous as it was unsettling.

Mason’s sharp eyes honed in on the phrasing in the promotional text. "Are you worried about the future? Afraid of standing out? We hear you, and we can help remedy those nerves!" The implications were vague, but something about them made Mason’s skin crawl. The language was too polished, too calculated, as if crafted by a focus group determined to hit all the right notes for an audience grappling with post-election anxieties. His intuition told him this wasn’t just a therapy program – something insidious lurked beneath the cheerful exterior.

Being a gay man, Mason had learned to trust his gut when it came to exposing homophobic hostility, no matter how sugar-coated and concealed it appeared. The website’s queer-friendly imagery might have fooled someone else, but to Mason, it reeked of a ploy. As he clicked through the pages, a darker theory began to form in his mind. Could Red Wave Solutions be some kind of veiled conversion therapy operation? Maybe not in the traditional fire-and-brimstone sense, but something modern, subtle, and far more calculated – a campaign to indoctrinate or "reorient" unsuspecting young people under the guise of empathy and support.

Adding to his unease, Mason had found himself overhearing some of his friends mentioning Red Wave Solutions in the past few weeks. They’d talked about the program as a potential outlet to process their political anxieties and the stress of living in a rapidly polarizing society. Their interest frustrated Mason to no end. Couldn’t they see how suspicious it all sounded? He knew he couldn’t simply tell them to stay away without proof though, it was a common occurrence for them to accuse him of overthinking or being paranoid.

And so, Mason made a plan. If his friends were intrigued, he’d get there first. He’d scope out the company himself, ask pointed questions, and observe their methods. If his suspicions were correct, he’d blow the lid off Red Wave Solutions before any of his friends fell victim to its schemes. He wasn’t afraid to sacrifice a few hours enduring thinly-veiled conservative rhetoric if it meant protecting the people he cared about.

That resolve ultimately left him scheduling an appointment and standing outside the nondescript building listed as the company’s headquarters the very next day. The office complex was a bland, utilitarian structure – gray cement walls with windows that reflected the cloudy sky. There was no large sign or logo to announce Red Wave Solutions’ presence, only a small decal on the front door that caused the company to look as impersonal and corporate as Mason had imagined.

Taking a deep breath, Mason adjusted the front of his shirt. It wasn’t just a nervous habit though, he wanted to make sure the tiny button camera sewn into the middle of his polo was perfectly aligned. He’d spent all night setting up the camera, ensuring its placement was discreet yet functional. If something went south, he needed visual proof of whatever shady operation was running inside.

As he smoothed his shirt, Mason glanced at his reflection in the glass door. He looked composed enough, but his stomach churned. This wasn’t his first investigative dive, but something about this one felt different. Possibly dangerous even, given the type of hardcore conservatives that were most likely working on the inside to trap unsuspecting people into their web. Ever determined though, Mason shook the thought from his head and squared his shoulders. He had a job to do, after all, the truth wasn’t going to expose itself.

With one final glance at the street behind him, Mason pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The air inside the Red Wave Solutions building was cool and faintly scented with a generic, clean aroma that reminded Mason of a freshly mopped hospital floor. His eyes darted around the space as he stepped inside, taking in the minimalist yet calculated decor. The interior was almost sterile in its design: pristine white walls and floors offset by carefully placed red accents. A striking red backlight illuminated the reception desk at the center of the room, and short sections of the walls were painted in the same bold crimson. It was sleek and modern but lacked any warmth, as if it had been designed to evoke trustworthiness without inviting comfort.

Behind the desk sat a neatly dressed woman who greeted Mason with a polite but impersonal smile. She was African American, her hair pulled into a professional bun while her burgundy blouse complemented the crimson accents of the room. Mason’s journalistic instincts immediately kicked in. The choice of a minority woman as the face of this place struck him as deliberate – an intentional move to put visitors at ease and present an image of inclusivity. He wondered how many people had walked through these doors, seen her friendly face, and let their guards down.

“Welcome to Red Wave Solutions,” she said, her voice professional but warm. “Do you have an appointment with us today?”

Mason nodded, stepping closer to the desk. “Yeah, it’s Mason Samsen. My appointment’s at 2:30.”

The woman’s manicured nails clicked against her keyboard as she searched for his information in the system. Mason used the moment to glance around, noting a few chairs arranged neatly along the walls of the waiting area. They were stark white, with small red cushions placed in the center of each seat. A table held a stack of glossy pamphlets with titles like "Taking the First Step Toward Inner Peace" and "Navigating Life’s Challenges with Confidence." He resisted the urge to grab one, keeping his focus on the woman behind the desk.

“Ah, here you are,” she said after a few moments. “I just need to verify your identity. Do you have an ID with you?”

Mason froze for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t anticipated this. “Uh, yeah,” he said, fishing his driver’s license out of his wallet. “Is that really necessary though?”

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ve had a few incidents recently with people trying to play pranks or disrupt our sessions. Running a quick background check helps us ensure that everyone who comes in is serious about taking advantage of what we offer while also helping us easily share information with the police if necessary.”

Mason hesitated, his fingers gripping the edge of his license. Her explanation was reasonable enough on the surface, but it still felt invasive and incredibly suspicious. Still, he knew he couldn’t afford to raise any alarms this early in his investigation. With a tight smile, he handed over the ID.

“Thank you,” the woman said, sliding the card into a small scanner attached to the desk. The machine whirred softly as it processed the information. “This will just take a moment. Once it’s done, we’ll take you back to begin your consultation and help you learn how to thrive in the red wave.”

Mason forced a polite chuckle at her use of a clearly corporate-enforced tagline, but inwardly, his nerves spiked. The phrase felt even more ominous now that they held his ID, like some Orwellian euphemism. He watched as she glanced at her screen, her expression unreadable as the system ran its checks.

“Feel free to take a seat while we finish up,” she added, gesturing toward the waiting area.

Mason nodded and moved to one of the chairs, carefully positioning himself where he and his hidden camera could keep an eye on the desk. He slid his phone out of his pocket and pretended to scroll while his thoughts churned. This whole process felt wrong. What kind of therapy company needed to run background checks on its clients? Was this just about deterring pranksters, or was there something deeper at play – some sort of data collection method or pre-screening tool to help figure out how exactly to break the mental reserves of interested parties?

As he waited, Mason adjusted his polo shirt again, ensuring the hidden button camera was still perfectly aligned. Whatever was happening here, he wasn’t leaving without answers.

The seconds stretched into minutes as Mason sat in the waiting area, his foot tapping against the white tile floor. His eyes flicked between the receptionist and the clock on the wall, noting that it had been over ten minutes since his ID had been taken. The polished environment of Red Wave Solutions, with its pristine surfaces and artificial calmness, was starting to get under his skin. The longer he waited, the more his mind raced. What if they were stalling for a reason? Had their check revealed his identity as an expose-focused journalist? He needed answers, and he wasn’t about to waste more time sitting idly by and waiting for them to make the first move.

Determined to act, Mason stood and walked back to the desk, forcing a polite smile. “Hey, sorry to bother you,” he began, “but is there a bathroom I could use while I wait?”

The receptionist returned his smile with one of her own, still calm and composed. “Of course,” she said, pointing toward a hallway behind her. “Just head straight down that hall and take a right. You’ll see the sign.”

“Thanks,” Mason replied, masking his nerves as he turned away.

He followed her directions, but as he walked, he took in everything around him. The red accents continued down the hallway – with all of its short walls and door frames painted with the same deliberate splash of color. The space was oddly quiet, the faint hum of distant air conditioning the only sound accompanying his steps. His hidden camera captured everything, from the layout to the stark, almost clinical lighting.

When he reached the intersection where he was supposed to turn right toward the bathroom, he paused. To his left, the hallway stretched further into the building, its end obscured by a sharp turn. Mason hesitated, weighing his options. The bathroom was a safe choice, but his instincts pushed him in the other direction. If he wanted answers, he knew he had to take a risk.

After glancing back to ensure the receptionist couldn’t see him, Mason hastily turned left and strode deeper into the building.

The further he went, the stranger the place felt. The hallways were eerily labyrinthine, branching off into sharp angles and other hallways that made it easy to lose his bearings. Doors lined the walls, each one marked with a small, nondescript plaque bearing a room number. Curious, Mason peeked through the window of one door, only to find an empty, white-walled room with a single chair bolted to the floor. The next room was the same. And the next.

“What the hell is this place?” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding harder with each step.

Then, a sound broke the silence – a voice, faint at first, but unmistakable.

“Help! Someone, please! Help me!”

Mason froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was male, clearly desperate and filled with terror.

“I changed my mind! I want to leave! Please, let me out!”

The cries sent a chill down Mason’s spine. He scanned the hallway, trying to pinpoint the source. Although he didn’t know where exactly, the man knew that the screams were coming from somewhere deeper in the building.

Without hesitation then, Mason followed the sound, his steps quickening as he navigated the twisting corridors. The voice grew louder by the minute, the man’s pleas echoing off the sterile walls. Mason’s chest tightened as he rounded another corner, finally stopping in front of a heavy door with a small rectangular window.

Inside, a young man was standing with his head pressed against the glass window. His face was pale, his eyes wide and filled with panic. When he saw Mason, he pounded on the glass.

“Please, help me!” the man begged, his voice raw. “You have to let me out! I changed my mind. I don’t want to go through with this anymore!”

Mason’s hands trembled as he reached for the door handle, only to find it locked. He looked back down the hallway, adrenaline flooding his system. The silence outside the door was deafening, as if the building itself were holding its breath.

“Hold on,” Mason said, his voice low but urgent. “I’ll get you out of here. Just give me a second.”

The man inside the room sobbed, clutching his head in anguish. “Please, hurry, I don’t feel well,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Mason scanned the door, looking for any way to unlock it. His instincts told him to move quickly – if anyone caught him here, he wouldn’t have the chance to find out what was really going on.

Mason’s heart hammered in his chest as he examined the door, searching for some way to unlock it. His fingers brushed over the control panel on the side, and he let out a small breath of relief when he saw the latch mechanism – a simple keypad. His years of investigative journalism had taught him a few tricks, and after quickly punching in a few common codes he’d used to sneak into areas in the past, the lock finally gave a faint click.

The door swung open, and the man inside nearly collapsed into Mason’s arms. His slender twinkish frame trembled, and before Mason could say a word, the man threw his arms around him, clinging tightly.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” the man cried, his voice breaking. “We need to get out of here… right fucking now!”

Mason gripped his shoulders firmly, pushing him back slightly so he could look him in the eyes. “Hey, calm down. Stop yelling,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady. “I’ll help you get out, but you have to keep quiet. We can’t get caught, okay?”

The man nodded frantically, his breathing ragged. Mason took a moment to observe him. He was young – probably a college student no older than Mason himself – with bright blonde hair that was tousled in a way that suggested he’d been consistently running his hands through it while in distress. His frail physique was only emphasized by the somewhat tight Britney Spears t-shirt he wore, providing Mason with a clear as day impression of the other man’s toned abs and flat chest. The whole look screamed twink, which instantly caused Mason to develop a pang of protectiveness for him.

“Okay, we’re getting out of here,” Mason said, his voice firm but quiet. “Stick close to me, and don’t make a sound unless I ask you something.”

The man nodded again, wiping tears from his face. Mason led him out of the room, carefully closing the door behind them. He glanced down the hallway, ensuring the coast was clear before gesturing for the man to follow him.

As they walked, Mason leaned in close. “What’s your name?”

“Cooper,” the man whispered, his voice trembling. “Cooper Evans.”

“All right, Cooper. What the hell is going on here?”

Cooper hesitated, wringing his hands as they moved down the quiet hall. “I– I came here because I was scared,” he finally said, his voice shaking. “I didn’t know what else to do. With this new administration, I was afraid of being hate-crimed or losing my rights. They said they could help me blend in.”

Mason’s brows furrowed. “Blend in? How?”

“They… they said they have this process,” Cooper explained. “They said they could transform me into a Conservative. That I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore if I just… fit in.”

Mason stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at Cooper. “Transform you? What are you talking about? How does that even work?”

“I, I don’t know!” Cooper said, his voice rising before Mason quickly shushed him. “I swear, I don’t know. They gave me this whole pitch, had me sign a contract saying I’d agree to it, and then they gave me this red pill for me to swallow. That’s it. That’s all I know!”

Mason let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell were you thinking saying yes to something like that?” he hissed. “I know the future’s scary right now, but why would you want to become someone with such awful values? Someone your altered self would hate if they ever met the real you?”

Cooper’s lip trembled, and tears began streaming down his face again. “Dude, I was scared, okay?” he choked out. “I didn’t know what else to do! I thought… I thought it was the only way I’d be safe.”

Mason sighed, his frustration melting into a mix of sympathy and anger. “Look, I get it. Things are bad, but you can’t just give up who you are because you’re scared. That’s exactly what people like them want. I don’t know you well, but I can already tell that you’re a great guy who deserves to be your true self…”

Cooper sniffled, nodding miserably as he endured the lecture from the other man while continuing down the hallway. Mason kept a hand on his shoulder, guiding him while keeping an ear out for any approaching footsteps. Whatever was happening here, it was worse than he’d imagined, and he was determined to not only get Cooper out of here safely, but expose this company for the disgusting things they’re attempting to do.

Mason kept a steady grip on Cooper’s shoulder, speaking softly but urgently. “Listen, Cooper, nobody can just transform like that. It’s not real. Whatever they gave you, it’s probably some kind of drug – a sedative, maybe, or something to make you more suggestible. Brainwashing, that’s got to be their angle. They’re just trying to get you weak enough so they can get in your head…”

Cooper’s watery eyes flicked toward him, searching for reassurance. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Mason replied firmly. “You’re still you. We just need to get out of here in one piece, and everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

But just as the words left Mason’s mouth, Cooper stopped dead in his tracks. A low grunt escaped him, and his hands shot to his stomach.

“Something’s wrong,” Cooper whimpered, his voice tight with discomfort.

Mason spun around, his heart lurching. “Cooper?”

Before he could get another word out, Cooper screamed – a piercing, guttural sound that echoed through the hallway. Mason’s pulse spiked, causing him to immediately clamp a hand over Cooper’s mouth.

“Shh! Stop screaming!” Mason hissed, glancing over his shoulder, expecting someone to come rushing toward them at any moment. But Cooper’s muffled cries didn’t stop. His entire body trembled, his knees buckling as he clutched his midsection.

“Damn it,” Mason muttered under his breath, scanning the hallway. He spotted a door nearby, one that oddly wasn’t locked like so many of the others but rather slightly ajar. With no other choice and not in the situation to second-guess it, he yanked it open all the way, dragging Cooper inside and shutting the door behind them.

“Okay, breathe,” Mason said, trying to keep his own voice steady. “We just need to–”

But Cooper cut him off with another scream, this one deeper and more guttural than before. Mason’s stomach churned as the sound of cracking bones filled the air. Cooper fell to his knees, his hands bracing against the cold floor as his body convulsed. “What’s happening to me?!” he roared, his voice suddenly raspier and deeper, no longer the light airy tenor Mason had heard moments ago.

“Cooper, calm down!” Mason demanded, though his own panic was building. “It’s, it’s probably the drug giving you a panic attack or something. Just hold on, we’ll–”

But Mason’s words faltered as he watched, wide-eyed, as Cooper’s body began to change. His frame, once frail and delicate, suddenly began to expand with unnatural speed. His limbs stretched, his torso elongating until he had shot up to at least 6’4”. His skinny jeans became comically short, now resembling capris, while his Britney Spears t-shirt rode up his lengthening torso, exposing a wide swath of his toned abdomen.

“What the hell…” Mason whispered, stumbling back against the wall.

Cooper’s screams wavered, cracking wildly between high-pitched cries and guttural, low groans. His hands clutched at his chest and shoulders as his body continued to shift – this time with the invasion of muscle into his lithe frame. Before his eyes, Mason watched as the other man’s lean arms buffed up, his flat chest began to thicken and broaden, and the remainder of Cooper’s entire physique began to morph from wiry club kid to college athlete.

“It hurts!” Cooper cried out, his voice so deep and gravelly it was almost unrecognizable. “What the fuck is happening to me?!”

Mason’s breath caught in his throat. “Cooper,” he said, his voice trembling. “I– I think it’s real. That pill… it’s actually transforming you.”

Cooper’s new, larger form shook with silent sobs as his head dropped forward, his blonde hair falling into his face. “But I didn’t want this!” he bellowed, his voice resonating in the small room. “I just wanted to feel safe!”

Mason stared at him, horrified and helpless, his mind racing. Whatever he had stumbled into at Red Wave Solutions was far more sinister than he could have imagined. This wasn’t just brainwashing or manipulation – this was something once thought to be scientifically impossible.

He took a shaky step forward, placing a hand on Cooper’s arm and struggling to comprehend the jock-like biceps the man now possessed. “We’re going to figure this out,” Mason said, his voice low but firm. “I don’t know how, but we will find a way to turn you back. Just… keep it together, okay?”

Cooper looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. “They changed me,” he choked out. “I barely even recognize myself…”

Mason swallowed hard, fighting back the rising tide of panic. “We’ll fix this,” he promised, though he had no idea how. “But first, we’ve got to get out of here.”

He reached for the door handle, his heart hammering. Whatever was happening inside Red Wave Solutions, Mason knew one thing for sure: he had to expose it, no matter the cost.

Mason had barely finished reassuring Cooper when the man doubled over again, this time clutching his chest with both hands. The cracking and popping sounds of shifting bone and sinew returned, louder and more unsettling than before. Mason’s stomach twisted in fear as Cooper’s body began to shake once more.

“Cooper?” Mason asked, his voice shaking as he stepped back. “What’s happening now?”

Cooper let out a low groan that turned into a guttural moan as his entire body suddenly began to swell with immense mass. In an instant, his arms ballooned with muscle. His biceps and forearms thickened rapidly, straining the sleeves of his Britney Spears shirt until they began to tear at the seams. His chest expanded, leaving his plump pecs pressed tightly against the fabric as his shoulders further broadened and filled out. His newly-jockish frame was already disappearing, undergoing an extreme metamorphosis as more layers of powerful muscle began to flood his physique. 

“Holy… shit…,” Mason muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of Cooper’s transformation.

The changes didn’t stop with his upper body, as Cooper’s thighs and calves surged with muscle, causing his jeans to pull taut until the fabric threatened to split. His abdomen, which had been toned yet flat before, rippled with abs so bulging and pronounced they looked sculpted from stone. And yet, even as Mason watched, a soft layer of fat began to spread over Cooper’s newly chiseled physique. His once-defined six-pack faded into the softer outline of a bulkier, slightly rounded stomach, giving him the appearance of a well-fed, off-season athlete… or a frat bro who spent as much time lifting weights as he did guzzling beer.

Cooper let out a long, low moan as the transformation slowed. His once frail and shaky voice was now deep and resonant, though his words came out in a stilted, almost dazed manner. “Holy shit, bro,” he said, looking down at his enormous hands and flexing them experimentally. “What… what happened to me?!”

Mason’s breath hitched as he stared at the hulking figure before him. Cooper’s face still bore a trace of his former self, but it was broader now, more rugged. His blonde hair was now down to his shoulders, styled with a natural set of curls that gave him a sort of redneck-chic style befitting of a frat bro. The sight was surreal, and Mason’s instincts screamed at him to leave.

He took a step back, glancing at the door. “Look, Cooper,” he said cautiously, his voice trembling. “I– I think you’re going to be okay still. Just… stay here. I need to figure out how to get us out of this mess.”

But the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. Every fiber of his being told him he couldn’t stay here any longer. Whatever was happening to Cooper, it was beyond anything Mason could comprehend, let alone fix.

“I’ll be right back,” Mason lied, taking another step back toward the door until his back pressed against the firm metal.

As he reached for the handle and turned it though, his heart sank. It wouldn’t budge. He yanked harder, but it quickly became clear that there was no use. The door was locked.

“No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, his panic rising. He spun around, his eyes darting toward the small window in the door.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Two enormous security guards stood just outside, their arms crossed over their broad chests. Both men were built like linebackers, their sharp features set in stern, no-nonsense expressions. They were looking directly at Mason, their eyes unblinking, their presence menacing.

“Oh, crap,” Mason whispered, stepping away from the door.

“Dude,” Cooper said behind him, his voice booming and casual now. “Why’s the door locked? What’s goin’ on, bro?”

Mason didn’t respond. His mind raced, trying to think of a way out. Yet as he looked around, he quickly realized that not only was the room small, but it lacked any other exits or windows. The only way out of this room was through the door – and the guards who clearly weren’t going to let him leave.

Cooper took a lumbering step toward him, his movements unsteady as he adjusted to his new burly size. “Yo, Mason,” he said, his voice a strange mix of confusion and excitement. “I feel so weird, man. Like, I’m freakin’ huge now. This is nuts!”

Mason pressed himself against the far wall, his breath quick and shallow. He had come here to expose Red Wave Solutions, but now he was trapped in a nightmare with no clear escape. And to make matters worse, the transformed Cooper was now staring at him with an unsettling mix of bewilderment and enthusiasm, as if unaware of the full extent of what had just happened to him.

The guards outside shifted slightly, their eyes never leaving Mason. It was clear they were waiting for him to make a move – which left the journalist wondering if they were simply there to stop him from interfering or eventually take him somewhere worse for finding out the truth.

Mason swallowed hard, his mind racing. Whatever was happening here, he was in way over his head.

Mason barely had time to process the sight of the guards standing outside the window before the door clicked and swung open into the room. His pulse spiked, and he took a few reflexive steps back, especially as the two massive guards rushed into the room with practiced precision and alarming speed.

“Hey! Wait–” Mason shouted, but the words were cut off as one guard grabbed his left arm and the other seized his right. Their grips were like iron, pinning him in place with an effortless strength that left him completely immobilized.

“Let me go!” Mason demanded, struggling futilely against their hold.

But his cries went ignored. The guards didn’t so much as glance at him, their stony expressions remaining fixed ahead like robots as they held him firmly.

Mason’s eyes darted to Cooper, desperate for help, but the sight before him made his stomach drop further. Cooper was staring at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the far wall, his now-massive hands running over his muscular chest and arms. His face, once soft and pretty, had undergone further dramatic transformation. The delicate features had sharpened into something rugged and masculine – a stubble-covered jawline that could cut glass, a straight nose, a set of manly lips adorned with a trimmed mustache, and thick brows that framed eyes filled with a vacant yet self-satisfied glint. For a moment, the man played with his hair, enjoying running his thick, callused fingers through his long wavy strands.

“Cooper!” Mason called, hoping to snap him out of his trance.

But Cooper didn’t respond, his attention entirely consumed by his own image. He flexed, his bulging biceps straining the tattered remnants of his shirt, his lips curving into a smirk as he admired his physique.

The sound of deliberate, measured footsteps echoed through the room, drawing Mason’s attention away. His eyes widened as a figure emerged in the doorway – a handsome, middle-aged man with perfectly trimmed stubble and sharp, piercing eyes. Dressed in a tailored suit that exuded authority, the man carried himself with an unsettling confidence.

He stepped inside, surveying the room with a smile that sent chills down Mason’s spine. His gaze lingered on Cooper for a moment, his expression one of approval, before turning toward Mason.

“Well, isn’t this quite the scene,” the man said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Cooper is coming along beautifully, wouldn’t you say?”

Mason didn’t answer, his throat dry as he glared at the man.

The stranger’s attention returned to Cooper, who was now flexing in earnest, his massive arms and broad shoulders filling the small space. “You’re doing great, Cooper,” the man encouraged, his tone warm and enthusiastic. “Just look at you. All that weakness, all that self-doubt – it’s melting away, isn’t it? You’re finally becoming the straight alpha male you were always meant to be.”

“No,” Mason muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “This isn’t right. Cooper, don’t listen to him!”

But Cooper didn’t even glance at him. Instead, his expression remained precisely trained at his new reflection and hyper-masculine face as one hand moved down to paw at his immensely-sized crotch. “Yeah… yeah, bro,” Cooper said, his voice deep and almost gravelly. “I feel so… powerful.”

The man chuckled, his smile widening. “That’s it. Embrace it. Let go of that weak, pitiful version of yourself. Expel it. You don’t need it anymore.”

“Cooper, stop!” Mason shouted, straining against the guards’ hold. “This isn’t you! Don’t give into what this asshole and his fucked up company wants!”

But his words were drowned out by the older man’s encouragement. “Come on, Cooper. Show us you’re ready. Show us you’re done with that fragile little self you used to be.”

Cooper’s grin turned almost feral as he stepped back from the mirror, his massive hands now split between jerking himself off and squeezing his immense new form. He thrust his hips forward once, then again, his body trembling as he gave in to whatever compulsion was driving him.

“No!” Mason screamed, his voice cracking as he fought against the guards with renewed desperation.

Cooper bucked his hips one last time, his movements growing erratic until he froze as a torrent of cum shot out of his thick cock. Mason watched as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head, his chest heaving as a guttural groan escaped his lips.

Mason’s blood ran cold. Whatever was happening to Cooper was reaching its horrifying conclusion, and Mason had no idea how to stop it.

Cooper – or rather, the person who had once been Cooper – stirred a few minutes later, his head jerking slightly before his eyes fluttered open. Mason froze, watching in disbelief as the hulking man came to. The confusion was evident in the newly sculpted frat bro’s face as he blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings.

“Uh… what the hell is going on, broskis?” he mumbled, his deep voice carrying an unfamiliar, lazy drawl. His gaze darted from the guards restraining Mason to the middle-aged man standing with a smug expression, and finally landed on Mason himself.

As recognition failed to surface in his eyes, the now-transformed man tilted his head, his lips pulling into a cocky smirk. “Yo, wait a sec… are you, like, a homo or something? Tryna sneak a peek at my badass bod or check out my… uh…” He flexed one arm and cupped his other hand over his crotch with a crude laugh. “…my impressive package, bro?”

Mason’s mouth fell open. “Cooper, it’s me, it’s Mason! Don’t you remember anything? You came here because–”

“Shut it,” the other man interrupted before snapping his fingers at the guards holding Mason. Without hesitation, they reached up and clamped strong hands over his mouth in order to silence him. Mason struggled, muffled protests escaping as he glared daggers at the older man.

The mysterious man turned to the hulking figure, his demeanor calm and calculated. “You’re quite perceptive, Jackson. As a matter of fact, we did indeed catch Mr. Samsen here sneaking into your room while you were in the middle of your… business.”

Instantly, Jackson’s brows furrowed as his expression darkened. He clenched his fists, the sound of his knuckles cracking echoing ominously in the small room. “What the fuck, bro?” he said, his voice a mix of anger and indignation. “You some kinda creep? Lemme guess, you’re some kind of fucked up fairy jealous of what a real man looks like?”

Mason shook his head frantically, trying to plead through the guards’ hands. His muffled cries went unnoticed by Jackson, whose frustration seemed to bubble over.

“Yo, I’ll mess you up, dude,” Jackson growled, taking a menacing step forward. His massive form towered over Mason, the threat in his body language clear.

But before Jackson could act, the middle-aged man raised a hand, his commanding tone cutting through the tension. “Now, now, Jackson. There’s no need for violence.” He nodded toward one of the guards standing by the door. “Escort Jackson to the lounge, would you? He’s had an intense day coming to terms with his inner truth, so I’m sure he could use some time to relax.”

One of the guards stepped forward, placing a hand on Jackson’s broad shoulder. “C’mon, man. Let’s go.”

Jackson hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking back to Mason. But then he shrugged, his frustration melting into indifference. “Yeah, whatever. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today, bro,” he muttered, turning to follow the guard out of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind them, the man shifted his attention back to Mason. His warm smile was chilling in its insincerity. “Now, Mr. Samsen,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s your turn. You’ve poked your nose into matters you shouldn’t, so now it’s time for you to not only get punished but find a way to truly contribute to our cause.”

Mason’s eyes widened as the man continued, his tone almost fatherly. “You’ve spent so much time fighting against what you perceive as wrong. But you’ll soon realize that you’ve been on the wrong side of history all along. Don’t worry though, we’ll be gentle in helping you see the truth. And once you do, you’ll become the Conservative you were always meant to be...”

To read part two, click here.

[a-queer-seminarian]

I made these charts to provide an easy reference guide for comparing the four Gospels! Feel free to share around wherever.

I think tumblr's crunching up these images so visit here for crisper versions (plus they're table format instead of png format).

Alt text version is under the readmore, necessarily formatted slightly differently but with all the same info.

TEXT ONLY / NON CHART VERSION:

Images show two charts, each credited to Avery Arden with a note that the material largely derives from the abridged version of Raymond E. Brown's An Introduction to the New Testament.

Chart 1: Comparing the Gospels, Part 1 – historical context

Mark

When: 

Late 60s/early 70s

Who:

Jewish

Multi-lingual — peppers Aramaic into the Greek

Where:

Rome or Syria (clearly unfamiliar with Palestinian geography)

To whom:

Mainly to Gentiles new to Christianity who were experiencing persecution

Priorities:

Encourage audience and show them how their suffering fit into Jesus’ vision of the Kingdom of God

Matthew:

When: 

Late 70s/80s

Who: 

Jewish 

Also multi-lingual, with Aramaic phrases;

Greek more polished than Mark’s

Where:

Probably in or near Antioch (in Syria); possibly Galilee

To Whom: 

Mainly to well-educated Jews who were debating internally about how Jewish tradition fit into following Jesus

Priorities: 

Promote Messiah Jesus who fulfills audience’s Jewish scriptures

inform church life and structure

Luke

When:

mid-to-late-80s

Who:

Gentile (possibly Jewish convert)

Educated Greek “historian” familiar with Septuagint; no use of Aramaic; expert use of Greek

Where:

Probably Greece; possibly Syria; also unfamiliar with Palestine

To whom:

Mainly to wealthy Gentiles influenced by Paul’s mission; living in an urban setting

Priorities:

Promote Isaiah-like Jesus; challenge audience to live out faith more actively (e.g., by redistributing wealth)

John

When: 

90s / as late as 110

Who:

Jewish 

Student(s) of “the Beloved Disciple” (the “Johannine school”)

Where:

Traditionally Ephesus; possibly Syria

To whom:

To a mixed crowd of Jews & Gentiles, at a time when tensions between Jews who did & didn’t follow Jesus had reached an all-time high

Priorities:

Promote Jesus’s divinity; strengthen unity in a group increasingly defining itself as separate from Jewish ones

Chart 2: Comparing the Gospels, Part 2 — Thematic Content

Mark

Emphasizes Jesus as:

Jesus as miracle-worker / healer; human being 

Unafraid to depict human limitations & emotions in Jesus

Other defining attributes / content:

Focuses on Jesus’s actions, e.g., his miracles; as well as on his suffering and death

Originally ended with the empty tomb & fear; no resurrection relief

The disciples often fail to understand Jesus; Jesus is frequently secretive about his identity

Matthew

Emphasizes Jesus as:

A Moses figure, Messiah, Son of God; teacher

Removes descriptions that make Jesus seem limited, naïve

Other defining attributes / content:

Beatitudes (ch. 5); judgment of the “sheep and goats” (ch. 25); 

Instructions for intracommunal relationships; forgiveness; “Great Commission” (ch. 28)

Polishes Mark’s depiction of the disciples to present them more favorably (esp. Peter as the “rock” of the church)

Luke

Emphasizes Jesus as:

Self-aware Son of God; prophet of the poor

Removes descriptions that make Jesus seem emotional, harsh, or weak

Other defining attributes / content:

Beatitudes (ch. 6) — with added “woes”; frequent warnings about risks of wealth

Also depicts disciples more favorably

Favorable depictions of tax collectors as sinners on the way to redemption; 

negative views of Pharisees as rejectors of Jesus, juxtaposed with stories of Gentiles who express faith

John

Emphasizes Jesus as:

Divine, the Word / “I Am” made flesh; lamb of God

Often misunderstood by disciples & crowds due to his use of figurative language

Other defining attributes / content:

Poetic format, full of symbolism; similarities to Gnostic texts that arose in the same era

Lots of “testimony” and “signs”

Despite Jesus & his disciples being Jewish, John depicts “the Jews” as being against Jesus; his Jesus says things like “It is written in your law…”

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

hey, for your spotify wrapped prompts can I ask for 22, please and thank you <3

"I'm still fallin' out of love with you And I'm headin' for the door Not sure if I'll go through" Autumn's Song by Stephen Day

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re forgetting one very important thing, Potter.”

Seeing that she’s stopped walking, James halts too, folding his arms over his chest. “And what’s that?”

She stands up on her tip-toes, straightening his Head Boy badge. “I’m very, very good at everything I do.” She flashes him a cat-like grin—so close, too close—, then rocks back down to the balls of her feet, and pats his shoulder. “There.” She takes a breath and shrugs her shoulder. “Anyway, I think the pumpkin carving competition is a good idea. For house unity and all that shit.”

James snorts, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “McGonagall will love it.”

“I just think you should keep in mind how very multi-talented I am,” she adds, her grin widening mischievously.

“You rarely let me forget it,” he says, smiling despite himself. “But I think it’s worth noting that I did say participants could work in pairs.”

Her eyebrow arches, her green eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you know of someone looking for a partner?”

His fingers twitch in his pockets as he fights the instinct to fidget, desperate to not give away every single implication of that particular question. “I might do.”

“What’s he like?”

“Yay-high.” James holds his hand up to his forehead, smirking. “Specs. Lots of hair. Bit of a disaster.”

“Fit?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s genuinely curious.

“Reasonably so.”

“Ah,” she says. “That’s disappointing.”

His eyebrow quirks. “You have something against reasonably fit blokes, Evans?”

She sighs lightly. “No, I was just hoping you were referring to yourself.”

James blinks, and then laughs, the sound more nervous than he’d like. “I’m not even reasonably fit?”

She looks up at him like he’s said something particularly daft. “Oh, fuck off with that, Potter.”

Her reaction only confuses him further, and his laugh tumbles out harder. “What? You just said—”

“Ego!” she cries, pointing at him.

“Ego?” He gapes at her, then freezes mid-laugh, his mouth still open. “Hang on.”

She takes off walking down the corridor. “No.”

“Hang on, Evans,” he says, easily catching up to her, “are you—”

She rolls her eyes, but the faintest smile plays on her lips. “Like you don’t know.”

Feeling inexplicably emboldened, he grins, leaning slightly toward her. “So if we’re looking at a spectrum, just how far above ‘reasonably’ would you place me on the ‘fit bloke’ scale?”

Attention from Lily has always affected him like this. Even when the attention was negative—sharp words or icy glares—he felt it deep in his chest. But now that they’re friends—now that her compliments and smiles are freely given, and frequently intended for him—his heart goes into a completely different fucking dimension.

“All I’m saying,” she says, turning back toward him, her grin cheeky, “is that just because I’m not in the queue of besotted girls clambering for a James Potter snog—I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”

She flashes him a wink, and just like that, she’s off, striding down the corridor with her usual confidence, her laughter echoing faintly behind her.

James stares after her, his heart lodged somewhere between his ribs and his throat. It’s difficult, trying to fall out of love with someone who can so effortlessly inflate and crush his heart in the span of a single moment. 

He takes a practised breath, shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, and forces himself to follow after her—like it’s normal to constantly be in free fall.

[tsukigamiteiru]

HACHI-GO 3D print, video, 3D fan 2025

A small robotic dog wandering through an endless, humid swamp, analyzing fragments left behind by a post-industrial culture and yearning for a purpose “beyond being useful”. Being a robot dog, borrowing its name from one of the most famous dogs waiting for its owner on the same space until its own demise(Hachiko’s statue is installed outside Tokyo's Shibuya Station), being “mans best friend” and yet being a multi million dollar project to ultimately being turned into a military grade weapon ultimately reveals HACHI-GO’s existence as an oxymoron as well as a treacherous metaphor of adaptation, empathy as well as the meta narrative of answering a fundamental psychological need of faithfulness, loyalty of a friend ingrained in all of us. The video shows a wire framed world made in Unity 3D being analyzed while HACHI-GO is aimlessly wandering through a swamp, while telling its story in a TikTok styled speed.

“ᴴᵃᶜʰⁱ⁻ᴳᵒ'ˢ ᶜⁱʳᶜᵘⁱᵗˢ ᶠˡⁱᶜᵏᵉʳ, ᵃ ᵈʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘⁿᵍᵃˡ ˢᵖʳᵃʷˡ, ʰⁱˢ ᶜʸᵇᵉʳⁿᵉᵗⁱᶜ ᶠˡᵉˢʰ ʸᵉᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵗⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ ᵃᵐⁱᵈˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵉʳᵐⁱⁿᵃˡ ᵃᶜᶜᵉˡᵉʳᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵈᵉᶜᵃʸ. ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵖᵒʳᵉˢ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳ ᵉⁿᵗʳᵒᵖʸ⁻ᶜᵒᵈᵉᵈ ˡᵘˡˡᵃᵇⁱᵉˢ, ᵍᵘⁱᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵉᵖ, ᵖᵒˢᵗ⁻ᵒʳᵍᵃⁿⁱᶜ ˢˡᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ˡⁱqᵘᵉᶠⁱᵉˢ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘʳᵖᵒˢᵉ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᵃ ʳᵉˢⁱᵈᵘᵃˡ ᵍˡⁱᵗᶜʰ. ᴴᵉ ʷⁱˡˡ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ—ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵈⁱˢˢᵒˡᵛᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʰʸᵖᵉʳˢᵗⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵛᵒⁱᵈ, ʷᵃⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᶜᵃᵗᵃˢᵗʳᵒᵖʰⁱᶜ ʳᵉᶜᵘʳˢⁱᵒⁿ.”

[femmesourdough]

You know, in a similar vein to what I said earlier, I was thinking...the Sandman fandom which I used to be more active in before I started to move on to vampires and also the Everything Horrible About the Author came out...it ironically makes an excellent case study for dismantling a lot of the really obvious excuses people come up with to argue that fandom sexism or racism totally isn't a thing anymore.

Because yeah the main character was male but this series? Chock full of women. Older women, younger women, women of all races who played various roles. You had your PICK and they weren't all written with the same level of depth but there were several characters with extremely interesting stories either present or implied in the past. Just in one family alone there was enough fuel for a thousand tragic fics and meta involving two of the lady characters who played a huge role in the plot (and Miranda may not have been onscreen long but cmon. The POTENTIAL.) And a lot of them weren't automatically attracted to the main guy, so they very much weren't reduced to love interests! It's everything fans claim they want...

And would you guess where all the attention both in terms of shipping but just *Any attention and time at all* for 98 percent of the (show) fandom went???

Oh you fucking know. Not to the male main character even, that's to be expected, but to a guy* who appeared in half of ONE episode, utterly disconnected from anything about the rest of the show minus his friendship with our main Sadboy.

Like it's actually kind of one another level, how hard all the women who played huge roles in this story were ignored, not just in fucking *shipping* because that doesn't rule everything, but in metas, in any posts at all. The entire fandom became basically the Dream-and-Hob, especially Hob fandom, more than anything else. And, it got to a level that meant it was literally impossible to avoid. Even if you didn't go into the main tags (which were all completely overrun EVEN OTHER CHARACTERS' TAGS. LIKE LUCIENNE AND ROSE which. Felt particularly galling) if you followed any fellow Sandman fans eventually your dash would be full of it. Unless you followed only the like. 10/15 people it seemed who actively didn't like this ship or Hob which. Is what I ended up doing. I had to blacklist so many tags, never go into the main fandom tags, and only follow a few people before I wasn't getting bombarded by nonstop posting about a character who appeared again, for maybe 20-25 minutes tops in ONE episode of a multi-episode series.

Meanwhile, the women who were in the rest, who made up the MAIN PLOT of the show? Most of the fandom had them as side characters for this pair or to be adopted by this pair. If they were lucky. They'd get passing mentions sometimes. Star in a few meme text posts. That was all.

You honestly can't make any of the usual excuses "female characters/nonwhite characters are just more poorly written" here because even disregarding the fact that poor writing literally NEVER stops fans from fleshing out some dude's backstory...well, that's just transparently not true in this show. Rose, Unity, Lucienne, Calliope??? Johanna Constantine Look me in the face and tell me all of them, every single one, was more poorly written than the male ones????

Nobody even pretended that this time, actually, as I recall. They just. Kind of carried on doing what they were doing.

*(OH and this guy literally participated in the slave trade in canon. No, I'm not letting that go. Most of the fandom did. They literally acted as if that never happened to the point I started to feel like I had imagined it. Like was that just in the comics and I'd projected that onto show!Hob and they'd taken that part out and I'd forgotten??? I had to go back and rewatch just to check that no, I wasn't imagining it, because there wasn't even discourse about that, there was NOTHING. Just everyone stepping over all the mainly *black women* in the show to love on him and make him their - I mean, Morpheus' dream boyfriend. Fandoms truly have not changed have they.)

[narrativelysignificantturtleduck]

the premise of the new avatar show of people living in scattered little settlements rather than nations & the avatar viewed as a threat actually sounds awesome except for the fact that it's set after lok. like imagine this premise with an early avatar, before the nations had really coalesced and when only a few people had been the avatar before. the concept of the avatar doesn't have revered status yet and this current avatar doesn't have a lot of past avatars to rely on. we'd get to see all these different subgroups of what eventually become the four nations. early sun warriors, the initial migration of the swampbenders from the poles, sandbenders, etc. opportunities for incorporating all sorts of different cultural inspirations. and it would tie into the themes of atla by making us question the concept of nations, think about the pros and cons of that unity & of unifying along specific lines. when does establishing a nation become conquest and suppression of difference? we could see multi-elemental towns and regions, referencing the guru's point about the illusion of separation. we could see the benefits of making connections, of beginning to unify into nations, and the downsides.

but with it being after lok and post-apocalyptic it feels narrower, less of an exploration of the universe. the "seven havens" are "the last strongholds of civilization", small groups of survivors of the cataclysm. two nations experienced genocide and were only just starting to rebuild by korra's time and now the world's shrunk even more? idk man. also it being post-apocalyptic kinda implies korra failed to stop the apocalypse and now has that burden on her and hasn't our girl suffered enough

like. it could be a good show because it's a good premise but i just wish it were a prequel that's all

[raffaeleitlodeo]

Un’Europa sottomessa e senza bussola

Gli europei non si accorgono neppure più dove stanno andando, o forse fanno finta di non saperlo: sono un po’ sonnambuli e un po’ sottomessi al loro destino. Siamo all’agonia della politica estera comune europea, che per altro non è mai esistita, cullando nel settore difesa l’idea di una Banca per il Riarmo destinata a divorare altre risorse. Hanno sempre seguito l’agenda americano-israeliana, dall’Est Europa al Medio Oriente, e ora ne pagano le conseguenze.

La loro disonestà è tale da pensare che la guerra in Ucraina sia cominciata il 24 febbraio 2022 e non quando, nel gennaio 2014, il sottosegretario di Stato Usa Victoria Nuland, in una conversazione con il suo ambasciatore a Kiev, pronunciò la ormai famosa frase «Fuck the Eu», letteralmente «l’Unione europea si fotta».

Si discuteva ancora di un accordo tra il governo ucraino del filo-russo Viktor Janukovich e l’opposizione. Allora non c’era Trump alla Casa bianca ma Barack Obama e il suo vice era Joe Biden, che accorse a Piazza Maidan a celebrare il primo anniversario delle proteste mentre suo figlio Hunter guadagnava milioni di dollari in Ucraina nel settore energetico. E ora vorremmo stupirci se Trump trascina Zelensky a firmare l’accordo multi-miliardario sulle terre rare mentre Putin, diventato ormai a Washington un «volenteroso dittatore», si offre di portargli quelle in possesso dei russi? Chi più ne ha più ne metta mentre ognuno si fa i propri conti in tasca e Macron, nella sua visita da Trump, reclama che l’Europa ha versato all’Ucraina il 60 per cento degli aiuti, più degli Stati uniti.

Ma il presidente americano si tappa le orecchie: questa guerra, nonostante le copiose commesse all’industria bellica americana, è un «cattivo affare» e bisogna chiuderla. C’è da pensare alla Cina. A raccontare la favoletta della «pace giusta» ormai insistono solo i giornali del mainstream, spiazzati dagli eventi. Ma quale pace giusta? Gaza e la Palestina sono la prova che in Europa non ci crede nessuno.

La sottomissione europea al complesso militar-industriale israelo-americano è totale. Pochi giorni dopo il massacro di Hamas del 7 ottobre, Biden spostava le portaerei nel Mediterraneo orientale e stanziava miliardi di dollari di aiuti militari per Israele: gli Stati uniti si sono immediatamente schierati non per la pace ma per una escalation del conflitto. E noi europei con loro, mascherando i nostri aiuti a Israele dietro la ormai sfiorita formula «due popoli e due stati». Il complesso militar-industriale israelo-americano si è schierato all’Onu con Putin e le dittature perché tra un po’ gli Usa riconosceranno l’annessione israeliana della Cisgiordania.

Chiediamo giustamente a Putin di ritirarsi dai territori occupati in Ucraina ma Israele occupa il Libano, ha esteso la sua presenza nel Golan siriano e si sta divorando la West Bank. Giustifichiamo tutto questo con la necessità di Israele di preservare la sua “sicurezza”, le stesse argomentazioni che usa Putin quando chiede alla Nato di tenersi lontana dall’Ucraina. Non è un caso che contro la risoluzione all’Onu che difendeva l’integrità territoriale dell’Ucraina abbiano votato contro Usa e Israele insieme a Russia, Bielorussia, Mali, Nicaragua, Corea del Nord e Ungheria (Iran e Cina si sono astenuti, si presume per la vergogna).

Il Consiglio di Sicurezza ha poi approvato una brevissima risoluzione degli Stati uniti che chiede la «rapida fine della guerra», senza però citare la Russia come aggressore e senza far riferimento alla sovranità territoriale di Kiev. Francia e Gran Bretagna, che avrebbero potuto porre il veto, hanno preferito astenersi, spianando la strada alla versione di Trump che piace tanto a Israele. Da notare il doppio binario dell’Italia. Stiamo con l’Unione europea ma Meloni, con la scusa del Forum con gli Emirati, si è sfilata dalla cerimonia di Kiev per il terzo anniversario della guerra: prendiamo 40 miliardi di dollari di mancia dagli sceicchi membri del Patto di Abramo con Israele e la premier incassa le lodi sperticate di Trump.

Cosa volete di più? È il manuale della giovani marmotte di Trump. La Ue paga anni di sottomissione a Usa e Israele: Trump è l’anello mancante di decenni in cui abbiamo giustificato, partecipato o avallato guerre di occupazione e aggressione, dall’Iraq alla Libia, dall’Afghanistan alla Palestina, provocando la disgregazione di interi paesi e popoli, centinaia di migliaia di morti e milioni di profughi. Basti pensare all’Iraq nel 2003, dove tra i soldati si contava pure un nutrito contingente di ucraini. Fu un conflitto per «esportare la democrazia» che ha precipitato la regione nell’anarchia e nel terrorismo integralista più feroce.

In un momento in cui ci si indigna per le bugie e i travisamenti della realtà di Trump, bisogna ricordare che la guerra del 2003 fu la più grande fake news della storia recente, quando gli Usa giustificarono l’attacco con una campagna di stampa e propaganda mondiale che sbandierava il possesso da parte di Saddam Hussein di armi di distruzione di massa che non furono mai trovate. Venne persino esibita all’Onu dal segretario di stato Powell una falsa provetta con armi chimiche. Una tragica commedia. Nessuno dei responsabili ha mai pagato – né Bush né Blair – e abbiamo partecipato a quella guerra e alle altre senza fiatare. Ora ci tocca accettare le bugie di Trump e gli insulti del suo vice Vance a Monaco: sanno con chi hanno a che fare. I sottomessi europei. Alberto Negri, ilmanifesto.it, 26/02/2025