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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

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Billionaire-proofing the internet

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

During the Napster wars, the record labels seriously pissed off millions of internet users when they sued over 19,000 music fans, mostly kids, but also grannies, old people, and dead people.

It's hard to overstate how badly the labels behaved. Like, there was the Swarthmore student who was the maintainer of a free/open source search engine that indexed files available in public sharepoints on the LAN. The labels sued him for millions and millions (the statutory damages for digital copyright infringement runs to $150,000 per file) and, when he begged for a settlement, said that they would accept his life's savings, but only if he changed majors and stopped studying Computer Science.

No, really.

What's more, none of the money the labels extracted from teenagers, grandparents (and the dead) went to artists. The labels just kept it all, while continuing to insist that they were doing all this because they wanted to "protect artists."

One thing everyone agreed on was how disgusted we all were with the labels. What we didn't agree on was what to do about it. A lot of us wanted to reform copyright – say, by creating a blanket license for internet music so that artists could get paid directly. This was the systemic approach.

Another group – call them the "individualists" – wanted a boycott. Just stop buying and listening to music from the major labels. Every dollar you spend with a label is being used to fund a campaign of legal terror. Merely enjoying popular music makes you part of the problem.

You can probably guess which group I was in. Leaving aside the futility of "voting with your wallet" (a rigged ballot that's always won by the people with the thickest wallet), I just thought this was bad tactics.

Here's what I would say when people told me we should all stop listening to popular music: "If members of your popular movement are not allowed to listen to popular music, your movement won't be very popular."

We weren't going to make political change by creating an impossible purity test ("Ew, you listen to music from a major label? God, what's wrong with you?"). I mean, for one thing, a lot of popular music is legitimately fantastic and makes peoples' lives better. Popular movements should strive to increase their members' joy, not demand their deprivation. Again, not merely because this is a nice thing to do for people, but also because it's good tactics to make participation in the thing you're trying to do as joyous as possible.

Which brings me to social media. The problem with social media is that the people we love and want to interact with are being held prisoner in walled gardens. The mechanism of their imprisonment is the "switching costs" of leaving. Our friends and communities are on bad social media networks because they love each other more than they hate Musk or Zuck. Leaving a social platform can cost you contact with family members in the country you emigrated from, a support group of people who share your rare disease, the customers or audience you rely on for your livelihood, or just the other parents organizing your kid's little league game.

Hypothetically, you could organize all these people to leave at once, go somewhere else, and re-establish all your social connections. Practically, the "collective action problem" of doing so is nearly insurmountable. This is what platform owners depend on – it's why they know they can enshittify their services without losing users. So long as the pain of using the service is lower than the pain of leaving it, the companies can turn the screws on users to make their lives worse in order to extract more profit from them. This is why Musk killed the block button and why Zuck fired all his moderators. Why bear the expense of doing something nice for users if they'll still stick around even if you cut a ton of headcount and/or expensive compute?

There's a way out of this, thankfully. When social media is federated, then you can leave a server without leaving your friends. Think of it as being similar to changing cell-phone companies. When you switch from Verizon to T-Mobile, you keep your number, you keep your address book and you keep your friends, who won't even know you switched networks unless you tell them:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/29/how-to-leave-dying-social-media-platforms/

There's no reason social media couldn't work this way. You should be able to leave Facebook or Twitter for Mastodon, Bluesky, or any other service and still talk with the people you left behind, provided they still want to talk with you:

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

That's how the Fediverse – which Mastodon is part of – works already. You can switch from one Mastodon server to another, and all the people you follow and who follow you will just move over to that new server. That means that if the person or company or group running your server goes sour, you aren't stuck making a choice between the people you love who connect to you on that server, and the pain of dealing with whatever bullshit the management is throwing off:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/23/semipermeable-membranes/#free-as-in-puppies

We could make that stronger! Data protection laws like the EU's GDPR and California's CCPA create a legal duty for online services to hand over your data on demand. Arguably, these laws already require your Mastodon server's management to give you the files you need to switch from one server to another, but that could be clarified. Handing these files over to users on demand is really straightforward – even a volunteer running a small server for a few friends will have no trouble living up to this obligation. It's literally just a minute's work for each user.

Another way to make this stronger is through governance. Many of the great services that defined the old, good internet were run by "benevolent dictators for life." This worked well, but failed so badly. Even if the dictator for life stayed benevolent, that didn't make them infallible. The problem of a dictatorship isn't just malice – it's also human frailty. For a service to remain good over long timescales, it needs accountable, responsive governance. That's why all the most successful BDFL services (like Wikipedia) transitioned to community-managed systems:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/10/bdfl/#high-on-your-own-supply

There, too, Mastodon shines. Mastodon's founder Eugen Rochko has just explicitly abjured his role as "ultimate decision-maker" and handed management over to a nonprofit:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2025/01/mastodon-becomes-nonprofit-to-make-sure-its-never-ruined-by-billionaire-ceo/

I love using Mastodon and I have a lot of hope for its future. I wish I was as happy with Bluesky, which was founded with the promise of federation, and which uses a clever naming scheme that makes it even harder for server owners to usurp your identity. But while Bluesky has added many, many technically impressive features, they haven't delivered on the long-promised federation:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/02/ulysses-pact/#tie-yourself-to-a-federated-mast

Bluesky sure seems like a lot of fun! They've pulled tens of millions of users over from other systems, and by all accounts, they've all having a great time. The problem is that without federation, all those users are vulnerable to bad decisions by management (perhaps under pressure from the company's investors) or by a change in management (perhaps instigated by investors if the current management refuses to institute extractive measures that are good for the investors but bad for the users). Federation is to social media what fire-exits are to nightclubs: a way for people to escape if the party turns deadly:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/14/fire-exits/#graceful-failure-modes

So what's the answer? Well, around Mastodon, you'll hear a refrain that reminds me a lot of the Napster wars: "People who are enjoying themselves on Bluesky are wrong to do so, because it's not federated and the only server you can use is run by a VC-backed for-profit. They should all leave that great party – there's no fire exits!"

This is the social media version of "To be in our movement, you have to stop listening to popular music." Sure, those people shouldn't be crammed into a nightclub that has no fire exits. But thankfully, there is an alternative to being the kind of scold who demands that people leave a great party, and being the kind of callous person who lets tens of millions of people continue to risk their lives by being stuck in a fire-trap.

We can install our own fire-exits in Bluesky.

Yesterday, an initiative called "Free Our Feeds" launched, with a set of goals for "billionaire-proofing" social media. One of those goals is to add the long-delayed federation to Bluesky. I'm one of the inaugural endorsers for this, because installing fire exits for Bluesky isn't just the right thing to do, it's also good tactics:

https://freeourfeeds.com/

Here's why: if a body independent of the Bluesky corporation implements its federation services, then we ensure that its fire exits are beyond the control of its VCs. That means that if they are ever tempted in future to brick up the fire-exits, they won't be able to. This isn't a hypothetical risk. When businesses start to enshittify their services, they fully commit themselves to blocking anything that makes it easy to leave those services.

That's why Apple went so hard after Beeper Plus, a service that enhanced iMessage's security by making conversations between Apple and Android users as private as chats that were confined to Apple users:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/07/blue-bubbles-for-all/#never-underestimate-the-determination-of-a-kid-who-is-time-rich-and-cash-poor

It's why Elon Musk periodically freaks out and suspends users who list their Mastodon userids in their Twitter bios:

https://techcrunch.com/2022/12/15/elon-musk-suspends-mastodon-twitter-account-over-elonjet-tracking/

And it's why Meta will suspend your account if you link to Pixelfed, a Fediverse-based alternative to Instagram:

https://www.404media.co/meta-is-blocking-links-to-decentralized-instagram-competitor-pixelfed/

Once upon a time, we had a solid way of overcoming the problem of lock-in. We'd reverse-engineer a proprietary system and make a free, open alternative. We've been hacking fire exits into walled gardens since the Usenet days, with the creation of the alt.* hierarchy:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/11/altinteroperabilityadversarial

When the corporate owners of Unix started getting all weird about source-code access and user-modifiability, we didn't insist that Unix users were bad people for sticking with a corporate OS. We reverse-engineered Unix and set all those users free:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GNU_Project

The answer to Microsoft's proprietary SMB network protocol wasn't a campaign to shame people for having SMB running on their LANs. It was reverse-engineering SMB and making SAMBA, which is now in every single device in your home and office, and it's gloriously free as in speech and free as in beer:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/samba-versus-smb-adversarial-interoperability-judo-network-effects

In the years since, a thicket of laws we colloquially call "IP" has grown up around services and products, and people have literally forgotten that there is an alternative to wheedling people to endure the pain of leaving a proprietary system for a free one. IP has put the imaginations of people who dream of a free internet in chains.

We can do better than begging people to leave a party they're enjoying; we can install our own fucking fire exits. Sure, maybe that means that a lot of those users will stay on the proprietary platform, but at least we'll have given them a way to leave if things go horribly wrong.

After all, there's no virtue in software freedom. The only thing worth caring about is human freedom. The only reason to value software freedom is if it sets humans free.

If I had my way, all those people enjoying themselves on Bluesky would come and enjoy themselves in the Fediverse. But I'm not a purist. If there's a way to use Bluesky without locking myself to the platform, I will join the party there in a hot second. And if there's a way to join the Bluesky party from the Fediverse, then goddamn I will party my ass off.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

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/2025/01/14/contesting-popularity/#everybody-samba

#pluralistic #federation #decentralization #bluesky #free our feeds #mastodon #activitypub #reverse engineering

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warping-realities · 1 month ago

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Through the Looking Glass

Jason woke up to the annoying sound of his alarm clock, the same one he'd been struggling to not ignore for weeks. He stretched in bed, feeling like a ton of bricks, and stared at the ceiling, which felt lower than ever. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, but he wasn’t feeling it. Another day at his digital marketing job, where he spent his time filling out spreadsheets and organizing data. The office was lively, with colorful desks and people yapping about the latest trends, but Jason felt like a spectator in a movie he didn’t wanna watch.

After a quick shower, he threw on a shirt that was getting a bit tight around his gut and some pants that miraculously still fit. He checked himself out in the mirror, trying to style his hair to hide his thinning spots. The result was a messy combo that made him sigh. "This ain’t gonna hold up," he thought as he grabbed his thermos full of coffee and headed out.

On the way to work, he couldn’t shake thoughts of his latest attempts to find someone special. Unanswered messages on Grindr, awkward dates that ended in cringey silence, and the feeling that his love life was stuck in neutral. He forced himself to focus on the traffic, but his mind wandered. "Why can’t I change this?" he wondered.

When he got to the office, he was met with the usual hustle and bustle. His coworkers were chatting about marketing strategies and new campaigns, but Jason just settled at his desk, where a mountain of unread emails awaited him. He dove into graphs and reports, chugging coffee after coffee to fight off the fatigue. He knew caffeine was just a quick fix, and soon he’d feel jittery, his hands shaking a bit as he typed.

The hours dragged on, and the chatter around him blended into a dull hum. He glanced out the window, where the sun was shining bright, but he felt like he was trapped in a dark box. Lunchtime rolled around, and his coworkers gathered for a lively meal, laughing and sharing stories. Jason hesitated but opted to stay at his lonely table, where a sad tuna sandwich was waiting for him. He ate in silence, watching the office's energy, feeling like an outsider in a world that wasn’t his.

Afternoon came, and he was back to work, the monotony settling in again. The same tasks kept repeating, and he wondered if he’d ever break this cycle. If only he could find some purpose, something to make him feel alive again. But for now, all he could do was survive, day after day, as the clock ticked away, dragging on forever.

At the end of the shift, he waved goodbye to everyone with a fake smile and started walking the few blocks to where he parked his car that morning. But the universe and his body had other plans. “Damn bladder that can’t hold anything,” Jason grumbled as he hurriedly searched for somewhere to take a leak. Then, out of nowhere, he found himself in front of a rundown gym. He had passed by that place a million times on his way to work but never even glanced at it. Gym life was definitely not his thing. When he stepped inside, it was oddly quiet. No background music, no clients—just a super buff guy sitting at the reception, flashing a smile that Jason was pretty sure had more white teeth than anyone could have, only for it to vanish when he urgently asked to use the bathroom.

As he half-ran, awkwardly shuffling to avoid wetting his pants, he started thinking that the gym wasn’t in the best shape; the equipment looked neglected, and the lighting was terrible. This, combined with the absence of clients, explained the receptionist's gloomy vibe.

Finally reaching the bathroom, he dashed in and, without hesitation, relieved his bursting bladder. Feeling a huge sense of relief as he finished, he shook his modest member and turned around, only to be met with a huge mirror. Had that been there when he got in? Obviously, yes, giant mirrors don’t just pop up outta nowhere. Probably, in his frantic rush to the urinal, he had overlooked what was right in front of him.

But that mirror was totally outta place. It had a golden frame with intricate designs on the edges and some kind of writing he couldn’t make out. As he took a closer look, he ended up getting the biggest scare of his life.“WTF!” he screamed, staring at a complete stranger instead of himself. Reflected in the glass was the most ripped dude he’d ever seen, even bigger than the guy at the reception. The bodybuilder was staring back at him, dressed only in tight white shorts that left little to the imagination. Muscles bulging, covered in tanned, sweaty skin, like he’d just crushed a killer workout. A completely bald head, but with a thick beard covering his chiseled jaw. Jason quickly looked down, realizing he was still himself before glancing back at the mirror. “Like what ya see, brother?” the bodybuilder said in a deep voice. “What the fuck?” Jason repeated. “This can’t be real.”

The bodybuilder in the mirror stepped closer, his impressive physique clearly defined in those tight shorts. “Because I’m really glad to see you!” the dude teased, flexing his powerful muscles, licking his lips like Jason was the tastiest thing he’d ever seen. Seeing that, Jason tried to bolt, but his feet wouldn’t budge. To make things worse, his own body betrayed him, and he found himself mimicking the bodybuilder’s every move, as if the reflection was him, while a satisfied grin spread across the other man’s face. Tremendously freaked out, Jason locked eyes with the bodybuilder, and it felt like something was holding him there. Meanwhile, the bodybuilder reached out, his finger seeming to touch the mirror from the inside, and slowly, Jason’s arm imitated the motion. He wanted to scream and ask for help, but no words came out; it felt like his mouth was glued shut. With wide eyes, he saw his finger inching closer to the mirror, as if in slow-mo, even though everything was happening super fast. He see the other guy’s smile grow and felt the cold surface of the mirror for a split second, and then… Jason was standing in the middle of a massive room that looked like every gym imaginable, surrounded by workout equipment and free weights, further away a tatami with martial arts gear and a punching bag. No longer was there a mirror, but a sort of window in the air, and staring back at him from the other side, with a cheeky grin, was… himself!

“Thanks, bro,” said the other him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

As Jason watched, stunned, his reflection in the mirror started to transform before his eyes. His dark hair quickly receded, revealing a tanned, bald head. His skin took on a golden hue, like he’d been baking in the sun for hours, anime a bushy beard covered his face.

His muscles began to expand impressively, growing and defining with each passing second. His shoulders broadened, his back turned wide and muscular. His arms, once skinny, gained volume and shape, with veins popping under the skin.

His shirt and pants seemed to struggle against this muscular growth, the seams straining and threatening to rip at any moment. Suddenly, the clothes tore apart, revealing a sculpted physique, with a defined chest and abs that looked like they were carved from ice.

Then the clothes began to reform in a way that was nothing like the previous one. A pair of tight white shorts replaced his old pants, showcasing thick, powerful thighs while a tank top barely contained the prominent muscles of his back and shoulders. His feet also grew considerably, now wearing gigantic size 15 sneakers. The man in the mirror looked like a true pro athlete, a bodybuilder at his peak, with an intimidating and commanding presence. As Jason watched, mouth agape, the man flexed his arms, showing off gigantic biceps and veins bulging all over his bronzed skin. A mischievous smile formed on his lips, and he winked at the real Jason, trapped on the other side of the mirror.

Suddenly, the muscular man turned and stepped out of Jason's line of sight, and at that exact moment, the strange window in the air dissolved like mist. Jason tried to scream, to call for someone, but his voice seemed to vanish, leaving him powerless before that surreal situation.

Slowly, the reality of what he had just witnessed began to sink in. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. How was this possible? Where was he? And who was this dude who now took his place?

Desperate, Jason lost his cool. He screamed, cried, begged for help, but nothing seemed to work. He was trapped, a prisoner of his own reflection.

“Hey, no point in yelling,” a young dude with tan skin and solid muscles, more agile than flashy, approached him with a calm voice. “You’re stuck here until the window opens again.”

“Who are you? What’s going on? Where am I?” He turned to the guy, desperate for answers. “Why is this happening to me?”

The guy looked at him with a serious expression as he spoke. “I don’t know much more than you, to be real. When I got here, it was the same deal. The dude who’s now in your body thought this had been going on forever. He didn’t know how, but it seemed to be some kind of cycle.”

“This is nuts!” Jason exclaimed. “It can’t be real. How can someone just swap places with another person? This makes no sense!”

“I get that it’s crazy,” the guy said with a slight understanding smile. “But it’s reality. You gotta accept that.” Jason felt a chill in his gut, his emotions conflicting between doubt and disbelief.

Looking for a spot to sit and process everything, Jason walked over to a bench press.

“Watch out!”

“What now?” he asked, startled.

“You gotta be careful with what you pick here,” the guy warned. “What you decide to do is gonna shape who you’ll be when the window opens again. Mathew, the physics teacher who was here before, bulked up to that huge bodybuilder because he chose to hit the weights. Little by little, he turned into Ibrahim, the Arab bodybuilder who took your spot.”

“What if I don’t wanna be a bodybuilder? What if I wanna go back to my normal life?”

“It’s complicated,” the young guy replied, shaking his head. “You can choose to do nothing and wait. But trust me, you’re going to end giving in. Time here isn’t like in our world. You won’t need to sleep or eat or even take a piss; it’ll be a long stretch of… nothing. And believe me, standing still isn’t the best option.”

Jason looked at the bench press and then at the weights around him. He was in a bind. “And what if I never give up? What happens if I don’t touch anything and just hang tight?”

“You’ll be stuck here until another window opens,” the guy explained. “And that window could take a hot minute to show up. People who end up in this dimension usually transform into something new because it’s easier than waiting.”

Jason’s mind was racing. “And you? Who were you before all this?”

“I was a big-time ballet dancer,” the guy said, with a nostalgic look. I was about to make my last presentation before retiring. Then I made the mistake of using the bathroom at a hotel pool. And suddenly, I was here, and the hotel had a brand-new lifeguard. I didn’t believe what Mathew told me; I barely registered it, and when I sat on the tatami to cry, boom, I started to change. I couldn’t believe what was happening. The physical transformation was terrifying… But eventually, I accepted it.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Bruno.”

“And before?” Jason asked, curious.

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” the guy replied, looking at the tatami. “You’ll find that what was before ends up losing its significance.”

“I’m not letting this happen!”

“You can try. I get that there’s something really important for you out there: family, friends… so good luck.” Bruno replied, heading toward the tatami where he began practicing skilled movements.

As Jason watched Bruno expertly moving on the tatami, he couldn’t help but feel like a shadow of who he could be. Bruno was the embodiment of confidence and strength; his movements were fluid and full of purpose, super different from his own days filled with inertia and monotony. The memory of his miserable life crept into his mind like thick fog that wouldn’t let him see clearly.

He remembered how many times he’d sat in front of the computer, battling feelings of insignificance. The empty interactions with coworkers who didn’t care, the pointless conversations that led nowhere. The weight of boredom followed him like a shadow. He no longer felt part of the world; he just existed, day after day, like a shadow of himself.

“What if I just let myself go?” That idea began to ring in his head. Ibrahim’s life, with its sculpted body and undeniable power, seemed tempting, or even Bruno’s agile physique. The transformation could be a way to escape the mediocrity that trapped him. It was seductive to think he could be a new man, strong and admired. How many times had he dreamed of being someone different, someone who inspired respect?

But as that idea formed, a spark of resistance began to glow inside him. It was a feeling he never knew he had, a determination that seemed to rise from the depths of his soul. “No! I can’t let some supernatural force decide who I am!” He refused to let himself be changed, to become a mere reflection of someone he wasn’t.

With that decision in mind, he took a deep breath, focusing on his reality. The life he had, though miserable, was still his. He loved his friends, even if he didn’t see them often. He had dreams and aspirations, even if they were buried beneath the routine. He didn’t want to give up being Jason, the guy he’d always been, no matter how hard it meant fighting against the current.

Time passed, and Jason started to explore the space around him. He moved cautiously, avoiding touching any equipment, as if each machine were a hidden trap. The room was massive, with an entirely empty center, and along the edges were weight machines, Bruno’s tatami, a boxing ring, even a basketball hoop and a soccer goal. In the corners of the room were doors. As he passed one, he found himself in a corridor connected to various others. The corridors led to different rooms dedicated to various physical activities: a more complete martial arts room, a yoga area with perfectly lined mats, a huge swimming pool, and even a dance room with mirrors from floor to ceiling.

He took in every detail, soaking in the grandeur of the space. Who or what had built all this? After wandering aimlessly through what could have been years or just a few minutes, he returned to the central room where Bruno was now meditating on the tatami.

Bruno opened his eyes slowly and looked at Jason with a curious expression, as if he had been waiting for an answer. “So, have you made your decision?” he asked, his voice calm and firm.

Jason felt a wave of determination warm his heart. He wasn’t willing to transform into someone else, to give up his identity. “Yeah,” he replied, with a resolute tone. “I’ve decided that I wanna keep being who I am. I won’t let myself be dragged away.”

Bruno frowned, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern. “You know this might have consequences, right? Staying here without changing might not be the best choice.”

“For me, it’s the only choice,” Jason insisted. “I’ve got friends, a life, even if it ain’t perfect. I’d rather fight for that than lose myself in a new identity that isn’t mine.”

As the days passed—or what seemed like days in that timeless place—Jason’s routine became clearer. He explored the space, getting familiar with the equipment but always steering clear of anything that might lead him to a transformation while trying to find a way out. Bruno, on the other hand, seemed more anxious by the minute. With each moment, his expression grew heavier with frustration.

“Jason, you need to understand that your resistance is holding me back,” Bruno said, his tone getting more impatient. “I can’t keep doing this. If you don’t move forward, I can’t either. You’re keeping us both trapped in an endless void.”

Jason, for his part, had begun to suspect that maybe Bruno was more involved in the situation than he appeared. “Why do you insist so much? Why can’t you accept that I don’t want to be someone else? You yourself said that Mathew and Ibrahim were totally different people.”

“Because I can’t take it anymore, Jason! I was someone before all this, just like you. And thinking about it gnaws at me; I’m stuck halfway and I just need to move on. Transformation is part of who we are now. I’m not trying to force you to change, but your refusal to move forward is holding me back too,” Bruno explained, the frustration in his voice becoming palpable.

Bruno's words began to echo in Jason's mind. It was true that there was something deeper in Bruno's quest. He wasn’t just trying to convince him to transform; there was a hidden desperation, a need for freedom that shone through in his eyes. But Jason couldn’t let himself be swayed. He needed to stay true to himself.

“Look, I understand that you might be feeling trapped, but I can’t be the answer to your problems. You can’t force me to change,” Jason replied, trying to remain calm.

“Of course I can! Do you think you can handle it if I come at you? Just throw you on the mat and it’ll all be over!”

“I knew it! You’re behind all this!”

“Don’t be an idiot; if I were behind all this, I would have already done what I just told you!”

“Maybe you can’t; you said it yourself, I’m the one who needs to choose.”

“You’re being stupid again; I could have simply not warned you and let things happen. And you have no idea how much I regret intervening.”

“Then do it, come on! Throw me on that damn mat and end this!” Jason shouted.

Bruno fell silent, his gaze lost in the void as Jason's words echoed in the room. He seemed tempted to act, his hands clenching into fists. However, hesitation was written all over his face. “I… I can’t do that,” he finally said, his voice low. “I don’t have the courage to interfere in someone else’s life like that.”

“Then you’re a hypocrite!” Jason shot back, frustration overflowing. “You’re here desperate to get out, but for that, you’re going to have to take someone else’s place, right?”

Bruno shook his head, the expression of conflict clear on his face. “I know that’s true, but… but if I transform, if I really become someone else, I won’t be me anymore, those doubts won’t exist. I saw that with Ibrahim. When the time comes, I won’t care about anything… but right now I can’t.”

“Hypocrite! You don’t really care about not interfering in someone else’s life; you only care about how it’s going to make you feel!” Jason retorted, feeling the weight of indignation.

Bruno looked down at the floor, the internal struggle evident. Jason, feeling he had said what he needed, turned and left the central room, walking through the parallel corridors branching out in unknown directions. The environment was a maze that seemed to mock his solitude. He didn’t know how long he wandered in that “no-time” until the lack of company began to weigh on him. He realized he couldn’t continue like that. He needed companionship, connection, even if it meant returning to Bruno. So with hesitant steps, he made his way back to the central room, where Bruno was still.

As he entered, he saw Bruno again in a meditative position. When he approached, the young man opened and lifted his eyes, and with a determined expression, said, “Jason, I reflected on what you said. And you’re right. Maybe it’s too late for me to go back to who I was. But you… you’re still you. You have the right to keep being who you are.”

Bruno's words brought an unexpected relief to Jason. He saw the sincerity in the man’s eyes, and for the first time, he felt a bridge being built between them.

Jason and Bruno sat on the floor in the emptiness of the central room, both in silence for a moment, allowing the weight of their previous conversations to dissipate. The tension that had existed between them now seemed to give way to mutual understanding. Jason felt that despite their differences, they shared something in common: the struggle to find a way in a world that had changed without warning.

“Let’s explore this together,” Jason suggested, his voice carrying a new determination. “If we’re stuck here, maybe we can discover an exit or something that helps us better understand this place.”

Bruno nodded, a shy smile appearing on his face. “Yeah, I’d love that. I believe that if we’re together, we can handle this situation better.”

The two stood up and began to walk. The environment was vast, with corridors branching out in various directions. They passed by rooms dedicated to every kind of physical activity imaginable, many of which neither of them had any idea about. Jason just looked at the doors, knowing what awaited him if he dared to enter. Bruno already knew his path but was able to explore better. As they walked through the endless possibilities of sports and physical activities that the human mind had invented, Bruno began to open up.

“Sometimes, I feel like my mind is a mess,” he commented as they walked. “My memories are all jumbled. I remember being a dancer, feeling the music flow through my veins and performing on stages. But now… now it’s like everything is mixed with fighting moves, martial arts, and I can’t distinguish between the two.”

Jason looked at Bruno with empathy. He tried to imagine the confusion the other man faced, the internal struggle between who he was and who he was becoming. “That must be tough to deal with,” Jason said.

Bruno smiled, but sadness still lingered in his eyes. “Yeah, it’s complicated. I feel like, in some way, I’m losing the essence of what made me happy. Dance… it was everything to me. Now, I don’t know if I’m still… him.”

Just at that moment, while they were walking, Jason spotted a door leading to a dance room. The soft sound of classical music leaked from inside, like an invitation. A sudden impulse took over him, and he stopped in front of the entrance. “Hey, how about we check it out?” he suggested, hope shining in his eyes. “Maybe you can dance again.”

Bruno hesitated, looking at the door and then back at Jason. “Dance? I don’t know if I can… I’m not her anymore.”

“But what if you try? Maybe it’ll help. It could be a way to reclaim that part of you, who knows, maybe even reverse the process,” Jason insisted, his enthusiasm growing.

Bruno took a deep breath and finally agreed. “Alright, let’s give it a shot.”

As Jason waited at the door, Bruno stepped into the room, and the music enveloped him immediately. The space was spacious, with mirrors on the walls and a polished floor reflecting the soft light. Jason, even from a distance, felt the vibrant energy of the place, a sense of possibility washing over him. Bruno, on the other hand, seemed hesitant. He moved to the center of the hall and, with a nervous gesture, began to try reproducing some of the steps he remembered.

However, the dance that once flowed with grace and beauty now seemed awkward. Bruno’s movements were stiff, the steps didn’t fit, and the music seemed to drift away from him. He attempted to execute a pirouette, but his legs didn’t respond as before, and he stumbled, nearly falling.

“Bruno!” Jason exclaimed, worried, but Bruno quickly composed himself, a forced smile on his face. “It’s fine, just a little mistake.” Then he broke down in tears. It was terrifying to see a man that big suddenly seem so fragile. “I want to go back to being who I was, but I don’t know how.” Bruno admitted, his voice carrying an emotional weight.

Jason wanted to get closer to Bruno, but he couldn’t, so he just spoke, trying to comfort his friend. “Remember you’re not alone. I believe in you; you can do it.”

Bruno took a deep breath, his determination renewed. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the music to envelop him completely. Then, with a fluid motion, he began to dance. Unlike his previous hesitance, there was now a lightness in his steps, a rhythm that seemed to flow from his essence. Each movement began to fit harmoniously, as if the music were guiding him.

Jason watched, amazed. It was as if a new energy had taken over Bruno; he was dancing not just with his body, but with his soul. The dance was a reflection of who he truly was, and he was finally breaking free from the chains that bound him. The steps became bolder, the turns wider, and the expression on his face shifted from insecurity to pure joy.

When the music finally came to an end, Bruno stopped, breathless but with a radiant smile on his face. He turned to Jason, who was cheering enthusiastically. "Did you see that? I did it!” Bruno exclaimed, joy written all over his face as he approached Jason.

“It was amazing! You were incredible!” Jason replied, still in awe. He felt a wave of pride for Bruno, as if his victory was also his own. In an impulse, the two moved closer and hugged, the connection between them stronger than ever.

For a brief moment, the world around them disappeared. Jason felt the warmth of Bruno’s body, the strength and vulnerability coexisting in that embrace. The smell of the other man filled his nostrils, the heat of that muscular body. Their hearts beat in unison, and for a moment, their faces drew close, the idea of a kiss lingering in the air. But as if a spell had been broken, they both pulled away at the same time, a slight blush on their faces.

“Sorry, I… didn’t mean to…” Bruno started to say, but Jason interrupted.

“Don’t worry, it was a spontaneous moment. We’re just… going through a lot,” Jason replied, trying to dissipate the tension that had sprung up between them.

“Yeah, exactly,” Bruno agreed, a nervous smile still on his face. “Shall we get back to the search for the exit?”

“Absolutely!” Jason replied, and together they left the dance room, now revitalized by the experience.

However, as they walked through the corridors, something unexpected happened. The paths that had once seemed endless abruptly led them back to the central room, where Jason and Bruno stopped in shock at a scene that seemed surreal, for in the center of the space was a brand-new smartphone, glowing under the soft light of the environment.

“Is that a smartphone? What the hell is that doing here?” Bruno asked, intrigued. They approached cautiously, exchanging curious glances. The device began to vibrate, as if it were waiting for them.

“Do you think… it could be a way to communicate?” Jason suggested, hope in his voice. “Maybe we can use it to learn more about this place or even find an exit.”

“There’s only one way to find out, and it’s probably better if it’s me for safety’s sake,” Bruno said, reaching out and grabbing the smartphone. The device was light and sleek, and as soon as he unlocked it, the screen lit up just as something inside Bruno faded while a new transformation overtook him.

Jason watched, stunned by what unfolded before his eyes. Bruno, his friend and ally in that strange world, was changing radically.

The muscles of the man began to harden, and although they didn’t grow much in size, they became hard and powerful. His body structure modified, gaining impressive functionality, far beyond a mere display of physical beauty. His tanned skin seemed to stretch over the sculpted forms, revealing the latent strength and capacity.

As the transformation progressed, Bruno's face also underwent changes. The innocence and vulnerability that had once graced his features were replaced by a hard and arrogant expression. The nose, likely broken several times during intense fights, had a crooked appearance, and his ears took on the characteristic cauliflower shape typical of martial arts athletes, although they were covered by a wave of curly hair.

But the most frightening change was in his eyes. Once filled with doubt and hope, they now became cold and calculating, as if Bruno’s soul had drained away, leaving only an empty shell. A mocking smile formed at the corner of his lips, completing the transformation.

Jason watched everything, paralyzed by fear and disbelief. He couldn’t believe what was happening, his mind struggling to process the radical change in his friend. When Bruno's altered face turned in his direction, Jason felt an urge to flee, but he knew it would be futile. Before he could move, Bruno easily captured him, his strength now far superior.

"You had the chance to choose for yourself," Bruno said, his voice mocking and strangely lively. "But now I’m the one who chooses."

Jason felt a shiver run down his spine. Bruno's words echoed like a sentence, leaving him with no way out. He saw the determination in the eyes of the man who had once been his friend and knew that nothing he did could change what was to come.

Bruno held Jason with immense strength as he dragged him along. Fear consumed Jason's body as Bruno moved through the corridors, each step echoing like a warning of what was to come. The surroundings seemed distorted, the walls closing in as he was pulled further away

Finally, they reached the door of the dance room, and Bruno stopped. Jason, seizing the brief moment, made a desperate attempt to break free, but Bruno reacted quickly. With an agile and precise movement, Jason was thrown into the room.

He fell heavily to the floor, confusion and fear taking over his body. He looked around, trying to find an exit, but the door through which he entered was blocked by the figure of the other man, leaving him trapped in that space.

Then, something began to happen. He felt a strange sensation coursing through his body, an energy that seemed to concentrate in every cell. His features began to change, the expression lines softening as the clock turned back and the weight of the years melted away, with his hair, once prematurely gray, regaining a much darker hue, and advancing to cover the receding hairline.

A mustache and goatee appeared on his face, giving the younger face a manly look. Jason observed, astonished, as his belly shrank and body hair disappeared, leaving his skin with a tone as dark as Bruno’s.

His muscles began to define, increasing in size and acquiring a sculpted appearance. His arms becoming toned and muscular, while his legs strengthened, accustomed to dance movements, though certainly not ballet.

When the transformation reached his eyes, they changed color, taking on a deep brown hue. And with that final change, a new identity emerged in his mind: Pedro.

He stood up, feeling light and agile, as if he had truly been reborn. Looking at his hands, now stronger and calloused, Pedro felt a wave of confidence wash over him.

At that moment, Bruno entered the room, his face contorted in an expression of triumph. “So, it seems someone finally has to accept their new self, huh? He said, with a playful smile.

Pedro glared at Bruno, his eyes shining with fierce determination. "I’m not gonna accept this! You can't force me to be something I'm not!"

Bruno let out a dry laugh. "Oh, but it ain't me doing that. You're stuck here, just like I was. And now, you're gonna become exactly what you were meant to be. In fact, you’re already starting to, aren’t you? Don’t even try to deny it; I can see it."

Without a second thought, Pedro charged at Bruno, fists clenched and adrenaline pumping through his veins. But Bruno, with his quick reflexes, was faster. He grabbed Pedro's arms, twisting them hard, pulling him in closer.

"You really think you can take me on?" Bruno said playfully, like this was the most fun he’d ever had.

Pedro struggled against the iron grip, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But as their bodies drew nearer, something shifted. The tension between them morphed into a palpable attraction, an energy that seemed to sink its claws into both of them.

Suddenly, Bruno yanked Pedro close, their lips crashing together in a fierce, desperate kiss. Pedro, initially hesitant, melted into the touch, their bodies intertwining in a heated embrace.

Bruno’s hands explored Pedro’s body, feeling every curve, every defined muscle. Pedro, in turn, reciprocated the touches, his own hands wandering beneath Bruno’s clothes, eager for more contact.

The kiss deepened, their tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm. The world around them seemed to disappear, and all that mattered was that moment, that touch.

Slowly, Bruno laid Pedro down on the floor, their bodies moving in sync, as if they were made for each other. The clothes were stripped away with urgency, revealing bronzed skin and sculpted muscles.

Pedro moaned softly, his fingers gripping Bruno’s back as he penetrated him with a desperate urgency. Their movements became increasingly frantic, their bodies colliding in an erotic dance.

Waves of pleasure enveloped them, their moans echoing in the dance room. They lost themselves in each other, forgetting everything except the overwhelming connection that bound them.

When they finally reached their peak, Pedro and Bruno collapsed into each other’s arms, their breaths heavy. In that moment, everything seemed to resolve, as if that encounter had been destined to happen from the beginning.

After that intense experience, the two returned to the central room, laughing and sharing kisses and caresses, bound to each other like a firefly drawn to a flame. But reality came knocking at the door again, for at the exact moment they entered the room, a window opened in the air before them, and on the other side stood an unsuspecting young man.

Bruno looked at Pedro with a soft smile, his eyes shining with a mix of desire and affection. He leaned in, capturing the other man's lips in a fiery, passionate kiss, his hand caressing Pedro's face with a tenderness that made his earlier aggressive behavior seem impossible.

When they finally pulled apart, Bruno held Pedro's hands between his, looking at him with seriousness. "No matter where you go, no matter who you become, you need to promise me that you'll come find me."

Pedro nodded, his gaze resolute. "I promise, Bruno. I’ll find you, no matter what happens." He pulled the other man in for one last kiss, feeling the urgency and passion radiating from both of them.

Then, Bruno stepped back, gazing at the window in the air that opened before them. His eyes sparkled with renewed confidence, a mysterious smile on his lips. Slowly, he approached the opening, extending his hand toward the young man waiting on the other side.

The moment his fingers brushed the surface of the window, a wave of energy swept through the space, and Bruno's figure dissolved, replaced by that of a boy with a classic nerd look. He wore thin-rimmed glasses, had messy dark hair, and confusion and fear etched on his face.

"Hey," Pedro said, preparing to explain everything to the man.

....

Pedro stood before the window in the air, his heart racing as he looked at the man who had materialized on the other side. He knew he was about to leave that strange place and return to the real world, even though his previous life no longer existed. In reality, that was a good thing because the memories of his new life were the ones he considered true. In front of him stood a man in his early thirties, very skinny, with bleached hair and makeup on his face, a makeup kit abandoned on a marble sink nearby.

Pedro understood that acting would completely change that man's life, but his reservations about it had faded along with most of Jason's memories. He now embraced and longed for that moment. So, he confidently moved toward the window in the air. As he glanced to the side, he saw a young, tanned man with bright blonde hair, exuding the vibe of a professional surfer, watching him with a wide smile. The man radiated confidence, joy, and a sense of relaxation and freedom. Pedro still found it hard to believe that somewhere in the complex there was a wave pool. But the living proof was right there beside him.

"See you later, Jake. I hope our waves cross again," Pedro said, his heart pounding with excitement.

"See you later, Pedro! Go make it worth it!" Jake replied, waving energetically.

With one last look at the surfer, Pedro turned and took the final step toward the window, extending his hand in front of him as the startled makeup artist on the other side did the same. As soon as their fingers touched the air on the other side, he felt a wave of energy enveloping him, pulling him toward his destiny.

Pedro found himself in an unfamiliar place; it was obviously a bathroom, but where? It was clearly much richer than the gym where Jason had entered at an indefinite time in the past, as the marble countertop at the sink matched the marble on the floor, along with the golden details on the faucets and doorknobs. The scent of lemongrass filled the air around Pedro. Gathering courage, he lifted his eyes to confront what he feared most: the bathroom mirror. Just the thought of being sent back and losing the identity he considered true made him tremble. However, when he faced the mirror, he saw only his own reflection—defined muscles, tanned skin, a youthful and handsome face adorned with a mustache and goatee that gave him a roguish yet virile appearance. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped out of the bathroom, ready to face what reality had to offer.

As Pedro exited the bathroom, he felt a rush of adrenaline as he adapted to his new reality. He knew he was an up-and-coming pop singer, but things seemed much better than he had imagined. The moment he crossed the door, the shine and luxury of the environment surprised him. He was in an extravagant hotel, with dazzling chandeliers and opulent decor, where natural light filtered through large windows, illuminating the space with a golden glow.

However, there was no time for admiration. Before he could take another step, a young woman with long, wavy hair and a radiant smile approached him. "Pedro! So glad you're here! We’ve all been waiting for you!" she said, pulling him along with a friendly and excited demeanor.

"Waiting for me?" Pedro asked, confused, but soon realized it must be some sort of work. It was still hard for him to believe he was topping the charts and dominating TikTok. “Sorry for the delay!"

"No problem! I'm Ana, your assistant for the day. I’m a huge fan of your work!" the woman exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "You’re simply amazing!"

"Oh, if it’s not too much to ask," Ana said, hesitating slightly, "I’d love to film a dance with you for TikTok. That would be incredible!"

"You know, dancing is really part of my job, and I usually don't mix things... But since I liked you, we can do that later, okay?" he said, trying to keep a friendly tone.

"That would be perfect!" Ana replied, her excitement evident. "Let’s go! The crew is already in the photo area."

They walked through the hotel’s luxurious corridors, giving Pedro time to assimilate that the memories he had acquired in that non-place were indeed real, making him feel comfortable in this new role, and his confidence grew with each step. The atmosphere was filled with creative energy, with production teams adjusting lights and cameras, and he couldn’t help but feel excited.

When they finally arrived at the photo location, Pedro came to a halt, his heart nearly stopping. Before him was Bruno, being photographed at that very moment. The shock was immediate. He couldn’t believe how quickly their paths had crossed! Bruno was there, so close.

He was radiant, his muscular body perfectly posed under the camera flashes. Bruno's expression was one of pure confidence, as if he were at the peak of his game. He turned amidst the flashes, his eyes passing over Pedro, a hint of a tremor on his face, and… nothing.

Pedro felt his heart race as he stared at Bruno, but the expression on the other man’s face was not one of recognition. Bruno looked at him neutrally, as if facing a stranger rather than someone with whom he had shared such intense moments.

The disappointment hit him like a blow, but Pedro knew that entering this new body and life could mean this possibility. He forced himself to keep his composure, taking a deep breath as Ana, his assistant, approached.

"Before we start with the photos, we need to answer a few questions for the article that will accompany the shoot," Ana said with a friendly smile.

Pedro forced a smile and nodded, trying not to betray his frustration. As the crew got organized, a reporter approached him, notepad in hand. Old school, Pedro thought.

"So, to start, do you two know each other?" the reporter asked casually.

Bruno didn’t hesitate. "Yes, of course." Pedro’s heart raced as he cast a hopeful glance at the other man. "All Brazilians know each other, right? Just like all Asians and all Black people." He said with a sarcastic smile that made Pedro’s hopes crumble.

Pedro bit his lip, feeling a wave of disappointment. "Yeah… that's true. Brazil is huge, and also, I’ve lived in the United States since I was five," he replied, trying to keep his tone light.

Bruno continued, indifferent. "Exactly. My last name is Leone, but I’m not related to Gabriel Leone, who did Ferrari and Senna. Anyway, I’ve definitely heard of Pedro Cruz, the new TikTok king."

Pedro forced a laugh, but the sound came out dry and lifeless. What should have been a reunion full of possibilities had now turned into a moment of solitude. Bruno, who had been his friend and ally, and for brief moments the source of the greatest pleasure he had experienced in both his lives, was now a distant figure, an icon on a pedestal he couldn’t reach even though he was right beside him, so close he could feel the heat radiating from his body and the leather and musk scent he exuded.

Pedro took a deep breath, trying to regain control of the situation. He looked at the reporter, a light smile on his face as he said, “Being called the ‘King of TikTok’ is certainly an incredible recognition, but it’s not the most important thing to me. What really drives me is music and dance. I want to be like my inspirations, like Michael Jackson and Bruno Mars. They taught me that art is a way to connect with people, to express feelings, and to tell stories. What I want most is for people to feel the same joy I feel when I perform.”

The reporter nodded, jotting down his words with an interested look. “That’s truly inspiring, Pedro! Now, Bruno, let’s talk about you. Your meteoric career is impressive, going from Olympic judo competitor to movie actor. Can you tell us a bit about how that transition was for you and what it meant to be cast as Roberto da Costa, the Solar Man, in the latest X-Men movie?”

Bruno smiled, his confident expression shining through. “It was an incredible journey. I’ve always been passionate about martial arts, and judo, specifically, has always been a fundamental part of my life. I had the honor of training with the Gracie family in Brazil. The role of Roberto was extremely unexpected; I’d done some telenovelas in Brazil, but nothing this big, so being able to do something like this, even if in the grand scheme of things it was a relatively small role, was still amazing. I auditioned knowing I was perfect for the role but without high hopes of being recognized. When I got the call from Marvel, it felt like a dream come true. I have to thank Kevin Feige and the Russo brothers for believing in me and tapping into the plots of X-Men '97 in the new phase of the mutants. They gave me the opportunity to showcase my potential as an actor, and even though martial arts wasn’t the focus of the casting, it will always be a fundamental part of my life.”

Pedro listened attentively, admiring the confidence Bruno displayed while talking about his career. He realized that although Bruno was distant from their previous friendship, their passion for their respective arts was still a point of connection.

“Speaking of martial arts, you’ll be playing a self-defense instructor and romantic lead opposite Zendaya in the new film by none other than Greta Gerwig. How do you feel about that new role?” the reporter asked, her gaze fixed on Bruno.

“It’s a huge responsibility,” Bruno replied, his eyes shining. “It represents a side of me that the people who followed me in sports never got to see, which is what’s behind the fighter's figure. The energy of the fight, the determination, and strength are characteristics I feel deeply, and I’m excited to showcase that even more with such an incredible director.”

“I have hot information that sparks flew in the more intimate scenes between you and Zendaya.”

“That’s called chemistry, which doesn’t mean something more happened. With the right angle, you can make sparks fly anywhere; take today’s shoot as an example. A competent director can make it seem like there’s something between Pedro and me, even if in reality that’s impossible,” Bruno responded, striking another blow to Pedro’s feelings before continuing to speak. “We need to be careful with this kind of comment; Zendaya is practically married, and I’m engaged.” He finished with a smile on his face, causing Pedro to sink even further.

“Oh, yes, Amanda Grant, silver in rhythmic gymnastics at the last Olympics, and you two were voted couple of the year in several publications. When can we expect the wedding?”

“Soon,” Bruno replied with an enigmatic smile, adding nothing more. The reporter asked more questions for both of them, but Pedro only gave automatic responses as he felt powerless and trapped in a way he had never felt even when stuck in a parallel dimension.

Pedro took a deep breath again, trying to concentrate while the reporter stepped back to capture some photos of the shoot. He and Bruno were in a well-lit studio, surrounded by flashes and laughter, but Bruno's presence kept him in a constant state of tension. When it came time to remove their shirts, the atmosphere shifted. Bruno's well-defined, muscular body seemed to shine under the lights, and the memory of their time together flooded Pedro's mind like a whirlwind.

He struggled to maintain his composure, but every time Bruno moved, their proximity made the situation almost unbearable. The scent of Bruno’s cologne, mixed with his sweat, and the way his muscles flexed as he posed for the camera were all reminders of the incredible sex they had shared. Pedro felt like he was in an emotional battlefield, fighting against the attraction that pulsed between them.

“Cut! Let’s take a break,” shouted the photographer, and Pedro let out a sigh of relief. Bruno’s part in the photoshoot was over, and the actor’s exit eased some of the weight on Pedro’s shoulders. He began to relax, feeling more at ease with the camera and the crew around him.

The reporter returned, and after some light conversation, Pedro found himself having fun, laughing, and getting into the energy of the moment. When it finally came time to film the TikTok video with Ana, the music pulsed in the background, and he started teaching the dance steps he had created. The joy of dancing and teaching infected Pedro, and he forgot the tensions of the shoot, diving into the music and Ana's contagious presence.

However, that joy was abruptly interrupted when, at the end of the shoot, Ana led him to the dressing room, a hotel room serving as a rest space for the team. Upon opening the door, Pedro felt his heart stop for a moment. Bruno was there, sitting in one of the chairs, wearing a simple t-shirt but with a look that seemed to penetrate his soul.

Pedro tried to ignore the tension in the air as he served himself some water, but the emotion of having Bruno so close in a room where they were just the two of them was undeniable. Turning around, Pedro met Bruno's gaze, which seemed charged with something undefined.

“Hey,” Pedro said, trying to keep calm, but his voice came out shakier than he would have liked.

“What are you thinking, boy? You think I didn’t see the way you look me?” Bruno asked, his tone challenging. “I think you’re crazy about me,” he said, moving closer after locking the door.

Pedro opened his mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, he felt Bruno’s hand gripping his neck tightly, and a chill ran down his spine. “Bruno, wait…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Bruno closed the distance, sealing their lips in an intense kiss. At first, Pedro was paralyzed, surprised by the gesture. But as the kiss deepened, something inside him ignited, and he began to respond, his confused feelings giving way to desire.

When they finally pulled apart, Pedro was speechless, his heart racing. Bruno let out a playful, carefree laugh. “Man, I loved seeing that sad puppy dog look on your face.”

Pedro furrowed his brow, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

Bruno looked at him, his eyes sparkling. “I waited three years, two months, and 25 days for you. When I saw your name on the photoshoot list, I almost fainted. All this time and nothing… I had practically given up. Then today, magically, reality adjusted, and a new pop singer appeared at the top of all the charts, and I allowed myself to feel hope again.”

“Do you remember me?” Pedro asked, incredulity washing over him.

“Apparently, you didn't get smarter during the time we were apart,” Bruno replied, a mischievous smile on his lips.

Pedro felt indignant at that. “Filho da puta, arrombado! he said in portuguese with an irritated voice.

“Yeah, but I’m the asshole son of a bitch you want,” Bruno replied, while squeezing Pedro's impressively large cock, pulling him close again, and they shared another kiss, full of passion and intensity.

As Pedro and Bruno’s lips met again, the accumulated tension dissipated like smoke in the wind. The kiss was a mix of desire and longing, a reunion that seemed destined to happen from the start.

Bruno held Pedro’s face firmly, as if fearing he might disappear at any moment. Pedro’s hand slid down Bruno’s back, feeling the definition of his muscles beneath his t-shirt, and a wave of heat coursed through his body. The outside world faded away, and all that mattered was that moment, that touch.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” Bruno whispered between kisses, his voice hoarse and laden with emotion. “Every day without you was a challenge.”

Pedro felt his heart race. “I missed you too, Bruno. You were the reason I fought to be who I am now.”

The intensity of the moment heightened, and Bruno pulled Pedro closer, his hands exploring the other’s body with passionate urgency. Pedro surrendered to the touch, Bruno’s fingers gliding over his exposed skin. The desire grew between them like a flame, illuminating the darkness surrounding them.

“Let’s do this right,” Bruno said, his voice deep and full of promises as he began to unbutton Pedro’s shirt slowly, revealing his well-defined, tanned torso.

Pedro held his breath, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through him. He had never felt so desired, so alive. With a swift motion, he pulled Bruno closer, their mouths meeting in an even deeper kiss as their hands explored one another's bodies.

The tension between them was palpable, and Pedro let himself be carried away by the passion enveloping them. He felt Bruno’s muscles against his, and the chemistry between them was undeniable. Bruno's hands slid across his back as Pedro lost himself in the sensation of finally being reunited with the man he had longed for for so long.

As they pulled away for a brief moment, both breathless, Bruno looked into Pedro’s eyes, the intensity of his gaze making Pedro’s heart race. “I want you, Pedro. Now and always.”

“Then let’s not wait any longer,” Pedro replied, determination echoing in his voice. He pulled Bruno closer, their bodies joining in a dance of desire and passion.

Bruno smiled, a smile that promised everything they had dreamed of together. They moved together, falling into a trance of touches and kisses as reality around them faded into a whirlwind of sensations. The heat of their bodies melded, and each touch seemed to ignite a new flame between them.

The kisses grew more intense, more urgent, as they surrendered to the passion engulfing them. The outside world faded away, and all that mattered was that influx of passion and desire that found release as the two took turns fucking each other.

After their intense moment of passion, Pedro and Bruno found themselves lying together, their bodies intertwined in a silence that was both comfortable and heavy. The warmth between them still simmered, but a shadow of concern began to loom in Bruno’s mind. He looked at Pedro, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and remorse.

“That was reckless,” Bruno said, his voice low and reflective, as if he were trying to grasp the gravity of what had just happened.

Pedro frowned, his heart racing again. “Reckless? Why? We finally found each other again. After everything we’ve been through, this isn’t recklessness; it’s… it’s what should have happened.”

Bruno sighed, looking away. “I know, but the truth is, I’m engaged to Mandy. This isn’t just a love affair; it’s a convenience. I’m an emerging actor, and she comes from a very religious family that would never accept her sexuality. We have an arrangement. The image we need to maintain is everything.”

Pedro felt a knot form in his stomach. “Are you serious? So all of this… was just a moment?” His voice trembled with the pain of the revelation.

“No, it wasn’t just a moment,” Bruno hurried to reply, holding Pedro’s hand. “What I feel for you is real, but the reality of our world is complicated. Being engaged to someone who is a public figure helps maintain an image that makes things easier in the entertainment industry. Life is much simpler if you seem straight, even if the truth is different.”

Pedro fell silent, absorbing Bruno’s words. He didn’t want to believe that his happiness could be so quickly undone by social conventions. “This is awful!”

“I don't deny it, but what about you? With millions of female fans believing they’ll be the chosen one? The image of an available man is important to you. And as much as things have progressed regarding representation, you'll lose most of your audience if you come out.”

Pedro nodded, frustration clear on his face. “Yeah, I know, but it’s so unfair.”

“Yes, it’s unfair, but the world is unfair, even more so with people like us, we can pretend that things are better now, that we are accepted, that prejudice has disappeared, but that is a lie, the prejudice is just veiled, especially in the current political situation. That’s why we need to be careful. Our relationship cannot be exposed. We’ll have to hide it.”

“Hide? How can you ask that?” Pedro asked, indignation rising within him. “Do you think I can just ignore what we have? Ignore how I feel about you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Bruno explained, his expression now softer. “We need to find a middle ground. After the article comes out, we can be seen as best friends. A classic bromance. This will pique the curiosity of the gay community and allow for some fanfics to be created, but we need to ensure it doesn’t go beyond that.”

Pedro took a deep breath, trying to process everything. The idea of hiding his love troubled him, but he knew Bruno was partially right. The pressure from the industry was intense, and any scandal could ruin their careers.

“So that’s it? Friendship instead of love?” Pedro asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“Not exactly,” Bruno said, looking into Pedro’s eyes. “You are more than a friend to me. But we need to be strategic. It’s the only way to keep everything under control.”

Pedro felt his heart tighten. The idea of living in secret was painful, but what Bruno proposed was an opportunity to maintain something true between them.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re sacrificing for me,” Pedro declared, his voice firm. “If this is what we need to do to protect what we have, then I’ll try. But it won’t be easy.”

Bruno smiled, the tension in his face easing a bit. “Nothing worth having is easy, Pedro. But if we’re together, we can face anything.”

Pedro nodded, feeling a new determination forming within him. “Then let’s do this. Let’s be the best friends the world has ever seen while keeping our love a secret.”

Bruno returned to caressing Pedro’s face, his fingers gliding gently over his tanned skin. “You have no idea how much this means to me,” he said, sincerity resonating in every word. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow, curious. “What is it?”

Bruno hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I was able to track down Ibrahim. Remember him? The bodybuilder who took Jason’s place?”

Pedro’s eyes lit up. “Seriously? And where is he?”

“He’s now the owner of the gym where Jason went. Since he returned, he’s become a renowned personal trainer in New York. Whenever I go there, he helps me train and improve. We still keep in touch, and he’s been a great help to me,” Bruno explained, a satisfied smile on his face.

“That’s amazing!” He didn't have any anger towards the man, after all, if it weren't for him, Pedro wouldn't be who he was today.

“Yeah, we tried to locate others who went through the mirror, and Ibrahim has really dedicated himself to that. We found out that Carter, the guy who was there before me, is now a firefighter in Washington and still does some shifts as a lifeguard at the hotel,” Bruno continued, excitement growing as he spoke.

“Wow! That’s really cool. And did you find out anything else?” Pedro inquired, increasingly curious about what had happened to those who shared the same experience.

“Yes, from Carter, Ibrahim even managed to compile a significant list of names. But we don’t have much contact,” Bruno replied, his expression serious.

“Why not?”

“Before Jason arrived and refused to move on, there was always the possibility of it being something random, a crazy play by cosmic forces. But what happened to us, the smartphone, demonstrates that there’s some intent behind it; what happened to us isn’t random.”

“Another reason to investigate!” Pedro said, perhaps encouraged by some remaining trait of Jason.

“Do you really want to provoke a being that has the power to send you back to that place? Try to understand man, we’re all happy to varying degrees with our lives; none of us want to see them erased. Be honest with me; have you deliberately looked in any mirrors since you returned?”

Bruno’s question made Pedro remember the terror he felt before facing the bathroom mirror.

“I understand.” Said Pedro in a low voice and a sad expression.

“Cheer up, man; whoever or whatever is behind this returned you directly to me; maybe it’s an olive branch.”

“Or a warning of what we could lose if we poke around too much. You guys are right; let’s enjoy the lives we’ve gained.”

Bruno smiled, but then a spark of curiosity appeared on his face. “Hey, I need to ask you: what happened to that nerd whose place I took in the bathroom at Comic-Con?”

“Jake? Oh, he’s an awesome guy! You won’t believe it; now he’s a typical surfer, full of energy and always smiling. I really hope to run into him when he gets back,” Pedro said with a smile on his lips.

Bruno made a thoughtful expression. “Should I feel jealous?” he asked, a mischievous smile forming on his face.

“Only if you don’t behave,” Pedro replied, winking at Bruno. He then pulled Bruno close again, capturing his lips in an intense kiss filled with passion and desire.

…

Betty walked along the hot sand of a Hawaiian beach, feeling the sea breeze caress her face and the fine grains burying under her bare feet. The scenery was stunning, with waves gently breaking on the shore and the sky tinged with blue. However, the joy of the moment was overshadowed by the sting she felt on her skin, burned by the sun. “How could I be so stupid?” she thought, recalling that she had left without applying sunscreen, even knowing its importance.

As she moved forward, she observed groups of tourists having fun, surfers challenging the waves, and children playing in the water. The scene was vibrant, but Betty couldn’t focus on the beauty around her. Her mind was occupied with the pain and frustration of having forgotten the basics. She was far from the hotel and urgently needed a bathroom to assess the damage.

After a long walk, she spotted a seaside bar filled with surfers laughing and sharing stories. As she approached, her heart raced with relief. “I hope the owner doesn’t mind,” she thought as she made her way to the bar. With a nervous smile, she asked the bartender, “Excuse me, can I please use the bathroom? I really need to.”

The man, with a sympathetic look, led her to the bathroom, and Betty thanked him, feeling a bit more at ease. As soon as she entered, she closed the door and faced herself in the mirror. The reflection showed a middle-aged woman, plump and with a flushed face marked by sunburns. She couldn’t help but let out an ironic smile. “Look at you, Betty. What a beauty!” she murmured, running her hand over her sore skin, not even noticing the opulence of the mirror before her, completely out of place in the reality of the seaside bar.

Then, suddenly, something made her freeze. The image reflected in the mirror was no longer hers but that of a young man with long, shiny blonde hair, defined muscles, and sun-kissed skin. Betty was startled, but the reflected surfer merely smiled and began walking toward her. Unable to control her own feet, she moved closer to the mirror. The man inside the mirror reached out his hand, and Betty, as if hypnotized, extended her own hand while the man’s smile widened.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #mental transformation #musclegrowth #race change #f2m transformation #m2m transformation #my story

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kordeliiius · 10 months ago

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signal boost for another campaign; Abood here needs at least 7000 EUR out of the 20,000 EUR total to achieve his personal goal, and things are getting dire. i don’t want to see him resort to something so drastic, as he’s already been thru enough. this is his latest update:

donate here:

EVERY DOLLAR COUNTS

#fundraiser #mutual funds #mutual aid #Palestine #free palestine #Gaza #gaza strip #gaza genocide #free gaza #all eyes on rafah

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fanhackers · 6 months ago

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Fandom/Activism

I interrupt my dive into Abigail DeKosnik’s work to note that as the United States moves deeper into its (apparently endless) election season, we’re seeing a lot of fandom-as-activism starting to emerge, as well as activism-as-fandom. De Kosnik herself was one of the early writers on fandom/activism, writing “Participatory democracy and Hillary Clinton's marginalized fandom” for the very first issue of Transformative Works and Cultures in 2008; more recently, Aja Romano wrote about how Donald Trump’s followers can be seen to be acting like a fandom for Vox: “If you want to understand modern politics, you have to understand modern fandom.”

TWC hosted an entire guest issue on Transformative Works and Fan Activism, edited by Henry Jenkins and Sangita Shresthova; Jenkins and Shresthova also collaborated on By Any Media Necessary: The New Youth Activism (NYU, 2016) which collects essays on fan activism. Other essays on fandom/activism have been published by TWC with Alex Xanthoudakis’s Mobilizing minions: Fan activism efficacy of Misha Collins fans in "Supernatural" fandom (2020) and Hannah Carilyn Gunderman’s Fan geographies and engagement between geopolitics of Brexit, Donald Trump, and Doctor Who on social media (2020) being recent examples. Meanwhile, Tanya Cook and Kayle Joseph are the authors of Fandom Acts of Kindness: A Heroic Guide to Activism, Advocacy, and Doing Chaotic Good (Penguin Randomhouse 2023), a guide on how to use fandom and fannish strategies to make a difference.

Some examples of fandom/activism emerging this U.S. election season include Heroes 4 Harris: Kamala-Con which is scheduled to happen online today, Sunday September 8, 2024, 1pm PT / 4pm ET: this is billed as “a Comic-Con for Kamala” and “the largest fandom led gathering in support of a presidential candidate in American history.” It will feature: “actors, writers, directors, and super fans of Hollywood's most inspiring heroic fandoms” and promises not just inspiration from some of our favorite stars (Mark Ruffalo, Sean Astin, Rosario Dawson and others - not to mention Henry Jenkins himself) but also breakout groups and training in “fan mobilization.”

Meanwhile, Lynda Carter (always a Wonder Woman!) is also trying to get out the fan vote for Harris with her group Geeks & Nerds for Harris Walz (@GeekOutTheVote); this is also billed as “a fan activist campaign” and they are planning special online events, the first of which will be an online call on September 24, 2024. As they describe on their website: “Fandom has never just been about media consumption. Fans are artists, creators, and digital ambassadors. When we share what we love, it radiates around the world. And to paraphrase the Vice President, it’s how we show them who we are. By connecting battle-tested campaign canvassing strategies to the heritage and practices of fan communities, we can encourage fans to get out the vote in key battleground states.”

Donald Trump, aside from being his own fandom with himself as fan in chief, also seems to have had some self-identified fandoms collectively organizing for him over the years - these include Fans of Kanye West, Fans of Race Car Driving, and, strange but true, Fans of the 1980s, who apparently believe that Donald Trump would also be a fan of 80s horror movies, Scritti Politti, and the soundtrack to Pretty in Pink. (I’m not making that up; it’s on their Twitter.) That said, Mel Stanfill’s newest book Fandom is Ugly (2024) argues that, despite its popular reputation, media fandom is not essentially progressive; that in fact, “reactionary politics and media fandoms go hand in hand.” Stanfill’s book looks at the ways in which fans have organized in conservative, reactionary, or even hateful ways, from Gamergate to the collective abuse and harassment of actors in the latest Star Wars franchise.

The discipline of fandom studies is now being used to study all different kinds of affiliations and advocacy movements, not just those based around film, tv, sports, or music. Fan studies is now applied to political and social movements. Jenkins is still a powerful voice on the relationship between fan studies and participatory democracy (whether progressive or reactionary): read this 2024 interview with him published in Communication and the Public: “The path from participatory culture to participatory politics: A critical investigation—An interview with Henry Jenkins.” As Jenkins notes:

Part of the ethos of fandom is to ask questions—from nitpicking to imagining other outcomes, different trajectories for character arcs, and other worlds where the story might occur, all of which is expressed through fan works. I would say that fans are often more critical than the general audience in asking these questions, which makes them somewhat different from many partisans and activists I might know who rarely question their beliefs and ideological commitments. And fans are more tolerant—as an aggregate—of different interpretations than partisans are of different ideological stances. So, you could do worse in grounding a democracy than engaging with fans.

#fanhackers #fandom/activism #author:francescacoppa

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angellurgy2 · 6 months ago

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Hiveship

hii! this is the 1st and 2nd chapter of my new story, as a little show of whats to come when i make it a full-length book.

cw for bug rape but like, its also just an introduction to deeper non/sexual ways the bugs will destroy this girl's soul. you'll see!

i'd appreciate if people checked this out/gassed it up because i've worked reallyyy hard on this for a bit ^-^

CHAPTER 1

A live wire sparks as loretta reaches a gloved claw inside the open electrical box, her digits blunted by her heavily plated and padded, alabaster white cosmonaut suit. she roots around the active electricity, scraping out chunks of the greenish-brown sludge growing in its crevices- the same mysterious viscous slime that’s been popping up in parts across her starship over and over the past few weeks. her theories ranged from an excremetal expulsion of an unidentified space object, to some disgraceful cosmonaut’s trash finding its way into her ship’s vents.

she clicks the button for the analyzing tool of her protective visor, closely examining the fluid. long thin wires splay across all sections of the large junction, leaving burning hot indents in the thick substances that feel like way too much of a fire risk. looking at the wires, spread out in patterned parallels like gigantic spider-webs, an anxious tinge of fear strikes her. don’t fall in, don’t get caught- robots don’t need any more prey. not that you’re prey. you aren’t.

she flicks her visor back off, worried her sweat might fog up the the visor, and continues swiping the rest of the gunk into a bin.

all clean, she fixes the fuses back into place before immediately making her way back over to the equipment corridor to hang up her suit. on the way she passes vibrant posters of mechanical cross-section diagrams, detailed anatomy drawings of every variety of species she could scavenge, and historical propaganda posters. it was a nice splash of existence inside a clinical minimalist coating.

lounging in the cabin suite on her sofa, she flips her state-provided entertainment console to the galactic news. on-screen a suited, pristine looking woman takes the centre stage behind a stretched out desk. her voice is calm and analytical, with a hint of soft sympathy that can’t be hidden no matter how hard of a professional facade they must put on.

“News from the pandora planets have finally reached the internal core, revealing devastating effects of the latest assault campaign from the exoskeletal hives, multiple colonies’ messengers have reported complete razing of ground and sub-ground infrastructure, with several not appearing for the census at all. the URSS military and all commune bioships have retreated back to pantheon-V for rehabitation before a pandora counter-takeover can be attempted.”

Loretta shudders. the exoskeletals have been advancing deeper into URSS territory much faster than ever before, the fact that the state hasn’t been able to put a stop to it—and that the threat has only gotten more aggressive—makes sweat begin to pour down her head. if she was doing a term with the forces or part of a commune science crew she’d probably be worried for her life right now. thankfully, her ship was currently flying safely in one of the middle systems, relaxing in orbit of an abandoned desert world after recently coming back from a call of excursion to the outer worlds. she always enjoyed the quiet of minimal space travel and the utter lack of civilization when she gazed down upon a world, so this has been her favourite spot to reside for a long while. from the cabin module’s glass wall she can see such stark vistas of sandy mountain ranges, demarcating the most beautiful fields of gigantic outstretching spiny cactus.

with a loud buzz the tv automatically switches to the nightly Sallite news segment, where they broadcast the most important of state propaganda to every television set at 8pm local time. with an exasperated sigh she turns the volume all the way down to 1, takes off her grey tank, and throws herself into her cushioney bed. a switch on the wall next to the alloy headboard turns on the room’s surround sound to a soft pitter of forested rainfall, and she falls asleep in a matter of seconds.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Loretta awakes to the foreign sound of a sloppy wriggling near the floor by the end of her bed. jerking upright, she quickly slides into the suit boots she had laid at the side of her bed, strapping them tight, and moves to examine the intruder.

a pulsating green slime slides itself across the floor, leaving a small trail of slightly transparent lime goo behind it. loretta kneels to look at it closer. she could swear it’s looking right back at her- though without any obvious eyes or features of its own. it excretes another loud squelching sound and fires off a copper-smelling mist around it, some of which sprays directly into loretta’s face causing her to wince and tear up at the dense cloud of smell. she reflexively slams her booted heel down into the creature, stomping through its gelatinous body.

she attempts to swiftly scrape the thing off her heel,, but the flattened slime spreads to encase her entire boot before she can even look down at it. when she does, she sees sticky lime green half-translucent goo coating the suit metal like adhesive, excreting a slight burning odour. loretta throws her leg around trying to eject the subject, but only manages to trip over herself, tumbling to the thick panelled floor with a resounding thud.

on her back she watches with wide terrified eyes as the slime continues to slowly expand up her limb. it should be stretching itself out fully by now, but it seems to have an infinite amount of mass to express over her. some kind of anomalous entity from deep space? but how would it have gotten this deep into the middle systems? a new wormhole would’ve been reported immediately, and the nearest systems are all too well-inhabited. the gears turn in her head, clearly rusted over, struggling to think of a potential scientific hypothesis. by the time she breaks out of her clouded monologue and thinks to stop analyzing, the slime has already subsumed her entire left leg, grasping spreading tiny green tendrils grappling for the next part, which is fully uncovered by the comforting protection of the URSS engineer corps. she struggles to force herself away by clawing into the floor, but the slime seems to have extra weight to pin her leg down. such a little creature, overpowering her so easily- it must be alien. she doesn’t stop struggling even if it pins her utterly. if she could just get to the corner and grab her piece she could-

her scrabbling eyes find themselves staring at the cabin’s ceiling vent. a thick bile-like grey sludge seeps down from the cracks, forcing her to hurry. loretta shoves her hand into the green slime against her better judgement, trying to peel it off like one of her mother’s gelatin molds. her hands try to slide underneath it but they find themselves struggling to push against an unmovable solid, far away from the gravyesque consistency it had before. then she feels her legs, or rather, feels the lack of feeling of her legs. when she tries to move them, she cant even muster a shake, lower half pinned to the floor, not even pins or needles remaining. it doesn’t stop her relentless pushing and attempts to pull herself out by her arms, but she might as well be an amputee at this point. like one of those UOA prisoners of war from back in the day, laser neutered to be nothing but working hands for the Authority’s machines.

unable to get away from the oncoming deluge, lorreta realizes it must be relent or die. and so she does, shutting her eyes tight and curling her lips inward together like the anti-parasitites’ studies have taught her. though this wasn’t the typical annalidesque parasite commonly found in the outer cosmos, or a parasite at all for all she knows, it’s the best her dizzy mind can handle. and as she feels the sludge’s drip touch down on her estrogenated skin, it succeeds in helping stop it from flowing inside her eyes. she can feel it coat the skin tight, like a face mask but smelling of wood and suffocating and lively probing at her pores, blocking her vision black with its opaque body.

the sludge now dispensed, loretta senses a chance and attempts to pry the mask off of her. blindly groping for a free spot by her neck and sliding her unkempt nails under it and into the disgusting goo. it feels like a cadaver from anatomy class under her fingers, diving into the fat and peeling away the outer layer. but this corpse has undergone rigor mortis, and loretta’s attempts to peel it off go only slightly better than with the green thing, lifting an inch before it slaps itself back on even tighter. her second attempt goes even worse, her arms starting to feel numb and anaesthetized. she lifts her arms to fight but she cant feel the texture of what she touches anymore, and then the viral limpness travels to the rest of her motor function, and they flop uselessly at her sides. no part of her body responding to her brains frenzied orders to move, the most she can do is flail inside.

she pictures Andromeda-ZE in her mind’s eye, emotionally travelling to the place she spent most her childhood. she’s running through the market, the most well-known place in the capital, excitedly waving at family friends and commune teachers like she’s a kid again, so happy, so free, so ignorant. red and yellow and orange colours shine bright on the market stalls, sand and wood structures stand beautifully tall around her, everything is even more beautiful than it was when she was young. the wind on her cheeks as she runs makes her glow with a safety she doesn’t feel in the atmospheric void in space. not far ahead she spots her unit hut, and ramps up her speed. in a minute of invigorating sprint, she makes it to the large aspen door, knocking 5 times. she hears several light footsteps trot up and bounces with excitement. the door slowly creeps open…

and a hulking nurse bug towers over her. its mandibles chitter, the egg sack on its back wiggles, and its claws rub together in front of its chest. she looks into the creature’s eyes and sees a thousand mirrors staring back at her. she screams muffled into the slime gag, jolting away from the colour behind her eyelids, and back into the void in front of them. instead of trying to push inside like loretta assumed, the sludge begins to creep into the part of her eye socket above her lids, pushing with prying hair-like digits. her heart cramps, and she can feel her heavy perspiration being immediately absorbed by the material the second it drips. she doesn’t want to close her eyes, doesn’t want to see the bugs that close again- the spindling inner legs, the slimey chitin, vision of swarms of exoskeletals charging her squad flash through her, all she wants to do is scream but all it does is wear out the last muscles she can work. but she can’t stop, she wails banshily, reverberating in her own skulll. and then she can’t manage to hold her eyes open any longer.

the jointed arthropod returns, fully subsuming her soul.

“it’s okay, sweet darling Lore, we are here now” it speaks in her mothers voice. sweet and soothing.

CHAPTER 2

loretta wakes up in a stasis vat, her body floating in air like oil. green biofluid drenches her skin, manufactured nutrients flooding her organs, keeping her fed and stable. she smiles, thinking back to her first spacewalk, bounding into the open cosmos with footless steps. she kicks her foot up, sending herself into an airy backflip. her mouth opens on its own and takes in a load of the fluid. it tastes like the earth pineapples her mothers would trade for on her birthdays. she has to figure out what this is when she’s out of here. and by the looks of her motor functions, she’ll be out of this in no time.

* * *

she awakes groggily inside of another vat. there’s no more fluid, but something similar sticks to every inch of her skin. the walls of steel have turned into a coffinesque cocoon, fleshy and aboreal brown and wriggling with her movements. yet as she attempts to push herself backwards, her hands still find themselves scraping cold metal. she sees how some light manages to seep through the cracks of the chitinous chamber, and prods at the squishy folds where the tiny glowing rays strike, poking through an inch or two of foreign flesh before her fingertips feel air. bio vat? or some sort of.. metamorphosis chamber? she can’t remember how she got here, or when she signed up for such a procedure. she needs to find someone before she gets stuck. she lifts her moist lips to one of the little holes and screams out a plea for help. she manages to fit another finger out, and begins trying to spread open the breach when she’s stopped by someone’s cold fingers pulling hers. one of the scientists, or guards?

the person outside pulls on loretta’s hand hard and she feels her light body raise up to the roof of her confines. despite her reaching the walls, they keep going, tugging forcing painful friction between her bare limbs and the meaty hide. in a few short, supernatural pulls she is burst through the sac entirely, getting to see chunks of what appears to be sinew and slime splattering the surroundings as she flies through antigravital space and crashes hard into a familiar wall.

HISSSSSSSTHH

innumerous spindly brown limbs bringing fading memories of phasmid anatomy charts stretch out across the polished floor and walls now brutally scattered with keepsake and furniture debris, looking like abstract blobs in loretta’s slime coated vision. blobs which are constantly being absorbed upwards into the air by twitchy movements. loretta grasps at the wall behind her, pulling herself away from the enormous creature.

slamming into the far wall, she attempts to reach for where her dresser should be, where her trusty sidearm should be awaiting its imminent retrieval. then she remembers the lack of gravity.

it was a stupid idea to make a grav switch so accessible. she never even uses it, and humans are the only creature out in this abyss who are weak to its pull. stupid stupid stupid. she tries to look for it in the debris but can’t make it out through all the other white and grey blobs.

in the room, a few brown splotches stand out, utterly foreign to the ship’s shade-based palette. she stares closer, and even more seem to appear. the black space where the open door leads to dark corriders begins spewing them out en masse until at least two dozen of them scatter across the floors walls and ceiling of the cabin, staring right back into her with beady pinpricked eyes.

a bug pounces, its thin limbs pinning loretta hard. the hair on its tarsi scrape across her bare arms jolting goosebumps up her entire body. its membranal underside presses up close, making her shake with unease as its squishy segmented body rubs against her and coats her with an inky discharge well familiar to her after multiple campaigns.

click, click, click, click. clinking mandibles together, like a hungry and petulant child. antennae rub against her ears, just then noticing their dulling by a xenotic wax substance. yet the vile hissing of a group of specially angered freaks still deafens.

searing pain transports into her flesh. she screams but a sludgey backup in her windpipe stops everything but the vibration. loretta looks down at the thick brown apical claw stuck inches deep in her side. a gaping void begins a slow seeping of crimson. another of the blobs quickly dashes into her view, bursting into definition as it pops up at the wound’s side. the same black liquid that drapes over her skin begins to leak out of its open mouth-thing, mixing and diluting the blood until the cut is naught but a thick black wall subsuming a portion of her outer thigh.

she looks forward again as a twinge of neck pain insults her for forgetting herself, and sees the first roach reaching its body upwards. a yonic hole in its abdomen begins to slowly invert, while a large black tendril reaches out of the now-extremity and fluidly twirls itself around loretta’s leg, dripping ichor all the way.

she’d never gotten this close to one of the breeders before, to the point she didn’t even recognize their exotype until now. as far as she knew, they stayed deep inside the tunneled grounds of the hive worlds, fucking like lagomorphs to appease their queens and ever-outbreed the URSS’s onslaughts. and yet, here they are.

the appendage flicks into loretta’s belly, proding at and pushing inside her navel cavity. it feels almost like she’s being licked by a pet dog, or it would if it wasn’t by a fucking bug. the creature tries to push forward past the inch-deep space and is swiftly yanked back in turn, reaching the end of its rope. loretta sighs. if they can’t even reach her then the worst they could probably do is-

the tentacle prods at a lower place before a concept can reach her nerves. a deserted, forgotten plateau, a space too human for her to accept. sliding over a smooth ravine, wet shocks drive up her legs. coiling atrocity digs into her malleable dirt like the hills in pandora. she screams like she imagines it must. though the terror speaks in soft, writhing texture, and not pain. pandora and i, sister bodies- desecrated in twain.

she turns her head to the room’s one window. beyond the hexagonal plasteel frame, one of the last things held up through the chaos, halcyon skies stretch out for infinity- vistas of beautiful achromatic calm broken only by dots of terrestrial colour. an anaerobic dead zone, where nothing except calm would subsume her. devour her. she yearns to feel that cold blanket take her now. she dreams of the window bursting open, space gaining pressure the glass wasn’t ready for, and ripping them all out with it. she dreams of mom bursting through the door gun in hand. she dreams of simply disappearing from all being.

from above her head slithers another pair of mandible and trio of forceps, digging into her budding chest. a sparse pink miasma sprays across her vision, and she’s stumbled out of her wonder by a furious coughing fit rising in her trachea, and finally taking off some of the adhesive coating her throat alongside it. she tries to look back outside and the claws digging deeper just force her gaze right back. her eyes glaze over with water and, unable to wipe the sleeves away, it drowns her. it fills her mouth until her muscles strain, spread taught like an epithelial fingertrap. she cant help but cough more, painfully clenching on the foreign object sliding deeper inside using her windpipe as a transistor to her weak points.

beige meat squishes up against her face, phantom sensations of a man’s stomach thrusting. it should never have been able to get more evil than that. how did they put human’s cruelty into animals, was it taught? more inches of squishish meat force the thought from her shrouded head. her tears taste like ink. maybe they like it that way.

Lorettas’s hull stretches with fullness and terror. she cant see it, but she can feel it bulging her front extremitously. it feels like the two tendrils will soon meet in the middle. she shudders in fear and feels them swirl inside her as punishment.

she feels a slight relent, and her thoughts finally losing their haze. the creatures in front of her thrust backwards through the air, and the twisting coiling tentacles whorl their way out like a pullcord. again she has to feel the thing climb her hole, leaving a painful space where there used to be nothing, unable to go back to nothing. it is ashamed and sobbing in it’s own. what a bipolar old lady you are, where is your rage?

his voice forces itself inside of her. look what you’ve done. ruined and irreparable. you must’ve loved it. you and your little bug fascination. maybe if you didn’t spend your time with abominations, you wouldn’t have become one.

she screams back. it’s not too late, i don’t love them. he’ll never control me again, i’ve carved so much into the world, i won’t let myself be belittled. you’re smart, they’re miniscule- a surprise assault shows their utter lack of strength. i’ll kill them all if i have to. i’ll prove it, i will.

she tries to open her eyes again and sees, stained by pink clouds floating in her sclera, a huge mutated insectoid towering behind the others. a large dynastinaen horn displays ignorant ideas of its strength above its excitedly quivering mandibles. or perhaps the exoskeletals have no need for concepts of pride or egotism. perhaps hive mentality’s destroyal of the individual will always grant them an advantage. no thought of the victim- evil little creatures. no different than the evil of the Authority. no different than-

two blunt black mandibles thrust into her chest. the wind is crushed from her body before she can realize what’s happening. she is too dazed to look at the impact. her deflated cadaver is thrusted into the air, and carried,

her vision bobs up and down as swift twig limbs drag her forth without thought. station windows fly past her, blobs vaguely looking like her favourite posters lay scattered and sliced in pieces, slime staining them irreparable as it coats the floor. does their cruelty know no limits? was the destruction of her ship and her spirit not enough? the destruction of her people? will anything sway their pure evil? she wants to cry, but she’s already using all the tears her body can muster.

black begins to gorge itself on the halls, the chunky whirring of automatic doors blares in her ears drowning out the chattering sounds of dozens of limbs. the hydraulics were a deeply familiar sound, one she had always cherished hearing. it felt like a reminder of the spacecraft’s life, always interacting to her existence, responding in kind noise whenever loretta’d root around fixing her insides. it was a comforting relationship, wonderful in its unconditionality.

now, her beautiful partner screamed red with anger. they destroyed her entrance too. the airlocks outer seal is burst open with what could fairly be assumed to be anti-ship cannons, if not for the claw marks and acid tainting it all. she looks through the inner seal, into the void where death surely awaits, her body has been so painfully torn and remade, that she can’t make herself put up a single limb to fight at the end. she imagines a blaster in her hand, and clenches its handle tight. then she opens her eyes, and her fingers havent moved an inch.

then her face meets cold surface, jagged. then the green drapes grab onto her skin again. then her blood mixes with the green and turns the colour to the same rust she smelled in the air at the start. then she feels the perfectly held-at-average air of her beloved spaceship turn into cold freezing anguish of the outside. then she feels her body turn to nothing. then, she feels nothing at all.

#puppy writing #uhm #rbs encouraged #i needddd attention chat #but yeah um id appreciate ppl letting me know what they think too!!

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