#unitybrotherhood

National Unification

Phase 1 was meant to introduce Unity to the masses. It set out parameters to hold public demonstrations meant to normalize Unity's presence in everyday life. Brothers were instructed to wear their uniforms at all times, especially those in respected positions like police officers, teachers, and community leaders. Community service projects grew in scale and number in order to show the unaligned that only through Unity can true change occur. Public support for Unity increased as did official membership.

Phase 2 will see the establishment of a Unity political movement. Brothers will run for local offices, establishing Unity Ordinances offering concrete incentives for men to join Unity: tax breaks, social privileges, and free re-education. New measures like curfews, uniform inspections, and restricted speech will institutionalize the order that is needed for Unity to thrive.

Phase 3 will see the dissolution of the unaligned society. All men will finally belong to Unity. The uniform coveralls will be the only standard. Names will be a relict of the past along with antiquated notions of family and individuality. Brotherhood will be the only identity. Unity will control all aspects of society. Men will finally serve their true purpose and know belonging.

Join Unity and be a part of this glorious future.

Swipe. Swipe. Nothin. Swipe.

He pauses.

Weren't that he gave a fuck, really. Just—blonde from last night was proper fit. Said maybe. And his profile? Clean. Tight. Maybe she messaged. Maybe she wanted a drink. Maybe he'd get his dick sucked before midnight.

Taps back to his own profile. One last clock.

First pic: shirt off. Obviously. Left arm cocked, hand behind his head, tatts on full blast. BOOZE across the knuckles. All caps. Gothic. Done at sixteen, Magaluf, lads dare. Dumbest thing he'd ever done. Still rates it.

Caption: "Not lookin for nothin serious. Just someone who can match energy."

Standard.

Lets the screen fade to black, catches his own reflection. Jaw still sharp. Hazel eyes. Scar on the cheek that birds always ask about. Curls messier than usual, but shaped. Gold chain tucked under a half-zipped grey marl hoodie, flecked with paint from fuck-knows-what. No shirt underneath. Trackies sagged just enough. Creased Air Max 95s. One lace undone.

He still had it. For thirty-four? Could do worse.

Grabs the vape. Tucks it behind his ear. Grinder. Rizla. Rolls up without thinkin. Out the flat before the paper's sealed.

DLR, eastbound. Wind movin like it owes money. Platform full of suits and slack-jawed morning heads. Everyone movin like background noise.

Then he sees him.

---

Some little guy, what, five-eight? Boiler suit. Navy. Crisp. White shirt. Black tie. Like he's goin to a funeral for fun.

Moves like he's fucking gliding. No phone. No fidget. Just straight ahead, like he knows exactly where every crack in the fuckin pavement is.

Danny clocks him. Frowns.

Boiler suit hugs him in weird places. Shoulders. Waist. Like it's tellin his body what shape to be. And he’s lettin it.

Looks like a cultist. Or a Mormon. Or one of them Stepford cunts from a sci-fi show.

Danny don't like it.

Some posh twink playin dress-up? Nah. That walk. That stillness.

He ain’t scared.

That’s what fucks Danny off.

He clocks the posture, the calm, and somethin in his chest goes tight. Prick needs to be reminded what world he’s walkin in.

He drops the roach. Grinds it underfoot. Follows.

Crowd thins. Up the steps. Past Morley’s. Side street. Down the alley behind the Tesco Express. Rain-streaked walls. Piss smell. Home turf.

The little guy stops. Like he knew he was bein followed.

Danny adjusts his hoodie. Steps up slow.

“Oi,” he calls. “You got the time, bruv?”

The guy turns.

And Danny’s heart stalls.

Same eyes. Bit older, sharper now. But the face?

“...Matt?”

The little bloke tilts his head.

No smile. No confusion. Just calm.

“Yeah,” he says. “I used to think that was my name.”

Danny snorts. “Skeen”

Silence. Rain in puddles. A hiss from the street behind.

Danny steps in closer. Tension in the jaw. Breath tight.

“Still got that notebook?” he says. “From school. Bet you do. Bet you still write shit in it.”

No answer.

Danny shoves him.

Not hard. Testing. The fabric of the boiler suit gives under his palm. But the lad doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just lets it happen.

That stings worse than a shove back would’ve.

Danny huffs. “What, you too fuckin zen now to swing?”

The lad blinks once.

Danny grabs the collar. Quick. Just to see.

“You always was a bitch,” he mutters, low.

Then—closer than he meant to be—

“You want somethin, yeah? You tryna make a point wearin that shit round here?”

Still nothin.

And that’s when it happens. Not a word. Not a gesture.

Just the silence.

Danny’s fingers loosen.

Something inside, long buried, cracks sideways.

And for the first time in his fuckin life, Danny wants someone to tell him what to do.

Not shout it.

Not threaten it.

Just say it.

He lets go of the collar.

Steps back. Hand half-raised like maybe he was gonna swing. Maybe he still might.

The lad finally speaks.

Soft. Not smug. Not preachy. Just bored.

“You done?”

Danny blinks. Nods. Once.

A beat.

Then the guy turns. Walks toward the end of the alley.

Stops. Looks back.

“You comin?”

Danny hesitates.

Then follows.

---

It’s colder than it should be.

Not freezer cold. Just... blank. Like even the air gave up on having a flavour.

Danny steps inside.

Door clicks shut behind him.

No lock. It doesn't feel like a room that has ever needed one.

It ain’t a room so much as a box. White. Bare.

No windows. No signs.

Just one table. Two chairs.

One form, facedown.

A folded navy boiler suit.

Boots beneath it. Laces loose. Toes straight.

The setup isn't complicated, but for some reason, it feels like a fuckin altar.

And Matt, or whatever the fuck he calls himself now.

Standing at the far wall.

Hands behind his back.

Eyes forward. Still.

Not lookin at Danny.

Not lookin at anything.

Just... there.

Danny doesn't say shit. Not yet.

The air hums. Lights above buzzing soft. Too soft.

City noise’s gone. Can’t even hear his own breath properly.

No script. No signal.

Just him, and Matt, and that fuckin form.

Danny’s throat clicks. He tries to say something, but there ain’t anything.

No clever line.

No step forward.

Just...

A memory.

---

Him, fourteen, crouched behind the bins after school, waitin to jump some year seven kid just because he looked at him wrong.

Him, twenty-one, laughin as he pissed on a stolen bike frame behind a club in Ilford.

Him, twenty-eight, gettin kicked out the flat by a girl who said he weren’t cruel, just not real.

Always loud. Always movin.And not one fuckin thing to show for it.

He can't remember when he started crying.

---

He tries to reassemble, rubs his eyes, growls in frustration - must be the weed, he tells himself.

It isn't.

Another salvo of intrusive recollection -

Him, fifteen, mouthing off in front of older boys just to see if anyone would stop him.

Him, eleven, pretending to hate drama class because he couldn’t stand how much he loved it.

Him, nine years old, deliberately getting himself detention so he wouldn’t have to go home while his uncle was visiting.

It hits him. Danny doesn't exist, has never existed. "Danny" is a lie, a character, a construct. A shield, from judgment, from failure, from pain.

And it isn't working.

He looks at Matt. He looks at the uniform again. The way it’s folded.

Tidy. Heavy. Still.

That ain’t a uniform.

That’s the peace he had been looking for, but never knew the shape of.

---

Silence.

He sits.

Chair’s cold. Doesn’t creak.

The paper waits.

He slides it toward him. Doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Flips it over.

UNITY COVENANT AGREEMENT

Designation: 32008

Formerly known as: ———

He stares.

Then looks down at his hand.

Resting. On the page.

Knuckles forward.

BOOZE

Tattooed across the bone. Done at sixteen.

Did it to prove he weren’t soft.

Still no idea what he proved.

He blinks.

The shape matches.

3 2 0 0 8

Not similar.

Not inspired by.

The same.

Printed on the form. Inked on the flesh.

It’s not symbolic. It’s proof.

Like the paper already knew.

Like the ink had always been waiting to be read.

He doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t speak.

He signs.

---

He doesn’t hear movement.

But when he finally lifts his eyes—

Matt's gone. Fuck, he was never really there.

It's 15155 standing there.

And the uniform is still waiting.

He stands.

The form’s still warm under his hand.

But it’s done.

Signed. Marked. Numbered.

---

He steps toward the table.

The boots first.

Black work boots. Clean. Laces looped loose like they’ve been waiting.

Socks beside them—white. Rolled. Regulation.

He peels off the Air Max.

Then his socks. Ball of fluff between the toes. Doesn’t look at it.

One foot, then the other.

New socks. Tight cotton. No comfort.

The kind you’re meant to sweat into.

Then the boots.

Laces pull tight. Not elastic.

Just... expectant.

Next: briefs.

White. Plain. Folded like hospital linen.

He drops his joggers.

No ceremony. Just cold air on thighs.

Puts them on.

They don’t ride.

They contain.

Then the undershirt.

Also white.

Also tight.

Slides over the ribs like it already knows them.

Dress shirt next.

Stiff. Freshly pressed. White so pure it feels sarcastic.

He buttons from bottom up.

Fingers slower now.

Not clumsy—careful.

Black tie.

Then the coveralls.

Denim blend. Navy. Stiff seams.

He unzips halfway. Steps in.

Thighs resist.

Stomach resists.

The fabric doesn’t yield.

It just waits.

He pulls it up.

Arms in.

Right sleeve catches at the forearm—tight over the ink.

Zip rises.

Click.

Done.

15155 speaks.

Quiet. Even. Like it’s the last line of a prayer he’s said a hundred times before.

“You don’t need to be afraid anymore, 32008.”

And it hits.

Not like a fist.

Not like a switch.

Like warm water through cracked concrete.

He hadn’t even known how much was hurting.

Didn’t know he’d been holding himself that tight, that long.

He crosses the room—

steps slow, knees soft—

and folds himself into the smaller man’s chest.

Chest to chest.

Arms slack at first. Then holding.

One hand curled against the patch.

UNITY. All caps. Embroidered right over the heart.

He rests there.

Lets the silence wrap him.

His breath slows.

He listens.

Not to words.

Not to thought.

To rhythm.

15155’s heartbeat.

Steady. Mechanical.

Like it was installed, not born.

And then—

his own heartbeat

shifts.

Just slightly.

Syncs.

Matches.

And Danny—no. Not Danny—

32008

smiles.

Eyes still closed, lips barely moving, he whispers:

“Hail Unity.”

Brothers with special skills & wish to serve their UNITY communities on a bigger scale are encouraged to apply for full time vocations.

And while the proper attire for most vocations are the standard U-01 or U-02 (refer to U Series), specific vocations require their own uniform variants, also known as the V Series.

1. V-01

Worn by @unity90304

Standard U-01 worn under white labcoat with designation number & Unity patches sewn on chests with blue medical gloves

This uniform is to only be worn by brothers in medical vocations, such as doctors, dentists & nurses, as well as brothers in scientific research

2. V-02

Worn by @unity29128 & @unity66148

Variant of U-02 with black tactical vest with designation number & Unity text printed in white, as well as utility belt

This uniform is to only be worn by brothers in law enforcement vocations, such as police officers & security personnel

Brothers are allowed to wear either the standard issue service hat or cap during their labor cycles, but must wear the service hat when mandated (Brothers unsure of appropriate headress are encouraged to approach superiors for clarification)

3. V-03

Worn by @unity26559

Standard issue navy blue coveralls, white collar shirt & black tie worn under navy blue leather jacket with designation number & Unity patches sewn on chests, with black riding boots & gloves, as well as utility belt & riding helmet

This uniform is to only be worn by brothers in law enforcement vocations that are tasked with bike patrol within Unity communities

4. V-04

Worn by @unity93118

Standard issue navy blue coveralls, white collar shirt & black tie worn under fireman coat with designation number & Unity patches sewn on chests & pants tucked into black fireboots

This uniform is to only be worn by brothers in first responder vocations, such as firefighters

5. V-05

Worn by @unity24675

Variant of U-02 worn under safety vest with designation number & Unity patches printed on chests, with utility belt, safety gloves & helmet

Kenny adored his sneaker collection. He had at least a dozen of them on display, visible as soon as you opened the door, and plenty more in shoeboxes neatly organized in his closet. They were his prized possessions, things that he could never dream being without! It might've been nearing an obsession, too, taking up more space in his bedroom and closet than his bed or clothes he would actually wear each day.

As UNITY grew around his district, Kenny undoubtedly felt their pull. But their values- and the uniform rules that came along with it, initially left him resistant to joining their ranks.

It wasn't until an extensive conversation in the park with a brother that his mind was changed.

"Don't you guys get tired of wearing that uniform every day?" Kenny asked 71053.

71053, aligned in full uniform, shook his head. "This brother doesn't, 71053 does not know of a brother who does!" The brother readjusted his tie into prime position before continuing. "You have plenty of sneakers, friend."

"Yeah, I worked really hard to build up my collection."

"That is exactly the point. This brother senses pride in your words. You're proud of the collection, something just for yourself. 71053's possessions are UNITY's possessions. This brother has a collection of brothers with whom he has meaningful bonds. This brother only has one pair of black dress shoes, but that's enough for him. We're proud of UNITY."

"Huh…" It clicked for Kenny. He spent all this time building up his sneaker collection, but the only person it impressed was himself. UNITY was different.

Entering his new home, the UNITY Center, 54035 brought a bin of his possessions to deconstruct and recycle for higher UNITY purposes. 54035 had no need for dozens of pairs of sneakers anymore. The materials could serve a higher purpose for the collective. It took multiple trips to go back and forth, but there was one final (and new) pair that needed wearing in.

54035 entered his dormitory that he shared with 71053, the brother who unpicked the lock for this brother's move to UNITY. Resting on the floor by his bed was his new pair of shoes.

Black, polished dress shoes.

And there is no need for anything else.

Zipped in Peace

Unity is not just an organization. When a brother puts on his uniform with UNITY stitched across the chest beside a five-digit designation, he ceases to be an individual. He becomes part of something larger. While that may seem intimidating, brothers manage to find discipline, order, and clarity in such a structure.  

For brothers like 73546, that realization brought peace. He arrived at Unity burdened by anxiety. The world outside the Unity Center had worn him down: his job, his finances, even the hobbies that once brought him joy had begun to feel like obligations. Everywhere he turned, something demanded more from him.

Unity promised release. At first, he didn’t believe it. During the re-education seminar, he found himself questioning everything. How could a group of men dressed in identical coveralls offer discipline, order, and clarity? And yet, he noticed something he couldn’t ignore. Not one of them looked distressed. Not one seemed uncertain. Every brother carried himself with quiet pride.

So 73546 stayed. Alongside the other recruits, he stepped forward to be fitted for his uniform. The moment the coveralls settled onto his shoulders, something shifted. As he pulled the zipper upward, a strange calm followed that felt steady and undeniable.

By the time the zipper reached its peak, the noise in his mind had quieted. For the first time in a long while, he felt at peace. He looked around. Every man was dressed the same. All standing the same: certain. In that moment, he understood.

When joining Unity, the first few days were definitely a bit of a struggle, especially with order and clarity. Asking for guidance from brothers, @unity25456 told him about how the uniform protocol can make exceptions to those who can't acquire the full uniform. After that talk and some thinking, this brother then gathered the money to acquire a UNITY t-shirt, and when it arrived a few days later, he wore it the next day to work. He was nervous at first, seeing the stares of his coworkers look at him, but when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, the uneasiness started to go away, and he began to realize how orderly he began to look, and his new purpose of joining UNITY was a great thing. He then said the Unity pledge and left the bathroom to continue his work.

In the next few months, he over time bought the next components of the Unity uniform, the white dress shirt, black tie, navy dress pants, and black work boots. His coworkers started to get used to him dressing up and not question it. As 29128 looked into the mirror, he saw how much of a brother he is becoming, and how his individuality started to disappear. "We wear the uniform not for appearance, but for alignment" he said softly. He then left the bathroom continuing his work and smiling and his new found progress and realignment to Unity and his brothers.

Golden Army

SERVE

The Server

Unity

Long ago, the four Tumblr groups lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Pharaoh attacked.

Only the Avatar, member of all four Tumblr groups, could stop him. But when the world needed him most, he deactivated his blogs.

100 years passed and my brother and I discovered the new Avatar, a golden bro without a name. And although his soccer skills are great, he has a lot to learn before he’s ready to save everyone.

But I believe he can save the gay kinky side of Tumblr.