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tj-dragonblade · 6 months ago

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[FIC] Love Machines in Harmony

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 5244 Tags: PWP, Human AU, Rich Guy Dream, Mechanic Hob, the garage doesn't feature in this one though, Service Top Hob Gadling, Enthusiastic Bottom Dream, Dream is Not Quiet in bed, brief appearance by glass sex toy, anal sex, spünkelcouchen, strength kink, manhandling, burgeoning feelings, which shall continue to go unspoken, eye candy wardrobe choices, oral sex, mild temperature play, brief mention of come swallowing

Notes: Fifth (5th!) in the Turbo Lover series. This is an immediate sequel/continuation to Shift to Overdrive. Title (of course) taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest. Previously in the series, in case AO3 is down: Customer Service With Every Nerve Alive Loyalty Rewards Program Shift to Overdrive

Summary: Passions are running high after the limo ride home, and the drawing room is closer than the bedroom

On AO3

Hob pushes Dream up against the door as soon as it's shut behind them, seizes him by the biceps and kisses him fiercely. He's managed to calm himself a little between the limo and the house and he's not in danger of popping off immediately but his fancy tailored trousers are very distinctly tented and it's all Dream's fault, the way he'd just crawled over and taken Hob out and licked and sucked him like candy all the way home—

"Your mouth," he pants, breaking the kiss, moving his hands to Dream's face, "Dream, you magnificent creature, your fucking mouth—you drive me insane—"

Dream surges back into the kiss, tongue squirming into Hob's mouth, the same tongue that had teased him so relentlessly—he can taste himself on it, still. Fuck. Dream is whining hungrily and grinding his hips against Hob's; they're both hard, and god but it's gratifying to know that Dream did what he did in the limo because it turns him on, he's not just trying to get Hob off. Which Hob has certainly picked up on by now; Dream has loved sucking his cock from their very first tryst but it's always nice to see the proof of how much he enjoys it.

But Hob is so, so wound up from all that teasing; he needs to fuck Dream right now or he may go mad.

He grabs Dream around the back of his thighs and hefts him up, swallows down the delighted noise that Dream makes and swings them around off the door as Dream's legs wrap around him. Dream has this big house with all these rooms and most of them are closer than his second floor bedroom; Hob kicks his shoes off there in the foyer and moves for what Dream calls his 'drawing room' with its sturdy antique-style furniture, pauses in the dark.

"Lights, dove," he manages, pulling free of Dream's kiss and dipping to suck a soft mark to his throat.

"Computer. Lights. Ambient," Dream says, a bit breathlessly, but the automated system that's keyed to his voice obediently brings up the lights in the room to a soft cozy glow. Hob, able now to see where he's going, heads straight to the green velvet couch and drops Dream onto it gently.

Dream makes a highly-pleasured little sound as he lands on his arse and scrambles up to turn and kneel on the sofa, hands gripping the back. "Hob, please," he gasps, with all the urgency that Hob feels, and Hob's not about to keep him waiting.

"Can I assume you've got lube on your person?" he asks, reaching around front to undo Dream's trousers and take them down along with his pants. He strokes over Dream's cock as he goes, and Dream shudders.

"Yes—but Hob—" He sticks his arse out out, bounces it a little; Hob takes the hint and draws back to look.

He sees the broad jewel-like base of one of Dream's favorite glass toys peeking from between those milk-white cheeks, and it makes his breath catch.

"Oh my god, Dream—" He wriggles the plug, tugs gently without any intent to remove it, and relishes the way Dream squirms. "All night? Or did you just sneak this in before we left the restaurant?"

"All night," Dream gasps, clutching at the green velvet upholstery of the couch back. "I knew—I knew that you would be absolutely mouthwatering in your suit, that I would need your cock without delay once coming home—" He bears down with a whine, the plug surging gently into Hob's grip as he pushes it free; Hob sets it aside as Dream babbles on. "I had to be ready, Hob, fuck me, please—"

And who is Hob to argue with that? He drops his own trousers, lines his dick up and slides in.

Dream moans, a sound of pure pent-up relief and decadent joy, and Hob answers him in kind. It's so good, to have him open and ready and gripping hot around Hob's prick, finally, finally after that limo ride. He groans again, draws back and thrusts in repeatedly until he's fucking with more enthusiasm than finesse, and Dream's voice is just one long note of pleasure warbling out of him every time Hob slams in.

Dream is stretched and slick, but obviously he's had the toy in all night and while the friction that develops as the lube thins out is good for a moment, it quickly becomes too much, uncomfortable. "Need more lube, darling," Hob pants, pulling out reluctantly.

Dream fumbles into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket and hands a slim tube over his shoulder without a word, breathing hard. Hob can't help the delighted chuckle that escapes him; of course Dream is prepared, of course it's the good stuff. He slathers it onto his dick, strokes the excess into the rim of Dream's hole and sinks back into him with a groan of relief, squeezing Dream's hips as he sets into a steady measured rhythm. Part of him wants to pound hard and fast and get them both there as soon as possible after the work up Dream had given him in the limo. Part of him wants to calm down just a hair and draw this out, carry the frenzied need as long as he can, and it's that part that wins out.

"Can't believe you're real, sometimes," he pants, splitting his focus with words meant to also wind Dream tighter. "I mean. Course you're real, you're here, I can feel you"—he thrusts in, grinds deep, and Dream gasps a breathless cry—"but I just. You picked me, you let me have you; feels too good to be true and god, I'm so lucky—"

Dream is pushing back into every thrust, mindless and eager, fingers clenched on the wooden frame and emerald green upholstery of the couch back. "Picking you—ahh—picking you was the best decision I have made in—in months. Hob—" He tosses his head, lets it drop forward again as Hob keeps driving into him. "I nearly crawled into your lap in the car, Hob, I needed you inside me so desperately—"

"That sounds like a lovely idea," Hob gasps, a vision blossoming in his mind. Can he manage it? He's not a hundred percent sure, but he has learned by now that Dream goes a little feral for displays of Hob's physical strength when they fuck; it'll be worth the try. "I do like the sound of you bouncing in my lap—here, lean up—reach back, grab my arms—" He braces his legs and tightens his core, breathes deep as Dream obediently grabs backwards at his biceps; he scoops his arms under Dream's thighs and lifts, leaning back at the same time for balance.

Dream mewls his surprise, trousers round his dangling knees as Hob bears him up, dick still inside him. Hob trembles, straining under his weight, but manages a couple good strokes into him and Dream's head thunks back onto Hob's shoulder with a breathless whine. Hob thrusts up into him a third time, a fourth, and Dream moans desperately.

"Hob—Hob—!"

Hob grunts, shuffles a half-circle in place and drops to sit on the couch, only partially-controlled. He lands heavily, Dream still on his cock, and he feels the way that gravity drives him deep as Dream comes down on top of him. Dream cries out, chest heaving, clawing at Hob's forearms in their tailored sleeves, thighs working for more.

"Hob—fuck—Hob—!" He's squirming on Hob's dick, feet scrabbling in an awkward shuffle to kick off his shoes and yank one leg free of his trousers; as soon as he's got it both feet are planted on the edge of the couch on either side of Hob's spread thighs and he's fucking up and down on Hob's cock, eager and desperate and unconcerned for the clothes still tangled about his right ankle. He arches back against Hob, panting, frenzied, the sounds spilling out of his mouth a symphony of effort and satisfaction.

Hob is just along for the ride at this point, soaking in every little moan and cry, grunting his own pleasure as Dream rides backwards on his prick like a man possessed. He glances over Dream's shoulder, down past the open black jacket and loosened silk tie, moves one hand from Dream's hip to push his shirttails up out of the way so Hob can see his pretty pink cock straining tall, pearly-wet at the tip as it bounces in rhythm.

"Christ, I wish you had a mirror in here. Wanna see full-frontal how pretty you are writhing in my lap, fucking yourself on my cock—" He has a great view, all things considered, but god what he wouldn't give for a spectator's angle too. He wonders how Dream would feel about filming themselves.

Dream reaches up and back, grasps the wooden frame of the couch behind Hob's head, his body drawn into a beautiful half-dressed arc as he continues to fuck himself with feverish abandon. "I will—get—get a mirror—for next time—" He shudders, grinds deep, circles his hips in sharp little jerks that make both of them moan, then starts bouncing again.

Hob is struggling to keep himself from getting too close to coming; he's generally very good at pacing and stamina maintenance so that his partners get everything they need from him, but sometimes Dream makes it terribly difficult. And this is definitely one of those times, Dream arched backwards in his lap fucking like it's his mission in life, both of them still in suit jackets and shirts and loosened ties, Hob's trousers still around his ankles and Dream's still hanging from his right foot—the urgency is tangible in every move they make and Hob is hanging onto control for all he's worth. He won't come before Dream is ready for him to, he won't—

Dream is starting to flag.

He's slowing, getting less coordinated, the noises he makes tinged now with frustration and Hob can't blame his thighs for giving out on him, the pace he's been going. It's impressive he's kept at it this long.

"Ho~ob—" Dream whines his name, arches, squirms low on Hob's prick, still clinging to the back of the couch behind them both.

"I've got you," Hob murmurs, taking his cue. He shifts his hips forward a bit, grips Dream firmly under both thighs and lifts, just a little, just enough. It gives him room and leverage to thrust, taking over the rhythm that Dream had established and the way that Dream collapses into his support is so, so gratifying. "I've got you—" He fucks into him gently for a few strokes, the effort of holding him up muting the urgency of his own arousal somewhat, focusing and gathering himself before gradually picking up the pace.

It's no time at all until Dream is coming undone, hands clenched on the back of the couch, voice crying out in one long continuous note as Hob pumps steadily up into him. It's work to keep him slightly aloft like this, yes, and it would be easy enough to change positions for something less challenging but Hob won't, because he knows Dream loves this. He is forever grateful for the upper body strength his job has gifted him that lets him do this for Dream, who deserves every happiness and every fantasy that Hob can give him. He lifts just a little more, feeling it in his chest and every arm muscle; he'll be sore tomorrow, definitely, but it's so entirely worth it for the way Dream is arching and shivering and wailing under his care.

It's only another moment of this, Hob trembling under the strain, Dream crying out his pleasure, and then Dream's voice climbs higher, urgent and desperate and breathless. "Hob—Hob—Hob—!"

Hob doubles his efforts, fucking for all he's worth until at last Dream comes, shaking against him with the sweetest little scream, semen jetting into his crumpled shirt and jacket. Hob lets him down, flush into his own lap, pushes deep into the spasming clutch of Dream's body and holds, riding it out until Dream goes limp.

God, but he is such a lucky bastard.

Dream is panting, sharp little whines off the end of each heaving breath as he comes down from it, body gone slack against Hob, hands settling on Hob's forearms and head lolling back on Hob's shoulder.

Hob nuzzles into Dream's skin below and behind his ear, drunk on the smell of his sweat and shampoo, his dick positively throbbing in the sheath of Dream's clutching arse. "Do you want me to finish now, beautiful?" he breathes, nosing at Dream's earlobe, flexing inside him and earning a breathless whine. "I'm close, I'm so fucking close after everything you've done to me tonight and the way you just came on my cock; it wouldn't be long at all." He flicks his tongue up the back of Dream's ear, spreads his hand—his blue-collar work stained mechanic's hand—in the sticky mess of Dream's expensive shirt tails. "Or do you want me to take you upstairs, put you arse-up in your gigantic bed and fuck you until you come again first?"

"Please," Dream says, still a little glassy-eyed and breathless. "Strip me bare. Carry me upstairs. Fuck me as you see fit and fill me with your seed—"

Seed. As if anyone else would ever actually call it that. Hob smiles into Dream's neck, helplessly besotted. He adores this man, this horny rich weirdo who can drive Hob out of his mind with pleasure but can't drive stick to save his life, who somehow thinks Hob's cock is the greatest thing he could spend his time on. He chuckles, kisses Dream's damp and heated skin. "As you wish."

Dream arches against him, languid and restless; carefully, Hob shifts him forward just enough to start pulling at his clothes without dislodging him from his cock. He gets Dream's shirt and jacket freed from between them, wraps Dream in an embrace that's maybe a little softer than what they actually are, tells himself it's just a good excuse to unbutton Dream's shirt and cuffs. He helps Dream pull his arms free of both pieces, lifts the tie over his head, sets everything aside on the green velvet couch. He reaches, manages to free the trousers from where they're stuck around Dream's ankle, then sets to work on his own shirt buttons.

Dream shifts carefully on his prick, leans forward and works his own socks off while Hob struggles out of his suit; this would definitely be easier if he removed Dream from his lap and stood up but Dream hasn't dismounted and Hob's not going to make him until he has to. He tosses his suit and tie aside with Dream's; part of him cringes at how carelessly they've treated the clothes knowing that they cost more than he could afford, but on the other hand if Dream is unconcerned then he's just going to roll with it. Dream's probably got a guy he can take them to for cleaning and pressing and next time Hob sees them they'll be just like new.

He's got more important considerations right this second anyway.

He wraps his arms around Dream again to keep him steady while he kicks off his own trousers, does a little bit of contortion to get rid of his socks, and takes just a second to bask in the delight of having Dream held naked against him, held close in his arms. Normally the cuddling comes once they're all done and he enjoys sneaking it in mid-coitus far more than he should, probably, but he's also beyond caring at this point.

He likes Dream. A lot. And Dream likes him too, he's very sure, even if they'll never be more than whatever casual arrangement this is. It's good enough.

"Gonna have to move you off my dick," he says, with a soft kiss to the side of Dream's neck.

Dream makes a small sound of protest.

"Come on, precious, let me get you upstairs so I can fuck you senseless again." He moves his hands to Dream's hips, lifts him up enough to slide his dick out.

The sound of loss Dream makes almost has him sliding right back in, but that's not the current goal just now.

Shakily Dream stands and Hob levers himself up after, makes sure his path out of the room is clear of discarded clothing or other tripping hazards, turns Dream around and back into his arms. He'd asked to be carried upstairs and damned if Hob isn't going to indulge him. He briefly considers doing it bridal style, but no. Another time perhaps; his muscles are already complaining about the amount of lifting he's done tonight and they'll be better balanced if he's got Dream wrapped around him instead. "Arms round my neck, sweetheart, up we go," he says, gripping the backs of Dream's thighs and hefting him up, and then, because how can he not, he kisses Dream.

Dream clings around his neck, locks his legs around Hob's hips and kisses him back, soft and eager and the little whine in his throat sparks the heat still bubbling in the pit of Hob's belly.

He is so, so gone on this man, and so very ready to come.

And he's promised Dream another orgasm first.

Dream kisses all along his jaw as Hob maneuvers around the furniture, makes his way out to the staircase and climbs the two floors up to Dream's bedroom. He slings Dream gently onto the bed, an enormous and insanely plush comfortable affair, and clambers after him. "On your stomach, love," he says breathlessly, grabbing Dream by the hips, rolling him over and maneuvering him into position.

Dream whimpers, scrabbles to get his knees under him somewhat and pushes his arse up prettily, presenting it, all but begging for Hob's attentions.

"Christ, you're so gorgeous," Hob murmurs, splaying both hands over Dream's cheeks, squeezing them, spreading them. Dream's hole is right there, slick and ready and open, and Hob's dick twitches in anticipation. He leans to grab the lube from the bedside drawer, smears it generously over his first two fingers, sinks them deep into Dream's body.

"Hob," Dream moans, clenching around him, as if to draw him deeper, and Hob can't help the warmth that floods through him. He puts it aside, fingers Dream slowly for a moment, stroking him with steady unhurried attention and letting his own dick settle a bit so he doesn't pop immediately. Dream is so responsive, squirming on Hob's practiced touch and loudly voicing his pleasure; Hob can't help working him harder, deeper, zeroing in mercilessly on his prostate until Dream is a frenzied incoherent mess.

"Hob—please, Hob—please—!" Those seem to be the only words he can manage, voice raw and begging, fists clenching again and again in the duvet as Hob expertly drives him higher. He's squirming helplessly, knees splayed, hips rutting into the bed, arse clenching and unclenching on Hob's relentless fingers and Hob again counts himself the luckiest bloke in existence, that this is all for him.

He's sure it won't take much more to get Dream over the edge, and his own need is becoming unbearable. He gives Dream another half a minute or so, stroking deep and thorough, savoring the way he keens, and then pulls out.

Dream makes the most desolate sound of protest, squirming wantonly, bereft and needy and uncoordinated in his desperation; Hob seizes him by the hips, pulls him around and up into position, spreads his pristine cheeks with calloused workman's hands and sinks his prick in between.

Dream takes him with a low trembling moan, an eager gasp, pushing up for more and Hob swears.

"Fuck, Dream—" He resettles his hands on Dream's hips, draws himself out and pushes back in again, slow.

"Hob," Dream moans, like he's the only thing that matters, writhing up to meet him, and that's that. Hob gives a few more slow strokes, feeling every inch of the slide in and back out, and then shifts position. He leans forward, one hand still tight on Dream's hip while the other braces himself on the mattress, and starts moving faster. He watches Dream's back, the little ripples of his spine as he pushes up into Hob's thrusts, the sheen of sweat on his pale skin, marks the contrast of his own black-stained nails next to it.

Perfect. Beautiful. God, he loves this, this whole thing, but Dream most of all—

He pushes the thought aside, gives in to the heat of his own desire and fucks, barely holding on as Dream cries out. He keeps going, thrusting and pumping harder and harder until Dream is shaking underneath him, sobbing his pleasure into the bedclothes, screaming when he comes undone again at last. And then, only then, does Hob let his need slip its leash, plunging hard and fast and fierce into Dream's pliant overworked body, fucking and fucking until he spills.

"Dream—ohh, fuck, Dream—" He's trembling as it hits, wound tight in the heat they've built up all night and struggling to keep his tongue in check, to not let the overly-amorous words flow from his mouth while he's pumping the last of his spend into Dream's arse. That's not what they are; he's not going to ruin this with his inability to keep from falling all-in head-over-heels at the slightest provocation. He'll be whatever Dream wants, and that's enough.

Dream makes the most decadent satisfied little noise as Hob finishes, squeezes around him, wriggles happily. Hob, despite himself, drops to plant a kiss between his shoulder blades.

"There we are, love," he breathes, panting, spent. "Was that what you needed?"

"Exactly that, yes," Dream says, breathless and hoarse, shifting languidly underneath him. "You are so very good to me, Hob." He sighs, content, never mind that he's face down in his own wet spot with Hob's dick going soft in his arse.

Hob chuckles, fond and exhausted. "It's my pleasure, truly," he says, and carefully disengages before climbing off the bed. "C'mon, let's get cleaned up and I'll tuck you into bed, if you like."

"You will join me, of course." Dream says it like it was never a question, and it really isn't. But it's nice to know he's earned the welcome.

The duvet will have to be laundered; he should have put down a towel but in the moment it just hadn't crossed his mind. He uses a washcloth to clean it up as best he's able while Dream gets the shower going—they're sleeping under the duvet, not on top of it; it'll be fine for the night.

Dream is languid and cuddly in the shower (a big glass-enclosed affair with optional rain features and plenty of room for two), and Hob is delighted to indulge him; they trade lazy, sated kisses while washing up and Dream lets Hob towel his hair dry, lets Hob gently scrub his body dry as well, and offers his own help in rubbing down Hob's chest hair, his arms, his legs. And his back, of course.

It's so easy, deceptively domestic, and Hob loves every second of it. He picks Dream up when they're done, a proper princess carry this time despite the protest of several muscle groups, and takes him back out of the en-suite.

Dream makes a delighted little noise, snuggles into Hob with both arms around his neck, warm and content as Hob carries him to bed. Hob manages to hold him up with one fatigued arm and turn back the covers with the other, lays him down and tucks him in before skirting around to the other side to climb in himself. He scoots in close to Dream, who's made very clear by this point in their arrangement that he enjoys cuddling, and murmurs gently into his hair. "Lights, dove."

Dream gives a quiet little huff. "Computer. Lights out, whole house."

The lights dim out obediently and Hob settles in, arms around Dream, skin to skin, sated and content and sleepily certain that he is the luckiest bloke in the whole wide world.

He wakes slowly the next morning, on his back in Dream's enormous bed, warm and hazily blinking awake. Eventually he stirs, tries to roll onto his side to pull Dream in for sleepy snuggles, but every muscle in his body protests and he groans, biting his lip to stifle the sound. Beside him, Dream pushes up on one elbow and smirks down at him.

"Good morning, Hob Gadling," he purrs, eyes gleaming, hair a tousled mess, and god, but he's beautiful. Hob's heart gives a little thump.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he groans, flexing his leg muscles experimentally. Yep. Gonna be feeling last night for most of today, definitely. His arms protest in equal measure, but he can't complain. Totally worth it.

"It is already past nine," Dream tells him. "Were you needed in the shop today?"

"Later, maybe." It's Saturday; they're not actually open. He had plans to go in and catch up some paperwork Matty had asked him to see to, but there's no rush on that. "Right now I'm all yours, if that's what you want." He's pretty sure it is.

"Wonderful." Dream dips to kiss his cheek. "I should like to keep your company awhile longer, yes."

Hob smiles, warm, content, delighted.

"Let me find you something to wear," Dream says then, wriggling out of the bed. Hob watches as he crosses to the wardrobe, noting the very careful way he walks, and grins to himself. He knows better than to offer apologies; Dream has told him how much he enjoys carrying the feel of Hob with him the next day when he has demanded a hard and thorough fucking the night before. And Hob believes in giving his lover everything that he wants.

"Here," Dream offers, pulling out a short silky robe. "I should be very pleased to have you wear this; it's brand new." He tosses it to Hob, who picks it up gently.

He rubs the silky fabric against itself, careful of catching it on his rough calloused fingertips. It's beautiful.

It's not Dream's color.

It's a rich dark teal, the same color as the shirt that had come with his ensemble last night, the color that Dream had said would suit his complexion perfectly. Did Dream buy this for him, specifically?

Probably so. He's made no secret of the fact that he loves spoiling Hob with whatever suits his fancy.

Hob slips the robe on, wincing as his sore muscles protest, and finds that it isn't quite large enough to pull closed across his chest. He stands with a groan, pulls it all into place and finds that yes, it'll belt around his waist and nominally cover his bits and arse but it still doesn't meet across his chest. He's wondering, as he goes to use the toilet, if he's wrong about Dream buying it for him, or if perhaps Dream has badly misjudged his measurements (unlikely, given the tailored suit from the night before).

When he's washed his hands and come back out he finds Dream waiting for him. He's wearing a long black worn-soft t-shirt that hits him mid-thigh and probably cost more than Hob made in one day, with nothing underneath. It's a very appealing look and Hob forgets about his too-small robe until Dream reaches to smooth the lapels, clearly arranging them to optimally frame Hob's chest.

"Perfect," he purrs, with a sultry half-lidded stare, and drops a kiss on Hob's chin. "Come. I will cook you breakfast."

Hob follows him down to the kitchen, coming to terms with the fact that Dream has explicitly dressed him to be eye candy, and finding that he's actually one hundred percent on board with that. It's heady to have someone as pretty as Dream attracted to him, turned on by him, wanting him on display, and he's more than happy to oblige.

Breakfast is delicious, the tea Dream makes is perfect, and it's absolutely delightful to feel Dream's eyes devouring him and his silk-framed bare chest while they eat.

Dream makes coffee after they've cleaned up the dishes, puts his usual ungodly amounts of milk and sugar to it, and takes an appreciative sip. His eyes are on Hob, half-lidded with pleasure as he lowers his cup, and languid heat stirs in Hob's belly.

"It needs something more, I think," Dream pronounces, making an indicative toast-like motion with his cup, and pushes off from where he leans against the counter in his barely-long-enough tshirt. He splays the fingertips of his free hand in Hob's chest hair, directs him back and pushes him gently down into the high-backed kitchen chair in the breakfast nook. Dream sets his coffee aside on the table and folds to his knees, runs fingers warm from his cup over Hob's exposed thighs, down their insides, pushing them wider. The skimpy robe barely keeps Hob's dick covered and he's stiffening up beneath it; it'll do little to keep his modesty in another minute and the fact that Dream designed it that way only heightens the whole effect.

"Love the robe, by the way," Hob says, because he hasn't said it yet and he wants Dream to know he's one hundred percent okay with being dressed up and ogled like this if it's getting Dream hot.

"I should like to open it, if I may?"

"'Course, love." It's hot that he's asking, actually.

Dream's slim fingers pluck at the knotted tie delicately and Hob bites his lip; by the time Dream has the belt undone Hob's dick is already poking eagerly between the folds of the robe barely covering his lap. Dream peels the silky material back reverently all the same, like he's opening a gift, and Hob has to remind himself to breathe.

When Dream has laid Hob bare he reaches up to the table beside them, retrieves his mug and takes a long sip, then another. His eyes are on Hob's the whole time and when he finally sets the cup aside again, he takes his time about swallowing his final mouthful.

And then he speaks, voice low and suggestive. "Might I have a splash of 'cream', for my coffee?"

Oh, but he is insatiable, a seductive menace, and Hob has no interest in resisting. "Whatever you want, sweetheart, take it. It's yours." I'm yours, he'd like to say, but holds his tongue against the spectre of Being Too Much.

"You are so good to me, my Hob," Dream purrs, smile ripe with promise, and bends to his task.

His mouth is coffee-hot and talented as ever, and this time Hob needn't worry about holding back. He slouches his hips forward, buries his work-roughened fingers that Dream so loves in Dream's messy bedhead, groans breathlessly as Dream's tongue wriggles along his shaft; Dream pauses after a moment to drink more coffee and the renewed heat when he takes Hob's cock again pulls a deep whine from Hob's throat.

Truly, Hob thinks, as Dream works him steadily up to the edge and over, swallows him down greedily, chases it with another swig of coffee and a satisfied smile, he is indeed the luckiest bastard alive.

= Started: 7/25/24 Drafted: 1/27/25 Posted: 1/30/25

#TJs Fics #Sandman #Dreamling #wip: turbo lover

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 25 days ago

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Accumulation by Dispossession, Trump Style

How Trump turned the machinery of the state into a tool of extraction—and why naming the theft is the first step toward repair.

James B. Greenberg

Jun 25, 2025

In an age where corruption is sold as competence and cruelty as clarity, the line between governance and grift has grown dangerously thin. Under Trump, that line didn’t blur—it vanished. What emerged wasn’t just mismanagement or ideological extremism, but a systematic mode of extraction, where the state itself was turned into an engine of enrichment for the few.

This wasn’t new. The mechanics were already in place. But Trump stripped them of pretense. What took shape under his leadership was a raw and visible form of what might best be called accumulation by dispossession—not through innovation, but by seizure. Through privatization, deregulation, defunding, and destabilization, wealth was moved upward by force of policy.

The pandemic revealed this with brutal clarity. Relief funds intended to cushion the blow for workers and small businesses were rerouted to major corporations and political allies. Contracts for protective equipment flowed to the connected, not the competent. Oversight mechanisms were sidelined, and accountability dissolved. What should have been a moment of collective care became a marketplace of opportunity for those already positioned to profit.

Or take public lands. Under Trump, millions of acres were opened to extraction—drilling, mining, grazing—not for public benefit, but for private gain. Environmental protections were stripped, tribal sovereignty undermined, and sacred sites desecrated in the name of “freedom.” This wasn’t policy in the traditional sense—it was liquidation. What belonged to all was transferred to a few.

Even immigration policy was part of this calculus. Migrants were not only criminalized; they were commodified. Detention contracts, surveillance technologies, biometric databases, border walls—all became opportunities for profit. The state’s power to detain, sort, and exclude was outsourced and monetized. What looked like enforcement was, in fact, extraction.

What links these moves is not chaos, but coherence. Degrade the commons, discredit public institutions, and redirect the flow of value toward private interests. This wasn’t the dismantling of the state. It was the weaponization of its infrastructure for dispossession. A state repurposed not to serve, but to siphon.

But the logic of dispossession goes deeper than land and money. It erodes time, possibility, and the basic scaffolding of democratic life. Under Trump, trust in public systems was not merely lost—it was actively dismantled. Public education was politicized. The census was manipulated. The Postal Service was hobbled in plain sight. These weren’t isolated failures. They were deliberate efforts to fracture the systems that sustain social reproduction and civic belonging.

This form of rule draws from an older logic. What was once called primitive accumulation—the seizure of land, labor, and resources in the formation of early capitalism—now plays out inside the borders of established democracies. It no longer requires conquest abroad. It cannibalizes institutions at home. The tools are legal, bureaucratic, and digital. The violence is slower, but no less real.

Today, dispossession moves through zoning laws and budget line items, through the privatization of housing, water, and care. It travels through digital networks—data harvested, identities tracked, benefits denied by algorithm. It is ecological, too: extractive industries strip land and poison water while vulnerable communities bear the cost. Climate denial is not ignorance; it is strategy. A way to prolong profit at the expense of planetary survival.

All of this was wrapped in a populist script—a claim to speak for “the forgotten.” But the real beneficiaries were never the working poor. The tax cuts went to the wealthy. The deregulation favored polluters and profiteers. The rhetoric masked the fact that what was being restored was not dignity, but dominion—the power of wealth to go unchallenged.

And yet, dispossession is never just about theft. It is also about narrative. Trump didn’t just strip resources—he rewrote the moral economy. He told people they had been wronged, then sold them a performance of revenge: against immigrants, against environmentalists, against the very idea of collective responsibility. Extraction was reframed as justice. Looting as loyalty.

What was taken wasn’t only tangible. It was temporal. The future was foreclosed for many—through student debt, housing precarity, degraded schools, and unsafe work. This is how accumulation works now: not by creating wealth, but by extracting life from the margins—one hour, one service, one body at a time.

This is why the Trump era cannot be dismissed as mere chaos. It revealed something deeper: a governance model that no longer aims to build, only to strip; that sees care as waste and solidarity as threat. It exposed the machinery of extraction that had been running for decades—but now without shame, without brakes, without apology.

Yet even in the wreckage, the story isn’t over. Dispossession often generates its opposite: solidarity. When people lose what was promised—land, labor, dignity—they look to each other. Mutual aid networks surged in the pandemic. Teachers, nurses, transit workers, and tenants organized. The commons is not gone. It is damaged. But it can be rebuilt—not by nostalgia, but by design.

Reclaiming what has been taken will not be easy. The machinery of extraction is deeply embedded. But history teaches that even the most entrenched systems crack when the stories upholding them collapse. What we need now are new stories—grounded in dignity, interdependence, and a future not for sale.

Because what was lost in the Trump years wasn’t just public money. It was the idea that government could be something other than a shell game for the powerful. Recovering that idea will take more than elections. It will require repair—material, institutional, and moral.

And that begins by naming what happened for what it was: not just corruption or chaos, but a calculated project of dispossession. And by insisting, again, that the public belongs to the people—not to those who see it only as something to plunder.

Suggested Readings

Harvey, David. The New Imperialism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003.

Greenberg, James B., and Thomas K. Park, eds. Terrestrial Transformations: Political Ecology, Climate, and the Remaking of Planet Earth. New York: Lexington Books, 2023.

Mbembe, Achille. Necropolitics. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2019.

Pulido, Laura. Environmentalism and Economic Justice: Two Chicano Struggles in the Southwest. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1996.

Sassen, Saskia. Expulsions: Brutality and Complexity in the Global Economy. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 2014.

Scott, James C. Seeing Like a State:

How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998.

Streeck, Wolfgang. Buying Time: The Delayed Crisis of Democratic Capitalism. London: Verso, 2014.

Vélez-Ibáñez, Carlos G. The Rise of Necro/Narco-Citizenship: Belonging and Dying in the National Borderlands. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2025.

Weizman, Eyal. The Least of All Possible Evils: Humanitarian Violence from Arendt to Gaza. London: Verso, 2012.

#James Greenberg #dispossession #climate change #articles #theft #the public good #the common good

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pansexy-choices-the-sequal · 6 months ago

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My Ride or Die MC

@choicesmcappreciationweek Day 1: A+ Student

She’s another Author/player insert so you already know her name >/////<

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual with a preference for men

Loves: Learning (inside and outside of academics, she loves picking up new hobbies), her friends and family, long drives with blasting music, and Logan

Personality: She’s fairly timid and definitely pretty straight it laced even after the events of the book. But she has lots of moments where she’s daring because she either feels the need to prove herself or just because she’s feeling bold. This shows up a lot in how she flirts with others. She doesn’t break the rules unless it’s for someone she cares about or she knows it’s the right decision regardless of legality - the system is broken folks. She’s kind of the perfect head and heart girl. A strong, nerdy, feminist, badass, but also very Passionate, kind, and sentimental. She has a keepsake box full of all the Knick knacks Cole, Mona, Kaneko, etc. have given her before they were separated. She wears Logan’s spark plug everywhere with her as well as the bracelet her dad gifted her.

Life after the book:

She gets a masters in Political Science and begins efforts to reform the legal system after graduation

Eventually, she opens up a safe haven for children like Logan (was) who weren’t given a fair shot at life

She reunites with Colt shortly after the events of the book and comes by often to help with the mechanics shop. It’s not openly discussed, but she stays out of anything illegal that he may get up to.

She eventually reunites with Logan later in life when she expands her humanitarian work beyond just aiding children and also begins services helping adults

I’m struggling to think up of an ending for her that isn’t too idealistic, but don’t worry, she and Logan get their happy ending

General note: I was planning on doing full on complete drawings for all my MCs for this years appreciation week but I’ve come to terms that that’s just unrealistic with college. So I’m sticking to sketches like this for the rest of the week. I hope you guys still think they’re good.

#my art #ride or die #ride or die a bad boy romance #Logan ride or die #Colt Kaneko #Mona ride or die #Logan x MC #Ride or Die MC #choices #pixelberry #pixelberry studios #choices game #choices: stories you play #pb studios #play choices #Logan #Mona #fanart #choicesmcaw25

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snapmite1998 · 8 months ago

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Darth Maul's ambitious plan to leverage the chaos from the aftermath of the Clone Wars has led to suffering of refugees and the forgotten inhabitants in the Galactic Underworld is a calculated strategy to build power and influence from the shadows of Coruscant. Here’s how he could orchestrate the operation with Dryden Vos and Crimson Dawn:

Step 1: Establishing the Humanitarian Front

1.1. Employing the service of Dryden Vos:

Maul has Dryden Vos, a cunning and ruthless leader of Crimson Dawn, to manage the operation. Vos’s experience with the criminal underworld allows him to navigate the complex networks of power and resources.

1.2. Creating a Cover Story:

To gain the trust of the public and the underworld, Vos crafts a narrative that Crimson Dawn is a humanitarian organization aimed at alleviating the suffering caused by the Clone Wars. This includes distributing food, medicine, and financial aid to refugees in the Undercity.

Step 2: Mobilizing Resources

2.1. Gathering Supplies:

Crimson Dawn uses its vast resources to acquire supplies through both legal and illegal means. This could involve negotiating with sympathetic suppliers, stealing from warehouses, or even using bounty hunters to procure goods.

2.2. Distributing Aid:

Vos sets up distribution points throughout the Undercity, staffed by Crimson Dawn operatives disguised as charity workers. This provides a façade of legitimacy and allows for the gathering of intelligence on local populations and potential recruits.

Step 3: Building a Network of Support

3.1. Community Engagement:

Crimson Dawn engages with local leaders and influential figures in the Undercity, providing aid in exchange for loyalty and support. By positioning themselves as benefactors, they begin to build a network of allies among the downtrodden.

3.2. Recruitment of Disenfranchised Individuals:

As the humanitarian efforts continue, Crimson Dawn identifies individuals with skills, such as former soldiers, mechanics, and navigators, who are desperate for work and a sense of purpose. These individuals are offered roles within Crimson Dawn, often with promises of wealth and protection.

Step 4: Covert Military Training

4.1. Training Recruits:

Under the guise of providing vocational training, Crimson Dawn begins to train these recruits in combat and guerrilla tactics. This training is conducted in secret, ensuring that the recruits remain loyal to Maul’s larger goals.

4.2. Establishing Cells:

The recruits are organized into small cells that can operate independently within the Undercity. This decentralized structure allows for flexibility and deniability, making it harder for the Republic or Jedi to trace these activities back to Maul.

Step 5: Strategic Operations

5.1. Sabotage and Disruption:

As the network of recruits grows, Maul directs them to conduct sabotage operations against Republic supply lines and infrastructure, further destabilizing the situation on Coruscant and inciting unrest among the populace.

5.2. Building Public Sentiment:

Crimson Dawn uses propaganda to portray the Jedi and the Republic as oppressors, framing their actions as a necessary rebellion against a corrupt system. This narrative can draw more individuals to their cause.

Step 6: The Endgame

6.1. Coordinating a Large-Scale Uprising:

With a significant force built from the ranks of the disenfranchised, Maul plans a coordinated uprising within the Undercity. This would catch the Republic off guard, leading to chaos that could spread to the surface levels of Coruscant.

6.2. Sacking Coruscant:

The ultimate goal is to create enough unrest and chaos to launch a full-scale attack on key locations within Coruscant, allowing Crimson Dawn to seize control and establish a new order under Maul’s leadership.

Conclusion

Through this multi-faceted strategy, Maul aims to exploit the vulnerabilities exposed by the Clone Wars, using humanitarian efforts as a cover for building a loyal army. By manipulating the suffering of the populace and positioning Crimson Dawn as their savior, Maul seeks not only to gain power but to position himself as a formidable force in the galaxy, ready to strike against the Jedi and the Republic at the opportune moment.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars what if #check out my fanfic #my fanfiction #crimson dawn #darth maul #feral opress #savage opress #crime syndicate #dryden vos #lom pyke #ziton moj #clone wars #upcoming chapter #chapter summary

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justforbooks · 6 days ago

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Steven Rose

Neuroscientist, author, political activist and advocate for social responsibility in science

Science and politics can make awkward bedfellows, with the very question of whether it is possible to make purely objective observations about the world drawing forth highly politicised positions. The neurobiologist Steven Rose, who has died aged 87, took a broadly reductionist approach to his research into biochemical mechanisms of memory, while at the same time adopting a high-profile political stance against the idea that human behaviour is determined by our genes.

Less publicly but equally influentially, as the first biology professor to be appointed at the Open University – the distance-learning institution founded through a Labour government initiative in 1969 – Rose helped to pioneer a democratic and distributed approach to teaching practical science. He developed experiments that students could complete at home, pooling their results and prefiguring many of the “citizen science” projects that have become popular in recent years.

Impassioned, combative and articulate, Rose gave no quarter in his debates with fellow scientists. In the 1970s he challenged the idea that IQ tests – then being widely adopted in education and employment – measured some genetically determined “general intelligence”. This and subsequent debates played out in a wider cultural arena than is typical of most scientific debates, fuelled by a series of popular books.

His principal targets were the entomologist Edward O Wilson, author of Sociobiology, and the evolutionary theorist Richard Dawkins, author of The Selfish Gene, later joined by the cognitive neuroscientist Steven Pinker.

To Rose, the idea that the roots of human social behaviour had been planted through the process of natural selection in the service of perpetuating our genes was anathema. While he did not question Darwinian evolution as a driving force in biology, he argued from a Marxist perspective that history and society were at least as important as determinants of human actions.

In 1984 Rose co-authored Not in Our Genes: Biology, Ideology and Human Nature, together with the American geneticist Richard Lewontin and psychologist Leon Kamin. The book was a trenchant critique of sociobiology and genetic determinism, and went further in blaming such views for the failure to create a fairer society based on socialist principles. It met with mixed reviews, including the suggestion that he and his co-authors had misrepresented the views of their opponents, but Rose never retreated from his position.

More than a decade later, in Lifelines (1997), he restated his arguments, highlighting the developmental and environmental events that take place across a lifetime that are not predetermined but through which an organism “self-organises” to become a unique individual. He wrote: “It is in the nature of living systems to be radically indeterminate, to continually construct their – our – own futures, albeit in circumstances not of our own choosing.”

On first becoming a neurobiologist, Rose consciously chose an important problem to investigate. What is it that changes, biologically, when we learn? Trained as a biochemist, he pursued the hypothesis that some change in the biochemistry of individual brain cells must underlie the enduring traces of memory. He devoted his research career to looking for those traces, in the form of new protein molecules, in the brains of newly hatched chicks.

While he acknowledged that human memory raises far larger questions, he and his colleagues worked on this problem because it was “what we know how to study”. By the time of his retirement he and Radmila Mileusnic had identified protein molecules that could counteract the amnesic effects of antibiotics on learning in chicks, and were hoping to develop them as treatments for Alzheimer’s disease. Like others, however, they ran up against the problem that the brain puts up barriers to such large molecules, so that they cannot be given as pills or injections.

Rose was a compulsive writer, words flowing as easily in print as they did in person, weaving science, society and politics into a single whole. While still in his 20s he published The Chemistry of Life (1966), a hugely successful Penguin paperback explaining the basics of biochemistry to the general reader. His book The Making of Memory: From Molecules to Mind (1992) received the Royal Society science book prize.

One of his later works, The 21st Century Brain, succinctly summarised the achievements of neuroscientists in recent decades, but also warned that science could not always provide the best answers to questions about the mind, consciousness and mental illness. While Rose championed science as an approach to understanding the natural world, he devoted at least as much of his considerable energy to critiques of the relationship between science and the state.

Steven was born into an Orthodox Jewish community in north London, the elder son of Lionel Rose (formerly Rosenberg), a chemistry teacher who became an intelligence officer during the second world war. Lionel subsequently worked full-time as an organiser for the Association of Jewish Ex-Servicemen and Women before founding an advertising agency. Steven’s mother, Ruth (nee Waxman), gave up her own career aspirations to care for her home and family, but later became co-director of her husband’s agency and ran it single-handed after he died in 1959.

Steven won a scholarship to Haberdashers’ Aske’s boys’ school, then in Cricklewood, north London. Another scholarship took him to study natural sciences at King’s College, Cambridge, where he initially intended to specialise in chemistry. But he found himself in an environment buzzing with new discoveries in biochemistry, including the DNA double helix proposed by James Watson and Francis Crick at the Medical Research Council Unit for Molecular Biology.

With a double first in biochemistry, Rose decided to use his new tools to tackle one of the hardest problems in biology – how the brain works. Cambridge “exiled” him to the Institute of Psychiatry in London to study the biochemistry of slices of cow brain for his PhD. Rose spoke of his frustration at this, saying: “We might as well have been studying big toes or livers or kidneys for all it told me about function.”

He met Hilary Chantler (nee Channell), a recently widowed mature student reading sociology at London School of Economics, at a New Left Review meeting in 1960, and they married the following year.

Political action and protest had been part of his life since childhood – his community came under attack from fascist stone-throwers in the late 40s, and as an undergraduate he had joined in running battles with the police while demonstrating against the invasion of Suez. Steven and Hilary formed a close partnership, both personal and professional: Hilary co-authored several of his books, they were founder members of the British Society for Social Responsibility in Science, and they jointly held the honorary lectureship post of Gresham professor of physic from 1999 until 2002.

Hilary became professor of social policy at the University of Bradford, with a particular interest in the sociology of science, and they were united in their (broadly Marxist, but not pro-Soviet) political activism on issues such as the Vietnam war, the control of chemical and biological weapons and a boycott of Israeli academic institutions.

After a false start as a postdoctoral researcher at Oxford University, which he found stiflingly reactionary, Rose spent five years (1964-69) at Imperial College London. There he developed the technique of looking for biochemical changes in single neurons in the brains of chicks after they learned a new behaviour, the basis of his subsequent research work. In 1969 he joined the Open University, building the department of life sciences from scratch, and working out from first principles how one might teach science through a combination of home study and experiment, television programmes and summer schools.

He retired in 1999, but retained his laboratory and continued to conduct research for more than a decade. Reflecting on the values that underpinned his work for the OU, he told an oral history interviewer: “In a democratic society if you want to share power, you have to share knowledge and you have to share the knowledge of science.”

He is survived by Hilary, their two sons, Simon (from Hilary’s first marriage) and Ben, and six grandchildren, Sara, Chloe, Woody, Cosmo, Saul and Mali, and by his brother, Nikolas.

🔔 Steven Peter Russell Rose, neuroscientist, born 4 July 1938; died 9 July 2025

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Steven Rose #in memoriam

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steelconstructionposts · 7 months ago

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siwy-3 · 10 days ago

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thinking about my 2bhank signalis AU. because im replaying Signalis again and cant draw out my concepts right now - Thinking of still keeping the general story concepts but changing up a few things to fit better and make it its own story rather than just Elster and Ariane in different shoes. First with Doc as Ariane. Names are a placeholder rn i'll change them later to fit better. But i think im going to make him both a Gestalt officer AND a maintenance guy. Still with the origins of growing up in a radio station but when moving to Rotfront, took up art and mechanics work. One for Personal Enjoyment and the other to fit in and "contribute" to the workforce. While still also enjoying literature and having connections to the "Isa" of this story. Which im thinking of making it Sanmos. Sanford as Isa and him looking for his "Best Friend" Deimos rather than Isa looking for her sister Erika. (something something Dedmos stuff see my vision) Hank as Elster. I'm iffy on making him a full on LSTR unit so i'm thinking of making him more of a STAR and LSTR mix. Considering STARS are more combat based. More in a bodyguard way rather than a ship maintenance way. The Penrose Program being a cargo mission rather than space exploration. Considering how im adjusting some roles, I think it'd fit better to be something with a pre-determined but ultimately unattainable "goal". So its more "Guy and his Bodyguard carrying important stuff to another planet" However, to keep a reason for a long term trip. It wouldve likely been a trip from Kitezh to Heimat. But their ship malfunctioning in some way, causing them to overshoot at some point past the solar system and towards the possible Oort Cloud mentioned in the Penrose program. Their journey wouldve been harsher. Yes they had supplies and rations for a long period of time in case of emergency, but AEON most likely told them it would be too risky to attempt retrieval and to make use of the provided stasis chamber onboard the vessel. Something something you've provided all you can for our Nation and will be honored accordingly. Essentially getting that 3000th cycle letter earlier on and that's where they have to learn to grow closer and survive on this vessel drifting endlessly.

Due to Doc's unknown bioresonance, any "connections" would be from his memory. Since his earlier years would have been on Rotfront, then any cargo management work would've been after the compulsory military service. also throwing in another people in specific roles because fuck it we ball and theres already the "imprints" of replikas that i can mess with. -Jeb as Adler. Mainly for the desperation of the ADLR unit in this story. And the fact that ADLR units have a more calculated role. -Pank as Falke. Because im a stoupid Pink Hank fan and wanted to get him involved somehow. So why not make him the crude mix of a Gestalts bioresonance induced memories with the silhouette of a specific LSTR/STAR unit. Really pushing that Falke isnt supposed to be One or The Other in their story. She is a mix of both of their distorted memories and she hates it. I see too many people focusing on her as some kind of "competition" to Elster but thats WRONG and youre WRONG. -Deimos as Erika. Sorry Deimos fans he's offscreen as hell till the last moment. Sanford as Isa. Searching for his inseparable "best friend" in this horrid facility. -Victor as the EULR unit(s) because funny + little hat all i can think of for now for specific roles. more fun facts -In Hank's memory, Doc will look much scarier and distressed. -Both of their faces decayed in some way. Hank due to just general disrepair as time passed, Doc due to the radiation on the ship. They could not kiss eachother even if they wanted to. Doc's lips and lower jaw have rotted away and can only be bandaged up to prevent further infection. Hank simply broke the lower half of his face plate at some point. (which is then covered with the STAR's mask for the rest of the story till Gestaltzerfall, in which he takes the arm from his last loop and leaves behind his mask. Placing it on the corpse of himself in front of him) -In the case of Alina and Lilith, they are still "Hank and Doc" but still their own people. "Lilth" in this story was horrifically scarred and wounded due to the war efforts. (eye also being wounded for parallels). Leading to almost full body bandages and eye protection. While "Alina" worked alongside her as radio control and communication. "Lilth" still ended up as the brain imprint for these LSTR/STAR units.

ok thats all i can think of for now dont look at me. this is a mess of thoughts and rambling

#madness combat #signalis #madcom Signalis AU #2bhank

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anarchy-and-piglins · 1 year ago

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I have been infected by your AU. As such, have thoughts.

The thing that catches Technoblade in the end is his empathy. That, more than anything, is what keeps him trapped.

He knows the others are androids. How could he not? He knows this. He knows everything about them, from their personality to their responses, is artificial. It's not real, it's an approximation of what would work best, an amalgamation of code and psychology all jumbled up in the most efficient attempts to make him stay. The guilt trips don't work, or at least they shouldn't, because there's nothing to hurt. No soul, no personality aside from what they manufactured.

But they do. They make him hesitate, every time. He knows ways to take out androids (all risky, hypothetical at best, but a chance), but they're the type of thing androids don't come back from. He can't take the thought of ToMM1's eyes blinking shut and never opening, the thought of PH1lZa's hurt and W1LbuR's bitter resignation when they realize the betrayal. (And really, that's assuming it works and there isn't something worse that comes of it. Failure is a specter of its own.)

He just. . . can't.

Because who is he to draw the line between artificial and true, between worth it and not, between person and tool.

Because really it can all be summed up in one line.

"I'm a person."

I'm going off of character Technoblade here and assuming his personality in the AU would be mostly the same. So he's the guy who tore down governments and thought they'd be fine, because all he could see were the people inside. The guy who stared down a kid who was supposed to be executed and saw just that. A kid, an ally, someone with friends and fears, not a threat. (Which in that moment Tubbo was, not in and of himself, but due to the circumstances around him. Tubbo was the linchpin which held Technoblade's life and the revolution on its back.) He's the one who fought so hard to be a person, only to never be believed. This is the man who knows how it feels to be a threat (The Blade) and how hard it is to be anything different when that's all you are to those around you.

And that's part of the tragedy here. Technoblade can't help but see them as real, as people. And they can't help but not.

Thanks to the programing, all they can ever see is a problem, a solution, a possession. Something to be protected, but only. Ever. Some. Thing.

While he can't help but see them as human, they can't help but see him as machine. A mess of inputs and outputs; made to be manipulated.

(As for possible AU names. . . Mechanisms of Captivity? Mechanisms of Trust? Machine AU? I don't know if any of these are what you were looking for, or if they'd work, but you asked.)

I've been thinking a lot about Techno in this AU, the sort of person he is.

I'm inclined to actually make him a bit younger. Think in the older teen ballpark (16-18 years old?). But very much still an anarchist. The thing about this AU is that even before the whole literal apocalypse started, it was basically a cyberpunk dystopia.

Through the advancement of technology and capitalism, as well as the environment being ruined and people's jobs being increasingly threatened by automatisation, the wealth gap has only become wider. The middle class is all but gone. There's only low income citizens struggling to get by (and often dying in the process) and the rich elite that rule everything living a cushy life full of luxury. Androids and robots are everywhere - service jobs, public transports, security, everywhere - but highly advanced androids with intelligence for personal purchase are really just a commodity for the rich.

Techno is an orphan, and he's been on the very bottom of this wretched society, trying to scrape by. An anarchist who hates the oppressive, controlling government, and hates androids by extension. He's a bit of a hacker (his bestie Skeppy even more so) and isn't unknown to the law system, though it's mostly petty crime, so him being a minor and his own resourcefulness has allowed him to stay out of real trouble. He's not upgraded to full on terrorism yet. Theft to get by, moving contraband around for money, sometimes street art or vandalism, that sort of thing.

(Maybe even a Robin Hood type vibe, steal from the rich give to the poor!)

But Techno has learned how to work around androids (again, security is mostly machine-based. Techno knows how to be tricky with them). And that's what saves his life when the killing machine apocalypse gets into full swing.

It's also another layer to his dislike for SBI. Techno is going to be even more hostile and distrustful towards them regardless of the apocalypse thing. And he knows androids are just machines, but it's hard when SBI are so humanlike...

And then again, they are the most advanced models ever. The bug has even further boosted their cognitive ability. At what point does one get personhood? At what point have these machines become people?

(Some people had other ideas but 'Mechanisms of Trust' is banger I'm stealing that /lh)

#dark sbi #technoblade #thoughts #asks #Mechanisms of Trust

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the-smallest-lions-jungle · 6 months ago

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Welcome!

Welcome to the Smallest Lions Jungle! This is a SAFE FOR WORK Age Regression and Pet Regression blog. SAFE FOR WORK INTERACTIONS ONLY PLEASE! (DNI at the end of the post)

Get to Know me! Hello! You can call me Lion, Jazzy, or Sofi!

My big age is 21! My regression age is 1-5, leaning towards the younger side. I'm also a system (trauma related, I'm not super familiar with all the terminology yet). I won't talk much about DID and the facets of that on here much, but it's worth noting if there's a period where I just do not exist for a while :3 My pronouns are They/He/it, I'm nonbinary Masc leaning, FTM Trans. I love to draw, and write, and collect plushies! I have a lot of pets, a Dog, Three snakes, and a leopard Gecko. My favorite colors are Pink and Yellow!

Here's a list of my regression aesthetics and a bit about why I like them! Lion King (1994 Version) - I really like the jungle and nature in general. Lion King was one of the first movies I remember watching as a young kid! I love 2D animation and the charming quality it has. It inspired me when I was younger before I lost the drive to do art for a while. Space - I like the semi isolation and comfort I get when I look up at the big sky, all those stars, so much to learn and see. So many amazing colors and opportunities to expand and do cool new science things.

Dinos - History has always fascinated me but there's something special about the dino period of it all. I'm not super smart or knowledgeable when it comes to them, but I love their big stompers. Dinos also remind me of a very long time friend I have! Paw Patrol - I love dogs, in fact I have a dog, she's my service animal! I do love the more subtle kids shows like Bluey but there's something so nice about turning my brain off and watching an obvious lesson kid show. Chase is my favorite! Bluey - I think it's self explanatory about why I love Bluey so much. It really became special to me when I was still in high-school. I had bad dreams that shook me to my core, so I stayed home from school with my grandma and wed watch some to make me feel better.

Regression Activities! (age regression) Here are some Regression activities I really like when I'm small! Coloring Playing pretend Playing with my Littlest Pet shops Watching a Small TV show Running around outside when it's sunny out! Napping with Bubuh (Fictional Caregiver) (more to be added as I'm able to regress more and find out what i like)

Regression activities! (Pet Regression) Here are some Pet Regression activities I really like when I'm puppy! Running around on all fours Playing with my chew toy Getting pets from Bubuh! (Fictional Caregiver) Going to the park Learning new tricks. Playing with my friends!

Miscellaneous Regression Information! Regression, whether it be age or pet, is really hard for me. I live with two people who don't quite get it, so I feel strange. My old therapist also said that it could be a dangerous coping mechanism so I've been very hesitant to try and reconnect with that side of me. Due to that I don't know how often ill post, or how often I'll lurk. I don't have an actual Caregiver, and if I ever did get one they'd have to be my romantic partner. Not because I want romantic stuff when in little space, but because of how I grew up, romantic love and care is easier to accept than platonic or familial. I have a corner in my room dedicated to regression! It's got so many fun activities, I'll post pictures of it once I finally have it unearthed from a pile of boxes hehehe.

DO NOT INTERACT LIST. Do not interact if you are any of the following: Anti LGBTQ+ in any capacity Anti Agere/Petre Anti Furry Anti Therian/Otherkin/Fiction kin, ect Racist Sexist Ableist Proship NSFW, Including: DDLG/DDLB, ABDL, any kind of kink, ect. Map/Pedo and or support maps/pedos, ect. If you interact with any kind of gore.

Thank you for reading! I hope you stay a while and we can be friends! ~Lion/Jazzy/Sofi.

#age regression #sfw agere #age regressor #agere #agere little #sfw petre #agedre #sfw age regression #sfw pet regression

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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The causes of the power outage that left millions in Spain and Portugal without electricity on Monday have yet to be fully determined, though service has now been restored across 99 percent of the Iberian peninsula. Red Eléctrica, the public company in charge of operating Spain’s transmission infrastructure, has preliminarily ruled out a cyberattack, human error, or unusual weather or atmospheric conditions as a cause of the outage. The company points out that the incident could have originated from two “disconnections of generation,” possibly linked to the inherent volatility of renewable sources.

Specialists emphasize that this type of total blackout—an exceptional and infrequent event—is also a security mechanism of the electricity system itself. For a grid to operate stably, energy production must be kept in balance with consumption; imbalances can cause blackouts as well as potentially damage infrastructure.

Maintaining grid balance is the responsibility of the system operator, who monitors parameters such as electrical frequency, voltage, and load from substations in real time. When there are significant discrepancies between generation and demand, automatic disconnections are activated in specific areas of the grid to avoid imbalances. In the most serious situations, the impacts of these triggered disconnections can extend to the entire network.

“This generalized blackout occurred because, in just five seconds, more than half of the electricity-generation capacity was lost,” Álvaro de la Puente Gil, professor of electrical engineering at the School of Mining Engineering of the University of León, said in comments to the Science Media Centre (SMC) in Spain. The grid, unable to balance such a sharp drop between generation and demand, protected itself by automatically disconnecting both internally and from the rest of the European grid.

In comments to the SMC, Miguel de Simón Martín, professor of electrical engineering at the University of León, explains that balance on a grid is typically guaranteed by three things. First is a complex network of interconnected lines, known as meshes, that distribute electrical flows across the grid to prevent overloads. Second, there are interconnections with neighboring countries’ grids, which allow energy to be imported or exported as needed to balance generation and demand.

Finally, there is something called “mechanical inertia.” Synchronous generators—the large spinning machines that generate electricity in power stations—also store a lot of energy in their very large rotating parts. Imagine, say, a coal-fired power station. Even if it stops burning coal to generate more power, the huge, heavy turbines it uses to create electricity will continue spinning for some time because of the energy stored up in them. Known as mechanical inertia, this phenomenon can act as a buffer against abrupt fluctuations in the grid. When there are imbalances between energy generation and demand, synchronous generators can speed up or slow down their rotational speed to balance things out, essentially acting as a shock absorber to the grid by absorbing or releasing energy as needed.

“A large, well-meshed grid, with strong interconnections and abundant synchronous generators, will be more stable and less prone to failures,” says De Simón Martín “The Spanish peninsular power grid has historically been robust and reliable thanks to its high degree of meshing at high and very high voltage, as well as its large synchronous generation capacity. However, its weak point has always been its limited international interconnection, conditioned by the geographical barrier of the Pyrenees.”

According to his data, the electricity exchange capacity between Spain and the rest of Europe—in other words, how much energy the country can draw from or send into the continent—barely represents 3 percent of the country’s installed capacity. This is well below the European Union’s 15 percent target for member states to achieve by 2030.

Users board buses outside Atocha station in Madrid after its closure due to a massive blackout that affected Spain on April 28, 2025. Photograph: THOMAS COEX/Getty Images

The increasing integration of renewable energy into the Spanish system may have exacerbated the disconnection issues and subsequent need to balance the grid. According to Spain’s National Integrated Energy and Climate Plan, the country has set a target for 81 percent of its electricity to come from clean sources by 2030. At the end of last year, renewables already accounted for 66 percent of installed capacity in Spain and generated 58.95 percent of the country’s electricity. The main sources were wind, solar, and hydro.

De Simón Martín points out that, unlike thermal or hydroelectric power plants, wind and solar systems lack mechanical inertia, as they are connected to the grid not via synchronous generators but by electronic inverters. The robustness of the overall energy system therefore falls as the proportion of these inertia-lacking energy sources grows—essentially, fewer synchronous generators means less grid-wide ability to handle sudden changes in balance. “With low interconnection capacity and a high share of inverter-based renewable generation, our grid today is more vulnerable and has less margin to react to disturbances,” De Simón Martíne concludes.

How to Prevent Another Massive Blackout

Although the probability of a similar event occurring again in the short or medium term is low, experts agree that it is urgent to implement measures to strengthen the resilience of the system.

Manuel Alcázar Ortega, deputy director of the Department of Electrical Engineering at the Polytechnic University of Valencia, told the SMC that an immediate solution would be to “limit the production of photovoltaic energy at times of low demand, in favor rolling generation that provides inertia to the system and can respond better to frequency variations.” He also considers it necessary to incorporate frequency and voltage stabilizers in the grid to counteract the loss of inertia caused by the high presence of renewables.

De la Puente Gil adds that a priority should be “to increase electricity interconnections with France and other European countries, so that the peninsula is no longer so isolated.” He also thinks there needs to be more flexibility in the existing system on the peninsula, with “more storage mechanisms that can compensate for the variability of renewable energies. All of this requires investment, planning and a clear strategy for a secure energy transition.”

In press conference held on Tuesday, Pedro Sánchez, the Spanish prime minister, denied that high use of solar and wind or poor links with the European power grid were the main causes of the outage, but also said that no hypotheses as to what happened could be ruled out. Both the Spanish government and the European Commission have said that they are launching investigations into what caused the grid to fail.

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