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rxzennia · 5 months ago

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selfish atonement

– requested.

✎𓂃 executing your duty perfectly, until it’s not so heavy anymore. less romance, a lot of lore. mandatory shoutout to @st4rrth0ughts and their bodyguard reader & oc. i really searched up oswaldo for this pls enjoy (i tried to cook but i might’ve burnt it y'all)

ever since oswaldo’s expedition on aeragan-epharshel, you’ve become certain of one thing – he is a brilliant businessman; the epitome of a profitable business. regardless of the mostly negative emotions you felt while you undertook missions under his orders, you could at least admit that he brought unparalleled results to the ipc.

but, well, it does not take a good man to make a good businessman.

this marks the third amber era after your departure from the marketing development department… no, your departure from the ipc as a whole. you’ve changed your name, got yourself a new appearance, and distanced yourself from oswaldo’s name.

you’ve since become a sellsword who answers only to your current client

you’ve chosen to not have your loyalty freely auctioned off to the wealthy precisely because of your history with oswaldo

aka, you’re done with the type of problems that can be solved with money, and you don’t want to be someone that can be easily bought with money, either

not in the sense that money won’t make you more likely to take a job, but in the sense that money won’t bribe you away from any ongoing duties

that’s enough about you and your standards

in any case, your history with the ipc (that you’ve manipulated a little) has been very helpful in landing you jobs

and at this point, you’ve got a nice word of mouth going on for you that you don’t need to bring up that history anymore

who would’ve thought that you’d end up in the ipc again?

this time as a temporary guard for one of the ten stonehearts

you don’t know what possessed someone like diamond to ask for you, because you’re pretty sure he knows about your previous involvement with the ipc

and also, what the fuck does the ten stonehearts need a bodyguard for?

you’d pay a million credits to bet that diamond just wanted someone to be surveillance

but hey, a client is a client, so you agree to meet the one you’re supposedly “protecting”

you walk into the room, and immediately you want to walk out. diamond is doing this on purpose, he’s gotta be, he’s got to have done a background check on you and still decided to choose violence.

you come face to face with aventurine, and you thank all the aeons out there that you’ve made the decision to wear a mask whenever you’re out. you don’t know if diamond had briefed him on you or not, but judging by how warily civil he is, it doesn’t seem so.

just so we’re clear, you were far too green to be directly involved when oswaldo launched his sigonia-iv project. while you did tag along on these trips and treaty signings, you have no personal involvement there except standing there like a statue and watching your superiors hammer out a treaty or something. unlike in aeragan-epharshel. where you were one of the combat pilots. oh, that’s another can of worms altogether.

at least he can’t see your expression right now as you shake hands

at least he doesn't hear your erratically beating heart

you introduce yourselves, and you bow out of habit

impression points +100 (your starting score is -10000)

that’s basically how you ended up involved with the ipc again

ugh, you just can’t leave them in the past, can you?

although, in your defense, they’re everywhere, and you can’t possibly turn down a job with such luxurious pay

so, now, instead of the marketing development department, you’re in the strategic investment department. diamond is also a good businessman, but… the ten stonehearts have such a weird dynamic. they’re all tangled together with office politics, yet share one authority figure that they ultimately obey – something you haven’t bothered to think about when you were last in the ipc. and something you won’t bother thinking about, because the mere thought of corporate makes you want to dig yourself into a hole.

in any case, your constant meddling in aventurine’s daily affairs begins today. he’s quite a guarded man, and you have no idea what diamond wants you to do by putting you next to him practically 24/7, but oh well, you’re getting paid.

you settle into a routine surprisingly quickly, and he doesn’t seem to mind your presence all that much

alarmed? yes. mildly annoyed that diamond put a walking tracker on him? also yes.

dislike your presence? kinda (not really).

at least he knows you won’t betray him for as long as your contract is in effect

even if you answer directly to diamond, you were tasked to watch over him

which means that you will execute your assigned duty to guard him and strictly only that duty

(truly, your reputation precedes you)

but what is worrying is how swiftly you can change sides the moment your contract expires

well, a problem for tomorrow. diamond’s got you leashed for a year.

he does run a background check on you himself

not that he doesn’t trust that diamond hadn’t vetted you, he just wants to know what sort of person he is now stuck with

guess who found out your name is probably fake but can’t find your real name

because he could only trace your name so far, and anything beyond that point is blank

the discoveries will shock you!! top 10 most scary facts you didn’t know

all he got was a full report from your first job to this one

anything about your past before your current alias is completely untraceable

not that he intends to ask anyway; you haven’t given him any reason to dig further (yet)

he keeps an eye out for you though

even if he’s not suspicious of you at the moment, that could change in the blink of an eye

aventurine is surprised at how loyal you are to him. you’re under diamond’s orders, but you’re surprisingly putting in a lot to protect him. and to look after him.

to you, it’s just your job… and a selfish, twisted sort of repentance. it’s a thought you intend to take with you to the grave.

you’re not obligated to wake him up or bring him breakfast, but you do anyway

which, he realizes that you must’ve woken up like at least two hours before him

you coordinate his schedule with his assistant so that he doesn’t make pointless trips to five different locations just to end up at the same one twice

you, quite literally, hover over him

yes, even at huge conferences, you’re tailing him like his shadow

some kinda scary dog privilege going on

but of course, you give him space whenever he requires it and keep him within your sights instead

so far so good

but you know what spooks him still?

that you get pissed when someone makes any nasty passing remark at him

no, you are not a feral street cat that scratches anyone who wrongs you (him)

what you do is you give them a scary confrontation

or you pick them out and lodge a complaint with their superiors afterwards, if they aren’t the top dog

one time he got his hands on a report that you’re writing

aeons, you blow it out of proportion without lying

you like to call it a suitable amount of embellishing

then you pull a lot of emotional appealing according to the opponents' company policy

which usually results in some sort of disciplinary action that is actually pretty satisfying to see

but also

damn, you’re merciless

and also very adept at business talk

trust +100, doubt +25

(shady mercenary for hire with far too much experience type doubt)

you’re as good of a bodyguard as aventurine can get, especially for someone he didn’t hire himself…

he quite likes you, actually! because how many people do you think asked him something like “why do you need a bodyguard” to his face? none! you’re as entertaining as they come.

and so he finds joy in his boring executive work by pestering you

you know that, but you put up with him

in fact, this guy is so one of a kind that you don’t even feel pestered

you sometimes even drink with him

whenever he offers, of course, because you’re not too interested in drinking

you drink moderately on the job, but c’mon, when are you not on the job

okay, maybe when he’s just chilling in his office or in the hotel and not going anywhere

then there’s competitive drinking where he tries to coax you into talking about yourself by making you down shots

and guess who’s wasted every time? not you

“mr aventurine?” you ask, nudging the unconscious man next to you. “sir? earth to mr aventurine? hello?”

his empty glass of whiskey on the table, his face slightly flushed as he snoozes away on the table… yeah, it does not look comfy at all.

you sigh, he’s giving you more work again, and you carefully hoist him from the table.

when he comes to again, he finds himself in his own room

his head hurts so much

he notices that he hasn’t changed from his usual attire – only his coat and accessories are taken off

okay, and the top button of his shirt is undone

did you bring him back?

as always, you don’t even bother to change him

he sighs, you’re really not very good at reading signs

because he’s done this multiple times! and he’s whined about not being changed after!

more like you did notice but you choose not to do what he wants

that’s crossing a line in your books

and your books is something you stick to like you’re obsessed

at least you left him water and hangover medicine on the nightstand

why does he feel like you’re deliberately keeping him at arm’s length?

it’s been a while and you two have spent so much time together, yet you’re still a stranger to him

not even acquaintances

like… like, you don’t initiate conversation when you’re watching him

both when he’s going somewhere (requires actual protecting) and chilling at home (does not require actual protecting)

and even after so many late night drinking sessions, he still hasn’t seen you without your mask

mainly because you’ve never been drunk enough for him to sneak a peek, but still

aventurine doesn’t know how to express affection. platonically, romantically, in general, pretty much. so he tries to do the one thing he does best, splurging. and he tries to splurge on you, because he’s intrigued and wants to make buy a friend, but…

but you don’t let him splurge on you! you don’t even let him give you gifts! he only knows how to win affection by spending money on others!

sometimes he feels like you stick too strictly to your duties

just like his other subordinates… you take orders far too well

he’s tried to give you trinkets, designer clothes, even limited snacks

all of which were returned to him within 24 hours

though, with the snacks, you take it if he offers you a piece or two when he’s already opened it

and you let him treat you to coffee occasionally. very occasionally.

he eventually figures out that it’s a matter of principles

but what principles, exactly? you’re a sellsword, for aeon’s sake

he thought those are the people who have absolutely no principles???

anyway, won’t stop him from trying

“mr aventurine…” you pinch the bridge of your nose as you see the bags stacked on your desk. “i remember telling you that souvenirs are unnecessary.”

“what’s wrong with them?” aventurine laments dramatically. “i’ve picked out only the finest for you!”

you don’t deserve it, you think, but you don’t say that, of course

you don’t even know of his lifelong grudge towards oswaldo

you just know that you had a hand in the extinction event

not like hand hand, but you watched it happen… it doesn’t sit well with you

besides, you have the blood of almost an entire civilization on your hands

if you think too hard about it, the image of flames and carnage overlap with what is in front of you

then, you envision the records of sigonia that you’ve read through in the past

and everything blurs together, your actions, your inaction, and your unwavering loyalty that led you to not raise a single question at all

you squeeze your eyes shut tightly and purge the images from your mind

you are currently here, in the present

“i can’t take them.” you reply, finally, shaking your head. “it’s inappropriate for our standing. especially since there’s no reason for you to be gifting me so many things out of nowhere.”

“what, i can’t be nice to my bodyguard?” aventurine pouts as he sorts the bags in height order. “i’ve got a limited edition tie, an antique phonograph, a discontinued mug, some rare natural color ink for your fountain pen, a pure cashmere sweater–”

“that’s… that’s enough, sir.” you raise a hand to cut him off. “i don’t think i can accept any of them, really.”

aventurine makes a face, then pulls out a bag from the end of the queue. “fine, fine. what about this, at least? assorted cookies from an artisan bakery, using only the best ingredients sourced from all over the cosmos?”

you stare at that bag as you feel the expectant stare from your boss

maybe… maybe one out of these dozens of bags is fine

you’ve gotta think about his feelings too, after you’ve rejected so many gifts

you reluctantly, carefully take the bag and say a small “thank you”

you don’t want his fascination with you to develop any more than what he’s already showing…

but you also know that it’s not up to you

so what is up to you is drawing a line that you won’t allow him to cross

for his sake, and for your own…

if he keeps pushing, you should keep pushing back

keyword should

but can you?

aeons, you truly are selfish

wouldn’t it have been better to keep everything professional from the very beginning?

it’s okay. you only have a little more than half a year to go before you’re no longer obligated to be here. you’ll run away before aventurine catches on, like how you ran away from your past.

it’s okay. it’s just been a few months, there’s still more than half a year’s worth of time. before you part ways, there are still chances to get to know you better. perhaps even time to become friends, in the most literal sense of the word.

and maybe by the end of it, “you” will reach a satisfactory conclusion.

#honkai star rail #aventurine #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x reader #ares on demand

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niqhtlord01 · 3 months ago

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Humans are weird: The Long War

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

War’s often did not last long when fought between warring galactic powers. They often fell within one of two categories.

The first would be a short but brutal war in which one side had overwhelming superiority over their rival and would decimate them within a short period of time either resulting in the defeated offering concessions for peace or being incorporated into the victors realm as a new territory.

The second and less frequent of the two would be a drawn out conflict that would reach a stalemate at some point due to the near equal power of the opposing sides resulting in a peace treaty or more likely a cease fire that would last for a few years before resuming hostilities.

These two outcomes were the most frequent as with the age of space travel often came great leaps and bounds in other forms of technology; many times said technology being diverted to respective military industrial complexes.

Weapons that could carve up continents from orbit or snap starships in two like twigs left little in room for anything else.

Humans did not share this notion.

In quite a contrast to the standard norm human military planners also considered lengthier drawn out conflicts. Data sheets and computer banks were filled with projections for supply consumption, industrial production capacities, troop conscription rates, and even the designated planetary ration levels that would be acceptable before general population revolts within their own territory.

This practice was first demonstrated when conflict broke out between the Drumengi and the Terran Republic after a series of trade disputes resulted in the Drumengi seizing several dozen human trade vessels and demanding a ransom for their return. This was a grave insult and the Terran Republic responded the next day with an open declaration of war.

While the Drumengi did not have a sizable fleet, they had invested in a wide range of defensive orbital installations that dotted their territory in what was known as the “Halo of Iron”. No fleet had ever been able to breach the defenses of the Halo and so previous wars had gone for little more than a year before a peace treaty was negotiated. The Drumengi expected as much and planned to force humanity to the negotiation table.

It was unfortunate no one had informed the humans of this plan as the terran’s had already devised a plan to crack the halo.

Establishing a vast network of relay stations, automated satellite weapons platforms, and mobile fleet waystation’s that were brought in and placed along key trade routes into Drumengi territory, humanity established an iron halo of their own. Once the human ring was completed warning beacons were activated and a message was broadcasted in every language declaring the territory an active warzone and refused passage for any ship to try and cross through it.

Initially the Drumengi were inclined this was the prelude to a massive invasion fleet and prepared themselves, but as the months turned to years still no attack came. Human fleets patrolled the surrounding systems and intercepted all ships that tried to breach their lines with the help of the relay stations that were constantly scanning the surrounding space for ships.

Three years passed and soon every ship learned to avoid Drumengi space for fear of human retaliation; and that is when the Drumengi learned the true plan of humanity.

They never intended to besiege their defensive ring in some full frontal do or die charge. Instead they had formed a blockade that now was choking the very life of the Drumengi economy month by month.

It was never intended for the war to last more than a year, two at max, but now humanity was still showing no signs of relenting as the war dragged on to the fourth year. Critical supplies had not been stored in sufficient quantities for an extended war and while the public was assured of an eventual victory, Drumengi planners were beginning to panic. Worlds within Drumengi space were reporting that their stockpiles had dropped 32% since the war began and were increasingly demanding to open negotiations with the humans.

With little offensive capabilities the Drumengi were forced to sit behind their iron halo and continue to wait out the humans. Several delegations had been sent to other powers to open up channels and begin laying the ground work for peace talks, but each time they were informed that the talks were stalled by human counterparts who proceeded to drag their feet over every minor detail. One delegation went so far to report that a human diplomat would not accept any document unless it was written with a “Ballpoint Pen, color blue”. No one had any idea what that was exactly and even after researching it the device took another three weeks to be shipped in only for the human to reject it again saying that they had imported red pens instead.

The war dragged into the fifth year and supply levels had reached critical across the entire Drumengi domain. Supply levels had decreased by 67% for most worlds while fuel levels now were at a critical 13%. Travel was limited to military personnel, government officials, and what limited transportation still remained. Food riots had broken out in several major metropolitan areas on numerous planets and were becoming increasingly difficult to put down. In some cases the magistrates sent to neutralize the riots switched sides and joined the rioters, beckoning the military to get involved as well. That did little to settle the matter however as then the government worried how long it would be until the military switched sides as well.

With heavy hearts and empty bellies the Drumengi leadership finally came to humanity directly and offered to surrender. No terms were asked for save the resumption of trade and the dismantling of the human ring of iron.

The humans agreed to the first measure, but denied the second. Their ring of iron would remain, as a reminder of how easily humanity could cripple them again should the Drumengi ever show their hand again. They also insisted on reparations for maintaining such an extensive grid and exacted a high sum of credits as well. The Drumengi were outraged at this. They were told not only to surrender but to also pay for their imprisonment? The government would be overthrown within a fortnight when the general population heard the news.

Their pleas fell on deaf ears as the humans reiterated their demands once more.

As they had planned ahead for their long war, so too had they planned for the end result. They had changed the nature of the war and had steered it to the point where either outcome would be in their benefit. If the Drumengi agreed to the terms the current government would collapse in on itself as the general population railed against humanities demands, but if they refused their supplies would run out at the general public would once again violently rise up across their entire domain and their territory would become nothing more than mere pocket kingdoms for despots and criminals.

Regardless of the choice, the long war would finally be at an end.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #war

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 1 day ago

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

November 6, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Nov 06, 2024

Yesterday, November 5, 2024, Americans reelected former president Donald Trump, a Republican, to the presidency over Democratic candidate Vice President Kamala Harris. As of Wednesday night, Trump is projected to get at least 295 electoral votes to Harris’s 226, with two Republican-leaning states still not called. The popular vote count is still underway.

Republicans also retook control of the Senate, where Democrats were defending far more seats than Republicans. Control of the House is not yet clear.

These results were a surprise to everyone. Trump is a 78-year-old convicted felon who has been found liable for sexual assault and is currently under indictment in a number of jurisdictions. He refused to leave office peacefully when voters elected President Joe Biden in 2020, instead launching an unprecedented attack on the U.S. Capitol to stop the counting of electoral votes, and said during his campaign that he would be a “dictator” on his first day in office.

Pollsters thought the race would be very close but showed increasing momentum for Harris, and Harris’s team expressed confidence during the day. By posting on social media—with no evidence—that the voting in Pennsylvania was rigged, Trump himself suggested he expected he would lose the popular vote, at least, as he did in 2016 and 2020.

But in 2024, it appears a majority of American voters chose to put Trump back into office.

Harris and her running mate, Minnesota governor Tim Walz, offered a message of unity, the expansion of the economic policies that have made the U.S. economy the strongest in the world in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic, and the creation of an “opportunity economy” that echoed many of the policies Republicans used to embrace. Trump vowed to take revenge on his enemies and to return the country to the neoliberal policies President Joe Biden had rejected in favor of investing in the middle class.

When he took office, Biden acknowledged that democracy was in danger around the globe, as authoritarians like Russian president Vladimir Putin and China’s president Xi Jinping maintained that democracy was obsolete and must be replaced by autocracies. Russia set out to undermine the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) that enforced the rules-based international order that stood against Russian expansion.

Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán, who overturned democracy in his own country, explained that the historical liberal democracy of the United States weakens a nation because the equality it champions means treating immigrants, LGBTQ+ individuals, and women as equal to men, thus ending traditionally patriarchal society.

In place of democracy, Orbán champions “illiberal democracy,” or “Christian democracy.” This form of government holds nominal elections, although their outcome is preordained because the government controls all the media and has silenced opposition. Orbán’s model of minority rule promises a return to a white-dominated, religiously based society, and he has pushed his vision by eliminating the independent press, cracking down on political opposition, getting rid of the rule of law, and dominating the economy with a group of crony oligarchs.

In order to strengthen democracy at home and abroad, Biden worked to show that it delivered for ordinary Americans. He and the Democrats passed groundbreaking legislation to invest in rebuilding roads and bridges and build new factories to usher in green energy. They defended unions and used the Federal Trade Commission to break up monopolies and return more economic power to consumers.

Their system worked. It created record low unemployment rates, lifted wages for the bottom 80% of Americans, and built the strongest economy in the world in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic, setting multiple stock market records. But that success turned out not to be enough to protect democracy.

In contrast, Trump promised he would return to the ideology of the era before 2021, when leaders believed in relying on markets to order the economy with the idea that wealthy individuals would invest more efficiently than if the government regulated business or skewed markets with targeted investment (in green energy, for example). Trump vowed to cut taxes for the wealthy and corporations and to make up lost revenue through tariffs, which he incorrectly insists are paid by foreign countries; tariffs are paid by U.S. consumers.

For policies, Trump’s campaign embraced the Project 2025 agenda led by the right-wing Heritage Foundation, which has close ties to Orbán. That plan calls for getting rid of the nonpartisan civil service the U.S. has had since 1883 and for making both the Department of Justice and the military partisan instruments of a strong president, much as Orbán did in Hungary. It also calls for instituting religious rule, including an end to abortion rights, across the U.S. Part of the idea of “purifying” the country is the deportation of undocumented immigrants: Trump promised to deport 20 million people at an estimated cost of $88 billion to $315 billion a year.

That is what voters chose.

Pundits today have spent time dissecting the election results, many trying to find the one tweak that would have changed the outcome, and suggesting sweeping solutions to the Democrats’ obvious inability to attract voters. There is no doubt that a key factor in voters’ swing to Trump is that they associated the inflation of the post-pandemic months with Biden and turned the incumbents out, a phenomenon seen all over the world.

There is also no doubt that both racism and sexism played an important role in Harris’s defeat.

But my own conclusion is that both of those things were amplified by the flood of disinformation that has plagued the U.S. for years now. Russian political theorists called the construction of a virtual political reality through modern media “political technology.” They developed several techniques in this approach to politics, but the key was creating a false narrative in order to control public debate. These techniques perverted democracy, turning it from the concept of voters choosing their leaders into the concept of voters rubber-stamping the leaders they had been manipulated into backing.

In the U.S., pervasive right-wing media, from the Fox News Channel through right-wing podcasts and YouTube channels run by influencers, have permitted Trump and right-wing influencers to portray the booming economy as “failing” and to run away from the hugely unpopular Project 2025. They allowed MAGA Republicans to portray a dramatically falling crime rate as a crime wave and immigration as an invasion. They also shielded its audience from the many statements of Trump’s former staff that he is unfit for office, and even that his chief of staff General John Kelly considers him a fascist and noted that he admires German Nazi dictator Adolf Hitler.

As actor Walter Masterson posted: “I tried to educate people about tariffs, I tried to explain that undocumented immigrants pay billions in taxes and are the foundation of this country. I explained Project 2025, I interviewed to show that they supported it. I can not compete against the propaganda machines of Twitter, Fox News, [Joe Rogan Experience], and NY Post. These spaces will continue to create reality unless we create a more effective way of reaching people.”

X users noted a dramatic drop in their followers today, likely as bots, no longer necessary, disengaged.

Many voters who were using their vote to make an economic statement are likely going to be surprised to discover what they have actually voted for. In his victory speech, Trump said the American people had given him an “unprecedented and powerful mandate.”

White nationalist Nick Fuentes posted, “Your body, my choice. Forever,” and gloated that men will now legally control women’s bodies. His post got at least 22,000 “likes.” Right-wing influencer Benny Johnson, previously funded by Russia, posted: “It is my honor to inform you that Project 2025 was real the whole time.”

Today, Trump campaign press secretary Karoline Leavitt said Trump would launch the “largest mass deportation operation” of undocumented immigrants, and the stock in private prison companies GEO Group and CoreCivic jumped 41% and 29%, respectively. Those jumps were part of a bigger overall jump: the Dow Jones Industrial Average moved up 1,508 points in what Washington Post economic columnist Heather Long said was the largest post-election jump in more than 100 years.

As for the lower prices Trump voters wanted, Kate Gibson of CBS today noted that on Monday, the National Retail Federation said that Trump’s proposed tariffs will cost American consumers between $46 billion and $78 billion a year as clothing, toys, furniture, appliances, and footwear all become more expensive. A $50 pair of running shoes, Gibson said, would retail for $59 to $64 under the new tariffs.

U.S. retailers are already preparing to raise prices of items from foreign suppliers, passing to consumers the cost of any future tariffs.

Trump’s election will also mean he will no longer have to answer to the law for his federal indictments: special counsel Jack Smith is winding them down ahead of Trump’s inauguration. So he will not be tried for retaining classified documents or attempting to overthrow the U.S. government when he lost in 2020.

This evening, Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán posted on social media that he had just spoken with Trump, and said: “We have big plans for the future!”

This afternoon, Vice President Kamala Harris spoke at her alma mater, Howard University, to concede the election to Trump.

She thanked her supporters, her family, the Bidens, the Walz family, and her campaign staff and volunteers. She reiterated that she believes Americans have far more in common than separating us.

In what appeared to be a message to Trump, she noted: “A fundamental principle of American democracy is that when we lose an election, we accept the results. That principle as much as any other distinguishes democracy from monarchy or tyranny, and anyone who seeks the public trust must honor it. At the same time in our nation, we owe loyalty not to a president or a party, but to the Constitution of the United States, and loyalty to our conscience and to our God.

“My allegiance to all three is why I am here to say, while I concede this election, I do not concede the fight that fuels this campaign, the fight for freedom, for opportunity, for fairness and the dignity of all people, a fight for the ideals at the heart of our nation, the ideals that reflect America at our best. That is a fight I will never give up.”

Harris urged people “to organize, to mobilize and to stay engaged for the sake of freedom and justice and the future that we all know we can build together.” She told those feeling as if the world is dark indeed these days, to “fill the sky with the light of a billion brilliant stars, the light of optimism, of faith, of truth and service,” and to let “that work guide us, even in the face of setbacks, toward the extraordinary promise of the United States of America.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An American #Heather cox Richardson #election 2024 #TFG #the flood of disinformation #political technology #right wing media

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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months ago

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End of the line for corporate sovereignty

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me next weekend (Mar 30/31) in ANAHEIM at WONDERCON, then in Boston with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then Providence (Apr 12), and beyond!

Back in the 1950s, a new, democratically elected Iranian government nationalized foreign oil interests. The UK and the US then backed a coup, deposing the progressive government with one more hospitable to foreign corporations:

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

This nasty piece of geopolitical skullduggery led to the mother-of-all-blowbacks: the Anglo-American puppet regime was toppled by the Ayatollah and his cronies, who have led Iran ever since.

For the US and the UK, the lesson was clear: they needed a less kinetic way to ensure that sovereign countries around the world steered clear of policies that undermined the profits of their oil companies and other commercial giants. Thus, the "investor-state dispute settlement" (ISDS) was born.

The modern ISDS was perfected in the 1990s with the Energy Charter Treaty (ECT). The ECT was meant to foam the runway for western corporations seeking to take over ex-Soviet energy facilities, by making those new post-Glasnost governments promise to never pass laws that would undermine foreign companies' profits.

But as Nick Dearden writes for Jacobin, the western companies that pushed the east into the ECT failed to anticipate that ISDSes have their own form of blowback:

https://jacobin.com/2024/03/energy-charter-treaty-climate-change/

When the 2000s rolled around and countries like the Netherlands and Denmark started to pass rules to limit fossil fuels and promote renewables, German coal companies sued the shit out of these governments and forced them to either back off on their democratically negotiated policies, or to pay gigantic settlements to German corporations.

ISDS settlements are truly grotesque: they're not just a matter of buying out existing investments made by foreign companies and refunding them money spent on them. ISDS tribunals routinely order governments to pay foreign corporations all the profits they might have made from those investments.

For example, the UK company Rockhopper went after Italy for limiting offshore drilling in response to mass protests, and took $350m out of the Italian government. Now, Rockhopper only spent $50m on Adriatic oil exploration – the other $300m was to compensate Rockhopper for the profits it might have made if it actually got to pump oil off the Italian coast.

Governments, both left and right, grew steadily more outraged that ISDSes tied the hands of democratically elected lawmakers and subordinated their national sovereignty to corporate sovereignty. By 2023, nine EU countries were ready to pull out of the ECT.

But the ECT had another trick up its sleeve: a 20-year "sunset" clause that bound countries to go on enforcing the ECT's provisions – including ISDS rulings – for two decades after pulling out of the treaty. This prompted European governments to hit on the strategy of a simultaneous, mass withdrawal from the ECT, which would prevent companies registered in any of the ex-ECT countries from suing under the ECT.

It will not surprise you to learn that the UK did not join this pan-European coalition to wriggle out of the ECT. On the one hand, there's the Tories' commitment to markets above all else (as the Trashfuture podcast often points out, the UK government is the only neoliberal state so committed to austerity that it's actually dismantling its own police force). On the other hand, there's Rishi Sunak's planet-immolating promise to "max out North Sea oil."

But as the rest of the world transitions to renewables, different blocs in the UK – from unions to Tory MPs – are realizing that the country's membership in ECT and its fossil fuel commitment is going to make it a world leader in an increasingly irrelevant boondoggle – and so now the UK is also planning to pull out of the ECT.

As Dearden writes, the oil-loving, market-worshipping UK's departure from the ECT means that the whole idea of ISDSes is in danger. After all, some of the world's poorest countries are also fed up to the eyeballs with ISDSes and threatening to leave treaties that impose them.

One country has already pulled out: Honduras. Honduras is home to Prospera, a libertarian autonomous zone on the island of Roatan. Prospera was born after a US-backed drug kingpin named Porfirio Lobo Sosa overthrew the democratic government of Manuel Zelaya in 2009.

The Lobo Sosa regime established a system of special economic zones (known by their Spanish acronym, "ZEDEs"). Foreign investors who established a ZEDE would be exempted from Honduran law, allowing them to create "charter cities" with their own private criminal and civil code and tax system.

This was so extreme that the Honduran supreme court rejected the plan, so Lobo Sosa fired the court and replaced them with cronies who'd back his play.

A group of crypto bros capitalized on this development, using various ruses to establish a ZEDE on the island of Roatan, a largely English-speaking, Afro-Carribean island known for its marine reserve, its SCUBA diving, and its cruise ship port. This "charter city" included every bizarre idea from the long history of doomed "libertarian exit" projects, so ably recounted in Raymond Craib's excellent 2022 book Adventure Capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/14/this-way-to-the-egress/#terra-nullius

Right from the start, Prospera was ill starred. Paul Romer, the Nobel-winning economist most closely associated with the idea of charter cities, disavowed the project. Locals hated it – the tourist shops and restaurants on Roatan all may sport dusty "Bitcoin accepted here" signs, but not one of those shops takes cryptocurrency.

But the real danger to Prospera came from democracy itself. When Xiomara Castro – wife of Manuel Zelaya – was elected president in 2021, she announced an end to the ZEDE program. Prospera countered by suing Honduras under the ISDS provisions of the Central America Free Trade Agreements, seeking $10b, a third of the country's GDP.

In response, President Castro announced her country's departure from CAFTA, and the World Bank's International Centre for Settlement of Investment Disputes:

https://theintercept.com/2024/03/19/honduras-crypto-investors-world-bank-prospera/

An open letter by progressive economists in support of President Castro condemns ISDSes for costing latinamerican countries $30b in corporate compensation, triggered by laws protecting labor rights, vulnerable ecosystems and the climate:

https://progressive.international/wire/2024-03-18-economists-the-era-of-corporate-supremacy-in-the-international-trade-system-is-coming-to-an-end/en

As Ryan Grim writes for The Intercept, the ZEDE law is wildly unpopular with the Honduran people, and Merrick Garland called the Lobo Sosa regime that created it "a narco-state where violent drug traffickers were allowed to operate with virtual impunity":

https://theintercept.com/2024/03/19/honduras-crypto-investors-world-bank-prospera/

The world's worst people are furious and terrified about Honduras's withdrawal from its ISDS. After 60+ years of wrapping democracy in chains to protect corporate profits, the collapse of the corporate kangaroo courts that override democratic laws represents a serious threat to oligarchy.

As Dearden writes, "elsewhere in the world, ISDS cases have been brought specifically on the basis that governments have not done enough to suppress protest movements in the interests of foreign capital."

It's not just poor countries in the global south, either. When Australia passed a plain-packaging law for tobacco, Philip Morris relocated offshore in order to bring an ISDS case against the Australian government in a bid to remove impediments to tobacco sales:

https://isds.bilaterals.org/?philip-morris-vs-australia-isds

And in 2015, the WTO sanctioned the US government for its "dolphin-safe" tuna labeling, arguing that this eroded the profits of corporations that fished for tuna in ways that killed a lot of dolphins:

https://theintercept.com/2015/11/24/wto-ruling-on-dolphin-safe-tuna-labeling-illustrates-supremacy-of-trade-agreements/

In Canada, the Conservative hero Steven Harper entered into the Canada-China Foreign Investment Promotion and Protection Agreement, which banned Canada from passing laws that undermined the profits of Chinese corporations for 31 years (the rule expires in 2045):

https://www.vancouverobserver.com/news/harper-oks-potentially-unconstitutional-china-canada-fipa-deal-coming-force-october-1

Harper's successor, Justin Trudeau, went on to sign the Canada-EU Trade Agreement that Harper negotiated, including its ISDS provisions that let EU corporations override Canadian laws:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/trudeau-eu-parliament-schulz-ceta-1.3415689

There was a time when any challenge to ISDS was a political third rail. Back in 2015, even hinting that ISDSes should be slightly modified would send corporate thinktanks into a frenzy:

https://www.techdirt.com/2015/07/20/eu-proposes-to-reform-corporate-sovereignty-slightly-us-think-tank-goes-into-panic-mode/

But over the years, there's been a growing consensus that nations can only be sovereign if corporations aren't. It's one thing to treat corporations as "persons," but another thing altogether to elevate them above personhood and subordinate entire nations to their whims.

With the world's richest countries pulling out of ISDSes alongside the world's poorest ones, it's feeling like the end of the road for this particularly nasty form of corporate corruption.

And not a moment too soon.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/27/korporate-kangaroo-kourts/#corporate-sovereignty

Image: ChrisErbach (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:UnitedNations_GeneralAssemblyChamber.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #isds #investor state dispute settlement #steven harper #canada #canpoli #ukpoli #honduras #prospera #roatan #Energy Charter Treaty #ect #eu #rockhopper #world bank #charter cities #cryptocurrency #libertarian exit #Xiomara Castro

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thefinancezoom · 4 months ago

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spotaus · 2 months ago

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YOU!!! YOU UNDERSTAND!!!! I have been grinning about this since I read it omg...

I'm thinking the dynamics here are that: Night and Dream grew up as twin princes. They always knew one of them would hold the mantle of this great prophecy on their shoulders (eating the apple instead of protecting the tree). Parent situation... probably Nim? Maybe the prophecy required her death to form the apple. Yeah we'll go w/ that. But anyways, Dream and Night were super close, but Dream was always off training with the nights and visiting the village while Night was studying and learning the politics in the castle. Dream would be the hero, the King of Prophecy, and Nightmare was to be his advisor. Dream would take the spotlight and Night would be the brain helping to guide him with the menial tasks. And... they were fine with that! Some people thought Night was jealous or secretly an evil twin, but they adored the idea of ruling like that.

But... Nightmare was reading up one day, studying the prophecy, and... things just didn't line up. The words seemed to imply a sacrifice, one beyond the body of their mother, and death. Lots of it. Hidden beneath flowery language that any commoner wouldn't blink twice at. And Night realized that the only one who could stop this tragedy was the one who ate the apple. Someone not blinded by the falsehoods. And when he went to his mother, the Queen, she pretty much told him he was being crazy and to hush up. It was treason to talk like that.

So he didn't tell Dream. He didn't tell *anyone*. At least, not until later. Not until years later, a month before Dream's coronation and when he'd accept the apple. He was having night terrors and made regular trips to the kitchen for snacks. Ccino was always the one working late, feeding the night-guards coming in from their rounds. He was there when Nightmare whispered his ideas to him in the quiet kitchen, scrolls and books in his arms filled with all the reasons and signs and hints in their past. And it was Ccino who stared at him in a way that Night *knew* he made sense. That he was right.

It was when Night told Dream the next morning, that Dream told him that he had to eat the apple. Their mother had told him that if Night ate it, he'd turn evil. He couldn't be king, because Dream didn't want to lose him. So... Nightmare swore to Dream he wouldn't speak of it again.

On the day of Dream's ceremony, Nightmare was stood beside him as their mother gave her blessing. The prince to eat the apple she created was rightful heir and would hold the power in the prophecy. Her power extended into it as she handed it off to Dream's awaiting hands. ...And when it was formed? When Dream turned towards the crowd for his speech before he bit into it? Nightmare snatched it and took a huge bite. It echoed in the silent hall, and everyone watched in shock as Nightmare was enveloped in the magic. A dark, sloppy, mass of black magic that radiated hatred and fury and fear. All the anxieties Nightmare had had up until this moment washed over everyone. And he announced he, by the law of the land, was now King.

He didn't banish Dream on the spot, no, it was later that day, when Nightmare tried to talk to him in private, when he explained himself again. Dream had been so overwhelmed with fury and betrayal that he'd slammed a nearby candelabra over Nightmare's head. He didn't think it was his brother in there anymore. He was too tall, too well-spoken, too... unfamiliar. The bad energy he radiated made Dream act rashly. And Nightmare, now injured and emotionally drained, realized Dream wouldn't understand. He didn't want his twin to think of him as the villain, but he would, so he left, and declared it that Dream was banished from the kingdom. The act that solidified for everyone that the darker twin was corrupt. Whether he always had been or if his jealous fit had doomed him, he was not the little prince they knew.

And just... idk. His paranoia kicks in once Dream leaves, Ccino helping him, it all piles up after that point! Long enough that Dream has time to grow up and become a man himself!

Night totally just picks his guys in a similar way a kid picks theur favorite superhero or smth, you're so right lol! He sees these people and is like, 'okay, I know they're mean and scary but I think they're cool sooooo.' And then his adult magic justifies it more thoroughly, but God honestly he's putting in blind faith here most of the time. (Plus as Scary Night he has enough power to defend himself so he has some leeway-)

And Dream w/ him like... they were all fine and dandy until a month before his coronation, so he's 100% convinced someone managed to get the ideas into his head during his studies or while he was alone. Night replaces most of the council and servants though, and a lot of nobility is straight up removed, so he keeps trying to narrow down who it was. But then Night hires on violent people to do his work and is sure by then that Night's magic has plans all its own, like a Demon. That he's gathering like, 4 horsemen or smth.

It also hurts Dream a lot when Cross changes sides. There's no word from him, just one day he doesn't come back from his scouting, and Dream is sure Night killed him. Then the next time they get news, Cross is just as loyally by Night's side as he was at Ink's or Dream's. Brainwashing or just loose loyalties he can't tell, but it disheartens him a lot.

And fir the silly bits: YES- Error definitely has that moment of 'Dude, the King is really really cool and- ohhhh wait. Ohh noooo.' And then has like, a very short-lived crisis before deciding it's all or nothing until the confession that I think happens after they get Night back from Dream. Then Night doesn't realize it until even after the confession. Like, one of those, "Now is NOT the time, can we PLEASE go home???" Moments and he is unaware that's usually a rejection. He talks it over with Ccino and Ccino is like, 'M'lord, no disrespect, but Error is probably avoiding you because you basically rejected him.' And Night like. Rips out of the lounge they're in and straight towards Error's tower in a flustered mess because !!! they were overwhelmed !!! of course he likes Error!!! Abd so he clears it up after the fact lmao-

And the Geno and Fresh stuff!! Geno definitely bonds w/ Reaper over the treaty attempts, because Reaper would notice a steep decline in Geno's work and general wellbeing after he gets the letters from people saying Error is missing. He can't abandon his work, of course, but Reaper would confront him and Geno would spill that his hazard of a little brother ran away. Reaper would sympathize and offer to search like u said. And just. Geno decides he likes Reaper a bit more when he does actually start handling business, and Reaper though Geno was stunning and very enjoyable to be around the moment he met him so like... slow burn while having other stuff going on.

And exactly! Fresh was supposed to watch Error, but Error was living at the academy when Geno left so Fresh was on a trip for his own stuff. Completely unaware that Error got expelled, and completely unaware he left the house empty for him to cone back to. Geno is 100% furious with him and Fresh is also regularly looking for Error or word of him while he's out, but he loses the trail in one city and doesn't hear anything again. (City where the hiring of the Wizard went on.) So Fresh thinks Error is dead, and feels guilty af all the time, but has to roll with the punches.

And... hmm. Yeah. Ccino is definitely like the guardian of pretty much everyone in the castle at this point, but especially Night. (He's also a big part of Nightmare's recovery from Dream too, because Dream doesn't remember the faces of any servants (spoiled kid raised that way) so Ccino is like... a perfect operative to help sneak around and gather info.) Ccino would die for his little friend, and I do think it's an insanely sweet friendship between them. Ccino is also in charge of all the cats that live across the castle grounds. He doesn't own them, but they keep out mice and he gives them treats so they tend to end up flocking to him 🙏

Bad wip of that au I was talking about 🙏

(It's MY au so I get to put Error in a stupid wizard fit!!!)

#yipppeeee¡!!!!!!#yeah RealAge AU has all these tasty dynamics and vibes and plot points that I do not want to steal but I am certsinly taking inspo from #it holds a special place in my heart forever and ever <3 <3 #and boy I piled a lot of thoughts in here but like...#a completely unhinged side idea is just bouncing off Reaper meeting with Nightmare post-Dream situation and Reaper's heard the rumors of the #young King who has an iron fist but is also... honestly banger about keeping his people happy? and who evaded their prophecy's awful ending #and so he rolls up to their castle and meets his welcoming party like Horror and Cross and he's kinda like... chill. they're good guys #then it's Killer and Dust who are in the meeting room and he's... more understanding as to why the kingdoms were enemies prior #then Nightmare struts in #tiny and short compared to his Knights and Reaper and Geno and Reaper's guards #but he's completely serious and really invested in this treaty and knows all the details and negotiates a fair allyship between them #one of the things being weaponry. and so he goes to take them to meet with “His Wizard”#and the Wizard Night chose was a secret from the public so very few know his name or identity. just that he's powerful and dangerous.#and Night shows them to his study that now also houses Error's 2nd workshop and he's waiting there to show the visiting King and Wizard his #supplies and what he can give them...#and he whips around and it's Geno standing there and while Night is doing easy introductions Geno and Error are both staring at eachother #trying to figure out who will talk first. and Night saying Error's name kinda breaks the stare and Geno elbows Reaper and there's this #moment of Error awkwardly greeting his brother #and Geno rushing forward to bundle Error in a hug because!!! his little brother is alive! and safe! and got to practice magic! and is #honestky the safest kingdom of the current tines! and he's so happy and relieved he forgets all formalities and Reaper has to cover for him #and tell Nightmare the jist while Error gets the mama cat check over from Geno #there's so much lmao sorry-#back to studying!!!#i should also name this I think... any suggestions? i wanna make a nod to RA:au in the name but brain a lil fried rn lol-

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moorishflower · 10 months ago

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Eating Out (Dream/trans!Hob Explicit)

i heard we were writing trans Dreamling and then I saw that one ask someone sent @gabessquishytum and I blacked out for a few hours and woke up with this on my desktop please enjoy

Contains: FtM Hob Gadling, public sex, oral sex, free use/multiple partners, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, scent kink, hair kink, little bit of eldritch Dream as a treat

The club is almost violently loud, and the instant that Dream materialises within it he wishes to leave.

He could. There is nothing holding him here. Not even his new agreement with Hob Gadling, that they meet twice a month, holds sway here – they have already held their pre-arranged meetings for December, have 'caught up' with each other, as Hob calls it, though Dream always feels as though he has nothing to contribute. He tells Hob about the unceasing tedium of ruling a kingdom, of settling disputes between his creations, of shoring up the defences of the Dreaming such that it will be prepared for any onslaught, and it is all the same, always the same things over and over again for aeons, but Hob leans towards him and listens with the most fascinated air. He asks questions. He is interested.

Dream would much rather hear about Hob's life. His many lives, in fact, within the last two centuries. It seems as though Hob is always doing something: viewing art with noted professors on the subject, or attending poetry readings, or assisting in the building of various installations of a political nature at protests, or organising a play put on by trans youth from local universities. In this century he is highly invested in matters regarding gender and sexuality – which Dream supposes makes sense. His own gender would have been considered at best a novelty in his own time, and at worst an affront to God. These days, however, he lives openly and freely as the man he has always known himself to be.

It is all of these things, and more, that are the reasons why he is here tonight. The Dreaming is stable at last – there are no pressing matters for him to attend to this eve – but he is shortly expected to meet with Lucifer in order to renegotiate their ancient treaty of tentative peace, and he is, as Hob would say, not looking forward to it. He is, in fact, dreading the experience. He is certain that Lucifer has neither forgotten nor forgiven his brief foray into Hell when he retrieved his helm, and the humiliation they were forced to endure at his hand. He will freely admit that he was. Not as gracious. As he could have been, upon his triumph.

He does not want to think about it. And so he is here, looking for Hob Gadling.

It occurs to him, however, as he watches the ebb and flow of people around him, that Hob may not wish to be found this night. He had assumed, when he'd reached for Hob's presence in the Waking and drew himself towards it, that he would appear in Hob's flat above the New Inn. That is where he is most often to be found, this time of night, unless he has prior engagements.

This club, though...it is of a distinctly sexual nature. Its patrons dressed in leather and latex, and some dressed in almost nothing at all. There are sheltered alcoves with faux-leather seats where two or three or more humans whisper quietly to each other, and kiss, and touch sensuously; there are other stations that Dream recognises, but only from dreams: a St. Andrew's Cross, a whipping post, a wooden bench over which a young man bends while a woman dressed entirely in white lace strikes him with a thin crop, raising fine red weals on the pale skin.

Perhaps he ought to leave. If Hob is here to procure a partner for the evening, then it is no business of Dream's.

Except.

Except the thought makes him. Unhappy.

He examines this realisation with detached interest, because he knows if he allows himself to become invested in the idea there will be no going back. Hob is his friend. They have known each other for over six-hundred years. He does not want to ruin their friendship, burgeoning as it currently is.

Neither does he wish for Hob to be here, seeking something that he believes Dream cannot provide for him.

Is that the crux of it? The source of his displeasure? Hob has come here, seeking fulfilment, instead of seeking out Dream? He would have no reason to approach Dream. Their friendship has never had a sexual component.

Although.

He remembers the way Hob had looked at him in 1589, so proud of the largess he had provided, eager for Dream's approval. He remembers the slow up and down glance of 1389 when he had approached Hob's table, when he had still been a beardless ruffian, binding his chest with scraps of wool. He remembers, in 1789, how Hob had looked at him, how he had tugged at his ear, how eagerly he had come to Dream's defence.

Perhaps he had simply not been in the best position to notice any interest. Hob's, or his own. Too prideful. Too convinced that Hob was just like every other human, grubbing about in the dirt for power and acclaim. Too assured of his own high status – one such as he, friends with one such as Hob?

He knows better now. Knows that Hob has lived rich and varied lives, which Dream has, for the past several months, taken succour in, experiencing them through Hob's tales, learning more and more about his friend. Liking what he has learned.

This, he decides, is a new aspect of that learning. And perhaps a new chapter in their friendship, if Hob is amenable. It has been long and long since he has laid with a human – he spares a moment to thank the memory of his sister for withholding her gift from Hob, for it means that Hob is not, strictly speaking, mortal – and perhaps it would be wise of him to observe Hob in this environment first. If Hob is here, he reasons, then necessarily he will be familiar with the etiquette of such a place.

And if Hob is otherwise occupied with a lover already...

He decides not to continue that thought.

A path forward decided, Dream wends his way through the crowds. The club is densely-packed with people, all ages, all nations and creeds and genders, and of them all he is the least-appropriately dressed in his coat and t-shirt and jeans. He does not bother to change, and no one approaches him – he is as a ghost, drifting between the revellers, a visitor to this holy house of Dionysus and Pan, following the faint trail of Hob that guides him like a ball of twine. Gentle prodding at daydreams reveals that Hob was here at the bar, that he, also, had been dressed-down for this occasion, in a white button-up and a pair of loose trousers. Still, others had looked upon him and had, in gauzy fantasies, wondered what he would look like dressed in less. Had wondered what his stubble would feel like against their cheeks. Had imagined his hands – broad, callused, peasant's hands – on their hips, their thighs, their genitals.

Dream does not linger in these daydreams for long, but pursues his true quarry, slipping through the gathered throngs, enjoying, for the moment, the feeling of stalking his prey. It is only infrequently that he is allowed to feel this, the thrill of the hunt, the pursuit; he is, by necessity, a guardian of his dreamers, but he is dreams and nightmares both, and often he longs for an end to the mournful tedium of his duties. Longs for peaceful oblivion or, at the very least, something that he can sink his teeth into.

The club is much larger than he had initially thought, and Dream follows Hob's trail up stairs and down corridors, until he finds himself in a section of the venue that has been cordoned off; several security personnel stand stationed at pre-set points, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings within.

There are significantly fewer clothes in this part of the club, Dream realises. And what is worn is designed for easy access.

It is less crowded here, but no less quiet – the air is filled with the sounds of pleasure, moans and squeals and throaty whispers, creating a chorus of rising debauchery that drowns out the thumping music below them. He remains unseen, untouched, as he slides through the gaps in the crowd, around amorous couples, ignoring the slick sounds of bodies entangled and flesh entwined, until, at last, he reaches the end of the trail.

Hob Gadling has arranged himself in a secluded section of the upper floor, where dark curtains have been set up to give a modicum of privacy, though the acts happening just beyond are still within full view of the rest of the floor. He is seated in a chair, one of the low, slightly reclined ones that pepper the rest of the club, though this one has been considerately draped in plastic sheeting. The reasoning behind this is immediately obvious: Hob Gadling sits with his thighs spread, revealing the hole that has been cut in the groin of his loose trousers, and there is a woman kneeling before him, with her face buried between Hob's legs.

Dream does not care about the woman, though objectively he recognises that she is beautiful, and clearly quite happy with her current position. His eyes are fixed on Hob, who has his head thrown back, sweat dappling his forehead, mouth open as he gasps and pants. His neck is pulled taut, revealing the tempting line of his jugular, and his shirt has been unbuttoned to reveal the thick hair on his pectorals, almost completely hiding the scars beneath. The woman between his legs does something that must be particularly pleasing, because Hob's eyes slip shut, and his hips rut upwards, and even through the music and the noise and the crowd Dream can hear the sound of his moaning, reaching a fever pitch as he climbs towards climax. When he comes, all his muscles strain at once...and then he slumps, panting, while the woman leans back and licks her lips. The entire lower half of her face is soaked in fluid, and Hob's thighs glisten with the same. It is clear that he has been here for some time.

There is a small sign, Dream realises, that has been set up beside the chair, and a few people positioned around it, reading its words, watching with interest. Some of them watching with eagerness. Eat me out, the sign says. Accepting all comers. Face-sitting offered for best orgasm. Beneath this titillating invitation is a short list of the things that Hob is not interested in. No PiV, says one, and, No S/M.

He watches the woman climb to her feet and then lean down again, whispering something into Hob's ear. It makes him laugh, whatever she says, a full-throated, beautiful display, his head tossed back as he guffaws. Then the woman kisses his cheek, and Hob takes the opportunity to pull her in for a generous hug. Dream has been on the receiving end of such hugs before, but he has never considered that he might be gifted them under such. Specific circumstances.

Then the woman moves away, and he is treated to the sight of Hob on full display. And Dream stops. And looks. And breathes.

Hob had been beautiful, with the woman between his legs, but now that it is only him he is even moreso. With no one in the way Dream is able to see the thick trail of hair on his belly, leading down to the dark thatch of his pubic hair, curls wet with spit and slick. The lips of his sex are parted, red and swollen from the attentions of Dream knows not how many, and here, too, he is wet and open and wanting, with his cock jutting proudly upwards. The plastic sheeting beneath his seat is soaked in his own fluids, and even as Dream watches a newcomer approaches, speaks quietly to Hob and, at Hob's cheery nod and grin, kneels down and begins to lick the plastic clean.

He could remain here unseen, Dream realises. To interrupt Hob's revelry would surely lead to a foul mood later on, but. But.

He wants.

For all that he is neither flesh nor blood, he responds as the form he has taken bids him to, his trousers growing tighter as his erection fills, his stomach clenching with desire, his heart beating faster. His mouth floods with saliva at the sight of Hob's hairy thighs flexing, the dark, spit-damp and abundant curls of his sex, the thin trail of sexual fluids that drips from his fluttering opening and is caught on the tongue of the man kneeling in front of him. And he feels a flash of jealousy, when Hob reaches down and pets the man's hair, and says something softly to him. He recognises the look in the man's eyes, one of fervent adoration, and knows that, were he in the same position, his own expression would be much the same.

He does not wish to ruin their friendship, but. But.

He must make a decision. To remain here, unseen, a silent watcher, is a violation of Hob's trust in him. To reveal himself is to potentially face Hob's ire, but he might take pride in the knowledge that at least he tried.

Dream inhales, breathing in the sharp smell of lust and sex, and steps forward, allowing himself to be seen.

Hob does not notice him at first, still murmuring to the man between his legs. After several moments, though, he looks up, and Dream sees the exact second that Hob spots him: his eyes go wide, and his legs reflexively clamp shut, nearly trapping the man between them, and his muscles shift as if he plans to launch himself upwards before his expression turns resigned, and he relaxes back into his seat. A quick word is had with the kneeling man, who shrugs and then clambers to his feet; he gives Dream a lingering glance as he takes his leave, as do several others of the assembled patrons.

"Dream," Hob says, raising his voice to be heard above the muffled music and the moans and screams emanating from other rooms on this floor. He is still sitting with his knees locked together. "What are you...I mean, far be it for me to judge what you do in your spare time, but what on God's green earth are you doing here?"

"Seeking you out," Dream says. He takes a step forward, and then another, until he has come to a stop almost directly in front of Hob. There is a pillow on the floor, he notices. He had not seen it before; it bears the indents of many previous lovers. He wonders how many have serviced Hob this evening.

He sinks down to his knees.

"Um," Hob says. His eyes are huge, the pupils so dilated that his irises appear as two drops of ink in white clouds. "Dream? What...?"

"I will leave if you wish me to," Dream says. He lifts his hands, letting them hover uncertainly over the heavy curve of Hob's thighs, but not yet daring to touch. He can feel the warmth emanating from Hob's body, more intoxicating than any wine or stimulant, and another wave of wanting crashes over him. Were he standing he thinks he would be staggered by it. "But. If you have no objections. I would very much like to stay."

"No objections," Hob says, voice rising to a squeak. His legs fall apart again, slowly at first, tentative, but widen with more generosity as Dream accepts the invitation, and lays his palms at last on Hob's thighs. They are just as muscled and warm as he had thought them to be, the hair on them coarse where it rubs between his fingers, against his fingertips, and there, at their centre, Hob's sex revealed to him once again. His cock still firm, jutting upwards, his labia still spread and glistening as Dream lowers his head to breathe in the scent of him.

"You smell ambrosial," Dream murmurs, and Hob barks a sudden laugh.

"I've come six times," he says. The tension is slowly leaving his body, allowing him to slump backwards as Dream strokes his thighs. "I smell like sweat and jizz, more like."

"As I said." And to drive home his point, Dream bends down and presses his nose to the sopping curls of Hob's cunt, inhaling deeply. Sweat, yes, and Hob's excitement, and the saliva of others, easily and summarily dismissed in favour of Hob's natural scent, and his friend's murmured, "Oh, oh fuck," as Dream lets his nose brush along the side of his prick. It strains towards him, twitching faintly with Hob's heartbeat. Impudent thing, Dream thinks, though not without a great deal of fondness, and he looks up at Hob through the wild fringe of his hair, blinking slowly.

"You know, I wasn't expecting this," Hob says. His hands clench at his sides. "I only come here maybe twice a year. I wasn't...You don't have to..."

"I wish to."

"...just because I'm. Here. What?"

"I am precisely where I wish to be," Dream says. "And if you truly have no objections. I wish to sample you."

"Jesus Christ," Hob says, and his head falls backwards, thumping against the cushions. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Do you know how long I've thought about this?"

"Since 1789," Dream says. He drags the tip of his nose along the length of Hob's cock, and then presses a soft kiss to the head of it, greatly enjoying the sound of Hob's muttered curses. The smell of him is growing denser, sharper, as fresh wetness drips from his cunt.

"Longer," Hob says. "Since the moment I saw you. Thought about bouncing on your cock later that night, even. I would've ridden you so fucking hard."

"Perhaps later," Dream murmurs, and then, for the first time, takes Hob into his mouth.

The effect is immediate, electrifying: Hob goes rigid, mouth opening in a soundless cry as his hips rut forwards, pressing his pubic bone against Dream's nose. His prick is thick, compact, perhaps three inches of trembling nerves that slide along Dream's tongue like silk. The taste of him here is not as strong as it would be directly from the source, but the musky salt of it delights Dream's senses, enraptures him. He lets Hob set the pace at first, trying to gauge how tired he is, how sore...though it quickly becomes apparent that six orgasms in an evening is not, apparently, his friend's limit. Hob does not cry off, nor beg for Dream to give him a moment, but sighs and moans and laughs as Dream sucks at him, first softly, and then with greater force, tracing the thin skin of Hob's prick with the tip of his tongue, then letting it fall free of his mouth so that he can instead lavish attention on the plump lips around it.

Here, he thinks. Here is where his mouth is intended to be, at the nadir of Hob's sex, where his labia are spread like flower petals and his cunt clenches and leaks. Dream hums to himself in delight as he laps a searing path from the root of Hob's prick down to his twitching, wet opening, kneading Hob's thighs with his fingertips as he does so. There is so much hair here that it is impossible to keep his face dry – nor would he want to, even if he could – and Dream leans in to taste, pushing his nose through Hob's pubic hair, committing the scent of him to memory as he licks and sucks at everything he can reach. His wild hunger makes him crude, inexpert, but when he glances upwards to gauge Hob's pleasure he finds his friend flush-faced and panting, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, one hand pushed back into his own hair. When he sees Dream looking he smiles.

"Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he asks. "Between my legs? I've imagined this for so long."

The encouragement is. Pleasing. More than he had thought it would be. Enough that it makes his own cock twitch as he basks in the pleasure of Hob's praise. "So beautiful," Hob says, and he lifts his hips slightly, demanding. Dream is eager to indulge him, and buries his face once more into Hob's sex, licking, now, at his cunt, pressing the tip of his tongue inside to where he is wettest and hottest, savouring the taste of him. The scent that has gathered in his hair, surrounding him now, filling Dream's nostrils, making him dizzy with lust. He cannot resist the temptation to bury his tongue deeper, and then deeper still, longer than any human Hob would ever have taken to bed. Muscles clamp down around him, and Hob makes a startled, thrilled little noise, and then begins laughing again, one hand at last stealing to Dream's hair. He does not clutch, but strokes, softly, like a favoured pet, and Dream purrs, mouth sealed around Hob's cunt, tongue buried in him until there is no more space for anything but Dream.

"You're a marvel," Hob says; Dream flicks the tip of his tongue against the opening to his cervix, soft, soft, and Hob's whole body goes as taut as a bow. "A fuh-hucking marvel oh God, oh fuck, Dream!"

A crowd has begun to form, Dream notes, though it is distant and unimportant information, useful only as much as these people may now see that Hob has chosen him, that Hob favours him. He is too focused on the task at hand to feel anything but the faintest hint of possessiveness – why should he, when he already has what he desires? – and he sets to it with relish, pumping his tongue in leisurely strokes, deep enough that Hob will feel him later, like a sweet bruise. Above him, Hob swears a blue streak, his neglected cock pulsing, prompting a sharp outcry of pleasure every time that Dream bumps the base of it with his nose. Eat me out, the sign had said, and Dream intends to follow it to the letter – there will be time enough, he hopes, to worship every other part of Hob later.

"Dream," Hob says, "Dream, I'm, I'm close, I'm–"

Dream does not wish to be warned. He wishes to be covered in the smell of Hob, drenched in him, and so he presses his tongue sharply up at the same time as he moves his hand to stroke Hob's prick with his thumb, humming in satisfaction as above him Hob shouts, thighs clamping hard around Dream's ears, a gush of fluid oozing around Dream's tongue as he works Hob through first one panting, keening peak, and then a second one just after, smaller, Hob squeezing rhythmically with his thighs, his cries of completion turning to whimpers and then to silence, just the sound of his breathing, like thunder, and murmured noises of appreciation from the gathered crowd. Dream slowly pulls back, and looks with satisfaction as Hob's gaping cunt, at the trickle of spit and come that drips from him, smoothing the curls there flat and sleek.

"Oh," Hob says. His voice is shaky, but inexpressibly fond as he reaches forward and cups Dream's cheeks with his palms. "Oh, I've made a complete mess of you."

He does not need a mirror to know that Hob's words are true. Dream can feel the warm air of the club brushing cold against the wetness on his cheeks, his chin, where it drips in thin lines down his neck. Hob smiles at him, his thumb stroking Dream's bottom lip.

"I think I might have one more in me for tonight, if you're interested," he says, and then with his foot he stretches out and tips over the little sign he had set up beside his chair. "But maybe somewhere where it's...just us? If there's no objections?"

His voice is hesitant. Searching. Dream gazes up at him, dazed, as he had known he would be, with how much he wants, and not only with how much he wants Hob's body, but his laughter as well, and his joy, and his time and his company. No, there are no objections.

"It would be my pleasure," he says, and Hob, still smiling, leans down and kisses the damp tip of his nose, and then the corner of his mouth, and then Hob's lips cover his own, gentle, and around them the club continues on in its revels but, for the moment, it is only them, and it is perfect.

#dreamling #dream/hob #dream of the endless/hob gadling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my fic #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #trans hob gadling

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