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esutonia · 4 months

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a short tutorial on writing majima-speak

So ya wanna learn how to write Majima-speak, eh? Well, I gotta say, you’ve come to the right place. Or maybe the only place? Dunno how many tutorials’re out there fer this shit. Anyway, sit yer ass down and I’ll give ya the scoop on how to write yer favorite fun guy from Kansai.

DISCLAIMER: I am NOT a fluent Japanese speaker. These are all the opinions/observations of an American whose only exposure to the Japanese culture and language has been through anime and video games. I have done my best to research all of these observations before just shoving them into this document, but I probably will make mistakes. Any actual Japanese speakers, please correct me. This isn’t supposed to be an educational guide on the nuances of Kansai-ben. This is only a general tutorial on how to portray the Kansai dialect in English writing.

What is Kansai-ben?

Kansai-ben (or Kansai dialect) is a Japanese dialect primarily spoken in the Kansai region of Japan. Pretty straightforward. Our good friend Majima Goro speaks a version of Kansai-ben that I lovingly refer to as Majima-speak. This is because he doesn’t speak true Kansai dialect—it’s a wobbly mix of Kansai and Tokyo (“standard”) that incorporates elements of both. Ugaki Hidenari, Majima’s voice actor, is from Tokyo himself, and doesn’t speak Kansai-ben natively. However, Majima has a lot of quirky Kansai-isms in his speech that make him stand out from other characters.

Therefore, the focus on writing Majima’s dialogue doesn’t have to be accuracy. We aren’t shooting for a 1:1 translation of Kansai to English, because: 1) that doesn’t exist, and 2) he doesn’t speak perfect Kansai anyway. The point is, we’ve got flexibility.

What makes Majima-speak different from regular Japanese?

There are a lot of cultural and historical nuances that I won’t get into, but in modern Japan, the Kansai dialect is perceived as more comedic or casual than standard Japanese. This is reflected in Sega’s localization of Majima’s voice lines: his are rougher, more crass, and generally funnier than other characters’ lines. If you end up taking nothing else from this guide, at least think rough, crass, and funny when writing Majima. It’s a good place to start.

So how do I write Majima-speak?

There are three tips that I keep in mind while I’m writing dialogue for Majima:

Make sure his lines show more emotion than other characters’ lines.

Use shortcuts wherever possible.

Don’t be afraid to get silly with it.

Let’s elaborate on these tips, shall we?

Make sure Majima’s lines show more emotion than other characters’ lines.

I’d like to use Kiryu as an example here, because he’s by far one of the stiffest-speaking characters in the series. For lack of a better term, Kiryu’s lines are prosaic—they sound more like they were written in a book than spoken by a person. Here’s an excerpt from Kiryu and Majima’s first scene together in Yakuza 2, edited for brevity. Pretend you don’t know what this scene looks like and focus on just the text.

Kiryu: It’s Kiryu. Anybody home? I know you’re here…Show yourself. Majima: It’s been too long…Kiryu-chan! You got any idea how lonely I’ve been since ya got outta the game last year? Oh, but I knew my Kiryu-chan would come home sooner or later! Kiryu: It’s been awhile, Majima-no-niisan. Majima: So, what brings ya here? Kiryu: The Tojo Clan…needs you. Majima: For fuck’s sake…What’s this BS now?! You’re a shitty comedian, Kiryu-chan. Kiryu: I’m serious. The Tojo Clan has never needed you more than now. Please. Majima: No fuckin’ way. Kiryu: Please. Majima: You’re killin’ me, Kiryu-chan! I can’t stand seein’ ya like this! Kiryu: Please, Majima-no-niisan…the Tojo Clan is as good as dead without the Majima Family. Please!

Notice how Majima’s lines are much longer than Kiryu’s and noticeably sound like an actual person said them because they’re more casual. Kiryu basically repeats “please” three times, but each time Majima’s response is different. You’re able to tell that Majima’s incredulous, then annoyed, then upset at Kiryu’s request by the way he adds extra dialogue every time he says “no.” By contrast, you’re not really able to tell how desperate Kiryu is until he starts begging. The main disadvantage with writing is that you’re not able to convey images as clearly through text, so it requires more work to make a character’s emotions show through their dialogue. Majima’s lines are all about emotion, whether it’s real or exaggerated, so make sure the reader is able to tell how he’s feeling without seeing his face.

Use shortcuts whenever possible.

While conveying a character’s emotions through their speech often requires writing longer lines, this does not mean you should waste space or over-explain. The way you can balance this need for emotion with the need for casual dialogue is by using slang and condensing phrases.

English-speakers do this all the time in common conversation. We use contractions (I am = I’m), smash together words (What are you doing? = What’cha doin’?”), and add slang/idioms (“The hour grows late; I shall soon retire” = “It’s getting late, I’m gonna hit the hay”). The key to writing Majima-speak is to use every shortcut possible and then some.

If it’s hard to come up with dialogue on the spot, try thinking about how a guy like Kiryu would say a particular line. Let’s use the example of: “You always were the one guy I couldn’t read.” Then, think about what shortcuts you could potentially make to this sentence. It’s not much, but this sentence could be cut down to: “Y’always were the one guy I couldn’t read.” Doesn’t that already sound more like Majima said it?

Then, add some more emotion to this sentence: “Y’always were the one fucker I could never getta read on.” It sounds affectionate or aggressive, depending on how you spin it. And there you go! We just Majima-modified (Majimodified?) a Kiryu line. With the power of slang and shortcuts, you too can turn regular dialogue into Majima classics.

Don’t be afraid to get silly with it.

Majima’s a silly guy, so of course he’s gonna have his silly moments. The RGG localization team knows this and takes creative liberties to give Majima’s dialogue more life. My favorite example of silliness in translating Majima’s lines to English is this specific line from Yakuza 2:

Majima says: “Doya, Kiryu-chan? Kakko ee yaro?” Which literally translates to something like: “How’s that, Kiryu-chan? I look cool, right?” This line is dripping with Kansai-ben.

But the localization team chose to translate it as “Whaddya think, Kiryu-chan? Ain’t I red-hot?” Which I love. It conveys so much more about Majima’s character in the same amount of words and even adds some more context from the scene itself. They make a pun on “red-hot,” and while “cool” would’ve worked too, this would have made less sense. The point is, don’t be afraid to get wild with it. If it sounds cooler, is probably is.

Finally, here’s a few miscellaneous quirks of Majima-speak and pointers that can help you get that much closer to imitating Majima’s style of speech.

Majima rarely uses “you” pronouns, instead preferring to use nicknames and titles like Kiryu-chan, nee-chan, oyaji, etc. This can be substituted for girlie, kiddo, buddy, idiot, etc.

Don’t replace all the “you”s and “your"s in a sentence with “ya”s and “yer”s. It gets difficult to read if you abuse them.

Majima loves to swear. But again, don’t use them too liberally or you’ll sound like a 12-year-old who just learned what “fuck” means.

Goromi’s speech is a bit more cutesy than Goro’s, but she flips between masculine and feminine pronouns. For the purposes of writing Goromi that’s not terribly important, but keep in mind that she’ll frequently switch between masculine and feminine speaking patterns.

Don’t try to imitate Southern American English (if you aren't familiar with that dialect). I also wouldn't try it in general, but if it helps, it helps.

Edited to add: it's ultimately up to you to decide when/if Majima drops his accent. Personally I reserve it for when he's so emotionally vulnerable he can't keep it up, or when he's being so serious about something he just won't use it.

As a bonus, here is a brief glossary of Kansai-isms that I’ve noticed Majima using, with some examples of their use in context and some suggested translations. Most of these examples are pulled from Yakuza Kiwami 1 and 2, since that’s when he has the most speaking lines and has fully settled into his Mad Dog persona.

Ahō (idiot) = dumbass, bonehead

“Nishida, ya dumbass!”

Beppin (pretty) = stunner, knockout

“Well ain’t ya a rare dish?”

Honma (really) = damn, for real

“For real?! Who are you and what have you done with Kiryu-chan?”

-han (-san)

“Well, now it’s your turn, Legendary Info Dealer-han.”

Akan (not good/must) = gotta be, better not

“That’s why he’s gotta be strong.”

Uchi* (I) = ol’ Goromi, li’l ol’ me

“Just don’t fall too hard for me, okay?”

Ee (good/cool) = badass

“Ain’t I red-hot?”

Ikude (let’s go) = let’s do this shit

“Let’s do this, Kiryu-chan!”

Suman (sorry) = my bad

“This is my bad, Kiryu-chan.”

Anta (you, polite) = ya

“Y’know, up close…you’re pretty damn hot.”

Haw (not really a Kansai-ism but he does like it a lot)

“Haw?”

Nanyatte (what) = what the fuck

“Say what?”

Chau (wrong) = bullshit

“That ain’t what I’m saying.”

Dondon (also not Kansai-ben but he likes this one too. Basically “loud noise”) = clobber, beat the shit outta ya, crack some skulls

“It’s way better if ya fight it out.”

*Uchi is a stereotypical feminine pronoun used in Kansai-ben. Only Goromi uses this one. She also tends to waffle between watashi/ore pronouns.

#yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #rgg #goro majima #majima goro

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dewitty1 · 1 year

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Fic Recs Wrap Up - January 2023 (ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Home Truths by fantalf, skeptique Art by @fantalfart , written by @skeptiquewrites

In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix. On professional Quidditch, magical houses, hard choices, Life Debts, and inconvenient truths. Rec Post

The Laws of Gravity by lettersbyelise @lettersbyelise

When he runs into Draco Malfoy picking pockets at a charity gala, Harry Potter is forced to face the desires he’s avoided for years — at the risk of shattering the public image he’s so carefully curated since the war. Rec Post

To Vanish Into Something Better by Mosrael @mosrael

Harry Potter thought he could outrun the burden of infamy by isolating himself in the Muggle world. Draco Malfoy hasn’t been seen or heard from since his trial. Will a top-secret Ministry project, a beautiful garden, and a little heat carry them both home? Rec Post

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness. Rec Post

Buds, Blooms, and Beards by corvuscrowned @corvuscrowned

Harry and Ginny have built an easy, happy life for themselves after the war. They run a thriving plant shop together, they have a great relationship, and they’re definitely not gay.

But when they slowly begin realize that isn’t the case, Harry realizes that navigating his newly-discovered sexuality isn’t easy - and he needs to get experience.

Luckily, Draco Malfoy is more than happy to help. Rec Post

The Re-education of Draco Malfoy by Veritas03

In the aftermath of the war, it has been noted that many of the young witches and wizards who attended school during the second rise of Voldemort have received sub-standard educations. As a result, Hogwarts opens an adult education program in the summer to bring these students up to par in the workforce. Draco Malfoy, desperate to pass the NEWT for DADA, is among them. But his hopes are dashed when, on the first day of class, Draco discovers – to his horror – the new DADA professor has never even taught before – and is a student himself, still trying to pass Potions. And anyway – just how is Draco supposed to stay focused in class when Professor Potter is so totally hot? Rec Post

The Compact byt astolat @astolat

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.” “That is not the real question!” Ron said loudly; he’d woken up fully by now, and Harry had too; it was starting to sink in that they’d found the problem. “The real question is, how do we fix it?” Rec Post

Wild by orphan_account (formerly known as Seefin)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.”

“I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.” Rec Post

Way Down We Go by xiaq @xiaq

The war was over.

Or at least that’s what the papers said.

They’d been saying it, for months, as if people needed reminding.

Maybe they did.

***

In which Harry and Draco both run away from their pasts and conveniently choose to hide in the same tiny American town.

It's super. Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

Staring Into Open Flame by kairennart (Personaje), lumosatnight Fic by @lumosatnight Art by @kairennart

“Gads, Potter. Get your grubby hands off me.” “Tell me. Where were you Thursday night?” Harry slammed Malfoy into the bathroom wall, his wand aimed at Malfoy’s throat. “Really now, darling. If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask,” Malfoy rasped. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Malfoy. Where were you?” Malfoy’s thin lips curled into a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Or, Harry tries to catch an arsonist, and Malfoy smells like smoke.

A Perfect Fit by nothing_left_sacred

Harry has had to live his life with the curse of being overly well-endowed.

Draco has had to live his life with the curse of being hard to please.

--- A Cinderella story, of sorts.

I Won't Let You Fall Apart by xanthippe74 @xanthippe74

Harry has spent the year after the war staying out of the public eye, dodging political battles, and standing firm against pressure from his friends. But he has a secret plan to get away from it all. He just needs to testify at one more Death Eater trial: Draco Malfoy’s.

Little does Harry know what his act of compassion will cost him—and Malfoy.

A Case of You by epitomereally @epitomereally

Draco was doing just fine working as an Unspeakable in Paris, hanging out with his living and ghostly pals, inventing new spells, and definitely not thinking about Potter. Then, Lucius just had to break out of prison and turn his world upside down.

Now, Draco has to return to England, where he is forced to confront how family ties bind us—and one infuriatingly fit Harry Potter.

Kept in Cages by ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm, sweet_s0rr0w, Author @sweet-s0rr0w, Artist @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all.

Meanwhile, on Level One, ex-Golden Boy Harry Potter is stuck in another interminable policy meeting, completely unaware of the mysterious comings and goings just three floors below. But when a giant snake emergency requires the assistance of a Parselmouth, Harry finds himself thrust, unprepared, into Draco’s weird and wonderful world – and naturally, he can’t keep away…

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all! xoxo Carey (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

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liesmyth · 1 year

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do you have any book recommendations? anything like the locked tomb or just fantasy/science fiction in general? :)

Hi anon I LOVE GIVING BOOK RECS!

Unfortunately I haven’t found anything quite like TLT, but when you break it into main themes some other series come close. So, if you liked The Locked Tomb for…

Morally ambiguous lesbians and oppressive empires? Try The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson. I love Baru as a character and I love and what the book does with themes of cultural assimilation and how the road to a righteous goal is paved with moral compromises until you’re not sure you’re still on the right path. Content warning for institutional homophobia, which affects the plot and the main character. It’s never gratuitous, but it’s pretty much the opposite of TLT under that point of view so heads up.

Unique worldbuilding, queer characters, distinctive sense of place in a land that was once Earth? Try The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin. This isn’t to everybody’s tastes (usually people love it or hate it) but it does some VERY cool things with scifi and deservedly won a Hugo.

Intricate worldbuilding, necromancy, gothic vibes? Try The Bone Orchard by Sara Mueller. This definitely hits the same “confused and confusing female main character who doesn’t know her own mind” vibes as HtN, which can be good or bad depending on your tastes, but the necromancy bits are fantastic.

Oppressive planetary empires and queer characters? Try A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine. This too is about cultural assimilation and has a main murder mystery plot. Space opera about a young diplomat in a precarious position who is sort of sharing her mind space with someone else. Bonus: fun scifi worldbuilding based on some lesser-known historical empires.

Other SFF I read or reread in 2022

City of Stairs by Robert Jackson Bennett for worldbuilding, shady empires, female MC, urban fantasy vibes with a strong sense of place and a murder mystery thrown in for flavour.

Deeplight by Frances Hardinge. YA fantasy with horror vibes that I very much enjoyed as an adult not usually keen on YA. There are scary eldritch gods, toxic relationships with a hopeful ending, excellent fantasy worldbuilding, a really solid sense of civilization (especially the Deaf culture of the divers that is really interwoven in the setting). Sea monsters! Secrets! Street urchins! This is one of my all-time favourites.

The Scholomance series by Naomi Novik, starting with A Deadly Education; the third book came out two weeks after Nona and it gave me emotional whiplash, because (spoiler!) the angry goth girl gets to be happy in this one! YA, very vivid very fun worldbuilding, spunky teenage heroine with a cynical disposition and death powers.

Obligatory rec for Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell just because it’s one of those books that make me feel like I’m a richer person for having read them. It’s an impressive alternate history fantasy, the writing is masterful, the fae villain is unsettling and inhumanly evil, the mundane villains (pettiness, spite, centuries-old institutions) provide excellent dramatic irony. Everyone is insufferable in a petty way that’s also endlessly entertaining, and the two titular characters are absolutely obsessed with each other. The prose is a pastiche and tremendously well written. My only nitpick is that there are way too many men. I get why, given the setting the premise and the characters, and I loved the book, but since this rec originated with an ask about TLT I feel like I have to clarify that the gender ratio is pretty much the polar opposite.

My Heart Is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones if you like spunky teenage girl protagonists, poetically described gore, critique of colonialism and indigenous displacement. This is a horror thriller not a sff, sent in the contemporary US, and it’s basically a love letter to the horror movie genre + Native American folk legends. Reccing it anyway because YMMV but to to me it really hit some of the spots that HtN does. (Content warning for off-screen CSA)

The Gone World by Tom Sweterlitsch. Speculative fiction thriller, lots of jumping between alternate timelines and wondering what exactly is going on. It’s not flawless but it’s unabashedly weird in a very fun, very unique way that I really appreciated.

Under the Pendulum Sun by Jeannette Ng. Unique worldbuilding, distinct narrative voices, gothic vibes, weird religious imagery. Fantasy historical fiction about cruel inhuman fae, the worldbuilding is brilliant and very vivid (and what an aesthetic it is!), the story is fucked up in a delicious way, and the prose is a delightful Brontë pastiche. Content warnings for consensual sibling incest and Christian missionaries on a mission of “civilization” through faith (it’s not portrayed in a positive way but the colonialism is definitely there).

[I only flagged content warnings that aren't canon-typical for TLT, but definitely more apply. If you need clarification on a specific book HMU]

#reading recs #reading list #the traitor baru cormorant #teixcalaan #the broken earth #the scholomance #ask #anonymous #@anon if you've read any of these and have Opinions whether good or bad lmk #so i can narrow it down to tailor made recs AND have an excuse to do more BookTalk #baru cormorant

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thee-horny-thicky · 1 year

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For my first request, can you write a oneshot featuring Gojo and a woman reader in an Aladdin AU with gags and consensual servitude please? The reader is a princess and has a busy day of meetings but her lover Gojo wants to spend time with her during her meetings. She agrees but has him shackled, heavily cloth gagged and wearing a see through loincloth. You can decide on the intimate acts between them. What do you think?

Combining JJK and Aladdin never even crossed my mind prior to this request, but it intrigued me so much that I decided to give it a shot! It turned out to be more plot-heavy than I originally intended, and I did deviate a little from what was requested. I tried to add some historical accuracies based on when and where Aladdin is primarily based.

I decided to make her a Sultana as opposed to a princess, since she'd wield more power that way!

Due to the nature of the plot, I obviously had to take some creative liberties. Being the product of the American education system means that I probably got some key details very wrong, which I apologize for.

Anyway, enjoy!

Word Count: 5.5k

Your father was fascinated with foreigners. It was why half of his advisors were originally from far-flung nations that were allies of the Sultanate. It was why after your sister ran off with a street rat, he named the foreign girl he’d adopted his heir. And it was the entire reason you met Gojo Satoru, a foreign noble staying at your court.

The two of you quickly hit it off, and it wasn’t long before he was in your bed. Back when you still had the luxury of being a socialite who spent much of her time partying, the two of you didn’t bother hiding your affections for one another.

Now, The Sultan was dying, and as his heir, you could no longer be so blasé with how you were perceived. A poor reputation could mean disaster for a ruler. You would already be under more scrutiny due to being a foreign woman, so you had to be on your best behavior.

It was a change that you were struggling to adjust to, but you were adjusting. Unlike Gojo, who seemed to still think of you as the wanton party girl he’d met all those months ago.

That was the only explanation as to why he was pawing at you in the middle of funeral preparations with your advisors. Your father’s condition was worsening, and it wouldn’t be long before he left this world. You’d allowed Gojo to be present for emotional support, and apparently, the only way he could provide that was with his body.

“Stop it,” you hissed as Gojo’s hand trailed up your leg, covered by large, tulip-shaped trousers, the same shade of blue as your lover’s eyes. The court’s sense of modesty dictated that you cover as much skin as possible, but you expressed your personal style through bright colors and elaborate jewelry. “Now isn’t the time.”

You wished you could flaunt him as you once did, but you had new rules to abide by.

Gojo, who wore the traditional robes of his country, pouted at you. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Behaving would be a big help,” you snapped, forcing a smile on your face when Advisor Gakuganji snapped his head toward you.

He was one of your father’s eldest advisors, entering his service soon after the passing of your grandfather. He’d completely rejected his roots, fully embracing his adopted culture. To an extreme degree, in your option. He was hellbent on preserving traditions his ancestors didn’t help forge, and despite the conservative nature of the Sultanate, he still believed it too liberal. As one would imagine, he had little tolerance for you, disdaining you for being so…loose.

“Is all well, Sultana?” Advisor Yaga questioned with a cocked brow.

Sultana. No longer would you be a mere princess, but the monarch of Agrabah. Resentment flared in you at the fact, as you were never meant to hold the title of Sultana. No, it was supposed to be Jasmine, but she chose love over duty. She’d been the one prepped for the role, not you. As a result, you were unprepared for such a monumental task, even as your advisors were doing everything in their power to remedy that.

“Of course,” you said, straightening up and shoving Gojo’s hand away. “I’m merely trying to consider what my father would most want for his funeral.”

Gakuganji glared at Gojo. “I doubt he’d want his daughter with a foreign rogue.”

The two couldn’t stand one another, their vastly different personalities resulting in endless clashing.

Gojo opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand, silencing him. “My father is fully aware of my relationship with Gojo, and frankly, I’m offended you think I’d dishonor him by going behind his back.”

You suspected your father took such a liberal approach with you due to how things turned out with Jasmine. If he’d been a little less strict, perhaps she wouldn’t have run away.

“You dishonor him regardless, going with a man who flaunts his bastard around.”

Fucking hypocrite. He often helped your father select new women for his harem and wouldn’t bat an eye when they’d be seated around The Sultan during private meetings. Yet, the presence of your lover sent him into a tizzy.

At the disrespect of his adopted son, Gojo could no longer hold his tongue. “Megumi isn’t a bastard, old man, and if you call him that again I’l-”

“You’ll do nothing, because you can’t do anything to me,” Gakuganji boasted with a smug smirk, aware of the power he wielded at court.

“But I can, and I will,” you barked, aiming a glare his way. “You’re out of line, provoking a guest of the court by insulting his character and his son, who’s a fine young man. And if you’ve forgotten, I can order your tongue be removed from your mouth for questioning your ruler’s decision.”

“You have yet to be coronated, girl.”

Your mouth twisted into a sneer at the belittling name. “You forget your place, Gakuganji, and overestimate your importance. Just because my father tolerated your foolishness, doesn’t mean I will. And as a royal, I can have your tongue cut out regardless.”

A throat being cleared ended the back and forth, making all heads snap to the source of the sound.

“This is a difficult time for everyone, but we mustn’t lose our heads,” Yaga said before the old man could reply to you, saving you from talking to the wrinkled sack further. “Please, let’s take a moment to cool down.”

“You are correct, Advisor,” you agreed, giving him the privilege of addressing him by his title rather than name. If Gakuganji wanted the same honor, he’d have to advise you, not belittle you. “Today’s session will be adjourned.”

“Bu-” Gakuganji began, snapping his mouth shut when you glared at him.

“Of course, Sultana,” Yaga said, raising from his seat and forcing the other man to do the same.

Within a matter of minutes, the room was cleared out, leaving you and Gojo alone.

“Sorry,” Gojo murmured sheepishly.

You sighed. “Gakuganji would’ve found something to be upset about rather you were here or not.” You rose from your seat, positioned at the head of the table, too worked out to keep still. “He doesn’t want to see me become the monarch. It was bad enough when Jasmine was set to ascend, but at least she was related to The Sultan by blood.”

You ground your teeth together as your eyes began to water. The past several weeks had been so difficult, but as heir, you were expected to take it all in stride.

Gojo rose also, walking to you and placing his large hands on your shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I know for a fact you’ll make a fine ruler. Your father agreed, or else he wouldn’t have selected you.”

You scoffed at his words, but some of the tension did leave your body. “My father had no other options.”

“Your father is The Sultan. He could’ve selected anyone he pleased, yet he chose you.”

“I believe most would’ve preferred if he did.”

Gojo huffed and flicked your forehead, a gesture you would’ve had to punish him for if others were present. “If that ancient curmudgeon is making you doubt yourself so much, I’ll behead him myself.” He brought a hand to your cheek and gently stroked you. You leaned into his touch, snickering at his words. “I’ll even use my dullest knife, to make sure it hurts.”

“No, you’d need to be as quick as possible,” you said, momentarily considering the idea. A dead Gakuganji would solve a lot of your problems, and you could replace him with whomever you saw fit. “If anyone saw you it could be you who loses his head.”

“No, you’ll protect me.”

Your heart fluttered at his faith in you, and you nodded. “I would, yes.”

He offered you a small smile, then leaned down and brushed his lips over yours. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured against your lips. “Let me serve you.”

You gave a nod of confirmation, and he dropped to his knees, sliding your bottoms down to reveal your pussy. Your hands flew to snow-white strands as he buried his face in between your thighs. Instantly, he attached himself to your clit, drawing a whine from you when he sucked on your feminine bud.

“You're doing such a good job,” you praised, whimpering when he lightly nibbled on your clit.

He guided a leg over his shoulder for better access, making it easier for him to slurp up your juices, his hands going to your waist. To stabilize yourself, your grip on his hair tightened, your standing leg quickly becoming useless as he continued to lick you.

A loud cry echoed around the chamber when he wiggled his tongue inside of you, thrusting the pink muscle in and out of your heat. The noises that filled the room were obscene, and if anyone were to catch you, you’d be disgraced. But the risk only aroused you further.

If the two of you were caught, perhaps it’d force your council of advisors to allow you to enter an official relationship with Gojo. You knew it was unlikely, but a girl could dream.

“Don’t stop,” you moaned as the coil in your core began to unravel.

All it took was another gentle bite to come undone, your eyes rolling back into your head as your juices flooded his mouth. Your hands yanked at his soft white locks as your whole body shook, Gojo’s hands tightening to keep you from falling.

When you began to still, Gojo licked a stripe along your core and pressed kisses to your thighs, before helping to make you decent again and raising. Swiping a hand over his glistening mouth, he pecked your lips. He knew you weren’t a fan of tasting your own juices, so he kept it chaste.

“Feel better?” he asked as he pulled you into an embrace.

“For the time being, yes.”

He thumbed at your bottom lip. “When you feel stressed again, don’t hesitate to seek me out. I’m at your service, Sultana.”

The way he purred out your title made heat rush through you.

“Are you pledging your allegiance to me, Gojo Satoru?” you questioned, brushing your nose against his skin.

“You’ve had it from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he swore, sucking in a breath when you nipped at his neck.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Gojo.”

👑

True to his word, Gojo didn’t hesitate to please you at a moment’s notice. Often, you kept your trysts limited to your personal chambers, knowing you still had a reputation to uphold.

But, as your father’s condition began to steadily improve, you became a little more carefree. Yes, you were still reigning suo jure, but discussions began to arise about your father taking back control. Though you’d still be the heir, for the time being, you’d be demoted back to the title of princess.

Then, the season of pestilence rolled around, and his condition regressed. Against all odds, he managed to survive, but any hope of him retaking his throne was dashed. Thus, the funeral preparations resumed.

Going back to prepping for your father’s death threw you into a constant state of depression and stress, one you could only distract yourself with through pleasure that only Gojo could provide.

Because of that, you gave him permission to take you whenever and however he pleased, if no others were in the immediate vicinity.

That’s why he was trying to remove your clothes minutes before a meeting was supposed to start, silencing your protests with promises of being quick.

“We need to stop,” you panted, a moan escaping when he licked your neck’s pulse point. “They’ll be here any minute.”

You knew that sex before marriage was a sin, and if the two of you were caught sneaking around, you’d be in a world of trouble. Yet, you’d never subscribed to the religion followed by your father’s empire, instead choosing to place your faith in the magic you had tangible evidence of. You wish your advisors felt the same. If they did, you wouldn’t have to stress about hiding your affection for the man before you.

“We have time,” he murmured against your skin.

No, the two of you really didn’t have time. You should’ve pushed him off you, but the way he was massaging you over your clothes felt so good.

Of course, the opening of a door forced your hand, and you pushed him away with strength that you didn’t know you possessed.

Standing in the doorway was a very bewildered-looking Yaga, a blush creeping onto his face as he pieced together what was going on. “Sultana,” he greeted with a bow of the head, avoiding your gaze.

“Advisor,” you muttered, feeling like a child who was caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. You turned to face the culprit, the white-haired menace that got you into this embarrassing situation. His porcelain skin is flushed, but his expression wasn’t one of shame. “Gojo, you’re dismissed. Return to your rooms and I’ll consult you after the meeting.”

Amusement glinted in his sapphire eyes. “You’re giving me time out?”

“Be lucky I’m not having you bound and gagged,” you hissed, irritation surging through you.

Your lover or not, in front of others, your word was supposed to be law. For him to not make fun of an order given wasn’t tolerable.

“I’m not opposed to that,” he said, then sighed. “But I’ll take my leave, Sultana.”

With that, he sauntered out of the room, sparing Yaga a nod.

“Sultana…be lucky that it was I that caught you and not one of the others.”

A fact you were thankful for. Gakuganji would’ve had more fuel for his campaign to strip your throne away.

“I am grateful, Advisor, truly. Gojo and I…”

“Were just caught in the moment. I understand, I was young before, trust me,” he finished for you, shaking his head with a chuckle.

You couldn’t help but laugh with him, the idea of him being youthful amusing. For as long as he’s been at court, his appearance had been that of a man in the middle of his life.

“I trust you won’t tell the others?”

Your voice sounded nervous, even to your own ears, and you cringed. Strength was necessary as a monarch, and especially as an unmarried woman who hadn’t even been crowned in front of the public.

“I will not, Sultana,” he confirmed, making you breathe a sigh of relief. “But when you ‘consult’ with Gojo, ensure that you talk to him about today. As unfair as it is, you cannot be as brazen as your father was with his lovers.”

And that filled you with ire. Even as Sultana, you weren’t exempt from double standards. No, you were expected to uphold them, expected to be a pillar of the morals you were raised on.

“I understand, Advisor.”

“And as it’s my job to guide you, I recommend giving Gojo a harsher punishment next time he challenges your orders.”

“I will talk to him. If this happens again, I won’t be so lenient,” you promised, praying Gojo would heed your warning, so you didn’t have to do anything drastic.

👑

For the first few weeks, Gojo listened to you and cut back on his rampant displays of affection. You had increasingly less time to spare socializing, resulting in you seeing your entourage sparsely. This, unfortunately, included your lover. If you didn’t arrange to have him snuck into your sleeping quarters, you barely saw him outside of the meetings.

As death fought to obtain The Sultan, no longer did your duties end when your assemblies did. Instead, you’d be swept away to oversee your father’s medicinal treatments, something you insisted upon when you discovered the out-of-date methods his previous doctors had been using.

Gojo, surprisingly, took it all in stride. At least, he had been, before the advisors began speaking of marrying you to an allying prince. Even though you rejected such talks, the words had stuck in Gojo’s mind all the same.

“Gojo, you may take your leave,” you ground out as his hand crept a little too far up your thigh, his body leaning a tad too close to yours.

“Bu-”

“Leave,” you practically snarled, not needing him to challenge your authority on top of disobeying an order you’d given him weeks ago.

A grin spread across Gojo’s face, a mischievous glint entering his eyes, one that put you on edge. “Yes, Sultana.”

Without further protest, he stood from his seat. But, instead of walking directly to the door, he leaned down and placed a kiss on your cheek, ensuring that it’d be seen and heard by all in the room. Your body froze as an audible gasp echoed throughout the room, and you knew he couldn’t get away with this.

“Guards,” you yelled before Gojo could step away from you. Instantly, The Royal Guards swarmed him, flanking either of his sides and taking hold of his arms. “Have him bound and gagged until I have time to deal with him.”

“Yes, Sultana,” they echoed, before doing as you told.

Gojo looked at you with wide eyes, clearly not having expected such a reaction. You weren’t sure of the rules set in his native court, but in Agrabah, such blasé behavior wasn’t allowed. And going against a royal order was a guaranteed way to get punished. He should count himself lucky that he wasn’t being cut down from where he stood, having the offending body part removed from him.

No, you cared too much for him to do something so drastic, but he still needed to face repercussions.

He tried to speak through his gag, but it was too tight for any legible sentences to be formed. With a withering glare from you, he went silent.

“That’s all your doing to him?” Gakuganji questioned in disgust. “He should be beaten for dishonoring you.”

“An eye for an eye, Gakuganji. He humiliated me; therefore, he’ll get the same treatment.”

“Hmmmthm mmm?” Gojo muttered, his tone sounding outraged despite his words not being understandable.

Still, you knew him well enough to know that he took offense to your sentence.

“Tied up in a meeting where he holds no power, how humiliating,” the old man sneered.

You offered him a sickly-sweet smile. “Would you like to join him? Then you could give me a proper opinion on how shameful the punishment is.”

You intended to have the guards parade Gojo around the court while in his current state, but you weren’t going to do anything to please that cranky traditionalist.

Gakuganji clenched his jaw but shook his head. “No, Sultana, I would not.”

“Then stop questioning me, because I will not be so lenient with you if you don’t heed this warning.” You turned to face the burly men standing over Gojo, deciding their presence was no longer needed. “Guards, see to it that Gojo is brought back to his room, then return to your stations. Do not untie him.”

“Yes Sultana,” they echoed before quickly dragging a mumbling Gojo out of the room.

“You, come here,” you called to one of the guards lagging behind, an idea popping into your head.

If Gojo liked the idea of being bound and gagged so much, why not take it up a notch?

“Yes, Sultana?” he questioned, his shaky voice giving away his nerves.

He was younger and scrawnier than most of the other guards, leading you to believe he hadn’t been in the Royal Guard for very long.

You beckoned him to step closer, and with a tense posture, he did so. “See to it that Gojo is wearing nothing but a loincloth by the time my meeting ends. Do it, and I’ll reward you handsomely. Speak of this to anyone, and I’ll have you executed for slandering your monarch. Understood?”

He gulped and quickly nodded. “Yes, Sultana. I’ll see to it that Sir Gojo is in your desired state.”

“Excellent! You’re dismissed now,” you said with a wave of your hand, rolling your eyes when he nearly tripped over himself to get away.

Regardless of what he did, you wouldn’t have him executed. But if he disobeyed your orders, you would see to it that he’d never guard an important person ever again. However, it was nice to know how easily you could inspire fear, as that was a necessary component of being a ruler. Especially being the Sultana. As a woman, you needed to appear more ruthless than the men around you, because otherwise, they’d undermine your authority.

Once the last of The Royal Guards had cleared out, you faced your advisors again, allowing your forced smile to remain in place. “Now, where were we?”

👑

“What the hell were you thinking?” you snarled as you stormed into Gojo’s room. As requested, he lay in the middle of the mattress, clad in only a see-through loincloth. The sheer material did make you raise a brow, but you weren’t complaining. Storming to him, you yank his gag down, cringing when you felt that it was dampened by his spit. “Speak!”

“You know, as fun as this is, I think it may be a little of an overreaction,” Gojo quipped.

Based on his half-hard cock and dilating pupils, you knew he was enjoying this, because he was just twisted like that.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, I asked what you were thinking when you embarrassed me! You were so out of line!”

You were fuming, unable to even admire your lover’s lean body, perfectly toned from the years he spent training in various forms of fighting. You knew from his boasting that he was above reproach in his homeland, but here, that wasn’t the case. He’d made the decision to travel to Agrabah, so he had to follow the rules set.

“I was thinking how nice it would be to kiss you on the cheek, and how I couldn’t wait to conjoin with you later,” he purred out, his length now fully erect. “You know, seeing you be commanding really does something to me.”

“And I enjoy you being obedient, but it’s nearly impossible to obtain from you. Gakuganji is already calling for your blood to be spilled, and if you continue to act out, I’d be forced to listen to him.”

“Over a kiss?”

“Women of my status are supposed to be chaste. It’s bad enough that I have you by my side without us being married, but public displays of affection are asking for trouble.”

It was funny, really. You wielded a level of power many men dreamed of, yet you’d never felt so restricted. Every day, you understood more and more why Jasmine chose to run.

“You’re sovereign,” he said as if you weren’t aware of your title. “You should be able to do whatever you please.”

“I should but I can’t. If talks of my marrying are what set you off, you should know I don’t plan to do so soon.”

Truth be told, you couldn’t envision yourself with anyone but him, and he was a safe option. He was a foreigner from a faraway land, meaning he’d have little claim to your throne. Yet, your choice would need to be approved by your council, and the way he conducted himself would make the mere suggestion bring about a sea of issues.

Mainly, because of Gakuganji and his supporters. The man was supposed to advise you, but he’d done nothing but make your life difficult.

“But you do plan to eventually marry?” he asked bitterly.

“I plan to do what’s best for the Sultanate, and if that’s marrying, then I will.”

You knew your answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but you weren’t a liar. And, chances are, you’d remain unwed like the many female monarchs that came before you, as adding a powerful man to the equation would only make your claim to the throne shakier.

“Do not give me that look,” you snapped, hating the jealous pain in his big blue eyes. “I’ve never deceived you before, and I won’t start now.”

He huffed out a breath, then nodded. “Understood. Now, can you please tell me why I’m in a loincloth?”

You knew this wouldn’t be the end of this discussion, but for now, you were thankful for the subject change.

“I do recall saying you’d like to be gagged and bound,” you said innocently, the corners of your lips quirking up. “Have changed your mind?”

Based on his hard cock, you knew that still rang true. As you waited for him to confirm what you already knew, you began to disrobe. Typically, your maids assisted you in the task, but the clothing you wore was simple to remove.

His eyes trailed up your nude form, and he swallowed coarsely, before shaking his head. “No, I haven’t.”

“Good,” you said, putting the gag back in place. “Because I intend to keep you like this all night long.”

You reached under his loincloth and grazed the slit of his cock, gathering the precum oozing from it and spreading it around the base. He moaned at the contact and bucked his hips upward. You slowly stroked his cock, grabbing his balls with your other hand. A copious amount of pre leaked from the tip, and you knew it wouldn’t be long until he came. But you couldn’t have that. It was supposed to be a punishment, after all. So, as his core began to tremble and his hips bucked more furiously, you stopped, causing him to whine.

You knew it wasn’t the smartest decision to use a sex-based punishment for such a carnal person, but you didn’t want to do anything to seriously harm him.

You tsked. “It isn’t going to be that easy tonight, my love.”

Another whine emerged from him, but you ignored it as you began to stroke his cock again. The tip began to turn an angry pink color, and you knew he needed to cum to relieve his growing discomfort. Still, you weren’t going to let him.

You continue to edge him to the point of tears, at which point you decide to up the ante and wrap your lips around his cockhead. He whimpered as you licked the slit, tears streaming down his pretty face.

“There, there,” you whispered in faux sympathy, though you were delighted in how pathetic he looked. “You’ll get to cum soon.”

With that, you retook the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip before you swallow his entire shaft. You fought your gag reflex as his length filled your throat, his loud cries incentivizing you. You deepthroat him for as long as you could, but the need for air and his violent shaking forced you to come up. You pull back until just the tip of his dick is in your mouth, giving it a gentle suck before removing it completely.

He lets out a noise of frustration at another stolen orgasm, glaring at you with glistening eyes.

“It’s okay,” you cooed as you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock and dragging it along your slit. “I’m going to take care of you.”

You sink down on his length, and a gasp left you when he bucked his hips and bottomed out in one hard thrust. All your teasing had worked you up, too, and your cunt clenched at finally being filled. He filled you up so well, as if your walls were made for him, and never failed to hit every spot that had you seeing stars.

You moved along his shaft in a back-and-forth motion, planting your hands on his chest to balance you. His cum-filled balls rested against your ass, the sound of skin-hitting skin filling his lavish chambers. Thank God the walls of the palace were thick.

Gojo’s head lolled against his pile of ornate pillows, drool escaping his mouth even with the gag, eyes closed in absolute bliss. You knew he wouldn’t last much longer, but you continued to move your hips in a set rhythm, deciding he’d suffered enough.

Besides, what better place to finish that inside of you? It’d feel heavenly, you’d wager, and if his seed took, the council would have no choice but to approve the match. A child out of wedlock would be far more disgraceful than taking an unruly foreigner as a husband.

“Cum inside me, my love,” you moaned.

Your words must’ve been too erotic for Gojo, because a second later, he came with a muffled scream. Hot ropes of cum shoot into you and painted your walls white, the very amount that entered you almost guaranteeing you’d fall pregnant. Never had he finished inside of you, always pulling out at the last minute. You cussed him for robbing you of such pleasure, as the feeling of his warm seed was divine.

Seconds later, your orgasm washed over you, and you loudly whined as your movements grew sloppy. You didn’t stop moving, though, wanting to fuck his cum deeper into you. Only when the aftershocks of your orgasm died down did you still, and only when Gojo’s dick started to deflate to you get from him. What wasn’t gobbled up by your pussy started to leak from you, trailing down your thighs.

You needed to clean yourself off before it cooled, but first, you needed to unbind Gojo. You knew he hid several weapons around the room, so you reached under his pillow and pulled out his tanto, using it to slice away at the rope. Then, you pulled the gag down, deciding to let him undo the knot.

He allowed it to stay settled around his neck, instead pulling you down on top of him. The action took you aback, making your hold on the knife slip.

“Am I forgiven, Sultana?”

You nuzzled the crook of his neck, your nipples rubbing against his chest. “I believe so, yes.”

You two silently basked in each other’s company for several minutes, Gojo’s hands stoking your side.

"You let me come inside," he stated, breaking the quietness.

“I did, yes.”

“What if you get pregnant?”

“Then we wed,” you said without a second thought, making him still.

You knew it wouldn’t be as easy as you were making it out to sound, but you’d work out the kinks of your plan another time.

“What about the council? The old one would surely be opposed to this.”

You looked up at him, noting the shock, joy, and concern swarming in his eyes. “It’s either allowing me to marry the man I care for or allowing their Sultana to have a child out of wedlock. I’d bet every penny of my fortune they’d prefer the former.” You began to trace patterns on his chest, relaxing him. “As for Gakuganji, you did say you’d take care of him at my request…”

He grinned down at you, delight shining in his eyes. “Is this you sanctioning his execution?”

“His assassination,” you corrected. “Execution implies that it’d be a public affair when I plan to have it be discreet.”

“Why the change of heart, if I may ask?”

“If I do fall pregnant,” you began, certain that you would. If it didn’t happen this time, you’d just have to try again until your monthly bleeding ceased. “I wouldn’t want any threats to my family present. Gakuganji is the biggest one.”

“Give him a week, and I’m sure he’ll die naturally. The man’s too old to be here much longer,” he joked, making you laugh.

You desperately wished that’d be the case, as you wanted him dispatched before your coronation, whenever that’d be. Your father’s condition wasn’t improving, and you needed to have everything in place by the time you were publicly named Sultana.

“That’s a lovely thought, but death likes to grant long lives to cruel individuals. But if you’d prefer to take that chance…”

“No, I’ll happily end his miserable life.”

“Excellent. He enjoys nightly strolls around the palace if that helps.”

“It does, my devious Sultana.”

“You rolled your eyes. “I’m eliminating threats, and you have two and a half weeks to get rid of this one.”

You wanted it done by the time you were due to bleed again. They came regularly, so if you missed it, you’d know if you were with a child.

He planted a kiss on the top of your head, huffing out a laugh and holding you a little tighter. “Yes, Sultana.”

👑

A/N: I know this has some differences from what was requested, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless!

106 notes · View notes

serenailith · 1 year

Text

just wishing

for @dreamlingbingo

Square: d1, cybersex Rating: e Word Count: 7275 Ship(s): dream of the endless/hob gadling Warnings: none Additional Tags: alternate universe - human, overworked uni student!hob, sex cam worker!dream, sex work is real work, so much filth in this, dirty talk, sex toys, blowjobs, anal sex, gratuitous use of the word ‘beautiful’ Summary:

Hob never knew a simple weblink could change his entire life.

Link: on ao3 masterlist

Hob sighs and stares at the blinking cursor. It mocks him; really, it does. Each blink seems to say “You should be writing. You’re wasting time, Gadling.” And… It’s true. He should be writing. This paper won’t write itself, and if he doesn’t get it submitted by midnight, he’ll fail Medieval Literature, and then where will he be?

Slamming his laptop shut, he follows the action with slamming his forehead against his desk. His roommate scoffs and throws a licorice rope at his back.

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s worse. I haven’t been able to think a single thought that’s original.”

“Shouldn’t have looked at examples of past papers,” Matthew says, and Hob can hear the shrug in the American’s voice. “But anyway, I’m goin’ out. Got my eye on a real good-looking girl, and I think I might actually have a chance.”

Matthew drops the package of licorice on Hob’s desk, claps a hand on his shoulder, and wishes him well on his way out of their room. Hob waits until the door has clicked closed before smacking his forehead against his desk once again.

His cellphone dings beside his head, and Hob glowers at the device before unlocking it. It’s only a text from his mum, asking how his paper is coming along. He sighs and lies, tells her it is going incredibly well and will probably be his best one yet.

Once she is sufficiently mollified and has chided him for being awake so late, as if she isn’t awake just as late, she makes him swear to go to bed then signs her last text “Love, Mum xx”. Hob’s heart aches at the words. It’s been three weeks since he’s been home; work and schooling have taken up all of his time. He hates it—loathes, really—that he can’t see his family as often as he’d like, but he needs the money and he needs the education. So he resigns himself to reality and focuses on what needs to be done rather than the hopes he has that he can’t make come true.

Opening his laptop, Hob turns his attention back to his essay and struggles through the next three hundred and fifty words. It’s eerily similar to what he thinks pulling teeth might be like, and he can’t stop the sigh of relief when his cellphone vibrates once more.

Matthew: Not coming back tonight. Score! Dont do anything i wouldnt do. And make sure u clean ur mess ;)

Hob snorts and exits the message thread. Matthew is a crass bastard, but he’s grown on Hob like lichen on a tree. He’s a half-decent roommate and a better friend besides.

It gets the better of him, the silence of the room only broken by the occasional click of keys and the more frequent huff of annoyance. Hob wishes he could do what Matthew is—out drinking at a pub, evidently going home with someone—but no, Hob is forcing himself to focus on his studies.

Unfortunately, his attention span grows shorter while his frustration grows higher. Hob finally slams his laptop closed and groans, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. He lets out a long, steady stream of curse words until his head feels less like it’ll explode then breathes out slowly. Right. That’s enough for tonight.

Hob sighs and reaches for his cellphone. Maybe someone will be free for an hour or two. Three of his usual bedmates turn him down, citing their own studies, and the fourth doesn’t bother saying ‘no’. All he does is send a link. Hob frowns and stares at the letters.

On one hand, trusting unknown links is a bad idea. On the other, he trusts Malachi rather well. Unless Malachi was hacked…

Hob opens his laptop and types in the web address before he can overthink it more. The page takes a few seconds to load, but when it does, Hob nearly clicks out of the tab. As it is, he shoots a furtive look over his shoulder as if expecting Matthew to linger there as he normally does. But the room is empty. Matthew isn’t here.

Hob swallows harshly, squeezing his eyes closed, then turns back to the laptop. The page is still up, still set to what’s very obviously a porno site, and a banner is plastered over a video container, the words “Join now!” in a rather tasteful font. A box in the corner bears numbers, the counter rising steadily in droves. There’s no indication of what kind of porno Malachi sent, but—

Hob clicks the banner and swallows down his shame as he enters his credit card information. One try can’t hurt, right? The page reloads, and the banner is gone now. He watches as the camera suddenly flares to life a minute later and brings into focus a man against a dark background. Pinpricks of white litter the wall behind him, a veritable night sky brought to Earth and made touchable. But it’s the man who captures Hob’s attention most.

The man is gorgeous—mussed black hair, pale skin, and eyes so incredibly blue even through the screen. His kissable lips quirk into a small smile at whatever he sees on his end, and Hob realises he’s probably approving of the viewer count, which is well into the hundreds by now. The man’s gaze darts to his camera, and the breath is punched from Hob’s lungs at how it seems as if the man is looking at him, not the other viewers.

Perhaps that’s part of the ruse.

Shaking his head, Hob swallows thickly and reminds himself that this is the man’s job. He blows out a breath and closes his eyes. This is so stupid, he thinks. Why is he doing something like this? Sure, he’s been without sex for months, but is cybersex really going to make a difference? After all, it’s his own hand with or without the man currently stripping on-screen.

And what a beautiful sight. wetdream slowly, carefully pushes the straps of his lacy teddy from his shoulders; his gaze remains firmly on the camera, lips curving slightly as he lets the lingerie fall out of sight. His hands toy with the edge of his underwear, the lace accentuating the sharp lines of his hips. He teases, but he doesn’t remove them.

Someone posts Take them off, sweetheart, let us see what’s underneath. The man on-screen shakes his head, though he does push the hem down an inch, just enough to show off the slightest hint of a patch of black hair.

Hob inhales sharply at the sight. It’s nothing major, nothing revealing, but it’s enough to send heat through his blood. He slides a finger over the laptop’s trackpad, tapping it once the cursor hovers over the chat-box, and hesitates.

hobgoblin: you’re beautiful

As soon as he sends the message, he slaps a hand over his face. God, he’s a right idiot, isn’t he? No one wants to hear that, especially not when they’re working. But the man on the screen is reading the message, and he doesn’t look angry or uncomfortable. In fact, he looks… pleased? There’s a tint of pink to his cheeks, and Hob revels in the sight even as messages come pouring in, calling him a moron.

He ignores them and focuses on the man now on his knees in the middle of a bed. His legs are spread, the fabric of his underwear clearly straining against the stretch, and Hob’s mouth goes dry as the man undulates his hips. Though thin, wetdream has a great body. He’s lithe, beautiful, and almost ethereal as he practically fucks the air.

Hob can’t stop himself: He stands enough to shove down his joggers then takes himself in hand. He strokes slowly, reclining in his seat as much as possible, and watches wetdream finally—finally—remove his underwear. He turns his back to the camera, looks over his shoulder, and Hob groans at the sparkle between the man’s arsecheeks.

Wish that was my cock, someone writes, and Hob scowls before hiding the chat-box. It’s easier this way, easier to pretend he isn’t pathetic watching a sex worker perform for hundreds of other people. He can pretend it’s a private thing, as if he and wetdream are…

No, that’s stupid. Creepy, even.

So Hob forces aside those thoughts and watches wetdream remove the plug, reaching for something out of view. When he turns back to the camera, Hob sees the rather impressive dildo in his hand. And an equally impressive dick.

Hob stuffs his fist into his mouth and squeezes the root of his cock, anything to drag this out. Anything to keep watching wetdream fucking himself with the toy while nearly nine hundred people watch. There’s no sound, so Hob shamefully lets himself imagine what noises are falling from wetdream’s lips as he rolls his hips and takes the dildo in further. Would he let out breathy little sighs, or deep moans that tremble in his throat? Would he murmur his lover’s name, give directions in a love-laden voice?

Hob comes too quickly but doesn’t move to clean up. Not until wetdream has come all over his own belly with twitching thighs and a blissed-out smile on his face.

The feed ends with wetdream’s face inches from the camera, a soft smile on his lips, and Hob rushing to rearrange his budget.

Thankfully, Matthew has found a young woman who doesn’t mind his… interesting mannerisms, so the next evening, he leaves the room immediately after his last class of the day. Hob waits for ten minutes to be sure his roommate is gone before he darts for his laptop and brings up the website again. He skims through the listings, trying to find—

There. wetdream.

He hurriedly clicks on “Join now!”

As he sits in his chair, counting the seconds until the cam starts, Hob realises he should feel ashamed for this. Not for supporting a sex worker. No, that would be stupid. Sex work is real work, and he’ll knock the lights out of anyone who says otherwise. No, he should feel ashamed for how desperate he’s acting. He’s had sex before. Hell, he’s even sexted before. This is only new in that it’s a complete stranger he’s watching. It’s almost like a porn video. No desperation needed.

But he’s never seen anyone in a porno look this beautiful, he thinks when wetdream comes into view. He’s wearing a corset and stockings, garters, and his eyes are rimmed with a thin line of black. His hair is still the same wild mess as it was last night, and Hob wonders if the strands are soft, would they feel like silk between his fingers?

He calls wetdream beautiful again just to see that subtle flush to his cheeks.

It takes two weeks before Hob has the courage to search the pricing tab of the website. He grimaces to himself at the cost listed. He can’t afford it, not if he wants to continue this thing called existing. Or at the very least, feeding himself. Sighing, he slumps in his seat and runs a hand over his face.

What is he even thinking? He’s already spent far too much on wetdream’s live-cams as it is. The only time he hasn’t spent money on the site is when wetdream isn’t listed. Which… hasn’t been often. Maybe three nights out of twelve.

“Fuck it, Matthew owes me a meal or two,” he grumbles before clicking on the link to apply for a private showing.

He only has to wait two hours for the email confirmation that payment has gone through and wetdream has availability for the following Saturday evening, a one-hour window from nine to ten. Hob sends back a message agreeing to the time then immediately begins planning on how to get Matthew out of the room for that hour. It should be simple enough—if his current girlfriend hasn’t broken up with him, she’ll keep him distracted. If she has, the promise of an opportunity to find another one might be sufficient.

Hob swallows and presses his fingertips to his eyelids. He’s being foolish, but damned if he can find it in him to change.

Three days has never felt so long. Hob could swear more than seventy-two hours has passed since he got the email, but nope. He’s gone from Wednesday night to Saturday, and nothing more.

As he’d predicted, Matthew is easy to get out of the room. Hob tells him about the secluded little courtyard on the other side of campus that he knows hardly anyone knows of, hints that maybe Matthew’s girlfriend would like to watch the stars for a while. Matthew is all too eager to disappear ten minutes before nine, and Hob lets out a breath of relief.

He hurries to log in on the website with the passcode the admins emailed him, and the page loads almost instantly. The feed is dark, disconnected. Hob chews on the edge of a fingernail as he watches the minutes tick past. Finally, at two minutes past nine o’clock, the video flickers to life.

wetdream wears what he wore the first time Hob ever watched his live-cam. The lacy teddy is just as Hob remembers it: dark as pitch, contrasting so beautifully to such pale skin, barely reaching a few inches past his hips. His underwear hardly conceals his half-hard cock. Hob wonders if wetdream was stroking himself in preparation.

Hob realises belatedly that he has no idea how this works. He hadn’t exactly asked the admins of the site, and there wasn’t anything listed in the FAQs. He bites down on his lower lip and lets his fingers tap out a message in the chat-box: What do I do?

wetdream’s head cocks as he reads the message, then he lets out what Hob can only imagine is a huff of laughter. Hob’s cheeks flare with heat, and he very nearly clicks out of the tab. Only the thought that he’d paid so much for this stops him. He doesn’t want to waste that amount of money. So he resigns himself to being a laughingstock—maybe wetdream will tell all his friends about the bloody idiot who can’t work a private sex show to save his life.

wetdream: Just tell me what you want me to do. I am all yours.

Hob… Hob can do that. He can tell wetdream what to do. But, then, the question remains: What the fuck does Hob want to see? He swallows and double-checks that Matthew hasn’t come back, that the door is still locked, then faces his laptop again.

hobgoblin: take off your top. i want to see you

wetdream does without hesitation; his fingers trail along his exposed skin, hook around the straps of his teddy, and he gazes directly into the camera as he pushes the straps down. The teddy slides down his lithe body until it vanishes from view. Hob blows out a breath at the expanse of smooth pale skin, the flat planes of muscle, the almost dainty lines carved to form this body. wetdream presses the tips of long fingers to his chin as he waits, and Hob could cry with how beautiful this man is.

He tells wetdream to remove his underwear, to get on the bed, to touch himself. wetdream moves quickly yet sensuously, stripping and leaving the camera where it is but bringing a tablet with him. Clearly, it’s meant so he can keep up with the chat. So he can obey Hob’s orders and fulfil his desires.

Once he’s situated on his knees in the middle of his bed, wetdream wraps a slender hand around his cock and gives it one long, slow stroke. Hob watches wetdream drag his nails down his bare chest, lines of pink left in their wake, before the hand splays over a sharp hipbone, dips down to fondle himself. wetdream’s tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and Hob hesitantly types out another message.

hobgoblin: i want to see you open yourself up.

wetdream’s gaze darts to the tablet, a brow twitching, then he moves. When he comes back on-screen, he holds a bottle of lubricant. Hob watches with a dry mouth as wetdream coats his fingers. He turns until he’s side-on to the camera, lowers his chest so it rests on the mattress, and reaches behind himself. His lashes flutter closed, knees spreading slightly wider, and his wrist flexes as he clearly pushes his finger in further. He turns his head toward the camera, eyes opening to slits, and his lips curve the barest amount in the corners. His mouth drops open as his knuckles shift beneath his skin.

hobgoblin: just like that. you’re beautiful like this, did you know that? hobgoblin: so beautiful. hobgoblin: fuck yourself with your fingers for me, love.

Hob moans when wetdream does as commanded. He wishes he could be there, could hear what sounds spill from this man’s lips, could be the one opening him up until he’s begging for Hob’s cock. Hob doesn’t hesitate: He shoves down the band of his pyjama bottoms and takes himself firmly in hand. It’s harder to type one-handed, but he does it anyway.

hobgoblin: let me see your arse. let me see you nice and open.

wetdream moves again until he’s reclining against an impressive amount of pillows, legs spread, and Hob nearly swallows his tongue at the sight. He really, truly is open; it would be so easy to just push inside and fuck wetdream senseless. After a moment, wetdream’s fingers dive back into himself. The tablet still rests beside him, and he occasionally glances at the screen.

hobgoblin: do you wish it was me there? instead of just your fingers. do you wish it was my cock splitting you open? because i do.

wetdream nods, first slowly then more vigorously. Hob types out faster, love, that’s it, and God, does wetdream obey so beautifully. He obeys when Hob tells him to stroke himself, and Hob’s hand moves more quickly as wetdream fucks up into his own fist then back onto his fingers.

Can I come? wetdream mouths after a moment, eyes darkened and thighs trembling, and Hob has a helluva time typing yes.

“Come for me,” he groans though wetdream can’t hear, but that doesn’t matter: Ropes of cum stripe along wetdream’s belly only seconds later as his head falls back to expose his throat. Hob wants to bite it, to leave his mark so wetdream would never forget him.

The mental image is enough to send Hob over the edge himself.

hobgoblin: gorgeous

wetdream gives a shaky smile as he lies against his pillows, and Hob reaches for a tissue from the box beside him. To his surprise, he sees a message when he looks back at the screen.

wetdream: Do you want me to taste myself? hobgoblin: if you want to? i don’t have much of a preference in either direction.

That might change, he thinks as wetdream swipes a finger through the mess on his stomach. Hob’s heart skips a beat when wetdream sucks the cum from his fingertip, tongue wrapping around the digit as he stares into the camera as if challenging Hob. Hob’s cock gives a valiant twitch, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

He glances at the clock—it’s only been half an hour, and he’s already spent.

wetdream: You still have thirty-two minutes left. Is there anything else you would like? hobgoblin: no, you were wonderful. i enjoyed myself

wetdream grins before visibly tamping down on it. Shaking his head, he taps at the screen of his tablet.

wetdream: I am glad. wetdream: I enjoyed myself, as well. hobgoblin: thank you for a great time. good night, beautiful

wetdream comes closer to the camera, smiles once more, then the screen goes to the landing page. Hob slumps in his seat and runs his clean hand over his face. Well, that was… something.

There’s a partial refund on his credit card the next morning.

Unfortunately for Hob, the private show spawns something like an addiction. There’s an undeniably impossible-to-resist quality about wetdream that Hob can’t quite explain, not even to himself, so he doesn’t try. He merely adjusts his budget more and more, picking up extra shifts as often as he can to afford living expenses and the live-cams. As long as they don’t interfere with wetdream’s showings. He’s noticed a pattern to the cams, so he tries to schedule his life around them. It isn’t always possible to make it to one—he has to miss a handful over the next two months, between working and Matthew being in the room—but he tries.

He always makes sure to tell wetdream how beautiful he is.

Three months after Malachi sent the link, the term is over, and Hob is heading back home for the summer. His mum has been pestering him about it, and he’s missed his family fiercely. He hadn’t known just how much wetdream’s cams had been affecting his life until he checked the calendar just last week and realised he had only been back home twice a month since the cams started.

“Robbie!”

Hob grins and envelops his mother in a tight hug. She squeezes him once before stepping back. Frowning, Elizabeth runs her thumbs under his eyes.

“I’m fine, Mum.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well.”

No, I’m stupidly infatuated with a sex worker and can’t stop thinking about him. “You know how school is,” he says with a shrug before grabbing his bag. “Dad at home?”

He settles into his childhood bedroom with ease. It’s gone through some significant changes over the years. No longer filled with posters of cartoon characters or Formula 1 cars or toys meant for a seven-year-old little boy, the room suits him well enough now. He sets his bag on the floor by the wardrobe then sits on the bed.

He’s just begun thinking about wetdream—again—when a small form slams into his side. Hob chuckles as he pushes at his little sister’s shoulder until she backs away. Maggie beams before hugging him. Hob closes his eyes as he holds her close.

At only eleven years old, Margaret is the baby of the four children. She should be a spoiled princess, but she’s rather well-rounded and down to Earth. At the very least, there is little that Hob can complain about that isn’t typical younger sibling behaviour.

He presses a kiss to Maggie’s hair before releasing her. “What are you doing home already? Don’t you have school?”

“Mum said I can get out early today since you were coming home. Besides, it’s the last day anyway. We never do anything on the last day.”

“Fair enough.”

Hob sighs and stares at his sister. Her blonde hair has been plaited today, and her hazel eyes sparkle with delight as she sits beside him on his bed, grinning. There’s a small stain of chocolate on the collar of her uniform jumper.

Her gaze slides around the room before alighting on the guitar leaning against the far wall. “Oh, can you please play Black Bird?”

“Which version?”

“From the movie!”

Hob laughs and nods. If his baby sister wants a song, a song she will get. So once the instrument is in hand, he quickly wipes off the dust, tunes the strings, then begins to play.

Before he knows it, three weeks have gone by. He’s found a job in the library, so he spends his days helping patrons find books and makes small talk with everyone. It’s a lot like his job in the university bookstore but less stressful. He doesn’t have fellow students yelling at him because they’re late for class or the books are too expensive.

Hob’s favourite thing about being home, however, is spending time with his family. Fourteen-year-old Maxwell, Nicolette and Andrew at seventeen, and of course, Maggie. His parents. Even his neighbours who never really liked him but now think he’s an exemplary young man for attending uni and holding down a ‘respectable’ job.

‘Respectable’. What makes a job respectable, Hob wonders. Perhaps it’s that he’s not stripping or whoring himself out. Or running a cam service.

Cam service.

Hob swears to himself, startling his family at the dinner table. His mother admonishes him for his language, despite the fact that the twins curse just as often as he does, and Max and Maggie have heard far worse. But he doesn’t care. He’d completely forgotten. How?

He forces himself to eat his dinner at a normal pace, even helps clean up as an apology to his mum for swearing around his siblings. As soon as she shoos him away, Hob nearly sprints up the stairs to his old bedroom.

It’s Friday which means, if he’s held to the pattern, wetdream has a showing tonight. Right about… now, actually. Hob hurries to log into his account and skims the listings until he finds the name of the correct live-cam. Blowing out a breath of relief that his card hasn’t been declined, he locks his bedroom door then sits on his bed, leaning against the wall.

The video is dark still, and Hob chews on his thumbnail as he wonders what wetdream could possibly be doing to prepare. He’s already growing hard just with the mental images of all the possibilities. He could be stroking himself until he’s erect, opening himself up for a plug to keep him ready for toys.

Hob’s thoughts stutter as the feed begins. wetdream sits on his bed already, legs crossed and showing off the high heels and stockings he wears. The sheer, black corset he’s donned accentuates the straight lines of his body, and it would look awkward on anyone else. But on him, Hob thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

hobgoblin: hello beautiful

Hob has never witnessed anyone truly lighting up like this, not outside of Maggie on Christmas morning when their parents had given her a guinea pig. But wetdream does now. He doesn’t smile, his expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in his eyes that gives away his delight. Hob’s chest fills with a warmth he can’t describe. He’s the reason wetdream is so happy right now. He has to be.

Something about wetdream’s room is different. It takes Hob a moment to place it: He’s moved his bed. He’s moved his bed to make room for the silver pole in the centre of the room. A shiver slides down Hob’s spine at the thought of what’s to come.

Hob doesn’t send any messages while he watches wetdream work. And work wetdream does. He doesn’t strip this time, not really, but that’s fine. He’s gorgeous regardless as he undulates his hips against the pole, as he spins and nearly hovers off the floor, held firmly up by his thighs against the metal. Hob hides the chat-box when someone says it could be their pole that wetdream works.

Hob nearly comes to the sight of blue eyes staring directly into the camera and a kissable lower lip caught between teeth as wetdream plunges his hand between waist and lacy underwear. As he pulls his cock free. As he strokes himself teasingly, like he wants to put on one helluva show, and maybe he does. Hob lets himself imagine that it’s all for him. He comes a split second after wetdream does.

wetdream licks cum from his hand, and Hob wishes it was him doing it.

He’s just hovered over the X to close out of the tab, feed gone dark once more, when a chat-box pops up in the bottom of his screen.

wetdream: Tomorrow night, midnight. hobgoblin: ?? wetdream: You will see.

Hob raises a brow even as no further messages come in. Deciding to not ask more questions, he closes the tab and reaches for the tissues on his nightstand. He feels like a teenager again, going through puberty and too many tissues to be inconspicuous. He huffs out a laugh as he tosses the tissues into the bin under his desk.

━━━━━━━━━

It’s ten to midnight, and Hob is already logged in. Waiting. His heart races in his chest, and his palms have gone clammy. He repeatedly wipes them on his bare thighs; no point in wearing bottoms, is there, when he’s just going to shove them down in minutes?

A chat-box appears with two minutes to spare. All it contains is an invite link. There is no host information, just a site bot doing the work. Hob knows, though. He knows, so he clicks Accept without hesitation.

He isn’t disappointed: wetdream appears within seconds. The pole is nowhere to be found now, and the bed is back in its original position. He’s wearing the heels again, and Hob stifles a groan low in his throat at how they make wetdream’s legs look even longer. Other than the shoes, he’s completely nude. Hob watches him tap at the screen of his tablet as he settles in on the bed.

wetdream: I get one free credit to give per month. I chose you. hobgoblin: i’m flattered. thank you. wetdream: I have a request of you tonight, if you are amenable to that? hobgoblin: anything, beautiful wetdream: Tell me what you would do to me were you to be here. Tell me what you want of me. hobgoblin: gladly. lie back and let me see you. hobgoblin: god, you’re fucking beautiful. you listen so well.

Hob doesn’t mind that wetdream’s attention isn’t on him, it’s on the messages coming in on the tablet, as Hob tells every dirty fantasy he’s carried with him over the last four months. He’d kiss wetdream until they were both breathless, unable to speak. He’d suck wetdream’s cock until he was coming down Hob’s throat. Hob would bring wetdream to his knees and fuck his mouth before coming all over his face. He’d bend the gorgeous, perfect man over the nearest surface, open him up so slowly and gently, then fuck him until they were too exhausted to move anymore. He’d fuck him with the points of wetdream’s heels digging into his back, leaving bruises to remind Hob of their union.

Or maybe, maybe, Hob would let wetdream fuck him into the mattress. He has a feeling the man is hiding some serious strength in that slender body of his.

hobgoblin: play with your arse, love, beautiful one. come when you want, i’m watching.

wetdream nods rapidly, hand nearly a blur as he jerks himself off. He clenches his teeth, eyes squeezing closed, then his release is spilling free over his fist and abdomen. Some even manages to reach his chest.

It takes Hob an embarrassingly short amount of time to come after that.

You have a way with words, wetdream messages once he’s cleaned himself up, something he’s never done on camera before.

hobgoblin: only for you wetdream: You stayed away for quite some time. I hope all is well?

And is that… That’s apprehension, nervousness, on wetdream’s face. Hob groans at that before typing out yeah, everything is fine. sorry to make you worry. Something twists in wetdream’s expression, and he scowls at the screen.

wetdream: I did not worry. I was merely curious. wetdream: Have a good night, hobgoblin. hobgoblin: it’s hob.

The video cuts out but not before Hob sees wetdream mouthing his name to himself. Hob wipes away his mess then crawls into bed.

There is no live-cam the next week or the next. There is no live-cam until Hob is back at uni, six weeks after the free private show.

Hob still calls wetdream beautiful, but wetdream doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.

It’s almost Christmas by the time anything changes. Matthew refuses to leave the room, moping about being so far from home during the holidays, and Hob takes pity on the young man. He invites Matthew to spend Christmas with the Gadling family. Matthew grins and accepts cheerily; any sense of melancholy is gone now, as if a demon banished by an exorcism.

Andrew protests but finally concedes to giving up his room for Matthew, to sharing a bed with Maxwell. Hob, thankfully, gets his room to himself still. It’s bad enough sharing a room as a grown adult, but to share a bed? He’d rather sleep outside in the snow.

Hob waits until the others are in bed before locking his door and opening his laptop. He highly doubts wetdream would be hosting a showing tonight, so near to Christmas, but he wants to check anyway. A site bot has sent another message: Happy Christmas followed by a link.

Hob clicks.

wetdream: You were right. I was… concerned. I grew accustomed to you being in the viewer list, to your messages calling me beautiful.

Hob grins, shaking his head, and types back: you’re forgiven, beautiful.

wetdream: I thought perhaps I could show my remorse by giving you an early Christmas present. hobgoblin: far be it from me to turn down a gift ;)

wetdream smiles on camera, a shy little thing, before sitting back in his seat, showing more than just his head. He’s wearing a red negligee with a ribbon wrapped around his throat, tied in a bow beneath his chin. He chews on his bottom lip, and Hob realises with a start he’s wearing lipstick. Not much, just enough to give more colour, and he’s never wanted to kiss wetdream this much before.

His cock stirs, and he has to agree with the sentiment. This is—

hobgoblin: you are absolutely stunning, love, darling dream come true wetdream: Thank you, but just Dream is acceptable.

Dream. Fucking Hell, of course he’d want to be called Dream. And what a dream he is. Hob pinches himself to make sure this is real, that this is wetdream—Dream—baring himself as a present for Hob.

hobgoblin: it suits you. can i ask you to show me more of you?

Dream—God, fucking Dream—dips his chin and stands. The camera fills with the spread of sheer red and a half-hard cock in a thatch of black hair, then Dream steps back. Hob nods in approval at what he sees, the most perfect present he’s ever received, and types out a request for Dream to surprise him tonight. He wants to know how Dream would please him, by his own choices.

Dream obeys because he always does. He opens himself up, fucks himself on the dildo from before, as he types out a wish that it was Hob filling him. That it was Hob who was stroking his dick and that Hob would leave bruises on his skin to remind him of everything wonderful. He promises he gives the best blowjobs of anyone he knows—he should know, there was a competition involved. He’d make Hob so happy if Hob were there.

hobgoblin: come for me, love. god, i’ve missed seeing you like this. just for me, aren’t you?

Dream taps something, then “Only for you” comes through Hob’s speakers, a low whine of a voice that sends a shiver down Hob’s spine. Breathless pants, and a broken “Only for you, Hob.”

Hob comes at the sound of his name falling from such beautiful, kissable lips.

“Dream, fuck, Dream,” Hob groans, cum dripping down his fist, and he watches as Dream reaches his own climax on-screen.

He hesitates as Dream cleans up, as Dream approaches the computer once more. Throwing caution to the wind, he hurriedly types his phone number into the chat-box and bites down on the edge of his thumbnail as Dream reads the message. His eyes widen, gaze darting to the camera, and Hob can hear the quickening of his breath.

“Hob…”

hobgoblin: you don’t have to use it. just wanted you to have it just in case you wanted to. happy early christmas, dream of mine.

Dream closes out of the live-cam without response.

━━━━━━━━━

Unknown Number: Are you busy?

Hob stares at the text. It’s Christmas morning, and he’s meant to be downstairs right now. But he has a feeling he knows who’s texting him two days after he gave them the number in the first place.

Hob: Not if this is who I think it is.

The maybe-mysterious texter sends back a photograph of a very familiar body. Hob’s gaze trails along the well-known stature, the valleys and curves of muscle and the fine delicacy of bones. He’s just lined his camera up to take a picture of his own when someone knocks on the door.

“C’mon, Robbie, Mum won’t let us open presents until you come down!”

“I’ll be right there, Mags.”

“You better, or I’m throwing all yours in the fireplace.”

Her footsteps stomp back down the stairs, and Hob laughs quietly before typing out a message.

Hob: Happy Christmas, Dream. I, unfortunately, have a little sister who’s threatening the very survival of my gifts if I don’t get downstairs now. Luckily, she can’t take you from me, can she? 😉 Dream: No. She cannot. Happy Christmas, Hob.

Somehow, his parents have scrounged up gifts for Matthew. Hob has a feeling they were originally meant to be for him, but he’s willing to give up a few presents if it means making his friend happy and feel included. After presents have been put away, there comes breakfast, and Matthew fits in perfectly. He’s on his best behaviour which is a side to him Hob never thought he’d see.

All in all, it’s a pleasant time that only exacerbates the buzzing joy in his veins that comes from having Dream.

He knows it isn’t real. That Dream doesn’t truly care for him. That Dream saying he was only Hob’s was meant to make Hob feel special, to make him willing to pay more money. But goddamn it, Hob wants to hold onto the charade just a while longer. He’ll face reality soon enough. Now is not the time.

He eventually sends a photo of himself to Dream. Might as well let the man see who he’s been giving free private shows to. Might as well show him what he’s getting if only he knew.

Two weeks after the start of term finds Hob roaming around the campus. He’s been attending this university for two years, and there is still so much he doesn’t know about it. Once his face is sufficiently, painfully numb, he ducks into the campus coffeeshop and joins the queue. He needs caffeine and heat. Now.

He turns with his latte in hand, coming to a stop at the sight of two people at the corner table. One is a dark-skinned woman with gold wire-rimmed glasses, wearing an impeccable peacoat and trousers. The other…

The other is clearly Dream.

Hob would recognise that hair anywhere. The pale skin, the blue eyes shining in the weak January sunlight. The woman glances over, frowns, then says something. Dream’s lips tug down, and he turns his head to follow her gaze. His eyes widen when they land on Hob. His lips move, but Hob can’t understand what he’s saying.

Hob approaches the table slowly, carefully, as if the earth will open up and swallow him whole. Instead, he reaches the table without issue, and he smiles down at Dream.

“Hi.”

Dream lets out a soft sigh, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, before he glances at his friend. “Lucienne, I’m afraid I must go.”

“Oh. Of course. I’ll phone you later.”

Dream merely nods, rising to his feet, and Hob moves aside so he can pass. Once outside and halfway down the block, Dream turns to him and opens his mouth. No words come, not for a long moment, then Hob interrupts.

“You’re more beautiful in person.”

Dream exhales sharply, fists the lapels of Hob’s jacket, and pushes him against the brick wall of a building. Hob barely gets out a sound of surprise before Dream is kissing him. Heat floods Hob’s veins, his skin, his entire being as he focuses on the taste of coffee and mint and Dream, oh fuck, is this really happening? He wraps his arms around Dream’s waist, tugs him in closer, and yes. This is real.

“I have been wanting to do that since Christmas,” Dream admits when he pulls away.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first time I saw you.” He pauses, leans forward to kiss Dream once more. “Come back to mine?”

Dream nods and lets Hob lead him away.

Thankfully, Matthew is at class by the time Hob unlocks the door. He shuts it quickly behind Dream, pinning the man between body and wood, and kisses him again. And again. He makes quick work of unbuttoning Dream’s long coat, of sliding his hand along the hard plane of Dream’s abdomen, to wrap around his hip.

“What do you want me to do?” Dream whispers, and Hob nips at his bottom lip. “Hob…”

“Let me see you, love. I need to see you.”

Dream doesn’t bother putting on a show as he strips down to nothing, leaving his clothes in a pile at his feet. Hob groans and drops to his knees, presses a soft kiss to the head of Dream’s cock. Beautiful, he whispers before taking it in his mouth.

Dream shouts, hand immediately burying in Hob’s hair, and that’s all it takes. Hob sucks and licks and swirls his tongue around the head, takes Dream in all the way to the root until his nose is buried in coarse hair. Swallows around the cock in the back of his throat until Dream comes with a bitten-off cry and quivering thighs.

Opening Dream up is a fucking glorious gift from Heaven. He whines so wonderfully, shoves down onto Hob’s fingers with wanton moans, obeys when Hob tells him to roll onto his belly. Arse on display, Dream shudders as Hob runs a hand along his flank, lets out a broken sound when Hob pushes in. And Hob could die with that sound. He does as he promised so long ago: He fucks Dream in alternating patterns, rough countered by tender, until Dream is panting and Hob’s arms tremble from holding himself up.

Someone knocks on the door. Matthew’s voice calls for Hob, “I forgot my key, open up.”

“Go the fuck away,” Hob grits out, sliding his hand beneath Dream’s body to grasp onto his cock.

Hob comes first, out of breath and satisfied as he spills into Dream with abandon. He presses a soft kiss to Dream’s shoulder, bites down on the smooth skin.

“Come for me, my dream. Let me feel you.”

Dream’s breath comes out in a shuddering sob, and he thrusts forward into Hob’s tight grip over and over, moving between fist to cock then back again. Hob bites down harder, soothing the spot with his tongue.

“Come,” he all but growls into the skin.

Dream does.

Hob pulls Dream to the side once he’s finished, holds him close out of the mess he’s made, and Dream exhales shakily. Hob runs a gentle hand along Dream’s stomach and kisses the curve of his neck.

“I know this is a bit backwards,” he murmurs as soon as he catches his breath again, “but have dinner with me.”

Dream hums in response, nodding slowly, and Hob realises he’s fallen asleep when there comes the sound of soft snores. Deciding class can wait for another day, he burrows his face into the back of Dream’s neck and lets himself drift away. He can deal with Matthew later.

(Matthew retaliates by telling Hob’s mother all about her son’s new boyfriend.)

#the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream of the endless x hob gadling #dream x hob #dreamling #my writing #dreamling bingo

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arthur-r · 19 days

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on my way to academic advising appointment and i’m so scared. cause like i am NOT good at being a history major, like it’s the most applicable major to my goals i THINK but i’m not like a lyndon b. johnson nerd if that makes sense?? like i’m interested in history on a lot more of a local and personal level, or at the same time a holistic and universal level?? i would do anthropology if it weren’t for not actually fitting anthropology either and hating their classes worse too. i’m looking at minoring in folklore which is kind of getting there, and i’m interested in the history classes my school has to offer but i just kind of know that i’m doing it wrong. like public history classes in curation and presentation aren’t really the point. history of librarianship is supposed to be supplemental to NORMAL history. i want to major in historical identity. i want to major in how history is preserved and engaged with and identified with or rejected. and that’s what a fucking history major is but it’s just not quite right. and i don’t want to talk to some weird old white man about why i’m looking at latin + folklore + queer visual culture + geographic information systems as potentially being my four classes next semester which are NONE OF THEM HISTORY. if i take history next semester it will be history of technology or history of education. WHICH IS FUCKING HISTORY. i guess i just feel so guilty for not actually being that interested in political economy. and like come ON i’m actually so fucking engaged in the real kind of history too, i’ve been studying immigration history and being so fucking invested. i HAVE OPINIONS about lyndon b johnson (i fucking hate that man like thanks for passing civil rights but that’s a bare minimum and he used it as a way to sneak in the permanent existence of an undocumented labor class of latin americans to uphold capitalism through exploitation and fear. so FUCK YOU LBJ) but anyway the point is the intersection of everything i want to do with my life all branches off of history. but it’s just not really that simple. i’m glad i’m at the school i chose and not in colorado but it sure would be handy to be getting a fucking BACHELOR OF INNOVATION in museum studies and heritage management. instead of just hanging around the in-between, taking the most incredible classes but living in the unfortunate reality where they all count for different, tangentially related fields of study. anyway the stupid advisor man is probably a really good guy. i just feel so embarrassed showing up to his office like “yeah i’m studying history. i don’t know what years were the french revolution” you know???? anyway next semester i’ll be taking a class about public folklore (coolest thing in the world) and third level latin, and then maybe something for science breadth, maybe a history class about education or technology or MAYBE the history of the american west, which just might not be very relevant to me if i stay in the midwest shdhdf like i’m so interested in mexican-american history but i’m centralizing pretty heavily in midwestern migrant experiences which are less studied and more personally relevant, and “the west” is mostly like the gold rush and stuff anyway. which i’m supposed to be INTERESTED IN as a history major but i’m not really!!!! and i might take a class about making websites and databases because i want to, and maybe a class about the history of textiles because that’s so fucking cool. but this isn’t what they WANT from me so i’m really anxious. somebody just looked at me weird for walking out of the women’s restroom and it made me think about how the problem is that my academic interests are nonbinary i’m fucking careerqueer or something AKA indecisive and weird and unemployable. but also the coolest in the world. ANYWAY wish me luck and i got this. but spooky scary!!!!

#vent cw #college talk #THIS IS SO STUPID but i just feel like the academic advisor is gonna hate me….#like it’s FINE this is a bachelor of arts it’s okay to be a weird little humanities kid it’s FINE #i just feel a bit strange. ok appointment in twelve minutes gonna head upstairs wish me luck!!#me. my post. mine.#delete later #long post #PS sorry for being a little strange past few days it’s cause i haven’t been sleeping. will be normal tomorrow if all goes well

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mariacallous · 5 months

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Moments before the kickoff of the 118th United States Congress in January, incoming GOP leaders ripped down Nancy Pelosi’s post-insurrection magnetometers, which had stopped at least one Republican, Representative Andy Harris of Maryland, from entering the House floor with a handgun. The first meeting of the House Natural Resources Committee, held on February 1, devolved into partisan vitriol as Republicans reversed an explicit ban on members bringing firearms into their hearings. Soon, AR-15 pins started popping up on rank-and-file lapels. Then, two weeks later, a bill was introduced to make the mass-shooter-approved AR-15 the “national gun of the United States.”

This may be Joe Biden’s Washington, but the US Capitol appears to be, once again, under the firm grip of the gun lobby. With repeated threats of federal government defaults and shutdowns consuming Washington throughout 2023, little attention has been paid to specific agency-by-agency spending proposals, including a House Republican proposal to zero out funding for gun violence research at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). That effort, part of a House appropriations bill, was postponed after Congress passed a short-term extension to fund the federal government into early next year. But that doesn't mean it won't return then, with powerful Republican lawmakers painting the CDC's research as overtly partisan.

“I think it may have a political component, and that's my concern,” Representative Robert Aderholt, an Alabama Republican, tells WIRED. He’s known as a cardinal on Capitol Hill because he chairs the Appropriations Subcommittee on Labor, Health and Human Services, Education, and Related Agencies, which is tasked with producing the nation’s largest domestic funding measure, including control of the CDC’s budget, each year.

The powerful appropriator isn’t thoroughly versed in the gun violence research his subcommittee is trying to defund, but Aderholt is skeptical anyway. “If it were just honest, innocent research, then I wouldn’t have a problem,” Aderholt says. “But I have some concerns with the way that it’s being handled under this administration.”

Thing is, no one really knows what story the CDC research will tell. It’s only been around for three years after nearly a quarter-century of congressional prohibition under the 1996 Dickey Amendment, which essentially barred the CDC from examining the roots of the uniquely American scourge of gun violence.

“This is about public health,” Rosa DeLauro, the top Democrat on the labor committee, tells WIRED. “We haven’t had it for 20 years. Think about all the research that was done about seatbelts and prevention. So I think about what’s happening with the uptick in gun violence, which is unbelievable … we need to do the research to help us be able to prevent that.”

In 2018, lawmakers upended the Dickey Amendment, explicitly clarifying that the will of Congress is for the CDC to research the contemporary weaponization of America. But federal dollars—which, contrary to GOP concerns, are still strictly forbidden from being used to promote gun control—didn’t start flowing to researchers until 2021. Democrats have pushed for $50 million annually to research America’s second-leading cause of death for people 18 years old or younger. (The first is motor vehicle accidents, which Congress devoted $109.7 million to research in the 2022 fiscal year.) But for the past three years, they’ve only been able to squeeze $25 million a year—split between the CDC and National Institutes of Health—out of Republican senators.

With more than 39,000 gun-related deaths so far in 2023, according to the Gun Violence Archive, America’s on pace to endure another record-setting amount of carnage by year’s end, which you wouldn’t know from the giddily gun-friendly mood on the House side of the Capitol. “I think the Republicans are just nuts on this, you know, the extremes,” Mike Thompson, a Democratic representative from California, tells WIRED. Nuts or not, Republicans control the House.

Even through the tears stemming from America’s recent uptick in gun violence—including homicides, suicides, and mass shootings—the past three years have been an exciting time for researchers in this space, because when the federal government leads, university research follows. The two-plus decades drought has rippled through academia.

“People weren't going into this field because you couldn't make a career in it,” Andrew Morral, who runs RAND Corporation’s Gun Policy in America Initiative, tells WIRED. “It’s the kind of thing where it takes a fair amount of research before you start getting believable findings. I mean, you can have a study or two that show something, but in social science, it's very hard for one or two studies to persuade anyone.”

Morral is also director of the National Collaborative on Gun Violence Research, which is philanthropically endowed with $21 million earmarked for firearm violence prevention research. A few years back, he led a conference with “30 to 100 people.” At the start of the month, when they held their annual meeting in Chicago, there were 750 attendees, including some 300 presenters whose studies ranged from how “guns provide access to sources of life meaning” for some Floridians to whether there’s any correlation between heat waves and shootings.

“A lot of new questions are being asked and new ways of looking at things—this just wasn't possible five years ago,” Morral says. “There [are] people coming into the field now, and that's what the money is doing. It's making it possible to get this field launched. There's a lot of low-hanging fruit here, but it's going to take a lot of research to start getting persuasive findings and it's starting to happen.”

In the wake of horrific mass shootings at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas, and a grocery store in a predominantly Black neighborhood of Buffalo, New York, last year, before the GOP recaptured the House, Congress passed the sweeping Bipartisan Safer Communities Act (BSCA), aimed at improving the nation’s background check system, stymieing gun traffickers, protecting domestic violence survivors, and enhancing mental health services in local communities and schools from coast to coast.

The measure includes billions for mental health, $250 million for community violence intervention programs, and $300 million for violence prevention in the nation’s schools. It also recognizes the federal deficiency in school safety research by creating a Federal School Safety Clearinghouse, envisioned as a repository for the best “evidence-based” research for keeping violence off American school grounds.

That best-practices clearinghouse for schools was a GOP-sponsored provision that made it into the BSCA, but, as WIRED reported last summer, studying gun violence wasn’t a part of negotiations on the measure aimed at curbing gun violence. This latest effort by House Republicans to effectively bar the CDC from researching gun violence has social scientists worried about the real-life consequences of turning off the federal funding tap again. The two Senate Republicans who negotiated the BSCA aren’t worried.

“People misuse research every day,” Senator Thom Tillis, a North Carolina Republican, tells WIRED. The other Republican who had a seat at the head table for last summer’s gun negotiations is one of minority leader Mitch McConnell’s top lieutenants, John Cornyn of Texas—a leading contender for replacing the ailing GOP leader in the Senate—who shrugs off CDC gun violence research. “I don't think there's any shortage of research in that area,” Cornyn tells WIRED. But he bifurcates gun violence research from gun violence prevention. “We haven't been able to figure out how to solve all the crimes. Basically, we've tried to deter them, we've tried to investigate and prosecute them, but we haven't been able to figure out how to prevent them. So that's the basic problem, I think.”

Democrats agree. They also say the reason for that “basic problem” is clear: The CDC—through the chilling effect the federal prohibition had on academia over 24 years—has failed to foster a robust research environment to accompany America’s robust gun culture. But Democrats aren’t looking to pass reforms this Congress. Sure, they want to. But the House is barely performing at its normal rate of functional-dysfunctionality these days (just ask newly-former House speaker Kevin McCarthy). Senate Democrats are willing to have a gun violence prevention debate, but as of now, many say there’s no reason to try and debate House Republicans.

“They're not writing bills that are designed to pass the Senate in order to get signed by the president. They're literally throwing red meat to the fringe on every conceivable issue. That's just not serious,” Senator Chris Murphy, the Connecticut Democrat who was at the center of last summer’s gun reform negotiations, tells WIRED. “At some point, they're going to have to figure out how to pass a bill with us, but they haven't reached that space yet.”

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tammyoshanter · 4 months

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Hi! I’m the person invading your comment section. I figured I’d just send you an ask instead of keeping on commenting on that one post.

Anyway, to answer your last post, the Biden administration doesn’t care about us, but they do care about our votes. They need our votes to stay in power. And if we hold this over them, if we tell them they will not have our support if they continue with this genocide, that will force them to rethink their policies.

The left is committing genocide. You can’t get much worse than that. Just because it’s not happening to us doesn’t mean we don’t need to take responsibility for it and do everything we can to stop it.

I know it’s scary, but revolution isn’t going to be easy. Major change isn’t going to take place unless we make it take place. That doesn’t mean not voting by the way. We need to show our support for candidates that do support Palestine.

A lot of people are rallying around Claudia De la Cruz. On her website, she addresses the lesser of two evils argument:

https://votesocialist2024.com/updates/answeringlesseroftwoevils

It’s worth taking a look at at least.

De la Cruz makes great points. But those points only stick if you assume the right is going to continue business as usual like they have in the past. But this time it's different. If the right wins, we may not get to vote for a president again, and the rhetoric heavily implies that. Any candidate with the right is going to enact this. Not just Trump. Even if Project 2025 is not implemented, the right will continue to play their part in participating and even escalating this genocide. The right is awash with Zionists biting at the bit for the power the left is using. They will still roll back any progress we've made on climate change, work to criminalize the LGBTQIA, attack women's rights, defund the Department of Education and other important organizations, damage our relations with allies, make the system even more theocratic etc etc etc. And if Project 2025 pulls through, a lot of Americans, including myself, are probably facing death. Those who don't die in the push to curb immigration, increased police forces, or poverty will likely die of lack of resources or natural disaster due to climate change. This really is a point of no return.

#us politics #us government #fascisim #project 2025 #isreal #palestine #genocide #free palestine #free gaza

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p0ison-moon · 11 months

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I have what’s going to be a really unpopular take but please just hear me out. Lately a lot of fellow Jewish bloggers on this website have (rightfully!!) been getting annoyed by random people going into their inboxes and asking if they’re Zionist, how they feel about Israel, etc. And I totally empathize with that because I’m an anti-Zionist Jew so I spend a lot of time correcting people’s assumptions that I must support Israel because I’m Jewish. Furthermore, I want Zionism to stop being seen as a central, undeniable part of being Jewish because that makes Jews like me feel pretty unwelcome. And I am aware that those asks often accuse us of dual loyalty, an antisemitic stereotype. So I’m not saying bloggers should have to answer those asks, or that they can’t get mad about them.

However, I think bloggers are wrong when they say that they can’t affect or change what happens in Israel because they’re American Jews (or otherwise diasporic, but it is almost always Americans who say this), not Israeli Jews.

Look. It’s one thing if you just don’t want to get involved (although I am totally judging you). But I can name a billion different ways American Jews have changed things in Israel, and stuff we can do right now! For example:

- protesting our tax dollars paying for weapons and bombs Israel uses to kill Palestinians, by pressuring our elected representatives, senators, and president into taking a stand against Israel

- supporting the Not on Our Dime Act, which is aiming to prohibit tax-deductible donations from being used to fund illegal Israeli settlements in the West Bank

- working to change Jewish studies curriculum and summer camp + youth group programming to provide kids and students with more options than just Zionism, and a more complete + less biased education about Israel

- no tech for apartheid: Jewish Google workers protesting against Project Nimbus, which helps the Israeli government with surveillance of Palestinians

- using our position to educate people and make our opinions heard, so we don’t let Jewish Zionist organizations speak for us all and influence what gentiles think about Israel and current-day antisemitism

- I have my own opinions about the recent protests over Netanyahu’s judicial reform, but lots of American Jews supported them and they were definitely effective

- and that’s just a few of the many ways I’ve seen American Jews work towards creating real change in Israel. are we the only ones who can do this? no. but gentiles can’t shape the future of the American Jewish community, which altogether has quite a lot of influence in Israel. only we can do those things.

Saying that as American Jews our voices and actions don’t matter when it comes to Israel is actually such a weak, lame-ass excuse for refusing to take a stance for or against Israel. This isn’t something we get to be neutral about; silence equals support for Zionism.

That being said, I can’t control what individual people do. If you seriously want to refuse to support Palestine, fine. Whatever. Just please stop using “American Jews can’t help anyways!” as your excuse when that’s such a blatantly false claim.

#mercy.txt #anti zionist #jumblr #palestine #imo you can’t be Zionist and genuinely support Palestinians btw #so-called liberal Zionists do not get a free pass <3 #also: this post is not about me or my belief that Zionism is morally reprehensible #however I do think that and I’m not going to hide or apologize for it. and yeah I do really judge people who are Zionist!#I am sick and tired of toning down my beliefs and ignoring my values for the sake of a peaceful community irl #and I know what happens when I’m vocally anti-Zionist & I’ve been treated awfully in the past.#so forgive me if I’m not super understanding or accepting of Zionist Jews.#I get it that the indoctrination was rly strong and people get pretty attached to Israel #but after all the stuff I’ve experienced and witnessed I’m honestly out of empathy! we should know better & I’m disappointed that we don’t.#I just don’t see how anyone can still support Israel while knowing what they do to Palestinians #and I have other issues with Zionism too but those are too complicated for tags

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blackswaneuroparedux · 2 years

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Anonymous asked: I’m a college adjunct professor in the liberal arts and I confess I like plenty of your posts on your blog which give food for thought, the rest of it I violently disagree. Despite your Oxbridge education in the Classics I’m perplexed that a blog dedicated to high culture should spend time glorifying war. I get that you served in Afghanistan with the Royal Army as a combat pilot so that’s your lived experience. My question is why do you post on military history, especially classical civilization, which just glorifies dead white men? Isn’t the study of classics passé today? I don’t see what our progressive society can possibly learn from dead Greeks and Romans.

Thank you for reaching out and I appreciate your comments. Let me get a few things out of the way before I get to the heart of your question. I’ve never understood the term violently disagree, what does that even mean? Does it mean resorting to violence to further or finish an argument? I hope not.

I don’t mean to pick on you but I find it weird that it’s often modern educated liberal leftists (and their far right counterparts I should add) who’ve never seen real violence or been violent themselves - because they’re benignly bourgeois and happy to comment on things that outrage them from the safety of the sidelines - but leave the actual fighting in a real war to others.

In the British case it’s the working class and the upper middle and upper classes (the historic structure of the British army) but in the US the vast majority of those who serve come from blue collar and middle class backgrounds but not the well off college educated elite, so that progressives and everyone else for that matter can enjoy the comfortable bourgeois lives they lead but happily shit on the sacrifices of the very same people who fight for the way of life they take for granted.

Anyway, I’m venting, and for that I apologise. Of course we can disagree but I hope not violently. I prefer civility regardless of how passionate one’s beliefs are. There’s no point winning an argument if you don’t win over the person too. In that spirit let us continue.

I’m not going to defend the study of Classics as a whole here. I’ve addressed that question elsewhere in my blog and perhaps it would make my tutors at Cambridge blush but here’s my piss poor attempt nonetheless (click on this link to the blog post)

Otherwise there are plenty of excellent Ancient Greek and ancient world related blogs well worth your time to browse through and even learn from about the importance of the ancient world. Here are just a few:

I would recommend the following:

https://gemsofgreece.tumblr.com/

https://www.tumblr.com/alatismeni-theitsa

https://wordsmithic.tumblr.com/

https://thoodleoo.tumblr.com/

Just another house keeping point. It may sound trivial but it’s important. It’s just the British Army not the Royal British army. I’m assuming you’re American and so it’s understandable that you’re more likely to make that error because you’re not British. We have a Royal Navy and even a Royal Air Force but curiously not a Royal Army. Why that is so is rooted in our peculiar British history going back to Charles I and II. The Royal Navy was always loyal to the monarchy during the war with Parliament and so it kept the Royal bit. The army not so much. Indeed the origin of the British army was Cromwell and his famed New Model Army, in other words, it was an instrument of Parliament. Since the restoration of the throne all army officers and soldiers swear an oath of loyalty to the reigning monarch.

But it’s also true there is alternative legitimate argument that there never has been a British army per se, just a tribal collection of regiments with their own roots to a community, proud traditions and rituals unique to that regiment, and fiercely guarded independence.

The argument goes that the British Army actually goes further back than the English civil war of Cromwell and Charles I. A monarch would raise a force by calling on his nobleman to call their own men from their lands to arms and fight for him (a regiment). Only a very, very small proportion of an army would be directly paid and commanded by the monarch. By contrast, as far back as the Saxon period, English/British monarchs have maintained a fleet of warships at their own expense.

From the Restoration onwards there were still lingering distrust between Parliament and the monarchy, especially over the issue of a standing army, which was seen as totally opposed to the liberty of the nation. The Bill of Rights in 1689 stipulated that a standard army could only be paid for by Parliament, even if the monarch was the nominal commander-in-chief. This meant that Parliament had to repeatedly allocate money from the Treasury to fund the army, which meant that it regularly had to pass Acts to do so. If Parliament didn’t pass those Acts, the army would cease to exist. It existed at the behest of Parliament and was, therefore, not the monarch’s property. It was therefore not Royal.

Today a Corps Warrant is the formal document that legally establishes the various regiments and corps of the British Army for the purposes of the Armed Forces Act 2006. This reflects the historical origins of these unique regiments or corps, which were raised on the authority of the Sovereign, usually by a named individual and by means of a royal warrant or commission granted for that purpose.

Now to get to the heart of the questions you raised.

I hope to God I don’t glorify war. If I am guilty of anything it is recognising the sacrifices those in uniform have made for the societies they serve (forgetting for the moment the legitimacy of war or how war is waged by their political masters). Anyone who has gone to war or experienced war does not glorify war. They bear the brunt of what the cost of war is - they witness the death of a comrade in arms or silently observe the ashen corpses that were once living and breathing men, women, and children. Surviving is the only glory of war.

I have to take issue with your very rosy picture that society and culture would run just fine without war, when history has shown it is its engine. No one put it in a more pithy way than Orson Welle’s amoral character Harry Lime in that class film The Third Man, “In Italy, for 30 years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed - they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love and 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock!”

Society - let alone a culture - does not operate in a vacuum. Something gives birth to society. In this case war gives birth to society, however unpalatable that truth affects your progressive sensibilities. “War is the father of all things”, Heraclitus wrote.

In fact, most of human history is about war; war shaped societies; war made people rich; war made people poor; war destroyed cultures; war shaped cultures; war brought religions; war entertained; war was waged for nothing; war was waged for everything. Do you know honestly believe in your understanding of world history that only these so-called dead white men of Greece and Rome waged war? If you do, then I question how historically illiterate your understanding is of non-Western history.

It is only fitting that humankind’s first true historian was a general and it just so happens he was a Greek. Thucydides of Athens was one of the ten “Strategoi”, the elected military leaders of the democratic Athens. When the Athenians lost an important battle in 422 BC, Thucydides was blamed for the loss and sent to exile. To serve for the Athenian democracy was in a certain sense not unlike serving under modern dictators: one “wrong” result could lead to banishment or even death. Thucydides, therefore, watched the great conflict between Athens and Sparta from the sidelines. Between 431 and 404 BC, both poleis fought a multidimensional war in which all Greek states and many of the neighbouring nations got sucked in. Sparta won in the end, but lost the following peace. The Greek poleis had lost so much blood, treasure, and will that they were no longer able to fight off the monarchies around them (like they did against the Persians in 490 and 480 BC).

For Thucydides there were three reasons for war: fear, interest, honour. Undoubtedly, this was a most insightful concept that holds truth till today.

We owe a lot to the Greeks and Romans - not as much as many would like to think because of the impact of Western Christianity from where we draw much of our shared beliefs such as human rights and individual integrity (please read Cambridge educated classicist Tom Holland’s excellent book Millennium: The End of the World and the Forging of Christendom) - and it is rightly seen as one of the bedrocks of Western civilisation.

The university today and Western society at large has forgotten that history itself had begun with Herodotus and Thucydides as the story of armed conflicts. These so-called ‘dead white men’ actually teach us something about ourselves as individuals and as a society. And that is as Thucydides wrote, “War is a violent teacher.” Thucydides knew from personal experience that war could teach people to do terrible things.

There are many reasons why people are drawn to military history. People may feel drawn to military history because they wants to learn about virtues forged out of war such as duty, honour, and sacrifice (don’t laugh), or because of interest in technology or because of a pathological need to experience violence (more often than we care to admit), if only vicariously. The importance - and challenge - of the academic study of war is to elevate that popular enthusiasm into a more capacious and serious understanding, one that seeks answers to such questions as: Why do wars break out? How do they end? Why do the winners win and the losers lose? How best to avoid wars or contain their worst effects?

A peace time public illiterate about the conflicts of the past can easily find itself paralysed in the acrimony of the present. Without standards of historical comparison, it will prove ill equipped to make informed judgments.

It’s not that military history offers cookie-cutter comparisons with the past. Instead, knowledge of past wars establishes wide parameters of what to expect from new ones. Themes, emotions, and rhetoric remain constant over the centuries, and thus generally predictable. Athens’s disastrous expedition in 415 BC against Sicily, the largest democracy in the Greek world, may not prefigure the West’s war in Iraq. But the story of the Sicilian calamity does instruct us on how consensual societies can clamour for war - yet soon become disheartened and predicate their support on the perceived pulse of the battlefield.

Military history is as often the story of appeasement as of warmongering. The destructive military careers of Alexander the Great, Caesar, Napoleon, and Hitler would all have ended early had any of their numerous enemies united when the odds favoured them.

Indeed, by ignoring history, the modern age is free to interpret war as a failure of communication, of diplomacy, of talking - as if aggressors don’t know exactly what they’re doing. Margaret Atwood, a writer I do admire, once put it, “War is what happens when language fails”. This was a view echoed by many between the two World Wars. It was an argument popularised by historians such as AJP Taylor at the time. But we now know that not to be true.

For the easily triggered narcissist generation raised on woke popular culture, real life problems between states, like those in our personal lives, should be argued about by equally civilised and peaceful rivals, and so solved without resorting to violence and done in the spirit of inclusivity and diversity.

Yet it’s hard to find many wars that result from miscommunication. Far more often they break out because of malevolent intent and the absence of deterrence. To her credit, it was Margaret Atwood who would write in her poem: “Wars happen because the ones who start them / think they can win.” That’s it in a nutshell. Nothing fancy or intellectual or intersectional just a simple brutal truth: power trumps all. It was Hitler who put it in stark terms, “If you win, you need not have to explain...If you lose, you should not be there to explain!”

In the twenty-first century, it’s easier than ever to succumb to technological determinism, the idea that science, new weaponry, and globalisation have altered the very rules of war. But military history teaches us that our ability to strike a single individual from 30,000 feet up with a GPS bomb or a jihadist’s efforts to have his propaganda beamed to millions in real time do not necessarily transform the conditions that determine who wins and who loses wars.

True, instant communications may compress decision making, and generals must be skilled at news conferences that can now influence the views of millions worldwide. Yet these are really just new wrinkles on the old face of war. The improvised explosive device versus the armoured fighting vehicle (AFV) or the RPG rocket launcher against an Apache AH64 helicopter are simply an updated take on the catapult versus the stone wall or the harquebus versus the mailed knight. The long history of war suggests no static primacy of the defensive or the offensive, or of one sort of weapon over the other, but just temporary advantages gained by particular strategies and technologies that go unanswered for a time by less adept adversaries.

Military history reminds us of important anomalies and paradoxes. When Sparta invaded Attica in the first spring of the Peloponnesian war, Thucydides recounts, it expected the Athenians to surrender after a few short seasons of ravaging. They didn’t - but a plague that broke out unexpectedly did more damage than thousands of Spartan ravagers did. Twenty-seven years later, a maritime Athens lost the war at sea to Sparta, an insular land power that started the conflict with scarcely a navy. The 2003 removal of Saddam refuted doom-and-gloom critics who predicted thousands of deaths and millions of refugees, just as the subsequent messy four-year reconstruction didn’t evolve as anticipated into a quiet, stable democracy - to say the least. Hubris always goes before a fall.

Finally, military history has the moral purpose of educating us about past sacrifices that have secured our present freedom and security. If we know nothing of Hastings, Agincourt, Boyne, Trafalgar, Waterloo, Somme, Passchendaele, Battle of Britain, El Alamein, Imphal, Kohima, Falklands, and Helmand, the crosses in our military cemeteries are just pleasant grey stones on lush green lawns. They no longer serve as reminders that thousands endured pain and hardship for our right to listen to what we wish on our smartphones and to shop online in safety, and to protest for social grievances by desecrating statues - or that they expected future generations, links in this great chain of obligation, to do the same for those not yet born.

Most nations are born through war, reunited by war, and saved from destruction by war. No future generation, however comfortable and affluent (yes, that includes you from the safety of your ivory tower), should escape that terrible knowledge. I don’t enjoy saying that and I certainly don’t revel in it. I only say it because it’s what the span of human history teaches us and what my personal experience of the battlefield has been.

We must all abandon the naive faith that with enough money, education, or good intentions, we can change the nature of mankind so that conflict, as if by fiat, becomes a thing of the past. In the end, the study of war reminds us that we will never be gods. We will always just be men (and women), it tells us. Some men and women will always prefer war to peace; and other men and women, we who have learned from the past, have a moral obligation to stop them. Because if we don’t then something much worse will always meet us further down the line and we may not be able to stop them.

I don’t apologise for my less than rosy view of human nature but long before history littered the battlefields of Marathon and Thermopylae or Alesia and Canae with dead white males, we would do well to heed the words of Cormac McCarthy who wrote in Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West, “War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.”

Thanks for your question.

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