#lays of ancient rome

[too-antigonish]

Morse: Fathers & Father Figures

What we learn about Morse's father in the Dexter's novels can seem a bit surprising in light of the way their relationship is depicted in Home.

According to a piece written by fellow author Mike Ripley, however, Dexter was, "...just about the only crime writer I know who has never bitched or complained about television adaptations of his work. He once told me that his philosophy was: “Books is books, telly is telly.” Only he probably put it more grammatically than that."

In Death Is Now My Neighbor, Dexter finally revealed Morse's first name: Endeavour. The chapter in question begins (tellingly?) with the epithet:

They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. (Philip Larkin, This Be the Verse') 

A bit into the chapter we arrive at a moment where Morse is strolling around Bath with his new love interest, Janet, and the following conversation takes place:

It was late morning, as they were walking arm-in-arm down to the city centre, following the signs to the Roman Baths, that she asked him the question:  'Shall I just keep calling you "Morse"?'. 'I'd prefer that, yes.'  'Whatever you say, sir!'  "You sound like Lewis. He always calls me "sir".' 'What do you call him?'  '"Lewis".' 'Does he know your Christian name?'  'No.'  'How come you got lumbered with it?'  Morse was silent awhile before answering:'They both had to leave school early, my parents - and they never had much of a chance in life themselves. That's partly the reason, I suppose. They used to keep on to me all the time about trying as hard as I could in life. They wanted me to do that. They expected me to do that. Sort of emotional blackmail, really - when you come to think of it.'  'Did you love them?" Morse nodded. 'Especially my father. He drank and gambled far too much ... but I loved him, yes. He knew nothing really - except two things: he could recite all of Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome by heart; and he'd read everything ever written about his greatest hero in life, Captain Cook - "Captain James Cook, 1728 to 1779", as he always used to call him.'  'And your mother?'  'She was a gentle soul. She was a Quaker.' 'It all adds up then, really?' said Janet slowly.  'I suppose so,' said Morse.

This conversation eventually leads to Janet convincing Morse to send Lewis a postcard in which he reveals his first name. The card reads:

"For Philistines like you, Lewis, as well as for classical scholars like me, this city with its baths, and temples must rank as one of the finest in Europe. You ought to bring the missus here some time. Did I ever get the chance to thank you for the few (!) contributions you made to our last case together? If I didn’t, let me thank you now – let me thank you for everything, my dear old friend. Yours aye, Endeavour (Morse)"

Spoiler: It makes Lewis cry.

One last note about Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome. The most famous poem from the collection is Horatius. It is quoted twice in Exeunt—first by a don, second and most memorably for me, by Thursday.

"Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate: "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his Gods."'

[pendragonsclotpole]

building on my idea that merlin takes on the name ambrose pendragon after arthur’s death, like imagine it’s 50 years later.

everyone from camelot is dead. the anglo-saxons have won, historical conquests of britain are continuing on as they did and here remains merlin, previously known as emrys, neither name really a surname and the latter always more of a title, but both representative of a world that no longer exists, a kingdom that has fallen apart, a servant with no master, a half without that which makes it whole.

so maybe merlin leaves. he explores. first he travels the isle and perhaps when people ask him who he is he defaults to an ancient practice. people, you see, have often been known by what they do or who they serve or where they come from. for a while, for the decades that pass wherein people remember the rule of the pendragons and the great kingdom of camelot and the failed prophecies of albion, he is not Merlin of Ealdor but Merlin of Camelot.

but people die. memories fade. time passes. merlin remains. and after a while, he cannot call himself Merlin of Camelot. not only do people forget his old kingdom, they forget his name, they bring along new languages and then around 300 years after arthur’s death, a collection of stories begin to be written, about magic, about merlin, about—

Arthur.

people you see, have often been defined by what they do or who they serve or where they come from. when the stories of arthur begin to be told anew, and remain with merlin through the tide of centuries, merlin resolves to forge a new name. he devises first the name in the style of a servant or of some of the common folk.

Merlin of Pendragon.

merlin toys with that idea, wears it for a few decades but something in those words rings false, sounds wrong, and unsettles his blood, as if he lays claim to a dynasty that shall never be his and will never rise again. when he uses it, people laugh and think him an uneducated fool playing at legend. it feels trite and awkward and wrong.

Merlin Pendragon sounds better, more forgivable if not entirely presentable. It makes merlin sound like he is a Pendragon, but only one sorcerer has ever laid claim to the Pendragon name and her name had not been merlin. (it makes merlin a Pendragon, and not even when Arthur lived had merlin considered such a fate a possibility, that Arthur could ever consider—)

merlin continues thinking, and by the time he settles on a replacement it is out of obligation and urgency. he cannot be nameless while he works as a healer and travels the world and serves other people as best as he can. he cannot be merlin Pendragon if the only man who could have conferred that name to him is dead.

instead he becomes Emrys Pendragon, and for a while, that name becomes a second skin. but like the serpent he has always been, merlin eventually sheds that skin. centuries have passed and those who once bore the name emrys, the last descendants of the druids and the people of Camelot, now only recognize that name in legend. the name once more marks him as stupid fool in love with the romantic notion of chivalry. besides, the languages have shifted and a name that once rolled off the tongue has become clotted and stuck in the mouths of people. no one can say it as it had once been said nor as it once belonged by arthur’s side, if only in secret.

merlin again returns to the drawing board, and luckily by that time he is aware of the translations of his many names. on a visit to rome, the grand imperial capital Arthur once dreamt of seeing as a young man, merlin thinks of a perfect substitute. His final name.

Ambrose.

Ambrose Pendragon.

it is emrys, but not quite.

it is merlin as he is forced to live without Arthur.

it is what Arthur could have been if he had lived at merlin’s side.

it is, written shorter, A. Pendragon.

it is a simple name. it is a stupid name. it is a name that breaks his heart and reminds him of his failings and keeps the faith alive within him.

years after adopting the name, merlin wakes up and walks to his desk and sees the name written on the outside of an envelope and he imagines it’s a letter from arthur.

a thousand years later, he sees it written on the sides of coffee cups and envelopes, monogrammed on his coats and cufflinks, inked on his essays, emblazoned on the side of his shop, and merlin imagines that when Arthur returns, he will return to a world already familiar with an A. Pendragon.

It shall be a welcoming world, as if across all these centuries, by some miracle, Arthur Pendragon had lived all along.

[stumpyjoepete]

Thinking a bit more about Megalopolis (see prev post). It's not really the case that the script is as disjointed or schizophrenic as my post makes it out to be. The central plot is pretty simple: an egotistical city planner has an ambitious and futuristic vision for redeveloping the city, and he butts heads with the Mayor and others who oppose him in this. He ultimately succeeds in building his utopian "megalopolis". Everyone is happy, the end.

And yet.

There's this... intense centrifugal force that prevents everything from cohering into a unified whole. It's like a puzzle where all the pieces are cut from the same picture, but upon closer inspection, no two pieces quite fit together. Or like that collection of nonsensical objects. A fork where the tines and the handle are connected by a chain. A watering can with the spout facing the wrong way. A quick glance leaves you confused, and that confusion is only deepened by further contemplation.

I think this is especially clear in the pseudo-intellectualism of the title cards, narration, monologues, and quotations/references:

Laurence Fishburne does this heavy-handed narration at the beginning and end of the movie (and several random points in between). And there are these associated title cards that look like they were made by applying an "Ancient Rome" theme to some PowerPoint slides. "Or will we too fall victim, like old Rome, to the insatiable appetite for power of a few men?" My brother in Christ, you are making a movie where the hero is named Cesar, and the happy ending is when he successfully pulls a Robert Moses. This is not a story about power corrupting or good intentions going awry. What are you doing???

Cesar Catilina interrupts Mayor Cicero's speech (where he is introducing a plan to build a casino) in order to lay out an early plan for "megalopolis", which is an ambitious and long-term alternative to the (short-term) casino plan. He prefaces his megalopolis pitch by reciting the Hamlet soliloquy. What exactly does Coppola think "To Be Or Not To Be" is about? He must thinks it means, "I am a dark and brooding bad-boy intellectual", since it's hard to see how "I'd like to kill myself, but I fear death" fits into an argument about the importance of long-term thinking in urban planning.

Cesar says several negative things about "civilization". "[Imagine] humanity as an old tree with one misguided branch called civilization... going nowhere." (Shot of notebook shows an illustration with 'war' and 'cruelty' offshoots from said branch.) "Emerson said the end of the human race will be that we'll eventually die of civilization." (Note: unsourced, probably fake quote.) "Civilization itself remains the great enemy of mankind." Umm... you're an urban planner! You're doing a high modernism. What exactly does it mean for you to call civilization the enemy? Is "megalopolis" somehow anti-civilization because it looks like a Georgia O'Keefe painting instead of a bunch of straight lines and right angles? Will the "war" and "cruelty" branches wither and die when buildings have labia?

Also, there's this amazing line read that completely inverts the meaning of a fake Marcus Aurelius quote (the quote was attributed to him by Tolstoy but is not actually something he said). "The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape... finding yourself in the ranks of the insane." Why did you put in that pause??? Fake Marcus Aurelius is turning in his grave! You're supposed to be fleeing FROM the ranks of the insane! I suppose this isn't really inconsistent with the characterization of Cesar, it's just such a fucking batshit thing to say.

All of the cargo-cult intellectualism listed above could perhaps be excused if the vision that the film is supposedly about had any content whatsoever. Or, alternatively, if the movie was about something more substantive, and the vacuous megalopolis vision took place off-screen in an epilogue, like the "happily ever after" of a children's story. But no! The movie repeatedly interrupts the plot to grab you by the shoulders and scream in your face: "I have a vision! For the future!". And then--now that it has your undivided attention--it shits the bed like a man who has just polished off an entire bag of sugar-free gummy bears and washed them down with a fistful of Ambien:

"Conversation isn't enough. It's the questions that lead it to the next step. But initially, you have to have a conversation. The city itself is immaterial, but they're talking about it for the first time. And it's not just about us talking about it. It's the need to talk about it. It's as urgent to us as air and water."

"Mr. Catalina, you said that as we jump into the future, we should do so unafraid. But what if when we do jump into the future, there is something to be afraid of?" "Well, there's nothing to be afraid of if you love, or have loved. It's an unstoppable force. It's unbreakable. It has no limits. It's within us. It's around us. And it's stretched throughout time. It's nothing you can touch. Yet it guides every decision that we make. But we do have the obligation to each other to ask questions of one another. What can we do? Is this society, is this way we're living, the only one that's available to us? And when we ask these questions, when there's a dialogue about them, that basically is a utopia."

After the revolution, we won't have conflicts anymore; we'll have dialogue instead. We won't have a need for the "jobs" and "sanitation" of "now"; we'll have the "imperishable" "dreams" of "forever". We won't have problems that need solving; we'll all be too busy asking each other questions. Now, if everyone could just shut up and get the hell out of the way and let Cesar implement his vision, then "everyone" will soon be "creating together, learning together, perfecting body and mind." A chorus of children's voices gradually morphing into Laurence Fishburne's, chanting, "One Earth, indivisible, with long life, education and justice for all." It's eschatological anti-politics made entirely from cotton candy. Please, for the love of God, stop making Adam Driver monologue at me! Let's get back to Aubrey Plaza stepping on horny fascist Shia LaBeouf!

The incoherence of Megalopolis's vision is compounded by how anachronistic its depiction of our fallen world is. There are some half-hearted (and ham-fisted) gestures in the Clodio sub-plot towards the dangers of Trumpian populism, but the script was first written in the 80's, and it's extremely obvious that Coppola is writing about New York City in the preceding several decades. The city's finances are in dire straights. (There's literally a "Ford Tells City: Drop Dead" reference!) The city is full of slums, the streets are full of crime, and the elites are all decadent. (For Coppola, decadence means that ladies are doing cocaine and smooching each other in the cluh-ub.) The main character is Neo-Roman Robert Moses, and the conflict of the film is about urban renewal. In case you, like Mr. Coppola, have not been made aware, slum clearance is not a major political issue in 2020's Manhattan.

Two thirds of the way through the movie, a falling Soviet satellite provides a deus ex machina, blowing up the financial district and clearing space for megalopolis to take its place. Ironically, a previous attempt to produce the film came to its abrupt end when two planes flew into some buildings in the financial district. Perhaps you heard about it. The financial backers of the film at the time considered Megalopolis's plot a bit too close to current events for comfort and withdrew their support.

But Coppola's depiction of Manhattan was already decades out of date by then. Moses stepped down in '60. Jacobs' book railing against urban renewal came out in '61. The Power Broker came out in '74. One presumes popular opinion of Robert Moses soured in the following years. The crisis of the city's finances that peaked in '75 was over by '81 when NYC balanced its budget and reentered the bond market. The crime wave of the 70's and 80's had receded by the year 2000. The demand for housing in NYC proper is as high as it ever has been, and it's only getting higher. Megalopolis imagines America as an incoherent mishmash of several decades of mid-century NYC, dressed up in the toga of the late Roman Republic, calling out for (Robert) Moses to part the slums and take us into a promised land that is literally beyond any description, and whose only concrete feature seems to be glowing people-movers.

A Robert Moses with the power to stop time, at that!

Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Cesar discovers he has the power to stop time in the opening scene of the film. I forgot because it's literally irrelevant to the plot. Time stops a few times, and then it starts back up again, and the events of the film just plod inexorably forward. For a movie as temporally dislocated as Metropolis, perhaps that's just as well.

[blueiscoool]

Archaeologists Unearth Ancient Mosaic of Winged Medusa in Spain

The stunningly preserved Ancient Roman mosaic floor was found at the Huerta de Otero site in the city of Mérida.

In both ancient and modern interpretations, Medusa is often known as a monster — a Gorgon with tresses of serpents whose stare turned men to stone. This version typically appears in children’s movies and fantasy thrillers, but her image hasn’t always been so awe-inspiring. In late June, archaeologists in Western Spain uncovered an Ancient Roman mosaic floor that depicts Medusa with tiny wings and flowing locks of hair, thought to have been used as a protective symbol.

The mosaic was found in the city of Mérida’s Huerta de Otero archaeological site. Ancient Romans established a colony there in 25 BCE named Augusta Emerita. Traces of its former inhabitants — including an amphitheater and a bridge — can be found throughout the modern-day city. “[The site] is of an exceptional nature due to the level of conservation of the ruins and, above all, the ornamental elements that decorate the well-preserved house: not only the mosaic of the Medusa but also paintings and sculptural motifs,” said archaeologist Félix Palma in a statement.

The Huerta de Otero location was excavated in 1976 but lay untouched for decades. Research picked back up in 2019, when the city employed professional archaeologists and students from its Barraeca II Professional School to explore the ruins. Since then, the team has uncovered an Ancient Roman defensive wall, a road, and the home of a wealthy family.

The Medusa mosaic adorned the floor of this home. Depictions of fish, peacocks, and carefully tessellated patterns surround the artwork’s central figure: a human-like Medusa, her gaze turned to one side.

Although this image diverges from some contemporary renditions of the mythological figure, the mosaic’s winged version was common in Ancient portrayals of Medusa. While early Greek depictions of the mortal-turned-monster, cruelly punished for being raped by the god Poseidon, show her as grotesque, Medusa’s image softened by the time of the Ancient Romans. Beginning in the Classical Greek period, her face acquired more human attributes. It started to be rendered with symmetry and youthful beauty in the following centuries.

Other Ancient Roman mosaics featuring the head of Medusa have been discovered throughout Spain. Medusa again comprises the focal point of an Ancient Roman mosaic in a 115–150 CE work found in Rome, where she can be seen sporting human curls and a snake around her neck. A 1st-to-2nd-century ornament from a chariot pole shows a young woman with curly locks (although a couple of snakes still peer through her tangle of hair).

In Ancient Greek mythology, Perseus killed Medusa to avoid being turned to stone. Medusa, in her early terrifying form, was used as a protective symbol — “an image of evil to repel evil,” Madeleine Glennon writes in a 2017 essay for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The goddess Athena famously included a representation of Medusa’s severed head on her protective cloak or aegis. In Ancient Rome, her beautified image was still employed as a protective symbol, although the depiction shifted into a form more similar to a woman than a monster.

By Elaine Velie.

[theromaboo]

HAHA you can NEVER escape from us. Roman history fans of Tumblr, attack!!

here i am, on my old laptop, reading historical rpf. i started as a joke and now i'm worried that i will start unironically shipping augustus/agrippa

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Five

Summary: Geta speaks with his brother. Reader speaks with a trusted servant.

Notes/Warnings: mentions of ownership, mentions of viewed gender (in Ancient Rome), discussion of intimacy, quote from the famous Virgil in is italics.

❤️s, comments, reblogs & feedback are welcome and appreciated!

Carcalla turned sharply, his eyes were slits as he looked at him. “How dare you?” He snarled.

Geta rose his eyebrows. “How dare I?”

“Yes. In front of what? Her? She is nothing.” Caracalla, cackled once again.

Geta closed what little distance was between them. “She is mine. She is my property. Eventually, I may or may not free her but still then, you dare lay another finger on her and you may learn to regret it.”

Caracalla’s eyes grew but then they narrowed again as a wet chuckle escaped his cruel mouth.

“Oh? Are you getting sentimental?” His lips curled. “Do you need to buy the ones you sleep with?”

“Silence your voice.”

Caracalla finally was silent.

He had better realize, he was in know mood for his games.

“I am having a dinner here tonight with some of those insufferable senators, you can stay or you can go out with your cohorts but don’t you dare cause another scene.”

“There of no concern for me brother. I will let you handle them.”

With a swish of his robes he left. Geta’s stomach churned. He had been so relaxed, so calm and now he saw red.

Going to one of the adjacent rooms, he went and sighed once in the cooler room. It helped to calm his thudding heart. Seeing one of the tellings of August going to Germania was laying on one of the tables from the last time he was there. He ran his fingers over the papyrus before unrolling more of it, letting his eyes drift over the words.

He’d call someone to read some poetry. He was in no mood for some of the long discussions those senators enjoyed having.

*******

Once back in your small room, you finally let the tears fall down your cheeks. You could never understand the sharp difference Geta and Caracalla. How they were borne from the same woman, always surprised you. You were reminded of the tales of Romulus and Remus, your mother spoke of. Though, you truly hoped that Geta and Caracalla would not end up like they did.

It was the one moment, you doubted that Geta could possibly lose in such an instance. May the mighty Jupiter keep him safe, you quietly prayed.

Carcalla was far more brutal, more blood thirsty then Geta from what you had heard and observed. You worried if things came to that, who would be the victor and what would happen to you. Now Geta protected you, but how long would that last. Was it possible that he’d discard you like an old, worn rug or put you down like a wounded animal that could not heal.

All these musings swirled around you as you sat there, still shaking after Caracalla pushed you across the atrium.

*******

Thy son in Italy shall wage vast war
and, quell its nations wild; his city-wall
and sacred laws shall be a mighty bond
about his gathered people.

“Yes! That is how is shall always be!” Geta held his goblet up high. “And my general, Marcus Acacius shall wield our finest steel and strike fear in all that oppose us!”

Cheers, sounds of agreement filled the room.

Relief had filled you as you watched the good humors and contentment in Geta, the earlier feelings of worry gone and long forgotten.

Marcus Acacius, bowed his head and smiled as he looked back up. “Thank you sire.”

You took, a sip from your own goblet and before once again resting your hands back into your lap. The poetry of the man known as Virgil and the savory food filled everyone. They were warmed and had a healthy flush of color in them. It was all this that brightened the room more then even the candles that were placed all around.

As you glanced up towards the inky heavens, even the stars were far more brilliant then recently. You were very pleased, to be sitting beside Geta through in all.

******

“Your presence had calmed and pleased Geta tonight. That may mean, he will come for you.” Aelia told you softly as she undid the ribbons that had held your hair in.

“Oh? Shall it hurt ?” A slice of worry cut through you.

“He is in good spirits. There may only be a temporary discomfort but if he wants to keep the good humors.”

Taking a comb, she began to slide it through your strands.

“He may make sure sure it is only for the initial moments. Just keep on breathing, do not bottle up your breaths.”

“Do we as women ever enjoy it or is that only a prospect of intimacy lay with the women who do these acts who charge ?”

You heard as Aelia inhaled. It made you happy pause and look at her. “What?”

The woman had pressed her lips together. “Thank you for acknowledging my woman hand. I am only seen as thus from my equals, you may or may not be aware but since our sire owns you personally, you are above me.”

You made a face. “No, I am not aware. I was just a girl who would serve and remain in the shadows.”

The woman gave a small smile. “Not anymore.”

She looked away before looking once again back at you.

“But yes, we can however that decision of that, is solely up to our sire. He may just want to expel his needs. I do not know.”

“Ok. Just like I had promised to him. I will follow his guidance.”

“That is truly the best.”

You felt as her fingers trembled as she continued to care for your hair.

******

The candles flickered as your door opened. You glanced over from where you sat.

It was one of Geta’s personal guard. “You are to come from me. Our sire, wishes you to come to his private quarters.

“Yes.” Was all you said.

Your footfalls and his echoed in the silent Domus. No other sounds could be heard. Such a contrast to the earlier festive and merriment. There had been liquid been been flowing into goblets and utensils and plants clanking on tables as food was ate and served.

******

The door creaked as he opened it. You walked in and flinched as it banged, behind you once it closed.

“There is the blossom of Rome, my blossom.”

Turning you watched as Geta strode in. A rich red, maroon of sorts were tied and flowed down from his waist. You had never seen his bare chested, his strength was very apparent. You had only seen that kind of strength reflected in the Gladiators that fought and battled in the arena.

“Evening, Geta. Thank you for your kind words.”

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @missonlypost @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @heartsforjosephquinn

[vidavalor]

Aziraphale

What's in a name?

Azir: Chosen one

Azira: "a rising star"; someone who will be successful

Pronounced as: "A zir, a phale"

Zir: Pronoun for a non-binary person

Phale: from the Middle English 'whal'/'hwal'/'wale'/'whale', used to denote any large, sea-dwelling mammal, such as walruses, porpoises, and whales.

Also: Phale: the sum of money or allotment of produce to be given to a landowner as rent

Phale: (spelled the same but pronounced "pah-lay") Tibetan word for bread.

Phale, frequently confused with Phiale:

Phiale: a shallow, ceramic or metal bowl, used for libations

Also: Phiale: a fountain in the entrance or front of a church, for blessing of water

Phale, from Phalera...

Phalera: A metal disc or medallion, usually worn on the breast as an ornament and as part of a military uniform

Also: Phalera: a genus of moth-- insects which are drawn towards light. Humans are ants; angels are bees; demons are hornets; flies are Lord Beezlebub's department...

Also: Phalera: a decoration for the harness of a horse, popular in ancient Rome

[jungle-angel]

The Apples Of The Teacher's Eyes (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob have a little surprise for your students before the start of school vacation

Tagging: @bobfloydsbabe @bradleybeachbabe @sebsxphia Helena my dear, you officially have me desperate to write for Teacher!Bob and Teacher!Reader so any time you want a little short story or anything, don't hesitate to ask (lol).

"Alright my evil little henchmen, let's get down to business!" Bob announced, placing a huge, heavy old book onto his desk.

"To defeat the huns!" sang one of the students.

"Don't even start it Callum," Bob warned him. "I already had to hear it from the choir teacher and I don't need to hear it again."

Callum snickered as the students all moved the desks together while Bob fixed the chalkboard drawing he had made as well as the notes for the new lesson block.

"Alright," Bob announced. "So yesterday we wrapped up our studies on Ancient Rome and now we're starting the Vikings. How many of you guys in Mrs. Floyd's literature class started reading the Norse epics?"

Only a few had raised their hands.

"Ok so just a couple of you," Bob mused. "Well, we're gonna start right at the beginning by getting a lay of the land and the geography of the regions in this particular civilization. Then we're gonna get into key figures, battles, events and all that before we get into any kind of literature, music or mythology."

Bob's students couldn't have been more excited. Both him and you knew how to make these things come alive and jump right off the pages. The scratch of the chalk and the hushed whispers of his students were the best parts of his day, second only to coming home to you.

He knocked at the chalkboard with a free finger, his hand still holding the chalk with smears of stray dust coating his fingertips. "Here we go guys," he said. "Lay of the land.....what can you tell? Alonso?"

"Alot of ocean all around so it must've been a seafaring kind of society," Alonso Garcia answered.

"You would be right," Bob pointed out. "Anybody else? Birdy?"

"I remember from our geography main lesson that there were also rivers, fjords and lakes which made boat travel a staple part of life," Birdy O'Connor answered.

"What else? Elen?"

"I noticed too that there's lots of islands that fly off the peninsulas too," answered Elen O'Neill, the curly redheaded girl in the front row.

"All very excellent points," Bob answered. "Twenty points to Gryffindor."

The students laughed a little before Bob continued on with the lesson.

"Now if we remember too," he continued. "People were more likely to settle in and around the sea rather than further inland....."

"With a damn good reason," you joked, poking your head in the door and scaring the ever living shit out of Bob.

"MRS. FLOYD!!!!!" the students shouted.

"SHHHHH!!!" you shushed sharply, holding your finger to your lips. "Do not.....I repeat.....DO NOT wake the baby."

"Oh my Lord you brought the baby?!" Elen gasped.

All of your students clambered to see the little carseat you carried on your arm, carefully moving aside so you could set it on the desks that had been pushed together. Inside was yours and Bob's newborn son, August Robert, who was so tiny he looked like he was being swallowed up by his blanket.

"Oh my God he's so cute!"

"He looks just like Mr. Floyd."

"Look at those little cheeks!"

"Oh my God, I wanna get married so I can have one!"

Bob blushed and bit his knuckles when he heard that out of Elen and so didn't you.

Auggie started to squirm a little, a wakeful little coo making everybody fall quiet as Bob moved to unbuckle him and pick him up. "Shhhh.....shhhh......you're ok.......you're ok," Bob whispered, bringing Auggie carefully to his chest, blanket and all, the baby's whimpering quieting right down as soon as Bob began to gently pat his back.

You and the students couldn't help but take picture after picture on their phones of Bob with the baby, the besotted look on his face making you melt.

"Alright guys, let's get back into it," Bob announced.

"Aw c'mon!" groaned the students as they sat back down.

You laughed a little before Bob kissed you. "You're supposed to be at home resting Mrs. Floyd," he whispered, still gently rocking Auggie in his arms.

"And miss all of this?" you chuckled. "Hell no."

Bob smiled and kissed you again, loving the thought of you sitting in on the main lesson and the ooing and ahhing from the students as he both taught and rocked Auggie at the same time.

[kaaaaaaarf]

what is a wolfstar?

Well Philomena—can I call you Philomena? I'm glad you asked. You see I'm a scholar and this area is my specialty.

It starts in what is now known as ancient Rome. People often get the ancient tale of Remus and Romulus wrong, and in actuality this is where the first recorded instance of the term wolfstar occurred. In the actual tale, (which I found on these ancient tablets—no you can't see the tablets, don't worry I interpreted them correctly) Remus never died—in fact, he parted ways with his brother Romulus (who was a total dick) and went to hang with his papa Lyall, aka the God Mars. Even in the heavens, he never forgot his nanny the wolf, who suckled he and his brother when they were babies. Sadly, he had no idea where she was and missed her dearly every day. As a result, he became known as Where Wolf, due to his cries in his sleep, wondering where she was.

One day while he was hangin' out with the Gods, he saw a shooting star that seemed to crash land in Rome. Curious, he came down from the heavens to find the star. In the crater where the star landed was a very handsome young man, with raven black hair. It turns out the star (named Sirius) had been rejected from the heavens due to his family being pretty cunty for being stars, and soon they fell in love.

The Where Wolf and the Star lived together for eternity in the heavens, where Remus invited him to lay low. Sirius the star did not seem to mind that there was only one cloud bed.

Thus, wolfstar lived happily ever after (well one of them fell through a vale but don't worry about that part).

[too-antigonish]

My Strange but Unified Theory of Exeunt

Last week I talked about the poem Horatio in a post about Morse and fathers and @astridcontramundum asked what I thought it meant in the context of Exeunt. Hopefully she won't be sorry she asked because here's my (as usual) long answer:

Horatio is quoted from twice in Exeunt. The first time, Prof. Fortescue is lecturing to his students at a tutorial and gives us the most famous lines:  

Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate:  "To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds For the ashes of his fathers And the temples of his gods?"

The second time occurs just before Thursday’s has his “turn” in the same spot where Morse will many years later experience his own collapse. He says: ”’How well Horatius kept the bridge in the brave days of old.’ We'd a padre big on that out in the desert. Drumhead service just before Alamein. ‘And how can man die better than facing fearful odds?’ Always stuck with me.”

I think they used those lines to plainly tease the idea that Thursday was going to die. Prior to Exeunt airing, almost everyone thought Thursday would have to die in order to explain Morse’s never mentioning him again in the future. When Fortescue says those lines in the beginning, I think we’re supposed to think that someone—probably Thursday—is going to die heroically. Then Thursday repeats some of the poem—connecting it to his WWII service—just before he has his “spell” and it seems like more foreshadowing. 

The thing about the poem though, that most people *don’t* know, is that the big surprise at the end is that Horatio *doesn’t* die. It just looks like he will: Even when his companions have abandoned the bridge because it is on the verge of collapse, Horatius remains. He stays until bridge finally does fail, and then plunges into the river below with the full weight of his armor. It is certain death and both sides stand stunned into silence by his final sacrifice.

But then, both sides find themselves even more surprised when they see the crest of his helmet beginning to rise from the water and he slowly emerges, striding towards the Roman bank. He not only survives, but arrives home to a hero’s welcome and a long life.

All of the usual narrative pieces are in place for us to expect Thursday to make the ultimate sacrifice—to die. For me, Thursday—like Horatio—does sacrifice everything, but the poem was actually foreshadowing his survival, not his death. And for Thursday, his survival is in many ways a far more difficult sacrifice than death would have been. It would have been easier for him in so many ways if he had died in defense of Sam or even fighting Lott. Instead he has to live with the ambiguous and messy aftermath.

Morse could also be Horatio in the sense that he goes to Blenheim Vale facing a high probability of death. What were the chances that the bikers would “come through” for him? That Morse went expecting to be double-crossed and killed by Lott seems much more likely to me. But I do think that Morse, like Horatio, would reason that, “If you’re going to go, then there’s no better way than defending the things that are most important to you,” and so he goes anyway.

He survives too—but unlike Horatio, his heroism will always remain a secret *and* with his realization about Thursday’s guilt and Lott’s revelation about Tomahawk’s identity, it brings perhaps more sorrow than it does victory. And, I would argue that his survival is only temporary or perhaps partial.

The gunshot scene has many possible interpretations, but at its core, my (forever unprovable) theory is that it balances out the survival foreshadowed by Horatio. Horatio was all about the audience assuming that Thursday had to die. But along with that went the assumption that of course Endeavour had to live. This is a prequel after all.

But the gunshot scene said a big, loud, “No. We can kill off Endeavour if we want to and we will.” You can go back and forth until the cows come home about whether or not the scene was simply him contemplating death, actually going through with it, or absolutely, purely symbolic and imaginative. However, I don’t think you can honestly argue that the scene doesn’t somehow connect the concepts of  “Endeavour Morse,” “gun,” and “death” to each other. Somehow those concepts have to be included in any interpretation.

So this leads to my weird theory about Exeunt, which is that Russ Lewis heard everyone saying, “Well I don’t know what’s going to happen in the end, but of course we all know that Morse is going to live—so no suspense there. And Thursday, well, he has to die. I mean it’s the only way to explain why we never hear about him later.” And to this, Russ Lewis thought, “Ha! I’m going to do exactly the opposite. Thursday lives and Morse dies!” 

Am I right? I will never know. Do I have more thoughts on Exeunt? You really, really don't want to know just how many.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Thirty

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut, fingering, sweet dirty talk, creampie, possessiveness, falling in love

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

“It’s all getting too complex, Tom.”

“Maybe. But not too much for you.”

“Yes, for me.”

“You’ve been through worse though, haven’t you?”

“Have I? I’m not sure… Nothing with higher stakes, certainly.”

“Oh, come on… You’ve moved to a foreign country and lived here on your own for years. Worked for a crazy old man with a monster in the basement —”

“That’s unfair. Ambrogio was just a bit eccentric.”

“What do you think the auctioneers will do? Even if the worst should happen and you make some grave mistake… Will they turn you into a toad? Kill you? Cast a magic spell, what, like Abracadabra?”

“Worse. They’ll laugh at me.”

“Ah.”

“A failure. Humiliated. Publicly.”

“Well, I’ll be there, and if any laugh at you I’ll Avada Kedavra them myself.”

“Saying it doesn’t kill anybody, Tom,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll bring my wand, too.”

For some reason, that’s what made her laugh. It somehow added to the quiet, her laughter in the dark. They lay beside each other on her bed, warm beneath the covers, knee to knee. What started as Tom trying to console her following her meeting with Mr. Malfoy had melted into something else.

“Oh, you had better,” she chuckled. “I am so fond of your magic wand.”

He purred when he felt her careful fingers slip around his thighs. She scratched him gently above his clothes on her way to his waistline, then slid her hand beneath to find his cock and take it in her hand. He could feel her gasp against his lips when she closed her fingers around it, thumb just above the tiny slit that beaded a little pearl of lust at the feeling of her warmth and softness. His gaze travelled from her eyes down to her lips while she slowly thrust her hand upward. The way she made the skin of his shaft shift along his cock made him groan. He swallowed back the vulnerable sounds he was tempted to make and closed his eyes, enjoying the attention, the care of her touch, and the always terrifying experience of true intimacy. Like a whisper, her fingers travelled down the full shape of his cock from the tip down the velvet body until she reached the root, then back again. From beneath the soft protective circle of skin, his tip started peeking out.

“I think my wand likes you back,” he chuckled breathlessly, head leaning back against the pillow.

Her grip tightened at the encouragement. “Would you give it to me, then?” she teased. “Just for a little bit?”

“Mmm… You wouldn’t know how to use a proper wand.”

“I would too,” she protested. “Stop laughing.”

Tom couldn’t help it. Beneath the jokes, there was something deeply sad about their playful exchange — she was just a muggle. When it didn’t gnaw at him he had to catch himself for mentioning things he should not speak about with her, innocuous topics that he would have been free to speak of with a witch… These little jokes were a way for him to make up for it.

To ask for her forgiveness without so many words he leaned forward and kissed her. She moaned against his lips and moved closer, her hand around him tightening its grip. With a shuffle, she began to pull his trousers off his hips and out of her way, and Tom moved to help her. As he was still kicking them off his feet and to the edge of the bed she held him in her hand, cupping his cock gently, feeling it harden, and with a gasp he moved to kiss her again, and again. He let his mouth linger, let her taste his every moan and sigh while he swallowed every breath of hers. With a sweet whimper, she let him go to pull her panties down beneath the sheets and then, more shakily than before, she took his cock in her soft hand once more and brought it to her mound. It was his turn to shiver and he struggled to maintain control and let her lead. Through his half-lidded gaze, he could see her blushing, breathing heavily, excited, her focus all on him.

“I want to play with you a little,” she whispered with a kittenish smile.

“If you think you can handle it…” he breathed, trying to maintain his cool.

“I think I’ve been handling it.”

He grumbled at her silly pun but purred when she rubbed his cock against herself. The soft tuft of her venus mound stuck to his wet and dripping tip, licking across it in such a teasing way he almost blushed. She used him to caress her clit, a satisfied moan bubbling in her throat when their two most sensitive parts met. He could feel her little button, so warm and hard surrounded by its hood… Tom licked away from his lips the desire to kiss it again.

“More,” he whispered, hips canting toward her in a silent plea. “More, you witch…”

“Like this?” she murmured, and he could almost taste her grin.

She rubbed him slowly, methodically almost, and brought him to her slit. Her plump lips closed around him in a kiss. Tom’s breathing grew heavy, his body on a precipice threatening to fall. He felt himself twitch and drip over her folds, the bead of lust a little offering to the beautiful body in which he found such comfort. Slowly, torturously so, she eased him deeper, canting her hips and pressing him against her where she was softest, warmest, and already dripping for him.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he muttered. His hips shifted on the bed, his whole body heating up just from her touch on that singular part of his body.

Her folds encircled him and in a cruel mimicry, she leaned forward to kiss him and drag her tongue between his lips. Tom groaned and reached to bite her but she moved away before he could, giggling. He mumbled a curse and closed his eyes, struggling against the instinct to grab her and push up into her with force.

“I want you,” he whispered, his tone dangerously close to a plea. “Want to feel you from the inside again…”

“Sometimes I think that’s the part of me you like best.”

“It’s true,” he smiled, leaning his forehead against hers while her hand kept stroking him. “Inside of you is your pretty heart, and your clever mind…”

“For such a dirty boy, you say the sweetest words,” she giggled, laying a quick peck against his cheek. “And? What else is inside of me that you like so, so much?”

Tom dipped to kiss her mouth, his hand reaching out to hold her head and pull her into a deep long melding of breath and hot flesh. Her hand almost stilled around him but he gripped it with his own and kept it moving, their fingers closing together on his cock. She covered him and he covered her and without either of them knowing whose choice it exactly was his tip reached the clenching edge of her hole. It caught on the rim and made her tremble, made her sigh into his mouth. Tom smiled and parted from her, nearly breathless. She let go of him to place her hand upon his hip and gently pressed him into her. He tightened his fist around her hair, made her gasp into his kiss as he pushed forward until the head breached her. With a moan she wrapped a leg around him, pulling herself closer until their skin stuck together.

“Tom,” she whispered, her head leaned back in his grip, neck pulled in an arc that was perfect for kissing.

He murmured with his lips along its column and his cheeks round with a smile. “You have me… Right here…”

“I know,” she whined, her fingers curling on his hip, scratching him with her dull claws. The other reached out toward him underneath the sheets, aiming blindly for his chest. “You’re always teasing. Making me suffer…”

He chuckled and thrust a little deeper, deliberately dragging it on. His tongue came out to lick her neck, tasting the sweat there and the hint of her perfume while his other hand released his cock and traced up along her body until he found her breasts.

“You love suffering,” he whispered, finger circling her nipple.

She shivered in his arms and wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper inside. Tom chuckled and obliged her and started thrusting higher, dragging his length across the bottom of her clit to make her moan. His teeth closed around her tender skin and nibbled at her breasts, painting her in blotches of red all the way down to her clavicle. His fingers played across her nipple, circling, plucking, twisting when she least expected it until it hardened in his grasp.

“You always get so wet for me,” Tom murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice. Between her plaintive moans, they could both hear the slick and sticky sounds his cock pulled out of her. “Does anyone else know what a naughty girl you are, hmm?”

“Only you do,” she smiled, her eyes closed, lips swollen, bitten bloody. It was like speaking with the dead.

“Is that so?”

His thrusts gained a slow, incessant rhythm, reaching deeper into her each time. His hand parted from her chest to hold on to her waist as he lavished her with kisses. The fingers that held her head tilted back uncoiled from her hair and slid down to support her back, to hold her bent and open to him. She moaned as his cock reached deeper into her, its length filling her from entrance to her cervix for a moment before pulling back. Her folds dragged deliciously across his length, leaving it wet and sticky before he shoved it back inside.

“You mean,” he started with a teasing tone, his lips hovering over her nipple, “that nobody else knows you,” a kiss then on the puckered tip, “like I do?”

“Nobody…” she sighed.

Tom chuckled and pulled her nub into his mouth, tugging on it in that hungry, desperate way he did, while below his thrusts turned harder, eager to reach further into her than each time before. With lewd suckles, he pulled away only to catch her nipple between his lips and nurse at it a little harshly. She yelped and stuck her nails into his skin but Tom did what he wanted.

“You’re a dirty little liar,” he purred.

“I am not.”

He found her vehemence endearing but it only made him want to poke and prod at her pride more. He twirled his tongue around her breast a few more times, surprising her with hot and heavy suckles that made her body tighten and shift in his arms, and then he turned gentle all over again. With a heave he thrust inside her once and stayed there, resting his forehead in the centre of her chest.

“Tooom,” she complained, canting her hips to beg for more.

“Shhh…”

“Please, I want it…”

“I know you do,” he whispered, grinning. “But I like feeling you like this.”

She whined but stayed still for him. The feeling of her clenching all around his cock, the thrumming of her heartbeat, the licking of her drops of wetness down his sac and the way her plush folds kissed it, choked around it… It made his flesh burn hot, his blood on fire. He pulled her even closer and wrapped his lips around her nipple then started thrusting into her harder than before. The quick motion dragged heat along her channel, made her cry out his name, nails dragging across his skin as if she clung to him on the edge of a precipice. His lips pulled her nub deeper, tongue crushing it against the roof of his mouth while his cock shoved higher, higher into her, battering against her cervix. The sheets were by now a tangled mess and the bed squeaked beneath them, but neither noticed anything other than each other. Lost in one another’s bodies, they chased pleasure together, Tom inside of her and she around his body. She clung to him as if she could have fallen and he held her close, his cock dripping precum into her, mouth slathering her breasts with kisses, a rapid pulling and pushing of flesh as if they could melt together and become one being.

“Oh fuck, please, so good —” she cried out. “I ca— I’m so close, I can’t—”

“You will,” he muttered against her skin, lips barely dropping her sweet breast out of his mouth. “Like you always do, my good girl. Cum for me.”

She whimpered at his order so confident and cold against his frantic fucking into her, and suddenly her body snapped. She curled forward, legs tightening around his, head bowing to rest against his own, and with a loud and broken cry, she felt her core convulse and clench. Tom moaned with her nipple in his mouth and pounded harder into her throughout it.

“Say you’re mine,” he whispered, peppering her skin with kisses.

“Yours,” she gasped into his messy hair, each breath pushed from her. “I’m-m y-yours…”

He purred at the sound of it and snapped his hips a little faster, more frantic and desperate as he felt his skin catch fire. She started whining, oversensitive, her softest parts abused by him, but Tom didn’t stop until he felt his pleasure rush through him. With a low cry, his arms tightened around her, his hips stuttered, and he came. He held her still, his cock shoved deep, her folds pressed against his churning sac as it twitched and pulsed with each release.

“Tom! A-aaah… T-tom, it’s…”

“I know,” he whispered, “I know, shh…”

He could feel the warmth of his seed as it travelled through his shaft, felt it pooling deep inside her, then down along his length as it seeped out. With his lips against her breast, tongue cradling her nipple, Tom sighed in delectation. Even after taking her so many times, he couldn't understand why this was so satisfying… Filling her, going as deep into her body as he could, and swallowing the sweet taste of her skin.

Tom parted from her chest still panting and gently petted her back as she recovered. Her legs were limp, her arms relaxed around him, even her head was laying lazily against the pillow as she gave out little gasps and moans. The length of her spine was sweaty and cold after the duvet fell from them, but she never seemed to notice.

“Alright?” he asked with a small smile, gazing down at her sated, sleepy face. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Mhmm…” she nodded, licking her lips. Below, he felt her clench around him one last time.

Tom growled and stayed buried inside her, greedy for her body still. Moving gently, his hand curled from her back down to her tummy, and he left it there for a few moments while he muttered the contraceptive charm.

“There there,” he cooed, with a kiss to her flushed cheek. “Sleep now…”

She was already sleeping and knew he’d be with her in her dreams as well.

[maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492]

Okay but can someone (if I write this myself I don't trust my own ability to do it justice it probably wouldn't be good enough) entertain the idea for a fic where its SpoilOfWar!Reader in ancient times:

1. RomanSoldier!Simon, Gaz, and Soap who bring SpoilOfWar!Reader with them on their journey back to Rome to retired general now RomanSenator!Price knowing that they would be a perfect addition to their home. SpoilOfWar!Reader complains and fights the entire way, expecting to be treated badly and turned into a slave, only to be very confused when these four romans begin lavishing them in fine clothes and jewels and treating them like a wife. Another roman citizen doesn't take kindly to that? How unfortunate for them since no one wants to incur the 141s wrath. Unfortunately this includes reader--because at the end of the day you certainly still view yourself as a spoil of war which leads to interesting debates.

2. SpartanSoldiers!141 taking reader as a spoil of war after they find them fighting back against one of their own and (nearly) winnng. They're impressed, like to the point where they just know they have to have reader as a spoil once their little war is done. Reader disagrees, doing everything in their power to prove that Sparta is worse than where they came from since the 141 act as if being a spoil of war was a favour. (And did they mention that Spartan women have more rights than the city-state reader came from?) They certainly lay on the promises that in time you'll be better off.

Bonus for AncientDeity!141:

Reader who escapes capture from being a spoil of war to a man named Graves. Desperately running and finding themselves at the Necromanteion (in our world, this is a temple for Hades and Persephone, but lets pretend the pantheon of this one is....different) where they pray to whatever Gods this temple is for only to accidentally summon the 141. Price, Simon, Gaz, and Johnny are all Underworld deities--they happen to rule it, together--and...well Godhood and immortality can be given to mortals. They know by just one look that they want to keep reader and reader prayed for help. A deal is struck. Pomegranate seeds are given. Which is where poor reader finds themselves: somehow immortal, bound to four underworld deities, and why are there flowers sprouting wherever they touch???

[kodiackwrites]

Country tunes-Dad!Simon “Ghost” Riley

This was a blurb bc I love dad ghost atm

—

Ghost, likes rock and metal. Loud music to tear him from his thoughts, during your deployment it’s all you hear him listen too. Always.

Simon, likes country music, despite being British, he’s found himself fond of the love songs.

-/-

You didn’t find this out until you had formed a relationship with ghost, You were laying, skin to skin, a sheer layer of sweat amugst both of you, but you didn’t mind, your thigh lay over his legs as your body curled over his, your finger tracing his tattoo covered arms, and he starts humming a soft tune, his fingers tapping rhythmically to the melody. You didn’t question it.

/-/

Your relationship began to develop more, and each time you lay together, he’d hum the same tune

-/-

Simon was a gentle man, Ghost was a brutal excuse of a person. You began to learn the difference, and when Sinon agreed to come home with you during his few months off, you only saw more.

It was nice to finally have some time completely alone, as he lay you into your bed, connecting your bodies in such a gentle demeanour.

He was careful, Slow and yet still pushed so deep into you, Pushing you over the edge like always.

This time he finally pushed himself, Letting out a low groan into your neck as he stayed there for a minute.

And later found himself humming and tapping the same tune, You opened your moth to ask but choice to ignore it

-:-

9 months later your laying in your hospital bed, hair a mess, skin covered in sweat, and a sweet baby girl held skin to skin with your fiancé, hearing his voice at a new, sweet and hush tone, singing to his newly born daughter,

“If your kiss turned me to stone

I'd be a statue standing tall in Ancient Rome

And if your touch shattered me like glass

I'd be in pieces trying to make the breaking last”

What a familiar melody..

——-

Low key hate this but I need country music and dad Simon like right now

[whencyclopedia]

Romulus and Remus

In Roman mythology, Romulus and his twin brother Remus were the founders of the city of Rome. They were the children of Rhea Silvia and Mars (or in some variations the demi-god hero Hercules) and their story is recorded by many authors including Virgil who claims their birth and adventures were fated in order for Rome to be founded.

The Birth & Parentage of Romulus & Remus

Romulus and Remus were the direct descendants of Aeneas, whose fate-driven adventures to discover Italy are described by Virgil in The Aeneid. Romulus and Remus were related to Aeneas through their mother's father, Numitor. Numitor was a king of Alba Longa, an ancient city of Latium in central Italy, and father to Rhea Silvia. Before Romulus' and Remus' conception, Numitor's reign was usurped by Numitor's younger brother, Amulius. Amulius inherited control over Alba Longa's treasury with which he was able to dethrone Numitor and become king. Amulius, wishing to avoid any conflict of power, killed Numitor's male heirs and forced Rhea Silvia to become a Vestal Virgin. Vestal Virgins were priestesses of Vesta, patron goddess of the hearth; they were charged with keeping a sacred fire that was never to be extinguished and to take vows of chastity.

There is much debate and variation as to who was the father of Romulus and Remus. Some myths claim that Mars appeared and lay with Rhea Silvia; other myths attest that the demi-god hero Hercules was her partner. However, the author Livy claims that Rhea Silvia was in fact raped by an unknown man, but blamed her pregnancy on divine conception. In either case, Rhea Silvia was discovered to be pregnant and gave birth to her sons. It was custom that any Vestal Virgin betraying her vows of celibacy was condemned to death; the most common death sentence was to be buried alive. However, King Amulius, fearing the wrath of the paternal god (Mars or Hercules) did not wish to directly stain his hands with the mother's and children's blood. So, King Amulius imprisoned Rhea Silvia and ordered the twins' death by means of live burial, exposure, or being thrown into the Tiber River. He reasoned that if the twins were to die not by the sword but by the elements, he and his city would be saved from punishment by the gods. He ordered a servant to carry out the death sentence, but in every scenario of this myth, the servant takes pity on the twins and spares their lives. The servant, then, places the twins into a basket and onto the River Tiber; the river carries the boys to safety.

Continue reading...

[ilovejeongintoo]

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕠 𝕎𝕚𝕟

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Fantasy, Gladiator/Minotaur? Jongho x Reader, Warnings: murder, deaths, time accurate sexism, strength kink, touch-starved Jongho, size kink, pet names (Nymph, Doc), no condom(wrap it up), praise Wordcount: 3145 Not proofread

I need red haired Jongho back, desperately. Why did I spend more research on ancient roman practices than this story, I'm crying.

Summary: As a female physician in ancient Rome you're in charge of minor duties, getting a call to the gladiator arena wasn't what you expected, especially with the first ranked one requiring a little more than some of your gauze and bandages.

You absolutely hated this part of the job. Being a physician was great and all but the comments from men never ceased to exist. And you were always made to look like an assistant, making countless people die of things that you were sure were treatable, the male physicians always dismissed any ideas you had, no matter how much proof you gave them.

You got the message today that they would need you at the local gladiator arena, that place shouldn't even exist in your opinion, but that would get you to get called a lunatic. As if being a woman in a male dominated field wasn't bad enough.

Usually, they called you to have you confirm that they were dead, you were usually the bringer of bad news and made sure that the important items on the person were returned to the family. Either to be kept or to be buried later in the day with the body.

That was the only positive things about that gruesome place. It reeked of death; the high, white colosseum walls far more intimidating than your little healing hut.

The guards led you through the open walkways getting you into the room with the dead bodies, you grimaced at the sight slightly. This job really didn't get any easier through the years.

"You better make this quick, we want you to look at a few people that are worth more than that pile over there." The other guard laughed. These were people once too.

"Every day, I wonder how they let a woman do a job like this." They weren't saying this out of concern, not to protect your eyes from this view but to mock you from being the gender you were.

"I'll make it as fast as I can." You did mean it, you wanted to get this over with and leave this place.

"You women should just stay and look after the kids, you're not suited for this kind of work." God if you could, you'd punch his face for even uttering a single word to you. The way their gazes ran over your body, undressing you, it made you feel absolutely repulsed. Men, men like this disgusted you to no end, they deserved the pain that Thanatos would give them when they inevitably perish.

They quickly left you, not too keen on watching touching and examining the corpses. You gently cleaned them off, blood grime and sweat stuck to them even after death. They bodies were hard to move around to get to dirty areas because rigor mortis had them laying in the same position after a while. You closed open wounds so they wouldn't leak as much anymore, so that they at the very least didn't sully the burial clothing.

As the very last step you put them on a blanket and covered their naked bodies with a blanket, ready to be taken to the burial grounds outside of the city.

You took your dirty rags and ceramic bowl with you and the rest of your medical equipment. This was the only thing that healers would allow you to do alone. So, you would at least complete these mundane task to the fullest.

You headed back up to the more residential hospital room, here were some guards and gladiators that survived their fights but weren't supported enough to get their own rooms. Just minor injuries and cuts, making you have to cauterize some wounds and treating some with lint, animal grease, and honey. Depending on how deep and bad they looked.

All this work exhausted you to no end but after a few hours everyone was put to bed for rest or were sent off home. Just as you were about to leave yourself another guard walked up to you before you had the chance to go.

"There's still someone you need to take a look at." He started walking down another way, making you follow him, your white tunica being swooshed around. The hallway seemed to drag on for forever until you were stopped in front of a big set of wooden doors.

"This is as far as I'm going to take you, he tends to… get a little aggressive with us guards." He added that he was the number one gladiator right now, so he was basically a celebrity and that you should treat him as such. You pushed the doors open with a short glance back to the lone guard, he was looking at you almost with a sympathetic face, as if he was in pain. Hopefully he wasn't the violent type, you could deal with an aggressive patient, but you weren't built to fight a professional killer.

The first thing you were greeted by was a big room, with lots of dimmed lights, giving it a warm orangish tone in the bedroom. There was a big bed in the middle of the room, it looked as if it could hold at least 4 people.

There were lit candles and torches all around that emitted the warm glow. The next thing you noticed was the hulking figure in the far end of the room, situated in front of a lit fireplace. They must have not noticed you yet because they didn't turn around at all. The door clicked close, that’s when the person turned their head to the side calling out to you.

"I told everyone, that I didn't want to be bothered." Usually you would leave at that, but there must be a reason why they needed to have a healer look at him, so you wouldn't leave until you did just that.

He didn't sound angry, only exasperated that something like this was happening. You moved forward slightly, clutching your things to your body, nervous because you weren't normally in charge of patients of such high profile.

You didn't look at him, out of respect trying to organize your things on a small table to the side of the meridienne that he was sat on. You only saw his outfit for a moment, barely enough to take in the leather pants and boots, a white shirt accompanying it.

"Didn't you hear what I said, do not bother me." You didn't respond, not too sure if you saying you were going to stay regardless or staying quiet would make him more irritated.

He didn't seem to keen on your lack of a response even though he didn't lash out at you. You were done setting everything up and kept kneeling next to him, now finally speaking.

"I was sent here to take care of any wounds tha-."

"I don't need that"

You lifted your head at the rude interruption, quickly getting stunned by the sight of the man.

Fiery dark red hair and a… surprisingly soft face, he looked young barely older than you. Dark eyebrows and eyes that perfectly matched the rest of his face. He didn't look like a gladiator at all. You've been to countless of fights before as a child, too curious to understand the brutality. And all of them were muscly big dark men, they looked like they would fight anyone and anything.

This man looked nothing of the sort. While there was a good amount of muscle on him, judging by the muscles in his arms and thighs, it was like something from a roman statue. One you'd see at the local temples, worshipped for its beauty and perfection. You wouldn't mind doing exactly that.

What?

No, you were here to help, nothing more, no matter how good looking he was. He was dangerous, he is dangerous.

-do something specific doc?"

What? You looked at his eyes. Not properly hearing him.

"I said, do you need me to do something specific doc?" Oh, right, treatment.

"Any pain anywhere? Or any injuries that you sustained; I'd like to take a look at them." He sighed not really wanting to, but seemingly just wanting to get this over with.

"Just a few cuts, on my arms and back."

"Mhm" He wasn't being transparent with you, so you'd just have to take a look now.

You were waiting for him to take his shirt off, but he didn't move a single inch. You didn't know what man-pride was stopping him from just showing you. Hah, this was going to be an even longer day now. "Just take your top off and I'll see if anything needs further treatment, if you don't let me take a look, you'll get an infection and die." You were talking to him like you were scolding a child, patience wearing thin very quickly.

His shirt was off the very next second and you had to hold back a gasp at all the scars littering his skin. It looked pretty, hard work evident in the scar tissue. Evidence of his survival. You took your jug of saltwater stopping just before pouring over a few open wounds. Warning him about the pain that was going to be coming in a few seconds, he just nodded. No flinch, no whimper, no groan absolutely nothing came out of him.

You knew just how much that hurt, like a burning fire the skin would similarily turn a little red. You quickly moved on to put a small amount of herbal paste on the few cuts along his chest impressed by his anatomy again. Hard to the touch but pliable. You tried to be as gentle as possible, as a last step you brought out some honey using it to form a barrier to the wound and disinfecting it again.

Before wrapping him up you caught sight of something on his shoulder, or back? You couldn't quite see from your position in front of him. You reached for his shoulder and then he turned away, glaring at you now.

"That one's fine." Anyone in s 5 mile radius could tell he was full of bullshit right now."

"No it's not and I'm not gonna let you fucking die from a cut that's easily treatable. So turn around or I will sedate you and do it while you're asleep." Welp, now you did it. Now there was no way that he wouldn't get angry, that must have been his last straw.

Your mouth was closed shut tightly in realization of what you had said. Praying to the gods above to help you out of this mess right now.

He was oddly quiet, that made you look at him. He stared at you, up, down, and then turned around. Without any words. You'd rather not mess with his graciousness again, so you also stayed silent throughout the process of caring for his gash, that was a lot bigger than expected. It would most definitely scar but he wouldn't die from a nasty infection at the very least.

When you were done you put some gauze around it, the other smaller wounds had pieces of fabric on them. You let your hands linger a little on his back muscles not wanting to finish out of nervousness of what he would say next and another part of you because you would be able to continue tracing along his body.

That thought in your mind made you stop, today was not your day. You were usually very professional about all your patients. But something about this man pulled you in. Maybe it was the endless scars that ran across his figure or the rough hand that had calluses from hard work, or the dark eyes that were now trained on you.

Dark eyes that were now trained on you.

You hurried a little out of your half kneeling form, not even noticing how one of your legs was on the sofa, knee buried in the soft cushioning.

You were stepping away a little when his hand shot out to grab your wrist.

"You know I don’t hurt women, I have honor as a warrior, as a man." He caressed your hands a little, looking at them, admiring them as if he wanted to figure out how your hands performed the magic of healing his wounds.

Your heart skipped a little at the contact. "I know." You did, he wasn't the type to do such a thing, not with a touch that soft.

"Say doctor, you would help me from all ailments, isn't that right?" He questioned.

"Of course." Had you missed a spot?

He looked up at you, pulling you into him, his chin resting on your stomach as your hands carefully landed on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, warming you and caging you against him. He was breathing you in for a few moments, seeming to enjoy the comfort of your closeness.

You couldn't imagine how long he must have been without human touch that wasn't violent or deadly. Someone to hold, to search comfort in.

If he needed that, you'd provide, after all you're a doctor and you just hate leaving your patients untreated.

Your hands wandered up his hair pulling his head back and leaning down and clasping your lips together. Climbing on top of him. You could tell hom much he missed this, messy kisses turning rushed and touches exploring every curve of your body. He tugged at a few stings attaching the flowy fabric of your tunic drop with the help of gravity. His hands finding their place on your waist. And yours making quick work of his pants.

"I missed this so much, you're so pretty, so good to me." You could honestly come from his words alone, your explorative touches from before had you thinking a little dirty before, now this was really happening.

"A true goddess sent down to heal me." His kisses just kept going. "Praise Venus for making you so desirable."

You'd never heard words like this from a man, only familiar with the degrading voice of men. He hiked you up slightly, easily lifting you. Getting you closer, your bodies touching in all places.

Your loincloth and breast covering were the next things to go, he was attaching himself immediately to suck onto your exposed boobs. Taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking, and letting go, looking up at you in pure mesmerism dripping from his orbs.

One hand moved down the curve of your back, over your butt and massaged your pussy. Massaging a few fingers over the sensitive slit.

"Jongho, my name, please, call for me." He paused each time, barely getting the words out over him working you up to your peak.

Your noises were unbelievably loud, you would have been embarrassed but you were too much in the moment to care. Moans and groans coming out of you without an ounce of control, Jongho stimulating you so well that you were praying that no gods above were watching this act between you two.

You were barely keeping yourself steadied, your arms slowly giving out. Jongho seemed to notice and flipped you onto the headrest of the couch, having placed himself between your legs. His fingers were now thrusting into you, you hadn't even notice him pumping them in until you really took a look. His big fingers took up so much space inside you, feeling like the biggest dick that you've had before.

He was still looking at you in that concentrated stare, fully intent on having you cum on his fingers. Which he did, only a moment later. Your teeth clenching muffling the loud moan that threatened to escape out of you. Your legs shaking and clamping against his hand, which was stimulating your clit in slow circles now.

It took you a few seconds to get back to earth and you noticed yourself being turned around, your knees propped up a little, stomach over the headrest now. Comfortable after tingles pouring through your nerves, leaving you sensitive.

You felt your entrance being touched with something wet, round, and big. You knew what it was, pushing slightly back to get him in you. You would be damned if you didn't get his cock in you today. Your prayers were answered at a moment’s notice, in the form of a stretching feeling, it burned a little despite the extensive amount of prep. You felt so full when you hear him mutter a little.

"Just a little more, you can take me." He wasn't even fully in and you felt like he was poking at your organs from the inside, brushing onto all the spots in you.

When he bottomed out you truly felt like you were being pushed to your limits, never having felt like this before.

He touched your stomach, pushing in slightly in amazement that you took him, praises falling from his lips, healing away the burn. When he started moving it felt like your insides were being pulled out, dragging long unfiltered moans out of you. Each thrust had him smacking a little harder against your ass, the skin-on-skin noises becoming almost as loud as you. He groaned and moaned when you clenched down especially hard.

"I could live like this, every day have you here spread on my cock. You'd like that wouldn't you little Nymph?" You fit him like a goddamn glove, he couldn’t even remember how sex felt like before this. Before this heavenly sensation.

"Just look at you." He pressed your back down a little, curving it slightly. And angled his thrusts, hitting even harder, knocking your breath out of you on occasion, not quite catching up on the pleasure and your breath.

You reached your hand back, calling his name, needing something to ground you and he obeyed, grabbing onto yours holding on. When his thrusts grew sloppier more desperate you knew he was close and you were too, screaming his name at the top of your lungs you came a second time.

He spilled himself into you at that, liquid filling you up just as much as his cock did. He carefully pulled out, grabbing a blanket that had been thrown down onto the ground and throwing it over you.

You must absolutely look like a mess but he leans down to press a kiss to your lips connecting you two for a few seconds, stopping himself to not have you cumming and bent over in the next few minutes again, as much as he enjoyed to do that. He pulled you into his arms, your head resting on his sweaty chest.

"Let's sleep or you're gonna be the death of me little Nymph." He kissed your head.

That made you remember, his wounds, making you sit up in his arms and checking him over.

"Jongho! you're bleeding."

He grumbled. Not bothered in the slightest. He pulled you down again, keeping you secured along his body. Not letting you leave his embrace and acess the damage properly.

"You can check on those anytime from now on, don't worry."

[gallopinggallifreyans]

I would love to hear your opinions about ancient currency! And any recommendations you have for learning more about the Roman economy!

oh boy i am SO glad you asked! I'm going to put everything under a readmore because it's a Lot.

I have a few opinions on Greek coinage, specifically that of the introduction of coinage to Athens, though I'm working on a proposal for studying Spartan coinage rn.

Current publications re:Athens haven't really determined For Sure who introduced coins; it's a toss-up between Solon and Pisistratus but I'm in the Pisistratus camp for reasons that I can absolutely summarize in a separate post, as I've written and published a paper in my undergrad journal that (hopefully) holds weight in the current hodgepodge of thoughts. If you'd like that, I can write it up and link it here!

Re:Spartan coinage, I think the Spartan homoioi were real idiots. Most city-states were using silver (and very occasionally gold) for their coins, but Spartan homoioi were using iron spits. The spits (obeloi) were six to a drachma, which was the exchange rate for a long time. And by long time I mean there was no such thing as a floating conversion, coins were just the most portable form of precious metal, which was intrinsically valued. Outside Sparta (even the perioikoi) most city-states would have used ingots pre-coinage and that evolved into stamped metal, i.e. coinage. The Spartans considered themselves to be very religious and followed the Great Rhetra (unsure if Lykourgos existed), which maintained that silver and gold were holy and could not be used, so they used iron.

Unfortunately, the rest of Greece didn't follow that, and used silver in their coins, especially influenced by Attic-Ionian city-states who were in regular trade with Persia and further east, i.e. regions that valued precious metal outside their religious significance. Essentially, Spartans kinda screwed themselves over re:trade outside Sparta; they couldn't even trade in contemporary currency with the rest of Lakonia and forced their subject city-states into the same position. This is supported mostly by the explosion of Messenian and other Lakonian coinages after Sparta collapsed, though I want to see if I can find more text evidence, since I (an archaeologist) tend to rely too heavily on material. It's a whole thing, personally I believe this was a significant factor in Sparta's collapse, though other things factored in as well. Sparta was incredibly insular both in its trade/economy and religious practice and that combination led to its downfall.

For the Roman sources, I recommend starting with the Cambridge Companion to the Roman Economy by Walter Scheidel, and The Ancient Economy by Walter Scheidel and Sitta von Reden. Von Reden has excellent articles related to the ancient economy in general, and most are available on JSTOR, so I recommend giving her stuff a look.

I also highly recommend reading Moses Finley's work The Ancient Economy (no relation to Scheidel and Von Reden's work), as it lays the foundation for much of our current school of thought. Peter Temin's subsequent work, The Roman Market Economy argues against Finley and kicks off a whole debate about how to define an economy without using capitalism as the basis, because capitalism as we know and define it did not exist then, and it is incorrect to assume that. We can call it protocapitalist, but not capitalist.

Slavery in Rome is a nuanced subject that is integral to learning about its economy — I suggest keeping an open mind and treading carefully with respect to post-1492 slave trades. Noel Lenski's chapter "Framing the Question" (linked; you need access through your institution) discusses the slave trade against a Finleyan model, while Scheidel (him again) talks about how to determine the wages of slaves (JSTOR link). W. V. Harris talks about the demography and geography of slaves here (JSTOR link). These three are good starts for learning about Roman slavery, but if you want more sources, I can pull some up for you.

I don't want to overload you with sources, so in general I'll recommend anything by Scheidel, Von Reden, Nicholas Purcell and Peregrine Horden (connectivity), Seth Bernard (coins and emissions), Astrid Van Oyen (tech innovation), and Willem Jongman (economic structure). As with the slavery sources, if you want direct links I can definitely find them for you! I'm always happy to share info :)