#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."'

[inspofromancientworld]

Lays of Ancient Rome and its Ancient Origins

By Photograph by MichaelMaggs; original artist unknown. - Own photo of original book cover, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2198606

Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800-1859) 1st Baron Macaulay was a British poet and historian who also served as the Secretary at War and Paymaster General. He was born in Scotland, England, India, then returned to Scotland at the end of his life via Rome.He started the Lays of Ancient Rome, a collection of poems that he started while in India and continued as he went through Rome before publishing them in 1842. He wrote an introduction to each Lay, identifying the myths, legends, and history that he addresses in the poem.

By John Reinhard Weguelin - Scan of Illustration from book "The Lays of Ancient Rome", Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2711627

The first Lay, Horatius, talks about how Publius Horatius Cocles, Spurius Larcius, and Titus Herminius held the Sublican bridge, which crossed the Tiber at Rome, against Lars Porsena, the King of Clusium, a Etruscan city, who were at war with the Romans. The bridge was the only crossing the Tiber into Rome and Rome itself was poorly defended.

By John Reinhard Weguelin - Scan of Illustration from book "The Lays of Ancient Rome", Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2711862

The second Lay, The Battle of Lake Regillus, is about the titular battle which takes place after the retreat of King Lars, when Rome was under threat of the Latin League, a confederation of villages around the Latium area near Rome and led by Lucius Tarquinius Supberbus, the deposed king of Rome, and his son and son-in-law. It imitates Homer's style from the Iliad as it describes battles, which only is ended by the descent of Castor and Pollux, the twin gods of sailors and horsemanship, who were later set up as Gemini in the night sky.

By Giovanni Folo after Vincenzo Camuccini - Department of Image Collections, National Gallery of Art Library, Washington, DC•Catalog: https://library.nga.gov/permalink/01NGA_INST/1p5jkvq/alma991742963804896, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=108018319

The third lay, Virginia, tells the story of Virginius' only daughter, Virginia. He was a poor farmer and Appius Claudius, a member of Rome's upper class (the patrician class) and member of the ruling body, the decemvirs, who lusted after Virginia, who is portrayed as 'beautiful and virtuous'. He claims she is a run away slave, knowing the judge is in his purse (pockets weren't quite a thing yet as they appeared in approximately the 13th century). Her father is determined to save her by any means, even death. The result is a change to laws.

The next is the Prophecy of Capys, which tells the story of Romulus and Remus returning to their grandfather, Capys. Capys is a blind man who then has a prophetic vision of Romulus' descendants victories in the Pyrrhic and Punic wars, making them great.

You can read the Lays here.

[multific]

His Love

Marcus Acacius x Reader

Summary: You were meant to marry him, thinking he is an unkind man, you kept your distance from him, but soon, you learned the truth. 

As the sun cast its golden rays over the bustling streets of ancient Rome, Marcus Acacius, a bold Roman soldier, crossed paths with you, his soon-to-be wife. 

At first, your heart held nothing but hate for this man, seeing him as a brute and unkind soul. 

However, destiny had a different plan in store for both of you.

In an unexpected turn of events, you discovered that he was nothing like your initial judgment had led you to believe. 

Beneath his hardened exterior lay a heart filled with kindness, compassion, and a burning love for you.

You wanted to explore that.

To see where it would lead the two of you. 

And so, you began to spend more time together. 

You ate together and even went on many walks around the city. Seeing him interact with people made you realise just how kind he was.

Watching him smile spread a warmth inside your heart.

Slowly, the walls you had built around your heart began to crumble. 

Marcus's gentle words and thoughtful gestures slowly melted away your worries, allowing love to blossom inside you. 

In the tender moments shared, he revealed his vulnerability and how deeply he had fallen for you.

One evening, Marcus took your hand and whispered to you. 

"My love, I know that our journey together began with animosity, but I promise you, my intentions have always been pure. I am here to protect you, cherish you, and love you with every fibre of my being."

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words. 

"Marcus, I never imagined that behind your cold facade, there would be such a loving heart. I am grateful for the person you have shown me, and I too must confess, I have fallen deeply in love with you."

From that moment forward, your lives intertwined as you embarked on a journey filled with love, trust, and unwavering devotion.

Your wedding was simple. Your family was there, and you had a great time.

But you were just thankful for the journey ahead of you with a husband so loving, kind and handsome. 

In the years that followed, amidst the madness of war and the difficulties of life, Marcus remained your dedicated rock. 

His unwavering support and unwavering love carried you through every storm, reminding you of the depth of his commitment.

Of his Love.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[milla-frenchy]

Home

3k7 | Marcus Acacius x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Acacius returns from Numidia several months after his departure, and comes back to his wife

Warnings: 18+ mdni. fluff, smut, established relationship, Acacius and reader are married and deeply in love, Acacius is devoted to his wife (he’s soft, protective, caring and slightly possessive), oral (m/f), oil massages, size kink, piv, creampie. No age specified

a/n:  this fic is just soft and sweet and I hope it will bring comfort to those who need it. This is my love letter to Acacius, basically, after watching Gladiator 2 (no spoilers towards the movie). I love this character so much. I did some research but I'm not an expert on ancient Rome at all.

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for always holding my hand and for beta-ing, @joelmillerisapunk for cheering me up, @iamasaddie for being a sunshine- 🫶💓 dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

You felt his presence before he even spoke. 

You knew he was here, because all your worries, all the tension in your body, dissipated instantly. All the weight accumulated during those last months was removed from your shoulders, allowing your body to relax and open up.

"My lady..," you heard. 

You stood up and faced him, turning away from the fish pond. You murmured his name then hurried towards him to snuggle against his broad, protective chest, where nothing bad could reach you. His arms surrounded you, as his lips kissed your forehead and your hands slid along his waist to his back. The warmth radiated from him, warming your entire being, body and soul.

"You are here, my love," you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes. You had been holding them back for so long. Too long. Because you didn't want to seem weak, and because you didn't want to let your brain swallow you up in its darkness.

But now Acacius was here, and you could allow your fragility to consume you for a moment,  to be your true self, letting your emotions overwhelm you. Because you knew that he would want to absorb them for you, to protect you. To be your man.

"I'm finally here. I missed you, you have no idea. You were always in my thoughts, my beloved.”

You hugged each other tighter, and you buried your face in his chest, rubbing against him, like a cat that marks its territory with its scent. 

"I missed you too, Acacius," you replied, finally raising your face to his, staring into those soft brown eyes that you missed so much. The eyes of your husband who had returned from Numidia. Returned victorious, as always, but the worry never left you when he was gone. The intrusive thoughts that made you fear that he wouldn’t come back to you, that he had perished. Or worse, taken prisoner. The highest representative of the Roman Empire on the battlefield, the general of Rome, gods only knew what they would do to him.

Caressing his cheek with your thumb, you chased away those dark thoughts to let yourself enjoy the present. Your husband, your love was there. You brushed his wrinkles, as you took the time to admire his slightly grayer curls, before running your fingers through them.

"You are even more beautiful than when I left," he said in a low, calm voice. You smiled when you heard him, moved by his love for you that was radiating from him. Love that had never wavered during your marriage. He always came back to you, as soon as he had dealt with the burdens placed upon him by the emperors he hated.

"Let me feed you, my love," you said. "And bathe you."

You walked toward the caldarium, his arm around your shoulder, yours around his waist, your body pressed against his. You were holding each other close as you were walking, it had been so long since he left for Africa nova.

“I cleaned myself before I went to the coliseum. You don’t have to, you know?”

“I know. But I love to do it, even if it’s only symbolic.”

He smiled warmly and saw you melt under his stare, then pressed a kiss on your temple to forget the fast beating of his own heart.

You undressed him slowly, layer by layer. Taking the time to place your hands on his chest before you would remove the last fabric, to feel his torso rise under your fingers. To process the fact that he was really back with you. He watched you roam his chest, shoulders, arms along his body, face lowered towards you. Smiling, patient. Soothed. 

Once you managed to stop staring at his skin, his muscles, the way his body reacted to your touch, you tilted your head up to meet his eyes. You both smiled, happy and relieved to finally find each other again. You always marveled at his softness, that side of him only you knew. 

Your fingers ran along his skin, and you frowned at each new wound you felt under your digits.

“You have so many new scars,” you said with a trembling voice. “I thank the gods for bringing you back to me.” 

“Thank the soldiers, my love, they kept me alive,” he replied, brushing your cheek with his thumb. He had great respect for his men, treated them well, and had their complete trust. Tears appeared in your eyes again, and he gently took your chin between his fingers to lift your face up to him.

“I’m here now,” he said, his voice still low and calm. He knew you needed to be reassured, that meeting again always made his next departures more difficult, for both of you. He knew you were already anticipating them.

“I know,” you stammered. “I know. I just missed you a lot.” You tried to push aside the worries that were already trying to infiltrate your mind.

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, I wish I never had to leave. But I have great news: I won't have to go for now. I told the emperors that I wanted to rest and spend time with my wife. Darius will lead the next battle, he's ready.”

“This is such great news, Acacius!” you said, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and nestling your face in his neck. “I'm so relieved.”

He held you against him, before cupping your cheeks in his hands and resting his forehead against yours.

You moved slightly aside to pull off the last layer of clothing, freeing his half-hard cock. You thought about it so often when he was away as your fingers were buried inside you.

You covered him in oil and massaged his shoulders to relieve his physical tension. Then his chest, arms, palms and belly, taking your time. Gently, your fingers worked his skin, finding their favorite spots and his. Lingering there.

Finally, you faced him and took his shaft in hand, before jerking him off gently under the pretext of applying the oil, but you both felt the need grow.

You then asked him to sit in the warm water, and got undressed. The expression in his eyes changed from softness to eagerness and desire while he was watching you. 

Fully hard, he stood up when you approached the bath, holding out his hand to accompany you down the steps.

“Sit on me,” he murmured in your ear, his beard brushing your skin. You straddled him, placing your hands on his cheeks before playing with his curls. You leaned down and finally kissed him, tasting his warm, soft, luscious lips. You both moaned and it made you smile, as you felt yourself mesmerized by him being finally there, with you. 

He caressed your lips with his tongue, then slid it between them. Your tongues found each other, for the first time in months, and you felt dizzy, savoring him again. His hands roamed your back, squeezed your skin sometimes, while your kiss was only growing more feral and needy. Unable to wait any longer, you grabbed his cock and nestled it at your entrance, making him growl from the depth of his chest.

“Slowly,” he stammered. “No foreplay… don’t hurt yourself.”

“Can’t promise it,” you smiled. It was almost a lie, both of you knew it, you couldn’t take him slowly, your need to feel him being too strong. You sank onto his shaft with your arms resting on his broad shoulders, and you had to bite him slightly when the fat head of his cock began spreading you wide open, until you welcomed him fully, leaving both of you breathless for a second.

“That wasn’t exactly slow,” he laughed once he caught his breath, his hand against the back of your neck as you peppered his collarbone with kisses, your cunt full of him.

“Couldn’t wait,” you breathed and kept kissing him, slowly moving up and down his shaft, mixing your moans with his, your forehead against his. Your breaths mingled, similar in their urgency.

“I missed you. I missed you,” you repeated, while one of his hands was caressing your back, the other resting on your hip to accompany your movements, but sometimes pushing you slightly more down his cock.

“Me too, my love. Finally feeling you like that, wrapped around my cock, is almost unreal after all that time. But I won’t last, I’m sorry,” he said in a breathless voice. “It’s been too long since I felt the warmth of your cunt. Only my hand could give me a release when thoughts about you invaded my mind.”

“Now I’m here. Use me. Come,” you added, rubbing yourself against his lower stomach, knowing you would come soon too.

He held you tight in his arms, setting his pace, fast, powerful, to the point that the water overflowed from the bath with every move. He chased his orgasm, growling in your ear, his body surrounding yours, and you let him use you willingly until his grunts turned into moans and he froze, coming inside you. You pulsed on his shaft just after, milking his cock, feeling him shudder inside you.

You let him catch his breath and his wits before facing him, your hands on his cheeks, and covered his lips, cheeks, forehead with kisses. Already thinking about the moment you would go to your bedroom, and finally take the time to rediscover each other.

Washed, you had dinner, and you told him what happened during his absence. Life in Rome, the dream of Marcus Aurelius long forgotten. The emperors were hated by the subjects, and the cruel games were still allowed.

His worry was growing as he was listening to you. Each time he left, he was afraid a revolt would take place and he wouldn’t be there to protect you. 

He asked you the question that had been burning his lips since his return, but that he was holding back, afraid of your answer.

“Did… did anyone hurt you while I was away?” he asked, eyes lowered to the ground, your hands in his. Then finally forcing himself to look at you and hear your answer.

“No, Acacius,” you answered quickly, eager to remove that weight from his shoulders and his heart. “Nothing happened to me, don’t worry.” You knew that he would lose his mind if someone hurt you, just like those who had hurt you would lose their heads. 

He kissed your hands when he heard you, keeping them between his, brushing them with his thumbs.

“I couldn't stand it if that happened,” he added, voice shaking.

“I know, my love. But the guards protect me. The ones you chose, and trust completely. I am safe.”

He nodded, even though both of you knew he would never be calm during his absences.

Once fed, he told you about the new conquests. You felt the weariness on his shoulders and in his eyes. His anger. The emperors were making him lose patience, every day a little more.

“Enough about this,” he said finally. “I don't want my return to be full of sadness and bitterness. I saw how tense your body is, I will help you relax with some oil, like you did to me.”

“Acacius… you need to rest after these last few months. Not to take care of me,” you replied softly.

“I am your husband,” he said gently but firmly, moving closer to you until he took your hand in his and kissed it. “Your man. There’s nothing else that I want to do more.” You looked at him and smiled.

Once in the bedroom, he asked you to undress and lie down naked on your stomach. He poured some oil in his hands, and rubbed them together. He didn't take his eyes off you until you were on the bed. "You're so beautiful," he said. “I’m gonna take care of you. I missed it.”

He started by massaging your neck, with perfect pressure. Hands flat, he pressed his thumbs against each tense spot, helping to release the tension step by step. You felt your muscles relax at his touch, from your neck to your shoulders. Once satisfied with the way your body responded to his movements, he coated his hands with oil again, then he took care of your lower back. Your pelvis had been stuck for weeks, and you knew that he would do wonders, as always. That the next day, when you woke up, it would be free of its tensions.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, kissing your shoulder, his moustache brushing your skin.

“Better than ever. Thank you, my love.”

“Perfect. Turn around now, please." You rolled onto your back, and you saw his eyes linger on your breasts for a few seconds, nipples hard after his hands on you.

“Well, General?” you chuckled.

“Mmm. I was staring, wasn’t I? I missed them too,” he confessed, blushing slightly, which was cute, coming from him.

He massaged your arms then your thighs, one by one, down to your ankles and feet, careful not to touch your breasts or even look at them, as if that would end the session prematurely. You didn't take your eyes off him, watching his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his tongue brushing his lip, his teeth nibbling on it.

Finally, you saw his gaze fixed on your pussy, something he had also avoided until then. The candlelight certainly didn’t allow him to see, but he probably knew you were flowing down to the bed. His hand slid from your ankle to your thigh, then brushed your folds before slipping between them, making you whine, as you heard the grunt of approval when his finger got lost in your wetness.

He took a deep breath and said “I’m too eager to taste you, now. But tomorrow I will touch, lick, worship your whole body. I want to kiss you, from your forehead to your toes. Take back what’s mine.”

“I’m yours, always, Acacius. Whether you are here or not.”

“I know, my sweet girl, I know. As I’m yours. Ad vitam aeternam. (forever)”

He got undressed and you loved that he took his time doing it, with a soft smile on his lips. You loved knowing that he would be there with you for several weeks. Every day and every night. 

You were never tired of looking at him. His body was a gift from the gods. His strong neck, with veins bulging every time he thrust into you. His broad shoulders, his belly slightly softer as the years passed. His large hands, next to which yours seemed tiny. 

His cock.

So massive that on your wedding night you had been so afraid that you had thought of running away. But he had assured you that he would be gentle and go slowly, that he would take care of you. After another hesitation you had chosen to trust him, his tone, his gaze, and two nights later it had seemed that you had been physically made for each other.

But more than his body, his personality, his loyalty, the way he cared about you, made him a loving, reliable, protective husband. You thanked the gods every day for making him yours.

Once naked, he knelt on the bed between your thighs, gently spreading them, finally revealing your pussy. Again, he took a deep breath. His thumb ran over your wet folds.

“You’re drooling for me.”

He lay down, bringing his face closer to your pussy and breathing it in. “Gods, I missed it.”

His tongue traced a stripe between your folds, up to your clit, making you whine. He looked up at you, adding “now, you’re gonna feed me.”

He dove between your thighs, eyes closed, your folds spread by his thumbs, burying his tongue in your core. Feasting, like he did each time he came back, but not only. From the wedding night, and all the others that followed, he had shown you how much he loved eating you out, pulling orgasm after orgasm, sometimes two in a row because he didn’t want to or couldn't stop.

“Acacius,” you whimpered while his nose was rubbing perfectly against your clit. As he had learned during all those years the way your body responded to him.

Back arched, hands lost in his curls, you moved in harmony with his mouth and his tongue, reaching for him, rolling your hips towards him. He pulled back for a few seconds to look at you, and smiled when you cried for his loss. His beard and mustache glistened with your slick and his pupils were dilated as if he had consumed opium to heal a wound. He leaned towards you again, pushing one thick finger between your folds and then sucking your clit. He quickly added a second digit when he heard your needy moans, and licked at your clit. Your hands moved from his curls to your breasts, then to the sheets, your fists clenching on them.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered, pelvis tilted towards him as far as possible, as if he wasn't already so close to you. The pleasure that was growing in your core finally exploded, hands and thighs holding his head against your cunt, not wanting him to stop. Docile, he kept licking and pumping you with his fingers, until you stopped clenching on them and released him.

He straightened up, crawling between your thighs, taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking on it like his life depended on it before moving on to the other, leaving them glistening with his saliva. Finally, lying between your thighs, he kissed you, his mouth and lips tasting like you.

“I want to taste you too, please,” you begged.

“Of course, my sweet girl. You don’t have to ask. I’m all yours.”

You kissed him before he rolled onto his back, and you straddled him. Covering his cheeks, lips, neck with kisses, then moving down to his torso, hands roaming over his skin. You took one of his nipples in your mouth, sucking, nibbling, licking, then the other, without taking your eyes off him. Admiring his beautiful face. You continued to move down, kissing his belly and hips, your breasts brushing his hard, oozing cock. You took his shaft in hand, and licked his balls, eyes still fixed on him, to see him drop his head back on the bed. “Gods..,” you heard him breathe. 

You smiled and left his balls to suck on his tip, lingering on it, giving you some time to get used to its width, to savor him in your mouth again. His precum flowed in your throat. He had been gone for so long that you were afraid you had forgotten the taste, but it was so familiar again now. Your head bobbing on his shaft, you wanted to make him feel good, wetness dripping from your cunt, moaning on his shaft, and you closed your eyes until you heard him growl louder. Then opened them to see his head raised towards you. One of his hands was placed on the back of your neck.

“You like it, General?” you asked playfully, then licked his shaft tongue flat.

“It’s divine.”

You crawled towards him, arousal dripping from your core after sucking him, you kissed his body again and then his lips, before murmuring “take me.”

His eyes darkened and in one movement he laid you down on the bed, under him. Pressing his cock to your entrance, this time he didn't wait, hands tight on your hips, he pushed his whole lenght into your cunt. His massive cock, so hard that you lost your breath. He never took his eyes off you, dark gaze lowered towards you, soft eyes forgotten in favor of a feral stare. He was possessive, claiming your body as he claimed cities during battles, like his body and mind needed it. Like you needed it too.

You tried to keep your eyes open, to look at him, leaning towards you, eyebrows furrowed, veins throbbing. But the relentless rhythm of his shaft spreading your walls made you forget where you were, leaving you moaning and repeating his name. You clung to his shoulders, telling him how much you loved to feel him again, how much you needed it. 

“Always taking me so well”, he growled, and you hummed with approval.

He slid his hand to the back of your neck, holding you close, his nose against your ear. He breathed you in, focused on your moans, eager to have all his senses filled with you, after months of being surrounded by dirt, screams and blood. 

He was home now, you were his home.

“Acacius,” you whined, his crotch rubbing perfectly where you needed it. 

“Come for me. Soak me.”

“Oh gods… Acacius… Acacius,” you whimpered, your orgasm rushing over you, making you pulse on his shaft, your clit throbbing against his skin.

“Just like that, squeezing me so hard… you were made for me,” he murmured, his breathing now ragged as his own pleasure rose.

“I’m… oh gods,” he said, just before cumming inside you, long spurts of cum painting your walls in white. You held him tighter against you, as he moaned in your ear. Your general of Rome, now the most vulnerable man in your arms.

His jolts finally stopped and he straightened up slightly, careful not to crush you under his weight. He covered your skin with kisses, from your neck to your lips, before rolling onto his side and welcoming you against his chest, arms wrapped around your bare body. Both of you waited for your breathings to calm down.

“I cherish it, you know,” you said, curled up against his chest.

“What do you cherish?” he asked, caressing your skin with his large, loving hands.

“Having you like this, in these moments. It always seems unreal to me, your softness and protectiveness towards me, knowing that you lead battles for Rome. Everyone who fought near you evokes your cold blood.”

He hugged you closer and kissed your forehead, brushing it for a moment with his moustache.

“I love you. I’m only myself when I’m home, with you.”

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[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.

[irrelevantwriter]

His Wife, Her Power

Pairing: Emperor Geta (Gladiator 2) x Female Reader/You

Warnings: NSFW, Ancient Rome type shit, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, power couple tings

Word Count: 3242

Summary: Part 2. The Emperor of Rome learns just who he chose to be his queen.

A/N: Part two is upon us. And its gonna get nasty. Again, I took major liberties with Ancient Rome. Let’s pretend okay. There also might be a part three 👀 Feedback is that good shit.💗

*Read Part One here

*Masterlist

***********************

You released a breath, feeling the last of your hair being freed from the confines of their pins. Your maiden brushed through your hair gently, nearly lulling you to sleep. Lavender emanated from your skin, making the temptation of slumber all the more intense.

“Your highness, the Emperor has called for you,” she whispered, setting the ivory comb aside. 

You nodded, a kind smile aimed her way. “Thank you. I’ll be along shortly,” you gently dismissed, not wanting to be followed. 

She understood. 

You took a moment to gather yourself in the solitude of your own chambers. You thought back on the day and the events that led you here. It’d started as any other and now you were possibly facing a fate much worse than death. 

Geta had been infuriated at you. He did not wish to eat dinner with you nor bathe with you. You hadn’t seen him since he’d threatened a night of merciless tyranny. 

Your husband, while sadistic at times, was simply a man. He did not want for much when it came to a wife. But you…you yearned for so much more. More than him crawling atop you. More than the uncoordinated coitus you’d grown accustomed to. And despite your husband’s misgivings, you did love him. You did lust for him. 

But he had barely scratched the surface of just what kind of woman he’d married. 

A knock from outside your door let you know a guard was waiting to escort you. You glanced down at your attire, pleased with the color choice. A robe of red and gold, similar to that of your husband’s, adorned your frame. It concealed what lay underneath. A sheer stola, the shade similar to the deepest scarlet rose you’d ever seen. One that lay in the gardens just beyond your chambers. 

Your sandals padded softly along the marble floors, soft echoes following you. A guard was placed at your front and back. At first glance, it looked to be for your protection. But something told you otherwise.

The journey to your husband’s quarters was long. Unnecessarily so. Once you’d made it to the entrance of his chambers, the guard at your front knocked on the door. It opened, revealing the Emperor’s own maiden. She smiled, eyes downcast and not meeting your own as she greeted you.

“Your highness, the Emperor is waiting.” 

She stepped aside, letting you through. You thanked her, holding your robe together as she left, the door closing in a muted thud. 

Soft light glowed throughout the room from several candles. A tray of fruits and meats sat near goblets of wine. By the looks of it, your husband had already helped himself. 

“You seem nervous.”

His voice startled you. He made himself known when he stepped out of the darkness of the night, sheer curtains blowing in the gentle breeze of his balcony. 

He wore a robe that nearly matched yours though his was much more intricate and regal. 

“If I appear nervous it is only because I wish to please my emperor,” you said with a bow of your head. 

Geta scoffed. 

“Placations will not get you far here, my love.”

He reached for you, beckoning your forward. You took his hand, letting him lead you. He bypassed the food and poured you a hearty glass of wine, maroon droplets sloshing over the side as he did so. 

“Here. You’ll need it.”

You took the drink, bringing it to your lips. You sipped, the pungent taste of grapes making you feel warm already. 

“My, my…someone is in a hurry,” Geta teased, his own glass poised in the air as if to make a toast. 

You belatedly realized he’d meant to toast with you. Humiliation crept its way up your spine. 

“I’m sorry, Augustus,” you softly offered, licking the excess wine off your lips. 

“It’s alright. I’d say that’s the least of your discretions, wouldn’t you?” 

He smiled and you couldn’t tell if he was speaking in jest or just waiting for the right moment to strike. 

You watched as he took a long pull from his glass, swallowing nearly all of its contents. A wayward drop made its journey down the hill of his Adam’s apple and over his exposed chest. Your stare was unabashed. He took notice. 

He looked at you for a long moment and it nearly made you uncomfortable. You took another sip from your wine, feeling that fuzzy sensation start to move through your limbs. 

“You, my wife,” he started, placing his cup on the table, “are truly a stunning sight. Do you know that?”

You smiled, eyes aimed down at the rare emotion in your husband’s voice. 

“You don’t believe me?” 

You placed your glass down, shaking your head. “Of course I do, Augustus.”

“You know all of Rome has you in their hearts. Their Emperor as well. A slave to you. And you dare to seem coy when I remark upon your beauty?”

He was teasing you. 

“A true lady of Rome knows of her beauty. But she never lets others know. That is her strength,” you replied, meeting the slow burn beginning to take shape in his eyes.

Geta smiled. A hint of pride in his face at your words. 

“Ah, there she is. What did you call yourself earlier?” He mimed as if he was thinking, a ringless hand lifted to his chin. “Oh yes! A jungle cat. My jungle cat.” 

His features shifted then. His shoulders squared. His chin up and pointed down at you. An Emperor coming to life. 

“You were quite the spectacle today, wife. A rarity even for you,” he remarked as he slowly started to circle you. 

“Forgive me, husband. I was speaking out of turn. That is my error.”

You flinched when his hand weaved itself into your loosened tresses. He played with the ends, his chest nearly touching your back. 

“While I appreciate the gesture, I much prefer your talk of freedom and sorcery.”

He moved to stand in front of you again, any traces of anger or irritation erased. 

“I thought of your words for the remainder of the day. And I have to admit,” he paused, eyes lasciviously roaming across your figure. “I am intrigued.” 

You felt your nipples pebble beneath your clothing at the way he was taking you in. He looked starved. A wild animal ready to pounce. It made the heartbeat centered in your chest travel downwards. It stopped between your legs. 

“I am not a sorceress,” you attested, squaring your own shoulders when he laughed. 

“Some say you are. Displayed by the way the people adore you. The way your Emperor does.”

He stepped closer, hands reaching for the opening of your robe that lay at your breasts. 

“I only love who I have a duty to love. There is no crime in that.”

Geta cupped your cheek, tutting down at you. “Of course not, my love. But I want to see what lies beyond that duty.” 

He pushed your robe off your shoulders, revealing your barely hidden form beneath it. The fabric fell to your feet, leaving your arms naked. A breeze kicked up, making your nipples even more prominent against the sheer fabric. 

Geta took you in slowly, the flames of his gaze heating the chill of the night. 

“I want you to give yourself to me. Freely. It is your turn to take, my love. You have my explicit permission.”

A thunderous wave accompanied the heartbeat between your thighs at your husband’s words. His hands made a home at your hips. His lips, at your allowance, pressed gently into yours. And it was you, drunk on the power wielded over to you, that opened your mouth to welcome him in. 

Your tongues danced together as one, the taste of wine evident. He grasped at the fabric concealing you and grunted against your lips. You pushed his own robe from his shoulders, baring him to your eager eyes. He was no Roman soldier, but he was built sturdy as any god carved from marble. 

“Let me touch you,” he pleaded, the words sounding like a symphony to your ears. You nodded, allowing him to undo the knot at your shoulder. 

Your own hands reached for the knot at his waist, the only piece of clothing he wore to cover his modesty. You’d never initiated such a thing. Geta buried himself into your neck at the action. 

Within seconds, you were both bare. His hands tangled in your hair while yours tugged at his. He tasted the column of your neck, moaning when he tasted something sweet. Honey. 

“I wish to show you something,” you breathed, pulling him from your chest. 

He nodded, eyes unfocused as he tried hard to listen to your words.

You led him to his own bed, releasing him so that you could lay back. You were on display for him. Curves highlighted by candlelight. Your hair was fanned around you, creating a halo. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think your husband was worshipping a goddess at her altar. He looked like a man lost in the desert, gazing upon you as if all hope was centered between your thighs. 

For him, it was.

You took him in. Unruly curls, wild eyes, and a cock as hard as the stone columns you resided in. He panted as if he’d run a mile to get to you. Sweat glistening off his pale skin. He was his own sight to behold. 

“Do you know, my Emperor, that I cast a hand upon myself at night? Without you?”

Geta’s eyes hurriedly found yours at your words, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

To demonstrate your point, you caressed yourself, soft stomach tightening as you traced delicate shapes into the flesh. He followed your movements, entranced. 

“Not possible,” he mumbled. 

“Why not?”

“It is a man’s duty for pleasure. Not a woman’s.”

You giggled at his ineptitude. 

“Oh, on the contrary…,” you cooed, your hand slowly making its way down your body. You passed over the curls nestled at the apex of your thighs and instead dipped a shallow finger beyond your folds. A soft gasp fell from your lips, your eyes closing briefly. An ocean of need sat beyond your walls. Wet and waiting. 

“You have aroused yourself?” He asked, somehow looking amazed and stupefied at the same time. 

You saw his cock twitch. 

“At times, yes,” you answered with a gasp, your finger catching the hidden source of pleasure just above your folds. 

“And you seek pleasure on your own? Without me?” 

He was not displeased as you’d anticipated. He was curious, hand reaching for himself. You watched as he squeezed the base, surely staving off the same unquenchable need you felt. 

“I do,” you admitted, finally plunging a finger into your depths. Your palm brushed the outside of your folds as you did, sending lighting bolts of ecstasy through your veins. 

“I want to see,” Geta demanded, one hand still holding himself. 

You acquiesced and spread your legs, letting his eyes feast upon you properly. One hand worked another finger in while the other cupped your breast, gently tugging at your nipple. 

You moaned at the feeling, nearly forgetting your husband was witness to such a wanton display. 

“Do you wish to touch me?” 

Geta nodded, swallowing as he joined you on the bed. You reached for his hand, putting a digit to your lips and lathering it in saliva. He watched in rapt fascination as you led him to your core. His hands were hardly calloused, but still rougher and bigger than your own. One of his fingers felt like two of yours, the stretch utterly blissful. 

“You’ve drenched your thighs,” he observed, taking a moment to see just how wet you were. You let him do as he wished, giving yourself over to his touch. 

He teased your entrance, using your arousal to coat himself. When he used his fingers to spread you, you trapped his hands between your thighs, the emptiness you felt too overpowering. 

“Please touch me, Augustus. Fill me,” you begged, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. 

He dutifully did as you requested, slipping two fingers inside. You arched your back, inching closer to his charitable touch. 

“You are mesmerizing,” he rasped, feeling your inner walls tighten around him. 

“Curl your fingers. Inside.” You gripped the bedding beneath you as he slowly pushed in and out, taking your instruction. Stars filled your vision as he did so. 

You were on the cusp of coming undone and without thinking, you joined his hand, manipulating his thumb so that he brushed against your delicate bundle of nerves. On the fourth pass, your body tightened and bursts of white light appeared behind your eyes. That feeling that you’d never found with him, but always with yourself had descended upon you. And just like every occasion before, you soared. 

Your chest heaved as you floated back down, Geta’s touch still strong against you. You whimpered and gently pushed him away, the sensitivity too much. You watched as he looked at his hand, coated in you. He rubbed two fingers together, the digits never meeting. There was too much of you for him to feel his own touch. 

“That is what a woman giving herself to you looks like, my husband,” you said with a satisfied smile, nodding to his hand. 

Geta looked down at you, searing your skin. His cock was still hard and now dripping with its own need. He used his hand, the one coated in your essence, and began soothing his own ache. His bicep tightened, his stomach taut as he peered down at you, sprawled out and lust drunk. 

“I have never met another like you,” he panted, eyes rolling when he paid special attention to the head. “You may not be a sorceress, my dear…but magic is what surely lays beyond your depths.”

You smiled up at him, seeing his chest flush red. You leaned up on your elbows, reaching a hand out to stop him. He did so reluctantly.

“Kiss me.”

He met you in the middle, arms holding himself up as his cock brushed your stomach. He kissed you hungrily and with desperation, hissing when your hand encircled him. His forehead came to rest against yours, completely overtaken by your touch.

“If you want to believe it is a spell between my thighs that has you prisoner, then so be it,” you whispered against his lips. 

He grunted when you stopped, the delay of gratification beginning to frustrate him. Before he could complain, you pushed against his chest, signaling that you wanted him beneath you. He’d never had you in this position and you could see him questioning such a request. 

“Let me show you, my love. Let me show you what having me means.”

Without another word, he did as you asked. 

He sat propped against feathered pillows as you straddled him. His eyes immediately went to your breasts. He feasted on them, pawing and nibbling every inch of honeyed skin. You held him to you, feeling his hips brushing up to meet yours. When he grazed your opening, you both moaned. 

You reached between your bodies and steadied him, forcing him to meet your gaze. You placed him at your entrance, sensuously lathering him in you. And as slowly as you could manage, you began to ease him inside. His arms instantly encircled you, fingers digging into the flesh at your hips. You did the same, hugging him to you as you became one. It was not the first time, but it would feel that way for many reasons.

“Gods, that feels…divine,” he exhaled, his lips brushing the tops of your breasts. 

“Like this…it feels like you're in the very depths of my soul,” you confessed, shifting your hips ever so slightly. The movement caused you both to draw in a breath. “Only you’ve been here, my love.”

Geta hummed in approval, thrusting his hips upwards. You gasped, your own hips beginning to find a rhythm atop him. 

“Are you certain? You speak of this pleasure as if you’ve had it with another.”

You threw your head back when a particularly sharp thrust made you see stars. Geta gripped your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“I haven’t,” you assured him, burrowing into his neck. “It’s only been you. You are the only one to see me this way. Explore me so deeply.” He made it a point to seat himself deeper at your words, making you lose your breath. You sought out his lips in return. “You are the only one to fill me with seed.”

He kissed you. It was bruising and matched the speed of his hips below you. You held on tight, feeling him draw pleasure from you unlike anything you’d ever felt before. 

His hands held your hips, keeping you in your place above him. He watched you fall apart with every rock of his hips. When he could see tears mount in your eyes, he felt for the spot you’d shown him just above where he was sheathed in you. 

His fingers fumbled, unfamiliar with how to touch you. But the moment you tightened and gasped around him, he knew he’d found it. 

Your nails dug into his back, his own hands claiming their place on your backside. Euphoria mounted at the highest hill and you could feel yourself getting ready to fall down it. Moisture collected in your eyes, the feeling of it all too much. 

“You are mine. You belong to me. To Rome. And you are mine to tame,” Geta growled, pulling your chin down so that you faced him. 

“Yes, yes…I’m yours. All yours,” you deliriously agreed. 

He nipped at your lips, hips still fucking up into you. “Such a good wife.”

Ironically, his words were your undoing. You began to fall, careening through the heavens as your entire body tensed with ecstasy. You couldn’t make out what was real and what was not as wave after wave dragged you under. The only thing you could be sure of was your husband’s voice as he fell alongside you. Together. 

A warmth spread through you as your mind returned to your body. You were utterly satiated, barely able to keep yourself upright. Geta did so, leaning into you as the last of his seed painted your walls. You welcomed it, opening your hips up further to take all that he had to give. 

Like a good wife.

When enough time passed and the breeze of the night made itself known again, you shifted your hips, meaning to retreat. Geta stopped you. 

“Stay. Like this. Just for a little bit,” he commanded. 

You did as he said, not in a rush to part from him. 

This was out of the norm for you both, but it was welcomed. You caressed the muscles in his back. He let his hands dip along your waist and hips. Sweat and your releases bound you together as the candles melted down. 

“You do not know of the power you possess, my love,” Geta softly confessed, his lips placing barely there kisses along your neck. 

You met his eyes, staring down at the cooling depths of mahogany. You cupped his cheek, feeling the beginning roughness of an unshaven face. 

“I do, my Emperor. A true lady of Rome knows she holds all the power.” 

[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

[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.

[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).

[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???