The Brescia Medallion, crafted between 200 — 400 AD, is a stellar example of Roman gold and glass work. [500 x 511]

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@historyxboy
The Brescia Medallion, crafted between 200 — 400 AD, is a stellar example of Roman gold and glass work. [500 x 511]
in the new year ophelia will be five years old, and i want to say thank you to some extra special people! i’m trying to tag people on their most recent active blogs, but uhhhh, bear with me! i’ve queued up some random love, it’s about time p.s, you are all wonderful and i see you xx
for @historyxboy <3 when this blog was so new and i was just dipping my toes back into writing, you helped me to feel bolder. you’re golden bb. i feel quite emotional about all of it tbh, because you’ve become such a wonderful part of my life. i have so much respect for your talent, and i want to thank you for the laughter and levity you’ve brought as well. you’re so special to me. you’re a good egg.
aw bb thank you 💕
Erotic cylinder seal from Susa (modern day Iran), 6th-4th centuries BC [1050x600]
&. like the naked leads the blind I know I’m selfish, I’m unkind sucker love I always find someone to bruise and leave behind &.
2,200 year old Greek armbands.
opheliaavery :
There is no role she cannot play. Time has taught her this. The lessons from her Grandfather never ending, forcing her fluidity and her strength, her exhaustion is suppressed but it is eternal. Here, she is the generous debutante, spending the family wealth on a poor lost boy. She is satisfied with how easily it comes to her.Ophelia waves off the almonds with a definite flick of the wrist, she can appreciate his manners without having need for them. He is polite, and he is making his escape. It isn’t just her restraint that has saved him from her appetite thus far.
The appearance of shining eyes is unfortunate, but her gaze is unrelenting, savouring each detail of his humanity. “It’s alright.” Her voice sounds far away, as if reaching from a great distance. “It’s all alright.” Calm exuded, she curls in her seat and finally looks away, allowing Billy some measure of privacy. “We’ll be there soon. Rest.” The view rolling by looks monotonous. It’s a nowhere place, ink-coloured sky and scrub covered plains. Time shimmers and dissolves around them, and it could be hours or minutes when they arrive at their destination. Ophelia reaches out, but her fingers stop short of his shoulder.
“We’ve arrived.” The door is opened by Eli, who drives her anywhere, everywhere. He has a gift for blending in, a thin presence that you can’t quite grasp. Ophelia’s cabin is clean and cosy, art covered walls and soft cashmere blankets. “Would you like to eat, or sleep?”
Once, when Billy was in his early teens, he’d been in the hospital for something. The memory of the procedure itself has long since flown from his mind, but the painkillers afterwards have always stuck with him, the hot, fluttering sensation through his limbs, and the strange weight of his head, how heavy each long-drawn breath seemed.
It feels something like that now. Coming from the chill outside to the cosy cabin, the warmth settles on him like a physical weight, he feels limp and listless and like he’s moving underwater, sucking lungfuls of air through a straw.
“Thank you so much, ma’am,” he says, though he can’t tell if he’s speaking clearly or not, “it’s so kind of you, thank you. If I could have something to eat..?”
Everything is warm and plush, there are frames in the walls, but he can’t quite make out the pictures, everything is so perfect, he’s almost afraid to touch anything. Billy feels dirty, he’s aware of the dust on his clothes, caked on his shoes, he’s aware that he smells bad, and he doesn’t want to mark the place up.
The cabin is like something out of a magazine, just like Ophelia.
“Would it be okay if I have a shower?” Billy says, working very hard not to sway where he’s standing.
opheliaavery:
She feels his hunger, a kind of empathy she never possessed while she was living. At times Ophelia is as disgusted by humans as she is ravenous for them. Cousin Daniel says it’s how people feel about meat, hunger and repulsion rub along together, sometimes one before the other. It’s all very circumstantial. She smiles, and hopes it is encouraging.
“You should see the cliffs at Monterey,” She’s imaging the cold air rushing all around her, diving into the black waters below. “You need proper food.” And so does she, but unlike Billy she can wait. Besides, her appetite has lessened as she watches him. Mostly she’s thinking of what it means to leave what you know and cannot stand any longer. If she were someone else she’d be looking for another nest, but to linger in one place makes her bones ache.
“There’s a cabin, not far from here.” She can see it in her minds eye. Her voice is velvet, gentle, coaxing. “We’ll go there.”
Billy wants to say something smart, something interesting so that she doesn’t have to carry the whole conversation. He feels weird just taking, letting her talk the whole time, taking food, the ride. Part of him wants to just dissolve into endless gratitude, part of him wants to shrivel up and disappear for being such a burden on a complete stranger.
All he can think of, though, now that she’s mentioned Monterey, is the aquarium.
He can’t picture it, couldn’t point to Monterey on a map. Hell, he’s not even sure how he knows there’s an aquarium there, but it’s all he can think of. The image of a shark swimming in endless figure-eights sticks in his mind. An advertisement? It must have been, how else would he have heard of it?
“A cabin?” Billy says belatedly, he thinks he ought to say thanks but no thanks and get her to drop him off in the next town, but the moment, if there was one, has passed. He pops a couple more almonds into his mouth and rolls up the end of the bag. No need to scoff all of them down. Almonds are expensive. He offers the package back to her, still half full.
“Please don’t go to any trouble,” Billy says, “you’ve already helped me so much--” His voice cracks and he’s mortified to feel his eyes welling up, and turns to the window again to rub his face with his sleeve and get himself under control. “Thank you again, Ma’am, so much, I mean, I really appreciate it.”
Born to Die
suicideismymortalenemy :
Alan’s insides are twisting with pleasure like they haven’t in years and he groans, deep and genuine, palming up over their slick cock heads. He shudders and bucks forward, instinctively searching for more, more heat, more pressure, more of the desperate boy scrambling and whining under him.
When Billy finally jerks, arching again and coming, impossibly hard, Alan can’t breathe at first. He groans again finally and it’s almost too much to feel Billy’s cock jumping against his fingers, against his own throbbing, aching want. The hot sensation of Billy’s teeth and nails tear over him and he only squeezes his hand harder around them. One, two, then a third, more jagged thrust and a grunt of ecstasy as Alan follows him over the edge. He’s gripping Billy’s hip with bruising force as he watches his come pour out over Billy’s cock and stomach.
“Awful job at cleaning up, hm?” He offers a breathless laugh and leans down to kiss at Billy’s shoulder and face, reveling in the shudder of over stimulation, the weak tremble of a well-earned release. He mouths over his neck and laps up the come he finds there before pulling away, licking his lips. He cups Billy’s face and caresses him there, pausing before smiling.
“I’ll get a wash cloth.” He presses a kiss to Billy’s knee as he pulls away.
When Carl finally sees the first sign for the little motel a flutter of nervous excitement fills his stomach and he can’t help but grin to himself. He bites his lip hard and sends Alan Walter a message to let him know he’ll be there soon. In the parking lot he wipes his sweaty palms on his khakis, double checks the address, triple checks the room number, peers around looking for cops or anyone who might see him, and finally steps out of the car.
Billy lies on his back, stunned, his vision is blurred with unshed tears and spots dance in front of his eyes. His whole body feels like it’s brimming with static electricity, shocks rolling through him, making him shudder and tremble and clutch at the bedding for stability. His dick is red and hard against his belly, and every slight movement sends a wave of hot pain-pleasure through him.
Alan’s hands leave stripes of tingling skin behind, and the semen on his belly makes him itch. Billy’s eyes are heavy and his whole body throbs with his heart beat, and he lifts a trembling hand to wrap around his dick and hisses at the intensity of it.
He hears the water running and then, the chime of Alan’s phone getting a message. Billy opens his eyes and looks up at the cracked paint on the ceiling, he looks toward the bathroom and he can see Alan with his head down, standing at the sink.
“I think that’s your pervert.” Billy calls out. He thinks now he was a little impulsive to get off so early, but at the same time he feels like he could get worked up all over again real quick. He does wonder about Alan, though. How long until he’ll be hard again?
Billy reaches up and feels for a pillow, it only takes him a moment to pull it out of the pillow case, and he lays that above his head in easy reach. Just in case.
“Ready to go, Daddy?” He calls to Alan, grinning.
opheliaavery :
He’s in need of food, shelter, the most basic needs which most species have in common. Ophelia sighs like somebody that needs the oxygen, and nods. He doesn’t need to share details. She is shackled to her family, but remembers what it’s like to gnaw oneself free. It isn’t small, it’s survival. A sharp finger stabs a button to wind the window down ever so slightly, a little fresh air to keep Billy alert enough to converse.
“Illinois,” she says, her skin shimmers pearlescent in the moonlight that reaches them. “I don’t think we’re far from the border.” Her tone is light, thoughtful as though she’s suggesting something without actually saying it. “The sequoias are worth seeing,” Ophelia wonders if there are snacks in the mini bar, “if you make it to California. They chatter when the winds are high.” A subtle inhale, almonds, yes. “Is it just the climate that appeals?” Warm nights are kinder when shelter is lacking.
“Here, if you’re hungry.” The bag of roasted almonds is produced, like magic, soundless and with little movement.
Billy mouths Illinois, picturing a map to try and place himself on it. His memory of geography class is a little hazy, but it’s fine. He nods along as Ophelia speaks about California, he remembers hazy old post card pictures of giant trees, and a nature documentary he’d seen a long while ago.
“Well ... mostly the climate,” he agrees, “but I’d like to see the beach.” Billy’s been to beaches, mostly dirty, rocky ones with icy water. Venice beach looks so glamorous on tv, he thinks it’d be nice to see it in real life.
He reaches for the bag that appears in her hand without completely registering what it is. “Oh, thank you,” his stomach growls and he takes a few out, he doesn’t want to be rude and just stuff his face, but it’s hard to hold back when he can hardly remember the last meal he had.
With the cool air from the window, and the almonds to keep him occupied, Billy manages to shake off the drowsiness, but he’s still bone tired and his body is crying out for proper food, a hot drink, somewhere soft and warm to rest for a while. He rubs his face and turns his head toward the window to get more of the chilly fresh air, he needs to toughen up and get used to it.
📂
Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have
Murder!Billy’s first victim was his mother’s ginger tom cat, who was a sweet idiot of an animal, and Billy realised shortly afterwards that he shouldn’t have killed that cat because he actually liked it. He feels the same way about his siblings’ deaths, though they were unavoidable.
📂
Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have
Billy taught himself to play guitar during high school, he’s not fantastic at it, but he’s good enough to learn songs for his sister to sing along to.
Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have
Born to Die
suicideismymortalenemy :
Billy’s sounds and motions are enticing, fascinating. It’s a pleasure in and of itself just to see the boy writhing under him, feel him pressed close against him and struggling. Alan imagines he could strangle Billy like this, with his cock in his hand, pinned down into the cheap bedding. It’s a thrilling little fantasy, but not one that he lingers on.
The sharp breath he sucks in as Billy starts to beg surprises him, and it’s hard to focus as a heavy wave of arousal roils in him. Alan maneuvers Billy’s legs, tugging his boxers away from one leg so that he can spread them and press closer down over him. “Shhh, shh, I’ve got you.” He murmurs and grabs Billy’s cock again. He sets into a slow rhythm at first, just teasing his hand up and down as his free hand works at his pants, shoving in to free his own arousal from their confines.
He works them both separately at first, breath heavier as he watches pre-come dribble onto Billy’s sex from his own. He lets out a measured breath as he presses them together, squeezing his fingers around them, feeling a shudder run up his spine at the heat and sensation. There’s an uncomfortable tug of friction and he lifts his hand to his mouth, licking over his palm before continuing with the added lubrication of his own saliva, rocking his hips into the motions. “C’mon Billy, show me how much of a mess you are.” There’s an edge to his voice, almost a growl as he squeezes harder and presses a hand up over Billy’s chest. He gropes over one side and then thumbs at a pert nipple, giving the flushed nub an experimental pinch.
Carl is making good time, not quite breaking the speed limit, glancing at the radio clock and cursing every stop he has to make along the way. The nice weather and scenery isn’t entirely lost on him, but he’s distracted by the way his polo is sticking between his back and the car seat and the way the driver in front of him seems to slow down at every right turn as if they’re half lost.
Everything shrinks down to this, the hot breath between them, the slick hard stroke of Alan’s hand around their dicks, the way every muscle in Billy’s body is stretched taut as he’s wrapped around Alan’s hips, and straining to thrust up into his hand, and arching against the mattress, and feeling like he’s being torn apart all at once.
The rumble of Alan’s voice tickles something primal in Billy’s gut, and he stops making sense, stops begging with words and just whimpers and groans and clutches harder, squeezes his thighs together until the shape of Alan’s hips must be imprinted there. The liquid heat in his belly feels like he could burst, but there’s more still, the slick friction of Alan’s cock against him, that hand pressing them together, drives Billy to the brink and holds him there, teetering on the edge until it feels like torture.
A choked sound catches in Billy’s throat, his eyes roll back and he shudders as hot ropes of come spit across his chest and belly, splattering as far as his throat. He clutches at Alan desperately and his hips jerk with the last few pumps of come and then he goes limp and pants for air, quickly becoming over sensitive, overwhelmed by sensation.
Eyes watering, Billy squirms under Alan, still holding onto him, but now desperate in a different way, pained but still wanting, spent but desperate, he wants to keep fucking Alan’s hand even though it hurts, his dick stays hard, and it burns and Billy bites his lip so hard he tastes the metallic tang of blood, and he claws at Alan’s back and bites at his shoulder, where he can reach.
Born to Die
suicideismymortalenemy :
Alan can’t help a wide euphoric grin and a breathless laugh at Billy’s desperation. He feels his insides twist and his own cock throbs and hardens in his pants, Billy’s frenzied grabbing sending excitement buzzing down his nerves. He buries his face against Billy’s neck, mouthing and dragging his teeth, nipping, sucking, his hand grasps and squeezes wantonly at Billy’s thigh, slides under him to cup and squeeze at his ass, pulling them flush together.
He pulls away for breath and his eyes drag over to his watch on his wrist where his right hand is buried in the mattress. His eyes are back on Billy before he finishes inhaling and he shifts, hands pushing up over his middle, his chest, his neck, to cup his face in his hands. “Don’t worry, Billy. I’ll take care of you.” He leans down for a deep kiss and he slides his hands back down to tug his boxers down off his hips enough to give himself access.
“There you go. There’s my good boy.” Alan’s hands grope over Billy’s bare hips and his ass again before one cups at his hard, leaking sex. He rubs his palm over Billy’s cock-head so it’s slick when his fingers wrap around his length. He gives Billy a slow, firm stroke and there’s a smug curve to his lips as he watches for his reaction. “Feel good?”
Carl Newman has been sweating since he woke up that morning. Today was the day. He’d called out of work when Walter had told him he’d be close enough for them to meet up. Them. Him and his boy. Just the thought makes him feel hot and his hands feel slicker where he gripped the steering wheel. He swallows, clenches his teeth, grins to himself.
He’s only done this kind of meet-up twice before, and the first time he’d had to pay quite a bit ahead of time. That time had been a little scary. He was less worried about it this time. The other guy, Walter, he seemed just as into it as him, seemed just as eager about the act as he was himself. Carl–or Charles, or whoever he needed to be to get what he wanted–was less nervous than he was excited.
Billy nods, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his hands grasping at Alan’s shirt for stability. The underwear hoisted down his thighs fetches up against his knees and as Alan leans over him his legs are pressed to his chest, and he ought to feel squashed and uncomfortable, but it’s just hot, being twisted up underneath Alan, his legs hiked up, his dick out, everything exposed.
He shudders and mewls as Alan plays with him, his movement is restricted but he does his best to thrust his hips up into Alan’s hand, eyes narrowed to slits. Something about this makes him want more and to run away, he can’t stand hearing Alan call him a good boy, if only because he thinks it must be a tease, it must be making fun of him. Part of him is too thirsty to care, though, and drinks in the praise desperate for more.
“Oh shit!” he gasps, and for a moment he can’t do anything but arch against the mattress, his head thrown back, throat exposed, his hands are numb and tingly and he feebly tries to drag Alan even closer. “Please,” he whimpers, “please, oh, please, Daddy,” he’s shivering, but he’s overheated in his skin, feels like he’s ready to burst with the rush of sensation through him.
All thought of what they’re about to do has crowded into the back of his mind, all he can focus on his Alan on top of him, and the sensation that is almost enough to drown out the blinding panic that wants to consume him.
Born to Die
suicideismymortalenemy :
Alan pulls out his laptop, runs the right programs, logs into the right sites, sends the address and a few lines of text, half listens to what Billy’s saying.
“Oh, some of them would be positively traumatized.” Alan fidgets with his belt buckle and watches Billy in the corner of his vision. “Some would be all too eager to write off my success because of the scandal–or eager to make their own names riding on the infamy of it all.” Alan sighs at that and wets his lips.
“I’m sure a few would be envious. Though, I doubt they’d admit it.” Alan thinks of one man who might only be mildly disappointed that Alan’s fun was drawn to such an anticlimactic close. The flash-memory of hard shining eyes and a bemused upturn of the other’s lips is forgotten entirely when Billy’s lithe form shifts against the bedding again. Alan tuts and brushes his fingertips over Billy’s thigh, slipping under his boxers, indulging in the soft warm flesh they find there.
“Such a messy boy. Am I going to have to clean you up before we have company over?” Alan’s tone is a low teasing purr, and he shifts closer, one knee pressing into the edge of the bed between Billy’s legs. His fingers slip further up brushing against his erection, leaning over him to press kisses up over his chest.
Billy’s heart stops when Alan’s knee presses between his thighs, and then it starts up again in double time, pounding away in his chest. He sucks in a gasp and lifts his knees, spreads them. He wriggles under Alan’s hand, and when Alan leans down close to kiss him, Billy’s knees bracket his hips.
Digging his heels into Alan’s backside, Billy urges him closer, he wants to rub up against him, feel the weight and the heat of his body on top of him, he wants ... he wants ... he doesn’t know what he wants, but he’s frantic with it, hands grasping at Alan’s shirt, reaching up to pet his hair, feel his beard and cup the back of his neck.
Billy nods, teeth sunk into his own lip, and it takes a moment before he can form words to answer back. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, please, please clean me up.” Arousal runs through him like electricity, and he arches under Alan, shuddering and panting for air.
Born to Die
suicideismymortalenemy :
Alan watches Billy and tries to decide if he wants to tuck his own bag into the closet or under the bathroom sink. He’s less worried about it being seen and more concerned with it coming into contact with any evidence. Billy pressing up behind him serves as quite the distraction.
“Something like that.” Alan laughs, quiet and breathy. He inhales when he hears that word leave Billy’s lips and he feels his nostrils flare. There’s something about the way his body follows through a checklist of aroused response–dilated pupils, flushed skin, increased heart rate–something uncharacteristically awkward, uncertain. Alan Bloom, who never thought of his own father as much more than a nuisance, an annoyance, a blemish to be blotted out of childhood memories, finds something embarrassing about the connection.
“That’s not really necessary, is it?” He laughs again, huskier as he wavers between annoyed humiliation and amused arousal. He feels the heat of his skin flushing and it makes his throat ache where his bruises are still healing. Billy’s hand snakes its way into his pocket and he sucks in a breath, tilting his head back. His cock aches with a fresh rush of blood southward.
“Of course, Billy. I want to have my fun but I’m here to help you however I can.” He whispers over his shoulder, then gives in and turns, hands sliding over Billy’s hips to grope at his waist. His lips hover so close enough to Billy’s mouth that he can feel his breath, one hand sliding up over his ribs, thumb dragging over a pert nipple.
“Why don’t you just relax and I’ll send ‘Charles’ the address?” He smiles and pecks Billy’s cheek before pulling away.
Billy’s cheeks flush and there’s a flutter in his belly that is somewhere between nervous and excited. Alan’s hands on his waist make him want to lean into him, the touch to his nipple makes him shudder, and he lets out a shaky breath as Alan kisses his cheek and moves off. Billy looks down at his semi poking against his boxer briefs.
He takes a few steps back until his knees hit the mattress and he flops down on his back, watching Alan through his lashes. Excitement, fear, his stomach turns, even as his dick strains against his underwear. Would Alan let this Charles or whatever the fuck his name is actually hurt Billy?
Almost certainly, if he felt like it. Capricious, that’s the word for Alan.
“What would your colleagues think if they found out what you get up to on the road?” Billy wriggles against the bedding and rubs his hard on through his underwear. “Do you think they’d be horrified? Do you think they’d wanna get in on it too?”
Not that Billy would dob him in, of course, but he could. If he felt like it. If he were pushed.
He touches himself again and is faintly embarrassed at the whine that comes from his throat, he can feel a wet patch at his tip already and he dabbles his thumb over it and watches a string of precome hang between the digit and the wet patch. “Look at this, Daddy,” he says, “what a mess.”