Peter Solarz
No title available
RMH
hello vonnie
Cosmic Funnies
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
shark vs the universe
DEAR READER
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Claire Keane
JVL
★
NASA
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
dirt enthusiast
styofa doing anything
KIROKAZE
todays bird
#extradirty
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
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@romxnum
ofromance:
“… Right. I see this is how things ended up as they are today, then.”
“You mean how you are a flourishing and well-established ....” he had to pause and think on that for a moment. Was Gallia an empire now? kingdom? Republic? Definitely not a province, though he still needed to understand this whole European conglomerate affair. Ah---nation. That’s what they called themselves these days. “... nation? Indeed, you owe it all to my valuable teachings.”
Rome y u so sexi?
“Because I descend from Venus, the goddess of beauty.”
Raoul Bova by Tony Duran
“ I actually charge ten pounds for people to see me smile. Like a circus sideshow. ”
“If I add another five, will you give us a little dance too?”
can’t believe they changed the hollywood sign again
aph-germania:
This sort of venom, malice towards the tribesman wasn’t anything new. Hell, this was a few steps below the violent outburst that had occurred after he had wiped out three legions in his forests a few decades earlier. It was probably one of his greatest achievements, but that was another story for another time. The problem he faced at the moment was a very angry Roman who had one thing on the mind.
Domination.
Could one blame an empire for his subjects turning on him? His people did not fare well under anyone’s rule but their own. Really, Romulus brought it upon himself. thinking that he could rule over the men of the north.
As the fingers tightened around his neck, Odalric moved his head to look up at the angered man. There was no fear, no look of surprise or hate. Honestly, it was one of annoyance–which in hindsight maybe wasn’t the best idea–his lips turned in a slight frown. “I am here, in Rome, acting as your bodyguard while you go gallivanting around your empire. I doubt I had time to leave and start a rebellion and return without you noticing.”
His ‘toys’ were set down on his lap, the tall Germanic wearing traditional roman garb as it seemed his trousers were considered too barbaric for these idiots. “Nothing. You don’t tell my people what to do. I am going to continue enjoying the day, and you should too.” Again, not the best thing to say and with that sort of attitude. They could be the best of friends and yet the worst of enemies.
His nostrils flared at the impudently dismissive response, as if to release the mounting fury that was rising from his chest, heaving against Odalric’s back. It paled in comparison with the raging tornado of wrath and devastation he’d felt decades ago, in the wake of the Teutoburg disaster. Things had changed since, they had found a grudging compromise, after much bloodshed and battle. As long as Germania could be fettered to him, as long as he could have him by his side, then he could tolerate and crush the constant sparks of rebellion that crippled the tenuous confines of his Germanic provinces. He knew, deep down, that their dynamic wouldn’t last, if the steady military efforts he invested in the Rhine were anything to go by. It angered him, really, to think that though he was his prized possession, he never truly conquered him. Nails dug into flesh and muscle, bruising the alabaster skin to make a mark; that of possession. His eyes, clouded with the colour of old blood, greedily roved down the barbarian’s Adam’s apple to the dip below his collarbone, where he could make out the muscular shape of his chest beneath the cotton tunic. Filth and desire mingled in his rage addled mind as he indulged in visions of that strong chest and back marked by lashings, bites, bruises and blood. He could feel his empirehood engorge with his rushing arousal, pulsing with the desire for violence. He did not question that abhorrent desire he felt for the other, nor the clash of contrasting feelings he would rouse in the deepest recesses of his consciousness, not anymore. For long he’d struggled with the fantasies he would indulge in on occasion, during those rare, lonely nights at the castra. Odalric had all the qualities Romulus coveted in a companion: he was as strong as himself, and as beautiful as a woman. He was quiet, collected, a mountain of a tribesman. And yet he was all he despised: the savagery, the lack of what he believed to be civilisation, education, the blunt honesty, the simplicity, the absence of malicious treachery and degenerate corruption. There was something purely divine about the barbarian, like an untainted spring at the bottom of an ancient glacier. Nothing, no-one could reach him. And he wanted to pollute him. Mark and disgrace him, make him his toy and his companion. Romulus had no concept of equality, and a skewed one of partnership at best. He couldn’t grasp the concept of relationships without control and dominion on his side. His ideals of freedom only applied to himself, others had to endure the paradox of being free in Rome’s civilised captivity. “You should know better than talking back at me.” in fact, he’d much prefer it if the other didn’t talk at all; his glacial stare was enough to inflame him. The empire was a force to be reckoned with, a truly terrifying one: and yet Germania alone could hold his gaze in utter defiance. His gaze narrowed, and the furrows in his brow deepened. That look made him him lick his dry lips, scrape his tongue over a sharp tooth. He wanted to sink his teeth into the other’s shoulders, taste the iron in his blood. He held back for a tense moment. “Enjoy?” he scoffed in Odalric’s ear, voice dropping into a deep growl; “I guess I can find a way to enjoy the rest of this rotten day in like fashion.” keeping one iron grip around his nape, he furiously tore at his simple tunic with his other hand, ripping it from the side seams in one sweep. He would use him. Use him to sate all of his baser urges. And then, maybe, he would finally be his.
theninthxian:
“If you touch me again you’re going to get hurt,” he threatens. Yao glances over him a few times from top to bottom. The man is larger than himself overall, but something about his large body suggested clumsiness. The man seems brash and brutal…impulsive. If Yao moves carefully he should be able to easily take down the man…Or at least escape this with his dignity still intact.
Yao’s feet stay firmly planted on the ground.
Waves of adrenaline and pain mingle in a rush of euphoria that prompts a bout of boisterous laughter at the other’s threat. Romulus is still young, and impetuous. His strength is measured by his size and stamina, his strategy one of brute force and heavy hits. In his arrogant unripeness has yet to develop the finesse the arts of combat require. In his eyes, man the size of Yao is no physical threat. The only thought in his mind is to overpower him and be over and done with it in the next few minutes. What could possibly go wrong? “Very well then. Let’s see you try.” he tenses, poised like a mountain lion as he sizes him up; the lingering pain in his crotch only spurs him on as he sprints forward, lunging at him with all of his bulk and swinging his huge arms around his lithe frame to trap him in a headlock.
;
Cont. from x
The marble city glittered like a diamond under the high vernal sun; it was a wondrous sight to see, robbing the wayfarer’s breath as it unfolded in all its splendour on the seven hills of Rome, the largest metropolis of its time, mother of the greatest Empire the world had seen.
As he regarded it from his lavish domus on the Palatine Hill, Romulus was certain it would endure through time, and that she would be eternal. His legacy, one he had built from nothing, from humble shepherds to grandiose dynasties and emperors. But his mood was not a pleasant one. A glowering frown had nestled on is brow, and his lips were pursed tightly, teeth clenching, his eyes darkened to an unforgiving shade of brown. When it struck, he was not to be reasoned with. Another rebellion in Germania Inferior. It was the year that would go down in history as the Year of the Four Emperors, that would eventually culminate with the rise of Vespasian. Despite the peaceful exterior, Rome was roiling with corruption and civil war, and the military was preoccupied with rebellions, hierarchical restructuring and a major conflict in Judaea. Civilis, an auxiliary officer of the Imperial Army stationed near the Rhine, had taken advantage of the confusion to stoke the fires of rebellion amongst the Batavi, and soon Romulus was confronted with the added vexation of 2 vanquished legions and another Germanic uprising to quash. How troublesome those Germanic tribes could be. Unsurprisingly, but he never had a moment of peace - and to add insult to injury, their venerable father was just lounging in a near by room, enjoying Rome’s luxuries and lifestyles while his children gnawed on the hand that (admittedly, for a price) fed them! It was the last straw. When Romulus was truly vexed, he went quiet. Deathly quiet. He stalked his prey with uncanny stealth. He only exhaled a breath when he felt his large fingers successfully coil around and dig into the nape of Odalric’s neck, straight through those blond tresses. In a different setting, he would have stroked him playfully, to tickle him and cause a reaction. But now he needed a release - a scapegoat of sorts; his blood was rushing in torrents in his veins, and his chest was a storm of thunder. He would sate his anger with blood. As his Germanic prize lazily offered less of a threat and more of a reflex in response, Romulus gave the pale neck a powerful squeeze to indicate that he was not joking; if his legions had failed to do so in the Rhine, then he would subdue him, by all available means. “Germania.” he rumbled dangerously, lips grazing the other’s ear as he shifted his weight onto the triclinium, all but pressing his large chest against the muscular tribesman’s back; “I am having a very bad day while you sit here idle, and play with your toys.” there was venom laced with heat in his tone, and he all but growled the last word. His irritation and the other’s rising pulse beneath his fingertips were only stirring the fire building in his loins. “What are we going to do about it, hm?”
@aph-germania
thebeautyofliberty:
At once, time stopped, and threw Francis back nearly two millennia. As soon as Rome landed that gaze on him, the world was as it was when he was six years old, trembling under the gaze of a formidable and changeable guardian whose ire was fearsome to provoke. It didn’t matter that he was supposedly centuries out of Rome’s shadow, that he was an adult, that he had had an empire larger even than his grandfather’s—that look cowed him back down to a barbarian child whose complexion alone marked him as an outsider, one who would never truly live up to the legacy of Rome.
Lowering his head and gaze to signal his surrender, he quickly handed the baton of victory over to his elder.
“You have certainly provided such guidance and care,” he murmured, placating half-truths coming to his lips as quickly now as they had then. He would not stoop to acknowledging Rome as his father—for that he did remember, the Gaul that came before him, and how he met his end by Rome’s hand. He would not grant anyone else the honor of that title. But not would he engage in a futile battle with Rome about his importance in France’s life. “And I am, as always, grateful for your lessons.”
It didn’t take uncanny powers of observation or intuition to know that while he’d won the battle, he had yet to win the war. That would be sufficient for now. The submission he noted in the young one’s body language and downcast gaze was enough to sate his irritation, at least temporarily. For a moment he felt as powerful as he once was, swaying allies and overawing enemies with a mere look set in the orbits of his weather-worn visage. He had spent so long turning the barbarian into a citizen despite the damage of his earlier upbringing, and the eye-catching effeminate and foreign appearance, and yet the ungrateful savage still tried to surface from the cast of indoctrinated Romanitas. True heritage never did lie. But through adoption he had hoped to turn them into fine kingdoms someday, and take pride in the legacy he’d bequeathed. Things, however, had changed. In his last suffering years of his crumbling hegemony he had been slapped with the clawed fingers of his own failings, haunted by the furious wraiths of his mistakes. It was weariness that had brought that revelation about. He’d grown too large, and too lonely; vipers had made nests in his own bosom. And before he could impart the last and most important lesson the young and impassioned wards could ever learn, he had felt the ice cold hands taking over him, and drag him into the nameless void. Veneziano alone had been witness to his last, desperate plea not to repeat his ultimate failure. Centuries had turned into millennia, and those last days were forgotten. Locked up in deeper recesses, like a trauma. Pride bade Romulus to neglect the nagging feeling, the stirrings on the pool of his ancient memory. He struggled to repair those relationships he had enforced, and make amends despite the second chance he’d been given in a time he no longer had any obligations or jurisdiction, just cultural influence. Much of what happened after his time had deep roots in his legacy, be it positive or negative. He had been the impossibly unattainable idol imperialistic nations had aspired to, the deep insecurity lodged like a shrapnel in their hearts. And now, in Hellish contrapasso, he was back to unwittingly witness the progress and damage he’d caused, but he had yet to come to terms with the latter.
“Good.” he rumbled, placing a hardened palm over the silky strands of his barbarian ward’s head, in both reassurance and warning. That hand could be as gentle as it could be merciless. He enjoyed threading his calloused fingers through his hair, so different from his own thick, coarse curls. He’d always been irked by his wish to keep it long, knowing deep down that it was an unspoken homage, a tenuous link to old Gaul. But it was the one vestige he’d conceded, mostly because of his own, selfish greed to see the sunlight play on those gilded tresses, like an exotic prize. He couldn’t have changed the alien colour of his eyes, skin or hair: but he could make his mark on him.
ofromance:
“—-True enough, I suppose…There is usually a limit when it comes to certain topics, I would assume though.”
“The only limits are those others will try to set on you. But the most dangerous ones are those which you impose on yourself, for lack of confidence.”
My son, ask for thyself another Kingdom, for that which I leave is too small for thee
King Philip of Macedonia - 339 B.C.
Raoul Bova
theninthxian:
A foot immediately comes up in a swift kick to his crotch.Yao takes hold of the leash and yanks it out of the others hand before undoing the collar placed around his neck and discarding it. “How dare you!?” He snaps. .
It all happens too quickly for Rome’s reflexes to kick in - instead, the only kick he receives is right where his most prized possessions are. He erupts into a pained grunt, then releases a bestial roar. He is angered now, and he doesn’t hide it: his thick brows knot in a terrible frown, and his deep-set eyes darken to the colour of old blood. Then, a maw-splitting grin. One large hand cups his crotch as if to contain the throbbing pain, the other moves behind his neck to crack it lazily. Straightening to his full, imposing height, the empire looks ready for a wrestling match. “I guess I will have to tame you first.”
;
cont. from x
“Isn’t it obvious? I found a most beautiful exotic pet, and I am going to keep him~” jest or harsh reality? With Rome, one could hardly know. He did harbour an irresistible fascination for the gorgeous barbarian. Eyes hungrily raked over his smooth skin, his silky, lustrous obsidian locks and the delicate almond shape of his eyes. Yao was as beautiful as a woman, a truly rare pearl of the vast and mysterious orient, capturing it in his sensual essence: and as such, as with everything Rome liked, he coveted him as his own possession.
@theninthxian
"Just a kiss?"
DA MI BASIA MILLE
“I thought you’d never ask.” The large, calloused hand that caressed her neck, sliding around it to burrow in the lush thicket of her mane, was torturously gentle, hiding the urgent desire kindling in his breast; he took his time to drink from the divine sight of her visage, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the almond shaped gemstones of her eyes, the smooth curve of her cheekbones, her fine lineaments, and finally settled his hungry gaze on the plush bud of her rosy lips. He could no longer resist the invitation they offered. With a fluid motion he coiled his arm around her waist to draw her against the wardrums of his chest, and in a heartbeat, their noses caressed and his lips pressed against hers without apology.
