#Caligula evil

[amagnificentobsession]

The only time Crowley is actually rude to Aziraphale. (How awful must Caligula have been to affect Crowley that much?🥺)

But as always Aziraphale is happy to see his only friend and puts on a brave face.

At the mere mention from Crowley that he’s never eaten oysters Aziraphale is so very excited to introduce them.

Aziraphale in sweet innocence, asking to tempt Crowley has removed the evil aura of Caligula, replacing it with love. ❤️

[catilinas]

if i could be bothered. a fucked up horses of antiquity bracket contest would be funny

[who-do-i-know-this-man]

⚠️Vote for whomever YOU DO NOT KNOW⚠️‼️

Quick note for this one: I made a mistake last round. The character submitted was "gingerweed man" but when looking that up the only thing that comes up is "gingerdead man" so I assumed the submitter made a typo or something. Turns out that gingerweed man is in fact a different character, so that is who will be in this spot going forward.

[charliethomascoxuniverse]

Cold comfort

By Steve Pratt    28th November 2013   (X)

CHARLIE COX is no stranger to period projects with movies The Merchant Of Venice with Al Pacino, Casanova alongside Heath Ledger, and Stardust opposite Claire Danes, as well as TV series Boardwalk Empire to his name.

The one-off 1970s espionage thriller Legacy might be another period piece, but he is at least moving forward through the decades. “It’s the most modern I have ever done,” he says.

Based on the novel by Alan Judd, the story is set in 1974 in the middle of the Cold War, when Cox’s character, Charles, joins MI6 as a trainee spy. “He has come from the Royal Engineers, which means he would have been posted in Belfast in the mid-1960s, and the back story we have mostly invented is that he was in the bomb disposal unit and probably lost his best friend,” says Cox.

“Because of that, he wanted to become more involved in what is referred to as ‘the front line of the war’, be it the Cold War or Northern Ireland, and saw the move to MI6 as being part of that.”

He is still training when asked to revive his former friendship with Viktor Koslov (Andrew Scott), a Russian diplomat he knew at university, with a view to “turning” him. But Viktor has his own agenda and reveals a shocking truth about Charles’ family that threatens to derail him personally and professionally.

“Andrew Scott happens to be one of my favourite actors of all time,” says Cox of the Olivier Award-winning star, who plays Moriarty in the Sherlock series.

“I had never met him, but we have the same agent, and I got his number and sent a text saying, ‘I really hope we get to work with each other’. Six months later, this came up.”

He knows another of his co-stars, Romola Garai, who plays fellow agent Anna, extremely well because he introduced her to his best friend, Sam Hoare, and the two now have a daughter together.

“Before I found out she was going to be doing it, I got a text from him saying, ‘Buddy, you’re going to be kissing my wife’.” Cox says.

In preparation, Cox watched “a few cool documentaries about the period” and understands the enduring fascination with the Cold War. “The fact that there wasn’t any actual fighting [in the West] is really intriguing,” he says.

“And I know in my life, impending doom is so much worse than something actually happening, because when it does, you can rationalise it in some way and take some action. “But when you are waiting for something that could happen, your mind goes into all the different scenarios, and living with that [creates] a sense of vulnerability.”

He has a small but pivotal role in a movie with the working title Dracula Untold under way. “Yes, more vampires, obviously we are not bored of them yet – or maybe we are,” he says. “I am only doing two scenes, but it is a bit different for me, very evil. He is described as the father of all vampires. Other than that, I am not sure what’s coming up.”

Maybe something contemporary? “Oh yeah,” says Cox. “I’d love to say ‘Mate’ in a movie.”

~*~

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I found my relatives who are estranged because they left the cult (among other, much more complicated things)… and through their friends list I found my creepy uncle who I saw exactly once in person, walking through a foyer at a funeral.

Now, I bear a striking resemblance to my late grandmother so I could theoretically scare the living bejeezus out of him… 👀 but I’m not going to do that or talk to any of them right now in any way; because I don’t want to open that can of wormssssssss

[deancasforcutie]

when it's year four of the "WHAT WAS THE REASON" crowd refusing to hear out better and better evidence and explanations of The Reason

[aspookyyokia]

Some underrated albums and albums I think need more recognition

[marvelfanguy]

My FaceApp rendition of the most evil man-boy in Rome! Gaius (Little Booties) Caesar Augustus Germanicus! But y’all know his nickname!

[sugarpillremedy]

Caligula doesnt even scratch elagabalus’s evil

[girlcellectual]

SATAN SATAN SATAN GET BESIDES ME

[diamondnokouzai]

all my fallout PCs are related to each other :)

[legaciestold]

@renfie1ds

she's ophelia floating in the water with her hair splayed about, sinking slowly into the depths of a fractured mind. there are moments, brief, where clarity finds her. flashes of memory of a child walking hand in hand with her mother and father along the river walk. smiling. happy. carefree and unknowing of the harshness of the world or the venomous dangers which lurked in the shadows. lillian tries to grasp onto those memories when they come, threads of who she is that can break her from her chained fate. yet-- they wash away quickly when he comes to her now as when the master strigoi came to her then on those first few nights he fed on her and invaded her delirious dreams warping them. she was a girl searching for truth. a girl searching for a father she refused to believe would have abandoned her of his own free-will. he'd seemed to know her father, for that had been what he had told her, lured her with until she'd fallen into his web with no ability to escape it. she'd fought with the same fiery passion she'd gotten from her mother. she'd screamed and rebelled against the way he'd tried to twist her mind. the way he'd try to alter her memories of her father, her belief in him. but it had become so hard when his fangs had pierced her skin and he'd given her so much of his own blood mixing their lifeforces. the threads of truth she held onto were drifting away in the wind.

she was to be one of his brides, his very favorite at the moment, perhaps because of the control having her would solidify for him over his rebelling servant. perhaps because he garnered some enjoyment in evoking horror. your father cared not for you or your mother. why else would he have left you? why else would he remain with me instead of having gone to you? but i came for you. i have given you the greatest gift and you shall be at my side. you shall be one with me. above your father. above humanity. the words echo deep within her mind, within her being when he visits her in the night, twisting and shoving at the notions she'd held before. you love me. you will protect me above all others. he tells her. and she repeats the horror of it because the shadow self she becomes when her real self is locked away believes it wholeheartedly. but there's something that lingers in her, a fire in her soul that refuses to be stamped out. something that always tinges the words in a sense of confusion. in a sense that there is something amiss. something wrong. something that doesn't fit. he gets angry with her when he senses such in those moments and despite what she's been made into she loses blood all the same (the master strigoi could feed on human or strigoi alike after all), made to feel guilt and then a surge of affection when he'd grant her his forgiveness. when he gives her gifts to feed on as if she's an animal instead of a young woman.

he calls her one evening, a new maze of a home she's been brought into. she's the only one brought here, not his other brides and it both fills her with a strange sense of a pride and horror though she doesn't understand where the horror comes from. she doesn't understand the confusion of her mind or the warring concepts within it. but it is a war that's flaring up and waging more and more as he brings up her father. the father that left her. the father that didn't care. that's not right. no. her father loved her. no, her father left her. flashes of real and distorted memories plagued her dreams the day before, plaguing her in a way she doesn't understand. a part of her thinks to mention it to caligula for surly he has the answers. she was to trust him in all things was she not? and yet, some deeper part of her warns her not to. it wins out, somehow, a few moments more of clarity within her. then she's presented into a room, an inhumanness to her features though her eyes and hair and face still so much the same as they had been when she was young. she gets the feeling this is a test of some sort when she enters the room and refers to him as her love.

but then her senses pick up someone else, her eyes searching the room until they fall on the shadow of the man she'd once known. her father. the father that left her. the father that loved her? the father that hadn't come for. her mind can't put the pieces together in a way that makes sense. strain crosses her features for a moment. father. father i've searched for you. i've finally found you. her eyes are screaming it, for the briefest of moments, an attempt to step forward before a look from the master strigoi halts her. as if he's sensing something building within her and invading her mind right there, pushing what he doesn't want there out. he steps toward her, run's a hand up her arm to stand around her, then up her body until it's wrapped around her and cupping her neck and face from behind. she leans into it because that shadow self is back again. 'she shall be my greatest bride. is she not lovely renfield?' he taunts. and then he questions her. 'do you know who this is lillian? do you not have anything to say to your father?'

she turns her head to look upon the strigoi and then turns to look back at her father. "why should i speak to the man who left my mother to die and i to be alone? the only gift he gave me was that such led you to me. for you love me as no one else." it's almost as if there is a glaze over her eyes, as if she's enthralled. he seems to garner some form of a smirk from her words, seeming pleased with her. yet perhaps the true test is to come. 'that may be yet will you not speak with him for a time, now, while have things to attend to? you both shall reside here after all. when i return i shall have a delicious treat for you.' she nods then, caligula releasing her and walking out of the room. but she does not look upon her father again, instead standing there with a rather dazed look about her.

[gnosticpriesthood]

Longing tooth and soul , longing for another win

Jean-Luc has been around for nearly a century. It's oddly stunning to realize this, with his mind as sharp as it's ever been, but it is nonetheless true. Still, it's a drop in the bucket compared to many other long-lived species. He's met Trill symbionts twenty-thousand years strong. To say he's surprised he can be surprised would be frankly asinine; he's not that old. But he is surprised. Let's start at the beginning.

It's a new day, and they're inducting an old friend back into the Federation, always a cause for celebration. Rigel V has been screaming at the wall for a better part of thirty years, after Kar'vanh, after the Ko'jan Trials. Where Commander Tayja Cassan was convicted of war crimes including genocide, crimes of aggression and the use of minors as combatants revealed the seedy underbelly of Rigelian society that still saw slavery practiced, that saw children bought and sold as commodities. Having grown up with Kaira, Jean-Luc was no stranger to the atrocities that man wrought upon one another, but nonetheless, it left a bitter taste in the Federation's mouth. Their status was knocked back to provisional, there was infighting amongst infighting, with staunch traditionalists claiming the Federation was as good as the Borg, assimilating us all, destroying our culture. Amidst all of that, Rigel had to rebuild, and so it did. Lieutenant Alex Grayson (a cryptolinguist now, but was once a formidable intelligence operative in the Treshan-system), once Alak Saveih, and his father Jaeihan, are instrumental in bridging the gaps. It's an intricate process, and today is the day they will commemorate Rigel's commitment to ensuring full integration and compliance with broader Federation laws, and there's no better place for it than Tir'Aresh Memorial Hospital. And so, Jean-Luc awoke today intending on donning his dress uniform and proclaiming a few words on the merits of rehabilitation and social integration, but what greets him in the mirror - resoundingly shocks him. Because it's not him at all. "Good lord," he whispers, a voice not his own. He's wearing striped pajamas and even little footy slippers. A small smile tugs at his face even amidst the mounting panic - it is cute. Lips pressing together, he makes a calculation and then moves to Lieutenant Barclay's comm terminal. "Raise Captain Picard," Reginald's voice calls out. He quite suspects he knows what he'll find on the other side of the line, and sure enough, when the video filters through, it's his own face staring back. "Mr. Barclay, you've aged well." A gentle jest, eyes crinkled. His own eyes. This was going to be a problem.

[julietsbody]

CALIGULA — luke castellan + reader : luke castellan, in all his reign, has a love for sexual pleasure, more importantly with you. 

tags: mdni, inspired by ancient roman stories, luke is a pervert, dark!luke, p in v sex, jealousy, possessiveness, assistant!reader, captain!luke, luke is an awful man in this sawry

a/n: ive been binge watching the roman empire show

LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR. 

41 AD. 

luke castellan can’t deny how harsh of a captain he was on the princess andromeda. 

he wanted to be the best captain on the sea, wanted to get his revenge on camp halfblood and the gods, wanted to live the lavish life he had always dreamed of. he thought of a life where he would drink red wine out of chalices, be fed grapes from the hands of beautiful women, or men, he wanted to be treated like a god— because in his mind, he would be the best god to ever exist. 

you started out as his assistant, writing papers for him on a simple typewriter that he gave to you, a fucking typewriter. you tried to remind him it was no longer the 1950s, he scoffed like you were stupid. “you know people used them in the 1800s, right?” 

your lips press together, looking at him, then the typewriter, then back to him. you offer a small smile, and he doesn’t return it, he never does, and he never will. luke took things very seriously, maybe too seriously, so he never let himself smile, let alone laugh, a bitter scoff was all you’d get from him at most. 

you were pliant, luke noticed, and he liked that. you did everything he asked, every time he asked. he’d call your name, and hear your heels clicking against the wooden floorboards no less than a second later. speaking of heels, luke was strict about dress codes, too. 

to call him a pervert.. well, you wouldn’t be far off. 

he wanted you to wear things like tight pencil skirts, short or long, thin tights, maybe even solely stockings, stiletto heels that he’d purchased for you the second he saw you show up in mary janes, and a simple shirt or blouse. he liked glasses, too, thin, square framed ones, like bayonetta’s. 

you had to wear dark red lipstick, regardless. 

you hated your boss, more than anything, the way he’d walk into a room and easily command it, the way his body language reeked of cockiness, the way that despite all evilness, he still thought he was doing something for the greater good. 

what you hated the most, is how much you fantasized about him. 

that’s why you always ran to him so quick when he called out for you, why you endured the loud clacking of the typewriter keys even when you had to do a paper at night and he opened your door to yell at you to ‘shut the fuck up or get thrown off the damn boat.’ 

he was never a good man, nor a good boss, but he looked good. 

you liked when he was angry, when he yelled at you, when he held your jaw so tight you were sure he’d shatter it and spit degrading words at you like you were vile. it should be such a shame that you enjoy it, but you don’t pity yourself one bit. he was meaner with you, he always cracked awful jokes with the rest of the crew, drank beers with them, lit their cigarettes, but you, you were the person he took all his anger out on. 

well, at first it was anger. 

then he began to ever so slowly show his desires for sexual connections. he was able to hold it in at first, act like he wasn’t missing having sex, like he wasn’t missing the simple touch of a woman or man. masturbating wasn’t keeping him sane for long, not when he didn’t have anything to masturbate to. then he began to focus his attention onto you. 

you were attractive, and luke couldn’t hold back how his short glances turned to stares. his jaw ticks, lips parting, “i want you to wear shorter skirts.” 

“mini skirts?” you blink at him, he had called you to his office, and his eyes were traveling over your body every second he got. 

“yeah,” he pauses, “and lower cut shirts.” 

before your lips can even part, he dismisses you, and bluntly stares at your ass when you walk away. it was so ironic, luke used to be such a virgin, a complete loser, but now he was nothing short of the opposite. he was cocky, he knew he was handsome, he knew people were attracted to him easily, mostly sexually. 

if luke was lucky, at some stops, he might be able to bring back a few women or men home with him, they always gawked at the ship, told him how cool it is that he has a boat, that he’s a captain, and has a crew, that everyone does everything for him. 

they thought it was hot, so they wanted to do things for him to, he’d take them to his quarters, and provide them with red wine before moaning could be heard all throughout the ship. 

but his boat was in the middle of the sea, and has been for a month or so now, and he felt like he was going insane. 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🍷

luke was struggling to sleep, insomnia was getting the best of him, he thought that if he drank more and more wine, he would eventually wind down. he never did. he only got slopper, and aroused. the worst mix on nights like these was the bubbling frustration that he didn’t have anything to fuck, and the fact that he wanted to fuck something so bad. 

his dick strains in his boxers, and his teeth grit together, mentally cursing himself for continuously offering himself one more drink, after the third glass, knowing he’d have a fourth, and a fifth. he’d drank the whole bottle, and he wasn’t even close to tired. 

his body feels warm, so warm. you come to his mind almost immediately, making his his hands draw closer to the hem of his boxers. the way your ass looks in those skirts, the stockings that meet at the middle of your thigh, the sheer shirts that barely showed the color of your bra, the slight cleavage you show when leaning over to place paperwork on his desk. 

he recalls the one time he had came into your room in the dead of night in search of a document, but he was immediately met with the floral of your perfume, and the way your blanket barely covered your naked form. he shouldn’t look, really, he should shy away and close the door, but he swallows thick seeing your breast, the slight parting of your legs, the way your cunt barely peeks out the messily moved blanket. 

he wouldn’t have actually done it, of course, because he’s a respectable man who puts consent above all else— but he wonders what it would look like if he pushed your legs apart, moved the blanket, and spread your pussy open for him. to be sleeping naked, how scandalous. he’d never know that you purposefully put the document in your room when you knew you wanted it, you purposefully slept naked, you purposefully moved the blanket in those ‘messy’ ways. 

he inhales sharply, fingers moving underneath the fabric of his boxers to graze over his cock. it’s so perverted, to think of you like this, to imagine pulling you onto his lap the next time you come into his office, fingers gripping your skin the same way they grip his cock now. you’d probably melt into his touch, so innocent, so pliant, your doe eyes staring at him like he’s the only man who had ever existed, like he’s a god. and that’s what he is, a captain, an emperor, a god. 

he thinks of himself, and is immediately reminded of caligula. 

the roman emperor in 31 AD, he was described by some as a tyrant, but in the beginning, he was one of the best leaders in ancient rome. he was just like luke, addicted to sexual acts, wanting all the finest things in life, and the worst part— luke was just as paranoid as him. 

but that was of no worry now, he was too focused on the pleasure that coursed underneath his flesh, or the simple thought of pushing his dick into your cunt, making your eyes roll back with pleasure you’d only ever dreamed of. luke knew he could make you feel good, and eventually he would. he imagined all the positions he would push you into, on your back, on your stomach with your ass up, having you ride him— gods. 

he wondered if whenever you tried to make excuses for being far too late at typing up a paper in time, he could just simply have you on your knees for him, fucking your mouth so you’d shut up. bruising your lips, ruining your lipstick, making you cry, all of those thoughts sends luke over the edge in no less than a minute or two. 

his skin is sticky with sweat, fingers coated in his own cum, but all he wants is more. 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🍷

like mentioned before, luke had a madness problem. 

ever since he had been cast out, he had this odd paranoia problem, he thought the gods would strike him down at any second, that they were watching his every move, or that percy jackson would find his way to his ship and kill him himself for all the damage he’s caused. 

the lack of sex wasn’t the only thing driving luke mad, it was the cage of his own mind. the fact that he’s surrounded by the very thing that the man who’s responsible for percy’s existence owns, the sea. it all makes him sick, often times there will be crashing from his quarters in the late of night, but it always stopped as soon as it started. 

this night was different, it just kept going. first something being pushed over, then the breaking of glass, more crashing, more shatters, yelling, some screaming— it was a nightmare. some of the crew woke up, but you were the only one who dared to take a step out onto the deck that night, let alone approach his quarters. 

knock. knock. knock. 

no response, a deafening silence underneath the crashing waves and the crackling of the candle in your hand. 

knock. knock. 

the lack of response is worrying. he almost always responds, either it’s to tell you to fuck off, or to come in. but now, nothing. he couldn’t have hurt himself, could he? you test the waters, fingers curling around the doorknob and turning it with the expectation for it to be locked as it always is. 

it was unlocked. you push the door open, glancing in to see the mess that he had made of his own room, and him just simply sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. “luke?” 

“captain,” he immediately mumbles out, a correction. 

“captain,” you repeat, taking a step further inside, he has offered nothing against you being inside of his quarters. you are typically never allowed in here. you move to close the door behind you, placing the candle into the nearest holder that wasn’t completely destroyed. 

you turn back to him, his head was raised to look at you, arms now lazily splayed onto his spread legs in his sitting position. he was a chronic manspreader, something you noticed, but seeing him faintly hunched over pathetically like this, tired eyes staring at you, sweat beading at his temple— he was so hot. 

“are you okay?” you offer, voice as sweet as ever. 

“am i okay?” he scoffs, a chuckle following after, he’s never chuckled in front of you before, “am i okay, am i okay—“ he hums, “what do you think, hm? you think i’m okay?” 

his voice is confronting and harsh, like he wants to see you cower down, like he wants to break you like all the other things in his room. your brows furrow together for a second, “no..?” 

“no, no, atta girl— you’re catchin’ on,” he smiles at you for the first time, “why don’t you help me feel better, yeah?” 

you stare at him for a second, wondering if he meant what you thought he meant, “yeah.” 

“yeah.” his voice is hushed, almost mocking, “c’mere.” 

you immediately walk over to him in the ambient lighting, marking out your silhouette, stepping over all the things he’s knocked over. a grin tugs at his lips, cruel and cocky, he loves how easy you do anything he asks. his hand is gentle on your waist, pulling you closer, “so good for me.” 

you nod at him, letting his hand guide you down to your knees, pupils dilated up at him so perfectly. his tongue swipes along the backside of his teeth, moving his hand to hold your jaw, tilting your head to properly look up at him. maybe it was wrong to fuck his assistant, someone working for him, but it just felt so right, all of this felt like it was in the prophecy. 

his thumb swipes along your bottom lip, smearing the red lipstick there, of course you put that on before coming to his room. “so pretty,” he mumbles under his breath, dipping his finger between your lips and into your mouth. your lips curve up ever so slightly, leaning into his touch, lips closing around his flesh. 

he takes it away from your mouth just as quick as it was slotted between your lips, moving to undo his belt, the veins in his hands shifted with each movement of his hands, first it was his belt, then his pants, then his boxers. 

you always thought luke would have a big dick, he just has that certain cockiness that makes you think he couldn’t have a small dick and be acting the way he is, but this felt like it would hardly fit in your mouth.  

you glance up at him, his amused stare which immediately turns to faux concern when you say, “i don’t think it’ll fit—“ 

“it will,” he immediately cuts in, prying your mouth open with his thumb whilst his free hand eases your head closer, “i’ll make it fit.” 

your tongue runs along the vein at the bottom of his dick, already feeling the heaviness of it against the muscle in your mouth. you had sucked a few dicks before, sure, but this one was the biggest, and the cleanest. his hand holds your jaw when you start taking him into your mouth properly, tongue flat against the bottom of his cock, eyes peering up at him through heavy lids. 

his lashes flutter pathetically, mouth falling open with your every movement, the way the saliva from your mouth coats him perfectly— he needed this. it felt like a dream coming right after a nightmare, he was exhausted, sweating from his breakdown, and you were sent to him right when he needed it, an angel on his shoulder. 

but you’re going too slow, and luke’s growing restless from sitting so still. he can feel the ache of your jaw, but he wishes to make it worse somehow, as cruel as it sounds. his hand moves to the back of your head, hips ever so slowly bucking into your mouth, it was barely noticeable at first, until the sound of you sputtering and gagging around him fueled him more. 

his thrusts quickly turned harsh, bruising, merciless. 

he only paused when you slapped at his thigh pathetically, moving off to pant heavily, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. you looked so messy, so pathetic, lipstick smeared, eyes puffy from falling tears. “always wanted this, huh? i notice how you look at me, always running to my office any chance you get, such a slut.” 

you nod at him, and that only makes him want to say more, “do you believe in god?” 

“yes, yes,” the response is immediate. 

“am i your god?” 

you pause at him, processing, what would the best answer be? 

yes, of course, that would be the best answer. in luke’s own mind, all this misery, all this destruction, all this betrayal, it was only the start of his story to reach the top. when caligula was next in line for the throne and his father was on his deathbed, he killed his own father with hardly any hesitation, then became one of the most memorable roman emperors alongside julius caesar. 

luke had been planning the murder of hermes for a long, long time, ever since the first book about caligula he read. killing percy jackson was a failure, all several times, so he had no other choice than to just shoot for the stars. 

luke’s eyes refocus onto the situation at hand rather than being stuck in his own mind, he had you pushed on your stomach with your ass up, the position he always wished to put you in, the position he’s put multiple other women and men in. 

his hands smooth over your ass, memorizing the canvas that he wants to splatter paint over. there’s something so intimate about this whole ordeal, the dim lighting of sole candles in all the destruction around his room, the crashing of waves on the sides of the boat as it moves through the sea, the red wine that luke drinks from the bottle he had just picked up. 

he hums at the taste, rich, perfect. “want some?” 

you shake your head, and he tuts in faux disappointment, “no fun, aren’t you? just want me to fuck you? needy, needy.” 

albeit his degrations, his tip presses to your entrance, lips pressing together when he pushes in— holy fuck, you were tight. luke’s breathing is ragged, he feels as though your pussy is desperately trying to squeeze an orgasm out of him in seconds. it only worsens when you accidentally glench, making his teeth grit together, he coughs out a bitter chuckle, “you did that on purpose, didn’t you?” 

“no, nono—“ it was too late for the begging for forgiveness, his thrusts were already brutal, slamming into you without a single regard for how much pain it would leave you in, in the morning. caligula was a possessive lover, a harsh fucker, a man ruled by jealousy and madness— luke castellan was born from the same map of caligula. 

his hands grip your hips harshly, punching out sweet moans from your bitten lips with every thrust, “fuck, fuck! luke!” 

luke’s tongue prods at the inside of his cheek for a mere second before his hand suddenly moves to the back of your head, harshly tugging your hair back, “captain.” 

another correction. 

as soon as your back hits his chest, his hand moves from your hair to your neck, gripping the delicate skin there tight. he ignores your attempts to get his attention by placing sloppy, open mouthed kisses to his jaw, leaving his skin stained with your lipstick. his eyes were too focused on the mirror placed in front of him, of course he had one there, it was cracked, but he was still able to make out the way your skin trembled underneath him, the way his thrusts sent shivers up your spine, the way he easily made you cock drunk. 

it didn’t take long for him to have you cumming on him as well, in which he followed soon after with a gritted out fuck. 

luke’s eyes may be glazed over when he looks back in the mirror, but he doesn’t see himself in his position, he sees caligula. 

[thesungod]

all three roman emperors in ToA wanted Apollo so fucking bad. they were constantly picking on lester’s appearance and trying to humiliate him because that was their only way to cope with their memories of meeting roman Apollo at his absolute hottest and wanting a piece of that so badly they became evil. Caligula would tremble like a chihuahua faced with the godly version of Apollo and he knows it and it eats him inside. idk i think about this every day

[tullyyy]

If I had a nickel for every time one of the bad kids tried to stop an evil plot involving a corrupted god, and ended up worshipping them I'd have TWO nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice right??

Inspired by the song Dream the Dead by Caligula's Horse (Which is a banger!! Check it out!)