#Cassius;; Study

[ofthescatteredstars]

Happy pride month! In honour of pride, here's a small gender and sexuality rundown of the main + a few of the side muses on this blog!

Soup Thornshield is pansexual, is currently in a polyamorous relationship with both his companions, and is a gender-nonconfirming man! His other-world counterpart, Orchidus Flores, is also pansexual, but is still experimenting with labels and gender expression as of his current chronological development. Unlike Soup, Orchidus has a slightly stronger preference for men.

Dejin Rafaello Stabile is a gay man - known, accepted, and beloved by his Crownswatch companions for his relationship with Yorgos Megalos, who was also gay.

Khiye Vasilescu is a trans woman, and is also a lesbian. She would also class herself as being demiromantic. Her 'familiar', Nowhere, is unable to really express how she feels about either thing, so let's leave her alone for now.

Garur Drakejaw is transmasculine nonbinary, and while they also proudly identify as bisexual, they are slightly more sheepish about admitting that they are grey-aromantic, if only because they have so much trouble actually talking about their feelings.

Cassius Crow, as a minor and a huge shut-in, has had no time to consider these aspects of himself. However, as he grows up, I like to imagine that he eventually finds comfort in the genderfluid label.

Sage Henriette Frazzlespark is, much like Khiye, a trans woman and a lesbian, happily married to her wife of 20 years, Juniper.

Tomoe, having temporarily escaped the restrictive confines of the Tatsuta no Dai Jinja, has begun to question her own sexuality. If asked, she would suppose herself to be, at the very least, bicurious.

[ohmystarrynight]

One last swim before summer ends and the next semester starts

Clark is NOT COLD.

[laikaru]

I saw a wlw version of julius caesar at the theatre recently and it‘s been on my miiiind

[curiositysavesthecat]

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

[voraxiia]

⁺₊ ﹙ㅤ𝟑-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 .ㅤ﹚

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 :ㅤvermillion , like the gleam in his eyes . ruby , lapis lazuli , amber , and emerald green of the jewellery he puts on .

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 :ㅤit’s hard to say . some say he smells of honey and ripe fruit , like figs , with a faint, almost heady sweetness . some find his scent clean , grounding , unlike the scene he’s often found in . the very rare few who are not under his spell , say a particular metallic smell , however slight , forever lingers on him . it strikes their gut feeling a slight , wrong way .

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 :ㅤflowy shirts , with a cinched waist . dangling earrings . sharp nails .

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 :ㅤan old , yet still sharp as ever , dagger with its hilt encrusted in gold and ruby , he has to be careful not to hurt himself on it . a necklace with fangs belonging to ... some creature , that’s for sure , he made it himself ! his small perfume collection , in case his charm starts wearing off before they get to the main dish ( his date ) .

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 :ㅤa killer smile ! carries himself with buoyancy and flair almost theatrical at times . serpentine in his fluid movements , rarely standing straight or still , likes leaning against his person of interest . eye contact is what sets his spell in motion , what becomes hard to pull away from .

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 :ㅤred , red , red . definitely inhuman . you cannot look away . whispers of passionate promises and fervent worship tumbling out one after another . sharp teeth sinking deep , marks an unfortunate prey's last throes .

tagged by :ㅤ@hopeharmed ( ♡ ! ) tagging :ㅤ@villain-he , @asinusxdomi , @starpoacher , @fangier , @killerhubby , @intcritus , @heincus , @strawbelina , @nezumivc103221 , & if you haven't done it / want to do it c:

[xkcdbracket]

Literal March Madness

Middlemarch, A Study of Provincial Life. Novel by George Eliot

Ides of March. Assassination of Julius Caesar

[marksman-ofthe-mist]

A set of 3 little things with Cassius, which were supposed to be, like, "how to make backgrounds all ornate-looking and cool-looking" except I kinda lost that by the end (very sad). They still look cool though lol

background only under the cut, cos they, similarly, look pretty cool

[vesperpharsalius]

How does the Hangar 17B chapter change after your take on Cassius and Darrow's relationship development? Can't imagine Cassius would be calling himself Darrow's brother after that 👀

Well, of course not. They aren’t Venusians!

Jokes aside, I appreciate the ask! I honestly hadn’t given this much thought, but it’s a fascinating question—to me, at least. I apologize in advance for how long–winded this answer is, lol. The TL;DR is that Lysander would be offended by their relationship and it would shatter Cassius’ delusions about his nature, making the whole episode decidedly sourer.

I think Hangar 17B (and the entire Lightbringer segment) was very much a Cassius/Lysander moment, as it should be. What I mean to say is, Cassius’ relationship with Darrow was only tangentially relevant. That said, I think it would happen more or less as it did in the canon, unfortunately.

But I’ve done my damndest to give Cassius agency in my fic, so that his death clearly registers as his choice—even though neither Lysander nor Darrow can understand it—because it was. He could’ve left, but he chose to stay—why? The majority of More than Brothers is admittedly self–indulgent smut, lol, but it’s also an attempt to answer that painful question in a way that gives credit to Lysander where it’s due but doesn’t reduce Cassius to his lovesick mark—and I managed to convince myself, so there’s that.

Still, there’s at least one significant change that comes to mind, and several smaller ones, too. Although Cassius wouldn’t discuss his relationship with Darrow during his conversation with Lysander on the Lightbringer, because it’s frankly irrelevant, I think Lysander would be perceptive enough to realize something had changed. Certainly, he would’ve noticed that Darrow and Cassius are wearing rings. Of each other’s hair. Huh.

And once he put two and two together, he would lose what little respect he has left for Cassius and their interactions would become much tenser. Because ultimately, I don’t think Lysander is capable of overcoming his deepspine racism towards Darrow. The idea that Cassius had sex with a Red—the possibility he’d been dominated by a Red—would be just… repulsive to him. He’d be outraged.

And since he already questions the legitimacy of Cassius’ conversion to the Rising, the idea that it could possibly be genuine or that it’s ever ideologically sound for a Gold to choose the Republic, he would inevitably reach the conclusion that Cassius is acting irrationally because he’s in love with Darrow, that he’s been seduced and essentially become his Pink—and we know how Lysander feels about Pinks. Thus, he’d feel much less conflicted about killing him. It would seem almost merciful to his eyes. I think he’d still give Cassius an opportunity to leave, but—in the moment he kills him, at least—he’d feel more confident about his choice.

And I don’t believe he’d be able to conceal this from Cassius. In my fic, I try to make sense of Cassius’ actions from his perspective, to explore his state–of–mind and what his intentions/justifications could’ve been, for all that he did—throughout the canon, really, but especially at the end of LB. In the canon, his designs at this point are left (deliberately, I think) vague. Does he believe Lysander will kill him? That he could kill Lysander? Is he trying? Or is he sacrificing himself? Does he think guilt might still change him? Or does he want to destroy him? Goryhell, Cassius—get up here and explain your death to the class.

But there’s lingering tenderness between them in the canon, even in Hangar 17B, that gives credence to the view that Cassius is not renouncing him, that a softer interpretation of the scene could be valid. Without getting too deep into it, there’s definitely a sense—in my take, at least—that Cassius thinks he’s to Lysander what Darrow was to him back in MS, that if he keeps extending his (painfully overeager) hand to him, eventually, Lysander will take it.

Because Cassius perceives Lysander’s actions as a rejection of the Republic rather than the Rising itself, that he’s someone with semi–valid criticisms of the way Mustang governs and Darrow prosecutes the Solar War, someone who thinks the Society is the lesser of two evils. In other words, he sees Lysander as the well–intentioned Reformer he pretends to be.

I repeatedly stress in my fic that Darrow’s (accurate) view of Lysander, and his advice to Cassius regarding him, sadly doesn’t register—and that doesn’t change after they become lovers. Cassius is still not listening where Lysander is concerned, because he cannot believe he’s truly that putrid and unrepentant, because he thinks they’re kindred souls. But despite his idealistic pretensions, Lysander hates Darrow, first and foremost, because he’s a Red, because lowColors are subhuman to him. The boy is racist af.

If he wasn’t able to hold his tongue here (and how could he possibly; he’d be ridiculously offended) or if he intentionally confronted Cassius for ‘disgracing himself’ or something along those lines, I think Cassius would finally see him as he is. (And he would find it honestly funny that Lysander didn’t know how he felt about Darrow, because he thinks it’s painfully obvious.) It would make the harsher interpretation true—that Cassius is attempting to kill him, that he no longer believes Lysander can be saved/changed and he’s not trying anymore.

He would still be melancholy, I think, but instead of mourning the person Lysander used to be, as he seems to do in the canon, he’d be mourning the person he thought Lysander was, which is both more and less depressing. More, because he failed completely, and less, because it gives him closure. Throughout my fic, Cassius tries to make sense of Lysander’s actions and he’s frustrated by his inability to do that, to decisively judge him. But in this moment, he can—he sees right through him, and it’s satisfying, even though it hurts.

I think the canon implies Cassius was content with his fate and my take honors that. Obviously, he would’ve preferred to live, but not at the expense of his principles or his mission (to protect innocents victims of war, to make reparations for Ares and, honestly, Lysander at this point, to become the man his father wanted him to be), and he’s grateful that he managed to squeeze in a loving relationship with Darrow. Darrow is a touch greedy—you get the sense that no amount of time with Cassius would ever satisfy him, because he wants forever (who doesn’t?). But Cassius is happy with his lot.

(For the record, as y’all know, I’m not convinced that canon Cassius loves Darrow platonically, but he’s clearly not pining. Neither is mine, really. He fully expected to be rejected and he’d already made his peace with that. Darrow surprised him, lol.)

Some small things that I’d change, though—

Cassius would die with the picture of Darrow tucked into his armor, where he always wears it, against his heart. (This is my detail, not from the canon, lol.) Lysander would find it and burn it. You get the sense in the canon that he blames Darrow for Cassius’ death, and that would be even more true here, because he would realize that Cassius was always in love with him (because, as I mention in my fic, Lysander knows about the picture, but not what it’s of) and he’d be livid about it.

Cassius would not get sundeath. He’d be cremated and brought back to Olympia, to be buried at Eagle’s Rest. I’m not sure if it’s canon or just an invention of mine that Martians, generally, prefer to be buried, but I know lowColors do, and I think Cassius would choose that. He would want Darrow (and Lyria) to mourn him in the Red way, as a conscious rejection of both Lysander and (Society) Gold values.

As for the quote, lover does rhyme with brother, lol, but idk, something about that doesn’t feel right. Dare I offer… husband? It was their honeymoon, after all. Who knows? Maybe they get married in the sequel. Stranger things have happened. Darrow is traditional, you know. And it’d be a helluva Fuck–You to Lysander. Regardless, it would be a more forceful rejection of Lysander than we got in the canon.

God, I really rambled on, but what can I say? You unleashed me, anon.

[from-ultra-space]

Video that you record about naganadel sticky poison liquid is so good! Its make me understand about naganadel poison but can I ask something about this video and naganadel poison?

1.you said that naganadel is sticky and it's hard to pours into clear tray right? So how you collected naganadel sticky poison liquid that spray out of thier needle? Isn't this stinger spray fast and can leak out of vial or naganadel can control how much this liquid came out?

2.this liquid is very sticky so can you tell me how naganadel sticky poison liquid came out of thier stinger? Isn't this liquid very sticky? Why its come out pretty fast and very powerful and not stick to thier own stinger?

3.what make naganadel liquid look like that? Why its very sticky, luminescent and look dark purple? Can you explain and what this effect of naganadel liquid useful to naganadel?

4.at the last part of your video look cool but pretty dangerous! Why you smell and lick naganadel liquid like that? Is that liquid stick on your tongue? Can you describe what this liquid taste like?

(Your video is very interesting thank you for great information and sorry for long question)

Sorry for not responding to this sooner, the taste of that toxin lasted for way longer than I thought it would.

1. So, there are a couple of ways of collecting a sample like that. The URS uses a lot of specialty manufactured equipment to ensure the highest quality of specimens and Naganadel toxins are not an exception. The sample I displayed in the video was taken a week or so ago from some target training I did with Stinger. I used a tool similar to that of a syringe to collect some of the Toxin off of the ground and into the vial, making sure not to collect any that had been in direct contact with the ground. When we get samples for anti-venom or procedures where the toxin cannot be contaminated in the slightest, we have a special device that attaches to the end of the stinger and automatically seals the collection container once it has reached a certain capacity. This does not harm the Naganadel in any way and is only done a trained willing participants, who get adequate compensation for their work. Stinger has done this several times and although they do not enjoy it per se, they do not seem to mind it too much. Also, they definitely can control the speed and force at which they spray and Naganadel participating in anti-venom collections must be trained to have very good control over their toxins, especially under a potentially uncomfortable an unpleasant situation such as this.

2. There are a few materials that Naganadel poison does not stick to, namely, the Naganadel themself. Each Naganadel produces its own ‘oil-like’ compound that does not bled with or stick to its own poison. In Naganadel hives I know there is a phenomenon where other Naganadel of the same hive can counteract the effects of another’s toxins and that the toxins can be used to determine how related two of these beasts are, although this is not my expertise. In terms of other materials, there are a couple of both synthetic and natural compounds that a Naganadel’s poison will not stick to, although I do not currently know what they are.

3. The biology of Naganadel is not a specialty of neither me nor Cassius, although I do know that the subspecies of Naganadel bred and raised in Ultra Megalopolis has toxins that glow brighter than the others. I can only assume this is due to the lack of natural light in our world as that seems like the most likely explanation.

4. The last part of that video was definitely dangerous, but I made sure I was safe before, during, and after. My bodily fluids and the water I washed the toxins down with allowed it to dissolve enough that it would not stick in my mouth and throat, although the taste certainly lingered. As for what it tasted like? Imagine the two worst things you’ve ever tasted and put them together, then disregard that because it was worse. I might be exaggerating but it was pretty bad.

[ofthescatteredstars]

( what does your soul smell like? )

Cassius is... Fresh Linen

key words: refreshing, wit, humour. you are a relaxing person to be around and leave a positive impression on almost everybody you interact with! you're always sending the funniest memes in the groupchat and when you really like someone you can talk to them for hours on end. compatible with: fresh linen, grass and rain, rosewater.

Tomoe is... Candle Smoke

key words: self-assured, courageous, intuitive. you are an expert at overcoming your demons and should be proud of how brave you have consistently shown yourself to be. others are amazed by your perseverance, strong personality, and unapologetic uniqueness. compatible with: coffee, freshly baked bread.

Khiye is... Coffee

key words: intelligent, old soul, complex. you are an extremely thoughtful individual with a creative mind and loving heart. being around you is like sinking into a warm bath. there's something truly wise about the advice you give others, and being in your presence leaves others feeling warm, reassured, and inspired. compatible with: coffee, candle smoke, freshly baked bread.

Corvus is... Rosewater

key words: sensitive, romantic, calming. you are a beautiful person inside and out whose kindness shines through even on your worst days. being around you is like stepping into a crisp smelling floral garden on a spring evening. others are inspired by your empathy, charm, and all the love you have to give. compatible with: fresh linen, freshly baked bread.

Parveen is... Grass and Rain

key words: exciting, enlivened, youthful. above all things, you are a super fun person to be around! you're most likely to come up with the best ideas for how to spend a day off with the squad and are the life of every party you go to. you're incredible at cheering people up because others can't help but be affected by your energy. compatible with: grass and rain, fresh linen.

[ohmystarrynight]

RRRREHEHEHEHEHEHE Cass & Clark but make them toon-ier >:)

[victim9d]

needa just drop this

[curiositysavesthecat]

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

[chikaoofka]

1 Cassius 👀

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Not that long, actually? It kinda depends on if he's in a daydream-y mood or not . He can sit there for hours if he's spaced-out enough........... but if he's, like, THERE? No more than 5 minutes max. Then he starts doing random (inoffensive and mindless) things like flipping through books or cleaning the area he's in until he's gotta do something proper...................................

[voraxiia]

some nsfw trivia ...

// bc i feel like it , and it's been in my drafts since how long , hehe cat meme .

          Hana :   definitely submissive bottom , if it’s not already obvious enough . essentially enjoys more being showered with affection and praise , but is willing to accommodate some rougher play if it means making his partner happy . will cry . gets easily embarrassed about whether he gets too loud . 

          Fuyumi :   switch , bottom leaning . enjoys some rough handling , may fight for control when he’s feeling playful , though the process is what he’s after , rather than the outcome . not really vocal , has a habit of biting his own lip instead , sometimes his partner if they’re within reach . flexible . legs usually wrapped around his partner’s waist , might turn it into a chokehold if he ends up unhappy with what he’s receiving .

          Makoto :   doesn’t really seek sexual gratification of his own accord , not the most experienced either . probably assumes to be the one in control , but let’s be honest here , way too easily led about . submissive top , probably . vanilla af . for someone so easily flustered though , has surprisingly high stamina . still , content with holding hands or the occasional close touch most of the time .

          Lei :   will only do it with someone he truly loves and trusts , almost if not absolutely zero sexual attraction otherwise . his partner’s desires and feelings over everything else . the sex will still be rough , but if his partner seems to be or voices out too much discomfort , he’s not going to persist . might earn a whack if he ends up misinterpreting them , but he’s not going to complain if he has to finish it himself afterwards . body worship is not off limits .

          Eden :   as long as both him and his partner are up for it , he can probably do it anywhere . bed , couch , car , countertop , against the wall , probably kinda into public sex ngl . also enjoys carrying his partner , so that they have to cling onto him , or to let gravity help out a little . likes using his fingers , and leaving marks on his partner . some dirty talk . high libido , will sometimes puppy-eyes his way into letting off some steam . not the most considerate one out there , but he’ll learn to treasure who he considers precious soon enough . 

          Darian :   first and most lasting impression will always be how serious he seems to be in a relationship . gentlemanly and protective , also very willing to spend for them . ready to spoil his partner rotten . very much enjoys dressing them up with lavish clothes / jewellery , especially around the neck area . initial few experiences start in bed , thorough and gentle from foreplay to aftercare . not afraid to test their limits after some time . enjoys being serviced , his partner riding him , and them having to plead . lets them sit in his lap . readily reciprocates pda . not averse to his partner on or under his desk , or keeping their voice down during a phone call . generous with praise , pet names , and some punishment . conditioning might be involved at some point .

          Yan Jiun :   plays the dominant role . sexually only into women up till now . chivalrous , protective , pampering . especially generous with head pats , one arm hugs , forehead kisses , princess carry . seems really casual , often to the point of flirtatious , but it’s more out of carefreeness until she settles down . surprisingly domestic at times . also heavy with praise and affection , but willing to and sometimes asks to try new things . not really high libido , but likes to tease . 

          Cassius :   dominant bottom , not as interested but willing to switch if there’s enough fun promised . either way , very demanding , very vocal , very persistent , can last many rounds because of his vampire-succubus nature . gets even more excited the more his partner tries to challenge his control . very high chance of biting . his teeth and claws leave very prominent marks , may draw blood at some point . doesn’t usually go all the way , either his partner/s can’t keep up , or to avoid the vulnerable period when he gets sated , as his senses and reflexes get dulled with overuse .

[ienjoywritingfilth]

teach me, general

hi: i wrote this because general acacius is still making me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, about the language, about a n y t h i n g this is just a debauched excuse to think of this man naked and fucking.

You've been promised to another man to save Rome, but you have no desire to become his wife. Marcus Acacius has been assigned to ensure you do not flee before your wedding. Things happen.

trope: enemies to lovers

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , Marcus tries to be good but we like him bad, AU as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, allusions (are what whores do for money or candy) to other sex, , i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

"I will not play nursemaid to a spoiled child."

Marcus sweeps the scroll from the desk angrily, standing and stalking to the window, his cape fluttering behind him. 

Commander Cassius, an older man and one of The emperor's most trusted advisors stands in the corner, his gnarled hands folded in front of him. 

"She has not been a child for quite some time, General Acacius," the commander replies, a smirk crossing his lined mouth. 

Marcus only makes a scoffing noise at that, refusing to turn around and give the older man the respect he thinks he deserves. 

"She is desperate." the commander adds, walking in Marcus direction. "She is to be wed tomorrow."

"The city talks of nothing else." 

Marcus is sick to death with talk of your marriage to a neighbouring royal family. The marriage means bountiful coin and harvest for Rome. It's a step towards unification and the future. 

But for the last several months it's all he's heard of between battles. The dress, the food, the entertainment. It's all so grating to hear about when he throws himself into daily combats. 

"She has made her feelings on the matter quite clear," the commander says with a gentle exhalation. "There is concern she will flee in the night."

"Why?"

"She has no desire to marry. No interest in continuing the bloodline."

There are rumors of course. That the Prince you've been promised to is dim, that he drinks too much, that he has an eye only for men. It's no wonder you don't look forward to such a union.

"She says she will study at the universities instead," Cassius chuckles. "A silly fantasy. She is a woman after all." 

Marcus is quiet with contemplation. He'd just returned from battle days ago. He was still weary, his patience thin. The poor reception home from his family adds to his bitter mood. 

"But she is wise beyond her years," the commander says. "She has managed escape more than once, as you well know. It was you yourself who retrieved her the night of her eighteenth birthday in the olive grove was it not?" 

Marcus rolls his eyes recalling how you screamed and punched his armour as he dragged you down from the branches, throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed until your voice was hoarse as he carried you home that evening, shouting obscenities in his ear the entire way. 

All because you'd wanted a chance to see the Gladiators. You'd begged your parents and they'd been quite clear that it was no place for you. You'd snuck out anyway, caught by Marcus before you could even get to the Coliseum. 

When he does not reply the older commander stepped forward, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. 

"You have your orders from the Emperor."

Marcus shrugs off the older man's touch, his dark eyes sharp. 

"And why must it be me?'

'"Because, General Acacius, you are the one man that cannot be fooled by her."

The slave is at the door when Marcus knocks at your bedroom. Their face is covered; their stance cowered when they open the door widely. 

"General Acacius," the quiet voice observes eyes on the ground. Marcus is grim-faced, entering into the room.

"I have been instructed by the Emperor to keep watch tonight."

"I see," the woman nods, her face still tilted respectfully to the floor. "I was just about to fetch her dinner."

Marcus steps further into the lavish room with its bright, white walls and smooth marble floors. 

"Where is she?" 

"She is in her bed," the slave replies bowing even more lowly. 

Marcus' dark eyes move to the bed, seeing the sleeping figure's chest rise and fall through the gauzy curtains that hang on all sides. 

"The sun is not yet set."

"She is overcome. Her wishes for the marriage to be called off have been ignored."

Marcus nods, watching as the slave goes to move past him. Her feet slap the floor slowly, everything in her body suggesting an unhurried dedication to her position. 

She brushes Marcus' sleeve and he sniffs the air, a familiar scent wafting over him. Roses. 

Without warning his large hand darts out, grabbing the slave by the arm and dragging her back into the room before she can leave. The door is slammed shut, her exit blocked. 

"General-"

Marcus says nothing; he simply rips the veil from the woman's face, shaking his head in frustration as your uncovered visage stares unblinking back at him. 

He watches as you sneer, your irritation clear. 

"How did you know?" 

"Rosewater," he replies in a husky murmur. "No slave could afford to bathe in such luxury." 

You pull your elbow from his grasp, furious at being caught. You call out to the girl in your bed. 

"Amilius you are released." 

A taller woman a haggard face and wild hair rolls out of the bed. She is clearly a slave but wears an embroidered toga meant for royalty. 

"You will still be paid," you assure her as she approaches you both, her eyes on the floor. You retrieve the pouch of clattering coin from your locked cabinet, placing its heavy bundle into her shocked hands. 

"It is too much."

"Not at all," you insist. "I thank you for trying. You may keep the clothing as well." 

"You are most welcome." 

The smile the two of you exchange is sweet and Marcus is furious at the sight of it. How dare you think up this scheme and how dare this slave go along with it? 

"You are bold," he says, stepping towards her. "To defy the word of your Emperor and not expect retaliation." 

"She did it only to defend me," you break in, stepping between Marcus and the girl. "To give me a chance at escape."

"Treason," Marcus snarls, his eyes still on the girl behind you. "You will be put on trial."

Amilius shrinks back, her eyes wide. The thought of punishment like this never occurred to her. She simply follows what you tell her, as she always has. 

"I will say I drugged her," you shoot back. "I will be put on trial. I will be sentenced to death. I choose that. Anything is better than a marriage to that self important caenum!"

Your chest heaves with untapped anger. Marcus knows that this is true. You are just stubborn enough to choose death but it would mean only calamity for Rome. 

"Leave us."

Amilius nods and shuffles from the room, closing the door behind her. You watch as Marcus locks it before coming back to you. 

"So they sent the General," you say with a laugh as you remove the slave’s cloak you were wearing. You drop it into a chair before looking at him. "How fearsome a creature I must be if the strongest General in the army is sent to watch me."

"Fearsome I think not. An annoyance to be sure." 

You roll your eyes, going to the table that holds the wine and other spirits. Several chalices are there, empty and ready to be filled. 

"Some wine, General?"

Marcus shakes his head. He would never drink when on such a job. He doesn't trust you. You shrug, pouring two glasses anyway. 

Marcus is surveying your room, quietly taking in all the personal touches. He notices you position your writing desk to the east, to enjoy the midday sun. Your bed is soft and layered with furs to keep away the chill. 

You walk back over to him, holding out the larger chalice to your guest.

"Here." 

You watch as Marcus takes both chalices in hand, swapping the one you poured for him with yours. You go to deny him this but he's already taken a deep pull from his glass, smiling at you when you make no move to do the same.  

"None for you?"

You try to keep your voice even, not wishing to show your hand. 

"I find my thirst rather quenched." 

"Is that so? Or is it that I caught onto your pathetic ploy to drug my wine?" Marcus smirks, taking a deep sip.

You say nothing; you bite the inside of your cheek instead. Marcus digs the blade in a little deeper. 

 "The vial made a rather obvious noise when it hit the rim of the chalice." 

You bite so harshly you draw blood. 

Its hours later and the fire has been cracking for the better part of the evening since the sun went down. 

Marcus sits on an ornate chair before the fire, his body stoic and broad and strangely intimidating despite his continued silence. He has the chair facing you, not letting you out of his sight for even a moment. 

You sit at your writing desk, hunched over parchment as you write hurriedly. The scratch of the stylus is the only sound in the bedroom. 

Marcus exhales slowly, irritated at needing to be here at all. Knowing his luck, he'll also be forced to be at the royal wedding as well. 

You stand and take a stretch, cracking your back as you arch your spine. The flowing fabric drifts over your body pooling at your feet. Marcus takes note of your head tilted back, eyes closed. He doesn't remember your profile being this striking. He muses it is one that should be etched onto roman coins, remembered by those to come forever after. 

You walk over to him with a tired look in your eyes. 

"It is late," you tell Marcus. 

Marcus doesn't reply. He simply sits there, waiting for you to tire of whatever game you've begun. 

"I thank you for the fire, General." 

"You are most welcome."

He isn't expecting you to walk behind him pretending to stoke the fire. And he can only blame his lack of focus on his extreme lack of sleep. He'd managed none during battle and at home it seemed he was more than a little restless. 

He feels your hand slide the dagger from his hip, realizing too late. You go streaming across the room, your eyes wild when he races after you. 

"Impudice fur!"

"I have stolen nothing," you shoot back at the insult. 

The two of you circle what another in the room like your own miniaturized version of the Gladiator pit. 

"You have stolen years off my life," Marcus growls. "You have turned my hair silver."

You look at the dark hair threaded with grey in parts. 

"You have done that yourself, General, thanks to your love of bloodshed and the battlefield."

Marcus rolls his eyes. "Only a stulte would think my strategy anything other than necessary."

"If you insist," you say rolling your eyes, clearly disbelieving. 

"Return the weapon."

Marcus is strong, he is quick and you will have to submit to him. There is little else to do, aside from throwing yourself out the window behind you. The thought of that horrible childish man being your husband makes you seriously consider it.

You can't help it, thoughts of being his wife, of being tethered to such a man disgusts you. You would more readily marry Marcus Acacius if you had to. At least the man had honour and dignity.

And then all at once the answer is clear to you. You drop the knife onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you spin and throw yourself towards the large open window. 

Your feet slap against the stone floor as you fling yourself towards the open air. The realization that before you die you will know what it is to fly. 

Marcus is on you almost immediately, grabbing you around the middle before you can tumble to outside. He yanks you back, tackling your unwilling body to the ground. He pins your hands to the ground. You attempt to wrench from his grip, squirming under him. 

"Stop these foolish games."

"It is no game," you shout. "It is my life! I will choose if I live or die!" 

All at once Marcus is very aware that you are not the child he once saw in the halls or at events. The child and then teenager he found so grating with her questions that he took to ignoring her. 

"Still yourself."

You wriggle in his grip like a worm. As you do your hips graze his cock and he's shocked to find a stab of arousal hit him. 

It's as if for the first time he sees that you've become a woman. A beautiful one at that, all soft curves and kissable mouth. He stares at the damp plump of your lips and realizes that he's growing hard under his toga. 

He throws himself off of you, hunched over until he gets to the window. You're rubbing your wrists, completely unaware of what happened as you stand, glaring at him. 

"It is what is fated," Marcus barks at you. 

"How easy for you to say!" You scoff disgusted. "Tomorrow I will be the wife of a childish boor who would rather chase cock than spend a moment with me. Rome will be safe for a time, yes, but at the cost of my entire being. And you, General Acacius, will go on living your life free of restraint." 

"I come with my own shackles, believe me."

"And what is that? Too much coin for wine? Too many prostrating followers who blindly obey you?"

"A wife who married me for my title. Two stepsons with the combined intelligence of a pomegranate seed.” Marcus shakes his head. "You act as if everyone may rule their destiny but true freedom is granted to only the few." 

He can see the fight leave your body. 

But he knows you’re still upset. He moves over to your desk, needing a break from your smoldering glare. The parchment you were working on earlier sits there, writing unfinished. Marcus takes a scroll in hand, squinting down at it. 

"What are these?" 

You rush over, your face red as you rip the scroll from his hands. 

"Nothing!"

Seeing your weakness Marcus holds it up out of reach, a childish grin on his face as you leap up, trying to grasp them. But it's no use, he's taller, stronger and you fall back, defeated. 

“Tell me and I will return it to you.”

"They are poems," you mutter exasperatedly, feeling shy.

"Your own?"

"Yes."

"I wonder what about," Marcus says and he reaches into the desk to find several more scrolls. "What dress to wear to the market? How best to complain about having everything?" 

Marcus takes them in hand, a sneer evident in his face as you reach for them again.

“You promised!”

“As you promised your fidelity to the prince.”

“My father promised him. I promised him nothing.”

Marcus lets out a small huff before turning his back to you. You can see him unrolling the scroll, beginning to read.  You watch him, feeling both furious and anxious. These are some of your innermost thoughts that he’s reading.

There is a long bout of silence. You watch his broad shoulders sag, his hand flipping the page over and continuing to read. He does this through several sheets until you can't stand it anymore. 

"Give it here!"

You pause with your hand on his elbow. He's solemn, but that's not what shocks you. It's the tears that he wipes quickly away with his free hand. 

"Are you---"

"No."

You step backwards, your hands falling to your sides. You have known the general since you were a child of thirteen. Over ten years you have been in his company and only now have you seen him lose his composure. 

As a child you were convinced he didn't feel true emotions. He was always this tall, impressively stoic figure. You never spoke to him outside of your father's company. You only heard everyone talk of his skills on the battlefield, of his keen mind. The only time he truly emoted in front of you was when he ripped you from the warm embrace of the olive tree, forcing you back to your boring life. Hissing at you that you were ungrateful for all you'd been given. 

"This is very beautiful," he admits in a voice dragged over sand. "The way you describe death is very," he searches for the word. "Vivid." 

"Thank you," you reply dumbstruck. 

You've never received praise for you writing outside your friends. So to receive it in the form of your current enemy is more than a little shocking. Marcus has no allegiance to you, in fact, his response is so genuine because you know he's fighting against his inner desire to chastise or condemn. 

Seeing this hulk of a man with tears still damp along his waterline has you softening everywhere. He's looking at the pages and then back at you. 

"Have you any others?"

"Yes," you nod.

"All on the same theme?"

"A variety."

"May I see?" 

You walk to your writing table, pulling out the parchment you hide from prying eyes and pass them into his outstretched hands. You wait with your lower lip lodged under your top teeth, your fingers twisting together. You don't know why but you crave to know what he's thinking. 

You don't need to wait very long. 

"It is clear there are limitations to your skills."

He has the familiar arrogant expression on his face as he says this. You bristle sharply at his words and he notices. 

"You write of death, you write of jealousy, you write of fear,"' he says. "All of these you compose with obvious talent, with a voice I feel here." 

He taps the centre of his chest before he holds up some of the pages you laboured on. 

"But these? The poems of love, of desire? They feel false."

You take a moment to digest what he's saying. He's treating you like an equal, as if you're someone who can take the criticism. It propels you to explain instead of running away in embarrassment. 

"People want poetry to transcend them, to deliver them somewhere beautiful. How else to do that other than with poems on such topics?"

He holds up the pages. 

"It clearly does not come naturally."

"It is a challenge at times."

"You write of loss with such acuity," Marcus explains. "Why then do you describe the action between a man and woman so stiffly?"

"I have experience with loss."

Marcus stares at you, surprised.

As the daughter of the emperor he'd just assumed you'd have your fair share of romances. You're a beautiful woman and if you were anyone else but the Emperor's daughter he might have pursued you himself. 

You feel his gaze trained on you and you walk to the fire. The flames reflect in your eyes as Marcus continues to watch you. You swallow your embarrassment and look over your shoulder at him. 

"Will you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What I am to expect on my wedding night." 

Marcus lets the scroll fall from his hand onto the stone floor. At the sound of its contact he shakes himself, retrieving them and placing them on your desk. 

"You have not known the touch of a man?"

With cheeks stained in embarrassment you shake your head. 

"I have not. The life of the privileged daughter isn't one that allows for entanglements," you sigh. "I fear for what awaits me."

Marcus thinks of your future husband, a man who doesn't want any part of you. You'll wither on the vine, ripened and juicy and waiting. 

What a waste. 

"I cannot," Marcus says. "I am simply here to ensure you do not flee."

"Perhaps I will not flee if I know what is to occur."

Marcus sighs and strides towards you. You watch as he pulls over one of the chairs you had at the window, placing it across from the chair you sit in before the fire. 

"You will be wed; there will be the wedding celebration with most of Rome at your unity. Then he will take you to his chamber." 

You lick your suddenly dry lips. 

"I am no fool. I know what the day’s events will be, General. I want to know what happens in consummation."

Marcus inhales deeply. He can feel himself growing stiff. You are a delectable thing, forbidden in so many ways. He itches to touch your skin and taste your cunt. 

"He will, he will press his mouth to yours."  

"Show me."

"No."

"Please," you beg, coming to stand closer to him. "Once I know what is to come I will feel more able to conquer this fear I feel."

Marcus debates this as he stares at you. And it's his cock that does the thinking for him when he steps closer to you. 

Marcus sighs heavily through his aquiline nose. You hold your breath as he grips the back of your neck, like you're a bothersome kitten. Holding you there he lowers his face to yours, grazing your lips with his. 

You coo gently at the sensation, your nipples hardening as he wraps his arms around you. He's so broad, so muscular, you feel so vulnerable and yet safe in his arms. 

You cling to him, body immediately wrapping around his, pressing so tightly to him that you feel everything. Your hips roll against his and you shudder pleasantly when you feel his breathing hitch. 

"More," you beg. Marcus groans, his large hands coming to cup and knead your breasts as his tongue invades your mouth. 

He's murdered men, he's plotted army overtaking, and he’s attacked the unarmed, but touching and kissing the virgin daughter of the emperor? This is the most corrupt thing he's ever done. 

And you're so desperate for him, no hesitation in any part of you. You just allow him to plunder your body, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck and then the barely concealed valley of your breasts. 

His hands move around your body, pressing and caressing and skimming until they land at your backside. You kiss him fervently, feeling his palms tug you against his hard cock.

You whimper, eyes rolling back as the two of you grind against one another. It feels so sinfully good to do such a thing. 

"That is enough," Marcus says stiffly, pulling back from you when you make that sound. He looks at your swollen lips and dazed expression. 

"Please, show me everything," you whisper. "Teach me." 

Marcus has a fairly good idea that your wedding night is going to be brief and awful. The least he could do is give you some pleasure before you're thrust into a lifetime of timid touches and non-existent intimacy. 

Just once, a sinful voice whispers. Fuck her just once to see how it feels. 

"I cannot." 

You feel insecurity wind its way around your ribs before tugging brutally. Its clear Marcus does not find you handsome enough to tempt him or he still sees you as a child. In humiliation you turn from him and take a seat before the fire once more. Your shoulder sag as you gaze down at your clasped fingers on your lap. 

You hear Marcus sigh from the window before you sense his approach. He comes to sit in the chair opposite you, his gaze so serious. 

"It would be wrong."

"But I desire it."

"It would be dishonourable." 

"Please," you beg him again, finally raising your head. "My entire life you have been there for me, coming to my aid. And now I turn to you for the final time, General. Please help me." 

"I cannot do it."

"But why?" You demand now, knowing that your patience is wearing thin. "Give me one true reason." 

He lifts his muscular frame out of the chair, crossing until he gets to you. You gaze up the length of him, not flinching when he drops to his knees between your parted thighs. 

Marcus tilts forward until his body nears yours, his hands on either side of your chair arms. His body is so warm, so broad. You fight the urge to touch his chest as his swollen mouth brushes your ear. 

"Because if I were to start, it would take the entirety of the Emperor's army to stop." 

You blink slowly, your eyes trailing over his face and body. Your entire body is fizzy, like lightning is coursing through your veins instead of blood. 

"I would pull you apart," Marcus hums against your skin. "I would draw noises from you that you cannot begin to imagine. I would have you shaking and begging for more and I would continue."

You can't breathe. 

“I would fill you with my seed, marking your womb as mine. I would do it over and over until I was spent, only to do it all again at dawn." 

Marcus groans softly, his dark eyes scanning down your toga to the swell of your breasts. 

"And even then I would not be able to cease," Marcus says as he squeezes your breasts through your toga. "I would train your mouth, your cunt, every hole you possess in the ways of pleasure. All would be mine, nothing left for another." 

You stare at him, unblinking.

"And so you see why I must refrain," he finishes huskily. "Why I cannot give you what you believe you desire."

When did he go from the scowling general to a real man with such a filthy mouth? You’re quivering all over, desperate for him to be even closer. Your eyes drop to his full mouth, aching to feel it again.

"What if that is what I crave? What if I have no desire for you to cease?"

Your fingers go to his, pulling one hand under your toga, leading him up between your silken thighs. Marcus allows it, eyes on you but his hand inching towards your centre. 

"You do not know what you ask."

"Show me, Marcus," you whisper, your mouth nearing his. "Make me yours if only for tonight."

Your lips slot between his, kissing with uncertainty as your hands go to the buttons at his shoulder. His fingers are slowly teasing your entrance as he stares at you. 

You arch as his thumb begins to circle your clit, his long fingers starting to nudge your liquid heat. 

Marcus knows that every inch of you he touches is another year in the pit if he's discovered. You are the most forbidden fruit in Rome. Yet he continues to slide two fingers to the knuckle into your core, curling them as you cry out for him. 

At the sharp sound of your cry he withdraws his fingers, glossy with slick. He stands, needing to clear his head. He feels your confused gaze on his back. 

"I cannot defile you before your wedding," he explains. "Your chastity is of the utmost importance." 

"The slaves tell me of ways to circumvent such an issue," you tell him as the cape he wears falls to the ground. 

He watches you untie his toga, urging it from his body until he stands there in nothing but his gladiator sandals. 

He is truly a sight to behold. Golden, muscled, captivating in the same way blood along knuckles shine in sunlight. You take your time to walk around him, admiring the tight taut of his ass, the breadth of his wide shoulders littered with scars and the curls that tease the bottom of his neck. 

You save his front for last, taking your time to watch the trail of hair move from his navel downward. 

His cock is hard, thick and heavy. It weeps at the tip, already so eager. It hangs there; too large for you to imagine entering you as you reach out and touch it. He hisses at the first point of contact. 

He watches as you carefully touch him, marvelling at the iron of his cock until the silk of his skin. You trace the vein on the underside, trailing it from the base to just below the mushroom head. 

You slide down to your knees, fascinated. Amilius has spoken to you of men when you’ve asked.  She has been married and has a child. You know a bit of what men like but only in theory. You lift your eyes up to see Marcus staring down at you with a heated gaze. Your hands go to his thighs, gently resting there. 

You grin before leaning forward and placing the sweetest peck to the tip of his manhood.  

Marcus growls softly in the back of his throat. His eyes close briefly before opening, looking darker than before. You watch as he takes his cock in hand, gripping it by the base and pulling it towards you. 

You part your lips, ready to take him on your tongue and are surprised when instead he drags the tip along your bottom lip, leaving a trail off pre-cum there. You lick the remnants, curious at the salty taste. He watches you with increasing interest. 

"Irrumabo," Marcus murmurs, his cock tapping against the full of your bottom lip. "Yes?"

You nod, opening your jaw. Marcus smiles, thumb tracing the curve of your mouth. 

"Not tonight," Marcus says as he shakes his head, bringing you to a gentle stand. "Tonight is your pleasure." 

He tugs the gown from your body, letting the silk pool on the ground beside you. You shiver under his gaze, noticing his length which twitches. 

Marcus feels his breath leave him as your nude body is bared to him. You look so innocent there, waiting for him, gazing nervously at him through your lashes. 

"Goddess," Marcus hisses, his hands coming to cup your breasts. "I am a condemned man for even looking at you."

He lowers his head eagerly, nipping and licking your nipples as you cling to him, urging him to take more as you arch your spine. 

"Marcus, please more," you moan. 

Unceremoniously he pushes you back to sit in your chair, your legs splayed in surprise. He drops to his knees, moving your legs to hook over his wide shoulders. You allow this, your body limp and eager to be posed by his strong arms and hands.

He looks up to see you panting, staring down the length of your body at his face between your legs. Without breaking eye contact Marcus dips forward and licks a stripe up the centre of your sex. 

Your eyes immediately shut as pleasure ripples through you. His wide hands grip your creamy thighs, holding them in place as he continues to probe his tongue deeper into your channel. 

Your hands grope the air around you fruitlessly. You don't know what to do with them. Marcus notices and he takes your wrists between his grips, forcing them to card through his hair. 

He goes back to sucking your clit and you feel your hips buck. Your fingers dig into his skull, holding the curls and you understand why he placed them there. 

"Harder," he tells you sharply as he peppers your inner thighs with sweet kisses. You tug harder on his curls and he groans softly in approval. 

You make a shuddering noise of pleasure and it dies in your throat as he pulls back from you. His eyes are stormy as he looks up the length of you to give you a disapproving shake of his head. 

"Silence, cherub. We do not need the guards coming to investigate your shrieks." 

You nod breathlessly, clapping a hand over your mouth as he continues. The sounds are muffled against your palm as he brings his hands to slide under your ass, pulling your sex deeper into his mouth as he consumes you, groaning into your cunt when you cum. 

"Marcus!" 

"Quiet," he reminds you between licks. 

As you sit there in the chair he brings you to a second steady orgasm, revelling in the muffled yips you make when you begin to writhe against his face, coating him in your essence. When your shuddering ends Marcus slowly withdraws his tongue from your cunt, gazing up at you with a dazed look.

"My husband will do this to me?" You pant; your body shiny with perspiration. "It was so pleasant. I felt the sun within my body." 

Marcus remains on his knees, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He gives you a pitying look, knowing full well that your husband to be likely won't see you past your wedding night. 

The thought enrages him as he sits there, cheek against your thigh as you give him that hopeful expression.

"No," Marcus finally admits. "I believe his actions will be more perfunctory." 

You frown.

"How? Show me."

"You ask too much."

"Yes, I do," you admit with no hesitation or embarrassment. 

Marcus gives you a calculating look before standing. You sigh, waiting for him to leave when he crouches down beside your chair, sliding his hands behind your back and under your knees and hoists you into his arms. 

"I will give you what you desire," he tells you gently. "I can deny you nothing." 

"You have denied me much over the years," you remind him with mirth. "When I tried to see the Gladiators fight and you pulled me from that olive tree?"

"And I never heard the end of it. Imagine denying this request? You'd have me hanged."

You give a shy giggle before lacing your fingers behind his neck, your mouth finding his with ease as he carries you to the bed. 

The two of you lay in the twisted blankets of the bed, bodies gleaming with sweat. Marcus did exactly as he promised. For hours he took you apart, forcing you to come on his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You took him at every turn, eyes shut and your mouth covered by his palm or his lips. 

And now that the dreamy haze bleeds into reality you find yourself frowning. Marcus, with his arms holding your body to his notices immediately. 

"What troubles you?" 

“Tomorrow I will be another man's wife," you say with tears in your eyes. "Rome will be saved for a time but at what cost? I'll never feel pleasure like this again. I'll never have you in my bed again."

Marcus feels a pull behind his ribs, and he leans forward to kiss you gently. You respond, your tears damp on his cheeks.

"Your lessons will continue," Marcus promises, kissing behind your ear. "I will make sure of it." 

"My husband--"

"Will be thankful when you are with child," Marcus tells you in a hush, his hand curving over your stomach. "My child."

Your eyes are luminous. 

"After your wedding night he will not come to your chambers," he promises. "But I will. I will drink the nectar between your legs and I will spill myself down your throat. I will have you everywhere and when we pass in public although there are no words to be uttered you will know I think only of you. That I am yours and you are mine."

He wipes away your tears with his large thumbs before pulling your mouth to his. You fall asleep in his arms, the sensation of his body there to protect you through the night. 

Marcus stirs the next morning to the sound of birds outside the window; it's cheerful and bright as the sun that hangs high in the sky. 

It feels right that your wedding day should be beautiful when you yourself are so exquisite. 

Marcus feels his cock hardening immediately at memories of last night. Of the sounds you made and the way you felt. He looks forward to a life with you, even if it must be in secret. You are something special, something like freedom.

He cracks open his eye to take in your sleeping face, but your side of the bed is empty. A scroll is there beside him in the empty bed instead, his name written. With a panic in his heart he unrolls it, finding a lock of your hair tied with a ribbon inside. He takes it, pressing his lips against it as he reads the words from your hand. 

Carissamus General. I know that as you read this you will think me a villain, but I promise that my words were true and my body forever yours. Please understand why I could not possibly allow another to touch me. Freedom is for those who take it. I leave you a piece of me in exchange for the piece of you I will carry in my heart. I owe you everything and perhaps in the next life we will have the future you dream of. Until then I wish you the same joy and pleasure you gave me. With all my love, and all that I am. 

Marcus reads the beautiful words over and over. They spin around his skull as he dresses, pulling on his toga and cloak. But instead of anger in his expression he smiles serenely. 

He's always enjoys a good chase.