#Paramount what the fuck are you doing

[rocket-sith]

https://youtu.be/W8r-tXRLazs?si=dB3L0YhG306C8lk7

How blissfully we danced to our own fucking funeral dirge as it warned of our impending demise.

And now we meet in an abandoned studio

We hear the playback and it seems so long ago

But it's even worse because the playback isn't there to be heard. It's gone. Wiped by corporate greed. And he who controls the past controls the future.

You were the first one

You were the last one

Video Killed the Radio Star was the first video to air on MTV. Turns out it was inspired by a dystopian SciFi short story called The Sound Sweep.

https://readerslibrary.org/wp-content/uploads/The-Sound-Sweep.pdf

SciFi writers are prophets in so many ways, and on some level, I think we all know this - but humans so desperately need hope. We thought we'd get R2D2 and Data. Instead we got Skynet and the Matrix.

We can't rewind, we've gone too far.

Holy Sh...

sauce:

https://www.showbiz411.com/2024/06/25/paramount-shuts-down-mtv-website-wipes-history-after-20-plus-years

[littlelesbianintern]

if i had a nickel for every time i have lost a fictional 40s/50s lesbian couple in 2023 because of greedy corporations who hate lesbians I’d have two nickels which isn’t a lot buts it’s FUCKED UP THAT ITS HAPPENED TWICE

[stripesysheaven]

i finally finished evil cbs i’m going through so much right now

[forcedhesitation]

maaaaaaaaaaan. ridiculous to be calling DBD "pathetic" because it couldn't get licensing for various final girls. as if it hasn't always been because of some bullshit on the end of the copyright holders. fuck, we would have gotten more material from Hellraiser, had it not been for the copyright holders. we lost Stranger Things temporarily because of the copyright holders being out of touch with fans and greedy. Ghostface exists in the game because luckily, the character of Ghostface isn't actually owned by Big Bad Viacrap.

also like. DBD isn't Fork Knife. it's just not. and if I'm not mistaken-- it's not like Fork Knife has any horror character that DBD doesn't, apart from Eleven and Hopper. Eleven could never be in the game anyway, because any character added has to be over 18/a legal adult (for legal reasons). and we have Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan instead. It makes much more sense that they chose those characters for the game, as this followed S2, which made Steve one of the most popular characters from the show. so much so that he can even contend with Eleven in popularity.

and let's not downplay the fact that DBD does have other, very, very impressive licenses in it. such as Silent Hill. that was the first big thing Konami let happen with the ip in YEARS. Resident Evil was...HUGE. Wesker's chapter brought in an unprecedented number of players and anyone who played survivor at that time knows that for WEEKS, all you would get was Wesker after Wesker. We have Chucky and Tiffany, voiced by their original VAs. Sadako from the original Japanese Ringu, not the American version of the same concept! You can play as the Xenomorph, and the Xenomorph Queen! Vecna, from D&D is a killer, and he is voiced by Mr. Matt Mercer! We have Ash Williams, Alan Wake, Leon. S. Kennedy, Cheryl Mason, and very soon Lara Croft! and then After her-- we are getting Castlevania!! So there is no shortage of incredible of characters from horror that are in this game, and it's disrespectful to act like the people who work on this game don't care enough about it to try their fucking hardest to give fans the best possible licensed chapter dlcs they can. it's not their fault if the copyright holders want something different.

Besides, I think it's gross to suggest that DBD doesn't have a claim to the title of "Horror Hall of Fame" just because it doesn't have specific licensed characters in it. what about all the amazing original characters that the game has? do those suddenly not count, just because they do not include super well-known characters from popular old horror movies? A lot of these popular old horror movies don't include/don't give much of a spotlight to people of colour, so the original chapters often give the devs the room to add diversity to DBD's cast of characters, whereas a license might have otherwise not allowed it. and many of these original characters even have nods to existing horror media, like the End Transmission chapter drawing inspiration from both the horror-survival game SOMA, and the sci-fi horror movie/comic book Virus. Does the hard work that the many talented members of the DBD team put into making this original chapter, among many others, mean nothing, just because Sidney Prescott or Sally Hardesty aren't in the fucking game? I should hope the fuck not.

[britneyshakespeare]

throughout the series of drake and josh it pretty consistently implies that josh nichols is a christian (josh peck is jewish) and in the finale of the series helen (played by yvette nicole brown, not jewish[?]) is portrayed as a practicing jew

[parme-san]

lowkey did not fully realize how monumentally stupid streaming services are until im trying to actually use them

[z0urcherri]

Cloverfield has utterly destroyed me

[a9saga]

honestly? i love snooping on what my siblings are watching on my paramount plus.

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[homunculus-argument]

My biggest problem as a person is that I get personally offended when someone misunderstands me and corrects me about something they thought I was being wrong about. Like if I say "that road can only be passed on motored vehicles", and someone corrects me by saying "no, it's only passable with cars, trucks, motorcycles and motorbikes." And when I ask them what the fuck did they think I said, they clarify that one can't go trough with on just any motored vehicle, like a snow sled or a motor boat, it has to be a land vehicle that can move on asphalt.

Well yes, sure, one cannot travel on that particular road on a fucking motorboat, but I wasn't saying "literally every possible vehicle that has an enginge", I meant "motored vehicles" in contrast to non-motor land vehicles, such as a bicycle or a horse. And the only reason that anyone would interpret me any other way than that is either because

They feel the need to go out of their way to disagree with me about everything because they despise me and feel like it's paramount to make sure that I know that they do.

They genuinely believe that I wouldn't know that you can't drive on an asphalt road on a motor boat because they think that I am that fucking stupid.

[cregansdingdong]

dingdong hear me out, cregan and reader going through the honeymoon stage of their marriage in winterfell where he just cant get off her and they get it on (she gets on should i say 😜) EVERYWHERE and ANYWHERE. im talking in the stables just out of earshot of the lords in the courtyard, in the wolfswood surrounded by the beautiful northern countryside, in the council chambers, on the table, EVERYWHERE. I KNOW this man gets hot knowing anyone could catch them and that they couldn’t do anything about it because he is their lord. PLEASE GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

- fellow cregan worshipping anon xo

I HAVE THOUGHTS. THE GEARS ARE TURNING. I FEEL THEM TURNING. SEND HELP ANON.

Let's get something perfectly clear, my beloved, the honeymoon stage never ends with Cregan. Now, it might slow down after the birth of a few kiddos ten but in no way, shape, or form will your Lord Wolf ever be satisfied. That being said, you have my prayers, sorrows, and congratulations also my envy ofc if you both are ever caught getting your freak on. It's gonna go a little something like this...

ʜᴏɴᴇʏᴍᴏᴏɴ. (thoughts ver.)

NSFW stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

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"We're going to—"

"I don't care." He grunts. Skirts lifted up the curve of her ass, his hips rutting into her at a pace desperate enough to bruise. They were both frantic, fucking like it was their last day alive. The council room was empty—which it usually was; only really filled when Cregan felt the need to call on his vassals. If it had been a regular day, Lord and Lady Stark wouldn't have had anything to worry about.

His wife presses her cheek down on the table, holding onto the oak edges for dear life, mewling of course, as he rocked into her like a man possessed. Controlled entirely by his need, by her whines for him, Cregan thought he could die a happy man right there in her snug cunt. He could. He wanted to, in a way, the last sensations in the living world being her velvety walls, clenching around him with every swift thrust.

They were loud as they always were—unintentionally. It was too good to remember any restraint. Not that it mattered to the Lord Wolf, he was the Lord paramount of the North. Who was going to tell him he couldn't make love with his wife? No one, but he could at least make an effort to lock the door first. Rabid grunts and the sound of his hefty balls slapping against her flooded the corridor as the entrance to the council room was opened. "Seven Hells—"

His bannermen. His vassals. The meeting. Gods. He forgot about the meeting. Torrhen Manderly turned right back around, narrowly avoiding whatever it was that Cregan flung towards the door—thankfully fast enough to stop the other men from following in after him. "Get out!" The door was promptly slammed shut, right as his wife lifted her head from the table, face flushed red in mortification. "Were we just cau—fuck!" Lord Stark still didn't care, reaching around to rub at her pretty clit as his cock resumed pistoning against her ass. And as she came for at least the third time that morning, the realization of getting caught was quickly erased from the front of her mind, Cregan's teeth latching on to the curve of her shoulder as he chased his release.

okay I can't help myself so here's a bonus bit:

Redressed and thoroughly embarrassed some twenty minutes later, Lady Stark emerges from the council room, expecting her handmaiden to be waiting—no. Gods. They'd waited. They'd actually waited. Seven bannermen, each one avoiding her eye more than the last, probably in an attempt to maintain whatever was left of her dignity. They made not a single sound as she walked sprinted by, nodding stiffly in respect to their Lady.

Cregan, however, did not share that same sentiment. Satisfied for the moment, smug, and seated lazily at the head of the table, legs spread comfortably as he sat back against his chair. He exhaled quietly through his nose once his vassals entered the room, the smallest of smirks written on his face that said more than his mouth ever could. "Where did we leave off last time?"

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Nobody asked me for my opinion on the controversy that dropped today when the Sonic Movie cast pay rate was revealed, which is fair ig since I try to stay positive on this blog. But in case you're wondering, yeah as a certified AFAB™ I'm pissed, but not really specifically at the Sonic crew. Actor pay rates are usually negotiated between agents and the production companies so just like all the other problems with the Sonic movies, this is most likely an issue with Paramount and their patented dumbfuckery. Disclaimer that obviously it could very well be a Sonic crew issue as well, obviously I don't know the inner workings of the entire film production.

Also, if you're mad about this: please be mad about the pay gap that has been going on as long as Hollywood has been alive. This isn't a problem unique to the SCU. I know the phrase "pay gap" is thrown around a whole lot but do you guys actually know how big an issue it is?

Recent percentages are that male and female actors have "a wage difference of about 25 percent," with an estimated difference of $1-2million between star-power men and star-power women.[x][x] Basic Instinct star Sharon Stone said she made $500k to Michael Douglas's $14mil– and when she was asked to be lead in a film being made in ~2022, the lead male, who was "new", was going to be paid $8-9mil, with her salary still at $500k. Last December, Biggest Monopoly In The World Disney was sued by 9,000 women over their pay gap.

This article is from 2019 but brings up some big fucking pay gaps between leads– for instance, Gillian Anderson was offered half of what David Duchovny was for the X-Files reboot as one of the two main fucking characters, Amanda Seyfried has disclosed she made 10% of what her male co-star made on an undisclosed film, Natalie Portman made 1/3 of the salary of Ashton Kutcher in No Strings Attached, and Ellen Pompeo, the titular character of Grey's Anatomy, was paid less than the actor playing her love interest, Patrick Dempsey. In fact, Dempsey was being paid almost double what she was.

However, BIG issue with the 2019 article: it only focuses on what White actors are being paid. Research shows that Black actresses make 57 cents to every dollar white actors make on a good day. Viola Davis, one of the most popular and talented actresses of our generation, has said that black women "get probably a tenth of what a Caucasian woman gets. And I'm number one on the call sheet." Octavia Spencer had to collaborate with Jessica Chastain to make sure they both got paid the same amount of money on a film they both worked on, and revealed that her new salary increased 500% afterwards.

At the end of last year, while promo-ing The Color Purple, Taraji P. Henson broke into tears while talking about how little she's being paid when compared to her white and male contemporaries. And when she talked about the gap, I find it so fucking frustrating that the general audience response was to immediately blame the only Black female producer on the film. I have a million gripes with Oprah Winfrey but TCP cast has said that she herself managed to fix a lot of the problems on set and was nothing but supportive to them. Oh, and there were a lot of problems on set, including a lack of food and dressing space for the main actors. And this is all from celebrity women. Just think about how Hollywood is treating women who don't have the star power to speak up.

Of course this isn't even a problem solo to Hollywood, let alone Paramount, let alone just one movie. And honestly it was probably really sad that when I saw the pay rate for the Sonic 3 cast, I wasn't even surprised, because I've seen worse on bigger projects.

[uchihaxitachi]

senses haywired — hokage itachi x f!reader

a/n: needing a bath in holy water but it’s been a while i wrote smut with my boy <3 last kinktober to be precise i think 🤔 but yeah~ it’s cute 🥰 also,,, i wrote it while i’m in a cab travelling so it’s not beta’d we die like shisui when it comes to allat :<

warnings: cunnilungus, prone!bone, overstimulation, slight-nipple!play<3 fluff and softness between hokage itachi and his wifey!!

you can’t really give this feeling a proper name, it’s a mix of emotions. it’s mingling submission followed by tortorous brattiness. and itachi also loves this. you know the leaf’s hokage has a lot of workload on his hands, but it’s not your problem that he also has a wife. a wife he’s married to since a year and a half. a wife he’s after ever since he was a silly boy. whenever he would have tough missions where he was unable to see you, six year old itachi would decently stop by your place & give your mom flowers with a soft blush on his face. “uhm~ auntie, these are for y/n.”

you always remembered him by your side, and now to have him as your husband feels surreal. itachi was not very comfortable with expressing his emotions but after so much time with you, he is pretty eager and expressing them with ease is second nature to him.

today itachi’s been missing you a little extra, it’s just something about you that’s been enticing him since morning. when you prepared his coffee and kissed him goodbye for work~ itachi’s sharp gaze continued to linger closely, to observe you. “i miss you already.” he hums, a soft pout on his features when you chuckle. “then come home soon.”

and he does, he does come home sooner than expected. the knock itself tells you that its him. you opened the door with a beaming grin, watching him softly. “welcome home, hokage sama.” itachi’s hat is taken off instantly, next comes off his robes. you can’t get enough of him, he can’t get enough of you. his hands are desperate, not so skilled right now… touches sloppy and rough, like he’s starving and couldn’t care less for the etiquettes.

you’re leaned against the wall instantly, legs wrapping around his waist as you gasp out, leaning your head back to give him more access to you. “someone missed me.” you snorted, gasping and chuckling when all he responds by is an affirmative growl. “very much.” he croons later, the tip of his nose nuzzling against the supple & sensitive skin of your neck.

one thing about itachi is that he is a marker, he loves when his marks on your body are visible to him. something about the deep imbedded uchiha instincts and genes getting soothed with the fact that you are his, and you belong to him & him alone. his teeth gnaw at your neck, suckling softly at your collarbone until your skin breaks into a beautiful purple hue.

itachi knows every part of your body by heart, the way you smell, where do you have moles, what scars have you endured… everything. his fingers waste no time in ridding you off of your clothes, while yours also desperately seek his naked body, the skin to skin touches being paramount in this moment between you & him. “fuck, ‘tachi i love you so much.” you whine, continuing to kiss him & leaning back to catch your breath while he takes you to your shared bedroom.

“i love you more, i love you almost suffocatingly, my angel.” itachi croons, kissing you softly while his hands find their way across your supple tits, pinching and tugging at your sensitive nipples as he kisses down the valley of your breasts, along your pelvis, spreading your legs to gawk at your glistening cunt. his sharingan always comes out, no photographic memory would ever serve your beautiful pussy right. he has to do that everytime he sees her. “she missed me.” he talks about your glistening hole. leaning in, inhaling your sweet scent and letting his tongue flatten across your needy clit.

the sensation shoots pleasure from your spine to the very soles of your feet. itachi is dedicated to see your face contort in extreme pleasure, eyes fixated on you while he feasts oh you, the tip of his tongue flicking your clit, rummaging through your insides & tongue fucking your needy slit. “mine.” he growls almost in a haze, pushing the hood of your sensitive bundle of nerves back and hacking your pleasure with sadistic intensity.

soon after you’re writhing beneath him, trying to squirm away but to no avail, itachi’s hand pressed on your pelvis to keep you still. “don’t move, angel.” he says rather sternly, however the affection is still lingering quite easy. you managed to nod meekly, brows furrowed as the pleasure rapidly builds and the knot on your pelvis tensing.

“gah— please, itachi!” you mewl, squirming out. itachi knows when you are in desperate need of release. he’s done this more times than he can count. “go ahead, little one. cum for me.” the words come out in sweet seduction, and your body has no choice but to obey. squirming and tipping off the edge while he continues to drink up your pleasure.

soon, it subsides into a dull ache, the intensity of which is increasing with every passing second. itachi can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop. you just made a hungry lion taste blood. your pleas are heard but ignored, he knows you can take it. he’s done this before after all. your hands desperately tug at his hair as you try to push him away. “agh— ‘tachi, s’ too much!” you moan, and he only locks your hands away against the mattress, intertwining his fingers against yours. he needs this.

once you’re bolted down back in bed, you know you have no choice but to give him what he wants. another mind melting orgasm, that is. your eyes close shut, lips swollen from how much your teeth gnaw at them. “oh shit—“ you whine out, mewling like a little cat when his tongue’s assault only continues further.

the pad of his thumb pushing your clit’s hood up, the tip of his tongue roughly tickling at your swollen & sensitive clit. you’re screaming out when the second orgasm hits you, shaking violently like a dry leaf. itachi hums in approval, smirking at your cute and yet, a little pathetic state. kitten licking at your heat over and over until he’s taken every last drop out of you.

you pant heavily, the force of two orgasms is enough to wear you out, but you want itachi, you want to feel him against you. desperately, carnally… and when he turns you on your belly, you know what’s coming next…

itachi has a pretty dick, when you say pretty… it’s not docile. it’s just pretty. just the way itachi is, pretty but dangerous. there are ridges and nerve endings across his shaft, the tip mushroom like but thick. he’s big, uncomfortably so, but you’re used to him.

itachi’s hands are quick to spread your ass cheeks, thrusting his member all the way in in prone, watching you whimper & squeal as he pierces himself to the hilt, ripping the bandaid off. “sssh~ you got it, you got it sweetheart. all the way in.”

his hips roll back and forth against you soon enough, while he torso leans in to pepper soft, sensual kisses. “so pretty i start to lose my senses. you’re lethal, my dear.” he hums, feeling your spongy walls clamp down at him desperately at every single touch. “so cute and adorable the way you cry.” yes… itachi’s cock makes you cry, in the best way possible. you’re reduced to a sniffling mess from it all. the pressure of the mattress on your belly enough to make it all the way intolerable.

“please— please—“ you are mindlessly babbling, eyes rolling back. itachi loves it when you’re fucked out like this. so cute… he thinks to himself. a carnal part of him wants you to be always cockdrunk and a little tipsy on pleasure he wonders…

you’re clamping desperately by the time his pace increases, sound of soft pap pap paps echoing in your shared bedroom. “that’s it, you’re like a mould. fitting me so well, made for me.” he croons, kissing your jaw.

his own thrusts are turning sloppier, balls tightening to empty his seed deep in your womb. “that’s it, show me how much you need me darling.” he coaxes you gently, and the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. you are quick to tip off the edge, screaming softly as you feel itachi’s thrusts turning faster, more brutal, almost punishing before he empties his balls into you, coating your insides with warmth. “so- perfect.” he chokes onto his own voice a little, sighing and laying atop you, both of you a mess.

“i love you, my wife.” he reminds, kissing you softly and wiping off any stray tear from your face. “going to prepare a bath for us.” aftercare king immediately taking over the throne.

“mm~ i love you too, ‘tachi…”

[queers-gambit]

The Strength in Honor [ part 2 of 3 ]

prompt: it's hard to plant seeds of revolution with snakes in the garden and Icarus blocking the sun.

pairing: General Marcus Acacius x female!Aurelius!reader

fandom: Gladiator II -> no masterlist

word count: 5.4k+

note: this was originally 11k+ words but let's break it up. part three on the way.

warnings: spoilers, kinda reader insert, AU timeline, Aurelius reader, essentially nicknamed reader, use of Y/N, cursing, inaccuracies, deception, kinda villified!Lucilla, Geta's a creep. i think that's it?

part one: read here part three: read here

You slunk around the city, keeping your hood up and scarf wrapped around your face to cover yourself as you navigated towards the Colosseum. You recognized the guard on post, greeting, "Augustus."

"My Lady," he blanched in confusion when you came into the torchlight and wrangled the scarf from around your nose, mouth, and chin. "What're you doing here at this hour?"

You offered him a gold coin, "I understand your job requires a fair amount of discretion, friend. It's paramount in the here and now."

He nodded and accepted your coin, "Which gladiator do you come for? Most ladies are requesting Hanno these days, uh, Macrinus's man."

"What? Oh," you shook your head, "no, no, no, nothing like that, Augustus, Gods - "

"Hey, I'm not one to judge, Lady, we all have our pleasures," he held his hands up in defense, snickering with you. "What can I do you for?"

You sighed, "I do need into the Colosseum, friend, to have a private word with one of the warriors who will fight on the morrow."

He eyed you with suspicion, questioning, "Does this have to do with the rumors of the General's army?"

"It might," you allotted, eyeing him now. "If it did... Where might you stand on the matter?"

"Where my Lady Venus tells me to," he smirked. "Should you ever require us to stand, it would be at your side, my Lady."

"Perhaps either in front of or behind me, preferably," you teased, both smirking in understanding. "Can I count on your discretion tonight, friend?"

"Always," Augustus promised, glancing around the streets before nodding, "come with me."

You followed the man with a torch, hiding in the shadows of the flickering light as you were granted access into the arena and lead towards the cells. You did not need speak after, nodding in thanks and pressing another gold coin to Augustus' hand; dropping a wink while keeping your scarf up over your nose. You eyed each cell slowly, Augustus following silently with his torch.

When you located this "Hanno", you nodded and Augustus returned the gesture. From his workbench, Ravi looked up in interest when a hooded figure entered the creaking cell of Lucius. When you did, the Gladiator stood at attention and Augustus hushed, "I'll wait by the tunnel, Lady. Agreed?"

"Agreed. Thank you, friend," you hushed, watching him nod and take his leave; shutting the cell door, but did not latch it. You turned to the warrior.

"Why do you hide your face?"

You snorted and pulled down your scarf, leaving your hood in place. "Because revolution is a dangerous business," you mused, smirking slightly when his face lit up in recognition.

"Venus," he greeted with a smirk.

"Lucius." He froze, eyes widening, watching your lips spread wider, "Oh, I fucking knew it."

"How - "

"You know, I wasn't sure first few times I saw you," you admitted, shaking your head, "but it's in your eyes, you've got Father's eyes. I wanted to see your reaction to the name... I fucking knew it."

"Auntie," he mused, rolling his eyes in humor.

You chuckled, "There's a label I've not heard in ages. My, my, how you've grown, nephew."

"That's what happens when almost two decades pass," he scoffed gently, eyeing you. "Why have you come tonight? You spoke before of giving the truth, so do it again, here and now."

The quiet filled the space between you.

"It's happening," you told him quietly. "Rome's tides are turning, the General and I are leading the revolt. We're going to allow his men into the city during the Games and I need you to know, there will be blood. There will be chaos. You need to make a decision about your future here and now, Lucius, because the time has come. Tomorrow, the gladiators will be freed. Tomorrow, Marcus and I will take Rome back from the Twin's tyranny, from their greed and corruption. Now that I know it is you, I tell you this in confidence - should you refuse your grandfather's throne, the General will sit. Your time is now, Lucius, and while I have no right, I beg for your understanding - "

"You need not beg," he interrupted. "I will stand with Venus. The whole of the Colosseum will, too."

"That was... Suspiciously easy..."

"Since your last visit, I've been thinking. Talking to the others, learning about what's happened since I've been gone. You are the common denominator to all stories - your name, your aliases, all spoken with reverence. All stories match, detailing your work with the citizens, how you've been trying to orchestrate your father's vision of Rome from behind the scenes. Influencing where you can. Doing the work men won't, or can't."

"Hm," you nodded. "Well, it's always flattering to hear such flattery. But I am plagued by a question, Lucius; if your mother came...? To ask you the same as I?"

He considered what you'd asked for a long moment, then eased, "I have nothing to say to her."

"Yet you do me?"

"You did not send me away."

"No... No, I did not, though, you were not my child. I feel the need to point out, Lucius, you were the next in line for the throne and still so young. You were a target, still are to some being the last male descendant of the Great Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Your mother felt she couldn't protect you from the turmoil to come, the violence and anger, the threats to your life. So, she sent you away. I will not say if I agreed with her decision or not, but I do know the pain it caused her the past 16 years. She loves you, Lucius."

"And you? You love me, too?"

You scoffed and spat, "I do not know you, boy." You held each other's eyes for a long moment before both broke and started chuckling. You sobered first, telling him casually, "Tonight, the revolution begins; we will meet with the Senators and orchestrate tomorrow's treachery. You will need to make a decision about what comes after you're all freed."

"How can you free us all?"

You smirked, "Call for Ravi, would you? I fear I might be too recognizable in this place, even my voice carries."

Lucius did as you bid, waiting only a couple of moments before Ravi entered the cell; eyeing you with mistrust before realizing who you were. He breathed your name, "What're you doing here?"

"I need a favor, friend," you looked between the two; keeping your back to the door for animosity. "Outside the city, there waits the General's troops. Could you carry a message to them?"

"I could," Ravi nodded slowly, "but what does the contents of this message say?"

You looked at Lucius, "Hm. What would it say, nephew?"

Ravi's eyes widened, but Lucius just held your gaze and smirked. He turned to Ravi, "Tell them... The Prince of Rome has returned and calls upon them."

"So does General Acacius," you added with a small snort of amusement. You removed the small velvet drawstring bag from under your skirt, opening it to reveal the ring Acacius gave you to hand off if needed for extra persuasion. You explained it was the ring your father, Emperor Aurelius, gave to General Maximus and later passed to General Acacius. You told Ravi that the ring would serve as validation of your letter; which was penned quickly in Lucius' cell.

"You're sure about this?" You asked your nephew, both reviewing the contents of the letter. "You know what this will mean for you?"

"I do," he nodded slowly. "Actually... I was hoping to anticipate you sticking around Rome after this. Maybe help me lead our people the way Emperor Aurelius would've wanted?"

"An honor you present me," you breathed, "though it will mean being around the General."

"I'll find a way to deal with it," he snorted. "Ravi," he handed over the letter and ring.

"A moment, friend," you paused his leave. "We need your keys."

Ravi looked between you two nervously, "They will know it's me."

"You will not be in the city, you will be protected," you assured, "and I will update Augustus to keep pretenses."

"Augustus... The guard?" Ravi asked, watching you nod. "Good, good, uh, yes, he-he is trustworthy." His eyes shifted nervously, questioning Lucius quietly, "Who are you - truly?"

"My nephew," you smirked, "Lucius Verus Aurelius, Prince of Rome; home again. Come, there's little time t'spare, I've much to do, many to update, coups to plot. But before I go, I need confirmation - are you with us?"

Lucius offered his arm, "We're with you, my Lady."

Your hand slapped to wrist to lock forearms in agreement, another wink dropped as your scarf was pulled back up and Ravi was escorting you towards Augustus - who listened intently to your instructions. The keys were left with Lucius; the trio of you disbanding once outside the Colosseum. Augustus remained on post, you rushed for the palace grounds, and Ravi made for the stables; selecting whichever horse was ready and taking off through the city.

"Who would rule instead?" Senator Gracus asked, leaning both fists to the table for balance. "You declare the Twins unfit, we have no objections; but if neither Emperor, who would you see sit your father's throne, my Lady?"

"The only answer is General Acacius," you answered strongly, shock rippling around the room. Obviously, you had yet to divulge on anything regarding Lucius and this was more or less a contingency plan.

"What?" Marcus asked, stepping forward in confusion; missing the conversation burning in your eyes. "What did you say, my Lady?"

"I would see you lead our people, Marcus," you stated boldly, stood at the large strategy table the Senators took places around. "Before my Father passed, Emperor Aurelius would've seen the Roman Empire helmed by General Maximus Decimus Meridius; a man you personally revered and trained under. They were both betrayed by Commodus, and the Throne usurped - we all know this to be true." The Senators nodded in agreement. "I would see General Acacius lead us into a new era - as Maximus would have. Father is no longer here, but I should hope my judgment might be enough to sway your support, Senators."

"What if I do not wish to sit the Throne, my Lady?" Marcus asked, looking heavily displeased with you.

"There is Strength in Honor," you reminded, "and the most honorable leaders are never the ones who covet it."

The Senators agreed and left Acacius no room to object or accept his new position; a slow plan taking form as the Games were meant to continue in the coming days. There were only so many opportunities for revolution and you had to be sure in your decision.

To your shock and horror, towards the conclusion of the meeting, Marcus stepped up to the table, "Might I make a suggestion to this counsel before we agree to move forward with tomorrow's plan?"

"Of course, General," Senator Gracus, your father's oldest emissary and confidant, permitted.

"I would see my divorce to the Lady Lucilla both drafted and approved with swiftness," he announced, obliterating any semblance of peace. "Not as means to bring dishonor unto her, but because this Republic deserve an Empress worthy of the title. And with caution, I feel I can speak honestly and say this isn't the Lady Lucilla, but Lady Y/N - the People'e Princess, their Should-Be Empress left too long in the shadows. Citizens trust her and would find the transition of power easier with her at my side."

"No," you denounced, eyes widening in panic as the Senators mumbled their agreement, "you cannot divorce Lucilla, I will not have my sister outcasted from society!"

"We would never, my Lady," Gracus gasped.

"With respect, we all know what becomes of divorced women in our city, Senator. She would find misery, not freedom! Not justice!"

"I will not consent to this plan less it is with you at my side," Marcus growled, stepping closer to you much to the shock of your audience. But apparently, tonight, all veils were pulled back. "Rome has been through enough, would you see her suffer further without you? The people, this Republic needs you. I cannot rule this nation alone, least of all lead a revolution without the known agreement we are standing in this together." Then, he boldly admitted, "I need you at my side through this, Lady Aurelius."

"I cannot not take my sister's husband and societal position in one swift go," you all but hissed, tears gathering, "no matter my own feelings on the matter. Rome will thrive under her rule as much as mine, Acacius. I still stand with you now! We need not implode her life."

"Then I cannot agree."

"Don't fucking do this to me," you hissed quietly to him, "not now."

"General... What're you saying?" Gracus asked aloud. "Speak plainly, you two."

"I will lead, I will rule, I will do what is required of me for the glory and preservation of Rome," Marcus declared, "but only with Lady Y/N Aurelius as my wife."

"And I am refusing to humiliate and outcast my only surviving sibling," you rejected, Marcus looking angrily at you.

"Why are you being so difficult? I will not allow her to be outcasted, I have sworn that to you. And the Senators - " He gestured around the table, "Would our union have your support? Would my divorce?"

There came a wave of silence as you glared at Marcus while he surveyed the Senators. "Aye," Gracus declared strongly, "I would support your divorce of Lucilla in favor of marriage to Y/N."

"Aye," another Senator voiced, and soon, the entire table was in agreement: Acacius would divorce Lucilla after the usurpation of the Emperors and marry you instead.

To soften the blow, Acacius nodded in thanks and then reminded, "Lucilla is a Lady of Rome and daughter of Emperor Aurelius, she will be treated as such. I will not have her outcast from the city or society, as I have promised her sister. Hear me, I will not tolerate her disrespect following what comes next."

"We are in agreement," another Senator assured, "but if I may ask, how do you intend to take the city? Not with a pack of guards, you can't; you need an army."

You huffed and looked away from Marcus, simply feeling caught off guard by his declaration - feeling it might've been premature, considering the circumstances - only to note the Senators looking to you for answers. They now looked where the General did; so, you answered, "The gladiators are with us, but we will need more than a rabble of rapid men. So, word was sent ahead to the 2,000 men posted outside the city limits, all loyal to Acacius, to march into the city whilst the Games commence tomorrow. The General sent his ring along as proof of validity. Are we all in understanding?"

"Aye," it was echoed.

"In this time, Acacius and I will be traditionally seated with the Emperors and others in the spectator's box to keep appearances."

"When the time comes, I can subdue them myself," Acacius assured, "but my men will be posted with us should they... Turn unmanageable. I do not wish to execute them should it not be necessary, but I will not risk harm to my ladies."

Oh, how you loathed that plural term. Perhaps out of pure jealousy, that you wanted to be his only lady - to never share the role. Not even with your sister, who "had him" first in a way. Though, if one were to examine the sequence of events, he was yours to begin with and he will be yours to end with.

Details were ironed out. Divorce decree drafted. Agreements arranged. A plan formed.

However, unknown to anyone, the new maid had found the man who paid her, a wealthy socialite by the name of Macrinus; being relaid instructions at the same time Lucilla was being awoken to the news of her husband and sister's plots. The maid was outside the hidden room after trailing you from the villa following your visit to the Colosseum, listening and taking mental notes as her employer instructed; rushing to inform him of the contents discussed behind closed doors.

You dismissed the Senators in a hushed rush, insisting tomorrow was the day as it left no time to back out or change minds. If this was happening, it was happening now. Finally, you and Marcus were left alone; rounding on one another the moment the room had cleared, each snarling in union, "Are you crazy!?"

"ME!?" You barked, pushing his armored chest with flat palms. "What the hell was that, Acacius!?"

"Oh! Don't you start! Why do you bite at me when you're the one who named me successor? Which was not apart of our original plan!"

"Because I did not get to see you before the meeting! There's new developments I could not inform you of, so, I panicked. Okay? Yes, I panicked because for the sake of Rome, Acacius, I could not risk you refusing me - and for that, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for forcing that on you in front of them all. But you all but confirmed our affair!"

"Why does that bother you? Huh? Why are you so afraid to step into the light that radiates from you? My star, after tomorrow, it won't matter the means of our relationship, nor how it came into fruition." He stepped closer, either hand lifting to caress your cheeks, "All that will matter is us. I'm sorry I sprang that on you, too, but... All for a reason, my love, right? For us?"

"Of course," you sighed in agreement, still unhappy. "But going forward, we discuss everything, we don't do what just occurred. Gods, how embarrassing - our first order and it's a spat before the others."

"Neither of us have politically lead like this before, we've only room to grow," he promised, thumbs sweeping across your cheeks. "For tonight, stay with me. Please."

You agreed easily, nuzzling his nose with yours before pressing a kiss to his lips and tangling his hand with yours. Before you departed the room, you whispered, "Hey." His eyes met yours in curiosity, relaying, "I don't want to drink the tea."

Acacius had started opening the door, pausing to whisper, "No? You're sure?"

"I'm sure," you affirmed, rocking to your toes to peck his lips as you squeezed his hand. "C'mon, dawn will come swift now that we've much to prepare for."

With a dark hood drawn over his greying curls, Acacius lead the way back to your villa; managing to strip for an evening in lounge and begin informing him of Lucius' living state, his agreement to not only stand with you, but also take his rightful place on the Throne when there came a slashing clatter.

You whipped around in shock, seeing the main entrance of your home casting shadows of an obvious (also audible) struggle. "Marcus?" You whispered when a cry was heard, the sound of bodies hitting the ground making you shy into his embrace. "Think we're caught, love," you backed into his chest.

"Fuck," he breathed when a procession of the Emperor's guards rushed into the room. He looked, but his weapons were too far; opting to gather you in close at his side as the Praetorian Guards surrounded you with bloody weapons drawn. "Stay close to me," he rushed, then loudly demanded, "the hour is late, what is the meaning of this?"

"Lady Y/N Aurelius is required before the Emperors."

"Surely, it can wait until morning?"

"Hardly," one guard sneered as another moved forward to wrangle you from Acacius' grip.

"How is this necessary!?" Acacius tried to stop them, but was unsuccessful; being punched multiple times to the ground as you were roughly clapped in irons. He demanded while finding his feet, "Release her! She is a Lady of Rome, this is unforgiving treatment to a woman of her stature!"

"Just move along," one of the guards shoved Acacius by the shoulder as another yanked you forward. His temple bled from their beating, other blemishes blooming over his face as neither was allowed to dress properly; forced to file out of the villa.

Marcus, who magnetized to your side, advised quietly, "Stay quiet, let me do the talking."

"They did not send for you, I do not think that's an option," you worried, trying not to look but being unable to as the guards lead you through the massacre of your slaughtered guards. Your bare feet stuck in warm, slippery yet tacky blood, leaving an ominous trail behind you, hissing to yourself, "They know - I fucked up, I had to've fucked up, I must've if they know."

"We don't know anything yet - "

"What else could it be?" You snapped. "Fucking Ravi? Augustus? Not Lucius? Who else knew? Who did we mistrust? Who betrayed us?"

"We'll come to find out," he mumbled.

When you were lead through the dark halls of the palace, you caught sight of the man who owned your nephew, Macrinus, sharing a toast of wine with another lesser man of high society; swearing you saw a Senator's robe, too. They were in a side room, enjoying the spoils of their rumors and deception.

"Lucilla?" You asked when faced with her enraged expression beside the Emperors - who were wrapped in bed sheets, obviously interrupted from their night. "What's going on? What's the meaning of this? Why have I been shackled like a common criminal?"

"Because you have behaved as such!" Lucilla snarled.

"Oh, this should be good," you batted back to the amusement of the Twins. "Please, pray tell, what offense have I caused?"

"You spoilt little bitch," she seethed, turning to the Emperors. "I want her on trial! It is as I've said, as I've warned you! She is the one with plot to overthrow you, to take our father's throne for herself! She's been plotting to overthrow you this whole time, the fool even left her maid as witness - we have witness of her deception! I demand she stand - w-wait, Acacius? Wait, I don't - what's happening?" She asked as you felt the General move to your side, his hand silently caressing down your spine. "W-Why are you here?" Her eyes widened, looking between the pair of you frantically now.

"Sister," you sighed, bowing your head in shame.

"Ohhhhh, I do think we've uncovered something uncouth, brother," Emperor Geta mused. "Uh, guards? Tell us where you happened to pick up General Acacius this evening?"

"With Lady Y/N, my liege."

"Oh, in her villa?" Caracalla gasped, dropping the sword he had been toying with as if in consideration to use it against you. "Of an unmarried woman?"

"They were discovered in their night clothes and standing in an embrace."

"So," Lucilla interrupted whatever crack Geta had charged, "what Macrinus says is true? The pair of you have been sneaking around? In an affair? You've been sleeping with my husband, little sister?"

Marcus opened his mouth, but you answered first, "Yes. Since before your engagement, while you were married to Lucius and loving Maximus, I've loved Marcus." You shrugged meekly, "I love him, Lucilla - I don't know what else to say. I always have and no matter what, I always will."

"Obviously, you harlot," she snarled, "since even my marriage could not keep you away!"

"Away from the man I love!? What cruelty you would have me endure when he lives! You lost your general, so now you would seek to take mine!? I know what fate did to you, sister, what it took from you, but the least you can do is remember all that was stolen from me, too! I will not apologize for holding onto the one thing I could! My one semblance of normalcy, of reality, of both happiness and sadness; the reason I am who I am, because you should know, to be loved by Acacius is perfection. Life changing, eye-opening, heart-pounding. It's what every woman wants, what she hopes and yearns for; he is who mothers want for their daughters, who fathers endeavor their sons to grow into. So, no, no, I will not apologize for loving him - but I will grovel for the rest of my life for causing you pain."

"Then why do it?"

"Because he's all I have."

"Try again."

And finally, you had enough of your sister's pushy manipulation, snapping, "No."

Which made her scoff and repeat, "'No'? No, you won't try again? To offer me better explanation for your sins? For fucking my husband, you insolent little whore?"

You just spoke evenly, ignoring her jab, "He's everything to me, Lucilla, and I'm not letting him go."

Her head shook, "You are aware this offense can result in your execution?"

"So can secret abortions," you challenged, watching her eyes widen a fraction; for her hips to shift weight; for her shoulders to square. Caught. You lifted your chin a fraction, looking to Acacius sadly, whispering, "I'm so sorry, my love, I didn't want to believe it."

His head shook as if to silence your woes, but you saw the way his eyes now worriedly glanced at your own belly.

"There could be a trial," Geta mused to his brother, earning the attention of the room, "but it's not very exciting, is it? I mean, a cheating scandal? Who cares about that?"

"The people love Acacius, perhaps hearing of his infidelity might be enough to cause a stir?" Caracalla considered, his pet monkey squealing and chittering on his shoulder.

"No, not with Venus," Geta waved off, Lucilla looking angrier by the ticking second. "The people might even support it."

"Could just put her to death?"

"For just fucking a man?" Geta scoffed. "Hardly an executionable offense." Then, the Emperor gasped, telling his brother in near glee, "Instead of a trial... We could have a wedding."

This made you and Marcus both freeze with panic.

"You suggest we let the General marry Venus?" Caracalla croaked in boyish confusion. "Brother?"

"No," he smirked, pale, boney fingers twinkling in the streaming, silver moonlight, "but perhaps it's high time I take a wife. Hmm? Yes?"

"Oh," Caracalla straightened upright to giggle, "that's an exciting idea! Well, if you take one, shouldn't I, as well? She's such a pretty little thing, you know, brother? Would you like to share her, too?"

Geta looked displeased at the offer, but fixed his face into a bright, almost sarcastic grin before Caracalla could see him, "What an idea, brother! Yes, perhaps we will share her - "

Acacius stepped forward to interrupt with a growl, "Absolutely fucking not." The Emperors turned to regard him stiffly; sunken eyes glaring at him.

"You wot?" Geta snapped, eyes almost bulging out of his skull.

"You'll both sooner die than touch her, let alone marry her."

"Acacius," you begged, chained hands reaching for his bicep to try to pull him back, "don't - don't make this worse, please!"

He remained facing the Emperors but collected your hands and arms into his. "I won't give her up, not for you, not for my wife, not for anyone; not even for Rome herself. So... I ask... As Rome's General, grant me one last honor and however you may choose to pass judgment, let me fight as her champion in any combat you might select."

Lucilla appeared purely offended by his defense of you, even demanding, "You'd die for her?"

Acacius shook his head, telling his wife, "Without hesitation. But I'd rather live for her, instead."

"Well, this is just so sweet, General," Geta mocked, "but also so very interesting."

"What're you thinking, brother?"

"You know, this little - " Geta twiddled his fingers at you and Acacius with an amused smirk, "lover's triangle might draw the people into the Games."

"So?" Caracalla groaned, rolling his eyes as he did his neck to roll his head around his shoulders. "Why do we caaaare about that?"

"Because we can charge higher rates to watch these Games with such high-stakes players," he tossed over his shoulder to his brother while stalking across the floor. "How's this?" Geta offered Acacius, "You fight tomorrow every gladiator under the Colosseum, and if you win, we will personally divorce you and marry you again ourselves!" He laughed loudly, "The Lady Venus gets to live happily ever after with her General! But you will be fighting for her literal life, Acacius, against every man in my arsenal, every Praetorian Guard I have to spare. Lose, and you both perish for your transgressions. Less the Lady survives, then how could I not marry her? Eh? After you fall, think making her my bride would be enough to soothe the woes of the commoners?"

Marcus scoffed, "All this...? Because I did my duty to the Empire and married the wrong woman? A mistake I wish to now rectify?"

You smacked his arm, "Do not call my sister a mistake."

Geta ignored you to seethe at Acacius, "The laws of our city are clear - the laws written by your wife's and lover's father - which apply to all citizens of our great Empire; the terms and sanctity of marriage are legally binding." Geta got in Marcus' face, snarling, "And you broke those laws, General, when you bedded - "

"Kill me if you want," Acacius interrupted with his lip snarled, "but do not lecture me. I know the laws. But like my star has said - I will never apologize for loving her, either. So let me fight tomorrow and prove, I will stop at nothing to have her."

"And what will you say to the talk of mutiny; usurping the throne?" Lucilla reminded, making Caracalla disstressed. The pair yelled in agony about deception and betrayal, Geta listening to their words hurled at a silent you and Acacius.

Eventually, Geta smirked and waved the pair off as if rapid dogs on chains, "Their plans matter naught - they won't make it out of the arena alive."

"I will gladly die fighting for her," Acacius smirked in return, "but should I fall, I'll take her with me - if only to ensure you can't touch her. I'll fight tomorrow for immunity; where should we survive, we are expunged of our crimes and given leave of our duties. We will start our life anew elsewhere, you'll never hear from us again. We disappear."

Geta laughed as Lucilla and Caracalla protested, claiming this was an unfair bargain; but the Emperor agreed, "That's honorable, but are you strong enough to fight them all?"

"You've no idea - "

"NO! NO! NO! I WANT THEIR HEADS!" Caracalla cried, sword back in hand and swinging wildly. "NO IMMUNITY! NO MERCY!" You took the opportunity to press closer into your man's chest for what could've been the last time; Geta forced to catch his brother and wrangle Caracalla onto one of their matching thrones.

Geta was panting by the end, dismissing the entire room angrily - bellowing that tomorrow would go on as planned. "No," you breathed, looking to Acacius and tightening your hold on him as the guards closed in, "no, no, please, I-I can't say goodbye yet, Acacius, please - "

He used the last of his freedom to caress your cheeks in both hands to bring you in for a final kiss; desperate yet passionate. "I'll find you again; wherever we go in this life or the next, I'll find you," he rushed, guards seizing his shoulders to try to pry the pair of you apart. "Strength and honor, my star."

"Strength and honor," you repeated, seeing the flicker of amusement on his face - seemingly relieved you were not giving up without a fight.

"I love you," he just managed to promise before grunting when a guard socked him in the gut; deflating the air from his lungs. He was restrained in his own shackles.

"I-I love you, I love you, Acacius, don't do anything rash!"

"Y/N!"

You were yanked apart, but you held each other's gaze until literally cut off by separate rooms.

You were to be confound to your villa for the night under Geta's guards; Acacius taken to the cells under the Colosseum; Lucilla dismissed; Caracalla soothed by his brother's loving hand.

Macrinus lingered in the shadows; maids and Senators left in the side room to eavesdrop. His own plan formed as the Emperors were left alone. As if playing a game of chess, Macrinus made his move and slunk into the room.

[ part one: read here ]

[ part three: read here ]

requesting rules and masterlist -> no Gladiator II masterlist

[dipperscavern]

pondering anon back again for the third time today 😔😔😔 i can’t stay away I CAN’T STOP PONDERING! MAKE IT STOP!!!!!

Thinking and pondering about the bedding ceremony with cregan. prior to the ceremony he pulls you aside, the nervousness and discomfort evident in your demeanour as the moment approaches. he implores you to reveal what it is that troubles you, what has brought you such discomfort on your wedding day, what troubles his darlings wife’s pretty head, and how what shall he do in order to bring you happiness on such a day where you are most paramount to him. he would not have your holy matrimony be built on such negative feelings. so when he finally clocks that it is the bedding ceremony… or moreso its audience that concerns you, all bets are off. he grabs your face and tilts it towards his own and makes his final vow for the night, that for as long as you are his wife, he shall do naught to displease you or indignify you. though some insolent voices amongst the “welcomed” guests (horny lords, medieval porn addicts) urged him to maintain the tradition that is not oft broken. for every great man there are tenfold lesser men.

to alleviate the bickering of bitchless blue balled lords, he agrees to let them spectate and witness the consummation. though ‘there has never lived a stark who forgot an oath’. so it was decided by cregan himself that they would indeed witness the consummation; but not through their eyes, through their ears. so the lords, less than eager to further question their wardens orders, resigned to sitting outside his bedchambers doors and sat there with each other in shameful silence as they hear the most lewd sounds echo from beneath the heavy oak door. they are just there, in the middle of the hallway, sat in chairs facing the door with their hands awkwardly clasped together in their laps and all they hear are your whines of pleasure, wet slapping sounds, the creaks of the wood bedframe, and cregans gutteral groans and occasional utterings of “mine” “my beautiful wife” and other inaudible ramblings of what could only be declarations of his devotion to keeping you nice and safe, keeping you his. letting you know that you are his as he is yours from that moment forward as your moans are heard from all seven kingdoms much to your dismay but a girl can’t help it! all they can do is picture how on earth it is that he is pleasuring you with such fervour. blue balled for life.

and they sit there until the first silence, when all sound ceases and it is evident through cregans very vocal and loud lovemaking that you had both reached your peaks (which left many lords wide eyed and stunned, as despite having witnessed so many consummations, none would be able to recall such a moment where a woman were to create such lustful sounds and certainly not able to recall a woman having an orgasm. “most unnatural” recalls one lord.). now very eager to remove themselves from such a humbling and quite embarrassing situation, some of the lords from lesser houses stood up to leave. though they were interrupted when the sounds of pleasure quickly resumed much to their astonishment. soon they were back to their former positions, staring at the door which at that point they could’ve sworn was the most dreadful door they had ever laid eyes on. just as soon, they came to understand that they would be there for some time (many hours on end as it turned out to be, well into the night and creeping towards the first light of dawn). only half made it through the entire bedding ceremony and many a lord fell asleep by the 3rd hour of ceaseless noise.

TLDR:::: cregan fucks hard, he fucks loud, and he fucks like he wants you pregnant as soon as possible (because he does :///////).

i apologize for such long asks of my incomprehensible ponderous thoughts, i’m not evening asking anything anymore i am simply begging for you to hear me out guys hes so fine #needthat 😔😔😔

just gonna… just gonna leave this here. i am so normal about this

[greenorangevioletgrass]

if this is a sin, a punishment (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. Moving on is a fickle thing, and why is it always worse the second time around? (part 1)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smoking, drinking, language, greek mythology references, some german slander lol, almost cheating?, art doesn't give a fuck lol, so much pining, hella angst (i swear the next part will be happy i swear!)

Notes: im back! work has taken up my brain capacity, and while im very grateful to write for a living now, i was unable to write for fun lol. but we're back, and i hope we'll have a good time reading. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Paris, June 2012.

As the new face of Dior, your appearance on the front row of their runway show is paramount. You’re not just there because you have to, you’re there because you love it. It’s equally important that you are well-versed in the thoughts behind next season’s trends of the fashion house. The fashion show is as much a celebration of craftsmanship as it is a coveted social event, and you’re oh so happy to be a part of it.

Or so you said in your Vogue cover story. 

In reality, you’re getting decked out and posing for pictures and scrutinizing the details of every look that comes out because it’s a job. Sitting next to some buff dude in a manbun that barely gives you enough space for yourself.

His broad shoulder bumps against yours, effectively snapping you out of your reverie. “Oh, sorry.”

You’re about to murmur a politely dismissive remark, but it all fades away when you see his face, profile-first. It’s been almost a full year since you last saw that silhouette. There’s no way of forgetting it, even underneath the dramatic lights of the runway, not even if you tried. 

“It’s you,” you breathe out, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed like an idiot in front of him.

He hears you before he sees you, really sees you, and his heart nearly stops. Of course! You’re right under his nose, and he didn’t see you. And how he yearned to see you since that night in London. How he wanted to lay it all out on the line, pour his heart out, but instead what comes out is…

“It’s me.”

The whole world starts again, pretty people milling back around as you blink. Warmth returns to your face, as you finally regain some sense. “Art!”

He murmurs your name as he hugs you, and he never wants to let go. He wants you to fucking come home with him because home doesn’t make sense until you’re here.

“Wow…” he flashes that signature crooked smile as he marvels at you—not stare, marvel. “What are the odds, huh?”

“I know!” You fight the flight of the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s impossible. “You grew your hair out, huh?”

“Yeah, just… trying something new.” His hand reaches up to the back of his neck sheepishly. 

The blond mop no longer frames his face like Apollo incarnate. You can actually see his face better now with his hair pulled back. The depth of his eyes, and the soft parenthesis of his smile. But at the same time, his facial features look… a little heavier now. A little older. More mysterious.

But of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with, “Well, you look great.”

Art lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He’s rocked this look for a while now, but he wants—no, needs— you to like it.

“I heard you won the French Open, by the way. Congratulations.” Your hand lands on his shoulder, much like the last time you saw him, but neither of you address it. Not outwardly, anyway.

(If his heart flutters, he hopes you won’t notice.)

“Ah well, it’s… yeah. Thanks!” He can’t help but light up. He wonders if Wimbledon has hooked you into tennis, or maybe, just maybe, you were keeping up with him…? “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been in the studio a lot. Recording, mixing, mastering the new album…  boring shit.”

Art shakes his head. He doesn’t believe anything you do is boring. “When’s that coming out?”

“November. And if all goes well, we’re gonna tour it next summer.”

“Holy shit.”

“You know what they say. The devil works hard…”

But this unstoppable force of nature in front of him works harder. It has been almost a year since you last saw him. Eleven months and some 20-odd days since you shared that cigarette on that balcony. Since you broke his heart. And he still looks at you like a goddamn miracle. It disarms the fuck out of you.

“Hey, listen—”

“There you are!” a tall, leggy blonde cuts him off mid-sentence with a kiss to Art’s cheek, rambling in German as she takes the empty seat on his other side.

Fuck. 

Art replies back to her in German, a little more hushed, but your head is already reeling. You don’t know what to make of this feeling in your gut—it squeezes you from the side, and twists you all the way to your throat. Like wringing the air out of you. 

Art smiles almost apologetically at you, his hand falling on the woman’s knee. “Yeah, this is… Tatiana, my girlfriend.”

You exchange pleasantries and shake hands. Maybe. It’s all a blur and you’re fighting tooth and nail to stay present in this conversation. 

You manage a smile, pushing through the ache of trying to sound courteous. Friendly. Normal. “I was just telling Art that I’m going on tour this summer. You guys should definitely come to a show.” Emphasis on ‘you guys’.

Art opens his mouth, but Tatiana goes ahead and answers for him. Her glossy lips pull up into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t even bother hiding it. “Hm, we’ll see. Art is very busy with his own tour, you see.”

“Of course. For sure.” You nod at Tatiana, getting the message. Your gaze barely grazes Art, even though you want nothing more than to reacquaint yourself with his features.

Art watches you turn away, fixing your gaze towards the runway, and his heart aches. The way his hand rests on Tatiana feels cold—he might as well be resting his hand on a railing. 

He keeps his gaze straight ahead at the models coming and going the entire show. And if he accidentally catches a glimpse of your profile, or your manicured hand when he looks down on his lap, he’ll take what he can get. God knows he doesn’t get to ask for anything for more. 

*****

The Dior afterparty is held in some French chalet, and after making the rounds with Tatiana, Art feels himself disengaging from the group conversation altogether. He mutters out an excuse to get a breather and wanders up the winding staircase. There are still people along the hallway, chatting and drinking by old-ass paintings and bust statues and tall vases. 

Art takes a gamble and opens a door, simply eager for some peace and quiet. The knob gives and the room is dark, save for a large bay window on the other side, the moon shining bright… and the girl sitting there.

“Hey, room’s taken!” You flick the ash off of your cigarette out the window, ready to fend for your occupation. But then you catch a glimpse of his face in the light, and you relax. “Oh. It’s you.”

Art feels his face flush. He really should back the fuck off and leave, but his feet only bring him closer and closer to you into the room. “Sorry, I was just trying to find someplace quiet. I didn’t realize…” he cuts himself off when he sees the cigarette between your fingers, and he chuckles.

“What? You know I smoke.”

“A woman of taste, huh?” His eyes flicker to the pack propped on the windowsill in amusement and he wonders if you smoked Marlboro Green because of him (You do.)

You grab the pack and slide a cigarette out for his easy access, but he doesn’t take it. Not right away. Shit, was this a bad idea? Does he not smoke anymore? “Come on, your secret’s safe with me.”

Art takes another look at the cigarette, then at the door. He raises his forefinger in wait, going over to shut the door closed and then rushing over to you with a mischievous smirk at the cigarette. He looks like a kid, giddily settling in for a forbidden vice. 

This time, you’re the one leaning over to light his cigarette. His hair falls over the other side of his face, and you watch him tuck the loose strand behind his ear. His eyelashes resting on his skin as he takes that delightful first drag. He can feel the nicotine hitting him straight to his head, and that’s how he wants to consume you.

You settle back in your seat against the wall, the smoking hand hanging out the window, and Art does the same. He sees your legs folded over to the side, almost touching him, and he has half the mind to pull them over his lap.

“It’s been a minute, huh, Art?” You take another drag, trying to calm your nerves down a little.

“Yeah, it really has.” He throws away his smile up at the moon, amused at how familiar this is. “Why are you hiding out here?”

”My shoes are killing me.” You absently massage your ankle with your free hand, throwing a sideways glance at your pair of So Kate’s on the floor. “And my social battery’s shot down.”

”That’s not very Dionysian of you.”

It makes you smile. He still remembers (though, in his defense, the whole encounter last year was pretty hard to forget). “I beg to differ.” You lift up a bottle of Moët that you stole downstairs. 

Art’s smile widens as he makes a grabby hand at the champagne. You happily hand it to him, fingers barely grazing against him. He takes a swig and thinks, let me just steal your kiss from the lip of the bottle. It tastes better than the five other glasses he had back at the party.

“So how have you been?”

An easy question for a loaded answer. Art shrugs. “Ah well, you know. Still training, still competing…”

“You still pushing that rock uphill, huh?” You can’t fight the knowing grin on your face.

Art groans with a haze of smoke in his wake, leaning back against the wall. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m all about that Sisyphean grind.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The words fly out of your mouth, and it makes him laugh. And you can’t help but laugh with him. “You just won the French Open. Isn’t that like a—what do you call it, a… Grand Slam right there?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, impressed at your improved tennis knowledge. Maybe Wimbledon did hook you in. “Yeah, well… I still need to win the US Open. It’s the only one that counts, right?” 

It’s absolutely ridiculous, Art knows that, but until then… There's no rest for the wicked like him. And you see right through him. It’s almost like looking in the mirror sometimes.

You roll your eyes, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. “What are you, pressed for time? Relax. You’ll get there.”

“Fair point.” Art nods, hiding his flush in another swig of champagne. “In that case, things are pretty good. Training is good, I’m winning matches, hoping to win more…” he pauses, tucking a loose strand of gold waves behind his ear, “Tatiana and I are doing… well.”

He sounds almost regretful when he says it. But then again, you’ve gotten pretty good at gaslighting yourself into thinking it’s all in your head.

“That’s good,” you settle with a neutrally encouraging response. “She seems nice.”

This time, Art gives you the look. And he always looks so smug when he does it too—the little head tilt, the crooked smirk he’s sporting like he’s excited to get the rare leg up from you. It’s adorable.

So you relent, taking the champagne and chasing it with a huff of smoke.

“I’m sorry about Tatiana this afternoon, by the way. Didn’t realize she would be so…” he grimaces as he struggles to find the right word. Domineering? Territorial? Just outright bitchy?

“Nah, it’s fine. I just chalked it up to her… German predisposition, that’s all,” you deadpan, tapping the ash of your cigarette out the window.

“You’re horrible.” Art grins. He loves it.

There’s that smile you’ve been missing. “Besides, I didn’t know you speak the language.”

“I can get by. My coach is German, my best friend speaks German… I’ve been picking up more from Tatiana, but it’s mostly just… angry.”

His words make you frown. That doesn’t sound like a very happy relationship, if your girlfriend keeps shouting angry shit at you in her native language. Art is perfectly aware that you’re catching on.

And again, it feels like the two of you are operating on two levels of communications. The first one is whatever is spouted out of your mouths, and the second through these wordless looks that say so much more. With every exchange, there’s always a choice; to stay on the surface, or dive in.

Maybe it’s the sparkling liquid courage, or the white haze you share in this little nook, but your next response is neither a safe bet nor a daring risk.

“Do you guys fuck in German? Because that can’t be sexy.”

He cracks up, caught completely off-guard by your question. Leave it to you to always keep him on his toes. “No! God no. Absolutely not. That would be terrible.”

“I can imagine! Like, what would you even say?” You sit up to put on your worst voice possible, but making it breathy and porny, “Ja… ja… ooh, scheisse… oh, ich komme!”

Art bursts out laughing. A true laugh that comes from the belly. The kind that makes his face open up. “What in the Hitler was that?!” He keels over in absolute stitches.

“I mean, I don’t know!” 

The two of you laugh longer than it’s funny, like you’re both relieved from this charade of civil acquaintanceship and finally free to be who you truly are.

Which, in this case, means immature goddamn giggly children. 

Art relishes in this warmth. He has missed this so much, that he nearly forgot he never had this with you in the first place. His face softens. “What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t talk dirty in German. It’s unpatriotic.”

“Fuck off.” He can’t fight the giggles that’s taking over him, not when you’re already laughing at your own joke. His mind nearly gets sidetracked with the thought of you in bed. Would you keep making these witty one-liners while talking dirty? Or would you be completely pliant if he kisses you all over ehile balls deep into you— focus up, Art! “I meant… How’s the boyfriend?”

You smile wryly. It was your fault to joke about Tatiana, and now you got what’s coming back at you. You take a swig at the champagne, trying to play it off casually. “Didn’t work out.”

Oh. It’s sad news, really. But why is his heart perking up, knowing there’s no more guy on the phone on her end this time? “That’s a shame. Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m real fresh out the slammer, so… not really. But…” you shrug easily. “I’ll live.”

Art’s face softens. Sometimes the moments of vulnerability seeps through the cracks of your dry humor, and he gets to see the real you. The storm that’s brewing between your ribs. Head against the windowpane, most of your lipstick either on your cigarette filter or champagne bottle. A picture perfect of secret melancholia. 

“You wanna know the weird thing is?” You inhale the cigarette, and exhale the fumes through your nose, eyes still fixed on the darkness outside, the bitterness is just pouring out. “I can always see how it ends.”

“What do you mean?”

The sensations run through your veins faster than your brain can muster up words. The butterflies of initial attraction back then—the elation, anticipation… and that funny feeling, that ache in the gut that paints the picture. The fight or the cold war that ends it all. And how are you supposed to come back from that, knowing what you know?

“I can always predict the end… right at the beginning.” You put out your cigarette and tosses it out, the faux nonchalance rising again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am Cassandra.”

Art’s heart aches at that. It doesn’t feel right to be good this time. He almost wants to take it back, renounce Cassandra and he’ll give up Sisyphus so the two of you can be something else. Something different.

Something together.

Art puts out his cigarette as he studies your face. The pensive frown, the look of surprise… he loves that about you and everything in between. “I missed you,” he quietly admits. 

And there it is. The air is knocked out of you, and it’s just churning in your chest cavity. “I know,” you whisper back.

He leans in and touches your arm tentatively, and you don’t pull away. You can’t even if you tried. He traces the outline of your hair, his long fingers finding home on the side of your neck. His thumb traces your cheek, so carefully that he fears you would disappear into thin air. He needs you. Needs to know that he’s not hallucinating this.

This moment. This feeling. 

You.

You take his wrist, but you’re not sure whether it’s to pull him away or keep him there. “But we shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he echoes, although the way he fully leans into you is a whole other story. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“We shouldn’t.” You want to say it’s just him, you want to say that you’re stronger. Better than that. But the truth is, you gravitate towards him as much as he does to you, and now you’re just sitting there, both inching closer to each other until your foreheads are pressed together. “We can’t.”

He can’t find it in himself to lie anymore. He can no longer bring himself to care about the girlfriend he had, or whatever reason you’re thinking of right now. Valid, he’s sure, but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. “I know we can’t. But we want to, don’t we?”

“I’m not a homewrecker, Art.”

Art lets out a quiet huff. His thumb is still tracing along your jawline as if trying to commit your features to memory. He shakes his head softly. “If anyone’s a homewrecker, it’s me. It’s definitely me.”

“Art…”

“Yes?” You can wreck his whole existence, and he would thank you wholeheartedly. What bliss to be ruined in the hands of you. 

To his surprise, you pull him into a hug—and to be honest, you’re kind of beside yourself too. It makes him pause, but as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he surrenders.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, with one hand caressing his long hair. You won’t give in, not to your desire. Not tonight. But for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it’s like to be in his arms. What it’s like to be his. 

Each breath he takes hurts because you steal every single one of it, but he swallows it down. His arms encircle your waist, and he braves through the pain because this is his only chance to pretend. Art burrows himself into your neck and makes a home there. You gladly let him in.

For the longest time, you just… stay there. 

“I never want to leave…” there’s such pain in his tone. Such sorrow. Defeat.

“Me neither…” It chokes you from the inside out. But he won’t be the one to end it, so you’ll have to take one for the team. “But we have to.” 

He knows that, but his heart shatters anyway. You kiss him on the forehead, lingering as if it would tell him what you wanted to say. All the what-ifs and could-have-beens. It’s all a tangled mess in your throat, impossible to get out.

You feel a droplet where your hand cups his face the same time Art feels a single tear slide from his forehead down his nose. It’s comforting and disconcerting at times. .

For a fleeting moment, Art nearly hopes this is the moment you change your mind. Say ‘fuck it’ and stay.

But you pull away, and all hope is lost. It leaves with your laughter that echoed in this room just moments ago. 

You take a deep breath, and with a gentle swipe of his tears and tenderly fixing his tousled hair, you do the right thing. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

Art barely manages a nod, staring at the intersection between the wall and the windowpane, as you gather your shoes and your purse and pads out towards the door.

Thunk. 

He turns and sees you leaning your head against the doorknob. Your shoulders are shaking in silent sobs, and he wants to chase after you so bad. But before he can move, you turn the doorknob and disappear out of sight. Leaving him worse off than he ever thought after holding you.