Years Have Passed, And You No Longer Write Letters To Santa, But Still The Peculiar, One Of A Kind Gifts

Watchergate: 4/19-4/22

Lmfao they just keep proving OPs point

new atheists deride religion as “primitive superstition” but when you hear their take on what religion is it’s clear they have the shallowest concept of it

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Like today I had planned to do a little yard work and work on some design plans for furniture that I’m flipping. But NOOOOO I couldn’t even do that so I weeded all the flower beds, around all the trees and bushes and all our gardens in our three acres bc otherwise I’d sit and work myself into a depressive spiral because I can’t create at all. WHYYYYYY

I cannot express the mind numbing bullshit that is having a complete creative block. I can’t write anything. I can’t draw anything. I can’t come up with new designs for soaps I want to make. I can’t get anything creative out and it’s pissing me off UHGGGGGG

Screaming crying throwing up this is the best fic I’ve read in a hot minute. Idc if you know the fandom or not if you’re looking for a good read? Babe look no further AHHH!!! This has consumed my mind. It’s incredible.

Ludos Imperiales 10

Summary: The boys are back in the Arena

Content Warnings: Reader's Still Drugged; Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of Blood, Gore and Death

Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind words and messages, your support truly means so much to me! You're all amazing and I appreciate every one of you. <3 Updates moving forward might still be a little sporatic, I have a lot going on right now, but I'll try to keep you updated as we go. Rest assured that I truly love this story and it'll keep progressing, maybe just a little slower.

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

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The Arena looms overhead, a Titan blocking out the blazing summer sun. Gold and crimson flags flap angrily in a rare summer breeze, beckoning everyone for miles to come see what wonders might lay inside today.

Starlight trots through the crowded streets with ease, despite my swaying form. I don’t remember getting in the saddle. I don’t remember waking up.

Everything feels foggy, muddled like soup in my skull. What the hell happened to me last night? 

My hands tremble as I hold the reins, a dull burning sensation under my skin making my muscles feel taut and tender. Every bump in the saddle makes my head pound; my whole body feels like a bruise. 

The Praetorian keep me surrounded as the crowd thickens, the crimson plumes atop their glittering gold helmets like streamers in the wind. None of them had spoken on the ride over--not that they usually did, but the silence feels deafening this time around, especially as they tighten around me, close enough to touch as beings crowd in around us.

“Rebel fucker!” Someone screams in my direction.

A rock hurtles through the air, bouncing hard off one of the Guard’s helmet, nearly knocking him from his horse. 

“Illyrian whore!”

I shift in the saddle, head foggy; my mates should be behind me, right, that’s why it’s so bad? We’re going to the Games today? But the space behind me is empty of the males that have become so dear to me and it takes me too damn long to process why. Last night seeps in like a fog, crawling forward inch at a time until I remember.

My head whips back towards the arena. Shit!

“Get me inside!” I snarl at the nearest guard as another rock whizzes past my head. Seems Anise was right about the rumors in the city, at the very least. At this point, I’ll take the insults and rocks being hurled at me instead of my mates, but this is a distraction I can’t afford right now.

Anise must have slipped me something more before sending me on my way this morning. The sluggishness feels like it might be mirthroot. A sharp pain shoots through my chest. She’d really drugged me and then passed me off to the Guard like it was normal. She’s supposed to be my family.

The Guard pushes through the crowd with some difficulty, still dodging rocks until they can get me to a side entrance. The front is clogged with protesters and champions alike, the path blocked by too many screaming people for it to be safe. One of the Guard bodily hauls me off Starlight and practically drags me in through a heavily guarded iron door, only pausing to make sure it’s locked behind me.

Glad to see I’m finally making an impression in the city.

“This way, Highness,” the Guard says gruffly, gesturing down the stone hall. We’re somewhere in the upper levels of the catacombs beneath the main viewing area, not close enough to the barracks to hear the gladiators, but not close enough to an exit to hear the crowd preparing either. If something happened down here, no one would hear me.

My legs sway uneasily beneath me and it is an effort to not lean my weight against the wall. The drugs aren’t weaning!

“I need to see my champions,” I insist, my voice as shaky as I feel.

“You’ll see them from your booth,” he counters, un-anchoring a torch from the wall to help us see the path better in the dark. 

“Before the fight.”

He’s a young Guard, newer, I haven’t seen him often enough to know his name. “New rules, I’m afraid. Too many tamperings with the gladiators. Everyone is to go directly to their booths by order of the Emperor.” He gestures with the torch for me to follow him. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but those are my orders.”

To hell with his fucking orders! Those are my mates! I need to know that they’re ready! That the armor I found works. 

He reaches out a hand like he might drag me, then drops it, thinking better of it. At least he’s a smart male. 

I should try and run. My head feels like it’s made of stone as I turn to get a better look around. Everything is the same opaque stone that it would be easy to get lost, and it’s not as if they’re putting up signs directing the way down here. If I could touch the bond, maybe I could follow it down into the barracks, but with it being so buried..

They’d come for me, if our places were switched. If it had been me dragged away in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t matter if they’d been drugged, it wouldn’t matter how many guards there were to stop them, they’d come for me.

“Highness, please don’t make this difficult,” the Guard sighs. 

“I need-” Gods my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton! Everything is moving so godsdamned slow! “-Need to see that they are properly prepared for this fight. I don’t trust that my competitor’s didn’t bribe their way down there already.”

“I can assure you they didn’t.”

I square my shoulders, wincing around the tenderness at the base of my neck. “And what should the word of a simple Guard mean to me?” 

The belligerent princess voice usually works, but this only makes him frown. “You would have me go against the Emperor’s orders?” He challenges.

Footsteps sound down the tunnels behind him, stopping the words in my throat as a shadow inches closer. But not my shadow. Not the one I really want to see. 

I know the footsteps. Know the heavier crunch of the right heel against the earth is from an old battle injury that never quite healed right. 

“Causing a fuss, are we?”

“Your Majesty!” The Guard bows swiftly, the plume of his helmet brushing the floor he’s so low.

I make sure I’m not leaning against the wall. 

Father’s slate gray eyes assess me, a wolfish grin splitting his usually stoic features. He’s in a better mood than he was at the Senate Meeting, that’s for sure. 

I clench my skirts in my hands, trying not to make my fists so obvious. Of course he’d fucking be here waiting for me! Why wouldn’t he ever give me a moment of peace?

“I was just telling my Guard that I need to check on my gladiators,” I say, voice low. Maybe the obvious submission in my tone will keep him from hearing the way it still shakes. Maybe if I pretend hard enough to cower like the good little daughter he wants, he’ll overlook whatever he thinks I was planning on doing down here.

His grin broadens. “And I’m sure Lucius explained the new rules to you?”

Lucius straightens, trying a little too hard to look proud. “Yes, Your Majesty, I did.”

Father gestures back the way he’d come. “Then let’s not waste any more time, shall we?”

I can’t run for it now.

If I felt anything other than hollow, I think I might have burst into tears, but even my emotions feel out of reach, locked behind an invisible wall. I’m aware of them distantly, like they’re not truly my own. 

I follow numbly, hands still clenched in my skirts. I wonder if he can tell that there’s something off about me; if he can even recognize my mannerisms enough to know I’m under the effects of something. 

“You look uneasy,” he says, like he can hear my thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if Brannagh and Dagdan’s powers come from his side of the family, if perhaps he too possesses the mind reading skill and has simply never chosen to announce it as my cousins have. It certainly would give reason for his distrust in people, or why I could never  get away with anything as a kid.

The tunnels take us closer and closer to the seating area of the Arena, the noise of the crowd starting to filter through the walls. Every step towards it feels like someone is dropping stones into the pit of my stomach. I’m not going to be able to see them. I wasn’t able to prepare them.

“I didn't sleep well,” I lie.

“Nervous?” He taunts.

I square my shoulders, trying to remember what my courtly mask looks like. Trying to fight off the mirthroot and regain control of my composure. My body doesn’t feel like my own; I have to find a way to make it mine again. “Excited.”

Disappointment flickers in his eyes like the twinkling of the torchlight. A small victory. Did he truly think I’d be so easily beaten?

“Kallias’s Orc has quite the reputation,” he counters, clasping his hands behind his back, a move that has always made him look superior. 

“As do Illyrians.” I remember then, the ribbons I’d purchased at the market yesterday. There was never an opportunity to find a way to hide them in my outfit somewhere; Anise had stolen that from me too. I can’t even quietly support them. 

“There are rumors,” he begins as we draw near to a familiar set of stairs. This is the way we’d come in last time, on the way to meet my mates that fateful day. “Of your… affections.”

“You do not believe in rumors.” I counter.

“I believe they all start somewhere,” he growls.

I make sure he goes up the stairs first, just to ensure I don’t end up taking another tumble down the worn steps. “I am to be married, am I not? Do you really think so little of me as to assume I would ruin that chance?”

“To spite my efforts, yes I do.” 

Lucius pauses at the door, waiting for a signal that it’s all right for him to open it. The Emperor comes to a halt next to him, dwarfing him. The poor male shrinks against the wall to try and give his precious ruler breathing room.

If I was in control of myself, I’d be biting back bile, but there is nothing inside me, perhaps that might actually save me in the end. “I would not debase myself with a couple of slaves just to spite you, Father. As I said before, I only mean to make up for my absence and help the Empire in whatever way I can.”

He huffs as he motions for Lucius to open the door, spilling sunlight into the tunnel. The burn doesn’t register as it should. I force myself to put a hand up over my eyes just so it looks like I feel the sting they all do. What the hell was in that serum?

We find ourselves along the winding pathway that leads to the various booths and bench seats that line the massive Pit. Overhead, hanging from the rafters of the awnings enchanted to keep out most of the heat, hang the flags of the various houses that own and sponsor gladiators, the brightly colored emblems snapping in the breeze.

“Speaking of your soon-to-be husband,” Father says and that devious glint has once again returned to his eyes. 

Shit! Me and my big mouth!

“I asked the main contenders to sit with us today. It looks good for your image.”

This day keeps getting worse and worse!

“Contenders? As in more than one?” 

We follow the path past the first two levels of seating, passing the bench seats where the middle classes can mingle, their sections filled to capacity, vendors with trays of food screaming at the top of their lungs to promote their wares; the second for the upper class, all well off but not favored, equally as crowded, though the shouting is for the betting tables instead of snacks. The third level is for the Elite, Father’s favored few, with their own booths, separated from each other by gauzy curtains and lounges covered in pillows. It is not the most ornate thing in the Empire, despite the gaudy display of gold embellishments and the servants waiting with palm fronds to fan any belligerent senator who beckons. The wine flows freely and servants flitter about to place their masters’ bets so they never have to leave their recliners. Food comes in silence, offered on golden platters, brought to the lips of beings who’ve never lifted a finger a day in their lives by hands that have no choice but to submit to this degradation. 

“I have three,” he says as we draw near to his booth. More of the Praetorian wait for us, standing at attention with spears as tall as they are in hand. “I’m curious to see how well they fit with you, so I invited them to watch with us.”

“You say that as if you would consider my opinion on the matter.”

He grins at that. “I suppose that’s true, but I want to know who will be capable of putting up with you. Most people aren’t as forgiving as me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, though I still cannot feel the sting. 

The Guards part the curtain blocking my view of the booth aside, and three males turn to greet us.

It’s going to be a very, very long day.

Honestly, at the rate my life has been going lately, the fact that the first male to bow and greet us is Eris doesn’t even surprise me. The red-headed scoundrel was bound to find a way to weasel his way in with my Father with or without the blackmail, but I’m sure my lack of enthusiasm when I broached the subject with my Father the other day helped influence his opinion greatly. 

“Eris,” Father says in greeting.

The Autumn male bows first, long hair nearly brushing the floor, before coming up to take my hand and kiss the back of my knuckles again. At least Azriel isn’t here to see him this time. I don’t think he’d survive another interaction without trying to put his hands around the male’s throat. 

“Highness,” Eris purrs. “It’s a pleasure, as always.”

“Likewise,” I have to at least pretend to be pleasant. I don’t really know what to expect from him now that I’m the fly trapped in his web. Usually I just watch the spider hunt from afar, but I like being caught even less than watching other people be caught. 

He steps aside, the picture of courtly manners, to let the next contender for my hand through. Tamlin looks about as thrilled to be here as I feel. So at least we’ll be miserable together. 

“Highness.” His bow is stiff, awkward, shoulders locked nearly to his chin. He is one of the youngest senators and it shows; wealth and power have not yet given him a complete air of superiority, unease still coats his movements. I give it a few more years before the prestige goes to his head; which has to be why Father has him as a top contender. Right now, Tamlin is moldable, a walking slab of clay for the Emperor’s skilled hands to shape into whatever type of puppet he sees fit. And vulnerable to boot, the trouble in his province with the Tythe means he’s in desperate need of both direction and approval, and if marrying me gives him that, well, he’ll swallow whatever unease he feels and do it for the sake of his position.

“Senator.” Honestly, I think out of the two, Eris might be the lesser of the two evils. If this draws out for long enough and I do have to go through with a wedding, Eris might be more inclined to give my leash some reach. Tamlin, by that time, will be eating out of Father’s hand and I’ll have lost any opportunity to get out.

Tamlin steps aside with the grace of a large animal in a room full of glass, broad shoulders bumping into a Guard’s chest as he tries to not slam face first into Eris. The red headed bastard doesn’t move either, just grins. 

The final contender is a surprise, with Father’s prejudices, the fact that he’d consider a Nephilim at all is shocking. Senator Romulus keeps his great, feathered wings tucked tight behind his back as he bows, salt and pepper curls sweeping over his tan forehead. He’s old enough to be my Father! It’s an effort not to turn and look at the Emperor to see if this is some kind of joke. He can’t really mean to offer me to Romulus?! The male’s last two wives died under “mysterious circumstances”.

“Highness, it’s an honor.”

I’m suddenly grateful I don’t have the capacity to feel anything, because I don’t think I would have been able to keep my voice neutral or the sheer horror off my face. Eris really is looking like my best option at this point!

“Senator,” it’s a miracle my voice is steady. “What a surprise! I thought you were back home dealing with matters of the court still.” Matters being a rebellion, which has to be the exact reason Father picked him. I’m certainly not dragging the figureheads of a separate rebellion into his province after he squashed one himself. 

“I’m quite adept at dealing with traitors,” he says, smoothing his large hands over his finely decorated toga. The deep purple fabric, edged in gold matches one of the banners that flies from the rafters and I wonder if there will be more than Illyrian rebels in the Pit today. 

“I hear you’ve been having trouble with your own?”

A very pointed question, but I’m less worried about my answer and more about what Eris might say about it, if the grin on his face is any indication of what’s about to happen. My eyes narrow on him with enough venom that he spins dramatically, calling for a drink. 

Bastard. The last thing I need today is to have to monitor every little thing that comes out his mouth.

I move around the three large males to find my seat, hoping the air of dismissiveness makes it clear how much of this conversation I want to have. “It’s been an adjustment, but it is coming along better than most people seem to believe.”

Eris is watching me with a wicked glint in his eyes over the rim of his goblet and Mother help me I’d take my shoe off and hurl it at his head if I didn’t have to explain myself for it. 

“Keeping them at your residence instead of here with the other gladiators was certainly a bold move, Highness,” Romulus continues, weaseling his way around Tamlin in a move that is incredibly graceful for someone with wings, to steal the seat beside me. 

He’s close enough that I can smell that leather and citrus scent of him. Only the drugs keep me from crinkling my nose in distaste, the scent acrid and harsh in my nostrils. 

“Keep your enemies close, and all that.” I reach for a goblet of wine myself; at this point if the Emperor decides to poison me, well at least I can get out of this damn booth. 

“A reckless decision,” he counters. “It lends ear to the Capital’s gossips and puts you in unnecessary danger. I’d never allow my wife to be in such a precarious position.”

The first real feeling I’ve felt all morning flickers through the fog, rage making my teeth clench. 

“You haven’t earned her hand yet, Romulus,” Eris sneers from his seat behind me. 

The Emperor watches the exchange with amusement, as if this is just another part of the day’s entertainment. 

“I wouldn’t either,” Tamlin mumbles, voice soft in comparison to the others. There’s a lot of fanfare and music coming from the level beneath us, I almost didn’t hear him speak over it. 

Romulus turns to face Eris, weathered face crinkled in a snarl. “I should think the work your Father had to do to keep your whore of a Mother in line would have taught you to keep your females on short leashes.”

Flames erupt in Eris’s eyes, sparks flying from his ringed fingers. 

“Mind yourself,” the Emperor chides, his Guards shifting behind him to reach for their weapons. 

Eris draws a deep breath, teeth pulled back in a sneer, “Watch your mouth, Nephilim.”

“How is Hellion these days?” Romulus presses.

I’m damning myself to a life of misery. Any retribution or show of discomfort on my part guarantees that Father will pick whoever makes me the most uncomfortable, just to get back at me for making a scene. But I can’t sit here and listen to this. 

Maybe a couple weeks ago I would have just kept my mouth shut and my hands in my lap, but I can’t be that girl anymore.

I move like I’m trying to set my goblet on the arm of my chair, but purposefully leave it on the edge so when I let it go it tips right into Romulus’s lap.

The Nephilim jumps out of his seat with a shout of surprise, wine dripping down his toned legs.

The look in Father’s eyes is enough to tell me he knows he’s won, but all I see is gratitude in Eris’s. 

“I’m such a clutz!” I feign embarrassment as a servant with a towel comes over to help. “I’m so sorry, Senator!”

Romulus snatches the towel with a huff. The color of his clothes will hide the worst of it, and the summer heat will dry the wet patch between his legs quickly, but he’ll be sticky for the rest of the day; a small victory. 

“It’s a miracle you haven’t already married her off, Your Majesty,” Romulus snarls at my Father, as if he hadn’t heard me. 

“I’m sure you could find a way to keep her in line, Senator,” Father returns. 

My heart is in my stomach, but at least that means the drugs are finally weaning. 

The servant cleans the rest of the spill off Romulus’s seat and I slide a couple coins out of the purse on my belt and into her hand for the trouble, even as I continue the show of apologizing like I really, truly regret my actions. 

Romulus continues to huff and mutter under his breath, but never directly addresses me for the slight, probably due to the company. This would be a much different circumstance if we were alone, of that I’m certain. 

When another round of drinks makes its way into our booth, it’s Father that snatches it from my hand before I can do anything else with it, a warning glare to behave thrown my way. I duck my head in feign embarrassment and try to make myself as small as possible in my seat, letting them strike up another conversation around me as males typically tend to do in my presence. I can pretend to be small and cower as I used to in the face of their misogyny, just as Mother always taught me. I find myself trying to imagine what she would think of me now, but my mind does not have to wander far. She would be just like Anise. 

A sharp spike of pain filters through the fog. Am I to have no family left at all?

The horns sound, telling the crowd to find their seats before the festivities begin. Amarantha arrives with the twins in tow as the second warning blares. Dagdan leans drunkenly on his sister, already grumbling about the betting pool. Brannagh’s slate colored eyes land on the males around me, brow furrowing when she finds their usual seats occupied by Eris and Tamlin. 

“Looks like you’ll have to find another booth,” Amarantha hisses at them. By the fire in her eyes, it looks like the twins have been doing what they do best and making a nuisance of themselves. Good, it keeps her mind off my mates for a little while. I haven’t forgotten how she’d looked at Rhys the last time she’d seen him.

“Uncle,” Brannagh starts to whine but Father merely motions a hand for the Guards to deal with it and my belligerent cousins are promptly escorted from the overly crowded booth. 

“Quite the family,” Tamlin huffs under his breath. 

“I’ll remember to lock up the wine for the wedding,” Eris says with a grin as he reclines in his seat, long legs stretched out before him, a hand behind his head. He’s reigned in the fire that lives beneath his skin, tamped it down and shoved it into a neat little box where it can be hidden. Perhaps we have always been more alike than I’d ever bothered to notice. I know Azriel will hate it, but perhaps he could be a useful ally one way or another. I will have to bring it to their attention when this is over.

If we all make it through the day. 

The Games Master takes his perch on the podium across the Pit from us, the platform jutting out just slightly to allow the whole arena to have a good view of the gaudily dressed Fae in a ridiculous wig. The mage in all black beside him casts an enhancing spell and the shrill voice of the Games Master echoes through every corner of the arena. “Welcome, welcome! To all our esteemed guests!”

Bookies make their way through the booths, collecting our bets before they close the booths for the show. Eris and Tamlin don’t place any. Romulus frowns at me before scribbling down a number, and I manage to sneakily see Kallias’s Orc written under his bet. 

I don’t bother to shy away from his withering stare as I write out my mates’ names in the margins, and scribble out a number that would make most people faint. I’ve never bothered to look at the exact amount of my inheritance, it’s never been an issue. I don’t even think the number will be a dent. But when they win, that money goes to Illyria, or what’s left of it. 

Amarantha makes sure to tell Father exactly how much she bet against my mates, hoping for a reaction. I remain facing the Pit floor, ignoring her. 

The Pit looks no different than last time, the floor muddy and uneven, littered with bones and debris and scattered, rusty weapons. The section of the wall the Giant had knocked over has been seamlessly restored, not a crack or chip in paint to be seen. It’s as if we never left; it’s a very strange sense of deja vu. 

I send up a few silent prayers to Fortuna and Victoria for my mates’ continued favor, and a third to the Mother in thanks that the Pit is not under water. At least they will have an advantage in that department. 

Worry worms its way into my chest and I focus on my breathing. There are too many beings here watching my every move for me to start chewing on my lip or fiddling with my skirts. I need to keep my mask in place. 

They will win. They will be fine. They will come back to me. One breath, then another. They will win. They will be fine. They will come back to me.

The Games Master announces the first match and Romulus sits a little straighter beside me as some of the remaining rebels from his province are dragged into the Pit in chains.

“Your prisons must be full if you have this many rebels to bring back with you, Senator,” Amarantha muses. 

There are twenty in total. Twelve fighting men, their bare chests tattooed with Nephil runes and battle blessings, all now slashed through with a blade in a public display of humiliation. Three women, their wings bent and broken, some of the feathers missing in chunks like someone had ripped them out by the fistful. Two elders, their backs bowed with age; city officials perhaps. But the last three…

I shut my eyes against the image. The three boys can’t be more than fourteen! Their cheeks still youthfully round and tear streaked. They stand in a semi-circle, away from the others, wings trembling behind them. The chains around their wrists are too big for them, slipping up nearly to their elbows. Their dark hair and bronze complexion remind me too much of mates for my liking, making their place here all the worse. 

“You brought children?” I snarl at the Senator.

“I brought rebels, Highness,” he says curtly.

“They are not even old enough to be out of school.”

“Age has no factor in rebellion, Daughter.” Father chastises. 

He can’t do this! He can’t!

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tamlin wince, but he says nothing. He does nothing in the face of such cruelty. 

Eris meets my gaze and shakes his head subtly in warning. This is not a battle we can have here.

Cowards!

I turn my attention back to Romulus, who smooths a hand over his drying toga like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world. “Take them out of there.”

Across from us the Games Master calls out the rebels' crimes and gets the crowd going as he hypes up their opponents. 

“Too late for that,” Romulus shrugs as the gates open. 

Three Chimera’s come bursting out the gates before they’re fully opened, causing the iron to catch on the lever system that opens them, keeping them locked half way out into the arena. 

If the boys could get back into the tunnels, would they be safe? Was that allowed?

The Nephilim rebels descend into chaos as half of them try to find weapons, and the other half try to run, all while they’re still chained by the wrists to each other. The lion head of the first beast tears through two of the fighting men before they can even turn to find a discarded weapon on the Pit floor. 

The crowd cheers wildly at the first sight of blood. 

The three boys stay together, bent down looking for something in the mud. One of them manages to find a big enough rock, and he frantically bashes it against the chain that connects him to the elder who has curled up into a ball on the floor, wings wrapped around himself like a cocoon. Another grabs a rusty sword from a discolored rib cage on the floor. The weapon is too big for him, his small hands shaking as he tries to get a grip on the worn hilt.

I can’t stop myself from clutching my skirts as I offer up every prayer to the Mother I can think of. 

Some of the rebels rally, using their chains to their advantage as they manage to loop it around one of the beast’s necks and drag it across the Pit floor. The creature makes a terrible howling sound as they slowly cut off its air supply. 

The third beast goes for the weakest link, charging at the second elder with its gaping maw open. 

The elder stays rooted to the spot, weathered head tilted upwards to the sky, hands outstretched. “May the Mother greet me with open arms. May her favor carry me to the Afterlife. May her wrath find those who have wronged me,” he prays.

The crowd boos him.

The female he’s chained to digs her heels into the mud, gripping their joint chain with both hands, trying to pull him out of the line of danger, but he won’t budge. 

Goddess forgive us!

I will hear that crunch of bones and the female’s screams until I draw my dying breath. 

One of the boys falls onto his knees, retching up the contents of his stomach, even as the other manages to finally break the chain that tethers them to the first elder with the rock. He and the one with the sword grab the third boy under the armpits and drag him behind the shelter of a large boulder as that third Chimera abandons its meal to come enjoy the other elder. This one doesn’t pray, and the shelter of his wings around his body only hides his view of his impending doom.

The rebels that managed to take down one of the beasts take a long time to untangle the now bloody chain from the thing’s neck, costing them precious seconds as another launches towards them. One of the females gets her hands on a ruined spear and hurls it with a scream, but the shot goes wide, barely clipping the beast’s ear. She goes first, pulling the next male with her into its jaws. 

I’m going to be sick! The fog is beginning to lift more and more and the title wave of my emotions is almost too much to manage at one time. I find a spot on the wall to fixate on, willing myself to breathe, to not let it overtake me, shoving each into their own quaint little box in the back of my mind. There will be time to let them out later, right now, I need to stay in control. 

A feat easier said than done when the beast finishes off the elder and sets its sights on the boys peeking over the boulder.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Please, they're just children! I don’t know what Goddess I’m praying to any more, what deity I might beg to spare them. I keep a death grip on my skirts. Would a jump from the booth into the Pit kill me? Could I land with enough time to save them? If my powers can be touched just a little, maybe it would be enough…

I lean forward, muscles tensing. They’re running out of time! I have to move and I have to move now--

From the darkness of the half open gate, movement catches my eye. My stomach plummets; not another beast! It moves too fast to track at first, nothing more than a dark blur that rolls out from under the bent iron and hurdles forward. Time slows, I’m suddenly aware of the spraying of dirt as something moves across the Pit floor. The shouts of the crowd feel muffled and far away.

The Chimera prowls closer as the boy with the sword steps out from behind the shelter of the rock, weapon outstretched in his trembling hands. He screams at the monster, voice cracking in an attempt to be brave.

The beast lowers itself into a crouch, serpentine tail switching across the floor, splattering mud in all directions. 

A scream starts to work its way up my throat, my body still too sluggish to follow my command to get out of the seat in time to do anything.

And then a blast of red energy knocks the beast off its path.

Time comes flying back in a rush, the cheering of the crowd turning to shock and outrage. 

“Get back into the tunnel!”

Cassian!

The Illyrian puts himself between the beast and the boys, wings fully outstretched shielding them from view. 

“What the fuck?!” Amarantha drops her goblet of wine, splattering crimson across the floor.

I can’t stop myself from putting a hand over my mouth, nearly choking back a sob. My selfless, stupid mate.

“Go!” Cassian bellows, every bit the General.

The boys can barely be made out from behind Cassian as they sprint for the open door as fast as their legs will carry them, sword forgotten in the mud.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to try and keep the tears at bay. They might kill him for this, he has to know that, and yet he’d come anyway. I don’t know how he’d gotten past the Guards that monitor the tunnels, but he’d done it. 

“Can he do that?” Tamlin asks. 

“No!” Romulus snarls. “Your Majesty, you must do something about him!”

Much to my surprise, my Father shrugs. “If he dies now instead of against the Orc, so be it. What’s one male going to do against two Chimeras?”

The beast gets back on its feet, shaking its massive head to try and right itself again. Cassian crouches low, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting like he just might try and wrestle with it. He’s not wearing the armor I bought him, his chest bare and… bruised? He didn’t have those bruises when he’d been at the house. But the bandage around his thigh is not blood stained, the stitches still hold. 

“You will let him get away with this?” Romulus asks incredulously. 

“We will see what happens,” Father shrugs. “I’m entertained for once.”

The beast stalks forward, ready to pounce and Cassian waits until it moves to launch into the air, using his wings for momentum to get himself up and over the thing’s head. With the tender spot of its back exposed, he has the right angle to hurl another crimson tinted blast of energy at it, effectively breaking its neck. The Chimera crumples to the floor with a howl and Cassian lands hard in the mud, wincing just a bit under the pressure it puts on his wounded leg, beside the spear the female had thrown earlier. He then lifts it high and drives it through the creature’s skull as it twitches and howls at his feet. 

Relief settles into my bones and I find myself leaning back in the seat with a sigh. For the first time all day I can feel that tiny little tether in my chest that links me to my mates and I run a mental hand down it affectionately. I hope he knows, whether he cares what I think or not, how incredible I think he is. How brave and good he is.

There’s still one beast left, and five of the Nephilim still chained together. The boys have made it into the safety of the tunnels, and none of the Guards have tried to shove them back out. I hope that’s a good sign. I will inquire as soon as this is over. There has to be something I can do for them too.

“Here!” There’s a length of chain still attached to a severed arm, and one of the male’s tosses it to Cassian. To his credit he doesn’t bat an eye as he catches the mutilated appendage but it certainly makes my stomach turn.

He works in tandem with the other rebels to use the chain to trip the charging beast and it flips end over end until it slams into the wall.

There aren’t enough words to describe the pride I feel watching him with them. They might have never interacted before, might never see each other again after this, but they have a common goal here. They are gladiators together; fighters with a common enemy. Race or creed doesn’t matter; they are of one mind and they move like they have always fought alongside each other. 

This is how it should be, in everything. 

Cassian still has the spear and when the creature tries to stand he hurls the rusted weapon right through its eye! 

Under different circumstances I would have stopped to admire the rippling of muscle, the gleam of sweat trailing down every ridge and dip in his bronze chest; every bit of him is sculpted for battle. But it’s a battle that’s not over and the realization quickly sours the moment.

“The money he has cost me,” Amarantha snarls at my Father, the only one here who would dare speak such things to his face.

Father runs a hand over his beard thoughtfully, “I’m sure the payout of the next fight will be reward enough.”

The Nephilim file out the broken gates, only eight total compared to the twenty that started. The remains of the others litter the Pit; no attempts to move them are made. Cassian doesn’t even try to walk out, he knows what comes next. He simply collects his spear and waits.

The relief at this first victory is short lived. 

“Well that certainly was entertaining, don’t you think?” The Games Maker calls.

Cassian tilts his head to look up at where the pompous male stands and raises his middle finger at him. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back a laugh. He is reckless and foolish and yet I think I admire him all the more for it. 

Eris snickers behind me. 

Romulus crosses his arms over his broad chest with a huff. 

“Now, who’s ready for the real show!”

The crowd goes wild, chanting for Kallias’s Orc. The senator’s booth is a few down from ours, far enough away that I can just barely make out where he stands on the balcony, waving for his fans. 

I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t so distracted watching the tunnels, waiting to see Azriel and Rhys. Seconds tick by like hours, my ears straining to hear footsteps from the tunnels--as if I could ever possibly hear something that far away under the din of the crowd, but hope tints everything in shades of possibility. The crowd continues to chant, louder and louder as time continues to tick by. 

I risk a glance at the Emperor, who reclines on his throne, sipping a goblet of wine, eyes bright and… excited. When was the last time my Father was excited about anything?

I look to Amarantha next, if he’s planning anything, she’ll know about it, and it will be much more plain on her face. Her pointed nails scrape absently through the hair of the slave reclined at her feet, other toying with the fragment of bone that hangs around her neck. A surefire sign she’s anticipating something, but aren’t we all?

Dread crawls its way up my insides; maybe I was too distracted about who their opponent should be to focus on what else they might encounter in the arena. It is an effort not to bite the inside of my cheek as two figures finally step out of the ruined gates into the Pit. 

I miss Azriel’s shadow around my ear. I hadn’t truly noticed how great a loss the silence of the bond had been until they were standing there, unable to really hear me. I can feel a glimmer of them there, in the darkness, but nothing like it was. 

When they step out into the light, Rhys’s eyes are on me in an instant, roaming every inch of me like he’s assessing why he can’t reach me. 

Every muscle in my body screams for me to get to him as I take in the bruising around his eyes, the dried blood along his lips. The marks are a twin to Cassian’s and Azriel’s, the dark purple marks smattered across their skin like freckles. None of them are wearing my armor. There’s not an arm guard or chest piece in sight, just their boots and pants, ripped and blood stained. 

My powers simmer deep beneath the surface, a flash of feeling breaking through and then suffocated. Someone beat them before they even got out here! It is an effort not to turn and glare at the Emperor. I don’t have to wonder hard about who that someone was. 

He’ll pay for this! For every last cut!

The crowds’ cheering turns to booing and cursing as the three step into the center of the Pit, collecting weapons as they go.

“Quite the crowd favorite,” Tamlin sneers. 

“You encountered them in your province, did you not?” The Emperor asks. 

“Once or twice,” Tamlin admits. “I made it clear they weren’t welcome.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from telling them to shut up as Kallias’s Orc lumbers out of his side of the Arena. The male is monstrous! As tall as Cassian and twice as broad, leathery skin a patchwork of scar tissue. The left side of his temple sags over an eye that’s too cloudy to be functioning; nose bent at an odd angle. Each breath is a rumbled wheeze as he stalks to the center of the Pit, a belt of wicked looking daggers already around his chest.

Azriel assesses him from head to toe, calculating, then inclines his head towards Cassian as they silently confer. They seem to have a language all their own, no words or even Rhys’s abilities necessary. I can practically see them forming the battle strategy with just the movement of their eyes. 

I’d breath a little easier about my choice if the ground beneath us didn’t start rumbling. 

I risk a glance at my Father as one of the Mage’s standing with the Grandmaster starts furiously waving his pale hands, blue sparks of magic flying from his skeletal fingers.

“I think you’ll like the entertainment, daughter.”

My stomach pitches violently as the Pit floor cracks and splinters like old wood. Cassian’s arms pinwheel, trying to keep his balance as the ground beneath his boots suddenly shoots into the air! It happens so fast he gets airborne, wings flapping hard to try and find his balance again.

The Orc tips his swollen head back and laughs as the ground to his right sinks like a crater, a billow of steam rising in its wake.

Shit! The blast of heat from the quickly disappearing earth is unmistakable, the air tinted with a hint of sulphur. That’s lava!

Rhys grabs onto a jagged piece of earth that shoots up into the air as the rest of the ground beneath him crumbles into a pool of fire. 

“Lava?” Eris asks incredulously. Of all the crazy things this Arena has seen, it’s never been something like this. The ground continues to shift and rise, new pieces of steaming rock rising from the depths as others sink beneath the boiling waves. 

This is a new low. 

“The last challenge was too easy, the Gamemaker had plenty of complaints for me.” The Emperor takes a sip of his wine with a shrug. “I let him get creative.”

I have to stop this! This has to be some kind of bad dream! The drugs in my veins are making me hallucinate. 

That has to be it, right?

Azriel perches precariously on a thin strip of rock, arms outstretched to keep his balance. If he tips backward by even a hair, he’s going right down into the lava! 

Our eyes meet for a brief second and everything around us momentarily falls away. The grin he sends me is cocky, roguish; he winks and then he dives, rusted knife in hand, right on the Orc’s head!

Cauldron fucking boil me!

The ground the Orc stands on is not big enough to maneuver in, he has enough time to duck his lumpy head and take the full brunt of the blade and Azriel’s weight right on his shoulder. Azriel uses the momentum of the fall to swing himself up and around to another patch of safe ground a foot away, leaving the blade embedded out of the Orc’s reach. 

“Fucking hell!” Romulus hisses beside me.

Azriel’s barely got his footing before Cassian makes a flying dive, spinning in dizzying circles like a bird of prey around the moving pieces of earth to blast the Orc with a wave of red tinted magic that makes blood spray. 

The crowd gasps as the Orc’s ear goes flying into the lava and the male falls to his knees gripping his head. 

This fight might actually be over faster than the last one!

The coordination the three of them have is breathtaking! The moment Cassian flies out of the way, Rhys is there, leaping from rock to rock until he can get close enough to blast the Orc off its perch with a wave of star tinted ether. They’re movements are flawless, picking up right where the other left off with no room in between. This is a rhythm they’ve found a thousand times.

The Orc tumbles, slamming into jagged pieces of rock, hands scrapping for purchase, managing to catch itself at the last possible second. It dangles not more than an inch above the bubbling stream of lava.

Beside the Gamesmaker, the Mage’s hands move furiously and the piece of rock rises higher and higher, until the Orc can find a new place to stand on.

Cheater!

“Wonderful! Look how agile Kallias’s competitor is!” The Gamesmaker declares with an exaggerated clap of his hands. 

If it had been Cassian, the rock would have sunk. I should have been prepared for fowl play, but the obvious sight of it has me biting the inside of my cheek. 

A servant comes to wipe the sweat off the Mage’s brow as he continues to select which pieces of the Arena to sink or float. What I would give to have Azriel’s shadows! To be able to use them to distract the Mage and keep the playing field level! Sometimes the pieces separate mid way through their ascent and float like boulders aimlessly across the air until they hit the Arena walls and crumble. 

This makes people cheer all the more, as if this is a new interactive mode of the fight for their entertainment. 

Rhys finds his footing across a spinning boulder, trying to get the right angle for another blow and right as he finds one, small grooves in the arena walls open with a clunk and flying discs come shooting out like arrows!

What now?!

The disks are fast, zipping across the Arena with a buzzing noise not unlike a bee. One hits Rhys right between the shoulder blades and the contact makes a wave of crackling energy pulse from the center, skittering across his bare skin, filling the Arena with the scent of burning flesh as he tumbles from his perch and lands hard on a piece of rock three feet beneath him.

“RHYS!” Cassian screams as he dives down after him, racing to get there in case the ground drops out from under him before he stops twitching.

“New toys of yours, Your Majesty?” Romulus inquires.

My mate lays there on his back, eyes glazed over, muscles spasming in waves that I can see from my damn seat.

I have to stop this!

“My Mages have been working for months to get them just right,” the Emperor says proudly. “It’s taken quite some time to get the spellwork and disc shape just right, but with proper training, I hope to send them out with our armies to handle larger… opposition.”

Romulus rubs his hands together gleefully. 

“This is our first official testing before we begin mass production.”

Goddess! He just found a huge fucking upper hand and he’s using my mates as test subjects to get the finer details right. I need to get them out of there now!

The Orc finally manages to get his bearings again, and with a shout, he jumps up, using his hands and feet to find purchase in any and every shifting rock and climbs his way towards where Rhys lays, the easiest prey out of the three. 

Azriel, weaponless now with his blade still in the Orc’s shoulder, chases after him anyway, leaping from spot to spot, but the faster he tries to climb, the more the ground shifts beneath him! Every time he starts to catch up, his perch suddenly shoots down into the lava, taking him right back to where he started each and every time. 

My stomach shoots itself into my throat. I need to think and think fast! Jumping down there isn’t going to do them any good, not when my powers still slumber, no matter how deep I try to dig. No amount of panic breaks through the fog to drag them back to the surface. Anise has thoroughly ruined any chance I had at using them to save my mates. 

If I make a scene, would it be enough? 

Cassian throws a blast of energy but it goes wide. His wings still give him the advantage, the ground won’t be his problem, but just when I think he might reach Rhys first, another one of those disks come hurtling across the Arena, slamming right into his chest!

The carefully crafted mask I’ve managed to hold onto by a mere thread cracks, a choked sound slipping out of me as I try to bite back a full scream. Romulus’s attention is now fully on me as Cassian plummets towards the lava.

“Highness?”

Azriel’s not going to get there fast enough, nor will the Gamemakers’ Mage give him the footing he needs to get there. His only shot is to throw out a blast of blue tinted magic at one of the spinning boulders. It spins like a top as it hurtles across the Arena, right into Cassian’s path. He’s falling too fast, his body hits the rock and bounces like a ball. It’s only by some miracle, some divine influence that the trajectory of the fall knocks him right into Rhys and the two of them don’t slide right off their perch!

The Emperor’s looking at me now, brows raised inquisitively. 

Welp, here goes nothing!

I fan myself with my hand. The stress has sweat clinging to my skin anyway, might as well use it to my advantage. “I don’t feel so well.”

I can practically hear Amarantha roll her eyes. “I told you she wouldn’t have the constitution for this.”

“Let’s get you some water,” Eris suggests.

I let myself go limp and slump in my seat so fast I accidentally fall right out of it as I pretend to faint. 

Romulus curses.

Father just sighs. “Useless fucking girl.”

Somebody with a palm frond runs over to fan me to try and cool me off as I keep my eyes shut and my breathing shallow. 

The seconds tick by and I hope and pray that my Father is so vindictive he’d actually pause the Games just to make me watch them later once I’ve recovered. It’s one of the few cards I can play. 

It’s Eris that lifts me off the floor and back to my seat, the cinnamon and ember scent of him clinging to my damp skin as he scoops me off the floor. 

“Should I fetch a healer?” Tamlin asks.

My Father huffs and I hear him shuffle around for a moment, then he tosses a cup of water directly in my face!

I let my body react on instinct, jerking upright with a splutter and cough worthy of a theater performance. 

Not a single person outside the booth has noticed. 

“Dramatic as always, daughter,” Father sighs as he goes back to his seat. 

A servant remains to fan me, the only face aside from Eris that looks genuinely concerned and not irritated. 

The match continues to play out before us completely and utterly unhindered by my antics and my heart sinks into my chest. 

Father calls for another glass of wine and takes a sip, watching as the Orc inches closer to my mates. “Wouldn’t want you to miss such an important moment, now would we?”

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My thoughts on Supernatural if it were on different networks/platforms.

ABC: No gore. No brutal murders on screen. So much melodrama. A lot more characters. Many love triangles. Maybe Destiel, but if it was leaning that way they would have had a complicated on and off thing. It would probably play second fiddle to an over complicated romance for Sam.

HBO: More gore and darker themes. More explicit content (lots of seggs). Also F-bombs. Mostly from Dean. Dean’s alcolism and Sam’s demon blood addiction would have been highlighted more and it would be way darker. Destiel would be a thing and they would probably get together pretty early on.

Amazon: So much more blood. Like all the blood and all the gore. Hard core seggs. Also SO SO SO many f-bombs and other taboo curses not allowed on network television. Again, most of them from Dean. Just watch The Boys. It would basically be that, but switch the supes for monsters.

NBC: imagine if supernatural had a baby with a procedural cop/hospital/fire-fighter show. It would basically be monster of the week all the time, with some more romance. Destiel is like a fifty-fifty chance (in the later seasons when the general viewers are less afraid of gay people), but if they were together they wouldn’t get as much attention as Sam’s romance, which would probably be Eileen and everyone would love them, but still.

FOX: It would have gotten canceled after season three.

Netflix: Possibly better VFX, depending how popular it is. Shorter seasons, so way less filler episodes. I feel like it would be way more dreary or way more action packed. They would certainly queer bait Destiel, but I feel like they would be more into it than the cw (Byler vibes yk). Seeing as it is a mostly male show with mostly white leads and no sapphics in the leading role - it would not have been canceled after one season. Also seeing as Netflix wasn’t making their own shows in 2005, the time-line would have been pushed WAY up.

CBS: Less gore. It would be a procedural, monster of the week thing. It would still have its long run time. Way more drama and more suspense. Probably less humor. The only humor would come from some flat jokes or like a beloved comic relief character. Probably lots of copoganda.

Disney channel: No gore at all. Also no death, except rarely mentioned things in the past. John would probably be written as a better father. Dean and Sam would be high schoolers. They wouldn’t kill the monsters, they just put them in monster jail or some shit. Think Wizards if Waverly place (there would probably be a cross over tbh). Sam would definitely be a monster fucker dater. Him and Madison would probably be endgame. Destiel would 100% be a thing, but that’s because they’d make Cas a girl. Cas would still be an Angel, with fluffy white wings and white clothing. Also, no demons, just vampires, ghosts, and goblins and shit like that.

Nickoldian: A) An incredibly overdramatic show on teennick. Think soap opera for teenagers. They would probably make Cas a girl and there would be a love triangle with Sam and Dean. They go to like a private school for monster hunters or something. Horrible ratings. Would barely make it to 2 seasons, but it would a have a very small, but devoted fan base. B) Deeply unserious. It would probably involve Sam and Dean befriending most of the supernatural creatures. It would involve minor comical injuries mixed with mild adult humor (like Icarly and Victorious). It would be Dan Sch*ender era, so, you know, f**t.

Cartoon Network: it would be a cartoon (duh). No blood or onscreen deaths. Either a spin off of Scooby-Doo or very reminiscent of it. Either way, it would have the vibes of Mystery Incorporated. They would definitely lean more into the “Sam is a nerd” thing. If it was made during recent years, they would incorporate more magic, and Dean and Cas would be together and sickeningly adorable.

Freeform: It would be during the ABC family era technically. They’re teenagers but they’d be played by people in their late 20s. So much melodrama. Way less gore. Lots of dead bodies, but no gory deaths. PLL but instead of stalkers it’s monsters. A lot less humor. Inappropriate relationships.

BBC: it would probably be pretty much the same, except they’re, you know, British.

Currently have like 7 wips like this that I cannot figure out to save my life 😭

And so, to protect man, and to save yourself the grief, you set up a shop selling blood treats. But you don’t use your own blood. No, that’s far too dangerous, and you’re far too afraid of having your blood drawn. So you turn to the cultures of the world that offer blood based treats and cuisines. Gathering many professionals, you create a unique, peculiar tea house, Bloody Immortali-tea, a tea house that serves almost exclusively blood based foods and the occasional blood infused tea. That way, those hoping to make good on a long-storied folly can safely feast on all the blood they could desire, and see that their foundation of hope were built on the sands of deceit, all while allowing you to keep your blood in your veins, and only in your veins.

You are an immortal, having to deal with the rather troublesome rumour that your blood grants immortal life. However, what those after your blood don’t know is that since you can’t die, you are an excellent host to several deadly bacteria and viruses-all existing peacefully in your blood.

Ohhhh the plans I have for you…

Y’all don’t make use of subtle/weird traits in fics enough.

Dudes—

Bakugou literally has hyperhidrosis. Make him switch shirts constantly, or constantly wiping his hands, or outright refusing to touch things because nitroglycerin is a volatile substance.

Midoriya is constantly chewing on his lips or thumb while in thought. Either his lips are SO chapped or he’s a skin picker and the skin around his finger tips are super rough.

Uraraka is a poor kid. She would absolutely have some kind of financial anxiety. Make her be extremely frugal OOOORRR BETTER YET make her absolutely awful with money.

Aizawa is a hypersomniac. Give the man a nightmare disorder or something. We can be more imaginative than just always kinda tired.

Kirishima has/had really bad quirk envy. Please I need to see this addressed more. Even at the best hero school, in the top class, he talks down on his quirk.

Todoroki really doesn’t think very much. He acts quickly but very thoughtlessly. Coming to incorrect conclusions and moving too fast without knowing what to do next.