#i............. simply feel like this cannot be true

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales II

Summary: Princess!Reader makes a deal with the Emperor to try and save her mates.

Content Warnings: Violence, Blood and Gore, Gladiator Tournament, Physical Abuse.

Part One

---------------------------------

I can’t breathe. The world spins in dizzying swirls around me. Mates.

Not one.

Not two.

Three!

All of them enemies of the Empire. Rebels scheduled for execution. Fate has always been a cruel bastard in all matters concerning me, but this feels like a personal attack on my existence. Someone in the Celestial Plain is laughing at this twisted attempt of a joke. How could I be so close to happiness and be forced to sit here and watch it be ripped from me one blood splatter at a time?

The Game Maker starts speaking again, his voice booming across the arena. I can’t make out any of the words; they’re all muddled together in my ears. This cannot be happening to me! It’s not fair! I’ve been the perfect daughter, even when it shattered me; I was a model student; I’ve upheld the law to the very letter; I make weekly sacrifices to the Mother; I built my own lararium to offer nightly prayers to the gods. I have been devought and loyal to both the gods and the Empire and this is the thanks I get?

I can’t tear my eyes away from where the three of them stand in the center of the Pit, waiting for the gates to open again. The violet eyed one, Rhysand-- gods even his name is pretty--won’t stop staring at my Father, challenging him to speak, to fight, to do something other than sit there like a coward while someone else kills for him. 

My Father must understand the challenge in that gaze, because he finally stands and goes to the edge of the booth, weathered hands splayed out against the worn stones bearing a flag with his crest embroidered upon it. “Citizens of the Empire!”

The crowd gives a raucous shout.

I simply scoot a little closer to Brannagh to be able to see around Father.

My movements do not break the silent battle happening with Rhysand, but it does draw the eye of Azriel, who’s bloodied head tilts to the side quizzically as he takes me in. I feel a blush creep its way up my cheeks, the booth suddenly too hot as I try to meet his gaze. That hazel gaze bears an intensity that keeps me in place, but I cannot help but feel like I’ve been stripped bare, as if he can see straight into my chest, where my heart still pounds an uneven beat. 

“Before you stands that which threatens our peace, our security, and most importantly the prosperity that our people hold so dear.”

The tall one, Cassian frowns at that, but Rhysand grins, as if he has won whatever silent battle he’s been having with my Father. He tips his head back and bellows, so that not a single soul here misses it, “There is no prosperity or peace in the Empire! There is only enslavement and death!”

The boos that had started coming from the crowd die, as if someone had collectively cut off their air supply. 

The muscles in my Father’s back tighten as he realizes what is happening.

“Outside these walls we all starve! Supplies to every corner of the Empire have dwindled to single bags of grain, meant only to feed the soldiers that terrorize us in every corner of the world. You do not hear from your families in the far reaches because your mail is censored. Your loved ones have been dragged from their beds and crucified without trial. The only prosperity in this Empire is for Hybern himself.”

I finally tear my gaze away from Azriel’s silent study to look at Amarantha for confirmation that it is true. 

“You should have slit his throat on the battlefield,” Dagdan snarls in her direction. 

The power seeping from my fingers tears a hole through my skirts, singing across my thighs. The errant strand only hidden by the way I keep the fabric bunched in my hands. I do not allow myself to wince against the sting and give myself away.

“Those were not my orders!” Amarantha snarls, her teeth flashing as she stands. Her slaves jump out of her way, cowering against each other for safety. “Your Highness, silence him before he incites a riot!”

No! No! No! This can’t be happening to me! Not again. It is like watching my Mother be taken away all over again. I had just stood there. Unable to cry or scream or fight. I could only watch. That was what she trained me to do. She had even nodded her approval to my stillness as they’d dragged her away, as if it had been right. None of it was right. None of this was right!

“Your Master will tell you pretty stories but we are all his slaves in the end. Illyria has had enough! We will not sit by and let our women and children starve! If that makes us rebels and traitors to the crown, so be it! But what would you do if it was your children in the streets? Your wives being carted off to service foreign elites? Your sons forced to kill and die for an Empire that can’t even feed you?” Rhysand screams.

My Father, silently, motions to one of his Praetorians, a crossbow already swinging from the clip at his back. 

The pounding of my heart in my ears will swallow me. Everything in the world slows and narrows into the motion of an arrow being fit into the crossbow.

Move! Move! Move! A dark ether of my power slithers up my wrists, catching Brannagh’s attention. She must make some snide remark about it, because I, distantly, see her lips move but no sound ever reaches my ears. I have to stop this. I have to do something!

I’m on my feet without conscious thought of what I’m doing. “Father, wait!” My hands reach for him, the sizzle of pain as my power skitters across his skin enough to make him turn and face me. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’m saying, the words spew as if they have a mind of their own.

“If you kill him now like this you will incite a riot!”

His face twists, a snarl slipping past his clenched teeth. I have royally pissed him off, disgraced him here in front of his Inner Circle, where they watch from nearby booths. The thought would usually send me cowering like a dog with its tail between its legs, but the fear I feel for him is nothing against the fear I feel for them. The thing that links our souls together burns and rattles beneath my rib cage, needing to defend, to fight.

“Call off your guard!” I hiss, reaching out a hand and letting that dark power that lives inside me show. I’ll strike him dead if he so much as moves a finger towards the trigger. “Let us be diplomatic about this.”

“Who are you,” Father snarls, taking an advancing step towards me. The booth shakes as his own dark power rises to meet mine. “To challenge me, child?!”

I hold my ground, even though my body trembles. It is only the dutiful teachings of my Mother that keep my chin up instead of bowing it to my chest as every muscle screams for me to do. “I am not challenging you, I am trying to think about our people.”

I clench my fists again, dimming my power in feigned submission. “Go about this a different way. Show the people that ruthlessness is not always the answer to our nation’s problems.”

“Are you suggesting I spare an enemy?” Father snarls.

I honestly don’t know what my plan is here. I’m just throwing things against the wall and hoping something, anything, sticks, otherwise my only option is to fling myself down into the Pit and hope the power thrumming in my veins is enough to save my mates.

“No,” if I am to keep all of our heads, I must be crafty. I must play the games my Father plays. My gaze flicks to where Amarantha’s slaves remain huddled together, a desperate thought forming in my head. My stomach turns at the mere idea, but if it can save them…?

“You mean to entertain the people and quell all possible chances of further rebellion, but we have seen time and time again that no execution or crucifixion has done that. We merely make martyr after martyr. We encourage others to take up the cause.”

“Let them fight,” I’m going to be sick! It feels like there’s a knot forming in my chest. “And if they survive, let them live, let them be gladiators.” It’s unthinkable, it puts them in danger time and time again. “The betting will be astronomical. The people will return time and time again in hopes of seeing them fall. That money can provide support to the edges of the Empire. Prove him wrong by sending extra aid to those outside our walls.”

To his credit, my Father does listen to me ramble. The Mother has smiled on me for once, if he had been in one of his fits today he would have had Amarantha kill me where I stood. It is a miracle the Praetorian didn’t take me out for wielding so close to him in the first place.

 “And you would have them what? Live in the slave quarters where they can incite a riot with all the dregs?” Amarantha hisses.

I’ll lose him if I let her forked tongue keep whispering in his ear. I am not blind, I know that she has more favor with him than I ever have. “No. Leaving them free to whisper with the other gladiators would be a mistake. Let someone claim responsibility for them.” 

The plan forms in my mind as I speak. I don’t like it. I’m not sure that it’ll even work, but I have to try and save them. I cannot let them die while I stand here uselessly watching as I did with my Mother. I will never be useless or silent again. “Give them to me.”

Brannagh chokes on her wine behind me.

Amarantha’s jaw actually drops in shock.

“I will take responsibility for them. They will be monitored by my guard. To our people it will look  like you mean to humiliate three great warriors, by shackling them to me. It is no secret what our people think of me.”

Dagdan’s snort is proof enough how weak I look in the eyes of our people. I am nothing but a sheltered, pampered princess to them. Up until today they didn’t even know that I’d inherited my Father’s powers. Good, let them all think me weak and useless and meek, they will never know the claws and fangs that hide beneath my skin until it is too late. Father included.

“She is not strong enough to keep them in check,” Amarantha hisses. “If you are to do it, give them to me.”

I barely reign in my powers, barely keep my teeth behind my lips. They are mine and I will be damned before I let her put her grubby little paws on them! 

“You may monitor them as often or as random as you wish, Father,” I speak over her instead, fighting to keep his attention. “I will move back into the Palace. I will sit in every meeting. I…” There is one sure thing that will guarantee his approval of this awful plan of mine. “I will marry whoever you choose for me.”

His dark brows raise in surprise. “And what would prompt this sudden loyalty to me, child?”

I raise my chin. “I have sat too long in the dark, and I could not see it until…” I have already bartered my soul, what will some more empty words mean in the end? “I could not see it until you removed that traitor and her poisoned tongue from the house. I see it now. I have failed our people and I mean to make it right.”

He flicks his gaze over his shoulder, down into the Pit. “The gorsian stone should keep Rhysand in line. And with enough guards, you might be able to keep them locked up. If they should survive the fight.”

“Sometimes death is a mercy,” I say, the words tasting like bile. 

He takes a step closer, so we’re nearly nose to nose. “And if you fail to keep them in line, it will be you that dies in this arena, do you understand?”

Better me than them. 

“You cannot be serious, Your Highness!” Amarantha squeaks, her voice shrill.

I nod, trying not to gloat in my victory over her. “I understand.”

Father grins, pleased with himself as he snags my hand and brings me back into view of the arena. “Please forgive the delay, the Princess and I were just discussing what our guests had to say about the state of our Empire.”

I feel three sets of eyes settle on me like a brand. The bond, still so new and raw in my chest, feels like chains rattling against my ribcage. I cannot tell if it is their anxiety or my own. 

“Let it be known that this Empire is a democracy, and that I, as your Emperor, care about the state of affairs that all of our people live in.”

 I try to meet the gaze of the senators and highly decorated soldiers sitting in the booths that line the upper ring of the arena. These will be the most upset by the news. The next ring of wealthy merchants and shopkeepers, tradesmen and fleet keeps will be the ones that take what they hear here back to the streets. Word will spread. The people will know what happened here, how the Emperor suddenly decided to care about them. It will be a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

I try to not look down at the Pit; try not to think about the life I’m condemning them to. 

“Our beloved Princess is very concerned about your well-being,” Father continues and there’s a collective cheer from the lower levels. “And so, we have decided not to execute these rebels today.”

The tone immediately shifts to one of confusion.

“They will compete as gladiators. Should they prove resourceful enough to survive, they will be branded as gladiators, and sponsored by our Princess.” Great, not only do they have to survive the damned arena, they have to survive any threats from other gladiators who will seek to take out well-sponsored competition. 

Even from our vantage point I hear Cassian curse in disbelief. 

“She has so graciously decided that all their winnings will be sent to any hurting corners of the Empire, should there be any to be found.”

The crowd takes a moment to process what he says. It even takes me a minute to comprehend the last part. He’d really send all the money that I’d earn as their sponsor to the poor? That’s a hefty bit of charity, even for him. There has to be some sort of catch?

“So, let these males fight! Let’s see how far they are willing to go for their people.”

There it is. They could choose to sit down and die in the arena, making themselves martyrs as Amarantha thinks they intended, and then, instead, they would look like they were not willing to make sacrifices for their people. If they fought, competed for whatever earnings were bet on them, then they would be heroes. A symbol of strength only the great Emperor Hybern could make. Father really is the best at these political games.

The crowd roars as trumpets blow three times.

Father motions me back to our seats.

“You don’t really think they can win, do you, cousin?” Dagdan questions.

The ground shakes as a giant strolls out of the tunnels. The creature is so large he has to bend over nearly double to fit. When he stands to his full height, his bald head is practically even with the edge of our booth. Terrible scars crisscross over his body like spiderwebs. Hybern went to war first with the land of Giants, the war had lasted decades. My Grandfather had taken many giants as slaves and forced them to kill each other in this arena. Some gladiators were able to earn their freedom, but the devastation that the Giants had wrought on our people made my Grandfather declare that no Giant could ever be made free. The poor creature had probably been chained here, fighting in the Pit long before I was even born.

“They survived Amarantha,” I retort.

The General bristles. “I thought you didn’t place bets on the first day?”

I reach for another glass of wine, trying to settle my nerves. “There’s a first time for everything.” Perhaps making an enemy out of her is unwise, but the bond chafes against my ribcage at the thought of her being anywhere near any of them. Better to keep her attention on me than on them. 

Another horn blows, prompting the giant to move and I hold my breath as he reaches a meaty hand down to grab one of the Illyrians. The males scatter, Cassian going into a roll between the Giant’s legs, using the blind spot to his advantage while Rhysand drags Azriel out of the way with an arm around his waist. He’s practically carrying Azriel now, who’s broken wings seem to be getting heavier by the minute. 

Cassian roars as he stretches out a hand, a wave of red tinted energy blasting from his palm. The arch or power slams into the Giant’s calf, blasting away a chunk of skin and muscle, splattering blood across the nearest wall. 

The Giant roars as he falls to one knee.

Cassian sprints behind him, out of reach of the hand that comes sweeping down at him. This time, he’s the distraction as Rhysand uses the hand not holding Azriel upright to unleash a blast of dark, obsidian power. 

My own magic flares in response. It is a darkness so like my own, the sight of it a siren call that has me leaning forward in my seat. If he can unleash a blast powerful enough to leave a gash across the Giant’s bare chest with those gorsian chains around his neck, how much damage can he do without it?

The Giant’s cries of pain echo throughout the amphitheater; using the distraction, Cassian continues to blast away at it’s leg while Rhys throws blow after blow at it’s chest. They fair far better than I anticipated they would, but I know better than to let hope get the better of me. It is far too easily ripped away in this arena. 

As if on cue, the gates open again and a pack of wargs come sprinting into the arena.

The crowd erupts in cheers, and my heart once again thunders in my chest. What have I done? It takes all my training to not start chewing on my thumbnail. How am I supposed to save them from this?

Amarantha claps gleefully as one of the wargs breaks away from the pack to lunge straight for Azriel’s throat. 

No! No! No- Azriel raises a scarred hand to blast the beast backward with a wave of blue tinted magic. There isn’t enough time to sigh in relief, not as the rest of the pack splits in two, one circling Rhysand and Azriel, the other taking a shot at the Giant. Those rows of razor sharp and needle thin teeth sink into the Giant’s already bleeding leg, momentarily distracting it as it swings wildly around the arena, arms pinwheeling as it fights to balance on one leg while the other flails in an attempt to shake the beasts off. 

“They’re not supposed to attack the Giant!” Brannagh whines. 

I gulp down my wine, hoping it will push the wave of nausea that rolls through me down. I’ve signed their death warrants. I’ve gotten my mates killed. 

Cassian, in the chaos, has managed to find half of a spear, the blade rusted from the recent rain, but he hurls it with acute precision nonetheless, piercing through the oddly shaped skull of a warg snapping at Azriel’s wings. 

Rhysand and Azriel have moved to stand back to back, their varying shades of magic weaving between their fingers as they prepare to strike the snapping beasts that circle them. 

The Giant topples over as the three wargs held tight to it’s wounded calf find a nerve. There’s not enough room in the arena to let him fall without incident. The poor creature topples right into the wall opposite us, knocking away a section of stone and nearly dragging a Senator and his mistress into the Pit.

The Praetorians launch from our booth to aid the screaming couple.

It might have been funny under different circumstances, but I cannot peel my eyes away from my mates as the blast beast after beast away with their magic. Even wounded, even stunted by the chains, they are the most powerful wielders I’ve ever seen. Even if Cassian’s and Azriel’s magic sprays with less precision than usual without the siphons Illyrians are known for, every blow is calculated. They do not miss. Warg after warg falls, their leathery skin blistered or blasted away from multiple blows. Even wounded, the males remain in perfect sync, filling in any gaps the other might lack. They manage to kill five of the eight beasts, the other three still mercilessly tearing through the Giant’s leg, even as the guards try to push him off the wall.

Brannagh laughs at the tears that fall from the Giant’s eyes as he swats uselessly at the beasts. No matter how many times his massive fists slams against them, they will not let go. His blood runs like a river through the center of the Pit.

Many of the crowd laugh too.

These are my people? This is what I am to inherit? This misery and suffering and apathy towards the suffering of others? We are monsters!

As soon as I can get my mates out of this godsforsaken Pit, I will find a way to get them far, far away from this place, where it can never hurt them again. And then, when I know they are safe, I will make sure that this place burns.

Rhysand seems to take pity on his opponent, as he steps away from Azriel’s back to blast one of the remaining wargs off the Giant’s calf. From the distance across the arena, the blow is not a killing one, and aggravated, the warg turns its attack to Rhysand.

My breath hitches in my throat as he lowers himself into a crouch, hands splaying in the damp earth. There is a sword a couple feet from him, if he runs, he might make it there first. But he doesn’t run, he waits until the beast gets close before hurling dust in it’s eyes. While it’s distracted, a rope of star studded magic unfurls from his palm and wraps around the beast’s throat. Instead of killing it, he hurls it back at the others, knocking all of them free from the Giant’s leg.

The crowd boos.

My heart clenches in my chest. He could have let them end this fight now, could have let those beasts tear clean through the Giant’s leg and won by default, but he didn’t. He chose to fight fair, to do the dirty work himself.

The three beasts turn on him as he sprints for the sword. There’s just enough time for him to get a firm grip on the hilt before the first lunges, its claws tearing through his forearm as he fights to get the angle he needs to win. Blood splatters, those handsome features twisting in pain as he adjusts his stance. Cassian runs towards him, but he won’t make it in time. 

There’s no more wine to distract me, I’ve fully bitten through my lip now. Please if there are any gods left to hear me, don’t let him die here!

Rhysand moves with the grace of a well-practiced swordsman, each step flowing into the next like a dance as he cleaves through one beast's head, and severs the paw of a second. In mere seconds, he manages to dispatch the rest, leaving the mangled bodies at his feet. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and under different circumstances I might have been too distracted by his beauty to notice the Giant move. 

Rhysand might have been the better male, but that didn’t save him from the Giant’s hand as it swatted him across the battlefield like he was a pesky fly. I bite deeper through my lip to keep back a scream as his body bounces across the muddy floor until he meets a wall. 

Cassian and Azriel roar in outrage and the tether that sits in my chest rattles so hard against my rib cage I think it might rip right out of me. This can’t be happening!

The Giant rises on shaking legs, then falls back onto its knees, using its meaty fists to bash against the arena floor, in what looks like the world’s deadliest game of Whack-A-Mole. Red and blue magic flashes across the arena as the Illyrian’s throw blow after blow, leaving bleeding gashes in the Giant’s fist. Across the arena, Rhysand rolls onto his back, forehead covered in blood as he struggles to get upright. He’s alive at least. Barely. But alive.

I vow to the Mother and any other god that can hear me that if they survive the fight I will find somewhere safe for them. I will do whatever it takes to keep them out of this arena for good. 

“They are persistent, I’ll give them that,” Dagdan muses. 

I feel rather than see my Father’s frown as he takes in all the chaos with the experience of a seasoned strategist. I know that he is calculating their odds, mapping out every possible outcome. I wonder if Cassian launching into the air, wings beating so hard to get him airborne that I feel a gust of hot air on my face, was part of his calculations? If he could have foreseen the blast of energy Cassian’s hurls into the Giant’s eyes, blinding him?

The Giant abandons his attempts at smashing them to grab at his eyes, large hands clawing at his sizzling flesh. The whole arena can smell burnt skin, but Cassian doesn’t let up, he aims blow after blow at the Giant’s head, until he finally falls over backwards, neck slamming hard against the already broken stone.

I look away, stomach in my throat as the resounding crack fills the amphitheater. 

The crowd roars in disbelief as Cassian tucks in his wings and descends back into the Pit. He hits the ground running, footfalls heavy in the mud as he rushes to Rhysand’s side. Azriel is not far behind him. With their combined strength, they manage to get Rhysand back on his feet. 

I pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. They’re alive!

Father stands and makes his way to the edge of the booth again. “For whatever reason, the Goddess has smiled upon you three today! Today, you will live. Let us hope you remain in Her favor.” He doesn’t sound super thrilled by the prospect as he turns his back to the crowd, slate gray eyes pinched as they fall to me.

“Walk with me.”

I stand, trying to keep my singed skirts in my hands so he cannot see the damage I’d done. Or the blood from my palms. If he suspects I was at all nervous for the outcome, I could ruin everything. I must keep my composure.

And not run down the stairs to the gates and throw myself at my mates like every fiber of my being screams at me to do. 

The guards follow as we exit the booth. In moments there will be chaos as beings scatter to find the Games Keepers and collect their winnings, or pay their debts, but for a moment, the crowd lingers in their seats, watching as the Illyrians are led out of the Pit.

“You embarrassed us today,” he hisses once we’re out of Amarantha’s earshot. The anger in his tone is enough to make me try and take a step away from him, but he throws an arm around my shoulders to keep me against his side. To any onlookers, we are just father and daughter having a chat. His voice is low enough that no one will hear the threats he hisses in my ear.

“You hide away in the River House for months, mourning a traitor who was plotting to overthrow me and now you make a spectacle of yourself! I should have you cast out into the streets!”

My only way out is to placate him. “I am sorry, Father.”

“Sorry,” he snarls, fingers digging tight enough into my shoulder to bruise. “Your apologies mean nothing! I swear, if you do not do everything you promised to do today, I will throw you into this arena! And I will use your own advice to keep you alive long enough to ensure you have a couple matches to prolong your suffering.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I meant what I said, Father.” Mostly. Perhaps I can secure passage for all of us out of here and we never have to think about the Empire again. The more I think about it, the more pleased I am with the idea. Yes, I just need to make it look like I am taking them as slaves, and once we’re out from the watchful eye of my Father, we can all run far, far away. Maybe I am more clever than I thought.

He leads us down the steps to a door that will eventually lead us to the gladiator cages and a guard swings open the heavy iron for us. Once we’re out from under the eye of the people, the rough stone walls closing in tight--a means to ensure none of the larger gladiators can make a run for the door and escape--he releases his grip on me. 

Torches line the walls casting his face in near shadow as he pauses at the bottom of a second, smaller, set of stairs. I shiver despite myself as the door slams shut, sealing me in. I suppose at this point I should be prepared, but I’m not, and when his open hand slams across my cheek I lose my balance and slip down the last two steps of the staircase. 

“Don’t ever question me again!” He hisses.

The guards pretend to not notice, as they always have.

I grit my teeth against the ringing in my ears, against the hot tears that threaten to escape me, focusing instead on carefully getting back on my feet. Stay down too long he’ll kick in my ribs like he used to when I was a child. Get up too fast and he’ll assume he hadn’t hit me hard enough. I put over emphasis into finding a handhold in the wall, making sure I keep my stinging cheek against my shoulder. The tremor in my hands is not feigned fear, I’ve been terrified of him my entire life, but I do exaggerate it just as my Mother taught me. 

“Spoiled brat!” He grumbles as he stalks forward into the tunnel. “I coddled you too much.”

I glare at his back once I’m sure he’s no longer looking at me. I hate him! I’ve hated him my entire fucking life. He’s ruined everything. Taken everything from me. Everything I’d ever loved he’d wiped off the face of the earth, all because I had the misfortune of being a female. All because he couldn’t have a precious son.

I grit my teeth so hard they hurt as I brush my skirts off and follow after him. I will be glad when I am finally out of his sight. Far, far away from this stupid Empire. At least I have mates; someone out in this Mother forsaken world who will care about me; who won’t hate me just for existing. At least there is one thing he can’t ruin for me.

I am too distracted with my thoughts to note the paths we take. I distantly hear the sound of injured men groaning, catch a whiff of filth and animal waste, but it’s all a blur. This will all be a bad dream soon. Soon I will have my mates and I will never have to deal with him again. I can be happy. I will be happy.

By the time he finally stops walking, I’ve schooled my features into a perfect mask; have brushed a few loose strands of hair in front of my face to hide the red mark across my cheek. He will suspect nothing until it is too late. Then he can have his precious Empire. It will be the only thing left he can control.

A guard opens what looks like a cage door, the iron old and rusted, and the guards that have been trailing behind us step in first.

“Against the wall!” They bark. 

There’s no light in the cell, just the flickering of the torch on the wall behind us. I don’t know what to expect.

“Fuck you, Imperial Pig!” Cassian.

I bite my tongue to keep back the grin that threatens to escape me, my mask slipping. He’s not so hurt that he can’t put up a fight. The thought warms something in my chest. Headstrong, stubborn, if the sound of scuffling coming from inside the dark cell is anything to go by, and sarcastic--everything I need to counter my reserved nature. I need that energy. I need him. The surety of that makes me square my shoulders. 

“Easy, Cass.” Rhysand. His voice is smooth as silk, even if the words are a little slurred. “We don’t want trouble.”

“The fuck we don’t!” Cassian shouts. “I’m no one’s fucking pet!”

The guard at the door, once sure the others inside are secure, steps away to grab the torch off its perch in the hallway, and sets it into an old rung on the inside of the cell, bathing the room in its soft glow. 

Father steps in first.

For a moment, I hesitate, heart in my throat. I need them. I need that strength I saw in the arena. Need that fire Cassian spews. The surety that Rhysand carries himself with. I need them. And if I show any sign of that, they're dead.

The guard, now back at the door, eyes me quizzically.

I draw a shaky breath and school my features back into a perfectly bored mask. 

I can do this.

I will do this.

I won’t let Hybern take anything else from me, no matter the games I have to play. 

I tell it to myself over and over as I step into the cell.

----------------

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd,

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! =)

[eniokai]

I tried to explain to myself some of Marius's actions towards Armand, and I ended up with a lengthy post in which I want to express my perspective on the dynamics of Marius's relationships with Lestat and Armand. I want to emphasize that this is not how I personally view these characters, but rather how I see Marius's perspective on them.

It will be no secret that in Lestat's and Armand's lives, Marius occupies the role of a mentor, teacher, wise advisor, and serves as a father figure for both of them.

If we consider their relationships as familial, in this hierarchy, not by age but by position, Lestat would be the older child, upon whom Marius places his main expectations, ambitions, and hopes. Lestat is a reflection of Marius himself, the heir to his values and ideas. They are soulmates, sharing views on life and understanding each other well. This forms the foundation of their love and mutual respect. Respect is particularly important here because, despite the fact that Lestat creates just as many problems and chaos as Armand (honestly, even more) Marius sees him as an independent individual. He considers him an equal.

In contrast to Lestat, Armand is complicated and incomprehensible to Marius. He occupies the position of the stereotypical younger child, someone Marius expects nothing from and places no hopes on. He loves Armand simply for existing, even if that existence is not right beside him. However, Armand pays for the lack of burdensome expectations with the fact that he is not treated as an adult independent person. Marius does not believe that Armand is mature enough to live without the interventions of a true adult (Marius) in his life.

Does Marius consider Armand his equal? My honest answer to that is no. You have every right to disagree with this. Marius is convinced that he not only has the full right to make important decisions regarding Armand's life and to scold him like a child, but he believes that Armand needs this.

So how do Armand and Lestat differ in their positions? In absolutely every way. Lestat was initially a free person, he already had a formed personality and he already had a true maker. He found Marius on his own initiative and chose Marius as his authority.

Armand in turn belonged to Marius in the most direct and barbaric sense. Even if Marius did not consider him literal property, that was the factual status of Armand in palazzo. The difference in position and status is obvious.

Furthermore, what is most important is that Armand hardly remembered his life before the brothel. Armand was a blank slate. His new identity was built on mentorship and guidance from his master. Marius replaced parents, teachers, and other possible authority figures. This is more significant than Marius's involvement in the life of any other boy from the palazzo because they had a past, possibly families, and they knew their identities. In Amadeo's life, Marius is the foundation of his new personality.

And perhaps most obviously, but no less significantly, Armand is Marius's fledgling, his dark child.

I’ve seen a lot of angry discussions about why Marius believes he has the right to make decisions for Armand. I agree with this perspective, I think he genuinely believes he has rights over Armand due to all the aforementioned circumstances (not because of the fact that he bought him, but because of the immense influence he has had on his personality and his status as Armand's maker). I see an analogy here with parents who struggle to accept their children’s adulthood, they want to do what’s best, but it often backfires.

But at the same time, Marius is willing to take responsibility (finally 🤐). He takes Daniel under his wing not because he feels pity for some half-mad newly turned vampire, but because it’s a failure his own fledgling. Rights and responsibilities cannot exist without each other. Perhaps in this way, he is trying to atone for his actions (or lack thereof) towards Armand, maybe to redeem himself as master and maker. But I doubt Marius will ever be able to admit this, even to himself.

Armand finds it difficult to break the established opinion about him. Throughout the series of books, there has been a constant tension between them, which sometimes escalated into open conflict.

Armand would lose his temper when referred to as a child, he fought for the right to be considered an adult, as he had indeed gone through his own journey and made significant progress. Unfortunately for him, Marius is not a psychology guru. The differences in their views, life rules, and temperaments are perceived by Marius as misconceptions and immaturity, while Armand's adherence to religious beliefs is seen as a sign of suggestibility and an inability to make his own decisions. To be honest, I think there is some rational basis in this. The occasional emotional outbursts and impulsive actions, but most of all Armand's walked out into the sun, only reinforce Marius's opinion that Armand cannot handle his life on his own.

Let's wish Armand success in being perceived as an adult! 🌠

Origin: Cryptid Club

[silver-soul00]

This is an extremely sensitive post to make because I am going to try yes to dismantle this narrative that someone have about Tyler, but still trying to be somewhat amenable to confrontation.

I had already made posts inherent in the problematic nature of the ship with Tyler and how unsuitable he is as a partner (or in general just impossible for him to have feelings for Wednesday with the information we have now).

“Tyler genuinely smiled after talking to Wednesday.”

A smile is not necessarily a sign of genuineness. Social psychology teaches us that a smile can be used as a tool to manipulate or reassure.

In the context of the series, Tyler proves adept at earning Wednesday's trust through seemingly sincere behavior.

For example, the way he engages her on their “first date” is carefully constructed to leverage her passions and preferences, a classic example of “emotional mirroring,” a manipulative technique that creates an apparent connection.

Obviously, the date was carried out to cheat and remove Wednesday from her room so that Laurel could enter Wednesday's room and carry out the plan (with Thing stabbed I might add)

Moreover, Tyler's smile may reflect personal satisfaction with her success in manipulating her, rather than genuine feelings.

This type of behavior is common in manipulators, who use nonverbal signals to build a false perception of trust and affection.

“He said he liked killing because he was possessed by the Hyde.”

Tyler's statement during interrogation, “I enjoyed it,” cannot be ignored as simply an expression of his Hyde. Although it is true that the Hyde is a monstrous aspect of his personality, the relationship between the “monster” and the human in Tyler is complex.

Studies of individuals with dissociative behavior show that the sense of pleasure felt in negative actions, even under pressure, is often indicative of an at least partially consensual will.

Moreover, the way Tyler expresses himself suggests not distress or remorse, but complacency. This is a sign of moral disengagement, a psychological mechanism in which a person justifies his actions through emotional detachment.

“Wednesday was furious because of betrayal, not because of the murders.”

Reducing Wednesday's anger to personal betrayal alone ignores the depth of her character. Wednesday is motivated by a strong sense of justice, as seen in her constant efforts to uncover the truth and protect others, particularly the marginalized.

Her reaction is a combination of anger at personal betrayal and outrage at the murders committed by Tyler.

The episode in which Eugene is almost killed is emblematic: Wednesday is devastated by the idea of losing a friend to Tyler's senseless violence.

Her guilt and determination to avenge him show that she considers the murders a central issue, not a secondary one.

"He was tortured, drugged, abused to unlock the Hyde”

It is true that Laurel manipulates and unlocks Tyler's Hyde side through cruel methods.

Tyler is a victim of abuse and there is no compromise on that...but once the Hyde is active, Tyler shows that he is a willing participant in Laurel's plans.

There are no signs that Tyler tries to resist or escape his condition.

On the contrary, he fully immerses himself in the role of assassin and enjoys tormenting Wednesday during the scene in the police station.

This kind of behavior is consistent with what the theory of submission to coercive power describes: an individual who is initially a victim can become an active perpetrator if he or she derives benefit or pleasure from the new condition.

“Wednesday is not an angel, she hurt normies and almost tortured Tyler.”

Comparing Wednesday's actions to Tyler's is a classic example of whataboutism, a rhetorical technique that seeks to distract from the actions of one character by highlighting the flaws of another.

Remember that Tyler still harmed and hurt loved ones in Wednesday's

Wednesday's actions, while questionable, are always motivated by a sense of justice or self-defense.

Her extreme behaviors (such as the piranhas in the pool) are directed against people who have done harm, while Tyler targets innocent victims to satisfy his own instincts or to please Laurel.

Wednesday is not perfect but through the series understands when she is wrong or not, such as admiring Wheems only on the finale.

On this point, however, the novel did a better job, where the vigilante mentality is felt more and she thinks so much about the fact that she cares what people think.

“Tyler hated her so much he kissed her and planned a date.”

The argument that Tyler could not hate Wednesday because he kissed her and planned a date is naive. Emotional manipulation often involves seemingly romantic acts to gain the victim's trust.

Tyler exploits Wednesday's feelings to distract her from the truth and to assure her that he is “on her side.”

This is an example of emotional triangulation, a manipulative technique in which the manipulator alternates between affection and betrayal to confuse and control the victim.

"They liked each other and were in a toxic situation, not a toxic relationship"

Tyler and Wednesday's relationship is inherently toxic because it is based on lies, manipulation, and violence.

According to healthy relationship theories, an authentic relationship requires mutual trust, respect and open communication. None of this is present between Tyler and Wednesday.

Their dynamic is defined by a profound inequality: Tyler is in control of information and exploits Wednesday's emotional vulnerability, while she is kept in the dark about her true nature. This asymmetry is the very definition of a toxic relationship.

But in general, this post presents a common narrative that tends to confuse victimization and personal responsibility.

Being a victim does not eliminate personal responsibility

The fact that Tyler was abused, drugged, and manipulated to activate his Hyde is a significant element of his background. However, the psychology of victimization makes it clear that undergoing trauma does not automatically justify all of an individual's subsequent actions.

According to the concept of posttrauma agency, an abused person still has a decision-making capacity, even if it is affected by the trauma suffered.

After his Hyde is activated, Tyler shows no signs of inner conflict or attempts to rebel against Laurel, his manipulator.

On the contrary, he embraces his role complacently, declaring that he took pleasure in killing.

This behavior suggests a conscious choice to indulge his dark nature, despite the Hyde's traumatic origin.

“Wednesday loves murder, so they are meant to be together.”

This statement is based on a superficial understanding of Wednesday's character. Although Wednesday has a fascination with the macabre and a dark personality, she is not motivated by a sadistic pleasure in killing. On the contrary, her actions are guided by a strong sense of justice.

For example:

The piranhas in the pool are punishment for those who bullied his brother.

Her obsession with the Hyde case stems from a desire to protect her friends and other students at Nevermore.

Wednesday never kills without a reason related to justice or self-defense.

Tyler, in contrast, shows a pleasure in committing murder.

This pleasure is completely incompatible with Wednesday's worldview.

Their apparent affinity is superficial: she loves the macabre in an aesthetic and moral sense, while he embraces destructive mayhem without remorse.

The “innocent victim” narrative in social psychology

The idea that being a victim of abuse automatically makes one an innocent person is common, but psychologically incorrect. In reality, traumatized people may develop destructive or abusive behaviors toward others, but this does not eliminate their moral responsibility.

According to the “cycle of abuse” theory, victims of abuse can sometimes become perpetrators, but this does not excuse them from their actions. Tyler is a victim of Laurel, but he becomes an active accomplice in her plan. He shows awareness and pleasure in his actions, which go beyond mere submission to Laurel's control.

The manipulation of Wednesday's emotions.

Tyler not only kills, but also exploits Wednesday's feelings to manipulate her. He presents himself as the sweet, caring guy who tries to understand her, but this mask falls away completely when his role as Hyde is revealed.

The scene in the police station is emblematic:

Tyler humiliates Wednesday with a monologue in which he reveals how easy it was to deceive her.

He shows a complete lack of empathy or remorse, using betrayal as a psychological weapon.

This dynamic is not a basis for a healthy relationship, but an example of emotional manipulation and relational toxicity.

The concept of “meant to be together”

The idea that Tyler and Wednesday are “meant to be together” because they both have a dark side completely ignores the foundations of healthy relationships. According to John Gottman's relationship theories, successful relationships are based on:

- Mutual trust

- Respect

- Honest communication

None of these elements are present between Tyler and Wednesday.

On the contrary, their relationship is based on deception, betrayal, and violence. The fact that Tyler and Wednesday share an interest in the macabre is not enough to build a relationship, especially when this interest manifests itself in completely opposite ways.

Relationships similar to the one hypothesized between Tyler and Wednesday, which are based on dynamics of manipulation, deception, and trauma, are often considered highly problematic.

According to the work of Lundy Bancroft in her book Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men,” relationships in which one partner manipulates the other cannot be considered healthy. Manipulation, such as that displayed by Tyler toward Wednesday, undermines mutual trust and creates an environment of emotional control and abuse.

Healthy relationships require transparency and respect.

Tyler exploits Wednesday's feelings by building a connection based on lies and betrayal.

This type of behavior creates an unbalanced power dynamic in which one partner maintains control by exploiting the other's emotional vulnerability.

Victimization does not excuse toxic behaviors

Abuse cycle theory (Walker, 1979) shows how victims of abuse can develop abusive behaviors, but emphasizes that this does not excuse or justify such actions. Tyler, despite his traumatic past and manipulation by Laurel, demonstrates an active pleasure in killing and manipulation.

Furthermore, a study by McNulty and Fincham (2008) on forgiveness and personal responsibility in relationships points out that:

Suffering trauma does not eliminate personal responsibility for subsequent actions.

Healthy relationships require mutual commitment to avoid destructive behavior, even in the presence of trauma.

Tyler, as far as we have seen, does not show remorse or an attempt to right his wrongs, which makes it difficult to imagine a redemptive relationship with Wednesday.

The importance of equality and respect

According to Gottman's model of successful relationships (The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work), relationships flourish when partners share a sense of mutual respect and engage in open communication.

However, in the Tyler-Wednesday dynamic, Tyler exploits an advantageous position by knowing the truth about his identity as Hyde while Wednesday is kept in the dark.

Recall how betrayed Wednesday felt because, thinking placing trust after so long might be good for her, she eventually found herself stabbed in the back

The relationship is based on systematic deception, which makes genuine trust impossible.

Gottman points out that without a foundation of respect and transparency, relationships are doomed to failure or, worse, become toxic.

The idealization of toxic relationships

A study by Knox et al. (2000) on the idealization of toxic relationships in the media shows that romantic narratives involving manipulation and toxicity can negatively influence audience perceptions of real relationships.

Young viewers, in particular, tend to normalize abusive behaviors when portrayed as romantic or inevitable.

In the case of Tyler and Wednesday, the idea that “both are dark and therefore meant to be together” is an example of this idealization:

It ignores the real harm caused by manipulation and violence.

It romanticizes a dynamic that, in real life, would be devastating to the psychological well-being of both partners.

Psychological impacts on victims of manipulation

Studies on victims of emotional manipulation, such as Stark's (2007) in Coercive Control, reveal that relationships such as the one hypothesized between Tyler and Wednesday can lead to:

Chronic distrust: The difficulty of trusting others after such a profound experience of betrayal.

Emotional trauma: Victims of manipulation often suffer from anxiety, depression and a distorted perception of future relationships.

Self-isolation: Wednesday, already naturally inclined to protect her emotions, may further close herself off from the world after being betrayed in such a brutal way. But still in this case we could specify that Wednesday will be even more careful about placing her trust, since right now she trusts Enid and the other Nevermore friends who fought against Crackstone much more

IN CONCLUSION

Remembering that this is yes an analysis but not necessarily a gallows, anyone who appreciates the ship is not necessarily a bad person, you simply have to bring data and sources to the table when you have to discuss and from my perspective rather than romanticize this relationship, it would be more constructive to use their dynamic as a narrative example of how toxic relationships can negatively affect both partners and serve as a warning to recognize and avoid similar dynamics in real life.

Rather create stories where Tyler is not a murderer, Weyler stories like this I would love to read so much

[littleglowingwolf]

oh i just realized i can do my first WIP Wednesday

Hakwe - What I said: They say death is only a journey. Does that help? What I meant: There are no words for the pain you must be feeling. I am not a poet and my heart still quakes at the thought of being alone in a room with you. You are broken, bruised, and beautiful, but your heart is and always has been filled with light so bright I cannot look directly at it. You will heal, and someday you will see your mother and brother again. I know it to be true the same way I know that you deserve the world. What I said: To be honest, I see no point in filling these moments with empty talk. What I meant: I know you need to be held, need to be comforted, need something life affirming like a lover’s kiss or a friend’s embrace. But I cannot be that friend, that lover, because I am a broken and undeserving man who could never be worthy of you. To presume you would want my comfort in a time like this requires a self-assurance I do not possess.  But if you asked, if you simply said a word, and if I were not a coward, I would wrap you in my arms and let you sob into my chest. I would kiss your head and wipe your tears and hold you as tight as you needed until you fell asleep. I would stay awake all night watching you breathe, and wake you if you had a nightmare. When the morning came, I could be gone if you wanted. Or I could stay. For as long as you needed me. Fenris

[kalashtars]

what if tumblr. did not, in fact, do this.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems

[angelnumber27]

I dont think some people understand how truly awful and hellish withdrawals from some psych medications are.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Madk's mangaka is one of the few people who truly understands the old adage

Love and hate are two sides of the same coin

[poisoned-pearls]

Finished the line art for them!! I have both toned it irl and plan to digitally color it, but I like how this looks too so

Fankid run through under cut

From right to left: Vivienne Schoenheit (Rookvil) Faraja Kingscholar (Leona) Ellie Felmier (Epeldeuce) Samir Al-Asim (Silkali) Nami Ashengrotto (Jamiazu) Neo shroud (Idikei) Emil Schoenheit (rookvil) Tamaki Leech (Treyjade) Mallerie and Malick Draconia (Malleyuu)

[lesbiansanemi]

Google how to make peace with the fact that you will always be vaguely to extremely uncomfortable (depending on the day) with your body and how others perceive it until the day you die and nothing you do will ever change that

[alliluyevas]

that's literally nicki my best friend nicki

[andrastesgrace]

man getting older hasn't changed my ships but it has changed the way I think about them and my reasoning for the ones I don't love

[justthatspiffy]

.

[bitegore]

Genuinely fucking batshit how some people will act as though the bare minimum level of care + respect for the people around them with different problems is like, an insurmountable fucking bar

[mumblesplash]

forgive me pls for importing even the barest shadow of twitter art discourse but i genuinely kinda love the ‘fanart is the lazy way to build a following! you’re taking the easy way out!!’ takes.

like first of all: hell yeah i sure hope it does. and second of all we both know if it was actually easy you would have created fanart instead of this tweet

[dokjaism]

i have a feeling that one of my... friends? doesn't like me anymore and it fucking sucks