#IN HER SPECTRE FORM

[sofiiif]

[majosullivan]

HOW ARE WE FEELING RIGHT NOW NEVERMORE FANDOM? ARE WE ABOUT TO LOSE IT? ARE WE HANGING ON BY THE THINNEST OF THREADS?

[stinkypeanutbutter]

here me out . .

Nevermore X SBG au .

you can applaud me now ☝️

[eschercaine]

SPOILER ALERT: Nevermore Academy students in their Spectre forms (3/?)

[verdemoth]

i’ve posted this set of guys together in a lineup but i never got around to sharing more about them individually, so i’m gonna do that!

Tune here is an original member of the EEG, one of the first researchers approached by Sojourner and Pathfinder, the founders, back when the whole operation was just some barely funded passion project, and the properties of the Otherworld were poorly understood. She was a team leader for decades up until he met a tragic demise on what should have been a routine mission. He’s since been declared M.I.A. (in truth she Stayed Alive Wrong)

-> Tune and Odyssey were queerplatonic partners. They met each other in their school years and hit it off quickly. They signed on with the project as a package deal and for years they were a team of two and both set out for field research and exploration, but following an Incident that injured them both, Odyssey left the field for a different role and the various teams were consolidated into one unit for safety reasons. As a precaution, future expeditions would need at least three active participants.

-> Tune was very confident and self-assured, and naturally fell into a leadership role within the new system. He had a knack for assessing and utilizing the strengths of her teammates and encouraging teamwork and communication.

-> In the early days they were quite cocky and perhaps a bit too reckless, but the decades of her employment with the EEG mellowed her out somewhat. What really drew her to the initial job offer was the thrill of adventuring in uncharted lands full of unknown dangers.

-> In general, Opportunity tended to prioritize the pursuit of knowledge above his own safety, though being in charge of a team who depended on her for their own well-being helped to balance out this impulse.

-> In that early incident, Tune received a concussion that had lasting effects in the form of frequent migraines and insomnia. She wasn’t very vocal about her struggles, and he was more inclined to push through the pain than slow down and wait for it to pass.

-> Age didn’t temper her active lifestyle, either. As she neared her 50s they were still up to shit like free climbing vertical cliffs to get a good vantage point (and for the fun of it).

-> She was up to just that, on a mission with her sibling Spirit and friend Curiosity when a terrible, unnatural storm hit without warning. The Otherworld had always been a turbulent place, the landscape and climate always changing, but the team’s experience and technology should have been enough to sense the shift coming, but it caught them unawares.

-> Tune and his two teammates lost contact with mission control and each other for more than an hour. When the storm cleared, Curiosity and Spirit and the two constructs accompanying them were all recovered, but no trace of Opportunity could be found. Reluctantly, the team came to the decision to abandon the search.

-> Opportunity still exists, in some form. They haven’t had a run in with her old team in the few years since her disappearance. Mentally she’s not all there, retaining only their instincts and basic desires. He’s generally passive, but whatever the storm did to him left them with a connection to the shifting terrain of the Otherworld, which responds to their presence and volatile feelings. She’s usually surrounded by a storm like the one that changed her. He wants to be found, but… if she encountered and recognized her team, it’s likely he would seek to drive them out with force in a misguided attempt to protect them from the Otherworld’s many hazards.

[cursed-spectre]

Spectre was sitting down at a desk, when Tama appeared and pulled on her skirt.

"Hm? Yes, Tama?"

The young girl looked up at her mother and put out her hands, showing her chipped silver claw like nails.

"Oh, is it that time already? I must've lost track. Alright." Spectre got out of her chair and held onto Tama's hand. "Let's go get yours done now, shall we?"

Tama nodded.

The two sat down of the ground, facing eachother. Spectre grabbed a small basket of bottles.

"Do you feel like humoring Ai this time and going pink?" She chuckled when her daughter quickly shook her head. "Alright, got it. Black again, right?"

Tama nodded, and Spectre took out what she needed.

"I'm happy I get to do this with you, Tama," said Spectre as the tiny brush coated the metal nails in black. "It's very soothing. For both of us, I think." She finished going over the last nail. "I still don't know how you have these, but we both really like them, don't we?"

Tama smiled brightly with a nod.

"I still think we should match one day. Give you nice light blue ones."

She frowned and shook her head. Spectre laughed.

"I'm joking, I'm joking. It should be dry enough, so come here, spirit."

Tama used her solver to float onto her mother's lap, and said mother hugged her waist.

"...thanks."

Spectre warmly smiled. "Always." She kissed Tama's hair.

[muntitled]

Better Than Drugs

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader | Brief!Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games.

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Coercion, Smut (+18) mdni, High sex, Dub/con, Choking, Exchange of Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Unedited (we die like soldiers)

A/n: literally no one will read this but I need him and I wrote this for me!

Being treated like a lamb being led to the proverbial slaughter in a death game sucked ass but seeing your ex boyfriend there sucked even more, somehow. From your vantage point perched on your bed tucked away from all the central conflict, you notice them talking about you again.

Call it past bully traum but you knew when people were talking about you and although you couldn't make out what they were saying, a part of you just knew...

Another vote had ended and Namgyu was still staring at you, his head bowed, chewing his fingernails. He was watching you, while you were forced to watch as democracy crumbled around you.

Your brain made you think Namgyu was perhaps berating you in front of his new friend. Bad-mouthing you to absolutely no end, perhaps saying what a lousy, uptight girlfriend you had been in the outside world. How you kept him from his habit. How you tried to force him into rehab countless times.

And so you shrink into yourself, squeezing yourself further into your bed, hugging your knees.

How were you supposed to know the conversation went nothing like how you thought it was going?

"We need to get her on our team," Thanos had said when the voting concluded and they were watching you pick at your roll of tin-foiled kimbap.

"She's already on our team," Namgyu muttered, more quiet than usual as he watched you through the corner of his eye. He didn't feel like eating. He felt like doing drugs. And fucking, maybe, but eating? It never occurred to him.

Without you to remind him to eat, and to actually take care of his bodily health outside of his substance abuse, he really was a mess.

"Oh yeah," Thanos muttered dumbly before turning back to his own food, "Kay, well, I need to sleep with her."

Namgyu didn't even look up from his food, still leaning against the metal beds as he murmured a quiet, "Nope." Popping his lip, extenuating the 'p'

Thanos himself was rallied into silence as Namgyu casually clicked his tongue before adding, "I called dibs on that bro," he steals another glance. You're searching your chest for a piece of cucumber that's fallen out of the kimbap

This unfortunately, zeroes his gaze in on your ample chest, miraculously squeezed into that tracksuit jacket. Now Namgyu was thinking about your tits while Thanos' head whips to the side, his brow lifted.

Namgyu couldn't take his eyes off you since the games began. Watching you during voting time had stirred up all kinds of lost emotions. The easy and almost thoughtless way you had pressed the blue button before tucking your hands in your pockets, never sparing anyone a second glance. He had to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpant. If it weren't for him you might have continued to go amongst the games as an anonymous spectre, with that cash prize as your only goal.

"I didn't know we were calling dibs!?" Thanos stomped his feet petulantly, "That's not fair, man. Not. Cool."

"That's the point of dibs," Namgyu said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he continued to stare you down. "Who knows how long we'll be here?" As he watched you, he tilted his head downwards, causing a thick shadow to fall over his eyes as he watched you. He leaned against the railings of the metal beds piled up to the ceiling, watching you tuck your hands deeper into the sleeves of your sweater. Really fucking cute.

"B-But Homies don't call dibs on girls!" Thanos whines.

"Yeah," Namgyu nods, "but, I'm gonna need more than magic pills and a homie to get me through the night," He made a ring with his index and thumb finger, pinching his one eye shut as he spied at you through it, "She can help,”

Thanos was quiet, eerily so. Good things never happened when Thanos was quiet,

"Let's go over to her right now then. Since she's stealing my homie-"

That immediately snapped Namgyu out of his lust-filled gaze, promoting his shoulders to straighten as he tried to stop Thanos from taking another step towards you.

"Senorita-" he said in a singsong voice and you rolled your eyes as you saw them approaching. Namgyu walked behind like the shadow he always tried to be, with his hands tucked in his pocket. Your bed is relatively low to the ground and your heart stammered when both their shadows fell over you.

"Don't have any change," your eyes whipped to your ex-boyfriend before narrowing, "Or drugs. Sorry." you mustered a painfully sarcastic smile as you attempted to turn in another direction, hoping they might take the hint.

Thanos' teeth stretched as Namgyu swallowed thickly, watching you in that distinctly predatory way of his as he propped his forearm against the railing of the bed. You hate how both of them make you feel and your eye scans in vain around the premises, hoping someone might save you from the duo.

"Lemme make this quick," Thanos said with his drug addicted hand gestures. "My bro wants you and whatever bro wants-" he taps Namgyu's chest behind you- "Bro gets."

Silence passed with you staring deep into Namgyu's dark, almost sinister black eyes. You admitted that you were still painfully attracted to him. Knowing that he knows your body. He's already seen what hid under your blue tracksuit, it was dizzyingly sobering.

He still seemed so devastatingly sleezy it bordered on attractive, like he didn't care about what anyone really thought of him. It still brought an uncomfortable amount of attraction that you didn't really know what to do with. "No thanks," you said, bending your head to take a bite of the kimbap.

"Cunt." you heard him mumble under his breath. That caused your head whip up to glare at him.

"I'm a cunt because I'd rather not fuck a drug addict?"

"No," Namgyu shrugged, "You're just a cunt."

Your nostrils flared as something diabolical ignited inside you. Up until this point, fear had been the only emotion you allowed yourself to feel. The fear of dying to keep you alive. But right now, you're being plagued with another emotion and it's setting you alight with interest.

Your dating preferences were never orthodox. You knew you could never truly be satisfied with any other timid nice guy, and that's what drew you to him. You hated admitting to it but Namgyu calling you a cunt did more than irritate you, it ignited you.

"I'm not here to make friends,” You marvel now, in the tense darkness, how confident you had been then.

“How about a boyfriend then?” Namgyu asked and Thanos whistled lowly as he mutters a ‘nice bro,’

“How about choking?” You shot back, “I tried the boyfriend thing and he stole all my savings to buy drugs.” Namgyu’s jaw ticked and you can see his fist fold and unfold. Thanos’ commentary continues. ‘Shit boyfriend-’ he says under his breath.

“Don't be a bitch so early in the morning…” Namgyu says finally before turning his head, somewhat distracted, “Or at least I think it's morning. Hyung do you think it's morning-”

Thanos raised his hands, “Morning is what we make it in here, bro.”

“Leave me alone of I'll fucking scream.” you cut through all their useless chatter, letting a tense silence settle between the three of you. Eventually, Thanos reluctantly pulls Namgyu away. Murmuring a quiet ‘just take a hint bro.'

Soon, you were left in your bed but not without one more backwards glance from Namgyu over his shoulder. He wasn't done with you and that thought sat heavily on your shoulders until the robotic voice from unseen speakers made the countdown to lights out.

The very last thing you remembered, before the overhead lights were snuffed out, was his black, almond eyes still watching you from his bed.

The blue 'O' velcroed to your breast burns a hole through your conscience as your eyes flutter open in the middle of the night, really needing to pee. The prize money acts as the only source of gold light illuminating the hall while everyone else remains soundly asleep.

Life in the games was so much more stomachable during the day, but when the lights went out, you were forced to sit with your thoughts. That piggy bank didn't have money inside it, it held bodies, and the ghosts practically filled this room.

Still, you can't help but whisper to yourself, “I really have to pee.” The only thing stopping you from going to the bathroom is the gaze you knew would somehow find you from three beds over. Your ex boyfriend watches you, even when the lights go out.

Paranoia be damned.

Cursing softly, you maneuvered yourself to the ground. Trying to make the least amount of noise possible as you moved through the row of beds.

If you were being followed you'd never know. Everything was too dark but a part of you sighed as you reached the small arched doorway completely unscathed.

Almost unscathed.

Your heart hammers in its cage when you feel his heavy arm settle over your shoulders. Your mouth falls open but Namgyu is already banging on the arched door with a closed fist. You flinch with every loud, metallic hit.

The little window opens to reveal a triangle-masked soldier. He stands there emotionless.

“My girlfriend's on her period- she's bleeding everywhere. We need the bathroom.”

There is silence from the Guard who is clearly unimpressed. Just before the little window is about to slide shut Namgyu kicks at the door, “Hey! I wanna fuck my girl- if you want, we could do it out here?!”

You try to wrench yourself out of his grip, toilet be damned but your heart absolutely sinks to find the pink soldier opening the metal door.

Namgyu only twirls, pumping his fist before pulling you in his arms, biting back a smile.

“Can't believe that worked,” Namgyu says, with a raised eyebrow and a happy little shrug as he drags you across the threshold. The trip to the women's bathroom is relatively short as you writhe and fight in his hands. There's virtually no reason for the pink guard to think any of this was consensual but they kept their stoicism on their face as you reached the girl's bathroom.

“We'll be quick,” Namgyu assures the guard with a tight sort of smile before pushing you into the bathroom, and closing the door after himself.

You trip on your way running into one of the stalls and he watches you, biting his nail.

“This is the girls bathroom, or are you too high to notice?” You hiss absolute venom as he bites his fingernail.

“Nah, I'm sober right now, which means I need something to take the load off.”

“Cool. Use your hand,” you sigh from within the stalls before dropping your pants to pee. It irked you that he was standing there, on the other side… waiting for you.

You make quick work of it all. Wiping, flushing, and making a beeline for the sinks. He lets you wash your hands but before you make it to the door his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Uh Uh,” he tsks, “No ‘i miss you’ kiss, huh?” He drags you into his arms, kicking and screaming as he swipes your brains from across your panicked face.

“Only competent boyfriends get kisses,” Despite the fuss, the door doesn't open. Those guards have quite literally abandoned you in here to fend for yourself.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, “I miss you really bad, baby,” Namgyu's pushing your back against the sink, stained with that sickening, pastel colour as he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck. You writhe as he breathes you in deeply, before sighing. His erection pressed against your thigh.

“Someone else could walk in here,” you cry, feeling a dampness seep out of you, wetting your underwear. Your body was being traitorous because it was enjoying feeling anything other than fear. It yearned for it.

“Sto-” you attempt to catch your breath as he gropes at your breasts from over your tracksuit. “Stop touching me-” you say despite your legs getting weaker and weaker.

“You don't get to touch me anymore. You lost that privilege when you stopped being my boyfriend.” He was so much taller than you when he stretched his hand across your cheeks, forcing your neck back to make more space for his lips. A moan nearly spills out of you.

His hands are trembling and his tongue swipes out to lick the length of your neck. To your shock and horror, you melt in his grasp.

“You don't mean that-” he whispers against your skin. “No one's gonna fuck you like I do-”

“No one's going to steal my money like you do either-”

His hand flies down to your throat, choking as he says through clenched teeth, “I told you I had a problem-” he squeezes and for the briefest moment, you see stars. “I needed help and you abandoned me, you bitch-”

“I didn't abandon you-” His lips are on yours, silencing you in one messy kiss that him forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, Huh?’ He says, hoarsely, your eyes glare up at him.

“Leave me alone-”

“You know I love it when you try to fight back,” his mouth breathes against your hair, “You trying to get me riled up babe, huh?”

His fingers find the lining of your own sweatpants and your heart stammers as he turns to push your front against the sink. Your hand grips at the cheap plaster and you avoid your own traitorous reflection in the mirror, lest you find not only fear in your eyes, but lust

“You know how bad I've needed this- fuck,” his voice cracks when fumbles his cock out, grinding against your ass with his eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth hanging open. Your finger curls around the sink as the first moan slips out of you. It had his eyes flying open to look down at you in amusement and awe.

“I knew you weren't a completely stuck-up bitch,” he says, pulling you up by the base of the throat, “I knew you still wanted me.”

“I don't,” you squeak out as he pulls down your pants.

“No- but your body does,” he swipes your underwear to the side.

Your body spasms as he roughly sinks his digits into you once before pulling out.

“You miss me real bad,” he brings your fingers up in front of your face and your heart drops to find the arousal webbing his index and middle.

He continues to swipe your arousal from from your ass to your puffy clit and the need wracks through your entire body, building as you arched your ass backwards against him.

His mouth is by your ear, breathing heavily as he lines his cock up at your entrance, already leaking precum, “I know I gave you hell when we were out there-”

“Hell doesn't begin to cover- FUCK-” he rams his cock into you. Positively brimming with need as his hips stutter against you.

“Y-ou stole my fucking savings for drugs-” you get the sentence out quickly before moaning into the air, as your boyfriend fucks out all the frustration he's been carrying, all the need and the withdrawal.

“And I ate you out as an apology-” He reaches his hand around to clamp down on the base of your throat. Your mouth falls open when he cranes our neck back, his eyes boring into yours. “Don't you miss it baby, don't miss having me inside of you?”

“Y-Your eyes are diluted-” you begin to say, utterly incredulous. “You're high right now!”

His hips thrusts in shallow, quick strokes. “And your pussy's wet, guess we're both fucked.”

Your pussy tightens around him like a long lost friend, it knocks you out how deeply you've craved him. Needing reprieve from all the fear. “You're squeezing around my cock, you fucking slut-” that nearly has you seeing stars. Your body spasms.

“That it…” he whispers, “Don't think I haven't forgotten the way you abandoned me out there… But in here,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, “You dont so much as fucking breathe without my permission.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as his cock hits that particular pillow of nerves inside you, nearly flipping you off the edge.

“Spit on my hand,” he says, an edge to his voice that let you know he was far too close. You forgot how messy things got when you had sex with him. How much of a mess he made of you.

You do it without thinking about it and his eyes widen as he presses that same hand to your clit.

“F-Fuck!” Your eyes are squeezed shut as he reaches around to rub you to your orgasm. His movements only fumble when his hips start stuttering.

“N-Need you to cum for me-” he breathes out. “I’m jittery- baby. I need it- shit-” you slip into your orgasm right in front of him, milking his cock for all its worth. “F-Fuck this is so much better than drugs,” he murmers, eyes rolled back as a drunken smile ghosts over his face. He's in complete and utter euphoria.

Two rough knocks on the door signal the need for your return but Namgyu's cock is still spilling ropes of his cum inside you and you're doing nothing but taking it.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, because it's true. If it weren't for him you wouldn't be here.

His breath is warm against your neck as he says, “I love you too.

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[theabigailthorn]

We know you were on accutane. Stop lying

not that it would matter if I had, and not that it's any of your business, but I have in fact never taken accutane.

This is a useful teaching moment though, because what you're doing is a well-studied phenomenon in digital media called 'policing fake femininity.' It's a thing people do to women in the public eye, a specific kind of criticism centred around accusations of being inauthentic, fake, or having cheated in some way. Often it's men doing the policing but women do it to each other a lot too, there are whole websites dedicated to it in fact. Often those criticisms centre around our appearances, as yours did here.

It's sometimes a response to perceived inequality, of which there is plenty! Women in the public eye - myself included - do benefit from a lot of privilege. I've always been quite open about that. People who engage in that kind of public bullying often tell themselves that because of the privilege (or perceived privilege) of their targets the fake femininity policing is socially justified, or the fault of the target. But it doesn't really do anything to correct the structural problems that give rise to that inequality.

In their paper "Policing Fake Femininity," scholars Brooke Duffy, Kate Miltner, and Amanda Wahlstedt say,

“The solution to the structural concerns associated with capitalist patriarchy is not, we contend, to label individual influencers “stupid famewhores” and disparage their mental health in ways that invoke the spectre of hysteria (e.g., “batsh*t crazy,” “delusional,” and “lunatic”). As Chemaly [Rage Becomes Her, 2018] argues, it is necessary that girls and women express their anger, but such a directive “is not an endorsement of unbridled rage, or permission to deliver a swift roundhouse kick to the face of anyone who upsets you, or to regularly fill the spaces you live and work in with hostility and discomfort.” While venting anger at these influencers and their purportedly questionable choices may provide some form of much-needed catharsis, such gender-coded vitriol amplifies the rampant misogyny and toxicity that women already face in online environments.”

If you'd like to know more, I recommend:

Steve Cross & Jo Littler, “Celebrity and schadenfreude: The cultural economy of fame in freefall,” in Cultural Studies

Brooke Duffy, Kate Miltner, & Amanda Wahlstedt, “Policing “fake” femininity: Authenticity, accountability, and influencer anti-fandom,” in New Media & Society

[blacktabbygames]

Slay the Princess Concept Art

We shared a bunch of concept art on Twitter today. Sharing it here, too, where you can find it all in one post. Post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution (or just play the game already if you haven't 😉)

Going to start with the first piece of concept art Abby drew for the game.

In the earliest stages of development, we toyed around with the concept of there being multiple "end game" forms of the Princess.

The initial outline, rather than being tied together by an overarching metanarrative, structured a full playthrough as a 5-6 chapter long, self-contained journey down a single route, determined by your decisions in chapter 1. Here's an alternative late-game form:

The idea of deviating end-game forms didn't lost for very long, though. As we explored the game's themes more deeply, it made the most sense for there to be a singular "true" form.

If your reality is shaped by subjectivity and perception, then the "truth" has to be what's left when that subjectivity is swept away. the Shifting Mound's final design feels like that initial truth for the Princess, though there's also another truth if you push back against her and press on into the final cabin.

We really liked this "void" design, and I played around with the idea of it being an intermediary to the final form. The "void" Princess would be what you saw upon encountering the final Princess without understanding your own truth, but once you had that understanding, you would see her as the Shifting Mound, as depicted in the game.

That gave way to the intermediary design of the SM being a sea of disembodied limbs, and we also took parts of both designs and incorporated them into the protagonist (particularly the wings.) You can see the eyes and feathers for this void form in the ending card of the original trailer below:

You can see extremely early concept art for the spectre (top), nightmare (top-right), stranger (left), beast (bottom) and ??? (right) as well!

The eyes became a motif in the Nightmare route (Paranoid's manifestation of the fear of being watched), but I also like to think of them as a part of The Long Quiet's truth. You are space and emptiness, but you're also that which observes those things, and it's your perceptions that give the Shifting Mound shape.

Anyways, on the note of the original original concepts for the game, the Princess was initially going to remain human for several loops before taking on more monstrous forms. Some concepts of that are below. Had to get Abby to tone down some of the more horrifically cartoonish designs because they creeped me out and I didn't want to romance them in a video game.

We had to hold our cards close to our chest in the non-metanarrative early drafts, which is part of why, even in the first demo, the cabin doesn't really change much in chapter 2. More room to subtly play with the concept of transformation over time.

There were a lot of reasons we moved in a different direction for the full release. The branching was unmanageably large to write, and the game felt like a slog to write.

Using an overarching narrative as a framing mechanism in the final version gave us a lot more freedom to explore wildly divergent ideas within routes while still driving the player towards the originally planned finale.

Anyways, now we've got some concept art for individual princesses. There's a lot more than this lying around somewhere, but it's all in sketchbooks, and we'll probably wait until we make an art book to show it off.

First is the tower, who really didn't change much at all. (She got a little thicker, I guess. All of the Princesses did)

Not a lot to say about her, other than the fact that we knew we wanted a set piece where she gets so big that the trees and cabin orbit around her.

The stranger went through many many redesigns over the course of development. Here, she was a "princess skin" filled with a hive of sentient bugs. The script wasn't working for me, though, so instead she became a peak behind the curtains without the necessary context to know her.

A lot of people ask how these earlier drafts of the Stranger route would have played out, and the answer is I can't tell you, because I couldn't figure out something worth writing.

The writing process for individual routes didn't really start with outlines or plot beats. Rather, the routes started from a theme and a relationship dynamic, and I organically found their outcomes by exploring actions within those themes, and then seeing if those passed Abby's editor brain.

Neither of us found actions we wanted to explore with those versions of the Stranger, at least actions that weren't a beat-by-beat retelling of chapter 1, which contained way too much variation to put on a single chapter 2 route.

If each princess examines a relationship formed by perception and first impressions, the Stranger examines one that's fundamentally unknowable. One where you've seen too much, too quickly.

An insect hive-mind pretending to be a person seemed like a good starting point, but it was too difficult to write any interactions that didn't immediately feel knowable, if still strange. So the final version of the Stranger was designed in such a way where her unknowability makes interacting with her on a human level fundamentally impossible, and you don't get to have a real conversation with her unless you satisfy extremely specific criteria.

Anyways next up is the razor's final form. We decided she needed more swords.

Hearts became an accidental motif very quickly in the development process, too. (The fact that it is only strikes to the heart that fell her in the demo was accidental, but it felt poetic so we extended it to the rest of the game.)

So on top of adding more swords, we made her heart visible. This is something we did with the fury as well, as a way of showing their emotional (and physical) vulnerability.

Here's an early version of the Adversary and what would eventually become the Eye of the Needle, back when she was still called the Fury. Originally her hair was going to be fire (as seen on the right), but it didn't feel right in its execution.

She's hit the gym since this concept art. Good for her :)

And we're going to end with the Beast, who at this point was called the Adversary. I think this was before the Witch was added? The Beast was originally designed to be a Questing Beast who lurked in the shadows, where you'd only see glimpses of her, and where each glimpse would make her appear to be a different animal. This was too difficult to execute, though we gave her a more chimera-like appearance in the final game.

This design was from when we still has the Voice of the Obsessed, and the route was going to be a more feral mirror of what eventually became the Adversary, but it felt too thematically similar while being less interesting, so we moved in the direction of making the Beast about consumption as a form of love.

Anyways, that's all we've got for you right now. Hope this was fun!

[thebubblesareevil]

Only the best Kings wear pink! Pt 1

Pt 2

Danny had decided, inter-lair political party meeting briefings were a truly underutilized form of torture that he personally thought should be inflicted upon only the worst kinds of criminals; not your King.

Fright Knight disagreed.

At least he finally let him move around instead of suffering through forced resurrection via boredom (it’s happened before, not a fun meeting). That being said, he would admit to being a little distracted by all the servants rushing around frantically. It had even managed to distract Fright.

No one seemed panicked so clearly it wasn’t an attack, but what….

Danny felt someone staring at him. He covertly nodded to Fright to keep talking as he created an invisible clone to search for his stalker.

He didn’t have to look far, they weren’t hiding very well. Not 20 ft away a young ghost gawked at him from behind a column. She had her glowing blonde hair in 2 braided pigtails and her ragged dress looked like she came from one of the medieval lairs. Danny carefully kneeled down, trying to make himself look small as he tapped her on the shoulder.

The little girl spun around, clearly terrified at being caught. Danny gave her a soft smile.

“Please don’t eat me Mr Ghost King sir!!!” She cried out.

Danny snorted and burst out laughing. His booming laughter echoed though the castle walls causing many of the servants to pause in their search.

“Now why in the realms would you think I’m going to eat you?!” Danny asked though his chuckles. “You wouldn’t be more than a bite full at best.” He poked her sides causing her to giggle.

“Would too! I’m bigger the Sally!” She paused, rethinking her words. “But I’d taste quite foul! I would, I swear!”

Danny grinned turning to Fright Knight. The little ghost squeaked when she saw the Spirit of Halloween and backed into the King causing her to freeze.

Danny gently picked her up, cradling her in one arm. “Did you hear that Fright?! She said she’d taste foul!” He smirked “I suppose there’s only one thing to do then!”

Fright Knight eyed his King a bit warily, still not used to his antics. “Sire?”

Danny grinned, motioning to one of the nervous maids. “We‘ll have to sweeten her up!”

Miette bowed before her King, trying to hide her nervous glances at the girl.

“Miette! Would you be a dear and prepare some sweets and tea in the garden for my honored guest? Fright, will you be joining us?” Danny asked the startled Knight.

“As you wish my Liege, though…might I request some pumpkin pie?” He asked Miette.

The maid blinked at the request.

“Of course Sir Fright.” She answered a bit dazed.

“Wonderful! We’ll meet you in the garden after we swing by Spectre’s quarters.” He grinned down at the frightened ghost. “Every princess must look her best for afternoon tea after all!”

The little girl frowned. “But I’m not a princess?” She said, tilting her head.

“Of course you are! Every little girl is a princess! That’s just a fact of life.” Danny nodded solemnly.

“But we’re not alive?” She pouted “Mummy said so!”

Danny shrugged. “That doesn’t change much, I’m still alive after all so it still counts.” He said finally.

They stopped in front of two massive doors covered in random drawing. Danny knocked on the door. The little ghost shrunk back in Danny’s arms.

The door opened to reveal a young ghost, not much bigger than the one in his arms.

“Hey Ellie!” Danny grinned. “Do you have any princess dresses left or did you set them all on fire?”

Ellie groaned. “Lilac just restocked the closet. You’d think she’d learn by now.”

Danny grinned. “Perfect! Would you mind helping our guest into one of them? She’s joining us for tea!”

Ellie floated up to see the tiny ghost trying to make herself smaller in her dad’s arms.

“Oh? And who are you?” She asked curiously.

“Emma.” She squeaked. Ellie grinned.

“Alright Emma, how do you feel about pink?!”

———

A little while latter you could find the Ghost King: ruler of the infinite realms, Fright Knight: the most feared general of the Kings legion and little Emma: the little princess from 2 Lairs over (only on the 5th of each month); newly decked out in a glowing tiara and the frilliest pink dress Ellie could find (with no singes); all sitting in the Royal gardens in Phantoms keep debating the merits of pink sparkles vs rainbow glitter.

Her mother nearly wept in relief that her daughter was safe, though she was a bit dazed by what she was seeing.

“You must be Emma’s mum!” Danny grinned. “We were just finishing up afternoon tea.

Emma jumped from her seat and raced over to her mummy to tell her all about her day.

“I’m so sorry for my daughter’s intrusion, your majesty!” She cried out, fear outweighing shock as she quickly bowed.

“Nonsense!” Danny laughed, looking down at Emma. “You’re welcome here anytime Emma. After all, you never did tell me what happened to you Aunt Agatha.” He smiled “You’ll have to finish your story next time.”

Emma ran up to give Danny a hug, he happily picked her up and held the young ghost.

“Thank you for the tea and cakes Mr ghost king! Can I bring Beatrice next time? She’ll never believe me otherwise!”

Danny chuckled. “The more the merrier, though I suggest you give your mother some proper warning before you run off to strange lairs without permission.”

Emma pouted. “I promise!” She swore as Danny handed her to her mother.

Danny was a little sad to see the little girl go but he had plenty of work to do.

“Sire, shall we continue the briefing?” Fright Knight piped up.

Danny groan, Fright Knight grinned. (He liked his new king)

———

The next month, when the lairs lined up once more Danny was greeted with the grinning Emma, the frightened faces of at least 6 other little ghosts and the nervous form of Emma’s mother.

Danny grinned. “Miette!” He shouted behind him. “Can you bring some more tables to the gardens. It looks like we’re having a proper tea party this time!”

And so began to annual monthly tea party at Phantom’s keep.

(Lilac was so glad to see all the dresses she made put to good use)

[bifairywife]

hehe i’ll post you tomorrow ;3

Nevermore OC

Octavia Wintergreen

"I just don't like to accept any food or drink from others. I don't know why. I swear: it's nothing personal. I've just been that way the moment I came here. There's this nagging feeling on the back of my head every time someone hands me something. Don't you dare take it, just don't. Don't do it."

character has been customized using gothic heroine on doll divine - game was made by @elequinoa

more details on octavia || meet marie palmer

[mayasaura]

I've been thinking about that AU where Abigail notices Wake's ghost in Canaan House before anyone dies. Which has me wondering.... how does summoning a ghost even work outside the River? How do you talk to it?

Nothing we've seen implies that spectres are capable of just manifesting without possessing a physical form. Revenants certainly can't, or things might have gone a bit differently on the Mithraeum.

I imagine the Ninth nuns might have put Wake back in her dead body to get a few words out of her immediately postmortum, but that wouldn't work in Canaan House, and it wouldn't have worked for the Eighth ncromancers who questioned Glaurica. Do summoners have some object they invite the revenant to possess? Do they channel the spirit themselves under carefully controlled circumstances?

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Reflections of Shame

Summary - She faces the scorn of Prince Jacaerys, who despises her for what she represents. Their bitter confrontation unravels pain, and understanding begins to form as threads of trust emerge between them. What starts with venom transforms into something far more complex.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Mild language

Word count - 2265

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Before the war had sunk its claws into the Targaryen family, sinking its teeth like a ravenous beast, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had never been anything but courteous—a princely figure who embodied grace and nobility. 

To imagine him now as anything less, let alone openly cruel, was once inconceivable. 

Yet here he was, transformed by conflict and burdened by suspicion and scorn, glaring down at me with eyes that held a tempest.

Of course, I was no ordinary maiden. I was a dragon seed, a name whispered with equal parts reverence and scorn. 

I had stumbled, quite literally, into destiny when I claimed the mighty Silverwing after wandering through a forgotten passageway. 

To many, I was a mystery; to others, an interloper with dragon fire in my veins. 

And to the prince, I was an affront. His disdain cloaked itself in subtle barbs and carefully metered sneers, each one laced with contempt that cut deeper than any sword.

Seated beside me was Hugh Hammer, a man whose reputation was also unknown. 

We spoke quietly of our dragons, two strangers drawn together by scales, fire, and circumstance. It was a curious sight—Hugh, a man of brute strength and feral ambition, sharing words with someone like me, a newcomer and a woman who still struggled to understand her place. 

Our dragons were as different as night and day, but in that moment, their riders shared a fragile bond of necessity.

The conversation stilled as the great doors opened, announcing the arrival of Queen Rhaenyra and her heir. 

Instinctively, I rose, fumbling only slightly as I dipped into a curtsy. 

My new gown of silken red clung to me with a weight I was not yet used to, a reminder of expectations I barely understood. 

The queen's presence commanded silence; her gaze swept the room, hard and implacable. She summoned Hugh with a gesture, and he departed with a bow, leaving me alone with the prince.

"My Prince," I greeted, my voice even as I lowered myself back onto the bench. 

Prince Jacaerys did not move, standing opposite me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. 

He observed me as if I were an unwelcome spectre—a ghost he could not banish and a burden he resented bearing.

For several agonizing moments, silence stretched between us. I forced myself to breathe, clasping my hands tightly to quell the trembling. 

"Is something the matter, my prince?" I ventured, keeping my tone light and respectful, though every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation.

His jaw clenched, and his eyes, dark and stormy, narrowed further. When he spoke, his voice was low and laced with venom. "Stop pretending."

The words struck like a whip. My breath caught, my pulse quickened, and I stared at him in stunned silence. 

This was no simple rebuke—it was an accusation, one that peeled away every fragile layer of decorum I had tried to build around myself. 

In his eyes, I was a fraud, a pretender who had dared to step into the realm of dragons. And no matter how much I tried to deny it, he would never let me forget that I was unwelcome.

The silence between us lingered, thick and suffocating, as I struggled to find my composure. 

Prince Jacaerys's eyes burned with barely restrained fury, his words heavy with disdain. 

Each passing second seemed to stretch into an eternity, and I knew whatever came next would cut me deeply, but I couldn't allow myself to falter. 

No matter how venomous his words, I had to endure them. 

A show of disrespect now could ruin me, perhaps even lead to consequences that no amount of pleading would undo.

His lips curled into a sneer. "You walk around this castle as if you belong here," he said, his tone like a blade. "Claiming a dragon does not make you one of us. You're nothing more than an intruder playing at power."

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my hands trembling only slightly as they remained clasped in my lap. 

"I have done nothing but follow the orders given to me, my prince," I said quietly. "I mean no offence."

He stepped closer, looming over me. "Is that what you tell yourself? That you belong among those of true blood? That you're entitled to walk these halls and speak with queens and princes as if you are their equal?"

His words landed like blows, each one harder than the last. I wanted to look away, to shrink from his stare, but I could not afford to show weakness. 

"I have never claimed to be your equal," I said softly. "I am here only because of the dragon I was fortunate enough to bond with."

"Fortunate?" He scoffed, the derisive laughter echoing in the chamber. "You think this is fortune? No, you're a fool. A pretender who stumbled upon power she neither understands nor deserves."

My chest tightened, and I fought to keep my voice steady. "Why must you speak so cruelly to me? I have done nothing to earn your ire."

His eyes blazed with something beyond anger—something darker, more personal. "You breathe. You exist. That alone is offence enough."

For a moment, I could only stare at him, shock stealing the air from my lungs. 

He leaned closer, his words dripping with venom. "Tell me, what were you before all this? A whore? Did you find that life beneath you too?"

The insult struck me like a slap. I felt the blood drain from my face as I struggled to comprehend the depth of his malice. 

Swallowing hard, I forced myself not to react, even as his words twisted like a knife in my heart. 

"I do not know what I have done to warrant such hatred," I whispered, my voice cracking despite my best efforts. "Why be so cruel?"

His face twisted with rage, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might strike me. "Your entire existence upsets me!" he roared, the force of his words reverberating in the room.

Silence followed his outburst, the echo of his voice fading into nothingness. 

Tears burned at the edges of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I searched his gaze, trying to understand what could make him despise me so. 

"Why?" I whispered, the question escaping me unbidden. "Is it because I am a bastard... like you?"

At that, all colour drained from his face. He went utterly still, the rage in his eyes replaced by something cold and unreadable. 

For the first time, he was silent, and the room seemed to hold its breath. I watched him, waiting for another cruel word, another strike—but none came. 

Instead, he turned away, the storm in him retreating, leaving only the aching quiet between us.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The hours after the confrontation with Prince Jacaerys passed slowly, every moment weighed down by the memory of his scorn. 

I retreated to the solitude of my chambers, the heavy stone walls feeling more oppressive than ever. His words had echoed in my mind, each cruel syllable burrowing deep. 

Despite my best efforts, tears had fallen as I paced the room, replaying every jab, every moment of contempt in his eyes. 

I had thought myself strong enough to endure anything, but I was beginning to doubt.

Night fell, cloaking Dragonstone in shadow. The faint flicker of torchlight cast dancing shapes on the walls as I sat by the window, staring out at the distant stars. 

I did not hear the soft footsteps until it was too late. A knock at the door made me startle, and my heart leapt to my throat. 

Before I could answer, it opened, revealing the last person I wanted to see. Prince Jacaerys stepped inside, his features half-lit by the flickering light, and closed the door behind him.

Instinctively, I rose to my feet, every muscle tensed. "My prince," I managed, forcing a politeness I did not feel. "What brings you here at this hour?"

His expression was a mixture of regret and something else—something raw, unguarded. 

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze shifting around the room before settling on me. "I owe you an apology," he said at last, his voice rough. "I was... unforgivably cruel."

I stared at him, stunned. I had imagined many responses from him, but this was not one of them. 

"You made your feelings quite clear," I replied, my words cautious, careful. "Why apologize now?"

He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. "Because I was wrong," he said, his tone raw with emotion. "And because you deserve better than the words I flung at you."

I studied him, searching for the lie or the hidden barb, but all I saw was a man burdened by something heavy and painful. 

"Why?" I asked quietly. "Why do you hate me so?"

His jaw clenched, and he turned away, moving to the window. "It isn't you I hate," he said, his voice low. "Not truly. It's what you represent—a reminder of my own bastardy, of my mother's mistakes and the war that rages because of it." 

He paused, his shoulders tense. "When I look at you, I see every shadow I have tried to escape, every whisper of doubt that has haunted me since I was a child."

His admission left me breathless. I had expected bitterness, but not this raw vulnerability. 

"I never asked to be a reminder of your pain," I said softly. "All I wanted was to find my place here. To serve, to live."

He turned to me then, his eyes dark and unguarded. "I know." His voice was a whisper. "And I tried to make you small, to make you feel as worthless as I do when I think of what I am. It was wrong."

The weight of his confession pressed on my chest, and I took a hesitant step closer. 

"I am not here to be your enemy," I said. "I am not here to judge you for your birth, just as I hope you will not judge me for mine."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I will try," he said. "I cannot promise it will be easy. The shadows do not leave so easily."

"I understand," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

A fragile silence fell between us. I could feel the tension of unspoken words, of wounds barely healed and a thousand possibilities. 

When he moved closer, I did not step back. He reached for my hand, his touch hesitant, as if he expected me to pull away. When I didn't, he exhaled slowly. 

"You are stronger than I gave you credit for," he murmured. "And more than worthy."

There was something softer, something almost hesitant as if he was still grappling with the enormity of his own words.

"I have wronged you," he said quietly, his voice low but steady. "More deeply than I realized. And for that, I can only offer my apologies. Words alone are a poor substitute for the damage I have done."

I searched his face, trying to make sense of the change. "I... thank you, my prince. Your words mean more than you know."

A flicker of something—relief, perhaps—passed across his features, but it was fleeting. He stepped back, creating just enough distance that I felt like I could breathe again. 

"But words are not enough," he continued, a hint of determination hardening his voice. "I cannot change the past or erase what I have said, but I can try to make amends in other ways."

Confusion knit my brow. "Make amends? How?"

His lips curved, just barely, into a small, wry smile. "I would like to teach you," he said. "Myself."

"Teach me?" I echoed, unsure if I had heard him correctly. There was a tremor of disbelief in my voice. "What would you teach me?"

"Dragonriding," he said simply. "You have bonded with Silverwing, and that alone speaks of your strength and courage. But riding a dragon is more than just a bond. It is a skill, one that can mean the difference between victory and defeat in the skies. You deserve proper training."

I felt a surge of emotion—gratitude, disbelief, and even a flicker of hope—but I quickly shook my head. 

"I couldn't ask that of you. You are the heir. You have duties, responsibilities. There are far more important matters for you to attend to."

He stepped closer, the resolve in his gaze unyielding. "As heir, my duty is to protect the claim my mother fights for—and one day, my own. Ensuring that every dragon rider fighting for our cause is prepared is as important as any political duty. This war is not won by words and titles alone."

His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of urgency. He meant every word, and the weight of his conviction made it impossible to refuse. 

I met his gaze, feeling a strange and unexpected connection, an unspoken understanding that neither of us could deny. Slowly, I nodded.

"Very well," I said, my voice low but resolute. "If it is your wish, my prince."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the prince I had once thought incapable of kindness or grace stood before me. "It is," he replied. "Tomorrow, then."

With that, he turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps quieter now, as if he carried less weight upon his shoulders. 

When he glanced back, his expression was unreadable—a mix of determination and something I dared not name. 

But I saw it: the beginnings of something fragile, a chance to build trust where only pain had stood.

I watched him leave, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of my lips.

A/n - back to college now and im hanging on by threads x

[majosullivan]

Annabel, Duke and Pluto: Similarities Between Conflicting Parties

We're now well into Nevermore Season Two, and having been in the mood to word vomit about this topic for far too long now, it’s finally time that I went into some thoughts I’ve been having about Annabel, Duke and Pluto.

As Lenore’s love interest and closest companions respectively, there was always going to be a lot of interest in the dynamic between Annabel and the boys, and with Annabel’s involvement with putting Duke behind the wall and especially Duke and Pluto’s murder attempt, the dynamic between these three is going to be fascinating to see develop onwards. Any further interactions between them are going to be tense and any further conflict between them is going to be personal, and with Duke currently being in possession of Chekhov’s gun in letter form, a possible need for them to cooperate with each other might be coming up sooner than any of them could ever expect.

I bring all of this up because, with the information we have presently, Annabel might be able to add two more people to what might as well a growing collection of ‘I fear only a few people have truly ever understood me and i fucking hate the guys’, with Annabel sharing noticeable similarities with Duke and Pluto, as well as both potential and actual key factors in their respective deaths.

Duke and Annabel

Oh Duke and Annabel...from a comedic shove out of the way during the maze, to both of them being involved with a plan to kill the other in their first week at Nevermore. These two are so much fun to delve into, and their building similarities is going to make the inevitable need for them to work together so much sweeter. Before we get into the big one, here’s a few that I wanted to give a quick mention to:

Association with blue

In classic Romeo and Juliet fashion, Lenore and Annabel have clear colours associated with them and their family, with Annabel being commonly associated with blue, with some additional cold colours mixed in. Keeping this detail in mind, it was very interesting to see that two of the main colours in Duke’s spectre design were purple, a colour we’ve mainly seen him in through his dressing gown, and blue. Particularly with Duke’s spectre being revealed during the Cellar arc, having Duke and Annabel be connected with a shared colour can both highlight their equal importance to Lenore, as well as emphasise the split that resulted from the reveal that Annabel was the one that suggested Duke be the one that the acolytes trapped behind the wall.

Performers

Performance holds particularly significance to both of them, although in very different manners.

Duke made a career out of performing while he was alive, appearing to be a successful one to boot. While his status as a performer was only confirmed in episode 72, Duke’s passion for the stage was easy to see early on, from his dramatics, his mannerisms and his attempt to encourage Pluto in episode 17 to name a few examples. Since we only have one flashback for Duke at this moment, it is difficult to speculate the possible extent his profession affected his personal life while he was alive, but considering how he died…might be something we want to put a pin in for a later time.

While Annabel doesn’t share the same attachment to the literal stage, performance is something that runs deep throughout her life and her time at Nevermore. To use her own wording ‘everything in life is an act’.

Annabel spent her whole life presenting herself as the perfect high society lady, having to consistently conceal any feelings that would be seen as improper in fear that she would be considered mad. This survival tactic continued to be a necessary tool to Annabel even after her death, with the academy being structured in such a manner to encourage conflict, deceit and violence among the students. Funny how Annabel has had to perform throughout her life and even needed to perform an encore after she’s six feet under, while the literal performer has had more opportunities to exist authentically.

Relationship with Lenore

Especially after the events of the Cellar arc, Lenore’s respective relationships with Annabel and Duke and what they have represented for Lenore’s desire to escape with the misfits and Annabel are ripe for picking when it comes to analysis. Keeping the focus on Annabel and Duke, they obviously both care deeply for Lenore, but it’s interesting to see their unknowingly shared sentiments when it comes to her:

-Both sharing the belief that Lenore is able to make anything possible (special note goes to my lovely friend likeastars for this point)

-Both encouraging Lenore not to place unnecessary guilt on herself

-Their reactions to Montresor's comment about Lenore's 'hysteria'

-Then of course, we have...

Betrayal

With those similarities sorted though, time to get into the big one: both Annabel’s and Duke’s deaths were the result of a betrayal.

In order for her manifest, Annabel was informed that she was murdered, being, as all Nevermore theorists know by heart at this point, ‘betrayed by the one who loved you above all else else’. Considering this description was given to her by the deans, and we as an audience are privy to the knowledge that the deans were making an active attempt to separate Lenore and Annabel by making Annabel manifest the way she did, it would be fair to take this wording for a hint of salt. For example, there's the possibility that the one who murdered Annabel and the one who betrayed her are two different people. However, considering that this description did make Annabel manifest, I believe the reliability of this description is acceptable for the time being.

In episode 83, we see that Duke died in a sabotaged water torture cell, with Duke desperately attempting to call for help when he discovered the top of the cell wouldn't move, only for his assistant to cover up Duke’s distress as a part of the act before turning around to smirk at Duke as the curtain went down.

This similarity between their deaths is intriguing by itself, but as BlacknedSoul pointed out in one of their wonderful posts, how they have reacted to these betrayals and how it has currently affected their relationships in Nevermore is really fascinating to compare.

Specific discussion around who shot Annabel is going to be saved for a later section in this post, but while the identity of Annabel’s murderer and what exactly happened are important for further understanding Annabel’s headspace while in the academy, the main factor at hand remains unchanged: Annabel was betrayed. A betrayal that led to her death. Annabel felt close enough to this person, trusted this person enough, that their actions were a betrayal to her, and with our current knowledge about Annabel while she was alive, the number of people that could possibly fit this description is already incredibly low as it is.

As we have clearly seen throughout season one, this betrayal has had a significant impact on Annabel’s willingness to trust anyone outside of Lenore, claiming that everyone would turn against them if they learnt about their scheme when Lenore questions why she couldn’t let Duke and Pluto in on their plans during episode 28. Though a level of caution is more than understandable given their current situation, Annabel’s mistrust appears to go beyond this. That betrayal is not a possibility but a certainty. While she has made some progress, with her desiring to have a genuine friendship with Prospero and everything that has currently happened in the Wild Hunt arc, Annabel’s fear of the possible consequences of letting anyone in on her and Lenore’s plan cannot be more clearly emphasised than it is in episode 98.

Lenore attempts to tell Duke the truth about her and Annabel as a final resort to prevent Duke and Pluto from killing Annabel, and Annabel looks on at her in absolute terror. Her life is currently being threatened, she is possibly moments away from falling to her death, and yet all her fear is focused on Lenore's attempt to confess.

She immediately does what she can to stop Lenore in her tracks, yelling out that ‘I won’t let you get away from this!’ before attempting to drag Duke over the railings with her. I don't think this can be emphasised enough, Annabel would literally prefer to fall to her death than have Lenore tell Duke to truth. She is so positive that there would be irrecoverable negative consequences to the misfits learning the truth that death would be a preferable option to her.

We don’t know the extent of Duke’s relationship with his assistant at the moment, nor his exact motivations for having Duke killed. Hell, we don’t even know their name. However, it appears Duke at the very least had a level of trust in him, considering that our unnamed man was in the position of Duke’s assistant in the first place. As per the role of an assistant, he would be entrusted with preparations for all of Duke's acts, acts that would put Duke's life at risk if something were to go wrong. Duke had entrusted his safety in his assistant’s hands, and what does his assistant do? He takes advantage of his position, and gets him killed.

Despite what happened to him, it doesn’t appear that his death has negatively impacted his ability to trust others in the same manner it has for Annabel. We can see through his relationships with Lenore, Pluto and the rest of the misfits that he’s still quite open to forming connections and trusting relationships with others, far more than Annabel originally showed. Even after what happened between him and Lenore in episodes 98 and 99, something that occurred after he remembered how he died and could cause him to have more caution going forward, he still has complete faith in Lenore's abilities and is the first person to take part in the blood oath after Lenore. While he is comparingly more open to others than Annabel, that doesn’t mean that Duke is completely free of caution or is immediately welcoming when it comes to others. There are some small examples that illustrate this, such as him underestimating and being willing to ditch Pluto in the maze before Pluto showed he was much more capable than Lenore and Duke originally gave him credit for, as well as him being hesitant about Berenice and Eulalie first joining them when they went to look for a hideout. The main example here though this how he cautions Lenore about how she interacts with certain people in the academy. We see this most when referring to Annabel and Ada.

Through Duke's cautioning, episode 38 provide us with this important scene:

Duke appeared to end up the victim of a manipulator. He put his trust in the wrong person and it ended up getting him killed. While he might no remember the details of his death at the time of this scene, one of the last things he would want is for someone important to him to go through such an experience.

When Lenore's and Annabel's connection is revealed to the misfits, there is no way these experiences of betrayal aren't at least touched on, and with the topics discussed in the next section of these post, deep experiences of broken trusts are not going to stop there.

Pluto and Annabel

When it comes to Annabel and Pluto, while we have some fun surface level similarities, such as them both being English while coming from very different backgrounds and regions of England, there are two main similarities I want to dig into: the complexities in their relationships with their fathers and the current absence of their mothers.

Relationship With Their Fathers

We haven’t seen too much from both their fathers, with Ira, Annabel’s father, appearing in three episodes and Pluto’s father only appearing in one. Nevertheless, they have left us a good amount to chew on in very different ways.

When it comes to Annabel and her father, I don’t doubt that the two dearly love each other, with one of Annabel’s first concerns after Lenore presents her plan to elope and run away to her being what would become of her father, and Ira being shown to take great pride in his daughter. However, we can quickly see problems in their relationship start to present themselves when Ira reacts to Annabel’s panic attack. We’ve seen that Ira is someone that places great importance in appearances and maintaining advantageous relationships. Some prime example of this can be seen with him arranging a suitable husband for Annabel in case no one can beat her by the end of her third social season and the reasoning behind Annabel meeting with Lenore in the first placing being that Ira wished to know Lenore’s father better. With this starting to be established even before Ira made his first appearance, it should be of little surprise that Ira is quick to dismiss Annabel's panic attack, something that mind you, was brought on when Annabel learnt that someone she seemingly spent time with on a daily basis for six months died in a terrible house fire.

No matter what love Ira does have for Annabel, this concern surrounding appearances and what he believes is best for Annabel ultimately dismisses and neglects Annabel’s emotional needs. There can be discussions around how much of his reaction here is motivated by his concerns about preserving his image, in comparison with possible concerns about the consequences Annabel could face if someone else caught her in such a state, but the way Ira switches to calling Annabel by her name back to calling her ‘dearest’ once Annabel has ‘calmed’ herself is very telling.

When it comes to Pluto and his father…honestly I think I can just gesture in the direction of episode 83 and any point I could make about how fucked that relationship is will be well enough illustrated.

To further discuss though, there is the popular idea that Pluto’s father could have been a decent/good parent before WWI, with the aftermath sending him into a downward spiral and alcoholism, lining up with details provided to us about the narrator in ‘The Black Cat’, the short story Pluto is inspired from. I think this is very likely, especially when considering all the problems soldiers faced after returning from WWI. While this undoubtedly adds more possible tragic to Pluto and his father’s relationship, until we get confirmation of this idea, any further discussion on their relationship will be limited.

The real thing that gets me about their relationships with their fathers isn’t just the complicated nature of them, it’s how they can be tied to their deaths. Although we don’t have the complete details on Pluto’s and Annabel’s death as of yet, we do have enough to make some informed guesses, and it just so happens that with these informed guesses, their fathers are either inescapably tied to their deaths in the best case scenario, or are the ones who murdered them in the worst.

We currently have three main suspects for the person who shot Annabel: Lenore, Annabel’s childhood friend and Ira. Discussion and analysis of each of these suspects really deserves a dedicated post of its own, so I am going to keep this as brief as I can.

Despite the evidence mounted against her, I have a lot of doubts about it being Lenore. There are a number of details that don’t appear to completely fit if that was the case, with the prime one being that we know the deans were actively trying to separate Annabel and Lenore when they told Annabel how she died, and those memories greatly suggest Lenore was the one who shot Annabel. While those scenes in episode 91 would otherwise be a slam dunk, knowing about the Deans' manipulation highly suggest that either Lenore wasn't the one that shot Annabel, or the events that occurred are much more complicated than those panels would lead us to believe.

Next, we have Annabel’s childhood friend. While the details episode 42 provided about him definitely stood out enough for me to put a pin in him for the time being, the fact that we haven’t to met him yet and there currently being no further reference of him since episode 42, it’s harder to make a solid case about him being the one that shot Annabel. There’s also important consideration needed to whether Annabel would be close enough with/have enough trust in him that his actions would be considered a betrayal. Given the way she described him, it doesn’t seem likely at the moment.

Finally, we have Ira. Given what we know about him, there is a strong case to be made against him. He could both believably fit the description of ‘the one that loved you above all else’, as well as have his actions be seen as a betrayal in Annabel’s eyes. Furthermore, with what we discussed about him before, it wouldn't be hard to put together a motivation for him. If/when White Raven’s plan was exposed, it isn't too hard to believe that he would shoot both of them in a desperate attempt to cover everything up and preserve his image. I could see him believing it as a kinder fate for Annabel than if she survived. Rather than being seen as a mad woman, institutionalised for trying to run off with a other woman, she could be seen as a poor victim, manipulated by a violent criminal and losing her life because of their wicked schemes (totally not covering up for the shame he would face if the public were to discover the truth, why would you even think that?). Even if Ira doesn’t end up as the one to pull the trigger, there is no way that he wasn’t at least involved in the events that led up to Annabel’s death. He can been seen chaperoning Annabel and 'Leo''s walk through the rose garden, he is friends with Lenore's father and him and Annabel were staying with the damn Vandernachts during the social season. There is no way that he wasn't involved with the discovery of White Raven's plan.

Pluto’s death is much easier to break down in comparison to Annabel. We know that Pluto felt relieved in his final moments and that, judging by how his spectre first manifested, he likely died by hanging.

Taking these factors in combination with the plot of ‘The Black Cat’ and what we currently know about Pluto’s home environment, there are two main theories on how Pluto died. Either Pluto committed suicide or his father murdered him. I don’t believe I have anything specific to further support one theory over the other, but I think I'm currently leaning towards his father killing him at the moment. Like with Ira though, given the…well everything about Pluto’s father, even if he didn’t murder him, there is no doubt in my mind that he was at least involved with what happened to Pluto.

Current Absence of Their Mothers

Currently, Annabel's and Pluto's mothers have yet to appear in the series. Now, you can fairly point this out as being a bit of a stretch. After all, the only characters so far to have both their parents shown to us are the Vandernacht siblings. Why should the absence of their mothers pose particular interest compared to the absence of Prospero's father for example? I have two reasons for this.

The first reason concerns how the absence of their mothers could have impacted the relationships Annabel and Pluto have with their fathers. While this hasn't been confirmed, the absence of their mothers clearly implies one thing: neither of them are in the picture anymore. If this is the case, that leaves us with the big question of 'why?'. I would place a bet on them both being dead, but we obviously don't have anything that could confirm or deny this at the moment. However, how and when their mothers left the picture would undoubtedly effect how the two's relationships with their fathers would have developed. For example, I would imagine there would be noticeable differences in Pluto and his father's relationship depending on if his mother died before, during or after WWI.

The second reason is that there are certain details about Annabel and Pluto, both in the webtoon and the work they were inspired from, that suggest that their mothers will have a decent amount of importance in their backstories.

Annabel's Mother

The current status of Annabel’s mother has to be one of the things I'm most intrigued about when it comes to the casts' backstories. While there isn’t a particular character from Annabel’s poem that we could draw from to speculate on her personality, the themes surrounding Annabel's story, and especially two key aspects of Annabel’s character, could both inform what Annabel’s mother was like and the impact she could have had on Annabel.

The first aspect I'm referring to is Annabel’s view on becoming a matriarch. As stated in episode 42, Annabel considered getting married and becoming a lady of the house death, that card games would be one of the only things that could stave off the building madness as she’s forced to go through the motions expected from such a role, with particular emphasis on needlepoint, needlepoint, the goddamned needlepoint. This stance naturally feels like something that could have been impacted by how Annabel saw her mother and how her mother acted, especially with Annabel having such a distinct distain for needlepoint. For example, it’s possible that Annabel’s mother was similar to what we've seen of Lucille, Lenore’s mother. Being lifeless around the house, constantly doing needlepoint to pass the time.

The second aspect I'm referring to is Annabel’s fear of going mad. We first delve into Annabel's fear during episode 66, where we received these important scenes:

We currently don’t know when this fear started to surface, however, in combination with her mother's absence and the knowledge that Annabel has been experiencing panic attacks since she was younger, there's the possibility that this fear is at least partially rooted in how her mother was treated, if she was seen as 'hysteric', and/or treatment and teaching from her mother when Annabel was experiencing a panic attack.

Until we learn anything about Annabel's mother, all we can really do is speculate, but with everything we current know about Annabel, there is the potential for some compelling and tragic reveals.

Pluto's Mother

With Pluto’s mother, she is particularly interesting since she actually has a character from Pluto’s story that she could be drawn from: the narrator’s wife.

In ‘The Black Cat’, the narrator states that he married early, expressing the following about his wife throughout the short story:

‘my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point’

‘my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of my simplest and purest pleasures’

‘[from the sudden, frequent, and ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which I now blindly abandoned myself], my uncomplaining wife, alas! was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers’

When the narrator attempts to kill the second black cat with an axe, his wife stops him, with the narrator killing her instead. The narrator then hides her body behind a brick wall in their cellar.

Now, do I think Pluto’s mother met the same fate as the narrator’s wife in the Black Cat? No. It currently seems very unlikely that she would have met the exact same fate for following reasons:

1) The narrator’s wife dies after the first cat loses his eye and is killed, and from the limited amount we’ve seen, Pluto’s mother already appears to be out of the picture when Pluto loses his eye.

2) Aspects from this part of Pluto’s story have been used during the cellar arc. In ‘The Black Cat’, the narrator uses a crow bar to dislodge bricks from the wall in order to hide his wife’s body, and we see Pluto also use a crow bar while trying to dislodge the bricks that are keeping Duke trapped. Furthermore, when the police came to the house in search of the narrator’s missing wife, the second cat alerts both to the body’s location, with the police tearing down the wall to reveal that the second cat had been walled in with the body. This event can be linked to how Pluto was the one that helped Duke finally manifest, allowing him to escape the wall.

3) If Pluto’s mother was murdered by his father, who then hid her body behind a wall, I think this information would have been revealed to us during the Cellar arc. Unless Pluto never found out about it (which holy shit, I don’t think I would want him to find out if that ends up to be the case), you would think such a specific event like ‘a group of people trapping one of your closest friends behind a wall and leaving them to die’ would spark up some memories about what would hypothetically be one of the most traumatic experiences of your life.

Placing her current status to the side for now, the fact that Pluto's mother has a character she could be drawn definitely, at least in my eyes, increases the chances that she is going some make some appearance in the future. Furthermore, if we were to use descriptions of the narrator's wife to speculate what Pluto's mother was like, it lines up quite well with what we've seen from Pluto, with special mention being able to be given to his name.

During episode 103, when Eulalie asks Pluto about knowing the myths surrounding Charon, he replies with 'My name is "Pluto"'. It was interesting to see mentioned, since while we know on a meta level that Pluto gets his name from the short story he's inspired from, 'Pluto' is far from a name you would expect from an English man born to a working class family some time in the 1900s.

Both his name and knowledge on mythology could suggest that mythology was an interest of one or both of his parents, and with the narrator's wife being 'at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition', I could totally see Pluto getting his name from his mother.

What could this mean going forward?

So, with all of this covered, how could it potentially be used in the story going forward?

It's hard to say when Annabel will be interacting with either of the boys next, but with her swearing that they will regret trying to kill her, it isn't going to be pretty if Lenore isn't around. Most significantly though, we have the inevitable reveal to the misfits that Lenore and Annabel knew each other while they were alive and have been working together.

With a literal letter that details Lenore's and Annabel's relationship being in play, no matter if Lenore does or does not 'die' during this arc, there is no way that letter isn't getting read by someone, whether it is by Duke or by a completely different party.

Taking into account what we have discussed and current tension between Annabel's group and the misfits, there is no way this reveal is going to go smoothly for anyone, since just to quickly review, we have:

Annabel - has shown that she is willing to die if it means preventing her and Lenore's secret from being revealed.

Duke - died because his assistant betrayed him.

Pluto - got blinded in one of his eyes by someone he should have been able to trust.

Throw in the rest of the misfits and we have a time bomb of emotions waiting to explode, with many of them having experiences that could more than understandably make them react more poorly than they might have if they knew sooner.

If Lenore wishes to achieve the best possible outcome from this reveal, then I can only hope she realise that, especially after both Duke and Annabel nearly dying, keeping these secrets is only going to make things worse in the long run. The longer she hides her relationship with Annabel, the worse the misfits' reactions could potentially be, and if she doesn't explain to Annabel why she believes telling the misfits the truth is necessary, Annabel has shown she is willing to go to extreme lengths to protect their secret.

Even if the reveal goes as smooth as it could, actually working together is going to be a massive work in progress. We know that they have common ground that they could connect with, but when and how they would actually see that...only time will tell.

[spectral-squid]

Holy Lucifer, I love this so much.

It's adorable, and I love how she has her scarf.

Cuddly shadow dragon. What's not to love?

@ask-elliot-doorman-fam / @dronebiscuitbat

@cursed-spectre

More dragons, cursed jelly donut edition!

I would also like to retract my previous statement on lineart, it's actually quite fun :3

[megalony]

Cast Under This Spell

This is a new Emperor Geta imagine that @missdreamofendless had an amazing idea for.

I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05

Main Masterlist

Summary: Geta wants to marry (Y/n), despite the strange spells she suffers. He vows to protect her and keep her secret safe.

(Readers 'spells' are seizures in this fic)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The palace was calmer at night. There weren't as many people roaming the corridors, bustling about in all directions. There were no Senates vying for attention or demanding the Emperors take a look at something or settle some debate or affairs of state. The servants retired to their rooms or to the kitchens when it got dark and it made everything more peaceful.

(Y/n) didn't necessarily like the darkness, but she did like the peace that it brought, opposed to the chaos that occurred during the daylight.

She was sure that both Emperors were calmer when it was evening too, or at least that was how she perceived them. No meetings to wear Caracalla down or make his temper flare and cause arguments between him and his brother. No state affairs to drain Geta and cause him to make big decisions when he would rather be doing anything else. No agreements to oversee, no deals to sign so late at night.

The Emperors could relax, they could go about their pleasures and do as they pleased without being observed.

The thought of Geta plagued (Y/n)'s mind as she continued her descent down the corridor. She wasn't quite sure where she was going or what she was aiming to do, but a walk seemed like a better idea than wallowing alone in her room.

She was fortunate enough to reside at the palace, and that meant she got to be around both Emperors each day. Seeing Geta always brightened (Y/n)'s mood and if he happened to be in a tired or exasperated mood, talking to (Y/n) seemed to help and make him relax.

Rounding the corner, (Y/n) headed down the stairs and out onto a new hallway, lit only by two flames at least ten feet apart.

Three feet down the hallway, (Y/n) could feel a headache forming behind her eyes and igniting at the back of her head and down the base of her neck.

After another five or so feet, (Y/n)'s frame went rigid when she caught sight of a figure looming at the other end of the hall like a spectre. But closer inspection made her relax and sigh; it was Geta. She could tell by the way those broad shoulders straightened out and the gleam of gold and silver cloth donning his frame. Not to mention when he passed one of the flames, it set alight his golden hair that was brushed into neat tendrils all around his forehead and the tops of his ears.

She could barely see the golden crown nestled neatly into his hair and when he approached, (Y/n) noticed he wasn't wearing his usual make up. His face wasn't painted ghostly white and there were no dark circles painted beneath his eyes. Only thin black streaks framing his eyelids. He still looked fetching. He still looked every inch the Emperor he was, the person who made (Y/n)'s heart come close to giving out whenever he was around her.

"Out so late, and all alone?" Geta's voice didn't quite match the smile that glistened on his lips. His smile was darker than the soft tone of his voice, but it made (Y/n)'s knees quake all the same.

The very person who had been at the forefront of her mind was now standing before her.

"I could ask you the same thing, my Emperor." It never felt right to say his name, despite how close they were and how he was always asking her to be informal and use his name. (Y/n) was brought up to be formal, to be polite and this was the Emperor, no less. The highest authority in Rome, someone who could end her life on a whim if he so desired. Formality was a necessity.

"I was on my way back to my chambers, you're very welcome to join me."

The sly smile on his face made (Y/n) grin and bow her head. Somehow, she was sure that Geta knew she wasn't going anywhere in particular, she was simply walking because she had been rather lonesome in her room.

Going back to the Emperor's room with him wasn't the best idea. Not when people already suspected Geta had his sights set on making (Y/n) his wife and being alone in his room with him would be improper. (Y/n) wouldn't want to do anything to ruin her reputation. It was different for Geta, no one would bat an eye who he took to his room or why. But if they saw (Y/n) going into his room, rumours would start and if she somehow did marry Geta, people would question why and if it had something to do with losing her virtue before marriage.

"After you." The smile on Geta's face was almost putting (Y/n) under a trance.

She knew she wouldn't go into his room, but she allowed herself to turn on her heels and slowly walk back the way she had come from, now with Geta by her side and his hand on her lower back. She would enjoy his company for a little while, and he clearly wanted to be around her. How could she refuse?

(Y/n) could feel her headache pulsing through her blood but it wasn't as bad when she felt Geta's hand remain on her lower back and his frame close against her side. Standing so close to his tall figure always made (Y/n) feel protected and safe. He was the Emperor, there was no safer place than being stood by his side.

Geta let his eyes cast down to glance over at (Y/n) every now and then as they walked. He liked the way she held her hands together in front of her waist like she was a bridesmaid holding a bouquet of flowers. And he liked the way her hair curled in ringlets around her ears, even with half of it still pinned to the back of her head.

He found himself becoming lost when he looked at (Y/n), sometimes he wondered if he looked at her for too long he might become lost forever.

The spell (Y/n) cast over him started to break when he watched her steps start to falter and become slower than his, causing him to hang back to let her catch up. But it was when her hand curled around his bicep like a viper's grip that Geta stopped to see what the problem.

"Everything okay?"

When the seconds ticked by and (Y/n) didn't answer him, Geta swept his gaze around the deserted hallway before he moved to stand in front of (Y/n), noticing that her hand stayed gripped around his arm as he did so.

Moving his hands, Geta carefully snaked his fingers along (Y/n)'s jaw and up until he could cup her face in his hands and tilt her head up so they were looking at one another. A deep sigh rattled past his pursed lips when he saw her pupils; they were blown wide like rock pools and her neck muscles were so tense they were popping through her skin. The subtle but noticeable shaking that seeped through (Y/n)'s system made Geta's chest stutter and his teeth sank down into his lower lip as he cast a look around the hallway.

They were still alone, no one else was walking by to witness what was happening here. Good.

She was having one of her spells.

"You're okay, I've got you." Geta lowered his arm that (Y/n) was gripping until his hand ghosted down her waist and he could grip her hip through her dress. His other hand stayed firmly against her cheek and he began swiping his thumb across her cheek to give her something to focus on.

There was nothing he could do but wait for the spell to pass, that was what (Y/n) and the healers had always told them.

Geta had never known anybody suffer the kind of spells and fits that (Y/n) had suffered through since she was ten. The healers couldn't understand why she had them and they had no name for what she was suffering. Nothing seemed to trigger her spells, they didn't happen because she fell or hurt herself or when she was scared or worked up. They just appeared out of nowhere like shooting stars racing across the sky.

Geta only knew about these spells because he had witnessed (Y/n) having one before and he had been seconds away from calling the healers until she begged him not to. (Y/n) didn't want anyone else knowing.

It hurt Geta that she had been so afraid to tell him, that she worried he thought she was cursed or some kind of omen when he thought nothing of the kind. He could see she couldn't help what was happening to her and he did anything he could to try and help her where he could. He understood (Y/n)'s desire not to have anyone else know about these spells. People could be superstitious. And cruel.

At least this kind of spell was easier to handle, if she had to suffer them, ones like these were the easier ones to handle. Ones where her body tensed and sometimes trembled, but stayed relatively motionless and came back to her control after only a few moments.

When the subtle shaking began to subside, Geta moved both hands to her arms and began gliding his hands up and down her skin to try and rouse her and keep her calm.

"I'm sorry,"

"Don't apologise for what you can't control, can you still walk?" He was fairly certain she would be fine on her feet but he knew sometimes (Y/n)'s muscles would tense and lock up or she became too disorientated to move.

"Yes, I'm okay now."

She felt unsteady on her feet but with a little ounce of courage, (Y/n) reached out beside her and curled her hands around Geta's arm to keep herself steady. She was stood so close that her chest was practically glued into his side and the way Geta smiled down at her made her knees tremble.

They proceeded at a slower pace and Geta kept his right arm curled over his chest so (Y/n) could cling to his arm. And he moved his other hand to rest over hers so he could glide his thumb up and down the back of her hand.

"Do they happen often?"

He only knew what (Y/n) had told him, what her mother and family healer knew but no one else did. Geta knew and could see why her family wanted to keep this a secret, they wanted what was best for (Y/n). They wanted her to get married and have a life here in Rome; she was the daughter of a Nobleman and could have a high-class marriage. But it would be a lot harder for her to live her life and find a good marriage if people knew of her illness and feared what she had.

"Not too often,"

Three months was the longest (Y/n) had gone without even just a small spell like the one she had just now. It felt like such a relief, such a great achievement and it surged her and her parents with hope. Maybe she would start to live without them, maybe they would be a distant condition that might taper off. That belief was something that got (Y/n) through the days, but it was also what made her mother want to start looking for betrothals.

(Y/n) was at the age to wed now and if she truly was starting to get better, her mother wanted to get her matched so her life could start properly.

"That's good."

Something ignited in Geta's chest as a smile started to form on his lips while they continued to walk at a slow pace.

He wasn't pleased just for the sake of (Y/n)'s health though. There was a more selfish reason gnawing away at him. If she was getting better, there was a chance he could have her for himself. No one else need find out about her spells. Geta was an Emperor, if he got a healer to assess (Y/n), said healer wouldn't be allowed to gossip or talk about (Y/n) to anyone else so nobody would find out.

He knew her family were aiming to find her a marriage, and Geta wanted to marry her. He was selfish enough to know her family weren't going to turn down an offer like this; an offer from the Emperor.

He would look after (Y/n), he would devote himself to her and love and adore her and he would take care of her. He would protect her from anything. And if her spells continued for the rest of her life, Geta would devote himself to caring for her and keeping her secret and making sure she was okay.

Geta was already caring for his brother, Emperor Caracalla who had syphilis that was starting to attack his brain. Geta made sure no one but the healers knew about his brother. They couldn't have the Senate finding out and try to overthrow them or overrule Caracalla and deem him unfit to rule. As long as they ruled together and had each other, they were okay.

(Y/n) would be just another person for Geta to love and protect with his life, just like his brother.

"I believe my mother wants to find a betrothal for me," (Y/n) slowly unravelled her hands from around Geta's arm and instead clasped them tightly in her lap. "I think I'm better alone, any husband would run a mile when he found out about my spells."

It was a growing fear that if she did marry some nobleman, what would he do when he found out?

Someone would have to be willing to stay with her despite the fact that she suffered these spells and not run around telling people. It would take an entirely devoted person or a very easily persuaded, docile man to marry (Y/n) and her secret.

She would be better staying a spinster and living out her days safely alone in the palace. At least alone no one would say she was possessed by the Devil or paying for her sins or that she was too ill to be a wife or a mother and bear children.

"I wouldn't."

Tears welled in (Y/n)'s eyes when she dared to look up at the Emperor beside her. His dark brown eyes were staring intently at her with a lustful but somehow soft touch to them and the way his earnest lips parted and flushed made silent tears fall from her eyes.

She turned so she was stood in front of him, her head angled to one side and a confusing sadness welling up in her eyes. She didn't deserve to be Empress, she didn't deserve the fondness and the love Geta had for her. He was the Emperor. He needed to marry someone worthy, someone who didn't have any illness like her, someone who could safely give him the heirs he so wanted to secure the throne.

(Y/n) had no idea if she could have children or not. Physically she could, but her illness could complicate things. She might not be such a welcomed Empress or loved by the people if they thought she was reclusive and gave no heir to the throne.

"Geta, I don't think-"

"You would be safe with me. I want to marry you."

A shiver crept down (Y/n)'s spine when Geta pinched her chin between his thumb and finger and turned her head so she was looking up at him despite her tears. When he tipped his forehead against hers, it was like every emotion he felt was radiating through to her.

"I am no good match for an Emperor like you. I'd be a liability and if I didn't give an heir, or a child got my illness… it wouldn't do good for you."

There was nothing (Y/n) wanted more than to be married to Geta, to the Emperor who had stolen her heart from the first moment they met. The person she felt she could be herself around, the person she loved and who clearly love dher despite her illness.

But she didn't want to be the cause of chaos for Geta. He and Caracalla were the Emperors to Rome and they were just finding their way and gaining favour with the people. They each needed to find a suitable match, they needed to find laides of higih honour above reproach who would give them heirs and a good image.

(Y/n) may give Geta a good image only until someone saw her have one of her spells or gossip started to flood the palace. And if she didn't give him an heir, or they had a child who suffered this ailment too, (Y/n) would be blamed. She didn't want to do that to Geta; to give him all of that stress and burden, no matter how much she loved him.

"You'd rather see me go mad with desire for you?"

"N-no…" That's not what (Y/n) meant, although seeing Geta grow jealous might be something worth witnessing. She wasn't saying this to hurt him, she was trying to be practical. Despite how eager her mother was to see (Y/n) get married, she would think the same worries (Y/n) was having right now.

"Then marry me. You are more than a match for me, and I would rather watch Rome burn than see you marry someone else." There was something almost threatening in Geta's words and (Y/n) found herself nodding before she could process what she was agreeing to.

How could she refuse?

The Emperor wanted to marry her. He actually loved her and he was the one who had possession over (Y/n)'s heart since the moment they met and she didn't want it back. If Geta was willing to look out for her and care for her and keep her ailment a secret then (Y/n) truly would be safe with him.

And for all she knew, she might be able to have many children with him and none of them could inherit what she had.

When Geta cupped her jaw and stole the first kiss from her lips, (Y/n) could do nothing but hook her arms around his neck and pull him closer.

She was never going to find someone to love and accept her like the man stood before her. And why enter a loveless union when someone who clearly wanted her and was willing to protect her was right here, asking to marry her?

He was Emperor, he didn't need to seek permission from anyone to marry. Maybe before he and Caracalla ascended to the throne, when their brute of a father was still alive, they would of needed to seek his permission to marry. But they were now the highest authority in Rome. They needed to ask no one for anything.

Geta could raise the subject of marriage to the Senate and seek their advice, but he didn't need their approval. And he knew without a doubt that they would see (Y/n) as a perfect match. She was someone the people would love, someone the people would take to instantly and who would bring yet more peace and power to Rome.

She was a perfect match for Geta, and he wouldn't allow anyone else to have her. Not even his brother. (Y/n) was going to be the one thing he didn't share with his twin; she wasn't like their concubines.

She was going to be Geta's and his alone.

***

"Brother- oh, am I interrupting?" The bright, rambunctous sound of Caracalla's voice combined with the way the chamber doors swung open created a rather loud echo throughout the room.

Geta found off the urge to roll his eyes when he watched his twin blunder into the room like they were children sharing sleeping quarters again. He was used to his brother wandering and barging in whenever he wanted something or whenever Caracalla was starting to feel lonely. He didn't do well alone.

It was all well and good until moments like these happened. Geta had been married a week and this counted as the third time someone had barged into their room without knocking. It being Caracalla meant that Geta wouldn't make a fuss this time. Needless to say the maid who had walked in without knocking two days ago had ran out crying.

"Don't you always?" Geta drawled while he moved one hand to brush his eyes to try and waken himself up a little more.

He kept his left arm draped over (Y/n)'s waist and dropped his head back down so his chin perched on her shoulder. He could feel her fingertips gliding up and down his arm and the way she wriggled beneath him made him cast his eyes down to her.

He couldn't resist the urge to take another kiss from her lips before he groaned and pushed up onto his knees. They had been interrupted and Caracalla wasn't likely to simply walk away now.

"We have a meeting with the council." Caracalla lolled his head to one side while he reached across to the small table near the wall and took one of the glasses to pour himself a drink. He himself wasn't exactly dressed yet, but he was awake and he wanted to make sure his brother was going to accompany him to this meeting.

"Yes, I'm aware."

(Y/n) was sure she heard Geta mutter 'help yourself' when he noticed his brother already pouring a glass of wine.

Her eyes followed Geta as he climbed off the bed, but made the effort to lean across and kiss her again. For this week that they had been married, it had been harder and harder for Geta to climb out of bed in the mornings when all he wanted to do was stay here beneath the sheets with her all day.

He was tempted, very tempted, to call off official business and stay cooped up in here with (Y/n) for the foreseeable future. But Geta knew if he did that he would be less and less likely to go back to official business.

"Aren't you getting dressed?" Geta cast a look over his bare shoulder towards his brother who was scarcely covered in his night gown that was hanging off one pale shoulder.

His brother had no make up cladding his face as of yet therefore instead of looking pasty and regal, Caracalla looked bright crimson. Bright rosy cheeks, spots of acne scattered around and dark circles beneath his eyes. Although Caracalla did look healthier today than he usually did, he seemed to be having a good day today.

Geta set about finding some clothes and began getting dressed while he listened to his brother drawl and hum something incoherent in the background. He was used to hearing his brother ramble, especially in the morning or late into the evening.

"Are you attending the meeting with us?" Caracalla tapped his short nails against the glass in his hand and angled his head towards the bed where his sister in law was laid.

He knew last week when he walked into the room unannounced, he had unintentionally made (Y/n) flustered. He wasn't sure why she was flustered around him, he wasn't a servant, they were family. The twins were always finding each other around the palace and that wasn't going to change now that Geta was married. It simply meant that Caracalla would be finding his sister in law as well as his brother.

His brows furrowed when he didn't receive a response and he turned towards the bed, wondering if his sister in law was now ignoring him.

What he saw surprised him.

Caracalla clicked his head from side to side as he slowly approached the bed and perched down on the edge with his eyes still narrowed and his lips slightly parted. He dared to reach a hand out towards (Y/n), but he wasn't sure what he was trying to do or what indeed she was doing.

"Brother?" Confusion laced through his words while his hand curled around (Y/n)'s trembling wrist. "I fear something is wrong."

There was a sense of curiosity in Caracalla's eyes as he started to glide his thumb across the back of her hand.

He had never seen anyone suffer a state like this before. He had never seen someone lay in bed with their head angled back, their chin jutting out and their body completely succumbed to trembles like this. Caracalla was sure he could see (Y/n)'s eyes moving behind her eyelids and he noticed that her fingers were curled strangely towards her palms while she lightly shuddered up and down on the bed.

Geta fixed a golden cuff to his left forearm just below his wrist and finished adding the rings to his fingers as he walked back towards the bedroom from the adjoining room.

But once he lifted his head and looked for his brother, his upper lip curled in distaste and a shiver tore down his spine. He bolted from his spot on the rug and clambered back onto the bed, kneeling in the centre of the bed beside his wife.

Not now! Not again!

She had been doing so well. Geta made (Y/n) promise to tell him any time she had a spell and she hadn't had one since that night in the halls when he asked- or rather convinced- her to marry him. He had been ignorant enough to hope and believe that maybe, just maybe, (Y/n) wouldn't suffer these spells as much as she used to anymore.

The only relief in this situation was that it was Caracalla witnessing this and not the servants or God forbid, the members of the council or the Senate. Geta would hate to have to fire members of the council if they witnessed this.

He knew what they would say. They would be the same as they would if they found out about Caracalla's illness. They would believe (Y/n) was a bad omen, that she would be no good as an Empress and they would try and persuade Geta to annul the marriage. He wouldn't have anyone thinking badly of (Y/n) or trying to tear her away from him.

She was his, now and forever. And no one was going to part her from him or say one bad word about her.

Reaching his hand out, Geta scrunched up the corner of the sheets and draped them higher over (Y/n)'s frame. Her modesty was something he would always strive to protect, and he would not share her with his brother like he had to share everything else in his life.

His right hand moved to cup the side of her neck and he began to stroke his thumb across her skin while his knees pressed up against her thigh and hip. His other hand moved to rest over the top of her thigh and he pressed down a little to stop her from writhing too much on the bed and so she didn't jolt too much or roll off the bed.

"Okay, my love." His words were hushed against her temple when he finally felt the shaking begin to lessen.

When his eyes lifted to look across at his brother, he saw the intrigue pooling in Caracalla's eyes. And he noticed the way his brother was softly gliding his hand across (Y/n)'s wrist.

Geta was rather surprised that his brother wasn't backing away in fear or screaming or rushing to call for a healer. He seemed oddly calm about this situation considering he had no former knowledge of (Y/n)'s spells and hadn't seen anything like this before.

"She's okay, just a spell." He murmured quietly when he glanced across to his brother.

"Does she have these often?"

"No. And you're not to tell anyone, brother. I mean it."

Geta reached his hand across from (Y/n)'s thigh to take hold of Caracalla's wrist. He gave his twin a stern look that he usually had to use whenever Caracalla was in one of his moods or his fits of rage. Or when his mind began to wander and he needed guidance back to reality.

He didn't want his brother to mention this in passing to anyone. Caracalla had to understand that this wasn't something to gossip about or to go calling the healers for. And he had to see that if the Senates found out, it would cause unnecessary problems.

They would hide this just the same as they kept Caracalla's own condition under wraps.

The way Caracalla nodded with a placid smile made Geta's heart leap and he watched the fondness pool in his brother's eyes as he continued to look down at his sister in law.

"She's strong, truly a wonder."

He wouldn't tell anyone. He wouldn't mention the strange illness his sister in law seemed to be suffering. Or how strong she was for enduring this.

He knew what it was like to be observed, to be watched and second guessed and murmured about behind closed doors. Caracalla didn't want that for his new sister. He didn't want her to feel excluded or strange like that. He would keep her secret to shield her. He would help to look after her.

***

Crossing one leg over the other, Geta leaned back in his chair and reached out for the glass resting on the table beside him. He could feel his back and the base of his neck clicking into place when he pushed back in the chair and tilted his head over the back of the chair.

It was a tempting thought to go wandering the halls of the palace or go and find his brother to see what he was doing. But he knew what Caracalla would most likely be doing at such an hour, and with whom he would be pent up in his room with.

When he was in moods like this, Geta didn't know what to do with himself. The council had angered him with their persistent nagging and today they had just been tiring and badgering. They had wound Geta up and now he didn't know how to rid the excess energy from his system.

When the last remnants of wine were drained from his glass, he uncrossed his legs and stooped over. His hands reached out for the paper and quill in front of him and he started to scrawl.

A tiredness washed over him while shadows cast across his face, but his lips quirked into a smile when he felt a familiar set of arms loop around his neck.

He paused and set his quill down while (Y/n)'s lips attached to the side of his neck and her chest merged over his back and shoulders. He reached a hand up to cup her wrist and he nudged his head to the left so his nose brushed along her cheek.

"Are you okay?" (Y/n) hummed softly into his neck where she felt a shiver course through his blood in response to her question.

She liked the way he started to tap his fingers against her skin and how he peppered light, delicate kisses along her cheek like he was trying to distract himself from the thoughts plaguing his mind.

"What are you up to?" It was clear that Geta was avoiding that line of conversation. He didn't want to talk about the meetings he had been in today which had riled him up, and that was okay with (Y/n). She knew what was going through his mind without him needing to say a word.

"I have a headache, I'm going to lay down." (Y/n) tightened her arms around Geta's neck to give him a squeezing hug before she moved her hand to softly cup the side of his face.

Her thumb stroked across his cheek as she turned his head a little more in her direction so she could kiss him. She could taste the remnants of wine and berries on his lips, especially when his tongue traced her lower lip and clouded her mind enough for her to momentairly forget her headache.

Once their lips parted, (Y/n) leaned her temple against his and let their noses brush while she closed her eyes and took a few moments to take deep breaths and try to clear the fog from her mind.

She felt Geta murmur "Okay?" against her lips and she managed to nod without tearing her temple away from his.

"Don't be long." She whispered, snatching another kiss from his pale lips before she unravelled her arms from his neck and stood up straight.

She was tired; the bath she had earlier had been relaxing but most likely too hot. Her head was now aching and spinning in circles and (Y/n) knew it was time to retire to bed. Although she wasn't sure she would be able to settle or relax without Geta.

It was funny how she had managed perfectly well all her life to sleep alone, with only the distant noises of her parents or servants milling about the house to serve as background noise. But now, here in the palace that was always filled with strange noises, (Y/n) slept better than ever.

She suspected it was down to the feel of Geta's arm over her waist and his frame that was always either up close or laid on top of her. Having someone beside her at night was comforting and she didn't have to worry about having a spell during the night.

(Y/n) always fretted that when she got married, her life would be full of secrets and it would be one big web waiting to be unravelled. She feared she would have spells in the night and her secret would be found out. But that didn't matter now. Before she had been worried about having spells in front of any husband she had to marry, but now she was praying to have them around Geta if they had to happen at all. Because he would keep her safe.

Geta basked in the feeling of her lips lingering against his temple before she disappeared behind him and retreated into the bedroom. While he stayed in the adjoining study, surrounded by flickering candles that matched the soft golden streaks of his hair.

As soon as she retreated, Geta felt the calmness wash away like the tide leaving the sand and he could feel his earlier annoyances fuelling him back up once again.

His hand clenched into a fist and pressed against his chin while he began to scrawl notes on the paper once again.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there. All Geta knew was that it was late, very late, by the time he began to get a headache and the candles were burning low until the wax was all but gone.

He sank back in his chair and moved his hand to cradle his temple that was raging with a headache. But his eyes opened when he heard a feeble knock on the chamber door and he cast his eyes across the room to see a maid sheepishly skulk inside.

She was familiar. Geta didn't know many of the servants by name, only those who impressed him or who had been here since he and Caracalla were but children roaming the palace.

If servants irritated or angered him they would be fired and therefore he had no need to learn their names. But he was starting to notice that (Y/n) made it her mission to learn their names. She offered them kindness without wanting anything in return, it was something Geta admired about his new wife.

"May I tidy the room, Emperor?"

With a wave of his hand, the maid scuttled inside and set about doing her work. She tried to be as quiet as the mice and rats that scuttled down the corridors.

She delicately moved papers from the floor and the chairs and set them on the end of Geta's desk. She placed some fresh cut fruits on the side table and a fresh pitcher of wine near the desk. It was always hit and miss whether Geta would allow the servants in to tidy and turn down the room. Sometimes he was in such a frightful mood that he screamed at them to leave. He used to spend the evenings with his concubines or calming down his brother, so his chamber wasn't in use.

With (Y/n) here now, it was different. Geta might dismiss the servants but he was less likely to do it with an angry manner or shout at them or threaten them. A lot of the staff were relieved when (Y/n) married the Emperor.

"Shall I turn down the bedroom, Emperor?" The maid lifted the second pitcher of wine and pointed to the bedroom. It was usual for them to set fresh wine in the bedroom and place some fruits in there. And the sheets would usually be turned down and the room tidied before the Emperor- and Empress- retired for the night.

"The Empress is sleeping. Take the wine and see if she needs anything."

"Very good, Highness." She nodded her head and walked past the desk when Geta waved his hand towards the bedroom behind him. That made her job easier.

Just as the maid neared the bedroom door, the pitcher shook in her hands and she stumbled on her back foot when a loud crash echoed off the walls and shook the marbled floor.

The maid looked wildly over her shoulder while she shifted the wine pitcher into one hand and reached out to open the door with the other. The noise came from within the bedroom. The Empress was in there; maybe she had fallen, or maybe she had knocked something over. She could have hurt herself.

She stepped one foot into the room before Geta was up on his feet, surging towards her.

His heavy hand found her shoulder and he weaved around her, pushing past the maid to get into the room. Whatever that noise was, Geta didn't like the sound of it. He had to get to (Y/n) first, in case she was in a compromising position.

His eyes cast wildly around the room in search for his wife but when he found her, his expression changed into a grimace and a growl settled deep within his chest.

"Is the Empress alright, do we need a healer?" The pitcher in the young woman's hand shook and her other hand moved to her chest as she tried to look around the Emperor who was blocking her sights. She hadn't seen the Empress. The bed was empty, the sheets were scrunched up on the bed and the pillows were distorted.

But she could still hear some kind of thrashing sound and something that sounded like a strange whimper or groan.

She looked like she wanted to step further into the room, to find the Empress and make sure she was alright. But she couldn't get far when the Emperor turned around so he was in front of her, blocking any view she had until all she could focus on was him.

The dark make up beneath his eyes that made him look haunted and gaunt. The menacing curl of his lips, the scrunch of his nose. The sharp rise of his shoulders and the way his hands were clenched at his sides. It all indicated that he was not in one of his good moods and when he was like this he could be frightening and merciless.

A quiet yet surprised squeak left the maid's lips when the Emperor suddenly gripped her by the chin. His fingers pressed bruisingly into her cheeks and he wrangled with her head until she was staring up at him, not daring to look around him and try and see what was happening.

She didn't seem to realise that the Emperor was pushing her back until she was over the threshold and back on the outside of the bedroom.

"She's fine, all she needs is me. You speak of this to anyone, and I will have your tongue. Do you understand?"

He seemed to puncture his fingers tighter into her cheeks as if to make sure she understood his warning. He would have no issues ordering a guard to cut out her tongue if she dared try and gossip about what she may or may not have witnessed tonight. Geta didn't like tongues wagging in the palace. Especially not regarding his wife or his brother.

When the maid weakly nodded, Geta let go of her chin and watched her head loll to one side. A dribble of wine spilled over the edge of the pitcher and left droplets of the grey marble floor as she scampered off, trying to cease her whimpers as she left the pitcher on the desk and fled the room.

She knew both Emperors could be cruel and merciless when they wanted to be or simply when they were bored. She didn't want to be on the wrong end of those tempers, those mood swings. She would stay quiet and pretend nothing had happened here if that was what the Emperor wanted.

Once she fled the room, Geta stormed back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him to ensure their privacy was kept sacred.

He did not like the sight he was faced with.

(Y/n), his beautiful wife was laid contorted on the floor with her arms bound trembling to her chest and her whole body fluttering back and forth. But it was the blood pooling and froffing from her lips that made Geta pale significantly.

He fled to the side of the bed and collapsed down on his knees beside her, his wild eyes trying to take in what was happening and if she was hurt.

Geta had never witnessed a spell like this before. She had told him of these kinds, the ones where every limb became possessed of its own will, where she would tremble and jerk and writhe. Where she felt like a statue carved of marble after the spell ended and her limbs felt frozen in place.

But he had never seen one as bad as this before. And he didn't like it. Geta hated the sight of his wife's limbs spasming in all directions, the way she jerked and how her head was thrashing down on the rug.

By the looks of things, she had started to suffer a spell and had fallen from the bed. The sheets were strewn on the bed and one was tangled around her legs which Geta hastily reached across to toss to one side so she wasn't constrained and didn't hurt herself further.

With a deep breath he curled over until his chest was pressing on his bent knees and he reached his hands down to cup (Y/n)'s face. He could see her eyes shaking behind her eyelids and her breaths were raspy and bubbling from the blood welling in her mouth.

The blood momentarily confused Geta until he tried to part her lips and realised her tongue was trapped tight between her teeth. He had never known her- or anyone else- to suffer so badly like this before.

"I'm here, you're okay my love. It's all okay, come back to me." His words hushed against her temple and his thumbs glided over her cheeks as he stayed hunched over her.

It was hard to stop the tears that were threatening to spill over his eyes and Geta had a deep desire to call someone to fetch Caracalla. Having another person here might help, Caracalla had been so calm last week when (Y/n) had her other spell and he didn't seem phased. But he had been disgruntled today and there was no telling if he would be calm in this situation or if indeed this would enrage and panic him.

Geta tried to calm his own breathing while he listened to each froffing, gasping breath (Y/n) took. It sounded like she was moaning, or trying to make a sound but she couldn't say anything when her jaw was stuck tight.

"Come back to me." Hushed again and again over her temple while he moved one hand down to glide his fingertips up and down her arm to try and soothe her. Just in case she could still hear and feel him while cast under this spell. And his other hand slid beneath her neck to cup the base of her head, trying to hold her so she didn't thrash her head against the floor.

The last thing he needed was to call a healer and try to spin a tale of his wife falling out of the bed in her sleep. The healers were wise enough not to question an Emperor, but Geta didn't want to call them unless it was strictly necessary. (Y/n) didn't like healers.

Geta felt like crying when he finally felt her begin to calm down before him. Her head wasn't thrashing in his grasp as much, although he could still feel the tension in her neck like rope about to fray and snap.

Her arms stopped bashing against his thighs and her thrashing changed into a slow shaking that rattled through her body. But it was preferrable to the spasms she had been suffering.

"There's my Empress."

His hand stayed cupping the back of her neck and his thumb glided along her neck and jaw while he watched her slowly start to settle down. Her eyes were still moving behind her eyelids and whatever she tried to murmur was incoherent to Geta, but it was a good start.

Once he was sure she wasn't about to thrash or suffer another spell, he carefully eased her up off the floor so she was sitting up. He let her head loll on his shoulder and his arms moved so one was wrapped around her waist and the other slid beneath her knees.

His jaw ground tight as he lifted her up into his arms, trying to be as careful and gentle as possible. He could feel her trembling vibrating through into his system and it made his knees feel like they were about to give way.

Why did this have to happen to (Y/n), his sweet Empress?

He was careful when he pushed his knees into the bed and lowered (Y/n) down on top of the crumpled sheets that were askew in every direction, much like (Y/n)'s toussled hair.

He took the time to try and rearrange the pillows and push the sheets to one side so they wouldn't become a nuisance.

And when he straightened up, Geta hastily tore the rings from his fingers, the two gold chains from around his neck and he removed the golden crown from his hair that felt like removing a piece of him from how long he wore it each day.

He didn't bother with his robes or changing into something less bulky and heavy, he didn't have the time or the energy for that. With a heavy sigh Geta perched down on the side of the bed and reached down for her.

"Come here," He hushed while he took (Y/n)'s chin between his fingers and tilted her head towards him so he could see the damage done to her.

With a damp cloth from the bowl of water on the side table, Geta busied himself trying to clear the blood from her face. And he parted her lips with his thumb to make sure she wasn't still chomping down on her tongue that was going to be painful come sunrise.

"Geta?" (Y/n)'s voice came out as a quiet mewl along with a trickle of blood that dribbled down her chin.

She tried her best to open her eyes but it hurt to try and get her mind into focus and work out her surroundings. And her hand felt weak and tense when she tried to raise her arm until her hand flopped over Geta's wrist while he dabbed the damp cloth against her burning forehead.

"I'm here, my love."

Shivers bolted up his arm when (Y/n)'s head moved towards his voice. She wanted to be closer to him, she wanted to touch him and be soothed by his touch and his skin and she wanted to keep hearing his voice whispering in her ear.

Heeding to her silent command, Geta placed the cloth back in the bowl and moved to lay down beside her. He slid his arm beneath her neck and shoulders, helping her move slowly until she was laid on her side with her cheek resting on his chest.

She flopped her arm over Geta's waist and nuzzled her cheek into his robes, inhaling his scent that was like a calming herbal remedy.

The feeling of his fingertips gliding up and down her back and across her shoulders was comforting and when his other hand moved to clamp around the flesh of her hip, (Y/n) sighed and melted into him.

Usually after one of her worser spells like this, (Y/n) felt frightened. Afraid for the future, of people finding out and if it would happen again when she was alone and something worse were to happen to her. Not this time. All she could think this time was how safe she felt. How soothing it was to be laid with Geta and have him whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

His lips nuzzled into her hair and he peppered a flurry of kisses against the top of her head while he closed his eyes. If she wanted him to hold her until the sun rose in the sky, that was okay, he would do that. If she didn't feel well in the morning and didn't want him to leave her side, that was okay too. Geta would stay glued to her hip for as long as she needed because it would make him feel better.

He wouldn't be going to any meetings in the morning, he was already sure of that. He didn't want to let his wife out of his sights after this. He wanted her to stay right here, in his arms, where she was safe.

And (Y/n) knew as long as he was with her, she would be okay.