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raincitygirl76 · 1 year ago

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Reblogging both for OP @bluedalahorse ‘s post about Felice and the addition by @heliza24

YRS3 Fandom Writers Room Challenge: Round #1!

Let’s pretend we’re in the writer’s room for season 3 together.

This is not a predictions post. Nor is it fully a wish list, at least not in the conventional sense. In fact, I want to pause a moment move away from trying to predict what’s going to happen in season 3 exactly, and instead think about ways that it could be written. The wish fulfillment part is that you get to be the writer. You may have an idea you think Lisa herself is unlikely to include in the story, but you’ve thought of a way it would work well in the show. Or you have an idea you’re pretty sure is going to happen, but you have IDEAS about how it could play out onscreen and you want to explain those.

I thought we could spend the next few weeks considering a character or two at a time, and sharing out about what those characters’ arcs could be, if we were the writers. For now I’m planning to leave out Simon, Wilhelm, and August, just because I see a lot of thoughts going around about them already. I may reconsider later.

I will be using the tag “yrs3 fandom writers room” for these posts.

Ground Rules

Dream big, have fun, and share your ideas!

Try to stay in a writer’s mindset rather than an audience member’s mindset. We’re not trying to find secret messages in foreshadowing so much as using it to build a new part of the story that we are pretending we have control over.

Don’t feel like your thoughts have to be complete or perfect. We’re in the fandom writer’s room together, so you can leave some questions open and invite others to weigh in.

Comment on what you like about others’ ideas. If you want to build on someone’s idea, be collaborative rather than combative. Ask questions!

If one of your storyline ideas involves a character encountering or dealing with something triggering (as sometimes happens in the YR universe) please tag appropriately or give a heads up about what’s coming next.

If you’re not a fan of the character(s) of the week and your opinion is that they shouldn’t get any screentime in season 3 at all, this challenge may not be for you. Scroll on by and let other folks participate.

The first Character of the Week is… our wonderful fave Felice!

This Week’s Prompt: Imagine you’re on the writing team for season 3 and you’re deciding how Felice’s arc is going to play out this season. What do you want to do with her character arc? Where do you want her to start and end the season? How do your ideas build on what came before? How can her story interact with the stories of other characters on the show, and deepen the themes of Young Royals?

Think about your answer, and then reblog and respond. You can just write your ideas out, you can make a fun slide show, or you can write a drabble series or whatever, you can come up with a few songs you want played for Felice’s part of the storyline—it’s your choice how you want to respond.

I’m putting my response below the cut. Can’t wait to hear everyone else’s thoughts too!

My thoughts for Felice’s arc:

Heads up for discussions of bullying and conflict in friendship groups.

Sadly, I don’t have any cute graphics this week, or any fanworks. But I do have thoughts.

My writerly thoughts for season 3 are that Felice should be driven by a desire for true, authentic, passionate friendships.

I’ve been reflecting on how in season 2, Felice decides that she’s going to attend the school dance with her Manor House friends group, and prioritize platonic friendships over romantic relationships with boys. At the end of season 2, however, we can see that her friend group is in the middle of a schism. Fredrika and Stella are attacking Sara, and Maddie is nowhere to be found. While Felice is pretty angry at Sara herself, and I imagine she’ll spend the beginning of season 3 not really wanting to take her back as a friend, I wonder if it could perhaps haunt her afterward to see how quickly Fredrika and Stella turned on Sara without having the full story of what happened.

After Wilhelm’s speech, the school will be under scrutiny, and I imagine the general mood at Hillerska is going to grow even more tense. I also imagine this could make students act out more, and for Fredrika and Stella, this could mean power plays and using their gossip powers for evil. Maybe they’re continuing to spread rumors about Sara that have no basis in reality—but really they could be gossiping about anyone. Felice feels increasingly more uncomfortable with it and tries to get them to stop, but either Stella or Fredrika is subtly trying to usurp her role as the group’s “leader” and the group’s power dynamic is shifting. Perhaps by midseason they go as far as turning on her and kicking her out of the friend group entirely.

Felice lets some of this slip to her mother over the phone, and her mother makes an offhand remark about being bullied by her own friend group back when she was at Hillerska. Mamma Ehrencrona quickly tries to laugh off her remark like it’s no big deal, but Felice can sense her mother is bothered by these memories, and realizes that part of her mother’s meddling in her own life stems from unprocessed traumas. Felice’s mother is a bullied person who became a bully. It doesn’t really lead to a full-on reconciliation between Felice and her mom—there’s not enough time for that in six episodes, and Mamma Ehrencrona probably doesn’t need that redemption arc—it’s more a revelation that makes Felice see some of her mother’s behavior in context.

Meanwhile, Wilhelm and Simon are publicly together now. Naturally they’re spending a lot of time with one another, meaning Felice can’t hang out with Wilhelm as much, and when she does hang out with them, she feels a bit like a third wheel. The choir’s spreading rumors about how Wilhelm “dumped” Felice for Simon, which adds another layer of awkwardness. Initially I thought, perhaps Felice is frustrated that she can’t get Wilhelm alone so she can open up to him about the struggles in her Manor House friend group, but I feel like that might repeat some season 2 dynamics with Wille being a dumbass who doesn’t take Felice’s feelings into account. So I wonder if instead she could be trying to actively avoid telling him about the conflicts in her friend group, so as not to disrupt Wilhelm’s newfound couple bliss with Simon. This could lead to a midseason moment between Wilhelm and Felice where Wilhelm finds out how Felice’s friends are treating her and he’s like, “dude that’s fucked up, and next time someone treats you that way, tell me and don’t keep it to yourself, because I’m your friend and I want to do what I can to make things okay for you.”

Alternately, Simon could be the one who discovers Felice’s friend struggles and is there for her, and this leads to a deepening of their friendship. (Perhaps they can also bond as students of color in a predominantly white school—we’ve seen moments where both have experienced microagressions, but I don’t know if we’ve seen characters of color discuss something like that openly yet.)

If I were on the YR writing team, I would also use this as a springboard for Felice questioning if she might be aromantic asexual. Six episodes isn’t really enough for her to have an entire coming out journey, but perhaps she’s reading up on LGBTQIA+ issues throughout the season so she can be more of an ally to Wilhelm. Maybe we get one scene toward the end of the season where she comes across the terms aromantic and asexual and reads about how the aspec communities value friendship, and something about that clicks with her. She’s like, I think I might be one or both of these. I’m going to read more about it. This might be a slight retcon of Felice’s feelings toward Wille, but eh. This idea could also use some workshopping, too, since right now it’s feeling a little Heartstopper. Any ideas on how to make it more YR-flavored?

I do feel strongly, though, that if I were writing Felice and she wasn’t going to end up with a love interest in season 3, that I’d want it to be because she is aroace. There is a repeated trend in television of Black characters as the people who don’t get to be reciprocated love interests (Princess Weekes has a video about it and you should definitely check it out!) and if Felice remains alloallo, she becomes part of that trend, regardless of how well-written she is. On the other hand, there’s also not a lot of Black aspec rep in media right now, so Felice being aroace would at least kind of push back at that trend a little bit.

Overall, I’d like Felice to begin the season worried about her friendships, and ends the season in a place where she can be more confident and knows who a few of her real friends are.

One final thought: Now that Felice has given up riding, I’d like her to either devote herself to choir more fully, or try out a new hobby each episode. (For the latter idea, this doesn’t always need to be a series of in-depth scenes, but something we can see her doing in her scenes with other characters. Like in one scene she’s learning to knit as she chats with Wille and Simon, in another scene she’s doing food photography at lunch, etc.) If Felice gets more into choir, this can be something that deepens her bond with Simon. Maybe they get to do a duet!

Some questions I have for the other writers in the writers room are: I’m not sure how I want Felice and Sara to reconcile yet, but I know I want it to happen. Are there ways Sara’s arc can complement this one? I also want Fredrika and Stella’s arcs to end in a place where they aren’t total villains—I don’t want them to be flattened into basic mean girls, and I think ending them in a space where we understand them would be good. I think we can work out a solution but what do you think it should be? Also, any ways we can use Maddie? She’s always the wild card of that friend group.

Let’s hear your thoughts! Chat with me, fandom writer’s room. Let’s write a season of TV together.

#young royals #felice ehrencrona #queue #friendship young royals #Wilhelm and felice friendship #young royals favourite posts #young royals analysis #character analysis young royals #gossip young royals #bullying young royals #young royals best posts #race young royals #Stella and fredrika #Smysan Ehrencrona #Prince wilhelm young royals #social status young royals #status young royals #hierarchy young royals #social hierarchy young royals

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goodqueenaly · 13 days ago

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Considering the public version of Baelish and Sansa's situation, as in him being a doting father to his only child, albeit illegitimate, does it raise some perplexity among the Vale nobility that he wouldn't ask for a legitimisation? Alayne is his only child, he's unmarried at the moment, and any male heir he could have in the future would preceed her anyway. Or is legitimisation done exclusively in cases of emergency, aka when literally no other legitimate heir is available?

It’s worth emphasizing that legitimization is a relatively pretty rare process: of the dozens of acknowledged bastards we know of in the history of Westeros, only two (outside the blanket legitimization issued by Aegon IV on his deathbed) have ever been formally legitimized (three if you count Jon Snow, who was all but certainly legitimized by Robb’s will but whose legitimized status is not yet widely known in-universe). Importantly, in each of those cases - Ramsay Snow, the sons of Marilda of Hull, and Jon Snow - the legitimization came about specifically because the lord or king in question had no surviving legitimate son to inherit after him (at least officially - I very much believe Mushroom’s assertion that Corlys was the biological l father of Addam and Alyn of Hull). (Again, Aegon IV is the exception here - I don’t even think he was really trying to push Daemon as his alternative heir - but I believe Aegon’s move was a sort of final “fuck you” to the future King Daeron II, a last petty stab at the son he hated rather than a genuine politico-dynastic decision by the dying king.) Likewise, only Aegon IV ever chose to legitimize a daughter (and again, only in the context of a blanket legitimization); even Oberyn Martell, for example, who held out each of his daughters as his own far earlier than Littlefinger was supposed to have done for “Alayne” (and indeed, lived with the mother of his four youngest daughters as effectively a married couple in a nuclear family), never apparently sought to legitimize any of them. Nor indeed should it be forgotten how serious a process legitimization is: only a king can legitimize a bastardborn Westerosi, and once so legitimized, both that person and his (or her) descendants would be legitimate forever.

So far from the assembled aristocracy of the Vale finding it odd that Littlefinger would not be pressing for Sansa-as-Alayne to be legitimized, I think these aristocrats would be surprised, even shocked if Littlefinger tried to make his “daughter” legitimate by royal decree. After all, the public narrative about “Alayne Stone” is that Littlefinger didn’t even know of her existence until very recently - when “at [her] flowering [“Alayne”] decided [she] did not wish to be a septa and wrote to [Littlefinger]”. While Littlefinger might have publicly recognized Sansa-as-Alayne as his daughter, and treated her relatively well by Westerosi standards (remember, this is a world where Lord Hewett made his own extramarital daughter a house servant to his wife and their children), Alayne’s social position is at best a liminal one - able to act in some ways as the lady of the Arryn household, but in other ways (as Littlefinger, Myranda Royce, and Harry Hardyng all remind her) very much considered the inferior of her blue-blood neighbors. Moreover, I think many in the Vale would anticipate that Littlefinger - now Lord of Harrenhal in addition to being Lord Protector of the Vale and the richest thief man in Westeros - would marry and produce legitimate (male) heirs of his own; indeed, Myranda teases Sansa-as-Alayne on this point, remarking that Littlefinger “needs a pretty young wife to wash away his grief” and that he “could have his pick of half the noble maidens in the Vale” (including, as she later jokes to Sansa-as-Alayne in TWOW, Myranda herself). In turn, the idea that Littlefinger, having such standing, would choose to go through the significant effort of petitioning the king to elevate a bastard teenage girl as his heiress, when he himself could marry a suitably aristocratic bride and have a legitimate son of his body to succeed him, would so grossly contrast with the patriarchal and classist socio-political expectations of Westerosi aristocracy that I think the move would cause nothing but muttering and suspicion.

What Littlefinger wants to avoid most of all with Sansa-as-Alayne is undue attention being cast on her, at least until Littlefinger himself feels ready to reveal her as Sansa Stark. Indeed, this was the entire purpose of choosing a bastard disguise for Sansa in the first place: when Sansa suggests that she could portray herself as “the trueborn daughter of some knight in [his] service”, Littlefinger reminds her that “[s]uch a tale would draw unwanted questions”, while then noting that “[i]t is rude to pry into the origins of a man's natural children”. Therefore, Littlefinger’s treatment of Sansa has to fit within the socio-political expectations of Westerosi and specifically Vale aristocratic life - which is to say, not promoting bastards above their station (again, according to the rules imposed by the elites in this society). No one, I think, would expect, much less encourage, the rich and powerfully landed widower Littlefinger to hold out his bastardborn “daughter” as his heiress, still less to go through the process of legitimizing her; better, for Littlefinger’s scheme at least, to leave her as a recognized but still illegitimate child, and trust in polite society’s reluctance to pry further, rather than foster speculation by taking the unorthodox move of pressing for her legitimization.

#asoiaf meta #bastards #Sansa Stark #Littlefinger #petyr baelish

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miraraeblog · 2 months ago

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MiraRae's Royal Tropes & Legacy Challenge (aka The Royalty Challenge)

You can find the video where I go over the challenge and share images from my own attempt at the challenge here.

Here’s the overview, general rules, and cultural suggestions for your 10-generation Sims 4 royalty challenge. This challenge focuses on celebrating different cultures while allowing flexibility based on available packs and gameplay preferences.

Sims 4 Royalty Challenge Rules and Overview

Overview

No CC or mods required

This 10-generation challenge builds a diverse and culturally inspired royal legacy. Starting with Windenburg (or another world of your choosing), each generation introduces a new royal family and unique storyline, encouraging players to explore different cultures within The Sims 4. Packs are recommended to enrich gameplay but are adaptable based on availability.

Required and Optional Packs

Required: Get Famous and Get Together for fame, Windenburg, and the club system.

Optional (Choose at least 3-4 for added cultural depth):

Island Living (Sulani, Hawaiian-inspired)

Snowy Escape (Mt. Komorebi, East Asian-inspired)

High School Years (Copperdale, Native American-inspired) or Horse Ranch (Chestnut Ridge, Native American-inspired)

Wedding Stories (Tartosa, Spanish/Portuguese-inspired)

For Rent (Tomarang, Southeast Asian-inspired)

Love Struck (Enamorada, Latin American-inspired)

Life and Death (Ravenwood, Romania-inspired)

Note: If certain packs aren’t available, substitute suggested cultures/worlds with other packs/worlds you have available. You can also

Click here for a list of suggested cultural traditions and events for each kingdom

General Rules

Starting Funds: Each family begins with 1 million simoleons to simulate royal wealth. (type "money 0" then "money 1000000" in the cheats bar)

Weekly Stipend: The primary royal family receives $100K every Sunday (type "money 100000" in the cheats bar), symbolizing royal taxes or revenue. During the financial hardship generation, this stipend is suspended.

Fame Requirements: Each main family’s heir should ideally achieve "Global Superstar" fame before they take the throne, marking them as worthy in the eyes of their royal peers. If an heir ascends to the throne without this status, they face skepticism from other royals, who may question their worthiness. Use Mean interactions from other royals, such as Mock Celebrity Level or Insult, to show this tension.

Succession: If the reigning monarch dies, the heir immediately ascends the throne, regardless of whether they’ve reached "Global Superstar" or completed other personal goals. If this happens, the new monarch can still work to achieve "Global Superstar" while ruling but must endure the added challenge of earning respect from other kingdoms.

Marriage Dowries: Royal marriages bring in $200K, noble marriages bring in $100K (nobles must be descendants of other royal families), and no dowry is given for commoner marriages.

Interactions: Use Mean, Friendly, or Romance interactions as directed by each generation’s storyline to build relationships, rivalries, and romantic conflicts.

Click here for suggested titles by culture.

Generation Rules and Assigned Tropes with Clear Heir and Monarch Roles

Generation 1: Founding the Royal Line

Aspiration: Successful Lineage for the Windenburg king.

Trope: Establish alliances through arranged marriages.

Setup:

Create the Windenburg Royal Family: Start with a king and their spouse (either a queen, prince consort, or sovereign consort). Both should be young adults or adults. Assign the Successful Lineage aspiration to the king.

Enter Live Mode: Have the Windenburg royal couple conceive or adopt at least two children.

Raising the Heir:

Raise the children until they reach the child stage, focusing on building skills and preparing the heir for their future role.

Begin involving the children in clubs or other social events to start developing their social networks.

Introducing the Willow Creek Royal Family:

Once the Windenburg children reach the child stage, create a Willow Creek royal family with similarly-aged children. Set up a king and their spouse (either a queen, prince consort, or sovereign consort), who should also be young adults or adults. Assign the Successful Lineage aspiration to the Willow Creek king.

Arrange Friendships: Have the Windenburg and Willow Creek monarchs meet and develop a high friendship level to foster diplomatic trust.

Betrothal Arrangements:

Betroth the Windenburg heir to the second eldest Willow Creek child.

Betroth the younger Windenburg child to the Willow Creek heir, creating a dual alliance between the families.

Life Span and Succession:

Life Span: Playing on a short lifespan is recommended to help move the story along and set up future generations.

Succession: The Windenburg heir will ascend to the throne upon the current monarch’s death. To speed up this process, you may use cheats to arrange an early death for the monarch, allowing the heir to take over once the marriage alliances are secure.

Transition to Next Generation: The Windenburg heir becomes the new monarch after the current monarch’s death, with the Successful Lineage aspiration complete. This begins Generation 2.

Generation 2: The First Female Monarch

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim for the female heir, focusing on skill-building.

Trope: A female heir breaks tradition to rule.

New Royal Families: Create an Oasis Springs royal family with a supportive female or non-binary ruler.

Setup:

Heir Requirement: The current monarch from Generation 1 should only have daughters, or the oldest child should be a girl. If there are older boys, arrange accidental deaths when they are infants or toddlers using cheats so that the female heir is next in line.

Societal Challenge: Other royals and commoners, particularly from Willow Creek, may treat the female heir with less respect, creating added challenges. This represents societal resistance to a female ruler.

Heir’s Goals Before Ascending:

Alliance with Oasis Springs: Develop a strong relationship with her betrothed from the Oasis Springs royal family, whose monarch is supportive of a female heir.

Skill Development: Reach "Global Superstar" fame and max out three skills (suggested: Charisma, Logic, and Writing).

Proving Worth: Complete the Renaissance Sim aspiration to showcase her abilities. Unlike previous heirs, she does not need to maintain positive relationships widely, as her success is based on accomplishments rather than likability.

Monarch’s Goals:

Establish the female heir as a capable and skilled leader, respected for her talents rather than societal approval.

Transition to Next Generation: Once the heir becomes monarch, having completed her aspiration and skill goals, move on to Generation 3.

Generation 3: Sibling Rivalry

Aspiration: Leader of the Pack for both the eldest (heir) and younger sibling.

Trope: Sibling rivalry challenges succession.

New Royal Families: Add a Sulani royal family if Island Living is available.

Setup:

Family Requirement: The current monarch (from Generation 2) should have at least two children. The firstborn is designated as the heir.

Life Span: Play on short lifespan until the oldest child reaches their teen birthday, then switch to normal lifespan.

Sibling Rivalry:

From childhood, the younger sibling initiates Mean interactions with the heir to create rivalry and tension.

The younger sibling tries to gain favor with the monarch, using Friendly interactions to turn the monarch’s opinion against the heir.

Heir’s Goals Before Ascending:

Club Leadership: Both the heir and younger sibling should pursue the Leader of the Pack aspiration by forming a club with other royals. The heir must work to become the respected leader of this club, gaining influence and support.

Romantic Alliance: As teens, the heir must develop a romantic relationship with a royal from Sulani and secure a betrothal.

Proving Worthiness: Build friendships with the monarchs of Sulani, Oasis Springs, and Willow Creek to prove the heir’s diplomatic abilities.

Fame Requirement: The heir must reach "Global Superstar" fame before becoming a young adult to secure their position.

Monarch’s Goals:

Encourage unity among siblings while assessing their skills and alliances. The monarch will ultimately decide which child is worthy based on their accomplishments and relationships.

Consequences of Success or Failure:

If the heir completes all goals before reaching young adulthood, they ascend as monarch, while the younger sibling becomes a low-ranking noble or commoner.

If the heir fails, the younger sibling is appointed as the new heir, and the eldest becomes a low-ranking noble or non-royal.

Transition to Next Generation: The designated heir ascends the throne after their mother dies and completion of the Leader of the Pack aspiration, beginning Generation 4.

Generation 4: Forbidden Love

Aspiration: Soulmate for the heir.

Trope: The heir defies tradition by falling for a commoner.

New Royal Families: Add a Mt. Komorebi royal family if Snowy Escape is available.

Setup:

Family Dynamics: The monarch from the prior generation could only conceive one child, increasing the stakes for the heir’s choice of partner.

Life Span: Play on a short lifespan until the heir reaches their teen years, as this is when the storyline begins.

Heir’s Goals Before Ascending:

Forbidden Romance: Develop a relationship with a commoner through Romance interactions, defying the monarch’s arranged match with a Mt. Komorebi royal.

Commoner’s Challenge: The commoner must work to max out their Charisma, achieve "Global Superstar" fame, and attain a pristine reputation before reaching young adulthood. If they fail, the heir will be forced to marry the Mt. Komorebi royal.

Aspiration Completion: Complete the Soulmate aspiration by strengthening the relationship between the heir and the commoner, focusing on emotional depth and commitment.

Family and Political Obstacles:

Monarch’s Disapproval: The monarch discovers the relationship and expresses their disapproval with Mean interactions toward both the heir and the commoner.

Rivalry with Mt. Komorebi Royal: The Mt. Komorebi royal (or a substitute family from another available world) becomes a rival, using Mean interactions and spreading rumors about the commoner to complicate their relationship with the heir.

Transition to Next Generation: The heir ascends as monarch after securing their chosen relationship and completing their goals, beginning Generation 5.

Generation 5: Financial Hardship

Aspiration: Assign Fabulously Wealthy to the heir (the one who experienced forbidden love in the previous generation) only after they become monarch and the financial hardship begins.

Trope: The royal family faces financial struggles.

New Royal Families: If High School Years or Horse Ranch is available, add a Native American-inspired family in Copperdale or Chestnut Ridge.

Setup:

Marriage Alliance: When the monarch's heir is a teen or young adult, arrange a marriage with a royal from Copperdale, Chestnut Ridge, or another available kingdom to support future alliances.

Financial Hardship Begins:

Depletion of Wealth: Once the sim who experienced forbidden love in the last generation becomes monarch, reduce household funds to $50K (type "money 0" then "money 50000" in the cheats bar), simulating an economic depression.

Aspiration Activation: Assign the Fabulously Wealthy aspiration to the new monarch as they begin the struggle to restore financial stability.

Sunday Income Suspension: The family no longer receives the weekly $100K income, making them rely solely on career earnings, marriage dowries, and resourcefulness.

Monarch’s Goals:

Career and Earnings: Family members, including the monarch, must join careers and earn money. They may also sell off valuable items from the castle.

Marriage Dowries: Marry off children strategically to nobles or royals, bringing in dowries to aid household finances.

Wealth Restoration: Complete the Fabulously Wealthy aspiration by reaching a total of 1 million simoleons to ensure a stable future for the next generation.

Consequences for Failing to Restore Wealth:

If the family fails to reach 1 million simoleons by the monarch’s death, they will forfeit the weekly stipend for the rest of the challenge, adding difficulty for subsequent generations.

Transition to Next Generation: Progress to Generation 6 once the monarch has died and the family’s wealth has been restored, securing the legacy for future heirs.

Generation 6: Tragic Loss

Aspiration: Friend of the World for the heir (motivated by the tragic loss of their elder sibling).

Trope: A tragic loss leads to an unexpected succession.

New Royal Families: If Wedding Stories is available, introduce a Tartosa royal family.

Setup:

Sibling Bond: The eldest sibling and second eldest (now heir) are best friends, making the sudden loss more difficult to bear.

Unexpected Tragedy: The eldest sibling dies as a teenager, and the suggested causes could be a fire or accidental death from extreme heat, cold, or anger (symbolizing a sudden heart condition).

Heir’s Journey Before Ascending:

Personality Shift: Before the tragedy, the second eldest was cheerful and lighthearted, likely in a relationship with a noble or minor royal, as their betrothal was not a high priority.

Transformation after Loss: After the sibling’s death, the heir adopts the Gloomy trait, reflecting a sorrowful and serious new outlook on life. They lose their lightheartedness, straining their relationship with their former sweetheart, who struggles to understand their new disposition.

New Betrothal: The heir is betrothed to a Tartosa royal who was possibly intended for their late sibling. This new match brings empathy and companionship that resonates with the heir’s grief.

Heir’s Goals:

Aspiration and Friendships: Complete the Friend of the World aspiration by building meaningful friendships as a way to honor their late sibling’s memory.

Skill and Fame: Catch up on skills and achieve "Global Superstar" fame, reflecting their dedication to fulfilling the role their sibling left behind.

Monarch’s Goals:

As monarch, focus on building alliances and nurturing friendships, creating a legacy of compassion and unity inspired by the bond with their lost sibling.

Transition to Next Generation: The heir becomes monarch after completing the aspiration and building a strong support network, leading into Generation 7.

Generation 7: Betrayal and Unity

Aspiration: Assign Neighborhood Confidant to the heir only after they become monarch; Chief of Mischief for the betrayer (optional).

Trope: Attempting to unify kingdoms while facing betrayal from within.

New Royal Families: Add a Del Sol Valley royal family (Middle Eastern-inspired) or another available kingdom.

Setup:

Life Span: Play on short lifespan while the heir ages up, as most of the storyline occurs once they become monarch.

Betrothal: Arrange a betrothal between the heir and a royal from Del Sol Valley (or another available kingdom) to promote unity among kingdoms.

Heir’s Journey as Monarch:

Goal of Unity: Upon becoming monarch, the heir is assigned the Neighborhood Confidant aspiration with the goal of uniting the kingdoms through diplomacy, trust-building, and alliances.

The Betrayer: Create a royal advisor as the betrayer (alternatively, a sibling or member of the spouse’s family can be chosen). Play as the betrayer occasionally to sabotage the monarch’s reputation using Mischief interactions, Gossip, and Spread Rumors.

Betrayer’s Motivation: The betrayer might fear unification, have personal ambitions, or oppose the monarch’s influence. They work to undermine the monarch’s mission by sowing distrust and spreading rumors.

Monarch’s Goals:

Repair Reputation: Switch to the monarch’s perspective to counter the betrayer’s efforts, completing the Neighborhood Confidant aspiration by assisting others and winning back trust.

Reputation Requirement: The monarch must achieve and maintain a good or pristine reputation by the end of their reign. If they die with a poor reputation, their heir will inherit a negative reputation (use cheats if necessary).

Transition to Next Generation: Move to Generation 8 after the monarch’s death, with alliances and reputation intact or damaged, setting the stage for the next generation’s challenges.

Generation 8: Enemies to Lovers (or Friends)

Aspiration: Serial Romantic for the heir (switch to Soulmate or Friend of the World after completion).

Trope: Rivals in an arranged marriage who eventually develop a deep, genuine romance or friendship.

New Royal Families: Add either Tomarang (Southeast Asian-inspired) or Enamorada (Latin American-inspired).

Setup:

Life Span: Play on short lifespan until the heir becomes a teen, as the main storyline begins with their arranged marriage as young adults.

Arranged Betrothal: The heir is arranged to marry a royal from Tomarang or Enamorada, creating a union meant to strengthen alliances but marked by initial rivalry and tension.

Heir’s Journey Before Ascending:

Establishing the Rivalry: Use Mean interactions between the heir and their betrothed to create genuine resentment or frustration, establishing a rivalry rooted in clashing personalities.

Serial Romantic Aspiration: While still at odds with their betrothed, complete the Serial Romantic aspiration, pursuing other romantic interests to heighten the complexity of the arranged marriage dynamic.

Bastard Child: The heir should have a child with one of their romantic interests outside of the arranged marriage. This will setup for the next generation.

Character Growth and Friendship: After completing the Serial Romantic aspiration, work on building a strong friendship with their betrothed using Friendly interactions. This should create a foundation of trust and understanding before any romantic developments, if they choose that path.

Developing a Lasting Bond: After establishing a solid friendship, the heir can either pursue a romance by switching to the Soulmate aspiration or cultivate a supportive platonic bond by switching to Friend of the World. This bond, whether romantic or platonic, represents growth and mutual respect.

Monarch’s Goals:

If the heir becomes monarch before the “enemies to lovers” or friendship arc resolves, they should focus on presenting their relationship—whether romantic or platonic—as a symbol of harmony and unity for their kingdom.

Transition to Next Generation: Move to Generation 9 after the heir embraces their role as monarch and completes either the Soulmate or Friend of the World aspiration, establishing their relationship as a symbol of unity, through love or friendship, despite their turbulent beginning.

Generation 9: The Dark Monarch

Aspiration: Public Enemy for the dark monarch, driven by ambition, manipulation, and resentment.

Trope: A ruler with sinister ambitions and dubious alliances.

New Royal Families: If Life and Death is available, add a Ravenwood royal family (Romania-inspired), or substitute with another mysterious, gothic family.

Overview: The bastard child from Generation 8 ascends to the throne under controversial circumstances, using cunning and manipulation to establish their rule and assert a place in a family that once excluded them.

Setup:

Starting Role: Have the current heir marry into the Ravenwood royal family. Upon their marriage, shift focus to the illegitimate child who takes the throne.

Ambitions and Dark Interests: The new ruler harbors a fascination with hidden lore, arcane knowledge, or crypts. If Life and Death is available, they may have the Macabre trait, which fuels a desire to access Ravenwood’s hidden tomes and ancient secrets.

Pregnancy: Ensure the banished royal has a child during their exile, laying the foundation for the drama and redemption of Generation 10.

Heir’s Goals as Monarch:

Manipulative Relationships: Use Mean and Mischief interactions to destabilize alliances and assert dominance, ruling through fear and underhanded tactics.

Public Enemy Aspiration: Complete the Public Enemy aspiration by creating conflicts among allies, sowing distrust, and displaying a complete disregard for ethical rule.

Legacy of Fear and Exile: Establish a reputation of dominance and intimidation. To consolidate power, the dark monarch banishes the rightful heir and their family (including the former consort) to a distant world like Newcrest. This exile creates resentment and a desire for revenge among those banished.

Transition to Next Generation:

This setup leads to Generation 10, where the rightful heir’s descendants, now growing up in exile, seek to reclaim the throne and redeem the family’s reputation. Generation 10’s story will focus on taking back the kingdom and dismantling the dark legacy established by the previous ruler.

Generation 10: Restoration and Unity

Aspiration: Party Animal for the heir, reflecting their efforts to bring people together and restore the family’s reputation through gatherings and celebrations.

Trope: The rightful heir returns to repair the darkness introduced by the previous ruler, creating unity and peace across the kingdoms.

New Royal Families: Add any royal family not yet introduced from the list of optional kingdoms.

Overview: The exiled rightful heir returns with the support of an ally, using events, diplomacy, and celebrations to regain the throne and repair the family’s reputation.

Setup:

Would-Be Heir’s Background: Begin by playing as the rightful heir, raised in exile and determined to reclaim their family’s place. They develop a friendship and romance with a royal from a new or existing family, who helps them gain the support needed to reclaim the throne.

Alliance and Support: The romantic interest becomes a critical ally, leveraging their own influence to help the heir gain supporters across the kingdoms.

Heir’s Goals:

Gathering Support and Building Alliances: Use Friendly and Charisma interactions to build alliances and sway others to support the heir’s return.

Reclaiming the Throne: Rally allies, turn family members against the current ruler, and work to secure the throne peacefully or through a coup.

Restoration of Unity: Host frequent gatherings, celebrations, and diplomatic events to promote unity, rebuild alliances, and complete the Party Animal aspiration.

Symbolic Celebration: Host a final, grand celebration that brings all allied royals together, symbolizing the restoration of peace and trust across the kingdoms.

Monarch’s Goals:

As monarch, the heir continues to prioritize unity, ensuring the legacy of restoration and harmony is secure for future generations.

Challenge Conclusion:

The challenge concludes with the rightful heir fulfilling the Party Animal aspiration and hosting a unifying event that repairs the family’s reputation, securing a legacy of harmony and peace.

Optional Heir Training Requirements for Kids

These skills help develop the heir’s personality and abilities. Completing each skill offers unique benefits, while neglecting them may lead to challenges when the heir becomes monarch.

Toddler Skills (Foundation for Royal Training)

Benefits of Toddler Skills: Toddlers who excel in Communication, Imagination, Thinking, and Movement build strong foundations for future skills, improving confidence and early social connections, making them more adaptable and expressive as they grow.

School Performance for Heir Children

Grade A: Demonstrates discipline and intelligence. An "A" student is seen as a capable future leader, gaining confidence and public respect.

Grade B: Shows responsibility and diligence. A "B" student maintains a solid reputation, though not as outstanding as an “A” student.

Grade C or Lower: Indicates a lack of focus or rebelliousness, leading to doubts about the heir’s abilities. A "C" student may struggle with confidence and need to work harder to build a positive reputation as monarch.

Child Skills for Heirs

Core Skills

Creativity

Benefit: Enhances cultural sophistication. High Creativity allows the heir to host or attend artistic events confidently, boosting their public image.

Consequence: Low Creativity makes the heir appear out of touch with the arts, leading to lower public favor, especially among cultural allies.

Logic

Benefit: Essential for strategic thinking and decision-making, a high Logic skill ensures a capable and respected leader.

Consequence: Low Logic can make the heir appear impulsive or easily manipulated, weakening alliances and trust among advisors.

Charisma

Benefit: High Charisma makes the heir a persuasive speaker and well-liked by allies and subjects.

Consequence: Low Charisma results in awkward public appearances and difficulty gaining allies, leading to potential diplomatic challenges.

Secondary Skills (Choose 2-3)

Piano, Violin, or Pipe Organ (Choose One)

Benefit: Proficiency in an instrument adds elegance and discipline, helping the heir impress at royal gatherings.

Consequence: Lack of musical skill may lead to perceptions of the heir as rigid or less cultured.

Horseback Riding (Requires Horse Ranch)

Benefit: Represents physical fitness, courage, and a connection to tradition. Skilled riders gain favor with allies who value athleticism.

Consequence: Lack of riding skill may portray the heir as unadventurous, causing potential friction with more traditional or outdoorsy allies.

Singing

Benefit: Provides an entertaining and charismatic presence, enhancing public opinion and adding warmth to the heir’s image.

Consequence: Lack of singing skill may make the heir seem less approachable or expressive, affecting connections with commoners and allies.

Cross-Stitch or Knitting

Benefit: Demonstrates patience and creativity, appealing to those who value craftsmanship and dedication.

Consequence: No skill in these areas may make the heir seem impatient or uninterested in detailed work, affecting perceptions of their dedication.

Mischief

Benefit: A mischievous heir can navigate court politics and handle potential threats with ease, adding charm and cunning to their personality.

Consequence: Low Mischief skill makes the heir vulnerable to manipulation and may lead to difficulties in handling rivals or potential threats.

These skills allow heirs to grow with unique strengths and weaknesses, influencing their journey to become monarch based on their well-roundedness and adaptability.

#sims 4 royal family #thesims4 #miraraeroyals #sims4cc #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 legacy

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flusteredfools · 4 months ago

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takin a small break from writing their final chapter to doodle them.. so far the chapter is over 9.5k words and maybe 3/4 of the scene I planned for it. I could end it where it is, but it doesn't feel as satisfying... so I'm trying to decide if it'll just be a super long chapter or if I should try to break it up again like I did for the last one. OTZ

so while I puzzle for that enjoy some doodles and rambles? XD (semi close ups and more character info under the cut!)

Cursed Royal Y/N for this fic I've been trying so very hard to keep neutral and not lean too far either way but I imagine them with wavy hair that goes a bit past their shoulders (long hair was a sign of status, specially if well kept) and I think they'd be pudgy from always being able to eat lots and eat well with minimal active lifestyle. Though while dressed they have to wear a corset to help show the "proper" shape expected from royals. But in the fic I try to not over describe anything so the reader can fill in their own blanks. Always aware of their position, (though they have no interest in the throne regardless of being last in line for it) they stay mindful of their words and actions; wanting to show kindness to all, human, animatronic, animals, creatures, etc. Every living thing deserves to be treated with kindness and fairness.

Royal Guards Moon & Sun (They won't stay nakey forever I just wanted to get an idea of how their bodies work/look-even though I'm sure this isn't at all accurate to real robotics sorry) Sun and Moon started off as small servant bots for a smaller noble family, they were treated poorly (abused and often broken) then sold off and put up for auction. No one wanted the beat up bots so they were left discarded in the slums. They managed to find ways to patch themselves up, learning how to survive and defend themselves and became mercenaries as a way to earn money to properly live and repair themselves. A war broke out and started to threaten the Royal Capital; wanting to help prevent as many casualties as possible, Sun and Moon offered up their abilities. While there was some hostility from the capital soldiers, but the youngest of the King's Children spoke up on their behalf, on all animatronics behalf, that anyone wanting to help save lives, wanting a chance to make a difference should be allowed it and always treated as equals despite what they're made of. The duo proved themselves time and time again, capturing the enemy's soldiers to gather more intel as well as helping defend the camps from ambushes. To honor their heroic deeds, they were officially Knighted and offered to join the Royal Army; they accepted the rise of their status and a more reliable lifestyle for themselves. Once the youngest royal became of age to start socializing out in public, the two knights volunteered to be their guards; having heard about how much the young royal tries to promote peace and equality.

#fnaf dca #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf #fnaf security breach #fanfic #we can serve you better #royal guard moon #royal guard sun #serve you better au #suggestive #cw suggestive #y/n x dca #bearitt doodles #bearitt rambles

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melodyanqel · 5 months ago

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A Lot Like Love | ys

summary: a walk on the beach with confessions.

pairing: prince!yeosang x florist!female!reader

genre/tags: fluff, royalty, cute, mention of social class

wc: 500+ words

a/n: first sangie post! this is seriously so adorable that i was combusting >.<

Prince Kang Yeosang is the definition of beauty.

His looks and demeanor are so unreal that the people of Aurora can’t compare to him. But Yeosang also gets misunderstood by many. He is viewed as a stoic, untouchable man who is too perfect for the world. However, Yeosang’s true colors are much the opposite. His calming and kind personality is bright like a flower. Most importantly, a true gentleman who fell in love with a civilian.

You are the sun that delights him and the moonlight to clear his darkest hours.

After running the kingdom the entire day, Yeosang takes you on a beach stroll as the sunset welcomes them.

The sunset blossoms upon the horizon as if a million scarlet blooms ignited.

Hand-in-hand, the young couple took steps on the sand, and the sounds of ocean waves rustling soothed their ears. Yeosang ditched his pristine clothes, made by luxury brands, and wore comfortable, casual ones. He turns his head to see the real beauty next to him. You sense his hard gaze and look up at his glimmering eyes.

“It’s rude to stare.” You playfully remarked. A deep chuckle escaped from his glossy lips. “It’s not bad when it’s someone that you love.” Yeosang countered. You become flustered and quickly break eye contact. You hate yet enjoy how he uses his sweet words.

Surprisingly, the beloved Prince Kang Yeosang wasn’t this daring before. He used to be shy, quiet, and socially awkward. Suddenly, he found seven other friends who were princes in their respective kingdoms. Not to mention, he also comes across you giving out flowers to children at your flower shop.

Yeosang then lets go of your hand to embrace you from behind. His strong arms wrap around your waist and his chin is on your left shoulder. “I’m curious. Why did you agree to be with me?” He inquiered. A royal highness choosing someone from a lower class did raise a lot of eyebrows, and a bit of controversy. In the end, Yeosang defended the sun and moon of his life and confronted his parents that he found happiness, from a lovely florist.

You responded to Yeosang’s question. “It sounds straightforward but I picked you because you’re the only one in my life. I never got intimidated by your status. I see you as a human being who is unbearably cute, handsome, funny, and caring.” You tell the truth to your lover.

Yeosang listens carefully while his heart is pounding and his cheeks blooming red. “O-Oh, wow. Thank you. Very.” He shyly appreciates your everything. You heard his stutter and smiled. It’s adorable how Yeosang gets shy and it’s endearing.

You craned your neck to the side and looked at him. Yeosang notices it and returns the smile. “I love you.” He spoke sincerely. You flash your teeth in a wide smile. “I love you too.” You surprise him with a peck on his rosy lips. Yeosang jolted and his face became red like a rose.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez writing #ateez yeosang #yeosang ateez #kang yeosang #yeosang #yeosang x reader #yeosang x you #yeosang x y/n #yeosang fluff

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thatsmybook · 7 months ago

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Cyberbullying in Heartstopper and Young Royals

In Heartstopper, the audience has sympathy for Charlie and Tara when they are verbally bullied or cyberbullied in the show. We understand the affect these things have on their wellbeing.

In Young Royals, Simon is verbally bullied and cyberbullied the whole show, escalating in season 3. Yet the audience has less sympathy for him and his wellbeing.

I think the reason is that we see Simon standing up for himself against the verbal bullying, so we think he can handle it. He is a strong person, so he should be able to handle it. He has a support system of a good mum and friends at home. However, when he uses this admired personality trait and stands up for himself against cyberbullying, the audience immediately decides that that's not appropriate.

The audience empathy for Simon's experience each episode of Season 3 declines even as the stress on him builds. Why? I think it's because in parallel, Wille's pressures increase. Many make the judgement call that Wille's pressures are more pressing than Simon's and that Wille is not strong enough to deal with them. He has no support. He needs Simon's and only Simon's support. (Even though he has good mental health support in Boris, who is a paid professional, understanding of his pressures through his work with Erik and could help him navigate his stress).

The audience sees Simon's stresses as minor and self-involved. Why is he affected by it? He doesn't give AF about stuff people say. Strong people can't be affected by daily relentless verbal and cyberbullying. Right?

We understand the enormity of these stresses in the Heartstopper environment. We understand why Charlie and Tara, as 15 and 16 year old kids are continuing to read comments and are affected by them. Simon is a 16 year old kid and his comments are coming from people in his town, his country even, not just his school. Is it because Charlie and Tara are not strong characters like Simon? I think they are strong. The point is, no one is strong enough for this onslaught.

Charlie and Tara both get real sympathy and support from their partners for what they are going through. Even as both Darcy and Nick are going through their own pressures. Wille is not able to do this for Simon, until Simon and his family are physically threatened. Support mostly goes one way in their relationship in Season 3.

For the audience, Simon's stress starts to become an obstacle to Wille being able to perform his role as Crown Prince and to relieve his sick mum. The audience is geared to Wille becoming the best CP he can be, and start to see Simon's 'selfish stressors' as an obstacle to that role.

Wille is also a victim of cyberbullying. Simon, in support of Wille, is concerned about that and is standing up for both of them in the comments and the perception of them as people and their relationship. When Wille tells Simon that this is how it always is, Simon is concerned with Wille resigning to that state of affairs. It's not acceptable in Simon's world view.

That, to me, is to be admired. I don't see it as naive, even as the boyfriend of a public person. All over the world, young people are challenging the status quo of the social contracts we have in society. "This is how it's always been" has been a refrain that we no longer accept. In Wille's Song, Simon sings to Wille and to the audience, "we do not have to follow the way of others and where it leads." Simon was the revolution for the show and the audience. When watching the show again with this perspective instead of Wille's goal to be the Crown Prince that his brother would have wanted him to be, empathy and balance are restored.

This is all a post to say: all bullying, specifically cyberbullying, is a very dangerous thing. It can not be minimised how damaging it is. People in every domain are greatly affected by it. No matter how strong or how old or how famous or how rich they are. Blaming the victims by saying they should ignore the onslaught, the defamation of character, all the isms innate in the bullying (every identity of Simon's is targeted: his race, his class, his nationality, his sexuality), is ridding the public of accountability when they post online about any person. It is saying that it is socially acceptable to bully online. Once one has a social media account, we are accepting the social contract that we will forever be open to this abuse. And that it is our fault if we can not manage it. (Like (in jest) shouting at Wille and Simon to close the curtains because they should always expect that someone is filming them having sex).

#the monarchy as a symbol of all institutions that need to be questioned and re-examined #mental health in young royals #mental health in Heartstopper #mental health in young people #affects of cyberbullying #simon's mental health and casual bullying throughout the show becomes so normalised and overlooked #young royals #simon eriksson #young royals analysis

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scotianostra · 1 year ago

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On January 14th 1872 Edinburgh’s world famous dog, Greyfriars Bobby died.

For many visitors to Edinburgh, a must-see is the statue of Greyfriar's Bobby on George IV Bridge and, although it's officially frowned upon, rubbing Bobby's nose for luck. The true story of Greyfriar's Bobby is so enchanting that even Walt Disney decided to make a movie about him.

Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier who became famous in the 19th century for his unwavering loyalty to his owner. In 1850 John Gray, his wife, Jess and their son John arrived in Edinburgh. John was a gardener but could not find employment in his new hometown, so he worked as a night watchman for the Edinburgh Police Force.

It was a lonely job, so to keep him company, he bought a wee Skye Terrier, who he called Bobby. Soon John and Bobby became inseparable through the long winter nights they maintained a watch over their charges.

Edinburgh's damp and murky weather eventually took its toll on John, who was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Despite treatment from the Police Surgeon, John died on 15th February 1858 and was buried in Greyfriar's Kirkyard.

Bobby, who had never been apart from John, refused to leave the cemetery and stayed by his owner's grave. Despite the efforts of the graveyard staff to evict Bobby, he always returned and eventually, they gave up and provided little Bobby with shelter beside John's Grave.

Word of Bobby's loyalty quickly spread, and he became a local sensation. It is said that crowds would gather outside the graveyard at one o'clock each day. When Edinburgh's famous one o'clock gun was fired, Bobby would leave the grave and join local joiner William Dow for a walk to a local coffee shop.

John and Bobby visited Traill’s Temperance Coffee House on their rounds, and Bobby was always given something to eat by the owner John Traill. This tradition continued after John's passing, thanks to the generosity of the owner.

A new by-law was passed by the Edinburgh Council in 1867, making it mandatory that all dogs had a licence and a collar. The Lord Provost of Edinburgh, Sir William Chalmers, undertook to pay for Bobby's licence, and he received a collar with the inscription "Greyfriar's Bobby from the Lord Provost 1867 Licensed".

If you visit the Museum of Edinburgh on the Royal Mile, you can see Bobby's collar and drinking bowl. as seen in the pics, that I took in 2016/.

Bobby stayed by John's grave for 14 years until he passed in 1872. He was buried in the same cemetery, just a few feet away from his beloved owner.

Greyfriars Bobby's story is one of the most enduring tales of loyalty and devotion. It serves as a reminder of the special bond between humans and animals.

In 1981 a new headstone at Bobby's Grave was unveiled by the Duke of Gloucester. The inscription reads, "Greyfriars Bobby – Died 14 January 1872 – Aged 16 years – Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all".

The legend of Bobby touched the heart of Baroness Angelia Georgina Burdett-Coutts. She was the daughter of the banker Thomas Coutts (of Coutts Bank fame) and inherited £1.8 million on her grandfather's death, making her one of the wealthiest women in England.

Burdett-Coutts spent most of her wealth on philanthropic causes. She co-founded the Urania Cottage for "fallen young women" with Charles Dickens and became a social housing pioneer.

The Baroness got permission from Edinburgh Council to erect a statue of Bobby at the junction of Candlemakers Row and George IV Bridge, just outside Greyfriars Kirkyard. The artist William Brodie was commissioned to create the statue in 1872.

Since its unveiling, the statue of Bobby has become an important Edinburgh landmark.

#scotland #scottish #history #dog #loyalty #edinburgh

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batmanlovesnirvana · 22 days ago

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Chapter eleven | silent harvest.

masterlist

pairing : bruce wayne x fem!oc (can be read as x reader)

words : +7k

A/N : don’t know what to think about this one, it’s all over the place.

previous chapter

TWO NAKED BODIES tossed carelessly into the heart of Gotham's Robinson Park wasn't just a call to action—it was an omen. And this wasn't exactly how Dr. Ben Halimi wanted to start her day, but Gotham rarely asked permission to unleash its horrors.

After the chaos at the GCPD, Maryam returned to her apartment. You might assume she slept, exhausted from the night's events—but you'd be wrong. Sleep was never her refuge—or maybe that was a lie. Truthfully, she loved sleep, craved it even. But when something gnawed at her mind, pulling her into restless spirals, she couldn’t find peace until she dug into the answers.

And so, as always, she spent the night cloaked in the dim light of her room, shifting between her laptop and phone, diving deeper into the enigma that was Bruce Thomas Wayne

Wayne.

A name that resonated through Gotham like the toll of a cathedral bell.

The heir of Doctor Thomas Wayne, a man remembered as a surgeon who chose the operating table over the corporate desk, even while being CEO of one of the world's most powerful companies.

A socialist at heart, Thomas Wayne had been admired for his tireless dedication to saving lives at Gotham General and his brief, charismatic foray into politics as a mayoral candidate.

He was everything a billionaire wasn't supposed to be: progressive, empathetic, and tirelessly private.

The city loved him—or so the articles said.

Martha Wayne, on the other hand, was a more elusive figure.

To the public, she was a vision of grace—a devoted wife, a loving mother, and a pillar of Gotham's elite.

Always impeccably dressed, always adorned with that signature pearl necklace that Maryam had envied as a child. Yet to Maryam, something about Martha didn't fit. There were missing pieces in the picture-perfect image.

Her past was a haze—blank years following her elite education, likely spent traveling the world like so many of the wealthy, but nothing was ever explicitly documented. Martha's warm, reserved smile haunted Maryam, the same soft expression Bruce would sometimes wore—a flicker of humanity beneath the steel exterior.

Sometimes, if he wasn’t busy saving lives or navigating Gotham’s tangled politics, Thomas Wayne would join them on their Thursday subway rides. Maryam could still picture it clearly—his protective arm wrapped around Martha, a quiet gesture of devotion, while young Bruce nestled close to his mother’s side.

They were the embodiment of an unattainable dream: Gotham's royal family, untouchable and untarnished. And then, the dream shattered.

Now, that shy, bright-eyed boy was gone.

Bruce Wayne had become a man defined by shadows, vengeance personified. The Bat. Zorro.

His mystique fascinated the city—and Maryam. Despite his status as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, he shunned the public eye. No interviews, no socials, no speeches. Even the Gotham Renewal Fund, his father's vision for a better city, had been left to rot under the control of the mob.

Did he know? Did he care? Or was he too consumed by his crusade to notice?

Maryam didn't have the answers. What she did know was that Bruce Wayne was a puzzle with more layers than she could count.

A man born into unimaginable privilege who had chosen pain and rage over luxury.

A man who broke criminals in the street with his bare hands, fueled by the same grief that had made him.

And the worst part of it all was that she understood Bruce—perhaps too well. Yet, at the same time, she didn’t. It was strange, really. She could see the fury carved into his soul, the jagged edges of his grief that had shaped him into something both terrifying and irresistible.

He was a labyrinth of contradictions, a puzzle she couldn’t solve. It was maddening, really—how someone could feel so familiar and yet remain a complete mystery?

At first, she’d resented him.

Here was a man who had everything—wealth, power, the kind of privilege most could only dream of—and yet he chose to throw himself into the chaos of Gotham’s streets, breaking bones and battling those ensnared in the mob’s vicious cycle. People who were just trying to survive, to feed their families, to endure.

Why?

And then the answer had come to her slowly, unsettling and sharp.

Bruce Wayne was still teetering on the edge of his own rage and pain, a man consumed by the very thing that broke him. He wasn’t a hero—not yet. His fight wasn’t for justice; it was for something deeply personal, raw, and unforgiving.

Everything about him—his mask, his methods, his violence—reeked of unresolved grief.

It was brutal.

It was ugly.

And it was devoid of hope.

That was where they diverged. Because for all her struggles, for all the darkness she’d walked through, Maryam had never lost hope. Never.

It was the one thing she clung to, no matter how cruel the world became. But Bruce? His hope had died the same day his parents did, their blood pooling at his feet.

Her fingers hovered over the photo of him as a child, dressed in black at their funeral. His wide, innocent eyes had been replaced by a cold, unflinching stare—the look of a boy who’d learned too early that the world could take everything from you in an instant.

Once, Maryam had envied him. She’d hated him for his name, his money, his place above it all while she fought to claw her way through the depths of Gotham. But now? Now, all she felt was something far more complicated.

Empathy, laced with the bitter edge of resentment. A recognition of the pain that drove him—and a quiet fury at how he let it define him.

Bruce Wayne was a contradiction—a man of immense power who wielded it not in boardrooms but in darkened alleyways.

And yet, for all his mystery, Maryam couldn't look away.

She wanted to unravel him, piece by piece, to understand the pain and purpose that drove him.

He was fascinating. Dangerous. And she couldn't stop herself from wanting more.

That was how she spent the night—lost in the endless labyrinth of his history, scrolling through decades of Wayne legacy and tragedy. Piece by piece, she tried to assemble the enigma of him. His world was untouchable, vast and glittering, yet burdened with ghosts that refused to stay silent.

Now, in the brittle light of morning, the world outside felt just as unforgiving.

The sharp chill of the air bit through her coat, slicing through layers as if they weren’t there at all. It clung to her skin like a second, colder layer, wrapping icy fingers around her as she moved through Robinson Park.

Her breath hung in the steel-gray sky, a faint and fleeting ghost.

The call had come an hour earlier from Harvey Bullock—gruff and impatient as always, voice thick with an edge that even his years of cynicism couldn’t dull.

“Two female bodies. Robinson Park. You’d better see this yourself.”

That was all he’d said. That was all she needed.

Gotham had a way of pulling her into its shadows before the sun even had a chance to rise.

The doctor arrived to find the scene buzzing with muted chaos.

Crime scene technicians in white Tyvek suits moved like ghosts across the damp grass, their cameras flashing in eerie rhythm. Police tape flapped in the wind, a bright yellow wound cutting through the park's earthy greens and browns.

Officers held back a crowd of onlookers—early joggers, dog walkers, and curious passersby—whose whispers hung in the air like the park's morning mist. Maryam pushed through the throng, heart steeled but her mind racing.

The bodies lay near the grand lake, their placement deliberate, like a grotesque tableau meant for an audience.

The women— no teenagers, were sprawled on their backs, arms outstretched as if in surrender. Their hair fanned out around their heads like dark halos—one golden, the other deep brown, stark against the frost-kissed grass.

But it was the skin and the shape of the bodies, that stole Maryam’s breath—a pale, minty blue, like porcelain abandoned in winter’s grip.

They were so unnervingly devoid of fat. The skin clung tightly to their muscles, their bones, as if the fat had been taken from them, deliberately stripped away.

It wasn’t the deathly pallor she was accustomed to; it was too distinct, too intentional.

And the doctor recognized it immediately.

Fiona Harrison—discovered just five days ago beneath Gotham Bridge—had been the same color, body marked by the same chilling, eerie artistry.

Maryam straightened, pulling her coat tighter against the morning air that gnawed at her bones.

"Do we know their names?" she asked one of the crime scene technicians, her voice low but firm, cutting through the murmurs of the team.

"Not yet," the tech replied, shaking his head. "We haven't found any personal belongings. No IDs, nothing to tell us who they are."

Maryam nodded, her mind already cataloging the details she could glean from their physical state. The scene offered no answers, only silence and questions she was determined to chase down.

She knelt beside the bodies, the cold grass seeping through her slacks, anchoring her to the moment. Pulling on a pair of gloves, the snap of latex echoed like a surgeon preparing for a grim operation. Her hands moved with practiced precision, parting hair, checking for bruises, eyes scanning every inch of the women's exposed flesh.

She began her examination methodically, letting the clinical part of her mind shield her from the horror of the scene.

To untrained eyes, the women appeared serene, almost ethereal—untouched by the violence that had claimed them. Their porcelain skin bore no smears of blood, no jagged wounds. The color of their skin, that chilling minty blue, was the only clue to the unnatural state of their deaths.

But to Maryam's practiced gaze, it was too perfect. And in perfection, she knew, lay the greatest deception. Her eyes, honed by years of parsing the fine details of death, began to unearth the truth beneath the facade.

The women had been positioned symmetrically, as though arranged by an artist. Their hair, blonde and brunette, fanned out like delicate halos against the frost-covered grass. Their eyes, wide open, stared blankly into the sky, as if bearing witness to the world's indifference.

The blonde, mid-twenties, bore faint ligature marks around her wrists and ankles. The skin had broken in places where the bonds had bitten too deeply. Her forearms were pristine except for the cuts—tiny, deliberate five-pointed stars carved just above each wrist. They were shallow but exact, as if traced with a blade by someone with a surgeon's steadiness. There was no sign of blood, no jagged edges, just clean incisions meant to leave an unspoiled design.

The brunette was younger, barely more than a teenager. She lay in the same eerie symmetry as her counterpart, her dark hair spread like ink on the pale grass. The same ligature marks marred her wrists and ankles, and the same stars adorned her skin. But there was more—faint bruising circled her slender neck, a ghostly reminder of strangulation.

Maryam frowned. This wasn't the chaotic violence of rage or desperation. It was methodical. Precise. A story written in flesh, yet one that refused to offer its meaning so easily.

Her hands hovered over the stars, studying them closely. The edges were unnaturally smooth, almost waxy and again, the faint scent of perfume—a cloying blend of lavender and some darker floral note—lingered near the cuts.

"Perfume," she muttered to herself, her voice low but steady. It wasn't just a symbol; it was a calling card. The designs were identical between both victims, their placement intentional.

And then there was the skin. That impossible, minty hue. It wasn't just cold or lifeless—it was deliberate, as if death alone hadn't been enough for the killer. Maryam noted its consistency, how it extended uniformly across their bodies. It struck her like an unfinished question.

Everything was too perfect, too smooth, save for the calculated marks at their wrists and the unnatural tint of their flesh. Even death itself had been made to appear as art.

Her mind worked like clockwork, cataloging details, piecing together the clues that felt less like evidence and more like whispers from the dead. These bodies weren't just victims. They were statements. Messages left in a language Maryam was only beginning to decipher.

Behind her, Harvey Bullock's heavy footsteps crunched against the frost-hardened grass, each step weighted with the unspoken dread that lingered in the park. "So? What are we dealing with, Doc?" he asked, his voice rough, a rasp carved from years of cheap whiskey and cigars. True to form, a half-smoked cigar hung loosely from the corner of his mouth, its ember glowing faintly in the icy air. "The Riddler again?"

Maryam straightened, her eyes still fixed on the unnerving tableau before her. "No," she said quietly, her voice steady. "I don't think so." Brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face, she added with a faint edge of dry humor, "There's no riddle card lying around, for one."

Turning slightly, she cast Bullock a measured look. "Do they seem familiar to you?" she asked, her gloved hands now examining the victims' nails, searching for traces of a struggle or any lingering debris that might tell a story.

"Nah," Bullock replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"Then they're not anyone known in Gotham's usual circles," she concluded, her gaze returning to the bodies. "The Riddler's victims are typically people of importance. Corrupt officials, influential figures—people who fit into his twisted moral framework." Her brow furrowed, and the cold air kissed her high cheekbones, adding a faint flush to her skin. "Unless these two are mobsters' daughters or mistresses, I doubt it's him. And even then, this doesn't match his style."

Bullock grunted, lighting his cigar with a flick of his lighter. "I don't know if that's supposed to be comforting," he muttered, watching as the forensic team draped the bodies with white sheets, shielding them from the curious stares of onlookers.

Maryam crossed her arms, the latex gloves squeaking faintly. "The only thing I know for certain is that this isn't random. Four days ago, Fiona Harrison turned up under Gotham Bridge with the same discoloration. No stars on her body, but the skin? The same exact hue." She held up her gloved hand, faintly gleaming with residue from the bodies. "It's deliberate, Harvey. This isn't just about killing. This is about crafting something."

Bullock's brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. "Crafting what?"

She turned to face him fully, her hazel eyes sharp, glinting like shards of glass in the morning's dim light. "That's the question, isn't it? But this isn't simple murder. This is ritual." Her voice dropped a fraction, heavier now with meaning. "And they're not done yet."

Pulling off her gloves with a precise snap, she tucked them into her pocket. "I need to get them to the lab. There's only so much I can see out here."

"Any drops?" Bullock asks, exhaling a puff of smoke into the biting air.

"Definitely," Maryam replied, her tone clipped. "But not your standard cocktail. This feels different. New, maybe. Whatever it is, it's part of the killer's plan."

The park seemed to shrink around her words, the towering trees swaying in the icy breeze as if recoiling from the weight of her discovery. Maryam looked back at the shrouded bodies, and a familiar heaviness settled over her chest.

It wasn't fear—fear was something she'd learned to master long ago. It was something deeper, quieter. A relentless urgency, a vow whispered to herself on long, sleepless nights.

She stayed in Gotham for this exact reason: to read the stories the dead couldn't tell, to give them a voice when all that remained was silence.

With every detail meticulously cataloged in her mind, she knew one thing for certain. This killer wasn't just leaving a trail. They were writing a narrative.

And the final chapter had yet to unfold.

Alfred found Bruce in the bathroom of his suite, steam still curling around the marble tiles, the faint scent of soap clinging to the air.

The billionaire stood shirtless, his chest a patchwork of bruises—blues and purples blooming like watercolor on his skin, cuts crisscrossing like crude constellations. His hair was damp, rivulets of water tracing the sharp planes of his face. He moved with practiced indifference, pulling open a drawer to fish out a faded band T-shirt, the fabric soft from countless washes.

"Found anything?" Bruce asked, his voice low, as though the weight of Gotham itself pressed on his vocal cords.

Alfred, ever the picture of composure, flicked through the papers with his usual precision. "Yes, sir, though I daresay it's nothing you haven't already deduced yourself." His voice, calm and measured, carried the faintest edge of paternal exasperation. "Detective Kenzie, narcotics division. Born and raised in Gotham, attended state school, and joined the GCPD straight out of uni. No wife, no children—though he's had his fair share of flings, by all accounts. The truly telling detail, as one might expect, is his bank account. Transactions far too generous for a man whose income comes from a GCPD paycheck."

Bruce didn't reply, only grunted in acknowledgment, pulling the shirt over his battered torso. The hem settled against his frame as he moved to his desk.

The room around him told its own story.

A simple double bed, its dark sheets unkempt and untouched, spoke of sleepless nights. Beside it, two framed photographs stood sentinel: one of his parents, forever frozen in their warmth, and another of him as a boy, tucked between them with an innocence long since shattered.

It was organized chaos incarnate—a desk buried beneath scattered papers, photos, screenshots of surveillance footage, notes scribbled in his jagged scrawl, and rough sketches of Gotham's streets and buildings.

Every corner of the surface seemed to carry a piece of his nocturnal crusade.

An electric guitar leaned against the desk, strings slightly slack from neglect, the only evidence of a life Bruce had once dreamt of outside the cowl.

The massive windows overlooked Gotham's skyline, the city sprawled beneath him like a wounded animal, its lights blinking weakly against the dark.

And near the corner, a dormant fireplace sat cold and empty—a luxury he never indulged in, as though warmth itself was something he had forgotten how to accept.

Bruce's room was stark, a shadow of the grand elegance that once defined Wayne Manor.

Unlike his parents' room—untouched, sealed behind chained doors like a mausoleum for his shattered childhood—his space was utilitarian to say the least. It bore no trace of indulgence, no sign of comfort beyond necessity.

Alfred had offered countless times to move him into the master suite, to reclaim a piece of his past, but Bruce refused. He could not bring himself to sleep in that room, where memories clung like ghosts, the air forever heavy with what had been lost.

Seated at the edge of his cluttered desk, Bruce turned a photo over in his hands. It was grainy, captured through the lenses of his cowl at the Iceberg Lounge. Detective Mackenzie stared back at him, his expression a mask of nervous tension, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"He's working for Falcone. I'm sure of it," Bruce said, his voice a low growl as he tossed the picture onto the desk.

Alfred joined him, leaning slightly to peer at the image. His sharp eyes flicked over the unkempt chaos of the desk before settling on the photograph. "A highly probable conclusion, sir," he agreed, his tone measured.

His gaze shifted to another photo buried beneath the disarray. Alfred's brow arched when he lifted it—this one wasn't of Mackenzie but of a brunette woman with striking hazel eyes.

Doctor Ben Halimi, unmistakably so.

The shot was taken at the funeral of the mayor, her posture regal and poised, as though she had stepped out of a portrait rather than reality. Even in mourning attire, she exuded a quiet defiance, chin held high as she exchanged hushed words with Carmine Falcone himself.

"And her?" Alfred asked, holding the picture aloft as though it were evidence in one of Bruce's endless cases. "Have you finally decided?"

Bruce's fingers brushed across the surface of his desk, pulling out a pink dossier marked with the name Maryam in bold, neat lettering.

He flipped it open without a word, his fingers gliding over the contents with an almost obsessive precision. A few photographs slipped out, landing with a soft thud. Bruce slid them into view, pointing to each one as he spoke, his eyes cold and focused.

"Maryam Ben Halimi," he began, his voice low and deliberate as he flicked through the pages. "Born May 1st, 1990. Daughter of Idris Ben Halimi and Lejla Petrovich. Both deceased when she was young—her father executed during the Srebrenica Genocide, her mother hanged during the Siege of Sarajevo. North African and Middle Eastern from her father's side, Bosnian from her mother's. Although..." Bruce's eyes lingered on a photo of Maryam's mother, a stunning woman in a black-and-white snapshot. His finger traced the edge of the picture, as if searching for something. "...I have my suspicions."

He glanced up at Alfred, his expression unreadable, before lowering his gaze back to the file in front of him.

"She grew up in Gotham with her four sisters," he began, his tone steady but focused. His finger traced the edge of a photograph before tapping on the face of a young dark brunette girl. "Warda Ben Halimi, the second eldest. She's an engineer at Wayne Enterprises, married to Ryan Khalid, a dentist." He reached across the desk, picking up a framed photo from the neatly arranged spread. Turning it toward Alfred, he tapped it lightly. "This one."

Without missing a beat, he moved on, rifling through a stack of newspapers until he pulled out an issue of the Daily Planet. He placed it on the table, tapping an article with Sherine’s byline highlighted. "Sherine Ben Halimi, the third, journalist and archaeologist. Works in Metropolis. She’s at the Daily Planet."

Sliding the paper aside, he tapped a dossier marked with campaign logos. "Rania Ben Halimi, the fourth, Bella Réal’s PR strategist. Handles all her messaging for the campaign."

He paused to grab a sticky note pinned to a nearby folder. "And Alma, the youngest—currently preparing for her bar exams. Ambitious, but grounded."

His hand moved to another pile, where a business card rested atop a photo of a boxing ring. He held it up briefly. "Their cousin, Moncef—runs a boxing ring in the Narrows. Former fighter himself

Finally, he gestured toward a small stack of personal letters, carefully labeled. "Their aunts, Meysa, a babysitter with a knack for organizing her neighborhood, and Jamila, a nurse at Gotham Hospital. Their uncle, Fawzi, is a fisherman—spends every Friday at the bay and runs a modest shop on Fleet Street with his wife."

He straightened, his eyes sharp and focused as he surveyed the collection of information he’d just laid out. "They raised them after their parents passed."

Bruce paused, his gaze lingering on the photo of Maryam at the mayor funeral. Her face was regal, bearing an uncanny resemblance to her mother, though her father's sharp eyes and bronze skin marked her distinctively. She appeared distant, caught in a rare moment of conversation with Carmine Falcone.

The orphan clicked his tongue softly before speaking again. "She went to Gotham State School, graduated with honors, and went straight to medical school."

He reached for another photo, this one of Maryam at eleven years old. Her hazel eyes stared straight at the camera, two neat braids framing her face, but already, there were dark circles under her eyes. She seems exhausted. Bruce's finger traced the edge of the yellowing photograph. "She came to the U.S. when she was ten, with her surviving family."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, looking at the man with an expression of mild surprise. "That's the most I've heard you speak in years."

Bruce didn't respond, merely scoffing softly under his breath. He stared at another screenshot of her, the night of the Mayor death. The first time he met her. His jaw tightens.

Alfred raised his hands slightly, almost as though in surrender. "What do you suspect of her, Master Wayne? She seems like a fine woman. I daresay, you two—"

His boss cut him off before he could say anything else. "I think she's the Wraith, and I suspect her mother's lineage isn't as clean as the documents suggest."

Alfred blinked in confusion, raising his brows. "The Wraith?" he asked, clearly unfamiliar with the name.

Bruce's eyes didn't leave the photo of Maryam, his finger tracing the edge of the paper absentmindedly. "The Wraith is a name that's been whispered around Gotham for years. A ghost for some and a myth for others. She operates in the shadows, targeting those who deserve punishment without ever being seen. No one knows her real identity, but she's been connected to a string of high-profile takedowns, people tied to the criminal underworld—mobsters, corrupt officials, anyone with blood on their hands. But most importantly, Fish Mooney."

Alfred folded his arms, his brow furrowing. "And you think she's behind it?"

Bruce nodded slowly, his expression grim. "The Wraith's methods don't fit anyone else. She's surgical, too precise, and leaves no trace. She doesn't kill unless she has to, and she doesn't do it for money or fame. It's personal... and I think Maryam is tangled in it somehow."

Alfred regarded him quietly for a moment, clearly piecing things together. "You think her past has something to do with this... with what she's become?"

Bruce's voice dropped lower, filled with suspicion. "Her mother's side, yes. There's something in her bloodline I can't fully trace. The more I look into her family's history, the less I trust the story she's been fed."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, skepticism lingering in his tone. "So that's the only reason you think she's The Wraith?"

Bruce shook his head slightly, leaning forward. "No. At the funeral, she wore a brooch," he said, pulling a red pen from his drawer and circling the piece of jewelry in a photo. "It's... distinctive. Fancy, almost regal. Too ornate for someone of her background. Looks like something passed down through generations. A family heirloom."

Alfred squinted at the image, leaning closer as he examined the brooch. "Hmm, it appears to be of--"

"Russian heritage," Bruce finished for him, his voice clipped with certainty. He pulled out another picture, an old black-and-white photograph, and laid it beside the one of Maryam. The image depicted Alexandra Feodorovna, wife of Tsar Nicholas II, wearing an identical brooch with the exact same emblem—an intricate design of a double-headed eagle. "This brooch isn't just ornamental. It's unique—historically significant."

Alfred's brow furrowed, his curiosity now fully piqued.

Bruce continued, tone steady and charged with implication. "The first time I encountered The Wraith, I overheard her speaking Arabic—but there was Russian too. Fluent, not just borrowed phrases. And her mother's last name... it leans more Russian than Bosnian. Though, admittedly, a Russian connection in Bosnia isn't unheard of."

He grabbed another photo, a screenshot taken during one of his nightly pursuits, showing The Wraith mid-motion. Bruce circled a small detail near her eye with his marker. "See this? Same beauty mark beside her right eye," he said, then compared it to the funeral photo of Maryam.

The similarity was undeniable.

Bruce flipped to yet another image, this one captured on the night he'd been chasing The Wraith. The photo showed her profile in sharp detail, her hood momentarily blown back, exposing a bleeding scratch on her temple.

He pointed at it with his marker, his tone measured but intense. "Here. An injury from our encounter," he said, circling the wound for emphasis. Then, with deliberate precision, he flipped back to the earlier photo—this one from Maryam's appearance at the funeral. He gestured to the faint scar on her temple, the lines of his face tightening as he spoke.

"The exact same wound," he muttered, "nearly healed."

He set the marker down on the table, the sound of it rolling across the surface oddly loud in the heavy silence of the room. It came to a stop against a photograph near the edge of the desk—a much older one.

It was of Maryam as a child, no more than five years old, standing stiffly in front of a plain kindergarten backdrop.

Her hazel eyes were wide and glassy, the red veins prominent as though she'd been crying just moments before the shutter clicked. In the harsh light of the photo, her irises looked more green-yellow than brown, a haunting effect that made her appear both familiar and alien.

Bruce stared at it, his jaw tightening.

He rubbed his eyes with a sharp motion, as though trying to shake the image from his mind. "The nickname," he mumbled under his breath.

"Pardon me, sir?" Alfred prompted, leaning closer.

Bruce hesitated, then spoke again, his voice quieter now, as though the words themselves were something intimate. "She calls me Zorro. Maryam. The Wraith. Both of them. If they weren't the same person, why would they use the same name for me?" His expression darkened. "It's too coincidental."

Alfred's eyes shifted to the photos and notes scattered across the desk. The evidence Bruce had painstakingly collected felt both damning and surreal. "If what you're suggesting is true, sir..." Alfred began slowly, as though still grappling with the enormity of it, "then she's either remarkably careless, or she wants to be found."

Bruce leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. His fingers drummed on the edge of the desk, a restless rhythm that betrayed the storm of thoughts racing through his mind.

"I know what you're thinking, Alfred," he said, breaking the silence. His voice carried a weight that made the older man pause. "But this isn't coincidence. It's deliberate. Every piece of this fits together too perfectly to ignore. She's hiding something—something tied to her past in ways she's never revealed."

Alfred adjusted his glasses and scrutinized the evidence once more. His skepticism hadn't wavered, but there was a note of concern in his voice now. "It's a bold claim, Master Wayne. But let's not forget the improbability of it all. The Romanov lineage was all but extinguished, and the surviving artifacts, including the jewelry, were secured in the British royal vaults after their execution. Even their most distant relatives—those who escaped—never had access to such treasures. To think she might possess a piece of it..."

Bruce's jaw tightened. "It doesn't add up, does it?" he said, almost daring Alfred to refute him. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up an old file on his computer. A string of articles and documents flashed across the screen, the bold headlines practically screaming their intrigue:

'The Romanov Mystery: Did Anastasia Survive?' 'Lost Heir to the Throne? The Last Hope of the Romanovs.' 'The Woman Who Claimed to Be Anastasia.'

"Whispers, Alfred. There've been whispers for decades," Bruce said, leaning closer to the screen. His voice was low, steady, but alive with conviction. "Rumors of a daughter who survived. Anastasia."

Alfred's expression remained stoic, though his hands clasped tighter behind his back. The images and text on the screen seemed to linger in the air, heavy with implication.

Finally, he spoke, his tone quieter but deliberate. "And what do you intend to do with this, Master Wayne? If Maryam is The Wraith—and her past is as shadowy as you suspect—what then? What does it mean for her? For you?"

Bruce's gaze shifted from the photographs to Alfred's, his jaw tightening as shadows played across his face. His eyes burned with unrelenting determination. "It means I need to find her before she finds me," he said, his voice low but resolute. "And if she's as dangerous as I think, I need to know where her loyalties truly lie."

Alfred regarded him with a measured calm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "And you suspect her loyalty may not be to Gotham," he said carefully, "but to something—or someone—else entirely."

Bruce didn't respond immediately, but his silence was answer enough. His hand closed into a fist at his side, the tension in his frame coiled and palpable.

"You and she," Alfred continued, "are alike in more ways than you'd care to admit. Two sides of the same coin, as it were."

"I know, Alfred." The words were almost a growl, spoken through gritted teeth. "That's why I need to find her first. And when I do, I—" He stopped, his gaze dropping to a photograph lying askew on the desk. His favorite.

It was Maryam at her medical graduation ceremony, dark caramel curls swept back behind her shoulders, red lips curved into an unguarded smile, and those eyes—always green and yellow, like sunlight filtering through a canopy of autumn leaves—radiating a rare warmth. And for once, there was no mask, no veil of secrets—just her, caught in a fleeting moment of joy.

She looked different in that photo, almost like a stranger.

There was none of the guarded intensity he'd come to associate with her, none of the weight that shadowed her every move.

It was a version of Maryam he hadn't seen before, free of the burdens she carried now—a glimpse of the person she might have been, if her life had taken a different path. Like a reminder that behind the shadowy figure of The Wraith was a woman who had lived, struggled, and perhaps even found happiness once.

Bruce's gaze lingered on the image, drawn to its honesty, its simplicity.

The photo felt out of place amidst the others—like it didn't belong in the intricate web of clues and shadows spread across his desk. Yet it was the one he couldn't look away from, as if it held an answer he couldn't yet decipher.

"I'll make sure she doesn't slip away," he finished softly, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Alfred watched him carefully, his brow furrowing. "And what if she's already found you, Master Wayne?"

The question was a quiet bombshell, laden with implications that Bruce wasn't yet ready to address.

Alfred broke the silence with a quiet sigh, his voice laced with resignation. "Very well. But do remember, some things are better left buried."

Bruce turned back to the photographs, the evidence, the web of connections he'd painstakingly pieced together. The brooch with its Romanov insignia, the languages she spoke with effortless precision, the funny nickname, her family's meticulously concealed history, the scar—it all pointed to something far more complex than he'd anticipated.

It felt like a weight pressing on his chest, the realization that his path wasn't just tangled; it was about to grow darker, and far more treacherous.

His gaze lingered on the graduation photo one last time, the image of Maryam burning itself into his mind. She was an enigma—a puzzle he couldn't yet solve.

That alone made her dangerous. But it wasn't just her danger that drew him—it was her defiance, her resilience, her ability to slip through the cracks of his world without leaving a trace.

It wasn't just that he wanted to solve her; he needed to.

She wasn't merely dangerous. She was captivating. And that, he realized, could be his undoing.

He couldn't afford even a single misstep. Not this time.

Jennifer O'Malley and Fatima Saffour. Those were their names.

Young women—barely out of their twenties—now frozen in time, their lives extinguished with chilling finality. Their bodies lay side by side on the cold steel tables, a juxtaposition of innocence and brutality. Beneath the sterile glare of the morgue's unforgiving fluorescent lights, their faces bore a semblance of peace that felt more like mockery than grace.

Death had wiped away their humanity, leaving behind only hollow echoes of who they once were.

Tammy lingered at the edge of the room, her usual chatter and energy replaced by a silence that hung heavy in the air, thicker than the antiseptic smell clinging to her gloves. Her hand fluttered near the clipboard she held, her fingers worrying the edges as if trying to smooth her own nerves.

She couldn't shake the unease tightening in her chest—a primal instinct warning her that whatever lay ahead was worse than what had come before.

Across from her, Doctor Ben Halimi prepared with her characteristic precision, a figure of composed detachment. The snap of her gloves echoed through the room, sharp and unforgiving, like the crack of a judge's gavel.

Adjusting her scrub cap, she cast a quick, assessing glance at Tammi. Her expression betrayed nothing, but there was a faint shadow beneath her eyes—a residue of sleepless nights and too many encounters with Gotham's darkest secrets.

"Alright," Maryam said, her voice steady but weighted with exhaustion. "You know the drill—external examination first. I'll call out the findings; you take notes and assist as needed."

Tammy nodded, her grip tightening on the clipboard. She swallowed hard, her eyes momentarily fixed on the blank sheet of paper in front of her. The emptiness of the page seemed to mock her, daring her to fill it with horrors she'd rather not face.

Finally, she stepped closer, the sound of her shoes against the tiled floor muffled by the oppressive stillness.

Maryam leaned over Fatima Saffour's body, her motions precise and clinical. Dark hair spilled over the steel table like ink pooling on silver. With careful hands, Maryam parted the strands, running gloved fingers along the young woman's scalp.

"Scalp intact," she began, her tone almost mechanical, a shield against the grim reality before her. "No abrasions, lacerations, or contusions. Hair is clean, no debris present."

The pen in Tammi's hand scratched across the paper, each stroke a stark counterpoint to the eerie quiet. Maryam shifted her attention to the jawline, tilting Fatima's head to catch the light. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept over the contours of the neck.

"No ligature marks," Maryam murmured, her fingers ghosting over the smooth skin. "No petechiae, no signs of strangulation. The neck appears normal."

She paused, her brow furrowing as something faint caught her attention. She leaned in closer, her voice quieter now, but with an edge of certainty. "Wait. Faint impressions along the brachial arteries and shoulders." She gestured for Tammi to take note, the slightest frown pulling at her lips.

Tammi peered over, tilting her head to see what Maryam was pointing out. "Could those be restraint marks?" she asked, her voice tentative, as if she feared saying the words would make them more real.

Maryam considered the possibility, her fingers hovering just above the skin. "Maybe," she said at last, her tone clinical but thoughtful. "But they're too precise, too uniform. There's no bruising, no indication of a struggle. These impressions... they look like they were made by a device. Something designed to hold the body in place—efficiently, methodically."

The thought hung in the air, unspoken but palpable: This was not the work of an amateur.

As Maryam moved on to examine the chest, her hands stilled over the unnaturally smooth surface of the skin stretched tight over Fatima's ribs. Her eyes narrowed. "Subcutaneous fat is absent here as well," she said, almost to herself. Her gloved fingers pressed lightly against the area, her expression darkening. "The skin has an altered texture—stretched, manipulated to fit what's beneath."

Tammi hesitated before asking, "Do you think heat was used to remove it?"

"Possibly," Maryam replied, her voice sharp but not unkind. She straightened, her gaze unwavering as she continued the meticulous inspection. "We'll move to the face next. Make sure you note the symmetry and any anomalies."

Tammi nodded, already scribbling the details onto her clipboard, her pen's movement brisk but trembling slightly. Maryam turned her focus to Fatima's face, her gloved hands tilting the chin, angling the head as she studied each feature with an unnerving intensity.

"Facial symmetry is intact," Maryam noted. "No bruising or abrasions around the eyes, nose, or mouth." She gently parted the lips, her movements slow, deliberate. "No cyanosis. Teeth are clean, no fractures or wear patterns."

Tammi leaned in closer, her voice a whisper. "Anything in the mouth?"

Maryam retrieved a tongue depressor and carefully opened the mouth further. She frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Nothing. No residue, no foreign objects. No signs of asphyxiation. Everything looks... untouched." She glanced at Tammi, her expression unreadable. "Which is unusual."

The examination continued, a grim procession of observations and notes. When Maryam reached the wrists, she froze. Her head tilted slightly as she sniffed the air. "Do you smell that?" she asked, her voice breaking the silence.

Tammi leaned in, her nose crinkling. "Perfume?" she guessed, though her tone carried uncertainty. "Lavender and rose. But... it's so strong. How can it still linger?"

Maryam nodded slowly, her brow furrowing in thought. "It's deliberate," she said. "Postmortem. Fragrance doesn't cling to dead skin like this. Whoever did this applied it—carefully, intentionally."

Tammi swallowed hard, her clipboard trembling in her grip. She looked at Maryam, her mentor's calm demeanor both reassuring and unnerving. Maryam jotted the detail in her notes, her pen scratching across the page: Unnatural scent preservation. Perfume—lavender and rose. Applied postmortem. Purpose unclear.

The process moved forward, every step peeling back another layer of horror. Burns appeared beneath the fingers, precise and clinical, as if designed for a purpose too grotesque to imagine. Impressions on the arms and shoulders told a silent story of restraint and control. The killer had taken everything human from these women—their autonomy, their identity, their very essence—and left behind only shells, stripped of life and dignity.

Tammi's voice broke the quiet, tentative and shaky. "What kind of person does this?"

Maryam removed her gloves with deliberate care, her gaze lingering on Fatima's lifeless form. "Someone who doesn't see them as people," she said softly, her tone colder than the morgue itself. "To them, these women were resources—nothing more."

As Maryam reached for a fresh pair of gloves, her pen moved across the page once more: Victims stripped of humanity. Systematic. Surgical. Intent unknown. Investigation ongoing.

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, casting stark shadows on the room's walls. It felt as though the morgue itself held its breath, waiting for the next grim discovery.

Maryam steeled herself for what lay ahead.

The truth was out there, somewhere, buried beneath the horror—and she would unearth it, piece by chilling piece.

Maryam meticulously packed up the evidence, slipping each document into its designated folder and ensuring every piece of the case was accounted for. Her laptop followed, the lid snapping shut with a quiet finality.

Her desk was pristine, every item in its place before she left for the day—an unspoken rule she never broke. Disorder, even in something as small as her workspace, was unbearable.

Tammy had already clocked out, and the bodies were sealed back into the sterile cold of the morgue's fridges, their stories told and cataloged.

She glanced at the clock, then at the documents she needed for her meeting with Gordon. The precinct's makeshift operations hub, what some had taken to calling "the Tower," was where she'd be heading next.

Sliding her coat on, Maryam paused to catch her reflection in the small, cracked mirror near her desk. Her fingers instinctively brushed against the faint wound at her temple, a leftover reminder of the funeral chaos. It was tender to the touch but no longer bleeding, though it throbbed faintly as if it refused to let her forget. She sighed, pulling her hand away.

With a sharp click, she snapped her leather compartment case shut, hoisted her bag onto one shoulder, and tucked the documents securely under her arm. Keys in hand, she turned toward the light switch, ready to plunge the room into darkness, when a knock echoed through the stillness.

Her head turned slowly toward the door, her stomach tightening with annoyance.

Of course.

Dr. Elliott.

He lounged against the doorway with an easy confidence, arms crossed over his chest, his dark scrubs emphasizing the lean frame beneath. His disheveled blonde hair caught the overhead light, giving him an almost boyish charm that only made his smugness more infuriating.

That smirk—smug, maddening, and entirely too self-assured—remained fixed on his face as his eyes roamed over her, lingering just a beat too long, like he was trying to unravel her with his gaze alone.

"Yes?" she asked, raising a perfectly arched brow, tone clipped.

"Nothing," he drawled, his voice slithering out with a serpentine smoothness that matched the smirk curling at his lips. "Just checking."

His gaze was anything but innocent, making no effort to disguise its path as it slid from her face, down her shoulders, and lingered briefly on the line of her coat before dropping to her high-heeled boots. When his eyes finally snapped back to meet hers, they carried a shameless glint, as if daring her to call him out.

Her jaw tightened. "Checking for what, exactly?"

"For a change of heart," he said, his voice dripping with that infuriating mix of arrogance and amusement.

Maryam rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply. "No, Dr. Elliott," she replied, voice sharper now, cutting through his arrogance demeanor. "I haven't had a change of heart, unfortunately—for you."

Her words were crisp, controlled—a tone she reserved for him and those she didn't like, never for the other members of the hospital. And he knew it, too.

His smirk never wavered. Instead, he chuckled softly, as if her rejection only added fuel to whatever game he thought they were playing.

She reached for the light switch and finally flicked it off, the room dimming instantly. The shadows made his presence feel more intrusive, and yet she refused to let him unsettle her.

Maryam's lips pressed into a tight line as she locked the door to her office, keys jingling faintly in her hand. But Dr. Elliott's smirk only widened, a glint of amusement in his sharp blue eyes that made her skin crawl.

"You know," he drawled, his voice low and deliberately teasing, "it wouldn't kill you to say yes, just once. Maybe have a drink with me? You could even bring your notes—I promise I'm a good listener."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "For the hundredth time, I'm not interested. Not in drinks, not in your offers, and certainly not in your advice on how to unwind."

Elliott chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and taking a small step closer, his arms still crossed. "You say that now, but I've seen how hard you work. Always here late, always cleaning up after everyone else's messes. A woman like you deserves a break."

Maryam turned to face him fully, hazel eyes narrowing as she tilted her head ever so slightly. "A woman like me?"

The question was sharp, a verbal snare Elliott hadn't anticipated. He faltered, momentarily fumbling for a response before slipping on his trademark grin. "You know what I mean. Smart. Dedicated. Gorgeous." The final word hung in the air, weighted with implication, his tone daring her to respond.

Before she could even fire back, he pivoted. "Heard about the murders. Anything new?"

Maryam didn't miss a beat, her retort as cold and precise as a scalpel. "Yeah, and it's none of your business."

Her straight hair caught the light as she flicked it over her shoulder, the movement deliberate, a dismissal as sharp as her words. She drew herself up, her posture radiating a composed authority that left no room for rebuttal.

"Have a good night, Dr. Elliott," she said, the clipped edge in her tone signaling the end of the conversation. Without so much as a glance back, she strode past him, her steps measured, purposeful.

Elliott's voice chased her into the hallway, smooth and infuriatingly smug. "Always a pleasure, Doctor."

She didn't dignify him with a response, letting the sharp click of her heels on the polished floor say everything she wouldn't. It wasn't the first time he'd tried to get under her skin, and it wouldn't be the last, but Maryam had long mastered the art of indifference.

Let him smirk, let him play his little games.

She wasn't about to hand him the satisfaction of a reaction—not tonight, not ever.

previous chapter | next

taglist : @faeryki , @gaypoetsblog , @rattyfishrock

ooop, hey guys…..

haven’t edited yet so sorry for any mistakes !!

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queenvhagar · 6 months ago

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Can I get your personal thoughts and feelings about Criston Cole. I'm interested in hearing what you have to say about him.

My personal background is in sociology, so I'm really interested in social stratification and how different groups in society interact, as well as how intersectionality comes into play in societies. This comes into play for my media interests in that I find shows that explore sociopolitical issues to be most compelling to me personally. A side note is that I also studied medieval French society and concepts of chivalry and courtly love, so this also informs my perspective on how I view stories in medieval contexts.

Fire and Blood explores the history of the society in Westeros and tells stories of wide-scale societal conflict that impacts people of various social backgrounds. In this society, people are stratified by race, class, socioeconomic status, gender, ability, and more. When it comes to the adaptation House of the Dragon, one of my major gripes is that it's only interested in looking at one of these aspects of stratification, gender, and examining it on its own without regard to its intersection with race, class, socioeconomic status, ability, and other social markers that exist in this world. The show wants to explore sexism, but it does so in a vacuum without meaningfully and realistically taking into account how classism, racism, ableism, and other systems of power interact with and exist at the same time as sexism. The way the show handles the character of Criston Cole is a good example of how they fail to fully explore these aspects of world building.

Criston Cole is Dornish in a medieval, feudalist monarchy where Dornish people are looked down upon and discriminated against. He is lowborn in a society that values highborn people and royalty above all else. As he is not born to an important family, he lacks resources like money and land that could allow him social mobility. However, he does have skill at being a knight, a role highly mythologized, idealized, and romanticized in medieval contexts. Knights operate with honor and abide by a code of chivalry, and it is viewed as a noble and honest pursuit and means of living that any boy in that world could dream of embodying. It is Criston's skill with the blade and other knightly abilities that allows him to pursue this role and begin to rise in status and achieve upward mobility.

At the tourney for the heir that Viserys throws in anticipation for Aemma's birth of a son, Criston stands out due to his skill and due to him surpassing expectations of a Dornish lowborn man at a royal tourney. His performance and appearance lead him to be selected by the princess for Kingsguard, the highest position a knight could rise to in this society. Now, Criston finds himself as the highest of knights in service to the realm and particularly the royal family who rules it, the members of which who stand at the top of social hierarchies in this society: Valyrian race, royal blood, immense riches, power, and privileges available to them. And, of course, access to dragons, the ultimate weapons and safeguards of power in this world.

As Criston says himself, his position as Kingsguard is something he worked for his whole life and it's all he really has to his name and legacy, due to his birth and his family's position in this world. As a Kingsguard, at least early on, he takes his vows seriously and performs the job as he thinks an ideal knight would.

One night, the princess, the who promoted him to Kingsguard in the first place, reveals her attraction to him and pressures him to break his vow, and she does not accept multiple refusals as an answer. He implicitly cannot refuse her request, as she holds authority over him. Despite the fact that, yes, she is a young woman of 18 and he is a young man in his early twenties, it stands that she still holds an exceptionally higher amount of power than he does: she is a Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria, a dragon riding princess, daughter of the king, and heir to the throne that grants the best absolute power her father holds, while he is a knight from a lowborn family of Dornish background. In this instance, on a whim, the princess knowingly or unknowingly uses her power to take sex from him without considering what might happen to him as a result. The consequences of this event are potentially severe for him while relatively minimal for her. As it stands, if anyone found out, the consequence for him is to be slowly tortured to death. For the princess, if anyone found out, there is ultimately protection from the king. Criston would die an agonizing death, but at the very worst, she is disinherited, but only if her father wishes it (and she still retains her name and her dragon to help her survive in the world). Following this event, the princess tells him that she expects him to be fine with being used for sex whenever she wants, despite the severe risks to safety and well-being this poses to especially him.

Criston becomes disillusioned with the world he knew. He did everything he was supposed to do - endeavor to improve his position in the world through the righteous means of being a knight - yet now, everything he worked for is potentially crumbling before him. He tries to rationalize her decision to take advantage of him - maybe she truly loves him and that is why she would not accept his refusal? But the reality is that she views him as a plaything. His whole life of work to achieve upward mobility and make a name for himself in the world, and on account of his race, class background, and relative position of powerlessness, he is simply used and treated like an object by royalty. What purpose does he truly serve, if it is not to be a sworn knight abiding his vows and serving the realm and the royal family? Criston's grasp on his identity and purpose waver. When interviewed by the queen, he confesses his guilt and asks for a quick death. He accepts that his life may be over and that everything he suffered through in his life meant nothing. At the princess's wedding, he is threatened by someone he perceives as attempting to expose what happened, which would result in a torturous death. He snaps, killing the man to silence him. Having taken this life, resigned to death himself, he retreats to the weirwood to commit suicide. But it is there that the queen appears to stop him, and in Alicent, he finds a renewed sense of identity and purpose. In Alicent, he can relate to being thoughtlessly used by members of the royal family. In Alicent, he can believe once again in the idea of being a knight serving a queen who saved his life when it would have been easier for her not to. In Alicent, and in her children, Criston renews his identity in knighthood and his purpose in protecting the royal family. This time, though, these royals are not just using him without consideration and will not take him and his sacrifices for granted. Criston once again buys into the mythologizing of knighthood and royalty, which gives him identity and purpose in the world once more.

At this point, I'll address that many viewers and readers see his dislike of Rhaenyra as evidence of him being a uniquely misogynist man in this world where gender is heavily stratified. While sexism does exist at large in this society, there is only evidence of Criston disliking one single woman who used him and then discarded him at great risk and harm to him personally. In this regard, him hating Rhaenyra is logical given their past. He does not seem to be more exceptionally sexist than any other character in this story, yet fans focus in on him in particular for this. The "why" of it all likely has to do with the framing of the show: the writers emphasize the perspective of the royals and those with the most power in this world, and from their perspective, anyone in proximity to these royals should be grateful for it, despite anything that happens, because they are the sympathetic main characters. This is especially true for someone like Criston who apparently should be happy that despite his low birth and inferior (in this world) racial identity, the princess still offered to have sex with him and this is the best thing he could hope to ever achieve in his life. Once again, the show hyper focuses on sexism in Westeros but does not explore other systems of power that exist in the world and/or their relations to one another and the result is a skewed view of how the world really functions and who actual holds power relative to who. This, combined with the shows insertion of certain 21st century politics into aspects of the show when realistically no such things existed in historical or fictional medieval feudalist monarchies, results in fans insisting Criston is an incel, showing fundamental misunderstanding of the world of Westeros and also apparently the term incel itself, as Criston is tied for the character with the most sex scenes so far at 3 separate scenes so clearly he is not involuntarily celibate.

Post time skip, decades pass and Criston continues to fulfill his roles as knight and protector of the royal family until finally the day comes when the king dies. Then, he works with the Green Council to take action to protect his faction of the royal family from the perceived threat of the other and becomes "Kingmaker" by personally crowning Aegon. Following the murder of Jaehaerys by Daemon and Rhaenyra in retaliation for the death of Lucerys, he advocates for stronger, strategic military action in the then inevitable war while Otto Hightower insists on sending more ravens. This results in Aegon making him Hand of the King instead. His plan with Aegon and Aemond to trap one of the Black's dragons allows the Greens to take Meleys out, but it also allows for Aegon to become injured and bedridden, necessitating that Aemond take over in his stead as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.

As for season 2 additions and changes from the source material, I always saw Criston's relationship with Alicent as one of courtly love, and so far in the show the motivations of each character regarding a sexual relationship have been confusing at best. How did it even start? When? What does it mean for their long term relationship and how it's grown? How does it impact each participant's view on the world and knighthood and royalty and honor and loyalty? The show seems to not care to explore any of this beyond trying to paint the two in a bad light. I could maybe buy a sexual relationship if it was well-developed, but there was basically no set up or narrative reason for its addition beyond making the characters look worse and deflecting blame from Blood and Cheese onto them. In the case of a developed romance or sexual relationship, I would say that Criston's relationship with Alicent has grown for over a decade into one of loyalty and trust, and a physical relationship might come from that once the king died, although some amount of moral conflict would likely still occur for each character.

As for the plan at Rook's Rest, it doesn't make much sense for Aegon to be left out of the loop, just as it doesn't make sense for Aemond to willingly sabotage his own side of the war by taking out Aegon and his dragon, especially over something like bullying when the stakes are so much higher than that at this point. If anything, the animosity between the brothers should be about how Aemond's actions indirectly lead to the death of Aegon's son (if the writers allowed Blood and Cheese to have any major impact on the story, but their goals are instead to minimize Team Black's involvement and lessen Team Green's reaction to it, so it remains obscured and in the background).

In general, I might be interested in the writers potentially wanting to explore in season 2 Criston's relationship with his vows and honor and even showing some hypocrisy while highlighting the conflict between his righteous ideals and less than righteous means of accomplishing his goals. However, it's clear that their intent with Criston and Team Green is to point fingers and label them as dysfunctional, morally reprehensible villains in contrast to a righteous Team Black and that's all they're interested in. There is no meaningful exploration of character or growth to be expected from Criston Cole. Unfortunately fan vitriol will continue to focus on Criston above other members of Team Green for the reasons listed above, and the writing will likely only continue to add to that.

#asks #criston cole #hotd critical #tw suicide

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loversatthegreatdivide · 7 months ago

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Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 7

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 3k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: Once again, I would just like to say thank you all for your continued support! This fic doesn't get many comments, but I truly appreciate the ones I do get (and I am terribly sorry I still can't reply to comments! I do see them I swear; it's tumblr's fault I don't answer! Sending asks is the only sure way I can respond at the moment.) At any rate, this is one of those shows were I have a difficult time gauging exactly how much time is passing from shot to shot, so I'm guesstimating on some of the timelines here.

After the arrival of the latest Lady Whistledown, gossip and whispers were abound. And while the public openly discussed the events of the evening with shock and delight, those involved chose instead to keep their conversations to themselves. The Bridgertons, the Featheringtons, and even the royal family had all featured heavily in the gossiper's latest edition, and all chose to keep any discussion of the matters with which they were involved amongst themselves.

Days passed, and soon talk shifted from what had happened that night, to where it would lead. And while speculation over the relationship of Princess Beatrice and Mister Benedict Bridgerton featured heavily in ladies teatimes throughout the ton, it was not the only topic of interest.

Miss Penelope Featherington had, rather understandably, avoided being seen out in society since her scheme with Colin Bridgerton had been revealed. Her scandal was hardy enough to warrant continued gossip in many a drawing room in the many days that followed. That is of course, between talk of the multiple Bridgerton children; whose actions and influence were, once again, the talk of the season.

Colin Bridgerton had quickly become one of the most desirable matches of the season. And while he had played a key role in the scandal involving Miss Featherington, his reputation remained wholly unaffected. So while the young ladies of the ton giggled and gossiped amongst themselves over Penelope's misstep, they could not help adding how desirable they found Mister Colin Bridgerton.

Then there was Francesca Bridgerton. While the news had been somewhat undercut by the actions of her elder brother, her choice as the season's diamond--or sparkler, as the queen choice to name her--was hardly something to overlook. Having the queen's favor made her an extremely desirable match, and the fact that her brother was now rumored to be attached to royalty certainly didn't quell any interest. She had already received quite a few callers in the days following the ball, but there were rumors the queen herself had already begun searching for Miss Francesca's perfect match. An interesting development indeed, given what the royal household must currently be going through.

Which leads to Benedict Bridgerton: A known rack and former aspiring artist who had seemed, up until very recently, completely dismissive of the ideas surrounding marriage and social statues. Yet he now stood as the only known candidate for the hand of a princess.

It was quite the narrative, and people could hardly get enough. Whistledown's veiled accusation and support ad only enhanced interest more, until it soon became difficult to tell fact from fiction.

It was a narrative of romance and intrigue, taking on as many versions as could be dreamt up by the ladies of the ton. It was the story of a commoner and a princess, fighting against all odds for true love. Or perhaps it was of an artist finding his muse, and the woman who finally changed his mind--and his heart. It was a beautiful tale of love at first sight, or perhaps a more scandalous image of moonlit meetings and stolen kisses.

The many speculations were retold and discussed over and over, each growing grander and more fanciful than the last.

But what was the truth? And where would it lead?

Many believed it would end tragically, while others hoped for a fairy tale romance with the happiest of endings.

So when it was discovered a footman had made a show of arriving at Bridgerton House bearing a royal invitation, people were shocked and delighted. However, this delight would soon turn to confusion when it was revealed that the invitation was not for Mister Benedict Bridgerton, but instead his mother and sisters.

No one was quite sure what to make of it, least of all Benedict himself.

---

Beatrice stared out the window at the sprawling gardens of Buckingham House, the tea in her hands all but forgotten as she lost herself in her thoughts once more.

A bored groan brought her back to reality, and she looked over to see her sister looking at her with a raised brow.

"Sister, how can you be so dull even when there is finally so much excitement in your life?" Charlotte asked.

"Sorry to disappoint sister, but I can be nothing but myself," Beatrice replied, taking a sip of her tea at last. She grimaced; it had gone cold.

"Clearly," Charlotte noted, "Then again, the Bee I knew would have never stood up to father the way you did."

Beatrice looked down, "I...never had reason to before."

"Yes, you have always been such a dormouse," Charlotte smiled, "Yet perhaps love has changed you--it has a way of doing so. I have experienced as much myself."

"A small change perhaps, but yes. I suppose your temperament has improved somewhat since you married," Beatrice joked, a small smirk lining her face.

Charlotte laughed, "Oh? Then I suppose I can return the sentiment: I like you far more this way, even if you are still a bore."

Beatrice smiled at her elder sister. The two had never been particularly close, but there was a fondness shared between them that was often shown through their playful ribbing. They were very different people, but sisters all the same, and while they would likely never be as close as a family like the Bridgertons, it was enough.

Charlotte looked her younger sister over, a more thoughtful expression present on her lovely face, "You are really quite taken with the man, aren't you?"

"I am," Beatrice replied, "He is...truly wonderful."

"Well then, I am happy for you. It's far past time you stood up and took what you wanted for a change."

Beatrice frowned, "But Lottie, what if father refuses to allow us to be together? He is so against the idea--"

"Oh hush now," Charlotte waved her hand dismissively as she spoke, "Father may have the final say officially, but you know it is grandmama who will ultimately make the choice. Father my be a tyrant with us, but you've seen how pathetic he becomes around her. He will inevitably do as she wishes, he just has to make a show of it first so it appears that he actually considered going against her. And, seeing as you've already managed to secure her favor, I don't see any need for worry."

"It easy to say so, but I find I cannot help but worry about it regardless," Beatrice said, a gloomy look on her face.

"It will all be fine. You two will have a frightfully dull wedding, you will have many dull children, and the rest of your life will lack any hint of excitement as you spend it with what I can only assume is an equally dull man...and you will be happy,"

Beatrice smiled, "Yes, dull indeed--as opposed to you, whose life will all be so incredibly exciting."

"Well of course," Charlotte replied with an air of playful smugness, "It is alright dear sister--we cannot all be so blessed."

The two sisters continued on in this way for some time, and Beatrice found her worries had lessened somewhat by the end of their visit. She was not sure if her sister was correct in her assumptions about the inevitability of their father's answer, but she said them with such confidence it was difficult not to believe her.

---

Benedict groaned as he paced around the room, hands on his hips as he walked in circles. Violet held a gilded envelope in her hand as she watched him.

"You should calm yourself dear, worrying will hardly help matters," she suggested.

"How can I not worry? What am I to make of...that?" he replied, gesturing to the letter in his mother's hand.

Violet sighed, "It should not trouble you so. As you may recall, the princess had already inquired about a possible invitation to tea."

"Yes, but that was before all the ton became aware of our acquaintance--should I not have heard something by now?"

"I would hardly call it an acquaintance," Eloise muttered behind her book.

Benedict shot her an annoyed glance, "All I am saying, is why is it you have received an invitation to tea when I have received nothing? Should I not have received some sort of correspondence from someone? Is that not a bad sign?"

Violet stood, putting hands on her son's shoulder comfortingly, "It is not a bad sign; if anything it is good news."

"How could this possibly be good news?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Well," she began, "if the crown were not at least considering their options, then surely you would have been informed right away. That they are taking their time means there is a chance they will approve of your relationship."

"Or they believe the notion so ridiculous they would hardly waste their time discussing it, thus removing any need to tell me anything at all. Perhaps their silence is their way of saying I am not even worth consideration," Benedict countered, looking gloomy.

"If that were the case, would they have allowed her highness to invite us at all? If they wanted to dispel any rumors of a courtship between the two of you, why invite your family to Buckingham House? This will certainly look to the public as a show of approval," Violet replied.

Benedict sighed, "Perhaps you are right mother. It is only the not knowing one way or the other is driving me mad!" He flung himself onto the settee dramatically. Eloise rolled her eyes at the gesture, but said nothing.

"I'm sure the girls and I will gain some insight when we see the princess tomorrow," his mother assured him. He frowned, but said not more.

---

The opulent gold carriage slowed to a stop as it arrived in front of Buckingham House, it's four passengers stepping out one by one as they took in the view. Violet Bridgerton reached out and took Francesca's arm in hers.

"Oh, isn't it marvelous?" she commented as she stared up at the impressive structure.

"It is certainly...overwhelming," Francesca replied with a nervous smile.

"Come now dears, we mustn't keep her royal highness waiting," Violet urged, making her way up the stairs with Francesca. Eloise and Kate following behind.

"You have not met the princess yet, have you Kate?" Eloise asked as they walked.

"I have not had the pleasure, no," Kate replied, "Is she truly as wonderful as Benedict claims she is?"

Eloise shrugged, "I suppose. She seemed nice enough when we spoke, but it is hard to say. She is royalty after all--they have to behave themselves, do they not?"

"From what I have heard, her father hardly conducts himself with such consideration," Kate observed.

"Well he is a man: Men can do whatever they please without fear of the consequences."

"Too true," Kate smiled as she and Eloise stepped through the doors of Buckingham House.

Beatrice stood just inside, watching as they entered. She grinned, eager to welcome them all.

"Dowager Viscountess, Viscountess Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton," she greeted them formally as they lined up and curtsied before her.

"Your royal highness, thank you for the invitation," Violet said, smiling kindly at the princess.

"I was quite eager to have you all, so thank you for accepting," Beatrice replied, turning to Kate next, "And Viscountess, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Lady Danbury has told me so much about you."

"Oh dear; only good things, I hope?" Kate asked.

Beatrice laughed, "Yes of course! And I have found Lady Danbury says nothing she does not mean, so it must all be true."

Kate smiled back at the princess.

"Now shall we then? We will certainly be more comfortable speaking in the drawing room," Beatrice suggested as she turned, leading them down the many winding halls of Buckingham House.

They arrived at their destination, taking seats around a table laid with tea and biscuits. Beatrice sat so she was facing her guests, smiling at them as a servant poured their tea.

"I must confess I am rather nervous," she admitted, "I have never hosted tea before."

"You're nervous?" Eloise repeated without thinking, "You're not sitting across from royalty."

"Eloise!" her mother hissed.

Beatrice laughed, "It's alright. She does have a point," she turned to Eloise, "I get nervous quite a lot actually; I am not so bold as some of the other members of my family. Though, it would help ease my nerves somewhat if you continued speaking freely with me. I feel less of a need to perform when the situation feels more informal."

"Oh, well I," Eloise didn't seem to know quite how to respond.

"I believe what Eloise means to say is that we certainly do not wish to make you nervous. However, it would be...improper for us to address you so casually," Kate said eloquently.

"Ah, of course," Beatrice replied. She raised a hand, and with a wave dismissed the servants standing silently against the back wall. Without a word they filed out of the room, leaving the ladies alone, "There--now there is no one to witness any lapse in decorum."

"Your royal highness," Violet began hesitantly.

"Please, call me Beatrice."

"Oh, I...I'm not sure I can do that," Violet replied honestly.

"Won't you please? And then I shall call you by your names as well," Beatrice insisted, "My social circle is...quite small at the moment. I would so like for us to be friends."

The Bridgertons were silent, their social training at odds with their desire to adhere to her wishes.

"Well, if you insist," Eloise said with a shrug. Her family looked at her with surprise, but with one of them in agreement, it seemed easier for the rest to follow suite.

"Lovely!" Beatrice replied happily, "Now, perhaps we should drink our tea--I would hate for it to go cold."

The ladies secured a cup of tea, each taking small sips as they looked at one another. A silence fell over the room as they waited for someone to say something. The Bridgertons had expected Beatrice to go on, but she seemed unsure of what she should say.

"Oh enough!" Eloise finally spoke, sitting her tea aside rather forcefully, "Will you be telling us about what is going on with Benedict or not?" Everyone looked at her in stunned silence. Quickly realizing she had all but yelled at a princess, she softly add, "If you are so inclined....Beatrice."

Her mother moved to scold her once again, but Beatrice spoke before she could begin.

"Ah yes...I suppose you all must be quite curious," Beatrice fidgeted in her seat, "How much has Benedict told you exactly?"

"Everything," Eloise answered bluntly.

"I see...so you are aware we are more acquainted than we may have let on?"

"Indeed," Kate replied.

Beatrice sighed, "Then there is little else I can tell you. For my part, I can say the matter has been discussed with her majesty and my father, but he has not yet made his decision. I expect we shall hear soon enough, but I truly do not know what his answer will be."

"I see," Violet said, a hint of disappointment in her voice, "We had hoped for better news, though I suppose it is not nothing. That the matter is being considered at all is something with which to be thankful."

"My sister believes it will all work out, since grandmama has made her stance known to my father. He is...not known for defying my grandmother's wishes. Father is quite adamantly against the relationship, but with my grandmother's support it will be far more difficult for him to disallow it."

"Her majesty supports you?" Violet asked in surprise.

"Yes, though I'm not sure what motives she may have for doing so."

"Well whatever her reasons, if you have the queen's blessing then surely there is nothing to worry about," Kate reassured her.

Beatrice smiled, "Yes, I truly hope so."

---

The rest of the afternoon was spend speaking about less serious subjects. Beatrice found it became easier to relax as the time passed. The Bridgertons clearly felt the same, each of them losing a layer of the rigidity they had started with. Francesca even joined the conversation once the topic shifted to music.

Beatrice showed them the music room as promised, though there was little time left for playing. She promised Francesca another invitation soon, and gifted her some sheet music as an apology. They also made a quick stop in the library, where Eloise found more than a few books that caught her eye. Beatrice would have allowed her to take them all, but the stack was quite high in the end. instead, Eloise chose only two, and agreed to another invitation so she may trade them out for more.

As the Bridgertons made their way to the foyer, Violet rather discreetly handed Beatrice an envelope containing a letter. Beatrice seemed surprised, before smiling shyly and presenting her own hidden letter in return.

Farewells were exchanged, and soon the Bridgertons were on their way home. Beatrice watched them from the window, her thumb rubbing against the soft paper in her hand. She had enjoyed her time with them immensely, but it had only made her miss Benedict more.

She desperately hoped she would see him again soon.

----------

Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @asterizee @g4ns3y @bubblegumcat229 @mhmoony @mmmunson @iamcailin08

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #my writing #heavy lies the heart #loversatthegreatdivide

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