#f1 royalty au

[inchidentally]

@vastappenen LISTEN okay so this is the full spin-off of the Charlos part of my Prince Lando AU post

I cannot write real fic so this is just like me doing a retelling of what's gone on in my mind lol - and this is the post of Charles in White that's screencapped above

(side note my friend was listening to this haunting music while I wrote this so it might help set the scene - it's called "Fancy on a Bach Air" by Yo-Yo Ma)

this gets a bit NSFW toward the end so fair warning!

ok so to start, this is what was in my original post

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: His Serene Highness Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former Sovereign Prince, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo’s unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (too young to be crowned Sovereign Prince bc modern monarchy rules I’m inventing). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn’t bear the thought of being Sovereign Prince let alone of a land that wasn’t even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders seizing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be Prince Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos’ fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles’ lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando’s picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

ok so I've removed this from the narrative to of course be charlos true happiness endgame and removed Seb entirely, or he can just be called a close confidante and possible candidate to marry Charles but not very serious.

I imagine young Carlos Jr. moving through the royal courts as a child and teen and seeing the royal children of Monaco sometimes. in my weird version of royalty I have it that Lorenzo is the natural successor to the throne and therefore has always been allowed to dress and be seen "normally". as a second child, Charles was always the rightful property of whichever alliance would maintain Monaco's independence. he was raised mostly in the Prince's Palace and when playing or venturing to where he could be seen he's attended by a retinue of guards each carrying a gonfalon to conceal the young prince from view. on the rare occasions that the prince will be around those not within his immediate family or private staff, he is carefully wrapped in embroidered, jeweled white silks or cottons (depending on the climate) with only his eyes visible. the only color allowed being a scarlet silk girdle around his hips. until he reaches maturity or is married he wears a ferronnière with a single white diamond at his forehead. (I imagine the wrapping as looking like fancy white fireproofs that cover the hands as well and a long, flowy tunic over the top with smart little white renaissance boots (that Charles hates).

Prince Charles is also not permitted to speak outside of his family circle/staff but he is taught multiple languages and fond rumors spread that the prince has a charming lilting accent that comes from a little of everywhere. he is also taught the piano and there is a place on the shore that only locals know of where fairy echoes of his playing can be heard. they call it his 'lone voice' because the mood inside the palace can be judged by the prince's choice of music. childish and jolly for a while, then more challenging pieces, until his eighteenth birthday and an unknown dirge for his godfather who had perished during a racing tourney that summer. the prince's music would change over the years but it would never be joyful again.

I imagine many instances over the years of Carlos Jr. being coaxed by a conniving Carlos Sr. into bowing low to the small, mummified-looking creature that everyone assures him is a prince. the eyes and vague suggestion of white-clad hands and feet are the only indications that this is true, but the big green eyes are very expressive and seem to smile whenever they meet Carlos' own big brown eyes. Prince Lorenzo has a kind smile and would be a good playmate but solemnly maintains his position by his parents' side. Prince Arthur comes along in a bundle of energy and mischief - being blessed with a birthright to total freedom so long as his elder siblings are alive. he enjoys being swung around and thrown in the air by Carlos Jr. which helps pass the tedium of royal engagements. Arthur is clearly the favorite of Charles who rather mothers him - especially when the Sovereign Prince falls ill and hushed preparations are made behind palace walls for Lorenzo to take the throne. Charles is so deep in mourning for his godfather and soon his own father that his presentation at court is delayed indefinitely as it would be cruel to open him up to marriage bids that would inevitably take him from his home.

in the meantime, Carlos Jr. has grown into his large features and promises to inherit all his father's looks and daring. at his father's encouragement - "by the time you wed a virgin, you will need to know everything there is to know about pleasing them" - Carlos enjoys countless conquests across every continent on the globe. he's a seasoned bachelor by the age of 20 and has been given his own estate outside of Madrid to party, race expensive cars and drink expensive wine. but even as he wakes between the thighs of this or that beautiful boy or girl, his mind recalls the hours spent at court in Monaco trying to discern the subtlest lines of Prince Charles' body beneath the absurd layers of drapery. he knows for sure that the prince is slim but not scrawny. that his posture is upright and proud and stands about the same height as Carlos. at times when he scoops Arthur up to hold on one hip, Carlos can discern the fine dip of a small waist - probably small enough for Carlos' big hands to meet around. what a gift-wrapped present for whoever got to marry him!

but by the time they next meet, news has traveled all over of the Sovereign Prince's health and plans for the reluctant Prince Lorenzo to be hastily crowned. during their first visit after this news, Carlos Jr. makes his usual low bow to Prince Charles but when he looks up he sees tears clouding the prince's green eyes. it twists Carlos' heart and he boldly takes the prince's hand and presses a hurried kiss to the silk and at the same time trying to speak with his eyes how sorry he is for the prince. the small noise Charles makes at Carlos' boldness is a precious secret Carlos holds like a tangible thing against the breast of his tailcoat as he hurries down the steps before any of the other royals can notice what he's done.

[this is when the above section from my AU comes in and Carlos is attempted to be married off to Prince Lando, Lorenzo abdicates, Charles can only be named Prince Regent bc of his status etc and a hasty arrangement is made for him to marry Carlos]

at their wedding I imagine Charles' veil/headdress to be much lighter and tied in a simple knot at the base of his head. the only time Charles is called to speak is to swear fealty to the crown, to his country, and to his husband (it's also the first time Charles' voice has been heard by almost everyone in the Cathedral including Carlos. it sounds like joyous music, dipping deep and rich one moment and high and sweet the next - with a little bubble of laughter at the end. Carlos wants to hear him talk forever.) when the priest finishes his blessing, Carlos put a hand beneath Charles' chin and guides him to stand. he moves closer to Charles than he has ever been permitted and circles his arms around his neck to untie the knot. the veil falls away and a collective gasp rises up from the cathedral through the clouds of incense. Carlos doesn't gasp so much as suck in a triumphant breath through his nostrils and lifts his chin in triumph. Charles is not just the chaste ideal of beauty that the court and citizens of Monaco had whispered about for years, he is the vision of temptation itself: a delicate brush-spatter of freckles beneath a flush on finely molded cheekbones, a straight French nose that was the final word on French noses, and perfectly smooth lips in the shape of a patriotic 'M' and the exact red of Monaco's flag. the prince's hair and brows have all the shades of a glossy hazelnut and a thick fan of lashes surrounded the green eyes - all that Carlos had known of him until now. but soon, he would know everything about Charles and in a way no one else ever had or would.

Carlos is supposed to buss a small, ceremonial barely-there kiss to Charles' lips to please the court but of course he can't help himself and, holding Charles' face in his big hands, presses a fiercely possessive (thankfully still close-mouthed) kiss that nearly makes Charles collapse. murmurs go around the cathedral of "well, those Spaniards, you know".

when they are crowned, my version of royalty has the priest setting the heavy gold crown on Carlos' head but Carlos in turn places the chaplet of gold leaves and gemstone pendants on Charles. Carlos is flying as high as mortal can when he can finally lead Charles out to the balcony and show him off to the waiting public. Carlos wonders if there's a man on earth who possesses more wealth than he does at that moment.

but there's one more thing he doesn't yet have! oh you bet the bedding ceremony is weird and fucked up and poor Charles is using the short time they have alone as they move through the halls (merely flanked by guards) to nervously and apologetically explain to Carlos what they will need to do. something about protocol for regents who found it difficult to "perform" under such circumstances etc. Carlos just puts a big warm hand to Charles' lips as they are rushed along, leaning into to whisper that he'd take Charles' virginity in front of his own grandmother if that's what was required and his desire still wouldn't be dampened.

the chamber is small and has one purpose. the clergy stand behind wrought iron mullioned screens but Charles can see their eyes clearly and has known many of them all his life. he'd probably faint dead away from nerves if Carlos didn't pull him close and kiss him so deep and dirty it should've turned Charles' white gown red with lust. Carlos tells him to look only into his eyes, that he'll take good care of him. there's a whole intense sexy element to Carlos unwrapping Charles the rest of the way, just like the birthday present he'd imagined when he was a teenager. he probably spends WAY too much time on foreplay considering the witnesses are only there to see one thing and then leave but Carlos knows that Charles deserves this. by the time they've reached the point where Carlos can reach a hand between them and literally 'come' up with the goods to hold up and be viewed, Charles' moans are reaching up to the rafters. there's a rustle and murmured blessings as the priests finally withdraw.

Carlos is like FINALLY and decides to give Charles every bit of the benefit of his vast experience and looks smug as hell when Charles' attendants have to physically carry Charles to his own bed bc Carlos fucked him senseless lmao

agfalsgfsla this was so weird and detailed and I do not know WHERE it came from but if an actual writer sees this and wants to write it properly PLEASE tag me or message me!!!

EDIT: these are great photo references for adult Charles and Carlos in this AU

source

[detroit-grand-prix]

letzte rose - bittere erinnrungen

Toto Wolff x Susie Wolff Royal/Historical AU

Chapter Summary: During breakfast, Toto's mother brings up the possibility of remarriage, and a list of potential brides. Toto refuses to look at it, but spends an afternoon reflecting on the state of his personal life.

Weekends meant that Toto’s rigorous schedule was relaxed, albeit only a bit.

He let himself sleep in a bit later, getting up at 5am instead of 3:30, and he had breakfast with his children and his mother instead of taking it alone in his study.

As he arrived for breakfast on Saturday — at 7:00am sharp — though, the only other person at the table was his mother.

— Where are the children? — he said, sitting down at the chair at the head of the table, as the attendant pulled it out for him. 

— Benedict said that he would be on the piste for an early fencing lesson, so he is with his trainer. Rosi, I think, said she would be dining with your sister this morning — Johanna said, her voice a little vacant. Her eyes were glued to a copy of some newspaper, likely the Wiener Zeitung, but Toto couldn’t see the masthead. A prickle of annoyance traveled down the back of his neck. How many times had he been told off for trying to read at the dining table, even in recent years?

— Something interesting in the papers this morning? — he said, as an attendant placed a tea tray in front of him.

— What? — Johanna said, startled — No, I mean… just the…

— Maybe something in the society pages caught your eye?

Toto smirked as Johanna became visibly flustered, tossing aside the hastily-folded volume and turning attention to her plate.

 — Never mind that, I wanted to talk to you about something important, and it’s just as well that Bene and Rosi aren’t here — Johanna said, making Toto look up from his cup of tea, furrowing his eyebrows.

— It has been a while since we talked about it, but I think you need to give remarriage some more consideration again — she ignored Toto as he opened his mouth to immediately protest, pressing on — it’s been years since Stephanie’s passing, and you need someone other than me to perform the Empress’ duties.

— Why not Rosi? — Toto asked cooly, recalling his conversation with Niki.

— Because Rosi needs to put serious consideration into her own marriage and future. Both of your children do! Don’t think I won’t be speaking to them later on about this, either — She speared a piece of tomato with her fork and Toto felt that she was somehow eating it at him. 

— Mama, I’ve told you before, I am not interested in marrying again.

— You’ve no good reason to refuse, my son.

— I just can’t, mama. It feels wrong — Toto pushed his eggs around his plate with his fork. 

— What do you mean? There’s no sin in it. Father Strossmayer and I have spoken about this, and he agrees with me, and the Bible even encourages…

Toto took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before giving in to his urge to stand up and start yelling. The calm, quiet, even way his voice came out surprised him. 

— I know what the church says, but I loved Stephanie. When I was younger, I thought marriage was simply my duty, but I ended up being blessed enough to fall in love with the woman I married, a privilege I thought I’d never be afforded. I’ve discharged that particular duty to the crown and laid my heart to rest with her. It doesn’t feel right for me to dig it up again and give someone the rotted remains. Besides, I will remind you that you never remarried after papa died.

Toto and Lili’s father, Sven, was the Duke of Norrbotten and a Prince of Sweden. He and Johanna got along quite well, and Toto remembered his father as a kind, gentle man, but not long after the birth of Toto’s sister, something changed. 

He started experiencing frequent nosebleeds and headaches that would make it difficult for him to leave his bed. He would frequently become too dizzy to walk, almost as if he was drunk, but he was never much of a drinker. He started showing fits of delirium, agitation, and hallucinations. 

The court doctor was called, and theorized that it might be some sort of neurological issue. The court chaplain came to say some prayers at his bedside — Johanna refused to call it an “exorcism” — but it was all for naught. He eventually refused all food and drink, and slept at all hours, until his body and spirit just seemed to give up.

An autopsy was performed after Sven’s death, and it was found that his brain was riddled with tumors, which explained all of the horrid symptoms he had been experiencing.

It was not a time that Toto really cared to remember. 

Johanna’s expression turned sour, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair once more.

— No, I did not, because I had two children to take care of. Not to mention, it is far easier for a widowed man to find a spouse than a widowed woman, especially one that already has the future secured. Your grandfather agreed that it was best for me to remain single, as there was no material benefit to any potential suitors.

— And what benefit would there be to me remarrying now?

— Well, for one thing, it would afford you the opportunity to have another son, to insure that you have a successor — Johanna saw Toto open his mouth to argue, but ignored it and continued on — While you’ve done well to secure your line of succession, it would present an opportunity to ensure there’s a spare, in case something happens to Benedict. It is not as if I wish for it, but, we do not know God’s will for any of us. For another thing, there needs to be someone to manage the royal household and the social duties that you have been neglecting for the past few years, to your own detriment. Now, I’ve got a list of names of ladies that would be perfectly suitable…

Johanna slipped her hand into the small reticule she always carried, extracting a slip of paper from within. 

— There’s Princess Francisca of Brazil… I believe she just turned twenty-four, I’ve heard she’s rather striking. And then there’s Princess Maria Carolina of Bourbon Two-Sicilies, you’ve met her, I believe. She was born here in Vienna, and she’s the daughter of my cousin Clementina… and then Luisa Fernanda of Spain… she’s young, but that would be a handsome match; she’s the heir presumptive until Isabella has a child, you know. And that’s just the Catholic houses! It’s not ideal, but an especially good match from a Protestant family may be willing to convert…

Johanna had stopped looking at Toto, her eyes locked on the list of names in her hand. No doubt she was already planning the next great state wedding, and Toto could feel the anger rising within him as his mother continued to talk. It felt like a hot bile creeping up his throat, twisting his insides, making him clench his fists until he could feel his fingernails digging into the meat of his palms.

— That’s enough! — he said, pounding his fist on the tabletop. The flatware and cutlery clattered. One of the attendants in the room yelped slightly in surprise, immediately covering her mouth and blushing. Johanna stopped, mid-sentence, gaping at her son in shock. — I tell you this every time you bring it up, mother, but I do not wish to be remarried. If you must spend all of your spare time worrying about the security of my line of succession, I implore you to focus these efforts on your grandchildren instead. I am telling you, as a grown man and the emperor of this nation, that we shall not speak about remarriage again, and that is final.

Johanna’s eyes had narrowed, and her expression hardened. 

— And I am your mother — she hissed, venom dripping from her every syllable — I am simply doing what is best for you, for this nation, and for your happiness.

— My happiness?! — Toto said, raising his voice almost to a shout — Mama, we both know you have never given a damn about my happiness!

He was now on his feet, his chair pushed back and his breakfast long-abandoned and likely ice-cold. The dishes continued to rattle on the tabletop as he jabbed his finger into the cloth-covered wood. 

— You didn’t give a single thought to my happiness when you arranged my marriage to Stephanie, and it was only by the grace of God that we came to love each other. Of course, our marriage was happy before she passed, but as you’ve told me yourself, my happiness was secondary to ensuring the future of our family’s dynasty.

Toto stepped away from the table, breezing past the pair of servants that were frozen in shock. He pulled on the handle to the door into the dining room a bit harder than necessary, stopping halfway over the threshold to turn around and face his mother once more. 

— If you truly have any concern for my happiness, you will not bring this up again!

Toto retreated into his study, pacing around the small room as he tried to calm himself down.

He hadn’t lost his temper that badly in years, that he could remember, possibly decades. When he was younger, in the earlier days of his reign, he had been quicker to anger. He was desperate to prove himself and his authority in the days right after his grandfather died, not trusting that anybody saw him as anything more than a child pretending to be a ruler and a statesman. Him being short, sometimes even brutal, with his advisors was the norm, but a combination of time and the perspective that came with wisdom and experience mellowed him greatly, as did his desire to be a good husband and father. 

Normally after Saturday’s breakfast, he would review any paperwork or important matters that had come across overnight until the early afternoon. He did not work on Sundays, wishing to keep the Sabbath as a holy day of rest. Most of the royal household had the day off as well.

— I will never be able to focus like this — he mumbled to himself as he sat down at his desk. He buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes until he could see stars, as if it would push the memory of the last hour out of his head by force.

He blinked as he lifted his head, trying to clear the blurriness from his vision, and the portrait of Stephanie resolved into focus from its place on the wall.

He knew exactly what would help.

Toto smirked, and opened the topmost drawer in his desk — the one right under the top, and fished out a ring of small brass keys. Then, he opened one of the lower drawers, extracting a small wooden box from within. 

He set the box on his desk, running a finger over the inlaid brass lettering on the top, the word “MIZPAH” in large capital letters. It had been a while since he had seen it, and there was a thin coating of dust on its glossy lacquered surface. The box was unassuming by the standards of everything else in the palace, belying the value of its contents to Toto. True, what was inside the box did not have much — if any — monetary value, but was priceless in Toto’s eyes.

He put the key in the lock and sprang the latches, revealing a thick stack of papers — letters, envelopes, postcards. It was all of the letters he and Stephanie had exchanged through the years, the earliest ones having been written before they had even met, after their marriage arrangement had been finalized and before she arrived in Vienna. There were letters and postcards from the separate travels they had taken through the years. Toto often had to travel for functions of state, and Stephanie had always enjoyed seeing new places, even as a child. They had taken many trips together, but Toto was not always able to join her because of the demands of his schedule, so they resolved to write to each other often when they had to be apart. 

Engraved on the underside of the lid was a Bible verse, the one referenced by the word on the lid’s inlay. A verse of Genesis, telling of the covenant made between Jacob and Laban, he remembered. It was written in the Latin vulgate — intueatur Dominus et iudicet inter nos quando recesserimus a nobis. 

“The Lord watch between me and thee, while we are absent, one from another.” 

The priest that performed Stephanie’s funeral rites had referenced the verse in his sermon, inspiring Toto to have one of the court’s artisans, a particularly talented furniture maker, make the box to contain the letters for safekeeping. He had meticulously paired each and every one together, the letters he sent and the ones she sent in response, and vice versa. 

He felt his anger with his mother dissipating as he thumbed through the letters, admiring Stephanie’s elegant looping handwriting. Some of the pages had little mementos stuck to the pages — flowers she had pressed, little doodles she had made in the margins and footers. He skimmed through the contents, remembering trips she had taken with the children; home to Bavaria to visit her family once, trips to the seaside in France, to Paris via the Rhine, even to London. 

Letting all of the memories flood back in left Toto feeling almost relaxed, until he came upon the last letter in the pile. 

“How had I forgotten about this?”, he wondered, turning the pages over in his fingers.

For the last two years of her life, Stephanie had not been well. It started with her experiencing night sweats and fatigue. Before long, she was unable to keep weight on, no matter how much she ate. The doctors at court diagnosed her with consumption, but were optimistic about her recovery. It was recommended she leave Vienna and spend some time at the seaside, that the sea air would help. 

The children went with her as she departed to a castle the family owned — Castelo di Miramare — just outside of Trieste, on the shore of the Adriatic Sea. The three of them spent many months there, and it seemed for a while that Stephanie was on the road to recovery. She planned to be in Trieste until the summer, when the family would reunite in Bad Ischl, at the summer villa. 

Toto wrote letters every few days to her, and was reading one he had sent her while she was in Trieste. In it, he was telling her about a dilemma he was facing with the State Council. He had constantly been butting heads with Chancellor Metternich, even then, but the question had come up about one of Metternich’s staunchest allies, Count Karl Clam-Martinic. He was pushing for reforms that would make the government more conservative, practically relegating Toto’s role to merely a symbolic one, and would promote Chancellor Metternich to something akin to an autocrat, like the Shogunate of Japan allowing the emperor to remain in a ceremonial role with almost no power.

Niki, and another councilor, Count Franz Anton von Kolowrat-Liebsteinsky, were pushing Toto to replace him with someone more moderate, but Toto thought removing him would destabilize the government, resolving to find other ways to keep him in check. His letter described the dilemma to his wife, hoping for some of her insight. Stephanie was very intelligent, and had an uncanny ability to see things objectively. Niki joked that she was the unofficial fifth member of the State Council.

She had written back within days, encouraging him to go forward with Count Karl’s dismissal. 

“I know this is a difficult decision, my darling,” she wrote. Toto’s eyes hovered over the last line of the letter. “But, fortunately, spring is coming soon no matter how difficult the winter has been, and, like the flowers, you will need to bloom”.

Toto felt a tear streaming down his cheek as he reached the end of the letter. He did not know it when he had received it, but it would be the last one she had written. Her condition rapidly deteriorated for a week after months of steady improvement, until she passed away from pleurisy that February.

He sniffed, wiping the tears away that were forming in the corner of his eyes. He glanced up at the portrait once more.

“I suppose I still have a way to go before I bloom, meine geliebte”.

He sat in silence for a few moments before he neatly tucked away the letters, placing the box back in its compartment. 

As he was doing so, a knock came from the door to his bedroom, and Phillip, his Kammerdiener, stuck his head through.

— I have your riding clothes ready for you, Your Imperial Majesty, if you were planning to go to the Stallburg today after lunch.

“How is it noon already?” Toto thought. After working for a few hours on Saturdays after breakfast, he would have a light lunch and go to the imperial stables for a few hours to ride. 

While the indoor sand arena — the Stallburg — that Toto’s great-great-great-grandfather had built was more than adequate in size to get a decent ride in, he wished, more than anything, that he could go for a hack around the countryside, or even through the city, like he could when he was younger, before he himself was saddled with the burden of his duties. He liked to race the horses against his friends, and had started taking riding lessons at an early age. When he was young, he had aspired to attend the Spanish Riding School, but his accession at age 15 left no time for regular training. 

Despite being confined to the arena most of the year — with the exception of the summer holidays — Toto looked forward to his time at the stables all week, because he felt like it was the only time where the mantle of his office didn’t sit so heavily on his shoulders, and around the arena always did a great deal to lift his spirits. The students of the riding school finished before lunch on Saturdays, and he made sure that nobody else could come in to ride in the afternoons. Even if he didn’t have time to ride very long before having to dash off to another appointment, he fit in time in the saddle where he could.

While the grooms at the stable took excellent care of the animals in their charge, and other people in his family had their horses prepared and waiting when they came riding, Toto always insisted on doing the preparation work himself; brushing down the horse, picking its hooves, and putting on tack. He even preferred to groom the horse after his ride, talking sweetly to it all the while, and feeding it peppermints from the pockets of his riding coat — probably more than the stablemaster would prefer.

His favorite was a stallion named Conversano Comtessa, but went by Campione. Campione was nearing twenty years old; very nearly an old man, and had always been especially sweet and gentle, especially with Toto’s children when they were young. 

He was of exceptional beauty, too. All of the horses in the Stallburg were white-haired Lippizans, but Campione’s hair looked like spun silver, especially in his mane and tail. He was extraordinarily well-muscled, and Toto had heard that he had been a favorite of each student of the Spanish Riding School that had been assigned to him since he started under saddle. He was not used regularly for lessons now, as he was getting on in years, but the trainers still exercised him. 

— Good afternoon, Campione — he said, as he reached the stall of his prized stallion. The horse perked its ears up, bringing his head over the door of the stall. Toto reached out and patted his velvety nose. The horse pushed his nose past Toto’s hand, sniffing at his pockets.

— Yes, I know, we have an agreement — Toto said, chuckling. He pulled out one of the candies from his pocket, which Campione snatched near immediately before backing up a bit, allowing Toto to open the door to the stall to enter. It was a routine by now. As he brushed and tacked up the horse, his mind was elsewhere, thinking about the conversation with his mother and reading his wife’s letters. 

It had been eleven years since he was widowed, and that morning was not the first time that his mother had brought up remarriage, but he had never considered it on his own, and bristled whenever someone else brought it up. 

“But why…?” he wondered, guiding Campione smoothly around the arena in a walk. He was letting the animal warm up, keeping the reins long and loose. 

It certainly wouldn’t be out of the norm to remarry as a widower, and as his mother said, it was encouraged by the church. But whenever the thought crossed his mind, he swiftly dismissed it, telling himself that he needed more time.

Before he had even realized it, more time had turned into eleven years. 

He and Stephanie had always talked about the things they would do together when they had grown old. He never aspired to stay on the throne until his death; it was not something he discussed with anyone but Stephanie, but he had planned on abdicating when Benedict had been sufficiently prepared for the job of running the empire. He and his wife had plans to renovate Ambras Castle in Innsbruck to use as a winter home, and they would spend their summers in Trieste. They would travel around Europe, of course, and they both wanted to see the United States. 

But then, once she passed, Toto stopped making plans. He felt like a tree that dropped its leaves for the winter. Still standing, somehow, but dormant, maybe even dead from afar. He sank himself into his work, living by his routine and barely registering his own existence outside of it. He tried putting on a brave face for his children, but even they seemed to notice, asking occasionally if he was okay.

Toto pulled the reins a bit, directing Campione into a trot, making sure that his topline was long enough and low enough for the more strenuous exercises. 

He let his thoughts skirt the idea he had long forbidden himself from thinking about — would it be the worst thing in the world to have some companionship again? It was not as if anyone would replace Stephanie in his memories or his heart, but he did miss having someone around who knew him as more than The Emperor, someone to share little jokes and knowing looks, someone to share his deepest worries, to share meals, someone to join him for ballets and concerts, on walks around the garden, on summers in Bad Ischl…

“Sure, take a new wife, fall in love again. But what if she leaves you in the same way? What if you die before her? Everybody dies sometime, after all”, asked a cruel voice in the back of his mind. 

Suddenly, Campione stopped sharply, jerking Toto forward. He managed to keep himself in the saddle, but only just. He briefly wondered what could have spooked a normally superbly disciplined horse, but he was simply standing at rest in the arena, flicking his ears about as if he was waiting for the next command. Toto realized that the error was his — he had tightened the reins too much without even realizing it, giving the horse the signal to stop. He hadn’t meant to. It was a product of being startled by his own revelation.

— Sorry, boy — he said, sheepishly patting the beast’s neck. Campione snorted and pawed at the dirt a bit with his forelegs, before responding to Toto’s command to continue in a canter.

His fears were now plain as day; he never cared to live through the weeks following Stephanie’s death again, but… 

The way he was now could hardly be called “living”. He was dormant, like the trees in winter. He was standing, sure, but from far away, he may as well be rotting upright. 

The situation was different, but Stephanie’s advice in her letter was right — he needed to bloom. 

He felt a strange calm as he finished up his ride, and felt a sense of clarity that he hadn’t had for a while. It carried him the rest of the way through the evening.

The next morning, as he kneeled and prayed before Sunday Mass with his family in — the Hofkapelle — the court chapel, the prayer he said was not the usual ones he did by rote each week. It was an earnest plea, less so to God or Christ or the Blessed Virgin, but to Stephanie. 

“You will always be my first love, but it has been a very hard winter without you, meine geliebte, and I cannot join you yet. I’ve denied myself the comfort of another while I still live in this world, but I cannot continue in this loneliness. You told me I need to bloom, so please, send me a sign that it is time and continue to keep me in your prayers as you are always in mine”.

The next morning, while Toto was doing his morning work, there was a knock on the door of his study once again.

— Come in — he said, not looking up from the military dispatches he was in the middle of reading.

The door opened to reveal Phillip, holding a singular white rose. 

— Sorry to interrupt, Your Imperial Majesty, but the head gardener thought you might like to have this — Phillip crossed the room and extended the flower to Toto. 

Toto took the rose, glancing at it in his hand. It certainly wasn’t an ideal specimen. Its stem and leaves looked a bit ragged — damaged by frost, no doubt — but the petals looked like they were in decent shape, somehow, showing only the slightest discoloration around the edges. 

— The garden staff was working on getting the rose bushes covered, but it seems that one of the blooms wasn’t pruned with the rest of them a few weeks ago, or just decided to come late. The last one, in any case — Phillip said — The gardener gave it to me to give to you, he said that the white ones were the Empress’ favorites.

Toto had stopped paying attention to what Phillip was saying, and was staring aghast at the flower. Stephanie did love white roses, often saying that they were the most beautiful ones of all, even if the petals lacked in color.

“They also signify purity and new love, you know,” he remembered her telling him once, after she had snipped a particularly large bloom from the palace garden. “I know you weren’t there for it, but my wedding dress had little white roses embroidered into it”.

He stared at the bloom for a moment aghast, before regaining his focus.

— Thank you, Phillip. Tell the gardener I appreciate it very much.

— I will, your Imperial Majesty — he bowed deeply and retreated, closing the door behind him, and Toto fixed his gaze on his wife’s portrait.

— I suppose this is your answer, meine geliebte. Thank you.

[kenttyy]

Harpy Hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Something That I Want

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: prince!lando norris x fem!princess!reader

♥ series synopsis: you are the princess of monaco and your ex, lando, is prince of england. your family has been into f1 for a very long time, turning you quickly into a fan. this prompts lando to buy mclaren after your break up, just to spite you. you weren’t even able watch your favorite sport without seeing him, causing you to match his pettiness and buy a team of your own. 

♥ chapter synopsis: life is short. buy an f1 team.

♥ smau - fc: women on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: fun fact! this was originally going to be a sleeping beauty related fic (hence the pink) but I decided that this plot was a better idea.

-December 18, 2023-

liked by landonorris, mclarenracingf1, f1, and 4,932,753 more BBCNews After a messy breakup with Monegasque Princess Y/n L/n, Prince Lando has rebounded in a way no one would expect: buying an F1 team.

view comments

oscarpiastri oh?

mclarenracingf1 we are absolutely honored to have him as a part of the papaya team 🧡

user7 the difference between Oscars and the McLaren admin's comments 😭

user1 isn't he younger than half the drivers on the grid?

user8 I need him I'm afraid

user5 righttt he looks so fine 😩

user6 his jawline >>>

user12 y/n response when

user22 what an asshole

user19 ?

user10 why would he buy an f1 team that's so random

user7 I'm going to make a thread!!

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You rolled your eyes as you saw all the posts you were tagged in about Lando. You knew he was going to be petty, but you didn’t think he’d take it to this degree. If he was going to act this way, you might as well play along. 

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-December 24, 2023-

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, f1, and 6,924,842 more

scuderiaferrari we are absolutely honored to announce that the Princess of Monaco Y/n L/n will be the new CEO of our team Scuderia Ferrari F1 affective immediately.

view comments

charles_leclerc @/yourusername nous avons la chance de vous avoir - (we’re lucky to have you)

yourusername merci charles ❤️

user2 oh shit 🫣

user7 NO WAY

user1 😨

user4 CHECKMATE @/landonorris

user6 the woman ever

user3 the revenge plan is eating

user5 the CHAOS. the DRAMA. 🤭

user8 silly season is already sillying

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, and 5,832,940 more

yourusername I’ll see you in the paddock 😘

view comments

carlossainz55 es un honor tenerte en el equipo - (it’s an honor to have you on the team)

yourusername gracias carlitos ❤️

lewishamilton it’s been a while. I can’t wait to see you again

yourusername see you soon lewis 🥰

user2 she didn’t even have to tag him 😩🙏

user6 he knows who he is

user12 lately she’s been dressing for revenge

user1 charles casually being here

user7 hes picked his side and I don’t blame him dhsbsidj

user4 he has to support his girl

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: im HYPED to start this series. I have a lot of fun things planned <3 shoutout to anyone who noticed the title of this series is based on the end credits song from tangled. I’ll be posting the masterlist soon!

[thedevilundercover]

It’s wild that f1 has such cool nicknames, especially Max verstappen because what the hell do you mean he’s called “the Rain of Milton Keynes” and Charles Leclerc is “the Sun of Maranello” like what’s up with that why have we decided to give fantasy royalty ass nick names to rich guys who go in fast circles? I need to know for scientific purposes.

[scrollonso]

Crazy In Love¹

A Strollonso AU where Fernando succeeds the Spanish throne and makes it his goal as king to make the Prince of France his groom. (3.4k words, dark!nando) [@catboysracing] {l could've made nando a lot worse but I didnt want this to be 10k words 😭 this is a very rushed rough draft so if i make this a series it'll be more drawn out,, or maybe not idek its 02:26 im tired ☠️}

masterlist - next part

Lawrence stepped out of his carriage, holding his hand out to his wife as she carefully placed a foot on the ground, using Lawrence's shoulder for support as she planted both of her shoes on the stone pathway below them.

Lance peeked his head out before exiting, following his fathers lead in holding out his hand to help his sister, Chloe, out as well. His other siblings had already been married off and attending this ball in the Royal Palace of Madrid was his parents' way of finding their youngest children suitors.

"Very good, my boy" The king praised before the four of them began their walk into the palace. They were shown to the ballroom where most of the guests were straight away. The room was all white with gold detailing, artwork littered on the ceiling as spirals of gold framed the dozens of doors surrounding them

"Pardon me" The queen spoke softly, lightly touching her husbands arm before disappearing through the crowd to make her way to Maria Theresa the Archduchess of Austria.

"Excuse me, Father, Can I go speak with Marie?" Chloe spoke seconds later, her father simply nodding at the girls request. She smiled and muttered a thank you before finding her way to her friend, similarly to her mother.

Lance hated these things. Being in a closed space full of hundreds of people. He couldn't help the sour expression on his face as he looked around the bright room, eyes settling on his half brother Esteban. Lance was more than aware of his fathers infadelity and how he had three children with other women. Lance wasn't too fond of the younger two but he'd grown up close with Esteban and his mother Pauline de Mailly.

"Stop scowling, Lance." Lawrence spoke sternly, greeting his youngest son with a slap to his back

"Sorry, Father." Lance spoke, quick to fix his face as he turned to the king "May I be excused, Father? Esteban is on the other side of the ballroom."

"Go on."

Lance couldn't help but smile as he reached Estebans side, being quick to give him a nod

"Votre Altesse" Esteban hummed, trying to stop himself smiling as his little brother rolled his eyes at the title, he never called Lance Your Majesty unless he was teasing the younger boy "Brother, How are you?"

"I'm well, how long have you been here?"

"Oh, not long. Me and my mother arrived no more than an hour ago." Esteban spoke, Lance nodding at the response

"Have you had any of the food?" Lance asked, hoping his brother would say no so they could eat together

"I have not, shall we go together?" Lance smiled once more, nodding as he followed the older man to the long table of food and refreshments.

Fernando was speaking with Duke Maximilian III Joseph of Bavaria regarding the state of their allies during the ongoing war when he first spotted the French prince, his justaucorps a warm brown embroidered with intricate and colourful flowers. The boys hair was long and wavy, he was constantly brushing it out of his face as he spoke with the slightly older man next to him.

The new king was unsure of who the man next to him was but he was well aware of who Lance was. Fernando had met with Lawrence the second Ferdinand had died, as the new king it was his duty to keep up alliances between the dynasties. With Spain and France being the largest two dynasties as of then, having a relationship with Lawrence was very important to him.

As the conversation came to an end he excused himself to find the Frenchman again, pleased at how easy it was. He was standing off to the side as the man from before spoke with a woman from Sweden, Fernando taking the opprotunity to finally speak to him.

"Monseigneur Lance, it's a pleasure to meet you." Fernando bowed his head, holding a hand out to the shorter prince who's eyes shot up, they were hazel and seemed to sparkle in the dimly lit room.

"Sire," Lance spoke softly, taking Fernandos hand as the Spaniard placed a kiss on his knuckles, the younger boys face flushing pink at the usually meaningless action "the pleasure is all mine."

"I hope your journey here wasn't too strenous, it's a long ride from Versailles." Fernando spoke, letting go of the boys hand then stepping back slightly

"Of course not, I always prefer the carriage rides to the actual balls, anyway" he stated matter-of-factly, only realizing how rude it sounded seconds later. "Apologies, I'm not sure why I said that."

Fernando smiled, covering his mouth to let out a small laugh "There's no need to apologize, I feel the same."

Lance wasn't sure how to respond, all he could do was flash the king a smile, not expecting to relate to him of all people.

"Is it stuffy in here to you?" The Spaniard asked, cocking his head to the side before continuing "Would you like to ride around with me? Get some fresh air."

"I'd love to." The teenager responded with no hesitation, face lighting up at the idea

"Let's go, then. I'll give you a personal tour of my dynasty as long as you'll return the favour." Fernando said, holding his hand out once more, but this time to steal Lance away

Fernando stood beside the door of the carriage, helping the prince get in before getting in himself. It was nice, Lance thought, being treated how princesses are treated. As the carriage began moving he couldn't get the feeling of the Spanish mans lips on his knuckles out of his mind, it was embarrassing just how much he had replayed it already.

"Will your family be staying the night? Most of my guests are but if you're leaving before dawn I'll be sure to return you in time." The king spoke, Lance's eyes focusing on the mans mouth as his lips moved, hardly registering his words.

"I'm sure we will be, my mother and sister prefer to get a decent amount of rest before returning home after balls."

"Perfect, that gives us plenty of time, then." Fernando nodded to himself, moving to sit on the same side as Lance as he pulled back the curtains, the sunset illuminating the streets perfectly.

The smaller boys eyes found their way outside, practically twinkling as he admired just how gorgeous it looked at this time of day

"It's beautiful" He whispered, not bothering to turn and see the older mans reaction

"It is" The Spanish man said quietly, he knew what Lance meant, the landscape was beautiful. Of course Fernando knew that, he lived here, but he only thing he could see was the Prince next to him, he was truly beautiful.

The two continued down the road for a few more minutes before they reached town, Fernando noticing his guards escorting Jesuits from their home right away. He swiftly closed the curtains and began distracting Lance, not wanting the sweet boy to witness the men in black cassocks being pushed and shoved through the streets of the small town they had entered. The new king had made it his first order to expel every resident of the Spanish Empire that was concerningly loyal to the Pope as soon as he had been crowned. He would never admit it as he was too full of pride but he felt threatened by the men devoting themselves to the pope. He was above the pope. He was king. He had power and he was going to make sure every commoner he ruled over was aware of that.

"Hm?" Lance hummed as he noticed the curtains draw shut, turning his body to face the larger man, having not taken in just how drastic their size difference was. Not only was there a difference in power from Spanish King to French Prince but there was also a difference in aura, the mans eyes on him felt intimidating, Lance gazing hesitently at the man as the carriage fell quiet, Fernandos lidded eyes not leaving Lance's for a second

"We're rebuilding in this area, I'd hate for you to see how much of a mess it is right now." He lied, the words slipping off of his tongue as if they were as true as scripture, reciting it as if it was a verse he'd spent weeks remembering.

The credulous boy just nodded, having way too much trust in the man he'd become acquainted with just minutes prior.

"I'm sure it looks fine, every part of your kingdom I've seen so far has been stunning." The Frenchman reassured, wondering if maybe the new King was insecure about the state of his colonies.

"Why, thank you, Monseigneur Lance." Fernando smiled, partially because of the sweet words coming from the boy at his side but also because of just how easy he was to trick "you're too kind."

"No need to be so formal, Your Majesty." Lance scooted back, eyes following Fernando as his arm moved to open the curtains once more, now far enough away from his men to insure Lance saw nothing. "It's just us"

"If I'm to just call you Lance then please, call me Fernando."

"Well, Fernando." Lance started, looking outside of the carriage before turning back to the man "Can you tell me more? About your dynasty. I've only learned what's in the books"

"You've read books about my kingdom?" Fernando laughed dryly, finding it funny how the Prince of France spent his free time reading about the Spanish Empire.

"I've read about many things." Lance nodded, locking his fingers together in his lap "My Father would rather me learn than fight in the war."

"Ah, yes." Fernando nodded, having forgotten about what was currently happening on his allies land. "I understand where he's coming from. I was hesitant to put my sons in command as well."

"How many sons do you have, Fernando?" Lance asked, not having read much about the new kings family

"Three, they're all around your age" Fernando looked outside, smiling to himself as he watched Lance turn to look as well "Carlos is my eldest, then Lando, then my youngest boy Oscar."

"You have only sons?" Lance asked, still looking outside, watching as their surroundings began to get darker and darker

"Yes, just three boys."

"What about their mother? There isn't a queen, is there?"

Fernando shook his head, leaning on the wall behind him before responding, arms crossed over his chest as he watched "Their mother died a few years ago, Tuberculosis they think."

"Oh." He whispered, only now turning to look at the Spaniard, biting his lip slightly in an effort to hide his newfound discomfort "I'm sorry, I- I didn't know."

"Don't apologize." He spoke, harsher than he had before. "Was nothing I could do, the boys are old enough to deal with it and I had more important things to do than wallow in my own self pity."

Lance just nodded, fidgeting with his fingers as he avoided the Spaniards gaze, feeling embarrassed for even bringing it up, although a part of him was relieved to find out the King didn't have anyone at his side

The man reached out to grab Lance's hand, quickly letting his coachman know they were getting out and to wait for them.

The naive Prince followed blindly, letting the man ahead of him pull him through unfamiliar land as if they'd known one another all their lives. Fernando couldn't help but take note of everything Lance was so quick to let him do to him, he couldn't help but wonder just how far he could push it.

They eventually reached a short stone pathway and at the end was a small pavillion with a bench nestled towards the back where plants were growing up the wood. By then it'd gotten darker, Fernando glad to have matches on him as he lit the lamps around the wooden structure

"Woah" Lance breathed out, admring the garden he'd found himself in as Fernando dusted off the bench, still holding onto the boys hand as he pulled him to take a seat

"I haven't been here in ages. I figured if I was going to go back it'd be fun to not be alone." Fernando hummed, the last time he was here he'd killed his father.

"Gosh, if I lived closer I'd spend all my time here!" Lance laughed, smiling up at the man who had yet to take a seat

"I used to, when I became King the first time I hardly had time" He spoke, looking around as soon as he finished, eyes falling on the steps in front of him, the place he'd met his father before quite literally stabbing him in the back. It was what the old bastard deserved. Without his actions Ferdinand would've never became king and Fernando would still be stuck in Naples.

"The first time?" Lance hummed, unbuttoning his justacourps and sliding it off before folding it neatly in his lap

"Si." Fernando nodded, finally taking a seat next to the Prince "Before my brother died I was the king of Naples and Sicily. My eldest, Carlos, is taking over as soon as he finishes being stubborn about his knightly duties."

The boy laughed, he'd grown so used to just hearing people around him speak that everything about Fernandos accent made his sarcasm even funnier. "You're very experienced, Fernando"

"I am." He confirmed, meaning it in more ways than the innocent boy could imagine. As a ruler? Yes, of course. Killer? He supposes. Husband? To some extent. Sexually? Very.

"How long did you rule over Naples and Sicily?" He asked, eager to learn more about the mysterious man beside him

"Twenty-four years, I took over when I was eleven so my mother helped me rule until I was married off and began having children."

"Wow, I feel like I haven't done anything as prince" Lance laughed, tracing the neatly done sewing on the cloth he had on his lap "My father took over France at five, his mother helped him until he was thirteen as well, but sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be king."

"You could be my king." The Spaniard spoke calmly, not sure why Lance began to react the way he did

"Hm?" He questioned, unsure if he was understanding the mans accent correctly

"Be my king. I have no bride, nor do I have a groom." The man shrugged, watching as Lance's facial expression controrted "It is not the 16th century anymore, is normal to have two kings, Lancito."

Lance was aware that it'd become more normalized to see two men ruling side by side, a part of him had always yearned for the connection between a King and his King Consort but until now he'd figured it'd just been out of pure curiosity and a need to figure out the unknown

"Are you asking me to madry you, Fernando?" Lance asked, knowing it seemed obvious enough but he had to be sure, maybe this was just a Spanish thing.

"Consider it." Fernando spoke, holding Lance's hands in his own "Don't say no straight away, this will give us both what we want."

"I'm not sure my father would say yes-" Lance began, eyebrows furrowing as the Spaniard cut him off

"You're father likes me, I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear his son has been proposed to by none other than his greatest allies king."

"I know, I'm just not sure he'll be comfortable with me being so far from home." Lance's voice got quieter as he spoke, not wanting his words to upset the man before him

"I'll take you to visit every chance we get, it'll be like you never left." His voice softened, realizing that if he was to get the French Kings son to marry him he'd have to play nice.

"Well, then.." He dragged out his words, looking at their hands together before responding. There was such a drastic contrast between them, the Spaniards naturally tan and thicker hands making the boys pale and lanky hands seem even smaller. "I suppose" He finished, figuring he wouldn't find anyone better than the Spaniard. He'd seen his siblings get married to ugly and unjust aristocrats that he was relieved someone so kind was asking for his hand in marriage.

The taller mans lips curled, he quickly stood up and pulled Lance to him, the Frenchman leaving his coat on the bench beside where he'd sat before being greeted by the sudden feeling of lips on his.

It was embarrassing to think about how bad of a kisser he had to be. He just tried to follow Fernandos lead, fingers trailing over the gold detailing of his dresscoat as the kiss began to deepen, the kings hands finding their way to the boys waist to pull them even closer, bodies practically connected as Lance settled on the tips of his toes in order to make this easier.

Once Fernando pulled away Lance felt light headed, lips now puffy and red as he breathed harshly, covering his face from the man out of pure embarrassment.

"Do not hide from me, Lancito." He cooed, leaning over to pull the boys hands from his face, thumb brushing over his lips before he spoke again "te ves guapo" the king whispered, Lance unable to hold back a smile as he registered Fernandos words, face flushing a familiar pink as the man called him beautiful.

"We should get back" Lance said softly, face turning to meet the Spaniards gaze as his hands lingered on his chest

"You're right, I should probably ask for your fathers blessing, eh?" They laughed, the prince nodding as the older man grabbed a lantern, calmly finding the way back to the carriage

Fernando couldn't keep his hands off Lance during the short ride back, hand inching further up the boys thigh as his face got hotter, now hidden in the collar of his casaca. It was painfully obvious how inexperienced the boy was, Fernando wasn't sure what he'd done in his past life to deserve such a reward but he was beyond grateful.

It didn't progress past teasing touches, Fernando curious to see just how worked up he could get the boy before he disappeared back into the ballroom to speak to his father.

The answer was very, as they came to a stop outside the palace Lance couldn't hide the look of pure arousal on his face as he felt the Spaniards hands leave, whining at the feeling of his touch fading

"Fer..." He whispered, grabbing weakly onto the mans sleeves as he begged for just a little more

"Patience, let's see what your father says before continuing this, mi rey" Fernando negotiated, kissing the boys jaw softly before exiting the carriage, disappearing inside before Lance had the chance to follow behind.

"How have you been, Your majesty?" The King asked, earning a short response from his ally. "I've come to ask something of you, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead" Lawrence nodded, watching the Spaniard with curiousity

"I'd like to ask for your blessing, King Lawrence." He stated plainly, looking the man in front of him in the eyes "I'd like to make your son my King Consort."

Lawrence nodded right away, arm moving to pat the tanned mans back, smiling similarly to Lance "I'd love to give you my son, I'm shocked you felt the need to ask, Sire."

They both laughed, Lawrence's practically coming from his stomach as he closed his eyes, Fernando returning a short, knowing, and dry laugh.

Lance wandered back into the ballroom, greeted with a light hug from his mother, it wasn't normal in his family for her to show affection to him like this so he was almost worried something had gone wrong but as soon as he saw Lawrence and Fernando side by side he knew what'd happened, he was now set to marry the King of Spain.

[landoom]

So today I did a little something for the fic I finished writing yesterday...

More to come when I'll post the fic when it's beta read and edited 😉

[miryum]

Okay okay okay I feel like a genius and I know this is a lot and I’m so so sorry I just think it’s make a really compelling story!

Princess!reader is betrothed to Arthur. Neighbouring kingdoms with palaces very close together (this is important I promise). She’s like six months younger than him and it’s been set up since she was born. So she arrives at the palace, looking absolutely stunning, and she’s terrified. To his credit Arthur is very nice, very sweet. He shows her around, introduces her to people, makes sure she’s comfortable, etc..

But how could she possibly be looking at him when the middle brother is the same young boy she would secretly meet over the summer, the first boy she ever liked, kissed, and danced with around the forest before they both grew up? The boy she always thought she’d marry? The boy who is now sneaking into her chambers to kiss her absolutely breathless.

The same boy she still loves…

@bright-shiningstar I am SO SORRY that this didn't come out sooner, but every single time I looked at this request it literally made me squeal out loud, so I had to make sure it was perfect!! I think I rewrote it at least five times, so I hope you like the finished product! Thank you so much for requesting!

Buddies in the F1 world: @hey-kae @vinvantae

Warnings: Some swearing, probably some grammatical errors

Day 0

“Y/n, do you remember the Leclerc’s?” Your parents had sat you down after dinner. 

“Yes, has the agreement gone through?” Your parents had spent most of your life drafting a treaty with the Leclerc’s, offering your hand in marriage as a staple. Prince Lorenzo was married to a young queen of a neighbouring kingdom, joining the two realms. Prince Charles was deemed too old for you. So that left the youngest. Now that you were old enough, the treaty was solidified.

“We got confirmation today,” your mother said, smiling proudly. She was so pleased to see her eldest daughter married off. “Prince Arthur is officially your fiancé!”

Your younger sister leaned into your side, trying to be a rock of comfort. You weren’t completely angry about being forced into marriage (the few times you had visited the Leclerc patriarch and matriarch, they had been kind and enchanting to you. You had no reason to think that their sons would be any different.) but you were petrified. You would be moving away from your family and home. You didn’t know what lay in front of you.

“And you’re leaving tomorrow…” your mother tied the strings of your distress.

“What?” Your sister, Megan, cried out. She latched onto you, pulling you close. “That’s not fair! Why can’t she stay for another week?”

“Because the wedding is in a week,” your father explained. “The Leclerc’s have it all set up. Luckily, they’re kind enough to give you a week to acclimate yourself to their family. Chin up, darling,” he said to you. “This is a joyous occasion.”

“I mean, I would’ve preferred the middle son,” your mother whispered. “More status and closer in line for the throne, but the youngest is acceptable.” Your father rolled his eyes. 

“Why don’t you retire for the night?” your father prompted you. “You need to look your best tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving so soon!” Your sister dragged you away from your parents. “I thought I would get more time with you.” She hummed sadly.

“Megan, it’ll be alright. I’ll make sure you’re invited to the wedding.” You felt odd reassuring her, wondering if it should be the other way around. 

“Oh, that’s right,” Megan groaned. “You’ll be Princess Y/n Leclerc in a week. That doesn’t sound right at all.”

“Why don’t we have a sleepover, hm?” You needed to distract Megan with something else, otherwise her worries would double your anxiety and stress. “Just like old times.”

“Yes!” Megan squealed and ran ahead of you. Her slippers padded down the hall. “I’ll grab my pillow!”

You grasped at this moment of silence to try and calm your racing heart. Unbeknownst to your parents and sister, the marriage to Prince Arthur wasn’t the biggest of your concerns. Your breathing was uneven and you palmed your eyes, getting rid of any semblance of tears. 

Were you ready to see Charles again?

***

You couldn’t breathe. Tears and snot obscured your face and clogged your airways. The rational part of you that would’ve been saying, someone would realise you were missing and come find you, was drowned in your fears of, oh my gosh I’m going to die alone and have to spend my few remaining days eating tree bark! 

You weren’t sure how you had run this far, but you were sure it was to be your doom. If only you had stopped by the stables to grab your pony, Newt. If only you hadn’t strayed from the path. If only you had turned around once the sun started to set. 

Internally chastising yourself, you sat down at the base of a tree. You knew that yelling would be no use and you should probably conserve your energy. You wished that you had paid more attention to those survival lessons the knights had taught you. 

“Um, excuse me?” 

Your head shot up at the sound. “Who’s there?” you called out, jumping to your feet.

“My name is Charles,” the young voice explained. You couldn’t see the owner. “Are you alright? I heard someone crying.”

“Where are you?” you demanded to know.

A boy, a couple years older than you, maybe seven or eight, stepped out from behind a tree. “Hi,” he said, smiling. He wanted to show he wasn’t a threat. “Can I help you? You seem lost.”

“Yes, I am!” You couldn’t help a new onslaught of tears. “I was walking and I guess I took a wrong turn? Are your parents somewhere around here? It’s almost dark and I need to get back.”

“My parents are at home.” Charles prompted, “but I can walk you home?”

“I don’t want you to get lost, too.” You shook your head. “Can I come with you back to your village? I’m sure there’s transportation I could find.”

“Oh, no.” Charles shrugged, causally leaving out the part that he was a prince, and if he wanted, could snap his fingers and order a ride home for you. “It’s alright. I know this forest like the back or my hand. Where do you live?”

“Uh…” You wiped your nose on your dress. “I live at the L/n castle.”

“That’s not far away at all!” Charles smiled and you grinned back, already infected by his charms. “Did you know this forest is actually the border of Enza and Haas? I don’t live that far away, either. Do you know about the Leclerc’s?”

“Yeah, my- the King and Queen,” you corrected yourself quickly. “They’re friends with them.” You weren’t sure why your five-year-old self wasn’t telling this new friend that you were royalty. Maybe you didn’t want to scare him away? 

“My family’s house is right next to their palace,” Charles said.

“We’re practically neighbours!” You stood up and beamed.

“Can I walk you home, neighbour?” Charles giggled at his joke. You nodded and grasped his hand in the trusting way only children can. 

It turned out that the Enza palace and the Haas castle weren’t far away from each other. Once the pair of new friends realised this, they made plans to meet up more often. At the Haas gates, you made sure Charles would be safe and get home quickly. He reassured you that he had explored the forest for hours and would never get lost. He promised to meet you the next day at the clearing where you had met so you knew he wasn’t being mauled to death by a pack of wolves. 

Little did you know that a great friendship and a great love was suddenly born.

Day 1

“Y/n. Y/n.” Megan placed a hand on your bouncing leg. “You're practically shaking the whole carriage. I know you’re nervous, and this is an awful thing to say, but maybe try to hide it?” 

“Sweetheart, what I believe your sister is saying, is ‘calm down’.” Your father held a piece of parchment and peered over it at you. “This is nothing to worry about.”

“Your father and I had the exact same disposition when we were your age,” your mother smiled softly at you. “I know the uncertainty you’re feeling, but trust me, it will get better.”

No it won’t, mom! You wanted to scream at her, how will it get better if the boy I used to love is living in the same palace as me?!

“I’m sure it will,” you said. A minute or so passed with Megan trying to fill the space with meaningless conversation. 

“Wait, wait!” The carriage passed a grove of trees that looked eerily familiar. “Stop! Stop the horses!” Your cries turned frantic and banged on the side of the carriage. Sticking your head out the window, you repeated your demand. The driver yanked on the reins and before it came to a complete stop, you jumped out. 

“Y/n! Where are you going?” Megan shuffled to get out after you, tripping on her dress. 

“Y/n, get back here!” Your mother cursed, yelling towards Megan, “get her back here, Megan! We’ll be late!”

You wanted to rip off your dress. It was scratching at your body and snagged on branches and twigs as you ran. You needed to make sure it was still there. Then you would go back to your family. But you just had to be sure.

“Y/n!” Megan groaned in frustration as her high-heel got caught on a tree root. She tugged on it and cried out, “You cannot simply leave!” 

“Please, just give me a moment!” you called back. The forest easily came back to you. It felt like a force was pulling you towards the clearing. 

“Do you wanna play hide and seek?” You sat on the grass, watching a nine-year-old Charles throw a ball up into the air and catch it. And then throw it back up. And catch it.

“Really?” Charles groaned. “That’s such a baby thing to do.”

“Hey!” You kicked him in the ribs. He yelled out and squirmed away. “First off, I am not a baby! And second, you’re not being very entertaining right now. I’m trying to think of things to do.” Other than having to sneak away from the castle, a hard thing about being friends with Charles was the age gap. He was entering a stage in life where he was determined to be cool and stoic and you sometimes wondered if he regretted his friendship with a little girl.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, offering a pitiful apology.

“Well, if you’re not going to talk to me, then I’ll just go back home.” You stood and slowly shuffled over to Newt, who was tied up by Charles’ horse, Scuderia. 

“Y/n, wait.” Charles suddenly appeared behind you and grabbed your arm. “I’m sorry, really. It’s rude of me to ignore you. We can play hide-and-seek.”

“No, you’re right,” you conceded. “It’s a little too childish. Wanna just talk?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m cool with that.” Charles couldn’t help the smile that overcame him. He didn’t know much about Y/n L/n’s personal life, but he definitely knew that you were one of his best friends. 

“Y/n, what the hell are you doing?!” Megan plucked a twig out of her hair. 

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, collapsing to the ground. The tree stood in front of you and the clearing still looked picturesque. It was where you had met with Charles all those times all those years ago. You wondered if you initials were still there or if the tree had scabbed over them. You didn’t want to check.

“What do you mean? Y/n, you can’t back out now. Mother will not allow it. Think of the Enzan royal family. This will ruin our relationship with them.” Megan crouched down next to you, sweeping your hair out of your face. You silently wondered how she matured so quickly.

“Megan, it would be better if this was a faceless prince that I had no connection to.”

“Is it not?”

“No, I-” You sighed. “Nevermind. Let’s go. I’m sorry.” 

After a tense carriage ride that consisted of your mother berating you for running off and you apologising profusely but not giving any explanation of why, the Enza palace came into view.

“Stand tall, good posture, don’t speak unless spoken to, and let your father and I handle the political aspects,” your mother reminded you. She swept your hair back into place and ran her fingers along the creases of your dress. She huffed at the dirt stains courtesy of the forest floor. “It’ll have to do. Now, come along.” A footman sprung open the carriage door and your father stepped down to victorious trumpets. He helped your mother down and the footman offered his hand to Megan who took it graciously. You refused the footman’s hand, jumping down on your own. 

“Y/n, you look dejected,” Megan whispered to you.

“And that’s because I am.” You clutched your dress and Megan huffed, wrestling your hand away. You understood her gestures and held out your arm. Megan took it and led you closer to the Enza royal family. 

“Look up,” your mother whispered. “At least look at your husband.” But it wasn’t your husband that drew your eyes. There, on the steps, was Charles Leclerc, or Charlie.

“Do you like anyone, chérie?” Charles felt odd asking this. Wasn’t it always the girls who had to be obsessed with crushes and who-liked-who? Why was he bringing this up?

“Uh… why do you ask?” You were eleven and it was weird to discuss this with a fourteen-year-old boy.

You weren’t sure how your feelings for Charles started. You guessed that because he was the only boy even remotely close to your age that you saw, it was bound to happen. 

“I don’t know,” Charles mumbled. “My older brother’s seeing someone and my younger one is now obsessed with girls. I wanted to know if you’re also caught up in this lovey-dovey stuff.” 

“Is it bad if I am?” You were afraid that Charles would ridicule and tease you for being swept up in the romance that was apparently ruining the continent. Even your sister gushed about a stable boy that she was infatuated with. 

“No, chérie,” Charles said slowly. “I just need to know if there’s another guy I need to compete with.” 

You laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Charlie. You’ll always be my number one.” 

“Good,” Charles tried to hide his smile. The butterflies in his stomach made it harder. Charlie. You called him Charlie. It was like you were trying to intoxicate him in this new thing called love.

***

When Charles heard your name for the first time in three years, he froze. And to hear it directed at his younger brother, no less. 

But when he saw you, time stopped. 

You hadn’t changed much over the three years, albeit your hair was a styled different and the way you carried yourself had stiffened. He desperately wanted to run up to you and kiss you until you both saw stars. He wanted to fold you in his arms and never let you go. He had lost you once and he wasn’t going to let that happen again. At least with you marrying his brother he would be able to see you. If he couldn’t touch you, seeing you would be enough. It would be torture, having you just within reach but unable to hold you, but it would be worse to not see you at all. 

It had been torture all these years. 

He cursed Arthur for being the youngest. If Charles had been born just after his youngest brother, he could’ve had you for himself. He cursed his heart. It wasn’t fair to fall for someone he could never have. He wondered if his parents would try to marry him off too. He wondered if he could marry someone while you were in his home. For certain, he could never love anyone as much as he loved you. Would he stay single his entire life, watching you and his brother grow old together? Would he marry someone in a loveless marriage? Or could something else happen that changed it all….? 

And then you looked at him.

Sparks ignited in his body. Then you looked at his brother. His heart was cleaved in two. Right. You weren’t there for him. He had to remember that or he would torture himself into oblivion. He already was torturing himself. Charles didn’t know if it would be better to avoid you or indulge himself in your presence. 

His father started talking to your father and Charles noticed Arthur stepping forward to greet you. Your mother pinched your side and Charles’ jaw clenched. From your stories, he didn’t like your mother, but this only solidified his opinion. 

Charles felt Lorenzo’s stare on him- the only person who knew about his rendezvous with you. Charles plastered on a smile and stayed stock-still. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he heard Arthur say to you.

“You as well.” Your voice was just as he remembered, if not more formal. You never spoke that way to him. Your words were always filled with laughter- not diplomacy. 

“May I give you and your sister a tour of our home?” Arthur proposed. 

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Megan detached yourself from your arm so you could walk with Arthur, your sister trailing behind. You brushed past him, holding your gaze forward. It would only pain you more to see him. 

“Charles, you need to talk to her,” Lorenzo whispered harshly to him. “It won’t do anyone good to have you sadly avoiding her. Arthur can’t have his wife and his brother looking lovelorn without knowing the cause.” 

“Arthur can never know,” Charles growled. “It would make things worse.”

“He doesn’t need to know if you and Princess Y/n work things out before the wedding,” Lorenzo persisted. 

Charles took a breath and finally said, “I’ll think about it, alright?”

Day 3

Arthur had spent yesterday showing you around the Leclerc palace and luckily, it was of similar design to the Haas castle. Megan had left with a tearful goodbye, promising to visit a day before the wedding to help you prepare. Your mother left you with a kiss on the cheek and your father had hugged you tightly.

You had spent the third day in your new room, handmaidens helping you unpack and commission new dresses for you. The Steward and Housekeeper had sat you down, giving you an overview of what the wedding would entail and the customs of Enzan marriages and politics. Of course, you already knew most of it as your mother had begun drilling it into you at an early age. 

You had collapsed into bed after they had gone, too tired to join the Leclerc’s for dinner or even change out of your dress. Yet you still couldn’t find purchase in sleep. It just wouldn’t come.

It was late at night when a knock resounded on your door. You slowly peeled yourself off the bed- which didn’t feel at all like your own- and said, “Come in.” 

“Hi,” Charles softly said. 

“Oh. Hi.” You straightened up and bowed your head in a form of a curtsy.

“Don’t- don’t do that.” Charles shook his head. “I was never your superior.”

You stood silently for a while, the awkwardness resounding. It seemed like a chasm was between you two. 

“I’ve missed you,” Charles admitted carefully. 

“I missed you too,” you said. “It’s been a while, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Charles chuckled uncomfortably and you joined him. “And to see you with my brother, no less.” Your laughter stopped immediately and you looked at the ground. “Right,” Charles swallowed harshly. He couldn’t seem to unstick that lump in his throat. “Sorry. I’m sorry. For it all. I should’ve never ended-”

“I forgave you a long time ago, Charlie,” you admitted. A wave of relief passed over his face and it looked like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. In one sudden movement, you tumbled forward and engulfed the boy in a hug. Charles swept his arms around you, reciprocating immediately. It felt nice to have you in his arms again. It felt like home. He pressed you closer to him, inhaling. Charles placed a soft kiss to your hairline, mumbling about all the times he missed you.

“Charles? Can you promise me something?” you asked. 

“Anything.” 

“Can you promise to never leave me alone again?” Your voice sounded so small and for the third time today, you unintentionally broke his heart.

“I’m sorry, chérie. I never meant to leave you alone in the first place. But yes, I promise to always stay by your side from now on.” 

“Even though I’m betrothed to-”

“Don’t talk about that, please.” Charles shook his head. 

“Okay,” you conceded. “But what will we do? Charlie, I still love-”

Charles cut you off with an Earth-shattering kiss. His hands circled around your lower back, gripping you even closer- if that was possible. You circled your hands around his neck, running them over his shoulders and down his torso. Every dip and curve was like you remembered. His kiss was just like you remembered.

“Charles?” The newly eighteen-year-old hummed in response and you glanced over at his figure. He was laying on a soft pitch of grass that was illuminated by a stream of sunlight that broke through the trees. His eyes were closed and a small smile graced his lips, showcasing one of his dimples. He had obviously been working out, and he had nicely grown into his body. He was wearing a loose tunic that highlighted his arms. The curve of his muscles made your heart jump a little quicker. You loved these moments with him alone, and you would be damned if your title of royalty got in the way. “Have you ever thought about growing up?”

“Sure I have,” Charles said. “What about it?”

Your brows settled into a frown. “My parents have started talking to me about marriage.”

“Already?” Charles opened one eye to find you already looking at him. Your hands were clasped over your stomach and fiddled together with anxiety. “You have a few more years.”

“Yes, but they want to lock down a husband before it’s too late,” you explained. “Apparently, I’m already betrothed. I just don’t know to whom.”

“You’re already married?!” Charles sat up on an elbow, looking incredulously at you.

“No,” you scoffed. “It’s synonymous with being engaged.”

“Geez,” Charles exhaled and laid back down. “I didn’t realise I was pining after a practically married woman.”

“Excuse me?!” 

Charles smirked. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner, chérie. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one in this relationship.” 

“Charlie.” The nickname made his facade drop and his heart rate rise. Was it all a big mistake? Did he just throw away this coveted friendship that he had worked so hard to cultivate? “Are you serious?” 

“As serious as death,” Charles whispered. 

“Death?” You couldn’t help but let a laugh escape. “Couldn’t you choose another word? Death sounds so cruel.”

“What other word would you like me to use to express my love for you?” Charles joined in your laughter, and once again, you relished in the sound. 

“I don’t care.” You rolled onto your side and Charles copied your actions, taking your hand in his. His fingers tapped over yours as if planning out the wedding dance. “Just so long as I can say it back.” 

It was all you could imagine for a first kiss. 

You gasped, pulling back from the boy you loved. “Charlie, I can’t do this. I- I’m about to marry your brother, for goodness sake! I can’t be kissing you and- and-”

“I know, chérie, I know,” Charles stepped back and he instantly missed your touch. “But I love you too. And I can’t bear seeing you so close, but knowing I can’t feel and love you. It hurts. It hurts being away from you.”

“Charlie… we can’t.” It pained you to say it, but it was true. You weren’t about to be the type of person who cheated on their husband with their brother. Even if it was for love, you still had morals.

“You’re not married yet,” Charles tried to smile. “Let me come to your room at night. Just to talk to you. Just to be around you. We’re still best friends, are we not?”

You chuckled sadly. “You always find a way to bend the rules, huh, Charlie?”

“For you, I’d do anything.”

Day 4

“I wish we could have met under better circumstances,” Arthur admitted. “You’re an incredibly nice girl and I have a feeling we would’ve made good friends. I mean, we’ll still make good friends, but what I’m trying to say-”

You let out a light laugh. “I get it, Arthur. I think we’ll make good friends too.” 

“How are you adjusting?” your fiancé asked. “Are you comfortable? How’s your room? We can repaint it, or redecorate if you wish?” 

“Arthur!” You chuckled at the boy’s concern. “Everything is perfectly fine! Thank you. You’re making this transition much easier.” 

“Well, I want to make sure my future wife enjoys herself,” Arthur shrugs. You stilled at his words. “And I wanted to introduce you to some of my friends. Maybe they could become your friends too?”

“Sure,” you agreed. Arthur proceeded to lead you around the palace, presenting you to a series of guards, dukes and duchess, butlers and maids. You met Earl Carlos, Duke Pierre, Baron Daniel, Knight Max, Lady Carla, and attendees such as Lily, Lewis and his daughter, Lando, Sara, and Esteban. They all seemed extremely accommodating and pleased to meet you. Everyone promised to help you through your time in Enza and to be loyal to their new princess. Arthur hovered a hand over your lower back the entire time, and as much as you appreciated the gesture, it didn’t feel the same as Charles’ touch.

“Arthur?” Like you had summoned him, Charles appeared behind you. “Mother and Father are requesting your presence in the throne room. It’s about finalising the formalities for… your wedding.” 

“Yes, of course,” Arthur nodded. “Can you keep Princess Y/n company, Charles?”

“Anything, brother.” Charles clapped Arthur on the shoulder. “Did I ever congratulate the two of you?” 

Arthur’s brow twitched and you wondered if he could also see the buried sadness in Charles’ eyes. “No, but I’ll gladly take it now.” 

“Well, congratulations. You’re lucky Maman and Papa found you a good one.”

“Yes, I am.” Arthur pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to your cheek before rushing off to his parents. Agonous jealousy was splayed on Charles face the moment Arthur turned away.

“I don’t know how many times I can say this in four days, but I’ve missed you,” Charles said, a sweet, awkward smile on his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping towards you. “Whenever I’m away from you I miss you.” 

“And I don’t know how I’m going to stay away from you if you keep proclaiming your love for me.” You reached out and touched his forearm.

“Then don’t stay away.” Charles wrapped you in a hug and you felt yourself giving in. “I can talk to my parents and I’m sure if we just explain the situation, they’ll understand. We could get married and be together. Arthur could marry a princess from Wolff or whoever he wanted! Y/n, we could-”

“Charlie, my love, what of my parents?” you asked. “They signed an agreement about me and Arthur. Not me and you. As much as I love the situation you’re describing, as much as I love the possibility of being with you, it’s impossible. Unless you can convince my parents otherwise, which is impossible, it’s not going to happen.”

Charles hummed, slowly separating himself from you in fear of someone seeing your embrace. “Then the least I can do is try.” 

You tied up Newt, silently counting down the minutes until Charles arrived. The seconds ticked by and you sat down at the base of the tree that had your initials carved into it next to Charles’. You traced Charles’ initials with your finger, still in the euphoria of love. It was only a couple weeks ago that you and Charles had confessed your love for each other and he couldn’t seem to stop saying it whenever he had the chance. It became greeting, conversation starter, and goodbye. 

But for some reason, Charles seemed to be late today. As time ticked by, a light mist coated the air. Normally, he was early, even getting to the clearing before you, but you tried not to worry. He probably had some duties to attend to, like you had had a couple weeks ago. You had apologised profusely to Charles, but he had forgiven you with the price of a kiss.

Newt started to get restless after twenty minutes and the mist turned into drizzle. You, now eighteen, fished out an apple to calm him down. It was another fifteen minutes before Scuderia showed up, Charles practically standing in the saddle, rain dripping down his body. “Charles!” You stood up, waving him towards you. Instead of the brilliant grin that usually graced his face whenever he saw you, a frown was burrowed into his brow. “What’s wrong?” 

“Chérie,” Charles didn’t even bother to tie Scuderia up before bundling you in his arms and peppering kisses to your forehead, temples, cheeks, and nose. He twirled you around so his arms were crossed in front of you, cradling you, and started kissing your neck, collarbone, and earlobes. 

“Charlie,” you laughed lightly. “What are you doing?”

“My chérie, mon amour, I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to end like this.” 

“Charles,” you spun around in his arms, taking his face in your hands. You gently caressed his cheek in an attempt to calm him down. “You’re scaring me. Please, tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I love you, you know that, right?” Charles assured you. You nodded along. “Then you have to believe me when I say it pains me that I can’t meet you here anymore.”

“What?” Your heart dropped and your stomach twisted. “Why?” 

“My mom and dad are getting suspicious, chérie. I think they know I’m meeting a girl out in the forest,” Charles tried to explain it to you but you just became more confused with every word. “I’ve already turned down one marriage proposal and they’ll get frustrated if I turn down another.” 

“You’ve done what?” You stepped back from him and Charles’ hands reached out, trying to keep you close to him. You backed up, away from him, until you could feel Newt at your back. “You never told me about that.” 

“I didn’t think it was important,” Charles argued. “But what I’m trying to say is that I think it’s best if we take a pause on the meetings for now. My parents are already breathing down my neck and it doesn’t help that you’re betrothed. Lorenzo found out about you and I’m worried what will happen if someone else does too.” 

“Charlie, you turned down a marriage proposal?” You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. “You could’ve had a wife by now? And who cares if Lorenzo knows about me?! I almost- it feels like you’re embarrassed about me?” It came out like a question. You tangled a hand in Newt’s mane, hoping for some sort of stability. “You never cared about my betrothal before this. Why now?” Charles swallowed and you could see a war debating in his mind. “Answer me, Charles,” you demanded. “What happened that made you bring this up?” 

Charles took a deep breath and said, “you’re the princess of Haas, aren’t you? It all makes sense. Your betrothal, your outfits, your manner of speaking. I thought you were just a duchess or countess, but no. You’re the princess.”

You weren’t sure how to answer. How did you find out? seemed too accusatory. I thought you knew? was too deflective. What does it matter? was too aggressive. You settled on saying, “yes. And you’re Prince Charles Leclerc. I’ve kind of always known.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charles whispered.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted. “It never really came up. Some part of me thought you knew- thought you had connected the dots and just accepted it. I didn’t intentionally hide it from you. I’m sorry.”

“Y/n,” Charles started. “I can’t hang out with you anymore.” The beginning of tears pricked at the back of your eyes and your face grew hot. You opened your mouth to say something, but Charles beat you to it. “It’s not proper for us to visit each other outside of the court. If people found out they could…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my chérie.”

You couldn’t meet his eye, instead focusing on a patch of wilted flowers. “Okay,” is all you could say. “Goodbye, Charles.” Newt’s mane was slick with rain as you climbed on. Your horse seemed to sense your urgency and quickly wove through the trees, leaving Charles behind. You wiped at your eyes, letting Newt take full control. You regretted it when a branch snagged on your arm and you cried out, a line of blood starting to appear. When you returned to the Haas castle, Megan didn’t question it when you collapsed on your bed, instead opting to help you change out of your rain-soaked dress before curling up with you under the covers. 

Little did you know, Charles was still sitting in that clearing, silently crying. Scuderia bumped his nose against Charles, but the prince just pushed him away.

Day 6

“So, what’re you going to do about it?” Megan asked.

“Absolutely nothing,” you admitted. “There’s nothing I can do. The treaty has been signed, the preparations are underway, and Arthur…” You sighed before continuing, “he’s really nice. I could envision a future with him.”

“But what about Prince Charles?” Megan sat on your bed, the night before the wedding. You had given in and told her everything. “Can you envision a future with him?”

“I want a future with him.”

A deeper voice whispered, “I want a future with you too.” Charles stood at your door, and peeking out behind him was Arthur.

“Shit,” Megan muttered.

“What are you doing here?” You stood up, eyes flickering to Charles before sheepishly locking eyes with Arthur. “Prince Arthur… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-”

“No, no,” the boy reassured you, his small, anxious smile seeming almost… hopeful. “You’re a wonderful girl and an even better friend, but you’re not who I would’ve chosen to marry. No offence,” he quickly added. “We just don’t click. We don’t have that same spark that you and Charles do. And, well, I kind of have my sights set on someone else. Charles explained it all to me.”

You laughed. “Guess we really are the perfect pair, huh? Both pining after other people.”

“And you after my brother?” Arthur joked, gasping dramatically. “How unfaithfully devious of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” 

“What does this mean, then?” Megan asked for you. “We can’t just swap Charles out for Arthur at the wedding.”

Arthur grinned and said, “Why not?” He slung an arm around Charles, clapping him on the chest. “Guess you’re getting married, big brother.”

Charles laughed loudly before turning to look at you. “Y/n L/n, will you marry me tomorrow?” 

Your lips separated in half shock and half elation. “I- I… yes! Though I admit, I expected something a bit more extravagant.”

“Chérie, I’m just upholding my promise.” Charles opened his arms cheekily and even though you were confused by his words, you fell into them, happy to be able to hold him in the presence of others.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t remember?” He lifted an eyebrow, throwing you his signature smirk.

You tossed a ball to Charles who threw it back.  “Anything new in your life?” he asked.

“Nope. You?”

“Nope.”

After a minute of silence Charles said, “Let’s make a deal.”

“Alright, what is it?”

“If, in ten years, we still have the same, boring lives,” You scoffed at his words. “then we get married and make our lives un-boring, together.”

After a moment’s deliberation, it didn’t seem like a bad deal to an eight-year-old. “Okay,” you readily agreed. “But I doubt my life will be boring in ten years.”

“Sure…” Charles snickered at you. “I’ll let you believe that.”

“How can you not remember my completely legitimate marriage proposal?” Charles scoffed quietly, leaning down to bump his forehead against yours.

“Well, pardon me for not remembering something you said thirteen years ago,” you tapped him on the chest.

“How could you not remember a proposal?” Charles asked. 

“I would like to know the answer to that as well,” Megan spoke up. 

“Well, does it matter as long as I say ‘yes’?”

“No, I guess not,” Charles beamed as he bent down to kiss you.

Day 7

Charles kissed you again, but this time it was in front of an altar, before a crowd, and with you wearing white. 

Surprisingly, it hadn’t took much convincing for your parents to understand the situation. Apparently, Charles had stayed true to his word and contacted your parents, explaining everything. Your father was just relieved you were still marrying someone and your mother had always preferred Charles anyway. King and Queen Leclerc, after hearing of the years of meetings you and Charles had shared, were more than thrilled. They were eager for you to join their family and a marriage of love always went better than a marriage of politics. 

The wedding was already planned, the chefs already prepping, and the priest already booked. All they needed was to switch out Arthur’s name for Charles’.

“May I present Prince and Princess Leclerc of Enza!” The priest announced to thunderous applause.

“Hello, chérie,” Charles whispered and his nose bumped against yours. “Or should I say, Princess Leclerc?”

“I like that name best,” you grinned.

“I do too,” Charles admitted.

[nearmike]

Tiger stripes || 4463

Soooo, finally it's here :)))

🚨 Please mind the tags: there is a medium-detailed discussion of body image and weight

Snippet ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Something was wrong, Lewis could see it and was even starting to smell it. George's scent turned bitter and the omega was avoiding his gaze -You don't want that anymore?- They had to resolve the matter as soon as possible, he didn't want the omega to close in silence -My Love?- Lewis attempted to take a hand between his own but George withdrew it and pulled himself to sit with his knees to his chest, covering his body with his arms -My Love, what's wrong? Please-

-Is it because I became ugly?- the omega asked without looking him in the face

-Eh?-

[effervescentdragon]

13 and any ship that sparks joy but it’s funny if it’s got Alex in it

hmmmm. i have been on a galex kick lately...

13. Rich person pretends to be poor, secures a date with actual working-class person.

It's not like he planned for it to go this way.

Truthfully, he hadn't planned anything. That is what everyone will tell him afterwards, but for now, his lack of planning is either working too well, or not working at all. He can't really tell.

"You're supposed to be faster than this," his new - temporary - co-worker tells him. "You said you got the Best Barista Award three times." He scrunches his nose, and Alex thinks he looks pretty adorable. "What kind of establishments have you worked before, if you were their best?"

Alex raises his head from the espresso machine and his eyebrow in incredulity.

"Excuse me, but who uses the word 'establishment' unironically for-" he waves the thing that coffee goes into around the tiny, cramped space, "-this?"

George's cheeks redden a bit. His eyes flit around nervously. "Yes, well." He clears his throat. "It is important to - to refer to the thing in a proper way." His eyes narrow as Alex chuckles. "Please don't drop the portafilter."

Alex frowns, unsure - oh. The coffee thing. He grins back at George.

"Three BBA's, Georgie," he says. "Don't worry."

George clears his throat again. "Please don't call me Georgie. It's... immature."

Alex finishes the double espresso shot, puts the lid on, and turns to fully face George.

"Would 'sweetheart' be better?" he asks, and George's mouth opens a bit. "Or 'baby'? I don't mid either, it's all about your preference."

George just stands, stunned into silence. Alex wasn't particularly planning to flirt like this, but something about George was sort of irresistible. Maybe it was his desperate way to emulate the kind of people Alex dealt with regularly and was sick of, and the way crisp vowels were still offset by the kindness in George's eyes. Maybe it was his pretty face and long eyelashes and full lips that looked very, very kissable. Maybe it was the fact that George tried to be as helpful as possible when Alex stumbled into the "Silver War" coffee-shop while on the run from his security detail and pretended he was there for the barista job.

Maybe it's just because Alex really likes how George laughs when he isn't pretending to be posh and proper, and likes the way he blushes even more.

"I..." George starts to say, then shakes his head. "Just... take the coffee to the customer, Alex. I'll clean up here."

Alex makes sure to brush against George as he leaves foe the front. "We'll talk about it, Georgie," he yells, laughing as he makes his way behind the counter. "Okay, I have a tripple espresso here, for -"

"Me," a familiar voice says. Alex sighs, meeting very familiar, very pissed off blue eyes. "The espresso is for me, Your Highness."

Alex grins. "Hello, Sebastian. I didn't know they'd call you in."

Sebastian's smile is very like the smile Alex saw in that shark documentary his sister made him watch. "Only in matters of extreme breaches of security protocol, Your Highness." His eyes narrow. "The car is waiting for you. Move."

Alex sighs again, untying his apron. He sees Carlos by the door and hopes he hasn't gotten him in too much trouble with Sebastian. "But I just got a job, Sebastian. I don't think it will reflect well on my resume."

"You won't have a resume if you don't move," Sebastian says, then adds, very pointedly, "Your Highness."

Alex opens his mouth, about to say something very witty, when a stuttering voice says "Excuse me, but, what do you mean 'Your Highness'? Alex, I - what?"

Oh shit, Alex thinks and turns to George, who kust have just gotten out of the kitchen. His eyes are wide and surprised, flitting from Alex to Seb to Carlos, his hands balled in fists.

"Uh," Alex shrugs, "I guess - surprise, sweetheart?"

George's eyes narrow.

Should've gone with baby, I guess, Alex thinks, but the pit in his stomach doesn't go away by his attempts at humour. He's pretty sure it has something to do with the genuine hurt in Alex's eyes. Fuck. I just hope they let me fix it.

[river-ocean]

I'm not one to need saving but I guess I'll give it a try

a piarles royalty AU ft. prince!pierre and event planner!charles

a very happy birthday to our most beloved @duquesademiel!!!! 🩷🐙🧜🏼‍♀️

happy birthday, sol!!! you are our voice of reason, one of the most brilliant humans i know, and a literal ray of sunshine in our lives. we love you so so much and we had so much fun writing this

you can read the fic on ao3 here

there's also a playlist here

pierre gasly/charles leclerc

40k | rated E

“Hello, Monseigneur,” Charles replies.

Pierre scoffs. “Please just call me Pierre.”

Charles finally takes a moment to look at Pierre. He is clearly very drunk, but even in this state, Charles can see that he is objectively beautiful. His blue eyes are hazy but still bright, and his brown hair is mussed but stylish. Charles thinks he can understand why people would claim to be his soulmate.

OR Pierre finds his soulmate in the event planner that he can't quite stop thinking about.

(a fic by @wolfiemcwolferson and i)

[inchidentally]

Crown Prince Lando AU idea based entirely on his appearance today in Italy for his trophy and Lawrence writing about how every team is courting Lando

okay so I wrote this rly fast on the work laptop and you have to just ignore the weird interpretations of how royalty and inheritance etc works. and completely fucking with how things went down in F1 history. it's an absolute mess and possibly unreadable but I literally couldn't stop myself.

if you're a fic author then pleaaaaase have a look and see if you can take this and actually make anything out of it even if it needs a lot of changes.

Crown Prince Lando has been fought over by nations since he was seventeen years old. His parents had retired from royal duties to live quietly in the countryside but a series of deaths and lack of heirs resulted in Lando living most of his life being prepared for ascension to the throne. His parents did as good a job as they could to keep Lando humble and "normal" while having to live a kind of sequestered monastic existence.

As he grew so did his future subjects' love and adoration of him. They loved his humor and his cheeky treatment of the solemn institution surrounding him. As he grew into being a beauty the country took endless pride in him and watched his exploits as a touring royal closely.

Fernando Alonso was the first to pledge his troth to Prince Lando because he could see the promise in Lando of one day becoming a truly beloved ruler - a quality he himself had found wanting in his own slow gathering of power. However he was persuaded early on by his advisers and Lando's parents to withdraw due to his 'already advanced age'. Lando's debut at court was postponed by his parents to prevent any other establishment attempting to lay their claim before Lando felt comfortable and ready.

The powerful Sainz Vázquez de Castro family swooped in next and arranged a series of public meetings between Prince Lando and their wicked (meaning "experienced") and devastatingly handsome son Carlos Jr. His charisma and dark eyes charmed Prince Lando immediately and a wedding date was set for the following year. Lando's debut at court was hastily arranged to happen mere days prior. Probably should insert something here about Lando being made to live this period of life in a guarded tower and attendants being present whenever he was with Carlos because chastity being required for marriage. And the only way to keep Carlos' dick out of Lando was the threat of a priest's guard cutting it off. But lbr they manage to sneak around well enough to do everything else.

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: Sovereign Prince Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former sovereign, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo's unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (and unable to become sovereign himself due to being a second son, again my weird rules). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn't bear the thought of being sovereign let alone of a land that wasn't even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders siezing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be King Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos' fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles' lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando's picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

Prince Lando is of course too heartbroken to consider other suitors and his court is demoralized by their own failure to seal his future. Only brash American tycoon Zak Brown keeps the faith that Lando's appeal as he grows will land him a better match than any Euro old money looking to aggrandize themselves and take advantage of Lando's youth to displace his rightful future as King.

A stroke of genius is the arrival of commoner Daniel Ricciardo whose rise up the ranks of society has hit more than a few speedbumps over the years. He's in the perfect position to act as placeholder and a sort of 'playmate' for the young Prince Regent. Daniel does the job of squiring Lando around and cheering him up beautifully. So beautifully that Daniel begins to see in his charge's wide eyes a future that he had only ever let himself dream of before. He begins to publicly push the boundaries of propriety with Lando like holding hands, embracing him from behind, dancing scandalously close together. The dam begins to break when Daniel opens a public social media account and begins posting adoring and fairly intimate videos of Lando that prove to be a massive hit with the public… and that fan rumours of the Crown Prince breaking with tradition and marrying a commoner.

Exeunt Daniel Ricciardo.

(Yes I know this isn't remotely his role but go with it) Newly appointed Lord Chancellor Andrea Stella proposes that only a candidate the same age as Lando - or ideally younger - should be considered to ensure that his claim to the throne be safeguarded. Because Lando hasn't spent the intervening years doing nothing but swooning over a succession of suitors, he's perfected his role and learned his court and won over the hearts of his people. He's effected harmonious relations with rival kingdoms seemingly effortlessly. The royal coffers have never been so full and trade is booming. Lando and his court all know that Lando could easily rule alone. But the fire that the now King of Monaco had lit inside him refused to go out. It begged to be fueled and to burn brighter.

Then one day Andrea hears a murmur of controversy happening in the middling levels of the aristocracy. The scoundrel Alonso had construed a match between one Oscar Piastri and Frenchman Esteban Ocon as a means of effecting his (Alonso's) escape and aggrandizing the Alpine dynasty. There were further details about a drama between Ocon and countryman Pierre Gasley but all that interested Andrea was that young Piastri had ordered a direct pronouncement be made against the match and any further association with Alpine. He had already rejected the opportunity of being presented at court and clearly had plans for his own future that would not depend on the protection or condescension of any other power but his own.

Imagine Andrea's surprise when Zak Brown announces at the next privy council meeting that preliminary arrangements had been made with young Piastri to be the Crown Prince's companion for the following season. A pretense at Piastri having an interest in royal politics was to be given to everyone, including Piastri himself. But Andrea and Zak shared a knowing look across the mote-stained light straining through the high windows of the old chamber. The Crown Prince barely even hears the details as he wearily signs off on the public notice along with the other endless papers at his elbow. He doesn't even dream that a wildcard is being played for his future happiness.

The eldest son of the prominent and noble Piastri family from Tuscany is suitably beautiful with the characteristic straight brow, fine pale features and soulful deep amber eyes of his people. He is tall and still growing with an effortless regal bearing despite his youth. The first few meetings between him and the Crown Prince are cordial and with a promising warmth. Andrea is encouraged by the pink that rises high on Piastri's pale cheeks whenever he shares smiles with Lando but he's even more encouraged by the steady intensity of his gaze when Lando isn't looking.

For the first few months, Piastri remains a faithful but distant part of Lando's royal retinue. They interact often enough and clearly like each other. But it also comes at a time of unrest in Lando's kingdom as a result of the ascension of an ambitious and possibly ruthless young King in the Netherlands. Lando proposes a visit to Castle Toro Rosso and asks Piastri to accompany them due to the Italian affiliation with the Dutch royal house. Something about Piastri's calm and quiet confidence helps stabilize Lando and he needs all the support he can get.

The visit is strained and the Dutch court is intimidating - and rather grating - in it's brash opulence and show of dominance. The young King is more of a mystery, seeming cold and aloof but flashing a wry smile at Lando's well-known charm and humor. The tide turns entirely in Lando's favor at the tourney. Lando has been barred from jousting following his formal presentation as crown prince due to some finicky archaic British law and it eats away at it him to have to sit and watch while the Dutch King was allowed to ride for himself. More than once Lando moodily pushes at the circlet that keeps slipping over his curls and can feel himself being increasingly bratty and short with his attendants.

Piastri was already reknowned for his prowess in jousting and was automatically given the seat to represent the Crown Prince. When he appeared mounted on a blood bay charger that gleamed almost golden and black in the hot sun (MCL colors kinda??) Lando has A Moment when Piastri tips his visor open and addresses him formally and those intense brown eyes behind the cold armor make him look so much older. Lando causes a stir when he descends from his seat and gives Piastri his favor in the form of a ribbon from one of his full sleeves. They have one of Those Looks between each other before Piastri turns to take his place. He bests every one of his opponents and isn't unseated once.

Then the Dutch King Max Emilian appears and strangely shuns any pageantry associated with a knight's entry, let alone a king's. His Lady sits in his place flanked by both her own and the King's powerful families and court. Lando finds himself suddenly flooded with fear because what would happen if Oscar lost? What would happen if Oscar won? When had he become 'Oscah' and not just Piastri?

The collision unseats both King Max Emilian and Oscar and they draw swords. The fight is precise and clinical and breathtaking. Perhaps it was because of having more to lose or perhaps it was the press of the Crown Prince's lips against the silk ribbon he gave as tribute but Oscar suddenly anticipates a step too far ahead for the young King and a unified gasp is heard when Max Emilian's body hits the dirt. It's instinct that has Oscar's sword held at the King's throat. But when Max Emilian throws his visor back his bloodied mouth is stretched in a wide toothy grin. He barks out a series of high cackles and ceremonially begs mercy. Oscar breathes out in a rush and claps his armored hand around the King's and helps him to his feet. Max Emilian flicks Oscar's visor open for him and lifts his hand declaring Oscar's well-earned victory. Lando forgets himself and leaps up yelling and cheering as his court smiles ruefully over at the stiff, formal "celebrations" coming from the stands opposite.

Holy god I've written way more than I meant to but let's have it finish off with Lando whispering to gain access to the tent where Oscar is undressing and cleaning his wounds. Perhaps his armor has been removed down to the hips the way driver's drop their race suits down after a race. Oscar startles when he sees Lando alone with him and rushes to kneel to him. Maybe Lando puts his hand under Oscar's chin and tells him to rise up and oh maybe seeing Oscar sweaty and dirtied with a cut to one cheek and a few bruises on his body makes him forget himself. Maybe he surges up and kisses Oscar and maybe Oscar is shocked but also feels exactly the same way and kisses him right back. Then probably Oscar decides to make his boldest move yet and says that if Lando doesn't want him then he'll quietly go away - but if Lando does want him then Oscar would welcome the title King Consort, would be proud of it in fact to be in service a king like Lando one day.

Then Lando either passes out because he's been in blue ball hell since Carlos and years worth of arousal hit him all at once or maybe he just whimpers a little and starts wondering how fast a royal wedding can get planned so he can Get That Dick ASAP.

Fin.

[detroit-grand-prix]

letzte rose - die traurige kaiser

Toto Wolff x Susie Wolff Royal/Historical AU

Chapter Summary: On a bleak November day in 1847, the Emperor of Austria, Christian I, goes about his usual routine. A visit from his advisor, Andreas Nikolaus Ritter von Lauda, brings grave tidings of happenings that even the Emperor was not aware of that threaten to shake the peace and stability of the entire country and its provinces. The news makes Toto, as the Emperor is known by close family and friends, that his self-imposed isolation has gone on long enough.

He was having that dream again.

It used to be his wife that he saw in his dreams, and it brought him great comfort in the miserable months following her death. But as the years wore on, the image of his wife became harder and harder to see, until he stopped being able to see who the figure with him was at all.

What used to be the clear, undeniable presence of Stephanie had been reduced to the feeling of delicate fingers caressing his cheek and smoothing back his hair. The scent of a delicate, floral perfume lingering in his nose. The reassuring weight of a hand on the small of his back. The feeling of a soft hand holding his. 

It always came with the feeling of relief, as the persistent loneliness that even haunted his dreaming life briefly dissipated, but whenever he tried to turn and look, to see the face of the angel who had deigned to save him from his isolation, there was never anybody there. 

He was alone again.

Every time.

— I fall at your feet, Your Majesty, good morning!

Toto snapped his eyes open upon hearing the words that Phillip, his Kammerdiener, greeted him with every morning.

He sat up, trying to rub the dust of sleep out of his eyes, as Phillip’s blurry outline coalesced into focus. He was in a deep bow, the oil lamp he was holding casting a delicate glow onto the walls of Toto’s bedroom. The sun was not yet up; it never was when Toto woke up, because he preferred to do so at an hour that most called “absurdly early”.

— Good morning, Herr Peter. 3:30 already, is it? — Toto said, trying to steady himself on his feet.

Phillip assisted him as he washed, shaved, and dressed. It was nice having Phillip to talk to so early, Toto had to admit, as he tried to ignore the dull pang of emptiness filling his chest that always followed when he had that particular recurring dream. It wasn’t on a nightly basis like it was in the months following Stephanie’s death, but once every few months now. 

Every time he had that same dream, it made him feel off-kilter, like a child’s toy spinning top that had been kicked off its point. He was hoping that reciting his usual morning prayers would help him feel centered again, as it normally did, but by the time his breakfast was served, he was still unsettled. 

Many in the court joked that they could set the palace clocks by the Emperor’s schedule instead of the reverse, which Toto thought was a fair assessment. He just preferred to minimize the decisions he had to make each day, is all - he had to make enough of them in the course of governing his empire, so he could not be bothered to choose what to wear or to eat or what time to wake up from day-to-day.

Promptly at 5am, his breakfast arrived, something else that varied little. One scrambled egg, one slice of grilled ham, a bit of cubed bacon, two slices of pumpernickel toast — toasted extra dark so that it was crispy like a cracker — with butter, a slice of tomato, and a sprinkling of salt on each, with a small mug of dark-roasted coffee, with a splash of cream. 

After his breakfast dishes were whisked away from his study, Toto got started on the pressing matters of the day: going through the reports and correspondences from various officials that were placed on his desk overnight. 

The rest of the palace usually stirred to life by the time he was halfway through the morning reading; not everyone was keen to wake up as early as Toto did, and that was fine. He found that sinking himself into his work was a good way to keep his mind off of other things. 

Even he had to admit to himself, though, it had gotten more extreme in the last few years. More than once, he’d found himself being shaken awake by his daughter, Rosi, having dozed off with his head on his desk, ink from whatever paper he had been reading smeared across his face. The last time it had happened, the concerned expression Rosi had on her face as she helped him to his bedroom had left him shaken for days. 

Toto was in the middle of reading a report about growing concern over a separatist activity in Buda — most of his correspondences seemed to be about Hungary these days — when the door to his study flung open to reveal the swiftly advancing form of Andreas Nikolaus Ritter von Lauda, one of Toto’s closest, most trusted advisors, trailed by a frantic aide-de-camp, who was shouting that the man — Niki, as most knew him — had to be announced before he could enter the emperor’s study. This episode played out every time Niki came in, without fail; he never stopped to be escorted in as most guests were, and his own military clout didn’t exempt him from the rules.

— It’s okay, Major. At ease. I will call if we need anything — Toto said, saluting the officer, who bowed and saluted back before retreating back to his post. 

Niki was an old friend of the family; his own grandfather had been an advisor to Rudolf VI. He was a hero of the Napoleonic wars who was badly burned during the Battle of Aspern-Essling when he was trying to keep the French from advancing on the village of Aspern so that its civilians could be evacuated. He was trapped inside of a house the French set on fire and sustained terrible burns to his head and neck trying to shield a civilian woman from the parts of the house that were caving in. He still bore the scars, decades later. 

An old military legend held that Rittmeister von Lauda had a priest summoned to what all assumed would be his deathbed in a nearby field hospital, but told the Father to “fuck off” as soon as the priest touched him with the anointing oil. 

Toto had asked Niki about that story once, wondering if it was just a tall tale, but Niki verified it himself, telling him that the priest tried to read him his last rites.“Goodbye, my son, may God grant you eternal rest”, the priest had told him. With a laugh, Niki told Toto that he thought the priest was going to give him words of encouragement to find the resolve to remain in this life, not try to send him off to the next. 

Niki also did not usually bother with the normal formalities and niceties of court etiquette, sparing only a slight bow in Toto’s direction as he crossed the threshold of the emperor’s study. Most people would be aghast at Niki’s curtness and rudeness, but Toto appreciated someone speaking plainly to him, as if he was any other person; he was almost certainly the only one outside of his immediate family that did.

— Did you see the news this morning? You and I make a prominent appearance.

— I was just reading the Wiener Zeitung, I didn’t see any…

— No, not in the newspaper. From the cafes. Here — Niki said, tossing a thick pamphlet onto the top of Toto’s stack of papers. It was one of the underground publications printed anonymously by university students and distributed through many of Vienna’s coffeehouses, made to circumvent the strict censorship laws set up by Chancellor Metternich decades ago. 

Toto pursed his lips as he unfolded the document, his eyes immediately drawn to what Niki was likely referencing.

It was a political cartoon, one that featured an especially unflattering caricature of Toto. The figure had an enlarged head, and exaggerated features. He appeared to be grinning stupidly as he was crouched on the floor in a dark room lit by a single candelabra. This version of Toto was wearing nothing but his underwear and his crown, placed jauntily on his head. Sitting next to him was a large rat, dressed in a military uniform laden with medals and a sash with the words “Von Lauda” on it. The fur around the rat’s head and ears was missing, and it had a sour, hardened expression on its face. The rat appeared to be pointing at a tattered map of the Hungarian province on the floor. 

The caption read, “The Emperor and his pet rat plan the strategy for Hungary”.

Toto stared at the image for a few moments. The likeness was humorous, and its appearance in the papers was hardly surprising, and certainly nothing Toto hadn’t seen before. The rest of his advisors generally tried to keep material like it — the things that were overly critical of his reign, his family, the government, or the church — away from his sight, but Niki was one of his few that would never spare his feelings.

— Well — Toto said, glancing up at Niki — At least they made my nose the right size this time.

— I think they made me look better than usual — Niki said, donning a satisfied grin — It’s like they aim to flatter me.

He had long drawn comparisons to a rat, but at least, he had always said, it was more about his appearance than his character. In his younger days as a hotshot military officer, Niki had an especially prominent overbite, long front teeth, and an intense, piercing gaze that, even to his own admission, looked rather murine. His features had balanced out over time, between the scarring and age. His cheeks became more paunchy and made his overbite look less obvious, but the comparison had become intractable over time. 

— Joking aside, there is something serious to take from this — Niki said, taking off his trademark navy top hat. He generally did not remove it in most circumstances, as it hid the worst of the scarring from his wartime injuries, but the bright red trim ribbon made it his trademark. Over the years, Toto had noticed that he only took it off as a gesture of absolute sincerity — The fact that you and I are sitting in the darkness in this… drawing is no coincidence. I am sure you know that your citizens are growing increasingly unhappy with the government. It has been a long time since the people, your people, have seen you in public, and the perception is you are not the one governing, that Metternich is, and you’re just a figurehead, and a poor one at that.

— That’s not, I do plenty of governing, and that’s what I’m interested in, not putting on a show.

— Like as not, you are a symbol for the empire, but a symbol that sits hidden in the darkness is not worth much. You’ve been isolated so long that all of the goodwill you have earned with your people is evaporating because of the way Metternich has been handling things.

Toto sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

— I know you’re not wrong, but… between you and I, all of this was easier with Stephanie. She was so kind, she could naturally connect with people in a way that… I’ve never felt like I have been able to, but with her, it felt like all of it was manageable. The people loved her, you saw how many people were lined up for her funeral procession, the streets were nigh impassable for days.

— So, do we need to find you another wife, then? Someone to hold your hand and sweet-talk you while you do your job and rule your own country?

Toto gave Niki a deadly scowl. 

— Have you been talking to my mother? You sound just like her — he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling like a little boy being scolded — I don’t need a wife.

— Well, you need someone to help you with your obligation to be visible to your people again. Why don’t you ask Rosa? She’s old enough, and she’s a lovely young woman, everyone that knows her adores her, and she’s as magnanimous as her mother was.

The mention of his daughter made Toto’s expression soften a bit. 

— She is, but I don’t…

— The point is — Niki said, standing back up — You need to see and be seen amongst your people again, because Metternich is guiding the country down a dark path, and you’re the only one that has the power to stop him before your citizens gain a taste for blood. I know you were not yet born at the time, but I’m sure you remember what happened to your great aunt Maria Antonia in France not so long ago.

He picked up his hat, placing it back on his head with a flourish that may as well have been the period at the end of a sentence. He exited Toto’s study the customary way — never turning his back on the emperor — with a short, sharp bow and a curt “Your Imperial Majesty,” before letting the door fall closed as he left.

Toto sat at his desk, frozen and dumbstruck. He glanced at the official portrait of the royal family that was hanging on the wall opposite his desk. It was painted when Rosi had just turned three, and Benedict five, as a birthday gift to Stephanie. He looked at it often; though the pain of his wife’s death was no longer quite so acute, he found that talking to a canvas-and-varnish version of her would sometimes help with examining a problem or question he was puzzling through, as if it were a means to externalize it.

He stared at his wife’s pleasant smile, as if at any moment, she would start giving him the answers to the nascent questions that were rattling around his head, but of course, none came. 

The portrait hung silent, as it always was.

He found it difficult to focus on his paperwork after that, but the chiming of his clock in his study told him that lunch would be served soon, anyway. 

While he ate breakfast alone in his study, he liked to take his lunch in the family dining room in his apartments. They were still solitary affairs; the only time he ate with others was during dinner. Most nights, he had dinner with his children and his mother, and on Sundays, the entirety of the extended imperial house gathered to dine; it was important to Toto that his relatives attend if they were in Vienna, but he didn’t know why. 

He sat at his usual place at the head of the table, where his place setting was made, and his daily menu was waiting. Toto’s tastes in food were not extravagant, but just like his breakfasts, he had his preferred meals. Official dinners with foreign diplomats or important guests meant that French food was served, but for his own meals, he much preferred simpler Viennese cuisine. Wiener schnitzel and Tapfelspitz were among his favorites, but today, he opted for brathendl — roasted chicken breast — with a side of roasted potatoes and carrots, and a buttered, seeded roll. 

Niki’s words continued to echo in his head as he was eating. The rest of the contents of the pamphlet surprised him. The newspapers and his advisors both offered glowing reports of the stability and peace of the Concert of Europe, but the pamphlet contained news of brawls between soldiers and civilians in the face of military draft commissions, economic recessions, food shortages ongoing in some areas, and the independence uprisings in Hungary, which he was aware of. 

How had he not heard of this happening? Chancellor Metternich would have been well aware…

— That weasel — Toto muttered. Niki may have been the one that looked like a rat, but Chancellor Metternich was the one acting the part. 

Niki was right. His isolation kept him in the dark, and kept it so the only information he had received was the information that the chancellor and other palace officials wanted him to receive. No wonder Metternich or his other aides never complained about him reducing his public-facing duties in the last few years.

— Frau Julia — he said, getting the attention of the attendant that stood by during his lunch each day. She seemed a bit startled. It wasn’t often that Toto had spoken to her beyond a nod of acknowledgement when she brought his meals to the table — Please, come here.

— Yes, your Imperial Majesty? — she said, stopping to curtsy once she was within arms’ length of Toto. 

— I have a question, and I want you to answer as honestly as possible. You need not fear any sort of censure or repercussions no matter what your response is, so please, be as thorough and truthful as you can be. Do you understand?

The woman — a compact, slender woman with red hair and brown eyes — nodded tentatively. 

— Yes, your imperial majesty.

— How do you think things are going… how do I say this? Politically. I’ve been made aware of some situations that I was not aware of, and I wanted to get your opinion, as one of my subjects and a citizen of the empire. Please, be truthful.

The woman’s eyes went wide in shock, and she quickly shifted her glance toward the parquet flooring, her fingers tightening their grip around the edges of the tray she was holding.

— Well… things have been difficult, Your Imperial Majesty. The grocers don’t have as much food as they used to, it seems like every day you hear about someone’s husband or son being forced into the army and sent to Hungary to fight, the farmers have staged a few protests… and it seems like so many people are going hungry, even though they put in a full days’ work. I’m grateful for the fact that I work in Your Imperial Majesty’s service, because the kitchens provide enough food that I can take home enough for my daughter and me to eat well, but my neighbors haven’t been able to afford meat or sugar in months…

Toto listened thoughtfully, stroking his chin. 

— I see. Thank you for your insight.

— If it helps, the university students that make those pamphlets and talk about politics and the law, they say it’s mostly the Chancellor’s doing. I know Your Imperial Majesty has a good heart, but they, the students, say that he’s the one really in charge of things.

He nodded thoughtfully, thanking his attendant for her insight.

— You’ve given me much to think about — he told her, which seemed to bring Julia a small measure of satisfaction and pride. He made a mental note to himself to have his private secretary arrange to have a small gift for her daughter, a bag of sweets, perhaps, sent to her home later that week. 

The rest of the day was lost to Toto as he wallowed in his thoughts. He leafed through documents that had already been reviewed, trying to read between the lines, grasping for the truth hiding under the half-lies fed to him by his advisors. He considered summoning Metternich directly to confront him that second, maybe even dismissing him outright, but he had been in his position so long that doing so threatened to destabilize the entire country.

No, the present situation required delicacy, and the sort of confident statesmanship he’d found that he had a talent for in his late teens and early twenties.

But the Emperor Christian I of then and the Emperor Christian I of now may as well have been two different people entirely. 

[skitskatdacat63]

I meant to write more for a pt 2 lore post earlier but didn't end up doing so, so pls take these AU sketches(Mark & Jense and then some assorted sketchies)

[iamred-iamyellow]

-𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕-

♡ SYNOPSIS - you are the princess of monaco and your ex, lando, is prince of england. your family has been into f1 for a very long time, turning you quickly into a fan. this prompts lando to buy mclaren after your break up, just to spite you. you weren’t even able watch your favorite sport without seeing him, causing you to match his pettiness and buy a team of your own. 

♡ PAIRING - prince!lando norris x fem!royalty!reader

♡ STATUS - ongoing

CHAPTERS: 00. Something That I Want 01. Better Than Revenge

↳ MAIN MASTERLIST

[scrollonso]

Crazy In Love (Masterlist)

A Strollonso AU where Fernando succeeds the Spanish throne and makes it his goal as king to make the Prince of France his groom.

Meeting

Murder

Marriage

Moving

(tbd)