#reward point: lance

[cheriladycl01]

Qatar Heat - Grid x Driver! Reader

Plot: Everyone has a hard time at the Qatar GP, most needed medical attention once the race finished, some drivers retired and some continued even though they threw up in their helmets. What happens when the female of the grid, who already struggles with body temperature regulation finishes the race?

It was Thursday, which was media day in Qatar which meant that right now you were walking round the paddock in shorts and your Aston Martin Team top.

"Lance, hey are you okay?" You ask your team-mate. You'd known him since last year as the reserve driver for Aston Martin, Seb wanted you to take his place after retirement.

"Yeah, its just so hot. And Henry's still making me do training" he complains.

"I know but think we got the ice bath's later!" you grin excited to have the ice bath. After a hot day of training it was like a reward. So you did your ball exercises and you did a track run for the media team. Afterwards you were about to lay down on the track ground but it was blistering when you put your hand to it.

"Tires are gonna get shredded" you complain a little out of breath to Jessie your personal trainer.

"Can we go get water and smoothies now?" You ask and Sid one of the media guys who had followed you around today nods. You guys get out of the sun before running into the garage and collecting as many people's orders from the garage as you can.

You bring everyone back what they wanted on a tray. Sid filmed you the whole time, so he could upload it to the Tik-Tok saying that the new Aston Martin waitress is pretty cool. And another one joking that you can always fall back on waitressing if F1 falls through which you found hilarious.

"Okay, Lance Y/N. Ice bath time!" Mike Krack informs you both. You go into your driver room changing into your bikini that'd you'd brought with you. You pull the Aston Martin polo back over, feeling as though it would be odd to walk out the back of the motorhome in a bikini.

You see the cameras on you and immediately smile. You go up very close to the camera.

"Hi guys, i felt awkward coming out in just my bikini so Aston Martin Representation!" you whisper before stepping back and poking your thumbs at your top to show them what you were talking about, as if it wasn't obvious.

Looking to your left, Lando, Oscar, Alex and Logan were also all doing icebaths out the back of the motorhome too.

"Looking good boys" you shout after wolf whistling in their direction, they all laugh having finished their icebaths coming over to you and Lance.

"Come on" Alex gestures you towards the ice bath. You roll your eyes pulling the top over your head and passing it to Alex, he steps back looking at the other three boys who are shamelessly staring at you.

You were the current youngest on the grid. 21 years old, so Oscar, Logan and Lando all took a liking to you, not only because of the age similarities but because of your sense of humor.

"Ready Lance, you ask your team-mate whose shirt was just pulled off and handed to Mike who was helping the social media team.

"Lets make this interesting. First to fully submerge wins"

"That's not exactly fair your from Canada...okay your on" you shout and before anyone can blink your jumping into the ice bath. Your up to your thighs before you watch as Lance starts to sink down. Not even thinking about the cold you just force your whole body down. You can feel the cold all around your hair as it floats up and you can feel the cold water on your eyelids.

You come back up with a gasped breath before looking over at all of them.

"Who won, it was me right?" you say with your eyes blown wide as Lance emerges.

"Yes, but your fucking crazy" Lando laughs looking at the smile that comes across your face.

"Hahaha Suck that Stroll! I win" you say looking over at him.

"Ohhh you know what we should do" you say looking over at the camera that was still pointed at you.

"We should do a thirst trap of me, so people can edit me on TikTok!" you exclaim and Oscar chokes, while Logan and Land laugh as your started to lean back in the bath, running your hands through you hair.

"Y/N how many times have we talked about this" Your PR manager exclaims trying to stop the admins from filming.

"Oh come on its what they want!" You exclaim.

After that night, you went out for food, a healthy meal of course that Lance payed for as the looser of the bet.

Friday First Practice was good, you'd come in 4th just behind the two Ferrari's and Max.

Qualifying was just as good, you were starting in 4th next to Lewis, with George and Max ahead of you for Sunday's race and that was locked in. It was exhausting, you were boiling but you pushed. Lance was angry with the car performance and got angry at Henry, you were shocked to see and hear what happened when you were still driving and scolded Lance, before nearly fainting from being dizzy.

Again, you did the ice bath dinner and slept.

Now to focus on Saturdays sprint. You did well in the first two sprint shoot outs. But ended up retiring the car in Q3, starting in 9th position.

You were so faint for the whole race. Today, it was hotter than all the other days. Your fireproof felt more clingy to your skin than usual and the water in the car was heating up quicker than it normally did.

At one point during the sprint race the water was so disgusting to drink you actually spat it out in your helmet on reflex.

You finished in 8th gaining 1 point for the team who congratulated you. You stayed in the car as you pulled into the garage for a minute before you stripped of in the garage down to tank top and your underwear. You sat on the cold garage floor, head in your hands as you panted, looking for breath.

A team member brought an orange juice up to you, tapping you on the shoulder to which you shake there hand and thank them for the gesture.

You sip it slowly, not wanting to gag like you had before.

"How you doing sweetheart" Mike comes up to you, everyone in the garage had reported to him, how red and beat up you look coming out the car. You look at him and nod.

"It's always been harder for me" you laugh looking up at him wiping the sweat from your forehead before it falls down into your eye.

"What do you mean?" he asks crouching down so he's at a similar level to you.

"I mean, you've probably never checked my medical papers right. And women struggle with heat more than men anyway but my body doesn't regulate its temperate that well... so I've always struggled with being hot in the car but this is next level" you sigh to him.

"Are you going to be okay to race. We can get Drugovich to fill" Mike says concern filling his face as he can tell your struggling from the speech pattern and labored breathing.

"No i promise I'll be okay and I'll bring us home points" you smile.

I'm going to go congratulate Oscar on his Sprint win. You smile before holding you hand out for help. He helps you up and you trot over to Mclaren pulling the taller male into a hug the minute you see him.

"You did amazingly Ozzie" you grin, still holding onto him.

"Hey! I did well as well" Lando interrupts and you roll you eyes before turning to look at the man baby behind you.

"Yes yes, well done on P3 Lando Norris" you grin pulling him towards you and hugging him. He hugs you back before lifting you and squeezing you making you groan at the harshly shown affection that you were used too.

"How you feeling about tomorrow starting P4?"

"I'm hoping for a podium with my boys" you grin, pulling them both in, one arm round each of them.

"With us starting P6 and P10. I doubt that" Oscar groans, knowing he stuffed up Qualifying the other day, along with his team mate.

"Never say never. Tomorrow's going to be a hard race for everyone"

Sunday was the day that everyone struggled as you'd said.

Max actually ended up crashing out, and after coming back on the track, the car didn't have the pace it had from the start of the weekend.

"Come on Y/N, win in rookie season will look amazing. Keep holding. You've got Oscar behind 2.3 seconds gaining and Lando behind him. 3 laps left" you engineer inform.

"Guys the heat's really getting to me" you voice but its barley recognizable through the radio.

"Not long left, just push until the end" the engineer says but his voice waivers, he could tell you were struggling but unlike Logan who retired early on, lap 40 and with only three laps left there was no point especially when you were this close to a win.

"I - I know" you waiver, you control the car, speeding up trying to get this done as quickly as possible.

Martin Bundle - AND IN HER ROOKIE SEASON Y/N Y/L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2023 QATAR GRAND PRIX

"Guy's I need to get out this car now" you cry, tears forming in your eyes.

"Okay copy that"

"I cant move" you cry, the only thing that was able to move from your body was your hands which were shaking.

"We're sending pit crew to help" your engineer says. You see race marhsalls come up to your car, where Oscar and Land pull up alongside you. They both jump out hugging their team who were stood their waiting for them both. They turn to congratulate you thinking you'd be there next to them with the Aston Martin team but see you still sat in the car.

"Oh my god, she's shaking" Oscar says looking closer at you.

"She's in shock, from the heat" Lando says running over Oscar behind him.

"Y/N hey hey hey. Its okay its okay" Lando says flicking up your visor so he could see you. He honestly could have cried at the sight. He saw you looking so exhausted and out of it, the tears in you eyes and the sweat underneath them mixed.

"Come on baby lets get you out" Oscar voices, pulling Lando back by the shoulder and leaning down into the car, putting his arms under your knees and the other behind your back before lifting and pulling you out the car.

"Can we get a cold towel over here" Lando shouts which makes your head dizzy. Oscar sits you on the car wheel, pulling your helmet off, and then your balaclava. You were extremely red in the face but he still thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

So did Lando, he had for a while, and he would always flirt with you when you were the reserve Aston Martin driver. But he cared for you, and seeing you like this pulled at his heart strings.

"You did so well today darling" he compliments. He pulls back your hair that was sticking to your face, doing it in a low bun so it wasn't tight but was out of your face and off your neck.

Lando unzips your race suit, pulling it down off your shoulders so your in your fireproof top before laying the cooling towel around you neck.

"Just breath" he smiles at you handing you and Oscar an icy bottle of water than was handed to him by his team. They got you to the cool down room where you sat on the floor with your back against the wall and your cheek resting on the cold marble.

"Great race guys. Said I'd have a podium with my... my boys" you smile, before you feel the urge to throw up. You get on your knees grabbing the bin before spilling the food you'd eaten before the race into the bin. Oscar sits next to you rubbing your back.

"Come on lets go get weighed" Lando sighs. Oscar goes first, the you and Lando watches the figure seeing you'd lost a whole 6 kilograms which meant that you'd lost 9 over the whole weekend. He, Oscar and Logan would all have to go out for a big meal to all put the weight back on.

The podium was amazing, first place and sharing a podium with Lando and Oscar had never felt better. It was a shorter podium as they wanted all of you to seek medical attention. You were eventually declared to have heatstroke and were forced on home rest in a nice a/c-ed room and lost of Peach Ice Tea's.

One thing for sure was you never wanted to race in Qatar as this time of the year again.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle

[badsongpetey]

Lance talks Hunk into going with him to find a secret waterfall deep in the forest, rumored for it’s pure, clear water. As they walk thru the dense foliage, Hunk stammers, “They say it’s… haunted.” Lance scoffs, “That only means we’ll have the place to ourselves!”

After hours of hiking, just when they're about to give up and admit the waterfall was some kind of wilderness myth, the trees part and before them is something out of a movie.A gentle waterfall splashes down a mossy, flower-covered cliff side into a pool of water so clear and pure, that if it weren't for the sunlight sparkling off the surface, it wouldn't even be visible.

Lance crows, triumphant, and tossing off his shirt and shoes wastes no time cannon balling into the center of the pool.

"Lance!!" Hunk shouts when Lance resurfaces, "We need to test it first!"

Lance huffs and throws his arms in the air, splashing Hunk. "Dude! My MAN! Look at this, it's pristine! And fucking WARM! Must be some hot spring. GET IN HERE!"

"NOT until I test it. YOU might not mind spending the night barfing up a lung from some weird secret waterfall bug, but I do." Hunk sighs and removes his pack, crouching down to rifle through it to find his test kit.

Lance huffs again, but resigns himself to letting Hunk be Hunk, and tips to float on his back in the buoyant water. Closing his eyes he thinks this is the perfect reward for all that hiking, it's possibly the most relaxed he's ever been in his life.

That is until, "LANCE!!" Hunk whisper-shouts at him.

Lance cracks open one eye to look over at his friend. "Don't need to shout, right here."

"Lance, who's that??" Hunk visibly blanches as he points to something behind Lance.

"Har har, very funny, stop stalling..." Lance mutters as he spins to find himself nose to nose with... something...

[earl-grey-teacake]

Omg we need the Fernando Aston Martin story! It would be hilarious like just imagine George trying to convince Logan that he should drive for Mercedes but Logan doesn’t even know what he is talking about and because he practised his lines with Fernando he does not agree😂

Sorry it took so long 😅

******

"Logan, what's your favorite team?" George asked, his eyes laser-focused.

Unlike his father, Logan was more preoccupied with the green cap in his arms. "Aston!" He yelled, holding the cap up with the biggest smile on his face.

The response did not elicit the same effect with George sighing and Toto looking displeased, a silent "fix this". Lewis seemed quite amused at the situation, already texting Fred to get a team kit in kids size for Logan.

"No, it's Mercedes. Can you say Mercedes?" Stress evident in George's voice.

"Mercedes!" Logan smiled and pointed at the Mercedes logo in the engineer's room.

Lewis leaned over the table and asked, "Buddy, who's your favorite driver?"

Logan paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, his face pensive. "Alonso!"

"Ugh!" George put his head in his hands.

It was bad enough he foolishly let Fernando babysit Logan, "something something bonding with his nephew". Logan had come tottering back, happy from an exciting game of tag and lots of $200 Japanese grapes, going on and on to Shov, Marcus, and Bono about how "Aston was so fun" and their "Car is really fast" and the most egregious of all, "Aston is the best!" "Alonso is the best!"

Some of the engineers smiled while Toto's frown deepened. Lewis laughed, "Why? Why is Alonso your favorite?"

Like being asked to recite the alphabet, Logan recounted the script Fernando had him memorize, earning a fancy grape as a reward for each line he recited perfectly. "Alonso is the bestest driver in the world. He is fast, and cool, and really smart. He is better than the grid.”

Each word was slow, methodical, and said with a smile. Logan looked up expectantly at the crowd, clearly expecting a reward or praise for his perfect recitation.

“I’m going to kill Fernando!” George scowled as James Allison started to look at the upgrade package, deciding on what could be implemented for the next race that would leave Aston Martin in the dust. The others returned to their work, emboldened by a sense of either deep competition or revenge.

“Logan, come here. We’ll leave everyone to do their work” Toto called out. Logan hopped off the car and followed him, the green cap in hand. Maybe with enough treats, Logan can unlearn whatever ridiculous thing Aston Martin taught him. If Mercedes needed to fly in expensive fruit from Japan, they can write it off as a business expense.

Official F1 Group Chat [official use only]

George: watch your back Fernando

Lando: Woah

Max: ???

Charles: is this an official thing?

Carlos: what happened?

Alex: George

Fernando: what did I do?

George: you know what you did! Lance too!

Lance: What did I do?

George: brainwashed my son into an Aston Martin fan

Lando: 😧

Charles: 😮

Max: 😨

Carlos: 😬

Lance: it’s not brainwashing! He just saw the truth😎

Fernando: 😎 no regrets

Lewis: to the brainwashing?

George: I’m sending you both into a wall

Alex: George

Lando: bit of an overreaction

Fernando: Soon Oscar will see the light that is Aston Martin

Lando: Stay away from my son

Carlos: 😨

********

Thank you for the ask! I had a lot of fun answering this!

[suckmyballshoney]

Cant believe some peeps are so deep in their hate they cant stand the 30 lance fans having fun and being happy for just a day, guys we KNOW he won’t really be wdc (as if fernando freaking alonso will let him see that day before him) and we KNOW newey won’t build the best car in the world in 5 months like cmon

It’s part of the process of being a force-point-racing-aston-india-martin fan, you start with hope, you get immediate reward, then you fall down the pits of hell, then some miracle of extreme luck takes you to the point of mass hysteria and then it all goes to shit, wash rince and repeat

We been there for years, we know what we're doing, go back to be a normal person and let us live in our perfectly constructed fantasy thank you

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 12

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

Roger: Kate, I got good news. A new Cursed One may have been found!

Kate: Hey, don’t just burst into my room without knocking!

I pulled the front of my blouse tightly over my chest and glared at Roger.

Roger: You were in the middle of changing? My bad.

(...You don’t look sorry at all)

Kate: It’s fine. Just give me a second.

I turned away from him and finished tying up my blouse. I sighed and turned back to face Roger.

Kate: So it’s true that a new Cursed One was found?

Roger: Yeah, it’s true. Last night, a young man named Lance Brown was arrested for sneaking into a butcher’s shop and eating the meat. Here’s the important part. When he was about to be arrested, he made all the police officers faint just by hugging them.

(That definitely sounds like a Cursed One’s ability…)

Kate: That’s not something the average human can do.

Roger: Yeah, that’s why I’m thinking there’s a high possibility it’s a Cursed One. Apparently when Victor heard about it, he paid for his release, and ordered him to provide information in return.

(As expected from Victor. Making the necessary investments…This is the palace’s Grim Reaper)

(Even so)

Kate: Hehe, you look happy, Roger.

Roger: Of course I am. Cursed ones are born all over the world, but there aren’t that many to begin with. Just meeting them is a valuable sample. Besides, plenty of Cursed Ones die without even realizing that they’re cursed.

From what I read in Roger’s research, because the existence of Cursed Ones isn’t public knowledge, many commit suicide because they think there’s something wrong with them, turn to crime, or get falsley accused like Alec was.

Kate: I think there’s a lot of happiness in this world we don’t know about. However, there’s some misfortunes that happen when you don’t know yourself. But… It would be a shock to suddenly go out and tell someone “You’re a Cursed One.”

Perhaps it was because of his rational personality, but Roger had a habit of being too direct.

A pro was that he was to the point and easy to understand. A con, well…that.

Roger: When I was a kid, I said something so suddenly to Alfons that it left a lasting mark on him. I won’t make the same mistake again. We’ll see how things go when we go see him today.

Kate: “We” are going to see him?

Roger: What are you so surprised for? You’re my assistant aren’t you?

(Well, according to the robin growth map…)

(I remember the promotion going from dogsbody -> dog -> assistant -> partner -> lover)

So I guess I’ve ranked up from dog to assistant.

Kate: Though I returned all the materials you let me borrow, I never said I read through them all…

Roger: You didn’t need to. You’re not the type to demand rewards or recognition for your work. But I know you’re a hard worker that never skimps on things.

That honestly makes me happy

Thank you +4 +4

I’m uncomfortable 

The sudden compliment made my cheeks warm.

Kate: …Thank…you.

Roger: Hm? I didn’t hear you.

Kate: Thank you! And don’t lie about your hearing.

Roger: Haha. Come on, I got a carriage waiting. Let’s go, Kate.

Kate: Wait for me Roger!

Clothes already changed, I rushed to shove my notebook and handkerchief into my bag before following him.

Kate: Huh, but…We can’t let outsiders know we’re Crown. What do we say to him?

Roger: Leave it to me. Well, I’ll need a lot of help from you too.

(Huh…—?)

--

And so Roger and I went to see the young man who was arrested last night for sneaking into a butcher’s shop.

Roger: Nice to meet you Lance Brown. I’m Roger Barel, a doctor. And this is…

Kate: I’m Doctor Roger’s a-assistant, Kate.

Roger: We’re employed by the royal family. Our job is to interview criminals and provide support in a healthy rehabilitation. Right, Kate?

Kate: Y-yes! So I hope we can chat without being too formal.

(Another appropriate lie, even if it is to hide Crown’s existence…)

While I was worrying over taking part in a lie, Lance hung his head apologetically.

Lance: No, I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused. They saved me by paying for my release. I’ll tell you whatever I can. I don’t want to commit crimes so carelessly again.

Roger: Then let’s start with drawing some blood…

Lance: Drawing?? Blood??

Roger: Yeah, I need to draw blood for mental stability.

(More appropriate lies)

However, knowing what Roger’s trying to achieve, I couldn’t blame him for lying.

After that, I continued to help Roger gather information on the Cursed One under the guise of an “interview”— 

(That’s…?)

Suddenly, I noticed a painting in Lance’s art studio.

Kate: Lance, you’re a painter, right?

Lance: Ah, yes. An amateur…

Taking a look around the room, I saw a couple of canvases on easels.

Kate: Most of the paintings are of landscapes. Ah, but there’s some portraits too…

My eyes were drawn to a portrait of a red-haired girl.

Kate: …Beautiful. Is she someone important to you, Lance?

Lance: Huh.

Kate: Ah, well…even with untrained eyes, I could tell a lot of care was put into the painting.

Lance: …Yes. The young lady is someone I like. She works at a bakery near the studio…

Lance pointed out to the street from his studio on the second floor.

Lance: I always watch her from here.

Roger: So you don’t even know this lady’s name?

Lance: I’m embarrassed to admit it…

The simple-looking Lance blushed.

Roger: You’re wasting time hesitating. Just go talk to her.

Kate: That’s terrible advice! This is why you’re inconsiderate.

Roger: Oh, as expected from a teacher who claims that she can teach me about being in love. How would you go about it, Kate?

Kate: Me?

(We’re not here to discuss this…)

Kate: I’d start with seasonal greetings and then gradually work my way up from there…

Roger: …Huh, that’s no good. With your method time will go by in an instant and they’ll end up in their graves before they know it.

Kate: Wha?!

Lance, who had been listening to our conversation with wide eyes suddenly burst into laughter.

Lance: Pfft, hahahaha! Ah, sorry. I was so nervous given how you work for royalty, but you two are so…charming.

Roger: I’m charming? Artists have a strange way of seeing things.

Kate: Hehe.

Lance: Sorry to stop the fun advice you’ve given me, but…I’m fine with the way things are. I’m just happy watching her from here. …If I just watch her, my love won’t hurt her.

Lance muttered and then turned to us with a smile.

Lance: But enough about me! I’m sorry for asking this out of the blue, you two are lovers, aren’t you?

Kate: Huh?

Lance: You two appear to be very close and you don’t act like coworkers…am I wrong?

Kate and Roger: You’re wrong!/That’s right.

Lance: Oh dear, who should I believe?

Kate: Ugh, what are you even talking about, Roger?

Roger: Don’t get all shy just because we’re in company.

I started arguing with Roger again in front of Lance, who just smiled in mild amusement.

Kate: Lance, don’t believe a thing he says. Believe me!

Lance: Ahahaha!

-- 

After chatting with Lance, we got back on the carriage to Crown Castle.

Roger: Hey, hey. Don’t pout. I’ll buy you some jerky.

(Jerky is a treat for Ale…)

Kate: Stop treating me like a dog. Geez…you’re always saying the most random things.

The pointless arguments continue all the way back to Crown Castle, but…apart from that, Lance sincerely answered our questions.

Kate: Roger, Lance really is a Cursed One, isn’t he?

Roger: I haven’t seen his ability in practice yet so I can’t say for sure. Moreover, even if you saw the ability, you can’t say for sure what the curse is.

Kate: Why is that?

Roger: You know why this has become known as “Fairytale Curses”. Novelists and playwrights around the world created works based on existing “Cursed Ones”. It’s said to be what started them off.

~~ Flashback start ~~

Roger: It’s said that the origins of various fairytales were based on these “Cursed Ones”. But nowadays, it’s reversed and we refer to it as the “Fairytale Curse”.

~~ End flashback ~~

(That’s what I was told when we first met)

Kate: Um, so…let’s say Lance is cursed. Are you saying we don’t know if the curse exists in a fairytale?

Roger: That’s right. As expected from my assistant, quick on the uptake.

He ruffled my hair.

(It’s annoying how happy I get even when this is something you do to a dog…)

It felt like he was training me and while I hung my head feeling frazzled, Roger called out to me.

Roger: So…What do you think? Anything about this make you suspicious? 

(Roger felt it too)

Kate: Lance was arrested because he was found sneaking into a butcher’s shop at night and eating the meat right? But Lance didn’t seem like the type to so easily commit a crime. Besides, the paintings on display had papers taped on them indicating that they were to be sold. As we were chatting, he brought up receiving commissions. So he’s not living in poverty…

Roger: And look at the paint. It has the royal warrant of appointment.

Roger held up a used tube of blue paint.

Kate: Huh, you just took that without asking? That’s wrong…

Roger: Wrong? We’re still villains in Crown. We can’t protect anything by doing things the right way.

--

The moment we arrived back at the castle, we went straight to Lord Elbert’s room.

I thought that someone like Lord Elbert, who collected beautiful things, would understand the value of the paint.

Elbert: …This paint certainly is a first-class product of the Royal Warrant. Also…I heard that Lance Brown’s paintings have caught the eyes of nobility.

(Lance is a famous painter…)

Elbert: As you two have discussed, I don’t believe he’s struggling financially.

Kate: I thought so…

When I guess turned out to be correct, new suspicions formed.

Kate: Then why did he steal from the butcher’s shop that night?

Elbert: If he is a cursed one…Then perhaps it has to do with his curse.

Kate: His curse…?

Elbert: The sin of a Cursed One is far more powerful than you could possibly imagine. My cursed sin is greed…Sometimes I crave and crave, and the rational side of me can’t resist the urges. If he’s also tormented by his own sin…

Roger: I’m betting on a high possibility of that too.

Elbert: You haven’t told him that he’s probably a Cursed One, have you?

Seeing our expressions, Elbert’s long eyelashes lowered melancholically. 

Elbert: …If that’s the case, then you should tell him as soon as possible. I believe self-awareness is a way to protect yourself.

Roger: Yeah, I will. Thanks El, you were a big help.

Kate: Thank you, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: No problem. Roger’s done a lot for me.

Ocean blue eyes looked out at the sky through the window.

Elbert: It’s going to rain…tonight.

What Elbert said was true. It started raining that night—and the day after.

We then heard that Lance had passed away.

[jadeazora]

A new message from the Masters team is out!

Starting Aug1, you'll be able to invite lono as a Guest to the Trainer Lodge, if you've teamed up with lono & Bellibolt first.

They've made adjustments to improve the Main Story's PML Arc by revising its number of battles, as well as its overall rewards. As a result, you'll now be able to obtain around 15,000 more Gems and get loads of items for training as rewards by completing the PML Arc. (If you've completed it already, it'll just give you the items and gems automatically.)

A Sync Pair Scout will become available for 72 hours only once you complete the Champion Stadium on Normal and unlock Hard Lv. 1 difficulty. This Sync Pair Scout includes Fair-Exclusive Sync Pairs that are available up to Jun16. By using this Sync Pair Scout x11, you can receive lots of useful bonus items for raising up Sync Pairs. If you've already unlocked Hard Lv. 1, the scout will become available for 72 hours once you log in starting July 31, 2024, so please check it out!

New story content titled A Leader's Role, a Challenger's Struggle will be added as the final entry to the Mysterious Stones Chapter on Aug1! Lance trains with Alder and Clair in preparation for a tournament. Once Benga arrives, he tells the three Trainers that they haven't been thru enough! You'll need to have collected a total of 900 Mysterious Stones to unlock this story's area.

Story Event Ultra Beast Meet-and-Greet will begin on Jul31! This event will have a new format. By collecting Event Points as you complete battles, you can obtain various rewards.

Here's their overviews, starting with Elio and Stakataka, a Rock-type Support Sync Pair, with their EX Role being Sprint. One of their Passive Skills raises their Defense and Sp. Def by six stat ranks the first time they use a Trainer move each battle, making them an extremely durable Sync Pair. In addition, they can create Alola Circle (Defensive) by using a Trainer move and create a Rock Zone by using their Buddy Move. On top of that, another Passive Skill of theirs can raise all allies' Attack and Sp. Atk by one stat rank when Elio (Alt.) & Stakataka activate a field effect. Their Ultra Endurance! Trainer move restores all allies' HP by approximately 20% of their maximum HP and applies the Gradual Healing effect to all allies.

And now Selene and Nihilego, a Rock-type Strike Sync Pair. Their EX Role is Tech. One of their Passive Skills can lower all opponents' Sp. Def by two stat ranks and leave them poisoned when they use their Acid Move. Also, their Nihil Meteor Beam Buddy Move gets more powerful the more the target's Sp. Def is lowered, and it can lower the target's Sp. Def by one stat rank when the opponent is poisoned or badly poisoned (combined with their Passive Skill, Sp. Def is actually lowered by two stat ranks). Note that their Buddy Move makes them get ready to attack. Using this move again will cause them to leave this posture and attack all opponents, but when a circle applies to the allied field of play, the preparation period will be skipped and they'll attack right away. They can use their Trainer move to create Alola Circle (Special) too.

The mention a new Legendary Gauntlet, a new Ultimate Battle, and the return of the Sinnoh VA events for mid-August.

Next update/message comes out late-August.

Edit, here is the event schedule:

[wickedfang-sso]

Am I the only one who thought the lance we get upon being knighted would be an actual item we get in our inventory? Like idk how we'd use it, but I was under the impression that somehow we'd be able to carry that lance around outside the jousting arena whenever we wanted after 'claiming' it.

What's the point of displaying it as a reward and having a 'claim' button if we don't get anything? Am I missing something?

[heliads]

i've got my money on things going badly

Lance Stroll should be delighted to watch his sister get married, but the only heart he's thinking about is his own. The one Fernando Alonso broke.

masterlist

To Lance, weddings are a kind of performance art. He’s gotten somewhat good at them ever since he was younger, when the Strolls were invited to everything. His father would get caught up in knots of expensive men wearing expensive suits, lost in business talks for hours, but Lance could slip away the second someone blinked, go find his sister disguised in a coat closet somewhere and talk about Pokémon or cable TV or something little kids like best. 

Now his sister is the one getting married, and, enfolded into someone else’s party of groomsmen, Lance has absolutely no chance of hiding, excessively large coat closets of the elite be damned. He likes Scotty, really he does, even went to the trouble of presenting him to Chloe as a potential husband in the first place, but ceremonies are always long and Lance, as per usual, is tired of it.

He should be good. He should like this. Weddings are wonderful ceremonies. You can appreciate them for the expensive decorations and myriad artistic decisions that go into them, if not the fact that they’re basically just one extended celebration dedicated to the love of your close friends and family. 

Lance is here for his sister and her future happiness with her recently declared husband. This should be an excellent day, and it has been, along with the rest of the wedding festivities that have been going on for ages, but now that the sun has set and he’s still here, starch-stiff in his dress suit, wishing he could go but knowing he can’t.

It’s not even the wedding’s fault, really, it’s just that Lance can’t stand spending so long thinking about the bliss of someone else’s love when he’s just lost one of his own. His sister is twirling in a white dress, a woman who hasn’t stopped smiling in hours, and Lance is standing in the shadows of this rosy glory with just one name on his mind.

Fernando Alonso.

It’s foolish, what this has done to him. Lance waved goodbye to Seb last year and told himself that he could look forward to another good relationship with another world championship teammate. Fernando would be challenging but rewarding as another Aston Martin driver, or so the motorsport gossip pages had told him.

What no one counted on was just how Fernando would make Lance feel. Not even Lance can do a good job of that, not really. There are no words in English or Spanish or even half-and-half lighthearted Spanglish that can sum up how Lance’s ribs ache like they’ve been bruised from sentences alone. 

He had not meant to love Fernando; hell, he wasn’t even sure he did until the abrupt ending, but now Lance is choking on the words he never got to say and wondering how he’s meant to pick up the pieces of a heart that was only ever Fernando’s to break. Lance was supposed to stay professional, and he didn’t, and now he’s the one suffering for it. So it goes.

It didn’t take much, actually. Four months to fall. One month to break. Now he’s standing alone in the corner of his sister’s wedding, hoping for an escape that doesn’t seem willing to come his way. He’d been stupid, thought he could take too much, but is that really his fault for trying? All his life, he’s been told that he could be anything, do anything, have anything, and now he’s found that limit and it hurts like hell.

It’s not like anyone told him that the meter on Stroll luck and expectation would fall short when it came to one Spanish two time world championship winner. Well, that’s not true. Esteban had tried. Lance had not listened. He cannot even say for sure that he should have, because Lance had been very happy up until the point when he wasn’t.

It almost makes sense that the whole affair was conducted over such a short period of time. Lance is impatient, he likes doing things fast. It’s why he was able to become a Formula One driver. It’s why he set his sights on the man most likely to break his heart and cut the brakes before either of them could back out of it.

And it was just. Fuck. Hands on shoulders on the backs of necks on waists. How Fernando kept whispering in his ear, so close he could feel the other man’s breath hot on his neck, even though/just because it made Lance h— they were on camera the whole time. It didn’t matter. They wanted what they wanted and they got it, too. 

Or, Lance had thought they had got what they wanted, and then he had dared to ask for a label for the unspoken thing he was sure both of them felt, and everything was lost for good. It was the end of the Miami race weekend, and Fernando was drunk on the glory of another podium, happy enough that Lance felt certain that he could have the conversation he wanted without it going sour.

They had been hanging around one of their driver’s rooms– which one, Lance can never tell, they kept swapping door to door until even the labeled placards felt like a joke of hospitality’s courtesy. Sprawled out on a couch, so close that Lance couldn’t stop staring at how their legs kept touching whenever he breathed too hard, he’d felt absolutely crazy with the knowledge that this was his.

Too much of a good thing can make you foolish, convince you that things will be that good forever. Lance had laughed to himself, then turned to Fernando with a grin. “We’ll still be like this next season, right?”

Fernando had given him this look as if he were being intentionally difficult. “Yes, Lance. My contract will not expire for another season. I will be on the grid.”

Lance had shaken his head. “No, duh, I mean like, hanging out like we are now. You know, like us.” 

Lance doubts he could have packed more meaning into that one syllable if he tried. He’s heard Fernando refer to the unbreakable us before too many times to count, like when they’re coming back from a bar late and Fernando, eyes dark and heavy, promised him they’d have fun like that again, just us. Or, scoffing at the other driver lineups– they’re not us, you know. They don’t get along as well. One hand on Lance’s shoulder, fingers digging into muscle, the others could never get along as well.

Fernando had cocked his head to the side, curious. “What do you mean? We’re teammates.”

Lance had rolled his eyes. “Yeah, obviously, but like, there’s more. You know that.”

The space between them went silent. He should have taken that as his first warning sign if nothing else. Fernando had cleared his throat carefully and said, “What else would there be?”

Lance can still imagine the cold feeling that had descended upon him, spreading from the back of his throat like ink. What else would there be? It was impossible that he could have misread every single signal, every touch, every unspoken word. Unless, of course, the hidden meaning he dedicated so much time to channeling had never been there at all.

Lance had waved his hand vaguely. “But we were– you know, we did. Things.”

Fernando’s expression was impossible to read. “Did we?”

It was condescending and pitying and Lance hated it, all of it. He felt like a boy again, small enough to watch his voice disappear into the stillness of an uncaring room. He’d shot up from the couch, pushing out the door and away before anything else could happen. If anything had happened at all, or if it would, that is. Apparently, Lance has made a habit of picturing things that didn’t fucking exist.

Now he’s left spiraling like he survived a bad breakup, but you can’t have a breakup if there was never so much as a spark in the first place. It’s impossible that Fernando could have missed it all. Impossible, that Lance could have simply invented it. He knows what he felt, he knows what Fernando did, but none of it was worthy of a single word of acknowledgement from the other half of two seemingly perfect parts.

He wants to scream and throw up and put his phone down for longer than ten minutes at a time. There are many, many things that Lance had wanted to tell Fernando, and it’s only now starting to occur to him that he’ll never get the chance. I wanted to transform. For you. I wanted to be good. You made me want to be better. 

It’s foolish for him to be thinking of things like this. Lance is a young man. He’s got time for his heart to grow up and even out. Maybe in a decade or less, he’ll meet some perfectly nice young woman, someone his father would approve of, someone with country club connections that won’t rival his own (who can) but could at least keep up with the game. They’d have a manicured front lawn and two docile children, including a son to keep up the Stroll legacy. It would be normal, it would not break his heart like this. It would be very dependable.

Lance doesn’t want dependable, though, he knows it as he thinks it. He wants wild, unpredictable, insane things like falling in love with your teammate and letting him convince you that he’d settle down for you. Lance wants to be the reason someone so used to choosing themselves chooses you instead. He wants Fernando, and he wants no one else.

This is a difficult thing to think about at a wedding. Across the crowded event hall, he can see his sister, happy and secure in the knowledge that her husband is hers, legally and emotionally. There are scores of couples smiling up at each other, content that their love is theirs and no one else’s. 

Lance stands alone, tapping his foot to the beat so he doesn’t look like a complete loser. Every time someone looks over at him, he wants to shout that he’s fine, actually, this is fine, he doesn’t need someone the way that everyone else seems to, but they glance away again before he can properly vocalize this.

The DJ spins another song, the beat drops and the dance floor shakes appropriately from a hundred stomping feet, and just when Lance is certain that he wants to give up and really tries in earnest to look for somewhere to go, the crowd parts and Lance sees him.

Fernando. Here. Impossible. Yet that’s still a glint of hickory eyes he’d know anywhere, even distorted by swimming shades of party lights. Lance feels physically immobile as the man who cannot possibly be his teammate skirts couples and friend groups, and then they’re standing in front of each other and even though this cannot be, it is, and this is the first time Lance has seen him since the argument.

Lance stares at Fernando, jaw dropped comically. He has the harebrained thought that he’s glad the only camera nearby is the one in the hands of Chloe’s Vogue-ordered photographer; if this was the paddock, he’d probably end up as yet another stupid reaction image, giffed into oblivion until not even Lance can recognize his face when he sees it again.

If this was the paddock, seeing Fernando wouldn’t be such a surprise. If this was the paddock, Lance would not feel the absurd urge to run, because Fernando would already be gone, separated by an impenetrable wall of PR officers and personal trainers and anyone else he could shove in between the two of them.

Instead, they’re in one of the rare quiet patches in the wedding reception hall, and Lance is watching Fernando watch him, and slowly, deliberately, Lance forces his mouth to shut enough to ask, “How did you get in here?”

Fernando chuckles, teeth flashing in the uneven lighting of the dark hall. Lance has taken to ranking his teammate’s grins on a sliding scale from closed lips to a shark’s predatory display. This one is somewhere in the middle, hovering between quiet and pleased. Maybe even real. 

“I bribed Daniel to get me past the door,” he says.

Lance casts an outraged look across the dancefloor until he catches the Australian attempting to foxtrot with Scotty. They should both be at least passable at it, but both men keep trying to lead, then follow, then lead again, endless cycles of not-quite-right. 

Daniel somehow feels Lance looking– twitchy, isn’t he, has been all day– catches sight of Fernando standing in front of him, and grins apologetically. Bastard. If Lance gets him for grid Secret Santa, if Daniel manages to make it back onto the grid before December, he’ll have to actually try this time. Lance might owe him big for this.

The DJ starts a new number, cueing flashing lights that cascade from the blinding storm on the dance floor to faint rays out here where the two of them linger in the shadows, occasional flashlight beams sent out to catch them.

Lance swallows hard, watches the LEDs dye Fernando’s hair with undertones of Renault yellow, Ferrari red, Aston Martin green. If he were in the mood to be honest, Lance would admit that he’s been looking at Fernando for a while, actually. Not just since Fernando joined his team, before that, too. Long before they were teammates, when Lance first started racing in Formula One and he was eighteen and Fernando was thirty-five, a fact that makes him shiver down to his toes every time he thinks of it, which is– more often than it should be, for certain.

Now that the issue has been solved of how Fernando managed to get past the security guards Chloe swore were unnecessary and Lawrence swore he wouldn’t hire, plus the overeager wedding planners and racing fans stuck outside the gates with iPhone cameras, Lance pivots to a new question, one far more important.

“Why are you here?” Lance asks cautiously. 

He knows what he wants to hear, of course, but he can’t let himself get his hopes up just for them to be dashed yet again. This is not his wedding, of course. Fernando could be here to corner some Aston Martin engineers or strategists if they won’t return his midnight calls. He could even be here for Danny, which would explain why the Australian went to the trouble of letting him in, and he’s just stopping by Lance because he got caught while trying to get drinks. 

That thought makes Lance’s stomach twist in angry knots, and he’s only calmed from saying or doing something rash by Fernando’s following words, quiet in the dark but full of a lasting power.

“For you, Lance,” he says, “I came for you.”

God. Lance has spent the whole day witnessing lavish displays of affection, but for some reason it is seven simple words that makes him come undone. He stands there, stock still, and Fernando asks hesitantly, “Is that okay?”

It reminds Lance of how it had been before everything went south, when they were both dancing around a truth both ugly and glorious, that teammates do not stare like they did, that coworkers should not use getting drunk at an Aston Martin post-race celebration party as an excuse to keep their hands on each other, that Fernando didn’t keep interrupting Lance’s interviews to place his hands on Lance’s shoulders and whisper in his ear that he was Fernando’s hero just to get Lance to react like he always did. Not something he was supposed to do on camera, but neither of them could stop.

It is like the very beginning. Fernando, infiltrating Lance’s garage to lean down over the edge of the halo of Lance’s test drive and grip his gloved hands. How’s the car? Fernando, stopping by Lance’s driver’s room to hug him around the shoulders, cold and damp from the champagne that was still soaked through his race suit. I saw you out there. It was good, no? We are good? Fernando, with his hand on Lance’s leg when they’re supposed to be paying attention in a dry and stilted meeting with no one’s eyes on them for once. Can I? Is it alright? 

Lance never said no. Even when his breath caught in his throat. Even when he knew he was just sinking further into a pit he would never be able to escape. The falling was the best part, anyway.

“Fine,” he says at last, “Dance with me, then. If you want to talk, we dance. I’m sick of being a wallflower anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow impetuously, daring Fernando to make the next move. If Fernando’s actually serious about being here for Lance, he won’t mind this. He won’t mind the chance that someone could see them together and start to speculate. If Lance is anything other than a backroom missed connection, they should be able to dance without worrying.

Fernando nods once, accepting his challenge. He places one hand on Lance’s waist, the other on his waiting hand. His grip is strong, but not agonizing. Just a reminder that Lance will not be able to leave easily, not unless Fernando is satisfied that the situation has been handled as he planned.

Here, locked in the vise of another man’s arms, Lance thinks about how deeply he’s let himself get enthralled in Fernando’s way of doing things. He likes pretending that he’s the one in control, that Fernando is here to win him over, but the second Fernando’s hands are on him, Lance cedes that last bit of power over to him. Fernando does it easily, like a habit. It probably is.

Esteban warned him about this, after all, how easy it is to get sucked in. Lance, however, does not mind Fernando’s trap in the slightest. The rabbit must learn to love the snare. The bird likes its cage when the gilded bars keep it safe. 

“I was thinking,” Fernando begins.

“Always a good start,” Lance quips.

The hand on Lance’s waist tightens momentarily, a warning. Lance kind of wants to mouth off some more to see what the resulting action would be.

“I was thinking,” Fernando repeats, “that I may have gotten something wrong. I did not want to rush you, Lance. We have a lot of time. Being hasty can cost you.”

Unwillingly, Lance’s mind flashes to driver’s meetings, planning sessions with his engineer. Being a driver is knowing the difference between when to push and when to plan. Fernando  may have spent a lot of time guarding his pace, but Lance gets the feeling he’s finally ready to go for the trophy, the fastest lap. To sprint and never look back.

“I don’t want you as just a teammate,” Fernando continues. “I had not realized you thought we were past that. It would have sped things along, I think, if I had.”

“I thought we had plenty of time,” Lance comments.

“We do,” Fernando says smoothly. “But that does not mean I want to push this off any more if I don’t have to.”

“This?” Lance asks, feeling like he’s parodying that fateful conversation from so long ago, “And what’s this?”

Fernando meets his gaze coolly, calmly, and then he smiles and changes everything. Night brown eyes go caramel. “We have something better than anyone else, Lance. I do not want to lose it.”

There’s a sharp, triumphant streak in those words. Fernando Alonso has always been on a different level from everyone else. Hearing that he considers Lance on that distinct pedestal as well– it makes Lance lean into his touch a little more, and the last of his guard drops away.

“Why’d you tell me differently earlier, then?” He can’t help but ask. “You could have said you wanted me then.”

Fernando sighs, looks away. “I didn’t know I wanted it then. I didn’t count on how it would feel to lose you. I know now. I don’t want to feel it again.”

Across the room, they’re starting to cheer and shout from the center of the dance floor. It takes Lance a few moments to realize that the applause isn’t for the two of them but for the newlyweds, Chloe and Scotty, who are leading the group in an exuberant rendition of I Wanna Dance with Somebody. Lance thinks that it wouldn’t be entirely unfounded for the cheering to be for him, though. He feels like celebrating now.

And, when he looks back, Fernando’s lips are on his. Lance stumbles a little, and Fernando’s hand slides up his spine to catch him before he loses balance. It’s easy. It’s victorious. Lance never wants to let him go.

Fernando’s breath is hot against his throat, sending Lance into a feverish spiral. “I’ll see you in Monaco,” he whispers, and then he’s pulling away.

Lance watches him leave, but for once, it’s not a sad feeling. Instead, the emotion currently crashing through Lance’s bones is more one of anticipation. This is not the end, just the beginning. Fernando turns once, smiling at him before disappearing in a crush of people. Lance’s chest feels cold where Fernando’s hands had once been, but his heart’s racing enough to make up for the lost heat.

A voice by his shoulder; his sister, who has somehow fought her way through the crowd of well-wishers to find him. “Was that your teammate?” She asks, frowning.

Lance gazes softly at the place that had once been his. “Yeah, it was.”

Chloe tilts her head to the side with a frown, considering this. “Is something going on there?”

“Yes,” Lance answers her. Chloe looks like she wants far more of a response than just that, but Lance just laughs and helps her back to the dance floor. He will have plenty more days to explain it to her. After all, Fernando was right. They do have plenty of time.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[formula1fanfiction]

Lewis Hamilton / Lance Stroll

Title: Oh, so there will be a next time?

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton / Lance Stroll

Characters: Lewis Hamilton, Lance Stroll

Prompt: I would love a fic about Lewis Hamilton x Lance Stroll. A bit of tenderness and smut. Bottom Lance Stroll.

"Hey, Lance. Just wanted to check you were okay, after your crash?" Lance raises an eyebrow, of all people knocking on his trailer door, he didn't expect it to be Lewis Hamilton.

"Physically I am, fine you can leave now." Lance makes a shooing gesture with his hands. Why can't he just be left alone to wallow in self pity. "But not mentally?" Lewis leans again the door of the motor home.

"No, not that it's any of your business, the rest of you don't understand how hard it is for me. Every little mistake I make, it's always he's no good, he's only here because Daddy pays for his seat. It just gets brushed away when it's everyone else." Lance's anger fades away, to sadness and he can't stop the rogue tear falling down his cheek. "Sorry for crying, it's just really frustrating."

"I think you're pretty amazing." Lewis cups Lance's cheek and the younger one can't help but lean into it. Lewis steps into the room, then kicks the door closed behind him.

"What do you actually want Lewis?" Lance's eyes widen as Lewis' eyes meet his own, then flash towards his lips. Lance really shouldn't have been caught by surprise, he was half expecting it but he gasps into Lewis mouth as their lips meet. It's a soft, gentle kiss their lips lazily moving together. Lance enjoys it much more than he though, especially when Lewis' tongue, pushes inside of his mouth and explores.

"What's going on Lewis? Is this going somewhere?" Lance catches the smirk on Lewis' face, his hands move from his back, and squeezes his arse through his shorts. "Do you want it to?"

"Yes." Lance squeals because at that moment, Lewis pushes him back onto the bed. Lewis jumps up on bed, covering Lance's body with his own and presses his mouth against Lance's for the second time. The kiss isn't passionate or hard just a soft sensual kiss, while the two of them have their mouths locked together Lewis traces the outline of Lances' jaw and lightly squeezes his cheeks. He breaks away with a smile. "I enjoy kissing you."

"I was hoping you were going to fuck me, not keep kissing me." Lance jokes, reaching over for the small tube of lube he leaves on his night stand. "I think you need to be naked for that." Lewis jokes pouring a generous amount of lube onto his fingers while Lance uses the time to take of his clothes, only laying down once fully naked.

Lewis settles himself in between Lance's wide spread legs and soothingly strokes his thigh as he pushes the first finger inside. "That feel, okay?" Lance gives a little nod, gasping as Lewis twists his finger. There isn't too much resistance, he wastes no time in adding a second one.  

"You take my fingers so well" Lewis soothes his hands down Lances's toned thighs and started to move the fingers in and out of him. Lance can't help but groan, Lewis is so talented with his fingers.  

Eventually Lewis has four fingers inside and thrust in deep enough to rub over Lance's prostate, giving him a little reward for taking his fingers so well, although it's becoming more annoying than romantic at this point and Lance is about to ask for cock, when Lewis slides his fingers out. "I think you're ready for me."

"I think i've been ready for a while." Lewis chuckles, pulling away from Lance to pull off his pants and boxers, before rolling on a condom.

"I want you on your back, I want to look at you while I fuck you." Lance wraps his legs around Lewis' waist. "Come on then, give it to me." Lewis takes his hard cock into his hand, giving himself a few light strokes before pressing himself against Lance's hole and pushes inside.

"I just want to make you feel special." Lewis pants, peppering kisses over Lance's face as he gives him an inch at a time. Lance can barely concentrate on anything other than the burn in his arse hole, it feels amazing.

"Fuck." Lance throws his head back into the mountain of pillows as Lewis finally bottoms out. He stalls, giving Lance plenty of time to adjust. "Fuck Lance, you feel so good." Lewis groans as Lance clenches and unclenches around him, he's more than ready just to get going now.

"I'm ready Lewis." Lewis gently squeezes Lance's hips and starts to move. Lewis sets a steady ready, not too hard but he thrusts deep, filling up Lance completely without hurting him anyway, Lance has never felt so amazing, so full.  He wants to beg for more but at the same time it's nice having someone treat him so tenderly.  

Lance isn't expecting the kiss this time, just a soft one against his lips. "You deserve this Lance, you are so special, I just want you to feel so special, fuck you how you deserve." That's the moment, Lewis hits his prostate and waves of pure pleasure rush through his body, it feels amazing, he needs more of that.  

"More, please more." Lewis chuckles, angling his thrusts to hit his prostate for a second tome. Lance groans, fisting the bed sheets, arching up his hips to meet Lewis'  as he continues to hit his prostate with every thrust.

"Fuck, fuck feels good." Lewis presses their forehead together, their eyes locking together. "You're so beautiful Lance, the whole world should appreciate you." Lewis slides his hand down Lance's stomach and grabs his cock, stroking him to the same pace as his thrusts.  

Lewis really knows how to make Lance feel amazing as he  massages his balls while he filling him with the deep thrusts, a little bit harder but harder now, still hitting his prostate with every thrust. Lance mewls as his orgasm takes over "fuck, Lewis" Lance cries out as he comes all over his own stomach and Lewis hand.

"I'm so close Lance." Lewis fucks Lance through the waves of his orgasm, as he searches for his own. He speeds up his thrusts a little bit, not too hard just more erratic. He's so close, he only manages a few more thrusts before his hips stutter and come to a stop. He groans loudly, as he comes into the condom, Lance can feel the warmth of it through the condom.   

Lewis eases his cock out of Lance's hole and collapse down at the side of him. Lance props himself up on his elbow and looks over at the older man. "What was that all about, George on his period or something?"

Lewis chuckles. "No, I knew you were feeling down and just wanted you to feel special, I hope I did make you feel special." Lance smiles, he feels a little warm and fuzzy inside.

"As nice as it was, you don't have to fuck me like i'm a damsel in distress next time." Lewis smirks. "Oh, so there is going to be a next time?"

[coeluvr]

genuine q from a dev pov: what is the point of cultivating a positive relationship with lance? like we know mc will never be as important to him as luceris so in terms of reward, is there something to look forward to? idk if emotionally it would be fun to play knowing at the end of the rainbow lance isn't really committed to the mc and politically idk what weight he can pull for mc's cause. like is the cathartic point we pull the one person luceris loves away from him? because like even he doesn't believe love lasts so it's like it would it really hurt all that much? lance has pined for years i think he can like die pining (lh)

I feel like I have to start off by saying this story is less about strategy and more about relationships and emotions.

From a strategic point of view having a positive relationship with Lancelot can feel rather unfulfilling so I don't doubt that cunning MCs would rather not engage with him lol. There will be plus points of having a positive relationship with him but they're not many.

Lancelot serves to me as more of a "bring out emotions from the readers, boy" lol and I generally like the whole "good person, bad decisions" thing and it's something I do quite a lot with many characters.

He's the first person and for a while the only person that treats MC with genuine kindness but he's also not on their side if we think more politically so it's just me being me and torturing our poor MC because as a child it is so natural to be drawn toward even a hint of kindness. MC can accept it or reject it but I think either choice is impactful and builds MC as who they are.

I think you're thinking in a very strategic way so I understand your "concerns" and I'll say if you want him to pull his weight politically then he's not the person you're looking for since he's quite literally just a knight and will be of no use unless it is to tug at Luceris' heartstrings.

I also feel like I have to mention Lancelot will not be appearing for a long time after chapter 4 so don't think of him as a key player in everything until toward the end.

[nerdasaurus1200]

A little snippet of Curses!-Journal Edition, a thread with @tangledbea inspired me to flesh out the idea a little bit. And @frozenwolftemplar and @twotangledsisters you guys might like this too.

~~~~

“There it is, everybody! Lombard’s Pass!” Rapunzel announced. She quickly stood up on the caravan seat and pulled her journal out to sketch it. “I gotta say, of all the passes we’ve been on so far, this has to be my favorite.”

“You said the same thing about Sparrow Pass, Blondie.” Eugene teased. He was starting to grow a little uneasy as the pass began to narrow out. Even poor Fidella was on edge, she didn’t make any protest when Pascal hid in her mane. To ease himself, Eugene wrapped an arm around Rapunzel’s waist. Just in case they stumbled, she’d have someone to keep her from falling off the caravan.

“Well yeah, but check this out! It’s like those really old marble games my Uncle Peter likes to play!” Rapunzel pointed out, “See those swaying rock stacks?”

“Those rock stacks are some of the most dangerous in the Seven Kingdoms.” Cassandra reminded, “Nobody’s ever crossed them with a caravan this size. Ugh, I knew I should’ve brought my lucky halberd head for this trip.”

“Okay, so the Pass is a bit, erm….” Rapunzel trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Horrifying?” Hook foot piped up, holding a lucky horseshoe in the direction of the pass.

“Stomach-churning?” Lance added.

“Most likely destination for an early grave?” Cass continued.

“I was actually gonna say risky.” Rapunzel finished, “But it’s gonna feel so rewarding when we finally cross it. And plus, if we wanna stay on the black rock trail, the pass is our best option.”

“Besides, we don’t need anything lucky to get through this, gang!” Eugene piped up, “We’ve faced way worse now than some shaky pile of rocks! We make our own luck!”

“That’s the spirit, Eugene!” Rapunzel cheered.

“Are…are you sure Cass’s maps don’t say otherwi-“ Hook Foot attempted, but Cass cut him off, “Lombard’s Pass. End of story.” which earned a loud exasperated groan from him and Lance.

“Man, this is just like my mom described it, Eugene.” Rapunzel marveled, “She said that the whole thing is naturally occurring, all made of sandstone!”

“That’s…really great, Sunshine.” Eugene faked a smile. Honestly, Eugene was happy that Rapunzel was excited, but sandstone was hardly the most trustworthy rock.

“Raps, would you sit down? You’re freaking me out, you’re gonna fall.” Cass fussed.

“Hey, don’t worry, Cass, i’ve got a hand on her.” Eugene reassured. As if on cue however, suddenly the caravan crashed into a rock. The impact was so great the entire caravan shook. Rapunzel tried to find her footing on the bench, but her heart stopped when she felt her hand was suddenly empty.

“My journal!!” She cried. She scrambled to grab it in time, but it was already flying down the cliff.

“Uh oh…” Cass cringed in sympathy.

“Oh man, Blondie, I’m so sorry.” Eugene held Rapunzel by her waist as the caravan stopped.

“That journal was a present from my mom on my coronation day!” Rapunzel bemoaned, “Okay…okay, if we split up we’ll find it faster. Hook, Eugene, you guys help me find it on the ground.”

“I’ll have Owl fly around for it, maybe it could’ve landed in a tree.” Cass volunteered.

“And I…will supervise!” Lance declared.

“We’ll search for that journal as long as it takes Princess!” Hook Foot declared, “Even if it means we never, EVER cross Lombard’s pass! Ever.” Eugene glared a little; Hook Foot seemed a little too content to stop.

“Sunshine, I hate to say this.” Eugene hopped off the bench and strode over to Rapunzel, “But we should probably move on. I mean don’t get me wrong, the journal was a nice gift. But the pass is gonna take us hours to-….she’s already down there isn’t she?”

“At least it was the journal and not the telescope that she dropped.” Cass pointed out, “A fall like that would’ve smashed it to pieces.” Then her eyes lit up in realization, “Oh! But with a journal it’s paper and leather! Way less likely to be broken or torn apart! Even though that was a really really long fall.”

“….yeah, leave the optimism to Rapunzel, Cass.” Eugene snarked, “I’m gonna need to borrow your climbing daggers.”

[dizzyduck44]

Let’s have a little chat about how McLaren is sitting on a golden egg.

Lando was the best rookie I’ve seen in the last 10 years. (Here comes the backlash).

He got into Q3 in his first race, scored points in his second. Rarely crashed or made mistakes. Hardly ever got knocked out in Q3 and by the first race of his second year was on the podium.

Brendan, Kevin, Pierre, Max, Lance, Esteban, Charles, Alex, Nicholas, Mick, Yuki, Nikita, even to a certain extent George were a bit crash happy in their first season. Talent was there, just a bit too eager. (Charles was the most naturally talented rookie I’d seen since Lewis, so don’t think the above is hate on any of them). Sergio was far too aggressive straight out the gate. Sorry I don’t even remember Carlos’ rookie season so I don’t think it was outstanding or dire, we were just all watching Max crash into people every other race. Stoffel I want to say never got a real chance as the car was a wheelbarrow, but a year later Carlos and Lando were dragging the car into the points regularly so who knows.

Zhou had an impressive first season. Nothing spectacular but solid and Alfa didn’t need more sponsors to cover his front wing costs (sorry Alex).

So then we come to this years crop. Logan is good, but not at the level of Alex that is clear. Nyck. I’m really not sure. I want to say the car but I have no real idea.

Then there is Oscar. The only rookie with points. Makes very few mistakes. Even though the car is awful, has made Q3 a fair number of times. The best qualities he has. There is very little in pace difference between him and Lando. I think one point this weekend he was 7 thousandths up on Lando. (Daniel we loved you but this is all we really wanted). However my favourite quality is when Lando does “Lando things” and drags the car into places it shouldn’t be, Oscar’s attitude seems to be, well he didn’t die so I’ll try it.

Ok Lando couldn’t buy luck this season so that may be making Oscar look better than he is, but something tells me, he is the real deal.

The fact there is about 18 months between them and they are 2 of the youngest on the grid makes me think, whilst the results don’t back it up currently, McLaren do in fact have the best driver pairing on the grid. Somehow McLaren cherry picked the best two rookies in a decade.

I think we have drivers who can dominate without team orders and even when they are on the back foot. Please god reward them a car to do so.

[honeyflower-bellybower]

Coalition!Lance AU really saves my life everyday I think

Thinking about him taking over Allura's work and being insecure that he can do it at first but slowly settling into the role. He begins just as a helping hand but quickly becomes a point of reference for everyone (all the planets leaders and every Coalition member) because he may not realize it but he knows his stuff. He is battle smart and always thinks things through because he's so scared to mess up. Always puts others first. In a matter of months everyone's in silent agreement he is the leader.

He's very busy but happy. He gets to be both a hero and Allura's legacy. He gets to bring Voltron's goal forth and liberate all the people who are still under regime. He rarely gets out in the field himself, since he's always required in meetings and ceremonies, but his experience makes every mission successful.

Small detail, but very important: Coran is at his side, and notices all the similarities between Lance and Allura. His princess lives on in him. She would be proud. Coran surely is and often gets emotional when no one is looking.

With Lance as its leader, the Coalition also secures the best form of collaboration with the Blade of Marmora, thanks to his friendship with Keith.

Keith refused becoming the official leader of the blade, but of course he kind of became anyway. He's one of the best fighters and has vast battle experience, which quickly make him the center of every action. He's strongminded and capable of keeping a disperse amount of agents together. Plus, his personal relationship with the Coalition head makes him always involved in logistics, large scale strategy and decisions.

Gradually but in relatively short time, they become two of the most important figures in the liberation front. Their lives are full, always on the move, but rewarding. They are tired but content.

The only downside is they hardly get to see their friends and family. It's not like their first disappearence during the Voltron experience (they keep in touch with everyone) but it's sorta like being very important diplomats. It's hard to be home for the holidays and birthdays when the Universe is counting on you.

They share this fatigue. They share a lot, actually, both of them being the center of attention not because they wanted to but because they were needed. Their friendship somehow grows, even though they only see each other at official meetings and Keith hardly attends any. But they resonate.

They start keeping in touch mostly because it's handy. Why sending mountains of paperwork when you can videochat your buddy and explain? But it quickly becomes their way of letting steam off. They start calling each other every night. It's always super late when they both clear all of their full schedules, but they never miss a day.

It's not like they have anything to tell each other most times. They just, talk. For the sake of it. Tell each other their days or random stuff they think about. Often they're too tired to make sense of anything. Often Lance rambles about office gossip and Keith listens, or better, he listens to his voice, and if Lance's eyes weren't so bright and beautiful his own would drift closed. Often Kosmo is in the room with Keith and he pets him and Lance says he misses Kaltenecker, and Keith laughs because a cow isn't a wolf and you don't pet a cow. Lance pouts.

They feel warm, knowing they both just want to hear each other's voice and give the other some comforr from long, exausting days.

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Fifteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 15 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One][Part Two][Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six][Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight][Part Nine][Part Ten][Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] Part Fifteen [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

The tournament takes advantage of the longer hours of daylight as the summer equinox approaches.

Soon enough, the jousting winner is declared—the knight from Nocant barely loses Alry, who had defeated Dale in the original non-tiered jousting round. Still, while there is an archery winner and now there is the jousting winner, the final winner of the tournament is the melee winner.

The knights are split into groups based on how well they did in the first two rounds. Dale will be competing in the champion’s ring which consists of the final four jousters and the three most skilled archers. Then there is another ring for the second tier ranked archers and jousters—twelve in total. Everyone else who participated in both rounds and who wishes to continue is placed in the final, largest melee ring. Purses and rewards will be given to various winners, of all three rounds and rings, with the winner of the champion’s melee ring being declared the winner of the tournament as a whole.

Lady Northridge as the host of the tournament would be the primary presenter of the prizes, however, as the tournament was in honor of the upcoming wedding and you are both one of said betrothed couple and not competing yourself, you will also present certain awards. As such, after leaving the jousting stands and afternoon meal at the high table, you are seated with Grandmother, one of the judges from the archery tournament, and one of the judges from the jousting tournament. Only Grandfather had also accompanied you from the group you’d watched the previous tournaments. 

You’re not sure you want to watch this melee anymore than the joust, although there is at least less horsepower and speed involved. It was far too easy for you to picture one of the competitors accidentally running another through with their lance. Not that it isn’t difficult to picture someone being fatally injured in melee, but you’ve watched practice matches and arms training with far more frequency, so it seems like it carries less of a risk.

Due to the way the different melee rings are chosen, the other rings are more dangerous than the champions ring due to the sheer number of combatants. Alliances tended to form between knights—likely hashed out in the break between jousting and melee—and they went on for longer, and so the competitors were more likely to make a mistake. The champions’ arena is the smallest ring, but still by far had a larger knight to square foot ratio. This gave a chance for a better exhibition of skill rather than luck or numbers. 

There are three primary ways to be stricken from the lists in the melee. Most obviously, if you are knocked unconscious. Secondly, if you are thrown from the ring. Fence height varies across tournaments, but as these fences are around waist height it’s technically a viable strategy . Finally, if any knight surrendered—at sword-point from another or simply because they no longer wished to continue—they could do so. Generally, only those injured removed themselves voluntarily once the melee had begun or else they were seen as cowardly or with no confidence in their skill. 

Those only skilled in archery or jousting and not in melee could withdraw at any time between rounds—archery with the most participants overall and the most who subsequently withdrew as even older knights might still be skilled enough with a bow even if no longer on horseback. It all depended on what type of bow they used in the tournament.

You’re grateful not to have to watch the other melees. There’s simply not enough room in these temporary stands to accommodate all three rings—in fact, they’re taking place on the outskirts of the fair where there is free space for both the rings and the crowds to watch. The other judges from the previous rounds are watching over those, baring the two here. Due to the limited stands around the champions’ ring, relatives and friends of the champions and other nobility are the ones who fill the majority of seats. You can see Dale’s cousins in the left stands, gossiping with Northridge’s neighboring nobles and some merchants. 

Your eyes are drawn back down to the ring, the champions having arrived a few moments ago. Instead of plate mail, all combatants will be wearing chain mail and all weapons will be blunted accordingly. You’ll likely only be able to track Dale due to the blue, black, and white that are his family colors on his tunic. Each has their pick from a variety of weapons for close range combat, provided by Northridge for the tournament.

You watch as Dale selects a sword as do three of the others, although one chooses a curved sword more popular in the south, and the remaining competitors select a battle ax, a scythe, and the final a mace. All still have daggers in their belt and solid wooden bucklers for shields. The chain mail they wear should be enough to prevent serious injuries. Still, some of your fears from the jousting: about Dale giving himself away, about him getting hurt, about him hurting one of the others.

You almost hope he gets pushed out of the ring in the first minute, at least then your nerves could relax. A glance around shows that no one else shares your sentiment—Grandfather in particular seems hopeful about Dale’s chances to win. Dale getting to this ring was what was in question since he doesn’t joust particularly often. He trains with the sword every day though and has started to do so again after he recovered. Families of those who host these tournaments don’t always win, but there is more pressure on them to make a good showing. And this one is in his, and your, honor on top of all that.

With all the weapons selected and the champions looking ready, Grandmother stands up. You can’t hear a word of her short speech—it's so similar to the others already given and you’re tense in your seat, eyes fixed on Dale. But your mind isn’t on this melee. Instead, you know that in a short span, it’ll be over—this first official start of the wedding festivities—your wedding festivities. 

How can that knowledge keep catching you off guard? How can you keep feeling surprised, and a little confused, about your own wedding? And why is Dale, with all his changes, not the part that worries you the most? In fact, even with the additional worries his condition invites, when you think of him, you mostly feel relieved. He feels the most real out of all of it, makes you feel the least like a child pretending and daydreaming.

This melee will happen, and you’ll help award prizes, and then tomorrow there will be the first true ball for your wedding, and then it will be your wedding.

And then it will be…well, the rest of your life.

You jump when the trumpet sounds and the fight begins.

The first few minutes after the starting trumpet are the most chaotic as it is when there are the most combatants in the greatest proximity, at least that’s what you remember hearing from fellow students who had seen far more tournaments than you had. That certainly seems to be true and you can barely track who goes where and who attacks who first, the dust they kick up proving unhelpful as is the sluggish way your mind struggles to refocus on what’s happening right in front of you as they all move and try to scatter and guard simultaneously.

Dale seems to primarily be fighting defensively, but he’s staked out a, well, not a corner since the arena is circular, but a section of the fence he’s claimed for his own, trying to keep his back to the fence as much as he can. Everyone has instinctively paired off to some extent as Nocant knocked out Yoral’s knight with his ax nearly as soon as combat started. He’d moved almost too fast for you to really watch more than Yoral crumple to the ground. He’d certainly seemed like a large threat as the runner up to the joust so that prediction seems to be holding true.

Mindry is the closest to Dale and he’s practically ignored the other knight near him to follow Dale—perhaps he wanted the prestige of defeating the man of the hour. You also aren’t sure which of these knights Dale used to know personally. You know none of these here traveled with him during those years abroad, but the majority are local and therefore likely went to primary schooling or even trained to be knights in the King’s service with him. Everyone in the champion’s ring is within an age—the very young not having the skills and the older not having the physical stamina or the interest for tournaments. It is generally considered the game of the relatively young and unmarried. 

Mindry certainly seems to be going after Dale with strong intent. Dale catches his sword on his buckler, and Dale tries to use the shield to wrench the weapon from his hand. Unfortunately, the blunted weapon isn’t sharp enough to get stuck in the thick wood and Mindry steps back easily. Dale waits him out, though, not chasing after him and giving up his guarded back.

Sure enough, Mindry can’t stay away and closes in again, but this time Dale doesn’t bother trying to catch him. He turns to the side to avoid a jab, strikes with his sword to get Mindry’s at the wrong angle, and knocks his shield into Mindry’s hard enough the other man falls to the floor. Before he can finish getting either his sword or buckler back up, Dale’s sword is at his throat. 

You’re glad that the rules dictate no one can attack one knight while they hold another at sword point because Mindry takes longer than you think to drop his sword in surrender. While he hops over the fence to leave the ring, Dale turns back to survey his remaining opponents. 

Hilium’s facing off against Alry, her eyes on his heavy mace while he watches her quick sword movements. They exchange passes every few seconds, but neither has a clear advantage as they circle each other. 

Meanwhile, the knight from Tiffin has staked out a section of the fence similar to Dale, with Nocant coming at her. He seems intent on pressing his height advantage, backing Tiffin back against the fence surrounding the ring. She hooks her weapon behind his buckler, cutting through the strap keeping it attached to his arm. Barely reacting to the loss of his shield, Nocant surprises everyone—not just you—when he steps into Tiffin’s body instead of backing off or trying to recover his shield like she expected.

Dale’s edging towards the dueling Hilium and Alry as Nocant and Tiffin are on the other side of the arena. It’s clear he’s trying to watch both fights and you’ve found another reason to be grateful he’s so covered in chain mail so that no extra eyes pop up to try to help, or if they do, they’re hidden.

Nocan smacks Tiffin’s hand holding the scythe and bringing the flat of the ax down on her head—hard. She staggers and Nocant avoids her swipe with the scythe she’s managed to hold onto and jabs with the ax. Despite catching it on her buckler, she’s still badly disoriented by the blow he landed to her head and he manages to shove her over the fence railing.

“You are skilled with the ax, are you not, my Lady?” the other judge from the jousting tournament remarks from your right. You’re confused for a moment before you follow her gaze to Grandmother on your other side.

Grandmother cackled, eyes still squinting through her glasses at the ring as Dale switches his stance to prepare for the now free Nocant. “My illustrious husband does encourage that impression, does he not? No, despite his sweet name for me, I was trained with the sword only and lost that skill many decades ago. I’ve no taste for weaponry nor any ability with them.”

“Then why…?” Lady Spir leans around Grandmother to peer at Grandfather.

He grins back at her unashamedly and guffaws. “I began to refer to my wife as my ‘battle-axe’ in our time in the senate, as with her sharp tongue at our disposal I had no need for any weaponry to cut down dissenters. Unlike even my own skill with the sword, the edge of her weapon remains honed and the force behind it still able to cleave those she disagrees with in twain.” He pulls Grandmother’s hand, which he was already holding, up to his mouth so he can press a kiss to it.

The two of them really are quite sweet, you think to yourself as you look back to the arena where Dale left his spot to get between Nocant and his buckler. Nocant seems to decide that his only option is rush Dale. Luckily, Dale stands his ground, not letting the other knight back him into Alry or Hilium. He catches the ax on his shield and thrusts with his sword that Nocant only partially manages to dodge. Nocant tries to land another strike with the ax, aiming for Dale’s head, but Dale ducks and then shoves Nocant hard in the chest with his buckler.

Nocant lets out a bellow when Dale manages to drive him all the way back to the fence, despite the weight Nocant has on him and the blow he manages to land on Dale’s back. Dale surges back up, his buckler going under Nocant’s chin and his sword catching under the head of his ax, stopping a strike midway through. Nocant tries to disengage, but Dale twists his sword just right to send it flying. 

Nocant surrenders quicker than Mindry, knowing he’s got nothing left to defend himself. You bite back a cry when Alry crashes into Dale, knocking him to the ground. You’d been so caught up in his fight, you’d forgotten about the other one going on only a couple yards away. Dale rolls the unconscious Alry off of him and gets his buckler up in time to intercept a truly powerful looking downward blow from Hilium’s mace.

Dale pushes the other man’s weapon away from him and scoots backward before lurching to his feet unsteadily. Even once on his feet, he seems unsteady, shaking his head briefly and taking a few staggered steps even as his sword is able to meet Hilium’s weapon this time. You abruptly remember how Dale’s balance has been off sporadically since the incident, how he’d made a passing comment about being on horseback helping, but there always seems to be the possibility of issues when on his own feet. He claimed there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his lack of balance which is why he simply carried his cane everywhere, but you doubt any of this combat has helped.

The men end up hilt to hilt, buckler to buckler for a moment, just shoving against one another before disengaging, Hilium’s retreat more controlled while Dale’s footwork remains just a bit unsteady. Grandfather mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words, a roaring in your ears as you watch them each jab at the other, a furious dance of dodging and clashes kicking up dust. 

Why did you ever think watching them actually fight would be less stressful than the joust? You barely feel like you’ve breathed since the trumpet went off, your hands are clenched so tightly in your skirts that they ache. Especially since Dale only seems to be getting further unbalanced as they continue to duel, each miss seems closer than the last until Hilium lunges forward with a triumphant cry. 

Dale bends all the way back at the waist, but doesn’t fall over. In fact, he hooks his shield under Hilium’s already badly positioned buckler, uses his sword to keep the mace away and uses his leverage to pull Hiliums shield arm, and the rest of him, over the fence you now realize he’d been steering them towards. He nearly wrenches his own with the move, and it results in both knights on their backs on the ground—but Dale is in the arena and Hilium is not.

Applause fills the stands as Dale’s squire hurries over to help him to his feet, Hilium’s doing the same behind him. You follow Grandmother to her feet as trumpets sound the end of the champions melee. 

A flurry of activity fills the ring, doctors and squires attending to the knights while a Northridge flag is raised over the stands, resulting in a second cry from the people around the outskirts of this arena. You slump back in your seat, feeling worn out for someone who’s done nothing but watch anxiously for the majority of the day. 

Once all the knights are free of their armor, mildly cleaned up, and conscious once more they arrange themselves in front of the host section of stands. It’s time for their rewards.

Grandmother, Grandfather, the two judges and yourself all stand yourselves to acknowledge them, walking closer to the knights themselves. Your eyes catch Dale’s as he grins, pleased with himself, and his grin only widens. He’s so obviously happy and proud you feel your expression grow more genuine as you smile back.

Grandmother is speaking, reiterating the prizes won and directing the servants to bring each champion their reward—purses, armor, weapons, and the like. As each competitor in this ring had won earlier, she gives those prizes now, with additional awarded to the last two eliminated in the melee, until only Dale was left. Her smile brightens at her grandson.

“Lord Dale of Northridge, heir apparent and betrothed to whom this tournament is dedicated. How lucky are you to have done so well in your own honor,” she proclaimed, her smile broadening at the crowd's laughter. “It is my pleasure to present to you this sword, a family heirloom I am relieved shall stay with Northridge—though of course I would have been pleased to present it to whoever was worthy. Originally, this sword belonged to my grandparent, to whom this estate was rewarded by Queen Sara the Second to increase our holdings as a reward for his service to the crown. This sword was commissioned and forged by Derryn of Northridge to be worthy of our expanded holdings.”

“Unfortunately,” Grandmother continues as you take a moment to admire the clear way she manages to project her voice, how it both reaches far but also causes others to fall silent. You’re grateful Dale seems to have inherited that quality and that no one expects you to give speeches such as this—at least, not yet. “The sword continued to see heavy use in Derryn’s lifetime, however by their grandchild’s time it was regulated to ceremonial display. In the flood that struck this estate a decade or two ago, it was damaged. In honor of this tournament, we had it restored and honed so it may once more serve the original purpose for which it was created.”

Dales comes forward so she can present the sword to him and he can strap it to his belt. He gives a similar but shorter reply—the words of gratitude from the winner dictated by tradition, but your thoughts are diverted because the final award was your own to give, both the physical and the privilege to the tournament winner which you are more than grateful is Dale. 

You would have had to have at least one dance with the winner at the dinner tomorrow and you are relieved to have the number of champions to dance with down to only the other two and Dale, with whom you expect the majority of your dances to be with as it is. 

Ceremonial crowns of woven laurels and flowers are the traditional prize, from when the very first contests of strengths began centuries ago. As the other for whom the tournament was for, it falls to you rather than Grandmother to bestow.

As Grandmother’s speech about Northridge and tradition and honor that she began after Dale finished his thanks wound down, you look to see if they’ve brought out the wreaths yet. To your surprise, Grandfather is the one who is coming over with the servants carrying the wreaths. You don’t know why that makes your spine straighten, he’d helped direct the armor given as well, but it does. Maybe it's the way his eyes dart to yours, a practiced blankness to them that he never used to have, and then away.

Your eyes land on the wreaths themselves, trying to push aside your trepidation. At least the crowns are obvious in which should be awarded to who. The one with blue flowers is nearly identical to the one with red flowers, both smaller and with fewer flowers woven in amongst the laurel branches. The champion's crown had to be the one with blue, red, and yellow flowers and was more elaborate than the others. 

You pick up the blue wreath the footman holds out to you and at Grandmother’s prompt, walk over to Yoral to bestow the wreath for his winning of the archery tournament. “Congratulations on your victory,” you say formally, focusing mostly on keeping your voice steady rather than particularly loud. Yoral lowers his head so you can place it as you continue, “Bear this symbol of your ability proudly and with great honor.”

He bows carefully to you and Grandmother, before bowing to the crowd and stepping back with the others. As he does so, you accept the red wreath from Grandfather’s squire, your gaze briefly stalling on the champion’s crown for only an extra second before you turn back around to walk over to Alry, winner of the jousting tournament.

As you repeat the same words and actions, your mind is stuck on the differences between the wreaths. The champion wreath has the same flowers as the others, but it also has one or two additional flowers in blue and red woven in that strike you as odd.

When you turn back for the final time to accept the crown, you are ready to analyze the flowers, grateful for your at least medicinal herbal knowledge as you slowly walk over. For blue flowers, borage is a common herb used with wine to soften memories, with certain people believing it dispelled forgetfulness and sadness on its own. It had no business in this crown. Blood sage is another that is not prestigious enough to be in such a crown and did have rumored cleansing properties—although the portion of the book you’d managed to read disputed that belief heavily, advising against counting on it to do much of anything. 

Finally, the yellow flower mullien did not suit either—not to mention there was only one spring of it rather hastily and loosely woven in. In fact, all of these flowers seemed like last moment additions. It took all your self-control not to look at Grandfather as you carefully. Mullien you did not remember reading anything about in the book, but you know it's associated with purification, both spiritually and medicinally. You had taken a few tinctures that included it yourself when you were younger.

You pick up the crown, taking care to wrap your fingers around the blood sage, with the mullien at the bottom. With your finger nail, you dig into the stem. You don’t think a single spring of the herb could hurt Dale, but you don’t want to take the risk. As you come to a stop in front of Dale you can tell you’ve cut through the stem itself with your nail, but it still clings.

“Lord Dale,” you say after swallowing slightly—all the moisture has vacated your mouth in the short walk over and you clear your throat as you look up at him. He certainly doesn’t seem worried or even to truly look at the crown as you continue, “Most congratulations on your victory. Your accomplishments in all three competitions has won you the admiration of the witnesses to this esteemed tournament.” You shake the crown as subtlety as you are able to as you raise it Dale’s lowered head, “Bear this symbol of your prowess so all may know of your talent and skill.” The mullien drops from the crown as you place it on Dale’s head. You quickly step forward, your shoe on top of the flower as you feel a rush of relief. Situated appropriately, you lean back to finish, “And do you honor you have earned.”

You pull back only to have to stifle a gasp as Dale catches your hand. His bright blue eyes catch your own as he presses a kiss to it, similar to how Grandfather had done to Grandmother only a little while ago. To your surprise, you feel heat begin to rise in your cheeks. He’s done so before, why is it flustering you so now? Maybe it's because it seems he’s left his mild suspicion and caution from the tent behind, even if it is only in front of an audience.

“My gratitude, my Lady,” Dale replies, eyes intent. You’re aware everyone around is watching, is listening, but you couldn’t look away if you tried. “This tournament was in honor of us both. What else could I do, but secure our victory?”

[Part Sixteen]

[petraswyvern]

BUDDING TALENTS & BREAKING POINTS, Hubernie, Explicit

Here is my humble offering for Hubert’s birthday!

Hubert’s best attempt at lance training, and the reward he earns for his efforts — Bernadetta’s best attempts at dominating him.

Here is a link!

[howlingday]

tragic backstory (tm) au)

pyrrrha and jaune have a date. yang is defnatly not jealous and neither is ruby they're just tagging along for moral support…. yeah!

ozpin takes the time to inspect jaune's gear for him. he's seeing a lot of … aura? magic? something like that. it's rearranging the metals and making them both sturdier and acting like a conductor for jaune's aura… this is something he heard about when he was a boy… as in a boy back in his first life. but it was only for great legends.

… just what has he turned jaune into?

(slaying the dragon was a big enough feat that now jaune's weapons and armor are more symbols of that feat than actual items. more like if you somehow crystallized the attention and emotions people felt about jaune's slaying of the dragon. tldr jaune's got a couple of noble phantasms on his hands)

Ponce Age

Pyrrha: (Sighs contently, Holds Jaune's arm)

Jaune: Everything okay, Pyrrha?

Pyrrha: Yes. Everything is just... perfect.

Ruby: (In a bush) Target in sight.

Weiss: They're not targets, Ruby.

Yang: I mean, they're the reason we're out here, so...

Blake: Targets.

Emerald: And why are we following them? Shouldn't we be respecting their privacy?

Mercury: And miss this blackmail? Yeah, right!

Emerald: Wait, are we really here for blackmail?

RWBY: (Holding up their scrolls) Um...

Emerald: I can't believe this...

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

Wei: Do you truly believe this?

Adam: (Bound by chains, Welts all over him) Yes! All of my suffering has been by the hands of a hum- ARGH!

Wei: No! You only suffer because you lack discipline! You lack understanding! Humanity did not give you that scar. It is your naivete and ignorance that causes you pain!

Adam: ...

Wei: Who did this to you? Who is responsible for your incarceration? Who is the one who put you away, only to be freed later by my hand?

Adam: ...Me- ARGH!

Wei: You say the correct answer, but you do not believe it. If you are going to speak, then speak with certainty.

Adam: Jaune Arc...

Wei: Good. Your honesty will reward you this once... with less pain!

Adam: AUGH! ARGH! DAMMIT! WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS TRAINING?! I WOULD HAVE HAD HIM! I WOULD HAVE KILLED- AAAAAAAAUGH!

Wei: You were fighting an unarmed opponent and you lost. He surprised you not only once. Your rage for humanity blinds and now your hatred of this Jaune Arc is blinding you more so! If you wish to become stronger, you must free yourself of your mask of animosity! See the world for what it truly is!

Wei: See this Jaune Arc for who he truly is.

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

Jaune: Ugh, I still can't believe this...

Pyrrha: What's wrong, Jaune? Are you mad we got free snowcones?

Jaune: It's the being free I'm mad about, it's the reason. "Here you are, your majesty"? (Groans) Is this my life now?

Pyrrha: (Pats his back) You saved a lot of people, Jaune. People who will be forever grateful for what you've done in Mallet.

Jaune: I didn't do anything. I just held a sword... lance... drill thing and lucked a killing blow. After I abandoned you guys.

Pyrrha: You didn't abandon anyone. You were needed elsewhere. You abandoned us as much as you abandonded your sister when she got away from Adam Taurus.

Jaune: I... I guess.

Pyrrha: How is she, by the way?

Jaune: Cin-Cin is... Can you promise not to tell anyone?

Pyrrha: I promise. I could give an Arc's word, but...

Jaune: (Chuckles, Sighs) She's doing better, but I can tell she's traumatized by that night. Mom was telling me about how she's been avoiding kids at school. Kids with Faunus traits.

Pyrrha: Oh my...

Jaune: I know she doesn't mean it, and I can't say I blame her. Whenever I think about the White Fang or what that bastard did to her, I- (Crushes cup) ...Dammit.

Pyrrha: Here, let me clean that. (Wipes hand) And you have every right to be angry. What happened that night would be traumatizing for anyone, especially someone as young as your sister. I don't think there's a magical cure for what your sister is feeling, but what she does need is the same as what you need. (Looks at him) Love and support.

Jaune: (Blushes)

Yang: Damn... Pyrrha's making some moves.

Weiss: Is it any different than what any of the rest of you have done?

Mercury: Heh... Burn.

Emerald: Geez... I knew that guy was bad, but leaving a little girl traumatized? Never thought he'd go that far.

Blake: ...

Ruby: Are you okay, Blake?

Blake: ...I have to make things right. For everyone.

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

Ozpin: No, no, this isn't right.

Ozpin: Perhaps if I applied fire and ice dust..?

Ozpin: ...

Ozpin: That did nothing. Unexpected.

Cinder: And he's been doing this all day?

Goodwitch: All week. Ever since what happened in Mallet, whenever Jaune Arc has nothing to do after classes, and he has no missions, our headmasters steals away his weapon to run secret investigations on his sheath.

Cinder: And what if Jaune needs his weapon?

Goodwitch: Ozpin has the locker moved up here for "upgrades", and in a distress, has it delayed until Ozpin sets the weapon in and shuts the door. He's also been excused from participating in combat classes until the "upgrades" are installed.

Ozpin: Glynda! Ms. Fall! I'm made a stunning breakthrough in my research! It turns out that all of the dust does absolutely nothing, ergo, Archaic, dust itself is entirely resistant to his sheath- I mean, his sheath is resistant to dust!

Cinder: ...And I should care why?

Goodwitch: I've stopped asking those questions a long time ago.

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

Pyrrha: Thank you for the lovely date today, Jaune.

Jaune: Of course, Pyrrha, and, uh, thanks for keeping it on the cheap side and for paying for the snowcones.

Pyrrha: Of course, Jaune. I understand these dates can be very taxing on your wallet.

Jaune: On their own, no. But when you have three in the span of a week.

Pyrrha: (Giggles) I understand. Um, Jaune, do you think we could-

Shishi: Mr. Arc? May I have a word with you?

Jaune: Uh, sure. I'll meet you inside.

Pyrrha: ...Sure. (Opens door) I'll be waiting, Jaune-

Yang: YO! GET IN HERE AND DISH, GIRL!

Pyrrha: (Nervously chuckles) I'm coming! I'll see you soon, Jaune. (Steps inside)

Jaune: You're Shishi, right? From the first year, Team Savage?

Shishi: I'm pleased you remember me, but what I wish to discuss is not a team matter.

Jaune: Oh? Is it about classes? Because first year can be rough-

Shishi: No, no, it's about your social status.

Jaune: Ugh... Look, I know everybody thinks I'm a king, but I'm not. I'm just a regular guy!

Shishi: I know. I am well aware that you are not the king.

Jaune: ...I'm sorry, what?

Shishi: You are not the king.

Jaune: ...Huh. I, uh, wasn't expecting that, but man, does that make my day! Thanks, ma-

Shishi: I must ask that you stop pretending to be.

Jaune: Huh? But... But I'm not pretending. It's everyone else saying-

Shishi: Then make them stop. You're only serving the public by making an ass out of yourself. You're distracting everyone else from the true king.

Jaune: The true king. Look, I don't know-

Shishi: (Steps up to him) Then know this; continue to insult the royal family, and I will see you pay for it with true humiliation.

Jaune: Uh... N-Noted, um, your highness.

Shishi: Oh, I am not the king. (Turns away, Walks away) No, I am but a humble servant of the true crown.

Jaune: ...What the hell is going on?