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storiesbyrhi · 6 months

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: We speak to those beyond. 3668 words.

1986

Time was not linear. Nor was it circular. It was an overlapping collage of everything that had ever happened. A compressed murder board. A grimoire swallowed whole. Eddie remembered it all.

A century of Eptesicus fuscus, a shell of consciousness. Hawkins. A sickness. A witch’s healing hand. Before that, the flatlands. A coven. You. Oh, you, his little witch.

“Those are not your apples.” Cleansing crystals by moonlight. Amabel, little witch. Lonely vampire. Collecting flowers and berries. Green milkweed. Unconditional good. A forest gate. “Bloodline magic, far and wide.” A bet, a kiss, and a name. “I envy your world of absolutes. And I love you so.” Marguerite du Bruyeres’ letters to Guillaume du Bruyeres. Unmistakably vampire carnage. Blood of my blood.

Eddie let you slip onto the pillow, then escaped out of the trailer and into the early morning. The sun would rise soon but he needed to move. Run. Scream.

The sisters – Sally and Gillian. Penelope, the spellcaster. “By your hand he is taken and I die on this night, or you let us go and free yourself of this burden.” Transformation. Walking through the grass. Black-eyed Susan, tansy, elecampane, yellow carnation, cyclamen. Blood of my blood.

He remembered who he was before you. And before Roanoke. His accent and gait may have changed, but he was the same sad, doomed soul he’d been then. Still a monster.

Eddie sobbed. He went to the forest gate on the outskirts of town and laid in the grass, looking up at the starry sky, letting the shame and horror and regret drown him.

What was he to do? How would he tell you? Should he tell you? Would you be able to see it on his face?

He waited until the very last minutes of night to return to Forest Hills. Eddie moved slowly through the town; slowly, at least, for him. He could picture it all now, how it used to be. The dirt roads. The vacuum of quiet that proceeded the era of constant electrical white noise.

You slept well into the morning, but roused yourself before midday. Eddie was watching Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope. He seemed immersed, so you went about making breakfast. Assam tea with cocoa husks. Oatmeal with sultanas and brown sugar.

There was an awkwardness to Eddie when you sat next to him, curling up close enough to touch. Your mind cycled through possibilities with rapid fire speed. The notion it kept circling back to was – did he regret kissing you?

“Chewie reminds me of the creatures that live in the woods. Have you seen them? Over in the north-west?” you asked, trying to break the ice.

Eddie nodded. “They are shy,”

“Yeah. The humans don’t know about them. Well. They do, but most of them think it’s a hoax. They’re considered cryptids… Which is like, an animal or creature that may or may not exist…” You were rambling. “When they see one, they call it Bigfoot… But Chewie definitely looks like one.”

Eddie didn’t answer. You hadn’t appeared to notice the significance of him remembering something, even something innocuous like the existence of things in the woods.

You finished eating, washed your dishes, and returned to the couch. Star Wars ended and you had no real choice but to address the atmosphere.

“Are you okay?” you asked Eddie.

He looked at you, something in his expression you couldn’t quite place. He nodded. “Yes… Perhaps on edge regarding what your Witches will tell,”

“Yeah… Well then, let’s not put it off any longer.”

Directing Eddie to sit across the room, you knelt at your altar and lit two candles. A pale blue candle for truth. A darker indigo candle for intuition and breaking through illusion. With paper in front of you and a pen in hand, you closed your eyes.

The Witches Who Came Before were always with you, so you needn’t call for them. Instead, you spoke to them with clear intention.

“It is not my place to question you. But it is your place to guide me. To offer truth. Long ago, you foretold of us leaving the flatlands. Then, you warned me of returning. What would have happened if I had heeded that warning?”

The temperature of the room dropped and the air grew thick. Eddie felt his skin tingle and prickle, a frisson of fear and excitement running through him.

“I know you see him for what he is. Without him, Vecna would not have been defeated. Can you say without doubt that he would have been without my intervention?”

It was a challenge to them. If you and Eddie hadn’t destroyed Vecna, could your coven have stopped him? Could all the witches in the world have stop him? Maybe, sure. However, somewhere deep down you knew the answer. Vecna did not belong to this plane of existence. He wasn’t even of the world he inhabited. And a witch can only fight within the boundaries of the natural world.

If you had not come to Hawkins, if you had not found the bat and restored Eddie to his vampire form, Vecna would have taken the town, then the world.

The Witches were silent. It told you that you were right.

“You said that not all callings are sanctified, but that the voice calling me was coming into focus for you. Do you know what brought me here?”

The flames flickered and your hand picked up the signal. The words scrawled along the paper faster than you could read.

“Life and Death have no voice… They do not come calling in the night,” The Witches said. “Their siblings are to follow suit, yet they are wayward in their youth,”

“Which of their siblings called to me?” you asked.

“Destiny was formed in shattered ruins.”

The letters were so unfamiliar, you weren’t sure which witch was speaking to you. It didn’t matter. You had an answer. Destiny had broken free of the rules and reached out to you, urging you to come to Hawkins.

“If I was fated to return to Hawkins, then I was fated to find him?”

Y. E. S. was written over and over, the word tracing itself again and again.

“Why me?”

“Like calls to like. Fate to fate. Love to love,” they said. “History will not repeat itself,”

“A history I do not remember.”

For a moment, quiet. “Lore must be rewritten. You must remember.”

You looked over at Eddie, who could not see any of the words on the page. He was watching you intently, something so human behind his eyes.

“How?” you asked The Witches. “How can I remember?”

“By definition. Blood for blood. Magic for magic.”

You didn’t understand but it felt like enough information that you could figure it out. There was one more thing you needed to know. “The coven… Did I betray them or have they betrayed me?”

“Knowledge is… a creator’s prerogative.”

The pen dropped and the flames were snuffed by an unseen power. You breathed out and read the pages again. Eddie came to sit opposite you. He took the paper.

“Destiny is… a sentient thing?” Eddie asked.

“It’s not meant to be. Forces like fate and life and death shouldn’t… proactively… change the course of what happens on Earth. Not for good reason,”

“I assume we will not hear this reason from Destiny,”

“No… But… It’s an answer. I was called here to find you so we could kill Vecna.”

It was a hypothesis you had both considered. It should have felt satisfying to have it confirmed, yet it was a shallow kind of resolution.

“And, it had to be you,” Eddie said. He knew why it had to be you. No other witch would have saved a vampire. It pained him to see you confused and lost.

“When I get my memories back, I’ll know why it had to be me,”

“By definition. Blood for blood. Magic for magic,” Eddie read off the page. You nodded. “By definition, you are a witch, you are magic. Therefore, it is through magic that you will find your memories,” he reasoned.

It clicked into place in your mind. “And by definition, you are a vampire… blood… so… Through blood you’ll get yours back?” you guessed.

When you looked up at Eddie, you expected to see your own excited expression mirrored. Instead, there was restraint. He broke eye contact almost immediately and began to nod, standing up and walking away.

“Yes. Although I don’t-” he began.

“Stop,” you whispered.

You got up and followed him across the room, he took a step to move away from you but you grabbed him by the wrist. Eddie was helpless as you squinted your eyes and studied his face. When you figured it out, a small gasp slipped from your lips and you let go of him.

As you went to speak, your voice cracked and you had to start again. “How long?”

Eddie said your name with too much softness.

“No. No. Don’t… Don’t do that. How long have you remembered? Do you remember everything? When… When did you remember?” You felt like you were going to throw up.

It hurt.

Not the nausea or the sudden headache, but the deceit. You had thought you and Eddie were a united front. A team. But he had lied to you.

“Only last night, but-”

“Last night?! Was that before or after we…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Now that your face was contorted with fear and sadness, Eddie’s mirror yours.

“Please, let me tell you. I’ll tell you everything,” he begged. His hand reached out; he wanted to brush the tears from your cheeks.

You flinched and Eddie moved back in response.

Had you been stupid to trust a vampire? Was everything you felt about Eddie misguided? Were all your bad decisions going to lead to a reckoning, where excommunication was the best outcome you could hope for?

Eddie wanted desperately to spill it all out. To tell you everything that had happened in 1836. To warn you against trusting your coven. To help you find your memories, and maybe Kelsey’s too. But the more he pushed, the more you pulled away. He’d never had faith in anything, but he demanded it of himself in that moment. Have faith in fate. Have faith in his little witch.

Your mind was having trouble holding any one thought. Normally, you’d be cycling through them all, but it felt like your brain was empty. Long hallways leading to unfurnished rooms. Cavernous spaces. Haunted. You were frozen on the spot, watching Eddie watch you. Then, everything came into sharp focus at the sound of a knock on the trailer’s front door.

The tension was popped and you choked back a half-sob. Eddie hid himself in the bedroom, closing the door behind him, as you answered. He climbed onto the bed and curled up, regret washing over him as he closed his eyes and listened.

Sunlight poured in as the door swung open, Robin and Nancy’s shadows casting long across the trailer’s carpet. You frowned, at first, confused by their appearance. The grief was so intense that it was almost an entity standing beside them. You understood then.

“Hey,” Nancy greeted weakly.

“Hi,” you replied.

It felt strange following a normal social script with them. Yet, you all persisted.

“This is Dustin,” she introduced, taking a step to reveal a child standing behind her.

You knew who he was and nodded politely in his direction. He was already crying. Sighing, you looked away from them, out at Forest Hills. Life was returning to it, but you had been too busy with your own shit to notice.

“It might be too early for this,” you told them.

“It’s past midday,” Robin countered.

“No, I mean, too early in the grieving process. It’s only been a couple days,” you explained.

“Are you saying that… He won’t… Answer us… yet? Or that we aren’t ready to talk to him?” Nancy asked. “Because, no offense, but you don’t know us well enough to tell us if we’re ready,”

“We’re ready,” Robin added.

You sucked your bottom lip in, forgetting the split. You winced at the pain, tasted the blood. The blood. Was that how Eddie got his memory back? Had he kissed blood from your mouth and found history in it?

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Dustin squeaked. The boy’s face was pure misery. His nose was red from rubbing it with tissues. His eyes were bloodshot. He was clenching his jaw.

Stepping aside, you nodded. “Okay. Come in.”

Eddie stayed where he was, knowing it was not his place to intrude on such a private event.

You cleared the altar in the middle of the lounge room and directed the teens to sit around it. They watched as you gathered items from around the place and mumbled to yourself while scribbling into a notebook.

“Where there is death, there have always been attempts to commune with the dead. It is not a practice that belongs strictly to witches. Since the beginning of time, humans have sought out methods to speak to those they’ve lost. Where connection has been made, it is usually more to do with the dead than the methods of the living, but nonetheless, it has happened.”

Nancy was listening intently, ever the student. Robin and Dustin both looked at each other, sharing inpatient expressions.

“It’s important to understand history. If you want to participate in the craft, you owe it at least that,” you told them. “Our way of bridging us and them is dependent on the dead. How they appear is dictated by them entirely,”

“What does that mean?” Nancy asked.

“It means, I can send them a message and open the doorway, but if and how they walk through it has nothing to do with me. They could send a single message back. Just an echo I hear. Their form may appear, ready to hold conversation. Alternatively, they may close the door and lock it. You need to be prepared for any of these outcomes,”

“He’ll want to talk to us,” Dustin said. “I know he will.”

You hoped he was right.

If the altar was at the center of an invisible pentagram, you placed an object at each point. A small plate of chunks of cedarwood, burning slowly. Black onyx. Sprigs of vervain. A bowl of moon water. Finally, a white candle burning at where the top of the pentagram would be.

You sat at the altar and used a pin to open a tiny wound in your finger. Closing your eyes and letting the blood roll down your hand, you spoke. “I offer my blood, the blood of a born witch, in payment of passage into the ether.” You opened your eyes and looked at the teens. “You can call to him,” you instructed.

They looked between themselves, silently figuring out who would go first. Naturally, Nancy took a deep breath in. Her eyes glazed over with tears. Her voice was small. “Steve? Are you there?”

She looked to you for guidance; you nodded for her to continue.

“Steve… It’s Nancy… Robin and Dustin are here too… We…” She had to stop to steel her nerves. “We miss you. And. Um. We… we wanted…” It was suddenly impossible for her to say the words ‘to say goodbye.’ Nancy started to cry.

“Hey- hey, dingus,” Robin took over. “Are you there? You’re probably busy… hitting on ghost chicks already… But, um, if you could just… just tune in for a minute…”

Everyone’s attention snapped to the bowl of water as it shook and spilled. You felt him first. Warmth. Steve Harrington felt warm.

“He’s here,” you told them. “He’s listening.”

They all focused, trying to sense what you did. Slowly, his outline was becoming visible to you. He was behind his friends, leaning against the trailer’s wall, by the door. Steve’s arms were crossed against his chest and one leg was folded, foot flat against the wall. He appeared casual, already at peace with his death.

“Your friends wanted to say goodbye to you,” you said to him.

“Are you like…” Steve waved his hands in the air. “Like a witch?”

You nodded.

“All this is… Are you a- a good witch?”

“Was that a genuine question or are you quoting The Wizard of Oz?” you asked him.

Robin covered her face with her hands as Dustin rolled his eyes.

“I thought dying, might, you know, level him up?” Dustin whispered through his tears.

“I can hear you,” Steve said.

“Does he know we tried… we…” Nancy cut through the comedy with her grief, getting stuck on her words again.

Steve nodded. He moved through the trailer, his form semi-transparent and snapping with residual energy. He sat next to you, looking over at his friends.

“He knows you tried to save him. He knows you didn’t want to leave him there,” you told them.

“Tell Dustin that he doesn’t need to feel guilty. I’m glad he wasn’t there,” Steve said.

“It’s good you weren’t there, Dustin. Steve is thankful you were safe and that you didn’t have to see him in the end,”

“And tell him that he’s the coolest kid I ever knew. That I figured that out on the train tracks. He’s cool and he’s so smart. Twice as smart as me. More, probably. He’s gonna grow up and be the kind of man I wish I was.”

You watched Steve as he spoke. The way he looked at Dustin with admiration in his eyes. Like this kid who probably worshipped him was actually the hero of the group.

You relayed Steve’s message word-for-word. Dustin whimpered and let Nancy wrap an arm around him.

“Thanks, man,” Dustin managed to get out. “I love you.”

Steve looked to Robin next. “I don’t know how to explain it to her,” he told you.

“It’s okay. I think she’ll understand,”

“Yeah… That’s it though. She gets me. And I get her. Like… I feel normal around her. I can just be… me. She’s my best friend… I have a shit load of regrets but not knowing Robin sooner is right at the top of that list. Tell her… that she’s so much braver than she thinks she is. And that she’s smart in a way nobody else is… And that she totally deserves to be loved. And not by some girl who keeps it a secret. Nothing like that. She deserves the whole love story movie thing… romantic comedy with the happy ending. Can you tell her that?”

You could and you did.

Robin nodded to herself in a self-soothing action, then pulled her knees up to her chest and started to rock. Steve frowned at her.

“Tell her that she should still go on the trip we were thinking about,”

“He says you should still go on the trip,” you said to her.

Robin barked out a broken laugh. “Sunshine, beers, and babes,” she said.

“Oh! And tell her if someone pauses Fast Times at Ridgemont High at 53 minutes and 5 seconds, she knows what it means.”

Robin laughed again and nodded. “Noted.”

Steve nodded along with her. “Maybe she should take Nancy on the trip. They’d actually make really good friends if they got to know each other,”

“I think they’re doing that,” you told him.

“That’s good…” He looked at Nancy. “I had the chance to tell her everything, near the end. Got some of it… Tell her… Shit. I don’t know how to say it without sounding like I’m blowing smoke up her ass,”

“You’re up Nancy. He needs a second. Says he doesn’t know how to tell you what he needs to without sounding like he’s blowing smoke up your ass.”

Everyone laughed. Except Steve. He held his hands up in question. “What the hell, man? You said you were a good witch!”

You liked Steve.

“Okay… She needs to really believe what I told her. About how she really helped me stop being such an asshole. And that it’s okay how it ended between us. I was stuck in the present but Nancy sees the future. Big plans, you know? She should know that’s a good thing.”

As soon as you started to give Nancy the message, she burst into tears again.

“Tell her that I love that she always trusts her gut. And that she’ll always look so hot with a shotgun… And tell her that I’ll say hi to Barb for her.”

The room fell into silence after the last of Nancy’s goodbye was said. Nobody was ready to move on just yet. After a few minutes of reflection, Steve’s form began to flicker. He knew what it meant. When you sat up straight, the others all looked at you.

“I gotta go,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “Here. Hold my hand.”

Steve frowned, unsure of what would happen. Still, he thought it best to do what a good witch said. He took your hand and felt a zap of electricity or something magic.

“Any last words?” you asked him.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. The others all gasped. Steve looked to them then back to you. “They can hear me?”

Robin started to sob again. Dustin nodded.

“Oh, shit, okay. Shit… Hi… Shit…”

“It’s okay,” you told him, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah… Uh… Just… It’s okay, you know? It… it had to be this way. There’s already plenty of Steves in the world, you know? But there’s only one Dustin Henderson. One Robin Buckley. One Nancy Wheeler. The world needs you guys. So, it’s okay. I’m okay. I love you.”

The others cried and said goodbye. They held each other and let themselves feel it all.

Steve’s hand slowly faded out of yours, until there was nothing left but his warmth and the memory of him etched into his friends' minds like love letters swiped through wet concrete.

End Note: This chapter was written very much in collab with @dr-aculaaa, my resident Steve expert. Thank you so much! I hope you like how the scene turned out.

Chapter seventeen is a little bit of an interlude, it's an ode to both Steve and to the magic that runs through this story. But also... now she knows Eddie knows... yikes.

Grimoire updated!

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

#Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Vampire!Eddie Munson

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light-yaers · 11 months

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Take Care: Chapter Five

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

Listen to the Take Care playlist!

A/N: I love a story when it gets MESSY don't you? We're officially over the 40k word mark! Huzzah!

Word count: 6.5k

Chapter Five

You considered yourself a punctual person, but this time you were late. After finishing the article, you collapsed as soon as you got home. You didn’t set an alarm for the next morning, nor did you expect to sleep for a staggering fourteen hours, but when you woke up less than an hour before the bus left Richmond for Liverpool, you almost had a heart attack.

You ran to Nelson Road with wet hair, no make-up on and so much random crap in your bag that you genuinely didn’t even know if your wallet or keys were in there somewhere. As you rushed into the stadium car park, you let out an abrupt sigh of relief to see that the bus was still there. Everyone was on board, and you’d felt your phone buzz in your pocket several times during your rush, but you hadn’t stopped to look at the messages.

Only when you stepped on board the bus and allowed yourself to breathe, did you let yourself smile and laugh at your idiocy.

“Hey!” Ted was the first to erupt in greeting, but the rest of the guys followed suit immediately after. “Did someone miss their wake-up call?” he asked.

You sighed deeply, stepping further onto the bus as the doors finally closed. “Don’t ask. All the missed sleep finally caught up with me.”

Ted nodded in understanding. “Well, you’re here now. Go cop a squat with the guys.”

You smiled as you walked down the small bus corridor. The guys all greeted you in their own ways, and you were thankful that you’d decided to join them instead of sitting out. As you approached the back, a circular group of seats that reminded you of sitting at the back of the bus at school, you caught Roy’s eye. There was a spare seat beside him, which he gestured to for you. You dropped into the seat next to him, bashing your shoulder against his softly, before the bus started moving.

“We all thought you’d bailed,” Roy said. “You didn’t reply to my texts.”

“You texted me?” you asked, quickly grabbing your phone from your pocket. There were several texts from Ted and a few missed calls, and a few from Roy. You winced. “Sorry. I’ve only been awake for forty minutes, I passed the fuck out last night and forgot to set an alarm.”

Roy hummed, almost like it was his own version of I told you so. You shot him a playfully annoyed look, and he raised his eyebrows at you in response, a small smile curled onto his stoic face. You huffed to yourself, settling in for the journey up North. Despite sleeping for so long, you were still fucking exhausted. You’d thrown clothes and toiletries into a backpack before rushing out, and you couldn’t face looking at the mess that you��d created just yet. You were glad the game wasn’t until the next day, because you still had an awful lot of sleeping to do.

As the bus lulled to a pleasant buzz, you found yourself sinking deeper into your seat. You brought your knees to your chest and curled yourself into a ball comfortably. Next to you, Roy had his earphones in and was listening to an audio book of some kind. You peered over him, gently resting your head on his shoulder for a moment, to take a look at the title.

He peered down at you softly, before he plucked one of his earphones out. “It’s The Grapes of Wrath. Wanna listen?” he asked, and you quickly pulled away to meet his eye.

You looked up at him tiredly. “That’ll definitely send me to fucking sleep.”

Roy huffed, sending you a perked brow. “I thought you were a fucking writer?”

“I am. But even I have my reservations about the classics.”

“You’ve read it before?”

You nodded. “Three times. It made me cry every time, just to warn you.”

Roy digested your words for a moment, before he offered his opposite earphone to you. You took it gently from his fingers and slotted it into your ear. “I can take it,” Roy muttered to himself, as both of you sat back in your seats and got comfortable for the ride.

After an hour, you’d dozed off heavily. Roy leaned all the way back in his chair, allowing you space to lean against his shoulder gently. As the bus bumped on the motorway, you shifted slightly, and fell into his chest. Roy peered down at you softly, letting out a gentle cough to clear his throat. He positioned himself to the right slightly, and let your head rest against his breast bone. You snoozed softly, almost silently, as he started playing the next chapter of the audio book.

Opposite him, Colin Hughes and Isaac McAdoo saw the scene unfold before them. The gentle tilt of Roy’s body to accommodate your sleepy head, the almost imperceptible smile that lay on his lips, the shallow way he was breathing to stop his chest from moving too much. The look on his face was blunt and plain like normal, but with every stare that he sent down your way, the boys saw exactly what was happening.

Colin elbowed Isaac silently, shooting a look at you and Roy. A smile upturned on Isaac’s face. Something boyish and playful that every man could recognise at one point or another. When he moved his gaze upwards, he was shocked to meet a steely stare from his Captain. Roy looked at Isaac and Colin in turn, and it was enough to make them both recoil and sink into their chairs awkwardly.

Roy cleared his throat again painfully. He acted like nothing was happening. He pretended like he didn’t want to fall asleep beside you, all the way until you reached Liverpool.

You slept like a baby that night. You hadn’t slept this much in your entire fucking life, but upon arriving you’d had about two hours of energy after your bus nap, before you had to retreat to your room and rest for the remainder of the evening. You missed out on team movie night– the guys watched Sleepless in Seattle– which was a fucking bummer, you knew, but you’d rather be alive for the game.

You were at the end of the corridor to the guys, near the rooms of the Diamond Dogs. Ted’s room was next to yours, which you knew from your abrupt awakening– you could hear his over enthusiastic Southern drawl through the thin walls on the morning of the game. He woke you up after answering a call with What’s shaking, Kevin Bacon!

You got yourself up and dressed, and joined everyone for breakfast at the hotel. It was utterly silent as everyone ate their meal. Even Roy looked more pissed off than usual as he cut into the golden yolk of a fried egg. Next to you, Ted happily sliced into another sausage. Gently, you leaned towards him. “Has someone fucking died or something?” You looked around at the glum faces of the guys. “Why does everyone look like they’ve been slapped?”

“Oh, well.” Ted started. “Richmond haven’t won an away game at Everton for six years–”

“Sixty,” Beard interrupted, correcting Ted.

Your eyes widened. “Sixty?” you whispered harshly. “Sixty fucking years?”

Ted let out a hum. “Oh, yeah. That’s my mistake. It has been sixty years since they’ve won.”

As you ate your breakfast, you understood why all the guys looked so fucking defeated already. Even on the way to the stadium they stayed the same way, silently contemplating and accepting another loss before the game had even begun. You tried to send them all reassuring smiles, but none of them matched your energy for more than a second at a time. It was fucking miserable.

You jumped off the bus when you arrived and stood with Sam and Roy before splitting up. “Good luck, Sam. Bring the heat like you know you can, alright?” you said, before you gave Sam a tight hug.

He hugged you back fiercely, as if trying to inhale all of your good vibes. “Thank you. Having you in the crowd is good luck for us, you know?” he said, before pulling away.

“What?” you let out softly, shooting him an amused look.

“It’s true! I am not a superstitious person, but about this, I am. You bring good luck.” He beamed at you, and you huffed at him in subtle embarrassment.

“Thanks, Sam,” you said, before he disappeared into the stadium with the others.

Roy milled about a bit longer, making sure all the guys got off the bus safely. You stayed put next to him the entire time, trying to think up something smart to say that would ease his nerves. You didn’t know what any of them were feeling, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to understand them better. If you could put yourself into their shoes then you’d be able to cater for them in different ways.

You peered up at Roy for a split second, ready to say some words of encouragement, but he cut you off before you could. “You sitting in the owner's box?” he asked, sending you a stoic look. You gulped back your prior words and nodded instead. Roy hummed. “See you on the other side.”

Roy left before you could say anything coherent. He strolled past the press with his mouth in a straight line, leaving you behind at the bus on your own. You watched him go until he entered the stadium, seeing the strong way he walked and the way his fingers were balled into fists. As much as you’d wanted to, not wishing Roy good luck was something he preferred. He felt the nerves, the anxiety, for himself and his teammates, and you knew that well. Wishes of good luck only ever seemed to make him madder.

You sucked in a sharp breath and entered the stadium then, readying yourself to scream for your fucking life for your team– for Richmond.

Needless to say, the atmosphere was second to none. You sat with Rebecca and Keeley in the owner’s box, on the away side, and didn’t calm down for ninety minutes. The guys played electrically, moving as a fierce unit like never before, and everytime they scored you went absolutely insane. You cheered and screamed bloody murder, jumped up and down on the spot, and didn’t give a shit what anyone thought.

In the second half, near the end, the guys were slowing down. You took it upon yourself to sing their praises to oblivion, but not even you expected to be so into it. During the final goal, Roy assisted Sam to get it into the box. When you saw him, pumping his arms to hell before he tackled one of Everton’s boys and got the ball to Sam, you held your breath until everything exploded.

During the eruption after their final, winning goal, you jumped up and leaned against the balcony edge of the owner’s box. You inhaled sharply, and realised it strongly, alongside a “Go on, Roy!”

It echoed throughout the stadium, reverberating off the walls and slanted ceiling loudly, until it hit the player’s ears. Roy was doubled over in exhaustion, but he lifted his head when he heard it. It took him no time at all to seek you out– he’d asked you where you were sitting beforehand, after all– and when his eyes hit yours, you couldn’t stop yourself from whooping and hollering in his favour.

You didn’t care if it was embarrassing, you were overly proud of them. When they bound their way back to the locker room after the full time whistle, you practically jumped to follow them. Keeley laughed beside you triumphantly, and followed behind you as fast as she could in her tall heels. You slalomed through the press all the way to the away locker room, before you burst through the door.

“You fucking thrashed them!” you screamed upon entry, and the guys matched your energy tenfold.

Sam was the first to encase you in a hug, before you were overtaken by multiple sets of limbs. Isaac lifted you off the floor when he wrapped his arms around you, and you let out a much needed pent up sigh as you stepped back afterwards. You took in their pristine faces, and you thought that, perhaps, you’d never felt more like you belonged. This all started out as a slap in the face, but with everyday that passed, you felt more and more a part of this incredible family. You felt lucky, and that was saying something, when before you’d been so unlucky to step through the doors of the Dogtrack.

You leaned against the cinder block wall for a moment, remembering the scene that played out before your very eyes. This would become a core memory in time, you decided, and you knew that when your year was up, these were the times you’d think back to. Their elated faces, their hugs of affection, their love bursting from every pore and crack and crevice that it was almost suffocating to withstand.

“You can fucking yell,” Roy said, appearing on your left suddenly from the rabble.

You breathed out. “Roy,” you greeted him softly, over the fucking moon. “Congratu-fucking-lations!”

“Sam was right,” he said, placing an abrupt but welcomed hand on your shoulder. He squeezed you affectionately. “You bring us good luck.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but nevertheless felt your cheeks warm. He raised his eyebrows at you playfully, happily. You enjoyed every moment the stoic look on his face was replaced with something different, something soft and joyful. Now was one of those times.

Suddenly, Roy hoisted himself onto one of the benches, and let out a loud “Oi! Listen up!” to his teammates. They all stopped celebrating to listen to their Captain. “None of you are going back to the hotel tonight! ‘Cause we did something today that no one thought we could do, including us! So we’re going out, we’re celebrating, and we’re gonna rub it in this city’s fucking face!”

The locker room erupted once more, and before you could peer up at Roy, you were pulled into the mob of players as they started to chant– Richmond till we die! We’re Richmond till we die! We know we are, we’re sure we are, we’re Richmond till we die!

Keeley let you get ready in hers and Rebecca’s suite. It was huge, and kitted out with lavish decor and a fully stocked mini-bar. Keeley applied her lipliner in the bathroom, while you sat on one of the plush sofas and sipped from a glass of champagne. You felt content, you felt known. It had taken you half the fucking season, but you finally felt happy where you were.

Despite the familiarity of going out with the team, you felt that today was different. Not just from the way the guys all loved you, but from the increasing tension that buzzed between you and Roy that you simply couldn’t ignore anymore. You wanted to tell him about the article tonight, wanted him to read it before you did anything rash, but there was a part of you that didn’t want him to think that was all you liked him for– your career, your assignments, your degree. Roy Kent was fast becoming someone that you simply enjoyed being around, more than anything. You didn’t want him to think of himself as less.

“Babes?” Keeley called from the bathroom.

You breathed in and left your jagged thoughts. “Hm?” you replied.

Keeley shot her head around the frame of the bathroom door, lipstick finally applied. She took one glance at your back, slumped and in thought, and furrowed her brows. “You okay?” she asked, and you twisted yourself around to face her.

You sent her a genuine smile. “Never been better,” you said, and you found yourself believing it.

Keeley rushed towards you and jumped on the sofa. She picked up her glass of champagne and made a show of hovering it before yours. “Shall we toast?” she asked.

You raised your glass next to hers. “Always, but to what? The team?”

“No,” she said. “To you, and your article.”

You scoffed. “Oh, please.”

“I’m being serious!” she exclaimed. “Only you could make Roy sound so… human. It was emotional, strategic, but above all– you made me care about Roy Kent as more than a footballer. You should be fucking proud.”

You felt bashful, but nevertheless smiled at her compliments. “Thanks, Keeley,” you said gently.

She raised her glass higher. “To you becoming a writer, any fucking day now,” she said.

You chuckled lightly, and clinked your glass with hers, before both of you downed the contents. Bubbles fizzed up your noses, almost being spat out as you spluttered with laughter, but the two of you held it together. It was a matter of time before things got crazy, and you knew you wouldn’t be prepared. As you left the suite with Keeley, a bag across your body and spring in your step, you told yourself to enjoy it– at least while it lasted, before all of this ended in a matter of months.

Thanks to Keeley brainwashing everyone, karaoke was definitely on the cards. The guys booked a private room for the whole team, and upon arrival you were all coerced into requesting songs for one another. You sat on the sofa with Keeley, chatting away with Rebecca and her friend Flo, aka Sassy. The guys were ecstatic, and you were happy to be part of it all. Even Roy had a permanent smile fixed on his face, next to a beer in his hand at all times.

As the songs went on, you found yourself enjoying yourself more. You all settled into it, enjoying one another's company, joking around as the guys queued songs to embarrass someone, but you’d be lying if you hadn’t been overly aware of Roy’s presence all night. He never went out with the guys in London, never joined in for post-match pints or a night on the town, and you’d been waiting for a moment like this with him. Yet, you couldn’t move from where you were. You stayed back and let him be, all the while wondering if he was ever going to approach you himself. It was childish, and made you feel even more so like a schoolgirl who was crushing hard, but the thing you were worrying about the most was the bomb you were going to drop on him– you’d finished the article, and you wanted him to read it before you submitted it anywhere. That was the goal.

After Bumbercatch had performed Sex on Fire, you went back to chatting with Keeley, but that was promptly interrupted by an abrupt “Oi!” from yours truly. You twisted yourself on the sofa to meet his gaze above. Roy peered down at you, empty beer glass in hand, and a small smile on his tipsy face. “Need a refill?” he asked, and you smiled immediately.

“Yes, please,” you said, as you stood up and followed him to the bar. You slalomed through other people enjoying their night out, until you both ended up at the main bar. The music was loud, and the place was packed, but you felt at ease next to Roy. “I’ll get these!” you yelled over the noise, but if Roy heard you at all then he chose to ignore it.

He ordered two more pints and tapped his card against the machine without hesitation. You pouted as you zipped up your bag again, looking at him sternly as he passed you your pint. “One of these days you have to let me buy you a drink, Roy.”

He shrugged. “I don’t fucking mind. Not when it’s you.”

You looked at him quizzically. “Why?”

“Because you don’t expect it. Everyone else does when you’re a footballer. They expect the drinks and food and the fucking bill sorted, but you never have,” he explained.

You scoffed. “Yeah, because my mother raised me with manners.”

“Good woman,” he said, before he clinked his full glass against yours. All you could do was laugh, as the two of you took generous sips of your drinks together.

You took a moment to glance around the main room of the club. It was bustling to the brim. People danced and drank joyously, and a few managed to scramble onto a small stage and use the pole that was there. You hadn’t been out to a club like this in a long time, and it made you even happier to think about the people you were with. A stellar team, a kind group of guys. You couldn’t believe how much you’d lucked out with them all.

Roy gently leaned to your ear, his beard skimming your cheek softly. “Need some air?” he asked, and as much as you wanted to say yes, you knew you had a song queued in the karaoke room.

You leaned into his ear in return, savouring being close to him like this, even if it was brief. “Keeley queued a karaoke song for me!” you said, and the mischievous face that Roy sent you was one that you added to his expression bank in your mind.

“Come on, then!” he yelled over the noise, before he offered you his arm.

You took it as the two of you made your way back to the private room, but within the space of five minutes, the rest of the club was on the brink of bursting. As Roy took no prisoners and shoved people out of his way, you dealt with the opposite. You tried to stay glued to him, but it proved useless when you tried to cross a packed pathway. As Roy pushed himself forward, you were caught in the crossfire and pushed away. Your arm twisted out of his own, and you stumbled backwards abruptly. Your beer sloshed in its glass, and trickled down your fingers as you tried to compose yourself. You couldn’t see Roy anymore, just the bobbing heads of other club goers.

“Oi!” Roy boomed from further in the club. It was then that the crowd parted, like Moses with the fucking Red Sea, and he stomped his way towards you sternly. When he reached you, he peered down at you strongly, before he snaked his hand around your waist for a moment. “You go first,” he said into your ear, and you walked forward with him right behind. His fingers gently bobbed upon your lower back, always near, just letting you know that he was close.

“Are you Roy fucking Kent?” one of the club goers yelled out, and Roy abruptly turned to the person in question. He looked no older than a university student, and had a very distinct Scouse accent.

“Yeah. What of it?” Roy replied, and the kid before him all but backed down.

“N-nothing,” the kid stuttered out. “Nice playing today.”

The crowd around the kid erupted suddenly, questioning his loyalty to their local team. You didn’t stick around, though, as Roy gently pushed you forward and towards the karaoke room once more. When the crowd died down more, he moved himself to your side, but kept his fingers on your back, just grazing there, in case he needed to step in again.

An attendee pulled open the curtain to the private room for you both, and you finally let out a sigh of relief. “Jesus fucking Christ, thanks for that,” you let out, and Roy nodded at you.

“I have no patience for little fuckers that get in the way,” he said.

You scoffed, and took a sip of your beer. “It’s a wonder why you have so much patience for me, then.”

Roy furrowed his brows at you, amused. “Don’t fucking push it,” he joked.

You shot him a beaming smile, one that had your cheeks hurting as soon as it encased your face. At the front of the room, Keeley snatched the microphone from the previous performer. She tapped it once, alerting everyone to the stage. “Hey!” she spoke through it, her voice booming through the room. You and Roy turned to her immediately, and she caught your eye. She smiled. “Come on! You’re up!”

“Oh, fuck,” you muttered under your breath, and took a few large gulps of beer before you headed to the stage. Roy gently grabbed your drink before you could leave, and propped them both down on a table as the guys went crazy.

They cheered and screamed as Keeley passed you the microphone, and you tried to keep it together. You’d done karaoke before, just not when you were this sober and coherent. You didn’t even know what song you were fucking singing, until the large TV for lyrics flashed the title– Womanizer by Britney Spears.

As the song started, Roy watched on from the crowd. Over his dead body would anyone sign him up for something like this, but seeing you fumble through the initial nerves was endearing to witness. Keeley, Rebecca and Sassy egged you on to oblivion, alongside the chants from Ted and Beard, as well as the members of your fan club– Sam, Colin and Isaac to be exact. It was impossible not to smile as you performed, getting more confident as the song went on.

Roy crossed his legs where he sat, right opposite the stage, as you towered above the rest of the team. Tonight was a good night. He was surrounded by his teammates, his bosses, you, after a win that no one had been expecting. The only thing that could possibly make it better was the opportunity to talk more with you, in a different setting, socially. There was no doubt in Roy’s mind that you were the life and soul of any party, especially from the upbeat way you sang and laughed at yourself on stage. When he thought about it, about you, he often found it hard to find anything to criticise. He couldn’t even rightfully say that you were pushy anymore, not after he’d jumped at the idea of your article before.

It was then that he realised, while watching you fail to hit high notes from laughing too hard– Roy couldn’t fucking say no to you. Even when he wanted to, even when he needed to, probably, he couldn’t fucking do it.

When the song finished, you thanked your lucky stars that it was fucking over. You breathed heavily as applause broke out everywhere, and when you jumped off the stage you found that your legs had turned to jelly. You stumbled as you made your way back through the crowds, and dropped yourself down next to Roy as if you’d been close to collapsing.

He huffed as he handed you your beer, and you downed half the glass as fast as you could. When you finished, you met Roy’s overly amused face. “How did I do?” you breathed out.

“Well, no one’s ears are bleeding. I call that a win,” he replied.

You scoffed, embarrassed, but nevertheless embraced your shit performance. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” you let out, and Roy chuckled beside you warmly. You leaned back on the sofa only to realise that Roy’s arm was draped behind you. Neither of you moved. You were comfortable this way.

As Beard got up to perform Lady Gaga, Roy leaned closer to you. You could smell his cologne when he did, as you gently leaned forward to let him find your ear. “Need some air now?” he asked, and you smiled to yourself, before you gently nodded at him in agreement.

The two of you shuffled out of the room again, and headed to the smoking area out the front, missing the crowd of drunk people inside. As he emerged into the cold outside, Roy gently looked back for you. You caught his eye with a smile, before the two of you found a secluded area to perch upon outside. You both sipped at your drinks in silence, thankful for the space and quiet for once. As much as you were enjoying yourself, you’d been dying to get out for some breathing room.

You sighed, content. Roy copied you, as your white breath surrounded one another before disappearing into thin air. “I can’t believe we fucking won,” Roy said first, and you turned to him gently.

“You all played amazingly,” you added, and Roy peered down at you softly. “Seriously, and I obviously know what I’m talking about.”

Roy raised his brows at you. “What’s the offside rule?” he asked.

You waved him off playfully. “Don’t go making new rules up, that’s just not fair,” you said sarcastically, and when a small chuckle burst from Roy’s lips you felt validated. You felt it whenever someone laughed at your jokes, but with Roy it felt extra special.

Roy shuffled on his spot, and his shoulder gently bumped into yours. You were struggling to balance the nerves in your gut, made even worse by the fact he was so close to you. There was that feeling, one that told you, if you lingered on each other for just a second too long, that you would wind up kissing. You sucked in a sharp breath, before you swilled your beer around in its glass, just to do something with all your pent up anxiety.

Innately, you knew that now was as good a time as any to bring up the article. You’d have to do it sooner or later, or risk not submitting it at all. You thought back to Rebecca’s words, about how she’d been too quick to assume that Roy wouldn’t give a shit, but you still wanted to try. If he was indifferent, it was still OK to actually submit it, surely?

You cleared your throat gently. “I finished the article,” you said, and Roy’s face hardened slightly, but he was still listening. “I know that you hate this kind of thing.”

Roy growled, but when you turned and caught his eye, you knew it wasn’t a full blown pissed off growl. It was more like a growl in agreement. You smiled at him, genuinely, flicking your eyes over the features of his face softly. “Yeah, I do,” he said abruptly. Your smile disappeared slowly. “But, if it helps you do something great, that’s a good fucking thing.” When he peered down at you, you felt immediately at ease.

You huffed affectionately. “Really?” you asked, just to double check. This was what he did– made you feel special, made you feel heard. “That’s great, Roy, really.” You sighed in relief. “I was so nervous you wouldn’t like it at all, and when you get around to reading it I can make changes to anything you really don’t like–”

You were cut off by Roy laughing suddenly. It wasn’t a sound you’d heard often, but nevertheless it was something you welcomed. What he was laughing about, however, had you confused.

“What?” you asked, smiling.

Roy took a sip of beer before he met your gaze. “I’m not gonna fucking read it.”

Your heart dropped into your gut suddenly. “What?” you let out again, as butterflies tore their way through your internal organs.

Roy breathed out. “I was never going to fucking read it. But, I did the interview and everything you wanted, right? That’s enough, isn’t it?”

You struggled to compute his words, and instead let out a chuckle instead of coherent words. You placed your glass down and took a few stumbling steps away from him, trying to figure out why the fuck he let you interview him, write about him, all of it, if he was never going to fucking read it in the end. This wasn’t how you rolled. You didn’t want people to do things like this for you if they didn’t want to, and Roy definitely fit in that box– even more so. The last thing you wanted to do was piss him off.

“I– I’m just confused with this,” you said, trying not to lace too much annoyance within your words. “Why would you agree to this, if you were never going to read it when I was done?” Roy shrugged, but the pained look on his face revealed that there was more there. You stepped forward. “Why, Roy?”

“Because! I– fucking hell,” he exclaimed. He put down his drink as he found his words, and let out a sigh before he spoke. There was an exposed look on his face, one that you recognised as when someone was about to admit to something. “I struggle… saying no to you.”

Your blood boiled. It was a miracle you didn’t erupt on the spot, but you were too busy trying to stop your legs from turning to jelly, and your fingers, and your limbs. You peered up at Roy with wide eyes and the strangest urge to fucking bury yourself beneath the ground you stood on. If there was one thing you never wanted to be, it was an annoyance. Yet, with those six words, Roy had just admitted to how he’d never wanted to do the article in the fucking first place, but placed himself in that situation from not being able to deny you.

It made you feel stupid. It made you feel mortified. How had you not noticed that he’d been utterly against it from the start?

“Oh my god,” you muttered, gobsmacked. “I’m an idiot.” Roy reached out for your arm, but you abruptly slalomed out of the way. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“How is that a bad thing? It meant you could still fucking write it, right?” Roy said, but he didn’t get it. He didn’t get how it felt when you realised you were nothing more than a blight on someone who didn’t actually give a shit. Someone stuck to his side, following him around, asking for things that he didn’t deny, just to appease you.

“How is that a bad thing?” you repeated him, raising your voice. “You never wanted to fucking do this in the first place, Roy, but you made me think that it was okay! Oh my god.” You smacked your hand over your mouth abruptly. “I stayed at your house for six fucking hours!”

You felt embarrassed. You felt like a nagging, boring uni student.

“I don’t see why this is such a fucking issue,” Roy said, matching your anger.

“I never wanted to put you in an uncomfortable position, I wanted to write something good-”

“You did all that, so why do you need me to fucking read it?”

“Because I wrote it for you, Roy!” you exclaimed, and Roy’s mouth shut instantly. “I wrote this for you. I wanted to write something about you that you’d actually like reading.” You frowned at him, your eyes glassy. You weren’t expecting this to blow up in this, nor were you expecting Roy to completely ignore what you’d actually written.

You desperately wished he’d read it and told you he hated it, instead of this outcome.

You remembered what it had been like before. His attempts to avoid you, so that you wouldn’t bug him. His easiness at telling you to leave him the fuck alone. His aversion to being around you. All of this could have been fixed if he’d set up boundaries with you– boundaires to back the fuck off, ones that you would always uphold if you knew they’d been in place.

“I don’t think anyone will be able to write something about me that I actually like,” Roy let out, and it only made your heart sink more. “That’s not on you. That’s on me.” He took a step towards you, but you only backed up when he did.

“I won’t submit it,” you said suddenly.

Roy furrowed his brows. “Why the fuck not?”

“I was never going to submit it without getting your approval first, Roy,” you said lowly.

“I fucking approve!” he let out.

You were shaking your head before he was even done talking. “I’ve made up my mind,” you said, before you forced yourself to look at him. You felt tearful, you felt childish, but most of all– you felt embarrassed of yourself. “I’m so sorry I roped you into this to begin with.”

“Hey,” he said strongly, and finally reached out to grab your forearm. “This isn’t a big deal.” You inhaled sharply when he got in close, trying and failing to make you believe anything different. He’d said how he felt so clearly that nothing was going to make you change your mind, and all you wanted to do now was give him space.

“I beat myself up about asking you to do this,” you started. “I spoke to Keeley about it and everything, and she reassured me that it would be okay, that you’d say no if it was something you didn’t want to do. For fucks sake, Roy– this is a big deal,” you pleaded with him. “I stayed up all night to write it, I pored over old news stories about you, I fucking worked hard to make this something you’d like, was so excited about it, just for you to tell me you’d never planned on reading it from the beginning. Do you understand why I’m upset now?”

Roy’s expression softened. He hadn’t thought about it that way, hadn’t thought about the impact it would have on you when he spilled his true intentions.

“If you’d told me the truth from the start then it would have saved all of this from happening,” you added, and you gently tugged your arm out of his grasp.

You sniffed, and let out an abrupt laugh from a lack of what else to fucking say. You felt gutted, worse than you’d feel if he’d read it and laughed about it being shit– that you could have taken on board and worked with, but this was a different ball park altogether. This was Roy not respecting his own boundaries to try and make you happy, only to have all your work, time and effort mean nothing at the end of the day. It felt like a slap in the face.

You rationalised your feelings then, as quick as you could. You couldn’t deny the hurt you felt at Roy’s blatant dismissal of your work, but you also understood that he didn’t have any intention to hurt you. With that in mind, you turned back to him and softened your expression. You tried not to show how upset you were, you didn’t want to make him feel any fucking worse.

“Next time, just let me know if you don’t want to do something, okay?” you said, but the wobble in your voice was noticeable. It hit Roy in the chest harshly, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

You shuffled back to where your glass was and picked it up. You downed the rest of your beer, ignoring the painful bubbles in your chest, before you looked back at Roy and forced yourself to smile. “I need a refill. I’ll head back inside,” you said, and you didn’t give Roy a chance to respond before you entered, through the main door, back into the club.

CHAPTER SIX

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aimeedaisies · 1 month

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Court Circular | 22nd March 2024

St James’s Palace

The Princess Royal this morning opened the new North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Allied Rapid Reaction Corps Headquarters Accommodation at the Officers’ Mess, Imjin Barracks, Gloucester, and was received by His Majesty’s Lord-Lieutenant of Gloucestershire (Mr Edward Gillespie).

Her Royal Highness this afternoon visited the Joint Casualty and Compassionate Centre and Ministry of Defence Medal Office at Innsworth House, Imjin Barracks, and was received by Mr Mark Hurrell (Deputy Lieutenant of Gloucestershire).

The Princess Royal, Patron, Stroud Hospital League of Friends, later visited Stroud Maternity Unit, Field Road, Stroud, and was received by Dr. Roger Deeks (Vice Lord-Lieutenant of Gloucestershire).

#princess anne #princess royal #court circular

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sisterspooky1013 · 6 months

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Gaslight, Chapter 13/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

He knocks again, then stands back to wait. What the hell are they doing in there? he wonders, shifting the six pack of beer he brought to the other arm. Poker night is every Thursday—it’s not like they aren’t expecting him.

The night is cool and crisp, the clear indigo sky speckled with pinpricks of starlight. Trillions of miles traveled across the universe over thousands of years, just to be overpowered by skyscrapers and streetlights and the haze of the industrial revolution. He tips his face up and locates the Big Dipper, the North Star, Cassiopeia. It makes him at once feel insignificant—a speck on a rock in a pile in a quarry—and extraordinary. How many events throughout the history of time had to happen in precisely the way they did in order to bring him to this moment? It feels like destiny, which is both a comfort and a burden.

Finally, the door pops open and he’s greeted by a tall blond man with thick glasses.

“The party has arrived!” the man says jovially, standing aside to allow him entry. “Jeff’s here!” he hollers, and voices of the other two call out greetings from a nearby room.

“I’ve been standing out there for ten minutes,” Jeff chides gently. “I thought you’d kicked me out of the coven.”

They enter a small dining room with a circular table surrounded by four chairs, two of them occupied.

“We were out back smoking a cigar,” the blond man explains as he takes his seat. “Cuban, the real deal.”

“And you didn’t wait for me?” Jeff asks, exaggerating his level of offense as he sits in the remaining chair.

“Come on, man, we know Diana would have your balls if she smelled cigar smoke on you,” one of the other men says. He’s older than the other two, with wiry salt and pepper hair.

“You’re not wrong,” Jeff agrees, cracking open a bottle of beer. “Let’s get this show on the road; who’s dealing?”

The third man, mahogany-skinned and handsome, shuffles the cards artfully, making a show of bridges and cascades as he smirks to himself.

“Mike thinks he’s hot shit with his little card tricks,” the blond man says bitingly. “Just deal the things already, Mike. Jeff has a curfew.”

“Fuck off, Simon,” Mike shoots back. “I’m perfecting my craft.”

“Women are attracted to money, not junior high magic tricks,” Simon says, nudging the third man with his elbow.

“I like magic tricks,” the third man comments self-consciously, and the other three laugh.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Mike says, shaking his head. “You always gotta be the weird one, don’t you, Frank?”

“Yeah, well, you won’t be laughing when I clean house,” Frank grumbles, and Mike finally deals out the deck.

Frank does, in fact, clean house. They don’t play with real money, just chips, but that doesn’t hamper each man’s desire to win, nor his disappointment when Frank scoops up the lion’s share of the pile and begins stacking them enthusiastically.

Simon checks his watch, then sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I gotta head out in a half hour or so,” he says. “Marcy didn’t want me to stay too late.”

“Well, I guess Jeff isn’t the only one with a curfew,” Mike teases, and Simon shakes his head with a smile.

“It’s not that, it’s just hard for her to get up with the baby at night right now, so I’ve been taking all that on.”

“Is she okay?” Jeff asks, his mind immediately going to the kinds of things that can cost you a sister.

“Yeah, she’s fine, just tired. She’s, uh—she’s pregnant again, actually,” Simon offers, and all the eyebrows at the table shoot up to their hairlines.

“No shit,” Frank says carefully. “Is that good news or bad news?”

“Surprising news,” Simon says. “But ultimately good. We didn’t really plan to have two this close together, but I guess fate had other ideas.”

“Congratulations,” Jeff offers, extending his hand. “That’s great.”

“Can’t say I miss those days,” Frank remarks, still stacking his chips. “Up at 3:00 am trying to get a baby back to sleep when you have to be up for work at 6:00? No thank you. I’m glad mine are all grown.”

“Thanks, Frank, that’s really kind of you to say,” Simon says, rolling his eyes.

“I always miss my kids when they’re at Jenny’s,” Mike says sadly. “Being a dad is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Hey now, I love my kids,” Frank defends. “I’m just saying, waking up in the middle of the night fucking sucks.”

Jeff watches the exchange, unable to take part. He can relate to overbearing spouses and the perils of the working world, but he has nothing to offer on the subject of fatherhood.

“I actually need to head out too,” he says as he stands and retrieves what remains of his beer. “Wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to my balls.”

“Send our best to the warden,” Frank quips, earning him a warning look.

He leaves them, a peel of laughter fading as he pulls the door closed behind himself and makes his way to his car.

It does bother him a little, the way they talk about Diana. At the same time, what they say about her isn’t untrue. She is a little bit controlling, but not without due cause. He’s made mistakes in the past, ones he can never fully set right, and ones that justify Diana’s desire to know where he is and with whom. He promised her that he would do whatever it takes to make it up to her, and that has included checking in regularly and being home by midnight. Of course, his friends don’t know that, because he’s never told them. He’s too ashamed. So he accepts their cheap shots at his wife, and then drives home to her so he can prove again and again that she is the only one he wants to come home to.

He slinks into the house quietly, shushing Frenchie’s barks as he enters through the laundry room. He walks towards the back of the house to let her outside, and is startled by Diana’s voice as he passes through the kitchen.

“You’re late.”

He jumps a little, bringing his hand to his chest as he pulls the sliding glass door open and Frenchie slips out.

“Jesus, you scared me,” he admits, though that was fairly obvious by his reaction.

Diana is perched at the kitchen island wearing a silk nightgown, a glass of water on the counter before her. He looks at the time on the microwave display and then back to her pinched expression.

“By four minutes, Diana,” he defends, indignant.

She pulls in a deep breath, straightening her posture.

“Where were you?” she asks.

“At Frank’s, for poker night. Same as every Thursday. There was an accident on the turnpike,” he tells her, and his gut twists at the disbelieving look on her face. He steps closer, laying his hand over the top of hers on the countertop. “Diana—”

She pulls her hand out from under his and stands, walking to the sliding glass door to let Frenchie back in.

“I believe you, Jeff. But call next time, okay?” she says tersely, and he nods.

He lies awake in bed, and by Diana’s breathing, he can tell she is awake too. He feels guilty, but also angry that he feels guilty when he didn’t do anything wrong. He knows that he deserves this, knows he’s lying in a bed of his own making, but he still hates knowing that it will never go away. Six years later and she’s still watching him like a hawk. He thought it would get better over time, but it hasn’t.

And then there’s Simon and his new baby. He was surprised by the pang of jealousy that lit up in his chest upon hearing the news, a sensation he’s never experienced before. He’s always considered he and Diana to be childfree by choice, but looking back, he doesn’t really recall weighing in on that decision. Diana never wanted to be a mother, and he wanted to be with Diana, and so it was simply part of the deal. Now, at nearly 39 years old, he suddenly wonders if being a father would suit him.

“Did you always know that you didn’t want children?” he asks out loud, and Diana’s breathing pauses briefly.

“Where did that come from?” she questions.

“Marcy is pregnant again, and I was just thinking—”

A blustering sigh.

“Jeff, are we really going to do this right now?” she asks, annoyed.

“Do what?” he counters, equally irritated by her dismissiveness.

Diana rolls to her side to face him, propping her head up on a fist.

“Can you really see yourself giving up poker night, and sleeping in, and playing basketball on the weekend?” she asks, her tone shifting to something lighter.

“I mean…I don’t think I’d have to give up all those things. Not forever, anyway,” he says.

“Imagine walking into the office to find your rare book collection in tatters on the floor, covered in drool,” she teases, and he smiles.

“That would be less than ideal,” he agrees.

“Imagine having to stay quiet when we make love,” she continues, sliding her hand across his belly.

“I’m not even sure that’s possible,” he says, now grinning.

She hitches her leg up over his hip, straddling him, then peels the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing her breasts.

“These are, and always will be, exclusively for you,” she says in a syrupy voice, then leans forward and brushes her lips over his. “Help me fall asleep, Jeff,” she whispers.

Her nightgown finds its way to the floor, as do his boxers. She sits astride him, grinding with her eyes locked on his. She’s possessive, maybe a little desperate, though he’s not sure why.

“That’s it,” she encourages him, her hands planted on his chest. Her eyes slide closed, her mouth falling open. “Yes, Fox,” she murmurs.

When she collapses against his chest he rubs wide circles over her back, and his mind instantly returns to its wandering state.

“What did you say about a fox?” he asks, and she stiffens.

“What?” she asks breathlessly, her face tucked against his neck.

“You said something about a fox, during—”

“I’m relatively certain I said ‘fuck.’ Sorry to offend your delicate senses,” she says somewhat defensively, rolling off of him.

He turns toward her, laying a reassuring hand on her bare hip.

“I’m not offended, Diana, I was just wondering—”

“Goodnight, Jeff. I have work in the morning, I need to get to sleep, if you don’t mind,” she says in a clipped tone.

“Okay,” he acquiesces. “Goodnight.”

He waits for her to turn her face towards his so he can kiss her goodnight, but she keeps her back to him. He presses his lips to the curve of her shoulder, lingering there as a confusing mix of emotions swirl around in his chest.

The life he has. The life he sometimes thinks he might want. The discrepancy between the two. He wonders why now, all of a sudden, he’s peeking over the fence at possibly greener grasses. Why the life he’s been content with for years suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.

The rush of the waves fills his ears, calming him. A gull calls out, its shriek carried away on the wind as his toes sink into the sun-warm sand. He spies a child further down the shore, a boy with dirty blond hair building something with a shovel and a bucket. There is a feeling of recognition, a sense of knowing, though he cannot recall the child’s name, nor their relationship to one another.

A strong wave pushes up beyond the waterline, sweeping across the child’s half-finished project and washing it into an indecipherable mound. The child’s shoulders slump, defeated, so he approaches and calls out to him.

“Oh, hey, buddy. That’s okay, you can build it again.”

He kneels down beside the boy and touches the child’s cheek, brushing an errant grain of sand from his downy skin. There’s something in the child’s eyes, something familiar that makes him feel a swell of affection and protectiveness.

“Just start again,” he tells the child, reassuringly.

He jolts awake, his heart racing. Frenchie stands from her bed on the floor, alerted by his sudden movement, and watches him for an indication of what’s next.

“It’s okay, Frenchie,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands over his face.

The night is still in full swing, only inky darkness peeking in around the blinds. He looks over at Diana’s sleeping form, her back still turned to him and her breathing even. It feels like only minutes have passed since he fell asleep.

Wired from adrenaline, he stares at the ceiling and waits for the potential of sleep to return to him. His dream has mostly faded, and he grasps at snippets. The beach, he remembers the beach.

Just start again.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files

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kingwilliamv · 6 months

Text

Court Circular || 07 November 2023

The Prince of Wales, President, the Earthshot Prize, today undertook the following engagements in Singapore:

His Royal Highness this morning held a Meeting with Finalists of the 2023 Earthshot Prize Awards at Gardens by the Bay, Marina Gardens Drive.

The Prince of Wales this afternoon attended a Founding Partners’ Lunch at Eden Hall, Nassim Road, and was received by the British High Commissioner to the Republic of Singapore (Her Excellency Mrs. Kara Owen).

His Royal Highness later visited EcoLabs at Nanyang Technological University, Cleantech Loop.

The Prince of Wales this evening attended the Earthshot Prize Awards at the Theatre at Mediacorp, One- North Avenue.

His Royal Highness subsequently attended an Earthshot Prize Thank You Reception at the Theatre at Mediacorp.

#cc:nov2023

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mortalfaerie · 1 month

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡

Chapter Three: Into The Storm

Cregan Stark x (Strong)Velaryon! OC

tw: illness, questionable pseudo-medieval medical stuff lol

Atop Seasmoke, the world a passing stage below them, Celaena passed an hour before the cloud encroached on them, growing darker and darker. To avoid the cover, they dipped lower and glided over holdings, no doubt visible by the time they passed the great castle of the Eyrie.

Into the north, as the sun drew lower over the horizon, the clouds came lower as though chasing the dragon and her rider. In a sense of duty mixed with stubbornness, Celaena refused to land prematurely. With reckless determination, they followed the kings road north as the terrain became greyer and snowy even in the early spring. Within what she estimated must be an hour of her destination as the sun fully disappeared, the skies opened up and poured torrentially on them.

Seasmoke grew restless as the path became unclear, swishing his tail and roaring in discontent. She urged him in High Valyrian to calm, to obey, to hold on just until they made it. The water soaked even through her dense riding clothes, and she felt cold - and then numb, as they pushed further.

Finally, the outline of great keep came into view, with the circular towers and outwalls that she had seen in illustrations of Winterfell. They circled the keep in preparation to land, as soldiers on the ramparts yelled and pointed, then poured into the inner moat to await orders from their lord and commander.

When Seasmoke landed, shaking the earth and roaring to all his presence, Celaena had begun to feel weak and tired. Still, she persevered and held herself tall in the saddle as the Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark, exited to stand before her.

In some distant part of her mind, Celaena considered that it takes a brave man indeed to stand alone before a fully grown dragon. However, she had business to carry out on behalf of the one true queen.

The rain still poured down with a vengeance as she called out, “Lord Cregan Stark,” and paused to draw in a deep breath, as she felt more weary than she expected. “I am Princess Celaena Velaryon, second-born of Rhaenyra, first of her name - Queen,” she drew in another breath, “Of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and of the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector - of - the - Realm.” she ground out with great effort.

Cregan Stark, despite the downpour, removed his cap and bowed his head. “Hail, Queen Rhaenyra.”

Taking in another fortifying breath, Celaena continued. “I come as an emissary of the Queen,” her vision began to swim and she fought to stay focused. “With a message to deliver.”

Beneath her, Seasmoke moved uneasily and swished his tail in discontent. The men on the ramparts knocked their bows, but Cregan Stark raised a hand to stop them. Celaena muttered for Seasmoke to calm down, but he snapped his jaw in defiance.

“Your grace,” the Warden of the North called through the rain. “Are you well?”

Celaena blinked to clear her vision as Seasmoke strained his neck to see her and snapped again in discontent. “No, my lord,” she began, and Seasmoke slapped the snowy ground with his tail. “I am not,” she said, just as her vision began to blur again and the light of the torches beyond seemed to move sideways. She was aware of Seasmoke’s roar of distress, the yelling of the men beyond, and could feel the sting where her waist chains dug into her side to prevent her from fully falling from the saddle.

“Your grace!” Cregan yelled, and approached cautiously. Seasmoke swished his tail in agitation and bared his long, sharp teeth, but did not advance on the young lord. With hands raised, he approached, speaking lowly to the dragon.

“I mean her no harm. No harm,” he repeated, until he reached the beast’s side. With an agitated thump and an exhale of steam, Seasmoke hunkered down and closer to the ground, where the Lord of Winterfell could reach the princess, dangling from the chains.

He cursed as he grasped her, feeling that she was cold and soaked, her lips beginning to tinge purple. But, her pulse was strong and she was breathing without effort, and he set to work unlatching the chains. Seasmoke continued to grow agitated but permitted him to take her, when finally she was free of the chains and fell into his arms. He clutched the princess to his chest and slung his fur cloak over her body, as he carried her into the keep and called loudly to wake the maester.

The warmest room in Winterfell was the lord’s own chamber. The castle had ingeniously been built over a hot spring, with the greatest chamber feeling the best of the effects. It was here that Cregan carried his princess’s cold frame, before depositing her on the rug before the fire and wrapping her in his cloak. Wasting no time, he went and pulled the furs from his own bed and covered her more, rubbing her hands in his own to bring the blood back. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at him strangely. “How did…” she rasped, but then shook her head as though she had thought better of it.

“Don’t fret, your grace,” he urged, and yelled to the men who had followed him in to bring a tub and hot water, and where on earth was the maester?

The old man finally came, jogging as best he could, carrying herbs and bottles clutched to his chest.

“How long has she been in the cold?” He asked. Cregan shook his head. “I don’t know - I wasn’t even aware she was travelling to Winterfell. She may have come directly from Dragonstone.”

The maester made the sign of the Seven before himself and began separating herbs in various amounts into a bowl, and crushed them with a tool. “She’ll need to be rid of the wet clothing, my lord.”

Cregan grit his teeth. He had seen men sick nearly to death from exposure and frostbite, and he knew what must be done, but he hesitated to insult the princess’s modesty infront of all these assembled soldiers.

“Out!” he yelled to them. “And summon Jeyne - and the maids!”

The servants who had been sent for arrived back with a great wood tub and pails and pails of water that steamed in their hands, dumping them into the tub. The maester commandeered a pail and used it to add to his potion, stirring it dissolve.

“Help me to get this in her mouth, my lord,” he asked, and Cregan tilted the princess’s pale face back so the draught could be poured down her throat. She sputtered and started, but swallowed the mixture, and groaned aloud to the pair.

The maester looked encouraged, however. “That will help. It is a warming tonic, and it will help to warm her body from the inside. Still, we need to get her out of her cold clothing and into the hot bath.”

Cregan nodded but insisted, “I will have the Septa do it. She is a princess, and unwed. I will not insult her honor by seeing her undressed, nor having any of my men see her as such either.”

The maester nodded. “Very well, but bring her to the fire.”

Cregan scooped her again and sat with her against his chest, facing the hearth. She squirmed in his grasp but didn’t wake again, and he chewed the inside of his cheek in consternation until the Jeyne, the wizened old crone and cook at Winterfell came scurrying into the room with several chambermaids on her heels.

“Yes, m’lord?” she asked, waiting for his word.

“This is Princess Celaena, daughter of your new Queen, Rhaenyra.” he said, turning to her. “She is very ill from the cold and must be undressed and bathed in the hot water to bring her body back around.”

He regarded the plump and matronly woman who had helped care for him and his late brother during their childhood illnesses, and said pointedly, “You must care for her with the greatest respect for her station and honor. Let no man but the maester see her unclothed, and only to treat her. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, my lord.” She insisted, and the maids nodded. He waved her over and shifted the princess into her waiting arms, then stood.

“Bathe her, care for her. I will have some of my mother’s old clothing sent for so you can dress her after. You may put her to bed here, it is the warmest.” He said, looking about the room. “I will sleep elsewhere tonight. Have a woman watch over her, and send for me as soon as she is awake and coherent.”

A chorus of agreement went up from the group, and he made his exit, closing the door firmly behind him. Spotting two of his most trusted men, he ordered them to stand watch at the door. As he went towards the kitchens in search of a mug of heated ale, another soldier approached him.

“My lord, the princess was carrying this missive when she collapsed,” he said and handed the offered scroll to his lord. Cregan nodded gruffly to the man in thanks.

Once he had sought the stiff drink, he found his way to the library and sat in a secluded corner to unfurl the parchment.

Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, In the late hours of the previous day, my father, King Viserys, passed into the arms of Seven. It was his will, and stipulated by the oath sworn by all the lords paramount of the realm, that I succeed him to the Iron Throne as his chosen heir. However, a faction has formed and installed my brother, Aegon, as a false king in my stead. I now call upon those who swore an oath to my father to honor it, and join me in retaking the throne and realm from this treasonous few. I have sent to you as an emissary, my daughter Celaena. She is intelligent and astute, and I have endowed her with the power to grant necessary requests in the North which may prove beneficial to our alliance. The one and true Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen

Finishing reading, Cregan downed his ale and sat, pensive. It offended his code of honor that there were those who went against the solemn oath they had sworn in the Queen’s youth, and per his morals, he would make true to his promise and render what aid to the rightful queen that was necessary. Nevertheless, it struck him that straits must be dire if Rhaenyra sent her only daughter to fly through a storm to reach Winterfell.

The situation did not bode well in his mind, nor his warrior’s heart. Gods be good, the princess would wake and recover and could shed more light on what had come to pass. Regardless, he would make it his first action come dawn to dispatch ravens to his bannermen and summon their lords to a council at Winterfell. He could see few ways out of this now where the northmen did not march south to make war on behalf of their dragon queen, and it was time to prepare.

#cregan stark #cregan stark x oc #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #rhaenyra targeryan #celaena velaryon #hotd

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