I write fanfic on my own erratic schedule, generally inspired by the excellent @cityfanchelseaslut and those charming Chelsea boys, mostly Ben Chilwell at the moment, whom I create fictional versions of for us to have fun with. Not accepting requests at the moment. Here's what's happening now...
Love Triangles, Champagne and Tequila (WIP)
Spin-off from 'Three Hearts'
Chapter 1: Love Triangles, Champagne and Tequila
Chapter 2: Coffee and Unexpected Calls
Chapter 3: The Morning After
Chapter 4: Coming soon!
Play Dates (WIP)
Spin-off from 'Play Nice'
Chapter 1: The Street
Chapter 2: The Bar
Chapter 3: The Beer Garden - coming soon! teaser Part I
(Thanks to @cityfanchelseaslut for the 'Play Dates' headers.)
the games are real, the stakes are real, the players themselves are unknowable except for what they carefully want you to know. the narratives are real, but the league knows you care about them, so they amplify them. the graphics next to the player's heads to tell you this is how their season is going, the camera lingering on them as they lean down to tie their shoes or their skates, looking solemn, the commentators tell you this is important, the marketing tells you this is important, in case you didnt know. the stories are already there but theyre also well-crafted. you care about these players. you care about how they perform. not just because you want to see your team win but because you want to see the conclusion of the narrative being built around them.
not everyone is doing sports rpf the way you might be familiar with it in fandom spaces, but sports is always, on some level, rpf. the people are real, but the reason you care about them is because a story is being told about them, through numbers, satistics, win/loss ratios, championships. there is an interest in amplifying the drama and centering the narrative so you care more about what you're seeing while watching the game. and is that not simply rpf...........
âAnd then there are my little superstitions. I never wear cycling shorts under my shorts. I always put the sock meant for my right foot (it has an R on it) on my left foot first. Then the other one on the right. This switch comes from a match I won when I was younger, and Iâve never changed it since."
Hilariously, way back in the midst of time there was fierce Tumblr debate about whether Ben wore compression shorts. The conclusion was that he didn't. WE WERE RIGHT.
Link: Ben Chilwellâs unusual pre-match routine is quite something (spoiler: it's not that unusual. He wears his socks the wrong way round and stretches.)
I swear to god if I see another TBS post about how Joan Bright is irredeemable or Sam Barnes is annoying Iâm going to throw a fit. These posts ALWAYS come from Damien apologists and Damiark shippers and itâs so clear to me that these people are only able to deal with morally complex and flawed mentally ill characters if those characters are male.
Damien is objectively a much worse person than any of the women in The Bright Sessions. and yet Damien is constantly treated like a pathetic little meow meow while Dr. Bright is treated like she killed your dog because she made some ethically gray decisions and Sam is treated as whiny and entitled because she has panic attacks.
Iâm not even saying you canât sympathize with Damien or like him as a character. I think heâs a great character! I like his nuances! But if you are justifying his behaviors while vilifying the women I need you to take a close look at ur biases and how you engage with media.
âŠ
anyway Iâm once again thanking Atypical Artists and Ms. Shippen for continuing to write such complex and morally nuanced female characters into her shows despite the constant criticism and rampant misogyny they seem to provoke from the fans.
Something of an accompaniment to Ship Song by @new-berry (posted with permission) and also Something Wild In The Room.
Kieran Trippier / Lewis Hall, implied Kieran / Harry Kane, implied... oh hell, they're all at it. Adults only please, or at least only people old enough to be adults.
Kieran leans on the windowsill in the giant hotel room, watching the sun set over Dubai, and lets himself have the thought he hasnât allowed himself for seven days.
What a weird fucking week.
He knows heâs not supposed to think that. How can you think it, when youâre the hero who ended the 70-year-wait? but Kieran thinks Dan has a point about feeling numb.
Maybe itâs just the extremes of it all; one minute, watching Bruno do that fucking stupid little pirouette in extra time, everyone staring at the screen, most of his brain was frantically running through their strategy for extra time, but a small part was preparing to call the Brazilian every name under the sun, and some that werenât. Barely twenty minutes later, they were hugging like brothers, and that cup seemed to have been made for them, three handles, him, Bruno, Jamal, winners shirts on their backs, medals around their necks, lifting the cup whilst Wembley exploded, and thenâŠ
Kieran rubs his face. He knew it was the right time to give up the England shirt, hand over, focus on finally winning silverware with Newcastle, but it turns out that no amount of knowing something was the right decision, knowing it would hurt, stops it from actually hurting when it happens. He misses it, misses H, turns out winning a Cup final just before the international break is a surreal experience. Yeah, you could do worse than celebrate in Dubai, but it feels strange, with half the team away.
Heâs not old, and maybe thatâs the thing, maybe he should be thinking of retiring, a nice few years of easy living in the States or Saudi to end his career, but itâs not what he wants. Turns out, winning is addictive, but he doesnât want to be the guy who hangs on long after itâs obvious to everyone he should have goneâŠ
Fucking hell, Tripps, you sound like an old man. Whinge on some more, why donât you? At least you got to fucking play, unlike Lew.
Itâs strange, having Lewis in Dubai. Kieran had made it a point to call him from Wembley, let him know this was his victory too. It was remarkably shit luck, breaking his foot; there will be other times for Lewis, but Kieran knows it wonât be the same, and for a few minutes he does feel it, flashes back to Wembley, hugging the gaffer, hugging Bruno, finally, finally, lifting that cup, and he wishes for Lewisâ sake he could have been there.
He was surprised to see him on the flight out, but maybe he just wanted to do his rehab somewhere warm and sunny, for which Kieran canât blame him. Maybe heâs just missing Tino.
A bang on the door makes Kieran jump, but itâs a welcome distraction. He squints through the keyhole, and sees a familiar face.
âYeah?â
âCan I come in and watch that sunset, then?â
For a strange few seconds Kieran wonders if he somehow summoned Lewis here by thinking about him, then his brain processes what he just heard. Yeah, the sunset thing⊠load of nonsense, really, just all of them talking shit around the pool after the drink had flowed. Kieran had mentioned something about the view from his room last night, leading to a round of mostly good-natured winding-up about who had the best room. JT had been convinced it was him, Kieran had joked that as the captain by default, with Bruno off with the Seleção, theyâd given him the best room, and for some reason this had ended with everyone throwing each other in the pool like a bunch of teenagers let out of school, which maybe wasnât so far from the truth.
He must have said something about anyone who wanted to see the view being welcome to come up there, that sounded vaguely familiar through the haze of boozy recollection.
âNowt else happening downstairs, then?â he asks, stepping back so that Lewis can hop through the door. Heâs getting about pretty fast, but no-one walks quickly with a boot on their foot.
Lewis shrugs and heads towards the fridge. âNah⊠all quiet.â
Kieran stares out as the last rays of sunlight play over Dubai. Itâs a weird place, shiny and new, like someone told ChatGPT to draw a desert city and dropped it in the middle of nowhere. Pretty, shiny, and vaguely unreal, but it looks great with the sun setting over it.
Lewis hops over quickly, and Kieran turns and frowns at the sound of him cracking open a San Miguel. Lewis catches his expression, and shrugs again, with an expression hilariously like a teenager caught drinking by his dad.
âAlcohol ban doesnât start til tomorrow,â he says, half-apologetic, half-defiant.
Kieran means to say that he doesnât much care; Lewis is old enough to know the rules, and heâs not the Alcohol Police. What comes out is âYou couldâve got me one.â
Lewis grins suddenly, an oddly predatory smile, then retrieves another beer from the fridge, knocks the top off against the edge of the table, then hands it over. Kieran drinks, relishing the cold, clean taste, whilst he tries to think of what to do next.
âWhy are you here?â is what he says.
Lewis frowns at that, looking pissed. âI can fuck off if you want to be on your ownâŠâ
Kieran sighs, like dealing with a bunch of kids sometimes, and replies âDonât mean that. I mean⊠why come out here? You could have stayed home, spent time with your family..â yeah, like that would have been his priority when he was barely twenty.
Lewis half-smiles. âThought about it, butâŠâ his words trail off.
Kieran waits.
âJustâŠâ Lewis takes a swig from the bottle⊠âah, itâs just weird.â He looks guilty, but ploughs on. âIâm thrilled, Iâm fuckinâ thrilled, but⊠half of us are here, half of us are away, Tinoâs gone off to St. GeorgeâsâŠâ
Itâs an odd echo of Kieranâs own thoughts from earlier.
âJust wanted to be part of it,â Lewis finishes, and stares moodily out of the window. Before Kieran can say anything, his phone rings with the familiar WhatsApp ringtone, and both of them jump; who even calls anyone, these days?
Turns out itâs Tino, Kieran answers, feeling himself slipping into Captain Mode without thinking about it.
âYeah, whatâs up?â
Tinoâs familiar voice comes through; Lewis stares curiously as Kieran props up the phone on the windowsill. âAh, nothingâŠâ
Well, why did you fucking call, then?
âJustâŠâ
Spit it out, kidâŠ
âJust wondered⊠I was in the lift with H, and it was strange⊠I was just asking after Ant, and H was really weird with me.â
âWeird how?â
âHe sort of told me to fuck off. I mean, not actually fuck off, just⊠he told me I wasnât needed. But it sounded like âfuck offâ.â
Kieran frowns at that, itâs not like H to be like that with the younger players, unlessâŠ
âYeah, that lift⊠where were you going?â
âI wanted to see Dan, check in with him aboutâŠâ
Kieran closes his eyes and sticks his hand over his mouth. Fucking hell, was he this clueless at his first camp? Probably.
âDonât think you need to worry, Tino,â he gets out, managing to keep his voice level. Off to the side, Lewis is looking puzzled, whether at the conversation or at the way in which the beer seems to have mysteriously mostly vanished out of the bottle heâs holding, who knows, could be either.
âReally? You sure? I donâtâŠâ
Kieran cuts him off. âItâs Danâs first cap, remember?â
âHuh? Why are you laughing?â Tinoâs expression couldnât be more confused; Lewis, apparently faster on the uptake, is sniggering quietly.
âFirst cap,â Kieran repeats, wondering if he needs to draw a diagram. Lewis appears to have stuffed the side of his hand in his mouth up to the first knuckle to muffle his laughter.
The message suddenly gets through, and Tino frowns⊠âWait⊠oh shit, yeah!â Kieran canât totally blame him for being confused; Dan is old for a first cap, although given that Anthony claimed first rights to celebrating it, two days before the cup final, youâd think Tino might remember. Â
âYeah, donât worry about it,â Kieran reassures him.
âShouldâve thought of that,â Tino murmurs, and Kieran would swear heâs actually blushing.
âYouâll be fine, go and enjoy yourself,â Kieran instructs him, figuring Tino can probably find someone to celebrate his second cap with; not really a thing, but eh, a win is a win. The call cuts off, Lewis makes eye contact, and suddenly theyâre both laughing, itâs not even that funny, but itâs a release, tension dissipating. They nearly stop, then Lewis catches his eye again, and theyâre both howling with laughter, Lewis leaning on him for support.
âFuck me,â Lewis gets out, and Kieran is suddenly a little more aware of him; warm skin under a thin layer of cotton, pressed against his side for support. âHeâs got no fucking clue sometimesâŠâ
âNot that long since he had his,â Kieran agrees, and finds himself wondering, who was Lewisâs?
Maybe Lewis is wondering the same, since that hyena-grin is back in place. âYeah⊠you donât forget.â He makes eye contact, and itâs strange all of a sudden, the mood shifting. âWho was yours?â
Kieran raises an eyebrow at that, but Lewis isnât deterred, tipping his chin up a little.
âCould ask you the same.â
âMmm⊠maybe we should trade. Truth for a truth.â
âTruth for a truth?â Kieran repeats.
Lewis smirks. âYou tell me something, I tell you something. Truth for a truth.â
âWhat if itâs a lie?â
âThen thereâs a forfeit.â
âWhatâs the forfeit?â
âWhatever you like.â Lewis is definitely looking more predatory now, but Kieran hasnât missed the fast breathing, the white knuckles around the neck of the beer bottle. He feels his own instincts stir suddenly. Yes, he knows when someoneâs bluffing, hoping you wonât spot the nerves⊠Maybe Lewis did have something else he fancied other than the skyline when he came up here.
He drinks again from the bottle, and Kieran sees the tension in his neck, the slight flush to his cheeks⊠and the way he deliberately runs his tongue around the top of the bottle, licking off the last few drops.
âSounds like Truth or Dare,â he says, it sounds ridiculous, but fuck it, itâs a weird night and it might as well get weirder. Maybe it will get more fun.
âMaybe a bit. Go on then.â
âHuh?â
âAsk me a question.â
Kieran shrugs, fake-nonchalant. âAlright; where the fuck did you and Tino go just before we played the Mancs?â He actually would like to know this, partly because he nearly caught hell from JT when he couldnât find them, until they sloped in barely on time, looking stupidly pleased with themselves, partly because⊠a few images are dancing in his head, he knows if heâs right he should tell Lewis that he and Tino shouldnât be doing that shit just before a match, but he also knows he wonât.
Lewis grins. âTo a hotel room. My turn.â
âThatâs not a fucking answer!â
âItâs true,â Lewis gives him a shit-eating grin, and flicks his tongue over the top of the bottle again, this time sucking for a few seconds, cheeks hollowed. Itâs cheesy, but itâs having a effect, and Kieran can already feel his loose cotton shorts arenât hiding it.
âSo⊠you ask me something?â
âYeahâŠâ Lewis suddenly looks nervous, and swallows, his Adamâs apple bobbing; Kieran doesnât think heâs doing it for effect. âWho was yours?â
âMy what?â
âYour first cap,â Lewisâ voice is low, almost a little shy. âWho was it?â
Kieran smirks, glad to have the upper hand. âWhat, you want a few pictures for the bank?â
Lewis just looks at him, and Kieran wonders if heâs been taking puppy-dog-eyes lessons from Anthony. The memory comes back, and he finds himself smiling.
âYeah, it was HâŠâ
Good times, he thinks, it doesnât hurt as much this time, mostly, itâs just a good memory, the two of them not even bothering to get into one of their bedrooms, in the changing rooms, H on his knees with the hot shower water splashing over both of them whilst Stonesy kept an eye out for anyone who might bother them, mouth as hot and wet as the shower, Kieran tugging on Harryâs hair, coming hard, looking down to see Hâs smirk as he wiped his mouth, deliberately letting a few drops fall onto Kieranâs trembling thighs. Hadnât been too long before heâd returned the favour, a rest day, both of them careful to do nothing that would interfere with the match coming up, but that left a lot of options.
âWhat was he like?â
Kieran points the neck of his own beer bottle as a reprimand. âThatâs two questions. My turn; what the fuck were you doing in the hotel room?â
Lewis grins again. âWhat Antony told us to.â Heâs smiling now, and Kieran wonders how long heâll drag this out. âWhat was he like?â
Kieran doesnât answer directly. âYou should know; he didnât offer for you?â
âThatâs not an answer,â Lewis mutters, and Kieran would swear heâs blushing. He wonders if heâs hit a sore spot.
âAlright; it was amazing. Now answer the question.â
âEhâŠâ Lewis seems to realise heâs boxed himself in. âCan I do something else instead?â He tugs at the waist of his t-shirt, pulling it up an inch, revealing pale skin; Kieranâs skin loves the sun, but Lewis has been slapping on the factor-50 since they got here. Kieran wonders if his skin is still warm from the sun, if heâll smell and taste like suncream.
âYou can if you like,â Kieran waves a hand magnanimously, and Lewis sits carefully down on the bed, then puts the beer down and tugs up his shirt, slowly, not too slowly, just enough to make Kieran watch eagerly as his chest, not big but taut, honed through training, is revealed. Kieran grins. âCold?â
Lewis grins back and shakes his head. âNah.â
âGood, now answer the question.â
Lewis looks hilariously betrayed. âThatâs notâŠâ
âI said, you could if you liked,â Kieran reminds him, and steps forward, noting that Lewisâs mouth is at a very convenient height.
âHow about if I just answer another question?â Lewis mutters sullenly. Kieran paces forward, not quite standing in between his legs, but nearly.
âDepends, Iâll see if I like the answer.â
âThat hotel room⊠yeah, it was the four of us.â
âFour?â He already knows, he counted who on the team went missing before Tino, Lewis, Dan and Antony slunk into the dressing room barely on time, but he might as well enjoy himself.
âMe, Tino, Dan and Ant.â
Kieran leans down, putting his bottle next to Lewisâ and placing his hands on either side of the younger manâs hips. âKeep talking.â
Lewis turns his head away a little. âAntâs idea, he thought Dan deserved a reward for being player of the season."
Or, to put it another way, he fancied a go on Danâs dick, Kieran thinks, but then Lewis adds, âwe flipped for it, Tino won, soâŠâ
âSo what?â
The grin is back. âSo, Iâve just answered that question, nowâŠâ
Kieran doesnât let him finish that, suddenly leaning in and shoving Lewis back against the bed, hard enough that he breathes out suddenly with an oof, and his eyes go wide as Kieran holds his wrists against the bedsheets, then half-close as Kieran wriggles up, pushing against him, trapping their dicks in between their bodies. Lewis is half-hard already, Kieranâs nearly there, and he pins him down with his thighs either side of Lewisâs, holding him in place so that their dicks are against each other now, he can feel the wetness against his lower stomach and fuck, that feels good.
âSo, you need to keep talking⊠or do something else,â Kieran rasps into Lewisâ ear. Lewis frantically tries to buck his hips up to get a little friction, Kieran lifts himself up easily, press-up style, enjoying the frustrated whimpers from beneath him. This is nearly as much fun as being with Ant, he thinks, smirking, teeth flashing white in the low light; the sun has gone down now, and he didnât bother to turn on the main lights in the room.
âLike what?â Lewis asks breathily, a little catch in his voice. âUhhâŠâ
And Kieran, with years of experience, doesnât miss something, some little tension in the body underneath him, that causes him to relax his grip a little and grunt encouragingly.
âUhh⊠thereâs some things⊠I donât like, at least⊠not so much at first.â Itâs a half-hearted mumble, but Kieran can make out most of it. He lets his voice drop down, soften, reassure.
âItâs alright,â he murmurs, kissing softly up Lewisâ neck to relax him, âlots of ways to have fun. Don't have to do anything you donât want,â and he draws Lewisâ earlobe into his mouth and sucks it gently, drawing a soft hiss of pleasure. This time he lets their bodies make contact, dick to dick, rutting against each other, controlling the pace so that itâs not too much, little pulses of pleasure that ripple through his belly and cause Lewis to whimper deliciously. He wants more, much more.Â
âWhat do you want?â he asks, but Lewis is frustratingly silent. Kieran lifts himself up to see that Lewis is blushing and looking away. âIâve heard it all before, fucking believe meâŠâ
Lewis runs his tongue over his lips nervously, Kieran nudges him with his hips as encouragement.
âI like to watch,â comes the answer, very soft and almost inaudible. Kieran has a sudden thought of him and Tino together, maybe with Ant or Dan in the middle of them, Lewis encouraging them on, maybe with his hand on his cockâŠ
âLike to watch, yeah? Like this?â And Kieran shoves his shorts and boxers down, pulling them impatiently off his legs, then rears back, pulling his shirt off so that heâs naked except for the Rolex on his wrist and the ink decorating his arms and chest, and he swears he can see Lewisâ pupils dilate. They go even wider as Kieran reaches down and grabs his own cock, stroking it slowly, letting Lewis see it get bigger, darker, the tip leaking a little, a few drops falling onto Lewisâ bare skin.
âOh fuck me,â he whimpers.
âWeâll get to that,â although Kieran thinks they maybe wonât, at least not straightaway, he guesses that they might spend a while just playing, and he doesnât much care if it doesnât go that far, something tells him that Lewis doesnât like to do that too soon. âWhat were you four fucking doing?â He lets go of himself, and Lewis pouts at being deprived of the sight, then tries to reach down to grab his own cock, but Kieran pins his wrists again, almost affectionately.
Lewis pouts at him again, and itâs almost enough to make Kieran relent and let go, but not quite. Then he grins, a lop-sided grin. âAh⊠Tino sucked him off on the floor whilst Ant and I watched.â
âOn the floor?â
âYeah⊠tried it on a chair, but it wasnât big enough.â
That, Kieran can believe. He wants more. âSo, Tino was sucking him offâŠâ
Lewis actually looks embarrassed, Kieran helpfully nudges him with his hips to encourage him. âYou were watchingâŠâ
Lewis snorts and looks a bit embarrassed. âI was kind of rubbing off on his back."
Kieran has a sudden image of Dan in the middle between Tino and Lewis, Tinosâ dark hair brushing the muscles of Danâs stomach as his mouth works away, Lewis naked behind him, nipping at his shoulder, hips shoving hard against the broad solid expanse of Danâs back, Danâs tattoos moving as those powerful thigh muscles flex and tense, maybe Anthony getting involved, teasing here and there, dominating the three of them⊠He likes that image a lot.
âLike doing that? Want to do that on me?â
Lewis surprises him. âNoâŠâ Kieran raises an eyebrow⊠âI want your mouth.â
That surprises him in a good way. He slides a hand down Lewisâs flank, slipping a couple of fingers under the waistband of his shorts, running it along the elastic, smirking as he finds Lewisâ cock and wraps his fingers around it, liking the feel in his hand, heavy and warm, and throbbing softly. âDonât know if you deserve itâŠâ
âMaybe I donât,â Lewis flashes the hyena-grin, âbut you can have mine after.â
âHow about at the same time?â Lewis barely has time to take in what Kieran is saying before Kieran roughly shoves his shorts down, takes a swig of whatâs left of his beer, then turns and straddles Lewisâ face, but he gets the idea immediately, moaning as Kieran closes his mouth over Lewisâ dick, cold bubbles bursting against the head. He pulls off, beer spilling from his mouth, and licks from base to tip, getting it wet, then letting his jaw relax as he takes it in.
Lewis tries to do the same, they have to shuffle around on the bed to make it work, but suddenly theyâre aligned and Lewisâs mouth is hot and wet and his tongue seems to be everywhere as Kieran thrusts, difficult from this angle, itâs sloppy and messy, and perfect and he comes almost embarrassingly fast, but Lewis is right behind him, his moans muffled by Kieranâs dick in his mouth.
For a few seconds, the thrill is all he can think of, but soon he comes back to reality, and they disengage, Kieran turning round and settling himself on his side so he can admire the view, Lewis flushed and sweaty, his eyes half-closed and practically rolled back. Yeah, thatâs one for the bank, he smirks to himself, wiping his mouth, then running a thumb over Lewisâ lips to wipe away a few drops.
âFucking hell,â Lewis groans through puffy lips, âthat wasâŠâ
âThat was fucking good,â Kieran praises, running a finger lightly down Lewisâs heaving side. He canât resist asking, âam I as good as H?â
Suddenly, Lewis actually laughs, a soft chuckle, and blushes. âAhh⊠I donât actually know.â
Kieranâs curious. âHe didnât offer?â He knows the two of them share the same approach; partly, itâs âcaptain gets right of first refusalâ, but itâs also about making sure that whoever offers first cap privileges can hear ânoâ without taking the huff.
âHe did, butâŠâ Lewis actually turns his head and ducks his chin, like a kid, âit was just a bit fucking weird? I mean, heâsâŠâ
Heâs Harry Kane, Kieran thinks, and feels the age difference a little, when he first went to camp, they were just starting out; not as young as Lewis, but it was the start of a new England era, people still thought of Rooney as Englandâs striker.
âI justâŠâ
âAh, doesnât matter,â Kieran decides to spare him having to say any more.
Lewis meets his eye, the smirk is back, and Kieran briefly envies the resilience of youth, before reminding himself that the experience and cunning of age is more than a match. âDid I miss out?â
âYeah, you did,â Kieran grins, âbelieve me.â
âYou and him, then?â
âYeah, a lotâŠâ Kieran laughs. âHeâll have been enjoying himself.â
Lewis makes a sort of hmm? noise.
âHas a bit of a thing for size. Likes them big.â
âWhat, really?â Lewis laughs, then laughs harder. âFuck me, so when he heard about DanâŠâ
âYeah!â Kieran laughs, and finds himself slinging an arm over Lewisâ waist, slim but strong, pale skin under Kieranâs strong hand. âLike Christmas came early.â Heâs aware that Lewis is eyeing him thoughtfully, but the kid has the sense not to say out loud so, size kink, you and him, how did that work? Maybe heâll share with Lewis sometime that with H, these things go both ways, maybe he and H will reconnect, and maybe not, but the regrets feel less strong now.
Kieran looks over Lewisâs chest, out the window at the night sky, and for a few hallucinatory minutes, the Dubai skyline melts away, replaced in his mindâs eye with the outline of that strange, fierce and friendly city on the banks of the Tyne, staring out at the cold North Sea. He flashes back to their victory photos, not just the squad, but everyone, all their staff, celebrating their moment of glory, and itâs like he can see that again, but this time itâs the entire city; the landlord of the Strawberry ordering in as much beer as the cellar will hold, the stalls on Northumberland Street loaded with hats and scarves, hastily run up in some dodgy factory somewhere, the suits at the Civic Centre trying to figure out how to block off the roads to get the bus through, Wor Flags planning how the hell they can top their last display, a sudden vision of the streets insanely crowded, an entire city with one focusâŠ
âŠand itâs all for him.
Kieran feels a deep sense of satisfaction welling up, rising through him, and he nods to himself, barely aware heâs doing it, you took the risk, you gambled, and you fucking won. You started out losing to fucking Cambridge United, and nowâŠ
Now, an entire city wants to deck itself out in black and white in his honour.
He knows, itâs not just him. Theyâll all be stood there, and he and Bruno and Jamal will recreate the cup lift, and Lewis will be there too, and he hopes Lewis realises, this is the start for him, it wonât be the last time.
It might be the last time for him, but Kieran doesnât think so, somehow.
Heâs aware of Lewis beside him, quietly watching, but it doesnât feel predatory, and he seems to sense itâs not a time to ask questions, as the sweat dries on their skin.
âSounds like I missed out then,â Lewis murmurs, looking a bit regretful.
âWonât be your last chance,â Kieran murmurs, generously.
âWonât be my first cap,â Lewis says with a smirk, âcanât claim privileges.â
âNah, but you can probably persuade him.â
And suddenly Lewis smirks again, and, carefully but with surprising strength, throws his good leg over Kieranâs hips, pushing himself up so that heâs half over Kieran, who laughs in surprise and wraps an arm around Lewisâ muscled back.
âIf Iâm gonna do thatâŠâ he murmurs into Kieranâs ear, âI should practise some more.â
Finis.
Authorâs Note: for this fic to work, given the time difference, weâll have to assume that Englandâs match against Albania took place in the afternoon, not the evening. Frankly, I donât think this is the biggest liberty Iâm taking with the truth.
"...there is not a more demonstrative, combative or visible assistant manager in the top flight than Tindall. Tall, with dyed-black hair and an artificially tanned physique, he is a good-looking man and knows it."
"...it is worth pausing to note that the players adore Tindall. He is fun and boisterous, he is, as all good assistants must be, the bridge between them and the manager. He is one of the lads and is at the centre of training ground hustle and bustle. A prank here, a joke there, Tindall is normally involved somewhere."
"...he is the yin to Howeâs yang. A chirpy, spiky, confrontational, loud but generally jovial presence alongside his far calmer, restrained and studious partner in crime."
"He is Howeâs most trusted lieutenant and one of the few people who can challenge Howe on football decisions and get away with it. The respect they have for each other is immense and, crucially, Howe has never been resentful of the attention Tindall gets. If anything, he encourages it."
Apparently 'Jason Tindall fanfic' is how you get a job writing for the Telegraph Sports pages.
PS If anyone doesn't want to click on the Telegraph's website, PM me, I have the whole article đ
I come back to Tumblr after a break and it seems this was popular.
something something about how Eddie is a polite, blond, blue-eyed, well-spoken, classically English type who looks like he would have been the Head Boy at his school (and taken the responsibility very seriously)...
...and his most trusted lieutenant, former captain and current captain are all dark-haired, extrovert, roguish types who are, to a man, massive shithouses.
The Gospel of Haven, Chapter 3: 'Assimilate', Liveblog Part the Second
Random ramblings about a podcast I love are back! Whether anyone wants them or not.
I'll be honest; this took a while to write partly because of life stuff, partly because I struggled to think of anything to say about it that would actually be of interest to anyone else. The reader may judge for themself if I succeeded.
"Rebecca knew the importance of establishing comfort and trust with a patient. If she pushed them too hard, theyâd lock up tight. Better to approach things slowly."
A particular aspect of Haven is that - this is quite right. That is how you establish rapport with someone who is nervous about talking to you. The extent to which Rebecca is a victim of Haven, and a perpetrator of it, is a fascinating aspect of this podcast. In the same way that, somewhere out there, there's a perfectly normal desert town near the Sand Wastes, maybe somewhere out there, there's a friendly local doctor's practice, where Moore MD and Crane MD have, despite their differing personalities, helped hundreds of patients.
This isn't that story.
"Sheâd had to separate a child in Isiahâs age group from his parents two years ago because his mother had given him a black eye. Sheâd had a stern talk with the couple, assigned them enough punishment duty that theyâd spend YEARS scrubbing plaque from veins, and placed the child with an aunt. Rebecca had been deeply ashamed that she hadnât noticed sooner. The health of every system within Haven was her first concern. She didnât intend to make those mistakes again."
Again we see how Rebecca's every human impulse is subsumed into The Good Of Haven.
"âRight any way. I donât⊠I donât think right, I donât feel right, I donât say the right things and I ask the wrong questions and I always talk at the wrong times and I hate looking at peopleâs faces and Iâm just-â
Isiah stopped themself with a visible effort.
REBECCA: âNot right?â
Rebecca suggested.
ISIAH: âYes.â
She risked a glance in their direction. They were breathing faster, fear on their face.
ISIAH: âAnd if Iâm not right, then I might be defective, and if Iâm defective, than Iâm, Iâm-â
REBECCA: âIsiah.â
Rebecca delivered the word with force. They stopped, hand shaking in hers.
REBECCA: âIsiah, why do you think youâre defective?â
She was watching them now, taking in every movement. She couldnât mistake it when their gaze flitted to Crane. To the diagnostic equipment. To the heart, leaking in the wall. The heart Luke Whitlock had died to give.
The relief was almost painful. A problem so trivial. And one so easy to fix."
If I'm honest, this is why I struggled to write this, because Isiah's words could have been mine at their age. I'm not right, either, and my society would rather fix me than them.
Except that where my society might have a point, Isiah... at this point, we don't know. We don't know, but we suspect, that much of this story will be about proving that Isiah's perspective is the right one. They, and they alone, can see the truth.
"She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction, then regretted that Crane had been too busy with the Whitlock heart to watch how sheâd done it."
Rebecca's painful humanity makes a brief appearance. I found myself pondering; does anyone in Haven drink? My guess is, the answer is no. They need healthy organs, and I suspect that anyone caught brewing up moonshine gets a month of scrubbing plaque off veins, if they're lucky.
I'm British; my society famously has an... interesting relationship with alcohol. At its worst, well, let's not go there. At its best, "let's have a pint" is shorthand for "life is sometimes a bit rubbish and we're all occasionally idiots, let's go relax our inhibitions and talk about meaningless stuff, dance like no-one's watching and have fun".
Maybe in that other world, Crane M.D. sometimes gets out the bottle of bourbon, and Moore M.D. has a tiny sip to be polite, and both of them acknowledge, sometimes the world just doesn't make sense.
But Haven has no off switch. No escape valve.
"Sheâd been looking at them, not looking away, for so long, she had to have seen, to have picked it out. Their doubts. Their insecurities. Their inherent inadequacies. They couldnât have felt more laid bare if theyâd been on the operating table.
When sheâd missed it, when sheâd looked them dead on with those vein-blue eyes and got it wrong, the relief was overwhelming."
Nice touch with the colour reference. (Foreshadowing?) And I think this is the start of Isiah the Prophet. If the High Priestess of Haven can make mistakes, what does that say about your entire society? I also have a theory about a certain character which this might or might not foreshadow. And an addiction to dramatically vague sentences, apparently.
"REBECCA: "I'm sure we'll be discussing your engagement soon, won't we?"
Long practice saved them. The smile appeared on their face without conscious thought.
ISIAH: "Yeah, I- I guess we will.â
Shit. Theyâd thought they had more time. Isiah had been able to avoid discussions of their future by deflecting onto their other failings. Their duty to choose a partner was never as important to their parents as fixing them, and they were still young."
Hello, masking.
Haven really has an interesting society, doesn't it? One thing I'm not quite sure of - at this point - is whether Isiah's gender identity is one of The Things Wrong With Them, or whether Haven really doesn't care what gender you are, so long as you procreate and produce some more future organ-donors.
"They hadnât talked to Elizabeth after that. They missed her, and it hurt to see the distress on her face when they moved to sit at another table or ignored her greetings. But they couldnât bear the discomfort of being⊠destined. The path to their future laid out before them and fenced in on both sides."
Painful, and yet also the character trait that Isiah will really need in the weeks to come.
"Dr. Moore and their mother sat, drank broth, discussed the Ladies Volunteer Group and the early childhood curriculum and the performance of the tenors in the choir (not bad, but a trifle flat)."
I appreciate a well-executed callback đ
"Isiah wondered why they were all pretending nothing was wrong when they clearly all knew. But of all social customs that mystified them, this was the least of their worries. They could play along."
Hmmm. Something I wonder if Isiah is experiencing is that feeling of 'oh, if I behave like this, you'll never notice that I really think this'. People are really not very observant sometimes - which, for those of us on the spectrum, can tip over into something a lot less pleasant and a lot more manipulative.
"Dr. Moore glanced at Isiah.
REBECCA: âI know that your family is not responsible, but if you are linked to it, rumors may spread to the contrary.â
REBECCA: âBut that wouldnât stop the gossip. People love to talk. And thereâs only so much I can do to stop them. Better to keep this quiet until itâs over.â
They could see the logic in that. And, while it was selfish, less eyes on their family meant less eyes on them. Isiah nodded."
The manipulation arrives! As does the very brief fellow-feeling between our two protagonists, both of whom, on very different levels, get how humans work, at least in some ways.
Somewhere out there, there's a more honest world, but this isn't it.
Thread of Fate - B.Chilwell âš Chapter Four - A Little Too Domestic
Pairing: Ben Chilwell x Reader
Word Count: 2.8k
Warnings: Fluff and a teeny bit of angst?
Authors Note: Hi! Here's the fourth chapter! Things are moving along for the two đ€
Feedback is always appreciated, please do leave some đ«¶đ»
This series will include angst, fluff, smut and other themes, under 18s dni.
Chapter Three
The wind was soft, warm, and full of spring. It tangled in Elijahâs hair as he sprinted across the field, his laughter echoing like it belonged here in the open air, in this moment. I sat beside Ben on a worn green bench, its metal sides heated by the sun, he had one ankle resting across his knee, relaxed in a way that was so unlike the version of him Iâd seen the other day with all edges and guarded eyes. Now, he lookedâŠhere, present, like he was trying, like he wanted to try.Â
âElijahâs fast,â he said, shielding his eyes with one hand as he watched him chase a butterfly and kick a ball at his feet.Â
âHe gets that from his dadâ I murmured âThe stubbornness tooâ
Ben smiled gently, glancing over at me âAnd the joy? He get that from you?â
I didnât answer. Couldnât, really. I wasnât sure joy was something Iâd held onto long enough since Ben to pass on, but watching Elijah run like the whole world was his to chaseâŠmaybe it didnât matter, maybe he found it anyway. We sat in silence for a minute, not awkward, just full. The kind of quiet that holds weight and history and the words youâre not sure how to say.
âI missed thisâ Ben said softly, leaning back fully against the bench âJust being outside. Not worrying that the press will show up and not having to keep an eye out, not having to pretendâ
My throat tightened. I didnât know which part hit me harder, the honesty or the fact that Iâd been holding my own breath for so long, Iâd forgotten what it felt like to let it go. He looked over at me again, like he could feel the shift in me. He knew me once upon a time and I havenât changed all that much.
âHey, what is it?â he asked, and it felt familiar, the same way he used to say it to me, it reminded me of the comfort he once made me feel.
I shook my head, blinking too fast. âNothing. Just, itâs a lot, sometimes. Seeing him like this, happy, carefree. And you, here. With us, it's weird but it feels niceâ
âIt scares youâ he said, not as a question, as a statement, his blue green eyes staring into mine and god they would be so easy to fall back into.Â
âYeah â I admitted âIt does, it terrifies meâ
Because it was too easy to fall into this, to pretend this bench was home and this day was forever. To want things Iâd spent years convincing myself I didnât deserve or couldnât have. To want things that I made myself stop dreaming about.Â
Before he could say more, Elijahâs voice rang out, high and breathless âBen! Come play football with me!â
Ben turned, grinning. âYou sure youâre ready to lose?â
âIâm way faster than you!â Elijah shouted back, already dragging his scuffed football across the grass.
Ben stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans, he glanced back at me âYou okay?â
I nodded with a smile âGo, he needs thisâ
So do you, I thought but didnât say.
I watched them from the bench, Elijahâs laughter, Benâs steady footsteps, the way they moved, unsure at first, then in sync, like maybe some things could be relearned. Rebuilt. The ball flew, was chased, missed, kicked again. Shouts and cheers and the kind of connection that felt like it belonged to another life, another version of us, one that hadnât broken. I felt almost like this is what we were meant to be, Ben and Elijah bonding over their love of football, running around a field with each other. And I felt it, the crack in my chest. Not pain exactly, but a tenderness. a grief for what we lost, of what I stopped us from having, and a longing for what maybe, just maybe, wasnât lost forever. I didnât know where this road would lead. I didnât even know what tomorrow looked like, maybe Ben doesnât even want this but right now, in the golden light of late afternoon, watching my son and his father laugh under a blue sky, I let myself feel it. I let myself feel hope.Â
------~--------
Ben jogged back over to Elijah after another goal, arms raised in mock triumph while Elijah flopped dramatically onto the grass.
âI let you winâ Elijah insisted, chest heaving with laughter.
âSure you did, champ,â Ben replied, ruffling his hair.
I couldnât help the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. It felt foreign, almost fragile, like something newly grown, not yet rooted, but it was real. It was almost familiar. Then Ben looked over his shoulder at me, and something passed between us. Not just the usual look, no this one felt like an invitation. He cupped his hands around his mouth âHey! What about you, y/n? You in?â
Elijahâs head popped up immediately. âYeah! Come play with us mummy!â
I hesitated, instinctively. Like I was more comfortable in the background, safe behind the sidelines but the way they were both looking at me, expectant, hopeful, open, it stirred something in me âAlright,â I called, standing âBut donât go easy on meâ
As I walked over, Ben handed me the ball. âYou sure youâre ready for this?â
I gave him a look âIâve had years of chasing Elijah around the house, youâre both in trouble"
That made Elijah giggle, and God, that sound. It felt like a balm to something inside me I didnât even know needed healing.Â
We played, awkwardly at first, I kicked the ball too hard, tripped over my own foot, laughed until I couldnât breathe. Elijah shrieked every time he got the ball, and BenâŠBen watched me in a way that almost undid me, like I was some kind of miracle just for being there, laughing like that, and I forgot to guard myself. Just for a little while, I let it all go the pain, the past, the fear and when Elijah collapsed in the grass again, breathless and grinning, I lay down beside him, staring at the blue sky overhead, our arms touching.
Ben stood over us, hands on his hips, smiling like we were his whole world. Maybe for a moment, we were. Elijah reached for my hand, pulling it into his.
âMummy?â he said, voice quiet now âThis was the best day, thank youâ
I turned my head, meeting his eyes âYeah, baby. It really wasâ and when I glanced up at Ben, who was now sitting beside us, knees bent, watching me like he wasnât quite sure how weâd gotten here but he didnât want to let it go, I felt the tears sting again but they were good ones this time. I grabbed Ben's hand and gave it a little squeeze. It felt right in that moment, but thatâs the thing with moments, they always end.Â
The sun was slipping down now, casting everything in gold. We walked back toward my house slowly, shoes scuffing the path, Elijah swinging our hands between us like a pendulum of leftover joy. Ben trailed a little behind, kicking the football gently with each step, like none of us wanted the afternoon to end. Elijah let go of my hand and jogged back to him and I heard the murmur of their voices, low and conspiratorial, and then âMummy?â
I turned, catching the slight mischief in his grin, the way he looked when he was about to ask something big but the face I can't say no to âYeah?â
He looked up at Ben for a second, then back to me âCan Ben stay for dinner? Pleaseâ
The question hung there, suspended like the breath I forgot to take. Ben stilled, his eyes flicking to mine, unsure. I shouldâve answered right away but I didnât because I felt it, the shift in the air. The way Elijah looked at me with such unfiltered hope and the way Ben waited without expectation, but also with something like longing.
âYou said we have spaghetti and Ben likes spaghetti, right?â Elijah looks up at Ben with hopeful eyes.Â
Ben smiled softly down at him âI do. A lot, actuallyâ
Elijah looked back at me with a wide smile "see? And we can cook it for you mummy" he offers
I swallowed, my mind tried to think practically, we hadnât planned for this, the table wasnât set, everything would feelâŠloaded, but then I looked at Elijah, t his flushed cheeks, his messy hair, the light in his eyes that hadnât dimmed all day and I realized I couldnât say no.
âYeahâ I say âHe can stay"
Elijah cheered and ran ahead, already narrating our dinner plans to the clouds.
Benâs eyes met mine, something unreadable flickering there "You sure?â
âIâm sureâ I said, and it felt truer than I expected "only if you want to?"Â
"I would love to"
We walked in silence after that, but it wasnât empty. It was full of everything we didnât say, everything that lingered between laughter and grief, between what we used to be as just us two and what we might still become as a family.Â
At home, I watched from the door as the pair cooked together, Elijah adding in the ingredients slowly while Ben guided him, like this was normal for them, all while Elijah asked Ben about football and Ben asked him about school. It just felt like somethingâŠwas healing.Â
After we'd eaten dinner, the house was quiet again, except for the low hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of floorboards settling. Elijah had finally fallen asleep, curled up under his dinosaur duvet, one arm flung above his head like he was still mid-kick in his dreams. I lingered by his doorway for a moment, just watching his chest rise and fall, the way his lips parted slightly in sleep. When I walked back into the living room, Ben was sitting on the sofa, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely threaded together and he looked up as I entered, offering a tired but genuine smile. âI forgot how much energy kids haveâ he said with a low chuckle âI think he wore me out more than a full 90 minutes on the pitch"
I smiled faintly, sitting down beside him and tucking one leg underneath me âHe liked playing with you, he was still talking about your âepic goalie diveâ while brushing his teethâ
Ben grinned, but it faded quickly, replaced by something softer âThanks for letting me stay for dinnerâ
âYouâre welcomeâ I said, eyes dropping to the hands in my lap âHe didnât want the day to endâ
A beat of quiet settled between us, not heavy, just still, comfortable in a way I didnât expect âI kept thinking about you, you knowâ he said finally âthe day you left. I didnât even know you were pregnant. One minute we were good, and then I fucked it up and you were gone, the house has felt so empty the last five yearsâ
I bit the inside of my cheek, guilt welling in my throat âI know. I was angry. I didnât know what youâd say. What youâd do if I told you and you'd just told me you didnât love me. We werenât exactly ready for a kid, Benâ
âWe werenâtâ he admitted âbut you didnât give me a chanceâ that landed like a stone. I nodded, slow, swallowing the lump rising behind my ribs.
âI thought I was protecting him and maybe, in a way, I was protecting myself too. I didnât want him to be the only reason you stayed"
Ben leaned back, running a hand through his hair âHe wouldnât have been, you would've beenâ
âI know that nowâ
Another silence passed, outside, a breeze fluttered through the trees, their shadows dancing softly against the window. âHeâs amazing, y/nâ His voice cracked just slightly. âAnd I hate that I missed it. His first words. His first steps. His first fall off a bike, probably"
âYou wouldâve loved that storyâ I said with a laugh that caught on the edge of a sigh âHe rode straight into a bush and at full speedâ
Ben smiled again, but his eyes were glassy âI donât know what Iâm supposed to do now. Do I just show up again? Am I even allowed to?â
I turned toward him, my chest tightening âBenâŠI donât know the perfect way to fix this. But I know Elijah needs you, he already likes you and you were so natural with him today, like it wasnât even your first timeâ
He looked down, shaking his head in disbelief. âIâve never been more terrified in my life but then he looked at me like I was someone worth looking up to, andâŠIâd do anything to be that for himâ
 I reached out without thinking, placing my hand gently over his âI want that tooâ I said quietly âI want you in his life, If youâre ready for itâ
Ben looked up at me then, eyes searching mine, not angry, not bitter, just open and honest. âI donât know what this means for usâ I added, voice barely above a whisper âbut for him⊠we can try, we have to tryâ
He nodded, his fingers tightening just slightly around mine âyeah, we doâ Benâs thumb brushed lightly over the back of my hand, slow and uncertain, like he was afraid Iâd pull away but I couldn't even if I wanted to âI missed you,â he said softly, like the words had been waiting years to fall from his lips âand not just because of Elijah. I missed you, y/nâ
I inhaled shakily, eyes on the way our fingers had somehow threaded together. My voice barely found the strength to answer âI missed you tooâ
His gaze lingered on me, searching, gentle, full of something deeper than nostalgia, something that felt dangerously close to longing âyou still feel like home" he murmured.
My eyes met his then, that familiar flicker in his expression, part hesitation, part hope. It was the same look he used to give me in the earliest hours of morning when we were just laid in bed, lost in each other, when everything was quiet and soft and real. The same look that made me fall for him once.
He leaned in, just slightly, it wasnât rushed, it wasnât a question. It was a moment suspended in time, his breath mingling with mine, eyes dipping briefly to my mouth, every inch of space between us charged with history and heartache and the aching possibility of something new.
I closed my eyes and then I pulled away. Not far away but enough âNoâ I whispered, the word catching in my throat âBenâŠwe canât"
His brows pulled together, not in frustration, but confusion, hurt, like he hadnât prepared himself for the distance Iâd just drawn between us, his forehead resting against mine for a moment.Â
âIâm sorryâ I added quickly, my voice trembling âItâs not that I donât feel it. God, I do, but we canât blur the lines, not now, not while weâre in the moment, it wouldnât be right. We need to focus on Elijahâ
He exhaled, looking down, nodding once and pulling away, the hurt didnât disappear, I saw it, etched into the corners of his mouth, tight in his jaw, but he understood. I could see that he did.Â
âWeâve both changedâ I said, more to myself than to him âand I need to know weâre not doing this just because weâre scaredâŠor lonelyâŠor in a momentâŠor trying to hold on to something that isnât there anymore"
His voice was quiet âand what if it is still there?â
I looked at him then, really looked. The eyes I once fell in love with, looking back at me and maybe it was still there, flickering beneath the wreckage of the years we lost but I wasnât ready to fan the flame just yet.
âI need timeâ I said gently âand you need time and space to figure out who you are to Elijah. He has to come first"
Ben nodded, this time slower âOkayâ he said, his voice raw but understanding âI understandâ
I stood, wrapping my arms around myself as I glanced toward the hallway where Elijah slept just up the stairs and my heart felt like it had been turned inside out, everything exposed, everything trembling.
âIâm not closing the doorâ I said looking back at him âIâm just not ready to open it yetâ
Ben stood too, running a hand through his hair, exhaling hard âIâll wait, however long it takes.â
And in that moment, I knew he meant it. He kissed my forehead gently, like he used to "Goodnight y/n" he smiled softly down at me, before leaving my house and leaving me stood there with more confusion and questions.
"I didnât know where this road would lead. I didnât even know what tomorrow looked like, maybe Ben doesnât even want this but right now, in the golden light of late afternoon, watching my son and his father laugh under a blue sky, I let myself feel it."
I've been reading this but haven't been able to comment due to life getting in the way. I'm loving how beautifully it is written and how realistic it is; you can't just pick up where you left off, and both Ben and Y/N have got a lot of genuine problems to work through. I look forward to more đ„°
