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oh-saints · 2 years ago

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steward

ben never thought he'd be mistaken as a steward of the stamford bridge.

ben chilwell x student!OC

word count: 7.0k

tw: nothing

note: ben's all-black prada photoshoot still haunts me down to this day... might as well write something out of it. but as usual, not beta-read bcs i'm simply too sleepy to do so.

benjamin chilwell thought he could handle kids because he loved them—the idea of pure, untainted creature two human beings could magically create together, the joy he’d feel whenever surrounded by them. james maddison wouldn’t have trusted the life of his son cruz to ben’s hands if it wasn’t the case.

but to throw ben into an almost full-day with approximately three dozen of children, whom all are curious and creative with their questions addressed to him surely changed his perspective of having a set of twins—he wished they wouldn’t feel the loneliness he felt as the only child in a household.

or maybe, what was turning different was his perspective of how the club he got to call his relatively new home. how could the club throw him into a pool of enthusiastic chelsea junior members all by his own? a number of staffs were present, of course, to guide the group throughout the special tour of the stamford bridge, but it wasn’t like they could help him in answering the endless question marks thrown at him.

if ben didn’t know it was part of chelsea junior christmas programme, he would’ve disappeared down the tunnel until the tour was over, trying to call for any back-up available so he wouldn’t be so alone and tired during special ‘kicking’ sessions—the club so lightly put it. ben could feel himself walking towards somewhere quiet, unable to bring himself to drive home yet, for there was little to none of his energy left. before he could put some brain into his feet, he’d sat in the nearest spectator seat, just slightly behind the player’s box.

he’d never been in the bridge, or any other stadium in general, when the curtains had been drawn but he thought he should pay some more visits during this time of hour. the lights were now tamed down to match the sun setting on the background, warmer to his eyes just the way he liked his bedside lamp, but what he liked the most was the silence around the building.

no matter how much he liked going out with his friends as the effect of being the only child, he couldn’t shy away from the fact that he enjoyed tranquillity whenever he possibly could. recent years, especially, after he had emerged under the limelight of a buzzing stadium, resulting in putting him under the hot seat of public scrutiny whatever he does, whenever he goes.

“hello?”

was he really having a rough time after such a hectic, soul-sucking day that he was starting to hear things? or was stamford bridge so old that the horror stories were starting to become true?

“sir—”

the slight tap on ben’s shoulder was enough to make the footballer jolted in his seat, immediately standing as if a lightning had just struck him.

maybe he was very much lost in his thoughts that he’d indeed been struck by lightning before his brain could comprehend anything and this lady in front of him was an angel sent by god to take him away from the surface of the earth. otherwise, it wouldn’t explain why there was someone else, presumably general public judging by her attire, could be wandering at this hour, on this side of the stadium. every activity on the ground had stopped before the sun went down and not everyone had the access to roam around the grandiose fortress.

“i’m so sorry, i don’t mean to surprise you or anything—”

“‘was fine,” she looked absolutely apologetic that ben couldn’t help but fix his posture. “can i help you with anything?”

at his question, the woman’s eyes lit up, now glimmering with hope. deep inside, ben sighed because he’d seen that kind of look every so often. it brought him back to reality that he is ben chilwell, leicester city’s former number 3 and chelsea’s current number 21, and sometimes some people went to extra lengths to interact with him.

“ah, yes, there is, actually,” seeing that the lady rummaged through the pockets of her coat, ben was already putting his hands inside his jacket, ready to pose with the lady. “do you have any old iphone cable?”

what?

“i need to charge my phone,” realizing ben had accidentally made a slip of tongue, he zipped his mouth shut. “but i left my charging kit at home, which i know isn’t wise when your phone’s super old.”

is this some kind of prank? surely pick-up lines these days are better than that.

“i know it sounds weird, but i came here with a friend of mine, a massive chelsea fan,” the woman was smarter than he gave her credits for, she perceptively showed her visitor id at ben’s implied hesitance. “we were supposed to take a tour, but i fell out of it because i had to take a work call. when i tried to call her to ask where she is, my phone ran out of power.”

ben’s stance relaxed a little bit more when he noticed she held no hidden agenda towards him. (don’t ask him how, but ben had somehow mastered this kind of art.) “okay, so you’re, like, lost?”

“i wouldn’t be asking you if i wasn’t, would i?” ben was perplexed at her clipped tone—just as when he was lowering his guard to warm up to her—but he took a once-over to her again and still, he only saw a no non-sense look coming off her. she was transparent, clear as day, and he liked the fresh breath of air already.

“what do you think i am? a steward?”

“are you not?”

ben was meaning to break the ice at first, but he involuntarily shot a look at her as she responded to him, this time seriously so with his are-you-kidding-look. the other person only replied his unspoken question with a confused pair of eyebrows before darting her eyes down at his attire and ben couldn’t help but look down as well.

all black: his prada black puffer jacket on top of his black dinner trousers.

the two pairs of eyes searched for one another; one was asking for confirmation as she was confused, the other was staring back, baffled but amused at the same time. that got to be the second-best thing he heard this year after the champions league winner announcement.

“yeah, you can say that,” oh, scratch the word ‘like’ from his previous statement. ben loved her already. “why don’t we get inside first, hm? warm ourselves up with a cuppa or chocolate or something while we wait for your phone to get to at least 15%?”

“sounds lovely.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“i’m still amazed that phone still works.”

for some unbeknownst reason to ben, one of his teammates still owned a very old iphone he now used as some sort of an ipod, using it purely to listen to his pre-match playlist. ben kind of remembered it because he found it funny but cool at the same time—he couldn’t recall the ages before apple music or spotify existed—but he’d never felt more grateful that his brain capability to memorise things wasn’t as short as dory’s from finding nemo.

“apple’s not letting this legend die anytime soon with all the IOS upgrade, it seems,” ben tried to lead scarlett—the woman he now took under his wing—on to his portion of locker room, to see if she caught on anything, but the woman remained unfazed with her surrounding and sat where ben gestured her to sit, eager to plug in her phone to the nearest power source. “i hope they keep doing that, though, because sure as hell this broke arse of a student couldn’t afford a better one yet.”

“so, you’re still a student?”

scarlett fumbled around with the tangled cable before she could successfully connect the electronic device to its source of power. “i think the term ‘a part-time student, full-time part-timer’ fits better.”

ben was grateful that the dressing room was empty. imagine if mason was lurking somewhere nearby and the younger lad overheard the way ben laughed naturally around a stranger he only came to know less than fifteen minutes ago, mason would’ve definitely flipped at how peculiar the scene was.

“we have a multitasking queen right here, ladies and gentleman,” ben turned his body towards the fridge for the canned drinks he stored specifically for his post-game routine. “what are you studying?”

“the major that promises an easy job-seeking opportunity after graduation, of course,” scarlett let out a sigh of relief when her phone lit up, signalling the cable did indeed work its magic. not only was her phone old, it was also sensitive. she mentally took note to start saving for a new phone. “i’m an mba candidate.”

“you certainly don’t look the age of someone’s on mba pursuit.”

“i know, they said i’m forever old.”

ben couldn’t hide his look of incredulous surprise. “who said that?”

“a lot of people,” scarlett shrugged nonchalantly but eyes roamed around the room. “i don’t have time to bother, though, unless they’re the ones who put food on my table.”

based on her answer, ben could pull off a conclusion that it wasn’t because scarlett deliberately didn’t know him—she didn’t have time to know him. she was too busy to juggle around her hectic schedule to realize the buzz happening around her.

it then ticked ben, why he felt familiar around scarlett. she resembled him, one way or another, several years ago. an ordinary boy who was busy trying to figure out how to juggle cricket and football—as if choosing one wasn’t an option—because he badly wanted to earn the best of both worlds.

“that’s a right mindset, right there,” ben handed gestured scarlett to choose his choice of drink or a bottle of evian; the woman chose the latter. “but i was meaning to say that you look so young. isn’t an mba candidate required to have five years of working experience?”

“i’ve been legit working, although part-time due to my status as student, since god knows when, so i think they took that into consideration,” ben sat down beside her, and scarlett was silently surprised at how she didn’t find herself awkward towards everything ben did. other times, she’d shrug off anyone who touched this side of her surface, but with ben—she wanted to answer his questions honestly, no more dodging; she wanted him to know. “besides, what’s the use of befriending the professor’s daughter if you can’t pull of some strings for your application?”

ben’s laughter rang around the empty room once more. he appreciated her brutal honesty and had to agree to a certain extent; networking is one of life skills. “is it the same friend who left you behind today?”

“excellent guess, senor,” scarlett nodded with a smile that reminded ben of a child on a playground, legs dangling over the edge of the swing, swinging them back and forth with amazement the gravity hadn’t swallowed them up yet. “let’s say her dragging me to come here was a payback for that opportunity. it still feels weird to be here, though.”

“why, because you’re not a football fan?”

scarlett shot ben a look of disbelief, silently asking ‘how do you know?’ through her eyes. ben thought he loved being around with mason for his expressive eyes—he needn’t exert extra energy to figure the midfielder out—but certainly it was because he hadn’t discovered scarlett’s.

“well, that’s one,” the short-haired woman shook her head, still in disbelief. “my dad’s a huge arsenal fan, i feel like i’m committing a sin of betrayal.”

coming from an arsenal family on top of these all? what is this woman, a pandora box of surprise? “you should’ve gone to the sunday mass instead of coming here.”

this time, it was scarlett’s melodious laugh booming throughout the room. “perhaps i got lost here because of that, should confess my sin tomorrow then.”

as promised, ben guided her through tunnels and hallways to get their choice for cup of while waiting for her phone to be brought to life, as well as giving scarlett a tour she never had the chance to complete.

maybe more than the usual tour because ben showed her almost every room she wanted to know, as long as he had the access for it. “my friend must’ve used all of her luck when my phone’s dead because if else, i would be recording this and shove it to her face that i got an insider tour.”

this wasn’t the first time ben laughed without constraints around scarlett. the choice of words she used on her comments was always on point—just the kind of joke he liked—that if it wasn’t because of her straight face, he would’ve thought she was lowkey flirting with him.

oh, how much ben wished she was flirting with him instead. scarlett was the personification of sunshine, an absolute joy to be around with—the fact that she had no clue of who ben is surely gave her a brownie point. he had long forgotten how it felt to talk to a woman without having to put up a wall—he’d spend the entire time talking too busy to figuring out if the woman was genuinely interested in him or his money—and how exhilarating a conversation could naturally shift to two-sided banters.

ben was slowly inclined to think maybe it was him who used up all of his luck when he decided to give this sort of fanfiction-like encounter a go.

“can i ask you a question?” ben put her cup of hot chocolate in front of scarlett as he sat down across the woman. “why the name scarlett, though?”

scarlett let out a muffled sound of appreciation as the hot liquid warmed her up against the bad weather outside. “why not?”

ben grinned, her reply always put him on checkmate position. “i’m genuinely curious because i can’t recall anyone named scarlett other than scarlett johansson.”

“as you know, my dad’s an arsenal fan, but he didn’t want to name me after something that screamed very arsenal. naming me something along ‘the gunner’ or something would be hideous, no?” while scarlett remained indifferent when speaking, ben almost spat on his cup of tea at her. “but he couldn’t name me red nor white, so he chose scarlet instead. it happened to be the shade of the jersey the year i was born.”

“i take it your dad’s funny guy?”

“how’d you know?” scarlett’s eyes went wild in disbelief, mouth agape. “okay, you’re officially a psychic.”

“i think you inherit his sense of humour.”

“oh no, you sound like my friends who think i belong to a circus, along with the clowns—”

cough, cough.

scarlett stood up in panic at her new friend and tried to soothe the choking effect by patting his back gently. “you good?”

it was safe to say that ben should definitely stay away from any drinkable liquid whenever scarlett was around him. both for his own sake of living and for his image. “clown, oh my god!”

scarlett regained her seating back, although her body language screamed that she was still worried about ben. “well, my friends call me ‘the clown’ because i’m the one cracking jokes here and there. do you need some napkins?”

ben gladly took the gesture, eager to clean himself up a bit after such an embarrassing stint. “well, your friends must’ve got lost in whatever parade they went to because there’s no clown that looks as pretty as you.”

for the first time throughout their time together, there was no banter coming from scarlett. ben looked up to the woman, who seemed to be taken aback at his comment, and he wondered in panic if he said it too direct that it caused her discomfort.

ben was about to correct himself when he noticed her cheeks blossomed with a slight tinge of scarlet, unmistakable even against the yellow light creeping in from the stadium.

“nah, i think i know why you’re named scarlett,” ben sat back, smiling in pure joy at the endearing sight unravelled before him. “it suits you perfectly.”

as if ben’s previous comment didn’t fluster her to the bone, the beautiful man had to add some more into the mix, complete with that gentle look he threw at her. scarlett had to save herself from going flushed down the toilet—pun intended—so all she could manage to reply was, “i hope you keep in mind there’s also this woman named scarlet witch, so you better watch out.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“where on this bloody mother of earth have you been, sky evans!”

the front door hadn’t been entirely closed when the voice of abigail, her best friend, boomed through her flat. remind her again to never hide her spare key under the unused mails she intentionally stacked on her mailbox downstairs.

“you have no right to ask me that when you’re the one who left me behind.”

“you can’t be contacted! how am i supposed to know you’re still inside the bridge or that stupid professor of yours ran over your arse?”

“for god’s sake, abby, turn down your voice, will you?” scarlett was never a fan of screams in the first place, but after spending the evening with ben’s calm and peaceful voice, her head was banging in all the wrong places. “my phone’s dead and i was waiting for you on the player’s box, thought you’d find me easily there, but you didn’t, did you?”

by the way abby didn’t retaliate, scarlett knew she’d hit bull’s eye.

“you could’ve at least tried to flip stamford bridge upside and down to search for me, or announced over the speakers that you lost your friend or something, as embarrassing as that sounds but it could’ve worked,” scarlett pulled out her phone to text ben as promised, informing him she made it home safely. “if it wasn’t because of the fact i haven’t seen you in two years, i would’ve thrown you out already.”

“how did you get out of the bridge?”

“i asked around,” scarlett’s phone pinged with a new message from ben. wow, that was fast. “a steward was there to help, thankfully. he got me a charging kit, i think it belonged to a player who’s still using ipod, and waited until my phone’s back on. he offered me a ride home but i refused—”

“you didn’t!”

“i did,” scarlett shot a look to shut abby down. “if you’re worried about my love life because i refused a very friendly offer, worry not. i’m going out with him after the game on saturday.”

abigail ran from her spot to see the phone screen scarlett was showing her, before shrieking in pure elation and happiness that her plain-jane friend had smoothly scored a date.

good to hear you’re home safe because i just remembered we haven’t really toured the dressing room. there’s a home game on saturday, come to the bridge?

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

when ben called to tell she’d be placed at the box, scarlett wasn’t expecting the private box.

as much as she wasn’t a fan of football herself, despite coming from a very football-centred family, she knew this type of hospitality wasn’t one she could afford herself. heck, her dad would’ve flipped upside down if he found out she could indulge in this kind of luxury, one he could only dream of. no, scratch that—he would’ve erased her from the family registry the moment he found out she was given these privileges at the stadium that hosted none other than arsenal’s very own london rival.

had ben briefed her the complete experience, she would’ve brought abigail along, no matter how much she was still upset that her best friend left her behind in this very place a week ago. it was such a waste to have these padded seats on such a spacious private box all by herself, not to mention the fine-dining pre-match cuisine to devour. abigail would love to join the crowd to sing along the chants as well—probably more like screaming on top of her lungs for scarlett’s standard—like a true blues she is, without having to be reprimanded by her overprotective father.

but she didn’t think a mere steward like ben could afford this as well, frankly.

none of this grandiosity made sense to her if it came from ben, unless—

unless if he was either well-connected or he was downplaying his job.

he could be one of the owners—no, no. as far as her general knowledge went and as long as her memory didn’t fail her, chelsea’s owner is a russian oil tycoon. that left her option down to concluding that ben was well-connected because he was part of the board. board these days tended to have a young representative amongst them for strategic reasons.

“miss evans,”

at the call of her name, scarlett turned around to the waiting staff dedicated to cater her needs for the day. it felt really weird having someone to call anytime you need them, she was very much used to doing everything on her own.

“the game is starting,” the staff informed, and the line-up announcement on the background brought scarlett back to reality. “mr. chilwell wishes you to wear this for the game.”

mr. chilwell? scarlett recalled she had never interacted with someone of that surname. the latest she enclosed her private data was to ben, saying he needed her full name to be registered to the reception up front for this particular day.

despite being lowkey scared that her identity had been compromised to a wrong party, who could be wanting her dead, scarlett accepted the satin blue box from the staff. inside, she identified chelsea’s signature blue home kit showing the name chilwell and the number 21 on the back, another box, and a paper folded neatly in two. being a curious person she is, she opened the smaller box first, only to find a new set of charging kit for her old iphone.

scarlett laughed at their internal jokes, speechless at the same time at the fact ben slipped in one essential thing she most likely forgot to bring on daily basis. during the week she got to know the male, scarlett found him as a very thoughtful guy, always remembering what she threw here and there—that she sometimes forgot she’d once said so—so that he didn’t cross the line when interacting with her.

Hey, you,

I’m sorry I can’t be there in person to give you these stuffs, but I hope this letter finds you well—at least as an appropriate substitute, but perhaps as a proper apology letter too, if you may.

Knowing how smart and quick-witted you are, I’m sure you have caught on a lot of things by now, especially the fact that I’m not supposed to be the friendly staff who took you on a private tour on Sunday. You weren’t wrong to assume I work here; your guess was actually spot on—it’s just I never bothered to correct you. Not because I think you’re easy to fool, but because it completely slipped off my mind to do that. You made time and space seem so easy to be forgotten and I couldn’t recall when was the last time I enjoyed one’s pleasant company so effortlessly.

Nonetheless, I’m sorry.

But I do hope that after reading this, you’d stay.

For the post-match meals served at the box, for the post-match buffet in the dressing room, for the big game, for the fun we could have after the game and beyond the Bridge. For me, perhaps—may the God align the moon and stars in the sky.

Should you decide the otherwise, please utilize the charging kit well to support your phone in documenting today from various angle of the Bridge. My mind will rest in peace knowing you’d gone home with an ocean of photos from this once-in-a-lifetime experience to show off to Abigail’s face and gone home safely without having your battery dead.

Should you decide to stay, though… please enjoy the game as much as I enjoy our banter, and wave me from your seat every time I come close to where you are. Can’t wait to see how much you can gulp down the food from our dressing room buffet.

All the love,

Benny

okay, so ben was indeed not who she’d thought he would be.

she laughed to herself, imagining what ben’s expression would look like if he was in front of her, telling this little information of himself in person. the male would’ve been flustered inside, the tinge of red across his cheeks would’ve cracked the cold composure he was trying to gather on the surface.

scarlett laughed to herself, remembering a past occurrence where she mocked abigail for stating she’d marry someone out of her league—“a prince would be ideal but i’d settle for a chelsea footballer too”, she said then—as they watched kate middleton descended from her bridal car. this, more or less, was scarlett’s version of ‘out of her league’—surely spending time with a hotshot c-level personnel from a very lucrative industry was beyond her imagination, as someone who was brought up by a working-class family on the suburbs of london.

and she laughed to herself because never in a million years would she have thought she’d be in a scene straight from what those teen lit stories published; jitters and all the butterflies flying out of the zoo kind of stuffs when she realised that she felt the same way as ben. he made it a piece of cake for her to warm up to a stranger, something that frankly never happened to her before as long as she’d lived (due to having little to no time to socialise with her peers because work was always waiting by the door). scarlett was sure ben had sprinkled magic here and there when they were alone that she’d forget the fact that in reality, they both belonged to a totally different world with a vast ocean standing between them.

but if ben was one of the higher-ups, why couldn’t she join her in the box?

scarlett was about to ask ben’s whereabout to the staff behind her when the announcer’s voice boomed throughout the stamford bridge, announcing chelsea’s starting eleven for the afternoon.

“assisting antonio rudiger on our left wing,” it declared. “we have our number 21, ben chilwell!”

the big screen on the other stands showed the face of ben, showing the back of his blue kit—the exact someone like she was holding in her hands now—with the name ben chilwell and his signature 21 number on his right. scarlett looked down to the pitch and there he was, unmistakably so on her peripheral vision; jumping up and down on the left wing, starting his engine before the referee blew the whistle.

had someone just poured scarlett a bucket of water?

if the people on the box beside hers paid attention to scarlett, it was guaranteed they’d call for help, seeing how frozen and helpless she had become. her face was also turning to be the kind of pale that wasn’t caused by the usual london weather on november—yep, splashed by endless ice cubes would be the only reasonable explanation.

or perhaps, the urge to vomit was becoming too unbearable for her to hold it in.

oh, or maybe it was due to the fact that her head was spinning, unable to come into final conclusion that this was reality. being involved with c-level sounded more plausible than this since she’s the TA to one of the most famous LSE professors. this was turning into something no longer belonged to teen lit anymore—this was straight out of fairy tale.

benny—the sweet, easy-going benny she got to know the past week—is, in fact, a football player.

the joke was now on her.

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“this way, miss evans,”

the waiting staff from her earlier time at the box was guiding the way to the familiar tunnel scarlett knew oh-so-well leading to the dressing room, instead of ben this time. but unlike last sunday when she was very relaxed under ben’s care, scarlett was visibly nervous this time.

everything looked the same—everything is the same—but it wasn’t at all at the same time.

“please wait here, miss evans,” the staff said, after manoeuvring both of them amidst the masses of people flocking the tunnel. scarlett could feel her mild anxiety attack towards overly crowded place creeping in, she should’ve told ben the real reason she wasn’t a fan of loud, packed surroundings. “mr. chilwell should be here any moment now, he’s just finishing up his media duty.”

scarlett didn’t know what else to do than muttered okay under her breath, her hands were involuntarily picking against each other due to the uncontainable jitters on her nerves. she also wondered why, she didn’t even feel this fidgety when she had to undergo all of her previous important life events.

“you must be benji’s girl,” a voice came up from behind, startling her in her place. “scarlett evans, no?”

the way benji’s girl rolled down his tongue did wonders to her. not because he was handsome—although deep down scarlett admitted chelsea’s number 19 had the looks to kill for—but because of the way it sent her shivers and warmth down her body at the same time.

“i actually don’t know how benny thinks about it,” and she wasn’t lying. it hadn’t occurred her what benny might be telling his friends about her, or if he tells anything in general. “but yeah, i’m scarlett. nice to meet you, mount.”

“i thought you don’t know balls?” mason pulled out a surprised face. “or has benji fed me with lies?”

“i just watched one so i can say i’ve shed this whole virgin to football status,” with that, mason immediately figured out why his mighty best friend had fallen down to the pedestal. “congratulations for the hattrick, by the way.”

laughter subdued now but mason was still smiling. “well, thank you—”

“oi, mount!” and there was the voice they both were so familiar with. “don’t you scare her off!”

“oh, bugger off, chilwell,” the younger footballer groaned as soon as his left winger pulled scarlett closer to him, playing along the skit. “why must you always have the best girl to date?”

if mason didn’t know the whole saga of chilwell getting bewitched, he would be in a state of shock at the fact that his best friend had already moulded his body perfectly to match scarlett’s. the benji he knew by far had only been this affectionate with his dog—even his parents couldn’t be on par with his furry companion.

“because they only deserve the best,” scarlett was hoping—god, please let it be true, she prayed inside—that she wasn’t hallucinating when she felt benny pecked the side of her head lightly. “now run along, child.”

“alright, alright, dad,” mason faked a disappointed sigh before turning to scarlett. “call me when benji deserts you, love.”

at the younger’s teasing, ben stepped up and ready to chase the laughing midfielder down the tunnel. he halted his steps when he felt a hand tugging his gently, all while laughing at the funny interaction laid before her. he reckoned it reminded her of her own friendship with abigail, he couldn’t help but smile at the resemblance.

as well as how dashing she looked—blue and his name on the back surely fitted her to a T. but most of all, she stood in front of him, in flesh and blood, unwavering even when mason caught her off guard.

“you’re here,” ben didn’t think twice as he embraced her tightly, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair, such a welcoming smell against the reek of the boys’ sweats. “you stayed.”

her voice muffled against the padded jacket he was wearing. “where do you think i’m going?”

“could’ve beaten me running down the left flank, you never know.”

“well, hate to break it to you but i think i’m better at staying, especially—” scarlett pulled away and ben was giddy already on a very subconscious level, he didn’t even know what she’d be saying! “when food’s involved.”

ben laughed, his body warm from head to toe from the feelings he contained inside of him he felt he could combust. he pulled her towards him again, swaying her with him left and right.

scarlett joined in his contagious laugh, her wrecking nerves long forgotten. her understanding about the concept of space became blurry whenever ben’s involved, she’d usually mind when her ex-boyfriend initiated such an intimate act of PDA. ben’s blatant adoration towards her blinded everything else in front of her. “that was a superb game, benny. or should i say, ben chilwell?”

“you’re not mad at me?”

“for what? for making me like a fool who doesn’t know who you are?” another wiggling eyebrow and ben wondered how there could be anyone beating emilia clarke’s signature eyebrows. “i thought you enjoy fooling around with me?”

“that i do,” his brain seemed to go into a havoc around scarlett—he was already tracing her luxury of having a naturally good-looking set of eyebrows with the tip of his index finger. “please stay forever, scarlett evans.”

“for you, i would, benjamin chilwell.”

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“will you come to the next match?”

both ben and scarlett were walking hand in hand towards her flat, slower than turtle because they didn’t want this day to end. ben even parked somewhere relatively far on a usual day, moreover a chilly night—pun intended—like this.

it had been very close to be described as a lovely evening by far; ben introducing—showing off, per mason mount’s standard—scarlett to his teammates and everyone he practically knew around the ground, living up to his words by showing her the infamous dressing room buffet, taking her around for the post-game glowing pitch.

all without hands straying far from each other’s, as if they couldn’t have it enough between them. if they weren’t holding hands, ben’s hand would be flying over the small part of scarlett’s back or scarlett would close the distance to shuffle closer to ben. everything felt like a series of something overdue and not something that only took off within a couple of hours ago.

scarlett broke a part for a minute to wrap herself tighter with ben’s jacket he so kindly had draped over her as the night fell deeper. “if you promise you won’t get me the private box again.”

“why, i thought you’re not a fan of boisterous place?”

“you could’ve gotten me the worst seat on the stadium and i would’ve come anyway, because i was seriously thinking we’d watch the match with me on the stands and you guarding nearby,” noticing scarlett was rubbing her arms in a futile attempt to warm herself, ben stepped up to add some more warmth. “but it turns out to be something i enjoy being around, the atmosphere was okay.”

ben raised his eyebrow, mockingly questioning her statement.

scarlett rolled her eyes at his response, turning her body around. “though had you told me you’re on the team—first team at that as well, mind you!”

ben gently pulled the sulking scarlett towards him before she could walk away from their conversation. “what’d you do?”

“well…” scarlett still wasn’t looking at him in the eyes so ben slid his hands to conjoin hers. it worked, with a bonus of gentle smile for him. “i would’ve come anyway, for you.”

“was it too much for you?” ben couldn’t contain his happiness, her words whispered against the cold warmed up ben from head to toe. “because if it’s too much, i can—”

what was that?

“no, it was perfect,” ben was trained to face the ball head-on under a millisecond without being fazed at all but it took him scarlett’s second time placing a feathery peck on his check—this time slightly above his growing beard—to be able to sink reality in. “thank you, chilwell.”

ben could feel his cheeks burning. was this santa’s early gift for ben for having been such a very good and patient boy last week, when he was tested to face an abundance of energetic chelsea junior?

at the cute sight, scarlett laughed. “just remind me to bring abigail to the next game, but that is if you want me to be ther—”

in all honesty, ben didn’t know what came over him at that moment. he grabbed a hold of scarlett’s face and planted a kiss on her soft, plush lips. she tasted sweet, sweeter than the victory chelsea bagged this afternoon, but felt like the sweetest combination with his contribution of a goal to the big win. this couldn’t have been reality, could it?

ben pulled apart, but he was addicted to the forbidden fruit.

the sight of scarlett peacefully closing her eyes—content clearly drawn across her face—and lips gaping lightly and cheeks flushed endearingly that certainly wasn’t because of the cold weather was enough to make he, ben chilwell, one almighty to that “the bachelor” series were nothing but a bundle of bullshit, was now falling in love with the speed of a lightning. he couldn’t even believe he could contain love as big as what he felt towards this woman in his arms, small and safely tucked against the cold air of november.

so, he made himself believe and took the dive himself, his lips finding hers accurately again like his strike for the past four matches.

“i’d love you to have you on every game,” ben rested his forehead against hers gently when he once again pulled away, and scarlett slowly opened her eyes at the slight pressure. nothing was more beautiful than the combination between the sweet smile breaking into her face and those clear eyes opening only to reflect the stars above—a reminder there was endless silent witnesses hovering over them. “more than anything,”

scarlett shuffled closer to ben, resting her hands comfortably on his waist, as he continued. “nothing compares than looking up to the stands and see you’re there, supporting me even though you’d prefer somewhere else quieter, wearing my kit—”

“technically, this is not yours; this is a new kit, specialised for me. it’s just got your number on it.”

ben chuckled at her retaliation; her comment and timing were never not impeccable. “i’ll give you one of my personal treasures then, the champions league final kit i wore.”

scarlett gave him a playful disgusted look. “have you washed that?”

“deary me, woman,” ben whispered against her lips, before closing the distance completely. “you should feel lucky i love you.”

“damn it, i really should’ve pulled up my courage to confess my sins yesterday,” scarlett groaned at the loss of ben’s lips and the stubble she could feel under her fingertips as the footballer retreated. “i feel like it’s piling up. first, i went to the bridge behind my dad’s back. then, i kissed the enemy. now, i’m dating him. does the church take instalment on owning up my sins?”

ben threw his head, laughing loudly at—now officially and reciprocally—his girlfriend.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

it hadn’t been a full ten seconds for scarlett to lean her head against the back of the door, smiling widely as she tried to sink in whatever happened today—maybe more so in regards to what went down the last fifteen minutes—when abigail’s voice shockingly shattered her train of thoughts. “who was that?”

“oh, for fuck’s sake, abby!” scarlett was genuinely startled, jumping at where she stood. “i didn’t tell you where my spare key is so you could be a creep!”

“well, i wouldn’t be if i didn’t just see you snog off someone who has the face of ben chilwell!”

only when scarlett refused to say anything, did abigail realize the seriousness of this whole situation. “wait, i thought you went out with someone working for chelsea?”

“well, technically, ben works for chelsea, doesn’t he?”

jaw dropped, done. voice box silenced from screeching, done. now, abigail was sporting bulging eyes. “no fucking way.”

scarlett loved abigail’s disbelief reaction, and she loved it more when she could rile her up. so she did, by pulling out her phone and showed her the receipts—a photo mason had ever so kindly taken of them, pressed a tad bit awkwardly in a small space along the packed tunnel and another photo ben himself took to imitate their first meeting in stamford bridge (it’s a shame we never got to take a picture that day, he said). “yes fucking way.”

“so, you’re telling me that you went out with bloody ben chilwell and yet you didn’t tell me anything about your date?!”

“in my defence, abigail peters,” scarlett regained the possession of her phone, now reminded that she wanted to text ben the first place but was distracted by her best friend’s unprecedented presence in her flat. “i didn’t know who he is until the game started, okay?”

tell me when you got home safe xx, sent. “you didn’t know he’s the ben chilwell?” the short-haired nodded to once more confirm her friend’s clarificatory question. “what on bloody earth… i thought you went to oxford!”

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell fic #ben chilwell fanfic #ben chilwell fluff #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell one shot #ben chilwell x you #ben chilwell imagines #ben chilwell blurb #oh-saints writes

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haventacluewhatimdoing · 4 years ago

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Right. So I am an avid reader of high school au fics of any fandom, and since my current obsession is Sherlock that's what I'm spending most of my time doing.

And I've read quite a few fics where John plays rugby, which is entirely apt.

BUT as a rugby follower, I can't help but notice that some writers don't seem to know much about rugby. Which is cool, no need to massively research every single thing you write about. But sometimes it simply doesn't make sense. So I thought I'd make a reference post for anyone wanting to write about rugby.

1. There is no goalie

I've seen this a few times where someone is in goal. This is simply not a thing in rugby. The goalposts are in the shape of an H, and the aim is to kick it above the horizontal bar, so it would simply be impossible to have one.

2. There are two types of rugby

There is rugby league and rugby union, and although they are similar, there are some differences. I have sometimes seen people mix the two, so I want to clear something. In the original stories (The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire) it says John played rugby union, so that is what I am focusing on in this post. Basically from here on in when you see the word 'rugby' I am talking about rugby union.

3. There are only 23 players in a game of rugby union

Sometimes I see people writing "x is number 28" and that simply does not exist. In rugby union you have 15 players on a pitch at one time (for each team), and 8 substitutions.

4. People aim for tries, not goals

Of course, goals do exist in rugby, but a try scores more. I'll explain basic scoring below. (These are rugby union scoring rules)

A try is worth 5 points. This is when a player grounds the ball over the try line (this is a white line in line with the goalpost). The team then gets a chance to kick the ball through the goalpost. If this is achieved, an extra 2 points is added. This is called a conversion or converted try.

A drop goal is worth 3 points. This is simply kicking the ball through the opponent's goalposts. This is not usually done as people go for tries instead.

A penalty kick is worth 3 points. There's some intricate stuff here, but the basic idea is if the other team commits a foul, the team gets a 'free kick' to try and score some points.

So although 'goals' are possible, they are not very common.

5. Other bits of basic play

A scrum is where the forwards of each team join together to try and gain the ball. Basically there's a lot of shoving involved.

Players with the ball can only pass it sideways or backwards. The defending team tries to tackle them to the floor, where they have to release the ball. It keeps going until a penalty occurs or one team scores a try.

A lineout is where the ball is thrown in from the sidelines. Often somebody gets lifted up into the air to catch it, and sometimes from both teams in order to try and get the ball.

As you have probably gathered, rugby is a contact sport. That means people get hurt. Injuries are common. Leg injuries occur a lot, and sometimes people can even gain a concussion from playing. This may be a good plot point when writing a fic.

6. Players and positions

Players don't wear protective gear on the whole. They wear mouthgards of course, because frankly it's a pretty dangerous sport, and some forwards choose to wear a scrum cap (see below). But no helmets, shinpads, etc.

The forwards are players 1-8, and the backs are players 9-15.

The kicker on a team can be anyone, but it is usually 10 or 12.

On the whole the heavier, taller, powerful players are the forwards. The smaller, faster players are usually the backs, especially at 11 and 14. These two numbers score most of the tries.

It is rare that forwards score tries, but it does happen when there's basically a massive pile of people by the try line and it is pure chance that they have the ball. Backs are more likely to score tries, although not number 15 as they are the player that hangs back in case the ball gets booted to the other end of the pitch. As mentioned above, 11 and 14 are the fast, nimble players as they score the most tries.

Personally, I would place John at 2. This is usually played by one of the smallest people on the pitch (I know I'm contradicting myself, but the paragraph above is generalised), and they are extremely powerful as they control the scrum. They also throw the ball into the pitch in a line out. They are arguably the most important forward player, so need a lot of confidence and nerves of steel, which suits John perfectly.

There's loads of intricate rules and other things, but I think I've covered the basics here. For a good description of what each player does, the link below is very handy.

7. Quick note on English schools and rugby

Not entirely related but this does also crop up - I see people writing about rugby matches as if the whole school turns out in a massive pitch with bleachers and the like (what you always see with American football in high school movies). That doesn't really happen in England. Of course, the rugby team would normally be very popular throughout school, but those huge matches you see in films? They don't really happen. It's more like two schools play against each other, not even always on school grounds but a local facility, and parents and mates come to watch.

Also, rugby is MUCH bigger in Wales than in England. It's still popular, of course, but the teams are sometimes local clubs rather than school teams. Of course, if you want to make it a school team go ahead, that's probably what I would do too as it makes the plot a whole lot easier!

I think I've covered all the basics here. Any questions feel free to drop an ask or message me, I'm happy to help! Also let me know if I've forgotten anything crucial, as I wouldn't put it past me.

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #rugby union #writing #how do i tag help

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fancycakedragon · 6 years ago

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Didn't Happen the First Time (Soulmate AU)

College!Tommy Kinkle x Reader

[Not My Gif]

Source: @john-bendr

Warning(s): None

A/N: So @imnotadalekimhuman and I had a whole conversation about how Tommy Kinkle deserved to go to college. It stuck with me so I wrote this. TK stans need to get together btw.

Masterlist

As comforting as knowing someone was out there that was your perfect match, the idea of having a soulmate was stressfull to you. You often traced the words etched into your skin thinking about what would happen if you met this person. Would it be love at first sight? Would they already be in a relationship? Were you one of the unlucky few that didn't have a soulmate?! Some days you'd daydream about them others you were a ball of anxiety. All because of a stranger who was supposed to comolete you.

The thing with soulmates was that on rare, very rare, ocassions people would get an incling of where their other half would be. That's what happened when you were choosing schools. Notre Dame wasn't your first choice but something about it pulled you there. It wasn't a cosmic revelation, more of a insesent nudge that became too much to bare.

When you got there you didn't know what to think. The moment you stepped on campus the feeling vanished, gone like the flame on a blown out candle. You were looking in every corner to find that person who would just say those words. Two years there and you slowly started to give up. If they were really here or anywhere in the world you'd find eachother. Eventually. Instead you focused on your studies, and making Stacy keep up with her school work.

The school had a big football culture that ruled over the campus. Home games were always packed, people travelled to see visiting games, and any wins were met with outrageous frat parties.

Your friend Stacy who had gotten into Notre Dame with you was beside you currently cheering along with the rest of the stadium. "C'MON NUMBER THIRTEEN, SHOW 'EM WHAT WE'RE MADE OF!"

You blinked at her with wide eyes, "My ears are right here Stace."

You weren't sure if she was ignoring you or it was too loud for her to hear but she continued with her cheering.

The game was close but it was player 13 that scored the winning touch down. The croud erupted in the school chant and applause.

After winning the first home game of the season the star quarterback Aric Boyyd announced, "Party at Sigma Kappa Phi tonight!!!" Random groups of people around you whooped.

You wrinkled your nose at the idea. Sometimes the parties were amusing but everyone knew frat parties had a tendency to get out of hand. Aric was busy hyping everyone up with his antics when he bumped into you causing you to drop you phone, your drink following right over it.

"What the hell, man?! I just got that!" you yelled at him.

Aric shrugged, "You can't expect me to care about that babe, WE JUST WON THE FIRST GAME OF THE SEASON!" The crowd cheered along with him to the frat house ignoring you.

You took a deep breath your jaw clenching. Before you could pick up the phone a another hand had already plucked it from the ground.

You looked at the person holding your phone out to you and took it from him. If you weren't so pissed you'd have thought he was cute. But no, part of why you were here was meet your soulmate. No distractions.

"I'm Tommy," he said trying to fill the silence that had grown.

"Y/N," you replied looking over your phone shattered screen, probably some damage from your drink spilling on it.

"Hey you're 13," Stacy said recognizing his face from photos posted on the schools social media. "Nice game."

Tommy smiled, "Thanks. And sorry about Aric, he doesn't know the importance of... Anything that isn't him."

"Oh so what are you, one of those sensitive meatheads?" you asked in annoyance.

Tommy went quiet, you could practically see the gears turning in his head but it wasn't for the reason you thought. He looked at you with in a new light when he felt the tingling on his abdomen, right where those same words were etched. In all the years he looked at that sentence he always thought it would come out as a joke. It gave him a sense of comfort knowing his soulmate was probably a playful tease. Looking at you now he doubted that was the case or maybe you weren't in a good mood. Your phone did just face some damage because of his teammate.

Your brows were furrowed in annoyance and you seemed ready to leave. He had to say something, anything, maybe like the words written on your skin. But he didn't know what to say and the longer he stood there the more he was losing his chance.

"Well, uh, all teams need a novelty right?" he tried to joke. He looked at you to see if there was some sort of recognition in your face.

"Whatever, Stace let's go."

Just like that you were leaving. Tommy watched you go somehow still trying to to figure out what to say to you.

"You're not bailing (Y/N)," Stacy warned.

You looked at her defensively, "Who said I was."

"I can see it all over your face. Classes haven't gotten serious yet so were gonna go party it up."

"It's not like you're gonna give me a choice," you said rolling your eyes.

Stacy grinned at you, "I love it when you just accept your fate." She dragged you off to change into something she approved of and you were off.

When you arrived the party was already in full swing. Beer pong on one side of the room, kegs not far from it, and a shit ton of hangovers waiting to happen.

You made your way out to the backyard where there were less people. As if Tommy knew you had arrived he found you minutes after you arrival.

"Oh my god, is this guy serious?" you mumbled.

"He's cute give him a chance," Stacy whispered. "Hey! Tommy how you doing?" she said giving him a winning smile.

"Good, I guess," he answered shrugging. His eyes travelled to you as an awkward silence took over.

"Well! I see a cute girl over there and I'm gonna go chat her up, have. . . anything but this," your friend said her arms gesturing vaguely around you two. "Try fun," she said already leaving you.

"Stacy Ingrid Hopkins I swear-" the few people around you turned to see the commotion about to erupt but you quieted down.

Tommy bit his lip looking down. Remembering the drinks he brought with him earlier he offered one to you, "Um, I got you, a um, some lemonade. I wasn't sure about bringing you alcohol."

"I don't take open drinks from anyone at parties."

"Oh there are soda cans I can get you one," Tommy said heading back inside.

You pushed past him irritated, "I'll get it myself. Hopefully you can take a hint and leave me alone."

Tommy realized that getting through to you was going to be a challenge. This really wasn't what he thought being with his soulmate was going to be like. What if you weren't his mate? The first thing he said was supposed to be what was written on your skin. He got no reaction from the moment he met you. Tommy got an aching feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you always going to see me as the bad guy?" he said in an off handed manner.

You stopped in your tracks. You'd known that sentence from the moment you could read. The words imprinted into you were just spoken by the man you'd been trying to avoid. Turning around you slowly walked back to Tommy.

You walked back to him standing inches away and whispered, "Only if it means I get to give my soulmate a hard time."

Finally! Tommy smiled so bright you were sure you'd go blind. He lifted his sleeve revealing the words you said to him hours ago. Giggling you turned your arm showing him the inside of your bicep.

"I can't believe you didn't say this the first time," you told him in amusement.

Tommy chuckled shaking his head, "I've been stressing out all this time thinking I was matchless. Don't play with my feelings."

You laughed and in that moment Tommy knew that was the only thing that could ever make his heart skip a beat.

-----

Requests are Open

#reader #chilling adventures of sabrina #fanfic #y/n #caos #you #tommy kinkle x y/n #tommy kinkle x you #tommy kinkle x reader #tommy kinkle #justin dobies #6-28-19

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cerastes · 7 years ago

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how in the bloody hell did you get so much confidence? i'm currently in depression hell and i really need to crawl out of it

Right, I think it’s important to talk about this earnestly, so let’s turn off the Jokes for a second, and let’s have a talk.

How did I get so much confidence? I faked it till I made it. You, too, can pretend until it becomes real. This probably sounds god damn crazy to anyone deep in depression, but trust me, and the thousands of others that have done this: It works. When you start faking it, when you start wearing that mask of confidence, and acting with confidence, things start moving inside of you, and soon that mask becomes real, and you don’t even notice, because you were having so much fun not being the sad, miserable you, having so much fun being the ideal you that cuts through the waves like the mighty battleship you always wanted to be, that you don’t even realize you’ve truly become that person. “Become” isn’t the right word... You always could be that person, but you were holding yourself back all this time. By simply acting like it, you get a taste of that happiness, and there’s no turning back after you taste it, haha.

Now, words are cheap, I guess, and at the end of the day, I am the internet dude that just says things and can’t really intervene directly in your depression. I want to tell you more than “I tried this! It worked”, so if you think the above paragraph is enough, I am glad, but if it’s not fully satisfactory, I want to share with you how it went for me, so you know I am not just talking out of my ass, so you know how ugly my own depression was, and what I did in my own case to get over it, because depressions are ugly, and while they are all different for each one of us, their ugliness is something they have in common.

But you know what else depressions have in common? That you can overcome them. Beating depression is not just knowing a method and thinking, it’s about taking action. This is a story of taking action. Thinking just isn’t enough, you have to DO.

I am putting this under a read more because the beginning is dry (it’s also long), and I’d rather only people that want to read it, read it. No sense in putting a big fat dump of Sad in front of everyone, but keep in mind, there’s light at the end of it, because that’s the fundamental reason for this: That depression can be made your bitch, and that it isn’t invincible by any means. Warning: Suicide mention.

I entered a deep, deep depression in 2009, when I was graduating high school. Until then, I wasn’t particularly sad, and was in fact well liked by my peers, mostly due to (and I swear I am not throwing flowers at myself here) my natural charisma, which helped a lot to cover for my social anxiety. I was insecure about a lot of things, but I also was having fun with my life here and there, as long as I was out of home or locked in my room.

But after I graduated and moved out, a lot of stuff happened, and in 2010, it really just went rampant. I was suicidal, depressive as all hell, with a lot of pent up frustration, and in a very toxic environment. I used to own a revolver, and I sat down with it and considered blowing my brains out, but thankfully I didn’t. I moved out to a place where my friends and my best friend weren’t, so I didn’t have my usual support network, and things with my online friends were very turbulent at that point. All of it came crashing on me, and my usual manners of coping with it all were gone, so now I was left alone with my insecurities and a whole ton of terrible things that kept increasing in number around me.

2011, I had enough, I said fuck you to my family, grabbed my shit, and left. It’s always very complicated to discuss my family because I know my mom and dad love me, and I love them, but they made a lot, a lot of mistakes that their pride would not let them own up to, and everyone else in my family that wasn’t those two, and two other aunts, were basically massively toxic and terrible to me. I straight up left, I didn’t fucking care anymore. This was at the start of 2011, and throughout 2011, I was basically at my lowest, since I cut off contact with practically everyone, disappeared, and was a drunkard. More than once, I woke up under bridges or at benches in the park. I was drinking 2 litters of beer minimum daily, and far more if it was a “get shitfaced to forget the pain” day. My father knew where I lived, and he’d come pretty often, and we’d fight. We’d fight so damn much. My relationship with my girlfriend from this era was also becoming very tense.

2011 was the bottom of it all for me. It was the cusp of my depression. I didn’t shave, I didn’t shower, I didn’t wash my clothes, I didn’t do the dishes, I didn’t take out the trash, I didn’t care. My little apartment was a god damned pigsty, full of fast food and snack bags scattered everywhere, my plates had mold growing on them, and I just really rinsed one plate and used it over and over. I was the bitch in the “damn bitch you live like this?” image. I reeked of alcohol all day, and my apartment, aside from all the trash, consisted of my bed, my computer, my PS3, a TV, and fuck all else. Just a little sad dumpster where I could drink and submerge myself in fiction so I could just forget that my life was out of control and a god damn fucking mess with no coming back. My days consisted of me just waking up, writing, playing games, watching anime, going out, getting piss drunk to forget the pain, and then passing out somewhere. I legitimately wanted to die.

At around the end of 2011, I once again sat down on my bed, aimed my revolver at my head, and was this close to pulling the trigger. I luckily didn’t have the guts to do so again, and this was the point in which I realized that this was wrong, that all of this bullshit was wrong, that this was no fucking way to live. I used to have fun, I wanted that fun back, I used to enjoy things, I wanted to enjoy them again, to feel the thrill, to feel the joy of doing things again, of accomplishing stuff. I started wondering, how come I used to enjoy things so much, and at which point I fucked up so bad that I became like this? And when you are depressive, you think about this a lot.

I realized that was my mistake.

Thinking wasn’t gonna get me anywhere. It didn’t get me anywhere at the end of 2009. It didn’t get me anywhere throughout 2010. It didn’t get me fucking anywhere in 2011. Scratch that, it did get me somewhere in 2011: It got me the brink of blowing my fucking brains out. No, thinking wasn’t the solution. That’s when I said “fuck thinking”, because sometimes, you have to think, but other times? You have to act.

This was the time to act.

I got rid of my revolver, and I cleaned all of my apartment. Did the dishes, sent the clothes to wash, scraped the mold, I went full Captain Hygiene on this bitch. How was I when I wasn’t a sad sack that wanted to die? I was charismatic, funny, did pranks, and I enjoyed using my imagination. But that wasn’t enough, no, because even when I wasn’t this depressive, I still had several things holding me back, and the me from before ended up being depressive, so I might just set myself for a loop in the future. I wasn’t going to just be happy, baby, I was aiming to become better than I ever was, go BIG or go home, and I always go BIG. No, that wasn’t enough, so what is it that I wanted to be, on top of my good aspects as a kid? I wanted to be confident, to be proud of my skills, to be a dependable leader that people KNEW was going to get shit done, to enjoy life even when it wasn’t going the best, to be mature, and to be just what I wanted to be instead of what I was told to be. Fuck expectation, fuck the status quo, fuck everything anyone else wants you to be, YOU be what YOU want to be. That’s who I wanted to be, so I started acting. I put on the tightest mask I had ever put on, and I went out there not being Dreamer, but rather, being Dreamer EX 9000, the better, cooler, happier Dreamer.

My family always treated me like a weirdo. It is true that I am eccentric, I fully acknowledge it, and not in a “wacky lovable kooky dude way!”, I mean in a “I do have weird aspects to myself that I know can weird people out”, but I still resented them very heavily for always trying to make me into someone I wasn’t instead of just accepting me for who I was. The status quo was always something that I was beaten with. “That’s weird, don’t do that/say that”, “why aren’t you like other kids?”, “you have very weird interests for a boy of your age”, “why aren’t you doing this? Everyone else is doing it, you are strange, Dreamer”, “stop playing games so much and come with us to the family meetings every single weekend”, and a lot more, are phrases I grew up with. I was weird for wanting my personal space, I was weird for not liking going to the country every weekend to meet up with cousins that I didn’t like, I was weird for not wanting to go play football with the kids in my class, weird weird weird weird weird weird all was weird and I was some pariah apparently, man, so I said You Know What Fuck You, and that’s why I left home and cut off my family. A man only has so much patience for that shit, and mine was expended a long time ago. It turns out, now that I was living by myself and engaging with more diverse people, people didn’t fucking care about my “weirdness”. As long as you own up to what you are and are a nice person otherwise, people DON’T FUCKING CARE, and that was a huge point of happiness to me. I wasn’t in an oppressive environment anymore. People would accept me for who I was, and that had its weight in gold for me. Years later, when my family did try to make contact with me, I just brushed them off and told them to fuck off. It took months of them bugging me before I said “Yeah ok I will forgive you but under the condition you NEVER fucking hang the status quo over my head again, and if you do, I am out for good, don’t you fucking try me”. Turns out walking out of your family’s life and cutting them off for years does leave a lasting impression, so they accepted, and now we good. Dreamer EX 9000 was comfortable with who he was, and fuck everyone who had anything to say about it.

My childhood environment, family, school, and internet included, was always this kind of excessively... Bitch ass place, to put it mildly. Like, humility is good, PLEASE be humble, but there is such a thing as being humble to a fault, and forcing that onto others. I never was allowed to feel good about my accomplishments. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t a slimy cocky son of a bitch, and that I loved complimenting others, the moment I felt proud about me being good at something or an accomplishment, it was immediately seen badly. Why? Are we supposed to just fucking self flagellate all our god damn lives? Are we never allowed to feel good about ourselves? Fuck that noise. They wanted to paint that as narcissism? Sure, I was gonna fucking give it to them. That was kinda where the whole “narcissist Dreamer” humorous charade was born from. Whereas before I would just shut up and take it, Dreamer EX 9000 would just fucking go to town with it, and run the whole 9 yards, being fully honest when he was good at something, without being cocky, just taking pride in something that deserved being proud of.

It was at this point that I needed to start rebuilding my social network. Around April 2012, that I said good riddance to the mostly very toxic online community and I began looking for something new, something fresh to get into and give it my everything. I needed this new spice of life, and I found it in something called Touhou. I just launched myself blind into it, after a friend suggested I give the games a spin and the fan stuff a try. I had a unpleasant run in with Touhou before, but I just said “eh, bad first impressions happen, let’s try again”, and I ended up getting really, really into it. Like super duper mega into it. That’s when I started this blog! Haha, ok, so, confession, I started this blog literally just to follow a certain Touhou art askblog, and due to certain coincidences, unexpected accidents, and one self imposed challenged I actually have not ever mentioned to anyone before, I ended up in the RP side of Touhou Tumblr. That was honestly a great thing, because mid 2012 was around the time where things with my ex from then were very, very tense, and we broke up, but it wasn’t a HUGE deal to me because I more or less had come to terms that she was a terrible toxic bitch, and also that I wasn’t as mature as I thought I was (and you gotta accept your bad aspects dude). Tumblr, RP side and just regular side, lead to me meeting a ton of people I love to this day and I consider great friends, and at one point, even someone I loved romantically (and later we broke up, as some of you remember), but even with all the good and bad, with the amazingly fun starts and the sadly toxic end stretch of the RP side, I am very glad it happened, since it helped me grow as a person.

On the IRL end of things, I slowly but surely started regaining contact with real people. My best friend in life, F, accepted my apologies and helped me a great deal with not phasing out of real contact again, and on one occasion, even gave me a very stern talking to when I was starting to relapse a little into my toxic old habits (which can very much happen and you have to be strong and not fall into it again). I cannot thank him enough for this. The friends worth sticking to are the ones that are kind enough to raise a hand at you when you stray from the proper path. I started knowing new people IRL and working on how I wanted to be seen. That’s honestly important and I hate the status quo for vilifying this: It’s really important for you to present yourself in the way you want to be seen. You wanna be seen as an attractive person? It’s fully fucking ok for you to want that and for you to do your best so it happens. Don’t let weak ass social constructs oppress you. Be the fucking excellent person you want to be, but put the effort in it, yeah? And don’t forget to stay a nice person.

The years kept going, and before I knew it, Dreamer EX 9000 didn’t exist anymore, because he fused with Dreamer when I was not looking, creating The Cool Dreamer, and it wasn’t an act anymore, it was legit who I was. It was who I wanted to be, who I knew I could be, and then, it was me.

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t smooth. I had relapses, I had bouts of I Hate Everything in midst of it, and now and then, nowadays, I still have little periods of time in which I just wake up in bad moods and very sad and bitter with no explanation, but then they are gone and I am back to being The Cool Dreamer.

Depression hell is hard to get out of, but it’s not impossible. It won’t happen in one day, one week, one month, one year, but it will happen if you act.

Stop thinking. Start acting. Start doing.

You can either stay where you are and rot for years to come, or you can swallow the bitter pill, go through the painful, difficult first step, and start the progress to recovery, like I did, and like how many people have done.

This is gonna hurt to read, but being a victim is comfortable. Because anything that happens, you can just blame life sucking and then you do nothing about it, as if nothing can be done about it. I know I did before I started acting. It’s bullshit. Something can be done about it. It just isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.

This is my story and my invitation: Do you want to stay sad and rotting where you are right now? Or do you want to take the painful first step now so you can smile later, and see that life has a lot of fucking awesome things, and that the pain was worth it every bit?

Pain is temporary, but glory is eternal.

Take the first step. All of us that already did will wait for you at the finish line with arms wide open.

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dxmedstudent · 7 years ago

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dx I'm on my first placement where I'm living in hospital accommodation and I'm finding it really hard to leave work behind me at the end of the day. because I can't get any physical distance from the hospital I think, and I'm doing acute care and don't know anyone's outcomes, it hangs over me. not really sleeping at the min. do you have any advice?

Hello! I can empathise, I’ve had outfirms since 3rd year of med school, and stayed in in hospital accommodation for a lot of that time. I’ll be honest, hospital accommodation can be pretty grim; unlike private accommodation, hospitals put very little (read: no) effort into making it feel homely or even vaguely nice. It can feel like an extension of hospital. And I’ve lived close to hospital often enough to agree that it’s hard to distance yourself when you can literally see your workplace from your bedroom window. It’s also difficult to maintain sleep hygeine when you basically live in one room. For that, I’d suggest taking walks after you finish uni for the day, if it’s not too late. Explore the local area, and find the nice places to be, if there are any. Part of your problem is the ‘trapped within four walls’ feeling that comes of living in hospital accommodation. I recommend looking up sleep hygeine, and seeing if there’s anything you can improve on, though it can be tough when we live in a constricted area. I’d also recommend befriending the other students living there, if at all possible. When I’ve liked who I’m living with, it doesn’t much matter to me what the flat itself is like, because living with people you get on with makes it fun. Whereas if you’re kind of alienated from each other, then it’s more miserable for everyone. Try to get everyone to have tea, or cook together once in a while, it might make a big difference. Perhaps even go out together as a group, particularly if you’re all stuck miles away from wherever you all live during termtime. That’s the most fun part of outfirms; the way everyone kind of bands together when you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. I’d also recommend changing your room environment to make it feel more like home. I could never get my friends or colleagues who lived in hospital accommodation for months or even years, but brought so little of themselves to their rooms. Like they looked really bare? That’d make me feel miserable. The only thing I would not recommend is candles. The fire alarms are always suuuper sensitive. But there are lots of other things you could do. Little things like:

Bring a blanket from home; even if they give you bedding, it’s always really impersonal. Half the time it’s standard hospital stuff.Something from home can make a real difference.

Warm clothes. Sometimes the heating really sucks. One particular winter when I was a student, I ended up wearing a scarf to bed because the heating just wasn’t functional at all during a cold snap.

Fairy lights. I also like fake flowers; they don’t need watering or replacing, and they don’t die.

Houseplants. I have several, and they keep growing, and now I have to think about how I cart a 25cm cactus everywhere, but I still recommend having some greenery.

Get a couple of nice cushions.

Print photos of all your friends and family. Stick them on the wall. Lots of hospital accommodations have cork boards or something, but otherwise they tend not to care what you do with the wall too much. I have pictures of friends and family from a while back, but also graduation photos to remind me of how hard I worked to get here.

It doesn’t just have to be photos of loved ones. Put up postcards you like. Or inspirational quotes. Or artwork you like. Or pictures of cats. Or pictures of your favourite series, or celebrity crush, or favourite car, or football team, or favourite memes or whatever. It doesn’t actually matter, as long as it’s stuff that makes you happy. In the past, I’ve put up my own art on the walls. Currently, my walls are covered in nice landscape photography, Alphonse Mucha’s art, and cupcakes, all from calendars over the years; I tend to keep the photos I like for putting up when I need cheering up. I haven’t bothered framing anything nice yet, because its much easier to move around loose paper than framed artworks or photos. One day, when I settle down I’ll have proper framed stuff on the walls.

Bring something that you do to unwind. Knitting, art materials, ereaders, games etc. I’ve seen students bring their gaming consoles. I’ve had colleagues bring their keyboards. Have stuff there that helps you to relax. It may be a room you work in, but it also needs to be a room that you can relax in. You can’t really relax if you haven’t brought any of your hobbies with you. For me it’s art materials. I can’t live anywhere without something to create with. It doesn’t even matter if I’m too busy to draw, I still have to have some nearby, just in case I get some spare time.

I bought a colourful plastic tablecover because the tables are usually nasty. Now I look at cupcakes when I’m studying.

Your favourite books or films or CDs etc. You don’t have to bring a huge collection, but it helps to have some stuff that makes you feel happy. I always feel better when my room isn’t just filled with medical books or notes.

Bring the medical books you most find useful, leave the rest at home. You do want at least a few books, because your local hospital library will be much smaller than your university library, and they won’t have everything. If you can leave stuff in your old room or with your parents, it makes it easier because then you don’t need to bring everything.

All hospital accommodation usually has things like table lamps, microwaves or kettles. All of them give you a desk and a chair. There’s usually a dustbin. The flat should have ample cutlery and crockery. If any of this is missing or not working, let accommodation know so they can replace it.

If they don’t have a working kettle, I recommend getting an affordable one from the supermarket, because life is miserable when you can’t even make yourself a cup of tea.

Some basic cleaning kit. Even if there are cleaners (there usually are), I’ve always found that accommodation can be cleaner. Making sure your environment is up to your personal cleanliness standard will probably make you feel better. Since you can’t burn candles or incense, you can get an infuser or something else to make your room smell nice.

These things can all build a feeling of being ‘home away from home’, particularly if you take them with you from placement to placement. As for acute care, I always found that tricky about being on-call or working in AMU myself. I felt that I never really saw the full effect of our treatment, because no sooner had we started treating, then we shipped them off to another team. On the plus side whenever I did ward cover on-calls, I recognised so many of the patients because they’d all come through our AMU. It made dealing with sickies on the ward a lot easier. The good news is that you can actually follow patients up with a modest amount of effort:

When seeing patients, note down their hospital number, initials and DOB. Perhaps ust keep a small pad just for it. Don’t write anything about their clinical conditions, you want this to be anonymised.

Or keep slightly more detailed notes, but keep these in the doctors’ office at hospital. Legally, any identifiable patient information shouldn’t leave the hospital or be left where anyone can see it. Regardless, you should throw the pad in the ‘ confidential waste’ bin when you finish your rotation. Don’t take patient identifiable information with you!

When you have free time, go up to the ward clerk and ask them if they can find out which wards some of your patients ended up on. It’ll take them seconds to find out, if you give them the hospital number.

When you have time, go up to those wards, and after introducing yourself to the ward team, you can either ask them what’s happened to your patients, or ask if you can peruse their notes to catch up. I’d be more than happy for students to be checking up on patients they have seen, and I don’t see why any clinicians or ward staff would object, as long as you’re wearing ID and don’t look suspicious!

Patients seem genuinely touched to know that you’ve come over to see how they are doing, so you can always pop by and ask the patient themselves.

For me, it’s easier, because I can chase things like blood tests or Xrays on the system myself. But even I have to ask the ward clerk where my patients have gone, and I too sometimes have to get a hold of the day team looking after my patient if I want to check that they are OK. I still do it when I can, because it helps me get feedback on my initial diagnoses. Following up on patients is an important part of our learning process as clinicians, so it’s a great skill to get into the habit of.

I hope this helps :)

#ask dx #askdx #making a room a home is pretty hard #personal #my life #sleep hygeine

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