#Cleanup Hitter

[allsadnshit]

Cafe Bugatti Pop by cleanup hitter

[jcamilov06]

Alec Bohm's homerun vs. Milwaukee Brewers | September 18th, 2024

[renee-walker]

🎶✨Put 5 songs you actually listen to and tag 10 of your favourite followers to do the same 🎶✨

Tagged by @silver-dream89, thanks bby!

Cleanup Hitter — Shovels & Rope feat. Brandi Carlile

Run — Josh Groban feat. Sarah McLachlan

Good Morning Gorgeous — Mary J. Blige

Send For Me — The National

Bird Song —The Wailin’ Jennys 

Tagging: @lizzybennetss, @constellationsoftears, @bregia, @effie214, @ikkleosu, @imorca, @kathrrynjaneway, @memoriesinatrunk, @rhiannonfrater, and @thebulletgirl, but obvs only if you feel like it!

[oofuri2003]

The fact that momoe actually briefly considered slapping abe into the cleanup spot is fucking insane

[morownic]

of fever dreams and jamais vu

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it. (But this one? This one was real.)

warnings/tags: NSFW MDNI (non-graphic smut), non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns

next — series masterlist · my other works · ao3

a/n: there were a lot of songs that i listened to while writing this (animals) and i do have a playlist of them but i would recommend color tv to listen while reading the flashback part bcs i did write this part with that song on repeat lol. enjoy!

All the world and his wife was scrutinizing Ken Sato the moment he stepped out of the airport and took his first deep breath in his homeland after twenty years. Of course, he welcomed and basked in the attention even if it suffocated him—quite literally, he must add, what with how the reporters and photographers were almost wrestling each other to get a scoop on him. What came after that only gave him a headache after a headache. He had to settle in his new residence, a mansion he bought just 15 minutes away from where his father lived, one that felt way too big for just one person and his supercomputer assistant. He finalized his contract with the Yomiuri Giants, followed by a meeting with all the staff members and a less-than-formal outing with his new teammates to some club in Shibuya he didn’t bother to remember the name of, where he was just constantly reminded that he was alone. The day after that, he had to deal with a hangover, a press conference, and an interview that ticked him off—Ami Wakita, was it?—before ending the night with a bar fight that left his shoulder aching.

Ken was sure he wouldn’t even have considered moving back to Japan nor would he have let his father somehow slip back into his life if it wasn’t for his mother.

With his injury, your father needs you, kiddo.

And so, Ken Sato began his baseball career in Japan with the Yomiuri Giants. He brought the team to their first victory of the season despite a lot of things: how the media was still on his ass about why he would leave his career with the Los Angeles Dodgers behind, how Coach Shimura seemed to have a chip on his shoulder when it came to him, how the pain in his own shoulder would stab and dull with every movement he made. The way his shoulder ached left him wondering if he should have treated it more seriously rather than seeing it as an inconvenience, perhaps put his pride aside to admit that yes, that drunken brawl was fucking stupid, and my shoulder fucking hurts. That was why he didn’t think much of it when Coach Shimura was talking about bringing in some new guy—something about a new performance analyst or whatever—as a matter of fact, he couldn’t care less.

So, imagine his surprise when he showed up to practice and saw a face he hadn’t seen since graduating college in the States. A face that made his breath hitch because one, she was just that beautiful, and two, he had no idea why she would be here. A face that was so familiar he almost threw up from shock, anger, guilt, longing. A face that contorted into contempt at the mere sight of him.

Ken Sato was sure of one thing at that moment.

He was completely, utterly, thoroughly fucked.

Ken Sato wasn’t always the famed world-class baseball star he turned out to be, and she wasn’t always the blunt and tight-lipped new analyst for the Yomiuri Giants she turned out to be.

He was a doe-eyed, lanky Japanese kid who had above average grades in his classes and showed promising results as a slugger for the baseball team. He spent most of his freshman year being stereotyped and made fun of for how he looked and talked, and it only changed because he had his growth spurt in sophomore year. Not only did he become a cleanup hitter by the end of the year, girls were suddenly giving him bedroom eyes in the hallway and guys tried to make up for their borderline bullying by letting him into their cliques. His friendships with them were shallow, really, because they would still poke fun at this old accent even after he had nearly perfected his American accent. Ken took it in stride only because he knew everyone would never make fun of him in baseball, not when he had practically put his school on the map by winning tens of titles and playing in the Senior League. And so, by the end of high school, Ken had baseball to thank for almost everything in his teenagehood.

She, on the other hand, came to high school smart and pretty. Where Ken stood out like a sore thumb, she stood out like a broken finger. Someone being academically gifted and socially relevant was practically unheard of at that time. She was among the top 10 students in freshman year, earned her spot as the leadoff hitter for the softball team in sophomore year, won a national debate championship in junior year, and passed 4 AP classes with flying colors in senior year. She, too, had put the school on the map, perhaps even more contributively than Ken did, so the teachers only kept their grievances for when she skipped class to smoke. Even so, everyone seemed to like her regardless of their cliques; she was always greeted in the hallways, was almost always invited to every party, and had gone out with all the popular students. She could have had it all, and whatever her secrets were, Ken and the other students in their school only knew her as the high school sweetheart, the kind you would see printed next to the definition of high school sweetheart itself.

Ken had seen her in passing during freshman year, but he never really talked to her until they shared three classes together in sophomore year. He remembered that she had approached him first during PE, suddenly speaking to him in fluent Japanese that he nearly had a whiplash. She told him that yes, I know you’re also Japanese and sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner, then babbled something about how she felt guilty that she had just been watching while others made fun of him. He didn’t think much of it at first, still surprised that one of the popular girls—if not the popular girl—in his year was actually talking to him. But then, he found himself understanding every word she said whenever she talked in Japanese and replying to whatever she was saying in English; he found himself exchanging notes and numbers with her in math class; he found himself going to the baseball field with her during lunch breaks and seeing who could hit the farthest. He was somehow roped into bringing her home after he offhandedly mentioned her to his mother, and then, they somehow became best friends. He would cover for her whenever she skipped class to smoke, much to his dismay, and she would introduce him to other social circles outside his baseball team, where he found his first girlfriend—who, admittedly, broke up with him because the way he spoke about his “best friend” was laced with more adoration than the first kiss he had with her. He would wait until their practice sessions were over and drive her home, where they would spend at least three hours talking on her porch before he went home, and she would show up to his games with an obnoxious handmade banner that read “KEN SATO THE G.O.A.T,” cheering the loudest whenever he hit a home run. He would pick her up from anywhere almost every time she asked, even if he had to get himself out of bed at two in the morning, and she would hang out at his place every other weekend, bringing fruit baskets and takeouts for his mother. It was somewhat domestic, how she settled in his apartment (and his life) whenever she came over. Ken almost always had to ground himself because his brain would feed him thoughts of a future with her, and his heart would beat so hard it threatened to break out of his ribcage.

But they were just best friends, he thought and said to his friends whenever they asked him about her. Best friends who happened to suck off, eat out, and eat each other’s faces pretty regularly. He found it funny at first, really; one time, their classmates told her that she just wasn’t human, what with how she juggled school and being popular. She only laughed it off, but he thought of how right they were when she came over while he was home alone at the end of sophomore year. There was no way the girl kneeling between his legs was fucking human. Not with that tongue of hers. Not with the way she looked up and batted her eyelashes at him. Not with how she literally gulped down his load in one go and played Tekken on his console as if she hadn’t just given him the best head of his life. She quite literally sucked the soul out of him that day, and he never had another head like that ever since. Even as they started hooking up—strictly platonic, she said, and he just went along with whatever she wanted as long as it was with her—that was still the stuff of his wet dreams, and it remained that way even long after they never saw each other again.

“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”

The question caught Ken off-guard not only because it broke the comfortable silence between them, but also the feelings it evoked. Where is she going with this? he thought. A frown was etched on his face as he turned to look at her. Under the soft glow of the star projector in her room, she laid on her back, eyes tracing the constellations that danced across the ceiling. Her breathing was far more steady than his, chest rising and falling slowly behind the thin fabric of his shirt. Her hair fanned out around her on the pillow, framing her face as if it was her halo. At that time, her expression was probably the most serene and somber he had ever seen. She’s beautiful, he said to himself, and he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to keep a picture of this moment in his head for his selfish reminiscing should they ever stop being friends. (He hardly thought she meant that they could be more than friends, and he didn’t want to entertain the thought of not having her in his life.)

“Yeah?” He answered and mentally cursed himself for sounding so unsure. After clearing his throat, he corrected himself: “I mean, yeah, why not?”

There was no way she hadn’t seen the way he was staring at her from the corner of her eye. Even if she did, she didn’t turn her head to face him and only hummed in response to his answer. A look of contemplation appeared on her face as she kept quiet for nearly another minute. Ken swore it felt like an eternity.

“What if–” She sighed. “What if we fuck up and hurt each other? What then?”

Ken somehow knew that she already knew that there was no way she could ever fuck him up. (She already did, anyway, literally and figuratively.) Not with how he looked at her, not with how he reached out to hold her hand, not with how he promptly turned his head to face the ceiling once she was turning to look at him. Perhaps, what she was looking for was the reassurance that he wouldn’t fuck her up. He squeezed her hand when the thought crossed his mind.

“I’ll still be your friend anyways,” he said, softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

A chuckle left her lips then. She didn’t let go of his hand as she moved to hover over him, replacing the twinkling manmade constellations in his sight. (He thought she was brighter than any star in the sky, anyway.) He raised his brow when he saw the mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned down, her lips nearly closing in on his.

The grin she had on her face was enough to tell him she was up to no good. “Are you a masochist?”

“You–seriously?”

He might’ve groaned from annoyance, but the way her body shook with laughter on top of him was enough to make that godawful warmth bloom in his chest. He pulled her in for a kiss, though he wasn’t sure if it was to shut her up or if he just wanted to, and he thought that if anyone were to see them like this, no one would ever believe him if he told them that they were just best friends. Hell, everyone had enough of his answer whenever they asked him about it at school, and he was even picked on again at some point—but not for how he looked or talked. No, he was picked on for being her “best friend” because no matter how many people had tried to make her theirs, she kept coming back to him. But then they would find Ken making out with one of the cheerleaders under the bleachers and her sucking off some guy from the football team at some senior’s house party. It was confusing for everyone, but even more so for Ken, because every time she asked him to pick her up from God-knows-where, he would see red when she saw her huffing out a smoke, disheveled because of someone who was not him.

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it.

“–Sato.”

Two things snapped Ken out of his trance then. First, it was the voice that called out to him, then it was the pain in his shoulder. Ken found himself standing on the batter box in Tokyo Dome, a bat in his hand, and his breath was ragged. The seats were empty, the sky was turning dark, and then he remembered that he was at practice. He was at practice, not on the porch at her old house in Los Angeles holding her close as she cried over that one guy who supposedly broke her heart. He was at practice, not at the frat party where he met her again for the first time after months of no contact and saw her giggling on the lap of some jock. He was at practice, not in front of the diner they used to go to almost every other day where he said awful things he didn’t mean and maybe, just maybe, that was the reason why she had left for Japan the next day. (She had waited for him to come to the airport, to at least apologize, but he never came. He had turned off his phone during practice.)

Ken sighed and lowered his bat, hissing when he rolled his left shoulder. He steadied his breathing and regained his composure before his eyes flickered to the field. His teammates were waiting for him to hit another ball so they could continue their fielding practice. Then, he turned to the one in front of him—Yoshida, right?—whose voice pulled him out of his train of thought. Yoshida raised his brow when he locked eyes with Ken.

“Are you distracted or something?”

It was his turn to frown. “What?”

“Are you distracted by the new girl or something? You kept looking back at the dugout earlier.”

Ken almost dropped his bat when he heard that, his neck turning so quickly that he was surprised he didn’t give himself a whiplash. “What?”

Yoshida nodded in the direction of the dugout, and Ken turned to look. His grip around the bat tightened as his eyes darted towards the dugout. Her back was facing the field, leaning against the metal fence that divided the field and the dugout. Her arms held a clipboard to her chest, and he could only see her side profile from where he was standing as she spoke with Coach Shimura. The two of them looked familiar already—he really didn’t know how she did it, given that he was still at odds with the coach, but it was so her, he thought, the way she could get along with all the people he couldn’t—as Coach Shimura was talking more expressively with her than he had ever seen him. She was nodding to whatever Coach Shimura was talking about with a smile on her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and he berated himself because why and how the fuck could you tell from this distance? Ken’s lips parted as Coach Shimura’s expression changed and nodded in his direction, and his breath hitched as he saw her turning slightly towards him.

Ken’s heart dropped as the smile on her face faltered, replaced by an unimpressed look and an air of disdain that made him shiver. The world seemed to stop right then and there; even when she looked at him as if he was the reason behind her suffering—which was probably true, to an extent—he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she was. Even with the hint of blood between her slightly cracked lips and the dark circles under her eyes that she didn’t bother to hide with some concealer. Even with how she looked even paler than she was when they were still in Los Angeles and how her cheekbones seemed to protrude and her cheeks seemed more hollow. She was beautiful, yet she contrasted her old self, which bothered him so much that dread started to pool in his stomach. Ken knew her and would even say he knew too much of her. But, right at that moment, it was as if he was looking straight into a stranger’s eyes and not the pair he had fallen in love with, as if he was looking at the stuff of his nightmares and not the girl of his dreams, as if he had never known her at all.

(What if it was true?)

Ken pinched his arm, hard, and winced when the pain seared through his body and kickstarted another throbbing ache in his shoulder. None of the stuff of his fever dreams, the dread and peculiarity of it, should have been real. This was real. So, if this was real, then God must not only be fucking joking, but He must’ve been thoroughly fucking evil to be putting him through this.

“Oh, fuck.”

[webshooterrr9]

Stamina

Volleyball AU, in which Miguel is your teammate

pairing: outsidehitter!Miguel x setter!reader

Word count: 1.8k

CW: explicit 18+ content, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, dry humping, praise, arguing because they're both stubborn as hell

fic under the cut!!

The year is 2099, national sports teams are now gender-integrated, making it harder to get a spot on the team, since you have twice the amount of competition. Not to mention that volleyball is a sport heavily influenced by height, and although you’re pretty tall for a female, you’re going up against men who are almost 7’0" or above.

Luckily you placed on the USA team, marking your place as an incredible setter. Now, you’re two years in and preparing for the next Olympics.

During your team practice today, you got into an argument with your outside hitter, Miguel O’hara. You and your teammates were in the middle of running a 6.2 lineup, when you messed up a set towards Miguel. It wasn’t a huge issue at first, people mess up all the time, even at Olympic levels, but the screw ups kept happening. After practice was over, and all the other teammates left the gym, he spoke.

“Are you stupid?” Miguel clenches his fists as you two argue, his uniform sticking tightly to his muscular torso.

You gaze at his tall frame, beads of sweat dripping down his face from an intense practice. You had admired his physique during practice many times before, but you didn’t have time to ogle over him now, not when you were arguing like this.

“Am I stupid? You’re stupid! All of your receives today sucked, you only made it to the ball in time when you had to hit!” your hands find their way to your hips as you shout.

“And your sets have been trash! I could barely get a good hit in the whole time!” Miguel yelled as he stepped towards you. He looked almost intimidating, but you weren’t scared. This wasn’t the first time he had yelled at you before, and it wouldn’t be the last. Still, that didn’t mean that what he said didn’t piss you off.

“It’s a miracle you’re our main setter with how sloppy you were today.”

“Oh please, you’re lucky to even have your position. The only reason you’re a starter is because you’re a fucking tower.” That wasn’t true. He was an incredible player, but whatever.

You step closer to him, fists balled up just like his. There was a tension between you two, the anger rising. “At least I worked hard to get here, you just got your spot handed to you.” you spat.

Miguel was livid, his face was even more red now than it was from the workout. “Are you kidding me? I had to work for my spot just like everyone else. Your sets are the reason why I messed up today. I bet the coaches didn’t even choose you for your abilities, you probably just slept with them to get here.”

Oh hell no. “My sets are fucking incredible, you asshole!” you shove him. “I wouldn’t be on this team if they weren’t. I’m not a whore like you are.” you were all up in each other’s faces now, glaring at each other with the heat of a thousand suns. “You’re just a lousy snob who can’t adapt to your surroundings. Don’t project your high standards onto me.”

“I have every right to have high standards, we’re on the national team for God’s sake! I shouldn’t have to play cleanup for you all the time!” his muscular chest heaves with his anger, getting even more riled up than you were. So much for the strong, silent type.

“Play cleanup for me? I’m the one who has to play cleanup for you!”

Miguel just glares at you, fuming. You can see his gaze lingering down to your body, but you don’t know if it’s because he’s sizing you up or not. “Just admit it: you’re not good enough to be on this team.”

“I won’t admit to something that’s not true.” All the yelling almost made you out of breath, but you stood tall. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. “You don’t have the stamina to keep up with me… or anyone on this team for that matter.” you breathe out, glaring at him.

“Oh?”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned down to be eye-level with you. The truth was, his heart was pounding, he had never seen you so worked up before. The sweat shining on your forehead, the panting of your breath, and the fierce look in your eyes was a combo he had never seen before - not up close at least.

“You think I don’t have stamina?” his voice dropped just above a whisper, the question laced with a certain venom. “Try me, chiquita. I’ll show you stamina.”

Jesus Christ.

Oh he definitely did that on purpose. There was no way he made your heart race and thoughts cloud like this on accident. He knew what he said.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Your teammate looked at you in a way you had never seen from him before. His large hands, perfect for a front row player, find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer to him. But you wouldn’t make this easy for him.

“Don’t tempt me, muñeca.” he breathes, dipping his head right next to your ear.

Shit. Nevermind. I guess this would be easy for him.

When he pressed his lips to yours, ever so softly despite the attitude you were giving him, you didn’t reject it. The kiss progressed slowly, tentatively, the two of you unsure of how to explore the situation. The past two years of on-and-off pining for your arrogant teammate was paying off, but you never thought you’d get this far. His mouth kissed yours curiously, trying to read your feelings for him.

The gentleness of the kiss was short-lived, though, as the tension from earlier quickly returned to the surface. You took his face in your hands, cupping his jaw and pulling him closer to you. The inquisitive caress of his lips on yours became a stronger, messier, more desperate call for action. His hands wandered across your back, occasionally dipping down to grip the ass that was shaped by years of playing a lower body sport.

Much to your dismay, he broke away, panting. The flush on his cheeks and the thrumming of his heart was evidence of an excitement he hadn’t felt in a while now.

“You…” his finger lifted to twist a strand of your hair. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.” you said back, completely captivated by the look in his eyes. He was staring at you like you were a goddess, like he was holding a piece of the sky in his hands.

“We can’t do this here,” he whispered. “Not on the court.”

“Let’s go back to your place, then,” you say, running your thumb over his cheeks. He absentmindedly leans into the touch. “You only live like ten minutes away, right?”

“I don’t know if I can wait that long,” he says.

“Well, you’ll just have to.”

“You like that, sweet girl?”

“God, yes…” you whined. He began to suckle on your clit, the pressure alone enough to make you see stars. You arched your core against his mouth as his tongue flicked over you, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer to him. You carded your fingers through his hair, reveling in the way it curled around your hands.

He moved lower and pushed his tongue into your entrance. He slipped one of his long fingers inside you, massaging your velvety walls in just the way you liked. The two of you moaned in tandem as he made his movements more precise, while grinding his needy bulge onto the pillow below him. You’ve never been with a guy who’d settle for humping a pillow, but Miguel seemed to focus on feasting on your cunt and hearing your pretty sounds to care too much about his own pleasure.

“God, Mig…!” you groaned, letting your head fall back against his sheets. He looked up at you from where he was settled between your legs, still fully clothed but with a look of pure wanton need in his eyes.

“That’s it, mami, let go for me…”

You moaned and writhed as he attached his mouth to your clit once more, pumping his fingers in and out of your entrance with fervor. You couldn’t stop yourself from clenching around his fingers. It was getting increasingly difficult to stop yourself from full-on riding his face. You whimpered as your orgasm slowly crept up on you. “Miguel…”

“Come on, baby, it’s okay…” he hummed against your core, the vibrations of his voice on your cunt making you twitch in delight. He seemed almost as needy as you, rutting against the pillow under him and chasing his high just as you were. “Cum on my face, baby, please.” your wetness was coating his lips and chin as he lifted his face to speak, and he quickly dived back down to eat you out. There was something so carnal in the way he pleaded for you to give into the pleasure he was giving you, the desperation in his voice to have you come undone.

The insane amount of precum seeping through his underwear was soaking his pillow as he thrusted against it, syncing up the timing with his fingers that were knuckle-deep in your pussy. The obscenely lewd sounds of his mouth working against your sex was enough to drive you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the mattress as your wave of pleasure crashed over you, your vision blurring and voice breaking into a sob.

Your toned thighs clenched around his head, trapping his face deep into your core. “God, Miguel… you feel so fucking good…”

Your praise was enough to send him into the throes of his own pleasure, his release soaking the pillowcase beneath him, just as yours had soaked his beautiful face. He pulled back from you, crying out your name as he finished.

The two of you were utterly spent.

After changing his cum-drenched boxers, and pillowcase, he came back to lie down next to you, slumping onto the soft sheets of his bed. You were still catching your breath from the passionate encounter, and so was he. Miguel pressed a soft kiss to your cheek and hugged your waist, pulling you close to him in a comfortable embrace.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby…” he murmurs into your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

“I’m sorry, too.” you reply, turning your head to face him. He looked more handsome than ever, a soft expression on his face that replaced his normally focused one. “You’re not a bad hitter. You’re our best, actually.”

“And you’re not a bad setter, chiquita. You’re wonderful.” Miguel smiles at you, planting another soft kiss on your skin.

“We should make this a regular thing,” he suggests, squeezing your waist.

“Don’t push it, guapo,” you laugh. “We’ll see how you behave next practice.”

“Deal.”

dividers by @cafekitsune

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

so, about that baseball au? 👀

Tobias plays right field. It's all about those insanely long catches and those even more insanely long throws. He's fast and light, able to spot a ball in the air and be sprinting to intercept it well before it's even reached the top of its arc. Tobias can not only run and not only throw, but he can jump like nobody's business to intercept a ball in the air. He can't snatch every single home run that clears the top wall, but if it clears the wall by less than 12 inches, you bet that he'll be there making one hell of a grab to intercept it. What he lacks in power he makes up for with speed and accuracy.

Marco is their starting pitcher. He can coordinate and communicate, but more importantly he can be tricky. Marco's the classic ambidextrous change-up knuckleball trickster, not the fastest fastball thrower but an absolute expert in lying with his body about where the ball's going and how it'll be spinning when it gets there. Pitching is about dividing attention between the guy inching down the third-base line, the catcher throwing signals, and the batter getting into position. The ability to read all that, and to hide a fastball in a curved-looking throw, is where Marco excels.

Rachel bats cleanup. She plays center field as well, but her strength is in batting. Her greatest weakness is her greatest strength: she swings at too many pitches. That runs the risk of strikeouts, but it also means that she can sometimes turn a curveball into a double or even a home run. She's the power hitter, able to rocket pitches into the nosebleed section often enough that she sells more t-shirts than the rest of her team combined. That said, when all else fails she can also be counted on to make a sacrifice bunt.

Ax is on third base. It's a position that requires keeping a close eye on the batter and the infield all at once, managing the risk of steals while also being ready to intercept smash hits. Above all, being on third base requires being fast: able to grab a 120 MPH hit out of the air and wing it back to a teammate before there's even time for the runner to think about making it to first. Third basemen are likely to go overlooked, but they're crucially important for the defense of the whole infield.

Jake catches. It's the position most associated with being able to take punishment. Runners collide with you, pitches hit you, backswings can take you out, and your knees are shot to hell within five years. But the catcher faces the field, and the catcher has to communicate with the field. The main line of contact is with the pitcher, everything from requesting pitches to signaling an impending steal, but the catcher has to be able to shout to the field as a whole with a second's notice. The catcher is up and down, up and down, throughout the game, and the catcher has to decide judiciously when to argue with the umpire.

Cassie is their shortstop. Of course. This position is all about support, about being where your teammates are not so that they can focus on covering their own bases. Shortstops have to be flexible, to float between positions and play backup to the basemen and outfielders alike. Shortstops are the most overlooked, the least understood, the most likely to be dropped from Little League teams that are short on players. But an actual MLB team cannot function without a shortstop, because their ill-defined role is actually to hold the entire rest of the defensive team together.

[brucebocchi]

If you had to field a baseball team of Persona characters, who's on the team in what positions?

i'm gonna handicap myself a bit by restricting this to 3-5 party members

Catcher: Makoto Niijima. She's got a strong core, a keen eye, and a sharp mind. Textbook field general; can see plays unfolding before the ball even leaves the pitcher's hand. Low on the batting order, but underestimate her at your own peril.

First Base: Junpei Iori. The only canonical baseball player on the roster. We all know Junpei can slug with the best of them but he never struck me as a great fielder, but he's great for morale so at 1B he goes. A little gung-ho at times but a tremendous clubhouse presence.

Second Base: Yu Narukami. Great infield leader, always ready to cover any gaps in the field and can turn a double play like nobody's business. Middle of the lineup but swinging a big-ass sword translated well to batting power. Synonymous with the team and loyal to the name on the front of his jersey.

Shortstop: Yusuke Kitagawa. Lanky and freakishly agile, unreal eye for exit angles, turns the 2B-3B gap into a brick wall. Not a power hitter but an ideal leadoff man with a gift for getting on base.

Third Base: Ryuji Sakamoto. Not as agile as he used to be but still an exceptional fielder, known for fast-twitch reaction time and throwing rockets to 1B. Absolutely nasty power hitter.

Left Field: Chie Satonaka. Lightning-fast fielder and an absolute ball hawk; will rob any low-flying homer she sees before you've even made it to first. Lower on the order but a Rickey Henderson-esque baserunner, frequently subs in as a pinch runner.

Center Field: Aigis. Inhumanly rangy and has a literal cannon for an arm. Would gladly cover the entire outfield if they let her. Needs to be put in "sport mode" to prevent her from literally flying to catch live balls.

Right Field: Kanji Tatsumi. An occasionally clumsy fielder but ready to back up first base at all times and can get the ball anywhere on the field in a blink. Unreal slugging percentage. Designed the uniforms.

Designated Hitter: Shinjiro Aragaki. Not much of a fielder as he prefers to keep his hands in his pockets, so he's on the roster as the DH. Dangerously strong cleanup man and particularly lethal in October. His hits sound like gunshots.

Starting Pitcher: Goro Akechi. A master of playing cat-and-mouse with opposing batters, with a near-psychotic obsession with winning. Switches his throws up just when you think you've got him figured out and revels in the thrill of psyching out his opponents. Occasionally just plunks guys because he feels like it.

Closer: Yukiko Amagi. Known to perplex batters with her odd mannerisms on the mound, but don't let that distract you from the fact that she throws absolute heat. An integral supporting player and always reliable in the clutch.

Manager: Fuuka Yamagishi. A brilliant mind for the intricacies of the game and a loyal, compassionate clubhouse leader. Knows exactly what adjustments to make in order to knock opposing teams down.

[giggly-squiggily]

Inked (Big Windup)

Heyo! Guess who's back with Big Windup Content! :D I had this little ol' thing sitting in my WIP for weeks before realizing I should finish it up and post it lols, and here I am to do so! I hope y'all like it! :D

CW: Swearing

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@cupcake-spice13 @intheticklecloset (I know you're not on the Taglist but BAM! Baseball tickles >:D)

Summary: Tajima after writing a massive "1" on Mihashi's back decides he should do it for Abe too. The other disagrees, leading to a rather giggly compromise.

“Hold still! Lemme write it!”

“No way! I told you I don’t need it!”

Tajima was back at it again, a black marker in hand as he tried once more to mark Abe. He figured the clean up hitter had let it go after a while, but nope- he was ever insistent on drawing a massive number “2” on his back!

“Why are you resisting so much? It’ll make Mihashi feel good!” Tajima was halfway to his target, eyes dancing as he flinched each way Abe tried to escape. “Don’t you want to be in a team with him?”

“I’m already in a team with him- I don’t need a number to prove it!” An opening had appeared! Abe made a dash for it-

“GOTCHA!” Tajima cried, leaping at him and sending them both flailing into the field. “Now hold still!”

“Tajima, I already told you, I don’t need a number!”

“Come on- think of Mihashi!”

“It’ll never come out!”

“It's an erasable marker! It’s good for clothes!”

“Tajima!”

“Oh okay- if you’re really against it.” Abe heard the marker being recapped, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips.

“Can I at least draw a “2” on you with my finger then? No ink, I promise.” Tajima asked, a clear puppy eyed pout in his voice. Abe closed his eyes as he pressed his face into the field.

“Give me the marker.” It appeared before him. Alongside a second one. Abe turned a bit to raise a brow.

“You always need a backup.” Tajima shrugged with a sheepish laugh. The catcher rolled his eyes before flopping forward again.

“Fine. But JUST with your finger. My mom will be pissed if I come home with sharpie ink all over my uniform.”

“I told you, it was erasable! I only use a sharpie for Mihashi.” Tajima giggled as he got comfortable, sitting up and positioning his finger. “Ready?”

“Sure-” Abe got out before immediately wincing, startled by the tingling sensation of Tajima’s finger running down his spine. “Mm! T-Tajima, lighten up!”

“Does it hurt?” The cleanup hitter asked, doing so. To Abe’s dismay, it only made it worse.

“N-No it ti-ihihihiihckles!” The catcher yelped before dissolving into laughter, fists curling against the grassy field as he kicked out a leg, trying his best not to throw the other off. Maybe all that time spent with Mihashi made him more accepting to tickles? “Tahahajima, huuhuhurry uhuhuhup!”

“No way..” Tajima gaped down at him with wide eyes. Then he grinned. “Did I just discover a new tickle spot on the Abe Takaya? How lucky am I?”

“Doohohohn’t say my nahahame like thahahhat! Gehahaha, if yohoohu’re dohohone, get ohoh-EEHEHEH!” The catcher arched even more when Tajima switched from tracing to scratching, dancing one finger up and down the invisible “2” he drew on his friend’s back. “Doohohohn’t doohohohoho thahahhahat, yohohoohu ahahhahhahass!”

“What? I gotta fill it in! Can’t go around having a outline- no one will be able to distinguish it from a number or a pe-”

“Iihihihihihit’s nohohohohohot ehehehehheven viihihihihihisblehhehehe! Whahahhat doohohohoes it mahahahhatter if ihihihihit’s fiihihihilled in? Nohoohoh ohohohone’s gohoohhohonna knoohohohow!”

“I will! And I’ll always be haunted by my unfinished work! Be still- my canvas; the artist is at work!” Tajima doubled his scratching, increasing Abe’s giggle fits and yelps of laughter tenfold. “Now that the actual number is done, let’s add some color!”

“TAHAHHAJIIHIHMA!” The catcher all but shrieked when his ribs were suddenly grabbed, fingers pressing in at both sides. “WHAHAHAT HAHAHPPEHEHED TO THE NUUHUHUMBER?”

“Relax, I’m getting my pens! They’re somewhere in here…” Tajima continued to “search” for his pens within Abe’s ribcage, narrowing in on the terrible spots along his upper and lower sets just to keep him laughing. “Man, I really need to organize this space better. They’re all over the place in there! Abe, you gotta stop moving so much; the pens keep rolling away!”

“STHAHAHP FUHUUHUCKING TIIHIHIHCKLING MEHEHEH THEHEHEHEHEN!” Abe cried, thrashing like a fish out of water as his worst spots were drilled into. Above him, Tajima giggled like a child, delighted.

“Oo, you’re saying bad words! Bad Abe! Hehehe!” Finally, Tajima pulled his hands back, returning to his spine as he finished putting the last few touches onto his “design”. The tickles died down to a comforting amount, leaving Abe coughing through giggles as he caught his breath. “There we go..and done!”

The catcher let out a huff of air as Tajima climbed off, far too tired to get up and chase him. Around him chatter continued, the boys laughing over the sight or carrying on with whatever conversation they were having prior. Footsteps shuffled into view soon, coming to stand before him.

“A-Abe..I erm, brought you this..”

Something cold and paperlike touched his hand. Abe all but shot up at the water, taking and downing it in one greedy gulp. “You’re a lifesaver, Mihashi.”

The pitcher squeaked with shy pride, cheeks warming as he smiled at his hands. “I’m glad…and erm- I’m sorry about Tajima..I didn’t think he’d try to erm, you know…”

Ah. Abe resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at the markers left abandoned in the grass.

If ONE uniform was kinda stained, maybe his mom wouldn’t be too mad…

“Go get Tajima.” He sighed in resignation, making Mihashi squeak in surprise. “Tell him to use an erasable one, cause if we can’t get it out, I’m kicking his ass.”

“Oh..Oh! Oh, erm- okay!” The pitcher nodded, practically vibrating with joy as he ran to get said clean up hitter. Shaking his head, Abe fell back onto his stomach in the warm grass, accepting his fate.

If it made Mihashi do his best, then let him be inked.

Thanks for reading!

[cadybear420]

Meet Katie, my girlfailure MC! I don't have a last name for her yet.

I haven't started her official playthrough yet, I'm just taking this from the original HSS failthrough I did earlier this year.

She's good at stuff related to rock/punk music, and that's it. Sucks at almost everything else though, this is a failthrough after all.

She has self-esteem issues due to not being good at a lot of things and being a total screw-up. Sometimes she can lash out over it. Being at Berry helps her come to terms with all that. She realizes may not be good at a lot of things but she's trying her best.

She's a jock in all three books. She initially takes interest in band either way, but her thing is rock music rather than band music. After giving a terrible sax demonstration, she's a bit embarrassed, and some of Aiden's comments don't help. She decides to try out sports, hoping they'll at least be a good way for her to vent her frustrations.

I'm gonna edit the fuck out of the outfit she wears in this image lol. That outfit belongs to Evie. And so does Aiden

I can't decide what I want for her in Book 3, when she initially gets the spot of cleanup hitter. The possibilities Im considering for her are A) shes become fairly good at it, but acts poorly to Jade and the other Hearst kids out of frustration and as a result loses the spot from that, or B) she's crappy at tryouts and loses the spot ofc but does her best to be welcoming to the Hearst kids.

Her endgame love interest will be Aiden. I'm still deciding the pace of their relationship, though. She might not be as motivated as Evie was to try and pursue him.

She's GNC cis wlm with bottom dysphoria (wow what a surpriseeee lol). She's probably gonna be the type who doesn't really like skirts or dresses at all.

Bonus: a little headcanon I have is that because she chooses the "Under the Sea" homecoming theme and the live band (Ezra's rock band) as the music, she brings her guitar on homecoming night and plays+sings "Johnny B. Goode" with Ezra's band. ;)

[intheticklecloset]

Big Windup Coffee Shots #21-30

A collection of the Big Windup Coffee Shots I've done, compiled for the sake of ease. These are all stand-alone stories. Many are from various seasonal events.

~~~

21) Lee Mihashi, Ler Abe

“Would it be easier if I counted down?” Abe asked Mihashi with a smirk, briefly checking his watch. “I could count down by the half hour until we get home. Or I can count the mileage signs we pass.”

Mihashi fidgeted in his seat, nearly bouncing for how nervous and excited he was at the same time. He shook his head. “N-No, I don’t think that would h-help…”

“No? You want me to just surprise you when we get there, then?”

The wide eyes and not at all contained smile Mihashi gave him in response was all the answer the catcher needed. He chuckled.

“All right, then. Go ahead and pass out. I’ll make sure to wake you when we get home.”

Abe watched in his peripheral vision as Mihashi fidgeted a little more before slouching down in his seat and leaning against the window, closing his eyes in an effort to fall asleep. The poor kid had been restless due to the long string of games they’d had lately, and now that they had a three hour trip home, he’d been trying to stay awake and was failing miserably.

The catcher had initially suggested just passing out in the first place, but Mihashi seemed to want to stay up for some reason, hence their conversation. It didn’t even need to be said anymore that Abe’s method of waking him up would be a surprise tickle attack. They did it so often nowadays it couldn’t really be called a “surprise” at all.

Still, it seemed to be good motivation for the pitcher, because once he knew he had that to look forward to if he did in fact fall asleep, he was out like a light in a matter of ten minutes.

Abe couldn’t help but smile at him for it.

When they finally pulled into the parking lot of Nishiura High late that night and after everyone else had shuffled off the bus, Abe gently shook Mihashi by the shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”

“Hnnuh?” Mihashi mumbled.

As soon as he was even slightly awake, Abe shoved his hands up under his arms and scribbled mercilessly. “Wake up, I said.”

“EEEEEE!!” Instantly the pitcher was very alert, laughing before he even realized what was happening, squirming in his seat while pressed up against the window, totally unaware of the crowd that had gathered outside to watch his awakening and laugh along with him. “AHAHAHAHAHABE!!”

Abe kept it up, enjoying the funny sounds his friend always made when tickled consistently like this. It was always difficult for him to stop once he got going. “We’re home, Mihashi.”

*

22) Lee Tajima, Ler Hanai

Hanai smacked Tajima’s hand away from the bowl. “Hey! Wait until we’re actually starting, genius.”

Tajima rubbed his hand, looking offended. “Dude, the bowl’s full of candy. It’s not like we’ll run out.”

“We have to wait for everyone to get here. At least wait for Coach.”

“You’re just saying that because she’ll get after me even worse than you do!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes you need it, Tajima.”

Hanai sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sometimes the overenergetic cleanup hitter was just too much. They were at their combined end-of-season/Halloween party, each in costume and waiting for the last few teammates to arrive. About half of them were already here, but it wasn’t saying much when there were ten boys on the team, plus one equipment manager and their two coaches.

Tajima tried to reach for the bowl a second time.

Hanai smacked him away from it again. “I’m serious! Not until Coach gets here at least!”

“You’re no fun,” Tajima grumbled, sticking his tongue out at him. “It’s just one candy bar. And they’re not even full sized. Jeez.”

“Are you bored? Is that the problem?”

“Well, yeah! Everyone is taking their sweet time showing up and I’m supposed to just stand in front of this candy bowl and not eat anything?”

“Yes!” The team captain was growing more irritated by the moment, but thank goodness the team had ingrained a stress-relief strategy into their daily lives, because within seconds Hanai remembered and had grabbed Tajima by the ribs. “Here, maybe this will cure your boredom!”

“Hehehehey! Wahahahahait!” Tajima squeaked, giggling as his taller friend wrapped him in a bear hug, fingers dancing along his ribcage. “Ehehehahahahaha! Nahahahahaha! No fahahahahahair!”

“I warned you, and you didn’t listen.” Hanai smirked, holding him even tighter. “You’re the one who wanted a trick or treat so bad. Well, here’s your treat!”

“Mohohohore like a trihihihihihihick!” Tajima retorted, still giggling crazily. “Fihihihihine, fine, I’ll wahahahahahait! Just stohohohohohop!”

Hanai smirked, feeling a tiny rush of superiority for enough of a second to want to keep going. It was so rare that he was able to outdo Tajima in anything; now that the season was over, he had to come out on top somehow. “Nah, I still think we should wait until Coach shows up.”

*

23) Lee Abe, Lers Tajima and Mihashi

“Why are you dressed like that?” Mihashi asked, surprising Abe with the boldness and straightforwardness of the question.

The catcher looked at him sideways. “Because it’s a costume party? And this is a costume?”

“I-I know that, but I mean…” Mihashi gestured at him nervously. “Like…that.”

Abe had decided to go simple, dressing in a toga with a gold circlet on his head that his mom had made him. He’d almost left it out, but it really did complete the look, so he decided to go with it. Mihashi was – predictably – dressed as a professional baseball player.

“It’s a toga. You know, from ancient Rome? Haven’t you paid attention in history class?” Abe asked, growing a little irritated. He glanced around the room at their other teammates, quickly taking in their outfits. Sure, he stood out a little, but only because he was the only one who didn’t go all-out.

“It’s…k-kind of…brave to wear that here, isn’t it?” Mihashi stammered.

“Why?” Abe snapped, berating himself when his friend flinched at his tone. “Sorry. I’m just confused. Why is it weird?”

“N-Not weird…” Mihashi clenched and unclenched his fists. “Brave.”

All at once, Abe understood what he meant. He looked first at his costume, at the way it left half of his chest bare. Then he looked at the pitcher, then their friends around the room. “Well, now that you mention it…but I doubt we’ll be doing much of that tonight. That was just to boost our performance during the season, and the season is over now.”

Mihashi shifted on his feet, nodding a little.

Before Abe could open his mouth to say anything more, he felt cold hands squeeze his ribs from behind, making him yell before he could stop himself.

“Abe! Why are you showing off like that? You’re just begging for someone to come tickle you!” Tajima laughed, wiggling his fingers teasingly.

Abe instinctively wrapped his arms around his chest, blushing furiously at the embarrassing noise he’d just let out. “I’m not showing off! I just didn’t want to do anything crazy for this party, that’s all.”

Tajima glanced at Mihashi and winked. “You’re thinking it too, right, Mihashi?”

Abe saw the way his pitcher’s eyes lit up and stared incredulously. “What? You traitor!”

“Get him!” the cleanup hitter yelled, and instantly both he and Mihashi were on Abe, digging into his sides and waist, drawing out surprised giggles and curses from their friend.

“Stahahahahahap! The seheheheason is over! You guhuhuhuhuys!”

“So? Doesn’t mean we have to stop having tickle fights,” Tajima laughed.

Mihashi drilled his thumb into Abe’s waistline just above his hips almost on instinct, and the usually grumpy catcher threw his head back and laughed so hard the gold circlet flew from his hair onto the floor.

“GAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAP IT!! YOU BOHOHOHOHOTH SUHUHUCK!!” Abe shrieked, flailing uselessly. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Tajima laughed again, putting his efforts into holding Abe captive so Mihashi could keep tickling his worst spot. “Sorry, Abe, but you know, this is a Halloween party. Trick or treat, my friend!”

By the time the night was over, Mihashi felt he’d gotten enough treats to last him until next spring when baseball season would begin once again.

*

24) Lee Mihashi, Ler Abe

The off-season was…different for Mihashi and Abe’s friendship, to say the least.

Having met in April before their first season together and bonding entirely over baseball, finishing up the year and entering into the colder months brought out a side to each of them the other had never seen.

For instance, while Abe was still on to him about keeping his weight consistent and his pitching arm loose, he wasn’t nearly as militaristic about it, especially as the holidays came around. Mihashi, on the other hand, was far more quiet and tense in a different kind of way. It didn’t take much for Abe to put it together that it was because he didn’t know how to be friends with him outside of the game, so – constantly making an effort to meet his friend halfway – Abe had invited him over for a movie night just for the two of them.

Now, as the catcher stole a glance at Mihashi from the corner of his eye and saw how rigid he still was even half an hour and a bowl of popcorn later, he sighed. “Is this how it’s going to be all winter?”

“H-Huh?” Mihashi stammered, looking at him nervously.

“Are you going to be all weird and quiet around me now that we’re not playing baseball? I can’t be that scary, can I?”

“N-No! You’re not!”

It sounded more to Abe like he very much was. With another sigh, he cracked his knuckles. “Guess I gotta do it then, huh?”

“What do you m-mean…? Ah! AIEE!! A-Ahahahahahabe!” the pitcher squealed with giggles when the brunette’s fingers found his upper ribs, trying to get to his underarms that Mihashi was stubbornly protecting, shaking his head. “Nahahahahaha! I w-wohohohon’t be weheheheheird!”

“Don’t lie. That’s too tall of an order for you, Mihashi,” Abe teased, grinning despite himself. “Just promise you won’t give me the silent treatment all winter, okay? I still want to be friends with you even if we’re not playing baseball for a few months.”

“I prohohohohohomise! Plehehehehehease!”

Mihashi looked a lot happier and more relaxed now, so Abe let up as requested. There was a beat of silence between them, and then the catcher let out an even bigger sigh and flopped over, laying his head on the pitcher’s lap as he turned his attention back to the film.

“A-Abe?” The catcher murmured something, and Mihashi hesitated a moment before asking, “W-What did you say?”

“I said you’re comfy,” Abe replied a little louder, though his voice betrayed that he was clearly embarrassed by the admission. “Stay still.”

And, well…how was Mihashi supposed to not smile at that?

*

25) Lee Mihashi, Ler Abe

Mihashi fidgeted nervously, shifting from foot to foot, glancing back over his shoulder at Abe, who huffed at him.

“Well, go on,” he said, nodding toward Tajima, who looked confused but amused.

The cleanup hitter asked, “Why do I feel like you’re about to apologize for returning a library book one day late?”

Mihashi gulped. “I-I was just…just wondering if…m-maybe, if you w-wanted to, um…”

Abe tried to be patient. He really did. He gave Mihashi a few seconds, waited for him to get over whatever hurdle he’d run into.

Then he ran out of patience.

He grabbed his friend’s sides and squeezed, and Mihashi yelped and immediately burst into giggles, shooting his catcher a surprised look over his shoulder.

“Just helping you loosen up,” Abe said evenly, squeezing and digging his fingers in harder where he knew it tickled more, smirking at Tajima. “He wants to ask you something, but he’s chickening out.”

“Ahahahahabe!” Mihashi squealed, though he wasn’t really trying to get away, as per usual. He squirmed and wiggled in place, hopping from one foot to the other like he was dancing.

“Ask him, Mihashi.”

“B-Buhuhuhuhut…! But you’re tihihihihickling mehehehe!”

“And?” Abe grinned, suddenly feeling playful. He wrapped his arms around the pitcher from behind, hugging him to his chest while his fingers continued to tickle up and down his sides. “You can talk just fine while laughing. Ask him.”

Tajima had to laugh at this point as well. “Yeah, Mihashi, ask me! It can’t be that bad, coming from you. What’s up?”

Mihashi had to admit he felt a lot lighter and more confident now, so he sputtered, “C-Cahahahan you teheheheach me how to behehehehe a better hihihihihitter?”

Abe kept tickling him while Tajima pretended to contemplate his answer.

“Sure,” the cleanup hitter replied, giving him a thumbs-up. “I got your back, my dude.”

Mihashi would have smiled had he not already been giggling. “Thahahahank you! A-Ahahabe, you cahahahan stop now!”

“On the contrary, Abe,” Tajima replied, grabbing Mihashi’s wrists and holding them above his head. “I think you missed a spot.”

Abe beamed and used the opportunity to dig into the pitcher’s underarms, and he and Tajima shared knowing looks with each other as their ace shrieked with happy, ticklish laughter.

*

26) Lee Abe, Ler Tajima

When Tajima playfully wiggled a feather along the back of Abe’s neck, he expected the catcher to turn around and glare at him, perhaps bat him away or even scrunch up his shoulders defensively. What he didn’t expect was for Abe to immediately let out a squeal, slapping a hand to the back of his neck so fast it actually trapped the feather in its place.

Then he turned around, looking confused and embarrassed.

“Jeez, Tajima,” he mumbled, releasing his grip and shivering as if trying to get rid of the residual feeling of the feather along his skin.

Tajima blinked, then broke into a huge grin. “Jeez, yourself.” He dragged the tickly strands down his neck a second time, getting the same reaction. “You’re crazy ticklish here, huh?”

Abe crushed the feather in his fist and yanked it from the cleanup hitter, throwing it to the ground. “Shut up.”

There was a brief pause. Just as Abe was turning around again – perhaps to apologize or to explain himself, Tajima didn’t know – the third baseman darted forward and started raking his fingernails gently up and down the catcher’s neck.

Abe shrieked this time, going to bolt out of his seat but stopped by an arm around his chest as Tajima kept him right where he wanted him.

To Tajima’s surprise, prolonged tickling here drew out a myriad of noises he’d never heard from Abe before – a collection of squeaks, wheezes, and whines that only made the exploration of this new tickle spot more fun for him.

“Aww, you’re super ticklish here! Almost as bad as your hips, huh, Abe?” he teased.

Abe squirmed in his seat, trying to pry his captor’s arm away from his chest while also clawing at the fingers scribbling against his neck, giggling hysterically all the while. “Stohohohohohohop! Plehehehehehease! It’s so bahahahahahad!”

“I can see that,” Tajima returned easily, finding a spot just below his earlobe that really got Abe cackling. He smirked. “Does Mihashi know about this?”

In response, Abe let out a startled cry that quickly dissolved into laughter when the cleanup hitter scratched consistently at that new spot. He squirmed and pleaded, “Dohohohohohohon’t tehehehehell him! Plehehehehease, Tajima!”

At that moment Tajima glanced up and saw said pitcher jogging toward the dugout where they were playing around, and he chuckled. “I have a feeling I’m not going to have to say a word, Abe.”

*

27) Lee Mihashi, Ler Abe

“How do you feel about ghosts?”

Mihashi turned and looked back at Abe, who was holding up a box of cute string-light ghosts. “O-Oh! Those are…kind of cute,” he murmured.

Abe nodded, considered the box, and plopped it in their basket, going right back to browsing without another word.

The two of them had been sent out to get decorations for their upcoming Halloween party, so here they were, walking up and down the aisles of a party store, looking at everything from pumpkins to bats to ghosts to creepy clowns. Abe personally thought they’d have been better suited to get supplies such as plates, napkins, snacks, and the like, but Coach had been insistent.

“W-What’s your favorite Halloween thing, Abe?” Mihashi asked, amazingly stammering only once in that whole sentence. The catcher hoped it meant he was getting used to him.

“I don’t know,” he replied, glancing up and down the aisle, thinking for a moment. “Maybe vampires? Nah, that’s too cliché. Skeletons, I guess.”

Mihashi blinked at him. “Y-You can…like something that’s c-cliché…right?”

Abe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I like both.”

“So…will you dress up for Halloween?”

“Uh…I don’t know.” Abe frowned, then eyed Mihashi curiously. “Are you going to?”

The pitcher nodded, averting his eyes, letting them roam over the costumes in the aisle. “I want to.”

“What will you go as?”

“M-Maybe…a v-vampire?”

It took every ounce of self-control he had for Abe not to burst out laughing. “You? A vampire? Wait…” He blinked. “Is that why you asked what my favorite Halloween thing is?”

Mihashi looked like he wanted to die. “I-I mean…I-I just…it’s j-just…”

Abe strode toward him and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Chill, man. I’m not making fun of you. It’s just kind of…unexpected. But I really don’t think you could pull off the vampire look, Mihashi.”

The pitcher was nodding halfway through his sentence. “Y-You’re right, I can’t. I don’t know why I thought…”

“But I do think you could pull off being a skeleton. You’re always having trouble keeping your weight up.” Abe smirked and poked his ribs, earning a squeak from his friend. “Make sure to have a lot of Halloween candy at the party, all right? But not so much you get sick.”

“I-I will,” Mihashi stammered, fighting back a smile.

Abe glanced around. They happened to be alone in the aisle at the moment, so he set his basket down and grabbed Mihashi around the midsection, vibrating his fingers playfully into his sides and belly.

Mihashi squealed, instantly covering up his mouth to keep his voice down as he giggled and squirmed. “Ahahahahabe!”

“I can even feel your ribs! You can definitely pull off a skeleton, dude.”

“Ehehehehehehe! Okahahahahay, I’ll behehehehe a skeheheheheheleton! Ahahahahabe!”

Abe grinned despite himself. “What’s your favorite Halloween thing, Mihashi?”

The pitcher shimmied and squirmed in Abe’s grasp, halfheartedly trying to get away as he giggled out, “Blahahahahack cahahahahats!”

“Wow, no hesitation.” Abe chuckled and finally let him go, ruffling his hair before reaching for their discarded basket full of Halloween decorations. “I guess it wouldn’t be hard to dress as a black cat. Just find some cat ears somewhere and then wear all black, right?”

Mihashi glanced at him in surprise, still smiling from the surprise attack. “Y-You…want to dress up as a b-black cat?”

Abe shrugged, scanning the shelves nonchalantly. “I mean, if we’re going as each other’s favorite thing…”

Mihashi beamed. He couldn’t wait for their Halloween party.

*

28) Lee Mihashi, Ler Abe

“H-Hey, Abe?”

“Yeah?”

Mihashi fidgeted nervously as he always did, his pink cheeks nearly hidden by his scarf. Abe kept his hands in his pockets – he’d forgotten gloves, which he was now lamenting – and gave it five seconds before huffing out a sigh and saying in a firmer tone, “Use your words, Mihashi. What is it?”

The two of them were sitting outside waiting for a ride from Mihashi’s mom. School had let out for the winter holidays and they had agreed to hang out for a while before having to part ways for a couple of weeks. Now it was dark out and they were both more than ready to go home and warm up and eat, but the weather had delayed Mrs. Mihashi’s arrival somewhat.

“D-Do you want…um, I mean, we can…m-maybe…uh…”

Despite having known each other for eight months now, Mihashi still didn’t quite know how to talk to Abe, or ask him for anything directly. Abe, for his part, had gotten better about being patient with him, but when all else failed…

Bracing himself for the cold, Abe removed one of his hands from his pockets and started squeezing Mihashi’s knee on the bench next to him. “Use your words, I said. Come on, spit it out.”

Mihashi’s bright giggles always made the space between them less tense, and Abe couldn’t help but smirk after a few seconds of hearing them. He’d have gone for a worse spot like his armpits, but underneath that bulky coat, he was certain it wouldn’t have done much good. Besides, lighter tickles were just as fun and effective sometimes.

“D-Dohohohoho you wahahahahahant to build a s-s-snohohohowman whihihile we wahahahait?” Mihashi finally stammer-giggled after several long moments.

Abe kept up his light squeezing for a moment, then stopped and replied, “I mean…I guess I wouldn’t mind, but I kind of don’t have gloves. My hands will freeze before we even get started.”

“Oh! R-Right…I forgot. Sorry, Abe,” Mihashi apologized quickly, his cheeks turning even pinker, if that were possible.

Abe hesitated, then smiled. “Buuuut…I think I know something else we could do to pass the time.”

Mihashi glanced at him with a mix of trepidation and excitement in his eyes. “Y-Yeah?”

This time, Abe went for both knees at once, laughing along with Mihashi as he squealed and squirmed in place and clenched his fists in his gloves over and over again, his laughter literally visible as puffs of frozen air around them.

Abe stopped as soon as he saw the sweep of headlights – he’d be caught dead before being caught tickling Mihashi by his mom of all people – but it certainly was a fun way to pass the next few minutes of waiting. And – bonus – they were both feeling warmer by the time they got into the car.

*

29) Lee Abe, Ler Mihashi

Abe felt a light tickling on the back of his neck and he shot upright with a gasp, slapping his hand over the offending spot and whirling around to look at his friend.

Mihashi was wide-eyed and frozen to the spot, looking like he was just as startled as Abe was.

“Um…a-are you okay? Abe?” the pitcher asked him.

Blinking, Abe decided it must have been a bug, because he was fairly certain Mihashi hadn’t been messing with him. He looked too nervous for that. Plus, he was pretty sure his friend didn’t know how sensitive his neck was, anyway.

“Yeah,” he replied at last, shivering a little, inspecting his hand when he drew it away and finding nothing. “Sorry. Just thought I felt something crawling on me.”

“Oh. I…didn’t see anything,” Mihashi offered.

Abe dared to mess with him. “Were you staring at my neck to know?”

“No! I-I…I just…!”

“Relax, Mihashi, I’m kidding,” Abe chuckled, tossing him the extra pillow he’d brought out here for their mini camping excursion.

It wasn’t really a camping excursion; the two of them had borrowed a tent from Abe’s parents and set it up in his front yard. It was a good way to ease Mihashi into more than just sleeping over without the pressure of actually being away from any adults if he felt like he needed them nearby. They’d still managed to make s’mores (by heating them up in the microwave and then hurrying outside before they cooled down) and they were going to sleep in the tent tonight, but that was pretty much it.

It would do for a first time, Abe figured.

After a couple of moments of silence of the two of them getting their sleeping bags arranged for when they eventually decided to pass out, Abe felt that strange sensation on the back of his neck again, and he gritted his teeth to keep from gasping a second time, scrunching his shoulders as he reached back with more purpose to try and remove whatever was crawling on him.

To his surprise – and slight horror – what he felt instead was not a bug, but a finger.

This time when he whirled around, Mihashi looked guilty.

“You didn’t see anything, huh?” Abe muttered.

The pitcher stammered, “I-It wasn’t me…the first time. But the way you r-reacted, I wondered…I thought, maybe…I wanted to know…”

Abe sighed heavily. “Well, did you get your answer?”

Mihashi nodded, then seemed to hesitate. “Is…is your neck really that ticklish, Abe?”

The catcher blushed before he could even try to fight it off, and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Mihashi replied adamantly. “I t-think it’s…um…ah…”

After a moment’s contemplation, Abe shifted so he was facing his friend, clenching his fists in his lap. “Go on. You obviously want to try it.”

A tiny spark of eagerness flickered in his friend’s eyes, and Mihashi tentatively reached forward to drag a single fingertip down Abe’s neck. The catcher sucked in a breath and willed himself to stay still, but as soon as the pitcher added the other fingers and scribbled, he lost his willpower and broke into a string of giggles, wrenching away from him.

“That’s…kind of f-fun, Abe,” Mihashi told him quietly, nervously.

Abe blushed again, but smirked. “Fun, huh? Is your neck ticklish, Mihashi?”

The two of them ended up giggling a lot together that night before sleep finally overtook them.

*

30) Lee Mihashi, Ler Abe

The way Mihashi screeched when the water balloon burst, one would have thought it had exploded open on the back of his head.

Alas, he’d had no such luck. In his efforts to actually join in and throw a balloon instead of just being pelted by them, the pitcher had used his arm a bit too well and hit Abe squarely on the back of his skull. Now the catcher stood frozen in place with his hair sopping wet, slowly turning to search for his assailant.

Mihashi was far less worried about what would happen to him in retaliation than he was about his catcher, however, and he was already waving his arms and panicking aloud, “A-Abe! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was aiming for your back – are you okay?! Did I hurt you?! Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to—!”

“Mihashi,” Abe said in a very calm voice, making his friend stammer to a halt. “I’m proud of you.”

“I – you…you’re…what?” Mihashi blinked at him. Around them their teammates had all frozen in place, too, waiting to see how this would play out. Hanai hovered nearby, waiting to see if he’d need to step in and rescue their pitcher.

Abe straightened and smirked. “I’m proud of you. You actually got involved with the water balloon fight. Even if we did say headshots were off-limits.”

“I know, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to—”

“I’m a little surprised, actually. Your throwing control is the best I’ve ever seen. Guess the balloon was a little too slick, huh?”

Mihashi gulped and nodded, still unsure how to process that his normally grumpy catcher wasn’t yelling at him.

Abe grinned, snatched a balloon out of Tajima’s indignant hands, and bolted for the pitcher. “Come here!”

Poor Mihashi barely had a chance to register that he was being chased before Abe tossed the balloon at him and it burst open on his shoulder as he turned to run. Then he was tackled to the ground and fingers were in his sides and the pitcher squealed with giggles, catching a flash of Abe’s smiling face as he squirmed.

“Ahahahaha?! Ahahahahabe, wahahahahahait! I’m sohohohohohorry!”

“I know you are,” Abe replied, tweaking his ribs, the water from his hair dripping down onto the both of them as they wrestled each other. “But since I can’t throw a balloon at your head, this is what I’ll have to settle on for revenge.”

Around them, the rest of the team breathed a sigh of relief and got back into the fray, paying no mind to their catcher tickling their pitcher into shrieking fits of giggles.

“Ehehehehehehehehe! Ahahahahahahabe!” Mihashi cried, letting out a yelp when his friend finally managed to wiggle into an armpit. “AHAHAHAHAHAHA WAHAHAHAHAHAHAIT!!”

“Tch, wait for what?”

“I DOHOHOHOHOHON’T KNOHOHOHOHOW!! JUST – AIEEHEHEHEHEHEHE IT TIHIHIHIHICKLES!!”

Chuckling under his breath, Abe allowed himself a full, wide smile as he replied, “Then I guess I’m doing something right.”

[savvylittlecoxswain]

Definitely would love to hear about "fuck it we ball"!!

Ok so this is a hypothetical baseball AU, Bobby focused of course because that’s what I do. My qualifications for reasoning and source of my information: I played softball for a very very long time and have watched baseball for even longer even if it isn’t my favorite sport.

What positions would each boy play? A lot of them are up in the air, but these are the vibes they’re giving:

Bobby - Catcher

Kind of the man in charge on the field, they see everything that’s going on

He’s facing the opposite way of everyone else on the field like he does in the boat

Calls time outs on the field to huddle in the pitchers mound when things aren’t going good, gives pep talks and all that

Don - Pitcher/Second(?)

Pitcher because he’s stroke

Second basemen are either the quiet kid or the obnoxious kid who thinks they’re the shit like come on man you’re at 2nd, you’re arguably one of the worst players in the infield (I can say that because that was me until I switched to outfield the loml)

Joe - Third Base

Third base is a wild place to be, you gotta react on your instincts a lot and you gotta react fast. Theres all kinds of situations a third baseman can be in

One of the hardest working players on the field. They can really make or break your infield

The ball is literally drilled at you sometimes so you have to be tough and Joe is definitely tough

Shorty - Shortstop

Usually one of the best players on the team

Can be pretty hot headed

Shortstops are very confident in themselves and can have a bit of an ego

Stub - First Base

Big guys who don’t move very fast play first. I’m not saying Stub isn’t fast, but he’s def a big guy.

First basemen are usually big power hitters tho like lots of poser behind their bats. He probably hits 4th or 5th in the line up, hits cleanup

Johnny - Center Field (or maybe short??)

I feel like he’s fast but he’s not giving that infield ego vibes to me, you know?

Totally the coach’s kid growing up, like he probably pitched and played shortstop. It’s not uncommon for players who played a position in high school to play outfield in college (I know several)

Gordy - Right Field

Idk it just kinda fits imo

Chuck - 2nd Base (?)/OF

Again he just kinda fits

He’s got that infield ego

Maybe a relief pitcher?

Roger - Left Field/Second(?)

Mostly think he’d play OF, but he’s giving lowkey second or third base vibes. So like maybe whenever a new pitcher goes in Roger takes their place on the infield and Coy goes to the outfield.

There is absolutely zero plot nailed down for this but I have details that I would include if I were to ever write it:

Backstory: Bobby is the one deciding what pitches the pitchers should throw aka calling pitches during games until he messes up and loses them a big game. Ulbrickson decides that’s the last straw and kicks him off the team. In actuality the pitcher didn’t throw the pitch Bobby called or missed his spot and blamed Bobby for it.

The story would be set sometime after Bobby is brought back as the catcher for reason XYZ, why isn’t important rn for this. But Ulbrickson has a stipulation that he’ll be calling pitches, not Bobby. Bobby agrees, but obviously goes off script sometimes.

I want Bobby signaling for a particular pitch as called by Ulbrickson, but uses another sign he made up that tells the pitchers “hey I didn’t come up with this.” And Don shakes off the pitch by shaking his head and Bobby smiles and signals the one that he thinks he should pitch.

I want Bobby in a backwards baseball cap (ofc)

I want Bobby getting into a collision at home plate, definitely a must because I love that hurt/comfort

[wordswhisperinthedark]

Ultraman: Rising Mild Spoilers

Something I also really liked was the baseball aspect of the movie. Like it was so fun to see it interspersed with all the kaiju chaos! Plus, it was a really cool way to show that Ken is so out of his element in Japan now, considering baseball is extremely popular in the US & Japan, but is influenced by their respective cultures. It's a bridge connecting separate times in his life that also glaringly divides the two.

Oh also love that he's neither a pitcher (which cocky characters often are) nor a catcher, but actually a fielder?? I assume he's part of the cleanup crew but it's cool to see a fielder having that much popularity. And he's a switch hitter?! Or at least can bat both sides? (I was like: ey~~ Mochi you're here!)

(oh! And the fact that baseball is what connects his family together and a big reason he pursued a career in it at all was to get his father to notice and smile with pride at him the way he did when they watched Matsui play?? Like. ༼ಢ_ಢ༽! And maybe there was already internal struggles entering his play, maybe he was starting to lose the feeling of 'fun' baseball should have, focused only on winning just to seek his father's acknowledgement, but then he teaches Emi, and the fun comes back as it connects him with his daughter?? (ಥ﹏ಥ))

[oofuri2003]

Literally me as momokan @ hanai the entire sakitama rematch game

[jamiesfootball]

Another piece of the leverage au I'm not fucking writing, damnit.

Under the cut for violence and Leverage-esque shenanigans:

At the first kick to the solar plexus, a shocked noise spilled out of Jamie's mouth. He hadn't been prepared.

"You don't fucking listen," Roy growled, winding his leg back for another kick. "What did I say? What did I fucking tell you when we first started?"

Jamie was ready for the second kick -- got his arms up in front of him just in time to intercept Roy's boot. He grunted, a sound too high and reedy to his own ears, and he tried to push aside the reflexive embarrassment at how loud it was, echoing off the walls as Bartlett and his cronies laughed and laughed.

On the third kick, he acted. He caught Roy's boot, wrapping his shivering body around it while the other man cursed. Roy kicked again, and Jamie's freezing hands scrambled for purchase against the leather, his nails digging into the collar.

"Come on," Roy scoffed under his breath, the same way he had when Jamie had held them up at the elevator. He didn't need to look up to know Roy was shaking his head.

Jamie bit his lip against the sudden, fierce wave of emotion building up in his chest.

His grip slackened, and Roy tugged his foot away with a violent grunt. He spat at the ground, missing Jamie by centimeters.

Bartlett tittered. His goons spread easily for Roy, welcoming him into the pack as the hitter rejoined their group. One of them fetched him a beer.

"Feel better then, Royo?"

Jamie closed his eyes; he didn't need to see this. His arms pressed protectively against his stomach. Hopefully they'd forget he was there.

"You don't know the half of it," Roy said, his rough timber carrying easily through the barren warehouse. A bottle fizzed open, followed by an audibly slurpy gulp and a relieved sigh. "The amount of headache's that prick's given me -- you wouldn't believe."

"No respect for their betters, these young ones." There was the tap of glass on glass- a toast. "Well, I've got good news for you. When we're done here, I plan to make a couple phone calls. You ain't the only one with a bone to pick with that little upstart. I know a few names who'd pay good money just to take a turn at him the way you did."

A beat of silence.

"Really?" Roy's voice stayed carefully neutrally, but even an idiot could hear that he was interested.

"What'd I tell you lads? Do I know this man or what?" Bartlett bragged. His men agreed, making all the appropriate noises for a goon chorus.

"So I do all the hard work, and you cash the check?"

Just as easily as flipping off a light, a threatening quiet smothered the warehouse.

Bartlett, the idiot, tried to backtrack fast. "Course I'd cut you in! A finder's fee. Hell, you could watch, if you're into that."

Another beat of silence, and then a low, dark chuckle that sent the hairs on the back of Jamie's neck to standing.

"You know me, don't you?" Roy remarked, sounding like a lion before the pounce. "Relax, Bartlett, I already got what I came for. You have your men wire over a cut of the haul, and that'll be the end of our business. The sooner I see the back of this place, the better."

Bartlett snapped at one of his men to initiate the wire. Roy rattled off the numbers.

When they were done, Bartlett laughed. "Roy Kent. A man of reason."

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does."

Another clink of glasses echoed cheerily in the warehouse. Then-

"Woah, take it easy there, Kent. No need to rush when there's still the cleanup to..."

Bartlett trailed off and the goon chorus piped down. In the shivering silence, the sound of someone chugging a beer echoed disturbingly loud, like some sort of criminal underworld ASMR.

Jamie focused on not tensing his body; he didn't want to draw their attention.

Finally, smacking lips. A content sight. "Thanks for the beer, Bartlett. Would've been a shame for it to go to waste."

"What--"

At the sound of a glass smashing over someone's head, Jamie flexed his grip on the knife he'd snatched out of Roy's boot and sprung to his feet.

Roy had told him to wait for his cue, after all -- and it was his time to shine.

The little prick wouldn't stop grinning.

Roy ignored him. He dumped goon number five into the stolen ambulance.

"Check their pockets. If they've got anything that looks like a burner, Beard wants it back. We've got to make sure to wipe any traces of contact they might've had with Keeley--"

"You like me," Jamie sing-songed.

"It was a bit," Roy said through gritted teeth. "Hand me the body."

Jamie hauled over the unconscious man -- easily twice his size -- like it was nothing. The joys of youth.

With five other deadweights already filling up the vehicle, it was awkward angle to fit in a sixth. Jamie stumbled a bit, and Roy braced him upright. Together they maneuvered the body into the van.

"You can just admit it, you know. I won't ruin your reputation by telling everyone that Roy Kent's a softy."

Prick.

Jamie's usually styled pompadour was a flat mess from the fall in the Thames, and rolling around on the floor of an abandoned warehouse had lint-rolled a questionable layer of gunk onto his stylish clothes. He looked like a twit, leaning against the door of the ambulance while Roy did all the work tying the feet together.

Prick.

With his hair dripping into his eyes and a look of open fascination on his face, he looked like a kid who'd run through a sprinkler. There was far too much delight there for someone who'd been roughed up by a wannabe gangster. Fuck, and they still needed to check his ribs.

"He made us the second we walked in the door," Roy tried to explain again. "I needed to get him to trust me, to make him think I'd switched sides--"

"By making him think you kicked like an octogenarian?" quipped Jamie. "You barely made contact. If I'd been acting any harder, Rebecca would be out a job."

"I can kick you harder next time," Roy bit out, but even he could feel how toothless the words sat in his mouth.

"Sure, Grandad." Jamie beamed, smug and practically bouncing on his toes. "I'd like to see you try."

If Roy had less to deal with on his mind, he might worry about how sure Jamie seemed by the notion Roy wouldn't hit him.

"It wasn't a life or death situation. I knew we'd make it out."

Sure, Bartlett and his men had been armed, but Roy had dealt with worse. If it had been life or death, it'd be different. Roy would do whatever he needed to in those circumstances.

He would.

"You keep telling yourself that, mate."