#derrick krueger

[kikiavci]

Do y'all think Derrick Krueger was like so glad he died before he could get dunked on the same way Mike Townsend was

[furballfaggot]

also because i saw a post about some parallels between derrick krueger and jaylen: i cannot be consoled knowing that they both have different variations of "you were the best if only for a moment" (hotdogfingers got incinerated as a wonderful pitcher and came back mediocre, krueger came out of the black hole during coronation as a wonderful pitcher after being mediocre and then blaseball just Ended)

[fabledivine]

ummmm derrick 70

MARN.... HOW LONG HAVE I OWED YOU THIS EVIL DERRICK

[salthien]

🎵 GOOD MORNING, WELCOME TO THE WORLD, SUNSHINE!

welcome back to the land of the living, derrick krueger! it’s been awhile, huh?

derrick interp by marn @charaznablescanontoyota who won the blaseball blorbo lottery today. lyrics from GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE by The Narcissist Cookbook.

[doctorwhoisadhd]

hi blaseball fans. vote now on ur phones

[charaznablescanontoyota]

headfirst slide into cooperstown on a bad bet

[showzens]

my name is derrick krueger  the fans call me der (well, they do now i have fans)

[thehallstara]

it starts like this: you’re sixteen, catcher to derrick’s shitty, shitty pitcher. you're the one who cares; he's ambivalent at best and barely half as good. but you still tag along to his gigs so it's payment in kind, hand over hand and heart over stupid fucking heart.

these decisions, you'll realize, will look a lot more awful at twenty-six.

(shaquille torres, and the weight of the past)

-

hiiiii i wrote about shaq joining the firefighters (and also derrick) gonna drop this and run into the sun bye. cws for drowning, swears, death and mentions of alcohol

[impernaway]

“You know, they made me pitch once?”

Liv sits back in the seat she’s claimed between two piles of blankets. Dix sleeps on, quiet and still. The other pile shows no sign of recognising she’s there or has said anything.

“It was some whole thing. The fans decided they wanted me back in Seattle, so decided to drop me into the rotation for some reason. ‘cept we had all the weird suns back then, and turntables, you know?”

They pause, waiting to see if they’ll get a response. Silence.

“Anyway, the weird suns I mentioned. One of them did something to the Black Hole that meant instead of eating your runs and making the other team worse, it’d spit a win out at them. And you’ll never guess what happened next.”

The blankets shift slightly so an eye can peer out.

He smiles and winks back. “First game of the season was against the Fridays. We came out of it three wins up to their one.”

“...You gave-”

"Gave up thirty runs and enough spare they still beat us by the end of the ninth,” Liv nods. “And like, it’s really not that important?”

“I blew my first game.”

“And we blew your defence on the first game, and it was an eclipse game, and nobody got - got blown up, or sent to oblivion, or whatever. I’ll take that. I’ll take everybody coming home over a win.”

They lapse into silence. She sits back and slings her arm around the back of the seats on either side of her, looking out over the field. We’ll play other games, she wants to say, and bites the words back; It’d just be her saying it for her, not for him.

The eclipse is over, but the sky is still red as evening creeps in and settles itself over the stadium. The quiet lies over them, thick like a blanket, and Liv settles their eyes on a distant horizon that they can’t see for the buildings in the way. It’s a warm night. It’s not unpleasant.

They’ll have other nights. There will be other games. They still have each other.

[library-whale]

so derrick just pitched his first game and

he’s uh. still a little eepy

[crabmoney3]

yes i know the election was only an hour ago yes i have already written a fic about it i am feeling feral about derrick and shaq arent you

[cryinginblaseball]

fuck it, The Ballad of the Unremarkable Derrick Krueger Thursday

Listen to: the ballad of unremarkable derrick krueger (live @ TAKEOVER) by the garages

This song is incredible. It’s beautiful and haunting and absolutely wrecks me every time.

[salthien]

when all was said and done, Coronation ended up leaving kind of a bad taste in my mouth, so I didn't really plan to make anything further for blball and especially not for Coronation. that being said, I did have some stuff I kind of liked from before it broke bad, so on request here's a kind-of wip amnesty for one of them.

hands, 1.4k. gen. blaseball does not leave much time for leisure, especially for its captains. elip dean of the hades tigers makes do with what they can get.

“have you thought about picking up a hobby?”

elip’s attention is slow to leave their notebook, still scribbling postgame notes at one of the empty clubhouse tables. their head lifts, eventually, then tilts, one brow arching.

“something small,” mehdi elaborates. “to keep your hands busy.”

they maintain the look, brows furrowing in a challenge.

“you fidget, eli. a lot.” a pause, and mehdi lifts a palm defensively. “don’t look at me like that. i just think it would be good for you. you don’t need to be in captain mode all the time.”

elip ducks their ears as if admonished, but their eyes are smiling as they tip their head in another unspoken question.

“you’ve got options. just something to keep your hands busy - i wouldn’t be surprised if we’ve got needles and yarn stashed away around here somewhere, or beads. paper’s not hard to come by either.”

something clicks, then, and elip’s eyes go wide as they nod excitedly.

----

it starts like this: little paper animals, folded and strewn about the clubhouse. they are imperfect; the white underside of the bright squares peeks out around uneven folds on cranes with wings that won’t sit right, crabs with lopsided pincers, frogs with short bodies and too-long legs.

there have been a few casualties, too, accidentally swept to the floor and caught by wayward heels. elip trashes the crushed ones as readily as anyone else.

“oh– shit.” vela says, prying a bright yellow crane from her cleat one day. “cap, you gotta be more careful with these little guys.”

elip looks across the dugout, shrugs once. later, though, they see vela tuck the crane under a magnet in her locker, its crumpled wing carefully smoothed out. it fills them with a warmth they can’t name long after they’ve left the stadium.

----

they don’t limit themself to paper. as the season goes on, elip swaps craft paper for colored twine, carrying beads in a hidden pocket of their skirt. despite mehdi’s protests, they unwind the first three lumpy, uneven bracelets they make to save material - no use being wasteful.

the fourth, elip presents to stevie with little fanfare. they press it into his hand - a simple thing, pale blue twine, small green beads strung into the weave - as he comes in from striking out in the top of the ninth.

“for me?” he asks, even as elip is beginning to step away. they nod, only half-looking at him, but pause as the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkle with a smile.

“captain dean, you’re too kind.”

they notice it after that sometimes, the twine fastened snugly beneath his glove. it makes them smile no matter how far they’re down on the scoreboard.

----

in the off-season, they throw themself even further into mehdi’s suggestion, whenever training and their duties as captain allow for it. one day in late summer, amaya arrives at the clubhouse to elip, awaiting them expectantly, hands behind their back and eyes bright.

“morning to you too, elle.”

when elip finally reveals their gift on outstretched palms, amaya pauses, surprised, her eyes flickering from elip’s face to the painted clay pieces cradled in their hands.

“you made these?” elip answers their question with a firm nod and lifts the little clay armaments further, gesturing to amaya with both palms.

“seriously–? they’re so cute, are you sure?”

elip rolls their eyes exaggeratedly, and amaya finally acquiesces, taking the miniature silver-and-rose painted sword and shield from their palms with a kind of fond reverence that elip won’t soon forget.

----

by the beginning of season 2, more gifts have found their way into the hands of their team, each stripe carrying a token from their captain’s creative spree. elip abandons their more complex endeavors as the season begins and they turn their focus to the game.

they wonder, perhaps too much at first, about wandering zephyr - cursed and, they hope, making the best of it. he seems happy, no matter what color jersey he wears when they see clips of him online, and that’s what matters.

but pragmatism is the name of the game, especially as players start going up in flames: they stop letting themself worry if he misses Hades, unsure if a yes or a no would bring them more peace.

when they catch one of his interviews, scrounging for news on the rest of the league as much as they dare, they linger on it just enough to notice the beaded corner of an ash-gray keychain hanging out of his pocket. a lump rises in their throat, bittersweet.

----

you only keep what you had on you when you died, say the long-dead as they fill the hall of flame with space and color and depth. 

there are ways of contacting the living, but not reliably. 

we’re here for you, they offer, but you’ll have to get used to this. chances are you’ll be here a very long time.

leandra doesn’t mind. she’d heard the stories of the hall and still chosen it willingly the day she’d taken the field after mondegreen’s incineration. that does not make the physical adjustment any easier - the dampness, the way her fur clings to her flanks, the way her chest aches for breath that won’t come - but she’s made her peace with that, too.

what does ease her mind is the scrap of maroon cloth she discovers in her breast pocket, surfacing a memory - elip, closing it into her hands the morning of day 79. sewn into it is a sun, pale yellow and filled in with hasty stitches. the captain had not been clear what it was for, only that she was meant to have it. they’d been quite insistent.

leandra finds herself glad for it now, running her thumb gently over the stitchwork. it is, if nothing else, an affirmation of her decision. she cannot imagine elip in the dark of the trench.

----

they don’t talk, much. derrick is fine with that. the silence is comfortingly familiar, and elip seems equally unbothered by it. they commiserate over bad games, elip might ask a question or two about the hall or about derrick himself, but mostly they seem happy to simply have him around as quiet company while they read or study games or make things, sequestered for a handful of hours in elip’s hades flat or derrick’s tiny new apartment.

on one occasion - post-finals, when elip’s in charleston for vela’s memorial - they bring a bright sheaf of paper and seat themself on the floor with it, one cowled ear tipped toward where he sits on the couch. it’s a kind of quiet intensity he hasn’t seen from them much.

aren’t those good luck? he asks in sign, the quiet too comfortable to break with his voice - it's easier, sometimes, and elip's fluency in the common languages of the league makes up for his spotty hall-earned education. elip looks up between cranes, a brightly-colored row of them lined up in a semicircle on the rug. elip's ears tip back in confusion, and derrick repeats himself.

their expression doesn’t change; if anything, they grow more confused.

“those’re good luck, right?” he says, out loud this time, and the understanding that dawns over their face is quickly replaced by amusement, their shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

lucky, they sign with a smile, middle finger lifting off their chin, and derrick realizes his mistake before their hand can even make it back to their face to demonstrate what he’d said instead.

“y’know– fuck it. maybe i do want to know if they taste good.” he grouses with a lopsided smile, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling. once elip’s laughter subsides, they nod, signing lucky again as they set the newest crane with its fellows.

“gonna need a lot more cranes than that to help either of us, i think.”

elip’s ear flicks dismissively beneath their tichel, and they pull another piece of paper from the sheaf to their careful creases anew.

derrick doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes later to find his apartment empty. the only evidence of elip’s departure is a text comprised entirely of emojis - happy face, shushing face, waving hand, sleeping face - and a small navy blue crane they’ve left in his upturned palms. he smiles faintly, leans to set it on the side table and only jumps a little bit when something crunches softly behind him.

he starts upright, turning halfway, but there’s nothing behind him except the back of the couch and another crane. a third falls into his lap with his movement, and he connects the dots at last, pulls the collar of his sweater around to find that elip has in fact filled his hood with yet more palm-sized paper birds.

derrick doesn’t believe in luck, really – but he gathers the little pile of birds onto the old side table and carefully slides the blue one into his phone case for good measure.

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

sigh. ballad of unremarkable derrick krueger and blaseball!au mumbo we’re really in it now aren’t we.

[fivesevenseveneight]

[Transcript:

My name is derrick Krueger

The fans call me Der

Or they would, if I had fans

They said that when I grew up

I could be anything

So I up and joined the band

Proud of every strike I throw

Write ‘em down in a ledger that’s nowhere near full

And when I’m jamming out with the team it’s easy to forget

I’m not the one, not the one they’re cheering for

I take my coffee black

I love Arthur C Clarke

I’m more than what I lack

I’m ready to start

Every day I get lost in the thoughts

That haunt my head when I wake up

Did I sleep through the only years I have

For a future I don’t

Sometimes that’s just the way it goes

(No loss, no disappointment)

Chills settle over the outfield

Another mediocre game with no return on yield

Nobody looking up from their phones

As the eyes in the dark glow bright

Another light another light goes out

The smell of ash and pitch

the sound of nails on wood

The taste of salty air

The feeling that I could

I guess I’ll never hear my name rain down

From over the stands

I guess I’ll never see myself redeemed

In the eyes of the fans

Sometimes that’s just the way it goes

(No loss, no disappointment)

We’re not a team,

we’re protagonists

But who’s writing the story?

And will I make it in?

Is this all that I am

At the end of the day

One more name for the ticker

One less lousy garage pitcher

As the sky grows dim

Tell them I did my best

I was funny and kind

Please don’t let them forget

I’m sorry I couldn’t make the grade

When my body burns out

Will my name still fade away?

(Just one more chance at the mound

Just one more day in the sun

Will you wish I was around

When all is said and done?)

End transcript]

[Text in all caps: Nobody looking up from their phones // as the eyes in the dark grow bright // another light another light goes out. ]

NOBODY LOOKING UP FROM THEIR PHONES // AS THE EYES IN THE DARK GLOW BRIGHT // ANOTHER LIGHT ANOTHER LIGHT GOES OUT

[charaznablescanontoyota]