#why’s he built like that???? to throw a ball? to swing a bat? to be my wife????? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oomisluvr · 3 years

Text

sakusa takes care of a drunk reader, a drabble

synopsis: y/n is talking to a stranger about her sex life and kiyoomi is on damage control. it's an uphill battle to finally tuck her into bed. give this man a break, please.

“he be blowin’ my back out, girl.”

“she means we very gently and very passionately make love.”

“just beatin’ this pussy up!”

“i do no such thing.”

“absolutely drillin’ and killin’ my shit.” you motion with your hands. sakusa reaches out to stop you, a blush deep on his face.

“y/n.”

“this boy folds me like a pretzel.”

“y/n!”

“my ankles be touchin’ my ea- mmph!”

sakusa covers your mouth with his hand, “you’ve lost your talking privileges. give me your drink, babe,” you glare at him, defiance burning in your eyes. he glares right back, “now, y/n.” he looks to the woman you were talking and apologizes on your behalf.

you relent, releasing your grip on the drink you were holding. sakusa take it and relaxes the hold he has on you, "you always kill my fun, omi!"

"no, i keep you safe." his gaze softens and his voice follows, "c'mon, it's late now. let's get you home."

you're surprised by the gentleness in his tone. wordless, you nod, extending your arm for him to take and lead you out of the club. it's raining tonight, and sakusa all but demands you to stay at the entrance doors while he runs to get the car.

you'll get emotional if you think about it too much, about exactly how much he sacrifices for you. he accommodates for you in every aspect of his life, oftentimes without you ever having to ask. you're part of him, an extension of his own body. he quite literally could not live without you. he loves you, with everything in him. he really didn't have to come out with you tonight, but you know he did it because he cares about your safety.

when the car pulls up, sakusa jumps out, umbrella in hand, escorting you to the passenger door, opening it, and closing it once you got situated. you giggle at the little jog he does to get to the driver's side. the sound of rain hitting the windshield makes you sleepy. upon noticing your tired state, kiyoomi removes the jacket from his shoulders, draping it across your figure. you yawn, snuggling into the heavy fabric and allowing his scent to lull you to sleep.

the next time you wake up, sakusa's at the passenger side of the door, lightly shaking you.

"c'mon, we're home now." he stretches his hand to pull you out, closing the door behind him, and snaking an arm around your waste, bringing you to your shared apartment.

after fumbling with the keys, he unlocks the door and kicks off his shoes, turning the lights on. sakusa leads you to the couch, descending on one knee to remove your heels, fighting with the straps and buckles.

"try taking it off with your teeth."

"try tak- what the hell? i'm not doing that."

"awww, c'mon, you know you like my feet."

"y/n, stop being weird," you wiggle your toes, making him loose his grip on the clasp of your shoes, "and stop moving."

you giggle, still feeling buzzed from all the alcohol you downed, "i know you secretly have a foot kink."

"i do not."

"it's okay, it's okay," you soothe, roughly ruffling his hair, "it's just me and you here. you can tell me if you wanna suck on my toes. i won't judge," finally removing your shoes, sakusa stands to his feet, stretching his hand for you to take.

"i don't know where you're getting this from, but you need to go to bed. i think you're delirious." you pout like a child, not wanting the fun to be over.

"fine. only if you carry me." you flop back on the couch to emphasize your unwillingness to walk yourself, stretching your arms up, "please, oomi?"

you're so cute, but sakusa can't let you know that. huffing loudly, he bends down to pick you up with ease, arms hooked under your legs and back, "you owe me in the morning. i didn't sign up for this."

you giggle, enjoying the attention from him, "you're so strong, oomi. look at these muscles." you grab his bicep, "what is this? a bowling ball? is there bowling ball in here? did you eat a bowling ball?" sakusa fights back a smile, but a blush manages to break through.

strolling through the bedroom, sakusa drops you on the bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead, mumbling in your ear, "why are you only nice to me when you're drunk, hmm? pretty girl." leaving you on the bed, sakusa digs through your dresser, approaching you with your usual pajamas, "put this on."

"no." you resist.

"y/n."

"put them on me." you kneel up on the bed, manipulating your arms and back to reach the zipper of your dress, dragging it down and shimmying out of the loose fabric, "look, i made it easy for you."

sakusa will never get used to seeing you in just a bra and panties, and his face turns beet red at the sight. you're sitting on your thighs now, legs folded behind you, feet touching.

"you're so difficult," he sighs, his blush only deepening when he moves to touch you, "arms up." you giggle, shaking your head and crossing your arms, he clenches his jaw in an effort to focus on the task at hand.

"oomi~" you flirt, "i still have my bra on. i can't sleep with a bra on. it's not good for me."

"then take it off."

"take it off for me."

"y/n."

"i won't go to bed until you do."

"fine. turn around." you shuffle on the bed, your back now facing him. with anxious hands, he unclasps your bra, the soft fabric falling to the bed. your bare back greets him, and he bats away impure thoughts. before you can turn around, sakusa grabs your arms and forces the shirt on you.

"oomi! don't be so rough."

"then listen and i won’t have to be so rough,” yanking the shirt over your head, he sighs, “there. all done.” you’re scrambling to get under the covers when sakusa grabs your ankle, “not yet. you need to do your skin care,” you open your mouth to protest, but kiyoomi interupts you, “let me guess, you want me to do it?”

you nod your head in excitement, “carry me oomi!” scooping you up, he carries you to the bathroom, setting you on the counter space. you’re rambling about god-knows-what, incoherent and broken sentences flow from your lips. sakusa tries his best to listen, he really does, but he can’t tel the difference between makeup wipes and micellar water.

“sorry to interrupt you, angel,” he kisses you on the forehead to calm your protests, “but which one do i use? the micellar water, right? you said the wipes burn sometimes...”

“aww oomi,” you bring your legs to wrap around his legs, pressing him into you, “you know me so well,” you mumble against his lips. your arms wrap around sakusa’s neck, hands tangling into the soft hair at his nape, lips building a rhythm against his.

it takes everything in sakusa to stop you, but he knows where kisses like this lead and getting you in bed is top priority.

“no, y/n,” he breaks the kiss to peer into you, “you need rest.” his eyes are soft and full of love, “let me take care of you, baby. sit still, please.” you nod and give him a quick peck, a silent promise to give him the reigns. relaxing the hold your lags have around him, kiyoomi gets to work.

he dabs the micellar water on your reusable cotton pad, gently swiping it across your face. you close your eyes, humming and mumbling the words of a song he heard earlier. using this time, sakusa admires the softness of your face, love swelling in his chest.

“all done.” you kiss his cheek in thanks, moving to hop off the counter. his hands fly out to hold your hips, keeping you placent, “not so fast.” he moves away from you, searching through the cupboards to find all the pieces of your routine.

after gathering his materials, he starts with dropping a clear, cool serum on your face.

“remind you of anything?” you joke, giggling mindlessly at your own joke.

"stop talking."

"boo, go back to being nice!"

"shh!"

you sigh loudly, swinging your legs and humming louder. sakusa works moisturizer into your skin with such vigor, your body starts to move. for good measure, he squeezes your cheeks, making your lips appear fish-like, laughing when you whine, "oomi, stop! let me go! are you done yet?"

moving to put all your things away, he nods, "yes, y/n. all done."

"carry me back then!"

"i lied. you still have to brush your teeth." you open your mouth to speak, "and no, i will not brush them for you."

"but i'm tired!"

"too bad. look, i even put the toothpaste on for you." he hands you the toothbrush. you snatch it out of his hands and vigorously brush your teeth. smiling at your attitude, sakusa begins to do his own nightly routine.

looking at him through your peripherals, you admire his physique. he really is built like a greek god. shamelessly, you rake your eyes over his body, observing the contraction of his muscles; the way the light reflects from his skin. sakusa kiyoomi truly is beautiful. catching your stare, he pokes your stomach.

"stop looking at me."

"what? i can't look at you?" foam flies everywhere.

"not like that."

"like what?"

"like you want to eat me."

"i do." you spit out the toothpaste, rinsing your toothbrush and putting it away.

you straightforwardness makes him blush, "tomorrow. i'm all yours tomorrow, but for right now-" he approaches you, his lean frame towering over your own, "-let's get you in bed."

you don't have to ask him to carry you; he does it anyway, throwing you over his shoulder and laying you on the bed.

"are you going to tuck me in, oomi?"

"what kind of question is that? of course i'm going to tuck you in."

i know i reference sakusa picking the reader up a lot but this man is 6'4" 176.8 pounds (192 cm, 80 kg) and could therefore bench press you without breaking a sweat, no matter what your weight is. my baby is strong. periodt.

#not proud of this one ://#i hate it #lowkey #sakusa #kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #msby #msby sakusa #msby sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa fluff #sakusa x reader #sakusa fic #sakusa oneshot #sakusa drabble

2K notes · View notes

ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

spectators

part 8 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

paring: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 2.6k

warnings: strong language, kissing, enough fluff for a rich person chair

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, the Frankie and you appease the people who have been invested in their relationship this whole time.

Pope threw the ball straight up, and caught it.

Then he did it again – he was thinking.

Right hand, then left. Right, left. The ball was in the air less and less time, but the speed didn’t increase. Eventually he was just tossing it straight into his own palm, slowly, thoughtfully, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.

Frankie watched, not even nervous. Of all the reactions he could’ve predicted this was more or less what he expected.

“I’m proud of you,” this throw was for Catfish.

“Thanks.” He caught it.

“You’re fucking lucky,” Pope grinned.

“I know.” Frankie threw it back.

“When is the next date?” Benny plucked it out of the air, a strange look in his eyes. The rest of the team was already back in the locker rooms, but they had held Frankie back, curious. He had spent the morning practice practically glowing, playing well, but suspiciously distracted. Initially, there was an onslaught of teasing and questions and exaggerated berating, but now they had quieted, actually processing this, as friends. Will look satisfied, happy even, but Frankie kicked himself, remembering too late that Ben’s most recent romance hadn’t worked out.

“Tonight – she thinks the parties are bad news,” he said it carefully - Ironhead had been the one to start sharing their pasts with you, but it was really out there now, for you to take or leave. He moved past them towards the showers and he heard Tom snort, making an exaggerated whipping sound. The older man had listened to his abbreviated story with a stoic face, just raised eyebrows and his arms crossed. Frankie’s jaw clenched, wondering if he should retort, but he didn’t get the chance.

It was quiet, but Will added, “She’s not wrong,” in that even, reasonable tone of his. The tension fell, and then rose, sharply, a testament to the respect they all held for the first-baseman's opinion. Trudging through the hallway suddenly felt too fast, too dangerous, like the conversation should’ve stayed outside. A long moment filled only by footsteps as they all considered, before Ben spoke.

“Can I come?” Frankie stopped walking, turning incredulously and Santi smacked the rookie on the back of his head. Benny glared, but without any real bite. “Ow, fuck you - I’d rather hang out than go to another one of those stupid parties, wouldn’t you?” He looked defiant, meeting each of their eyes and gesturing with both of his arms, goading them to answer him, to disagree.

No one did, not even Tom, who glowered, the leather of his glove folded into deep wrinkles. Will’s blue eyes met the brown of Santi’s, and his mouth hooked into a smile. Deep laughter went a long way to thawing tension when it was genuine, and it was.

“Ben, you can’t crash Fish's date, we can do something else,” Will took his own turn smacking his brother but it was a bit of a bold statement. There were days when it felt like they really couldn’t so anything else, like there wasn’t other options that felt real – but they should be able to.

Frankie dragged a hand over his face before groaning a muffled, “Wait,” and sighing. He cursed, not even aware of what language it was in, occupied by the thought of what you would say if you were here. It was ridiculous but it felt right, and it was an opportunity for him to slow down again. “Honestly she would probably love if you guys hung out.”

There was a beat, where they stared at him, before the debate began. It didn’t last long, hushing as they reached the locker room, but by the time they were clean and dried and settled, it was decided. There really wasn’t a downside to it and really, they were all figuring you out, too. The lure of your smiles and home cooked food far outweighed the temptation of loud music and sticky floors and girls too tipsy to talk with, at least this time.

In the lull between the practice and the game, Frankie tried not to jump whenever his phone made a noise. One date in, and he was already daydreaming about just driving to your house and just kissing you until one of you had somewhere better to be. But you had a job, and things to finish so you had time for his game that evening, and he was acutely aware that while you had let that incredible evening – yesterday? – happen, he would need to slow down. He had already told you, he wanted to do this right.

He confirmed the plans for the evening, smiling as you agreed to host all his friends, and then tossed his phone into his bag. Then put a jacket on top of the bag, folded twice so it balanced precariously. When it buzzed he made himself take a lap around the building, and wanted to bang his head against the wall when it was a random email.

And all evening the thought of you. The game rolled in, and he squatted bitterly, annoyed his position left his back to the crowd. It meant he couldn’t look for you, and James. Logically he knew, even if you had told him your exact seats, he wouldn’t be able to make you out unless you were close, but that didn’t stop him from wishful thinking.

Catch, catch, walk, sit, swing, hit, run, walk, sit. Repeat.

The game built, and tensions were high as the scores stayed close and the crowd whispered about playoffs. It was the worst time for him to be batting, the pressure too high to be on the shoulders of a catcher, but it couldn’t be helped.

He walked out, listening to the blast of an old song too familiar to recognize, and the rumble of the announcer.

Frankie looked towards the crowd, knowing you were out there and fruitlessly wishing he could see you. He stopped at the plate, shifting on the balls of his feet, feeling the dirt under his cleats and trying to imagine your eyes on him. His hands tightened, loosened, tightened again, the wrap on the handle of the bat protested the movement, and he tried to hear you whispering his name.

You were cheering for him, right?

The ball hit his bat with a satisfying crack, and he didn’t watch where it went before he ran.

James was stalling.

You were supposed to drive him home, as always, but after spending most of the game filling him in about you and Francisco, there was no convincing him to move faster.

He wanted to see the man who had kissed his granddaughter – more than once! – and look him over again. The sweet, elderly man could be quite determined, especially when it involved two of his favorite people in the whole world. It meant waiting until the crowds fled and dodging staff who would no doubt shoo you away, but the eagerness on his little, wrinkled face made him impossible to deny.

“Jimbo, you’ve already met him,” you tried again, listening to the shrieks of a fangirl. After the surprising home run, the catcher was in high demand, and it made your stomach twist.

You had woken up this morning still shy and baffled at what you were to him, what was happening. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, and you talked a lot, but not about... you, together. But James was certain, this was it, and he wanted to look Francisco in the eyes before he gave you his blessing.

His hand was in your elbow and you tugged, again, before withering under his look. He began lecturing you, about this being his job and you offered a compromise. This time, you weren’t invited, but you guided him towards the lobby where friends and family met the players, and when they let you in, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

Santiago found you first, and both of you got big hugs from him and the Miller boys, as they told you animatedly about how much hell they gave Frankie for bringing you home the first date. You barely got a word in, but you grinned as James joined their indignation.

In truth, your eyes were looking for Frankie, and you chided yourself at how much you ached for him, as always.

After a few minutes, Will pushed you towards the locker room, and you shot him a grateful smile. All the other players were clear, he told you, Frankie was being a baby about facing the fans. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, confirming that he was at loathe to run into anyone but you. They kept your grandfather occupied, and you knew they were in good hands as he was insisting he was hosting game night, that night.

Ducking into the hall, you followed the tile and the gaudy decorations, and found him.

Frankie, your Francisco was freshly showered, tshirt and jeans marked with drips from his curls, fiddling with his phone like he was waiting for you to text back. When he saw you, he dropped it into his bag, and your arms and eyes were suddenly full of him.

It was a crushing hug, he was eager and almost bursting with pride. You made a noise, you know you did, when only your toes were touching the ground, but he didn’t spin you around before he set you down.

He tried to pull away, he really did, but he couldn’t help but stay close, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were flushed as you congratulated him, telling him admiringly about how exciting his home run was.

Feeling him against you again was surreal. Mere weeks ago you had been watching him from a distance, and then burying ridiculous daydreams under the rug in your mind. And yet here he was, looking at you with the same softness as he had the night before, without regret, and like reality was better than a dream.

When he asked why and how you were here – not that he was complaining, you told him and explained about James. He only smiled, shifting closer to you again, telling you after all you put up with yesterday, he could certainly do this for you.

There was a pause, the air both clear and thick at the same time, and his head tilted, hands shifting on your hips. Thoughts of your family and friends and food slipped from your mind as his face drew closer, the tip of his nose tapping yours.

Brown eyes, searching your face, you almost felt like you could count his eye lashes. Frankie had little freckles, faint, spattered across the tan skin of his neck and face, and there were sweet little sparse patches in his beard.

“You know, we wont get any time alone, tonight.”

His tone was thoughtful, but he said it like he almost didn’t hear himself, and you could feel the edges of the words against your lips.

The hand on your hip slid up. Up and up, until it settled on the back of your head and he was pressing into you. Frankie’s kisses were deep and slow, like he couldn’t believe last night was not a figment of his imagination, and you wound your arms around him before you got lost in them. There were words in them, distant proclamations and promises and you pulled him into you, yearning to hear them clearly.

It could’ve been a minute or half an hour, between that moment and when he pulled away. With shock, you realized you had been pushed against the locker with his name on it, and his palm was cushioning your head.

There was a clatter of aluminum against the floor, and you jumped like caught teenagers. Then you were firmly planted on the ground again, and Frankie was turned around, shielding you like it was already instinct. Neither of you saw anyone, and his laughter was bashful and sweet. When he said you should probably go, and took your hand, you heard a genuine roughness in his voice.

Behind another row of lockers, Molly whispered into Tom’s neck, “Do you need to go, too? There’s that party tonight.” And he shrugged.

The environment at James' home was completely different than last time they were there. Things were less clean, there was less food, and everyone was twice as comfortable.

It was strange, what really knowing them did - they teased you more, and breathed easier, as if they had never met someone who hadn’t minded it all.

“Juice packets?” Will asked, confused at the drink selection, and you smiled when Santi winked at you. Tom hadn’t come but you thought it would be best to play it safe. It was important to you, that if they were choosing this over a party that it was lighthearted, sincere and simple.

“I just thought it would be fun,” you gave as your only explanation and he didn’t question it further. He did drink them three at a time, though, and when you laughed, you swore you saw his smile lines.

Benny was on your team, yelling and by far the most competitive, Santi and Will’s luck encouraging it every step of the way. They bickered like kids, bellowing laughter and rambunctious celebrations included. You made an extra rule – anyone who hit you with a pillow or playing piece had to buy you ice cream, next time the opportunity came up.

If should’ve been distracting, how James had pulled Frankie to the side to talk, but it warmed your heart. You didn’t need to swoop in and rescue him – they were talking like old friends, like Frankie was genuinely interested and invested in your beloved grandfather.

Every once in awhile, he would look up and meet your eyes, watching you with his friends with one corner of his mouth pulling higher. Once, you blew him a kiss and he scrunched his nose, like it hit him between the eyes.

Later, you scooted over to them, trying to steal him back, James leaned over and ruffled your hair before sternly, adorably telling you to let him have his turn with Frankie. When Frankie joined him, jokingly telling you to back off, you thought if it didn’t work out with him, Jimbo would adopt him.

The night stretched beautifully late, before your grandfather lectured them on the importance of sleep and Benny spun you around in victory. There were stars in the sky, and you listened to their chatter fade as they piled into their cars, surprised at how affectionate you felt for all of them, after so little time and such unlikely circumstances.

Frankie had stayed back, accepting goodbye hugs, and leaning against your car as you waved the other’s off. Of course, you asked, but he didn’t tell you what they talked about and he didn’t linger as long as you had hoped he would.

His kiss was sweet and chaste, like he knew he had all the time in the world.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

#francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #catfish x you #triple frontier baseball au #hey batter batter #maybe i don't know people

73 notes · View notes

yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

Text

COSMIC - S3:E3; Chapter Three, The Case Of The Missing Lifeguard - [Pt. 5]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘌𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘋&𝘋. 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦.

⚠️: Castle Byers scene. Meaning lots of angst, self destructive thinking, and misguided self punishing

📝: Started making it... had a break down [fr tho]... ¯\_( ツ)_/¯ bon appetite! 👩‍🍳 [edit: told ya 💀]

🔑: underlined and bold means they're talking in Russian

||��𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Warm rain spits from the angry blanket of clouds, falling through the sky and drenching Mike and Lucas to the bone despite their rain gear. Mud splashed up onto their ankles and drenching their socks as their bikes skid up the Byers driveway. Without a thought, they throw their bikes into the ground before racing up onto Will's porch.

It had taken far longer than they cared to admit to decide to go and find Will. To make things right.

Mike was realizing far too late just how right Will was. He didn't even recognize himself anymore. El had become such an important piece of his life, but he hadnt realized until now just how much he let his feelings screw up all the wonderful things he had in his life to begin with. He missed how things used to be. With the party. With Y/n.

With Will.

All the anger he feels towards himself is channeled into his fist banging on Will's front door.

"Will!" He cries. "Will, I'm sorry, man, alright? I was being a total asshole. I've been a total asshole. Please, can you just come outside and we'll talk?"

No answer but the thundering clouds rolling over their heads. He pounds on the door again.

"Will!"

Lucas hurries to the window, cupping his palms against the glass and peering inside. He knocks on the window, doing his best to peer around the curtains and furniture obscuring his sight.

"Hey, Will! Come on, man! We're sorry!" He knocks again, growing nervous. "Will!"

||𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

'Sorry, man. Curfew,'

'For the last time, Will! No!'

-'What, so I should be locked up all day, too?'

-'Maybe!'

Huffing, I throw the wrinkling comic book into the old mattress. Nothing was working. Nothing was enough to distract me. I was too angry.

I looked down at the withered cover of the comic book I had just thrown, my chest sinking further. Dustin's X-MEN 134, he gave it to me after that night at the hospital.

Thinking about it now, I can't even remember the last time all seven of us hung out as a party. I don't count Dustin's welcome home. Mike and El couldn't be bothered to pretend to care, and Lucas and Max kept ganging up on Dustin. Dustin was understandably upset and not wanting anything to do with us, leaving just me and Y/n. And now, not even her.

How did everything get so messed up?

What was I doing wrong?

I looked around the walls of Castle Byers, a lump forming in my throat. Everywhere I looked, I was painfully reminded of the truth.

My friends don't want me anymore.

I keep telling myself that's bullshit, but the more I do the more it feels like a lie.

They're moving on without me.

Friends don't just forget you, I reasoned. They don't just abandon you.

Then why were they doing just that?

Maybe they weren't my real friends. Friend's don't do what they did.

Everything hurts. I've been telling myself I'm fine, that I'm overreacting but I don't think I am anymore. I'm just tired. I'm tried of feeling like this. I'm tired of being pushed aside, especially when I need them most.

They didn't use to be like this, I tell myself. But somehow that just hurts more.

I had people that cared about me, who were willing to risk their lives to save me. Twice.

And now they don't give me a second thought.

I was shaking now, but I don't think it's from the rain. The storm had finally reached me, seeping through the walls and dampening my clothes and hair.

Another painful realization hits me; Castle Byers looked just like it had the night I built it with Jonathan.

Even though this night was so much like the night Castle Byers was constructed, it couldn't feel more different. More unfamiliar.

My teary eyes find my first D&D manual, propped up against the wooden walls, soaked and forgotten like me. I'm painfully reminded of the night all this started.

I remember it as clear as if it were yesterday, and yet it feels light-years away.

'Something is coming. Something hungry for blood.'

《•••》

"What is it?" I ask, edging further off my seat.

This time it's Dustin who cuts in, "What if it's the Demogorgon?"

Oh, great, I think, throwing myself back in my seat with an anxious huff. We're not ready to face a Demogorgon!

Beside me, Y/n draws in an equally anxious breath.

"Oh, Jesus, we're so screwed if it's the Demogorgon." Dustin rambles on.

"It's not the Demogorgon." Lucas says, assuring us all.

《•••》

My eyes trail to one of my favorite drawings; Will The Wise and Y/C/N. The one I had made when Y/n was first constructing her character. The one that hung in my room for so long, always cheering me up. The one that gave my mom the idea to help me communicate my now memories.

The one that Y/n always threatened to steal for her room as often and as recently as her last visit. The memory of her warm touch lingering on my cheeks burned as bright as the blush raging over me that night so long ago.

'Wait a minute... Did you guys hear that?'

《•••》

The anticipated silence in the basement left by Mike grew louder as he leaned in.

"Boom..." His voice grows louder. "Boom," Louder.

"BOOM!" Mike bellows, slamming his hands against the flat surface, rattling the table and all its contents.

The sudden noise was enough to make me and my friends jump, as was the sudden hand grabbing for my own.

All the more startled, I look down to see Y/n's hand grasping my arm like a lifeline. I feel my skin flush, my cheeks surely reddened as I catch her eye. She looked flustered, smiling a small smile before retracting her hand and returning to the game, unknowingly leaving me in a dizzying blush.

•••

"Will, your action!"

"Fireball!" I cry, throwing the dice to the board with a satisfying rattle.

"FOURTEEN!"

My friends erupt into cheers, all around me as we celebrate together.

"BOOM!"

"Direct hit!" Mike cries, beaming proudly at me across the table. "Will the Wise's fireball hits the Thessalhydra!"

Our excited shouts fill the basement, each and every one of us victorious. My smile can't get any wider when I feel Y/n's hands grip my shoulder and begin shaking me excitedly. We both laugh, feeling on top of the world with our cheering friends by our side.

《•••》

Pained, I look away only to find the proof right in front of my eyes. My three favorite pictures; all of them, my friends and me — happy — staring back up at me.

Our photo from the science fair, encased in the popsicle frame Mike had made bearing all of our characters' names along the side. I brought it here, I brought all my favorite pictures here, to Castle Byers — to my safe place — cause that's where I knew I would need their comfort the most.

But as I look at them now, all I feel is bitterness and pain. I'm reminded of just how much everything has changed.

The science fair was a reminder of the good thing I had before that night. Before everything started.

Y/n and me, at the Snow Ball. My arm wrapped around her, the two of us grinning nervously. It wasn't just the night Y/n and I had first kissed, it was also the first night I felt like the Party had gotten bigger. All of us, Max and El included had been happy. Everyone was laughing and getting along, the happiest we had ever been — the strongest. But now I see it was really the beginning of the end.

It had been coming for so long and I didn't even see it.

And Halloween. Last Halloween, everything had been perfect. For just one. Single. Stupid. Moment.

Shakily, I pick up the photo Jonathan had taken of all of us in our costumes. We were all smiling.

We were all happy.

'Who you gonna call?'

《•••》

I beam as I see my friends pulling up, looking just as excited as I felt.

"Ghostbusters!" I finish, watching as they look me over, happily surprised.

"Hey, Spengler!"

"Egon! Looking sharp!" Y/n grinned, pulling me into a quick hug.

"Janine!" I beam. "Venkman!"

《•••》

As I look at it now, my eyes and throat stinging as Mike's voice echoes louder than ever in my mind.

'I mean, what did you think, really?'

What was I thinking?

'That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day, playing games for the rest of our lives?'

How could I have been so naive?

'it's not my fault you can't move on!'

How could I have been so... so...

"Stupid." I tell myself, my voice splitting in my throat. "So stupid!"

My hands trembling violently with rage and my own sobs, I tear the photo in two.

I was stupid. Stupid to believe I was as big of a priority to them as they were to me.

I rip the drawing off the walls, tearing it to pieces.

Stupid to ever think they'd still cared about me.

I rip and tear and crumple up every meaningful piece of them in an act of defiance.

They won't care. I think bitterly. They won't miss these, they probably won't even notice. Not like I would have.

I grab my bat.

How could I be so fucking stupid?!

Why was I hanging on to all this stuff anyway? Why was I clinging so tightly to something that was already gone?

Because I've been stupid. I'm just some stupid kid that won't grow up.

I storm out of the tent.

I'm just some stupid kid who can't grow up. They made that perfectly clear.

I stand in the pouring rain now, heart thundering in my chest as I stare at the piece of my childhood I couldn't let go of.

So. Stupid.

And I start swinging.

I swing and I swing, with an anger and frustration I've never felt so intensely until now. It's been building my whole life and I didn't realize it. Every swing is simultaneously the best and the worst I've ever felt. Every slur I've heard from my dad, from Troy, is channeled into the bat. Every ounce of frustration and fear I felt since I came back from the Upside Down that nobody understood. Every laugh, every jeer, every single moment I've felt alone is channeled into the destruction of the one place on this earth I ever felt safe.

But it holds up and in the back of my mind, I hear Jonathan again.

'And it took so long cause you were so bad at hammering'

And I start kicking, and I start ripping the walls apart until it's a crumpled heap and I stop.

The sight of Castle Byers in ruins breaks me even harder.

I didn't want it gone, but I did it anyway. That part of me that was angry at myself, told me to keep going. Cause that's what I deserved for believing things could stay the same even though deep down I knew that wasn't true.

I finally stop when I see the castle in ruins.

Exhausted, I collapse to the ground beside the wreckage.

As I sob, stewing in the pain and overwhelming grief I felt I was drowning in, the rain pours heavily over me, soaking me to the bone.

Just as it had the night it had been built.

And now, Castle Byers was gone.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

When blue meets yellow in the west.

8:41 pm. It was almost time.

The yellow and blue clock hands were illuminated by a flash of lightning, streaking through the mall's skylight. Starcourt had long since closed, and the real activity was just beginning.

Stationed at the loading docks near the back, standing under the worst storm Hawkins had seen in years were two guards. They watched through the downpour as the scheduled truck backed its way under the concrete cover.

And perched on the roof, just out of sight sat Dustin, Steve, and Robin, scouting from under their rain slickers.

"Look for Imperial Panda and Kauffman Shoes," she reminds them.

Steve wipes away at the rain dripping into his eyes, squinting even further to get a clear picture Dustin already has.

A man in a bright yellow raincoat emerges from a hidden side door, a trolley cart full of packages marked with a familiar insignia.

"They're with that whistling guy!" Dustin says suddenly, motioning out from behind the only pair of binoculars.

"What do you think's in there?" Steve wonders, eyeing the Lynx logo on the back of their many yellow jackets.

"Guns? Bombs?"

"Chemical weapons?" Robin tries.

"Whatever it is," Dustin says, now cautiously studying the heavily armed guards. He had to admit to himself, they really weren't trying very hard not to be obvious. "they're armed to the teeth."

"Great," comes Steve's sarcastic voice, once again rubbing at his eyes, silently wishing he had brought a coat with a hood. "That's great."

A soft clink that would have been obnoxiously loud had it not been for the noise of the storm brings their attention to another guard. Having pressed a glowing button on a small control panel, two large metal doors swung open to reveal another room.

"Hey!" Robin says, squinting through the rain as she tries to get a glimpse without the binoculars. "What's in there?"

"It's just more boxes,"

"Let me check it out," Steve says, grabbing for the binoculars.

Huffing, Dustin fought to keep his grip on the binoculars. "No, I'm still looking!"

"Lemme see it!"

"Hang on!"

Steve's grip had loosened with the slick of rain, sending the binoculars knocking into the cement. The issue had already been forgotten when they saw the guards' attention had been stolen. Simultaneously, the three of them dove to the ground in a panic.

The guards began to pace, grip on their firearms tightening as they gaze out into the night. Seeing nothing but empty roofs and angry skies above them, they unknowingly miss the trio huddled against the roof wall.

Just out of sight to the right of Dustin, Steve and Robin sat panting as they try to calm their racing hearts. Way too close a call. And neither of them had realized what they had done until their eyes landed on their entertained hands. Just as quickly as they notice, they break apart, embarrassed.

Down below, the guards were now on high alert. One of them, unable to shake the feeling of being watched, stalked into the rain with his eyes deadset on an open spot on the roof. He was certain he heard the noise come from that direction.

"Stay here!" He orders to the other. "Watch the door!"

Reluctantly, his partner complies and inches back towards the doors.

When he finally reaches the top of the stairwell, he hesitates only a moment before he throws the roof door open, gun cocked.

But he was met only with steady claps of thunder and an empty roof.

Had he been wrong?

Or had he just missed whoever had been here?

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Clothes drenched, their shoes sloshing underneath their feet like sponges, Steve, Robin, and Dustin slip out from the shadows and make their way throughout the back halls behind the scenes of Starcourt.

"Well, I think we sound your Russians," Robin quips.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Black Trans Travel Fund:

For The Gworls:

"The Black Trans Travel Fund is a grassroots, Black Trans led Collective, providing Black Transgender Women with financial and material resources needed to remove barriers to self-determining and accessing safer travel options"

Trans Women Of Color Collective Fund

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Founded by a Black transgender woman and a Black nonbinary person, For The Gworls raises money to help provide funds for rent and gender affirming surgeries for Black transgender people across the country."

Taglist:

@dickkwad @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely-blog @peeperparkour @ba-responds @bibliophilesquared @blogforhoes @witch-of-all-things-soft @shawkneecaps @whothefuckstolemykeds @daughter-of-the-stars11 @stranger-things4 @kpopanimegirl @nightbu-g @lozzybowe @gizmofishersupremacy @spiderbitch69420

❥ Let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist! ❥

#cosmic #cosmic 3 #will byers x reader #will byers x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things 3 #the case of the missing lifeguard #3x03

38 notes · View notes

rendezvousrenjun · 4 years

Text

misunderstanding | k.jungwoo

💌 → pairing: jungwoo x reader fluff | 1.3k words | beware! some cussing :( | #15: “You can stay.”

“We’ve been working on this project together for awhile now so I wanted to let you know how I feel,” says an unfamiliar voice.

You catch Jungwoo and another person in a random conference room before your next lecture. Your hand is placed on the door handle, slightly opening it to hear their conversation before you realize it wasn’t your place to eavesdrop. Sometimes you forget Jungwoo had a life apart from you; the two of you being together almost 24 hours in the day either on call or in person. You weren’t sure how it got to the point where he was the one you would search for-- was it when both of you started to share food? Or was it when he made you laugh when he fell trying to run up to you walking to dance practice? Now that you think about it, how long have Jungwoo and you known each other?

To think back to a life before him seems almost impossible now. What you forget is possible is the fact that one day he will leave you to be with someone he actually wants to be with. To confess to him this far into your relationship might make things awkward, whether or not you have a feeling he may feel the same way. You would rather have Jungwoo’s company than anything else.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Your hand is still loosely on the door handle when you trip over your own body weight.

Shit shit shit

You pull back the door as fast as you can but you could tell they were already aware you were there. Jungwoo swings the door open as fast as you pulled it, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

“y/n!!” Jungwoo places his hand on top of your head to greet you before taking your wrist to bring you inside with the other person. You gently yank your hand away from his grip to stand near the entrance instead of joining them. The girl in question is someone you recognize from your department, yet you forget her name now as the two of you make eye contact. She looks at you in mortification. You feel as if you had intruded a very private moment between her and your best friend. You look over at Jungwoo who seems to not have grasped the situation, or has he? You’re sure they must have spoken at least a bit more before you zoned out.

“Ah I should probably head out, sorry to barge in, you two seem like you were in the middle of something, sorry.”

You understand why the girl holds distaste for you, a bitter “please” leaving her mouth.

The amount of anxiety that has built up over the past couple of seconds feels like it could suffocate you; a couple of steps left to the door and you could finally escape the situation.

“I appreciate you letting me know.” Is what you hear leave Jungwoo’s mouth until he speaks a bit louder, “Y/n.”

You pause again mid-step, awkwardly glancing back to where Jungwoo and this girl were standing. “Hmm?”

“You can stay.”

Your eyes enlarge in disbelief at Jungwoo’s audacity to invite you into this conversation. How could he say that in front of this person? The expression you make tries to send a signal over to him, the ability to communicate with him nonverbally developing over time. He reads the way your eyes are telling him “dude what the fuck don’t get me involved in your personal affairs like this, now she’s going to hate my guts!”

His eyes enlarge back at you, one eyebrow shooting upwards, a slight shrug being thrown back as if to say, “excuse me, you barged in here first, take responsibility and come back now.”

You accept your defeat, clumsily walking back to stand idle next to Jungwoo in shame. The person scoffs, then gets up to leave through the door you desperately tried to pass.

“Why did you say that HUH HUH HUH!” Your punches of embarrassment come at Jungwoo’s arm at a rapid pace, “why why why why” you go from punches to light smacks on his shoulder.

Hearty giggles come flooding out as he playfully retaliates, “ahhhh you’re hurting me!” then proceeds to gently push your head back at arm’s length while you continue to throw useless punches at the air.

Realizing there’s no use in trying to square up with Jungwoo, you lift his hand away, “Why’d you tell me to stay?! Now everything is going to be so awkward!”

“No no no, it’s only awkward if you make it awkward don’t worry!”

“Easy for you to say! Ugh why’d you do that!?”

“Because I wanted you to stay, what's so hard to understand?” Jungwoo smiles in a way that makes his cheeks puff up into cute balls, his fingers find dimples in his cheeks to poke so that he can pose innocently at you.

“Do not act cute with me right now-” Your sentence is caught in your throat when he hops up closer to you and begins to bat his eyelashes. “Do not show me your sparkly eyes Mr. Kim this is not the time.” He continues to bounce up and down in front of you to plead his case, but just like you, his foot trips over the other and he ends up tumbling to the floor. He crosses his arms in embarrassment, as your first reaction is to laugh at him before helping him up, “Idiot you need to be careful I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Really?” He gets up and clings onto your arm, his sparky eyes making a comeback.

You nod and clear your throat, “Anyways what did you guys talk about?”

Jungwoo detaches himself from you, trying to stir the conversation, “Look what I could do y/n,” he starts spinning around in circles to distract you.

“I just told you to be careful,” you reach over to stop him, “you’ll get dizzy Jungwoo stop trying to avoid the conversation!”

“But you already know what we talked about!”

Suddenly you feel hot, a tinge of guilt working its way in you, “No I don’t!”

“Hmph!” he crosses his arms, almost losing his balance for the third time this day, “If you want to lie to me like this I guess I can’t tell you!”

“Yaaaa Jungwooo” the acting baton is passed over to you, you pout and start fluttering your eyelashes at him, trying out his technique.

He breathes out dramatically, “okay, fine…”

“Mm? What is it? Don’t worry, who am I gonna tell? You?”

“She confessed to me.”

You already knew this. “Oh wow Jungwoo!” you clasp your hands together, “That’s great but now she’s going to misunderstand what’s going between us because you told me to stay.”

“Should she not?”

“No she shouldn't! We aren't even together and-”

“Why not?”

“huh?”

“Why aren't we together?”

The gears in your brain come to a halt. The only working thing in your body is your heart pumping at a speed that could probably cause a heart attack. You’re so taken aback that you don’t even know what your expression is. Were you dreaming? Your hand shakes a bit while you limply pinch at your forearm in front of Jungwoo.

“What did you just ask me?”

“Why. Aren’t. We. Together?” He enunciates each word, “I don’t want us to be a misunderstanding.”

“We-” you wet your lips, realizing your mouth has gone dry from being parted open in shock, “we are a misunderstanding?”

“Am I wrong? I don’t think we could just be friends y/n.”

“Are you confessing to me right now?”

He breaks eye contact to look at your shoes, bashfulness sprouting in his chest. Yet his answer is straightforward and shameless, “Yes.”

“Then I don’t see why we aren’t together either.”

201 notes · View notes

comicgeekscomicgeek · 3 years

Text

Their Hero Academia -- Chapter 79: Drop the Bomb

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

A snout pressed to the ground along the side of the road, where the highway gave way to more densely wooded country. Yes, that was the scent they were after, no mistaking it. Less than another day’s travel ahead. Lips curled back past sharp teeth, releasing a low growl of satisfaction. They had missed the departure of the students, all nestled into their transport and none the wiser that something was just behind them. It wasn’t a short journey from the school to their destination, but traveling cross country, a nearly straight line whenever they didn’t have to stop to find the scent again, made up considerable time. They did not tire. This terrain was what they were bred to cross. They moved back into the cover of the trees as they followed the smaller road, claws digging into the dirt as they pushed forward.

They’d be at the camp soon.

***

“Ooooh, that had to hurt,” Isamu winced.

“I’ve told him he relies on his Quirk too much,” Midoriya replied, gazing at the scene before them through his fingers. “Tell me he’s still breathing?”

“He’s groaning, Toshi,” Tokoyami said. “He’ll be fine.” She chirped a few times. “I think.”

“She really hit him hard!” Frog-Shadow said, adding her own opinion from Tokoyami’s shoulder.

“Poor Shota,” Izumi said. “Still, he lasted longer than I expected him to.”

“Well… that was definitely something,” Boost-Rush said. “Where’d you learn a move like that, Kaniyashiki?”

Kaniyashiki was busy helping Shinso back to his feet, but she looked over in the Rookie’s direction. “My Aunt Monika’s a police officer, sir,” she said, tossing off a salute with her free hand, before turning it into a crab-claw V. “She taught me a lot of self-defense stuff.”

“Well, tell her she did a good job,” Boost-Rush said. He looked to the larger group of U.A. and Shiketsu students. “And I think that’s our best example so far of why being able to fight without your Quirk is important. Shinso here has one of the most powerful Quirks in either class, and Kaniyashiki laid him out in two moves.”

The morning’s instruction had largely been focused on Quirkless exercises, directed by Boost-Rush. The powerfully-built Rookie was an extremely good hand-to-hand combatant, though he’d admitted that Doc Clock was even better than he was, something which had gotten Aizawa beaming with pride for all of about three seconds before his natural resting grump face had taken back over. Boost-Rush had put them through a number of exercises, before he’d set them up sparring. Eventually, they’d break off into pairs, but for now, they were also getting a bit of a show out of it, as he called different combinations to spar against each other and demonstrate what they’d learned so far.

A few students, mostly those with heavy mutation-type Quirks like Shoji and Bondo, had largely been exempted, and would get some other specialized instruction, since their Quirks were more innate Mutant types. Ground Zero, Aizawa, and a couple of the other Rookies were with them. Some of the others had also been peeled off for other types of training with some of the other Rookies.

He had to admit, though, it had been especially exciting when Boost-Rush had opened it with Kana against Kimiko Ojiro. As the two best martial arts in any of the classes, it had made sense. It hadn’t been one hundred percent Quirkless, since Ojiro couldn’t turn off her invisibility, but she’d wrapped her arms and legs, donned gloves, and wore the visor from her costume so that Kana would have a decent idea of where her limbs and face were.

It had been, in a word, spectacular. And not in a “two attractive girls fighting” sort of way (Though he’d be lying if he completely denied that part. His girlfriend was very hot. And also very scary when she went full out like that. He was starting to realize the comparisons to Kirishima-Bakugo weren’t entirely inaccurate.), but also in a “two incredibly skilled people giving it their all” sort of way. Kana’s style was more aggressive than Ojiro’s, focusing on powerful strikes and kicks, while Ojiro focused on speed and repeated strikes to confuse and disorient. Both of them were absolutely on the top of their game and on a completely different level than just about anyone else. Shiro Monoma had watched the whole thing with rapt attention.

“That,” Shinso said, “was so cool! She just grabbed my wrist, and the next thing you know, bam! I’m on the ground!” He stared at the 1-B girl with wide eyes. “You’ve got to teach me how to do that!”

That got a groan from Isamu, Midoriya, and Tokoyami. That would be Shinso all over. The kid was trying really hard lately, had been ever since the end of their Internships, but at that end of the day, he was still a ray of sunshine fanboy. Somethings just never changed.

Kaniyashiki threw back her head and let out a laugh. “Sure thing, shorty.”

“Hey!” Shinso said, crossing his arms as a grumpy look spread across his face. “I’m not that short!” Of course, he was the shortest one in the class, but he was also several months younger than most of them too…

“Anyway,” Boost-Rush went on, “next up, we’ve got… Haimawari against Awase!”

“Oh boy…”

***

Since he was dating their Class Representative, Isamu had gotten to know several of the members of Class 1-B reasonable well, and several more of them in passing. Bondo, Kaniyashiki, and Fukidashi were some of Kana’s best friends. The first two were a terrible twosome, usually cracking jokes and up to some small measure of no good, and both of them really loved antagonizing Monoma. And he had yet to determine whether or not Fukidashi was legitimately crazy or just extremely differently wired. He’d been surprised, though, to learn her mother was the support equipment designer, Bibimi Kenranzaki. Though honestly, that may have explained some of her more extreme tendencies.

He’d had several pleasant and lengthy conversations with the bat-like Koumori about music. Koumori’s musical choices tended themselves more to rock than pop, but they’d found some common ground in that both of them had an appreciate for the horse-headed American rock duo, Wild Stallions. And the giant Fukui seemed to be able to get along well with anyone. He’d even managed to make sure there were no hard feelings with the force field generating Kido, even after he’d bested him at the Sports Festival.

Hell, he’d even managed to have a couple civil conversations with Monoma. Even if the blond also did a lot of “I’m watching you” gestures at him when he thought no one else was looking.

Awase, on the other hand, he didn’t really know. The Vice Class Representative was studious and not particularly talkative. He’d probably said hello to him in passing, but beyond that, he didn’t know him. Awase was dark-haired and athletically built and, if Isamu remembered right, his Quirk had something to do with being able to fuse his molecules with other substances, taking on their properties. Not that that would matter much in a Quirkless spar.

He stepped into the circle that had been set up for sparring, watching Awase as he did the same.

“You can do it!” he heard Shinso call out, bringing a smile to his face.

“Show them what 1-B’s made of, Awase!” And that would be Monoma, as expected.

“You’ve got this, Isamu!” He heard Kana call out. Followed by, “What? He’s my boyfriend. I’ve got to support him.” Which was probably her defending herself against Monoma.

Awase dropped into a fighting stance, hands up, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Isamu on the other hand, dropped lower, legs spread wide, arms flared out to his sides. Even without his Quirk, his style was never going to be about all out brawling. Keep it fast and loose. He didn’t have the raw strength to do otherwise.

“Are you both ready?” Boost-Rush asked.

“Yes, Sensei,” Awase said simply.

“I’m ready,” he agreed.

“Then begin!”

Awase didn’t make any sounds as he charged forward, but he was telegraphing his right hook pretty badly. Isamu dropped all the way to the ground, like he would when using his Quirk and pivoted, swinging his leg out. It connected solidly with Awase’s leg, tripping him up and knocking him down.

But Awase was just as quick to spring back up, and Isamu got back to his feet, back-peddling away from a flurry of punches. “Oooffff!” All the air got knocked out of him as one of Awase’s punches connected with his stomach. Guy definitely had a lot of power behind him, even without his Quirk.

Isamu wasn’t completely helpless though, and he managed to get his hands up and ward off the next punch, just like Midoriya had taught him before the Sports Festival. He managed to fire off a few rapid fire punches of his own, putting Awase back on the defensive. Isamu had a few inches on the other boy and his arms and legs were longer too. It gave him a reach advantage that he pressed, throwing a couple more strikes to unbalance him.

Unfortunately, Awase was quicker on the recovery than he expected, delivering a punch that set his head spinning back around. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his blurring vision as Awase came in for another round of strikes.

This time, Isamu was able to dodge, bobbing this way and that, leaning and ducking out of reach of Awase’s blows. When he was fighting with his Quirk, he relied on movement, keeping out of the way, and staying just long enough to get a couple of hits in. There was no reason not to apply the same principle to Quirkless fighting.

“Stand still, dang it!” Awase shouted, after he’d missed with yet another blow.

“Ah,” Isamu said, “how about no?” He dodged again, ducking under another blow. His picked up his speed a little, so that he continued to circle Awase, letting him wear himself out trying to keep up and throwing blows. The other boy should have been aiming for where he was going to be, but instead kept trying to catch him, which resulted in most of his blows being too slow to hit anything or only scoring a glancing hit.

So he kept it up, dodging several more blows that way. Awase was definitely slowing down, starting to tire. So when he launched his next blow, Isamu moved as though to duck and dodge to the left, but instead came up with an uppercut, knocking Awase down once more (And ow, ow, ow, boy did that leave his hand smarting!).

“He did it! He did it!” Isamu heard Shinso shout, before hearing Tokoyami try to quiet him.

Awase let out a groan, before slowly getting back up to his feet. “Dang,” he grunted. “You’re fast as heck even without your Quirk.” Isamu could already see a bruise forming where he’d punched him. For a moment, things seemed like they were going to get tense, but Awase nodded decisively. “Good job. Easy to see why you won the Sports Festival.”

He offered a hand, and Isamu took and shook it, trying very hard to take the praise. He still had a lot of trouble believing his own win, even months out. But he was getting that self-confidence up. “Thanks,” he said.

The sound of applause broke the moment. “Good job, both of you,” Boost-Rush said. “Go see Bioshock if you feel like you need it.”

The Hero looked down at his clipboard. “Okay, next… Let’s have Kirishima-Bakugo and Tatsuma.”

***

Katsumi may not have had Papa’s shark-teeth, but she’d been told that her grin was very frightening indeed. Right now, her grin seemed to be so scary that several of her classmates and 1-B students were actively backing away from her. Sero had, in fact, let out a rather high-pitched shriek and leaped into Tensei Iida’s arms. At least Izzy had stayed by her side.

“You’re being deliberately frightening again,” Izzy said. There was a disapproving tone in her voice and Katsumi did feel a little bad about that. Disappointing Izzy was not something she liked doing. Maybe she could live with it for this the chance to teach the Shiketsu girl a lesson.

The giant girl was giving her a look that seemed to match her own. She stepped into the ring and for the smallest of moments, Katsumi wondered if she wasn’t biting off more than she could chew. Tatsuma’s overall build was comparable to her own. Both of them were muscular, especially for women, though Katsumi’s build was the result of rigorous training and hard work. She couldn’t tell it that was the case for Tatsuma or if it was related to her Quirk, not that she knew what that was. But Tatsuma had considerable height, reach, and weight on her. Katsumi was the second shortest person in the class, only barely taller than the Loud Kid. But it wouldn’t be Womanly to step away from a fight, no matter how big the other person was.

She didn’t know what Tatsuma’s deal was, why she thought she was so much better than U.A. students. Izzy had said something about Tatsuma having a good reason, but she also didn’t especially care. You disrespect her, you disrespect her friends, her school, she’d kick your ass, plain and simple.

“I look forward to educating you,” Tatsuma said. She cracked her knuckles. It was noisy. Definitely a show of intimidation. Katsumi approved of the strategy. If she was anyone else, it might have worked. But she was too damn tough to be scared by some wannabe from some pretentious school like Shiketsu.

“You can try,” Katsumi shot back. She rolled her neck casually, tensing the muscles in her arms. No backing down. Never let them think they can intimidate you. And give back as good as you got. She shot back with a glare of her own. It’d be a lot more satisfying to unleash some explosive hell on her, but punching would do pretty nicely.

“Oh hell no, this isn’t happening.”

Katsumi spun around, realizing it was Vanish Veil who had spoken. What the hell? This was like the time Toshi had tried to tell her that picking her battles didn’t mean she could pick all of them. Why were people so opposed to her using violence on the deserving?

“You two’ll kill each other and nobody’ll learn anything,” Vanish Veil said, crossing her arms. She sounded more annoyed than anything, but there was a little of what sounded like concern in her voice too.

“Don’t think I can take her, Old Lady?” Katsumi snapped.

“I told your dad I wouldn’t let you cause a scene, Brat,” Vanish Veil snapped back. Katsumi’s usually ability to wind Mahoro up was failing her here, it seemed. Damn it.

“You have a problem with my teaching choices?” Boost-Rush asked, approaching Vanish Veil. Katsumi could nearly hear the sneer in his voice. If she didn’t already know he was a Monoma, that would have confirmed it.

“Only when you don’t get the memo,” Vanish Veil told him flatly. She walked over and poked him hard in the chest with a finger. Her twintails swayed with the motion. “Pick somebody else, you sanctimonious ass.”

Boost-Rush just laughed at that. He was wearing his helmet, but Katsumi could hear the smugness in his voice. “Oh, if you insist,” he said, sounding as though he was the one doing Vanish Veil a favor. “Still… how about Park?”

Vanish Veil seemed to be weighing her options there, her mouth set in a frown. “Yeah, okay… that’ll probably be all right…”

***

Well, at least she’d get to show up one of those Shiketsu kids, Katsumi thought. Windbag was all right in extremely small doses, but the rest of them could go hang. Definitely time someone knocked one of them down a peg and she was very good at knocking. Didn’t really matter which. Could have just as easily been the pretty boy cat guy. He’d have probably been real satisfying to punch.

Park… Hmm. Katsumi considered herself pretty decent at reading people. Tatsuma was simmering fury, waiting to erupt, buried just barely below the surface. A lot like herself, really. Not that she’d admit that to anyone. She went from zero to one hundred in no time, even when the situation didn’t really call for it. It was pretty much a family trait. She had it, Dad had it, the Hag had it.

Park, though, Park was a quieter kind of angry. A cold one. As Katsumi began sizing her up, she wondered, possibly for the first time in her life, if she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew.

“And begin!” Boost-Rush called out.

Katsumi got her hands up and she and Park circled each other cautiously, both looking for an opening. She’d taken some different martial arts classes as a kid and she had had plenty of instruction from Dad and Papa, Uncle Deku, and even Ojiro’s dad. But overall, her style mostly focused on single, powerful moves, putting someone down with just a punch or two. It was best to take them out before they had a chance to be a threat.

“DIE!” she bellowed, throwing the first punch, a powerful left handed strike that had a lot of her weight behind it.

Park sidestepped her blow and came in close. Her hand snapped out and grabbed into the shirt of Katsumi’s gym uniform. Before she could even react, Park’s leg shot up, slamming into her side several times in rapid succession. Katsumi let out a growl and managed to shove her away, buying herself a little space.

“Okay,” she snarled. Her side was protesting furiously as she kept moving. “You got one in. Congratulations. But that’s all you’re going to get.”

Park’s expression didn’t change much, but one eyebrow raised slightly, as if to say I disagree. She calmly took a couple side steps, her eyes maintaining that cold indifference. “Angry already? If being struck upsets you, then you’re aspiring to the wrong profession.”

Katsumi knew the other girl was trying to get in her head. But knowing that didn’t make her any less angry about it. “I don’t know about you,” she growled, “but I was born to fight.” She shouldn’t have been talking either, she knew. Wasted breath. Maybe it worked for some people, like Horse Girl. Katsumi would, under duress, admit that Mineta had made provocation a weapon she could use. But that wasn’t her.

She charged, throwing a right hook at Park’s head. Park’s head shot to the left, her hand coming up and grabbing Katsumi’s wrist. In a single fluid motion, she bent and twisted it. Pain shot up her arm light a bolt of lightning, overriding her rage, overriding everything except for the white-hot sensation of pain. It felt like her wrist was one small increment of pressure away from snapping like a twig.

“I’m aware this would likely not work if you could use your Quirk, but since our esteemed instructors insist on this human cockfighting, I might as well emphasize their point. Though I suppose with your Sports Festival, you’re used to bread and circuses.” She twisted it more. “Perhaps if they bothered with a more extensive self-defense course this wouldn’t be necessary.”

Pain shot up Katsumi’s arm so intensely that she had to grind her teeth hard to keep from crying out. No way she’d give Park the satisfaction of hearing her scream. What the hell kind of fighting style was this? Aunt Ochaco had done a lot of the grab and flip stuff, but…

At least she still had her other hand free. With Park’s attention on her other arm, Katsumi brought her left hand in low for a body blow.

Park saw the blow coming and released the hold, but she wasn’t not fast enough to dodge all of it. She let out a small growl as Katsumi’s strike connected, though it was more of a solid graze than a full hit. She moved with the dodge, twisting and sending a kick up at Katsumi’s head.

Even if she wasn’t using a Quirk, Katsumi had to admit that Park was fast. Deceptively powerful too. She might have been impressed, if she wasn’t so damned angry. She saw the blow coming, fortunately, moving out of the way. Her right arm still hurt from the wrist grab, meaning her options were limited, but she knew how to play through the pain. She faked left, throwing a couple blows to try and get Park moving the way she wanted, then followed up with a roundhouse kick from the right.

Park had obviously been expecting punches, and hadn’t expected Katsumi to throw a proper kick. As she made to defend against the punches, the kick sent her down. She gathered herself quickly and rolled so that she came to be resting on the soles of her feet.

“That had to have been learned outside class.” Her look was harsh, judgmental somehow. “Makes sense with the amount of enemies the child of a pro hero has.”

Park got up, her eyes narrowing. “But how will that do against someone who’s had enemies the moment they were born?” She darted toward Katsumi, looking to launch a kick, but instead threw a straight-forward punch like something out of a street fight.

Okay, what the hell was that supposed to mean?! And sure, they’d all had some basic self-defense lessons, some of them more than others. You heard horror stories about the kids of Pro-Heroes being threatened or kidnapped. A few of them had even come damn close to it.

The punch hurt, leaving Katsumi seeing stars, her vision swimming. “You haven’t rung my bell yet,” she growled in the direction of what she hoped was the actual Park. The world was spinning and it felt like a struggle to stay upright, but she forced herself to keep fighting.

She moved quickly this time, throwing one punch after another. Not too much style, but plenty of power. Park was good and, as much as it pained her to admit it, more technically proficient than she was. But she had more raw power than the other girl. She just needed one really good punch to make an end of it.

Park dodged the punches, attempting to once more grab and twist Katsumi’s arms. This time, she was ready for that crap and kept herself moving too quickly to be caught. Katsumi’s style may have been straightforward, but the speed was forcing Park to stay on the defensive.

***

‘This is stupid. Beating each other for the sake of some trite lesson that could easily be fixed with a proper martial training program. Look at them: So self-important while others are thrown aside.’ Park’s thoughts raged through her mind. She cast a glimpse once more at Boost-Rush. ‘Alright you son of a bitch. You put a child in this situation. Don’t whine at me when the expected happens.’

***

Park darted as if dodging again, but grabbed the waistband of Katsumi’s pants, using the leverage to throw her down. It was a hard, bone rattling impact that knocked her senseless for a moment. Katsumi’s first instinct, drilled into her, is to protect her head, but Park snarled and instead threw a kick at her back.

The kick hurts, Katsumi’s damn sure that was one of her kidneys. The pain kept her down even as she tried to get herself back up. There wasno way she’s going to let herself be beaten like this. She’s one of the toughest damn U.A. students there is. Daughter of two Top Ten Heroes. Practitioner of the Art of Womanly Living. And when it comes to a fight, she doesn’t quit. Ever.

“You’re going down!” she screams, forcing herself back to her feet, swinging wildly.

“That’s my line.” Park dodged to the side again. Her arm shot out like a stone from a sling and grabbed Katsumi’s arm, wrapping her fingers around it in an iron grip. She twisted it, and used the momentum to drive Katsumi into the ground. Park hung onto her arm this time, pulling it back and locking in her grip behind Katsumi’s back.

***

A little more torque and she could easily break it. For a moment she felt herself wanting to. To share even a small ounce of the suffering. She looked into the crowd, and saw the kind rock girl who shared her faith. Akaya. She looked concerned and scared for her classmate.

“I’m not as good a Christian as I’d like to be.” She had told Akaya that. She turned away from her, looked at Katsumi’s struggling face, then looked back at the U.A. students and Rookies. She let go of Katsumi.

***

“This is stupid. Find another pawn.” Park then got up and walked toward her classmates, then past them entirely. Tatsuma tried to stop her, but she brushed her off.

Katsumi forced herself to her feet, her limbs absolutely aching. “Get… get back here,” she started to growl, eyes locked on Park’s retreating form. “I… I can do this… all day…”

She couldn’t lose to some pretentious Shiketsu brat. And she definitely wasn’t losing to someone who wouldn’t even stick around to assure their victory. Who just gave up in the middle of a fight like that? Especially one they were winning? None of it added up.

Wasn’t she worthy of fighting? Or finishing off?

What the hell was wrong with Park?!

Someone helped her to her feet. It was the Old Lady. Of course. “I’m fine,” she grunted. A lie. She was not fine. She didn’t think anything was broken, but she could practically feel the bruises growing in all kinds of uncomfortable places. There was still pain radiating from where she’d been kicked and she was still seeing double.

“You’re not fine,” Vanish-Veil said, sounding guilty. “C’mon. We’ll get you to my brother. Hopefully before your dad finds out about this…”

***

“She… she lost,” Toshi said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. The fight had been incredibly short, but incredibly brutal. It’d been deeply uncomfortable, even unsettling to watch. He’d wanted to intervene, no matter how much Katsumi would have yelled at him for it, but the sheer brutality had left him paralyzed where he stood. He was sure if it hadn’t been so quick, the Rookies surely would have intervened…/

It was only then that he realized that his arm was hurting and had been for some time. “Izumi…?”

“What? Oh! Oh my…!” Izumi quickly released her death grip on his arm and he could feel the circulation returning to it. Izumi was willowy and often looked like she’d blow over in a strong breeze, but she apparently had ferocious grip strength. “I’m so sorry, Toshi…”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. I think we were all a little shellshocked.”

“I don’t believe it,” Haimawari said. He was shivering, Toshi realized, and then realized he was too. Izumi must have been drawing in heat as she’d grown more and more frightened for Katsumi. “I saw it, but I still don’t believe it.”

Toshi never would have thought it possible either. He’d seen Katsumi lose, of course. The two of them were about evenly matched when they’d sparred in the past and he’d won about as many as he lost. And, of course, Katsumi had lost against Izumi during the Sports Festival. But those had been friendly competitions, between people who had known each other for years. This had been different. This had been a beating.

Both Katsumi and Park had been looking to prove something, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what it was for Park. He knew already, that Tatsuma didn’t think especially high of them. But it didn’t look like Park did either. He’d spent of a lot of time thinking over Tatsuma’s reasons for disliking the Hero System and what this class represented, and was still grappling with those. But he didn’t know what drove Park, not yet.

Katsumi, he knew, just wanted to prove she was better than the Shiketsu students. They’d gone after her pride and she really wasn’t the best decision maker where that was concerned.

He was also fairly certain this wasn’t something he could fix, wasn’t something he could make right. That was a hard admission for him to make. Dad had always said you couldn’t save everyone but that you still had to try. He’d thought maybe he could still try here, but after this…

Katsumi was his friend. And she was confident and powerful. She was one of the best fighters in the class, with a strong Quirk and an iron will. Even in friendly sparring with him, she just took every loss as a way to get stronger still. To see her humbled like that…

“Is it over?” Shota asked. Toshi looked over and jerked with surprise as he saw that Shota had his eyes scrunched up tight, with his hands over his ears.

Asuka put a reassuring arm around his shoulders. “It’s all right,” she told Shota, gently removing his hand from over his right ear with her other hand. “You can look now.”

“She didn’t win, did she?”

“I am afraid not,” Asuka replied.

“This will not be good,” Izumi said, worry filling her soft voice. “Even though her injuries can be treated, Katsumi will treat this as a grievous wound to her pride and a personal insult besides. She won’t let that go any time soon. And I fear what she may try in retaliation.”

“She’s right,” Asuka said. She chirped softly and worriedly. “Izumi, Toshi, you know her the best. What do we do?”

Toshi frowned. Tatsuma and Katsumi had been ready to tear each other apart, before Aunt Mahoro had intervened. She hadn’t objected to Park, but…

If they didn’t do something to try and buy a little peace with the Shiketsu students, then someone was just going to get hurt worse.

Looking around, he could see, not just the concern, but the anger, on so many of his classmates’ faces. Even many of the 1-B students looked disturbed by it, especially Monoma and Kana.

Of the Shiketsu students, only Tatsuma and Yoarashi were there. Park had walked off somewhere, and Tsuchikawa and the spider-girl were with one of the other training groups. Tatsuma was looking vaguely smug and satisfied, though Toshi couldn’t help but notice that she was also looking off in the direction Park had left. Yoarashi had gone pale and oddly quiet. Toshi didn’t know him as well as some of his friends, but he’d still known him for years. Yoarashi didn’t do quiet.

If they didn’t do something to try and make peace with the Shiketsu students, someone was going to get hurt.

Get hurt worse, he realized, as Aunt Mahoro led Katsumi away.

“Oookay,” Boost-Rush said, much of his earliest bravado gone. “That’s… that’s enough direct sparring for today. Why don’t we break into small groups to work on what’ve learned so far.”

A stupid, desperate plan dropped into his mind. He couldn’t exactly slip away, but… “I hate to ask you to lie,” Toshi whispered to Izumi, “but…”

Izumi nodded. She grasped his plan without him having to even say it. They’d been friends a long time. He wasn’t as close to her as Katsumi was, he wasn’t sure anyone could be as close as the two of them were, but Izumi was still one of his best friends. Hell, after a hopeless childhood crush on Nejire Togata, he’d had a crush on Izumi for a little while too, though he’d never worked up the courage to ask her out or anything. If nothing else, Katsumi’s looming presence in both their lives had made it clear if anyone really loved Izumi, it was her.

“I do believe I’m feeling a bit of a flare up,” she said, stretching exaggeratedly. I should probably go get checked out.”

***

Izumi arrived at the first aid station that Bioshock had set up. The Metabolic Hero was laying hands on Katsumi as she approached and she could see her friend’s bruises start to fade already and a bit of her color return. Bioshock’s Quirk was not quite the cure-all that Doctor Izumi’s was, but it was still very effective. She knew now, from what she had read, that he had run himself ragged during Plague’s assault on Japan, pushing himself nearly to death’s door until Uncle Izuku and his sister had literally had to drag him away from the hospital wards.

“Okay,” Bioshock told Katsumi, “I think that should be good. Nothing broken, thank goodness.” His features darkened. “What the hell was Boost-Rush thinking? Dammit…”

He shook his head, his eyes going wide as he realized he’d spoken out loud. “My apologies. That was unprofessional.”

Katsumi waved him off. “Eh, you said what you said, Doc. Own it.” Her red eyes had locked with Izumi’s. For all the fierceness and bravado Katsumi put on for the rest of the world, Izumi could easily tell when she was faking it. Such as now.

“Oh, hey, Todoroki,” Bioshock said when he noticed her. “Everything all right?”

“I’m feeling a bit fatigued,” Izumi told him. She spoke each word carefully, trying to project some measure of exhaustion into her voice. She was tired, but not that tired. “I fear this new schedule is playing havoc with my body.”

Bioshock looked between her and Katsumi for a moment, then his expression changed ever so slightly. “Oh, sure,” he said. “Let me go check the coolers, see if we’ve got anything with some electrolytes for you. Why don’t you keep Kirishima-Bakugo company while I’m gone?” He gave them a little wave as he walked off.

Katsumi just gave her a look as she took a seat next to her, in one of the small folding chairs. It wasn’t especially comfortable, but that was of little importance. “You are the worst liar I have ever met, Iz.”

“What?” Izumi asked. “But Bioshock…”

“He was humoring you, Iz.”

Oh. Well. She supposed that was all right. She was still able to achieve her goal of getting to talk to Katsumi. Though perhaps she could work on the lying? Heroes did need to sometimes, well, not exactly lie, but certainly project more hope and certainty than they might have been otherwise feeling.

“Are you all right?” she asked instead. “Not physically,” she added quickly. “That much I could see.”

Katsumi looked down at the dirt. “That wasn’t a fight, Iz.” The words were said so quietly that Izumi could barely hear her.

“That level of brutality was well outside the bounds of a friendly spar,” she agreed. “Though you too were quite ready to rise to violence.”

Katsumi’s head snapped up, a snarl starting to pull at her lips. “Damn right I was. Did you see the way that giant was looking down her nose at us? She disrespected me and she disrespected the school. I had to teach one of them a lesson.”

“Did you?” Izumi asked, when she was certain Katsumi’s rant had finished. “Or were you just seeking conflict?”

“So I like a good fight,” Katsumi replied, looking rather annoyed still. “Is that a crime?”

“How badly would you have hurt one of them?” Izumi asked instead. Answering Katsumi’s question would do no good to anyone, and likely lead to a very circular conversation. Sometimes you had to point Katsumi in the direction you wanted her to go. Even if you usually had to make her think it was her idea.

“Broken nose, maybe,” Katsumi said, shrugging. “I just really wanted to punch one of them.”

She sighed. “But that wasn’t a fight, Iz. That was a damned beatdown. She was toying with me. Whatever damn style she was practicing, it’s damn good at causing a lot of pain. And… she’s better than me.”

Katsumi trailed off. She’d said something, but so softly that Izumi couldn’t hear it. “I’m sorry,” she said, “what?”

“I said she’s better than me!” Katsumi snapped. “She could have kicked my ass from here back to U.A., up and down both sides of the street, easy. But she wanted to make it hurt and she wanted to make sure everybody saw it.” Her fists were clenched hard, her knuckles going white. “This wasn’t even about putting me in my place. She was making a damned statement. Hell if I know what it was though…”

Katsumi bolted up out of her chair suddenly, grabbing it and spinning around sharply, letting it go flying through the air. It landed several feet away, bouncing a few times before it finally stopped. Izumi would give her friend credit: she’d expected it to explode.

Katsumi was visibly shaking and Izumi rose to embrace her. Katsumi’s strong arms soon found their way around her and Katsumi’s head came to rest against her. As Izumi held her, Katsumi’s shaking began to subside.

“I’m supposed to be the toughest woman around here, Iz,” Katsumi said quietly, but there was a growing fire to her words. “This isn’t over.”

Katsumi was right. For more reasons than she thought. If they didn’t do something soon, to try and bridge the gap between the two schools, things could very likely explode, in more ways than one.

#my hero academia #their hero academia #toshi midoriya #katsumi kirishima-bakugo #izumi todoroki #isamu haimawari #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing

5 notes · View notes

ssvgawara · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu characters as things said in the hhcu

a/n: this is pure humor and just something fun, the hhcu is wild and says stupid shit more than once a day so i complied a ridiculously long list of quotes and put them together in this list to share with yall so please enjoy, read more because again this is so long also pt 2. some of these r pretty nsfw so uh yeah <3

Oikawa: When he gives up his torso 😍

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Nishinoya: Fisherman daddy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto: I trust no condiments

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Osamu: YELLOW BAD OIKAWA IS NOT ALLOWED IN MY KITCHEN

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tendou: Give ass in shiratorizawa?

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu: Garlic air freshener

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Nishinoya talking about his sex life: ITS THE GOOD OL FASHIONED POW POW GRUNT GRUNT WINDOW WASHER ULTIMATE FRISBEE DICK CONNECTOR

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata: thank you!! also my oven melted??? and caught on fire 😰

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Yaku probably thinking abt kuroo while saying this: not gonna front im terrified of the live action grinch and if i ever see him its on sight

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kageyama: Except that one mustard faze I had

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Lev after yaku kicks him yet again: NO INCH ACTIVE INCH VERY ACTIVE

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Suga after Kiyoko holds his hands: premarital eye contact is already a sin

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Iwaizumi realizing Oikawa probably wouldn’t know the difference between hawaiian rolls and milk bread: when he says hit it till it breaks, he means the packaging of hawaiin rolls

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

All of Seijoh to Oikawa: You know whats really sexy? Self care.

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hoshihumi: like a three year old. still baby but also evil at times🤡

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Oikawa right before his death: "MORNING HAJI!~" slaps tiddie

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Anyone falling on love with haikyuu boys: hey a good reverse harem never hurt anyone

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Idk who says it but terushima would do this: places his hand to my heart but then hes like heh heh boob squishy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tendou: centrepical force saved my bag of chocolate!!

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Lev thinking it was a literary masterpiece: *reads about a fourth of the bee movie*

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata making fun of Kageyama: milk is better than the feeling of the ball touching your fingertips during a perfect set

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata and Kageyama failing tests: thats just the dumbass in me babey!!!

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu simply trying to annoy Osamu: Are y’all meaning to tell me you DON’T take your raw chicken on walks through the city?

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Yahaba: PUSSY ALWAYS LEAVES

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Mattsun just to annoy everyone: yall ever think about how in the 50s and 60s they just put raw hotdogs or shrimp into jello and ate that shit and enjoyed it???

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Suga: i am now crying and my boyfriend is concerned and i can’t tell him that I’ve lost my husband and children

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kenma; Smh my head

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto: Sorry not all of us can have double decker extra stuffed bottoms up extra large super sized t n a like me🥰🥰💅💅

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Everyone to bokuto: titty enthusiast ✨✨

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Me to kuroo: sorry babe youre a scorpio you dont have any rights anymore

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tendou: i accidentally lit a baby on fire

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu: This feels real human centipede

Bokuto: theyre not ass to mouth

Atsumu: Close enough

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto when a minor inconvience happens: Why are we still here? Just to suffer? Every day, I wake up....

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Sakusa: Remove your lips from my penis

Atsumu: I use a gluestick as chapstick i cant

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Goshiki: Arson or boot in my book, set fire to something live a little

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tsukishima: I don’t like recieving pain. It hurts

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kenma annoyed w kuroo: Put your dick in the fucking catfish’s pussy then

Kuroo being annoying: How deep is catfish pussy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Makki to Mattsun: Ayo babe what if we fucked on the catfish tank

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kiyoko tiredly, to Tanaka: I’m not putting salt and pepper on my pussy lips

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Saeko: I’ve got that Deep dish, super soaker, wet, succulent dripping honey suckle like sweet marinated mooseknuckle, extra thick, slip n slide, water park, waterbender, extra ribbed, the seven seas, gorilla grip, flex tape, primordial soup Dwayne the Rock Johnson, Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion pussy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu not really knowing what cooch means: I got the body builder cooch

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Oikawa after not sleeping to train, extremely sleep deprived: youre got unending

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Goshiki; Commit arson

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Akaashi: I leave for 10 minutes and Bokuto is 240v (mouth edition) fuckmaster pro 4000 with semen drip collection tray, automated self-lubricating 6 speed pulsating pussy and built in Polycrystalline floatable silicon

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Oikawa; I’m coming to murk your ass xoxo

Iwa: I will literally shiv you bitch

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kindaichi: ✨ bob duncan exterminates you asmr✨

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Makki: I’ll try to find my favorite about Jacob sartorius vampire babies with Hillary Clinton

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kenma after playing some obscure video game: also i can’t sleep😔 too busy thinking about human sized bats

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

ME fuck yall im carpetting my bathroom: you already put rugs in the bathroom might as well carpet that bitch

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kuroo talking abt something sciency idk: LIKE A BODY WIG

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Seijoh when iwa throws balls at oikawa: spousal abuse right in front of my salad

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata making up some new stupid song: Ants on a log ants on a log

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu to piss off Osamu once more: world f amous allegra chicken

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Semi: Gay little Ushijima’s left hand

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto: Are you disagreeing with the fact that I am thicc as phuck

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kiyoko: Guys is it uh... is it possible to sprain a titty cause.... Uh....

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Terushima: He laughed at the end of his own joke what a fuckin chad

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bokuto: IS THAT THE DOG FROM ZOOTOOIA

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kageyama: milk is kinda like organ paint huh

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Nishinoya: i don’t think socks taste good

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Tendou: out of your mummy, into my tummy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata; shout out to me who thought chickens had four legs until last summer

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Oikawa Hanger: I WANNA HANG MY CLOTHES ON HIM

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kenma: What a little pissbaby

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Yamaguchi: i am literally so curious about what it's like to kiss a boy that it's almost killing me

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Daichi about Suga: he may be cute, but istg there’s some kind of raging devil trapped in him

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Saeko: fuck society my titties are out

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Hinata after getting lecture by everyone for sneaking into the training camp: GOOD NEWS MY DAD IS NOT GOING TO PUT ME IN THE OVEN

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Just me thinking abt any first years: children. toddlers. Tikes.

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Me waiting for the fever: When is malaria?

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Uhhhhh probably tendou his vibes: Ill electrocute his cock

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Akaashi just go w it probably about bokuto: Why is he shoving cheese up the pussy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Osamu tiredly: Ooey gooey cheesy chicken vagaina

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Nishinoya trying to catch a very large fish: Dom the Crab

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Bonus crabagraph: The crabs death reverberated and struck fear into the hearts of all crabs in existence because of this one 60+ year old mans volatile universe-crunching swing. Dude defied the laws of gravity by simply getting pinched by the crab. Man just reinvented the laws of physics and all of science due to the sheer force of will and untapped wellsprings if potential unleashed by the crab. If aliens show up it’s because the supersonic radio waves released by the banging of the crab against the cabinet are the first ever created in the universe. Man could cause a ripple in space-time with his crab launching abilities. Guy probably opened a gateway into another universe when he launched the crab. You see how the cabinet door opened and stayed open? It’s because this elder tore a hole through the fabric of reality to the Other Side simply because he experienced a minor bit of pain. The way he released a defeated roar of agony. The ancient gods awoke from their deep slumber and this old man single-handedly revived all his ancestors. New wars are about to start because of the way this man broke the barriers containing this reality into one fixed area. This universe is now expanding at such a rapid rate the the geosphere will now be reshaped. This man probably unknowingly blasted a hole in the other side of the planet because the shockwaves of the aggressive rippling effect of this poor crustacean slamming at lightning speed into a small wooden frame. The crabs insides were probably fused into the shell because this man’s angry, rage filled, pain filled battering ram of an arm throwing him through every known dimension and re-arriving in this one at the mere moment to experience the most pain a crab ever has or will in the rest of the existence of crabs. This elderly man probably has phased through and broken every human limiter known to man just because he got a minor pinch by a crab. He probably is bio-medically fused with crab DNA at this point. A legend.

20 notes · View notes

hartigays · 4 years

Note

Could you also maybe do a sick fic where Steve gets sick? I love a good angsty sick fic but I feel like it's always Billy getting sick. Thank you so much! Love you and your superbly gorgeous writing!!! 💛💛💛

steve feels like shit.

it’s the first thing he recognizes upon waking up. his head feels like there’s a construction crew drilling away at it, and his throat is on fire. like it’s been rubbed raw with some steel wool. he can’t breathe through his nose, the pressure of his congestion making his face throb.

groaning, steve burrows deeper into his covers, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the persistent ringing in his ears.

his parents are out of the country for the next two weeks. in germany, maybe? steve can’t really remember what they told him. he can’t remember much of anything right now. other than that he’s basically on his fucking own with this shit.

except - oh, god. his history midterm. that’s fucking - fuck. that’s today. steve presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard enough that he sees stars. rolls out of bed, lands on the floor with a soft thump.

today is clearly just not going to be his day.

steve can’t muster the energy to get up. instead, he drags himself across the floor. little by little. reaches the bathroom, throws an assortment of bottles from under the cabinet at the light switch until the room floods with light.

it’s too bright. his head gives a hearty throb. steve grips the edge of the bathroom counter and heaves himself off the ground. or tries to, anyway. it takes him a few tries before he’s upright, both of his feet under him.

getting ready is hard. he can realistically only brush his teeth and scrub on some deodorant. his hair is just going to have to look like a rat’s nest today. he doesn’t even bother looking in the mirror before stumbling out of the house.

steve doesn’t remember getting to school. he knows he drove, given that he’s sitting in the parking lot. the beemer is practically diagonal in the parking space.

he’s still in his sweats and a t-shirt, the look complete with three layers of sweaters and the biggest coat he could find. somehow, steve is both boiling and freezing. he’s definitely running a fever.

mr. osborne doesn’t comment on steve’s appearance when he stumbles into the classroom. he does, however, set steve’s exam on the corner of his desk instead of handing it to him directly. steve clumsily grabs it off the desk, trudging slowly to his seat.

the font on the paper is too small. or maybe steve’s eyes are just super out of focus. either way, it makes his brain pulse. his head feels like it’s full of wet cement, and steve is pretty sure his skin is on fire.

the room feels like it’s spinning. maybe he’s dying? steve thinks he’d be okay with that. no, he’d definitely be okay with that. if it saves him from being conscious right now, he’ll take it.

it doesn’t take steve long to just start circling random answers. he’s finding it harder and harder to stay upright and he just needs to be done. no one says a word when he drops his exam on the teacher’s desk and practically flings himself out the door.

he’s cold now. too cold. steve is forgetting rather quickly what warmth feels like. he needs to get to his car but he’s starting to forget where that is, too. he just keeps walking. ends up in the boy’s locker room.

steve slumps against a row of lockers. slides down to the ground with a groan and puts his head between his knees. if he dies here, so be it. he only wishes he’d made it the few extra feet to the showers, so he could die happily under the warm spray of water.

he must fall asleep, or black out, or something. because the next thing steve knows, he’s coming to with the sound of his name ringing in his ears.

“harrington. harrington. jesus christ.”

steve makes a noise of protest at the feeling of someone’s hands on his face. it makes the pressure in his head double. there’s a warm hand covering his forehead, and another tucked under his chin, holding his head up.

“fuck off, dad.”

distantly, he hears someone snort.

“‘m not your fuckin’ dad, harrington,” the person says.

the voice is familiar? kind of. steve’s ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton - everything sounds distorted and distant. steve finally blinks at the person hovering in his line of sight. and - jesus. of course. of course it had to be him.

“billy? what’re you doing in my bathroom?”

the look billy gives him is both amused and exasperated. it’s an unfamiliar look for him.

“i hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…” billy starts, then pauses, brushing the sweat-matted hair from steve’s forehead. “last time i checked, this wasn’t your bathroom.”

steve blinks, glancing around. they’re surrounded by lockers and the stench of dirty gym socks. right. he’s still at school, dying a slow death on the grimy locker room floors.

“leave me here to die,” steve whines, his head falling back against the cool metal behind him. “my time has come.”

an honest-to-god laugh escapes billy’s lips. steve has to be dead. because he’s pretty sure billy hargrove is physically incapable of laughter.

“c’mon, pretty boy. can’t stay here forever,” billy coaxes once he sobers. “up and at ‘em.”

steve doesn’t move. billy doesn’t seem to care. he wedges both hands under steve’s armpits before hauling him off the ground, almost effortlessly.

and okay, steve knows billy is strong. he’s seen billy without a shirt on more times than he’s seen him dressed - he knows the guy is built like a truck. but steve hadn’t been expecting billy to be able to scoop him up with ease, like he’s nothing more than a rag doll.

it makes steve feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with his fever. it’s good that he’s sick - he likes having something to blame that feeling on. something other than the truth.

billy has one arm wrapped around steve’s waist. he slings one of steve’s arms around his neck, grabbing his hand to keep it in place. billy guides them out of the locker room with more patience than steve would’ve ever thought possible.

“where’s your car?” billy asks once they hit the parking lot, still supporting the majority of steve’s weight.

steve doesn’t think before burying his face into billy’s shoulder, shielding his eyes from the offending sunlight.

“what’s a car?”

“mother of god, harrington. fuckin’ useless,” billy groans. his voice is almost inaudible when he says, “you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

steve still hears it.

the camaro smells like cigarettes and billy’s cologne. steve lets billy tuck him into the passenger’s seat. doesn’t protest when billy leans in close to buckle him in.

the drive is a black spot in steve’s memory once again. one minute, billy is backing out of his parking space, and the next, they’re sitting in steve’s driveway.

billy pulls his keys from the ignition, then disappears out into the sunlight. a moment later, he’s guiding steve out of the car and into the house. steve is covered in a layer of sweat, so he must’ve been hot on the drive over. but he’s back to freezing again, his teeth chattering.

“you need to knock that fever down,” billy orders, kicking the door shut with his heel. “think you can handle that? i gotta get back for practice.”

steve nods slowly. billy releases him from his grip, and steve immediately folds in on himself, collapsing on the ground with a disgruntled moan.

“guess that answers that question,” billy mutters, squatting down next to steve. “you got anyone you can call, pretty boy? someone who can come stay with you?”

mentally thumbing through every person he knows, steve makes a face. shakes his head. because no, he doesn’t.

his parents probably wouldn’t fly home even if steve keeled over and died. his only friends at this point are middle schoolers. nancy is most certainly not an option. he could try jonathan, but he’s obviously still back at school and more than likely has work right after. god knows he can’t miss a fucking shift.

“‘m good. all good. super duper,” steve rambles, just on this side of delirious. “go to bed, jimmy.”

billy sighs, staring up at the ceiling with a look that screams this guy really is fucking hopeless.

“alright, alright. let’s get you in bed,” billy says, shaking his head in defeat.

he hauls steve up off the ground. somehow manages to drag steve’s nearly lifeless body up the stairs and into his room. billy tries to let steve down onto the bed gently, but steve slips from his grip and face-plants onto his mattress.

“mmm,” steve sighs appreciatively, swinging his legs onto the bed and curling up into a ball. “‘s like a cloud. soft cloud. fluffy…”

billy just gives him a look, one brow raised. “yeah? well, do me a favor and don’t leave the cloud, alright? i’ll be back soon.”

steve doesn’t remember where billy said he’s going. he doesn’t have the chance to ask, because billy disappears from his bedroom a moment later. he probably wouldn’t have had the strength to form a sentence anyway.

he lets his eyelids flutter shut. drifts for a while, in and out of consciousness. his body feels hot and cold all the while, and fever dreams do nothing to settle the tension building at the base of his neck.

the dreams are the same ones he always has, but also - not. they’re darker, more intense. more vivid. steve is pretty sure he can actually feel the bite of the demo-dog’s teeth shredding his calf. the impact of his nail bat colliding with the side of his head. the terrifying chill that settles in his bones when the mind flayer looms over him.

the life draining from the bodies of his friends.

steve comes to with a scream dying on his tongue. he sits up wildly, drenched in sweat. swings himself over the side of his bed and grabs his bat in one smooth motion. doesn’t think before swinging.

“jesus - fuck! the fuck, harrington? what the fuck - what are you doing? why do you even fuckin’ have that?”

the bat clatters to the floor, falling from steve’s hands. he looks at billy in horror, an apology stuck in his throat. “fuck, i’m - god, i’m so sorry. shit.”

“shit is right,” billy mutters. but he doesn’t leave.

he stays perched on the side of steve’s bed. leans in and rests his palm over steve’s forehead. swears under his breath when he does.

“if you’re done trying to kill me,” billy starts, still eyeing the discarded bat warily, “you need to take these. you gotta get that fever down.”

“sorry, i just. dreams. bad dreams,” steve says. a shudder runs through him, one that has nothing to do with his fever. his dreams still have his spine in their icy grip.

“that why you keep that under your bed? for some stupid fuckin’ dreams?”

steve makes a face, his cheeks burning. “they’re not - forget it. point is, i’m sorry.”

billy gives him a calculating look, his expression unreadable. then, he stretches out a hand. steve takes the concoction of pills gratefully, choking them down dry. billy rolls his eyes, grabbing the tea that steve had yet to spot from the side table and handing it to him.

“‘s good,” steve acknowledges, sipping the drink almost greedily. it warms his icicle fingers better than any blanket.

“mom’s recipe,” billy tells him, seemingly without thinking. he steels his expression immediately after, clearing his throat. “drink it all, it’ll help.”

“thanks.” steve continues to sip at his tea. “you don’t have to stay, you know. ‘m feeling better. i can take it from here.”

billy snorts. shakes his head. “yeah, good one. last thing i need is to see your dumbass on the news for trying to jump into the quarry after having one of your fuckin’ dreams again.”

that has nothing to do with steve being sick. he looks up sharply, giving billy a strange look. billy is staying with him because of his dreams now? if that’s the case, well. billy should be prepared for an extended fucking stay. steve says as much.

“beats going home,” is all billy says in response.

he gets up wordlessly, exiting steve’s room. steve hears his footsteps stomp down the stairs. continues to sip at his tea, rolling billy’s words around in his head.

it’s weird, knowing billy cares. it’s weird having billy be gentle with him, period. sick or not. but it seems like something practiced, something that billy has done a thousand times before.

he makes a mental note to ask him about that later.

for now, steve polishes off his tea. flops back onto his pillows, and falls into another restless slumber. this time, he dreams of blue eyes and heated, secret touches in dark corners.

he has to change his boxers when he wakes up.

his fever is down, though. at least a few degrees. steve gets changed, tossing his soiled boxers in his laundry basket, his cheeks flushed bright red. makes his way downstairs, noting that the sun has completely set.

steve hears the tv before he sees billy. pads into the living room, feeling his stomach flip flop at the sight of billy lounging on his couch. he just so happens to be in steve’s favorite spot, curled up under steve’s favorite throw blanket.

“fever’s down,” steve says, alerting billy of his presence. “not sure if that’s because of the meds, or the tea. either way, thanks for both.”

billy glances up at him, his brows coming together in mild concern. “you should be in bed.”

“and you should be home, not laying on my couch worrying about my sorry ass,” steve tells him with a shrug. moves to sit next to billy on the couch, eyes fixed on the tv without really taking in what’s playing.

“well. clearly, someone’s gotta.”

steve flinches, but doesn’t deny the truth to billy’s words. because honestly, he’s right. if billy doesn’t, no one will. and steve has clearly demonstrated that being on his own is not an option at the moment.

he’s about to speak, but billy beats him to it. “i, uh. made you some soup. chicken noodle, or what the fuck ever. ‘s in the fridge. just gotta warm it up.”

steve nods appreciatively. his stomach turns at the thought of food, but it also grumbles desperately. of all the things he has to eat in this house, soup seems to be his safest bet. he thanks billy before heading into the kitchen.

he’s just setting the time on the microwave when billy bursts in, waving steve away with an exaggerated sigh.

“who fuckin’ raised you, harrington? stovetop. always stovetop for soup,” billy lectures, shooing him away from the microwave.

steve watches him pull out a decent-sized pot, pouring the soup from his bowl into it before beginning to heat it on the stove.

“who raised you that made you so damn good at this shit?” steve asks incredulously, rolling his eyes.

billy clears his throat and turns fully towards the stove. doesn’t speak for a long moment, until, “mom did. ‘fore she died.”

steve swallows around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat. “oh. i’m - shit. i’m sorry.”

all he gets in response is a half-hearted shrug, with billy’s back still to him. the silence stretches on, though it’s more melancholic than uncomfortable. soon, billy is dumping the soup back into the bowl, placing it and a spoon in front of steve.

“long time ago, harrington,” billy finally says. places the same mixture of meds on the counter beside him. “keep taking these. should knock that fever down completely by morning.”

“how’d she die?” steve blurts, then gives billy a horrified look. “jesus christ, i’m sorry. that wasn’t - i didn’t mean to pry. forget i asked.”

billy looks like he’s torn between wanting to turn and walk away, and wanting to genuinely answer the question.

steve is a little more than surprised when billy chooses the latter.

“brain cancer. she got sick a lot, during treatment. took care of her after her surgeries and shit, too. fuck knows dad never did.”

“do you miss her?” steve asks, quietly. doesn’t bother poking more at that bit of information about his father. knows that there’s a limit to this conversation.

“‘course,” billy says, his voice hot. irritated. then, that heat drains out of him, and he just looks tired. “wouldn’t you?”

steve looks down at his now half-empty bowl. feels that lonely echo bounce around in his chest. “uh, i don’t - i don’t really know. can’t say i know her very well.”

billy has this look of dawning realization on his face, before the shutters close over his expression once again. he gestures to the bowl in front of steve. says, “finish up. i’ll clean up when you’re done.”

steve does as he’s asked. if he’s good at one thing, it’s doing what’s expected of him. he’s got that going for him, at least.

true to his word, billy cleans up when steve is finished. then, heads back into the living room wordlessly. steve doesn’t ask if he’s allowed to follow - he just does it anyway. like, fuck it. it’s his house.

they take the same spots as before, but it feels different. it’s been like, twenty minutes max, but with the information that has just been shared between them, the silence between them is more amicable than anything.

“thanks,” steve says suddenly, peeling his eyes from the tv. “y’know, for helping me out today.”

billy shrugs. “‘s no big. you needed it.”

“yeah, well. you don’t see anyone else around offering a hand, do you?”

“point taken,” billy snorts. “you’ve got some shitty friends, you know that?”

“they have their reasons,” is all steve says. defensive.

because they do. steve knows that better than anyone. they all can hardly take care of themselves, much less each other. it comes with the monster-fighting territory. he’s long since gotten used to that - to them leaning on each other when the world is in danger of ending, and being lost in their own lives when things are calm.

what’s truly unfamiliar is having someone around that actually seems to want to take care of him. to offer help and support. steve knew people like that existed, objectively. he just never fucking expected billy hargrove to be one of them.

“sure they do,” billy tells him, his voice carefully neutral. “‘but ‘til they get their shit together, all you get is me.”

“‘s not so bad,” steve says, voice quiet.

steve doesn’t know if his subconscious intended it, but their knees knock together when steve says it. billy looks at him sharply, suddenly watching him like a hawk.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

another long stretch of silence follows. it seems to be a common occurrence between them. steve doesn’t mind as much as he would’ve thought.

soon, though, that tension begins to build again at the base of his neck. it happens every time he gets a fever, feeling like someone poured a gallon of wet concrete right where his spine meets his neck. steve rubs at it with a grimace, and billy notices.

“you should go lay down, get some more rest,” billy advises, eyeing him warily.

“i don’t want to be - um,” steve starts, then breaks off in the middle of his sentence. flushes cherry red. “i mean - i want to see the end. of the movie.”

billy gives him a long look, his brows raised in disbelief. steve thinks he’s going to push that, ask more questions, but he doesn’t. he just sits up, starting to move out of his spot.

“then lay down here, if you’re gonna be such a baby about it.”

steve glares at him without any real heat. “‘m not taking your spot.”

billy huffs out a disbelieving sigh, his eyes cast up at the ceiling. “fuckin’ hell, harrington. you’ve got like, ten couches. i think i’ll be alright.”

“but you were comfortable.”

they stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but in reality was probably only about fifteen seconds.

then, billy lays back down, slowly but surely. keeps his eyes on steve the entire time. gestures to steve, then his chest. “fuckin’ come on, then.”

steve’s mouth pops open in surprise. “wait, you want me to - you’re just gonna - me? on you?”

billy cracks a small half-smile, steve is sure of it. it’s fleeting, but it’s there. “would you quit being such a fuckin’ whiny baby about everything and lay the fuck down?”

steve moves quickly, before billy can change his mind. shifts to lay down on billy, squirming and adjusting until he gets comfortable. he’s laying pretty much face-down on billy, his face pressed into his chest. he turns his head so that his cheek is resting there instead, so he can breathe, and also so he can see the tv. billy slings an arm around him casually, eyes turned back to the movie.

seemingly completely relaxed and nonchalant.

steve, on the other hand, feels tense and stiff as a board. too scared to move, for fear that billy will shove him away and tell him to get lost.

that is, until billy’s hand comes to rest at the small of steve’s back, his thumb making these little soothing circles into one of the dimples at the base of his spine. it’s through the shirt, but steve goes pliant anyway, bonelessly relaxed. drifts off again, this time with the grounding weight of billy beneath him.

steve doesn’t dream this time. in fact, he thinks it’s the most restful sleep he’s gotten in a while. he pries his eyes open when his brain starts to come back online, an hour or so later, emitting a soft groan of appreciation at the feeling of billy’s fingers running through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

“you okay? ‘m not hurting you, am i?” billy asks, looking down at him with mild concern.

“feels good,” steve sighs into billy’s chest, curling deeper into his warmth. “keep doin’ it.”

billy answers with a soft snort, his fingers continuing their journey through his hair.

“you’re pretty cute when you’re not tryna punch me in the face,” steve mumbles, without thinking. his eyes pop open in horror, and he sits up a little, about to begin his ten part apology.

billy beats him to the punch. “yeah, well. you’re pretty cute when you’re fuckin’ helpless as shit. and when you sleep. you snore like a puppy, you know that?”

steve is pretty sure his cheeks flush tomato red. billy thinks he’s cute. since when the fuck did that happen?

he’s about to ask, but the hand billy isn’t using to comb through his hair comes up, cupping steve’s jaw. his thumb catches on steve’s bottom lip, and he gives him a soft smile. and like, since when the fuck did that happen?

billy hargrove and soft are not two things that naturally coexist. and yet, here they are, billy holding him like he’s a porcelain doll and telling him he’s cute.

steve really fucking wants to kiss him. even shifts forward to do so, but billy stops him.

“nuh-uh. no sir. not kissin’ you while you’ve got a fever,” billy tells him, shaking his head.

steve pouts a little, but can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across his face. “but you do want to kiss me?”

“would i be touchin’ you like this if i didn’t?”

“i dunno, would you?” steve asks, voice quiet. it’s meant to come out as teasing, but he can’t help the insecurity that bleeds into it.

billy gives him a soft look. tugs steve up close, before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. then, tucks steve into his neck, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tight. safe and sound.

“no, i wouldn’t.”

steve lets out an audible sigh of relief. it was obvious to begin with, sure. but he’s been burned before. just had to double check, for the sake of his own sanity.

“fine. but for the record, as soon as this fever breaks, you’re in for a hell of a makeout session,” steve vows, pressing a series of lingering kisses to billy’s neck.

billy just laughs, his arms winding around him just a bit tighter.

“yeah, yeah. i’m holding you to that, princess.”

and steve? well, he’s beyond okay with that. he’s never been one to break a promise, anyway.

#i know this is a lot later than promised but here u go honey 💕#hope this satisfies your craving for sick!steve #sure as hell satisfied mine!!#harringrove #my fics #ask #j2badwolfclevergirl

484 notes · View notes

amatchforyourmadness · 4 years

Text

as stars that wait to fall (in love)

Chapter: 2/40

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia × star!Jaskier | Dandelion

Words: 3265

[ AO3 link ]

Geralt could not for the life of him figure out if all stars were supposed to be this insufferable, mud-throwing, hissing dirty mouthed creatures that just so happened to look pretty only when hanging in the sky, when they were thousands of miles away, a safe distance from mud and from his face (and Roach) or if he had lucked out with his find. He doesn't have one word to give him that doesn't come heavy with cursing and insults after, he only glares or scoffs at him and whenever Geralt so much as steps near his personal space he bares his teeth as if to remind him how he almost lost a chunk of his sword arm.

Yet, he finds that he's all soft spoken and reassuring words to the girl — Fiona, he called her — and smiles too, smiles that don't match at all with the 'I'll bite your balls out, try me' look he had received over breakfast when trying to hand him a loaf of old bread. He has the nerve to take the piece of bread from him, only to look at it confusedly, nip the old crust lightly, and twist his face in distaste and offer a hungry Cirilla the piece, which she takes eagerly.

He considers strangling the man then, but he has self control, Vesemir taught him self-control, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath from time to time and almost achieve inner peace while at it.

Birdsong fills the morning as the sun creeps higher in the sky and Geralt watches the horizon, a falcon floats above and he can hear the distinct sounds of fleeing wild creatures from the loud sounds from the star’s struggling along on a makeshift crutch, grumbling loudly and pointedly all the while. Geralt grants himself a bit of self care, ignoring him from up Roach’s back.

“How much longer are we supposed to follow you?” Comes yet another annoyed whine from behind him, along with a tugging of the enchanted chain to make sure he's paying attention. “Oy, I can’t walk far on this leg.”

“I’ve made you a splint and a crutch.”

That seemed do nothing to sway him.

“You wrapped an old shirt on my leg and gave me a stick.”

He sighed deeply, and hear the soft sound of giggles he's quickly chalking up to the one noise the star's child is willing to do when she is not arguing with him as if he's not twice her size and very much clearly capable of murder, if that wasn't plenty clear yet.

“We’ll get you to a proper doctor at the next town.”

“Next town?!” He squeaks out indignantly, and Geralt feels his arm be yanked again through the chain, this time with almost strength enough to strain his muscles, and he turns to glare at the star, whose chin is high and eyes are defiant. To be honest, he looks like he’s testing his good leg’s strength in case he wanted to try and aim to swing a good hit at his head. “At least let me ride the horse until then! this stick won’t carry me far!”

“Don’t touch Roach.”

“I will throw myself to the ground and you will have to drag me all the way then, and I’ll not make it easy and you will have to explain to your sorceress friend why I’m all tattered up and useless.”

“I’m sure a dead star is still a star.”

“You’re not killing him!” Fiona adds herself to the conversation and Geralt groans, closing his eyes miserably.

“Of course, he’s not! I would kill him first!”

“Would you, really?” Geralt asks, dryly but mildly amused nevertheless, as he fixes a stare down at him.

“Would you like to risk it?” The man says, leaning forward with a charming smile and batting his eyelashes.

He had not. Wanted to risk it. Not now that Geralt finally realised how deep his eyes were, like lakes untouched by men or the skies at dusk, when the stars start to show themselves to human eyes. If he looked long enough, he could see there was a thin outtrim of silverish grey around his pupil that seemed to spread through the blue like small rivers of silver, like the glow of a star breaking the sky. He blinks once more and Geralt finds himself growling softly when pale eyelids shield the sight from him, even if it’s for a second, only relaxing when eyelashes flutter up, and his eyes are back into view. It’s too mesmerizing and he wonders for a moment how magical can a star’s eyes be. Is that what yennefer is looking for? He doesn’t want her to have it. He wants to look at them forever.

He does not realise he’s leaning closer to the man until amusement flashes through the star’s eyes a beat before Geralt is slipping from roach’s back in attempts to follow his retreating figure, falling face-first onto the ground.

A booming, joyous laughter fills the air, and he glares up to the sky as he bends over his stick to delight himself at the outcome of his little trick. Against the sun’s light, his showy clothes glimmer slightly and he seems to reflect it with his joy as he turns to a snickering FIona, hands pressed against her lips as she looks up from the spot where Geralt has crashed against the ground to the delighted star, and lets her laughter run free. It seems to make the star thrice as happy, but it only makes Geralt twice as grumpy.

“Quiet.” He brings a hand up, still laid to the ground to command them into silence, the star opens his mouth, either to say something snarky or to rub his small victory on his face with the sort of pride only he could muster. “Listen.” Geralt presses once again, more strict than annoyed this time, which seems to get them to comply reluctantly.

The distant roaring of a lion-like beast shakes the earth, followed by the valiant whining of a horse.

“That’s coming from up ahead.” The star said, as Geralt jumps up to his feet and pulls Roach along with hurried steps. “Ow! Wait for me, the chain’s not that long.”

They move forward to a meadow between two banks of trees. A giant beast with the body of a lion, bat wings and a scorpion tails attacks a white horse viciously. It’s not hard to miss the horse sports a long, ivory horn jutting from the centre of its forehead. Geralt is not sure he’s cursing this profusely because this is a bloody unicorn or because that over there is a fucking manticore. Maybe it’s just because when he is almost done processing the whole stupid, gigantic, cosmic joke his life is right now, the other cosmic entity shakes him by the arm with enough energy to get Roach to try and kick him.

“Do something!” Demands the 5’9 little shit that he regrets so fucking much that he promised Yennefer he would find and bring back. “Aren’t you all muscle and no brain? Use them, for Melitele’s sake. The unicorn is hurt, that beast is going to kill him!”

“And let him kill me, too?” He grumbles, but he’s already reaching for

“Oh, I promise I’ll try to spare you a few tears.” He says, rolling his eyes dramatically before he shoves his shoulder in just the right way to get Geralt to stumble towards the confrontation. “You’re a witcher! I’m asking you to fight a monster, that’s the sort of thing you do!” With that, he throws the stick away from him, ignoring how Fiona squawked indignantly, diving behind it immediately before he pulled the silver sword he had fastened to Roach’s saddle from it’s spot and shove it to his hand. “So you go there and you do your witchering!”

There was a beat of hesitation, white eyebrows furrowing as he stared at the star as if he had grown a second head, only to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his own sword when thee smaller man shook it towards his hands a little more fervently.

“Stay here.”

The stars huffs and waits for Geralt to turn to fight the manticore before shuffling towards the unicorn on the other side.

┈━═☆

“My stomach hurts.” Cirilla groans miserably before tucking against him, much like they’ve done the past five days before the ever gracious witcher man decided to barge into their lives, chain him and drag him all the way to who knows where for a sorceress.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks gently, running a hand over her knotted platinum hair soothingly, shifting slightly to better accommodate her head over his good leg while having his other leg wrapped around the wounded magical creature by it. “Are you sick?”

The manticore gives another thunderous roar and he, Ciri, Roach and the unicorn at his side glance towards where Geralt still fights the thing. He seems to have already crippled one of the wings, but the beast refuses to fall, stretching a fight he absorbs eagerly into his memories to sing his tales up to his siblings, if ever he decided (or survived) to return home.

“No, I’m just hungry.” She murmurs, watching in quiet fascination as Geralt flips his sword skillfully and thrusts it through the poisonous tip of the beast’s tail, much to it’s displeasure. Her brows furrowed for a moment before she looks up at him. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Jaskier smiles kindly down at her and shakes his head.

“We stars eat only darkness, and we drink only light, so I'm not hungry.”

Of course, there’s slightly more of a reason for this than what he was willing to share; he ought to keep any human food from his lips if he knew what was better for him.

“So why did you fall?” She asks what she had not built the courage to during all the while, “Did you trip over something?”

“Stars don’t just trip over the sky.”

The thing was: he did trip over.

Jaskier hadn’t meant to fall, he had just… Been looking too closely. Leaned over slightly.

Stars were so boring, they were all but eternal and usually unchanging.

Cirilla of Cintra was born months after the disastrous engagement of her parents, and she had been so bright he could not help but to coo at her, along with his siblings, marvelled at the great destiny such a small being was burdened with. Julin, for he was Julian over the starred camps of the sky, had been so delighted by her first cry, by the first sight, that she had granted her his brightest glow, a vow of his protection and favour that would bode well over her fate. As she grew, the interest died down, and his siblings averted their eyes to more interesting events, to return upon her when the greatness caught up to her years, but Julian does not. He watches over her, and keeps the glow he granted upon her at birth during all the years the girl lives through.

The little princess had been dwelling on peace for a long time, when for both his horror and her own, she was been thrown into a stellar nebula of her own. He watched Nilfgaard march and his siblings inched closer. He saw her grandfather fall and the stars focused more on the scene. He saw Cintra fall, her people be slayed, Mousesack fall, her grandmother leap from the window, the soldier who guarded her be murdered, the scream that left her rip stones and ground.

He needed to help. He couldn’t. his siblings were there, muttering in compassion, holding onto one another. It was dangerous for a star to fall, they all knew the stories.

Besides, that suffering, was what it would take a star, he knew, a great one. Maybe a sun. As the space dust, hydrogen, helium, and plasma swirls around inside the nebulae, they begin to stick together and form into large blobs. When those campacted masses got too big, she’d collapse and pull the dust close to her hot center, to the thing humans called a heart. It would happen over and over again, until her heart became a star and she would glow with the greatness she’d achieve then.

But she was alone. And she was suffering.

He couldn’t leave her alone.

“Then why did you?”

“I fell for someone who is important to me.”

So he had leaned closer to watch, closer and closer, bit by bit until all the others were paying no mind to what he was doing, too focused on Cirilla’s travels further and further from home, with no hope of safety. Closer to the edge. He could very well never come bak from this, Julian reminded himself, but he couldn’t leave his child alone, not after watching her grow, not now she needed him the most. He looked behind himself, over his shoulder, to the sky and the others stars, the millennial bore that was the everlasting glow. He had spent a century sheltered here, singing songs to the black nothingness in between his sisters and brothers where the planets roamed, but down there, there was a girl who had led a sheltered life and now had nothing at all, no one at all. So he slipped.

He had not expected that his siblings would try and reach for him, their united voices calling for his name.

He had not expect it to burn.

He hadn’t expect it to hurt.

He had screamed all his fall, as the glow of his being died down under his terror and pain, as his family grew more and more distant and the comforting vastness of the universe could no longer shelter him.

His siblings looked much prettier from afar, he had thought, before hitting the ground.

Jaskier is snapped from his thoughts by Roach’s whinny of recognition and he looks up to see the brute of a man that had left him chained to a mare walk closer, covered in black blood and looking like he had crawled from hell.

“He lives!” Jaskier calls, with a delighted laugh, deciding not to hold onto the chain matter for now, because he did save the unicorn he asked him to. ‘Fiona’ shifts, sitting up promptly as the witcher approaches them, only to glare at him as she walks around the bunch of them to pet his mare and reach for some other sort of disgusting vial. “Are you alright?” He calls, but he only give another ‘hmm’ that sounds like ‘shut the fuck up’, so he turns to the unicorn instead. “How about you, old fellow?”

The unicorn in question snorts before throwing his head to the side to whinnie in the dramatic manner Jaskier thinks only kindred souls like himself and this magnificent creature, apparently, can be. It makes him smile, and he runs his fingers over his white coat, pretending the shine of its body it’s also his, and daring to hope he can one day shine like a star should once again, when Cirilla is safe and this is all done with.

“Poor thing.” Cirilla says sympathetically from his other side, reaching to ru her hand down it’s neck and the unicorn lets her. Surely enough, a fire lights up her eyes, with the fierce protectiveness he has so often seen take hold of her these last few days and she turns to Geralt. “We can’t leave it.”

“His wounds aren’t too deep.” Is what he replies, and Jaskier’s brows almost touch his hairline when he decides to actually use words instead of just humming. “You could probably ride him. That would speed us up, and help the star’s leg heal more quickly.”

To that Jaskier cries out “The star has a name!” at the same times Cirilla yelps a childishly delighted “Ride an unicorn?” that has both witcher and star sigh in a knowing way.

“Only if he is alright with it.” Jaskier says, looking at the magical creature by his side as it stands up, throwing it’s pure white mane back harrumphing and stamping it’s hoof. “Well, I guess that’s a yes."

┈━═☆

“How did you know?”

“Uh?” The star asks, shaking his head half in a sleep daze, straightening his back from where he had been all but falling from the back of the unicorn and tightening his hold around his sleeping charge. “Sorry, what?”

“How did you know?” He repeats, already feeling the build of annoyance that interacting with him evokes on himself, but reigning Roach in, so both her and the unicorn are side by side as he turns to look at the star, frowning at him as if he can’t fathom what the hell he is talking about. “That I was a witcher?”

“Uh… Was I supposed not to?” He says, making a confused sound before gesturing at him as if Geralt was his own explanation, and Geralt finds himself looking at his black leathered armour for any showy signs that could denounce him as a witcher to a bloody star. “ You’re not really being subtle here, darling. I mean... White hair, big old-loner, two very, very scary-looking swords? Silver for monsters, iron for men, isn’t that what you lot say?”

“Two weeks on a crater teach you that much about witchers?”

“A hundred years on the sky did.” He said, perking up even letting out a voice almost laced with amusement, as he tilted his head up, towards the darkening sky. “We watch, you know?”

Geralt frowns minutely.

“What for?”

“For the tales, of course.” He said, proudly, breaking into melodic sound in words that didn’t belong to any language she knew of. “They make for great songs, good entertainment. Yours isn’t a merry one.”

“You know me?” He asks, arching a pale brow.

“By something that’s not your name, I’m afraid.” The star says and suddenly, the expanding personality shrinks into him, and he won’t meet his eyes. It’s only the heavy silence that wears down on him until he lets out a low grumble. “I would rather insult you with things that I know you are from experience than call you Butcher, if I’m not to be given your name.”

Oh. So that’s what he’s known for, even as far away as in the skies.

He snaps his eyes away from the star and stare the road ahead.

“It’s Geralt.”

Another beat of silence hangs above them.

“Where are you from, Geralt?”

“Rivia.”

“Huh. Geralt of Rivia. It sounds like a name that is destiny-bound.”

“It’s just a name.”

“It’s never just a name.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Well, it depends.”

“Hm?”

“To the ones that map the sky I’m Viscount, from the Pankratz Constellation. You see there? That’s the one. To my siblings, I’m Julian. But the people from Lettenhove have another name for me. I like it better than all others.”

The Viscount of Pankratz stars or whatever the fuck he liked to be called turned to him, and through the dark of the night he can see the man smile, so white and bright it could light the path around them and he makes a point to not look at his eyes, just in case he wanted to try that trick again.

“What’s it?”

“The Jaskier star.”

“So, you’re Jaskier?”

“It has a good ring to it, doesn’t it? Jaskier of Lettenhove?”

“I thought you were a Pankratz. And a Viscount.”

“Well, we’ll figure something out.”

#as stars that wait to fall (in love)#stardust #stardust au #geraskier au #geraskier #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #Jaskier #geralt x dandelion #star! jaskier #ao3 the witcher #the witcher

18 notes · View notes

heythatpenguinhere · 4 years

Text

Reflection

*Hey hey angsty fanfic lovers, this one is for you! This story is dedicated to anyone that has ever struggled with their self-image or insecurities and has begun their own journey of self love one day at a time. I hope you all enjoy <3

Mirrors reflect simply what is seen before them, that’s what they have always done. Mirrors were common and many people had mirrors in varying sizes, but the mirrors in the palace of Katolis seemed much larger in comparison. In Rayla’s suite, for example, stood an oval silver-trimmed mirror at the corner of the room. When she had first settled in, she had thought nothing of it at all but another trivial human adornment. Now, it seemed to be placed there to torment her and mock her.

The first time she had used the mirror was to simply do her hair. Her hair wasn’t ever really messy per-say, but at times her braids tended to undo themselves or she might want to comb through the locks of white to tidy them a little. As she stood in front of the mirror and began to gently work on fixing the small braid on the side of her head, her eyes had lightly roamed to her face a little. Comparatively to other elves, Rayla was pretty normal in appearance. Her lavender eyes were a bit larger than most and her skin a bit paler in complexion, but even Moonshadow elves varied in appearances with little things like that. She didn’t stand out and she liked that she very obviously belonged with her people.

Comparatively to humans however, Rayla knew she was far from normal. Her ear shape, skin tone, eye color, hair color, horns, and facial markings are a far cry from a stereotypical human girl right off the bat; not that it ever really concerned her. Growing up, she had always thought that humans were the ones that looked strange with their rounded ears, useless extra finger, and small stature. Now being around humans longer, she was beginning to notice those differences more. In the case of Callum though, they were absolutely endearing and cute differences in her mind.

Rayla’s opinion on Callum and his appearance radically changed over the course of their time together. Somewhere along the way she had gone from thinking the human was just weird and small to thinking that he was actually... attractive. While Rayla had never specifically asked him, she assumed something similar probably happened with him too. She may never ask him though because things like appearances and beauty weren’t necessarily staple issues where she came from.

She smiled at her finished braid. It looked nice and matched her usual appearance well, she thought. As she fixed on her belt and slipped on her boots, the thought that she should maybe try and style her hair another way for once just to see what it would look like passed her mind. She thought of the fancy up dos she had seen some girls do here and shook her head. That would look silly on her.

The next time she could recall looking into the mirror was after she dragged herself in after a training session. She was still breathing heavily a bit from exertion and was sweating under her armor. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her she looked a bit rough and yet even with her state, Callum had still kissed her tenderly before she left to freshen up before dinner. Still she couldn’t help but glance at herself as she passed the mirror. Her reflection depicted exactly what she expected: messy hair, reddened cheeks, sweaty exterior and strands of hair sticking to her face, dirt smudges here and there. The price of training and staying agile she supposed. But pausing for a moment she really noticed her build. Her body was tall and athletic with minimal curves and toned muscles from being so active. An image of Claudia and her more curved build crossed by momentarily and how Callum had been enamored with her prior. Rayla frowned, did Callum like that kind of a body type more? He had never said it before, but maybe that was something his young self had admired in her and still liked?

Her hands ghosted over her own body briefly before pausing. That was a dumb thought, she mentally reprimanded herself and continued to change.

That insignificant, stupid mirror and looking into it occasionally now had planted a small seed of doubt and insecurity that had began to root itself in Rayla. Unbeknownst to her, she was paying more attention to her appearance than she had ever before. Under the guise of excuses like “that’s a dumb thought” or “you know better than that”, she ignored the little voice of doubt that was growing and played it off within herself. Maybe Rayla was also a little too proud to admit that she could be struggling with her self-image because after all she was Rayla; she was this strong, brave, and sure person, definitely not the kind that would struggle with something as meaningless as her appearance.

She and Callum were currently walking through the town square admiring the preparation of a festival that was underway. The people were stringing up colorful lanterns, lights, and flowers adorning homes and wreaths to mark the beginning of Spring. There were smiles all around and music trailed through the various alleyways; it was a beautiful sight to be seen after so much war and darkness.

Callum had firmly and proudly held her hand as they walked through the town. All of Katolis was aware that the Prince was somehow romantically linked to his Elven companion and they were a common sight from time to time; the human prince with magic and the beautifully, deadly elf. From the first time they set foot outside the palace together, they garnered stares and glares alike. This was to be expected however and didn’t bother either too much as time passed.

Callum for his part thought he was the luckiest man in all the kingdoms to have Rayla by his side. No matter how much time passed since they became a “thing”, he still looked at her with absolute amazement and like she was the only person that existed in his sight. The thing is that it was kind of true; to Callum, Rayla was all he saw. And for Rayla, she never even thought of looking because no one could replace who he was to her; what they had built together. They both occupied a spot in each other’s spot that no one else could ever be seen taking. It didn’t matter if they weren’t from the same background at all.

Rayla was seemingly firm in this but that stupid, stupid seed in her head had laid some tiny roots in even that foundation. As they both walked together arms swinging, her eyes wandered around to other human couples and how easy they had it. Her eyes would then linger on the women and how beautifully elegant they looked… They were human of course so their features and physique displayed that, but there was a bit of envy in how diverse they could look. They had much more softer features naturally and their femininity was emphasized with they way they adorned themselves. Colorful dresses, ribbons, jewelry, etc. were used and only served to make them more beautiful to the eyes around them.

When Rayla looked at herself after admiring them, she couldn’t help but seem so plain and unfeminine in comparison. Her clothing was always darker in color and she didn’t wear frills or jewels that would just get in the way of her blades. Her look never varied too much and was always practical in nature, designed to be able to move; very different from other girls who didn’t carry around double blades with them. Any of these beautiful women would make such perfect princesses. Why did Callum choose her? Her face had dropped as all the self-destructive thoughts slowly raced in her head.

Callum had noticed that Rayla had suddenly become less talkative. Her grip on his hand was limp and when he turned to look at her, her face was clouded and down cast for some reason. He stopped walking and tugged her hand a little when she kept on walking, not noticing he had stopped. She looked up surprised at him.

“Hey, are you alright?” He asked her, cautiously.

He knew she wasn’t the most open with her emotions naturally and didn’t want to press onto her if she didn’t want to talk about them at the moment.

She looked away from him, “N-No, I’m alright Callum.”

He raised an eyebrow clearly not buying it.

She sighed, “I’m just a wee tired and beat up from training lately with the others. We also have that fancy party later for the festival and I want to make sure I look decent...” She said, only dipping into some of her much deeper thoughts.

That evening would be a large ball/party that Ezran was throwing to invite friends, dignitaries, and such to celebrate their newfound peace. Of course he had insisted that Rayla and Callum attend and even mentioned that he wanted to honor them for their part in rebuilding relations with the human kingdoms and Xadia. Both of them had been embarrassed at the idea of so many eyes on them and had tried to talk him out of it, but there was no budging him; even Bait nodded in agreement with the young king.

Callum smiled lightly at her concerns and felt that there was more to the issue, but he would respect her boundaries and wouldn’t press too much into things especially out in public.

“Rayla, you’re going to look great. You wanna know why? Because you’re already the most beautiful woman in all of Xadia and Katolis combined no matter what you wear.” He said heartfelt with emotions to hopefully encourage her mood.

She looked into his eyes and how they always shown with his emotions candidly and knew he meant what he said. She wanted to hit herself for being so dumb to consider anything else. Callum would never lie to her. Callum loved her. He loved Rayla as Rayla.

She smiled back, “Thank you Callum.”

She had raced through the stone walls as quickly as she could. She had torn the bottom of the simple dark green gown she had on earlier to move faster and reach her room where she would lock herself in and wallow in what had just happened. Callum would no doubt be knocking on her door frantically to reach her and get inside. She couldn’t see herself opening up that door anytime soon to anyone…

The evening had actually started out better than she had anticipated. After catching Rayla in a stump on what to wear, Opeli had actually swooped in with a gown she had custom made for the elf. The gown was absolutely beautiful, simple, and Rayla. The fabric was a deep green color that sparkled and faded from a lighter color green at the top when it caught the light. It’s color, she said, had been inspired by a combination of Rayla’s natural attire and Callum’s eyes, to which she blushed. The style was one shouldered and movable somehow! Rayla marveled at how well it suited her and how she could even wear her boots under it; it clung to her waist and flowed down lightly. Opeli had then taken great care to assist Rayla with her hair and pulled it into a soft updo under her horns that wasn’t too complex, but was still elegant.

Looking at her reflection, Rayla was stunned. She never imagined herself looking anything like a princess, but in that moment she actually did. She looked delicate and still strong in her gown, hair, and even a thin choker and bracelet combo. Rayla’s eyes sparkled with a hint of powered color on her lids and cheeks that made their natural lavender stand out all the more. She had gasped at herself and Opeli had stood looking proud at her handiwork.

“A beautiful look for an already beautiful girl.” She had said to her.

Upon an announcement of each notable guest, Rayla herself was soon introduced to the crowd within the ballroom. Her nerves had nearly swallowed her, wondering what the eyes staring at her were thinking, until she caught eyes with Callum. He stood at the edge of the crowd, closest to the staircase they’d walk down. His eyes were wide with wonder at her. He already thought Rayla was beautiful, but she was absolutely stunning; magical. She looked like a fairy tale elven princess from a storybook.

“Don’t laugh, Opeli helped me.” Rayla said as she reached him, taking great care to not trip on her dress.

He held out his hand for her to take and she slipped her hand into his timidly. He leaned down and kissed her small hand in front for all to see. The action partially stunned Rayla herself who stood there as he leaned back up straight.

“Rayla, you are amazing.” He said, still holding her hand in his and stroking the top of it with his fingers.

No one in the room or world existed but them.

They spent the evening laughing and even dancing quite a bit together, wrapped in each other’s sight and never straying too far, the two were a sight to see. King Ezran couldn’t help but smile sweetly whenever he caught sight of them and it warmed his heart to see them so carefree and happy together; he thought they deserved it. Callum and Rayla had been approached by some curious parties and friends as well. Overall, it was a wonderful time getting to reunite with allies and friends alike and just enjoy being in love and young. There was peace now and they could enjoy it as it existed and just be together.

“I’ll be right back Rayla, I’m going to check on Ezran alright? Try not to cause too much trouble while I’m gone.” Callum had said teasingly.

Rayla laughed, “Oh I’d never want to do anything to embarrass you your highness.”

He groaned, “You know I hate people saying that.”

“That’s exactly why I said it. Now go, I’ll go grab something to drink.” She assured him with a peck on the cheek that left a goofy grin on his face.

She made her way through the crowds to the beverage area where some guests were mingling and others were glancing around, people watching, when she first tuned into the comments being made.

“I cannot believe how the nobility in Katolis has fallen… To be prancing about with an elf?!”

“Who does she think she is, walking around here like she’s royalty? She could never be.”

“I’m embarrassed for her. The poor thing tried to look presentable for once. What a pitiful effort.”

“The dress suits her: it’s plain like she is.”

“Who tried to make her God awful hair look regal? She should just have stayed locked away.”

“I bet you she’s made her way in the young prince’s bed. Elves are known to be wild right? I’m sure he’ll get his youthful whims out of the way and then settle with someone serious and actually human. I mean goodness could you imagine the children?!”

Rayla had never been more embarrassed and insulted in her life. These nameless faces around her were judging her, without even knowing her. They were making assumptions and critiquing her cruelly. Anger was the first emotion that registered in her mind, indignation to their comments, but soon after embarrassment seeped in, and finally those darker thoughts and emotions she had been trying desperately to ignore.

Callum had walked back, still laughing at something when he noticed the look of utter pain on Rayla’s face.

“Rayla?” He asked, moving to touch her arm and even move her out of the room if something was wrong.

But before his fingertips could make contact with her at all, Rayla had activated her Moonshadow abilities fueled by the full moon outside and dashed out of the room.

Rayla slammed the door to her room and slowly sunk down from the door to the floor. Hugging her knees to her chest, she began to let herself cry. Deep sobs came from her as she clung to herself with a near painful grip. She felt so, so stupid for letting their comments get to her. She didn’t even know those people! Why would their words hurt her so much? Yet deep down inside, she knew why… They had picked at an area she was beginning to hurt in and self-question. Of course they had no way of knowing that, but their words were still daggers tearing in deeper. The small bruises and scrapes had merged into full-fledged wounds over time and led her to where she was now: an emotional wreck on her floor.

Why? Why was she struggling with this so much? Why did it matter what she looked like? Why did it matter what others said? But why couldn’t she look a bit more “normal” though? Why couldn’t she have more “normal” and appealing features? Was she really embarrassing Callum and his family that badly? Would anyone ever look at her with acceptance by Callum’s side? Would she have to keep dealing with these comments and glares all her life?

Rayla had her hands scrunched in her hair, her up do had fallen out of its style and no doubt looked as terrible as Rayla felt. She momentarily wiped her eyes and saw her reflection from across the room. She looked like a huddled mess of tears and hair and ripped dress fabric. Anger filled her veins yet again at the sight.

“This is all your fault! You stupid piece of glass! You put these dumb thoughts in ma head!” She said and took one of her boots off and nailed it at the mirror. It cracked and slowly broke apart at the force, pieces of it falling to the stone floor with clanging noises. The outburst made her feel partially better to have gotten rid of some anger, but she was still upset at the fact that she was worrying about her hair, her makeup, her outfit, etc. even in that moment and in another impulsive move, Rayla crawled across the floor and grabbed one of the glass pieces.

Standing up firmly, she grabbed a chunk of her hair and slashed the mirror piece through it.

“Rayla! Rayla please open up! Please let me in! Look, I don’t know what happened but I want to be there for you. Please Rayla!” Callum said desperately as he pounded on the thick wooden door between them.

Somewhere inside he knew Rayla was hauled up and unswerving. He had gone after her as quickly as he could have, all the while wondering what had sent her into such an outburst. He hadn’t left her alone for too long had he? Had someone said something to her? He couldn’t help but feel terribly guilty if he had somehow caused her pain. He just wanted to be in there with her, even if he couldn’t make it better.

Suddenly he heard movement from inside the room and he lightened up with the hope that Rayla perhaps had heard him. Just as he stepped back, the door opened.

Illuminated with only the glow of the full moon through the window stood Rayla at the door. Her dress was torn, her boots off, and most notably… her hair was chopped short messily. It was cut with bits that stood out in some places. Her face was down, looking at the floor, but he could see that she had been crying heavily by the redness of her face.

He stood stunned, unable to form words.

“I know… I look terrible…” She said, still refusing to look at him.

Callum without any words in the moment, lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her. At his tender, yet firm embrace Rayla came undone again. The tears came and wouldn’t stop as Callum had to support her weight to keep her standing. His heart clenched painfully to hear her in so much pain.

“Please Rayla, tell me what’s happening.” He said, desperate to reach her.

She finally looked up at his eyes and nodded her head. She’d tell him.

“There you go, you look rather lovely!”

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to stare into another mirror. Rayla’s fingers came up to touch the neatly trimmed hair on her head. The cut was nearly a bob look, that fell around her chin, as Rayla’s earlier chop had been done so roughly out of anger that it had to be fixed. Opeli stepped in eagerly again to help when requested and had nearly tripped at the sight of the young woman’s white locks gone.

“I-I kinda look like my mum.” She said.

In truth, she actually did. With few memories of her parents, she could still vaguely recall what they looked like. Her mother had been a strong woman whose hair was always cropped short for battle; Rayla looked like the spitting image of her now though she wouldn’t wander on that too long.

Rayla examined her hair and then her eyes, nose, mouth, markings, and shape.

“You, Rayla, are the most beautiful, amazing soul that exists in the world you hear me? I won’t have you thinking these lies about yourself anymore. That’s what they are: lies that want to take away your spirit and make you doubt who you really are. Rayla, have you really looked at yourself lately? And I don’t mean what you’re wearing or what your hair looks like or anything superficial like that, but really looked and seen yourself? Because if you’d really, really look you’d seen the absolutely incredible person I see. The person you really are. You’d see your heart which is the most “beautiful” thing about you. The heart that no one in this world can compare to and the heart I love. But you need to believe and see that for yourself Rayla. You need to love and see yourself. Just take it day by day though and I’ll be here every single day to remind you if I have ” Callum had said to her, holding her tightly in her room throughout the night until she fell asleep in her safe embrace.

She could soon feel Callum’s hands on her shoulders and then feel his fingers playing with her new hair. He had a smile on his face that shone with adoration as his pale fingers weaved in with her snowy strands. She kept replaying his tender care of her all night long and encouragements. He took every emotion, thought, and tear she shared with a strength she had been surprised herself to see. He was adamant and firm in his words and beliefs and worked to address every self-conscious rambling as it came. He reassured her that he didn’t mind it and that he’d stay with her forever reminding her of who she was. It had broken through her cracked interior and began to mend the pieces that existed.

He reaffirmed to her that she needed to believe for herself and love for herself who she was. Callum could only do so much, but she had to live with herself. She had to come to a place of acceptance and appreciation for who she was; there was no one else like her in the world and there would never be. She found herself beginning to repeat the words in her mind even now and tucking them into her heart little by little. Come morning, she was feeling considerably better than the night before and was ready to face a mirror again, if at least to fix her messy hair.

One day at a time, one step at a time, she would take it with herself and Callum by her side.

She lightly smiled and saw how her entire face lit up with it’s unique features and traits that could only belong to her.

“You know what, I think I could get used to this actually.”

#Dragon Prince #rayla x callum #rayllum #Rayla #callum #fanfic #fanficiton #romance #angst #self image #insecurity #love

14 notes · View notes

hazyheel · 5 years

Text

Impact Wrestling Rebellion 2019 Review

Night began with a six man scramble. We had Petey Williams, Jake Crist, Aiden Prince, Ace Austin, Cousin Jake, and Eddie Edwards. No real reward for winning here, but it would be a big victory. The announcers seemed to be implying that this match would be important in the X-Division. The big spots started right out of the gate, with Crist intercepting Austin’s suicide dive with a cutter onto a pile of opponents. Crist was actually all over the place, drilling people with huge DDT’s and cutters all over the place. Austin as well was flying around with well placed kicks to all of his opponents. Jake was the powerhouse of the match, coming in to deliver huge power moves when the action was low. The finish came very quickly, with Williams hitting Jake with a Canadian destroyer, but Austin slid in and rolled up Williams for the win.

Grade: C-. Fine match, very spotty, not really long enough. Jake Crist and Ace Austin really shined, but everyone else felt very left out. Prince and Edwards in particular only really got one spot each, with Edwards hitting a tiger driver and Prince hitting a 450. The physicality of the match may be enough for some people to put it on the positive side, but they just didn’t give it enough time, nor was there much of a story here. A couple side stories converged here, especially between Austin and Williams, but we didn’t need this many people in a match to further that story. If you are gonna book a match with this many people, then you need to give it ample time. There was less than 6 minutes here, so each wrestler literally had less than a minute to do something memorable. That would be impossible. This match was doomed from the start.

Then there was an ad for Impact+, a new streaming service. Very exciting.

Next was another new match on the card, Scarlet Bordeaux vs Rohit Raju. This was a pretty basic inter gender match, with Raju being a dick and not taking her seriously. Raju had the win early on with a snap suplex, but he pulled her back off the mat. Not long after, Bordeaux was able to lock in a cross face, with Raju nearly tapping out but powered out of the hold. Scarlet was able to get the win after hitting a low blow while Fallah Bahh distracted the ref, and then a package pildriver for the win.

Grade: D. Bordeaux really isn’t all that good, and this match was so easily telegraphed that I called her getting a win with a low blow from the beginning. Raju did his best selling and such, but this match was heavily held back by its own “gimmick.” Not really worth watching.

Into the 6-man tag, Moose and The North against the Rascalz. Page and Alexander were actually cheered as they entered, possibly because of their affiliation with Canada. Heels has a huge size advantage. Rascalz started out with some high flying teamwork, hitting senton after senton to Moose, before Moose destroyed them after a kip up. Dez was destroyed for much of the beginning, but when they got the offense they hit some killer offense. Page was taken out after being hit with a pushed moonsault off the stage from Wentz. Moose then caught a suicide dive from Trey, powerbombing him into the barricade, before Dez came flying in with a senton, jumping off the back of Alexander on the stage. The Rascalz hit a series of offense of the top rope, only for Page to break it up with a crucifix bomb. Alexander then threw Wentz out of the ring onto Trey. Dez continued to get destroyed, being hit with a superkick, forearm, and then a pump kick. The North then destroyed him with an assisted fireman’s slam, and then a spear from moose for the win.

Grade: B+. This is how to have a flippy sprint of a match. Everyone had a chance to shine, with the Rascalz showing some of their high flying prowess, and the heels showing how good they could be in a prominent pay per view spot. Makes sense for the heels to pick up the win, builds up a new tag team and a new challenger for the world championship. I liked this a lot.

In an interview, Johnny Impact and Taya Valkyrie bullied Melissa Santos, and ultimately said that they would destroy their opponents. Simple stuff, but Santos is an awesome interviewer. She gives me Renee Young vibes, and hopefully she becomes just as big.

Into the Knockouts championship match, Jordynne Grace against Valkyrie. Grace attacked right at the bell, immediately dropping Valkyrie onto the apron twice for a near fall. Valkyrie targetted Grace’s arm throughout the match. Grace started to fight back, hitting Valkyrie with a lariat, but falling to the mat in pain from the injured arm. Grace continued to use her arms to attack, with one lariat after the other, but she just couldn’t keep it up. Valkyrie took advantage of that and hit the road to Valhalla for the win.

Grade: B-. This match was a bit slow, and really was just short of being bad. I liked the story of dissecting the arm, and having that come back to hurt Grace. Valkyrie played a great heel here, and nevertheless got a clean win. It was just a very straightforward match that felt like it should have been on TV, given how much limb work was in it. But I was into the story, so good on them for crafting a narrative.

Another interview from Santos, this time with Gail Kim. Kim said that she is coming back to the ring to teach Tessa Blanchard a lesson. A lesson that no one is willing to teach them themselves. She wouldn’t listen to Kim as an agent, so maybe she will listen as an opponent.

And next up was Rich Swann against Sami Callihan for the X-Division championship, under OvE rules. The rest of OvE, including their new heavy, are banned from ringside. As Swann came down, he was not dancing at all, dead serious, opening the match with a series of quick strikes. Swann wasted no time getting extreme, stapling Callihan several times in he opening stretch. Callihan returned the favor with a staple to the mouth the second he got the staple gun. Callihan countered a suicide dive with a brutal shot with a steel sheet to the face. Callihan even countered a crossbody by catching Swann, and drilling him into a seated chair with an exploder suplex. Swann shocked the crowd with how sadistic he could be, licking Callihan’s blood, and nailing Callihan with a series of kicks while his head was in a garbage can. Swann also used the stipulation to aid his flying offense, swinging off part of the set into a hurricanrana, and also nailing a handspring cutter on the stage. Callihan has a bit of railing set up between the stage and ring steps, and ended up piledriving Swann onto it for a near fall. Swann was on the top rope locking for a splash, but Callihan countered with a hand full of salt to the eyes, and then piledriver him off the top and onto a pile of legos for a crazy near fall. Callihan introduced a barbed ware baseball bat into the match, but Swann got it after a hitting a low blow, tapping Callihan out with a cross face using the bat.

Grade: B. Pretty good match, with some absolutely brutal death match spots. I wasn’t sure how much Swann’s offense would translate into a style like this, but he worked pretty well. My biggest problem with the match was simply that they didn’t play up their rivalry enough. This match was one of the best built on the whole card, but I didn’t feel as much emotion as I thought I would. They didn’t really tap into it until the end, when Callihan begged Swann to have mercy on him. With that little bit more of storytelling, and possibly a bit more wrestling before they got into all the deathmatch stuff, this could have been a really great match.

Another interview, this time with Blanchard. She said that she doesn’t need to respect anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Tully Blanchard showed up out of nowhere, saying that he fully supported his daughter, and that she needed this win. Well alrighty then.

We went right into that match next, Gail Kim against Tessa Blanchard. This was a brawl from the bell, and it was Blanchard’s strength against Kim’s speed. Blanchard hit a brutal codebreaker off of the middle rope for a near fall. This really felt like the two hated each other, with a bit of extra emphasis on each of the strikes. The two even brawled on the ring steps, with Tessa going face first into the post. After a big splash out of the corner from Kim, the crowd erupted into well deserved “you still got it” chants. The two brawled on the stage, and Blanchard used her signature reverse dragon suplex spot to throw Kim off the stage. Kim was able to hit Blanchard with eat defeat after countering a slingshot suplex, but only a near fall. As Kim locked in a dragon sleeper on the top rope, Blanchard countered by biting her arm, and then hitting magnum for another near fall. Blanchard then immediately locked in a sort of cobra clutch on the mat, and Kim had no choice but to tap out. After the match, Blanchard offered a handshake, but Kim came in with a hug. Blanchard was balling her eyes out, so happy to get the torch passed to her. Kim was in the ring and soaked up the applause, in what could easily be her last match. And it was a hell of a match to go out on.

Grade: A-. This was a brutal match for a brutal feud. All the hatred that built between the two in the preceding weeks was addressed here. They brought the fight to each other with as much as they possibly could. The adversity between the two was real, and it was awesome to see the two get to show what they had. The showcase at the end was very sweet, but it kinda took me out of the whole “hate each other” thing. But it was clearly a huge moment for Blanchard, the biggest win she’s ever had, so I understand why she couldn’t contain herself.

Cage cut a weirdly quick promo about how he will do anything to beat down Impact tonight. Their friendship was long gone, and he wants to show him that he is the better man.

And that world championship match was next, Brian Cage against Johnny Impact with Lance Storm as the referee. Another match that started right at the bell, with Cage destroying Impact with tackles, kicks, a German Suplex and an F5 for a near fall right out of the gate. Then he hit a buckle bomb, and a deadlift vertical suplex off the apron and into the ring for another near fall. He went for another deadlift, but Impact fought out and hit an incredible German suplex. Impact then took the fight to the stage, and hit a Spanish fly off the the ramp and onto the floor. At some point, Cage did a blade job, probably after being thrown into the barricade. Actually, looking at his head, Cage May have cut open the top of his head, but either way, he was bleeding like a stuck pig. As the two brawled, Valkyrie and the crooked ref Bravo set up a table for Impact on the outside. Impact had Cage set up for a Starship Pain through the table, but Cage got up and powerbombed Impact through the table. Bravo tried to get involved, but Cage caught him. Impact hit Cage with the belt in the back, only for Valkyrie to pull Storm out of the ring, and Impact nailed him with a dropkick to the outside. Impact then played possum in the ring, with Valkyrie pretending that she hit Cage with the belt. Cage drilled her with a powerbomb, only for Impact to grab the belt and hit Cage with it. Bravo then ran in the ring, with a ref’s shirt on, and Impact hit the Starship Pain, but Cage kicked out! Storm ran back in the ring, and superkicked Bravo. He was about to disqualify Impact, but Cage stopped him. Cage then hit Impact with a superkick of his own, and the drill claw to finally win the Impact world championship.

After the match, Michael fucking Elgin showed up debuting in Impact, and he seemed to challenge Cage for his belt. He attacked Cage with a backfist and a spinning powerbomb. Seems like we have the next big opponent for Cage.

Grade: B-. This was fucking wild. Huge moves all over the place, and while it seemed slow at times, the big moves more than made up for it. That finishing sequence was all over the place, but it seemed to tick all the boxes. Impact got comeuppance with a powerbomb through a table and losing his belt. Valkyrie ate a rough powerbomb, and Bravo was hit with a superkick. However, everything that was leading up to that finish, apart from the opening sequence, seemed like it slowed down too much. I think that Cage looked a bit weak, even in his victory, because he didn’t have he advantage much after he started bleeding. But still, his win was the right choice. I wouldn’t have had Elgin beat him down right after his big win, his first big win at that, but it will probably be an awesome match. I was wondering where Elgin went, and this is a huge acquisition for Impact. Also, they used to be a tag team in PWG, so maybe they will bring that up. The finish, while entertaining, was a bit overbooked and had too many twists and turns to really keep up with. A bit tough to grade this one, but I think that the loss of momentum and the flurry of stuff happening in the latter half of the match hurt it a bit for me.

In the clubhouse, LAX were prepared for their match in the main event. Kennan called the full metal mayhem match a Mexican standoff, which is weird because it is nothing like a Mexican standoff, other than the fact that it is a standoff amongst Mexicans. Maybe I’m stupid, because I was thinking about that so much that I missed the rest of the promo.

And in the main event, the Lucha Bros took on LAX for the Impact Tag Team Championships, in Full Metal Mayhem. Once again, LAX attacked before the bell with stereo dives. Fenix and Pentagon responded with dives of their own, sending everyone through tables. The Lucha Bros hit their classic double superkick spot, but Satanna’s head was in a trash can this time. LAX hit their team combo, but Fenix broke up the pin with a big diving dropkick, and then fended them both off with a series of kicks. At one point, Ortiz had Fenix up for a draping cutter into a couple set up chairs, and Santana assisted with a double stomp to Fenix’s head, for a near fall. The four met in the middle of the right, nailing each other with elbow strikes while just sitting in chairs. Konnan involved himself after this, passing Ortiz and Santana a couple forks. LAX set up a bunch of chairs near the corner, only for the Lucha Bros to use it against them with a terrifying fear factor into the chairs, but Santana kicked out! Fenix looked pretty busted up during the match, and even Don Callis and Josh Mathews on commentary pointed out that his left arm looked limp. Lax had a table set up on the ramp, and Ortiz tried to put Pentagon through it with something off a ladder, but Fenix walked the top rope and drove him through it with the scariest Spanish fly that I have ever seen. Fenix under rotated, and landed on his fucking head and somehow he could still walk. Back in the ring, Santana ate a Pentagon driver through a chair, but still kicked out. Then came the thumb tacks. Pentagon spread them out on a pair of tables. Pentagon and Santana battled atop a ladder, teasing who would go through them. It seemed like Santana would do the honors, but Ortiz ran in to make the save, putting Pentagon in a powerbomb position. Santana helped out his partner by stabbing Pentagon in the head with a fork, and Ortiz blasted Pentagon through the tables and the tacks. That was what did it, and LAX began their forth title reign as the tag champs.

After the match, Fenix could barely stand up straight. Konnan decided to squash the hate, saying that they are family. They all embraced, and then the faces of the roster came out to pay their respects.

Grade: A. One of the most terrifying matches I have ever seen. The spots were so sick, everything was scary as hell, and it was car crash TV at its finest. This was as much of a war as their feud needed, and it was a hell of a blowoff. I hope that Fenix is okay, because that was a scarier spanish fly than Will Ospreay last year. The embrace at the end made a lot of sense as well. They started this feud as friends, and that was how they ended it. Great match through and through, easily the best Impact match in years. Match of the night for sure.

Overall Grade: B-

Pros: Good commentary; 6-man tag; X-Division Championship; Blanchard vs. Kim; Main Event

Cons: Way too short of an opener; Bordeaux vs. Raju

On a note that I wanted to be completely separate from the review, why wasn’t anyone disqualified for using the tables in the main event? They aren’t made of metal, so they shouldn’t be legal. Just saying.

2 notes · View notes

askthelittleassistant · 6 years

Text

One Little Thing...

((ok so to preface this; this is going in two parts bc I started writing so much, and also just a little warning, there is a bit of blood in this so... yeah! I hope y’all enjoy the insanity!))

Shop felt weak, weaker than she’d ever felt in her ‘career’ under Dark. What was she doing?... She laid, sprawled out on the forest floor… How… how did this happen.

No one really remembered when the first humans had stumbled across the ego’s place of residence, but it wasn’t like anyone really cared in the first place. Since Shop and her friends Pi and King had come, not much had changed, aside Pi braving the neighboring septics to befriend the Doctor Shneeplestein, and a few other folks joining the ranks of humans among literal giants… aside that, everyone kept to themselves, though paths were constantly crossed, and greetings were always exchanged.

It was nice.

And that’s not to say any part of Shop’s life was growing mundane, no no, it was always quite the opposite really. But… something always felt… off. And the worst part of it all was she knew exactly what it was, but she was always too worried to bring it up to her rather… intense friend. If she could even be allowed to call Dark her friend…

There was the obvious change in his demeanor the more time Shop spent with Dark, which was a lot, though he always seemed to cling to the past rather than let himself change, and Shop always knew better than to test the limits and patience Dark was already going out on a limb to offer her. She was always grateful, no doubt, but both could tell the girl was not satisfied with just that, growing impatient, which would work in favor of her downfall…

It happened one particularly boring day as the egos wrapped up their meeting. Shop had taken to people watching, always being the last to leave the room with Dark always meant waving and saying goodbyes and good days to egos and friends. Doc and Sal would chitter on about different cases with a cheery response peppered in, Techie and Sam may or may not be in attendance, but whether or not the cyborg mechanic would be hiding in the room always makes for a fun challenge for Shop. King and Host, they always make sure to pass by the assistant to say goodbye, and sometimes invite her for some tea and lunch, to which sometimes Shop will say yes to, but not today. There was something on her mind, and she needed to clear the air.

“Do you care about me?” The initial react was one Shop figured she would get as she held back wincing at the ringing as it grew briefly, a sign that Shop came to learn meant Dark was confused, possibly thrown off guard.

“Excuse me?” He replied dryly, finishing with his papers and notes, not batting an eyelash in his assistant’s direction.

“Do you care about me?” Shop asked more confidently, her voice as clear as her intentions.

“What kind of question is that.” Dark snarked back, clearly uninterested in addressing something that’s plagued his thoughts for a while now, largely unbeknownst to Shop.

“It’s the easy kind, the kind you can answer. Honestly.” She stepped on the edge of a notecard as Dark went to grab it. He sighed, annoyed.

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because.”

“Tsk, that is not a good enough answer Shop, spit it out.”

“If I do will you tell me?”

“mayhaps I will.”

Shop scrunched her nose up, he was being difficult and vague again. Of course, getting her to beat around the bush until she gave up. But not today.

“It’s just… I know you tolerate me- “ “this is true,” “But I just… I see everyone else… and I can tell that they’re cared about, like, really cared for…”

“Well, it would seem you already answered your own question, you are tolerated and respected, what more could you want?” Dark wanted to shut Shop down as quick as he could.

“That’s not what I mean. You know that. I know you do… we watch the same group of people do stuff…” Shop spoke softly, and Dark rolled his eyes, pfft, as if that would be enough to persuade him to come forth. The answer is no. Dark was always observant, always keeping tabs on everyone and what they did.

“Shop, I think you should go rest- “

“And I think you should stop avoiding the question- “

“That is none of your concern.”

“Just TELL me!” Shop nearly cried out, growing more and more impatient as she stood at the edge of the table, as if to face off with Dark, who was grumbling to himself.

“You had said it yourself, I tolerate you. End of story. Now get off my papers and let us leave the conference room.” Dark grabbed the rest of his things, shoving them away before he stepped out, soon followed by a disgruntled girl, who was more determined than ever to find what he really thought…

Back in their room, Shop climbed up to the nightstand next to a desk, where Dark was, working away before he cleared his throat, well aware of what Shop was trying to accomplish.

“I will not answer your needlessly nonsensical question shop.” He lets his voice linger and hiss softly.

“Oh come on! No one else will hear you-!”

“I said NO, SHOP.” Dark booms suddenly, banging a fist down in frustration, his voice loud, yet low and aggressive. “WHY ARE YOU SO ADAMENT ABOUT THIS? You already know, why do you keep demanding I tell you?”

He looks down as the trembling girl, her hands balled up into fists. His cold eyes softening for a flicker before hardening again, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of winning their little ‘game.’

“Be-because…. I need to know…. For sure….” Shop managed to stutter out, shaking in fear of Dark’s anger, clenching her jaw in resentment for even asking him if he cared…

What followed seemed to be the longest silence in either one’s life, even the ever-present ringing had quieted down, adding to the unease of it all. For once, the two were at a stalemate, neither one really able to move without the other claiming checkmate over the situation.

“Excuse me.” Dark finally spoke, though his voice was quiet, almost as if he was choked up over the conundrum he found himself in as he pushed his chair out and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and leaving Shop to break down.

Why did she think this would be a good idea, she always knew he would never willingly give her a straight answer, but she so was tired of being tossed around and strung along with little certainty, and now it was all coming back to her in the ass. Not to mention all the pent-up emotions, all suddenly bubbling forth because she was alone.

Just as always.

Shop sat with her tears and thoughts for what seemed like forever, and when she finally calmed down, and Dark still hadn’t come back out, she made up her mind, not bothering with anything more as she climbed down and ran out the room in a blur, her tears filling her eyes once more as she half climbed, half raced down the stairs.

If she wouldn’t be treated like she should, then she would just leave. Seemed easier than trying to get through to Dark.

Of course, emotions always seemed to cloud Shop’s logical thought process, making her act on a whim. That was always something she meant to work on. Guess not today.

Shop stormed out the hall and down the corridor, passing a few egos who might’ve called out to her, thinking she would respond, but they would not get so much as a nod as Shop’s heart lurched as she stopped in front of the main doorway of the ego’s manor. She… she hadn’t been outside the manor, not since she’d come…

But her mind was made up, especially when she heard an aggressive shout call her name, ringing in her mind. Dark was coming, and in her rush, shop sprouted her wings and jumped up to the door knob, turning it with some effort, and swinging the door wide open as she pushed off and fell into a dive, flying towards the forest.

“SHOP? SHOP GET BACK HERE N O W.” Dark had screamed in her head; the good thing about having made a deal with her so long ago was that he had access to her mind. Of course, he didn’t bother peering into it all the time, since Shop was normally very vocal about her thoughts. But now, now he used it to try to stop her from running away, having been perplexed briefly when he no longer heard sobbing outside the bathroom door.

He ran out to the steps of the estate, the eyes of curious onlookers following him, not daring to speak up or question the situation. It was plain as day that something just happened, and that that something was not for them to interfere with.

Shop had never flown with so much room at her disposal, sure the manor had lots of room, and Shop could always make herself smaller to fit her needs, but it never felt quite right. Here though, in the forest, she could dip and dive, and more importantly, burn off the anger that had built up over the course of the day. No point in trying to fight fire with fire, she would just keep doing what she does and treat Dark with kindness and hope one day, he would learn from her.

Little did she know, he already had.

Someplace else, a certain bitchy glitch was practicing throwing knives at a crudely drawn dartboard he’d carved into a tree, grumbling about how unfair it was that Scheeplestein had kicked him out again for trying to mess with his little friend.

Maybe I can sneak in and fuck around with Dark and that Shop gal… Anti thought to himself with a chuckle. It was hard, but the few times he’d been able to sneak into the ego’s estate to mess with Dark and his assistant were always fond memories to him. That girl knew how to scream, that was for sure.

Anti was about to throw another knife when his eyes caught a glimpse of a flying object as it zipped by a few trees away from where he stood. Something about this figure intrigued him and he collected his knives, starting to follow in the direction he saw the creature fly off in...

#shop writes #tw: blood #tw: violence #g/t #giant tiny #gtmarkfanclub

39 notes · View notes

insidethegiftbasket · 3 years

Text

Domingo German

A Brief Editorial

I do not want German on the team. I do not like what he did, it appears that his teammates do not like what he’s done, and nothing he’s done off the field has made me think that he’s grown as a person. That said, he is a member of the team so Evan and I agreed to do a breakdown of him, and so I will be breaking down only his on the field work in here as fair as I possibly can. That said, hopefully it doesn’t matter because hopefully Deivi or Schmidt beat him out and take his job and the Yankees can send him off to KC or something.

A Second Brief Editorial

Evan here. Sam said everything I would, but with a greater sense of decorum. I have been actively booing his starts in ST with the same gusto that I cheer for Judge.

Okay, on to the stuff.

Basic Info

German is entering his age 29 season from San Pedro de Macoris, DR. He originally signed as an international free agent with the Marlins, but was traded to the Yankees along with Nathan Eovaldi and Garrett Jones for Martin Prado and David Phelps in 2014. After needing Tommy John surgery, the Yankees non-tendered him, but lack of interest elsewhere led to him re-signing with the team, eventually making his MLB debut in 2017. He will be arbitration eligible after this season, and is under team control through the 2024 season. Domingo also has one minor league option remaining.

2019 Breakdown

Outside of five bad starts in the Dominican Winter League this past offseason, Domingo hadn’t pitched since his suspension in late 2019. However, in 2019 he was a fairly effective pitcher- obviously people don’t take pitcher wins super seriously anymore, but he went 18-4 with the best win percentage in baseball in 2019 with a .818 ERA, and that was with him missing time due to suspension and a hip strain. His overall ERA wasn’t great (just over 4) and his xERA was worse (4.51), but he got the job done in a season where the Yankees had a billion injuries and had to use the opener more than you’d like to see.

As a reminder for what Domingo does as a pitcher, he throws a four seam fastball that sits around 93 with a ton of spin, a tight curveball with lower than normal break, a sinker that has a ton of movement, and a really nasty change up that he throws around 87 mph.

German’s biggest problem as a starter has been his home run tendencies- he gives up a LOT of hard contact and gave up a LOT of home runs in 2019- 30 homers allowed, with 18.8% of all fly balls he allowed ending up in the seats. He has changeup/sinker pitch mix to give up more ground balls, but his four seam and curveball are the pitches that get absolutely hammered. His curve is his go-to out pitch and his main option for getting swings and misses against lefties and righties, and it had a 45% whiff rate in 2019 which is really good. The issue is that 41.4% of the curveballs that were actually hit ended up being hard hit, and of the 99 curveballs that ended up put in play, 19% of them went for extra bases. Of the 145 four seams put in play, nearly 10% ended up as home runs! Hopefully, for both his and the Yankees sake, the ball not being juiced anymore will lower those home run numbers to a more manageable spot.

Split wise, German struck out a lot more lefties, but lefties had an OPS over .130 better than righties against him, and 20 of the 30 homers he gave up were to lefties. Surprisingly though, he was significantly better at home than on the road:

He was also a lot better earlier on in the season, which could be for a couple reasons:

The May numbers are highly inflated by one start in Kansas City, which is where Domingo’s hip issues began—after that start and two poor starts in June, he went on the IL for a month. The July numbers were also heavily inflated because Domingo started the classic game against Minnesota with the Hicks catch. He also pitched way more innings than he had in the past, so by the end of the season he was going from 6 or 7 innings a game to 3 or 4.

One of the positive things German has going for him (and also a reason why he gives up a lot of homers) is that he’s pretty accurate with his pitches:

That’s a lot of red inside the strike zone, and not a lot of wasted pitches either. German only walked 6.6% of batters in 2019 and averaged about 15 pitches an inning, so if he can stay healthy and built up he can be the kind of guy you can rely on to get you into the sixth or seventh inning and not have to use your bullpen after four innings. If he had pitched last year, I’d have a lot more faith in him being the other workhorse of the Yankees team, but having barely pitch for 18 months means that I’d expect them to take it slower with him, or for him to move to the pen towards August again.

I think for Domingo to ever be more than a fourth or fifth option on a team, he needs to improve his batted ball types. German is someone that when you hit him, you hit him hard, but giving up 52% of your balls as either fly balls or line drives (remember, 18.8% of those fly balls ended up as homers) is an issue. His curve is his most thrown pitch, and it’s his main strikeout pitch, but part of me wonders if a sinker/change approach may be better suited, especially against lefties, just to try and force more grounders.

Lastly, while his xERA was a half run higher than his actual ERA in 2019, it was nearly two runs lower in 2018 and below a 3.00 xERA in 2017, so even if he regresses a bit, he can still be a valuable pitcher for the team.

Optimistic 2021 Projection

Domingo stays healthy and despite not pitching for a year and a half, is still able to give the team length out of the rotation for most of the season. He averages almost six innings a start, and puts up a 4.00 ERA as the fifth starter, giving the bullpen a rest and letting the Yankees high powered offense pick up the slack against the other team’s worst pitchers. He’s on the postseason roster as a reliever who can give a little length, and makes an appearance in October in a blowout. He ends up being an important part of the team thanks to his consistency and the amount of innings he ends up eating.

Pessimistic 2021 Projection

It turns out that missing a year and a half is really bad for pitching, and despite the good spring training stats, Domingo is terrible in the regular season. He has an ERA over 6 after April, and is sent down for Deivi Garcia. After an injury to a starter, Domingo gets the call back up, but continues to be bad, as he gives up homer after homer, including a five bomb game against Toronto as the Jays finish off the sweep. Domingo gets the boot and is designated for assignment the next day, and ends up pitching in Mexico in 2022.

Sam’s Official 2021 Gift Basket Projection

I think German will be mostly fine for the first half of the season- I’d expect an ERA around 4.50, averaging around six innings a start, with a couple starts looking really ugly with teams teeing off on him and a couple starts where he looks like an ace. However, I do think he ends up running out of steam around the All Star break, which is when he’ll most likely be replaced in the rotation by Schmidt, Severino, or Garcia, and that he’ll end up being a long man out of the pen down the stretch.

Join us tomorrow as Evan tries to remember whether its Zack or Zach, as we take you Inside the Gift Basket on RP, Zac(h/k) Britton.

#Yankees #New York Yankees #MLB #Baseball #Breakdown #Domingo German

0 notes

theragingthespian · 7 years

Note

Supercorp at a baseball game

When Kara asks if she's free Saturday, she immediately makes sure she is.

When Kara, fingers coated in cheese and salt and salsa, drags her up bleacher after bleacher until they reach the perfect spot, she realizes maybe she should've asked why.

“Want one?” A chip is held towards her, cheese slipping off and falling in a clump on the bleacher between them. “It's okay. I'll get it.”

She doesn’t wait to see what Kara means by that, turning her attention back to the people milling about the field. A part of her knows what Kara intends, and her stomach twists at the thought.

“All good.”

When she glances down, the cheese is gone and Kara looks unnervingly proud of herself.

(She’s not even quite sure where Kara got nachos.

An empty parking lot with an even emptier concession stand. Kara had knocked twice on the counter and strange enough, someone, who looked extremely similar to one of the agents she was positive she had seen sitting behind a computer at the DEO, stood up.

Had sighed good naturedly and passed Kara an obscene amount of snacks in such a way she couldn’t help but relate to.)

“Kara,” she asks slowly, nudging away the hand that tries to grab hers and settles hers over Kara’s instead. Kara’s fingers tap restlessly under her hand until she slips her fingers between Kara’s, squeezes. “What are we doing here?”

“This,” Kara slaps her hand on the bleacher, looks at her with bright, gleeful eyes, “is DEO bonding time.”

Lena makes a disgusted noise when Kara’s hand almost lands on her shoulder and edges away, sternly eyeing Kara. Napkins were apparently out of question in Kara’s pack of snacks.

“Whoops. Sorry.” She tries not to wince when Kara wipes her hands on her pants, shrugging at the stain spread along her side. She must fail, because Kara grins and waves her hands in her face, tugging at her jacket to pull her against Kara's legs which are far more forgiving than leaning back on the bleachers.

(Not that it could've been the other way around and she still would've done it.

Not that she falls into any chance to be close to Kara.

Simply an added bonus.)

“Pam came up with it. The divisions never really interact, so.” Kara flops a hand before them.

“Baseball?”

“Yep.”

Lena hums. The- agents, she realizes as she takes in the overwhelming amount of black clothing that suddenly makes too much sense. Most are gathered in a line, standing before J’onn as he waves the metal detector over them.

She tugs at Kara’s pant leg and cranes her neck back when Kara laughs as she spots her confusion. One that’s loud and shakes Kara’s shoulders as she dips her head, nose brushing her head. “A precaution. Sometimes it gets serious.”

“That serious?” Kara nods against her, arms crossing over her chest and pulling her further into Kara’s warmth. “Wait, can you not play?”

“Define can’t play?”

Kara leans back, legs still playfully pressed tight against her sides, but oh, her eyes dart away. “Kara, what did you do?”

“I didn’t know the rules! It’s not my fault!” Kara huffs and tips her chin up, sun falling over her face and it's with no particular thought that she reaches up to cup Kara’s cheek, Kara turning and leaning into it with a happy sigh despite the pout she’s intent on keeping up. “All they told me was,” Kara drops her voice, flattening it in a mocking way that she immediately recognizes as Alex from Kara’s past mimicking, “just make sure the ball touches someone if they’re not on a base.”

“Okay.” It doesn’t sound particularly bad. Not that she knows every detail of baseball, but really, what could Kara have-

“So this- this jerk was trying to steal a base- which that’s weird anyway, why do humans allow stealing sometimes- and so I just,” Kara pushes her hand forward, “threw it at him.”

“You-”

“Threw it at him. Across the field.” Kara flattens her hand against hers, moving it in a way to cover her face. “I made sure not to throw too hard, but how was I supposed to know I should’ve been holding the ball and then tap him with it?”

She tries to tamp down the laugh building in her chest as Kara leans forward to hide against her shoulder. “I’m sure he was alright. Mistakes happen.”

“After that and maybe accidentally breaking a few bats- I didn’t hit anyone with them- but Pam thought it was best if I just cheer on everybody.”

Lena twists to the side to slide her fingers through Kara’s hair, working her way to Kara’s neck and letting her fingers linger. “Well, I’m happy to keep you company.”

“Right.” Lena sits up straight at Kara's tone. Cautious and apologetic and just a touch mischievous. All elements pointing to something that screams trouble in her head.

“Kara.”

“I love you.” Kara tilts her head, smiles sweetly at her and she almost forgets her worry at the rush of warmth the words stir up. Blinding and warm, kindling throughout her chest until it matches the warmth of Kara's skin under her palm. But then Kara's lips quirk to the side and she's wiggling away, doing an awkward crab walk up the bleachers. “Just remember that. Okay? Because they um theyneedanotherplayer.”

“What-"

“Let's go Lena.”

She jerks back when Alex hovers over her, fingers dancing at her hip that would be a bit intimidating if she still had her weapon.

Trust J’onn to think through everything. Brilliant really.

He looks up to her from the field, but it’s not the usual small smile he gives her. No, this one is full of sympathy and-

Oh. Oh no.

“No. I- no. Alex, I can’t.” She hooks her fingers under the bleacher, and oh, if there somehow ends up a picture in the news of some government agent trying to drag her off the bleachers, it will still be ten times better than playing baseball. “I don’t- I don’t have clothes.”

“Oh gosh, I’m really sorry.” Kara shrugs off her bookbag and tosses it to Alex. “Really, really sorry.”

Alex pulls her up, and okay, maybe she should have taken those visits- one visit, it was one visit- to the gym seriously because Alex pries her away from the bleacher like it’s no problem.

(Then she remembers Alex trying to keep Kara from her slice of cake, and while unsuccessful, it was still a decent try.)

“You can just stand there for all I care. We just need another member or we won’t have enough players to enter.” Alex shoots a sharp look towards Kara. “A member who hasn’t gotten disqualified for life.”

“Oh yeah? Well you’re-” Kara smartly keeps from meeting her gaze as her fingers twist together. “You’re disqualified. How do you like that?”

“National City’s finest reporter right there.” Kara blows out an angry breath at that, but softens when Alex starts pulling her away, giving her a small wave and mouthing sorry. “You’re going to get dressed and then we’re on in five.”

“Alex wait,” she tries to dig her heels into the ground, but it doesn’t do much. Anything. It doesn’t do anything. “I don’t know how to play or hit or anything.”

Alex pushes them into the bathroom, foot tapping as she starts riffling through the bookbag. “Listen, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Which isn’t the message she’s getting when Alex shoves clothes into her hands. Alex stops, sighing and bringing her hands to settle on her shoulders. “We could really use your help.”

Lena shifts her weight to the wall, staring down at her hands as she grips the clothes. “Wait,” she holds up the shirt, Danvers emblazoned across the back, “this isn’t mine.”

“We were going to get you one with your last name, but I didn’t think you’d like that one as much.” Alex smiles, a little slanted, a little nervous as she scratches the back of her neck. “Winn wears one too, so it’s not like- weird or anything. I mean, you’re family.”

“Oh,” Lena breathes, traces her finger lightly over the letters.

(She’s not wondering how she’s going to get to a base in time when she can’t even run. Not contemplating what exactly an inning is.

She’s thinking that her family needs her- wants her- for something as stupid as baseball, and she can do that.

She can.)

She can’t.

She wasn’t built for this. She was made for microscopes and blueprints and running for only the time it takes Kara to catch her after she takes the last potsticker.

(That’s two seconds tops.

Two seconds and then hands are around her waist, lifting her up and snatching away the food for Kara to shove it in her mouth or knocking it out of her hands as they end up falling on the couch, all laughter and tangled up together.)

“Breathe. It’s just a game, it’s fine.” Alex presses the bat into her hands. “But if you can just hit it a little, just enough for Susan to get to home, we win.”

“We’re going to lose.”

Maggie elbows Winn sharply in the side and looks back to her. “Which is totally okay.”

“Just breathe and swing.”

She tries.

Looks up at Kara who’s yelling and hopping as she steps up to the plate, waits until the pounding in her chest is lulled into something slower, something familiar and Kara’s smile gets even bigger as she gives a clumsy thumbs up.

The first swing she misses.

(If she missed what happened, Pam yelling strike right in her ear clears up any confusion.

She’s starting to understand Alex’s less than tasteful comments about her and her endless, it’s ridiculous paperwork.)

“It’s okay!” Kara’s shout rings louder than the rest, and she’s not sure if Kara’s doing it on purpose or if she merely listens for Kara’s voice more. Hears it in the morning all the way to the night. “Try again, Lena!”

The second time she swings when she shouldn’t have. Awkwardly follows through with the swing and replacing her feet.

Kara’s not there when she glances back. An emergency then, but Alex’s staring up, eyes squinting and shakes her head with a careful smile.

The third time, she steps into it, feels a brush of warmth at her elbow raising the bat, a forceful push on the bat that has it meeting the ball with a crack.

And all she can think is-

Kara.

“What the- run Lena!”

“Oh-” She starts running, drops the bat when Winn yells it through his laughter. She looks over her shoulder as she runs, sees Kara back in the bleachers as if she was there all along.

Alex comes jogging up beside her, knocking their shoulders together. “I thought it would be best if you knew where you were going.”

“There’s a line.”

Alex gives a playful frown, the kind she gives Kara when she can’t pull off the disapproving look. “And yet, you’re still looking really confused.”

Breathe. Step and breathe. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Alex snorts. “Well, you, Lena Luthor, just hit a ball outside our field. You know what that means?” She can’t get the words out, forces out a breath and shakes her head. “Homerun.”

“Great.”

Except she’s pretty sure she knows exactly what happened. Or who, rather.

Alex runs with her all the way around, clapping her on the back and steering her through the crowd. “There she is. Tell her next time to lay off a little, okay?”

An agent is slowly inching away from Kara and books it as soon as she approaches. Kara groans and shouts after him, “I said I was sorry!” When she sees her, Kara doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. Just claps her hands with a beaming smile. “Look at you! Never played baseball, ha okay.”

“You’re a cheat.”

“Me?” Kara curls a finger to herself. “No, no. You are just a natural born baseball player.”

“And you’re an awful liar.”

“If something had been on the verge of cheating, it’s only because your team lost such a valuable player when I couldn’t play. “Kara purses her lips, throwing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. “But I’m not lying when I say that you,” fingers hook around her belt loop to keep her steady as Kara whispers into her ear, “are my favorite player.” Kara presses a warm kiss against her cheek. “So,” she holds up a baseball, “can I get your autograph?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

(Kara puts it in a small glass case and proudly places it on her desk. She catches Kara bringing it to Jess to show her before they go to lunch. Eve somehow knows about it next time she visits CatCo, talks of how Kara said she carried the whole team. At the DEO, she walks in on Alex talking about a baseball prodigy in the family and points right to her.

It makes her feel silly and warm and oh, maybe baseball wasn’t so bad.)

#supercorp #supergirl #supergirl fanfiction #prompts #ugh

643 notes · View notes

xtruss · 4 years

Text

Feature

When Imran Khan Blew Me Away

Facing up to the legendary Pakistani allrounder in his prime took not a little courage

— MARK NICHOLAS | June 6, 2020

July 5th 1980, Hove. Damp weather had taken a turn for the better and play began on time in the Championship match between Sussex and Hampshire. Keith Stevenson, an honest outswing bowler who had joined Hampshire from Derbyshire a couple of seasons earlier, quickly removed Gehan Mendis and Tim Booth-Jones. The pitch was true and quite pacy; Hove was a fine place for county cricket. The folk in their deckchairs and straw hats muttered disapproval at the loss of two early wickets but rather perked up when Imran Khan made his way to the wicket at No. 4, a place higher than on the card. Floating behind the Pakistan allrounder were great clouds of charisma.

He wore the Sussex cap and from its band flowed the signature mane that rested upon the nape of his neck. The martlets on his sleeveless jumper appeared as if newly embroidered and occasionally, when the morning sun broke, shone like little blue sapphires on his chest. Imran Khan was some sight. Outrageously handsome, athletically built and light on his feet, he carried himself like an emperor. When he reached 15 or so, he closed the face of the bat too early on a little push to mid-on and the ball looped from the outside edge of his bat into the hands of the Hampshire left-arm spinner John Southern. It was a catch you would lob to a child. Southern dropped it.

We shall never know why, though clearly he took his eye of it. I was stationed at midwicket and watched in horror, as did our team from their various viewpoints around the field. Hampshire weren't much good that year and such pickings were rare. The deckchairs talked in whispered words of disbelief and relief. Southern pulled his jumper from the back of his neck over his head in order to cover his face. The moment was frozen in time: Southern the subject of shame, Hampshire's team the subject of ridicule, Imran the benefactor of hopelessness.

"As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport," says Gloucester in King Lear as he wanders on the heath after being blinded by Cornwall and Regan. The quotation reflects the profound despair that grips him and drives him to desire his own death. He suggests that there is no good order in the universe. Instead of divine justice, there is only the "sport" of vicious, inscrutable gods, who reward cruelty and delight in suffering.

We were Imran's sport that day all right. He made 114 high-class runs, hitting a six and 16 fours before racing up the hill in the final 40 minutes of the day to claim two wickets with fast inswingers that terrified the recipients, of whom I was one.

Let's deal with the hundred first. Imran's batting was methodical, a thing of planning and practice. He had little of a Pakistani's wristy flair, and none of the looseness that has sometimes characterised the Pakistan game. He was a dodgy runner between the wickets, probably because he called runs from his own vantage point and not with another person in mind; but he didn't run much, at least not in the way of a run-thief. That was about the only flaw. We missed one of those too, Imran stuck halfway down with Paul Phillipson and the throw ending up across the boundary beneath the scoreboard.

He did everything else with time to spare and most of it with elegance. He played very straight - like gun barrel - and moved himself efficiently into line before looking almost exclusively to hit the ball back from whence it came. I remember the six he hit because it was exactly how he hit sixes: a little shuffle of the feet towards the bowler - Southern again - and then a lovely free swing of the bat that sent the ball sailing into the deckchairs. They more than whispered at that - they chortled and poured a glass of pale ale. He was out caught on the boundary off our other spinner, Nigel Cowley. I guess he was bored. Imran's return to the pavilion was the journey of a Roman triumph.

Soon enough he was back out, stretching limbs and wheeling arms. He took the new ball with Garth Le Roux, hardly a slouch himself. The change bowlers were Geoff Arnold and Ian Greig. We were lambs to the slaughter. Imran almost always bowled up the Hove hill and Le Roux down it, which was the case on July 5th 1980.

I repeat, he was a sight - sprinting in, leaping into his delivery stride and unleashing hell. The sprint was short-stepped and reached a good pace before the jump that, in his pomp, set him side-on and close to the stumps at the point of delivery. His left arm worked hard both as a part of the jump and in the follow-through, which, unusually for a fast bowler, broke away to the left and off the pitch area almost immediately after releasing the ball.

From the years at Oxford University in the early 1970s, when he was a chest-on medium-pace inswing bowler, he developed into one of the most sensational and adaptable fast bowlers of all time. Imagine if he had played the large part of his career in England, say, or New Zealand, rather than on the burnt-out, grassless pitches of Pakistan. Imagine the wickets column then! A loose wrist perfectly positioned behind the ball allowed for inswingers that were his stock-in-trade; the outswingers that he developed with the changes to his action were the luxury

Now here he was at Hove, the Pathan warrior, waiting for me.

First he bounced out Tim Tremlett, a fine county bowler made makeshift opener for a while. Then he pawed at the ground as I took guard - the kid with the crazy dream versus Imran Khan, the greatest cricketer Pakistan has ever known. He whistled a couple past my nose at such pace and with such steep bounce that I barely offered to play beyond a trigger move back and across the crease and the pick-up of the bat. These balls hammered into the wicketkeeper's gloves at head height 25 yards behind me. Then, half-ducking, half-fending, I gloved one that ripped back at me and shot past leg gully down to long leg for a single. The blow sent a surge of electricity through my nervous system, but I was off the mark and away from "Immy".

The umpire at Imran's end was Barrie Meyer. "We haven't met, son, but if I had anything to offer, I'd say stay down this end. You've got a chance against big Garth because you can see the ball in the hand all the way through the run-up and delivery. With Immy, it's lost and then suddenly appears like a bullet from a gun. Good luck." Oh, right. Thanks.

Hove was the quickest pitch in England. As so often in sport, the legend outlives the facts, but the difference on this day and on this surface between our popgun and their heavy artillery was, well, ridiculous. Even I bowled four overs for goodness' sake, and they had Immy, Garth, Horse and Greigy.

There is a tale about me not wearing a helmet but that was a year later, in a Benson and Hedges Cup match. It was a gorgeous day, the pitch was flat - flat like batting heaven - and yes, I wore a sun hat, the Majid Khan-style hat with a wide brim and a hint of style. As I walked out at No. 3 I heard Imran at long leg shout to Garth, who was bowling, "Look Garth, no helmet." They bombed me until the shell shock dismantled me. In defence, helmets were not de rigeur; in fact, they were a choice you made each day, for each pitch or opponent.

On this day in 1980, I wore a helmet but had not worn one before and it was both cumbersome and tricky for sighting the ball - rather an important part of batting. The Perspex visor misted up - well, began to, but I wasn't there long enough for a blinding mist - and it extended a long way out from the face, so it was hard to tuck my chin into my left shoulder in my stance. Thus, I stood quite open, which would have been fine if I had practised that way, but in county cricket there was no time for practice, only play. Oh, and we had only a few helmets so they were shared around. I think mine was white, or blue, or green. I mean, please.

Anyway, Chris Smith sneaked a single off the second ball of Imran's next over and there I was, up the wrong end again. Looking back, it was a thrilling experience but at the time it quickly turned to humiliation. The gulf in standard was so big as to be dangerous. He got me out, of course he did. I nicked a bouncy thing around off stump and nearly shouted "Catch it!" to the keeper behind me. He dived to his right and did just that. I was immediately overcome with sadness at such inability. I was also embarrassed. Sitting in the dressing room, I welled up, reflecting on the truth that I wasn't good enough. It rained for most of the rest of the match, so there was no repeat or redemption.

Eight months later I had a phone call at home from Keith Fletcher. Didn't know him from a bar of soap but was mighty intrigued that he was on the end of the line. He asked me to come with an "England" side to play three matches against a combined India-Pakistan team in Dubai and Bahrain.

I roomed with Basil D'Oliveira, stood at cover for John Snow, and batted with Fletch and Graham Roope among others. Imran bowled a little below Hove pace in a football stadium on a matting pitch under floodlights. I was Man-of-the-Match and Immy, as I suddenly knew him, was friendly and complimentary at the reception that evening. I have been a fan ever since.

I first saw him live in 1979 at the Sydney Cricket Ground during World Series Cricket. By then he was really quick, and with Le Roux, Mike Procter and Clive Rice formed an attack good enough to beat Ian Chappell's Australians in the Supertest final. The cricketers all seemed so glamorous and we came to "see the white ball fly", as went the advertising slogans. Barry Richards made the hundred that saw the Rest of the World XI over the line and a new order of cricketing heroes emerged through the prism of rebellion.

Kerry Packer's astonishing raid on the game had seen most of the world's best players desert the established corridors and sign on to play in the closest thing cricket has ever seen to a rock 'n roll circus. It was a seminal moment, as big in sporting terms as the Beatles and as much fun as the record that changed the look and feel of the seventies, David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust. We watched open-mouthed as the Chappells, Rod Marsh and Dennis Lillee; Viv Richards, Clive Lloyd and Michael Holding; Barry Richards, Procter, Rice, Le Roux, Imran, Asif Iqbal, Derek Underwood and Tony Greig played with a white ball under lights, dressed in tight, coloured clothes with bell- bottom trousers and butterfly collars. These guys were Kerry's band, and boy, could they play guitar. Of them all, Viv and Immy shone brightest and played loudest. There was something of Hollywood in them both and the same aura remains to this day.

Imran (standing second from right) with the likes of Glenn Turner and Basil D'Oliveira in a Worcestershire line-up in 1973 © Bob Thomas/Getty Images

My next encounter with Imran was at the old Northlands Road Ground in Southampton in 1987. Hampshire were playing Pakistan in a warm-up game before the last Test and Imran came for a bat but not much else. In fact, he sent Mudassar Nazar, I think, to toss the coin, having hung around at the team hotel himself until the order of the game was decided and then cruised in at No. 7 for a hit late in the afternoon. He made 40-odd and didn't appear again until the third morning, when I suggested a declaration that would set up a lively day for the good crowd. We stood outside the club office, in front of an audience of spectators having an increasingly heated debate. He wanted practice for his team prior to securing what became a fabulous series win over England; I wanted a bit of enterprise and a run chase. I said he had a duty to the game, he said he had a duty to his team. He called me an arrogant public schoolboy, I said it took arrogance to know arrogance, and to and fro we went, like spoilt kids. The game fizzled out but within a few days Pakistan made 708 batting first at The Oval - Immy made 118 of them, Javed Miandad 260 - to end any hope England had of levelling the series, and, I guess, fully justifying the game plan at Southampton!

You could argue he was just a bit too cool for school during that match but Imran has always seen the bigger picture. He was an exceptional leader of men on the cricket field and has gone on to achieve the ambition most thought impossible, the leadership of Pakistan off the field. Of the myriad gifts, his greatest may be the way he holds it together under pressure. This is achieved through both resilience and self-belief; single-mindedness and desire. No one in cricket worked harder at being good. Imran's discipline and unwavering commitment were a locked-in motivation to those around him.

Of course, the 1992 World Cup was a crowning glory - a day for the ages - and provided the platform for another remarkable achievement. "In the speech, after we won the Cup, my mind was entirely focused on the hospital and I forgot to thank the team members who had put so much effort in the game," he has said since. Imran opened the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital and Research Centre in Lahore in 1994. His mother, who was a cancer patient, had inspired it, and his speech that day at the Melbourne Cricket Ground will live with us always. He set up a second cancer hospital in Peshawar in 2015.

His route to becoming prime minister has at times been tortuous, needing both courage and persistence in the arguments for what he fundamentally believes is right. He is seen as populist: he pursues Islamic values, to which he rededicated himself in the early 1990s, and liberal economics in the creation of a welfare state. He favours clear and stringent anti-corruption laws and an anti-militant vision for a democratic Pakistan. In short, he is on another mission.

By the age of 30, Imran Khan was a cricketing god. At the age of 67, his real work appears only to have just begun. For those of us besotted by his deeds with bat and ball, we can for now reflect on a fantastic cricketer whose 362 Test wickets at 22.81 each and 3807 runs at 37.69 per innings put him alongside the greatest match-winners to have played the game. When choosing his favourite all-time team, Richie Benaud picked Imran at No. 7. For the record, here is that team - Hobbs, Gavaskar, Bradman, Tendulkar, Viv Richards, Sobers, Gilchrist, Imran Khan, Warne, Lillee, SF Barnes.

Enough said.

Mark Nicholas, the former Hampshire captain, is a TV and radio presenter and commentator

0 notes