almost a no hitter

anonymous asked:

If you had to sort TW characters into a Leverage-esque team, which role (hitter, hacker, thief, grifter, mastermind) do you think best suits each character and why?

Hmm honestly I could see a few combinations here. Stiles as either the thief or hacker is possible - I can see him breaking into places or digging up information pretty successfully, although if I made him the thief, Danny would definitely get the position of hacker. Lydia would hands-down be the grifter, she has the elegance and skill with manipulating people to pull it off. And I’d want Allison as the hitter. I mean a few others could fit the role - Derek, Isaac, etc., but Allison is bamf enough for that too, and with Peter as the mastermind to round out the team, I could see myself writing it.

— THIS WAS ORIGINALLY WHERE I WAS GOING TO END IT BUT… FML I COULDN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT AND NOW—

Keep reading

FIC: No-Hitter (Baseball Player!Sam/Reader)

So some time ago @parkerroos did a Baseball!Sam night. I submitted this idea (under my main blog, @brideofderfunkenstein) and have not been able to stop thinking about it since. So, here’s the fic y’all knew I was inevitably going to write about it.

FIC: No-Hitter

Pairing: Sam Holland/Reader

Summary: Sam, a young pitcher, is going for his first career no-hitter with his girlfriend (the reader) in the stands.

Note: Sam plays for the St. Louis Cardinals because, uh, they’re my favorite team. 

Warnings: Extreme fluff.


It’s a warm Friday night in late May. You’re at Busch Stadium, watching your boyfriend Sam Holland pitch. He is, as the announcers would say, putting on a clinic. This is his second year in the majors (his first full year, though) and he’s come close to pitching a no-hitter a couple of times, but almost always blew it with the last batter.

Tonight, he’s working on it again.

He walked the first batter but has pitched perfectly ever since - twenty-five up, twenty-five down. The Cardinals led the GIants, 4-0. (Because he’s an overachiever, he drove in the first run too.)

You’re sitting in the first row behind home plate with some of the other players’ wives and girlfriends. You’re wearing your lucky jersey - a replica of your boyfriend’s - and a pair of shorts; you’re also wearing Sam’s old hat from high school.

You two started dating your junior year of high school. You dated all through college, and all through the three years he pitched in the minors before he finally, finally got the call midway through last season.

It’s now the bottom of the ninth, two outs. First pitch, strike. Second pitch, strike.

“Oh, man. I can’t watch,” you say nervously to Aliya, one of the outfielders’ wives as you cover your eyes with your hands.

There is electricity in the air; you feel the little hairs on your arms stand up as Aliya gently removes your hands from your face.

“I think you’re going to want to see this,” she says softly, smiling at you.

The catcher calls a time-out so he can talk to Sam for a moment. You let out a deep sigh, hoping that he will just strike the guy out.

Sam looks up at the stands for a moment. He catches your eye and you shoot him a quick smile; he smiles back at you and heads back to the mound.

You bite your lower lip nervously as Sam looks to the catcher for the call on what pitch to throw. He shakes him off a couple of times, then nods.

He winds up and throws the ball.

The batter swings…

…and misses.

Strike three.

The stadium erupts into cheers; it’s the loudest you think you’ve ever heard it.

“He did it! He did it, (y/n), he did it!!” Aliya shouts at you; you throw your arms around her in celebration.

You let out a loud whoop as some of the other wives and girlfriends come down to hug you too.

The PA announcer cuts through the din with an announcement:

“Folks, we’ve witnessed history. Tonight was the first no-hitter of Sam Holland’s career. Congratulations, Sam, we know it won’t be the last.”

“Of his entire career?” Aliya asks you.

You nod. “Never threw one in high school. Came close in college a couple of times, and I lost track of how many one-hitters he threw in the minors. And-”

“Ms. (y/l/n)?” A security guard walks up to you. “Mr. Holland would like you on the field. Please follow me.”

You squeal to Aliya as the guard leads you down to the field. Once you’re there, you run through the throng of players and reporters to the mound, where Sam is still standing.

“Congratulations, babe!” You shout as you throw your arms around Sam’s neck.

Smiling, Sam wraps his arms around your waist, picking you up slightly as he twirls you around. “I can’t believe it!” he says as he holds you close to him. “I did it, baby, I finally did it!”

“I am so proud of you!” You kiss his cheek.

“Sam! Sam, can I ask you a couple of questions?” A reporter shouts over the noise. It’s then that you notice the TV camera pointed right at you.

(What you don’t notice is Sam motioning to the catcher, who runs into the locker room and quickly runs back out with something. You also don’t notice said catcher slipping something into Sam’s back pocket.)

“Of course,” Sam says; his voice echoes throughout the stadium. “But I have to do something really quickly first.” He gingerly sets you down, unhooks his arms from around your waist, reaches into his back pocket…

…and immediately drops to one knee.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you (and 40,000 fans, collectively) gasp.

“(Y/n), he says into the microphone Jim is holding, so his voice is heard throughout the stadium. “I love you so much. You’re my biggest fan and you have been since high school. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you’ve made me. Will you marry me?” He looks up at you, brandishing the item that the catcher had slipped into his pocket: A beautiful diamond ring.

You can hardly believe what is happening to you.

Your boyfriend just pitched the best game of his career, and now he’s proposing to you. In front of thousands of people in the stadium. And probably millions at home.

But, boy, when Sam Holland does something he does it big.

“Yes!” you cry, nodding your head.

The stadium erupts again as Sam slips the ring onto your finger. He stands upright again and cups your face in his hands, kissing you tenderly.

“Did you hear that, everyone? She said yes!” Jim announces. “What a night for Sam Holland. Pitching his first-ever no-hitter, and getting engaged? Only thing that could top this is a World Series win, am I right?”

The crowd cheers.

“He’s wrong,” Sam whispers to you. “Nothing can ever top this.”

“I love you so much, Sam,” you smile.

“I love you too, darling.” He kisses you yet again. “This really is the best night of my life.”

“Mine too, Sam.”

If there is ever a live adaptation of Worm, I cannot think of what type of music would be appropriate for it. Wildbow really utilizes all sorts of avenues and channels to convey something on a narrative level, so audio seems like an obvious choice to me when it comes to that.

For example, the fight with Leviathan focusing more on the sounds of their armbands which announce cape deaths, the extremely heavy rainfall and tidal waves crashing, environmental destruction, people shouting and crying in pain and hysteria, the sounds of heavy hitters trading blows with Leviathan.

I almost would prefer no music whatsoever, if only because audio needs to be so tightly controlled and utilized effectively. It makes me think of trench warfare, like WWII, or perhaps Vietnam.

Mike shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His back was acting up so he was going to give sports commentating another run. As he went through his cards, he found one that hadn’t been there when he’d been given them.

Don’t worry old man. I’ll make sure to give you plenty of things to compliment me on

He couldn’t help grinning. Trust Ginny to find a way to make him less worried about the whole ordeal. And boy had she given him something to be proud of. Ginny had gotten ridiculously close to pitching a no hitter, only getting one hit in the 8th inning. The Padres had beaten the Cubs 5 to 0.

“Ready Mike?”

He nodded at the host, looking up at the panel. There was an empty seat next to him at the table, he noted absentmindedly as he tried to keep his stats straight. He was running over Blip’s batting average when he heard someone say, “You can sit here, Ms. Patrick.”

“Thanks.”

He froze, keeping his eyes on his cards; there was no way his luck was that shitty.

“Hey Mike.”

Apparently it was. He looked up, giving Rachel Patrick, his ex wife, a tight-lipped smile.

“Rachel.” He glanced around, looking for a producer or executive or someone to blame for not warning him. Rachel seemed to understand.

“This was a last minute decision. I was in town visiting my mom and got the call about an hour ago.”

Mike nodded. “Great.” His voice sounded forced and pained. Rachel nodded.

“Your team did well today.”

“Uh huh.”

“Baker and Duarte are really coming into their own.”

Mike pressed his mouth into a line, annoyed at the rush of jealousy that flared up. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Ginny to pitch with other catchers, it was specifically Duarte that he had a problem with. “Yup.” he said.

“1 minute.” The director called out, everyone getting into position. Mike put his cards flat on the table in front of him. He could do this. He could survive. Smiling at the camera, he listened as the host introduced each panelist.

“So, Mike.” The host smiled. “Helluva game from Baker. How does it feel to see your team doing well without you?”

“I’m not gone yet.” He said, smiling as though it was funny.

“You saying she might have done better if you’d been behind the plate?”

Mike frowned. Sure if he’d been talking to Ginny, he’d have jokingly said that, but for someone else to say it on national television…

“Baker’s more than her catcher. I think she would have pitched as well no matter who was kneeling behind home plate.” He paused. “But I won’t lie, I wish I’d been there to see it in person.”

“It is a shame she wasn’t able to get the no hitter, though.” Rachel remarked.

Mike gaped at her. “I mean it is, but her coming close is an accomplishment worth celebrating. Few pitchers ever have a game as good as hers.”

The conversation moved on. Mike settled into a rhythm of blurting out a stat every time they turned to him and things were going well…until Rachel said it.

“I think if today’s game proves anything its that more women should be in major league baseball.” She paused, looking around the panel. “It’s strange that Ginny Baker hasn’t pushed for more to be brought up.”

An awkward silence fell. Mike glanced down at his cards, shuffling them to try to find a distraction from his irritation. Then Ginny’s handwritten card came out on top. He ran his fingers over it, before looking up and glaring at Rachel.

“Are you trying to say that the entire responsibility of women in the major leagues falls on her shoulders?” He asked.

“I’m saying she’s in the position to demand more.” Rachel gave him a look of disappointment that he’d gotten used to during their marriage. It screamed ‘Mike Lawson isn’t living up to my expectations’. And maybe he could have done better as a husband, but this was baseball they were talking about. This was his home turf.

“And she does.” He snapped. “Every time she gets on the mound. Every time she throws a ball. Every time she pushes herself 3 times as hard as the average player. Every single thing she does is put under a microscope. Every action is held against her and she still puts on that uniform and smiles to the cameras and almost pitches a no-hitter and all anyone can do is demand more.” He glared. “And she is demanding more women in major league games. Do you have any idea how many little girls are joining little league because they want to grow up to be like Ginny Baker?” He leaned back. “And it’s extremely condescending of you to sit here and tell her that she’s not doing enough without any idea of what she’s sacrificed to be in her position.”

“As a woman,” Rachel glared, her voice rising slightly. “I think I understand sacrifice, and for you to sit here and tell me I don’t is condescending and problematic.”

Mike couldn’t help letting out a cough of disbelief. “Right. Because the wealthy white woman attacking a black woman for not helping others enough when she’s not here to defend herself isn’t problematic at all.”

The silence that followed his words was deafening. Rachel’s face reddened as she looked down at the desk in front of her. No one seemed to know how to respond.

“Well.” The host finally managed. “I think that’s our cue to go to commercial. Be sure to tune in next time…” Mike drowned out the rest of his words as he tried to quiet the blood pounding in his ears. Why was it that every time he tried this stupid commentator thing, it went up in flames?

As soon as the cameras were off, he pulled off his mic and got up from the table, pausing only to politely shake the hand of the host and thank him for letting him on.

He’s almost made it to the parking lot when Rachel caught up with him.

“You forgot something.”

He turned and looked back at her. She was holding a card in her hand. Dimly, he realized it was the one Ginny had written for him. “Thanks.” He growled, taking it before turning back to his car.

“Does she know?” Rachel’s voice was hushed and wavering in that way that told him she was on the verge of tears.

“Does who know what?” He asked, not wanting to turn around.

“Does Ginny Baker know you’re in love with her?”

He’s stunned, unable to respond as he listened to the sound of her heels retreating. Looking down at the card in his hand, he leaned against the side of his car. His phone began buzzing and he glanced down, gulping as Ginny’s name came up on the caller id. Against his better judgement, he answers.

“Hey.” Her voice is warm and concerned.

“Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?” he asked.

“The stadium’s being swarmed by reporters, I’m waiting a bit before leaving.” She paused. “Just long enough to see the after game commentators.”

He opened the door to his car and slid into the driver’s seat. “See anyone interesting and dashingly handsome?”

She laughed and the sound calmed his irritated nerves. “Tragically, I couldn’t tell because this one guy who kept complimenting me had this furry creature eating the bottom half of his face.”

“He sounds like a distinguished person, though there’s no accounting for his taste in ball players.” Mike sighed.

“You love me.” She said it as a joke; the same way he’d tell her she loved his beard. He felt a wrench in his stomach. Yes, he wanted to tell her. You blow me away and I can’t imagine my life without you.

“I tolerate your presence, Baker.” Is what he went for instead.

She laughed. “That’s why you gush about me on national television.”

“There was no gushing.” He said.

“Eh.” Ginny chuckled. There was a pause. It wasn’t awkward, it was…comfortable. He was content to sit alone in his car, just listening to her breathe…he had it bad. “That couldn’t have been easy.” She finally said, her voice barely a whisper.

“All in a day’s-”

“Mike.” She cut him off, using his first name to show she was serious. “Thank you.”

He swallowed. “Anytime Ginny.”