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itsbeesknees · 1 year

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Ode to the Grim Reaper

Terzo x GN!reader

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Summary: Terzo is dead. Atleast.. he should be.

Warnings: MDNI, Angst, death, hurt/comfort, grief and mourning, revived corpses, use of google translated Italian, mentions of gore and blood (beheadings),

Word count: 2.3K

A/N: This is my first time doing an x reader, so don’t mind me testing the waters here,, I apologize if it sounds a little rushed, I wanted to try and keep it short.

Even though there is technically no smut, all my works are 18+ regardless, I do not want any minors interacting with my fics‼️

——0——

Terzo is dead.

Well, he should be dead.

Dead people can not, should not, feel things once they’re gone. Their bodies must remain cold, frigid, and lifeless— becoming nothing more than a shriveled and polar shell of what they once were.

Dead people should also not blink. Yet here lies the deceased, supposedly deceased, third Emeritus brother, nictitating his dried eyes. He blinks again. Because, as it would seem, he does not play the role of a deadman very well. He’s a corpse abiding by his own rules now, curling his toes and sucking in a harrowing breath.

Terzo can’t entirely see yet, all that’s currently lining his peripheral is nothing but a kaleidoscope of dancing black dots and faint popping static. He doesn’t understand where he is, doesn’t quite realize he needs to be a motionless cadaver and not a quivering boy. But his neck burns. It won’t stop burning. A deadman’s neck shouldn’t burn, however the pain is singing Terzo away at the edges anyways, convulsing his nerves like a white hot live wire.

Lethargic and rather sluggish, he flexes his gloved hands as he wakes and settles deep into his weeping bones, palms eagerly sliding off his sternum and stretching outwards, only to be curtly stopped by a gritty glass barrier. The more Terzo’s vision focuses, the quicker he comes face to face with ragged claw marks that scoured each side of the coffin he had been tucked into, much like a porcelain doll propped in a curated case. The top pane of glass was missing, removed for replacement. It’s almost sickening how easily Terzo is able to pull himself up into a proper sitting position because of this, since he hadn’t been as fortunate when he first got shoveled into the casket.

Right. How long ago was that again? How much time had passed since he was lounging around that dingy table, squabbling with his brothers?

His neck continues to burn.

It wasn’t just his neck. The scalding infernal heat ran rivulets around the insides of his throat and melted his vocal chords as well, as if someone had butchered the muscle and sewed it back together with fishing line.

The horrid thought of such a thing has Terzo shooting his fingers up to brush along the cusp of his jaw, before briefly sinking them down to the culprit of his torment with a featherlight caress. The leathers of his glove won’t let him catch onto the cracking textures of his dried, flaked blood that had dribbled out and stained the collar of his chasable, but it snags the ridges of a fresh scar coiling in his skin.

It is then Terzo realizes, mortified, that his head had been severed and reattached.

His hands tremble as he peels back his gloves, wanting desperately to feel the festering wound for himself, without anything else in the way. To make sure that it was in fact real, and he hadn’t just conjured it up in a spat of paranoia in attempts to make sense of this wretched situation. Though, if Terzo was being completely honest with himself, none of this felt real. As far as he could be concerned, it was all some twisted dream. A dark carousel of sweltering nightmares and glass coffins and rancid stenches of death.

The calcine pinching in his throat reminds him not to get too ahead of himself.

Regardless of his fright, stripping away his gloves only seemed to distract him further, all due to the glinting band on his ring finger— A ring. A wedding ring. Which means a spouse. His spouse. His lover and muse. You.

The initial shock of ‘rising from the grave’ recedes like the tide of an unforgiving sea, with bittersweet tendrils of memory beginning to seep and ebb back into the fragments of Terzo’s shattered mind. Of course he remembers you. How could he ever forget?

The thought of you flanked any other pressing matter into the shadows of his closet, because he wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with everything else yet. It was all too much. If he actually accepted it all— the mockery, the failed expectations, the injected needle, the gaping laceration of a decapitation— he may actually just wither away. So, here Terzo’s quandary will rot in the metaphorical wardrobe with all his other skeletons, until he can finally will himself to face the monstrous calamity that was his death.

It took a miracle to puppet his body out of the casket, his joints hissing and protesting from days.. or months, of inexperience. He had to clutch the edges of the hardy table his coffin laid upon for good measure, since he surely would’ve fallen straight to his haunches if he hadn’t. Yet he managed to liberate himself nonetheless.

The room surrounding him was concealed by a tenebrous midnight, dim and sterile, wreathing his cryptic figure in gloomy shadows. Terzo knew this place, he didn’t need night-vision to attain that he was hobbling around the morgue. The lack of light made it much more troublesome to make a break for the door, but it spared his already splintered heart from anymore misery. Because, if the lights had been on, he would’ve seen the bodies of his brothers displayed pristinely in their own polished coffins.

Lucky for him, Terzo supposes, that the door with the wrought iron handle was unlocked. He has to strain his muscles to wrench it open, which is comical, but expected for a reanimated corpse. Entering the hallway was a bit easier, yet he still leans on the walls for support.

Terzo has walked these corridors hundreds, if not thousands of times, but not like this. Never like this.

Everything was still, silent. No deacons or priests walked through foyers, no siblings of sin scuttled around the courtyards— You could blame that on the fact it was nearing one in the morning, and majority of the congregation was tucked securely underneath their crisp cotton sheets and puffy duvets.

Terzo was grateful for the relative solitude, really, because he certainly did not want to risk the chance of running into any members of the Clergy when all he wanted to do is get to you.

It’s childish, how hastily he longs to be with you through all this madness. His own head had gotten chopped off and weaved back on for fuck’s sake, he should be screaming, lunging into hysterics. Those are the proper reactions to grieving an unexpected death, right?

Later, Terzo assures himself, not all too convincingly, there will be time for that later. Preferably when he’s shrouded away from everyone, so no one can witness him crumbling.

Right now all he wants is you. Maybe he was greedy in that way, clinging to the idea of holding you again. Greedy with your affection, hoarding it like a dragon would with its finest treasures. Terzo loved the way you smiled, the sound of your voice, the way you felt, the warmth your company could bring. So much so, that he never wanted to let you go. Yes, the third Emeritus brother was a greedy one. But only because he’d been alone for so long. Terzo could be surrounded by multitudes of idolizing crowds on the daily and still manage to feel achingly lonely.

His loneliness stems from pure selfishness, he thinks, or his self sabotage thinks, since he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore. Terzo’s privileged, he knows this, he’s rich in the ways of friends and he’s never met someone who was poor company. Yet here he is, sequestered and drowning amidst his woes.

You’d probably chide him for his thinking if you were walking beside him right now. Terzo's lips quirk into a wistful smile. You were always good like that, anchoring his feet to the floor when all he wanted to do was let the hate consume him.

There was no use in ever trying to put up a front around you, because you were like a bloodhound that could smell malarkey a mile away. And even if Terzo was incredibly reserved and a tad bit stubborn with his emotions, you were patient. Waiting patiently, listening patiently, and when he’d finally rupture and lament into your open arms, you’d patiently card your fingers through the locks of his raven black hair.

There was a sense of vulnerability between you two, something you witnessed in Terzo that others did not, a sacred secret kept between two lovers. A mutual understanding. He may have been Papa once, but he was yours first.

The ministry is too hollow tonight, too big. A bitter gust of wind whistles through a set of open windows as the plodding corpse treks on, one stinging step after the other. The way to your shared quarters is muscle memory to him, it would be an easy path to tread if it wasn’t for the prickling soreness in his throat and chest.

Eugh, he definitely was a sight for sore eyes.

How would you react to seeing him like this, all things considered? There’s a chance you might scream, maybe even hurl a pillow at him, and Terzo would never hold it against you. He’s fairly terrified of his present state, too. Would you cry? Point a finger at his chest and wail and tell him over and over; ‘I told you so’? You had told him so, after all. You knew something was amiss ever since the Clergy tore Terzo off that stage during his final ballad of Monstrance Clock. You had been skittish and riddled with worry for his well-being, and despite all of Terzo’s consoling— he was fine, everything was going to be fine, mio caro.— you were right.

He imagined you enraged, furious at him, not willing to forgive, never willing to forgive. But you weren’t like that. Perhaps you’d cry, or scream, or throw something at him in a fit of shock, but never act spiteful. The most malicious Terzo had ever experienced you being was in domestic acts of grudgefulness in passing of some fatuous argument; like rolling over in bed and giving him the cold shoulder. Or drowning him out with the vacuum. Once you even went as far as ‘accidentally’ washing his whites with some of your cherry reds. Petty, but not cruel.

How far along were you in your stages of mourning? Were you still waiting for him to return to you? Have you locked yourself into the depths of your shared quarters? Have you shut the world out? Terzo hoped that if you were waiting, he hadn’t made you wait for too long.

He tries to break down the remainder of his journey into smaller, more manageable pieces. He reclines against limestone walls to catch his breath when the pain shocks him too much to bear, and starts again when the image of you enters his mind. He almost sobs at the sight of your door.

Hesitant, Terzo jingles the doorknob once, twice, then throws it open, stepping into the darkened room.

Everything is just as it was since he last occupied the space, however long ago that had been. Wedding pictures still hang pristinely on the walls, his comb is still intact on the surface of the vanity. It all remains hauntingly untouched, all except for the bed.

You stir from under the covers, most likely woken from the noise he made in opening the door, rising and blinking blearily in the direction of where he stood. There you were and here he was.

Terzo finds himself faltering, unsure of how to go about this. What’s the proper etiquette of greeting your lover after being recently deceased?

“Terzo?” You call out, voice faraway and hoarse, wavering at every step he takes towards you. Terzo should not be there. He’s dead, immobile in a glass coffin somewhere. You’re either dreaming or must have finally lost it.

But then he replies, whispering your name and moving closer, and the mattress is suddenly dipping from the weight of him sitting on its borders. For a moment you say nothing and he says nothing, only because he’s reaching out to stroke the skin of your soft cheek. His delicate touch makes you recoil frightfully as if you had been stung by a wasp, since you hadn’t actually been expecting to feel him.

“Is this real?” You breathe, eyes wide and flicking down to gape at the gruesome scar that decorated his neck like some debauched necklace of curdled gore. “Are you real?”

“Yes, amore. I’m real.” It pains him to speak, and Terzo’s larynx is definitely worse for wear, sounding all garbled and warbled. But he needs to talk to you, apologize for anything and everything. He needs you to know how sorry he is, because he failed you. He made all the wrong choices, and look where that ended him. It hurts, he really did try, he tried so hard to play the role, appease the Clergy well enough to leave him and his beloved be, yet he was playing checkers while the world was playing chess. And Terzo was never any good at chess. It wasn’t his fault, but he was too lost to understand that.

“I’m sorry.” He begins, it’s a start. “I’m sorry, mi dispiace tanto.” Then came the tears, dripping and smearing the paints that marred his face. It’s all coming crashing down now, every inhale he takes sounds like agony.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. He wants to say, needs to say, but can’t manage the words.

You take Terzo and ease him into your arms, shakily tucking his face into your shoulder so he can cry freely without anyone else seeing. It was what he always preferred; weeping into shoulders or pillows, hiding from the chance of being caught under a scrutinizing gaze.

Terzo is dead. Was dead. Should still be dead. But he’s not.

So, relieved and confused, but mostly confused, you thread your fingers through his hair. Later, you will talk and ask questions and shed your own tears until sunlight filters through the drapes. But for now, you hug Terzo, your Terzo, and shield him from the world as he wails anew.

—o—

#This has only been proofread by me twice so I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes #Terzo x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa Terzo x reader #ghost fic #ghost the band fanfic #ghost the band #ghost band #the band ghost #terzo #papa emeritus iii #ghost Terzo #ghost Terzo x reader

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moraygrotto · 1 year

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i’ve been kind of obsessed with burpy mermaids do u have any hc about that?

the idea of bubbles coming up as they belch is so hot

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!

- bubbles being a different color depending on what they ate

- tricks in general, like being able to burp out one big bubble rather than a stream

- mind you this would only apply for swallowed gas! water burps would look like ripples and feel great

- important merfolk's burps being magically trapped and preserved

- bubble burps are muuuuch harder to conceal than on land, there's a much more playful and accepting culture surrounding them

- ^ young mers' kink awakening often comes from seeing a public figure let up a bubble

- alternatively, the ability to suppress them then stream them out through their nose or gills, which looks more elegant than anything else

- ALSO light emeto /////////////// bubbles being used as pockets to regurgitate unwanted bits like bones of their food

- a mer realizing they shouldnt be burping in a specific situation and stopping wide eyed with the bubble halfway out of their mouth

- pressing on a round inflated belly and watching the air that was puffing them up all come out in a big bubble

- you know it would be a stim too. like if you can manage to produce the gas inside you then burp it out, free shiny poppable chasable bubble

- the way gas and water would feel inside the body would be way different too, much more satisfying to be bloated with some air and then burp it out

- you can tell where a group of mermaids is relaxing on the ocean floor after a big meal from the sight of bubbles rising through the water

#letters to the grotto #THANK U FOR GIVING MY BRAINWORMS ABT THIS SPECIFIC SCENARIO A CHANCE TO WRIGGLE. I HAVE HAD THEM SINCE CHILDHOOD #moray speaks

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starfieldbhm · 1 month

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So, This happened....

SVC-198262 Appeal a temp ban decision

Trash

Search for all messages with label Trash

Remove label Trash from this conversation

Grokio Communities Support

9:38 AM (1 hour ago)

to me

---Please respond above this line---

Hello,

Your account has been permanently removed from Feabie. This ban is permanent and we will not be responding to any further inquiries.

Regards,

The Grokio Support Team

------------ Issue Summary: SVC-198262 | Appeal a temp ban decision

Hi, I'm writing to appeal a temporary ban decision on my feabie account, account name is thegreatergood. I'd like to see the documented material you have on hand showing a violation of rules please. I've contacted support multiple times trying to find out exactly why I've been banned with no response. Guess I'm done with feabie, chasable, and grommr

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amphiptere-art · 9 months

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Give me paragraphs of information about blue moon!

Okay we're going to try this. First of all there is this info post. It is a tad outdated. But it does have a lot of information on it. I might be re-spilling that same information. We'll see.

Also I'm not sure how much history you are asking for. So I'm just going to start with Blue Moon.

Blue Moon's AI is made from two AI that RBB moon constructed. Known as red moon and sun copy. Which are theirs worlds representation of blood moon and lunar. When moon found no use for these two codes They were put away in the computer. The computer then decided to merge The two codes into one. Creating Blue Moon.

The computer is more so considered Blue Moon's father. With Moon simply being the donator. The computer though was building Blue Moon within the intention of helping Sun and Moon with their kill codes. This has caused a blue moon to be very obsessed with Sun and Moon's condition and livelihood. Constantly wishing to please them and also keep them safe. Much to his detriment.

Sun and Moon do not treat him well. Which has unfortunately caused Blue Moon to take a lot of fault for things. Often believing his worries or fears are invalid. That only the care of others should be prioritized. Resulting in him self-punishing by either hiding away from people or not eating when he believes he has done something unsavory or has upset a person. This also relates to the fact that he eats animatronics. As he will self punish if he somehow scared someone or starve himself due to his unique diet.

Due to the red moon codeing being specifically made in order to kill kill code It has also made Blue Moon crave metal and static. Much like any blood moon, Blue moons need to consume and chase is very strong. Lesser so due to his lunar like code but there nonetheless. Due to being tide being specifically to oil metal and static, animatronics are the prime living chasable source.

A fact that Blue Moon hates. As without being able to chase something every once in a while he slowly goes psycho. Tearing up whatever animatronic he meets next before he regains consciousness. It is frequent that Blue Moon will refuse feed on any sort of metallic or animatronic source. Causing him to shut down out of starvation. Which usually leads to a psycho like event anyways once he wakes.

Blue Moon is also very playful and curious. A gift from his lunar coding. Is a reason that when Blue Moon goes on purposeful hunts He's able to tear animatronics with such precision. Using lunar's childlike curiosity as a motivation to see exactly how the innards of the animatronic works. Being able to supply the sweet static that blue moons enjoys. The sweet static acting almost as if an enticing aroma. Something Blue Moon will chase to stretch out for a longer piece of time.

Boom room is also a fan of many games. Another gift of his lunar coding. Blue Moon is more familiar with physical games. Chase, tag, wrestling, and sparring are all things He enjoys. Blue Moon also likes to get into tight or tall spaces. Acting much like a cat with an eagerness to hide and climb. Resulting in Blue Moon crawling around and play structures and hidden nooks while also being easy to find in the rafters of any building.

Blue Moon's body can also contort and climb on walls. A true spider moon stance. Blue Moon often has to take off his shoes to activate his more animalistic legs. Something he uses exclusively to climb. Most of Blue moons limbs are on a ball socket joint. And can twist uncomfortably looking. Although Blue Moon usually likes to keep a standard stance. Although his animal stance is his most common. Being able to stand on his fingertips in order to increase his movement speed.

Blue Moon has many other cats and dog-like features. His ribbons will often wag or whip like a cat when agitated. They also will draw close like a dog tucking in their tail. The ribbons on his arms usually mimicking his tails movements. Blue Moon's ribbons are also very sensitive. They are made up of nano machines that are loosely protected. They can cause him great pain if pulled or touched. Often why he makes it painful to be around his ribbons. As they are heavily riddled with incantations that could cause one to disintegrate when the spell is active.

Blue moons rays also acts like ears. Being also created with nano machines although they are much more protected. Acting more so as a calming sensory organ. Meaning rubbing his rays any sort of way is a common way to get him to fall asleep. His rays also very emotive although they don't fold. Instead it is common to see them stretch shake and change positions. Able to tell that Blue Moon is sad when the raise are in the lower slots facing downwards. Able to tell Blue Moon is hunting or is angry when the rays are pulled in tighter to their head. Causing their hat to fluff out.

Blue Moon's mouth is also covered in a saliva that is very toxic to metals. Being able to disintegrate them quickly in order for Blue Moon to swallow metallic parts. This saliva gets more and more dangerous the more Blue Moon is hungry. When Blue Moon is calm this saliva might just singe the outer casing. If he is fully psycho mode hungry there's a chance putting your hand in his mouth would make it so it will be no more.

His ribbons and many other pieces of his clothing and personal objects carry runes. His ribbons more so importantly carrying very volatile enchantments. Most of these rooms are there in order to increase speed and strength. Although some of them are warning spells made within the intention to keep hands away. Blue Moon can also gift his ribbons to others. Acting not only as a way to track the gifted ribbon but also able to share the same enchantments or new ones. If you are given a ribbon it means you are close enough to Blue Moon for him to worry about your safety.

Blue Moon is very very advanced in rune magic. Which is a concept that is hard to explain but let it be known that ruin magic can be used in any universe due to the fact that it is simply using the world's power. Whether that be magic or the life energy. Also did you have rune magic works Blue Moon cannot be exhausted by using his magic. Which often means that he can spill out spell after spell with no change to his energy or speed. Blue Moon can also use the star as a limitless well of energy when nearby. Meaning that his magic is a perfect counter to many star holders. As with how aggressive Blue Moon can be in a fight there is not many places to hide.

The most common spell to see blue moon using is walking upon runes in order to "fly". Although he has many more. He uses a lot of spells relating to energy and/or fire although he does use others. He has many runes that can increase your own stats, trap somebody, repairs, and healing spells to some extent. Although the most runes that he knows relates to destruction. Any sort of spell that can destroy kill or make pray easier to find is spells that blue moon knows.

And now I'm running out of ideas. This is all the information off the top of my head. This is like all written within like an hour. No idea if there's something I'm missing. They're probably is but this is a lot of information. Tata.

#red blue and black #blue moon #lore #tsams au #sams au #sams #tsams

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nathanguys · 1 year

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Nice beer belly bro

#ex jock #beer belly #hegotfat #freshman 50 #yougotfat #fat gainer #male feedee #gainerism #chubby #chasabl #beerbelly #fat exjock #got fat #bear chub #dad bod #dadbod #love handles #submission #fit2fat

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gayfartslut · 1 day

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What is the best way to find somebody to use your face a seat or a toilet ?

honestly wish i knew because ive been looking for months, chasable seems to have a lot of bears looking for the same thing so maybe there? Although ive not had alot of luck, twitter aswell maybe

Really hope you find someone tho 😊

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templetogavage · 2 years

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Satiating Slop (06/12-06/18)

As usual, here are my favorite posts from my dashboard this week.

https://bellylovr.tumblr.com/post/686990758897664000

Libra of @thic-as-thieves looking nice and chunky. Sometimes you just have to appreciate the fat male body.

2. https://reluctantloser.tumblr.com/post/687122234920337408/chubstffr-mrjaime20s-perfect-chub-chaser

If these guys were together, and not just two coworkers standing next to each other, I wouldn't be sure which of them I envied more. Incredible find.

3. https://the-fattyd.tumblr.com/post/685422209942093824

Big guy with a big gut peeking out from under his shirt. What more could you want? Thanks for sharing this with us, @the-fattyd.

4. https://cooperskitchen.tumblr.com/post/677889102988951552/they-say-never-to-go-shopping-when-youre-hungry

"I started following him through the store, and I snapped that first pic to post on my tumblr feed. Is it cocky? Sure! Once I set my sights on my prey, they’re basically pork already...."

Not to everyone's taste, perhaps, but this piece of writing really hits at some of my more...unrealistic fantasies. If you're into the idea of longpig, click through, otherwise, skip it.

5. https://jack90265.tumblr.com/post/687333500129624064

@jack90265 brings us this excellent find. Some guys look better when they gain because they're happier, more fulfilled, more lively...with this guy, it also changed his face and body for the better. Always love to see comparison pics like this.

6. https://snackkattackk.tumblr.com/post/687418288350855168

Everyone congratulate @daddys-growing-boy on reaching 240! Here's to the many more pounds that are sure to come.

7. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/dionysianchub/687439626560995328

Here's @dionysianchub jiggling that gorgeous fat. What a great angle, too.

And that's this week's Satiating Slop!

#satiating slop #jiggly jock #weighty contrast #lard work and delicatessen #before and fatter #temple of gluttony #chasable chub #content type: image #content type: text

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renthewerecatboi · 1 month

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i remember the one time me and this spy were trying to help a demoman set off a trap because, what's more chasable than a seemingly lost spy and medic, but i completely forgot standing too close to the door behind us opens it and the other team could just go through there...

#the frantic meows of a crazy person

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battingforhours · 1 year

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Bay Oval, Mount Maunganui: Day Three

Saturday. The third day. Moving day. Although as one Twitter user pointed out, every day is a moving day when this England side are involved. Sure enough, runs flowed thick and fast in a rollicking opening session.

The banks were close to full on this busiest day of the match, with locals and visitors alike basking in more sunshine as England looked to set New Zealand an insurmountable target.

Tim Southee immediately deployed Neil Wagner and his short ball barrage, which was a surprise given the ball would still have been relatively new and likely to nip around off a good length. He accounted for Stuart Broad fairly swiftly, but Ollie Pope went on the counter attack and hooked three sixes onto the grass bank. Wails of anguish from Wagner as the ball sailed over the fielders couldn’t quite disguise the futility of the tactic. Southee blinked, and removed him from the attack — or so we thought. It was merely a change of ends. Runs kept flowing, with Pope swatting one through an empty mid-on before eventually misjudging one and gloving through to Tom Blundell. Wagner had two wickets but 62 runs against his name after seven overs. And then Harry Brook walked to the crease.

The short balls kept coming, and they also kept going. Wagner didn’t have enough pace to trouble Brook, who could choose to hit the ball anywhere in a 360° arc. Sixes rained again, with one dropped catch in the crowd at long on followed by one that was held at cow corner. Wagner has the heart of a lion and kept pounding in despite the utter futility of the tactic, and the speed with which England we’re taking the game away from New Zealand. When he was finally taken off, with figures of 11-0-104-2, he was going at a higher economy rate than the great Australian leg-spinner Bryce McGain when he achieved cult status with figures of 18-2-149-0.

The madness of the approach was highlighted by the impressive Blair Tickner, who hit a good length and extracted just enough seam movement to induce an edge from the seemingly unstoppable Brook, who had to depart for 54 from 41 balls. Joe Root at the other end had been accumulating nicely, and with England still seeking a lead of 400 they could have done with a classic innings of speedy accumulation from him. Instead, he found a way to get out playing the reverse sweep for the second time in the match, this time against the innocuous spin of Michael Bracewell. Dismissed on the stroke of tea, New Zealand sensed the possibility of knocking over the tail and leaving themselves a chasable target.

Ben Foakes had emerged ahead of Ben Stokes, much to everyone’s interest. It seemed like a sensible tactic, as England needed to bat through the middle session to ensure they could take the new ball in the twilight. For all the analysis, it simply turned out that Stokes had been on the toilet when Brook had been dismissed, so Foakes walked out in his place. Tactics, eh.

Whilst it still contained a healthy number of runs (112), the middle session was a slower and more classical one as England guarded against a premature end to the innings. Stokes seems to be struggling to master his role in leading from the front with the bat — caught between wanting to play with style, or with substance. Initial watchfulness gave way to some runscoring strokeplay, before a wasteful dismissal as he ran down and played a hopeless shot across the line against the spin of Bracewell. Stumped indeed.

Ollie Robinson treated New Zealand’s latest attempt at short-pitched bowling with disdain, making a very handy 39, whilst Foakes brought up a measured and responsible half-century that demonstrated the value of having a brain, as well as a team containing multiple styles of player. Tickner managed to nick him off two deliveries after a ball change, which is how it goes sometimes, but it had been an important knock despite being much less eyecatching than those that had gone before.

Shortly after dinner, the innings was done, with Jack Leach charging past a spinning Bracewell delivery that gave him his third wicket. Despite taking a circuitous route, England were happy to reach their desired destination, with two hours of bowling in twilight conditions to look forward to and 394 runs to work with.

The Daily Telegraph had announced after day two that Stuart Broad was no longer in England’s strongest XI. I wonder if he’d seen the article himself. If there is one thing his career has told us, it’s that you do not write him off.

After an expensive first over, what followed was one of the most majestic spells of seam bowling you could wish to see. Landing the ball on a perfect length, Broad extracted just enough seam movement to beat the bat and hit the top of the stumps — not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times! Conway, Williamson, Latham and Blundell all processed back to the pavilion having failed to lay a bat on these deliveries, as the headbanded Broad ran amok and ruined any faint hopes of victory. He was pumped up, charging in, enlivening the crowd. For all the visits to Tests and overs that Broad has bowled, this was the first time witnessing one of his famous spells — how thrilling it was.

Stokes couldn’t get the ball out of Broad’s hands. He was even charging at full tilt to chase balls to the boundary, hurling himself around despite New Zealand being over 350 runs away from victory with five wickets in hand — Robinson had nicked off Henry Nicholls, who must have been pleased at least to have managed to lay a bat on it, unlike his four mates. Eventually, with figures of 10-5-21-4, he was taken off, having provided a simply magnificent spectacle as the sun (and New Zealand’s chances) disappeared.

Daryl Mitchell and Michael Bracewell restored some respectability, even indulging in some creative timewasting to limit the damage England could cause in the dark. The umpires protested, yet they took the players off as soon as time was up, showing just how powerless and meek they are on such matters. New Zealand had limped to 63/5 at the close, and whilst wickets will likely be harder to come by when play resumes in the mid-afternoon sunshine, the writing is on the wall.

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danwebster37 · 1 year

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Bay Oval, Mount Maunganui: Day Three

The banks were close to full on this busiest day of the match, with locals and visitors alike basking in more sunshine as England looked to set New Zealand an insurmountable target.

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