#shortstops

[khaotunq]

Ayan + ตัวใหญ่ | The Eclipse (2022) Thai ตัวใหญ่ / Romanised dtua-hyai / translated big one. Less common than its counterpart, used in much the same vernacular you'd call someone big guy in English. In the case of The Eclipse, the nickname substituted was Big Foot, and it gets less mocking and more sincere as the series progresses.

[dinosaurwithablog]

The Yankees sweep the Angels to win their 7th series in a row and 16 out of the last 20 games!! Clarke Schmidt pitched a brilliant 6 shut out innings. He's been doing great since returning from an injury and rehab!!

Anthony Volpe's sac fly scored the only run of the game, giving the Yankees their 1-0 win!! He's been on fire as of late!! 🔥 He's been the difference between the Yankees winning and losing a lot recently. I love Anthony so that makes me very happy 😁😁😁

LET'S GO, YANKEES!!!!!

[piqu3d]

shortstop [ch. 1/3]

Harvey Specter/Mike Ross

read on ao3

The car sitting outside the prison is dark and unfamiliar, but Mike knows it’s his.

Its windows are so tinted they look blacked out with something opaque. Mike’s eyes fixate on it, straining for the outline of a head in the backseat. He moves forward, and an orange pill bottle rolled in prescription paperwork rattles in his pocket. He emerges from the shade of the building, and the sun—which he’s only seen at a particularly shitty angle for the last two years—beams down at him from overhead.

Mike kind of wishes, in the back of his mind, that it was raining. Then everything wouldn’t be cast so harshly, then he wouldn’t have to glance up and see Harvey standing just out of sight, not in the car at all. Then Harvey wouldn’t have to see how ragged he must look, draped into a suit that grew too large for him, with bruises on his knuckles and under his eyes.

Harvey grins like nothing’s wrong, and Mike shields his eyes against the burning sun and tries to smile back. The scar that cuts through his lips makes the tug of his smile feel odd, so it falters. His heart hammers in his chest. It wouldn’t be too unjustified to shield his eyes from Harvey instead, whose attention feels brighter than the sun.

They don’t say anything. Words won’t come. Instead, Harvey collects Mike into a tight hug, palm pressing against the small of his back like he’s holding Mike’s insides together, keeping him upright. Tears prickle at the edges of Mike’s eyes, and he rubs at them inconspicuously as Harvey pulls away and opens the door to the car.

Mike slips inside and tries to breathe as he’s shut inside the dark interior. Ray says hello, and he musters a reply somehow, a warm greeting. Like he hasn’t been gone, like he’s just getting in after a long day at the firm, ready for a client dinner by Harvey’s side. While Harvey circles around to the other side, Mike shuts his eyes and drops the back of his head to the headrest. The leather of the seats has trapped the faint scent of cigars—but not the shitty, rolled up contraband that he’s used to, passed between paint-chipped bars. This scent is from the smoke of real, strong stuff, and it makes Mike think of Harvey’s obscenely expensive whiskey habit, and his obscenely expensive everything.

He suddenly feels too dirty for the polished leather. He crosses his arms and exhales slowly out his mouth.

Harvey clambers in on the other side with a heavy sigh and something murmured to Ray. The world turns into a blind blur, Mike so exhausted that the world outside turns into streaks of light. His eyes fall shut and he feels rude, but Harvey never tries to engage him in conversation.

Mike knows the streets of Manhattan by heart, but not the route from prison, so it’s not until he opens his eyes as they park that he realizes that they’re somewhere entirely different than he expected. He doesn’t see the tall glass lobby of Harvey’s high rise, just a vine-adorned brick condo complex that seems much more humble—though it’s still upscale enough to earn a doorman and a valet.

“You’ll see,” Harvey says vaguely, when Mike asks, and then climbs out of the car without offering any clarification. Mike shuts his eyes for a long moment and doesn’t move until Harvey opens his door.

Harvey actually crouches next to the open backseat, making creases in his bespoke fabric just to stare up at Mike with wide, brown eyes.

“Take all the time you need,” he says seriously, which happens to be just what Mike needs to immediately heave himself out of the car.

Mike follows Harvey inside the front arched doors, sees him greet the front desk attendant like they’re familiar. The complex’s lobby is tall and expansive with a penny-filled fountain in the center. There’s an old brownstone-inspired feel to the whole structure, which feels expensive without being gaudy. Mike knows without needing to be told explicitly that Harvey has been living here for some time. He misses the old high-rise for a second, misses nothing but its familiarity. This new place exists nowhere in his memories. The only thing around him he knows is Harvey, so he clings to him with his eyes and ignores the encroaching pressure of the new environment.

Harvey swipes a key card to get them into the elevator, presses the fourth floor button with his knuckle, and as the doors slide shut a freshly-cleaned mirrored wall displays themselves.

Mike swallows and watches his thin throat move with the action. Yikes. It’s not that the prisoners weren’t fed enough—the food wasn’t good, by any means, but they were fed whatever calorie amount humanitarian activists thought they deserved. They even got dessert on Fridays—but he lost his appetite the longer his stay got, and after he nearly died his gut revolted at the idea of doing any kind of work at all.

The dark pink line that tears down from his cheek bone to cross his lips is half as big and ugly as the day Gallo gave it to him, knitted over and closed. It makes speaking a chore. He averts his eyes from it.

The other scar is under his button-up, somewhere, but he hasn’t seen it fully in a mirror since he was released from the hospital, when it was still puffy and raw. That one has healed incredibly well. It looks like Gallo barely grazed him; it only left a faint pink scar. It doesn’t look like he’s ever been intubated. It doesn’t look like his heart stopped in an ambulance, or again on an operating table. It doesn’t look like his spleen is gone. It’s just an old cut.

He looks to the side and catches Harvey’s piercing eyes staring at him through the reflection. Mike shrugs one shoulder weakly, and Harvey glances away. He looks exhausted, but better. Better than he’s looked the last year, better than he’d looked when Mike was in Bellevue hospital’s prison ward. He’d been half-manic after the stabbing, balancing the trial and work and still somehow sitting by Mike’s bedside every single night without fail.

read more.

[kawoala]

save me haikyuu baseball au saaaave me

[12th-division]

-THE SHORTSTOP • THE SEA SERPENT | Fragment of Temptation

“The Shortstop, a Purifier divinely sent to take charge of the now rejuvenated Zone 1 as Dedan did before The Cleanse. The Shortstop was the craftiest of the Purifiers, and given such a high leadership position, he would greedily take advantage of his power.

The residents of Zone 1 were a small and suffering community that barely made any wealth in their work. With a Spectre infestation on the rise, some had created Hunting Seasons to settle small populations of ghoul. Attracted to gold that Serpent of Old was. He approached his residents one day, claiming that if he received more than half of the wealth they earned through work, he would tell them how to eradicate the Spectre. The people believed him for he was a Purifer, and they gave him all their wealth. The Shortstop, instead, opened up the wilderness and allowed more Spectre into the Zone; too many that the Hunters could not contain them. The Shortstop went into hiding, savoring his new wealth as his people Burnt and turned on each other.

Judgment quickly reached the sly Purifier. He was immediately removed from his position. The Shortstop was cursed to appear to others as a massive marine serpent that would lurk within the seas of every Zone. To those who still saw the good in him, he appeared as a striped serpentine whom retained most of his Purifier features. His wealth was taken and he was exiled to only be able to lurk the shores and seas of every Zone. Out of fear and genuine detest, residents of all Zones have put bounties on The Serpent. Hunters and Whalers alike seek out the Shortstop, hoping they can kill and sell the wicked creature for the same amount of wealth he had taken from his citizens.”

[sluttyhenley]

Carmy's stuck in the walk-in? Alright. So what are we gonna do?

THE BEAR | 2x10 The Bear

[wellspilled]

i’m a volpe defender to no end but. are we serious. that was such a huge out when he made his error and then he swings and misses to end the game. idk what we need to do to fix him but this can’t keep happening

[newyorkthegoldenage]

In the days before multi-million dollar salaries, ballclubs used to give their stars (but only their stars) celebration days, at which they were given expensive gifts. Phil Rizzuto Day at Yankee Stadium was held on August 29, 1948, at which the Scooter was given a car, a gun, and, apparently, loads of flowers. No info as to whether the cart was part of the package.

Photo: Jacob Harris for the AP

[khaotunq]

Akk + ตัวเล็ก | The Eclipse (2022) Thai ตัวเล็ก / Romanised dtua-lek / translated little one. A term that has been translated to mean dozens of different things (from Chipmunk to simply babe) in dozens of different shows, used for younger siblings, children but especially as an endearment toward romantic partners in dramas. In the case of The Eclipse, the nickname substituted was Shortstop.

Bonus "jiu" (จิ๋ว / meaning "tiny"), which I wish we had more of:

[wexhappyxfew]

“Don’t leave my sight again” for Kennedy and Bucky! Only if you want! I love your writing! <3

HI SWEET ANON!!!!! thank you so so much for popping this in the askbox and for the love on my writing! it means SO MUCH!! i had a lot of fun with this one - we went in a direction i wanted to explore a bit more with the kennedy x bucky dynamic, especially their ever-present bickering about sports with their (respective) red sox and yankees, hehe. i really enjoyed this prompt because i could still utilize the dynamic i wanted, but inject the prompt into the writing in a way that was more heartfelt and meaningful than anything, so, please enjoy!! :D

lips itching to grin

(a/n): kennedy x bucky girlies, we're back and better than ever and focusing on the early days again with these two, specifically in the ever-present baseball rivalry (with a side of heartfelt and slightly flirty banter that neither side may or may have not predicted.....). ps: there's a whole lot of baseball references in here along with a deep dive into the red sox and yankees baseball almanac of 1942 players, as (to preface) they discuss a yankees x red sox game from 1942, with some of their own perspectives (though we enter the conversation in the middle lol). please enjoy!!! <3333

"Alright, well, runners on first and second, game-tying run at second, bottom of the 5th," Kennedy started, as she watched Paulina offer one of the newer replacements a dance as Billie Holiday sung with those swing trumpets over their heads, "you got Joe DiMaggio coming up with two outs. Dick Newsome's already at 78 pitches."

"Easy," Bucky offers as Paulina and the replacement move out towards the center of the floor and start dancing - Kennedy likes seeing her smile, "DiMaggio hits an RBI double and makes it to second base. Then you ain't even tied up anymore. Score's 4-3."

"But," Kennedy started, glancing upwards at him with a look as she tilted her head, a smile on her cheeks, "you got Charlie Keller up next. Getting to that point in your roster where it gets a little….hairy."

"Says the one with Joe Cronin on your-"

"Focus." Kennedy said snapping in front of his face, bringing a smirk onto his lips as he looked back at her, "We're talking about the fucking Yankees right now, Bucky."

"Don't call them the fucking Yankees."

"They're the fucking Yankees to me, got it?" she said and she watched Bucky turn from his position leaned up backwards against the bar to actually facing her, "What?"

"You get really passionate about your Red Sox, huh?" he said, leaning his hand up against the side of his face and watching her, "I'd hate to mess with you-"

"You already have." she told him in a sing-song voice as she turned and took a sip of her beer and looked out to the dance floor again, "Try growing up as the only girl in a house full of brothers. You either play baseball or you are the baseball, I'm afraid." Bucky snickered at that and sipped his own drink - bourbon maybe, she could smell it on his lips from here.

"What the hell kinda baseball did the Farley brothers play?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Clearly not that great of baseball, you're all Red Sox fans."

"Says the one who willingly became a Yankees fan."

"Willingly-"

"At least I grew up in the area! It makes sense!"

"Can't knock me, Yankees' got a fan all the way from Wisconisn - can't say the same about other teams now, huh?" Bucky said leaning towards her with a grin, "Gotcha there, huh?" Kennedy watched him.

"Bill Dickey comes up and goes out swinging," Kennedy said, staring him down, "Red Ruffing's taken outta the game. Atley Donald's up on the mound. Johnny Pesky's up to bat. Donald walks him. Tony Lupien comes up - an absolute bomb outta the field. Rest of the game is a no-go. Red Sox win. 6-4."

"For someone who despises the Yankees, you sure do know a whole lot about them." Bucky said, sipping his drink again, "It's cute. You trying to impress me with that Yankees stuff."

"I just know a whole lot about games where my Red Sox win," Kennedy mouthed back, the tops of her cheeks burning, "you'd know if I was trying to impress you."

"When's that happened?"

"Never."

"Huh."

"Exactly." she said, sending him a look and he smirked again, his eyes watching her in that manner they always seemed to, "What's that look for?"

"What'd you usually play?" he asked her, that lazy grin growing on his face, "C'mon, I know you were probably in a group of kids that got together to play. What were ya? No….let me guess. First base, you're pretty tall." She stared at him and raised a brow. "No?"

"What about this," she started, standing up straight and holding out her arms, "screams first base, huh?"

"Fine. Shortstop. Speedy, quick-witted-"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Don't get in over your head."

"Continue…." Kennedy said with a smirk.

"Shortstop." Bucky said, "Final answer."

"Ding-ding, you're correct," she said with a smile, "usually my older brother and I fought over that position. He usually gave in."

"You were convincing enough." Bucky said, sipping his drink again.

"I was better than him." she offered back, catching that look on his face, "What, like it's hard to believe?"

"Nah, nah," Bucky said shaking his head back and forth and grinning, before avoiding her questioning entirely, "you like hitting?"

"Usually was middle of the pack, sometimes cleanup, I flip-flopped." she said with a winning smirk, "Wasn't often I got cleanup though, my older brother, he's a fucking giant, like 6 foot 5 or something - Bobby - he usually could drive in any and all runners. Sometimes he let me in the spot. It was usually some stupid fight we'd have, but he'd let me have my ways sometimes. Which was nice." Bucky grinned at her again and she couldn't tell whether that was just how he decided to look at people or if there was something else going on behind those eyes and that smile. But she just left it for the time being and took to sipping her drink again.

An upbeat Ozzie Nelson beat came over above them, which immediately sent Kennedy thinking of home again - its summer, the windows are open, her mother's got the radio playing the music she always used when cleaning the house; a mix of Artie Shaw, Billie Holiday, Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman. Sometimes even some Ray Noble. Any sort of music as such would remind her of that time in her youth, racing around the house with her brothers, this music in her ears, the kitchen smelling like lemon soap and freshly scrubbed, the linens hanging outside, the sound of her mother sweeping and shooing away her brothers or their dog, Gunny.

"My ma loves this music," Kennedy said with a smile, looking out to the dance floor as people danced and clung onto one another, as if it were the only thing they had apart from those flying coffins - human touch, more important than anything when they were here, "she played it all the time at home."

"She a big band fan?" Bucky asked her, and she looked to him with a smile and nodded. The corners of his eyes grew soft - she noticed he did that sometimes when he was really listening to you; really, really listening. When she had first noticed it, she'd been taken back at the intensity with which he would watch and listen, but he did it so subtly she had never really noticed until now.

"Always has been." Kennedy said with a nod, "I mean, with five sons and one daughter, there isn't a whole lot of space to listen to quiet jazz, or…something or other. Everyone always wanted big band being played." Bucky let out a bark of a chuckle and then got quiet again, glancing her way with that cautious look painted on his face. He knocked her shoulder lightly.

"And you?" he asked her, a slightly playful look on his face, lips itching to grin again.

"What about me?"

"What do you like?" he asked her, "What does Kennedy Farley dance around to her when no one's looking?" Kennedy couldn't help but laugh, a real genuine laugh and shake her head.

"Usually Benny Goodman or Glenn Miller."

"Like mother, like daughter." Bucky said with a smile, "What's she doing now ya think? Your ma?" Kennedy shrugged, feeling slightly homesick at the thought of her Ma, at home, with all her children off to war, or college, or school, her husband off to work, leaving her in that big house all alone. Her stomach twisted unpleasantly and she couldn't fight the sad expression off her face.

"Probably getting dinner ready - she makes a damn good beef stew. Chop the carrots, onions, celery. Let the beef sit and marinate for a while. The whole house would smell almost like Christmas Eve," Kennedy said softly, before quirking out a grin, "waiting for Dad to get home from work." She stared at Bucky who watched her back. "Your ma?"

"Much of the same probably." Bucky said, leaning up against the bar and schooling his features evenly, "Cooking up dinner, waiting for my dad to get home." Bucky smiled almost bittersweetly. "Wish she didn't have to be there alone, ya know?"

"Yeah," Kennedy said quickly, her emotions warping with her intense want to berate him yet again over baseball, but her softer side took over and she looked at him, "I don't doubt though if I went home, she'd be telling me 'Don't leave my sight again.'" Kennedy said with a small smile. "Broke her damn heart for me to come out here. Only daughter. One of the youngest." Bucky watched her, his face quiet, his expressions even and he seemed at once, intently focused purely on her.

"She didn't want me to come." Kennedy told him honestly, feeling like if she didn't get it off her chest now, she never would tell a soul, "Here. Flying B-17s, being a gunner, getting my hands on a .50 cal. She hated the idea of all of it. But I guess she let me go because she knew it was what I wanted. What I needed. For me." She looked over at Bucky and saw nothing but that gentle, fond expression on his face. She smiled slightly. He smiled right back, almost instantly.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," he said, watching as her face morphed from sadness to mild surprise, to which he laughed at, "yeah, I swear to ya, Farley. I really am. Hey, who was it that saw you shooting that .50 cal back in training and hand-picked you for my gunners, alright?" She was quiet. "That was me."

"And then of course Birdie took you under her wing and the rest is history, but I didn't forget that at some point in time, you were one of my waist gunners," he said, knocking her shoulder lightly again, "a good one at that, you know that?" Just hearing Birdie's name made her heart squeeze.

"It's really nothing special-"

"You shot Expert, Farley," he said, holding her gaze with a firm look, "that sends eyes wandering, I promise ya."

Oh.

She watched him for a moment before her fingers were getting twitchy and she needed something for them and to get herself to look away from that look in his eyes.

"Cigarette?" she asked him, pulling from his gaze to dig her hand into her pockets and produce the slightly crumpled cigarette packet she always had on hand. He watched her before slowly nodding.

"Sure." he said, as she innately popped open the top and produced two cigarettes, sliding one onto her lip and the other into his own hands, "Thanks."

"The least I could do for a compliment like that." she said, almost bashfully, as he placed it on his lip with a chuckle.

"First time anyone's ever told you that?"

"People don't tell me a whole lot of things like that ever so," Kennedy started, before attempting to smile, "yeah, first time for everything" Bucky watched her curiously as he produced a lighter and leaned forward to light up her cigarette before doing his own.

"Really?" he asked her, almost surprised - why would he need to act surprised, why did he even bother to care? She nodded. Bucky watched her for a moment, fingertips drumming against his cigarette as he stared at her; his gaze not one she was entirely even turning away from or wanting to.

"Cleanup." She stared at him, raising a brow.

"Tell Bobby Farley that you shoulda been in cleanup in the lineup." Bucky said, turning towards the bar again and calling for another drink, "Shortstops are usually closer to the top of the lineup anyway, right?" Kennedy watched him, her heart pounding.

"Bucky-"

"I woulda put you in that clean-up spot any day of the week, believe me." he said, smiling at her, with a grin, before turning to the bar and getting his drink. And she recited deep from within her mind, something Bobby Farley had taught her well and good in their screaming matches - 4th slot in the lineup, cleanup spot, usually one of the more or most important players in the lineup; they're powerful, drive in runs and more than anything are one thing - consistent.

[dinosaurwithablog]

The shortstops!!! Anthony is in great company. He did it all tonight and gave us hope again!! He looked sooooooo happy while he was being interviewed after the game

So did Gleyber

My boys did it. If we win the World Series, we'll make history because no team had ever come back from a 3-0 deficit. I think we're gonna do it. No one has won game 4 with a 3-0 deficit since 1970, and we just did. It's our year!!! Anthony Volpe set my boys on fire 🔥 LET'S GO YANKEES!!!!!

[ifelllikeastar]

Wehiwa Aloy

#9 Arkansas Razorbacks, Shortstop. Through 37 games in the 2025 season, Aloy is batting .361, with 12 home runs, 41 RBI's, and has walked 19 times. He has been named the Southeastern Conference player of the week twice so far. On April 3, 2025, Aloy was named to the USA Baseball midseason watch list for the Golden Spikes Award. On May 19, Aloy was named the 2025 SEC Player of the Year and was placed on the 1st Team All-SEC squad at shortstop.

[bluephoenixgirl]

⚾️🏈When They Are Professional Athletes>>>⚾️🏈

[12th-division]

For only two concepts so far, your fangame sounds very intriguing!!

Mind if I ask, what do the “Fragments” represent in Big Bad Batter and Shortstops?

Thank you! I’m glad it interests you!

I won’t say too much, as I do not want to spoil anything, but the Fragments will be a crucial part of the storyline. The protagonist, Hugo (who is roughly 7-9 years old here) doesn’t have a good conscience, the fragments represent good and bad.

~~~~~

As the title suggests, this game is based around morality: Hugo, a young child, is learning who and what can be perceived as good and who and what can be perceived as bad, through you- The Player- or what you will be referred as- The Moral Compass. Every character is fragment of a behavior (including Hugo, but I will get to that when I make an art + lore post about him). Whether good or bad, every fragment will combine to create one “Golden Rule” of Morality. This “Golden Rule” will do what The Batter couldn’t, it will forgive the world of its sin. Unlike The Batter’s pathway, it offers people a chance at Redemption, a true Judgment, not a complete Purification.

Shortstop and Big Bad Batter are two examples of negative fragments. Both represent sins seen in religion: Shortstop, The Snake, tempts others and speaks lies. Big Bad Batter, The Wolf, full of hate and uses pride to get his way. Hugo does not know that evil had fragmented itself in others for he is young, it is up to The Moral Compass to guide Hugo through this world. However, we are seeing everything play out through the eyes of a little boy. Our own understanding can be warped and frivolous because of the naive mind we have been placed in.

Will Hugo be The Boy who Cried Wolf? Or will he oppose The Wolf’s hate? Will Hugo take the Apple from The Serpent? Or will he resist The Serpent’s temptations?

I wouldn’t know, that’s up to you after all.