#socks maybe

[image description: drawing of goobie ballson, who is a blue goo person wearing a sleeveless jersey and a backwards cap. he is smiling and holding a white cat, which is socks maybe. 2 smaller goobies and stars are drawn in the background. end description]

24. patting their head

It starts when he visits Chicago for the first time after coming back, drinking beer with Justice and Lou just outside of the garage. When Socks crawls into his lap, he’s not surprised, but they sure are.

one day, the girl's father had to move for his job. the move was sudden, and unexpected, so the family had to rush to pack. in all the chaos, the little stuffed cat was left on the porch, and left behind.

they sat there for what felt like years, as the seasons and weather passed them by. the porch was only so much protection, but they stayed. the stuffed cat didn't know where their family went; the stuffed cat wouldn't even know where to start.

but then they felt a call, from somewhere very far away. the stuffed cat knew that must be where their family went, and so they mustered up all their strength, and made their little cloth-and-stuffing limbs walk.

it was a long walk. people that the stuffed cat didn't recognize occasionally offered them a ride, if they saw them on the side of the road. the stuffed cat had no way to talk, and so they kept stubbornly walking, following the call.

after a long, long time, the stuffed cat arrived in chicago. the call did not tell them where their family's house was—the call stopped telling them much at all. but it told them they belonged here, and they listened.

their little cloth-and-stuffing limbs finally gave out. in their journey, their fur had become unrecognizable, a mottled, dirty brownish cream. there were tears in their fabric, and most of their stuffing had fallen out. the stuffed cat couldn't fix themself. they didn't know what to do, but wait again.

a tall figure appeared in front of them, her eyes kind and curious. “you've come so far to see them again,” she says. the stuffed cat dips their head forward in a nod. “but you're falling apart. you will not be here very long, unless... would you like to help them one last time?”

the stuffed cat nods again. the figure picks them up, hands careful with their damaged limbs, and smiles. “you are from chicago,” she tells them, “and you are loved. those will be enough.”

for a long moment, the stuffed cat cannot see anything past the blinding light of a fire.

and then:

“—replaced by socks maybe!”

the stuffed cat opens their eyes. they are no longer a stuffed cat—they look more like their family, with an outfit like their girl's dad used to wear, in different colors. the jacket, puffy and covered in patches, is new. the call is a quiet thrum in the back of their head.

you will play blaseball, it tells them, discordant yet soft. socks blinks, slow. you will see them again someday.

socks is not sure how to stand, or how to bat. the voices around them are loud, and they can make a voice of their own. it's overwhelming.

Honestly, I’ve been gushing in the discord all day but I wanted to post here too. It’s been a year and I cannot tell you how much this splort has meant to me. Like, I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that Blaseball might be one of the most import things to have happened to me. It’s silly, but the community has been so good, so welcoming, and so inspiring. I am in constant awe of what the community can do, the art and the writing and the music, and the activism and drive to want to make this world better.

I mean it when I say that the community makes me want to be better, to try harder, to make things that touch other people the way their art touches me. I have written, at the time of writing this, no less that 11 fanfics, drawn countless doodles, labored over comics, and pushed myself to make art I wasn’t making at the beginning of last year. And that’s all because of Blaseball.

I’m lucky that I stumbled into an amazing team, the Canada Moist Talkers, and I only did so because my home city wasn’t represented, and their name was gross and I was instantly intrigued. I’m lucky to have found a group who has a group value of “be kind” (the other value is “be gross,” which fits).

I’m rambling, but that’s because this matters. So this is a thank you to the community for being amazing. And I wanted to round up and share some of my favorite Blaseball pieces I’ve made in the last year.

You can find my fanfics here, on AO3. I’m fond of

The Things That Mattered, a study of my best friend, Richmond Harrison

My Garbage Champion, Greer Lott and Eugenia Garbage talk after the season 14 championships. Part of my Kosmo Likes To Make Greer Feel Things series

And my first Blaseball fanfic (posted out of order on AO3), Party Time, in which Hobbs Cain (RIV) looks for his best friend during Party Time

I’ve also drawn a lot in the last year, but I love these pics especially

Mooney Doctor finds a way to channel Hobbs Cain in The Hall

Greer returns to the Talkers after a brief stint in Philadelphia and wants to show Eugenia what she learned

My Socks Maybe design never took off, and honestly that’s a crime

A couple of PolkaDot Pattersons

And of course, my OC Oliver Trashcat

I pushed myself with this last pic, and I love it so much. I would have never tried this much last year. I owe Blaseball for that.

ok one more felted guy