football bashing

#15: My First Time/#21. Cracked

Juice Ortiz/Reader

Prequel to #20. Diet and #18. Borrowed

“Holy shit!” Juice yelled, jumping up as number 12—Rossi—hit a home run. “I think he cracked the fucking bat!” I laughed at how adorably enthused he was, since only a few hours ago he’d been whining and griping to come here. Baseball, it turns out, wasn’t something he thought he would ever enjoy.

“This is awesome, baby,” he laughed, plopping down again and pulling me into a fierce side-hug. “I am so sorry I ever doubted that I’d enjoy this. We should do it more often!”

“Juan,” I laughed, pulling back slightly, “I love that you’re having a great time, and you know I love you so, so much, but you’re definitely going to have to bring one of the guys with you to this next time, my dear. Because I fucking hate baseball, but it would have been so incredibly rude to turn down the tickets from my boss.” He pouted a little and I leaned over, kissing him on his cheek. “Sorry, sweetie.”

“But, babe,” he whined, begging now; the crowd erupted into cheers as the batter brought two of his teammates into home plate, causing Juice to yell a bit. “What’s not to love about this place? There’s beer, hot dogs, and my irresistible face,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

I simply crossed my arms and stared at him, quirking my own eyebrow for emphasis.

“Ok, you hate beer, and you’re not fond of sports in general, but my face!? You love my face!”

“I do love your face,” I cooed, kissing the pout off his lips. “But I hate this game. Maybe Chibs or Hap’ll come with you next time. He likes bats! Although for a totally different reason…”

“Aww, fine” he huffed, “I’ll drag Chibs next time. Party pooper.”

“I love you, Juan.” I laced my fingers through his and put my head on his shoulder, batting my eyelashes at him.

“All right, all right,” He sighed, kissing my forehead. “No need for dramatics. I love you too. And thanks, baby.”

“Dragging me to this damn game. Never thought I’d like it—not exactly something my stepdad ever took me to or anything. So…thanks for making my first time, the best time. Yea?”

“Any time, baby, any time.”

We watched the game in relative silence for a while after that, except when something good happened and Juice would cheer and stomp with the rest of the crowd. I just watched him, having a great time and being free from club stress for the first time in a while. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this man…well—almost nothing.

“So,” he asked, breaking the silence between us, “Does that mean proposing on a big screen is probably out?”

I shoved his shoulder, both of us laughing so hard, we were nearly in tears.

“You’re such a dork, Juan Ortiz.”

“Yea, I know,” he laughed, kissing my temple. “But I’m your dork.”

“Oh, come on! Penalty!” Juice yelled, leaning up quickly and nearly sloshing his beer into Chib’s lap.

“Oi! Juicey! Watcher!” Chibs yelled, jumping up as well and just barely managing to miss the spill. Juice mumbled an apology and flopped back into his seat.

“Dun’ know wha’ yer getting’ s’ damn uppity abou’, lad,” Chibs complained, sitting back down and taking a sip of his own glass. “This game is dull as shite! Cricket’s more fun ‘n this, or football! Not yer Yankee shite, neither—”, quite a few glares were thrown his way, but he pressed on—“but real football!”

“Chibby, maybe we can go a bit easy on bashing American football?” Juice asked, nervously, scratching the back of his head. “But, ‘tell ya what, if you can sit through a few games of baseball with me, no complains; I’d be happy to join you to watch a few games of soccer, k?”

“Hmm…Throw in some o’ yer Ol’ Lady’s brownies, and ye’ve got yerself a deal, lad! Now, explain to me what th’ bloody fuck is the point of a round bat?! What moron though’ tha’ up?!”

“Shaddup and drink your beer, ya crazy bastard,” Juice laughed, nudging Chibs with his arm before they both turned back to the game.

Kudos again to the lovely @a-daydreamers-stories and the wonderful @red-w00dy ;D

natives who stand in line for a ndn taco with your fancy beaded cap on during the flag song but bash football players for taking a knee your anti-blackness is showing

You Decide Alone; Kurt-centric (Bash reaction fic)

[tw: mentions of assault; homophobia & slurs; ao3]

“i don’t know what his story is. i only know what mine is. and i’ve been fighting these guys for a really long time.”


Kurt Hummel retreats like the sea. Gently, softly, barely a breath of water over the sand, heading back to the interior. He collects himself, regains his strength, then strikes out again, steadily wearing away at the beach.

It’s amazing how passive that beach can be. The puzzled looks and jokes when he tries out for football, the talks of HIV/AIDS pointedly directed at him during health class, the way his neighbour shouts at his friend to not be such a fag. No emphasis, either, it’s just a casual insult between friends. So passive. Not someone trying to beat your face in.

Every now and again, though, he meets a rock.

Keep reading

viv13drainbow  asked:

Do you think Football and the mirror world are real? At first I thought they were just something created from the mind of Beemo, but after this new episode....I don't know anymore. Your thoughts?

We could be wrong, but as it is, we’re still inclined to believe that there is not a separate pocket universe within the mirror as portrayed in this episode. We’re party poopers. 

The point of this episode was that the BMO and Football personalities are separate and distinct so long as BMO holds them to be such, but, regardless, we maintain that they are both contained within one physical BMO bound to one phyiscal world.

Let’s back that up. The piece of evidence that we consider most important in holding our position that the beings inside and outside of the mirror share the same singular body is this —

Even when the desires of the two are at odds, both BMO and Football do the exact same thing. When Football visits BMO to tell him that she isn’t coming back, BMO says he can’t hear her. But, BMO himself doesn’t get any closer to hear her. He mirrors her movements, fading behind the door that Football closes on the bathroom.

And BMO himself emphasizes the fact that this happens later on, while Football is bashing all the mirrors.

Football got her shillelagh outside of the bathroom, without any mirror in sight. Why would BMO be carrying a shillelagh? How could BMO have gotten the shillelagh? From our glimpse into the mirror world, nothing exists that is out of view of the mirror. 

Moving on, Football is trying to shatter the link connecting them, and BMO is trying to accomplish the opposite, but —

BMO still matches Football and bashes the mirror. 

This could be an unstated part of the rules of the Universe Of The Mirror — that you are magically compelled to match the action of the self outside the mirror. However, despite magic being real in this show, and despite shattered glass imagery being used often as a visual aide for passing between realities, we think it makes more sense in the scope of the show for the confrontations between Football and her reflections to be her own interpretation of the way reflections work.