#boston has done enough shit and sleeping around isnt one of them

[sunnenfinster]

why are multiple people saying that boston has always been truthful about who he is and what he wants from/with nick? when in ep 11 3/4 he told nick "but from now there will only be your photos because i'll only sleep with you" and "but you might be my exception" after nick talked about why boston doesn't do serious relationships ... i dont know how you interpret these words but to me they say that boston wanted to be in a serious and closed relationship with nick so in my eyes it wasn't just nick who misunderstood boston but boston who wasn't truthful to nick, boston who tried to be someone hes not just like nick rightfully pointed out, boston who ended up cheating on nick with boeing

i personally don't hate boston but i can't blame anyone for disliking him and there are enough reasons to do so outside of him sleeping around, i am pretty sure a lot of people who dislike him don't do it because of that ... hes not an asshole because he sleeps around, but sleeping around also doesnt make him less of an asshole because that doesn't cancel out the rest of the shitty things he did and does

that all being said, i definitely wish we got an apology from the friend group too and not just from chuem for punching him ... that was definitely overdue

[dear-space-cadet]

al horford sleeper agent

—————

anyway by now ive told basically everyone i care about but i had a life changing experience over the weekend. n it sounds dumb as shit but i met a real life dude who was basically a clone of nick from franz. weird hours. guess this is a thread

before we start i want to say i havent thought about franz in weeks. theyve gone away on their own finally but really i think my old obsessions just get replaced every few years and maybe it was my hard work in therapy or my new obsession with rap or

maybe it was just a realization or me growing up and maturing or something but i dont even want to work on my favorite fanfics anymore or anything. it’s just odd. i think im changing

and i don’t think about how my former favorite band members are doing or worry about them or check their socials n it feels really good. but i know there probably is or probably will be a replacement

ok that was a tangent. if they were replaced by anything they were replaced by new friends and the NBA. so there’s the exposition of this story sorted

anyway back to the weekend. the sleeper agent invited me to lunch. and that was the catalyst. god people are being so loud in here let me go to the art library

anyway i just kind of realized "huh i guess there's more out there." i went to lunch n shit. WE went to lunch n shit. stopped caring so much about my math homework. let myself be dumb and in love

that’s a very human thing. lunch. he spilled his stupid chipotle burrito all over his stupid bright green celtics jacket

he’s from italy. never even stepped foot in a chipotle. immediately clowned himself. some world we live in

we hung out all weekend. we went to lunch like two more times and we went to dinner. there was this big threat of leaving looming over my head the whole time. i made him walk like a mile on crutches and i feel very bad about it

i don’t know what’s wrong with him. it’s somewhere between a basketball injury and a chronic disability. either way that just made me feel even more emotionally attached to him. i never saw him without the celtics jacket

it was so cold that weekend. or maybe i just didn’t bring the right jacket. if he were a gentleman he would have offered me the celtics jacket. i didnt even hug him goodbye

and then of course he went back home. theres a million girls all over his instagram comments all the time. theres nothing special about me. he doesn't want to talk. i wrote my ap psych notes in green yesterday bc i was so in love with that stupid celtics jacket

im a sixers fan. the sixers and the celtics have been rivals forever. it was about to be war, except i want to move to boston. but really i want to move to dc. i wish the whole world was philly. things would be less complicated

im in love with a celtics jacket. a celtics jacket. of all teams. and i cant even talk to my basketball friends about it because they think im dumb shit for falling for some celtics fan with a million girls all over his instagram comments all the time

im not like those girls. i don’t think im like those girls. but i definitely exactly am

i have an economics test in fifteen minutes. i think one day ill drown in the atlantic ocean.

the test wasnt that bad. i thought about writing this the entire time. i would just zone out and stare and think about the phrase ‘al horford sleeper agent’

because he has to be. why else would someone put a diehard sixers fan right in front of a diehard celtics fan who looks exactly like the guitarist of their middle school favorite band

in reality i should be calling him a celtics sleeper agent because the whole point is that al horford is a sleeper agent for the celtics. but i hate al horford so i guess it’s more funny to include him in the title

i mean how can one player change so drastically like that? al horford was benched for the first time since his rookie season, like, two weeks ago after being traded to the sixers. how does that happen? why *wouldn’t* he be playing badly so his old friends win the title?

al horford’s gotta be retiring in like, three years, tops. he’s working for the celtics, i know it. and my sleeper agent is trying to convert me to a celtics fan

i understand why people make jokes, though. it’s a very human thing to want to go home. al horford just wants to go home. he lived in boston for however many years let me look it up

god whatever it was only three years i thought it was like eleven that just ruined my point

back to the matter at hand though that’s all we’re trying to do. we all just want to feel at home. we’re all just these little things trying to connect somehow. sometimes we are more desperate than others

i think im pretty desperate right now. sometimes i sit in my bedroom and im like damn when do i get to go home? but im home

i didn’t even want to leave dc. it was all star break and there wasn’t even basketball on. so there i was, in basketball purgatory, wizards territory for some god forsaken reason, losing sleep over a celtics fan and not wanting to go home

and when i say i was losing sleep you better believe me. i was so excited to wake up in the morning that i didn’t want to fall asleep. i wanted to be awake forever, endless, running through the city

i’ll get there soon enough. it’ll be with different people. college, yknow. all that. but sometimes i feel like certain things can’t be replaced.

and im acting like a different person lately. im using my phone at red lights just so i can check for a message from the sleeper agent. it’s always one word responses

yes. ok. maybe. some shit like that. a haha every once in a while. he’s not interested and i should stop trying

and then, INEVITABLY, i send something stupid back, a photo of my hand on the wheel or something, and i get left on read

and i know im stupid for it. everyone i know is screaming at me “disco, you’re dumb shit” but i just want to believe for a minute that im loved, im special

I want to feel like someone out there cares about me that isn’t obligated to, yknow? my mom can say she loves me all she wants but it doesn’t feel as good as some italian celtics fan saying it

some hot italian celtics fan mind you

even if he wasn’t hot or italian it would be nice. and actually it would be better if he liked like, ANY other basketball team

except maybe the knicks

but whatever. main point: i know im dumb shit and should stop trying. but it feels good to feel like if i keep trying maybe i’ll be wanted

sleeper agent is just one of those people tho. he’s magnetic and everyone always wants to be around him. dumb as hell in the most charming way ever. my friends are still all making fun of me

i started crying in a pizza place the other night because even the CONCEPT of italy sent me over the edge. i need to stop before i

wait what’s the word

i need to stop before i immortalize him? no, no

i need to stop before i deify him. soon enough he’s going to be a new canonical character in my head and i’ll start making up legends and stories to myself

we barely knew each other. if i deify him i’ll start telling people he offered me the celtics jacket when it was cold out. he’ll become a perfect gentleman. and he wasnt. he was just some stupid hot italian boy in a bright green jacket

im not going to deify him. it won’t happen. but i love the color green. i always say i love yellow more but i think that’s passed. i wear a green ring on my right ring finger every day. im not going to deify him and i still hate the celtics

overall, the celtics are winning the rivalry. i don’t think the sixers have ever truly been “great,” at least outside of philly. maybe allen iverson. wilt chamberlain. dr j? theyve never had like, a dynasty. idk. i don’t think you’d be able to get a sixers jacket in italy.

it’s his birthday today. i should probably text him. i should probably stop thinking about him. that’s just dumb shit, disco youre better than this what happened to a little self confidence every now and again

sure lets say external validation isnt necessary but also i think that’s something the mindfulness crowd made up to sell more planners and tote bags in 2011. it feels good to be wanted

never waste all your time on it sure. know youre still worth it even when you have no friends and there are a million girls all over his instagram comments. but it does feel good to hear “goodness disco i like how much you like the philadelphia 76ers”

my friends are all making fun of me for being on some romeo and juliet shit because he’s literally from verona and he’s a celtics fan and im a sixers fan god damn it disco why does this always happen

i never even read romeo and juliet but i saw the dreamworks adaptation so i guess ive got the story relatively right i know they die in the end. the gnomes shatter into little pieces i think

anyway tangents aside the sixers won tonight. philly is lit up green. why the hell is philly lit up green? the eagles were done like three months ago and the flyers are orange. why is philly lit up green

oh god, he just snapped me. a zoomed in photo of himself with caption that says “76ers” with like five exclamation points

here we go again, everybody

wish me luck

[prewars]

heres that list of unsolicited fic recs that ive amassed over the past few years when i get certain itches to deep-dive ao3 and be disappointed, this isnt everything but these are ones over 5k, mostly over 10k, thanks for the unnecessary encouragement @sonnywortzik @becominganoven @donotloseme @dicktective

Crossed in the places that you never knew to get through by noelia_g (generation kill)

It's not the real beginning. Things have happened before that led to this, things thousands years in the making and things quite recent, like the wound still bleeding, dark blood seeping into the dirt. But it's a beginning nonetheless. Right here, right now, this happens.

Après moi le deluge by beyond_belief (gen kill)

He can pop Motrin for the pain but there's nothing to be done for his jagged nerves. Rudy suggests more yoga, his mom suggests meditation, Patrick suggests he get laid. The Corps suggests a promotion, and Nate finds himself a Captain. There's a small voice in the back of his head that says, This isn't what you want, and it's getting louder day by day.

Aftermath, USA by traveller (gen kill)

The morning of the assassination, Patti Jankowski got up, took a long shower and towel dried her hair before braiding it into two long ropes that hung over her shoulders. She put on jeans, a t-shirt that showed Mickey Mouse saluting the American Flag, a light tan windbreaker and her comfortable blue SAS sneakers. In her shoulder bag she put a Smith and Wesson .22 caliber revolver, and an umbrella. The forecast was for a 62% chance of rain.

Adrift by visiblemarket (constantine)

Time was, Chas would’ve offered John the bed to make sure he rested, then crammed himself atop the sagging, scratchy, ancient cushions instead. That time has clearly passed. John tries not to let it bother him, but he’s had a hard enough time sleeping lately, and as soft and warm as the blanket Chas tossed him the night before was, it hadn’t much helped. And so he awakens to birds chirping, sun streaming through big airy windows, and a colossal headache.

to know me as hardly golden is to know me all wrong by norgbelulah (justified)

The God’s honest truth of it was that he didn’t want to be whatever Boyd was, he didn’t want to be Boyd Crowder’s friend, and he didn’t want to follow him down into the darkness that was always waiting for them both. And he knew if he stayed, he would be all of those things and learn not to mind them.

I Have Always Lived in the Moment by scioscribe (justified)

Tim says that technically he was only mostly dead, and mostly dead is still slightly alive. The witty repartee would be more convincing if Tim could get some color back into his face. Raylan remembers an overwhelming whiteness. Art wants to know: Like the tunnel with the light at the end of it? No, Raylan says, blander than that, and icier, too. Like an afterlife manufactured by IKEA.

To Call the Darkness Home by scioscribe (justified)

After a time, even the nightmares stopped, and he started bitching like an ordinary person about the low pay and the roaches, exactly as if Lexington hadn’t been his longed-for salvation. But there must have been some uneasiness in him that he just hadn’t paid any mind, because every time he had left, he had gone farther and farther away, until he had threatened to run right off the coast into the Atlantic.

Where's Waldo? by swamplamp (better call saul)

Jesse Pinkman manifests on his doorstep like a wet dream that nobody asked for. It's 4 AM. "You're a sight for sore eyes," Saul remarks flatly, squinting out towards that semi-familiar face. Seeing Pinkman lets old feelings roll back in and isn't that a shame? Saul makes to shut the door and go back to a kinder slumber. But he stops. Saul feels a twinge of sympathy worming its way into his chest before he can start pulling the door closed. They stand there for a moment, steeped in caution and confusion.

By daybreak we'll be gone by storm_petrel (the losers)

Clay has a handful of life philosophies that he’s gained though years of extremely hard-won experience. Sleep when you can.  Keep track of where you stash your boots and dog tags, because they don’t come with you.  Trust the people who earn your trust.  When in doubt, and in the absence of a proper machine gun, go for a sidearm with more than ten rounds in the magazine and minimum .38 calibre for decent stopping power. If still in doubt, shift out and go for the jugular.

In All the Tongues of Men and Angels by coinin (the losers)

Carlos Alvarez, first son after three daughters, was not supposed to join the Army. Carlos Alvarez was supposed to go to college, major in something useful like business or civil engineering, graduate with honors, marry a nice Catholic girl, and provide his parents with grandchildren while establishing himself in a respectable field of employment. Unfortunately for his parents, Carlos Alvarez was of the opinion that the suburban American ideal could go fuck itself.

the prisoner's dilemma by arbitrarily (free fire)

“Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened to you two?”

“First date,” Justine says.

“Went dutch,” Chris says.

Places We Don't Belong by easternepiphany (community)

Yesterday they went hiking in the Sandia Mountains, made it to the top of the trail, and celebrated by making out against a tree, slick with sweat. They were caught by a family of four, two parents and a son and a daughter, all who looked on in horror. The mother asked, in a stern and angry voice, weren’t they a little old for such antics. “Probably,” he said with a shrug and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

A Fool For Your Face by Ghostcat (you’re the worst)

The days after Becca and Vernon’s shitstorm of a party were golden, as if he and Gretchen were finally alone. As if her depression had moved house, left the country, waved goodbye. They laughed and fucked, got drunk or didn't. Did drugs or went dry. Or kissed. For hours. Leaning against the brick wall of some local dive turned glorious oasis because of her lips.

But the walls are giving way by FanchonMoreau (mozart in the jungle)

“You don’t have to feel obligated to stay with us,” Cynthia tells him. “But you’re my orchestra,” Rodrigo insists. She smiles. “We’re big kids. We can take care of ourselves. Take a gig somewhere else if you need to. Trust me, we’ve got this.” He does trust her, and he trusts his orchestra. And he’s not stupid enough to miss the implication that perhaps he’s not wanted here, at this particular moment.

the grave robbers by arbitrarily (american gods)

“Okay, fine. I liked vodka and I liked whiskey. I didn’t even like the top shelf shit — I liked the cheap stuff, the stuff that burned on its way down. I liked it when I felt like it could make me choke. I liked when my bedsheets were tucked in so tight I could barely crawl in under the covers and I slept like I was trapped. I liked the smell of bug spray. I liked the burn of that, too. I liked when I stayed in the tub too long and my skin went all wrinkly and gross, and okay, I get the fucking irony of that now — no need to remind me. I liked when glue dried on my fingers and I’d peel it off. I liked angel food cake. I liked when I’d lay in bed at night sometimes and be just about to fall asleep, but then, I’d jolt awake, like I was falling down a flight of stairs or something in my almost dreams. Or whatever. You know — everyone knows that feeling.”

Reconstruction Site by disco_vendetta (pacific rim)

One day he looks up from the scaffolding and realizes that he’s almost exactly at Jaeger height and has to wrap his hand tight against the metal to keep from stepping out into the air. Not because he wants to kill himself or anything, just because for a split second his mind felt that old equilibrium and he just knew he should be able to, should be able to walk straight across the valley in front of him and out into the sea and on forever until he finds whatever’s next.

Benediction by sistermercury (the exorcist)

“I had to see.” Tomas starts weakly, and something inside Marcus begs for both of them to stop; Begging Tomas because he doesn’t want to know, can’t hear about another goddamn vision, not tonight. Begging himself, because something’s gone wrong and his self-righteousness can wait. It won’t be the first time Marcus fails to follow his own good advice.

he's alive! i'm alive! we're all alive! (oh, this case just got busted wide open) by rustykitchenscissors (mcu)

The next day, he rides his new motorcycle downtown and walks around until he sees a store full of the kinds of phones the other Avengers use. They’re all so thin he thinks they’ll break the moment he picks them up. Like how Bucky said for a while after, “I bet you met your old self like this, you’d break all his bones just going for a handshake, huh?” Only when drunk, of course. That mix of bitter and wonderstruck, hair scrambled across his forehead. “I bet you’ll snap me in half without thinking one of these days.” And Steve would throw an arm across his shoulders and pull him in tight to make sure he knew, Look, fuck that. I swear to God you’re steel to your core.

a tree grows in brooklyn by newsbypostcard (mcu)

"It's done, Buck," he says painfully, lying himself back on the ground. "All that's left is to leave." They don't leave. He can't. His chest rises and falls, too hard and too obvious.

Responsible Science by lettered (mcu)

Three weeks after Bruce left New York, Black Widow found him in Honduras.

the blackberries in the thickets by newsbypostcard (mcu)

"You are James Buchanan -- like the President -- from Illinois, Nevada, California, and New Jersey. I am Grant Stevens -- wanted to be Ulysses Grant, but Nat said two dead presidents living at the same address might sound a little fishy -- from Florida, Connecticut, Washington, and New York."

Bucky frowns at him. "How come you get New York?"

"Just worked out that way."

Life of Crime by neveralarch (mcu)

It's really hard to run through Boston when you're carrying a quiver on your back, a bow in one hand, and a huge bag of money in the other. Still, Clint's doing fine—he's had a ton of practice, after all. He's never going to win any Olympic medals (for, okay, lots of reasons), but he's fast enough for a guy on foot. Doesn't matter, because this chick's gaining on him anyway. Fucking flying. It's gotta be cheating.