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i-am-the-hero-alfred-jones · 5 years

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Ban’s Death Sentence

((Seven Deadly Sins/Nanatsu no taizai fanfiction! This mostly takes place in the past, after the sins got famous, but before they got REALLY famous, i.e. the kingdom’s heard of them, but don’t know a lot of info. about them. The flashbacks are segmented by the spaces between text, basically any time there’s an empty line, it’s a new time or place. . . I hope that makes sense. Sorry if it doesn’t, tumblr wouldn’t let me insert a line. I hope you enjoy! Please like and reblog if you do!))

“So you saw everything while you were dead?” Ban asked, glancing at his lover from his seat at the bar.

The blonde blushed shyly and fiddled with her pint. “Well, not everything.” Elaine confessed, “But I tried to see all I could, it took me a while to figure out how it worked, how to view you and this world. Most of the early stuff with the sins I missed.”

“Oh, did you see when Ban faked his own death?” Meliodas asked, curiously, cleaning a pint mug.

“WHAT?!”

Ban choked on his drink.

“You faked your own death?!” Elaine demanded.

“Uhhh. . . . “ was the albino’s intelligent answer.

“Why would you do that?!” she pressed.

“It’s kind of a long story. . .” Ban muttered, embarrassed.

“I think I’ve got the time!” Elaine said, still bewildered by this turn of events.

“It’s King’s fault, really. . .” Ban grumbled.

“WHAT???!!!!!”

“So long, guys! I’m off to celebrate Valentine’s Day with the girl of my dreams!” the Captain of the Seven Deadly Sins cheered as he set his bags in a carriage.

His teammates rolled their eyes.

“Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone!” the blonde grinned brightly.

“Relax, Cap’n.” Ban said, “Go enjoy your vacation. You’re only gonna be gone for a week, how much trouble could we possibly get into?”

“Dearly beloved, we gather here to mourn the death of Ban the fox sin of greed. A wonderful warrior and friend. Now, the ceremony will continue in the next room.”

The black-clothes mob followed the priest out. . . all but one.

The fairy king glared at the albino ‘body’ in the coffin.

“I know you’re not really dead, you asshole.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Ban sat up, casually resting his arm on the edge of the coffin.

“So why are you doing this?!” King demanded.

“I don’t know if the Cap’n wants my immortality publicized yet.” Ban said, shrugging, “It’s not super well known right now.”

“Hundreds of people are mourning you!” King pointed out, angrily.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?!” Ban countered, “Tell the truth?”

“YES!!!!”

“King?”

Ban threw himself back in the coffin rapidly as the priest poked his head back into the room.

“Yes?” King asked, innocently.

“What should we do with the body?” the priest asked, approaching the ginger, “We were thinking cremation”

Red eyes shot open in fear.

“NO!” King exclaimed, panicked.

Ban gave a sigh of relief. King glanced to the ‘body’ and suddenly got an idea. He feigned sadness.

“No. . . we should bury him.”

Ban’s eyes shot open again.

“I see. . . we’ll wait until your Captain returns-”

“NO!”

It took everything in Ban not to shoot up and smack the fairy upside his head.

“The Captain couldn’t bare to see his friend in such a state. He can visit the grave when he returns.” King was practically grinning.

“. . . Very well . . . “ the priest replied, unnerved by the smile, “. . .We’ll bury him tonight-”

“Why not now?!” King suggested, cheerfully, “I’ll help!”

Ban, eyes still closed, heard the very distinct sound of a coffin lid being put into place before he opened them again.

“. . . I am so fucked. . .” he whispered.

“I’m home!” the knight called, entering her house. She smiled as the familiar bird flew to her side.

“Liz!” a familiar happy voice beckoned her to the kitchen.

“I have a letter for you.” she held said letter out with a smile.

“Oh? From who?” Meliodas took the letter, pressing a kiss to Liz’s lips as he did.

“The King.” Liz warily glanced to the stove as her lover opened the letter and began reading. It looked like Meliodas had been making some sort of stew. But knowing his cooking skills. . . Liz spared a glance to the blonde and immediately poured the stew out the window.

“What’s the letter say?” she asked, curiously, beginning to cook a new stew.

“Ban’s dead.” Meliodas replied, confused.

Liz gasped, putting a hand to her heart and stopping in her efforts of making an edible meal for the two. “. . . I’m so sorry.” she wrapped Meliodas in a hug. The blonde immediately buried his face in his lover’s breasts. Liz ran a hand through his hair.

“Ban can’t be dead.” Meliodas said, voice muffled.

“I know death can be hard to accept. . .” Liz began.

Meliodas popped his head out of her chest and moved to squeezing the breasts instead. “Ban’s immortal.” he informed her.

Liz froze. “. . . What?” she pushed him away, having only let him grope her to make him feel better.

“He drank from the fountain of youth, he can’t die. That’s why he’s called Undead Ban.” the Captain continued.

Liz stared at him in shock “W-what did they do with the body?” she asked in horror.

Meliodas glanced back towards the letter. “It says they buried him.” he replied.

Liz stared at the blonde, “You’ve got to get back to town.”

“Are we really just going to leave him there?! Buried alive?!” Escanor asked, worriedly.

“Well, it’s not like he can die.” Gowther pointed out.

“I didn’t think you had this sort of thing in you, King.” Merlin said, smirking.

King glared at his mug of beer, “He deserves it.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who buried Ban.”

The team froze as they heard the voice of their Captain. He wasn’t called the sin of wrath for nothing.

“So why’d you do it, King?” Meliodas had his usual smile.

“He made hundred of people mourn him!” King exclaimed, “We held a funeral for him! There were children there!”

Meliodas sighed, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s made children cry. . .”

King’s glare at his mug only increased.

“. . . You know we have to dig him up, right?” Meliodas pointed out.

“I’m not helping.” King said, stubbornly.

The Captain leaned against the bar, “You know, I bet Diance would be real impressed if she saw you dig up a six foot deep grave~” Meliodas pointed out.

King lit up, “Well, what are we waiting for?!” he asked, eagerly.

The small group traversed outside of the palace. Unsurprisingly most of the sins were not willing to spend the next several hours digging up a grave. However, Meliodas had managed to persuade (read: manipulate) Escanor, King, and Gowther to join the grave robbing party. It was a merry morning and Meliodas whistled as he walked through the palace courtyard, shovel over his shoulder.

“Sir, Meliodas! Sir Meliodas!” three tiny voices called, prompting the blonde to turn around.

The Captain grinned, “Hey, little Gil!” he greeted, cheerfully.

“What are you doing?” Howzer asked, curiously.

“We’re going grave robbing.” Gowther in formed the children.

“Cool!” Howzer cheered, excitedly, “What’s grave robbing?!”

“It means we’re digging up a grave.” King replied, bitterly.

Gilthunder teared up, “I don’t wanna see a dead body!”

“Relax, he’s not dead.” Meliodas assured.

“So they buried him alive?!” Griamore exclaimed, fearfully.

“It’s fine. He’s immortal. You wanna come?” Meliodas offered.

The kids looked at each other, “Sure!”

Howzer, Gilthunder, and Griamore were hard at work digging up the grave of the fox sin of greed. Meliodas stopped and glanced at the other sins “I thought you guys were gonna help dig.”

“Diane’s not here.” King pointed out, lazing on Chastifol.

“I got bored.” Gowther added, continuing to read his book.

“I went to get refreshments.” Escanor announced, holding out a tray with a pitcher of water and several cups.

“Thanks, Escanor!” Meliodas smacked away King’s hand, “Water is for working people.”

Escanor snuck the fairy a cup anyways when the Captain wasn’t paying attention.

“I hit something!” Howzer exclaimed, excitedly.

“Alright!” Meliodas cheered.

The group tossed their shovels away and used their hands to uncover the rest.

“Escanor, help me.” Meliodas instructed, standing at one end of the coffin, while the sin of pride stood at the other. They lifted the coffin lid and the group stared down at the albino. He lay still, eyes closed, blood still stained on his clothes.

Gilthunder burst into tears, startling the group. “You said we wouldn’t see a dead body!” eh boy sobbed, angrily hitting Meliodas’s chest, though his punches did nothing.

“Eh?” the body in the coffin shifted and Ban sat on his elbows. He yawned.

“IT’S A ZOMBIE!!!!!” Griamore wailed, crying with Gilthunder.

“Cool!” Howzer stepped forward eagerly and poked the thieves cheek.

“What are you talking about?” Ban asked, confused and bleary.

“He’s not dead.” Gowther informed the children.

Gilthunder sniffled “H-he’s not?”

“Ban is immortal. He cannot die.”

“. . . Oh. . .”

Ban yawned as he stood, stretching. “’bout time you dug me up, Cap’n.”

Meliodas shrugged, “I was busy with Liz. Hey, where’d King go?”

“He left a while ago. He said something about being tired and that he didn’t want to deal with Ban until tomorrow.” Gowther still hadn’t looked up from his book.

“Bastard. . .” he albino muttered, stepping out of the grave.

“And that’s the story of how Ban faked his own death!” Meliodas finished, cheerfully.

“That’s not what I would call it.” Ban replied.

“Oh? And what would you call it?” Meliodas asked.

“The story of how King buried me alive.”

“Hey, guys! We’re back with groceries!” Diane exclaimed as she skipped into the bar, king of the fairies at her heels.

“YOU LET MY LOVER GET BURIED ALIVE?!!!!”

King dropped the groceries where he stood and flew away as fast as he could. Ban laughed as Elaine flew after him, enraged.

“This is why Elaine’s better than Elizabeth.”

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alchemisland · 5 years

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The Moors Mutt III

Night fled day. Before the others rose I read the sky. Spying an uncharacteristically vernal mustard sliver, I imagined another world past the clouds, opposing ours directly, and their rising summer sun.

God, shrouded in cancerous sadness, could but weep. Too weak to conjure flame.

The storm, furious mute, spoke through man's works, droplets exploded musically; dull on timbers, shrill on sheet, like crackling fire on thatch.

Foot travel was impossible, even treacherous. Lar wouldn't have it. 'I know someone. Unpaid tab, lovely spacious wagon. Hold tight.'

Unpaid tab, yes. Lovely wagon, no. Against the rising slope, his contraption strained. Its light frame shed water. The man knew his charge and kept us steady. Hold tight proved apt phrasing.

When the carriage wasn't veering towards fatal tip, I dismantled the day's duties into gelded chunks. Easy. Ten manageable tasks. Ten had a ring to it. A certain motivating roundness. Ten tasks set to Heracles condemned to misery by jealous Hera. Ten commandments from on high.

The day passed quickly. I worked mostly absent of mind, scanning peeling labels for keywords. I napped again at some indeterminate point, rising to the first red flares of evening.

Near freedom, the final banality seemed yet more soul destroying. Fortunately it proved easy, simple scribbles to confirm a job done. Mac donned, packed bag overshoulder, I signed the final form with a flourish.

On the doorstep, gazing out at the torrid tempest I was to endure, and again the following day, for a brief moment Cairn Cottage seemed inviting.

I cast a final backward glance. Inside Acrisian frames, there lay my ancestors in oils, frozen in perpetual offence.

As discussed, Charon on his chucking carriage arrived and ferried me back to Sperrin.

Outside the tavern, wet as it was possible to be, I waited. I don't know what I hoped to see. Some queer curiosity took me. I wished to see how they spoke without me. Maybe it was awkwardness that prevented an unannounced arrival. I pressed my ear to the door. Lar told a joke and howled with laughter, joyous overmuch at his own humour. When I entered I hovered in the open doorframe, dripping like a swamp witch. A wave of relief swept over Lar, which he wrestled into a piteous pout.

Two drinks waited, patient as unconfessed sinners. When I peeled off the mac, he flashed a one-sided smile. I muttered a reluctant thanks.

We feasted after. A meal to see us off. For strength, we ate lashings of gravy thickened by meat juices, steaming Yorkshire puddings, slabs of succulent pork, bog mushy peas, and custard to follow.

Afterwards, we reclined swollen. When the small crowd shifted, Fergus rose to slip the bolt unbidden.

My mind was in custardy. I was eaten witless. I wondered had Lar planned the old stuff and sneak.

'Are we, as lantern thieves, away with the light?' Lar undid his top trouser button and grew an inch before my eyes.

'We are.'

'Handled a gun before?' That old chestnut. Long I had anticipated such a discussion.

'I have and don't intend to again. Hate hate hate them. Listen, speaking of, we need to talk about this whole thing.' Lar's brow furrowed. 'I believe with alternate ends, disagreements arise.' I thought carefully and he waited patiently. 'This isn't a fox hunt.'

'I never said it was. You seem a bit peeved actually. If I can be bold, why hate the gun and not its wielder? Is a rifle always an instrument of terror no matter the context? On the shoulder of an adventurer piercing the interior, emboldened by its weight, is it the selfsame tool that greedily dispenses random death in the hands of a deranged person? Say a rifle, bought with pacivity in mind, never packed to shoot, merely to brandish and quell cooling tempers, where do you class that?'

Nobody is perfect and there was the proof. When it came to criticising people en masse, Lar was your man. Less evident was his enthusiasm when the crosshair turned to his own private club. Gunfans, gunmen, - for men they were mostly - whatever their preferred nomenclature, are tiresome, everybody agrees.

Realizing I had zoned out, I nodded extra vigorously at his next points, hoping the nod was taken as a sign of attentiveness and not agreement.

Foam pooled at the corners of his mouth. 'Even if we should not spend a single cartridge, it's a fool that lowers caution in victory! Wear these chains. Be it upon your head.'

I tried to interject, 'Lar, really that's a bit dram-'

He continued unabated, 'Should the beast prove strengthful and beguiling as I suspect, and we its seekers should become gunless hunted, it's not a good look for that book of yours.'

Though admiring of his passion on the subject, I had none to share. 'A gun is a gun. Any given situation is more likely to end in a leaden exchange with guns present, vise a vie, sans guns we are overall safer, despite feeling less protected individually.'

'Right. And when those eviller guns unleash in benign judgement, who better to return fire than kind souls equally armed?' He wagged a finger at my smirk. His voice lowered an octave. He swerved and spat, throwing his arms aloft with such momentum that his knuckles wrapped the timbers.

He paced, every inch of his pulpit touched. Standing again before me, he exhaled the temporary madness.

Fergus rose disturbed, a tremble evident. He vocalised disquiet at our clamour. Lar made his apologies; mine mumbled, Fergus' thoughtful.

He continued 'A thousand fools wait raging. I'll not be one with my arms held aloft in deference to a keeper. Either I should die on spent casings or triumph. Your charisma won't stop bullets or beasts. I'll have Fergus pack a rifle for you. Don't wanna use it, don't.' Empassioned, Lar slammed his hand down on the bar.

'Take your rod, Pilate. We'll see who time vindicates. Have you not heard that he who lives by the sword shall too die by the sword?'

'Have heard you, Judge not?' Pulling aside a rug, he revealed a hatch beneath his feet. Fergus tossed the heavy door to one side with apparent ease and fetched a swaddled armoury, which he laid for my reluctant perusal. I chose a revolver. Six shots, lightweight, swift off the hip. I remember a sense of perceived ceremony, as if my hand should be drawn towards the right snug.

Once I fixed the holster, Lar longed to bequeath a second gift. Claims that my recent experiences left me badly turned on gifts fell on deaf ears. A gift on the house, as he put it. He returned, book in hand, and slapped it face-up on the bar. 'Old Mortimer's Mort Timer' was printed in bold crimson, letters tall as wide.

'If this is a pitiful attempt to convince me guns laws increase gun deaths, it's ill considered.'

'Ignore the cover. Cowboy there is a vessel for universal truths. Makes for a good bedtime story. Try it. If you're still offended tomorrow, we'll debate then.'

Everything seemed less intense once the guns were sealed away. We sank a fifth, then a sixth shortly after.

'Have you a path in mind?' Lar slurred.

'Arrogant I might be, fool not; you know the land better. Speak freely.'

'I have some notions.'

'Notions - mere legless actions! As joint expeditionaries, in name rather than eventual royalty, I offer no pronouncement. What am I paying you for? Hardly your winning anecdotes. We're following your route to success or failure.'

I departed, lifting the flap for myself this time. 'I know the way. See you. First light. Rest well.'

Once abed I turned the book in my hands. Its garish colour lent a faint luminosity which it seemed shameful my hands should dull. I discovered the binding was frayed. The object showed more blemish than the ravages of time; later pages wore blotches. A hypothesis soon formed, which further probing confirmed. This book was licked by the ocean. A sea tome it was.

On the inside cover, faded and difficult, illegible without foreknowledge of the owner, I saw Fergus' name printed, a phyrgian squiggle.

I read it;

Ever hear the story of old Mortimer Considine? He was bold as block letterin', round as a cowerin' brushhog, feared and lovered in equal measure. Them scales was centred for him. Instinctively he knew right from wrong. Round Texas way at one point he was the toughest sonofabitch the world had ever see'd. Papers sid it, wimmin giggled it, smoke signalled it, so it musta been true.

Guns smoking, he toured the land righting injustices, collecting bounties and if rumour holds truth, fathering bastards, later becoming county scourges in their own right. Nothing on their old man though, dull facsimiles, whudever that means. Chaotic he was. Kindly too. Smart as a Greek. Strong as a mountain man, and I hear them Greeks had big boys too.

Now, he was fixing to be the best at shooting after his days out ranging. Tired of hauling baddies in for cash. He wanted hisself a wife and cosy home, young'uns to raise right. Make right some on his past transgressions. Hell, if he had cash enough, as he was heard to say only in deepest cups on full moon nights, when the moon controlled the tides of his tears 'well as them on the beach, he'd seek out his illegitimate sprogs and give 'em something for their hard lot.

Best gotta beat the best. Roving West then East, he rode into town with his holster turned front, making his business clear so to speak. Everyone he'd fought so far he felled easy, like dead trees keeling at a shove. There was big boys, tough men who a punch would never fell. Only the impersonal, devious strength of a bullet would do it, seemed a shame really fer all their liftin' and sweatin'. What finnesse they had in riding and wrasslin' they lost at steels, for Mortimer was quick as cancer and spun like a storm at the whistle, shooting 'em full of steaming holes.

Had himself a reputation now. When he came upon town and rode the highstreet on his black destrier like a demon called from hell, only the toughest mothers dared from the shadow of the awnings. Now this one place he went, or was bound for, he got to hearing was a hovel of wretched rapists and varmint brigands, living in squalor, wallowing in vile hedonism. Imperial in their particular perversions, namely unholy orgies in that there big church built by them mexicans was once this far into the states, them was once from further yonder than Mexico and came upward, with them layered temples like square sandcastles.

Pilgrims passing elsewise in other directions he met, but none going toward. Then he saw it, the black spires silhouetted on the matte of night, which held purple and pink and orange, flashes of winking silver, and all the gold jewels of the firmament. He had no want of killing and no provin' to do with regular folk, so he kept his gun shy in behind, his trenchcoat held firm at his chest with a single button, which he took from a sheriff's waistcoat.

You there, he'd said, so high on his horse he appeared a drawn shadow, as if some perfidious god had set to drawing charcoal on the mirror of the world. Up stole the pilgrim and leapt almost.

Mort?

Nay, giggled Mortimer, almost though. What's yonder?

Pilgrim, without lookin, answered quick, Ain't nothing there and no god. Kindly sort you seem. Can tell from ya eyes. Big ol blue ones like the desert moon at night. Not cold though, blue as magick fire.

Mortimer again requested the name of that spiked tower.

Babel, he says and left.

Babel, Mortimer says and left wondering had he heard that name before. He'd met a guy named Barber once. Polack chap taking his wagon clean through to York. Was that the same word? Maybe. Nobody could kill him, not with a gun. Too fast, too cunnin' at gunnin'. Few years left at the top, at least. If they did it, it'd be ignoble, uncunning and devious. Mind, he was cunnin' at augurin' too. Augured him a plan.

After tracing his steps at a canter, Mortimer spied the same stooped soul, satchel slung on his back, hooded. Pilgrim, he said, help me and I'll pay ye. When the work is done, I'll ferry you safe to your destination.

Deal, said the pilgrim so quick as to be near suspicious.

All the way he walked fast. Faster'n an old man, Mortimer reckined. The man had loped, limped and lounged before, as a man of advanced age, now he sprang more sprightly.

Mortimer had a suspicion maybe. Gut feeling. A gnawing doubt. Not enough too stop him. Reckined he was too cliver 'n devious to get got. That morning when they got close to town and descried distantly, from a rise which he took to be an ancient thing built by them northern southern mexicans, a multitude assembled in the centre of town.

Mortimer turned to his pardner to git planning and found hisself did in, plugged and smoking, a fresh red rosette pinned on his breast. The pilgrim relieved Mortimer of his possessions and stole away back into a fresh day, right quicker than ever he'd gone yet.

That was the story of that there Mortimer.

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massmurdera · 5 years

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2018 best (and some worst)

2018 was the shittiest year of my life personally and I was a trainwreck almost instantly. I was real hopeful going in, but I got my heart broken as badly as I could get (and it somehow just kept getting worse). Ugh. It’s boring to articulate, but it was a never-ending Russian nesting doll of heartbreak, disappointment, and frustration. But I made more positive changes in the last 12 months than I did in the last 12 years. So that’s something.

TV Funniest go-to show: Desus and Mero (wish they didn’t go on hiatus when they left for Showtime) Favorite shows: 1) Big Mouth 2) Atlanta 3) Killing Eve 4) Bodyguard 5) Haunting of Hill House

Other shows I enjoyed: American Vandal; Homecoming; Americans; GLOW; Better Call Saul; Succession; Cobra Kai; Kominsky Method; Corporate Meh: Barry; Sharp Objects; Who Is America?; Daredevil Favorite Comedy specials: 1) Rory Scovel 2) Bert Kreischer 3) John Mulaney

MOVIES 4 ½ stars: Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse; Sorry to Bother You 4 stars: Quiet Place; Hereditary; Mission Impossible: Fallout; Blackkklansman; Deadpool 2 3 ½ stars: To All the Boys…; Incredibles 2; Game Night; Revenge 3 stars (solid rental): Game Night; Upgrade; Revenge; Ant-Man; Hold the Dark 2 ½ stars (OK rental): Black Panther; Avengers Meh: Love Simon; Support the Girls Probably Good but bored the shit out of me: Roma; First Reformed; Eighth Grade Hated: Mandy; Ballad of Buster Scruggs

STILL NEED TO SEE: Bad Times at El Royale; Bodied; Creed 2; Death of Stalin; Favourite; First Man; Free Solo; Green Book; Halloween; If Beale Street Could Talk; Minding the Gap; Solo; Star is Born; Vice; Widows

MUSIC Favorite Records: 1) Brian Fallon-‘Sleepwalkers’ 2) Story So Far-‘Proper Dose’

1975 has great songs but they have too much filler in their records. Damn good songs: Foxing-‘Nearer My God’; Wonder Years-‘Pyramids of Salt’; Thrice-‘Beyond the Pines’ PODCASTS Favorite Podcasts personally: -Filmdrunk Frotcast (Movies/comedy) -Dollop (history PLUS comedy) -Bill Burr’s Monday Morning Podcast (one-man rant from the best comic alive) -Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend (comedy + conversations) -Rewatchables (Movies/comedy) -Bill Simmons (conversations) -Pardon My Take (sports + comedy) -Chapo Trap House (leftist politics + comedy) -Press Box (media)

Intercepted’s takedown of George HW Bush is great. That show and Citations Needed has its moments. I think if you’re a historian/leftist, the best podcasts are Hardcore History or Common Sense (Dan Carlin), Citations Needed, Intercepted, Chapo Trap House, and the Dollop. Dan Carlin is the one you can enjoy if you’re on ANY political spectrum—and the Dollop is not too far behind; that’s truly the most special when it hits.

Other: My Favorite Murder; Revisionist History; Matty + Nick; Hound Tall; We’ll See You in Hell; Binge Mode: Harry Potter; Bertcast/Open Tabs; Gladiator: Aaron Hernandez

Re-listening to Walking the Room for the 3rd time; that’s my favorite podcast of all time. Late pass: ‘Embedded’ series on Trump is amazing. Doesn’t come out often but when it does? Fascinating and goes in on Trump stories that don’t get talked about. Podcasts I’d recommend: In the Dark; RFK Tapes; Slow Burn (S2 on Monica Lewinsky scandal is great)

‘In the Dark’ is by far the best. S1 in 2016 I prefer over S2; check out both. Podcasts I’m going to check out: Crimetown: Detroit; Serial S3

Vince Mancini (Filmdrunk/Uproxx) has an annual best list on the best investigative/true crime podcasts each year that are the best lists I’ve seen. Best Dollop Episodes of the Year (must-listens on serious subjects): Donald Trump; the Resnicks: Water Monsters; George HW Bush; John McCain; Wells Fargo; Erik Prince & Blackwater

The above subjects deal with subjects to be genuinely outraged about versus faux things to be outraged about everyday (Russia; Louis CK or what a comic said) and the way the media talks or ignores subjects completely. The way it’s done is so great (Dave reading a topic coldly while his friend interjects with commentary—and then in the end coming together with a South Park-esque take on what the fuck is happening)

Other: Feinstein and the Flag; Levittown: the White Suburb Funniest episode of the Dollop: 1908 New York to Paris Car Race (live w/ James Adomian). Hands down the funniest. Dave purposely saved a great one for the fucking great and underrated James Adomian.

I can tune in and out of some Dollop episodes, but when it goes in on a subject or has a particular guest, you know it’s going to hit.

BOOKS Favorite book: City of Thieves by David Benioff Late pass great: ‘Slaughterhouse Five’ Pretty good: ‘Devil in White City’; ‘Lexicon’ Meh: ‘Sirens of Titan’ Hated: ‘the Bell Jar’

Best twitter follows/online writers: Justin Halpern; Drew Magary; Brian Grubb

BEST EVENTS: 1) Gaslight Anthem 59 Sound 10th Anniversary 2) Boston Calling: the National, Menzingers, Queens of the Stone Age, the Killers 3) Bert Kreischer @ Wilbur: near front row 4) Bill Burr @ TD Garden 5) Pats-Titans playoff game

Biggest regret and disappointment: Moving my ‘ex’ into my friend’s house in January (with the hope that I’d be living there half the time too)—only for her to end up wanting NOTHING at all to do with me that same day after I helped her unpack out of nowhere, threaten suicide in a non-joking manner in front of her new roommates and my friend after a political argument at the end of the first night she moved in, get with someone we work with behind my back almost instantly (a bland and lame cokehead who got busted for cocaine 18 months prior and faced 7 years in jail), try to fuck my friend when I was mid-conversation with them both first time seeing her 3 months after it all ended—and for her to eventually date my friend’s roommate who my friend warned me would try and fuck her but I didn’t take seriously because I thought he wasn’t good looking, tiny, just vaped all day long, and kind of a douche. Cool. Awesome.

I mean, that’s a simplistic breakdown of it all and how I feel about it when I’m angry. It’s more complex and fucked up than that and I could write a book on it to elaborate my thoughts, good and bad. It’s genuinely heartbreaking to articulate it and I withheld that from her: part of the reason why I moved her into my friend’s place (she didn’t know him or anybody) was because I wanted her in my life and didn’t want to lose her. Instead, it felt like I locked myself out of a party, I’m banging on the door and it’s cold outside, but nobody hears me. It’s just that feeling constantly. At the same time, it’s also very simple: she just wasn’t that into me, valued me, gave a damn, respected me, or cared. It’s NOT as angry or mean as it sounds. It just is what it is. Do NOT move the person you’re seeing into a friend’s place. If it doesn’t work out, make sure you can get a clean break. Oh, and probably do NOT date at work if you can until you know one of you is leaving (or, in my case, she leaves 10+ months after it’. I fucked both up and it’s been impossible to move on. Thankfully, she just left work 2 weeks ago and there’s less anxiety, mental work (thinking about her all the time which I still do but it’s not on maximum overdrive) and tiny heartbreaks each day. I mean, I was devastated when she told me she was leaving and there was finality. I miss her and have missed her all this time, but it’s a good thing: there was nothing I was getting out of it. But still: why did she say yes to moving into MY friend’ s place if she was just going to do a 360 heel turn, be an asshole and resentful towards me out of nowhere, never bother seeing the place I moved into/what I did with it?. Just a disaster of my own creation. I like to think in time I’ll get over it all and move on. I highly doubt I’ll ever see or talk to her again. I refuse to ever go back to my friend’s house for a variety of reasons and I had those thoughts even before the Cinco de Mayo party, but definitely after. I just don’t belong there and it hurts. And I know she’s uncomfortable too if I’m there even if she says otherwise.

Best thing personally: my brother got married, his wedding, friends, and my family. It’s cool to see my brother have his life together, be married into an awesome family, and meet a nice girl. I’ve seen my brother have his heartbreaks, but it’s nice to see him finally have peace and consistency. He’s got a really great house near where the Pats play (closer than where we’d park to games), works 4 days a week and makes bank too.

BIGGEST CHANGES I MADE moved out to a place of my own in late January-it’s my uncle’s 3-decker, which he intends to pass on to me. So I’m saving $ by being here and it’s decent. The drawback is that it’s 3rd floor and inhospitable during the summer when it’s an oven with no windows where they should be to put an AC unit in (I just stayed at my parents: I would have toughed it out but I desperately need sleep for school). But yeah, I’m over 30 and needed a place of my own. I’d love to live in Boston, but it’s completely fucking unaffordable unless you work 2-3 jobs.

One annoying thing: my driveway gets egged EVERY day since May. We have fake cameras, but pretty sure it’s the next-door neighbor and not some punk kids on their way to school. It is enraging. Who eggs a house everyday? And it’s literally only my car or the lady next to me, not even close to the street. I keep on looking at the trajectory of the eggs and it’s fucking ridiculous. Luckily, because of school (and because I was away during the summer), the egging doesn’t happen until after 8-10 AM.

I’m 10 minutes from my parent’s place (halfway to my workplace and gym as a cut-off place), 5 minutes from the school I attend, and centrally located to things I want to be (Boston, my brother, Cape Cod, possible job changes or to where I intend to move if I can)… went to school to be an electrician-In school 715 to 1245 Monday-Friday. Pain in the ass schedule and tiring, but a big change. I suck at being handy. Most people are sons of people in the trade or went to trade school. Then there’s me: never picked up a drill or a hammer. But I’m working on it.

I mean, the job IS risky (it’s not an office job) and any job outside of going back to school for a master’s or doctorate to get ahead (I fucking tried!) requires backbreaking manual work that breaks you down in most cases (construction, plumbing and smelling bad to even fixing cars where I hear that breaks your body down). Being an electrician seemed like the least of them all unless you want to be a linesman stuck outside no matter the weather for National Grid or down in manholes—because they pay REALLY well (most people in class actually want those jobs without reservations). I’m fine with being paid pretty well while enjoying myself. I’ll stay away from something monotonous like solar panels or being on a roof all day though.

Jiu-Jitsu-did this for 3 months and loved it. Had to take a break because I can only do weekends and it’s expensive. And I’m too exhausted for 9 AM class come Saturday. After a 6 AM to 12AM schedule M-F, I just completely fucking crash come Saturday. I fully intend on going back and doing yoga too when I finish school in July.

Most people start doing jiu-jitsu because of Joe Rogan. My answer got a laugh. ‘Yeah, I wanted to try something new. Also, I watched John Wick about a 100 times.’

Therapy-post ‘break-up’ I realized I needed help. I spent a month in February not being able to fall asleep (maybe 24 hours sleep in 3 weeks) before I finally got meds. About a million waking nightmares (holy shit that’s a thing). Constantly crying, particularly on the weekends without her, separation anxiety and just anxiety that did not go away at all: a constant weight. We had a Jim-and-Pam relationship at work, even when it was over—but once she started dating my friend’s roommate, she distanced herself more than ever and it was just fake as fuck. I was frustrated with not finding a job to not passing a test that I studied my ass for 3+ months for that would allow me to leave my job AND the girl. They threw in shit that was not on the study guide at all in the test. Blah. I punched a hole through my bedroom wall (like they do in the movies) and fucked up my hand a bit.

But yeah, I’m working on my confidence, following through with my goals, challenging myself, making adjustments, facing fears, getting over my anxiety, relationships. I’m proud of how, even without therapy, I handled the girl who was cold and distant: I was ALWAYS warm and welcoming, had a good attitude about it with her. It wasn’t a point of pride to be that way; I just was. If I was around her, the hurt just kind of all faded, however briefly. In the back of my head I wanted to light her the fuck up for how she was acting or NOT acting, but I just didn’t. But it’s hard. I am depressed all the time, but not nearly as overwhelming as I was. I’m really lonesome—and I want to reach out, but I don’t know to who a lot of the time. I feel left out and it’s hard to maintain relationships, but I am trying. It’s hard at 32 but people fade away. You think you’re wiser and more mature that it won’t happen, but it does. It’s just harder to make friends, I guess. I ruminate all the time and think too much. I’m trying to be mindful and in the moment. But I keep on thinking about all the things I’m NOT doing or the things I’m waiting for to happen. But there’s always going to be that. I am doing a LOT and the changes aren’t coming all at once. I like my therapist (I had one when I was in 5th grade and again when I was 19: I didn’t like them: finding a therapist that fits you is the biggest thing)

I realized a lot of the problems I had were patterns even going back to the heartbreak I felt at 18-20 when I was the worst mess I ever was. It wasn’t the girl who broke my heart, but it was me. I should have been better and stronger far before I met her. I wasn’t really living I don’t think. In some ways, I gave up and was sleepwalking through things. But everything I thought I was past just bubbled to the surface. And I had to get it right, something needed to change, and I needed help.

I withheld my problems from everybody because I didn’t want to be a burden. I especially did NOT want to be depressing but I think I became a burden for the girl who broke my heart. She had nothing to give and she was upset at me for talking to her at work and being cheerful, telling stories, or anything. Secretly, I was a mess and it was painful. In a way, I was denying myself and that made it worse.

Here’s the thing: I don’t think I’m that big of a mess. I might be lonely, but I got a good head, attitude, and people generally like me. I make people laugh easily and without trying. I got a lot going for me and I got support.

Tattoos -got the lighthouse tattoo I always wanted since I was 18. I didn’t believe a tattoo artist could carry out my idea. Liked the tattoo artist so much that I stretched it out into a full sleeve. I want to do more and have some ideas. We’ll see.

Other-new car; collecting board games; got tour posters and Pats memorabilia framed WORST POLITICAL: the chaos that comes with Trump-Well, that hasn’t changed. I’ll hate the GOP/Republicans and that goes without saying. I have some small hope with people like Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez, but I don’t have any faith in the Democratic party at fucking all: they will rather work with Republicans than work with people who actually want to make an actual change. You kind of just realize how shitty a party they and Obama were and how they are bought/paid for and resistant to any meaningful change. We are fucked.

LOOK AHEAD TO 2019: -finishing school in July and starting new career as electrician -cousin’s wedding and going to Las Vegas for a bachelor party (I’m more psyched for the awesome house we are staying in than Vegas itself) -Pats playoff run and possible end of Brady-Gronk: I’m not hopeful, but I’m going to enjoy my favorite Boston athletes of my lifetime. Couldn’t ask for anything more from them. I just wish Bill Belichick did a better job as a GM and not fucking up nearly every draft since 2006 besides 2010 and 2012. They’ve won 5, but feels like Belichick cost the Pats 3-5 more minimum. Every year you have Tom Brady, you’re in the AFC Championship or Super Bowl. Belichick and Patricia mailed in the Eagles Super Bowl on defense. WTF was that? -doing jiu-jitsu, yoga, taking up swimming, continue following through on my gym program: my goal is to delay having a bad back as long as possible. I’m in the best shape of my life by far, so that’s good. I want to cut some of my gut weight out though: when I bend down to put on my work boots, I feel it. -more tattoos? -dating again (I am struggling so BADLY with online dating and need to work on having better pics: I can’t get a single match/date) -looking at buying a condo or home. I’ve got about $100K saved up and just slowly collecting things in my apartment for the big transition. Still would like to see where I end up working. Ideally, I’d love to have a lake house somewhere decent and centralized.

BOOKS: -Don Winslow wrapping up cartel/border trilogy -new Gillian Flynn?!? -Marlon James’ African Game of Thrones trilogy begins -Stephen King

TV 1a) Desus and Mero returns 1b) Game of Thrones final season 2) Veep final season 3) Lovecraft Country 4) Watchmen 5) Stranger Things 6) Good Omens 7) Devs 8) Fosse/Verdon

NEW: City on a Hill; Deadwood movie; Star Wars; Veronica Mars

MUSIC -Boston Callling -new: 1975, Bruce Springsteen

MOVIES: 1) Once Upon a Time in Hollywood 2) John Wick III 3) Us Toy Story IV 4) Fast and Furious: Hobbs and Shaw OTHER: Avengers; Captain Marvel; Glass; It 2; Joker; Lego Movie 2; Spiderman; Star Wars; Under the Silver Lake; Where’d You Go Bernadette; Zombieland 2

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set--suna · 7 years

Text

A Different Mask

Hi this is bad but I'm posting it anyway -- The world of the Phantom Thieves was a hilly one. There were challenges and calm, dangers and warm moments. But all the Phantom Thieves had one thing in common: they went through their pain together. They had been there for each other when nobody else possibly could be. When one Thief couldn't be there, there was always another to help with whatever pain one had. They were, as they say, thick as thieves. All the Phantom Thieves had reached one unconscious conclusion, as well: none of them had been through as much as their leader. They all agreed on it, even if they didn't know it. Akira Kurusu deserved the world. -- The group would always be there for each other. Akira knew that fully well. Yet he never leaned on them when things got rough in his head. They all relied on each other, but Akira couldn't bring himself to put his problems on their shoulders. Whenever his confidence wavered in a Palace, the team was always hyping him up. But that's all they saw. They didn't see his emotions outside the Metaverse. Those were his only secret. They didn't know about his nightmares. They didn't know the reason he listened to all of their problems was so they didn't end up like him. He wanted them to have someone to turn to. So he locked his feelings away to be the cool and collected leader he was. Supposedly. He kept his trauma inside. He kept the anger he felt when his friends were taunted and teased contained. He tried to make the comments from the kids at Shujin go in one ear and out the other. Whenever someone looked at him with that look of disapproval, he oh so tried to shake it off. But it all made him have days where everything just felt... numb. Like nothing he did mattered. These days were the days he thought about betrayal. Where he thought about his friends leaving him behind. Abandoning him. Akira Kurusu was scared. Today was a day where his feelings slipped themselves into every crack of his thoughts they could find. They partially distracted him at school, made his comments to his friends sound half-hearted when he truly meant them, kept his responses to Sojiro short, and made him reluctantly obey Morgana when he told him to sleep. "Hey, Akira, what'd you get on the third question of the test? I put B, but I'm not very confident in my answers," Ann sighed, resting her head on her hand. She had her mouth in a pout with her genuine look of unconfidence. "I got B, too," Akira responded. He sounded uninterested, but he really wanted to boost Ann's spirits. "Oh, great!" Ann said with a smile. "That makes me feel better." She spun back around when the next teacher walked in the room. He didn't miss her look of slight concern while she turned. "Welcome back. How was school?" Sojiro asked when the bell rang above the door to LeBlanc. "Good, as always," Akira responded, it didn't come out as he intended it to. Sojiro just laughed softly, "An answer I'd expect from you." He frowned as Akira moved towards the stairs, absentmindedly wiping away at a glass. "So, you ready to go to bed?" Morgana asked later. "Yep," Akira replied, sliding under the covers. "I'm tired." "For once," Morgana said sarcastically. "Goodnight." "Goodnight," Akira turned on his side and shut his eyes. He didn't see Morgana jump on the bed and give him a worried look. He just felt him curl up next to him and release a sigh. -- Akira had a nightmare. He was back in Okumura's Palace. A crowd of worker robots surrounded him and his friends. They had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They fought and they fought to no avail. Akira had to watch as his friends fell around him, one by one. Ann was bleeding from a wound on her head. Makoto's arm was broken at the elbow, told by it's odd angle. Yusuke was so beaten he couldn't stand. Futaba was trapped outside the circle, not hurt but in danger. Morgana was struggling to stay conscious. Ryuji's leg had given out on him due to the stress. Haru was standing mostly uninjured, but her father's shadow was pestering her with "Okumura Daughter" duties. Akira was helpless he couldn't do anything. He was exhausted. He fell to his knees. "This is what brats like you get for meddling in the wrong business," Okumura walked to Akira. "You get beat." There was a gun shot, but Akira missed it. He woke with a start. He was shaking. He felt lightheaded. He couldn't focus. He pulled his knees to his chest and squeezed them tight. He didn't notice Morgana stir next to him. Morgana didn't move. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to risk Akira's panic getting worse. Instead he just pretended to shift in his sleep. Akira's shaky hand reached for the windowsill. He grabbed his phone and checked the group chat. Nobody had said anything since their final goodnights. He wanted to talk with someone, anyone. But who would be awake at this time of night? He gave in. Akira: Is anyone awake? Ryuji: yeah Ann: yep Futaba: mhm Yusuke: Yes. Haru: I am. Makoto: So we're all awake at this ungodly hour? Ryuji: i couldnt sleep Ann: Me neither Ann: I keep falling asleep and waking up again Haru: I get how you feel, I was just thinking of texting you all myself. Yusuke: I am only awake because Futaba is keeping me up with her constant messaging. Futaba: this is important stuff im sending you! Yusuke: You are sending me pictures of foxes in costumes. Futaba: EXACTLY Makoto: So in one way or another... We all are having a struggle with sleeping. Ryuji: thats what it looks like Ryuji: aww man i wish we could meet up Ryuji: im not even sure if i feel tired anymore Ann: I mean, it's almost 5, we could meet up anyways? Makoto: When did everyone go to bed? Ryuji: 10 Ann: 9:45 Haru: Nine 'o clock. Yusuke: Eleven Akira: 10:30 Futaba: ive taken naps throughout the day so im not really tired Makoto: I see. Makoto: Well, I guess we all got reasonable hours of sleep. Makoto: I will permit this once, and only because we are all in the same boat here. Ryuji: all right! Ann: Yes! I've always dreamed of doing something like this! Yusuke: Where should we meet? Ryuji: how about Akira's place? is that ok? the place doesn't open until 8, right? Akira: Yeah, it should be fine. Haru: What about Mona? Is he awake? Akira poked the cat with his finger. His hand still felt slightly shaky, but he was calming. Morgana meowed in reply, but rolled onto his side to look up at Akira. Akira: He's up. Futaba: Great! See you all there! Akira sat his phone screen down on his bed. Morgana now laid on his stomach, his tail swishing around. "What's up?" he asked drowsily. "Everyone's coming over. No one could sleep except you," Akira replied, semi-sarcastic. "Ok, might wanna fix that bedhead of yours a bit, though," Morgana replied. -- Futaba was quick to hop onto Akira's bed, sitting criss-cross for once. Ryuji sat on one end of the couch and Ann on the other, stretching her legs out across Ryuji's lap. Makoto and Haru sat on the floor by the sofa. Yusuke simply took a chair. "Man, I'm glad to be outta my house. There was no chance of me sleepin' anymore," Ryuji groaned. "Every time I shut my eyes, they just wanted to open again," Ann complained through a partial yawn. "I would fall asleep for an hour at a time. It's rare I sleep like that," Haru shook her head. "Do we all have something on our mind that's keeping us up?" Makoto questioned why this was happening. "Umm... not that I can think of," Ann answered. "There's nothing that would keep me up at night except Futaba," Yusuke commented. "Shut it, Inari," Futaba responded. Akira fumbled for words. He ran a hand through his hair in thought. While the others maintained a steady conversation on sleep habits, Akira was lost in his thoughts. He wanted to tell them. He didn't want to keep his emotions a secret anymore, they deserved to know. They cared about him and should know when he's feeling down. But how could he start? He didn't have to. "Akira? You ok?" Morgana asked, tail swishing. "You look kind of out of it." "Now that he mentions it, ya do, dude. What's up?" Ryuji is quick to follow up. Akira hesitates, "There... There's something I need to tell you all." Akira talked the most he had ever talked at once then. He told them about his nightmares of losing them and everything he's ever known. He told them about his emotions building up and how he felt like crap on those certain days. He poured his heart out in a matter of minutes because he wanted to stop hiding this. He wanted to stop being scared. He talked about the trial and being sent to Tokyo by his parents and how it made him feel so... abandoned. Betrayed. "Akira... You know you can talk to us, man," Ryuji was frowning though he was definitely concerned. "Yes, you will always be one of us," Yusuke spoke, sitting on the edge of his seat. "Mhm, text me whenever and I'll be sure to respond!" Futaba nodded encouragingly. "We will always be there for you, Akira," Makoto had slid closer and placed a hand on his knee. "Wherever we may be, we will always be willing to talk." Akira felt his hands get shaky again. But there was no fear or panic this time, just relief. They still saw him as Joker, their leader. Their tactician. Their friend. "I never would have known this affected you so much if you hadn't told us," Ann frowned guiltily. "Yeah, I feel bad," Ryuji looked sad. He faced Akira seriously. "Just worry about yourself, man, before you worry about what others say." "They don't know you like we do, anyways," Futaba added. Akira nodded. His face was hot. He was struggling to keep his shaky hands under control. He felt tears welling behind his eyes. Why was he still trying to keep his emotions in? "I'm glad you told us about this," Haru smiled at him warmly. "You can surely rely on us as much as we have relied on you, leader," Yusuke says assuringly. Futaba quickly hugged Akira's arm when he began to cry. It ended up with all of the Phantom Thieves on or around his bed. Ann was on his other side, head on his shoulder. Ryuji sat on the other side of Futaba, his hand lingering close to Akira. Makoto was kneeling in front of him, clasping a hand in both of hers. Yusuke and Haru sat in chairs on either side of her, leaning in close to fill the circle. Akira's free hand was on his face, wiping away tears that kept being replaced. Morgana squeezed in and curled up in his lap, nudging him with his nose. "We're a team, Akira. Teammates never leave another behind," he said, closing his eyes. The Phantom Thieves of Hearts had always had one thing in common: they shared their pain together. And they all awakened to one more thing; Akira Kurusu deserved the world.

#persona 5 #akira kusuru #ryuji sakamoto #ann takamaki #makoto niijima #yusuke kitagawa #morgana #haru okumura #futaba sakura #sad!#i like to think this is how it is

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