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andreafmn · 3 years

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I'm Not Afraid - Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,325

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father's sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin's, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others' storyline.

Chapter: 1/?

Chapter Description: (Y/N) finally arrives at Beacon Hills for the funeral of her aunt and meets a certain wolf to which she feels a special connection.

A/N: Second fandom I'm writing for. I love Teen Wolf so much and the trope of hard Derek but only soft for you makes my heart sing. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 1

I hugged the black coat to my body as hard as I could whilst pushing through the sea of press. Our family's last name became quite known after the reports about my aunt, whose burial we were attending. She had allegedly burned down a house with people in it. She killed them in cold blood. I hugged my grieving uncle and his less grieving wife, then my cousin who had a painful look on her face. I hugged her the longest. She let herself crumble on my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Even though she was a horrible person she was still our aunt, family.

I took my seat behind Allison when my father, my mother, uncle Chris, and aunt Victoria stood up. Allison didn't lift her head and neither did I. I just tried to comfort her.

"It's been such a long time I don't expect you to call me grandpa." We both looked up to see a white-haired man who resembled the Argent features. "Don't worry about it, just call me Gerard." He hugged both of us, an overpowering aura emanating from his being. When we were engulfed, I looked to the side and saw two boys squatting behind a gravestone. If they were hiding, they were doing a horrible job at it.

"But I prefer Grandpa," Gerard said walking to his seat. I sat back down and drifted off during the whole ceremony. Once it was over, I joined my parents and we drove to our new house. I have a feeling that life here will be very interesting.

That weekend I decided that I had been putting working out off for too long. I changed into comfortable workout clothes and gave food to my dog, Brody. I headed out the door, put my earbuds on, and started to jog. I really didn't know where I was going since it was a new place for me, all I know is that I kept running until I reached the woods. The bad thing about this, I had no idea how to get back home. Even though I knew of this sidetrack and I knew I would be late to get back home, I kept running, needing a release from the mundane feeling of being new in town and having to reunite from our estranged family in a funeral.

I had gained a lot of momentum. God knows how fast I was running at this point that is until I hit something, it almost felt like a wall. When I looked up, I saw a very handsome guy. Spiked hair, green eyes, and slight stubble. If it weren't for the fact that I was already sweaty I would have started to sweat showers of how nervous I was. That is until he opened his mouth.

"Watch where you're going." He growled at me.

"How about you fucking move and not be a prick?" He looked at me with big eyes, probably in surprise, but quickly changed to his menacing look. Who was he trying to fool?

"Well, this is private property, which means that you're trespassing, meaning you should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"I'm sorry but a burnt-down house with almost no walls or roof is barely a property. So, how about you stop being an idiot and I can be on my way." I started to jog once again but he gained my attention once more.

"You're new here, aren't you?" I turned around to face him.

"What's it to you?" He raised his eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a yes." The cockiness oozed out of his pores.

"And why the hell should that matter?"

"Because no one would dare talk to me that way."

"Who would be afraid of a little sour wolf?" He tensed up. "Dude, chill. I'm just kidding. But I doubt anyone would be afraid of Mr...."

"Hale. Derek Hale." He said extending his hand to me. Gee, after screaming at me he wants us to be acquaintances. I thought about not shaking his hand, but I didn't want to be rude. Well, more than I have been already.

"(Y/N). Argent." I shook his hand. Strong grip. Suddenly I felt a rush of déjà vu; I had met him the day before. "Wait, aren't you that guy I accidentally hit with my grocery cart yesterday?"

"Yeah, that really hurt. You hit my ankle. You could've had me limping."

"But you're not, so be grateful I didn't break your ankle." He laughed. "Damn, if I had known how cocky you really were, I would've hit you harder."

"So, you admit that you hit me?"

"Oh yeah, of course, I hit you. Accidentally that is."

"Yeah, yeah."

I looked around trying to find where the hell I had come from but there wasn't even the slightest trail as to where I was to go.

"So, miss (Y/N). Do you even know your way home?"

"No, but I'm sure I can find my way back." Then, he took keys out of his pocket and pointed to his car.

"Come on, I'll drive you around and you just tell me when something seems familiar."

"And why should I go with the guy that almost ripped out my throat for bumping into him? For all I know you could be driving me to my death." I crossed my arms over my chest, and he let out a loud sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry for snapping. But I'm trying to be nice. That doesn't happen very often."

"Alright, Mr. Hale. I'll let you take me home just because you are being nice now, after being a prick, and I'm exhausted."

"See, no one can resist me." I rolled my eyes at his cockiness. Seriously does he buy cans of it on eBay?

"Don't get cocky with me. I can punch the living daylights out of you." He chuckled and started to drive.

We drove for about 20 minutes until I finally recognized the curb that led to my house. Upon arriving at my driveway, I got out of the car and walked to the driver’s side.

"Give me your hand” For some reason, I felt compelled to do so. He took a pen and wrote down a number. "Call me if you ever need a tour of the town."

Three weeks later, I walked inside the school to meet up with Allison. I moved here with my family since dad had some business taking float. Being the new kid in town is never fun. I would know. I switch schools almost every year. The pro and con about this would be not being attached to anyone. Usually, I'm the one who doesn't talk to anyone and is called a freak. A derogatory term given to people who are way too different from others, but a title I wore proudly.

"Oh my gosh, (Y/N)! How have you been?" Allison wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. It was as if she hadn't seen me just three weeks ago.

"Hi, Allison. I've been good, getting acclimated to the new town. You?" You would think that because we were cousins, I would be more affectionate towards her but honestly, I wouldn't see her again for like three more years, so what's the point?

"I'm good. A little rocky at the start of coming here but good." Then, a boy with a buzz cut and one with great brown hair walked by and smiled at Alli. "Ooh, you should come meet my friends. Stiles, Scott!! Come here." The boys turned around with goofy grins on their faces.

"Hey, Allison. Who's this?" Buzzcut kid said.

"This is my cousin, (Y/N). She just moved here from Virginia."

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Scott." The one with the great hair said.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Stiles." I shook their hands and smiled.

"Nice to meet you, too, buzzcut." Allison and Scott laughed but Stiles only ran his hand through his hair, suddenly becoming hyperaware of his lack of locks.

"Allison. Who might this sexy lady be?" I rolled my eyes. The last thing I need is a narcissist with a god-complex trying to get close.

"Oh, Jackson, this is my cousin, (Y/N)."

"Hi." He extended his hand and looked me up and down.

"Hi." I smiled sarcastically, and when I didn't extend my hand, he dropped his.

Finally, after standing awkwardly behind Allison whilst her friends talked, the bell rang. Talk about saved by the bell.

"Hey, (Y/N), what's your first class?" I checked my schedule.

"Um, chemistry."

"Oh, good, then you're coming with us to Mr. Harris' class," Scott said pointing towards him and Stiles. I smiled and walked behind them.

Once we got to the classroom everyone turned to me, the ever-present sign of being new in the class evident in the stare of my classmates.

"Um, hi, my name is (Y/N) Argent and I'm new." The teacher, whom I guess is Mr. Harris, turned around to face me.

"Oh, yes, Miss Argent. Welcome. You will be sitting next to Isaac Lahey. Lahey, raise your hand." Once Isaac raised his hand, I noticed he was sat near Stiles and Scott. Two people I was trying to avoid. As I walked past, I accidentally pushed Stiles' book on his lap, startling him, resulting in an awkward descent from his lab stool onto the floor.

"Hi, again. I guess we are gonna see a lot of each other for the rest of the school year." I nodded and he scratched the back of his neck. "So, um, what school did you come from?"

"Lancaster High," I responded whilst writing down what Mr. Harris was writing on the board. Stiles kept trying to talk to me, but I would only give him short, cold answers or just ignore him. That is until Mr. Harris called our attention, that's when he finally got the memo to shut up.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to introduce myself since we're gonna be seated next to each other all year. I'm Isaac."

"I figured." I tried giving him my best smile. The vibe he was giving off seemed like he needed it. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Well, nice to meet you, (Y/N). Now I'll leave you to the class because if I don't I know I'll be failing even more than I am."

"Oh, well, maybe I can tutor you some time. I'm actually really good at science. My mom was a chemist professor once upon a time so I'm bound to understand all this."

"Really?!" His puppy eyes seemed to light up and I nodded. "That would actually be amazing."

"Sure thing. Now let's get back to class."

After Chemistry finished, I put everything in my bag as quickly as possible and sped to my next class, Math. Thankfully, none of Allison's friends shared this class with me but I did share it with Isaac. I didn't consider him much a friend but more an acquaintance in desperate need of help.

As the day progressed, I noticed the rest of my classes were shared with one or more of Allison's friends. They all tried to strike up a conversation but were quickly discouraged when met with my one-worded or vague answers. Especially, Stiles. He tried especially hard to get answers out of me, only being met with the occasional laugh or stare at his comical occurrences. He seemed like the kind of person you could just open up to. The same could be said about Scott. His shy nature was alluring, and he portrayed himself as a very trustworthy and loyal being.

But I would not allow myself to let them in. My whole being yearned for a real friendship, someone to share nothing and everything; never again.

At lunch, I sat outside and ate my food quietly, a book in front of my face to shield my eyes from the sun the prevalent stares of my peers. After some minutes of appreciated loneliness, the empty table was filled with conversating teenage bodies. I smiled politely but, in my mind, I was cursing them out.

"So, (Y/N), how's your day been?" Allison asked whilst munching on an apple. I swallowed what was left of my bite and answered.

"Fine, thank you." This time no one pressed on after my short answers, finally getting the hint of my disinterest. In the corner of my eye, I saw Isaac sitting under a tree munching on half a sandwich. I excused myself and went to join him, heavily enjoying his tranquil aura.

"Oh, hi, (Y/N)." He smiled sheepishly.

"Hey, Isaac. Is that all you're eating?"

"Yeah. I'm not very hungry." He looked down as if he were ashamed.

"Nonsense! Here," I gave him the other half of my burger and another bag of chips I had in my bag. "You can't tell me you're not hungry. You're a boy in peak development."

"Thanks." He smiled as he continued munching on his food. I put on some music and we continued eating in silence. No conversation required.

The day went on smoother than it started. Classes flew by fairly quickly and the incessant chit-chat seemed to diminish. During last period I was like every other student, anxiously waiting for the bell to signal the end of the school day. When my pleads were answered, I packed the necessary book into my bag and left the rest in my locker, expertly avoiding any more social encounters. Quickly, I made my way to the waiting open car door of my father's car, ignoring Allison's beckoning me t.wards the small group of friends.

"How was your first day, darling?" My father spoke up breaking my attention from the scenery.

"Like any other first day I've had." I smiled. "The towns might change but school is always the same."

Finally at home, we were greeted with the sight of my mother cooking; people were coming over.

"(Y/N), honey, Chris, Victoria, and Allison are coming over tonight. So, go do a quick workout and come back to get ready." I nodded and ran to my room to change into workout clothes.

My routine would normally consist of waking up, working out, go to school for a dreading eight hours, come back home, workout again, do my homework, eat, and go to sleep. I lead a very monotonous life and it had been this way since I could remember. One of my earliest memories was of my father teaching me archery alongside Allison, a great distraction to our always disrupted home life. As I got older, my father started training me in boxing and knife maneuvering. How would these skills help me in life were still a mystery but I felt safe knowing them.

I got changed and decided to take Brody out with me on a quick jog through the woods. "Hey, boy, ready to go?"

He jumped on me which I took as a yes and started for the woods. We ran down the same trail I had been going on for the past three weeks. Mostly, I went down this track in hopes that Derek would make an appearance, and today was not the exception. As the ruins of his house came to view so did his tall figure.

"Trespassing again?"

"It doesn't count if I know the owner." During our greeting, Brody's leash slipped out of my hand and he ran to jump on Derek, leaving slobbering licks on his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He chuckled and helped me bring him down.

"I guess he likes you, even though he doesn't like anyone but me. Guess you're special."

"Maybe." He grinned.

Out of nowhere, I hit him in the shoulder. "What was that for?!"

"For trying to run me over with your shopping cart two days ago. It was uncalled for."

"No, it was revenge. You hit ME first. In the ankle."

"You're still on with that. Come on, sour wolf. That happened three weeks ago, and it was an accident."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll give you a ride home. It's getting kind of dark." This had also become part of my routine. After "bumping" into Derek he would offer to drop me off at my house, claiming it was for security.

"Okay, we're here. By the way, the offer to show you around town is still up. Just call me whenever." He said as he stopped the car in front of my house.

"Alright, will do, and thanks for the ride, Derek. I'd invite you in, but my family is coming over."

"No worries, maybe another time."

"It's a date. Anyways, thanks again. See you when I see you."

"Okay, goodnight."

"Night." He waited until I entered the house and drove away.

"Munchkin, is that you?" My father screamed from the kitchen.

"Yeah!" I screamed back.

"Okay, well, go take a shower and get ready your uncle will get here soon."

I hurried up the stairs and hopped in the shower letting the hot water stream down my body calming any aching muscle that was palpitating. In my room, I searched through my closet for an acceptable family dinner outfit, deciding a grey sweater and black jeans would be enough. I braided my hair out of my face and went downstairs to help my mother set the table.

After we put the last plate the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" I ran to the door and was greeted by my uncle. "Uncle Chris!" I jumped and he hugged me. There was no doubt that he was my favorite family member, his presence was always welcoming. His wife on the other hand was as cold as the winters we spent in New York. She was nice but absolutely scary. "Hi, Aunt Victoria."

"Hello, (Y/N)." I hugged her and said hi to Allison.

"Come in, guys." They walked in and I closed the door behind them.

"So, (Y/N), how have you been?" Uncle Chris asked while stuffing his mouth with mom's famous lasagna.

"I've been good. I mean, moving all the time takes a toll on you at first, but I got used to it. It's easy now to pack it all up once the school year ends."

"Oh, honey, that must be so hard on you," Victoria said. I could not read her tone, her words spoke in sympathetic notes with an underlying melody of sarcasm. Not knowing what to answer, I bit my lip and nodded.

The whole evening was spent on us catching up and eating, laughing, playing games, but the good times came to an end when the clock hit 9:00 pm. It was stupid to set a curfew, but my mom usually had everyone in bed at this time, 10:30 as of late.

"You better come around the house more often." Uncle Chris demanded and hugged me.

"Yes, sir." I raised my hand to my eyebrow and saluted, as did he.

"Let's go, Chris. And thank you for the lovely dinner, Rebecca," Victoria said linking arms with my uncle and smiling at mom.

"No problem. Come by any time." They talked for a bit more and after they left, I went upstairs to change for bed.

"Momma, I'm gonna go to sleep."

"Okay, honey. Goodnight." I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, and put my hair in a ponytail.

Before bed, I made sure everything I would need for the next day was packed into my bag and made sure my alarm was set. I pulled all the throw pillows from my bed and set them aside, then making my way to the window to draw the curtains. Something caught my attention in the backyard, though. My eyes squinted trying to make out the figure in front of me. Blinking the confusion away, I made a double-take and looked back at an empty yard. I laughed to myself as I crept into bed. Why would Derek be in my backyard?

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seeksstaronmewni · 3 years

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The Bear Roots of Burbank Cartoons: A Lookback at Boo Boo Runs Wild

5 years ago, [adult swim] aired the greatest of all Yogi Bear / Ranger Smith episodes, “Boo Boo Runs Wild” (1999), on August 13th, 2016 A.D. at 4 AM.

Look and see, kids, how America’s not-so-average bear connects in the wide world of animation that produces many of the cartoons that you love in Burbank, Canada and more!

As and after I saw it, I knew that I found the greatest band of cartoonists out there, and that greatest band of cartoonists out there was none other than...

Spümcø, whose many creatives would end up working at Hanna-Barbera Cartoons, Cartoon Network Studios, and many other popular Burbank and Canadian studios that made the cartoons I grew up and beyond watching.

Obviously, the character design is rather different, but they still look like the right characters, even with the slight color changes...

and with their items of human attire out. Ranger Smith, on the other hand...

Ranger Smith is wildly off model, and probably on purpose, throughout the picture.

Only in one scene appears he with a more familiar face.

Now, I didn’t have to watch Wild Kratts (which, by the way, features 6 Spümcø Canada creatives) to learn that “there’s only one thing a bear likes more than raiding a pic-a-nic basket.”

As the title suggests, Boo Boo loses his temper when Ranger Smith restricts him from tearing bark and decides to go primal in returning to his bear roots: “From this day forth, I’ll not dress in the man’s attire, and I’ll not speak in the man’s tongue. From now on, it’s going on all fours and grunting for me!”

Boo Boo wreaks havoc for the trees with his natural bear roots.

Unlike past episodes, however, the artists went far wilder than the usual Hanna-Barbera cartoon, making the trees alive and screaming in pain! OH, WHAT TOURTUE! Not to mention how I love Boo Boo’s goofy/manical laugh, a beautiful product of John Kricfalusi’s voice (Yes; I know that he was a formerly abusive megalomaniac who still has ADHD, but God knows what cartoons would be like today—at least those produced in Burbank and Canada—if it wasn’t for the many layout artists that he led).

Also unnatural to a Hanna-Barbera cartoon is the extreme levels of slapstick, wackiness and graphic nature of cartoons since such shows as Mighty Mouse: The New Adventures, Beany and Cecil’s DiC reboot, and The Ren & Stimpy Show. Boo Boo and now Cindy Bear are licking away at all of the honey... and bees... with insanely long tongues (may be that they’re sloth bears?). This left Yogi Bear practically speechless.

The mere sequence of dialogue between Yogi and Ranger Smith, discussing what to do about Boo Boo, involved HEAVY work in the storyboards by Vincent Waller. So many expressions that they couldn’t fit in each of Spümcø’s 3-panel storyboard pages!

As you see, in addition to Vincent Waller’s storyboards, John K. added extra poses (storyboard revisions more or less, but definitely layout poses) under the respective scenes. That way, Vincent could focus on telling and writing the story in rough pictures. (source of storyboards)

I also love the sound design. While it’s definitely true to a Hanna-Barbera cartoon, John K. and the late Henry Porch were very creative with some weird, dated and out-of-context sound effects, similar to what they and Horta Editorial did on The Ren & Stimpy Show in the first two seasons. The production music (probably APM and Capitol Records) also gave it a vintage, nostalgic feel.

Ultimately, with the aforementioned abusive megalomaniac aside, Spümcø undoubtedly harbored some of the finest animators and artists ever. Such names as Bob Jaques (Spongebob Squarepants, Buy One, Get One Free*, The Baby Huey Show), Ben Jones (DC Super Hero Girls, Cats Don’t Dance, Teen Titans GO!), Vincent Waller (Spongebob Squarepants, Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog), Albert Lozano (Inside Out, A Kitty Bobo Show), Todd White (Spongebob Squarepants), Eric Koenig (Atlantis: The Lost Empire, Madagascar, Cats Don’t Dance, The Simpsons, and The Tigger Movie), and Erik Wiese (Samurai Jack, The Mighty B!) are among the hundreds of creatives who ended up almost everywhere working in Burbank and Canadian animation.

Other names on the Spümcø team that one might recognize include Gabe Swarr (Dexter’s Laboratory, The Buzz on Maggie, Foe Paws, El Tigre), and even background artists such as Richard Daskas ( @rdaskas - Samurai Jack, Time Squad, Sym-Bionic Titan, Batman Beyond), Richard Ziehler-Martin (Tiny Toon Adventures, The Wacky World of Tex Avery), Hector Martinez (Tom and Jerry: Robin Hood and His Merry Mouse, Timone and Pumba, Captain N, Evil Con Carne, Dora the Explorer), and Tony Mora (MAD, Teen Titans GO! to the Movies, Pickle and Peanut). I mean: in short, these artists worked for Warner Bros. Animation, Disney Television Animation and Walt Disney Feature Animation, Nickelodeon, and Cartoon Network Studios!

Spümcø’s production assistants on Boo Boo Runs Wild feature Matt Danner —a fantastic character designer, storyboard artists, director and producer, whose credits range from (Johnny Test and The Legend of the Three Caballeros to Team Hot Wheels and The Looney Tunes Show—and Cartoon Brew editor Amid Amidi. Brian A. Miller was an executive in charge of production, not for but probably in association with Cartoon Network.

Spümcø’s creatives, as I said, are all over the place in Burbank animation. Other shows that still air on @adultswim have ex-Spümcø creatives. For example: today’s re-run of Samurai Jack EPISODE XVI features Chris Reccardi (The Powerpuff Girls, The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy)...

Scott Wills (Genndy Tartakovsky’s Primal, The Twisted Tales of Felix the Cat)...

Lynne Naylor-Reccardi (The Shnookums and Meat Funny Cartoon Show, Wander Over Yonder) and Jim Smith (YooHoo and Friends, Tom and Jerry Tales, McGee and Me)...

and Leticia Lacy (TRON: Uprising, Sym-Bionic Titan, Wander Over Yonder, Korgoth of Barbaria).

Even outside of Cartoon Network Studios, where most ex-Spümcø artists end up, @cartoonnetwork’s The Amazing World of Gumball, from Cartoon Network Studios Europe (AKA Hanna-Barbera Studios Europe), features ex-Spümcø artist Charlie Bean (The Powerpuff Girls, Robotboy, Batman: The Animated Series, Timone and Pumba, Creature Crunch) on The Cartoon Network Europe Development Team.

One of Cartoon Network’s biggest and craziest hits, Teen Titans GO!, also features such ex-Spümcø artists as storyboard artist, director and producer Luke Cormican (The Buzz on Maggie, Brandy and Mr. Whiskers, Brickleberry, The Replacements, El Tigre)...

Gerald de Jesus (The Book of Life, The Ricky Gervais Show, TMNT)...

and Eric J. Pringle (Fosters’ Home for Imaginary Friends, The Problem Solverz). What wacky cartoon filled with live-action images, unpredictable visual gags and extreme slapstick humor wouldn’t?

Relatively, you could even tune in to Nickelodeon, the original home of Spümcø’s ground-breaking hit, The Ren & Stimpy Show, and see names of creatives associated with Spümcø and Ren & Stimpy, such as Zeus Cervas (Star vs. the Forces of Evil, Spongebob Squarepants, Clarence) on today’s episode of The Patrick Star Show...

or even Gabe Del Valle (Mighty Magiswords, Spongebob Squarepants) on today’s episode of Middlemost Post!

Overall, Boo Boo Runs Wild introduced me to the cartoon studio whose works I took for granted and on which I was missing out all of my life, and I strongly encourage this generation to support this Yogi Bear / Ranger Smith episode, which you can watch RIGHT NOW on [adult swim]’s site. It was officially on their YouTube channel, but it was removed for unknown reasons. This short never even got a DVD or VHS release!

The last televised airing of Boo Boo Runs Wild on [adult swim] so far was January 6th, 2019 A.D., but Spümcø also produced “A Day in the Life of Ranger Smith” and “Boo Boo and the Man” (based on true events in the life of John Kricfalsui) for Cartoon Network.

As I come to a close, it’s worth noting that layout Ed Benedict, an animator and artist whose credits go all of the way back to the 1930s with Disney and continued with MGM and Hanna-Barbera/Cartoon Network Studios, originally worked on Yogi Bear episode “Yogi’s Birthday Party” as a layout artist, and reprised that very role for “Boo Boo Runs Wild”. What a legacy the animators and artists of this episode leave!

Always will I remember how Spümcø, whose legacy connects to my Cartoon Network-infused childhood, blessed me and graced me that fateful day, August 13th, 2016 A.D., with the ultimate example of the fine art of cartooning that is the Yogi Bear / Ranger Smith episode “Boo Boo Runs Wild”. I was living in the moment, and I thank God for it.

“For years they have [been] asking me to make new Yogi cartoons, but I can’t even get a half a million [dollars] to make one, probably because I actually like the characters, but 60-70 million $ to make walking corpses is economical.” - John Kricfalsui on Yogi Bear (2010)

Another Ranger Smith, Boo Boo or Yogi Bear cartoon from the people behind The Ren & Stimpy Show is highly unlikely today, due to the abuse and harassment of John K. angering the world to the point of hating and condemning the man who helped to shape not only Cartoon Network but also television animation—and animation as a whole—with an undeniable legacy of artists and animators who deserve way more credit and respect than we perhaps thought of giving as kids.

Tweet version of this post here.

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ryukoishida · 3 years

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Qian Qiu/Thousand Autumns Fic: In which YWS experiences qi-deviation and SQ helps out.

Title: Down for You Fandom: Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Characters/Ships: YanShen Rating: NSFW Chapter: 1/1 Summary: [Post Canon] While experimenting with further improving Fundamental Records of Phoenix-Qilin, Yan Wushi suffered from sexually-driven qi deviation, which he tried to hide from Shen Qiao. When Shen Qiao finally realized what was wrong and offered to help, Yan Wushi felt conflicted. A/N: Another qi deviation fic? Yes. Let me join in the fun too please and thank.

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Yan Wushi hated asking for help.

He viewed dependence on someone else as a weakness – a weakness that he as one of the strongest martial arts masters under the heavens had no need for. Even since he was young, he thrived on being on his own: with no other pupils to distract him, and no overbearing teacher to instruct him point-by-point, he was able to concentrate on his training and meditation in his own pace and direction that had taken him higher on the path to greatness and strength in the martial arts realm.

To Yan Wushi, other people were either nuisances for him to flick off like pestering flies or rivals worthy of challenging; friends were merely an unnecessary burden.

Taking on two disciples during the last few decades had not changed his perspective on this. He took on Bian Yanmei and Yu Shengyan knowing that their independent personalities would work well with his hands-off teaching method. And thankfully, both of his disciples turned out to be more than capable to handle themselves and sect affairs when he wasn’t around.

In short, Yan Wushi hated asking for help. He never saw the need, and so perhaps had forgotten how.

Subsequently, when Shen Qiao asked him what was wrong with the slightest hint of worry between his brows, out of pure habit, Yan Wushi smiled and replied lightly, if not a little breathlessly from the itching heat that was very slowly inching from his solar plexus to the rest of his body through his bloodstreams, “nothing, my beloved.”

Even speaking such few words proved to be challenging; his throat protested with a parched, sweet burn that could only be satiated with the touch of one person, and one person only.

But Yan Wushi didn’t dare ask. He’d already asked too much of Shen Qiao by being here with him, standing beside him as if they were equals.

Shen Qiao’s frown deepened a little, barely noticeable. The answer clearly didn’t satisfy the sect leader of Xuan Du, yet Shen Qiao was a patient man and was not one to force answers out of Yan Wushi until he knew his husband was ready to divulge. Heaving a soft sigh and aiming a knowing look at the other man, Shen Qiao only pressed his lips into a tight line and lowered his gaze back to the scroll he’d been reading.

It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced qi deviation. During the years in his training to reach the higher levels of the Fundamental Records of Phoenix-Qilin, Yan Wushi had suffered countless instances and variations of his qi running erratic in his meridian network – icy needles prickling his bones, bursting flames scorching his flesh, paralysis rendering him completely vulnerable – and he’d overcame each and every single one of them without anyone’s interference or assistance.

The slow-burning heat like molten lava crawling slowly up and down his limbs and prickling just beneath his skin was nothing he’d ever experienced before, but Yan Wushi was certain he could get through this troublesome phase with a few more days of meditation and rewiring of his meridian network.

“You will tell me if there is something wrong, will you not?” Shen Qiao’s gaze didn’t move away from the text on his scroll, but his voice was quiet and genuine with concern.

“Of course, Ah-Qiao.”

Three more days of silently suffering the gradually increasing discomfort of feverish sensitivity and the progressively difficulty of ignoring the pulsing desire running wild within his body that no meditation nor long soaks in cold water could suppress, Yan Wushi was desperate.

He wouldn’t allow his disciples or other servants near him for the last few days, and to Shen Qiao’s surprise, he’d even turned his own husband away, muttering something along the lines of not wishing to pass whatever illness he had to his beloved partner. Given any other day, Shen Qiao would have left him be, but Yan Wushi’s behavior had been too uncharacteristic even for the man’s eccentric personality, and that was the moment when the sect leader of Xuan Du couldn’t pretend to be oblivious anymore.

“Yan-zongzhu��”

After knocking on the door of their shared bedchamber in Yuxu Pavilion and receiving no reply, Shen Qiao gingerly opened the door and stepped in. Night had already fallen hours ago and the candles were burning low, the orange glow of the flames flickering when the evening breeze slipped in through the gap of the open door before stilling again.

“Yan-zongzhu?” Shen Qiao tried again, tone soft, making his way to the side of the bed, where Yan Wushi was lying on his back, blankets kicked messily to the side and clothing haphazardly loosened in a state of disarray. His breathing was shallow and harsh, skin flushed and streaked with sweat, exposed chest rising and falling in an abnormal rate that made Shen Qiao rushed the last few steps to the bed and reached out for his companion’s wrist.

He rested two fingers against Yan Wushi’s pulse point, attempting to get a reading, but before he could accurately diagnose the man’s condition, Yan Wushi pulled his arm away with a groan.

“Ah-Qiao…” Yan Wushi croaked out, his voice much hoarser and lower than usual from how dry the inside of his mouth was, and he cleared his throat, eyes fluttering open and head turning slightly to look at Shen Qiao. His pupils were dilated so that only a thin ring of red-brown could be seen. “As much as I appreciate your concern, there really is nothing for you to worry about.”

“Yan Wushi!” Shen Qiao’s patience was running thin, and Yan Wushi could tell because he was calling him by his full name. With quick reflexes, Shen Qiao caught his husband’s wrist again, this time using a bit more force to keep him in place as he tried to read his pulse once more. The palpitation was strangely rapid and inconsistent, with a rhythm that he wasn’t familiar with from any medical books he’d read.

Brows gathering into a deeper frown and lips tightening into a straight line, Shen Qiao placed his palm on the other man’s forehead, and was shocked at the burning temperature of his skin there. He continued his examination, gently feeling his cheek with the back of his hand, and then slender fingers were on the side of his neck – a man’s most vulnerable point, easily grasped and snapped into pieces – but Yan Wushi only craved more, Shen Qiao’s cool fingertips and innocent touches merely serving to ignite whatever was flaring wildly inside his body.

Shen Qiao detected a change in Yan Wushi’s breathing, and simply deduced that as being his condition worsening. He quickened his examination, his hand briefly resting on Yan Wushi’s sternum before sliding lower to his solar plexus, all the while focusing his own qi to the center of his palm to see if he could at least alleviate some of the discomfort and ease the stranded qi into flowing again.

“Hah…!” Yan Wushi jerked as the qi from Shen Qiao’s palm entered through his skin and into his meridian network. It had felt… good. Too good, in fact, that he was afraid he might lose control of himself if he didn’t stop what his dear husband was doing right now.

In his current weakened state, Yan Wushi had no real strength to push back, and so he resorted to his infamous verbal skills. Lifting up his shuddering arm, he covered the back of Shen Qiao’s hand, which was still laying lightly across his husband’s stomach, with his own, interlaced their fingers together and pulled that pale jade hand towards his lips, murmuring against his warm skin in a low voice.

“Ah-Qiao… my good Ah-Qiao… do not be angry with me,” Yan Wushi was using his best impression of an overly-affectionate cat. His saccharine tone shouldn’t be so effective on Shen Qiao, but when it was paired with the teary-eyed gaze, flushed cheeks, and strands of star-white hair stuck to his temple, Shen Qiao felt the initial heat of his frustration simmered away until nothing but a soft smoldering tenderness was left.

Shen Qiao sighed but allowed Yan Wushi to keep holding his hand.

“Yan-lang, I am not angry, but I wish you would tell me right away when something like this happen. If you were to…” Shen Qiao’s mind flashed to the memory of Yan Wushi’s lifeless body lying on the cold, hard ground after his last fight with Hulugu, and he squeezed his eyes close, shaking his head viciously to tear himself away from that nightmarish image. “No, you cannot do that to me again. Promise me that you will not hide yourself like this next time you experience another instance of qi-deviation, or anything else.”

“Call me that again, and I will promise you anything you want.”

“Call you…?” Shen Qiao realized belatedly that he’d been addressing Yan Wushi with the pet name he only used sparingly during their most intimate moments, and he felt his face heating up from embarrassment. “Yan Wushi, this is a serious issue. If you continue to jest around as if your life is a joke —”

“How could I treat my own life as a joke when there is someone who care so deeply for me?” Yan Wushi lightly kissed the back of Shen Qiao’s hand before smiling up at him, the expression so indulgent and gentle – so unlike the usual bold and wolfish grin – that it took all of Shen Qiao’s self-control to not combust on the spot.

“Y-Yan-lang, that is beside the point.”

Despite his cold words, Shen Qiao conceded but quickly continued as if that little scene didn’t happen, “it seems like the flow of your qi is stuck somewhere along the Conception Vessel, probably between the Huiyin point and Qihai point, but it is better if we have a physician take a look—”

“Absolutely not,” Yan Wushi was adamant about this.

“Yan-lang, now is not the time to be headstrong,” Shen Qiao tried to persuade his partner. “Who knows what will happen if we do not act quickly to resolve the qi deviation?”

“This venerable one will not let anyone else touch me other than you.”

“I do not know how to help you…” Shen Qiao said, powerless against the demonic sovereign when he was acting so childishly, “perhaps with acupuncture…?”

“I do,” Yan Wushi said quickly, “and it definitely does not involve needles.”

He internally shuddered at the thought of those sharp, silver, pointy metal bits entering his acupressure points.

“All right,” Shen Qiao acquiesced with a resigned sigh, “will you at least tell me how, then?”

“It is quite simple, really,” one corner of Yan Wushi’s lips curved up into a slight grin, and Shen Qiao suddenly had a bad feeling about this, “I just need Ah-Qiao to enter me and climax inside me while at the same time stimulate a few specific acupressure points on my body with your qi.”

“… pardon me?”

It was solely thanks to Shen Qiao’s strict upbringing that he didn’t instantly slap Yan Wushi across the face and leave.

Rather than repeating himself – because he was sure that Shen Qiao had heard exactly what he’d said – Yan Wushi guided his husband’s hand from his mouth and southward, past his chest and stomach, and finally let it rest on his crotch, which, despite the layers of clothing, was quite obviously stirring in interest, as it had been for the past few days no matter how many times Yan Wushi had tried to resolve this problem by himself.

“Please, Ah-Qiao, will you not help your poor husband out? You know I do not beg easily, but for you…” Yan Wushi grinded up against Shen Qiao’s palm, and even though that slight friction was not nearly enough to quench his yearning, knowing that it was Shen Qiao who was touching him down there was sufficient to make the demonic sovereign bite his lower lip to dampen the whimper that was slipping out prettily. His body trembled with want, aching to be touched; he had to internally force his own frame to remain in place instead of springing up like a predator to trap Shen Qiao within his arms.

“Yan-lang, you know you never have to plead with me if you truly need help, right?” Shen Qiao was not used to seeing this side of Yan Wushi. Even as young as Xie Ling and as mellow as Ah-Yan were, none of his split personalities had ever acted like this. From Yan Wushi’s own perspective, this kind of behavior was unbecoming, a display of weakness, a sign of disgrace, and so he would never have allowed himself to fall into this pathetic state.

Shen Qiao’s fingers were twitching from the heat emanating from Yan Wushi’s erection, so it was a wonder he was able to inquire in a calm tone, “but are you certain that this is the only way to redirect your qi?”

“My good Ah-Qiao, please… I… I need you to touch me or I am literally going to die.”

Now Yan Wushi was being rather dramatic, and they both knew it. Even Shen Qiao was trying hard not to crack a smile at that as Yan Wushi continued his lament.

“Is that what you want? Do you want your husband to die from something as ridiculous as sexually-driven qi deviation?”

“For someone who is supposedly suffering, Yan-zongzhu sure runs his mouth too much,” Shen Qiao’s inhibition had melted away, and his worry seemed to have alleviated somewhat as well, after seeing that Yan Wushi was still capable of his melodramatic antics. “Shall I put your mouth to better use?”

Shen Qiao allowed himself to be pulled forward and down until their noses were nuzzling against each other’s, their breaths mingling hotly while the sect leader of Xuan Du ran his fingers back up to his exposed chest, splaying his hand against the patch of warm skin there. Feeling his husband’s heart thrumming beneath his fingertips, Shen Qiao’s own chest felt full of emotions that were impossible to put into words, so he didn’t try – not when he could communicate those feelings through his actions.

“And what does Shen-zhangjiao suggest?” Yan Wushi whispered, each word branding against the other man’s lips like the sweetest poison.

Shen Qiao wordlessly closed the distance between them, first with a chaste kiss of lips gently touching, and then almost instantly flared into a wet, messy clashing of mouths, teeth, and tongues initiated by Yan Wushi. Before long, however, even the demonic sovereign was feeling the radiating waves of heat and languor struck his muscles once more, and Shen Qiao was able to regain control by trapping Yan Wushi’s wrists to his sides while he counterattacked with biting kisses and soothing licks along the side of his neck.

Red and violet bruises bloomed like sweet fragrant alyssum blossoms where Shen Qiao’s mouth roamed, and the mere thought of the pure and virtuous Shen-zhangjiao of Xuan Du Sect marking him thus was making Yan Wushi harder than ever, and he made sure to let Shen Qiao know by releasing needy, broken moans of “Ah-Qiao” and “hurry”.

Soon enough, Shen Qiao had Yan Wushi’s robes removed and pants halfway tangled down his muscular legs, and while Shen Qiao had been imbued with an intoxicating sense of new-found confidence that had allowed him to initiate the kiss, yet as soon as he had laid bare Yan Wushi, his eyes roaming along the expanse of tanned skin and taut muscles aching to be touched and marred, the Daoist found himself hesitating once more.

He’d been kissing his way down his husband’s hipbone and the junction between his hip and thigh, and Shen Qiao could smell the musk of Yan Wushi’s arousal, which only served to make his cheeks heat up more. He froze at the sight of his husband’s swollen and dripping cock.

“You know…” Shen Qiao started, gaze downcast, “I have never done this before, so let me know if you feel any discomfort or pain…”

As if Yan Wushi needed that reminder.

He’d been trying so hard to maintain the last thread of self-control he had, too, and one innocent comment from his dear husband had completely shattered what sanity remained inside of him.

“My good Ah-Qiao,” Yan Wushi breathed out, reaching for the other man’s hands, and their fingers interlaced as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “no matter what you do to me, I am certain that I will have nothing but praises for you.”

Shen Qiao shook his head once and laughed softly, the sound and his expression so tender that Yan Wushi couldn’t help but squeeze his fingers tighter before guiding those same calloused hands to where Yan Wushi needed him to touch.

His cock was slick and hot – almost abnormally so, which Shen Qiao supposed made sense since this was a symptom of qi deviation – but it didn’t diminish the fact that it was big, the shine of pre-cum drooling from the tip simultaneously tempting and intimidating.

Shen Qiao swallowed at the sight despite Yan Wushi’s generous words, and tentatively, he licked the tip and contemplated the responsive shudder that ran up Yan Wushi’s spine.

A good sign, Shen Qiao mused quietly to himself, and then he did it again – small, experimental flicks of his tongue against the velvety skin of the head as if he was tasting a new flavor of candy. Shen Qiao decided he rather liked it, especially the interesting reactions his gesture seemed to be kindling in Yan Wushi, the way he hissed impatiently and tangling his fingers into Shen Qiao’s hair, tugging to beg wordlessly.

Encouraged by his husband’s response, Shen Qiao took it a step further, and envelope the entire head into the moist cavern of his mouth, first delicately wrapping his lips around the tip and taking care to not let his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin there, then slowly swallowing Yan Wushi centimeter by centimeter until he found it hard to breath and his jaw began to ach.

“Gods, Ah-Qiao, you are going to be the death of me…” Yan Wushi murmured shakily, his hand cradling the back of Shen Qiao’s head gently while fingers idly played with his frost green hair ribbon. The cold silk felt like cooling water in the springtime against his fingertips, and it reminded Yan Wushi of that one night when he used that exact hair ribbon to tie Shen Qiao’s wrists while he had his way with him.

The memories didn’t serve him well, for a stream of unfathomable heat and prickling desire blazed down his meridian network and made his cock twitch in Shen Qiao’s mouth.

Shen Qiao’s eyes flickered up to check on his husband, and noticed that Yan Wushi had one arm thrown across his face in an attempt to muffle his moans. His hazel eyes darkened, and he resumed to sucking; where his mouth couldn’t reach, Shen Qiao made use of his hand at the base, pumping in time with the movement of his mouth and tongue and sliding wetly up and down Yan Wushi’s length.

Feeling his thighs beginning to shake at the anticipation of release, Shen Qiao pulled up but his hand didn’t let up its pace. He peppered contrastingly soft kisses along the inside of Yan Wushi’s thigh while his hand tugged in a tempo that was verging on brutal, but that was exactly what Yan Wushi needed.

It didn’t take long for him to climax into Shen Qiao’s hand with a choked groan, and strands of white landed on his own abdomen as well as on his husband’s still clean and meticulous robes.

“W-was that all right?” Shen Qiao asked, uncertainty tinting his hoarse whisper as he climbed back up to look at Yan Wushi properly. He was about to measure the man’s pulse again when he saw tear streaks down Yan Wushi’s cheeks. Heart seized up in a panic, he quickly dabbed the wetness away with his sleeve, a trail of apologies ready on his tongue.

Yan Wushi caught his forearm and planted a small kiss on the inside of his wrist.

“It was more than all right,” Yan Wushi assured him with a languid smile, releasing Shen Qiao’s hand and raising his arm up to brush his thumb against the other man’s red and abused lower lip, the colour so mesmerizing that he couldn’t help but pull Shen Qiao down for a brief but dirty, open-mouthed kiss before murmuring against his ear once they both ran out of air, “in fact, I think I am already starting to feel better, but you know this husband needs more, right?”

Shen Qiao nodded, biting his lip. After easing off of Yan Wushi’s body, he shrugged off his soiled outer robe and moved to retrieve the ceramic vial that he knew his husband kept inside a hidden compartment by the side of their bed. He fumbled with the stopper until it popped out, and he shakily poured out a significant amount of carrageenan extract into his hand.

The texture of it was a little off-putting – a sticky gel-like consistency that reminded him of… another kind of bodily fluid – but he wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t hurt Yan Wushi in the process. After all, Shen Qiao himself wasn’t very experienced, and though this whole ordeal was nothing but a medical treatment, the sect leader of Xuan Du still needed to ensure that Yan Wushi would not be wounded further.

“You will tell me if I am hurting you, will you not?”

The concern in his eyes was genuine. Everything about Shen Qiao was genuine, and Yan Wushi used to think this kind of naturally honest nature was the trait of an absolute fool, yet here he was, in love with a so-called fool.

Maybe he was the one who’d become a fool after all this time.

He didn’t have enough time to contemplate any further than that, because Shen Qiao was kissing him on the mouth when he didn’t answer.

“Yan-lang?”

Yan Wushi couldn’t find it in himself to tease his husband this time, so with equal sincerity, he said, “I will, Ah-Qiao.”

“Good,” Shen Qiao nodded with a small satisfied smile.

With his fingers slicked up with lubricant, Shen Qiao once again returned his attention to his present task. He knelt between Yan Wushi’s legs, which he had opened up slightly wider to more easily accommodate his partner, and carefully slipped the tip of his middle finger into Yan Wushi’s puckered hole.

Unaccustomed to the strange sensation down there, Yan Wushi instinctively wanted to escape from the touch by closing his legs together, but Shen Qiao steadied him with his other hand by firmly pushing against his thigh while pushing his finger further in until the entire digit was swallowed up by the warm tightness.

“Nnng… Ah-Qiao… it feels odd…” Yan Wushi exhaled with a tremulous murmur.

“Odd in a good way or in a bad way?” Shen Qiao asked, stilling his motion and lifting his gaze back up to Yan Wushi’s face to observe his expression.

“Undetermined,” Yan Wushi decided, letting his eyes fall close and breathing out to try to relax his body. The unyielding roiling waves of gnawing desire had subsided a little after he’d climaxed earlier, but with his qi still stuck, that unwelcoming stream of energy was beginning to gather at the pit of his stomach all too soon, causing his cock to stir again even though he hadn’t been touched there yet.

“Hm,” Shen Qiao only hummed thoughtfully. He opted to continue for now.

He pumped his finger in and out a few times to allow Yan Wushi to get used to the sensation before he increased the pace and added a second finger, crooking them in a shallow angle to find the correct acupressure points. To Shen Qiao’s delight, the gesture caused Yan Wushi’s breathing to quicken, his chest rising and falling in tormented groans. His cock lengthened and swelled with blood, and was soon back to its full strength.

“Haaah… Ah-Qiao, keep going…”

The fingering had felt good – so damn good – even though Shen Qiao claimed that he was inexperienced. He must have picked up some skills from Yan Wushi during their previous intimate nights, for after the early moment of embarrassment and hesitation, the way he manipulated Yan Wushi’s body with his slender and calloused fingers had become proficient and deadly.

“I am going to start transferring my qi through your acupoints starting from the Qugu point,” Shen Qiao said, trying to tear his eyes away from Yan Wushi’s debauched expression – silvery-white and ink-black hair sticking to his sweat-slicked skin, eyes squeezed close, head craned back to expose the strong line of his throat, and the occasional moans slipping past his throat – but as he shifted his gaze back to where his fingers were, still buried deep within Yan Wushi’s hole, which had turned dusty pink and glistening from the extract around the ridge, Shen Qiao was starting to question his ability to carry on this operation.

“W-what?”

The feverish desire had reached its new height so that Yan Wushi was unable to think clearly. He was only vaguely aware that Shen Qiao said something and that he needed something much bigger and thicker to fill the void that was verging on swallowing his whole being.

“Never mind,” Shen Qiao said and took a deep breath to regain focus. With attentive eyes and precise execution, Shen Qiao directed the qi inside of his own body so that it flowed in a gradual stream towards the tips of his middle and ring fingers; when he grazed upwards, he aimed the flow of qi to the Qugu point, which was physically the closest to where his fingertips were.

From there, Shen Qiao pushed his qi forward, testing the give of the entire trail of Conception Vessel before forcing it through to the next acupoint, up Zhongji and pierced through to Guanyuan.

“Yan-lang, how do you feel?”

Yan Wushi had been chillingly quiet since Shen Qiao had started transferring his own qi into his husband’s body, and his abnormal silence made the Daoist thought that maybe the demonic sovereign was rejecting his qi due to their different martial arts origins.

“Ah-Qiao…” he gasped, eyes hooded and the blood-red of his irises just a thin ring from his fully dilated pupils, “too… too much…”

Shen Qiao’s heart thudded against his ribcage at how wrecked Yan Wushi sounded. He’d never seen the man like this, even when he was lost in the deepest end of pleasure, and somewhere buried, hidden, and shaped by years of Daoist teachings and morals was an instinctive part of Shen Qiao that had woken up from seeing this vulnerable, intimate side of the usually self-assured and strong Yan Wushi, the cold, ruthless, selfish leader of Huan Yue Sect.

“Yan-lang,” Shen Qiao caressed his husband’s cheek in comfort, wiping away a stray tear that’d escaped his eyes, “we are almost there, just hold on for Ah-Qiao’s sake. Will you do that for me?”

Yan Wushi closed his eyes and shook his head, and his body seemed to suddenly stop being pliant as well.

Shen Qiao’s qi couldn’t advance further; if he kept forcing it, he might risk injuring the rest of Yan Wushi’s meridian system, and that was the last thing Shen Qiao wanted.

“All right, all right,” Shen Qiao cooed, gently taking his fingers out.

Yan Wushi sighed out with a shuddering breath, half in relief and half in lament at the dizzying empty feeling.

If this method didn’t work, he might need to find another way. Shen Qiao was nothing if not resourceful.

“Ah-Qiao, I want you…” Yan Wushi grasped Shen Qiao’s right hand and placed it pointedly against his husband’s clothed arousal, the fabric of which had already been darkened from spots of precum.

“!”

Shen Qiao shuddered when Yan Wushi weakly squeezed his cock through his trousers.

Well, Yan Wushi never had been one to beat around the bush, so Shen Qiao didn’t know what he’d been expecting.

“I —” Shen Qiao paused. Verbally expressing his affection for his husband still didn’t come easily to him, but there were rare moments like this that he found it to be the simplest, most natural thing to do. “I want you, too, Yan-lang.”

The candles were burning dangerously low, and a few had already extinguished, casting the room deeper into the night.

After removing the rest of his clothing, Shen Qiao folded the blanket into a make-shift cushion and placed it under his partner’s lower back before settling back between Yan Wushi’s legs. With one hand wrapped around Yan Wushi’s waist to steady him and the other gently parting the two mounds of firm muscles to reveal the slightly swollen hole, Shen Qiao lined himself up.

All this time, he’d been so focused on mending Yan Wushi’s meridian network that he’d been neglecting his own desire, and now that it’d been freed from the restraint of his undergarment, it was clear that Shen Qiao had been holding back.

He started slow – for both Yan Wushi and his own sanity.

The tip went in easily enough from the ample preparation and Shen Qiao’s own precum lubricating the first part of the entry. The velvet heat that instantly surrounded him was intoxicating, and if Shen Qiao had less self-control, he’d have immediately slammed himself in as deep and hard as he could, but in the end, he managed to reign in that flaring craving that was slowly but surely burning his logic and patience into ashes.

Resisting the urge to thrust all the way in took all of Shen Qiao’s willpower; his knuckles turned white from how hard he was grasping onto Yan Wushi’s hips, which would surely leave bruises that the demonic sovereign would later smugly show his embarrassed husband.

Little by little, Shen Qiao pushed himself into that addictive and delicious heat, all the time still observing for any ailing changes in Yan Wushi’s body. If anything, it seemed having Shen Qiao slowly fucking himself into him only made him more vocal.

“D-do not stop, please… feels good…” Yan Wushi wasn’t helping a bit as he wrapped his legs tightly around Shen Qiao’s waist, imploring for him to go deeper.

Seeing that he wasn’t causing his partner any discomfort, Shen Qiao steeled himself and plunged all the way in until he was fully sheathed. He panted harshly into Yan Wushi’s mouth, who slipped his tongue sloppily into the offered mouth and teased Shen Qiao with filthy kisses that had them both breathing hard.

Shen Qiao finally lost that last strand of calm composure. Foreheads touching, eyes clouded by ravenous hunger, and forearms caging Yan Wushi’s yearning body between his arms, Shen Qiao pulled out slightly and thrusted back in, with enough force to make Yan Wushi gasp and scrambling for purchase.

He did it again and again, skin slapping against skin, the sound seeming to resonate within the walls of their sacred bedchamber, each time more urgent and more fervent than the last.

“Mnnn…. Fuck, Ah-Qiao feels so good inside me…”

“Haah… ah… do you feel no shame, Yan-zongzhu?” Shen Qiao nuzzled the side of Yan Wushi’s neck and kissed him roughly there, leaving more small bruises and teeth marks that wouldn’t fade for days.

“Aww… what happened to calling me ‘Yan-lang’?” Yan Wushi chuckled, placing one hand against the back of Shen Qiao’s head. A soft tug on the ribbon loosened the elegant twist of hair that cascaded over Shen Qiao’s pale shoulders like ink splashing on canvas. “Did I perhaps unknowingly anger Ah-Qiao?”

Shen Qiao paused, leaving only the tip of his cock inside his partner, which instantly drove Yan Wushi to buckle his hips upward in a sorry endeavor to tempt Shen Qiao into moving. He gave Yan Wushi a pointed glare, though the intended effect was dampened by the blush spreading from his cheeks down to his neck and chest and the fact that he was, in fact, fucking Yan Wushi into their bed.

“You know what you did,” Shen Qiao mumbled, finding himself impossible to be truly mad at him in this current situation.

“Hmm…” Yan Wushi scattered soft kisses on the other man’s forehead, eyelids, the bridge of his nose, and finally licking the shell of his ear, he continued with a grin, “can it be that Ah-Qiao is flustered by what I said?”

“There is no need for you to be using such foul and explicit language,” Shen Qiao argued, turning his head away, but it only gave Yan Wushi the perfect angle to kiss down his neck and nibble his collarbone.

“Oh, but there is a need,” Yan Wushi countered, tightening his legs around Shen Qiao’s waist so that he was dragged back into where Yan Wushi needed him to be. The fullness that had at first felt overwhelming was now a welcoming sensation, and he could feel the few acupoints that Shen Qiao had sent his qi through had been cleared, but there were still two spots that he knew needed to be unclogged before his own torrent of qi could flow smoothly and safely. “I need to tell Ah-Qiao how well he had been treating this husband, do I not? And I cannot find the adequate language unless I am using those exact words. Is there something wrong with that? Does Ah-Qiao not like it when I give you compliments?”

“I-It is not like that!”

There was no use having a proper discussion with Yan Wushi’s twisted sense of logic, so Shen Qiao didn’t try to. Instead, he returned to his previous act, except this time he was thrusting in with more force and fire, almost like he was wordlessly taking his own personal vengeance against Yan Wushi’s body.

“Haaah… Ah-Qiao!” Yan Wushi groaned, casting a half-hearted accusatory glare at the other man when Shen Qiao hit the spot that made him see stars and his hole contract around his husband’s length. “… just because… just because you cannot see yourself winning the argument against this venerable one does not mean you should stoop to such low m— nnnng!” Distracted by the sudden onslaught of flickering flames licking down his back and in the pit of his stomach, Yan Wushi hadn’t noticed the fingers placed strategically across his abdomen until he felt a hot stream of foreign qi invaded his meridian network – just as Shen Qiao’s cock was sweetly, torturously invading his inside.

The pleasure that bloomed and erupted from the coil seated deep within him was blinding; it was wonderful and terrifying, devastating yet cherished. Yan Wushi hardly noticed Shen Qiao’s climax when he was still convulsing and quivering from his own release; thick ropes of milky white cum landed and splattered messily on his own chest and tainted Shen Qiao’s unmarred skin.

His mind was blissfully blank for a brief moment while he waited for Shen Qiao to come down from his high. He sensed more than knew that he was filled to the brim with his husband’s seed, and that the last acupoints had been broached to allow his qi to flow effortlessly again.

The last candle burned out, and the room sank into complete darkness except for the hint of watery light from the crescent moon outside.

“Yan-lang?” Shen Qiao wanted to pull out but an arm thrown carelessly around his lower back stopped him from doing so. He heaved a soft sigh but remained in Yan Wushi’s embrace, laying his head against his husband’s chest despite the sticky, sweaty mess they’d made of each other.

“Hmm?” his voice rumbled in the dark, like the earth trembling beneath Shen Qiao’s feet, the sound irritatingly lackadaisical yet strangely kept his heart and mind at peace.

“Your meridian network…?”

“Thanks to Ah-Qiao’s magnificent medical skills, I believe my qi deviation has been treated and my meridian network perfectly restored,” Yan Wushi said, playing with a strand of Shen Qiao’s hair.

Shen Qiao exhaled in relief.

“Though to be certain that it is entirely healed, we might need to have the same treatment performed again, under Shen-zhangjiao’s skillful practice, of course.”

“Yan Wushi!”

Shen Qiao slapped him on the bicep, which only made Yan Wushi snicker harder.

When his laughter finally died down, and he could hear Shen Qiao’s breathing mellowing, Yan Wushi combed his fingers soothingly through his husband’s slightly tangled locks and murmured against the crown of his head.

“Shen Qiao.”

“Hmm?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Ah-Qiao.”

Shen Qiao opened his eyes blearily and pushed himself up just enough to look at Yan Wushi, who was gazing at him with bright eyes and a tender smile.

“Yes?”

A bit of his lucidity returned at the sight of Yan Wushi’s expression.

“I promise you,” Yan Wushi held onto Shen Qiao’s hand and placed a kiss on the back of it, “from this day on, I promise that no matter what kind of problems I may encounter, Ah-Qiao will be the first to know. In return, will you promise to stay by this venerable one’s side no matter what may become of me?”

“Silly Yan-lang,” Shen Qiao pecked him lightly on the forehead before making himself comfortable on Yan Wushi’s chest again, “always.”

#thousand autumns #qian qiu #yanshen #shan he jian xin #yan wushi #shen qiao #bowie's crappy writing

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andrewuttaro · 3 years

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American Christianity’s Death by Trump

This conversation could’ve very easily been had before January 6th, 2021. It should’ve happened on a massive scale in 2016. Some of us have had this conversation in small groups and through blog posts exchanged on forums. Some whole Churches have even put out statements and memorandums and even condemnations. Not enough. After that date, this conversation is imperative for everyone who considers themselves a Christian in the United States of America.

I know you read the title. If you bothered to read this post, you must believe there is something sincere and worthy here. I don’t think its hard to see. Do you? Is American Christianity dying because of the influence of President Donald Trump? If you don’t think that’s true you probably don’t think its even remotely true. I’ll get to you in a minute; but if you’re someone who maybe even endeavors to wear a cross or crucifix around your neck and you don’t think he’s the death of us, but you’re close to thinking that… how does this image make you feel?

Used? I know Christians who tell me this event in June 2020 made them feel used. Yeah, the ones I’m thinking of voted for him before and after this event. If you don’t think he’s the death of us, then you probably have a couple words about Abortion or “religious liberty” on deck. Sure, as a practicing Catholic I can attest to voting in this country as a double-edged sword. Two dominant political parties: neither represents the entirety of our beliefs, no nationally viable party here probably ever will. We all vote for a candidate in spite of their disagreements with us on certain beliefs. It’s been the Christian way since the rise of modern democracy.

But save your abortion and religious liberty defenses. They’re not enough. Not now, if they ever were. Not with this man. Only God will finally judge his soul, but tell me honestly: do you think he’d ever been inside that Church? Do you think he knew where it was before the day he ordered the tear gas to clear his way there? Do you think he saw that book he held aloft as anything more than a political weapon? Does he know Christian faith as anything more than a political tool? And let’s not pretend its just about the man himself. Trump World, all those who support him including a broad swath of the Christian religious elite in this country, has turned a blind eye to the more authoritarian actions for what? Political expediency? We can now abandon any religious principle for what, desire to follow a political leader? That thinking has now made publicly professed Christians into accomplices in an Insurrection.

One last thought to the crowd who feels he’s not the death of us but not by a lot. Perhaps you think him, and his movement are a passing torment; and true followers of Christ will soon come to their senses to how they were swindled by this great swindler of American history. Even if Jesus-following Americans see the light of a Post-Trump world (if such a thing will exist anytime soon) would our revival matter to anyone beyond us? What has this President, who overwhelmingly carried at least one Christian demographic group in both his elections, done to our credibility, our witness to Jesus Christ? What has he done to our mission? Nothing we will be able to repair in my lifetime, not in the public life of this country.

Now for you folks who, if you’re still reading, are cringing at my dramatics: I won’t address American Evangelicals here or the myriad low-liturgy Protestants who effectively belong to that group as well; I don’t know your life experience the way I know the Catholic life experience in this country. So, here’s some thoughts on that: 48% of American Catholics identify as Republicans, 47% as Democrats according to a recent Pew Research Report. You may look at those numbers and say religion doesn’t really matter to most Catholics in their political lives if there isn’t a consensus, right? Well, apart from American Evangelicals who voted for Trump in both of his elections at rates at or above 90%, every Christian religious group in this country is split nearly down the center like Catholics. What should we gather from this: perhaps the Gospel goes different ways in different places? That’s probably right but this is different.

The Gospel doesn’t go any way with this man. If you call him the sinful doer of God’s Will please then also give that title to the far more respectful man succeeding him; a man who has been inside a Church for something other than a funeral recently. Yes, we Christians must discern our vote and often finally do the democratic duty in spite of half our beliefs; but this man occupies a whole different eschatological plain than the average politician. Christians need to respond a certain way to politicians like this. An Insurrection of the same caliber consisting of predominately non-white dissidents would’ve been a bloodbath and I don’t think you have a leg to stand on disagreeing with that considering this past summer. How do our black and brown brothers and sisters hear our witness to the Gospel after this crowd gets waved into the Capitol and take selfies with the police like some kind of anti-democratic festival? The President of the United States incited an Insurrection that law enforcement gave preferential treatment to and you still want to defend whoever American Conservatism tells you to in the name of Jesus?

Call all politicians liars, cheats and sinners if you want. I won’t argue against that point. But no leader of the free world in modern history has so decisively and shamelessly used Christianity and its place in American history and contemporary life as a weapon like Donald Trump has. That tear gas bible scene was just the most obvious incarnation of it. If this man’s public life has even inclined a single soul toward the Gospel of Jesus Christ than it is truly God’s miraculous doing. He breathes no sincere word of Jesus’ message and no number of my fellow Catholics can be confirmed to the Supreme Court to further God’s will under this man’s reign. If he is not the modern Nero, enjoying musical accompaniment as Rome burns, then nobody is. If any Christian stands by a political demagogue of this caliber they do so at the detriment of the truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Before the Insurrection, the biggest media conglomerate bearing the title of “Catholic”, Eternal Word Television Network (EWTN), was already silencing any voice that went against their idol in Donald Trump and his agenda. Right-Wing Catholicism in this nation has seen prominent Priests and Bishops support America’s authoritarian to the point of calling on Pope Francis, the leader of the Catholic Church, to resign! Anyone who doesn’t adhere to Trump, the secular icon of neo-conservatism, evidently isn’t good enough to even lead a religious institution. America’s most well-known Catholic Bishop, Cardinal Timothy Dolan of the Arch-Diocese of New York, has slow peddled any criticism of Trump to this point and still only tacitly criticizes him in the aftermath of this attack on American Democracy. What has become of us Americans who also venture to call ourselves Christians?

The only reason there are any self-identifying Christians supporting him is by way of cultural comfort. Some find it easy to support him given their place in this nation’s socio-religious structure. Some find it advantageous to support him for a variety of reasons that find there way back to the love of money. Finally, still others support him for the sinister dreams of the perversion of the Gospel best called Christian-Nationalism. I know it for fact that members of that last group broke into the Capitol. Those who do not identify as Christians are watching and nothing this man has done has made their hearts softer to the message of the Gospel. If you can’t recognize that you are only deceiving yourself now; and indeed, the Gospel isn’t truly your highest priority.

I will turn 27 years of age this, our Lord’s year 2021. My generation has as many who identify as agnostic, atheist or nonreligious as we do all religious. For my generation, the Christian faith is not growing; and the wisdom of old age will not restore it for the millions of us who never knew it in the first place. This ugly episode has certainly converted none of us. I acutely remember the day after he was first elected: I was a Youth Minister and sat in a staff meeting as we all looked down at our hands dumbfounded. How would we ever teach the faith with this cloud hanging over our heads? How would we even be credible? My fears that day in 2016 were fully confirmed on January 6th, 2021.

American Christianity will not die because of Donald Trump. Yes, Christianity will sure enough persist in this country for as long as it lives. Religion is always culturally entrenched, and the religion of Jesus Christ will likely always be somewhere entrenched in the life of this nation. But if the Christians of this country stand by or, worse more, cheer on future authoritarians like Donald Trump, our witness to the Gospel of Jesus will be void of all meaningful mission and bankrupt on a moral level that would alienate us from the face of God. Such a fate is tantamount to the death of the Christian faith in this country and the sooner we realize this sooner we can envision someday when we begin to make it right.

#Trump #Christianity #catholic #blog

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thats-how-i-role · 4 years

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Sea Salt By The Sea Shore

A/N: The title was funnier in my head. Also this technically goes with Day 6 but shhhhhh. I had to do research about SNOWBOARDING. Which I surprisingly knew even less about than I thought I did. For the record, this is a halfpipe.

They put in their headphones, swiftly as to not get Amalthea’s attention as she blabbered into. They tuned into the local news station, where the segment had just switched to sports. And once again, as they have been for weeks since the crash, Jem was the top story.

Regan, the stout news anchor began as a photo of Jem holding their first Olympic gold medal appeared next to him on screen. “Folks, today some news that shook the Olympic world to its core was announced. As twenty four year old Jemon Morale, who is known for being last Winter Olympics Gold Medallist in the halfpipe circuit, has announced the fact they are retiring.”

“Now, if you haven’t been following this story, let’s catch you up.” Regan switched to a different camera angle as a new graphic appeared by his face. One of Jem in their snowboarding gear after they qualified for the Olympics when they were nineteen. “Jemon Morale was America’s underdog in the 20xx Winter Olympics, as they rose to the spotlight as being the first ever openly non-binary Olympic athlete. Quickly, they received support particularly in millennial circles, and became an LGBTQ+ icon for the sports community. Although, nobody was expecting them to get gold on their first try- with a twenty to one Vegas odds- Jem succeeded on the half-pipe. Not only becoming the first non-binary gold medallist, but one of the youngest that the Olympic world has seen in the past few decades.”

Another camera angle, another graphic. This one showing Jem on their knees, crying as they were announced the winner of the gold medal. “Throughout the past two years, Jemon had appeared on multiple talk shows, and different sports magazines. As well as promoting brands anywhere between underarmour, and frosted flakes. They quickly became America’s favourite.”

Jem felt Amalthea, a slender woman with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes, tug one of their headphones out. “Jem, are you listening to me?”

“Yeah totally.” Jem replied, eyes still transfixed on the screen.

“What’d I say then?” Amalthea questioned.

“Yeah totally,” Jem answered, completely not paying attention to her.

As another graphic appeared, one with Jem shaking hands with fans right before the qualifiers started for this year. Jem remembered that day so clearly, and yet it felt like so long ago. Regan continued, “because of their massive success, Jem was the favourite to win all the way up to the Olympics. But at the criticized event of the semi-finals, horror struck the world.”

This time, the camera zoomed in on Regan’s face with no graphic. “The winds were high on the day of the semi-finals, where many experts say that it would’ve been safer had the event organizers post-poned the event until the winds had calmed down. Yet in the moment, the event continued. With Jemon’s points putting them in the lead, the final round was approaching.”

The frame had left Regan, showing the live feed their news reporter had caught on camera on that day. Regan’s continued the story through voice over as he narrated what happened, “As you can see, Jemon lined up and took off into the half pipe smoothly. Achieving their first fourteen hundred degree spin on the first jump.” Jem flipped their snowboard around 3 and a half times, flawlessly besides the dismount. The landing was shaky as the wind pushed them farther into the half pipe. “But as Jemon flew up in the air for their second fourteen hundred, tragedy struck.”

Suddenly, present Jem was flashed back into the memory. When they went up in the air, hearing the cheers from their adoring fans. Succeeding on completing the spins, Jem counted in their head. One, two, three, land.

Land. That’s all they had to do. But they couldn’t.

They felt themselves get pushed through the air, further towards the ledge of the halfpipe. Jem went into panic mode, and even though this only happened in a couple seconds, time slowed for them. They curled into themselves, grabbing the top of their snowboard to try and get their legs over the ledge so they could slide down the side of the halfpipe relatively unscathed.

It almost worked too.

Because Jem fell towards the ledge at sixty four kilometres per hour, and their weight easily increased to almost two hundred pounds with all their winter gear, it wasn’t going to be an easy crash in any sense of the word. Jem didn’t work fast enough as their back leg clipped the ledge, bending and snapping the opposite way of their knee. Jem, feeling the pain shoot up to their spine, let go of their board, and they got completely turned around.

All they remember before their head hit and skid down the side of the halfpipe was the pain.

The next thing Jem remembers after the crash was waking up a week later in the hospital, with screws and metal pins in their left leg.

Jem came back to their senses, in the town car as the crash was shown on their phone screen. The video ended after Jem’s face grinded against the snow, shattering their helmet and goggles. The doctors said that they were lucky they didn’t lose an eye. But it was hard for Jem to even imagine that they were lucky as they gazed at their casted leg.

The screen went back to Regan, with a photo of the paramedics loading Jem into their ambulance. “After much deliberation of Jem’s injuries, it was leaked from an inside source that they were going to need to go through extensive physical therapy if they wanted to even walk properly again. The crash left Jem’s hip dislocated, their shin was shattered and their knee was completely torn out of its socket. Not to mention the torn ligaments and strained muscles. All of which were in Jemon’s left leg.”

The next camera angle featured the photo of Jem last night, standing at a podium with press surrounding them. Regan continued with, “Last night, Jemon gave this statement regarding their future in their career.”

Jem didn’t think they looked half as distraught as they did getting up on the podium. Jem began their speech, “Thank you one and all for coming tonight. And thank you for your hopes and prayers for me and my family as we pushed through these trying times over the past couple months. But as my recovery continues, and after getting a second and third opinion from trusted physicians, I am saying that I will never be able to compete again. I will continue my physical therapy in another facility down south. I’m sorry to all my fans,” at this point Jem’s voice began cracking the slightest bit, “I’m sorry to all those who supported me in achieving my dream. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you for making my dream come true. Even for a little while.”

The camera panned back to Regan, who had a solemn look on his face. “A teary eyed statement from Jemon Morale, and what will probably be their last public statement for a long time. I do want to say on behalf of this network, it was a pleasure covering your journey. We wish you all the best. In other news...”

Amalthea had finally ripped the phone out of Jem’s hands, effectively tearing the earbud out of Jem’s ear as well. “What the hell Mal?” Jem yelled, rubbing their ear to soothe the pain.

“You are the worst glutton for punishment I have ever met Morale.” Amalthea criticized, smacking them in the arm. “Anyways, Jimmy Kimmel wanted to to see if you could make it-“

“No.” Jem answered.

Amalthea flicked them in the nose, “I’m not letting you become a hermit down here. People want to hear from you Jem!”

“You’re trying to come up with things so I can keep paying you to do your job.” Jem stated, starting to toy with their cane. “The job which you’re terrified of losing because now that I am a washed up, cold, son of a bitch, I don’t really have a need for you anymore.”

Amalthea gritted her teeth but kept her voice as calm as she could. “I’m trying to give your fans what they want. We used to both want that.”

She stared Jem down to the point where guilt began to weigh in their shoulders. After a moment Jem sighed, “Fine. Set me up with Jimmy in a month, I just got here and don’t want to leave so soon.”

Jem looked out their window, as they passed by a boardwalk. This sunshine state was much different than what Jem was used to. No snow, and a fresh smell of the sea. And with that small inspiration, Jem got an idea.

They knocked on the window separating them from their driver, “Thorne, pull in here. I wanna go for a walk.”

Their driver nodded as Jem unbuckled their seat belt and readied their cane. Amalthea’s eyes widened, but really didn’t want to fight about this. So instead she just said, “Try and be back in ten. And take in some of the sights, maybe it’ll remove the stick shoved up your ass.”

Jem chuckled, opening the door. “Thanks Mal.”

With that, Jem left their town car. The boardwalk was alive with tourists and music. The sun beaming down on everyone was relaxing, although it was quite overbearing for Jem who had spent most of their life surrounded by the snow.

Leaning half their weight on their cane, they made their way up the wooden platform. They silently hoped that the sunglasses on their face would be enough to hide their identity. Although somehow, even here Jem’s face had graced some newsstands. But this was going to be a fresh start for them.

Right?

Wrong.

As they kept to the side of the boardwalk, they watched as the waved floated below them. The sun shining off the ocean was absolutely breathtaking. They couldn’t help but feel like they were at peace. But all good things must come to an end.

“Hey!” Someone shouted at Jem. Jem turned towards the yelling, and saw three, burly men approaching them. “You’re that guy, right? The snowboarder.”

Jem nodded, giving the men a thin lipped smile, “Yep, that’s me. Are you guys fans?”

The aggressive manner in how this man and his friends cornered Jem into the railing was telling them the exact opposite. But the man kept with a large, but obviously sarcastic smile.

“Kind of, give or take.” The man said, taking a puff from his cigarette. “I really thought you had some potential kid. You were truly one of a kind.” There was a moment of silence, that Jem was about to thank the guy in but then he continued, “I even put some money down on you.”

Shit.

Jem put the hand they didn’t have gripping their cane up defensively, “Okay, I see how it is.”

“Do you?” The guy dropped his cigarette on the would and put it out with his boot. “Because, I couldn’t get my son the game he wanted because of you.”

To sass or not to sass, that is the question. And unfortunately for Jem, since their accident they’ve been leaning more towards the former. “Buddy, it sounds like if you couldn’t afford buying something for your kid, then you had no business in putting your money down elsewhere. You cared more about getting more money then making your son happy.”

With that, the guy’s face fell. Fury is becoming etched into his features, but Jem continued. “Your deadend job isn’t paying you enough, or maybe you’re just lazy and refuse to ask for more hours. Maybe you’re just a coward, who thinks it’s unmanly to ask for help.”

Jem laughed to themselves, before delivering the killing blow, “The truth is, you’re emasculated when your pride takes a blow. And because you’re that sensitive, I may not have a gender, but somehow I’m still twice the man you’ll ever be.”

Now, in an hour after all this unfolds if you asked Jem if they regretted their actions here, they’d reply, “no, not really.” Despite any logical person would say yes.

The burly guy nodded to his friends, who immediately closed in on Jem. Jem instinctively tucked their bad leg behind their good one and leaned back towards the boardwalk railing. They deserved this, they know that. So they were gonna roll with the hits.

One of the friends snatched Jem’s cane from them, throwing them off balance. Jem quickly grabbed onto the railing, as the guy with their cane hit them in the stomach with it. Jem’s only response was a grunt.

A crowd began to form around them, some people taking video and Jem knew that surely enough this would be their next headline. The friend took Jem’s cane and tossed it over the side of the boardwalk, into the water. Jem tried to spin around and grab it, as somebody came up from behind Jem and knocked them over.

It was difficult for Jem to process what was happening, even as they went crashing head first into the water. They quickly were able to spin right side up, but couldn’t keep their head above water. Every desperate claw towards the surface, every time they tried to take a gulp of air, it was to no avail.

Jem’s vision began to blur, in a sense it was peaceful. As if this was what Jem was waiting for. After all, hadn’t Jem done everything they were meant to do? Their journey in life was over, their dream destroyed because of one mistake. Everything was over.

Or had it just begun?

Jem felt arms come around them and pull them up towards the surface. They gasped for air, coughing up some of the water. The strong arms wrapped around them gently patted their chest as Jem heaved.

“It’s all right mate, I got you.” The voice said. Jem peeked over their shoulder to see a man, with dark hair and green eyes. Not far off in the distance was a small boat, and Jem felt a small rush through their veins.

Yes, the next adventure had just begun.

#campaign 1 #jem #alveyn #my writing #my ocs #au week #friend ocs

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60b3r · 4 years

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Memes Kill Creativity?

Memes vs. Genes

In the 1976 book The Selfish Gene, Richard Dawkins coined the term 'meme' to describe something with symbolic meaning that spreads by imitation from person to person within a culture. This idea is an analogue to the nature of selfish gene, described similarly as a piece of genetic material possessing information required to be able to replicate themselves inside a living. The only key difference in both terms is that the gene is natural, while memes are artificial. The rest of memes' operating schemes completely mimic the genes perfectly. In our current timeline, memes as we know today are taking many forms: as image macros, short videos, and rick-rollicking music. Memes in imageboards and forums have been pushing internet porn traffic into a stalemate and putting our power grid into unnecessary burden. Of course, memes are not to be regretted, but otherwise need to be taken seriously, since they are able to put our current understanding of media industry and economic system into shame.

As with every other thing that have existed, memes are not exempt in its dualistic nature. If you ever venture to the depths of dark web, you may know that memes also took part in the infamous mimetic Tumblr-4chan War. Not only that, some memes are reportedly causing harm towards some users, even though it is often disguised or said to be a dank joke or mere sarcasm. Memes have seen its share of use in online bullying, mass shootings, and hate crimes, cowering behind the freedom of expression tag. Regardless, memes are also an extremely effective form of information transmission. Like all living systems with no set moral standards, memes do evolve and are subject to natural selection. Memes, like genes, actually work like a mindless machine. Again, this is eerily like the performance of DNA in living systems. The last thing we want from this thing is virulence.

Every day, something went viral on Twitter. Hashtags are flaring into the top trends, some videos are being watched billions of times, and another cat vs. cucumber pic garnered thousands of likes. Viral properties of a virus (duh) is defined as the capability to multiply quickly in relatively short amount of time. The term saw a huge increase in usage during the dawn of the internet age and the rise of computer malwares spread through unsecured ports of network protocol. This term is being applied to memes, as it is like a virus (which is a pure embodiment of a selfish gene). Now, a lot of people are utilizing memes to create art, because it enables them to cater the short-attention spans of current internet users. They create shorts, illustrations, inside jokes, and small comic strips. Some of you might not agree with me on this one, but stay with me now and I will explain to you why I would like to treat memes and art as a single unit of interest in this argument.

The dawn of meme-technology

Viral memes and their popularity are now often considered important in defining a time period in the internet culture. Now every netizen can somewhat distinguish the approximate age, sex, and political views of other users from the usage of rage comics, meme songs, and meme platforms they use. Intuitively we can make a generalized difference between the userbase of Reddit, 4chan, 9gag, Vine, and now Tiktok. Others, by the share of relatability with sub-genres of different areas of interest (film memes and game memes). Some others, even, in the perspectives of different social and economic class system (first world problems and third world success memes). Meme preferences to us netizens are ironically giving away our anonymous identity. Identity which the media companies are vying to get their hands on. That's where I would like to come into my opening argument: both memes and genes which originally possesses no intrinsic value, suddenly become a subject of value with technology.

How do we draw the logic, I say? The ones and zeros inside electrical systems are value-free, so does DNA in living cells. As we meddle ourselves with biotechnology to manipulate genetic material for profit, we also simmer ourselves in the computer sciences and tweak physical computation to perform better. We give value in the inanimate object by manipulating them. In our world, we often heard these expressions: that communication is key, sometimes silence is golden, and those who control the information wields the power. What’s these three statements have in common? Yes, information and expression. Memes are the simplest form of both. This is the beginning of the logic: memes are no longer in and on itself independent of external values. The infusion of utilitarian properties in memes as artificial constructs are seemingly inevitable, and for the better or worse shapes our current society.

We might have heard that somewhere somehow, the so called ‘global elites’ with their power and wealth are constantly controlling biotech research and information technology—or, in the contrary, they control these knowledge and resources to keep shovelling money and consolidate their power. Memes are one of their tools to ‘steer’ the world according to their 'progressive agenda', seemingly driving the world ‘forward’ towards innovation and openness. Nah, I am just joking. But, stay with me now. It is actually not them (the so-called global elites) who you should be worried about. It is us—you and I, ourselves—and our own way of unwittingly enjoying memes that are both toxic and fuelling the age-old capitalism. Funny, isn't it? We blame society, but we are society. But how are be becoming the culprits yet also be the prey at the same time?

Middle-class artists are hurt

Now, aggressive marketing tactics using memes are soaring. Media companies are no doubt cashing in the internet and viral memes to their own benefit. Streaming and cataloguing are putting up a good fight compared to their retail, classic ways of content delivery. This is quite true with the strategies of Spotify and YouTube, other media companies alike. They can secure rights to provide high-quality content from big time artists and filmmakers and target these works directly to the end consumer, effectively cutting the cost of distribution which usually goes to the several layers of distribution line like vinyl products, radio contracts, and Blu-ray DVDs. I believe this is good, since it is like an affirmative action for amateur artists to start a career in the art industry. Or is it? Does it really encourage small-time artists to begin? Yes. How about the middle-class artists? Not necessarily.

You might sometimes wonder, “how the hell did I get somewhere just by following the trending or hot section in the feed?”. This toxicity of memes often brings some bad things to our tables. Social media algorithms handle contents (like viral memes) by putting those with high views or likes to the front page, effectively ‘promoting’ the already popular post and creating a positive feedback cycle. By doing so, they could capitalize on ad profits on just few ‘quality’ contents over huge amounts of audience in a very short amount of time. The problem is most of the time, these ‘quality’ contents have no quality at all. They just happen to possess the correct formula to be viral, with the correct SEO keywords and click-bait titles with no real leverage in the art movement. This way, I often find both the talented and the lucky—of which the boundaries between them are always blurred—overshadow the aspiring ‘middle-class’ artists who work hard to perfect their craft.

If you are already a famous guitarist with large fanbase, lucky you, you are almost guaranteed to top the billboards. What, you have no skills? Post a video of you playing ‘air guitar’ and… affirmative actions to the rescue. Keep on riding the hype wave and suddenly you get to top trending with minimal effort, thanks to your weird haircut. Those haters will surely make a meme out of your silly haircut, not even your non-existent guitar skills. But still, hype is still a hype, and there’s no such thing as a bad publication. This also answers why simple account who reposts other people’s content could get much more followers than the hard-working creators. Not only being outperformed by the already famous artists taking social media by storm, now the ‘middle-class’ artists are also dealing with widespread content theft and repost accounts because of the unfair, bot grading system. It is unimaginable how many nobodies got the spotlight they don’t deserve just because they look or act stupid and the whole internet cheers around them. Remember, this is not always about the artist, but also the quality of the art itself. I believe a good art should be meaningful to the beholder.

Why capitalism kills creativity

The problem in current art industry is that we are feeling exhausted with the same, generic, and recycled stuff. We indeed already see there’s less discourse about art now. Sure, the problem lies not in the artist or medium, but is in the viewers—the consumer of the art form—and how the capitalist system reacts to it. The hyper efficient capitalist system doesn’t want to waste any more time and money trying to figure out what’s new or what’s next for you. What we love to see, what is familiar to us, the market delivers them. The rise of viral memes phenomenon in the social media pushes the market system to the point where they demand artists to create the same, redundant, easy art form. Listen to some of The Chainsmokers’ work and we'll see what music have become: the identical 4-chord progression, the same drop, the predictable riser, and the absence of meaningful lyrics. We sat down and watch over the same superhero movies trying hard to be the next Marvel blockbuster. The production companies are also happy not to pay writers extra to come up with new ideas and instead settle with borrowed old scripts from decades old TV drama. Disney's The Lion King and its heavy use of the earlier Japanese Kimba The White Lion storyline is one guilty example.

Despite it initially being an economic system and not a political ideology, it is untrue that many Marxist philosophers usher the suppression of art. While it is ironic that Stalinist policy intends to curb ‘counter-revolutionaries’—in this case his enemies—by limiting freedom of press and media; American propaganda added further so that it seems that the ideology is also limiting art and kill creativity. We all know the Red Scare in the U.S. during the Cold War saw a popular narrative of communism and socialism that is devoid of freedom of expression. This state propaganda then further become ‘dehumanization’ and make freedom of expression invalid under the guise of equality. Marx argue that total equality is not possible, and the uniqueness is being celebrated by having them doing what they do best and provide the best for their community. Thus, an individual's interests should be indistinguishable from the society's interest. Freedom is granted when the whole society is likely to benefit from an action. According to Mao in his Little Red Book, freedom of expression in art and literature, after all, is what initially drive the class consciousness. It is capitalism, not communism, that kills creativity.

If left unchecked, the threat of this feedback loop is going to cause a lack of diversity, resulting in stale content, less art critique, and overall decline in our artistic senses. Artists’ creativity that are supposedly protected by the free internet are destroyed within itself through the sheer overuse of viral memes. Capitalism has successfully turned the supposedly open, free-for-all, value-free platform that is the internet against the people into a media in which they are undeniably shaping new values on its own: the art culture that's not geared towards aesthetics and appreciation, but towards more views and personalized clicks. How social media and media industry caters to the demands of the consumer are, in Marx's own words, “digging its own grave”.

Spare nothing, not even the nostalgia

Well, people romanticize the oldies. The good old days, when everything is seen as better and easier. Look at the new art installations that uses the aesthetics of naughty 90s graphic design to become new, the posters released in this decade but with an art deco of the egregious 80s pop artist Andy Warhol, or the special agent-spy movies set frozen in the Nifty Fifties. Nostalgia offers us a way to escape from the hectic choices of our contemporary: different genres of music, dozens of movies to watch, and different fashion to consider. We choose to settle with our old habits, that we know just works. Remember how do we throw our money on sequels and reboots and remakes of old movies we used to watch during our younger days? We don’t even care about new releases at the cinema! Did you remember how Transformers 2 and their subsequent sequels perform at the box office at their opening week?

The huge sales of figurines and toys of Star Wars franchise—if we could scrutinize them enough—came from the old loyal fanbase of the late Lucasfilm series, not primarily from new viewers. Then suddenly, surprise-surprise. Our love for an old franchise deemed dead enough to be remembered and treasure soon must be destroyed to pave way for three new outrageous sequels (the ones with Kylo Ren and Snoke) by the grace of our beloved capitalism. Sadly, nothing is left untouched by the capitalism’s unforgiving corruption. Nostalgia has become a gimmick that makes people like some art more than they should, because it’s familiar. It is another way of squeezing your pocket dry.

Not that it is bad to make derivatives like covers or remixes, but the trade-offs are far too high. Consequentially, the number of original arts is now very little, because artists don’t bother making new stuff if they just aim for a quick buck. Most of the young adult novels are essentially the same lazy story progression with only different time setting and different character names. Most of them even have the same ending! No more a beautiful journey like the thrillers of Dan Brown or the epic adventures of Tolkien’s Lord of The Rings, which defines their respective times. Do we seriously want to consider Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey as a unique work? Isn’t the Hunger Games and the Maze Runner essentially the same?

If you play video games, you must have known that the trend always starts over. Game developers are making gazillions of sequels, and only a few of them that are actually good. Most are outright trash. Oh, wait, old video games like Homeworld are also getting remasters to cater the demand of nostalgic consumers. No new Command and Conquer release from EA Games? Re-release the 25 years old Red Alert because people will re-buy it! Profit!

15 June 2020 8.03 PM

#essay #writing #exposition #meme #art #capitalism

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miranema · 4 years

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When you are still talking about a show you are too old for..

warning: it’s loooong (TL;DR section at the bottom)

Just to be clear I have no intention to look into and review any more Winx Club related content and it’s not just because the current environment is not conducive to this kind of endeavor. After I finished paying off my debts I considered getting back to this but eventually decided against it because some of my thoughts regarding this show have changed a little and I overall no longer see the point. One of the things I wanted to accomplish when I first started was to figure out why this show never appealed to me when it first came out on the FoxBox and well, the answer was very simple if not ridiculously obvious. This show was not made for me.

I was a few months short of 13 when the show premiered in the US and had just enough experience in the genre to have expectations, and this was the problem. When western magical girl series started to show up in the early 2000s, I expected shows that improved upon the standards and cliches left by the likes of Sailor Moon and its genre contemporaries, not just in terms of visuals but writing as well. Winx Club however, seemed more in line with the type of cartoons that (since the 80s) popped up every now and then as promotional material for emerging lines of fashion dolls generally targeting younger girls, with the only difference being that it had a progressive story-line. Even if you argue that Winx Club was not so merchandise-driven in its first seasons, contemporary fashion and aesthetics had always been the selling point. By then, shows that prioritized visual appeal over writing and seemed to exists primarily as toy commercials, were starting to lose my interest. I was also getting tired of certain staples like romantic relationships being bland but senselessly overemphasized and characters (specially protagonists) being archetypes with little to no complexity.

As an adult, I since looked back at shows of similar quality/target audience and I have surprisingly been able to find joy within them leading me to another conclusion. It’s not that I am too old and weary to appreciate animated media aimed at young girls. It’s more likely that Winx Club is a sore spot for me because it is the show that made me realize (if subconsciously) that networks in charge of delivering animated media to mainstream television were no longer invested in appealing to me. As a non-white, lower-middle class girl who was never all that into relationship-melodrama I felt that most cartoons of my day didn’t really catered to my interest and I think I saw the rise of Winx Club as a bitter indication that even the animated genres that I liked or tolerated would eventually become completely inaccessible to me.

I had some trouble finding out what the target audience bracket was for the first season. From what I eventually gathered it is either 4-8 or 5-10, although apparently concept-wise the show was intended for a slightly older age group. I give more credence to the first bracket because honestly I think this show works best as baby’s first magical girl series. The less experience you have in the genre, the less fed-up with tropes and the less expectations you have going in, the better.

Lets just make a thing clear. There is no such thing as being too old to watch cartoons. An art medium is not inherently tied to an age group. Unfortunately, everything is at the mercy of capitalism, specially art produced for entertainment. There is a lot of stupidity and outdated ideas governing how mainstream shows are made and to whom they are made for. Industries don’t like to take chances and they are reluctant to change in accordance to society unless an increased in profits can be assured to some degree…

Look, look! I swear I was just going to post a simple paragraph-long note to whoever cared, stating I was not going to continue reviewing Winx Club even though I am no longer in debt. But, I made the HUGE mistake of looking at the Wikipedia page, specifically the part where they quoted show creator Iginio Straffi defending the controversial choices made for season 8, and here I am, annoyed and rambling. To paraphrase, he claims kids around 10 years and older just don’t watch cartoons as much as they used to (sure, Jan) and they just had to retooled their show for a younger demographic and that just means it cannot be as complex as it used to be. Yes, complex is a word he ascribed to the earlier Winx Club content (level of complexity to be clear). I rolled my eyes, I died a little inside and overall I also decided, among other things, to never read another Iginio Straffi interview ever again.

In an effort to wash away this BS and exorcise some demons let me throw here some of my still lingering unwarranted Winx Club thoughts in no particular sequence before this platform collapses any further:

Winx Club is one of if not the longest running western magical girl group series and its success is likely attributed to the fact that back when it premiered in the US, it was the only accessible and visually appealing series to come out of the genre since the beginning of the millennium. It practically had a monopoly of its intended audience. In my neck of the woods, it was available without the need of a cable/satellite subscription. In contrast, Dinsey-owned W.I.T.C.H. didn’t have that same accessibility and I don’t think I even need to bring up anime in general. The one other magical girl show from around the same time that I remembered coming across in syndicated broadcast was Trollz, and well you look that up and tell me how much staying power that looked like it had.

If the show has struggled in recent years is of course NOT because older kids don’t watch cartoons nowadays. Rather I think the show runners are not quite grasping how the circumstances surrounding their target audience have changed since the early 2000s. There are a lot more options out there in terms of entertainment even if you narrow things down to only western magical girl cartoons, not to mention that Winx club no longer has an edge on accessibility. I also think we consume media faster and that along with all the new options of entertainment means we have less head space to dedicate to one single show. Putting a new coat of paint to the newer seasons is simply not enough to remain relevant.

Adding to the above, It’s been well over ten years since the show first premiered. I don’t have data to prove this, but I am willing to bet that a sizable chunk of viewers were there from the beginning or joined at the start of the Nickelodeon era. It makes little sense for changes in writing to include hacking its continuity, rewriting established lore and deleting whatever meager character development they ever had. Maybe it’s not a good idea to turn your show with progressive storytelling including aging characters, into a cash cow you intend to milk for as long as you can and beyond. Maybe they should have given the early seasons a proper conclusion and laid the groundwork for new groups of characters to lead fresh series within the same universe...or you know, a full reboot.

I am not saying that the show should suddenly conform to my tastes (though that would be nice) after all it was not made for me. I just think that people that stuck with it deserve more than what they have been getting. I saw some positive feedback with regards to World of Winx but from what little I saw I don’t think it was good enough to be the series for older fans. Tone might be slightly different but writing-wise it feels more or less the same as the current series. The attempts at humor are still not landing for me at least. Also, how old does Straffi thinks the older fans are? 10? Who knows, maybe season 8 did its job in drawing-in the next gen, and maybe the planned live action series will be all that the older fans have been asking for. I do wish them the best.

Regarding things that I changed my mind about (though only a little bit)...In more than one occasion I referred to Bloom as a mary sue and this has been digging at me. Either the term has become toxic and too often unfairly assigned to any female character in a leading position, or it was always an improper way to discuss mediocre writing. There are main characters that are created in part to serve as vehicles of indulgence for its intended audience. I don’t think these these type of characters need to be complex to be successful or serviceable but I do think relatability and/or likability are indicators of whether or not a specific indulgent protagonist is effective. I didn’t find Bloom to be effective but she seems to be popular enough with the younger range of fans and that’s what matters. All I am saying is that Bloom could have easily been better and all it would have taken was for the writers to slightly lower the pedestal they put her on. Otherwise, they should have just stuck with the Magical Bloom title so no one would have delusions that the show would ever focus on anyone else.

I stand by most of my other major criticisms of the series. Though I admit that when I was looking at each episode I would spend an unreasonable amount of time on small things or personal pet peeves.I maintain however that to whom a show is intended for should not be a determinant of quality and there are things worth discussing even if one is not within the age-range of said audience. However, it’s not hard to tell what Winx Club is mostly about; it’s romance-centered. If you are not all that invested on that sort of stuff or you don’t like what the show is offering, then there is little point in sticking around because you are just going to get more and more caught-up on the flaws. The fantasy world elements while ambitious in scope are not well developed and consistency is an issue since the beginning that only gets worse as the series goes on. Unless you can subsist solely on the aesthetics and merch-friendly elements, I wouldn’t bother beyond the first movie.

If Winx Club had been the definitive blue print shaping the future of western magical girls shows, I would probably feel justified in making this much of a fuss. However, pretty much any other show I have seen after the fact has been a deviation and an improvement. I believe that’s because more content creators that grew up with the genre (and understood the many ways it could be improved) are finding opportunities to bring their appreciation for it into the mainstream. It’s pointless for me to still complain about the older stuff. Heck, I can even find good things to say about Angel’s Friends and this is definitely a cartoon that was shaped by the success of the fairy school show.

Winx Club is fine, it has as much right to exist as any other piece of mindless entertainment aimed at any demographic. And that’s that.

TL;DR

I am not reviewing Winx Club stuff anymore. I just had a lot of thoughts that were brought up by an annoying Iginio Straffi quote I saw on the Wiki page while I was working on that last post. Extended rambling is what I apparently do when I am mildly upset. I barfed all this out in the hopes that I won’t think about this show again anytime soon.

If morbid curiosity gets the better of me, I might give future Winx Club content a watch. I just won’t post about it because it seems I am incapable of finding joy in it.

No, I don’t take criticisms of the bad spelling/grammar of my ramblings. Let this mess be. This is also not a place for debate, the only discourse I welcome here is whether or not relatability is a word. Online dictionaries say it’s fine but my word processor says it is not a thing. Discuss! (JK)

Stay safe,

#winx club #ramblings #winx club review #cartoons #i am too old #winx #anyone ever heard of Angel's Friends?#I am either watching that next or Lady LovelyLocks #por que no los dos

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almaasi · 5 years

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reaction post typed while watching Good Omens (ALL OF IT)

my favourite novel is now my favourite mini-series and IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL

under the cut: a very long, spoilery six-episode reaction to MY NEW FAVOURITE THING EVER

may 31st 07:36pm nz

i posted my episode 1 reaction a couple hours ago but that got ZERO NOTES so i assume people are either avoiding spoilers or aren’t interested, which is fine, but i’m just gonna put all my reactions in one big post so anyone who IS interested doesn’t have to read 6 separate posts c:

edit june 1st 04:08am: btw i watched using a free trial on amazon prime, which i’m pretty sure is worldwide. soooo if yOU WANT TO WATCH THIS, YOU CAN, FOR FREE

EPISODE 1: In the Beginning

04:03pm

idk how much i’m gonna type, whether i’ll post a reaction to the entire thing in one post....... or how much i’ll end up watching right now

kinda want to spread it out and save it as a treat for after i’ve done some writing

but right now i wanna watch before writing

so maybe i’ll do one ep, write something, then return to this?

edit: aahhaha that didn’t happen

04:04pm

I’M SO EXCITED

I’VE BEEN WAITING SO LONG

well... since 2011 when i first read the book

but regardless it’S BEEN 84 YEARS

04:05

okay first off i did not know amazon prime did adverts at the start of their videos. so i was like SINCE WHEN WAS CHILDISH GAMBINO/DONALD GLOVER IN GOOD OMENS

and then

yeah

either way i thought it was a good opening

W A R

NING

cool cool cool cool cool

omg i’m used to where the netflix full-screen button is, and on amazon prime that’s the “next episode” button so i gotta be real careful

dear god my video quality is TERRIBLE

i.......... i might torrent this show and watch it offline

this is horrendous i can’t see a damn thing

i have never seen pixels this big

04:11

okay the quality calmed down after a minute

i loooove the intro, i love that it’s basically word for word from the book

i feel like i’d find it funnier if i hadn’t read the book 3 months ago

also? god is a woman? yes

04:13

is it just me or does the snek have a slightly david tennant-esque quality about it

i’m so happy adam and eve are black

04:17

omfg. aziraphale said “ineffable” and now CRAWLEY’S CHECKING HIM OUT TRYING TO SEE IF HE HAS ANY JUNK

WOW

...or y’know, looking for a flaming sword. SAME FUCKING THING.

also i looove how FLUFFY azi is

azi: “do hope i didn’t do the wrong thing”

i fucking love them both uhrgughhhuhuhughuhhh

04:21

small sob for cuteness

umbella wings

04:23

in the opening titles, crowley just stopped a spaceship and aziraphale turned it into fish

i feel like that was a douglas adams reference and i’m on board

04:25

the entire time i read the book, up until i saw video promos of this show, i thought “crowley” was said the same way as spn’s “crowley”, as in “crahwlee”

not “crOhwlee”

i definitely like that they’re different though

both probably named after aleister crowley tbh. all of whom are queer.

THOSE SWAYING HIPS

i haven’t found david tennant attractive in about 9 years but WHOOOP HELLO AGAIN

somehow attractive for entirely different reasons than before. like. my taste changed but tHEN

i’m on crowley’s side, taking down a cellphone network is VERY ANNOYING

04:35

crowley: shitshitshitshithsit

i can’t wait for aziraphale’s big swear

04:37

i miss eating sushi

sushi was great