#and they had THE most baffling field show theme. like my friend asked if it was like a skibidi toilet baffling

[stickers-on-a-laptop]

which four opening songs are you using to make a field show from toku? preferably one of the big 3 (kamen rider, sentai, ultraman) and one from a different franchise but also i'm not your mom i just need 4

personally i'm going with

luckystar (kyuuranger) for the first movement

arc jump'n to the sky (arc) for the second movement

euphoria (the high school heroes) for the third movement

excite (ex-aid) for the last movement

[fizzingwizard]

Episode 41 was another fun one! It doesn’t seem related to the main plot, but that’s ok because we needed more world-building. And it does give us a bit of character development. Most importantly of all, it’s the DESPERATELY needed Sora-focused episode. And it’s all hers. We really needed this for Sora and I’m really happy with how it went down. It’s a simple, easy to follow story, and yet it was still cute and funny and good for Sora.

My one complaint would be that, though it’s great to see Sora be awesome and see her friends appreciate her, she didn’t seem to have something she needed to “overcome” like Jou and Koushirou, or something she had to prove like Yamato and Mimi. There’s definitely an important theme for Sora which, like the others, is related to her Crest. It just didn’t have the gravitas I felt it needed. It was a much sillier episode than Yamato’s, for instance. (But nowhere near as silly as Jou’s.) Still, overall very good.

Pic of the day:

A vision of perfection.

More below!

First off, the animation in this episode is really nice. Almost uniform througohut, and some seriously great expressions. CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE

The kids are taking a break (yay!!!! again!! I sweat the producers are reading my blog, HELLO PRODUCERS, THANKS FOR GIVING ME EVERYTHING I ASKED FOR, lol). Taichi and Sora spend it teaching the Digimon to play soccer. Interestingly, some of the Digimon evolve in order to play x’D I guess I can see why Gomamon can’t really play unless he’s Ikkakumon. Plus Tailmon is already Adult level anyway.

It’s really fun to see how much Sora and Taichi both love soccer and love playing it together. Koushirou has a cute moment explaining to the others how awesome Taichi and Sora’s teamwork is.

Sora blows the whistle on Tentomon for grabbing her because you don’t do that in soccer. I think this is a little unfair given that Tentomon can’t really kick the ball that well since he’s got bug feet xD

The whistle Sora has, for some reason, is Jou’s, given to him by his brother so that if he runs into a bear in the woods, he can whistle for help. Lol. That is adorable and hilarious. Still wish it was Hikari’s whistle though

Speaking of Hikari, she and Takeru are happily engaged in making flower crowns together while Patamon smushes the grass.

All of a sudden, these weird, veiny meteors come crashing from a huge island floating in the sky, leaving a crater in the field. Could be dangerous!

Taichi: I’m not afraid. Besides, I’m curious.

Yamato: Be careful, Takeru.

Takeru: Yeah, be careful, Hikari.

omg too cute

I mean look at these expressions and body language. It’s fantastic. I love how Taichi looks like he’s trying not to get too close as he pokes the object with a stick and how Koushirou is like hiding behind his computer lol.

They discover it’s not a meteor, but a fruit. (And look another adorable Taichi face!) Question is, is it edible?

Agumon: Sure is!

Taichi: D:

no seriously I love Taichi being freaked out by his own partner. Lol. It’s one of the best things about Taichi & Agumon. I ate it up in Tri lol

So, I expected Yamato to be the downer of the group here along with Jou, but he’s just concerned that the fruit is too small for everyone to share. Aw what a mom.

It’s also pretty funny that, when a floating island appears and a mysterious fruit falls down with enough strength to leave a crater in the ground, the kids’ reaction isn’t to wonder about what’s going on, but to try to figure out how to eat it lol.

At this point they’re just so used to floating islands that it’s lost all novelty. They’re like, “oh, floating island, been there done that”

Agumon comes up with the obvious solution and Taichi and Sora fly up to the island together to get more fruit. Why only two of them go... is convenience for the episode xD

But it does lead to some good Sora moments and Taichi/Sora friendship. First, Sora is absolutely adorable. Even Agumon comments that she seems in a really good mood and Taichi can tell it’s because of how much she loves playing soccer. The way Sora talks to him, all fast and excited, is just so cute. You can tell she really loves soccer, especially with Taichi.

This episode kinda made me ship Taiora ;_; it was honestly more Taiora than any one episode in the 99 show...

Meanwhile, another giant object starts falling off the island towards the rest of the kids, and Palmon makes THE WEIRDEST SOUND. Like SO WEIRD. I think Yamada Kinoko passed out and made this noise while recording or something bahahahaha

Anyway it’s a refrigerator. Now appliances are falling out of the sky. I don’t understand why it makes the same size crater as the fruit despite being way heavier.

OMG baby Taichi’s hairrrrrrr I cannot

Soon they come across Flymon (why do Sora episodes always involved bugs...? This is the third time lol) who’s abducted a very helpless looking Digimon. They decide to help. Agumon gears up his Baby Flame but is stopped by Sora, who realizes that if they attack they might hurt the victim as well. I assume this is meant to tell us that, while Taichi’s brave and a strategist, another pair of eyes from someone like Sora whose first priority is others’ welfare is a big help.

... except that Sora’s plan for “tackle them” doesn’t seem to me that much better xD It still results in the poor abducted Digimon falling through the sky to her doom... I guess it’s better than falling out of the sky and alsobeing on fire tho

They catch the Digimon, who is Pomumon and just as pathetic as he looks. Meanwhile they’re being attacked by... Tropaliamon? Tropicanamon? lol I already forgot, a big bird with the ability to MELT ENTIRE FORESTS.

Pomumon explains that Evil Tropical Bird-mon and his Flymon invaded the island and started turning all the Pomumon into fruit. When the fruit ripen, they eat them. Pomumon is now the only Pomumon who hasn’t been fruit-ified.

Agumon: ... so... does this make me a cannibal?

Taichi: Maybe now you’ll be mindful of what you eat!

Okay and now the most AMAZING interaction ever, between Yamato and Mimi, and seriously it is a TRAVESTY that they don’t interact directly in the 99 series, I mean LOOK AT THE GOLD WE GET HERE,

Mimi says she hopes there’s fruit or juice in the fridge. Yamato makes an expression like someone just insulted his mother.

They then proceed to argue over what constitutes “juice” and Yamato’s all fired up about it and Mimi’s just like “lol not listening”

IT IS HILARIOUS. Quality content. Mimato shippers eat your heart out

And... this is all they do for the rest of the episode. bahaha. I DON’T EVEN CARE. I love the idea that they fought over this the WHOLE time and never even opened the fridge. The others just had to listen in baffled astonishment xD

Taichi and Sora fight Evil Tropical Bird-mon to save the Pomumon, but Taichi and MetalGreymon get knocked into the pitcher plant that turns Digimon into fruit.

Metla Greymon doesn’t quite fit into the fruit, his horns are really stretching it out lol.

and asdfghjkkl;’‘ TAICHI GETS TURNED INTO A FRUIT TOO, HE’S A DEFORMED BLUEBERRY, HIS GOGGLES THO, LMFAO

i really shouldn’t be as amused as I am

now... I have to say it - the one thing here is, the show has already played its trump cards like Omegamon and WarGreymon. I am sure they have more in store before the end, but the point is, it’s hard to believe Taichi is struggling against Digimon who seem like they shouldn’t have a chance against him. It’s like, you can defeat DoneDevimon, but not Evil-Tropical-Birdmon? You can escape the influence of Millenniumon’s miasma, but not a pitcher plant?? lol

Sora gets ANGRY when Taichi becomes Taichi-fruit. Her Crest of Love glows and brings out Garudamon. Taiora fans around the world screamed.

One way or another, this leaves Sora on her own (yay). And she is a busy girl. She wants to save Taichi first, but Pomumon also needs her help, and Garudamon needs her support while fighting the enemy.

Pomumon: don’t worry about me! I can fly on my own! *fails miserably*

Sora’s face says “I just don’t understand this world,” lol

They are then attacked by Flymon, and Pomumon still pretty much expects Sora to protect him. Sora’s like, “Fine, I’ll deal with Flymon, but you have to go save your friends,” and when Pomumon asks how, she just says “GOOD LUCK” and tosses him away, which honestly made me laugh out loud, you go girl

she’s like QUIT BEING SO USELESS DO SOMETHING ON YOUR OWN and just chucks him

buhahahaha

Pomumon, despite being useless, is able to free one of his comrades. After a brief discussion about how useless they are, they go to save the others.

I believe I can fly

I believe I can touch the sky

think about it every night and day

spread my wings and fly away

Sora thinks back to yet another soccer game where another student did a foul, I guess, on Taichi, and knocks him to the ground. Seeing Sora get so angry and protective of Taichi - omg, it totally squeezes my heat, gah. And it also makes her look so cool. Not just the girl in the back who comforts you when you fall down - also the one who runs up and tells the bully to back off!

that hair tho

Even though he’d been hurt, Taichi encouraged Sora not to quit playing and to win the game. In present time, Sora recalls that instance and uses it to push herself onward:

At this point, I could’ve gotten annoyed: as much as I loved the Taiora friendship and seeing their teamwork, it’s Sora’s episode, and I didn’t want her to succeed because of “what I learned from Taichi.” However, it’s very similar to Koushirou’s episode, where it was the faith Taichi had in him that gave Koushirou the confidence to find the courage he already had. It’s similar for Sora. Plus, since she’s got the Crest of Love, it makes perfect sense that love for her friend would be a motivating factor here.

On top of that - the things Sora thinks about Taichi are then echoed by Garudamon, only about Sora. Sora won’t give up because Taichi never does - and Garudamon won’t give up because Sora never does. You can see the chain reaction: friends building each other up through their support and faith in each other. Very sweet.

buhahahahahaha the freaking taichi blueberry

I really expected Taichi would be a little more wigged out about having been TURNED INTO A FRUIT,  but once he’s free he’s like “Thanks, now let’s get back to the fight!” lol

to be fair there were only a couple minutes left in the episode, no time for freak outs i suppose

They save MetalGreymon who goes to back up Garudamon, but then Sora comes up with a plan.

Of course, it’s related to soccer.

Obligatory Cool Girl Soccer Star Sora shot

They kick the ball to lead the Pomumon’s seed? attack directly into Evil Tropical Bird-mon’s mouth. This... seems to be our kids’ favorite play this season, lmao

While choking on seeds, Garudamon and MetalGreymon launch their attacks and finally defeat him. Yaaaay goodbye weirdass fruit transmogrifying cannibal Digimon bird thing

Taichi tells Sora she’s awesome T______T It’s soooooooo sweet. My Taiora heart leapt

and my Taishiro heart whispered “he said カッコよかった to her but saves すごい for Koushirou <3 “ lol

Soooooo cute. MVP

Garudamon agrees that Sora is awesome

Ending card

So... the honest truth is yeah, this episode wasn’t necessary for the plot at all, and it would have been nice if it had been. But not all of the others’ center episodes were plot-related either. The important thing was for it to be wholly Sora’s episode and give her some Crest-related development. It did both those things.

I really would have liked a conundrum for Sora to fix, but I think the problem there is, since before now she wasn’t getting attention at all, they hadn’t set much of a foundation for that conundrum. The first time around, it was “oh, Sora is kind, so she wants to help anyone she sees” and there was a bit of personality clash with Yamato. Though it was small, it was a good bit of development and useful for two characters. It also led to Yamato and Sora’s friendship strengthening. With Taichi and Sora, we’ve been told they’re friends and teammates, but have not seen many strong examples of that. And, if there’s a fight between them, it could easily turn into a Taichi episode... that’s what I think anyway. So I guess the focus point for this episode was showing how Sora’s deep love for her friends strengthens her already, and maybe there’ll be more complex problems in the future, perhaps when she gets her next evolution... We’ll see.

Anyway. Good episode. So glad to see this show seems to be pretty solidly back on the rails. We only have like 20 episodes left though, seems like a lot but it’ll go fast.

That’s why I’m a bit surprised to see that next week looks like another not really plot-related episode:

Takeru and Yamato are going to a theme park. There’s no context for why they’re not with the others, but my guess is Takeru wanted to go and Yamato took him... easy as that xD I guess we’ll see, but I really hope this doesn’t mean the team is splitting up again.

However, we really do need quality time with Yamato and Takeru as well, so I’m all for this. It’s like the show really has got some self-awareness about how lax it’s been developing characters and relationships thus far and is now cranking it HARD to fit everything in we’ve been missing. Good.

[imagination-is-key-in-my-world]

Lockdown

Authors Note: I am a British writer and luckily enough I have never actually had to experience something like this happening. I cannot imagine what it must be like. There is reference to the ‘shooting’ during the fanfiction, therefore, I do not blame anyone if they differ from reading this. Nothing is graphic and if anything it only gets mentioned for a small portion and there is no one hurt either. I would really like to do a part two. Let me know if anyone is interested.

Summary: It was just a normal day in Beacon Hills. Y/N and her friends were going about her business when a gun threat disrupted the balance of things. Strangers and potential foes grew closer as their lives hung in the balance.

Warning: Gun Threat, Swearing, Adult Language and Themes

Pairing: Reader x Stiles Stilinski

Word Count: 3,787

“You can not tell me that you didn’t just see that look he gave you?” Jackson brushed up against my side as I tried to jot down the new notes that Coach was terribly transcribing on the chalk board. I mean was that even spelt correctly, how did this man become a legal teacher?

“It is probably just in your head Jackson.” I counter.

“No he is seriously giving you the stink eye. What is McCall’s problem?”

I shrug him off as he is up to his typical shit stirring mode. Jackson and I are neighbours and long-time friends. Since I was nine, we were barely ever apart, we shared our biggest secrets with one another. Mine was that I am the daughter of two illusive demon hunters. I am the only person who knows that he has been pretending to be someone who he is not. Jackson has been in a secret relationship with Ethan. Deep down Jackson was a sweetheart. A sweetheart who cannot control his mouth or fists but Ethan and I are working on that.

“Come on Y/N!” He bumped my arm which made my hand jerk and my notes start to resemble that of Coach’s horrible penmanship. If there is one thing that I hate, its when my notes are not written one hundred percent perfectly. I slam down my pen and turn abruptly in my chair to face Jackson, which sparks some attention from the brunette boy on the table in front. He did not fully turn his head around which was lucky for me as my cheeks immediately go red from embarrassment.

“What is your problem Jackson?” I enquire, nostrils practically flaring which only invoked a chuckle from my best friend.

“Take that chip off of your shoulder and listen to me would you.” He countered as he pushed a note into my hand. “Read this and tell me you wish I left you to copy down that gibberish from the board.”

I huffed and started to carefully unfold the piece of paper. Coach didn’t really care if we showed up to the lesson, let alone if we were actually listening. I read it three times before I actually registered what the words were telling me.

Hey Y/N If you could would you be able to meet me in the west stairwell after 3rd period? You look really pretty today, btw    

“Jackson, who is this from?” The boy shrugged and dropped his head to focus on the words coming out of Coach’s mouth. “Don’t pretend like you care about what he is saying” I gesture to the shaggy haired man “now tell me at least who you got this from.”

Jackson pointed to Lydia who was not at all aware of the two pairs of eyes on her as she casually scribbled in her journal. “But I have no clue who had the note before her. It was probably that McCall.” He sneered. I exhale disappointedly, as much as Scott was a nice guy and all, I don’t want this to be from him. I do not have anything against the guy, he is just not someone who I would want to be interested in me. He seems to always be around trouble, and that is something I cannot be involved in.

“Why don’t you just go and see who it is. I will go with you and if it turns out to be McCall, I will rescue you.” He gave my hand a slight squeeze for reassurance and gazed down at my notebook. “By the way what did you get for number four?”

I laugh a little too loud which causes the brunette to turn around and give me a quick glance that I couldn’t translate in time before he was facing the front again. Again, my cheeks flared, the same way that they do every time his eyes meet mine. I shake the thought away and turn back to my friend. “Jackson, did you think this was a test the whole time? Number four is literally asking you to write down your height.”

 _____________________________________________________________

I was packing my stuff into my bag as the bell rang. “So, are you going to meet this mystery person?” Lydia enquired as I put my water bottle into the slot at the side of my bag, looping the strap over my one arm.

Lydia and I do not really talk, but considering she was my only lead on who this note could have been from, I bit the bullet and spoke to my lab partner. As we were filling the beakers with corrosive liquid, I came straight out with it. “So, about this note you handed to Jackson for me? Do you know who it was from?”

Lydia shook her head, a little startled that I asked her a question that wasn’t ‘can you pass me the pipette?’ “No, to be honest I can not even say who had passed me the note. When I looked down from the board it was just there lying on top of my journal. I am sorry Y/N, I wish I were able to help more but I honestly wouldn’t be able to say who gave it to me.”

I was a little discouraged by only knowing what I did during first period and it was now third. I was meant to meet this person in only a matter of minutes. Lydia and I continued to talk throughout the class. She was really nice to talk to, but I could sense that there was something about her that wasn’t normal. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something.

“I have no clue if I am going to go or not.” I admit, letting the anxiety slip in. It would be hard enough for me to go through with it even if I knew who it was I was going to meet up with. This person said I was ‘pretty,’ for all I knew this could be a joke. That’s all I needed, I was already the girl with all the ancient supernatural protection runes all over my person and possessions. My mum and dad are hunters, and I have been brought up in a world where I cannot go anywhere without some protection. The salt and holy water in my bag is proof of that.

“Well, I hope whoever it is, knows how amazing you are. If he doesn’t, he will have me to deal with.” She bumped my hip with hers and waved as she left the lab.

I picked up the last item on the table and turned to leave the classroom when I was knocked onto the floor, landing hard on my butt. At first, it felt as though I had walked straight into an invisible force field. Little had I registered that it was a person.

“Oh shit!” It was the brunette from this morning. ‘Dammit’ I thought. I could already feel my cheeks start to turn red. Why did this always have to happen. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to; I wasn’t looking where I was going.” The brunette boy bent down to help me up from the floor.

I brush off my jeans once I am back on my feet, avoiding making eye contact with the boy in front of me. He too looked really nervous as if this incident was his worst nightmare. “I- it’s o- okay.” I stutter. Really voice, of all the times you want to fail me, it’s now. “I w- was just going.” I try to walk past him when a blaring siren started ringing throughout the school.

Panic flashed across my face and his too. Everyone’s worst nightmare, a gun drill. The siren was one hundred percent recognisable. “Get down!” The brunette boy threw himself at me as I yet again landed flat on my backside but with him on top of me this time. We were both frozen for a couple of seconds, my eyes locked on his and it might sound girly, but I could literally lose myself in them.

Finally, he lifted himself up off me and slid underneath one of the tables. I copied and mirrored him under the table in front of his. “I’m sorry, I thought I saw someone walk past the window inconspicuously behind you. I just panicked.” His eyes searched my body, the way that I was now hugging my legs, resting my chin on top of my knees. “Oh God, did I hurt you?” Fear flooded his face at the thought that he may have caused me any pain.

I shake my head. “No.” I whisper. “I’m okay, thank you.” My hand instantly goes to play with the locket that hung around my neck.

“What’s that?” His eyes caught my fingers tracing the metal details.

I freeze. “What’s what?”

The brunette flicked his head towards the chain that was between my fingers.

“Oh, it’s a necklace my dad gave me, to protect me.”

The boy smiled. “That’s cool. My dad gave me a baseball bat to protect me.” I felt the corners of my lips rise into a slight smile.

“I bet you wish you had it now?” I enquire.

The boy sniggered. “If only a bat was an equal match.” I knew what he was on about. A bat could not compare to a gun. “Wanna know something funny?”

“Something funny would be great right about now.” I could feel my foot start to twitch the way that it did when my mum and dad were out on a hunt. Total and utter uselessness. I was a sitting duck.

“My dad once told me that I am always at the centre of some drama.” He let out a sigh. “That wasn’t really that funny was it?”

I shake my head but smile. “Your dad seems like a smart man.”

He smiled and raised a hand to ruffle his hair. God why did he look so good when he did that. “He has to be, I mean he is the sheriff.”

“You’re the sheriff’s son?” I question my eyes went wide in shock. I had heard a lot about this boy. He was best friends with Scott McCall and his dad is right, he always seemed to be in trouble.

He smiled beautifully if that were possible during a terrifying circumstance. “Yeah, you didn’t think it was a coincidence that I am called Stiles Stilinski and there would be no relation to Sheriff Stilinski?” His smile and baffled tone made me smile back at him. “It’s not as common as most surnames. I mean what’s yours?”

“Winchester.” I reply.

“Now that is not a common surname.” He leaned out from under the desk with his arm stretched out. I took his in return. “Nice to meet you Y/N Winchester.”

“You too Stiles Stilinski.” My eyes locked onto his and our hands clung to each other. It felt like we had been holding hands for hours, completely frozen in each other’s gazes.

Suddenly there was a loud pop that rang throughout the building. This tore our hands apart finally. I retreated under the table and moved my legs back up to my chest, creating a shield. Stiles did the same but did not take his eyes off me. I started gripping onto my locket as my breathing became more rapid. I was normally better at threats, my parents dealt with the supernatural world. They battled ghosts, demons, vampires and even werewolves and yet a civilian with a gun going around the school, finger on the trigger, changed me into a nervous wreck.

There was this scuffling noise and suddenly there were arms around me holding me tight. “Shh, its okay Y/N.” Stiles was holding onto me, trying his best to soothe my breathing down. “Breathe with me okay. Copy me. Y/N, you need to look at me.” His hands were either side of my face as he whispered to keep our location a secret. “You can do this. Ready?”

My eyes locked onto his, tear stains running down my cheeks. I watched him attentively as he took each breath. I copied never losing eye contact with those light brown eyes. “That’s it. One more time okay?” His thumb caressed my cheek as I nodded. My breathing finally falling back into place. I take my last breath and let it fall. “That’s it.”

I thought now that my breathing was back to normal that Stiles would release me, but he didn’t. He held his grasp onto my body and did not look away. “Are you okay?” He whispered, his voice getting caught in this throat. Part of me wanted to say yes, to pretend that I was this tough girl. But the boy had just seen me during a panic attack. Me saying that I was not okay wasn’t going to come to be that much of a surprise. I shake my head.

“It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.” I went to wipe a tear that was falling from my cheek but Stiles was there before I got a chance. “Do you want to know a secret?”

I nod, dropping my legs from my chest. “I’m afraid of a lot of things. My friends and I, we face a lot of scary things and for most of it, I feel like I will die. But the thing is, we could die. But that could happen any day and at any time. I believe that we live through the scariest moments in our lives so that we can tell people about them.”

“What was the scariest moment in your life?” I ask, my voice all croaky from holding back the tears.

“Well apart from this one?” He pauses as he gathers his thoughts. “The scariest moment in my life was the day that something possessed my best friend and it led him to almost commit suicide.” I gasp, shocked by what he had just confessed.

“What happened?” I have dealt with possessions before, that wasn’t the part that shocked me.

“Well we went on a school trip and there was something supernatural that had possessed my friends, they were driven to madness. Scott picked up a flare, he was covered in gasoline, it was all around him.” He broke off as his voice cracked. “I walked over to him and held his hand and the flare. I told him that if he needed to do it, then we were both going to go. I was and always will be by his side.”

I took his hand this time and I felt him jump. “I had no idea. I am so sorry that that happened.” Stiles was staring at our entwined hands.

“But the other scariest moment in my life was when I wrote you that note.” I felt a sharp thump to the chest. I was so stupid, how did I not know it was the cute boy who sat in front of me in practically every class that we had together. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” I respond. Stiles had not lifted his head since our hands connected.

“Were you going to come and meet me? I mean obviously before all of this happened.”

I stop and think. Was I? I hadn’t given that moment another thought since the siren went off. It felt like days ago I had been handed the note. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Stiles’ tone was defeated and sombre. His grip on my hand also weakened the minute my response registered. “I know it was a stupid thing to do. I just thought that if I was going to take a jump and finally try to ‘make my move’ as they say.”

“Stiles, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture-“

“It’s just you don’t like me. I get it. I actually get it a lot.” His head dropped and he tried to pull away. I feared that he was going to leave me alone under the table and return to his own.

“No stiles it wasn’t that-“

“Is it cause I’m weird looking? Dad and Scott say I look a little odd.” The boy was rambling.

“No you’re not weird looking-“

“Then it is because of the way I talk isn’t it?”

“No it-“

“It’s my clothes then isn’t it? I dress in a lot of tartan. You know some people say-“ I grab the boy, placing a hand behind his head I pull his lips towards my own. Stiles’ eyes widened the second my lips connected to his. But soon enough his hands drifted from his side and tied themselves in my hair pulling me deeper into the kiss. It was as if Stiles had come alive once we kissed. Our lips moved in time with each other almost as if they were made to do this and only this. The shy boy became more confident and definitely more dominant as his tongue lightly brushed my bottom lip. I let his tongue meet my own, and his moan vibrated against my mouth.

Our bodies moved in sync with each other. My one hand entwined in his hair while the other draped down his back. His were on my hip and the back of my neck as we both pushed ourselves closer together if that were possible.

When I broke the kiss, his pupils were wide in surprise and desire. “Why did you stop?” Stiles questioned, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“I would have met up with you Stiles.” I whisper into his ear. When I pull my head away from his neck his eyes were wider than they were when the kiss broke apart. “But maybe next time, you should author your notes, perhaps?”

A cheeky grin spread out across his face as my words registered. “Wait, does that mean I forgot to say it was from me, that you’d be meeting me.” I nod as the boy put the puzzle pieces together. “I am an idiot.” The boy slapped his own forehead at his carelessness. “Can I ask you another question?” I smile and nod. “Can we do that kiss again? I really liked it.”

The smirk on his face was enough for me to give into his charms. Before I could lean in, Stiles had grabbed me by my hips and pulled me onto his lap. I hooked my arms around his neck and allowed his lips to connect with mine, his hands firmly on the space between my hips and my ass. It was a bit of a squeeze under the table, the top of my head was rested on base of the table. I was aware that I may have gum in my hair because of this, but I didn’t care. Hearing his moans as my hands trailed from the back of his neck and down his spine was enough for me to crumble within his arms.

Stiles’ lips drifted away from my own but instantly connected into the crook of my neck. This time it was my turn to let out a moan. “Stiles.” I sighed when he hit the right spot and began to suck on it with his hot breath spreading across my skin.

Both of us jumped apart when we heard a cough from the front of the lab. There stood Scott McCall. I was just thankful that it wasn’t Coach or any other member of the School Faculty. I looked back at Stiles who for once didn’t seem happy to see his best friend. “Not exactly what we were taught to do during a school shooting, Stiles.” He nodded towards me “Y/N, Jackson is worried about you, he said you were not answering your phone.”

Stiles detangled me from his lap and helped me to my feet in front of the table rather than being under it as we had previously been.

I pulled out my phone and funny enough there was sixteen missed calls from Jackson and twenty-two messages from him as well as a couple from my own father. Not cool Jackson do not get my dad involved in this.

“What are you even doing out in the open, Scott?” Stiles grilled. “There is a school shooting going on you know.”

“Dude that ended about twenty minutes ago, your dad came arrested the guy. The teachers announced that we could all go home. I was on my way home when Jackson came up to me and asked me if I had seen Y/N. When I told him no, he went into panic mode and started running up and down the corridors.”

I felt my phone vibrate in my hands, Jackson again. “Hello?”

“Oh my God. Thank God you’re okay. Are you still in the school? Where are you? I will come and get you and take you home.”

I look up at Stiles who held onto my hand and gave me the sweetest smile. “Jackson I am okay. I think I am going to get a ride with someone else. Thank you for always looking after me. I love you.”

“It’s my job. Who are you with so I know you are safe, put them on the phone?”

I hand the phone over to Stiles who takes it apprehensively. “He wants to make sure I haven’t concocted some excuse to avoid listening to Taylor Swift in his car, again.”

“Hello?”

“Oh my God, Stilinski? What are you doing with Y/N?”

Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear and places a hand over the microphone. “I don’t think he is too happy that you’re with me.” I laugh and he put the phone back up against his ear. “Jackson I will look after her, I promise. Enjoy Taylor Swift though. I really like the one she sings with Ed Sheeran.” He pulls the phone back and hits the end call button on the screen.

Scott looks questioningly between the two of us. “So, what is going on between you two. Is this going to be a normal thing now? Am I going to have to write up a schedule for who gets Stiles during the week?”

Stiles slaps his friend’s back. “You still got me. But now she has me too, only she gets more kisses than you. I mean we could add more kissing sessions when we are together if you would really like?”

“I think I will pass.” Scott announced.

“Good because there would be no competition.” Stiles twirled me so that I was now pressed against his chest and laid another kiss on my lips. When he pulled away, his head was bent down to mine, eyes locked on my own. “You ready to go home?”

Part 2?

[pinetasticapple]

What if we had known each other first and fallen in love second: Mr Pigeon

Also on ffnet and ao3!

"Have you ever wondered why the English musical of "Les Miserábles" is more popular when the original is a French work and the French musical of "Romeo and Juliet is also more popular than the original English version?"

Marinette raised her eyebrow, her arms still crossed on her chest while she waited for Adrien to finish eating, although he was more interested in debating than finishing the carrot bits on his plate. Well, that settled it, she was going to strangle that mangy cat.

Adrien offered a smile and plucked one of the carrots in his mouth. He had told a little lie in order to stay around school for lunch just to watch Marinette struggling to not shake him right there in front of everyone. Oh the power to have a secret. Well, another secret. One that he was savoring to keep from Marinette as long as possible.

"Woah, why is Adrien grinning so evil? That's so not like him" Alya joined them on the table, giving Marinette her fruit on the way in exchange for the jello container Marinette had saved.

"Beats me" Nino said, who had been looking at the conversation for a while "he knows something that will happen and won't tell Marinette about it."

"Just that I'll find it interesting" Marinette took a bite out of the apple Alya had given her "and he's gloating on it!"

"How dare you Adrien, making my girl suffer" Alya patted her shoulder "but if it's information you want…"

"You didn't sneak into a locker again, did you? "

"Hey, I learned my lesson from last time" she raised her hands "but I do have some intel that principal Damocles will give an announcement in our class later on, about what? I still need to dig a little more."

"Or you could just wait five more minutes and hear it live," Adrien shrugged "I swear you'll like it."

Marinette squinted at him but gave up on trying to pry it out of Adrien. She knew by now it'd be a lost cause.

"Remind me to never get on your evil side," Nino said once the bell rang, earning another smile from Adrien.

"Oh this is not my evil side,"

"No, that one is way worse" Marinette said and walked ahead of them so the boys couldn't see her face. She had met that side once when an akuma fight happened at 4 in the morning. Adrien was not so happy about losing precious sleep hours.

They went to their seats and Marinette looked almost impatiently at the front for Mme. Bustier to arrive. Adrien did say it was going to be an announcement before class so she had to be here already. She still ignored Adrien's subtle glance at her and amused smile he threw at her.

She didn't get a chance to stare at him as the door opened with the teacher and principal Damocles arriving to the classroom.

"Good afternoon," he addressed them just as Mme. Bustier set up the projector to show a slide that said 'Design Contest', the principal speaking about the increase in school extracurricular activities to promote and incite students to do beyond the academic walls and just like that it was as if many pennies dropped on Marinette's head.

Oh that sly cat.

"You only have one day to work on your fashion piece and it must be your own design," the principal looked at the class "and tomorrow first thing in the morning your finished presentation will be judged by none other than the great fashion designer Gabriel Agreste, the father of our own student Adrien Agreste."

There were many sounds and gasps floating in the classroom, but Marinette's mind was already checking all her ideas and projects. As much as she disliked Adrien's father in how he was with his own son, a part of her was still at guilt in admiring the man as a fashion designer, a leader in the field.

"In fact, Adriel will model the winning design in his next photoshoot!"

Oh, Marinette knew his measurements by heart from countless cosplay requests. Most of them hidden in Marinette's room because if Adrien's father ever found out well, that would be disastrous.

Hm, Marinette had to rethink her perspective on Gabriel Agreste again.

"And now to announce this year's theme: derby hats!"

Adrien tried not to snicker. Why on earth would they choose that to begin with? But he was glad to have kept it a secret. He knew first hand Marinette was more than good when it came to fashion and this contest was like the perfect fit to her. Oh he couldn't wait to see what his father would say about her designs. Not like he could show him beforehand because the possibility of him thinking it to be biased since Marinette was his friend.

He was practically feeling her energy buzzing from behind and he couldn't wait to see what she would come up with, even if it was something like a bowler hat.

At least it's not a fedora.

The class went on as normal as it could be, with Adrien staying behind to pack his stuff while Marinette nearly ran to the locker room, no doubt to pick her sketchbook.

"So, you going to give it a go?" Adrien asked Nino on his way out, smiling at Nino's face.

"Oh no, fashion design is not my thing" he pointed at where Marinette and Alya were "leave that to Marinette."

Adrien smiled and looked at his friend pacing front and back in front of Alya, babbling something he couldn't quite understand from where he was. Well, time to go do some reassurance.

"Liked the surprise?" Adrien leaned against the wall just as Marinette jumped out of the bench in surprise. For a superhero Adrien enjoyed sneaking up to her like this.

"I'm going to fail so bad" she rubbed her face "and this is how my career ends without even beginning."

"Oh come on" Adrien patted her shoulder "your designs are amazing! You totally have a chance in this."

"You really think so?"

"Cross my heart" he smiled "I can't wait to see what you come up with."

He waved at the girls goodbye and went on his way back home to his piano lessons. Adrien was pleased with how it had gone and he was honest when he said he couldn't wait to see the project Marinette would bring to the table.

He also knew it was best not to bother her until she was done so he just dedicated himself to practice and then work on his assignments, only to find out the latest akuma that was terrorizing the city.

"Pigeons have taken over Paris,"

Say what now?

Adrien looked at the news, baffled at the amount of pigeons that surrounded the buildings, the streets, even on the Eiffel tower.

He looked at the akuma, Mr. Pigeon, calling out the city in name of the blasted birds and Adrien was seriously wondering if Hawkmoth was that desperate or plain bored.

"This is going to be a nightmare" Adrien stood up, already dreading the idea to go after this particular akuma. He transformed and jumped out of the window, making his way to the Eiffel tower across the rooftops when he heard Ladybug's voice.

"Now this is weirder than weird,"

"Birds of a feather flock together," he smiled, only for his nose to itch as a jet pigeon flew above them, sneezing so hard he ended up rolling off the rooftop.

"I'm allergic to feathers" he rubbed his nose, already feeling his eyes watering.

"That's helpful" Ladybug offered him a sympathetic smile.

"Hah, tell me about it" Chat sniffled "so much for surprise attacks this time."

"We could always run to a pharmacy and get you antihistamine- "

"Nah," Chat shook his head "feather allergy isn't that common and we don't want people to put two and two together, I'll be fine, besides, we have more important things to deal with."

He caught up Ladybug with what else was happening, both coming up with a plan to lure Mr. Pigeon –he still was not used to that name- towards them and deal with the akuma.

Which ended in Chat with a police cap at the park.

"An uniform would have been better," Chat glanced at the tree Ladybug was using to hide.

"Just act like a park ranger or something."

"This park is way too small to have a ranger" Chat snickered, soon bored from standing still.

"So," he glanced at Ladybug "how's the project going?"

"I'm missing some parts but I will have it ready" she grinned "but don't think I won't forget you keeping this secret from me."

"You wound me bug" he placed his hands on his chest "and here I was thinking I had done a good de-a-achoo!"

Ladybug turned to see a giant ball made entirely of pigeons surround Chat, the poor cat sneezing as the pigeons lifted him up and away from the park.

"Hey!" she chased after the ball, leading her to the top of the Grand Hotel, where even more pigeons waited on the rails and parasols.

"You know, this is how a horror movie can start,"

"You are not making me watch a horror movie" Ladybug glared at the pigeons, her yo-yo at the ready. The cooing was unnerving and there was no sign of Mr. Pigeon anywhere nearby, she couldn't help but think they had fallen into a trap.

And she hated to be right when a whirlpool of pigeons surrounded them, blocking the sight of the giant cage that fell on top of them, trapping them for good.

"This is just grea-choo!" Chat sniffled "I hate birds."

"Too bad you can't eat them," Ladybug glanced around "look!"

They glared at Mr. Pigeon throwing the usual villain monologue of demanding the miraculous from them, only this time they were surrounded by pigeons who were all ready to throw…

"Ew no" Chat's voice sounded stuffy already "no thank you."

"Chat, the bars!"

Chat didn't need to hear it twice as he summoned his Cataclysm to destroy the cage. His eyes were really watery but they barely managed to escape the sudden swarm of pigeons launching at them, the blunt too hard to dent a metal door.

"Is it wrong that I don't feel bad for the blasted birds?" Chat wiped his nose for the umpteenth time "they'll be fine after you cast the cure."

"Don't be mean to the birds" Ladybug helped him up and pointed at the stairs so they could get out of the hotel.

Chat ran behind her, the beeping in his ring growing insistent.

"I have to find a place to hide before my identity is reveal,"

"Yeah" Ladybug couldn't help but to grin "you wouldn't want to let the cat out of the bag."

Chat squinted at her. Oh, he so understood the timing of the situation.

"Ha, ha, very funny."

The lobby was packed with panicked guests and the mayor, but Ladybug could only stare amused at Chat sneaking his way to a suite in order to feed his kwami. She wasn't going to admit it but sometimes the akumas provided funny situations for her to witness.

Even if this one was scaling up the ridiculous list.

"Why are they all flying to the same direction?"

The ding of the elevator made her turn to see Chat ready to continue their fight.

"So we know he's taking all the park keepers somewhere" Ladybug said as they took a lower route.

"Bird food perhaps?"

"That would be too gross," Ladybug looked at the feather trail that led to a big building, both sticking to the wall to observer.

"The Grand Palais?" Chat frowned "I guess if he wanted a big cage this could be i-a-a"

Ladybug plucked his nose before he could let out a sneeze. The last thing they needed was for them to be caught.

"Let's get this over with" Chat stepped forward only to be held up by Ladybug.

"Ah, it's too easy" she squinted at the gate "we don't want to end up caged again, come on" she pointed to the other side "I have a plan."

It was a good plan, Chat never doubted Ladybug's plans, no matter how farfetched and crazy they ended up sometimes, they always seemed to work out. The problem this time, as Chat would later point out, was his damn allergy that blew up the element of surprise.

The fight was pretty much nonsensical for some, for Chat it just felt like a regular Thursday. But oh was he glad when she finally casted the cure above them, sending the blasted pigeons away from him and giving him a chance to breathe.

"Pound it!" they smiled as their fists bumped.

"Ahh!" she suddenly gasped "I have less than twelve hours to finish that hat!"

"Go, go" Chat smiled at her and made his own way back. He made sure to take a long hot shower to clear out his nostrils and waited until it was late to transform again and pay a late night visit to Marinette.

Chat jumped across the rooftops, happy after a well won fight, and not surprised to see lights coming from Marinette's room despite being almost midnight.

He landed without making a sound and gave a few taps on the trapdoor to announce his arrival. Even if he knew Marinette would be in the zone, he had to make sure she was not going to push herself too hard.

"Chat," she blinked surprised to see him "what are you doing up here?"

"Well buginette, it is quite late and you should be sleeping."

Marinette rolled her eyes but went back down to her room, leaving the door open for him to sneak in.

This was something they didn't do that frequently, what with risking too much of their identities if they frequented each other while one was with the mask. But Chat was curious and this was a special occasion. At least that's what he told himself.

He saw pins and cardboard on the floor, pieces of fabric and loose thread in a pile near her sewing machine. And on the desk was the masterpiece, or at least Adrien thought it was.

"I'm having a struggle with it" Marinette slumped on her chair and showed him the original design "if, and this is still a big if, I win and you model this you will be sneezing nonstop and then the shoot will be ruined and they are going to hate me for ruining hours of work and-!"

"Woah, woah" Chat held her shoulders "I think we can agree that when you win we can solve my allergy out, it wouldn't be the first time I had to use a feather somewhere, we can use synthetic ones!"

"Your dad will certainly think less of the hat if I do that."

"But you can keep the original for the showing and then switch it for me to wear" he smiled at her but noticed her eyes still looking at the hat "Mari… do you regret entering the contest?"

"W-what?" Marinette turned her eyes to him "what makes you say that?"

"It's just…" he rubbed the back of his head "I can't help but see you worrying and maybe this was too much pressure?"

He was surprised to feel Marinette holding onto his hand, squeezing it tight as she gave him a small smile.

"Chaton," she looked at their hands "thank you for worrying about me but" she sighed "you know me, I over think almost everything."

"Hm, yeah" he shrugged "but they turn out into great plans, like today."

She giggled.

"I appreciate you worrying over me" Marinette hugged him "and you know what? You're right, I was worrying too much over this detail. If you say it'll be fine for the showing, I can keep the feather on it."

Chat responded to the hug, his stomach suddenly feeling funny inside him. Huh, maybe he shouldn't have had chicken salad for dinner.

"Alright!" Marinette pulled away and smiled "I still need to finish the embroidery so- "

"R-right!" Chat smiled back "do you need me to wake you up?"

"I'd gladly appreciate it just in case" Marinette waved at him as Chat climbed up the ladder to the trap door "but no singing."

"I could start right now, one more day before the storm~"

"See you in the morning Enjolras" Marinette rolled her eyes and swirled back on her chair to work on the hat.

Chat waved and closed the trapdoor to make his way back home. He didn't indulge in why the weather suddenly felt warmer than when he had left.

The next day arrived and he was nervous for the contest, even if he wasn't participating at all. When he reached the courtyard he saw some of his classmates that had decided to join and work on quite interesting designs. He even saw a steampunk one and he was tempted to try it on.

Adrien waited next to the principal while Nathalie arrived to introduce herself, holding the tablet that had the camera showing his father from his office. Part of Adrien was disappointed he wasn't here in person but it was better than nothing. He looked at the end where Alya was trying to call Marinette to not avail but he knew she was on her way.

Him blasting 'Do you hear the people sing' as an alarm was proof enough of that.

In fact, just as they were observing the steampunk hat that Adrien saw her dashing past them towards her stand, holding her precious hat with care. He still let out a sigh of relief.

Too bad it was short lived as he saw Chloe's entry for the contest. An exact replica of the hat Marinette had designed. He looked at Chloe and shook his head. There was no way he was going to let her get away with it, especially when his father noticed the fact they were the same.

"I apologize for the situation Mr. Agreste but I can prove that this derby hat is my original design," Marinette said with a tone of voice that reminded Adrien so much of Ladybug he thought he didn't have to say anything after all.

He smiled in delight as Marinette showed off her work, without stuttering or tumbling in her words, even showing the stitching that he had seen her working on during the night, that revealed nothing else than her name when turned upside down.

Adrien was proud of her.

"Very exquisite creation, you definitely have the laboring hands of a hat maker miss…"

"Marinette" Adrien provided, standing next to her with a smile as he watched her eyes go wide at being announced the winner of the contest.

"What about we celebrate with a crepe" Adrien said once Nathalie and his father left, him and Marinette the only ones left in the courtyard.

"That sounds great, but" she looked at the hat Chloe had brought and picked it up "can't believe she would try to steal my work."

"It wasn't correct," Adrien sighed "but we can also say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery… it's going to take a lot with her, isn't it?"

"Adrien" Marinette looked at him "it's not your job to fix Chloe."

"I know," he frowned "but I guess I can't give up on her yet."

To his surprise Marinette only placed the hat on his head, having removed the feather from it to avoid him sneezing.

"I'll hold your bargain on that crepe after class" she offered a smile "now come on derby boy, you don't want to be late."

Adrien tipped the hat and walked with her to the classroom.

[nestofstraightlines]

The Dæmon-Cages

I went to a preview screening of episode six of His Dark Materials,’ The Daemon Cages’, followed by a Q&A with the senior creative last night.

I’m not even going to give broad expectation spoilers for the episode above the cut (I’ll include a bit right at the end under the cut just giving a broad overview of whether I liked it or not).

As for the Q&A, it was very interesting.

The team were asked several questions (by a very positive audience) about themes and research; things like ‘how did you decide which of the many themes to focus on? Did you go back to the inspirational material of the books such as Milton and Blake?’ and I would characterise the answers as a slightly defensive ‘we just went back to the book’.

Call it confirmation bias, but for me that tallies with what I’ve perceived of the writing/creating flaws of the series.

Because what does that mean?

I’ve been going back to the book for 22 years now and unpacking more depths and more angles. It really did feel like there was a rejection from Thorne and series Exec Producer Jane Trantor that adaptation would involve unpacking something and repacking it into your own storytelling form.

Their tone was much more enthusiastic when it came to discussing detail: they talked about wanting to know exactly what every moment of Lyra’s day at Jordan would be, what she would do for breakfast etc. And that’s got merits; it can suggest nice images (I’m guessing this is where the idea of Roger bringing Lyra breakfast every morning comes from).

But for me, in general, it’s an approach that fits badly with Pullman as a source material. Pullman writes intuitively, discovering the story as he writes is.

At one point in Northern Lights he uses the metaphor for reading the Alethiometer that it is like climbing down a ladder in the dark, and trusting that, though you can’t see the next step, it is there. I believe that he was describing his writing process there too.

He writes indirectly, using negative space to let the reader infer a fact or an idea. For example, with daemons. We are told a little and shown a lot. Pullman is showing himself the story too.

I don’t believe Pullman knew when he was writing Northern Lights what Lyra would do for her breakfast every morning. But if the story had wanted to contain a scene set during her breakfast, he would have known.

And okay, different writing processes, whatever. But actually it is fundamental to the text and I think where the problems have crept in.

Genre storytelling can be broken up into two rough camps: character-led and ideas-led. The senior creatives of this programme, almost inevitably coming from a British TV background, fall into the wrong one - character-led.

Now both camps contain both things: if I call a story idea/s-led it’s not saying its characters aren’t important and good or vice versa. It’s about which is the ultimate point o fthe story.

For instance, Harry Potter is, for me, character-led. Its fantasy trappings are rather unpacked or picturesque dressing used to heighten basically mundane human interpersonal drama. Yeah, it’s good versus evil, acceptance versus discrimination, but those topics aren’t explored, they’re not a priority, they’re a situation to throw the characters into.

Where Thorne has worked in genre shows before, the same can be said. There is a specific situation, even a mission statement, but these are not shows constructed around telling an idea as story, but rather focusing on interpersonal drama. The premises are settings, real or imagined, which are already neatly packaged for the audience. They’re not about inventing fantasy, they are about using it to tell small-scale human dramas. Events serve nothing larger than character and relationship drama.

In Pullman’s His Dark Materials, character and relationship drama are a but not the greatest priority of the series, they are in service to broader ideas and themes.

That’s the other camp of genre fiction, where the fantasy is not a static setting used to heighten charater stuff, but an active agent used to tell a particular story.

Calling this camp ideas-led sounds like its an inherently grand sort of a category, and His Dark Materials is of course an example that is grand and important and epic and so on. But for a show to be ideas-focused, it doesn’t have to be a Big Important Theme with Big Important Execution.

Some ideas are ‘what is it to be human?’, some ideas are simply ‘whodunnit?’ or ‘what if a monster got into your house?’

Anyway.

Pullman’s HDM is ideas-led. He creates a world (and later worlds) of things we need to pay attention to. This is not Harry Potter – school, castle, wizards, you pretty much got it – this is unconstructed fantasy. And it’s not constructed for picturesque ends either. Pullman isn’t inventing this stuff because it’s independently cool or pleasing or whatever, or at least not only that. He is creating it to express a set of ideas through the medium of a story.

So story and world are perfectly bound together. And he understands the difference between convincing a reader and making your world CinemaSins-proof. It’s a story, not a world.

The series is over-invested in the details; over-invested in the tools, and misses what they are used to build in the book/s. Sometimes it even breaks what they are meant to build.

I think the failure of daemons is the biggest casualty of this.

At the screening the creatives talked about the challenge there, the unprecedented challenge of making a show in which every human character is accompanied by a unique CGI creation. They mentioned the impossible budget challenge this presented as well as the challenges in visual storytelling and presentation. I.e. even if one can afford to put a whole crowds of daemons in every wide shot it looks impossibly cluttered and like Doctor Doolittle.

And yes, of course, but it baffles – and frankly annoys – me that the imagination seemed to stop there. Or rather, the understanding of storytelling stopped there.

They talked about having spitballed pragmatic adjustments to daemons, such as making them be semi-invisible, flicking in and out of visibility. But in the end they ‘wanted to stay true to the book/s’. Again, I think we’re looking at a profound lack of understanding of what ‘true to the book’ even means.

Creatives more suited to the material would have found creativity borne of limitation. They would have had a deep and confident enough understanding of the idea they were dealing with to find the solutions from within their own storytelling field, to create daemons for screen in a way which worked.

It feels like this teams’ reaction to the challenge has been ‘to do our best and tell people they don’t understaaand it’s haaard when they complain we haven’t got it right’.

I’m sorry if that sounds harsh. But they took on this challenge and there’s a little hubris in that. I’m not sure what made them feel they were the people for the job here, but they’ve failed to convince me of that fact.

People have been telling fantastical and profound stories on screen for a long time before CGI became so photorealistic. And I think CGI has both a limiting effect on the imagination, and it encourages directors and writers with a limited sense of visual storytelling to imagine that they are equipped to deal with stories that they perhaps aren’t, because they can unthinkingly assign fantasy ideas to the ‘literalist CGI’ box.

I just get the feeling that none of the head creatives, as a mix of character-focused storytellers and details-people, really get what daemons are in a storytelling sense.

They mentioned that when they had conversations with Pullman, he advised them not to focus on daemons, that he novel included them only when they were important. And that’s true, and I can’t put words in Pullman’s mouth, but it’s my belief the TV series team misunderstood what he was getting at, and I’m basing that on stuff Pullman has said elsewhere (such as in his essays and speeches collected in Daemon voices) as well as my own reading of the book/s.

Daemons don’t appear important but the story is carefully constructed, without ever seeming to be on the surface, to explore the idea of the daemon.

It’s a practical issue too. You employ people to write and direct this stuff who are used to stories made up of human characters interacting in rooms, and they’re going to lack experience in showing stuff which is vital to this story, which includes the relationship between the human heroine and her shape-shifting animal-shaped companion, a giant talking polar bear, a city in the Aurora Boreales, fights with demons during a hot-air balloon fight and so on.

A lot of the stuff that matter in HDM isn’t just mundane drama in fantastical settings. The most vital emotional scenes include a girl interaction with a giant talking solar bear; the threat tot he bond between a person and their shape-shifting soul-manifestation etc

 The human/daemon relationship is like a lot of things at different times and in different ways: human/animal, siblings, friends, parent/child etc. But it’s not a mundane human relationship clothed in light fantasy disguise. It's an idea and thus needs careful building for screen just as it did on the page.

Russell Dodgson, the head of VFX on behalf of Framestore for the series, talked about how fans always focus on daemons while there are so many more ideas in the book. ‘People love talking animals, I guess.’ He joked.

And OK, he was being off-the-cuff and deliberately glib, and in any case he’s not the writer and thereby not responsible for getting the overall imagining of daemons for this series right. But he’s so off the mark here in a way which helpfully sums up the misses of this team.

Daemons are not talking animals in the book and that is what the series has rendered them as through this lack of understanding that they amount to more than an emptily whimsical note.

EXPECTATION SPOILERS FOR THE DAEMON-CAGES:

... Having said all that; a really great episode! Best episode of the series yet.

It benefits from coming from a part of the book which is perfect for an episode of TV: it is very dramatic and climactic, while also being something of a great self-contained story in form. Lyra goes into a situation with very clear parameters of tension, fears, goals and a ticking clock. The production plays on all of those very strongly.

The weakest element of the episode is predictable given what the weakness element of the adaptation has been all along: daemons of course. As with last week my feeling is that while the show is so far from doing justice to certain ideas and moments it might as well be on a different continent, it finds enough strengths in other areas to stop the bottom dropping out of the episode.

The production design is absolutely incredible. It’s the boldest imaginative leap from the book so far. The staging of some of the events plays out differently due to a differently imagined Bolvangar and I adore the new approach. Again, I’ll have more to say when the episode has aired. I can’t wait to get into the detail of this!

[ddaengyoonmin]

Chapter 4

Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Taehyung x reader,  eventual Ot7 x reader in later chapters

Genre: fluff, angst, uhh maybe smut eventually??

Theme: Based kinda on sword art online a lot of similar ideas and themes kinda combining the idea of them trapped in the game, but the world is closer to ALFheim online

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing?..I swear a lot it can’t be contained. Mentions of death, Panic attacks,

Next -> Chapter 5

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‘You weren’t sure if you liked this Jungkook you were seeing now, but you couldn’t fully blame him for the drastic switch, people can change when they are thrown into survival mode, and this...was now life and death.’

Jungkook had quickly led you and his friend/room mate Taehyung out of the town square.  Not really leaving you time to get acquainted with the new traveling companion but it was understandable.

Once you reached the edge of the town which led to an empty field Jungkook turned around to look at you. “Crash course in flying. Now that we are out here, this is going to be the quickest way to travel. I want us to get to the next town as fast as possible so we can snag up all the good items and stuff okay?”

You nodded.

He looked to Taehyung, “You’ve learned flying already right?”

Taehyung nodded, his face devoid of emotions standing stiffly and awkwardly.  He’s definitely still in shock, you all are in some sort of way.  Jungkook was handling his fear by jumping into the leader position, you were handling yours by trying not to think too hard on anything and just go with it...so maybe you were in a state of denial?

Jungkook showed you how to do a hand signal in the air that summoned some sort of joystick controller in your hand, and explained the logistics of flight.  It was actually fairly simply, the downside was at your low level you had a very limited amount of energy you were allowed to use to fly.  So every 15 minutes or so you would need to land and recharge before your wings gave out on you.  

The three of you took off, not saying a word, letting Jungkook lead the way.

You wanted to be blown away by the fact that you were flying, you wanted to feel the rush of the wind and excitement of your feet leaving the ground for the first time, and trailing behind you as your wings carried you forward.

But you were numb.  You thought about your home, your job, Tiger, Velvet… At that last thought you almost burst into tears.   ‘I hope mom saw the news and comes to check on me, I hope she feeds them and takes care of them if I....’ you have to try to hold back your tears so you could see in front of you as you flew, ‘if I die…’ your thought finished itself.

Jungkook landed in a small clearing in the woods you had been flying over.  You followed down, grateful he had remembered you were nearing the end of your allowed flight time, because you had already forgotten.

After many repeated starts and stops, you could see on the corner of your screen a clock read 3:00 am.  Wow, you had been flying a long time.  Occasionally when you stopped Jungkook had scanned the area to see if there was any good loot or creatures to get some experience points from, and there was some a few times.  You took turns getting the final kill so you could evenly spread out the points and drop items, all of you leveling up 2 times each so far on your journey.  Taehyung still remaining quiet even then.  

You finally heard him speak for the first time since you’d left the town “Jungkook can we please stop and rest.” He pleaded softly towards the man leading your flight.

Jungkook nodded and descended down into the woods below.  You realized you were starting to feel some aches and pains from all of the flying and fighting.  That jolted something in you and you felt your stomach drop for probably the millionth time today.  Previously, you couldn’t feel pain in the game, but that must’ve changed as the game maker said it would, making the horror of the new reality you were living in so much more...real.

When you all had landed your team searched around and found a cave.  Jungkook entered first using his night vision to scope out potential threats in the darkness. When he had yelled out the all clear, Taehyung, then you, followed into the cave. The glow from your screens giving you just barely enough light so you could see where you were going.

“What I wouldn’t give to have picked fire fairy right now” Taehyung groaned as he slumped against the one of the cold cave walls.

Jungkook thought hard for a second and took a rock from the floor and held it in his hand.  He went into his menu and did something you couldn’t quite see.  

Suddenly the rock in his hand was transformed into a glowing torch.  He smiled slightly, as excited as one could be while facing the current horrors you all were.  “Illusion magic…” He explained “I just bought a transformation spell that should come in handy for things like this, it’s a novice one so it probably won't last long but if I stick it in the ground we can gather around it for a while and get some of the heat and light.”

You smiled, grateful for his brilliant knowledge of this game.  He really had done his research before coming here.

Taehyung, Jungkook and yourself gathered around the torch trying to soak up as much heat as you could. The silence in this small circle was deafening.  The three of you mulling over the events of the day in your mind.   “I…” you break the silence, “I think maybe we should get to know each other a little better, It might make getting through this easier on me...mentally that is”

If only your mom could see you now, initiating a conversation with two people you’d only just met today, being the one to actually ask for information on their personal lives.  You don’t even know this person you are right now.  Thinking about how Jungkook changed when this all started, you realize its changing you as well.

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense, we are going to be spending a lot of time together from here on out, who knows how long until they arrest this guy holding the strings, or if they even will at all.” He trailed off then made eye contact with you, his dark eyes glowing, with the flame of the torch reflecting on them warmly.  “As you heard Taehyung say a few times my name is Jungkook, it's only fair now I know your real name right?”

A small smile formed on your lips, maybe the first genuine one you’d had tonight since the news.  “Y/N”

“Y/N huh?” Jungkook smiles back, “It suits you” you felt warmth in your chest at his words, and shyly changed the subject.

“So...I’ll ask the next question, what do you guys do for a living...back in the real world?”

Taehyung actually is the one to speak first, “I’m pretty boring, I’m an accountant and have been for a couple years now, the pay isn’t bad, so I can afford to invest in my hobbies and stuff, I like art and photography”

You were happy to hear some info on the mysterious man that had joined you earlier in the evening.  His face started out expressionless but you could see his eyes light up as he mentioned his hobbies, it reminded you slightly of how excited Jungkook had been that afternoon when explaining the details of the game to you.

“I work from home doing independent graphic design for businesses, boring stuff too I suppose, but I enjoy it” you wink at Taehyung “like business cards and things like that, so if you ever need one you know who to come to” You grinned pointing a thumb to your chest.  

“Wait til you hear what he does for a living” Taehyung’s face got colder again and actually seemed to have a slight hint of resentment in his tone.

“No. Shut it.” Jungkook snapped “I’m good on that one.” he looked away from you and over to the entrance of the cave, avoiding your confused expression

Taehyung’s eyes widened “Wait… you really aren’t going to tell her? Don’t you think she should know? It’s kinda relevant to…” He was then quickly cut off

“I said shut it. Leave it alone Tae” He glared dagger eyes at the green haired man across the fire from him.

His sharp words to Taehyung shocked and baffled you.  You hadn’t expected this to be such a touchy subject when you brought it up.  “Sorry..” You mumbled “I didn’t mean to pry too much”

Jungkook looked your way guiltily, wincing at your hurt expression.  “No, no, I’m sorry, I’d just rather it not be talked about right now okay?”

You nodded still feeling like the whole thing was suspicious.

“Sure” you looked to Taehyung now wanting to change the subject quickly “I believe it’s your turn to ask something”

“Oh alright” then he thought for a while.

You watched him as he thought and wondered what type of man he was. From your first impressions so far he seemed odd yet intriguing, similar to Jungkook in some ways but also very different, kind of quirky and quiet.

 You had a feeling he’d be the type to try and cheer a friend up on a bad day by doing a goofy dance, but then also letting them cry and pour their heart out as long as they needed.  He seemed soft and warm, and all of that was your impression of him after this whole horror was discovered.  

Jungkook on the other hand, most of your first impressions of him were erased by the tragedy that befell you all.  If you had just met him now, you wouldn’t think of him as friendly or warm.  Charming still...but not in the same way, it was in a way that slightly frightened you.  Though you knew he was doing what was necessary for the survival of you all, you kept missing smiling ‘Kookie’ from the field.

“Actually, I changed my mind, we really just need to sleep so we can get moving again as fast as possible” Jungkook shot out before Taehyung had a chance to decide on his question.

You pouted slightly, as did Taehyung.  Jungkook settled himself down into a sleeping position on the ground and fell asleep almost immediately.  He must’ve been exhausted from taking the lead on today’s plans and travels, you also remembered hearing him say he had gotten up at 12am for the premiere of the game.  ‘Damn’ you thought ‘He’s been up over 24 hours…’

He was probably right about the three of you all needing your sleep, but you were a little bummed at the same time. You really wanted to know more about your traveling partners.  You started to settle yourself down trying to find a comfortable spot to lay on the cave floor, when a soft “pst” came from Taehyung’s direction.  You turned your head to look at him in a puzzled manner.  He motioned with one hand for you to come close to him, and you did.  Propping your back against the wall to sit side by side with him.

“I don’t like how Jungkook is acting” He started in a whisper “He’s my best friend... I’ve never seen him like this before.  I understand the seriousness of what’s going on here, trust me. But...to not care about everyone else that could die in here, it’s not like him and just seems wrong.” He looked somberly at a small pebble in his hand he was absentmindedly toying with as he talked.

“I...uh don’t really know what to say” you shrugged “I only just met him today,  He seems like a good guy, he’s been kind to me.  But yeah I guess I can kinda agree, it doesn’t sit totally right with me to just leave everyone else behind struggling when we know what the strategy to stay alive is…”

Taehyung scoffed “yeah and it’s not even just that… it’s that he knows…” he stopped himself and threw the pebble roughly at the wall opposite you both. “Never mind. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’m sorry, I was just venting”

You nod and without thinking rested your head on his shoulder, heavy with the sleep falling on you.  You could feel his body stiffen slightly in a state of surprise at your touch, but he soon relaxed and set his own head on top of yours.

 “Might as well be a shoulder for each other to lean on throughout this huh? We are probably gonna need it” He sighed quietly.

You didn’t see him looking down at you. You didn’t notice how he admired your beauty and had to hold himself back from full on pressing his whole body against yours in a tight embrace.  Wanting to feel you, and have you feel him,  to ease both of your stresses from today. You definitely couldn’t tell that from his angle there was a perfect view for him to look down the front of your dress and see some of your exposed chest.

It took everything in him to pull his eyes away, he tried to just focus on the fire in front of them.  He attempted to adjust himself in a non suspicious way and he made a mental note that this game was VERY realistic in how ALL of his body parts were working.

You were at this point falling fast asleep, head still on Taehyung’s shoulder, mind finally winding down for the first time today.  Your last thoughts before your eyes shut for the night were of home. You weren’t sure if you’d ever see it again, you weren’t sure if you’d make it out of this alive. But you were sure that if you had to be stuck here, you were happy that you had Jungkook and Taehyung with you.

[raendown]

Sort of an entry for the @kakashirarepairs Bang Event. Doesn’t actually fit either of their themes but it gave me a push to write this sequel I’ve been saying I would for like two years so I ran with it. 

Also tagging @madakaka so my wife doesn’t yell at me. xD

Pairing: MadaraKakashi Word count: 7149 Rated: T+ Summary: Sequel to Chapter 88 of the Soulmate Story Collection. After countless years of waiting Madara has finally found the soulmate he was always meant for and once again begun the process of aging. But more importantly he has a chance now to experience the honor - and the challenges - of watching Kakashi grow in to a man.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Ages Turn (You Were Always Perfect)

12--

Obito’s surgery was going well and it looked like there was a large chance of a full recovery – or as full a recovery as was possible when half of one leg and a portion of the same arm were missing. Kakashi knew this only because he overheard the nurses gossiping with the assistants popping in and out of his own surgery.

It was strange being awake for this and Kakashi rather wished they would just knock him out or something. The light was too bright on his retinas, his body was nearing chakra exhaustion, and they had discovered he was unable to deactivate the Sharingan currently under inspection. He understood, however, that the medi-nin needed him to stay awake so that he could answer their questions. Not to mention they probably also needed him to stay awake to deal with the seething mass of sulky protectiveness lurking in one corner of the surgical theater.

Kakashi was still barely able to wrap his head around the fact that he’d found his soulmate. It was incredibly hard to continue staring at the people examining his eye and not let his gaze drift continually over to where Madara stood, ragged and wild, like a savage beast contained within a human shape. He was tall and even his chakra itself was loud and heavy yet Kakashi had seen a layer of gentleness in him when he’d been pulled in to the man’s embrace for the first time. Right now there was little of that gentleness as he hovered menacingly, giving the impression of a pacing cat even while staying perfectly still. His eyes followed the movement of every person near Kakashi in a silent warning that one single twitch in the wrong direction and he would act. Violently.

He appeared to be making the medical staff nervous, which Kakashi thought was rather unprofessional of them. Really, if they didn’t do anything wrong then they had nothing to worry about. Did they think themselves so incompetent?

It took another hour before he was declared as patched up as possible. Rin distracted herself from worrying about Obito during that time by basking in the praise for her field transplant, lapping it up like a purring kitten. Kakashi supposed it must be nice to have the focus on herself for once. Usually she allowed either of her teammates to stand in the spotlight and it wasn’t until today that he’d thought to wonder if she had ever minded. The moment his head was free Kakashi turned his own attention at last to the man waiting impatiently in the corner. As soon as their eyes connected Madara was moving, seeming to float across the floor as though he were a part of the gathering evening shadows. When he reached Kakashi’s side he lifted one hand, gently tracing the edge of soft white bandages.

“Are you still in pain?” he asked. Kakashi shook his head.

“I’m fine.” Madara narrowed his eyes and Kakashi huffed with as much attitude as he still had the energy for. “Fine. I have a headache but it’s not bad. It’s just because I’m so tired.”

“You should rest, Precious One.”

Kakashi’s face threatened to burst in to flames, red spilling over top of his mask. “I’m not precious!”

“You are to me,” Madara said, unrepentant even as Kakashi blushed harder.

“Well…that’s…anyway I can’t rest. I have to make sure everything goes fine with Obito.”

Madara hummed in a way that said he wasn’t particularly interested in Obito’s fate himself but that he would happily wait for anything that was important to Kakashi. The younger looked down at his fidgeting hands, baffled. They had only just met. Sure they were soulmates and even he could feel the instant connection. But to be called precious? He couldn’t imagine being precious to anyone. Even kind Minato-sensei surely saw him as a bother more often than not, or so he assumed. He’d spent enough time pushing everyone away from himself he was honestly surprised to still find himself with any friends at all.

Kakashi tried not to think about it too hard, concentrating instead on the wonderful feeling of freedom when he was finally allowed to escape the surgical theatre. Madara trailed after him as he wound through the hallways and settled down beside him when he plopped inelegantly on to one of the benches in the waiting area outside the room where Obito was being tended to. His body was tired and clambering for rest but Kakashi had only just confirmed that Obito was his friend. He wasn’t about to abandon the other boy now. Maybe leaving wouldn’t have been quite the same as abandoning him but it would have felt the same and so he stayed.

Still, it only took ten minutes for the events he had gone through to finally catch up to him all at once. Before he even had time to realize what was happening Kakashi was slipping down in to blank unconsciousness, falling sideways against Madara’s shoulder as he gave in to exhaustion at last. Madara smiled down on him more gently than most would believe him capable of. Not wishing to disturb the lad, he wrapped one arm around his tired soulmate and simply held him tightly, reaching over with his other hand to close the jaw which had fallen comically open when he slumped over without warning.

Waiting was something Madara was more than familiar with. He had done his fair share of it over the past several decades and yet he found that he had just enough patience to wait a little more. Finding his soulmate was a blessing he had long given up on and he was happy just for the chance to sit here and observe the lad.

To his eyes, Kakashi was the most perfect creature he had ever laid eyes on. Silver hair the color of the moon, skin so pale he feared it might turn translucent if it got wet, and the beginning of what would surely be a jawline to kill for once he grew in to it. From the short time they’d had together he had already seen enough hints that the boy’s personality would keep him delightfully on his toes as well. He could already tell that he would never be bored. All in all, even after only one day Madara was already confident that the wait, long as it had been, was entirely worth it.

He would need to find a way to make Kakashi understand that. The poor lad didn’t seem to have a very high opinion of himself, something Madara intended to rectify as soon as possible.

Perhaps five hours had passed by before anything significant happened. Energy sang through his veins and Madara was tingling with the need to move yet he remained as still as possible, not wanting to disturb the precious gift still dozing against his shoulder. Despite the demands of his own body he was still just a little disappointed when Kakashi was awoken by the opening of the surgery doors.

Kakashi was upright and wide awake in an instant when he spotted the doctors coming through the door. It took Madara gripping his arms to keep him upright, however, since his knees threatened to buckle with sheer relief once he heard that everything had gone well. The doctors gave them the number of Obito’s recovery room, side-eyeing Madara in a worried manner as they did so, and Kakashi took off down the hall the moment they had finished speaking. Perhaps a hundred years ago Madara might have remembered his manners and thanked the doctors for their service. At the moment, though, the only thing which mattered to him was the boy rapidly disappearing down the hallway.

 13--

Life in this future world was confusing. Madara might have been alive and well for the past several decades but he hadn’t bothered to peek in on the rest of humanity in any significant way for most of them – and he certainly hadn’t bothered to examine how day to day life might have changed.

There were so many new gadgets to play with that his soulmate merely took for granted. It took more than a week before Madara caved and asked what the white box was that seemed to prepare food in mere minutes. Kakashi called it a ‘microwave’ and started explaining something about radiation and energy transfer but Madara stopped him when he was uncomfortably reminded of his best friend’s little brother. It hadn’t helped that Kakashi sort of looked like Tobirama, his hair just a few shades darker.

Some of the other new inventions were incredibly useful, however. Madara particularly enjoyed the television box in the living room. Not so much for himself but mostly because it kept Kakashi entertained and perfectly still for hours at a time, leaving him easy pray for fingers that wanted to play with his hair or idly sketch the profile he made against the sickly artificial glow of the screen. Sometimes if he was very lucky Kakashi would fall asleep watching some terrible show and Madara would be treated with an opportunity to curl up beside him on the couch and sleep with that soothing chakra right next to his own where he could reach out when the nightmares woke him in the night.

One piece of what Kakashi called ‘technology’ that Madara absolutely did not like was the doorbell. Loud and clangoring, Madara hated the sound of it but he hated even more the horrors that always followed. Rin he didn’t mind, a calm and respectful young lady who seemed to understand how much he detested having their time together interrupted. Obito was annoying yet survivable, his brash nature offset by the periodic waves of gratitude that still popped up even now a year after Madara saved his life.

But the green one. It was the boy in green that had Madara shuddering every time his voice sounded over the incessant ringing of that hated hidden bell. For the third day in a row Madara clapped both hands over his eyes to block out the noise and glared balefully at the entrance to the apartment they shared. As a registered citizen of Konoha once again he would be within his right to make a noise complaint. It would be against his own apartment and Kakashi would be the one to get in trouble as the only name on the lease but surely he could bribe someone in to letting that infernal beast of a child suffer whatever punishment was due.  

“KAKASHI MY RIVAL! LET US TEST OUR STRENGTH ON THIS GOOD DAY!”

“If he shouts any louder I’m getting him a muzzle,” Madara grumbled, arms folding more and more tightly to his chest as his body sank lower on the sofa. Beside him, Kakashi only smiled.

“He’d probably take that as a challenge to yell just as loud with it on.”

“Ugh.”

On the other side of the door Gai banged his fist again and cried, “I HAVE THE MOST YOUTHFUL CHALLENGE FOR YOU!”

“I should get this over with,” Kakashi said.

“No.”

Looking over at him in amusement, the boy actually had the gall to smirk. “Aww, what’s the matter?” You gonna miss me while I’m out slinging boulders or whatever dumb thing he wants us to do?”

“Yes,” Madara admitted simply. “I always miss you when you are not here with me.”

“O-oh, um, okay. Well. I’ll try not to be away too long, I guess.” Kakashi flushed and practically leapt off the couch as though if he moved fast enough he could outrun his own emotional responses. Madara let him go without any further protests despite the fact that all he wanted to do was call the other back and spend the day alone together.

In general that was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

He could hardly be blamed, though. Kakashi was his soulmate and in the year since they had finally met he’d come to the conclusion that the universe really did have a good reason for making him wait so long. He would have waited another hundred years if he needed to if Kakashi was the prize at the end – although he would eviscerate anyone who dared call the boy something so demeaning as a mere prize. The point was that they were well matched in his opinion and they would only become more so as more years passed them by.

Still only thirteen years old, Kakashi held no sexual or romantic attraction for him. Madara was more than aware that many adults in the village had worried about that but the very idea was laughable. He was a child! What draw could there be for a man finally allowed to grow to twenty-one years old in a child who hadn’t seen even a quarter of the years that he had? No, the only attraction Madara felt was a bone-deep pull that told him Kakashi was precious.

Watching his soulmate leave to spend time with someone else was as hard today as it was every day but it had already been more than twelve months since they found each other and Madara was long used to the necessity of that pain. Kakashi was a young thing and desperately in need of socialization. As much as Madara wished he could, he knew he couldn’t make up for an entire social circle and so he watched with sad eyes as the boy slipped out the door to spend time with that green beast of a stretchy human. If he were so inclined he knew he could have gone along but Madara had seen quite enough of the outside world already, most of it filled with darkness and disappointment.

He was much happier to while away the lonely hours here in the place his beloved soulmate called home, watching shows on the television box that he didn’t understand and waiting patiently until the missing piece of himself came home again. Kakashi always came home again.

 16--

Three years was more than enough time to find a job and what better employment for a man of Madara's skill than to rejoin the shinobi ranks he had once commanded. So thought the walking sunshine known as Namikaze Minato, at least.

Lifting one eyebrow in blatant disinterest, Madara considered throwing the contents of his teacup in the man’s face for the sheer pleasure of watching him scream. All that stopped him was knowing this over-bright perpetual smile was somehow precious to his soulmate and that Kakashi would give him a lecture to end all lectures if he hurt this man. For as many times as he had courted with danger in his life Madara had no intentions of angering his soulmate again.

The last time he’d gone without any hugs for a solid week, not an experience he wanted to repeat.

“I am content with my place,” Madara stated firmly, knuckles white to retain their grip on the cup he was very carefully not throwing at anyone.

“You could be so much more than content,” Minato insisted. “You could serve your village again. If the history books are right then the village was your idea in the first place, an idea no one had ever dared to entertain before. Wouldn’t you like to protect it?”

“Did he really say that?”

“I’m sorry?”

Madara's grip loosened and his eyes grew distant, cup lowering to rest gently on the table. “I’m surprised Hashirama would have told anyone that. He was always fond of forgetting that an idea was not originally his. How odd…to be the subject of a history book. Suddenly I feel very old.”

“You are old,” Kakashi chipped in as he entered the room, heading straight for the fridge without bothering to greet either of them.

“Now, now, that wasn’t very nice.” Long used to his role as father-figure, Minato shook one finger in reprimand. Kakashi blithely ignored him and continued pouring himself a glass of juice.

With a deep breath Madara shook away the ghosts of his own past. “Whatever I am, I am no longer a shinobi.”

“Once a shinobi, always a shinobi,” Minato countered. “It’s in our blood.”

“Not mine; not any longer. I served my time already, Yondaime-san. When the first buildings were raised I pledged my allegiance to the first Hokage and I did my duty protecting this dream we crafted together. So many years later I should think you would be thrilled by my decision to take a seat on the council instead of insinuating that it isn’t enough.”

“You input is invaluable, there’s no one who would disagree–”

Madara cut the man off before he could go in to anything else with a sharp, “Excellent. Then it’s settled, I will continue to enjoy my retirement and a life that is finally not reliant upon any sort of conflict. You will go back to the office that was built for a bigger man than you and bother me no more about this.”

Across the room, Kakashi sighed.

“Bigger man than I?” Minato asked in a quiet, serious sort of voice. Madara was the opposite of scared.

“Hashirama was much taller,” he replied airily.

Clearly he hadn’t fooled the other man but to call him out for such a petty insult would only make Minato look even pettier. He made the very smart decision to drop it instead and turn to catch Kakashi’s attention for the real reason he’d come, something he needed clarified from the last mission his protégé had come back from.

After he had what he needed Minato declined any offers of staying for tea. He left boisterous goodbyes, his usual humor returned, and Madara made sure to stick his tongue out at the man’s back as he went out the door. Then he jerked as a pale hand swatted him upset the hand even as another one set a glass of juice down in front of him. Kakashi was rolling his eyes when Madara looked up at him with a baleful expression.

“What?” he demanded.

“Can you be a little nicer?”

“No. I don’t like him so I don’t have to be nice to him.”

“He’s the Hokage,” Kakashi pointed out. “And he’s my sensei – well, before you started teaching me he was.”

Madara looked away. “He steals attention from you that could have been mine. And time. And affection. I don’t like any of them. You should spend all of your time with me, obviously.”

He didn’t really mean that – well, not entirely. It would be nice to have Kakashi all to himself at all times but he understood that wasn’t healthy. And he could tell Kakashi knew that he didn’t mean it when the only reaction he got was a roll of one gray eye and a bony hand reaching up to tangle in his hair.

“Possessive bastard,” his soulmate accused him.

“Of you? Yes. You’re clearly the superior being above all others, can you blame me for wanting to keep you all to myself?”

Kakashi laughed and the sound cracked high and low unevenly. Neither of them commented. He was getting so big, taller than Madara already which truly wasn’t fair.  Watching him grow in to the man he was always meant to be was a bittersweet sort of honor that Madara usually chose to reminisce on when he was alone. But in moments like this when an unexpected touch left him relaxed enough to lower the very last of his guard he couldn’t help but let his mind return to the one thing that had been on his mind ever since a few months before when Kakashi had finally found it necessary to learn how to shave.

What would it be like when he grew in to adulthood and wanted his independence? How many years did Madara have left before the only precious person in his life discovered the draw of romance and sex, before he fell in love and wanted a place of his own to nurture a new kind of bond? The very thought was as terrifying as it was thrilling. Of course he would want nothing more than for Kakashi to be happy.

But what of the bond he had spent nearly a hundred years waiting for? Madara looked up at the young man who it seemed only yesterday had been a child and wondered. He wondered how much it would hurt when he was no longer the most important thing in Kakashi’s life.

And he wondered if he should start keeping his declarations to himself that Kakashi would always and forever be the most important part in his own life, that he had been years before they ever met.

 19--

Madara had a problem. Generally in the case of social issues he tended to sneak out of the house when Kakashi left on a mission and find a moment to shamefully demand that the young Rin explain to him what he should do in certain situations. Neither he nor Kakashi were very good at people things and they were both lucky to have someone patient enough to deal with the two of them, though both had sworn her to secrecy.

This time there would be none of that and without that avenue of clarity Madara found himself at an utter loss for what to do. He couldn’t bring such a sensitive issue to anyone else – didn’t even have anyone else to bring it to – but that left him with only the horrible option of figuring this mess out himself and thus he was brought back to the same conclusion every time he tried.

He had a problem. A big one.

With each year Kakashi grew older and taller, smarter and stronger. All of this he had noticed since the first day and had no problems with. It wasn’t until late in the year after Kakashi turned nineteen that Madara's traitorous mind thought to notice that his soulmate had also grown rather handsome with the years gone by. Considering that he had started aging again once they met that would make him exactly eight years older than Kakashi. Governments and courts the world over had been ruling since his own era that the time spent without aging did not make one older, only more experienced, but it wasn’t something he had thought to look in to in all the time he’d been living here in the current age. Would those around them find it wrong of him to grow attracted to Kakashi now as he grew in to adulthood?

More importantly, would Kakashi think him wrong? The idea that his own beloved, the other half of himself, the better part of his soul, could ever find something in him truly disgusting was not something he wanted to dwell on for long. Yet it seemed that he could think of little else these days.

The attraction hadn’t really started as an attraction. It had started as a comment overheard from a stranger passing them by, a young woman with little enough shame that she felt the need to comment loudly on the curve of Kakashi’s rump. Madara had glared at her until she fled and thought to himself absently that the shape of Kakashi’s rump was nowhere near as important as the shape of his beautiful heart – although he did have quite a pert little bottom. Just an innocent thought, a mere observation, but after he had noticed once he couldn’t help but notice again and again until he was forced to crawl out of his bed one night and spend a few hours sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, stolidly refusing to touch the problem that had risen in his pajamas.

Sitting awake that night had been the first time he realized he was developing what some might call a crush. A ridiculous term – what he felt for Kakashi could never be reduced to something so simple – and yet it was painfully apt as well. He was sure that if Kakashi ever found out about these new feelings he would balk and Madara would indeed be crushed.

Obviously there was no point in twisting himself in to knots over whether or not Kakashi might feel the same but oddly that was not the most difficult part of the whole situation. Rather it was the feeling that he was lying somehow by keeping this information to himself. Since they met he had been entirely honest in all facets, answering any questions Kakashi had about himself, sparing no detail even when it probably would have been healthier to do so. Now his secret burned under the bones of his ribcage. Worst were the quiet nights like tonight when Kakashi suspected nothing, leaning in to him for a bit of contact and playing absently with the tips of his fingers while they both watched television.

Madara wanted to take his hand back. He wanted to weave their hands together. He wanted to blurt out everything that was on his mind. He wanted to stay silent, bury the feelings down where even he could forget them. Inside his head was such a muddle he almost missed it when Kakashi spoke.

“What was that?”

“It’s just so obvious,” Kakashi repeated. “I don’t know why no one else can see they’re in love!”

“Who?”

“Them!” As he gestured the television screen focused in on two characters caught in a moment of ephemeral almost before someone else blindly interrupted them.

Madara cleared his throat. “You think they’re in love?”

“Duh! I mean, are we even watching the same show? They belong together!”

“Maybe they do,” Madara whispered. He determinedly kept his eyes focused on the screen to watch one of the characters get pulled away with the man she had agreed to marry several episodes ago. “But maybe it just isn’t right.”

Kakashi immediately went off on a rant about how love was always right but Madara tuned him out. It was too painful to listen to when he had no idea if Kakashi would hold to that value if he ever had it tested by discovering Madara's secret. Something things were better left to the land of make-believe. And some secrets were better dealt with by simply letting them be, he decided.

He was falling in love with his soulmate. Whether that love was ever returned was in another’s hands now and Madara would have to be grateful for what he had even if he never had more. A hard fate but, as he had ever believed, Kakashi would always be worth it.

 22--

After so many decades it felt strange to bleed again. Of all the many times he had contemplated what it be like to join the battlefields once more Madara had always assumed that it would be just like picking up an old habit, that the burn of pain would be just as easy to ignore as it had been in his prime.

It was not.

Having a sword pushed through one’s chest was never a pleasant experience but although he could say this was not the first time he had suffered such grievous wounds he could say it was the first time he had screamed. Pain flood his senses until all he could think were two singular, overwhelming thoughts. ‘I am going to die’ and ‘but Kakashi cannot’. Despite the conviction in that second thought it was harder to bring his rusty skills to bear than he imagined it would be. His arms were lead and his legs were shaking. Vision tunneled and ears hearing the ring of battle as though from underwater, it took only one more blade sinking in to the flesh of his shoulder for Madara to go down.

What a titan of history, he couldn’t help but scold himself, to fall in the first battle he joins since the fifth decade of his twentieth year. All those years spent locked away in a cave by himself had taken more of a toll than he thought. Sparring and exercise were no substitute for the true chaos of a real fight. He should have stayed with the other council members when the alarm sounded to warn of an attack on their western gate; his pride and his body would have both been spared a wound.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sound of Kakashi’s own scream as he leapt down from a nearby rooftop only to see his soulmate slumping to the ground with silver shining amongst the blood pouring from his body. And it was a lot of blood. Madara understood that his thoughts were beginning to scatter due to the loss of it all but he couldn’t help wondering if the last time he had taken a similar injury produced this much blood or if it only looked like so much because he was already covered in the lives he had taken today.

Strong hands lifted his head, soft lips against his forehead, and Madara opened his eyes to discover that he had drifted for an undetermined amount of time. The men who overwhelmed him lay in pieces to one side and Kakashi knelt on the ground with him, both eyes wide open with tears gathering in the corners.

“There you go,” his soulmate murmured in broken, choking syllables. “Hey, no, keep your eyes open. Don’t you dare. You can’t die the day before my birthday. That’s just the height of rude.”

“Always been rude,” Madara managed to get out with blood bubbling his words. A quiet sob escaped Kakashi’s lips before he wrestled himself back under control.

“Not to me. Never to me. Stay awake, come on. You’re not allowed to die.”

Madara found it in him to smile. In the arms of a loved one had never been the way he thought he would go but it was definitely much better than most of the other ways he’d pictured. Through the confusing mixture of burning and numbness he could feel Kakashi’s hands holding pressure on his wounds and pulsing chakra in to him with the brute force of someone who knows only rudimentary healing.

“You just have to hold on for a little bit more. Rin is coming this way, she’ll save you. Rin can save anyone. She has to. She has to save you.” Kakashi paused to swallow and Madara wanted to close his eyes but he didn’t want to look away from the beauty above him. “You can’t…you can’t go. I didn’t have enough time.”

When he opened his mouth Madara found there was too much blood to speak loudly enough for the other man to hear him from so far away. He gestured with one dripping hand and Kakashi bent immediately. Mentally apologizing for the stain, Madara pressed a kiss against that pale cheek he could trace the shape of with his very soul.

“Every day,” he whispered, “was a gift, my Precious One”

“Then stay awake and let me give you more gifts, damn it! No no no no no! Hey! Wake up! Hey!”

When the last of his strength gave out Madara did not fall unconscious immediately. His body slumped, his eyes closed, and no matter how he screamed at himself in his own mind he had no fight left in him to tell Kakashi that he was alright, that this was the best death he could have asked for. Instead he was forced to lie still and listen to his soulmate scream for a help he seemed to think was coming. Madara wished he could close his ears to the sound even as he cherished what he thought were the last words he thought he would ever hear his soulmate say.

 23--

“I hate you.”

Despite the venom in those words it was hard to believe in them when Kakashi voice came muffled against his chest, the length of that wiry body pressed against his own in what Madara assumed to be one of the rickety hospital beds. That certainly looked like a hospital room ceiling above him when he opened his eyes.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Madara said, filled with wonder that he was able to say anything at all when the last thing he remembered was steel through his chest. When, he wondered, had he agreed to reverse their roles? Always it had been him fretting over the day he would lose Kakashi. It had never occurred to him as a possibility that Kakashi might lose him first. The entire idea of death itself has stopped occurring to him altogether, likely a symptom of such a long life and probably something he should talk to a professional about.

He wouldn’t. But he probably should.

“No, I really do hate you. You’re a jerk.”

“What else is new?”

“I almost watched you die.” Kakashi’s voice warbled and it awoke something feral in him that wanted to fight whatever it was that had hurt this man. Except it was him. He had done that. “You owe Rin such a big thank you. I’m sending her a fruit basket every day for the rest of her life. She saved yours.”

Madara blinked at the ceiling, still a little fuzzy. “My fruit basket?”

“No! She saved your life you idiot!” Kakashi’s face was tear streaked when he came in to view, Sharingan covered but both eyes sporting deep circles underneath. He was frowning. Madara's concentration slid away from whatever they were talking about to concentrate entirely on the tragedy that was the fact of Kakashi frowning.

“You should smile,” he mumbled. Contrary to what he was hoping for, Kakashi frowned deeper.

“What part of ‘you almost died’ should I be smiling about?”

“Dunno. Like your smile. You’re very pretty.” When Kakashi’s eyes widened Madara's did too. “Oh I didn’t mean to say that. Don’t tell Kakashi I said that!”

Silence hung deep and heavy between them for a few moments.

“Alright. I won’t tell me. You must be incredibly high right now; I suppose they do have you on the good stuff. Rin said you might be a little funny when you woke up.” His soulmate sighed and ran a hand through his hair, greasy in a state he only ever reached after several days without a shower.

“It’s a secret,” Madara insisted.

Kakashi dropped his hand and cocked his head to one side. “What, that I’m pretty? I would have said handsome but…”

“No, everybody knows that!” Madara declared vehemently. “It’s a secret that I think so too. Don’t tell. I don’t want you to know because that’s…is it bad?” Were he sober he would have been utterly mortified of the small hesitance in his voice, the lack of surety that had haunted him in the first few months after they met each other when he questioned every so often if Kakashi truly wanted him there.

His question was met with a bewildered gaze. “Why would it be bad if you think I’m attractive?”

“Because then you would know.”  

“Know what?”

“That I love you.”

“Of course you love me. We’re soulmates. I love you too, obviously.”

Madara's heart leapt inside his chest with such vigor the heart monitor beside him went wild. “You love me too?” he asked breathlessly.

Before answering Kakashi narrowed his one visible eye with what looked like a great deal of concentration. As he waited Madara couldn’t help but be very nervous. Why was he not answering? Finally he sat back with a curious little hum and shook his head but before Madara could experience heart failure he muttered under his breath.

“Something tells me we’re not having the same conversation at all but I can’t say how. All you said was that y-…oh. Oh you said…Madara…you love me.”

“Yes but you can’t tell!”

“No I mean you really love me. Like you’re in love with me!”

“Obviously!” Drugs clouding his mind, the loneliness of the caves barely more than a decade behind him, Madara let slip what was probably the most pathetic sound he had ever made as the isolation and the yearning came back to him in a terrible rush. “Of course I’m in love with you! I waited so long for you and then you were there and you were perfect and I already loved you like a part of me but then you grew older and you got tall and handsome and it’s not fair! You shouldn’t get to be everything I ever wanted if I can’t keep you!”

Kakashi gaped at him.

“W-why won’t you get to keep me!?” he cried.

“Because you’re going to fall in love with someone else and make me go away!”

After nearly a solid minute of more flabbergasted staring Kakashi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he let it out and drew in another one. Madara recognized the technique he had taught his partner a long time ago for keeping himself calm when his emotions threatened to overwhelm. Only once Kakashi deemed himself calm enough to talk again did he open his eyes again and pull his face in to a semblance of a serious expression.

“That is the absolute stupidest thing you have ever said. And you once tried to convince me that wearing anything other than a fundoshi as underwear was a dishonor against my ancestors. Madara I love you too. Of course I love you too.”

“But you don’t–”

“Yes. I do. I don’t just love you, I am in love with you the same way you are in love with me. I would very much like it if you stopped sleeping in your own bed and slept in mine. I would love it if you could be sober so we could make out and be gross right here in a hospital room. Get the picture?”

Madara furrowed his brow and gave that some thought. If Kakashi was in love with him too that would solve every problem he had. For the first time in his life he would be completely happy. His smile may have been a little lopsided when it spread across his face but he was still a bit too loopy with sedatives to care very much. All that mattered to him was that Kakashi was smiling back and that Kakashi loved him.

“I like that picture,” he murmured. “You know something? You…were worth waiting for.”

“Was I?” Kakashi asked teasingly and sounding strangely out of breath.

He nodded enthusiastically to make sure his point was not refuted, not understanding that he was being teased. It felt very important that Kakashi know how grateful he was that he hadn’t given up and taken his own life. Sure he’d gone a little crazy and it had taken a while to smooth out some of his more feral edges, reintegrating him back in to society had been an adventure for every poor soul he came in to contact with for the first half a year, but in the end he’d had Kakashi and it was more than everything he had ever dreamed of.

Chuckling a little, Kakashi pulled himself a little farther up the bed so that their faces were close enough for him to count all the barely there freckles that danced along the line where his soulmate usually wore a mask. Madara liked the mask. He liked that such a beautiful face belonged only to him. The freckles were so distracting he didn’t think to question why they were getting closer and closer until-

They were kissing. Already foggy and muddled, Madara's drugged up mind emptied even further until all that was left was the perfect silence – the perfect moment of completion – of their first kiss. He whined shamelessly when Kakashi pulled away, not ready for the moment to end, and was immediately pulled in by the sound of happy laughter filling the room around them. He could live without another kiss for a few moments just to listen to that laughter. Such an incredible moment felt as though it should be marked with some kind of grand words but as he wracked his brain Madara could think of only one thing to say amidst the empty joy.

“Happy birthday,” he said. And then he was confused when Kakashi’s laughter only grew louder.

“Maa, my birthday was three days ago. You’ve been asleep for quite some time.”

“Oh. But I like your birthday. You always get older and you’ll never know what it is to wait. That’s…I’m glad that you don’t have to know that.”

At last the laughter quieted as Kakashi subsided to gift him with a very soft look. “So am I.”

“I’m very tired. Do all injuries feel like this in the future?” Madara tried to squirm but it felt as though his body were made of lead, heavy and sinking down in to the mattress. “I can understand why you don’t like hospitals.”

“You should go back to sleep. We can talk about this again when you’re not high and you actually have a chance of remembering the conversation.”

Madara nodded obediently even as his hands reached out to pull Kakashi down for another lingering kiss that made both of them give matching purrs, though his was slightly more feral. Some habits were hard to break even after eleven years of being properly socialized again. He didn’t really notice how hard the drugs were hitting again until a snort of amusement broke through and he realized that they were no longer kissing but his eyes were still closed. Trying to open them again felt like a battle when he tried and for the first time in his life he decided that he could surrender without a fight.

Something soft brushed against his forehead, a kiss of benediction, and then Kakashi’s voice whispered in the space above him, soothing him down in to the dreams that called so enticingly.

“I love you,” his soulmate whispered. “Sleep now and I will still love you when you wake again – and every day after that too.”

He couldn’t be sure if it was the sedatives or his own imagination but Madara almost thought he could feel Kakashi curling in to him once more to rest there with him. The nurses would be angry to find them like that. He didn’t care. With Kakashi watching over him it was even nicer to let go of reality for a little while, safe in the knowledge that no dream could possibly be as beautiful as what he would find when he woke again.

A future with Kakashi growing older and building a life together. For a man who had lived the same day again and again and again year after year growing old sounded like a grand adventure; he couldn’t wait to experience it with his soulmate at his side.

[shirlleycoyle]

People’s Expensive NFTs Keep Vanishing. This Is Why

Last month, Tom Kuennen, a property manager from Ontario, coughed up $500 worth of cryptocurrency for a JPEG of an Elon Musk-themed “Moon Ticket” from DarpaLabs, an anonymous digital art collective. He purchased it through the marketplace OpenSea, one of the largest vendors of so-called non-fungible tokens, or NFTs, in the hopes of reselling it for a profit. 

“It’s like a casino,” he said in an interview. “If it goes up 100 times you resell it, if it doesn't, well, you don’t tell anyone.”

He never got the chance to find out. A week later, he opened up his digital “wallet,” where the artwork would supposedly be available, and was faced with an ominous banner reading, “This page has gone off grid. We’ve got a 404 error and explored deep and wide, but we can’t find the page you’re looking for.” 

The artwork, which he expected to be on the page, had disappeared entirely. “There was no history of my ever purchasing it, or ever owning it,” he said. “Now there’s nothing. My money’s gone.”

Image: OpenSea via Tom Kuennen

Was it a glitch? A hack? Did Kuennen perhaps misunderstand how, exactly, NFTs work and how they’re stored? You can’t blame him; over the past few months, numerous individuals have complained about their NFTs going “missing,” “disappearing,” or becoming otherwise unavailable on social media. This despite the oft-repeated NFT sales pitch: that NFT artworks are logged immutably, and irreversibly, onto the Ethereum blockchain. 

So why would an NFT go missing? The answer, it turns out, points to the complex working of NFTs that are often misunderstood even by the people willing to shell out large sums for them. 

How to make an NFT disappear 

When you buy an NFT for potentially as much as an actual house, in most cases you're not purchasing an artwork or even an image file. Instead, you are buying a little bit of code that references a piece of media located somewhere else on the internet. This is where the problems begin.

Ed Clements is a community manager for OpenSea who fields these kinds of problems daily. In an interview, he explained that digital artworks themselves are not immutably registered “on the blockchain” when a purchase is made. When you buy an artwork, rather, you’re “minting” a new cryptographic signature that, when decoded, points to an image hosted elsewhere. This could be a regular website, or it might be the InterPlanetary File System, a large peer-to-peer file storage system. 

Clements distinguished between the NFT artwork (the image) and the NFT, which is the little cryptographic signature that actually gets logged. 

"I use the analogy of OpenSea and similar platforms acting like windows into a gallery where your NFT is hanging,” he said. “The platform can close the window whenever they want, but the NFT still exists and it is up to each platform to decide whether or not they want to close their window.”

So when Kuennen bought that Moon Ticket, there was no JPEG logged onto the blockchain itself. There was just a certificate, pointing to an URL. And that pointer, Clements explained, can be suppressed for a number of reasons, including a violation of a marketplace’s terms and conditions. Copyright violations and stolen artworks are a feature of the emerging NFT space.

"Closing the window" on an NFT isn't difficult. NFTs are rendered visually only on the front-end of a given marketplace, where you see all the images on offer. All the front-end code does is sift through the alphanumeric soup on the blockchain to produce a URL that links to where the image is hosted, or less commonly metadata which describes the image. According to Clement: “the code that finds the information on the blockchain and displays the images and information is simply told, ‘don't display this one.’”

“NFTs come in all different shapes and sizes,” added Mewny, a pseudonymous developer at eGirl Capital, which provides data insights into the cryptocurrency world. “Usually OpenSea will either have to render the image from on-chain metadata or retrieve it from a link in the metadata.”

But “in both cases,” he said, “it can simply choose not to.”

An important point to reiterate is that while NFT artworks can be taken down, the NFTs themselves live inside Ethereum. This means that  the NFT marketplaces can only interact with and interpret that data, but cannot edit or remove it. As long as the linked image hasn't been removed from its source, an NFT bought on OpenSea could still  be viewed on Rarible, SuperRare, or whatever—they are all just interfaces to the ledger. 

The kind of suppression detailed by Clements is likely the explanation for many cases of "missing" NFTs, such as one case  documented on Reddit when user "elm099" complained that an NFT called “Big Boy Pants” had disappeared from his wallet. In this case, the user could see the NFT transaction logged on the blockchain, but couldn’t find the image itself. 

In the case that an NFT artwork was actually removed at the source, rather than suppressed by a marketplace, then it would not display no matter which website you used. If you saved the image to your phone before it was removed, you could gaze at it while absorbing the aura of a cryptographic signature displayed on a second screen, but that could lessen the already-tenuous connection between NFT and artwork. 

Missing from the blockchain

For Kuennen, though, this explanation was wholly unsatisfactory. He was doubtful that his NFT violated OpenSea’s terms and conditions, and he received no correspondence to that effect. No email, no warning, nothing. 

He said he couldn’t even find a record of the token itself on the Ethereum blockchain, though he was able to view the transaction in which he spent $500 and bought the image. This was truly disturbing, because even if an NFT artwork has been taken down, the signature should still be available. 

We called up a few developers, and they were just as baffled as Kuennen. 

“This one’s a pickle,” said Mewny, speculating that the token hadn’t actually been minted at all, and that it would be minted “properly” at a later date in order to save on expensive Ethereum fees. It’s not unlike those cafeterias which sell customers little plastic tokens that can later be exchanged for food after queuing. Except in this case, the token is invisible, the queue never ends, and the “food” is a JPEG stuck to a wall—which abruptly disappears after about a week. 

Sam Williams, the founder of Arweave, an Ethereum file storage application, pointed to a recent OpenSea update in which the company began to mint tokens only after a sale is made to minimise losses from gas fees in the case of a botched sale.

As it turns out, however, the resolution to the riddle of Kuennen’s missing NFT record on the blockchain has to do with even more arcane Ethereum minutiae. Strap in.

NFTs are generally represented by a  form of token called the ERC-721. It’s just as simple to locate this token’s whereabouts as ether (Ethereum's in-house currency) and other tokens such as ERC-20s. The NFT marketplace SuperRare, for instance, sends tokens directly to buyers’ wallets, where their movements can be tracked rather easily. The token can then generally be found under the ERC-721 tab. 

OpenSea, however, has been experimenting with a new new token variant: the ERC-1155, a “multitoken” that designates collections of NFTs. 

This token standard, novel as it is, isn’t yet compatible with Etherscan, said Williams. That means ERC-1155s saved on Ethereum don’t show up, even if we know they are on the blockchain because the payments record is there, and the “smart contracts” which process the sale are designed to fail instantly if the exchange can’t be made. 

Take, for instance, the buyer B39A88, who last week purchased this collection by the artist “Foswell Banks.” (Who may or may not be this reporter.) The payment record is there and the art is on OpenSea. But under the ERC-721 tab the NFT tied to the artwork is nowhere to be seen. We know, however, that it is online; it’s just not compatible with Etherscan. 

Mystery solved

In the end, it turns out that the case of Kuennen's missing NFT came down to two causes: a terms of service violation on OpenSea that resulted in the image being suppressed, and an unreadable ERC-1155 standard that made it inaccessible on Etherscan. We know this because we reached out to OpenSea CTO Alex Attalah and he took a look at Kuennen’s Moon Ticket screenshot. 

“Checked our moderator logs,” Attalah wrote. “The creator made a collection, our mods saw it and initially it looked good and non-Elon related. Then they modified it significantly to look like a SpaceX collection (including an official-looking SpaceX banner), and users started to report items including 'Moon ticket #29'. Our team took it down before other users were deceived by it.”

Image: Rarible via Tom Kuennen

“Unless there's a blue checkmark on the collection, we ask buyers to do their research in our TOS," he added. "Your friend still owns the item in his wallet, though—nothing is being removed from it. Just OpenSea's TOS means we can't show it.”

Atallah recommended that Kuennen simply hook up his wallet to a different marketplace, such as Rarible, where it might not have been taken down. 

Kuennen did just that, and returned to us with something of a half-victory: A screenshot in the “collectibles” section of his new Rarible wallet showing, in place of a 404, a blank frame where the image should have been. The image was still either being suppressed or was removed at the source, but Rarible showed that the NFT existed—unlike OpenSea, which plans to replace its impenetrable 404 banner with a proper notification soon, said Atallah. 

This is all illustrative of a common problem with Ethereum and cryptocurrencies generally, which despite being immutable and unhackable and abstractly perfect can only be taken advantage of via unreliable third-party applications. 

Kuennen, for his part, seemed a little nonplussed. “While I still don’t understand what has happened at least it is still somewhere,” he said via WhatsApp. “Yay.” 

He wondered whether there was any way he could restore the image without having to gaze into the blockchain itself. Probably not. Could he, at least, somehow restore the link to the image? But where was it even hosted? Was it even hosted? None of this seemed even remotely hopeful. The best bet, he figured, would be to just resell it as it is, and call it avant-garde. 

People’s Expensive NFTs Keep Vanishing. This Is Why syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[how2to18]

The next issue of the LARB Quarterly Journal is dedicated to Genius as a theme, question, and potential problem. You can become a member and receive the print issue here.

See the table of contents at LARB Quarterly Journal: Genius, No.18

¤

  “So What” or “Kind of Blue,” […] they were done in that era, the right hour, the right day, and it happened. It’s over; it’s on the record.

— Miles Davis

I WAS IN the car when the call came: the MacArthur Foundation, requesting a confidential conversation. I was running late for a meeting and had a friend in the passenger seat, so I asked if I could call them back in one hour. I imagined the caller was requesting a recommendation or fact-check for one of their next class of Fellows — after all, they wouldn’t notify recipients of one of the most prestigious awards an artist can receive through a simple phone call … Would they?

An hour later, they proved me wrong. Sitting alone in my car, the group on the other end of the line congratulated me on being named a Fellow. The rest of the conversation was something of a blur, as if I were recovering from a lightning bolt strike. But one thing came through clearly: I had to keep the news top secret until the public announcement, some four weeks later. I could tell only one person of my choosing (my mom, naturally).

Those four weeks of secrecy were surreal. After the initial euphoria of the phone call wore off, I found myself facing an anxiety that friends who are MacArthur Fellows later confessed to sharing: Why does my work in such a niche genre — experimental opera! — merit this generosity? What makes me worthy of such an honor? And most anxiety inducing of all: how do you deal with the “g-word”? In the literature that accompanied all my post-phone call paperwork, I was happy to see the Foundation decline to use the name most journalists ascribe to the fellowship: “the genius grant.” “We avoid using the term ‘genius’ to describe MacArthur Fellows,” according to the Foundation’s FAQs, “because it connotes a singular characteristic of intellectual prowess.”

The Foundation probably takes pains to say this because so many people find something deeply uncomfortable about the concept of “genius” — its exclusionary implications and air of elitism; a Romanticism that seems out of step with contemporary (let alone everyday) life; the affirmation of canonical standards set by … who exactly? Any person mature enough to strive for self-awareness finds the moniker embarrassing, and only an unstable narcissist could ever self-apply the title without shame.

When classical music is your field, the term “genius” carries another layer of historical baggage. All of us who have dedicated our lives to an art form we see as a vital and fundamental expression of the human soul struggle against the forbidding images of the people who came before us. In classical music, those people were often tortured white men, largely misunderstood and unrecognized until their deaths. This is a mausoleum approach to music that promotes an involuntary social turn toward the reactionary, as every performance of a classic work is accompanied by a lament: “Alas, this masterpiece of a bygone era, when men were great and created like gods, only makes our own time seem all the more fallow.” It’s an attitude we wish were more of a cliché, less of a majority opinion, because the centrality of a concept like “individual genius” makes it all the harder for new voices to take risks, to experiment, and attempt to expand the definition of some of the most hidebound words in the art lexicon: “opera,” “oratorio,” “symphony.”

But I believe there is a way of thinking about genius that could powerfully encapsulate the creative process. It begins by no longer applying the term to individuals. If calling an individual “a genius” sounds pompous and grandiose, describing some thing as “genius” is commonplace. “That was a genius move,” I find myself saying too often for it to actually mean very much. Or, “I wasn’t crazy about the last season of Mad Men, but the final scene was genius.”

Moments, ideas, a single poem in a collection — a work of genius, no matter how individually wrought — is never the product of a single individual. We should stop thinking of genius as an attribute and instead start to think of it as a condition, a circumstance.

This may come across as false humility, but in fact it’s a fundamental aspect of my own creative process. As an opera director, my work is never a solitary act; it is inherently social and dialogic. One aspect of my work is conceptual — imagining the visual and philosophical implications of production choices — but even the best idea would be useless if it were not brilliantly realized by a team of specialists. Another aspect is practical — making and communicating plans down to the minutest level — but the execution of those logistics relies on a faultless chain of doers. Yet another aspect is inspirational — motivating the best possible performance, which is an inherently transitive quality. I could cheerlead until I’m blue in the face, but it won’t do me any good if the performer does not answer the call and rouse their own virtuosity.

In short, my work consists entirely of creating the conditions for genius to flow. I am not in possession of it — it resides in that flow of output, which everyone participates in. “Genius” is the oxygen that those in a shared space breathe in and are transformed by; it allows them to reach their full potential. In this way, “genius” returns to its original Latin meaning of an “attendant spirit.”

I’m currently preparing a production of Richard Wagner’s opera Lohengrin in the theater he built in Bayreuth, Germany, with a working methodology that might be considered highly anti-Wagnerian. Wagner, after all, was the ultimate Capital-G Genius, an autodidact who “did it all himself”: compose the music, write the text, direct the production, and on and on. His concept of Gesamtkunstwerk, the “total work of art,” implies a lone artist as the unifying spirit who builds worlds like a divine being. He created the template for Genius, which has since been used as a model for conductors, composers, directors, and dictators to follow — the vision (illusion?) of a solitary auteur. My team’s working process has been more multi-headed: the sets, costumes, and visual art for the production were actually developed autonomously, before I was even brought on to the project. For some directors, this is an affront to their sovereignty. I say: Why bring on board such brilliant artists only to consider them hired help? My preparations involve responding as much as creating. This is what I mean about genius as a circumstance or a set of conditions. We are not replicating Wagner’s way of working but setting up the conditions for its original genius, its truth and abundance, to flow.

When genius is considered circumstantial, it becomes contingent — precarious, rare, and magical. Nothing becomes predictable: genius is a river, and to ride it, we must build a vessel specific to the circumstances we find it in. For me, this means I will not know if the conditions for Lohengrin truly came together until the production opens this coming summer. All I can do is endeavor to use everything I’ve learned and experienced to perceive how the circumstances are speaking, and to make the passage as favorable as possible. It’s why I call directing my practice, rather than my craft.

But even for artists whose work is not as inherently collaborative as mine, the circumstances around a new creation are always their co-author. What would Hamlet be without the author’s fear of rejection by the unruly, uneducated audience that occupied the stalls? Could Ulysses have come into the world if Dublin never existed? Could The Making of Americans have been written anywhere but in Paris? And how many ingenious works were born not in the spirit of harmony with their surroundings but as a show of defiance against them — acts of protest that revealed new potentiality in a seemingly hopeless situation? Shouldn’t those original circumstances, dire as they may have been, be given some credit for their offspring?

This is genius as the spirit of circumstance — an environment, socially created, not an attribute of an isolated individual. I believe most artists who truly contemplate how and why they create ask themselves the question: “Does the work I do even belong to me?” Here I must think about Ortega y Gasset’s great study, Meditations on Quixote: “The reabsorption of circumstance is the concrete destiny of humanity […] I am myself plus my circumstance, and if I do not save it, I cannot save myself.”

When the four weeks of secrecy about the MacArthur were over, my anxiety gave way under the avalanche of joyous well wishes. Several friends and collaborators, either directly or indirectly connected to the circumstances of the works cited by the selection committee, wrote me to share their baffled reaction of self-pride: “I somehow feel as if I had won it!” Nothing made me happier than hearing this.

I spent part of the day reading about the other Fellows in my class and found myself feeling so inspired by their dedication and accomplishments in fields far removed from my own. The world seemed bigger. This may be where the “genius” moniker is still useful: by calling out examples of how and where the endlessly searching attendant spirit still visits the world. Because anyone, anywhere, can participate in it.

¤

Yuval Sharon founded and serves as artistic director of The Industry in Los Angeles. Sharon conceived, directed, and produced the company’s acclaimed world premieres of Hopscotch, Invisible Cities, and Crescent City. He also devised and directed the company’s two “performance installations”: In C at the Hammer Museum and Nimbus at Walt Disney Concert Hall. He has directed productions of John Cage’s Song Books, Peter Eötvös’s Three Sisters Cunning Little Vixen, originally produced at the Cleveland Orchestra, and original setting of War of the Worlds.

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[ericthequilter]

Today is a another special occasion. I have an interview with a woman who owned her own yarn shop. I just met Stephanie in a Fiber Artist group online…. No, it was not secret. As we all know, I’m working on a set of 4 interviews with people who have been victims of Homophobia, Racism, Sexism, and Ignorance, as these are the themes for a quilt I’m working on for the Human Rights Campaign Dinner. This is our second interview. Her name is

Stephanie Forsyth, a quilter, and let’s get to know her…

ETQ: Today we have quilt-extraordinaire Stephanie Forsyth with us, here to talk about sexism in the textile industry… Stephanie, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?

Stephanie: I’m a traditional quilter turned art quilter. I started quilting twenty one years ago when I was just turning nineteen years old. The last couple of years have been difficult health wise for myself (and my recently late mother.) My mom was a longarmer, and she taught me to piece and quilt. On top of the health/personal stuff, I’d decided I needed a break from the quilt world a bit because it is such a cutthroat universe. But I am getting back into the swing of things again (and finding maybe rather than changing, it’s gotten worse?). I found the longarm world particularly to not be for the weak hearted! I also run the blog IndieQuilter.com, and I should disclose my previous endeavor was The Fiber Nation.

ETQ: So, since you already had experience with a lot of these longarm Quilters, I take it you know what’s going on in the quilt community at the moment?

  Stephanie: Oh yes. And it doesn’t really surprise me at all. At least one of the people that were in the secret group, I had once upon a time called a friend, but that had ended long before this current kerfuffle blew up. I’ve known Karen a long time, and can’t imagine anyone wanting to be mean to her like that either. Or Jamie for that matter. I can’t name names, because I have already been threatened with litigation over this:

The name is greyed out because she’d sent that message to my business page, and then blocked me.

  ETQ: Wow, so you know the drama, and you’re right, this is not new and this is not surprising. So, this article is titled sexism in quilting. Care to share your own experience?

Stephanie: I guess my first experience with it (as far as being able to directly attribute it to sexism) actually came from other female quilters. I would often go to quilt retreats. I would get questioned what I had prepared my husband for dinners while I was away. I was actually dumbfounded and baffled the first time a lady asked me that, and I actually responded, “Why would I do that. Have his limbs fallen off?” Then I listened to them, pretty much all of them left prepared foods at home with instructions for their husband. Now, for the most part this is likely a generational gap too, as most of the women were 30-40+ years old than me., but then I also started to put some things together. The art world works like this: the majority of students that enter design/art school are female, but the majority of designers and artists that are making a living off of their studied craft are men. And the women that are there, nearly always make way less than the men in their field do!

Quilting is a female dominated industry, as far as consumerism goes. But when you start looking at the true economics, the inherent sexism (that is everywhere) is pervasive in this industry. When someone asks for an estimate on a quilt, and you tell them, they generally balk at the cost of having a quilt made. “But it’s just a quilt.” THAT is sexism. Because it is society projecting the idea that women’s work is not as valuable as other types of work. I am NOT saying that it’s just men that are causing the experience of sexism. It’s a social issue that even women (maybe especially women?) project too.

Take fabric design. Abby Glassenburg did a piece a couple years ago about that part of the industry. Women were working and designing for fabric companies without contracts. Can you imagine?

  ETQ: I actually have heard that Husband and Food argument many times. I, myself, used to work in a sewing machine shop, and once two customers got into it a heated verbal debate about feeding their husbands… One woman said she was doing something with quilting and the other woman asked “Is your husband okay with that? Who’s going to make him dinner?”. The woman responded with, “He knows how to cook, and if not, he knows how to order take out.” So I know exactly what you mean. I’ve also heard the “A Quilt Shouldn’t Cost That Much!!!” quite a bit in my line of work. I’ve done dozens of customs quilts, and it usually is women who take issue with the price. Earlier you mentioned the long arm community to not be for the weak hearted, care to elaborate?

Stephanie: The long arm community is a really great microcosm of the female culture. You’ve heard the saying that rich white men benefit from the poor fighting over the scraps??

ETQ: I have heard that before in many incarnations.

Stephanie: That presents itself in the longarm community because we are female dominated. Women are HIGHLY competitive with each other.

  ETQ: Especially when there is this amount of money in the works. there is a lot of money in long arm quilting.

Stephanie: You have companies selling machines for $30k, but then you have women quilting on them that feel they have to charge as little as possible (which is 1. because they don’t value themselves enough and 2. They want to compete with other longarmers.) This comes in when we look at what just happened in the community. This wasn’t just about politics, or racism, or any ism. This was, at heart, about quilters competing with people they see as “famous” quilters and trying to “take them down a peg” if you will.

The trouble is, the vast majority of the money in our industry isn’t in the hands of women that are doing the day to day work of this industry.

It’s going to the male own businesses, and the money trickles up to the CEOs.

Want proof of that? Look up the “advice” that once came with Singer sewing machines, that told a woman how to keep her man happy – which meant staying pretty and doing housework and dinner before sewing.

  ETQ: I know exactly the Singer manual you are talking about. I’ve seen so much animosity between different Quilters, who have different styles, perspectives, what have you, and they trash talk. They do exactly what you said. They try to take someone else down a peg.

Stephanie: Now – the ease that I feel men have in our industry that I wrote about – was actually sexism too. BECAUSE, it was women quilters who dote on men and flirt with them at shows to get close to “popular” and “famous” quilters like Jamie, and Ricky, etc.

It’s sexism that female quilters have towards men. The difference is, the men can benefit financially from that kind of sexism.

I am not BLAMING men, I want to state that. I am blaming the way our society is set up.

In full disclosure I did write a piece that spoke to my anger at the seeming ease men have compared to women in our quilt world – which I received hate male including threat and suggestions to kill myself for.

Unfortunately, I did not convey the fact that I was actually angry that it was just an extension of the systematic sexism in our culture. So it came off way too personal towards men.

ETQ: I can’t even say anything on that topic, because I’m a terrible flirt. I flirt constantly.

Stephanie: I don’t have an issue with flirting per say. But to do so in front of a male quilter’s partner (whether that partner be male or female) I find disrespectful. Especially so now, in light of hearing the conservative group say left leaning quilters can’t be good because we are sexually immoral (and make no mistake they were referring to homosexuality, because they used that word too like it was a four letter word.)

But again, we are dealing with BIG sociology ideas here. The women flirt with them, because we are taught by way of just exisiting in this society, that our most valuable asset is our body.

ETQ: We see the way these women act at shows, we see the was they act towards each other at these shows, and I’ve seen it in sewing classes. What can we do to address the problem?

Stephanie: Many of the women quilters will flirt with the male quilters, which is a two fold sexism right there, isn’t it? Against themselves, and also a sexist assumption that all the men want are to be flirted with. (Instead of I dunno, complementing them on their bad ass quilting?)

ETQ: Back to these sceenshots of these women in the group, we saw the sexism. One woman said her husband referred to everyone outing them as “sluts”. How did you respond to that?

Stephanie: The solution is the hardest part. But I always go back to education. Example: I grew up in a pretty racist area. There was racism in my home. BUT – I grew up in the 80’s when they started addressing the issue in schools. I was TAUGHT by my teachers that the things I was hearing in my community and sometimes at home was just wrong. So, I grew up with a completely different mindset.

I saw that on one of Frank’s posts I think. It’s slut shaming – and that’s not even about sex. It’s a way of dehumanizing or devaluing a woman based on the idea that she must be a whore if she disagrees with her husband.

Slut shaming isn’t about sex, and it isn’t void from this quilting culture. I have heard other longarmer’s being bashed based on who they are dating.

I have heard people say, ‘Oh, so and so quilter, she’s only getting ahead because you know she’s sleeping around with “X” male quilter.”

I kid you not. People say this shit.

ETQ: Slut shaming, in the quilting community!. I’m sure people are shocked to hear that. I’m not, but sure a lot are shocked to hear it. I’m not sure if you watched the video from Mark but he commented that not all quilters are nice. I know that to be true. Don’t get me wrong, when I started quilting I found support and love, but I also saw that I was stirring the dark underbelly. How do we have a dialogue about quilters being not nice, when so many quilters don’t even want to talk about it?

Stephanie: I think Gen Q is a good example. Especially since they are female owned! Their anti-bullying campaign is the sort of thing we need. And I’m sure many will disagree, but we need Frank’s approach too sometimes. Either way, it comes to public forums and figures exposing this behavior to the light.

ETQ: Recently, I published an article about how all these big names have fallen silent. I feel they really need to come forward and talk about it. Who is the one person, you want to see address this issue the most?

Stephanie: Alex Anderson.

ETQ: Why Alex?

Stephanie: Alex to me, is one of the “mothers” of this industry. I have no idea what her political leanings are, and I don’t care. But she’s a traditional quilter and has a wide reach of people who follow her. I know liberal and conservative quilters who like her. But it really comes down do the exposure, she’s a face in the industry that is recognizable and her speaking out against these behaviors would reach a lot of ears and eyes. I don’t know her personally at all but it seems to me she’d be a good spokesperson for anti-bullying.

ETQ: Seeing the bullying, seeing the sexism, being in this community, has it affected or influenced your art at all?

Stephanie: I’d have to say that it definitely has in ways, yes. It works it’s way in, and often times I have personal pieces that reflect the struggle, but they tend to never see the public – like this one…

It’s a sketch for a future quilt.

ETQ: I love it! Love the feathers, but more importantly, I love the message! Well, I’m sure by now people are board with us, so my last question, will be the same one I asked Frank… If you could ask the women from the group one thing, what would it be?

Stephanie: Would you have said any of those things to someone’s face, in person?

ETQ: Thank you so much for doing the interview and I really hope to have you back again soon! If you’ll come back that is…

Stephanie: I’d love to

Here are some lovely images of Stephanie’s Quilts! I love the Jon Snow one! Less than 2 months to GoT!!!

  Today is a another special occasion. I have an interview with a woman who owned her own yarn shop.