#its very quick compared to that intense musical number

[spottedside]

laying in bed thinking

[ssailormoonn]

Visit | L Lawliet

MASTERLIST ┊death note master list

WC;2.9k┊!MDNI! ┊TW; Voyeurism? Slight cock warming, quick sex, bottom L (Still the dominant power) - Top reader (the submissive), P-I-V, light thigh riding, unprotected sex, pregnancy reveal

SYPNOSIS; {Y/N} takes a visit to see L at the hotel with the task force members present because she couldn't wait any longer to see the man, she has some special news to tell him. Although, he already knows.  Cover name; {C/n} | True name ; {Y/n} {Lawliet}

The soft, ambient hum of the hotel's grand reception area envelops me as I stride confidently through the abundant space. The polished, marble tiles beneath my Mary Jane heels seem to create rhythmic clicks the further I walk, never missing a beat, my steps at the same pace.

Clad in a red slip dress that gracefully hugs my form, its silky fabric shifting sensuously with every movement. The dress, with its subtle, elegant shimmer, hints at both sophistication and a hint of allure. It drapes effortlessly a few inches above my knees, swaying with each step, drawing the eye with a subtle flirtation.

A leather coat, dark and supple, wraps around my shoulders like a protective shroud. Its rich scent mingles with the faint fragrance of my favorite perfume, more like L's favourite perfume, he prefers sweet-scented perfumes and I have found the perfect sweet vanilla perfume that I hope he likes compared to the other ones. The coat's collar frames my face, adding a touch of mystique to my appearance, while its sleek design implies both power and sensuality.

As I approach the reception desk, I can't help but notice the curious glances from other guests.

"If it's no trouble," I say, my voice carrying a tone of polite assertiveness, "I would like to get a key card for room 258."

As I speak, my {e/c} eyes lock onto hers, the intensity of my gaze reflecting my self-assuredness. I notice the subtle widening of her eyes, a fleeting reaction that suggests she might have momentarily misjudged me, perhaps assuming I was going to be a nuisance.

My request is delivered with a poised confidence that leaves no room for doubt, dispelling any misconceptions and ensuring that my intention is clear. "Um. I need you to confirm your relationship with the occupant first before I hand over the card. If you don't mind of course!"

"I'm the occupant's wife," I saw with a smile teasing its way onto my face, "I'd like the key card now."

"Yes, of course."

The elevator ride was surprisingly short and quick, considering Mr. Watari had arranged the hotel room to be on a relatively high floor. The floors seemed to glide past as the elevator ascended, and the soft, ambient music playing in the background added a touch of serenity to the journey.

The distinctive beep of the elevator signaled my arrival at the designated floor, and the doors slid open with a whisper of sound. Stepping out, I found myself in a well-lit corridor adorned with tasteful artwork and plush carpeting. I began scanning each door for the room number I sought.

My footsteps were hushed by the luxurious carpeting as I moved gracefully down the corridor. It didn't take long before I spotted the number I was looking for. Room 258. My destination was right in front of me, and I couldn't help but appreciate the attention to detail and opulence that characterised this hotel.

I slide my key card through the scan and it lets out a solemn beep as I crack open the door it seems I had not alarmed anyone to come and see who was coming through, although, they probably had cameras stationed everywhere. 

As I burst into the room, I'm immediately met with the sight of several men in sharp suits, undoubtedly the members of the task force who have been tirelessly working on the Kira case. Their presence adds a layer of gravity to the room, emphasising the importance of the mission at hand. Do I care? No.

My {e/c} eyes quickly scan the room, and I spot a solitary figure at the very end. It's L, perched on a chair, indulging in a slice of cake. 

Without hesitation, I slip off my jacket and make my way toward L's seat, my footsteps quick but controlled. In the process, I toss my leather coat to one of the task force members, who gasps in surprise at my unexpected and swift action. The room falls briefly into a stunned hush, the abruptness of my entrance leaving an indelible impression. 

I turn my head to address the young man who's speaking muttered something, noting his light brown hair and honey-colored eyes. This must be Kira, the one they've been pursuing so relentlessly.

"You can't just come in here and run over to Ryuzaki, we don't even know who you are," He says.

As the young man with light brown hair and honey eyes holds the back of my dress, I feel his firm grip preventing me from moving any closer to L. 

With a momentary pause, I assess the situation, understanding the need to establish trust and credibility with the task force before I can approach L further as they obviously do not know who I am. I let out a sigh.

"L, did you not tell them who I am?" I say crossing my arms, "I feel offended. And you, Kira. Are you holding me back because you want something from me? I didn't say yes. You can't shove tea down someone's throat if they don't reply or say no."

"My son is not Kira," A man peaks up.

"What are you talking about," Kira replies.

"She speaks about consent in the context of tea," L says while chewing on his strawberry cake, "Anyways, {C/n}, what are you doing here? I thought I told you not to come until the investigation is over."

"I missed you," I say, "I'm sure you knew that."

"I did."

"So, that leads me to come back to you," I say slapping Kira's hand off the grip on my dress.

"It doesn't matter, you aren't safe here," L says sternly, "Leave."

"I don't think I've heard Ryuzaki so...." Another member of the task force says this time in a younger voice.

"No," I say childishly.

"You are not safe here, {C/n}" He says through another spoonful of cake, and my mouth drops.

"Kira!" I say pointing back at the light brown-haired teen, "Doesn't my name! So who cares!"

"I care, now leave."

"No."

L's annoyance becomes palpable as he lets out an exasperated sigh. He places his plate, which once held a slice of cake, onto the table in front of him, and the clank it makes upon contact with the surface resonates throughout the room. His frustration at the disruption is evident, and it seems he's eager to address the situation and clarify the reason for my sudden appearance.

"Could everyone leave." L's command is authoritative, and the members of the task force obediently comply, exiting the room, and leaving us alone.

With the others gone, L remains in his seat, not making any move to approach me. It's clear that he's feeling a sense of unease, a rare vulnerability that he allows only in my presence. The facade he wears in front of the world drops, and he knows he can be more himself when we're alone together. This unspoken connection between us is a testament to the unique dynamic of our relationship and the trust we share.

I walk confidently in front of L, taking a motherly stance with my hands on my hips as I peer down at him. His gaze remains downcast, and he slowly places his feet on the floor, unfolding from his characteristic egg-shaped sitting position.

As I stand before him, a few moments pass, and then I feel his hands gently rest on my waist. My heart quickens, and I shiver at the intimate contact. L buries his head into my dress-clad stomach, seeking comfort and closeness.

As I wrap my arms around L, pulling him in closer, he responds by encircling me with his own arms, drawing me near. My fingers gently trail through his obsidian hair, and I feel a soft groan escape his lips in response to the sensation. His hands tighten around my waist, and I can't help but chuckle at his endearing reaction, knowing that even in the midst of the most challenging cases, he still wants to have my affection no matter what protests he makes.

"You've been acting moodier lately." L's observation about my moodiness doesn't go unnoticed, and I frown in response, not quite ready to share the news or discuss my feelings.

"Whatever."

L doesn't press the matter further. Instead, he gently pulls away from our close embrace, leaning back into the chair. He pats his lap, and I understand his unspoken invitation. Without hesitation, I eagerly sit on top of L, straddling him, finding comfort and solace in the unique connection we share. It's in these moments of intimacy that we can find solace and support amidst the challenges of the Kira case.

"I missed you," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion as tears welled up in my eyes. The weight of our separation had been unbearable, and now, in this moment of reunion, all I wanted was to hold him close and feel his presence once again.

"I know you did," L says, his voice filled with warmth and understanding as he wraps his arms around my waist. The weight of our separation is unbearable, and in this moment of reunion, all I want is to hold him close and feel his presence once again.

"Why am I crying?" I manage to say, my voice trembling with emotion, tears welling up in my eyes.

"You must be stressed about something, what is it?" L asks, his concern evident in his eyes. His words carry the longing, emptiness, and joy of seeing me.

The truth is, the rawness of our separation has left me emotionally vulnerable. The longing to be with L, to feel his touch and hear his comforting words, has taken a toll on my emotional well-being. It's a natural response to crave that deep connection, to feel the warmth and love that L brings into my life. The day I found out about this... It was Near's intuition that mentioned it, I didn't even think of a possibility that it happened.

I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself, and finally manage to say, "It's just the weight of missing you, L. It's been unbearable and something else."

L's eyes soften, and he pulls me even closer, his embrace providing a sense of solace and comfort. We may have been physically apart, but our bond has remained strong, bridging the distance between us.

"Take your time," he whispers, his voice filled with understanding. "I'm here for you now, and I'll always be. Let yourself feel, and know that I'm here to hold you through it all."

And at that moment, as I let myself surrender to the overwhelming emotions, I realise that the power of our connection transcends physical presence. It is in the tenderness of L's embrace, the reassurance in his voice, and the unconditional love we share that I find solace, healing, and a sense of home.

My whispered words carry a sense of longing and urgency as I address L. I reach out and gently drag the collar of his white tee to the side, exposing a patch of his skin, and press my lips against it. L's response is a soft sigh, his reaction to my touch evident.

"I want you," I murmur, my voice filled with desire and need. "It's been too long, and I can't... I can't function without you."

Our connection goes beyond the professional, and the intensity of our bond is underscored by the intimate moments we share, especially in the midst of such a high-stakes case.

"You're not well, are you sure you don't want to tell me anything before we continue?" He asks in a soft tone rubbing the back of my head as I continue to trail kisses around his neck.

"After," I say desperately, "Please, after. Want you now."

"Whatever you want, love."

I shift myself so I'm perfectly aligned to where his bulge is proding beneath the fabric of his jeans and I grind myself down on him causing a breathy sigh to leave my throat at the relieving action. His grip turns to hold my hips before dragging his hands up to my waist, bunching up the silken fabric to my waist and I whimper when he plays with the hem of my underwear.

"You really are that needy, love," He whispers against the shell of my ear and I bury my head in the crook of his neck.

"Stop," I mumble against his skin to stop the teasing as it's making a deep flush rise against my cheeks.

I feel his two skilled fingers drag my underwear to the side and drag them down my slit causing me to let out a moan at the feeling. "So wet already," He comments and I disregard the comment as I whimper in response instead of answering.

His two fingers slide in my heat and I nibble on the flesh of his neck and L groans in response. I grind myself down on them causing a string of moans to leave my mouth. He curls his fingers and I grind myself back and forth against his long digits. I felt a coil in my stomach tighten and my whimpers became louder.

"Ngh, L," I whimper out as I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, "'M gonna- gonna cum."

"You're doing so good for me," He praises, "Come, {Y/n}."

My juices spill over his fingers, I let out an exasperated sigh and arch my back into him. "Do you want more, my love?" He questions with a soft voice and I hurriedly nod in reply.

I fumble to get the zip to his pants down and I let out a whine as I struggle, L rubs the back of my neck to calm me down as I am being very needy in wanting him, to show me that he isn't going anywhere.

I finally unbuttoned and put down the zipper, he lifted his hips to help me pull down the fabric to his knees and I saw the growing bulge beneath his underwear, my mouth watered at the sight as I couldn't wait to have him inside me rearranging my insides. I pull down the fabric of his boxers and his length springs out and hits his stomach that was covered with his white shirt, L lets out a hiss at the action.

I hold the base of his length and give it a light squeeze while a breathy moan leaves his mouth as I trace the veins on the underside of his cock with my thumb. My hand travels up and down his dick rubbing the strings of pre-come that leaks from him, the moans continue to slip out of L's mouth.

I drag my body up once more while aligning myself with him and draping his swollen tip against my folds. A moan leaves my throat and a hiss respectively leaves his own. I sink myself down on his length and we both hold onto each other tightly. I messily pressed my lips against his and the ecstasy within my body continued to grow as the pleasure grew.

In a moment of unspoken desire and passion, I lean in closer to L, my intent clear in my eyes. Our lips meet in a messy kiss, and the world around us seems to fade away. My heart races, and a cascade of emotions courses through me as I press my lips firmly against his. The taste of the moment lingers on our tongues as move my hips against his. 

His cock hits that soft gummy place within my walls making me whimper against the kiss with L's groans reciprocating the pleasure. His hands massage my waist as he helps me carry his weight as I ride him.

"Hah~," I moan pulling away from his mouth as I feel him guiding my hips faster I bury my head within his neck and I nibble on the flesh causing L to tilt his head back at the sensation. I then realised that I had left a mark and that he'd have to cover the red splotch up but that didn't matter. I was so close to coming that my whole body felt weak underneath his warm touch.

I started to chant his name in desperation of wanting to come and I felt his hand press against my lower abdomen making me let out a high-pitched whine as the pleasure coursed through me even higher. "Come on, you can do it," L reassures me, "Come for me, love."

I let the coil in my stomach release and I felt L's own come spill within me that carried a moan from him. I let myself slump against him with his cock still sitting within my gummy walls. Nuzzling myself closer to him he wraps his arms around me. "What did you want to tell me?" He questions delicately against the shell of my ear making me shiver.

"I was visiting the orphanage because the kids missed me and Near asked me something..."

"Yes, love? What was that?"

"You probably already know but I took a test only because the poor baby Near was worried about me," I say remembering how embarrassed Near looked when he asked if I was pregnant, "It came back positive..."

"I already knew that you were pregnant, love. It was just a moment of time before you realised yourself," L says rubbing the back of my head reassuringly.

"You're not mad, are you?"

"I could never be mad at you, my love."

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MASTERLIST ┊death note master list

[smellslikemultifandomimagines]

Hi idk if you’ve ever done a nsfw alphabet with brett but if you have could you do one for perish if you write for him idk if you do or not I’m kinda new here so I don’t know much

pairing: jordan parrish x fem!reader

warnings: smut → NSFW alphabet

headcanon 🖤

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• ☾ ☼ ☽ •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

smut night has finished for the week - thanks for participating!

requests are open🖤

request guidelines✨

🌻masterlist🌻

smut night masterlist 💦

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jordan is literally the softest person in Beacon Hills

so you can expect the aftercare to the most softest, cutest thing ever

he'd so so caring and tender to your body

would run you baths, take your pain away

literally would be so soft

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

your lips!

he loves kissing them every chance he gets

would love feeling them graze over his chest and stomach, and especially his cock

would love how they fall agape as you let out moans

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

i think parrish is someone who doesn't expect you to cum all the time - some people can't and he understands that

though when it happens, it fills him with such pride bc he did that to you

he would try and get you to cum, but wouldn't push it if you can't

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

honestly i think that because his senses are heightened, it would drive him feral when he can smell the arousal on you

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

since he is a bit older, i'd say he's had his fair share of experience with different women

though this makes him a better lover though bc he understands that everyone and their bodies are different, so what might feel good for one partner might not feel good for another

in that respect, he's very quick to learn what you like and don't like

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

both of you sitting of your knees as he fucks you from behind

its just so intimate to him and he and hold you tight against him

also gives him easy access to your breasts and clit lol

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i think talking is part of his charm

and honestly one of the best types of sex are when you're both giggling and having such a good time together

like it's not much, but it makes such a difference when you compare your own previous partners

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

that man is groomed to the max

i think parrish is a person who really cares about how he looks, especially when it comes to body hair - i mean have you seen his freshly shaven face ahaha

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

super super cute!!

parrish always wears his heart on his sleeve and would take extra precautions when trying a new position, stopping periodically to ask if you're okay

he'd be so cute during your first time together as a couple too!

i mean going all out - rose petals scattered all over the apartment that lead to the bedroom and was all over the bed, candles, soft music in the background

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Parrish would only jack off when he's been away from you for a while and knows he's not going to be able to visit you anytime soon

you'd both be into phone sex which i think keeps the intimacy alive too

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

would 100% have a praise kink for either one of you - would love praising and being praised

fucking in his uniform

a little bit of dry humping too lol

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the shared bedroom

couch

kitchen

anywhere in the house honestly

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

omg when you're so good to him - like taking care of him when he's had a rough day at work or dealing with hellhound/general supernatural stuff

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

probably anal tbh

no intense kinks for parrish - i think he believes sex is between two people and not with toys lol

parrish isn't into public sex - like i said, he loves the intimacy of just you two so having someone walk in would totally ruin the moment

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Parrish loves going down on you - having you pull his hair, whimper praises and soft curses

he loves treating you like royalty and giving you all that you deserve

but my god he loves when you go down on him too

the way your lips wrap around his cock makes his eyes roll in the utmost pleasure

he'd cum pretty quickly too - you'd simply feel too good

especially when you deep throat him lol

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

i think he's more slow and sensual

like i said before, parrish loves taking his time with you

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not really actually

parrish likes to take his time with you

i think the only exception would be before work for either one of you lol

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

yes and no

yes in different positions and power balances

but no with toys with any overboard kinks really

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

i think it's about 1-2 rounds, depending on how much you can take

he could go for more, but he doesn't want to hurt you so he keeps it at a reasonable number of rounds lmao

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

probably not tbh

i think sex with parrish is more about the two of you rather than with toys - he likes the one to get you off

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I think he can be a tease sometimes, especially when it's been awhile since the last time you guys had sex

like i said, he loves taking his time with you and that can mean teasing the hell out of you sometimes

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

You know what, I think Parrish is really vocal

I don't think he'd be quite even from the beginning and it's his way of letting you know that he's enjoying it - especially when you give him head

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Seeing you in lingerie he's just like :o

he wouldn't have a preference as to what type - literally anything you wear would be perfect

but if he had to pick at least one of your lingerie sets, it would definitely have to be a body suit

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

average length but girthy ya know

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Parrish is a busy guy and he's having to pay attention to so many things from his work to the supernatural world

but 😗☝🏻

when you're around, his attention is on you lol

i don't think you'd have sex pretty often so i suppose just average?? idk

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

pretty quickly aahah

i think he'd exhaust his energy and cuddle into you

it wouldn't take long for his eyes to fall heavy and eventually fall into a deep sleep lol

[ghirahimbo]

"2. Suddenly pulling them in for a dance." - Ghiralink, perhaps? (Sorry incase that's not really your thing anymore! Feel free to pick another ship <3)

Yeah… yeah, that’s still my thing T-T lol, thanks for the prompt! This one was fun 😊

Post-canon, vague master/sword AU, ghiralink-ish

—

The spirit maiden danced with a grace befitting her divine origins, little though Ghirahim liked to admit it. Moving so lightly through the lively steps that her feet might have been floating, he could almost believe that she still bore Hylia's feathered wings on her back, tucked somewhere outside of physical sight. Link danced like a log in comparison—though on second appraisal, Ghirahim had to give him more credit than that. The boy wasn't stomping on Zelda’s toes, after all, unlike Fledge dancing nearby with poor Karane. Link's style consisted of accuracy without artistry, though with enough enthusiasm to almost make up for it. How odd that all his light-footedness seemed reserved for the more violent dance of swords, where he moved nimbly enough to keep even Ghirahim on his toes… a nod to his true calling, perhaps?

Privately savoring the notion, Ghirahim lounged against the wall of a newly erected building, only half noticing the wary looks he received as he watched the festivities unfold. These Skyloftians-turned-surface dwellers still feared him, despite the months he had served already as their hero's sword—a primal fear, perhaps, unless that fool Groose had secretly run off at the mouth. Link and Zelda had agreed from the start that certain aspects of Ghirahim’s past were best kept hidden, his previous master and role in Zelda’s disappearance highest among them. He had certainly not done anything overtly threatening to the residents of this tiny, budding village—and yet, they feared him.

The whole situation fell well beneath his notice, though he’d caught Link frowning over it more than once. Link was frowning at him now, Ghirahim realized, directing it over Zelda’s shoulder as they turned in sync, and he met it with a scornful expression of his own. What had Link expected him to do here tonight? Mingle?

The music finally paused as the lively song wound to its end, prompting the dancing couples to bow and switch partners (in Karane’s case with remarkable alacrity). Link leaned in towards Zelda, whispering something in her ear before vanishing into the milling throng, and Ghirahim half raised an eyebrow. Likely he'd just gone for more food, though Link might have finally tired of this tedious celebration. Compared to the more demonic gatherings Ghirahim knew, this less raucous human affair contained a disappointing (if expected) lack of bloodshed—though of course, those had often erupted haphazardly in the throes of battles won. Not like this one, which commemorated nothing more than the laboriously slow growth of food and its eventual harvest.

Another song started up, slower than the last but no less cheerful. Fledge had moved on to his next victim, some girl in a bandana and horrifically flared pants whose name Ghirahim had never bothered to learn. Zelda had produced a harp, wandering to join the musicians with plucked out harmonies that flowed from her fingers with ease, and Link…

Ghirahim frowned when Link’s bobbing green hat still had not emerged among the dancers. The food tables remained conspicuously absent of green, as well. If Link thought he could escape on his own while leaving Ghirahim here waiting—

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him from his perch by the wall, and if he hadn’t had that hand memorized from the hundreds of times it had gripped his hilt, Ghirahim might have expressed his surprise in regrettably drastic fashion. Instead he let it pull him through the crowd until they reached their apparent destination, and it slid down his arm to grasp his own blackened hand, while another reached up to rest lightly on his shoulder.

Ghirahim blinked. Link smiled blandly up at him.

"Care to dance?" he asked, a bit too late for etiquette's sake considering that the dance had already started. Link's cheeks shone pink from the exertion of tromping around with Zelda, and his messy hair, mercifully absent the hat that always covered it, felt deceitful in how easily it had disguised his presence. Sweat clung to the base of those dark blonde locks—the reason for the hat's removal?

Ghirahim's legs moved automatically through the simple steps as he considered his young master, who made a brave attempt at leading with that unfortunate portion of his usual grace.

"Presumptive of you," he murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the din of laughter and music. "Any particular motive for such impertinence?"

Link had the nerve to look confused.

"You like to dance," he said, as if that was answer enough. Perhaps it was. Link wore his cheerful naiveté like a cloak sometimes, and even Ghirahim couldn't always sort out how much of it was real, and how much artifice. "Someone had to ask you?"

The hint of a question?

A number of potential reactions ran through Ghirahim's mind, considered and discarded in quick succession. He could extract himself easily enough, leaving Link clutching nothing but vanishing diamonds. He could also stand stubbornly still, refuse to dance, and let Link discover just how easily he could drag around a sword that didn't want to move. He could reject Link quietly—dramatically—at knifepoint, even—but…

A quick glance around revealed their audience. Though most had the sense not to stare openly, nearly every couple surrounding them shared the same nervous, almost scandalized smile, as if they feared the consequence of making their amusement too obvious. The spirit maiden in particular watched him closely, keeping a pointed eye on him over her harp though her lips shared the same bland smile as Link.

There would be no consequence, of course—Ghirahim wouldn't risk this precarious arrangement with Link simply to save face in front of some humans—yet neither could he let anyone think him scared off by something as innocuous as an invitation to dance. The steps themselves were straightforward enough, easily gleaned through his brief time spent observing… and as Link had pointed out, he did enjoy it.

His lips curved into a grin.

"I accept your request," Ghirahim said, and the moment Link started to relax, added, "but I will not be led."

Link's eyes barely had the chance to widen before Ghirahim spun him around, reversing the position of their hands.

Backpedaling to match Ghirahim's smooth advance, Link's startled face swiveled between watching Ghirahim and his own two feet in a desperate attempt to avoid being trampled. Lack of practice in this secondary role made him even less sure of his steps than before, though Ghirahim managed to steer them without incident through the greater pattern of dancing couples, humming in amusement as Link fought with surprise against an unexpected dip backwards.

"Come now, Link, have I ever allowed you to wield me with so little poise?" he hissed, the tip of his tongue whipping out mockingly as he raised Link back up. "If you favor only my sword with your attempts at finesse, I will begin to be jealous of myself."

Face red now from more than mere exertion, Link opened his mouth as if to protest—and closed it again, his lips forming a thin line of determination. An abrupt change swept over him, as drastic as if a switch had been pressed, and his stance shifted along with his center of gravity. Back straight with just a hint of fluidity, eyes blazing with the same defiance that had caught Ghirahim’s interest from the very start, Link danced, the superior reflexes he showed in battle at last made manifest.

Ghirahim's own eyes glowed. So Link had finally remembered that he held a sword.

"You've been holding out on me," he whispered, uncertain if Link could hear him or not. Experimentally, he directed Link with a light hint of pressure through a gliding spin, and found him as responsive an opponent as ever. "I should punish you for that."

Except that Link had held out on the spirit maiden first, and only for Ghirahim revealed his true potential. There was a pattern to that, he decided, glancing once more at Zelda and relishing in her look of surprise. Her chosen hero could never have defeated Demise without trying himself again and again on Ghirahim's sword first, and he hoped at times that his necessity haunted her.

The music picked up in pace and volume, the steps coming quick and intense. Link said nothing—he never did in the midst of battle, as silent as stone and just as unyielding—but perspiration broke out in beads along his face, trailing down the edge of his jaw. His hair swept and stuck in strange patterns across his forehead, disheveled but not wholly unappealing. Link might still have lacked a certain flair to his movements, too direct and to the point for Ghirahim's taste… but style could be taught. Idly, Ghirahim considered other dances he might teach this man if he was amenable, of perhaps less wholesome origins—dances whose quick, subtle movements pushed the bounds of even his own abilities, requiring strength in muscles Link likely didn't know existed. What was a dance without challenge, after all… without something a little more physical?

For now they moved through this tamer dance of Hylia's people, both withdrawing and rejoining as the pattern of steps demanded. The outer world fell away as their attention narrowed in on small details—the clash of eyes and brush of skin—blue on black and flushed tan on cool, steely gray—

And the music ended in a moment of silence that rang out unexpectedly. Laughing chatter burst to life, as abrupt as it was unwelcome, and the spell between them broke. Panting, looking slightly dazed, Link gave Ghirahim a bow that he returned with almost his usual smoothness, convincing himself that he had not been nearly so affected.

"Satisfied?" he asked softly, with the hint of a smirk—and was taken aback by the positively sly look Link gave him in response.

“Well…”

Brushing his hands together and placing them on his hips, Link gave a show of looking around meaningfully, and only then did Ghirahim realize how the tenor of the voices surrounding them had changed. Those glances sent his way felt more curious now than wary, and the bubble of instinctive fear surrounding him had all but vanished—his presence made human in their eyes at last by his part in the harvest dance.

"It's a start," Link decided, wiping sweat from his brow and settling his pointed green hat at a jaunty angle on his head. "I’m done dancing for the night, but you keep going if you want. You looked like you were having fun.”

With a wink, he turned to leave, and Ghirahim couldn't help but admire his exit. Link really was as conniving as any demon he’d ever met at times, though to completely different ends.

A nervous cough caught his attention, and he glanced down to see Fledge looking up at him anxiously. From the flurry of motion around them, it was time to switch partners for the next dance.

“U-um,” he managed to squeak out. His face, torn between pale white and deep red, had settled on both in splotches. “Everyone else is, so do you… I mean, are we supposed t-to…?”

Ghirahim snapped, leaving Fledge gaping at vanishing diamonds, and as he left caught the edges of Link's laughter. Conniving indeed, he thought, though at least in that as in so much else they were equally matched.

[i-need-air]

King & Queen. – Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader.

Summary: Fluff, Baku being extra while confessing, social media shenanigans.

Word count: 1784.

It's 4 AM, I'm a mess but I needed to get this off my chest. I'm testing the waters with my writings, it's been forever since I wrote anything and I wanted to throw myself a little bit into the fandom I've been obsessed with for the past months. I do hope you enjoy it. ♥

Bakugou Katsuki took pride in having such a large following online. Ever since the first year UA Sports Festival, both his Twitter and Instagram accounts got thousands and thousands of followers, mostly crushing over him and others just hating on him, and in both ways he loved the attention.

The Aesthetics™ he had were always on point and his Twitter was just filled with one sentence tweets, re-tweets of famous heroes, a somewhat dry, dark and/or sarcastic meme from time to time, only and only if it fit (again) his aesthetics. Sometimes he'd engage with the Bakusquad, specially Kaminari and Mina, both very active users, and [Y/N], answering to her tweets with a one word roast and little more.

After the second year UA Sports Festival though? His social media reached the 100k mark, skyrocketing into a small celebrity as he won the first place for two years in a row. But what made him reach such a large number was the way he won. Their battle for the first place was insane, such a difference compared to what he had to deal with Todoroki in the past. [Y/N] put an amazing fight, there's no doubt to that, but the woman overused her quirk and he knew her weakness, mostly since he sometimes (rarely, almost never, pft) observed her train with Icy-Hot or Deku. It was a spectacle to watch and it has even been televised for a whole week afterwards, critics applauding how promising UA's students were. And that's how it all started.

The shipping.

Images and even fucking edited music videos of their fight were everywhere. It was so obvious both of them enjoyed the fight, the little grins they shared as they attacked each other, the small comments both threw and the camera and mics everywhere picked, the look Bakugou Katsuki gave [Y/N] when she kicked his ass. Such an adoration, followed by his insane grin, ready for a challenge. The look [Y/N] gave him, as he took the first place medal with pride from Endeavor, thriving at the applauses from the public. Stars were put to shame compared to the sparks in her eyes. Oh, and the moment their orbs made contact exactly after that? The chemistry.

Bakuy/n was one of their names online, apart from variations of their hero names mixed together. The fandom was slowly picking up a name, mostly going with the first mentioned. And Katsuki? He was fucking aware of everything. Her social media was on radio silence, but this event made him think. Actually think, not half-ass an idea and just throw himself head on into it. And the conversation he overheard was just making him plot now.

Mina and [Y/N] were actually discussing this exact topic. The pink girl was thriving for it. Her Twitter account was now filled with subliminal messages about love and it made her poor friend anxious. Basically because this issue hasn't been addressed at all with Bakugou and she planned to keep it that way. Yet Mina, sweet, adorable, loving Mina was just pressing on it really badly, but thankfully she never did when both sides of Bakuy/n were in the same room/conversation.

"Isn't it like so romantic?" Mina's eyes shined, hands clapped, her gaze looking somewhere in the distance, daydreaming.

"No, it's not, it's weird..." her [h/c] haired friend answered, falling more into the couch of their living quarters, trying to hide from the world.

"It would be if it wasn't obvious you pin for each other!"

"Oh, god, please stop saying that."

"You're not denying it though!"

"MINA!"

Laughter coming from the pinkette filled the room as the blond man decided not to interrupt and leave, small grin on his face as [Y/N]'s groans just told him what he needed to hear. She definitely did not deny the attraction and whatever chemistry they had.

Which leads to the current situation.

The girl was sitting in the cafeteria, waiting for Ochaco and Mina to come around, phone in hand as she scrolled mindlessly through Twitter, watching as her most recent tweet, the first one in ages, was getting attention. She giggled at Denki's stupidity, as he just posted a selfie of himself drenched in Diet Coke clearly in the UA bathrooms. Checking his replies she saw the boy she's been [kinda, lowkey, just a lil bit] trying to avoid for the past days.

[@BakugouKatsuki:]

"Dumbass."

[@MissPinky:]

"So THAT'S WHY U NEEDED MINTS!?!!!!!?? 🤣

She giggled again, entertained by her friends when her interactions just exploded. App actually crashed as she blinked while munching on some french fries dumbly.

As she tried to open her app again, both her friends landed by the table, joking about Kaminari and his never ending stupidity. Notifications popped again and again, legit confusing the girl to no end, making her ignore her two friends as they asked her what was going on, mainly because of her expression.

"The hell...?" she muttered, throwing the phone down while Twitter took its sweet, sweet time to load and open and just as she opened her mouth to answer Mina, she made eye contact with some very intense red eyes.

Clasping her mouth shut and ignoring Ochaco as she took [Y/N]'s phone to see what's going on, the girl could only focus on Bakugou, sitting a few tables away, facing her direction. She almost shivered in place under the intensity he was giving away, although his position was laid back, phone in one hand, chin in the other. And, again, gaze on her. He barely even blinked, his neutral expression giving nothing away and she knew she was blushing. Why was she a blushing mess under his gaze? Well, answer was obvious for everyone, even the whole internet now, but oh, she wished Bakugou Katsuki wasn't that sharp. Who are we kidding though?

Ochaco started to shake her out of her daze, interrupting the intense eye contact battle as she shoved her phone in her face.

"Oh. My. God." She muttered, stuttering her following words "Please, look at this, I can't believe it... Mina, check Twitter."

"If Kaminari threw Diet Coke and Mints in one of the bathroom toilets to 'experiment', I'm done with him." Mina responded but froze in place, just as [Y/N] looked away from the explosive boy. "Wait... WAIT!" her eyes almost popped out of her skull. "WHAAAAAAA–?!"

On the screen of her phone was the profile of the guy she's been crushing for... A year now? The guy that at first ignored her, then screamed at her, then beat her ass in training, then got his ass beaten by her, that scoffed at her shitty jokes, that actually chuckled at her shitty jokes, that studied with her, that smiled at her... The guy that complimented her when her quick improved. The guy that took her opinion seriously even when acting like he didn't care. The guy that stole her heart when he showed little glimpses of his complex persona only to her. The guy that fucking retweeted:

[@onlybakuy/nhere:]

"King & Queen."

And a picture attached, them shaking hands after their battle, ready to go get prepared for the podium. Bloodied, sweaty, yet both smiling at each other.

"I can't believe this–[Y/N]–" The brunette started rambling and fangirling besides her, but... With a careful glance, she peeked under her eyelashes to look at the boy again, her heart almost stopping when noticing he was still observing, small grin on his face hidden behind his hand, perfectly angled for her to see. "There's another one!"

Everything started to make sense, as she quickly checked her notifications to see the Internet™ just going crazy over that retweet. People started mass-following her, fans and stans just living for it, tagging her username with a screenshot of the retweet and now it hyped up again with... pictures of his profile? Did he change his description? He... changed his description. While there was absolutely nothing in there, now there was one single word. King.

Her eyebrows just rose so high her forehead hurt, the 3 braincells that were still somehow functioning were catching up to what the hell was going on and now she was positive, 100%, without a doubt that she was blushing like a mad-woman, a smile forming on her lips as she hit the retweet button on the same tweet he did and instantly opening her profile to edit.

Both her friends were freaking out by her side, accusing her of being way too calm in this situation, to explain but [Y/N] knew she couldn't utter any word, or even look up at them or at him. If she did, she'd break the spell, the moment, and as she deleted her description and only wrote a single word in her profile, her smile only widened. Hearing Mina screech after seeing her retweet, the girl giggled like an idiot.

Bakugou Katsuki was loud, brash, maybe a little bit emotionally constipated, rough around the edges, incredibly smart, observing, caring, awful with words but straight to the point with actions. And he was, without a doubt, fucking extra when doing things.

As she pressed the button Save on her profile, she caught him looking at his phone, being patted on the back by Kirishima, that somehow appeared in the frame yet was so distant in her field of vision as only he mattered at the moment. Waiting his reaction patiently and waiting for the internet to start freaking out again, her chest was hurting from the drumming of her heart. Hell, she knew she looked like a disaster with a flushed face, phone gripped so hard in her hand that it could break, a group of girls forming around her, noisy yet so distant. The world going in slow motion, seeing his crimson eyes widen for a fraction of a second, hiding more of his face in the palm of his hand as he still tried to look so casual, Kirishima's "Yeaaaaaaaah!" filled her ears as he tapped his finger on the screen, destination already clear. And when he saw what he needed...

He got up, leaving his tray of food behind, shit-eating grin basically parting the sea of people forming around them both as he marched towards where she was seated, and for the third time they made eye contact. His cheeks flushed, such a boyish expression coveting his normally angry features, mischievous and happy, relieved, just... Perfect.

Everything went in slow motion for her, his march, decisive and bold, as he always was, took to an end as he got to her, just giving her a hand and a raised brow, inviting her to leave with him anywhere but there.

And she took it without hesitation.

[racingtoaredlight]

Speakers

Over the past few years, as I’ve gone deeper into the world of creating music with an electric guitar or bass, I’ve tried to highlight a few different things that are absolutely critical, but go overlooked.  Things like the placement of pickups being more important than the pickups themselves...or how a mere .75″ of scale length can take an instrument from twangy and bright, to rich and mellow.

When I think of my own tone...obviously guitar and amp are the first considerations...but in my opinion, speakers should be above amps in that hierarchy.  And, how a lot of the classic sounds we’ve heard that have been attributed to amps, are really more about the character of the speakers.

***

Above are two of the most pure, perfect, crystallized examples of the idea Marshall guitar tone.  Marshalls are giant, insanely loud, incredibly powerful amps that have come to define just about all rock music with an edge.  The overdriven qualities of the Fender Bassman circuit combined with Russian or Czech tubes is THE quintessential rock tone of all time.

From Eddie Van Halen’s hot-rodded sound to the Allman Brothers’ glass-like bell tone to Jimi’s blank sonic canvas to Billy Gibbons’ harmonics circus, a Marshall was powering all of it.

But how can a single amp circuit produce such a wild variety of tones?  Easy...if the overall tone package is a car, the amp is really just the engine, the guitar the transmission, and the speakers are just about everything else.

***

Before we go on, I want to set a few parameters.

The world of tone is multifaceted with tons of variables, and it’s hard to put things in black and white to easily categorize stuff, but I think it’s a good idea to set some benchmarks before moving forward.

Magnets: Ceramic vs. AlNiCo - the magnet is the most important part of a speaker’s character.  Ceramic speakers have a faster response and a more strident natural tone because they typically more hi-fi color the sound less...whereas AlNiCo speakers have more dynamic character that is less harsh in all registers but imparts more unique color.  Ceramics are typically cheaper and lighter.

There are also newer Neodymium speakers that are MUCH lighter but I’ve yet to play one that sounds good on guitar (bass is a different story).

Efficiency pt. 1: High vs. Low - efficiency in regards speakers refer to the wattage handling capability and dB they can handle.  Say you have a 30w amp and two cabinets...one with a 25w speaker and one with a 65w speaker.  The distortion you get from the amp going into a 25w speaker will be more intense, come on a lower volumes and you will get quite a bit of speaker distortion...the result of more signal than the speaker can handle.  Any distortion you’d hear coming through the 65w speaker would be purely from the amp, as the amp isn’t powerful enough to overdrive the more efficient speaker.

Low efficiency is not a bad thing whatsoever.  You’ve likely heard a Queen song, unless you’re from Kansas...Brian May has used a Vox AC-30 his entire career, with two low-efficiency 15w Celestion Blue speakers.  The low-efficiency speakers in the AC-30 (30 watts) is an essential ingredient to their iconic tone.

Efficiency pt. 2: dB’s - Comparing a Celestion Blue to a Celestion Creamback (65w), the Blue has a max of 100dB vs. the Creamback’s 97dB’s.  This doesn’t sound like much difference, but dB’s aren’t linear.  This difference is essentially the difference between the loudness of a power mower and a garbage truck.

Color: Hi-Fi vs. Color - Efficiency and type of magnet aren’t definitive in their own right.  You can have a high-efficiency speaker with any type of magnet...and it can still be very unique sounding or not impact any influence on the sound, and anywhere in between.

A Celestion Vintage 30 is one of the most hi-fi speakers ever made...but just because it’s a ceramic magnet with a relatively low-efficiency doesn’t mean that’s how it’s employed.  Compared to a Celestion AlNiCo Gold...a speaker with an AlNiCo magnet and a 90w efficiency...the Vintage 30 is still going to produce a more pure, unaltered tone coming from the same hypothetical amp.

Think about it this way (assuming amp is running in sweet spot):

High Watt Amp + High-Efficiency Speaker = CLEAN

Low Watt Amp + High-Efficiency Speaker = CLEAN w/ SOME DIRT

High Watt Amp + Low-Efficiency Speaker = DIRTY

Low Watt Amp + Low-Efficiency Speaker = VERY DIRTY

***

Above we have the Celestion Greenback...the most iconic speaker in rock history...a speaker that should have the same reputation as the Marshall Super Lead amp enjoys.  They should be talked about in concert, given the fact that they’re entirely symbiotic.

The tones you’ve most likely heard a Marshall being played through are through a set of four Greenback speakers.  Led Zep, Jeff Beck, Clapton, Jimi, AC/DC...all those musicians I mentioned above...almost all of it was a Marshall running through Greenbacks.

The Greenback is a very low-efficiency speaker with a ceramic magnet.  It distorted so easy, you could get it overdriving with a dirty look.  The Greenback overdrives at lower volumes (still blisteringly loud), but when the amp is seriously pushed, that’s when the glorious overdrive Marshalls are known for come out.

The speaker below that is a vintage JBL d120f.  These speakers were originally used in Fender’s bigger blackface amps because they’re the epitome of high-efficiency, and will not distort.  They’re ultra clean, ultra hi-fi, and a lot of people hate them because they’ll expose all sorts of flaws in your playing, if you don’t have your shit together.

Sound examples in next section.

***

Between all of the guitarists here...Billy Gibbons, Duane Allman and Dickey Betts...they’re all using Gibson Les Pauls running through the same Marshall, but get quite different results.

Even at their most distorted and overdriven, the Allmans still sound relatively clean with the notes being able to ring out with clarity and not mushing together.  Especially when compared to Billy Gibbons’ solo on “Tush,” where...even being relatively clean compared to his later stuff...he creates this massive wall of sound.

Clarity and distinctive notes is not something necessary for ZZ Top.  A trio needs to do more to fill up the space a 7-person band can...and conversely...a 7-piece band with two guitarists playing like Billy Gibbons would turn to pure mush with a quickness.

The speakers are the difference.  Billy Gibbons using the low-efficiency Greenbacks, Dickey and Duane using the high-efficiency JBL’s.  This isn’t even going into the tonal characteristic differences...that crystalline sound the Allmans get would be almost impossible to get with a Marshall amp loaded with Greenbacks.

***

There are a bunch of other important variables that come into play...the number of speakers, the cabinet design, porting, size, etc...it gets complicated quickly.  Even more complicated when you talk about licensing and the cheap Chinese versions of these speakers that come from the amp manufacturers that want to save some money vs. buying UK Celestions or whatever.

But speakers impart tonal coloring and handling that’s as important to a guitarist’s tone as the amp delivering the signal.  One of the most hallowed amps of all time, the Fender tweed Bandmaster, is prized not because of its unique circuit, but rather the fact it combined three 10″ speakers, producing a tonal output that was totally different than other amps.

It wasn’t the kind of speakers used that was special, it was the combination and layout that led to special output.  The amp itself is nothing special.  Fender tweed amps, Marshall plexi’s...these amps are about as primitive as they get.  Not a whole lot of EQ going on, no special things like vibrato/tremelo, really just an engine to drive a signal and not much else.

The speakers are what’s carrying the load.  And it’s strange that they’re not considered as essential a part of the equation as amps or guitars (or pickups and effects).  You can take the same amp, and it’ll sound and behave wildly different based on what speakers it’s running through.

***

That’s enough for today.

[doomonfilm]

Ranking : Martin Scorsese (1942-present)

Of all the places in the world that seem to be hubs for creative energy, New York stands high on my personal list of favorites, and when it comes to iconic New York filmmakers, there aren’t many that can hold a candle to the prolific career of Martin Scorsese.  His appreciation for films, art and music blasts off the screen with the same energy as his kinetic cinematography and vibrant editing.  Once he established himself as a mainstay in the industry, his list of collaborators evolved into a who’s who of acting legends, both old and new.  His career spans just over 50 years, and even his latest film (his 25th in his catalog) went head to head with other contenders for the top awards of the year.

To put it bluntly, there is Martin Scorsese, and then there is a long list of imitators and those influenced by his genius.  To rank his films is a true test of logic, patience and decision making, but after a few weeks of catching the 7 or so films I had yet to see, I think I can stand behind this list as my definitive ranking (from least to most favorite) of a director I hold in the highest regard. 

25. Gangs of New York (2002) An honest attempt at an epic flick, but at the heart of the matter, I simply don’t care about either side in the battle Scorsese presents us.  Set in New York City in the mid 19th Century during the Civil War, we are thrown into a generational battle where the two key figures have different goals... Bill the Butcher stands as antagonist in his fight to maintain power and control, while Amsterdam is our protagonist charged with a mission of revenge.  In the end, neither side ends up mattering, very much like my personal experience with this all flourish, no foundation exercise in style.

24. Bringing Out the Dead (1999) Nicolas Cage was gearing up for the run that most people know him for now during the release of Bringing Out the Dead : he was coming off of Golden Globe and Academy Award wins for Leaving Las Vegas, but was quickly leaning towards films of a more exploitation-based style.  This film marked a refinement of his wild-man persona, while simultaneously being one of the last high-level actor/director combinations he would be involved in before his mad dash to accept every film and avoid bankruptcy.  New York is captured in a mid-transition point between the darkness of the 1970s and 1980s versus the Disney aesthetic of the new millennium, and while heavy on the entertainment factor (as well as visually striking), there is ultimately not enough on this plate to push it higher up the list.

23. The Color of Money (1986) If you had to do a quick gander at the Scorsese list and pick the film that, on paper, screams Hollywood, it’d be hard to argue against The Color of Money taking that top spot.  A soft sequel to The Hustler, Scorsese picks up the Fast Eddie story in the 1980s (an era that oozes out of each and every frame of this film), and yet, despite this legendary move, the film is ultimately the Tom Cruise show.  Scorsese’s trademark dollying and trucking camera shots work beautifully in the context of this film, but in a story that shines bright, the star of Cruise ultimately outshines all that remains.

22. Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (1974) After a few exploitation-based projects, it seemed that Martin Scorsese wanted to provide a slightly different change in perspective, albeit one that still dwells in the darker corners of life.  Rather than deal with the streets of New York or crime, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore is a study on broken homes, single parenthood and domestic violence that oscillates between the view of the titular Alice and her young son.  Harvey Keitel gives another strong performance as a Scorsese regular, while Ellen Burstyn shines in a transitional role towards more mature performances.  Seeing Scorsese camera movements coopted into a more down to Earth story was refreshing.

21. The Departed (2006) Many people would have assumed that The Departed would be higher on a list of Scorsese films based solely on the cast... pairing Leonardo DiCaprio opposite Matt Damon in a tension-filled triangle with Jack Nicholson is a bold combination in its own right, but surrounding this nucleus with Martin Sheen, Mark Wahlberg, Alec Baldwin, Kevin Corrigan, Anthony Anderson and supporting actors of that ilk creates a rich showcase of talent.  Stylistically, everything you need is there too, as Scorsese proved time and again that films of this nature were his wheelhouse.  That being said, the story itself, an adaptation of the 2002 Hong Kong thriller Infernal Affairs, takes a few liberties in its adaptation that ultimately are to the detriment of the narrative.  Kudos to Scorsese for putting this one together, and too bad for him that the choices of William Monahan knocked what could have been a mega-classic way down the list.

20. New York, New York (1977) New York, New York is one of the most unique offerings from the Scorsese canon for a number of reasons.  Of all his films, this one is probably the one that can be considered a “style exercise” more than the rest, as it oscillates between obvious sets and real locations before blurring the lines between the two.  Long gaps of time are given to fully executed musical numbers (a must when a talent like Liza Minnelli is involved), and traditional methods of songwriting and performance are given their due respect.  The exercise portion, however, comes in the newer acting styles that are infused into the old school structure... improvisation and aggressive physicality are used to put a deeper, disturbing red tint on an era often presented through a rose-colored lens.  While interesting at times, the nearly three hour run time of the film begins to wear on the limits of the style, which ultimate leaves the film feeling more like a personal indulgence than a statement on changing times.  For the iconic title track alone (and the buildup to its release), this film is worth seeing, but in terms of its placement in the realm of other Scorsese films, it may have to grow on me a while to find a higher placement on the list.

19. Boxcar Bertha (1972) Originally, this film was much lower on the list, largely due to its chronological placement between Who’s That Knocking at My Door and Mean Streets seeming odd to me.  Upon revisitation, however, it stands clear and present that this film served as an exercise in the process of directing and organizing a shoot.  With its period-specific placement, ensemble cast and action sequences, it was bound to be compared to (and ultimately overshadowed by) the formidable Bonnie and Clyde, but Boxcar Bertha has a few key moments in it (including a stellar final action sequence) that places it near the middle of the Scorsese canon, even with it being his second film.

18. Who's That Knocking at My Door? (1967) For all of the refinement that Scorsese found in his second film, his debut film, the stunning Who’s That Knocking at My Door?, stands as testament to the fact that Scorsese brought his many gifts to the table from day one.  What started as a student graduate film grew into a speculative project, only to find 25th hour funding that allowed it a festival run and a proper release.  The film took many years to complete and release, to the point that keen viewers will notice Harvey Keitel’s boyish, soft good looks morph into the sharper, edgier intense profile we came to recognize in Mean Streets and the films that followed.  The energetic cinematography, respect of film as a medium, stellar music choices, defiance of youth, toxic masculinity and realistic look at relationships are all here, making this debut a hidden gem in the Scorsese canon.

17. The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) Seeing Scorsese retread old stylistic ground (as opposed to infusing his style into newer projects) is an interesting take, and for what my opinion is worth, The Wolf of Wall Street feels like Goodfellas for white collar criminals.  In theory (and, in some aspects of the film, in reality), the experiment does work, but ultimately, this film finds its placement in the middle realms simply because we are given infinite sizzle off of what amounts to a very thin steak.  Goodfellas works because it is carried by the weight of omerta, but The Wolf of Wall Street focuses on a culture where status comes from self-appointed importance, which ultimately makes for an attempted redemption story for despicable people.  

16. The Irishman (2019) Seeing actors the stature of Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci and Al Pacino combine forces for a film is always a major event, but until 2019, those combinations have been limited to duos.  When Netflix announced its intention to release The Irishman in 2019, people were not only intrigued on Scorsese’s take on the Jimmy Hoffa story, but seeing De Niro, Pesci and Pacino in the same film for the first time.  For what it was worth, the trio lived up to all expectations, with the only bittersweet criticism being wishes that the three could have found a way to work together prior to the twilight of their careers.  The historical drama is high quality, with Hoffa’s larger than life persona captured perfectly by Pacino, and bolstered by the dramatic chops brought to the table by De Niro and Pesci.  The film is a tad on the long side, and the de-aging process tips into the realm of the uncanny valley due to the older actors’ physicality, but for a 25th film 52 years into an illustrious career, The Irishman must be recognized for the triumph that it is.

15. The Aviator (2004) Much like The Wolf of Wall Street, I avoided The Aviator for years simply because I have no interest or fascination with Howard Hughes.  I was very much aware of his financial stature, his innovations as an aviator, his rocky love life and his personal demons that plagued him, but for my money’s worth, I was fine without seeing it presented on the big screen.  In an effort to cover all the bases for a director I hold in high esteem, however, I made the decision to finally check out The Aviator, and for every element of the film I previously had no interest in, an element was presented that won me over.  Cate Blanchett and Adam Dunn put on two of the strongest performances in the entire realm of Scorsese films, and the XF-11 crash sequence is possibly one of the grandest and well executed in any Scorsese film.  Leave it to Martin Scorsese to make a powerful film about an individual I care nothing about and nearly crack the top ten with that effort.

14. Hugo (2011)  Up to the point of watching Hugo, I knew nothing about it.  About halfway through Hugo, I had to stop and look up how the film was received, as it was simply stunning, and sure enough, it was a monster in terms of award nominations and wins.  I never would have pegged Scorsese as the type to direct a kid’s film, but in all honesty, that ‘kid’s film’ title is used as a façade for a love letter to film in general, and the groundbreaking work of Georges Méliès specifically.  The look of the film is otherworldly, the energy is light, kinetic and infectious, and even a mostly slapstick performance by Sacha Baron Cohen yields surprising emotional depth when given the opportunity to do so.  While just missing the top ten, Hugo easily stands as the number one surprise on this list in terms of pre-viewing expectations (of which there where none) versus post-viewing thoughts (of which there are many).  Knowing that Hugo exists lets me know that one day, if I have children, and they want to know why I love film so much, I will have a film on the level of Cinema Paradiso to share with them and (hopefully) help foster a love of film they can call their own.

13. Casino (1995) For a time, this film stood as the last work containing the vibrant combination of Martin Scorsese, Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci, a trio of high energy creatives known for putting their all into their projects.  Casino felt like a spiritual successor to Goodfellas, focusing on a lavish but secretive lifestyle with high stakes and even higher consequences.  An instantly iconic movie,  Casino felt like the end of an era in regards to gangster fare for Scorsese, opting instead for more challenging projects, adaptations of other books and films, or personal passion projects.  It would be nearly 25 years later before Scorsese would touch similar subject matter or work with these actors again, but had Casino been the last of Scorsese’s so-called “gangster” films, I believe the world would have been happy with that.

12. Kundun (1997) To make one religious-based film in a career is a bold move to some, but I am hard-pressed to think of any director that made films on two different religions who didn’t explicitly make religious films.  With that in mind, it is incredibly impressive that Martin Scorsese was able to make a film as moving and objective as Kundun after making such a bold take on religion as The Last Temptation of Christ.  The film centers around the discovery, growth and eventual escape to India in light of growing aggression from China.  In all honesty, I had my doubts as to whether or not the Scorsese style would work for this story, especially in light of the lack of cooperation from Tibet and China, but somehow, Scorsese’s amazing signature camerawork captures the unique spirit and essence surrounding the Dalai Lama.  I’d heard of this film for years, but never got around to it until it was time to make this list, but I will almost certainly try to find a copy to own in the near future. 

11. The King of Comedy (1982) What an odd left turn in regards of career trajectory for both Scorsese and De Niro.  With three collaborations already under their belt (not to mention The Godfather II already being a well-established classic), it would have been easy to imagine the duo putting another notch on the gangster film genre belt.  What we are given, however, is the yang to the yin of Taxi Driver : our protagonist is a statement on personal conviction and the trappings of instant stardom, our antagonist is a statement on star fascination and the high costs of celebrity, and our satellite characters directly reflect the toxicity certain fandoms can be capable of.  Scorsese sets aside his normal flourish and camera moves for a mixing of film and video mediums, as well as a completely new sense of freedom in regards to the highly improvised nature of the film.  Its influence on recent successful films like Joker is undeniable, but I’d argue that Joker lacks the heart, sincerity and realistic bite present in The King of Comedy.

10. After Hours (1985) Of all the “new to me” Scorsese flicks I finally viewed while preparing this list, After Hours stands as my favorite discovery of the bunch.  I was marginally familiar with the film, both from my younger days in video stores and from friend recommendations, but for some reason, when Scorsese time arrived, After Hours seemed to never be on the docket.  That oversight, however, will now be a thing of the past.  This film feels like a personal challenge to Woody Allen in regards to how one should make a New York-based romantic comedy, and I’d be hard pressed to share any shortcomings or failures present in this comedic masterpiece.  One of the few films that can be both a product of its era and a timeless classic, and one that should be much more recognized in the Scorsese canon.

9. Shutter Island (2010) Me hesitating or not getting around to Scorsese films seems to be a bit of a common theme here, but there was literally no excuse for me to take this long to get around to Shutter Island.  Despite knowing the premise of the story (and even having the ending somewhat spoiled for me), I still found the impact of the final moments just as powerful as I imagine I would have going into this film blind.  Some people will likely argue this statement, but in my opinion, this was the best Leonardo DiCaprio performance captured by Martin Scorsese.  The asylum setting is wonderfully bleak, and the psychological horrors it infers create a vibrant playground for some of the most stunning visual symbolism that Scorsese has ever committed to film.  Don’t be like me if you’ve not gotten around to Shutter Island yet, because it’s a thrill ride more than worth the price of admission, and a rewarding repeat viewer. 

8. Mean Streets (1973) Mean Streets may have been Martin Scorsese’s third film, but for many fans, it was the first true indicator of the brilliance that was to come.  A true New York film through and through, it not only presented fans with a stronger Harvey Keitel performance than Who’s That Knocking at My Door?, but it introduced the world to the palatable tandem of Scorsese and De Niro that would go on to lead to years and years of iconic performances.  The use of altering aspect ratios is something that I wish Scorsese would have continued to use more often, but in all honesty, Mean Streets has style to spare.  This the film that I love to recommend when people start ranting and raving about Goodfellas, and more often than not, it impresses those unfamiliar with it just as much.

7. The Age of Innocence (1993) Martin Scorsese’s love of film is widely known and well documented, but The Age of Innocence goes an additional step further by displaying Scorsese’s love of art.  The film also is one of the most touching displays of unrequited love that Scorsese has committed to film, a slight alteration from his normal infusion of love stories trying to sustain in the surrounding chaos of gangs, crime, religion and so on.  Daniel Day-Lewis, Michelle Pfeiffer and Winona Ryder all give standout performances in this masterfully directed film.  If Gangs of New York was meant to be the definitive old school New York film in the Scorsese canon, then The Age of Innocence is the unintended definitive New York film from Scorsese, with some European touches thrown in for good measure.

6. Cape Fear (1991) Of the many, many iconic performances that Robert De Niro has given Martin Scorsese, I’d be hard pressed not to put his characterization of Max Cady at the top by a clear margin.  Cape Fear was already a classic film adaptation of The Executioners when it was first released in 1957, but De Niro pulled two fast ones with his update : in terms of casting, especially with the aforementioned De Niro, Scorsese brought the harrowing story into a much darker, recent world, therefore increasing the tension by upping the ante for violent retribution, while at the same time, paying direct homage to the original by having Elmer Bernstein adapt the original Bernard Herrmann score.  Juliette Lewis also provided a breakout performance in this modern day classic, and possibly the film that provided the most tense debate in terms of placement, as we will get into with the next film.

5. Silence (2016) Despite being one of the most recent Martin Scorsese films, this one’s limited release meant that I missed it during its initial run, and the lack of streaming service placement essentially erased it from my memory.  I was certainly intrigued about watching it for this list, and it ended up being the last film viewed.  Going into it, it felt like a sort of religious take on Saving Private Ryan, but it didn’t take long for the film to start dealing out much heavier cards in terms of faith, belief systems and cross-cultural contamination.  The Last Temptation of Christ showed that Scorsese could find nuance and secular drama from a holy tale, and Kundun showed that he could make a religious icon a relatable human figure struggling to grasp his divine appointment.  Silence is the work of a wise, steady hand, however, like some sort of cinematic parable or testament to faith in the face of crippling doubt and danger.  Scorsese is certainly still moved by the idea of faith, and he uses Andrew Garfield to display this in some of the most powerful moments that he has ever created or captured for his films.  For those who have not seem the film, this placement may feel a bit high, but I would not be surprised if, given time and proper amounts of reflection, it makes its way higher.

4. Raging Bull (1980) The placement of Raging Bull and Cape Fear was the biggest hurdle I was forced to overcome in the creation of this list.  Robert De Niro is powerfully captivating in both films, though I would personally give his performance as Max Cady the nod over his embodiment of Jake LaMotta, but when it comes down to the brass tacks of it all, Raging Bull is ultimately the better of the two films.  The raw, black and white look of LaMotta’s life already provides a gritty, unflattering portrait of a savage and uncouth man looking for beauty in the world, but that beauty he searches for appears in the boxing sequences with no apologies.  The airy look, mainly caught by dynamic slow motion photography, works in tandem with the abrasive first-person views of the combatants, not to mention the direct nature of the combat itself as the viewer is often placed directly in the line of fire.  The involvement of the real LaMotta within the film provides a nice button to the superb acting put on display by De Niro, Joe Pesci, Cathy Moriarty and the numerous actors used to portray the opponents of LaMotta.  

3. The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) Call it a trope if you like, but it feels like every great (or aspiring) director has a film in them that is driven by religion in some capacity.  The Last Temptation of Christ is unique in this sense because it takes the story of the accusations, betrayal, trial and eventual crucifixion of Jesus and turns it into a deeply faith-based suspense thriller.  Many of the familiar beats we know from the Bible are re-contextualized as visions, mystic tests of faith, carnal desires driven by lust, and nihilistic views infringing upon deep indoctrination.  Willem Dafoe plays a Jesus that is bitter in his acceptance of his fate, Harvey Keitel plays a wonderfully opportunistic Judas, and Barbara Hershey plays a very modernized version of a woman forced to use her body for survival that is suddenly trapped between necessity and passion.  The film hinges on the verge of becoming a soap opera without falling into the trappings that come with such high drama, and the walkup to the film’s amazing final sequence puts you in the emotional passenger's seat while Jesus takes the wheel and steers directly into his fate.  A dramatically powerful yet brutally sincere take on an iconic, revered and sensitive subject matter.

2. Goodfellas (1990) Is there any original praise left to bestow upon this movie?  To focus on the imperfections of this film is an act of futility, as they are mostly non-existent.  Some of Martin Scorsese’s best examples of his iconic camera movement, editing techniques, still frames, writing gleaned from personal experience, soundtrack use, loose historical connections and dark humor are found within the confines of Goodfellas.  If you’ve seen in actor in any television show or film that had any connection to the mob prior to Goodfellas or since, it is more than likely that that actor was in Goodfellas, even if only briefly.  Using Henry Hill as both an outsider and insider perspective is a brilliant narrative stroke, as he can get close to the top, but can never have it all, making him essentially a fly on the wall bursting with charisma and personality.  They highs are as epic as the lows are tragic, and for most people, it is the first film that comes to mind when the name Martin Scorsese is mentioned.  This could have very easily been the number one film on my list, but anyone who has been visiting this blog with a keen eye for detail probably figured out my favorite Scorsese film the first time they visited the DOOMonFILM blog.  

1. Taxi Driver (1976) Since the day that I started this film blog, there has been one image at the top of the page : Travis Bickle in the porn theater (with his face replaced by my logo) from the iconic Taxi Driver.  There’s not a single element that I can put my finger on for this film, but there are certainly a number of elements that do speak to me : the isolation that Travis faces, the journal-like narration that drives the story forward, the hypnotic nature of both Bernard Herrmann score and the repetitive taxi cab shots and the vivid camera movements are all burnt firmly into my brain.  Everyone that makes up the main cast for this film kills in their performance, and the ending of the film is not only a brutal one, but an ironic one in regards to where Travis lands in the eyes of those who make up the world of the film.  Martin Scorsese has made more amazing films than some directors have made, period (amazing or otherwise), but for my money’s worth, none of them are as powerful or well put together as Taxi Driver. 

[starlightsearches]

Office Romance: Ch. 14 Undercover

General Hux and Kylo Ren have found themselves competing for the affection of a lieutenant aboard the Finalizer.

Series Warnings: Language, some violence, near-death experiences.

Masterlist

AN: Oof, some big warnings for this one, specifically sexual assault! The reader goes undercover and someone makes advances on her, so please read with caution. She also kills a man, but that’s not described.

The music was loud in your ears, the bass thumping through your entire body as you danced, performing the steps with a smile on your face, showing off for the crowd below. It was too hot, too noisy, but you had to look like you were enjoying yourself; the success of the mission depended on everything going smoothly. Besides, you should be grateful. You had fought to be here.

The first fight had been the most difficult. Convincing Allecull, the chief intelligence officer and your sworn enemy, that you deserved a spot on the ground team had almost been impossible, especially with both the general and Ren taking his side.

“You do realize that this man tried to have you killed?” Allecull had asked, like you were some kind of idiot. You had contained your anger; you knew that reacting in rage would not help your case. You had to seem calm, in control, or there was no way they’d let you go with them. It was terribly unfair, you certainly deserved to be angry.

“Yes, Major, I realize that. I’d like to return the favor.” Eventually, the ground team leader, Kane Cheepres, had convinced the others that you deserved a spot on the team, but not without three conditions. Number one: you would not engage the target; number two: you would stay under surveillance the entire time; and number three: you would leave at the first sign of trouble.

A new song started, and you forced yourself to recall the steps you had drilled into your head in the time before the mission, the movement relatively easy compared to what you were used to, even though it was a bit more lewd. You were playing the role of one of the clubs many dancers, who were spread around the area on individual, elevated stages. 

The stylist had told you that she wanted you to look fun, but what she had apparently meant was loud. You couldn’t help but feel exposed in the spangled, iridescent outfit: a pair of shorts for mobility and a crop top that exposed part of your midriff when you moved. It was not skin tight, at least, and she had opted for a casual pair of tennis shoes instead of heels like most of the other girls were wearing—better for running, in case you had to make a quick getaway. However, the wig she had put on you seemed to be made for nothing but inconvenience. It was long, grazing your tailbone when you moved, violet in color, and heavy. The whole ensemble made you feel like some kind of deranged butterfly, but it served its purpose; despite the intensity of your outfit, you still blended in rather well.

“No sign of the target,” you said quietly, knowing that the stealth comm placed near your mouth would pick up the sound, even over the thundering of the music. Your eyes scanned the space below you, searching for the man who had paid to see you dead. Antibree Soar.

According to Ren, Antibree was heir to Soar Weapons Manufacturing and the man who had ordered the hit. He had squandered his newfound fortune not long after his father’s death and targeted you, hoping that taking out a First Order officer would convince the Resistance and the Republic to see him as an ally, increasing his profits.

“Can anyone tell me why there’s a Resistance pilot here?” You heard the voice through the comms, belonging to Renaia Shadhin. She was the undercover operative who had been tasked with the actual elimination of Antibree, and was on the dance floor now, waiting for a sign of him. You searched for the pilot she was talking about, finding a familiar face near one of the lounge on your right. Poe Dameron. You had read his file. He was sitting in a chair, facing the crowd, a small smirk on his face, looking carefree and confident.

“I think I see him, too,” you responded, “on my right, in the lounge?”

“Black hair, brooding eyes, ruggedly handsome?” she asked in confirmation, and you couldn’t stifle your giggle quickly enough. You liked Renaia. She never lost her sense of humor, even in serious situations. How she could work with Allecull on a regular basis, you would never understand. As if on queue, another voice sounded off in your ear.

“Stay focused. You can fawn over Dameron later,” Allecull said. He was with the observation team in the transport that had taken you to Coruscant, along with the general, and Ren—who had insisted on coming—plus a few others, monitoring the holocam feeds in the club.

“I’ll keep my eye on Dameron. You two, work on locating the target,” Kane commanded, also undercover, moving from his place against the wall closer to the bar. You tried not to think about one of the many cam feeds trained on you as you performed, transmitting the image back to the observation team, and the ever-critical Allecull. Now was not the time to worry about your reputation.

“Hey doll!” A new voice called to you from below as the song ended, and you crouched down to speak to him. The manager of the club, a rat-faced man with a cheap hair piece, Braale, was down there, waving you off the stage. You hopped down carefully and bounced a little from foot to foot, trying to stretch out your legs.

“Yeah, boss?” you asked. You were playing peppy—eager-to-please—and it was obviously working. He giggled at the title, nudging the girl next to him, who tried to move out of his reach.

“Boss, huh? I like that. Hey, Marielle, remind me to tell the other girls to start calling me boss from now on!” The dancer nodded half-heartedly, rolling her eyes and giving you a dirty look.

“Marielle’s gonna be taking over for you here, I want you to go work the crowd. You’ve got quite a few fans already. On your first night, too!” he winked, pushing Marielle to the stage.

“You got it, boss,” you said brightly, walking past him and onto the churning dance floor. The crowd was sweaty and dense as you moved through it, bodies pressing up against you from every angle, some contact accidental and some decidedly not. You dodged the grabbing hands lithely, reminding yourself once again that you had wanted to be here. That you still wanted to be here.

“Make sure you stay visible, General,” Allecull ordered over the comm, and you rolled your eyes. Where did he think you were going to go? 

You found your way to the edge of the room, to one of the less populated bars, and asked the bartender for a water, hoping to cool yourself off a little. You had a decent view of the space when you turned back to the crowd—not as good as the one from the stage—but it would suffice. The club was less a room and more a giant, indoor arena—the dance floor impossibly huge and impossibly packed with the young, the rich, and the egotistical. Corsucant’s finest.

“I’ve got eyes on the target,” you heard Kane say, his urgency interrupting your thoughts, “on your left, Renaia. Lieutenant General, he’s heading for you.” You found him on the edge of the crowd, recognized him almost immediately from the photos. He looked young—younger than you—with chubby, smiling cheeks and a crop of fluffy blonde hair, scanning the crowd with eager eyes. He saw you looking, and looked back, moving to you with enthusiastic determination. Fuck.

“Get out of there, Lieutenant.” Hux’s voice came in over the comms channel. 

“I can’t, he’s already seen me. If I run it will only be more suspicious.” You took a few  deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. You were in disguise—he probably didn’t recognize you—and you could use that to your advantage, but you had to make a plan now before everything went to shit. 

“I’m going to turn off my mic,” you said quickly, “you’ll still have sound, but if I leave it on he might be able to hear you if he . . . if he gets too close.” Sounds of dissent poured into your ear, loud and overlapping, but you blocked them out, shutting off the speaker before you could second-guess yourself. 

Turning back to the bar, you prepared for impact, hoping to look more at ease than you were. You felt his presence as soon as he arrived, and then there was a hand at your waist, demanding, insistent, pushing you playfully into the bar. A pair of lips at your ear.

“Hello there,” he whispered, and you thought you might gag. Your instincts told you to whip around, ready to fight, to shove, to scream, to get this man away from you. But you were frozen. It was him; the man who had hoped to see you dead for his own gain. Antibree Soar.

You turned slowly, and he leaned against the bar, trapping you in his arms as you faced him. You glanced down, trying to look appropriately flirtatious, and then back up through your eyelashes. It had the desired effect.

“What’s your name?” He whispered, placing a hand at your hip, holding you to the bar forcefully. It would probably bruise.

“Kaytari,” the name rolled off your tongue so easily; despite the pounding of your heart, you were slipping into your disguise like a pool of water.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” His breath was thick with the scent of alcohol, and the fog of it clouded your nose, but you smiled at him, biting your lip. It was easy to pretend when you thought about killing him. About getting him alone.

“I saw you dancing earlier,” he said, his other hand having found a place on the back of your thigh, tracing your bare skin with a light touch, and you shivered involuntarily. You tried not to think about the cams, the men on the ship who were watching these events unfold, but it was difficult to clear your mind in a moment like this one when so much had gone wrong already.

“You’re very talented.” His whole body was against yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the pressure toxic, the feeling of him worming its way into your skin. Casually, you placed your hands behind you, jumping up onto the bar, trying to escape the poison of his touch.

“Thank you,” you said, and he forced his way between your legs, the suggestive contact making your stomach roll. You needed to end this, as soon as possible. “You know, dancing isn’t my only talent.”

“Oh, really? Tell me more.” You didn’t let yourself think about it before you leaned in and kissed him.

“I’ll give her one thing,” Allecull said, throwing his comm down in frustration, “she’s a damn good actress.” The transport was rife with tension as the events unfolded, all eyes trained on the video feed of you and Antibree. Hux could feel the embarrassment of the other observation team members, and a few of the men turned away from the projection, uncomfortable watching such a heated moment between a superior officer and potential murderer. General Hux swallowed hard, but he wouldn’t let himself look away. You were sitting on the bar, Antibree between your legs, your hands on the back of his neck, his hands all over you. His lips trailed from yours, down your jaw and to your neck, and you arched into his touch, pulling yourself even closer, a low moan escaping your lips like a wet dream from hell.

“Can’t you shut off the audio?” someone yelled to Allecull, and Hux put his hand out to stop him.

“If we turn off the comm, we lose all contact with the lieutenant. Leave it as is.” A sick anger wriggled into Hux’s mind, feelings of betrayal that he didn’t deserve but couldn’t stop pricking him like knives as he heard you whimper over the comm, and then say breathlessly, “if only there was somewhere we could go.” 

“Renaia, follow her,” Allecull ordered, watching closely as you slid from the bar, hand in hand with Soar. He pulled you around the edge of the club, towards a dark corner, and an exit guarded by two bouncers. Hux had seen layouts of the building; he knew what happened behind those doors. 

“They won’t let me back there on my own, sir,” Renaia responded anxiously, “I’ll keep watch outside.” With a twisting in his gut, Hux watched you disappear from view, out of reach of the holocams and into the hallway, and the crackle of your comm turned to an oppressive silence. Your mic had cut out.

Ren had been silent up until this point, watchful, leaning against the wall with barely-controlled rage, but he saw no use in trying to rein in his impulses now. The general argued with Allecull, trying to formulate some kind of plan to get the audio back online, or get you away from Antibree before he found out who you really were. Hux could argue all he wanted; Ren wasn’t going to sit around and wait.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hux interrupted Allecull mid-sentence, addressing Ren, but he ignored him, heading to the exit of the ship, saber in hand. The exit led to an alleyway behind the club—disgusting and probably foul-smelling, Ren was grateful for his mask—but private as well. Despite the horde of people inside, the area behind the club was deserted. Ren didn’t know where he was going, but he walked on anyways, determined to find a path that led to you.

“Stop!” Hux ran out of the transport, not bothering to avoid the ancient puddles of water and shit and who-knew-what-else that littered the way. Ever the annoyance, the general ran in front of Ren, trying to block the exit. Ren didn’t bother to pause, flinging Hux into a wall and continuing out of the darkness of the alley. His rage was all-consuming; it had to be, if he let himself feel anything else, he’d be paralyzed.

“If you go in there, she’ll die.” Hux’s statement echoed down the alley. Ren hesitated.

“So we should wait around here for her to die, instead?” Ren knew he had to save his energy if he was going to get you out of there alive, but the temptation to end Hux’s miserable life right then was incredibly captivating.

“Don’t pretend you’re the only one concerned for her safety, Ren,” the general stood from the ground and joined him at the mouth of the alley, just deep enough in the shadows that they would not be seen if someone passed by. “You need to trust her.”

“Like you trust her, General?” The accusation made Ren livid, “with all of your spying? Please. Tell me, what has FN-2187 found out for you?”

“I trust the Lieutenant implicitly, Ren. It’s you I don’t trust.”

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing.” 

“If you walk in there, you’ll cause mass panic. There’s at least one Resistance operative inside, what would stop him from opening fire the second he sees you?” Ren hated that Hux was making sense, but he didn’t plan on listening. He needed to see you, alive. Now.

“I’m going in there; you won’t convince me otherwise. She needs my help.” He began walking forward again, and this time the general did not try to stop him.

“I don’t think you really believe that, Ren. You won’t admit it, but your motives are selfish,” Hux turned to go back to the ship, but was frozen in place when Ren seized control.

“Selfish?” The air in the alley turned cold, and Ren’s anger was like ice in his veins. He walked to the general, standing between him and the ship before letting go.

“Yes, selfish. You don’t really think she needs you. You want to save her so she’ll owe you something. It’s disgusting.” The low light of the alley turned red, and the air filled with the buzzing sound of Ren’s saber. Unconsciously, General Hux backed into the wall.

“Take it back,” Ren couldn’t speak above a whisper, his head reeling from the oppressive wrath threatening to take over, and, at least for a moment, the general seemed truly frightened.

“Go ahead, Ren. It won’t stop me from being right about you.” Hux’s voice was even but Ren’s hand shook with the force of his grip on the hilt of his saber, and for a moment, he truly believed that he would kill him.

A small cough echoed down the alley, and Ren and Hux both turned to see Mitaka at the mouth of the ship.

“Excuse me sirs, but,” he paused, and Ren reluctantly holstered his weapon, “the lieutenant general is back online. The target has been eliminated.”

Back on the ship, Hux tried to shake the fear that lingered from his encounter with Ren as he watched your image on the projection in front of him. It had been worth it, he thought, to protect you from Ren’s rash behavior, but his hands were shaking, and he held on tightly to the control panel in front of him so that no one would notice. On the holoprojector he could see the image of you wandering the dance floor, waiting for Renaia to meet up with you before leaving the godforsaken club once and for all. 

“Sir,” one of the men in the transport said, and Hux looked up to see one of the ensigns gesture to a different image, “I’ve got eyes on the Resistance pilot, he’s moving. It looks like he’s headed in the same direction as the Lieutenant General.” Hux searched the scene and located the pilot, who was closing in on you from behind. He was close, much too close for comfort. How had they missed him before?

“Dameron is approaching, General. Get clear of him,” Allecull told you over the comm, and you tried to move deeper into the crowd, but your path was blocked and suddenly he reached out, grabbing you by the shoulder.

“Hey,” the pilot’s voice was loud and slurring, and he leaned in so that you could hear him over the music, “don’t I know you from somewhere?” You ducked your face towards his ear, making sure he couldn’t get a good look at you. Hux was sure that the Resistance would have your photo by now, it had been circulated pretty widely after the HoloNet caught hold of the story of your attempted assassination. But would the pilot recognize you? And what would he do if he did? You were so close to being out of harm's way and now this man could ruin it all.

“I don’t think so,” you yelled back, “I’m new here, this is my first day.”

“Oh, you’re a dancer? No shit, huh? I swear to god I know your face from somewhere . . . “ he trailed off, but his grip did not loosen. He was swaying a little where he stood; still, Hux had a sneaking suspicion that the pilot was only acting inebriated, and a rising panic crept up his shoulder blades.

“Get out of there now, General.” Allecull commanded you over the speaker, and you panicked, trying to pull yourself out of his grasp. Hux was desperate to see you do something, anything, to get away, to cause some kind of scene and escape to safety, but you stood your ground, closing your eyes and taking in a deep breath.

“You don’t know me.” The others didn’t notice the modification of your demeanor, but Hux certainly did. Your tone of voice had changed completely; you were no longer yelling, but speaking low and quiet, and you raised your other hand up to his face with a small wave, a familiar gesture. Almost immediately, Dameron let go of you, his face going slack. He blinked a few times—like someone had flashed a bright light in his eyes—and then found your face again, but there was no recognition in his expression. Hux watched the scene unfold, his anxieties from earlier compounding into something dense and heavy in the pit of his stomach. Holy shit. 

“He’s completely intoxicated,” somebody in the transport yelled with a high-pitched laugh, and then another voice rose up, saying “stars, I can’t believe that worked.” 

“I’m sorry, do I know y-” Dameron said, before he was cut off by Renaia, who ran up behind you, grabbing you around the waist with a squeal.

“There you are!” she yelled, remarkably good at acting less-than-sober, “It’s our song, girl, let’s go!” You followed her into the crowd, turning back to Dameron with an apologetic shrug, but he didn’t seem to notice you leaving. He was still dazed, standing in the middle of the dance floor for a moment, looking around like he had just forgotten something important, but couldn’t remember what it was. 

“On our way back to base,” you said over the comms, and the men in the transport let out a collective sigh of relief. Hux scanned the room, trying to see if anyone had noticed anything odd about your escape from Dameron, but they all seemed to accept that he had been drunk. It didn’t make any sense. Last he had heard, the force was closed off to you, except in rare instances. Had you and Ren been hiding your true progress from him? Hux didn’t know everything there was to know about the force, but he knew that a mind-trick like that would be difficult without a considerable amount of training.

You and Renaia entered the transport, and a few of the men cheered, congratulating the both of you on the success of the mission. You accepted the praise graciously, but your expression showed some inner turmoil. You broke free of the group as the transport prepared for lift off.

“I need to speak with you, General” you said quietly, brushing past him casually before walking into the storage area of the transport. Ren followed closely behind as you and Hux entered the little room; you must have signaled to him silently. The space was cramped, but private, and you slid to the floor, finding a seat among the boxes and holding your head in your hands.

“What happened?” Hux asked.

“You saw what happened.” You sounded far away, dazed, and it terrified him. He didn’t understand.

“You used the force,” Ren said. Hux had already known, but hearing it said out loud was jarring. Ren kneeled in front of you on the floor of the storage room, and something moved between the two of you that Hux could not identify.

“How did you do it?” Ren asked urgently; he seemed just as confused as Hux did, maybe even more so.

“I don’t know,” your voice broke on the last word, “I knew I had to try something. I can’t believe it worked.”

“So you feel it, then? The force?” Ren asked again, and you nodded into your hands before looking up to Hux.

“I never been able to use it before, not consciously. We’ve been practicing some more simple things, like sensing emotions, but nothing has really worked . . . until now.”

“Then what changed?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“I’m not sure, but,” you paused, “I think that my father might have something to do with it. There’s something you need to know about Allegiant General Pryde.”

Tags: @acunningstargazer​, @itsa-pseudonym, @ddaeing​, @dark-night-sky-99​, @i-jus-wanna-writehappy​, @fresa-luna​, @leiadelreyy​

[cesium--133]

Siblings by Chance, Chaotic by Nature

@taiyuu-high-oct Bonus Round! Featuring special guests: Bumu Ana, Inoue Kokoro, Sugiyama Rikoinu, Sugiyama Tsubame, and Fujinuma Ozen

Kokoro wasn't someone who was particularly easy to startle. But when an angel drops out of the sky with a duffel bag big enough to carry a grown man, then one is instinctually obligated to jump back. Laramie Angelica Spellman, who preferred to be called Ames, knew how to make an entrance.

"Hey Kokoro! You heading to see that cousin of yours? The one with the holes?" Kokoro blanched a bit upon hearing Hiraku called 'the one with the holes.' Not the worst nickname, not inaccurate either, but it wasn't exactly orthodox. Kokoro replied after recovering from her initial shock. 

"Uh yeah, you going to see your sister?" She asked, mostly to be polite. The American nodded 

"Oh yeah, Lyrimon and Tsu both. And Lori's breaking in later too, and Riko is already here, which means it's almost a family reunion." She said. Somehow, while she was talking, she had begun to glide in the direction of the dorms of their guest students. Not walk, glide. Kokoro had followed, she was going that way anyway, she might as well. 

"Well that sounds nice." Then she paused, "So. . .Lori-kun is breaking in?" Kokoro asked, slightly afraid of the answer. To her dismay, Laramie nodded once in the firm manner of someone who knew what the inevitable was. 

"Yup. I told her I wasn't helping her too, so we'll just have to see what she comes up with."

"Well its sure to be. . . Spectacular."

"Almost definitely."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ana wasn't expecting a call. She was just walking to class when her phone rang. Caller ID identified it as Lorelei Sirenica Spellman. The girl who turned most of the general studies class into a rave and somehow got everyone's phone number during an intense rendition of the ghost busters theme song. Ana picked up.

"Hello?" She asked

"Hellooooo, Bumu! Remember me? Laramie's slightly more fabulous sister?"

Ana giggled a little. Lorelei was too extravagant for words. "Oh hey, what's up?"

"I'm actually calling to see if you can do me an eensy-weensy favor."

"Alright, well what is it?"

"Would you mind going to the front gate and claiming me as your guest? I don't want Ames to know I'm here just yet."

"Oh, sure. Are you planning to surprise her and your other siblings here?"

"Most definitely! So you'll do it?"

"Yeah sure, why not?"

"Oooooh, thank you so much! I'll see you at the gate then?"

"I'll see you at the gate. Bye!"

"Byee~!"

The call ended, and Ana made a quick detour to the front gate, where one drink laden Lorelei was standing. One small conversation with the gate keeper later, the gate was open, and the first thing that happened was Ana was assaulted by a drink.

An enthusiastic Lori, buzzing with energy, holding a jumbo sized tray of drinks that seemed incredibly specific, gave Ana an iced coffee, her favorite. She took the drink.

"Wow, what's this for?" The student asked, staring down at the drink in her hand.

"Gratitude! I couldn't ask you to let me in without treating you to a little something! It's your favorite right?"

"Uh, yeah, but how'd you-"

"Theme songs are very potent, and Ghostbusters just happens to be an informative song. The 2 hour nap is so worth it."

"Huh. Well that was really nice of you, thanks!"

"No problemo! Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bed that needs to be filled with shaving cream"

Ana watched her go, skipping off across the grounds to wreak havoc. She took a sip of the iced coffee and smiled. It was delicious. "Americans." She thought privately to herself "are so weird."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

For Riko, this day was even. Not good, not bad, perfectly balanced. It was great that he got to see Tsuki, and it was great that the Spellman family seemed to be taking good care of her, but quite frankly, Lyrimon was the most confusing person he had ever met.

The first time Riko had met the youngest of the other triplets, she had a set of mangled gills, some very awful mutation that seemed diverse enough to be painful, and they hadn't talked very much. Now she was. . . Well, blue, an octoped, and only had one working eye. The left one was sealed up and a little oozy. Riko had spent a good 5 minutes staring, until she turned to him and started talking. Well, it was less talking and more of a collection of curses and a vague idea of asking him about the weather.

If it was possible, the simple proximity to those filthy words were enough to peel back his flesh from his skull. 

But at least they weren't talking much. Mainly, Tsuki and Riko spoke with each other, sitting in the grass in the shade of a tree on a hill. Riko and Tsuki side by side leaning against the tree, and Lyrimon sprawled out on her stomach in front of them, arms tangling in all sorts of positions to accommodate each other and providing a crook for her to tuck her face into. 

Then Riko mentioned Laramie, about how she stress baked 3 dozen cinnamon rolls and was probably going to bring them here, and Lyrimon decided to open her mouth again 

"Did she fucking stress bake them because of fucking us. Did she hear about the damned villain attack?" Lyrimon asked, lazily opening her only good eye to fix Riko with the most intensely unconcerned state he had ever seen. She wasn't even trying, and she might as well have a laser gaze quirk. Riko thought about it for a bit.

"Uh yeah, she did disappear as soon as it came on the news." 

Lyrimon scoffed. "Oh no, then there will not be fucking 3 dozen. There will be at least six damned dozen. Sure as eggs are fucking eggs." Then, having dropped the truth bomb of the century, she slid her eyelid closed again and might as well have gone to sleep. Riko looked at Tsuki. Tsuki looked at Riko. "Well I guess that's a good thing, right? More baked treats?"

He did not know how wrong he was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"So, uh, what's in the duffel?" Kokoro asked, as she and Laramie made their way up onto the porch. She was referring to the absolutely massive duffel bag Laramie carried around like it was nothing. Laramie explained.

"Oh I made cinnamon rolls. A lot of cinnamon rolls. And the biggest eater I know is my own sister. I once saw her drag an entire raw salmon onto shore and eat it. Bones and all."

Kokoro paused for a bit "Wow. She sounds . . . Interesting."

"Oh, a lot worse than interesting." And with that, Laramie kicked the door open and hauled the duffel bag into the common room. She pulled the bag onto the widest table she could find, and opened it up. The smell was intoxicating. Sugar, plain and simple, laced with delicate touches of cinnamon, and caramel. It wafted through the air, and Laramie placed a sign that she somehow already had next to it. It read "Stress eat to your heart's content. -Laramie Angelica Spellman (Lyrimon's sister)"

Within moments, a couple curious people filed in. Laramie smiled "Go for it." And then turned around and left. "Well, I have a bed that needs to get filled with shaving cream, see ya." And with that, she glided straight out the door. Kokoro paused, as did anyone else who heard the remark. "Shaving cream?" She asked nobody. She thought to herself. “Americans are pretty strange.” Then she saw Hiraku and decided to put that thought on hold to go tackle her comparatively tiny cousin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Lorelei was decidedly against full frontal assaults. She preferred figuring out her opponents, matching their heartbeats to the rhythm of a song that would reduce their defenses to cool props. But when she saw a tall, teal haired girl who looked like they never smiled and somehow fit all the gay midnight ramblings her youngest triplet never seemed to realize were gay, she simply had to take action.

The first thing she did was of course, put down her drinks, setting them down on a low wall. Then she got down to business, checking her stance, the environment around her, and everything she knew about one Ozen Fujinuma. Allergic to her sister, known for being monotonous and unfeeling, enjoys quite a bit of anime and Miku. So Lorelei latched onto the Miku part of her database, and began to sing. Senbonzakura to be specific.

Lorelei could practically see the girl stop and prick her ears. Unfortunately for Ozen, Senbonzakura tended to incite any sort of romantic feelings previously experienced, creating feelings of warmth, sluggishness, and general crushy-wushy-uwu-feelings. Which was perhaps one feeling Ozen had gotten to know quite well.

She turned around "Spellma?-aktpht"

Ozen had just got a faceful of shaving cream, and had been knocked over. There was now one Lorelei situated cross legged on top of her stomach, menacingly holding a can of shaving cream and wearing what was possibly the widest, most maniacal grin known to mankind.

"So, you're the tall asshole who's allergic to my sister."

"Uh-"

"I have heard quite frankly too much about you. My sister’s got a lot of respect for your tall ass and I’m here to figure out why, got that?”

“Who is your-"

"Lyrimon. Come on, how many people could you possibly be allergic to?"

"Then you're . . . Lorelei?"

"The one and fucking only. You know who I am, that's a good sign. You just might survive this. I've got high hopes for you, Ozen"

"Wait wh-"

"LET THE QUESTIONNAIRE BEGIN!" Now she is standing on top of Ozen.

"Shake Shack or In and Out? Where are your parents from? Where were you born? What is your opinion of public transportation? Do you believe in magic? What sort of songs do you usually listen to? Have you ever seen a live musical in person? How familiar are you with American culture? Describe yourself with a color and a word. Do you have any interest in the green movement? How good are you with mechanics? How are you in a pressure situation involving bodily chaos? What's your stand on cursing? And finally, do you believe in love at first sight?"

That torrent of questions was punctuated by Lorelei leaning down just a little, blotting out the sun with her braided head of hair. She raised an eyebrow at her captive "well?"

Ozen blinked then began to answer. "I don't know what a Shake Shack is, so In and Out I guess? My mom is from the US, my ma is from here. I was born in Japan. Public transportation is fine. I believe there are things science cannot yet explain. I like Idol music, and I have not seen a musical in person. I am part American, the bay area, so I know a bit. Uh, teal immovable. I believe that sustainable energy and caring for the planet is essential to our survival as a species. I'm okay with machines I guess. Uh, having just been in a pressure situation involving bodily chaos, I can say I do quite well under them. Cursing is fine and no." Ozen answered honestly. 

She was not afraid of this person, not on her own, but this was her Allergens triplet sister. They came out of the same womb. For all intents and purposes, she should also be allergic to this other Spellman. But she wasn't. And Lorelei seemed to know that. In fact, every line on her face screamed 'I know something painfully obvious you haven't figured out yet' in the form of a wide, only slightly malicious shit eating grin.

“Hm. Ya know what, good enough.” Lorelei stepped off of Ozen “hey, if you see Laramie, tell her ‘It doesn’t rain in LA’ when you see her, just so she knows you’ve already been interrogated.” and without giving Ozen a chance to ask what the fuck just happened, she skipped off. Scooping her tray of drinks off a low wall where she left it and promptly disappeared. 

Ozen blinked. Not quite sure if what had just happened actually happened. Perhaps it was a vivid hallucination. Lyrimon did say something about how both her sisters were good at making people see things differently. “Triplets are very weird.” she thought to herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Laramie was walking out of the dorm building, when she ducked. A good move as her middle sister sailed right over her head, tumbling to the ground. Laramie straightened up “Nice try, but after what happened last week, I’ve started ducking.” she said, offering her sister her hand. Lorelei took it, hauling herself up and grinning 

“Well then, I’ll have to come up with something new!”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Oh! By the way, I brought drinks!” she handed Laramie a taro bubble tea. Her face lit up “Hey, thanks! You didn’t have to, man”

“You can’t crash a house party without a gift”

“This isn’t a house party”

“Hell, I know.”

They looked at each other and burst into giggles. Eventually, their laughter died down and Laramie said “Come on, we should go find Mon.” Lorelei agreed and without any sort of warning or preamble, they linked arms, simply able to tell that this is what should happen. Laramie shot into the air, pulling Lorelei up to the sky with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Lyrimon blinked her eye open and rolled to the side suddenly. Tsu and Riko looked over, Riko asking ���Hey wha-” but was abruptly cut off when Lorelei dropped out of the tree right in the spot Lyrimon used to be lying.

Unfortunately, Lyrimon over shot, and she started rolling and rolling and rolling down the hill. Shouting curses all the way down. But her sister was cut from the same dumb-ass cloth, and also started rolling. Riko shot up, worried, and immediately fell over. Tsu, not wanting to be left out, also decided to start rolling down the hill. Soon, there were 4 teenagers rolling down a sunny knoll like a bunch of pencils being tossed down an incline.

Of course, they had to stop eventually, the forces of inertia, gravity, and friction dictated it. They ended up in a scattered clump, completely silent, just breathing after that dizzying ride. The only one of them with flight capabilities landed next to the group “You’re all insane.” she said, breaking the silence.

That did it, they all burst into giggles, even Laramie. She was holding the drink tray her sister had brought over. What had been 5 drinks was now three drinks. One for Ana, and one for Ames. What remained was a bottle of sparkling water, a chocolate milk (A fancy one, not nesquik) and a bottle of apple juice.

They cooled down, sipping drinks and chatting aimlessly. Eventually, Lorelei explained The Plan, which was lengthy and a lot of effort. Lyrimon stopped her eventually, while Laramie cut down The Plan to something doable. Conspiratorial laughter floated through the sky. A storm was coming to UA and that storm was L. Spellman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next day was a terrible day to be a teacher. Furniture was glued to ceilings, sticky notes covered entire walls, people got stuck to chairs, Eraserhead was faced with a sea of markers, all stood upright on their ends to create a tiny forest on the floor of his office, the 1B class of the UA hero course dorm was covered in pink polka dots, and there was shaving cream everywhere.

It was a day of opening doors only to pull them right off their hinges to find that the bolts in the hinges had been put in a small box labelled “put it back together if ya want.” It was a day of classes being postponed to locate the pranks and to neutralize them. It was a day when 5 siblings, if not by blood than by title, smiled like the Mona Lisa. It was a day when Ozen found her bed filled with shaving cream, the first of many days when Ozen would find her bed filled with shaving cream.

[fuse2dx]

November ‘20

Cross Code

Cross Code is a game that is trying so very, very hard. The story is based around your character being an avatar within an MMORPG, and its this kind of game-within-a-game setup that is used as a cheeky way to skirt the fourth wall and have its characters make snide remarks at certain design decisions, while also going full steam ahead with them regardless of the fact. Don’t think we didn’t notice, dev team! It plays out as a 2D top-down action RPG, but clearly has aspirations that extend far beyond this framework. Each of its environments is thoroughly layered with subtle verticality, with parkour-esque platforming having you constantly working backwards from your intended destination, and requiring meticulous attention to detail in order to find where it is you’re able to begin your elaborate series of jumps from. There’s a huge array of materials to gather and channel through traders and to craft into gear, and the combat they benefit is both precise and complex, requiring plenty of on-the-fly thinking as well as tight execution. As well as these set-piece battles, the game’s dungeons are full of puzzles that though smart in construction, are tough enough in isolation, and frankly brutal in their relentless frequency. One particularly ill-advised chapter has a series of three such dungeons in quick succession, and perfectly illustrates that just because you can, does not mean that you should. 

On a more positive note, one thing the game does have in spades is charm. The sprite work is admirable; even though characters are a touch on the tiny side to be too effective on their own, their portraits and dialogue provide a solid emotive connection to them and the story that builds up around them. In all, it is a game that can be a lot of fun, and plenty rewarding - but the entire thing is overly long and far too regularly punishing. It’s tapped into a number of 16-bit action-RPG ideas well, but has perhaps unintentionally also managed to become the most masochistic presentation of these ideas to date.

Crimzon Clover: World Explosion

A game I’ve technically owned for years now, however the lack of a Windows PC has held me back from playing it - with this debut on the Switch finally granting me the opportunity though to get hands on. Although I’d gleaned plenty from watching super players decimate it before now, even my feeble credit feeding through the game’s five stages has given me plenty of additional appreciation for just how good it is. 

It looks brilliant, with chunky, detailed enemies animated beautifully as they move about the screen. The music pounds along to an energetic beat, and the game keeps a solid pace all while plenty of bullets swarm around you in creative and considered patterns. Turning the tides with Break Mode is an incredibly satisfying way to take control of hairier moments, and while I can’t speak for every intricacy of its scoring system, I know that it’s developed by a team that demonstrably understands the value of these. What I can more reliably add to that discussion is that you’re unlikely to find yourself reliant on any one hook to find your fun though; even the most pedestrian appreciator of the genre should find plenty to enjoy. Thoroughly deserving of its regular appearance alongside the biggest names in the genre.

Holovista

There’s often a reasonable amount of scepticism that comes from some folks when you talk of gaming on a mobile phone. Flipping the conversation though, and instead to talk of one of my favourite advantages of the format, it’s great that a developer can lean on the familiarity and the personal connection that you have to the device you’re playing on. As a device that lives by your side 24/7 and increasingly encroaches further into every aspect of your being, Holovista leverages this connection amazingly, spinning its story in a series of interfaces that mimic how your phone acts when you use it yourself. Taking pictures and interacting with people in particular are key interfaces, and that are done in a way that neatly puts you right into the shoes of their character. 

It begins with said character taking an interview for a new job that is hoped to herald a new tide of good fortune, and promptly introduces the circle of friends that are there to help with this and that celebrate alongside. As you learn more about the job, things slowly begin to get a bit weird, and then take a turn that is something akin to Black Mirror meets nightmarish introspection. Though not overtly unpleasant, there are some memorably unsettling moments along the way. Sensibly, it does have content warnings that offer some sound advice for those it might not sit so well with, but self-care does end up being a central takeaway from the game as a whole as well as for its cast. On the back of circumstances we’ll generically chalk up to this year’s being what it is, this ended up feeling like a lovely little palate cleanser -  a considered refresh, thoroughly original, and a very worthy afternoon’s entertainment. 

The Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening

One thing that’s always been great about Link’s Awakening came as a result of the technical limitations imposed by the Gameboy - that the Zelda format needed all the fat trimmed, while the mixture of puzzles and action were to be distilled down into their most potent and compact form. Even with the (entirely optional) extras they’ve slipped in with this remake, this still shines through in its design now, where it couldn’t be any further removed from the risks of overly long, dragged out pacing. A small overworld it may be, but it’s full of variety, secrets, and memorable moments. Dungeons are similarly economical with its good ideas - giving you new tools, laying out smart ways to break you into their use, and then letting you get on with things. 

While the remastered music is also utterly charming, the real upsell here is the total visual do-over; its tilt-shifted cartoon aesthetic pushing each and every scene to look like a shiny, hyper-cute diorama. For all of the different visual styles that the series has dabbled with in the past, this one definitely feels like the right match for the light-hearted whimsy that comes through from the story and the characters. That’s not to say that it’s flawless either - the blurring at the screen’s edges can be overly intense at times, and the overall presentation does cause the performance to stutter and feel a little sluggish at times. I point at these things only given the bar is raised so - something unavoidable when you already know a game is a stone-cold classic from the off. 

Astro’s Playroom

Coming pre-installed on your shiny new (and hopefully not scalped) Playstation 5 console, Playroom begins as a humble introduction to the capabilities of the Dual Sense controller. Touch control, haptic feedback, adaptive triggers and the like are introduced and may well generate some cooing and low-key positivity, however this enthusiasm is elevated by a mighty factor when the game truly begins and everything is put so deftly into practice.

It’s not a complex or particularly challenging title as far as 3D platformers go, with frequent checkpoints and no life counter in sight. Any mould-breaking to be done comes instead from the diversity in how you control various sideshows, with the entire kitchen sink’s worth of interface options being showcased as you climb into a monkey suit, blast off a rocket ship, bounce around as a pinball, and so on. All of these demonstrate ingenuity that could’ve easily gone awry, yet are quickly understood, and grounded in a level of both tactile and in-game feedback that maintains a natural feeling. The game’s worlds serve as virtual tours through colourful, fantasy depictions of hardware components that demonstrates an excellent level of both pride and playfulness, with fellow bots littering both the through-fare and the unbeaten paths, dressed up and enacting smart homage to generations of games and their characters, all while Playstation-themed collectables are doled out in tandem alongside smart, well-natured puns. It arguably borders on propaganda at times, such is the intense positivity. That said, the more extensive your tenure is with Sony’s platforms, the more likely it’ll dull your better judgement to this, instead letting slip a grin at what is essentially the grandest love letter to all things Playstation, and the warmest, most celebratory pack-in for a new console Sony could have ever hoped for. 

The showcasing of new features and hardware aside, it’s also a subtle and unofficial coronation of Astrobot as Sony’s newest (and best) mascot. There’s been plenty of candidates in the past who’ve half-heartedly assumed to own the position, but it’s the silent, cheerful charm which makes Astro that much more of an endearing figurehead. G'wan the little guy.

No More Heroes 2: Desperate Struggle

For someone that loves Suda51 and adored No More Heroes, my reaction to No More Heroes 2 on its original release was comparatively tepid. With a third game due next year, this re-release felt like the right time to revisit it and see it through, and although I found some things to enjoy, I certainly found plenty to remind me why I had bounced off it previously.

Roaming about in Santa Destroy between missions is gone, instead replaced with a short check list of destinations. While not a fan of the change myself, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing - though it does give a misleading impression of tightened focus that is very quickly lost as it lays out a spread of half-baked, and frankly clumsy mini-games. As well as being your prime source for money and upgrades, these do a lot to artificially increase the length of the game, and put simply, they’re just not fun enough to warrant this level of prominence. Even the main story has frequent moments where it veers away from the core 3D hack and slash gameplay, and again, these do more harm than good to the game’s flow.

The fighting underpinning it all has undoubtably been done better since by any number of titles, and though imperfect, it is still serviceable and enjoyable for the most part. Boss battles definitely hold the lion’s share of the game’s highlights, but there’s a few that also stick out with some poorly executed designs that tars its lasting impression. Shades do remain of the ridiculous, irreverent charm of the first game, although they are certainly more infrequent, and a more modern lens also brings into question just how sincerely we should take the sending up of Travis, when cast upon a backdrop of frequent fanservice. Not the best sequel then, but let’s hope 3 gets things back on track.  

[jaybug-jabbers]

Pokemon Prism Review

Well I’m currently finishing up the post-game content of Pokemon Prism.

Dang.

What a fun game.

(what follows is an informal review of the game. it got a little long, lol. it has some spoilers for the game, of course.)

My background

To give you a quick idea on my perspective on Pokemon, I grew up with Pokemon Red on the big grey brick Gameboy. After Red, I pretty much stopped playing for many years. My little brother had a Gameboy Color and had Silver, but I never got one myself. Wasn’t ‘til years and years later I found some emulators and played through several generations of Pokemon at once. So, Gen 2 really isn’t nostalgic for me. It’s close enough to Gen 1 to hit some nostalgia buttons, though. I am admittedly somebody who feels Gen 1 is the best gen of pokemon. I don’t care of people laugh or say I’m a genwunner for believing that. Gen 1, I feel, had the raw creativity and charm of the original idea, and it simply sets my imagination alight far more than any other gen does. Those simple pixel designs for those little virtual creatures just opened up a world in my mind. THAT SAID, I did play and very much enjoyed all the other gens of pokemon. I do not shun things just because they are new, and I am not one of those people who says the new designs of pokemon are stupid. I adore plenty of modern pokes.

Blend of Old and New

Anyway! Pokemon Prism, for those unaware, is a ROM hack of Pokemon Crystal. It essentially delivers a brand-new Pokemon adventure for the Generation 2 games. It’s a really neat blend of classic gameplay and modern features. You’ll find species from modern games all the way from Gen 3 (such as Breloom) to Gen 6 (such as Sylveon) but their sprites perfectly integrate them organically into the Gen 2 environment. You’ll get many modern pokemon moves and conviences but also plenty of throwbacks to older experiences. Miss crafting pokeballs from Apricorns? It’s there. Enjoy a simplier time when there weren’t any Natures? Well, there ya go. Really want to call Joey and talk to him about his Rattata? Well, err, no, you can’t do that, but let’s face it, the telephone feature was probably one of the most hated features in Gen 2. :P

But Prism isn’t simply about updating Gen 2 with some modern pokemon, moves and game features. Not in the slightest. It’s full of original mechanics and gameplay concepts, and has tons of original areas and an original storyline. Pokemon is known for experimenting with new gameplay ideas, so it’s really fitting and enjoyable to see these take shape as you play the game. Mining and crafting is introduced in the game, for example, and there are a couple new pokemon types. There’s even a few sections where you can play as your pokemon, Mystery-Dungeon style. Do all of these experiments with new concepts work? Probably not ALL of them– when you try something new, not all of them will work out as amazing as you’d hope. But a lot of them are welcome and fun additions. And the game is bristling with these new ideas! It’s a joy to see so much creativity and novelty.

Sprites

It should be noted the spritework for these games is A+ and utterly fantastic. There is perhaps 3 or 4 out of dozens and dozens of new sprites that I thought were a tad off? Seriously, they look AMAZING and their animations are perfect and they fit in with the style so well I found myself briefly getting confused as to which were originally from Gen 2 and which weren’t. Saying these sprites are good is no small thing, because they are such a vital part of the game. The backsprites were not shafted, either– something even Gamefreak often shortchanged on back then.

Music

It should also be noted the music in this game is really damn good and has a huge variety. There are tons of classic songs, classic remakes of modern pokemon songs, remixes, and original tunes. There were like one or two tunes I was a bit iffy on, but considering that’s only a few out of so many, that’s impressive. The new bike music and Surfing music are probably my favorites, and they are SO GOOD, and those are especially important ones to sound good, because you typically hear those a lot.

Writing

The writing in this game is fairly solid. Not A+, but still not bad. It suffers occasionally from slightly rough and confusing grammar, and the climax of the story is definitely anti-climactic and very weak. In addition, the post-game story basically does not exist, but that can be excused since most likely more story was planned but they ran out of time. (C&D)

I also felt that at times, the story felt out-of-place within the world of Pokemon and went “too far” in the darker direction. The entire prison sequence, especially, and the frequent mention of inmates being mistreated, pokemon being abused, etc., just felt a bit much. Because this game was largely concerned with replicating the feeling of a true Pokemon game (some hacks intentionally focus on making a story that would never take place in the Pokemon world, like zombie survival horror stories or whatnot), I find it relevant to mention that. All of that said, though, its darker departures were at least not *too* extreme. We don’t get the very jarring and frequent problem of some ROM hacks where it’s full of cussing all the time or intense violence. Compared to those it’s still relatively subtle. And while the NPCs in this game I felt were rude a little too often, (holy crap, it felt like 95% of Naljo and Rijon were crankyass people) I do appreciate the attempts at making people a little more “real” and not quite so freaking happy and idealized all the time like Nintendo tends to do. The dialogue often made me chuckle. It did go a tad overboard with that “realness” (because, hey, a variety of people exist in the world, you know, both rude and polite, optimistic and bitter) but oh well.

So yes, the writing had its drawbacks. But overall, it felt like it was progressing a pokemon-style narrative with some interesting ideas, and wasn’t simply a dreary rehash of the same basic tropes Pokemon has been regurgitating for ages now. I just think if the writing were cleaned up a bit– the grammar cleaned up in a few sections, the plot threads clarified a bit more, and the climax reworked– it could take a “decent story” and make it a great one. There’s definitely some neat ideas there, it just needs polish.

Maps

As to the different towns and locations in this game to explore, there are many. This game is ambitious AF. As I said, it’s FULL of new ideas, features, things to do, and places to explore. Naljo is the region you explore in the main game, but post-game you can wander a whole new region of Rijon (the featured location of an older ROM hack, Pokemon Brown) and beat all the gyms there. In addition, there’s a few towns in Kanto and Johto you can visit (I believe they originally planned to open up all of those regions eventually), AND one town in ANOTHER new region, Tunod. The game’s ambitiousness occasionally outpaces what it delivers, but that’s quite acceptable in my mind, since updates with additions to the game were originally planned. So, yes, there isn’t much to do post-game, but that’s largely because a lot of stuff was going to be added.

Back to the locations, though! It’s an important aspect of ROM hacks. Not everyone is good at designing a good town, with logical building placement, intuitive layouts, aesthetically pleasing locations, and interesting things to explore so it doesn’t feel totally plain and lacks character. I’m pleased to say this game does a great job of it, though. I should point out I have a terrible sense of direction and bad spatial memory. Despite that fact, I found myself remembering important features and where they were located– oh, the Move Deleter house is in Phacelia on the left, the bullet train is in Torenia– and that’s a good sign. Physical travel was not a sloggy chore, and it wasn’t bogged down in a confusing layout. Towns were memorable and fun to explore.

Pacing/Level Curve

Another thing ROM hacks can screw up, because it’s a tricky thing to do, is the challenge pacing. How many trainers? What teams do they have? What levels? Are the Gyms challenging without being insane? I actually Nuzlocked the main part of the game. In my opinion it was well-paced. There’s probably fewer trainers overall in this game than a standard Pokemon game. But it did not take me much extra grinding in the grass– and I was only doing that to play it safe for the Nuzlocke. And that’s GOOD. You shouldn’t have to do tons of grinding in the grass all the time just to have a reasonable shot at the gyms. Pokemon Uranium, sadly, seems to suffer from that issue. So, yeah, the pacing was very reasonable to me, good balance of fair and challenging.

… with one important note. Once you reach the League? Well, we could have used higher-levelled wild pokemon in the cave that served as the victory road. The highest in that cave was level 34 or so, and you were facing trainers with teams ~level 55. That’s a huge gap. Not everyone has the same play style. Some people like to do extra grinding before the Elites. Some people are Nuzlocking and may do extra grinding as a safety buffer. Some people might want to adjust their team & add a new pokemon to their team and need to grind them up from a lower level. For those cases, you NEED decently-levelled wild pokemon to grind on. So, yeah, I really do think the Seneca Caves wild pokemon need a level buff. It would also help with the level gap for the post-game. Trainers in Rijon are suddenly at levels 70ish and higher, and for some folks playing, that’s a bit much and they’d like to do a little grinding first.

Puzzles

This game has puzzles. You have been warned, lol. Apparently a lot of people found the number of puzzles a bit frustrating, or felt that some of them were excessively tricky or annoying. I find it very funny, because usually puzzles are my least favorite part of a pokemon game. But I really enjoyed the puzzles in Prism and didn’t find it annoying or offputting at all. I was sick with a cold through most of my play of Prism, and yet even in my dumb brainaddled state, I didn’t find the puzzles too difficult. I solved them all at a pretty average length of time, even the ones some people traditionally found a little unclear or confusing. (the Ruins puzzle often confuses folks, apparently, but I really didn’t have a problem with it at all.) I was briefly confused on one of the switch puzzles (and it contained an element of bad puzzle design imo– there’s a gap that you can leap down into when normally a gap of that size just gives the ‘run into wall’ sound and is not passable) but not for too long. Even the ice slide puzzles, which I traditionally hate with a passion, were not bad!

All except for one thing. The Magikarp Puzzle. Anyone who has played Prism knows what I mean. Haha, fuck that puzzle man. Even the creator of the ROM hack himself has acknowledged the puzzle was not great, heh. To be honest, I find it kind of hilarious, in a way, though. I mean, obviously it’s a nightmarishly difficult and frustrating puzzle and is intensely exhausting to look at, let alone try to solve. But it’s also kinda glorious in its demonicness. I didn’t spend too much time on it before just looking up a solution to it. It’s tedious and not fun at all, and hey, that’s OK, because even the creator realized that.

pls nerf magikarp

But seriously, outside of the magikarp puzzle, I didn’t just enjoy the puzzles in this game– I felt like they were an important part of what gave this game its character.

Fakemon

There are even a few fakemon in this game! Which I was excited to learn because I thought there weren’t! All of the fakemon are Legenderies. Unfortunately, I don’t care for most of their designs. Like, at all. I think Varaneous and Libabeel’s sprites look really, really shitty. They’re ugly and don’t match the style of Pokemon at all. This feels weird to say, since I love so much about this game, but man, there’s just no way around it, I hate ‘em. Everyone has their own tastes, of course. There’s a couple fakemon I have yet to capture– I’m finishing that up now and the very very last of the post-game. But one fakemon I did capture and ADORE LIKE NO OTHER is Phancero.

I happen to know about Phancero’s designer, because I saw their design years ago. They apparently were approached by the team and were asked permission for the use of the design, which is awesome. I won’t rant again about Phancero here because I already ranted about it before, and literally could keep ranting for pages. :P But yeah, it’s a totally creative and awesome pokemon both in idea and execution, and by FAR my favorite fakemon ever created.

Conclusion

This is the best ROM hack I have played in years and probably ever. I haven’t played hundreds of ROM hacks, but I have probably played dozens over the years. I think they are a creative and wonderful expression of the pokemon community, but let’s be honest. There’s a lot of really bad ROM hacks out there. There’s even more ROM hacks that have a lot of potential but are never finished or anywhere near completion. (And that’s perfectly understandable. People run out of time, they have real life get in the way, etc.) The fact that not only did a ROM hack of this caliber get made, but was 95-99% completed? Is fantastic. It was an intensely massive project and I cannot begin to imagine how much work it must have been. Pokemon games are normally developed by an entire team at a company, and folks are paid to do it. The comparatively small team of devs who made this game in their spare time and implemented these amazing things had to do it all on their own. It’s no wonder it took as long as it did for them to finish it; and the amount of effort SHOWS. There is so much loving attention to detail and polish to Prism. (I mean, yes, there’s still some bugs and the occasional unfinished bits, but of course there are, those were going to be finished, but then the C&D hit)

Most ROM hacks are just strong in a few areas, because it’s one or two people who have strengths or interests in a few things. So, you’ll play a hack with a really good story but terrible fakemon and mapping, or you’ll play a hack with fantastic designs of new areas, but no new story, etc. Prism kinda has everything, though. It really did feel like playing a new Gen 2 game.

(It’s now almost 11pm and oh god where did the time go. I have a problem with being concise. :P This was far longer than I intended but thank you if you’ve read this far!)

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Jan 17, 2017.

[whimsandvanillalattes]

"You?" (Part 2)

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong (G Dragon) x Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, Romance, a dash of fluff

Soulmate AU Prompt: Soulmates have identical counters that count the number of times they have passed their soulmate.

Part: 2/?

Part 1 | Part 3

Alternatively titled: Y/N and GD think too much.

A/N: Thank you everyone who read the first part and everyone who liked/left comments/reblogged. It means the world to me. Also, I’m so so sorry for not updating sooner. As an apology, accept this really long part! Another thing I want to add is that I’m more used to writing OC stories rather than reader centered ones. I really tried to make Y/N gender neutral but for some reason I couldn’t make that work. I’m really sorry about that too. Please bear with a Fem!Y/N here. For my next story, I’ll definitely make a gender neutral Y/N.

-

You swore under your breath as you veered around an elderly couple. You had overslept and if you didn’t reach the train station in another minute, you were going to be late for class. You lived at the university dorms so you had never really been late before. But you and one of your best friends had had a sleepover at your other best friend’s house and last night had been spent binge watching Lee Jong Suk’s dramas (in honor of his enlistment, and because you just loved him). Unlike you, they didn’t have morning classes so now they were sleeping soundly at home while you were just hoping you reached class before your professor.

Luck was not in your favor though, because you encountered one of the largest crowds you had ever seen (and you had seen a lot, considering how much of your free time you spent going to music shows and fan meets) at a little distance from the station. You saw some people taking pictures and, while you were offended on behalf of their center-of-attention whose privacy was being invaded, a part of you was tempted to stop and see which idol or actor was causing this commotion—you were sure it was either of the two because that was the only logical explanation. But your professor’s angry face appeared before your eyes, and you seriously wanted to not fail, so you pushed through the crowd and got to the station.

About ten minutes into your journey, your phone began to vibrate. Intensely. You pulled it out of your pocket and saw a ton of notifications. Most were from twitter, accompanied by a single one from a tabloid. You clicked on that, figuring it would make more sense than the frenzy of tweets. The headline read:

BIGBANG’S G-DRAGON spotted enjoying his military leave with his sister.

The article went on to say that he had “attracted a lot of attention.” So GD was on a leave? And so-called fans and paparazzi—or should you say Dispatch—wouldn’t even let him relax on his break. Now, you wouldn’t call yourself a VIP, but you had been listening to K-pop since you learnt the language and regarded BIGBANG as one of K-pop’s legendary groups. You could sing along to most of their songs and many of their solos (maybe you should call yourself a VIP). Which made you not exactly happy about how GD was being treated.

The tabloid article also had pictures. Dispatch is fast, you thought. He was wearing a black mask and a cap, so his face was barely visible. It was surprising how anyone had managed to recognize him. But then again, you had recognized him in the photos immediately so it wouldn’t have been hard for longtime VIPs to do the same. Taking a closer look at the photos, you noticed something strange. His surroundings looked familiar. Two years of living in Seoul had made you quite well-acquainted with the city and with a start, you recognized his location. The crowd you had just encountered had been caused by him.

The fangirl inside you freaked out. You had walked right past THE G-Dragon. A part of you cursed yourself for wanted to be a good student and not stopping, while another part tried to convince you to get off the train at the next station and run back. The more rational part of you, however, curbed all these stupid ideas. Enough people had swarmed him already without you joining them. Besides, you had a class to get to.

Scrolling through the comments, you were in the midst of adding one of your own to rebuke Dispatch for invading his privacy and making him uncomfortable when something on your wrist caught your eye and you almost dropped the phone. Setting it down on your lap, you turned your wrist over.

And gasped.

The 0 you were accustomed to seeing on the inside of your right wrist was not there. In its place was a cursive 1.

-

You ended up skipping the first class, not because you didn’t reach the university on time, but because you spent about half an hour in the toilet bawling your eyes out. You had finally passed the boy you had wanted to meet your entire life. Only, you had simply passed him, without even realizing it. What were the odds of meeting the guy you passed only once in your two years in Seoul, especially when you had passed each other at or around a busy train station? You weren’t one to be pessimistic usually, but it was frustrating how you moved to an entirely different country for your soulmate, but you hadn’t even been able to find out what said soulmate looked like.

Your bad (awful) day didn’t end after that. Sleep deprivation combined with narrowly missing your soulmate lead to a terrible mood and a terrible headache, you learnt, and you were not able to concentrate in any of your classes. So, several consecutive classes later, you had a clear plan in your head. You were going to crash onto your bed in the dorm and catch up on at least a bit of the sleep you had forsaken for Lee Jong Suk. You would worry about your soulmate when you were thinking straight.

Naturally, you forgot to set your alarm.

For the second time that day, you overslept. This time you were running late for work. Unlike class, you had been late for work several times and knew that your manager would absolutely kill you if you were late again. So, you got dressed in a frenzy, almost left all the lights switched on, and, for the second time that day, you ran for your life.

You reached the coffee shop you worked at ten minutes after your shift started and thankfully your manager thought a warning glare was enough punishment. You hurried to the employees’ room at the back of the shop and changed into your uniform. A quick peek in the mirror informed you that you looked like a mess. Your dark circles had somehow intensified and your hair resembled a bird’s nest, courtesy of the fact that you hadn’t bothered to brush it. It was frustrating how this was what you looked like the day your soulmate showed up (though you were sure he hadn’t noticed you either). You pulled it back into a ponytail in a measly attempt to tame it. While it was not the most effective, at least now you looked less like a homeless sleep deprived person and would gladly face your soulmate if he showed up at the coffee shop. Which was next to impossible, because he had never come here in the two years you had been working here.

The smell of coffee began to put your mind at ease once you settled down at the counter. As you prepared two teenage girls’ orders—a strawberry shake and an iced americano (totally contrasting drinks, you mentally noted)—you fell into a sort of routine, unlike the events of the morning. That put you in a comparatively comfortable state of mind and your thoughts finally began to align themselves. Usually, you kept a novel or a textbook with you during your shift but having very conveniently forgotten to bring anything with you afforded you the opportunity to think of your soulmate—who hadn’t really left your mind all day anyway. Maybe he took the morning train from that station everyday and you hadn’t ever crossed him before because that was not your usual route? You often stayed at your friend’s house, so you had taken trains from that station many times though. Had the timing always been wrong? Or had your soulmate recently moved to Seoul? Was he from another city? Busan? Daejeon? Pyongyang, North Korea?

A loud grumbling sound broke your train of thoughts. With a start, you realized it had ensued from your stomach. The only thing you had consumed the entire day was a cup of coffee and some cookies you had found in your bag. You were starving. A particular red velvet cupcake, with cream cheese frosting, had caught your eye and was enticing you to have it. The only customer in the shop was seated at a table by the window, typing away at his laptop. He had been like that for about an hour, his now cold coffee abandoned on the table. You could afford a snack break, then. There was at least one perk of working at a place that had food. You retrieved cupcake and quickly punched yourself a receipt which included the 20% employees’ discount, adding the due amount to the cash register. You settled down on a stool and indulged in a bite of the heavenly cupcake (that you enjoyed more than you normally would because of the lack of food in your system).

The bell above the door rang, and you tried to swallow it down so that you could greet the new customer. You glanced towards the door and nearly choked on said cupcake. Walking towards the counter, wearing a black hoodie and the same cap he was wearing in the picture you had seen earlier but having somehow lost the mask, was Kwon Jiyong. Aka GD. Aka G-Dragon.

What? How? What is he doing here? Is it really him? But-

Incoherent half-thoughts ran through your mind, but the gist was wondering why he was here of all places. Was it because this particular coffee shop was not in a mainstream area? Or had he suddenly craved coffee and had been tempted by the fact that there was only one other customer?

You were able to regain some of your composure and uh, not choke by the time he got to you. Your manager’s hawk eyes were on you and you could not afford to appear unprofessional, no matter how much you wanted to squeal and ask this man for an autograph. He probably noticed that you knew who he was though because a wide smile appeared on his face and you nearly melted in a puddle (Be professional, Y/N! you scolded yourself internally.) Either that, or he had found your almost-choking antic amusing. Possibly both.

“Good evening, sir!” At least your voice hadn’t betrayed you.

“Hello,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Your Korean pronunciation is pretty good.”

“Oh, thank you.” A blush threatened to appear on your face. “I’ve been living in Seoul for a while.” And I’ve been learning Korean for more than a decade, you decided to not add.

He ordered an iced Americano and you began to prepare it for him. Unlike with most customers, you felt extra nervous, mainly because you could feel his eyes following you. You were just hoping not to mess up.

“You know,” he began, “I thought you would ask me for an autograph. I know you recognized me.”

Whoops, busted!

You smiled. “I want to, but my manager would kill me if I do, so I can’t.” Conversing with him had seemed like a hurdle two seconds ago but now that he had initiated conversation, it was just…natural. As if talking to Kwon Jiyong was the most normal thing in the world and something you had been doing your entire life.

He chuckled. “You’re that scared of him?”

“I can’t afford to lose this job,” you said, shrugging as you handed him his drink. You had never seen him in person before, and you were a pretty big fan of his, but after your initial shock, you couldn’t help but wonder at how comfortable you felt talking to him. It was strange because you were the kind of person who could never be completely relaxed talking to an ordinary person for the first time, much less talking to an idol.

“I guess I can give it to you the next time I come here, then.”

Now that was something that made you almost freak out. “You’re going to come here again?” you asked. It was hard to mask the excitement on your face, and he seemed to find that very amusing. At least, that was what you inferred from the wide gummy smile that adorned his face, and you couldn’t help thinking of how cute it looked.

He took a sip from his drink. “Well, the coffee’s good,” he grinned, “So yeah, I am.” His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen.

“I need to go now.” He stepped back from the counter. “See you next time.”

“Bye!” you called out. He waved at you over his shoulder as he opened the door and for some reason you were waving back, not caring that your manager was rolling his eyes at you.

*

“Oh, sit down already!” your roommate and one of your best friends, Soo-jin, whined. You rolled your eyes as you plopped down on your bed next to Min-ji, your other best friend.

“Okay, now spill,” Min-ji ordered. You had briefly told them what happened the entire day and they had deemed it too important to discuss in the morning, so the three of you were now gathered at your dorm room. Min-ji was the friend whose house you had had a sleepover at the previous night. She had decided to stay at your and Soo-jin’s room that night so you could talk peacefully.

“What do I start with, GD or soulmate?”

“GD!” they cried in unison. Both of them had been BIGBANG fans since they were kids. You told them how you had seen a crowd in the morning which had turned out to be because of him, and then how he had showed up at your workplace. When you finished, they just stared at you for a second.

“Woah,” Min-ji breathed out finally. “You’re so damn lucky.”

“But he is so sweet!” Soo-jin exclaimed. The fangirling was starting now. “He even asked if you wanted an autograph.”

“I know right. And telling her that he’d come again!” Min-ji was almost squealing now. She looked at you. “How did you even survive it?”

“I almost didn’t. I’m just glad I didn’t totally freak out and left a, you know, terrible impression.” You shrugged. Now that you thought of it, it was odd that he had talked to you at all. Hadn’t he been ambushed by enough fans already for one day? He knew you knew who he was, so why talk to you any more than necessary? In any case, the three of you discussed (err, fangirled over) him a little longer before Min-ji remembered you had another important matter to discuss.

“What about your soulmate, though?” she asked. “When did you pass him?” Both of your friends had already found their soulmates. Min-ji’s happened to be her neighbor so they had known each other almost their entire lives. Soo-jin’s soulmate was one of your seniors and they had met a little after she started university.

“My counter changed to one in the morning.” You leaned back into a pillow. “I noticed when I was on the train. We probably crossed on the station, or when I was rushing to it.” You sighed. If only you had been paying more attention to your surroundings, you would have met yours too.

“Hey, what if your soulmate’s one of those Dispatch photographers?” Soo-jin exclaimed. You snorted.

“Dispatch? Seriously?” You rolled your eyes at her. You could always count on your friends to find all sorts of weird ways to cheer you up.

“That’s totally possible, though,” Min-ji added, playing along. “Didn’t you say he’s older than you?”

“You’ll have to start stalking Dispatch’s professional stalkers!”

“That might actually end up being a good thing.” You laughed. “I’d know all the latest gossip.”

Min-ji nudged you with her foot. “Show us your counter.” You thrust your wrist towards them. They promptly gasped, as you had expected them to. Your friends tended to be quite dramatic too.

“I know,” you began, “it is surprising. I was so shock—”

“Y/N,” Min-ji interrupted, “when did you last check your counter.”

“When I was leaving for work, I think. Why?”

“Well, it’s not Dispatch, for sure,” Soo-jin whistled.

“What?”

“Look at it again.”

You did, and you gasped too. Your wrist didn’t say 1 anymore. Now it read 2.

-

To say that Jiyong was confused would be an understatement. He was far beyond confusion. He was conflicted in the worst possible way. His entire day had been…chaotic. It hadn’t entirely been bad—he had experienced intense excitement and adoration at one point—but it had not been an ideal way to spend his break. Even trying to make sense of everything that had happened made his head throb.

When he had managed to disengage himself from the swarm of paparazzi at the station, he noticed that the counter that had read 0 for the past 20 years suddenly read 1. He had always imagined he would be overjoyed at this occasion. Strangely, he hadn’t been anywhere near overjoyed. He had become too used to living as if he had no soulmate. The discovery that not only did he have one, but that his soulmate was very close was a change he hadn’t seen coming, and it was not entirely welcome. And, he had to admit, he was also frustrated because he had only passed his soulmate, rather than actually meeting.

He had decided he needed coffee to clear his head and had taken great pains to find a place where he could get it without attracting public notice (again). At least, he had thought that was his consideration. But, in hindsight, it could have been the soulmate pull. They did say it worked in strange ways. How else could he, out of all the coffee shops in Seoul, have ended up at the one his soulmate worked at? Crossing her once in a day could be a coincidence but meeting her again in the span of some hours could most certainly not be one. In any case, he had winded up at her workplace. There, he had encountered a cute, albeit quite young, foreign part-timer who knew him, he had realized immediately. After the rough morning, he should have bolted but something had compelled him to stay. And he had discovered that the part-timer was fun to talk to.

He hadn’t realized she was his soulmate until he got back to his car and his manager pointed out that his counter had changed again. That was when things had begun to click in his head and the reason talking to her was fun started to become clear. He had been tempted to run back inside and tell her this new turn of events. But that had been accompanied with thoughts of rejection that held him back, and he had felt suffocated beneath a variety of emotions. Instead, he had told his manager to drive on.

That was why he was currently lying on his living room couch, a steaming bowl of ramen he suddenly did not want to eat abandoned on the mahogany table in front of him and all the lights expect the one in the hallway switched off. The atmosphere was gloomy, but he liked it better that way; it was a perfect representation of his inner turmoil. Her eyes, wide with excitement and surprise as they had been when he had mentioned coming again, seemed to be permanently etched in his brain. Now that he had uncovered her identity, the pull felt even stronger. His entire being was craving her. And she had moved to Seoul, so that would mean she was looking for her soulmate too. Had she put two and two together yet and realized she was actually looking for him?

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake off the doubts. He had gotten his counter when he was ten, so that would mean she had to be twenty. He had always known about the age gap, so it didn’t really bother him. It wasn’t like she was a minor or anything. But was she okay with it? All her knowledge about her soulmate came from whatever he had first said after she was born. He didn’t even remember what he had said. He just hoped it wasn’t something stupid. In any case, the most she could have inferred from that would be that he was a Korean man a few years older than her. There was a big difference in being a few years older and around ten years older. And did she even want him as her soulmate? His life hadn’t really been a pure, sinless, scandal-free one. She probably knew about that.

And most importantly, he didn’t like the pull. His mind was sort of sick of the effect the bond was having on him. It wasn’t her fault, but it made him want to avoid her at all costs.

What was he to do now? Go to her the next day? Or pretend his counter still said 0? Coming to a conclusion was not easy. He told himself to wait until his enlistment was over and then approach her. If she wanted to find him, she wouldn’t leave before she did. But even when eventually he drifted into a light, troubled slumber, he had not managed to convince himself.

[cramulus]

Trance Dancing - The Rave

by Jason Keehn

(this essay was formerly posted at https://duversity.org/archives/rave.html, but it’s gone, so I’m saving it by copying it here)

Can trance-dancing save the planet

Can you imagine a crazier notion?

Thousands of bored youth pumping themselves up with drugs, going out to huge underground parties and dancing maniacally to electronic rhythms and psychedelic light-shows till dawn.

And this is supposed to help the world?

Shouldn't we be putting our time instead into ecological or political activism, or at least doing some kind of charity work? What about the serious spiritual disciplines that claim to offer the only true path to personal--and thereby social--transformation? What good does all our drug-taking and revelry do for the hundreds of millions of dispossessed, fucked over and starving around the world--not to mention all the untold species and eco-systems being destroyed?

Hard to answer. And yet some of us still have this inescapable feeling, maybe even faith, that what we are doing, confused, silly and commercialised as it often is, is at its core absolutely necessary. . . not just to us, but in the bigger picture, somehow. . .

Why is it that at the peak moments (admittedly rare) of the very best underground house/techno/rave parties, we get this miraculous sense of hope, of possibility, of transformation . . . a feeling that we're actually heading somewhere. . . together. . . towards a brighter future, one worth living in, one where we've returned to some kind of harmony with ourselves, with each other and with our planet as a whole?

Is it "just the drugs," a kind of consensus delusion, or might there be some basis in reality for these feelings, hard to justify as they may seem once we're back out in the normal world?

More dimly sensed than clearly expressed, the feeling for such a possibility permeates the entire global underground dance scene. Thousands of promoters exploit it to inflate their party invites with cheesy techno-spiritual imagery. It inspires and guides much of the music, and some small but key fraction of the hard-core partiers. The rest of the crowds who fill the floors at parties get off on it as a second or third-hand charge that sets the party apart from being just another club, without ever thinking about taking it seriously.

At moments, some hundreds, and maybe even thousands or tens of thousands, of "ravers" have probably found themselves sensing/feeling/wondering that what they were doing might be something really big, something that could really change things at a larger scale.

But of course only people who turn themselves inside out with large amounts of drugs would even conceive the question: Can trance-dancing save the planet?

A few of us, myself included, have made public fools of ourselves already by answering in the affirmative, and even giving some tentative reasons why. Here I want to try to introduce a new way of thinking that complements and deepens what already been proposed by people like Fraser Clarke and Terence McKenna. They see psychedelicized mass trance dances as the only quick, viable antidote to the egotism at the base of the western, techno-industrial mega-machine maniacally chomping away at the life-fabric of the planet.

This different line of thought is based on a simple but profound idea first expressed by the philosopher and teacher of temple dances G. I. Gurdjieff, who died in 1949. His idea is almost completely unknown, outside of his hard to read book All and Everything.

If true, it has staggering implications for ourselves, for our planet, even for our entire solar system. I don't expect anybody to automatically take it as Goddess's given truth, but its worthy of some serious attention.

Energies

As all "ravers" know, there is a mysterious something that makes a rave different from just another club or party-scene. We call this "the vibe"--a mixture of intangibles impossible to find anywhere else, except maybe at a dead show or a rainbow gathering. Roughly put, the vibe consists of: an attitude of openness, sharing, empathy and playfulness; intense, unselfconscious dancing; a collective altered state of consciousness, thanks to the combined effects of specific rhythms, lights and psychedelic drugs; and, at its height, a melding of group feeling and energy into an ecstatic, orgasmic release that feels nothing less than spiritual or religious--albeit in a form that has little resemblance to any type of spirituality or religion we are familiar with.

We all know that "energy" is somehow key to all of this. We know we raise and release energy through our dancing, our feelings, and our interaction on the dance-floor. Energy was one of the main buzzwords of the early English rave scene. The vibe is all about energy--vibration, after all.

But what is this energy? What does it consist of, where does it come from, where does it go? Are there different kinds of energies? Do they have different purposes?

Back around the turn of the century, Gurdjieff and a group of friends travelled back and forth across the Middle East and Central Asia investigating humanity's true history, the nature of the cosmos, and the possibilities for humans to evolve consciously, from their own efforts. In the process, "the seekers of truth," as the group called themselves, also encountered the Masters of Wisdom still alive in that part of the world (the Khwajagan). The Khwajagan were considered to be the bearers of some of the highest spiritual knowledge on the planet, handed down continuously for thousands of years.

One of the focuses of Gurdjieff's research was the transformation of substances and energies--both chemical and subtle--in the human organism. He also learned a large number of temple dances, which he understood as databases in movement intended to preserve ancient knowledge.

Eventually, Gurdjieff returned to the West and presented his synthesis of these searches as a "system of ideas" and a practical method for self-transformation.

Feeding the Moon

Gurdjieff's quest was guided by the basic question, "what is the sense and significance of human life on earth?"

His conclusion, expressed in writing only towards the end of his life, was that humanity does not exist for itself, but to supply the planet, the moon, and the solar system with a particular gradation of energy which they need to thrive and grow. At times he called this principle, "feeding the Moon," though it is not clear whether he meant this literally or merely as a handy symbol.

He believed that the entire universe is in some sense alive and in a process of continuously evolving (and if not evolving, actively devolving). In what could be compared to a cosmic fractal, the universe is in a process of unfolding and giving birth to itself, each birth at a new level mirroring in its unique way that of other levels (known nowadays as the principle of self-similarity). In what Gurdjieff called "the ray of creation," "God" or the Absolute gives birth to universes; universes give birth to stars, which give birth to planets, which give birth to organic life (viruses, bacteria, plants and animals) and to moons. Eventually a planet may become a star, its moon may become a planet in its turn, and "give birth" to its own moon, and so on, ad infinitum.

Just as all plants and animals need a variety of nutrients to exist, grow and reproduce, so our world and its siblings need a very specialised type of substance to fuel their processes--their planetary metabolisms, if you will. Supposedly, this special energetic substance can be produced only by human beings.

Reciprocal Maintenance

Gurdjieff's answer fits into what he called "the doctrine of reciprocal maintenance", the idea that every thing exists only insofar as it supports or "feeds" something else. Everything is part of a vast, interconnected and mutually reinforcing web of life. Or, "everything is something else's lunch," as ecologists like to say. This idea anticipated the science of ecology by at least half a century.

Examples: Bees don't just exist for themselves, they live to pollinate flowers. Algae exists to turn sunlight into more complex molecules, and feed other small creatures, such as plankton and krill. Krill feeds other slightly larger creatures, and even whales. Plants exist to turn sunlight and raw matter into organic compounds, and to feed animals. Worms exist to loosen soil for plants. Bacteria recycle waste into useable raw matter. Predators help to increase the strength and fitness of the herds they prey on by eliminating the weak and sick. Etc. etc.

In the scheme of things, humanity's essential role is that of a transformer of energy.

Human beings, according to this view, exist to serve the cosmic evolutionary process--and not the opposite, as the Bible would have it: that all of creation is merely a resource for us to use and abuse as we see fit.

Our possibilities as human beings are dependent on the degree to which we fulfil this function, a kind of "obligation" which nature imposes on us.

By Gurdjieff's view, this special energy could be produced two different ways: either involuntarily, at the moment of death, when a small "packet" is released into the atmosphere, or voluntarily, in greater or lesser amounts, through spiritual work.

Since Mother Nature, or Gaia, needs a definite quota of this energy from us, she will do whatever is necessary to make sure she gets it. If we don't provide the required intensities while alive, the total number of deaths will have to be increased in such a proportion as to yield the needed amount.

Devolution

Gurdjieff further believed that rather than progressing, the overall quality of human being (as opposed to externalizations like technology, culture, institutions, etc.) has actually been deteriorating over the last umpteen thousands of years, especially in "civilised" societies such as our own. He believed that in the very distant past, before the earliest recorded history, human beings had a much greater presence and power; in a sense, they were bigger, spiritually and existentially, than the vast majority of us today. He also believed that people once had a much greater life-span.

They were energy-pumps.

Gurdjieff had his speculations about what caused this decline in the quality of human being in the very remote past, perhaps even before the destruction of Atlantis (his theory of the "kundabuffer," explored at length in All and Everything). The upshot, though, is that humanity as a whole has "forgotten" how to perform its ecological function in the world--or simply no longer has the necessary juice to do it, which pretty much amounts to the same thing.

So if this is in fact the case--that we human beings generally no longer have the knowledge or ability to "pump" this energy intentionally--Gaia will be forced to increase the total quantity of human death to meet her needs.

This can be accomplished, of course, by 1) increasing the number of human births, and eventually deaths, and 2) by shortening the life-span of existing individuals, or 3) a combination of the two. The net results: Population increase. . . disease, and war.

Following this line of thinking, our increasing inability to properly transform and pump energy means that we have to be treated (by the Gaian mind, if you like) the same way we treat plants and animals, as something to be farmed, bred and harvested. Not a very dignified state of affairs!

So as the qualitative level of human being goes down, the number of human beings, and thereby of human deaths, goes up to account for the difference in energy. And of course, since organisms grow at different rates, with different energy requirements depending on their activities, we can imagine that there might be major fluctuations in the needs for our energies.

The Terror of the Situation

This suggests a radical, and terrifying, view of contemporary history: that the population explosion, famines, plagues, wars and massacres might not be due just to accidental or sociological and political causes but may be induced by the needs of the solar "eco-system" as a whole, with human beings acting for the most part unwittingly to effectuate these needs.

Think about all the horror and insanity that has gone done in the twentieth century, even just in terms of cold numbers: millions killed in World War One, hundreds of thousands wiped out in seconds at Hiroshima and Nagasake alone, millions massacred one way or another in the Nazi concentration camps; supposedly as many as twenty million Russians dying in combat in World War Two, not to mention another twenty million who died in the same period as a result of Stalinist persecution and forced famine. Millions died in the Chinese civil war, six or seven million in Cambodia under Pol Pot. Don't even bother counting all the famines in Africa and South East Asia over the last few decades.

Why the incredible surge of violent death all over the world, paralleled by an equally incredible population explosion? What is up with those peculiar humanoid beings living on the surface of Sol-III?

I'm not going to try to argue the merits of this scheme against other theories. Just chew on it for a while and see how it fits.

And so the picture painted is one of a race of hapless, deluded slaves to some kind of a cosmic food-chain the existence of which we don't even recognise. This is definitely insulting to all our best images of ourselves. But then how do we reconcile all our great assets, our supposed free will, intelligence, and creativity with the dismal facts of what we've done to each other for all of recorded history?

Are we really anything more than automatons most of the time?

Gurdjieff had what might seem to many a horribly bleak, cynical view:

that our ideas of free-will and individuality are a delusion, an image of our potential mistaken for a general fact of our existence. Bluntly put, we are blind products of genetics, conditioning and external influence; on an energetic level, we are next to nothing. We are less, in that sense, than most mammals even.

We have become experts at consuming energy and resources, parasites.

As a civilisation, we no longer transform energy into higher gradients and radiate it back out to the world, we just circulate like little ants in our vast urban hives and manufacture stuff, endless quantities of stuff. We know how to suck energy, make objects, and how to kill. Even if we're not killing each other off at a given moment, we're decimating untold numbers of living beings without even being grateful for their existence.

Sure, for the most part we don't feel ourselves that way, but anybody who's tripped a few times in public places probably had disturbing glimpses--at least--along these lines. We don't see other people--or ourselves--that way, because it's just too hard a vision to live with.

The path of return

This perspective provides a definite way of understanding the connection between our amazingly fucked up global situation and "spirituality"--or the lack thereof. Seen this way, spirituality has less to do with living according to some moral doctrine, or accumulating "spiritual" experiences and states, than with being able to transform and radiate energy of a particular quality.

If it is true that we have been suffering a generalised decline over millennia, all our human institutions must participate in and reflect that decline. So everything we associate with religion, in all its multifarious forms, would generally be a product and mirror of a messed up situation; in other words, just another part of the problem.

At its best, the spiritual component of religious traditions points to a return to what should be our natural base-line of being, something so distant we can barely remember or taste it except at moments of "peak experience," or with the help of psychedelic drugs, or as a result of long, intensive discipline.

Our so-called "salvation" is really more a matter of somehow pulling ourselves back up out of a dysfunctional, disenabled, alienated state to something like a natural way of being--not transcendence or cosmic consciousness or union with God or whatever. We need to re-learn "how to be and to do."

According to Gurdjieff, the two key principles to following this "path of return," were intentional suffering and conscious labour. Through engaging in intentional sufferings and conscious labours we begin again to release the kinds of energies we were intended to give off.

Of course by today's standards, this sounds like a bummer of a philosophy. Isn't life just supposed to be full of fun and games? On the other hand, if we're realistic we know that there's always going to be pain, struggle, suffering in life. If there weren't where would the joy and pleasure and flow be? So maybe rather than seek to escape suffering, or just submit to it blindly, it might make sense to choose your form of suffering and make something out of it.

Intentional suffering. Again, if it's true that we exist in a chronic low-energy state, one of inertia and stasis, it makes sense that in order to get back to a point of being able to consciously transform energy we would need to somehow exercise an enormous effort just to break out of our passivity. "Only super-efforts count." If you're physically weak from illness, it usually takes an extra effort to get to the point of being able to exercise on a regular basis, to return to your previous level of strength. Or as they say, no pain no gain.

This can apply on a lot of levels other than just the physical. Pain can take the form of a kind of moral or spiritual suffering deriving from, say, breaking habits, or confronting bad traits in one's character, or doing exactly that which you least like to do. Suffering in the form of sacrifice is necessary to be there for others, to truly love.

Conscious labour assumes that most of the "work" we do, of whatever nature, is not really conscious to begin with. We are driven by culturally programmed priorities, survival, automatic emotional needs, obsession, neurosis, ego. To work consciously assumes that one must first have become aware of how unconscious one is most of the time, of how automatic most of how our thoughts, feelings, perceptions and actions really are.

To even get to this point itself requires a lot of intentional suffering, because what could make us suffer more than waking up to how we really don't "own" ourselves?

Forms of work

This general process is what people who study Gurdjieff's ideas and methods generally call "work-on-oneself," or just "self-work."

No doubt for many orthodox "Gurdjieffians," this path of return can only occur in the framework of decades of commitment to the "work," in the manner it has been passed down to them.

Much of Gurdjieff's practical teaching consisted of dancing and physical exercises used in combination with meditation and concentration techniques. Some of the dances Gurdjieff himself invented, many were direct copies of the ancient temple dances he found during his travels. (These dances are a closely held secret of existing Gurdjieff groups, and rarely if ever performed in public.)

Other important components of his method were the techniques of "self-observation" and "self-remembering," designed to bring "essence" back into balance with "personality."

What is little known to the world at large, and almost completely suppressed within existing Gurdjieff groups, is that Gurdjieff was interested in and worked with drugs. The references to "active substances" other than alcohol, opium and cocaine in his writings are rare, and even then oblique (he tried to set up a "chemical laboratory" in Russia at one point--for synthesising what?); it is known, but little discussed, that Gurdjieff administered certain substances to some of his students.

The monks of the legendary Sarmoun Brotherhood, whom Gurdjieff spent time with, themselves cultivated and used a psychoactive plant they referred to as the "Herb of Enlightenment." Curiously, Oscar Ichazo, founder of Arica, a 70s psycho-spiritual organisation that also incorporated psychedelics and movement-work, claimed to have accessed the Sarmounis as well.*

Furthermore, we know from Gurdjieff himself that he considered his students "guinea pigs," his groups a laboratory in which he was conducting certain undefined experiments.

According to J. G. Bennett, one of his major students and better interpreters, Gurdjieff experimented continuously with his ideas, techniques and overall approach. While Gurdjieff always talked about his system, it was never fixed in a way that most of his followers seem to believe and dogmatically transmit it to others.

If everything Gurdjieff did was a kind of living laboratory, how does anybody know what were really the goals and working hypotheses and what was just part of the experiment? What if he kept certain pieces of his puzzle secret, knowing perhaps they were too explosive to make public at the time?

The new trance dance

Here is a radically new take on Gurdjieff's philosophy and mission, one that has a direct bearing on our neo-psychedelic-rave subculture:

Is it possible that trance-dancing is one of the most basic forms of intentional suffering and conscious labour?

Is it possible that such dancing, performed by the right people in the right way with the right intentions, is capable of producing exactly that same energy Gurdjieff believed Mother Nature needs from us? Could it be that the use of psychedelics in conjunction with intensive dancing to certain specific rhythms, by a new breed of individuals, may be a way to fill our cosmic obligation without the life-long spiritual training otherwise required?

My intuition is that this is indeed the case--unlikely as it may seem to all the "old school" esotericists and spiritualists.

Perhaps, in fact, we are not really now at the point of being able to do this--being "youthful" as we are, and prone to all the naiveté and follies of youth. But this may be what a certain number of us are instinctively moving toward. Maybe this is just that mysterious something we cross over into as we're peaking and pulsing together on the dance-floor.

Think about tribal trance dances. What better description could you think of for endurance dancing to the point of fainting in the service of the gods than intentional suffering and conscious labour?

Under different names, tribal peoples seem to commonly believe that their dances are essential to the gods, a form of offering, sacrifice, or service. Something necessary to keep the balance, to keep the rain falling, to keep the sun coming up, to keep things moving. That's why they're sacred dances. And so maybe it's not just the form of the dance that's sacred, or even what the dancers experience, it's in what they do: the energy they collectively release.

Isn't it odd that just when most of the cultures that still do this are either being destroyed or forgetting their own traditions, just at that same moment a whole tribalistic, "neo-shamanic" dance craze develops among western youth?

Consider: How does someone behave who has a deep instinct, but in whom that instinct has been muffled by hundreds or thousands of years of habitual suppression and invalidation? Perhaps every now and then the instinct manifests itself in a crude, awkward outburst, only to be quickly silenced by the embarrassed ego and the lack of any proper name or place for it in surrounding society.

In some of Bennett's writings on this whole theme, there is a tendency to paint the "feeding the Moon" scenario in extremes: either one is energetically inert and useless; or else one sacrifices one's life to spiritual work and helps to make up for everyone else's lack.

But must it be such a dichotomy? Maybe that's how it tends to be nowadays, but maybe it wasn't always if people used to "be more" than they are today. Maybe once upon a time (and still in some remaining aboriginal cultures), you didn't have to be a spiritual athlete, a specialist (monk, shaman, priest/priestess, etc.), to return your two or three "cents" to Nature.

Maybe even now, everyone can return some energy, given the right circumstances and maybe the right "assisting factors" too.

And what about the effect of psycho-active substances? If there is anything we know about psychedelics for sure, it is that they act as catalysts. They temporarily shift our system's mode of functioning, our rate of vibration, and enable transformations that are otherwise difficult to achieve--again passing. But what if that transformation, in tandem with the right kind of dancing and mindset, is just enough to enable the release of some special energy?

Does it matter that much whether we're in that state all the time, or just that we have regular access to it and can use it to do what we need to do?

Sure, we have no tradition of sacred dance, and few ravers dance till they drop, few dance with conscious devotional feeling or intent. What we do have, or at least aspire to, is a basic attitude that sets the tone when we come together for our celebrations: Peace-Love-Unity-Respect. Not bad for a point of departure.

And yet, just how conscious do you have to be of your intent if your instinct IS your intent? Maybe as we get high and move together our intent resurfaces into consciousness, and for those few sweet timeless moments we actually DO it, . . . and then we drift back down into consensus reality where there is no name for it, and the veils gradually cover it all up and soon we once again think we were there for nothing more than a good time and some cool music.

But the taste and scent of that ineffable "juice" still lingers, and it keeps us going in the days ahead, going back to more parties, wearing the clothes we associate with it, compulsively getting high and listening to mix tapes round the clock, searching for that rare synchronicity of time, place, people and music where it might magically happen again.

In some of his late writings, Bennett speculated that recent decades are seeing the birth of a new kind of person, maybe even a new race of sorts, with spiritual capacities different from the rest of society.

Could that be us?

And just what is that "juice," that energy, that special nutrient so needed for all things to live and grow in harmony? That erotic radiant mix of thankfulness, joy, and compassion that just wants to fuck the entire cosmos? Could it be . . . L-O-V-E?

OK, admittedly there are a lot of big ifs here. To try to prove that

a) human beings do give off energy when they die;

b) that some can give off an equivalent kind of energy intentionally while still alive;

c) that most of us don't or can't do this anymore;

d) that people could once upon a time do it better;

e) that the planet or the moon or the solar system requires this energy;

f) that if they don't get it human birth and death will automatically be increased with no say on our side;

g) that this energy can be produced through trance dancing among tribal peoples; and

h) that this energy can also be produced by teenagers dancing at parties with the help of drugs. . .

To try to prove, or even argue, all of that would be at least another article in itself. . . or more realistically, the basis for a life-time of research.