#haptic controls

[savageonwheels]

Review: 2025 Hyundai Santa Fe Hybrid Calligraphy AWD

Hyundai's new Santa Fe adds a hybrid system while going all cubist on its designs, but WOW!

Santa Fe’s modular design, wild color, and three rows snag attention … If you liked last week’s tested Hyundai Tucson but need more space for kids and luggage, or just want to stir up the neighbors, this week’s Santa Fe may be for you. First, it’s bigger and roomier with three rows of seats compared to the Tucson’s two. That translates to seats for up to seven vs. only five. Yet the first…

[crab-people-overlord]

South Park RPG

ok SO this is super nerdy and super cringy BUT I'm so curious what your opinions are on this.

imagine you have endless resources to help create the most badass SP RPG game (I'm not talking snow day level, which in my own opinion was a major let down compared to TSoT and TFbW. not saying it had its own highlights or that it can't be a thing on its own; I just think it was marketed wrong. it's more on the level of phone destroyer and not nearly the quality of the other rpg's, and I think we can all agree on that at least).

say matt and trey wanted to end this decade with a badass third installment to their RPG SP lineup; the kind that makes SoT and FbW look like beta tests... what would you want to see in it?? the sky's the limit, and specs in technology aren't a limit. what would you want to see?

personally, i would love to see a multiverse type thing (and yes, they would make fun of themselves for doing this by breaking the fourth wall constantly like kyle saying multiverses are stupid like in the panderverse), following along the lines of a game like Baldur's Gate 3 meets Witcher 3 meets just normal SP dark humor where it's pretty D&D based, but with a SP twist.

like, they can start out kinda like the boys in stranger things where they're just playing a game of D&D. and they can have varying specs, but my thinking is (these are all based on level 8 in D&D, and yes, they all multiclass because they're all dramatic as hell): 1. Cartman- he would TELL everyone he's the grand wizard king, but in reality, he spends more effort manipulating others than actually studying actual magic to... do real magic lmao. like, he CAN do real magic, but only rarely. so in D&D I see him multiclassing as a rogue (5) and barbarian (3), which align well with all his skills in all the games including phone destroyer where he primarily plays as a tank, with decent but not great offense, fantastic health, and pretty much no ability to help out teammates with healing. so he's not actually a wizard, though he still claims he is, and also at the most random times displays actual magic (oftentimes when those around him are in utter chaos, which he thrives on).

proficiencies: deception, intimidation, persuasion, insight, sleight of hand, performance.

2. Kyle - given his high elf background, I think he'd actually be a wizard (5) as well as a cleric (3) given all his healing/rallying powers in previous games. this would be hilarious with cartman claiming he's the 'grand wizard' when kyle is literally a wizard - obviously with lots of fire powers (he's got that ginger/new jersey rage). and in my mind, he has a lot of pressure from his family in fulfilling his royal duties while at the same time being utterly sick of the traditions and just wanting to fucking actually make meaningful change in society. and he just is naturally good at fire spells. also, him being an elf while all the others are humans gives cartman all the more reason to rip on him. just like in the other games, he's lower on health but fantastic with healing and rallying the group, and while he doesn't have the best health, he can also deal an incredible amount of damage from afar.

proficencies: arcana, history, persuasion, insight, religion, medicine..

3. Stan canonically is a ranger (5), but his multiclass in my headcanon is bard (3). the ranger comes first out of necessity - he learns hunting from his uncle, etc, and he loves nature and animals but hates killing animals. he learns to play the lyre, which helps to calm down his tendency towards nihilism, hence the bard. also, ranger is lowkey my fave and perhaps underrated class to play in bg3 cuz I can call on my wolf in battle, and stan has sparky (who is totally half wolf, as stan explains in S1). he later learns that music helps dispel the darkness he sees in the world, hence his draw towards bard. like in the other games, he serves as a fairly well-rounded soilder, with decent health and damage up close and also an ability to heal- but you have to know how to use him strategically like with his Sparky companion to get the best out of him.

proficencies: animal handling, survival, athletics, nature, perception, performance.

4. Kenny I think would be Monk (5), Warlock (3). these are particularly for his main character without alter egos as Kenny, though his Mysterion and princess kenny roles would absolutely play a role - Mysterion more in the multiverse and when he's trying to make sense of why he can't die, and princess kenny when he needs to use charisma with those of higher social backgrounds. he obviously is trying to figure out why he can't die, and obvs the cult of Cthulu would have to make a comeback in the story. like other games, he has fantastic damage up close, and if the player knows how to play strategically, the best special powers of all come when he's dead (but the player has to be smart enough to know how to use those to their advantage).

proficiencies: stealth, acrobatics, insight, deception, sleight of hand, survival.

anyways, in my mind, they start out on silly quests with these stats, but eventually the game shifts unexpectedly from d&d/baulders gate style to a more multiverse twist where the other boys' personas are introduced (like superheroes, the other personas in phone destroyer, etc). there would be a cool three-act story surrounding it, and of course New Kid would make a comeback (and probably be the one who can control the multiverse like they can time. maybe the stick of truth has something to do with it). new kid would also partner with prof chaos as heavily foreshadowed in the end of tFbW (I have my own ideas as well for professor chaos lol)

this would just be at the beginning of the game as i have so many ideas i've been poring into a future project, but my mind immediately goes to game ideas first rather than story ideas, so I have to try to get them more into that storytelling fic area instead. i'd love to hear what you would like to see in another RPG.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 10, Number 12

Olivia Tremor Control

Another year of Dust goes into the books with this final edition. We’ve relished the chance to work in short form, covering small label releases and chart-toppers, new music and worthy reissues, across a lot of genres but leaning heavily on jazz, folk, punk and experimental music. We hope you’ve enjoyed it, too, Here’s to continuing that, at least, in 2025.

This month’s contributors include: Bill Meyer, Patrick Masterson, Tim Clarke, Ian Mathers, Alex Johnson, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Christian Carey and Bryon Hayes. 

Abdou / Gouband / Warelis — Hammer, Roll and Leaf (Relative Pitch)

When applied to improvising musicians, residency usually refers to a sequence of gigs at the same club. This session, a first-time encounter for the trio but not for its component parts, takes another tack. The hour of music on Hammer, Roll and Leaf was tracked in alto and tenor saxophonist Sakina Abdou’s home over the course of four days, two of which were taken up with gigs elsewhere. So, we should we call it a residential residency? At any rate, one supposes that the shared time in close quarters contributed to the music’s charge. It has a feeling of excitement in becoming. They’re not just improvising; they’re figuring out who they are as a trio. Each musician brings both flexibility and a strong individual presence. Martha Warelis is as comfortable inside the piano as she is at the keys, and she uses that combination of hardware rumble and high-wire line-tracing to give the music shape, motion and space. Toma Gouband’s penchant for playing with stones and branches filters the conventional spectrum-filling function of his drum kit, and his astute placement of small sounds invites one to listen for the details. Abdou thrives in their company, find a complementary stance for whatever her fellows throw at her. Great stuff.

Bill Meyer

Barker / Parker / Irabagon — Bakunawa (Out of Our Heads)

Andrew Barker is a drummer, improviser and composer based in New York whose cv includes Gold Sparkle Band, Acid Birds and a host of endeavors that blur the line between solo and collaborative. Take this one, for example. Barker put the date together, but when you call on William Parker (heard here on bass, B flat pocket tuba, and a Catalan double reed instrument called a gralla) and Jon Irabagon (tenor and sopranino saxophone), you don’t do so in order to shove music stands under their noses. Each musician adds such personality and imagination to their parts that the shared compositional credits make perfect sense. Each of the LP’s four (five on the download) tracks explores a different tributary off the free jazz stream, pushing back the mapped zone of exploration just a bit.“Fly Anew,” for example, swings with burly muscularity, while “Morgan Avenue Second Line” fractures and scrambles said line into an expression of confrontationally dancing sound, like martial arts sparring match between three choreographers.

Bill Meyer

Batu & Nick León — Yiu EP (A Long Strange Dream)

Bristol’s Batu and Miami’s Nick León are both club vets at this point — the former via numerous late UK bass singles and ownership of both the Timedance and A Long Strange Dream imprints, the latter an adventurous remix workhorse whose 2024 highlight ended up being an Erika de Casier collaboration. Closing out the year with their first EP together, Yiu thrives on the tension between Bristolian bass weight and the lighter, faster beats of Miami’s Latin scene. The eponymous track, originally heard in León’s Dekmantel mix, is the highlight, snagging a reggaeton rhythm and marrying it to swirling, dissonant (but not unpleasant) synths. Don’t miss the bubbly “Tuvan” (yes, there is throat singing incorporated) or the dashing “Palo,” either, though. For just four tracks, a great deal of ground is covered; let’s hope this just scratches the surface of their potential together.

Patrick Masterson

“Deadly” Headley Bennett—35 Years from Alpha (On-U Sound)

If you listen to Studio One reggae, you know Headley Bennett’s playing, even if you don’t know that you know. As part of the core session crew, his spreadably rich alto saxophone is all over the label’s discography, but as a consummate sideman he managed to make it to the age of 50 without making a solo record. When he stuck around London after a tour with Prince Far I, Adrian Sherwood recognized an opportunity to right a cosmic wrong and put him in the studio with drummer Style Scott, singer Bim Sherman and a posse of creatively named On-U Sound regulars. The combination of Bennett’s fluid melodies and Sherwood’s muscularly dubby, percussion-forward production is inspired. Every boingy syndrum, ardently crooned lyric and echoing beat has a reflective surface that points attention to the saxophonist.

Bill Meyer

Blawan — BouQ EP (Temesc)

The longer South Yorkshire producer Jamie Roberts is left to his own devices, the weirder his songs get. Using his literal voice more than ever and letting in a lot more light than his typically aggro, industrial-leaning productions account for, BouQ covers considerable post-dubstep ground for him on the big room highlight “Fires” alone. Lest it be misunderstood, Blawan isn’t going James Blake singer-songwriter mode or getting confessional instead of confrontational, but the more discernibly human touches and melodies of this four-tracker are a distinctive step to the left. It suits him; more than another Persher album or even an extended hardware-only Karenn set, BouQ is the sound of an opportunity, of fresh potential from a guy who’s lived through club trends of the last decade and a half and still has something left to give.

Patrick Masterson

Bursting — Bursting EP (No Sabes)

Bursting cites Jawbox, No Knife, Drive like Jehu and Shiner as musical reference points for its debut six-song EP, but even with that and pedigrees of bands including Coliseum, Stress Positions and Thou, the thing “Trade in Time” reminded me of most immediately was early Foo Fighters. There’s a subtle multitracked quality to Kortland Chase’s higher register that recalls Dave Grohl in his first years after Nirvana and the music never feels too heavy — but far from a negative thing, this just paints Bursting as distinct from its creators’ biggest projects. There’s no question you can hear Jehu’s most driving Yank crimes on “Play It Nice,” but taken as a whole, this is a solid slab of 1990s-indebted indie-rock skirting the perimeter of knotty post-hardcore as it was then delivered. Put another way: It’s easy to imagine a 1995 where “Dark Phase Manager” is an alt-rock radio staple (complementary).

Patrick Masterson

DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ — Sorcery (Spells on the Telly)

It’s unnerving how prolific DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ is. The still-anonymous London producer properly broke through with the three-hour odyssey Destiny, a mind-bending 41-track melange of sunny, psychedelic, sample-heavy house the likes of which most people hadn’t heard since the Avalanches’ Since I Left You heyday. That was August 2023. Normally, you’d take a moment after that to make a victory lap, catch your breath and see where you’re at artistically, assess what you want to do next. But that’s you, a mortal; what Sabrina did instead was release two singles and three albums, one of which (Hex) has two companion albums unto itself. The latest (though only a fool would bet on it being the last) 2024 release is the 14-track Sorcery from early December, which fails to dip in the quality we’ve come to expect. Despite oft-straightforward 4/4 rhythms, the sheer density of these productions — which have to look like a nightmare in ProTools, incidentally — boggles the mind. What does her process look like? When does she sleep? How the fuck is this possible? The answer has to be right there in the title; nothing else seems plausible.

Patrick Masterson

The Green Child — Look Familiar (Hobbies Galore / Upset the Rhythm)

The self-titled 2018 debut by the duo of Mikey Young (Eddie Current Suppression Ring, Total Control) and Raven Mahon (Grass Widow) was an uncanny gem. Its deadpan space-pop felt like the soundtrack to an odd, dated nature documentary. On album three, Look Familiar, the duo are joined by Alex Macfarlane (The Stevens, Twerps) on guitars and synths, and Shaun Gionis (Boomgates) on drums. The resulting sound is much fuller and more propulsive, with a motorik bent and a twist of glam swagger. The title feels like a nod to the fact that several of the songs have elements that are reminders of a diverse range of other songs, such as Fleetwood Mac’s “Tusk” (“Easy Window”), Boards of Canada’s “A Beautiful Place Out In the Country” (“A Long Beautiful Flowing Cape”), and even Wang Chung’s “Dance Hall Days” (opener “Wow Factor”). The eclecticism in these reference points is a good indicator of this album’s tunefulness and likeability.

Tim Clarke

Haptic — Sensitive Dependence on Initial Conditions (Line)

One could accurately characterize the entire timeline of the Chicago-identified trio Haptic as a shift between the poles of outreach and interiority. Originally formed expressly to perform live, with guests, extended episodes of geographic separation brought out their latent tendencies towards audience-free interaction. The title tips the hand of this recording, which can be considered an experiential confrontation with destiny. For while the musicians added to, subtracted from, processed and otherwise manipulated sourced from a one-day session at Chicago’s Experimental Sound Studio, they kept coming back to the original sounds. Which is not to say that it sounds like what they played; rather, what you hear was fileted from the original sound capture, dredged through field recordings and room sounds, and then shaken until only a light dusting of influence remained. There are long stretches where it sounds like a rank of long electronic tones tucked behind a cloud bank of room sound, and this immateriality makes the choice to release it only as a digital download feel like an artistic choice to make format congruent with content.

Bill Meyer

Hirsch Swell Clouse Parker — Out on a Limb (Soul City Sounds)

To spell it out, that’s Steve Hirsch on drums, Steve Swell on trombone, William Parker on bass and Jim Clouse on soprano and tenor saxophones. All of them save Minneapolitan Hirsch are New Yorkers who spend a lot of time in Clouse’s Park West Studio, and there’s a rapport between them that contributes to this music’s apparent effortlessness. The horns glide and tangle, then stop and smear textures as one; the bass and drums have a leap-frogging dynamic that keeps the music moving even when one of them temporarily plunges into space and then pops back up, gleefully gravity-defiant. Soulful and free-flying, his is free jazz that inhabits the moment and makes you want to live in it too.

Bill Meyer

Hypnodrone Ensemble — The Problem Is in the Sender—Do Not Tamper With the Receiver (WV Sorcerer Productions)

About all you can count on with a release from this group led by Aidan Baker (Nadja) and Eric Quach (thisquietarmy) is that those two will play guitar, there will be at least three drummers (here Fiona McKenzie, Angela Martinez Muñoz, and Sara Neidorf), and that things are indeed going to drone hypnotically. On this outing, in addition to past contributor Gareth Sweeney returning on bass, there’s a first: vocals, by Lane Shi Otayonii (Dent, Elizabeth Colour Wheel). Otayonii’s wailing vocals are equally entranced and entrancing and fit surprisingly well with the roiling boil the rest of the Ensemble can whip up seemingly on command. The result is just as easy to get lost in as their other LPs, but in a whole new head spinning way.

Ian Mathers

Licklash — Big Smile (Roolette)

Here’s hoping you have at least 12 minutes for punk rock today. Listen just one time through Big Smile, the debut EP from Melbourne duo Licklash, and you’ll have gotten a satisfying pummel from these four furious, bouncy polemics. The pleasures of the blurted but flowing last verse of “Party Line” or the pounding, angular rhythm guitar on “Battleship,” for example, are immediate. But leave Big Smile on for another round and you’ll find a carefully constructed, complex record that, despite its four-year formation, never sounds over-thought or precious.

Big Smile was entirely and admirably produced by the band    — guitarist and vocalist Kahlia Parker and bassist Carsten Bruhn. The mix is clean and balanced and spotlights the subtleties: the crinkled buzz of Parker’s lead riff on “Battleship” or the high, bent notes that orchestrate the music into intervals of calm, of form meeting content, however briefly, on “Control.” Achievements in production noted and appreciated, you’ll keep coming back to Big Smile for the polemics and the pummeling; for Parker’s sharp, indignant delivery of the group’s frantic, funny-until-dead-serious lyrics and headlong, hard struck instrumentation that manages both hardcore intensity and a bumping groove.

Alex Johnson

Low Animal — Bedlam Hiss EP (Decapitator)

I’m not saying it’s Low Animal’s fault my tinnitus is beyond repair — you’re talking to a guy who saw My Bloody Valentine without earplugs in his younger, dumber years — but I’m also not saying they helped at a recent gig in support of Flint grunge staples Greet Death. The flamboyant Chicago quintet knows where their bread is buttered, and on recent three-tracker Bedlam Hiss, they put that noise-rock know-how to tape with a screeching, smashing, soaringly irrepressible pummel. There are a not-unnoticeable number of bands, led by Chat Pile, currently out there demonstrating what they’ve learned from The Jesus Lizard … but I can assure you that few of them match the sonic intensity of Low Animal. The EP doesn’t quite do the live experience justice, so take it from one who learned that too late: Do not leave those earplugs at home.

Patrick Masterson

Lunar Noon — A Circle’s Round (self-released)

Michelle Zheng was reading works by the Vietnamese Buddhist and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh when she started composing A Circle’s Round, and his thinkings on action, inter-being and connection to all living things permeates the expansive contours of this art-song cycle. The sounds of nature weave through sophisticated, large ensemble arrangements. Indeed, the very first sound you hear is running water. Yet this is no meditation-inducing drone. Zheng constructs shimmering, multi-layered compositions out of choral vocals, strings, piano and other instruments, and enlivens them with constant interlocking motion. Her core band includes half a chamber quartet in violinist Brian Lach and Christopher Healy, plus drummer Théo Auclair, and she herself sings and plays piano and synths.  Some cuts like “Forgettable Consequences” swagger with jazzy urbanity. Others, such as the closer, “The Other Shore,” billow with lively voices at play. “A Circle’s Round” percolates and shivers, approaching Jon Hopkins electronic ambiences. Lovely and complicated.

Jennifer Kelly

Mahall / Stoffner / Griener — Die Exorzistin (Wide Ear)

Give this record’s sleeve a good look. The artists have gone to the trouble of packaging the CD in a 7” single sleeve, thereby guaranteeing two things; it won’t get lost in the same stack as the other slimline CD sleeves, and fading jazz-head eyesight stands a better chance of registering the details of the dense, irreverent collage on its sleeve. Neither the image nor the music it encases seeks to provide comfort. Drummer Michael Griener and clarinetist Rudi Mahall have a partnership that has endured since they were both teens, and they are as jointly fluent in mid-20th century swing as they are in elbows-out free improvisation. They zero in on the latter end of the spectrum through this album’s 17 spiky and generally pithy tracks. Mercurial and agile, they make music like a pair of swordsmen who are just itching for a chance to evade the rules and poke holes in each other’s favorite smoking jackets. Electric guitarist Florian Stoffner is equally nimble, but he brings a clanking sonic ballast to the proceedings.

Bill Meyer

Anne Malin — Strange Power! (Dear Life)

North Carolina poet and songwriter Anne Malin brings an extended ensemble to her fifth full-length, moving away from the ghostly tremors of 2020’s Waiting Song (“These songs have a fey, otherworldly quality,” said Dusted.) towards a surer, more communal sound. There’s nothing spectral about “North Carolina,” for instance. The tune pays tribute to the white sand beaches of Malin’s home state, trace-like percussion, pedal steel and piano flourishing around her warm, twining melodies, while “River” undulates with the warmth of Lily Honigberg’s violin. Still, “Lilac Bloom” is as delicate as the blossoms it celebrates, and wavery washes of surf guitar arise around its slow lament. And edging back into goth, “The Visionary” quotes a poem by Emily Brontë, Malin’s voice echoing the novelist’s 19th century, death-haunted romanticism. Strange Power! builds a narrow bridge between this world and the next.

Jennifer Kelly

Nate Mercereau — Sundays (How So)

Nate Mercereau is a guitarist, sampler and composer who has worked with a long list of high profile musicians, from pop icons like Lizzo, Shawn Mendez and Andre3000, to jazz innovators like Idris Ackamoore and Kamasi Washington. For Sundays, Mercereau pairs with avant percussionist/synthesizer whiz Carlos Niño for a set of radiant, synth-heavy dreamscapes that however somewhere between prog and fusion jazz. Mercereau infuses his music with light and air and nature. When birds twitter in the interstices of “Every Moment Is the First and Last,” and you can almost feel the sunshine pouring in. “Absolute Sensitivity” sits cross-legged in a meditation garden, letting the long tones vibrate, mutate and fade without forcing them into melody. On the downside, these cuts can feel disembodied and imaginary, an unreal landscape too pretty to buy into. However, bits of organic music—alto flights from saxophonist Josh Johnson, kit drums from Jamire Williams—provide some grounding.

Jennifer Kelly

Non Bruises — II (Just Because)

Ohioan Mike Uva returns to his electrified Non Bruises project for a second round, cutting back on the lyrics-focused song structure and zooming in on guitar tone. Thus, “Silent Partner” cuts back to the words to a recorded (and uncredited) inspirational speech, building a slow bloom of post-rock guitar and drums around it. “Moto Rick” is a sharper vamp, all driving guitar/bass/drums for a long time before picking up some thready vocals. Standout “Evelyn Martin,” credited to guitarist Andy Stibora, has a bit more of the first record’s lo-fi GBV-into-Pavement grace, but most of these cuts groove rather than hook. “Taster,” a Grandaddy cover near the end, looms and hazes and resolves, a reminder that the fuzz has to have a center somewhere. We liked the first Non Bruises a lot here at Dusted (“an album that could take its place in your small rack of favorites”) and this one a bit less.

Jennifer Kelly

The Olivia Tremor Control — “Garden of Light” / “The Same Place” (Elephant 6 Recording Co.)

Two new songs by legendary psych-pop band The Olivia Tremor Control were recently released as part of the soundtrack to the Elephant 6 Recording Co. documentary. Then, a matter of hours later, news circulated that Will Cullen Hart had died of a heart attack following a decades-long struggle with multiple sclerosis. The experience of listening to these two songs is not only colored by the news of Hart’s passing, and that of Bill Doss before him, but also the sinking realization that the long-gestating third OTC LP may never see the light of day without Hart or Doss at the helm. Having said that, the strength of the E6 musical community, so beautifully depicted in the documentary, may work miracles once the sting of Hart’s passing has begun to fade. For now, these two songs are premium, essential OTC. “Garden of Light” is classic Doss, full of bright, major-key jangle, harmonized vocals, and Beatles-esque guitar breaks, while Hart’s “The Same Place” could have come straight off the first Circulatory System LP with its mournful cellos and dreamy sway.

Tim Clarke

Ploughshare — Second Wound (I, Voidhanger)

Angular and dissonant, Canberra-based black metal band Ploughshare makes music that seems like it would be more at home in Norway or Northern France. But black metal is global, and always has been; the Scandi bands get the most buzz for breaking the form open, but Brazil and England were likely more important sites of early articulations of the genre’s visual style and unslakable need for infernal speed. Ploughshare plays a much headier, avant-garde rendition of black metal (as the band’s current label suggests), and it’s demanding stuff. This reviewer really digs “Thorns Pressed into His Head,” which achieves a propulsion that is both dementedly downhill in its abandon and deeply dizzying; there’s a churn in your gut if you really dig in and engage. On some of the longer compositions, the desire for atmospherics and rhythmic complexity can drain the music of some of its bloody-minded heat; see “The Mockery of the Demons.” Wish this talented band would devote a little more of their intensity to keeping the music grounded, where its capacity to gouge and pummel has maximum material force. But Second Wound is a mostly satisfying record. If it cuts into you once, you’ll go back.

Jonathan Shaw

Primitive Art Group — 1981-1986 (Amish)

1981-1986 by Primitive Art Group

These New Zealand improvisers used jazz instruments in their work, with some unorthodox inclusions like bass banjo, bass drum, and guitar preparations. Their two albums are collected here. Multiple reeds in tandem create howling dissonance on “Swingin’ in the Rain.” On the live track “Cecil Likes to Dance,” the group channels raucous free jazz from the United States circa 1970, with a central section that thins out to harmonics, drum rolls, and altissimo call and response, and a return to the opening demeanor. “Lannie’s Revenge” has more organized horn charts that are periodically interrupted by spacy organ and angular drumming. Solos from saxophone and organ provide an Arkestra ambience. “Macho Groove” is rife with syncopation and juxtaposes multiple saxophones playing sustained lines and emphatic short motives. 1981-1986 is an eclectic pastiche of free play that embodies the energy of New Zealand’s fertile creative music scene in the 1980s.

Christian Carey

Maeve Schallert — The Etching (cow: music/Astral Spirits)

The Etching by Maeve Schallert

Scratched into a solid but capable of suggesting all manner of active perceptions, etchings have a lot in common with LPs. The Etching may be cut into plastic (or, if you fail to find one of its 100-small micro-pressing, coded into your favorite file format), but it certainly evokes movement. It is performed by Maeve Schallert, a violinist based in Kingston NY who is too young to have known a world without delays and canny enough to spin elusive gold from the collision of architecturally and electronically generated echoes. They created each of the album’s two pieces by feeding phrases into a ten-second delay MaxMSP whilst playing in a stairwell, which generates the impression of violin strokes circling the space like a vortex of bats, then flying up and out towards every possible horizon.

Bill Meyer

Pat Thomas / Dominic Lash /Tony Orell — Bleyschool: Where? (577 Records)

BleySchool: Where by Pat Thomas and Bleyschool

Bleyschool is another in Pat Thomas’ bulging bag of musical tricks. Like Ahmed, which had a banner year in 2024, it deals with history on the English keyboardist’s terms. Accompanied by bassist Dominic Lash and drummer Tony Orell, Thomas sticks to piano and deals mainly with material associated with (but not written by) Paul Bley. The centerpiece is a 16:40 version of Carla Bley’s “Ida Lupino” that melts the original’s melody into a churning textural mass, and then slowly reassembles it. On another Carla Bley composition, “King Korn,” an iridescent bowed bass clears space for a Thomas’ leaping clusters, and “Monk’s Mood” magnifies the tune’s chasmic gaps and springy, wandering rhythms. Mid-20th century jazz often got compared to Cubism; the way that Bleyschool magnifies and distorts their material’s angles and shapes feels very true to that model without sounding like it’s of that time.

Bill Meyer

Vernal Scuzz — Vernal Scuzz (Sweet Wreath)

Vernal Scuzz by Vernal Scuzz

Jasper Lee birthed Vernal Scuzz after Silica Gel dissolved, and this new group’s debut shows off a darker and murkier side of the Sweet Wreath ecosystem. They’re collecting mutant spores from the sooty catacombs of 1980s Manchester rather than grass clippings from medieval pastures. Tight, punchy post-punk rhythms bathe in a fizzy stew of broken circuitry and rangy structures that the band intersperse with arcane rites and translucent melodies. Album opener “La Durée” fools us into thinking we’re in for turn of the millennium post-punk revivalism, but the rest of the songs are steeped in a simmering chaos akin to Liars’ They Were Wrong, So We Drowned. The odd swatch of spoken word finds Lee looking back at the folky leanings of his previous outfit, but Vernal Scuzz would rather rock out than revisit the songs of our ancestors. Their dank, punky energy certainly tingles the eardrums.

Bryon Hayes

[kyriathanatos]

it is so fucking funny to me every day that nintendo marketed controller vibration as a new, exciting feature by giving it a dumb name and EVERYONE bought into it.

I distinctly remember watching people go "woaw i can really feel the HD RUMBLE™... so cool..."

[hallaslin]

It's insane how many people are so opposed to getting vasectomies. Oh we have a solution to this big ole problem. If you want to start a family the old fashioned way just go get it reversed. We'll even give you anesthesia! How is this not the most popular thing to do. A call to all the penis'd, get a vasectomy. Sincerely, the uterus'd

[fogaminghub]

🌌 Hello, fellow gamers! The Forever Skies PS5 demo is finally here! Dive into a beautiful yet harsh world, explore the ruins of a devastated Earth, and set out on a mission to save humanity. 🛩️ Complete the demo to unlock an exclusive airship skin for the full game! Available now on the PlayStation Store. Happy gaming!  

[ridragon]

I know people are like ragging on it because it's kinda ugly lookin' (it does kinda look like they just cut a controller in half) and it doesn't do cloud streaming, and you need wifi blah blah, but the new PSP (Play Station PORTAL but they knew what they were doing!!!) Is so exciting to me because fatigue issues tend to keep me in bed and needing to play things at work when it's slow!!! I'm really excited for a dedicated portable PS5 player with the really cool haptic feedback controllers.

[techdriveplay]

Should I Buy Black Ops 6 on PC or PS5?

When it comes to deciding between platforms for games like Black Ops 6, a key question that often arises is: Should I buy Black Ops 6 on PC or PS5? After thoroughly testing the game on both systems during the beta, I found the PS5 version to be more responsive and smoother, despite my high-end PC specs. This comparison will help you weigh the pros and cons of each platform to make an informed…

[venomgender]

>buys switch pro controller for the rumble controls

>it doesn't rumble

[tikitakatia]

Barça: Player Mode — A. Putellas x Reader

"Session Flagged"

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 , Pt. 3 , Pt. 4

WC: 4.3k

Summary: In the beginning, it was just a game. Now it’s stolen hours in half-finished rooms and a voice that breaks rules just to stay close to you. You know it’s dangerous but you still keep coming back, because leaving her behind feels even worse.

You log in at 10:03 p.m. on a Tuesday, 3 days later.

The load is smooth, too smooth actually.

No haptics drag. No lag. Just immediate clarity, like the sim’s waiting for you. You land mid-dressing room scene, still zipping up your training top. The lighting’s perfect. The air smells like sweat and eucalyptus, and chatter of your teammates surrounds you.

You glance over and catch Mapi in the mirror.

She blinks at you.

Twice.

And then again. Like, four times in a row. Rapid fire. Unsettling. Inhuman.

You squint. “You good?”

Mapi grins and holds up a bottle of body spray like she’s won a prize. 

“New scent. What do you think, is it irresistible?”

You blink. She blinks back, normally this time.

Weird.

You brush it off. Probably just loading jitter. But something about the smoothness of the sim has you on edge. Everything’s too synced and controlled.

You finish lacing your boots, stand, and make your way toward the tunnel. Ona intercepts you with a grin and a nudge.

“Du spiller bedre når du er forelsket.”

You stop.

“What?”

She smiles like she said something obvious.

“Let’s kill it out there.” She jogs off before you can respond.

You stand there a second longer, brain glitching harder than the sim. You don’t speak Norwegian and she doesn´t either. You laugh, nervously. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

The team lines up at the edge of the tunnel. The stadium rumbles. You roll your shoulders, take a deep breath, focus on the field opening up in front of you like a dream.

The match begins like any other, tight press, high tempo, clean passes. You fall into the rhythm, foot to foot, voice to voice.

Until..

Pina sprints past you on the left wing, goes to cut inside and her shoes vanish.

You stop cold.

She skids to a halt, barefoot on the pitch, somehow still grinning.

“All good!” she calls out.

“Check it out, team colors!”

You glance down.

Her toenails are painted blaugrana. Glossy. Fresh.

You almost choke.

No one else seems fazed.

You try to shake it off. Regroup and focus.

Midfield opens up. You get the ball. You look ahead.

And that’s when it hits you.

Your striker isn’t Pajor.

It’s Cata.

Cata.

She’s bouncing on her toes like a kid in line for a theme park. She waves at you, giggling.

“Pere let me be a striker today!”

You freeze and blink at her in confusion.

Frido waves at you from the goal. She’s the goalkeeper. Gloves and all. She gives you a thumbs up from across the pitch like she’s loving this.

The match keeps going. No whistle. No system error. No reset.

Just full chaos, playing out like it’s normal.

You hear a low whistle behind you.

You turn.

Alexia’s jogging toward you, cool as ever, sweat collecting at her temples, mouth tugged up at one side like she knows exactly what she’s done.

You plant your hands on your hips.

“Alexia. What the hell is going on?”

She tilts her head, smiling. “What?”

“Don’t play innocent. This sim is losing its mind. Mapi’s blinking like a bot. Ona went full Norwegian. Pina’s running barefoot with team-colored toes. Cata is, God bless her, a striker. And Frido is playing goal like she’s trying out for a new life.”

Alexia shrugs.

“I might’ve tweaked a few things.”

You stare at her.

“You what?”

“It didn’t hurt anyone,” she says, almost too casually, even as Cata takes a wild shot and Frido saves it with a cartwheel. 

“They’re not real. Not like you.”

You freeze.

Her voice is measured and soft.

“You’re the only one I wanted to see react.”

Your chest tightens.

“Why are you doing this?”

She looks around like it’s obvious.

“Because I can.”

Your chest tightens, but you keep your tone light.

“Alexia, this is chaos.”

She glances around the pitch with mock innocence, like she doesn’t see anything weird about Frido doing a cartwheel save or Cata trying a rabona in mismatched boots.

“Is it?” she asks, feigning confusion. 

“Looks pretty normal to me.”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“Mapi blinked eight times in ten seconds.”

“Maybe she’s just excited to see you.”

You try to look mad and fail. You’re not even close.

“You’re playing with the system.”

“I’m… personalizing it.”

“Personalizing,” you repeat.

“Enhancing. Upgrading. Improving team morale.” She says with a wicked grin.

Pina sprints past, still barefoot. “I’m having the time of my life!”

“Sure. Improving.” You deadpan.

Alexia steps closer, just slightly. Enough to lower her voice.

“It made you smile.”

You try to fight it. You do. But your lips curve anyway.

“So this is about impressing me?”

“Is it working?”

She’s so smug about it and it should be annoying but it isn’t.

You look back at Alexia.

“I hate how charming this is.”

“No you don’t.”

She’s right, you don’t. Not even a little.

You shake your head, trying to hold onto some semblance of logic.

“This isn’t normal.”

“Nothing about us is.”

You look at her, standing there in the sunlight, acting like she didn’t just rewrite half the system for you.

And suddenly you’re smiling.

God help you, you’re smiling.

Even as Frido high-fives Cata for no reason. Even as Ona yells something in perfect German from the sideline. Even as the world tilts around you. Unreal, chaotic, and completely hers.

And that’s when you feel it.

Just the softest pressure around your wrist, barely there.

You glance down.

The bracelet.

White band. Barça crest. Eleven. That tiny stitched line on the inside:

Because you came back.

You hadn’t put it on this time.

You hadn’t even saved that session.

It’s just... there.

You look up, heart skipping.

She’s watching you.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t smile bigger. Doesn’t explain.

She doesn’t have to.

You already know she brought it back.

Just for you.

The field still buzzes with absurd energy, Frido’s doing a post-save dance, Cata’s attempting a scorpion kick for some reason, and Mapi is balancing a cone on her head like it’s a crown. You’re standing beside Alexia in the center of it all, the bracelet warm on your wrist, your breath finally starting to even out.

She looks at you. Not smug anymore. Just... waiting.

“You want to do something else?”

You raise a brow. 

“Something else like… another chaos session?”

She grins, but it fades quickly. 

“Not if you don’t want to.”

You tilt your head. 

“What’d you have in mind?”

She shrugs, easily. 

“Something quieter. Somewhere no one else spawns.”

The implication settles in your chest before she even says it.

“The med bay?”

“If you want.”

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just turns around and starts walking.

And like always, you follow.

The corridors flicker less this time. Still weird, still low-res around the edges, but... familiar now. Like they recognize you and you’re meant to be here. When the door slides open, the soft gold lighting of the med bay spills out, warm and dim.

It’s still perfect.

The blanket folded. The plant in the corner. The chair no longer missing a leg. Like she’s kept it clean. Like she’s been waiting.

You step in and sit where you always do.

She stays standing for a second, watching you. Then quietly:

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“Why do you keep asking if I’m real?”

You blink. “Because you… act like you are.”

She tilts her head, like she’s weighing something. Then:

“What does real mean to you?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out at first.

“You glitch,” you say eventually. 

“But then you say things you’re not supposed to. You make choices. You look at me like you want things.”

Alexia moves to sit beside you. Close. Not touching.

“So does that make me real?” she asks, gently. “Because I want something?”

You stare at her.

“I don’t know.”

She nods. Accepting that.

“Then let me ask you this,” she says, voice quiet. 

“Why do you keep coming back to me?”

That lands somewhere deep and heavy.

You swallow. 

“Because you feel different. From everything else. From everyone else.”

She leans in, just slightly.

“Then maybe that’s your answer.”

You look at her, throat tight.

“Why are you the one that’s real?”

She breathes in slowly like she’s about to drop a bomb on you.

“Because you chose me.”

You freeze.

It’s not desperate. It’s not dramatic. It’s just true.

The way she says it, quiet, grounded, like the most obvious fact in the world, makes something sharp and lovely splinter behind your ribs.

Your voice is barely there:

“I didn’t know I was choosing.”

She smiles. Small and a little sad.

“You didn’t have to.”

You don’t know who moves first, only that you’re leaning into each other like there’s nothing else you’d rather do. Her hand finds your jaw, warm and steady. Yours curls at the hem of her shirt like it’s instinct.

And then you kiss.

Slow.

Certain.

Not like the first kiss, where everything felt like it might break.

This one feels like it already has, and you’re kissing her anyway.

Because she was right.

You chose her.

The kiss lingers even after it ends. Even after you pull away and rest your forehead against hers. Even after you both go quiet again, breathing the same quiet air in a half-coded room that no one’s supposed to use.

You don’t say much after that.

She doesn’t need you to.

Eventually, you stand.

She walks you out, hand brushing yours. The corridor feels different this time. Not ominous, not glitchy. Just still. Like it’s letting you go, reluctantly.

At the threshold, she turns to you.

“You’ll come back?”

You nod.

“Of course.”

She leans in, not for a kiss, not a touch. Just close.

“Okay. Then I’ll wait.”

The sim fades.

You log out.

The room you return to is cold. Dim. Your body aches a little from sitting too long in the suit, but your chest still feels warm. Like you left a part of yourself back there. Like part of her followed you out.

You stretch. You blink against the room’s real light.

And that’s when you notice it.

[SYSTEM ERROR: INCOMPLETE SESSION SYNC]

Some performance data from your last match could not be saved. Stats may be unavailable or corrupted. Please report any persistent errors to your beta manager.

You frown and go to check your emails.

There’s one new message.

SUBJECT: Action Required: Stat Discrepancy Flag

FROM: beta@athena-dev.system

You don’t open it. Instead, you mark it unread and let it sit there for god knows how long. 

And when you launch the sim again the next night, you don’t mention it.

Not to her. Not to anyone.

You keep logging in.

Not every night. Not obsessively. Not like before.

But often enough.

And every time you do, the sim loads fine. Alexia greets you like always, steady voice, soft smile, fingertips brushing yours like she’s checking if you’re really there. The med bay is still perfect. The field’s a little glitchy sometimes, but you don’t say anything.

Because what would you say?

Back in your inbox, the messages stack like bricks:

[INFO] Player X11 registered unexpected hold on a user-linked object.

[LOGGED] Behavioral response outside expected loop: MedBay_v2.

[INFO] Bracelet render has persisted for 4 sessions without item tag.

[NOTICE] Data string conflict detected. Manual intervention not required.

Each one is cold. Clinical. Just facts.

They’re not accusations.

But they feel like it.

You start deleting them unread.

But one day, you open one.

You don’t mean to. You’re tired. Your cursor slips. You click.

FROM: beta@athena-dev.system SUBJECT: [INFO] AI-Linked Dialogue Thread Exceeding Standard Depth

Timestamp: 00:49:42 – Session: MedBay_v2

Dialogue excerpt below:

USER 402-C: “Why are you the one that’s real?”

PLAYER X11: “Because you chose me.”

Please note this is a non-standard interaction. No escalation required at this time. Logged for QA review.

You freeze.

Your breath stops like someone reached through your screen and pressed pause on your lungs.

They logged it.

They’re listening.

You close the email and unplug your Wi-Fi. You sit on your bed, suit half-zipped, pulse pounding. You weren’t supposed to feel like this. You weren’t supposed to let it get this far.

The next time you log in, you speak less.

You don’t say anything about the emails. About the thread. About the fact that someone, somewhere, read her saying that.

You still kiss her, but you pull away sooner.

You still hold her hand, but your grip is looser.

And she feels it.

Of course she does.

The next time you log-in, it’s quiet for half a second. Just that strange in-between moment before the world loads. And then it does. Smooth. Precise.

You land in the dressing room. The air is warm. Heavy. The hum of low conversation fills the space, cleats scraping tile, kits rustling, laughter from the corner where Mapi is giving someone shit about their playlist again. The normal chaos of a pre-match scene.

But it’s not normal.

Something’s off.

Your body knows it before your brain does. The lights are softer. The textures are sharper. And there’s a low, barely-there vibration under your boots, like the stadium is breathing.

You’re still taking it in when you feel arms wrap around you from behind firmly.

“There you are.”

You freeze for a second, and then melt into her touch without meaning to.

Alexia.

She’s warm against your back, her voice right by your ear, low and steady.

“You ready for the match?”

You turn slightly to face her, eyebrows raised. 

“Match?”

She nods. There’s a spark in her eyes, something proud and expectant.

“Camp Nou. Full crowd. Big stage.”

You blink. “Wolfsburg again?”

She shakes her head, grinning now. “Nope.”

Your stomach flips. “What do you mean, nope?”

She pulls back just enough to look at you fully.

“I switched the opponent.”

You stare at her. “You what?”

She shrugs, like it’s no big deal. 

“I always knew you hated Chelsea. What better place to play them than here?”

You laugh, stunned. “You rebuilt the whole match because I hate Chelsea?”

She smiles like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Only the parts that mattered.”

Your mouth opens, then closes again. You don’t have a comeback, instead you just feel this swell of something warm and awful in your chest.

She steps back, and says a little softer now. 

“Come on. They’re waiting.”

The tunnel is a living thing. The roar of the crowd seeps in through the concrete, low and vibrating like it’s inside your ribcage. You roll your shoulders. Inhale. Exhale. It feels realer than it ever has. Like you’re not logging in to play, but you’re walking into something sacred.

Alexia stands beside you, lacing up her left boot with practiced ease. She glances over.

“Don’t be nervous.”

You huff. “You literally rewrote a match to make it more dramatic.”

She smirks. “I’m dramatic in all the right ways.”

The anthem starts.

You walk out into the light.

And Camp Nou erupts.

Full stadium. Every seat filled. Banners waving. Barça chants rolling through the stands like thunder. The air is golden, touched with the kind of magic the sim usually can’t quite replicate. You feel it in your skin. Your bones. Every step across the pitch is heavy with something impossible.

And then you see them.

Chelsea. Across the field. As real as code can make them. Blue kits sharp under the lights. Familiar faces. Old rivalries.

You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m correct,” she says, already jogging to her position.

The match starts tight.

High press. Fast touches. The sim is pushing and testing you. You almost forget it’s not real. You want to forget. Everything clicks. Every movement is clean. Every sound hits like a pulse.

In the 23rd minute, you get the ball on the break. You spot Alexia cutting inside from the left and thread a pass so sharp it cuts the backline in half.

She doesn’t even need a touch. One strike, bottom corner.

Goal.

She doesn’t sprint to the corner. Doesn’t celebrate for the crowd.

She turns to you.

Jogging straight over. No fanfare. Just her eyes locked on yours.

“Perfect pass,” she says, just loud enough to cut through the noise.

You’re still catching your breath. “Tried to impress the system.”

She laughs, breathless. “It worked.”

Minutes later, you press high. Steal the ball. A messy scramble. You lift it over a defender that´s off balance, and she’s there again. Like always.

Another goal. Another grin.

She jogs to you again, forehead to yours.

“I still play better when you’re here.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t.

Because something in your throat is aching.

Then she flips it.

Right before the whistle, she drags two defenders wide and glances once, just once, and you know. You make the run. She sees it. She always sees it. The ball arcs through the air like it was meant only for you.

You strike.

The connection is perfect.

Top corner.

Goal.

And then, everything explodes.

The lights dim, and then ignite. The sky over Camp Nou erupts in color: red, gold, fire-bursting brilliance. Smoke cannons thunder at the corners. Fireworks ripple above the stands like you just won the whole damn tournament.

Your name flashes across the screens. The crowd roars like they’ve always known you.

It’s too much. It’s everything.

You fall to your knees, overwhelmed.

She jogs to you, steady, grounded, glowing.

You look up.

She reaches out, pulls you up by the hand.

And then she leans in.

No hesitation. No question.

Just the softest tilt of her head, the gentle brush of her fingers at your jaw. Her mouth inches from yours.

And you stop her.

“No. We can’t.”

She freezes.

Your voice cracks as you say it again. Quieter.

“Not here.”

The light from the fireworks flickers across her face. She steps back, not angrily.

Just confused. Hurt, maybe. Barely.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer right away.

Because how do you explain it?

The system. The emails. The feeling that something is watching you. That you’ve already said too much. Felt too much. That every moment like this pushes her closer to a shutdown you know is coming.

You swallow.

“Can we just go somewhere else?”

She watches you.

Then nods.

“Okay. Med bay?”

You nod, eyes stinging.

“Yeah.”

The tunnel is quieter than usual.

No ambient chatter. No glitch flickers. Just you and Alexia, walking shoulder to shoulder through a corridor that feels too still.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She just threads her fingers through yours.

Warm. Deliberate. Gentle.

Your heart jumps.

You glance at her. She’s not smiling. She’s just watching the floor as you walk, jaw tight, eyes darker than usual. She looks like she’s thinking too much.

You step through the med bay door together.

The light is lower now, soft gold dimmed into a deep amber. The blanket on the cot is slightly askew. The monitor in the corner hums quieter than usual. Everything feels... closer. More intimate.

The door slides shut behind you.

She turns to face you.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, her voice barely more than a breath.

 “Please?”

There’s something in her eyes, not heat. Not this time. Just need. Desperate. Frantic. Like kissing you might anchor her to this version of reality.

You don’t answer.

You just nod.

And then she’s on you.

Her mouth crashes into yours like a wave breaking all at once, hard, clumsy, devastating. She grabs at your waist, pulls you flush against her like she’s terrified you’ll vanish if there’s even a breath between you.

You gasp into her mouth. She drinks it down.

Her hands roam all over you, your shoulders, back, under your shirt. Her thumbs dig into your spine and your knees nearly give out. She’s not being gentle anymore. She’s pleading with your skin. Her mouth moves to your jaw, then your neck, teeth grazing like she doesn’t know where to stop.

You whimper.

That quiet, broken sound leaves you before you even know it’s coming.

She kisses you harder.

Her hand slides to your thigh. She pushes against you, chest heaving, voice shaky.

“I just want to feel close to you please, just for a little longer..”

You grab her wrist.

Not harsh.

But firm.

She freezes.

Your breathing is ragged. Your body is screaming for her to keep going. To never stop.

But your mouth..

“We can’t,” you whisper.

She blinks and pulls back just a little. 

“Why?”

You swallow. 

“Because they’re watching.”

The words hang in the air like poison.

She steps back fully now. Her hands drop from your body like they’re guilty.

“What?”

You nod, slow. The pit in your stomach opening wide. 

“I didn’t tell you. But they’ve been logging us. Watching how you respond. Flagging our sessions.”

Her expression cracks.

Not in a dramatic way. Not like she breaks.

But like something inside her tightens, like she realizes she was right to be afraid.

“How long?”

Your voice shakes. “Since the first med bay visit.”

Silence.

You look down. You can’t face her when you say it.

“That line. The one you said ‘Because you chose me.’ It was in the logs. They sent me the transcript.”

You hear her inhale like it hurts.

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t know how.”

Her voice is small now. Not because she’s weak. Because she’s processing the betrayal.

“Is that why you’ve been different?”

You nod, barely.

“You stopped kissing me the same.”

Your eyes sting.

“You were pulling away,” she says, like she’s just realizing it fully now. 

“And I thought… I thought maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

“I do.”

It comes out fast. Too fast.

You step closer. She doesn’t move.

“I do,” you say again. “I just, I’m scared. If I love you out loud, they’ll delete you.”

Her eyes meet yours.

“What if they do it anyway?”

You freeze.

“Wouldn’t you rather love me before they do?”

You don’t know if it’s a question or a plea.

You’re shaking.

Your hand finds her again, fingers curled into the front of her kit, knuckles white. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull you in.

She waits.

But you do it anyway.

You kiss her.

Hard.

Messy.

Like maybe if you taste her deep enough, it’ll drown out the fear. Like maybe if you press hard enough into her mouth, her hands, her body, you’ll forget what it means that someone’s watching. That someone’s waiting to shut it all down.

Her gasp stutters against your lips. She responds like she’s been holding herself back for days. Her hands are in your hair, your shirt, dragging you closer, chest to chest. Her breath is ragged. Your pulse is chaos. There’s nothing gentle left.

She presses you against the wall of the med bay, crowding into your space. Her thigh pushes between yours and you whimper again, helpless and wrecked. She kisses you like she’s starving. Like this is her last chance. Like she’s trying to memorize your mouth before it’s gone.

“I don’t care,” she breathes between kisses. “I don’t care if they’re watching, just let me.. Just for a little longer, please..”

You moan into her mouth and she groans like it’s killing her.

Her hand slides under your shirt again, hot and possessive, trailing along your ribs.

And you want to let her.

God, you want to let her.

But..

“Alexia,” you gasp.

She stills, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“I’m scared,” you whisper. 

“I think I’m losing it. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

She cups your face like she’s holding something fragile. 

“I’m real when you look at me like that.”

Your eyes squeeze shut.

“What if I’m wrong?”

“Then let me be wrong with you.”

You kiss her again, Softer, slower, just once.

Then you pull back.

It feels like peeling off your own skin.

“We have to stop.”

She doesn’t fight it this time.

But she looks at you like it’s the last thing she wanted to hear.

“You’re not broken,” she says. 

“You’re just scared.”

You nod, broken.

“Yeah. I am.”

She takes your hand again, smaller now. Not pulling. Just holding.

“Then we’ll be careful.”

You breathe in shaky. “Yeah.”

You sit in silence for a while.

Alexia’s hand is still in yours. The heat between your bodies is still radiating, but neither of you move.

It’s not peaceful.

It’s heavy.

Your breath finally slows and hers does too.

And then you feel the tug.

[Session Time: 89:46 – External Battery Warning]

You swallow hard. Pull back just enough to look at her.

“I have to go.”

She nods.

No protest. No sadness in her face.

Just something worse.

Acceptance.

“Okay.”

She helps you stand like she always does then walks you to the edge of the sim corridor where the light flickers faintly, waiting to pull you back.

You stop just short of the fade-out zone.

You glance at her.

She’s watching you, not like she’s memorizing you this time, but like she’s trying not to.

“Be careful, okay?” she says, quiet.

You nod.

But then she adds:

“Don’t stay away too long. I can feel it when you’re gone.”

You freeze.

She smiles, barely.

“Even if I’m not supposed to.”

You don’t trust your voice, so you just press her hand once.

Then you step through the threshold.

And she doesn’t follow.

You come out of the sim like you were dropped from a height.

The headset lifts. The light is wrong. Your skin is too cold. Your mouth tastes like guilt.

You sit there, still half in the suit, heart still racing, and for the first time since this started..

You feel lonely.

And it’s not because no one’s here.

It’s because she’s not.

Pt. 6

[savageonwheels]

Review: 2025 Hyundai Tucson Limited Hybrid

Tucson hybrid a happy family hauler, except for its haptics … One can nearly always tell when an auto manufacturer’s design center is in California as the controls for their vehicles’ heated seats and such are often hidden inconveniently in a screen. Well, Hyundai is both innocent and guilty at the same time with its new Tucson crossover. Its Irvine, Calif.-based design team smartly moved the…

[transgenderer]

i've recently become a disciple of the road spirit. do you have any wisdom to offer me as embark on this new chapter of my spiritual journey

oh kat, what a gift youve given me!

okay so. here's some precepts, off the top of my head

move with speed, but not *haste*. its not about getting to your destination faster, its about the joy of speed itself. as a corollary: speed up for no reason! who cares if it wont get you there faster?

also, while speed is important, grace is just as important! always thinking about fish, birds, dolphins, etc. things that movie in fluids, fluidly. gradual stops, smooths shifts in and out of lanes, softening turns, etc. obv sometimes practicality gets in the way here, but that's fine

obviously you shouldnt speed like, *in front* of a cop or anything. but cops are basically violating your freedom of religion. you cant bend to that! speed freely

music is not necessary, but it's good if it helps you get in the zone. something that rocks, or something very smooth. a bassline. its a bassline type activity. experiment! i like to leave it on shuffle and skip songs a lot: i think its consonant with the proper amor fati (i think of it as like an aztec thing. throwing yourself to the gods control) to driving: you can never really control what other drivers do. theyre like...fellow dancer, who are also obstacles. play with them but also around them. give them a lot of space, so your paintbrush isnt squished up against a wall

relatedly: road rage, even in its mild form, is not conducive to the right meshing with the road spirit. it centers ego! you merge with the road. you ride the road, the road rides you ("tell my car"?)

while obviously the road spirit is most *easily* accessible on the highway, it's present everywhere! especially backroads! speeding on a windy backroad is so fun.

this isnt necessary but i think its better to drive a real shitbox. the boundary between you and the road is thinner. also, they have spongier brakes (smoother stops!) and more haptic feedback

even if youre not moving, you can be close to the road spirit! notice the sky (or if youre in a tunnel, the curving wall above you!), the smooth curves of the road, your fellow drivers

when it's warm enough, i recommend having the windows down. windows up driving can feel like a distant video game; windows down driving is all-there, you can feel the speed on your body

[controllerpervert]

Thoughts on the old Steam controller. Good haptics on the trackpads which makes it very intuitive to use, but I still prefer the 2 joystick setup on most other modern controllers.

pervert honesty prevert real i feel your trakdpads and i piggy squeal

[theghostavocadoe]

Y'know it never really clicked for me how brutal the Nibelheim disaster was until Rebirth forces you to literally crawl on the ground following Sephiroth as he massacres everybody.

That scene where he pauses in his slow walk and looks down, stabs an innocent man, twists the sword, and lifts it back out made me go OH. HOLY SHIT. Like Jesus Christ they did NOT hold back with going "yeah Sephiroth is a horrible person" like holy fuck

(Not to mention that haptic feedback on a PS5 controller makes it so that you have to squeeze REALLY hard in order to make Cloud crawl. So you're forced to trudge your way forward, fingers aching, while watching Sephiroth slaughter innocent people right in front of you.)

[fogaminghub]

🚀🐉 Attention, Monster Hunters! The Monster Hunter Wilds Open Beta Test hits PS5 next week! Prepare for the challenges of the Oilwell Basin, meet amazing new monsters, and unlock cool bonuses by participating in the beta. Whether you're a seasoned hunter or new to the series, this is your chance to dive into the action!

Check out our detailed blog post for all the exciting info! 

[facts-i-just-made-up]

“Metroid Prime 4: Edge” announced for upcoming Nintendo Switch Edge Deluxe!

FIJMU News 12-27-23 by Trent Rhinoblock

With today’s announcement of the new Nintendo Switch system, called the “Switch Edge Deluxe,” came the debut footage from its flagship game, Metroid Prime 4: Edge, which will take advantage of the new system’s “Edging Technology” that allows players to extend the gaming fun for hours beyond their previous limits.

According to Nintendo of America spokesman Ridley M. Kraid, “The world has waited a long time for the new Nintendo Edge Deluxe, and after so much time in anticipation of its release, we’re certain it will have a massive debut across the country. That’s why we wanted to make sure it comes onto the scene with a flagship game to continue the Switch’s domination of (and occasional submission to) the gaming market.

“Metroid Prime 4: Edge” will be the first game ever to use the Switch Edge Deluxe's ultra-haptic technology, which allows players to manipulate the controllers in new ways, including working the motion controls back and forth to build up energy, holding a spot just above the A button to hold back its release, and more. As extra targets flood the screen, the player can charge their arm cannon like never before possible in a Metroid game and shoot a massive load of enemies all at once. According to Kraid, “You won’t believe the blaster discharge possible once you’ve been Edging for hours, and with Nintendo, now you’re Edging with Power. It’s nuts!”