#even the cyber space levels

[misterbaritone]

Y’know running through the islands and collecting the various music tracks from old games has helped me realize how forgettable Sonic Frontier’s ost is.

[randombush3]

revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

the second half of this part (it didn't fit in one post lol)

words: it's over 14k. i had lots to say.

summary: the final part, which originally had a different ending but i was told it was evil so i changed it.

warnings: it's mainly just sad, there's a bit of smut though

notes: i could give you so many excuses as to why this is being posted now but no one wants to read that so i'll just say sorry x

anyway, i got very lost along the way at points and had some serious plot crises that had me tearing my hair out. i researched children's behaviour to the point of needing an honourory qualification, and i spent the last three hours ignoring my girlfriend while i finished this off.

for as much as i put these two through (and myself tbh), i'm sad to finish it off. BUT ALSO NOW IM FREE.

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back. 

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home. 

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past; a time before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot and not paparazzos with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth. Without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life. 

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then. 

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out. 

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around. 

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards. 

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her. 

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried the entire flight, and refused to contact anyone once you had landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel. 

“I got here in the morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered. 

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–” 

Your lips silence her before she is finished. Leah freezes, surprised this is the moment you have chosen to kiss her.

But she misses you as soon as you pull away. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and she cringes at the self-loathing that drips from your words. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you are unsure whether it falls because you have kissed her or because you want to kiss her again. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

You must have argued with Alexia. Leah’s realisation weighs heavy on her heart. Something has to have happened for you to have made your move, because Leah had been starting to accept the idea that you were still in love with your ex and she was nothing more than a friend. She had been looking forward to your concert tonight, in all honesty, and was excited to see you again, glad to have you in her life in any way, shape, or form.

“Because,” she starts hesitantly, “because you didn’t like it? Or…” 

“Leah.” 

“If you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Leah,” you repeat, the vowels almost failing to drop from the tip of your tongue. This is a dangerous game, but the look in Leah’s blue eyes tells you that she is happy to play it. “Leah, I… I shouldn’t have kissed you?” 

“Is that a question?” 

You blink. “I’m not sure.” 

“If it’s a question, I’d say that the answer is the opposite. And that we should go inside.” She slides her hand over the metal handle of your suitcase, warm skin covering your fingers where your grip is still curled around it. “But only if you want to.” 

Do you want to? 

You value your friendship, you really do; Leah has been there for you many times since you met her, never asking too many questions. She means something more than what you crave from her, and doesn’t deserve to be the woman you use to detach yourself from reality. 

But Leah is looking at you with desire that has been missed, relentlessness promised by her toned muscles. Leah is looking at you as though you are the only star in the galaxy or the sun on a rainy day. Leah is looking at you like she wants to devour you, and you, with no soul left to give, resign to letting her have your body.

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that. 

“Course not,” Leah lies. 

You let it convince the both of you. 

Pink glitter covers the dining table at one end, and shiny green stars are scattered on top of the brown grain of the wood on the other.

“She might be at soundchek,” Alexia explains to Nico, who is finished with his Mother’s Day creation and is now intent on FaceTiming you to show you the card he has made. “And cards are supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we made envelopes!” 

“But you said my card should be put in a museum,” he replies with a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion just as yours does. “So we show her now.” 

“Mi amor, that’s not how it works,” laughs Alexia, reaching out to ruffle his hair. With Elena settled comfortably on her healthy knee, gleefully pushing piles of glitter around so that it mixes with the glue smeared on her card, it is safe to say that this year’s cards are going to be successes. “Mama has promised to call when she gets home, and you can tell her that you have a surprise for her. That will build up the excitement, and make it even better when she gets to open it.” 

Your son has become a cynic. “And when will that be?” 

“Mother’s Day is on the 19th, so we have three days to wait.” You have purposely chosen a chartered route to Tokyo that flies via Barcelona so that you get to spend the day with your children before your fortnight in Asia to end the first half of the tour. “Do you want to write the words out for Lela once the glue has dried?” 

“I don’t know what Lela wants me to say,” he explains with great concern, turning to his sister with a very serious expression. He speaks to her in English, because he knows that this card is for you. He understands that there are two Mother’s Days, though he thinks it’s because he has two mothers, and that Alexia’s day is in May. When Alexia opens her mouth to speak, Nico is quick to shut her down. “Calla, Mami, no sabes nada de inglés.”

Your legs slam together but find no available route with Leah’s body in between them. 

It feels… good. 

Liberating.

You haven’t brought her into your bed, which she notices but doesn’t comment on. It’s excusable to be on the sofa, to have stayed downstairs for the hours she has spent trying to make you feel better, because the clock has only just ticked its way to lunchtime. You laugh to yourself at the thought of that, amused by the notion that you have already eaten.

Leah is curious when it comes to you. That much you had expected, having been aware of her lingering gazes long before the sores on your heart had calloused into tougher muscle. She has been waiting for this resiliently, and you present yourself to her as though you are a new toy she finally gets to play with. She kisses you slowly at times, to memorise the warmth of your tongue or the jut of your chin, but she often grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to end her torture and find out what it is like. 

What is it like to have a woman like you? To wake up next to you, kiss you, touch you? 

How does your mind work? What do you smell like just after getting out of the shower? Does your accent ever slip, or is it really that posh? 

The air in the living room is hazy now, and your eyes close in bliss as you let your sweat seep into the grainy fabric of your white sofa. Leah doesn’t crawl into your open arms as you assume she will. 

She wipes her mouth. 

Although Leah has enjoyed this very much, she knows that this instance has not been you allowing her to start to love you. It has been for her to help you forget how much pain you are in. Somewhere deep down, she cares, but she doesn’t try to search for the emotion.

“So,” she says with a giggle, as if you are two teenage girls, best friends who have decided to kiss so that they can practise for the real thing, “do I need to send an apology present to your makeup artist?” Sitting back on her knees, she swipes one hand down to pluck her t-shirt from the floor, pulling it on top of her naked body before sending you an exaggerated smirk and prodding the developing bruise on your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan, batting her hand away. “I completely forgot I had that thing tonight.” You also need to call your children before Alexia bans your name from her household (if that hasn’t happened already). 

“That ‘thing’ being your concert at Wembley?” 

“I’d have thought selling out Wembley is the norm for you now, Captain,” you tease, clearing your throat. “England have done it, Champions of Europe for the very first time.” 

“You’re freakishly good at a commentator’s voice.” 

“Gotten used to being my own commentator. Only Spanish streams in my house – even United matches!” You smile at your own frustration but it quickly sours as awkwardness drops on top of you. You bring your arms up to cover your bare chest, but Leah clears her throat with softened eyes and you no longer feel so exposed. 

You feel safe.

“What happened in Barcelona?” You shake your head at her question. “That bad, huh?” she presses. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you tell her, grey clouds hanging over you as your voice darkens and lowers. “Like, at all.” 

“I think you should. It’s better it comes out now than later when you’ve had lots to drink and no idea who you’re ranting about it to, isn’t it? And it’s just me; I’m not going to judge you.” 

“But you know her. You know her friends.” Your hands move to cover your face. Leah can have your body, but you don’t want her to have your tears. “Thank you for caring, babe, but I think I’m going to handle this one on my own.” 

“Well, you know that–” 

“You’re always a phone call away.” You smile, tears sucked back inside you, bottled away in glassware you store in crates labelled ‘VERY FRAGILE’. Desperate to change the subject, you adjust your position on the sofa, sitting up. Leah tries very hard not to stare at the curves of your chest. “You know, Lee, I never thought you’d be that good in bed.” 

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice. 

Her muscles contract and relax, the tissues pulling on her bone, which, in turn, pulls her. She is strung along, driven perhaps by her leap in recovery and impending comeback. She almost breaks out into a jog, but the church she has dragged herself to comes into view before she can gain speed. 

She had not expected this from herself. 

It’s nothing special to her, though she will admit that the architecture of the building does hold some sense of divinity, but the heavy wooden door is propped open and she is drawn inside. 

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30. 

Alexia checks her watch, the golden links gleaming on her wrist, catching the sunlight that filters in through the glass windows. 

She catches a glimpse of white behind the doors of the Confession booth, becoming acutely aware of how empty the church is. The curtain has been pulled back, bunched to the left-hand side carefully, as though the previous handler had moved with peace. 

It can’t be that bad, can it? 

It’s just like therapy. 

Her feet carry her forwards once more, leading her into the wooden booth. It smells old. The cushion she kneels on is blue, she thinks, but she cannot tell because it goes dark once she pulls the curtain shut. 

Alexia is not a religious person. Sure, she signs the cross before stepping onto the pitch, and, like most people she knows, she is baptised, but her faith is limited to that. When she tore her ACL, she spent evenings trying to pray, trying to force her to believe in Him. It would have been comforting to know that someone had a plan for her, was watching over her carefully with the knowledge of how it was going to play out. It was to no avail. 

But somehow she knows what to say, and so she does. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She recites the words like lines from a play, head bowed in shame as she writes her next sentences in her mind. “This is my first and, probably, my last confession.” 

Silence. 

She rests her hands in her lap, shuffling around to ensure she is not pressing down on her knee in any way that is harmful. It would kill her to have to push back her return to the pitch because of some stupid thing she has spontaneously chucked herself into. 

“I messed up.” She laughs. “No, that is actually an understatement. I know this is a church and I really shouldn’t swear, but I fucked up. Father, I had Heaven in my hands and I threw it away as though it were meaningless. Was it greed? Was it greed that led me to do it?” 

“Do what, my daughter?” 

The priest sounds younger than she’d thought he would be. 

“I had an affair with a woman whom I am certain I do love a little bit, but, by doing that, I destroyed a life that was perfect. Was it greed?” 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“Was it temptation?” Alexia tries again, desperately. Part of her yearns for the priest to tell her it was the Devil so that she can shed the responsibility. “I love my wife. More than anything, I love her. I do not think my own life is worth living if it is not in service to her, to our children, to the smile she reserves for her favourite people. I… I didn’t attempt it, but I thought about killing myself.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Only once, but I thought it all the same. My sister called me selfish.

“It’s just – forgive me – fucked, isn’t it? I got carried away. I got lonely, I was alone. I craved something to make me forget, to pinch the gaping hole in my life shut. I relied on it to make me feel better, and it did for a time. But now it has made me feel much, much worse.

“And I am sorry! I am so, so sorry. I have grown sick of the word; I’ve used it so much that it holds no meaning anymore. It doesn’t do my regret justice, nor my quest for forgiveness, and I’m really on that quest, Father, I want to stress that to you. I lost my temper and said things I should not have said – things I don’t even believe – but I did not mean them then, and I do not mean them now.” 

“You are not religious,” accuses the priest, very gently. His voice washes over Alexia’s ears like a wave of warm saltwater from the Mediterranean, and she feels comfortable enough to swim into the expanse in front of her. “Our God is forgiving, but it is not His forgiveness that you seek. I cannot give you a prayer that will make her absolve your sins, because our holy words are not spells.” 

“Father,” croaks Alexia. As her lips part, she tastes the saltwater of the sea, dripping down her cheeks as though the tide has come in and there is no other option than for her to be flooded. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” 

The priest speaks, but she assigns the voice to someone else. 

The first thing you forget about a person is what their voice sounds like. It lingers like a feeling you can’t quite name; distant, distorted, enhanced by fantasy.

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice. 

The realisation is crushing. 

She knows his words – they are her prayers – but, like Catholics do not know the voice of their God, she can no longer hear the voice of hers. 

What would her father say if he saw her like this? On her knees in a Confession booth, backed against the wall with nowhere to hide?

This is not the girl he was proud of. Alexia, of course, is not that eighteen-year-old anymore; she hasn’t been for a decade. But, recently, the legacy of that unknown Levante player has disappeared. 

Alexia is so very lost. 

She does not know where she is in her own city. In her home. 

She does not know her place in her life, much less her place in yours – if you will still grant her one. 

She has not felt the thrill of football for months, has driven herself to Hell and back, and considered giving up enough to be on the brink of actually doing it. 

She has seen countless meals hit the water of her toilet, never digested, never deserving of the very thing that keeps her alive. 

She has counted your sacrifices, memorising the digits of an ongoing figure so that she can punish herself with the knowledge. 

She has tried to forget English, tried to improve her English, and taken vows of silence. 

She has cried and cried and cried until the only thing left for her to excrete is her hot, red blood. 

She has searched for a way out of the maze. She has failed every time. 

Alexia is lost without you, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, perhaps even you yourself. Do you revel in that fact? Do you enjoy it? 

You have a right to watch her suffer. You do, you do, you do. 

Alexia runs a hand through her damp hair, sweating as she sobs in the booth next to some stranger who she will never meet again. Her mouth is dry but her cries are wet and raw, and they scrape her throat as she chokes them out, losing her breath and falling silent only to catch it and begin again. The cushion burns her knees as though she is trapped in an inferno, the darkness blazing against her skin. 

The priest talks to her for a long time, not letting her leave until she has calmed down. She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm before softly pressing her thumbs to her blotchy cheeks to clear the final tears from them. 

When he is finished, he instructs her to take a few deep breaths, which she does. “You are not entitled to her forgiveness,” he reminds her. He begins the Prayer of Absolution – he insists for the sake of closure – and Alexia walks away from the church no more than five minutes later. 

She is still stuck in the maze, but she has restored that voice in her head that she knows will help her find her way out.

…

“So you went to church?” Olga asks with an amused smile, taking the first sip of her latte, relishing in the gentle burn of the liquid. She needs this coffee; she stayed up late last night because she knew Alexia has been struggling. There is nothing worse than being asleep when Alexia calls her for help. 

“I have no idea how I ended up there,” Alexia explains, somewhat defensive about yesterday’s catharsis. “Confession is way better than therapy. There is too much accountability in therapy.” 

“You have a lot to account for.” 

She huffs out a breath, taking a sip of her own drink. “I know, Olga, but I cannot change the past, so what would you like me to do?” Olga doesn’t reply. The brunette parts her lips, but promptly closes her mouth when she sees Alexia’s slight discomfort. “Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight. I… I do too.” 

Olga’s smile is big and genuine. “I’d love that,” she answers. “Eli is the best cook out of our friends’ parents. Everyone knows that.” 

You’re in London, childless, and are watching the grand old Arsenal play (reluctantly, forced to by Leah if anything). Alexia has seen the pictures of you at the match on Instagram; she has already felt the frustration that you are most-likely never going to watch Barcelona play again unless it is to support the other team. Like clockwork, Alexia seeks to fill the gaping hole you have left in her life. Somewhere, somehow, the lines of friendship between her and Olga have blurred. 

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack. 

You appear in London every two weeks, attending meetings and events, but she has decided, once and for all, to see through your excuses. You come to London for her. She knows that, and so do you. Leah’s ego has not reached a size where she believes she is enough for you, but the facts (and Lia Wälti) tell her she is wrong. 

Except, what Leah tends to leave out is that no matter how many times you let her sleep with you, she still is unable to access a certain part of your mind. 

She has never been upstairs in your house because you always prefer to go to her place in St. Albans. She has never slept in your bed, nor woken up next to you. 

You talk to her like she is still the same old Leah, the captain you befriended during the tournament of her lifetime, your entrance in her life intertwined with the ecstasy of winning the Euros. She closes her eyes and thinks of how you looked that summer; white England shirt, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes. Smiling, cheering. For her, she greedily claims to herself.

Sometimes, in her mind, you lift your sunglasses – you always seem to be crying when she pictures this – but Leah is only vaguely familiar with the timeline of your divorce. This is the issue.

There is a door that you have locked and refuse to let Leah find the key. It leads to heartbreak, to Nico and Elena, to a family you once had. 

“I wish you would let me in,” Leah says one day. (The day she cracks.) She tears her ACL two days prior, something that makes you feel guiltily nauseous, and you have come to visit her. She knows that you had flown over the minute you had swapped custody with Alexia. 

Your legs curl into your chest as you try to reduce the amount of space you are taking up on Leah’s sofa, cautious of her injured knee. Leah misses the warmth of your thighs, and wants to revoke her conversation starter instantly, pained that she has to even ignite the fire of this forbidden topic. “What do you mean?” comes your quiet reply, unwilling to disturb the peace of her living room. The peace of existing side-by-side. 

“Exactly what I said.” Leah nods to emphasise her agreement with herself. “I wish you would let me in, because how do you expect me to love you if I don’t know you?” 

She sees the bullet fly through the air; she sees the moment it hits you, the way you go rigid. Dead. Dying? 

“It’s crazy because it usually takes years for me to feel about someone the way I feel about you, and I just… I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay to let me in. I want to hear everything, to know everything.” 

“Oh.” What had you expected when you kissed her? “Oh, Leah.” 

“You don’t have to apologise.” She assigns your guilt, the tears in your eyes, to your distance. Perhaps you hadn’t realised, perhaps it is a coincidence Leah has never slept in the bed you used to share with Alexia. Maybe you are unaware that Leah has never heard you speak Spanish, and doesn’t know a single thing about your life in Barcelona. 

You’re a busy person, after all. 

“No, no,” you dismiss quickly, shaking your head. Leah can’t help but wonder if the paranoid voice in her head is right; has she been reading too much into this? “Fuck, I am such a twat.” 

But you don’t elaborate further, asking how she’s feeling, distracting her from your realisation about her realisation. Before Leah knows it, you are making her laugh harder than she has in a month, and soon, like most good things, your visit comes to an end. 

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird. 

You feel as though you have done nothing but check over your shoulder the entire journey, staring the past straight in the eye and wishing you could change it. 

You hadn’t meant to make her fall in love with you. (But she has. Oh, she has.) 

This week’s swap is no different; the same park as usual, the same pleasant weather to undergo an unpleasant task. 

On the bench usually occupied by Olga, a different, blonder head comes into view. 

“Irene?” you ask in surprise, wondering if she has been sent in Olga’s stead or just so happens to have brought Mateo, her son, to the very same park. You sit down beside her, somewhat pleased to not see Alexia’s henchwoman today. “Where’s the free childcare?” 

The defender’s eyes narrow, as though she is debating whether or not she should tell you. 

Irene has known Alexia for a long time, and, by extension, has known you for a long time too. She is calm, level-headed, and mature, much like Alexia. Except Irene hasn’t ever thought to cheat on her wife. 

You are clearly in a lot of pain, and you have a right to be; Irene does not rise to your comment. “Olga has gone on holiday,” she states with practised neutrality. 

“Ah, they’ve broken up.” 

Eyebrows raised, she turns to you, breaking her line of sight that encompasses Nico, Mateo, and Elena. The playground is small enough, and very safe. “They were never together.” You wait patiently for her analysis of whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Olga said she wasn’t what Alexia needed. She’s on holiday with Carla, and I guess she is quite upset.” 

“And Alexia?” You know Irene does not like to gossip, nor stir the pot. So you can be nosy about how she is doing. 

“I think her ego was bruised, but she sees Olga’s point. She has been… better recently. She’s focused on getting back onto the pitch, and Jona is only saying good things about it.” Irene’s eyes brighten at the thought of her captain’s recovery, and her tone soars through the air. The entire team has worried for Alexia, spending their own nights tossing and turning, wondering if the old version of her will ever return. “I know you two don’t speak, but if you did, you’d get a glimpse of what it was like before.”

You can’t help your smile, and Irene does not make you feel pathetic for wearing it. “Good.” 

“I heard you were in London?” 

“Visiting a… friend.” Irene is not a gossip, you remind yourself. “I think I might have to stay in this country for a bit and let things cool down over there.” 

She chuckles. “Whose heart have you broken?” She won’t tell Alexia, when Alexia inevitably asks about you, that you are seeing someone. Not that you have confirmed that to her. 

“I’m yet to break it,” you tell her, sighing, “but I know I will, and that is much, much worse.”

“Hey, at least you have two weeks of being endlessly busy to keep your mind off it.”

Children change a lot in two weeks, so Irene then launches into an update on school, clubs, and everything else. She gets the information from Alexia, of course, who writes out a list every time you switch over. No one has ever handed you the piece of paper before, worried that her handwriting will be an unnecessary reminder of the pain she has caused you, but, for some reason, Irene does today.

You are not put off by the swirling Spanish in front of you, instead choosing to study it. You have spent hours in Alexia’s lap as she scrawls out football notes upon football notes, scribbling prompted by footage or, freakishly, her own memory. From the lightness of the indentations of the pen, you figure that Alexia is exhausted. From the half-finished sentences, you decide that she was rushing when she wrote this. 

But, as much as you delight in your brief analysis of the evidence in your palms like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystery, you can’t ignore just how greatly you have missed the letters that swim between the lines (and the hand from which they were written). 

Irene spares you your dignity by standing from the bench and checking on the children just as your tears begin to fall. 

…

You take one last look in the mirror embedded in the sun visor, ensuring your hair is perfectly in place and your earrings match your cream, sleeveless turtleneck to poise you just between casual and smartly-dressed. A quiet grumble from the backseat draws your attention away from your reflection, though your last glimpse at your concealed eyebags and red-rimmed irises leaves you feeling a little dejected and mourning the days you’d actually get some sleep. (Or wouldn’t, smoking cigarettes on the balcony while talking Alexia’s ear off.) 

“Mama, we go,” decides Elena with a huff, tugging on the buckle of her car seat. 

It’s Nico’s first-ever recital tonight. 

He started playing the piano in September, when his teacher at school had mentioned how he boasted to the children in his class that he was a musician: ‘if I am Catalan because my mami is Catalan, then I am musician because my mami is musician’. You felt guilty. His teacher says he is naturally talented, voice lacking surprise but praiseful nonetheless, and is proud to name Nico his youngest student at tonight’s show. 

The bouquet of daisies you ask Elena to hold makes her look like a miniature carnival float, and she toddles into the venue by your side while you do mental gymnastics between the knowledge that Alexia will be here tonight and the nerves for your son’s performance. It’s nothing complicated, but you worry he will hate it. This is the only thing he does that is a nod towards you; his one deviation from his worship of Alexia. 

“Mami!” squeals the walking flowers as soon as you make it to the half-full hall. You direct your gaze to the three rows your daughter refers to, every seat lined with either professional footballers or family. With a sudden rush of blood to your head, you feel out of your depth.

You’re not sure whether the hazel eyes that find yours help or worsen that. 

“Keep it moving,” you mutter firmly, holding her hand so she does not make a break for it and tumble right over to the cohort of FC Barcelona and Seguras. Not wanting to get too close to them, you take your seat in the penultimate row, knowing Nico will not be able to see you over the grand piano set up on the stage wherever you sit. “You can talk to her later, sweetheart.” 

She is in an obedient mood, most-likely intimidated by the tension in the air. You tell yourself it’s the stress radiating from the line of performers sitting on the front row. Nico stands on his chair, waving first to Alexia and then to you (it’s your turn with them so you are a lot less exciting right now), before he is lightly scolded by his teacher and the first child walks up the steps and onto the stage. 

Five uninspiring children later, Nico is finally led up onto the stage. His teacher sits down on the piano stool and nudges him forwards. He smiles brightly at the room. You reciprocate, encouraging Elena to do the same to keep her engaged with an admittedly boring event. 

“Bona nit a tothom! Jo sóc en Nicolau i tinc quatre anys i ara aniré a tocar ‘Brillia Brillia Estel Petit’.” The audience melts before him. “Mama, that means ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’,” he whispers loudly. 

You send him a thumbs up. He sends you a grin back, before giggling as he climbs onto the piano stool beside his teacher. 

Situated comfortably, feet dangling adorably far away from the pedals, his chubby, little fingers hit the ivory keys once, then twice. 

You pray this goes well. 

It does. 

He plays with two hands, something you hadn’t expected, and Elena holds in her noisy yawn until after he is finished so she must have been invested in the performance. Your own hands sting after you clap with such prideful force that you are the loudest in the room, and the hoots and hollers from Alexia’s territory only make Nico even happier as he bounces down the steps and back to his seat to wait for the others to do their pieces. 

After the recital has finished, you walk down the aisle separating the seats in half to get to Nico, daughter-less courtesy of a squadron of football-playing kidnappers. 

“How was that?” you ask him smugly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “I knew you would be brilliant, even when you were scared you weren’t going to be. Do you know how proud I am of you?” 

“This much?” He holds his hand about thirty centimetres apart. “Mami says this much.” 

When he widens his hands, you gesture something even bigger. 

“‘Immensely’ is the word I would use.” 

“Im-men-lee?” 

“Es que nuestro orgullo llena una casa sin techo. Hasta el cielo.” 

“Up to the sun,” you amend, ignoring the way the voice has made you stiffen. You don’t read too much into her misuse of the collective pronoun. There is no ‘our’ in ‘affair’.

Alexia’s hand hovers by your waist for a moment, muscle memory getting the better of her before she draws it back into her body. Nico gives her a matching hug, telling her how much he has missed her. 

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood. 

“You were amazing, petit,” Alexia says, picking him up with one strong arm and settling him on her hip. You grip the wrapper of the bouquet you are holding. “Did Mama get you a gift?” 

He peers at the daisies in your hand with curiosity. Shaking his head, his confusion deepens as he studies the bouquet you are extending towards him. “They are for Mami? Flowers are for love.” 

“I love you,” you tell him, not trying to make a point but instinctively prickling in the presence of Alexia.

The silence is awkward. 

A few metres away, whilst entertaining the sleepy toddler on her lap, Mapi is excitedly talking to Alba. “Y/n hasn’t killed her yet,” says the defender with glee, one of your admirers. The team respected you before, never questioning their captain’s judgement nor family, but when word got out about the affair amongst the older girls, most of them began to see you as more than Alexia’s wife. A new layer to your character was revealed; you are a strong, independent, and successful woman. Football nerds sometimes forget success comes in more forms than blaugrana kits. “They made such a beautiful couple.” 

“They did.” Alba watches as you talk to your son, your eyes actively avoiding the woman in front of you. “Our mother has sent Alexia over there to invite her to dinner. It killed me to see her sit alone.” 

You are too used to the feeling of eyes on you that you no longer notice the weight of people’s stares, but, if this were not the case, you would know that most of the heads attached to the bodies sitting in Alexia’s rows had been swivelled towards you for majority of the recital. Pity is never a desired emotion to have offered to you, but the Barça girls can’t help but feel that way whenever they see your forehead crinkle in an attempt to understand Catalan, presuming you only speak Spanish as you have more than enough on your plate. (And, as most of the players will admit, your children speak better English than them, so one can only assume that it is your main method of communication.)

“She’s a very good mother,” Mapi comments with a small nod, sucking a sharp breath in as she begins to sympathise with you even more. Not a day goes by where she witnesses the suffering Alexia’s idiocracy has caused – as Ingrid, her girlfriend, knows very well – and does not fail to scream in frustration about her best friend’s stupid mistakes.

“She’s a very good person.” 

They fall silent as they see your head tilt up, jaw clenching as Alexia begins to speak to you. 

“Can you hear what she’s saying?” whispers Eli to her daughter, equally invested in the conversation. “I knew I should have sent you; Alex is too socially awkward.” 

“Mami, she is talking to her wife,” replies Alba, though she remembers what happened the last time Alexia and you had spoken and the outcome of that. Maybe that commences her increasing agreement with her mother… “I guess you– Are they coming over here?!” 

Even you seem surprised by how your legs carry you towards the Barcelona clan, a step behind Alexia and Nico. Hesitant would be an understatement, but most of them are too preoccupied with congratulating the four-year-old they have come to watch to notice your tight-lipped smile and trembling hands. 

“Hola,” you say shyly. 

Eli pulls you into her strong embrace without missing a beat. “Te he echado de menos, hija.” 

You try very hard not to burst into tears. 

They take you to dinner; a plan you had known about but not envisioned yourself included in. Although it’s your fortnight, Alexia (through the conduit of Alba) had previously arranged to drop Nico and Elena over to yours before midnight. 

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

The restaurant is on the lower level of fine-dining. It’s chic, but it does not make your children feel unwelcome. The table is set for five places, though Alba informs you that the reason for this is because the reservation was made before she broke up with her girlfriend. 

“Mama, what are you going to eat?” asks Nico, slipping back into his old life seamlessly, mixing his English with the Spanish he knows everyone can understand, his legs swinging underneath the table with an enthusiastic energy. He is still too young to pick up on how far apart his parents are sitting, or how you refuse to let your eyes linger on Alexia’s tanned skin, far too much of it shown off by the tank top she sports in the humidity of the busy restaurant. 

You glance around the room, searching for those who have recognised you. Under the weight of at least four curious stares, you motivate yourself to enjoy your meal. 

“Not sure yet, babe,” you answer. “Alba, do you fancy sharing something?”

“Yeah, of course.” The younger Putellas smiles. Alexia knows who has lost the war.

Dinner passes with light conversation centred on very neutral topics. No man’s land is clearly the children, and you had never expected to be so desperate to continue a conversation about school lunches until the other options are how Alexia had an affair with her teammate or that your song with her favourite singer is topping the charts and explicitly about being cheated on. 

Although you and Alexia both watch how many times your wine glasses are refilled, Alba lets loose, as does Eli (probably to ease the stress on her heart that her girls force upon her). Their cheeks redden and Nico begins to yawn, Elena already curled into your side halfway between dreams and reality. 

“Should we head out?” you ask it to the table, but the only functioning person is Alexia, really, and so you close your eyes to avoid having to make eye contact. 

“I should probably get Mama and Alba into a taxi.” 

“If you call one for them, I will call one for us?” Your suggestion is instinctive; an old habit reminiscent of many similar nights, back when there was love and happiness and a relationship that didn’t feel like walking on a floor made of broken glass. “Or did you drive here?” 

“No, but you drove,” comes Alexia’s reminder. Internally, you face-palm. Parking the car before dinner seems like years ago; something feels different now. “But if you don’t feel up to it, I could drive you home. I haven’t had much to drink and I have nothing else planned for tonight. Elena is practically in a coma anyway.” 

You laugh – a softened version of it so as to not rouse the dead weight of your daughter. 

“Are you sure?” 

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

I don’t care. 

“Mama,” Alba slurs, pulling her mother in close. “The saint has given her sinner a second chance.” 

It may not be as quiet as she thinks it is. Alexia, occupied, is deaf to the comment. You are not.

This is not a second chance. 

This is a lift home. 

The last time all four of you sat in a car together was the day you found out about Alexia’s affair. 

You had suffered then – are still suffering now – but your anger was hot and sharp and new. Fresh wounds. 

Now, though more scabbed-over than healed, those wounds no longer seem to gush blood; you entertain Alexia’s stiff small-talk. 

She asks about the tour, never veering too far off the road of practicality and shared custody. When does it resume? Which has been your favourite show? 

“Wembley is like playing El Clásico in Camp Nou,” she determines, not needing to ask about that because she knows you too well. 

Your memories of the London shows involve a naked Leah Williamson. (If only she knew that!) 

“Yeah, London was great.”

Awkwardness is part of Alexia’s personality; something you are fairly certain you still love. She is shy, though it perhaps comes off as stoicity, and she has never been good at making conversation. You know she hates it, and you know that her eyes, Alexia’s eyes, are gazing at you every time she thinks you are not looking. 

She is weary about the desire darkening her pupils, but she does not do well to hide her hunger nonetheless. 

“Go into the carpark,” you instruct as you approach your building.

Wordlessly, she presses the correct pin into the pin-pad, never having forgotten it. 

She parks the car beside a new-looking Mercedes. It’s not a car for children, and she imagines it reeks of cigarettes – there is no way you have stopped smoking. 

It belongs in the carpark; in your little world of celebrities and male footballers; of money and fame and fortune. (One could argue you lack the latter, what with your current situation.) Alexia’s life has never moulded with yours. 

Perhaps it never will. 

Perhaps she slept with Jenni because they are equals, you think. Because Jenni understands Alexia in a way you cannot. 

“Mami,” cries a quiet voice from the backseat. You stop staring at the grey, concrete walls, snapping back to reality as Alexia shifts to turn her attention to the source of the whimpering. “No quiero que te vayas.” 

“Lela, me tengo que ir.” 

“Pero–” 

“You could always come up to say goodnight to them?” 

It starts off innocently. 

Of course it does. Of course you are nowhere near forgiveness, more likely to forget about the crushing affair before you excuse any of her actions. Sometimes, you wish for amnesia. Sometimes, you refer to the tab open in Safari – ‘is there a drug that makes you forget?’. 

Alexia is granted a tuck-in and a story for each child, glad that their rooms are separate so that her time in her home is prolonged. The walls are familiar, the floor is the same. There are new pictures in new frames, but the old ones have not been removed. If you had ever wished to take photographs of your relationship down, you have never acted on it. 

She realises you must not spend a lot of time here alone. Maybe you cannot bear it. Maybe your life in London is more important to you than she had thought. 

Anyway, for as much as she subtly noses around and draws out the night, she has no intention of overstaying her welcome, sure that she probably did that the minute she stepped inside. 

In fact, she is on her way out, under the assumption that you will not want to speak to her.

“So you’re back to playing?” 

“Sí.” 

A doorway conversation. 

You’re English. You’re very polite. Alexia knows this, tries to not get her hopes up. 

“Does that mean you don’t want a taste of this ‘97?” You hold the bottle up to her, the cork lying on the granite worktop with the incriminating suggestion that you have already had a glass. 

“We play the day after tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.” 

How many times have you said that to her before? The same tone, the same look in your eye; red tinting your lips, one hand on a lighter because you smoke when you’re drunk, even if you refuse to touch the cancer-sticks when you are sober. 

“Was this a gift?” she asks, drawn into your magnetic field like a flimsy paper clip; thin, worn metal trying to piece the pages of her life back together. “Or have you been making ridiculous purchases again?” 

“I can assure you that it is not ‘ridiculous’.” You moan in delight as you take a sip from a glass you subsequently hand over to her. “Gosh, that is divine, and you are simply going to dissolve when you taste it.” 

Dissolve she does, but one can attribute that to the company. 

The contents of the bottle dwindles quickly, paired with a vulnerable retelling of her ACL recovery (sans suicidal thoughts and huge, huge regret about the affair – she doesn’t want to bring that up, seeing as you are clearly trying to forget about it), and the warm breeze of the Barcelona nighttime. The salty air from the mediterranean mingles with cigarette smoke, though Alexia softly says that you really should stop. 

You hesitate on your next puff, but you inhale it all the same. “I like my wine smokey.” 

She opens the next bottle for you. 

The wine glasses are soon discarded, pouring becoming shaky and difficult. 

“They sleep all the way through the night here,” observes Alexia, surprised that no little hands have knocked on the glass door leading to the balcony. The last time you had reached for the wine, you’d moved closer to her. You have not yet returned to your original seat on the other side of the rattan sofa. 

You raise your eyebrows, under the impression that they were both sleep trained. “They don’t at yours?” 

“Elena keeps trying to sleep in bed with me.” 

“Maybe she likes you more,” you suggest with a light, alcohol-infused laugh. “She must have been upset to find her place filled by your friend.” 

“No,” murmurs Alexia, “it has never been filled. Though I don’t think you can say the same.” 

You swallow the stickiness of the wine running down your throat.

“Not in our bed. My bed.” You fight yourself. “Our bed.” 

“In Highgate?” 

“Anywhere,” you breathe. 

“It’s been months,” croaks Alexia, your hand pressed against her stomach as you slowly lean into the feeling only she can give you. “Months.” 

You kiss her. Time folds in on itself, and you are transported back to when every touch was electric; when nothing was tainted. The pain of the past months, the heartbreak, momentarily fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in Alexia’s warmth.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, afraid that this moment might slip away too soon. The taste of wine lingers on your lips, and she craves the softness of them – she has been craving them since July.

“Well, now it has only been seconds,” you whisper as you pull away. 

With a sense of urgency, she chases your mouth once more, strong arms pulling you on top of her, manipulating your body against her with no hint of uncertainty. 

Alexia knows you well.

Her touch lacks curiosity and exploration. Her hands are experienced and confident in their movements, and she has hoisted you up and brought you to your bedroom without needing to have been told that this is what you want. 

“Is this what you want?” she asks anyway. 

“Please.” 

And she really doesn’t make you beg. 

Your hands roam her body with a primal hunger, instinctive touches to the most sensitive parts of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her back is tense, muscles flexing as she pushes your clothes off your skin, her own following their path soon after. 

Parted legs and soft moans. 

She slots herself between your thighs. 

Her tongue is determined, fierce. Sloppier because she is drunk, but, then again, so are you. 

Your fingers repay the favour. 

“More,” you request just as she pulls away. 

“Is it in the same place?” 

You nod, panting.

There is a playful glint in Alexia’s eyes as she finds the strap just where she left it. As she secures it in place, you wipe the sweat from your brow, forcing your mind into the dirtiest of thoughts to ward off the building regret.

The room is dimly lit, and the air heavy with desire. Your heartbeat pulses in the silence, the thrum of the organ drums that guide Alexia’s slow, deliberate steps back towards the bed, kneeling atop the scrunched sheets. 

She positions herself between your legs once more, and you can feel the heat of her body radiating against your skin. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck, sending shivers of anticipation shuddering down your spine. 

With trembling hands, you reach out, nails digging into tanned, taut skin. You pull her closer to you, urging her to take whatever she wants. 

You want her to have you. You want her to make it hurt less. 

As Alexia presses inside, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body. You cry out, the sound igniting a blazing inferno within her that grows hotter the moment you ask her to move. Feverishly, her hands move over your chest, finding purchase on your breasts with a dormant possessiveness as her hips begin to drive the strap in deeper. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, encompassed by someone so divine that you begin to separate yourself from all things wrong with this situation. The headboard thuds against the bedroom wall as she pounds her thrusts into a rhythm, and you shut your eyes as you quietly ask her to kiss you.

Tears cascade down your cheeks, but you do not know to whom they belong. Her tongue smothers your moans, and her hips begin to snap into yours more urgently, with more desperation. The pressure builds inside of you, and you feel as though you might explode. 

You feel as though this is the end, and you are glad that here is where your misery terminates. 

You’re glad, you’re really glad. 

Your back arches, your chests pressing together, large hands holding you close to her. 

And then it all comes crashing down. 

Everything. 

You wipe your eyes once the orgasmic bliss subsides, seizing your wine haze as the tide goes out and destroying the blindfold that had deprived you of seeing things straight. Right now, with the pleasant ache between your legs, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it, but you know you will. You haven’t forgiven her; you’re not sure that it is possible. 

“You can shower, but you can’t stay here.” 

…

Nico knows that he is special. He is lucky, and he is loved, and he gets to go to a very nice school that Mateo (his ‘cousin’) claims is fancy. 

He likes his teacher. She reminds him of someone he once knew – you have suggested the nursery helpers back when he lived in London. He is not sure if you are right, but he doesn’t remember what London was like so he tries not to think too hard about it. 

Nico’s friends, like Pau who is sitting beside him, all think it is really cool that he can speak English. Pau says she hears his mother on the radio sometimes, but Nico hasn’t yet grasped the concept of fame past the annoying camera flashes and big, sold-out stadiums. He dislikes fame as he knows it, anyway, because the cameras hurt his eyes and the stadiums are so loud that he has to wear ear-defenders that squeeze his skull a bit too much. 

“My mum is from Bilbao. My dad is from Barcelona,” states Paula as she swipes a crayon over the sheet of paper her drawing is on. Green wax slowly stains the white to form ‘grass’. Everyone is drawing their family today, although Nico hasn’t yet started, waiting for his teacher to circle their table so that he can ask for another piece of paper. “And this,” Paula carries on, squiggling brown hair onto a smaller version of the stick-figure father, “is Ander, my big brother.” 

“Who is that?” Nico asks, pointing at the fifth figure on the page, guessing that the fourth and Pau-sized person is, in fact, Pau. 

“My sister! She’s called Nerea, and she plays basketball.” Pau promptly makes an orange circle the size of Nerea’s head, which floats in the air between her and her sister. “My mum says Nere is going to be a lesbian, but I don’t know what that means.” 

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to garner the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.” 

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that. 

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?” 

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.” 

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.” 

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.” 

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with. 

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue. 

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares. 

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all. 

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her. 

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that. 

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.” 

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together tot el temps. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.” 

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already attracted the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia is usually inviting him to training with her. Since Elena has yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, his mother misses him when it is not her turn. 

You benevolently give your permission if you have no prior plans. It is upsetting that the only hindrance to extra time spent together is the little boy who once worshipped Alexia Putellas like a god. 

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper. 

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half. 

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s. 

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?” 

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.” 

“But now you are ripped down the middle.” 

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One of his legs is on your side, the other on Alexia’s. 

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.” 

Alexia does, though, when his teacher talks to her that afternoon. 

…

“I slept with Alexia,” you confess quietly, comforted by the sound-proofing of Anya’s home-studio. She asked for help with her album; your success might be contagious, she insists. “Last week, when Nico had that recital.” You clutch your mug protectively, as if she will strip you of the right to drink your tea to punish you for your crime. 

Anya is unsure what you would like her to say. You search her face for anger, but do not find it. 

“If Gio were here, she’d probably slap you.” 

You snort, almost spilling hot liquid all over yourself. “You two are like my mothers, and you’re the nicer one by far.” 

“God, you are such an idiot.” 

“And a slag.” She waits for your next admission with excitement. “I also slept with Leah Williamson.” 

“Do you think you and Alexia are just destined for polyamory?” Her amusement is quite pleasant, but one thing wasn’t dulled by the wine that night and you have been dying to tell someone about it.

Your knee bounces up and down as you gear up for it, having thought it through 

“I think we are destined for each other.” 

Song-writing be damned, Anya fully removes her headphones, placing the equipment beside her keyboard before letting out a small, exasperated laugh. “You are in love with Alexia again,” comes her accusation, with no real malice behind it. 

“I never stopped being in love with Alexia. She just made it a lot harder to love her.” 

Is that an understatement? 

“Hey,” you say with sudden energy, sitting upright and grasping at your phone, tea wobbling over the lip of the mug and running down your wrist. “Should we go to Bali in August?” 

…

You avoid both of your footballers right until the World Cup camps roll around. 

Leah doesn’t get to go, subjected to the ACL curse. Alexia’s call-up is not necessarily unexpected, but you do find yourself wondering how many more betrayals her friendship with Mapi León can handle. (Mapi is on her last straw, but she knows her friend really needed the win after her hellish year. The Champion’s League was never going to sate Alexia’s hunger to be the best at football – possibly an overcompensation for her terrible relationship skills.)

Your children, this time, are delivered to the park by their very own mother. Alexia beats Leah in this sense, because she has a valid excuse to see you without confessing feelings you do not want to hear. 

“I have something for you,” she says just after she has finished her goodbyes, pressing a small box into your hands. Her voice is filled with nerves and you are intrigued, hating yourself for being so. “Don’t open it until you get back home.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. I’m sorry, they seem to say. “Alright, have fun in Bali, and don’t forget that I legally have custody but I am not going to go to court to battle you for it as long as you put them in Spain kits for Spain matches.” 

She could, if she wanted to be difficult, have you send Nico and Elena to New Zealand during her weeks. It would be very unreasonable, but the contract your lawyers drew up still stands. 

“They were delivered yesterday. I think it’s going to be a struggle to convince them to put on the worst kit ever.” You still don’t forgive Alexia for cheating on you, but there has come a point where acceptance replaces the animosity. Nico’s teacher has been the catalyst in this step forward. The developmental pamphlets she had thrust in your faces were enough for the two of you to come to a mutual agreement of increased civility (that maybe, maybe was only made possible by the fact that you have very recent memories of each other’s orgasms). “But, yes, I agree to your terms. Don’t forget that his favourite player is Alessia Russo, however.” 

“He is in a phase where I am ‘uncool’! It’ll pass.” 

“If you say so, Alexia.” 

“Anyway,” she carries on, rolling her eyes. “Open it when you get home.” She… presses a kiss to your cheek? “I’m so sorry, mi amor.” 

You blink back your surprise, but she is gone before you can reply. 

The small, neatly-wrapped box sits in the palm of your hand, the corners edging off your skin and sticking out as you stare at it. Nico and Elena continue their (unsupervised) playing, but you manage to call out a warning for ‘five more minutes and then we’ve got to pack’ while you examine Alexia’s gift.

Is this how Pandora felt? 

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

Alexia, before now, hasn’t actively pursued your forgiveness. She has given you the time and the space you had broken-heartedly requested, nodding as you communicated your wishes to her through someone else, never before able to confront the face that tore up your life before your eyes. 

There was a time when all you ever wanted to do was talk to her, but she tried to forget about that when she realised the extent at which you went to avoid an interaction. When she had understood your desperation to be left alone fully, she began to breathe. The step backwards gave her room to examine just how royally she had fucked it all. 

She now feels a bit more capable of tackling the clean-up, working with a much clearer mind. Everyone is relieved that she hasn’t killed herself, or, at least, that she is keeping those thoughts at bay. 

You realise that she has bought you a ring, and regardless of whether you wear it or not, she wants to tell you that she is sorry.

...

IT'S NOT OVER YET! THIS WILL TAKE YOU TO THE SECOND HALF

[earthstellar]

Earth Music on the Lost Light: Human Music That Cybertronians Like

we know for a fact that the Lost Light has access to human media, primarily movies, TV shows, and music-- and we know they generally seem to fucking love most of it, or at least find it interesting

but what would everyone's tastes be, in regards to Earth music?

time to talk about music for a long time!!! strap in, enjoy some tunes

we already know Cyclonus has impeccable taste and enjoys some of the best jams the 80s had to offer.

I can't help but imagine Rodimus being given a media archive of Earth tunes to approve for the Earth Dance would only result in chaos

(it's not like he would say no to anything, he absolutely blanket signed it all, it's just an obligatory thing-- or Ultra Magnus tells him it is, solely to keep him away from Important Captain Things that he would rather handle himself or hand off to Megatron, lmao. the shit that really needs to get done)

and this is how Rodimus discovers the somewhat questionable yet amazing genre of "mid-90s underground techno rave mix tapes"

(somewhat related, I still think Testarossa might as well be Rodimus' theme song, although it's not a 90s track and has more of an 80s synth vibe)

Rodimus would love that "computers are the future, fuck yeah let's make Digital Cool Future Music" mid-90s shit, there is no way he would not. it has the exact energy level that appeals to him and is also cheesy and weird and chaotic. and has like 500 different sub-genres, so his selection is endless, lmao.

he would probably find it cute that this is what humans imagined to be the peak of "digital sound" at the time. like lmao this was the best humans could do when asked to create music that sounds like it was made by robots or other mechanical space future cyber lifeforms--high concept!!! he would probably find it interesting and endearing. this is what organics think non-organic music is like!!

anyone acting as DJ at Swerve's on any given night would be so, so mad that Rodimus keeps requesting shit like "DJ MASSIMO ITALO DISCO BEST RAVE TUNES LIVE FROM LONDON 1995" or "DJ ARMPIT SLUDGE FEST HOUSE-RAVE-DRUMS N BASS SET 1996" for them to play, lmao

not individual tracks. the whole album. entire mix tapes of random, somewhat questionable mid-90s techno house rave bullshit.

that having been said, that good ass early 90s trance techno might send him into a spiral depending on his mood at the time, lmao (it's been known to happen)

but at the same time I can imagine him sharing tracks like Solar Quest - Space Pirates with Drift and they'd both just sit there and jam out, but quietly, thinking about shit while sitting in a port window next to each other (this was peak sleepover party techno, Back in My Day-- many deep conversations were had while listening to stuff like this, lol)

Drift would probably find some of Rodmus' recommended stuff to be pretty good for meditation-- although once he finds out about the human drug culture involved and certain concepts of experimental consciousness etc. that surrounded techno/rave and other related genres, it might cause him to pull back a little bit

(until he finds out about kandi culture, in which case, Drift would love the idea of hand-made unique bracelets and sentimental trinkets being made and exchanged at warehouse shows purely out of Good Vibes and Love for Fellow Beings and it turns out actually he fucking loves this shit, a chill vibes based "expand your mind" kind of music subculture appeals to his Spectralist sensibilities and he likes sharing tunes with Rodimus in return)

Drift picking tracks on his own would likely lead him down more of a classic rock road, but more of the chill side of things, more of the folksy type of classic rock -- I can see Drift really enjoying Spirit in the Sky - Norman Greenbaum or California Dreamin' - The Mamas and the Papas. or like, Incense and Peppermints - Strawberry Alarm Clock.

I mean, Drift might even go Full Earth Hippie and end up liking Green Tambourine - Lemon Pipers, lmao. in fact I am fairly certain of this.

I can see Drift loving Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In - The 5th Dimension. the whole vibe would probably appeal to him.

he'd quite possibly also like I Need a Dollar - Aloe Blacc, but it hits him in a place that still hurts to think about. so it's in rare rotation.

meanwhile Ratchet would probably be fine with classic rock too, like the good Dad Rock shit, just a lot of tracks from the 70s/80s -- a couple tracks he and Drift could probably agree on would likely lean more into the experimental/psychedelic rock side of things, like White Room - Cream or something like Wheel in the Sky - Journey

Rodimus tries to troll Ratchet by recommending Old Time Rock n Roll - Bob Seger, but joke's on him because it turns out Ratchet loves it, lmao

Swerve would go all out on classic bar jams for the evening playlist. Chill, good shit like Do It Again - Steely Dan.

Megatron would love Sinnerman - Nina Simone; He'd send it to Drift in a command crew level secured data packet, and they would both feel the hell out of this song. They don't need to talk about why. They never mention it to each other.

Megs would also probably love These Old Bones by Dolly Parton (mostly due to the lyrics, rather than the upbeat tune, but he would find it relatively relaxing), as well as 9 to 5 (of course), and similar music. Country from back in the day when country music was more about the struggle of poverty and the working life of rural people. Country music from back when songs told all the untold stories. He can respect that.

He'd listen to You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive by Patty Loveless and it would get him right in the fucking spark. Megatron is the Cybertronian equivalent of an Appalachian miner, god dammit. He understands.

Megatron would also like Johnny Cash; He would overthink Ghost Riders in the Sky and it would depress him, partly because it reminds him of Seekers... sigh.

I think he'd also like Cold War - Janelle Monae. He'd be way into good lyrics; What's being said in a song matters most to him. "This is a cold war, you better know what you're fighting for..." Indeed.

anyway I like thinking about what jams Cybertronians might like from their available selection of Earth tunes

[tailschannel]

Balance and difficulty adjustments featured in latest patch for Sonic Frontiers 3rd post-launch DLC

The third and final post-launch downloadable content update for Sonic Frontiers has received a significant patch late Wednesday.

Released to all major platforms, version 1.41 of Frontiers included several bug fixes, balancing patches, and movement improvements for the last content update of 2023, "The Final Horizon."

Here are the official patch notes, courtesy of SEGA of Japan:

Made Balance Adjustments to Easy Mode

Trial Towers: New level designs have been added.

Towers of the Master: The default difficulty and Sonic's attack level have been adjusted.

Master King Koco's Trial: Your maximum Ring capacity and the health of each Titan have been adjusted.

Made changes to some of the controls for Amy, Knuckles and Tails

The parry window for perfect parries was adjusted to be more forgiving. (The window will be extended even further when playing on Easy.)

Knuckles' maneuverability during gliding has significantly increased.

Adjusted the stats of some special moves for Amy, Knuckles, and Tails after leveling them up

The attack and defense of certain special moves for Amy, Knuckles, and Tails after they level up have been increased.

Made it Easier to Retry After a Game Over

The pink panels in the Trial Towers will respawn after a certain amount of time has passed and you are a certain distance away.

If you make a mistake before a Cyber Space checkpoint and you have to restart from the beginning, the timer will now reset so you don't need to manually restart. (Excluding Cyber Space Challenge)

Various bug fixes, including the issue where audio would not play during sub-events, have also been addressed.

[phantoms-world-and-more]

I like the feral Casper High students trope. So Danny is a senior in High School and his job as a hero is not really needed any more. Amity Park is much more at peace with ghost now. Something happens to Vlad (maybe he fades, decides to go on a very extended vacation to find himself outside his obsession with Maddie, gets locked up by Walker, etc). Danny inherits Vlad's billion dollar company. At first he doesn't want it but then he starts thinking about starting a space program. He can't be a NASA astronaut due to his ghost side not passing normal health levels. But if its his company then he can make the rules and get to go to space. He doesn't want to run the company just focus on his space stuff so he gets his classmates in on running the company. Paulina and Star become the CEO and COO. Valarie is Chief of security with Kwan and Dash as her right and left hand. Tucker is head of R&D, with Sam in charge of charity work. He even gets some ghost to work for him, Lunch Lady is in charge of the staff cafeteria, Techinus is in charge of cyber security and Box ghost is head of shipping. So you have a bunch of 17-18 years olds running a billion dollar company and they are bulldozing the completion with how competent they are.

I love this

[croxot]

MORE Armored Core 6 Thoughts - The Corporate Military Leaders

After coming to the conclusion that Armored Core is my game of the year, I've been thinking needlessly deeply about many little bits of the game. I wanted to put some thoughts out there about the Corporate Military Leaders (V.II Snail & G1 Michigan). More specifically what makes them so different in how the player perceives them -- How their corny characterization makes them all the more engrossing. Spoilers to follow.

Michigan

• Massive blowhard military type, speaks with all the bravado of your stereotypical US army drill sergeant.

• Despite this, he is somewhat endearing. He's still a shill for Balam, but he has a clear level of respect for those under him, and grants even more respect where it's clearly deserved.

• Knows all his underlings by name.

• Will chastise his own men for not showing you enough respect on the mission where you are expected to kill him and his entire force. Seems to take it well despite what's happening.

• Despite his position placing him as one of the defcato villains, there is very little direct animosity to muster for him. By the point in the story where you can decide to kill him, Balam has already lost the race, and Michigan has shown very little ill will towards you personally (even if you've previously betrayed the Redguns).

---

(Quick note on V.I Freud: While Freud is Technically a higher rank than Snail, he's clearly turned over military leadership to Snail, which makes Snail more of the de-facto face of Arquebus. Freud's just an ace who shows up to have a good fight, and otherwise doesn't make much of a show. Which, yeah, that's fine.)

Snail

• The Immediate difference here is that Snail is consistently depicted as conceited and selfish. Where Michigan is on first-name basis with basic underlings, Snail is verbally disgusted with the thought of acknowledging anything or anyone that isn't directly and immediately beneficial to him.

• And that's great because this game ABSOLUTELY benefits from having someone that's so easy to hate. Snail treats everyone around him, including his ranked allies, and even Freud, like dirt.

• He's even worse to you in the sense that he's convinced his type of space-cyber-lobotomy is so much newer and shinier than yours and makes him objectively superior to you. Like calm down dude this isn't a brain damage contest.

• This makes the Liberator of Rubicon Ending immensely satisfying in a way the other 2 endings just don't compare to. The game has spent around 15-ish hours having this guy be a gigantic douche in nearly every line he speaks, and then he shows up to fight you when realistically he doesn't even have to considering the circumstances.

• And so with Rusty's theme blaring in the background, he has an angry breakdown while you send him and his Balteus 2: Scuffed Laser Edition™ directly to the shadow realm. It is the most satisfying boss kill in the game.

[feministbirdcreature]

Why is the content that gets posted in certain “femcel” spaces 99% centred on cyber bullying women (in the case of lolcow) or picking apart every single aspect of their looks (lolcow again and subreddits like Vindicta and Vindicta Rate Celebs).

The users who post in these types of message boards claim to be women and often describe disliking or hating men, so why do most of their comments consist of gossiping about women and picking apart their appearance? This is such stereotypically male behaviour to me that it makes me doubt these posters are even female in the first place. As someone who 1) dislikes men and 2) likes women, I have not felt the need to participate in behaviour like this since I was maybe 12 or 13 years old. If you claim to hate men and be a feminist, why is 99% of your post history bullying women?

Vindicta is on a whole other level. “Billie Eilish is a 3” or “Sydney Sweeney is a 4”. Their irrational hatred of certain features like large breasts or sanpaku eyes. Picking apart flawless women because their eyes are slightly downturned or because their philtrum is 1mm too long. Tell me, why are these supposedly straight women getting enjoyment out of this? Are they even women?

It’s bad enough having to deal with the millions of posts from males criticising women for how they look and now we have to deal with this shit from self-hating borderline male incel-aligned women with internalised misogyny. It’s ridiculous what a large percentage of the content on the internet consists of people just discussing whether a particular woman is hot or not. I want to see this sort of energy extended to male celebrities.

If you are an actual woman who posts in these spaces and participates in this sort of content, I’d love to hear from you what the appeal of these sorts of posts are. I just can’t wrap my head around what enjoyment women get out of picking apart celebrity women. It’s such male behaviour imo.

[thankskenpenders]

So I wrote a whole long thing about Amy's tarot cards, but what about, you know... the rest of the Sonic Frontiers DLC? The new alternate story route, the hours of new gameplay, all that?

Having now played it, I'm not sure Sonic has ever had this specific combination of good ideas that make the future of the series look bright, and execution that I fucking hate.

(Full spoilers ahead.)

The good

There's a lot to like here, conceptually.

First and foremost, Tails, Knuckles, and Amy are finally playable in a new mainline 3D Sonic game for the first time since 2006! Seventeen years! We've been begging for this for so very, very long. Nature is finally truly healing from the fallout of Sonic '06. Early on I hedged my bets and expected them to be locked to Cyber Space or something like that, assuming that there was no way they'd be fully playable in the Open Zone. But sure enough, while they're a bit limited compared to Sonic, they're still all full-blown characters with skill trees to unlock and lots of exploration to do.

We also got a more bombastic alternate final boss fight, after the first take on The End kind of underwhelmed. And it's obvious that Sonic Team has listened to our pleas to focus on the 3D platforming over the forced 2D sections, and to reduce the amount of automation in the level design. This update is chock full of Actual Platforming. Wow! I can only pray this means we never get an area as agonizing to explore as Chaos Island again.

Sure, there's still some jank - especially with Knuckles' movement, which is kinda rough. But if this is the stuff they're trying out so that they can refine it further for the next game, then I'm really excited.

On the other hand, good fucking lord is The Final Horizon tedious. And that tedium sapped most of the fun out of it for me.

The frustrating

The new scenario massively increases the difficulty over the base game, seemingly out of a desire to give the hardcore players who were posting speedrun videos and whatnot more of a challenge. It's the Super Mario Bros.: The Lost Levels of Sonic. This difficulty comes in many forms throughout your playtime, some worse than others, and continues to ramp up over time.

Rather than giving you a tutorial level, the new scenario dumps you directly into a remixed version of the final island and makes you do some fairly precise platforming with Amy, Knuckles, and Tails - new characters with new movesets that you won't have any experience with. You'll also need to find character-specific Koco that give you free levels, because Sonic's friends all start at level one and certain locked moves in their skill trees will be mandatory to progress. They don't even have Cyloop unlocked at the start. And because they're all low level, that means you'd better steer clear of the beefed-up bosses scattered around the map, which will absolutely annihilate Sonic's friends. (I honestly just avoided them and never bothered beating any of them, not even with my high-level Sonic. I have no idea if they're beatable with the others.)

None of this is explained to you particularly well. I spent my first few minutes with Amy wondering why the attack button did nothing, only to eventually think to check her skill tree and realize that I had to unlock her basic attack. If you don't bother to take the time to read through the skill trees, you'll very quickly find obstacles you have no way of getting past with no clues as to what exactly you're supposed to do.

Adding to this confusion is the fact that objective markers often tell you to go half a kilometer into the sky, and you'll have no idea how to get up there because all of the relevant platforms are out of your draw distance. Many objects seem to only pop in for me when I'm within about 60 meters of them, which isn't a long distance for a high-speed open world platformer like this. I was having this problem running the game with high graphics on PC, so I can only imagine how obnoxious it is on Switch. I'd frequently find myself poking around nearby clusters of platforming objects and praying that they'd lead me to a spring, rail, or cannon that would eventually point me in the direction of the floating objective marker.

There were always complaints about the art direction in Frontiers and the way it relies on floating rails and prefab platforms that are visually disconnected from the natural scenery of the islands, but it's even more dire here. The new platforming sections are dense and complex, but they seemingly didn't have the budget to change the topography of Ouranos Island at all, so it all takes the form of these prefabs. It very strongly gives the vibe of a Forge creation in Halo 3, back when there were no blank canvas maps and people just had to make "new maps" by jamming a bunch of shipping containers and barricades together in the sky above one of the default arenas.

I was still more or less having fun, though, despite the jank. It's a big creative swing, I told myself! They're trying stuff out! They're experimenting!

And then I hit the towers.

The towers are agonizing because they're SO close to being great. The logical part of my brain understands why some people love them, but god, I just fucking hate them. The platforming there IS cool! These layouts are cool! The individual challenges along the way are a bit tough, but totally doable. You know what's not cool? Making one mistake and slowly falling 800 meters all the way back down to the ground, forcing you to start over. Because none of these towers have checkpoints. For me, this one decision transforms what should have been a fun set of platforming challenges into a massive, unfun difficulty spike.

I enjoy some masocore platformers, but those are typically games with quick deaths and restarts like Celeste, Super Meat Boy, or VVVVVV. Hell, the Mario games tend to get way more difficult than the average Sonic game, and those are obviously all great. Quite frankly, unlike those games, Sonic Frontiers is nowhere near tight or polished enough to make this difficulty feel fair. Bits of jank that I could ignore in the base game due to its lower difficulty are now matters of life or death. Missing a jump because I boosted off an incline in a way the game didn't like for reasons I don't understand is not fun. Falling off a tower because the camera was pointing in the wrong direction while I was in midair and I couldn't see the next thing I was expected to homing attack is not fun.

And it's such a jarring spike when moving from the base game to the DLC that it feels like the game is suddenly quizzing me on skills it never bothered to instill in me. Maybe if you've spent the last year labbing out the movement tech in this game this is all a no brainer, but for the average returning player it's a kick in the dick.

I'm sure I could've beaten these towers normally if I gave them enough tries. They aren't the hardest thing in the world. But I very quickly decided I had better things to do with my life and turned on easy mode, which adds tons of extra springs and homing attack balloons to make all of the platforming piss easy. I wish there was a middle option between Only Up: Sonic Edition and this extreme hand holding, but when given the choice between the two I gladly picked baby mode. I just wanted to see the story.

(The new Cyber Space levels are also long, challenging, and devoid of checkpoints, not unlike the towers. But I only ever found the entrances to two of them. So I only did two. They're theoretically required, because they give you "Lookout Koco" that you need for... some reason? But in a rare act of mercy, Sonic Team put Cyloop treasure spots that give you free Lookout Koco all over the map.)

As I continued, so many little things started adding up to piss me off. Why do you only reveal like five tiny squares of the map at a time? I would've loved to find all the new 1-on-1 dialogue scenes, but not if I had to do dozens of hard mode versions of the stupid little puzzles and challenges to reveal the whole map. Why does every character need their own unique collectibles? What is this, Donkey Kong 64? Why can't I just grab this EXP for Amy when I find it as Tails? Why can I only manually swap characters by talking to an out-of-the-way NPC unlocked right before the final boss? Why is fast travel disabled? Why are the new vocal themes you hear when playing as Amy, Knuckles, and Tails so monotonous, with a single verse repeating over lo-fi beats ad nauseum? Why is the jukebox feature completely disabled throughout the DLC, even after rolling the credits? Why can't Tails homing attack? Why do I have to wrestle with the camera so much while also holding the jump button to fly as Knuckles and Tails? How many right thumbs do they think I have? Why is this animation for picking up animals in the Cyber Space levels so incredibly slow, and why can I still take damage while it's playing? Why does the stupid starfall event have to make it so hard to see what I'm doing when climbing these towers? Why does this shitty combat trial have a popup that makes it seem like I should be using the Cyloop when the actual strategy revolves around repeated parries? And on and on and on...

The story

What about the new story? Well, there sadly isn't much to chew on here. Most of the DLC has the cast running around and finding different macguffins for arbitrary reasons, as part of some sort of plan to divide up the work on the last island so that Sonic can go train with the spirits of the Ancients and harness the power of his cyber corruption. What the fuck is an Impact Form? I don't know, but Knuckles needs something to do, so go find one.

It's a thin excuse plot meant to make you do platforming challenges around Ouranos Island, with little room for Ian to add any real flavor of his own, even though he certainly tries. Having Sonic meet the spirits of the Ancients who controlled the Titans, who are revealed to directly parallel the personalities of him and his friends, is kinda neat, I guess? It's something. The optional conversations seem to have some fun bits, including both conversations between the supporting cast and additional lore. But again, I only found a few of those because of how tedious filling out the map was.

The writing is also let down by the voice acting - or I guess the voice direction, because I know this cast can do better. Roger's voice continues to be weirdly, distractingly deep as Sonic, which was clearly something that was requested of him just for this game. (For a recent example of him going back to his regular Sonic voice, see this LEGO trailer.) The performances of Sonic's friends are also WILDLY mismatched. This is most clear when they start feeling the effects of the cyber corruption. Knuckles seems to be barely affected at all, Tails sounds like he's moderately hurt and low on energy, and Amy starts completely overselling her pain out of nowhere. The extremely strained performance makes it sound like Cindy's literally being tortured in the fucking booth. I have no idea what's going on over there.

The final challenges

People have debated whether or not things like the towers and the new Cyber Space levels are fair challenges. What's not up for debate is the fact that Master King Koco's Trial is complete and utter bullshit, and I can't believe they shipped this.

Before you can fight the new final boss, the game forces you to do a boss rush of the first three Titans - INCLUDING the pre-Super Sonic climbing sections - with a hard limit of 400 rings. For all three lengthy, heavily scripted fights. Back to back. You can't even cheese it with the leveling system, because you're forced to do this at level 1. This all but forces you to look up speedrun strats for the Super Sonic fights so that you don't run out of rings and fail the trial.

And the real kicker? They changed the parry just for this trial! Originally, you could just hold down the bumpers endlessly and Sonic would ready himself to parry the next attack, whenever that may hit. Now it requires you to do a "Perfect Parry" with specific timing. And you HAVE to hit those parries if you wanna clear this trial and get to the new ending. Miss a few and you're probably fucked. You just have to reset. Time to go through all those fights, all those climbing sequences, all those QTEs, and all those unskippable mid-fight cutscenes all over again. This is by far the most egregious example of the DLC deciding to quiz you on new skills that the base game never required of you, and it's one of the most absurdly unfair things I have ever seen in a Sonic game.

Easy mode does make this trial easier by making the timing window for Perfect Parries much more generous, but that's all the help you get. It's still easy to lose time failing to parry Wyvern's hard-to-read animations, or to lose rings by getting hit on the climb sections, or for things to just fuck up because these fights were always kinda jank. I gave it a few shots. I looked up guide videos. I tried the Quick Cyloop and stomp combo strat that seems all but mandatory. But I quickly decided that, again, this wasn't a worthwhile use of my time. It just sucks. And I really, REALLY didn't want to overwrite all my fond memories of these Titan fights, some of my favorite setpiece moments in any Sonic game, with memories of this shit ass boss rush.

So I cheated! And if you're on PC, you should too.

With the worst hurdle out of the way, I turned cheats back off and moved on to the new final boss. It was pretty cool. It's much flashier than the original fight against The End, that's for sure. It's still kinda annoying, and it requires you to do very specific shit without properly telegraphing it, but it's nowhere near as bad as the preceding challenges. I was hoping for one last new metalcore song to go with the new fight, which we sadly didn't get, but at least the new version of I'm Here is good.

The ending is... mostly the same, with a couple altered scenes that don't really change anything in the long run. But overall the new finale was pretty good. I just wish it hadn't been such a slog to get there.

Closing thoughts

Sonic Frontiers: The Final Horizon wants to be three things:

A patch that adds a new alternate ending that was probably supposed to be in the base game in the first place.

An experimental take on making Tails, Knuckles, and Amy playable again, presumably testing things for the next game. And...

An official Kaizo Sonic Frontiers mod for the sickos.

The thing is, the people showing up for #1 and #2, the main things that Sega hyped up about the update, are not necessarily going to be down for #3. If they had announced some uber-hard new Cyber Space levels for the arcade mode or whatever, I'd be like, neat! And then not play them. I would never touch Master King Koco's Trial if it was an optional challenge. I would leave that for the sickos. But instead, they made the hardest content mandatory for anyone who wants to see the new Good Ending where the final boss gets an actual budget.

I'm mostly left in a state of shock that it shipped like this. I cannot believe they playtested this and decided this was the state The Final Horizon should be released in. That this should be the note Frontiers ends on. That this should be how we remember those Titan fights. That this should be the lingering taste in our mouths as we wait however many years for the next 3D game.

Armchair devs always love to say that things would be "easy to fix," but like... there really would be easy fixes for the insane difficulty and general tedium here! Add a few more tutorial popups explaining what the game expects of you with Sonic's friends. Give the Cyber Space stages and the towers a couple checkpoints. Give the combat trials more generous time limits, especially on the lower difficulties. Remove half of the map puzzles, and make the ones that remain uncover twice as many squares. Skip the startup animation for Knuckles' glide. Let me turn on the goddamn jukebox. Since so much of this update was designed around fan feedback, I can only pray that Sonic Team is still listening, and that they tweak at least a few of these things with a balance patch.

But still, after those many, many paragraphs of complaining... this still somehow makes the future of 3D Sonic seem pretty promising?

Sonic's friends are FINALLY playable again, and the focus is back to proper 3D platforming, rather than railroading players into awkward forced 2D sections in what's otherwise an open world. These are the things that they hopefully want to carry over to the next game. The difficulty? Well, that's just because it's the postgame DLC that's supposed to be the toughest challenge in the game. It's just an unreasonably cruel one of those - an example of how designing and balancing for a vocal minority of your fanbase can really hurt your game. But Sonic Team is onto something here, and I hope that they can learn the right lessons from this expansion and not throw the baby out with the bathwater.

[hauntedraggedyanne]

A collection of small character flaws

All the ones I’ve collected

—always making the conversation about themselves

—lying about something incredibly stupid but they refuse to back down from

—expecting others to pay for them at every store, restaurant or hotel

—subtle jabs at other people that they always respond with ‘I wasn’t SAYING it was bad! YOU’RE the one making ME look bad!’ (Watch one of those ‘alpha male vs modern feminist’ videos or clips for inspiration if you are brave enough)

—messy, except this time they have other people in their space (like a dorm, shared apartment, or any kind of shared living space) so their messiness makes everyone VERY upset

—refusing to understand or learn another friend/teammate/partners culture or background to even slightly understand then

—loud obnoxious voiced people who physically can NOT make a subtle entrance or just simply exist in a room without yelling or eating very loudly

—asks for permission to do absolutely anything even with people who are on the same or even a lower level than they are

—doesn’t listen to music with headphones on in a crowded space so EVERYONE has to listen to them

—Can’t keep a plant alive to save their soul

—Gives up too easily

—Every time they go out to eat with others and they all order their food, they go last so that they can condescendingly ask for a salad

—Acts surprised when someone has a hobby and they’re not monetizing that hobby (ex: crochet. Actually this all about crocheting)

—cyber bully

—Keeps turning the conversation on its head so that they have an excuse to talk about themselves

—The type who compares traumas (oh I’m so sorry your dad’s a terrible person. BUT AT LEAST YOU HAVE A DAD 😭😭😭)

—Never asks for permission to do anything. It stops being cool and bad-boy after a while

—Nonchalant about everything. Even when you shouldn’t be.

—Steals little things for absolutely no reason. It’s not like they’re poor. It’s not like they need it. They just take it.

—They question every single detail about the things you say like they’re solving a murder case. (“Yeah, life has been really tough—“ “IF things have been as difficult as you say, then WHY—“)

—Talks about how unique their music taste is. All the time.

Doesn’t turn their blinker on when driving (or just drives horribly in general)

—“Take a break” for them means 5-8 weeks of doing nothing and telling absolutely NOBODY about this break

—‘No’ does not mean ‘no’, it means a challenge

—Every time there’s a holiday/birthday and the characters VERY CLEARLY tell them what hey want, they go out of their way to NOT GET IT and only get what THEY think the character wants.

(Okay that’s personal but it can foreshadow the characters not actually knowing each other as well as they think they do)

—Never. I mean NEVER. doing group work and then insisting to the teacher they were the ‘leader’ of the group. There’s no excuse.

—Turns every fight physical

—Tries to talk out everything even when it’s WAY too late for that and then acts surprised when the cannibal monster that ate one of their other friends decides to eat them next.

—One of those extreme musician stans. That’s it. I’m just very scared of them.

(If you see any traits that just so happen to go in hand with something you do, I am so sorry I’m not trying to say anything. You’re probably not evil)

[8um8le]

Hiiiii! I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself! *gently kisses and pats your forehead*

So I see the connections between all the other toons/mall space friends and their corrupted counterparts abut how does moons fit in?

Nerdy hydro and Toon Moon seem SO different from our sc chaotic guy. Did he retain anything from his original code besides the go with the flow attitude similar to hydrokenisis?

Heheh ty for the lov :33

It’s funny cuz when we look at cyber crew, we usually assume Sun would be the brains while 8ot and Moon are the brawns, when it’s actually the opposite

Moon knows where the money’s at, he’s cunning, even getting on Sun’s good side during their scrapyard days to take advantage of Sun’s already built-in combat skills. He’s a fast learner, despite not being a fighter, he still managed to somewhat get on Sun’s level.

Also the moon bot’s shallow emotions makes it easy to financially ascend, and go through decisions that more emotional sensitive people fail to go through. Toon Moon and City Moon have very different personalities, but their “heart” remains the same

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

🤖 Anatomy of a Cyberman

Cybermen are humanoids 'upgraded' through cybernetic conversion, stripping away organic weakness to create efficient, nearly emotionless beings.

🧬 Cyber-Conversion

Lacking any natural means of reproduction, Cybermen rely on "Cyber-conversion" to, uh, recruit volunteers (okay, not always volunteers). Organic bodies are overhauled, trading flesh for metal, inhibiting emotions, and installing pure logic processing for survival, with unquestioning loyalty to the Cyber cause. And there's no going back.

🎩 Varied Cyber-Bodies

There's no one-size-fits-all in Cybermen fashion, but they do keep a few classics in rotation:

The Classic Metallic Look: Shiny and silver. Most Cybermen follow this silver theme, but they've had other styles—black Cyber-Scouts, and even one in wood.

Mondasian Legacy: The early CyberMondans from Mondas had visible circuitry and gauze-covered faces; they were a little more DIY. Later versions from the Mondasian colony ship still retained parts of their human body like hands, and had an eerie, sing-song voice.

🛠️ Features

💔 Emotional Inhibitors: For Cybermen, emotions are nothing more than a liability. So they simply switch them off. Each Cyberman is fitted with an "emotional inhibitor" to keep pesky human feelings—like regret, fear, or the utter horror of their situation—at bay.

🔫 Weapons and Adaptation: Laser-firing helmets, chest-mounted blasters, and adaptive armour make Cybermen formidable. They're also masters at adapting to new threats and sharing it with the hive mind. Speaking of ...

👥 Hive Mentality: Cybermen pride themselves on efficiency, and what's more efficient than a hive mind? Linked by an extensive network, each Cyberman can share information, adapt to threats, and communicate without those bothersome MS Teams meetings.

🔧Self-Healing Powers: The later models could heal almost instantly, and detach body parts entirely. Resistance, honestly, is futile.

⏳Primitive Time Travel: Yes, Cybermen have tried time travel, and while it's more of a space hopper than a sports car, it does mean they'll show up at the most inconvenient times.

⚠️ Weaknesses

Though resilient, Cybermen have notable weaknesses:

Gold Sensitivity: Cybermen have an allergy to bling. Gold clogs their respiratory systems, making it highly effective against them. Mr. T is practically untouchable.

Weak Against EMPs: A strong EMP will disrupt their circuitry, temporarily putting them out of commission.

Explosive Fragility: Although tough, Cybermen are not invulnerable—some well-placed explosives, a bazooka, or a Raston Warrior Robot can bring them down.

Emotional Overload: Either by the Cerebration Mentor, or breaking the emotional inhibitor. If the inhibitor were to break it would be messy, painful, and involve more existential angst than Proust, so it's best not to dwell on it, unlike Proust.

Hive Hacking: Their hive mind is both an asset and a vulnerability. A skilled hacker—or a particularly clever Time Lord—can exploit it to turn their collective mind against them.

Other Lesser Known Methods: Cybermen can also be disabled or weakened by a chemical mixture known as Polly Cocktail, high radiation levels, and the scent of a particular flower from a particular planet (though we have no idea what flower on what planet).

🌌 Eternal Threat

The Cybermen genuinely believe they're doing the universe a favour by spreading the 'gift' of conversion. After all, who wouldn't want to live forever in a buff metal suit? The Cybermen may not have feelings, but they sure have ambition. And with each new upgrade, they're getting closer to making sure that everyone joins the Cyber club.

Gallifreyan Cyberman Biology for Tuesday by GIL

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴

[gummybearzgocrazyagain]

kinn/porsche fic rec vol. 2

Futuristic/Space AU

All That Just For a License? by @nuwildcat [daaaaaaaaamn son the squeals of utter delight i have produced while reading this...????? numerous. porsche and chay are bounty hunters, picking off criminals and delivering them to the waiting, and most importantly, well-paying hands. this next job must be nothing out of ordinary, the guy looks dirty and worn-out, and porsche knows this next part by heart... or is he. if i told you it was extremely delicious and entertaining read, it would still be an understatement. so so so so so many compliments and kudos]

Clandestine by @aheartfeltlie [in somewhat cyber-punk-ish future, that includes flying cars and chip-implanted eyes, porsche is equally “eat the rich, and not a good kind, especially if it is kinn fucking theerapanyakul” in real life, and “eat the rich, definitely a good kind” in the all-immersive world of Clandestine, game to rival all others. awesome variation on enemies-to-lovers, tis a rec]

a/b/o + college 

And They Were Roommates by @tessalane [aaaaaaaa, obsessed with this one, the absolute perfect mix of softness and horniness of enemies-to-lovers a/b/o college roommates AU, tropes that has been used to death, and yet somehow never get old in the right hands, and does this author have the rightest hands for it, bless up. can’t rec this enough]

Alpha’s bid by @paulalestat-blog [fresh premise of the futuristic set-up: with time due to the virus, omega population withered to near extinction, and each omega is valued and sought after. an agency kinn goes to provides match-making services, where omegas are shown alpha’s profiles, and then are free to choose any alpha they deem pleasing or fit, and alpha can not back out. you know what happens next. and yes, kinn is a uni teacher in this one...? go figure. still a wip, and a very good one at that]

Vamp AU

Smoke and Raindrops by @nuwildcat [*fanning herself* thank you, dear author, it was delicious. it is beyond me why vampire!kinn is not a huge deal in this fandom, all the signs are right there - paleness, piercing gaze, power, audacity, stature, daddy issues, etc etc, one would expect the tag to be flooded and yet, good vamp!kp fic is scarce, which makes this even more precious: traditional back alley meeting, werewolf!porsche, canon levels of horniness, delightfully wrapped in author’s eloquent style. so many kudosssssssssssss]

after dark by @foreigncars [i...am not exactly sure what i think of this one yet, some of the plot points seemed... tad abrupt, but hey, it’s a vamp!kinn, can’t be too choosy when it comes to the vamp trope, in this house we appreciate them all]

Spy/Assassin AU

Worthy of Love and Loyalty by @rebellconquerer [what.what.what.what the FCUK was that i am wheezing, the fuckkkkkk dear author, how DARE YOU, the audacity....??? i mean, are there even words//// i am so in luv with this thang, it’s not even funny, my long-running partiality towards this trope is back with the vengeance it seems. theerapanyakuls have an intelligence agency, porsche is taken in by force and made to train, yada-yada, if you have not read this yet, i am so fucking envious you have no idea. this fucking fic <3]

two shots by @martynaxao3 [yassssss slay assassin!porsche, who could resist such temptation. this thing has it all, plot, twists, lust, great pacing, excellent style, huge rec, no notes]

Historic/fantasy AU

putting a harried love letter into a red mailbox by @captainkit [like this author and their unhurried, sensual style. in this au, porsche is a temple khon dancer in a capital that kinn is currently laying a siege to. not a MS crossover though, still a kp historic au. although the story is centred around kp, vp and kimchay have their own prominent parts, and there is plot, for real. wip, but enough has been written by now]

what a tangled web we weave by @fairhairedkings [has this author ever disappointed, duhhhhh, ain’t never a miss with them: scheherazade au i am sure everyone follows already, so this rec is more of an homage to the beloved author. i for once, can never have enough of “forced marriage resulting in smitten kinn” trope, can anyone, especially so well written one. all the possible kudos, as usual]

with the subcategory of warprize!porsche

How I Know You by @nuwildcat and A thousand jasmine blossoms bloom by @iffervescent [another trope kp dynamic seems especially suited for, imho, executed soooooooo beautifully by this fandom. hands down both are such amazing works, no notes, all the possible kudos and eternal gratitude to the authors, i was saaaaaaat 🙌]

Hybrid AU

Feline Purrsuasion by @wiccawrites [based on this idea, the piece is highly entertaining and very-well executed. porsche is a brat even in feline form, and kinn is struggling to retain his sanity. the fact that the idea was born before woody on stage, is... inchresting. bravo author, big time rec]

Magic AU

Like water by @deliciousblizzardshark [ouccccccchhhhh, that capital H hurted. brilliant, brilliant writing, how have i missed this gem from the author of one of my fav pieces. in a world where you can tattoo magic symbols on one’s skin, obedience is one of the most logical ones to tattoo on your new bodyguard, isn’t it though... it is for kp to find out. damnnnnnnnnnnnnn it was painfully beautiful and so absolutely worth a read. thank you dearest author, what a fucking masterpiece <3]

The Empty Crown by @rainbowcolored7 [such a great world-building, and the lore is superb: kittisawasds are from the fire clan that can command phoenixes, and theerapanyakuls are the water clan that are connected to dragons. when their clan’s capital is destroyed, lil porsche and chay are forced to run and hide, and spend their lives in fear of their true lineage being discovered. they are minding they own business leading ordinary folk lives, all until an idiot falls down a hill and hurts himself right in front of unsuspecting porsche, who was just trying to fish in peace. suuuuuuch a lovely read, so pleasantly paced, it keeps you fully immersed and invested, not to mention, the chemistry between the poor conflicted porsche and the injured idiot is 👌👌👌]

sex on fire by @cherry_apples22 [it’s pretty much like if My Type by Saweetie was a fic, i dunno what else to add: since he found out he was a phoenix, porsche is unable to get laid, cause his flames would hurt any other living creature. well, almost any other, there are dragons, for instance... who do not get affected by phoenix fire, right... his own lil bro is even dating one... how hard can it be to meet one for himself? p.s. and if there are but hints of monsterfucking? don’t mind if i do 🙆‍♀️]

green isle in the sea, love (a fountain and a shrine) by @anakinn [i am quite frankly speechless sitting here with my eyes like 👀 didn’t know this was a thing...? until it absolutely became a thing....? in a nutshell, porsche spills some oils in some random shrine they’ve stumbled upon while on a recon mission, some deity felt slighted, and now there are two kinns...? i ain’t gonna say no’ mo’, you ought to read this for yourselves bruv]

Alternative meeting

stripper for one night by @martynaxao3 [yasssss, thank you, tay for the win againnnnn, it’s kinn’s bday, and they are celebrating at some hole in the wall place they just chose at random, and the bartender working there keeps being rude to the birthday boi, or is he.... super fun and super hot, author deserves all the praise, as always, much luv]

Tiger bite by @Verbana [after the death of their father and husband, namphueng, little porsche and babie chay are brought to stay at the theerapanyakul household, to be brought up along with their cousins kim, khun, and anakinn. understandably, the angst ensues. if i knew any words prior to reading this, they’re all gone by now. immaculate, immaculate vibe. adore this type of stories to death, the longing, helplessness, the despair of it all.. omg.]

Fake dating

Situationship by @vcrses  [no, you don’t get it, when i say i am in luv with this fic <33333333 the author is so effortlessly funny, made me cackle multiple times, such a light and enjoyable read <33333 it is some sort of AU within an AU, as the characters we know have different backgrounds/circumstances, for instance, tankhun is not agoraphobic in this, and even some places named differently, but it doesn’t take away from the experience at all, quite the opposite, comes off as refreshing; the story overall is a perfect perfect embodiment of the trope, these versions of kp are so loveable, i am smooching this author’s face with abandon]

Accidental babie acquisition 

Dropping a baby off at a mafia compound is a good idea, right? by @lalala53 [it is actually exactly what the title says, short and sweet read, couldn’t pass over the opportunity to rec, luv the trope]

Various in-universe AUs // Canon divergence

Burn Your Name Into My Skin by @everyforkedroad [omg omg omg unexpected but damn pleasant surprise of sub!kinn wrapped into minor fam!bodyguard porsche and general star crossed lovers trope. it was such an entertaining and captivating read: they meet at a sex club, porsche is on a mission for vegas, his boss (i know, just typing this out is something else), and kinn is unsurprisingly hooked. huge rec, thank you author]

take this life and hold it by the hand by @p1n3appl3p3n [if i tell you i was vibrating out of my fucking skin reading this. shaking crying throwing up with giddiness and squealing like a new-born piglet. have seen this rec so many times in people’s bookmarks, and that single goddamn “mpreg” word has deterred me every time. how could have i been so foolish. one of the best fucking things i’ve read lately was hiding in plain sight this whole time. yes, mpreg, but who gives a fuck, if in return you get this..? reconciliation trope of your dreams. i am on my knees for this fic. p.s. i conveniently have an existing h/c for the twins, which despite the fact that canon pair is a boi/gurl set, is still my ironclad image for them, cause have one look at them and tell me these don’t look like porsche’s children]

[N] Let the fire breathe me back to life by @Zeronay [beautiful mess of two besotted idiots going on a mission underprepared and taking a bullet each. short and lovely read]

Mutatis Mutandis by @zipperbiter [daaaaaamn that was <3333 during one of the quiet uneventful family breakfasts tankhun suddenly realizes that a little chaos never killed nobody, and decides to stir these calm waters up a bit by posing quite an interesting question. the bouts of... scientific experimentation... that ensue in order to conclude the experiment, are both extremely skilfully written, and entertaining to boot. very much a rec]

Wicked Game by @Acearcy01 [set in canon and divergent after ep4, someone keeps making attempts on kinn’s life, and he suggests an agreement: porsche will stay for 60 days to try and figure out who is after kinn, in exchange for his complete freedom afterwards. porsche agrees and starts counting the days. he can’t wait to leave this hellhole behind.... right?. there is something about this story.... really liked it, give it a try, if you haven’t read it already]

Burnished night, blood-soaked stars by @The_Old_Astronomer [absolutely lovely and touching missing/alternative scene between kinn getting shot and waking up at the hospital wing, feelings realization, and a bit of a porsche/big reluctant understanding]

quis custodiet ipsos custode by @concernedlily [gosh i luv this author’s style, am sure everyone has already read this, the piece ain’t new, i just... there can never be enough kp desperate for each other’s safety, not in my world]

two hungers are in me, and they drive me forward. i was born to starve by @captainkit [porsche-centric and bitter-sweet, it is painful to get through in places, but porsche is lovely, earnest, bratty, and plenty sad in this. not to mention, hungry throughout. read when in melancholic mood p.s. ngl, the bit where kinn takes him to a cafe for his bday, and there is no cake, made me cry a lil. p.p.s also author compares kinn’s ep 3 dancing to a “drunk uncle at a wedding”, and i’ve literally never have read anything more accurately hilarious]

Outsider perspective

innocent bystanders by @BeStillMySlashyheart [super-entertaining drabble set in AU where kp not only do not hide, but rather flaunt there new relationship in the compound inhabitants’ faces, and porsche’s poor colleagues have to witness their comrade enjoying his honeymoon phase with their own boss in front of their own bleeding eyes. i cackled, tis a rec]

Horror

A Curious Cat by @The_Consulting_Werewolf [whatttttttt...? *just sits there with her jaw slack and mouth slightly open* what exactly.... has transpired here? you know what i ain’t even gonna say nuthin just go read it for yourselves]

Non-mafia AUs

Twelve, Twenty, Almost Thirty by @just2wings [ooohhh no no nooooope sir, nuh-huh, who gave you the right to hit me with all them feels on this fine tuesday evening completely unprovoked....? hell to the no, i demand reparations, wasn’t sufficiently warned about my insides turning all gooey after reading this, the longing, the looooooongiiiiiiingggggggg <333333 ahem, rant over, to the plot: non-mafia AU in which they have actually met once during the childhood, once in college, and now again as adults. and if you haven’t read it yet, you’re missing out big time. i cried]

Punch at First Sight by @Sandee Sing [yaaaaaay, what a ride, such an entertaining AU, porsche is a bar owner, and theerapanyakuls are business moguls. porsche is visiting the mansion on korn’s invitation, when kinn sees him and understandably? mistakes him for a stripper hired by tay as a gift. it spins out from there. i reeeeeeally liked it, absolute rec]

Hot wheels by @tiredfairycake [disabled!porsche in da house, very cute drabble: kinn is stopped in the middle of his early morning stroll through the park by a weirdo chilling on the bench asking to be helped home. kinn is whipped in every universe, which is no surprise to any of us, super sweet read]

Crack

five things gay by @martynaxao3 [if this is crack, then i never want to read anything that is not crack again, love the author, never a miss with them, including this gem: porsche decides to make it his mission to help his confused, lonely boss to figure out his sexuality... the boss, as the whipped idiot that he is, goes along with the plan. entertaining, funny and super hot. much kudosssssss]

[randombush3]

finally got around to starting the last part so here's a celebratory peek x

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back. 

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home. 

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past, to before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot, not the paparazzi with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth, without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life. 

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then. 

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out. 

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around. 

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards. 

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her. 

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried for the entire flight, and you had refused to speak to anyone since you landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel. 

“I landed this morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered. 

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–” 

Your lips silence her before she is finished. 

[hath-e]

Jona Basta and the Gundam Narrative and how the existence of these 2 showcase Gundam NT's main point, or I talk about Gundam NT part 1

Gundam Narrative (the movie) on a both narrative (get it) and meta level approaches the Gundam franchise with a single point, having to live in someone else's shadow sucks.

(Obviously huge Gundam Narrative spoilers ahead)

I will go into every single main character in the movie and the mentioned Meta elements, but first I'll start with the protagonist:

Jona Basta, a war orphan turned a experiment by the Titans, not even good enough to be turned into a Cyber-Newtype, he's a unremarkable soldier for the Federation, more than likely choosing this path as his upbringing left him with no other options and one of the 3 Miracle Children he's the one without anything, while Michele is now working for Luio & Co. and Rita is in the Phenex, Jona is an ensign who's only here because Michele won't trust anyone else with the operation. He however is also set up to live in the shadow of Banagher Links, a young man with no achievements to his name is the next in line to deal with the Psycho frame, and yet he fails, and has to be saved by Banagher. Jona is also still stuck up on Rita which is his main driving point, to the extent that at the end when she leaves for good Jona loses all will to keep moving forward, and if it wasn't for Banagher he would have probably taken off his helmet there in the cold abyss of space, it's very clear that he's depressed with Rita being the only thing in his life being even worth looking forward to, and now that she was gone together with Michele the only thing that could convince him to not end it all just yet was the living embodiment of hope Banagher Links who tells him that even though he's alone now, someday that will change.

Now onto the RX-9 NT Gundam, or Gundam Narrative, the original prototype testbed for Amuro Ray's RX-93 v Gundam, a unit that's not even deserving of it's own armor, a unfinished suit never meant for combat that was brought around only because of it's usage of the Psycho Frame and because Michele managed to install the NT-D system on it. Just like Jona this suit was never much, completely unremarkable forced to exist in the shadow of the Gundam made for the White Devil himself, the hero who stopped Axis from freezing the Earth. The narrative isn't even good enough to have it's own primary weapon with the rifle it wields being a repurposed Beam Rifle taken from a Jegan. The suit itself also doesn't look like much, it's unfinished missing armor and not even featuring a panoramic cockpit pod, instead using a core fighter, it was outdated back when the RX-93 was being made and it most certainly outdated in UC 0097. It doesn't even survive the movie as it's shot to pieces by Zoltans Neo Zeong II and if it wasn't for Rita Jona would have died along with it.

These 2 serve as the perfect setup, they are on a meta level, rejects forced to pick up the slack for the mess made by other rejects, most notably Zoltan Akkanen, or the guy who I'll talk about tomorrow, along with the Taxi scene in Gundam Hathaway, the day after, Michele and Rita and something more about Hathaway.

(Image source undercut)

https://fanart.tv/movie/553610/mobile-suit-gundam-narrative/?section=wallpaper

[hologramcowboy]

I usually stay far away from Twitter and fandom drama and I don't follow fandom groups but given the dehumanizing posts I've been seeing online, I am going on a fairly long rant, this is just my view, of course, so please discard it if not relevant to you:

The people making posts like these:

are at the core of the bully mentality. You are dehumanizing a Human Being with the entitlement that you get to define how a negative experience affects them. You do not, in any universe, get to tell someone who has been affected by something at what level they have been affected. Simply because you are not them. Furthermore, you are biased and discriminating against Jared Padalecki because he is a celebrity. Jared is a human being first and foremost and, as we've seen in the past, he does do social listening. This means death threats and other cyber crimes do affect him, not to mention the very real stalking some of you do when he moves from country to country. You end up following him under his hotel or even worse situations.

This discussion happening within fandom should include him because he is a direct victim. Also, the intent to commit cyber crimes and sending death threats does not get cancelled out just because that person may or may not have read the thread/post. Do you get this? Do you understand that if your intention and energy is vile, whether the content reaches your target or not, your cyber crime is still in effect? "Jared is a big boy and he doesn't care". Really? In what universe would you be okay with receiving death threats, would your family love that for you? Oh, they would not? So why on earth would you say it is alright that Jared received death threats? Fans do affect an actor's psyche, actors live to bring you joy and when they see you go toxic and dangerous it does affect their psyche.

Aside from this, as mentioned earlier, some of you actually stalk him at cons and at different locations and do so with hateful intent. The gravity of your actions is what causes actors to hide in public, avoid open spaces, reinforce their security, have panic attacks and fear for their life. Yet here you are, online, claiming that it's all good because said person is a celebrity so who cares.

If you dislike Jared, that's a matter of taste and your business but if you dehumanize Jared to the point of denying the very real atrocious actions perpetuated towards him, then you are no different than the perpetrators. You are, in fact, the enablers so you are even worse. A bad intention or idea cannot form into action unless people enable it and you played a key part with your bias and lack of care.

Think of all that evil hitting your child or loved one or even yourself, is it still nothing now? Do you see how wrong it is to minimize the abuse people perpetuate? Jared is a kind human being, so he avoids getting into drama as much as he can but that doesn't mean he is not affected. Also, someone not being affected is never, ever, an excuse to abuse said person. It's pretty interesting how someone suddenly doesn't count as human in your eyes. Talking about the abuse Jared gets in no way takes away from the other victims, in fact, it provides evidence of the intent and maliciousness of the people who attacked those victims. So it is highly important to consider as well as discuss. If you actually care about the topic at hand and the people involved that is. If you actually cared about shifting paradigms and improving fandom experience.

Lastly, Jared does deserve an apology too, the behavior displayed towards him is inhuman, degrading and damaging. He's no different than all the other persons at the receiving end of atrocious behaviors. The fact that you cannot comprehend that shows you lack humanity and empathy. If this was you or a friend at the receiving end, you would do the right thing but because you resent Jared, you are trying to twist an important discussion to damage him further. Jared doesn't know you and never did anything against you yet you feel entitled to dehumanizing him.

Then there's this: The people who perpetuated these behaviors displayed them publicly as well, especially towards him, thus providing a horrible example for others to follow. If you really cared about resolving bullying you would know those were seriously damaging paradigms being disseminated online and encouraged. Those people felt entitled to tell others to end their existence and the reason this happened was because you chose to ignore it thinking "people are grown ups and they can defend themselves" and "that's a celebrity, I don't care". So you saw the very clear signs but ignored or encouraged. You enabled. Now you are trying to create drama centered on one of the victims instead of owning your part in all of that and working on ways to create healthier fandom experiences.

Let's look at this one:

"We can attack Jared haters(or Misha haters or Jensen haters) on any other day of the week" Not only is this person directly admitting to being no different than those perpetrators, she is actually saying that attacking is what they do on a daily basis. Is that supposed to be the normal response? To attack? So bullying is the solution to bullying? Since when? Since when has mobbing people become the norm? Behaviors can be addressed without even remotely attacking someone. If you've created vicious cycles where you gang up on each other then that's only going in one direction, the same one those cult girls had.

My point is, please gain awareness and focus on creating healthy paradigms rather than on victim shaming/blaming, attacking whoever you disapprove of (same pattern those cult girls had, silo mentality and one sided views) and stop enabling the people who created such a negative impact within fandom by allowing them to display disempowering behaviors. Stop feeding into negative patterns and starts building healthy ones. Change starts with you and, whether you are aware of it or not, your choices affect others.

It is truly heartbreaking how people can twist their love for a show into hating actors and other people instead of using that passion to connect with like minded souls and create beautiful experiences together.

[xoxovalerie-c]

Blog Post Week 10: Due 10/31

How do cyber mobs normalize online harassment, and what does this mean for legal and social responses?

Using the book Hate Crime in Cyberspace, Danielle Keats Citron describes cyber mobs as, Mobs from dominant groups are notorious for shaming relatively powerless groups, in taking delight in the discomfort of the excluded and stigmatized. Cyber mobs gather online to harass individuals in degrading and threatening ways (Citron, 2014). So the normalization comes from creating an environment that feeds into abusive behavior, as individuals become so assertive in inflicting harm to others. The mob creates a culture as they tend to recruit members and celebrate them for their contributions to online hate. Currently, the lack of effective policies to address this form of harassment makes it increasingly difficult for victims to receive legal support, especially as technology continues to evolve. This leaves many individuals to navigate their challenges largely on their own. While it may be impossible to completely eliminate cyber mobs, it’s essential to recognize that anyone can fall victim to such groups. By educating ourselves about the harmful effects of these mobs, we can empower ourselves to speak up, report incidents, and assist those who are suffering from their impact.

How can the creation and sharing of fictional narratives, like the Grandpa Wiggly case on Reddit, lead to harmful consequences or negative perceptions?

The Grandpa Wiggly case on the social platform Reddit illustrates how fictional narratives can cause a line between reality and imagination. While it can be fun to create a storyline with plain creativity and community-based opinions, it can lead to misunderstandings and harmful consequences. When stories are taken seriously, they may result in misinformation, panic, or even harassment. Online communities can become negative making it dangerous for creators to continue these narratives as seen in the Grandpa Wiggly case. People were getting out of hand and even sent death threats to portray this image of being a victim to this story. Ultimately, both posters and audiences need to be aware of the potential repercussions of blending fiction with reality.

In what ways can online trolling impact an individual’s life, what does this reveal about digital harassment?

Online trolling can significantly impact an individual’s financial stability by leading to lost income, job opportunities,, and damaged lifelong professional reputations. It is truly devastating to think that your entire lifeline can depend on what happens in these online spaces. For instance, those targeted may be forced to leave their jobs. The emotional toll of trolling can result in mental health issues.  Demonstrating how big of an issue is online trolling.

To what extent did Leslie Jones receive support on Twitter? Was it based solely on her celebrity status? What does this reveal about social media platforms? 

I believe that Leslie Jones’s experience on Twitter highlights how celebrity status can significantly influence the level of support one receives while engaging in a social media platform. After receiving racist and sexist hate speech associated with her role in the Ghostbusters reboot movie she tweeted how all the negativity was affecting her. She would even tweet out to Twitter asking for help. Since she became a trending topic on Twitter, founder and CEO Jack Dorsey reached out to Leslie and tells her to “DM him.” Releasing this statement: This type of abusive behavior is not permitted on Twitter, and we’ve taken action on many accounts reported to us by both Leslie and others (Seetharaman, 2016). This makes me think back to the case of Grandpa Wiggly where someone who wasn’t well known made this fictional character and he received so much hate. Just like Leslie yet Reddit never took it upon themselves to support this user by “protecting” them in any way. This also makes me wonder about the other stories where other women experienced physical harm coming from online forces but the platforms don’t take it upon themselves to speak out or support. This shows to me that platforms depend on celebrities to demonstrate that they have this sort of “code of conduct” in honor of providing a safe and positive online environment for other users to engage as well. 

Bergstrom, K. (2011). “Don’t feed the troll”: Shutting down debate about community expectations on Reddit.com. First Monday, 16(8). https://doi.org/10.5210/fm.v16i8.3498

Citron, D. K. (2014). Hate crimes in cyberspace. Harvard University Press.

Seetharaman, D., & Wells, G. (2016, August 30). Leslie Jones’ horrific online abuse shows how Twitter’s troll problem has spun out of control. Wall Street Journal.