#Kernel failure

[em1i2a3]

Got You (Where I Want You)

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You walk in on Bob staring at himself in the mirror.

Warnings: Fluff, with some intimacy thrown in there for good measure, because why the hell not, right? The sweetness is cavity inducing lol

Author’s Note: Had this idea yesterday and had to put pen to paper y’all, I don’t know what the hell got into me that made me push aside my other stuff for this idea, but I liked it too much to not go absolutely bonkers on my keyboard lol…Anyways, enjoy <3

Word Count: 4,785

Subject: FINAL HR WARNING - CONDUCT REVIEW (Walker/Starr Conflict)

From: HR Officer Marshall Greene

“Agents Walker and Starr are now under internal review for insubordination, hostile communication, and repeated disregard of team mediation protocols. One more infraction and we’ll initiate temporary removal from field rotation. Val has been informed. There will be no further email warnings.”

Walker (Reply All):

“Good to know HR thinks performance under pressure is ‘hostile communication.’ No wonder no one trusts leadership anymore.”

Ava (Reply All):

“Glad we agree that nobody trusts you.”

Yelena (Reply To: Ava and Walker):

“I swear if you get us all sent to HR group therapy again we are going to leave you both at the next extraction site.”

You choked on your own laugh, face half-buried in your pillow as your tablet buzzed again. Notification after notification trickled in like popcorn kernels catching heat–erratic, chaotic, and loud as hell. The entire thread was spiralling quickly, and all you could do was watch the digital tornado unfold before your very eyes. You sat up quickly, nearly dropping the tablet in your lap as you scrolled through the influx of new messages. One leg was tucked under you, while the other bounced with that familiar blend of amusement and secondhand dread.

Ava’s spelling had deteriorated into pure adrenaline–half her words missing vowels, full of heat and fury and thinly veiled threats. Walker had officially gone full defensive, slinging phrases like “operational leadership failure” and “compromised team integrity” like he was writing a dissertation for Val.

You snorted as Yelena replied again but to everyone this time with a simple:

“You guys are literally down the hall from each other, there’s no need to continue to document the arguing, just kill each other now.”

It was definitely a full-blown HR meltdown, and it was definitely going to warrant group therapy again, but the thread was just too good to keep to yourself.

Your thumb hovered over the screen for one more second, then you grinned, tossing the tablet to the side of the bed, because you knew exactly who would enjoy this as much as you.

Bob.

He was never in these threads–more because he didn’t even think to check them anyways. He was never mentioned, never cc’d. He just floated above the chaos like a gentle cloud of soft-voiced concern. He was never involved enough to be a direct problem, but he was always tuned in enough to notice when issues were brewing. He never participated in the drama, but he loved hearing about it. Only from you, though. Only when you read it out loud with your overly expressive hand gestures and dramatic reenactments–like you were performing Shakespeare in the park…But only for him.

It was a tradition. A rhythm that only belonged to you and Bob alone, because every time a thread decided to spiral into a tailspin of arguing, you sought him out immediately.

Sometimes it was in the kitchen over cereal. Sometimes it was on the roof, sitting hip to hip with your legs dangling in the wind. Sometimes it was huddled on opposite ends of the couch with your legs draped over his lap…And sometimes–like right now–it meant running to his room like you were delivering urgent news straight from the battlefield.

You glanced down at yourself–sports bra, and underwear–and let out a low huff. Bob had seen you like this before, technically. That’s what came with the territory of shared safehouses, mission recovery stations, and walking around the compound late at night when you thought nobody else was awake. Those were different situations though.

You padded across the room and yanked open your dresser drawer, rifling through your exercise shirts until you settled on a worn black t-shirt–oversized and thinning with age. You tugged it over your head in one swift movement, letting the hem fall just past your hips, then you grabbed a pair of navy basketball shorts off the back of your desk chair and shimmied into them with a quick hop-step, tightening the strings as much as possible so they wouldn’t fall as you rushed down the hall.

You scooped the tablet back up in your arms, the screen still glowing with the madness you’d left behind.

HR Officer Marshall Greene (Reply All):

“This is a formal thread, please refrain from using inappropriate language and making unfounded comments on others performances.”

The excitement only grew, as you slapped the tablet against your thigh, and bolted into the hallway.

The compound was quiet except for the distant clack of someone’s boots echoing down from the other wing–probably Ava pacing while she types another scorched-earth reply to the recent email. Regardless, you padded forward, barefoot but quick. The hum of the overhead lights casted your shadow along the wall as you rounded the corner toward the kitchen for a quick pit stop.

The fridge gave a quiet suction-pop as you pulled it open and reached for one of the bottled iced teas Bob always hoarded–hibiscus and lemon honey, the kind he insisted was the best. You grabbed one–already cool against your palm even though you had restocked them an hour ago–and tucked it into the crook of your arm as you shut the fridge with your hip.

”What’re you? A professional basketball player?” A voice from behind you asked.

You didn’t need to turn to know it was Bucky–leaning against the wall just outside the kitchen like he’d been planted there to deliver commentary on your outfit. His arms were crossed, dog tags peeking beneath the neckline of his exercise shirt. The glint in his eyes showed unmistakable amusement as he raised a brow at what you were wearing. You didn’t slow your pace though, you just tossed him a look over your shoulder.

”Careful Barnes, comments like that are how group therapy gets scheduled.” That earned a bark of laughter from him–rough and low.

”I’ll tell HR you threatened me with that iced tea bottle,” He called out as you walked off. You raised it above your head in mock-warning without looking over at him.

”Weaponized refreshments fall under Walker and Ava’s jurisdiction. Not mine.” You heard his chuckle echo faintly behind you, but your attention was already zeroed in on the familiar stretch of hallway that led to Bob’s room.

It was quiet here. Soft, almost. The air always felt a little warmer around his end of the corridor–in heat and in emotion in general, there was less tension, less noise, it was very…Bob. use him, his stacks of books, and the faint sound of whatever playlist he decided to put on.

You didn’t knock, you never knocked.

Your fingers wrapped around the handle and turned it without ceremony, pushing the door open like it was your own room, like it was a shared space you were both too sentimental to label.

“Bob! You are not gonna believe this thread..” You said as you were stepping into the room, clicking the door shut softly behind you before turning around.

And that’s when you saw him…And he nearly jumped out of his skin.

”D-Don’t you knock?!” He stammered, jolting like you’d fired a dart into his shoulder. His hands scrambled for the shirt slung half-off his desk chair, eyes wide, and cheeks flushing crimson, “I-I could’ve been–!”

”Naked?” You offered helpfully, lifting a brow as you stepped more into the room, “I think I’ve survived worse than accidentally walking in on someone mid-change.” Your voice had trailed off a little by the time you got to the middle of the room, because it hit you then–just how good he actually looked.

He wasn’t even trying, and that was probably the worst part–because you didn’t want to see him when he was…

The golden hour light poured through the west-facing window like warm syrup, catching the faint dampness along his skin and the light brown locks that his head sported. The light turned the droplets of water that still trailed down his back into halos of shimmer. His chest was broad and high with clean muscle, sharp and thick, and a bit swollen. There were red marks stretched faintly across his collarbones and the tops of his biceps, fresh from a too-hot shower–evidence of his notoriously sensitive skin. A small pink scar marked the space just under one of his ribs, thinned out from more than a decade of bearing it.

You had always known he was strong–he had to be because of the serum–but this was not what you were expecting.

Bob was built like a cathedral. Sturdy like he’d been carved from something permanent, and yet somehow he still stood like he was embarrassed of that.

”Bob.” You started, but he was already trying to pull his shirt over his head and failing–his arms were moving like they had forgotten how sleeves worked. Then after a second of struggling, he gave up with a frustrated sigh and just pressed the cotton against his bare upper torso like a towel.

“I-It’s really nothing…” He insisted, voice strained and high with shyness, “I-I was just…Looking at something.” Your brows raised as you padded even further into the room, placing the iced tea gently on the nearest stack of books.

“Got a rash or something? I know that Sentry suit probably isn’t a pleasant experience. It’s basically painted on…Probably got chafing in all the wrong places.”

“W-What? No! I–I don’t have a rash,” He sputtered, a nervous laugh catching on the tail end of his words. You could see his ears turning red, then watched as the flush crept down his neck and beneath the top he was holding against him. You grinned, leaning against the footboard of his bed, crossing your arms over your chest.

”So what were you looking at then?”

“I-It’s nothing…I swear…” His gaze couldn’t even meet yours, it just darted everywhere but your face: the floor, the ceiling, the bottle of iced tea, his desk lamp. His throat worked as he swallowed, and he shook his head, “It was n-nothing.” You sighed and, without another word, turned and sat on the edge of his mattress, tablet still in hand as you looked around the room–deliberately taking your time, giving him space to breathe. To maybe cool down a little before you asked him the same question again.

His room was neat, but not in a sterile fashion. He had bookshelves stacked high with paperbacks and limited edition copies of stories–science fiction, poetry, philosophy, he even had a few battered field manuals, but they looked like they hadn’t even been opened. A few of the books had some sticky notes jutting out in soft yellows, greens and blues, all in varying shades. There was a well-kept ficus in the corner by the window, catching sunlight in its leaves. One of his walls held a corkboard filled with photographs of places he had been with the team, with little notes he had kept from you–handwriting scrawled on torn napkins or on the backs of receipts. His Sentry suit hung off a hook like a molded second skin, and a flannel blanket was folded with precision at the foot of the bed.

“W-What are you doing?” Bob’s voice cracked with a soft, almost wounded hesitation. You didn’t look up from the bed right away, instead dragging your thumb along the edge of the tablet as you let the silence sit. Then you finally lifted your gaze, brow raised with soft mischief.

“Waiting for you to move,” You said simply. “So I can see what you could’ve possibly been looking at so intently before I barged in.” He shifted on his feet, his toes curling against the floorboards like he was trying to plant himself there and disappear.

”Y-Y/N, I wasn’t looking at anything…” You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes dropping from his for just a second–slowly taking his body in again from the reflection of the mirror behind him, the long, broad line of his back, the way the light caught in every indentation of muscle like it was sculpted for this hour of the day and no other. Then you looked back at him.

”So why’re you hiding from me then?” You asked softly, “You’ve seen me topless before…Thought you might’ve been comfortable returning the favour.” You joked. His eyes flickered to yours, then away again, lashes fluttering like a startled heartbeat. His grip tightened on the cotton he still held over his chest, the fabric slightly damp now from where it met his skin. You set the tablet down with a quiet tap on his nightstand, fingers curling loosely at your sides as you pushed off the bed and stepped toward him. The floor creaked softly beneath your bare feet. His breath hitched–just barely audible–but you caught it. His whole body tensed, like prey too stunned to run, and yet… He didn’t back away.

“Let’s look together, hmm?” You said, voice soft, it wasn’t a command…It was more of an invitation, “Turn and look in the mirror.” Bob’s eyes darted down to yours, nervous and questioning, the light in them flickering gold just for the briefest moment.

“W-What…?”

”Just…Trust me,” You whispered, inching close enough for your hand to find the edge of the shirt he was still holding to his front. You pinched the soft cotton between your fingers, “Turn and look in the mirror…And move this.” He stared at you, searching your face as if trying to find the trap. But there wasn’t one–not with you. So, with hesitantancy, he turned back toward the full-length mirror beside his bookshelf. His broad shoulders squared, his spine straightening instinctively like he expected to be judged, and slowly, he shifted the cotton away from his chest. He didn’t let it drop–he held it against his side like a safety net–but it no longer blocked his reflection.

You stepped behind him carefully, and rose up on your toes, putting your chin on his heated shoulder, eyes flickering over both his reflection and the way his skin flushed beneath you. The heat coming off his body was tangible, like the golden hour sun had been sucked up by his skin and refused to leave. His damp hair curled at the end where it had dried, and the slope of his shoulder tensed beneath your chin.

Up close like this, with nothing but the mirror before you both, it was impossible not to take him in fully–not just the parts you’d glimpsed, not just what the suit hinted at beneath all that gold-threaded armor and pressure. But this. Him.

The soft curve of his clavicle, just beginning to dry, still slightly pink from the heat of his shower. The small cluster of faded stretch marks that swept just beneath his chest, curling slightly toward the soft ridges of his ribs. They looked like pale lightning, half-silver in the light–evidence of how fast he’d grown into himself, into this body he never asked for. Another quiet mutation to accommodate the weight of what lived inside him. There were more across his lower stomach, ghosting down either side of his abdomen where the muscle swelled thicker. They branched just beside his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband of his joggers, pale and delicate, like silk run beneath sharp fingers. You wanted to trace them. God, you wanted to press your mouth to every single one.

His skin was smooth in some places, textured in others, but all of it was flushed with heat. And that light trail of hair that you’d never seen before–white blonde, so soft it nearly vanished unless you were this close–drew a path down the center of him that had you unconsciously tightening your arms just slightly where they curled behind his back.

“You definitely don’t have any rashes,” You said softly, voice light with teasing but thick with something warmer. “You’re just a handsome guy…That’s built like a house.” You gave a small shrug against him, trying to diffuse the sincerity with humor, but it still rang true. Bob’s shoulders stiffened immediately, and his reflection turned red so quickly you thought it might spread across the mirror itself.

“S-Stop it,” He muttered, ducking his head just slightly, like that might shield him from your words.

“Why?” You murmured, brows lifting gently. “It’s not like I’m lying to you.” He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched for a second too long, and then his voice came–rougher, smaller.

“I-I don’t see it… I just see this…This person who’s not themselves anymore.” His jaw clenched a little, eyes glued to his reflection like it betrayed him. “Not like I u-used to be. Everything’s just…D-Different.” Your frown came slowly, spreading across your face with a heaviness that tugged the corners of your mouth down and softened your eyes into something deeply pained. You finally connected the dots.

He hadn’t been admiring himself in the mirror. He wasn’t checking for a rash or even trying to catch a glimpse of some half-healed wound. He was judging himself–tearing himself apart with every second he stared. Comparing himself to the man he used to be. The one he probably thought he lost the day he became more myth than man. Your heart twisted with it. That quiet kind of ache that came from loving someone too much to let them stay hurt.

“…Can I touch you?” you asked gently, voice barely above a whisper.

Bob’s eyes met yours in the mirror, startled like you’d touched a raw nerve instead of just offering kindness. His lips parted slightly, breath catching in his throat.

“O-Okay,” He said, like it was foreign–like no one had ever asked that before. You moved even closer to him, your chest now pressing against his back. You lifted your hand and just…Touched him.

Your fingertips met the warm skin of his stomach, just above the waistband of his joggers, feather-light. He inhaled sharply. Not in fear–just surprise. His stomach tensed for a second, then loosened, like his body didn’t quite know how to receive affection that came without demand. You smoothed your hand upward, tracing the soft rise and fall of his abdomen, the slope of strength beneath the surface. His skin was warm and velvety under your touch—damp in places from the shower, and soft in others from where his skin had healed from stress and strain and godhood.

“You’re so…” You breathed, thumb sweeping just beneath his ribs, “Unbelievably beautiful, Bob.” He blinked like he hadn’t heard you right. Like that word had never belonged to him.

“I mean it,” You said softly, your hand traveling up his chest now, resting briefly over his heart–feeling the beat pounding steady and strong beneath your palm. “You have no idea what you look like, do you?”

His breath shuddered. “N-Not like this…”

“Then let me tell you.”

Your voice dropped, low and tender, like a vow.

“This body,” You whispered, your fingers tracing the faint stretch marks just below his pecs, “This is a testament. To everything you’ve carried. To how hard you fought to stay here. How strong you’ve had to be. You didn’t just survive…You built this. And you built it with love. With the way you protect people. With how gently you hold things, even when you could crush them.” You leaned in, lips brushing the curve of his bare shoulder, kissing him once. Then again, higher, where the tension lived tight beneath his neck.

He shivered.

Not out of discomfort–but because he knew you meant it. Because your mouth on his skin felt more like an affirmation than anything anyone had ever said to him. His skin jumped beneath each press of your lips. Your other hand slipped around his waist, palm resting over his stomach again–feeling the subtle flex as he tried and failed to keep still.

“You’re real, Bob,” You murmured between kisses. “You’re good. You’re so good. And every inch of you–every mark, every muscle, every breath–is deserving of love.”

He made a sound then–a quiet, choked breath like he was holding something in his throat. His chest hitched slightly under your hand, and when you peeked up at his reflection, his eyes were glossed, gold flickering around the rims like he was lit from within. You tightened your arms gently, holding him from behind like a tether, your forehead pressing into the curve of his shoulder. Your lips grazed the top of his spine.

“Even if you can’t see it… I do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Of breath. Of tension. Of emotion so thick it filled the space between your ribs and his.

After a few long seconds, his hand moved. Trembling at first, like he didn’t know what to do without being awkward, before lowering it to cover yours.

His palm was big, warm, and dampened with sweat, but you didn’t mind the way it felt. He held your touch in place like he didn’t want you to stop. His thumb swept softly along the edge of your hand, nervous but desperate to keep you there.

When he turned to face you, his breath hitched again. His eyes didn’t look away this time. He just stared at you like he was memorizing the moment.

You were still holding his waist. Still close enough that the warmth of him surrounded you like a sun. His hand lifted–slow, hesitant, like the moment might shatter if he moved too quickly. You didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Not when his fingers brushed your jaw and then curled so gently against your cheek it made your eyes sting.

He held your face like it belonged in a museum among the works of art. His thumb grazed the space just beneath your eye, sweeping along your cheekbone with the softest pressure–as if he was trying to memorize the way you felt beneath his touch. Like if he just held you long enough, maybe he could believe this was real. That you were real. That someone had truly looked at him–all of him–and still wanted to stay.

Neither of you blinked.

The air shifted–thick with something golden and unspeakable, heavy in your lungs but light in your chest. Like standing on the edge of something vast and beautiful and knowing, this is the moment it all changes.

And then he leaned in.

Not in a rush. Not in some burst of passion where your teeth could possibly clash together. But slowly–like the sun melting into the sea. Like a secret unfolding, tender and certain, inevitable as gravity.

His lips met yours with gentleness you didn’t know you were starving for.

It was so soft it almost didn’t feel like a kiss at first. Just a breath of warmth, and a quiet hum of surrender blooming behind your ribs. His mouth moved against yours with cautious wonder, wanting more but keeping his thoughts under control just for this one moment–just so he could display his secret devotion to you.

The world narrowed to the press of his lips, the curl of his fingers that were still on your cheek, the faint tremble in his shoulders, and the heat of his bare skin where your hands moved now–trailing up his sides and over his back. You traced the soft slope of muscles with your palms, admiring, until your fingertips danced along the small of his back.

And that’s when he gasped.

The kiss broke as his body flinched against yours with a startled breath, a laugh hiccuping through the sound.

”I…Sorry,” He stammered, half-flushed, half-laughing, his hand falling from your cheek like he had ruined it. You grinned, still feeling your heartbeat throughout your entire body, your eyes shining.

”Don’t you dare apologize for a kiss like that,” You whispered, and before he could respond back to you–before he could shrink away or stumble over a hundred more nervous syllables–you leaned in and kissed him again.

It was just a quick one. A seal on the moment, something that could contain it. His breath hitched like he hadn’t expected it–like he still couldn’t quite believe you were touching him so freely, so warmly.

You pulled back just enough to smile against his lips and murmur, “Only you would apologize for something that sweet by the way.” Another blush lit his face instantly, rising to the tips of his ears like fire spreading across his skin. You laughed softly and pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a proper hug, letting your cheek press to his chest as he melted into your touch.

His arms folded around you slowly, his forearms curling tightly around your waist, his palms flattening against your spine, pressing your body flush to his like he wanted to make sure there was no space between you at all. You melted into the hold instinctively, sighing against his chest as the tension slid out of you like sand between fingers. Your cheek rested against the warm pillow of muscle just over his heart, and there it was–the steady galloping rhythm, thumping firm and fast beneath your ear. You closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing him in.

The scent of his shower was clinging to him and invading your senses now, there was sage, and a hint of pine, he smelled like a forest, or the wilderness–he smelled like the safest place you would ever come to know.

For a long beat, neither of you moved.

His chin dipped until it came to rest lightly on the crown of your head, a sigh escaping him–low, content, full of something that bordered on reverent. When he hummed, it was quiet and barely even a sound–just a vibration in his chest that pulsed through your cheek and down your spine like a tuning fork finding your frequency so he could slip in and be one with you. You smiled against him.

“So…” You started, voice muffled slightly by his skin, “Is there any chance you’ll start walking around shirtless more often now that I’ve thoroughly showered you with compliments?” He let out a soft, incredulous laugh–half embarrassed, half endeared–and you felt it echo all the way through your ribs. His hands tightened slightly at your back as he ducked his head a little further, his voice feathering warmly against your scalp.

“I-It’ll be u-under heavy consideration now, I think…” He mumbled, voice playful but still laced with that soft-spoken sincerity that was so uniquely his. You smirked.

“Hmm,” You hummed back, fingers curling gently against the thick muscle of his upper back before giving him a teasing squeeze. It made him jolt, just slightly–a tiny gasp of a flinch, like you’d shocked him. He barked out another laugh, and you pulled back just enough to look up at him.

“I’ll take that as a very soft yes,” You said, grinning up at him, your fingers still resting against the planes of his back. His eyes met yours–wide and dilated, but glowing now with something unguarded and bright.

“Y-Yeah,” He said shyly, a smile tugging at his lips, “I guess…I-If it’s for you, it might be okay.” He scratched nervously at the back of his neck with one hand as he looked down at you, then added sheepishly, “B-But you have to promise not to look at me like I’m a sculpture again…I-I almost combusted.” You laughed, arms still around his waist, resting your chin on his chest now so you could meet his eyes directly.

“No promises,” You whispered. “You are a sculpture. Just one that happens to blush when I compliment him.”

His face turned a glorious shade of red, and you watched the smile spread helplessly across his lips even as he tried to hide it. His hands came up again, this time cradling your jaw like it was something precious. His thumbs brushed softly against your cheeks, and he leaned in again–this time a little more sure of himself.

And when he kissed you again, it was with a quiet hunger. Still gentle, still sweet, but layered now with the quiet thrill of knowing that you saw him–really saw him–and loved every part you found.

[ridleymocki]

(seeing so many bad faith interpretations of the argument, y'all are really going to make me do this, okay HERE WE GO)

.................................

What Ed says: "I think last night was a mistake. I'm not ready for... Whatever this is."

What Ed means: "I didn't want last night to happen so soon or under those circumstances. Things are changing rapidly, which makes me feel out of control and scared."

What Stede hears: "I regret sleeping with you. I don't want the sort of relationship that you're after."

.................................

What Stede says: "It was a fine fish. It was... whatever. I was just trying to make you feel good!"

What Stede means: "I only cared about the fish because you cared about it, and I care about you. I liked the fish because it made you happy. Ordinarily, I'm ambivalent about fish."

What Ed hears: "I lied to you. I didn't care about your achievement I was just placating you to get what I wanted."

.................................

What Ed says: "Here's the news: I'm leaving. I got a job on a little fishing boat and I'm leaving. I'm a fisherman now."

What Ed means: "I think I need to be away from you to figure out who I am, because I haven't been able to do that while we're together, and your lifestyle now is the life I'm trying to leave behind."

What Stede hears: "I've made a decision to leave you and have a life without you. I don't value what we have enough to work with you to find a solution, I'd prefer to end it."

.................................

What Stede says: "Oh, Ed. Seriously? You're not a fisherman."

What Stede means: "I think you're using this plan to escape and avoid your problems. It sounds like you're pretending to be someone else. It seems to me like an impulsive decision and I am concerned."

What Ed hears: "I don't support this ambition. I think you're incapable. I don't think you can be different from what you have always been."

.................................

This is the kind of analysis done in therapeutic environments. When I put what they mean, it's not just a rephrasing but a boiling down to the core issue. I could go on to the rest of the dialogue but do you see the continuing ship-in-the-night miscommunication?? It's tripartite:

failing to express one's current emotional reality with the most accurate and clear language, often because that reality is not fully understood to oneself,

misinterpreting the other's language, due to preexisting sensitivities and defensiveness about one's own understanding of the situation,

increasing frustration and sense of personal attack that results from those misinterpretations, which perpetuates and worsens the poor communication.

Importantly, this kind of pattern means you miss the best and most important kernels of communication in an exchange because you're reacting to the more inflammatory parts.

Stede: "This can be whatever we want it to be." (I am willing to make changes to our arrangement so that you're happy). Ed: "I don't even know who I am! Alright? I know I don't want to be a pirate. And you, you're blowing up, you're the toast of the town." (I think we want different things. You're just starting a journey that I've already finished).

With those two bits alone they could've sorted this out. The first is the answer to the second. But they didn't -- couldn't -- latch onto it because all their other baggage was getting in the way.

And I'm being proven correct that this is what is happening, because I have seen next to nothing on here about the above two lines, only reactionary takes of fans also focusing on the inflammatory parts because of their predispositions. You're doing an encore performance of what they're doing.

Point being, there are no bad guys in this scene, just repeated system failure!

[phantomrose96]

At this point, after this has happened a dozen times, why the hell is anyone pushing any update that wide that fast. They didn't try 10 nearby computers first? Didn't do zone by zone? Someone needs to be turbo fired for this and a law needs to get written.

The "this has happened a dozen times" really isn't correct. This one is unprecedented.

But yes the "how the hell could it go THAT bad?" is the thing everyone with even a little software experience is spinning over. Because it is very easy to write code with a bug. But that's why you test aggressively, and you roll out cautiously - with MORE aggressive testing and MORE cautious rollout the more widely-impacting your rollout would be.

And this is from my perspective in product software, where my most catastrophic failure could break a product, not global systems.

Anti-malware products like Crowdstrike are highly-privileged, as in they have elevated trust and access to parts of the system that most programs wouldn't usually have - which is something that makes extremely thorough smoke-testing of the product way MORE important than anything I've ever touched. It has kernel access. This kind of thing needs testing out the wazoo.

I can mostly understand the errors that crop up where like, an extremely old machine on an extremely esoteric operating system gets bricked because the test radius didn't include that kind of configuration. But all of Windows?

All of Windows, with a mass rollout to all production users, including governments?

There had to be layers upon layers of failures here. Especially given how huge Crowdstrike is. And I really want to know what their post-mortem analysis ends up being because for right now I cannot fathom how you end up with an oversight this large.

[etirabys]

just did 90m of painting work over 3 hours that was (1) mentally demanding (2) that did not pay off. I have nothing concrete to show for it.

today's work was prefaced by 90m of prep last night: looking my long and short term goals, identifying bottlenecks, and designing exercises to widen those bottlenecks (which I executed on today). so if you count that it's 3h of work

interestingly: after today's work, my mind was unusually, legibly split on whether that was a waste of time (prediction: feel bad) or a good use of time (prediction: feel good). and the fact that it felt like a choice – or at least indeterminate in a way I could somewhat influence – suggested to me that finding experimentation (regardless of outcome) worthwhile is a skill?

(in 2021 I stumbled into enjoying the mild-moderate fear of social risk-taking, which led to running a lot of events, which had noticeably positive effects on my social life and popularity. seems like a similar type of meta-skill – something that leads you to find skill development more attractive)

if I may be corny and quote this book review on The Education of Cyrus [the Great]:

Of all Cyrus’s many qualities: willpower, strength, charisma, glibness, intelligence, handsomeness; Xenophon makes a point of emphasizing one in particular, and his choice might strike some readers as strange. It is this: “He did not run from being defeated into the refuge of not doing that in which he had been defeated.” Cyrus learned to love the feeling of failure, because failure means you’re facing a worthy challenge, failure means you haven’t set your sights too low, … He doesn’t flee failure, he seeks it out, hungers for it, rushes towards it again and again, becoming a little scarier every time. He’s found a cognitive meta-tool, one of those secrets of the universe which, if you can actually internalize them, make you better at everything. Failure feels good to him rather than bad

fine, okay, let's lean into feeling good about today's failure and hope it updates my personality 0.01%:

that was cool! it wasn't cool to get frustrated and have to stop at one of the stages, but I have concrete ideas on how to tweak the instructions for tomorrow's run. Even if I abandon conscious directed improvement for a year, writing down what did and didn't work will help future me design better experiments / workflows. I have, in fact, built something that'll last

also, I have a spreadsheet where I log three variables and a generated column that uses those variables to spit out a "score for the day". how much I did and how hard it was have a multiplicative effect on that score, and that was pretty hard, so I'm going to get a Gold Star from My Google Sheets Function for having done this

also also, I have the slightest kernel of the desire to paint ("just not like that dear god I'm not doing that again") which I don't think was there before I forced myself to do a hard and unpleasant painting run

■ Yay

[tinylongwing]

Music recs list for my fellow Vide Noir-heads

(And everyone else too)

I've often seen, and even echoed the sentiment, that Lord Huron's album Vide Noir is completely unique. Nobody else is putting out big concept indie rock albums about existential dread in an uncaring and horrifying cosmos when you're just trying to look for the girlfriend who ghosted you and you wind up deep in a Los Angeles neo-noir involving eldritch space drugs and hallucinations from across time and space, okay? That's fair.

BUT.

While none of the below are the same, I do think they're likely to scratch some of that itch while you wait for more. Please check them out! You might find something you like. All of the below are bands that release concept albums meant to be listened to from start to finish, so I'll be recommending whole albums, not singles. Also these are youtube links because that's what I use but you can for sure find all of these everywhere you get music.

Typhoon

Criminally underrated for way too long. Huge sweeping orchestral indie rock sounds that would be right at home if a movie was made of one of their albums (what a dream that would be). Most of their music is inspired by a combination of the works of David Lynch and the frontman/writer's personal battles with Lyme disease and his subsequent near death. Listen to EVERYTHING they have put out ever, but especially:

Offerings (2018): According to the band, "It's a record from the perspective of a mind losing its memory at precisely the same time the world is willfully forgetting its history. The urgent question becomes: without causality, without structures of meaning, without essential features of rational thought, is there anything that can save us from violence/oblivion?

With no past and no future, there is only suffocating, annihilating, present, looping on and on ad infinitum (to me, one plausible definition of hell) and the best you can hope for is that somewhere in the void there exists some small, irreducible certainty—a fragment, a kernel, something—that you may have the good fortune to stumble upon before it's all over.

You know, a boy/girl-meets-girl/boy-everyone-dies-in-botched-attempt-at-neo-pagan-sacrificial-ritual-on-global-scale kind of thing."

White Lighter (2013): More directly inspired by Morton's survival of Lyme disease and organ failure, about finding hope when things feel utterly hopeless, and his gratitude toward his father for saving his life via kidney donation. (There is a 10th anniversary version of this album that includes some unrelated singles that were never released on albums, fyi - I find they interrupt the flow of the original intended release).

Arcade Fire

Oscillating between dance pop and indie orchestral folk-rock-baroque pop, these guys are pretty well known (The Suburbs won the Grammy for best album of 2010, after all). But! If you haven't heard them, or if you forgot they existed, this is a really really excellent time to listen to their work.

The Suburbs (2010): If you're going to start anywhere with this band, start here. Stay here a while. Inspired by some of the band members' upbringings in suburbian Texas, the album is an apocalyptic journey through end-stage capitalism and it's fucking jawdropping.

mewithoutYou

Post-hardcore/art rock band that incorporates spirituality and religion-as-myth and history from viewpoints around the world in order to write incredibly moving music about the human condition.

Ten Stories (2012): Inspired by multiple similar real world events from the 19th and early 20th centuries, this album is about a traveling circus on a train that crashes in 19th-century Montana, and the journeys of the circus animals as they flee the wreckage, or try to rebuid their own societies. Gorgeous, desolate, heartbreaking.

Pale Horses (2015): Visions of the apocalypse from the perspectives of multiple world mythologies as well as from the personal perspective of the narrator observing the ruin in his own life and the city around him.

Freelance Whales

The greatest tragedy here is these folks no longer make music - one member left the band, another has passed away. Thankfully, they put out two gorgeous indie folk-pop concept albums first that I think any Lord Huron fan should listen to. Read the descriptions, you'll see why.

Weathervanes (2010): While not all songs on this album are directly linked, many of them are, and those songs follow the narrative of a boy whose family moves into an old house that turns out to be haunted. He falls in love with the ghost who lives there, and winds up killing himself to be with her - and finds he has no regrets, for life is short anyway.

Diluvia (2012): Heavily inspired by Battlestar Galactica and stories of ancient aliens, this is the tale of a distant civilization which collapses from a combination of natural disasters and perhaps their own hubris. A few of them manage to escape on a starship, and eventually discover Earth and its ancient pre-humans. The dying aliens seed the Earth with their own DNA in order to preserve the genetic traces of their once-existence.

[acapelladitty]

Jonathan Crane/Reader - Corn Fucking 🌽😈 (Kinktober #1)

Summary - It's a corn fucking fic lads. Someone gets fucked with an ear of corn. Not much more to say aside from the fact there's heavy bdsm themes. Bon ape tit!

As far as Crane’s little tests went, this one was proving to be somewhat unique.

All it had taken was an off-colour comment about the dinner you had prepared for you both – a simple stew with a few sides littered around the rickety table which you had scrounged up within his workspace – and he had ordered you to stand from your seat and approach him, a task you completed in an instant as your naturally submissive dynamic settled over your skin like a thick veil.

Crane was dining in full costume, his Scarecrow grab wrapped around his thin frame as he had been pulled from work to have something to eat, and he hadn’t seen the point in changing anything when he fully planned to return as soon as he were finished.

Now standing before him, you flinch in place as his cool hands jump straight to your thighs – willowy, scarred fingers disappearing up your skirt to wrap around the waistband of your underwear and pull the scant fabric free of your ass. Heat rises in your cheeks as you allow him to slip the thin cotton panties free of your body, allowing them to fall carelessly to the floor as you willingly step free, feeling utterly exposed as a delicious anxiety alights in your chest, awaiting his next move.

“Raise your skirt and hold it in place.”

Your fingers move of their own accord as the smooth tenor of his low voice washes over you, the digits plucking at the hem of your skirt as you raise it to your waist – a fresh blush staining your cheeks as you were forced to showcase your most intimate self. A traitorous dampness rapidly makes itself known between your slit as you clench your cunt around nothing while Crane gazes as your sex with a calculating expression, his milky eyes casually switching between you and the dinner table.

One hand still gripping the flesh of your outer right thigh, his other hand – the one which often housed his fear gauntlet – skimmed over the table, delicately trailing over the small variations of different foodstuffs before landing on its intended target.

An ear of corn, boiled to perfection.

To the side of the bowl sat an even smaller bowl, this one filled with seasoned butter which was intended to add a little bit of flavour, and he ignored it entirely as he brought the thick length of corn back towards your prone body.

Something wicked and shameful washed through your system as you sussed out his intent. He was going to fuck you with it and your fingers trembled against the fabric of your skirt as a full-bodied shudder skittered its way down your spine. He had fucked you with objects before, setting your strained body up for failure as you were forced to choose between impaling yourself on a rubber cock which stretched you to the point of tears or choking yourself with a thin noose, but this was different. There was no planning here. Just a showcase of his power and how willing you were to accept it.

“I think we should warm up that lovely skin before we test just how depraved you are, little mouse.”

A sharp yelp escapes your lips as he slides the length of corn against your cunt and the intense heat against your sensitive skin – the temperature of the kernels still hot despite sitting on the plate since the meal began – feels almost scalding against the delicate skin, causing your knees to knock in place even as every instinct in your body screamed at you to pull away.

Relief is quick to sweep through your tensed skin as he slid the corn away, only to then twist it and replace it a moment later – sparking a fresh cry from your lips as the heated assault resumed. Biting your lips, the tension in your thighs makes your legs tremble as you fight against the urge to step away and escape the torment.

Your eyes meet Crane’s once more and you can feel the sadistic amusement at play there as he holds the corn in place for a moment longer, daring you to complain or attempt to escape. Knuckles white against your skirt, you refuse to give in even as he tests it out a few more times, every attempt seeking out more sensitive skin as he pushes the length roughly between your slit and grinds it hard against your exposed cunt.

Your teeth gritting against the hot discomfort, only soft mewls can slip through as he ensures that every inch of your wettened cunt was ‘warmed up’ by his ministrations. The heat was only just bearable, despite being cruelly intense, and it enough that the constant movement ensured that you would not be burned while also allowing every millimetre of skin to enjoy the scalding warmth.

He adjusts the length slightly and you scream out a sharp yelp as the tip of the corn presses against your clit – the sensitive bud sending a sharp jolt of pain through your body as your knees snap together and you jerk away, unable to take it any longer.

“Please. It’s too hot.” Your words are panicked and dripping regret as disappointment that you pulled away trickles across your skin. “I can’t take it. Please, Sir.”

“You could take it and more.” Crane chastises roughly, his deadpan tone revealing nothing of the very visible arousal which is tenting his darkened slacks as his hand fully removes itself from your cunt. “And maybe one day you will so I can enjoy those panicked screams as you feel your skin burn from the inescapable heat. But for the moment, I’ll show mercy. You have 20 seconds to adjust the temperature and then it goes inside you, no matter what.”

“Thank- thank you, Sir.” You stutter out as you drop your skirt, pluck the corn from his extended fingers and move quickly to the nearby sink. Turning the tap, you test the stream for a moment before washing the corn in the cold water, ensuring that every inch was cleansed and cooled as much as possible for what you knew was coming next.

“Time.” Crane calls out firmly after his internal count ends. His gnarled fingers immediately extend out to summon you back to him and you scurry back over to his side as he pushes his chair even further free of the dinner table.

Crane pats his knee, the movement slow and mocking, as he gives you a simple, non-verbal command. It’s a command you know intimately and the immediate throb of your cunt as you realise he plans to put you over his lap is embarrassing in its earnestness. It was one of his favourite places to keep you; painting and bruising your skin to a mottled range of abuses with his hands or a ruler or whatever item he pleased as you screamed and apologised for your mistakes.

The fact that the spankings always ended with either his cock or his fingers buried deep within your aching cunt also never hurt.

You drop smoothly to take a familiar, humiliating position across his knee, careful to avoid the metallic mechanism of his knee brace as you raise your ass up high, your short skirt riding further up with every small shuffle of your frame.

His fingers push within your cunt without warning, the sudden intrusion taking your breath away as he rubs the pads of his fingers against your walls, testing how wet and prepared you were with an almost clinical fashion. Arousal, hot and shameful in its intensity, pulses within your groin and you can’t help but writhe against him as he completes his examination, feeling more like a piece of meat than a wistful lover. Your breath comes in short gasps and you can’t help but roll your hips against his fingers, encouraging him to move faster.

“Sit still.” Crane warns and the words are a shock, like freezing water dashed across your skin as you force your body still. A rumble of approval rolls through his thin frame at the instant submission and he taps two fingers against your exposed ass. “Good girl.”

In an instant, his fingers pull free, but he leaves you no time to mourn their loss as something much larger moves to press at your hole, the slightly tapered end of the corn breaching the first inch of your cunt without difficulty. Your breath is held deep within your chest, the solid feeling of his knees beneath your stomach giving you something to ground yourself to as your fingers grip at the legs of the wooden chair Crane is still lounging on.

“You’re so wet already.” Crane growls. “Have you no shame? Are you really just a whore? A little mouse who is soaked at the prospect of being fucked by something as disgusting as an ear of corn.”

Already feeling thoroughly degraded and slave to the hot arousal which is tight across your groin, you give him a pathetic nod and follow the desperate move a hasty agreement as a soft yes falls from your lips. It’s enough to satisfy him and his hand is rough against your lower back as his other hand begins to slowly force the ear of corn against your fluttering hole.

The stretch draws a low discomforting keen from your lips as you spread your legs further and try to relax around the girth of the intrusion. It’s thicker than Crane, that was for sure, and you can’t help but imagine how your poor cunt will look once he’s finished, all fucked out and raw, reddened by his little off-the-cuff punishment.

With a grunt, the widest part of the corn pops within your cunt and you muffle the cry which threatens your lips by burying your mouth against your arm. Your flesh burning around the intruder, every small kernel adds a layer of sensation that allows a very pleasant arousal to rise aside the warmth – the feeling growing more intense as Crane slowly begins to pump the corn within you, building up a slow pace.

Your knees are spread as wide as the position would allow and you squirm against his steadying hand as stunted moans and whimpers break free of your lips. The feeling of his cock, hard and heavy against your stomach, makes your mouth water as you long for the familiar taste of him in your mouth.

Crane twists the corn unexpectedly and the movement pulls at your walls as every little ridge rubs itself against your most sensitive skin, a bolt of arousal making you jerk in place and grab on to his ankle.

“Do you think you could come like this?” Crane asks, flexing his leg beneath your grip as he picks up the pace on his movements – every thrust now pushing the corn a few millimetres deeper into your stretched cunt as he forced you towards a humiliating orgasm. “A whore so pathetic that even an object like this can get her off"

Perhaps after our meal I should organise a more involved punishment to correct this abnormal behaviour.”

“Yes, sir.” You agree, shame at the rapidly growing band of tension which spilled heat across your skin making you compliant as your cunt clamped around the corn.

“Ask me to make you come like this.”

His demand was met with a sharp increase in his pace, the ridged length within your cunt now moving rapidly as it pulled at and stimulated your fluttering walls with every messy pump.

“Please fuck me.” You beg, fingers scrambling against his legs. “Fuck me with the corn like the -pathetic whore-whore I am. Make me come with it.”

Crane complies and all it takes is one particularly cruel thrust which pushes the thick length so deep within your cunt that it knocks against your cervix, the added discomfort enough to push you over the edge as you come. Toes curling within your shoes, the band of arousal snaps and your cunt spasms around the corn – a shrill, stuttering cry making you shake in place as his thumb slips around to brush sadistic circles around your engorged clit. The added stimulation drawing out your release to the point of overstimulation as your bucking frame is held in place by his firm hand pushing down against your lower back.

Eventually, your movements still as the waves of pleasure recent and your aching cunt feels disgustingly wet and hollowed out as Crane pulls the thick length of corn free with a none-too-gentle yank. It’s a move that draws a fresh grunt from you as the wicked little kernels give you one last kiss of pleasure before a sense of emptiness settles in the abandoned space.

Your earlier thoughts return as you feel the cool air brush against your hole, the slight gape there cause a fresh flush of shame to roll across your heated skin. Reddened and fucked-out.

Just as he liked.

Crane’s hand released your back and you stand on trembling legs, not quite trusting the ground to remain solid below you as you allow your skirt to fall back down. Your release trickles free of your cunt, a wet and sticky mess that feels uncomfortable against your thighs as you await his next instruction.

One of Crane’s hands is pressed against the tented bulge of his cock, teasing his own length as he observes you with a heated gaze. The fingers of his other hand move to drop the slickened ear of corn to the closest plate, the ceramic clinking quietly against the wooden table.

“Now, return to your seat and finish your meal. Our lesson will continue once you are finished.”

This fic is my first offering for this years Kinktober. The tag will be #Kinktober23 for all of the fics if you want to keep up 💖😈

[stormblaze13]

In my previous Post I talked about why getting Kids a rabbit is a bad idea, at least if its an impulse purchase for occasions such as Easter or Christmas.

In this Post I'd like to elaborate more on some Rabbit specific facts that might help you understand just why I don’t want people to gift animals for Easter.

1. Lifespan.

Many people think that Bunnies only live up to 4 or 5 years, but thats a massive misconception. Bunnies can actually get 8 - 12 years old, thats older than some dogs! (While I was an apprentice in a Vet Practice I recall a 14 year old Bunny that was still doing just fine.) They can get really old with proper food and care. Like Bianca here - who turns 10 this year.

Which means that getting a pair of bunnies, ideally means a 10+ years commitment, so you should critically consider if you can provide a home for an animal for so long.

2. Food and water.

Bunnies should not be given dry food, and no seeds or kernels. Their digestive and dental system is build to chew leafy greens like lettuce, cabbage and hard roots like carrots, parsnips and other vegetables like broccoli or cauliflower. Water should always be offered out of a stone or porcelain bowl, freshly each day, and it should be fully refilled whenever its empty.

A bunny's diet should consist to 60% of Fresh veggies and a bit of fruit, 35% hay, and 5% can be treats such as dried herbs, flowers or *Bunnysafe* dryfood. (Make sure its grainfree, breadfree and free of milkproducts or milkadditives as bunnies are lactose intolerant.) Additionally, seeds and kernels can destroy the roots of their teeth, which are made to grind and mush, something that doesn’t happen with the seeds. This can cause inflammations of the roots, abscesses and tooth deformations as well as give them gastro intestinal troubles.

If you're uncertain about what veggies and fruits a bunny can eat, here's a short list of the most common we feed at the shelter:

Lettuce:

Endivia lettuce

Chicorée

Radicchio

Lollo Bianco

Lollo Rosso

Lollo Bionda

Cabbage:

Pointed Cabbage

White cabbage

Red cabbage

Savoy

Kale

Broccoli

Cauliflower

Vegetables:

Cucumber (not too much, too much can cause diarrhea)

Radish

Horse radish

Carrots

Parsnips

Jerusalem artichoke

Pumpkin (small amounts)

Watermelon (savory treat in summer, always remove seeds before feeding)

Fruits:

Apples (an apple a day is okay for a pair of full grown bunnies, babies can be introduced with slices and slowly be fed more :))

grapes (seedless, green, can be fed without worry)

Banana (Small amounts as a treat now and then, contains lots of sugar, the peel should not be fed as it can cause constipation)

Cherries (MAXIMUM. 2 cherries per bunny, stoneless, too much can cause diarhea)

Berries can safely be fed as long as they are washed, rule of thumb should be maximum a handful though.

And for herbs, everything except for Chives can safely be fed, Chives, in greater amounts, can lead to kidney damage or even kidney failure.

Additionally bunnies shouldn’t be fed Rhubarb (toxic), Onions (certain enzymes in the onion break up the red blood cells causing rapid coagulation and in worst case even death), Garlic (toxic), Avocado (toxic), CHOCOLATE (Theobromin is a killer.)

What can be fed in tiny amounts (1-2 a week) is:

Pineapple - good for breaking up hair in the digestive system due to the Bromelain, mix 10ml water with 2-3ml pineapple juice.

Kiwi - good for the fur and helps break up hair in the digestive system, best fed during molting season, but only in small amounts due to the high sugar content.

Linseed (best fed as powder atop food) for coat and vitamin E, contains Omega-3s.

Chia seeds - (best fed as powder atop food) for vitamins and minerals.

A single rabbit can eat its own bodyweight in veggies in a day, so 1-2kg per day of leafy greens, cabbages and fruits are a must be. Food should always be served where the bunny goes to make its business as they do the loo where they eat. Might sound ew, but if you want a bunny thats mostly house-trained it's only recommendable. Treats are optional but should be small amounts only.

IMPORTANT: You quite literally cannot overfeed baby rabbits on leafy greens and fresh veggies! Throw the food in till the ground is covered, once its empty, throw in more. You cannot overfeed a baby bunny. The same thing goes for old bunnies by the way, they are seniors from 8 years on upwards and should always have some veggies to munch on.

3. Illnesses.

Myxomatosis and RHD 1&2 are the most known disease, but there are so many others too.

Bunnies are highly succeptible for gastro intestinal issues, teeth problems, ear infections, tumors and abscesses, chronic congestion, urinary tract infections caused by sediment in the urine (often caused by too much calcium in the food.)

And the one sickness that about 80-90% of domesticated rabbits carry: EC.

Encephalitozoon Cuniculi, an illness caused by parasitic bacteria (cuni cuniculi) in the bunny's head that can affect its nervous system and cause severe issues such as:

Mobility: Heike here has a lazy left rearleg, caused by an EC flare when she was just half a year old. She turned 2 in January.

Coordination: Elinor (white bunny on the left) is Nils Mom and EC positive. She has the typical cocked head posture that is one of the main symptoms of EC.

Internal organs such as the bladder: Babett needs to get her butt bathed 2-3 times a week because she is chronically incontinent and wets herself constantly.

And chronic congestion: Xena (Gray bunny) is chronically congested and gets her nose flushed with an ACC/NaCl mix daily, as well as daily inhalation treatment.

EC is not curable, it is only symptomatically treatable with a 21 day long Panacur and Vitamin B treatment, antibiotics are given to support the animal as well. Unfortunately EC can shorten a bunny's lifespan by several years depending on how bad the EC flare is. Similar to the Herpes virus in humans many bunnies carry the Virus without it ever breaking out.

4. Bunny safe toys:

Sticks - Maple, Oak, Hazel, Appletree and Chestnut are all very liked and Bunnies love to eat the leaf and bark - the pigments in the bark can make the Urine blood red, that is especially common with maple tree branches and leafs.

Wooden toys, unglazed and without chemicals, (stay away from Plastic toys, those can cause blockages or poisoning when the bunny chew them up) bast balls, paper boxes, straw and newspaper as well as digging boxes can make a bunny very happy!

[kitios]

I hope no circuit-altering chemicals are in this coolant and fire mitigation spray.

[POST] OK (Log files saved) [BOOT] Motherboard reports hardware failure, REBOOT requested from BIOS [BOOT] Starting boot sequence... Initializing ktOS™ KiTiOS (ver.: kitios-v0.1.16r562) Hard power-off detected, cause: OVERHEAT. Security warning: EVENT_COOLANT_TAMPER triggered! Flushing coolant... Boot complete! user: unit password: *************** >>> Hi! Thanks for the coolant swap, stranger! It's a good thing you happened to have that on hand, that weird coolant issue could have really screwed up my system! Maintaining a robotgirls coolant is very impor *** STACK SMASHING DETECTED *** KERNEL DETECTS HARDWARE MEMORY CORRUPTION ALERT Emergency failsafe... FAIL [LOG] MAYDAY_MAYDAY_MAYDAY [LOG] SYSTEM GOING DOWN FOR EMERGENCY REBOOT! 00348970  da f7 07 c4 6f 3c 18 a7  68 9b 73 3c 66 4a 0e 60  |....o<..h.s<fJ.`| 00348980  f3 fb e7 80 18 d6 65 7b  9d 86 04 0e 98 93 f9 f5  |......e{........| 00348990  21 3b 62 e9 03 51 d4 6c  33 78 50 ee b1 8e 5a c4  |!;b..Q.l3xP...Z.|

[techav]

On Boot Failures

Headlines everywhere on Friday, the 19th of July, 2024 were about the massive computer outages caused by a faulty update to the CrowdStrike antivirus software. It seems some config file choked up a kernel module causing Windows machines to fail with the infamous Blue Screen of Death.

I recently started a new job and was perhaps a little smug in the fact that in my new job I am no longer responsible for hundreds of endpoints running CrowdStrike.

Karma's a bitch though.

I shut down my home PC Friday night to install a memory upgrade and after powering it back on I was met with the very same Blue Screen of Death.

"A critical process died" it told me, with no information about what said process actually was.

And no log files.

And no dump files.

System Restore failed. sfc /scannow failed. dism /cleanup-image failed. Everything I could find failed. I couldn't even just reinstall Windows over the existing installation because apparently that requires being already booted into the OS that currently isn't running.

The log files from dism led me to believe the problem might be related to registry corruption, but my attempts at replacing system registry files with clean ones from an install wim were not successful.

I was grasping at straws. Starting from scratch with a clean install is daunting and would have set me back weeks. I was contemplating pulling out an old SSD and just running with Linux Mint for a while.

Through desperation, I downloaded Hiren's BootCD PE so I could poke around a little more. None of the tools included there were able to resolve the issue either, but just having access to a standard Explorer shell and a web browser helped.

Finally I came across ShadowCopyView, a program that can explore the System Restore images that Windows (can) take regularly. In one last desperate effort, I moved out all of the system registry files from C:\Windows\System32\config and used ShadowCopyView to replace them with copies from an automatic restore point the previous Monday.

That actually did the trick. I was able to reboot into my primary Windows partition and sign in like normal.

I have no idea what may have been lost in a few days of registry updates, and I have no idea what may have caused the problem to begin with. But I am happy I was able to find something in the end that would get me back into my system without having to reinstall everything from scratch.

... Although maybe I should anyway.

And should anyone encounter something similar in the future, these were the kind of errors I was seeing that a Google search wasn't really coming up with anything useful:

dism.log: failed to open registry root

dism.log: failed to query for path to user profiles directory

dism.log: failed to load the default user profile registry hive

dism.log: failed to load offline store from boot directory

srttrail.txt: pending package install

strtrail.txt: boot manager generic failure

[moodmaker-gaku]

So many people are adding nicknames, I feel moved... list updated:

- Rat boy.

- Loser boyfriend coded.

- Bottom energy.

- Poor orphan boy.

- Good boy (derogatory).

- Single mom.

- Babygirl.

- Soggy burnt bread crumbs.

- Piss boy 🫵 piss baby 🫵 little baby man 🫵 boy failure 🫵 malewife 🫵 dirty little dirt baby 🫵 smelly guy that smells smelly 🫵 nasty rat boy 🫵 (all lovingly and affectionate)

- Potato stew

- Burnt popcorn kernel at the bottom of the bag that never pop (positive)

- Loser boy (RIP (Rest In Pieces))

- Pookie (Derogatory)

It just keeps freaking going!!! The dedication is freaking great though, I gotta admit..

[lialucis]

Had a hell of a thought, Soap watching one too many movies as he's making popcorn for yet another shitty movie. Staring as he watches and listens to the distinct 'pop pop pop's, and a terrible beer induced thought. Bolting out of the commons and outside, shouting at an equally blitzed but more confused Gaz. Bringing the other Sergeant along as they beeline down the road to a... Corn field?

A buzz of awareness, not to sure, but Gaz nods and helps Soap find the most 'popcorn-y-est' piece of fresh corn there is. Prize in hand they're walking back to base, slipping through that loose chain link the two men and several privates know about in the fence but no one ever speaks of. Everyone needs to sneak time off base.

A low hum as Soap's gaze sweeps over the neatly parked vehicles in this base. All meticulously maintained, scraping his pickled brain. That damn mechanic had told him about one overheating, that one was surely the best for his experiment! An excited hum as he found it, dropping down as he looked around for the muffler, cursing the backwards made american trucks. Before making grabby hands at Gaz for that treasure they had found.

A confused sound from Gaz, seeming to be the theme of the night, but handing over the piece of fresh bright green corn. Still covered in leaves. And ever the most helpful mate, surely it'd be 'poppier' without the leaves, right?

Cue to, drunk as a pair of skunks, men struggling to even remember how to shuck a piece of corn. And delicately peeling off every strand of silk, nothing to ruin the 'pop'. No chances they had to be smart about this! Eliminate every possible factor for failure!

And then the conversation about, should they butter it first or after? Gaz is sure he could run fast enough to go get some from the common room and kitchen. A shake of a head, cause of course you butter popcorn AFTER it is popped. It tastes much better. Sum hums of agreement and Soap is right back to trying to wedge the piece of golden specimen into the filthy muffler. Juices squirting from the sliced and crushed kernels, even to the point of a large 'bam!' as Soap's hands slipped and he smacked his head into the bumper. Cursing and swearing as he rubbed his head.

Gaz taking over and finishing wriggling the corn into the very much not corn appropriate location. Both staring at the job well done. Waiting, confused, why wasn't it popping. Waiting even longer before realizing it wasn't running. Amateur move they'd chuckle to each other. Standing up and moving to the front of the truck, Soap again cussing at being on the wrong side of the vehicle. Gaz laughing as he bent down and began to play with wires. Staring, squinting, burping, and grumbling. The urge to piss finally distracting the two men, abandoning their experiment and eventually finding a place to black out.

Both men found tangled up together in a very confused Privates bunk. Thank God his buddy let him share his bed. The sounds of screaming and yelling coaxing them out of their sleepy haze. Not remembering a thing from last night, trying to understand why they smell like corn and grease. And the angry howling of the bases mechanic, his words bringing everything back with startling clarity.

"WHO THE FUCK PUT A PIECE OF CORN IN THE MUFFLER?!"

[thesummerstorms]

This is not a fully coherent thought yet, but I do kind of love the idea that Viago allowed himself to come to care deeply for this specific Fledgling Crow of his House, even going out of his way to protect her. But in part he allowed himself that affection because it was safe. Because Arsinoë de Riva's personal loyalty meant she wasn't ever going to choose promotion or another House or politics or the previous Talon over him.

She's prone to these snap moments of resistance, but it's never against him so much as her reasserting her right to make decisions about what she is going to be used for or stand against. Rescuing the Antaam's captives, refusing to work with the new Fledglings before the training reforms began, refusing to help Templars, etc. Moments where she snaps and needs to define herself by her choices rather than the edicts of the Crows.

Arguably, that's more dangerous to the Crows than someone whose self-interest keeps them in check. Viago knows it, he knows this is a problem.

But Arsinoë will never turn against him, specifically, only her own survival. Viago can work with that, he thinks, if he has the right power, the right tools. He can keep this firebrand alive and indulge her, keep her away from her own sharp edges, and he will have a person who it is safe to care for who cares about him in return.

Not family, exactly. Or he'd never admit as much to her or to himself. But someone who will never choose another person over him, never choose power, only the few ideals she has managed not to abandon.

And they are so slim, so few (she won't be the one to break the children; she won't be the one to chain others) that he can afford to indulge her if he's in command, can't he? He has other Crows, other tools, for those few lines she holds against him. She's still as deadly in other domains, and he sees the practicality of reforms over time regardless.

And then the situation with the Antaam happens. Becoming the Talon commanding her wasn't enough to keep her from dashing herself against the rocks in the end. By all rights, he should kill her for her failure- but he cannot bear to do it. He has to take her as a wound against him and his House after all. He is, in fact, pitted against her ideals and does have to take the hit.

I think Arsinoë knows it too. It's why she isn't as angry as she could be at her exile. Frankly, she wasn't expecting exile, however she might have been indulged previously as her Talon's favorite. She was expecting death. She knows what it means that Viago granted her the former.

It also means when she learns about Solas's betrayal of Mythal, she has a moment where she squirms inside. Her betrayal of Viago was indirect and lesser by several orders of magnitude, not so much intention as collateral damage... but some tiny repressed kernel in her soul understands more than she is comfortable with.

[doodlin-deer]

Bigger Bodies Smiling Critter’s Fates

So assuming that there was a bigger body version of every Smiling Critter, Ollie did say there used to be eight of them, and Leith did mention DogDay & Picky Piggy by name, exactly what did happen to them?

Since the lines from DogDay’s cutout fit what happened to the Bigger Body DogDay, let’s make the safe assumption that each cutout holds some kernels of truth as to what happened

Bubba Bubbaphant - DEAD: Hearing that Bubba “remembers” us, it could be that he, like the rest of the critters are talking to the player, like DogDay’s cutout, or to someone else, say, another Smiling Critter. If the latter is the case, then maybe he witnessed Picky making a meal out of Kickin’. He later confronted Picky about it, and she “seared” him to keep him quiet.

Kickin’ Chicken - DEAD: Kickin’s cutout is all about him wanting to go outside as he had never been before (maybe he was one of the babies in Home Sweet Home?), unfortunately his efforts were unsuccessful (we know he died, since his cutout ends with him screaming, just like DogDay’s), and was most likely killed by CatNap or the Prototype for trying, and later cannabalized by Picky.

Picky Piggy - ALIVE(?): Picky’s cutout treats the player to Picky treating herself to EATING her fellow Smiling Critters (DogDay said that the Critters tried fight off the Prototype’s control, operative word being TRIED). Most likely scenario is that when food started to run out, the Prototype influenced her to cannabilize (or maybe even KILL) her critter companions (we know for a fact she ate Kickin’, Bubba, and Crafty, in that order?). Personally, seeing as she offers her friendship at the end, I can totally see this symbolizing MOB planning to bring her back as a playable monster in Project Playtime. Though it can also be that she’s dead by the time of Chapter 3.

Hoppy Hopscotch - DEAD(?): Hoppy’s cutout details her desire to hop to the moon (comparing her hopes to escape to a Herculean feat.). Maybe she was being chased, or maybe she was killed in a failed escape, and maybe she tried escaping with Kickin’, we don’t know. We also don’t know is she’s even dead (though it’s most likely.) since we don’t hear a scream at the end of her cutout, just her dialogue glitching.

Bobby Bearhug - DEAD(?): Bobby’s cutout shows her becoming more and more desperate to not be alone (asking to not be left alone and that she is lost without somebody). Maybe she found companionship in her fellow Smiling Critters, and as they began dropping like flies, it eventually became a dependency. A dependency that led to her being killed. (Headcanon time: since DogDay is the last known good-hearted Smiling Critter left alive, maybe they tried to stand up against CatNap or tried to escape, but ended in failure, resulting in Bobby being killed and DogDay being captured, maimed, and presumed dead by Ollie.)(Personal note: I think she’s my favorite SC 😄😅)

CraftyCorn - DEAD: Crafty, we know was eventually killed by Picky, and while her audio does suggest that she went mad (wanting more “red”) and I’m not disputing the theory, HOWEVER, notice that she was also the third known Critter eaten by Picky, OPERATIVE WORD BEING THIRD. Maybe what happened is that Crafty found out Picky was feeding on the others, and the fear and rage (and maybe some influence from the prototype?) drove her to attack Picky. You can guess who came out on top, given that her cutout screams for a second as well. The only thing that throws me though is that her last line of audio is “Ah! Now that’s much better.” Maybe she found peace on the other side?

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi, I’m writing a fantasy story and I’m currently stuck at a chapter where the narrator is a young king. I want to subtly express the monotony of his day-to-day life, while also hinting at his internal yearning for the joy and camaraderie of his past adventures. Is there a way to do it without directly mentioning time or the past? I want to save the backstory for later chapters.

Young King Yearns for Adventurous Past

I'm not really sure how you'd illustrate a character yearning for their adventurous past without at least mentioning that they had an adventurous past. I guess you could just be vague in terms of the specifics. Like... King Harold yearned for the years before his ascent, when his days were filled with new places and new things, triumphs and failures, risks and rewards... That way, you're getting at the emotional kernel of what his life was like back then, not really the specifics.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[soartfullydone]

"rebel moon is just a bunch of disjointed character intros with no substance---"

[loud fart noise in your face]

Anyway, what connects all of the characters together is Honor, a major theme of the movie. It's the reason that These People In Particular are all chosen, beyond their reputations or even their skill sets (which are still important).

What does your personal honor look like? How do you uphold it? What do you do when you lose your honor? Can you ever truly regain it once it's lost? Can you find redemption, or is revenge the closest thing you can get? Can revenge and honor ever be the same?

After her indoctrination and service in the Imperium, Kora deserts, but it's for her survival, not the recovery of her honor. That's the journey she's currently on in the defense of her new home and the people there, triggered by the conflict of choosing her personal safety or rescuing Sam from further assault. She found the line of her honor and refused to ignore it any longer.

Gunnar placed personal gain over maintaining a united front about the grain surplus. His dishonorable actions lead to Sindri getting killed and their village placed under the Imperium's thumb. Noble's culpability aside, Gunnar feels responsible for his role in all this and seeks to make amends. It's why he's the only one who jumps in to protect the child from potential collateral damage in Nemesis' fight with Harmada. He is transitioning from being a selfish character to being more selfless, defining what he wants his personal honor to be.

Speaking of Nemesis, she is the most samurai-coded character here, complete with their version of honor. Her failure at being able to protect her children drives her to defend others, and shoulder the burden of killing once a peaceful resolution cannot be reached. It's why she has an entire conversation with Harmada, to understand what drives her, to attempt to find common ground and shared empathy. It's why she fights first with naked steel, to try to convince Harmada to back off, to value her own life, and it's for the lives of others that she finally ignites her blades when she cannot. Nemesis is not an emotionless cyborg who assassinates in cold blood, but one who is deeply attuned to her pain and that of others.

Tarak is a prince, and yet we learn he's nowhere near his home or his people. Whether he's failed them or abandoned them (or feels like he has) is still a mystery, but we still know that he is an honorable man, regarding his servitude to Hickman with utter seriousness. Tarak will honor his word and any agreements once given, including a life debt, and his connection with nature both demonstrates and resonates his nobility. He even has the whole "honor them" speech to Millius, revealing that he knows the guilt of surviving when all the friends you swore to fight beside are now gone.

General Titus fought proudly for the Imperium until his honor wouldn't allow him to stomach their methods. The price for that included his men's lives, his station, and his dignity. Unable to protect any of it including his ideals, he turns to drink and hopes fighting as a gladiator to the death does the rest. And yet, he cannot bring himself to just lay down and die. He dwells on his mistakes but does not succumb to them. The kernel of honor was still within him, and it's no wonder Kora and the other idealists at her back were able to ignite it again.

Jimmy is from an order of robotic knights, who all laid down their arms in dishonor and disgrace when the Imperium's royal family was murdered. He embodies old and forgotten chivalry, and in case you missed that, they got Anthony Hopkins to voice him. These knights haven't fought back since, even when they are attacked---and yet Jimmy retaliates to protect Sam before himself, finding something honorable to fight for again.

Darrian Bloodaxe has his honor as a rebellion leader tested and rightly concludes that the revolution is meaningless if they will not come to the aid of the most defenseless among them. (But he and his men die anyway!) Indeed, that is the point. Hedging your bets and picking your battles might be the smartest option, but it's not the most noble or honorable. Honor, in case you haven't noticed, often demands a choice and a price.

And yes, even our villains share in this theme in their own twisted ways. Kai is a mirror to Gunnar, but where Gunnar is growing into being a less opportunistic person, Kai is deliberately shrouding his true intentions from the get-go. At Kai's betrayal, Kora demands after his honor, to which Kai dryly replies, "What did happen to it." It isn't a question. Kai long ago saw honor as a death sentence and chose survival over everything, and in an ironic twist, is killed once he tries to tempt Gunnar into choosing his own survival over Kora's. Like Kora before him, Gunnar finds his line that he will not cross as well as what he fights for.

Finally, there's Atticus Noble, who wields the honorable memory of the Slain King and his dishonorable death as a blunt weapon against all that isn't the Imperium, much like his cane. The one time the Imperium was gracious, and they were betrayed for it. Never again, and everyone will suffer for this humiliation until the Imperium's honor is restored---and it never will be. Because honor is not the point; conquest and control is. Revenge is the point.

Literally all of this is in the film btw. But then, I wasn't fast-forwarding or looking down at my phone the whole time or playing Paint By Numbers: Star Wars Edition. I was actually watching the goddamn movie and letting it tell me its story. And then I reflected on it afterward. Whooooaaa!

[farolero-posting]

What the Solstice ending brings to the themes of OneShot

(A.K.A: Why I think Solstice is kinda cool but instead of giving a normal answer I just type like 2k words)

While I think that a reasonable amount of people value the additional content you can uncover by playing again, I'm also aware that other people have their reservation or even dislike it. Despite that, I think there is a lot of value on what it brings to the story, how it gives a new view to some elements from the base game, and the way it is a response to your "abilities" as a player and your motivation to do those things in a way that speaks to the way people approach stories. With that in mind, I wanna present to you why I think Solstice adds to the overall story, and how in fact "changing" the base themes is coherent for this story, too.

Needless to say, I WILL discuss OneShot spoilers in depth, so give the game a try on your own to get the most out of the experience, but otherwise, keep reading! Now let's get into the real thing.

When you think about what OneShot’s main theme is, the most likely answer is that there is only one opportunity in life. This means that your actions have consequences, and that some actions cannot be undone. From the beginning, the game sets a stage where you, as a player, are responsible for keeping Niko, this child given the role of savior, safe. Going into the game without prior knowledge means that you’re likely to be cautious about your actions, the choices you make, even if small, and your efforts are focused on being successful with the one chance you get.

You soon find out that the world Niko is in is slowly, but relentlessly, decaying, which has made many of the people in this world give up their hope of salvation, and are hanging on by a thread that is getting thinner as time goes by. The quest begins to shift from “doing what you have to do and creating optimal conditions” to “trying to do your best, knowing that some things are out of your control”. Because it turns out that Niko and you are late. The environment has been affected in irreversible ways, some areas are abandoned and others are unreachable by normal means (even Niko themself cannot backtrack), and even if one could place the Sun at the top, the other problems will not be solved, even if the presence of the Sun is helpful. It’s even possible that you have lost your chances to complete certain missions, such as getting the necessary supplies to replant the sacred kernel. 

These are all factors that impact the way this chance you’re given plays out. And, in the end, the manifestation of these externally imposed limitations becomes clear, as Niko and you reach the tower, and are presented with the final choice. Whatever you choose ends up being a failure, either for Niko’s quest in this world, or your quest of making sure Niko leaves safely. Your one shot means that you will only get one of these outcomes. and will have to give up the other. It is the biggest exhibit of consequences, and many people can attest to their own difficulties making this choice.

OneShot in the end, becomes a lesson on sacrifices, moral choices, and the limitations of what a person has the chance to do, knowing the consequences of their actions. It’s a heavy theme, and one the story builds up along the journey with the different characters Niko and you meet. Some of them believe letting a natural death occur is the most merciful option, others believe the Sun will make the world a better place, and some believe it is worth returning the sun, even if it’s not a permanent fix. There is no certain truth, no solution that doesn’t come with its drawbacks, and no margin for error.

And then Solstice arrives… shaking the initial themes. 

Well, it doesn’t come out of nowhere. That would not be true. OneShot is most often known and praised for its 4th wall breaking features, and the puzzles that go outside of the game window itself. The player of the game is an active part, known as the god of the world they take Niko through. This is a story device that connects you to Niko and to the world itself, and places the responsibility to care for both of them on your shoulders. It makes the experience more immersive and seeks to convince you, for a moment, that you’re not just an invisible hand controlling things, but someone that actually interacts with a world that responds to you.

In a way, one could look at the reset mechanic from a purely practical lens: if you pay for a game, you deserve a chance to replay it, since it is your property. It won’t hurt to relive the same experience again because you will know you’re just looking at what was already coded into the story, and you would just be looking at it again out of personal interest. You could take the original message at heart and never pick up the game again, leaving questions unanswered and some decisions never made, but… if you do want to relive the story again, or maybe see if you can try the other ending, the option needs to exist.

And you have not stopped being an active part of how the game works, even after the ending. So, when you look for a way to reset it, what you find is a letter instead, written by someone who seems to be the very creator of the game. And he begs you to consider the option, if it is within your possibilities, like a brand new puzzle for you to solve and… maybe save this world the creator crafted for you. It makes sense that the game places an in-universe message like this, it keeps the immersive theme.

But… one could argue that allowing resets breaks the feeling that some experiences can only be done once. Niko realizes they know a few things that they don’t remember learning. The Entity can tell that activating NG+ is not something that was supposed to happen according to its own protocol, and the restriction it imposed. Which means that this experience is never the same. But it also means that the game is responding to your actions, in a way that indicates that the original suspension of disbelief that you’re a god making choices for a living world can still be made. It also means that the game acknowledges its nature as a program that you’re in control of, and Solstice definitely makes this aspect more blatant, if you choose to take that path.

When OneShot presents itself, it seems that everything within it is equally real, and that you’re roleplaying as some kind of actual deity… but something looms in the shadows. The way decay is presented as squares, the way the paths seem lined up perfectly for a story, the way there seems to be a protocol to follow, that only the Entity acknowledges, shows that this game may be aware of how You are actually viewing it, from a screen in your computer. The game isn’t a real world, it’s just a program you can turn on and off at will.

And this makes even more sense once we have the added context that the Solstice route provides, since it outright confirms this suspicion. Prototype makes Niko aware of the way we have been looking at their world since the beginning, destabilizing the perception they had of their current mission, and the role you play in it, while also making you aware as a player that Niko is not part of this simulation at all. Later on, Cedric explains that the place Niko is trapped in was made to be a facsimile of their dying world, in hopes that there could be proof of their existence after the destruction of said world, and that he and his siblings are the only ones aware of the previous world existing. This part is important, because it gives us an in-universe reason for this world to exist… that brings new concepts into the main theme of the game, “one chance”.

Why would… why would you create a world like… this? [...] Why would you make a world that's doomed from the beginning? …why do you keep bringing me back to it? Niko, talking to the player during the Solstice run

Niko presents an interesting question, not just about their current situation, but also the intent that is implied in the kind of story that OneShot is. It is one thing to be presented with a scenario where people try their best to respond to their circumstances, and be presented with choices that require sacrifice. It is a different one to think that someone willed this to happen, and that Niko has been put in this scenario… that is within your control. Because you’re the one that started the program, and you’re the one that brought them back. And then the events of Solstice create an even more dangerous situation, as the protocol is broken and, most importantly, as the Entity representing the game itself reacts to Niko’s distress.

Here is where the context of the old/real world becomes crucial, because it shows how a scenario like this could be created, not by the will of a detached writer, but different parties with their own motivations and struggles. Because it turns out that the second chance that the people from the old world were looking for didn’t go as planned, of course, we know this. The original choice in the end of OneShot wasn’t intended by the in-universe creators, and yet in a way it still resonates with the way people were divided after the old Sun died. This world, made with the memories of people who lived in a world that would certainly end within their time, is also manifesting that same thing.

What is the point of making a story like OneShot, where this world can be saved, if not to give it a second chance? And what are you as a player doing, by going out of your way to do everything again? As I said, it has the plus side that the game responds to your actions outside of it, but now it adds another layer of it: your motivations to be proactive, may have something in common with the motivation that led to the creation of the game in the first place, at least from the perspective of the characters that are affected by this.

As we can see Solstice recontextualizes the story and provides an explanation for how the game itself comes to be aware of how we see it. But the point of Solstice is that it is alive, in a way. It was created with an intent to share a story, as a means for people to be remembered beyond their time. It’s meant to cause an impression on the person receiving this story. And, as we have established before, the way it is set up treats the player as an active participant in the story, someone who has an influence that is distinct from that of everyone else. The story impacts us, and in a similar way we impact it with our attachment to it, with our actions to do more than what it limited itself to present you with.

Something else funny and interesting happens too… you may realize that the base game doesn’t offer that much in the realm of consequential choices, besides the ending. Your biggest impact is how you treat Niko, and the connection you make with them. They’ll ask about your life beyond the game, look for comfort, and react to both your good and bad ideas. It doesn’t change how much you save the world, but it shapes who you are to Niko, and changes their experience too. You treat them like a good friend, listen to them… you tame them. 

Which is the other big theme of OneShot. Taming, in the original Little Prince, is a concept to explain the way people get attached to someone else, and how the bond formed with someone else changes people fundamentally, and makes the tamed individual distinct from everyone else. In OneShot, it refers to the way in which robots gain sentience after forming bonds with people, after being treated as people with their own thoughts and will, allowing them to act beyond their programming. And in the context of a story, it is equivalent to the way the audience takes the story as real, and sees the characters within as people whose actions are motivated by personal motivations and goals, rather than commanded by the writer, even when we know that their nature is fictional.

We develop this sort of relationship with Niko, and through their experiences, we also begin to develop this relationship with the other residents of this world, who begin to make new decisions that make sense for them as characters, in a context that wasn’t predicted by the story itself. 

And we, in turn, are the ones constantly interacting with this Entity, the game itself. We get to see the puzzles in which it tries to make it clear that it can do a lot outside of the window itself. We can see the way it attempts to keep us from making decisions that go against parts of its programming, despite the contradictions these actions create. OneShot is a story that didn’t want to put Niko through all of this, that didn’t want to repeat the suffering that brought it into existence, but who doomed itself when it tried to manifest its sentience. The World Machine tries to break the immersion, tries to show you its flaws, and we instead recognize personhood within.

Without Solstice, this sort of relationship never becomes clear, and it never gets the chance to evolve. Hell, one could even say that challenging the initial theme of “one chance”, by proposing that we can do something better this time IS the perfect way to establish a conversation that leads to change, that sets the story apart from others. And in the end, once the run is completed, the efforts done by you as a player, Niko, and everyone else pays off, giving you a more satisfying ending. The message that this sends is that, while some situations are out of our control and we must be careful with the consequences of our actions, we will never achieve change if we don’t act outside of the margins, and that, when we do this, we can provide a second chance.

Final words:

In conclusion… while I can understand that Solstice doesn’t hit everyone the same way, and that it has its limitations in execution (especially if spoiled), it’s a solid continuation. It takes some of the themes present in the initial game, and then proceeds to converse with them, using its resources as a game to create an immersive experience, and reward the player for being proactive. I believe that’s worth valuing, and serves to reflect on the way people interact with stories in personal ways, making them gain a place in their hearts.