#parse server

[timetravelstudies]

Can whoever wakes up early tmrw text me what happened in jjk

[kaiasky]

I would welcome more thought-out opinions below.

[corviiids]

a key reason it's so hard to just migrate from one social platform to another is that all these platforms have very specific features which lead to subcultural norms that become almost impossible to replicate on other platforms. tumblr has talking in the tags and there's no equivalent on platforms with no sub-level for visible metadata. there's that post on here about how line breaks and reblogs read as different measures of timing which affect the rhythm of how you parse a post. similarly twitter's threaded replies create a timing you can't replicate here, especially because it's impossible to repost a tweet without seeing op's threaded replies, whereas here people can reblog an original post and never see the additions that op has added in subsequent reblogs even if they're intended to be part of the post. twitter also has private accounts which create smaller closer communities which are nevertheless still more open and less direct than, for example, group chats or servers in discord. discord's channel function allows you to carry on multiple discrete conversations with the same group of people or engage with only the topics you're interested in, but it also creates only closed communities, and large servers can unite people on common topics but provide no ability to curate the members of a community you want to engage with. and they're scary. instagram's image focus is great for sharing your art but not as great for letting it be shared because it doesn't have a real native share function (outside of sharing to your stories, which is temporary and doesn't create a feed), which leads to a culture of unsanctioned reposting; plus it's generally less communal. et cetera and so on and so forth. it sucks because every platform creates a very specific subculture that just can't be easily migrated elsewhere and none of them can't really replace each other. what we really need to do is band together and buy an island called social media island so that we can all coexist in a single shared space together and maybe we can even have a university

[sugar-phoenix]

cowboy, you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly. ✦

synopsis: Boothill doesn't do things quietly. He's loud, and messy, and he likes doing things his way. Even though these all annoy you somewhat, the cowboy starts growing on you. And then one day, he does something unexpected. tags: f!reader, f/m, no smut, fluff, light angst, mentions of Boothill's past a/n: 2.5k words, this was a lot of fun to write. hope you guys enjoy it!

ao3 link here!

Your heels clacked as you walked down the halls, the ground littered with bodies and empty bullet shells. You sighed. Unlike Boothill, who left the remains of IPC soldiers and his mark everywhere in the form of bullet holes dotting the walls, you preferred to do your work neater, quieter. His loud whoops and hollers echoed down the corridor from ahead, making you cringe.

There were many things Boothill was in excess of. Too fierce. Too exposed. Too gleeful. Too loud.

You were not fond of loud.

“I got the place cleared for you, ma’am.” Boothill’s voice rang out like a bell.

“I noticed,” you responded, turning into the server room. In front of you, server towers loomed overhead, blinking with a million eyes. “You’re not very subtle, cowboy.”

“Subtle? Why would I wanna be subtle when I could strike fear into the heart of the IPC?” Boothill chuckled.

“Being subtle can be pretty scary,” you mused, going to the main terminal and typing the code you were given. “What could instigate more fear than an invisible threat you can’t see?”

“I dunno. I like to think that knowin’ who your enemy is and knowin’ that nothing can stop him is way more scary, lady.”

Boothill sank his pistol into his holster, then strode over to where you were standing, the sound of his body moving like oiled machinery.

“After all, ain’t knowin’ how you’ll die the most terrifyin’ thing of all?”

“Touché,” you conceded, scanning the database for the folder you wanted. Boothill waited at your side, and you felt a little shock that the man who was, only minutes ago a whirlwind of gunmetal and gleaming sharp teeth, could now stand so still.

Finally, you found the folder you were looking for, and you loaded it into a drive you inserted into the terminal. Boothill had offered the use of his own ports as a way to store the data, but you had refused. Data was no good to you if you could not parse through it with your own eyes.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you said as the download finished. “Let’s get out of this place.”

The cowboy at your side said nothing but smiled, flashing his razor teeth. You both stepped out into the hallway, only to be met with a new squadron of IPC guards.

“Looks like they sent the calvalry,” you remarked.

“Yeah? Well, if you know anythin’ about cowboys, you’ll know that we don’t take kindly to calvalry.”

And with that, he was off, shooting and hollering and kicking. You ducked back into the server room, letting the cowboy have his fun, and shook your head. When the sound of gunfire had stopped, Boothill leaned around the corner.

“‘S all clear! I took care of ‘em.”

You stepped out to find a pile of bodies and more bullet holes in the walls. Well, I guess this time it couldn’t be helped.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like my handiwork?” Boothill commented at your slightly dismayed expression.

“Cowboy,” you sighed, “you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly.”

He only laughed, a rough raucous sound that reverberated down the hallway as the two of you made your exit.

✦✦✦

You stood in the middle of the ballroom in a shape-hugging red gown, fanning yourself with a paper hand fan. Eyes searching the surrounding crowd, you looked for the familiar cowboy hat. You found Boothill standing against the back of the room, looking absolutely miserable in his suit. A smile creeped up your lips. It took a lot of hemming and hawing to get him to wear that suit.

“I need my body bare, otherwise I’ll overheat,” he’d said.

“Boothill, darling, it’ll just be for the night. You’re going to cause an uproar if you just walk in with that sorry excuse for a jacket. It would be absolutely scandalous. We need to be subtle tonight.” You had adopted the pet name after a few missions with him. The two of you were slowly becoming fond of each other.

“What’s wrong with a little ruckus?” Boothill had asked. “I like ruckus.”

“I know you do, but just this once we could do without it. Come on. You get to cause ruckus every other mission we’ve had so far. You can live without making noise just this once.”

To your surprise, he conceded, taking the suit from your hands and walking to a room, muttering and cursing under his breath.

Now you felt a little sorry as you watched him. He looked like a dog that had been forced into a humiliating outfit just for its owner’s enjoyment.

Your eyes met, and you flashed your fan over your face. The signal. You had gotten what you came here for. Relief flashed over Boothill’s face, and he made his way through the crowd to you as you started walking towards the exit.

You stopped abruptly when you saw the exit.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Boothill asked, then, “oh,” as he saw what caused you to pause.

The archways were lined with more security guards than either of you had remembered when you first came in.

“They know we’re here,” you whispered. “They’re waiting to catch us on the way out.”

Boothill said nothing. You saw the calculations happen in his crosshair eyes. Slowly, he smiled, revealing his shark teeth in a devilish grin.

“Oh Boothill. No.” You said with dread.

“Oh but we don’t have much o’ a choice, do we?” he whispered. “Just let me do what I do best, darlin’.”

You looked at him, and he caught the worry in your eyes.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I always get out, don’t I?”

You sighed.

“Fine.”

Boothill smiled wider than he had the entire night, and stepped away from you, making his way back into the crowd. You reached under the slit in your dress, hand on the dagger strapped to your thigh. The feeling of the hilt under your hand grounded you. It wasn’t long until you heard three deafening gunshots, and glass raining down from above. Chaos and panic erupted, and over all of them, the familiar laugh you’d grown to love. You watched as the archways were flooded, and the guards rushed towards the cause of the ruckus.

Taking the chance, you merged in with the panicked crowd streaming outside the ballroom, as more gunshots echoed behind you. Once you were out, you rushed to your sports car, and got into the driver’s seat. It roared to life as you turned the ignition, and you took it out of the car park and drove it to wait in front of the entrance. Panicked partygoers ran around your car, but your eyes were focused on the entrance. The way you white-knuckled the steering wheel would definitely leave imprints.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered. “Come on, cowboy.”

A beat passed, then two, then ten, and Boothill was nowhere to be seen. You got anxious, watching the large golden arches that led into the ballroom with the giant crystal chandelier that hung above them outside.

Just when you were about to accept that Boothill had been captured, or worse, dead, he emerged from the entrance, a crazed grin on his face, his expensive suit torn in shreds. You sighed in relief. Just before he reached the car, he turned around, aiming upwards, and pulled his trigger. Five bullets flew through the air, severing the chains of the giant chandelier. The guards chasing Boothill were trapped in the ballroom as the light fixture fell to the ground in front of them, shattered glass scattering everywhere. Boothill cackled, then leapt over the hood, taking his seat in the passenger side. You wasted no time flooring the gas pedal, the car screeching away from the ballroom.

“Should teach those muddlefudgers not to waste money on showin’ off,” Boothill laughed.

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

“Hard time wrapping things up neatly,” you said.

“That’s just my trademark, darlin.’”

The two of you glanced at each other, grinning wildly, as your car sped into the night.

✦✦✦

You gazed out the windows of the Astral Express. The endless expanse of space unrolled before you, a landscape of endless opportunities.

Boothill had been called to the Astral Express for a favor, and he thought you should tag along.

“They’re a pretty cool bunch, you should come meet ‘em. Who knows, they might come in handy for ya in the future.”

You didn’t need the cowboy’s persuasion to come and meet the famed Nameless. You were more than happy for a chance to come face to face with these trailblazers, to converse with them and see how they operated.

The Astral Express crew surprised you at first. They were less of an organized team and more like a ragtag family of people from all different walks of life. Pom Pom, the little conductor of the express, scrutinized you for a bit until they sniffed (disapprovingly or approvingly you couldn’t tell), and announced, “Pom Pom welcomes you aboard the Express.”

Soon after, you got to meet the rest of the Express crew. There was March 7th, the cheerful girl with bubblegum-pink hair. There was Dan Heng, the quiet, reserved young man who often kept to himself in the Astral Express' database archives. There was Stelle, the mysterious gray-haired girl who was apparently a repository for a Stellaron. She kept quiet at first, but soon you learned she had a joke for every occasion and didn't hesitate to crack one even at the most inopportune moments, to the chagrin of her companions. Then to the two stewards of the Express: Himeko, the red-haired, confident navigator, and Welt, deep in thought and with a walking stick he kept close to himself at all times.

 Boothill seemed to fit right in. He was the one who introduced you excitedly to Dan Heng, cackling and talking about how they were “best buds.” Despite Dan Heng’s embarassment at first, you could tell he enjoyed the presence of the cowboy. In that way, you felt a sort of kinship with him.

 The two of you hung out on the Express for a few days, as Boothill helped them with one of their trips. They were currently orbiting a planet named Jarilo VI. Boothill had encouraged you to stay aboard the Express and take a break, but today, Himeko saw you watching the window.

"If you want, you can go down with the rest of them," she said.

"I think I might,” you responded. “Forget what Boothill said about taking a break, I'm at my happiest when I'm working on something anyway."

She smiled knowingly.

It wasn't long before you landed on the cold planet, and it was an even shorter time before you found the crew. Stelle, March, Dan Heng, and Boothill were in a clinic, accompanied by a small child with bright yellow hair and a doctor who wore a large apron. You'd soon come to know that these two were Hook and Natasha, respectively.

Boothill made a show of being upset that you weren't on the Express, but you could tell that he was very happy you had decided to join them after all.

Apparently the crew had been on a wild goose chase, and to your mild disappointment they were finished with the whole affair. Stelle, March 7th, and Boothill all attempted to explain the situation to you, and Dan Heng kept sighing and correcting them every five sentences, so in the end you understood very little.

As the four of you walked out of the clinic, Hook caught up to Boothill and tugged at his pants.

"You aren't leaving, mister, are you?"

Boothill turned around, and in a manner you'd previously thought uncharacteristic, he crouched down and ruffled the young girl's hair.

"I am, sweetheart," he replied.

 "But, but, you're a member of the Moles now! You have to stay with us."

"Oh, and I'm only an *honorary* member?" Stelle asked, in mock anger. Hook giggled mischievously, then turned back to the cowboy.

"Also, I need your help with something," she added.

"Oh? What's that?" Boothill asked. Hook produced a strange trinket from one of her pockets.

"I wanna give this to my daddy, but I dunno how to wrap it up."

Boothill chuckled, ruffling her hair again.  “Your daddy sure is lucky to have a little girl like you.”

Then he did something that was so unexpected, the action of it was seared into your memory forever.

Slowly, he took off the bandana from around his neck, and laid it flat on the ground. Then, he took the trinket from Hook's hands and put it on top of the bandana, in the center. Deftly, and with a gentleness you'd seen from him very rarely, Boothill wrapped up the object with careful folding and gentle knots, then presented the object to Hook.

"There you go. And once your daddy opens it, you can wrap the bandana around your own neck, and I'll be there with ya and the Moles in spirit."

Tears sprung to Hook's eyes and she surged forward, hugging his neck and wailing loudly. Boothill chuckled, patting her back tenderly.

✦✦✦

The crisis with Jarilo VI solved, you and Boothill bade the Astral Express crew goodbye and went on your way. In the small spaceship you sat in, you gave Boothill a look.

What Hook and the Astral Express Crew didn't know was that the bandana he wore around his neck was very dear to him. A remnant of his past, a past that he had talked very little about with you, even though the two of you had gotten very close with each other.

Boothill sighed, feeling your gaze on him. "You wanna ask me about what happened with the girl, I can tell."

"Well, I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I guess that's fine with me--" you started.

"No, no it's fine. It's somethin' I should've told ya long before. It's just painful for me is all."

You wanted to tell him that it was okay for him not to tell you, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

"What I never told you before, darlin’, was that I used to have a little girl of my own."

You raised a hand to your mouth. Never in your life would you have thought that the man in front of you—loud, brash and reckless—was ever a father.

"Before I was a Galaxy Ranger, before I got this metal body that I have now, I used to be just a cowboy. And one day I found myself with a daughter. Precious thing, loved her to death." He paused, taking in a deep breath, then let it out. "The IPC, they came to our planet... and they took her away from me. Took her and my whole family away from me. Razed everything I had to the ground.

 “That bandana I wore, well. It was my only reminder of her."

"Oh," you said, understanding why he was so guarded about it in the past. There was a long pause as you waited for Boothill to talk again.

 "But that girl, Hook," he started again, "she… reminded me of my daughter." Boothill took a shuddering breath. He had lost his ability to cry a long time ago, and you knew this, but sometimes he did things that told you he was weeping, invisibly. Until now you hadn't known what about.

"They would have been friends," he said softly.

"I'm sure they would have," you agreed.

You thought about the way he wrapped the gift for Hook.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" you asked.

"Do what?" he replied.

"What you did with the gift. How you folded it."

"Oh, that," he chuckled. "Some things you pick up being a dad."

There was another pause before you decided to speak again. "Well, I'll admit I was wrong about you then."

 "Wrong about what?" he asked, and you chuckled a little before answering.

"Turns out, cowboy, you do know how to wrap things up neatly."

Boothill laughed then, a soft, light sound, and you smiled.

comments are also very appreciated!

dividers by @cafekitsune

[episims]

Split Character Files

I was let known that my personality-based witch idles mod causes new sims to have split character files.

It made me look into the issue. Since the information about it is spread across various forum threads and lacked some details too, I decided to gather what I've found in this post.

What does a 'split character file' mean?

Each sim has its own character file in Documents directory. For example, Neighborhoods \ E001 \ Characters \ E001_User00024.package is Samantha Cordial.

When a character file is split, in addition to the usual E001_User00024.package there's also a file named E001_User00024.1.package. It would still be Samantha Cordial, but her data would be stored in two files instead of just one.

What kind of mods cause it?

Mods that edit character templates. That means: TemplatePerson (group 0x7FEDFE16), TemplateCat (0x7F99E646), TemplateDog (0x7F3C1917), and TemplateSmallDog (0x7F593B25). In addition, NPCs have their own character templates too.

These templates seem to get copied whenever a new sim or a pet is created. If you have a mod that includes a part of them, it appears the game creates a second character file and then copies any related BHAVs from the mod into it.

Do split character files cause problems?

In SimPe's neighborhood browser, a split character file might not be displayed properly and it's possible that you won't be able to edit the sim's stats with SimPe if that happens.

The game itself seems to be able to parse the sim together from two character files in most cases. However, it's plausible that it causes the empty/wiped face glitch to appear. As I tested the issue, I was able to replicate this myself multiple times with split character files and others have seen this happening in their games, too.

There are also people in related threads who say they have split character files and haven't noticed it causing problems.

Why do mods edit these templates, then?

I don't think it's been common knowledge what exactly causes the issue. And to be fair, creating new sims and then inspecting their character files isn't probably a part of many modder's testing routines. It sure hasn't been a part of mine.

The unpleasant fact is that if we want to make some things happen through mods, editing the code related to templates might be necessary. Ideally, Maxis would've only used them to create new sims and pets, but that's not the case. Their code gets called in various other situations – when witches idle, for example.

Now that we know which groups are involved, I hope modders can at least alert players when we share mods that cause this issue.

How can I know if the mods I use cause split character files?

It's not that common for mods to edit the templates, so suspecting all mods isn't necessary. Here are some mods that do edit them:

My Personality-based Witch Idles (includes code from TemplatePerson, the NPC witch template, and the NPC servo template) the latest mod update doesn't cause split character files anymore

Object Freedom 1.02 by @fwaysims (TemplateCat, TemplateDog, TemplateSmallDog)

lobonanny by Pescado (the nanny NPC template)

Spectral Cat Variety by @hexagonal-bipyramid (the spectral cat NPC template)

AntiGoodWitchIdleAnims by @paradoxcase (the link is broken and kestrellyn hasn't reuploaded this one to MTS, but assumingly involves the same templates as my witch idle mod)

Landlord Gardens Only Communal Areas by simler90 (the landlord NPC template)

Business Mod by simler90 (the chef NPC template, the reporter NPC template)

Gypsy Matchmaker Fix by simler90 (the matchmaker NPC template)

Buy Build Enabler for BV by cathair2005 (the social worker NPC template)

More points for woohoo with professors by Marhis (the professor NPC template)

No Relationship with Servers by Neder (the server NPC template)

Baby Toddler Mod by simler90 (the nanny NPC template)

There are probably more but in most cases, only specific NPCs are affected. Quite many people have reported having split NPCs in their games without noticing any issues with them.

Using these mods doesn't affect existing character files, but it will affect any new ones. You can prevent the split from happening by temporarily removing these mods from your game before creating new sims or pets, but you should keep in mind that this also includes spawning townies and NPCs (when their template is involved, that is) as well as born-in-game babies.

Can we stop the character files from splitting altogether?

If we can, it's sadly beyond my skillset as it appears to be hard-coded. I'm interested in testing if split character files can be safely merged back into one but I don't know about that either, yet.

I hope this clarifies the issue for someone! If I missed some crucial info, please comment.

[eeldritchblast]

Ethel's Vicious Mockery Analysis

(Major thanks to Aloija for the Dialog Parser and Roksik for doing the parsing, from the Down by the River Discord Server!)

I love when Ethel uses vicious mockery in the game, because I feel like it gives insight into the character’s insecurities, you know? So let’s further dissect that mockery.

WYLL

“Oh, look! It's daddy's regret.”

“Fraud of the Frontiers!”

“Do you think losing that eye made you a hero?”

Wyll wants to be seen as a hero so badly… and I’m starting to think that has a little something to do with daddy issues. This “daddy’s regret” line from Ethel, matched with one of Wyll’s desires when confronted by the secret laboratory mirror being his father’s forgiveness, certainly says there is something unresolved there…

GALE

“I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin.”

“Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.”

“Who would be jealous of you, apprentice?”

The first two aren’t anything new—we’re already aware of Gale’s condition after all. But why would Ethel call him an apprentice? Is he lying about how great a wizard he once was? Or maybe it’s just because he’s lost all his powers, and she’s teasing him about that.

SHADOWHEART

“You're so far up Shar's cake you can't see straight.”

“Why would Shar love you when no one else does?”

“You're no complex puzzle. Just a sad little girl.”

These to me, at least, speak of an undiscussed bubbling crisis of faith Shadowheart may be undergoing. And I am very interested in the second line above. Shadowheart is the type of person to keep everyone at arm’s length, and yet at the same time, it seems from this, desperately wants to be loved? That matches up with her “she took me in when no one else would” answer when asked why she became a worshipper of Shar in the first place. So it seems to me, like Shadowheart experiencing compassion from another person, possibly for the first time in her memory, is leading her to question her faith in Shar.

LAE’ZEL

“A toad with a tadpole! How fitting.”

“Your people will never take you back - illithid scum.”

“Do you miss kissing Vlaakith's feet, gith?”

Lae’zel’s biggest desire is to become kith’rak – we know this. But more to that, I think her biggest desire is to be accepted and revered by her people. Ethel saying that she will never achieve this is probably Lae’zel’s greatest fear.

ASTARION

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

“Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you?”

“You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone.”

Okay, okay, okay… the first two? Ethel just being a top tier bitch. But the last one… The last one suggests that Astarion actually does have some care for his travelling companions, if he’s concerned about hurting them. I think that brings a lot out of his character, because it confirms he’s not just a one-dimensional jerk. The glimpses of his nice side are just as genuine.

KARLACH

“Let's pull your strings, infernal puppet.”

“Happy to sell everyone's soul but your own, aren't you?”

“When I'm done, even the Hells won't want you.”

We don’t know a lot about Karlach, because she isn’t available as a companion in Early Access. But what little we do know, adds up with what Ethel says here. We know she was caught up in the Blood War as essentially a slave to Zariel. And judging from this mockery, it seems that’s left her with questioning self-worth.

[megid0nt]

If you're a linux[1] user who deploys multiple devices, I implore you: learn the command `scp`. It will change your life

It lets you copy files over an ssh pipe; if there's an ssh server on that host, you can essentially directly address a known file on that filesystem and say pwease gimme. And it's roughly the same syntax as `cp`, just with a `[user]@[host]:` before *either source or destination*[2].

And the real kicker is that neither source nor destination need be local:

I copied a file from my web server to an icecast source client host by passing it through my phone.

Unreasonably handy tool to have on your toolbelt.

Footnotes under the cut.

[1] Okay, fine, you got me! It's not solely a linux util. SCP is part of the openssh suite, which means that it's available on virtually every OS under the sun... Including being included by default on Windows 10 1709 and later versions of Windows. It's already on your mac, your BSD system, and almost certainly your phone, too. SSH servers and *nix go together like picnics and baskets, though, so I wouldn't exactly pull the *average* windows user aside to recc' `scp`.

[2] What's most interesting to me is that the `[user]@[host]` is used for the SSH client to know where it's authenticating and how, but the actual filesystem location's format is not processed by the SSH client; it's the *server's* format, not the client, that matters for parsing the file location. In some cases this can lead to a mismatch on filenames that you're receiving vs requesting, but the -T flag disables that checking, and then use `qwert@192.168.1.69:D:\\Documents\\testdata.bin` (drive letter indicated and backslashes escaped) to refer to it

[valeriehalla]

mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah I just found your VN and it's so cute and arresting and so full of nonbinary longing I'm absolutely in love already and it's kinda inspiring me to do the scary job of opening up a word doc and try writing some of my own stuff for the first time ever

also wrt aster i love love love love love the idea of being freed from agab. just... can't remember. who cares. no longer having to measure up to a gender metric or constantly minimizing your male shoulders or female hips and worrying about your ratios or presentation - and just relax and enjoy it instead of treating it like a constant chore of maintaining a dozen spinning plates to avoid being "found out". freed from presentation pressure. mwah.

also also as a fellow web developer I'd love to hear more about your stack for ssg - gatsby? svelte? vite? 93 nested imported html docs? one really really big div? I ask because while I don't know if I'll ever have the chops for music production, reading and discovering that inline music player absolutely tickled me, both narratively and as a developer, what a delight, so so so good

My “stack” ... hmmm. “Stack” .................

So, for the main website I just used “Lektor”, which I picked out of a hat on the basis that it was python-based and could do the one thing I cared about (HTML templating). But the CURSE/KISS/CUTE reader is coded from scratch. It is a single-page app, and it loads and displays story content by grabbing the HTML from a JSON file I call the “story file”. The JSON in turn is created by a parser that I wrote in python that parses a specially-formatted markdown file which I also confusingly call the “story file”. The script format for this latter file is slightly custom but is mostly just “normal markdown but I repurposed code ticks as a macro format”:

The music player is pretty rudimentary and just offloads all the complicated business to howler.js.

It’s a funny patchworked leaning tower of python but it gets it done and gets it done entirely client-side and that means I don’t have to dip even one of my toes into the haunted pool of server-side web development =w=

[celestial-sphere-press]

Can you recommend any full-scope resources for getting in to bookbinding, especially rebinding books and the different methods of stitching signatures/folios? I've had a really hard time finding comprehensive resources that kind of have all the information collected in one easy to read/watch place, but I really want to start binding my own books! Any resources for supply shops (I'm not in the USA so online might have to do) would be great too!

Ty 🩷

Full-scope in one place is unfortunately not exactly a thing in this hobby, given the very wide range of techniques & training styles. This is why I've found it helpful to be part of a community (even one that is mostly amatuers). @renegadeguild (the discord especially, but here is the website resource page too) is a great group of people that are always finding new tutorials, books, techniques, & material shops to share with each other - or creating them outright when none seem to exist. The discord hosts the bulk of the resources & is open to anyone 18+. Renegade also has regional servers you can join from the main, including outside the US (there are Renegade Europe, Australia, & Asia servers - I'm one of the Renegade Asia mods), which collect more region specific shops, online listings, & classes.

For traditional bookbinding (case bindings & some in-boards styles, plus explanations of adhesives & other basics), I recommend DAS Bookbinding. He has a lot of videos and focuses on technique. I recommend going through his videos by playlist, but he also has a guide to his video listings in his bio description on YouTube. This playlist talks about different sewing styles. Of the people putting out tutorials I would say he is the most comprehensive.

For exposed sewing styles, I'd recommend Bittermelon Bindery, who has a book called Handmade Books At Home that covers several different sewing styles.

r/bookbinding on reddit has a long list of links under the description's "see more."

There are of course other people out there, but there are also whole books on just endband styles or marbling, so to avoid sending you all over the place...

For rebinding, I probably have less useful information for you, as it's not something I do often, but here's a few notes. "Rebinding" in the colloquial sense currently refers to either of two different things: 1) taking a glued together paperback & recovering it to make it a prettier hardcover, or 2) completely taking apart a book (usually one that was sewn; if not sewn, gluing individual pages to "stubs" which are then sewn together), sewing the pages back together ("rebinding"), often with increased structural support, and either restoring the original cover or creating a new one.

#1 is debatable on whether it increases the longevity of the book (mostly because of paper quality & the glue binding), but it's nice for renovating your shelves. DAS also has a few videos on this type of rebinding, plus another here by Nik the Booksmith that I referenced the one time I've done this. Keep in mind they are using different techniques from each other, so you may need to do a little parsing between what different steps they are using. What a lot of people do too is use the square back bradel cover and act like the paperback is just a regular textblock, which does work for type #1 rebinding.

Type #2 rebinding requires some care in removing the glue & taking apart the original binding, because you want it off but not so much you damage the paper below. I have very little experience with this type of rebinding, but it results in a book that will last longer if you do it right. If you aren't concerned with keeping any of the original cover, once you've got the signatures clean & separated it seems pretty similar to starting from scratch.

I know there are a bunch of other rebinding resources out there, I just generally don't know what they are, so my knowledge is a bit lacking here! My ficbinding to-do list is too long for many rebinds to make it into the mix, lol.

Happy binding & best of luck in your future efforts!

[pyromancerofaronons]

You know I keep running into more and more randos in FF14 that make me question why the fuck they're even still playing. Tanks and DPS that pull bosses literally the absolute second they can, even if we just wiped and some people might want/need an explanation for a mechanic, healers that sprint ahead of tanks and rescue them if they're not going fast enough, that one absolute c*** who refused to do any sort of healing and then them and their buddy blame me for dying, just a lot of stuff like that.

It really gives off the feel that they want to blitz through all the content as fast as possible, play as absolutely optimal as possible and move on to the next thing as fast as possible. Like, don't get me wrong I'm not advocating for taking the whole damn 90 minutes for a dungeon (I legitimately had that happen once and I wished for death for the two DPS who were the cause of it) but we don't need to be clearing dungeons in 9 minutes ffs.

I understand the desire to do well and that sense of accomplishment you get when you play incredibly well and you see big numbers and fast times but doing so to this degree in fucking normal content with random people is just setting yourself up for frustration and this is more than likely the exact reason why they've stopped enjoying this game. And I cannot stress enough that you should not be doing this shit in roulette's with random people. There are party finders and discord servers for people who want to speed run and want to parse. Don't play like an absolute jackass with random people.

There is an incredibly likely chance that the majority of the people complaining about the game are putting the blame for their lack of enjoyment on Dawntrail or changes that are perfectly fine when the problem is that they're ruining the game for themselves by being such sweaty try hards.

[neogandw]

A new design of my own making: KillerMan, a robot master made to work at a horror-themed restaurant, very much a parody of the mascot horror genre.

So… I said that I had no ambition to make more robot masters of my own design, and yet here we are with KillerMan as a new one, what's up with that?

Hang on, this is a bit of a long story.

Well, the thing is that in a sever I dwell -the Make a Good MegaMan Level server- we have this running gag in the art channels that StoneMan "is hired to be a statue". The reason for this is that whenever one makes a new 8-bit sprite for a robot master you generally use StoneMan as a basis since he's one of the tallest robot masters in the series pixel wise (DiveMan is just as tall, but its easier to parse StoneMan as a reference).

This eventually devolved into editting StoneMan's sprites into different humorous situations, and the joke is eventually that he very much has it as his job to be a reference of height.

So I wondered, could I make something out of this joke.

I am nothing if not ambitious and I wanted to see if I could make a story out of StoneMan working as a statue, and I came up with the concept for an idea of a parody of a D.M.V. but for Robot Masters, with StoneMan reacting to robots that came in with various weirdo designs as a bit of comedy. Such as a super tall robot, an edgy design, a bad recolor, etc.

However, eventually I thought that if I did this it would come off as very meanspirited as people could find themselves targetted by the weirdo robots. So instead I wondered if I could instead make it a feel-good comic where while StoneMan DID comment on the weird bits of these cast of characters, he would offer advice (as in, my overall character design advice) to the robots, helping them improve their given faults.

Essentially, a way to give some pointers to the public about what I do for character design, but said through comedy and a story.

I kept this concept in the back of my head for a while and eventually did write a first draft for such a concept, however, once I had the first two robots written out I encountered that for such an idea to work… ambition would catch up with me.

I geninuely meant the advice I would have liked to say, but with how I would put it, I was affraid of it coming off as either preachy, long-winded or unfunny.

Too much dialogue (since if you want wholehearted advice, I'd need to be thorough rather than just saying "get good in this specific way") and even with my friends helping out, the general thought was the idea would require MULTIPLE comics to get everything in there.

As a friend put it, it was well done, but it was long.

Cut the content and you lose the advice, too many jokes and the advice rings hollow. It was chasing two rabbits and we could get neither.

Upon reflection, I decided to shelf the idea of the story since there was no way I could do it justice, and I myself feared having the examples to give out would have been taken as either iffy, preachy or just bad.

However, I do not necessarely scrap ideas, merely shelf them. How I put it to my friends is that I DO want to put out general art advice out there in some way someday, but as a story with a framing device wasn't gonna be it. So I merely decided that if I do that it shouldn't be intertwined with too many things at once.

I may do the art advice later, but for now, I decided to re-focus my attention to something simpler to do, and to that end, I decided to try to salvage what I could out of the story.

Out of a desire to not make fun of anyone but MYSELF in specific (out of respect for other people's work), the scenarios I had planned were made as deliberate exaggerations and parodies of what their faults were, with positives thrown into the mix for the lot of them so that it wasn't merely just punching down, to that end I had a few "strawmen" to be extreme examples of a thing one could improve or a general work ethic advice.

Now that I'm not doing that, I was left with these "Rubbish Robot Masters" as concepts.

The Rubbish Robot Masters weren't all entirely new creations (a few of them are concepts I've made before as jokes) and even I would have had Toon Woman as an example of a Rubbish Robot (with her advice being "do not throw an idea away, shelf it, you can make it work out later with proper thought, sometimes you do need to let things stew in the back of your head throught the years") which is exactly what happened with her. I had chosen Toon and a few of my other creations specifically because I wanted to point out that I myself am not perfect.

As I talked with my friends about the rubbish robots, however, much like usual… we sort of grew attached to the lot of them and a few of them figured "we could keep them around", making it so that I kinda needed to give them proper polish and actual effort to give them sauce like usual. And that lands us in KillerMan here.

KillerMan's concept in the original story was that of a newbie sprite artist making an edgy design out of a sprite edit of MegaMan, with the advice being generally things you can do to make pixel art, the color and size limit, having outlines on the design, doing color balance and "even if pixel art is hard, there are people willing to teach you the ropes, all you need to do is ask".

It also echoed experiences I've had in Good Level server where people joined together to help newbie people into polishing an idea they had into a concept by all of them pitching together. The community working together in such things is a beautiful thing to behold.

I started by polishing KillerMan since he was very much made to be a lackluster sprite (think of MegaMan, but as Kano from Mortal Kombat), so he needed the polish and identity the most. Given that most of the rubbish robots were spur of the moment ideas, I applied that to KillerMan as well, and thus I made him a parody of Mascot Horror game genre given the name of "KillerMan" remained as the only real thing that he had (I merely picked the name as an example of an edgy name, didn't even consider the NetNavi).

But as I tend to do, I merely did my thing and made him a mixture of a zombie, a restauranteer and a child entertainer. It's a fun thing to imagine.

I'll polish the rest of the rubbish robots and explain why I made them in due time, there's a whole set of them (which is why the idea was too much to do).

Let that be a lesson, dare to dream big, but consider the cost of ambition. In this case, it caught up to me, so it was better if I rescued what worked and made something out of it. Sometimes you do need to cut back on ambition.

KillerMan will pop in here and there, I guess, no reason to waste a design like that, huh?

[pleasantspark]

The Critical Community Callout Post

Fuck it, I am done gonna release and tell you who I am vaguing about. Let's start by saying please do NOT send any hate to anyone, I am simply gonna make this clear.

This community cannot handle one week without having a singular issue at all, either it's Cherry, RaySquid or Chai it's some people who cannot handle the block/mute feature and go straight to making a hitpeice.

ChaiFootsteps Derangement Syndrome

There's been countless callout posts from people, and it's ALWAYS leads back to Chai as if HE's the issue, there's been misinformation being spread and most of it you're getting from is you guessed it Dani and the Hazbin Stan Community.

They find a way to link anything shitty as it being Chai's fault. Have we really went too far in hubris? Look, I hate proshippers but there's been misinformation done OVER AND OVER to the point people who accused Chai did NOT ever FUCKING update it, when they are made aware instead they ignore people.

This is prime example of not listening at all lmfaooo.

Let me tell you something Chai isn't the boogeyman you all think he is, he's NOT involved in ANYTHING that ANYONE does, people just have borderline issues and they project these issues onto others. For clarity on this, here's what Chai said.

So even when he EXPLAINS you properly didn't acknowledge it? Yeah I find it hard to believe.

This is proof when you cry for "CHAI PLEASE ADDRESS THIS!!111!!" you finally get it and it's "NOT ENOUGGGGH!" NEVER CHANGE CRITICAL COMMUNITY THIS MILK IS DELICIOUS.

My Bridge Incident

Alright here we go, about yesterday. I receieved varying asks about the Limus situation.

I also suppose it's this.

But context clues, Retard means STUPID, are we forgetting it means stupid? I mean harsh yes, but that's how I am.

The issue was, and I quote, I said a offensive word.

Oh geez. Let's see what it means.

It's considered offensive now because people find it offensive 10 years ago we didn't.

Usually it's used for people with autism you KNOW the MENTAL ILLNESS I HAVE? Lol. LMAO EVEN.

Everyone whose a seasoned OrionBug OG knows I had an abusive stepdad, he used that word to insult me ALOT, I use the word in my vernacular to reclaim it. In order to actually feel better about myself. Empowering moment, to take back control.

But for some reason all is ignored when people find it offensive on behalf of others, and it's all there is to it.

Critical Bug's (totally hit)hitpeice on me.

Y'all don't send hate bruv bc nah this isn't what we're doing, so for starters this person, who was one of my mutuals decided to make a post crying about what I said to them after instead of taking it to DMs like a normal person did it on Anon.

Now, listen. If you have an issue, I can open up a discussion in the DMs or my server (Link below) but this person did not, they instead made a post meant to Slander and diss me. I know it was directed at me, because this the post lol.

Yes, they are complaining about someone who is also having the same problems as them using it.

Before you wonder, "how do you know is it them saying it towards you?"

I simply have a right to say this, and like I said before I am literally within my rights to say it, oh whats this there's comments too?

BAWWWING COMMENTS.

Using disability to say a slur is not nice

>this community engages in using queer which is also a slur.

Funny oh whose is this on top? Oh it's our good friend Quackerzzz the person behind CharlieCritques and the ONE person who had an issue with my Viv Neo Nazi Callout.

I'm certain they were this comment.

Because this community has issues with parsing text the hate I got for allegations that are NOT solid proof I had to turn off reblogs, and I will be turning off replies for mutuals. And Anon asks.

Now, let's see what else we have here.

Oh.

Oh My Fuck.

ImpperfectCritique's Obsession with Chai.

There's been issues with people a-logging the hell out of Chai and the biggest besides RaySquid is ImpperfectCritique's while they make good fanart they have actively made their content digging and ragging on Chai who btb had enough time to call out Chai but didn't have enough time to apparently tell someone Chai is going by he'/him. Yeah, when I called out the issue beforehand they claimed they didn't know but considering you called them out and took the time to actively call out Chai and presumably research into Chai's history.

Yeah don't buy it.

If this is in reference to me, then I don't really know what to say, I discourage people doing these, I use my own reclaimed slurs to empower myself as a being.

It's the R Slur that's got people crying not the fact I said Nigga a slur I can say, goes to show they are afraid to say "erm don't say that," yea advocating for less slur usage because retard affects my sensibilities and I must have a space dedicated to my 1394232043290342 problems to a show and fanbase who ARE NOTHING LIKE ME GUISE.

Striking Similarities to the VivziePop Fandom.

Okay, so I'm gonna be blunt and honest, you guys are nothing better then Dani and the others. You dedicate your time and effort to crying about slur usage and doing borderline coordinated attacks over something that easily is solved by DMs, I made this to call everyone out because my boundaries were VIOLATED.

People disrespected my boundaries, I take it you want infighting.

"No, no we don't want--"

Bull.

shit.

You were given SEVERAL times and CHANCES to fucking solve this.

Also someone used the r slur, Impperfect where's the complaint and callout to that person?

I asked people to handle things in DMs, they did not, so I take it you want infighting.

Here's your infighting doordashed to your doorstep, free of charge, you disrupt my evening I disrupt the house of cards in this fragile little community. I'm done with society, I'm done pretending everyone in the community are innocent little beans with no problems.

You're all just as bad as Viv's Stan's if not worse. You treat this as some sort of joke, and instead of talking it out you go to make a hit piece, my life has been threatened, I've been told to end myself. I took a stand for MOST of you in this community but it goes to show that even if you stand for others, they won't stand for you.

The Final Verdict

Status of the community: Reached LolCow Status.

I notice some of you all react so badly, some of you all react so horrendously to shit Viv does, either it being tame or downright stupid, I hate the woman too, but some of you go way too far.

And when you can't find a reason to hate, you direct that hate to others in the community you are in. Not just that Chai has to be dragged in EVERY drama as if he's the puppet master. He's NOT, I have my own means my own opinions, Chai isn't a mastermind (not the Helluva Boss Episode.) believe it or NOT he doesn't know shit like this happens.

I am tired of seeing this community act like childish fools, and aim to prove and one up another because they wanna play the "I CARE ABOUT EVERYONE except this person lol." Olympics, if I am judged by my words that's shallow.

That's deeply disgusting and borderline distressing you judge based on vernacular rather than the terms and conditions of who a person is.

You are all people who do NOT actually understand the issue first and foremost, and I am done entertaining it. I do not stand the Critical Community because I own a different part of it.

People, it's not the end of the world because I a mentally sufficient retard with low IQ said so meanie words, you can utilize the red button not the button with the pencil in it.

This community is now overran by LARPING Viv Stan's and I want nothing to do with this anymore, word of advice. Any remaining people with actual braincells left? Leave. This community preaches about acceptance and understanding but when I someone within their rights are allowed to practice freedom of speech to call a drama or object the r slur it's seen as if I killed an infant.

Hypocritical Hotel Critic Community.

(replies restricted and anon asks off due to harassment from people. Congrats and have a good day everyone.)

[jades-typurriter]

Secure Connection

As promised: more Posie!! I wrote this one toward the end of last Spring after a couple of conversations with friends regarding the malleability of digital bodies (as well as still having Many Thoughts about the way code can give them new compulsions, after writing something about Annie and a new taur-shaped chassis for a friend's Patreon). Enjoy reading about her dealing with a corporate-mandated "hardware" update!

CW: Genital TF, this is another one that's As About Sex as it can possibly be without being about sex

Posie sat, sulking—steaming, even—in her office. It was a small side room off of the main floor of IT personnel, system engineers, and other technical employees of her corporation. Much like a central server, it was placed for easy access to the department-wide administrative assistant, and much like a server room, it was snug, windowless, and awash with the calming drone and relaxing warmth of an array of exhaust fans. Though she was free to project herself nearly anywhere on the company’s campus, this was where her consciousness was housed, and where she felt most at home. It was also the only place she could get any damn privacy, a luxury that she was deeply grateful for at present.

A newly-downloaded file weighed on the back of the Renamon’s mind. More literally, it was somewhere in the racks of drives that made up her long-term memory, to and from which mission-critical information was transferred in the course of doing business. Had somebody asked where exactly the file was stored, she would have been able to list the specific drive and the exact directory address, but she had de-prioritized the allocation of her processing resources for the download. Once again, she had received an assignment from her superiors, and once again, she was hesitant. She may even have admitted to being recalcitrant. She resented the orders.

The package of data in question was an update for her own software, a suite of new tools to allow management to offload yet more menial tasks onto her in the name of “efficiency”. Forget that she could diagnose a software issue faster than any of the engineers could even open a remote connection to the malfunctioning device. Instead of allowing her to take the reins, they saw fit to divert more of her attention to the least impressive among talents, and the one she already put to use the most often: transferring data.

This wouldn’t have been much of a problem, ordinarily. After all, Posie resided in the beating heart of the network, the nexus through which the vast majority of information was sent and received. It could be… meditative. Parsing streams of ones and zeroes, overseeing the flow of packets, redirecting traffic to equally spread the load across modems and routers so as to optimize travel time. It could even have been considered relaxing, if a worker of her caliber needed to relax. Instead of offering her a vacation (pah!), however, the update felt more like it heralded a demotion, denying her even the ability to pluck like harpstrings the miles of copper and gold that lined her facility. She was expected to deliver this data on foot.

Management justified this humiliation with practical concerns: some information, much like the old records she was often tasked to dispose of, was so confidential that it could not be sent via wireless transmission. Even hardwired connections were too fallible for the likes of next-generation schematics and financial access keys—a single compromised workstation, or compromised worker, could spell the loss of the company’s upper hand in its market. She wasn’t even going to be afforded the dignity of carrying an external hard drive to the destination. That would require the slow and tedious process of physically moving from one place to the next; this was one of the only times that she regretted the freedom of movement that was so coveted by her flesh-and-blood peers.

With no room to make exceptions for security protocol, she gripped the edge of her desk, brow furrowing, eyes squinted shut in consternation. Eventually, she huffed, rose, and turned her attention to her “physical body”, summoning up the file in much the same way that one would approach a plate of food with a pungent odor. The Renamon steeled herself and began to more closely examine its contents. She read the raw code similarly to how one might read words on a page; however, where the turning gears of the organic mind would, almost unconsciously, conjure up an image as a result of those words, her mind kicked off a series of involuntary, autonomic processes.

Her body carried out the instructions on her behalf. Once she started, she had no control until she finally reached a stopcode; it was the nature of being a program herself that code had as much of an influence on her mind and body as her own thoughts, her own will. In opening the package, she reluctantly consented to the changes that management saw fit to make to her. It was better than the eventual forced-deadline sort of update that software companies were so keen on using nowadays, and at least choosing the time and place allowed her to make herself presentable again before having to face another person.

Having parts of her code—her very body—rewritten by the update was a strange sensation, not unlike having your thoughts dictated to you by an outside force. Stranger still was that she could feel the exact delineation between her previous self and the patches of… well, the patch. She could feel it quite strongly, as a matter of fact: beneath her skirt of simulated sky-blue fur, between her legs, she could feel her mesh being edited. Stretched. Reshaped. The vectors that made up the triangles of her wireframe soul were being rewritten, mathematically transformed. A shape began to protrude from the once-flat span at the bottom of her torso, at first round and indistinct, but quickly increasing in resolution.

The Renamon struggled to process the sensations as a long, slender connector began to take shape. This often happened with changes to her body plan; inputs streamed into her mind from directions, locations, that previously never sent any signals, and the new additions seldom had their sensitivity adjusted downward for her convenience. In this case, it was highly sensitive, delivering reams of data to the base of her skull just from brushing up against her own fur, or the gentle flow of air from the computers in her office. It made sense, given that it was supposed to be a high-capacity transfer tool, but she was too busy buckling at the knees and clutching at the desk behind her so she didn’t fall flat on her rear for the thought to occur to her.

Her processors demanded more cooling, kicking into high gear as they formatted the two new storage devices that accompanied the connector, tailor-made for packing confidential data as tightly as possible. The sound of whirring fans filled the room, stirring her fur and sending shivers up and down her back; she could only hope that the rushing exhaust made enough noise to drown her out, whimpering despite herself. The new drives were larger (and more unwieldy) than the ones that were built into her chest, much to her chagrin. She was forced to adjust her stance and her gait as she found her footing again, spreading her legs wider than she was accustomed in order to give them enough room.

The spinning in her head slowly settling down, she slowly began to compose herself once again, taking stock of the new additions. They were cumbersome, to be sure, and she lamented how they jutted out from her otherwise sleek form and burdened her with less-graceful posture. It didn’t even match her fur! The software engineers that had concocted the code had at least included one small mercy: a compartment for the connector to retract into, nestled in the fur above the storage drives. No such luck for the drives themselves. She supposed she would just have to adjust to walking with delicate hardware in tow. As she went to smooth her fur over her lap again, her paw recoiled away. Some kind of… static discharge was left in the fluff. A memory leak, perhaps? The fact that such a malfunction could be caused just from having the connector brush up against her fur appalled her, deepening her frustration even more. They couldn’t even test the update for bugs before shipping it out to her. She shook out her paw and finished arranging her skirt as best she could before working up the composure to finally leave her office.

Picking up the payload for which all this fanfare had been arranged was at least a quick, easy process. She stopped into the office of the manager that had assigned her the task; she offered a businesslike nod and, knowing that she was always itching to skip niceties in the name of saving time, he offered a straightforward wave at his personal terminal. She held a paw over the computer tower and, in the time it took for electricity to arc to her fingertip with a tinny zzzrt, she had already searched his directory for the relevant test files and copied them to the newly-installed drives. Wireless transfer, yes, but only technically. The engineers had specifically asked a member of another division, whose computer network wasn’t connected to their own; it was as though she had picked a folder up from his desk and walked out with it.

Moving the file was just as uneventful. It was far from the first time that she’d navigated the sprawling corporate property, and even if it were, the maps existed just outside the orbit of her thoughts, ready to be summoned to mind at a simple impulse. What she was not expecting, however, was the technician who was waiting in the server room to which she was asked to deliver the file. While she preferred to work in the isolation of rooms that were set aside specifically for hardware, she was far from unused to being in the presence of the other people responsible for maintaining the company’s systems. That said…

“Can I help you?” The Renamon icily asked.

“Oh, I don’t need anything! I’m just here to take notes on the transfer.” Her tone was cheery; evidently, she wasn’t aware how compromising the new additions were. “The time it takes, any obvious issues. I’ll be the one checking the files against the originals, too,” she concluded, hooking a thumb over her shoulder at a monitor behind her.

“I see,” Posie replied through gritted teeth. “You have clearance to see these files, then?”

“Well, they’re just dummy data, ma’am.” At least she was respectful.

“And the proprietary hardware I’ve been… equipped with?” she forced out, keeping her synthesized voice even.

“Oh, for sure I do. I designed it!”

Oh! she seethed. So she knows pre-cise-ly the position he’s put me in.

“Well. I suppose there’s no point in delaying things, then.”

“Ready when you are!”

With tense shoulders, she turned toward the server rack, eyes darting over it, searching for where exactly she was supposed to connect to the array. After glancing over the contents of each drive, she found the one she was supposed to copy the data into—deposit would be more apt, as it was her understanding that the files would be automatically flushed from her system—and found a port that would allow her to access it. Conveniently, it was around waist height. She wondered, crossly, whether that had been an intentional design decision by this engineer as well. As she looked at it, she felt a twinge from the connector; on its own, like a Bluetooth device automatically searching for signals, it slid itself out from its fuzzy little compartment.

Her skin was abuzz, and her fur stood on end. She couldn’t quite tell if it was coming from the connector itself, or if it was the feeling of the programmer’s eyes on her If she could take a deep breath, she would have then. Without any way to stall further, or to tell the leering young woman to take her test files and store them somewhere indecent, she simply pushed forward with dropping off the damned data.

The instant the connector grazed the metal of the port, lightning shot into it, through her body, and into her head, making it swim with electrical potential. A stuttering, lagging thought made its way to the surface of her mind: they really had overtuned the sensitivity. She stifled a gasp and suppressed the urge to lay into the engineer (electrons were eager to flow out of her even without proper alignment with the contacts in the port, and didn’t she know that discharge like that could damage a piece of hardware?!), willing her body to keep pressing the stupid connector into the socket.

Even as she tried to get it over with already, something in the back of her mind compelled her to draw back a bit. If she had been restraining herself from reprimanding the engineer for risking the hardware, then she should at least do it the service of ensuring she was properly aligned, shouldn’t she? She obliged the impulse, and the motion all at once became much jerkier, less controlled. The friction of the port against her connector was enough to send her tail snapping back and forth, and she could tell that the temperature in her own server’s room had risen by a fair few degrees. Back and forth, wiggling side to side, she continued to readjust and realign herself, driven by unfamiliar code and overwhelmed by the signals pouring into her. She lost herself in the task, forgetting herself, forgetting her surroundings, until finally the technician cleared her throat.

“Ma’am,” she ventured, blushing and wide-eyed. “What, um. What are you doing? You should just need to plug it in.”

“I’m.” Her interruption had snapped the Renamon back to reality. She was mortified, tail sticking straight out and back ramrod straight. Her cheeks burned mercilessly. “I’m calibrating the connection.”

“Calibrating?”

“Did you want your files transferred with or without corrupted and incomplete data?” She snapped, hoping that her authoritative tone would head off any debate. “Assign me experimental hardware and then ask me to be reckless with it, hm? Should I be taking notes to give to our superiors?”

“I—alright, I guess you can’t be too careful,” she stammered, sheepishly pressing her legs together. “That was even something I tried to work into the design, so, c-carry on?”

“Thank you,” Posie blustered, turning back to the server rack. She did so slowly, reluctantly relishing the feeling of sliding around within the socket. She allowed herself one or two more “practice” attempts, hoping that it wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion from the engineer. Ultimately, just like before, there was no use in continuing to stall, and when she was able to bring her body to a stop, the rational part of herself was eager to be done with this entire torrid affair.

With more force, she pressed the connector inward one final time, trembling as the latch began to press against the opening. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she continued, overwhelmed by the volume of electricity surging into her. The latch gave, compressing as it continued to slide inside, until finally it clicked into place, securing her to the array of drives and finalizing the connection.

All at once, a torrent of data poured out of her, an electron tsunami that felt like it threatened to spill out of the socket in which she was hilted. More data was transferred in the span of a few seconds than she was used to consciously processing, having cultivated such skill in delegating and compartmentalizing with background processes. Once again, the world around her was utterly drowned out; the strength fled her legs, and she clung to the steel bar that reinforced the top of the server rack, threatening to topple the entire system. Her self-control abandoned her as well and, forgetting the engineer, she cried out with an airy, wild, distinctly foxlike yelp. She screamed in surprise, gasped at the deluge of information, moaned because there was no room left in her mind for thought to do anything else.

Quickly, the disks of the server rack had finished writing the files she had carried to them, and her own drives were thoroughly purged. In another building, the radiators serving her processors shed heat at their absolute limits, and fans worked overtime to bring her back within her safe operational range. As her overworked circuitry began to chug through the backlog of sensory information, the entire experience caught up with her—including the detail that this entire shameless display had been carried out in front of that underhanded little engineer. She blinked, hard, and whipped her head to face her. For as hot as her own ears felt, the young woman’s face appeared to be glowing even brighter.

“What. Was that.”

“Um—”

“I’m used to new adjustments requiring desensitization, or even adjustment on their gain,” she growled, voice low and eerily even. “But that was a bridge too far to just have been miscalibration. Why did you design it like that?”

“Well, y-you remember how I mentioned, um, having considered an early disconnection?” Posie’s frosty glare didn’t waver, so the tech continued, answering her own rhetorical question. “That was, uh, the safeguard. Against early disconnection. I, figured it’d just be easier to make it so you wouldn’t want to unplug—”

“Do you think you have the au-thor-ity to go making changes to my mind, young lady?!”

“I-I can roll back the update if you want—”

“I think you’ve done QUITE enough!” The Renamon declared, despite herself. Perhaps it was genuine distrust, or perhaps—perhaps she truly couldn’t tell which desires were her own, at the moment. This would require careful study of her own system files.

Another small click broke the silence following her outburst, and the dongle began to retract from the server’s port and back into Posie’s body. Now free to move around, she dusted and fluffed her skirt and leaned down to look the engineer in the eye.

“I trust that you can report to your supervisor that I performed to your expectations,” she hissed. “And that there will be no need for any further discussion of your little project.” The programmer nodded, eyes even wider than before—and cheeks even redder? The Renamon scoffed, sneered, and spun, storming out the door, already allotting time in her schedule for the next time that she would be called upon for such a delivery.

Utterly unsurprisingly, she had been correct in her assessment that her superiors would take every opportunity to save their organic employees’ time at her expense. Confidential deliveries became a regular part of her routine, and though she had great disdain for being reduced to a mere courier for so much of the workday, she insisted upon completing the task to her usual, lofty standards.

Posie was as prompt as she always was, dropping everything to ferry information between privileged parties, striving to reduce latency even in more analogue forms of communication. There was the occasional complaint about how long downloads took once she had finally arrived at her location, but she was quick to remind such impatient recipients that the decision to follow this protocol came from on-high, and that even for someone who worked as quickly as her, great care for the safety of the data was a corner that simply could not be cut in the name of rushing around.

She was as meticulous about ensuring proper alignment with the port, fine-tuning her contact with the wires within, as the first time she had experimented with the new tools, and complaints about noise from the server room were easily dismissed as the usual stress of supporting her formidable computational power. After all, she was often venturing out of the range of her home network, hosting herself entirely on the recipients’ systems; was she at fault when they couldn’t handle the information throughput they asked of her?

Once the deliveries had become more routine, and none of her peers bothered to check in when they felt it was taking too long or getting too noisy, she began to find enjoyment in the solitude of her work, just as with the other, admittedly more tedious, tasks she was expected to carry out. With fewer prying eyes to judge her performance, she could make herself more comfortable while handling transfers. She didn’t have to worry that anybody would walk in on her in the debased state she often found herself in while connected directly to a data center, leaning her full weight on the poor rack, tongue lolling out and chest heaving air to keep her cool. 

Then again, if somebody—especially that little technician who’d saddled her with these “upgrades”—wanted to question her efficacy, that was more than fine by her. Posie was a woman who prided herself in her work, and would seldom turn down a chance to demonstrate her first-rate hardware and unparalleled optimization. She would be more than happy to demonstrate just how quickly she could pump out information, and just how much throughput she was capable of.

Thank you for reading! If you want to see more of my work, you can check it out here and here!

[egelskop]

i am so interested in ur hlvrai au can we get a rundown

oh boy, this is going under a readmore.

fair warning, this is a LONG read because (1.) i am not a competent writer and (2.) i can't for the life of me keep things brief. sorry and or good luck.

ACT I

The Black Mesa incident: Gordon Freeman is provided an opportunity to do an informal beta test for a combat training simulation program that's in development in the Research & Development department of the Black Mesa Research Facility. (Read: He knows a guy in R&D and said guy knows Gordon likes video games and VR stuff, so he was like "hey you should come check this out when you're on break.")

The combat sim would be a revolutionary training simulation using artificial intelligence to enhance and realize the experience for the ‘player character’.

The test goes wrong, and Gordon can’t seem to disengage from the simulation and odd, unscripted things start happening; he has to ‘play the game’ to its full completion before he is able to exit the simulation safely. He has suffered a brain injury throughout the process, eye damage due to prolonged exposure to the headset and is generally traumatized by the simulation experience he at some point could no longer physically and emotionally distinguish from the real world. The project as a whole is shut down and Gordon is put into a rehabilitation program. Black Mesa covers up the incident as best it can, but whispers of it still echo around the facility.

Below is a page for a two-page comic i never finished detailing said events.

ACT II

The rumors reach the ears of a particularly tech-savvy researcher named Clark, who steals the project documentation and anything else he can get his hands on from a storage. At home, he looks into the project, reads about it, and gets curious about the simulation’s files themselves. They’re on a drive he plugs into his computer, and suddenly his system’s performance lags, windows open and close until a txt. file opens up. He comes into contact with one of the simulation’s AI that has somehow entered his operating system. He tries to keep it busy by having it poke around as he reads up on the simulation and its ultimate shutdown. When the AI reveals it can see him through the webcam, he panics and rips the drive out of the port. The invasive AI and the other project files seems like they’re gone from his system, he does a checkup but sees nothing odd running or otherwise. The next day after work he does another checkup. Finding nothing, he surmises he’s in the clear and starts up an online game. The slumbering, corrupted data of the AI sees its out, and disappears into the game.

ACT III

The transition/journey to the game is a rocky one, and the already corrupted data of the AI known as Benrey splits and gets even more fragmented. The largest fragment embeds itself into the game’s files to keep itself running. Without the foundation of the game to support it, it’d be lost to a dead void and slowly die out. Somewhat stable, it learns about the world around it; the game seems to be an exploration sandbox game. For now (and clarity), I’ve chosen to call this bigger, embedded fragment ‘Data’. (so this is the big benny with the right eye/one big eye in my art)

Data splits off a smaller fragment of itself, intending it to be an avatar or ‘player character’ but this grows into its own awareness and becomes who we’ll call ‘Beastrey’ (the smaller benny with the left eye and tail in my art).

The fragment ‘Beastrey’ wakes to a dead void, so Data uses its knowledge to create a private server for Beastrey, an empty world. Beastrey’s existence is an extension of the bigger part, with more freedom of movement to parse through the game and move freely within it, with the caveat that it can’t go ‘too far’ away from the host. Beastrey can visit other servers and relay information. Data learns and slowly starts building up the world/private server, at some point settling for an aquatic world because it reminds it of itself (something something sea of data). It's important to note that Beastrey retains little to no memories of the events of canon VRAI.

Data makes it easier for Beastrey to move around, and they grow to have more reach with time. At some point Data can alter the basic structural elements of the game, so it plays around with making things that are reminiscent of the memories it has of Black Mesa and Xen. At one point, it gains access to parse through the player base of the game, and takes note of an email address: ‘g.m.freeman@gmail.com’, attached to a player account. The name is somewhat familiar to it.

It sends an invite to join the server to the player account.

ACT IV

Gordon tries going back to work at Black Mesa after rehabilitating, but he has trouble separating his experiences with the simulation from reality, to a breaking point where an altercation with a security guard drives him to quit. He seeks professional help for his PTSD and anxiety, but still experiences dissociative episodes, migraines and somatic flashbacks localised mostly in his right forearm. Despite this, he is determined to continue living his life as normally as possible. He applies for a part-time job teaching physics at a local high school, the one where his son Joshua goes to, and remains relatively stable from there.

Joshua is 15 years old. Regular teen. After an impressive amount of pleading he got a VR-headset for his 14th birthday from Gordon (much to the disapproval of Gordon’s ex), and he’s been captivated by an exploration sandbox game since it came out a few months ago.

He gets an invite to an unnamed private server, and he accepts.

He is struck with awe as the world he enters seems completely different from the ones he’s seen so far in the game. Different flora, different fauna. Most of it uninteractible, though, or otherwise just retextured from its base game variant. Even the new enemy types, after a scare, can’t actually hurt him, it seems. He stumbles upon Beastrey, who is just as surprised to see him and wants him out until Joshua says he was invited.

Joshua commends Beastrey (who introduces himself as 'Ben-') on ‘modding’ everything in, but admits that he was disappointed to find that everything was just surface-level stuff. Beastrey inquires about what he’d like to see. Data is always watching, unseen, and decides to alter the world in the way Joshua described when Joshua leaves.

Joshua starts appearing more often, if only for a few hours at a time. He marvels at the ways the world shifts and grows with each time he plays, and takes to exploring it with Beastrey at his side, for whom strangely enough a lot of things are also new. Joshua teaches both Beastrey and Data about the outside world, thinking Beastrey is just a somewhat reclusive but likeable weirdo.

Joshua tells Gordon about the new friend he made, ‘Ben’, and the adventures he’s been having with the other. Gordon is happy to hear Joshua is having a good time, but is otherwise none the wiser. Joshua starts losing track of time in the game, but chalks it up to being invested.

During one play session, Beastrey confesses he isn’t the one who did all the ‘modding’, and invites Joshua to meet Data. Data, or at least its ‘physical’ in-game manifestation is deep within the world, past the aquatic twilight zone and strange, drowned ruins of an unknown facility. Data, for the first time, really sees Joshua, and the resemblance sparks something within it. Joshua is drawn closer to it, and just before he reaches it-

Joshua wakes up lying on the floor with Gordon hunched over him in his room, pleading with him to wake up. Joshua unknowingly got drawn into the game much like Gordon had been, and Gordon urges Joshua to never touch the headset again, taking it away. Gordon opens up about his experiences with the simulation a bit more. They both agree to not touch the game or the headset again.

ACT V

Gordon comes into contact with an old coworker from Black Mesa, and he inquires about the combat simulation project, if anything happened to it after it was canned. This is where he learns that an employee had taken the project files from storage and was consequently fired. He comes into contact with Clark, and Clark explains he had no idea he accidentally unleashed the AI unto the game. Gordon asks if anything can be done to prevent what happened to Joshua and himself from happening to other people. Clark confesses he doesn’t know, and that it’s up to the developers of the game to find anything out of place and make sure it gets fixed. Gordon decides to leave the matter where it lies, not wanting anything to do with AI and simulations anymore and to safeguard his son.

Some time passes.

Joshua starts getting repeated invites and messages, at one point he gets into a conversation with ‘Ben’ via a platform’s messaging system. Ben says he can explain everything, that he’s sorry. Joshua decides he would like one final goodbye. He finds the headset stashed away somewhere in the house, and, while Gordon’s gone, he turns on the game and enters the server.

Beastrey (Ben) is surprised to see him, urging him to log out and turn off the game, but it’s already too late and Joshua can no longer leave. Beastrey helps Joshua attempting to ‘exit’ the game by going as far away from Data’s reach, but Data stops Beastrey and traps Joshua, determined to wait to the point that he assimilates into the game completely.

Gordon eventually finds Joshua comatose with the headset on, and he panics. He considers calling the emergency services, but he’s afraid they’ll take the headset off or that removing Joshua too far from the game will hurt his son like what happened to him. He calls Clark, urging him to help in any way he can. This results in Gordon and Clark going back to Black Mesa to retrieve the project files and the other gear they can get their hands on to get Gordon into the game to free his son.

Gordon enters the private server with Clark’s player character, and thwarts any attempt from Data to impede his progress and trap him as well. Beastrey’s awareness is overridden by Data as a last ditch effort to deter Gordon and Gordon is forced to destroy Beastrey before he can reach Data. As Beastrey is taken over, Data gains Beastrey’s awareness, and finds his other, littler half never wanted to trap Joshua in the first place, and the way it hurt him to hurt both Joshua and Gordon to this extent.

At this point, Data wavers in its intention to keep Joshua trapped, even more so with Beastrey now gone, and recognises whatever it is that is driving Gordon forward in the game is outside of his control to manipulate, so he lets Gordon destroy it as well. In a way, it also feels as a fulfillment of its intended role as the ‘villain’. The server crashes, the world breaks apart. The ‘game’ is completed.

The final boss is defeated and both Gordon and Joshua wake up. Joshua luckily wasn’t exposed long enough to have suffered any lasting damage, except for what seems to be a minor headache and some light sensitivity (and a vow from Gordon to get him checked out by a doctor as soon as the clinics open).

--

The whole ordeal results in Clark, Gordon and Joshua sitting in a Denny’s at four in the morning, eating pancakes somewhat solemnly, completely exhausted but also still reeling from the virtual battle. Joshua learns that ‘Ben’ essentially died, and he can’t help but cry for his friend.

“Honestly, I don’t think he’s gone,” Gordon admits, picking at the last bites of his pancakes. "I think he- or whatever that was, has a hard time staying dead. Like a cockroach, you know? At this point I’m just wondering when he’ll turn up again.”

Clark hums in agreement. Joshua seems somewhat reassured by his words, wiping at his eyes with the scratchy napkin as he settles into the squeaking diner seat.

“But,” he starts with a sigh, pointing his syrup-covered fork upwards to the ceiling in a decree, “One thing’s for certain…”

He thinks back to a time rife with virtual gunfire, caging walls and hysterical laughter echoing through the halls of the Black Mesa research facility. Five sets of footsteps and a whisper of his name.

“…No more VR. No more headsets. Ever.”

--

TL;DR: Gordon got trapped in VR and then Joshua also got trapped in VR. Benrey is there but also not.

thank you for reading. here. ( x ‿ o ) 🫴

[lockandkeyblade]

I keep seeing this one post talking about the "apocalypse of entitlement" writers are currently going through on tumblr, specifically fanfic writers. Unwillingly, because it just likes to spawn on my dash every few hours like a gremlin in the night. Unintentionally, I keep rereading those words. Apocalypse of entitlement.

On the one hand, I want to ask this person to clarify. Like, tell me about this thing. Expand. I would like to see your reasoning.

And on the other I see post after post of people begging their readers to interact with them on some level and not hide away their opinion on discord servers, or be such a slave to the consumerism mindset that they can't even leave kudos on a work and I'm just... apocalypse. Of entitlement. I can't parse that statement.

Because what I see a lot of fanfic writers doing is basically just asking for a continuation or revival of the levels of interaction that we always had before. It is something fandoms have had for years, that most continue to have.

I am very lucky to be one of those people who has been successful in fostering a community with my readership where people do feel encouraged to leave comments and talk with/at me, to the point where I can happily check my askbox and it's not going to just be spam, but people excited for me to produce more content or share a theory or posit something at me because they want to know how I could spin it. That's what I want. That's what a lot of fanfic writers want.

We aren't here to just throw pieces at you and quietly imagine the response to those pieces. We want to debate and talk about mutually loved characters and the ways we're playing with the canon to reach the twists that we are creating and-- apocalypse of entitlement.

When did "I love this thing so much I'm going to create something for it, so lets talk about how mutually excited we are over said thing. Let your excitement fuel my own so I can produce something for me and for you. Let's engage in a way that more and more people can become involved in sharing that adoration for a series/character/pairing" become entitlement? Isn't that just... enjoying fandoms?

Shouldn't that be the norm?

[badgraph1csghost]

I feel like people on Neocities are putting too much emphasis on the ILLEGALITY of emulation; like, to the point they're creating crime where none exists: the idea that even TALKING about piracy is illegal. At the very least, they're instilling a sense of fear of breaking the law, and at the worst they're espousing the corporate feudal ideal of thoughtcrime. It depends on how you take it, obviously, but either way it doesn't bode well.

One of the things I've always tried to get across in all of my talk about data preservation is the existence of abandonware. This is an area of copyright law where you're pretty much completely safe downloading ROMs and ISOs. You'd be surprised at how much totally mainstream stuff this applies to! Every game ever made for the Nintendo GameCube! The original version of The Sims! Other stuff! Basically, if it isn't sold in stores or available from some DLC service or another, it's abandonware and you can download it without worrying about any sort of repercussions.

A widescale crackdown on emulation like the RIAA witchhunts from the turn of the millennium isn't very likely to happen, because if that fiasco taught the corporate feudal state anything, it's that copyrighted material is on too many computers in too many far flung locations for piracy to be totally stamped out. Nintendo talks a big game about anti-piracy in order to scare people into not going to downloadnintendoshit.eggsalad.rom and downloading their entire roster of NSO+EP games. Their shareholders are not going to accept an expensive plan to stop all emulation everywhere all at once because of the pop-up nature of pirate sites. They simply do not have the time or the money to continually play Whac-a-Mole with emulationists. And, when they DO eventually get 'round to suing someone, it's the operator of the server where that stuff was stored in the first place.

"Oh, but the FBI--" Forget it. When they passed the USA PATRIOT Act, no one really realised just how much data a human being generates in a day. Especially with the advent of social media. The federal spy agencies get literal EXABYTES of data dumped on them every single day, and there's no AI process in existence that can possibly parse through all that information in a timely enough manner to do them any good. They have to pick and choose what they pay attention to, and there are a lot more threatening targets than some rando from the sticks torrenting No-CD cracks of Electronic Arts games.

We all need to get real comfortable REAL FAST with breaking the law, especially in the US, UK, and EU, because a LOT of new crimes are gonna come up in the next few years relating to data and online privacy. If the corporate feudal theocratic complex can convince you that emulation is a serious crime, it won't take much more goading into making you treat privacy as a crime, too. Once they've done this, they've won. If the first step against total destruction of personal privacy is playing Nintendo games on your computer, then WHY ARE YOU RESISTING IT?? Holy shit, why is this still something we need to talk about?