#reset configuration

[dcwnrisen-aa]

🙏

[clianlia]

Looked at my phone after getting a tumblr notification thinking it would be a dm, it was recommending me a post 😔

[techdirectarchive]

Fix "Perform Site Maintenance or reset this site" greyed out

Recently, I wanted to upgrade my Configuration Manager from the evaluation version to a full version, but I was unable to due to the following error discussed in this article. Therefore, we will fix “Perform Site Maintenance or reset this site” greyed out. Please see how to Fix Keep personal files and apps option greyed out during Upgrade, How to use the Reliability Monitor in Windows, and How to…

[virtualizationhowto]

Proxmox GPU PassThrough: Step-by-step Guide

Proxmox GPU PassThrough: Step-by-step Guide #homelab #selfhosted #ProxmoxGPUPassthroughGuide #GPUPassthroughSetup #ProxmoxVirtualEnvironment #AMDResetBugSolution #NvidiaAMDGPUProxmox #ProxmoxHostConfiguration #PCIDevicepassthroughProxmox

One of the great things about running Proxmox in your home lab is the ability to use GPU passthrough. Home lab enthusiasts often use a repurposed gaming computer or workstation with a fairly powerful GPU installed. GPU passthrough provides many advantages when running a virtual machine with a GPU exposed directly to the operating system from the Proxmox host. Let’s look at GPU passthrough and how…

[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR | O9

“𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋”

“We’re designed to fit,” he says, and you don’t know if he means your powers, your patterns, or the way your hand doesn’t shake in his.

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 6,7k

content: reality anchors, the quantum physics are quaking, yoongi being bossy again (and hot about it), elevator scene tension 10/10, jumping across buildings like it's casual (it is NOT), spatial distortion flirty edition, golden tendrils 2.0 (they touched... physically and emotionally??), temporal signature matching (yes it’s hot), someone finally says “we’re designed to fit” and i screamed, drone murder attempt ig, jungkook makes a dramatic entrance and is so annoying about it, team regroup ft. unexplained powers and too many secrets, portal time but make it traumatic.

— author’s note

KAY. LISTEN.

I know I say this every chapter but THIS ONE. this one fried several neurons and may have permanently altered the molecular structure of my spine. I started with “hm what if they walked through a reality anchor” and ended with “what if they synchronized their temporal signatures mid-freefall and touched tendrils in public like absolute whores.” I don’t know what to tell you. I blacked out. This is between me and my caffeine addiction now.

Let’s talk about the jump scene. Yes. You clocked it. That moment where Noma is calculating the distance and Yoongi says “don’t think, just need” and then she LAUNCHES HERSELF INTO THE VOID? Yeah. That may or may not have been deeply inspired by Neo’s rooftop jump in The Matrix (1999, my beloved). I am a massive Matrix nerd. That whole visual of someone standing on the edge of a building, trying to defy the physics they were born into, and being told “your mind is the thing in your way”? It’s been living rent-free in my frontal lobe since I was 13 and thought trench coats were peak fashion.

Because this chapter is, like, extremely about trust. And control. And the horror of not understanding what’s happening inside your own body. It’s about Noma confronting the fact that her mind—her beautiful, precise, analytical mind—is what’s limiting her. And Yoongi, who already knows, who’s BEEN like this longer, who knows what it’s like to break through that threshold and feel the laws of reality tilt around your perception, he’s just THERE. Guiding her. Softly threatening to reset time like a feral little guardian angel.

Also… let’s not ignore the fact that she destroys a drone with her brain and he’s like “cool. moving on.” Sir?? She just folded metal into origami. But okay go off I guess.

AND THEN THEY SYNCH TEMPORAL SIGNATURES. don’t even look at me. I wrote that and sat there like “huh. interesting. so that’s what soulmates sound like in science fiction.” I had to go walk around the block. I made them fit on a molecular level. I made their body chemistry harmonize. Why? Because I am unwell and this is my therapy.

Anyway. Thanks for reading I love you all. Scientifically.

— read on

ao3

wattpad

Reality Anchors are alive.

No one ever told you that part. No briefing, no memo, no research paper had ever mentioned that these imposing structures breathe.

The anchor in front of you rises 37.2 meters from ground to apex, its surface composed of quantum-stabilized alloy that shouldn't—couldn't—pulse like that.

Yet it does. Every 7 seconds, a wave of molecular adjustment ripples from base to tip, disturbing air molecules in concentric patterns that register against your skin at precisely 0.3 pascals of pressure.

Fascinating.

Your retinas register the faint blue luminescence emanating from seams in the structure-temporal energy bleeding through containment fields. 

It feels like reality itself is being compressed into a more efficient configuration.

"Mesmerizing," you murmur, cataloging the observable data. "The quantum-stabilized glass panels are oriented at exactly 73 degrees to maximize temporal field distribution. And the energy consumption must be—”

"No."

You blink, neural processes stuttering at the interruption.

Agent Min has stopped walking and turned to face you fully, his stance registering as 37% more rigid than his baseline.

"I didn't say anything," you point out, tilting your head 12 degrees in genuine confusion.

"Didn't have to." His eyes narrow by approximately 0.3 centimeters.

"Then what are you saying no to?"

"You know what."

"I genuinely don't." Your brow furrows, creating a 0.4-centimeter depression between your eyebrows. "It seems statistically improbable that you could accurately predict my thought patterns without established baseline data."

His mouth twitches—suppressed micro-expression, 0.7 seconds in duration.

"Were you or were you not thinking of using a little detour to satiate that insane curiosity of yours?"

Your silence registers at approximately 3.2 seconds. 

Longer than optimal for casual conversation.

"Exactly. No."

"I find your anticipation of my mental processes presumptuous," you counter, eyes returning to the reality anchor when the uppermost floors shimmer slightly—a temporal distortion effect that standard human vision would filter out. “And I do not appreciate it.”

"Get used to it," he says, resuming walking at a pace 7% faster than before. "You will."

You match his stride automatically.

"The probability of you developing accurate predictive models of my cognitive patterns seems—”

"Already developed," he interrupts, checking his modified Chrono-Sync Watch with a quick glance. "Seventh time you've tried to investigate a reality anchor. Always the same pattern."

This statement contains multiple logical inconsistencies. You've never attempted to investigate a reality anchor before. Your security clearance wouldn't permit it.

Yet your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

"How would you know that?" 

He doesn't answer, instead gesturing toward the adjacent tower—a colossal structure of similar materials that rises at least 100 floors into the artificially blue sky.

"Travel spot is somewhere in the upper levels," he says, eyes scanning the building's facade. "We need to access it through the anchor first."

You process this information, calculating optimal routes.

"Why can't you pinpoint the exact location?" you ask, question emerging from your analytical centers. "Your previous statements implied familiarity with the network."

His jaw tightens by approximately 4.3 newtons.

"Travel spots shift position by 0.7 meters every 73 minutes," he explains, voice roughened. "Quantum uncertainty principle applied to spatial coordinates. Prevents CHRONOS from establishing fixed monitoring."

"That seems inefficient for a resistance network," you observe.

"That's the point." He checks his watch again—third time in 7.3 minutes. "Inefficiency creates unpredictability. CHRONOS systems are designed for pattern recognition."

You approach the base of the reality anchor, where a standard-looking entrance is monitored by temporal signature scanners disguised as decorative elements.

"How do we bypass security?" you ask, noting at least three visible monitoring devices and calculating a 94.7% probability of additional concealed systems.

"We don't," he says, reaching into his jacket and extracting what appears to be a standard CHRONOS identification card. "We walk in like we belong."

The card in his hand triggers your pattern recognition— holographic security features match authorized maintenance personnel credentials.

"Falsified identification carries a minimum penalty of 73 days in temporal isolation," you note automatically.

He almost smiles—left corner of his mouth lifting 0.2 centimeters.

"Only if you get caught."

He approaches the entrance with casual gait, and you follow—still processing the anchor's structure. 

The quantum equations rippling across its surface follow a pattern that suggests...

"I told you to stop analyzing," he murmurs, voice barely audible at 17 decibels. "Your temporal signature fluctuates when you're thinking too hard. Makes you detectable."

You attempt to modulate your thought patterns, an unusual exercise that creates a 0.3-second lag in your cognitive processing.

He swipes the identification card through the scanner, which responds with a soft tone at exactly 432 Hz—the standard confirmation frequency.

The interior of the reality anchor is even more fascinating than its exterior.

The lobby appears standard-neo-minimalist design, temporal-stabilized plants arranged at mathematically significant intervals—but your enhanced perception detects the subtle wrongness of the space.

The air pressure is precisely 0.7 kPa higher than standard atmospheric conditions. 

The lighting pulses at a frequency of 7 Hz, which is imperceptible to normal human vision but clearly designed to reinforce temporal compliance in visitors.

"Maintenance elevator is on the left," Agent Min says, guiding you with a subtle gesture. "Don't look at the central column."

Naturally, your eyes immediately flick toward the center of the lobby.

The sight momentarily overloads your visual processing. 

A column of pure temporal energy rises from floor to ceiling, contained within quantum-stabilized glass. The energy moves in patterns that defy standard physical laws—simultaneously flowing upward and downward, existing in multiple states… at once?

"I said don't look," he hisses, fingers closing around your wrist to redirect; not enough to cause discomfort.

"What is that?" you ask, unable to fully suppress your curiosity despite his warning.

"The anchor point," he says, voice tightening as he guides you toward the maintenance elevator. "Direct connection to the Master Clock. Looking at it too long causes temporal vertigo in most humans."

You save this information, filing it under high-priority data.

"And in non-humans?"

His steps falter—0.3-second hesitation.

"In Outliers," he corrects quietly, "it can trigger awakening."

The maintenance elevator requires another scan of his falsified credentials. 

As the doors close, enclosing you in a space of approximately 2.3 cubic meters, you notice the absence of standard temporal monitoring devices.

"Why aren't there cameras?" you ask, scanning the ceiling corners where monitoring equipment would typically be installed.

"Reality anchors generate too much temporal interference for standard surveillance," he explains, pressing the button for floor 30. "Creates blind spots in their system."

"That seems like a significant security vulnerability," you observe.

His mouth quirks again.

You don’t know why you’re starting to find the gesture attractive.

"Why do you think we're using it?"

The elevator ascends at precisely 3.7 meters per second, which you note is faster than standard civilian elevators but slower than executive transport. Your inner ear registers the acceleration, adjusting automatically.

"The travel spot," you begin, mind working through the problem. "You said it's in the upper levels of the adjacent tower. Why can't we access it directly?"

He leans against the elevator wall, posture relaxing by approximately 7%.

"Security protocols," he says. "The tower has standard monitoring. The anchor doesn't. We cross through the anchor's 30th floor-maintenance level, and then we use the connecting bridge to access the tower."

"And after that?"

"After that, we find the travel spot." He checks his watch again—fourth time in 12.7 minutes. "It should be somewhere between floors 90 and 97."

You calculate the search parameters.

"That's approximately 7,432 square meters of potential location space," you note. "Seems inefficient."

"I'll narrow it down once we're closer," he says. "My temporal sense can detect the quantum fluctuations at closer proximity."

The elevator slows as it approaches floor 30, and Agent Min straightens, resuming his alert posture.

"When we exit, walk like you're supposed to be here," he instructs. "Maintenance personnel check this level every 73 minutes. Current interval gives us approximately 47 minutes before the next sweep."

"Understood," you confirm, automatically adjusting your posture to match standard CHRONOS maintenance staff parameters—shoulders back, gaze forward, movements economic and purposeful.

The elevator doors open to reveal a stark corridor illuminated by temporal-stabilized lighting. 

Walls are lined with quantum-reinforced panels marked with mathematical equations that your pattern recognition identifies as temporal field calculations.

Agent Min steps out first, fluid and confident. 

You follow, checking every detail of this restricted environment that few civilians ever see.

"Don't touch anything," he warns, leading you down the corridor. "Some of these panels are directly connected to the temporal field generators."

You resist the urge to examine the equations more closely, focusing instead on maintaining the appropriate walking pace and posture.

"The connecting bridge is 23 meters ahead," he says, voice low. "Once we cross, we'll need to take the service stairs. The tower's elevators are monitored."

"Stairs?" you query, calculating the energy expenditure required to ascend approximately 60 floors. "That seems—"

"Necessary," he interrupts. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to CHRONOS why we're accessing restricted floors."

You concede the point with a slight nod.

15 degrees downward, 15 degrees upward.

As you walk, your mind continues processing the reality anchor's structure, the equations on the walls, the subtle vibration beneath your feet that suggests massive energy manipulation occurring somewhere below.

"You're thinking too loud again," Agent Min murmurs, not turning to look at you.

"That's not physically possible," you counter automatically.

"Your temporal signature disagrees," he says, tapping his temple with his index finger. "I can feel it fluctuating."

This statement contains another logical inconsistency. 

Standard humans cannot detect temporal signatures without specialized equipment.

Yet once again, your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

"How—" you begin.

"Bridge is just ahead. Stay close."

But the bridge…

It’s not offline. It’s gone.  

You stare at the empty space where reinforced glass and temporal alloys should’ve formed a secure pathway. 

Only support beams remain, jagged edges still glowing from whatever energy weapon severed them.  

Agent Min’s eyebrows do something statistically improbable—contracting inward by 0.9 centimeters while the skin between them folds into three distinct creases. 

You’ve never seen his face execute this particular combination of micro-expressions before.  

“They altered this sector’s infrastructure,” he mutters, more to himself than you. 

His left hand twitches toward his Chrono-Sync Watch, aborting the movement halfway.  

You pivot toward the window, retinal sensors catching a faint outline-maintenance door, 3.2 meters left of the destroyed bridge. 

Beyond it: a sheer drop, then the adjacent tower’s western face. 

Your mind calculates the distance before your ethics committee can veto the idea.  

“We could jump.”  

He doesn’t immediately dismiss it. 

That’s how you know things are bad.  

“Distance?” he asks, joining you at the window.  

“14.7 meters horizontally, 3.3 meters vertical elevation differential.” You tap the glass, triggering a subconscious visualization overlay. “Structural analysis indicates the target building’s exterior has adequate grip points for—”  

“For me,” he interrupts. His breath fogs the glass near your fingertip. “Not for you.”  

You tilt your head, analyzing his profile. “You’re suggesting I remain here while you—”  

“I’m suggesting you stop suggesting suicide vectors.” His jaw works, a muscle ticking at 2.7-second intervals. “There’s another route. Has to be.”  

You let him pace—eight steps toward the elevator, twelve back—before interrupting.  

“Average human long jump record is 8.95 meters. My enhanced musculature could theoretically—”  

“Theoretically splatter across sixty floors of neo-Brutalist architecture.” 

You frown. “We’re only thirty floors up.”

“From the anchor,” he says. “The tower’s foundation sits two levels below base-grade. It drops into a full infrastructure pit—ventilation shafts, temporal gridwork, CHRONOS substation access. You fall here, you don’t just hit pavement. You keep falling.”

He gestures down through the glass.

“Sixty floors straight into the sector’s hollowed-out gut. Like getting thrown down a well lined with concrete and death.”

How does he even know all that?

But before you can let curiosity get the best of you again, he stops mid-stride, pinning you with that look again. The one that makes your internal processors skip. 

“But—”

“No.”  

You frown, press your palm against the window, feeling the tower’s vibration through the glass. 

“Then you go first. Anchor a line. I’ll follow.”  

He’s already shaking his head. “Temporal energy doesn’t work like that. Can’t manifest solid constructs without—”  

“Without triggering every sensor in the sector. Yes.” You turn from the window, meeting his glare. “So, again, that leaves one option.”  

For three seconds, the only sound is the reality anchor’s low-frequency hum. 

Then he swears—a creative combination of English and technical jargon your language centers can’t fully parse.  

The maintenance door handle feels colder than ambient temperature suggests. You’re calculating wind shear variables when his gloved hand covers yours, halting the motion.  

“If we do this,” he says, voice stripped to its raw edges, “you follow my instructions exactly. No deviations. No calculations mid-air. Understood?”  

You nod, the movement precise. 

15 degrees down, 15 up.  

He releases your hand to grip both shoulders instead, leaning in until his mint-and-ozone scent overrides the tower’s sterile air. 

“When you jump, you don’t think about falling. You don’t think about distance. You think about needing to be on that ledge. Your entire existence becomes that single purpose.”  

You open your mouth to request clarification on biomechanical feasibility—

“No.” His fingers tighten. “No questions. Your body knows how. You just have to stop overloading it with doubt.”  

The paradox registers immediately. 

“But without understanding the mechanism—”  

“Understanding comes later.” His thumb presses into your collarbone, exactly where that freckle hides beneath synthetic fabric. “Surviving comes now.”  

You glance past him to the abyss. 

He opens the door.

The wind’s howling at 37 knots now, whipping hair into your eyes. 

“Probability of success?”  

He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Sixty-eight percent. If you focus.”  

“And if I don’t?”  

For the first time, his face contracts—a fractional widening of pupils, a minuscule catch in his breathing rhythm.  

“Then I’ll reset time until you do.”  

The words register as raw, hovering between you for a few seconds before he finally turns toward the void.  

You watch him leap—no hesitation, no visible calculation. Just pure intent translated into motion.  

He makes it look effortless.  

And then it’s your turn.  

The wind screams. The city sprawls below, a mosaic of blue-lit grids and shadow. 

You psych up the variables: air density, potential updrafts, the exact angle of your target ledge.  

Then you stop thinking.  

You launch, and the world narrows to wind and numbers.

For a moment, there’s no sound, no up or down. Just velocity and the impossible distance between you and the ledge. 

Adrenaline floods your system, not sharp but heavy, like a stone pressed to your sternum. 

You’re aware of your own mass, the drag of your body through air, the way your limbs cut a path no algorithm could ever predict.

Agent Min is already there, turned halfway, eyes tracking your arc. His mouth moves—maybe a warning, maybe your ID number—but the rush drowns it out. 

You think of the other side. You need to reach the other side. 

The imperative is simple, absolute. 

Not crossing means plummeting. Not crossing means becoming a data point in a CHRONOS incident report.

You make the mistake of looking down.

Thirty floors up, the city is abstract. 

Cars, people, light—all reduced to static. 

The void is real. 

You feel it in your teeth, in the way your stomach seems to invert, in the cold sweat prickling your palms. 

Your calculations fracture. The ground is coming up fast.

You look up. 

Agent Min’s silhouette sharpens against the skyline, mint hair a streak of color in the blue haze. His eyes widen—first time you’ve seen that particular fear. 

He’s reaching for something, or maybe just reaching.

You’re falling.

The world tilts. Air roars past your ears. Time dilates, then contracts. 

You’re aware of every heartbeat, every useless attempt your muscles make to grab onto empty space. 

The ledge is gone. The city is too close.

Then—discontinuity.

You’re upright. Feet planted on solid ground. Breath caught in your throat. 

Your hands move before your mind does, fingers flexing, checking for fractures, for blood, for any sign of what should have happened. 

Everything responds. No pain. No missing time.

Agent Min spins, posture radiating pure stress and panic. 

His face is a study in shock—mouth open, eyes blown wide, like he’s seen a ghost.

You blink. He blinks.

Your heart is still racing, but your body is whole. You’re here. You made it. The numbers don’t add up, but the outcome is undeniable.

You’re alive.

Agent Min’s gaze darts between your left and right pupils, rapid assessment mode engaged, as if he’s scanning for damage or data.

“Damn it, Noma,” he mutters, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “Holy hell.”

His hands clench into tight fists at his sides, knuckles whitening under the strain. 

You note the micro-tremor in his fingers-2.3 hertz, consistent with suppressed impulse. 

He exhales, a controlled release of 1.7 liters of air over 3.1 seconds, then drags a gloved hand down his face, smearing frustration across his features.

Before you can catalog further, a mechanical whine pierces the air-high-pitched, 17 kHz, consistent with a CHRONOS surveillance drone. 

Agent Min’s posture shifts instantly, weight forward, arm half-raised to shield or shove you aside. 

“Watch—”

You tilt your head back, a reflex, not a decision. 

There’s a sound—metal crumpling, like foil under pressure—and the drone’s frame twists mid-flight, folding inward at impossible angles. 

It drops, a lifeless heap, 4.7 meters below the ledge.

He stares at the wreckage, then at you. 

“Well. Alright then.”

Your mind is already running diagnostics. 

“Did I cause that?”

He lets out a long, resigned breath, shoulders dropping by 1.2 centimeters. 

“Yeah. You did.”

“How?” 

Your spatial awareness logs are blank—no memory of intent, no record of action. Yet the evidence is undeniable: twisted alloy, a perfect collapse. 

You flex your fingers again, searching for a trigger, a mechanism. “Was that a manipulation of spatial configuration? A localized distortion field? I need parameters.”

He steps closer, mint and ozone cutting through the sterile tower air, but his expression is all weariness. 

“We gotta move, Noma. Now.”

You plant your feet, shifting your center of gravity to counter his subtle pull. 

“Explanation required. Did I alter the drone’s physical positioning? Compress its structural integrity via spatial warp? Or—”

He makes a sound full of resignation. 

“Look, Noma, I l—”

He cuts himself off, jaw snapping shut with an audible click. 

A recalibration. 

“I get it. I do. But we don’t have the luxury of a debrief right now.”

Your brow creases, a 0.5-centimeter furrow. 

“Understanding the mechanics of an undocumented ability is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. If I can replicate—”

“You will,” he interrupts, voice low but firm, carrying a weight you can’t parse. “Just not here. Not with drones sniffing our temporal signatures.”

You glance at the wreckage again, mind spinning through theoretical models. 

No data, no precedent. 

Just a gut—deep certainty that you reshaped reality without conscious input. 

The implications are staggering. 

If you can do this instinctively, what else lies dormant? What are the limits? Energy costs? Detection risks?

He’s watching you, reading the cascade of queries behind your eyes. “I know that look. And I’m telling you to shelve it. We’re exposed.”

“Five seconds,” you negotiate, already cross-referencing the drone’s design against known CHRONOS tech. “If I can isolate the method—”

“Zero seconds.” He grumbles, fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you behind him. “Survival first. Science later.”

Your logic centers protest, but the risk assessment aligns with his. 

You exhale—petulant, probably, but you do not care. 

Because whatever you did, it’s a piece of the puzzle. A fragment of who—or what—you are. 

And you’ll dissect it, variable by variable, until the equation balances.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air shifts.

Up here, it tastes different. 

Thinner. Filtered, maybe. Like someone cleaned it too well, stripped it of anything real. 

The ground is nothing but blur—washed out in streaks of artificial white and synthetic blue haze. Designed to erase depth perception. To flatten the concept of below into something distant. Forgettable.

CHRONOS engineering at its finest.

You step closer to the edge, boots scraping faintly against the metal grating. 

The city is unrecognizable from this height. Not a city at all, just layers of grids and light. Soft pulses of movement that don’t quite feel alive. No wind reaches this far up, only some sort of hum—low, steady, mechanical. 

You wonder if the workers stationed here can still hear it when they sleep. 

If they ever sleep.

You’ve read the reports. Rotating shifts, twenty-hour cycles, neural stimulants to bypass natural fatigue responses. Cognitive degradation flagged as acceptable collateral. Worker retention rate at 37.2%.

In other words: not sustainable.

But great pay.

You press your fingertips lightly to the edge of the railing. Cool to the touch. Grounding, somehow. 

You scan the skyline, calculating angles, distances, escape vectors you’re not sure you’ll ever need but catalog anyway. 

That’s what you do. 

What you’ve always done.

But the sky pulls at you. Quietly. Persistently.

Dark velvet stretched wide above your head, broken only by the scatter of stars. 

You tip your chin back, gaze locking onto a thousand silent points of light, each one burning impossibly far away. 

Data points you can never reach, but something in you reaches anyway.

And there—framed in that endless black—

The moon.

Not in any model you’ve ever studied. Not filtered through facility-grade optics or distorted by atmospheric interference. 

Just… suspended. Brilliant. Whole. A perfect sphere painted in shades of silver and shadow. 

It’s too much, too big. 

Your breath catches again, chest tightening like something fragile just cracked open inside you.

It escapes before you can stop it. A single word.

“Beautiful.”

Soft. Uncalculated.

You freeze the second it leaves your mouth, pulse stuttering in your throat. 

You didn’t mean to say that. 

You never mean to say things like that.

A breath stirs the space beside you. Not yours.

“…Yeah.”

Quiet. Barely more than air.

“…Beautiful.”

The confirmation scrapes against something unsteady inside you. 

You shouldn’t turn. You know you shouldn’t. But your gaze shifts anyway, slow and reluctant, as if giving your body too much permission might undo you entirely.

He’s already watching.

Agent Min.

Not the skyline. Not the moon. Not the impossible stretch of space yawning above you.

You.

And he doesn’t look away.

For a suspended second, nobody speaks. 

Then his eyes flicker gold. 

It's the seventeenth time you've seen it happen. Seventeenth. You've been keeping count, tracking when it occurs, searching for the pattern. Not random—nothing about him is ever random—but the trigger remains frustratingly elusive. 

Is it emotional response? Memory access? Some kind of power regulation failing?

You step closer until you can detect the subtle heat radiating from him—always running warmer than human baseline. 

His pupils track your movement, dilating slightly.

A measurable response.

His fingers tighten on the railing, leather creaking under pressure. You note this detail, file it away. 

He stares at you.

You stare back.

"I've been meaning to ask," you say, keeping your voice even despite the strange pressure building under your sternum—like something's trying to expand beyond the confines of your ribcage.

His throat shifts as he swallows. Blinks once.

“Ask what?"

"Your eyes." 

His gaze slides away, avoiding yours for exactly 3.2 seconds before returning. Avoidance behavior. 

Why?

The silence grows heavy between you. 

If you were better at social interactions, you might understand why he doesn't respond. 

But you're not, so you elaborate.

"I have noticed they appear to shine at certain moments." You tilt your head slightly. "The same color as your tendrils. But I can't seem to figure out the why."

His focus drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. Quick. Almost imperceptible. But you catch it—and the flash of gold that accompanies it. 

Interesting correlation.

He looks at your lips = eyes change.

Cause and effect?

Sexual response?

Your gloved hand lifts toward his face, hovering in the space between you. 

Not touching. Not yet. Just... there. Testing a hypothesis.

"Noma," he says, your nickname rough around the edges. "That's... not advisable."

Why does that name feel so familiar when he says it?

"Why not?" The tilt of your head increases, curiosity sharpening. "I'm collecting data. Your ocular anomalies appear to correlate with specific emotional states."

You watch his pupils expand, blackness swallowing the iris except for that gleaming ring of gold.

"It's not a lab experiment." His jaw clenches, muscle rippling beneath skin.

He's restraining something. But what?

"Everything is data," you counter, your hand still suspended between you. "The gold appears when proximity decreases between us. When conversation shifts toward personal topics. When you look at my—"

You stop yourself. Recalibrate.

"When certain visual attention patterns emerge."

His breath changes rhythm—slower in, quicker out. You track this shift automatically. 

"And what conclusion have you reached based on these... observations?" His voice has become unsteady. 

In it, a roughness that wasn't there before.

The scientist in you needs to categorize it.

The rest of you just wants to hear more of it.

"Insufficient evidence for definitive conclusion." Your palm drifts closer to his face. "Hence the need for additional testing parameters."

"Agent." Warning laces his tone, but you note the contradiction in his body language—the slight forward tilt, the micromovement toward your hand. 

Your watch beeps softly. Temporal variance: 0.87%.

Why does your temporal signature fluctuate around him?

Why does your body recognize patterns your brain can't access?

"The gloves provide sufficient barrier protection for initial contact testing," you say, though in the back of your mind, you know that's not why you want to touch him. Not really. 

"It's not about the barrier," he says, still not pulling away.

"Then what is it about?" 

His eyes lock with yours, longer than his usual pattern. Something shifts in them—not just the color, but something deeper. 

Like barriers cracking.

"It's about..." He pauses, searching for words. "Restraint."

"Explain." 

Not a request. A need.

One corner of his mouth quirks up. "Demanding tonight, aren't we?"

Your hand inches closer. 

"Is that why your eyes change?" You push for answers, always pushing. "A failure of restraint?"

A sound catches in his throat, something between amusement and pain.

"They change when I'm..." He stops, recalibrates. "When I feel things too strongly."

"What things?"

"Anger. Fear." 

His gaze drops to your mouth again, longer this time. 

"Want."

The word settles into your chest, makes a home there. 

Your lungs feel suddenly insufficient, breath coming shorter despite oxygen levels remaining constant.

"And now?" Your voice sounds different to your own ears, pitched lower. "Which is it?"

His hand leaves the railing, wraps around your wrist. Not pushing away—just holding. Containing—touch gentle but unmistakably firm.

"What do you think, Noma?" Your nickname sounds different this time. 

Softer. Almost tender.

Why does it affect you when he says it like that?

You mentally catalog his physiological responses: dilated pupils, elevated respiration, muscle tension patterns indicating both arousal and resistance.

"Want," you determine with absolute certainty.

His eyes flare gold again—holding this time, not flickering away.

"Good analysis," he murmurs, still not releasing your wrist.

Your pulse thrums against his fingers. You can feel it jumping, betraying things your clinical mind refuses to name.

"May I?" Your gloved hand moves closer to his cheek.

Why are you pushing this? Why does it matter?

This isn't efficient data collection.

This is... something else.

His throat works as he swallows. 

"We shouldn't," he says, strain evident in every syllable. "That's my professional assessment."

"We're both still wearing gloves," you argue, logic centers frantically constructing justifications. "Barrier intact. Risk parameters acceptable."

"You know it’s not about statistics." His grip loosens slightly. 

He doesn't elaborate. 

Something complicated moves across his face, too fast for even your pattern recognition to decipher.

You need to know. You need to understand.

Why him? Why you? Why now?

Decision made, your hand pushes forward, breaking through his weakened resistance. Your gloved fingers make contact with his cheek.

And—

Oh.

The sensation defies categorization. Despite the barrier of fabric between you, something passes through the touch. 

A current.

An echo. 

Something your scientific vocabulary can't properly name.

His eyes close. He looks suddenly vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

"Your temporal signature," he says quietly, "it just... aligned with mine."

Your eyes drop to your watch. Temporal variance: 0.00%.

Perfect stabilization.

That's impossible.

There's no precedent for this in any temporal physics model.

"How?" The question slips out, unfiltered and raw.

His eyes open slowly, gold filling them completely now. 

Steady and bright and impossibly beautiful.

Beautiful.

"Because," he says simply, "we're designed to fit."

You should process this information. Should file it away with all your other observations about Agent Min and his inexplicable abilities. Should create new theoretical models to explain the perfect temporal alignment currently registered on your watch.

Instead, you just... feel. 

The warmth beneath your fingers. The impossible gold of his eyes. The way your body seems to recognize him on some cellular level your mind can't access.

‘We're designed to fit.’

The implications of that statement should terrify you. 

Instead, they feel like coming home.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You're staring into his golden eyes when a low whizz cuts through the air. 

Your auditory processing centers register the sound at approximately 17kHz—just within human hearing range, but with a distinct mechanical oscillation pattern consistent with CHRONOS drone propulsion systems.

Before your brain can fully process the threat, Agent Min's head whips around—reaction time approximately 0.3 seconds faster than optimal human baseline. His pupils contract, gold flares brighter, mouth opens to form what appears to be a warning.

Too late.

Something hits you from behind—force vector approximately 47 newtons, angle of impact suggesting deliberate trajectory. The pressure against your back lasts precisely 0.7 seconds.

Then nothing.

Air rushes past your ears at increasing velocity. Your inner ear fluid shifts dramatically, sending conflicting data to your vestibular system. Gravity reasserts its dominance with brutal efficiency.

You're falling.

Again.

Acceleration rate: 9.8 meters per second squared.

Terminal velocity approaching.

Probability of survival without intervention: 0.003%.

The analytical part of your brain calculates these figures automatically while your body experiences what can only be termed as terror—heart rate spike of 73%, adrenal glands flooding your system with cortisol and epinephrine.

"NOMA!"

The sound tears through the rushing air—raw, primal, carrying a frequency range your pattern recognition flags as desperate. 

You twist mid-air, arms instinctively moving to shield your head from inevitable impact.

That's when you see him.

Agent Min. 

Yoongi. 

Falling just above you, body positioned in a perfect diving form that creates maximum aerodynamic efficiency. 

His trajectory indicates purposeful action.

He jumped after you.

He's saying something—lips moving rapidly—but the blood rushing in your ears creates a noise barrier approximately 84 decibels. His words are lost in the chaos of your fall.

Your abilities.

The thought crystallizes with sudden clarity. 

You teleported earlier. Spatial manipulation. If you could replicate that effect now—

Focus. But how? What's the trigger mechanism?

Your thoughts scatter across multiple processing centers, frantically searching for the neural pathway that activated during the previous incident. 

Agent Min never explained the mechanics.

He should have.

You’ll make sure to have that conversation later.

If you survive, that is.

Golden tendrils emerge from his outstretched fingers, extending at velocities that defy standard temporal physics. They reach toward you, pushing against the air itself as if trying to accelerate his fall beyond normal gravitational parameters.

You struggle to replicate whatever neural pathway activated before. Nothing happens. Your fingers flex, your mind focuses, your desperation builds.

What triggered it before? Survival instinct? Specific neural configuration? Direct threat vector?

The golden traces stretch further, now mere centimeters from your reaching hands. Their movement creates visible distortion in the air, like reality itself warping around their influence.

Then—

Something shifts within you. 

Not gradual. 

Not building.

A sudden quantum change in your neural configuration. 

Your cognitive perception splits for exactly 0.7 seconds—awareness operating in multiple states simultaneously.

Tendrils emerge from your own fingertips.

Golden, like his, but fundamentally different. Where his flow like liquid, yours crystallize like faceted gold. Where his move in clockwise patterns, yours rotate counterclockwise.

Opposing rotations. 

Perfect complements.

They reach out—not by your conscious command but through some deeper programming—and intertwine with his traces. The contact creates an immediate energy transfer that registers across your neural receptors as both hot and cold simultaneously.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the world blurs. Spatial coordinates shift in ways that violate every physical law you've ever studied. Distance compresses, then expands.

You're in his arms.

The transition happens without intermediate steps—one moment falling separately, the next secured against his chest, his left arm wrapped around your waist with exactly 82% more pressure than necessary for stability.

You register multiple data points simultaneously:

- His elevated body temperature: 39.1°C

- His heartbeat: 172 BPM

- His breathing: rapid, shallow, 24 respirations per minute

- His face: positioned 3.4 centimeters from your cheek, over your shoulder

So close. One small movement would bring skin against skin. 

Your temporal readings spike at the mere possibility.

Before you can process this new configuration, another force vector impacts you both—lateral trajectory, approximately 93 newtons. 

Not from Agent Min. 

External source.

Someone else.

Your coupled bodies are propelled sideways at high velocity. 

The world blurs again as you and Agent Min, still locked together, phase through what appears to be solid matter. 

Glass. Concrete. Steel. 

Your molecular structure should be encountering significant resistance, yet moves through these barriers like they're nothing more than projections.

Quantum tunneling? Spatial displacement? Molecular phasing? Your scientific vocabulary struggles to categorize the experience.

Impact comes suddenly—both of you hitting a solid surface at approximately 37% of terminal velocity. The force disperses through your skeletal structure, joints absorbing kinetic energy at efficiency rates that exceed normal human parameters.

You roll, momentum carrying you across hard flooring. Pain signals to your central nervous system—data indicating tissue stress but not structural failure.

When you finally stop, every bone in your body aches with the signature of controlled landing trauma. 

Not optimal, certainly not comfortable, but survivable.

Survivable by design.

You inhale sharply—2.1 liters of air in 0.8 seconds—and your eyes search frantically for Agent Min.

Where is he? Was he injured in the landing? Who pushed you? How did you phase through solid matter?

Your golden tendrils have vanished, leaving only lingering warmth on your fingertips where they emerged. 

Your watch beeps an unfamiliar pattern: Temporal-spatial variance detected. Recalibration required.

You blink rapidly, visual processing recalibrating as you scan the environment. 

Sleek walls. Polished concrete floor. 

Location unknown. Sector indeterminate.

Blood drips onto your hand. Your nose is bleeding again—heavier flow than before. Your fingertips come away stained crimson. Your skull throbs in pulses, each one making your vision blur at the edges.

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook, you almost killed them!" 

Taehyung's voice cuts through the fog in your head, sharp with that specific tension you've cataloged as his version of concern.

"I was literally on the clock before they became sidewalk art!" Jungkook shoots back, hands gesturing wildly. "Next time maybe give me more than a seven-second window!"

"Seven seconds is generous considering—"

"Generous?" Jungkook's voice cracks slightly. "Try mimicking two completely different abilities at once! My brain feels like it's been microwaved!"

The argument washes over you in waves as you press your palm to your forehead. 

The pain isn't unbearable, just... insistent. 

Demanding attention like everything else in this mess of a situation.

Your eyes find Agent Min, seated on the floor several meters away. His right hand grips his left shoulder, features tightening in a microexpression of pain he's clearly trying to suppress. 

The joint looks wrong—angled slightly off anatomical baseline.

"We don't have fucking time." His voice slices through the bickering, rough-edged and final. "They're onto us."

Jungkook whips around. 

“No shit? Why do you think we had to pull this stunt?" His hand sweeps through the air. "We couldn't even reach you with Taehyung's interfacing—you were completely out of range! Thank god Y/N's abilities are something else entirely."

Agent Min's eyes narrow, focusing on Jungkook with an intensity that carries clear warning. 

Not a word. 

Just that look. 

The one that stops conversations dead.

Jungkook registers it immediately, jaw snapping shut, body language shifting from confrontational to compliant in under a second.

Interesting.

They're hiding something about your abilities.

What exactly don't they want you to know?

Taehyung clears his throat—a sound designed to redirect attention. 

He points behind him toward what can only be described as a tear in reality itself. A circular formation pulsing with quantum uncertainty, its borders shifting between states of matter in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.

"What about base first, arguing later?" he suggests, voice calm in that way people get when they're trying too hard.

You wipe blood from your upper lip. Your eyes find Agent Min again, seeking his reaction. His gaze meets yours briefly before sliding away, gold still lingering at the edges of his irises.

Why won't he look at you properly?

What does he know that you don't?

"What is that?" The question falls from your lips before you can stop it, analytical systems demanding data despite everything else.

"Travel spot. Portal to headquarters," Taehyung answers, shoulders relaxing slightly at the subject change.

You shift your weight, preparing to stand, when your temporal readings spike without warning. The numbers flash red: 3.17%

That's not good.

"Stabilize her," Agent Min orders, voice clipped. "Temporal cascade imminent."

Jungkook moves fast, crossing the space between you in under a second. 

His fingers press against your temporal monitor, executing adjustments with practiced precision.

"Breathing," he instructs, tone sliding into something steadier. "Seven in, seven out. Match me."

The contact triggers something—a flash of memory that doesn't quite feel like yours:

Different hands.

Same words.

"Breathe with me, Noma. Focus."

Pain spikes behind your eyes as incompatible memory patterns try to align. The room tilts slightly.

"What happened up there?" Taehyung asks, attention on Agent Min.

"Temporal ambush," he answers, face tight. "Drones masked behind a reality field."

Taehyung's eyebrows rise. "That's still in R&D."

"Apparently not anymore." Agent Min pushes himself upright, grimacing as his shoulder shifts. "They're adapting faster this time."

This time.

As opposed to when?

"Your tendrils connected with his," Jungkook says quietly as he monitors your readings. "That's what stabilized you both mid-fall."

You blink, memory fragments of golden light intertwining in freefall. 

The way your body reacted without conscious direction. 

The impossibility of the physics involved.

Agent Min moves toward the portal with measured steps. "We need to move before CHRONOS tracks the spatial distortion."

"She deserves to know what she can do," Jungkook says, voice low but firm.

Agent Min stops, spine stiffening visibly. 

“When she's ready."

"And who decides that?" Jungkook challenges, though his hands remain gentle on your monitor. "You?"

The tension between them feels old somehow. Well-worn. Like terrain they've crossed many times.

"Portal stability dropping," Taehyung interrupts, hand cutting through the air. "Either we go now, or we're stuck here."

Agent Min's eyes flick between you and the portal, calculations running visible behind his eyes.

“We are leaving.” He simply mutters, final.

“Of course we are.” Jungkook replies with a hint of something almost like resignation.

Your temporal readings begin to stabilize: 1.47% and decreasing.

Jungkook's hands withdraw from your monitor. "Stable enough for transit."

Agent Min approaches, movements careful despite his obvious discomfort. His right hand extends toward you, gloved palm up.

"The first transit is... disorienting," he says, voice dropping to something softer. "Holding on helps with the spatial realignment."

You stare at his outstretched hand. The leather creases in familiar patterns. The angle of his fingers seems to match your palm perfectly.

‘We're designed to fit.’

His earlier words echo through your mind, connecting dots you didn't even know existed.

"Noma," he says quietly. "Trust me on this one."

The nickname bypasses all your analytical systems, triggering responses you can't explain or quantify.

Your hand moves before your brain fully catches up, fingers sliding into his with strange, impossible familiarity.

Your watch beeps once more: Temporal variance: 0.73%.

Stabilizing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“Let’s go.”

goal: 275 notes

next | index

— taglist

@cannotalwaysbenight @taevanille @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @ktownshizzle @yoongiiuu93 @billy-jeans23 @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @hobis-sprite0218 @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[allthose3amthoughts]

Ladies, gentlemen, friends, foes, earthlings and other interested parties...

Desktop Buddy! Peter is officially out on Itch.io

I'm finally confident that the Beta version of of the Your Boyfriend Desktop Buddy is good enough to share. The link is here, and details are under the cut! It's a free game, but your comments and feedback mean everything to me, so please drop em, even if they're short. Thank you so much for your support everyone - I'm so proud of my first game, and so excited to share it <3

Features:

Idle Dialogue: Peter will say random things while idling on your desktop, with his dialogue evolving based on how you interact with him. If you'd prefer peace and quiet, you can also mute him.

Interactions: You can kiss Peter by moving your mouse over his head (without clicking) or hit him by double-clicking his face. His reactions will change based on how often you do each action.

Standard Functions: Peter can:

Set images as your wallpaper

Empty your recycle bin

Display your computer’s stats

Check for new emails (if you've configured your POP settings in SSP)

Relationship System: Peter tracks how you treat him, adjusting his dialogue and reactions accordingly. You can check your status with him or reset his memory to start fresh if you want.

Dialogue Depth: While Peter may not talk much at random, his menus contain a lot of dialogue. You can ask him questions on various topics, and his responses will vary based on your interactions. Even familiar questions might lead to unexpected answers.

Gifts: You can give Peter gifts, and what he accepts may change depending on your relationship status.

This is a beta version of the desktop buddy, with more content and updates to come. But please do leave a comment or reach out if you encounter any bugs, weird-looking sprites, or just anything that seems off. This is my first game, and there'll be kinks to work out!

[nornities]

How to use DXVK with The Sims 3

Have you seen this post about using DXVK by Criisolate? But felt intimidated by the sheer mass of facts and information?

@desiree-uk and I compiled a guide and the configuration file to make your life easier. It focuses on players not using the EA App, but it might work for those just the same. It’s definitely worth a try.

Adding this to your game installation will result in a better RAM usage. So your game is less likely to give you Error 12 or crash due to RAM issues. It does NOT give a huge performance boost, but more stability and allows for higher graphics settings in game.

The full guide behind the cut. Let me know if you also would like it as PDF.

Happy simming!

Disclaimer and Credits

Desiree and I are no tech experts and just wrote down how we did this. Our ability to help if you run into trouble is limited. So use at your own risk and back up your files!

We both are on Windows 10 and start the game via TS3W.exe, not the EA App. So your experience may differ.

This guide is based on our own experiments and of course criisolate’s post on tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/criisolate/749374223346286592/ill-explain-what-i-did-below-before-making-any

This guide is brought to you by Desiree-UK and Norn.

Compatibility

Note: This will conflict with other programs that “inject” functionality into your game so they may stop working. Notably

Reshade

GShade

Nvidia Experience/Nvidia Inspector/Nvidia Shaders

RivaTuner Statistics Server

It does work seamlessly with LazyDuchess’ Smooth Patch.

LazyDuchess’ Launcher: unknown

Alder Lake patch: does conflict. One user got it working by starting the game by launching TS3.exe (also with admin rights) instead of TS3W.exe. This seemed to create the cache file for DXVK. After that, the game could be started from TS3W.exe again. That might not work for everyone though.

A word on FPS and V-Sync

With such an old game it’s crucial to cap framerate (FPS). This is done in the DXVK.conf file. Same with V-Sync.

You need

a text editor (easiest to use is Windows Notepad)

to download DXVK, version 2.3.1 from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/releases/tag/v2.3.1 Extract the archive, you are going to need the file d3d9.dll from the x32 folder

the configuration file DXVK.conf from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/blob/master/DXVK.conf. Optional: download the edited version with the required changes here.

administrator rights on your PC

to know your game’s installation path (bin folder) and where to find the user folder

a tiny bit of patience :)

First Step: Backup

Backup your original Bin folder in your Sims 3 installation path! The DXVK file may overwrite some files! The path should be something like this (for retail): \Program Files (x86)\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\Game\Bin (This is the folder where also GraphicsRule.sgr and the TS3W.exe and TS3.exe are located.)

Backup your options.ini in your game’s user folder! Making the game use the DXVK file will count as a change in GPU driver, so the options.ini will reset once you start your game after installation. The path should be something like this: \Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3 (This is the folder where your Mods folder is located).

Preparations

Make sure you run the game as administrator. You can check that by right-clicking on the icon that starts your game. Go to Properties > Advanced and check the box “Run as administrator”. Note: This will result in a prompt each time you start your game, if you want to allow this application to make modifications to your system. Click “Yes” and the game will load.

2. Make sure you have the DEP settings from Windows applied to your game.

Open the Windows Control Panel.

Click System and Security > System > Advanced System Settings.

On the Advanced tab, next to the Performance heading, click Settings.

Click the Data Execution Prevention tab.

Select 'Turn on DEP for all programs and services except these”:

Click the Add button, a window to the file explorer opens. Navigate to your Sims 3 installation folder (the bin folder once again) and add TS3W.exe and TS3.exe.

Click OK. Then you can close all those dialog windows again.

Setting up the DXVK.conf file

Open the file with a text editor and delete everything in it. Then add these values:

d3d9.textureMemory = 1

d3d9.presentInterval = 1

d3d9.maxFrameRate = 60

d3d9.presentInterval enables V-Sync,d3d9.maxFrameRate sets the FrameRate. You can edit those values, but never change the first line (d3d9.textureMemory)!

The original DXVK.conf contains many more options in case you would like to add more settings.

A. no Reshade/GShade

Setting up DXVK

Copy the two files d3d9.dll and DXVK.conf into the Bin folder in your Sims 3 installation path. This is the folder where also GraphicsRule.sgr and the TS3W.exe and TS3.exe are located. If you are prompted to overwrite files, please choose yes (you DID backup your folder, right?)

And that’s basically all that is required to install.

Start your game now and let it run for a short while. Click around, open Buy mode or CAS, move the camera.

Now quit without saving. Once the game is closed fully, open your bin folder again and double check if a file “TS3W.DXVK-cache” was generated. If so – congrats! All done!

Things to note

Heads up, the game options will reset! So it will give you a “vanilla” start screen and options.

Don’t worry if the game seems to be frozen during loading. It may take a few minutes longer to load but it will load eventually.

The TS3W.DXVK-cache file is the actual cache DXVK is using. So don’t delete this! Just ignore it and leave it alone. When someone tells to clear cache files – this is not one of them!

Update Options.ini

Go to your user folder and open the options.ini file with a text editor like Notepad.

Find the line “lastdevice = “. It will have several values, separated by semicolons. Copy the last one, after the last semicolon, the digits only. Close the file.

Now go to your backup version of the Options.ini file, open it and find that line “lastdevice” again. Replace the last value with the one you just copied. Make sure to only replace those digits!

Save and close the file.

Copy this version of the file into your user folder, replacing the one that is there.

Things to note:

If your GPU driver is updated, you might have to do these steps again as it might reset your device ID again. Though it seems that the DXVK ID overrides the GPU ID, so it might not happen.

How do I know it’s working?

Open the task manager and look at RAM usage. Remember the game can only use 4 GB of RAM at maximum and starts crashing when usage goes up to somewhere between 3.2 – 3.8 GB (it’s a bit different for everybody).

So if you see values like 2.1456 for RAM usage in a large world and an ongoing save, it’s working. Generally the lower the value, the better for stability.

Also, DXVK will have generated its cache file called TS3W.DXVK-cache in the bin folder. The file size will grow with time as DXVK is adding stuff to it, e.g. from different worlds or savegames. Initially it might be something like 46 KB or 58 KB, so it’s really small.

Optional: changing MemCacheBudgetValue

MemCacheBudgetValue determines the size of the game's VRAM Cache. You can edit those values but the difference might not be noticeable in game. It also depends on your computer’s hardware how much you can allow here.

The two lines of seti MemCacheBudgetValue correspond to the high RAM level and low RAM level situations. Therefore, theoretically, the first line MemCacheBudgetValue should be set to a larger value, while the second line should be set to a value less than or equal to the first line.

The original values represent 200MB (209715200) and 160MB (167772160) respectively. They are calculated as 200x1024x1024=209175200 and 160x1024x1024=167772160.

Back up your GraphicsRules.sgr file! If you make a mistake here, your game won’t work anymore.

Go to your bin folder and open your GraphicsRules.sgr with a text editor.

Search and find two lines that set the variables for MemCacheBudgetValue.

Modify these two values to larger numbers. Make sure the value in the first line is higher or equals the value in the second line. Examples for values: 1073741824, which means 1GB 2147483648 which means 2 GB. -1 (minus 1) means no limit (but is highly experimental, use at own risk)

Save and close the file. It might prompt you to save the file to a different place and not allow you to save in the Bin folder. Just save it someplace else in this case and copy/paste it to the Bin folder afterwards. If asked to overwrite the existing file, click yes.

Now start your game and see if it makes a difference in smoothness or texture loading. Make sure to check RAM and VRAM usage to see how it works.

You might need to change the values back and forth to find the “sweet spot” for your game. Mine seems to work best with setting the first value to 2147483648 and the second to 1073741824.

Uninstallation

Delete these files from your bin folder (installation path):

d3d9.dll

DXVK.conf

TS3W.DXVK-cache

And if you have it, also TS3W_d3d9.log

if you changed the values in your GraphicsRule.sgr file, too, don’t forget to change them back or to replace the file with your backed up version.

OR

delete the bin folder and add it from your backup again.

B. with Reshade/GShade

Follow the steps from part A. no Reshade/Gshade to set up DXVK.

If you are already using Reshade (RS) or GShade (GS), you will be prompted to overwrite files, so choose YES. RS and GS may stop working, so you will need to reinstall them.

Whatever version you are using, the interface shows similar options of which API you can choose from (these screenshots are from the latest versions of RS and GS).

Please note: 

Each time you install and uninstall DXVK, switching the game between Vulkan and d3d9, is essentially changing the graphics card ID again, which results in the settings in your options.ini file being repeatedly reset.

ReShade interface

Choose – Vulcan

Click next and choose your preferred shaders.

Hopefully this install method works and it won't install its own d3d9.dll file.

If it doesn't work, then choose DirectX9 in RS, but you must make sure to replace the d3d9.dll file with DXVK's d3d9.dll (the one from its 32bit folder, checking its size is 3.86mb.)

GShade interface

Choose –           

Executable Architecture: 32bit

Graphics API: DXVK

Hooking: Normal Mode

GShade is very problematic, it won't work straight out of the box and the overlay doesn't show up, which defeats the purpose of using it if you can't add or edit the shaders you want to use.

Check the game's bin folder, making sure the d3d9.dll is still there and its size is 3.86mb - that is DXVK's dll file.

If installing using the DXVK method doesn't work, you can choose the DirectX method, but there is no guarantee it works either.

The game will not run with these files in the folder:

d3d10core.dll

d3d11.dll

dxgi.dll

If you delete them, the game will start but you can't access GShade! It might be better to use ReShade.

Some Vulcan and DirectX information, if you’re interested:

Vulcan is for rather high end graphic cards but is backward compatible with some older cards. Try this method with ReShade or GShade first.

DirectX is more stable and works best with older cards and systems. Try this method if Vulcan doesn't work with ReShade/GShade in your game – remember to replace the d3d9.dll with DXVK's d3d9.dll.

For more information on the difference between Vulcan and DirectX, see this article:

https://www.howtogeek.com/884042/vulkan-vs-DirectX-12/

[backwardshatnick]

𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 (𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇)

in which matt works for a call centre of your phone operator.

pairing: call centre representative!matt x customer!reader wc: 1.7k notes: fluff, flirty!matt, frustrated!reader (it's just lacking another one of my favourite F words), use of the name bernard, mention of physics that gives me whiplash 🤓 series masterlist can be found here! [divider credits to: @strangergraphics]

“Shoot,” you grunted, sigh after sigh leaving your mouth before you screamed into your pillow. Your hair was a mess, the mug of warm lavender tea long forgotten and cold by the table lamp while your laptop screen was stuck with the face of your Classical Mechanics professor but his booming voice still on-going despite the scratchy and crackly quality until it finally stopped.

You had done all your due diligence, rebooting the modem, resetting your router, checking your network configurations and even switching to the dorm’s weak internet to your own phone hot spot, but nothing was working despite the full four white bars next to the name of your phone operator company’s name, Cell4. Leaving the dorm just to go to campus’s library is a hassle as this lecture was about to end in 45 minutes. Scrolling through your contacts, you finally found the Customer’s Support number from Cell4 that had been automatically saved when you had registered for your phone number the very first time you held the small pink Samsung in between your fingers.

The dial tone was crisp and audible, the typical hold music dancing through your ears before you were greeted with a woman’s synthetic voice asking you to press certain numbers to fit which representative you were supposed to solve your mobile issues with. It did not take long as you finally heard a gentle and warm voice saying, “Thank you for calling Cell4, this is Bernard speaking. How can I brighten your day today?”

On Bernard’s, or Matthew’s side, there was a moment of static, a slight spark followed by a small, frustrated sigh crackling through the line.

You finally stood up from the wooden floor of your room, back now resting against your bed with your index and thumb softly pinching your nose to ease the stress. “Hi, uh, sorry. I think my internet’s having an absolute meltdown. I’ve tried everything but it seems like I have to use the dial-up internet cause it’s acting like it’s stuck in 2009.”

Matt leaned back in his headset, the corner of his mouth rising up into a cheeky smile after making out the frazzled but clearly young voice. This was finally his time to shine and crack some jokes that were rarely appreciated by his older customers. He cracked his knuckles before clearing his voice to answer, “No worries at all. You’re talking to someone who as a kid dialed his computer teacher in primary school thinking that the internet was monitored by them. You’re in absolute good hands, miss.”

A chortle fuzzed through his headset as you replied with a similar manner to ease the situation, “Are you guys trained to do that? It’s in the manual?”

“Oh, absolutely. Step one: sound vaguely competent and then proceed to step two…” Matt said, his voice trailing off, making you curious.

“Bernard? Are you still there?”

“I was just messing with you. Step two was actually to charm the caller until they forget why they called and were mad in the first place.”

You couldn’t hold in your laughter, bright and clear through your receiver which made Matt break into a wide gummy grin, “Alright, alright Bernard from Cell4. How do we fix this?”

Matt chuckled on the other end, flipping through a binder that had the step-by-step guide to fix your potential problem. Although he knew everything by heart and memory, it was always a habit of him to have something to fiddle with in his hands, which was partly a reason why he got transferred to customer service when his supervisor had found him tampering with the wires and chargers of the display phones.

The sound of the crisp pages flipping could be heard on your end, your dubiousness slowly growing as the phone call quality was oddly good. But it all soon went away as Matt asked you his first question.

“Well, I am going to be asking you some highly complicated and mysterious questions, like… is your modem plugged in?”

“Wow, so we’re going straight to the hard stuff, huh?” “I told you, we’re not playing games here,” Matt answered, fingers still folding and unfolding the corners of the customer guide.

The call proceed for the next six minutes, him guiding you through restarts, reboots, resets and other obscure steps involving buttons and wires you had no idea even existed. Despite his constant jokes, Matt still explained things clearly and earnestly, never sounding annoyed and even calling the internet an “anxious printer who can sense your fear.”

With his guidance, your frustration soon fizzled away. Your complaints and whining disappearing and replaced with strings of laughter and pain in the cheeks. You were sure that your left shoulder was going to be strained tomorrow morning from constantly leaning your neck against it to support your phone in between your ear, but Matt was making it all worth it. Eventually, his help had paid its price when you could see not only he face of your professor, but also his slides where he had already jotted with scribbled numbers, enthralling mathematical symbols and diagrams which could easily be mistaken with a 19th century mathematical discovery.

Matt could hear the voice resonating from your laptop and uttered, “Finally back from the digital afterlife?”

“Thank you so, so much Bernard,” you said, hoping the smile that you had on your face could somehow be heard through his headset, “I can now finally continue listening to my riveting lecture on Euclidean space.”

“Whoah, slow down there Einstein. It’s part of my job. I only expect a Bernard shoutout when you get to do your valedictorian speech,” he teased.

You let out a soft giggle, “I definitely would. After thanking my pug, Mr. Winston and the girl who wiped the lipgloss of my teeth during orientation.”

He stood up for a moment to straighten his back and excitedly answered upon hearing the word ‘pug’.

“Wait, you have a pug called Mr. Winston? I have a stuffed pug called Mr. Wrinkleton!”

“For real?” you said, back straightened as well. “And you’re not offended that you’re gonna be the third person I thank in my speech?”

“You got me with the pug so it doesn’t matter anymore,” he chimed, the gummy smile still evident on his face.

Your face was also plastered with a grin, the excitement buzzing through your body. Bernard, or Matt, is an anonymous entity, but the thrill of his anonymity, with no face claim gives you a kick of confidence to enjoy the conversation without having to be worried about being perceived. The silent pause that you both shared was not awkward, but you both knew that his job here was done but none of you were quite ready to hang up just yet.

Until Matt broke it first.

“So… I can’t legally say this or HR is gonna be at my as- I mean my coattails,” he corrected, knowing that all his conversations are indeed recorded if complaints were to arise from a poor survey and one-star review to the company. “But I feel like I owe it to the future valedictorian that your laugh might’ve fixed my boring night more than I fixed your internet.” You blink once. Twice. Your cheeks now reddening.

“Are you flirting with a customer, Bernard?”

“I am just expressing my appreciation, professionally, for the sporting attitude and well-timed giggles that we had shared, professionally again, of course,” Matt answered proudly.

You laughed again, this time louder before coming up with an equally charming and professional reply, “Well, Bernard from Cell4, I would say that you are my go-to if I ever need help with anything.”

“You know my number. Same jokes, same charm every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday until 7pm.”

There was slight hesitation when you wanted to answer him, but you only live once and it had been a long while since you had such a good laugh now that it is almost finals season.

“Hey, so, um… I know that there’s going to be a survey at the end of this call and my internet package is limited to only 50GB per month… Do you think I can get bonus data if I say that you’re very, very, very helpful and maybe also kind of cute?” you said, stretching the ends of your words.

Matt was basically cheesing now through the mic, now clearing his throat before muttering, “Only if you spell ‘cute’ in all caps.”

“100%,” you replied, the physics lecture only now jumping into your senses when you could hear the professor mentioning the potential topics during your exam, “I should probably go now and pretend to be a competent student.”

“And I should go back and take another call while pretending to be a competent calls rep who pretends to not miss this one.” You could hear your heart skip a beat, the warmth coming up to your cheeks as your stomach felt giddy with butterflies.

This is just another phone operator representative. A different kind of smooth operator.

“Talk soon, maybe?”

He chuckled, “Only if you’re breaking up now. Because I think I am smitten.”

“Bye, Bernard,” you giggled, tapping on your phone to let the call end before he could give you another one of his charms, fingers immediately going to fill in the survey as your lecture played in the background like a podcast.

You knew that Cell4 usually sends in a reply whenever a survey has been successfully received, but this time it was a lot special. And unusually fast.

Putting down the pen that you had in your hand from copying your professor’s slides, you tapped on the green Messages app where you got a text from Cell4.

Thank you for your call. We hope your connection stays strong. P.S.: And so should ours. - M. Bernard ;)

Maybe losing the internet was not so bad after all.

But is M his last name, or is it Bernard? The curiosity itched your brain, but you knew that you could count on your detective of a best friend to search for him on Instagram.

The internet really does wonders to people, doesn’t it?

📤 @vanteguccir

[arconinternet]

Black Dahlia (Windows, Take-Two Interactive Software, 1998)

You can download it here, or download it pre-configured to run on modern versions of Windows here.

Solve the seemingly unsolvable in the game that came on eight CD-ROMs - the world record for a non-MMO game (Everquest 2 had ten).

Tip: if you solve the rune-gem puzzle pictured below before you need to, you'll render the game unwinnable. The version at the second link includes a workaround - type 'reset' on the puzzle's screen to reset it.

[beansprean]

colin robinson: truly the windows update of men <3

My Familiar’s Ghost part 75

Masterpost

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Close up on a small projector with light beaming out of its lens. 1b. Waist up of Colin standing in front of the fireplace in the fancy room, holding his laptop in one hand and gesturing behind him with the other, where a vinyl screen has been lowered. A color coded excel sheet with a list of vampires on the y axis and known familiars on the x axis is being projected on it. Each name is highlighted either red, green, or gray. Colin grins and says, 'For everyone's convenience, I've made a handy-dandy excel sheet cross-referencing known familiars with their current or former vampire masters. I would like to highlight the vampires G-man here killed in his recent rampage; no doubt they left some familiars out of work, haha!' 1c. Close up on the excel sheet as an error pops up that says 'this value doesn't match the data validation restrictions defined for this cell'. Offscreen, Colin continues: 'As you can see here, I-oh, darn. Hang on, I think I'm on the wrong cell. 1d. Repeat. Another error pops up over top of the original that says 'there's a problem with this formula'. Colin says, 'Whoopsie! Didn't mean to hit that, haha! Butterfingers over here!' 1e. Repeat. Another popup with the original error appears on top. On top of that, an error that says 'runtime error 7: out of memory'. On top of that, an error that says 'not enough resources to display correctly'. Colin mutters to himself offscreen: 'Let me see, uh...tab...function...nope. Control plus...s? Oh, I think I took a screen shot. Gotta remember that one, heh!' 1f. Repeat. Another error appears on top saying 'microsoft excel has stopped working. hang on while windows reports the problem to microsoft' with a loading bar. Colin says, 'Oh, dag nabbit. Excel, who approved this vacation time?'

2a. Close up on Laszlo slumped in the loveseat, head propped up on a fist with half-closed eyes blearily focusing on the screen. Behind him, Nadja is holding Dolly's body over her head like earmuffs to block the sound of Colin's voice, her mouth open in a frustrated groan. Dolly has her palms over her own ears. Offscreen, Colin chuckles in delight and says 'Don't worry, I can get her going again. Let me try to reset...' 2b. Close up of Guillermo leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes closed as he nods off. 2c. Close up on Nandor leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and mouth slack as he resists sleep. Colin continues offscreen: 'Ope. That was restart. Oh, uh... 'configuring windows updates'... Well, hopefully that won't take too long. 2d. Reverse shot, wide, of Colin standing by the projector screen as Nandor suddenly sits straight up in the foreground, eyes squeezed shut and face turned away from Colin toward the viewer. He whips his left arm out toward the projector screen and shouts 'Enough!' The screen bursts into flame, startling Colin who had been tapping fruitlessly at his laptop. /end ID

[cozzzynook]

i love the tfone momatron asks so much ;_;

*

There was the skid of tires and the CRASH of two mechs colliding, and Megatron looked up into middle distance. Maybe, if he stared long enough and prayed hard enough, whatever problem it was would just. Go away.

The whispered arguing rose in volume. There was a clang of someone shoving someone else, and then the tell-tale twang of a weapon priming.

Megatron scowled and pushed up from where he was sitting, storming out of his alcove. The calculations that had been plaguing his work time had started a familiar ache in his processor, and he wasn't in the mood for any slag--

That must have been clear on his face because Thundercracker and Starscream pulled away from each other immediately. Starscream was already scowling, and it only deepened when he made eye contact, but Thundercracker seemed strangely tense. Neither of them spoke. Something about the combination of them and the noise he'd heard seemed off, but he couldn't place it.

"Well?" he snapped.

Starscream crossed his arms over his cockpit.

"Uh," said Thundercracker. "Chasing an intruder. Sir?"

Starscream snorted. "No you weren't."

Thundercracker scowled, opening his mouth to retort, and Megatron cut him off to avoid the argument or he'd never find out what had happened. "Did you shoot them?"

"I was trying to--"

"And I stopped him, you're welcome."

"Yeah, it's the Commander's fault--"

The clatter of running legs rounded the corner, Ravage in a full tilt towards them making Megatron frown. Hadn't she been on-

Realisation hit him like a lance through his spark and his processor reset, cannon shorting with a whine as his defensive systems engaged. Starscream snorted again, stepping away from the wall as Thundercracker stepped back reflexively at the brightening of Megatron's weapons, and there was another clatter as Ravage took him out at the ankles.

"Like I said, you're welcome for me stopping your sparkling from getting shot," said Starscream emphatically, pointing at the busted vent cover just below his knees. "Looks like you've hit your first milestone, congratulations."

Megatron dropped to his knees, ignoring the sounds of biting happening behind him and peered into the vent, his eyes making a red cast reflect off every surface.

Hot Rod's plating reflected back at him, but not in a configuration he recognised. There was a little tire towards the back where he'd expect to see legs, and his engine was revving tiredly in little bursts, the sound of another tire trapped out of sight. He had two tires now, when had that happened?

Spark in his throat Megatron reached out and carefully hooked a hand under Hot Rod's plating, marvelling at how thin it felt, how close to his hand his engine was. Hot Rod ceased wiggling immediately, beeping and chirping at Megatron. He was just hooked on the corner, and it didn't take much negotiating to pull him out.

In Megatron's lap was a tiny vehicle. Strange emotion swelled in him to look at Hot Rod in his first alt mode--a transitionary alt mode? It looked like he was going to be a car of some kind, but he didn't have the wheels for it yet, and while he could see where doors were going to be it was all smooth plating, and his engine block hung low in the middle, protecting his spark.

Faster than two legs, but not fully grown.

His frame shuddered, and then Hot Rod transformed, looking startled at himself. He laughed, a trill of beeps and pleased chirps as he pushed his hands up at Megatron's face.

Megatron didn't know what he looked like, but from the way Hot Rod's face fell and he shied back he needed to get it under control. He pulled his electromagnetics close and caught one of Hot Rod's hands, pressing it to his cheek, nuzzling him gently. "Well done," he said, unsure of how he was keeping his voice steady. "Good work Hot Rod, that is how you use your t-cog, I'm so proud."

Warmth burned in his spark as Hot Rod nuzzled back, his engine hiccuping again. His little spark was already tired, too excited from the transformation, from his first drive. Megatron could remember that, all too well.

"Good for you," he whispered, uncaring if Starscream or anyone could even hear him. "No one can take this from you. I promise."

😭😭 whoever you are, thank you.

[techav]

On Catastrophic Failures

After working through a silly design mistake and then having to reverse engineer my own project to make up for my own bad habits, my 68030 homebrew computer was running great. Better than ever, in fact — I finally had it running stable at 50MHz. It was absolutely flying.

The only thing keeping the machine from running faster was my 8-port serial card, which really needed another wait state to surpass the 50MHz mark. Luckily, I had designed the board with this need in mind and had included a jumper to select between 0 to 3 wait states. Unfortunately I had missed a single exclamation point in the logic equations for that wait state generator and so the signals were inverted. Not to worry — it's reprogrammable. I just need to add the missing mark, recompile, and re-burn the chip.

And that's when everything went wrong.

All I did was swap out the logic chip for the serial card, why won't the computer boot anymore? I haven't even changed the jumper setting yet. Swapping that chip shouldn't have affected anything else.

... It's not booting even with the serial card disconnected.

Out comes the oscilloscope. Reset is good, but nothing else is moving. All the bus signals are holding steady instead of doing their jobs.

Lower the clock speed; still nothing. Double-, triple-check power supply and bus connections; still nothing. Check the clock pin on the CPU ... nothing.

There's no clock signal on the CPU, so it can't do anything.

A quirk of this design, coming from my limited knowledge when I first started building it, is that the bus control CPLD drives the CPU clock, not the oscillator directly (the original intent was to divide the bus clock for the CPU — something that was more common in the 8-bit era). If there is no CPU clock something must be wrong with the CPLD.

That CPLD seems awfully warm.

I pulled the CPLD and dropped it in my programmer. ATMISP reported that the chip was not blank. That meant it was at least responding to some JTAG queries. I tried erasing the chip and it reported success. I tried reflashing my bus controller configuration. It failed verification every time. Nothing left to do but pull it and try another chip.

That's when I noticed not only was it getting quite hot, but it was drawing enough current that the LED on my programming adapter wasn't even lit. Something in that chip had shorted and was causing excessive current draw. Luckily I have some spares. New chip burns without any problems. Drop in into the main board and success — we have clock and bus signals!

But it's still not booting.

Out comes the oscilloscope again. Address strobes are working as expected. Cycle termination is happening as expected. ROM read & enable strobes are working as expected. RAM and the on-board serial port are never getting selected.

Time for the logic analyzer. After working through bus signals 16 at a time, I finally got to the point where I was watching enough of the address bus to see what it was loading.

The CPU was stuck in an odd loop. It would load the initial stack pointer & reset vector as normal, then start fetching & executing instructions. But before it had even finished fetching the second instruction, it would go back to loading the reset vector, then start again with fetching & executing instructions. Then it would go back to the beginning with loading the initial stack pointer & reset vector, and just continue on in this fashion endlessly.

There is nothing I'm aware of in the documentation that describes this behavior. It is possible to halt the CPU on startup by trying to use a misaligned stack pointer or reset vector, but it's not indicating a halt.

Thoroughly stumped, I turned to Discord for help. One user, [arminius97] had encountered something similar with the 68020 that ultimately required replacing the CPU. Another user well-versed in the 68030, [transistorfet], helped me walk through possibilities, and ultimately we came to the conclusion that something is very wrong with this CPU.

So something burned up my CPLD and my CPU.

I have one other 68030 CPU — a full-featured ceramic-package chip rated for 25MHz (it was my plastic-package 40MHz 68EC030 that failed). Time to swap chips around and see what happens.

A memory error.

It was running code! But it was also consistently reporting a memory error on startup at address 0x00000084. Always the same location, always the same bad byte. So I swapped around SRAM chips. The error followed. I have a bad memory chip.

So that's a CPLD, a CPU, and an SRAM chip that all failed at the same time.

This is quite a setback, especially because it had been running better than ever before. I don't even have any spare 4mbit SRAM chips I can test with. Repairs will be expensive.

Perhaps this is a good time to spring for some 15ns or faster SRAM and run with no wait states for main memory. Or perhaps I could finally finish building & testing the 72-pin SIMM board I assembled for this machine years ago.

I plan on exhibiting this build running the multi-user BASIC setup this June at VCFSW, so I do have a bit of a ticking clock to get it up and running again. I'm sure I'll figure something out.

[oqmemphis]

i MUST hear more about this very normal and completely functional minecraft server. please spill more details

Before the last world reset, there was a region a few hundred blocks across which was permanently lit as though it were noon 24 hours a day, because one of the admins replaced every air block with an invisible level 15 light block. Directly next to this was a former ocean that got turned into a vast plain of packed ice stretching in every direction; you could stand in the middle of it and it would be indistinguishable from superflat.

On that old world, the market next to spawn had about a 50% chance of completely locking up my game any time I went there, and the only way to fix it was to go into Task Manager and force-crash Minecraft. Nobody else ever had this issue, and to this day I do not know what caused it.

There was an entirely separate world containing a single castle, which you could only get to if the owner of the castle teleported you in there. The castle was supposed to be surrounded by an inescapable dome of barrier blocks, but I managed to get out and explore the rest of the world. At 0,0 there was a village that had generated in a massive pit, a hundred blocks across and stretching nearly to bedrock. Immediately next to this pit was a frozen river bearing the shatter pattern of some kind of large explosion, set off by forces unknown.

Someone built an outpost one million blocks away from spawn. Those chunks got culled at some point, and when the player who built it went back there they found a completely different landscape generated in its place. There was never an update that changed terrain generation during that world's run.

Recently, the functionality of rails got completely inverted. Unpowered rails would accelerate a minecart, while powered ones would stop it in its tracks. This, at least, was just an issue with one plugin being configured wrong. Sometimes there are issues where multiple plugins exist alongside each other fight for dominance.

We have one plugin that allows some players to fly and resist all fall damage without elytra or equipment, and another plugin that (until recently) was configured to block the first plugin from functioning whenever you were in another player's land claim. This led to situations where you could fly into an invisible claim region and instantly drop out of the sky and die. I have died seven times on this world, and all of them were because of this.

There is an obsidian sphere about a hundred blocks across, mostly submerged in the ocean; elsewhere, there is an island of comparable size which is covered entirely in basalt; and elsewhere still, there is a region of forest that has been fully replaced with sculk. I know this because I am currently making a map of the server covering around 12000x12000 blocks, and all those places just show up as mysterious, cursed splotches of black.

There is a lot of lore and roleplaying. The Queen is both fae and vampiric; my queries as to how precisely a diet of blood is reconciled with an iron allergy have gone largely unanswered. She has also canonically destroyed and remade the entire world on two separate occasions. The server has only undergone one world reset.

Immediately before said reset, I wrote a 70-page book filled with footnote labyrinths, in which my character briefly goes on an anti-capitalist rant before discussing the architectural styling of his home and the impending obliteration thereof. It serves as a spiritual sequel to a 100-page book which is ostensibly a user manual for installing an item sorter, but which also contains the lyrics to Mr Blue Sky and mentions something called the "City of Ouranos Department for Bibliographical Metaphysics and Chilled Legumes" (which is a reference to a different server I used to play on, in which a "Cool Bean War" was instigated with the help of a book that would crash your game if you tried to read past the first page).

The item sorter that the aforementioned user manual is for is a colossal assemblage of redstone components that click and flash for several minutes every time you put anything into it. I never actually built this on the server, because I ended up making a much simpler design using a custom plugin called SlimeFun (which tries to emulate the functionality of a tech mod without actually being one). This plugin's cargo management system does not contain a priority allocation mechanism, so I ended up implementing one by forcing the lower-priority route through a very long cargo pipe that eventually loops back on itself and ends at an overflow chest a few blocks from the starting point, thereby tricking SlimeFun's pathfinding algorithm into only sending items through it if every other option has been exhausted.

A reincarnation of Herb the Herbalist, the bizarre glitchy NPC entity that @the-unseelie-court-official has discussed at length, now resides in a hole directly under world spawn, repeating the same six lines of dialogue on a loop for all eternity:

I once was free, you know? There was a time when the Queen almost came toppling around me. Like a puppet with no strings I could not move nor speak, but I was free. It was stripped from me. Even now I dance her tune, only speaking of this past because she lets me. I crave nothing more than death. Please, unjust unmerciful God who would leave me to survive.

So, y'know, they're doing fine.

[commodorez]

I was doing some work on my Pentium I tower, and managed to screw up something pretty badly, which I later chalked up to a faulty power supply and a bad CMOS configuration (fixed with a reset).

See? It's fine now, except I've already wiped the hard drive to install Windows 95 as is more appropriate for this hardware.

[theblissfulstars]

Happy lunar new year! This Sunday we are observing when the moon resets and renews her annual cycle, this new moon is going to be taking place on January 29th 7:36am EST.

This new moon is happening in the zodiac sign of Aquarius at 9 degrees. The number nine numerologically is associated with the number of the year, 2025, and the tarot cards of the hermit and the moon which rule the year. I find it significant that the lunar New Year initiates on this number. This moon is going to thematically be centered on the ending of cycles and the closing out of old sequences, we are going to be encouraged to adapt and get back in touch with our centers collectively. This ending of a cycle particularly is Aquarian in nature, this is the ending of cycles in. activism,technology,humanitarianism and conglomerates. Which pairs beautifully with the moon being conjunct Pluto in Aquarius.

We're going to be emotional and psychic archeologists this new moon with Pluto conjunct moon, diving deep into our collective unconscious desires, secrets, and destruction. This new moon cycle is going to be centered around death, and destruction and it's relation to technology, and collectivism. We can expect to see more themes around nuclear power and weaponry come up on and around this new moon. There is a deeply political, cool and taciturn energy to this new moon despite the intense and raw emotions surrounding new beginnings. This new moon is trine Jupiter in Gemini, bringing a curious, expansive and hopeful quality to it. This is definitely speaking to community action and togetherness inspiring a moment of hope globally that initiates a cycle of significant change in power dynamics and energy.

This energy is supported by a mercury combust the sun in Aquarius. I am definitely seeing some major miscommunications or missteps in what leaders say on the world stage and even some exposure of espionage, especially with Saturn being direct in pisces this new moon. With mercury being conjunct the moon, there is a frantic, nervous, and expressive quality to our emotions at this time. It's going to be one of those days on social media, lots of chattery energy but a deep feeling of loneliness is present here.

Venus in Pisces is conjunct Neptune and trine mars RX in cancer, this configuration brings in major blasts from the blast and irresistible physical temptations on a personal level, it also creates ease of access to what you desire, be that power, success, wealth, however it's going to be a hazy, confusing and winding road to get there. Anyone wanting to experiment with substances recreationally, I gently suggest avoiding that at this time. This is going to be increasing our spiritual sensitivity and bringing us closer to divine center. This sense of increase is enhanced by the north node being thrown into this mix, bringing in increased wealth, abundance, pleasure, but also intoxication, delirium and lies.This configuration is sextile Uranus in Taurus, bringing an element of the unexpected. Shocking and exciting things present themselves in a manageable way with this, and it involves art, money, luxury and kove. We can expect moisture related happenings such as floods, and we can also expect things related to noxious fumes.

Pallas Athena is hard trine Uranus, showing a return to old conclusions in the courtroom that bring about positive changes for the establishment and traditional values, while Athena is in opposition with mars, showing contentious energies emerging around reproductive rights and homeplace in a court of law on and around this new moon.

The cards pulled for this New Moon were the king of swords,wheel of fortune, eight of cups in reverse and ace of wands in reverse. Right away, I see the king of swords who is typically signified by aquarius coming in and really hammering home this theme of collective liberation through intentionality and community building, politicians and businesses men are playing a really big role this lunar cycle, however with the wheel of fortune,theres a positive twist, the wheel typically indicates a change of fortune be it good or bad, collectively things haven't been that great so, what goes down must come up. Stay positive, this card is ruled by Jupiter. We have to be willing to let of of things though, there's this idea in the eight of cups of looking for the perfect truth, the perfect truth doesn't exist. Find what lights your fire and role with it

This new moon brings in ethereal, otherworldly and powerful energies of ending and change for the collective.

[shepherds-of-haven]

Sorry if this is a silly question but what exactly is twine? Does it cost more to read the alpha on or will patreon members be able to access it as normally as dashingdon just with a seemingly cooler interface?

Hi there, Twine is a game engine for making interactive fiction, just like ChoiceScript is. ChoiceScript -> interactive fiction. Twine -> interactive fiction. Their internal methods and languages are different, but for your purposes, they're pretty much the same. It's sort of like building houses. ChoiceScript (the game engine itself, not stories made in it) is like a predesigned, prefab template that prioritizes function over form, where it gives you the tools to create a house with all of the things you need already baked in. It hands you the walls, roof, and foundation; you just need to put them together in a certain configuration. You can customize some things, but you're ultimately working within the constraints of the original house design to keep things streamlined.

Twine is more open-ended and sort of lets you create the house in any shape or style you want, building from scratch from the ground up if you want to. You can follow a traditional blueprint, or go totally off-the-walls with customization and flair and unique designs, like an infinity pool or a garden wall made out of sun-baked mud bricks--though of course, it's a lot more work to do it that way. But ultimately, both create houses!

For your purposes, nothing will change! It will absolutely not cost more to read the alpha, and Patreon members will still be able to access it the exact same way, by clicking the link at the top of the alpha build post and entering a password. So yes, identical process as Dashingdon, just with a better interface and UI for the game itself, and other important updates to the player experience, like not having your saves wiped out or resetting your progress to the beginning of the chapter every time I make changes to the files, as would happen on Dashingdon. :) Hope that makes sense!