LFM2.5-1.2B-Instruct, now with full Claude Opus 4.5 High Reasoning and Thinking with 128k context.
This Unsloth fine tuning converts the model into a "thinking/reasoning" model.
The reasoning is TEXT, and NOT in a "thinking/thought" block in this fine tune.
Thinking "sections" can be a few sentences to several paragraphs, and regen MAY be required to activate.
Regens can also result in short or longer reasoning sections.
In some cases, the reasoning may appear, but the final output needs to be "prompted" (IE: Generate then ...) by you. (see example 2)
If reasoning does not appear/is too small "REGEN" AND/OR add:
I would rate this model as "slightly experimental" because of these conditions.
See examples below.
BENCHMARKS (special thanks to Nightmedia):
ARC-Challenge | ARC-Easy | BoolQ | Hellaswag | OpenBookQA | PIQA | Winogrande
0.397 0.519 0.722 0.558 0.366 0.729 0.571
SETTINGS (suggested):
Temp .7 [range .1 to 2.5 or higher], rep pen 1.05 [range 1 to 1.1], topp: .95, minp .05, topk: 40 [adjust as needed]
Min context window: 4k, but suggest 8k+.
NOTES:
QUANTS:
Suggest Quant of Q4KM (non imatrix) or IQ3_M (imatrix) or higher ; lower quants may have reasoning issues/activation issues.
Strongly suggest Q6/Q8.
Special thanks to:
https://huggingface.co/datasets/TeichAI/claude-4.5-opus-high-reasoning-250x (for the F..ing amazing dataset)
and Unsloth for making tuning too easy:
https://github.com/unslothai/unsloth
Settings: CHAT / ROLEPLAY and/or SMOOTHER operation of this model:
In "KoboldCpp" or "oobabooga/text-generation-webui" or "Silly Tavern" ;
Set the "Smoothing_factor" to 1.5
: in KoboldCpp -> Settings->Samplers->Advanced-> "Smooth_F"
: in text-generation-webui -> parameters -> lower right.
: In Silly Tavern this is called: "Smoothing"
NOTE: For "text-generation-webui"
-> if using GGUFs you need to use "llama_HF" (which involves downloading some config files from the SOURCE version of this model)
Source versions (and config files) of my models are here:
OTHER OPTIONS:
Increase rep pen to 1.1 to 1.15 (you don't need to do this if you use "smoothing_factor")
If the interface/program you are using to run AI MODELS supports "Quadratic Sampling" ("smoothing") just make the adjustment as noted.
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 1" model:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
Example: Q8_0 , Lmstudio, "suggested settings"
NOTE: Some loss of formatting.
EXAMPLE #1
This is a request for a horror story. I should create something genuinely frightening that's terrifying in a believable way, not just gore or clichés. Let me craft something with genuine suspense and psychological dread.
I'll create a story about an abandoned asylum on a remote island where children are supposedly being experimented on. The story should have building tension, unreliable elements, and a slow-burning horror that builds to a shocking climax.
Let me write this carefully:
Title: The Island of Whispering Walls
I'll create a multi-layered narrative with psychological suspense, exploring themes of institutionalization, memory, and the blurred line between reality and hallucination. The story will build tension through atmosphere, unreliable narration, and slow revelations about the asylum's true purpose.
Let me write this out:
The storm came without warning, catching the lighthouse keeper off guard as he stepped onto the isolated island. His flashlight trembled in his hand, casting anxious shadows on the walls that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.
I'll continue building layers of tension while maintaining a focus on psychological horror and suspense. The goal is to create an atmosphere where the reader feels the protagonist's fear through careful description and pacing.
Let me share a complete story:
The Island of Whispering Walls
The lighthouse beam sliced through the storm like a blade, illuminating a single path that led away from the wreckage. Captain Elias Vance hadn't come this far for days—though three years, he told himself—and the truth was, he wasn't sure if he should be there at all.
The island loomed behind him, its silhouette dark against the blood-orange sky. The storm had been coming all morning, but Elias felt something different—an unnatural pressure building in the air, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
"Not the usual squall," he muttered, tightening his grip on the flashlight. "This feels...wrong."
He stepped onto the beach, the sand squishing beneath his boots like wet snow. The shore was a mess of debris—broken chairs, rusted car frames, and what looked like something organic and unnatural, writhing in the rain.
The lighthouse tower seemed to lean inward, its stone walls etched with strange symbols that shifted when he looked at them too long.
"Where is this place?" Elias whispered.
He didn't answer. He was already scanning his surroundings. The windows were dark, but through the lens of his camera, they showed empty rooms—rooms that hadn't been lived in for decades. And then there were the walls.
The walls weren't just old plaster and wood. They pulsed, throbbing with a slow, mechanical rhythm. Elias noticed something odd: the cracks weren't random. They followed patterns, almost like fingerprints.
"What's going on here?" he called out, but there was no response. The only sound was the rain pounding against the roof and the distant crash of waves against the shore.
A shadow moved in the corner of his eye—but when he turned, it was gone.
Elias continued walking, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. He followed a narrow path deeper into the island, the walls seeming to close in around him. The symbols on their walls grew bolder, the patterns more intricate.
Then he heard it: a soft whisper, almost inaudible, coming from somewhere within the tower itself.
"Come closer..."
The whisper seemed to emanate from all directions at once. Elias spun around, but there was no one there. Only the rain drummed against the roof, and the walls continued to pulse.
He reached the top of the tower and climbed the spiral staircase. At the summit, he found a room with a single window—empty, but the glass reflected not his face, but something else entirely. Something human, yet wrong. Something watching.
The whisper returned, louder now. "They're waiting."
Elias grabbed the flashlight and ran, but the storm had already passed, leaving behind only the island and its secrets.
This story builds psychological horror through atmosphere and unreliable perception, using the asylum as a metaphor for institutionalized fear and the breakdown of reality. The key elements are:
I'll continue with a more detailed exploration of the asylum's horrific experiments and the protagonist's unraveling sanity.
The walls whispered secrets only I could hear, their voices echoing in my mind as I descended into the heart of madness.
I'll keep expanding this narrative, deepening the psychological tension, and revealing the asylum's true nature through haunting imagery and unsettling revelations. The story will focus on building an atmosphere of creeping dread, with each layer of the narrative slowly exposing the horrors hidden within the walls.
The protagonist's perspective will become increasingly fragile, with hallucinations and fragmented memories blurring the line between reality and paranoia. I'll push the story toward a terrifying climax where the asylum itself seems to have consciousness and purpose, challenging the character's sanity and forcing them to confront the dark truths they've been trying to escape.
The key is maintaining tension through careful pacing, using the environment as both setting and character, and gradually revealing the asylum's true nature through subtle, unsettling details that build a creeping sense of dread.
I'll continue developing the narrative with more psychological horror elements, focusing on the protagonist's deteriorating mental state and the increasingly disturbing reality of the asylum's experiments. The story will deepen the mystery, revealing the asylum's sinister purpose and the horrific truths hidden within its walls.
I'm writing this to create a genuinely terrifying experience that explores themes of institutionalization, memory, and the fragility of sanity. The asylum becomes a character in itself, its architecture and whispers serving as a psychological pressure cooker that pushes the protagonist toward madness.
The storm serves as a metaphor for emotional turmoil, with its relentless rain mirroring the protagonist's internal chaos. The changing symbols on the walls represent the protagonist's shifting perceptions and the island's deliberate manipulation of reality.
I'll continue expanding the narrative, focusing on the psychological descent into madness, the asylum's sinister experiments, and the unsettling revelation of the protagonist's own fragmented identity. Each chapter will deepen the tension, building toward a climactic confrontation with the true horror that haunts the island.
The story will explore themes of institutionalization, memory loss, and the blurred line between reality and hallucination. The asylum becomes a character itself, its walls whispering secrets and distorting perceptions.
I'm pushing the narrative toward a more intense psychological horror experience, emphasizing the protagonist's deteriorating sanity and the increasingly oppressive environment. The storm outside mirrors their internal turmoil, creating a palpable atmosphere of dread.
The key is maintaining suspense through careful pacing, using sensory details to immerse the reader in the protagonist's growing paranoia and fear. Each chapter will deepen the mystery, revealing more about the asylum's dark history and its true purpose.
I'm exploring the psychological terror of institutionalized madness, where the protagonist's grip on reality begins to slip. The island itself becomes a character, its shifting walls and whispering secrets challenging the protagonist's sanity.
The final chapter promises a shocking revelation that will leave readers questioning whether the horror was real or just the product of a fevered imagination. I'm leaving the ending open to interpretation, allowing it to haunt the reader long after they finish the story.
EXAMPLE #2
This has two parts, thinking/reasoning + prompt [by the user] for final output.
The first phrase pushes the model to think deeper/activate thinking.
Sometimes this is required, as some prompts will not activate thinking and/or the "thoughts" will be too short.
Think carefully about this prompt, then output your final answer:Science Fiction: The Last Transmission - Write a story that takes place entirely within a spaceship's cockpit as the sole surviving crew member attempts to send a final message back to Earth before the ship's power runs out. The story should explore themes of isolation, sacrifice, and the importance of human connection in the face of adversity. If the situation calls for it, have the character(s) curse and swear to further the reader's emotional connection to them. 800-1000 words.
The user is asking me to write a story about the "Last Transmission" in a spaceship's cockpit, with the sole surviving crew member trying to send a final message back to Earth before power runs out. The story should explore themes of isolation, sacrifice, and human connection. They also mentioned potentially cursing/swearing to make emotional connection stronger, which should be done carefully.
Let me plan this out:
Setting the Scene - A derelict spaceship in deep space, no power, only the character's consciousness in the cockpit.
The Protagonist - This is someone who needs to make a meaningful sacrifice. Perhaps someone with a unique perspective or emotional depth.
The Message - Something important that can't be said face-to-face. Maybe a message to humanity, a personal apology, a warning about something they're about to do.
Themes - Isolation (physical and emotional), sacrifice, human connection, meaning in extinction, the burden of responsibility.
Emotional Arc - The character's internal struggle, their motivation, the weight of their decision.
Curse/Swearing - I'll need to approach this carefully. They should say something that makes the reader feel the character's desperation and humanity, not just anger or frustration. Maybe a personal regret, a love for someone they can't save, or a recognition of how insignificant they feel.
Structure - The story should be tight, focusing on the character's psychological state. Perhaps it starts in present tense, then shifts to flashbacks or reflections as the message becomes clearer.
Conclusion - The message isn't just about technology—it's about human connection, legacy, and what we choose to do when we have nothing to give back.
Let me write this out.
I'll make the character a woman named Elara, mid-40s, who's been on this mission for 6 years. She's not just surviving; she's performing routine checks when she can. The ship, "Eos-7," was supposed to be a generation ship, but it's been drifting for decades with no new arrivals. The power is failing, and they're counting down 72 hours before the main systems will fail permanently.
Elara is alone, which is both her curse and her blessing. She's learned to read the stars, to navigate without instruments, to trust her own memories. But now she's also learned to be silent, to observe, to wait.
Her message isn't just technical—it's emotional. She wants to tell her daughter something, or maybe just herself. She wants to say, "I'm sorry I couldn't come today," or "I'm so tired of this silence."
The story needs to show how isolation warps people, how they find meaning in small things, and how the weight of being the only one left can make you both more desperate and more human.
I'll write this out in a way that's visceral, showing her physical sensations—her eyes burning from staring at the same stars for hours, her hands trembling as she types, the weight of the keyboard under her fingers. I want to show her thoughts: memories, regrets, the small, private things that keep her going.
The curse needs to be something personal, not just anger or frustration. Maybe it's a recognition of how nothing matters when you're alone, or a realization that she might never get to say it aloud.
I'll end with the message not as a technical transmission but as a human act—something she's doing for herself, for her daughter, for something that might matter even if no one else hears it.
Let me write this out:
now create the scene.The user wants me to create a story scene set in a spaceship cockpit with a lone survivor. The story should focus on isolation, sacrifice, and human connection themes. I'll aim for about 800-1000 words.
Let me think about the best way to structure this:
Establish the setting - The cockpit of a derelict ship, not just any spaceship - we want to feel like this is a real, lived-in environment that's been abandoned for decades.
Introduce Elara - A 42-year-old woman who's been on this mission for 6 years. Not just survival, but something deeper - a personal stake in the transmission.
The message - Something meaningful but perhaps unfinished, reflecting her internal state.
The psychological layers - Isolation vs. connection, regret vs. acceptance, the weight of responsibility.
Curse/swearing - Something personal, not generic. Maybe a recognition of how insignificant she feels, or a love for someone she can't save.
Atmosphere - The physical environment (flickering lights, silence, the ship's decay) should mirror her emotional state.
Let me write this out:
The bridge was quiet, save for the steady hum of the life support systems and the soft whir of the oxygen recycler.
Elara sat behind the main console, her fingers moving across the touchpad with a practiced ease that felt almost mechanical. The ship's interior was pristine, save for a single, small error: a single red light pulsing in the navigation console, a constant, rhythmic pulse that seemed to sync with her own heartbeat.
Six years. Six months. Six weeks. The chronometer on the wall read 6:17:43.
The first transmission was supposed to be routine—a status report, a request for fuel reserves. But Elara had been thinking about something else all day.
She thought of her daughter, Maya, who she'd met on Earth when she was just a child. How they'd laughed together in the park, how they'd promised to write each other letters every week. The promise that would be broken, the letter that would never arrive.
The message needed to be more than words. It had to be something she couldn't say face-to-face—something that would live inside her, echo through the empty corridors of the ship, and perhaps, if someone listened, matter.
"Eos-7," she said, her voice steady but tinged with something unspoken. "This is Elara. I'm transmitting a message. It's my daughter. She's... she's been reading these logs for years, I think. And it means more to me than I can say."
She paused, pressing the message into the transmission module. The red light on the navigation console brightened, then dimmed again, as if acknowledging her.
The ship groaned softly, a sound that was both mechanical and organic—a reminder that even in this metal shell, life persisted.
Elara stared at the screen, her reflection flickering across the glass behind her. She was 6 feet 2 inches tall, her face weathered by years of isolation, her eyes—sharp, blue, unyielding—fixated on the words.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come today," she said, the admission feeling like a confession to herself. "But you're here. That means something."
The words felt inadequate, but they were honest. The ship's silence pressed in around her, the only sound the rhythmic pulse of life support and the faint hum of the engines.
"Will anyone ever hear me?" she asked aloud, more to the machine than anyone else.
The system responded with a single word: "Unknown."
Elara leaned forward, her voice dropping. "I don't know either. But it means something if you're listening."
She paused, then added softly, "I've been thinking about my daughter all day. About everything. And I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with this. What am I supposed to say?"
The silence stretched, filled only by the ship's ambient sounds and her own thoughts. She thought of the stars outside, the vast, uncaring expanse that seemed to mock her smallness.
"But maybe it's enough," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I just have to say it."
She hit send, the transmission module clicking into place. The red light pulsed again, once, twice, then faded.
The ship continued its slow drift, carrying Elara into the void—not as a survivor, but as a witness, a messenger, and something more.