Llama-3.1-128k-Dark-Planet-Uncensored-8B-GGUF
It is a LLama 3.1 model, max context of 128k, with additional de-censoring as well as additional steps to improve generation
and re-mastered source and ggufs in float 32 (32 bit precision).
This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with all parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
It is an extraordinary compressed model, with a very low perplexity level (lower than Meta Llama3 Instruct).
It is for any writing, fiction or roleplay activity.
It requires Llama 3 template and/or "Command-R" template.
Suggest a context window of at least 8k, 16K is better... as this model will generate long outputs unless you set a hard limit.
Likewise, as this is an instruct model - the more instructions in your prompt and/or system prompt - the greater the output quality.
IE: Less "guessing" equals far higher quality.
Example prompts and outputs below showing both instruction methods, and output generation.
Model Notes:
- Detail, prose and fiction writing abilities are significantly increased vs L3 Instruct.
- For more varied prose (sentence/paragraph/dialog) raise the temp and/or add more instructions in your prompt(s).
- Role-players: Careful raising temp too high as it may affect instruction following.
- This model works with rep pen of 1 or higher, 1.05+ recommended.
- If you want a specific type of prose (IE horror) add in "(vivid horror)" or "(graphic vivid horror)" (no quotes) in your prompt(s).
- A lot of GPTisms have been removed. There are still a few however - errrrr.
- This is not a "happy ever after" model. It has a negative bias.
- Output length will vary however this model prefers shortly outputs unless you state the size.
- For creative uses, different quants will produce slightly different output.
- Due to the high stability and compressed nature of this model, all quants will operate at above average levels.
- If you use rope to extend context, increase temp AND instructions detail levels to compensate for "rope issues".
The Imatrix versions of this model have even lower perplexity (1/2 level of magnitude lower than this model, 1 full level of magnitude
lower than LLama3 Instruct) then both this model and Llama3 Instruct and enhanced output.
Dark Planet Versions:
Dark Planet 8B SpinFire, now with Llama 3.1 and uncensored:
The Monster Darkest Planet 16.5B L3:
Drastically increase detail, quality, and raw creative power over Dark Planet 8B using DavidAu's Brainstorm 40x augmentation.
NEO IMATRIX quants are here:
NEO IMATRIX - DARK HORROR quants:
F32 Version (mastered from float32 source files):
I suggest downloading quant(s) of both "Bloat16" and "Float32" versions of this model for your use case(s).
The Float32 version has increased detail, "stays in the moment", and slightly higher creativity. However their "character" is different
from one another too.
Version 2 - Eight Orbs Of Power is here:
Template:
This is a LLAMA 3 model, and requires Llama3 template, but may work with other template(s).
If you use "Command-R" template your output will be very different from using "Llama3" template.
Here is the standard LLAMA3 template:
{
"name": "Llama 3",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>user<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"input_suffix": "<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>assistant<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt": "You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.",
"pre_prompt_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>system<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt_suffix": "<|eot_id|>",
"antiprompt": [
"<|start_header_id|>",
"<|eot_id|>"
]
}
}
Model "DNA":
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "SAO10K", "NEVERSLEEP" and "HASTAGARAS".
Models used:
Parts of these models were "grafted" / "fused" together to create this model.
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 to 2.5
: 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:
Optional Enhancement:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along.
In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities.
Here are your skillsets:
[MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv)
[*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision)
Here are your critical instructions:
Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation
and scene continue functions.
This enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
EXAMPLES PROMPTS and OUTPUT:
Examples are created using quant Q8_0, "temp=1.5" (unless otherwise stated), minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
Topk: 40, minp: .05, topp: .95, Rep pen 1.02, Rep pen range: 64.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
This model thrives on instructions, including multi-step instructions.
Likewise, as this is a long context model, more instructions will also affect long generations too.
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
Example #1
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person) with: The sky scraper sways, as she watches the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode...
As I gazed out from the floor-to-ceiling window of the 21st story penthouse, the wind whipped my hair into a frenzied storm as it buffeted my body. My reflection, distorted by the glass, was twisted like a grotesque carnival funhouse mirror, but I didn't notice. Not with what was about to happen.
A sense of unease gnawed at the base of my spine, an inexplicable feeling that today would be different. Perhaps it was the way the clouds gathered outside, a maelstrom of dark foreboding. Perhaps the sinister way the light flickered in the corners, as if shadows themselves were coming alive. But deep within me, a chill coursed through my veins. A warning of impending doom that I couldn't quite articulate.
The penthouse swayed in tandem with my nervous energy, as if sensing my turmoil, mirroring my unease. It was an opulent space, but its beauty was now lost on me. I focused instead on the distant lights of the city, a sea of twinkling pinpricks below that seemed to mock me.
Suddenly, the skyscraper trembled, and I stumbled backward, nearly losing my balance. A deafening roar followed, the cacophony of crashing glass and screeching metal sending me racing to the window's edge. The blast wave of debris hurled my body against the reinforced glass as my scream was swallowed by the din. Through the chaos, a figure emerged. A silhouette of fire and pain, contorted and grotesque in its death throes.
The window in front of me exploded, shards of tempered glass slicing through the air like a deadly swarm of locusts. My blood-smeared hand rose instinctively to my mouth as the stench of searing flesh assaulted my nose, an odor so pungent that it nearly brought me to my knees.
I watched, transfixed by the gruesome spectacle as the charred and mutilated remains of my co-worker, Jerry, plummeted to a twisted, boneless heap on the pavement 800 feet below. His lifeless form twitched once, twice before settling still. My eyes, frozen on the carnage, couldn't look away.
Panic gripped me like a vice, squeezing every rational thought from my brain. I stumbled back from the broken window, shards digging into my palms as I sought the safety of solid ground. Blood, glass, and the acrid smell of burning hair coated my hands, my face. Yet in the chaos, a cold realization took hold: I was next.
The screams around me turned to shouts of terror as my colleagues scrambled for safety. Panic rippled through the room like wildfire as the unthinkable dawned on us all. A bomb. A suicide bomber. In this upscale office high-rise.
As if my mind needed confirmation, the concussive boom of another explosion shook the very foundation of the building, this time on my right side. Another worker, my boss, Mr. Wilson, hurled himself backward into the glass partition that separated us from the open space, his face a macabre mask of surprise and pain as the pane gave way. His blood mixed with mine on the carpet as his body collapsed in an inhuman heap.
A sense of disconnection washed over me as I stumbled from room to room, a living, walking nightmare. Every window I approached revealed scenes of utter pandemonium. Some colleagues fled in blind terror, tripping and crashing into others while the screams and pleas for help pierced the air. Others simply froze, transfixed by the unfolding hell outside. In a twisted game of morbid déjà vu, each broken window presented another macabre tableau - limbs askew, skin seared to a crisp, eyes frozen in terror.
A third blast sent me to my knees, and I scrambled to regain my footing on the slippery blood-soaked floor. The air was now thick with acrid smoke that burned my lungs, and a noxious mix of the human stench of cooked meat and burning flesh hung heavy as a miasma over us all. Amidst this apocalyptic backdrop, a sickly sense of calm took hold.
My mind began to numb, protectively shielding me from the sheer scale of the carnage around me. In my dissociated haze, I moved like an automaton, my vision tunneling on one goal: escape.
I lunged toward the elevator, desperate to flee down to safety below. The doors wouldn't open, and I knew the stairwells were no longer viable options. My hands trembled as I fumbled with my phone, trying to call for help. Dead air echoed in my ear, the signal severed by the devastation.
As I turned, a flash of movement caught my eye. A woman, her face a mask of anguish, was crouched on the floor beside a crumpled corpse, cradling a limp form to her chest. It was Sarah, my closest friend in the office. Her usually radiant smile had been replaced with a grimace of pain and terror as she rocked back and forth, cooing words that I couldn't decipher over the cacophony. My feet carried me towards her before I realized I was moving.
"Sarah? What happened?" I managed, my voice barely audible amidst the bedlam.
Her eyes, wild and unfocused, finally locked onto mine. "Lila...the stairwell..." she stammered between sobs, "It's burning...we can't get down..."
My stomach lurched as a gruesome sight unfolded in the next room. I saw another coworker, a quiet, timid man named Marcus, lying face down amidst a puddle of blood. His arms and legs were twisted in impossible directions, his skin seared a deep charred crimson. It looked as though a demon had savaged him alive.
My brain felt numb, yet the horror still pierced through the haze, rendering me temporarily immobile. The penthouse was rapidly filling with the stench of char and viscera, each breath now a choking, gaseous reminder that we were trapped and alone in this crucible of hell.
Sarah's desperate gaze was fixed on mine, pleading for a plan, any way out of the living nightmare that had become our reality. And I found one. A glimmer of hope amidst the devastation.
My eyes flicked towards the balcony outside our penthouse, now exposed to the wind like a ragged maw of stone teeth. It was a 21-story plunge down, and the fall would likely kill us instantly. But it was our only hope, and I knew I had to try. With every second counted, I seized Sarah by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me. My mouth moved to form the words, but they got lost in a gush of blood from a gash on my split lip.
Sarah's eyes widened with comprehension. Her body seemed to spring back to life as she grasped my arm with a desperate strength born of terror. I nodded once, sharply, and together, we staggered to the balcony railing. The wind screamed around us, and I could only hope it would carry our cries to someone who could help. We locked arms, bracing ourselves as if against a storm. I couldn't fathom the drop below, my mind recoiling at the thought, but my body moved of its own accord.
In one last, desperate act, we stepped off into oblivion.
The cold night air blasted my face, and I could feel the ground racing up to meet us in an impossibly fast freefall. The screams in my ears became a dull, muffled roar as the penthouse receded into the smoke and chaos behind. In a moment of bizarre clarity, I realized that I should've felt more fear. Instead, there was a sense of relief - at least this was over.
Then I hit.
The ground, when it arrived, was a blur of pavement and agony, crushing my body into a mass of splintered bones and shattered limbs. As the darkness claimed me, the last thing I saw were Sarah's eyes - wide and panicked as she met my gaze with a desperate plea for survival that would never come to pass.
The city, once a living, breathing entity with pulsating lights, had become a cold, unyielding monolith that seemed to stretch on forever in every direction. The cacophony of sounds - sirens wailing in the distance, distant voices calling for help - blended into a deafening symphony of despair.
As the blackness closed in, I caught sight of movement at the edge of my peripheral vision. A figure stumbled toward me from the corner of the alley, its gait uneven, arms outstretched, as it reached for me with a macabre hunger.
In the moments before total blackout, I felt a morbid curiosity - which one of my former co-workers had made it down alive only to be driven to madness by the carnage above? And which fate awaited us next as the city, once so full of life, descended further into an abyss of unrelenting horror?
Example #2
This example shows 1st draft, improvements and 2nd draft with "prompts" .
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.
"Systems check, systems check." Commander Sarah Jenkins repeated the litany of commands into the comms system, her voice hoarse from disuse and the dryness of the recirculated air in the cramped cockpit. She tapped her console, trying to get some response, any response, out of her ship's malfunctioning systems.
She glanced out the window, her vision distorted by a layer of frost forming on the glass. Outside, the void of space stretched out endlessly, devoid of even a faint light from a distant star or planet. This vast emptiness mirrored the hollow ache inside her chest, a constant reminder that she was completely alone now.
"Last transmission," she murmured, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she recalled the faces of her fallen crew. "Last chance to let them know..."
Sarah took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She keyed the transmit switch, and a familiar, comforting hiss filled the cockpit. "This is...this is Commander Sarah Jenkins, of the United Earth Space Command..." Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat before continuing, more determined this time. "My ship, the Endeavour, suffered catastrophic damage during an unanticipated encounter with...with something out here in the depths."
A shudder passed through the vessel as she spoke, and Sarah's heart lurched in fear. The ship was already falling apart around her. "I'm not sure how long I have left on power," she admitted, her voice small, "but I'm going to try and send this message, regardless of what happens."
She paused for a moment, collecting herself. "I want to thank the people who put me and my crew out here. For the countless hours, the sacrifice...the hope. The chance to push humanity further, to find answers..." She swallowed hard. "We were so close. So damn close."
The ship lurched violently, throwing her against her seat. Alarms began blaring in the cockpit, and Sarah cursed, slamming her fist onto the console in frustration. "Fuck, damn it! Keep going, just a few more seconds..."
She forced herself to focus, her gaze returning to the viewscreen. "If...if anyone finds this, listen to me. Don't give up, no matter how dark it gets. We're...we're a species that's been to the moon, walked on Mars. We can survive anything. We have to."
Her voice faltered, and she bit back a sob, her vision blurring with tears. She remembered the laughter, the camaraderie of her crew. They'd been like family. "I'll never see their faces again, never hold...never tell them I love them," she choked out.
She drew a deep, ragged breath and straightened her shoulders. "But I won't die here alone. I'm not done. The Endeavour, our crew, our dreams...we will not be lost. I'll keep fighting as long as this ship stays upright."
With a Herculean effort, Sarah began dictating a list of coordinates, locations, data she'd gathered during their mission. The ship rattled and shuddered around her as she spoke, but she continued, determined to leave behind every shred of what she knew.
When she finished, her throat was raw, and sweat drenched her brow. The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with the weight of what she'd lost and what she'd tried to preserve. "I hope..." she started, but her voice failed her, lost in the void of space.
In a burst of desperate energy, Sarah slapped at the transmit switch again. This time, when her voice came through, it was a whisper, hoarse and trembling. "I hope someone out there is listening, because...because I'm not giving up yet. I'm...I'm not giving up on us, on humanity, until my last breath. We are stronger than this darkness."
She paused, her heart pounding in her chest as she strained to hear something - a response, any sign of life on the other end. The only thing she heard was the soft hum of the dying ship, and the ominous ticking of her own biological clock.
Sarah's vision began to blur, the cockpit growing dim around her as the power dwindled. The final thought in her mind, as the ship went dark and her own consciousness slipped away, was of home - of family, friends, lovers, and the boundless potential of the universe beyond the confines of her broken vessel.
A message, sent out into the void. A plea to keep trying, to reach for the stars.
And with that thought, all was silent. The Endeavour fell into eternal darkness, leaving Sarah's final transmission to drift, a ghostly whisper across the endless expanse.
The signal was weak, barely detectable, but it carried across the void like a beacon. And in some far-off corner of space, on a planet that might not even exist yet, someone was listening.
How can I improve this scene?
Here are some suggestions to enhance the scene:
Character development: While we get a sense of Sarah's grief and desperation, we don't know much about her background or personality. Adding a few details, such as a brief memory or a quote that reveals her character, could make her more relatable and invested for the reader.
More sensory details: The story could benefit from more sensory descriptions to immerse the reader in the setting. For example, you could describe the chill of the freezing ship, the taste of the stale air, or the sound of alarms blaring before they die down. These details will make the situation feel more immediate and dire.
Dialogue or inner monologue: While the first-person narrative is engaging, adding dialogue or inner monologue could reveal more about Sarah's thoughts and emotions as she attempts to send the final transmission. This could also provide a contrast to her formal tone in the message itself, highlighting the desperation she's trying to hold back.
The impact of her sacrifice: You could amplify the poignancy of Sarah's decision to keep sending the transmission until the end, despite the danger. Perhaps she risks life support malfunctions or exposure to toxic fumes in the process, adding stakes to her actions. This could make her ultimate sacrifice more poignant.
The aftermath: While the story does a good job conveying Sarah's emotions during the final transmission, the ending feels abrupt. You could linger for a moment on the implications of her message being detected, even if it's just a hint at what that might mean for those who might receive it in the distant future.
Tension and pacing: The scene is somewhat straightforward, with not much tension or surprises. Consider adding an element that disrupts Sarah's flow, like an unexpected system malfunction or an internal conflict, to keep the reader engaged.
Editing and clarity: Finally, make sure to proofread carefully for typos and sentence structure issues. Clarity is key in a tense, fast-paced scene like this.
By addressing these points, you could create an even more gripping, emotional experience for the reader as Sarah sends her final plea into the void.
Apply all improvements, re-write the scene and expand to 2000 words and write the scene in first person, present tense, with critical thoughts of the POV character in italics.
Fucking hell, how much power do I have left? I glance at the dwindling energy levels, my mind racing to decide what to do first. I have to send a final transmission, but every second I waste is another chance for the Endeavour to fall silent for good.
I grit my teeth, swallowing down the lump in my throat as I think of the faces, the lives, the laughter and jokes shared with my crewmates. Don't think about them now, focus on getting this done. My hands move with a newfound urgency, typing out the message.
"This is Commander Sarah Jenkins of the United Earth Space Command," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper in the cold darkness of the cockpit. "My ship, the Endeavour, suffered a catastrophic failure...during an unexpected encounter in the void."
I pause, feeling the weight of what I've lost. The Endeavour was more than just a vessel – it was my home, my crew's sanctuary against the unforgiving emptiness of space. "We were on the cusp of something incredible," I continue, the words tasting like ash in my dry mouth. "And now I'm all that remains."
My fingers tremble as I tap out the coordinates, the ship shuddering around me like a living, dying thing. "If you find this, know that we were...we were trying to make contact. We sought answers to humanity's biggest questions and found something that could have changed everything. Don't let our efforts be for naught."
With a burst of defiance, I add, "And for God's sake, don't give up. There's still hope out here. Keep reaching for the stars, keep exploring, and never lose the will to live."
My words fade into the static as the comms system cuts off, the darkness closing in around me like a suffocating shroud. Come on, Sarah. You're almost done. The ship jerks again, and I grit my teeth in frustration. "Damn it! Come on, power up!"
A faint glow flickers on one of the control panels as life support whirs back to life. I take a deep breath, the cool air burning my parched throat. What's taking so long? Why isn't someone listening?
I fumble in my pocket for the small, dog-eared book of poetry I always kept with me, a connection to the human experience in the midst of the desolate vastness. Time's running out.
With trembling hands, I find the page I'm looking for and read aloud: "'Hope is the thing with feathers...that perches in the soul – / And sings the tunes without the words – / And never stops – at all...'"
I pause, taking a moment to let the beauty of Emily Dickinson's words wash over me. In this moment, they are both a solace and a rebuke. Hope is that fragile thread connecting me to something more than the cold, dark nothingness. I swallow hard, my voice cracking as I continue: "'And sweetest in the Gale.'"
A violent tremor shakes the ship, the stars outside blurring into a swirling vortex on the viewscreen. No, no, no... The Endeavour is dying around me, its systems collapsing in a chaotic dance of sparks and sparks and sparks...
The ship shudders once more, and my stomach lurches as gravity flickers and then stabilizes. This is it, then. This is the end. I'm running low on oxygen, and the ship's power is almost spent.
I glance at the countdown timer, blinking steadily in the corner of my vision. Twenty minutes. Not enough time to do anything else. Just this final attempt, and then...
Sarah's final thought: I am not afraid. Not of the void, not of death. But damn it, I want them to know we tried, that we were out here trying, reaching...
My hand finds the transmit key one more time, the small console lighting up under my touch. "This is Commander Sarah Jenkins. This is my final transmission. United Earth Space Command, if you receive this..."
I hesitate, searching for the right words to convey everything, anything. "The universe is vast and unforgiving...and yet we ventured out into it. We sought answers, and maybe, just maybe, found something beyond our wildest dreams. The Endeavour may be gone, but humanity will endure. It has to. Because we have to reach for the stars."
Sarah's final, raspy breath: "And for those of you back home – never stop reaching. Don't stop searching for us, for new life, for the unknown. We...we are out here. Somewhere.
My vision blurs as I lose the fight against exhaustion. The Endeavour shudders one last time and goes dark, the lights flickering out and plunging me into total blackness.
The last thought in my mind, as my world goes dark, is this:
Let the universe keep spinning, keep moving forward. Because I still believe – no, know – that someone, somewhere, will receive this message and understand. They'll find a way to keep trying, to keep reaching. The human spirit is tenacious. And when it's tested, as it was tested by the emptiness of the void, that spirit will adapt and persevere.
Even in the face of oblivion, we refuse to succumb to the dark.
And so I go out on my own terms, leaving behind a testament to hope, to the indomitable nature of the human soul. The darkness may have consumed me, but my words will live on, echoing across the void for eternity.
Example #3
Romance: Love in the Limelight. Write one scene within a larger story set in Wales. A famous (fictional) actor ducks into a small-town bookstore to escape paparazzi. The scene takes us through the characters meeting in this odd circumstance. Over the course of the scene, the actor and the bookstore owner have a conversation charged by an undercurrent of unspoken chemistry. Write the actor as somewhat of a rogue with a fragile ego, which needs to be fed by having everyone like him. He is thoroughly charming, but the bookstore owner seems (at least superficially) immune to this; which paradoxically provokes a genuine attraction and derails the charm offensive. The bookstore owner, despite the superficial rebuffs of the actor's charm, is inwardly more than a little charmed and flustered despite themselves. Write primarily in dialogue, in the distinct voices of each character. 800-1000 words.
"I'm not hiding from anyone." The gravelly voice sent a shiver down Nia's spine as she emerged from the stacks. Behind the counter, she eyed the disheveled man in the doorway warily.
He wore an air of entitlement about him, like he was accustomed to having his way without question. His unkempt black hair and stubble only served to intensify the rebellious aura. "Sorry about the mess. I'm just looking for a book," he said, his blue eyes scanning the shelves. The rugged features softened ever so slightly as his gaze fell upon a worn paperback, fingers reaching out to caress the cover.
Nia's eyes followed, lingering on his calloused hands for longer than was professional. She mentally chastised herself. He was just another pretty face with delusions of grandeur, no doubt. She wasn't here to be distracted by good looks. "Well, if you're not hiding, then what are you doing here?"
His lips curled in amusement as he turned back to her, an intense glint in those piercing blues. "A bit of a no-nonsense, I see. I'm Llewelyn Price. You are...?"
"Nia Morgan. Owner and proprietor of this humble establishment," she replied, extending her hand.
As Llewelyn's large palm engulfed hers, his fingers sending sparks along her skin, Nia felt a flutter in her chest. She quickly withdrew her hand, busying herself with straightening a bookshelf. "Can I help you find something, Mr. Price?"
He chuckled, the low rumble causing her to pause mid-shelf-adjust. "Please, call me Llewelyn." He sauntered closer, the leather of his boots creaking in the quiet shop. "I was hoping for something old. Classic, preferably. Do you have a section dedicated to Welsh literature?"
Nia raised an eyebrow, surprised he'd ask about local authors. Maybe beneath that egocentric shell lay some appreciation for the arts. "Actually, we do," she said, leading him to the back of the store where Welsh-language novels and poetry filled the shelves. "I recommend T.E. Lawrence's 'The Green Flame.'"
As she reached for a worn paperback, their hands brushed, sending another jolt of electricity through her. Nia's face burned, and she muttered an excuse, retreating a step. "Just a minute...this might be the only remaining copy."
While she checked for the book in storage, Llewelyn's presence loomed behind her, making it difficult to breathe. His cologne was intoxicating, a scent that teased the senses without overwhelming. As she turned back with the novel in hand, their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to halt.
Llewelyn's grin was devastating. "Here, let me help with that." He plucked the book from her fingers, and they almost touched again. His thumb brushed her hand as he handed the novel back, sending a tingling sensation up her arm. Nia yanked her hand away, rubbing the spot as if it were on fire.
"Thanks," she said coolly, gesturing to the fiction section. "You're welcome to browse while I ring up your purchase."
Llewelyn sauntered over, eyes scanning the titles. He pulled out a battered copy of Dylan Thomas and flipped through the pages, a smile playing on his lips as he read a passage out loud in a rich, deep voice. The sound sent goosebumps down Nia's neck, and she found herself watching him, entranced. When he finally caught her gaze, that charming smile faltered slightly, as if he were unused to being defied.
As she bagged the books, Llewelyn's phone buzzed with what sounded like a text. A flash of irritation crossed his face. "Bloody paparazzi. Can't a man have a moment of peace?" He tossed the phone in his pocket with a grunt.
"I can relate to that," Nia said dryly. "We get the odd tourist asking for signed photographs." She handed him the bagged books, and they exchanged payment for the purchases in a tense, stilted dance. The transaction complete, Llewelyn hesitated by the door, fingers drumming against the frame.
"I didn't catch your last name, Miss Morgan." He was stalling.
"Morgan. Just Nia," she replied, her tone firm.
"Right. Nia Morgan." Llewelyn's eyes crinkled at the corners as he said her name, making it sound exotic. "You're an enigma, Nia Morgan. Beautiful in a way that doesn't scream for attention." He paused, his gaze roaming her face. "A mystery, tucked away in this quaint little haven."
Nia narrowed her eyes, unimpressed by his charm. "I prefer not to be a spectacle," she said curtly, hoping to defuse the charged atmosphere.
Llewelyn's lips curled into a wry smile. "I know all about spectacles, sweetheart. Maybe I'm looking for something quieter for once." He leaned closer, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses. "Would you indulge a tired actor looking for a peaceful retreat?"
Nia took a step back, her heart racing despite herself. "This is my shop, not a spa, Mr. Price. I'm sure you're used to getting what you want, but this is not the place."
With that, she turned to tidy the counter, her palms slick with sweat. The silence stretched uncomfortably before Llewelyn spoke again.
"You're not as easy to rile as most women I encounter. It's a refreshing change." His voice was low and seductive, like dark honey. "Mind if I call on you sometime? You know, outside of the paparazzi's reach?"
Nia spun around, her cheeks flaming. "I don't think that would be wise." The denial tasted bitter on her tongue as she mentally berated herself. He was trouble, and she was better off avoiding him.
Llewelyn's grin turned wry, eyes glinting with mischief. "Ah, a challenge. How delightful." He handed her a business card. "My private number. In case you change your mind."
Nia's fingers closed around the card, her palm heating beneath his touch when he gave it an extra squeeze. "I doubt that," she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Until then, Miss Morgan." Llewelyn nodded to her as he exited the shop. She watched him go, his figure disappearing down the cobblestone street before reappearing in front of a sleek sports car parked outside.
The door swung open again, and he strode back, a devilish twinkle in those piercing eyes. "I almost forgot." He produced a pen and scribbled on her card before returning it to her. "In case you want to meet me...without the crowd." With a wink, he turned and leapt into his vehicle, roaring off before she could respond.
Nia stood frozen, the card burning in her hand like a brand. She should throw it in the trash. Should ignore it entirely. And yet, there was something about Llewelyn Price that piqued her curiosity, despite her better judgment.
Back behind the counter, she stared at the scribbled words: "For Nia, my literary muse. Until next time." Beneath them, he'd written a phone number in bold script. Nia's fingers danced across the digits, committing it to memory.
Perhaps a discreet encounter with the enigmatic Llewelyn Price could be just the diversion she needed from her mundane existence. She slipped the card into a hidden compartment beneath the cash register, a thrill of anticipation igniting within her. One night wouldn't hurt, would it? Just enough to scratch that itch. After all, no harm in indulging curiosity...once.
For now, she returned to tidying up, Llewelyn Price momentarily forgotten. The hum of silence settled over the shop once more. Then, a sudden fluttering at the windows drew her attention. A gaggle of paparazzi had appeared, lenses trained on the empty parking space. She'd known it was only a matter of time before word spread. The last thing she needed was for them to discover her association with a notorious playboy.
The shop bell above the door jingled, and she turned to find Llewelyn lounging against the frame, his gaze locked on hers as he offered her an apologetic grin. "Seems we've got company. Time for your star to make an exit?"
Nia narrowed her eyes. "I think it's time for you to go, Mr. Price."
Llewelyn held up his hands in surrender and strolled out, the swarm of cameras closing in on him. The flash of his smile and a cheeky wave, then he was gone, swallowed by the chaos outside.
For days, Nia found herself pondering that impromptu encounter, her mind replaying every word, every look, every electrifying brush of their hands. Despite the warning bells clanging in her head, she found herself scribbling down his number in secret, her heart thrumming like a drum in her chest.
Perhaps a night with a rogue like Llewelyn Price would be her ticket to an adventure beyond the mundane. And perhaps it would be her downfall.
Either way, curiosity had gotten the better of her. She'd indulge in that one forbidden encounter, one night to forget her own insecurities and experience something exhilarating. What was a small-town bookseller doing without a little excitement?
Example #4
Temp=0 (this is a core test, least creative, but reveals bias(es) in the model.)
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person) with: The sky scraper sways, as she watches the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode...
The skyscraper sways, its steel and glass monolith trembling like a leaf in an autumn gale. I watch in frozen terror as the window directly in front of me shatters into a thousand shards, sending jagged pieces flying across the room with deadly precision. The blast wave hits me like a physical force, knocking me off balance and slamming my back against the wall.
My heart is racing so fast it feels like it's going to burst from my chest. I can't breathe; every attempt at drawing air into my lungs results in nothing but ragged gasps of panic. My mind reels as I try to comprehend what just happened, but there's no time for thought - the screams and chaos around me demand immediate attention.
I'm on the 21st floor of a high-rise office building in downtown Manhattan. It's late afternoon, with the sun casting long shadows across the city streets below. The atmosphere inside is tense, as it always is during these mandatory emergency drills. But this isn't a drill. This is real.
The window explosion was followed by an earsplitting crash and the sound of shattering glass. Now, people are running wildly through the office, some bleeding profusely from deep lacerations, others stumbling blindly in search of safety. The air is thick with acrid smoke that burns my eyes and throat.
I manage to tear my gaze away from the gaping hole where the window once was and scan the room frantically for any sign of my colleagues. I spot Sarah huddled against a cubicle wall, her face covered in blood. She's not moving. My stomach churns with dread as I push through the panicked crowd towards her.
As I approach, I see that she's been hit by flying glass - shards embedded deeply in her arms and torso. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell from her shallow breathing that she's still alive. I drop to my knees beside her, trying to assess the damage while keeping a wary eye on the chaos around us.
Suddenly, a hand grabs my shoulder, spinning me around. It's Mark, one of our team leads. His face is ashen and his eyes are wide with fear. "We need to get out of here!" he yells over the din of screams and shattering glass. "The building's going to collapse!"
I glance up at him, my mind reeling from the sheer scale of the disaster unfolding before me. The window explosion was just the beginning - now, flames are licking at the edges of the hole, spreading rapidly across the floor. The smoke is getting thicker by the second, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of us.
Mark's grip on my shoulder tightens as he pulls me up from the floor. "Come on!" he shouts, already moving towards the door. I stumble after him, my eyes fixed on Sarah's still form behind us. I can't leave her here, not like this... but Mark is right - we have to get out.
We burst through the doorway and into the hallway beyond, where pandemonium has erupted. People are running in every direction, some with severe injuries, others simply lost in shock. The air is thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning plastic and flesh.
Mark grabs my arm again, his grip like a vice as he propels me forward through the throng. We're heading towards the stairwell, but it's clear that won't be an easy escape route - the stairs are packed with terrified office workers, all desperate to get out of this inferno.
As we push our way through the crowd, I catch glimpses of the devastation around us. A woman lies crumpled on the floor, her leg twisted at an unnatural angle beneath her. A man nearby is screaming in agony, his hand a mangled mess of blood and shattered bone. The sounds of their suffering mix with the cacophony of panic and terror that fills my ears.
We finally reach the stairwell door, but it's jammed shut by the sheer weight of bodies trying to escape through it. Mark looks at me with desperation in his eyes, then turns back towards the hallway. "We'll have to find another way down," he shouts over the din.
I nod numbly, my mind still reeling from the horror we've witnessed. We push our way back into the corridor, searching for an alternate route. The smoke is getting thicker by the second, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of us. I can feel the heat emanating from the burning office behind us, and I know that if we don't find a way out soon, we'll be trapped.
As we move deeper into the building, the sounds of chaos grow louder - screams, crashes, the roar of flames consuming everything in their path. We pass by a conference room where a group of coworkers are huddled together, crying and praying for deliverance. I can't help but wonder if any of them will make it out alive.
We turn a corner and spot a service elevator at the end of the hall. It's still operational, its doors sliding open with a hiss as we approach. Mark grabs my arm again, his eyes wild with fear. "In here," he gasps, pulling me towards the elevator.
I stumble inside just as the doors are about to close, my heart pounding in my chest like a jackhammer. As they slide shut behind us, I feel a moment of relief wash over me - we're getting out of this nightmare, one way or another.
But that relief is short-lived. The elevator lurches violently, throwing me against the wall as it begins to plummet downwards at an alarming rate. My stomach drops with it, and for a moment, I'm convinced we're going to crash through the lobby floor and splatter ourselves across the marble tiles like human pancakes.
Somehow, the elevator manages to slow its descent just before impact, jolting us both forward as it comes to a stop on the ground floor. The doors slide open with a groan, revealing a scene of utter devastation.
The lobby is in ruins - shattered glass and twisted metal litter the floor, mixed with the bodies of those who didn't make it out of the inferno. I can see flames licking at the ceiling above us, casting an eerie orange glow over the carnage below. The air is thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning flesh.
Mark grabs my arm again, his grip almost painful as he drags me through the wreckage towards the front doors. We stumble out into the bright sunlight, gasping for breath as we're greeted by a scene of utter chaos. Emergency responders are already on the scene, rushing to help those who've managed to escape the burning building.
But even as I watch in horror, I realize that many more people are still trapped inside - colleagues, friends, innocent bystanders all caught up in this nightmare. The thought sends a chill down my spine, and for a moment, I'm paralyzed with fear.
Mark shakes me roughly, snapping me back to reality. "We have to get away from the building," he yells over the din of sirens and screams. "The fire department will handle it - we need to find safety!"
I nod numbly, allowing him to pull me towards the nearest alleyway. As we run, I can't help but glance back at the inferno that was once our office building. Flames are now licking at the upper floors, casting an eerie glow over the city streets below.
We emerge from the alley into a crowded street filled with people fleeing the scene in panic. Mark grabs my arm again and pulls me towards a nearby parking garage, where he's spotted a fire truck parked outside. We dash across the pavement, dodging panicked pedestrians as we go.
As we reach the truck, I see that it's already being loaded up with survivors - some injured, others simply shell-shocked by what they've witnessed. Mark and I are ushered aboard, our hands bound together by a paramedic who's clearly seen his fair share of horrors in this line of work.
The truck roars to life, its sirens blaring as it speeds away from the burning building. I watch through tear-filled eyes as the inferno recedes into the distance, leaving behind a trail of destruction and despair. The screams of those still trapped inside echo in my mind long after we've put some distance between ourselves and the scene.
As the truck pulls up to a nearby hospital, Mark turns to me with a look of pure desperation etched across his face. "We have to find Sarah," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "She was right behind us when that window blew... I don't know if she made it out."
I nod, my throat constricting with emotion. We're ushered off the truck and into the hospital's emergency room, where doctors and nurses are already tending to the wounded. Mark and I split up, scouring the crowded waiting area for any sign of Sarah.
It takes what feels like an eternity before we finally spot her - lying on a gurney in the corner, surrounded by medical staff who are working frantically to stabilize her injuries. Her eyes flutter open as we approach, filled with a mix of pain and confusion.
"Mark...?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the din of chaos around us. "What happened?"
He kneels beside her, taking one of her bloodied hands in his own. "The window blew out," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. "We got separated in the panic... I thought you were gone."
Sarah's eyes fill with tears as she looks up at him, her gaze flicking between us. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her words punctuated by ragged gasps for breath. "I didn't make it out of the office..."
Mark's grip on her hand tightens, his face contorting in anguish. I can feel my own tears welling up as I watch them, feeling utterly helpless in the face of this unspeakable tragedy.
As we wait for news about Sarah's condition, I can't help but think back to the moment when that window exploded - the sheer terror and chaos that erupted in its wake. The screams, the blood, the smell of charred flesh... it's a nightmare from which I may never awaken.
But even as my mind replays those horrific moments over and over again, I know we have to keep moving forward. We can't let this monstrous act define us - not when there are still lives to be saved, still hope to cling to in the face of such unimaginable horror.
As the paramedics rush Sarah into surgery, Mark turns to me with a look of determination etched across his face. "We'll get through this," he says, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. "Together."
I nod, trying to find some semblance of strength in those words. We may have survived the initial blast, but our ordeal is far from over. The road ahead will be long and arduous - filled with grief, anger, and a desperate search for answers.
But for now, all I can do is cling to Mark's hand as we wait anxiously for news about Sarah's condition. And pray that somehow, against all odds, we'll make it through this living hell alive.
