Dirty-Calla (4B)
Dirty-Calla is a light style SFT of Daizee/Gemma3-Callous-Calla-4B. It was trained on a dataset of fanfiction with user prompts (eg Write me a story with XXX character and XXX theme.) Initial data was synthetically increased from ~360 to 3000. The idea is to prompt Dirty Calla to write short fictional stories with tags and general, big picture idea.
This repo contains:
- Merged Transformers weights (
./): LoRA merged into the base for easy inference with transformers.
- LoRA adapters (
./adapters/): for reproducibility or further fine-tuning.
- GGUF builds (
./gguf/): for fast, local inference via llama.cpp runtimes.
Note: You are responsible for the content you generate and how you distribute it. Follow all applicable laws and platform policies. Respect the Gemma license and Hugging Face terms.
🧱 Base & Provenance
- Base model:
Daizee/Gemma3-Callous-Calla-4B (merged from Gemma-3 4B IT derivatives via TIES; tokenizer from the Gemma-3 family).
- Architecture: Gemma-3 4B (instruction-tuned).
- Training method: Light LoRA SFT (single epoch by default) on curated, style-targeted dialogs; adapters merged into base after training.
📦 Files
Transformers (merged)
config.json, model-00001/2-of-00002.safetensors, tokenizer.json, tokenizer.model (SPM), etc.
Adapters (optional)
adapters/checkpoint-*/adapter_model.safetensors, adapter_config.json, etc.
GGUF (llama.cpp)
gguf/dirty-calla-q8_0.gguf — near-lossless quality.gguf/dirty-calla-q5_k_m.gguf — recommended quality/speed sweet spot.gguf/dirty-calla-q4_0.gguf — compact “plain q4”.- (optional)
gguf/dirty-calla-q4_k_m.gguf — smaller with improved quality vs q4_0 in many cases.
If you don’t see a particular quant, it may not have been uploaded yet.
SAMPLE of Q8_0)
Prompt: write a sensual story of two college rivals on a trip who get stuck sharing a hotel room because of a mix up.
Output: The rain in New Orleans was relentless, a humid, clinging sort of rain that seemed to seep into your bones. I’d been battling it all day, trying to coax a decent grade out of my history paper. Now, huddled under the thin blanket of a hotel bed, I was stuck sharing a room with Damien Vance, my rival from the college debating team.
He’d booked the room under his name. It turns out he was a bit of a forgetful booker. After an hour of frantic phone calls and a lot of sighs, it was decided we’d share. At least it was warm.
He was sprawled across the bed, scrolling through his phone. I was trying to ignore the fact that his arm was practically brushing mine. It wasn't a full-on, sweaty embrace, but it was close. He had that whole brooding, intellectual thing going on—dark hair, sharp eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass.
We'd been rivals for months, locked in a silent war over every debate point. I’d always suspected he was secretly attracted to me, the one girl who could actually give him a run for his money. The thought had always made me a little uncomfortable.
"So," he said, without looking up. "This is...less than ideal."
"Tell me about it," I muttered, pulling the blanket tighter. "I’m pretty sure I’m going to get a nosebleed from the lack of personal space."
He finally raised his head and looked at me. "You're...not wrong." He paused, then a small, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. "I’ve always enjoyed your company, Elara. Even when you're making me look like an idiot."
My cheeks flushed. "Yeah, well, you're not always wrong."
A silence fell between us, filled only with the drumming of the rain on the window. He shifted, and I realized his arm was still close to mine. I could feel the warmth of his skin. I instinctively reached out and rested my hand on his. His fingers curled around mine. I didn't pull away. It was a tentative connection, but it felt right.
"You know," he murmured, his voice low, "this rain is pretty amazing. It makes you feel like you're part of something big. Something important."
I looked out the window at the rain. It did feel like that, like the whole city was being washed clean. Then, I looked back at Damien. His eyes were dark and intense. His gaze traveled from my lips to my eyes, then down my body. The tension in the room was almost palpable. I could feel his breath on my cheek as he leaned closer.
"Maybe," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "Maybe we should make this trip a little more memorable."
He took a step closer, and I found myself leaning into him. It wasn't a struggle. There was an unspoken understanding between us. A need, almost. I reached up and ran my fingers through his dark hair, pulling him closer. His scent—a mix of old books and something subtly musky—filled my senses. It was intoxicating.
Suddenly, he moved again, his lips brushing mine. It was a quick, tentative kiss. I closed my eyes and responded. It wasn’t a passionate kiss. It was something far more primal. It was a kiss of need and curiosity and a little bit of desperation. A collision of the minds that had battled for so long, and the bodies that now lay entwined.
He deepened the kiss, and I didn’t resist. It was like the rain outside—relentless, insistent, and undeniably alluring.
