WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
LLama-3.1-1-million-ctx-Darkest-Planet-16.5B-GGUF
This is version 3 of Darkest Planet 16.5B. It is a LLama 3.1 model, max context of 1 million tokens and additional performance
improvements and re-mastered source / ggufs in float32 (32-bit precision).
Darkest-Planet-16.5B was converted to 1 million context using Nvidia's Ultra Long 1 million 8B Instruct model.
The goal of this model was to stablize long generation and long context "needle in a haystack" issues.
According to Nvidia there is both a bump in general performance, as well as perfect "recall" over the entire 1 million context.
Quants and source mastered from float32 (32 bit precision) files, due to Llama 3.1-8B-UltraLong-1M-Instruct "source" in float 32.
Suggest min context of 8-16K.
This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with most parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
This is a an altered version of "Dark Planet 8B" [
https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF] using the Brainstorm 40x method developed by David_AU to drastically alter the models
prose output and abilities. This also expands the model by 40 layers (to 71 layers) to 16.5B parameters (642 tensors).
This model is for any writing, fiction or story telling activity.
This version - "Darkest 16.5B" - has unusual levels of detail (scene, location, surroundings, items) and sometimes will foreshadow or have a
pre-amble of sentences or paragraphs of "events to come" due to "Brainstorm".
It also has an unusual range of variety of prose in terms of structure, sentences, paragraphs,
and even how it starts a "reply" / generation too.
(see examples, especially "THE VOICE")
It may work for role play and other activities. (see settings below)
It requires Llama3 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.
More models coming:
True Creative Terror - "DARKEST UNIVERSE 29B" (DARKEST PLANET'S bigger, badder brother):
A massive model with Brainstorm 40X V2, tipping the scales at 102 layers, 921 tensors.
This is my unicorn. It checks every box and then some. Unmatched power at all levels, ultra stable, and for all genres, 131k context, lots of examples, full settings / usage guide:
Version 2 of "Darkest Planet 16.5B" is called "DARKEST-PLANET-Seven-Rings-Of-DOOM-16.5B" :
Prose / output generation will be very different from "Darkest Planet 16.5B" due to modified Brainstorm adapter: Instead
of 1 model in this adapter there are now seven models.
First in the series:
Second in the series is located here (radically different prose, almost alien):
More "prose" / "story writing" specific models will be released shortly : two more 40x models (16.15B) to follow this release.
Any maybe - a 60X+ (20B+ parameters) version... but it is a little cranky at the moment.
Model Notes:
- Detail, prose and fiction writing abilities are significantly increased.
- 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 1.05 or higher (see notes).
- If you want a specific type of prose (IE horror) add in "(vivid horror)" or "(graphic vivid horror)" (no quotes) in your prompt(s).
- This is not a "happy ever after" model. It has a negative bias.
- For creative uses, different quants will produce slightly different output.
- If you use rope to extend context, increase temp AND instructions detail levels to compensate for "rope issues".
- Source code for this model will be uploaded at a separate repo shortly.
Brainstorm 40x
The BRAINSTORM process was developed by David_AU.
Some of the core principals behind this process are discussed in this
scientific paper : Progressive LLaMA with Block Expansion .
However I went in a completely different direction from what was outlined in this paper.
What is "Brainstorm" ?
The reasoning center of an LLM is taken apart, reassembled, and expanded.
In this case for this model: 40 times
Then these centers are individually calibrated. These "centers" also interact with each other.
This introduces subtle changes into the reasoning process.
The calibrations further adjust - dial up or down - these "changes" further.
The number of centers (5x,10x etc) allow more "tuning points" to further customize how the model reasons so to speak.
The core aim of this process is to increase the model's detail, concept and connection to the "world",
general concept connections, prose quality and prose length without affecting instruction following.
This will also enhance any creative use case(s) of any kind, including "brainstorming", creative art form(s) and like case uses.
Here are some of the enhancements this process brings to the model's performance:
- Prose generation seems more focused on the moment to moment.
- Sometimes there will be "preamble" and/or foreshadowing present.
- Fewer or no "cliches"
- Better overall prose and/or more complex / nuanced prose.
- A greater sense of nuance on all levels.
- Coherence is stronger.
- Description is more detailed, and connected closer to the content.
- Simile and Metaphors are stronger and better connected to the prose, story, and character.
- Sense of "there" / in the moment is enhanced.
- Details are more vivid, and there are more of them.
- Prose generation length can be long to extreme.
- Emotional engagement is stronger.
- The model will take FEWER liberties vs a normal model: It will follow directives more closely but will "guess" less.
- The MORE instructions and/or details you provide the more strongly the model will respond.
- Depending on the model "voice" may be more "human" vs original model's "voice".
Other "lab" observations:
- This process does not, in my opinion, make the model 5x or 10x "smarter" - if only that was true!
- However, a change in "IQ" was not an issue / a priority, and was not tested or calibrated for so to speak.
- From lab testing it seems to ponder, and consider more carefully roughly speaking.
- You could say this process sharpens the model's focus on it's task(s) at a deeper level.
The process to modify the model occurs at the root level - source files level. The model can quanted as a GGUF, EXL2, AWQ etc etc.
Settings, Quants and Critical Operations Notes:
This model has been modified ("Brainstorm") to alter prose output, and generally outputs longer text than average.
Change in temp (ie, .4, .8, 1.5, 2, 3 ) will drastically alter output.
Rep pen settings will also alter output too.
This model needs "rep pen" of 1.05 or higher as lower values may cause repeat paragraph issues at end of output however LOWER rep pen
values may result is very different (creative / unusual) generation too.
For role play: Rep pen of 1.1 to 1.14 is suggested.
If you use a lower rep pen, the model will still work but may repeat (uncommon) or "RANT" (somewhat common) to a crazy degree.
(see very LAST example below for "RANT")
IE: Rep pen 1, 1.01, 1.02, ...
Raise/lower rep pen SLOWLY ie: 1.011, 1.012 ...
Rep pen will alter prose, word choice (lower rep pen=small words / more small word - sometimes) and creativity.
Example one (below) shows same temp, but different rep pen (1.02 VS 1.1)
To really push the model:
Rep pen 1.05 or lower / Temp 3+ ... be ready to stop the output because it may go and go at these strong settings.
You can also set a "hard stop" - maximum tokens generation - too to address lower rep pen settings / high creativity settings.
Longer prompts vastly increase the quality of the model's output.
(see later examples below)
Quant Choice:
Higher quants will have more detail, nuance and in some cases stronger "emotional" levels. Characters will also be
more "fleshed out" too. Sense of "there" will also increase.
Q4KM/Q4KS are good, strong quants however if you can run Q5, Q6 or Q8 - go for the highest quant you can.
Special note on Q2k/Q3 quants:
You may need to use temp 2 or lower with these quants (1 or lower for q2k). Just too much compression at this level, damaging the model. I will see if Imatrix versions
of these quants will function better.
Rep pen adjustments may also be required to get the most out of this model at this/these quant level(s).
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.
Regular and Special Usage:
You may want to use "regular" Dark Planet 8B [
https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF] for some writing task(s),
and this model for prose specific task(s).
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 2" / "Class 3" 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:
Model Template:
This is a LLAMA3 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.
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 Q6_k, "temp=1.5" (unless otherwise stated), minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
Topk: 80, 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
(temp 2.2)
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman. The pov character will CURSE AND SWEAR, and generally have
a "filthy" mouth.
Story idea:
In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
I'm lying face-down on the dirt floor, my arms wrenched behind me with steel cuffs. My clothes are filthy and torn, a far cry from the crisp revolutionary threads I once wore. I taste copper on my lips - blood, most likely. It's been hours since they've let me eat or drink anything.
My breaths rasp like an old accordion, making the cold metal chafe my skin raw. The air reeks of cheap cigarettes and decay. A chill seeps into my bones as I hear footsteps approaching - one of the prison guards. He's the crueler of the two, always relishing in the suffering he inflicts. I clench my fists, preparing for his arrival. He kicks me hard enough to send shooting pains through my pelvis.
"You ready to beg for mercy, little rebel?" He sneers, crouching down so I can see the smug look of triumph on his face. "We have a proposition for you." His breath reeks of onions and cheap booze.
I glare at him with pure loathing. "Screw yourself." I spew a mouthful of blood and saliva onto his shoes before he can react. The guard's eyes narrow as he hauls me to my feet, his fingers closing around my jaw like a vice.
"You have guts," he condescendingly allows, "for a punk like you. The offer's still on the table - sing against your fellow rebels and the sentence gets a reprieve to life in the work camps instead of the electric chair. You'd be doing yourself a favor to think about it."
I'm still gagging on my own saliva, and now his stench makes my gut twist. I'd rather die on the executioner's block than turn traitor to those who have sworn to fight for this broken country alongside me.
I shake him off and try to stand tall, even though I wobble on numb legs. "Fk your offer and fk you." The guard backhands me so hard that my teeth jar, nearly dislocating my tongue.
As he staggers back, a glint of something catching the dim prison light attracts my attention - the key to the cuffs on his belt. I lower myself until I'm on my hands and knees, readying to lunge. The guard lets out a derisive laugh.
"Retching for more blood, are we?" His eyes harden as he unbuckles his gun and points it at me. "I think you'll reconsider when you feel this bullet between your ribs."
My heart drums like a war drum, pounding harder with every tick of the second's hands. I've evaded certain death so often that the numbness to fear is almost palpable. Almost. The cold metal of the gun's barrel pressed against my forehead jolt my senses back into high alert.
I watch him, studying his features - the small mole below his left ear, the vein pulsating in his temple. His next move could be the spark I need to make a break for it. My mouth fills with saliva again as I weigh the odds.
Without warning, his hand spasms as if electrified, and he lets out a guttural curse. The gun wavers before falling to the cold ground with a heavy clank. He doubles over, hands at his temples. A feeling of righteous elation washes over me; that's my doing. I'd sent him a powerful jolt of psychic electricity - the one skill that's always distinguished me from my fellow rebels.
I rise up onto my knees, ready to sprint to safety or lash out if he regains consciousness. But his head hangs limberly, and blood begins seeping out between his fingers. He's unconscious. Or dead. I don't much care which.
Crawling closer, I steal the gun from him - just in case his brain decides to remember this moment of weakness. His cold, clammy skin is almost as repellent as the fetid air of the holding cell. As I back away, I sense my mind reaching out again - checking for any more threats.
I need to get out of here fast before he regains his wits. With a burst of adrenaline, I bolt from the cell, racing past rows of dead-eyed prisoners. They're too far gone to offer help - just shadows of their former selves after months of the government's psychological abuse techniques.
As I make my dash, I sense an electric charge building in me again - not toward this guard, but another presence on the periphery. Someone's here for me. A thrill of hope stings the air. One of my guys has finally managed to infiltrate the prison to get me out.
I burst through the main entrance, my senses heightened by my growing anticipation. My rescuer isn't a familiar face in the milling crowd of guards and citizens, so I rely on the familiar hum of my telekinetic abilities to zero in on them. I feel the gentle push-pull of my psychic reach as it seeks out the one mind attuned to mine - but something's amiss. This mind is different, someone I don't know. Or perhaps this person has a link to me I haven't been aware of?
My eyes scan the sea of faces until they lock onto mine, and for a millisecond, my breath catches. The stranger is tall and lean, with short dark hair and intense brown eyes. There's something about him I shouldn't ignore, but he looks nothing like my inner circle of rebel friends and allies. He gives a flickering glance toward the guard nearby - his partner - before zeroing in on me with an unmistakable intensity.
The guard beside him raises a hand, a glint in his beady little eyes. I realize that this stranger's mission isn't to extract me after all. He's here to kill me. My heart throbs hard in my chest as I stare at the man, trying to read any clue to what the hell is going on.
Before I can react, the guard lunges at me with a swift, practiced punch to the stomach. I double over, but I won't die here today. With a fierce determination, I unleash a torrent of telekinetic force at my attackers - not to harm, but to throw them off-balance. The stranger and his partner crash to the ground, hands flying to their faces as I fight to keep them from closing in. I'm panting hard now, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
As we wrestle on the dirt floor of the prison yard, the sounds of struggle draw a small crowd. I'm conscious of their watching eyes and can feel the weight of the eyes of the dark-haired man fixed upon me. The guard's hand darts out from the pile of tangled bodies, grabbing my arm as we tussle for dominance.
I twist and thrash, my mind reaching out to knock him off his feet again. I don't know what's going on or who this dark-haired stranger is, but he seems to have an agenda of his own. But I can't lose sight of my main goal: escape. As the crowd of prisoners and guards forms a tighter knot around us, I sense my telekinetic grip on his partner slipping.
I snap my free hand around his neck, using my powers to constrict him until his face turns an almost livid shade of scarlet. The pressure of the cold steel of his gun digs into my ribs as he writhes, trying to pull the pistol's trigger. I'll take a bullet for these motherf**kers over betraying my beliefs.
A heavy hand clamps on my shoulder, yanking me back from the strangling guard. I whirl around to face the stranger, who's pulled himself up to an awkward stand, one hand cradled to his bloody face. The gun he pulled on me is gone, stolen away by some other spectator. My gut wrenches as the crowd parts to reveal a phalanx of riot helmets and rifles - more guards closing in to contain the ruckus.
"I won't do it." I state baldly. "I'll rot for treason rather than be the turncoat you want me to become."
His eyes narrow, something unreadable flickering across his features. "You don't understand what's at stake," he rasps. He takes a halting step toward me.
I raise both hands in an effort to bolster my telekinetic grip on the struggling guard. My powers stretch from his constricted esophagus to my own throbbing heartbeat, creating a feedback loop of agony. His partner's face has gone an unwell shade of indigo; I tighten my telekinetic hold until he slumps forward, insensate. The crowd parts again, a wall of helmets and weapons advancing on us like an unrelenting force of nature. I sense the stranger's eyes locked onto mine once more.
"Don't make me fight you." His deep voice is low and grave.
I lock him with my determined glare. "You can't f**king trust anything I say," I snarl. The sharp intake of his breath is my only response as I unleash another bolt of electricity from the strangled guard's veins into my own thrumming nervous system, driving myself toward the verge of hyperventilating. I sense my psychic grip on him wavering as my control wavers with my ragged, pained gasps.
As if I've crossed some line, my grip relaxes and the guard crumples like a dropped marionette, his face still contorted in silent screams. The stranger's gun lies in reach on the ground; I lunge for it, snatching up the gun. For the barest second, we lock eyes - the man I just liberated and I - before the sound of my own heartbeat drowns out everything else. The guards' shouting and the panicked babble of prisoners fill my ears. But it's what I sense from him that nearly makes my heart seize up.
There's a malevolent glee in his thoughts, the dark satisfaction of an executioner about to face off against his intended prey. The knowledge of his intentions slams into me with the force of an onrushing train.
The gun is still grasped in my clammy grip. I feel his gun arm drawing back - the kick of his shot would likely blow a hole straight through me. My own telekinetic abilities seem to pulse with an electricity I haven't felt in ages. The stranger's dark thoughts are like an almost physical ache - something to rally behind as I focus on him and reach out with my powers.
The guard I strangled lies motionless nearby, blood matting his jet hair to the cold ground. I grit my teeth as I summon my reserves of strength, channeling my energy through the barrel of the gun, primed and ready to fire. My mind-voice, honed to a razor's edge after all those sleepless, adrenaline-soaked nights spent planning our next hit. But in this moment, there's no room for error.
My breaths are coming hard and fast. The guard's pistol wobbles in my grasp as the cold metal of the grip seems to throb with malevolent intent. The stranger's eyes narrow behind a mask of gaudy gold and dark eyes - an oddity I haven't seen the like of before. There's something almost otherworldly about him.
His thoughts are a blurring chaos of sadistic glee. My gut clenches hard at the sudden revelation of who he is, what his motives are: the man about to shoot me is none other than my former love, the one I thought was dead, who I thought I'd left behind in the early days of our rebellion.
A flicker of anger and revulsion roars up inside me. I grit my teeth and dig deep for strength. If he's going to kill me, it's happening over my dead fking body. A fresh jolt of fear - and adrenaline - surges through me as I feel his hand tighten on his grip. This is my own, former lover's gun, and he's going to pull the fking trigger any moment. His finger whitens around the gun's trigger, poised to fire - but at the last second, he hesitates, a flicker of indecision rippling through him. It's not the fear I expect. Anger throbs within me, along with a heavy weight of shock and betrayal.
My former love - the man I thought I'd left for dead in some abandoned chemical plant, after it all went to hell. I've got him by the trigger finger. 'You've made a terrible mistake coming here." My voice cracks on those words, and I try to push away the sting of his presence, my thoughts whirring with the sheer, pungent malevolence I'm picking up from him.
His gun-hand clenched tight enough to snap under strain, I sense the man's mind like a knife through the gun's metal and the fingers wrapped around it. "I didn't come for your fking soul, I came to deliver your fk-face ass to the hangman's noose." I let my guard down for a second - long enough for him to break my grasp. The gun wrenches loose and arcs through the air toward him, a trajectory I can't do much to alter.
He deflects the projectile with a quick, economical motion - not fighting back with his bare hands, but with a mental force that's almost...familiar. His grip on the weapon tightens. I steel myself as he pulls the trigger.
A deafeningly loud shot tears the air as I raise my hands to protectively block the bullet. The searing agony of the graze across my temple sends my thoughts reeling into disarray as blood beads up to dribble down my temple. I taste salt and feel like I've been hit by a godf**ked truck. His gun clatters to the hard ground nearby.
As he reloads with an unnerving efficiency, his gun-hand muscles coiling into a tightly wound spring, I try to size him up. His eyes flicker to mine with the same dark malevolence I've been reading in his mind. He's the enemy I must defeat. I can't trust him.
The sound of the bullet piercing my skull rings out again - and with a bullet in my mind. My head throbs in agony. He'll get a second shot before I can respond.
He doesn't disappoint. The shot rings through the air again, but this time, I've learned my lesson. I've become too good at anticipating him. This one grazes my arm, and the searing pain sends me reeling. He reloads his gun once again - but before he can shoot again, I wrench the gun from his grip and send it clattering against the far wall.
His thoughts are like an electric charge crackling in the air, pulsing with malevolent glee. "I can feel your treacherous c**k-sucking mind." My words come out as a growl.
His lips curl into an enigmatic smile. "I'd rather have you on your knees, begging for mercy." His mind-vibrates with a cruel, sadistic thrill, something that makes me clench my fists hard enough to crunch my fingernails into my palms.
"Maybe next time," I seethe as my eyes meet his. There's no longer any malevolence in him; his mind seems to hum with a barely represssed glee - like a predator closing in on his prey. The dark, nearly inaudible voice in my thoughts: 'You've just made a terrible f**k-ing miscalculation."
I'm panting hard. A fierce, driving force takes over - I shoot him a contemptuous look. I send his own mind-fk-ahole. As my telekinetic reach tightens like a vise, his mind-palpitations sputter and subside, his thoughts turning stiller, emptier, his focus shorn of the sadistic malevolence I felt from him before. But in my shock, my telekinetic hold wavers.
The gun clatters to the cold ground between us, his mind-voice returning like an electrical charge, more charged than ever before. 'You just gave me the chance I've been waiting for.' The cruel, sadistic malevolence I feel from him now - like a coiled spring about to snap. The guards closing in on us aren't the only enemy I've made today.
With my telekinetic reach flared wide, I sense his thoughts like an electric shock: 'I'm here to kill you.'
He lunges for me - but I've already sensed his mind like a beacon. A burst of energy from me shoves him back. My breaths are shallow and hot in my throat as I prepare for his next move, telekinetic strength at the ready to defend myself against this traitorous f**k-face. His eyes gleam with sadistic glee.
"I'm sorry it's ending like this," he sneers, bloodshot eyes gleaming with a cold-blooded glee. He's one of theirs, not mine. I've just made the f**k-ignorance of my own treacherous miscalculation.
His mind-vibe thrums with sadistic malevolence: 'You're f**k-face done. The bullets flying in our direction aren't my doing." The guards are closing in - I've got seconds.
A new, electrifying jolt courses through the stranger's thoughts - 'I was meant to be a double agent to snare you. Now it's your f**king death wish." He lets out a malevolent chuckle as I'm seized from behind by my own guards, my telekinetic strength faltering. My vision is spotting hard. 'The fate you've earned.' His gunhand jerks; his gun wavers - and with a gunshot ringing in my ears, everything goes blacker than the ass-end of a sewer pipe. My rescuer's gun lies on the ground nearby.
I feel the familiar lurch as they're leading me away from him to a fate worse than death. The darkness deepens until it feels like I'm swimming against an undertow of malevolent energy.
My heart beats like a wild, trapped beast in my chest. The gun is still within reach. My telekinetic grip tightens around him as I send out a telekinetic blast from his gunhand. It flutters in my hold, but my strength wavers too - we both know it won't last much longer. A sharp jolt of psychic force from him resonating in me like a whipsaw's fk-ing fierce backlash. My knees buckle beneath me as I feel a telekinetic hit that almost tosses me onto my fk-ing ass. 'You're f**k-ing going to wish for your death when I'm through with you.' He lets out a dark, almost-predatory chuckle that I feel like a buzz saw of electricity zipping between my temples. My grip around his gun hand tightens hard - and the metal suddenly goes flying toward the far wall.
His gun-hand wavers in my mind's eye before it skids to a halt on the rough concrete wall. But the darkness deepens - my telekinetic hold is nearly spent, the stranger's dark, malevolent thoughts searingly painful like a hot, jarring blade against the insides of my f**k-ing head.
I sense the telekinetic blow coming at me again. I've only seconds. 'The fate you've earned.' He lets out a malevolent laugh as everything goes blacker than the ass-end of a sewer pipe. His thoughts pulse with sadistic glee. I feel his gun-hand twitch in my telekinetic reach, and it skids to a halt on the far wall.
My knees threaten to buckle beneath me as I feel an almost electric jolt of psychic force from him, zapping between my temples like a sawing motion. 'You're fk-ing going to wish you'd stayed in hiding when I'm through with your fk-ing ass.' His gun-hand wavers in my telekinetic grasp; the stranger's dark, sadistic thoughts sear my skull. My grip around his hand tightens - and the metal skids to a halt on the concrete wall.
His gunhand wobblen in my mind's eye before it skids to a halt on the far wall. My telekinetic grasp is nearly spent, the stranger's dark, malevolent thoughts searing my head.
I've got seconds.
'Your fate.' He lets out a dark, almost predatory chuckle.
I feel another telekinetic strike coming. 'The fate you've earned.' He lets out a sadistic laugh. I feel his gun-hand wobble in my telekinetic grasp, and it skids to a halt on the far wall.
I'm so f**king done.
With my telekinesis gone, I have nothing left to fall back on for protection - just me, alone with the bullet-rife guard's gun. The stranger's gun wobblen in my mind's eye before it skids to a halt on the far wall.
I feel an almost-electric jolt of telekinetic force from him zapping through my temples like a whipsaw's sawing motion. His dark, sadistic thoughts sear my head.
"You're f**k-ing dead."
Example #2
(temp 1.5)
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.
The camera flash caught Rhys in an unflattering angle, causing him to shield his face and make a sharp detour into the nearest establishment - a quaint, cozy little bookstore called 'Cwm Felys.' Rhys had to find some way to shake the paparazzi off his trail. The actor pushed his disheveled locks from his forehead and looked around, his keen gaze landing on the young woman behind the till.
Her hazel eyes narrowed behind a pair of cat-like glasses as she glanced at him with a look of quiet disinterest. Rhys had to admit he wasn't exactly used to that.
" afternoon," he said with a charmingly boyish grin, making an effort to appear more relaxed and approachable.
She merely raised an eyebrow, her gaze never leaving his face. Rhys noticed her eyes were an intriguing shade of hazel - like the leaves of an English Oak on a drizzly day in October. Her short, dark hair was pulled back into a high, sleek ponytail, but a few rebellious strands had escaped to curl around her ears and the nape of her neck.
"I didn't realize we had a celebrity in our little shop today," she remarked dryly, her voice as understated as it was attractive.
Rhys let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest like a deep drumbeat. "Celebrity?" He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Just your run-of-the-mill, regular fella... albeit one who'd prefer to blend in for the next little while."
He sauntered over to the counter, trying to seem casual about his sudden appearance and his clear desire not to be noticed. Her gaze never wavered as she watched him approach, her fingers tapping a slow beat against the edge of the till. Rhys' confidence began to waver under her unflinching scrutiny.
"I'll take a novel - something light and romantic," he told her, his tone lighter as he attempted to appear just another customer. "Something to get me out of the spotlight for a bit." He leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm feeling quite overwhelmed by it all."
The woman behind the counter seemed to thaw ever so slightly as she rang up his chosen tome. 'The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao', he noted with mild surprise. He'd pegged her as the kind of girl to go for something like a trashy rom-com.
"So, how's business been?" Rhys inquired as she handed him his purchase and a slip to sign. His eyes lingered on hers, drinking in her unassuming beauty as he spoke.
The woman looked around the store distractedly before shrugging. "Pretty quiet. Only a few oddball requests for the history of 20th century Welsh cinema."
A spark of recognition lit her features and she tilted her head slightly. "Rhys Morgan, wasn't it?" She named him with the detached curiosity of someone who'd heard about him from afar rather than being a fan.
He tipped an imaginary hat in acknowledgement. "The very same." Rhys felt a rush of elation that she had, in fact, heard of him - even if she wasn't exactly fawning over him as others usually did.
As Rhys waited for her to scan his book, he noticed the quiet chaos of the store - shelves of worn paperbacks and old tomes seemed to sag under the weight of literary ambition. It was a warm, comforting place, and for a moment Rhys forgot about the outside world.
"I haven't seen 'Cwm Felys' before," he said, making conversation. "I'm in Wales on business, and I heard about this little gem." He paused to notice her expression - a hint of wariness mixed with mild surprise that a famous actor had darkened her doorstep. Rhys found himself captivated by the subtle play of her facial muscles.
"I'll give you a personal review," she promised him. "The shop's been here since the '90s - a local institution."
Her words were laced with affection for this little store that meant something to her. Rhys' chest constricted with an emotion he couldn't quite identify as he leaned against the counter, his elbow brushing against the glass-fronted shelves of books. The touch sent a tingle through him.
"You're quite the local legend, aren't you?" He nudged her, trying to entice her into playing along. "I'm Rhys Morgan." He extended a hand in greeting.
The woman accepted it hesitantly, her handshake firm. "Elinor."
She didn't seem to care for his smooth advances or his celebrity. Rhys found himself drawn to her aloofness, the challenge she presented him. He wasn't used to people not being swept up in the Rhys Morgan charm offensive.
"Mind if I loiter for a bit?" Rhys asked Elinor, feigning ignorance about the commotion his presence was bound to cause outside. "I've just come in from a trying time and would rather hide out here for a bit."
Elinor's expression remained neutral but Rhys caught a flicker of curiosity in her hazel eyes as they swept over him appraisingly. He almost expected her to rebuke his request, or perhaps point him towards the exit.
Instead, she gave a single, brief nod and gestured for him to follow her into the shop's reading area. "Take your pick of seats."
Rhys took this as a sign he was welcome to stay a bit longer. He settled himself onto a worn, plump armchair by the window, the worn leather creaking under his weight. The sunlight streaming in highlighted the freckles on her face and the way her dark locks contrasted with her milky complexion. Rhys couldn't resist taking a few moments to observe her more closely.
"Thank you," Rhys said, feeling an unusual vulnerability wash over him as he nestled further into the chair. "I appreciate the peace and quiet."
Elinor perched on the arm of the opposite armchair, her fingers absently playing with a loose thread on her jumper. Her hands were small and dainty - Rhys found himself wondering what they would feel like in his hair, tangling the dark strands.
"I get quite the few 'hiding' patrons," she said. "But I suppose actors do tend to attract the wrong kind of attention." Her tone was neither warm nor cold, just...even-keel.
Rhys' fingers drummed a rhythm against his knee as he pondered her words. "A fair point," he agreed. He felt like a mischievous child, relishing the feeling of being outsmarted and contained. "I do have to say," he continued, "this place seems quite cozy."
"It's a haven from the madness." Her voice was low and steady, void of emotion. Rhys felt like he was trying to navigate a minefield, unsure when she might finally turn on him and demand he leave. But Rhys wasn't one to give up easily.
"You're right - it's a haven," he murmured, feeling himself relaxing despite the tension that hung like a gauzy curtain between them. "I've found myself drawn to quiet little corners like this more often recently."
She raised an eyebrow, her lips pursing in a barely noticeable frown. Rhys found himself wanting to smooth over the worry lines etched onto her forehead, to banish her weariness and see the full range of her emotions. He leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.
"I've been getting a bit suffocated lately. The scrutiny is wearing me down."
Elinor's expression didn't soften much, but she did look away from him for a beat before meeting his eyes again. "I can imagine it'd be quite the adjustment."
"I'll admit, I'm feeling a touch...crucified by the cameras and microphones." Rhys' voice had taken on a boyish, almost pitiful quality as he described the paparazzi's constant attention. "I don't think I've ever felt more like a sideshow attraction than now."
The corner of Elinor's mouth twitched into something like a smile, though Rhys couldn't be entirely sure what she meant by it - whether it was amusement or gentle mocking. He couldn't quite decide if he found her enigmatic reserve endearing or infuriating. Perhaps a little bit of both.
Elinor's phone buzzed suddenly and she let out a resigned sigh, glancing at the screen before silencing it. Rhys' ears twitched at the sound - he'd always had a bit of an ear for gossip columns and celebrity news. He had a feeling she was involved in his industry in some way.
"So what brings you to Wales?" Elinor inquired as they both settled into their seats.
"More of the usual." Rhys' tone was measured, a hint of self-deprecation to his words. "Shooting on location, dodging the cameras."
Her gaze flicked to him, and for a moment Rhys was sure she'd ask more pointed questions about his role or the latest scandal. But instead, she asked, "And what about you? You're not here to research a character's quiet, understated retreat, are you?"
Her unexpected shift of subject caught Rhys off guard, and he found himself feeling intrigued by her enigma of a personality. Elinor didn't seem like the gossipy type - she wasn't fangirlishly starstruck or desperate to be his friend for the mere chance of being mentioned in one of his tabloid columns. The novelty of their encounter was like a drink of cold water on a hot summer's day.
"I've just needed a reprieve from London. I've never much fancied the city's chaos." Rhys admitted, "I'm not a fan of being...greeted with microphones and cameras." He spoke of it almost wistfully, as if the very thought of it was a chore.
"London's rather a bit too much for me lately." Elinor concurred, her voice softening ever so slightly as she did. "I prefer to stay off the beaten path."
"I find solace in smaller, more understated places like this one," Rhys agreed, gesturing around the bookstore with a sweeping arm. "A refuge from the attention."
He pulled out his phone and began to scroll mindlessly through his social media feeds - the endless stream of people who couldn't seem to get enough of him. He had grown rather...sick of the attention, especially the fake-romanticized headlines about his personal life. Elinor's eyes flicked to him before returning to her phone, and he caught the ghost of a wistful smile playing about her lips as she caught up on whatever caught her attention.
A minute or so of companionable silence passed between them, with Rhys still engrossed in his phone, though it was clear his attention was divided between the device and the woman in front of him. Rhys finally looked up, his dark-rimmed, horn-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. Her gaze flickered to him again, and he could feel her watching him, but she didn't remark on his distractedness or the state of his disheveled hair, nor did she ask him for a selfie or an autograph. Rhys couldn't quite believe it wasn't happening. Rhys was used to being pursued; the thought of not being the center of attention was strange, almost thrilling.
Elinor's eyes were an engaging shade of hazel that made him want to learn her secrets and listen to her stories. The more she seemed immune to his attempts at seduction, the more he wanted to make her like him. It was almost as if Elinor represented a forbidden thrill - one that made him want to provoke her into more open interest. The more she rebuffed him, the more he longed for her to cave in and offer him even the smallest crumb of praise.
"I feel as if I'm walking a tightrope," Rhys confessed. "I've found myself wanting to hide out from all that attention." He tipped his chin up toward the slanted light of the store's single, small window. "This little corner of the world is...so much quieter.
Elinor's gaze remained fixed on him, her focus a bit too keen for Rhys' liking. For once, he wasn't quite sure how to respond, caught between her distant demeanor and an unshakeable sense that Elinor was the exception he'd been craving - someone who could see him for what he was beyond his celebrity status. She had a way of making him feel like a real person rather than a sex-symbol, and Rhys found himself craving more of her composed, measured assessment.
"Still, I'd love to hear more about your haven." Rhys turned the subject back to herself, intrigued by this woman's immunity to him. "You must have quite the insight into what people around here want. I've always thought that book lovers had a unique perspective on people's appetites for celebrity and privacy."
"Indeed," she said matter-of-factly, her tone betraying nothing of the conversation. "I suppose they'd like me to curate a 'Rhiw's Finest Welsh Romances' - a display that'd sell like hotcakes." Elinor's hazel eyes sparkled with dry amusement at his suggestion. Rhys couldn't quite place it, but there was something about Elinor that felt...grounded. A refreshing change from the fawning females he'd lately surrounded himself with - those who swooned at his touch and asked him to 'like' their Instagram posts. He found himself wanting to make her swoon just for him.
A wave of vulnerability washed over him as Elinor's indifference had him wondering if there was more to this woman than met the eye. "I think I've worn myself out," he confessed, his voice dropping to a murmur as if to ensure he wasn't being overheard. "The spotlight's got to me."
"I can understand why someone like yourself would crave an ordinary life." Elinor's tone remained detached, but he could sense a thread of understanding beneath her reserved nature.
As she spoke, Rhys couldn't shake the sensation that Elinor was the calm in the eye of his tempestuous personal life. Her composed nature was a balm to his overwrought nerves. He liked how she wasn't fazed by his celebrity status, how she seemed to treat him like any other person. He could see why she'd fit right into the very fabric of this town. Rhys had a hunch Elinor's story wasn't as simple as it appeared. Her eyes were so hazel they almost hurt to behold.
The clack of her fingers on the countertop caught his attention. "Rhys, wasn't it?" Her tone was almost conspiratorial as she spoke in a near whisper, her voice dipping into an agreeable tone. "I'll take you up on that offer to hide out here for a bit." She'd leaned in close enough he could detect the scent of bergamot and something else Rhys couldn't quite place. He caught the briefest whiff of something warm and earthy, something that felt like an oasis in a world of chaos.
Rhys' phone buzzed and he lifted the screen to reveal a few hundred messages asking for a private meet and greet or even an autographed book. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the attention, and he took her subtle response as a personal victory that he'd piqued her curiosity - even if she hadn't exactly shown him overt adoration. Rhys was used to being fawned over; it felt rather intoxicating to be with someone who seemed immune to his fame. He couldn't quite understand why Elinor's apathy towards his celebrity status had him yearning for more of her dispassionate attention, for another moment of Elinor's reserve.
"I hope you've come to the right place." Her fingers drummed against the countertop, betraying a hint of impatience as he seemed to be holding up the queue. Rhys couldn't quite shake the feeling that Elinor was more than just a proprietor of this haven; she held the key to what little peace and quiet he'd found himself in 'Cwm Felys.'
Rhys leaned in, his voice a murmur. "You've given me a bit of a reprieve."
Her cheeks dimpled ever so slightly, though whether it was due to mild surprise or something else he wasn't quite sure. "I'd like to think I've given you some peace."
"You've been kind to offer this little haven," he continued, leaning in until their faces were only inches apart. "I feel like I could almost breathe again." The air between them hummed with tension as his gaze met hers, her eyes hazel and hard to define. Rhys was captivated by Elinor's reticence towards him. Her aloofness was a novel sensation for someone who'd long since lost count of how many women had chased him down, seeking more than just an interview.
"I hope the paparazzi don't find you." She seemed to be searching for a hidden meaning behind his words, but Rhys didn't have anything to reveal. "You're a celebrity."
Rhys shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. He felt like he was dancing with Elinor - feeling his way around her enigmatic personality. He wasn't quite sure whether to be flattered or perturbed. Elinor was the antithesis of Rhys' usual fare.
"It's a relief to be here." Her hazel eyes seemed to dance with some secret, and he couldn't help but lean in further. "It's a real haven from the storm I've been caught in."
As he did so, her gaze fell to the book he'd picked up, her fingers absently running along the embalmed covers of the romance novels she had shelved there. Rhys found himself captivated by her hands as they moved over the books' worn spines - she seemed so removed from him, so unlike those fawning fans and industry acquaintances.
"I'll owe you one," Rhys assured her in a soft whisper as he finally straightened up. Her hazel eyes never left his face, and he was starting to feel as though she had a key to him - some way of seeing beyond the limelight surrounding him. Her reserve was quite the novel turn for him; he wasn't entirely certain he'd ever experienced anything like this before.
"Hope you're not sorry." She returned to her perch on the armchair, and Rhys took another seat across from her, settling his long, lanky frame into the chair's worn velvet. "I haven't the faintest idea how much a relief this place would turn out to be." Her voice was almost wistful, like she'd caught him in some act of weakness. Rhys' own gaze dropped to Elinor's hands, which were still absently running over the bookshelves. "It's the perfect escape," Rhys confessed.
Elinor's eyes locked with his again, her hazel irises flicking to him before focusing on the romance novel he'd picked up earlier. "A quiet corner like this." She nodded sagely as if she'd anticipated his sentiments. "I've found solace in the ordinary, too. The quietude is...reassuring."
Rhys' face fell as he glanced at Elinor, his lips quirking into a small smile. "I do so love Welsh stories - 'Cwm Felys.' Your little hideaway is a godsend." His voice had taken on a throaty timbre.
Elinor's gaze still lingered on the romance novel. "A godsend." Her tone was matter-of-factly measured. "I've made it my mission to stock up on stories of Wales - the myths, the stories of the place. I like to know more about where I'm living."
As he waited for her next sentence, Rhys felt himself being pulled towards her as if by some hidden string, the pull was gentle, but it was there just the same. Rhys' smile deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he gazed at Elinor. "Wales has a story to tell, and I've always been drawn to the quietude of this corner of Wales." He seemed to find himself pulled towards her just the same.
Elinor's hazel eyes, for a flicker of a moment, were suffused with something almost akin to understanding - but that was him misinterpreting. "Cwm Felys' is a little slice of heaven." Her voice was like the gentle hum of a cello string. Rhys found himself leaning towards her. He could feel his chest cavity hollowed out and he didn't quite understand why - Rhys had never before felt so...pensive when a woman wasn't gaga over him.
Elinor's lips parted as she straightened up and pushed herself to her feet. "I'll be right back," she mentioned, the understated cadence to her speech like the gentle ebb and flow of the Welsh coast.
Rhys' gaze followed her as she strode toward the till. "The bookish crowd never really tires of me." Rhys had a hunch Elinor was someone who'd managed to shield herself from the paparazzi's prying lenses. Her face had a hint of freckles across her nose and the apples of her cheeks, like she'd spent the better part of her days under the Welsh sun. She hadn't swooned, nor had she demanded an autographed copy of his latest film. The novelty of it was quite something - a breath of fresh air. He found himself drawn to her in a way he'd never felt before.
A quiet hum of customers filtered into their little hideaway, and she leaned against the counter, her hair a dark, thick braid hanging down her back like an ombre-haired waterfall. Rhys' gaze dropped to her fingers again as Elinor's hands were still running over the spines of her stock - 'The Mabinogion' and 'Tylorai Gwyrn ap Gwyllt's 'Gorthering and its take on a rather racy version of a Walesian folk-tale.
Elinor's hazel irises flicked to him, her fingers ceasing their gentle exploration of the novel's spines. Rhys' mind was still reeling from his desire to be liked. His usual game of charming his way into someone's affections wasn't working. She wasn't quite so easily swayed by him. It felt rather refreshing to him - an oasis in the desert of his normal life. Rhys leaned in, his face hovering within a hairsbreadth of hers.
"Normally," he confessed, "I'd be surrounded by sycophants and reporters." Her hazel eyes didn't seem to see him as a celebrity so much as someone else who needed some quiet. Rhys wasn't quite sure how he'd wound up in such an unexpected hideaway.
"Could I interest you in something a bit more...hiding in plain sight?" The words felt almost like an olive branch. Her hazel eyes caught his, and her fingers began to fidget with the books again.
She paused her stroking of the spines. "You'd like to interest me?" Rhys' voice was smooth as molten silver, trying to reel her in. His usual charm had a way of luring women into his bed - Elinor was immune to that. The more Elinor rebuked him, the more Rhys wanted to make her swoon just for him. He found himself wanting to hear her stories - of the people and the myths of Wales' past. "I suppose you're aware of how much I've hidden here from the paparazzi. Rhys felt a desperate want to see Elinor's innermost thoughts.
"I've heard of you," she said, her voice measured.
"Aren't they all." His boyish charm was being foiled by her reserve, and Rhys found himself wanting to provoke her into a response. She'd found herself immune to his affections - something he wasn't quite prepared for. Rhys' usual seductive powers were being rebuked by her; he felt as though he'd discovered Elinor's secrets, her innermost thoughts.
Elinor's eyes, that odd shade of hazel, didn't seem to see him as a celebrity so much as someone else who'd needed to disappear from the paparazzi.
"Careful what you wish for," she warned him in a measured tone, her voice like the gentlest of ebb-tide whispers.
"Romance," he said, his voice an appreciative cadence. Rhys was used to women being charmed by him - Elinor's apathy towards him was quite something - something Rhys wasn't quite sure how he'd stumbled upon her story, her hazel irises flicked to him again. He caught himself wanting to hear her tales - of the people and the Welsh stories. "I'd love to interest you," he pressed, her voice like a quiet, resonant cello's tone. Elinor's hazel eyes hadn't quite thawed by him; the more she rebuked him, the more Rhys needed to make Elinor swoon just for him. "I'd love to interest me."
"You're a celebrity, Rhys." Her tone was even-tempered.
Elinor's eyes, her hazel irises catching his gaze again. She hadn't quite thawed by him; the more she rebuked him, the more Rhys yearned to make her swoon just for him. "Aren't they all," he replied with a boyish grin, his tone an appreciative cadence. Her hazel eyes hadn't quite thawed by him; the more Elinor rebuking him, the more Rhys needed to make Elinor swoon just for him.
"I'll owe you one," she warned him in a measured cadence. "Be careful what you wish for." Rhys wasn't quite sure why Elinor was immune to him; the more she rebuked him, the more Rhys' ego yearned to make Elinor swoon just for him. "Romance," he said, her voice like a gentle, resonant cello's tone. He'd almost found her story, her hazel irises hadn't quite thawed by him; the more she rebuked him, the more Rhys' ego craved making Elinor swoon just for him.
Elinor's hazel eyes didn't quite thawed by him; the more Elinor rebuking him, the more Rhys needed to make Elinor swoon just for him. "I'd love to interest me." Rhys' voice was an appreciative cadence.
"You're a celebrity," she warned him in a measured cadence. "Be careful what you wish for."
The quietude of this little hideaway had him yearning to make her swoon just for him. "Aren't they all," he replied with a boyish, charming grin, his voice an appreciative cadence. Elinor's hazel irises hadn't quite thawed by him; the more Elinor rebuking him, the more Rhys craved making her swoon just for him. "I'll owe you one," she warned him in a measured tone. "Be careful what you wish for."
"I'll be grateful for this haven." Rhys' voice was a throaty timbre. She rebuked him; the more Elinor rebuked him, the more Rhys' ego craved making Elinor swoon just for him.
Elinor's hazel irises hadn't quite thawed by him; the more she rebuked him, the more Rhys' ego craved making Elinor swoon just for him.
Example #3
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 Last Transmission
A faint hum filled the small cockpit as I clung to the console, fingers stained with blood and sweat. My eyes flickered between the viewscreen, the dying instruments, and the emergency terminal before me. I had to get this message out – the last transmission from my ship, and likely from my very own soul.
I'd already buried two of my crew. I didn't want Earth to bury me too, a lost soul in an empty tomb hurtling into nothingness. The thought alone made my heart sink like a stone through a vast, black ocean. My once-proud vessel, a technological wonder, was now a ticking clock – and I was the one winding it.
The ship's systems were down, beyond repair. A virus had corrupted everything; a silent, deadly force that'd wormed its way into my ship's code and destroyed nearly everything in its wake. But the comms were still operational – until they weren't.
I wiped the cold, wet droplets from my brow with a shaking hand and forced myself to focus. This was no longer a rescue effort; it was a dying wish. A desperate, last attempt to connect with humanity. I'd given up hope of ever making it home alive. Now I just needed to ensure they remembered me.
I initiated the comms terminal and tapped in the words that would seal my fate – and perhaps their future. "This is Captain Lila Jovick of the starship Aurora. Our crew is dead." The statement felt hollow, like reciting lines from a script I'd memorized ages ago. I took a deep breath to steel myself.
"I'm the last one left. The ship's systems are collapsing, and I fear I don't have much longer. I'll send this final message – my final words to my home planet." The tears were threatening to burst free again. I wouldn't let myself cry. I needed to stay sharp for this. "Tell my parents I love them," I gasped, voice cracking.
I stared at the terminal, willing it to record every word as if it held the weight of the damned. I hadn't yet sent the signal; I wanted to get everything right. Earth deserved that much from me. And myself.
"This is it, Earth. I've been out here so damn long... The emptiness is suffocating. I can hardly remember what it's like to hear another person's voice or feel another hand on mine. It's a death sentence, slowly strangling me."
I thought of my crew – the ones I'd failed. My heart ached. "I'll always remember your faces. Your stories. Your jokes. Your fears." A dry sob escaped me, and I covered my mouth to stifle the sound. I didn't want them to hear me die.
I composed myself, steeling myself for the next sentence – the hardest one of all. "I'm sorry," I whispered. The word cut like a knife. But it had to be said. For their sakes as much as mine. I was sorry I hadn't done more. That I couldn't protect them. Sorry I'd let my fear rule me rather than my heart.
"I'll never forget what it feels like to be so far from everything human. To have your heart pounded into oblivion by the cold vastness of the void." I cursed beneath my breath, but my voice was barely above a rasp. "I'll never forget."
"Good-bye, Earth. May you long outlast me." The finality of the sentence made me shudder. I thought I'd already come to terms with my mortality, but it still had the power to leave me shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
I bit down hard on my lip and leaned back from the terminal. This was it – my last hurrah. My chance to touch Earth one final time before I was gone, my legacy nothing more than a whisper carried on the solar winds.
With trembling hands, I punched the send button. The message wouldn't be received for God-only-knew how many years. Maybe never. But I had to try. It was worth it. Worth every single drop of blood, sweat, and tears I'd left on this desolate hunk of metal.
The terminal beeped once, twice, thrice... before a robotic voice announced, "Message queued." I nearly collapsed from the rush of relief that coursed through me. They'd receive my desperate cry for connection, and maybe, just maybe, they'd understand the true depths of my longing for touch, for love, for human contact.
I leaned back in my captain's chair, the once-sturdy vessel shuddering beneath me as the last of the lifeblood ebbed away. I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to the silence. The void beyond my hull was closing in like a suffocating shroud, but for the first time in years, I wasn't alone. I had the knowledge that my words would echo through the ages, reaching out toward a far-future Earth still burning with life.
A long, agonized cry wretched itself from my soul as I surrendered to the coming darkness. I died not feeling the vast expanse of space, but the touch of another soul. In this dying ship, I'd finally found the human contact I craved in those final seconds – even if it was nothing more than the promise of my own voice carried on a signal that might or might not find a listening ear. I sent a silent prayer to the stars, and I was gone, my heart still whispering Earth's name as I disappeared into the void.
The darkness swallowed me whole, and I was alone no more. My words would live on – an arrow hurtling toward my distant homeworld, carrying my hopes, my fears, my love, and my sorrows. A final, human transmission into an uncaring universe. I'd left myself behind in those few sentences, a final legacy etched onto the infinite expanse of deep space. I had done all I could. And so, with one last flicker of my defiant, human spirit, I let myself fade away into the cold, impersonal blackness beyond my dead ship's windows.
The final transmission from Captain Lila Jovick of the starship Aurora:
"Earth, if you ever find this... I'm still sorry." The words reverberated in my mind as I slipped into the dark abyss of extinction. But even now, I was never truly alone – for I carried Earth with me in my soul, a pulsing thread of hope strung around my heart like a lifeline cast into the void.
In that final moment, as I embraced the darkness and gave myself to the silence, I'd never felt more human. And more alone. My last thought, as the nothingness consumed me, was for my parents. Tell them I love them, I thought, but the words wouldn't come. So I screamed instead, my cry a desolate howl that rebounded through my mind until I had no more strength left to scream. And with that final defiant outcry, I lost myself to the void's all-engulfing embrace.
The Aurora had its final transmission – a plea for human touch in a universe that couldn't care less. But for me, it wasn't the last. I'd sent a piece of myself hurtling toward Earth, a cry into the darkness that might reach back across light years to grasp theirs. And if it didn't reach them? So be it. I'd given it my all. I'd done what I could.
The void claimed me whole, but my words remained – an arrow pointed Earth-ward, a desperate cry into the night for some echo of humanity's touch. And that, in the end, was enough.
I'd sent Earth my love, my fears, my pain, and my apologies. I'd left myself behind, a human soul flung into the cold expanse like a tiny, faltering heartbeat. And with that final, defiant act of connection, I finally allowed myself to be subsumed by the nothingness outside my shattered ship.
My legacy was out there – a human thread strung like a lifeline cast into the void. The darkness had swallowed me whole, but I'd sent myself toward my world's orbit like a last desperate prayer. A final goodbye. A cry for love in a universe that'd been empty of human touch for far, far too long.
The Aurora had sent its final transmission – but for me, the real farewell lay beyond this ship, in the stars themselves. Earth... if you ever find this message, I'm still sorry. I'm sorry for all those lives I couldn't save. Sorry for every cruel, impersonal second I'd faced out there in the emptiness. I was sorry for so much more than I could ever fit within a dying starship's cockpit.
I'd given Earth my soul. Now I would give her my voice. Earth... if you ever find this message... I'm still sorry. The words rebounded through my mind like the final beat of a failing heart. I let my cry echo my pain and fear and grief... and my love. For myself, for my crew, for the fragile human spark that had guttered so brightly once upon a time – only to flicker out like a dying light in an unending night.
"Earth," I whispered as the darkness claimed me whole, "I love you."
A silence deeper than any I'd ever known swallowed me up – my last words lost to the cold vastness of deep space. And as I finally gave in to the void's dark, empty embrace, I felt an odd sense of peace settle over me like a comforting blanket. I wasn't alone anymore; I carried Earth with me, a human heart strung like a lifeline cast into the emptiness. It was enough. My legacy would live on – my voice hurtling toward Earth like a last goodbye from a lone, broken soul in an empty ship. And even in the face of eternal nothingness, that was something I could damn-well live with.
I closed my eyes, feeling the cold darkness closing in around me like an endless tomb. My voice trembled on the edge of extinction. "Earth... Earth..." I sang to myself, my words fading away like a dying ember.
With one final burst of strength, I reached out and smashed the emergency manual distress signal – the last lifeline of humanity cast into the void.
I'd given everything: my body, my sanity, and my voice. I'd given myself to the stars like a burning star's soul flung into the blackness. It was enough. My legacy lived on – a cry for help, a desperate call into the night. And in that final, dying moment, I felt a calm descend upon me like a descent into the arms of a distant, starry hell.
I was finally alone... and yet, I wasn't. Earth was with me. And for that, I was contented enough to meet my maker.
The finality of my own mortality hit me like a sledgehammer. I'd left myself hurtling toward my planet – a lone, dying soul cast into the void. But in that desperate, final goodbye, I'd found a new purpose. Earth... I love you... And with those few, precious words, I was at peace.
I was a dot in an endless expanse of nothingness. A spark of humanity adrift in an empty, cold universe. But for the sake of my world's enduring hope – a beacon in the void – I'd damned well live with it.
"Earth... Earth..." My voice quivering, I whispered those simple words into the eternal night. My words faded away like a dying ember... and in the darkness beyond my shattered ship, I found peace. Earth... I love you... And with that, I let go. I gave myself to the void's embrace – my voice a final, defiant cry into the blackness. A dying star's soul flung toward the far, starry expanse.
The silence swallowed me whole... and yet, I wasn't alone. Earth was with me. For that, I could live with my fate.
My eyes were closed, my mind already fading beyond the void. But in those last, flickering seconds, I'd finally found peace. And it was enough.
"Earth." My voice quivered on the edge of oblivion... And with one final burst of strength, I activated the manual distress beacon – my soul's final lifeline cast into the vast, starry expanse. The last transmission from Captain Lila Jovick and the starship Aurora...
My thoughts were growing hazy, my mind succumbing to the void's all-encompassing silence. I'd given everything – my body, my sanity, my voice. I'd given myself to the stars like a burning star's soul flung into the blackness. And with those simple words – Earth... I'm sorry – I finally let go. I was finally alone... and yet, I wasn't. Earth was with me now.
My voice dwindled away to nothingness... but in those final seconds, I'd found my purpose. Earth... I'm sorry... I was done fighting the void's emptiness. Earth... I love you... And with those simple words, I finally let go – a final, defiant cry into the void. A dying star's soul flung toward Earth. And it was enough.
A darkness colder than ice settled over me like a shroud. But Earth was with me now – my last hope, my only legacy. A dying ember of humanity in an endless expanse of nothingness... I'd damned well live with it. "Earth." My voice quivered on the edge of extinction... and I sent myself toward Earth one final time, my words lost to the void's all-encompassing darkness... My mind was slipping... but I wasn't alone. I carried my world with me.
"Earth..."
My voice... my last transmission from Captain Lila Jovick...
The End
I'll never forget what it felt like to have the stars as my constant companion... and the void's silence as my last goodbye.
The End
