Text Generation
GGUF
English
creative
creative writing
fiction writing
plot generation
sub-plot generation
story generation
scene continue
storytelling
fiction story
science fiction
romance
all genres
story
writing
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vivid writing
fiction
roleplaying
bfloat16
swearing
rp
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gemma
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Inference Endpoints
conversational
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README.md
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<B>
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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. 800-1000 words.
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<B>
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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.
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</B>
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(Q8, rep pen: 1.05, temp : .8)
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Rain lashed against the stained-glass windows of “The Book Nook,” a symphony of water and colour in a small Llandeilo morning. Inside, the air held the scent of old paper and woodsmoke from the peat fire crackling in the corner. A lone figure, Liam Cadogan, heart-throb of a thousand silver-screen romances and a man more at home on red carpets than coblestones, ducked through the doorway, the downpour an unwelcome spotlight on his ill-chosen attire: a pinstriped suit already water-logged and decidedly out of place.
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He straightened a wayward cuff, forcing a disarming smile that, normally, could disarm a firing squad. A woman with eyes the colour of storm clouds and a shock of unruly, copper-red hair, erected a subtle, almost apologetic, barrier behind a ladder of worn books. This was Mairwen Davies, the bookstore's current - and, by her late grandmother’s will, only - resident.
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“A touch of the unseasonable, wouldn’t you agree, miss…?” Liam’s smile, while broad, held the first, tentative thrum of a performance for a small, but vital, audience of one.
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Mairwen, unfazed, simply fixed him with the aforementioned storm-cloud gaze and said, in a voice that brooked no romantic overtures, "Mairwen. And the weather's a right nuisance, especially for your... get-up.”
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The air, thick with the scent of aged paper and petrichor, crackled with an unexpected tension. Liam, usually so at ease with adulation, felt the colour rise in his cheeks, a flicker of a wounded bird beneath the rogue’s bravado. “Admirable directness,” he managed, recovering with a touch of forced levity, “a rare quality in this age of performative pleasantries.”
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Mairwen climbed the ladder with a practiced grace, her back to him. “Perfor-mance and pleasantries are rarely found in these stacks, Mr. Cadogan. If it’s a good book you’re after, I’d recommend the T.S. Elliot. Corner, by the fire. He's less prone to dramatics.”
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A low whistle of a laugh escaped Liam. “Elliot, you say? A touch on the nose, wouldn’t you agree, for a rain-soaked fugitive from the limelight’s embrace?” He stepped closer, her unyielding air only piquing the dormant charm he’d been about to deploy.
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Mairwen finally looked at him, a faint, ironic twist to her lips. "The spotlight and its shadows are your territory, Mr. Cadogan. In this corner of Wales, the most dramatic thing is a hailstorm that takes out the shed roof. We’re less concerned with what’s on-screen and more with what's held between these covers.”
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“Such practicality - a breath of fresh air, indeed. Though, I must confess, my current state of undress wouldn’t lend itself to a thorough literary exploration. One wouldn't want to be the rogue who marked T.S. Elliot's pages with water-stained boot prints, would one?” He offered his a touch-too-bright smile, and it was the most genuine he could manage at that point, the calculated charm giving way to a begrudging admission of flustered vulnerability.
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Mairwen’s usual cool tone held a sliver of something uncharacteristically warm. “T.S. wouldn’t much mind the company, even if a bit less-than-conventional. And as for your attire - well, I once bartered a first edition of Shelley's ‘Frankenstein’ with a shepherd for a length of thick wool in the middle of a blizzard. You can trust me, a good book and a dry corner can be far more forgiving of the elements than most red-carpet circles, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Cadogan?”
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A flicker of something unreadable danced in Liam’s eyes. This woman, her disinterest, and the quiet, knowing intelligence behind it, was unlike anything he’d encountered. The city's adulation, the calculated charm, it all felt a world away in this hushed sanctuary.
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He leaned against a stack of leather-bound volumes, watching the rain race down the windowpanes, her fire-lit profile outlined in the flickering light. “Forgive my blatant admission, Miss Davies, but I find myself more at ease with a discerning eye, a well-worn book, and a woman who isn’t easily impressed, than a crowded room and a sea of hollow praise. There’s a truth in your quietness, a kind of wildness I wouldn't have expected to find in this corner of the world.”
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A soft colour touched Mairwen’s cheeks, a fleeting whisper of a blush, a silent admission she was far from immune to the rogue’s disarmed confession. She turned, a hesitant smile touching her lips. “Wildness and worn spines, then. It seems we both find sanctuary in the unexpected.”
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He met her gaze, the performance shed, just a man and a woman bound by a shared moment and the promise of a conversation far more compelling than any red-carpet encounter. The rain-lashed world outside faded, leaving only the scent of old paper and a charged silence thick with the unspoken. A silence pregnant with the nascent promise of something real, a silent conversation already blossoming in a place where even the spotlight couldn't touch them.
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It seemed, for now, the rogue and the book-keeper might find their own kind of happily-ever-after within the pages of a storm-tossed day.
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---
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<B>
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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. 800-1000 words.
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