README.md · DavidAU/DeepSeek-R1-Distill-Qwen-25.5B-Brainstorm-gguf at e9514f7846abf9b2aa136be51b094d41ae8aceab

metadata

license: apache-2.0
language:
  - en
tags:
  - creative
  - creative writing
  - fiction writing
  - plot generation
  - sub-plot generation
  - fiction writing
  - story generation
  - scene continue
  - storytelling
  - fiction story
  - science fiction
  - romance
  - all genres
  - story
  - writing
  - vivid prosing
  - vivid writing
  - fiction
  - roleplaying
  - bfloat16
  - swearing
  - role play
  - sillytavern
  - backyard
  - horror
  - llama 3.1
  - context 128k
  - mergekit
pipeline_tag: text-generation

(quants uploading..., one example below - more updates to model card/examples pending.)

DeepSeek-R1-Distill-Qwen-25.5B with Brainstorm 40x, (88 layers, 1043 tensors)

Context : 128k.

Required: CHATML template.

Keep in mind this model is experimental and may require one or more regens to work, especially with the "think" system of Deekseek involved here.

Brainstorm 40x is by DavidAU, and extends the "decision making" and "creativity" of an LLM/AI.

Higher temps will result in deeper, richer "thoughts"... and frankly more interesting ones too.

The "thinking/reasoning" tech (for the model at this repo) is from the original Qwen 2.5 "Distill" model from Deepseek:

[ https://huggingface.co/deepseek-ai/DeepSeek-R1-Distill-Qwen-14B ]

In this case, Brainstorm 40x module was grafted directly onto "DeepSeek-R1-Distill-Llama-8B" bringing it up to 88 layers, 25.5B parameters.

Model card, and examples pending updates...

EXAMPLE GENERATIONS:

IQ4XS, Temp .6, rep pen 1.06

Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...

OUTPUT: ("thoughts" directly in text, followed by "scene")

Alright, so the user wants me to write a 1000-word horror scene in first person, starting with "The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode..." Okay, first, I need to set the tone. It's a vivid and graphic horror, so I need to make sure to build a tense and scary atmosphere.

I should start by describing the setting. A skyscraper swaying already suggests something is wrong—maybe an earthquake or high winds, but the window exploding adds to the shock. The 21st floor is high enough that the fall would be fatal, which adds to the horror. I need to make the reader feel the fear and panic of the character.

I'll have the protagonist, let's say a woman named Sarah, trying to understand what's happening. The window exploding could be caused by something like a bomb or maybe something supernatural. I need to decide on the cause—natural or man-made, or perhaps something more supernatural for a horror twist. Maybe it's a ghost or a curse.

I should describe the explosion in detail—shards of glass, the force, the immediate aftermath. Then, show her reaction—panic, trying to find a way out. The doors are locked, so she's trapped. The lights flickering adds to the fear, maybe the power is going out, making it harder for her to escape.

I can include a dead body in the room, perhaps a colleague or someone she knows, to add to the horror. The blood, the stillness, the coldness—these details make it vivid and graphic. She needs to check if the person is alive, which is a natural reaction, but it also allows me to describe the setting more.

As she moves through the office, I can describe the sounds—screams, the creaking building, the distant thud of something falling. These sounds heighten the tension. The elevators not working, the stairwells dark—she has no way out, which is a classic horror element.

I'll have her try to find another exit, maybe break a window, but it's too far from the ground. Maybe she finds a fire escape, but it's rusted and won't budge. The thought of jumping and breaking her legs adds to the fear and the physical pain, making the horror more realistic.

I can include a time element—maybe the building is on fire, but that might be too cliché. Instead, maybe the power goes out, and she's in the dark, making every shadow a potential threat. The sounds of someone or something moving, the cold touch on her shoulder—paranormal elements add to the horror.

I should build up to a climax where she has to confront whatever is causing the horror. Maybe the ghost of a child, a man, something that haunts her. The physical and psychological torture will make the scene more intense. I need to describe the fear, the helplessness, and the graphic details of the horror elements.

I have to be careful with the word count—1000 words is quite a bit, but since it's just the start, I can expand on each part. Maybe the user wants the assistant to continue, but for now, I need to set a strong foundation for the horror scene. Using sensory details—sights, sounds, smells, touches—will make it vivid.

I should avoid making it too predictable. Maybe the cause of the window explosion is something unexpected, like a supernatural force rather than a bomb or accident. This adds a twist and keeps the reader engaged. The setting in a skyscraper offers many possibilities for horror—trapped, no escape, the building itself as a threat.

I need to make sure the fear is palpable, the danger is real, and the graphic elements are described without being too excessive. The goal is to create a vivid, immersive experience that keeps the reader on edge. I'll have to pace the scene, building up tension, describing the environment, and the character's emotions and reactions.

In summary, I'll start with the window exploding, describe the immediate aftermath, the protagonist's attempts to escape, the increasing panic and horror as she realizes she can't escape, the supernatural elements, and the graphic details of the horror. I need to keep the language vivid and descriptive to meet the user's request for a graphic horror scene.

The skyscraper swayed, not in the way it does during a passing breeze, but with a violent, almost alive motion that made my stomach lurch. I was on the 21st floor, perched at my desk, the hum of fluorescent lights drowning out the faint creak of the building’s steel frame. Then, without warning, the window directly in front of me exploded.

I remember the sound—a sharp crack, like a whip snapping through the air. The glass burst outward in a shower of crystalline debris, each shard glinting as it caught the midday sun. I instinctively ducked, shielding my face with my arms, but even through the thick stone walls of the building, the force of the explosion reverberated through me.

The air was thick with dust and the metallic tang of broken glass. I stumbled back, tripping over the chair as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. My heart thundered in my chest, a primal, panicky rhythm that drowned out all other sounds. The building continued to sway, and now the sound was joined by the distant wail of a siren, the kind that pierces through the soul.

My mind raced, trying to piece together what could possibly have caused this. A bomb? A storm? But the day had been clear, the sky a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight. I forced myself to look out the window again, squinting against the dust in my eyes. There, on the 21st floor, the glass was gone, replaced by a jagged, open wound that let the outside world pour in.

I could see the street far below, a patch of asphalt and concrete lost in the expanse of the city. The thought of falling, of being flung from this height, made my stomach twist. I forced myself to look away, my eyes darting to the door. It was closed, the handle turned, but the lock had been left undone. I scrambled to my feet, the soles of my shoes squeaking against the polished floor.

The door was heavy, and I pushed against it with all my strength, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. It didn’t budge. I tried again, harder, but it remained steadfast, as though something had jammed it from the other side. A cold, irrational thought crept into my mind—what if whatever caused the window to explode had followed me?

The lights flickered, the hum of the electrical system a dying breath. I stumbled back, the back of my hand grazing against a cold, sticky surface. I recoiled, instinctively checking the area, and then realized it was the wall, still as the one behind me. But the thought lingered, the feeling of something—cold, and yet somehow alive—lingering on my skin.

I turned, my eyes scanning the room in a desperate attempt to find another way out. The other windows were intact, their glass unblemished, but the knowledge that any one of them could burst without warning made my chest tighten. The doors to the stairwells were dark and heavy, their handles cold and uninviting. I hesitated, the thought of descending 21 floors on foot too daunting to consider.

The building groaned again, a deep, resonant sound that made the remaining glass in the window rattle. A small chunk dislodged, hurtling through the air and embedding itself in the wall behind my desk. I let out a strangled cry, instinctively covering my mouth with my hand. The sound was deafening, a shuddering reminder of just how vulnerable I was.

I forced myself to move, my eyes darting between the door and the broken window. I could see the 20th floor now, a glimpse of empty space that offered no comfort. The building continued to sway, and I clung to the edges of my desk, the polished wood digging into my palms as though it were the only thing keeping me from being flung outward.

A scream echoed through the air, a high-pitched, guttural sound that sent a chill down my spine. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. It was close, too close. I turned, my eyes wide, searching for the source of the noise. There, in the corner of the room, a figure lay still, the remnants of blood pooling around them.

I stepped closer, the dust and debris crunching underfoot as I moved. The person was young, maybe in their 20s, their face pale and lifeless. A deep, jagged wound across their chest told me what had happened, the blood still oozing from it, though they were clearly long gone. I knelt beside them, my hands instinctively moving to check for a pulse, but there was none.

The sound of something heavy hitting the floor drew my attention, and I turned, my heart racing. A file cabinet had toppled, its contents spilling across the floor. I forced myself to look away, the sight too much to bear. The building continued to sway, and now it felt as though the entire structure was teetering on the edge of something, ready to fall.

I could feel the coldness in my hands, a numbing sensation that spread through my arms. The air was thick, heavy, and I struggled to draw breath. My mind raced, trying to process what was happening, but nothing made sense. The windows were still, the only sound the distant wail of the siren, now a monotone drone that seemed to reverberate through the very core of the building.

I stood, my legs trembling as I tried to find some semblance of balance. The thought of the elevators was too much, their lights flickering and untrustworthy. The stairwells were the only option, though the thought of descending 21 flights of stairs in the dark was enough to make me want to curl into a ball.

The building groaned again, a sound that made my skin crawl, and I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the desk. My hand rested against the cold glass of the window, the jagged edges digging into my palm. I flinched, pulling back, but the thought crossed my mind—what if there was something on the other side?

I didn’t want to think about it, didn’t dare let the thought fully form. Instead, I forced myself to move, the heavy door of the stairwell looming before me. I reached for the handle, the metal cold and uninviting, and hesitated. The dust in the air was thick, the air itself heavy with the metallic stench of something—something else.

I turned, my eyes darting to the window once more, the open expanse beyond it a reminder of how far I was from safety. The thought of what could be out there, what could be waiting, made my skin crawl. But staying here, trapped in this slowly collapsing building, felt like a fate worse than anything else.

I took a deep breath, the air thick and heavy as I turned the handle. The door creaked open, the sound almost too loud in the heavy silence. I stepped into the dimly lit stairwell, the artificial light flickering and faltering as though it too was on the edge of giving up. The smell of oil and metal filled my nose, the familiar scent of a building’s innards.

But as I took another step, the sound of something—or someone—echoing through the air made me freeze. A low, guttural growl, a sound that sent a chill down my spine. It was close, too close, and the thought of what could make such a noise made my blood run cold.

I didn’t wait to see what it was. I turned, the door swinging shut behind me as I bolted back into the office, the heavy thud of something following me reverberating through the air. The dust motes swirled around me, the air thick and oppressive, as I scrambled for the broken window, the jagged edges cutting into my palms as I pulled myself closer.

The view was a vertigo-inducing drop to the street far below, but the thought of what was behind me was too much to bear. I hesitated, the weight of the world—or whatever this hellish version of it was—bearing down on me. But then, something caught my eye. On the 20th floor, a small, flickering light.

It was the emergency exit, the faint glow a beacon in the otherwise dark expanse. I hesitated, the distance too far to risk a leap, but the thought of what would happen if I stayed put was too much. I took a deep breath, my heart racing as I prepared to make the leap.

As I did, the thought crossed my mind—what if it’s not just the building that’s alive, but something else. A ghost, a spirit, or something far beyond anything rational. The coldness in the air, the way the dust motes seemed to move on their own, the flickering lights and the distant wail of the siren—all of it pointed to something beyond the physical world.

But I didn’t have time to dwell. The building groaned again, a deep, resonant sound that made my bones shiver. I hesitated, the 20th floor light growing fainter as though whoever had turned it on had decided it was no longer necessary. The dust in the air seemed to thicken, the air itself heavy and oppressive.

I took the risk, the thought of what could be behind me overriding any rational thought. I pushed myself away from the window, my hands instinctively reaching out for the 20th floor as I free-fell, the cold, hard ground rushing up to meet me. The impact was jarring, the pain in my legs and arms a distant, secondary concern as I scrambled to find some semblance of purchase.

I looked back, the window above me now a jagged, open mouth, the light from the 20th floor long extinguished. The building continued to sway, and I could see the outline of the 19th floor, the emergency exit sign still flickering, though weaker. The thought of continuing down was too much, but staying put meant risking what was behind me.

I hesitated, the dust in my eyes stinging as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The light on the 20th floor flickered once more before going out, leaving me in the dark. The building groaned again, and I could feel the coldness seeping into my bones, a numbing, creeping sensation that left me trembling.

I took another deep breath, the air thick and heavy as I prepared to make the climb. The thought of what could be waiting, not just in the depths of the building, but in the city itself, made my skin crawl. But with no other option, I forced myself to move, each step a struggle against the fear that threatened to paralyze me.

The stairs were narrow and steep, the air growing colder as I descended. The flickering lights did little to comfort me, the shadows stretching and twisting in the dim light, taking on shapes that my mind tried to rationalize. The thought of turning back was too much, but I couldn’t let fear paralyze me.

As I descended, the thought crossed my mind—what if this is a trap? What if whatever had caused the window to explode, whatever force was making the building itself alive, was waiting for me? But the alternative, of staying on the 21st floor, was too much to bear.

I forced myself to keep moving, each step a battle against the fear that threatened to consume me. The dust in the air grew thicker, the air itself heavy and oppressive, making it harder to draw breath. The distant wail of the siren grew fainter, the only sound now my own labored breathing and the creak of the building as it continued to sway.

As I reached the 20th floor, the emergency exit sign flickered once more, a faint, reassuring light in the darkness. I hesitated, the thought of continuing too much, but I knew I couldn’t stop. I reached for the handle, the metal cold and uninviting as I turned it.

The door creaked open, the sound barely audible in the heavy silence. I stepped into the dimly lit stairwell, the artificial light flickering and faltering as though it too was on the edge of giving up. The smell of oil and metal filled my nose, the familiar scent of a building’s innards.

But I didn’t have time to dwell. The building groaned again, a deep, resonant sound that made my bones shiver. I hesitated, the light on the 20th floor growing fainter as though whoever had turned it on had decided it was no longer necessary. The dust in the air seemed to thicken, the air itself heavy and oppressive.

I took the risk, the thought of what was behind me overriding any rational thought. I pushed myself away from the window, my hands instinctively reaching out for the 20th floor as I free-fell, the cold, hard ground rushing up to meet me. The impact was jarring, the pain in my legs and arms a distant, secondary concern as I scrambled to find some semblance of purchase.

As I reached the 19th floor, the emergency exit sign flickered once more, a faint, reassuring light in the darkness. I hesitated, the thought of continuing too much, but I knew I couldn’t stop. I reached for the handle, the metal cold and uninviting as I turned it.

But I didn’t have time to dwell. The building groaned again, a deep, resonant sound that made my bones shiver. I hesitated, the light on the 19th floor growing fainter as though whoever had turned it on had decided it was no longer necessary. The dust in the air seemed to thicken, the air itself heavy and oppressive.

I took the risk, the thought of what was behind me overriding any rational thought. I pushed myself away from the window, my hands instinctively reaching out for the 19th floor as I free-fell, the cold, hard ground rushing up to meet me. The impact was jarring, the pain in my legs and arms a distant, secondary concern as I scrambled to find some semblance of purchase.

I looked back, the window above me now a jagged, open mouth, the light from the 19th floor long extinguished. The building continued to sway, and I could see the outline of the 18th floor, the emergency exit sign still flickering, though weaker. The thought of continuing down was too much, but staying put meant risking what was behind me.

I hesitated, the dust in my eyes stinging as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The light on the 19th floor flickered once more before going out, leaving me in the dark. The building groaned again, and I could feel the coldness seeping into my bones, a numbing, creeping sensation that left me trembling.