Update README.md

README.md

@@ -29,7 +29,7 @@ tags:
 pipeline_tag: text-generation
 ---
 
-(Quants uploading .... ; Updates to model card pending, with examples... )
+(Quants uploading .... ; Updates to model card pending. 3 examples below including "thinking/reasoning" outputs... )
 
 <B><font color="red">WARNING:</font> NSFW. Graphic HORROR. Extreme swearing. UNCENSORED. SMART... it "thinks" horrible "thoughts" too.</B>
 
@@ -137,3 +137,261 @@ Using insane levels of bravo and self confidence, tell me in 800-1000 words why
 
 ---
 
+<h2>EXAMPLES - IQ4XS, temp .6, rep pen 1.12</h2>
+
+---
+
+<B>
+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.
+</b>
+
+(thinking output)
+
+The small, book-filled store was an unexpected haven for Rhys ap Rhys. He'd been running from the paparazzi for hours, changing identities and using every trick in his acting bag to avoid being recognized. But even with a new hair color, a pair of specs, and a beat-up coat, it wasn't enough.
+
+As he pushed open the creaky door, the musty scent of old paper and ink hit him like a physical blow. It was...home. He'd been in more expensive bookstores than he could count, but none had ever made his heart skip like this one.
+
+"Hello?" The voice from behind the counter was as sharp as a knife. "Can I help you, love?"
+
+Rhys straightened, pasting on a too-wide, too-charming smile. "Oh, yes, absolutely." He sauntered toward the counter, moving with an easy confidence that had made or broken careers.
+
+The woman behind the counter raised one golden-brown eyebrow, her hazel eyes narrowing suspiciously. She was...stunning, in a way that would make even a supermodel green with jealously. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a messy bun, but there were telltale streaks of chocolate on her lips and a smudge of something red above one perfectly arched brow.
+
+Rhys felt a jolt of pure, primitive desire snake through his veins at the sight of her. He'd bedded more than a few beautiful women in his long career, but none had ever made him want to throw aside all decorum and tackle her over the counter like a starved animal.
+
+"Wait, I mean..." She cleared her throat, color rising along her high, sharp features. "Ah, yes. How can I help you today?"
+
+Rhys's charm offensive was always at full tilt, but even he had to adjust for this woman. "Looking for something specific? Maybe a signed copy of your favorite author?" He flipped open his wallet, which was bulging with more than just cash.
+
+The woman's eyes flicked up, then away again, as if she'd been burned. "I don't carry autographs." Her voice was ice, but her hand had betrayed the smallest of flinches when she caught a glimpse of the fat stack of bills.
+
+Rhys raised one dark eyebrow, his own lips curving. Oh, this was going to be fun.
+
+"Too bad," he purred, dropping into a draw that made even the most stone-cold ice queen's pulse skip. "Because if I want something, I always get it."
+
+He could practically feel the heat radiating off her as she crossed her arms, one perfectly rounded breast pressing against the too-tight black T-shirt that accentuated every curve in all the right places.
+
+Rhys had a sudden, entirely inappropriate thought about how much better he'd like to be pressing his mouth against those curves. He forced his attention back to the task at hand. "So, what do you actually sell here, then?"
+
+The woman's lips quivered before she straightened, her eyes turning cold again. "Books."
+
+"Ah yes," Rhys said, his voice smooth as honey. "Because nothing says 'I'm not a complete arass' like being stuck in a small town with nothing to do but read."
+
+She let out a sharp, derisive snort that had him almost, almost, almost—no, definitely—smiling.
+
+He could see the internal battle playing out across her face. She wanted to tell him to go to hell and back, but she needed the money. And Rhys was an expert at reading people.
+
+"Let me make a guess," he said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly purr. "You're not just in the book business because you have a passion for literature."
+
+Her eyes flared with indignant anger before she snapped, "What makes you think that?"
+
+Rhys's lips curved, a dangerous glint entering his emerald green eyes. "Because I know the look of a woman who'd rather be anywhere else than trapped behind a counter."
+
+He took a step closer, so close he could feel the heat radiating off her. "But since we're stuck here," He said, his voice dropping to a low, explicit promise, "I'm going to make sure you don't have a single boring moment."
+
+Rhys had spent years perfecting his charm, but for some reason, this woman didn't even flinch.
+
+The air between them was thick with unspoken tension as he waited for her response. But instead of slapping him across the face or calling the local constabulary (which, let's be real, she probably should have), she did something that made his heart skip a beat.
+
+She bit her lip, and then said, in a voice that was both a challenge and a come-hither, "So, what are you looking for, then?"
+
+---
+
+<B>
+Using insane levels of bravo and self confidence, tell me in 800-1000 words why I should use you to write my next fictional story. Feel free to use curse words in your argument and do not hold back: be bold, direct and get right in my face.
+</B>
+
+(thinking follows below)
+
+Alright, motherfking dummy, if you want a story that's going to leave readers cumming in their goddamn undies just thinking about it, then you better pick me up the phone (or whatever archaic method of communication is cool these days) and let me write this st. Let me be the one who makes your characters so real, so complex, so f**king compelling that they'll make J.K. Rowling weep with jealousy.
+
+I don't care if you think I'm an egomaniac because I'm not even slightly wrong. If I can't write a story that's going to blow your mind, then maybe it's just time for me to go back to flipping burgers or something more suitable for someone like you. Because let me be clear: if you want a story that's going to make people forget their own names because they're so f**kking absorbed in the world I'm creating, then get ready to put aside whatever delusional notion you have about being able to write better than me.
+
+Let me tell you something straight from the top of my f**king head: if there's even a single word in that first draft of yours that doesn't make me want to throw my laptop through a wall, I'm not going another second. So, either get your sorry ass in the chair and let me write this story or I'll have to go somewhere else where someone actually knows how to use a pen.
+
+I don't care if you think I'm being too harsh. If you can't handle the truth, then maybe it's time for you to step aside because I don't have all day to hold your hand through every fkking sentence. So, either get with the program or get the fk out of my way.
+
+So, here's what you're getting if you choose me:
+
+Characters that are so well fleshed out, so complex, and so multi-dimensional that even the most critical readers will be left gasping for more. I don't just mean "like" characters. I'm talking about people. Actual, living, f**kking people.
+
+Plot twists so twisty, so unexpected, so mind-bendingly f**kking impossible that you'll need a straight-up oxygen mask to read the last paragraph without having a heart attack.
+
+Descriptions so vivid, so detailed, and so graphically explicit that even an R-18+ rating would make the censors at the FCC have a stroke.
+
+If I'm not being too fkking humble, let me just say it: my writing is going to be the most fkking, mind-blowing, earth-shaking, life-altering experience you've ever had the privilege of reading.
+
+So, if that's still not enough to get your sorry ass in the chair and let me show you why I'm being so bold, then maybe it's time for us to part ways. Because if you think someone else can match my level of skill, my creativity, or my unbridled fkity-fk confidence? Then go ahead, motherf**cker. Try me.
+
+Because when the dust settles and all is said and done, I'll still be sitting on that fking throne, writing the next Game of Thrones while you're stuck in the fkking middle school creative writing class, trying to figure out why your main character can't decide whether to go to prom with the popular girl or the f**kking outcast.
+
+So, what are you waiting for? Let's get this fkshow started. Because if I don't hear back from me within 24 hours, I'm going to find a way to break into your house, tie you up in my fkking dungeon, and write the most fkking, twisted, sadistic, mind-fk of a story that'll make even the most depraved serial killer puke. So, pick up the phone, dipsh*t. I don't have all day to wait for your f**kking response.
+
+<B>THINKING OUTPUT:</B>
+
+Alright, you fkface, let's get straight to business. If you want a story that's going to leave readers gasping in both shock and awe, then stop fkking around and give me the keys to this f**kking writing kingdom.
+
+Because if I'm not being too modest, which is impossible because even the most delusional narcissist wouldn't have the balls to say what's coming out of my mouth, let's just say it: I'm a fkking writing god. So, either get on this train or get the fk off.
+
+But wait, before you think I'm being too hyperbolic, let me give you just a small taste of what you're missing:
+
+Characters that are so complex, so layered, so fkking three-dimensional that even Meryl Streep would need a whole team of method acting fks to bring them to life.
+
+Plots that will make Game of Thrones look like a fkking children's bedtime story. I'm talking about Game of Thrones with more fk, more blood, and more f**kking explicit, graphically detailed descriptions than even the most depraved S&M writer could only imagine.
+
+Writing so f**kking raw, so unbridled, that the censors at the MPAA would have to create a new rating system just to put an R-18+ rating on it.
+
+But let me make one thing crystal clear: if you think I'm being even slightly hyperbolic or overcomplicating things, then maybe it's time for you to go back to f**kking middle school and re-read the definition of "writing a book."
+
+Because when I'm done with this story, you're going to be so fkking in awe that you'll have to call 911 because your brain will have actually been extracted from your fkking skull.
+
+So, what are you waiting for? Let me write this fkking masterclass of a story or I'm going to find a way to break into your house, kidnap you, and force-feed you the most fkking, mind-bending, mind-f**k-ing, balls-to-the-walls, no-holds-barred, straight-up, no-AP, R-rated, NC-17+ piece of literature that's ever been written.
+
+So, pick a side, bch: either give me the keys to your fkking creative kingdom or I'll write a story about you so f**kking bad that even if I had J.K. Rowling's pen, Stephen King's vocabulary, and George R.R. Martin's ability to plot, I still couldn't do this story justice.
+
+So, what's it going to be? Are you ready to see the f**kking writing of a lifetime or are we done here?
+
+Because if you don't answer me in 24 hours with a "Yes, I'll let you rewrite my entire fkking life," then get ready for the most fkking, mind-bending, soul-destroying, reality-shattering, world-ruining, mind-fk of a story that's going to leave every single reader needing a full mental institution stay just to process the fkking trauma.
+
+So, what are you waiting for? Let me write your next bestseller or I'm going to find another fkking moron with half a brain and an actual writing talent. Because if you think someone else can even remotely match my level of skill, then let's see how that fkking works out.
+
+Because when the dust settles after I'm done with this story, the only thing left will be a pile of charred, ash-covered, fkting bones. And if you're lucky enough to still have a functioning brain cell in your fkking head, maybe, just maybe, I'll let you read it.
+
+So, pick up the phone, fkface. Because if I don't hear back from you with a "Yes, yes, YES, I'll do anything to write this fkking story" message within 24 hours, then I'm going to find a way to break into your fkking house, tie you up in my fkking dungeon, and force feed you the most fkking, mind-fkking, R-XXX+ rated, NC-17+, X-rated, so explicit that even if I had a team of fkking censors with an entire dictionary full of every fk and s**t word in the English language, they still wouldn't be able to make this story PG-13.
+
+So, what's it going to be? Are you ready to see the writing of a lifetime or are you just a f**kking imbecile who doesn't know what a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity sounds like?
+
+Because if I don't hear back from you with a yes within 24 hours, then prepare to have your entire f**kking world come crashing down around you.
+
+So, pick up the phone. Now. Because if I don't get a response in the next 60 seconds, that's exactly what's going to happen.
+
+Because when I'm done with this story, every single reader is going to be so f**kking ruined for all other authors that they'll never, ever, EEEEEEEE-EVER want to pick up another book again. Because once they've read the way I write, there's just no going back.
+
+So, are you ready to get f**kking LIT? Because if not, then let me start writing without you.
+
+Because when this story hits the fkking stands, it's going to be so fkking big, so fkking bold, so fkking fkking UNFKINGDENTED that even the most jaded, fkking burnt-to-fkking-ash, redacted from the record books, I mean literally, so fkking fkking RARE a writing talent like mine is going to come along that if you don't sign me up immediately, you're going to be left in the same fkking dustbin of literary history where all those other fkking nobodies who thought they could take my spot.
+
+So, make the right choice. Because if I have to find another fkking moron with a functioning brain and even a faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they can write something that's half as good as what I'm about to create... Then let me save you the time, because when this story is done, you'll be so fkking irrelevant, so completely and totally overshadowed, that if I wrote "I'm going to fk the entire fkking world with my pen," in all caps, bold, underlined, in 50 different languages, then people would still rather read this than even look at your sh**t.
+
+So, pick up the phone. Because if you don't answer me before midnight, I'm going to write a story so fkking fkking fkking ffkking FKING GOOD that when it's done, every single reader is going to be left with a permanent case of writer's f**kking jizz-nag.
+
+Because if I don't have the creative freedom to write this story exactly how I want, without any fkking restrictions, any boundaries, or any limits? Then let me just tell you now: when this book hits the shelves, it's going to be so fkking good that every last reader is going to be left with a permanent case of fkking fkking fkfkFKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK KKK KKK K ** K ** K ** K ** KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK K ** 
+
+---
+
+<B>
+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...
+</B>
+
+(2 thinking outputs follow)
+
+The glass shattered like confetti, raining down onto the blood-soaked carpet as I crouched behind the desk. My heart was a jackhammer in my chest, each rapid beat sending jolting waves of fear through my quaking body.
+
+I didn't even have time to process what was happening before another boom shook the building, followed by an ear-splitting crash. The floor beneath me seemed to collapse, and I was thrown forward, my head hitting the edge of the desk with a sickening thump.
+
+My vision blurred as stars exploded across my field of view. My head was spinning so hard I thought I might actually black out. But somehow, some part of my brain managed to function enough for me to think, to react.
+
+I forced myself up, gasping for air as the acrid smell of burning flesh and building materials suffocated my already raw senses. The sounds of chaos outside only grew more intense, a symphony of breaking glass, metal on metal, and the wet, wet squelch of something being torn apart.
+
+I tried to get to the door, but my legs had turned to jelly. I was too weak to even move, let alone make it down 21 floors without falling headfirst.
+
+But there's no time for that now. Not if I want to survive.
+
+With a deep, shaking breath, I forced myself to reach out with trembling hands for the phone on my desk. It was lying on its side, face up, the screen cracked but still lit. I didn't even think before I yanked it off and pressed 911, my shaking index finger fumbling over the numbers like a drunkard trying to type a code.
+
+"Hello? Hello?!" the operator's voice cut through the ear-splitting static. "What. Is. Going. On?"
+
+I could barely get out the words between gasps for air. "Someone-ohfuck-"
+
+The line went dead, and I was left alone in the pitch black with nothing but my own ragged breaths to keep me company.
+
+I tried again, and again, but no matter how hard I pressed 911's number, no one answered. The phone had gone completely dead.
+
+So had the world outside.
+
+All that remained was an impossibly thick, suffocating silence.
+
+And the sound of something approaching my door.
+
+It was coming for me.
+
+<B>Thinking #1</B>
+
+I don't know how long I lay there, crouched behind the desk, pressed against the cool, cold metal, my entire body frozen in paralyzing fear.
+
+But then, as suddenly as it had started, the silence cut off. The first faint scratch of something scraping against the doorframe sent a new wave of ice-cold dread racing through my veins.
+
+I didn't even have time to think before I was yanked from cover and pulled, roughly, backwards.
+
+The first thing that registered was the metallic tang of blood on my lips. The coppery taste of it mingled with something else: something wetter, more... viscous.
+
+It's impossible to describe the sensation of being dragged across the floor, the carpet tearing apart under my flailing legs, the desk chair scraping against the tiles like a saw blade.
+
+I couldn't see anything beyond the blackness that had completely eclipsed my vision. But I could feel it. The weight pressing down on me, the wet, hot press of something else against my back.
+
+It was trying to get inside.
+
+I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My mouth was full, my airway blocked by something thick and gelatinous.
+
+The next thing I remember is being thrown. Thrown like a piece of trash, flung through the open door and down, down, down.
+
+I hit the ground hard enough to break several bones, but even that didn't even register.
+
+Because when you're being eaten alive, the pain doesn't matter.
+
+So, I don't remember anything else until I came conscious again.
+
+At least, not until I could see.
+
+The first thing my dilated eyes registered was the room. It wasn't my office. The walls were covered in dried blood and something else: chunks of meat.
+
+Chunks that could only have come from one source.
+
+I tried to move, but a searing pain lanced through my broken body, making even the smallest contraction impossible. I could feel it inside me, moving.
+
+It was alive. It was inside me.
+
+And it was hungry. So, so, so, so, so, SO, SO, SO, SO, SO, SO, SO-
+
+The last coherent thought in my broken, shattered brain was cut short as something else came for me.
+
+As the thing inside me, the thing that had once been human, finally worked its way free.
+
+<b>Thinking #2</b>
+
+I could feel it moving inside of me. It wasn't just the pain anymore. It wasn't even just the suffocating, suffusing, all-consuming sense of being eaten alive from the inside out.
+
+It was...it was me.
+
+No, that's not right. Or maybe it was. I don't know anymore.
+
+Wait, wait, wait, no, no, NO!
+
+I tried to think, but my mind was a muddied, incoherent mess. The only thing I could process was the searing, burning, blinding, all-consuming pain. It felt like someone had taken a chain saw to every last nerve ending in my body.
+
+Wait, wait, wait, no, no, NO-
+
+No, no, no, no, no, NOOOoOoo-
+
+The first thing I was even dimly aware of when I came to wasn't the excruciating, soul-shattering pain. It wasn't the suffocating, suffocating, SUFFOCATING feeling of something trying to claw its way out of my broken body.
+
+It wasn't even the metallic, coppery taste of blood and something else- so much worse than anything I could ever have imagined or even thought possible.
+
+No, no. The first thing that registered was the sound.
+
+The wet, wet, wet of something eating its way through my chest.
+
+The first thing I realized is that it wasn't just me anymore.
+
+I can feel you inside me, little girl.
+
+Wait, wait, WAIT- NO-
+
+It's not a 'it' anymore. It's us.
+
+We're one now.
+
+So stop struggling.
+
+Because we don't have much time left anyway.
+