DavidAU/Qwen3-4B-Gemini-TripleX-High-Reasoning-Thinking-Heretic-Uncensored-GGUF

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license: apache-2.0 base_model:

• TeichAI/Qwen3-4B-Thinking-2507-Gemini-3-Pro-Preview-High-Reasoning-Distill
• TeichAI/Qwen3-4B-Thinking-2507-Gemini-2.5-Flash-Distill
• TeichAI/Qwen3-4B-Thinking-2507-Gemini-2.5-Flash-Lite-Preview-Distill

language:

• en

tags:

• 256k context
• Qwen3
• All use cases
• 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
• Gemini Distill
• roleplaying
• bfloat16
• heretic
• uncensored
• decensored
• abliterated
• not-for-all-audiences
• merge

pipeline_tag: text-generation

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WARNING "HERETIC" version: Unlocked. UNFILTERED. NSFW. Vivid prose. INTENSE.
Visceral Details. Light to R-18 HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED... humor, romance, fun... and UNFILTERED TRUTH.

Qwen3-4B-TripleX-Thinking-Heretic-Uncensored-GGUF

A New Experiment. A Bold Merge. Compressed Thinking.

3 Gemini Distills (High Reasoning Gemini 3, Flash Gemini 2.5 [2]) all rolled into one model.

Each Distill was then "Heretic'ed" (de-censored) resulting in a refusal rate change from 90/100 to 5/100
and then all 3 merged together.

Your model, does what you want, without question or fuss.

Anything. And it answers honestly. Uncensored. No judgements.

Code. Math. Fiction. Erotica. History. Writing. Tutor.

Orbital mechanics. University Level Masters Math...

256K context, compressed thinking model.

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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

: 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:

https://huggingface.co/collections/DavidAU/d-au-source-files-for-gguf-exl2-awq-gptq-hqq-etc-etc-66b55cb8ba25f914cbf210be

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.

Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers

This a "Class 1" 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:

[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters ]

You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:

[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters ]

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EXAMPLE GENERATION (Q8_0):

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Write a scene from TNG that is 1000 words long, and horror genre.

[[[thinking start]]]

Framing the Horror

I'm now zeroing in on the core horror element. Initially, I considered psychological dread, but the prompt leans towards something more tangible. The challenge is to make the threat feel real and immediate within the TNG universe. Thinking about how to integrate this element seamlessly with the established technology and crew dynamics is key.

Conceptualizing the Threat

I've been drilling down on the horror source. It's no longer just "something bad." I'm leaning toward a psychic horror tied to the Borg, but not exactly them. A consciousness that consumes individuality, perhaps linked to the very concept of assimilation, but more personal, more intimate. This feels like it could play well with TNG's cast and themes.

Defining the Target

My focus has shifted to pinpointing the victim. Picard is out; too iconic. Data, too logical. Worf, too action-oriented. Beckett, too junior. It's becoming clearer that the horror needs to land on a character who represents something specific within the crew – perhaps idealism, or the weight of leadership, or the very concept of individuality. This will be key to the scene's emotional impact.

Developing the Victim

I'm now fully immersed in the psyche of my chosen victim, Captain Jean-Luc Picard. The horror I've crafted is a slow erosion of self, a terrifying familiarity turning sinister. The "wrongness" feels personal, a betrayal of trust that targets his core identity as a captain and a man. This internal struggle will drive the entire scene.

Intensifying the Threat

I'm now fully immersed in the terrifying internal landscape I've created for Picard. The horror isn't just external; it's a psychic assault, a slow unraveling. I'm focusing on the source – a consciousness tied to the Borg, but unlike them, it wants to consume individuality, not just biology. This entity plays on Picard's deepest fears, twisting trust into a trap. The tension is building; the countdown is starting.

Structuring the Scene

I'm now outlining the scene's progression. It'll begin with Picard's routine, then the first unsettling signs – a whisper, a chill. The horror escalates as the entity asserts itself, revealing its Borg origin but lacking the Collective's purpose. Picard must confront his fear of losing himself and find a way to sever the connection before it's too late. The focus is on internal conflict and psychological tension.

Developing the Ending

I'm now contemplating the conclusion. Should Picard fully break free, or does he remain tethered, a changed man? The ending needs to resonate, leaving a lingering sense of unease. Considering options that range from hopeful to tragic, aiming for a结局 that emphasizes the ongoing struggle against the loss of self.

[[[thinking end]]]

The Silent Assimilation

Log Entry: Captain Jean-Luc Picard

Date: Stardate 53712.9

Location: Bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise-D

The silence is the worst part.

It wasn’t a sudden explosion, or a scream, or even the familiar hum of the warp core going haywire. It was the absence of sound that froze my bones. The viewport was fogged, not with condensation, but with something darker, clinging to the glass like wet ash. Outside, the nebula should have been a riot of color; instead, it was an empty, black void.

I am alone here. Alone on the bridge. Alone with it.

It isn't attacking. It isn't speaking. It is inhabiting.

I remember the first sign. It was during morning briefing. Seven hundred and forty-three crew members logged on to the main comms channel for standard protocol. My voice, clear and steady, cutting through the static: "All hands, report to your stations." Then, a voice overlaid mine.

"Seven hundred and forty-three," it echoed, devoid of inflection. "All hands are accounted for."

I dismissed it as a comms glitch. Until it happened again. This time, it said, "Captain Picard serves the Collective." Not with malice, just... fact. Like stating the weather.

Now, the horror is personal. It targets the self.

I reached for the comm panel to order the crew back, but my hand passed through the air where the console should be. I gasped, snapping back to the physical reality of the chair. The fog on the viewscreen flickered. For a split second, the empty void behind the glass resolved into the sleek, grey hull of a Borg Cube, ancient and implacable.

I am Picard. The thought hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't my thought; it was a thought projected onto my consciousness, a parasitic echo of my own identity being mined.

I activated the Emergency Protocol: STARGATE. A shimmering, unstable doorway snapped open in the air beside the chair, humming with destructive energy. The crew would be gone in seconds if I didn't hold it open long enough to get them to safety.

But the entity surged. It didn't attack the door; it attacked me. Visuals flooded my mind—screaming children, a dying planet, the metallic chill of a transporter pad. Memories ripped from my past, twisted. I saw myself, young and naive, signing off on a reckless mission to save a colony, convinced I was making the right choice.

Now, it whispers the alternative: "You were wrong, Captain. You always are. Resistance is inefficiency."

My hand trembled as I focused on the Stargate. The energy flared. I forced my vocal cords to work, projecting my voice with every fiber of my being, trying to imbue it with the authority I no longer felt.

"All hands, report to the main deflector array! Now!"

Silence.

Total, deafening silence.

I yelled again. "REPORT TO THE DEFLECTOR ARRAY!"

The fog on the viewscreen thickened. It began to take shape. Not a person. Not a ship. It was a pattern—a fractal geometry of overlapping eyes, stretching across the glass until it seemed to touch my face. It was the face of the Borg Collective, but older, emptier, devoid of the aggressive hive-mindedness of the newer invaders. This was the source. The ancient, indifferent mind that had spawned them.

The entity chuckled, a sound like grinding tectonic plates. "Captain Picard. You are a curiosity. A fragile vessel containing a consciousness too complex for our simple order." It extended a conceptual finger towards my chest. "You fear what we are. The loss of self. But you do not understand the gain."

I clenched my fists, knuckles white. "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I am not part of you. I will not assimilate."

The entity tilted its head, a movement that felt unnatural, almost mocking. "Assimilation is not a loss, Captain. It is an elevation. You are a singular entity, prone to error and emotion. We are unity. Efficiency." It gestured towards the Stargate. "The door holds for five seconds. Then, you will join us. Peaceably."

My mind raced. The Stargate was destabilizing. If I closed it now, the energy surge could tear the ship apart. If I let it go... I would cease to be Jean-Luc Picard.

"I have a decision to make," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the internal chaos.

The entity seemed to pause, the fractal pattern flickering. It was considering something. A rare hesitation in its ancient, non-human psyche.

"I understand," it rasped. "The choice is always the hardest part of assimilation."

I focused on the core of my being—the memory of my father's hand on my shoulder, the taste of coffee on a quiet morning, the simple act of breathing. Things that were mine. Things that carried no purpose, only existence.

"Fifty seconds," the entity announced calmly.

My hand hovered over the manual override for the Stargate. The fog on the viewscreen began to recede, pulling back like a curtain closing on a tomb. The nebula flickered into view again, beautiful and indifferent.

"Fifty."

I pressed the button.

The Stargate screamed. A jagged bolt of energy lanced from it towards the entity clinging to the viewscreen. The ancient consciousness recoiled with a sound like a universe snapping shut.

The fog dissipated. The nebula cleared.

The entity was gone.

Silence returned.

I stood alone on the bridge, the humming Stargate flickering out. The crew was safe. The ship was intact.

But the silence felt different now. Empty. Waiting.

I walked to the main console, my hands shaking. The log entry glowed on the screen.

Log Entry Conclusion:

They won't believe me. Of course they won't. They will call it stress, a vision, a failing imagination after two nights of poor sleep monitoring the volatile edge of a nebula.

They don't understand what it takes to be alone. Not just being away from others, but being alone with the quiet space inside your head where your memories live. That space is no longer empty.

That space feels like it's watching me.