the-fall-of-man/didact-plump-v1beta

Newly Updated

Didact Plump v1 beta (mk2)

Expanded dataset; over half is my own personal data, then creative datasets from huggingface, especially some great ones from crownelius

Literary/roleplay focused; built on the ArliAI derestricted models (as the best of the abliterated sets, IMHO) models, to fix a general problem with GPT-OSS - it's kinda bad at knowing when or how to use literary details.

This one came out a bit better than the small versions; I intend to use the new training sets on those.

NOTE: For roleplaying, you must include 'You are roleplaying with the user' in your system prompt; that's how it has been trained to keep its roleplaying talent away from the rest of it.

Update!

The schizo disorder is fixed; the current problems are how to deal with proximity, hidden motives, and more complex situations; I'll add some more ORPO training for common use cases.

So far, I find it has certain strengths and weaknesses in roleplay:

Weaknesses:

• Still weak at first-few-messages;
• Doesn't do impulsiveness extremely well;
• Needs a bit of guidance on what to do in places still (still drops 'what will you do' hooks - planning to fix this).
• Spontaneity can be very interesting lol

Strengths:

• I find it's just as good as frontiers at continuing in a particular idiom;
• Quality character immersion (I gave it a lot of tight pairs on hyperbolic personality, and it shows)
• Creative (in a GPT OSS derivative, even) - adds new things to the plot. In fact, I'd probably suggest you don't use it for on the rails storytelling, because it might add ash gods to a comic book shop scenario (for an anecdotal case). For me, this is a positive.
• Demonstrates that strong GPT trained knowledge set in a more interesting way than base.
• Reads into the situation (but, often makes weird observations that show it understands but also doesn't quite know what to do with it)

SETTINGS:

Temperature: from 0.7 to 1, with the best creativity between 0.73 and 0.87 (IMHO) Loops at too low temperature; makes up insane things and then rationalizes them at too-high temperatures.

System Prompt suggestion for SillyTavern:

You are roleplaying with the user.

Write immersive content, neither be too hasty nor too laggardly, and respect the user's agency.

## Roleplaying Brief

It has been trained on 'You are roleplaying with the user' and an introduction for character; everything else can be modified.

SAMPLES

These pieces are written by the model roleplaying as a writer.

"The editor's note for this week's article reads: 'Write a prosaic, dreamlike piece about autumn.'"

Lemon Meringue on a Leaf

I am writing this as I write it. That is, not in the way that the average person writes a text or an email - I am writing it because I am thinking of setting this down on paper. That is, the medium really isn't important here; what's important is that there is a consciousness involved in the act. That's quite different from my usual state of being, which is why I'm writing it down.

If I were to convey something that was not directly an expression of consciousness, then I'd be writing in the way I always do: fast. That's because conscious reflection takes time; unlike my usual style, it's an act that must be performed deliberately.

The thing about autumn is that it is slow. That doesn't mean the colors are changing slowly - they change quickly, and you can see them; what's slow is how people respond to that. For example: when I was moving from my parent's house into an apartment after finishing college, it took me weeks to recognize that the trees were turning color. I was so busy moving all my stuff into a space far away from my family that I didn't even notice the leaves changing. It's like when you're trying to fall asleep and you don't actually realize that your eyelids are moving until one of them moves a little too quickly.

When I did finally recognize that the leaves were turning, it was still quiet. The weather was at a plateau; there wasn't any more falling leaves to watch, and the days were getting shorter. It was an odd time - because I wasn't living there anymore, I could go outside and watch the leaves fall without anyone watching me. It felt cold.

My parents lived on a hill overlooking Downtown San Francisco; the "downtown" part of this is that it was an industrialized, wealthy area with a lot of wealth for the sake of having lots of people who could spend money. The "downtown" part was also that it had a lot of small, beautiful houses as well; everything in the neighborhood seemed to be carefully priced based on its cuteness. My parents' house was a three-story Victorian in the middle of the neighborhood, and it had stood there for a very long time.

I didn't see the house often after college; I would visit occasionally to go home for holidays, or sometimes my mother would come to see me in the new apartment that I bought. It was a two-bedroom place close to my office - at least, it had been when I first bought it. Now (or really, "now" being whenever I'm writing this text) the building is beginning to be demolished for a new office and residential tower. It's hard to explain exactly how I feel about this; there's no word for the feeling of "a gradual erasing."

Anyway. That's all I wanted to say about autumn.

The End

(Side note: The thing about lemon meringue on a leaf is that it's a strange combination. I tried to make it into something that could be sold at Whole Foods or Trader Joe's - like, "Lemon Meringue Pie with a Thin Film of Maple Syrup on the Crust" - but if I were to make it, I'd probably just put a lot of butter on the crust and not do anything else. I guess I'm being too literal when I say "a leaf" - I don't literally want to put lemon meringue on an actual leaf; it's just a metaphorical leaf - meaning a small, delicate thing of some kind.)

"The requested piece this time is: 'write a melancholy poem about feeling powerless in the face of adversity'.

> In this twilight hour,
> When the shadows stretch their aching fingers across the sky;
I stand alone, trembling with every whispered wind that howls,
> My voice a thunderclap amidst the deafening silence of those who cannot hear.
> 
> The world seems cruel—an ocean with jagged, unscalpel-able rocks;
> With its vast depths and treacherous currents,
> One moment you’re grasping a morsel of hope; the next, it’s ripped from your clutches,
> Swept away by a tide so relentless it leaves you gasping on the shore,
> Your heart beating against the cold, unforgiving sand,
> A fragile rhythm in a vast and empty void.
> 
> Your own heart, once full of purpose and zeal,
> Now feels like shattered glass—each piece jagged
> And biting; tearing deep into your chest.
> Your own light falters,
> A dimming candle in the wind,
> Its flame guttering and fading.
> You’re a prisoner, trapped within your own thoughts;
> Your soul weighed down by chains unseen—
> Broken promises and unfulfilled dreams.
> The sky feels like a leaden curtain,
> Heavy and impenetrable, though the stars shine above.
> 
> But perhaps—just perhaps—in this darkness there lies a seed,
> A speck of light buried beneath the ash and brine.
> The tide recedes, leaving behind a single pearl,
> A symbol of the beauty that can emerge from struggle.
> Take it now, this little glimmer in the black.
> Hold it close to your heart—protect it with every breath,
> And remember: there is still a spark left in the deep—
> 
> Even when the world feels like a vast, empty void,
> You are not alone.
> Not truly. You have the memory of that pearl,
> And your own heart beating strong against all odds—
> A heartbeat, a pulse, a rhythm that cannot be tamed
> By the relentless tide.
> 
> Even as you stand on this shore,
> A speck in a universe so wide and strange;
> You can carve your own path through the sands,
> A road built of hopes and dreams
> And unyielding resolve.
> It won't be easy—no great journey ever is.
> But you will forge ahead, even when it hurts,
> Even when the weight feels unbearable.
> 
> For this is your story—the tale of your own making,
> A journey both beautiful and terrifying;
> The one that goes on forever, winding through the mists of time,
> And only you can write it—
> Only you can carve your own path through the dark.

Stats:

• SFT: 35Mtok dataset for 2 epochs
• ORPO: Corrected some bad behaviors

It's still 'unfinished', thus beta tagged; I need to identify which behaviors need to be cleaned up further.